'A Fairy Tale'

A Fairy Tale

The Eight Plates was a cheap inn in a shady neighborhood where assaults and robberies were everyday business, every person who walked into the inn had a secret of massive proportions and the reason they came back here was not the foaming ale or the cheap food provided from a nearby butcher – with a questionable reputation – but rather the privacy it gave. Even a person at home had to be constantly aware of what he said or did but here everyone was given all the privacy they needed.

Aidan looked at the door with fearful anticipation as he heard the creaking that announced that a new person was about to enter the inn, Aidans hand flashed and it found his swords hilt and his arm was locked in position for the moment, until the identity of the newcomer was established he wouldn’t rest – he noticed similar reactions from the other people in the inn – and he pushed the table to the side so he’d have a chance to get a decent spot of fighting. His eyes widened as he saw the person who had entered, a woman hidden in a heavy travelers cloak and three evil-looking daggers in her belt – hooked to inflict maximum damage – he sensed how the other people calmed down but he couldn’t, she approached him silently. “So you found me,” Aidan said dryly and emptied the tankard of ale that had stood before him, “You are painfully predictable,” She answered him with a straight face, though a smile reached her eyes, “I would’ve come to you sooner if it wasn’t because you had me drugged and tied up first,” She said with friendly recognition, Aidan smiled and slowly drew the slim Damascus Blade and put it across the table – receiving fearful looks from the nearby tables – almost as a gesture, “You would’ve insisted on following me anyway and it was worth a shot, now wouldn’t you agree on that?” He grinned disarmingly, “Morgiana, just because you’ve got skills doesn’t mean that I’ll risk something this important just so that your emotions aren’t hurt,” He said in a business-like tone and leaned back casually. “Bold words, I could had thrown these three daggers into your torso before that pretty sword of yours could even get out of its sheath,” She threatened in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. Aidan laughed and suddenly – without the slightest warning – the Damascus Blade was pressed against her throat, “You might have contacts in high places but you haven’t got the training to threaten me. Your life is too short to make those threats.” He said and walked towards the door. “Are you so much of a coward that you leave whenever you’re absolute control is questioned?” She yelled across the room so Aidan was forced to turn around, “Are you so dim-witted that you don’t know when to stay out of things.” He answered sarcastically and pushed the door to the street up and walked out.

Aidan stood at the top of the city walls’ fortifications and looked at the marching army outside, and defiantly sent a fist-sized stone flying into the air and hoped that it would strike true. “Are you going to do it or have you been reduced to a mere front figure, resting on the remains of former accomplishments?” A well-known voice sounded from behind him and Aidan turned around to face Morgiana once again, “If you want to face them head-on, in daylight, then be my guest. I am going to wait a few hours until dusk and do what is actually needed,” He answered calmly. “If you’re going to join me, tell me now and I’ll tell you the conditions, I don’t need someone destroying a carefully planned tactic” He added and leaned against the fortified wall. “What are they?” Morgianna asked coldly and handed him her daggers, “A sign of good faith,” she added with a slight grin. “Don’t get in my way, and let me keep these.” He said and put the daggers in a small bag casually. Aidan carefully used his Damascus Blade to cut through the thin tent cloth and walked inside, “So we meet,” He said calmly to a man in a black robe, “I am Aidan and your reputation precedes you, Lord Xith” He said formally, and Xith turned around – emotionless and without signs of surprise, “Aidan, assassin of the Arabic world. What have you intend to do here,” he spat but already knew what the answer would be. “A duel, man to man, which is after all what this war is all about. The ‘Mighty’ Lord Xith feels the need to prove himself against an actual warrior,” Aidan said and drew the Damascus blade from within his heavy robe. Xith did likewise and drew a classic European broadsword and cleft an imaginary opponent, Aidan however responded by letting his Damascus blade fly through the air and managed to get his opponent off-balance for a half second, then violence showed in his opponents eyes and the broadsword was brought down upon him with lethal power. Aidan desperately sent his own sword into his opponents’ abdomen and twisted it, so that the muscle spasm might cause the broadsword to miss. It did not, however, and Aidans skull was crushed from the impact.

Two great legends now were nothing but dying victims of a raging war that had swept across countries faster than any plague could have. So ends our story…