Red Blood and Black Steel - Jeff Long Chapter 4 Rubbing his sweaty hands together anxiously, Krahm Alloso took a key from the chain around his neck and unlocked the third drawer of his desk. Despite the fact that the door was locked and the room was deserted, the middle-aged man looked up briefly to make sure no one was watching. Licking his lips, he lifted up the bottom of the drawer and pulled out a heavy bag. Spilling the contents out on the table, Alloso rubbed his hands together again, then started stacking the shiny gold coins into neat piles. Life was good, the man mused to himself. The little organization he had taken over was certainly paying off well. Going from being a petty and somewhat crooked merchant to one of the wealthiest men in the city of Dragonium was certainly quite an accomplishment. Finished with stacking the gold, Krahm took out a quill pen, dipped it into his inkwell, and started scribbling on a piece of parchment. A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips. At this rate, he'd be able to buy that harem he wanted in just a few weeks. Life was good indeed. Just then, Krahm Alloso heard the sound of a key in the door-lock. Hurriedly sweeping the gold back into the drawer, the balding man fumbled to make sure he still had his key. He found it where it should be, on his key-chain. But that was impossible! He had the only existing key to this room. Sweat running down his forehead, the merchant watched with beady eyes as the door swung open. The man who stepped into the room was tall, almost breaking six feet, and was dressed all in black clothing, with worn, shin-high leather boots and a black cloak trimmed with gold at the edges. His dark, almost black hair was long and unkept, hanging almost to his shoulders. A sword with an unadorned hilt and worn handle was slung over his back. The man's face was dark and somewhat handsome, and judging from it he was probably in his mid-thirties. A humourless smile spread across his face, and his dark green eyes pierced right through the man sitting at the desk before him. "That is one advantage to having everyone think that you're dead," the man said in a resigned voice. "You get to find out who is truly loyal to you." Krahm Alloso was sweating heavily now, clasping and unclasping his hands in a nervous fashion. "Lord . . . lord Thone, I was just . . . holding the position until . . . your . . . inevitable return." The tall man reached back and casually pulled out his sword. The blade was spotless and well-oiled, gleaming even in the dim light of the windowless room. "Come now, Master Alloso, I know all about your little operation here. I was pleased to find that the Messengers, at least, are still entirely loyal to me. You thought, as did the rest of the world, that I died at Gilvamesh, and thought to make the most of it." Krahm Alloso moved one of his hands beneath the desk to grasp the handle of the crossbow that was mounted there. "Master, following your joyous and unexpected survival, I will gladly relinquish my position here to you." Alloso's sweaty hand tightened on the crossbow's trigger. However, just as he fired, Blaidin Thone thrust the blade of his sword down into the wooden floor. Krahm Alloso's jaw dropped open as the deadly bolt was deflected by the gleaming metal. The black-cloaked man took a step forward and smiled contemptuously. "Didn't even move the crossbow, did you? Did you forget that this used to be my office?" Krahm whimpered pathetically, and shrunk back even further in his chair. Blaidin Thone took another step forward. "Well, I suppose next time you'll know better, won't you?" Gleaming steel flashed through the air, and Krahm Alloso's head flew from his shoulders to roll into a corner of the room. Grimacing slightly, the tall man kicked the now-limp body out of the chair and sat down. Running a gloved hand through his hair, he sighed at the pool of blood that was quickly forming on the floor. He snapped his fingers, and a blond man dressed in sombre grey clothing appeared at the door. "Get this cleaned up, and find me a barber. Preferably one that won't try and slit my throat with his scissors." The blond man bowed solemnly and quickly disappeared. When he was gone, Blaidin Thone sat back in the chair and started drumming his black-gloved fingers on the desk. Much had happened while he had been recovering from his near-death, and reasserting his authority would take some work. His empire had suffered greatly from lack of leadership, with barbarians threatening his organization in Pelranny, and Lorainon law-enforcement cracking down on his operations in the west. There was indeed much that required his attention. And none of what needed to be done would involve his greatest desire: the destruction of the Bloodrunners. Angrily, Blaidin Thone clenched his fist and rose to his feet. His gold-trimmed cloak swirling ominously, the black-clad man stalked quickly out the door. The stench of death was already beginning to permeate the room behind him. * * * * * The High Castle of Targaea had stood firm upon the Royal Hill for almost five hundred years. Shining silver spires soared up to reach the heavens, while polished stone walls fifteen metres high gleamed around the courtyard. The tips of the towers ended in slender peaks, and colorful banners hung from all the battlements. Guards with shining steel breastplates, inlaid with gold, stood by the massive steel gate, which for the moment stood open. Colorful gardens, filled with the fresh scent of spring, filled the courtyard, and small stone walkways twisted and snaked through the flowers like criss-crossing streams. But behind the gleaming stone of the towers, arrow-slits could be faintly made out, and the walls were far thicker than necessary for mere decoration. To the close observer, the High Castle was obviously built for defence. The doors of the banquet hall swung open, and a pimply faced man walked out into the corridor, staggering slightly. The laughter from the hall faded abruptly as the doors behind him swung shut. Leaning against a wall, the man breathed heavily several times, then straightened. For a moment, the torch-light fell across his face, revealing a slightly bulbous nose, and deep-set, watery eyes. The man's mouth was a bit too broad, and his lips somewhat slack. He was dressed in foppish noble's clothing, with deep-purple hose, and an embroidered tunic. Whistling an off-key tune, the man set off down the castle corridor, away from the boisterous banquet hall. Turning a corner in the marble-floored corridor, the young noble saw another figure coming down the hall towards him. The man smiled broadly when he saw who it was. "Fayadneda, what a surprise meeting you here," the man slurred in a nasal voice. The figure facing the nobleman was a young woman, with rich, red-golden hair and wearing a silvery-blue dress embroidered with gold. The young man bent down as if to kiss the woman's hand, but she just eyed him in a bored fashion. "What's so surprising about it, Jelg? I live in the castle, don't I?" the woman snorted in a very unlady-like tone. Jelg straightened, taken somewhat aback. "Well, yes, of course, milady, but . . ." "Now, if you'll excuse me, Jelg, I have business to attend to." Roughly, the young woman tried to push past the man blocking the hallway. "Oh, but Fay, I was expecting to see you at the banquet tonight. Where were you? It's not good manners to . . ." "I was busy," the golden haired woman snapped haughtily. "Now, I really must be . . ." "You must certainly promise to attend tomorrow's banquet," the man whined, not budging an inch. "Jelg, get out of my way." "Why the rush, anyway, Fay? Surely you could spend some time . . ." The scraping of steel on stone stopped the pug-nosed man's words in their tracks. Turning around like a frightened rabbit, the young nobleman found himself face to face with a man in polished steel armor, his sword drawn and resting blade down on the marble floor. "Princess," the man said in a deep voice, "Your coach is waiting," "Thank you, Hans," said Fayadneda as she pushed by the now-petrified Jelg. The tail of her dress dragging on the floor, the golden-haired woman swept imperiously off down the hallway. With a final glance at the man who stood frozen in the hallway, the dark-haired guard sheathed his sword and marched after her. As soon as the man in gleaming armor disappeared around the corner, the young nobleman's face twisted into a hateful sneer. Bloody woman, she will be mine, the voice inside the man's head almost screamed. Didn't the fool Princess realize that his father was one of the richest nobles in Targaea? Even a man as powerful as the King of Targaea needed the support, both political and financial, of his nobles. Slowly, the sneer disappeared to be replaced by an even more twisted smile. Watery eyes gleaming dangerously, the man gave a short chuckle and turned to disappear into the depths of the High Castle. * * * * * "The man bothers you, Milady?" Hans asked in his deep voice, as the elaborately cushioned carriage rolled as smoothly as could be expected through the streets of Targus. "Bothers me? BOTHERS ME?!" the golden-haired woman sitting on the opposite seat almost shrieked. "I detest the man! And if I could have him ejected from the castle - permanently - I would." "But since his father is Duke Perrgon . . ." the deep-voiced guard mused to himself. The woman simply snorted, and started adjusting her hair in a gold-ridged hand-mirror. "I really hate these state visits, you know. Sometimes I wish I could trade places with one of the guards or something. At least they get some time off." The woman produced a small, silver hair-pin and used it to hold back a lock of hair that seemed to keep falling in front of her left eye. Hans merely grunted and looked out the window at the passing merchants and street-hawkers. Producing a hairbrush with a platinum handle, the young woman began brushing her hair. "Did you know I've lived in this same city for all seventeen years of my life, and I've never once been down to the Marn?" At that, Hans raised a slender eyebrow. "A place like that isn't fit for a Princess," he murmured in his low rumble, while fingering the hilt of his sword. The golden-haired woman looked up sharply, almost throwing the hairbrush at her bodyguard. "But that's just it! Nothing is ‘fit for a princess'! Just once I want to go somewhere where I don't have to worry about how my hair looks, or if my dress is the right color!" She settled for tossing the brush at the gleaming, black hard-wood floor instead. Hans winced at the loud clang as the priceless platinum struck the hard floor of the coach. "The Marn is filled with beggars, cutthroats and whores. There's nothing special to see there." Hans bent down and gingerly picked up the hair-brush, placing it on the seat beside him. "You just don't understand, do you, Hans?" Princess Fayadneda sighed in a resigned fashion. "I don't want to see anything special. I want to see something that's normal." Lower lip going out in a sulky pout, the young woman turned to stare out the window at the streets of her city. For a moment, sympathy flashed in the steel-clad man's eyes. Then his face hardened, and his mouth twisted into a scowl. "If the King knew you were even thinking about going to the Marn, he'd have my head on the ax-man's block before I could say a word." However, the brief moment of sympathy seemed to present the princess the opening she needed. Turning to her guard, she fluttered her eyelashes, and put on her most forlorn face. "Oh please, Hans, can't you take me out to the city just once? I'd let you come with me, of course. And it doesn't have to be anywhere near the Marn, just any place that the commoners go." Her voice was right in between pleading and outright enthusiasm. Hans' resolve appeared to be weakening, as his dark eyes shifted from side to side as if seeking some sort of escape. Nervously fingering his sword, he repeated the only defence he had left. "The King would have you and me both . . ." "Oh, come now!" laughed Fayadneda, scoffing at the ridiculous idea. "My father is not some sort of monster, or insane Runecaster. And besides," she added, smiling mischievously. "He'll never know." Hans was starting to look desperate now, as sweat beaded on his brow and his eyes shifted even more quickly than before. Seeking to salvage something out of the situation, he said: "Well, as long as I get to choose the location, and you agree to do whatever I tell you to." After all, the streets of Targus were far safer than most cities. And there were places that were almost as safe as the High Castle itself. The Princess, meanwhile, leaped from her seat and embraced her bodyguard around his broad shoulders. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Hans! I'll be good, I promise." From the excited sparkle in her eye, Hans could almost imagine her as a little girl again. Nevertheless, there was a familiar, satisfied smile on her face that always made him think he was getting the wool pulled over his eyes. "Have you ever noticed," he rumbled to the hairbrush on the seat next to him, "how royalty seems to get too used to having their own way?" Fayadneda backed up a step and shot her bodyguard a murderous glance. Snatching away the hairbrush as though it had somehow been stolen from her, she sat back down and began brushing her hair again. Hans chuckled softly at his small victory. "We'll go tomorrow night," the armored man said, his voice deep and serious. "That is, providing you don't take Jelg up on his offer." Fayadneda threw her head back haughtily. "Please, don't even suggest that I would . . . the mere sight of that man makes my stomach churn." A faint smile crossed Hans' face, and he leaned back in his seat as the Princess continued fussing over her hair. With the likes of Jelg about and what-not, the place he would take the Princess would probably be even safer than the Castle. And, conveniently, it would give him a chance to catch up with some old friends . . . And now, a special feature: Jeff Long's evaluation of all the characters that have appeared in this series In order of appearance The mysterious black-cloaked man in the prolog: This guy is really cool. And trust me, he will be in the story again. Ha ha ha ha . . . Serin Swandred: So far she's kind of the main character. A fairly cool person, the best part being her sword that looks too big for her. The Bartender at the Redguard: Beware, there is more to this man than meets the eye. Kaymarraimeides Reese: A bit too much of a smooth-talker for my tastes. In modern context, he'd probably be something of a preppy. But he is nevertheless more competent than he might sometimes appear. Shad Vultes: Ah, the mysterious, silent type, who incidentally carries no weapons. Right now he's probably tied for my favorite character. Shad Vultes is just the best, there's no other way to put it. Rale Jaiss: Though Serin is so far the main character, Rale Jaiss is probably ultimately the most central character to the plot. Whatever you do, don't be deceived by his appearance, Rale Jaiss is one of the most dangerous men alive. Which makes him, of course, one of my favorite characters. Delkar Irkada: Delkar is one of the coolest characters, especially since his name was inspired by a video game. Meant to be both humorous and deadly serious at the same time, Delkar never seems to be the best of the group at anything, yet always has just what it takes to make it through. Ortheid Borosso: One word says it all: LOSER. In the words of my brother, "this guy is as good as dead." Villenev Heiguer: Sort of a shady type, and a german (despite the fact there is no Germany) Villenev is for some reason my brother's favorite character. According to him, it's because he's oily and because he's german. Gane Yness: The more Gane is in the story, the more I find I like him. Strange, I didn't think he would be my favorite character when I first created him, but he's getting up there. I suppose it's his arrogance that I find the most fun to work with. Elmira Selmine: A bit of a flaky loser if you ask me, but not half as bad as Ortheid. Haven't quite decided what her . . . ultimate fate will be. Krahm Alloso: Name inspired by my friend, David Cram. I hope my portrayal of him makes clear how I feel about his character. Note to Dave: Don't take offense that I used your name, I run short of names after a while. Blaidin Thone: My favorite character, of course!! Of course, I'm biased - I almost always like the villain the best. But where Blaidin Thone walks, Death follows . . . as is illustrated by this chapter. Jelg: A real slobbish loser, I nevertheless have great . . . aspirations for him. Princess Fayadneda: So far, your typical, spoiled-brat Princess, but I'm hoping she'll become more than that as the story progresses. Hans: A cool warrior, Hans is one of the better supporting characters. Another name inspired from a video game.