'Then you live,' Marakion said, breathing a bit harder. Leaning down, he searched the body thoroughly for the insignia that gave his life burning purpose.
There was none to be found.
Furiously disappointed, he left the useless thug where he lay and headed for the road.
The town that had been his destination before the small band of ruffians had attacked him lay ahead. He had searched all of the towns and outlying areas east of here, only to come up empty-handed, forever empty-handed. But this desolate area showed promise. Marakion was sure the marauders were here. They had to be. During the last few days, he'd come across numerous wretches like the one he'd just felled. None of them belonged to the Knightsbane, but their presence might be a sign that he was getting close to their hideout.
It wasn't long before sparse trees gave way to a huge, rolling meadow. On its edge stood a squat, dirty little town. Marakion didn't even look twice at the ramshackle buildings, the muddy, unkempt road, the muck-choked stream. The sight of people living in such squalor was not unusual to him, not unusual at all. In fact, this place was better than some he'd seen.
The few people he saw as he followed the road to town gave him quick, furtive glances from beneath ragged, threadbare cowls. Marakion ignored them, made his way to the first tavern he could spot.
He didn't even read the name as he entered. It didn't matter to him where he was, and the names only depressed him — new names, cynically indicative of the time, such as 'The Cataclysm's Hope,' or old names, which the owners hadn't bothered to change. Those were even worse, sporting a cheerful concept of a world gone forever, their signs dangling crookedly from broken chains or loose nails.
Marakion opened the door; it sagged on its hinges once freed of the doorjamb. He pushed it shut, blocking out the inner voice that continued to remind him how worthless life was if everything was like this.
Marakion turned and surveyed the room, walked forward to the bar that lined the far wall.
The innkeeper had smiled as Marakion had entered, but now blanched nervously at sight of the hunter's stony face, the dark, deliberate gaze.
'Uh, what can I do for you, stranger?'
'What do you have to eat this day, innkeep?'
'Fairly thick stew tonight. Mutton, if you've the wealth.'
'Bread?'
'Sure, stranger, fairly fresh, if you've the wealth.'
Marakion did not return the man's feeble attempts to be friendly. 'A chunk of fresh bread and the stew.' He tossed a few coins on the bar. 'I'll be at that table over there.'
The innkeeper scooped the coins off the counter in one movement. 'I'm Griffort. You need anything, I'm the man to talk to. I don't suppose you'll be staying for the night. Got a couple of rooms open — '
'One room,' Marakion interrupted, 'for the night.' He left a stark pause in the air and waited.
'Uh, um, another of those coins'll do it,' the unnerved innkeeper stuttered.
Marakion paid the man and made his way to the table he'd indicated. As he sat down, he touched his money pouch. Not much left. A filthy inn, rotten food, a room likely crawling with rats, and costing him as much as a night in Palanthas — that was the type of world he was living in now.
The type of world he lived in now… Marakion put his fingers to his face and massaged his eyes gently. He couldn't make the memories go away. Even if he blocked the images, the essence of them still came to him. He couldn't seem to shut that out. It infected his every thought, his every action.
He relaxed, and his muscles began to unknot from the day's exercise. He could feel the pull of exhaustion on him. His fingers continued to massage closed eyelids, and the inn slowly drifted from his attention.
'I don't know. Nearby somewhere. I don't know,' he muttered.
'I'm looking, trying to find her!'
'I know. I'll find them. If I have to rip apart this entire continent. I will.'
The accusing voice drifted away, to be replaced by the vision that haunted his nights when he slept and his waking hours whenever he lost the concentration that kept it at bay.
Fire. fire and smoke. the flames licked
the top of the tower windows. The smoke
spiraled up from every part of the castle,
blackening the sky. despair wrenched at
Marakion's heart. he had returned home in
time to see it fall to the hands of a
pillaging group of brigands.
His horse slipped on the cobblestones that
led into the castle. he yanked brutally on
the reins, pulling the galloping animal to a
stop. the horse almost stumbled to its
knees. Marakion leapt from its back and
raced into the castle gardens. They were
trampled, destroyed, burned.
'Marissa!' he shouted above the
crackling flames and tearing, rending
sounds of destruction that came from
within the castle proper. 'Tagor! Bess!' He
was across the garden in a heartbeat and
ran through the entryway. The great
double doors lay broken and scattered on
the floor. the huge foyer was destroyed, a
shambles, a mockery of its original
grandeur. One scruffy-bearded ruffian
stood guard at the entrance.
The marauder charged. He had
determination and purpose in his eyes;
Marakion had murder. Rage fueled Marakion's
sword arm, fear for his family
infusing his body with uncanny speed. He
smashed the invader's sword aside and
delivered a vicious return stroke at the head.
The marauder ducked under the
powerful attack and slipped a cut at
Marakion's midriff. Marakion parried,
stepped inside the invader's guard, and ran him through.
The invader fell and gasped as his life
seeped away. Marakion put his foot on the
man's chest and kicked violently, freeing his
blade. The dying man's screams ended by the
time Marakion reached the top of the lefthand stairs.
'Marissa!'
Marakion raced to his younger sister's
room, the first room on the second level.
