Cloak of Shadow
Cloak of Shadow Ryan Spence �I will prevail where all have died before me!� boasted a young heavyset man in embroiled finery. As he yelled, mug of ale he was holding sloshed and spilled as he made wild gestures to accent his bravado. He wore a slim mustache and kept his hair in the long style that was in fashion. At the table were he was sitting rested multiple empty mugs. There former content was evident in the way he swayed, standing on the soiled wooden boards of the tavern, as though he were perched upon the hull of a ship at sea. Near childish delight shone on his grime covered face as people turned their heads in his direction. The thunderous chorus of mingled chatter became slightly hushed around him, as people quieted, curious of what he had to say. Savoring the attention of the masses, the man drew himself up as well as he could, which was to say, as far up as he could stretch with his hand straddling the top of his stool. The man was so drawn in by the prospect of being the center of attention, he failed to notice that his hand was shaking violently, unable to support his intoxicated girth. Those near him however, expected as much from the loud bravado�s that frequented the tavern, and discretely stepped back, their eyes eagerly awaiting the scene about to take place before them. �I will seek out the Wyrm,� he paused briefly, trying to regain his composure. As he continued to speak, his speech became more and more shaky, words longer and dragged. �And� I� w�� suddenly his eyes stared vacantly in front of him, then glazed over. Down he went, a boneless heap, causing a dull thud upon impact on the tavern floor. The mug he had held had been launched into the air, but as gravity took hold, seemed to follow him down, sticking the back of his head with a dull thwack, before rolling onto the wooden beams around him. The silence died the moment he hit the floor, replaced by laughter and cheering. With almost blinding speed, conversation restarted and the man lay forgotten on the ground. Such spectacles were common in the tavern, and almost expected by its patrons. The cheap drinks attracted every kind from the surrounding town, be they sensible or foolish, rich or poor. All who paid were welcome, as long as the peace was kept, and scenes of foolishness served to keep tension down among patrons. The tavern served as a popular gathering place, as well as a place of business. It was well known that there was privacy among the masses, and many a deal was struck amid the shadowed booths of the tavern. The nature of these deals varies to each other as uniquely as minute snowflakes, never exactly the same. In the freedom of the tavern, outside law was forgotten, and only the establishments� rules were heeded. In one shadowed booths nestled against the rear of the tavern sat a young man, draped in a heavy woolen cloak. His fingers danced atop the polished surface of the worn table before him, impatience evident in the rhythm produced. His head was shaded in the darkness afforded by the hood of his cloak, and his leg rose and fell in rapid succession. Sighing loudly, he grabbed a chipped, battered old mug from the table in front of him and brought it to his lips. The rich aroma that rose up from within seemed to slither down to his lungs. Sipping slowly, its sweet contents flowed down his throat, tingling as it went. His eyes closed as he absorbed the sensation. Upon opening them, he was shocked to see another cloaked figure sitting casually across the table from him. The newcomer was covered with a cloak much the same as the young mans, only the darkness beneath his hood was somehow, more complete. Try as he might, the youth could not judge the size of the man, if indeed it was a man. It was as if the cloak shifted as though caught in a heavy gale, yet within the tavern, the air was heavy and still. Slowly the young man mastered his surprise and managed to speak. �I apologize sir, but that seat is taken�. He regretted speaking so quickly moments later, when the man flipped an engraved coin onto the table. ��Tis about time you arrived,� he managed to say through shock that had his heart racing. �I had begun to doubt your coming.� �Doubted thee the word of my brethren?� the cloaked man demanded. His voice was like quartz pressed across glass. A slight threatening tone, barely detectable, underlined his words �Nay,� the young man replied quickly, �There was never a question in my mind. �Tis just that� My stay here has been long, and there is restlessness in the air, I was beginning to fear that suspicion was mounting. For surely, one who resides as long as I, with so little to drink must have some reason behind him.� �If you worried over imagined suspicion then you are a fool,� the man replied. �Never allow impatience to claim thee. Patience art a virtue that thy life may one day depend upon. Never allow thyself to forget that.� �Just as a seemly arrival would illustrate proper business practice�, the youth shot back rashly. He realized his err the moment the words left his mouth, and he flushed a deep scarlet. Suddenly, without moving at all, the cloaked man seemed to irradiate a sense of anger, and the atmosphere around the two men seemed to grow foreboding. �Wouldst thee wish to indulge in ideals and philosophies,� the man asked slowly, stretching every word, tainting them with hostility. �Or wouldst thou wish to discuss the topic you desire so?� �Forgive my words,� the youth pleaded, �I shan�t speak in anger again. �T�was only that my ears yearn to hear the details regarding that matter I had expressed interest in earlier.� The cloaked man grunted in response to the youth�s attitude, but continued, �You had �expressed interest� in a particularly stout reward we had unveiled. Due to the nature of the task required, I am to regretfully inform you that if your wish be indeed resting on this mission, you art required to swear an oath upon your cooperation before anymore knowledge is given to thee. Limited are the details around this offer, but, as the ample bounty would indicate, the assignment is challenging indeed, and thy personal risk be very great. Also, once sworn to this task, failure to perform your appointed duty will meet in� consequences of the most, tragic nature. Remember that if you accept this task, you will be bound to it.� �I have foreseen this, and I have had ample time to make a decision,� the youth answered quickly, eager to end the exchange. �and I accept your terms. Would thou be so kind as to inform me of the details needed in this task? I wouldst not lie to thee, I am eager to be on my way.� Straitening slightly, the man reached a gloved hand inside of his cloak. Before the young man could manage a startled shout, or reach for his weapon, the man�s hand came out holding a rolled parchment. With a slight flick of his wrist, the man sent the parchment flying through the air, to land deftly before the youth. �Excellent throw,� the young man said absently, picking up the scroll and examining it. Upon the seal was an almost unperceivable imprint of an eagle�s feather. �Right then� he muttered to himself, and broke the seal. Upon opening the scroll, he found himself staring at marvelously illuminated page, with writing that announced itself as the work of a master scribe. After reading through it once, his brow knotted up in confusion. He looked up from the scroll, a question on his tongue, but he found himself staring at an empty seat. Annoyance accompanied shock as he took in what he was seeing, or rather, not seeing. Looking back at the scroll, he quietly read it out to himself again, hoping he would discover what he must have missed before. Aside from stating the very same warning that the cloaked man had told him, the scroll only contained one additional line. �Retrieve the circlet of Kings before it is lost for another age.� Suddenly the young man felt very cold. He, as well as every other living human in touch with the modern world, had heard of the circlet before. It was the single surviving relic of a time of prosperity, ages past. It was born amid a golden age, a time of wealth, and creation. It was a time of almost surreal qualities, devoid of the suffering of the modern world. This utopia had proven short-lived however, as is the case when men are involved, the good slowly decayed, and growing less caring. Eventually, all law deteriorated, and corruption reigned supreme. The circlet witnessed all of this, being an icon cast in the beginning of the age to be passed down the line of rulers. When the age came to an abrupt end, and all fell into chaos, the circlet was swept away amid the wind of destruction, never to be held in human hands again. This is not to say it was lost, for it surfaced from time to time, a symbol of remembrance. A reminder of how things could be. One such sighting had been reported only a short while earlier. The young man recalled exactly where he had seen it. Upon the bolted castle doors, hammered to the wood, had rested the report for all to see. The sighting had been made by a nameless surf, who had been tending his masters fields. Suddenly, he had claimed, the cloudless sky grew dark, and a shadow was cast over the land. Looking above him, he was startled to see a monster of incredible proportion riding the winds above him. While it�s passing held his eye captive, a flash of light drew in his attention. Dangling as if a figment of a dream, the circlet hung beneath the creature�s maw. Its many magnificent gems flashed like a beacon in the sky. The cloaked youth knew of only one creature of the likes described by the awed man. Myth and legend spoke of an ageless terror, a plight upon the land. Whispered folklore talked of the creature being from another age, a time before man. Some even suggested its involvement in the destruction and degeneration of society. None claimed to know exactly what it was, but a few, in quiet voices, named it Dragon-kind. �That would explain the reward,� he thought to himself, �they don�t expect any to return to claim it.� His shoulders slumped in defeat, a cold chill present in his spine. The warning that had previously fallen on deaf ears, now sounded like thunder striking again and again in his mind. �Accept this task, and you are bound to it.� The unsaid threat hung thickly in the air, seemingly mocking him. Either he could attempt to recover the circlet, a task that had been undertaken thousands of times by men, nay, by armies, before him. None had ever returned. Or, if he chose to forget it, he would doubtlessly �disappear�. With a silent, defeated sigh, the young man let his hood fall back, and squinted as the sudden onslaught of light bombarded his eyes. Stubble adorned his face, and a beak nose drew eyes up to his small, brown eyes. A look of hopelessness was written on his features. Slowly, as to keep his shaky hands steady, he brought them up to his head, and cradled his face. After many moments of silence, and depressed thought, he shook his body with a sudden fervor, squared his shoulders, and propped himself up in his seat. In one quick graceful motion, he drained the remainder of his mug, savoring the taste once again. �Either I die here, or I petition lady luck and attempt the fools task I brought onto myself,� he thought to himself in feigned cheer. Unexpectedly, a loud, almost mad laugh escaped his lips. �If I succeed, I might even be deemed a hero.� The heads of nearby patrons turned at the noise, and the young man felt suddenly, vulnerable in their gaze. With nary a thought, he slid his hood back over his head, relaxing as its comfortable weight rested atop his brow. He rose from his stool, and walked swiftly to the tavern door. Inside the depth of his hood, away from prying eyes, his lips parted in distaste at the thought of being deemed a hero. The prospect of being at the center of public attention terrified him. �I will recover the artifact, but only because it�s my life if I don�t,� he thought to himself, as he pushed open the door. He shivered when a cold wind crept through the wool of his cloak. �Besides, who would wish to be a hero, when it�s the hero�s that always end up dead?�
