Fingering a terrible gash on his brow, he studied the twisted amulet, its surface pitted as if by acid, the black gemstone dead and cold, never to give its mysterious light again. He recognized alchemy when he saw it. And a fine display it had been, showing the skill of a true master. Such an affront against his person, and the object he had desired, was worthy of not simple revenge, but of painful retribution, perhaps even prolonged death. The question was, who had destroyed what he so long sought? Nesaea? Rathe? Both of them together? In the end, it did not matter, for both would most certainly pay.
He glanced at the man who had come into his chamber some time before. So quiet and still he was, Jathen had almost forgotten the man was keeping the shadows company in one corner. In truth, he was as much a part of the darkness as it was of him.
Jathen said, “Being a man with your fine talents, I’m sure you will find him. As such, I have a proposition that may interest you.”
“I am already obligated to one course,” the man answered, voice a file rasping over bone.
“What I require makes no change in your plans, save, perhaps, the route by which you return.”
The man considered. “There will be a price.”
“There always is, yes?” Jathen upended a leather sack, spilling out ten fat roundels of gold. “Twice again as much, should you return here with the heads of Rathe and his wench, so that I might piss on them. Afterward, you can take them to this King Nabar.”
The man’s pause was longer this time. “Agreed.”
Jathen pushed the tip of his finger against the ruined Wight Stone. “I’d like to study the magical device of yours, the one that lets you become one with darkness.”
The man did not move. “You would have to kill me, which I would never allow.”
“Oh, well, there is no need of such talk. We are friends, after all, yes?”
The man leaned forward, his face a mask of swirling black. He smiled. At least, Jathen thought he did. “No, Brother Jathen, we are not friends. Not at all,” and in a whirling flourish, he melted into the shadows at his back.
About James
My name is James, and I live in a fantasy world. Okay, not really, but I write about them. It’s Stephen King’s fault. I read The Talisman when I was thirteen, and I’ve lived in my fantasy world ever since. As soon as I finished that book, I was hooked. I knew I was going to be a writer. Of course, someone forgot to inform life about my plans, so I’ve had several different jobs. I proudly served in the US Army, spent a year as a long-haul truck driver with my wife (who is also my high-school sweetheart), and I attended the University of Montana. While I was there I enrolled in a creative writing course, and I couldn’t resist the call of writing any longer. Next thing I knew, words started to flow and worlds were born. Now I live and write in Montana with my wife and my bodyguard, a Mini-Schnauzer named Jonesy. I also eat copious amounts of chips and salsa :)
Life is good!