A House of Serpents

"The Raven Clan is no more," wept the young-looking man lying on the cot as he clutched the sword to his chest, "I am the last of the House, and when I am dead, so will the Clan pass into Remembrance. And we won't even have a single mourner."

The one speaking looked no more than twelve or thirteen, and had pale blond hair and a skin of an alabaster shade. Although it looked far paler than it should, with a rather sickly air. And he would have been a rather pretty boy, if not for his injuries. There were bandages of a crude sort, wrapped around his torso, but it was clear that they were not enough to keep him alive.

The one that he was speaking to was a dark-haired man, who seemed at least a decade older. He nodded back at the boy, even as he eyed the open bars of the cell door. But if there was anyone listening in on their conversation, he did not find any sign of him. Besides, the wound in the boy's belly was already starting to worsen. And he knew that he would not last much longer.

"I am to sorry to hear that, Luc. But the Serpent Clan, or what passes for them, have been killing off the smaller clans here in the West for some time now, according to the gossip on the streets. Though I do not think that this is something that you would have missed. How did you get caught up in all of this?" he sighed.

The boy managed a weak smile. But he coughed when he first attempted an answer, and choked up another trickle of blood from his throat before he could clear it. Another sign that he would not last long. But Luc tried to speak again, and this time, his words were clear:

"It is true. They have been trying to get us for a long time. But we have always managed to stay clear of their ambushes. We were betrayed, I fear," he laughed, and that soon turned into another spate of coughing. After a while, he managed to speak again.

"My father, my brother and I are the last of our House. And we thought that we could flee south before our plans were known. Someone must have warned the Temple, for there were twenty of them waiting for us in the woods. Twenty, against the eight of us." He waved a hand weakly at the rest of the weapons that lay on the floor in the cramped cell, as he took the time to regain his breath. "Those are all the weapons that we carried. Or rather, all that the Templars were able to recover from the battlefield. They want me to pick out the Raven Sword from the lot, you see."

The mercenary frowned at that. And looked down at the blade that the boy cradled to his chest. It was adorned with little red stones, and there was a thick gold band encircling its pommel. Clearly it was a lord's weapon. But was it the sword that the boy meant? Luc laughed at the attention, and ran his hand down the sheathed blade. Then he coughed again, and spat up blood again, before he went on:

"The Clan Blade, my friend. That is the one that the Templars want. But they have done this to my Clan, my people. To my father and my younger brother! I have no intention of letting them get their hands on the Raven Sword," he declared softly, as his hand tightened around the long sword's hilt, "That is why I would ask for your help."

The dark-haired man sighed at that. And touched the darkening bruise on his cheek before he answered. This was not turning out as he had hoped that it would. "The last time that I helped you, I was beaten and tossed in here with you. And lost all my gear too. Not exactly the most encouraging of experiences, you understand?"

"I shall make good your loss, if I can," the boy gasped, still wearing his smile. It was clear that the effort was costing him, but Luc went on nonetheless. "The Templars want the Raven Sword very badly, and I think you can use that to your own advantage. And I want you to toss it into the Anrak River if you can. That is all that I ask."

The older man was not sure whether he should laugh or not. But he shook his head at the boy all the same. "That might not be as easy as you may think. The Templars will have taken note of all the weapons that were brought in here. And they will know if any of them are missing when they return. They will not willingly let any of these magicked blades out of their hands, in any case," he warned.

But Luc merely smiled back. "There is still some magic left in the Raven Clan that the Templars do not know about. All I ask is that, should the Raven Sword fall into your hands after I am ... gone, that you do all that you can to throw the blade into the Anrak River. Will you do that for me?"

He sighed again. It was a promise that he will find harder to keep than most. Like the boy, he was a prisoner of the Temple, and he doubted that he was going to win free of Yraengard any time soon. Or even within his own lifetime, as short as that was likely to be. But what harm was there, in making such a promise to a dying boy?

"If I should ever win free of this accursed place, this accursed city, with the Raven Sword, I shall do just that. By the Sky above and the Earth below, I swear it," he said quietly.

Luc's smile widened at that. "Then lean closer, and I will tell you what you need to do."

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