Story #287 - Handshake

Handshake

Werner van Oxalde shifted nervously as a long black car pulled up at the curb. Only two small flags on the hood and detailing on the hubcaps set it apart from the thousands of other sedans on the road, but it wasn't the car itself that kept everyone around it away – it was the escort, hundreds of military personnel strong, which managed that task.

It was still difficult for Werner to believe he'd actually been selected. Only three people were chosen for each public appearance the Minister made, three people to stand in a small line at the curb as his car pulled up. Each one would be given a gloved handshake, and if they were lucky, a few words from the Minister to remember. Of course, pictures upon pictures would be taken of the leader meeting with the “common” folk before he disappeared into the Assembly to conduct the business of running the government. Werner knew it was partly luck that had seen him picked over the uncounted others who wanted the same honor, that and his unwavering dedication to the party. Some said he bordered on the fanatical, but as far as Werner was concerned it required true passion for any government to be successful.

A cheer went up as Minister Oliphant stepped from the car, one followed by a thundering of voices, military and citizen alike.

“Hope through discipline!” They bellowed. “Discipline above all else!”

Oliphant smiled, a thin thing on slight lips, and moved onto the sidewalk in his peculiar shuffling gait. Not much to look at, the small man more than made up for his lack of physical prowess with an unwavering clarity, an insight into the hearts of the people that had rocketed his party to power in the years after the Dissolution. With electronic devices of all kinds rendered useless thanks to a punitive strike by the Enemy at the end of the last war, the country had fallen into fear and desperation. Riots had been the norm, roving gangs of hoodlums who did what they wanted, to who they wanted. The lack of electronic communication and information distribution made it almost impossible to track such groups, and leaving both police and the general population in a state of fear. In what they were sure was a brilliant ploy, the former government pulled the military back from overseas operations and set them loose in public, leading to a number of messy incidents.

A distant back-runner for any kind of power in the government, Oliphant's Party tapped into the desperation felt by the people, and gave them the courage needed to stand together. Hope became a word of strength, and discipline the only thing that could give hope form. Across the country, rallies sprung up, movements began, each led by one of Oliphant's top men. Within six months order had been restored, and a new leader was catapulted to head of the government, heralded as a revolutionary, a genius. A year passed and the country was safe again, secure under a blanket of inviolate rules and severe punishments.

Werner could feel his hands begin to sweat as the Minister approached him, and considered saying something, though he had no idea what. He settled on simply try to look strong and proud; anything that came out of his mouth would be total nonsense.

Oliphant stepped forward, smile fixed in place, and extended a gloved hand. “You do the nation proud, son.”

A grin spread across Werner's face as he took the Minister's hand, felt the supple touch of leather on his own bare palm. It was impossible not to be happy, unthinkable not to be overjoyed.

By week's end, the Minister would be dead.

***

It had taken Brenner Caldin the better part of nine months to develop a formula that would penetrate leather and active by sweat. Three more months had been needed to make sure the compound he'd created would target only Oliphant and not kill anyone else he happened to come in contact with. After that, his work had gotten far easier – attending every rally, quoting party literature and not bothering to shower on a regular basis had attracted the attention of higher-ups, and once he passed an enhanced security clearance, he had been selected to shake the Minister's hand.

It was almost laughable what passed for “security” under the new regime – electronic systems had just begun to come back online after the war, but Oliphant's government was made up mostly of anti-technologists and those who preferred brute force over a more nuanced approach. Brenner had been amazed at how easy giving life to Werner van Oxalde had been.

Drink in hand and television on, Brenner took a seat and leaned back, a smile on his face. It was only a matter of time before the first effects of the pathogen would take hold. It was something he'd been developing for the military before the Dissolution, and he'd been smart enough to commit its essential configuration to memory.

A close shot of the Minister showed a sheen of sweat on his brow, and Brenner could see the man's limbs shaking slightly. Within half a day, he'd begin to answer any question put to him with the unvarnished truth, and by mid-week he'd be spouting off all of his party secrets. Doctors would scramble to his side but there would be nothing they could do – those interested could get what they wanted from Oliphant - his death was assured.

Fear trickled down Brenner's spine; the country had just recovered from one revolution – what right did he have to cause another? He shook the feeling off with a long drink from his glass. He had been disciplined in his approach, and that gave him hope. If the Minister told the truth, he had nothing to worry about. The country would find its way.

Glancing around at steel-shod windows and reinforced doors, Brenner couldn't help but smile. If the country couldn't sort itself out to his liking, he'd be ready. Waiting.

- D

Story #286 - Pitmaster

Pitmaster

“Yea, are ye ready to fight the dread beast?” The Pitmaster intoned, eyes dark and hands twisting above his head in a grotesque approximation of the Ritual of Openings. He was a hideous little beast, one created specifically for the purpose of opening the door to challengers and allowing them to face what lay inside.

Cadeus Malloy stifled a yawn as he looked away from the tiny, green-skinned being and cast his gaze around the Pit's outer chamber. Legends held it was once a place of great honor, where warriors and champions alike met to try their luck against the most ferocious beasts in the kingdom. Only a few were worthy of entry, and only the best emerged unscathed. Generations of fair maidens wept at the loss of their favorite champions, or claimed to have secretly seduced them before their final battle.

The hawking cry of a Keldoran merchant drew his attention and he frowned; not just for the bug-eyed weapon seller, but for the young woman he was serving. Thin and well-muscled, she was dressed like a rogue, with overlapping leather chest armor, tight breeches and daggers at her hips. She was inspecting a blade the Keldoran had passed her, and even from a distance, Cadeus could tell the steel was inferior. The woman obviously felt the same way, and spit on the ground in front of the merchant before handing the dagger back. It was a risky move – Keldorans were not known for their even tempers, and the reddish tinge on the merchant's face showed that his anger was rising. Before he had a chance to move, however, the woman had one of her own daggers out and at the merchant's throat. He dropped his arms and backed away quickly.

Cadeus swore as the woman moved to the next stall, sheathing her dagger. The Pit was a great jest now, a place of beggars, swindlers, and women who thought they could stand beside the men who had forged the kingdom. Two years ago, when he had bested the Throl'goth of the Highlands, there had been only one armor merchant, and he at least had been a Gammorian, and one whose wares were known beyond borders. Though Cadeus could not refuse an invitation to fight the kingdom's latest acquisition – Polrai the Soul-Eater – he wished he could simply be done with it, and not have to endure the foolishness and inflated pomp that went along with entry to the Pit.

“Get on with it!” He bellowed at the Pitmaster, who broke off mid-sentence to stare at him.

“Are ye certain, Lord...” The little man waited for a name, but Cadeus shook his head.

“No names, little one. Open the damn gate!”

With a sigh, the Pitmaster moved forward, wrapping small hands around a dark gray lever. A grunt of effort brought it down, and the steel portcullis in front of Cadeus screeched open. He charged through, pulling sword from scabbard and unstrapping his steel defender. What little he knew of the Soul-Eater made shadow magic its weapon of choice, and Cadeus had made sure the enchanter in his employ placed a ward of protection on his shield before he left the estate.

There was a low hiss as he entered the Pit proper, and he saw the nebulous form of Polrai take up position on the opposite side of the broad, circular space. It opened one of its ten mouths to speak, but Cadeus didn't wait for words to flow and charged in headlong, screaming a battle cry. Purple mist swirled around the thing's body, making it difficult to see what form it actually held, but Cadeus wasn't worried about finding a shadowy heart or slicing into its blackened brain. Of the twelve swords his father had passed down, nine possessed powers of the elders; the one in his hand was said to have been carried by Halmath himself, the holiest warrior in the kingdom's history.

Brightly-glowing blade met insubstantial flesh, and Polrai screamed, his shadow covering ripped away. Underneath was a thin gray being with arms too long for its frame and a face too oval to be human. A spin, a slash and its head went rolling across the Pit floor.

Above him, a weak cheer went up.

Stalking to the exit portal, Cadeus rammed his sword home and strapped his shield. Victory was not truly victory when it came easily.

As the exit gate closed behind him, he could see the Soul-Eater's body begin to re-form – within an hour, it would be ready for the next challenger. That simply added insult to easy injury – magic preserved the beast, no matter how many warriors killed it, reducing the trifling amount of honor he had received from itd death even further. What had become of the kingdom?

He found the rogue woman talking to the Pitmaster, and brushed by her, taking the green beast by the throat.

“Hey!” She cried, but he glared over his shoulder at her.

“Shut up!”

Turning his attention back to the Pitmaster, Cadeus drew his sword. “I'm tired of this game, Pitmaster – tired of the sham and mockery this place has become. You must have some knowledge of how this came to be, and you must know something that can be done to fix it!” He tightened his grip, the creature at the end of his arm flailing wildly.

“Watch out!” It was the woman again, leaping forward to draw one of her daggers. It spun from her hand, sinking into the Pitmaster's forehead just above the eyes.

Cadeus spun, dropping the limp body and turning his rage on the fool rogue.

“What have you done, woman?” He bellowed.

“Look!” She screamed, and he turned back to the Pitmaster. In one tiny green hand was a hook-pointed dagger, slick with poison. Cadeus frowned. She had saved his life.

An thunderous explosion from the Pit pulled his attention from the dead man, and he watched as a great, rending tear appeared in the ceiling. Inhuman voices wailed, a chorus that echoed only one refrain.

“Free!”

What had the woman done?

- D