Miseria Cantare

The cell was dark, and dank, the stench of mold and dirt assaulted his nostrils as his orange eyes tried to pierce the blackness. A calloused hand wrapped in linen trailed dirt covered fingers lightly across the worn stone. He didn’t know how long he’d been in here, sitting, and waiting. Such dedication was rare within the Ravens. Most Ravens were cold, and cunning, silent and swift; as was he, but few were so dedicated. Dedication to the task, dedication to the contract. Few were willing to get arrested, suffer the torturous dungeons, just to get close to a target. He was Sevram Tylos the best Raven in the city, and everyone knew of him.

His target was an Ashborn like him, someone born with the gift of magic. The unnaturally green eyes that peered at him from the opposite cell weren’t filled with cunning and confidence like his own orange orbs; they were filled only with fear. He had willingly gotten himself imprisoned once he learned a Raven had been sent after him, thinking it would offer him some protection. He was wrong. Sevram had waited, bided his time, prepared. A half smile slowly crept it’s way along his face, his ivory white teeth reflecting what little light there was in the cell and giving his shadowed features a haunting appearance. His hand dropped to his side and picked up a sharpened shard of bone, a remnant of the cell’s previous occupant. His right hand held the key ring of one of the guards, swiped some time ago, whether it was hours or days Sevram didn’t rightly know.

Then into the shadows he went, becoming one with darkness. The cell to his door opened silently and he peered carefully down the hall to confirm that no guards were present. Then, he was at the door opposite his own, the key clicking in the lock the prisoner within snapping his gaze to the door.

Even though he was cloaked in shadow, both literal and magical, the ashborn’s green eyes followed him as he slowly advanced, waiting until Sevram was close enough to feel his breath before speaking.

“I knew it had to be you, no other Raven is as dedicated and…thorough as you Sevram, knowing your professionalism I trust you’ll make this as clean as you can.”

Sevram held his breath as the man spoke; he wasn’t surprised that the man knew him, as his reputation was known by all within the city. What did surprise him was that the fear in the man’s eyes was gone, replaced not by regret as was common, but with acceptance.
He chose to say nothing to the man; he simply raised the shard of bone and took another step toward the man.

Raising a hand to halt Sevram’s progress, the prisoner spoke once more.

“Please give Maera my regards.”

Then he was bleeding, the shard of bone impaled in his neck, his lifeblood pouring over Sevram’s hands. Betraying no pain, the man smiled as he fell to the floor, using his last breath to speak one last time in reply to Sevram’s continued silence.

“Such…dedication, such loyalty.” He choked “Perfect traits for a perfect pawn.”

This man knew Maera, not just her name, but who she was, what she was. Meaning he was likely a fellow member of Manus Umbra, the organization that ruled the city from the shadows, undermining the king constantly, making a mockery of his laws and his rule. Manus Umbra was the city. The fact that he knew Maera, was likely a member of Manus Umbra, and knew who he was, none of that surprised him. What did surprise him was this man, who Sevram knew virtually nothing about, had been able to halt him in his tracks with simple words. Made him rethink his life, his choices. Perhaps it wasn’t the words that were the cause, but simply the catalyst for the reaction, perhaps his feelings of rebellion, his exponentially growing intolerance for being used and dismissed, his irritation at the monotony of his life, had been growing for some time and after many years of dismissing them, or drowning them, this man had released the flood gates. He couldn’t know for sure, not with this man soon to be dead. But he wasn’t dead now…wasn’t dying, his head was in Sevram’s lap, his wound covered by the Raven’s hands, glowing softly with crimson light. In a fit of emotion unbecoming of the Raven he had chosen to save a life he had just taken. His outburst cost him, for instead of healing only part of the wound, instead of making it serious instead of fatal, he had transferred the entire wound to himself. Even as he tried to remove his hands he felt his own lifeblood running down his chest, soaking his mottled gray clothes. His vision grew dark, his breathing slowed, his body grew limp and he felt his head smack wetly on the dirt floor of the cell.

“Maera was right…I am getting soft.” As he lay dying, a half smile flittered briefly across his face. His eyes closed and he drifted away from consciousness, leaving his target very much confused and alive.

Death.

It was the first to assault the senses and ensnare the mind. Palpable in the air, it hung heavy in dank quarters, seeping through ageless stone and creaking iron. In the depths where sunlight had no purchase and life seemed nothing but a hopeless dream, fatality reigned king. And amid rusted cell bars and molding bones, a smile of familiarity was cast into the darkness. It was dangerous, seductively tugging at the corners of a full mouth to hint at secrets untold. Unnoticed by a man of lesser mind, his intent focused instead on searching for the rusted iron key at his belt, the gesture was lost to shadow soon thereafter.

“Milady Ordeiron, I found it” the guard finally mumbled, his eyes pointedly not staring at the curves and bared skin next to him as he held up the correct key.

Eyes known both as soulless and exotic flicked up from their musings, inky black orbs absorbing the information instantaneously.

“Tis a small miracle,” Maera Ordeiron muttered with a rolling of eyes. “Now, do try to not hurt yourself while I am absent. T’would be such a shame.”

Thick iron was immediately placed in a pale-skinned palm, followed by the shuffle of booted feet as the guard lumbered back to his post. Wrapping creamy silk closer about her bared shoulders, Maera only briefly felt the dungeon chill fondle her senses before she squared her shoulders, picked up her pace, and marched towards her destination. As torchlight disappeared, she was consumed by obscurity, her eyes finding light in the palm of her hand, burning brightly in the form of violet flame. Shadows deepened, occasionally finding purchase on vacant eyes and gaunt features, figures of destitution bound for a lifeless sentence in a rotting hole. The dark burgundy velvet hugging Maera’s curves seemed wholly inappropriate in comparison to the dungeon’s brutality, a marked sign of her interrupted dalliances. The sweeping ballroom returned momentarily to her mind’s eye, the burning chandeliers and candles mocking the blackness in which she now presided. Both held a familiarity, a cyclical dance between masquerades and reality.

The images were shattered, however, when voices permeated the stony silence, murdering her preoccupation in a wave of calculation and concern. The worst, it seemed, was turning out to be true. Rounding a corner, Maera felt power burn through her veins, tugging at the blackened edges of her soul. It was hungry, consuming the fringes of her humanity in flame, and as the sorceress stepped into the cell of an old comrade, she felt her resolve hiccup into remission. Wide eyed, her mind snagged as images of blood and unsuspecting injury tumbled through her mind. Tianus Velyuun, competent thief and dangerously skilled spy, sat in shock, covered in blood that was not his own. At his feet, gurgling on the last vestiges of life, lay Sevram Tylos.

Words failed to form on full lips, and Maera Ordeiron, Mistress of Shadow, felt her mind shut down. Schemes and plots tumbled into openmouthed surprise, pouring out with reckless abandon till nothing was left but instinct. Instinct, and a churning emotion that the sorceress was not willing to let see the light of day. Instead, she simply reacted, her slender frame instantaneously bending over the dying form of a man. Burgundy velvet soaked in crimson lifeblood, staining the scandalous dress in a pattern of desperate action as Maera’s hands found the gushing would. Blood poured unchecked across her hands, bubbling from a gaping wound that should have been meant for the unmoving observer. Drawing power, the ashen sorceress felt magic once again flood through her consciousness, pouring into the wound with a force that normally ripped flesh and shattered bones. At this moment, however, it knitted torn muscle and tattered skin, transferring half of the injury to its user.

“Foolish man!” she snarled at Sevram between gritted teeth.

Muscles in her neck then buckled beneath an invisible force, blood beginning to trickle down the length of her bosom when the transference was complete. Ignoring her own injury, Maera tore the shawl from her shoulders, wrapping the fine silk around Sevram’s wound. He had lost blood, most of it in fact, and needed the assistance far more than she. Pain throbbed insistently about her mind, but as she grabbed the arm of an unconscious Raven, her eyes piercingly ordering Tianus to do the same. A moment of uncertainty passed between eyes of black and green, then a body was lifted from dirtied stone. The trio shuffled out of the darkness, dividing the weight between them as best they could as they crept down the corridors.

“I hardly expected such behavior from a Raven and the Mistress of Shadow,” Tianus commented wryly.

Scoffing, Maerna shook her head, though instantly regretted the motion. “Consider for a moment, if you can, shutting your mouth and helping me.”

“Ah, but the use of my mouth has served you well so many times before…”

A grizzled smile crossed the would-be target’s features, followed by a dry chuckle escaping Maera’s throat. “Tianus, ever you may beg at my feet. But I assure, my old friend, my goods are not available to a man such as you.”

The arrival of several steel clad guards signaled a halt to their banter, gently relieving them of their burden. Decisively Maera ordered the unconscious Raven be taken to Rosethorn Manor, knowing full well it was the nearest and easiest to reach without detection. Secrecy was key, and though eyes beset every stone and tree, they were owned by all of the right people. It took but a moment of pause to permanently silence the cell guard before the small company left the darkness behind. Their journey was swift and efficient, hurrying the injured into the waiting hands of a healer. Tianus stayed close by the Misstress of Shadow’s side, his lips sealed to the report he was so very anxious to tell. Dangerous dealings had been made, and one bleeding figure needed to know the developments. And though her head pounded, her neck throbbed, and her heart resumed its icy case, Maera had work to do.

Work that would not wait for a hot bath and a change of clothing.