Demzan
The crippling gates of the town of Azeth lay before him. He peeked at his comrade through his cloak's shadow. His comrade was bound to Rulerstead to deliver the news of a successful mission by raven and by mouth herself. They both parted ways at Azeth's doors; a curt gesture to bid each other farewell.
Demzan lurched his horse into a slow canter as they passed through the gates of Azeth. Azeth – the name had once held great importance but now it was no more than a timid, rural town. Demzan cleared his mind and then filed his minds into elaborate stacks – determining that he first had to find shelter. Ahh! I know just the right place for that, he exclaimed within his thoughts.
He navigated blithely to Delight Inn, guided by a map of the town stamped in his brain from memory. He swung his horse around and felt nostalgia swim to him in gouts as he looked upon the wooden walls of the inn and the sign announcing the inn's name. There were differences of course – the inn had aged, its wood mottled and seemingly damp, the colours on the inn's sign faded. The inn seemed ominously quiet. The doors cast an eerie shadow on its sides. What happened to this once-bustling inn, Demzan wondered in hidden agony.
The innkeeper, Roland, was an old friend of Demzan, and yes by now probably old in age too. Demzan had visited this town when he was but a child and he remembered it crystal-clear that the kind man, Roland had treated him with indifference even after he learned that Demzan was a skinchanger. Had anyone else heard it they would have ravaged his soul or at the least demanded his hanging. That was the past though. The condition of skinchangers is better now, largely due to the Skinchanger Brotherhood that he now leads.
Shrugging the grim thoughts of his mind he entered the inn. He couldn't help but wonder if Roland was still alive? Demzan had always felt a certain duty towards the man since the childhood incident; it would be cruelly unfair if the old man would have died without even once calling in a favour from Demzan. He felt sudden guilt plague him. He should have defended Roland! He should have frequented Azeth more often! He should have done a thousand other things that he didn't!
Half a dozen people were scattered across the inn, yet he saw no sight of Roland. A person waved at him from a corner. It was Bokhal, Lord of crippled Azeth. Demzan did a check to make sure he had kept his expressionless mask on. He approached at the table, where Bokhal sat alone. There were other glasses on the table suggesting that other people had sat with Bokhal and had just recently left.
"Not going to ask, 'what is going in your life' and 'how are you' as you never straightforwardly answer." Bokhal initiated as Demzan approached. A thin, heavily concealed smile escaped the mask upon the jape. "Not changed a bit, have you Bokhal?" Demzan riposted. "Nor have you. Meaning you must be looking for your old man, Ronald." Bokhal sneered with amity.
"And here I am,��� a voice spoke behind Demzan. "I heard you from a mile ago, Roland," Demzan replied without turning. "Don't let me keep you both. Shuu, go covertly talk your secret plans near the bar." Bokhal said and returned to sipping his drink.
"Any drink, Roland," Demzan muttered. "Aye, lad. So, what brings to humble Azeth." The irony in it caused Demzan to smile, fully. He stripped away the expressionless mask. Here my emotions come out in full. "A mission. A catalytic one in truth. Cobardon is going to plunge in chaos. Unlike anything anyone has ever seen before, even you across your long life." Demzan said his tone slowly forging from elated to grim. "Ohh, have to be careful then. Come, lad, see this! My treasure!" Demzan leaned over the bar and saw the hoard of money in the register. A childish glint was on Roland's eyes, highlighted further by his white, withering hair.
"One more month and I will have enough to move to the big cities. I may adopt a child if the business runes smoothly in the big city! But, let's not count the chicken before the eggs hatch!" The childish, eager grin suggested he already had counted the chicken. Ohh, Roland how do I tell you that there will be no big cities near by within a month. They will all soon come clashing down in a terrible war. I can't give him money too; the man has got a large, hefty pride. But, with what face do I shatter Roland's only dream, for which the old man had sacrificed so much. A sense of futility would tear the old man down. He couldn't do that! Better let him pursue his dreams, he finally decided.
Roland brought the drink to him but stumbled near him, spilling the drink and shoving Demzan's one hand. Demzan's money pouch fell on the floor its face wide open revealing tens of gold pieces – a fortune! Demzan snatched it up while Roland grumbled and apologised, "old age has done me!" Demzan a flicker of greedy eyes from a single man at an adjacent table.
Demzan voiced immediately to Roland, "I am terribly worn out and tired if you could arrange a room quickly that would be great." "Sure, lad. Just don't slither away without a goodbye."
The door of the room, within which Demzan slept, opened. A man skulking in shadows entered through it, toward Demzan's bed. The man unsheathed his knife and reached out for Demzan's neck. The robber's hand curled around the neck and yanked the body up. The body struggled for a moment. The thief hissed, "hand me the money and no one gets hurt. Quick where is the money you rich, pampered bastard!"
The neck suddenly seemed to mould under the thief's hand; Demzan's whole body losing structure and turning liquid. The body melted into a mossy goo near the thief's legs. A cold, knife appeared against the dumbstruck robber's neck. "You think you can sneak upon Cobardon's master assassin. Ignorant, mongrel filth! I heard you from a mile ago!"
The knife sunk and bit into the thief's neck. Demzan muttered a spell and the corpse burned to ash which blew away in the sputtering breezes that came in with dawn. Can't leave a mess everywhere I go, he thought to himself as all traces of the body vanished. Must leave now, he processed the words with natural emotional neutrality. Leaving had become a part of him, an inseparable part!
He wrote a letter to Trevan, his younger brother, informing him that his mission had succeeded. Robert and Alicia were dead. He muttered another spell as an unnatural raven materialised; he tied the letter to the raven's feet and let the bird fly. He hastily wrote another letter to Roland, explaining his quick departure. He put ten gold pieces and folded the letter around the money.
The letter's last statement said:
'Should we never meet again, accept my gift, some of my conscience will be eased. I hope we see each other again, one last time.
Regards,
Demzan.'
ns 15.158.61.17da2
