Friend of the Devil
1. Fall from Grace
The metal cooled too fast, and the brittle blade snapped under the first blow from her hammer. Not that she was the world's greatest metalsmith to begin with, but she had long since learned to upkeep her daggers. The edge had been dulled of late, and And-
This isn't working.
Leaving the hammer and remains of her dagger where they lay, the girl retreated closer to the glow of the forge. At least then, in the heat of the smoldering coals, she could mask the warm tears that threatened to overtake her.
.oOo.
Olbohn's kingdom was one of death. As such, he also governed birth and rebirth as a matter of course. He touched all walks of life with evenhanded measure, and yet, despite what those living might have said of the matter, and what he had been in mortal life, his heart was most genial.
"Is there something you need, my son?" he asked softly, startling not the Shadoles that attended him, but rousing instead the young man who hung back to the shadows that cased the cave-like walls.
Escad didn't answer, although that was no surprise to either of them. The young knight-inherent hadn't spoken in months; personally, he wasn't sure he even had a voice anymore. On occasion, he wondered, but he simply hadn't the willpower left to even bother. Since the day he had met Irwin in the depths of the Underworld, a strange calm had settled over his soul; yet he persisted, a mere shadow of what he had once been.
He couldn't even count the hours. He knew that some days, or maybe it was weeks, Olbohn encouraged him to continue down the Endless Path. For a moment, he wondered if it was time again for that encouragement.
Escad waited patiently, but Olbohn merely sighed; it was a soft sound, reminiscent of wind through the winter trees.
"No? Hmmm." The Wisdom turned his mind back to his matters, and at length Escad took his silent leave.
The Underworld was the same, day in, day out, though weeks, months, years. Years? Surely not... not yet. Escad wasn't sure. It was... different, since he left for Rosiotti's guidance on the matter. Different, now that he was on this side of the Veil, rather than that.
Different, now that he was dead.
Very rarely did he admit that much; most days he was content to shadow the newly dead, watching the tide of souls for familiar faces. Not that there were many he could watch for...
Some days, more recently if he could tell, a Shadole took to following him around. Sometimes it was there, as sometimes it was not. But it had been there for the last three tides, he realized, without going away. Bemused, he wondered if he had a new outlet for his aggravation, but all he could do was scowl.
"I'm waiting," the Shadole responded to the glare. When Escad didn't reply, it broke into a fit of giggles. "I'm waiting to see. I bet you; I bet you'll be one of us sooner or later, you know? You've certainly got the pain for it and you ain't seem to have anywhere else you're goin'."
He wouldn't become a Shadole, he determined. Nor would he walk the Endless Path. He would sit here, day after day, watching the dead, for however long it took.
Now, the Shadole hovered with him, making casual remarks about the weather and eyeing him as it did. He never answered, for he no longer spoke.
.oOo.
There was something wrong with the Tapestry. Pokiehl had said as much, but the Master Poet said many things; it was difficult to read the nonsense from the truth, and picking the truth from the nonsense was even more difficult.
None of that mattered now. Olbohn knew something was wrong in his domain the moment that something became wrong. In that same instant, it seemed it had also become too late.
But there was hope. Even in the darkest depths of the Underworld, there was always hope.
Escad. These days, the boy rarely strayed any great distance. The child of his heart had faded far; although Olbohn would have much preferred him to take the Endless Path of reincarnation, the Wisdom respected that it was his choice of when. And perhaps it was a boon that the young knight was still himself, for there were few Olbohn would have otherwise trusted.
Currently, the youth sat in the corner, staring at his hands. When Olbohn spoke, he raised his head to listen. "My boy, pray retrieve my sword from the Antiquity." Escad blinked drowsily, and roused himself to follow the command. The Wisdom sighed after him.
It could take a lot to hold the proper order of things together in times of strife. The Lord of the Dead held on, holding all together, until he felt the first thread plucked free.
.oOo.
When he reached the Antiquity, the quiet glow of the treasures contained therein preoccupied his mind a flute here, a doll there, all and every last one reeking of history and ancient power. He continued past treasures great and small until he found the greatsword, thrust into a spire of living rock.
It took him no effort at all in pulling it out, regardless of his expectations. The ancient thing glowed under his touch, and he bit his lip in thought.
Olbohn's sword. Last week, he might have been curious. Instead, he dutifully cradled the weapon against his shoulder, and made his way upwards through the Underworld.
With the Tide coming in, the Shadoles were agitated as one. Escad couldn't understand it, but he couldn't understand Shadoles to begin with. A cloud of them laughed, kekekeke, and it echoed through the halls. He quirked an eyebrow at the Shadole that floated in depraved devotion over his shoulder; it took his irritation for curiosity.
"The True Master is come," it giggled. "The True Master is returned!"
The young knight wasn't sure what it meant by that, and kept going; the Shadole went along with him. As he approached Olbohn's chamber, the clash of battle reached his senses, taking far longer to break through his lethargy than it should have. Tightening his grip on the sword, he stood by, watching the Wisdom engaged in a battle for his life against a lordly man; Escad slowly realized that he had never seen him before.
How? He tried to wonder. How could Olbohn lose? In truth, he knew there was no way, yet as they wrestled thunderously in the deepened darkness, the stranger clearly had the upper hand. In the instant it took for Olbohn to spot Escad, he lost his stand, and was hurled to the earthen floor.
Deep within Escad, something stirred. Rage, tainted by sickly, irrational fear, awoke within him. He would have rushed forward, confronted this menace himself, but had Olbohn not twisted suddenly and reached to him.
Unthought, he reached back. As their fingers brushed, fire flooded Escad's senses, leaving him in darkness. Distant scones flickered on either distance of the dirt passageway, but of Olbohn and the stranger, there was no trace.
He still had the sword, and, much to his annoyance, he still had the Shadole.
"If you want to stay in existence, I might take this opportunity to escape if I were you," his Shadole advised. "Not sayin' that you do, mind, just sayin'." The beast cackled at its own wit.
To Escad, running was not an option. Neither, it seemed, was returning to Olbohn's side. It dawned on him, as his steps took him farther and farther along the empty, unmarked path, that he was lost.
Him of all people, lost, in the depths of the Underworld.
How utterly embarrassing.
A/N: A running parallel to Ballad of the Blue Roses, even though I really need no new stories. This was planned out well before Ballad, but I've got less of it written out. Moreso, I apologize for my inactivity - RL tackled me and I lost track of where I was. Hopefully I'll get my footing again shortly and be able to take off at a run. Title might someday change to something more appropriate, but I cannot say for sure.