The Three Trials
an excerpt

"The fire grew too hot and Gorvyn shuffled away to smoke his pipe a few feet further down. The noise of the stream behind him coupled with the crackling of the wet branches was making him uneasy. He did not like to wait and his “guest” was already an hour late if not more. Catching himself taking short and static puffs from his long wooden pipe he stopped at once and stood up from the fallen tree. “This damn heat!” he thought to himself, “I’ll give him a piece of my mind for keeping me waiting out here this long.” The threat was as empty as ever a one he had made but he needed to distract his thoughts and the annoyance was helping. Inevitably though, he could avoid it no longer. As he made to kick out at some twigs before him he froze suddenly as an icy, wet hand gripped his shoulder and neck. The voice was unmistakable. It was like cold wind in a cave, a long dead breath that some how kept on going.
“You will forgive my delay Gorvyn, proud servant, it could not be helped.” The hand eased its grip and he remembered to breathe. He did so loudly and knew at once that he sounded as terrified as he felt. The creature behind him was massive, almost eight feet tall but he knew this was deceiving also, for a Were appeared to be different sizes every time you saw it. It was a creature from the dark lands around the foothills of the Border, a territory to the extreme north at the base of the White Wall, a colossal mountain range which stretched from Alympica in the West all along until the Endless in the East by Moruk Khan itself. This Weres name was Lup and he served only one purpose and one master. Luther, the Bare-Wolf King of the Borders.
Neither man nor wolf, but more animal by far. It was he who made The Borders a treacherous place for any man straying too far off his path. The old merchant roads were long abandoned and since Persus had stopped sending soldiers to regulate the place it had grown in notoriety. Lup was his personal servant and more besides.
Gorvyn turned and looked up at the long, ugly snout in front of him. There was blood flickered on its grey skin but it was the yellow eyes that held his attention. Lup stood patiently, his face in what seemed like a permanent grin was as wicked a one as Gorvyn could remember. He pitied whoever it was that had brought Lups attention to him. Weres only fed on human flesh when outside the Border; it heightened their senses apparently and granted them their longevity. Some Weres’ lived a very long time, well past a century more than men, but their deaths were said to be excruciating. That was the price the Good Mother had placed on long lives.
“I have word from the Plassy Lines my Lord, news that will interest you and your Master.” He sniffed and realized he was freezing even though the sweat would not stop pouring from him. He wiped back his thin dark, curly hair from his nervous face and waited. Lup would tell him if he wished to hear it or not. Weres were intelligent creatures but they despised long windedness, to them an answer or a description should be short and to the point.
“Speak your news good master Gorvyn, proud slave” he leaned forward, his great snout almost touching the top of Gorvyns’ balding head. He could feel the warm breath rushing out above him and almost taste the foulness of it. He swallowed with difficulty and continued. “The wizards are amassing in Moruk Khan. Something has stirred them and they go now to select a leader. One who will lead them in whatever it is they have planned. I had to leave quickly for they are sealing their borders to everyone even the merchants and even along the Plassy Lines. My inquiries were arousing suspicion so I fled but nobody will miss me; there was more important business to attend to than a trader looking to extend his business.”
Lup never budged but his breathing had slowed. He was thinking deeply or at least he seemed to be. Gorvyn took a step back to get out from under his oppressive shadow and made to pick up his pipe from the ground. The news had obviously given the Were some food for thought. He could understand why though. Moruk Khan was the only kingdom to have withstood Alympicas’ “expansion” throughout the Known Lands after the 500 Year War. They were also the nation which cleared the great Bare Wolves and hounded them northwards to the Border where they had remained since. Hedin Breakclaw, the last Wizard King, was the one who had made that possible. He had died twenty years ago and a council had ruled in his place since. Little else was known about them and their activities since and what was was sketchy at best. The wizards allowed no envoys or ambassadors and entry into the city of Firdoluth was prohibited to all except them. The Plassy Lines were named after a merchant of the same name who managed to strike a deal to have trade carried on close to the city and within Moruk Khan Territory so as to accommodate the wizards’ secrecy and their trading needs. It was more like a bustling merchant sea town where there was no strict law besides the threat of the nearby wizard city, which in itself kept most trouble makers away. Those foolish enough to ignore the warning would seldom be heard from ever again or their heads maybe found posted along the road. The wide roads leading to this make shift town, were always busy with wagons and trading carts but no one was permitted to set up a home here. There were no families, no temples or schools. That was the Plassy Lines and nobody outstayed their welcome.
Lighting his pipe again, Gorvyn tried to control his nervousness by taking a deep breath of the sweet southern tabac he had paid well for. It was worth it though for there was no better leaf than Six Feathers and it was hard come by in this weather. Something about the Bokozarian smoke made him feel almost at ease.
“I heard mention of a spy too in Alympica, apparently he was chased by Obdus himself. Caused quite a stir in…..” He paused as Lup strode toward him menacingly.
“His name?” He stood again directly above him and Gorvyn exhaled the smoke quickly.
“No name, only what this farmer told me. That Alympica had discovered a spy in its midst and that he has fled with the Blue Rank and Obdus in pursuit. You wouldn’t know with these mud trotters though, they’d hang for a good story and especially one about “their” Obdus. Why I’d even…
“Find out where they went and who this spy is. I will send for you again and hopefully, for your sake, you will have something of use for me.” He reached into his dark green robes and pulled out a small purse. Gorvyn licked his smirking lips, caught the gold from the cold air and stuffed it into his bag in one swift motion.
“I will not disappoint you again.” He said bowing his head. Lup leaned closer and gripped him by the throat.
“No, you won’t.” the voice seemed like it came from all around the woods as Gorvyn gasped. His boots were barely scratching the soil underneath as the hung there helpless against Lups power.
“The spy is to be found, if still alive. If not then find out what he discovered.” He threw him to the ground and Gorvyn sucked in the air before landing roughly on his back. On his chest there lay a silver chain with the darkest stone he had ever seen. As he looked it seemed to swirl like a cloud in a thunder storm.
“It is a Relic, from another time. It will disguise you when you need it, all you need do is wear it and concentrate on the changes you want. Be warned however, once you place it on you cannot remove it, for it is linked to you then, each to the other, forever.”
Gorvyn lay there staring. “Is it…magic?” he asked. “It is but not of the wizards making. Now go and remember slave, I will send for you and I will never be too far away.”
As he turned Lup seemed to melt into the shadows and disappear. The sound of the crackling embers replacing the Weres stilling voice and soon Gorvyn had gathered his things and was ready to leave.
The Were seemed only interested in the spy, or at least, his master was. The news of the wizards had given him something else to think about perhaps. It didn’t matter now for Gorvyn had to move quickly to pick up the trail and find this spy or in the most likely event, find Obdus and discover his intentions. That would not be easy but it was better than the alternative. Lup paid him well and he had invested his profits so far quite wisely in some vineyards in Measa. Soon he could disappear again and cast aside the name Gorvyn. He hoped he would not have to murder or torture many more along the way though, not that he felt guilty of these things, they were necessary and he was quite good at it. But the work was messy and he knew nobody could keep up this lark for long. Eventually you would get tangled in your own lies and betrayals, he had escaped a few tangles himself just barely and if he never saw the Plassy Lines again he knew he would consider himself very lucky indeed.
“That over sized dog ruined my cloak, and as for the scratches on my neck.” He cleared his thoughts and finished rolling up his ground sheet. There was a small river town called Landons Bridgewater just a few miles south. From there he would take the first boat he could to the coast and into Raven Port. It would be a relief to get out of this forest and to finally have some comfort, some ladies and wine would be fitting too. A dark thought flashed across his mind. A young girl, stripped and beaten, with her face hidden by a cloth sack. Blood soaked through as she whimpered. He held her throat and pulled the sack from her head. The terror in her brown eyes, the life coursing through his arms as they shook violently. “There maybe time enough for that you monster.” He said aloud to himself as he brushed his face.
He quickened his pace through the darkness and placed the chain given to him by Lup in a secret pocket in his breast. A strange gift to give an assassin. He was tempted to try it but remembered Lups warning. “Time enough for that too when needs be.” He spoke again to himself. As the woods thinned out he knew he would soon be at there end. In the distance something screeched as it fought for its life and then went silent. He had been many things and many people all around the Known lands since taking his vow. A hired thug and murderer, a rich mans leverage when his courage failed. He was an assassin with no allegiance amongst other problems. But Gorvyns memory had the tendency to fail him at times and that’s why he had never made it in the army. He once awoke on a ship on the Teeh and not remembered why or how. It had taken a great deal of persuasion and gold to convince the old Landwerd captain that he wasn’t a stowaway. Even then they cast him off at Mordens Point, all the way to the south east in near the Urs Gardens, a sprawling desert hundreds of miles across named after the old Sun God of the long gone desert folk. It had taken him months to get to the Plassy Lines from there and had nearly lost his life more times than he cared to remember. There were other occasions when his memory failed him or when he would blackout. The last had been in a small town named Osi outside the Plassy Lines where he had raped and murdered his last victim, a farm girl who had the misfortune to meet him stumbling back drunk on her way home. That had been too close to call. He had had to cut the throat of the man who had discovered them both in his barn but his sons had chased him for days. One of them he had dispatched with a well aimed sling shot. He didn’t even yelp when the rock struck his head making that dull opening sound. His brothers did though, but Gorvyn had ridden all the way north without looking back. Those two wouldn’t last a chance against him, scrawny and full of revenge. Three was another matter but two on one were fair odds and he trusted his skill with a blade to match two farmboys with wood axes and sticks.
His new “hobby” had first arisen around the old town slums in Firdolouth in a brothel named Coxies Tickle which was owned by one of the many criminals in the district. Brothels were allowed in the Oldtown district only as were the Apothecaries and dens. Alympican soldiers kept an eye on the happenings but mostly only kept thugs off the streets and in the taverns. “Tickles” had always been a favourite of Gorvyns, the beer was some bit cool due to its deep cellar and the women were mostly cheap but gamey. Deals could be made with nearly all of them if one was short on coin. It attracted the usual custom of fishermen, rag-men and the depraved. On occasion though, if one looked for the right signs, you could spot an “unfamiliar”. A wealthy enough lord, or a lord’s son and their friends. They would take pains to disguise themselves, old shoes and tattered rags, their hair carefully disheveled. Some went so far as to paint their teeth Brownroot or to chew tobacco. Gorvyn could always spot a liar though. He could read the hidden messages, the eyes, the hands fumbling, the initial nervousness when speaking to the ladies and he hated them. They were afraid of what they were, afraid of their own impulses. He was a liar and a murderer but at least he knew it and accepted it. He guessed some of the girls knew too but they kept all sorts of secrets and always had room for more. One night, drunk and angry at losing his coins to one of these lords at cards, he stumbled upstairs with one of the girls who had been leeching him for whiskeys most of the night. He remembered her angrily reminding him of his “debt” and laughing at his requests for “sympathy”. She stopped laughing when he punched her squarely between the eyes and broke her nose badly. So badly, infact that it hung to the right, leaving an ugly sputtering opening in her face. She had collapsed to the floor unconscious and he had immediately regretted his outburst. Feri, the owner, was not a man to be crossed and had ties with several criminals around Firdolouth and not just Oldtown. He was also a notorious womanizer and detested their maltreatment above all things, unless of course it was warranted, even then he would never allow a customer to dish out their own justice. Feri was also viciously short tempered when it came to those who owed him money.
He began to clean up the girl, Sinlay, and wrapped her face up with an old rag he found stuffed behind the bed. Her nose would take some healing and even then would be scarred and crooked. Men would pay less for her services and she may soon be out of work in Tickles. The next step may be street crawling and that was as a dangerous number for any woman. Sinlay wouldn’t stand a chance with her slight frame and weak arms. He began to wonder if she wouldn’t be better off dead now instead of delaying a grisly mauling at the hands of a drunkard. He reached for her throat and was hit with another urge and, pulling out his swollen cock and planting it firmly inside her, he began to thrust and squeeze. He felt her startle suddenly and for some reason he pulled the cloth away to see her face. The blood made her look a fright and her bulging white eyes paused him for a while.
“I’m sorry. I’m….it’s for the best now girl.” he hushed her as she tried to push him off and it took him a long time to release her when she had given up. Those eyes staring at him and into him no more. Tidying himself up quickly he left Tickles and Firdolouth the same night. On his travels he never stayed in one town too long and found work and shelter where no-one else would care to look. It was soon afterwards that he was found by Lup in an old mining town close to the Borders. Since then life had improved somewhat. He would feel the urge and keep it at bay as long as he could, sometimes for months at a time, but inevitably he would find himself floating along darkened alleyways and renting cheap enclaves in the seedier parts of the cities."