Three: Entanglement

THREE:
Entanglement

Arden Mernith marched down the deserted streets of Galewind. It must have been nearly midnight. The full moon hung overhead, and the chill wind buffed his vestments about him, although the coolness of the night air seemed a trifle thing compared to the vacuum of warmth that was attached to his wrist. It hurt as well. As he flexed his fingers, he could still almost feel that fool's blade cleaving through the flesh and bone.

The sorcerer supposed he should not have expected his particular choice of prosthetic to have done anything for the pain, although this was much more than that, really. This hand, and the discomfort that came with it, would most definitely prove of worth in the grand scheme of things. He regretfully had been forced to leave behind his former hand after fleeing his former unwitting assassin. Such a beautiful plan that was, but turned all but sour at its climax. No matter. That traitorous fool would feel his vengeance soon enough, yet another benefit of his journey into the depths beneath the city streets.

It was strange. Before now, Mernith had always considered the un-dead rather distasteful, as a matter of personal interest; they were occasionally useful tools and not much else.

And yet, now there was one doing his vital work for him, although he lamented not being able to take on that task personally, a prime opportunity to test out his new asset, but he wouldn't, couldn't, put himself against the power of his former associate. It was simply too dangerous. That is not to say that his journey into the catacombs had been a pleasant one, but it had been imperative that he go in person.

The vampire queen, Senlia, would not have taken kindly to such an insult as being requisitioned by a serf. She was a haughty one, and rightfully so, but she had owed him something of a debt from his services in the past.

Two things he had received from her. The first: a service; she would lend him one of her underlings for his present task, eliminating Ragnas Rolandt, his tool-turned-enemy. Secondly, she had given him his hand. He had no desire to know from whence it came, but he did rather enjoy the benefits. It was better. It made him stronger, more able to carry out his work. He had been accosted by one of those ignorant, yapping dogs in the sewers and crushed the kobold with little effort.

Still, he wondered what his colleagues would think of harboring a prosthetic of undead flesh. Actually, it may have been for the best that they were never informed that he had lost his hand in the first place. He paused at the doors of the church dormitory, pulling a black glove over the icy flesh before stepping inside.

The next day was thoroughly uneventful for Mernith. There were no services held, no disturbances in the city to handle, nothing to disturb him from his study and his well-deserved rest, and he was grateful for it. But late in the evening there came a knock at his door, and he strode over and opened it to find someone he was truly surprised to see - Halknid Redcrest III.

Mernith was rather taken aback at first by the appearance of the warrior. In contrast to his normally fierce and extremely sober demeanor, Redcrest looked extremely disheveled, his waistcoat unbuttoned and without jacket, and he seemed rather broken as he stood there with his hat folded up in his hands. 'Halknid,' said Arden Mernith as he let the door open completely, and, standing aside, he beckoned his guest inside. The two seated themselves at the bar, and the sorcerer waited for the young warrior to speak. The Fist was nearly shaking with some emotion that Mernith could not register- fear, hatred. But his eyes were set, and his voice did not quaver when he spoke.

'Listen, I know that a warden such as yourself must have a fairly robust knowledge of the enemy, specifically their warriors. I want to ask your opinion on this,' and then he produced something from his breast pocket and laid it upon his open palm.

It was all Mernith could do to disguise his very real sense of shock at this. Lying in Redcrest's hand was a ring, made of marble and cut with a simple design. Mernith recognized it instantly; it was his ring. He had worn this ring for several years after taking it as a trophy from the finger of one of the sheriffs in Calophaen. He had worn it on his sword hand, of course, and he realized he must have been wearing the ring during his confrontation with Rolandt. And now it was in the possession of this fool.

The sorcerer realized just how closely he had come to folly with this mistake, although, under the circumstances, he supposed he could hardly be blamed. His life had been the immediate concern then, and not concealing his hand in this scheming. This was a stroke of luck, that the ring had not been identified by Redcrest. He was now a threat, one that had to be taken care of quickly and decisively.

Then a wonderful thought struck him. Perhaps he could deal with both of his foes together, with the same blow. They could be his puppets, placed against each other. But to the victor there would be no spoils, only a brutal and agonizing death at the hands of an unforeseen assassin, the vampire Lyuz.

Arden Mernith began to set his plan into motion. Looking slightly bewildered and intrigued, he slowly reached out and grasped the ring between his fingers. Holding it up to the candlelight above them, he peered at the symbol scratched into the grayish stone. After a moment, he spoke, keeping his eyes on the ring in his hand.

'Yes, Redcrest, I have indeed seen this symbol before.' He cast a sidelong glance at the young man. 'May I ask, where did you get this?'

Halknid replied in a low, gravelly tone, 'It's rather unlike yourself to be so ignorant of current events,' and Mernith noticed that his eyes were not on him, but the ring. 'You should have heard that a young warrior was found slain several nights ago in the warehouse not far from here. My brother,' he said, his voice strained as if with the effort to speak.
         
Mernith closed his fist around the ring, stepping closer to the young Redcrest, and gave him a hard look.
         
'I would advise you not to use the answers you seek from me to enact some sort of vengeance, then, on your brother's behalf,' he said. 'But, as I can already see, that is not going to stay you.'
         
'You would not understand,' Halknid interrupted. 'This ring, and the one who left it, may be more than what you think. It may not be just for my brother's death that I will exact my revenge!'
         
There was for a moment a wild glint in his eyes, but it soon passed, and with it seemed to go his energy, and he sank down onto a seat. Arden Mernith watched him closely until he spoke again, his voice harboring something like defeat.
         
'There are but so few of us now. The line of my great-grandfather is failing. There is but myself and my uncle's son to carry on, now that my brother is dead. And I must carry on. I will not sit idly by while forces are marshaling against me. This may very well be the same assassin who killed my father. For the sake of my sister, even, and the honor of my father, I must do this.'
         
There was a look of resolve in his eyes as he looked up at Mernith, who thought it strangely amusing the accuracy of the young Redcrest's appraisal of the situation.
         
'Very well,' he said. He held his hand out to the Fist, offering him the ring back. 'The man who wore this ring is indeed a knight in the service of our enemy. Ragnas Rolandt. I was sent to spy on him some time ago, shortly after your father died, I believe. I have seen him in his service and have little doubt about his strength of arms, so I must warn you again, not to be hasty.'
         
Mernith watched with interest as his guest slowly and deliberately reached out accepted the ring and, after another glance at the symbol upon the band, placed it upon his finger. Nervous and clumsily, Halknid stood and held out his hand, as if to make his leave, though he refused to make eye contact with Mernith. But it was not quite time for them to part. The sorcerer knew it would take far too long to allow Redcrest to simply track down Rolandt on his own. Mernith would have to step up and offer his assistance if these fools would be dealt with in time. He motioned for Halknid to take his seat once more. A shadow of suspicion passed across the young Redcrest's face, but he obeyed without question. He eased back into the chair with an audible sigh and began staring impassively at his hat.
         
Then Arden Mernith spoke again. 'If you are truly serious in your vengeance, then you are going to need my help. And after all, this is a servant of the Enemy, undoubtedly a powerful one. I'm not certain of Rolandt's position in that Church, but his skill in battle must be quite vital to them. I can make it a priority to weed this Rolandt out for the sake of the greater good, strike a noticeable blow to the opposition here.'
         
Halknid's face remained inscrutable, looking at nothing, but Arden Mernith knew he was contemplating the offer. After a moment, he raised his head slightly. 'Go on, then.'
         
'Well...' Mernith continued. He ambled away from his guest, to the opposite side of his desk. 'I think it may be wise to assume that out quarry may have gone into retreat at his own home and not on the grounds of his organization in this city. Perhaps he knew that he would inevitably be identified by the wrong people. You say this happened in the night, on the grounds, without provocation.'
         
Halknid nodded. 'As far as I can judge.'
         
'Then it seems to me that this was not any sanctioned move by their organization. I mean no offense, but a quite young and insignificant warrior as your late brother seems a very unlikely target to be singled out in such a way.' He paused for the slightest moment, subconsciously expecting a rise from the young man. There was none, and he continued. 'Whatever this was, it was personal. Any way you perceive it, it looks more like murder. I'm not quite sure if the superiors of Rolandt would approve of his actions as such.'
         
'His hand,' Halknid spoke up clearly. Arden Mernith was taken aback by the sudden remark.
         
'What?'
         
'This ring,' Halknid said, indicating it with a wave of his hand, 'he did not simply give up this ring. Brother evidently put up a worthy fight. I pried this ring from the coward's cold, dead finger.'
         
Arden Mernith could not help but find himself offended at the indignity that was being inadvertently thrust at him with this statement. A grimace crept into his face, a contemptful expression that he managed to pass off as disgust. 'Really...'
         
He peered down at his guest, who was distractedly fiddling with the band on his finger. He wore a sort of sorrowful expression, but hiding just beneath the surface there was something else. And there it was: pride. He was proud of his brother for meeting his end with strength and dignity. If he only knew.
         
The dull ache in his arm suddenly became a stroke of agony that burst from his wrist and through the rest of his arm. He flinched, his right side recoiling, his fist clenched. The episode passed as quickly as it had come.
         
The movement disturbed Halknid, who started and cast an inquisitive look at his host. It seemed for a second that he was staring at Mernith's arm, looking past the leather and cloth and shadow. He opened his mouth to speak, but ultimately remained silent, the obvious question going unasked. Regaining his posture, Arden Mernith resolved to ignore it and took the liberty to continue.
         
'So we can take it as a matter of good possibility that Rolandt will most likely be lacking an arm, his sword arm, I assume? This may bode well for us, and twofold.'
         
Then he drew out his chair and sat. From the desk compartment he drew out a small sheet of parchment and a well of indigo ink. After a moment of scribing, he let his pen fall and folded the page along its length. He sat tapping his finger softly upon its surface, pondering, and then spoke again.
         
'There is no need to discuss what to do until such time we have definitely located Rolandt, and if you then still possess your resolve in the matter.'
         
'I assure you, I will,' Halknid forcefully responded.
         
'Well,' continued Mernith, 'we will meet again soon, and you will track him down on his own ground. He lived in Heathrow, the last I was aware. There is another enemy presence there to keep us wary. We could arrive there on the eve of the Harvest. There is some business that I will be required to attend to before then, as I am sure you must, given the situation. Is that acceptable to you?'
         
'Yes,' replied the young Redcrest.
         
'Then we shall have another conference in Heathrow at this address.' He handed Halknid this piece of parchment, which was taken and placed inside the hat.
         
Halknid Redcrest simply sat for a moment, thoughts racing through his head. Then he arose, and with a quick nod of acknowledgement or gratitude he strode past Mernith and to the door. The treacherous sorcerer watched him as he passed.
         
'Beware,' he told Halknid, before he opened the door and walked out into the night.