Hey, guys! Welcome back to Hear a Tale! Couldn't update last week since American Thanksgiving was a thing that happened - but here I am now! Before we do anything else, review time.
Thanks so much to CitrusChickadee for reviewing! Redeye's so messed-up looking that it's surprisingly fun to describe, haha XD Glad you enjoyed H'aanit's time to shine!
With that, on with the chapter!
Relevant Events: Therion's Chapter 4 (and backstory)
38. Abandoned
"We're not equals! You're nothing but a stepping stool to me!"
The blood rushed in Therion's ears as he knelt on the cliffside, gasping and pressing a hand tightly to the wound Darius had left in his side. His body was on high alert, coursing with adrenaline and practically screaming at him to get up, to move, to punch Darius in his reddened, self-righteous face before he could hurt him again.
His mind, however, was stuck in place.
On some level, he probably should have known that this was coming. Darius had been more irritable than ever recently, and twice as snappish. It was as though Therion daring to say anything at all was enough to set his supposed partner off, and now, he thought ruefully, it had been made abundantly clear why. Therion had figured that Darius had just been in a random, sour mood - it certainly wouldn't have been unheard of - but now, the truth had been laid out for all to see. Therion had been nothing but a resource for Darius to take advantage of from the start, and now that Darius had found a shiny, new opportunity to revel in, he was dropping him without a second thought.
He should have seen it coming. And yet, somehow, it still hurt.
"You're worth less than the scum beneath me daisies," Darius snarled, brandishing the dagger that was already stained with Therion's blood, "and I'll prove it!"
I should move, Therion thought dimly, watching as Darius stalked towards him. If I don't get up and run, I'm going to die.
If anything, his thoughts only made the situation feel even more surreal. Surely, this was all one of Darius' stupid jokes that no one but him actually found funny. Surely, any second now, the scowl would drop from his face and he'd burst out laughing, teasing Therion for letting a little flesh wound lay him low.
Surely, the man that Therion had almost dared to consider a brother wasn't actually about to kill him.
He should have seen this coming.
Yet, how could he have?
It had been obvious and unexpected and premeditated and spontaneous and shocking and unsurprising and devastating and predictable all at once.
Darius' dagger flashed.
Therion finally screamed as pain rushed down his face like fire. It was enough to jolt him out of his foggy, disjointed thoughts, but his clarity came just a few moments too late. Even as his hand shot up to cover his left eye, Darius' boot was already on his chest, shoving him backwards.
He stumbled, and his foot met nothing but empty air.
His heart was in his throat as, in the split second before he plummeted, Darius shouted, "Farewell, Therion! It was nice knowing you!" Then, a maddened cackle that echoed through the canyon, following Therion as gravity wrenched him downwards.
For just a moment, he might have been flying. Suspended alone in the air, brilliant blue sky above him, he could almost forget about the wound in his side or the rocks on the ground or the fire in his face or the blood dripping into his eyes.
Yet it was only for a moment. When that moment passed, he was suddenly no longer weightless, and from the moment he first slammed against a slanted outcropping on the cliffside, the pain that shot through him was impossible to forget.
His body had become a limp doll, tumbling at the mercy of the cliff's structure and shape. It was only by some miracle that his skull was never split open by some jagged bit of stone, for he himself had neither the foresight nor the strength to bring his arms up to guard his head. Therion may not have wanted to die, but with a single shove, he had been rendered wholly unable to fight against it. Somewhere deep within his consciousness that had otherwise been occupied by nothing but screaming, he knew that his fate was no longer in his own hands.
It was up to the gods whether he lived or died now.
Either two minutes or one hundred hours had passed by the time Therion finally hit the ground. He landed on his back, and the sudden static view of the cloudless sky was almost jarring given the seemingly endless tumbling and twisting that had preceded it. The fall was over, and he was still somehow alive.
He was either going to survive, or about to face the longest, most drawn-out death he could ever have imagined for himself.
Was this what they called karma? People always said that crime didn't pay, but Therion had always figured he was fast enough to outrun whatever poetic justice was supposedly coming for a thief like him. Evidently, he had been wrong.
Pain throbbed through his entire being, to the point where it was difficult to pinpoint where exactly it was coming from. He was fairly certain that several of his ribs were broken, given the searing agony that wracked his chest every time he took a shallow breath. It was likely that other bones were snapped as well, and he was certainly covered in a vast assortment of cuts, scrapes, and soon-to-be bruises. For reasons that he could not identify, blood steadily welled up in his mouth, eventually leaking from his lips and dripping down his cheeks and chin.
And then there was his eye.
His right eye, he had been able to blink the blood out of. There was nothing wrong with that one, it had merely been the victim of a blood spatter coming from the main slash wound that Darius' knife had left. He could still see the sky, the strand of hair that was plastered to his right cheek, and the cliff ledge that Darius no longer stood upon.
His left eye, however, had gone completely dark. He could still blink, and he thought he might be able to move the eyeball itself a bit, but if he closed only his right eye, he couldn't see a damned thing.
So that was that, then. Darius had wounded him, half-blinded him, and then abandoned him to die.
Had he deserved it? It was possible. He hadn't exactly been an upstanding, law-abiding citizen for the vast majority of his life, and perhaps Darius had a point about his undeserved hubris. It wasn't like his life had been all that great thus far, anyway. Wouldn't it be easier to simply take the hint that the universe was clearly trying to give him, and simply accept his fate of perishing alone at the bottom of a cliff?
Easier, almost certainly. And yet…though Darius had abandoned Therion, it would seem that his pride hadn't yet.
Though his ears were ringing from the few bumps on his head he'd suffered during the fall, Therion could still faintly hear the sound of rushing water in the distance. He and Darius had been close to the border between the Cliftlands and the Riverlands when the bigger man had suddenly turned on him, he distantly remembered - just a little ways south of Bolderfall. He was never going to be able to get back up the cliffside on his own, but perhaps he didn't need to. If he could get to the main path that led between the two regions, he just might get lucky enough to stumble across merchants or travelers heading up to Bolderfall themselves. With even more luck, maybe they'd even be kind enough to pick his crumpled form up off of the side of the road, tend his wounds, and take him with them.
It was a longshot, and involved far more wishful thinking than Therion generally liked to consider, but as things stood, it was the only chance he had for surviving longer than the next handful of minutes. All he had to do was get to the path, and then it all would be out of his hands.
Easier said than done, of course, he thought fuzzily as he struggled to turn himself onto his stomach. More blood leaked from his mouth, and even his good eye was briefly blinded by the white-hot pain that flashed through him, but he did not stop. Clenching his teeth, he reached out a trembling hand, preparing to drag himself towards the river-bordered road that could very well be his only possible salvation.
There's no way in hell I'm going down this easily, you bastard.
()()()()
"...so, it's finally over."
Darius was a sorry sight, his long hair matted with blood and his green cape in tatters. One of his arms hung uselessly at his side, and he knelt on the scarlet-spattered floor of the cathedral, wheezing with every labored breath. As Therion gazed down at the defeated form of the man who had once nearly killed him, he felt neither anger nor pity - only a grim sense of closure.
"Looks like it…partner," he said simply. He had no desire to gloat, and he wasn't about to talk down to his bested foe, but there was one final thing that he felt he needed to know. "What was it that you wanted? Did you get it…after you betrayed me?"
Darius was silent for a time, though whether it was due to a reluctance to answer or a need to recover his breath, Therion wasn't sure. As he waited for the incapacitated man to respond, he could feel the eyes of his seven companions resting on his back, though he did not turn to face them. He still hadn't quite explained all of the details of his history with Darius to the others (except for Cyrus, who had pried it out of him in a moment of weakness), but they had likely been able to piece together the most relevant parts on their own. Still, Therion figured that, after all they'd been through together, he owed them all at least a rudimentary explanation of what had really happened all those years ago.
They'd all become surprisingly important to him, after all.
Therion had originally toyed with the idea of confronting Darius alone, but the other seven travelers swiftly (and loudly) shot down that idea as soon as they'd heard it. He'd expected as much from the more heartfelt members of the group, like Alfyn or Ophilia, but even the reserved Olberic, the no-nonsense H'aanit, and the annoying-on-purpose Tressa had stood steadfastly beside him and refused to take no for an answer. Therion had attempted a half-hearted protest, but Alfyn, Primrose, and Cyrus - the three who had perhaps wormed their way the furthest to the secrets hidden in the thief's closely-guarded heart, very much against his own will - had easily silenced him with a forceful display of determination and compassion that could almost be described as violent. Thus, he was essentially bullied into allowing all of his companions to aid him in the final chapter of his quest.
Not that he actually minded all that much.
In any case, Therion couldn't help but notice that, while he had had seven friends cheering him on while he fought Darius one-on-one, not a single one of Darius' men had bothered to come running back after fleeing the cathedral while the eight travelers were first storming it.
Finally, Darius choked out a weak, rasping version of his usual laugh. "Hah…you're so predictable, Therion…" He grinned, and a thin stream of blood trickled out through his clenched teeth. "I wanted to see the view from the top, and I would have stepped on anyone to get ahead. It was fine if nobody believed in me…as long as I could keep climbing, I didn't need anybody else!"
Therion's eye narrowed, but he said nothing.
Darius coughed, a thick glob of blood spattering out onto the floor. "You've gone soft, you know," he sneered, somehow still managing to keep up his cocky veneer despite his obvious pain. "Look at you, running with a group of best buddies of your very own…and here I thought you were of the mind that tea leaves were better off working alone, eh? And there you were getting all pissed off at me for finding new friends…tch, damned hypocrite."
Therion scoffed lightly. "A gang of thieves and a group of friends are two different things, Darius. Case in point…where are your new 'friends' now, hm?"
Darius snarled. "Tch…not like I need those bastards anyway. At the end of the day, I'll be at the top…me! And there's nothing you and your precious new mates can do to change that!" The man struggled to his feet and lurched towards Therion, clumsily lifting his sword in a final attempt to land a fatal blow.
The other seven travelers each startled, preparing to jump in and help, but Therion was faster. He whipped his own sword from the scabbard at his hip, easily parrying Darius' graceless attack, then returning with a quick strike of his own. The tip of Therion's blade dashed across the left side of Darius' face, carving a near-perfect replica of the scar that lay beneath Therion's own long bangs. Then, when the wounded man cried out, his hand flying up to cover his left eye, Therion thrust his sword's blade under the hilt of Darius', sending the weapon flying out of reach, then he raised his leg and kicked Darius hard in the chest.
This time, there was no cliff to tumble down. Darius simply fell flat on his back, gasping as the wind was knocked out of him, and still clutching at the slashed side of his face. Therion wiped the blood from his sword, then sheathed it, looking down at Darius with a flat expression. He took no joy in the poetic justice of wounding his former partner in the same way he had once suffered. Enjoying the moment would require giving Darius more than a second thought, and he had already sworn long ago that he would never do so again.
"I guess 'an eye for an eye' is a cliche for a reason," the thief said dully. "Anyway, I wouldn't suggest doing that again. I don't plan on killing you, but I can't make any promises on my 'best buddies'' behalf. If I were you, I'd get the hell out of here before one of them gets pissed off enough to decide to run you through." He knelt down a little closer to Darius, lifting his hand and stage whispering, "Between you and me, my money's on Primrose."
The dancer in questions' eyes were narrowed and her dagger was raised, as though seconds away from winning Therion that bet.
Wisely, Darius did not attempt to retrieve his sword again. Instead, after staring at Therion with a strange mixture of rage and horror for a few tense moments, he scrambled up again and limped out of the room as quickly as he could manage, his echoed breaths fading as he stumbled down the hall. Therion straightened as he dispassionately watched his friend-turned-traitor flee, arms folded across his chest.
"Farewell…partner."
()()()()
When the travelers left the cathedral a while later, wounds patched up and Dragonstones in hand, they passed by a small alcove in the wall that likely would not have drawn their notice if it hadn't been for the trail of blood leading directly into it. A few coins were scattered amidst the red, as though they'd been carelessly dropped by someone making a quick escape.
The alcove was filled with overturned barrels and torn-open crates, and showed clear signs of being ransacked. It appeared that the thieves had emptied their stash and made a run for it, choosing to abandon their hideout now that it had been successfully infiltrated. The paltry scattering of leaves across the floor must have been a mere fraction of what the band of brigands had hoarded over the years.
As such, the body slumped against the wall was infinitely more striking than the trace amounts of gold that remained.
Therion's expression remained neutral as he gazed at Darius' broken form. It hadn't been that long since he'd last watched the man run from him - tending to everyone's wounds after the fighting was over had barely taken an hour - and yet, a collection of new gashes had since appeared in his stomach and chest. His fist was still clenched around a couple of bloodied coins, but his jaw was slack and his intact eye stared motionlessly at the opposite wall.
It didn't take a scholar to deduce what had happened here.
"...hmph." Therion's voice was hollow in his own ears. "His 'friends' sure work quick."
He heard Alfyn draw in a quick breath behind him. "You mean…his own men…?"
"There's no honor among these thieves, that's for sure," Therion interrupted flatly. "Funny thing about being a known traitor…it doesn't exactly make people feel bad about themselves whenever they decide to betray you right back."
For all his bravado, Darius looked utterly pathetic in death. Tangled hair covering a ruined face, body torn apart by the blades of his own underlings, and a hand still desperately clutching at the riches he'd given everything else for.
Alone.
Abandoned.
Double-crossed and left to die in isolation.
Therion found himself staring at what had almost been his fate years ago, and felt nothing but a grim acknowledgement of the irony.
You thought you'd been digging my grave, partner, he thought, unsmiling. And you'd been so sure of it that you couldn't even see your own name on the tombstone.
"Therion?" came Primrose's soft voice at his side. "Are you alright?"
He was silent for a long moment.
"...yeah." To his surprise, it wasn't a lie. "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."
With his seven companions alongside him, Therion turned his back on Darius for the final time, heading out of the dim, bloodstained cathedral and back into the light at last.
See you guys next time for Tale 39: Dreams!