18 - Penance - Mark One
The next few day's training was indeed intense, the focus on building strength, stamina and speed. It was something which Sauren welcomed enthusiastically. Until the complex had been acquired, he had spent years sneaking into the courtyard at his old home to use the equipment there. Granted, it had served him well, his physique had developed steadily, he was toned, his musculature well formed but the courtyard had been restrictive. Plus having no-one to show him a proper routine, or how best to escalate and progress from what he was already doing, it more often than not became a chore.
Now, however, even with Brett shouting the odds, it was invigorating, challenging and he loved pushing himself to the limit.
Reed was equally enthused. His physique had been well adapted from the basic form of training he received from his uncle. The lad embraced the physical disciplines at his disposal.
Even Don, who rejoined them two days after his 'incident', showed an aptitude for the drills they were put through. At first, of course, he wasn't for speaking to his two friends especially with all their little quips and puns they fired at him. He was grouchy.
The ice was finally broken when Reed just had to find out how the injury was treated. Begrudgingly, Don filled them in. He had indeed been bandaged, by the old priest Cyrus. Don was sure the priest smirked when he was advised of his predicament, in fact, he was positive the old sod was laughing when he left after bandaging him the first time. Nevertheless, Don admitted he was relieved, in a way, because had it been one of the young nurses instead, he was pretty sure he would have required extra bandages to cover his injured member. At that, the three boys laughed and once more they were all on good terms.
From above the courtyard, Sa'themar observed their progress, in particular, that of his son. He meandered around the upper walkway which linked the towers, stopping occasionally and leaning on the balustrade as he looked down at the pens. His azure eyes followed Sauren's progress through the different stages of the exercise regime.
A mixture of pride and melancholy swam within as he witnessed what the boy was capable of. He had indeed missed much of his son's growing up, but now all the boy's studiousness and dedication were being authenticated before his very eyes.
Sa'themar's decision to allow Reed and Don to train alongside Sauren instead of being planted in with the first-years as technically they should have been was paying off. Both the boys were proving to be healthy competition but Sauren's determination to be the best was indisputable. He was a natural, a phenom in the ways of the rogue, using not only his strength and speed but also his acuity to quickly validate an advantage and move him beyond his contesters.
There were a couple of areas where his companions did eclipse the young Nightflame and one of those was discovered entirely by accident which, in a rather un-fatherly moment, Sa'themar had found rather amusing.
It had occurred during a break in the boys' routine when Sauren and Don decided to test each other in a boxing match. Sa'themar looked on as his son's litheness enabled him to land a few punches on the heavier-set Don and artfully avoid the swings from his challenger. The blacksmith's son, however, whose obvious irritation at being hit so often, managed a manoeuvre which appeared to even take him by surprise.
Sauren had moved in to land another punch to his friend's side when Don side-stepped, spun round and brought up his fist. It smashed into Sauren's chin and lifted him straight off the ground. Rigid as a board the half-elf flew a few feet, horizontally, before impacting on the ground sending up a dust-cloud as he landed. Both Don and Reed noticeably panicked and ran to Sauren's side. They shook him, slapped him and finally threw water over him from the bucket at the edge of the pen.
Sauren coughed and spluttered then awkwardly propped himself up on his elbows. Something was muttered between the three and they helped Sauren to his feet. Next, Sa'themar heard them laughing, Don and Sauren giving each other congratulatory slaps on the arm or back. All was well. But without a doubt, Don was the one with the most powerful punch.
Reed, on the other hand, showed an exceptional, or perhaps insane talent for launching himself from heights which had many of the observing trainers and students gasp, scream and hide their eyes. He would bounce from one construct to the other, sometimes even the walls of the complex itself and he always co-ordinated each contact skilfully so to land crouched, unhurt, perfect.
Sa'themar knew these three were inseparable. Sauren had chosen his comrades well, in that, the Guild Master knew his son's future would be spent in reliable and trustworthy company. There was a noticeable bond between them, particularly Don and Sauren. He had found out over time about some of the incidents his son had endured years before - he could not unburden the guilt he felt for not having been there when it mattered. But, thankfully, Sauren had proved to be strong-willed, a survivor and now he displayed a natural flair for the life of a rogue, his legacy. He would achieve great things, from that Sa'themar drew some comfort for his failings as a father.
Even though their training left them tired, hot and sweaty by the end of the day, the plans for eliminating the first name on 'The List' did not go unattended.
Reed carried out his part of the deal, watching initially to assess if there was a quiet time at the forge during early evenings. Midweek had been quiet the first spell of surveillance but he would need a little more time to be sure. Sauren accepted this, not being one who wanted it rushed therefore bungled and the guild being laid to blame for having a freak in its midst.
Sauren also kept a close eye on Mr Atherton ensuring he was not at risk from his opprobrious apprentice. One perfect excuse to gauge the situation was to pay the bill for Reed's clothes. The half-elf subtly asked the old proprietor about his new tailor while finalising payment of the goods. Quietly, the old man admitted he was starting to regret taking Benjamin aboard.
With head bowed, Sauren glanced through the doorway to the back shop and suppressed a grin from behind his curtain of hair. Benjamin was glaring at him as he stretched out a measure of fabric from a bolt of fine woollen cloth. The apprentice continued to watch him as he placed one of his designs atop the material, his eyes only leaving Sauren once he started to chalk around the pattern.
As much as it went against the grain, Sauren pretended to be neutral and asked to see some of Benjamin's work, voicing that perhaps his designs may attract a new, younger clientele. Mr Atherton mumbled compliance but clearly, he wasn't convinced there was a future for his apprentice's creations.
He returned from the back shop with two samples of Benjamin's work and laid them on the counter. He mumbled some more, saying that the patterns and fabrics he and his late partner manufactured were timeless, classics which would never go out of fashion. These, he feared would corrupt his reputation and ruin him.
The old man's conviction was unsettling although Sauren presumed it was more to do with his disappointment he had not found someone with a like-minded approach to tailoring. Still, he would keep a close eye on the odious Benjamin Morley and do his best to ensure Mr Atherton's safety.
Concealed in shadows he skulked after the bigot, observing his habits. This helped Sauren to deliberate whether his decision to keep him at number three on the 'List' was viable or not. Although not learned in the tailor profession, he was astute enough to realise that some of Morley's shady dealings involved exchanging high-quality fabric for ones of a poorer grade and some treacherous coin. It seemed Mr Atherton's supposition of his apprentice's intentions was not misplaced. Benjamin Morely had just been promoted to position two.
Two weeks later the three rogues quietly discussed their findings in the dining hall.
Secreting themselves to a corner in the giant room they enjoyed a little supper following yet another day's training. From a nearby candelabra, golden light flickered and danced from the passage of two trainees and tutors who also sought a little evening snack. They nodded a greeting to the three young men and received a polite response in the form of a smile or incline of heads.
In a low voice, Reed opened the conversation. "Tomorrow night will afford you the best opportunity at the Langdons."
Sauren and Don waited for him to elaborate. "With Midsummer upon us, Langdon gets little business around the festivities – the pyrotechny frightens the horses and tomorrow eve being the start of it all, he only does minimal business."
"Excellent," Sauren grinned. "But, he expects you still?"
Reed cut himself a generous slice of roasted ham and slapped it on his plate along with a wedge of cheese and crusty bread. He nodded reassuringly. "Yes. I explained tomorrow night would be the only chance I had to purchase the sword."
"Sword?" Sauren looked up. The apple slice he'd just carved sat between his thumb and the blade of his anelace.
"Yes," Reed replied, rather pleased with himself. "I thought to make out I was interested in a gift for my uncle, something particularly appropriate for him. He is a warrior, so..." He shrugged, confident his reasoning was self-explanatory.
The half-elf popped the slice in his mouth. Continuing to hold his friend's stare he bit down on the apple, the crunch being the only sound in the immediate vicinity. Don stabbed a piece of ham on his plate and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed, slowly, watching his friends as they eye-duelled.
A grin stretched Sauren's mouth as he cut another apple slice. His eyes dropped to his blade. "Good thinking," he praised. "Especially considering the pending celebrations."
Reed nodded, as he munched on some cheese. "Yes, I thought so myself." He smiled, pleased with his ingenuity.
"So," Sauren said, shifting forward on his seat, ensuring no-one else could hear. "Tomorrow night it is."
"I have arranged to collect the piece after nine bells."
"Perfect. You won't be paying for it," the half-elf muttered biting into another slice of apple.
Reed grinned. "Thank you!"
Sauren laughed lightly and still holding his anelace, shook a finger at him. "No. Neither will I," he said, low.
Reed stopped mid-bite and glanced at Don then back at Sauren. The mahogany eyes held him, the barest twinkle of mirth swimming within the candlelight's reflection. Reed nodded understanding. "Ah, yes. I get it."
Don smirked. "It will part of their penance - mark one, let's say."
Platinum hair rippled as the half-elf agreed with a nod and soft laughter.
"So how else do you intend to make them suffer?" Reed asked finishing off his meal.
A silence fell over the table, the two bodyguards, unblinking, watched Sauren as he pushed his plate forward and proceeded to dab his mouth with a napkin. He studied the anelace, a gift from his father, and very slowly, almost lovingly, wiped the blade clean on the napkin. "I believe the Langdon's have notable differences of opinion, shall we say; constantly bickering, sometimes quite heatedly," he offered before sliding the blade inside his boot. With his elbows resting on the armrests he steeple-jacked his fingers and studied the two faces before him. He nodded to Don to fill in the spaces.
His friend duly obliged. "There is no love lost between father and son. Many have seen Joe launch some dangerous items - you can imagine what lies about in a smithy's workshop - at Adam." Don grinned as Reed's mouth dropped open at the thought. "A few have hit the target too. Adam fights back just as viciously though. But, in one thing they are united."
Reed waited for him to continue, his eyebrows creeping up his brow as the silence drew out. Don leaned in. "They absolutely hate anything elven and the Gods should never have allowed the likes of Sauren - a half-breed."
Reed looked at Sauren. The half-elf sat, his eyes looking inward as if lost in a memory of how his lineage had invoked Langdon's prejudice. He had no doubt Sauren was justified in his want for revenge going by what he had already revealed about other incidents with the likes of Benjamin Morley.
Over the past few days, Reed had come to realise this was a not a young man who just wanted to rebel or create chaos for the sake of it. He had undergone experiences as a child which would have broken many or made them withdraw, fear society, seek shelter from its divisions, its dark and hateful side. Instead, he had bided his time, purposefully feeding his brain with knowledge of the world, its people, their loves and hates, wars, politics, returning heroes and the fallen. Sauren's intellect was expansive and he continually fed it, listening to and observing all around him. He was quite formidable for his young years and Reed had no doubt he would become a man who wielded power as efficaciously as the most accomplished of warriors did their trusty weapons. For now, however, he decided not to press for an explanation.
Another silence fell over the three boys. Eventually, Sauren rose from his reverie and looked at his friends. Scrunching the napkin in his hand he cast it on the table. He pushed his chair back and stood as a young serving girl approached to remove their plates, goblets and cutlery.
Silently she went about her duty, unperturbed by the son of the Guild Master and his two friends. Sauren thanked her once she had everything carefully balanced on her tray. When she moved back towards the kitchen he spoke. "An early night is in order, I think. Goodnight, gentlemen." Without waiting for a response, he turned and left.
The two remaining watched his receding back; unspoken questions hanging in the air. Don stood next, quickly followed by Reed. "We will go over the finer details in the morning. Perhaps he is right, an early night will do us good."
Reed nodded. Together they left the dining hall and headed to their dorms.
The rope bit into his wrists as he struggled against the constraints which had him dangling from the wooden beams of the workshop. A charcoal-stained rag had been rammed into his mouth, the cloth tasting vile and making him retch. His earlier hopes that someone was being nice to him for a change, had been brutally dashed.
He had seen the blacksmith's son, occasionally, when - depending on whether he had been pursued or not - he ran or walked past the workshop on the way home.
Adam Langdon was a strange looking individual. His eyebrows, black and bushy sat on a prominent brow which looked like a shelf above his eyes. At first, Sauren thought his blue eyes were cold, unfeeling until he saw what he could only describe as pure hatred brewing in them as the young man stood closer to him. His mouth was misshapen with a cleft lip hitching his upper lip towards wide nostrils. Yellowed, teeth peeked out from the gap the condition produced. And being at least ten to twelve years his senior, the blacksmith's son was taller and heavier than the slim-built Sauren, who was only aged seven at the time.
He'd been lured into the 'smith's workshop on the pretence of being shown the latest selection of daggers Langdon had been commissioned to make.
Knowing full well the half-elf's father was a rogue, it turned out Adam had surmised the subject of daggers would have piqued the boy's interest. Unfortunately for Sauren, his assumption had been correct. It did not take long for him to realise his gullibility had a price.
Wound around his skinny wrists within seconds, the rope was thrown up high and it looped over the lower beams. Sauren had kicked out and his pitiful voice squealed to be let down as Adam yanked him a few inches from the ground. The rag was then rammed in his mouth. With a satisfied grunt, the 'smith's son stepped back and looked at his captive.
His eyes raked over the slim, well-dressed boy with a mixture of revulsion and morbid curiosity. "Stop struggling," he ordered.
As Sauren stilled, his mind frantically thought of the people his father had over at the house on occasions. He had watched them all in the courtyard from his special hiding place; they were lithe, fast, dexterous individuals. One moment, his young brain tried to imagine how they would get out of a situation like this and the next he was chastising himself, for they would never have been stupid enough to end up like this in the first place. Still, he tried to focus, remembering some of the moves...
His knees suddenly drew up as Adam's fist ploughed into his stomach. Tears sprang to his eyes. He had never been hit so hard before and it nearly took all the air from his lungs.
Adam laughed and pushed him so he swung on the rope. The brute moved around and landed another punch to his side. Sauren's cry of pain was lost in the dirty rag.
"Well, at least you feel pain the same as us normal folk do, " Adam commented.
Although Sauren was brought up to never be rude to anyone, he could not suppress the thought that pinged in his head at that moment. Adam Langdon thought he was normal? Thank the Gods I'm a freak!
Another fist, quickly followed by another pummelled the half-elf's abdomen. Try as he did Sauren could not stop the tears falling as the blacksmith's son delivered punch after punch. He felt consciousness starting to slip and his head lolled forward.
"Oh no, you don't!" Adam said. Cold water was thrown over Sauren's head. The shock made him snap his head up, eyes wide.
"Now, then, elf boy, " Adam said standing directly in front of him again. "What else could I do to you." Sauren's panicked eyes saw Adam slipping one hand under the apron which covered his crotch. A lecherous grin stretched the malformed lips and a low, menacing laugh bubbled in the brute's throat. Quite what he was planning Sauren didn't know, but he knew it was something really bad. His eyes darted around his surroundings, helplessly looking for something which he could use to escape.
"Let's see what that pretty mouth of yours is capable of, freak," Adam said.
Pain shot up Sauren's legs as the rope restraint was suddenly loosened and he dropped, his knees crashing onto the stone floor. Next Adam grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head up. "You don't want me to hurt you any more, do you?"
A muffled whimper swallowed in the rag was all Sauren could muster.
"Good, then you're not going to hurt me, are you?" Adam pulled the apron to the side, exposing himself.
Dread and fear exploded in Sauren. He tried to stand, dragging his right leg round to get purchase on his foot, but his captor forced him back to his knees. Adam still had a grip of his hair, taut, the roots being tugged as he attempted to pull Sauren's head closer to his erection. He yanked out the rag and slapped Sauren's jaw. "Don't you fucking bite, freak, or else..."
No. No. NO!
Sauren bolted upright. His hair was plastered to his face, his body glistening in a fine coating of perspiration. His lips felt dry, cracked from taking in heavy gulps of air. His eyes darted from side to side, panic still keeping him rooted. Shadows surrounded him but within them, familiar shapes started to form. He was in his chambers, in bed and he had just relived an experience he had buried deep in the farthest reaches of his mind.
He wiped his face with the palms of his hands, peeling strands of hair from his skin. Then he sat, lost in thought yet trying not to return to the memory which had been dragged up to his conscious through a dream. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing - inhaling through his nose, exhaling by mouth. He always knew he had been victim to the father and son bigots with their name-calling, degrading remarks about him and his family, Adam's regular beatings and bullying, but that particular memory had been sealed, secured, forgotten - until now.
He held out his hands and stared at them. Even in the semi-dark, he could see they trembled. He clenched and flexed them, willing the tremors to recede. When at last they did, his resolve had returned, along with a fierce, cold determination.
It was time for debts to be paid.