***
Mercius had been bitten savagely on his scalp, and blood was pouring into his eyes. He could barely see. His left leg was all but useless from the bite mark he had there, as was his right arm from the spear that had taken him under the shoulder blade. His ribs hurt like fire, as did several other wounds that he tried to ignore. But he was losing a lot of blood, and his energy was failing. He knew that he would soon be overcome. The black demon blade still sung in his fist, and he danced murderously among his foes. But they were jeering now with victory. He could smell their triumph.
But Mercius would not surrender. With a roar and a great effort, he decapitated the nearest demon. The others backed away a single pace, giving him room to breath for a blessed second. They were toying with him. They would now come at him one at a time, until there was simply no energy left within him. Then they would cut off his head, devour his flesh, and take their trophy back to their master.
Mercius, just in time, backed away from slashing talons. He hefted Illuricht to slice the thing's arm off, but it was too fast, and avoided his wild hack. A twisted, wicked grin split the thing's face and a massive fist slammed into Mercius' head. He reeled and fell to his knees. He glanced down in horror at his black sword lying feebly on the ground. He reached for it, but was kicked in the ribs, sending him sprawling onto his stomach.
He pushed himself up with all his remaining strength and rose again to his knees, looking up into the face of a massive demon. So this will be the one that kills me, he thought. Its eyes were huge and black, above a nose with no skin and a massive craw of bloody, dripping fangs.
The thing held out one of its massive taloned hands, and a black pitted axe was placed in its fist. With another fang-filled grin, the thing raised the massive weapon above its head for the killing blow.
But the thing's head turned suddenly as a great roar rent the silence that surrounded Mercius. It snarled viciously and was thrown back by a spear in its chest. The remainder of the demons that had surrounded Mercius ran to face the new threat, though Mercius couldn't guess who it was.
Rising painfully to his feet, he struggled to see his rescuers, but the mass of demons was too thick.
Finding a new reserve of energy deep within himself, Mercius ran after the demons. He slammed into the rear of their force, and once again was lost in battle. He favored his wounded leg and arm, and couldn't kill with his normal ferocity, but kill he did.
He fought for several moments before seeing a pair of friendly faces. Darius and Peter were fighting side by side, one with a great double-bladed axe, the other with a glistening sword and small round shield. Mercius fought his way toward the two men. When they saw him, they both grinned before launching back into the fray. Mercius saw, to his delight and utter dismay, the rest of his troop behind the two. The children he had brought from the village now fought like men and women of tested strength and savagery. They killed mercilessly, and Mercius saw them implement all the techniques he had so adamantly drilled into them.
A surge of pride welled through his heart, and he fought his way in to join his students.
When Mercius was with his troop, he stabbed a demon through the snout, then parried a wild slash of a demon spear before skewering the thing through its belly. With a roar he hacked the head from a bear-like demon and just got out of the way of a quick set of talons. He severed the claw, then saw a spear jut from the thing's throat as one of his young troop stepped up next to him.
"Good to see you, sir," she said, her bright eyes dancing behind the black blood that covered her face. "We figured it was time to show you what you've taught us." She wrenched her short spear from the dead demon and the thing crumpled to the ground. Mercius spun, searching for his next foe, but was instead relieved to see the backs of several hundred demons, racing for the trees. They were fleeing.
Darius and Peter approached Mercius and stood before him, looking abashed. Mercius, on the point of calling them down for disobeying him, instead collapsed into blackness at their feet.
Mercius woke in his bed, and was immediately accosted with pains and aches. Jax and Sophia stood as he opened his eyes and the woman walked to his bedside with a warm smile.
"Good to see you awake, young man," she said sweetly, pushing lightly on his chest to get him to lie back. "You're hurt, but on the mend. You can get out of bed tomorrow, probably." She put a cup to his lips and he forced the cool water into his parched throat. It hurt, but tasted delicious, and he could feel strength flooding back into his veins.
"Did we send them running?" Mercius asked, his memory of the battle coming back to him in glimpses.
Jax stepped forward and said, "Aye, lad, we did. Well, you did, along with your little hellions. We were holding steady at the wall after you won the gate back, but then the whole damn herd of those bastards closed on you outside the gate. Lost all interest in the city after that. Then your youngsters went screaming out after you like demons themselves. Happened pretty quick after that. The few hundred that were left decided it wasn't worth facing you and your troop, so they went running into the woods. Haven't seen hide nor hair of them since."
"Rest now," Sophia said into the silence that followed Jax's recount of the battle. "I'll come and check on you tomorrow. You've done well, and this city will sing your praises forever. You're a hero now, Mercius." She said this with a grin. Mercius sighed and fell immediately back into peaceful sleep.
Six years passed. During those years, Mercius had grown fully from a boy to a man. He was still graceful as ever, but now had a slow, calculated air to his movements, that radiated vigilance and power. He had become an almost constant fixture in the practice yard in which he and the group of youngsters continued to train. Since the battle on the wall, they were now a tight-knit group of young men and women, whose skill in fighting was something that had become a source of pride for the entire city. The number of Mercius' trainees had grown, as children from the city joined. They now numbered nearly a hundred, but the original two dozen made up the core of the group, and were respected--indeed, almost revered--by the rest of the recruits. Several years past they had taken to calling themselves the Merconium Blade. Mercius had tried to discourage this, but they persisted, and it soon became apparent that he was helpless to stop it. Nonetheless, he was proud of his small platoon. They were skilled and disciplined, and Mercius trusted them.
In the six years since the battle of Drurador, the city had seen three demon attacks. They were always light raiding parties of one to five hundred demons, and were always beaten back. Mercius had not allowed the Merconium Blade to partake in defending the city during these attacks, but the small force was hardly needed. Mercius, however, was always the first to draw blood on the walls, and the last to leave. He was regarded as the best and most fearsome fighting man in the city.
But the raids were never very large, and Mercius couldn't understand why Asgoroth didn't send a swarm of demons to destroy the city and capture his escaped son. He, over the years, had begun to get an uncomfortable feeling that Asgoroth was doing this for some reason he couldn’t guess. It was foolish to believe that the demon lord didn’t know that Mercius was housed in the city, and Mercius wondered why he had not sent a force that would crush the place into ruins, no matter the mettle of the soldierly. But, he could come up with no reasonable answer to his questions, and neither could Jax, so they let the matter reside in the backs of their minds for the time being.
Jax had become Mercius' closest friend, and they spent much time together. The older man was nearly always in the practice yard, watching as Mercius directed his troop through drills or exercises. He also helped whenever he could, instructing proper breathing techniques when loosing an arrow, or a more effective axe or sword stroke.
When Jax wasn’t with Mercius, he was with Sophia. They were as happily in love as two people could be, and their marriage continued blissfully. In f
act, many of the villagers had gotten over their grief of losing loved ones and friends, and had taken comfort with men and women from the city.
Life was as pleasant as it could be, when the threat of death or enslavement hung constantly over their heads. The city was bustling with activity, and people were generally in good spirits.
Convoys of wagons left several times a month to gather supplies from the surrounding countryside, as well as the few towns and villages that the merchants were willing to venture to. Mercius and Jax would accompany them whenever they could, and Mercius learned much of the land surrounding the city on his expeditions.
Winter in the city had just passed, and the spring was now in full swing. The number of people coming to take refuge in Drurador was always a slow trickle that hardly increased the population, but the influx was always greatest in the spring. The new immigrants were, almost always, given a place to live and a job suitable to their skills. One such group, consisting of three middle-aged men, came in one afternoon, and were judged to be harmless. They were given work respectively after they were allowed time to settle themselves, and no one took much notice of them. Mercius hadn’t seen them, but heard of their coming, as did everyone in the city; the refugees that entered the city were rare enough that everyone knew within a day if there were newcomers.
It was nearly two weeks before Mercius actually laid eyes on the three men. He knew immediately why they were there, and went to get Jax. When he found him he said, “The men that recently came to the city. They call themselves Joel, Ari, and Kingsley. Have you seen them?” Jax nodded and said that they seemed ordinary enough. “You’re right, of course: they do seem ordinary. But they are not. I’m not sure who or what they are, but they are evil. I could feel it from across the practice yard. They must be removed or killed immediately.”
Jax scanned his face, looking for the joke that he thought to be there. “You’re serious?” Mercius nodded gravely. “Well, lad, we can’t just kill them because you have a hunch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you know what you’re talking about. But you’ll have to convince the council. We will go to them now, and you can put your thoughts before them.”
“Very well,” Mercius said, although he worried that by the time the council made up its mind it might be too late, or they would decide the wrong course of action. Equally distressing was the fact that the citizens of Durador, with the exception of a small handful who had traveled with Mercius over the mountains, remained unaware of his parentage and upbringing. He was at pains to decide how he could convince the counsillors of the newcomers' guilt without revealing his own secrets. When he was before the council, he told them the same thing that he told Jax. It was more difficult to convince them, as his birth and upbringing had been concealed from them. If they had known that he was raised in the dungeons by demons, he undoubtedly would have been hanged or exiled. As he feared, the council did not take him at his word. They summoned the three men, and told Mercius that they would speak to them and decide for themselves whether they were a threat. Mercius pleaded with them, trying to convince them that demons could take on entirely human form, and deception was their very nature. His arguments went unheeded, even with Sophia’s urging to listen to them.
The three men were brought before the council, and Jax and Mercius stood against the wall of the large room, observing silently.
Their stories were believable and benign, as Mercius knew they would be. They each had a smooth and convincing manner, and their was no malice or deceit detectable in their voices. When they had finished answering all the council’s questions, Gershwinn stood and said this:
“You have leave to go, gentlemen. Mercius, while you are a highly valued individual in this city, and we all respect your opinions and your judgments, we cannot allow the suppositions of one man to decide the fate of another. These three men pose no threat that we can see. You newcomers, however, should know that we all do respect Mercius' opinions, and you will be watched. If you should do anything that raises suspicion, your punishment will be swift and thorough.” With this, Gerswhinn gave a wave of his hand to dismiss the three.
Just then, as they were passing Mercius' position against the wall, one of the three sealed the fate of the others. Under his breath, barely audible even to Mercius' keen ears, he said, “Your master is coming for you.”
That was all the provocation Mercius needed, but to confirm his suspicions, he saw a lightning-quick change in the man’s eyes. They changed, almost imperceptibly, from a weak, watery brown, to a sharp, evil red, then back in an instant. Mercius, gripped with rage at the demon’s insolence, had Illuricht unsheathed and in his hand in a flash of fluid movement, and in less than a heartbeat, the demon was decapitated, his head rolling back towards where the council sat, his gullet spewing boiling black blood as it dropped like a boulder to the floor. The other two were quick in reacting, but one was not nearly quick enough. He pulled a dagger from under his clothing, and rushed at Mercius. Mercius spun and lashed the demon across the knees with his singing black blade. The thing hit the floor with a thump and an inhuman shriek, having lost both of his legs. In one quick up-then-down flicker of his sword, Mercius had severed the thing’s arms at the shoulder, and the demon’s blood added quickly to that of his comrade’s.
“Mercius!” came a shout at his back. He turned and saw the third attacker with a wickedly barbed, thick-bladed dagger in his hand; it was inches from his face, and all Mercius could do, not having time to get his blade up, was let his legs fall out from under him and collapse to the blood-soaked floorboards. It was enough to save his life, but he still felt a burning slice as the blade streaked across his face, from his forehead, through his right eye, and down through his lips. He cried out as he hit the floor, in pain and rage. Mostly rage. Without thinking, he focused all of his energies on the destruction of the demon as it crouched to pounce for a second attack. Just then, from a deep well within himself, Mercius felt power flood into him and leap from his fingertips at his attacker. Just as it was in his last confrontation with this thing’s master, Asgoroth, a thunderclap and flash of red lightning sprang from Mercius. He had no control over it; it simply filled him, then left with a suddenness that nearly caved in his chest. When his vision cleared, the thing was plastered against the wall. It was hardly recognizable as the man-form it had been. It was merely a large black and pus-yellow stain, with bits of teeth and bone and clumps of hair clinging to it. There came a dripping sliding sound as what was left of its skin slid slowly down the smooth wall, blood boiling below it, giving it the look of a billowing sail.
Mercius realized that Jax was at his side, and trying to help him up. He took the man’s hand gratefully, then they stared into each other’s eyes. Jax, he could see, was confused. Mercius desperately thought of something to say to ease the large man’s mind, but was just as confused himself. Finally, Jax asked a question to which he knew he wouldn’t receive a suitable answer: “What was that? What happened?”
It was all Mercius could do not to collapse into a ball and whimper on the floor; the man was his dearest friend, and he hated to see the look of stupefied criticism in his eyes. “I don’t know. It has happened once before, and I had put it almost entirely out of my mind. I do not understand, and don’t believe that I ever will. It came unsummoned and unlooked for. I could have finished him without that…whatever it was. I could have killed him alone. But it came, and now it’s done.”
Mercius, unable to bear the look in Jax’s eyes any longer, walked over to the demon that was still living, and knelt down in the steaming, hissing blood. The thing looked up at him with a malice and hatred that only the Hell-spawned can achieve. Its human face was still there, but was now creased into a mask of utter disdain, giving it a look of falseness; man’s features were not capable of conveying that much anger or hate. It snarled and snapped futilely at Mercius, vainly trying to swing its now-missing limbs at
him. Mercius felt more than saw the rest of the council now approach him and the demon, Sophia among them. He didn’t look up, knowing that the same look of confusion and betrayal would be in their eyes as was in Jax’s. Instead, he focused on the demon lying in the congealing, steaming blood before him.
“Why have you come here?” he asked it. He knew it was a ridiculous question: all demons were on this planet for the sole purpose of destroying mankind. But he could think of nothing else to say. The thing gave no response except for a rabid hiss, and more snapping of its jaws. “Very well,” Mercius said, a flash of grim determination shining in his eyes. He pulled the knife that he kept at his belt and opened a long gash in the things belly. The small crowd that looked on gave a gasp of astonishment, which quickly turned to sounds of disgust and several of them vomiting; the stench that arose from the fresh wound, and the sickly yellow look of the things viscera, were beyond the ability of most humans to handle. The thing shrieked and wailed and thrashed in its blood and fluids. “Why have you come here?” Mercius was shouting over the things agonized howlings now. “What did you hope to accomplish?” This line of questioning got him no further: the thing simply spat at him and cackled, which quickly turned into another wailing howl as Mercius began to remove one of its eyes.
Finally, after several more wounds and much more vile obscenities and shrieking, the thing began to speak:
“Your master wishes to tear your bones from under your flesh. He will keep you alive for an eternity, making you watch your mother’s death countless times. He will laugh as he slaughters all of those that are close to you. He will come for you. He will come, and I was sent before him to pave the way. He will grind this city to dust, and make you watch their slow deaths. They will die screaming, and their souls will haunt you as you die a thousand deaths, a million deaths! An eternity of agonizing deaths!”
“And when does Asgoroth intend to attack?” Mercius replied calmly.
The thing cackled and said, “The Almighty Lord Asgoroth does not tell his minions his plans. He merely suggests that he will have his vengeance, and your blood!” The demon went on into a new set of tortures that would be heaped upon Mercius, as well as the inhabitants of Drurador. Mercius, however, spoke over it.
“How long were you supposed to stay in the city before returning?” It took more deep wounds in the thing’s body before he told Mercius that the three were to stay in the city and learn all they could without detection until the fall. Then they were to return to the dungeons and report. Mercius decided that the thing had told him all he knew, or all that he would divulge, so he ended him: he stood and raised Illuricht above his head, lopping the thing’s head off with a clean, easy stroke.
As he dislodged his blade from the wood of the floor, he felt the eyes on his back. He straightened slowly and deliberately, dripping demon blood from his face and hands and blade. He gazed at each of the council members in turn, and said nothing. As he stood there, he quickly replayed the events of the last few moments in his head, and was shocked and horrified to realize that the demon had addressed him in its own tongue. It was a language that was harsh and ugly, guttural and discordant. And Mercius had answered in the demon language. This, if nothing else, he knew, would condemn him in the eyes of the council.
“Gershwinn,” Argon finally said, after they had stood there staring at him for what seemed like hours. “Please escort Mercius to a cell. Be polite, and give him everything he needs. Mercius, you must forgive us. In light of these events, we have no choice but to hold you under lock and key, at least until we can decide what is to be done. You have proven yourself to be loyal and trustworthy, as well as a good friend. But, the safety of the city is our responsibility, and we must take precautions. Even when it is difficult for us to do so. Unfortunately, I will have to ask you to surrender your blade.” Everyone knew the thing’s name by now, and most often referred to it as Illuricht. Now, however, there was an uncomfortable feeling in Argon’s voice, which was mirrored by everyone present, save Jax and Sophia.
“I will do as you ask, and without fuss,” Mercius said. “But, this weapon is dangerous to any who hold it. I ask you not to force me to relinquish it. You do not know its power or its will, and I fear that it will do harm if I cannot control it.”
“I am afraid,” another council member said, “that we must. As Argon said, we believe that you are a good friend and a good man, but precautions must be taken.”
“Very well, but I cannot be responsible for it if harm does come of this.” He unslung the sword, and handed it, still in its sheath, to Jax. “Do not remove it from its scabbard, I beg you. It is not to be reckoned with.” Jax gave a solemn nod, and Mercius was somewhat relieved; he knew that the man would do as he was asked, and that Illuricht was in as safe a place as it could be, aside from strapped to his own back. After the blade was handed over, Mercius followed Gershwinn out of the room. The man was a friend, but no words were spoken on their walk to the building that held the few criminals the city had to contain occasionally. The cells were large and made of iron bars, each with a cot and a stool.
As Mercius settled onto the cot, Gershwinn peered at him from the open cell door. “We were foolish,” he finally said, “not to believe you about them. If we had, we could have averted this entire fiasco. We will be as quick as we can, my friend, and hopefully what the council decides will be wise and just, as well as beneficial for us and you.” He left, and Mercius lay back on the cot, trying to focus his racing thoughts.
After a few moments, a young woman came to tend to the bleeding wound on his face. In his clouded thoughts, the hurt had been forgotten, but when the nurse entered, it came back in full, and Mercius realized that he might never be able to see out of his right eye.
She bathed the wound with warm water before running a needle and thread through the flesh of his face and lips. She then smeared it with some oily substance that smelled of rotten vegetables, and wrapped his head in a clean white bandage. She talked as she worked, and Mercius was comforted by the obviously total lack of fear in her voice; he had worried that he would be looked upon as criminal, someone to fear and be weary of.
“My name is Keira,” she said, not meeting Mercius' eyes, but instead focusing on her task. “Looks like you barely escaped with your life on this one. Lost a lot of blood, though, that’s for sure. And it was a demon blade, so that complicates things. If I had come much later, you probably would’ve died, or worse. There’s a poison in the steel, or something like that; I haven’t ever been able to figure out how it works. But, what I have found is that if it’s treated quickly and carefully, the poison fades. Once the stuff is out of the wound, it’s just a matter of sewing and plugging the holes.” Keira wore a smile as she said this, and Mercius decided it must be her own personal, inside joke. “What happened?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes. There was not much honest curiosity in her voice; she was merely passing the time as she tended his wound.
Mercius was not entirely sure how to answer the question. But in the end, he decided that he was almost certainly going to be exiled from the city of Drurador, if not simply killed outright. Therefore, he had nothing to lose, and not much to gain, so he answered truthfully: “There were some demons in the council hall. I killed them.”
Her head jerked up, but the hand holding the needle that currently pierced his flesh was still and steady. “Demons? In the council hall? Today?” The girl wasn’t simple-minded, merely startled; a sensation, Mercius presumed as he looked into her brilliantly hazel eyes, that was not very common for her. Mercius simply nodded at her, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of her eyes, and the subtle compassion that resided therein. “Forgive me,” she said, recovering herself and returning to her stitching. “That has never happened before in Drurador that I know of.”
“That you know of, perhaps,” Mercius said, trying not to move his mouth too much as he
spoke, “but I believe that there have been demons in the city before. They are deceitful by nature, and have abilities that are beyond most people’s imaginings. They can blend in with a crowd, and this place is far from small. It is conceivable that there are demons here very often, just scouting the city or observing its inhabitants. These were sent here for a very specific purpose, though.”
“Oh?” she said, her voice returning to its former not-quite-curious tone. “What did they want, do you suppose?”
“Me,” Mercius replied without hesitation; he had nothing to lose, and the girl hardly seemed a threat. The hand holding the curved needle paused for the briefest of moments.
There were several moments of silence, then Keira said, “This is going to hurt a bit more; I have to stitch your lip, and it is swollen badly.” Mercius gave a short nod and waited. These humans knew nothing of pain. He had been submitted to much, much worse, for an infraction as small as walking too slowly. When he was being raised, the demons of the dungeons, under Asgoroth’s orders, put him through constant physical agony. When Mercius finally raised up the courage to ask Asgoroth why they did this, his response had been that he must make the child tougher than stone, and as unfeeling as earth. It, apparently, had worked. After several more minutes, the stitching was done and Keira began applying ointment and wrapping his head.
“It looks as if you’ll be able to keep your eye. It will probably even still work properly. The ointment I applied will begin to smell terribly, and it will itch like crazy. Don’t scratch. It makes my life difficult, and yours much less pleasant in the long run. She stood, and Mercius was able to take in her striking beauty. She was much shorter than him, but her form was proportionate. Mercius could tell that under her loose-fitting garb, her waist was slim, and she had strong, lithe legs. Her eyes, of course, were breathtaking. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back in a pony tail that ended at the small of her back, and several vagrant strands came down to rest lightly on her tanned cheek. Their eyes met, and Mercius was afraid that he had been ogling her, and she had noticed. But, to his relief, she smiled slightly. It was a small smile, as if she was sharing a joke with only herself, but it lit up her face, and her eyes smiled at him in a way that made him feel warm and flustered. “I will be back to change the dressing every few hours. Don’t scratch,” she said sternly and turned to leave.
Mercius, as flustered as he was, wanting to say something, unable to think of anything, groping with his mind for her not to leave, blurted out, “My name is Mercius.” It was the most awkward moment he had ever felt.
Keira turned, still with a small, private smile on her face. “I know,” she said, and left.
Keira filled Mercius' thoughts as he lay alone in his cell. He tried to focus on the confrontation in the council chamber, and about the future that it would bring, and the strange phenomenon that had splattered the demon against the wall, as well as saved him from Asgoroth’s wrath when he had fled the dungeons. He tried to think of these things, but his mind always smoothly slipped back to the woman: her deep hazel eyes that showed something in her that was simultaneously hard as ice and soft as a summer breeze; the smooth softness of her hand as it worked over his face; the scent of her hair that he could almost smell even when she was gone. At her next visit, he told himself, he would be much less awkward, and would engage her in conversation.
To his utter disappointment, however, the next nurse that came to wrap his head in fresh bandages was not Keira. It was a hefty older woman who was kind but taciturn. When asked where Keira was, the woman said, “Keira is busy. She was called to an emergency situation, and I am here in her stead.” That was all. Mercius wanted to grill the large woman; ask her when she would be done, when she would return. But he managed with great effort to sit quietly as he was ministered to.
He assumed that the night had come, but there were no windows. There was an ample plate of food brought to him, which he devoured greedily, and afterward his eyelids became heavy. As he lay down to sleep, he tried to bring up Keira’s face in his mind, her eyes, her scent. But the only image that he could conjure was that of the old, fat nurse. He fell into a deep but restless sleep, and slept the night away, tossing and turning and dreaming of barbed blades and hazel eyes and fat nurses.
When he woke, it was to Sophia, Argon and Gerswhinn standing before him in his cell. He sat up on his cot and looked at each of them in turn. He had hoped Jax would be present for this eventuality, and was disappointed not to have his strength beside him. Argon spoke:
“The council has decided.” His voice was stern, but there was a hint of sadness to it. “Believe me, it was not an easy decision, but one we all agreed was correct. You must leave Drurador, and never return. As I said, it was not an easy decision, and none of us feel very satisfied with it, but it is too dangerous to our people to allow you to stay. You know the demon tongue, and Lady Sophia has told us about you.” At this, Mercius looked at her with hurt written plainly on his face. “Be still, Mercius!” Argon said quickly. “She did not betray your secrets. She simply told us that you have spent some time among demons, and know their ways. The rest we guessed at, and are still unsure if we are correct. It matters not, however. Exile it must be, or death. None of us voted for death, or even brought it up for more than a heartbeat before it was dismissed. Forgive us, Mercius. Farewell, my friend.” With that, Argon left the cell, Gershwinn in his wake after a quick wave and a sad look. Sophia remained.
Over the years, Sophia and Mercius had become friends. He put his trust in her, and was true to his vow that he would do anything for her. She had turned out to be very pleasant company when she wasn’t in the middle of organizing people and their affairs. Countless times she, Jax, and Mercius spoke long into the night, and Mercius had come to know true friendship with the woman. Now, however, she wore a look of pure misery. She came to sit beside Mercius, laying a hand softly on his wrist.
“Forgive me, Mercius,” she said, her voice a rasping whisper on the brink of tears that was barely audible. “I voted that you be allowed to stay. But they would not listen. They are so afraid, and so tired of being afraid, that it controls their lives. I am sorry. I know that this has become your home. I’m…I’m so sorry, Mercius.”
He looked at her and saw tears streaming slowly down her face.
“My Lady Sophia,” he said softly. “You are doing the right thing and you know it. You cannot allow me to stay here, especially knowing what you know. I am a danger to everyone. Do not ask for forgiveness from me: there is nothing to forgive.” She looked at him, and they smiled together, Mercius awkwardly due to his throbbing wound.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I imagine I will start walking, and see where the wind blows me. Without this city, and the Druradorans within it, I have no idea what I will do with myself. But I’m sure I’ll find something out there to keep my interest.” They smiled at each other again, then Sophia rose.
“You will be allowed to stay here until your wound is healed, then we will have to say goodbye. Perhaps it will not be forever.” A new set of tears leaked slowly down her cheeks, and Mercius stood to embrace her.
“Not forever,” he whispered. “We shall meet again. Besides,” he said, separating himself from her, “who will make sure that lout of man of yours is treating you properly? I will have to return to ensure that he behaves himself.” Sophia laughed softly, kissed his unwounded cheek, and left the cell.
Mercius was left again by himself, pondering what he would do from here. He had no real clear picture of what the world was like outside the small radius he had visited, and knew not where he would go.
Later in the day, Keira came back to change the dressing on his head. She unwound the bandages and commented that his wound was healing much more quickly than she had hoped, and
that he would be fully back to health in two days. This was not good news for Mercius, as he was dreading his departure, and whatever was to follow it. Keira sensed this, he thought, and was silent for a time.
“I heard what happened,” she said as she packed up her supplies. “You will have to leave the city when you are healed.”
“It was the right decision,” he said.
“Perhaps, but it must be painful leaving the place you have called home for so long.”
“It will be, but I’ll survive. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what they say?” He grinned at her, but she didn’t return it, and it withered on his face.
“You are a strange man, Mercius. I can’t quite figure you out.”
“Is that good or bad?” he asked.
“It is…unusual. You are wounded but feel no pain. You are exiled, but have no fear. Are you so dead inside that life means nothing to you, or are you simply very good at hiding your emotions?” It was rhetorical, he knew, but he answered her anyway:
“Maybe it’s both. I was dead for so long, before I came here. It comes as second nature to me. And being hard is a necessity of this world.” She didn’t respond; she simply stared into his face for several long moments, a question behind her eyes that she didn’t ask, or couldn’t. Then she was gone again, until the next time.
Keira's visits became the clock by which Mercius kept time. He was usually seated on his bed by the time she came in, and had a question or two ready for her, inquiring as nonchalantly as he could about her and her life. She was amazingly taciturn, but this added a mystery to her beauty that Mercius found nearly unbearable. She divulged only the smallest things about herself, but Mercius took them all in as if he was breathing deeply. She, on the other hand, knew very much about him, and their conversations always steered eventually to his life and friendships within the city.
The second day after the council’s verdict was delivered, Keira told him that his wound was healed. She would pass this on, she said, and he would more than likely leave the following day. He thanked her profusely for all of her healing efforts, and for talking with him. She packed up her supplies and stood to leave.
After staring into his un-bandaged face for several moments, Keira said, “Good bye, Mercius. Take care of yourself.” She turned to go, but Mercius reached out and clasped her hand. She turned slowly and looked down at his hand holding hers for some time before looking into his eyes. They stayed that way for long moments that Mercius would never forget. He didn’t know what to say to her. He had spent all morning willing himself to touch her, to do something that would show her that he thought of her always. Now that he had made the first move, however, he felt foolish and couldn’t think of what to do next.
As Keira stared into his eyes, and Mercius into hers, he saw something happen that he couldn’t explain. There was a strange collapsing of the woman before him. It was nothing physical; something in the gaze or the breath, maybe. She seemed to release something that she had been holding in for a very long time; something that she clung to as a drowning man clings to a branch. Whatever it was, it changed the way she gazed at him. The ice of her eyes was not gone, entirely, but was hidden by the softness that Mercius had seen buried there. Without releasing his hand, she sat on the cot beside him. His heart raced, and Mercius was afraid that she would be able to hear it. They simply stared at one another. Mercius wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. How incredibly soft and firm at once. How he wanted nothing more than to crawl inside of her and drink her beauty. How he wanted to live in her heart, and have her in his. He wanted to tell her, but didn’t, couldn’t. He felt, though, that there was no need. They looked into each other’s eyes, and the silence was everything. The silence was the love. This, he thought, might be just his imagination or his longing desire: that she loved him. But he felt something from those deep, sparkling hazel eyes of hers.
Finally, she reached slowly up to his face with her free hand, as she had so many times before. This was a different touch, though. This was soft on his cheek; pleading and pushing away simultaneously. Mercius could have lived in that touch. So simple, so eloquent, so unbearably incredible. He leaned his face into her hand and closed his eyes, trying to solidify this moment in his mind forever. When he opened his eyes, he could see the softness retreating; being once again buried by the ice of her.
“What I wish to tell you, I cannot,” she said softly. “You are leaving tomorrow, and I do not want to make it any more difficult than it already will be.”
“My whole life has been difficult,” Mercius said. “You are the only thing that has ever made me truly feel at peace, and I can‘t understand it. I’m sorry if that is too forward, or something that you didn’t wish to hear, but I had to tell you. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I hadn’t.”
Her eyes began to fill with tears, and for just a moment, the lush softness in her eyes returned. Then, swiftly, she stood and walked from the room. “Good bye Mercius,” was all she said as she left.
He wanted to call her back. To chase her down. To die. Something. He wanted her, and always would, he suddenly knew. But, in the end, no matter how his heart rebelled at the idea, he knew that she was right. He must leave, and she must stay. Besides, what did they have but a touch and a stare? Nothing, he had to tell himself reluctantly. Nothing but a touch of the hand and a touch of the eyes. The rest was imagination and longing, and he must live with that, no matter how difficult.
The following morning, Jax came to his cell. It was the first time he had seen the man since the confrontation in the council chamber. He got to his feet immediately and said nothing, unsure of how Jax would treat him now. As the door opened and the big man walked in, they just looked at each other. Finally, Jax said:
“You were an ugly son of a bitch before, but now it’s almost unbearable to look at you.” Mercius reached up and fingered his new scar. It had healed entirely, and was now just a thick ridge of raised scar-tissue that stretched from his forehead, through his right eyebrow and eye socket, down through the corner of his mouth and ending at the point of his chin. His eye was still intact, but there was now a deep slash of red through the fiery green of it.
Mercius smiled at Jax and said, “Maybe now you’ll quit calling me ‘lad,’ eh?” Jax laughed and shook his head, then beckoned him to follow. Mercius obeyed. There was no other escort, so Jax and Mercius were allowed to talk. “You haven’t touched Illuricht, have you?” It was a question that had been bothering him since his confinement.
“Of course not. I, of all people, know that that thing is out for blood and death. It has been locked in a trunk, hidden away in my rooms. All of your other belongings are in your room, and I will fetch the blade as you prepare yourself. Any idea where you will go?”
Mercius shook his head. They walked in silence, and Jax left him once they reached Mercius' room. His rooms had been left as they were, except that a set of saddle bags had been placed on his bed. He loaded up all of the essentials: clothing, canteens, mess kit for cooking. His weapons were numerous and diverse. Of these he left none. If he didn’t have a spot on his person or amidst his clothing to store one of his weapons, he found room in the baggage. When Jax came in, he was carrying Illuricht, still in its scabbard, and another bundle. Mercius strapped the sword to his back, and felt lighter, as if he had dropped a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying. The other package was food for traveling, as well as some other things that might be necessary: spices, a razor, some rope.
Without a word, Mercius nodded to Jax, indicating that he was ready. He cast one last look around the room that he had occupied for nearly a decade, then walked out into the morning sun.