He doesn't know how long he stayed in that position, clutching his father to his chest, but when he next looks up, the fires have spread even closer, and are almost on top of them. He feels the blast of heat from the flames, and reluctantly releases his Pa's body, stumbling backwards on unsteady feet. He gazes down at his hands, his clothes…every single part of him is drenched in blood.
His Pa's blood…
His stomach gives a sudden lurch. Whirling around, he retches as he bends over, throwing up the contents of his gut and spewing them onto the grass. Gripping the edge of the well for support, he coughs and gags as he vomits, disgorging everything from his stomach, until his throat feels raw, and until his insides start to feel as empty as his soul.
He hacks dryly a few more times, the exertion squeezing fresh tears into his eyes. Keeping his head down, he wipes his mouth with the back of a bloody hand, the bitter taste of bile on his tongue. His mind slowly begins to clear, and when it does, he experiences a flash of insight.
Despite what he thinks of the man, Garrick is no fool. He would have known if there were people spying on him, trying to hunt him down. Killing the mercenaries would be easy, but it would not stop whoever was sending them from continuing to hound him with more hired assassins. To truly halt the attempts on his life, he would have to find out who wanted him dead.
And it looks like he has.
He knew about this…
His mind races back to the night with Calyx, just days before.
"What about Redfallows Watch?" she had suggested innocently. Garrick had told her about Bishop's past, probably for a reason.
He recalls how she had followed him into the burning village, against all protocol, and how she had egged him on while he confronted his father.
"Kill him." Her voice was cold, calculating, insistent, revealing a part of the woman she had kept hidden from him until now.
Why else would she care so much about what he wanted to do with his father? Why else would she be so keen on seeing him die?
She knows, too…
A heavy feeling of dread builds up in the pit of his stomach, threatening to make him nauseous all over again. Breathing raggedly, he holds his spinning, throbbing head in both hands, and squats on his haunches, leaning his back against the well.
He has been a fool, a blind, love-sick fool, and they have capitalised on his weaknesses, playing him like a puppet on a string. He feels used, but more than that, he feels betrayed, guilty, remorseful, and disgusted with himself.
Above all, he feels angry, not just at himself, but at Garrick, at Calyx…
At everything.
The sheaf of papers he had been holding now lie scattered about him, some of them fluttering in the hot convection currents caused by the encroaching blaze, others stuck in the puddle of his father's blood, soaking up the crimson liquid.
Pushing himself off the side of the well, he gathers up a handful of the documents, his fingers staining them red.
With one last look at the body of his father, barely a few feet from the fire now, he turns and runs, past the other screaming villagers, past the burning houses, until he finds the little gap in the wall of flames, growing smaller now that the blaze is spreading, and slips through. The other assassins should be dotted all around the village's perimeter, and he heads towards where he knows Garrick is stationed.
He and Garrick need to talk.
He crashes through the underbrush, a fistful of crumpled, bloodstained papers in one hand. He isn't sure what he would say when he confronts the dwarf, but he figures he will worry about that once he gets there.
Garrick should be right around this bend of trees…
He skids to a stop at the sight before him, feeling as if someone has punched him in the gut.
Calyx is there.
On Garrick's lap.
With a hand in his pants.
And they are kissing.
She gasps when she sees him, and promptly retracts her hand, but she doesn't leave her perch on Garrick thighs.
Bishop feels as if a knife has been thrust into his chest. He catches the smug look on the dwarf's face, not seeming at all fazed by the awkward situation.
"Finished with your massacre already?" the duergar asks casually, as if making out with Bishop's lover was an everyday occurrence.
The blade in Bishop's heart is twisted mercilessly.
He stands motionless, taking in the scene before him, his mind branding it forever in his memory, alongside the other horrific things he has seen today: his father killed by his own hands, his home village being razed to the ground, with all the people still in it…
His anguish seems to dredge up a torrent of older memories: his Ma's lifeless, violated body, her stomach slashed…himself as a child, living in the cold, dank cellar…chained and beaten like an animal, made to feel worthless and wretched, just like he is feeling now.
When he looks at the duergar again, a red haze descends on his vision.
He did this to me…
A feral roar escapes his lips as he lunges towards Calyx and Garrick. The dwarf, reacting deceptively quickly for someone of his stature, shoves Calyx aside and draws his own weapon, just as Bishop's longsword is brought down on him. Their blades throw up a shower of sparks as they clash, before Garrick kicks the young ranger's legs out from under him. Bishop catches his balance just in time to parry a counterattack by the dark dwarf.
With their swords crossed, Garrick begins to laugh.
"Ah, have you finally worked it out then, boy?" he sniggers, his red eyes gleaming sadistically. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't. You have been so useful to me..."
Bishop is shaking with barely controlled rage. "Why?" he demands through gritted teeth.
The dwarf laughs again. "Why not? Apart from the fact that I get my dirty work done for me?"
Suddenly, Garrick swipes Bishop's sword aside with his own, and seizes the opening to drive his fist into the ranger's solar plexus. The air rushes out of his lungs as Bishop falls to his knees, winded and gasping for breath. Moving around, the duergar kicks him in the back, sending him sprawling forward. Before he could recover, a padded boot lands in front of him, and he feels a second one on the back of his head, grinding his face into the earth. He twists his neck to the side, trying to keep his face out of the dirt, and sees Calyx, her arms crossed in front of her, her expression unreadable.
"Calyx…" he calls to her.
Why is she just standing there? Why isn't she trying to help him, or at least ask Garrick to stop?
As if unable to look him in the eye, she turns her head, avoiding his gaze, and Bishop feels a stab of pain in his crumpling heart. He shuts his own eyes, humiliated by his own naïveté to have ever trusted her.
At that moment, he wishes for the duergar to end his life swiftly.
Garrick must have seen the despair and resignation on Bishop's face, for again, he hears the dwarf's hateful laughter.
"I can't believe you honestly thought that she could love you! Look at you, crawling about in the mud, with no future to speak of. Did you seriously think that would impress her?" The boot presses down harder on the back of his head. His next words are dripping with scorn. "You're just my lackey, a lapdog, and you always will be." The dwarf bends closer to hiss cruelly.
"You're nothing, just like your worthless father."
Something about that last sentence makes his blood boil again. Bishop's eyes, which until then have been shut in shame, now snap open, glowing with an angry fire.
Ten years of living in disgrace, of feeling nothing more than self-contempt…ten years of being treated worse than an animal…ten years of being used, abused, manipulated…
Not again…never again…
All at once, his emotions come to a head. The red haze that was clouding his vision earlier returns, darker and more malevolent than before. Somewhere deep inside, a dam bursts, releasing a flood of pure, unrestrained fury.
All of which are directed at the duergar.
Growling lowly, he bucks himself off the ground, throwing off the foot that was holding his head down. Then, with a savage cry, he bodily tackles the dwarf, and they both hit the ground heavily, with Garrick beneath him. He feels the duergar's rapier biting into his shoulder blade, but in his anger-fuelled state he barely notices the pain.
Pinning the dwarf's sword arm down with one hand, he punches Garrick in the face with the other, again, and again, and again…all the while screaming like a man possessed, until the blood on his fist is no longer just Garrick's, but his own, as his cut knuckles begin to bleed.
When the dwarf loosens his hold on his sword, Bishop prises the weapon out of Garrick's hand, and holds it to the duergar's chest. His face bloodied and still dazed from the flurry of blows, it takes a moment before the dwarf's eyes manage to focus on the blade. When he does, he glares at the young man challengingly.
"You wouldn't…" he rasps through his split lip.
The rapier comes down, slashing the dwarf in the face. Bishop stares in fascination at the long, deep gash running across the man's eye, as dark blood wells up and flows down Garrick's face. The sight seems to whet his bloodlust. He wants to see the bastard bleed even more. He wants him to feel the pain. He wants him to pay for everything he's done, to watch as his life is destroyed completely, just as he has destroyed Bishop's life.
And so he plunges the blade into Garrick's gut, then withdraws it, and stabs the duergar, again and again, all the while roaring at the top of his lungs, in a blind frenzy, relishing the warm blood spraying all over him with each vicious thrust. The wild glint in his eyes, the carnal screams…it is as if he were a bystander, watching as some demon controlled his body.
Calyx's shrill scream behind him brings him back to his senses.
She is still standing where he last saw her, but now she has her hands up to her face, her lower lip trembling, her eyes wide with fear.
He looks down at Garrick. The duergar's eyes stare blankly into the distance, the front of his torso a gory mess, his guts dangling outside his body.
Shakily, he gets to his feet, still gripping the blood-soaked rapier. He turns to Calyx, and hears her whimper as he approaches her. It pierces his heart that she would find him so repulsive.
Part of him wants to gut her for her treachery.
But the other part…
"Go…" he commands hoarsely. She is a weakness of his, and he can't trust himself when he is near her, yet neither can he bring himself to harm her.
Even now, you love her. What a fool…
Calyx stays rooted to the spot, gazing at Garrick's blood splattered body. The thought of the two of them together sends a new surge of anger through is veins.
"I said, GO!!" he barks, and this time she stumbles backwards before running into the brush and disappearing from view.
Left alone now, he stares vacantly at the carnage he has caused, still letting it all sink in. He must look a sight, all covered in blood and dirt. His shoulder blade begins to sting. Reaching a hand behind him, he feels a warm stickiness, and his fingers come away covered in crimson.
The background screams he has blocked out of his mind suddenly grow louder and more terrified.
The fire has spread.
The villagers…
Garrick's manipulations have already cost his father's life. He doesn't want any more deaths on his already heavy conscience, if he can help it.
He runs back to the gap in the flames, only to find that it has almost completely closed up. Huge columns of heat and smoke rise up on either side of the narrow slit.
The people are trapped.
Garrck's derisive words ring again in his head.
"Heroes are the first to die."
Fuck you, Garrick…
With a deep breath, he dives through the tiny gap. The heat of the blaze singes his hair and eyebrows. The hem of his shirt catches alight, and he pats at with his hands to put it out. When he looks up, he could almost believe he had just leapt into the jaws of the Hells.
The entire village, every single house, is now engulfed in flames. The night sky glows with a flickering orange light. The furious heat is overwhelming, and the thick, billowing smoke clogs his airways.
Worse of all, he sees people running about in a panic, only unlike earlier, their clothes are on fire. A few bodies lie writhing in agony, rolling about on the grass, vainly trying to smother the all-consuming flames. The acrid smell of burnt flesh invades his nostrils as the heart-rending screams of the dying pierces his very soul.
Oh gods…
He sees a woman clutching a crying baby to her breast, frozen in fear before the rapidly advancing flames. He makes his way towards her.
"This way!" he shouts, reaching out his hand.
The woman gapes at the blood and gore covering his body, then at the rapier by his side, and backs off, her eyes wide with horror. He tries to step closer again, and with a shriek, she turns and runs into a burning house.
"Wait!"
Stupid wench, what does she think she's doing?
He is about to rush in after her when he hears an ominous creaking and cracking. He stops just as a wooden beam collapses in front of the entrance, sealing the woman inside the fiery structure.
And she begins to scream.
Shit…
He grabs one end of the fallen beam, ignoring the searing pain as the glowing hot wood burns into his palms. Grunting, he tries to move it aside, but it is too heavy. With a cry of both pain and frustration, he withdraws his scorched hands. As he inspects his blackened palms, a whimper somewhere behind makes him whirl around.
A group of villagers are huddled together, shying away from the flames around them.
He shouts at the men in the group, "Help me lift this!"
All he gets back are scared, distrustful looks. No one makes a move to volunteer. A few of them even shrinks back from him, a look of repulsion on their faces.
With dawning dread, Bishop realises that it is happening again.
They're not standing up for one of their own…
"What is wrong with you people?" he utters in exasperation, shaking his head in disbelief.
Then he hears the agonised shrieks of the woman trapped in the house, mingling with the shrill cries of her baby, as the two of them burn alive inside. The screams seem to go on forever, growing louder and more drawn out by the moment, until they climax in one final bloodcurdling howl, a terrible wail that echoes throughout the village, before a chilling silence finally descends upon them.
Only then does he realise that he had been pressing his hands over his ears.
He glares in shock at the cowering villagers before him, weeping and snivelling as they cling desperately to each other.
Pathetic weaklings…can't even save one of your own…
He is surprised by his own vehemence.
You all deserve to die here…
He stumbles as he backs away from them, a look of complete revulsion on his face, as if he were staring at a group of lepers. They disgust him that much.
Turning around, he starts to run, but it isn't long before he finds his path blocked by a crackling wall of flames.
The gap in the ring of fire has closed off completely.
The heat and smoke are becoming unbearable; he feels like he is roasting inside his own armour, and his lungs feel as if he were breathing in fiery brimstone.
Must get out…
The well…
He rushes to the village's communal well, forcing himself to avert his gaze from the charred corpse of his father as it is devoured by the gathering blaze. Hastily, he draws a bucketful of water and tips it over himself, dousing himself completely in the icy liquid. When he is satisfied he is soaked enough, he pulls his hood over his face, and mutters a silent prayer before plunging through the flaming barrier.
The water on his skin evaporates within seconds, and as he ploughs through the blaze, he grits his teeth against the scorching heat, as it eats away at his exposed flesh.
Only a few more feet to go…
He bursts through the wall of fire just as his clothes catches alight. Dropping to the ground, he rolls on the grass to try and extinguish the flames, all the while biting back cries of pain as his burnt skin protests fiercely against each and every movement he makes.
When he is no longer smouldering, he slowly picks himself up. The village is now completely engulfed in a raging inferno, the terrified screams of the trapped villagers piercing through the crackling of the flames. With morbid fascination, he stares in silence at the devastation before him, at the death and destruction he has caused.
Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain tearing into his thigh.
With a snarl, he pulls out the arrow stuck in his leg, just as another one whizzes past his head.
The other assassins are shooting at him…
They can't have discovered Garrick's body yet. No one was supposed to leave their stations until Bishop completes his initiation. No one should have any idea yet of what he has done.
Unless Calyx told them…
The wrenching pain in his heart at the thought hurts him more than even his burns and wounds.
Another arrow slams into him, this time hitting him in the arm, sending him staggering sideways. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he whirls around, trying to discern the sources of the missiles, to pinpoint where the assassins could be hiding.
This time, a bolt tears into side, and he nearly loses his balance.
He has to get away.
Limping and clutching his injured side, he dives into the trees, just as an arrow nicks him in the back of his neck. Breaking into a lumbering sprint, he runs away from the assassins, away from the burning village, away from his past. Low-hanging branches whip him in the face, but he stumbles on, until, in his weakened state, he begins to feel dizzy from his exertions.
Pulling to a stop, he bends over, his injured arm hanging uselessly by his side, as he places his other hand on his knee to catch his breath. His head throbs, his vision swimming before him, and as he stares at the ground, he feels something warm and sticky trickling down his neck. Drops of blood are dripping off his body and falling into the soil, staining it a reddish-brown.
A slight rustle from behind prompts him to gingerly turn his head. In the flickering light of the burning village in the distance, and through his haze of pain, he sees a flash of raven hair, and a glimpse of silvery-grey eyes.
"Calyx…?"
His voice catches as his heart swells with hope.
Still looking over his shoulder, a smile was about to play across his lips when he spies a glint of metal. Too late, he realises that it is a dagger, an intricate one with a characteristic curve in its blade, and semi-precious gems set into its hilt.
Calyx's dagger.
The blade is thrust downwards with force, and he feels it being driven deep between his shoulder blades. He cries out as his back arches, his body convulsing in reaction to the sharp, excruciating pain.
But the pain is nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
"Bishop, love, do you love me?"
"Yes."
Another wave of pain and a wet sucking sound tells him that she has withdrawn the blade. With the last reserves of his strength, he turns around to face her. Even as she stands there with a wicked smile, the dagger in her hand dripping with his blood, he finds her beautiful beyond words.
As black spots crowd his vision, and as he sinks to the ground, he watches as Calyx walks calmly away, taking with her the last of his foolish, lovelorn hopes.
Pain…so much pain…
A warm wetness is spreading out from under him, the coppery smell of his own blood assailing his nostrils. In the cloudy darkness of semi-consciousness, all he sees in his mind's eye, is a flash of raven hair, a glimpse of silvery-grey eyes, and a curved dagger on a downward arc…
He had been a fool, and now he has paid for his stupidity, for his poorly-placed reliance on someone else, for his childish notions of love…
For his weakness.
Those who cannot survive do not deserve to live.
But none of that matters now. Perhaps it is the loss of blood, perhaps all the pain is making him delirious, but somehow his body feels so much lighter, as if a great burden has been lifted off his shoulders, as if the heavy chains imprisoning him and dragging him down have been broken.
The darkness begins to close in, bringing with it the promise of relief from all his physical pains and mental torment.
Perhaps even the promise of freedom at last…
He closes his eyes, waiting for oblivion to claim him, welcoming it even…
"Ye gods!" From somewhere far away, a gruff voice seems to be calling out to him.
Forcing his bleary eyes open, he sees a blurry image of what looks like a man, a half-elf, by the look of his slightly pointed ears. The stranger is kneeling over him and frowning.
"Lad, yer hurt bad! Lemme help ye…"
If he had the strength, Bishop would shake his head.
No…don't…his freedom is so close now he can taste it: warm, bittersweet and coppery…
Or is that the blood he is coughing up?
Too weak to resist, his vision dims as the stranger hauls his body off the ground. For a moment, his head rests on the man's shoulder. Just before everything turns dark, he thinks he sees a second person standing not too far behind the half-elf.
Only that this being has blue skin and red eyes, and it seems to exude a sinister, otherworldly aura.
What in Faerun is that?
Sweet, dark oblivion claims him before he can find out.
