The Descent: Chapter 4
Holding hands, Medion and Synbios walked through the busy market of Aspia. All around, merchants held up their wares, shouting their best offers and haggling whenever a potential customer complained. Shoppers pushed to get to their destinations, or held up traffic by stooping to examine the goods with no regards to people behind them. The laughter of children combined with the demands and pleas of their bargaining parents; livestock contributed to the rambunctious chorus with their own unique grunts and shrieks. To anyone else, it was just another chaotic day in one of the busiest sections of the great city. But to Medion and Synbios, the mayhem meant little. For they were in love.
Synbios was chattering gaily. "Next time we visit your family, I want to bring everyone a present from my hometown. I think I'll get a new cape for Arrawnt, maybe some skin lotion for Grantuck, and a few special Aspian silk gowns for Isabella. As for Mageron...I don't know what to give him. I bet fans shower him with gifts all the time." She looked up teasingly at Medion. "Do you think he'd like a kiss from me?"
"I'd like one," he replied with a chuckle. He looked about at all the stuff being peddled and sold, and asked with shyness he's never felt before. "Um, can I get you anything?"
She clutched his arm tighter. "All I want is you," Synbios told him.
They spent the night on the other side of town, in a cheap but classy inn. There was only one bed in their room, but that was just fine.
A few hours before dawn, Medion surprised a passing nightman by poking his head out and asking when he'd be able to send a letter to Destonia. After learning he'd have to wait till after breakfast, he promptly crawled back into bed, where a sleepy Synbios snuggled up next to him.
"What was that for?" She wanted to know.
He laughed softly. "I told Father I'' be back today. Now I've changed my mind."
She giggled and hugged him. "I'm very persuasive, huh?"
"Very," he agreed.
Synbios propped herself up on one elbow and regarded him seriously. Her voice took on a teasing tone, but Medion heard the underlying fear and anticipation. "Then can I persuade you to marry me today?"
He arched his eyebrow and pretended to give it careful thought. She waited, then slapped him playfully on the arm. "Don't fall asleep!"
Medion kissed her. "Of course I'll marry you, but first I'll need your father's consent. Then my father and yours will have a hearty argument about where the ceremony should be held, then there'll be guests to invite, old flames to be notified..."
She sighed and laid back. "Can't we just run away, and marry quietly, without any of this fuss?"
He shook his head. "We run away, both of our fathers would send entire armies to search for us. Conrad would think someone's kidnapped you, and Pops would assume someone assassinated me..."
"That's why I want us to run away," Synbios told him. In the dim light she looked both fragile and determined, like a dove waiting for dawn before she took flight. "I can steer you away from the violent ways of your family."
Medion groped for her hand, found it, and gripped it tightly. "Synbios, I promised you I wouldn't become like my father. My family means a lot to me, but that doesn't mean I'll ever act like them." Instinctively he hugged her to his chest. "Sleep now, honey. We have a big day before us."
Mageron spent a whole hour in front of the mirror before he felt ready to set out for Storich. Without doubt, the long train ride would force him to preen again when he arrived; but as a famous performer he had to make sure he looked like a star, wherever he went.
He ran into his father in the hall. The Don was looking about, seemingly irritated. Concerned, he asked what was wrong.
"Nothing, son," answered Domaric. "It's just that I can't find, uh, Franz. He was supposed to drive me to the market for some fruit, and now he's not here."
Mageron thought back and remembered Grantuck telling him that the centaur had called in sick early that morning. He informed the Don, then offered to drive his father himself.
The Don smiled warmly. "But you have a train to catch, Mageron. You must not let us down."
"It's ok, pops," Mageron told him. "I like doing the driving for a change. I can still get to the station in plenty of time."
Together, father and son stepped out the door.
James clutched his blade tightly as he trudged down the empty hallway of the abandoned chapel. Braff, upon hearing his petition, had arranged to meet him, and now he was here to keep the appointment.
The aged mercenary knew he did not have the brains his master possessed—that was the reason Domaric has been his boss all these years, ever since they started working together. James did not mind, for Domaric treated him fairly, and was often more like a friend than a boss. He knew Domaric often sent him on the most dangerous of errands, but took this as a show of confidence in his abilities. For he trusted his master: he was sure Domaric would do everything humanly possible to see his henchman return unharmed. What's more, he knew his job, and realized very well the dangers involved. His son did too, yet has eagerly learned his father's trade. James knew that in Domaric's hands, Julian would be as safe as a soldier of fortune could ever be.
This did not keep him from feeling a bit of fear and trepidation, however, as he ventured into the ruins. According to Domaric, Braff was a sly youth who will almost certainly become the family's most dangerous rival someday. The master didn't wish to have him killed outright, for he respected the boy's mother, Don Basanda. Nonetheless, he wanted to know exactly what Braff was up to. It was up to James to find out, and the mercenary felt every bit the urgency his master must be experiencing. After all, Julian would be serving the Don's heir. The future of Domaric's family, then, was the future of Jame's family.
He turned a corner, and saw up ahead Braff waiting for him with a single bodyguard. James began to breathe easier. Two opponents he could handle, should this be a trap. The halls were uncluttered and straight; there was no room for hidden assassins to conceal themselves.
Braff greeted him with a welcoming smile as James closed. The younger man offered his hand, and, when James declined to shake it, spoke with the blandest voice imaginable, "It's good to see you, Mr. James."
The mercenary dismissed the pleasantries with a grunt. Braff continued smoothly, "I'm Braff, son of Don Basanda."
"I know who you are," James told him.
Braff held up a keg. "You drink?"
James did drink, like a fish, and so did his son. But he'd be damned if he drank now. "No thanks."
"Well then..." Braff leaned forward. "I've heard about you, Mr. James, and about the unfairness with which Don Domaric has been treating you lately. Perhaps this is your chance to start a new career, as my aide. I could use your knowledge of Domaric's family and business. What do you say?"
"What's in it for me?" James rehearsed.
The younger man's eyes twinkled. "Fifty thousand gold, right from the start."
James tried not to look surprised. Even Don Domaric hasn't predicted this much. Nonetheless he kept up his act as the arrogant turncoat. "Not bad."
"It's a deal then?" Braff once again offered his hand. "Thank you, Mr. James."
"Thank you," replied James. He reached out to take the proffered hand—
Quick as a spring, Braff grabbed his arm and slammed it down onto the table. Before James could even utter his surprise, Braff had rammed a knife straight through his palm, immobilizing him. The aged henchman opened his mouth to roar his rage at being betrayed; his free hand groped desperately for his weapon—
He barely sensed the presence of the assassin appearing behind him. His voice died stillborn as a bar was jammed into his throat, choking out his cry, his anger and fear, choking out, bit by bit, his life...
Grantuck has hardly left the restaurant when he ran headlong into Braff. The young man greeted him in a friendly way, but the advisor could only stare at him suspiciously. If Grantuck remembered right, the henchman James was supposed to meet him, less than an hour ago...
Braff indicated to a waiting carriage. "Come on Mr. Grantuck, let me take you for a ride, eh?"
Grantuck took a step away and replied coldly, "I don't have the time."
"Well make the time, my friend," said Braff. All pretence was abandoned now, and his voice carried a commanding tone much like the Don's. Grantuck met his eyes, and felt a shiver through his spine when he saw the malice lurking there. He remembered Jame's appointment, and suddenly felt a profound dread for the mercenary's fate.
Braff seemed to have read his mind, for he said then, "Oh go on, get in. Don't worry—if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now." He took the dragonnewt's arm in a grip of iron. "Come on, get in."
Mageron waited and watched patiently from the carriage as his father strolled through the fruit stalls, taking his time. Mageron was glad to be here, for his father, today. For more times than he could remember, he'd had to seek his father for aid. His success today was based almost solely on his father's assistance. It was only right for him to help his father, in whatever way he could, when he had the chance.
As he waited, he thought of his brother Medion, and felt a faint pang. Domaric fussed almost constantly over his children, but worried the most about his youngest son. Mageron knew Medion was both his father's pride and disappointment. Pride, because the kid was so brave and smart. Disappointment, because he used his courage and wisdom to serve his country, not his family. Mageron did not like to ponder whether it was his father or brother who was correct in his way of thinking; he only hoped he would never disappoint his father, like Medion did.
All of the sudden he heard cries of fear and pounding steps. Jumping up, he spotted to his horror two men dressed almost entirely in black pushing through the crowd. In their hands they carried razor-sharp katanas, and attached to their wrists were wicked-looking missiles.
They were going straight for Domaric.
The Don noticed them at the same time Mageron did. Dropping the items he'd purchased, he cried out for his son and ran for the carriage. Mageron drew his sword, but hesitated to leap to his father's aid. Instead he remained rooted to the carriage seat in his fear, praying his father would make it into the carriage before the assassins reached him, so they could gallop away from danger.
He realized too late that his prayers were in vain. Swift-footed and sure, the twin assassins gained on their elderly target, delivering quick strokes with their weapons. Domaric screamed, stumbled a few more steps, then toppled against the carriage wheel. The sight of his father's blood spraying onto the dusty road finally jolted Mageron into action: with a furious shout he leapt before the assassins, brandishing his sword. Denied of the finishing blow, the killers drew back, then simultaneously hurtled shurikens at him. Mageron managed to block one, but the other shot past him—and embedded itself in the Don's back.
Crying in rage and grief, Mageron charged toward his opponents. The assassins, however, assured that their mission has been accomplished, retreated quickly. With astounding agility they leapt over the cowering crowd, and then, just as silently as they'd appeared, vanished into the dark alleys, leaving only terror and bloodshed in their wake.
Mageron stumbled a few more steps in futile pursuit, then dropped his weapon and threw himself beside his father. The Don lay silent between the carriage wheels, eyes shut tightly. His breathing came in shallow, painful gasps. A pool of blood was spreading slowly beneath his prone form, mingling like red wine with the swirling dust.
With the heart-wrenching realization of how badly he has failed his father, Mageron wept as he tried to raise Domaric. "Father, no—I couldn't, I...Papa!!"