Demon of the Black Gate

Sinjin joined a small caravan bound for the Moon Bridge where they would transfer their load of Denish tea to a pair of small boats. The siege of the Black Gate had not stopped the boat traffic on the Emerald River, though it was sporadic at best. The powerful current of the river through the narrow gap was too much to overcome for most craft, and only when the wind was blowing up the canyon could a sailboat hope to make it upriver to the wharves of Deniago.

Sinjin was a mercenary, most recently engaged to command the personal guard of one known only as the ‘patron’. Sinjin was privy to the man’s name: Rovinkar. But like many times in his career, secrets must be kept. To be a member of the Guild of Hashanana meant keeping secrets. To be a member of the guild was a well guarded secret. His skills went beyond the brutish need for swordplay or muscle. Sinjin was trained to stalk, gather information, kill if need be. Without the braids and badges of his office as the personal guard of an imperial dignitary, Sinjin assumed the robes of a tradesman. He was of medium height, hair a non-descript brown. Sinjin felt he could become invisible if he wanted, so skilled was he at blending in. Though, as with many who overestimate their own skills, he did not take to account his impersonal gray eyes and humorless mien. People wouldn’t notice him it was true, unless he stayed in their presence for very long. Then they would start to see the detachment, the uncaring mood. Without knowing why, they would set themselves apart within a day or two. Even though ignorant of his effect on people, Sinjin was equally glad to keep apart. Attachments were a weakness. An attachment may stay ones hand. He felt he was a fortunate man.

He was indeed fortunate upon arriving at the Moon Bridge. The desert winds were gathering and funneling up the canyon of the gate. The journey would be choppy but as swift as he could hope. He dutifully engaged in shifting the load of tea to the waiting boat. It was tied up at a short pier that stuck into the river, taking advantage of an eddy pool behind the foot of the bridge. The small flotilla of boats departed the docks, bound upriver as a few others had earlier, taking advantage of the necessary winds. Even though the more aged and experienced of the rivermen maintained the winds would carry for a few days, none would delay, for all knew the winds could shift at any time, boring down the Stands and through the Black Gate, its currents embroiled with the remains of the fallen cliff. Sinjin withstood the battering and wet sail upriver. He did not like boats. He preferred horses and land.

He acquired a horse in Deniago. His search would begin in the Dragon’s Teeth, according to his patron, to Rovinkar. The patron had supplied him with a very good sketch of his quarry. His orders were to capture her and return her to Rovinkar. Sinjin was not a fan of kidnapping. He much preferred assassination. Clean. Problem solved. It was not easy to bring someone in against their will. It was not clean and the problem rarely solved.

Few good trails existed to take trade wagons and caravaners to the Second Stand. The main route ran to the west, and eased up through the canyon to Bridash. Going north, the only route for Sinjin to take to reach the Dragon’s Teeth was the Falling Rocks road. Though the name wasn’t promising, the avenue was. Generations past had shored up the cuts of the road into the necessary stone abutments to widen and straighten even the most treacherous stretches. His passage was swift, though the trail had recently taken damage showing both evidence of slides and pockets of fire.

It wasn’t until he was into the region of the Dragon’s Teeth that he began to show the sketch he carried. There was an unspoken power about the wizard that Sinjin viewed with professional wariness. Sinjin had watched as Rovinkar deftly illustrated the woman’s face. Nuance had been caught with an artists touch. Sinjin had noted too when Rovinkar moistened a finger and laid a wet swirl of orange over the lines of her hair. It had seemed a magical application. The red hair. It was not a common feature to these people of the Stands. The people of red and auburn hair were found in the Aires, islands to the West that bordered the Mernasses Ocean. She would be easy to find.

He sought his quarry by first checking the women’s guilds. His experience was that the mid-wives were voluble and eager sources of news, and as the woman appeared to be of childbearing years was likely to be known in those circles. It was in Aleston that he got his first clue. The midwife there was also the wife of the brewer.

“Why that is Cerra of the Meadows, there’s no mistake. Vickers” she drew her husband aside “… is this Cerra Meadows, or is it not? It’s the hair. You see.” The man grunted his agreement and went back to his work. “Why she’s up by Amberland Gap of course. Where did you get such a nice drawing? And what would you be wantin’ her for?”

Sinjin made an off-hand claim of a sister skilled with a pen, and enough of a story to extract himself from further questioning. Amberland Gap was well into the Dragon’s Teeth, close to the great rise of the Granite Mountains. A days ride at most. He would have to be more discreet as he neared her home territory. His queries upon entering Amberland Gap began naturally at the Inn that promised to be the most popular. His story was a simple and unassuming as he could make it. He made that he was but from Aleston, and his sister was returning a favor that he had been pressed upon to deliver.

The woman was most effusive. “Why she’ll appreciate that. Would you like me to give it to her. She’s supposed to be coming to town next Marisday. ”

Sinjin declined the offer, only asking directions.

“Why just take the east road … it’ll be a path before too long. After two or three leagues … I never know … it always seems like such a distance ... it must be forever to Cerra … well, then there is a trail that heads south between the Copperteeth … can’t miss them to be sure. Another league from there and you’ll find the loveliest cottage. Right next to a couple of small lakes. If you reach Scotts Mill, you’ve gone to far.”

The woman laughed at her own joke, for Scotts Mill was many leagues beyond Cerra’s cottage.

“She is so lucky, that one, in spite of everything. Well, you know. You say you’re from Aleston? Why then you must know Berra Carver.”

“Any Carver is well known” Sinjin answered as convincing and evasive as he could, then begged the lateness of the day for his hasty departure. The questions were inevitable but he had all the information he needed.

“Now he was a odd one, don’t you think?” said Barnam.

“What did he say his name was?”

“He didn’t, Merilinn.” came her husband’s reply.

Part 2

There will be a time

that you will have go into your own darkness.

You can be sure you are not beyond love.

The darkness will be your haven.

It will give you a horizon

further than you can see.

You must learn one thing:

The world was made to be free in.

Sometimes it takes darkness

and the confines of your own self

to discover that any person or thing

that does not bring you to life

is too small for you.

- Jessann of the Meadows