Cold Fusion - A Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Fusion Short Story Anthology

Chapter 2

Again, before Paxon could start swinging, the shape spoke.

"So this is the measure of those that profess to stand in the Light," it hissed tautly. "To attack an unarmed stranger who has shown neither threat nor fel intent." It folded its arms in a gesture of passivity. "I am disappointed, yet not surprised. It's the kind of behavior I would've expected from the Butcher of Mendenar."

Paxon's sword tip dropped at the name, a wave of dark memory and regret washing through him.

"So you know of that battle," he said heavily. "Then you would also know that I did only what I was commanded to do by my patron."

"Oh?" the shape replied. "Somehow I very much doubt the Veiled Lady would command you to march into an undefended town and kill every man, woman and child there."

"They knelt to the Shadow," Paxon snapped, a flare of anger rushing through him to push aside the dark memories. How dare this agent of the Shadow accuse him of anything! "I shed no innocent blood."

"They were all innocent, Lord Captain," the figure immediately retorted. "None of them spoke the words that bind, none made the vow. The Shadow held no sway there."

Paxon frowned, momentarily confused. This stranger spoke of the battle as if it were there, as if it had gone into Mendenar and beheld the aftermath. But there was only one enemy force that had done so, that fateful day.

"You march with the Fist of Agurak," he hissed, his realization making his sword come back up.

The figure laughed, a low, mirthless thing.

"I command the Fist of Agurak," it said, sending a chill down Paxon's spine.

"Caryk Shadowsong!" Paxon breathed in disbelief. "Agurak's anointed Hand of Retribution."

The shape stepped into view to reveal itself as a lean drow male wrapped in dark leather, his sodden leather cloak held close against the rain. Catching Paxon's eyes, he respectfully inclined his head.

"Lord Captain," he said. "Yes, I am my lord Agurak's Hand. And, while I know the Veiled Path and the Fist have faced each other in battle many times, harken to me when I swear that I am not here for you. Our meeting in this place is truly just a coincidence. And, if you do know me, you would know that I don't lie."

Paxon's eyes narrowed. It was indeed one of the greatest known contradictions amongst the Shadow commanders: Caryk Shadowsong did not lie.

"Very well," he finally said, slamming his sword back into its scabbard. "While I'll likely regret sparing your life, I will do so. If only to prove to you that I do have the Light's mercy in my heart."

"At long last he sees reason," Caryk deadpanned. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get a bit of this weather off my head before I catch my death from this damp chill!"

It was a couple hours later and under the overhang that found Paxon yet again thoughtfully gazing across their small fire at was the Veiled Path's greatest enemy as Caryk worked on oiling his scale mail tunic.

He, of course, looked nothing like the monster they had thought he was, being a devout follower of one of the most feared and hated of the Shadow demigods, Agurak the Beast. Instead he was a handsome fellow, as dark Elves often were, intelligent and well spoken. And, if the whispered rumors were true, not only did he not lie, but he was a man of honor and integrity as well.

"Perhaps you should consider sleeping instead of staring," Caryk said without looking up from his work. "If your journey is anything like mine, you have many leagues yet to travel."

Paxon's eyes narrowed. So the Hand had a long way to go as well; was this more coincidence?

Then he was dismissing the thought and looking out at the driving rain, which had continued unabated. Catching some sleep at this point was the smartest move. Now, if he could only trust that, ...

"No, I won't slit your throat while you sleep," Caryk said, addressing his unspoken fear at precisely when he thought it. Coincidence again? "You have my word."

"Very well," Paxon reluctantly conceded. "Wake me in four hours." With that, he rolled over in his cloak and tried to find comfort on the uneven ground.

Caryk was as good as his word. Not only did Paxon remain hale and whole in his sleep, the Hand was relatively good natured when he woke him for his turn on watch four hours later. It was a peace that lasted till morning and the storm's breaking.

Caryk was kneeling beside the fire, praying when Paxon awoke in the watery morning light. It immediately struck him as odd that a creature of Shadow would actually pray as a normal man would. But he kept his tongue locked away and said nothing, choosing to get up and make his own preparations to start the day.

If Caryk noticed that Paxon didn't pray even though he was a holy knight, or make any gesture of piousness, he didn't say. He only finished praying himself then smoothly returned to his feet.

"At least that cursed rain stopped," Caryk noted almost casually as he brushed off his breeches. "It'll be nice to be dry in the saddle."

"I thought you afoot, Caryk," Paxon said as he threw Troika's saddle blanket over his charger's back after giving her a quick brush down.

"Not at all," Agurak's Hand replied before whistling softly. "Mine just doesn't mind rain."

It came padding silently out of the gloom: a massive fel saber cat nearly as tall as Troika at the shoulder, its body half covered in black scales, and half in spiky grey fur. It butted its huge head into Caryk's chest in greeting, a low rumbling in its throat.

A well-trained war charger, Troika had faced fel sabers in battle and didn't shy away from the big cat. But that didn't mean she wouldn't turn her head enough to keep an eye on it as Caryk affectionately ruffled its fur.

Then Paxon was climbing into his saddle.

"It feels strange telling my greatest enemy this, but journey well, Caryk," he said.

Inclining his head once more as a ghost of a smile touched his lips, the drow replied:

"And you, Paxon."

Nodding in thanks, Paxon turned his mount and headed for the road.