Chapter 2 : Long Live the Thane! (Part 2)

“You must think yourself exceedingly clever for putting all of this together,” Vasper said, “but in the end, after all is said and done you still have not learned a thing. Ever the petty little usurper who stole his daddy’s throne.” The shadows surged around Vasper, making him seem all the more ominous and intimidating, while Bey appeared to shrink before him. “Even were you to succeed in your little plot you would have neither the wit nor the potency to take my place. And now that your treachery is revealed, I call your life forfeit.”

“You won’t scare me so easily, Vasper,” Bey retorted, “I have one up on you this time in the form of all the evidence I could ever hope for of your villainy! When the nobles learn of what you’ve done they will rip you to pieces!”

“You bring up a valid point,” Vasper nodded, an ironic smirk on his face, “and on another day, under different circumstances, I might be concerned. Tonight, however, I will rest easy as you will not be allowed to leave my estate to retrieve your evidence, or for any other reason, while you still draw breath. The nobles will certainly be reluctant to cause me any further trouble after they witness you being torn to shreds along with the entirety of your house, before their very eyes.” He turned to walk back down the walkway toward the door. “I imagine I should have little difficulty controlling the houses after a spectacle of that magnitude. I certainly hope you are proud of yourself.”

Bey followed, green cloak flapping in the wind and called after the thane, “Don’t walk away from me, Vasper! I’ll take what I want from your corpse if I have to!”

Vasper ignored the murderous count and continued toward the door with a casual and unhurried gait. With the silent confidence of highly trained assassins, four men stepped quietly from the shadows, covered from head to toe in black plate mail that contrasted starkly with the pale moonlight. Without so much as an inadvertent crunch of the powdery snow strewn about the walkway, the armoured men formed a loose semi-circle formation around their target.

Though unable to see the men’s faces through their dark face-guards it was clear from the set of crossbows aimed expressly at Vasper’s heart that their intentions were somewhat less than benign. The stylized wolf’s-head insignia on the intruders’ corselets confirmed Vasper’s suspicions that these were in fact the legendary Black Wolf assassins of House Bey - possibly the most feared executioners in all of Unver. And here they were, standing in the naked moonlight with their sights set on him. It was enough to make most men soil themselves, but Vasper regarded each of them calmly in his turn, taking in every detail before moving on to examine the next.

Bey walked up from behind, an air of nonchalant triumph in his voice, “I really am sorry it had to come to this, Vasper. I had hoped to trap you with somewhat more subtlety and avoid bringing brute force to bear, but we use what tools we may, I suppose.”

Vasper took a last look at the count’s darkly clad servants who were now partially concealed by the shadows that crept up from behind. Seemingly satisfied, Vasper turned his back to the assassins as if to announce these fools no longer concern me. He looked Bey steadily in the eyes.

“Yes,” he said levelly, “we use what tools we may.”

A large shape loomed in the shadows that now almost completely surrounded Vasper’s would-be assailants. A subtle movement of black on black, unnoticed by the dark clad men whose single-minded focus on what was before them had blinded them to what was behind. For a brief moment the shape seemed still and contemplative before moving silently behind the nearest of the unsuspecting assassins who stood perhaps the tiniest hair out of line with the rest of the formation.

It seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, though in retrospect half of one minute may have passed from start to finished.

The shadow shifted almost imperceptibly, tightening up like a predator tensing before the strike, then coalescing into the menacing shape of a man or perhaps the shadow of a man, who was, in either case, a killer. Noticing the subtle movement a moment too late, the unwitting assassin managed no more than a strangled cry as a powerful hand wrenched his head to one side in perfect concert with the other hand that plunged a long dagger into the exposed side of his neck. Without hesitating the shadow/killer pulled back the knife and circled toward the man to his right, thrusting the dagger with mechanical ferocity underneath his second victim’s chin, effectively severing his ability to yell for help. Before the stunned assassin could summon enough wits to realize that the dark shape was something more than simple shadow his corpse lay on the ground with a blade stuck firmly in its throat.

The two remaining black wolves had finally recovered sufficiently from their initial shock to get weapons pointed in the shadow/killer’s general direction, a moment too late. The darkly-cloaked figure had wasted no time in crossing the distance and in one smooth motion wrapped his thickly muscled arm around the nearest assassin’s neck, pulling him down to his knees while ripping the crossbow from his grasp and leveling it one-handed at the last attacker still standing, whose high-peaked helmet identified him as the leader.

Lupan, master-assassin and captain of the Black Wolves, raised his weapon – a motion he had made a thousand times and more – to meet that of his target. In the split-second between thought and action the professional in him knew with utter finality that the next shot would also be the last, either to save his own life or to end it. With a cool confidence bought with the lives of countless men, women and children whose blood was on the black wolf’s hands, he aimed his quarrel at the glint of moonlight reflected in the whites of the shadow/killer’s eyes – the only part not shrouded in darkness – and fingered the trigger.

The final shot was loosed. Lupan fell, shaft protruding conspicuously from his helmet. The shadow/killer’s bolt, shot with impossible precision, had made its way through the tiny left eyelet in Lupan’s visor and ended the assassin’s struggles forever.

A loud crunch echoed from the darkness and the last of the black wolves fell from the shadow/killer’s embrace, neck bent at the kind of impossible angle that heralded a quick and merciless death. Kast stepped into the pale light of the moon, shadowy cloak melting into the night.

Having watched in abject horror as his deadliest servants met their ends, Bey decided it wsa time to leave and started to back away as quickly as he could without making any noise and hoped Vasper and his hulking bodyguard would be too distracted to notice that he had quietly slipped away. Hope failed as the fleeing count, clumsy from panic, slipped on a patch of ice and made loud commotion out of recovering his feet. Vasper turned in Bey’s direction, whispering syllables steeped in a dark malignance and the count fell, feet torn from underneath, sprawling backwards as though he had tripped over some invisible cord suspended across his path. Bey hit the ground hard and sat stunned for a moment before scrambling to his hands and knees and skittering frenziedly to the wall where he clawed his way desperately to his feet and made a run for the door.

“NZH AKH PHRGZH!” Vasper hissed - evil words of command spoken in an evil tongue. The very fabric of the night itself answered his call, surrounding its master in a skin of devious sedition that draped itself around him in a shadowy nimbus born of maleficent domination and malicious hate. A single hand, wreathed in umbral tongues of gloomy shade, reached out toward Bey’s fleeting form as if to snag the absconding nobleman through the air. “THRM A KRIEZH!” Vasper’s outstretched fingers clenched into a claw, grasping at the dark energies that came into being at the sorcerer’s call. Bey let out a muffled groan as something not quite visible slammed into him from behind, throwing him to his knees as a fluid mass of writhing tendrils seemed to spring from the fabric of the shadows, wrapping themselves around his feet and ankles. Tendrils spiraled upwards, the groping fingers of a dark and twisted mind, binding legs, torso and arms in an inky blackness that seemed no more tangible than a wisp of smoke yet held him more tightly than steel.

The count’s desperate struggles only made his situation worse as the evil bonds tightened the more he fought against them. Within moments Bey was left fastened to the floor, unable to move or indeed take more than the smallest breath.
“You should look me in the eyes when I speak to you, count. Or did your father not teach you that before you snuffed him out in his sleep?” Vasper said, filling Bey’s limited field of vision with his darkly booted feet. “I guess it is up to me to help you with that.”

Vasper made a subtle gesture with his outstretched hand and Bey’s body was snapped suddenly upright and pulled against the nearby wall with a dull thud. Fastened tightly to the wall with his arms across his chest, it was all the beleaguered count could do to lift his head; moving the rest of his body was clearly out of the question. Bey looked into the face of his nemesis and found his vision irresistibly captured by eyes possessed of a darkly supernatural power that radiated outward in spidery black lines from iris to sclera. Kast stood beside his master; a figure made no less intimidating for all that the thane overshadowed him.

“Devilry of Anak!” Bey cried, spitting in Vasper’s face, “gods-damn the both of you!”

Kast’s steel-clad fist struck the hapless count backhandedly across the face, driving the breath from his lungs and spattering blood on the wall beside him. “You won’t get away with this, Vasper, “ Bey said through bloody teeth, head hanging limply to the side, “you’ll reap the reward you’re due, mark me.”

Vasper grasped Bey by the hair and lifted up his rapidly bruising face, “Despite my best efforts to shut you up, you just will not stop talking.” He let his captive’s head fall back onto his chest. “Well if you insist on prattling on you can at least say something useful. You can start by telling me whom you are working with. Is it Madray? And Vizina, perhaps? Who else is a part of this impotent little conspiracy?”

Bey looked defiantly at Vasper and clamped his mouth tightly shut.

Far from being angry, Vasper seemed amused at Bey’s resistance and gave his bodyguard a knowing look before responding. “If I interpret your silence correctly, this is your way of saying that there is no way I will ever get you to open your mouth. Am I correct?” Bey continued to glare but said nothing. “How entirely predictable you are, my dear count. I am almost disappointed.”

Vasper’s shadowy covering slithered over him, hideously serpent-like, making his seditious smile seem all the more dark and depraved. If the captive count shivered in disgust – at least he would have, were he capable of movement.

“What was it you said before? That I should bow to my master? It is long since time that you were educated about the true gravity of the position you now find yourself in.” Vasper said, half whispering and half hissing in Bey’s ear. “I will show you who the real master is.”

Vasper raised his right hand and waved the clenched fingers upwards, beckoning the shadows to rise. He spoke under his breath in a tone that was soft, though the words were evil. Black coils of shadow curled about the helpless count’s neck and pulled his head upright, converging over his mouth. Bey’s eyes widened in unbelief as the evil fingers pried at his lips, forcing their way inside. He struggled with all his might, shaking his head frantically from side to side trying desperately to dislodge the searching tendrils. After a brief struggle Bey’s jaws could fight no more and came violently open, accompanied by a sharp gasp. The shadows insinuated themselves viscously into the frightened man’s mouth and pulled it open it open wide.

Vasper took the long dagger from his bodyguard’s hand and slid the blade smoothly between Bey’s disjointed jaws, the razor-sharp edge nestled between the front teeth and keen tip all but tickling the back of his throat. Bey’s eyes widened in unabashed terror, knowing that his very fate now rested on the whim of an evil madman who could end his life with a simple of jerk of the wrist.

Vasper grinned cruelly. “I was thinking,” said the madman, “seeing how you have invested so much of your time and energy into learning about my private affairs through second-hand sources, that perhaps what you need to truly understand your foe is a little first-hand experience. Would you like that?” The count’s sudden pallor indicated that he would not.

Vasper licked his lips in anticipation of the fulfillment of some perverse desire and leaned in to whisper in Bey’s ear. “You know I can almost feel it in my mind – the abominable depths of your despair and excruciating heights of your pain as I dedicate your suffering to the indulgences of the one who commands the principalities of the underworld.” The shadowy bonds pulsated over their prisoner’s body, contracting and relaxing in a repugnant caress. Bey felt sick and felt bile rising in his throat. If the requisite organs had been able to perform their function he would have emptied his stomach and been glad of it.

“Roughly would I bind you to Anak’s altar, where you would learn the true meanings of agony and isolation. The singing of the blade severing tendon and bone would be the sweetest of music to his ears - your ceaseless cries a symphony of delight.” The grin became a twisted scowl, rife with sinister intent. Bey shut his eyes, happy at that moment to be paralyzed lest the violence of his trembling should drive home the blade.

“But there are more subtle ways to torture a person.” Vasper continued, “Ways not only to inflict pain and fear, but to inspire hopelessness, desolation, self-loathing. For it is in these things that lord Anak truly thrives. And after the cutting and the breaking and the maiming were complete, you would be left to rot upon the cold, moist floor – formless shamble of humanity left without a leg to stand on or an arm with which to drag yourself – long drawn meal for the slimy crawling things that live in the cracks and crags beneath the lowest chambers of Anak’s chapel.

“And you would live, stubborn fool that you are, with nothing but the squalid dampness that gathers between the floor stones to sustain you. Then, when your hunger had reached its uttermost peak a table would be set beside you and laden with all manner of the savoury delicacies of home. Every day the feast would be laid anew to tempt you with its sights and smells while sitting just out of your reach. And so your torment would be the worse, until finally your body would succumb to the bitter grip of starvation or perhaps the loss of too much of your precious flesh to the hungry denizens of that dismal place.”

Vasper leaned back, hungry look in his eyes, to regard the pathetic visage of the count and allow time for his words to sink in. Bey now wished desperately for some way to regain some measure of movement so that he might concentrate all his will upon the end of Vasper’s dagger and so end the nightmare that had not yet even begun. He counted it true sorrow that no such relief was availing. Vasper’s grip on the knife tightened as he looked into the count’s eyes.

“It would be a fitting end for a pitiful schemer like you, nipping at the heels of greatness,” said the thane with an intensity that echoed in the squeezing of his shadowy servitors, forcing the breath out of their captive. After a moment, Vasper’s expression softened to convey a deep and regretful longing. He pulled back the blade from Bey’s mouth, which closed slackly as the shadows retracted.

“Count yourself lucky,” said Vasper, “that I have more pressing uses for you. More is the pity.” The clawed hand relaxed, releasing its power over the shadows and Bey was loosed from his uncaring bonds. He landed roughly on his feet and collapsed prostrate onto the ground unable to summon strength enough even to rise to his hands and knees while he retched.

Having retched until he could retch no more, the once-proud count was lifted unceremoniously to his feet by powerful hands and forced to move. “Start walking, dead man,” Kast growled, “or I’ll rip your bloody head off and sprinkle your blood on the corpses of your little ones.”

Vasper smiled back at Bey as he approached the door into the hall, “Time to make an example out of you.” He said triumphantly.