The Bump in the Night

Vixin sat uncomfortably in a serf tavern in some nameless village, scratching aimlessly at the fake beard that wrapped around his face and upper neck. He silently cursed his notoriety; too many people would be able to recognize his face from past Harvester bulletins. Such was the price of murdering one of the most important men in all of Oaiao.

Vixin purposefully moved his hand away from his beard and took to looking around the unfamiliar tavern. It was a grimy sort of place, the dust from endless drought mixing with the humidity of the sweat and close quarters to create a layer of smut that clung to the walls and tables. The tavern was indeed crowded. Men sat laughing and drinking at the bar while serving maids pranced around in circles, avoiding tables and the hands of the patrons. There wasn’t much movement, as the tables were so packed that it was difficult for anyone to get anywhere. Vixin chuckled as serving maids passed trays of ale and food to each other across tables and the heads of different men, as they could not move around enough to get to their destination. In the corners, shady men and criminals talked in hushed tones by candlelight. Vixin ignored them. He had not come here to arrest grain robbers or cattle rustlers; he had come here to speak to an informant. Someone who would know why the Junarians wanted the king of Glausiania dead. He also happened to be an old friend.

A hulking form dropped into the seat across from Vixin, who jumped slightly in surprise. A dirty brute of a man sat across from him, his beard and moustache stained with beer and assorted remnants of meals long past. He wore a generous amount of animal pelts of different kinds, none cured very well. He smelled of moldy fur and stale beer. Vixin’s stomach lurched in spite of itself.

“You the highborn?” The man said in a thick Northeastern accent. Vixin nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He did not want to inhale any more than he absolutely had to. The man across from him nodded back, saying nothing. He leaned his head forward. “What’s the matter? Aia got your tongue?”

“I did not feel it was necessary.” Vixin said quickly, closing his mouth the second the last word had passed it. By Aia, he could taste it!

The man nodded thoughtfully, ticking items off on his fingers. “Quasexan accent, with just a hint of Matrikanian nobility.” His Northeastern accent faded as his speaking became more excited, replaced by a much more noble dialect. “You’re dressed like a Reledanian Bureaucrat, but your bearing is far more like a Glausianian. I’d say you’re at least a Lord or Harvester.” He eyed Vixin’s wrist. “Let’s see it.”

Vixin sighed, but he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to revealed the bone spike on his wrist. “Satisfied?”

“Not quite.” The man smiled, revealing a gold tooth that glinted in the dim light of the establishment. “I would just like to know how the man who murdered the Harvester King managed to sneak into Glausiania without being lynched by the populace or sacrificed by the Diradis.” He laughed boisterously as Vixin’s eyes bulged.

“Don’t say it so loud!” Vixin hissed, looking around to see if anyone had noticed the man’s words. He sighed as no glances came his way. “I’ve gotten most everyone convinced that I was framed. Which is much less than I can say for you, Rajinii.”

“Guilty.”  Rajinii chuckled, reaching across and slapping Vixin on the back. “I’d imagine it would be a little difficult to convince people that the heap of coins under my mattress wasn’t stolen from the Reledanian National Bank.” Vixin rolled his eyes. In addition to being a trapper, Rajinii was a well known jeweler and a notorious counterfeiter.

“Especially since the coins are stamped with the Reledanian Emperor’s seal.” Vixin said with an absolute straight face. This only caused Rajinii to laugh even harder as he signaled a serving maid for ale.

“Ah, I’ve missed you Vixin.” He said, wiping tears from his eyes and accepting the ale from the serving maid. She danced out of the way as he tried to show his appreciation with an outstretched hand. “Life hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I see you’re still failing in your endeavors to find a woman as unscrupulous as you are.” Vixin noted, allowing a smile to play across his lips.

“Well, the little beauties never seem to understand me.” Rajinii said with feigned despair. “I wouldn’t expect a woman to know why I wear a beard.”

“I doubt any woman could understand why a man would want to keep food and ale stored in his facial hair.” Vixin replied, eying the man’s disgusting mop. “Frankly, I can’t even understand it, and I’ve known you for years.”

“Vixin, you’ve never been in the northern forests.” Rajinii said with a hurt look. “Times are hard and cold up there, and a man has to keep all the food he can.”

“I think I would rather freeze than walk around with the smell of my beard following me everywhere.” Vixin said with a wrinkled nose. “You are far more fragrant than I would like.”

“It keeps me awake and alert.” Rajinii said offhandedly. He took a long pull at his beer, wiped his lips, and slammed it on the table. “Alright, Vixin, what is this about? You seemed pretty spooked when you contacted me.”

Vixin reached into his pocket and pulled out the ruby Prism, holding up for Rajinii to see. Rajinii’s eyes widened, and Vixin had to pull the Prism away before he could snatch it.

“This isn’t for payment, Rajinii.” He warned. “So don’t even think about taking it. I want you to tell me what you see.” Rajinii took the Prism, an undisguised longing in his eyes. He certainly had never held this much money in his hand. Or, at least, he had never held this much real money. He pulled out a small glass lense and held the Prism up to the light, inspecting the markings. After a moment, he looked back at Vixin with a perplexed look on his face.

“You do know what this is, right?” He said slowly and suspiciously. “You aren’t trying to pull one over on your old friend?”

“What do you see? Vixin prompted, leaning forward. Rajinii sighed and tossed the Prism back to Vixin and slipping the lense into the folds of his coat.

“You see those glyphs on the side?” Rajinii asked, pointing to the gem in Vixin’s hand. Vixin held the stone up to the light.

“Yes.” He said. “What of it?”

“Do you know what they are?”

“No.”

“Those,” Rajinii explained, “are the serial number and stamp of inspection of the particular gem. They tell you where and when this gem was made.”

“What of it?” Vixin asked, annoyed. The royal jeweler could have told him that. What was Rajinii playing at?

“Look at it closer, idiot.” Rajinii growled, grabbing the stone and pointing furiously at one area on the gem. “The inspection date has been tampered with.”

“How can you tell?” Vixin said in confusion, craning his neck to look at the glyph.

“There are scratches all along the side of the runes.” Rajinii said, running his finger along the lettering. “That would be normal, a consequence of the carving. However, these are going the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” Vixin said impatiently.

“All inspectors carve their gems in the same direction.” Rajinii said. “They have to so that they don’t crack or destroy the integrity of the Prism. This one has scratches running both ways. That means somebody recarved the rune from the original to change the inspection date. There’s always the chance of destroying the Prism,, but if it’s done well, it will completely fool anyone trying to track it.” Vixin looked at the glyph in dismay.

“But that glyph is the base of nearly all the others!” He cried. “The original number could be any of them!”

“Calm down, young grasshopper, I’m not finished yet.” Rajinii said with a smile. “From the way the scratches are placed, I’d say that the original number was ixi.” Vixin gasped, looking back at the Prism with a white face.

“That means this Prism is over five-hundred years old.” He said softly. “And the only people rich enough to freely give away a five-hundred year old Prism would be…”

“One of the Imperial Houses of Junar.” Rajinii finished grimly. “The oldest and arguably most powerful organizations on Earth.” Vixin paled even further as Rajinii leaned forward. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Vixin said quietly. “All I know is that, if I’m not careful, another very important person could die because of me.”

Rajinii opened his mouth to respond, but, at that moment, all the lights in the tavern blew out as an intense blast of cold wind rushed in through the open door. The serving maids screamed, and even some of the men let out gasps. The wind had felt unnatural, wrong. It chilled everyone. Within a moment, however, the lights suddenly flared back to life. Silence engulfed the tavern for a moment before some drunk trapper let out a rowdy laugh, and the tavern returned to its noisy state. Rajinii shrugged and took another pull at his ale, but Vixin looked around in apprehension. Something seemed off. As he looked, he noticed that a newcomer had arrived during the strange blast of air.

It was almost as if the man was attempting very much to stand out from the crowd. He wore an enormous black cloak that covered his entire body with a hood that hung behind his neck. He was completely bald, and the light danced off his polished skull with an unnatural brightness; in fact, it was almost as if his body was repelling the light, throwing it away from his countenance.

Vixin was suspicious of this man. His arrival, along with the cold wind, did not bode well for the people in this tavern. Underneath the table, Vixin rolled up his sleeve and pulled the spike out of his arm just enough for him to gain the enhanced senses of his Bloodblade. All of the sudden, the noise in the tavern became deafening, and Vixin had to resist the urge to cover his ears. Wolfsbane Bloodblades were difficult to control, since noise constantly sought to overwhelm the rest of the senses. Vixin focused on pushing away the noise of the patrons with his eyes closed, listening intently for the conversation between the newcomer and the barman.

“I want wine.” The newcomer said forcefully to the barman, and he laid out a few coins on the table. Vixin could hear the barman sniff in suspicion.

“These are Reledanian nobles.” He said, picking one up and biting it sharply. “We only take Glausianian coin.”

“You will take these.” The newcomer said even more forcefully, pounding his fist on the bar. His voice shook, as if he was frightened underneath his air of superiority.

“Look, fellow, I don’t think you understand-” The barman began, but he was interrupted by something akin to the sound of a pestle mushing rotten fruit. The collective gasp and screams that came afterward nearly deafened Vixin, and he sheathed his Blade before opening his eyes and looking over at the bar.

The newcomer stood at the bar with his fist inside the barman’s chest, blood pouring out of the hole. The barman himself stood with dead eyes, suspended only by the strength of the other man’s arm. As Vixin watched, the man pulled his bloody hand out of the barman’s chest and let his body slump to the ground. He turned toward the patrons, his eyes wide in fear. He stared at his hand. Through the silence, Vixin did not need his Bloodblade to hear what he said.

“Strange.” The man said quietly. “I did not know I could do that.”

Almost in unison, the men in the room threw down their ale mugs and drew their swords in hatred. The sound of steel being drawn from scabbard engulfed the room, and they all began to advance slowly on the newcomer, who stood his ground fearlessly. Or perhaps foolishly.

“I would suggest leaving.” Rajinii said slowly, looking at Vixin. “This may get ugly.” Vixin nodded, and he jumped quickly out of the window next to the table- he had chosen the spot for the very reason of an easy escape. Rajinii followed after a moment.

No sooner had they brushed themselves off than they heard screams begin to sound from the tavern, and thumps of men being thrown to the ground. They huddled up against the wall, not wanting to leave for fear of being blamed for the fight. They simply stood and listened to the sound of steel clashing and men yelling. As Vixin listened, he thought he could discern a different noise amid the sound of screams and steel. A dull thumping noise that pounded in his chest. The sound of a heartbeat.

Somebody inside was using a Bloodblade.

Rajinii and Vixin stood outside the tavern for what felt like ages, waiting for the screams and the clash of swords to stop. After while, it did. Rajinii and Vixin looked at each other silently, each pleading for the other to go inside and look. Vixin sighed and slowly walked up to the door of the tavern, putting his hand on his Bloodblade hilt before opening the door with his shoulder.

The stench of blood immediately assaulted his nostrils as he walked in, and he took his hand off his hilt to cover his nose. He nearly vomited as he looked at the mangled bodies strewn about the floor surrounding a single, standing figure. The newcomer was the only survivor of this fight.

He stood with nothing in his hands, breathing heavily. His cloak had been torn away, and he wore only a black leather vest that revealed powerful arms. Vixin’s legs nearly gave out as he saw that, on each arm, there were two Bloodblade hilts.

Aia’s Blood. He thought to himself. It can’t be.

Knowing it was foolish, he prepared himself to draw his Bloodblade to attempt to deal with this demon. As he did, the Flen looked at him, straight into Vixin’s eyes. And Vixin’s hand froze. In the Flen’s eyes, Vixin could see guilt. Intense, self-deprecating, horrible guilt. The guilt of a man who knew he had committed a horrible crime.

Vixin knew that guilt. He felt it every day.

Against his better judgment, his conscience and logical mind screaming at him to stop, Vixin slowly walked over the mangled bodies towards the man. The man responded in kind, meeting Vixin halfway across the room. They stopped about a foot away from each other, staring into the other’s eyes.

“Help me.” The Flen whispered. “I am afraid.”

Vixin hesitated, but he nodded.

“Don’t worry.” He said, putting a shaking hand on the Flen’s shoulder next to a Bloodblade hilt. “So am I.”

He led the Flen out of the carnage and into the night.