Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 29, Section 5 - Erased

Note: We're at 122 votes and sitting at 31 percent. Staying consistent. The other story is at 40 percent at 101 votes, so doing a little better. I thought I'd write this section from Hatala's POV, but it turned out that this worked better this way, I hope at least.

“Oh don’t look surprised – erased”

Gadrel Bedrick exited the mayorial mansion through the back patio doors that led to the gaudy garden that Cortobrane had had planted. The strips of tender flesh crisscrossing across his shoulderblades stretching down his back throbbed simply from the thought of the man. It had been a long time since Bedrick had received a lashing, but it was hardly his first beating.

Gadrel’s father, Pan Bedrick, had been a laborer in the Building Guild, and a man that spent his evenings carousing from tavern to tavern. When he stumbled home, it was his frail, gentle son that the brute took his drunken anger out upon. During those long, terrifying nights, Gadrel determined that one day he’d be behind the fists and belts. No one was ever going to humble him to tears, to broken bones, to a shape unspeakable among civilized company.

Being the son of a laborer qualified him for the guild, it was his sense with numbers and figures that allowed him to move up when it was obvious that he was not going to be able to lug around blocks and hammer up walls. From there, he befriended, blackmailed and deceived every brute, every laborer, every chairmen, he could, slowly amassing a small majority of entanglements and debts till he was strong enough for an overthrow. As was often the case, the former tsar of the builders did not wake up one morning and before noontime meal, Gadrel was raised to the seat.

Any of the old entanglements or debts that had potential for future trouble, he gradually cured with well-placed daggers in busy streets or pillows over the face in dark rooms. The brutes loved him. He was from them and promised to have their best interests at heart. So enamored they were, that they hardly noticed when Pan Bedrick disappeared one fine day. Of course men sometimes took up missing. That was the way of the world, dark times or not.

For the better part of a decade, he had consolidated power in the Building Guild to the point that he was going to have a very long rule. While it was not complete control of Stra, it was good enough. The Building Guild held considerable sway in the city and had excellent relations with the Horsing and Civil Guard guilds, which were of equal footing in the old system.

“How did he do it?” Gadrel cringed dropping into the seat where the mayor dined each night when he was in the city. When Cortobrane had arrived in Stra, he was perceived as a joke. When he designed the gardens and tore down the servant’s quarters, the guilds laughed thinking the man was only tyring to establish some sort of authority. Never had Gadrel believed the man was capable of dismantling the entire guild system. “How did he do it?”

When common folks started disappearing in the night, the guilds thought little of it, till numbers began to mount. The Civil Guard was helpless against the shadows with teeth that gnarled bodies into pieces. When the beacons of Omet were lit, Gadrel wondered if the heart of Satar was under the same dark siege. It was Vedder that bowed first to Cortobrane, who, as it turns out, appeared to be able to offer refuge from the terror.

Gadrel knew beyond any doubt that Cortobrane was somehow responsible for the evil in the night, but he could not figure from where he was getting his aid.

The sun was descending low upon Stra, the garden was quiet and the mansion was nearly empty. Cortobrane had taken every servant with him when the army, now calling itself the Fire of Isa, left that very morning inexplicably by the east road.

“Why the east road?” He spoke to the blowing grass and the puffy shrubs.

The final perplexing piece of the entire puzzle was that Gadrel was left here in Stra, and left in charge by Cortobrane’s own proclamation. Of all of Cortobrane’s new subjects, Gadrel was the least loyal, and he had made no great effort to hide his displeasure at his current position below the mayor. Yet Cortobrane trusted him with the city, albeit without enough guards to protect the city walls much less lead an uprising.

“But why me?”

The words had barely left his lips when a screech sounded off in the distance then was cut off at its peak. Without yet seeing the cause of such a disgusting screech, Gadrel had the answer to all his questions. He felt the blood drain from his face, but he found the strength to rush from the garden, back through the extravagant mansion, to the main entrance that sat high above the street. A wide white column of steps led up the doorway that Gadrel opened with one sweeping motion.
In the failing light, he made out men and women crawling in the street, crying, pleading, until they were stopped by figures that darted in and out of the shadows. He could not make out the forms of the attackers, only they did not seemed to be armed, instead they looked to be feeding upon the citizens of Stra like predators of the wild upon its prey.

Off in the distance, smoke rose from the city’s market place. Regret settled into his bones, some of the those markets had been passed down from one generation to the next within families stretching all way back before the creation of Satar. While histories were always tight-lipped, especially between those in guilds, Gadrel would not be surprised to find that some family’s claim ran all the way back before Isa, when Stra was no more than a stop on the ancient trails that cross the land from east to west and north to south.

He hoped that the fire was set by people to defend against the evil washing into the streets of the city. Maybe the flames torched a few of the crawling, bloodthirsty beasts. If Stra was going to fall than let it fall with a good fight. He felt for the sword, a thin blade with a hilt that curved to fit his grip.

Drawing the sword before him, he descended three steps, the heels of his boots clicking, echoing across the dead night air.

“I am Gadrel Bedrick, son of Pan,” He barked. On the wind, he heard similar proclamations made around the city. Perhaps a few were inspired enough to stand with him as well. “Tsar of the Building Guild of Stra that stands in the light. Evil abound, show thyself and receive thy sentence!”

Taking two more steps, he stopped, the iron of his stomach dissolved into a sponge. On the stone street below, a single file line of black-robed figures marched before him. In each of their hands were the tainted black blades stolen an age ago from the armory of Rion. Each blade had been dipped into the coals of a fire terrible rites had been performed. The stories claimed the tips were like poison to a man that walked in the light. Those of the black robes had long avoided Stra. The penalty for those that tried for entering the city was worse than death.

“Dinar.” He spat. This was whom Cortobrane had hired to overthrow the guilds. The man was even more of a fool than Gadrel had ever suspected. The Dinar did not give back that which they took. They walked in the dark that swallowed all. “I should have known.”

The line of figures started to ascend the stairway, their faces always hid underneath the hoods that drooped and sagged on their heads. Behind them the other hideous creatures involved in the invasion stalked, he even thought he heard a hiss. It was low and constant.
As they approached, he stumbled backward, his sword flailed out to keep them back. It shamed him to panic so, and for the first time since he was boy alone in the house with a monster every night, Gadrel felt powerless, scared and shamed.

Before long, they were within arm’s reach and his back was to the manison’s outer wall. Forming a semi-circle around him, the Dinar cut off any chance for his retreat. He lunged forward once, his blade aimed at a tall, emotionless figure to his right. The figure easily dodged the attack, matched it with his black blade and sent Gadrel’s sword clanging away.

They stood there a moment, not attacking, not speaking. Gadrel thought his heart might explode before they finished him. Part of that thought satisfied him. At the very least, it took the power from them and placed it back into his body before he met the light.

Then the line of figures opened wide enough before him for a slender purple-robed figure to pass by. The newcomer also wore a hood covering its face, but it glided more gracefully then the others. Gadrel thought this must be some form of Dinar not known to the world outside of the cult.

“I am Gadrel…” he began in a voice that could not conceal the quiver that was rattling his teeth.

“The butcher need not know the swine before the slaughter,” the purple-robed figure spoke, its voice obviously feminine. She pulled back the hood revealing a mane of red hair, a pale face and a pair of piercing green eyes. At once, Gadrel was aroused and terrified. Below that, he thought he recognized this woman, but he could not place a name with her face.

“A woman!” he nearly spat, but held back.

“Oh, don’t look surprised,” a smile nearly touched her pink lips. “The time of man is fading away.”

With that she walked passed into the mansion and the Dinar followed. For a second he thought he was saved, but then remembered those that lingered behind. He could not see them, but he heard the clicking of paws on stone and the hiss rose to a new level as he saw the glow of red eyes. Turning his face away, he caught a glimpse of his sword laying a few feet away.

He took one step, lunged, but was caught in midair by a pair of jaws that jerked him away. His body never touched the stone steps of Stra again.