From Trenton Deis, Last Will and Testament
Some hold that "good" and "evil" are realities higher and more substantial than human actions. However, the merit of this view is directly linked to the optimistic belief that the attributes of mortal actions (e.g., bravery, foolishness, goodness, cruelty) are somehow capable of being considered independent of mortal actions. I do not share this belief.
Some will hold that since Lucaine Pyramides spared me at the Battle of Beggar's Arch, it will be an act of "evil" to kill him today. Let them think as they wish. It is being noised that he freed me out of compassion; this is propaganda. He did not kill me on the spot, but sent me to the gallows. The jailers being less competent than Pyramides, I escaped them. Small wonder that Catarin now speaks of "the mercy of Lucaine Pyramides." The weakness of mercy is far more noble than weak guardsmen, and a lie at the right time is not so "evil" as one might think.
So be it: as Mycale's men rode into the trap at Beggar's Arch, I tried to kill Lucaine Pyramides and was defeated. Now Catarin has won her first war . . . and Lucaine Pyramides rides into my own trap. And I will kill him.
This I, Trenton Deis, do attest.
From Leona Fontaine, Sentinel: The Murder of Lucaine Pyramides
Editor's note: The following account is pure conjecture on the part of the novelist. Although it is based on historical supposition, no reliable record exists, only a forest of competing hypotheses.
Shredded by leaves, the noontide sun cast mosaic shadows on the notepad of Lucaine Pyramides, as he sat against a tree by the roadside. Hastily, intently, his fountain pen skated and glided across the coarse paper, filling the page with his dense yet haphazard handwriting. Three Moons lay forgotten to his side as he wrote, gripped by a soul-wracking inspiration, the strongest emotion he'd ever committed to paper. Catarin loved him. That love was deadly and elating, like the energy singing between the earth and the moon, like bonds of pure sunlight, like fifty lightning bolts forged into a sword. With this, his final poem, he could capture that energy forever . . . he could prove to her that his love was strong enough to last beyond life. He could say to her, in ink on paper, what he could not say to her using the flawed and impermanent canvas of expression and voice. His mind was a thousand miles above the ground, his body tingled and grew numb, his clenched hand could not even cramp due to its furious motion, and his immortal soul passed entirely into his pen, its salvation absolutely dependent on the perfection of his written words.
He wrote the final word. His breath left his lungs in a great sigh. His head came to rest against the rough bark. Carefully, he blew on the paper to dry it, then capped his pen and returned it to its case. Then, about to stand, he reached for his sword, and touched only grass.
"A fine blade indeed, Pyramides."
Lucaine's senses were alive again, belatedly. Through minute signs, he detected a dozen men hidden in the forest around him, all within easy sprinting distance. He turned slowly, and with absolute assurance, to confront Trenton Deis. Clad in a cloak the color of aged bone, the assassin drew Lucaine's sword and stared coldly at its delicate curve and fine grain.
"You haven't the skill to use it," Lucaine said, and began to walk towards his nemesis with a steady and confident pace.
"I don't plan to use this sword, Pyramides." Deis took a deep breath, then swung Three Moons, backhand, at a mighty oak. The blade sank two feet deep into the wood, cutting halfway through the trunk. "You've said time and again that your sword is your word." Placing both hands on the hilt, Deis pushed downward with all his might, bending the fragile steel beyond until it hummed with tension. The blade broke with a sound like a spike being driven into a wooden block. "What words do you have for that?"
Without words, Lucaine broke into a run, but Trenton Deis flitted back away from him, as if carried on the breeze. No master swordsman, no Serpentlord, Trenton Deis nonetheless carried deadly knowledge with him; he could move as abruptly as a lizard, strike without giving warning of his intent, scale buildings, spot motion at a mile's distance, blend into his surroundings as if he'd been there since the Creation. And even without the secrets of poison or magic, he had powerful cards to play; as he fell back from his hated adversary, he drew a small waxed envelope from his sleeve, and flung its mixture of pepper oil and lye in Lucaine's face.
Though he flung up his hands, still the vile melange found Lucaine's eyes. Blinded and agonized, Lucaine did not so much as twitch; he calmed his breathing, cast forth his senses, and prepared to fight, unarmed, by sound and feel. He summoned the power of fire to his hands, as Trenton Deis's hired jackals encircled him. As his flesh began to scorch and burn, they attacked.
Lucaine struck, lashing out to every side with blows worthy of a master monk, setting men ablaze with every strike. But without his sword, he could not kill with every stroke. His blows brought cries of pain and anger, and the assault redoubled. By instinct, he dodged blows, but for every one he dodged, another struck home. Spears pierced his flesh, pinning him in place. He reached for a healing elixir, but his hands set the pinewood vial afire. He struggled, but only drove the barbs deeper into his body. His power was in speed and spirit, not in physical strength, and he could not win free.
With a supreme effort, he brought fire to his entire body, and pushed it outward in a mighty wave, an exploding hurricane of blazing heat, and his enemies fell back, screaming. Lucaine choked back a scream himself, as he felt his skin wither and crack in the blast. He was almost dead. With an effort, he calmed his spirit, and began to invoke the power of ice, trying to quench the flames that fed on his body.
"Pyramides. You're entirely amazing, you know that, don't you? I'd meant to make you suffer, and now you've burned yourself alive just for my entertainment." Lucaine's seared ears couldn't make out the direction of Deis's voice, but he knew the assassin was close. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I seem to hear a royal patrol approaching. I'll leave them a special present."
Lucaine brought to his blistered face a semblance of his devil's grin, and began to rip spears from his flesh and hurl them in random directions. Perhaps one would strike true. All his powers were expended, leaving him only defiance.
And the long straight sword of Trenton Deis slid gently, almost lovingly, under his breastbone and through his heart. As the final drops of Lucaine's blood began to strike the ground, storm clouds knotted like a fist above the site of his death.
From Alain, One Thousand Haiku, Five with Names
Spine-weary sadness
Endless rain revives earth's dust
But Lucaine's, never.
Crowned by a symbol
She reigns in death's fell shadow
Her foe is patient.
Lucaine Pyramides, Catarin (Final)
Driven low by driving rain, it's easy to be born again, cracking like a fallen leaf that falls before its time is done, and now I know my time has come 'cause there's an iceberg on my tongue, melting slow in driving rain whose echoes form the dim refrain — Bind yourself and you can be the one soul who is truly free and if your eyes won't let you see then trust your pulse and follow me — Driving blind in blinding rain that turns to hail and back again I'm driven by the driving rain, I am the winter's melting dream, the final human carved of ice that turns to steam, carved of ice that shatters sunrays peeking through the parting clouds, shatters sun to rainbow shackles, binding me to final heaven, lightning calling to me saying — Bind yourself and you can be the one soul who is one with me and if your mind won't let you see then trust your feet and walk with me — Thunderheads embrace the world like battle flags that flow and swirl and snap when sending men to war to fight and fall and hope to rise with silent glory bleeding off them, shining like the falling rain that sweeps the lake with rippling waves, shining like the dancing eyes that sparkle as she dances free, dances spirals 'cross the waves, her rain-dark dress a battle flag that flies the colors of my hope, flies the letters of belief, spells the words that keep me trying, fighting free of slowly dying, spells the words she whispered to me — Bind yourself in love to me and maybe then we'll both be free and if your mask won't let you see then trust your lips and come to me —
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