6Perdid let out a sigh of relaxation. He looked around at the candle-lit bathing room he was in, not really observing its vertical wooden plank walls or its lack of furniture (excluding a stool for any use and the tub). The kind people of this house had allowed him to eat, bathe, and rest at their dwelling, giving Decus space in the barn. The boy sunk deeper into the warm bath waters, not knowing when he would be clean again after this moment.
Though, he couldn't help but feel suspicious. Being around the kingdom, citizens nearly never were this courteous to potentially dangerous strangers - especially ones that were armed with a sword and bow. However, this family met him merely minutes after he rode into the town, offering lodging in their home. But, how could Perdid resist when their attractive daughter explained that he would be fed to his heart's content?
Food and maidens - those were his weaknesses. Rarely did he eat three full meals a day. In fact, he often had to steal from markets when he was starving, even if it was only a pear or two. Then there were the fair lasses that he would meet throughout his travels. He was always naturally tempted to pursue them, but being a nomad often stomped these hopes.
Now, this family practically dug into his only mental footholds. Perdid pondered the risk of this arrangement as he scrubbed some more grime from his face. The father could possibly conquer him if he launched a surprise attack and was well armed. The mother probably couldn't best him in a duel, though no one was beyond a slumber assassination. Then there was their daughter; she looked far too innocent to make a try on his life. But maybe -
Just then, the mentioned young lady creaked the door open. Perdid was ripped from his thoughts. He observed her: young, beautiful, and with a kind smile. How could she ever attempt to kill someone? Then again, this was the perfect disguise for a killer, no? "Unsuspected and therefore deadly." The Rogue Guild motto went something like that.
"We were just wondering if you'd be finished soon," she spoke shyly, "We've made your room arrangements - er, what did you say you were called?" This could be no assassin, but Perdid did not enjoy dispensing his name to random inquirers. He awkwardly shook his head, wanting the peace and solitude the bathing room brought before this lovely interruption. Her eyebrow flickered at this.
"Um, okay," she responded unsurely. After welcoming him into their home, he still wouldn't give his name? Before leaving him, she went on, attempting to shed the suspicious tone, "Your horse is comfortable and fed, as well." Then she closed the door. It was good to hear that Decus was comfortable, but Perdid desperately wanted to return to his thoughts. How could that beautiful girl desire him dead - or her family? Not only did they seem innocent enough, they didn't know his identity. Or did they?
Perdid physically shook his damp head, trying to dislodge the conspiracy theories. Growing up they way he did, it affected his acceptance of kindness. He quickly rinsed the rest of his body, making it as clean as possible, then grabbed a towel and dried himself. Trust one and trust all. He mentally recited his personal phrase. He felt that, if he carelessly allowed one unsuspecting person his trust, it would become a habit; he would be giving his life into the hands of an enemy in no time.
He spent the rest of the day, not much more than three or four hours, examining his sword, isolated in the barn. He had obtained this blade years ago, but he never solved its mysteries. Sitting with his back to Decus, he slowly unsheathed the ancient weapon. It looked to be common one-handed sword of ages ago, but it had some curious attributes. About two thirds up the blade length, it became thinner, then expanded to normal width again, creating a brief section of thinness. The thin area wasn't thin enough to make the blade fragile at all, but it seemed merely decorative. Also, the blade appeared to be forged of a very dark, almost black, stone-like alloy in the center. However, to keep strength and sharpness, the edge of the dark blade was made of a sort of shining steel.
The most puzzling of aspects was the black center of the blade. The stone had small inscriptions going up and down the length of each side. Even through battle, the inscriptions never severely faded. Sometimes Perdid would make an attempt to read the markings, just to see if they held an answer to his problems. They seemed to mean something, obviously a long-forgotten script of sorts, seeing as certain characters and letters could be seen repeated and put into groups, like words.
There was always Lost-Tongue. Lost-Tongue is an ancient language that is found on many artifacts throughout the known regions. This dialect isn't used in everyday speech, but is taught at universities and sometimes used in poetic mottos, such as the Vigilante Guild's "Vox populi, vox dei", which means "The voice of the people is the voice of the gods". This goes well with their mentality of interfering with crime prevention and judgment.
Perdid let his mind wander until he noticed the light from outside to be vanishing rapidly. He sheathed his mysterious sword and stood up. Bidding Decus a good night, he left to the main house. The welcoming family was still awake but tiring as well. He went into the guest room, lay his weapons near himself, then got into the bed.
Like usual, Perdid suffered from insomnia in a suspicious dwelling. Once before, he had to sleep in an inn in a rather dark neighborhood. He achieved about five hours of fulfilling sleep, and that's when he went to the bedroom early. Lying awake now, he couldn't help but wonder if his suspicions about this amiable family were correct. There was a debate gong on within his head - go to sleep and risk it or stay on guard? Trust one and trust all, he repeated frequently. Finally, his general exhaustion won over him.
Just as he was dozing off, being enveloped in the warm darkness of slumber in the small, dark room, faint voices awoke him. He opened his eyes and listened hard. There seemed to be two voices, neither familiar, having a rational argument, though words weren't too distinguishable. After a short time, he heard footsteps on the creaky wooden floor outside in the hall, and the voices sounded closer, as well as clearer. The two people, whoever they were, started to grow tired of the other's resistance; they began getting louder, angrier. Still barely clear, Perdid listened to the argument.
"Like I've said before," a hiss-like voice explained, "if it doesn't happen now, we may never get a chance again!"
"No no no," the other voice, a deeper one, disagreed, "Caution is what we need! This could be easily botched!"
Again, they seemed to get closer. Then, a smooth, calm, lusty voice chimed in.
"Arguing again?" a female said slowly.
"Stay out of this," the deep voice replied.
"Stay out of it?" the female kept her cool, "I find that hard to imagine, seeing as we all have a layer to break."
The debate was near the door now, Perdid's arm shot out to his sword, still skeptical that the three people were supposed to be in the house at all.
"We don't need you," the irritated hiss of a voice retorted, "We all have a designated layer because its easier - not because we require your assistance."
There was a short-lived pause before the deep voice spoke again, calm now.
"The boy was never asleep."
Even Perdid could feel the horrible tension that silkily erupted at the conclusion. From the others' perspective, he assumed that their entire plan was crumbling due to their lack of stealth or something related to that. For himself, he realized that, whoever was outside the old, wooden door, were not only plotting something involving him, but also uncomfortable that he could find out about it.
He swung his legs out from under the once-white sheet that covered his double bed. Swiftly slipping off the furniture, he hastily donned his tunic and began to secure his forearm and shin armor. Just in time, the boy hinged his bow onto his back. Suddenly, the door was blasted from its hinges, and slammed onto the bed that Perdid rested upon moments before. He unsheathed his weapon and spun to the doorway.
The sight surprised him. The once-welcoming family stood there, steely expressions. Even the beautiful daughter appeared to be deadly. Perdid released a small breath that contained a jumble of "what the hell" and "for the gods' sake". His sword lowered unsurely.
"Grab him!" the mother ordered. Perdid was slowed by his mental chuckle at the ambition. That aging woman, her older husband, and their dainty offspring attempting to detain him seemed comical to the boy. However, as he was slowed, the girl leaped from the doorway and tackled him mid-air, sending him crashing into the dilapidated floor.
For a moment, after the pain of the impact became less severe, Perdid felt - comfortable? The girl was now grinning at him and her grip on his arms loosened into a caress. She let out a "mm" of pleasure as she looked into his eyes. Her long hair draped downwards and tickled the sides of Perdid's face and she lowered her body to rest on his.
Then, the thought occurred to him that this breathtaking young lady had just jumped across a room and took him down. Nothing made sense. Perdid worked hard in his earlier years to hardwire an instinct into himself. For his own safety, he had taught himself, when the situation didn't make sense, to get to a relatively safe environment and think things through. Without training that into his mind, he would always sit there, potentially in danger, and ponder the situation. This almost got him killed. Many times.
So, sticking to his artificial instinct, Perdid rudely kicked the girl off of his body(When was the last time he got an opportunity like that? Now he was rejecting it. Damn). His fingers tightened around the hilt of his trusty blade. Standing, he gave the room a quick glance. Now everyone looked to be readying to slay him. The two parents blocked the first exit that came to his mind, the door, and their girl was likely to advance on him soon. There was nothing else peculiarly thought-catching in the room: a small painting over the nightstand, a wall-mounted holder for , a thought popped up - a single word flashing into Perdid's head.
Window.
In a flash, he leapt towards the unclean window that looked out upon the empty dirt road. Covering his face with his armored forearms, he crashed through the glass and fell to the street below. He was on a second floor, and jumping through glass is never as easy or painless as it seems. The landing was always Perdid's least favorite part of anything he did. This one was not much different; he attempted a roll, performed adequately, but still felt the thud of his body on the cool night dirt.
Perdid lay there for a moment, allowing the pain of the impact to fade, however sluggishly. He opened his eyes, lifted his head, and brushed his maroon hair from his vision. For safety reasons, he had let go of his blade before landing, and now he spotted it resting a small distance away. He caught his breath, then stood.
As he made his way to the sword, he chanced a glimpse toward the window he had just jumped through. He groaned. Just as he had expected to see, there was blood dripping down the remnants of the window, as well as on the shards of glass on the ground below it. That obviously meant he had been injured. Kneeling to pick up his sword, he murmured a quick "damn them", referring to any gods that continually bestowed wounds upon him in his travels.
"Aw, I knew this night was condemning for someone, even if it wasn't me," a voice said down the road.
Perdid's head shot up to the source of the sentence. There, not more than a house-length away, stood a tall, muscular boy, seeming to be around Perdid's own age. Strangely, being not old enough to be recruited by the Guard Guild, he wore metal-covered boots and chainmail over his torso. Other than that suggesting he was ready for battle, the lad sported a greatsword on his back. With sand-colored eyes, he noticed Perdid examining his attire.
"Oh, allow me to offer an explanation," he began, slowly walking towards the boy who had recently fallen through a window, "I've been to all sorts of fortunetellers. They all say one of two things: I'm going to face imminent danger - one even told me tonight was when it would happen - or that a monumental turn in my life - good or bad, they wouldn't say - is going to occur soon. None of this sounded too safe to me. Seeing as the most recent prediction foretold of tonight hosting the danger, I've decided to stay armed."
Perdid simply blinked, not wanting to speak. The thought of the hostile family popped back into his head, and he shifted to start running to their barn.
"Wait," the boy stuck out his hand. Perdid halted as ordered, impatiently whipping his head to face the stranger. "I - I think that those fortunetellers - they may be right. And - and maybe you're part of my new 'path' or something." He didn't buy it, and was eager to ensure his horse's safety. The battle-clothed boy's face abruptly became unhappy and impatient in his own way.
"Look, the fact that you just fell through that window as I was rounding the corner must mean that you're somehow relevant to this change in my life."
Perdid mentally remarked, none too kindly, about this person's strong faith in fate and its preachers. He quickly shook his head, tired of wasting time he could be using to get dirt between him and the daft family.
"Decus!" he shouted, summoning the horse from afar.
"What?" Almost immediately, the hooves could be heard, carrying the black mount to its master. Decus rounded the corner of the house and slowed to a trot for the rest of the way to Perdid. He raised an eyebrow and motioned with his hand to Decus, hoping that he answered the boy's question.
"Oh, um, I see," he replied, then spoke suddenly, as if just remembering something, as he walked forward, "I haven't told you my name-" Perdid, again, rolled his eyes at his insistence that they were bound by fate, but nonetheless accepted the offered forearm shake- "I go by Herntuk."
Thoroughly interrupting the moment, the hiss-like voice was heard again, this time yelling a command.
"Go to the girl instead!"
Perdid instinctively readied his sword. Herntuk, properly using both hands, took his greatsword out of the few loops that held its scabbard to his back. The long, heavy blade appeared to be forged of steel. Its hilt was simply wrapped with a mundane brown cloth for grip, and had a stone crosspiece. The two waited for something to happen - someone to run out of the house, another order to be bellowed, anything.
Then, it happened. A flash of light shone through the house's shattered upper floor window. Then, so fast they were a blur and couldn't be examined, three amorphous figures flew through the wall, smashing it in the process. The figures sped off across town. Perdid's immediate idea was that they were trouble, and trouble is what he was born to stop.
He swiftly mounted his steed, and started off traditionally, with a "yah" and the kick of the sides. But, Herntuk called out to him.
"Wait! I don't have a horse!" Perdid, without Decus breaking speed, looped back and grasped the boy's tunic collar, which barely protruded from his chainmail. Through both their efforts, he managed to mount behind him. Herntuk wiped his blond hair from his face and settled. Unfamiliar with a passenger and uncomfortable, Perdid urged Decus back on the trail of the flying targets.
They rode through the night, just being able to remember where the figures had shot off to. Perdid directed Decus through the unfamiliar streets, lined by two-floor, shabby homes, until, a few minutes later (seeing as how small the village was), they reached a home on the other side of town. It was relatively similar to the house that he had just left via window. The front door was smashed into splinters that remained at the doorway and surrounding area.
Perdid became conscious of a weakening feeling in his legs as he dismounted; the bleeding of whatever wound he had received must be sapping his energy. Also, torchlight could be seen dotting the streets. Injury and suspicious civilians - two reasons to make this as brief as possible. He jogged into the house.
His head swiveled frantically once he entered the first room. There was a wake of general recklessness seen upon the dull wooden walls and floor; cracks, splintering areas, missing planks, and overturned furniture peppered the path to and up the stairs. A shriek was heard. Perdid gulped, then ran up the steps, not knowing what to expect.
Not shockingly, the door to a bedroom was destroyed, as well. Apparently, doorknobs weren't popular in that town. Taking care to be safe, he slowly let his head peek out from around the door frame. Three human-like silhouettes surrounded a girl, not much older than sixteen years, wielding a somewhat embellished knife as she stood next to her bed. The blade apparently came from a small pedestal on the night table, and it may have been intended purely for decorative purposes. However, when one is confronted with danger, the boy knew, common sense is often lost in disparity with a hint of creativity; this was represented perfectly in the girl's weapon choice. Perdid knew that cheap iron knife couldn't hold off the attackers, so he rushed in, his own blade ready to be swung.
Whoever - or whatever - the silhouettes were, they heard his hurried approach and, with minimal hesitation, made the tacit agreement to flee. They became blurs once more, and flew past Perdid, nearly knocking him over in the process. Assuming they weren't cowards, and they were just tactically moving behind him for a swift ending of his life, Perdid looked about for them. All he saw was the small room, its darkwood nightstand (odd, finding a material such as darkwood here), the now untidily fled-from bed, and a wooden bureau - no strange figures.
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-"
With annoyance and amazement spinning in his head, the now sword-sheathing boy looked up to see the girl stuttering. She held the knife in both delicate, shaking hands, staring at the doorway with petrified hazel eyes. He shot a quick glance behind him at Herntuk, who still had his weapon drawn, but looked as stunned as the female in the room.
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-"
She was still stuck on "what". How perfectly aggravating. Perdid stomped up to her, staring into her frightened eyes from a small distance. That didn't sway her stuttering. Angrily, Perdid stepped back a pace and clapped with all of his force. Seeing as she flinched and took her peepers off the doorway, it seemed to do the trick.
"Uh, do you know what... do you know who they-?"
Perdid cut off her question with a strong shake of his head and piercing eye contact. He wasn't completely sure whether she would ask about the things' identities, their purpose, or anything else, but he did know that he had no answers.
"Do you need anything?" Herntuk slipped in front of Perdid, who expressed his lack of patience with a roll of his eyes and by crossing his arms. If he was on his own, he might be out by now, tending to his wound, not getting personal with a spooked lass. Thinking of his wound, the dulled pain flickered into a new intensity. These two better hurry up.
"Candrian - I'm Candrian," the girl was telling Herntuk. He must have asked about her name as Perdid was mentally complaining.
"All right then, Candrian, how about you stay with us for the night. You'll be safer."
Perdid literally coughed, partly from being weakened from his cut, partly from shock. "Stay with us"? Did he just spit those ugly words from his mouth? First he tags along on a mission he has nothing to do with, then this bastard acts as if they're running a Guild, inviting another to join the party.
Candrian's gaze drifted to the floorboards, then to Perdid's steaming facial expression.
"Is, uh, he fine with this?" she inquired. Perdid rarely spoke publicly, but at times, it was needed. To him, it was now needed. About to spout a harsh "no", he was interrupted by the warrior chap.
"Yeah, he'll be more than glad that he has more company," Herntuk concluded, probably knowing that was far from the truth, then led Candrian out the door. She still was unsure about Perdid's approval - whether it existed or not - and she kept her eyes on his as she exited.
Once the two had left the building, he figured that he might as well follow them out. Muttering "bastard", he stalked down the stairs. Without any convenience of a polite warning, his legs abruptly gave out as he reached the front doorway, sending him falling into the doorframe for support. His legs seemed to have only given up for a second or two, and their strength returned, but it was lessened.
Candrian's dark brown hair whipped Herntuk's face as her head spun to investigate the thud that Perdid's body had made. The other boy recovered from the mild face flogging and he too stared at the horseman curiously. Still leaning against the doorframe, Perdid raised a hand to wave off any suspicions that may or may have not arisen in his new companions' minds.
"Oh, you're hurt," Candrian - who obviously didn't receive the message Perdid attempted to send with the hand wave - rushed forth to him.
He grunted and stared at the ground, trying not to let her see the pain in his eyes. His maroon-haired head began a feeble shaking, an effort to convey "no". He was feeling lightheaded, though, and couldn't manage the usual force behind his rejection.
"C'mon - back into the house," she said caringly. Candrian looked over her shoulder; Herntuk took the invitation as directed at himself, as well, and was approaching the home. Behind him, throughout the village, torchlights could be seen. The residents must have heard some of the commotion. The girl hurriedly ushered Perdid inside, directing him to the ground-floor living room.
He didn't remember much of anything besides being led into a room and being laid down on some sort of rug. There was an exchange between Herntuk and Candrian, then the boy went off to light a few candles, while the lass knelt next to Perdid. His wound was sending a flaring pain throughout his abdomen, causing him to flinch whenever the feeling spiked unexpectedly. He realized that a drop or two of sweat was running down his face.
In the dim candlelight, the girl slowly lifted Perdid's shirt to examine his wound, its position indicated by his clenching hand. Her eyes had an appearance of worry, but not of inexperience with wounds. As the cut was revealed, the motion of lifting his tunic faltered. Perdid was unable to completely view his stomach, but from what he did see, the injury wasn't too bad - it had simply let too much blood loose.
"H-how bad?" he muttered, the most concise way of inquiring about his condition that came to his mind.
"'Tis not as deep as a well, nor wide as a church door," she said softly, not taking her eyes away from his body, "It shouldn't serve."
With this, the injured youth allowed his head to fall back in relief. It shouldn't serve to take his life; that's wonderful news to him. It wasn't truly the severity of the cut, but the amount of lost blood and pain it caused that made him hardly able to stand. However, as he realized that he would be fine, and that all that was necessary was cleansing then wrapping of the wound, Perdid wondered why the girl still perused his abdomen.
He opened his eyes that had closed in the relief of her diagnosis. Was something wrong? Herntuk, who was more visible at the current angle, housed a countenance of fret and a trace of bewilderment. The dancing shadows cast by the unsteady candles didn't make his expression any less ominous.
These same shuddering shadows played along Candrian's hand as it gently lowered itself onto Perdid's stomach. At first, it was only the kind touch of her fingers, carefully brushing against his skin. After a moment of this, he realized that she was not doing this to further examine his injury, but seemed rather to be moving in a pattern above the cut, which was probably just below his navel.
Something at the back of his mind jumped up and nagged for attention. She wasn't being random or spontaneous with this pattern. She was tracing something. Perdid's mind was torn between trying to resolve what the prodding thought was getting at, and simply marveling at Candrian's full hand on his upper abdomen. Her soft palm pressed against his stomach was nothing less than unexplained.
Now, she began the brushing of her fingers again, in the same pattern, Perdid noticed. It was simple enough that he remembered, yet complex enough that it couldn't be random. Candrian's facial expression showed that she was utterly mesmerized at what she was witnessing. Perdid could stand it no longer to do nothing but guess at her reasoning.
Without warning, he sat up some amount. Candrian's hand halted in its motions, but resided upon his body. She now looked up at him, searching deeply into his turquoise eyes. Her lips parted to speak, but she didn't utter a sound. The two were stuck in each other's gaze.
Ripping himself from her curiously questioning stare, Perdid dropped his eyes to his stomach, to where her hand rested. Then, the thought that once nagged to be explored was answered. The marking!
It had been there since he could remember, so it was barely considered. For all of his remembered life, Perdid's abdomen housed a strange design, a marking of sorts. In the center was an imprint of a hand, then various lines that branched out from it in a smooth, curving fashion. Candrian had been tracing these black lines. They were strange, since Perdid didn't ever recollect having the marking tattooed onto himself, but they didn't know that. To the other two, it could have just been any other tattoo.
"By the Six..." Herntuk finally spoke up, though it was simply an oath referring to the six chief gods of battle, beauty and romance, deceit and subterfuge, knowledge, death, and time. Why had he been struck by such shock, though? Apparently, Perdid's own expression showed that exact question, and Herntuk read it.
"I don't know about her," he said, gesturing towards Candrian with a flick of his large hand, "but that - I - that's not an unknown mark to me." Still, Perdid's confusion wasn't answered, so the muscular youth went on. "It's quite familiar to me, actually..."
And with that, he lifted his chainmail and under-tunic to reveal the very same design on his own body. Once he was sure that Perdid and Candrian had seen it, he lowered his torso coverings, almost shameful of the marking.
The girl gulped and shyly murmured something unintelligible. Then, she too, lifted her own shirt enough for the marking to be barely visible, but before it was completely revealed, she covered it again, tears in her eyes.
"Candrian," Herntuk knelt beside her, "what's wrong?" Instead of answering him, she continued on with the basic procedures of treating a cut; she retrieved a bucket of water, a towel, and some bandages and set to cleaning then bandaging Perdid's wound. Herntuk looked to the other boy, a look of "do you know why she's upset?" being sent to him. However, Perdid was unable to answer because he was still nonplussed at the fact that two other people, complete strangers, had the same marking on themselves. He simply rested his head back down and tried to think about it.
Even by the time Candrian was finished tending to him, he still hadn't worked out a plausible theory about the markings. He shook his head in frustration, then stood with a grunt of pain. He had other things to worry about at the moment - one of which being his horse.
"Decus!"
The horse calmly poked its head through the living room's doorway at his summoning.
All right, Decus was taken care of. Perdid's wound was the best it was going to get for a while. These other two villagers weren't harmed; therefore, they didn't need to be considered at the moment. There was nothing that bound him to this town, no unfinished business. Well, there were the three figures and there brief rampage. Perdid figured that he would let the Guard Guild handle something for once; they could use their numbers and brute force to deal with whatever those beings were. Besides that point, there was no guarantee that the things in question still wandered the village's streets.
So, without much reason to stay in the location he was at, Perdid decided that he would move on in the morning. Uncaring that the other two were spectating his thinking - even Candrian in her mysteriously tearful state watched - he began to pace. What would his next course of action be? He could always drift to another town pointlessly, waiting for work to catch his attention. Maybe he would simply check some local bounties.
He never had enjoyed pacing. Perdid performed a quick scan of the living room and chose a low, lengthy couch-like piece of furniture to rest on. It appeared to be his only option, seeing as the rest of the furniture consisted of tables and cabinets. Taking his seat, slouching over with his hand on his chin, Herntuk and Candrian still watching him because they suspected he was pondering something of importance and/or relevance to them, he continued to explore different possibilities.
There was always that Rogue from Reshiik to be investigated. Perdid was a close "ally" with the Rogue Guild, and they had only ever followed through with a contract on him twice (rather, they tried twice, succeeding only once), but that had actually led to their camaraderie. They had a mutual trust and respect. Why would one of them go after the other? Perdid, with a slap on his knee, decided that he would look into that problem.
"Come to a conclusion about something? Planned your next adventure or something of the like?" Herntuk asked him. That boy was a good guesser. Perdid grinned at the other boy's ability to speculate successfully.
He nodded, then, without invitation from Candrian, began to make himself comfortable on the long couch, preparing for sleep. Herntuk didn't appear satisfied.
"Well?" he continued to probe, "What is it that you're going to do?"
Perdid, hands acting as a pillow proxy for his tired head, looked at him.
"Got a Rogue to visit."