Initiation

Darkness gained a new meaning on nights when the city's most important business was handled. There was a feeling in the air that told all of Quaga's residents that it would be ill-advised to light an extra lantern. Black smoke from the nearby volcanoes would mingle with black clouds to choke the stars from shining on those black, moonless nights.

Those nights were the sort of nights where a single light could make you a victim. Worse, it could make you a witness to something you shouldn't have seen. The city’s most important business wasn't just handled under cover of darkness. It was the business of darkness itself.

It was on such a night that the ferry glided silently across the waters of the Lake of Fire. On nights where the volcanoes belched fire in the distance, the lake was awash in orange and red; fire and blood. On that night, the lake was the surface of the Void. No lantern guided the ferry as it came south from hidden ports in the mountains. Whoever, or whatever, steered the tiny boat needed no light to see.

On the city's northeastern side, the ferry slipped into angles of rock ignored by the residents of the warehouses above. Treacherous tunnels of cold rock and shallow water led deep into the earth beneath Quaga. Still there was no light, now or ever.

The ferry finally came to rest along a narrow pier. A single figure rose out of the ferry and climbed onto that ledge. Much like the city and the ferryman, he was covered by a black cloak. He paused to try and see if the ferryman would ask for any toll, but he said nothing. His only answer came when he felt, rather than heard or saw, the boat slide away into the murky darkness of the tunnel.

Unconsciously, he drew his cloak tight as though guarding against a chill. Then he carefully felt his way along the cave wall until he found the small exit leading away from the pier and deeper into Quaga's underbelly. He had never entered the city by this route, but he had his orders. He most certainly was not afraid of the dark.

The cloaked figure proceeded through the darkness, doing his best to watch his footing and just follow the path. His caution saved his life when he took a step forward and found the point of a blade suddenly pressed against his chest. Had he been moving recklessly, he would have impaled himself.

The blade, or rather whomever held it, pushed him back a step. It was a silent question.

“I am Detlev. I have completed my business at Mistreef. I have business with the Guildmaster.”

The blade came away from his chest, but he received no other answer. Detlev squinted into the dark for some sign of his contact but there remained only darkness. He rubbed at the spot where the sword had nearly broken skin. He took note of a small hold in his shirt. The blade had been sharp enough that even that tiny bit of pressure had cut through Sithraki silk.

That warning had been expensive. Someone owed him a new shirt.

Without any further guidance, Detlev continued moving forward. He also now made a habit of reaching into the darkness and feeling ahead for hidden blades.

It wasn't long after that the wall he had been following gave way. He knew he was in a large chamber. He could feel the change in the air, and felt the smooth stone under his feet. He took two steps forward and then waited.

“I would take a few more steps if I were you.”

The voice came echoing out of the dark. Detlev did not hesitate to comply, taking three long strides directly forward. Immediately, from the floor behind him, pale blue fire sprung to light. The fire rapidly spread along the wall of the chamber, casting a haunting light on everything. The wide, circular room was now lit by a thin wall of blue flame. Yet, even the light of the fire seemed hesitant to penetrate the overall darkness. The heights of the chamber remained lost in total darkness and much of the center of the room was still shifting shadows.

Still, it was enough to see the silhouettes of the two figures standing among those shadows. They stood motionless in their black cloaks with a small stand between them. On the stand was a small chest. Judging by the odd glow of the light against the frame of the chest, Detlev concluded it was made largely of dragon bone. He knew the Guild was dramatic, but he hadn't realized they could be so thematic as well.

The figure on the left was small framed but no taller than Detlev. He could just make out the tip of a sword blade peeking out from the bottom of their cloak.

The figure on the right was quite the opposite. He was a large man with a robust chest and even more robust presence. Detlev didn't have to see faces to know who this was.

Detlev strode forward and bowed; not to either of the figures because he wasn't sure who was in charge, but to the room. Or perhaps he had bowed to the dragon bone chest. It seemed important enough to warrant such courtesy.

“Hello again, Marcus,” Detlev said, “as I told your pointy friend, I have business with the Guildmaster.”

“It's Lieutenant Marcus now. Which means that: one, you should be on one knee, and two, your business is with me. Guildmaster Darven does not deal directly with recruits, just myself and the Conclave.”

At each count, Marcus held up a finger on his calloused hand; the hand of a seasoned warrior and weaponsmith. What caught Detlev's attention more was the glow that suddenly came from the lieutenant's exposed forearm. The same glow that shown dimly from the chest nearby now shown from the tattoo of a dragon's skull.

On cue, six robed figures seemed to step through the blue fire to stand in a semicircle behind the other two. Each of those figures wore a mask in the shape of a glowing draconic skull; the Inner Conclave.

So this was really happening.

“Make your report, young teyrn, so that we may get down to business.”

This comment came from the pointy friend, and revealed their identity to Detlev as well.

“Someplace important to be, Kindra? Families to sell to the highest bidder, perhaps?”

He could hear the contempt in her voice when she answered him.

“Your parents were never going to accept the Guild's control of the region, boy. I did my sister and her oaf husband a favor driving you lot across the sea.”

“Yes, strange then that rumors of their relationship to you got them arrested and executed a few years ago.”

Kindra's silhouette shrugged.

“Some loose ends take a while to clear up. You and your brother managed to come out of it just fine. Despite being a mage, he has maintained his new lands quite well. And you have made enough of a name for yourself that I was almost proud to be here with the Lieutenant for your initiation. Seems your attitude ought to make the Guildmaster think twice, though.”

Lieutenant Marcus and the Inner Conclave remained motionless through the exchange. Only the flickering of the blue flame created any movement by dancing shadows across the room. Though Detlev understood the intended ceremony was normally a solemn affair, no one was inclined to interrupt the family reunion between the recruit and his aunt.

With that realization, Detlev made his decision.

“Perhaps, Kindra, the Guild is simply looking to bring in more efficient members of the family in order to replace bitter old crones that are past the age of usefulness.”

Detlev couldn't see her face, but he heard the snarl that escaped the woman's lips before she moved. He had always heard she was hot-tempered.

Kindra lunged forward, leading with the narrow blade she had greeted him with in the tunnel. Detlev showed no signs of panic as he sidestepped the attack. In a flurry, he grabbed his aunt's wrist in both hands and twisted it. A moment later, he lifted his knee hard into her wrist and was satisfied to hear bones snap, followed by a shuddering shriek of pain.

He wasn’t certain which sound made him smile more.

Kindra's sword fell from her grasp and clattered to the ground. When Detlev released her, she stumbled backwards, narrowly avoided the stand with the chest but tripped over her feet and fell to the floor.

He didn't waste a single moment. Detlev scooped up the sword, was immediately impressed with its light weight and balance, and then closed in on his aunt.

She was still trying to get her bearings when Detlev put his full weight into driving the blade through Kindra's heart.

It pierced through her as easily as though piercing thin air.

Her face wrestled between contempt and shock. The result was neither and only made her look suddenly old and fragile.

Kindra looked to Marcus for some sign that he was going to restrain her attacker or call for a healer. No one else moved. They might as well have been statues.

“I swore to my brother I would find a way,” Detlev said, “and I take my oaths very seriously.”

With a deliberate twist, he ripped the sword out of Kindra's chest. She didn't make a sound as she shuddered and fell back against the stone floor.

“So now you think to continue with us, having just killed one of the few guild members that could still remember the founding of the Guild?” Marcus said suddenly.

“Isn't that why we are here?”

“Give me one good reason to trust you.”

The order came from the shadows above and beyond the wall of fire. It filled the room. Detlev wasn't sure exactly what was so off-putting about the voice, but it was all he could do not to tremble when he heard it. He scanned the darkness, but saw nothing.

“The Guildmaster has asked you a question, recruit.”

Marcus’ deep, but perfectly natural, voice pulled Detlev’s thoughts back to the moment at hand.

“I worked very hard to get here,” he explained to the darkness, “I have no quarrel with the Guild. With Kindra dead, I have no quarrel with anyone, actually. And like I just said, I take my oaths very seriously.”

As a show of good faith, Detlev carefully laid Kindra's sword down on the ground and approached Marcus. Without another word, he knelt on one knee and calmly waited.

Marcus looked up into the shadows beyond the fire. Detlev heard and saw nothing, but the lieutenant seemed to nod as though some judgement had been passed.

“Very well. Detlev Lehner, known as the Teyrn of Phenox, roll up your left sleeve.”

Detlev did as he was told, exposing his left arm. Marcus, in turn, opened the dragon bone chest. From within he produced a small scroll and what appeared to be some kind of dagger, with a small jar in place of the pommel. Within the jar, some strange liquid swirled in unnatural ways. The liquid glowed dimly in the light of the blue fire.

Marcus handed him the scroll.

“Read it aloud and do not falter. It is the last oath you will ever make,” came the Guildmaster's unsettling order from the darkness.

Detlev had barely unrolled the scroll before Marcus firmly gripped his wrist and pulled his arm up at an uncomfortable angle.

“Falter,” Marcus said calmly, “and this will kill you. Succeed in this last test, and live to serve the Guild.”

Without another word and without warning, Marcus drove the tip of the strange dagger into Detlev's arm. The liquid in the jar shifted and then Detlev saw it seep out of the hilt and begin to crawl slowly down the length of the blade. When it reached his arm, it followed the tip of the dagger into his flesh. He watched as the substance began to spread under his skin, burning like no wound he had ever experienced.

The pain almost consumed him.

Then he remembered that this was one more test. He steeled himself against the pain, focused entirely on the words on the scroll, and read it aloud.

“In this moment,

I forsake all allegiance

Beyond The Guild.

I swear on my life

That I will serve

Only the Guild.”

Marcus removed the dagger. The dim glow of the liquid in Detlev's arm began to take shape. The pain lessened as he continued to read.

“So that it is known

The price I will pay

Should my oath

Ever falter or prove false

I take into me

Dragon Bone

And Dragon Blood

And bear

Now and forever

The Mark of the Dragon Skull.”

Even as he said the words, the image on his arm became clear. It was the Dragon Skull. It was identical to the tattoo on Marcus’ arm. It was identical to the tattoo that was worn by every member of The Guild. In the light of day, it would be a dull ivory and easy to overlook by those that weren't used to looking for it. Detlev had seen more than a few.

But like the dragon bone on the chest, the mark would glow in response to certain magic, like the witchfire in the room. Detlev now understood what made that tattoo so important. It was binding and it was forever. By using actual dragon bone, The Guild would ensure nothing would ever erase that mark. There was no turning back.

“Congratulations, Teyrn,” Marcus said as he took the scroll and placed it and the dagger back in the chest, “You are now one of the Dragon Skulls.”

Detlev rose to his feet. The pain was gone, though his arm was stiff and felt a little heavier. He tested its movement like he might test the weight and balance of a sword. Satisfied, he rolled down his sleeve and stepped back to where he had left his aunt's sword.

“Excellent,” he said as he retrieved the blade and wiped it clean on Kindra's cloak.

He looked up to see the Inner Conclave had vanished. He had no doubt that the Guildmaster would similarly have found better things to do at this hour of the night. Only Marcus remained.

“So then, Lieutenant, where do you recommend I buy a good silk shirt?”