Legends of Belariath
Skye
Haunted
Inside of a tree in the forest surrounding a certain inn in Belariath, there lie several written records detailing the life of a young thief by the name of Skye. This is one of those records...
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A cool breeze blew through the forests surrounding the Lonely Inn, giving the day a pleasant atmosphere, just perfect for someone like Skye. As he walked along the path, he let his gaze wander across different trees, taking in the shape of specific leaves, the sound of insects living their lives, and the smell of a recent rainfall. All of it seemed to foreshadow another day of quiet bliss, a rarity in Skye's life. He began to think about his double life, and wondered if it was possible to actually live such a thing indefinitely.
Suddenly, from the shadows of the woods, a single form stepped out onto the path, directly in front of Skye some thirty feet ahead. Skye froze, reflexively taking up a defensive posture, his dagger not drawn yet though. From his spot, Skye could only make out the shape of his intruder, not any details.
"Who are you?" Skye called out to the form. In response, he heard a soft laugh. Skye's mind raced as it tried to put all the pieces of this puzzle together. Who wanted him dead, why did they want him dead, and why the hell was this person laughing. From the recesses of his memory, another puzzle suddenly came to light. There was something...familiar about that laugh. His mind brought it to light within a matter of seconds, and Skye looked at the form with a mask of horror.
"No...you survived? How? There was no way." As Skye continued to ramble, the form stepped into a patch of light, revealing a young man of about twenty-five or so. His chocolate brown curls tried to fly in the breeze, but the shortness of them prevented it. His emerald eyes gazed long and hard at Skye, trying to bore their way into his very soul. The black tunic and trousers draped around his lithe, yet muscular frame bore the symbols of a group Skye had not faced in years, a group Skye had tried to forget about since his last encounter...
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"So you see you two, I need that gauntlet! If you manage to bring it back, I'll double your wages!" The scrawny, emaciated man in robes coughed a wet, hacking cough as the two young men in front of him took a couple of steps back. They looked at each other and shrugged at the same time. This brought about a smirk from both of them as they returned their attention to the man in robes.
"Sir, you have nothing to worry about," the taller one of the pair spoke up, "we'll get the gauntlet before that cult gets their grubby little paws on it. Just have the money waiting for us when we get back."
The shorter one nodded quietly, a calm, collected smile on his face. The two didn't bother to wait for the robed man to reply as they turned and exited his chambers.
A few hours later, the two men traveled down a forest path, smaller than the main road that they had abandoned an hour or so ago. The shorter one suddenly spoke up, "Hey Chris, you really think there's gonna be some kind of blood cult trying to get this gauntlet too?"
The taller one looked back and shrugged, "I don't know, but you know the rules. It's better to assume that they'll be there Skye."
"Yeah, I know, but I didn't think blood cults even existed." Skye kicked a stone in the path forward, it landing right in front of Chris, who kicked it again, "I mean, it's possible they exist, but you can't even really do magic with blood, can you?"
"Don't look at me Skye, I'm a thief, not a damned mage."
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Skye glanced around the cavernous room, trying not to think about the blood that was running down his face from a cut in his forehead, the warm, liquid trail burning across his cheek and coating his vision with a red curtain, clutching the short sword as its blade plunged into the chest of another cultist. Skye pulled the blade out and turned just in time to deflect the handaxe of another cultist. He'd already slain a dozen of them but they just kept coming. He felt the weight of the gauntlet in the pouch on his belt, it seemed to be trying to drag him down to the ground, but he fought it and the cultists, cutting down yet another one.
"Aaaarrrggghh!" Skye recognized the sound of that cry, and turned to see Chris pinned to the rock wall by a cultist's rapier plunged through his right shoulder. Skye tried to make his way towards Chris, but another three cultists got in his way, trying to pin Skye against another wall. Skye managed to dodge their attacks, but found himself near the exit, farther away from Chris.
"Go on Skye! Take that thing and get out of here!"
Skye stood there hesitantly, fighting off yet another cultist, "I won't leave you behind Chris!"
"The hell you won't! Get out of here now, before I come over there and kick your AARRGGHH!"
Skye couldn't see what happened, but pure fear raced through his entire body at that sound, and the silence that followed it, "CHRIS!!" Skye fought on for several minutes more, but he was tiring fast, and Chris made no more sounds. Finally, tears mixing with blood, Skye tossed down his emergency smoke bomb, escaping in the confusion to the safety of the woods nearby...
Skye looked at the figure of Chris standing before him, "How...how did you survive that Chris?"
"They revived me Skye, they gave me their life force so that I might work for them."
"How could you let them do that to you Chris!?"
Chris chuckled a bit, glaring at Skye, "You have the nerve to ask me that when you know full well why? Very well, I'll tell you. I did it because I was afraid of dying. I didn't want it to end in that cave, didn't want all my years of work and talent to just fade away into nothing! Besides, since that time, I've been wondering. Which of us is the better fighter now Skye? Which do you think will walk away today?" From behind his back, Chris pulled out a sheathed sword, tossing it to the ground at Skye's feet, "Remember this thing? It took me a long time to find the exact one. I don't know why you got rid of it."
Skye kneeled down and picked up the sword, drawing it from the sheath. The feel of it, the balance, all of it resurrected from Skye's memory, "This is my old short sword." He tossed the sheath to the ground, moving to a defensive stance, the smell of destiny in the air, he glared at Chris, "Chris, I never imagined this would happen, but I will fight you!"
Chris gave a sadistic grin, drawing his own short sword, "Good Skye. Let's see once and for all who should have walked out of that cave! HAH!" Chris charged Skye, swinging his blade down, trying to cleave Skye in two. Skye rolled to the left, bringing his sword up in an arc towards Chris' neck, but Chris had been expecting it and changed the path of his sword, barely maneuvering out of the path of Skye's sword while his own tore into Skye's side, leaving a bloody trail just above his hip.
"Aaaaaah!" Skye cried in pain as he fell to one knee, looking up at Chris with a look of determination of his face. Chris simply sneered and brought his blade down again. Skye deflected it, crouching there, one hand trying to hold the bleeding wound, the other keeping his alive with his sword. Time and again Chris tried to find an opening, each time Skye knocked the blade away, all the while blood fell to the ground. Skye felt his stamina draining, so finally managed to climb to his feet, retreating a bit.
"So, it seems you still have some fight in you after all, but you're no match for me Skye! You'll die this day, and no one will mourn you."
Skye stood there, vision blurred but his face defiant, "I won't die today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon! I'll live goddamnit, and you won't stop me!"
"Bold words, but you don't have the strength to back them up. Now DIE SKYE!" Chris charged, as did Skye, both giving out cries of battle. Skye charged straight ahead, the tip of his blade aimed at Chris' chest. Chris swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for Skye's neck. At that moment, destiny made its decision.
Chris stepped into the pool of blood from Skye's wound, his soft boots slipping on the warm liquid. Chris felt himself falling back, his sword rising up, making contact with Skye at his forehead instead of just in front of his neck. The very tip of the sword bit into Skye's forehead, drawing a line from one side of the face to the other. Skye had stopped and lunged his blade forward, the point plunging into Chris' sternum. For a moment thereafter, silence fell across the combatants. Then, Chris hit the ground on his back, Skye's weapon still in him.
Skye stood there, breathing heavily, bleeding profusely now from both wounds. As he collapsed to one knee, his combat instincts took over. He reached into his pouch and pulled out some bandages, quickly wrapping up both wounds, though he knew he'd need a healer soon. Skye looked at Chris, who it seemed was slowly expiring, his breathing slowing, blood leaking from the stab wound. Skye couldn't help but wonder about the anticlimactic ending to their partnership. Unable to hold out much longer, Skye continued down the road towards the inn, leaving Chris to the fate that had been waiting for him since that day long ago...