Cliff

  “I had a vision of my mother today.

  She came to me on the battlefield, amidst the broken corpses and stench of death - like an angel descending from the heavens. The alluring luster of her radiance was so powerful, it caused me to lower my sword-arm.

  The enemy noticed my hesitation, and moved to strike me down. His ambitions brought him nothing but steel, as I slashed his throat open moments later.

  By the time I looked back, my mother was gone. She has not shown herself since.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2146 Post-Separation (PS).

  “Cliff, we’re here.”

  The shrill voice cut into his daydreams, tearing apart images of a beautiful house standing amidst expansive wheat-fields. Sapphire eyes opened to regard the disturber with thinly-veiled annoyance.

  “I could tell.”

  “You need to get ready.”

  The man, who was clad in intricate steel armor embossed with the Tarwen family emblem, was unfazed by Cliff’s cold attitude. “The situation is tense,” he said, his voice coming out distorted and metallic from underneath the ornate helmet that covered his face.

  “Again, I could tell,” Cliff said, rising from the wooden bench at the back of the wagon. The movement shifted his loose-fitting gray robe, which he took a moment to adjust. A long strand of dark-blue hair fell in his eyes as he did. He promptly brushed it back behind his ear.

  “Do you need your weapon?” the man asked. Cliff’s gaze went to the cloth-wrapped blade that lay next to him on the bench. Faint glimmers of crimson light leaked out from its folds.

  “No,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the blasted thing. “Lend me yours.”

  “As you wish.”

  The duo emerged from the wagon moments later, Cliff with a standard-issue iron longsword in his hand. It was by no means an adequate replacement for his real weapon, but it would have to suffice for now. He had sworn to only draw Rak’shul in situations befitting the sacrifice, and he would be damned if he broke that promise now.

  Taking in his surroundings, Cliff drew deep of the fresh air, glad to be out of the dank wagon. He was standing in a field of varan, the crooked, purple-tinted flowers forming a beautiful tapestry upon the terrain. In the middle of this field stood the village of Borger, though calling it a village was perhaps a bit of a stretch. It was more akin to a small community of farmers, most of whom had come here in search of a more peaceful life, away from the hustle and bustle of Carthal.

  The hamlet remained within reasonable walking distance of said capital city, however. As Borger had no walls or defenses to speak of, its inhabitants were forced to travel to Carthal on every Husknight, lest they risk certain death.

  The village was constructed in a rather simple manner. A wide street ran down the middle, separating the buildings into two groups. A town square had been erected in the center, forming a circle. What few shops there were in Borger were all situated there. Further out were the residential areas, which numbered around fifteen houses or so in total.

  Cliff was standing near the southern end of the main street. A group of frightened villagers waited for him up ahead, their eyes fixed on the steel-clad guards he had brought with him.

  They are scared of them, Cliff thought to himself. Scared they are here to do more harm than good.

  “A tragic state of affairs,” he said, giving voice to his thoughts. “When villagers are scared of the very people sent to protect them.”

  “Such is the way of things around here,” the guard from the wagon said. “These people do not trust us city-dwellers.”

  “Yet they still come to spend the night within our walls on every Husknight,” Cliff said. “Forced out of their homes by corrupted beings.”

  “Husks have been a constant plague in Alwaar for centuries,” the guard shrugged. “Nothing we can do to change that.”

  Hmm… I wonder… Cliff thought, yet remained silent.

  “E-Excuse me?”

  A timid voice pulled him back to the present, his eyes coming to rest on the form of a small child to his right. The blonde boy had short, unkempt hair and green eyes, which regarded Cliff with a suspicious look.

  “This is the child I told you about,” the guard said, gesturing towards the boy.

  “I’m Alfie,” the boy said, a hint of defiance to his voice.

  “Nice to meet you, Alfie,” Cliff said, getting down on one knee. “Are you the one who called for us?”

  “No… That was Granny Mabel. She’s not my real granny, but everyone here calls her that.”

  “Ahh, that’s nice. I bet she’s a lovely woman,” Cliff smiled, placing a tender hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You went to her with your troubles?”

  “Yeah…” Alfie nodded, a sad expression on his face. “Mommy and daddy locked themselves in our house with a strange man. They didn’t want to let me in, so I went to Granny Mabel.”

  “That was smart of you,” Cliff said.

  “R-Really?” Alfie said, a flicker of happiness welling to life in his eyes.

  “Yes,” Cliff continued. “You should be proud. Because you went to Granny Mabel, she was able to notify us of the danger. Now, I get to help your mom and dad.”

  “Will you… really help them?” Alfie asked, hesitation clouding his voice.

  “I will,” Cliff nodded. “I promise.”

  “O-Okay… Thank you. Our house is over there,” Alfie said, pointing to a wooden building on the right side of the main street, some twenty alms behind the crowd of villagers.

  “Understood,” Cliff said, before rising up into a standing position again. “Stay here while we go help your parents.”

  “What do you want us to do, sir?” the guard next to him said.

  “Secure all the exits,” Cliff replied, not taking his eyes off the building. “Make certain no one gets in or out without my approval. I’ll check out the inside.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want someone to come with you? For safety?”

  “Positive,” Cliff said, tightening his grip about the handle of his blade. “I go in alone.”

  “… Yes, sir.”

  A disgruntled sound was all Cliff gave in response, before moving away from the guard and towards the outlined house. An eerie feeling befell him as he walked, yet he did not let it deter him. He had a job to do, and would not allow uncertainty to get in his way.

  The crowd of people parted for him as he approached. Wary eyes followed him, unspoken accusations and palpable mistrust suffusing the very air. Cliff shrugged it all off.

  Arriving at the front door, he took a moment to inspect the building. It was a simple construction; timber-framed with wattle walls. A small window covered by wooden shutters pointed out towards the street, on the left side of the door. On the roof, a thin stream of smoke rose from a crude chimney.

  Cliff placed his hand on the door, and gave it a push. It did not budge. Sighing, he took a step back, before delivering a powerful kick to its surface, splintering wood and breaking the cheap iron lock. The door flew open, revealing a dimly-lit interior that he brazenly stepped into.

  The inside of the house was modest, and bereft of luxury. A set of modest beds lined the wall to his left, one substantially bigger than the other. Wooden shelves and furniture filled the open space, consisting of some chairs, a table large enough to seat four, and a workbench for tools and farming equipment. A sunken hearth had been constructed in the middle, and Cliff could see several pots and pans littering the ground around it.

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  The room itself was not what commanded his attention the most, however. That would be the man standing next to the hearth with his back turned, bloodied dagger in hand.

  The man had snow-white hair, tied up into a ponytail that reached down past his shoulders. He was tall, and had a slim build that spoke to athleticism and years of disciplined training. A crimson robe covered his body, rather similar to the one Cliff wore in most ways except color.

  On the ground in front of him lay two bodies, unmoving and hollow.

  The mother and father of the child Cliff had met outside.

  “You,” Cliff said, causing the man to spin around on his heels, revealing a surprisingly handsome face and cloudy, cataract-riddled eyes.

  “Ahh, Cliff! What a pleasant surprise! I was not expecting to see you here,” the man uttered with a smile, returning his weapon to its sheathe with practiced finesse. “How have you been?”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you, traitor,” Cliff said, gripping the handle of his blade.

  “Oh, come now… Why so cold? That is hardly any way to greet a childhood friend,” the man smirked, his expression warm and welcoming despite the circumstances.

  “You’re no friend of mine.”

  “But I used to be.”

  “That’s irrelevant. The only thing I see you as now is an enemy of the people.”

  The man clicked his tongue. “An enemy of the people, you say? Well, I can assure you that I am no such thing.”

  “Then explain this,” Cliff said, gesturing to the mangled corpses laying on the floor next to them.

  “Ah, but of course! Those two were simply lucky enough to be made one with the Archon. By now, their souls should be at rest within his own, where their minds shall know neither pain nor fear until the end of days.”

  The almost reverent way in which he spoke made Cliff feel sick to his stomach.

  “By the Stonefather, listen to yourself! Can’t you hear what you’re saying? Killing people in his name… At this point, you’re nothing but a puppet of the Archon!”

  “I did not kill those people, Cliff. They chose this path themselves,” the man said, a weary sigh escaping his lips at the accusation.

  “Of course you did, you delusional fool!” Cliff roared, his features twisting into an angry grimace.

  “Look for yourself, then.”

  “What?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  Moving his eyes, Cliff allowed himself to inspect the corpses properly for the first time since entering the house. He was not prepared for the sight that awaited him.

  The bodies lay in a pool of their own blood, surrounded by bits and pieces of a halfdigested meal that had no doubt been regurgitated during their final moments. Their eyes had melted in their sockets, resulting in trails of blood that ran down their cheeks. Their torsos had been viciously torn apart, exposing their chest cavities, where Cliff spotted a pair of small, green gems laying nestled amidst the ruins of their inner organs. Both bodies had one each, and both gems seemed alive with a strange, emerald glow.

  The most frightening thing of all, however, were the smiles plastered on their bloodstained faces. Both husband and wife looked genuinely happy in death, as if their violent passing had somehow pleased them to no end.

  “… Why are they smiling like that?” Cliff asked, fighting down the sudden bout of nausea with ease.

  “Because they are at peace, of course,” the man responded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “You’re lying. There’s no way anyone could be at peace with themselves after suffering such an awful fate.”

  “Oh, my dear Cliff…” the man said. “You think you see clearly, but… in truth, you have never been more blind.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean, then?” Cliff growled.

  “That you are an ignorant fool who believes himself wise. You think you know everything there is to know about this world, but you do not.”

  A small chuckle escaped Cliff’s lips.

  “And let me guess: you do?”

  “No. But I am far more knowledgeable than you, at least.”

  Cliff scoffed at the curt reply.

  “No matter. I tire of this pointless discussion. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”

  “Fair enough. I suppose I shall be on my way then. Now that my business here is settled, there is no reason to linger,” the man nodded amicably, shooting a look at the two corpses before making for the exit. Cliff moved swiftly to block his path.

  “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere, Nathaniel. You’re coming with me back to Carthal, where you’ll explain yourself to Lord Tarwen.”

  Nathaniel sent him a chilly glare.

  “And what makes you think I will come willingly?”

  A cold smile spread itself across Cliff’s face at his words.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

  An apocryphal silence passed between them, the only sound that of the muted commotion from outside, where the villagers had gathered in curious throngs. And then…

  A flash of killing intent. Two strikes, one from a sword, the other a knife. Cold steel meeting cold steel in a loud twang, a ripple of wind trailing close behind.

  “You have gotten faster,” Nathaniel commented with a wry smile.

  “And you slower,” Cliff said as he took a step backwards to deliver a nimble slash at Nathaniel’s legs. The white-haired man blocked it with ease, deflecting Cliff’s longsword with the flat of his knife.

  “Have I?” he grinned, twirling his weapon around in his hand.

  “Cocky bastard,” Cliff grunted as he lunged forwards, sword-tip aimed at his opponent’s chest. Nathaniel side-stepped the attack, and made to slice open the length of Cliff’s arm, only for his blade to slide harmlessly off the metal gauntlet concealed beneath the grey robe.

  “You are lucky you are wearing armor,” Nathaniel said. “Or that would have been most painful.”

  “Says the one cowering beneath the protection of vile magic,” Cliff sneered, before lunging forwards yet again to slash at Nathaniel’s throat.

  The two continued this back-and-forth battle for some time, neither one capable of landing a blow on the other. They danced about one another within the cramped interior of the house, every strike being either dodged, deflected or blocked. Outside, the villagers’ unrest grew in tandem with the sounds of their battle.

  “It would seem we are evenly matched,” Nathaniel said during a small respite in their fighting.

  “You’re holding back,” Cliff said, eyes narrowing. “I can feel it. I know what you’re like when you’re serious, and this isn’t it.”

  “An astute observation,” Nathaniel nodded. “I am indeed holding back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I do not wish to kill you.”

  “You think you could?” Cliff scoffed. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “Oh, do not insult me, Cliff. I know you are holding back as well. You do not even have your true weapon with you. The thing is, though…”

  As he spoke, dark-green veins suddenly bulged beneath the skin of his neck, climbing up his throat and face until they reached his eyes. There, they alighted with an eerie, emerald glow, flaring to life within his irises, his lips curling upwards into a wicked grin.

  “You would not stand a chance even if you did.”

  A shaky breath forced its way past Cliff’s lips at the sight. Nathaniel had grown stronger since last they fought, that much was obvious. But so had he.

  “You’ve allowed yourself to be further corrupted by the Archon, I see,” Cliff said as he strengthened his resolve. “Don’t expect me to be impressed, though.”

  Nathaniel shook his head in response.

  “The Archon does not corrupt. He merely offers succor to those in need.”

  “Hah, don’t make me laugh! The Archon doesn’t help anyone but himself. Just look at those poor souls. Doesn’t look like the Archon helped them much,” Cliff said, pointing at the two corpses.

  “They chose their fate!” Nathaniel barked, his voice mired by sudden anger. “I did not kill them. The Archon did not kill them. They killed themselves!”

  “And why would they do that, huh?!” Cliff said. “Knowing they would leave their son behind?!”

  “They did it for him, you fool!” Nathaniel sneered. “They did it so he could live!”

  A moment of silence came and went as Cliff’s brain tried to make sense of Nathaniel’s words.

  “What? No, that… that can’t be… You’re lying!”

  “I am not. Their son was infected with the Rot, Cliff. There was no way he would have lived past his teenage years had they not done what they did. Had they not committed the ultimate sacrifice.”

  “N-No, that… that…”

  “I have been nothing but honest with you since you came here. I am not lying to you. The boy had the Rot. But not anymore.”

  “How?” Cliff asked, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. “How could… something like this… cure him?”

  “They gave themselves to the Archon in return for their son’s recovery. They sacrificed their very souls to him, so that the boy could live,” Nathaniel explained, regaining some of his usual composure. “And live he shall. The Archon is a man of his word. With the power invested in him, he gave the boy modified life in return for his parents’ sacrifice. If he is not killed or injured by others, then age and sickness shall not claim him for many decades. He is likely to live well into his hundreds, in fact.”

  “There’s… There’s no way the Archon holds that kind of power,” Cliff muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “As I said; you think you see clearly, but you do not,” Nathaniel sighed. “You know nothing of the Archon and his ways.”

  “But… If the Archon truly has the ability to heal the Rot and grant prolonged life… then why did he require the souls of the parents?” Cliff asked, furrowing his brows.

  “You think such power comes without a cost?” Nathaniel said. “Do not make me laugh. As with most things, there needs be an equivalent exchange.”

  Cliff took a moment to consider this. He had never imagined that the Archon would be able to do such a thing. If he had known about this earlier, then maybe… just maybe…

  No. I cannot allow myself to think like that. What’s done is done. The past remains the past.

  “Now, as much as I am enjoying our little conversation… I am afraid that it is time I bid you farewell,” Nathaniel said, causing Cliff to perk up again. “The Archon requires my presence, and it would not do to leave him waiting.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Cliff started, only to be interrupted by Nathaniel before he could utter another word.

  “Ah, see, that is where you are wrong, old friend. I am leaving. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

  As if to accentuate his point, a black swirl of dark-green energy suddenly appeared behind him, materializing from thin air as if he had willed it into existence. Cliff soon recognized it for what it was.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” he shouted as he shot into action, gripping the handle of his blade with a firm hand, before drawing it back and hurling it forwards, directly towards Nathaniel. Sensing the incoming attack, the white-haired man took a swift step backwards, disappearing into the magical swirl behind him, which promptly closed in on itself and disappeared without a trace.

  Cliff’s blade cleaved empty air and embedded itself deeply in the wooden wall further back, having missed its target by a hair’s breadth.

  Stonefather damn it all… Cliff thought to himself as he let slip a long sigh. That’s the third time I’ve let him escape.

  Walking over to the far wall, he retrieved his blade from its surface, before giving the room a last once-over. He would not be coming back here once he left, and so any useful evidence would have to be collected now.

  In truth, though, it did not seem like Nathaniel had left much of value behind. From the look of things, he had shown up to oversee the couple’s demise, and make certain their act of sacrifice went undisturbed. The only thing that was even remotely out-of-place was the pair of green gems nestled away inside the corpses.

  Cliff shot a pondering look at the mutilated bodies, before he walked over to the nearest one and crouched down next to it. The smell was putrid, but he did not let that deter him as he stuck his hand inside the dead man’s chest cavity to grab the gem resting there. It came away slick with blood and gore.

  Hmm… Cliff frowned as he gave it a closer inspection. The gem was no longer glowing, signaling that whatever power it had once held was now spent.

  He repeated the process with the other body, leaving him with two unknown gems.

  I’ll hang on to these for now. Might prove useful later on.

  Pocketing them, he turned to move towards the exit, a singular issue burning bright in his mind.

  Now… what do I tell the kid?

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