Threads of Vengeance

Part 1 Chapter 9

Heran

From the dusty streets and the chaotic market to the large black castle casting it's ominous shadow upon the city, nothing seemed have changed in Heran and yet it was a completely different place. Gurak no longer recognized any of the soldiers guarding the place, the old blacksmith in a corner where he always had his weapon sharpened was gone, replaced by a silk merchant. He adjusted his hood hoping that he wouldn't run into anybody who recognized.

“...now?” asked Deeran.

The large man had been talking non-stop throughout the journey and eventually Gurak had mastered the skill of blocking out his voice. Now it was just noise in the background, albeit a very annoying one.

“What?” Gurak asked irritably.

“Where are we headed now?” the large man repeated.

“The first tavern we find”

The large man guffawed, “We're here on business old man. If you wanted to reminisce you should've come at a different time on your own.”

“If I had come on my own, I wouldn't have had to get to a tavern the second I got here,” Gurak retorted, limping through the crowded streets.

He made his way through the crowded, dusty streets looking for a tavern. Streets that had not changed, unlike the faces of those that walked upon it. A large man bumped into him, knocking his hood off. He quickly pulled it back on and glared at the unapologetic man, who ignored him and continued walking.

"Oy!" he roared, emboldened by the presence of Deeran and Nistar.

The large man glanced at him, revealing a very familiar face.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Gurak shook his head, praying that he wouldn't be recognized. "Sorry sir, thought you were someone else" he mumbled.

The man nodded and walked away.

"Ahran," thought Gurak bitterly. Atleast he hadn't been recognized

An old memory snuck up on him, unbidden.

“WHERE?!” roared a younger Gurak, as he barged into a a large hall decorated lavishly.

Statues of men in armour lined the whole room and a red carpet lay on the floor. At the opposite end of the doors Gurak had barged in through was a large black throne. A man sat upon the throne, idly fingering his waist long hair. Apart from soldiers stationed about the room it was otherwise empty.

“Where did you send my son?!”

The pale man upon the throne smiled placatingly. “How would I know where your son has gone Marak? He's an adult now, he goes where he chooses to."

“Don't play dumb! He's been conscripted, you promised me that he was exempt!”

“Of course not. All commoners have to serve in the army, it's the law. We can't bend the rule for every boy too cowardly to fight the empire!” The smile on the man's face grew wider.

“You sick son of a bitch, I saved your life! I refused all your gold and asked for just one thing. That you don't send my son to war. JUST. ONE. FECKING. THING.

The smile on the man's face disappeared and he leant forward. “Exactly, you shouldn't have insulted me by refusing my generosity,” he whispered.

“Oh and, Marak watch your tongue. You're speaking to-” his words were interrupted as a fist crashed into his nose.

Gurak punched one more fist into his face and one more and one more. He lost count, he just kept punching until strong arms dragged him off of the king, now out cold. He turned to see the face of his old subordinate, Ahran"

"Captain," said Ahran tasting the word. "Go. For old times sake."

Gurak limped out, hands bloody and eyes wet.

"There won't be a next time," Ahran called after him.

Gurak shrugged off the memory. He really needed something to drink now. Finding an open tavern, he squeezed in through the sweaty bodies and attempted to enter. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up to see Nistar.

“First, business,” said the thin man with a frown.

“Chatty today aren't we?” said Gurak. “Calm down, this is where you find informants, if you know how to look that is.”

Nistar lifted his hand off the shoulder, his expression unchanging. Gurak limped in and walked up to a table. At the sight of Deeran behind him, the men sitting there dropped whatever they were drinking and fled. He settled down at the table and signalled a barmaid.

“Get me the strongest thing in the house, sweetie and get these two whatever horsepiss you can find,” he said with a forced smile.

She laughed and disappeared inside.

He drank and drank till his memories were buried and then some more just to be sure. When he was finally sure that no other memories would jump him, he stood up shakily and stepped out into the sunlight.

“You said you had business here,” reminded Deeran.

"I lied."

"If you do that again, I will break your hands," said the large man, his expression unreadable.

Gurak gazed at him for a moment. "Fine, come. Now we do the real business."

He had Deeran lift him onto his mare and whacked the beast with his cane to set it moving. He led the way to through the dusty streets to a large mansion. The gates, wrought of iron and decorated with bronzed skulls gave it a foreboding look. The mansion itself looked run down, as though it had not been repaired in several decades.

"Your contact is....this?!" Deeran sputtered.

"Oh you know her?" said Gurak, thoroughly enjoying the reaction.

"Only by reputation," Deeran replied, his face pale and full of fear.