He had never been this far south before. Southern Arn was almost nothing like the rest of the province. The Azure thread dominated here. Spreading its massive tendrils wider and wider as they reached through MireFen and into the sea. The abundance of water and frequent floods created fertile lands that the Arnian’s used to create the largest food economy in Thalara. Feeding the entire nation of Ross and even selling to some others.
Arn was the least of his concerns, however. He could feel it before he could see it. The endless swamp of MireFen lay somewhere nearby. The stick of humidity and the bite of insects already plagued him as he made his way towards it. He dreaded going into that place. It was said wicked creatures and foul spirits dwelt within the swamp. Content to treat with the people of MireFen but hostile to all others. Preying on any poor soul fool enough to trespass within.
He looked over to Zahir who had lost his usual cheer and apathy. His face had been sullen ever since they had been sent on this mission. The mention of the Silence back at King’s Fall had been enough to send him into this state. Martin couldn’t help but feel the same. If the legends were true, stealing from the Silence would pale in comparison to robbing the king. Still, whatever was bothering Zahir seemed personal.
“Are you going to mope all the way there, Zahir?” Martin tried. Zahir didn’t even look at him. Only kept staring south. Martin shook his head. Whatever was bothering him would be revealed before long. Everything was eventually brought to light.
A small light appeared in the distance. Then another, and another. Before long a small town had begun to come into view. Small stone structures with domed roofs, the typical Arn style. Martin looked up at the sky, the moon was still high.
“We should stop, and rest here.” He said, Zahir nodded but said nothing. They made their way into the town, which was still bustling even at this hour. Men and women moved here and there bringing in carts of freshly picked vegetables. They worked quickly and efficiently, with a passion that Martin found difficult to understand. How could people find meaning in such dull work?
He noticed a nearby building with a sign that read “Inn” and felt his stomach rumble. They hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, and though he hated Arnian food, it was better than the road rations they had been living off of. He pushed the door aside and was struck by the sound of dozens of voices. The inn was filled to near capacity with almost every table occupied by multiple patrons. Serving men and women scampered around taking and fulfilling orders. Martin noticed a man devouring an entire roast chicken and the savory smell made his mouth water. He waved over a serving girl who already had her hands full of plates.
“Yes, M’Lord?” She said, looking perturbed.
“A seat for my friend and I, please.”
“Of course, choose an empty one and we’ll be with ya as soon as we can.” She hurried off to deliver the food and Martin saw Zahir giving him a funny look.
“What?” Zahir smiled for the first time in weeks.
“Your friend and you?” Martin scowled.
“A manner of speaking.” Zahir cocked his head and laughed softly.
“Of course, Nahrek.” They made their way to the nearest empty table and waited. Martin took account of the room around him. People from all walks of life were inside the inn. Farmers, soldiers, even the stray minor noble. All talked and ate with each other. The few nobles he saw sat with the dirtiest farmers and conversed like old friends. A sight that would be unspeakable in the northern provinces. The same serving girl came up to them where they sat.
“What can I get for ya?” She asked, her accent a mix of Arn and MireFen.
“I’ll take one of the roast chickens, please.” Martin said. She nodded and turned to Zahir “And you, sire?”
“I do not suppose you have spiced basilisk?” He said. She cracked a smile.
“Aye, just wrangled it myself.” She quipped. “Sorry sir, we don’t get many basilisks round here. But the chef can make you Chicken Amnatra if you’re craving food from home.” Zahir beamed.
“Yes, please.”
“Coming right up.” She said, then turned away towards the kitchen.
“I am beginning to like it here in Arn. They treat me well. Not like you northerners.” Martin frowned.
“Of course, they’ll please you just long enough for you to stab them in the back.” Zahir shook his head.
“You do not trust me, Nahrek. I know that, I am here to keep you in check after all. What I do not understand is your hatred of outsiders.” Martin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.
“I’ve read the histories. Whether they come from the north or the south, outsiders always cause trouble. With the possible exception of Wintermere of course.”
“Have you not also read that Akhmetra fought with your grandfather Patrick Orin at the battle of Kine Pass? Were it not for our assistance we may not be speaking here today.” Martin sat in stunned silence for a few moments. What Zahir said was true, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
“And that should right all the wrongs that outsiders have committed?” Zahir smiled.
“No, Nahrek. Just food for thought.” Martin still didn’t trust Zahir, but he hadn’t killed him in his sleep so he guessed that counted for something.
Two days later, the massive cottonwood trees of MireFen had come into view. Their crowns provided excellent cover for the dense undergrowth of the swampland. The shade provided responsible for the pale appearance of the people native to that land.
Martin felt a twinge of fear as he crossed over from Arn into MireFen proper. Although technically part of Ross, MireFen had earned an eerie reputation. Strange magic, strange traditions, and even stranger people. Those who dwelt here were perhaps the most loyal to their own province as any in Ross. Devoting themselves to it like a religious cult. Their secrecy was legend. Very few outside MireFen knew where any of the cities were aside from the capital, which was required to be known by Ross law. Unfortunately for Martin and Zahir, they weren’t going to the capital. The secret base of the Silence was perhaps the best kept secret on the planet, and somehow they had to find it.
“Right, any ideas?” Martin asked, as he stood under the shade of the swamp’s canopy. The air was thick with humidity, and hundreds of biting flies buzzed all around, looking for their next meal.
“FenReach is about four days southwest of here.” Zahir responded, looking nervously about. Martin shook his head.
“We’re not going to FenReach. We have to find the Silence base.” Zahir turned towards him.
“And how do you expect us to do that? We have no idea where to look, Nahrek. But I would bet someone in FenReach does.” Martin cocked his head, he hadn’t thought of that. If anyone knew where the base was it was bound to be the ruling house of MireFen, the Marshlys. They were in FenReach. So that’s where they’d go.
“Very well. If you know so much would you like to lead the way?” Zahir nodded and began heading down an oddly well kept path through the swamp. Martin followed, taking in his surroundings. The crowns of the cottonwood trees hung overhead, but under them lay all manner of plants and small trees. Black gum, willow, even alder trees dotted the landscape, surrounded by an inescapable expanse of wetland. Martin tried to see any nearby settlements that could have been responsible for maintaining the path, but he didn't see anything. In fact the only signs of civilization were the path itself, and a strange rune that appeared on about every tenth tree trunk along the path. He had never learned to read runes, it was a difficult and timely process, but he couldn't help but stare at the intricacy of each one carved into the bark.
“Can you read them, Nahrek?” Zahir asked, obviously noticing his curiosity.
“Afraid not.” Zahir stopped walking, and wandered over to the nearest rune, before placing his hand on it. The Carving began to glow a soft purple at his touch, then emitted a pulse of faint light that lit every other rune along the path as far as he could see. Some sort of magical force field lit up for a few moments on either side of the path, then the light faded.
“It says, stay on the path.” Zahir said, before continuing on his way.
“Right,” Martin said, staring off into the swamp beyond the edge. He thought he saw something large moving in the mist. “Path it is.”
The sun had set, and inside the dense canopy of MireFen it would have been pitch black, were it not for the small fire that they had set. Luckily, they hadn’t needed to wander off the path to collect firewood as some other travelers had left some stacked nearby where they made camp. They were long gone, but had left enough wood for a few days of camping, and Martin was keen on taking the rest with him if he could manage. It had felt strange to set up camp directly on the path, but Martin feared what may lay beyond it. They hadn't come across a single traveler since they had entered here, which felt odd to say the least. Even when traveling along the river in Arn there had been other passing vessels every few miles. Something to remind them of civilization. Here there was nothing but himself, Zahir, and the swamp. The constant chorus of insects all around them was the only reminder of life. He couldn't help but feel like some strange magic was at play here, toying with them. Zahir sat nearby tending the fire, humming a soft tune to himself.
“What do you know about MireFen, Zahir?” Martin asked, Zahir didn't look up, only continued prodding the fire.
“Why do you ask me? I am an outsider, remember? MireFen is part of your country. What do you know about it?” Martin stared at him for a moment before peering off into the darkness beyond the camp.
“Not much, I'm afraid.” They sat in silence for a few moments, he could tell Zahir was just as uncomfortable as he was in this place. Who would be comfortable?
“You never told me why they call you Master Martin.” Zahir said, peering up at him.
“Master at Arms, it's my title.” Martin responded, feeling a hint of shame.
“Sounds like an honorable title.”
“I suppose it is.” Martin replied, looking down at his feet.
“You do not seem honored by it.” Martin shook his head, he didn't want to talk about this, least of all with Zahir, but what else was there to do?
“My father was already a knight when he was my age, as was my grandfather. I suppose I haven't quite lived up to the Orin reputation.”
“I…” A scream let out in the distance beyond the camp causing Zahir to spin around and draw his blade in an instant. Martin did the same, picking up a nearby torch and lighting it on the fire.
“What was that?” Martin whispered, moving in closer to Zahir and holding the torch in front of them.
“I am not sure, Nahrek. But it was not human.” Zahir edged closer to the treeline just beyond the path. Carefully taking steps towards the source of the noise. Martin followed, torch in one hand, blade in the other. His heart thundered in his chest, he had heard of all manner of creatures that dwelt in the swamp. MireKin, Fenwalkers, some things so horrible they didn't even have names. How did the people here not only survive but thrive in such a hostile place? Something moved through the trees just in front of them, he couldn't see it but he could hear the branches being pushed aside. A guttural clicking began to emanate from the beast like it called to its mates to begin the feast. Then silence like every other creature in the swamp suddenly fell dead. Martin slowly walked towards the area, torch held high. His curiosity outweighing his fear. He stepped to the edge of the runed treeline, his heart nearly tearing through his chest with the intensity of the beating. He took one final step, too far. A strong hand pulled him backwards just as the massive claw struck the force field. The monster bellowed in pain like the howl of a hurricane as the forcefield lit up with vibration. Martin looked up at Zahir who had saved him just in time.
“Stay on the path.”
He didn't know what he had expected but this certainly wasn't it. FenReach was a spectacular city. Great marble buildings rose all around the metropolis, crowned with glass domes and adorned with golden trellises. Deep green vines climbed them, bursting with flowers of every color. The entire city seemed to be one massive structure, a single great marble slab that stretched for miles in each direction upon which grew the individual buildings. He had no idea how the swampland supported the weight of such a thing, but he thought it best not to dwell on it for too long. Stranger still, the massive canopy of the swamp had been clear cut, making way for the golden rays of the sun to illuminate the cityscape. It seemed, to Martin, that they had stepped out of MireFen into a completely different world.
The people he passed by were equally elegant. Pale skinned, and adorned in the finest purple linens and crafted jewelry. They stood with an air of confidence that made even Martin feel slightly abashed. There seemed to be no poverty here, in fact, there seemed no class system at all. Each person dressed in a similar fashion and each home was as ornate as the next. Martin knew that MireFen had grown wealthy off the rich iron deposits that lay in its northwestern reaches. Sold to every land in Thalara to craft weapons and armor. Not to mention the lucrative assassination contracts that they were given from all over the world.
He looked to Zahir who had been leading the way through the maze of marble. Apparently he had been here before, when Martin did not know, but he seemed able to navigate here easily enough. For a moment, Martin wondered what kind of life the man had led before becoming employed by the bank. Perhaps he would ask him one day.
As they rounded the next corner Martin saw it. The FenReach palace rose out of the marble slab like a mountain. Towering over the nearby structures and stretching high into the sky above. Its massive windows were lined with amethyst, the jewel of MireFen. Their stained glass, lit up by the failing sun, depicted ancient rulers and valiant heroes. Frozen in time for all to admire.
As they approached the base of the palace two guards approached them. Their faces covered by cloth half-masks and bodies by a dark glossy steel armor, Fensteel.
“Can we help you gentlemen?” One of them asked, his posture relaxed.
“I am Martin Orin here to see Lord Marshly.” Martin said. The man looked to his fellow for a moment before turning back to Martin.
“Ah I see, Master Orin. Do you have an appointment?” Martin looked at Zahir who shrugged.
“No, but the matter is urgent.”
“I am afraid you cannot be accommodated without an appointment. If you wish, I can make one for you. But it will have to wait until tomorrow as the sun is nearly down.” Martin felt his face flush slightly.
“I am the son of Lord Joseph Orin of the Westlands and demand to speak with Lord Marshly at once.” He said, more sternly this time. The guards didn't budge.
“I am sorry, but I am afraid it is impossible. Return tomorrow at noon and my Lord Marshly will speak with you.” The two guards turned and walked back to the palace entrance, not speaking another word to Martin. He fumed, he had never been refused in such a way in his life. He looked to Zahir who had already turned and headed back through the city, whistling his same irritating tune.
“Can you believe that?” Martin asked Zahir, as he caught up to him.
“Believe what?”
“That they wouldn't let us in!” Zahir shrugged.
“Most people would have been denied even an appointment. I think it is safe to say that you still have pull, Nahrek. If it is your ego you are worried about.” Martin fingers curled into fists.
“My ego?” he yelled, so loudly that some passersby gave him irritated looks. Zahir stopped and turned towards him, leaning in closer.
“Eventually, one of these missions will take us out of Ross and into the wider world. I think it best you check your ego now as those outside this nation will care little for your title or family name.” Martin could have strangled him in that moment, he had never felt so disrespected in his entire life. Though a small part of him, deep deep down, knew that there was some truth to Zahir’s words. “Besides, do you think that Lord Marshly will just tell us where the Silence base is? One of the world's best kept secrets but he will freely tell Master Martin Orin.” Zahir chuckled at his own joke. Martin felt his rage begin to simmer as he thought about what Zahir had just said. He was right, Lord Marshly would never tell them where the Silence were, but if not him, who?
Several hours later they had arrived at the Inn where they would spend the night. Martin had been content to follow Zahir as he had mentioned he had been to FenReach before. Though he did find it strange that they had passed several other Inns on their way here. Making Martin wonder if Zahir had some other reason for choosing this one in particular.
It was no different from any of the others, at least on the outside, and Martin had no reference for the interior either. Though he assumed it was identical, everything seemed to be here. As they entered Martin was struck by just how empty the place was. While the Inns in Arn had been bustling with patrons, this one was almost entirely empty. Apart from a few people sitting in the back corner of the room and the staff.
“I think you will be glad you have me for your companion, Nahrek,” Zahir said, heading towards the bar. A well dressed man stood there cleaning a glass with a small piece of cloth. He stopped cleaning as he saw Zahir approaching and reached for something under the bar.
“Oh? And why is that?” Martin asked, fondling the hilt of his sword in preparation.
“I have connections here. One that is very important to your mission.” Zahir waved his hand and performed a slight bow towards the bartender as he reached the bar. The man leaned in closely with a look of irritation on his face.
“You promised to never come back here, Zahir,” the man whispered. Taking a quick glance around the room. “What if you were followed?” Martin turned around to the nearly empty room behind him, then back to the bartender.
“Followed? By whom exactly?” He quipped. The bartender shot him a look, but then turned back to Zahir.
“I know Kharos. But I need to speak with him, it is er..for the bank,” Zahir whispered back. Martin could tell by the look on Kharos’ face that whoever Zahir spoke of was of somewhat ill repute. The man looked practically terrified.
“No, I won't help you this time. Last time I was nearly killed! Three arrows laced with Widow’s Wail. If my wife wasn't the city apothecary I would have been dead!”
“Well, if you refuse to help I suppose I can inform Lord Marshly about your dealings with the Priory.” Kharos’ face went pale at Zahir’s words.
“Lord Marshly will never speak with you,” he said, but his resolve was fading, Martin could sense it. Zahir motioned to Martin with his head.
“This one already has an audience with him tomorrow at noon. He is the son of some high lord.” Kharos looked at Martin, his eyes wide with fear. Even in a place as lovely as FenReach it was impossible not to tell that Martin was of some import. His gilded robes and Hold forged sword gave that away. None but a noble could afford such a thing. Kharos looked back to Zahir and then back to Martin multiple times. Clearly the man was caught between a rock and a hard place, but a decision had to be made. He shook his head furiously for a moment before he finally stared at Zahir a final time.
“Fine! But this is the last time I'm helping you Zahir! If I even see your face here again, I'll hire the damned Silence myself to have you killed!” Kharos produced a key from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to Zahir, who took it with a bow. “He’s in the usual place. Now get out of here! Get out and don’t come back!” Zahir turned on his heel and headed for the door. Martin caught up with him just as he pushed it aside and headed out into the MireFen night.
“Care to explain yourself?” Martin asked. Zahir continued his stride through the darkened streets. They were lit only by strange lanterns that emitted a soft purple light, giving the city a slightly eerie feeling.
“All will be explained in due time, Nahrek.”
“What is the Priory?”
“Why are you not a knight?” Martin hesitated for a few moments before he answered. Zahir was more quickwitted than he had originally thought. He didn't know if that made him more or less likeable.
“Fine. I suppose we all have our secrets.”
“Yes, Nahrek. But I think Kharos’ secret is one you'll be quite interested in.
About half an hour later then arrived at the door of a regular looking house, by FenReach standards. The flowers that grew along its golden trellis were different varieties of tulips and the marble building sprouted directly from the city floor just like all the rest of the buildings here. Zahir wasted no time placing the key he had gotten from Kharos and jamming it into the keyhole on the door. The lock clicked and Zahir stepped inside, beckoning Martin to enter, after which he closed and latched the door. The room was dark and as far as Martin could tell no one was inside the house.
Zahir began moving several pieces of furniture around the room and then dropped to one knee as he fumbled around seemingly aimlessly for something on the floor. Until at last he pulled open a hidden trapdoor with a minor effort. A dim glow flickered from the open doorway like a set of torches burned inside, and Martin couldn’t help but peer down into its depth. A short drop with a wooden ladder connected to an adjacent corridor, of which he could see.
“You best let me go first, Nahrek,” Zahir said, before stepping carefully onto the ladder. As he reached the bottom he motioned for Martin to follow, which he did. The corridor seemed to stretch about twenty feet before ending in another set of doors at the opposite end. A few low burning torches danced in the slight breeze coming from the room above. Otherwise, the corridor was simple stonework.
“What is this place?” Martin asked, as they made their way towards the end of the hall.
“Where Kharos’ secret lay,” Zahir said, then pushed open the doors and stepped through. As Martin followed he noticed the man sitting in the center of the room immediately. The left side of his face was covered in a white porcelain mask. The right side remained uncovered and was clearly that of a MireFen native. His uncovered eye followed Martin and Zahir perfectly as they stepped into the room, but he didn’t move, only waited as Zahir latched the door shut behind them. The room was ominous to say the least. Odd symbols hung all around its walls which were simple stone and a few small candles were the only illumination.
“What is it this time, Zahir? Or have you come to simply torment me with your presence?” The man’s voice was strange. Some words were at normal pitch while others were low, some so low they were barely audible. As if he fought for each word.
“We need your help, Old friend.” The man laughed.
“Is that what we are now? Friends? And who is this man with you? Have you brought him to kill me?”
“This is Martin Orin, son of Lord Joseph Orin. He will be the instrument of our revenge.” The man turned to Martin and stared at him with his one eye for a moment, but didn’t speak a word to him. Martin wasn’t sure what kind of revenge they were plotting but he knew he didn’t want to get involved.
“Why are we here, Zahir? Who is this man and what is this revenge you speak of? I grow weary of all your secrecy.”
“It coincides with your mission, Nahrek. Nahros and myself want revenge on the Silence.”
“Why? And just how exactly do you plan on taking it? We don’t even know how to get to them.” Zahir and Nahros smiled at the same moment.
“Nahros knows exactly how to get to them, and he will take us there promptly,” Zahir said. Martin looked at Zahir for a moment; he felt even more confused than he had a second ago. Why did Zahir always speak in riddles?
“How does this man know where they are?” Nahros stared directly at Martin, single eye unblinking. He said nothing for a moment, content to simply take in the sight of Martin, who must have been the first new face he had seen in some time. Then he spoke.
“Because I used to be one of them.”
Martin had never heard about anyone leaving the Silence before, of course there was much that wasn’t known about them. Still, Nahros seemed to know his way through the swamps of MireFen well enough. Returning to the massive bogland hadn’t been particularly easy, especially when having to leave such an exquisite place such as FenReach. Though Zahir had assured him that with the help of Nahros they would be at the Silence base in record time. So far, it seemed he was right. They were less than a day away supposedly. Though Martin was starting to suspect there was more to this path they were on than the others were letting on. Martin knew for a fact that FenReach was in the southwest of MireFen. When they entered the country that had come from the northeast. MireFen was a small province, but not that small. It should have taken much longer than it had to have arrived there. He would get the truth out of the two of them, but was content to let them keep their secrets for now.
“The sun will be down soon, we should set up camp,” Nahros said suddenly. Martin looked up through the canopy of the trees above. He couldn’t see much but the sun was still high in the sky.
“It can’t be much past noon. Why are we stopping now?” Nahros had already begun setting up his own tent, Zahir in quick step behind him.
“Things can change quickly in the bog. Trust me I’ve lived here my whole life. The sun will set within the hour.” Nahros replied, not bothering to look up from his work. Martin shook his head and began taking his things out of his own rucksack. He pulled out his tent, cooking pot, and flint and steel. He looked for a suitable position to place a camp fire and found one close to where Zahir was building his tent. Then the thought of wandering off the path to find firewood struck him. The signs hadn’t been specific on what times it was safe to leave the path, so he had to assume that it was unsafe all the time. Whatever that monster had been back when they first entered MireFen, he wasn’t keen on seeing it again.
He surveyed the area for the closest possible place to obtain firewood, and then he saw it. A perfect bundle of logs placed conveniently on the path, just like the first time. He hadn’t questioned it then, he figured Zahir had picked that spot specifically because some kind soul had left the bundle there for future travelers, but twice? That was too convenient. No, something strange was at work here and he had a feeling Zahir and Nahros knew exactly what it was.
“Strange,” Martin murmured. Hoping one of them would take the bait. Zahir walked over to him trying to find what Martin was staring at.
“What is strange?”
“That there is always a fresh pile of firewood whenever we make camp.” Zahir bent over to inspect the firewood.
“Some other travelers must have left it for us. Not strange, just lucky.” Martin drew his sword in an instant and placed it on Zahir's neck. Then drew his dagger with his other hand and tossed it towards Nahros, pinning his arm to a tree as the man attempted to reach his own dagger.
“No more games. No more secrets,” Martin said. “I want to know everything. Clearly you need me to make this revenge plot work. If you didn’t you’d have done it long ago. I don’t want to work with either of you but if we’re going to work together then it’s time we be honest with one another. Agreed?” Then two men nodded, and Martin removed his sword from Zahir’s neck. “I’ll go first. I never became a knight because knighthood is about more than just martial skill in Ross. It’s about honor and duty.” He placed his sword back into its scabbard. “In my earlier years I wasted my day away drinking in taverns, and getting into drunken brawls. Chasing harlots and trying to escape the monotony of noble life. Therefore when I placed my application to become a knight my deeds were measured and found lacking. I was rejected and forced to bear the title of Master at arms, at least until I can reconcile my misdeeds.” Martin walked over and sat down on a nearby log. He hoped his own honesty would inspire some on the part of his comrades. Though he felt the familiar feeling of shame fill him nonetheless. “Now, what is this place really?” Nahros and Zahir looked at each other for a moment before Nahros finally spoke.
“In the ancient days the swamp was filled with wicked creatures and spirits that fed on the souls of men. When those who would become the MireFen found their way here they fought a cataclysmic war against these creatures. Thousands were lost on both sides before the two armies made an agreement.” Martin looked at Nahros who still bore the strange half mask. He had never seen anything like it and wondered what he hid beneath its depths.
“Go on.”
“The spirits agreed to grant the MireFen a place of their own inside the swamp, but the creatures refused, turning on their former allies and butchering many of them. They destroyed their sacred temples and the artifacts that kept them bound to this plane. The spirits who remained gave themselves willingly to some of the MireFen. They still dwell with us to this day. Passing from generation to generation. These paths are maintained by those spirits. They can be molded by those who have access to their powers. A three week journey can become only a few days and items of need can be conjured when necessary.” It was all starting to make sense. As crazy as it sounded, the explanation was the only one that satisfied the conditions he had experienced here. “The MireFen now infused with the power of the spirits pushed the creatures deep into the swamp lands and carved great runes into the trees to ward them away.”
“And what about this mission of revenge?” Zahir spoke this time.
“The Silence were contracted to kill my family in Akhmetra. They succeeded. I would have been killed myself if Nahros did not take pity on me. For his actions he was banished from the order. As you can imagine, those banished are usually killed shortly afterwards. Nahros survived but he is scarred. The practice of becoming a Silence is quite harrowing and losing access to such gifts as they have, even more so.”
“So you seek revenge for your family.” Zahir nodded. Martin turned to Nahros. “And you for your honor.”
“Yes.”
“Good, now that everything is cleared up. Let’s get to planning.”
Around thirty men and women drilled in the open courtyard of the Silence base. They practiced with daggers, swords, even bow and arrow, but they weren’t Silence members. At least not yet. The base was massive, set up with four large courtyards set up in a square around the central building. Some long rectangular buildings sat a few hundred yards off to the south. Which Martin assumed were barracks of some kind. The main building looked more like a cathedral you would see in the Seren empire. The tall, almost gothic, exterior rose high into the gloomy swamp sky. Massive stained glass windows which depicted some of the Silence’s most daring kills. The largest and best maintained one depicted the legendary night when four Silence members assassinated Emperor Claudius in his own bed at Aetririum.
Martin noticed how tense Zahir and Nahros were. Even though they hadn’t seen a single proper Silence. Their heads were on a swivel checking each direction repeatedly for any possible threat. Martin shook his head as he saw a bead of sweat run down Zahir’s forehead and land onto his hand making the man jump. Scared of his own shadow.
“They’re only men, we can kill them,” Martin said. Almost embarrassed for Zahir.
“They were once men, yes, now they are more.” He replied, keeping his eyes on the base.
“If they’re not men, what are they?
“They are death incarnate, the harbingers of woe. The last sight before the final blink.” Martin looked over at Nahros. Supposedly he was once part of the Silence, a full fledged member. Yet he seemed hardly dangerous.
“Well, we have one on our side then. That has to count for something.” He half joked. No one laughed.
“While I maintain some of my previous skills, I have been…severed from the true potential of the Silence. I would be no match for one in combat.” Martin shook his head, more secrets, he was growing tired of this. Now, however, wasn’t the time to press his comrades again.
“Right, we have two goals. Acquire the mask and your revenge. Any ideas where the mask would be?” Martin asked, looking at Nahros. The man had been inside the base before, on multiple occasions, so he would surely know where such an object would be stored.
“In the chamber of joining, being prepared for its next bearer.” The man said, not taking his eyes off the base below them.
“Good, that just leaves your revenge. I doubt we will be able to kill every member of the Silence. So what exactly is the goal?”
“There are ten active members of the Silence at any given time. Most of them will be out on missions in other parts of the world. One is clearly dead or else the mask would not be free of a bearer. That leaves most likely less than four here at the base. Plus the commandant,” Zahir said. Martin still didn’t see the math adding up. If the Silence were as skilled as legend said they were, the three of them couldn’t hope to fight four of their ranks.
“So who are you after then?” Zahir and Nahros both looked at him.
“The commandant is the target, Nahrek.” Zahir replied finally.
“Very good. I suppose he will be easier to take down than a normal Silence member?”
“He is their strongest member by a significant margin.” Nahros said sullenly. “Even without any interference he will be a significant challenge to take down.” Martin was beginning to wonder if this plan was even possible. Even if nothing went wrong, killing this commandant seemed unlikely. He remembered the debt his father owed to the bank. He supposed he had no choice but to partake in this fools errand.
“Alright, well let’s get this started,” Martin said, beginning to slide down the hill.
“So you have a plan, Nahrek? What is it?” Zahir called after him. Truthfully Martin had no plan, he didn’t know the layout of the building and had no idea if they could pull this off. He had to do something however, all this standing around was driving him mad. He would start by getting those practicing in the courtyard out of the way. He peered off the west and saw a large fog bank rising from the swamp, most likely a mix of cloud vapor and gas emissions from the bog. He pushed the flow into his chest and then out through his palms. He focused hard, forcing the air to bend to his will.
The wind began to pick up pulling in towards him from the west. Before long he could feel it pushing his red hair up as it rushed over the top of the base and into the tree line behind. The fog bank was pulled east on the air current driven by his magic and began to settle on top of the practicing men and women below. He felt a few beads of sweat roll down his back. The toll of such a powerful spell as this had to be paid. It would weaken him for a while but he could see the plan starting to come together.
Those practicing in the courtyard began to be thrown about by the wind and had their vision obscured by the dense fog. Practicing in conditions such as this would be impossible, and Martin noticed the instructors begin to herd the others towards the barracks. Before long they were all inside and more importantly, out of his way. He released the spell, feeling immense relief as he did so. The fog would remain hovering over the yard for some time. Hopefully, long enough to complete their mission.
He motioned to Nahros and Zahir and they raced towards the main building. Using the remaining fog bank as cover. They reached the massive outer doors which were made of a wood that Martin did not recognize. It was dark and thick but had a strange glossy quality to it like someone had applied some sort of lacquer. The entire surface was carved, with images of hooded and robed figures standing around a circular table. There were exactly eleven figures and they each stood facing the table with arms crossed.
Martin pushed the doors aside and the three men stepped into the building. It was eerily quiet, no voices, no footsteps, not even the scratching of a mouse. A gentle mist hung around an inch off the floor, thick enough to obscure the stone surface from view. Three corridors sat in front of them one directly ahead and one on each side. Each looked identical to the others. Martin had no idea which way to go, luckily he knew someone who did.
“Well, Nahros, which way?” Martin looked around him at the stone walls. They were shined to such perfection that he could make out his distorted reflection in each of them. No grime or residue dirtied them, as if they were cleaned daily.
“Right to the chamber of joining, straight ahead to the commandant,” he said, though he was beginning to sound unsure of himself. His single eye downcast slightly.
“Lets grab the mask first, then we’ll see about your commandant,” Martin said, turning down the right corridor. It was exactly the same as the other, walls polished to a finish. At the end sat a single wooden door, and as Martin approached it he noticed that the wood was carved into an eerie scene. In the wood he saw a body laid on a stone table, it looked dead, but it was hard to say. Two other masked figures stood near the head and could be seen placing the iconic mask of the Silence onto the body. All while what looked like a wraith of some kind hovered overhead. Martin found it hard to look at the wraith, even though it was just a carving in wood, something about it made him more uncomfortable than he had ever felt.
He pushed the door aside and stepped into the chamber, followed by Nahros and Zahir. The walls of the room were covered in mirrors, not a single surface save for the floor was free of them. In the center of the room was the stone table, the same one etched on the door, and upon it sat the mask. The room, however, was not empty. A single man sat in a small wooden chair at the right side of the table. He wore dark leather armor, and bore the mask of the Silence. The man cocked his head to the side when the three of them entered but said nothing. Only stared, or Martin assumed it was a stare, at them. The mask was completely devoid of any features, it was an ovular shaped piece of metal or polished stone that lay perfectly over the man’s face. No holes for his mouth or eyes, just a smooth reflective surface that Martin stared into. He wished he hadn't. He saw himself reflected there, but wrong, like his very essence was distorted. His entire being told him to look away, but he forced himself to hold the man’s stare. He wouldn't be caught off guard by him, no matter how uncomfortable he felt.
“We’ve come for the mask. Step aside if you know what’s good for you.” Martin said, the man said nothing but changed his gaze to look towards Nahros. The two held each other's gaze for a few moments before the man shook his head slowly three times and then placed his finger against where his mouth should be, as if he was shushing Nahros.
“It’s no use, Master Orin. They can’t be negotiated with. Better we kill him now.” Nahros said, sounding more and more agitated. Martin wished Nahros hadn't used his name, if they survived this, he had hoped he wouldn't have the Silence on his tail the rest of his days. He saw Zahir draw his weapon and raised it towards the man. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and he tapped his foot repeatedly on the floor while he stared unblinkingly at the assassin. The man still didn't stand up, only held his gaze on the three of them.
“Enough of this.” Martin said, drawing a dagger from his waistband in an instant and throwing it towards the assassin. The man disappeared into a gentle mist just as the dagger slammed tip first into the chair upon which he had just sat. Martin spun around the room in all directions, but couldn't see him anywhere. Though the mist began to filter all throughout the room, the mirrored walls became increasingly disorienting as he spun and he could feel a slight sense of vertigo. Zahir and Nahros also spun all around the room trying to find any glimpse of the man, but he seemed invisible.
The assassin seemed to burst into existence and struck out at Martin with two Fensteel daggers, laced with some type of liquid. Martin ducked underneath the attack just in time, then spun to deliver his counter, but the man had vanished again.
“Nahros, you used to use these techniques, what do we do against it?” Martin called, still surveying the room for any sign of their enemy. Nahros spun in all directions, beginning to pant heavily. Great lines of sweat pouring off him. “Nahros, snap out of it!” Martin yelled. “We can get through this but we have to work together.
The assassin came again, this time striking at Zahir. The daggers nearly impacted the back of his neck but Zahir turned and swung his own blade in defense. The assassin backflipped mid flight, as if he sprung off of something and then vanished once again.
“It is no use. We cannot counter such abilities. We should not have come here.” Zahir said, staring where the assassin had just vanished.
“Nonsense, this is magic, and all magic can be countered.” Martin said, trying to keep a level head. Even he had to admit that whatever abilities the Silence possessed seemed to be just as formidable as the legends stated. He scanned the room again, trying to find something, anything to get an advantage. The only thing different about the room since they entered was the gentle mist that hung in the air. He was sure it wasn't there when he stepped inside, which meant the assassin had cast it somehow.
The man appeared again and struck down from above the head of Nahros who was caught unaware. He slammed the daggers deep into his shoulders causing him to cry out in pain then flail his short sword aimlessly around his head. The assassin disappeared again as Nahros collapsed, seizing violently. Whatever those daggers were laced with, it now flowed through Nahros. Zahir ran over to help Naros and the assassin sprung at him from behind. Martin pushed the flow into his chest and out through his palms. A great scythe of wind screamed towards the assassin who vanished just in time. The wind blew aside the fog filling that part of the room, temporarily exposing the assassin again. The man quickly dipped back into more fog, but Martin had seen the weakness.
He pushed the flow into his chest again and then slammed his palms into the stone floor. The room filled with a violent cyclone, blowing the fog out into the adjacent hall. Martin could see the Silence member plain as day. Standing with his head cocked to the side again but staring only at Martin.
“Zahir, take Nahros outside and tend to him. I can’t protect him and fight at the same time,” Martin said. Zahir nodded and began to drag Nahros out into the corridor. The assassin did not attempt to follow them, but began to circle Martin with his blades held in low guard. A viscous transparent liquid dripped lazily off each dagger. Widow’s Wail, if he had to guess. If he was right Nahros didn't have long.
Martin charged in, bringing his sword down from high guard towards the head of the assassin. The man dodged the blow, slipping his head out of the way and sent his own strike towards Martin’s chest. Martin drove his left elbow hard into the man’s skull. He knew he had connected when he felt the pain of bone striking metal. The assassin staggered and took a few steps away but didn't seem otherwise damaged. Only began circling Martin again before launching himself through the air with almost unbelievable acrobatic skill. He soared daggers first through the air towards Martin, spinning his body rapidly as he did. Martin pushed the flow out though his lungs and blew hard. The gust of wind struck the man and sent him crashing back into the stone table behind, causing the other mask to fall to the floor. Before Martin could press the attack the assassin leapt up and attacked again, striking at him with both daggers. Martin struggled to keep up with the speed of the attacks, dodging and parrying where he could, but the assassin never gave any room for a counter. He parried one final time before the man kicked him hard in the chest sending him to his back and then tried to leap on top of him, daggers first. He blew out hard again sending the assassin soaring back through the air, he landed without a sound on the floor behind. Martin sprung to his feet and began circling once more. In the fighting they had swapped sides of the room, and Martin could see the mask sitting on the ground at his feet. The Silence only gave up their masks when they died, but was someone actually able to kill one of them? After fighting this one, it seemed hard to believe, and it was said they usually travelled in fours.
He didn't know if he could beat the assassin. What’s worse, Nahros was dying, and without him they couldn't manipulate the swamp paths to escape. If they couldn't beat this one Silence, they had no hope of beating the commandant. The revenge plot was out the window, it was time for a new plan. Martin pushed the flow into his chest and lungs and then through his palms. He slammed his hands down on the floor and blew out all at once. A great gale filled the room, whipping up his own hair and clothes and pushing the assassin back against the wall. He reached down and grabbed the mask and pushed the flow down into his feet sending him soaring out into the corridor. Then he spun and blew out hard slamming the door shut behind them.
“Time to go!” He said to Zahir who did not protest, only hefted Nahros to his feet and began racing after Martin. Martin was surprised that Nahros could even stand, but couldn't think about that now. The gale would keep the assassin in the room until it dissipated in a few moments, or so he hoped. Then the entire compound would be after them. They tore down the next corridor and out into the courtyard. The fog bank still hung low and they quickly disappeared into it. Rushing up the hill and back into the swamp path. Nahros manipulated the paths and moved them somewhere further away, where he hoped the Silence couldn't track them. Then slumped to the ground.
“I’m fine.” he said, after regaining his breath. “One of the gifts of Silence training that still remains, a resistance to poisons.” Martin saw Nahros’ eyes move down towards his hand, which still held the mask. He had almost forgotten about it. He lifted it up and stared into it. It showed the same distorted version of himself in its depths, which made him uneasy, and for a moment he thought he could hear a soft whisper emanating from within. He managed to tear his eyes away from it and placed it in his rucksack, then reached down and pulled Nahros to his feet.
“Can you get us out of here?”
“Gladly.”