Dark Secrets

A/N: Another rp by myself and Ember! This story is another side-sequel, but can be read as a stand-alone. You don't -have- to read Forever Caged and Uncaged, but it helps to read them in order to grasp the later parts of this tale.

This story focuses on the Maryshad, and is actually based off the song "Hand of Sorrow" [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAoWUkFawzc] by Within Temptation. (Ignore the video, it was the best quality version of the song I could find.)

If you want to know about my original world, Visaia, just take a look at my profile.
Now I'll shut up, and let you get on with the story! Damn I blabber too much.
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Chapter One: Assassination


The entire land was choked in thick, dark, roiling clouds. The crackle of lightning and the grumbling thunder could be heard in the distance, presaging the storm that was about to hit the floating continent. Thankfully, the land was shielded from the worst weather by ancient arcane forces, so the most Revgreah would experience was a heavy rain with slight winds. A lone soldier was looking out over the vast city he called home, watching citizens hurry back to their domed houses far below. The domes were a fairly recent development, in response to the eternally windy climate the land endured. Many angled buildings still stood, but as the years dragged on there were fewer and fewer. The tower in which he stood would never be altered, however, for it was one of the few still-standing relics of their chaotic past, predating the Great Divergence. It pierced the sky like an expertly crafted blade, with a very subtle spiral structure. A sudden blast of wind howled through the streets and caught in his bound ice-white hair, sending it up in wild waves behind his head. The rain broke from the clouds shortly after, and Revgreah was caught in a squall.

The soldier receded from the balcony before he got drenched and pulled the mirror-finished wooden door shut behind him. He gave his fitted matte black armor a once over to make sure all was secure, and ran his hands over his array of blades, concealed and not. He wouldn't be alone for much longer, so now was the time to make sure he had all he needed. Tiny vials of poisons and their respective antidotes were tucked into his wide leather belt, and a discreet, thin wire was wrapped once about his waist, its handles tucked out of sight but within easy reach. The door to the room clicked and swung open, revealing his mistress.

She was tall and slender, with a narrow high-cheekboned face that still managed to be soft. Her sharp eyes were as gems, multi-colored like all maryshad, and they missed no detail. She was dressed in her official garb, with heavy beaten gold belts and strings of gems about her waist with a slightly sheer floor-length skirt, the color of ocean foam. Her chest was covered by a thicker layer of the same fabric and more heavy jewelry, leaving her midsection bare. Earrings dangled and swayed gently from her shorter, pointed ears as she quietly strode towards the soldier, her low heels barely making a clack on the polished stone floor. "Velash'avel," she said softly, belying the strength of her deep voice, "you are ready, I trust."

The soldier -Velash'avel- nodded once, short. "Yes, high lady."

A quirk of her lips denoted a small smile of approval. She admired his handsome features; his broad chest and shoulders (or broad as far as maryshad went), flowing into a slim, muscled waist and into powerful legs. The feature she admired most was his single-colored eyes, a trait scarce in the modern age, and considered a mark of power from ancient times. They gleamed with a cold, icy light, the color of pure sea. "Good. You are to go in and out, as discreet as possible. Kill no one but the mark. I do not want any reports that you were spotted like you were the last time."

Velash'avel bowed curtly from the waist this time, both as an apology and a promise. There was a moment of silence between them, and he stood straight, meeting her eyes briefly before leaving the room. He stepped into the transport circle, and within seconds was phased to the bottom of the spire. He slipped outside into the raging storm and pulled up his leather cowl, hiding his head and lower face as he darted through the streets. He made it to the address with no incident, most people already in their homes. It was an older building, tall and rectangular, domed at the top. The polished finish had been worn away by time and wind, leaving it a bit dull. The elegant carvings around door and window frames had been kept in good condition, depicting great beasts of war of magick. Statues of fierce monster hung from points around the roof like sentinals, gemmed eyes glaring down at him as though truly seeing. And perhaps they might have, had he been anyone else.

But he was Revgreah's great secret, its own personal monster to handle internal affairs of every sort. He was of a pure bloodline, full of old magicks that were lost to most of their kind eons past, at the time of the Divergence. Simple guard magick didn't stand up to his capabilities. He slipped around to the back of the old house and placed his bare palm against the smooth wooden door, and with a thought, undid all the house's protective magicks without so much as alerting its residents. That left the lock on the door itself. For that, he pulled out a small bundle of cloth, and flicked it open to reveal a set of tools. In seconds the lock was picked and he was moving inside. He was less than a shadow in the household, silent and sure of each movement, and pausing at the slightest noise of life. He heard people down the hallway, and crept closer, listening in. Once determining neither men were his target, he slipped past the kitchen and the next two rooms, one of which was the livingroom where a young woman sat reading a book, and darted up the stairs.

A servant, nude but for the semi-sheer skirt wrapped about his waist, stood blank-eyed at the top of the stairs. He felt a light breeze pass behind him, and turned to look around. "Master?"

Velash'avel found his target in the study, donned in the rich clothes of nobility, all black and purple and embroidered in gold. Long straight hair draped down his slender back, and he was faced towards the room's window, back to the opposite corner. He was pouring over notes and books, a long wooden felt-tip pen in hand. So absorbed, in fact, he didn't notice his assassin sneak in behind him, holding an icy blade just a hair's breadth away from the nape of his neck. Velash'avel paused, hearing the servant in the hall speak. 'Better be quick,' he thought to himself, and in one short, powerful motion, shoved the stiletto into the noble's neck. It grated on vertebrae and severed nerves and pierced up into the brain, killing him in a painless second. The ice coating the blade slid off as Velash'avel pulled it out. When it melted, it would leave pure, simple water, confusing most people as to what exactly had killed him.

The assassin wasted not a second, and was already opening the window to escape out of.

Footsteps pattered down the hall, and the boy peered in. His master was slumped over his desk, dark skin already turning ashen as blood flowed into his hair and over his shoulders. He gasped, too frightened to scream, but not too frightened to notice movement by the window. He knew better than to step into his master's study. The scars under the simple linen skirt had taught him his lesson well. He wasn't sure what to do.

Howling wind, rain, and mist rattled the open window and poured into the study, drenching more than half of it in just seconds. Papers on the desk whirled around violently, and the pool of blood was quickly being washed away. All the wind was almost enough to shift the body as well.

Velash'avel hit the cobbled side street with a light tap of boots, and quickly got himself lost in the thick cover of the black clouds and heavy rain blanketing the city. He didn't so much as glance back at the house. The servant in the hallway had felt his presence, though...It was strange, but not terribly rare. However, someone like that wouldn't take long to notice the murder. He didn't go straight back to the tower. To do so, especially if he was seen, might indicate that someone inside had ordered the assassination. No, he had his own home, and that's where he would stay until more orders came.

The noble's daughter trotted up the steps, her brother and cousin in tow behind her. "Father?" she called over the howling wind and rain, "What's all that racket?" As she got closer to the open door of the study, she noticed the rain. "Why do you have the window open?"

"Slave!" her brother called. "What are you doing in there?"

The boy went rigid in terror. He had been found and surely would be blamed for this. He stammered, and tried to step away, but slipped in a pool of blood, still warm and flowing from the body. "What is this! What have you done to my uncle!" The cousin stepped forward. "Speak!"

"I-I found him like this!" The smaller man braced himself, covering his head with his hands.

"Liar! He has killed our family!" The nephew raised his hands, preparing to rain blows on the boy.

The brother went in and slammed the window shut, leaving the room in a deafening moment of silence. He turned to his cousin and the slave, face wet, though whether it was all just rain wasn't easy to tell. His sister went to their father's body, taking shaky steps.

"F-father...? He... you can't be dead..." Tears rolled down her face as she reached the body and placed a tentative hand on his soaked, bloody shoulder. She pulled her hand away and stared at it, as though dazed. She shuddered, and then started to sob. "Kill him!" she screamed, eyes afire, and pointed at the slave. "He murdered Daddy!"

Her brother stared at her, dumbfounded for a split second. "You can't be sure..." he said softly. He certainly wasn't.

The young man heard the cousin cry out and began to beat and kick the servant, making his screams echo in the room. Within moments the rest of the family in the house had come upon the scene. A short, older woman stood forward.

"What is going on here!"

The brother had stayed out of the situation completely, and was busy digging through his father's desk for something. His sister was draped over the body, hugging it and sobbing loudly, with the occasional muttering of 'you can't be dead,' and 'come back.' Her brother found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small, brass mirror that fit in the palm of his hand. He looked to the woman in the doorway, swallowing a sudden rush of fear and standing rigid. "Grandmother...I...Father's been murdered. They believe it was the slave's doing."

The older woman stalked towards the young man, and swiped the brass mirror from him. "Liehnaner! Stop beating that boy! I can't even hear myself think over that racket."

The maryshad backed away from the servant obediently. "Yes, Grandmother." The boy lay sobbing, and didn't dare move.

"Good for nothing man, I knew he wasn't good enough for my daughter..." she grumbled as she looked at the mirror.

"It...it calls his boss," the son stuttered.

"Hmph. Alright," the grandmother said. "Someone go notify the authorities." She pressed her fingertips to the mirror and waited for someone to respond. An older man's face faded into view.

"Ah...right. That is an authority," her grandson said quietly, like he feared she'd smack him.

"Hm, well that makes things easier. Yes, hello," she yelled into the mirror. "We have a problem. My son-in-law has been murdered. We need someone down here to clean up the mess right away." The man in the mirror looked somewhat startled. "Don't just sit there with your thumb up your arse! Get moving!" she barked. She tossed the mirror back to her grandson and went to console her sobbing daughter and granddaughter. "We best move it. Don't want to contaminate the crime scene. Liehnaner, get the the servant and put him in a closet or something. Make sure he doesn't run away."

The maryshad caught the mirror and tucked it inside his shirt while no one was looking. With his father dead, he might have to take his place. He needed to keep the mirror close in case he was called. His sister let herself be pulled away from her dead father, and clung to her mom and grandmother instead, body shaking with the force of her sobs.

Seléhashvir went to grab the beaten slave and hoisted him to his feet, glaring at his cousin. "Go on, I'll handle him."

Liehnaner glared, but let it be. As he turned to follow the rest of the family out of the room, the slave braved looking up. He was still sobbing and shaking, and could taste the blood in his mouth, but he was still too afraid to move and wipe it. "What w-will you d-do to me?" he said around sobs.

By way of answer, Seléhashvir took the slave by the wrist and led him out of the study. He watched his cousin head down the steps with the rest of the family, and then turned down the hall the opposite way to his bedroom. He pushed the slave inside, but not hard enough that it was forceful. "Sit somewhere." He closed the door behind him and the lock clicked.

The servant sat down on the floor. "I didn't do it," he almost whispered. More tears flooded his eyes. "I found him like that, honest." He was talking more to himself than to Seléhashvir.

"For what it's worth, I believe you." Seléhashvir pulled the chair away from his desk and faced it to the room. "Sit here so I can heal you."

The slave did as he was told. "Y-you're going to heal me?"

Seléhashvir knelt by the slave and took a slow breath, feeling the gentle vibrations of his magick. "Yes, and you're going to tell me what happened. Though understand, if I find out this really is your doing, I will undo all my work." He pointedly stared into the slave's eyes as he said it, then raised his hands to the one of the worst injuries on the bare leg in front of him.

The slave nodded quickly. "Yes sir." He took a breath himself, and started talking. "I'm afraid I don't know much. I was standing at the top of the stairs, and I felt something. I thought the master had summoned me, so I went to check on him. When I found him, he was bent over the desk and..." He paused for a moment. He had seen something by the window, but for all he knew, it could have been a stray animal.

Seléhashvir worked quickly, re-knitting the flesh where his rash cousin had been especially brutal. "And what?" he prompted.

"And... I panicked. I think that's when everyone came in." The slave didn't know what else to say. "I don't know how it happened or who did it."

"Hm," Seléhashvir grunted. "Tell me more about this something you felt. Whoever it was didn't even trigger our w-" he paused, snapping up. His healing magick cut off as he realized what that meant. "...Didn't trigger our wards." He closed his eyes and concentrated on them, intending to check them over, then gasped. "They're gone..." he mumbled. "They're gone!" he said again, more startled. He looked up at the mostly healed slave for a second, shock clear on his face. "Gods of darkness, the assassin destroyed our wards and got past all of us!" He shuddered with the thought, suddenly very afraid. Had they all been so close to death, he wondered? He left the slave where he sat and darted out of the room. As an afterthought, he ducked his head back in. "Don't run away. If I have to hunt you down, you won't like what I do to you." He shut the door and it locked itself again, and he could be heard running down the hall towards the stairs to tell his family what happened.

'Oh no, I'm not sticking around,' thought the slave. 'They'll just beat me some more.' He got up and went to the room's closet, sifting through it for something to wear. He decided on a pair of tight leather pants and a sheer top, then grabbed a cloak for the rain. Lucky him, he was small enough to fit into most of the clothes. He grabbed a handful of jewelry from the boy's jewelry chest, then found a small sack of coins underneath it, all of which he pocketed. He then opened the window, jumped through, and used what little magick he knew to soften the landing. Once the slave landed, he took off into the darkness.

Moments later, a house guard just coming on duty knocked on the door. Seléhashvir answered it. "Hmph. You're late."

The guard's eyes widened, scared. "S-sir? Pardon me, but isn't my shift-"

"Yes yes, you're on time, but you're late. My father's been murdered."

The guard stilled, then blanked his expression and bowed his head. "My condolences, my lord."

Seléhashvir nodded. "I will be fine. Go upstairs and keep an eye on the study for now, I want to make sure no one else gets in."

"Yes sir. But first there is something you should know...I thought it peculiar."

"Yes?"

"Well...as I approached the building I saw a lad jump from a window from the top floor. I think it was your room, sir. He was rather well-dressed, so I thought it might be one of those friends of yours..." he said in a low tone, not wanting anyone to overhear. He knew the young lord had connections with people he shouldn't, and had been paid for his silence. Seléhashvir hissed a curse.

"Seléhashvir? What is it, dear?" came his mother's voice, trembling, from a few paces away. "Don't keep that man outside."

"Our slave has escaped, mother. I was going to go after him," he said heatedly.

She frowned at her son, her sorrow fading temporarily. "Why did you leave him alone? You knew better than that!"

Seléhashvir opened his mouth to retort, then stopped as a brilliant thought struck him. "I believe he didn't murder father. However, I do believe he may know the assassin. Perhaps he'll lead us right to him." A slow smile crept across his features, and was mirrored by his mother.

"Ahh, that's my boy. Very good. Now, come away from the door, both of you."


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A/N: Art for yooou!
A bit of stuff on the Maryshad: http://m-tarachand.deviantart.com/art/Maryshad-Traits-Heads-153370695

And a couple of pictures of more Maryshad, who aren't related to this particular tale:
http://m-tarachand.deviantart.com/art/Black-White-and-Rainbows-152145963
http://m-tarachand.deviantart.com/art/Geherenaille-and-Edreiach-128887487