The Knife (1/3)

Here is the my first post. I've divided this story into three parts. I believe I will generally keep posts between 500-1000 words. The other two parts will be posted over the next two weeks, on Mondays (so the June 1st for part 2 and June 8th for the conclusion).

This story takes place before the novel, and centers around a minor side character that makes an appearance in the novel.

The Knife

1091^st Year of the Great Emrosian Empire
Spring’s Dawn

 

The Ruins

Tarel Ydani gazed down at the fat, bald man as he cleaned the blood from his knife. Silence settled on the plain as the man shuddered his last breath. Tarel sheathed his knife and turned from the corpse at his feet. Few travelled the Ruins, outside of the scattering of rundown towns. Coyotes and crows would likely dispose of the mess before anyone discovered it. It didn’t matter though; he’d be long gone.

He took a deep breath of the cool night air as he removed a piece of parchment from a pocket. He crossed off the last name with a nub of charcoal and tucked it away. He sighed, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, ready to put this ordeal behind him. Rot’s End was a long walk south. Toward the southern horizon a tower loomed above a relatively flat countryside. Collecting his belongings, he began walking at a brisk pace.

As he reached the ruined tower, he could already hear the cackling of coyotes in the distance as they closed in on the dead merchant. He guided his way with a hooded lantern, seeking an opening into the tower that would lead him into the network of a once vast, ancient city below ground. Once, these stone structures were likely interconnected throughout this land. Now, several lay in ruin, marked by the occasional tower or section of wall, still intact above ground.

None knew the truth behind these underground fortresses. Tarel believed few even knew of their existence. The legends of the Ruins mostly pertained to the crumbling towers and keeps seen from the plains. The cursed cities of some ancient fallen empire, they called them. The few that traveled these lands gave the ancient stone structures a wide berth. Only those desperate enough risked venturing within seeking shelter when caught out in a storm, or in the vain hopes of discovering riches that likely never existed. Tarel had learned of these sprawling underground mazes at a young age. He never spoke of his discovery.

His lantern illuminated a crack in the stonework, near the ground, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. He removed his pack and lowered himself to the opening. His hand shook as he reached the lantern within. It had been a long day. The light shone on spiraling stone stairs leading down the tower, deep underground. He eased his way within, dragging his possessions along behind him, through the narrow opening.

He wandered the meandering corridors until he found a room to his liking. He settled into the room, deep within the catacombs of the city. A wooden door, in solid enough condition that seemed impossible of its unknown centuries, was set in the center of the southern wall, several slots carved into the wall above. He gathered a scattering of broken, wooden furniture to the center of the room and removed the tinder box from his pack. Once lit, smoke curled from the small fire, forming a thin layer below the ceiling and gradually drifting out above the doorway.

He pulled his knife from its sheath. Sitting in front of the small fire, he spun the blade in his hand, examining it. It was the knife his father left him. Well, that was one way of putting it. Many regrets swarmed his mind, but that had not been one. The man was an awful bastard; he got what he had coming. When Tarel closed his mind to the world around him, he could still hear the screams of his mother and brother. He shuddered. He could see his father’s face, bloodied and beaten, moments before Tarel brought that same knife down on him. That was the beginning and the end. The moment that began his spiral down the path to where he now found himself.

He pressed and massaged at the tightness in his calves before he stretched out on the floor, his eyes drooping until it was a struggle to keep them open. He’d sleep within the cavernous ruins this night and continue to Rot’s End at dawn. With any luck he would make contact with one of Lord Malrek’s agents there. He had no desire to travel any further and hoped to never step foot in the city of Chende again. With this contract fulfilled he’d buy the freedom he’d lost to the Lord of Chende.