The Dragontooth Mountains crawled up the even grander shoulder of Mount Haven. Mount Haven’s mighty peak disappeared somewhere above the clouds. The great mountain cast all the land in shadow. He saw the distant flicker of torchlight from the high walls of the human city of East Falguard at the mountain’s base, but he was not heading to the human city, at least not yet.
Shade glanced back behind him. He breathed out a long sigh of relief when the Unseen Guardians did not follow him. They must be planning on catching him upon his reentry into the forest, but he had no intention of returning, not this time. He made for a mountain basin and finally passed out of the forest. He wound down a short ravine and came upon another town in the gorge. It was a Faelin town alright, but one so far off the map it wasn’t counted in the yearly census.
Nefar bustled with rough-looking, ugly and scarred Faelin. Crude flat-roofed Ebonwood shacks plagued Nefar’s dirt streets. Mangy flea-bitten dogs ran about barking, but no children played. The Faelin, mostly thieves and serfs, wore boiled leathers and carried many arms. The streets were but trampled dust and dried dung. No crops grew as Shade would describe this town as a hunting and gathering culture, if of course the chief game were other persons. King Solshistaar would never have allowed such a town to exist inside the black forests. He would have razed it to the ground not only by Jui-Sae’s strict anti-thievery laws, but for its inhumane living conditions. It looked like a human hamlet.
Shade kept his hood and cloak drawn about him. Memories stirred within him, but he forced them back down. He knew better than to show weakness here. He knew because he had grown up here. He squinted his glowing yellow eyes into razor thin slits. He could not afford to betray his identity, at least not yet.
The people eyed him as the strange cloaked figure strolled casually into town. Two old hags studied him. They crinkled their old brows and whispered about him under their breaths. He feared they had recognized him and quickened his pace. Shade walked past a bearded, one-eyed Faelin geezer. The old geezer spit in his path. The assassin would have killed the Faelin for the insult, but he would not risk exposing himself just yet.
The assassin strolled up to a ramshackled hovel of a tavern. The building was shaped like a dome and looked more like a wolves’ den, a fitting name as the tavern was called The Rabid Moon. The sign of a wolf howling in front of a blood red moon hung from a single hinge. Shade shook his head. They still haven’t fixed that? He had spent much time here in his youth, before his life had been shaped with direction. He pushed through the double doors and stepped inside. The doors made that familiar creak he always remembered, but he entered here a reborn Faelin.
His eyes passed over the many brigands who remained enamored in their drinks, drugs and harlots. No one even noticed his entrance. Harlots danced on tables and conned brigands out of the day’s loot. Shade scowled. As a child, he had not realized how differently the Faelin in Nefar lived when compared to the rest of Jui-Sae. Now that he had returned, their wildly undisciplined and lewd behavior disgusted and enraged him. He wanted to slay them all for their inexcusable weaknesses and then he laid eyes on what he had come for…
A lean bearded Faelin thief in hard black leathers lounged among a rabble of broad-shouldered thieves and the choicest of harlots. They laughed and drank on cushioned seats with violet velvet pillows…the best seat in the house. The bearded Faelin’s hair had turned a glorious illustrious white with age, though he was far from wise. His name was Shadowfinger and his eyes were yellow like Shade’s own.
Shade smirked sarcastically. He watched the table at a distance. Shadowfinger acted like a king among thieves. He had one harlot down on her knees scrubbing his filthy leather boots. Two more in each arm. His goons appeared to watch him awkwardly, though he did spare them one or two of the uglier ones.
The thief laughed brazenly and threw back another mug of ale. His right-hand thug poured him another drink. A second waved a barmaid over. Shade shook his head. He knew the legend of Shadowfinger to be a cock and bull story that had passed down through generations. The real Shadowfinger had died generations ago and become widely feared for preying on travelers in the Sunchild Chasm.
Shade felt a bolt of rage shoot through his veins every time Shadowfinger laid a finger on another harlot. He was angry because he knew this Shadowfinger to be nothing but an opportunistic coward. Worse, he was Shade’s father. The assassin clenched his fists. He could feel the blood pounding in his heart. It had been the first time in decades he struggled to remain in control. He had to fight against every word, every unspeakable act his father had committed against him as a boy.
Shadowfinger had called Shade a mistake all his life. He had referred to him as a byproduct of some random biological mischief. His mother had warned Shade at an early age to stay away from his father, but he didn’t listen. He wanted to meet his father, to know the Faelin called Shadowfinger. The assassin still remembered the night he went to see his father without her permission. Shadowfinger had lashed out and tried to kill him. He would have succeeded had Shade’s mother not shown up. She threw herself in front of her son.
Shade still remembered backing slowly away in shock as his mother underwent a savage beating. He remembered the anger and horror of watching her battered as she screamed for him to run. She came home that night bloody and beaten. It had been Shade’s fault. He never forgave himself for that day.
Shade never dared go see his father again, at least not publicly. He used to watch Shadowfinger and his harlots in this very tavern, in a far corner of the room, hooded and cloaked just as he was now. He remembered his first virgin squeeze of a dagger before he possessed the knowhow to use it. He recalled fantasizing his father’s murder over and over again, but he never had the guts to budge from his seat. He was nothing, but a terrified boy back then wetting his pants under a shadowy cowl.
Shade used to think it was cowardice which held him back, but now, seeing the instrument he had become, he wondered whether it had been survival instinct. He remembered the anger and disgust he felt with himself as his mother grew very sick and yet he did nothing. He recalled the many nights he sat starving by her bedside as she withered and became bedridden. He bore in mind the animosity he felt building in his heart as he watched his mother slowly die before his very eyes.
One night he went into town to steal a loaf of bread. He bumped into his father in the flea market. Shadowfinger had heard about his mother’s illness. He did not so much as threaten the young boy. He just coldly laughed in his face. Shade had gotten on his knees and begged his father for the silver to treat her, but the coldhearted thief ripped the locket off his neck and cast it into a brazier. Shadowfinger had turned and walked callously away.
Shade burnt his own hands trying to retrieve that locket. He finally threw enough dirt on the coals to snuff out the flames and retrieved it, but the brass was too hot. He watched as her picture burned to ashes before his very eyes.
Shade would never forget that night. It would be the blow that drove him to join the ranks of the Unseen. Shadowfinger had the coin to treat her, but he chose to let her die. The old thief had falsely assumed that the boy would simply shrivel up and die like an unwatered shoot, but he underestimated one vital component. He underestimated Shade. And now Shadowfinger would be commanded to answer for everything he had done.
Shade approached his father’s table, his black cloak still pulled tightly about him and his hood still over his head. His father and his goons stopped chatting. The harlots stopped fawning over him for just a moment. The coins stopped rolling across the table. They stared up at him with sharp dangerous eyes, a hint of shock dawning over their faces. Who was this bold outsider who dared disturb them?