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“How do you endure it?” Letifer asked, gesturing to the cloaked warrior’s now bandaged wrist, as the two trudged away from Belfennse.
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She answered him, “I may choose to ignore my pain when I see fit, but to be spared of it completely is rare. It is a rarity you possess my lord.”
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As the two trudged on, Letifer asked, “Why do you call me that?”
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“You are a knight, are you not?” The woman in the cloak responded.
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“I was a knight. In the time when I was anything besides a dead man.”
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She turned to him, “You are the same man now as you once were. That is why they hunt you.”
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“I am no different than the Rott-Kin.”
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“The Rott-Kin are returned as beasts, my lord, driven only by hunger and the will of their master. Your will is your own, so too are your desires.”
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There was a moment of silence following that.
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“Should you insist on my former title, by what name do I know you?” Letifer asked.
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The fighter was silent for a moment.
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“Halyenne.” she answered.
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Letifer responded, “In that case, Halyenne, perhaps you could disclose our destination.”
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“I was tasked to deliver you to Fereldin, where my liege awaits us.”
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“Your liege?” Letifer asked.
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“You will meet him in due time.” Halyenne answered.
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“I suppose I’ll have to take your word.”
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It was rather an unsuitable place, for his purpose. It was dim, and cluttered. And it was certainly no boon, that Aleric had practised this art scarcely through the decades past.
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He’d received word from his hand, which now, was a rather ironic title. Word of success, yes. But also of a need for labour. Labour that he now commenced.
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Upon the table in the Inn’s wine cellar was a mound of red and pink, standing like a beaten down mountain. Beside it was an assortment of bones. When practised correctly, sarcomancy was a powerful tool, capable of great things. It had served him well in ages past. And as he moulded the flesh, kneading it with his hands, his mind wandered to the great fields of gore. Streams of blood in the orange sand, flesh hewn and torn from the bone.
They plagued him through his years, and likely they would continue to do so, long after the end. For he’d learned in his time, that death is rarely the end. There are far worse fates, but none better.
He spent days on it, after all it was his passion. Carefully analysing the measurements, adjusting for the possible insertion of bones, and of course, refining the porcelain.
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But bodily sorcery was not his only talent. He was a man of science, to some degree. Specifically, that of the mechanical, and chemical sort. The frame was built of steel, and would remain rather durable. Having inserted it into the product, Aleric decided to add an additional boon to the design: a layer of leather, shallow in the flesh, to protect the essential structures even further.
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It was a day after the product was complete, that she did finally arrive, with their quarry in tow. He went to meet them, in the dead of night, where those who ever watched would be blinded, if only a slight bit. He knew it to be a fool’s errand, having known full well that they knew of his dealings in the dark, though he feigned ignorance. No, it brought him a certain comfort, going about his deeds in the shadows. Like a lad, hiding beneath a quilt. A false sense of security, that deep in his mind, was known to be folly.
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Thus, he strode out to meet them in the shadowy streets.
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“My liege will meet us here.” Halyenne stated, as she and Letifer stopped within an alleyway, having discreetly entered the capital city of Malekott.
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“Good.” he spoke softly, having nothing more to say.
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The face of the shadow was one he found oh so familiar. It was strange, actually. Many who live speak of feeling a warmth in the comforting glow of the light. Just as he now, could feel the dark. There was no warm glow. Nor was it a frigid grasp, as he’d felt in his final moments. Rather, it was lukewarm, to a fraction of a degree. So much so, that he could not discern where his hand would end and the air began. It was as though he were a part of it, like he’d melted into it. A single drop of water in a black ocean. And for that, he felt an iota of pity for the living. They had their warmth, yet he needed none. He had his waters.
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It was then that the footsteps echoed in the remains of his ears. And so too, did a voice.
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“Halyenne. A relief it is to meet your arrival.”
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Letifer knew this voice. It was raspy, and almost groaning. Yet also dignified, and soft-spoken. It was the voice of the Earl Dascule.
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“My lord.” Halyenne responded, taking to a knee, “It is my honour to bring you Sir Letifer of house Mourse.”
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Letifer was quick to join her at a knee. Though the laws of life no longer ruled him, the laws of the living did. And some part of him deep within sought to maintain even an iota of chivalry. In fact, it helped him to retain his sanity. To know he had not lost whatever of himself remained.
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“Sir Letifer. You are well met, and I am glad to find you in safety.” The Earl stated welcomingly, as he turned to the phantom.
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As Letifer stood to greet the man, he quietly stated, “Not but Letifer, my liege. I am no lord.”
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The Earl turned to him, “A knight falls, and is remembered as just that. Even through death, he is a knight even still.”
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“As you wish, my lord.”
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“With all respect due, my liege,” Halyenne began, “I would suggest moving to somewhere more private.”
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“Quite right.” Dascule replied, “I’ve made arrangements of course. Come, follow.”
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The Earl led the two through the cobblestone streets, blackened under the blanket of the night, but infrequently illuminated by the crescent moon, and the occasional smouldering flambeaux. Until at last, they came upon an inn, not a light in the house.
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Taking the still dimly glowing lantern from the post outside, the ageing vassal led the two into the alleyway beside the inn, where lay the entrance to its wine cellar.
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Once inside, the Earl lit several torches, illuminating the casks of wine upon the shelves. In the middle of the room was a blood stained table, with cots located near the walls.
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“Now, we’d best begin work on that hand.”
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Letifer watched for the next hour, as the Earl unwrapped a severed hand, and began the process of sarcomany. It was something that he had not seen in his living years, as far as he knew. It seemed a painful process, as well. Having to peel back the flesh, in order to attach the steel frame to the bone. The only sorcery Letifer seemed to witness, was the seemingly magical ability to sustain such pain. That was before the wrist had been stitched. It was then, that Dascule began his true art. It was then that by some dark ways, the flesh melded together, which seemed a painful process in itself. The flesh, grinding itself on either end of the stitch, as though it were a link of worst, only to swirl around the bone with a sickening and audible sound. Eventually, the grotesque deed was done.
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“I do apologise that I was unable to procure organic matter for the bone structure. But, the steel should be more durable. Should you desire, we may be able to replace it, once Lucretia arrives.” The Earl explained.
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“My thanks to thee, my lord.” Halyenne replied, as she experimented with the movements of the new appendage, “You sent word to the Lady?”
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“Indeed. Now, I really must be going. I’d hope not to raise suspicion in my absence.” Dascule stated.
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“Of course,” Halyenne responded, “Discretion is a rather precious commodity as of late.”
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Letifer had no words for either of the two. He simply lay there, upon the straw cot. Hoping desperately for the sleep that would never come. The sleep he hadn’t had since he fell.
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