Erulan of Goss

By Len Morgan 

He was young, yet a fully paid up member of the “Goss Purloiners Guild.”  Erulan was licensed to acquire and fence, illicit goods, through the guild at the advantageous rate of 10%.

He was seventeen,  5’ 10”, wiry and muscular, with dark shoulder length hair flowing loosely in the wind. He was Intelligent, and well aware of the effect his perfect white teeth, and dark hazel eyes, had on the female sex. 

He could enrapture listeners with endless yarns. He needed to hear a story once to grasp its nuances, mannerisms, and the basic story line. He could then mimic the teller well enough to deceive his family and friends.  Women, of all casts, were drawn to and captivated by his charm. The resulting nocturnal liaisons were the source of countless pursuits across the rooftops of Goss; he had, in the past, escaped parents, irate husbands, and wild eyed suitors. 

He’d secreted money, weapons, and disguises in various bolt holes, through out the city, to aid him in his clandestine escapades.  Indiscretions were not his only reason for creating elaborate escape plans.  Erulan, a resourceful and successful thief, despite his age had amassed a tidy fortune at the expense of others.   There wasn’t a wall he couldn’t scale nor a lock he couldn’t pick in under a minute.  The Guild-master called him arrogant and cocksure, but liked him regardless, being reminded of himself at that age, there was no denying the boy’s talent.  His attitude put many backs up which was why, he assumed, he was now being pursued across the city, by a pod of stalkers from the “Assassin’s Guild”. 

  He was aware, there were two assassins tailing, him but he was more concerned with locating the third.  There would be two to harass and harry, whilst the third lay in wait somewhere up ahead.  He could sense they were herding him towards the Eastern gate so decided upon a detour, through a sprawl of dilapidated burned out ruins. He would head for the South wall of the city where he had a little surprise in store for them. He stopped, looking back anxiously he took a drink from his water flask. He bent to replace it in his pack, he heard a thud and on straightening he discovered a stiletto, throwing knife, imbedded in the door post level with his head. He briefly saw movement in his peripheral vision as the assassin moved on to a fall back location. 

“Oh you’re good!” Erulan whispered, ‘and expensive I’ll be bound,’ he mused, ‘so what have I done to warrant such specialist attention I wonder?’

He looked down at the emerald ring on the middle finger of his left hand; it had been hidden, in his clenched fist, until now. It began to glow and pulse as he entered the burned out area.  The ring was a recent acquisition he’d purloined from the room of a visiting priestess.  It was shaped like a five pointed star, and now pulsed with an inner fire. He placed it in his belt pouch, but it glowed through the thick calico.  He wrapped it in coarse linen, until it was hardly visible, then he headed towards the Southern wall of the city.  But, as he passed an undamaged doorway something told him to enter, as he did so a crossbow quarrel hit the door jamb where his head had been. He didn’t understand why, but he had twice avoided certain death; coincidence?  He didn’t believe in coincidence; his pouch was now glowing red, no longer pulsating, he took out the ring. Its light revealed an incised shape on the wall at head height just inside. He compared the shape to the emerald; he reoriented the stone to match it. Then somehow the stone was drawn into the shape, and his surroundings changed abruptly; he was now at the South wall; his destination!?

The ring had lost its glow, ‘magic!’ he thought a cold streak of fear coursed down his spine at the realisation... ‘Why did I rob a priestess, was I mad’?  At once he knew ~ this was why he was being pursued.  His first thought was to return the ring, which would make sense. But, he was now miles away from her lodging house and he was being chased by a pod of stalkers, when those hounds took an assignment they would keep on his trail, until they kill him no matter how long it took them.  His only chance was to hunt them down and wipe them out… He had funds and weapons stashed close by, his course was clear ‘kill or be killed’. 

What do I need, Weapons and funds.  I can’t return the way I came so I’ll head for the Eastern gate, where the third hound will be waiting. The best route would be the aerial root, round the wall  and across the rooftops. He climbed the South wall and followed it round toward the East gate, and then crossed over to the rooftops.  The best view point would be from the gatehouse above the gate.  He retraced his steps and traversed back to the wall. 

‘Good plan,’ he thought and made his way towards the gatehouse. The area he planned to wait was in deep shadow, but as he approached he froze, he’d seen a glint of movement within the shadow area. That must be number three.  Has he seen me? He crouched low so as not to give ‘3’ a target, then felt the wind from a quarrel and heard it pass; a near miss he could turn to his advantage “Aagh!” He screamed then lay silent removing a knife from his belt.  He lay there for minutes but nothing happened. He was about to make a move, when ‘3’ moved first. ‘Of course he would have to confirm the kill and return the ring to its owner,’ he reasoned.

“You’re a dead man, that quarrel was tipped with blaqero poison.  He waited. Erulan lay there unmoving. ‘3’ waited, to be sure the poison had taken effect, then he approached and leaned over, knife in hand. Erulan’s blade stabbed deep into his chest, his fingers lost their grip on his blade and it fell; the tip grazed Erulan’s neck…

“Bastard!” He yelled in frustration, then looked over the parapet to see if anyone had heard his cry. Two men looked up, and headed for the steps to the gatehouse.  Erulan headed to where ‘3’ had been waiting. He picked up the crossbow and quarrels and aimed at the gatehouse steps. The first headed in his direction. As the second topped the steps, Erulan shot him. He died in silence so the first was unaware of his fate until the second quarrel took him in the head.

Erulan’s vision was becoming blurred, so he dropped the bow and took an astringent pad from his kit and applied it to his neck, reasoning that No.3 wouldn’t use fatal poison on his blades in case he accidentally cut himself or a member of his pod.  Then he retreated rapidly along the wall and over the rooftops.  It might be days before the bodies were found, but he still didn’t know what, if any, poison had been on that third assassin's blade.  He knew a pod had three members, so It would be a while before the priestess set another on his trail. He returned to the place where he’d originally used the ring, and thought of the room where the priestess was lodging.

“I thought you would return when you sighted the pod. I’m surprised you are not dead. I am Maile…”   

“Erulan,” he said, “I’m afraid your stalkers are dead. I hope you weren’t too fond of them…”

“Let me see that wound. His blade was tipped with a paralysis brew, you were lucky to get here before it took full effect. Ah just a scrape, you’ll live to tell the tale.” She removed a small leather purse from a pocket in her robe, she opened it and removed a ring, matching the one he was still wearing, his was glowing red, Maile’s ring was glowing green. “They are twinned you see,” she placed it on the middle finger of her left hand. “I have need of your services, in a sense you now belong to me and will do my bidding for as long as you are needed.”

He tried to remove the ring from his finger but it was immovable.”What witchery is this?”

“You will need to cut off your finger to gain your freedom,” she said and smiled.

“So what do you want of me?”

“Unlike your many conquests, I have no need of your body; so you are free to go, but if I need you, you will know…”

 

Copyright Len Morgan