The Affinity II (standard:adventure, 3387 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: Oct 18 2008	Views/Reads: 3565/2165	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
He spat at me and backed away towards the middle of the road as I followed him. 'I am Carrak,' he said, 'and it is I who will kill you, if you do not tell me where the gold is.'

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Elgypta, the troubled land in which I had spent much of the last fifty 
years was, in many regions, dry and barren, but beside its great river, 
and along its coastal regions, the air was cooler and the land more 
fertile. 

The tavern owner, a huge barrel-bellied man, called Rumba, came out and,
on seeing me, almost dropped the tray of ale he was carrying.  'By all 
the gods!  Lord Astavar, it cannot be you?' 

'I am Lord Astavar's son,' I replied, having agreed the lie earlier with
Magalo.  'My father often spoke of you.' 

Rumba turned and unceremoniously dropped his tray onto a nearby table. 
'Miglio!  See to these!'  As a dark-haired youth hurried out of the 
tavern, Rumba gestured towards four men sitting at a table in the 
opposite corner and the boy took them their drinks.  Rumba turned back 
and looked closely at me then, and for a moment I thought that the lie 
was not going to work. 'You are so like your father,' he said.  ‘When 
he vanished - what, over three years ago?  - Magalo would not say where 
he had gone.  But now you speak as though he is dead, my lord.' 

'Sadly, yes.' 

‘That is too bad,' he said, as he studied my face again.  'Yes, you are
very much like your father; except that you are pale, and almost as 
skinny as Magalo here.' 

'Then feed me,' I said, because, as always after 'waking', I was truly
ravenous. 

*** 

As word got around that Lord Astavar's son was in town, some of those
who remembered me, or my deeds, came to pay their respects.  So we 
stayed in Rumba's tavern for the rest of the day and were the last to 
leave.  I had feasted on, lamb, chicken, fourteen kinds of river and 
sea fish, olives, dates, mangoes and bananas, while Magalo had drunk 
more wine than was good for him and become so drunk that I thought that 
I might have to carry him home. 

'Take care,' Rumba warned us as we stepped out into the moonlit street. 
'There are many strangers about these days.'  This was his third such 
warning as, for much of the time, he and Magalo had talked about how 
things had changed in recent years; how gold had been found upriver, 
how trade had flourished, and how crime had done the same.  While 
eating, I had listened with interest to the conversation, though my 
thoughts often turned to the question of why I had returned, and to 
what new trials the gods might have in store for me. 

'Strangers!' said Magalo, spitting into the gutter.  'Let the thieving
bastards come.  I will slice them open and feed their innards to the 
seagulls.'  At least he was still on his feet, though he obviously felt 
the need to check that every other building we passed was structurally 
sound by bumping into them or stopping to lean his weight against them. 


There were several people still abroad.  Two young men that came out of
an alleyway seemed to be following us, but when I turned to face them 
with a hand on the hilt of my sword they suddenly realised that they 
had come the wrong way and turned back towards the harbour. Then three 
women, standing beneath a lantern in an open doorway, invited us to 
come in and pass the time.  'Come on,' one of them pleaded, as she 
exposed one of her pendulous breasts.  'Don't be shy.  Come in and show 
us your sword.  I'll bet it's a big one.'  I gave them a polite bow and 
we continued on, leaving their raucous laughter behind. 

'Wise decision, master,' said Magalo as he stopped to piss at the corner
of a building.  'They are all pox-ridden in that place.  I know a much 
better house; a new one in the next street, if you would like to go 
there.' 

'Not this evening,' I said, though I still had a mind to seek out the
young sponge-girl; I had, after all, 'slept' for a long time, and 
although I was over one thousand years old, my mortal body was young 
again and craved more than just food and wine. 

'Magalo!  You are drunk?'  We had reached the dwelling and found Durabel
sitting on the doorstep wrapped in an old grey cloak that made her look 
even older.  I thought she might go after Magalo with her broom again, 
but she tenderly led him inside, returning a few moments later.  'He is 
snoring already.'  She gave me another of her toothless grins.  'He is 
a most faithful servant to you, is he not?' 

The question seemed an odd one for her to ask, but I had to agree. 
'Yes, he is ever faithful, and I am ever grateful to him, and to you 
too, Durabel.'  Which was true.  As a king I had loved no one but 
myself; but I loved Magalo, and Durabel too.  She was silent for a 
moment, and stood looking at me as though assessing me in some way. 

'What is it, Durabel?' I asked.  'You look troubled.' 

'Nothing master, just tired.  Can I get you anything?  Water?  Food?' 

'No thank you.  I have eaten enough for ten men today.'  It was then
that I caught a whiff of some bad smell; the drains perhaps, but then, 
looking up at the sky, I saw that it was filled with stars and that the 
moon was full.  'I think I shall take a walk,' I said.  'You go to bed, 
and sleep well.'  Durabel gave me that strange look again and then 
turned and went inside. 

I walked up the hill towards the hot springs. The air was cooler and
fresher the higher I climbed, and one of the overflows tumbled noisily 
along a channel to my left, leaving a glistening white deposit to 
either side.  When I reached the top of the hill there was no one 
around; no bathers, no sponge-girls.  All was quiet except for the 
constant hum of crickets and, far below in the harbour, a ship's bell 
chiming, to let the crew know that it was time for a change of watch.  
As I turned and looked into the clear water of the nearest pool, I 
could see the reflection of the stars and the moon.  And then, oddly, 
the moon became a face, a face that I knew only too well: it was the 
cruel face of Draal, the god of iniquity, and he was smiling. 

'Master.'  At the sound of a female voice, I turned, and there stood
Layana, the young sponge-girl who I had hoped to find. 

'You waited for me?' I asked. 

'I saw you climb the hill and followed.'  In the moonlight Layana looked
even more beautiful than in the day.  Her hair was the colour of ebony, 
her skin almost golden, and she wore a simple white shift that, with a 
touch of her hand, fell silently to her ankles.  Naked, she was 
irresistible and, with the face of Draal forgotten, I walked towards 
her and took her in my arms. 

4  -  Oruks 

Layana led me to one of the shelters that bathers used for changing. 
Then later, after the fires of our passion had been extinguished, I 
dressed and stepped outside, fastening my sword belt and feeling in a 
pocket for a gold coin which I offered to Layana as she came and stood 
beside me. 

But she shook her head.  'Your servant has already paid me, master,
though I would have gladly served you for nothing.' 

I was flattered by her last remark but puzzled by her mention of a
servant.  'Who paid you, and when?' I asked. 

'Durabel, Magalo's wife.  She came as darkness fell and paid me in gold.
She said you had sent her.' 

Draal's evil face, the face that I had seen in the water, came back to
me then and, cursing my stupidity, I turned and ran back down the hill, 
mocked by the gurgling overflow as I ran beside it. 

As I reached the first of the houses and cave-dwellings I saw that all
doors and shutters had been closed, which was not unusual, as the night 
had turned cold.  But as I neared Magalo's dwelling I saw that his door 
was still open and that Durabel was once again sitting on the doorstep, 
wrapped in the grey cloak.  As I approached her she got up from the 
step and gave me a toothless smile, but there was something wicked 
about that smile, and again there was that look, as though she was 
assessing me in some way.  But that was not all: there was that smell 
in the air that I had noticed earlier but not recognised, but now it 
was suddenly all too familiar. 

'You are not Durabel,' I said, putting a hand to the hilt of my sword;
and I was right, because the thing that stood before me began to laugh 
as it cast off the grey cloak and then slowly transmuted into an Oruk, 
dressed in grey mail over a black shirt and breeches, and carrying a 
sheathed sword. 

Oruks are foul creatures, worshippers of Draal, stooped, vicious and
ugly beings that prefer to skulk about in darkness or in the bowels of 
the earth.  Though some of them, shape-changers, or Siceratese, as they 
were known, have the ability to take on the appearance of others.  This 
one had a crude tattoo on his forehead, which meant that he was what 
passed for an officer amongst the ranks of these loathsome creatures. 

'Where is Durabel?' I asked, drawing my sword.  'And where is Magalo?' 

The Oruk grimaced and spat.  'I should have killed your man while he
slept; slit his puny throat, like I did the old woman's.'  He held up 
one arm, showing me a crudely bandaged wound. 'It took three of us to 
finish him.' 

As he let his arm drop, I kissed the blade of my sword and lunged at
him. 

'A joke, a joke!' he cried, backing towards the doorway, with the point
of my sword at his throat.  'They are safe and unharmed!  Look!  Here 
they come now.'  He pointed to higher up the street where two cloaked 
figures had come from behind a building, and stupidly I almost believed 
it was them, dropping my guard and giving the Oruk a chance to draw his 
sword. 

He was skilled for, in the blink of an eye, his sword was out of its
scabbard and swinging in a low arc towards my legs, and as I parried, 
he sprang away from me.  Now, a little further down the hill, two more 
figures stepped out of the shadows and, glancing over my shoulder, I 
saw that the other two Oruks had cast off their cloaks and drawn their 
weapons.  Five, then; I had faced worse odds. 'Before I kill you, tell 
me your name and why you are here,' I said to the leader. 

He spat at me and backed away towards the middle of the road as I
followed him.  'I am Carrak,' he said, 'and it is I who will kill you, 
if you do not tell me where the gold is.' 

'Gold? I know nothing of any gold.'  The other four Oruks were closer
now, forming a circle around me but not daring to come too close.  One 
was armed with a club, the others with short swords, and all of them 
stank of deep, dark places. 

'You lie!'  Carrak spat at me again.  'We found gold,' he pointed
towards the open doorway, 'but only a little.  There is more, much 
more.'  I understood then: this was Draal's mischief.  He had found 
some clever way to convince these Oruks that I, or Magalo, had a cache 
of hidden gold, and then let them loose. 

Carrak gave a barely perceptible hand signal and two of his followers
made a move towards me, stabbing with their short swords.  I turned 
towards them, swinging my much longer sword and, as I expected, they 
leapt clear, while I spun full circle and met Carrak's blade as it 
slashed towards my legs again. As steel clashed against steel, I saw 
the surprise in his eyes, but he reacted well, springing clear as a 
flick of my wrist brought the tip of my sword within a hair's breadth 
of his ugly face. 

This was classic Oruk tactics, like ants surrounding a larger insect,
they would work together to tire their victim until a lucky sword 
thrust caused enough injury to bring him down and leave him at their 
mercy.  This meant that speed would be my best weapon, that and my 
sword, which I raised and angled so that, even in the moonlight, I 
could see from the reflections in its blade, which of those behind me 
would strike first. 

Two of them came, one raising his sword as though to swing it like an
axe, and another to his right thrusting low, but as they moved, so did 
I, with a speed and force that surprised them.  Rather than parry the 
low sword thrust, I aimed a little higher, slicing the tendons in the 
back of Oruk's sword hand and, before he had time to scream, my blade 
arced diagonally upwards to meet the other's downward blow, taking his 
hand clean off at the wrist, while my own momentum turned me back 
towards Carrak. 

Again he was swinging his sword low, aiming for my hamstrings, and again
- though this time accompanied by the screams of the two wounded Oruks 
- I parried the blow, causing him to retreat.  I had the measure of him 
now and, with his followers either wounded or backing away, I felt safe 
to go after him, forcing him to fight defensively, until his sword arm 
weakened and the fear in his eyes told me it was time to go in for the 
kill. I blocked another sword thrust, knocking his blade wide, and then 
lunged. 

But it was then that the arrow flew.  It was shot from close range and
it struck me hard below my left shoulder blade, adding to my forward 
momentum and driving my sword into Carrak's throat.  I felt no pain.  I 
just remember that, as Carrak choked on my blade and we both crashed to 
the ground, I turned and saw that another Oruk, armed with a bow, had 
emerged from Magalo's dwelling, and that the Oruk armed with the club, 
was running towards me.  I tried desperately to free my sword while 
ducking away from the blow that I knew was coming, but there was not 
enough time; and as the blow came, my head filled with pain, and my 
vision with stars; and then there was nothing but blackness. 

*** 

I knew that I was still alive because my head ached, and when I moved my
left arm to try and push myself up into a sitting position, there was a 
sharp pain in my back below my left shoulder blade.  I lay still for a 
minute, trying to make sense of what I could see and hear.  Watery 
sunshine streamed in through a window, and from outside there came the 
sound of someone sweeping, and then a child's laughter. 

Helen! 

I pushed myself up and scrambled over the fallen chair, making my way to
the window.  In the garden, Jennifer was sweeping fallen leaves, while 
our daughter, Helen ran through the pile, kicking the leaves into the 
air and laughing wildly.  I turned and looked around the room.  The 
sword lay on the floor beside the fallen chair.  My head began to spin, 
so I righted the chair and sat down.  On the desk, beside the hessian 
wrapping, was my grandfather's letter. 

I reread it with new eyes: the words affinity and destiny had new
meaning, for I was no longer the same person.  I heard the rear door to 
the house open and close, and then Helen's voice calling, 'Daddy!' 

TO BE CONTINUED 


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