Meetings: 'Fantasy'

By Ames449 © 2008

Barrag, East Morien, 1057

Nightfall had clawed into the town of Barrag on icy wing. The snow that had begun to fall an hour ago was now coming down thick and fast, piling on top of the cobbled streets, hiding all manners of dangers underneath the deceivingly beautiful white blanket. Even though the street torches had been lit by the city watch over three hours ago many of them had been dampened by the falling snow and gone out with a vicious hiss. Cursing violently, the dark haired man growled under his breath, pulling his heavy cloak further around his shoulders and plunged further into the darkened streets.

His name was Tristain and he was, by most standards, an unusual man. He walked with the gait of a man used to power and authority but he was travelled stained and careworn. Both tall and broad, his eyes hid a wealth of years that could not be placed at any particular decade but there was not a single line on his face or white hair on his head either. In fact there was nothing right about his appearance at all. Even his blistering blue eyes seemed abnormally bright.

Hearing a vague sound behind him, Tristain slowed his pace, his eyes flickering around, his ears straining to decipher what had caught his attention. Finally his eyes stopped searching.

In the shadows ahead of him something moved.

A figure.

It was waiting for him, hunting him like he was nothing more than prey to be slain between the teeth of a fox. Most men would not have been able to pick it out in the constricting dark, but then Tristain was not most men.

Cursing, the dark haired man felt an air of irritation rise in his throat. The ambusher lay between him and his destination. Normally he would have gone around him and found another route but tonight he did not have time for games. He was already over an hour late. Pulling his hood further around head, he continued towards his destination and towards his would-be assailant.

As he neared him, Tristain stopped suddenly, drew a long handled knife from the sheath at his waist and thrust his hands into the shadows, catching his attacker’s shoulders by surprise. The man squealed as Tristain rammed him against the wall, his weapon coming to his throat.

“There is nothing but trouble here lad. Take my advice and go home before you get hurt.”

His attacker met his eyes defiantly but then he began to tremble as he stared further into his penetrating gaze. Without a further sound he pulled away and darted up the deserted streets. Tristain watched him go and sheathed his knife, grateful that he had not had to use it. He did not kill men lightly but that was not to say he would not have gutted the man right there if it had come to that. Tristain had high morals when it came to killing and taking life was not something he revelled in.

As he rounded the street he saw his destination clearly. It was a battered looking building which at some time had been painted a vibrant blue but the years had been cruel and the paint was now flaking to reveal a dirty grey colour underneath it. Tristain scanned the windows but they were caked in dirt, making it impossible to see in. Scowling, he pushed the door of the Three Arrows Inn open and walked into the crowded common room.

With one glance he took in the long bar on the far side of the room and the dozen or so tables crammed with men rowdy men, laughing and drinking deeply. Serving girls threaded their way in between the furniture and people, trays overflowing with tankards, ignoring drunken comments shouted at them.

Tristain scanned quickly and made his way over to a table on the far side of the room were a cloaked man was sat alone. He glanced up as Tristain took the chair before him, pushing his dirty blond hair from his face and slowly drained his tankard.

The man was exactly as Tristain remembered him, despite the long years that had passed since their last meeting. His skin was still bronzed and his notorious white scar ran down his left cheek more predominantly than ever, stopping low on his jaw line. He was younger than Tristain although he carried himself as though he had many more years to his name. He massaged his shoulder with a grimace on his face, his dark eyes fierce.

“You’re late.” His tone was sharp but there was a hint of anxiety in it.

“I’m here now,” Tristain replied shaking his wet cloak before hanging it on the back of his chair.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago. I was worried.”

He smirked.

“Worried?” He laughed nasally. “You sound like a chattering milkmaid,” Tristain said, taking a tankard from a passing serving girl. She glanced anxiously at the man sat across from Tristain, and hurried away as soon as he had tossed her a silver shilling. The blond haired man watched her go with a perplexed expression and only turned back once she had disappeared into the crowd.

“It’s good to see you, Shan,” Tristain said finally, staring into his tankard. Shan grunted.

“You’re a terrible liar.” He fiddled absently with his tankard. “I didn’t think you would come but you have my thanks for doing so. And I haven’t been known as Shan for many years. It’s Talyn now.”

Tristain raised his brow.

“Oh?”

“Shan isn’t welcome in that many places these days,” he muttered sourly.

Tristain studied the man who had once been his friend carefully. It was hard to find the man he had known back then under the multitude of disguises he wore now.

“Is there anything about you that is real, Aremethis?” Tristain was rewarded with a glare.

“Do not use that name here,” he hissed, his eyes darting around the crowded room. Aremethis scowled at him before he glanced down at his hands. “Aremethis is as fake as Shan. “

Tristain sighed deeply, knowing it was pointless to pursue that line of conversation.

“Where are you staying?” Tristain asked, drinking deeply.

“A tavern, on the other side of town. The Hog Roast I think it is. Stupid name for a tavern if you ask me. Either way it smells bad and has more lice than a mangy old dog.”

He glanced around the room and sighed dramatically, “I cannot say I am pleased to be back here.”

“Then why are you here? And why did you ask me to come to this stinking hell hole?”

Aremethis glanced down at his hand. He traced the scar burnt into his flesh, the broken flesh rising like a purple mountain. It was a painful reminder of both of their pasts and not one either of them cared to recall. Tristain absently flexed his own hand, knowing the same scar lay in the same place.

“Where have you been, Tristain?” Aremethis said suddenly.

The dark haired man studied him intently. It was a question he had been expecting, he just had not expected it to come so soon in their conversation. For the hundredth time since Aremethis had contacted him he wondered what this was all about. Whatever it was Tristain didn’t doubt that he would have to fence with the man to find out.

“Around,” Tristain said finally, somewhat evasively.

Aremethis’s eyes flickered, alert suddenly, as a scuffle began on the far side of the common room. Order was quickly restored by two hulking men but not before a chair was broken. Tristain turned away but couldn’t help but notice five men watching them from across the room. One was playing idly with a dagger as he talked. Aremethis must have noticed but he said nothing.

“Are you in trouble?” Tristain demanded. The blond man glanced back at the five men, his face sour.

Leaning closer across the bench, Aremethis glanced around briefly and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I know you and the Order have had their problems, Tristain.”

“That’s an understatement,” Tristain said with a grunt, making the younger man scowl.

“Even so,” he pressed on as if there had been no interruption, “despite that, you and I, we have always been friends haven’t we?”

Tristain leaned back on his chair, restraining the retort that sat so precariously on his tongue. He had once been friends with Aremethis, true enough, but there was too much bad blood between them now for him to call him anything. There were too many failings on his part for Tristain to even trust him. He had battled with his own good sense about even coming here, fearing he had been lured into trap, but curiosity had got the better of him. It was one of Tristain’s worst faults and the one that often got him into the most trouble.

“How did you locate me?” Tristain said after a moment.

Aremethis scratched at his brow, his eyes moving from Tristain’s face, shame creeping onto his cheeks.

“I have friends in high places. You don’t hide your movements very well. With a bit of digging around you were easy enough to locate.”

Tristain kept his face impassive but his mind reeled from that statement. He made a mental note to take better precautions with his movements.

“You could have told the Order. Why didn’t you?”

“I made that mistake once before.” He sighed. “I am sorry about the past, Tris, I was younger then…more naďve I suppose. I did what was asked of me without questioning it. But things have changed now. I’ve changed.”

Tristain smiled but there was no mirth in it.

“You left me to hang, Aremethis.”

It was a sweet sort of revenge to see the pained look on the blond haired man’s face but even so Tristain felt it didn’t come close to the way he had suffered.

“If I could take it back, I would.”

“Time can’t be changed and even if it could, I wouldn’t change a thing about it. I learnt who my friends where that night.”

The silence grew between them for a moment before Aremethis spoke again, focusing on his hands which were folded on the table in front of him. His tone was solemn.

“I did not think they would torture you.”

“What did you expect them to do?” Tristain snapped, his temper getting the better of him. He had after all, waited a long time to say these words to him. “They thought I was dangerous and not only that, they were convinced I was a traitor. Are you really that much of a child to believe that the Order would just talk to me over a cup of mead and then let me go?”

“I didn’t know what they would do. I just… I don’t know Tristain! I was a fool! A stupid, trusting fool! Anwan assured me he would-“

“Anwan is a liar and a fraud!” Tristain growled. A few heads turned towards them and the dark haired man lowered his voice. “You handed them my life and then walked away and left me to rot! I don’t know you want from me right now and to be honest I don’t really care. I came to say that to you, and that is all. Whatever you want from me, forget it. I wouldn’t give you the rust off my sword.”

He rose to his feet, seizing his cloak off the back off his chair but Aremethis grabbed his arm.

“I had a vision.”

Tristain stopped, turning back to him, his brow creasing.

“But that’s –“

“Impossible?” Aremethis interrupted, a troubled look growing on his face. “Yes I know. But nevertheless I had one.”

“Truly,” Tristain muttered sitting back down, “but it was only one vision. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Aremethis gave him a sceptical glare.

“Are you as naďve as that?” He said. “It spells trouble. I haven’t…seen anything for so long I almost passed out when it came. I don’t understand it. I shouldn’t be able to.”

Frowning, Tristain mulled it over in his head. Aremethis was right. They had all been broken by the war. None of them had been able to do anything. Well, actually that was not completely true but Tristain had already suffered enough for that.

“I’m scared. Scared of what the Order will do when they find out.”

Tristain didn’t doubt his fear, it was clearly written across his face and to be honest he had good reason to be scared. Shuddering, Tristain recalled his own past. The Order were dangerous.

“What did you see?”

Aremethis rubbed his shoulder, pulling a face.

“I can trust you, can’t I? I only came to you Tristain, because I know how much you loath Anwan and the Order. The others will hand me over as soon as they find out.”

“You mean like you did to me?”

He blushed again.

“We were told to hand anyone over who showed any signs of retaining the power! How could I not have done so, Tristain? There were too many witnesses! Too many people who saw what you did! I feared for my own life!”

“And so you gave Anwan mine instead?” He retorted angrily. “Why should I help you now when you did nothing for me? Do you even know what Anwan did to me?”

Glancing away painfully Aremethis frowned deeply.

“I know what he did and I am more sorry than you will ever know for helping him to do that. But please, I need your help. I don’t know what else to do.”

Tristain scowled.

“I don’t really see why I should help you. I want nothing to do with you, or the Order for that matter.”

“You don’t understand, Tristain. Things are going to get very bad for us.”

“For you maybe. This is your problem not mine.”

Aremethis met his eyes, his expression malevolent.

“How long do you think you can keep running for? You were not exactly difficult to track. They will find you eventually and when they do they will kill you. You are far too dangerous to keep alive. Anwan believes you will destroy the world.”

“And what do you think?”

He shrugged.

“I think if you were going to destroy the world you would have done it already. Twenty-seven years is a long time to brood over things.”

Sitting back in his chair, Tristain stared into his tankard. He wondered absently if this was some elaborate plot. Was the Order waiting for him outside the tavern? Were they sat waiting for him to leave so they could drag him back to Gweryn Torr and deliver the swift retribution that had been denied to them so many years ago? His hand of its own accord strayed to his sword hilt. It felt oddly comforting to feel the cool metal under his hand despite knowing the fact he did not even need to use it. There were other ways available to him that he could use to kill a man. However he found plain and simple brute strength reassuring. He would not be taken lightly if it came to that.

“Are the Order waiting for me?” Tristain asked bluntly.

Aremethis looked up at him, surprise in his eyes.

“Do you really believe me capable of that?”

Tristain arched his brow.

“With your past record would you expect me to think otherwise?”

The blond man scowled.

“I made a mistake! Can you honestly say you have never made a mistake?”

Tristain leaned forward, hissing.

“Made a mistake? I was tortured for over a week because they believed I was in league with Idris just because I retained my power! Do you have any idea how much I suffered? They were going to kill me because I had a small spark left of something I was born with! Something I never even asked for! And all because they are running scared!” He paused, breathing heavily in an attempt to control his temper. “We were all born with these gifts, Aremethis, given to us by the Gods themselves, who are they to say that I am evil just because my gift came back when theirs did not? Idris has them so frightened that they even fear themselves. It’s pathetic.”

Aremethis met his eyes, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

“It has been five hundred years since the War of Torrhyn. Five hundred years. We were all burnt out. Not one of us could move a cup let alone access the power, Tristain. The Order believed nothing like that war would ever happen again because nobody could open themselves to the power again after that day. And then you came along and you used the power. Something which no one had done in five hundred years and people were terrified of what it would mean. If you had the power, who else had tapped back into it? People were scared that if you could do it, with half the strength of Idris, that he would be able to do it!”

“I’m not like Idris!” His voice rose. “I was Anwan’s right hand! I fought in that war on the side of the Order! I sacrificed more than most and yet you were all ready to believe that I was his lap dog!” he snorted. “You of all people should have known that there was no way I would have helped that piss proud whelp!”

Aremethis had the decency to look ashamed but Tristain felt his anger mounting. Twenty-seven years was a long time to allow bitterness to grow after all and Tristain had had time on the long road to do an awful lot of thinking.

“You don’t understand what I have seen.” Aremethis muttered.

“Why should I care?”

Aremethis tilted his head to the side and when he spoke his tone was solemn.

“I have seen a child. It will be born in the north and it is one of us. More precisely it will be the last one of us. This child, Tristain, will be more powerful than any of us could have ever become. More so than you, Anwan, even Idris. All sides will hunt it, fearing it will break the world but all I saw was good. The child will bring together north and south, it will unite our peoples. It will save us.” He clasped his hands together but even so Tristain noticed they were trembling. “It must be born but the Order will not allow it. War will come to our lands. It will be a war ten fold worse than the War of the Torrhyn but this child will heal this broken world.”

“It is not my problem. Take it to the Order and have them deal with it. I am done with their politics.”

Aremethis laughed irritably.

“Look around you, Tristain! Since we lost our power this world had slipped into the dirt. Evil roams free as it likes and there is no one thing we can do to stop it. We are as helpless as new born pups relying on a bitch for milk and warmth. We were created to protect man but we cannot do it anymore. The chains that held the Forsaken in place are weakening and soon enough they will break free of their prison and they will wreak havoc. This will affect you too. It is not something you can hide from. We must find this child. It is the only hope we have of survival!”

Considering his words, Tristain brushed his dark hair off his face. He wanted to walk away and tell Aremethis to deal with this all on his own. He wanted desperately to throw it in his face that he had left him for as good as dead but he could not. Something about his words hit him hard. It was as if all the pieces of his life had come into place. He didn’t understand it but it was as if he was meant to do this, to see this through. Shaking his head he rose.

“I cannot become involved in the Order again. I’m sorry. You are on your own with this.”

Aremethis closed his eyes.

“All I see is doom if this child is not brought into this world.” Meeting his gaze, Aremethis exhaled deeply. “If you change your mind I will be in town until tomorrow afternoon.”

Tristain nodded and rose, pulling his cloak back around his shoulders and hastily left the tavern. The cold chill of the night air was like a slap in the face as he stepped outside. Glancing around his paranoia that he had been lured into a trap hit him hard. He pulled his hood up and hurried up the streets, Aremethis’ words spinning around his head.

The End...

 

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