The Heart of Darkness
The day had finally come.
Craven reflected on the life of privilege he had willingly left behind, satisfied that he’d made the right choice. What began a decade ago and half a world away was now at an end. Another chapter of his life was over and the future was, for the first time ever, entirely in his hands. He smiled at the prospect despite the tension he felt, then remembered where he was and blushed deeply. Stop smiling idiot; you are the winner of this year’s grande melee not some grinning simpleton.
Craven looked around hopeful that nobody had noticed his momentary lapse in the illusion of calm he didn’t feel. As soon as he locked eyes with Argos he knew he had been found out. His long-time friend grinned and shook his head slightly in amusement fully aware of how much importance Craven placed on appearances. Thankfully the other one, Keldirk, hadn’t noticed anything and Craven’s self-consciousness diminished significantly.
Craven continued to study Keldirk and marvelled at what he assumed was the young man’s complete lack of self-respect. They were about to be presented to the Marque de’Ahb, the grandfather of assassins, the leader of the Family, and Keldirk barely made the effort to don a clean shirt. His shoulder length brown hair was unkempt and the feeble excuse for a beard he sported did more to enhance his youth than conceal it. Craven never understood how a person could take such little interest in their appearance when so much was judged on that aspect of a person’s character. Craven noted the damp patches under Keldirk’s arms and was immediately reminded of the humidity. Suddenly mindful of his dry throat Craven leaned forward and took a sip from his glass of water.
“What do you think he’s saying in there?” Argos said with a wry smile.
Craven blinked and shook his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
Argos flicked a thumb towards the large iron bound double doors on the far side of the room. “In there.”
Craven scratched his neck and looked at his friend blandly. “What are you talking about?”
“Xavier. He’s in there with the Marque de’Ahb now.”
“Oh crap.” Craven said and took another swig of water, this time wishing it were something much stronger.
Throughout their studies Xavier and Craven had been great rivals, each of them finishing in the top two or three of every assessment. Craven had the advantage with the blade while Xavier had the edge in stealth but in many other things the pair was equally matched, extending even to their luck with the females of the island. Their rivalry pushed both of them to excel and this season's Grande Melee had been a highly anticipated event.
Argos chuckled. “He’s probably in there right now explaining how he was cheated of his rightful victory and how the two of us deserve to be punished for breaking the rules of the challenge.”
“That was you two?” Keldirk said, it was the first time he said anything to either of them since he walked into the room. “Kudos to both of you. Good idea to team up and take out the major threat. Cheating in the Grande Melee takes balls, you have my admiration.”
Craven’s face grew bright red and he turned to face Keldirk. “Screw your admiration. I won that contest fair and clear. Xavier lost because he got careless and he met a better opponent. That's all there is to it.”
Keldirk snorted. “Whatever.”
Argos laughed.
“I don’t know what you’re laughing at. It’s both our necks on the line if that bastard gets his way.”
Argos held up his hands. “Relax, relax. We both know the truth of it and I’m sure the Marque de’Ahb does too. Little Xavier won’t get anywhere with his lies besides making himself look stupid.”
Craven took a deep breath and thought for a moment. Argos was right, there was no reason for him to worry but he had grown so sick of defending himself these past days and weeks that right now this was the last thing he needed to be thinking about.
“How did you get to be so wise?” Craven said.
Argos bent over in mockery of a bow. “It’s my years of experience that have so enlightened me.”
“Years of experience my arse,” Craven said. “You’re barely older than me.”
Argos’ mouth opened and he placed a hand to his lips. “Well. I am sure that He will acknowledge my superior insight into the human condition even if you fail to see it.”
“What's He like, do you think?” Keldirk asked; his question directed at nobody in particular.
Argos turned to face the young man. “Who? The Marque de'Ahb?”
“Yes the Marque de'Ahb,” Keldirk shot back. “Who in the hell else would I be asking about?”
Argos shrugged. “I have no idea; I’ve never met him before.”
Keldirk then turned to face Craven. “What about you pretty boy? Have you seen him?”
“No.” Craven shook his head. “I once heard some of the tutors talking about him though. He's really old, apparently he’s been ruling over the family for over a century.”
Argos whistled, “That’s a long time; he can’t be human.”
“Questions of humanity no longer apply to one such as him,” said a well-dressed man as he stepped into the room. “It is because of him that we are at this place and at this particular time.”
Keldirk turned to face the newcomer, “Who are you?”
The man smiled smoothly, a well-practised grin that lacked any semblance of warmth, “My name is Montelbahn Criss, you three will be presented to him in a short while and I have been told to prepare you.”
Craven extended his hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you, lord chamberlain.”
Montelbahn continued; ignoring Craven’s extended hand. “The Marque de'Ahb is, as you know, the head of our family. His title means the Heart of Darkness in the old tongue and he is a very powerful man. He wears the cloak of office which bestows certain gifts to its wearer and one of those gifts is longevity.”
Argos raised his eyebrows. “The cloak grants immortality? It must be some sort of cloak.”
“Indeed,” Montelbahn corrected him. “The cloak is called the Vilus Corumdak or Cloak of the Vanquished and it is truly a wondrous article.”
Keldirk sat up straight. “Vilus Corumdak? I’ve heard that name before.”
The chamberlain took note of Keldirk’s reaction and nodded. “You should have, it is part of your training. Each of you was taught the proper techniques for removing the faces of our most important victims. What you may not realise is that these faces are then sewn into the cloak by the Druaghi.”
“Druaghi?” whispered Argos to Craven.
“Spell casters,” Craven shot back quickly, not wanting to miss anything.
Montelbahn continued. “The cloak allows our master to communicate with the spirits of those whose faces are sewn into it. Many secrets from across the ages are literally wrapped around him.”
Argos whistled.
Montelbahn nodded. “It is a great honour for any assassin to add a face to the cloak.” He waited for this last piece of information to sink in. “I will summon you shortly. When in his presence, do not speak unless you are spoken to, and above all show respect. The Marque de’Ahb has ruled our family well and in that time has slain hundreds, from beggars to kings; a few insolent graduates will not trouble him in the least.”
With that the chamberlain left the room and the trio remained silent for a time. This meeting will formally mark the end of their studies and elevate them to an active member of the Family. It was an important step and one that would define where they will spend the next few years of their lives.
Craven resisted the urge to consume yet another glass of water while Argos started to pace the length of the small antechamber. Keldirk sat apart from the others and attempted to appear calm, only the constant tapping of his foot betrayed his mood.
They all looked up when one of the large wooden doors cracked open and Xavier stepped out of the audience chamber. The young man had a wry smile on his face which broke into a broad self-indulgent grin as soon as he saw Craven waiting there. Ignoring the others he walked up to Craven and extended his hand.
“No hard feelings eh?” the smug young man said.
“What are you talking about?” Craven asked, puzzled, ignoring his rival’s hand.
Xavier smiled, “Oh nothing, you'll find out soon enough. I just wanted to say that now that I am no longer a student I bare no malice towards you. In every situation there are winners and losers – it's the mark of a man to accept their fate, whether they be the one or the other.”
Argos had had enough “What are you talking about you pompous windbag?”
Xavier turned and appeared to notice the others for the first time. “Why the Grande Melee of course.” He turned to face Craven once more. “I don't care anymore, you won and I didn't, it’s over. I just don't want there to be any bad blood between us, what's done is done. Let's look to the future with a clean slate.” He extended his hand once more.
They shook hands firmly.
“Let this be an end to it then.” Craven offered; his words somewhat hesitant.
“Agreed,” Xavier said as he nonchalantly picked off a piece of lint from his tunic. “Now, if you'll forgive me I have to prepare.” The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “I leave for Avones at first light.”
“Avones!” Argos said; his eyes wide.
The young man’s grin widened; that was exactly the reaction that Xavier was looking for. “As unprecedented as it is for a graduate to be sent there the Marque de’Ahb has seen fit to reward me with a posting to the Jewel of the Inner Sea.”
With that Xavier left the room leaving Craven and the others to sit in stunned silence.
Argos was the first to recover, “That bastard.”
Craven shook his head. “Avones! Him?”
Keldirk’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “I thought only the best of the best were sent to Avones. He must have really excelled to be rewarded like that.”
Craven turned to face the acerbic man, his blood pumping as he thought of the many ways he might eviscerate him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a graduate being posted there,” Keldirk continued. “And you spoke to him, and shook his hand. If it were me I might never wash that hand again.”
“You’re an arsehole, you know that?” Argos said; he could see that Craven was beginning to lose his composure.
Keldirk flicked his gaze between the pair of them and laughed. “Seriously, who gives a crap where any of us end up? We’ve made it boys. Cheer up. Today is a good day.”
The trio were interrupted by the return of the chamberlain. “The time has come for you to be presented to the Marque de'Ahb.” He said as looked at each of them in turn “Ready yourselves and I will announce you presently. Please follow me.”
The three graduates rose and straightened their clothes, even Keldirk made some effort to smooth down his shirt. The chamberlain strode to the large double doors, opened them wide and ushered the trio inside.
The room beyond was large. It was lit by a series of flickering torches attached to four enormous columns that held aloft the high ceiling. At the far end of the room was a raised dais upon which sat a large golden throne. Surprisingly it was not the ostentatious sight of the gold that captivated the trio but rather the wizened old man who calmly sat upon it regarding them as they drew near. When they reached the centre of the room he raised a skeletal hand and indicated that they should approach no further.
The chamberlain bowed gracefully and indicated the three nervous young men behind him. “Noble grandfather, may I present your latest grandchildren; Craven, winner of the Grande Melee. Argos, whom Aranis rated as the best student of the crossbow he has yet trained, and Keldirk the one you requested.”
The Marque de'Ahb nodded. “Yes, yes Montlebahn, thank you. You may go.”
Without raising his eyes the chamberlain turned, left the room and closed the doors behind him.
The Marque de'Ahb studied each of them in turn, his penetrating stare moving from one to the next as he waited in silence. The tension in the room was palpable his scrutiny was raising beads of sweat on their youthful faces. In acknowledgment of their discomfort he smiled in a fatherly way before speaking. “Welcome to my family children. You have each worked hard and long to be here, and to stand before me now is a testament to your discipline and your skill. I am proud of all of you. Craven of Karaban, you have done well your victory in the Grande Melee merely proved what you were capable of. I congratulate you.”
He then directed his attention to Argos and the young man stiffened and found that he was holding his breath. “Argos, my child, I cannot deny your courage or your commitment. Your loyalty to my Family was established on Kalmaird Beach and I am pleased to welcome you to the fold.”
Without pause the Marque de’Ahb faced Keldirk. “Though you have yet to complete your training I see great potential in you. I know that you rile against the discipline I impose upon my children but discipline is the cornerstone of resolve. And in these troubling times your resolve will be tested, I can assure you.” His gaze once more swept the three of them but this time he fixed on none of them. “Each of you has shown great promise and it is for this reason that I have asked that you be brought to me together.”
Seemingly without conscious thought the Marque de'Ahb rose from the throne and floated effortlessly towards them. The Vilus Corumdak trailed behind him like a macabre wedding train as he passed the awestruck trio and crossed to the rear of the room and stopped beside a large mural which depicted a map of the known world.
“No doubt you are aware that the situation on the continent is grave, and while your successes might ordinarily have earned you your choice of posting I have other plans for you three. The Emperor is preparing for war and I must ensure that my Family is ready to face the threat and take advantage of the situation. You three will be posted to the Prelacy of Rathmore. My chamberlain will fill you in on the salient details.”
He turned to face them once more, something vaguely predatory in his gaze. “I am a tired, old man who has been party to a thousand horrors, yet it warms my blackened heart to see such excellent examples of vibrant youth presented before me. I am sure you will serve the interests of the Family well.”
The Marque de’Ahb paused and removed a strange knife with a long tubular blade from within the folds of his cloak. Without a word he floated up to Craven and held out his hand. Craven extended his own hand and the man took hold of his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and twisted it so that his palm faced the ceiling.
The grandfather of assassins looked into Craven’s eyes as he brought the strange knife down to Craven’s open palm and into the flesh at the base of his thumb. There was only a little pain and Craven watched as a small amount of his blood was drawn from the wound and up the hollow blade to fill a small vial on the end of the handle. When the vial was full the Marque de’Ahb released Craven’s hand and smiled as he carefully removed the vial and replaced it with an identical empty one.
He repeated the procedure with Keldirk and Craven marvelled that he saw uncertainty in the young man’s gaze. Argos on the other hand appeared ill. The blood had drained from his face and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Craven knew that Argos went to great lengths to avoid injury but he never imagined it was because he was squeamish at the sight of blood. In some ways the thought of an assassin troubled by the sight of blood was humorous and Craven had to fight to keep himself from laughing.
Keldirk’s vial was now full and the Marque de’Ahb moved to Argos.
Craven’s humour was quickly replaced by concern for his friend as it seemed that Argos was on the verge of losing composure and fleeing the hall. So it came as an enormous relief to him when Argos held is open palm out for the head of the Family to complete the ritual. Argos’ reaction did not go unnoticed however as the Marque de’Ahb seemed to linger, his gaze searching long after the third vial was full.
The tension in the room vanished when he finally released the young man’s grip and floated a few paces away, back towards his golden throne. The knife and the three vials were once more secreted in the cloak and the Marque de’Ahb gave them all a fatherly smile.
“Know this my children. You are more than hired killers; you are blood-marked assassins. In your veins runs the blood of the Family, my blood, and thus you are brothers. Brothers in arms and brothers in blood and a family must strive to protect its own.”
He looked at them all again, his penetrating gaze ensuring that they understood his meaning. “For now I shall bid you farewell. Go with my blessing and know that you are being groomed for an important duty.”
Without any obvious signal the double doors opened and the chamberlain entered. He bowed before his lord and motioned for the three young assassins to follow him.
He led the trio past the waiting area through another door and into a well-appointed office. The room was a shrine to order, the shelves, desk and even the chairs seemed to have been deliberately positioned exactly where they were. The desk was entirely covered in items yet there was no clutter anywhere, each was neatly stacked or clearly labelled with a coloured ribbon.
The chamberlain sat his desk and, without looking, retrieved a sheet of paper from a desk drawer. He could see that the trio were confused, the Prelacy of Rathmore was not a well-known posting but it was definitely a busy one and, given recent developments, one that was likely to become busier still. Positioned between two warlike political powers Rathmore was often the site of conflicts between those enemy states and, as the chamberlain well knew, diplomacy was rarely limited to conversation. Recent intelligence also suggested that the Zeragoth army was mustering so the hint of war was in the air. These three novices would soon learn that Rathmore was not the sleepy backwater that they might imagine it to be.
“You have been booked passage aboard a vessel called the Sea Swift.” Montlebahn said, returning his attention to the paperwork before him. “It will arrive at dawn the day after tomorrow and your journey to Rathmore is expected to take three weeks. You will dock in Mastport and once there you are to contact a man named Don Lombard. He is a Vesper for the family and will provide you with additional instructions. Are there any questions?”
“I have one,” Keldirk said immediately. “Is it the Marque de’Ahb’s intention that we work together once we reach Rathmore? I was expecting to work alone.”
Montelbahn smiled, he anticipated a question like this and he was not surprised that Keldirk had asked. “Ordinarily graduates are sent to a less strenuous territory where they can ply their trade in relative solitude. But, for this posting, you three are absolutely expected to work as a team. On occasion it may be advantageous for one of you to work alone but that will happen on a case by case basis and will be decided by your Vesper.”
Keldirk nodded curtly, his pursed lips indicating his displeasure. Having to risk his life to carry out his duties was one thing, but having to effectively put his life in the hands of others did not sit comfortably with him.
Montelbahn noted Keldirk’s obvious displeasure with a detached curiosity. Once he was certain Keldirk had nothing further to say the chamberlain turned his attention to Craven and Argos. “What about the two of you?”
Craven cleared his throat.
“Go on.”
“The Marque de’Ahb mentioned that the Empire was preparing for war, and that we needed to be ready for the threat.” He held out his hands. “What threat does he mean?”
The chamberlain sat back and crossed his arms. “The threat of war of course.”
Craven raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me Sir, but I don’t understand.”
Montelbahn took a deep breath and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. “Let me say this then. The Family and the Empire are at odds in many things.”
“I thought we didn’t take sides,” Keldirk chimed in.
“That is true,” Montelbahn said and sat back in his chair. “The situation with the Empire is delicate and it is not something I am at liberty to discuss with you at this time. Suffice to say that the Empire is no friend to us. But that is not your concern; your Vesper will ensure that you are kept abreast of any relevant developments.”
“That doesn’t really answer the question,” Craven pointed out.
“I know. Is there anything else?”
After an awkward moment the three of them shook their heads.
“Excellent,” the chamberlain continued. “I understand that there is a party scheduled for tomorrow evening to celebrate this year's graduations. I trust that all of you will be ready to leave the island at first light the following day; I do not care what state you are in, just do not miss that boat. Do I make myself clear?”
He looked at each of them in turn and waiting until they all indicated that they understood. “Good.” He said as he rose from his seat. “You should be proud of your achievements gentlemen; it is a true recognition of the efforts and sacrifices you have made. Good luck out there gentlemen, you are dismissed.”
