The Record of the Saints Caliber (39 page)

Karver’s grin stretched his fat, bearded face in a monstrous sort of way. “Come see boy.” he said and led Rook across the room to it.

Atop the pedestal it sat, bathed in the yellow-green gaslight of the lamp above it. It was a bracer. A piece of armor that covered the forearm. It was black like the night sky, and Rook thought it seemed to have a depth to it; almost as if he were looking into the very heavens of night and could reach in and touch its darkness. Or maybe he thought it was like the creek at night. A darkness that sparkled in the light, but whose surface could be broken by the touch of a finger.

“Touch it if you want.” said Karver. “You can’t do nothing to it. Can’t break it. Can’t even move it.”

Rook looked up at Karver, trying to gauge if the man would really let him touch it.

“Go on, boy. Touch it. Try to move it.” Karver reached down and grabbed Ursula. At first Rook began to protest but Karver just snatched her into his arms. She stirred but did not fuss. “Go on. Try it, boy.”

Hesitantly, Rook turned away from his sister. He looked at that glassy-black piece of armor.
Is this really a piece of Star-Armor?
he thought. Rook stood on his tiptoes and reached out a finger. Slowly he pressed it upon the metal. His first thought was of how cold it was. It was like touching ice, he thought. He stroked it and felt how smooth it was. It felt a lot like glass. Then he caught the smell of it. It was very faint, almost undetectable even. It was at once acrid but pleasing; like rusty metal and fire.
Scorched metal, maybe?
His mind instantly drew a parallel between that and the Golothic. The Golothic, however, did not have such a pleasing scent. The Golothic smelled more like death, of earth and rock that had been smoldered into destruction. The Star-Armor smelled more like living metal…like forged metal. Rook finally could place the scent. It was similar to a blacksmith’s forge, but something more, something grander.

“Push it,” said Karver from behind him. “I’ll let you and your sister go free and take whatever you want with you if you can move that thing, even a hair.”

Rook’s heart leapt.
Really?
He turned to face Karver, who was smiling wryly.

“Go on, boy. Try it.”

Rook turned back around and reached both hands up. He grabbed it and yanked as if he were just going to casually pick it up. His arms strained. He released it, utter surprise filling his mind. His brow furled and he tried again, this time pulling as hard as he could. The thing did not budge. He tried again, and this time he grunted and strained until Karver started laughing and Ursula woke in his arms and began bawling. Karver handed Rook back his sister and he began cooing to her and she settled down.

“Took me and my brother and my cousin Kraken to put that thing there.” said Karver, looking at it. “That pedestal it’s on is solid marble and rooted into the ground.”

“Is that really Star-Armor?” asked Rook, rocking Ursula in his arms.

“It is.” said Karver. “You like Saints, boy?”

Rook nodded and turned back to the bracer. He reached his hand up and stroked it, feeling its cold, absolute smoothness upon his fingertips.

“You like those tales they tell you in church?” asked Karver.

Without looking away from the piece of Star-Armor Rook said, “My favorite is Saint Bryant of the Horn. I like the tale of how he slew the Cerberus and the stories of how he’d bring candy and gifts to the people of the towns he’d visit.”

Karver laughed mockingly. “You’re still young, boy. You still believe in all that nonsense. Those are fairytales from long ago.”

Rook frowned, thinking to himself how lucky Karver might consider himself that no Saints were around to see what he and his brother have been up to. “One of these days, a Saint will come here, to help us all.”

Karver huffed. “If this little uprising going on out there don’t end real soon, you might get a first hand look at one.” said Karver, grinning. “Might get a first hand look at my cousin. Once Gatima finds out there is a revolt, he’ll stomp it out quick. Stomp all you people out real quick.”

Rook shrugged.

“Look at me, boy.” said Karver and Rook turned around, now thinking better of having shrugged. “Remember how I told you my cousin Behemoth Kraken is not a man you want to have cross your path?” said Karver. “That bracer right there is from his own Saint. Saint Rathaniel. Kraken cut off his left arm the first day Gatima gave him to him.”

“Why’d he do that?” asked Rook, furling his brow. Rook knew that Kings and Exalted nobles were often given their own personal Saints as bodyguards, but the remark came to him as slightly insulting. First, because this Behemoth Kraken looked evil and sounded evil, and the fact that such a man should have his own Saint seemed appalling. Secondly, because as far as Rook was concerned, Saints were the good guys, and the good guys never lost to the bad guys. And thirdly, because Saints were, as far as all the stories he had heard, completely indestructible.

Karver chuckled. “The story goes that Kraken was partaking of his little boys and told Rathaniel to help himself to one. Rathaniel politely declined and Kraken cut his arm off as a warning. Then he killed a child and made Rathaniel take the corpse in front of the entire court while his arm was still bleeding.”

Rook suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He looked down and away from Karver. He tried telling himself that Karver was just messing with him; just telling stories to scare him. But a small part of his mind warned him to take heed.

Karver grabbed Rook’s chin and forced his head up, making him look at him. Karver was smiling. “My cousin likes his little boys. You’re what, ten-years old? That’s about the age he prefers.” Karver looked down at Ursula and stroked her cheek with one finger. “I’ve seen him take babes too. Says they like to suck and ain’t got no teeth to worry about.”

Rook shivered as Karver held him in place by the chin. He felt his stomach twist in fear and disgust and his mind flooded with the memories of Garrot on that first night. Nausea assaulted him and he thought he might lose his lunch, when he saw it again. It was a shadowy child, and it peeked out from around that tall, terrifying statue.

Karver’s grin widened. “Trust me, you don’t know fear until you cross paths with my cousin.”

Rook shook his head and pointed.

Karver turned around and looked over to the towering wood statue. “What boy?”

“There,” said Rook, but the figure was gone.

Karver huffed a little laugh. “That’s what they call a demon pole, boy.” Karver gestured for Rook to follow as he began to walk across the room to the thing. “Long time ago villages used to put them up to keep demons and dark creatures away. All the beasts carved into it are supposed to scare them off, and each beast looks out in a different direction to keep watch.”

The shadowy child Rook had seen was nowhere in sight, and once again he was left wondering if it had been his imagination or a trick of the shadows. Or, he thought with a shiver, perhaps it was the ghost of some poor child who had crossed paths with Karver and his brother. Whatever it was, Rook decided against mentioning it.

He held Ursula to his chest and rocked her gently in his arms as he walked over and stopped next to the giant wooden pole where Karver stood. It was like the massive trunk of some towering tree carved into a dozen beasts all sitting upon one another. The surface was gray and dull, cracked and pocked with age, but Rook surmised that at one point it must have been smooth and polished and probably painted. Here and there small patches of faded color still clung to it. The creatures that made up the thing looked like forest animals, but somehow twisted and monstrous and made more terrible and ferocious than any rabid beast. The largest creature at the bottom looked like a bear, another like some sort of hawk, and a third like a wolf. Upon the very top was perched some type of eagle with its wings spread, but its face bore a dozen large eyes that looked out from every angle. Rook’s eyes scanned up the entire length of the thing and he shivered.

“This thing’s a thousand years old.” said Karver. He kicked the base of the thing. “I figure it can maybe protect me. Look over my treasures. Look out for whatever demon belongs to my Golothic.”

Rook didn’t really care for the spooky statue and turned his head to where the sparkle of metal caught his eye. There was a cabinet with glass doors. Inside Rook could see a number of various objects, most of them daggers and knives. Some were ancient and rusty, but others gleamed with polished silver and gold. There was one dagger, however, that particularly caught Rook’s attention. It wasn’t the fanciest by far, but it was perfect and polished and gleaming the way only the finest steel could. Rook walked over to the cabinet.

“Those are some of the knives I’ve collected over the years.” said Karver, coming up to stand behind Rook. “See that one there that looks like animal bones? That was a sacrificial dagger. Who knows how much blood that thing spilled in the name of Apollyon.” Karver chuckled to himself. “And that one there, that one with all the gems on it, that one was Lady Calendula’s personal knife. She was Gatima’s third wife’s niece if I remember. Gatima had the Queen’s whole family killed—even her extended family—when he found out she had been exporting Jerusan black burlwood to Narbereth and the other countries.”

Here Karver tapped on the cabinet and Rook noticed the dark color and strange, spirally grain of it. “Jerusan black burlwood only comes from Grandal and is worth a fortune in the other countries. It’s a shame Gatima don’t let anything leave his kingdom.” Karver looked down at Rook. “Not even slaves. It’s all his, as far as he’s concerned. I wouldn’t even be running you slaves if it weren’t for fear of my cousin. Truth be told, I fear Kraken’s retribution more than Gatima’s. Gatima would only kill me.” Karver paused and tapped at his pocket and grumbled something in his throat. “Good thing this brings me good fortune, I suppose.”

“What’s that one?” asked Rook, pointing to the original dagger that had caught his eye. It was a simple dagger, plain of design, yet something about its form was so perfectly executed that it was a paragon of form. The blade was long and triangular, tapering smoothly and gracefully to a deadly point. Its hilt was straight but curved upward ever so discreetly that it might be overlooked. Its handle was wrapped in simple, black leather. The steel of the pommel, hilt and blade all gleamed silvery metallic, but at closer inspection Rook noticed that the steel had waves of lighter and darker metals in it, like the grain of fine wood.

Karver huffed and grumbled something under his breath. “Just a plain dagger. Looked nice, so I kept it. It was actually in the same crate I found the Golothic.”

Rook couldn’t take his eyes off the thing. Next to it was a knife that dazzled with colorful gems, there were golden daggers and knives that had exceptional metalwork, yet that simple dagger fascinated him.

“Here boy,” said Karver, pushing Rook aside and opening up the case. He took down the dagger and handed it to Rook.

With one arm holding Ursula on his shoulder, Rook took the knife in his free hand. “Wow,” was all he could say.

“Light, isn’t it?” said Karver. “I’d forgotten about that old thing. Made of some type of strange metal. Light as a feather.”

And it really was. Well, maybe not light as a feather, but it was no heavier than if it had been made of wood. Rook had held knives and other tools. Nothing made of metal was ever this light. It was remarkable. He held it in his hand, twisting it and turning it so that the strange, wavy grain of the steel caught the lamp light and sparkled. Then, something out of the corner of his eye moved. Rook turned his head and he swore he saw that shadowy child dart behind a row of shelves. Rook pointed. “Who’s over there?”

Karver looked, his brow furling. “Ain’t nobody else in here, boy.” He snatched the blade away from Rook’s hand and placed it back in the cabinet. He snickered and said, “Looks like you missed out on your one chance to be rid of me. Now enough playing around with us. I got work for you to do. I need the toilet pans cleaned from the basement and some of the slaves down there messed their clothes and need washing.”

Rook frowned but dared not complain. “Yes, sir,” was all he said as he followed Karver from the room. He took one last look over his shoulder before Karver locked the door. He was certain there was the shadowy form of a boy standing in there.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Rook woke with a start. From somewhere in the deep, dark roots of the house came a scream that was long, drawn out, agonized. A woman, or possibly a man in unbelievable agony. It was muffled and subdued through the walls and floors of the house, but in the absolute dark stillness of his bedroom Rook could hear the giggles of Rennic and the grumbly voice of Garrot. Yet, Rook was certain that was not what woke him. The room seemed unusually hot and he pushed down the blankets from his body. There was an offensive odor as well, something Rook couldn’t quite place. It smelled like burnt meat only more sickly and pungent. It mingled with another odor, something more familiar: scorched rock and earth. It was the same odor he had smelled upon the Golothic.

“K…Karver?” Rook’s voice was a hoarse whisper into the ultimate darkness of the room. There was no reply.

In the crook of his armpit Ursula was sleeping. She stirred momentarily, made a sucking sound, released a contented sigh, and then resumed her peaceful dreams.