| Zyrk |
|
Name: Zyrk
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Height: 5 feet, 9 inches standing tall. Usually slouching or hunched over so he looks to be closer to four feet, 6 inches.
Skills/Talents: Zyrk is an accomplished brawler, having learned the hard way how to defend himself and get what he needs. He is by no means a master martial artist or heavy-weight pugilist, but he can hold his own in a fight and is not at all opposed to ‘cheating’ in order to win. Additionally, Zyrk has practiced the arts of pick pocketing, palming, and picking locks to the point that he can ‘make ends meet’ with little to no actual ‘work’ taking place. He is an accomplished sword fighter, although he prefers to use daggers or his trusty Ironwood Bastone when weapons are called for in a fight. He is quick on his feet, has an excellent sense of balance and can scale most surfaces with little danger of falling or slipping (partially due to the retractable claws in his finger tips). He is in peak physical condition although by no means exceptionally strong. He speaks Mwene and Arcadian fluently and knows a few bits and pieces of various other languages since Arcadia is a port of trade, although he really can’t even have a basic conversation in any of them.
Physical Description: Zyrk is descended from the Jaguar people of the deep Mwene jungles. As such he has a dark, golden tone to his fur and is mottled with randomly shaped, black rings across his back, outer arms, and outer legs. His chest, stomach and inner arms and legs are a much lighter and softer fur, closer to a cream or eggshell color. He has bright, vibrant blue eyes and the tip of his left ear is split vertically about half way down the length from an old fight that did not end the way he would have hoped. He has well defined, sinuous muscles and is deceptively nimble for his size, but nowhere near as strong as the majority of his people. His tail is long, about one and a half times the length of his legs and is stark white at the very tip and lined with concentric black rings down the rest of the length. He has retractable claws in the tips of all of his toes and fingers. His choice in apparel is simple, often borderline poverty-stricken in appearance, although it is simply part of his carefully crafted image.
Personality: Zyrk tries to be completely self-serving. He puts on an air of being a rogue, out for no one but himself and doing whatever he needs to do in order to survive. He will steal, cheat, bribe, bully, coerce, and be generally unpleasant to just about anyone in order to get what he wants or needs. However, he never lies to anyone, ever, and will go out of his way to avoid killing anyone who has not shown a complete disregard for his own continued existence. He often leaves a portion of his spoils where the truly poor/helpless can find them, usually in the form of food, clothing, and the occasional trinket or small value coins, but if he were asked how he feels about those same people he will go on and on about how he despises them for not being willing to get up off their rears and make something of their own lives. He normally has a charming personality and is quick to smile or laugh, especially in the middle of a good brawl (he likes to think it is disconcerting to his opponent).
Equipment: Zyrk carries very little in the way of actual gear, trying to keep things as simple as possible. He normally carries a half dozen throwing daggers of no appreciable quality along with two fighting knives (about 10-12 inches long, curved blades, razor sharp on both edges), and his Ironwood Bastone (two simple sticks, about 32 inches long and an inch and a half in diameter). He also will carry a length of strong, light rope or cord when he is out robbing people’s homes in the night, just in case he needs to tie someone up or make a hasty descent down the outside of a structure.
History: Zyrk grew up in the jungles of Mwene where his tribe roamed the eternal twilight hunting and raiding other tribes and settlements. The jungle presented a difficult life at the best of times and Zyrk learned at an early age how to defend himself, as well as how to tell when he was incapable of doing so. He spent his formative years prowling through the jungle canopy, scouting ahead for the raiding parties, then throwing first sharpened sticks, then actual knives at any who tried to escape their raids. When he came of age (at 15 years old) he decided to take his leave from the tribe and seek his fortune in the cities where he dreamed money rained down from the heavens. His tribe’s final gift to him was his coveted Ironwood Bastone, the ceremonial weapon of his kin. The Ironwood is a rare hardwood that grows scarcely in the jungles and is prized for its strength and weight.
Once on his own he made his way through Mwene and Erim to the Turquoise Sea and eventually to the cities of Arcadia where he quickly learned that a jungle was still a jungle regardless of what it was made from. Since then he has made a life for himself, stealing for what he needs to survive and trying to go unnoticed by anyone with any sort of power, because the one time he did get noticed, things did not turn out the way he would have hoped…
The time Zyrk got noticed
It was a cool morning in Arcadia and Zyrk’s fur ruffled as the light sea breeze rolled over him from the bay. He stretched languidly in the morning sun, taking a moment to survey the streets filling with people of all shapes and sizes below his rooftop abode. Turning back toward his roughly constructed rooftop shack, it wasn’t much, but there was no landlord and the rent was cheap, as in non-existent. Leaning inside the shack he picked up his belt and wrapped it around his waist, settling it on his hips as he drew the buckle closed. Finally he reached through the door one last time and removed the shoulder sheath that held his Ironwood bastone and slung it over his shoulder as he moved toward the ladder that led discretely down to street level in the alley behind the building.
As he entered the growing crowed of market-goers thronging through the street, his keen blue eyes immediately went to work, roving through the crowd for signs of easy prey. A fat canine with a drowsy look on his face as he stood in front of a merchant’s tent, shifting from foot to foot made for a perfect beginning. As he walked past the waffling shop patron he reached out with practiced ease and sliced the leather thong holding the man’s coin purse to his belt and slipped the heavy purse into his own belt pouch as he moved away into the crowd.
It was near midday that it happened. He had spied an easy mark drifting between street vendors, looking lost and out of place on the crowded streets. He grinned under his hood, today was a good day indeed.
“Welcome to Arcadia…” he thought to his target as he bore down on them with his usual stealthy approach.
That’s when it all went horribly wrong. Just as he reached out to cut his mark’s purse strings, the person spun around and in one fluid motion clicked a thin but sturdy metal shackle around his wrist. He was so stunned buy the event that h didn’t even think to resist as his aggressor spun him around, twisting his manacled arm around behind his back and deftly secured his other arm there. Less than a minute later they were safely sequestered away in a nearby alley, Zyrk with his shoulders and secured hands pressed against the wall and the angry bovine face of his former mark pressed close to his own. The other’s nostrils flared as he glared into Zyrk’s eyes menacingly.
“Thought you had another easy mark eh thief?” He growled through flat, brownish teeth as he tried with little success to press Zyrk’s body further into the stone wall behind him.
“Sorry friend…” Zyrk gasped back, his body working overtime just to pull in enough oxygen to keep him conscious, “Think you’ve got th wrong guy…”
The bovine grinned at that and shifted himself so his right forearm was braced across Zyrk’s chest, then leaned into him with the considerable weight of his body. He then reached into Zyrk’s pouch and withdrew several coin pouches bearing cut strings.
“I suppose it would be pointless to plead innocence at this point?” Zyrk tried to turn his grimace into a roguish grin as he spoke.
“You suppose correctly.” The bovine responded with a grunt as he jammed the purses back into Zyrk’s belt pouch roughly.
“Any chance we can talk this out like civilized blokes?” He tried again.
“None.” The bovine huffed as he grabbed Zyrk by the shoulders and roughly yanked him off the wall. With the efficiency of an experienced jailer the bovine latched a length of chain to the link between Zyrk’s manacles then roughly shoved him in the direction of the crowded street, holding the other end of the chain firmly in his other hand.
Zyrk simply dropped his gaze to the ground, hiding his face from the throngs on the street, and let his captor direct him through the use of rough shoves and grunts. There was no sense in fighting back now, he would have to wait for a more opportune time to make a break for it.
Twenty minutes later they had left most of the market traffic behind and were moving through the slightly less dirty streets of the older portion of the city. This was where the big money was living. Old blood with old coin, most of it begot at the point of a sword or a poison-laced drink at a banquet. Zyrk knew this because he spent the occasional late night here, moving across the rooftops, slipping silently in and out of top-floor windows and efficiently redistributing these ‘noble’s’ wealth back to the masses. Usually in the form of an evening on the town or a night at the brothel.
However there was one home he would never have considered entering unbidden. That being the home of one of the merchant lords. The individuals who ran the free market in Arcadia. They were the richest in the city, unless you counted the brothel owners, and were by far the most attached to their money. They were the ones who maintained small, private armies of mercenaries and assassins. That, of course, being one of the homes they turned up the path toward with a rough shove on his left shoulder that nearly made him topple over as his body instinctively tried to keep him moving past the hopeless situation that undoubtedly lay behind the front doors of this abode.
The yard was huge and elaborately decorated, glittering and pristine compared to the gritty streets beyond the garden wall. As they approached the front entrance, the doors drew aside, seemingly of their own accord, permitting them ingress into the grand entryway beyond. The room was nearly as large as the entire building that Zyrk had built his hovel atop. There must have been three or four levels looking down into the courtyard he found himself in, each with an open balcony wrapping all the way around the cavernous space. The entire courtyard was paved in smooth marble that looked to be imported from the other side of the world. The floor gleamed so brightly that the lamps lighting the space beneath the balconies reflected with the intensity of the afternoon sun, creating a halo of light coming up off the floor and making it difficult to see through any of the numerous open doors lining the perimeter of the enormous room.
When they reached the center of the room, Zyrk’s captor kicked him roughly in the backs of his knees, driving him unceremoniously to his knees on the hard stone floor. Zyrk grunted his appreciation for the kind action of his new friend as he looked up in time to see a large boar looking down at him. The boar was a dark brown color and his lumpy face was broken up at odd intervals with thick yellow-white tusks that seemed to jut out at incomprehensible angles. Zyrk wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything quite like this person with their beady black-red eyes and twisted, massive teeth.
“Nice day for a walk.” He tried to unsettle them with unexpected humor. “Although I must say that your friend here isn’t much of a conversationalist really.”
“I don’t pay Sorn for his witty repartee, Zyrk, is it?” The boar responded with an unsettling gleam in his eye.
“Er… Would there be any point in refuting that accusation?” Zyrk looked around at the bovine Sorn standing behind him, arms akimbo, the chain lead still held firmly in one of his hands.
“Not as such, no.” The boar commented idly as he began to pace around the center of the room. “You are probably wondering what you are doing here…”
“Actually I thought we had a lunch date. Are the appetizers on yet?” Zyrk did his best to follow the boar’s movements but in the end gave it up and began searching his surroundings for his exit. Nothing seemed to be leaping out at him as being particularly appetizing.
“No, in point of fact. They are not.” The boar replied coolly. “And your attitude toward your predicament is, I must admit, less than desirable. He passé din front of Zyrk as he finished speaking, jus tin time for Zyrk to see his thick, lumpy tongue dart out from behind his misshapen teeth to lick his fat, brown lips, leaving a solid line of stringy slobber dangling from tusk to tusk all the way around the boar’s face.
It was all he could to do keep from either retching on the spot, or laughing hysterically. “Well, I’ll tell you what, since I don’t seem to be here about liberated coin purses, how about you tell me why I AM here. That way we can both get back to our own lives as quickly as is convenient for you.” He was pretty sure he actually HAD retched a bit…
“Very well then, since you insist. My name is Lord Byron, and I have had something taken from me that I want back.”
At that, Zyrk squared his shoulders and straightened his back. He was a lot of things but stupid was not one of them. He had never stolen from this Lord Byron before, and he knew that for fact. He liked his fur way too much to be that daft. This was not the interrogation it had been made out to be… “Fine, then how about you release me and we talk about this like adults, the part of the posturing egomaniac is complete wasted on me. I know who you are.” His tone was instantly serious, all business now.
The boar stopped, seemingly taken aback by the change in Zyrk’s demeanor and voice. He seemed to consider the words for a moment, rolling them around in his voluminous skull before finally actually hearing them. “Very well. Sorn…”
A moment later, Zyrk’s hands were free and he hoisted himself to his feet, straightening his clothing out as he moved and slipping the hood off of his head. Finally he looked the boar in the eyes and bowed low. “Lord Byron. How can a simple beggar be of service?” He didn’t like it, but he knew that playing up to Lord Byron was the only way to get clear of the situation intact.
Lord Byron eyed him critically for a long moment before finally speaking again. “I have need of a person of your… Moral latitude and skills.”
Zyrk eyed him back a moment before nodding silently to continue.
“One of my rivals has taken a priceless treasure from me, the jewel of Mycen. The jewel is to be used in a sacrifice to dark gods and I want it back.”
Zyrk nodded his comprehension. “Who is this rival? And where does he keep the jewel?”
“He is Lord Haath. And he keeps the jewel in a bedroom on the top floor of his estate in the northern portion of the city. My spies have seen the jewel sitting in solitude atop a velvet-covered dais through the window from afar. I want you to free the jewel and bring it back to me.”
“And in exchange for this service?” Zyrk responded coolly, folding his arms across his chest. “What ca I expect as compensation?”
Lord Byron raised a stubby eyebrow at him. It was difficult to tell if it was a gesture of respect for Zyrk’s bargaining, or one of disbelief at Zyrk’s audacity. “I could turn you over to the city guard for the thief you are. I am sure they would love to put you on the next penal ship bound for Myr.”
“But if you do that, then you won’t get your jewel.” Zyrk responded matter-of-factly.
“I could just as easily find some other thief to retrieve it.” Lord Byron’s voice grew loud enough that it echoed off the smooth marble walls and rolled up and down the myriad of hallways branching from the room.
“I don’t think so. Anyone who has been here more than five minutes knows that Lord Haath is even less likely to be trifled with than yourself. You chose me because you must know something about me. If I had to guess I’d say that you know I never lie, and that I don’t care who I steal from if the terms are right.”
“If you will steal from anyone, then why have you not already robbed Haath blind? Or myself for that matter?”
“Because, despite my many character flaws, I have not, to date, demonstrated any propensity for stupidity. As such, I have not stolen anything from anyone that would indicate that I have actually taken a side in your little fiscal war. I remain neutral and I make sure that everyone knows it. So for me to do what you are asking, is for me to cast my lot in with you, which will change my ability to continue in the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. That being the case, I would expect adequate compensation for such a perceived shift in loyalties. I can deal with the city guards if I need to, but politics is another animal entirely.” At that, Zyrk actually put his feet up on the small table tha occupied the space between them, crossed his legs and leaned the expensive wooden chair back on its rear legs nonchalantly.
Lord Byron remained silent for several long moments after Zyrk finished speaking. Eyeing the Jaguar up and down with an extremely critical eye. For the longest time Zyrk feared that he had overestimated this person and seriously overstepped his boundaries with his bravado. Finally however, Lord Byron leaned back in his own chair, tossing his head back and belting out a great peal of laughter that echoed even more from the marble walls of the great room. His laughter was such that he clutched his hands to his belly and held it firmly as he chortled and roared. After several minutes more he finally pointed a hand shakily at Zyrk, still laughing with all his might. “…I like you… Zyrk… you are… a… bold one…” It took several more long minutes of belly laughing before he could calm down enough to actually speak intelligently again. With a simple motion from his hand, a try of steaming hot, flavored coffee was brought out by a serving girl and set on the table between them.
Motioning to the tray, Lord Byron continued speaking finally. “Very well then… I shall grant you your weight in gold in exchange for this act.”
Zyrk smiled as he leaned forward and poured two cups of the steaming liquid. Offering one to Lord Byron, who accepted it with a friendly smile on his misshapen brown lips, then picked up his own and, an instant after his hosted drank from his own cup, sipped at the coffee himself. “That will do… as a start…”
Lord Byron almost choked on his coffee as the front legs of his chair slammed down on the marble floor and he rolled forward in his chair, almost unseating himself. “For a start?! I was wrong about you. You are not bold. You are dimwitted!”
Zyrk’s smile widened as he looked up from his cup. “That may be the case, but do not forget that it is I who have it within my power to give you that which you desire. You may have brought me here against my will, but it is I who has the upper hand at this table, and you would be wise to realize that Lord Byron.”
The boar stood up angrily, waving toward his guards who began to race across the room toward Zyrk, who continued to sit there calmly, feet propped up on the table. “Because not only can I get you what you want, but I can make it look as though Lord Nyrrin is the one behind the theft…” He took another sip of his coffee and enjoyed the look of amazement that spread across Lord Byron’s face.
As the guards reached the scene and began to grab at Zyrk’s shoulders and arms, Lord Byron raised his hand and stopped them cold, then whisked them away to the corners of the room once more with a flick of his wrist. “How would you do such a thing?”
Zyrk smiled broadly at his host, winking as he did so. “That is a trade secret. You’ll just have to take it on faith for now.”
“I see…” He gingerly sat down in his chair once more, reaching for his coffee cup as he stared at Zyrk in amazement. “and what price would you place on such a deed?”
“In addition to my weight in gold?” Zyrk drew the moment out as long as he thought he could safely make it last. “Complete anonymity and autonomy from your house. I want you to never speak to anyone outside of this room of our business. Not your wife. Not your mistresses. Not your children, or underlings, or business partners. Not anyone. And I want to never hear from you or any of your people ever again. If I do this for you, then I expect us to move on as ships in the night. I’ll continue not plying my trade in your back yard, and you’ll continue leaving me be, just like it was yesterday or last week again.”
Lord Byron looked at him incredulously. “ How could you say that? Surely you realize that the work I could offer you would pay much better than anything else you could do on your own…”
“Of course I realize that. However, I value my freedom, and certainly my life. Neither of which would be mine any longer if I was in your service full time. Better to be a beggar in Arcadia than a prince anywhere else.”
Finally Lord Byron offered a thin smile of understanding and a faint nod. “I should have asked you to shake down some of my delinquent accounts rather than retrieve my jewel. In less than fifteen minutes you have become my equal at the bargaining table and bested me at debate. It would be nice to be able to keep tabs on one such as you. Give me your word that you will never come to my door as an enemy and I will give you mine that your terms will be met.”
Zyrk nodded confidently at the boar. “I give you my word that after the conclusion of our business I will never come into your home uninvited. Nor shall I ever do anything to undermine your power in Arcadia. I want nothing but to be left to my own devices, to make a living for myself in my own way.”
Lord Byron nodded satisfactorily, hefting his weight back off the chair again and offering an open hand to Zyrk. “That is good enough for me.”
Zyrk stood up lightly and grasped his host’s hand firmly, looking the boar in the eyes as he gave the other a single, confident shake. “Done and done. I will need two days. If I do not return by then, I am either dead or rotting in Haath’s dungeon.”
“Very well.” Lord Byron nodded as he released Zyrk’s hand. Good luck to you.”
With that, Zyrk spun on his heels and strode confidently out the door and back into the streets of Arcadia.
Zyrk had heard of activities that made time pass in a blur. In fact as a cub he had experienced a few such activities while playing with other cubs in his jungle home. The next twenty-four hours were anything but such an activity. He spent the better part of the day trying to find a vantage point from which he could take in Lord Haath’s entire estate. He had to move once or twice in order to study all areas of the compound, for upon further reconnaissance he discovered that it truly was a compound rather than a simple, albeit lavish, Arcadian home.
Lord Haath was truly prepared to deal with a small invasion force should such an event ever threaten him. There were regular patrols of guards throughout the gardens, regular postings of armed guards at entrances and choke-points throughout the winding pathways that led from the high wall to the house itself. The pathways and walkways seemed to be deliberately designed disorient and confuse for anyone at ground level, having been surrounded with high, well manicured hedges and other plant life, not to mention walls, statuary, and other obstacles.
The only straight, unobstructed approach to the house was the main path from the street to the front door. A path that had no less than twenty armed guards posted and patrolling its length. His salvation seemed to be in the form of the fact that it looked as though the bulk of his problems seemed to be located in the grounds, from what he could tell through his observations the fighting forces inside the estate itself seemed rather limited. He rarely spied an armed individuals moving about through the many windows and balconies of the home.
All through the first day and that night he watched, memorizing the guard’s shifts, patrol paths, post locations, the winding courses of the twisting garden paths and, as much as was possible, the interior layout of the home itself, even going so far as to locate the most likely room where the jewel would be kept, although the upper floors of the home had most of their window shutters pulled closed so it was impossible to tell for sure where it was. By morning he was exhausted but had the beginnings of a plan forming in his head. He took a couple hours to get some rest, then went shopping for what he would need to make his assault on Lord Haath’s estate.
As the sun began to set on the second evening, Zyrk climbed silently up to the top of the tallest structure near the estate, a high bell tower. Carefully he secured the loose end of his newly acquired rope to the heavy iron framework that suspended the large bells, then he picked up the metal hook secured to the other end of the long line and tested its weight and balance at the end of a short stretch of rope. Taking a moment to center himself and line up his shot, he gave the short stretch of rope a couple of quick revolutions and let the hook fly free.
The grappling hook soared through the air and landed with a dull thud on the roof of the next tallest structure near the estate, a cistern used for collecting rain water from the many ocean storms that blew across the coastal cities of Arcadia. Pulling the rope taut, Zyrk secured his end tightly to the framework and then tested his weight against the line. He then made sure the rest of his equipment was secured to his person, grabbed the rope and hoisted himself up onto the line.
Slowly he made his way, hand over hand, to the center of the rope where he rolled himself over and hooked his legs onto the rope, dangling upside down and looking to the ground below him to verify he was in the correct spot. Directly below him he saw his target, a large oak tree in the corner of the garden of Lord Haath’s estate. The tree was not close enough to any of the garden walls that it could be accessed from the street or the top of the wall, but from where he was, suspended in the air between two buildings, he had a direct shot at the ancient looking tree. Pulling himself up, he slipped his next prepared length of rope from around his shoulders and securely tied it to the center of the taut rope he as dangling from. Once the new line was secured, he let the coiled end drop and watched as it unrolled itself rapidly, finally reaching maximum extension with the end dangling down inside the uppermost leaves and branches of the oak tree below him. With a sigh he wrapped a turn of the new rope around his right hand and wrist then maneuvered one of his legs free of the supporting line and wrapped a turn of the vertical rope around it as well. Slowly he shifted his weight from the taut line to the dangling line until it was supporting his entire weight, then he pinioned his feet against one another on either side of the rope and began his slow descent toward the tree, heading face first so that he would be able to watch for any sign of guard activity as he made his way into the compound.
A few minutes later he was able to free his hands from the rope in favor of finding purchase on the branches of the tree, then his feet transitioned to the strong branches and he was free of the precarious rope, making his way down the tree and, finally, to the solid ground of the garden. Now came the difficult part of the evening’s activities. Silently he crept through the garden, making his way from path to path, timing his movements so that he would miss the patrols and hoping that his single day of observation was sufficient, normally he would spend several days casing a location before moving in on it as there were so many ways that things could vary from one day to the next. His timetable didn’t allow him the luxury of that much planning and observation this time, and he hoped that the lack of it would not come back to get him.
The trip through the garden was long and tedious as he was forced to make frequent stops in order to allow the placement of guard patrols to permit his passing between them unseen and on more than one occasion he took a wrong turn and ended up in a dead-end cul-de-sac or moving in circles. The sliver of the moon was high in the sky by the time he reached the base of the house where he meant to make his ascent to the upper levels. Unfortunately the outside of the house seemed to have been designed to prevent people from climbing it and nothing had been permitted to grow close enough to the home to allow it to be of any assistance. He would have used another grappling hook but the sound of the metal clattering along the roof or a balcony was sure to instantly attract the attention of the guards.
Instead he had set up another length of rope with a slip knot at one end in the same fashion as the people of the steppes that used their ropes to bring down charging or herding animals. As quietly as possible he set the coil of rope on the ground and made sure that it oriented to allow it to uncoil as smoothly as possible. With the large loop in his hand he tested the slip knot to make sure it was functioning properly then looked up to check his path up the wall. The way was clear up the sheer side of the home all the way to the third floor balcony that was his intended entry point and just above it was the roof with its chimney just visible past the eve.
After the next patrol passed his location, Zyrk counted off the seconds until they would be around the corner at the end of the path then stood up and started spinning the loop of rope causing it to open up into a wide circle. With a flick of his wrist he launched the lasso up toward the roof and yanked back on the trailing rope as it reached the apex of its arc, causing the rope to drop down around the chimney. With one more look around for guard patrols he slipped up the wall, pulled the rope up behind him and left it in a coil on the balcony as he slipped through the doors into the interior of the house.
If the home of Lord Byron was opulent, then that of Lord Haath was simply obscene. The walls were constructed of smooth, polished stone with veins of gold, silver, and platinum running through them like they were marble, although the surfaces were very obviously hand-made. The floors and walls were lavished with expensive furs and tapestries and the room in which he had entered there was a set of couches and chairs sitting around low tables, all constructed of the finest quality of ebony and ivory he had ever seen. The room appeared to be some sort of sitting room for entertaining guests and it had a set of large, double doors that led out of the room. Quietly he crept across the space and gently leaned his ear against the door. The faint sound of breathing from the other side of the door told him all he needed to know.
Silently he crept toward one of the sofas and picked up a small pillow, then moved himself back to the door where he set himself to one side, with his back against the jamb. Taking a deep breath and holding it in, he tossed the pillow across the room where it collided with the wooden door to the balcony and forced it closed with a clatter. A moment later the door to the hallway opened and canine poked his head over the threshold. In one fluid motion, Zyrk reached up, grabbing the guard with one hand on either shoulder and leveraged his elbows into the man’s solar plexus. With a heave he rolled his weight forward and the guard’s feet came off the ground and spun through the air in a wide arc. He landed on the hard stone floor with a thud that forced the oxygen from his lungs and as he looked up with bleary, tear-filed eyes, Zyrk dropped to one knee and drove his fist full force into the guard’s stomach, causing him to exhale in a wheezy sort of gasp that sounded like a water-logged pier straining under the force of an inbound ship.
Quickly Zyrk rolled the guard over, blindfolded his eyes and tied his wrists together securely behind his back, then repeated the process with his ankles. He then dragged him to the darkened fireplace and rolled him over the hearth, using another length of rope to tie him bodily to the iron grate at the bottom of the fireplace.
In a flash he was back at the door, peaking into the hallway. The sitting room he was in was on the corner of the house and the hallway outside stretched away in two different directions, one straight away from him, and the other to his left. The hallway stretched away from his door in two directions and appeared to be empty so he stepped out, pulled the door closed behind himself and crept down the hallway toward the opposite end, where there was a sharp turn to the left. At the end of the next hall was a door on the right-hand wall where he suspected the jewel to be. A suspicion that was now given more weight by the simple fact that there were two armed people guarding the door. Thankfully it was far enough away that they hadn’t seemed to notice the sudden activity at this door.
Having suspected this would be the case, he had planned his route in advance and with two quick steps he dashed across the hall and into a door on the same wall as the one he sought to enter. The room he entered was a bedroom, again overly lavish in appointment and equipped with several sets of rings attached to the walls at various points and a few sets of chains dangling from the ceiling.
He shook his head as he glanced around. “The things that make people tick…” he muttered under his breath as he crossed the room and stepped out onto its balcony. With a few quick glances down at ground level he figured out where the guards were at and with a moment to establish his timing, he took a few quick steps and leapt the distance from his balcony to the next one over. This wall of the estate seemed to be occupied primarily by bedrooms, which all had balconies. Two more quick jumps and he was outside the room he sought.
Checking the door for sounds from within, he heard the faint sound of breathing, but it was not coming from near the door so he would have to enter the room and deal with whatever was there without advanced preparation. Quietly he slipped his fighting knife from its sheath and stalked through the door, holding the knife with the blade pointing toward the floor and leading with his left hand.
The room was another bedroom, nowhere near as well-appointed as the last one he had passed through. This room had its stone floor mostly bare and the walls were devoid of the tapestries he had seen previously. There was a simple bed against one wall, two chairs on either end of a small coffee table on the opposite wall and in the center of the room stood a low dais, only one step up with a large velvet pillow atop it. Sitting calmly in the center of the pillow was a young woman. She was obviously of Lynx descent, her fur was pale and her pointy ears had dark tips with long tufts of fur arcing off of them. She was clad in a garment of wispy silk and sat, cross-legged in the center of the pillow with her arms folded in her lap, facing the door to the hallway.
Zyrk crept into the room, knife in hand and eyes darting about, searching for trouble. As he approached the dais the woman whispered to him in a sweet melodic tone that sent a wave down his spine. “Lord Byron has sent you to me.”
“He sent me for the Jewel of Mycen, it was said to be in this room resting on a dai…” Then it occurred to him that it had been his mistake to assume the jewel was a gem. With a sigh he slid his dagger back into its sheath and moved around in front of the woman. “You are the Jewel of Mycen?”
“I am.” She replied simply.
“Well, this is going to complicate my exit plan a bit…” he said as he looked around the room for anything that might be of use.
“You assumed the jewel to be a stone?” She said, casting her emerald green eyes on him as she spoke.
He stopped for a moment, all thoughts driven from his head as he gazed upon her beauty. “Uhhh…” He managed to barely get past his lips.
She looked at him for a long moment, her beautiful eyes boring into his soul. “He so often does not offer information that is not specifically asked for.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to remember to bring that up the next time I see him. In the mean time however, I think we need to work on a plan to get you out of here.” Zyrk did his best to not look at her, knowing that to do so would distract him again and that was the last thing he needed right now.
“I am at your service.” She bowed her head as she responded in her delicate whisper, then stood up in one fluid motion that reminded Zyrk of the ballet dancers he had seen in the public forum on many an occasion. “What is your plan master…?”
Zyrk looked at her for a moment longer than he thought in retrospect would have normally been appropriate then, “Zyrk.”
She bowed her head once more in his direction. “Very well Master Zyrk. What is your plan?”
He offered her a quirky grin. “That’s just Zyrk. I am no one’s master.”
Her fur ruffled a bit in embarrassment. “Be that as it may, until I am back in my father’s home, I am your servant.”
He was about to rebuff her again when an idea occurred to him… “I think a plan is forming… Could you please knock on the door and get the guards to come in here for me?”
“Of course Master Zyrk.” She replied as she bowed her head again. She then made her way to the door as he moved himself to the side of the door and drew his bastone from their leather pouch across his back.
She moved up to the door and, seeing him nod his readiness, tapped lightly on the wooden surface, then took a step back so as to be clear of the door as it swung open.
One of the guards, a feline of some spectacular muscle mass leaned his head through the door and eyed her suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“I need my pillow moved closer to the balcony so that I may bathe my body in the light of the moon.” She replied in a melodic tone, stepping back and pointing to the dais.
“We are not your personal furniture movers.” The cat replied angrily.
She smiled demurely, “Lord Haath wants me stress free and accepting of my fate does he not?”
The guard glared at her and nodded his head slightly.
“Then please move my pillow closer to the balcony so that I may bathe my person in the light of the moon. It soothes my spirit.”
The big cat glared at her again, looking back and forth between her slight figure and the heavy dais in the center of the room. Finally he looked back out of the room and jerked his head in the direction of his companion and the pair strode into the room and toward the heavy stone structure.
As they cleared the threshold Zyrk quietly closed the doors behind them and slid the bolt home, then slipped up behind the guards as they plodded unsuspectingly toward their headaches. With a quick motion, Zyrk brought one of his bastone down on the side of each of their heads. The smooth cylindrical wooden sticks collided with the flesh and fur of his targets and created a sickening thumping sound upon impact, followed by the sound of a heavy body collapsing to the ground in a heap.
The second body completely failed to hit the ground due to the fact that it had completely failed to fall at all. The large cat staggered forward, then spun around with a short sword in his hand, swinging it in a wide arc at exactly the level of Zyrk’s neck. With speed honed through countless fights, Zyrk dropped into a squatting stance, narrowly dipping under the blade as it nicked the hairs at the tips of his ears. From his new vantage point he cut loose with a flurry of strikes with his bastone, targeting the guard’s left knee and upper thigh.
The guard dropped to his knees with a yelp of pain, but seemed more determined than ever to relieve Zyrk of his head and took another wide swing with his still tightly clenched blade. Bringing his own weapon up in response, Zyrk drove the wooden shaft full force into the guard’s forearm. The quick blow was not nearly enough to break his bones, but it was more than sufficient to get him to let go of his sword, sending the implement skittering across the shiny stone floor. Not stopping for an instant, Zyrk followed up the disarming blow with a series of quick strikes to the guards temples, finally causing him to crumple to the ground in a heap.
“They must have picked him up in the underworld somewhere. I’ve never met a cat that stubborn before.” He intoned a he caught his feet again. He smiled at the jewel as he moved toward the door, sliding the catch back and opening the door a crack to peek into the hallway. But before he could get a glimpse of anything a fast-moving knuckle sandwich met his face. The gloved fist came in through the gap in the door and drove into his face with an alarming amount of force. Zyrk rolled backward off his feet and Lord Byron’s daughter gasped as he curled into a ball and rolled heels over head.
As Zyrk rolled back into the center of the room the door was kicked open and through the door stalked a hulking brute of a bovine, adorned in the most stylish of shredded leather shirts any street beggar could ever hope to own. The brute was easily eight feet tall and weighed four hundred pounds and his muscles would easily account for ninety percent of that weight. His hands and forearms were clad in thick, hardened leather that was studded at odd intervals with metal spikes and studs and there was a large gold ring looped through his left ear. “Sit jewel. I will take out your garbage.” The creature grunted as it advanced on Zyrk.
Or his part, Zyrk had been able to absorb some of the shock of the punch by throwing himself backward off his feet and tucking into a backward somersault. However, the damage the punch had actually inflicted was nothing to laugh at. As he rolled back to his feet, in a crouching position, blood poured from his somewhat flattened nose and his left eye began to darken beneath the short fur covering his face. His head swam a bit as he caught his balance but his weapons remained firmly in his grip. In a desperate bid to get the upper hand against his new adversary he launched himself, shoulder first at the guard, driving the hard point of his shoulder into the bull’s solar plexus with all the strength of his legs.
His body collided with the guard’s and elicited a slight grunting noise, but didn’t seem to do much more than make him stop moving forward for a second or two. Looking down his chest at Zyrk, the guard narrowed his eyes and then brought his arms together across his chest in an attempt to catch Zyrk in a bear-hug.
Zyrk dropped to his back, narrowly avoiding the bovine’s arms, then kicked his legs up and pushed up with his shoulders, arms and kicked out with his extended legs, driving his feet upward into the bottom of the guard’s chin. This got the guard staggering backward, which gave Zyrl a the chance to spin around and drive his bastone into the guard’s knee with all his strength.
The guard dropped to one knee with a grunt, then looked up at Zyrk, a malicious gleam in his eye as he cocked back his right arm and lashed out with a vicious uppercut. “Get back, worm.”
Zyrk grunted as the fist connected with his jaw and lifted him bodily off the ground, sending him sprawling backward where he landed in a heap on top of the cushioned dais and flipped over once more, rolling down the slight rise to the stone floor. The guard regained his feet with no apparent discomfort at all, while Zyrk struggled even to figure out which direction was up. His head was spinning and there was a terrible ringing noise in his ears as he staggered to his feet, clutching his bastone in his weakened grip. “Is that the bessst you got…?” He slurred through his swelling jaw.
“Come back over here and we’ll see.” The guard snarled at him, nostrils flaring with contempt.
Zyrk stumbled forward, making his way shakily around the dais. As he passed the Jewel, he winked at her with his unswollen eye, causing her to conceal a strange gasp/giggle sound behind her hands. “Arigh… les’sss ssee wha’cher godd…” he slurred as he looked back at the guard.
As he moved within the range of the bovine’s impressively long arms, the guard reached out with both hands, apparently making a bid to squeeze Zyrk’s head between his massive hands. In a sudden burst of speed however, Zyrk lunged forward, slipping between the guard’s hands and driving the blunt end of one of his bastone into the guard’s right eye.
The room filled with a roar of pain and rage that shook the fixtures and rattled the window shades. Wasting no time however, Zyrk spun around, placing several precisely aimed blows with his bastone. Calves, knees, thighs, and lower back as he spun in a wild arc around behind the reeling guard. When the bovine dropped to his knees again, still clutching his bleeding eye socket, Zyrk brought down a series of hammering blows on the hulking guard’s shoulder where it met the neck.
Finally, Zyrk stopped moving, standing in a fighting stance several feet from the guard, bastone at the ready in a defensive position and squinting through his swollen eye at the now silent bull who finally fell face forward to the floor.
Zyrk sighed in relief as the Jewel ran across the room and threw her arms around his body, squeezing him tightly. “I thought you were going to be killed.” She gushed.
Zyrk smiled at her, ignoring the pain in his jaw. “I had him right where I wanted him the whole time.”
With that he pulled free of her embrace and moved across the room to the balcony, peeking out for a long moment he finally caught sight of the reflected moonlight that was his pre-arranged signal. A moment later he grabbed one of the hanging braziers from the wall and took it out to the balcony where he spun it around in two large circles, creating a glowing circle of light on the balcony. Finally he launched the brazier up into the air as high as he could and rushed back into the room, not waiting for it to come down again before he grabbed the Jewel by her upper arm and moved her to the hallway door.
“Ok, we are going to have to move, and move quickly to make this work. Do not stop unless I tell you to or we are done for. We are heading straight for the front door and out the gate. Any questions?” His speech was much better now that his head had cleared up a bit from the earlier attack.
She shook her head no, then turned to face the door, slightly behind her rescuer, setting her face in a determined look, lips pressed tightly together, and ears swept back from her head.
“Alright, here we go.” Zyrk announced as he pushed the doors open and they moved out into the hallway.
They made it to the main stairway before encountering their first resistance, which Zyrk brushed aside with relative ease, rolling unconscious bodies down the stairs ahead of them after the brief encounter. By the time they reached the second floor, just one above the main level, a ruckus could be heard outside in the garden. It sounded as though there was a battle raging outside the house walls, and any guards they encountered seemed to be rushing toward the sound of the altercation, rather than looking for the escaped Jewel.
Two more quick fights saw them at the front door and within a few more minutes they were winding their way through the streets of the harbor city, the din of combat fading quickly behind them.
When they finally stopped to catch their breath, Zyrk slid his bastone into the leather sheath across his back as he leaned heavily against the wall o the alley they had secreted themselves within. “Are… you… alright…?” He panted.
“Yes… I believe… I will be… fine…” She replied breathily. “What… happened… to the… guards…?”
“I… procured some assistance… this morning before I went in after you… I always try to have a back-up plan, plus I told your father I would make it look as though Lord Nyrrin had taken you.” His breath was coming under control now.
“How did you get Lord Nyrrin to attack Lord Haath?” She raised an eyebrow at him, ears perked up curiously.
“I didn’t. I hired a group of mercenaries to disguise themselves as Nyrrin’s men and storm the estate.” Zyrk smiled as her bright, green eyes looked into his own blue pools.
“That was… very clever of you…” She finally whispered as they drew closer to one another by barely perceptible amounts.
“I have been told that I have my clever moments…” He replied, leaning toward her as her scent filled his nostrils. His ears twitched a bit as their lips finally met and they kissed passionately for several long moments.
When they finally broke off the kiss, they were both panting for breath again and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. It was another long minute before Zyrk finally spoke up, turning to face the main street that their secluded alley opened up onto. “We should get moving. I only have a few hours before I am supposed to return you to Lord Byron.”
Over the course of the next few hours they made their way through the dark shadows and deep recesses of the city as they moved inexorably toward Lord Byron’s estate on the other end of the city. They chatted briefly whenever they would stop for a rest and whenever they caught one another’s eyes they would find themselves staring at length, and on numerous occasions they were forced to stop themselves in the middle of a passionate kiss. Zyrk had never felt this way about anyone before, and he was sure she was feeling the connection as well.
As they approached the gates of Lord Byron’s estate, still out of earshot of the guards there, Zyrk stopped suddenly and turned to face her with a serious look darkening his normally cheerful face. Even through the swollen eye and jaw, she could tell that he was contemplating something quite serious.
“Listen. I’m not sure how your father would react, but I need to tell you before this is over that I think I am falling for you.” He looked at his feet as he spoke, unsure that he could handle her response, not wanting to see her face if she thought he was a fool.
When he felt her hand lift his chin until their eyes met his heart nearly stopped. Her face was one of love and adoration, and a tear was forming in her eye as she smiled. “I think I am falling in love as well Master Zyrk. It is a most unfortuitious outcome as my destiny is already decided.”
Zyrk shook his head slightly. “Run away with me. I have already decided to leave the city when this is over. Let Lord Byron keep his pile of gold and we can disappear into the jungles.”
“I cannot. I have a destiny, and it must be fulfilled.” Her face grew soft, compassionate, as his eyes clouded.
He looked away from her again, unable to face her eyes. “Well… Maybe I can stop by… we can see each other again… talk about it… I’ll get you to change your mind…”
Her face changed again then. It took him a moment to realize what it was she was conveying. Then it hit him. It was pity. There was something else going on here that she was not telling him.
“I’m sorry Master Zyrk. I will be leaving tomorrow night, with the full moon. The time is almost past and I MUST fulfill my own destiny.” Her voice was soft, pleasant, and while there was some pain there, it was filled mostly with the pity that he did not quite understand.
“If it is about my being a thief… I can change. I’ll open up a shop or…” He had never even considered something so mundane as a way of life before, but he couldn’t really stand the thought of her going away with some betrothed husband when he knew they had fallen in love with one another.
“That will be quite out of the question I’m afraid.” A bold, male voice shattered the moment. Zyrk looked up to see Lord Byron and several of his goons lined up between them and the estate. “The Jewel must be prepared at once.”
“Father.” She said flatly as she bowed low to him.
“You. Take her to her room and prepare her for the sacrifice.” Lord Byron hollered as he gestured at two of his thugs. The two immediately snapped to and began moving in on her.
In a flash Zyrk was between them, bastone in hand and ready for a brawl. “Go!” He shouted over his shoulder. “Make a break for it and I’ll hold them off!”
The goons snarled at him, baring their teeth and flexing their hands around their now drawn swords. They took a tentative step toward Zyrk but were stopped when she softly rested her hand on Zyrk’s shoulder, completely disarming the situation. He turned to face her with a questioning look.
“I told you Master Zyrk. I have a destiny to fulfill. Did my father not tell you that I was to be sacrificed?” The look on her face was one of complete serenity and acceptance.
Zyrk was stymied. “He… uh… He did say that, but I thought…”
She smiled at him. A warm inviting, caring smile. “You assumed it was Lord Haath that was going to offer up the sacrifice… I understand. It was a simple enough mistake to be made. But now that you are aware of the circumstances we can all go about our business.”
Zyrk nodded his head dumbly for a moment before he realized what was going on. Then he stepped back from her and spun around to face the thugs again, this time his face was contorted in a visage of pure anger. “They’ve bewitched you m’lady. I won’t let them do this. Stay behind me and we’ll get you to someone who can help.”
The goons advanced on him as he stood against them, bastone raised. As they moved into range he was in mid-swing, about to brain one of the thugs, when it happened. He was so involved in the people in front of him that he didn’t notice what was going on until it was too late.
In a flash, the Jewel of Mycen snatched one of the fighting knives from his belt sheath and struck out like a bolt of lightning. Zyrk saw the expression on one of his adversary’s faces change and out of instinct, ducked down low, which caused the blade to miss the center of his back. Instead, the blade sliced cleanly through the skin of his left ear about half way up, then sliced the ear cleanly in half as his momentum carried the blade out the top of his head. Zyrk winced in pain as his sensitive flesh was bifurcated, and his hesitation gave the thugs all the time they needed to close in on him.
He had never suffered such a beating in his entire life. It had taken him months to get his strength back, and when it was over he was certainly in no shape to be dashing in and rescuing any misguided women. In reality he had been more than lucky to have survived the first few nights after the incident. They had left him there. Broken and bleeding in the streets of Arcadia. He had crawled out of the street and taken refuge in the dark alleys and sewers until he had the strength to make his way back to his rooftop shack where he spent his days and nights in fevered nightmares, imagining the torturous ways in which her soul had been sent to the beyond.
Zyrk sighed as he sat on the edge of the roof looking out over the setting sun and the glorious light show it created on the calm water of the harbor. His heart ached, and his soul had a rend in it that was mirrored in his perfectly bisected ear. He feared he would never again be whole, and he felt certain that he would similarly never again allow himself to fall in love. If this was what it was to be in love, he didn’t think his heart, or his body, could survive the journey.