Cinders of the Past: The Knight and The Witch

Kurst’s head hung heavy with exhaustion as he examined the mundane documents laid across his desk. Food distribution, useless information brought in by the orphans turned spies, and written agreements from several the local gangs who now worked for him. Below them was a map of the entire city, each district was marked according to which group controlled it. Kurst tidied the papers and set them aside. Various colors and small notes were sprawled across the map. Kurst could not deny the smile that formed as he eyed the golden border on the map that displayed the area controlled by the Renaians that he trained and organized. Within its borders were green for the gang known as the Sewer Snakes and brown for the Brick Rats, both of whom were two of the major gangs that were recently tamed with much bloodshed. The Renaians need further development with their skills, but there’s plenty of anger in their hearts to give them the push needed to win a fight. I will need to keep conflict going between the gangs to avoid raising any suspicions. I’ll order them to keep it to fists and clubs, no blades. Kurst eyed the southern edge of the city which was outlined in purple. He remembered a rumor that one of the orphans had passed along. Supposedly, the witch hides amongst the city elite. She leads a coven that she formed from their number. Fools who grant her money and resources, and worse yet, blood sacrifices. Should the entire council be tainted, I could bring an entire army to bear here. She couldn’t be so bold as to risk that, could she? His gaze turned to the rest of the map, areas belonging to small gangs were dotted the map. But no definite location belonging to the cult of Arnek Relan. The sewers perhaps? Or do they hide in plain sight? Only coming out when their neighbors pass along Turek Delarn’s orders.

Lack of sleep blurred Kurst’s sight. Massaging his temples, Kurst sighed. He rose from his chair and made the short walk to his bedroom, locking the door to his office behind him. Kurst reached for the door handle and froze. There was a faint yet unmistakable scent of copper and mildew wafting from his room. His right hand grasped his dagger while he pushed open the door with his left. The flickering candlelight in his room illuminated profane runes and symbols painted on the walls in a thick crimson liquid. Upon scanning the room further, Kurst spotted a small doll made of briars tucked into his bed. His war hammer rested against the wall closest to the doll. He took a tentative step inside, then another until he was in the center of the room. Kurst examined the markings. He was unable to decipher the meaning of the arcane lettering.

A shrill, childlike voice called out to him. “It’s a message, stupid!”

Kurst turned his gaze towards the belligerent voice. He found the briar doll sitting on the edge of his bed, its head turned towards him. His eyes narrowed. “Am I to take this as a warning?”

The doll laughed. “Are all of you knights so paranoid? Your value is not in death alone.” The doll threw its arms in the air, gesturing to the markings painting the walls. “It is an invitation. My mother, Lady Nealonder wishes to parlay with you.”

“It’s not often that an offer of parlay is written in blood.”

“Not blood. A mere paste concocted of berries. There’s no need to waste such a valuable resource on a mundane invitation.”

Kurst once again eyed the runes painted on the walls. “If this is what your mother considers mundane, I shudder at the thought of what she would consider grandiose.”

The doll tapped a small, thorny finger on the side of its head. “Well, it isn’t my best work, but I do appreciate the praise all the same.”

“How did you find your way into my room? You must be terribly clever to have slipped in unnoticed.”

“It wasn’t difficult, I assure you. All of you big folk are looking out for other big folk but there’s plenty of opportunity for someone small like me to find a way in.” The doll hopped down from Kurst’s bed. “But enough about me, do you accept the invitation or not?”

Perhaps it would be best not to let such an interesting opportunity go to waste.

The doll stamped a tiny foot. “Well?”

“I accept, though I admit I am rather tired tonight.”

“Worry not. Lady Nealonder does not intend to make this a long encounter; she has other business to attend to.”

Then I should count myself lucky. Kurst thought. He grabbed his cloak and threw it around his shoulders. “Very well, we’ll ride to Lady Nealonder’s estate. I don’t believe you introduced yourself.”

“My name is Twiddle.”

Kurst smirked.

“Does my name amuse you?”

“To some degree. I expected something, different. I would have thought your lady to have pick something more… exquisite.”

“I chose my own name.”

Kurst gave a small, polite nod. “I see. Then please, accept my apologies. You may ride atop my shoulder if you would like.”

Twiddle grumbled before accepting Kurst’s offer. “Won’t people notice me?”

“If you’re referring to the people of the city, I doubt you are concerned with them. Creations like yourself, and the horrors that prowl these streets are no strangers to the population of the continent. If you’re concerned about my followers, then there’s no need to fret. No one here would question me or my decisions.”

“I see.”

Kurst strode from the room and out from the building that he and the other knights had transformed into their headquarters. The night air was warm and sticky. Sweat was already forming on Kurst’s brow. “Lady Nealonder picked a wonderful night to have this meeting.”

“Your sarcasm is noted, and it is unappreciated, you big oaf.”

Kurst rolled his eyes at the barb. He climbed atop his horse which was hitched alongside several others near the entrance.

“Kurst, where are you going at this hour?” Fald’Arn asked from a window two stories above.

“I’ve got an important meeting that’s just come up.”

“Important meeting? At this hour?”

“It’s with the witch in this city. If I’m not back within the hour, return to Sen’Dol and tell him the city is fallen and must be destroyed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Twiddle jabbed a pointy finger into Kurst’s neck. “Are you out of your mind?”

Consider it insurance if you and your master fail to behave you little monster. Kurst reined his horse around and into an easy trot out into the streets of Drubain. The thick blanket of clouds in the sky threatened the city with rain. There were more people in the streets than in the past month at this time of night. A good sign we’ve made the streets a little safer. But if reports are to be believed, the local trouble just moved to the other end of the city. Fine, let them squabble over whatever territory is left, makes our job easier. The pair quickly found themselves in the in wealthy district of the city. It was the only place in Drubain that the city guard would stand watch at night.

“The house you are looking for is on the right. The one with the rose beds in the front of the garden.”

As Kurst eyed the property the two men standing guard outside it’s gate straightened. He approached and stopped his horse in front of them.

The first guard, a man whose unkempt beard was turning white, glared at Kurst. “Is there something you need, Renaian?”

Kurst met the man’s gaze. “I have a meeting with Lady Nealonder. If you make me late, then you will not only earn my ire, but also the ire of the woman whose house you are protecting.” Kurst leaned forward in his saddle. “If you like sitting here in the safest part of the city and don’t want that to change then I suggest you let me pass.”

The man glanced at his companion, then back to Kurst. “Fine, but one whiff of trouble and I won’t think twice about taking that tongue of yours. You may leave your horse with us.”

Kurst dismounted and handed his reins to the guard. He strode into the witch’s abode. The front door opened for him. He was met with the smell of copper and mildew that was hidden with a strong mixture of rose and lavender. The house was far better kept than the Saint’s Swords headquarters. A grand staircase waited opposite to the entrance. The floors and lower walls were a rich burgundy, the upper walls were decorated by a wallpaper with white flowers trimmed in gold. Kurst admired the design as he passed by.

“Oleander. A favorite of my lady.”

“Is that so?”

“You might believe it is for its deadly properties, but it is instead for its uses in alchemy and rituals.”

A woman’s voice called from above. “I see you accepted my invitation.”

Kurst turned his gaze to the railing above him. There was a young woman whose hair was white as fresh snow. Her eyes piecing, cerulean blue eyes met his eyes. She was clad in a thin bed robe. Kurst held his silence for a moment, then said, “I take it you’re Lady Nealonder then?”

The woman smiled and gave a quick curtsy. “You are correct.” She motioned to Kurst. “Come, we can speak in my study.”

Kurst traversed the stairs and followed Nealonder. She led him into a nearby room and sat at the desk inside. It was, to Kurst’s surprise, tame. The only hint to this room belonging to a witch was the wall of briar dolls on the far wall. “It’s an interesting choice that you leave your dolls for any and all to witness.”

“I’m merely a collector of oddities, my good holy knight.” Nealonder gave him a sly smile. “However, you’ve just reminded me.” She turned her attention to the doll on Kurst’s shoulder. “Twiddle, it’s time for you to run off to bed.”

“Yes, mother.” Twiddle leapt from Kurst’s shoulder and climbed to an empty space on the wall.

“Interesting creations,” Kurst commented as he sat opposite to Nealonder.

Lady Nealonder shrugged. “I suppose. It’s a simple ritual that involves binding lesser demons to a body. There are far more impressive feats, but I have no need of taking the risks that come with achieving them.”

“Speaking of risk taking, what of the risk I took in coming here.”

“Risk? In coming to my home. Please, the only risk you would take is in trying to harm me.”

“And if I say no to whatever you plan to propose to me?”

“You have no idea of what I intend to propose.”

Kurst eyed her. “One can only guess when you dress in such a manner for a meeting.”

“Does it displease you?”

“I came for a parlay, not to sleep with some whore playing at being highborn.”

Nealonder stared daggers at Kurst. “Careful with the words you choose. You’re at a severe disadvantage if you seek to stir my anger.”

Kurst returned the look. “Kill me and the city burns, with you in it.”

Lady Nealonder laughed. “So serious. In truth I wasn’t sure what kind of man I would be dealing with. You’re all business. I admit it’s a pleasant change. Most of the men I meet with I take to bed. They’re not particularly good, but a woman must use all her advantages to get ahead.”

Kurst relaxed in his seat. “I think we’re both getting a feel for each other. So, business?”

“I’m aware of what you and your friends are doing, most can see it.”

“Most?”

“Anyone who isn’t a fanatic of Arnek Relan. But unlike the rest of those who can see it, I can capitalize on the change.”

A strange sense overcame Kurst. Interest. “You think you can not only escape, but benefit from the Sword Saints cleansing this city.”

“I would offer my services in helping your little cause. On two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Lady Nealonder raised a finger. “First, I remain untouched. A valuable, yet largely unnoticed piece on your board. I continue to live an easy and luxurious life while you lot continue to hunt monsters in the dark.”

“And the second?”

“I need your help in exorcising a demon.”