The following evening the world turned on a sigh. The shift rattled through the bones, twisting hearts along a different melody the wind was now humming, twirling all the pieces around into a skeleton of unborn truths. It was the sigh of a prisoner waiting in the shadow of my tomorrows, wishing upon every star. Somewhere, in a far-away land, a key was singing to me, its sweet melody growing more enchanting by my every night.

I told Esten I had some things to do that evening and just to be sure, I made a few unnecessary circles in town before climbing over the city wall in a half-lit spot, grabbing a torch for the road as I went. Outside I cut through the quiet forest to the abandoned well, which sheltered a secret tunnel to the cathedral basement in its belly and in no time I was opening the locks of a hidden door on the other side. Gaining ingress, just like with women, was always the part I enjoyed most. It’s staying too long that steals away the fun, not to mention your freedom.

The door gave with a soft squeak and I entered into a small passage leading to the crypt. I walked through resolutely, knowing well what was coming, still when the sharp pain hit me I stopped and obediently crouched. The revenant was closer than I hoped, waiting for me patiently, willing me to approach him humbly on my knees as most men would, begging for mercy. I clenched my teeth and pushed myself up. The power of any pain lies in your perception. Get your little toe stubbed on your way to the privy at night and you’ll be in agony in a second. Get your leg stabbed in a deadly fight and in comparison you won’t feel a thing. At least until the fight has finished – supposing you’re lucky. Otherwise, even then, you won’t feel a thing.

I closed my eyes and focused. The pain was wrapping me inside into a violent blizzard, thundering through every nerve, using my spine as the lightning rod. I deeply inhaled the cold, musty air, commanding it against the crushing clouds within, with all the force of seven harsh years I spent practicing in the mountains of Minar Desh. Ten more breaths and I was able to edge forward again, enjoying the taste of triumph in my mouth, ignoring the tang of blood as it started trickling from my nose. Still I smiled. Nothing makes you more alive than a touch of death.

Zerillys was hovering above the grave of Honras, the Merciful, whether by chance or irony I never did find out. He didn’t look happy about my small victory, but of course his kind never truly looks happy, as a generally recognised guideline in the Book of the Undead.

‘Have you come to finish what you started?’ he asked in a frosty voice, menacing black eyes screaming into mines.

‘That’s the plan.’ I nodded. ‘And I’m hoping to push it through without stumbling into any dead-ends.’

He was upon me in the blink of an eye – my eye that is, since he never blinked.

‘My existence here might have its limits, but don’t think you can play games with me! You take one step out of line and I’m free to leave these walls and feast on your flesh.’

I was considering pointing out that once I was upstairs, one step out of line would in fact kill me before he even reached the dining room, but I thought better of it. His stench close up was so overpowering, I decided it was more beneficial for me to hold my breath.

He finally let it go and floated out of my way. I briskly took the chance and advanced towards the stairs at the far end of the hall, momentarily stopping at a half-open sarcophagus to peer inside. Suddenly there was a kind of scattered hissing noise. I turned shocked. Zerillys was not far off, emitting the sound and shaking slightly with it. It was the creepiest laugh I’ve ever seen.

‘Conor, I promise you,’ he said after a while, ‘no one would be mad enough to take anything from here. Not if they intended to leave alive.’

‘Good to hear!’ I called back and sprinted up the stairs.

When the decision to keep the relic in the cathedral was made, a smaller army of architects, inventors, blacksmiths, engineers and bowers were summoned to create one of the most effective defence systems the world has ever seen and boy, have they succeeded. It was specifically designed to keep out guys like me, which is precisely why I loved it so much. Not that I didn’t have a name for myself already, but conquering this mechanism, or Aleanna’s Wrath, as the locals called it, was certainly something I wished to list under my more significant achievements.

The system was turned on every night by the High Priest by flipping a number of adjustable nails on a small metal board next to one of the side entrances, arranging them into a certain combination that he changed daily. Had I known the combination of the day, my evening would have been a lot easier, alas more boring, too.

Upon activation it opened a number of hidden cases built into the walls that held poisoned arrows, ready to be shot at unwanted trespassers. It also set several other devices in motion which main purposes included splitting intruders into two, spearing them, flattening them to the ground and burning them alive. Obviously trapping and questioning unwelcomed guests never occurred to any of the masterminds.

I emerged from the basement and looked around. The building slumbered peacefully under a light purple glow that was radiating from the magic barrier shielding the Urn. It was placed on the top of a single column near the High Altar. I set the torch down, no longer needing it in the eerie light, and cautiously started stepping forward along a straight line. The arrows were designed to be released upon stepping on certain stones or touching particular spots on walls and arches. As far as the floor was concerned, following a specific pattern was required to stay alive. A pattern that Esten taught me, by drawing it on my bare chest a hundred times and making me do the same on her with a rose scented massage oil. A pleasant class, all in all, though some might have considered it learning it the hard way.

I must have been about half way through when I heard noises. As I looked to see where it was coming from I discovered a pair of amber eyes curiously measuring me up and down. It was Doorkins, the church cat, sitting on one of the benches. The stupid animal must have hid somehow when the doors were closing and was now lurking inside, showing strong inclination towards coming and inspecting me from closer.

‘No, no, no! Shoo! Shoo!’ I hissed urgently to no avail, as the cat gracefully jumped down and slowly started heading in my direction. I pulled the first thing out of my pocket, a lockpick, aimed and hit the cat, although my attention was promptly demanded by an arrow, missing me by an inch. Next I took out a throwing knife, but by the time I turned, the cat was gone. I hesitated for a minute. This was not a good time to play hide and seek and I reluctantly decided to advance on with some added urgency.

I soon reached the column that was about five times my height. I slid on a set of climbing claws on my hands, flipped on my watch and started to climb. The Urn of Ahalan was a surprisingly simple piece of pottery. Humble white clay with understated floral pattern around its neck. You really wouldn’t have thought much of it, if not for the elaborate defences.

I was almost down once again, when a side door opened and someone stepping inside de-activated the cathedral’s defence mechanism. Damien Ramnolf sneered up at me, with a handful of his armed men following in his wake. I was promptly surrounded and with the blades pointing at my neck I passed him the urn with a grimace.

‘Very good, Conor’ he stated condescendingly and let it go. ‘Although it’s a shame you were so clumsy in the end!’ The urn hit the floor and smashed into pieces. ‘Search him!’ he ordered. ‘Most importantly, look for a silver watch!’

‘I knew you could do it’ he continued his tiresome monologue, while my possessions were being confiscated ‘Though I wonder how you were planning to sidestep Zerillys. Taking the urn out of the cathedral would have set him loose, you know.’ He stepped towards me holding the business end of a knife to my face – as an indication that my response, in fact, was not required.

‘And the watch that only works in your hands?’ he carried on gaining momentum now. ‘Well, I’m sure I can make a favourable deal with the High Priest in order to acquire both of them. You won’t need them anymore, after all, and I know a few highly accomplished embalming experts!’

‘Nice little plan there, Damien,’ I hissed. ‘You have your war, my watch and you don’t even have to pay me anymore. And you almost pulled it off!’

I could see his confusion at that, but our conversation was cut short by the main gate opening and the High Priest marching in with about a hundred city guards.

‘Conor Drew, I arrest you for high treason in the name of Ronar the Third, King of Ragellan and Nersia, Lord of Thedos. Surrender yourself in this instant!’ he commanded in a booming voice, undoubtedly trained to a perfection during countless majestic performances within the very same walls.

To be fair, I did not see how I could have surrendered any more than I already was, standing there encircled by swordsmen, Damien smugly holding my watch in his right hand in front of me.

‘With all due respect, Your Excellency, I am by no means at fault in these proceedings.’ I said. ‘I was hired to steal the Urn by this man, Damien Ramnolf, Master of the Sapphire Merchants in Regal. It is he, in fact, who has been conspiring against the King, hoping to destroy the Urn and start a war with Wolgland,’

‘That is an interesting claim to make, thief! But even if I accepted what you’ve just said, that would still not make you innocent. You are a known culprit, caught in the act! It would still not change the fact that the Urn has been destroyed and Ahalan’s ashes spoilt! You have brought shame and peril on us, for which you deserve nothing but death!’

‘I will have to strongly disagree with those harsh words, I’m afraid,’ I objected, mock hurt playing on my face. ‘For it is me, who uncovered a traitor’s plan, helped you catch him and saved the Urn. For which services, being a humble servant of the kingdom, I only accept a small payment of a hundred gold, to cover some of my expenses,’ I added modestly.

‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded. ‘The ashes are right in front of you, spilled onto the floor!’

‘Oh, but these are not the ashes.’ I responded calmly. ‘This is just silt I collected on the riverside a few days ago. And if you look at the clay pieces carefully, you may find that the pattern is not quite the same as it is on the Urn.’

‘What?’ He thundered in astonishment and made his way closer to inspect the broken vase. ‘You exchanged it? When?’

‘Last night I dropped by. My evening entertainment proved a little shorter than expected, so I had quite some time on my hands and thought…’ I flashed an angelic smile.’ that this might be important.’

‘Conor!’ he pressed on, a touch of relief now perceptible on his wrinkled features. ‘Where is the Urn?’

‘I left it with Zerillys in the crypt, in a sarcophagus. He can also testify to everything I have just said.’

‘Guards, release him!’ he ordered instantly and turned. ‘Damien Ramnolf. I arrest you for high treason in the name of Ronar the Third, King of Ragellan and Nersia, Lord of Thedos. You and your men are now in Captain Logan’s custody and will await your trial in the city dungeons.’

And with that I snatched my watch back from Damien’s open hand. Time is a precious commodity and I had none of it to waste, if I was to find Selpheros Bora Castaunos still alive. For I had no doubts that the trade master’s influence reached through the prison bars and far beyond. Far and fast, like wildfire across the land, which I was now racing up to the north.

***

Many thanks for reading my story. I only recently started writing, so please do let me (and others) know if you liked it, it really would mean a lot!