Abject in the Dust

Chapter 23 - A Different Perspective

"Not what you expected, is it?" A calm voice called out from a comfortable armchair nestled close to a log fire, which crackled and hissed and gave a warm glow to its surroundings. "Perhaps you expected to see dismembered bodies and corpses swimming in a pool of blood?" A face peeked round from behind the wing backed chair. An old face – a kind face – sporting a white beard and spectacles. "Come, have a seat." The old man gestured to the chair which sat opposite as he closed the book he had been reading.

Sam looked around the large room with its thick stone walls. She had already marked the position of the guards inside the castle walls – the ones within earshot anyway, but that did not mean that more still did not lurk in the shadows ready to pounce.

"It's alright." The man patted the seat of the chair opposite. "I always knew this day would come and I am ready. You have nothing to fear and your task will not be interrupted."

Sam still did not move.

"You must have climbed the cliff face, not to have been seen. That is quite an achievement, especially at night." The old man patted the chair again. "Come, rest awhile."

Sam remained planted to where she stood just a few steps away - close enough to aim her pistol and kill without fear of missing and close enough to make her escape through the window to her right.

"Very well." The old man said with a smile as he shifted his position to make himself more comfortable. "Then perhaps you will indulge an old man and let me tell you a story?"

Sam nodded hesitantly as she continued to wonder why the man had not shouted out for help to any one of the dozen or more guards in earshot.

"It is the tale of a fool. It is the story of my life or, perhaps, more accurately, the last few years of my life. I am telling you this story not to try and forestall the inevitable." The old man paused for a moment. "Think of it more as my final confession. Do you understand what that means?"

Sam nodded silently in reply.

"Good, good." The old man nodded appreciatively. "I led a group of people – good people. All we wanted was to find somewhere we could call a home. Somewhere we could be safe. Hence why we chose to settle in this place." The old man gestured to the castle walls. "And, for a while, things went well. The mountains provided us with food and the steady trickle of people through the mountain pass brought opportunities for trade. Life was good, and we felt safe. But, as news of our settlement spread, it started to bring unwelcome attention."

"Marauders?" Sam interrupted.

"Yes." The old man nodded solemnly. "We had the means to fight. We were well armed, even before we found the stockpile of munitions in the castle armoury, we were more than well enough equipped to fight off marauders, but that was not the life we had chosen. We just wanted a peaceful existence."

"So, you made up a story?" Sam asked.

"Exactly that." The old man replied with a smile of admiration. "And what a genius I thought I was. You are too young to remember, but this place - this castle - has long held a place in folklore. A place where evil resided in the form of one who drank the blood of others. What better to strike fear into the hearts of others and keep people away?"

"But that isn't what happened?" Sam moved cautiously forward and took a seat in the chair.

"No." The old man shook his head solemnly. "At first, it did, but then the myth attracted the real evil. Twisted individuals who relish the pain and anguish of others. People able to bend the will of others. Some through force, some through fear and intimidation, some through ... other means."

"What did you do?"

"What else could I do?" The old man shrugged his shoulders. "I tried to play the role of some all-powerful overlord. Of course, I never drank the blood of others. I just tried to maintain some kind of mystique. Kept myself and those who first followed me to this place safe inside the castle walls. But ..."