Castle Paradox

[Artimus Bena]

Wedonkind firmly squeezed his bathing rag as soapy water bubbled over his fingers. Rich tobacco still burned in his hand carved pipe, his long-brimmed hat curling some of its smoke. The hour old bath water was luke-warm at best as three stunning young women dried their washed bodies, dressed, and prepared themselves for church.
One of the young women winked at him, “Will we see you at fellowship, Mister Liall?”
The man in the tub winked back, letting out tender wisps of smoke as he spoke, the brim of his hat revealing a well trimmed beard, olive skin and dark blue eyes, “I shall try to make an appearance.” If anyone in this universe had been given a chance to know who Wedonkind was, his smirk would be legendary. Anyone who didn't know him got that feeling anyway. Of course, if he had had his way, and he nearly did, no one would know him at all.
The most attractive of the three young women made it a point to kiss Wedonkind before her rather sultry exit, still calling him 'Mister Liall'. His smirk unbroken while female eyes were on him, he searched for a dry towel.


Arist was a Sayer.
They were men of extraordinary articulation. They were men of strong belief. They were perfect for delivering sermons, as public figures, as moral leaders. They were fragile pillars of light in a very busy world.
Arist in particular was so very optimistic he could change the world around him that he had become somewhat unpopular with local smugglers. Of course, that is an understatement, considering his moderate success in keeping his nose in their business.
However, being a Sayer, Arist was most likely unaware of the inevitable consequences of being an optimist, and worst of all, an idealist.


Wedonkind stared at his ale, studying his muddy reflection. He had ordered it as a matter of tradition, but found himself unmoved to drink. All he could do was soberly grip the hilt of his dagger, and stare into his own eyes, mulling over his decision to take this job. This was not like him at all.
The church bells rang. The morning sermon was approaching. And it was about time Wedonkind was on his way.
Just as he was about to take his first sip, something caught his eye in the window; someone stealing his horse, in fact.
Within moments he was outside the tavern, whistling after the horse while the twinges of irritation swayed his stoic face. His jet black warhorse scratched to a dusty halt, throwing its thieving rider to the unpaved road ahead. Wedonkind investigated.
It was a boy, struggling wildly as his tattered cape lay squarely under the horse's toughened hoof.
Wedonkind chuckled, “A boy?”
“I'm a bigger man than you, ya can't even keep your horse from being stolen!”
“Oh?” The caped man scoffed, handing his drink to the boy, “Drink this whole, big man. Let's see what you're made of.”
The boy settled down for a moment, hesitating at the mug he'd been handed.
“Well gulp on, boy,” said Wedonkind as he slapped the boy's shoulder, “If y'ain't man enough to drink, then y'ain't man enough to snatch a horse proper. Tell you square, gulp it and you can have my horse.” The horse did not seem pleased.
Eyes flashing, this eager young man before him began to down the ale, making the most awful face as he drank, spilling a good deal, but he drank it, sure enough. After the boy drank for some time with no pause for air, Wedonkind disbelieved his eyes. The boy was admirable, no doubt. Strong ale, too.
And so, the boy finally threw the empty mug to the dirt, a mixture of triumph and utter disgust upon his face as he gasped for air.
After a moment, Wedonkind's smirk was reluctant but true, “Fair 'nough. Horse is yours.” He raised his finger, “However, the saddle and packs're not.”
“Aww!”
As a matter of some amusement, Wedonkind didn't grow up speaking like that, he simply enjoyed playing with language. The vernacular of the East seemed to carry more weight with the common folk around here. Wedonkind, he loved the theatrical side of everything.
“Tell you square, you do something for me, I'll let you have the saddle too.”


Arist mumbled to himself in his cramped quarters, practicing the coming day's excerpts from the Tome. Sayers never got the passages wrong. However, he was surprised at himself. Today's sermon involved very little quotation, and more personal notes than usual. Just as he was considering the addition of a few more quotes, the church bells rang.


Bell tolls again echoed throughout the small town as Wedonkind made his way to the church. The Sayer's sermon was about to start up, or so everyone in the town kept telling him. With the lack of a horse, he had to double his pace; didn't want to be too late, now did he?
By the time he arrived at the crowded fellowship, the Sayer was already knee-deep, “--are facing very hard times, now! Many of you are confused. And it is only natural. The Waypath is not so easy, and even harder to choose. If you leave here with any lesson at all, it should be that it is the relationships you nurture, and the legacies you build upon while on this coil that save you from destitution and the injustice of a forgetting eye. All of us seem to search for our own ways to leave a mark upon the world, in hopes that our existence shall not become a neglected memory of little consequence. However, you must be wary of this impulse! It is this very urge that can drive a fallible man to unspeakable acts, all in search for his brother's eye! And are we not fallible men, all?”
Oddly enough Wedonkind found himself agreeing with the man's words, partly because he almost never mentioned his mythical Giver. It was a message from the heart, tempered by the mind, delivered like a letter made of steel and gold.
Overall, it was entirely too bad this Sayer was picked to die for something as petty as money. Too bad, indeed.
Wedonkind approached the podium, leather boots almost silent upon the stone like a jaguar's padded paws, as he gripped the dagger under his cloak. He had been paid to make it dramatic. Was there anything more dramatic than ending this Sayer in the middle of a sermon?
“Are we not fallible men, all?” repeated Arist, as his eyes finally rested upon the approaching killer. “You there.” Wedonkind did not stop his steady approach. Arist continued, “What do you search for?” He had the look of a man who knew what was coming for him.
Wedonkind had the unexplainable urge to answer him with the word, 'worth'.
Instead he rubbed his beard for a moment, and said, “You.”
In a blur he loosed his poison dagger, flinging it toward the Sayer as the church's high walls beheld the echoey tidal waves of a peaceful congregation turned tumultuous storm.
Miraculously, the Sayer had deftly evaded the blade, and before he could calm the shock inside him, Wedonkind found himself dodging several blows from Arist's short sword.
Wedonkind's clients had not said the man could defend himself!
“I want extra payment for this!” shouted Wedonkind as he parried several more swings with his own short sword.
With a flourish, Wedonkind's blade threw Arist's own across the stage, followed by a tip of the hat, as Wedonkind threw the podium through a window. “Evil men want your head, Sayer. But I guess that goes without saying.” With Wedonkind's back turned toward the window, Arist tried and failed to tackle Wedonkind. Just before the killer was able to throw off the Sayer, a group of bodyguards was very much upon him, growling and on the brink.
Well, he could kiss his money goodbye, this was going all sorts of wrong.
Just then, the boy and his new horse and saddle were standing outside the window, waving from beyond the jagged remnants of its broken pane, “Cam'on gent! Jump!”
Wedonkind broke free of the Sayer, just barely dodging his bodyguards' hammer swings, and flew out the window, his cape flapping.
“Follow him! Quickly!” Shouted Arist, reaching after his fallen short sword. Sheathing his previously concealed weapon, he peered out the broken window. “This fight is not over.”

[Artimus Bena]

I've sinced revised this considerably, but you're welcome to make your opinion known about this version.
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SACRE BLEU!

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[NeoSpade]

That was awesome... I've not read something thats hooked my like that for a very long time, your style of writing is very submerging I can't wait for more!