CHAPTER TWO

Eye of Svyn

 

I rummaged through a small chest in the corner. It held all of my worldly possessions, being two tunics, a pair of boots and a heavy satchel. A sound behind me caught my attention, and I turned to see that the Inquisitor was dead. He lay like a snapped twig, and a red froth covered his mouth and nose. I pulled a rough tunic over my head and bit back a series of curses that sought to escape, the pain in my shoulder reawakened. I looked again at my discarded coat, charred and tattered, and put on my master’s instead. His coat was several sizes too large. Anything sized to fit Angus’s fat arse made me look like I’d gotten myself tangled in a curtain, but it provided some much-needed warmth, though, and it was a nice coat.

I dragged on my boots, slung my satchel over my shoulder, and took a last look at the torture chamber, my home for the past decade. A smile tugged at my lips as I looked at the two corpses. “Two for the one who waits,” I said in offering to my god, and opened the door.

The heavy bolts slid home as I turned the key. I took a deep breath and regretted it immediately. The dungeon’s bouquet of old sweat and shit assaulted my nose, and I could taste it at the back of my mouth. It would not be missed.

My fingers ran along the cold stone wall as I climbed the steps from the dungeon. When I reached the top, I saw the two guards at the door but kept my eyes on the ground. I concentrated on walking naturally, hiding my pain.

Two guards may not seem like enough to protect against escape. But in the decade I’d spent in the dungeon, there’d been no escapes. To my knowledge, no one had even tried. Even if a particularly clever prisoner managed to get out of the dungeon, they would still find themselves within the walls of the fortress Castralavi. A hopeless cause for most, but my situation was different. While I was a prisoner of sorts, my master’s orders regularly took me beyond the gates.

“Ah, apprentice. What a fine evening to be about.” the guard on the left said.

“Yeah, he’s off to feed the reptiles,” the other said. “Full load tonight too, on account of all the customers he’s been attending. Gonna have a hell of a time keeping it all in that cart of his.”

I flinched when he mentioned the cart and hoped that the dumb bastard didn’t give it more than a cursory glance. But a bottle of spirits peeked out from behind one of their shields, propped against the wall behind them. Their shields were embossed with the swooping eagle of the empire. But these men knew nothing of swooping; they were the chaff of the legion, too stupid and lazy to be on the front lines of the ever-expanding empire. No, they wouldn’t notice if I walked past with a sign that read, “Goodbye, arseholes, I’m escaping now.”

“He’ll probably get that nice coat a bit… messy,” the guard went on.

“Hey, isn’t that Angus’s coat?” the first guard asked.

“Now that you mention it,” the second said. I looked up at him. Clearly they were more attentive than I’d given them credit for. “How did you come to wear your master’s coat, apprentice?” he asked as he took a step closer.

I stopped, met his eyes, and did not look away. He seemed annoyed that someone of my station dared to do so. “I have a meeting with a noble later this evening, Master Chad,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. While he heard me speak his name, the sound that left my mouth was not quite that. The mind had no way of discerning when a true name was used and instead heard only the word the magic was woven around. So naming again, but what I said could have been true. Angus used me as an assassin as well as a torturer, and the guards knew it. “I needed more pockets to conceal the presents I bring the noble. My master lent me his coat for this purpose, Master Chad. He mentioned it was getting snug.”

Chad burst out in laughter and the other guard, named Dirk, joined in a moment later. I felt relief wash over me. My grip on naming was tenuous at best, but I was on a roll tonight. “Angus is getting fatter by the month,” Chad said through his laughter, and he pushed the door open. “Out with you.”

 

The door slammed shut on my heels, and I stumbled forward. I could still hear their muffled laughter through the closed door, but they were soon drowned out by the pelting rain. It was a very cold night, but I was grateful for it, as my shoulder still burned with heat. I pulled my hood closed as I walked to the rear of the building, toward the horse and cart that waited for me. I secured a loose corner of the heavy cloth covering the cart. It was flapping in the wind, and steam rose from its edges.

“Let’s go, you old nag,” I said to the horse as I took her reins. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure nothing was falling out of the overfull cart. The irregular surface of the cobblestone caused its contents to shift about, which made it look as though creatures were stirring beneath the cloth.

 

As I made my way down the dark path, a sense of relief started to build within me. I regularly left the fortress on my master’s orders, but this time was different. This time I would not return.

Only the occasional lamp burned along the road, and the old fortress looked deserted. It was dark, but I made my way with relative ease. I was a servant of Svyn, the god of death, and darkness had come to be my friend. I felt at home in its embrace.

Castralavi was a fortress in more than name; only a fool would mistake it for anything else. It was a miserably dreary place, not well-known for its architectural achievements. It served as the training ground for the legion, where the empire’s young men were broken in. It had a darker purpose, too, acting as headquarters to the Dark Legion, as the Inquisition was also known.

As I approached the gate, I heard a shout from the top of the wall. Shielding my eyes against the rain, I made out the silhouettes of six archers at the top. Two legionnaires emerged from a room recessed within the high wall, responding to the call from above. I brought my cart through the gate regularly, and the gates were opened without a word passing between us.

 

The town that surrounded the fortress shared its name. These streets, too, were empty. It was an hour past curfew, and no one dared step outside once the bell was rung—ever the obedient sheep. In all the years I’d made these trips, I’d rarely seen anyone breaking curfew. Perhaps the occasional whore sneaking about, and once, a man chasing a burglar from his home. Mostly though, it was a ghost town after curfew, and I liked it that way.

 

With each turn of the cart’s wheels, the surrounding houses regressed further from prosperity. The cobblestone soon gave way to gravel, and gravel to mud. After a time, the gaps between the houses increased until I passed little but the occasional shack, hidden in the dense shrub and the dark of night, with only narrow paths giving hint to their existence. A wheel slipped into a rut, and the cart lurched forward. I thought I heard a grunt, so I spun around and looked behind me for several moments, but I was alone.

 

It took another few minutes to reach the end of the track, which stopped just short of the swamp. Few followed the path to its end. Swamps were unpleasant things, and this one had somewhat of a reputation.

I unhitched the cart and looked up at the sky. The rain had settled down to a drizzle, and stars were breaking through patches of cloud. Through such a gap, I saw the ever-watchful Eye of Svyn, bright against the black of night. The oval shape, formed by a multitude of pinprick lights, watched me. The spiral Eye of Svyn, the watcher in the night. He and I scanned the area, but I was alone. I sighed, leaving a mist floating in front of me, and got on with the first part of my plan.

It was a struggle to untie the cloth, and I looked up at the sky again as my cold fingers fumbled with the stubborn knots. “Are you pleased with me?” I asked. I was sure the god of death smiled on me. I did good work for him, after all, and I’d brought quite the offering this night. When I finally defeated the knots, I threw the cloth open and was assaulted by the overpowering stench of rotting corpses. Stiffened limbs stuck out from bloated bodies. I instinctively turned my head to the side but slowly returned it to observe my handiwork. I had done this.