Cliff

  “The death of the kid weighs heavy on my mind still. I’ve seen thousands draw their last breath over the years, but with him… it felt different. Personal. Visceral.

  Perhaps I’m growing sentimental in my older years, but… I simply cannot shake it. The image of his blood upon the blade, his eyes, his panic… A lifetime of possibility, cut woefully short because he decided to follow me onto the battlefield. In a way, one could almost claim that I am the one at fault for his demise.

  The deeper truth still is that I tire of the bloodshed. I’ve seen and caused enough pain and misery to last me a millennia. My true purpose lies beyond The Long Divide. That is where I shall right the wrongs I have committed. That is where I shall die.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2147 Post-Separation (PS).

  The gondola gave a gentle sway as it came to a slow halt near the edge of the Administrative District, sliding into place where a series of planks lay suspended over a balcony. A misty cloud was drifting past the mount, obscuring their view of the city below and making the small gap between the gilded metal gate on the side of the gondola and the gangplank beyond marginally less frightening.

  There was a somniferous quiet to the nighttime lull of the station. The only people present were a tired-looking guard with bags underneath his eyes, and an older couple dressed in florid robes complete with mink fur around the collar, waiting to take the gondola down. Their cheeks were flushed red by something other than the cold, and the husband in particular seemed to be having some difficulty with maintaining his balance, his upper body rocking back and forth in a constant battle against vertigo.

  Catherine gave them a courteous nod as they passed, and the woman returned it with an embarrassed look at her significant other, who seemed entirely oblivious to the world at large. Cliff could not help but smile at the sight of it.

  “What are you grinning about?” Catherine asked once they had put some distance between them and the gondola station.

  “Nothing in particular,” Cliff shrugged in response. “Just a familiar scene is all.”

  “Oh please,” Catherine scoffed, waving a hand. “I’m nothing like that man when I’m drunk.”

  “No,” Cliff smiled. “You’re worse.”

  A playful slap across the arm told him precisely what she thought of that particular comment.

  They continued up the mount in unison, past the main square at the bottom and towards the City Hall. A floating jewel above a sea of rooftops, the Administrative District was a dreamscape of architectural wonders and luxurious environs, the likes of which one would not find anywhere else in Alwaar. White-bricked buildings adorned with rich embellishments and ostentatious decorations stood flanked by crystalline towers refracting the moon and lanternlight into kaleidoscopic patterns. Marble-lined streets wound their way through gardens and tree-shaded walkways in a spiralling pattern towards the top. A variety of birds with iridescent feathers flitted from one terrace to another, adding touches of color to the scene. The few residents there were at this time of night were all draped in garments that would cost the common man a year’s wage and then some, moving gracefully to and fro the different establishments.

  “It’s so peaceful up here,” Catherine remarked to herself, despite the fact that she had walked these streets a thousand times before. “Like a small slice of paradise, floating far above the chaos down below…”

  “Yeah, well… Give a couple hundred people a mountain of gold and riches, and they’ll build their own little wonderland,” Cliff scoffed, glancing at all of the splendor around him with apparent disgust. “Meanwhile, the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces of the real world.”

  “It was just a comment, Cliff,” Catherine scolded him gently, tightening her grip on his hand. “I’m not blind to the reality of the situation. You’re not the only one who came from nothing.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted, though his posture softened a bit at her words. It was not her fault that the resources belonging to the citizenry of Carthal had a history of being mismanaged and pilfered by those in power. If anything, the city’s current rulers were having a much better go of it than any who had come before. Their rule was mostly fair, and equitable to the common man. Yet, it could not be denied that there existed a substantial gap between the upper class and the lower class in Carthal, and nowhere was that difference more apparent than in the streets of the Administrative District, or from the top of Noble’s Landing.

  They walked past gaudy shopfronts with darkened interiors, silent gardens lush with flora, and young lovers lost in each other’s embrace, oblivious to everything except the person in front of them. Catherine had not been wrong when she said it was peaceful here. In many ways, it resembled a scene out of a storybook romance, and despite his unfavorable opinion on the flaunting of such wealth, Cliff found himself wishing it did not have to come to an end so soon.

  End it would, however, as they eventually found themselves outside the gilded fence at the top of the district, beyond which lay the City Hall with its domed ceiling and crystal spires. A contingent of guards stood watch by the entrance, wearing steel plate polished to a shine. Despite their imposing appearance, however, Cliff knew with certainty that they had never seen real combat.

  “… I’m afraid this is where I leave you,” Catherine said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as she turned to look at him. “I’ve got some business I need to take care of here, so come find me when you’re done, okay?”

  “Will do,” Cliff said, before a second thought came to mind. “And… Catherine? Thank you for walking with me. And for… what you said earlier, on the gondola. I… I think I needed to hear it.”

  A warm smile formed on her lips.

  “It was my pleasure, Cliff,” she breathed, leaning in close to kiss him. His heart skipped a beat as the scent of her perfume washed over him, a pleasant wave of citrus and lavender. How he was ever supposed to resist her, he had no idea.

  “Now go,” she grinned once they parted. “You know how cranky he gets when you keep him waiting.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” Cliff sighed, readjusting the strap of his blade. Catherine’s presence had almost managed to make him forget he was still carrying it. Almost. “Can’t blame a man for finding your company more alluring than his.”

  “You’ll see me again soon,” she reminded him with a wink. “And when you do, I expect you to bring me something sweet, and savory.”

  “And how am I to find something like that at this hour?” he said. “Every bakery is sure to be closed by now.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you’ll find a way,” she smiled. “You’re a resourceful man, after all.”

  “You’re a vixen,” he sighed.

  “And you’re a blockhead,” she said, making to leave. “See you soon…”

  And then, she was gone.

  Blasted woman’s got me by the balls, he thought to himself with an affectionate smile. And she damn well knows it, too.

  /-0-\

  Cliff made his way past the guards stationed at the entrance, and into the hallway beyond. A grand rug covered the floorboards, stretching all the way to the opposing end, where a set of massive oaken doors separated the foyer from the main hall. Halfway down the corridor, Cliff spotted a well-dressed couple engaged in lighthearted conversation, holding ornate wine-glasses filled with crimson liquid. He could only see the woman from here, as the man stood with his back turned towards him.

  Her beauty was striking; chestnut-colored hair flowing in smooth curls across porcelain skin, bedecked by silver-grey eyes and a pointed chin. Her laugh was a lilting melody of joy and warmth, the kind that could not be faked or replicated. Cliff had never seen her before, but that was perhaps not very surprising. He hardly spent much time in the Administrative District these days.

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  Their conversation died down as he approached, the man turning with a graceful sway. Cliff recognized him at once.

  To call Hadrian a handsome man would be akin to calling a kiss from the person you desired most a “pleasant sensation”. It did little to convey the magnitude and scope of the lived experience, of the mind-boggling reality as witnessed with one’s own eyes. It was not any singular feature that made him so striking, either. Rather, it was the combination of the whole, the coming-together of so many different parts that painted a beauteous picture so unified in scope, it encroached upon the realm of perfection.

  His eyes of golden-yellow shine. The flash of white teeth arranged in perfect rows peeking out as he smiled. His medium-length hair splitting into black curls on either side of his forehead. The rippling physique underneath his tight-fitting tunic. The graceful-yet-stalwart way he carried himself. It all made for an impression so eye catching, most people would find themselves struggling for words at the sight of it.

  Naturally, he was also a womanizer of the biggest kind, and a schemer that would put even the most conniving of rogues to shame. He was Hadrian Tarwen, son of Lord Varus the Stormbringer, and heir to the Great Noble House of Tarwen.

  “Well, would you look at that?” he said, eyes gleaming with jocularity. “Cliff Fargo, come to besmirch the grand halls of my father once more. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “Here to give my report on something,” Cliff said, narrowing his eyes at the young man. “Nothing more, nothing less. And the grand halls of your father can’t possibly take any further defilement when it’s got the likes of you parading up and down its lengths every day.”

  For just a moment, time itself seemed to slow as the two men came to a halt in front of each other. The very air turned strained and loaded with some undefinable pressure, and it seemed for all the world that they stood primed to fight, their postures rigid and their eyes hostile. But then…

  “Hah! Eleven years later, and you still talk like a man who has a bone to pick with the world itself!” Hadrian grinned, extending an open hand in greeting.

  “Eleven years later and you’re still a prick,” Cliff smiled, accepting the hand with his own, giving it a firm shake. At once, the tense atmosphere deflated, put to rest in an instant by the sudden appearance of genuine camaraderie.

  “It’s good to see you, my friend,” Hadrian said.

  “Likewise, you irredeemable skirt-chaser,” Cliff replied, before pointing a cursory glance in the direction of the woman standing next to him. “And who might you be?”

  “Elena Joyce, Mr. Fargo,” she responded, her voice like velvet gliding over smooth butter. “A pleasure.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” Cliff said, somewhat reticent. “How long have you known Hadrian?”

  “Long enough to know all about his skirt-chasing tendencies,” she smiled, placing a delicate hand on the handsome man’s shoulder. “And long enough to tell you that those days are firmly behind him.”

  “Are they now?” Cliff said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Oh, I can assure you,” she continued, her smile turning positively feral. “Because I know for a fact that I’m a better lay than any of the harlots that came before me. And I’ve got a brain, which I use to run circles around Hadrian even on his brightest days.”

  There was a moment of silence as Cliff’s mind worked to process the violent crash of his expectations colliding with reality.

  “You remind me of Catherine,” he said at last, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “I like you.”

  “Yes, she’s something else, isn’t she?” Hadrian smiled, his golden eyes locked firmly on her, and nothing else.

  “That’s what they all say,” she shrugged, as if receiving the admiration of men was as routine to her as the sun rising in the morn.

  “Either way, as much as I would like to stand here and play catch-up with you, I’m afraid you’re requested elsewhere,” Hadrian said, bringing the conversation full circle once more. “And, as you well know, my father is not the kind of man who appreciates being kept waiting.”

  “True enough,” Cliff said. “I’ll be on my way then. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “I’m counting on it,” Hadrian nodded. “Live strong, Cliff.”

  “Live strong,” Cliff responded, before continuing down the corridor towards the set of doors at the end. Behind him, he heard Elena whisper something to Hadrian, who promptly let slip a muted chuckle at her words. It did not take a scholar to guess who the comment was about.

  The guards on duty outside the main hall stepped aside as soon as he approached, not bothering with the customary search they were supposed to conduct of his person. They knew who he was, if not by memory then by reputation. There was not a soul in Carthal who would not be able to recognize him by the color of his hair alone.

  He pushed open the heavy oak doors with ease, and walked into the grand hall beyond. Though to simply call it grand would perhaps be an understatement.

  A heady mix of varnished wood blended into marble floors of polished shine, lit by a colossal chandelier dripping with crystals that caught the light in glints of silver. The walls were covered with tapestries that told stories with every thread, depicting the history of the city from humble beginnings to bustling metropolis. The tale was a fabrication, of course. The actual records of the city’s construction and development had been lost to time, but some past ruler must have made the decision to manufacture a narrative in some bid for credibility.

  Large statues of influential figureheads stood sentinel along the flanks, their gem encrusted eyes following the movement of every guest. A set of staircases on either side led to balconies where sheltered seating arrangements spaced out amongst vast bookshelves allowed for private meetings and leisure areas.

  At the center of it all, beneath a vast dome painted in a myriad colors to reflect the rainbow stars of the nighttime sky, stood the Round Table - a masterpiece wrought in mahogany wood with golden highlights. The highest seat of power in Carthal, and the domain of Lord Varus the Stormbringer, who was currently seated at the far side of the table next to three of his closest advisors and the Keeper of Coin.

  Stout where Hadrian was handsome, Lord Varus was a man of indomitable presence, with eyes that promised devastation upon all who dared oppose him. His steely gaze and battle-hardened visage spoke to a history of combat on the frontlines, to a man who had looked into the whites of his enemies’ eyes as he struck them down without mercy or sympathy. Faded scars sustained in warfare trailed lines of white across his black skin, giving him the look of a warrior who had put down his sword in favour of the pen, yet retained his fighting spirit underneath the guise of diplomacy. And though he now wore a lavish shirt underneath a dark overcoat rather than steel plate, it was no less of an armor than the one he had donned on the battlefield. It was just an armor suited for a different purpose.

  “You wanted to see me,” Cliff said as he made his way to the table, leaving out any trace of formality. There was no need for such things between him and Varus. Not anymore.

  “You are late,” Varus said, his voice a deep baritone that carried far despite its low volume. He waved at the men next to him, who promptly got to their feet and scurried off without another word. The Keeper of Coin sent Cliff a particularly nasty look on his way out, which Cliff met with an indifferent stare.

  “I got distracted,” he shrugged, choosing to remain standing rather than take a seat.

  “You went to see Catherine,” Varus continued, looking at him properly for the first time since he had entered the hall. Any other man would have wilted and caved beneath the weight of that stare, but not Cliff. Never Cliff.

  “She came to see me,” Cliff corrected, meeting his gaze with ease. “And I ran into your son as well. His new lady friend is quite the character.”

  “What happened in Borger?” Varus asked, disregarding his excuse entirely. He had never been one for small talk, and that would not change now.

  “It was Nathaniel,” Cliff grunted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “On a mission for the Archon.”

  “You let him get away again,” Varus said, his frown growing several magnitudes more pronounced.

  “How was I supposed to stop him?” Cliff barked, feeling red-hot anger flare to life in his chest. “He opened a rift as soon as he was done. There was nothing I could do.”

  “You’re making excuses,” Varus grunted. “I dislike excuses.”

  “He was faster than usual,” Cliff continued, ignoring the barb with practiced finesse. “Enhanced by the sorcery of the Archon. He had green-tinged Astra coursing through his veins.”

  “So his corruption has deepened,” Varus said. “That is no excuse for you to stay your blade.”

  “He said he could cure the Rot.”

  That gave the Lord of Carthal some pause.

  “He’s lying,” he said, but there was a tinge of uncertainty to his tone.

  “I don’t think he is,” Cliff sighed, closing his eyes. “Nathaniel is many things, but a liar is not one of them.”

  “That is impossible.” Varus shook his head. “Nobody can cure the Rot.”

  “That’s what I said,” Cliff scoffed. “Now… I’m not so certain anymore.”

  There was a brief lull in conversation as Varus considered his words. The sweeping silence of the hall seemed all the greater for its size.

  “I will send out a detachment of my best Watchers to look for Nathaniel,” Varus said, breaking the stalemate. “I must have words with him.”

  “Do you really think he’ll agree to meet with you?” Cliff frowned. “Here, in Carthal?”

  “It won’t be in Carthal,” Varus said, turning his eyes away from Cliff to look at the map of Alwaar that lay sprawled out across the length of the Round Table. “I will meet with him elsewhere.”

  Cliff felt his eyebrows raise ever so slightly at the statement. Varus had not left Carthal for over a year.

  “Do you want me and my men to accompany you?” he asked instead.

  “No. I need you to travel to Galwen,” Varus said, not looking up from the map. “There’s a lumberjack there who claims to have witnessed a trail of golden orbs floating off towards the Grimseid Depths. I want you to meet with him.”

  “Those caverns are malevolent,” Cliff said. “You don’t want to wake the things that slumber there.”

  “That is inconsequential,” Varus said. “Investigate the man’s claims, and report back to me when you’re done.”

  “She won’t be there, Varus,” Cliff said, putting a hand to his forehead. At once, the temperature in the hall seemed to drop by several degrees.

  “I don’t care. Do as you’re told,” Varus growled, fixing Cliff with an iron stare that spoke of anger beyond belief. It would have been far worse if he had said her name.

  “Fine. But I expect fair compensation when I return,” Cliff sneered. “I’m not running off on some wild goose chase out of the goodness of my heart.”

  “You are overstepping your boundaries,” Varus warned, his face clouded by ire.

  “And you’re testing my patience,” Cliff said, refusing to back down.

  There was an electric silence between them as they stared at each other, neither one willing to concede an inch to the opposition.

  “Fine,” Varus spat at last. “I will give you a new vial once your work is finished. Do we have an agreement?”

  The shadow of a smile ghosted across Cliff’s lips.

  “Aye. That we do,” he nodded.

  “Good. Now leave me. I have business to attend to.”

  Cliff was only too happy to oblige. Giving a stiff nod, he turned on his heels and made for the exit. All things considered, it had not been the worst conversation. Varus had been positively merry compared to some of his more recent moods.

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