In The Cards

Though not as readily apparent as a physical wound, a wound to the spirit can be just as deadly – and by far more painful. Take care how you inflict them, that sort of kill tends not to be a clean one.

Excerpt from ‘Interview With An Assassin’

He was cold. So very cold. Cold as the bitter and merciless snowstorm outside the window, cold as the glittering ice on the distant mountains, currently invisible through the whirling snowflakes. It wasn’t the fault of the room. The walls were sturdy enough; the fire in the fireplace was bright and hot. But not even an erupting volcano would have sufficed to warm the spirit of the man who was sitting at the table, staring listlessly at the wild dance of the snowflakes. This wasn’t the cold of the body; it was the cold of dark despair, paralyzing the soul.

The snowflakes carried on their frantic dance. Under other circumstances, they might have seemed cheerful. As it was, they just looked desperate and lost. And yet they were perfectly formed, each one similar to the other, yet each one beautiful and unique. Like a child.

Dekaras shook his head briefly. That wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain at the moment. It led to other thoughts, thoughts he had been trying very hard to push back into the darkest recesses of his mind. It seemed impossible to keep them completely at bay though. Or, if he was honest with himself, to keep them away at all.

Had Edwin been able to see his mentor at this moment, he would have been deeply shocked. At a first glance, the black-garbed assassin seemed his normal self, and certainly recovered from the wounds he had suffered in Baldur’s Gate. However, anybody who knew him well would have noticed some subtle differences. For one thing, the slump of his shoulders as he sat at the table, leaning his head against one hand, didn’t just look brooding; it looked utterly dejected. Though he made a frequent habit of schooling his face into an emotionless mask when the situation called for it, right now it seemed somehow frozen. The worst was the look of naked pain in his eyes though, as if he had just had his heart torn out of his body and ripped to bloody shreds. Being forced to realize the truth had taken care of that.

He had certainly tried denial at first, and had been quite good at it too. After all, there could be plenty of legitimate reasons for Edwin not to show up at the designated time and place, many of them extremely worrying. And he had been worried, increasingly so as the time passed and there still was no sign of the boy. After all, he knew Edwin, and knew how likely the wizard was to get himself into trouble without proper guidance. He had waited, and worried, and become increasingly certain that something must have gone hideously wrong, and that he had committed a terrible error. Or several. We never should have left Thay in the first place.

Then, he had had what he had then considered a lucky break. A wizard had happened to be passing through the small town of Lonelywood, one with a fair knowledge of divination spells. It had seemed like the logical thing to ask him to scry for Edwin, and find out where he was, and when he would be arriving. Yes. Very logical. Of course, deep down I think I already knew the truth. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. Not again. Once was quite enough.

The assassin stared emptily at the falling snow, his thoughts once again running down the same dark trails they had done for the past few days. I failed. I thought…I honestly thought that despite not being able to claim him openly, I had at least managed to make him care for me somewhat. How I must have deluded myself. If that had been the case, he never would have done this. He never would deliberately have misled me in such a grave manner; never have betrayed me like this.

The diviner had been clearly afraid to speak the truth, that Edwin was not on his way and never had intended to come in the first place, and he had run off at the first opportunity. Fool. I never was one to kill the messenger.

The snow was falling faster now, building up against the window, even as the cold despair was building in his soul. But I am no less the fool. I did it again, didn’t I? I fooled myself into thinking that I could trust him, that I meant something to him. And I was wrong. So utterly wrong. It is the same thing all over again. And since I know he is not incapable of caring, then obviously the flaw must lie with me.

That all made a terrible sense. After all, hadn’t he been rejected even as a child, rejected and betrayed by his own family? It didn’t seem at all unreasonable that it might happen again. Though in some ways, this was even worse. At least with my parents, I know why they did it, that they were following custom, cruel as it was. But Edwin…why would he do such a thing? If I managed to make him hate me that much, then I must have deserved it. Then I must deserve whatever happens to me. Perhaps he is better off without me. Perhaps I ought to make certain I never darken his life again, since he has gone to such lengths to be rid of me. I only ever wanted to keep him happy and safe. And perhaps I can still do that.

Dekaras nodded, hardly noticing how lightheaded the motion made him feel. He couldn’t quite remember when he had last eaten, or slept for that matter. Such matters currently seemed utterly unimportant. Yes. It all made sense now. If Edwin would do a thing like this to be free of him, then he must have deserved it. If he had deserved it, then it must have been because he had failed his child in the most terrible manner. And if so, he owed him to make that up to him. It was all very, very logical.

The sky was rapidly darkening outside, and the bitter wind was increasing. Far in the distance, above the storm, there was the long and mournful howl of a wolf. Moments later, another responded, and then another, a sad chorus echoing the increasingly dark thoughts of the assassin. Some deep part of his soul wanted to rise and howl with them. Slowly, almost tentatively, he drew one of his daggers, turning the slim blade over and over in his hand. It would be so easy. After all, who knows better than I how to do this? I could probably make it almost painless. But that, I don’t really deserve, now do I?

With a distant, almost absent-minded look in his black eyes he pressed the edge of the blade into his skin, gently drawing it across the palm. The pain was sharp and hot, and so was the blood that slowly trickled onto the table. The brief heat felt good, very good. It is cold here. So cold. Colder even than the winter in Rasheman.

And the pain…the pain was a relief of a kind. Physical pain, real and tangible, nothing like the complex torment of the soul. Nothing like the winter in his heart.

Yes. This is the way of it. Slowly. Carefully. Methodically.

Another cut, higher up along the arm, just a little bit deeper, but not yet deep enough to damage the underlying structures. He knew just how to open the artery of course, but that would have to wait for later. Such lovely heat…almost like magic.

Minutes passed, and by now the sky was completely black, with the glittering stars resembling tiny glittering needles far above, but hidden by the clouds. The wolves were still singing their sad song, but inside the room all was quiet.

There was some more blood on the table now, and the deep red color of it suddenly brought to mind images of red robes, and of equally red lips smiling from a lovely and imperious face, dominated by a pair of dangerously flashing eyes. Would she mourn me if I were gone? I…would have thought so before. But now…I don’t know. If I could have been so wrong about our son…might I not have been equally wrong about her? And even if I’m not…through my failure, Edwin will bring the wrath of the Red Wizards down on himself, something he cannot possibly hope to survive. She could never forgive me that. And…I could not bear to see the hatred and rejection in her eyes. Not her as well. Far better this brief pain of the flesh, so much easier to bear. Far better to simply disappear and never hear the condemnation in her voice.

Another superficial cut, and some more of the brief and feather light pain, keeping him anchored in reality, distracting him from the deeper wounds of the soul. And then…there was a brief movement at the door, the shadows shifting slightly. Dekaras turned his head, not really caring about what it was. When he saw the shape standing there he froze in mid motion, hardly believing his own eyes.

It was Edwin. But not the wizard as he had last seen him, back in Baldur’s Gate. Rather, this was the child of many years ago. The small boy stood by the door, his face solemn, and his eyes curious under his shock of messy dark hair. “Father?” he said. “What are you doing?”

Father. The two simple syllables pierced the assassin’s heart like a blade, making him inhale sharply even as his face twisted with a sudden spasm of pain. He had never heard his child speak that word to him in reality, and didn’t expect to ever do so, being forced to keep the relationship secret, as he had been, even to the boy himself. But in dreams…in dreams he had heard it thousands of times, in thousands of different imagined situations. His imagination could be cruelly inventive when it came to picturing things that had never been, and that never would be.

I must already be dead then. Dead or dreaming, and I am not certain which I would prefer.

“Father?” the child spoke again. “Are you all right?” He slowly crossed the floor until he stood by the seated man’s knee, looking up into his face. The distress in his eyes certainly seemed genuine enough.

“What…” Dekaras said, and then he had to clear his throat in order to be able to continue. “What are you? You certainly aren’t real.”

“Yes I am!” Edwin protested, sounding highly indignant. “I’m right here, can’t you see me?” Then he frowned. “Well, I’m here, but I’m not here here. But I’m real anyway, just not in the way you think. Really I am. What are you doing?” Then his eyes went very large and round. “You’re hurt!” he cried out despondently. “Did you…why did you do that?” His lips started trembling. “Are you that mad at me for what I did?”

“I…”

There were tears rising in the child’s eyes now. “Please don’t go away, Father. Please don’t hate me, even if you’re mad at me.” He reached out his arms in a pleading gesture. “Father? Please?”

There was, of course, only one possible course of action. The assassin gently picked the child up, and seated him on his lap, hugging him closely. “Of course I don’t hate you,” he murmured. “I always loved you, and I always will, no matter how many times you reject me.” And that is exactly why it hurts so much.

He wasn’t certain how long he cradled the boy in his arms, rocking him slowly. It might have been seconds, minutes or even hours. It was comfort, of a sort, but it was painful all the same. Still, he never wished for it to stop, even despite the burning and tight sensation in his throat and behind his eyes, which would almost certainly have become tears if he had still been able to cry.

“Father?” Edwin eventually said. “I…I must go now. I’m sorry. I love you. And I need you, I really do.”

“You…you do?” I wish I could believe that. I really do.

The small boy nodded as he carefully slid down to the floor. “Yes. You’ll need me too, but I’ll need you first. Please…you must be careful. There are lots of bad things coming…” He walked towards the door, and gradually faded away into nothing.

Now, that last sentence, I can easily believe. Dekaras sighed, closing his eyes. He was suddenly feeling extremely tired, drained of all energy. The wounds had stopped bleeding by now, and he couldn’t really summon up the energy to deal with them at the moment. They weren’t deep enough to cause any real damage anyway, not yet. Right now he wanted only to immerse himself in the vision of his child, be it dream or hallucination. He didn’t care which. I can at least pretend that it was real, and that he truly does care. Pretend…at least for a little while.

Wearily he rose, taking hold of the table to steady himself as the world suddenly spun before his eyes, and then slowly and carefully crossed the floor to the bed, and lay down. He should probably try to sleep some, or he would really be as worthless as he felt. Anyway…I was wrong to try to take the easy way out. Cowardly, even. He closed his eyes, shivering. Even…even if he should truly hate me, I still have a duty to guard and protect him, and watch over him, and I cannot betray that. I cannot betray that trust, even if he did, or I would betray myself.

By now, the wolves had stopped their howling, though the wind was getting stronger, and the snow was still piling up against the window. Duty. That…is some comfort. Just a little bit. And yet…I still feel so cold. So very, very cold.