A warm morning breeze snaked its way through the stone buildings, carrying with it the scents and sounds of the market stalls in the Agora just coming to life with the first light of day. The tyrannical sun was beginning its dominating march across the sky, heralding its arrival with explosions of color which it used to beat the darkness of night into submission. Two figures stood atop a tall stone building, their colorful silk robes swaying at the stubborn insistence of the of the soft wind. The scene could almost be considered idyllic, a feeling only betrayed by the countenance of the two figures which were dark and severe and more than a little afraid.
Lyra’s normally bright silver eyes were cloudy and gray with worry, and the dark moons beneath them betrayed that she hadn’t slept in days. The curly red ringlets of her hair, usually worn wild and free, were now constrained in a tight bun and even her freckles, which typically burned with whimsy and fire now seemed dull and lifeless upon her pale face.
“Did you get rid of it?” she asked in a low whisper, already knowing the answer to her question before she had spoken it, reading the truth of the matter on his face.
“I couldn’t...they certainly would have marked it and there is nowhere I could hide it where they could not find it,” Vashir answered as he fished around in the pouch on his belt and produced the incriminating metal belt buckle emblazoned with the Thir-King’s stamp. “When they find it, his Scryers will be able to see exactly what happened. And who did it.”
“Why would the Grand Inquisitor send us after an agent of the King?” Lyra asked, her expression somewhere between worry and rage, unable to take her eyes off of the incriminating buckle until he hid it from view back inside the pouch. “We’ve done nothing…” she trailed off as the enormity of what faced them blossomed in her mind.
“Who knows. Thravian is shrewd and not beholden to the noble Houses. Still…he is not above political squabbling. Perhaps my family moving out of the shadows and into respectability has moved some of the more precarious Houses to act?” Vashir thought for a moment and then shrugged and continued, “In spite of his power and position, Thravian is also drawn to snakereaders and star watchers and fortunetellers, perhaps he saw something there?” Vashir himself had no time for such asinine nonsense, but he had even speculated that the Inquisitor’s belief in these superstitions could be weaponized, turning the Inquisitor’s power and might towards an unsuspecting target.
“We could run,” Lyra offered, though she knew that was impossible as well. The two of them were hunters and they knew what happened to those who fled. The pair of them might make it longer and further than most given their training, but that would only make their punishment all the more horrific when they were finally caught.
Vashir simply stared into her eyes and tried to put on his most confident air, reaching out a hand and touching her smooth cheek and tracing the constellation of freckles that adorned it with his thumb. “Look,” he said softly, “We have proven our place and risen through the ranks, but not so much as to threaten the established Houses. We have not made any grievous mistakes nor failed in any of our assignments. Our place is sec…..”
He trailed off abruptly as a voice spoke into the recesses of his mind; one powerful, commanding, and indisputable. The message was short and to the point and left no room for anything else. Come to me at once.
“Was it him?” Lyra asked nervously, reading the expression on his face and fearful look in his eye. “Thravian?”
Vashir shook his head slightly, still trying to calm to storm of emotions that roiled within him.
“The Red King himself? Gods, no…” Lyra gasped, all the remaining color draining from her already pale skin.
“It might be…nothing. Or everything. Hells, it might even be a promotion,” Vashir answered with a wry, humorless chuckle. He stared deeply into her steel eyes and continued, “Look, I will present myself to him and hand him my memories upon a platter. He will then see the innocence of ou….of my actions.” He almost believed it. The Thir-King was capricious and cruel but he was also power-hungry and Vashir was a weapon he could wield. He wouldn’t idly discard a sword while it still bore a razored edge, would he?
Mighty black wings unfolded from his back and stretched up in the air behind him, distorting the sleeves of tattoos he bore, but he did not take his eyes off of her, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst upon finding an lifegiving oasis. He soaked up the delicate point to her ears and the slight upturn of her lips that made her look as if she was smiling slightly even when she was furious or afraid. He memorized every freckle and blemish on her face and marveled at the way the light reflected off of her silvery eyes - now slick with watery tears. He took the entirety of her in, savoring the look of every line and angle and soft curve, etching her perfection into his mind and tucking these images away deeply and securely so that she would remain part of him no matter what happened.
“I will be okay,” he said softly, mustering up as much confidence as he could as he moved in and kissed her on her soft lips, savoring the warm sweetness until the taste was joined by the salty tears that ran down her cheeks to her mouth. He stepped back and wiped the stream of tears away with his thumbs and he stared deeply into her eyes. Remember these eyes. “I will be back,” he promised as he stepped into the air with a might flap of his wings.
She didn’t answer, instead she only stared up at him as he ascended into the air in front of her. He made as if to leave, but instead reached into her mind and spoke a silent warning. Stay out of sight until you hear from me, I will find you. If….if I do not return, seek out the Readers…there is…truth…in their message.
He wasn’t sure why he had thought of them in this moment. Artellius Quintus had been burned upon a pyre of forbidden books for his crimes and before his death the man had betrayed how pervasive his blasphemy had been, spreading out throughout the cities and reaching into many of the noble Houses. The Templars had been busy tracking these heretics down for several months but despite their best efforts a great many had escaped their clutches. Vashir and Lyra had ferreted out a few conclaves of them in the recent weeks but they had not had the time nor resources to bring them to justice. Now, in this moment, he knew why this group was so dangerous. Their message was one of rebellion. And change. Of independence. But more importantly, it was one of hope.
Lyra broke his gaze and stared down at her feet, but she answered his silent request with a simple You’d better come back to me. Bright red wings blossomed from her back as she turned and stepped gracefully into the air and fluttered away from him and flew off towards the Agora.
Vashir watched her until only the memory of her remained. He felt his eyes begin to grow misty, but he promptly steeled himself and forced any softness the dwelt within him to grow hard and cold, until he had reforged himself back into the image of the fearsome Red Templar; the hunter of men; a weapon forged in the name of the Dark Goddess Herself. When he felt properly powerful and strong, with a few mighty flaps of his wings he made off to answer the summons of his master, his eyes as icy as tempered steel and his heart beating in his chest like a drum of war. Before he had flown more than a few feet however, he stopped himself and turned to look back the way Lyra had disappeared and whispered a solemn promise, birthing the words into empty air. “I will.”
He then took to the sky and headed off to face his fate…