DISCLAIMER: Blah, blah, disclaimer, blah, blah.
STORY: A sequel to "The Trophy", the sequel by Random Scribbles to my own "Inversion". It's not what I envisaged "Inversion" leading up to, but that's fiction for you!
RATING: R. For violence.
THANKS: Much unending mead and smoked salmon to Scriblet. (I'm honoured you liked Inversion enough to write such a great sequel!)
Closure
The old man had been in the cave for a long time before it finally came for him. He had known for some time that there was only one choice left. The day the creature appeared was just like the one before; except for the harsh but familiar voice at the door.
'Found you.'
There was no excitement in its voice at finally catching its quarry, no emotion at all. It was older than he remembered it being, but then, many years had passed since it was human. It stepped over the threshold and its fate was sealed. No, our fates are sealed.
He knew what it wanted. It was holding a knife.
The old man looked at the creature, forcing himself to see all that it had become. He'd had a part in its fall, but still, he found it hard to accept that this was once a child, and one that he had tried to help.
Around its shoulder was the belt, the eight original locks of hair complimented by more; it was difficult to count, but there were many more. But there was a space, beside the silver-blue hair at the bottom. Yes, he knew what it wanted. And he knew it would do anything to get it.
There was only one rule in its world, "Because I wanted to, and I can". Reality meant nothing to it; life meant nothing to it, not even its own. But that was going to change.
He greeted it with a bow.
'Cavalier.'
There was the tiniest shudder through the creature, though there were few left alive who could recognise it, it still knew its original title. Emotion, was that really emotion after all this time?
'I know why you're here,' he said, holding out a large handful of freshly cut hair and placing it on the ground before him. The creature stared at the offering, head cocked to one side. The hand with the knife wavered for a moment, but it didn't move in for the killing blow. Good. It will work.
It had taken a great deal of time to put everything in place, and make sure there would be no mistakes. The room was sealed the instant the creature had set foot inside; it was a baited trap. The final stones would be laid eventually, to close them off from the light. His successor would see to that.
The creature crept forward to take the hair, the knife glinting in the torchlight. It probably knew already, but he had to make sure it understood.
'There is no way out, Cavalier,' he told it. 'We can never leave here alive.'
The creature gave a bright, beautiful smile. It didn't care. And it didn't answer.
'I have a present for you,' he said at last.
'I like presents.'
The old man nodded. He knew. He'd expended almost all his remaining energies on finding out everything he could. He'd done whatever he could to find out.
'Like the presents you left Diana.'
The statement seemed to shake the creature. It winced at her name. More emotion, but there must be even more.
'I found this for you.'
He pointed to the corner of the room. Propped up against the remains of a statue, was a weapon of power.
The Shield.
It stood looking at it, motionless for what seemed like an hour.
'This was once yours, Cavalier.'
This time the creature didn't react. Was that fear in its eyes?
Very slowly, it moved forward to touch the weapon, but its outstretched hand stopped just short.
'Why?' it whispered. 'Why are you doing this?' The old man smothered a smile. There it is again, a tiny bit more emotion, a fraction more pain.
'I do what I must,' he explained, 'I had a son, once. And a daughter.'
The creature frowned, and looked down at its belt. Below the lock of blue-white was a much longer curl of fair hair. The old man stared at it too. They had been dead for a long, long, time. But life is cruel and heartless, as was this thing in front of him, the murderer of his family and his last pupils. He had to carry it through now to the end.
This thing had changed the rules to suit itself, and believed it was beyond the ken of any in the Realm. Well, two could play at that game.
It had cost him dearly. He might have saved the last two Young Ones, but he couldn't take the risk. He might even have been able to save his own daughter, but the Realm would have fallen in consequence. So, though it had taken every last scrap of his power and many years; and though he might have lost his own soul along the way, he had to finish it. He would force it to remember.
Besides, if he was going to fall, then he was going to take the creature with him. He own the Realm that much, after all the failures of the years before, he own the Realm the chance of sanity.
'Cavalier!' It was a command this time. And the creature looked up. Its eyes that once were brown gleamed red; who knows what dark magic it had taken over the years. But there were still some things it didn't know, and couldn't avoid. It was still mortal. It was still sentient. And deep, deep within the shell was a human, with human emotions and memories. 'I know what he did to you.'
Silence.
A long, long silence. Perhaps it was weighing up what it knew, with what it wanted. Perhaps it was thinking of killing him before he said anything else. I don't think it cares any more.
'You can't know.'
But he did. He'd done what he had to do to find out, some of the things he was least proud of. He'd "questioned" Orcs and Lizardmen, those who'd carried out Venger's orders without question, and slowly he'd pieced together how the Cavalier had been changed. The rules of the game were his now. He was the one who could do what he liked. He finally understood.
'There was pain,' he said. 'Don't you remember? You were hurt. He hurt you. Venger hurt you.'
The creature turned to glare at him, the eyes still shinning with their own madness and arrogance. Yes, he was always arrogant, that boy.
'How many died in front of you? Tens, hundreds?' Thousands? 'How many did he sacrifice? You know, don't you? You can remember.'
The creature shook its head, as if suddenly afraid of the images in there.
'I don't know.'
He had a single chance to succeed. It was the only way. It was cruel, but so were so many things about life in the Realm.
'But you remember Lorne, don't you?'
This time the creature visibly staggered, as if hit by the force of the memory. Then it leaped up, pinning the old man to the ground, the knife dancing so close to his neck that he could smell the blood on it.
'Why?' it asked. 'Why do this?'
Would it be enough? the old man wondered, as he looked his murderer in the face. After all the planning, and all the effort, would it work with only those few words as catalyst? There was enough magic to pull it back from the dark and force it back into the light, but the creature had to go part of the way itself.
He had to reply. Though the creature had the knife aimed at his heart, he still had to reply.
'Because next time we play the game, I expect you to remember… Eric!'
At that name, the creature snarled, and swung the knife down, straight into the old man's heart. Blood and magic flowed over its hands.
It looked down at its red-covered hands.
Then it gave a long, endless scream.
- I remember -
There had been pain every day.
Relentless. Unforgiving. Unending.
The first time he'd see one die, he'd been sick, then they'd whipped him again until he passed out. After that, each day they brought more to his cell so he could watch the Orcs' games. Each day brought more screams and more death. Only when the Arch-Mage had been there was their any respite and slowly he began to long for those visits.
As the blood flowed more freely, Venger visited more; and the respites became small pools of calm amid the violence. Those were the times he didn't have to watch them, the times he was safe from the suffering. There were times he had begged Venger not to leave, and not to send him back to face the Orcs alone.
The whippings stopped the moment Venger decided to stay and supervise. There was no more pain for him, but more had died because of it. And Venger talked to him as they stood, side by side, and watched all those people at the mercy of the Orcs. He told him about many things, even his Evil Master's name. But nothing could hide the fact that he'd stood and watched them all die.
He wasn't sick anymore.
He wasn't even alive himself anymore.
He was nothing. He was lost. He was empty.
Then they'd brought Lorne. Last of all. On the final day. The day it all changed.
And on that day he'd stood and watched as his one-time friend had been mutilated and murdered in front of him. Venger had told him to touch the body, and he had, unable to disobey his new Master. Lorne's blood was on his hands, as surely as it he'd thrust home the knife himself.
That night, Venger's restrain had broken. That night, there was nothing left to protect. That night, he'd died and been borne anew; with pain and lust and death.
And the next morning, he'd started the hunt.
- I remember -
'C'mon, open it!'
'Are you sure he said to come here?'
'He told us there was "something there to be learned". You know what he's like!'
'Never gives you a straight answer!'
There was a crash, then light flooded into the huge cave. Their information had been correct. It was a tomb.
In the centre, in front of a small pile of stones, was a small skeleton in tatty red robes, its hands neatly folded across the chest. For a moment, the group stood next to it in silence, as if paying their last respects.
'Hey! Look at that!' said the taller girl.
She pointed to the far end of the cavern. There was a small plinth with something on it. The six of them gathered round.
It was a belt; brittle and faded with age, and decorated with hair. It seemed to once have been of different colours, and from different people, but it was so old that it was difficult to tell.
The youngest of them reached out to pick it up, but the leader stopped him.
'No, remember, the Dungeonmaster told us not to touch anything.'
'Then why are we here?' said the dark haired boy at the back. 'What's this place gotta do with us?'
The others all glared at him, something he was more than used to, and then split up to search the cavern more thoroughly. He waited for a while, arms folded, but eventually he too began to look around.
The second skeleton was hidden in a corner as if something had tried to hide it. It was only by chance that he'd noticed the scrap of black fabric on the ground.
On the floor around it were dark brown stones the colour of old blood, and in its hand was a bent and rusted knife. By its side was a Shield, identical to his own, though old and dusty and with a large dent in the centre.
At first it seemed impossible; there was only one Shield in the Realm. But if the old one had been magical too, its power had faded long ago. Now it was just an old, forgotten shield.
But he found it curiously interesting, all the same. So the boy reached out. Yes, Dungeonmaster had told them not to touch, but he was allowed to this time, he knew he was, he knew with more certainty than he'd ever known anything before. There was something for him there. Something there to be learned.
He turned it over to see words scratched into the surface:
You remember.
The End