Written in Blood (short story)

[House Paupers - Commons]

One week.

Yardie, the Faendryl rogue, experienced the full spectrum of emotions in one week. His training in the skullduggery arts grew, as did his confidence in his talents. He won the most recent game of Killer Darts at the Alabaster Spire, pulling off an upset that mirrored his talents, hidden, shrouded by a perceived weakness, only to flourish into fruition when least expected. He even saved the life of a Squire Legionnaire named Kasula. To be a Faendryl meant to lead by example. So, dragging her battered frame, Yardie escaped the undead ridden Castle Varunar, unconcerned by the roa’ters that burrowed after him. He steeled his resolve to be better, as a friend, as a Faendryl, as a brother, and of course, as a mate.

Much changed in the span of a full week. Layer by layer, it all tumbled down into rubble.

Now, Yardie sat, quill in his left hand, pained by his own naivete. Everything he dreaded had come to pass. He had exposed his thoughts and secrets to a select few, opened his heart to others, only to have it crushed by his gullibility. He had possibly damaged the relationship with his brother, Iskandr, due to some of his choices. As a result, Yardie felt as he did on that day on the trail of Icemule, where he lay helplessly in the snow: cold, abandoned, vulnerable.

Yardie studied the quill. Dextrous fingers twirled the tool as if it were a well-crafted dagger. In the hands of the most competent, the quill cut deeper than any sword, pierced through the heart with marksman-like accuracy. As the quill danced between his fingertips, he pondered upon his closest allies. His brothers’ loyalty had never wavered, but they could not fight his battles forever. As for the other two closest to him? One had claimed to never have lied to Yardie, but had wronged him all the same. The other had lied to him and crossed a most sacred line. Apologies did not absolve his pain nor repair his trust, and he lacked the oration to express his feelings, let alone the willing ears to listen to his reasoning. And he lacked time. Much like the story of Amasalen, Yardie felt damnation awaiting him in the cold. It was only a matter of time before Firdwin and the others came for blood. Only a matter of time before someone who knew too much aired out his past and his errors. To a degree, that already occurred a few nights after his lowest point.

With no other recourse, Yardie took the quill and bled all of his thoughts into words on the parchment.

---

Dressed in the colors of the Faendryl, a grey wool waistcoat over a garnet colored dress shirt, dark pants, and his moccasins, Yardie approached Draelor. Gripped in his wrapped left hand was his vulture brigandine armor, while he held a series of sealed parchment in his right. The Aelotoi hunter and brother had been feeding Vaerno, his mountain wolf. The wolf sniffed in Yardie’s direction.

“Yes. I know. Taer.” Yardie said. According to Draelor, Vaerno addressed Yardie as “Taer”, a word in the Aeoltoi language meaning an inexperienced person. Today was the first time he acknowledged the wolf’s nickname for him, for it had seemed the most benign of the list of nicknames created by others.

Strikingly, the wolf whimpered.

“Yes, you were right. But all will be okay,” Yardie tried to reassure Vaerno, but his fidgety posture contradicted his words. “At least, I hope it will.” He then shifted his violet-eyed gaze to Draelor, who always kept a poker-faced demeanor. “Draelor, I need you to do something for me.”

Yardie proffered the sealed parchment and Draelor accepted it. The Aelotoi’s eyebrow raised as he returned Yardie’s nervous gaze with a quizzical one. His wings fluttered. “What’s this?”

Yardie took a deep breath. “My life and crimes. My hopes and fears. My experiences and secrets. Everything that I’ve seen back home, in the Landing, all of it. Everything is all here.” As Draelor took the note, Yardie’s hands trembled. “I need to prepare for the worst. For death. For my arrest. For betrayal. I trust you to fulfill this wish.”

Draelor rarely questioned anyone’s intentions. He always kept to the wild, to Vaerno, and his hunts. He had no time for Yardie’s antics or troubles. But whenever Yardie needed a hand, whenever anyone posed a threat to the rogue, Draelor was often the first to come to his side. “Go on.”

“You are experienced in tracking. I will be gone for a while on some business. They deal with some familiar matters, some...you may not want to know. If I do not return, I urge you to seek me out.” Yardie stared at his moccasins. “If I should fall,” Yardie whispered, his voice shrill and weak, before regaining confidence, “or if you lose my trail completely, I need you to take this to someone. You may find him at the Alabaster Spire. Allow him to read its contents and allow him to decide whether to share it with the Enclave, notify the Palestra, or take it to his grave.”

“Who?”

“His name is Nazarr,” Yardie said.

It was the first time Draelor ever heard Yardie mention that name. “Why him?”

Yardie brushed his blue-black hair aside, the quill peeking out from behind his jutted ear for a split second. He thought of Nazarr’s goodwill, giving him his set of darts as well as the scarab attached to the cloak gifted to him upon membership to the Enclave.“I’ve made mistakes in judgment, placed loyalty on those who...did not share the same in return. With Nazarr, I...never needed to feel scared around him.” He smiled. “It may be honor amongst thieves, but he was the first to make me feel like family. He never gave me any looks of suspicion or words of criticism. I believe he is the most fair and impartial judge to my story...confession...what have you. If he kept my writings to himself or shared it to Zolis and the others, or even informed the Palestra, I know that his decision will be fair.” Nodding to himself, Yardie fastened the armor.

Draelor gave him a look of concern. “Need a hand?”

Yardie sighed, emptying his lungs before breathing in the air and fear that strengthened his resolve. He glanced at Draelor over his shoulder. “You...have been a good friend.” With that, the panicked phantom and rogue known as Yardie left Paupers en route to the Glatoph.