Mortality: The Story of Mortanius

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Part Five

The Legacy of Kain

Chapter Fifty-Three

Mortanius adjusted his hood and leaned against a tree for support. His body ached. He hadn’t been sleeping much lately, and when he did, he used potions to keep himself from dreaming. The real world of Nosgoth was already like something out of a nightmare, but in Mortanius’s dreams, it was somehow even worse.

Next to him stood five others, hiding behind the trees or crouched in the brush. They wore dirty leathers and their weapons had spots of rust. Even from a distance, anyone could see that these men were not the respectable type. But it was dark outside, and Mortanius was sure that no one standing near the ramshackle buildings across the muddy field could possibly see them. However, they kept to the trees just in case.

Torches near the tavern sputtered inconsistent light on the dirt road heading south. Mortanius watched the pathetic flames flickering uncertainly, as if fighting to keep the encroaching darkness at bay. The tavern was located on the outskirts of a seedy and unfriendly little town called Ziegsturhl. An unknown traveler would be hard-pressed to find any hospitality in a place like this.

Finally, the tavern door opened up and a figure emerged into the chilly night air, dressed like a warrior on his way to battle. He wore light gray armor, complete with full greaves and gauntlets. Spaces between the armor showed dark red leather. Tall and athletic frame, clearly noble-born, with long brown hair and a narrow, aquiline face.

The man looked around and stepped down from the tavern’s raised porch. He looked unhappy, but then, everyone in Nosgoth was unhappy these days. Although the other men with Mortanius could not see it, a faint blue aura followed the man as he walked around the tavern to retrieve his horse.

“That’s him,” Mortanius said in a low voice.

“If you say so,” Yannig mumbled, scratching his cheek. He spat into the dirt. “He looks like a tough one. Wearing armor, even.”

“He’s a nobleman, so he’s probably had training. Is that going to be a problem? You said you and your men could take anyone.”

“Oh, we’ll get him for you. No worries there. It’s just that, well, if he does get the drop on one of us, we might have a real fight on our hands. Could get messy.”

“Do you want more money? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“You’re paying us well, old man. But you didn’t say he’d be wearing armor.”

Mortanius reached into his cloak and handed Yannig a pouch of coins. “Here. This should be more than enough for you to overcome your fear.”

Yannig smiled, revealing crooked gray teeth. “Ah, yes. Thank you. That will do nicely.”

“You’d better get going. He’ll travel south, but he’s not familiar with this area. You should be able to ambush him at the Bluestone Bridge.”

“Right,” Yannig said, pocketing the coins. “Be seeing you,” he added as he crept away. His men followed him back to where their scrawny horses were tied. Experienced smugglers and thieves, they could sneak through the forest, even in the dark, and get ahead of their quarry. Mortanius stayed where he was and watched them as they left.

“No,” he muttered to himself. “You won’t be seeing me.”

He sighed and returned his gaze to the tavern. A little while later, the nobleman returned, this time astride his horse, a fine black stallion. He cast a disapproving look at the tavern as he headed out along the road. This late at night, he was clearly eager to find lodging, but he took his time riding down the road, watching carefully for highwaymen looking for an easy target. Long ago, this road would have been safe for travelers, but now there were very few safe places in Nosgoth.

The nobleman was named Kain, and Mortanius had spent the past two and a half decades looking for him. As far as Mortanius knew, none of the other Guardians had bothered to seek him out at all, if they even cared about his identity.

Kain was a member of a minor noble house from Coorhagen, a small city northwest of the Pillars that was currently facing an epidemic of the plague. Coorhagen, like much of the rest of Nosgoth, was suffering. Mortanius had managed to track Kain down just a few days before, when he had passed near the Pillars on his journey south. He was on his way to the southern port city of Meridian, where some distant relatives had offered him a position. Unfortunately for him, the town of Ziegsturhl was not amenable to strangers, and his attempt to find lodging for the night was unsuccessful.

As Kain rode out of sight, Mortanius cast a flight spell and lifted up into the air. He made his way across the tree tops until he reached the Somersond River, one of the waterways that fed into the Great Southern Lake. The road south from Ziegsturhl crossed the river at the Bluestone Bridge, and it was there that Yannig and his band of cutthroats would be waiting.

In his black cloak, Mortanius was almost completely invisible as he floated through the night sky. He found the bridge and lowered himself to the ground a few hundred paces away, in the middle of a dense thicket of tall weeds. He spotted one of Yannig’s men hiding under the bridge, his sword out. They had probably hidden their horses on the other side of the river.

Men like Yannig were easy to find. Crime and violence had spread like a cancer over the past few decades, as the cities closed their gates and the social fabric of Nosgoth began to unravel. Harvests had been poor, and minor famines and plagues popped up here and there on a regular basis. There had been a few violent uprisings in various regions, although none of them had any lasting effect. Whatever leaders took control were just as corrupt and ineffectual as their predecessors. Desperate, hungry, and distrustful of their rulers, many people had turned to crime, which only exacerbated the problems. Trade slowed as the roads became unsafe for travelers, and the areas suffering the most had even fewer supplies and goods coming in. Almost every aspect of society was failing.

Everything changed the night Ariel was murdered. In that moment, something fundamental had broken in the bonds that held society together. It was like a disease had infected the world and everyone in it, turning people against each other and turning the land sour and polluted. Even the weather was different, the sky often overcast with sickly gray clouds.

But if the people of Nosgoth were infected with a sickness of the soul, the The Guardians of the Pillars had it far worse. Nuprator, Ariel’s lover and the Guardian of Mind, was the one who found her body at the Pillars, and he was so devastated and traumatized by his tragic discovery that he lashed out with his mental powers, aimlessly attacking everyone in the area of the Pillars. His psychic assault was so powerful that people more than a mile away fell to their knees, screaming in pain. The Guardians, far more susceptible to Nupraptor’s state of mind than regular folk, had suffered the most. In the years since Ariel’s death, they had all gone mad.

Mortanius had been the closest one to Nupraptor at the time of the attack, having just barely distanced himself from his crime before it was discovered. The attack left him wounded and unconscious for most of the day, and it was a miracle that Nupraptor hadn’t found him lying there senseless, his hands still wet with Ariel’s blood. When he came to, Mortanius managed to make it back to his private estate to cover up evidence of his guilt. His housekeeper Harlis, himself dazed by Nupraptor’s attack and ignorant of what Mortanius had done, helped him recover and regain his strength.

None of the other Guardians ever suspected his involvement in Ariel’s death, and in the wake of Nupraptor’s psychic attack, none of them were mentally capable of investigating the murder or dealing with the aftermath. In the end, vampire assassins under the direction of Vorador were blamed for Ariel’s murder. They were a convenient scapegoat.

In the months following the murder, Mortanius descended into grief and depression, wracked by self-hatred and overwhelming guilt. He simply could not accept what the hylden had done to him, how they had manipulated him, how they had so easily infiltrated the Circle itself and used their insidious powers to commit such an unspeakable crime. Ariel was dead because of him. The Circle was now in chaos, with Nosgoth soon to follow. The other Guardians, dealing with the effects of Nupraptor’s assault in their own ways, did not intrude upon Mortanius’s misery.

But from the very beginning, even in the throes of his worst depression and sickness, he made plans to seek out out the one chosen to replace Ariel as the new Guardian of Balance. And now he had finally found him. Kain was Ariel’s successor. But unfortunately, things were not as simple as they used to be. Instead of taking Kain to the Pillars to perform the ceremony to make him a full Guardian, Mortanius had something a bit more complicated in mind.

By the time Kain arrived, Yannig and his men were getting antsy. He must have traveled even more slowly than Mortanius had expected, because it took almost a full hour for him to reach the bridge. He looked very carefully to the left and right and then nudged his stallion into a slow canter.

As soon as the stallion’s hooves clacked onto the stone bridge, two of Yannig’s men rode out from the other side and charged, screaming and waving their swords above their heads. Kain jerked the reins back and his animal spooked, twisting to the side. Just as his sword slid free of its scabbard, Yannig and his two other accomplices ran out from their hiding places and rushed him from all sides.

Mortanius realized he was holding his breath. He watched in sick fascination as the fight unfolded. Kain tried to remain on his horse, but soon realized it was useless. The animal kicked and bucked underneath him, making it impossible to fight. He swung one leg over his saddle and jumped free, swinging his blade through the unguarded stomach of one of Yannig’s men, who doubled over and collapsed in a desperate attempt to keep his intestines in. When one of the other assassins panicked and tried to back away, he tripped over his fallen comrade and Kain rushed in to slash him across the throat.

But he was doomed and he must have known it. He let out a defiant war cry as the two mounted assassins rode him down, knocking him flat onto his back, his sword flying from his hand. Mortanius almost cried out himself in fear that Kain had been trampled. His instructions to Yannig had been very specific. But luckily, Kain avoided the horses’ hooves and managed to roll onto his hands and knees, smeared with mud. He made a desperate crawl to grab his sword, but Yannig ran over and plunged his blade right through Kain’s back, pinning him to the ground.

Mortanius was ready. He’d been ready for years. He cast a spell to keep Kain’s soul from leaving his body, unconsciously clenching his fist in a possessive gesture, as if he was physically grabbing the soul and holding it in place. His magic was powerful enough that even from several hundred feet away, he was able to manipulate the soul, preventing it from escaping.

The assassins stumbled away, calculating the cost of their crime. Two of Yannig’s men were dead, but now the others would benefit from a larger share of the money. Yannig ordered the men on horseback to dismount and help him clean up. They said a few respectful words for their fallen comrades and them slung their bodies atop their horses, for quiet burial somewhere else. Afterward, they quickly looted Kain’s body, stripping him of his money, jewelry, and a few pieces of his armor. One of the men reached to yank out Yannig’s sword.

“No,” Yannig said with a cruel laugh. “Leave it. I’m taking his blade.”

They packed up their horses, taking along Kain’s black stallion as well, and departed the scene, sharing a laugh at their success. Kain’s body was left face down in the mud, impaled on Yannig’s rusty old sword, a poor death for an honorable man.

When they were long gone, Mortanius walked over to the body. He could not help but feel a sense of guilt at his crime, but he had no choice. Or at least he believed that he had no choice. Ever since the moment Ariel had died, Mortanius and the rest of the world had been on a cataclysmic downward spiral into oblivion, and in such times, only a great crime can heal the wounds of an even greater crime.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” he said to the corpse. “But it had to be done.”

With a wave of his hand, he cast another spell, making Kain’s body levitate. Yannig’s sword, still impaled through his chest, pulled free of the ground, dripping blood. Mortanius cast the same spell on himself, and together they rose into the air. It was already after midnight, and they had a long way to travel. They did not reach Mortanius’s estate until nearly dawn.

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