Dealings in the Council of Avalhein - Chapter 18

Dealings in the Council of Avalhein

Chapter 18

The lad ran out of the palace as fast as he could. A friend saw him run by and called out “Dervyn!” He turned his head wildly, looking for the source of the voice and ducked into a nearby alley just in time to evade a coming patrol. His small size but great agility allowed him to jump over obstacles with little reserve.

He looked around frantically, searching for an exit when he found himself cornered. His eyes were wide and his nostrils were flaring. His chest heaved and he swore that he felt his heart pounding in his head. He searched his pockets with desperation and felt something long and hard. He still had the dagger.

He took it out of his pocket, ivory hilt and all. It was a beautiful curved dagger, but the serrated edge warped and bent so much that the eye could not follow a single line to the end without leaping to another. He had found it in an old woman’s house many a year ago, when he was ten.

He realized that it was now seven years to the day of his finding the dagger. Perhaps there was something destiny had in store for him, thought he. The blade gleamed, even through the stain of blood drawn from the king’s heart. The light made the blade seem to lap at the blood and enjoy it.

Dervyn bit back a curse as he saw the patrol rounding the nearby corner. He felt so stupid for not trying to run back out. It seemed that his estimate on the patrol’s distance from him was far off. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, heart pounding with fear. “My face is the last you’ll ever see!” he yelled, anger mixing in with anxiety and paranoia. The dagger was already to the stranger’s throat, a small stream of blood trickled down to the stranger’s collarbone.

Strangely enough, the stranger did not speak. Dervyn looked into the stranger’s eyes and gasped when he saw that they were perfectly violet. The stranger lifted a finger and placed it on his lips. He was fair, that was for sure, and he was clothed like a noble, however, what really caught Dervyn’s attention was the man’s pointed ears. The stranger pushed away the blade effortlessly and beckoned for Dervyn to follow him. When Dervyn hesitated, the stranger grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the wall that promptly dissolved as they passed.

Dervyn wrenched his arm from the stranger’s grasp, face awash with anger. “You are magic?” asked the irate youth, spittle flying from his mouth. “You are magic?!” he asked again with more force when the stranger refused to speak. He fumed when all he got was the stranger making the sign for silence. He refused to budge for he wanted nothing to do with magic.

It quickly became an apparent mistake when the stranger grabbed his arm and pulled him right out of the alley. They twisted and turned around the city, the stranger doing most of the running and Dervyn doing his best to stay upright and not land face-first in the dirt. The stranger was fast, and unnaturally so, this only convinced the lad that the stranger was indeed magic.

His eyes widened when all of a sudden they came to a familiar section of the city. “Don’t lead me to the old man’s house… please…” he pleaded in his mind as they wound their way through the crowd. They came to a stop before a tall wooden shack. “Heavens no!” It was the old man’s house all right. Dervyn began to wonder if he did something wrong, but he knew with great certainty that the man had no magical ‘employees’.

They entered to a not-so-comforting scene. Files were littered on the floor, furniture was broken, and blood smeared the walls. There were no bodies, save for one. None of the elite 22 thieves were in the house. They were there all the time and Dervyn could only imagine what had happened to them.

The only remaining body was that of the old man. His neck was split cleanly in half and his head was a gruesome paperweight for a file that Dervyn could not see, however, the seal was definitely broken and someone had been reading it.

The stranger retreated into the darkness, but his eyes glowed, signifying his presence. A single lamp came to life as the door closed and a woman stepped out from behind the old man’s chair. Her hair was streaked with blue and she wore a gown. She spoke in a strange tongue and looked amused when Dervyn seemed to not understand a word she said.

She moved like lightning. One moment, she was behind the desk, the next she was in front of Dervyn, hands cupped over his ears and muttering something that made the lad’s hackles stand on end. A strange feeling rolled over him and he finally recognized what the woman said. She placed a finger on his lips and did not speak, but the same feeling washed over him.

“Well, Dervyn is it?” she said, knocking the decapitated head from its place on the file, which was, miraculously, unstained with blood. On the back, in scrawling letters was the lad’s name. He fingered the hilt of his dagger with anxiety; he did not like not knowing how the situation would go.

“Excellent thief, assassin extraordinaire…” the woman read from his file. Dervyn felt his chest swell with pride, the old man thought of him in such a way. He had always hoped to be a part of the elite 22. Reality crashed down on him, both were already gone. “Great at following orders. The lad is quite prickly, greedy and often has moral issues.” The woman read the file, a smile twisting her lips on one side.

“We shall see if you really are the one…” The woman beckoned for the man to stand beside her and all of a sudden, their bodies were undergoing a gruesome transformation. Their faces started to extend into snouts and fur was starting to grow on them. Their torsos became more round and soon enough, they resembled fully grown dragons. Dervyn fell to the floor in shock.

“Now, child, you have something that belongs to me. I will have it back. It will be a pity, though, to have to pry it from your lifeless hands if you refuse to give it to me,” the blue Ceree spoke with a sickeningly sweet voice that served to make Dervyn believe every word she said all the more.