Two Ends of Destiny

By Ryan Viergutz

Chased by assassins, warrior inquisitor Metevius Idarante enters Sannicul, a city he hasn't seen for ten years. Upon building a new contact chain, including a professional dominant and her apprentice, Metevius is framed for the murder of a monk. He soon learns about an apocalyptic cult in Sannicul, and the belief that the fate of the world may rely on the conflict between two men.

What will Metevius do when the dominant, in her side job as a merchant, injects herself into his activities, and the apprentice exhibits a connection to the beliefs? What will he do when he puts the Sign of the Pincers together and finds out that the cult may in fact be correct? Could the curse destroying his body kill him first?

With the politics and mystery of a spy thriller, the mystical atmosphere of high fantasy and cheerful dominatrix scenes, it is the first of a projected three book series, though it stands alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ryan Viergutz
• Release date: May 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476362564

Ryan Viergutz

I'm a freelancer, writer, roleplayer and gamer. I don't want to live in the same place any longer than a year for a very long time and I am always yearning for adventure. The first two overlap often enough that they're almost the same thing, though they aren't by anyone's measure. Regardless of the state I'm in, I am always roleplaying and I allow myself to indulge in gaming, usually of a video game variety, sometimes. At any given time I will have a scifi or fantasy book in my hands or in my travel bag.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Metevius Idarante leaned his back against the cold stone wall and breathed heavily. He closed his eyes and listened for any sounds of activity in the chamber he had recently left. He heard rats chittering around his feet, and felt their rancid furry bellies crawling over his cracked leather boots. Water dripped in the distance. He didn't hear any people, and that was the important thing.

Secure for the time being, he reached behind his leather jerkin and touched his skin, assuring himself that nothing else had come undone in the last fight with the assassins. He felt the usual collection of sores and bruises, and, upon touching a particularly nasty sore on his left forearm, winced. That one had been there from the beginning, and it hadn't hurt too much since last year.

Most of his things hadn't fallen out of his pouches, either, mercifully. The last punch, from a huge bruiser, had knocked him halfway across the great hall, and anything could have come of that. He still had most of his survival gear, both from the middle of nowhere and the city. One of his candles had apparently fallen out, but he had three others, and it wasn't that grave a loss.

His chest ached from the blow, and that would take a while to recover. One of the sores had almost been opened there, and Metevius was beginning to think a divinity was looking out for him. Here he was, trapped in an unfamiliar, decaying castle, a group of assassins running him ragged, and he was actually, surprisingly, not down and out just yet.

He looked around the corner one second time and saw a shadow flittering between a pair of stone openings that had, whether ten or a hundred years ago, had held windows. It left the way it had come, with a soft footfall. Metevius waited a couple seconds and then darted to the doorframe. He began a mental map. This, by the ovens and plates, had been the kitchen.

That would make sense, if he had thrown down in the great hall. From there, he could get to the courtyard, and from there, to the horses. He would have to find another, of course. They had shot his from beneath his ass and started this whole endeavour. He had no idea how many assassins he had come across, whether ten or a hundred, but he doubted he would encounter more than a dozen. Assassins just didn't work like that.

He had thought long enough, and it was time for action. Metevius crept into the great hall, clinging to the walls. Small rays of moonlight lit the hall, and he quickly made his way past a few of them. He didn't see anyone else, which surprised him. He would have thought someone would have been hanging around in wait.

Intuition told him that they were playing with him, that they knew exactly where he was, and had set him up for a fall. If that was so, he wouldn't have a chance. They could be upon him before he could think. Metevius shook his head. Pessimism wouldn't do anything for him. He found himself hard pressed to think of any other tactic they could have dreamed up.

A leather pouch rubbed against his leg, and he looked down at it. He squished the pouch between his fingers, looked up at the windows, and thought. The candle gave him an idea. They crawled up on him, ambushed him and, as far as he could see, left him there to rot and die. Not a bad strategy. It might have worked, and he felt a twinge of fear at the idea.

No. They were still here. Before he thought further, he would have to know where they were. The windows were placed at a position three times his height, and he scaled them, finding careful handholds. A fall would not do him any good, and probably alert the assassins to his position. He leaned his head over the wall and looked around into the bare light of the courtyard.

Metevius saw two of them two hundred feet away, standing next to a huge, overturned stone. He had seen one of them in the last fight with the bruiser, standing behind the man's bulk. He had short brown hair and wore a black coat with red streaks much like Metevius's coat, but Metevius wore a somewhat lighter and rougher fabric. It let him blend in with other things than the dark, he found. The man's sword was in its scabbard, and, instead of pouches, he had a big, pocketed coat.

As for the other figure, Metevius had no clue whether he was looking at a man or a woman. It had covered its body, from head to toe, in a buckled leather suit. The straps, one to each wrist and ankle, and four encircling its chest, gleamed against the worn black leather. Its small mouth was open to the air. It hid its eyes behind opaque, reflective optics.

While he stared at the person, it spoke. Metevius ducked down and listened.

It spoke in the soft, harsh voice of a woman. We should go.

We should stay, the man replied, as sinuous as a snake. You know full well that Nosti hunts for Idarante as we speak.

Metevius wasn't surprised they knew his name. They probably knew his business. He had been targeted.

Yes, but I do not like the open, the woman said.

No fooling, Metevius thought.

Of course, of course, said the man. Give him a few more minutes, and then we will be out of here.

Had you considered that Idarante would not be able to escape without a horse? the woman said.

Yes, the man said tiredly. I want to see his corpse. I will not believe he is dead until I see him headless at my feet.

Metevius's fingers tensed on the stone wall.

So bloodthirsty, said the woman.

I am not bloodthirsty, the man said angrily. I am not like you with... with inflicting pain. I have a purpose and I must see it done.

As do I, said the woman.

I will never understand why you wear that ridiculous costume, said the man.

People are scared of me when I wear it, and they tell me things, said the woman. That is all there is to it.

What is so terrifying about leather, Nalist? said the man.

Metevius slowly let himself leave the wall. He wouldn't learn anything else important this way. They were in a perfect position for his idea, as long as the others didn't come out and sneak up on him. He didn't see their horses, but they were probably stabled somewhere behind them, out of view. They wouldn't let them stand unprotected.

He tugged the candle out of the pouch and crept toward the door. He scooped a few dry bushes and plants from the great hall's floor. This would have to be huge, and even then, they might not notice it. He had a second part to the plan, but it would have to begin without a problem.

He set the bushes and plants by the doorframe leading to the courtyard, in a single heap. He bent down next to them and, with the tinderbox, flicked the candlewick into a softly glowing flame. He set it on top of the heap and watched the flame rise to the top of the doorframe. He fanned it with his hands, out of Nalist and her friend's sight, and it lifted all the way to the stone border.

What the hell is that? asked the man. Is that him?

I think so, Nalist said.

He's setting us a trap, the man said. Don't fall for it. Wait and see what he's going to do with it.

Nalist didn't reply.

Metevius stared into the fire and looked for the largest branch he had tossed into it. He found one, picked it up, and concentrated on the connection between his hand and the branch. White gears made of human bone appeared in his mind's eye, lubricated and stained by red blood. They squished against each other and ground mercilessly. He felt an explosion, and, abruptly, the gears grinding slowly inside the wood.

The wood barely had any energy stored away inside it, so devoid of replenishment. Metevius would supply more speed than the branch, but he only needed to use it once. He peeked his head around the doorframe, saw the two people staring at him together. He smiled, flung the branch at them and charged at them, sword yanked from its scabbard.

He, in contrast to the wood, had plenty of speed stored away. The pair rushed toward him, and he charged up both his body and the sword in his hand. Nalist reached him first, to his surprise, two long claws flicking out of her leather gloves. She spun in a circle and sliced at him, each claw in turn. He deflected one and let the other catch on his coat. It knocked her off balance and she sprawled to the ground behind him.

He had thought she would be too bright for that, but he wasn't about to complain. The man, a scowl on his face, stood still in the timelessness of the duel. Metevius slowed his speed to a steady walk, and thrusted at the man in a test. The man snapped it aside, snorting at the worthless attack.

The small sensation of the gears churning in the steel blade, strong and glistening, told Metevius that the man was holding back. He had far more energy than he was using, and he was the real threat here. He nodded with appreciation, and the man slowly turned his head up and down, gravely. Not a terribly humorous person, then. No problem.

Metevius still had the charge built into his steel, and slashed twice at the man, trying to knock him to the ground. The man beat them both aside, and began an attack of his own. The second had been a feint that led way to an evasive maneuver. He lunged right, behind his opponent, and ran as fast as he could to a series of stones at the edge of the courtyard, where he gambled the horses would be.

The man turned around, sheathed his sword, and crossed his arms. You win, this time. But I will pursue you, and find you again, and I will have your head.

Metevius didn't answer until he reached the four horses held by stakes in the ground. He consoled the nearest horse and climbed onto its back. It didn't agree to his commands at first, but he nudged it forward and it clattered out of the courtyard, into clear view of the two assassins.

Neither of them took the opportunity to shoot at him. The man just stood and shook his head, whereas Nalist had picked herself off the ground and glared at him, like, if he could, he would chase him all the way to the city. Just as they left his visual range, the bruiser rushed out of the castle and shook his fist.Metevius smiled and looked forward to the day's ride to Sannicul. With any luck, they wouldn't follow him.

To his surprise, they didn't. The trip to Sannicul, the capitol of its country, was quiet and uneventful, and he slept through half its length. Once he saw a highwayman waiting in a small hut, but he was well out of range by the time they saw each other. The horse was a fine, pleasant steed, tough and strong if not particularly fast. According to its friendliness, it had apparently not all that loyal to its former masters, a happenstance that Metevius found reassuring.

Metevius's scratches became bruises, and his sores scabbed up, and they both rubbed against his leather jerkin. They kept him awake, like always, and he reread the letter from his queen several times, for a lack of anything else to do. The assassins knew his mission, he was sure, and his thoughts kept going back to why they hadn't followed him from the castle.

Maybe they wanted him to get closer to his target before they executed him. That way, they could go all the way to the source and destroy the chain. Metevius smiled at that thought. He didn't think they knew they were dealing with Queen Rizuela of Alsibian, perhaps the only force that could counter the Three Dukes of Sannicul. That brought him to the letter, which he ran through again.

To Agent Idarante,

You know of the tensions between the Alsibian and Sannicul borders since Linriga rose up against us. Even I, second queen in succession since the Linriga Rebellion, do not fully understand the activities behind the scenes nor the complexity of the rivalries involved with the struggle. But where you and I are largely alone, Sannicul's nobility wars within itself, and I must, finally, know the reason for this.

As my greatest lieutenant, you are privy to all of my secrets, except for one. Last year, on the fifteenth anniversary of my succession, an attempt was made on my life. You were there, at my side. But precisely four days after it, to the minute, a second person, a young, bald, and incredibly white boy came to my chambers. He forced me to the ground, and said, in my face, that a series of actions would bring my death, and, with it, that of Alsibian, in the next year.

This scared me, but I continued on, to live up to my heritage. But Sannicul is making moves against the Alsibian border, again, and your intelligence in the past weeks have told me there may well be a connection between my assassin, my would-be prophet, and Sannicul's buildup of soldiers. I am sending you to Sannicul to investigate the central court, and report what you discover.

If you find the person responsible, and cannot contact me for whatever reason, you are sanctioned to discreetly eliminate that agent. If you are caught, I must disavow your actions and let Sannicul subject you to their mercy. I have faith in you, Agent Idarante. Find the truth.

Queen Sarsatta Rizuela, Queen of Alsibian

Metevius had thought, when he saw them riding toward him, that they were mercenaries. Then they shot his horse out from beneath him and could have left him to die. He had been a day out from Alsibian and encountered four assassins who knew his name. If he was truly on to something, he had no idea at all what it would be.

He folded up the letter, tucked it inside his coat and squinted out at the noon sun. He crested a hill and saw the city walls of Sannicul, grey stone three hundred and seventy years old, four and a half miles away and five hundred feet high. Any answers he would discover would be found inside its populated streets. He had already been there, but ten years ago. People, and places, change. He had changed, too. Ten years ago he hadn't been cursed with a rotting body.

Chapter 2

As Metevius came into the gates on his stolen horse, not a single head turned toward him. The other dozen travelers coming into the city had family or friends meeting and greeting them, except for one fellow who looked like a drunkard anyway. God only knew where they had come from. He had seen a few side roads from the castle, but he hadn't seen a settlement anywhere along it. Maybe they lived a dozen miles off of it.

He hadn't seen this many people ten years ago, and the city was more crowded than it had ever been. Three stable boys manned that place, and even that had become enormous compared to what it had been. He handed each them a coin, told them to keep secret, and to do whatever they wanted with the money. It was more than they saw in a day.

He had plenty more money to spare, and with it in hand he needed to find a place to stay for a long duration. He would be here, he estimated, for at least several weeks, if not even half a year. It all rode on how difficult it would be to get to the center of the court, find someone to interrogate, or at least observe.

Inns were set up alongside the main road, luring in the travelers. Behind them lurked the darker parts of the city, and he made a mental note to remember their locations. That was where he belonged, but he had an old friend in this part of the city, and, one never knew, he might even be okay with free lodging, temporarily or more.

Metevius opened the door to the inn, sat down on a table in a corner and waited for someone to come to him. The room was crowded, filled with drinkers and bar wenches, and he thought it might very well be a while. Then he saw Cheykin standing and serving drinks, and slowly made eye contact. Cheykin jumped, as high strung as always, and slowly made his way through to where Metevius sat.

What'll you have today, sir? Cheykin asked.

A medium brandy, if you might, Metevius said. And information.

One hand came out with the requested drink. Metevius took the bottle and Cheykin smiled. It's been a while, Idarante. What, ten years now?

Your memory is good, old man, Metevius said. What's been going on?

Cheykin sighed heavily. A great many things, my friend. Where do I begin?

Begin with the border, Metevius said.

The Free Cities? Linriga? Metevius took a sip.

Alsibian, Cheykin said.

Yeah, Metevius said. Things have been happening.

Cheykin leaned forward. It's a touchy subject. Nerves are up everywhere, and no one's sure when we'll be going forth with our move.

Metevius set the bottle on the table. But you will.

Unless something unusual happens, Cheykin said.

Metevius tapped a finger on his lips and looked idly around the bar. No heads had turned their way, even with the main bartender sitting in a corner talking to an unfamiliar figure. Only one or two watched, and the clothes and possessions looked like those of a traveler. No one to worry about. The bar felt way too quiet for his taste.

Tell you what, Metevius said. I'll sit here and drink a bit more. When you get to a good lull, you come over and chat with me more.

Cheykin laughed. This isn't a lull?

This is eerie, Metevius said. We're being watched.

Cheykin nodded cautiously. Okay. Back in a few, Idarante.

Metevius watched his old friend idly as Cheykin went about his business. In his thirties, Cheykin had built this bar and inn, and hired his people gradually, bringing them in as they proved their expertise to him. He had one of the higher esteemed inns in the entire town, especially with his laidback and untroubled way of life. Now in his fifties, Cheykin wasn't about to go away any time soon.

His friend's body, like Metevius's, began to show traces of wear, though. Most people in this world never lived further than their middle fifties, and Cheykin was making his way slowly but patiently through the ages. His round face smiled, his brown eyes stood at alert, and his body quickly refilled glasses and greeted new patrons. He had a good run in front of him. Maybe envy told him so, but Metevius could tell.

The people watching Metevius from the center and corners of the room did, too, according to their dangerous expressions. They weren't the sort of people to give in to anything easily, and fingered the knives undoubtedly beneath their shirts and jerkins. He smiled idly at them and waved. At the moment, he wasn't here to be trouble.

One of them, a man with sweaty brown hair and the muscles of a blacksmith, stomped up to his seat. Metevius lifted the bottle to him and shrugged.

What's the problem, sir? Metevius asked.

You don't belong here, the man said.

Metevius thought about this. You're saying this to me, and I don't even know your name.

You don't need to, the man said. I don't know yours, either, but I don't trust you.

Metevius sighed. Think about this. You're just drunk. Go back to your friends for a while. Don't make this a scene.

I already have.

Have you? Metevius said. I've murdered more men than are sitting in this bar. You think you can stand up to me?

You're an assassin, the man said. You've done them all in behind their backs.

I'm a soldier, Metevius said. Trained by the best in the army.

Really, the man said.

Metevius shrugged. You just won't a simple no, will you?

No.

Metevius stood up. One of the sores beneath his jerkin broke open, and he winced. The man noticed, and his eyes opened into anger. Metevius planted his feet and curled his hands into fists. The man didn't move. Metevius just watched him, and eventually, the man backed down and stepped away.

Exactly as he had expected, the man spun around and leveled a punch for Metevius's chest. Notwithstanding that such a blow would put him well out of commission, Metevius blocked the man's hand and pulled it behind his back into a lock. He yanked it upward and the man moaned with the pain.

Now, you'll quietly walk around and leave me alone. Got it? Metevius said.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, said a soft voice.

Metevius pushed the man down onto his table and looked up. What? Someone else want some of this?

The man was a monk, according to the brown robe and bald head. He wore a ring on his right hand, with a symbol Metevius didn't recognise. No. This bar attracts plenty of violence, and I thought we need see no more. Please, let him up. He will not harm you.

He wanted to, Metevius said. He yanked on the man's arm. You did, didn't you?

Yes, the man said. No, I don't, now.

Metevius let him up and shoved him toward his friends. He stayed planted to the floor and looked the monk up and down. Who are you? Where do you come from?

I am Laris Sherr, the monk said. I come from the monastery fourteen miles south of this city.

Metevius squinted. Why are you here?

Could I ask why you are here? Sherr asked.

No.

The monk nodded. I am the ambassador from the monastery to the Sannicul council. I am a peaceable man.

Sure you are, Metevius said. No one is. He motioned to the chair Cheykin had left. Take a seat, old man.

Sherr sat down. Metevius took his seat again, still feeling tense. This place had changed, perhaps for the worst. His instincts told him that someone was watching him, but he couldn't figure it out. Cheykin wouldn't have set him up for a fall, and this monk sitting across from him didn't look like he could harm anything, even an insect.

Relax, Sherr said. You know your strength. You have nothing to fear.

It's not fear, Metevius said.

Sherr cocked his head and smiled like the old man he was. Then what is it, my friend? You can tell me. Consider me your confessor.

I have nothing to confess that you would like to hear, Metevius said. I am more interested in your duties as the ambassador to the council. Why would a monk, and an old one at that, come into a bar? Nothing here would interest a man like you. You have a reason for it. I would like to know what it is.

The old man nodded. I carry a letter with me, which I did not fully understand. Do you know anything about the religious conflicts that have been plaguing this city for the last three years?

Metevius shook his head. I am newly arrived, after a long absence.

You show it, my friend, Sherr said. You might want to relax a little.

You keep saying I'm your friend, and that I should relax, Metevius said. I suggest you stop doing either, right now.

Sherr hesitated at the anger in Metevius's voice, and nodded. I will acquiesce to your wishes, sir. If I may tell you about the religious situation?

Metevius motioned him onward. Please. Go on.

The borders between Alsibian, to the north, and this country have recently become anxious. Raids on outposts come nearer to our primary castle, and many of my friends are worried that Alsibian might finally pierce the castle and invade our land. They have the advantage, you understand, strengthened by our religious beliefs, Sherr said.

Metevius nodded.

In three weeks comes the fiftieth anniversary of Linrigan independence. Many of us... though not myself... believe that this signals the Apocalypse, and that, when the date arrives, the world will end. Something about numerology, timing and the date of birth of the three greatest warriors, one from each country. Sherr shivered. It makes no sense, but their beliefs terrify me.

Metevius shrugged. Superstition. What does this matter to me?

Sherr drew a piece of paper from his vestments. This letter I received two days ago. It told me a man would come into this bar, today, a man of your same features. It told me I should contact him and tell him about the apocalyptic beliefs. Nothing more.

Metevius scanned it. It was as the old man said. He looked up, confusion on his features. You are newly arrived, too, then. Why did you come? Why did you trust this message, without knowing its source?

The old man chuckled nervously. I did not think I should chance it. Perhaps it came from an angel of God, and you could in fact save our world.

Metevius frowned. So you do believe.

I believe I need any allies I can find, Sherr said. Dark things are happening in Sannicul this moment. The king and his council have become decadent, and they have waged war on the poor. People are struggling, and they need any help they can find.

You think I might help, Metevius said.

Sherr shook his head. You have the letter. I have played my only part in this.

Metevius folded the paper and stashed it away. Well, thank you, old man. You come from the monastery in the south. How difficult is this place to find?

We are well hidden, Sherr said. We do not typically like distraction from our religious duties.

Metevius nodded slowly as the old man bowed to him, got up and left the bar. Cheykin came over a few minutes after. His eyes asked the question.

Letter, Metevius said. Some religious nut. Refers to me.

It refers to you? Cheykin said. Can I see it?

Metevius passed the letter to Cheykin. Someone's on to me. This letter said I would arrive today. I was ambushed by four assassins on the way here. Do you think they were the source?

It would make sense, Cheykin said.

I'll have to run on that, Metevius said. I'm already going to the red light district later today, to find a place and lie low for a while. There's too much activity surrounding me right now. I need to hide and replenish.

Cheykin laughed. There's a story about that place, let me tell you. There's a woman, this merchant named Affley, who's been running a business in Sannicul for a couple of years now. She's different, and isn't something neither you nor anyone else has seen yet.

Affley? Metevius said.

She manages two jobs, and supposedly a third, don't ask me how. She's only a woman, you know? One is a leather merchant, sells boots, horse harnesses and whips. I'm not sure where they come from. Second is a ... she says it's a dominatrix, whatever that is. Men, sometimes women, pay her to chain them to walls and beat them up.

Metevius's eyebrows rose.

Hey, that's what they say. I haven't met her myself, Cheykin said. They're all in it for different reasons. Some like the ... mind control, I suppose, a few like the struggle, and others like the pain.

Metevius squinted. What kind of a person would like pain?

It's what I hear, Cheykin said. I suggest you stay away from her.

Metevius smiled. I might have to find her.

And pay her?

No! Metevius said. To figure out what she's doing here. Why she's built a business no one's ever seen before.

Well, I wish you luck, Cheykin said. Affley's a dangerous woman. Apparently all this beating people up has made her into a tough lady. She has a knack for what she does, they say. She can get under your skin like no one can.

Metevius tilted his head. Literally?

Cheykin laughed. I don't know. I never ask for details.

Metevius stood up and knuckled his back. Well, I should be going. I'll look up this Affley lady. He felt a chill up his back and looked around. I'm being watched, again. I had better go. See you around, Cheykin.

I look forward to it, Cheykin said.

Yeah, Metevius said idly.

He had finally found the person, dressed in black, standing just outside one of the west windows in the bar. The person's eyes hadn't left him from the time he came in.

Chapter 3

Right from the beginning, Metevius knew he wouldn't be able to escape his shadow. He hadn't stepped foot in this city for ten years, and the place he understood the most intimately, Cheykin's bar, had changed immensely. As he walked by the outside of it and studied its exterior, both the sturdy wood and the two windows in the front, he noticed the bar had become more worn and aged. Its owner did the same, he thought, amused.

Metevius began walking with a slight limp and shook his head a few times, acting like he was tired. He hadn't slept as well as he had thought on the horse ride to the city, so it didn't take much to fake it. If he gave in too far, he probably would fall asleep on his feet. He couldn't, if he tried, being pursued to the worn down neighborhoods. He continued on his way, feigning cluelessness, but peered over his shoulder once.

His shadow paused for a second, clambering her way through a small cluster of people, one a husband and wife with a child in the wife's arms, the other an old couple wrapped in shawls against the cold. He got a better view this time. His shadow was a woman, and