CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Darien Confesses
Darien continued into the forest, hitting the middle of the road at Midday. A pair of vampires, invisible with their sheer speed, stopped abruptly in front of him. “This is so not fair,” Darien groaned. “I just managed to avoid being in the wolfie stewpot and turned that around and now I have to deal with these yahoos.”
“You there!” Daerick called. “What business have you in the respected territory of the Pallid Race?”
“Catchy,” Cillean muttered under his breath. “With a name like that our whole civilization sounds like a ridiculous circus act of sick people.”
“I have no business with mere soldiers,” Darien said. He sneered at the two with clear distaste. “I`m on a mission of my own. If you must know,” he continued, nose in the air, “I am traveling along this road because that’s exactly what roads were made for.”
Daerick glared at him, holding his sword in its holster. “Speak now of your business, and I shall not be forced to disembowel you. If you insist on stubbornness, however, I can assure you there will be consequences” he growled. The two bristled looking at each other.
Darien had a flash of inspiration. His ears pulled back as he began his tale. “I suppose I can tell you,” he began, “I happen to have some business with the wolf shifters in the North. I was simply passing through to collect some supplies from your people`s Kitsch Caravans marketplace in preparation for a raid of a sort.
“A raid,” Cillean asked quietly.
“Yes,” Darien responded, modulating his voice to to tell the tale perfectly dramatically. “I plan to avenge my sister. She fell in love with one of the younger wolves, and shared a relationship of some time. But, alas, her affections were doomed to be spurned! It is so tragic,” he sniffed pitifully. However, little drops of sweat fell off his forehead. He had taken a gamble, hoping that these two would share the hatred of werewolves, and be blinded enough by that hatred enough to also be blinded to the glaring plot holes in his story. All he could hope was that they would remain oblivious, and that the old man Degorrin wouldn`t hear any of his falsehoods and get angry. Or even, he thought, he might simply not invite me to visit again, and it would be a little disappointing to never have a picnic again in the future. His neck was potentially on the line though, so it was a potential loss he was willing to face if the alternative was a slow death by vampire feeding.
Daerick growled deep in his throat. “Lies,” he spat.
Cillean restrained his friend, though his battle pose was no less deadly. “Nice try, spy,” he grinned. The gesture bared his teeth and was more threatening than comforting. “Unfortunately, you`ve ratted yourself out.” Darien looked at him with some trepidation.
“Some tribes have found peace between each other. The vampires of this forest hold no ill will towards the werewolves,” Daerin said.
“That can’t be right,” Darien exclaimed. “I just talked to them today and they didn’t like you lot at all!” He looked at the other two and saw their smirks and realized he’d revealed his own lies.
“Bummer for you, taking that tack with us,” Cillean said. “You`ve been chatting with your supposed enemies, apparently. Makes one doubt that any of your tall tales have a grain of truth. The wolves still love to play their tricks and rope others into their pranks but there is peace on both sides in this region. You have just said you plan to hunt our allies down, which makes you our enemy, or you lied which would just make me want to gut you faster.”
“Well,” Darien blushed, hesitating for a split second, “Well, my job is no concern of yours! That`s right! Because I`m, uh, a messenger of the prince!”
Daerick lowered his sword, but Cillean leapt forward so that his saber left a fine pinprick of blood. “I could cut this lying tongue out for you,” he whispered. Darick was visibly disconcerted, taking a step away from his friend. It seemed as if all the good humor and boyish ways had melted in the fiery exchange.
“Which prince, and of which king? Who is your target? You speak in riddles, my friend,” he said softly, menacingly. “I can see now that you are no ally of me or mine. Speak now of the truth,or you will be granted a brief promotion as your blood turns your white robes red.” Darien shuddered. All the forest hushed, the distant sound of trickling water somehow giving hint at the sound of those gorier falls. All was still and tense for a heartbeat.
Daerick gestured wildly behind his leader`s back, desperately signaling that Darien stay silent. With a gulp to restore his bravado he ignored the command to instead squeak out, “What right does a mere foot soldier have to question me,” he weakly demanded.
“What right,” Cillean asked with cold menace. He gave the slightest flick of his wrist, and in an instant an angry line circumnavigated Darien`s neck. With a twitch of his hand a flash of light appeared and the injured man was then screaming with pain on the ground, bound in a magical torment far greater than the pain of his shallow scrape.
“You have men with great power in your citadel, wizard,” he said quietly. “But they are mortals. When they die, most of their knowledge and experience is lost forever, and as generations of these men die, gradually all of their knowledge will die with them.” He flicked his hand again, and the still shining light faded, Darien now panting on the ground even as he was still holding desperately onto his aching neck. “Your citadel was raised when I was
