*The first of the Histories stories detailing the start of Rand’s misadventures. They don’t start on the most light-hearted of notes…*
Rand of Blackrose: Histories
1 – Loss
In the gloom shrouded trees of one of Ayenees countless forests, creatures of the night went about their lives unaware of the world around them, or uncaring of it. Here there are worse things lurking in the darkness than insects and animals.
Along a twisting woodland path, in the heart of this dark forest, a dark clothed man walked alone. At his side, sheathed in plain black leather, hung his sabre. Looped over one shoulder, hung a coil of black rope, ending in a hook. The man carried no other visible weapons. He’d never liked the idea of everyone knowing everything he carried.
The man was tall, and well built, although not large in stature. His shoulders seemed slightly slumped, as if disappointed at something, and trying his best to hide it. Blue eyes looked out beneath red/brown hair, lightly streaked with grey. Ahead, a large storehouse stood alone and foreboding in a clearing. A single oil lamp hung above one of the smaller side doors, and it was to this that the man headed.
Behind the man, a shadow only slightly smaller than him ghosted silently through the undergrowth, keeping the man ahead in sight, whilst remaining hidden and well back in the shadows. As the first traveller reached the door, the shadow following him paused at the edge of the trees, crouching in the gloom. The first man disappeared inside, the door locking behind him.
As the door closed behind him, Jaime Caultrim tensed slightly as he heard the sound of the bolt sliding across, yet affected not to notice. The broad-shouldered man who had been waiting at the door brushed past him, motioning for Jaime to follow. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a great idea after all.
The man led Jaime into the main storeroom of the building. Around the walls were clustered crates and boxes, all containing stolen goods, Jaime knew. There were no windows to watch. Casting a brief glance up, showed the gloom shrouded rafters. He may have to make use of them if things went badly.
“A little high for you, do you not think, Mr Caultrim?” A voice like bones grating drifted from the shadows across the room. Jaime would’ve laid odds on that the man behind that voice angled the lamps to leave him in the dark.
“I’ve climbed higher” was all Jaime said in reply. The shadows at the far end of the broad room seemed to shift for a moment, before a tall figure, draped in a black cloak, emerged from them. The deep hood of the cloak continued to obscure his face, as always. Jaime thought he could feel the mans gaze fixed on him. Paranoia. Probably.
“Is the job done?” again, the voice of grinding bone. As if the question had been a cue, two broad shouldered men stepped up to either side of the black cloaked figure. Two more stepped in behind Jaime, although he pretended to pay them no mind. He bit his lower lip for a moment, knowing that this was not going to be easy…
“No” That single word seemed to ring like a bell in the quiet room “The man still lives. I attempted to complete the task, but there were…complications” Jaime felt that explaining that he had not killed the man because his wife had arrived, and he had given in to his guilt0 would be useless “I apologise for-”
“You apologise? You pathetic fool” the voice coming from that hood now sounded like bones snapping “A simple task, even for a pathetic mortal like yourself, and still you could not manage it. You should have killed the man, and taken the money. For your failure, I take your life forfeit”
Jaime had a knife in either palm before the word ‘life’ had been finished. Only his preparation gave him the chance to avoid the cudgel, which swung at his head from behind. He turned, ducking beneath the blow, and drove one of the blades deep into the mans chest, at the same time slashing at the second mans stomach.
Pulling the knives back, he immediately knew something was wrong. A quick glance at his knives showed not red blood, but a thick black ichor coating the blades. The man he had stabbed was lurching, but not dying like he should have been, and the man he’d cut barely seemed to notice.
Jaime darted aside, spotting the other two men making their may towards him. The man in the cloak stood watching.
***
As the door closed on the man ahead of him, the shadow that had been following him stepped out of the trees, and into the relative light of the half moon. A quick glance over the building showed an easy access to the roof. In a crouch, the man ran towards the building, stopping when he reached a large rain barrel alongside the wall. Nimbly leaping onto its lid, he pulled himself easily onto the roof of the building.
His soft leather boots and careful footsteps made no sound on the wooden planks of the roof. At his side hung a leather scabbard, holding a sabre, with a gold worked pommel topping it. His clothes were dark, and easily concealed the few knives he carried about him. His blue eyes carefully regarded the position his feet would fall in, until he spotted a skylight. It seemed to be the only window not boarded up tight
Making his way to it, he crouched beside the raised lip of the skylight, and cautiously peered down into the poorly lit room. He watched the other man enter the room following a fellow who was obviously a thug. He could see lips moving, and wished he could hear what was being said. Something caught his attention, the way the people inside were standing, and the fact that three more thugs had stepped into the room. Tension was growing down there.
Then, as he watched, one of the toughs lashed out at the man with his stout wooden cudgel, but the man ducked nimbly, and struck back. A smile spread across the watchers face, and a sense of pride filled him. It faded very quickly when he realised two men who should have been on the floor, were still advancing. The four toughs were backing the man towards a wall. Before he knew what he was doing, the watcher found himself standing, and unsheathing his straight-bladed sabre.
Raising a booted foot, he sent it crashing through the glass of the skylight, then dropped through the shattered window, catching himself on a beam. He only paused there for a second, long enough to see the man in the hood turn to face him, before he leapt from the beam, onto a stack of crates. He dropped from the crates down to the floor.
“I’m coming father!” yelled Rand Caultrim, rushing at the hooded man with his sabre raised.
***
Jaime allowed himself a quick glance up to the rafters at the sound of smashing glass. That was all the time he had. Ducking, he rolled beneath two cudgels that were swiping towards his head, slashing with the knife in one hand, and stabbing out with has sabre in the other. Roars of pain told him his blades were striking home, yet his attackers persisted.
“I’m coming Father!” The voice made Jaime’s head whip ‘round to find its source. Sure enough, his son was running at the hooded man. What did that fool think he was playing at?
“Rand, No!” yelled Jaime, turning aside another attack from one of the men. Jaime’s counterstroke cost the man his arm, yet he still kept coming. He threw the knife in his hand, the blade striking into the face of his first attacker. In a spray of black blood, the thing finally went down. Jaime started trying to back towards his son. If the boy attacked that… thing…. Jaime tried not to think of what the outcome would be.
***
Rand charged at the black cloaked man, his sword flashing out to run him through. In the blink of an eye, the hooded figure had moved two paces aside, and was whirling a rapier in his hands. He wasted no time, stabbing out at Rand immediately. Rand barely turned the blow aside, dimly hearing his father shout to him.
“So, you are the heir to the Caultrim family?” The voice seemed to come from a crypt, dry, and dead. Another stab, followed by a slash. Sweat began to run down Rands back. His attacker wasn’t even breathing heavily
“Such a shame. First your father, and now you. You Caultrims really are quite good at what you do. Yet far too troublesome” Rand leapt back, away from a fatal swipe, and found his back pressed to the wall.
“W-what are you?” Rand was angry that his voice had faltered, but under that invisible gaze, it was understandable “Why do you want to kill my father?”
The hooded mans shoulders shook, and it took Rand a moment to realise he was silently laughing “I am what you will soon be. Dead. And as for your father? Maybe once you are in my service, I will explain” He lifted his rapier in a hand that seemed all bone and paper-thin flesh. Rand felt paralysed, never thinking to try and block the blade with his own. The rapier slashed down towards Rand…and stopped with the ring of steel on steel.
Astonished, Rand looked up, into his father’s face. His father’s blade held the hooded mans mere inches from Rands face.
“In your own time lad” said Jaime, kicking the hooded man square in the chest, and away from them. “What do you say we get out of here, hey?” The older man added with a grin. Rand returned it.
“Bloody good idea” he said as he straightened from the wall. A brief glance showed one of the men dead, one missing an arm, and all of them bleeding that thick black blood heavily. Jaime started for the door, and Rand made to follow, but the hooded man flitted between them, rapier-blade stabbing. Rand parried the first blow, but not hard enough. The blade sliced along his arm and he jerked back with a startled yelp. His father caught the second blow, easily turning it aside. As Jaime did that, Rand sought vengeance. He stabbed out with his sabre, straight at the mans chest, but at the last minute, the hooded man jerked aside, and the blade ran though his arm instead of his heart.
The man roared, and stumbled backwards, and Rand let out a triumphant shout. With a smile, Jaime grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him towards the door.
“Nice work lad. You must have had a good teacher” Said Jaime, his face beaming with pride
“He’s not bad himself” Replied Rand. The grin on his fathers face vanished, twisted in pain, and he fell to the floor with a groan, mere feet from the door. As Jaime hit the ground, Rand skidded to a halt, looking to the stricken form of his father. A thick crossbow bolt protruded from his back, in line with his heart.
Jaime lifted his head feebly from the floor, his eyes fixing on Rand as blood began to run from the corner of his mouth.
“Get out…of here. Please Rand…. please….” His head slumped back to the floor.
Tears stinging his eyes, Rand shifted his gaze to the man in the cloak, and the empty crossbow in his hands. In a flash, Rand was throwing the two knives held within his sleeves. One of the thugs leaped into the path of the blades, surprisingly nimble for his bulk, then fell dead to the floor.
The remaining two were advancing on Rand, and the hooded man almost had the crossbow re-loaded. He knew his father was right, he knew he should leave, he knew he would be killed if he stayed, and yet, a part of him didn’t care. With one last look at his father’s body, Rand ran from the building.
Some time later – it could have been minutes, or hours. Rand had lost track – Rand found himself kneeling in a small clearing, tears streaking his face, glistening in the moonlight. Across his knees rested the blade given to him by his father on his 16th naming day. Rands hands rested gently on the straight blade of the sword, his last reminder of his father.
Drawing a deep breath, Rand let out a cry, equal parts anger, mourning, and despair, cutting through the night before falling silent.
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