The One With Three Ch. 01

Authors Note:

This is a story I'm writing for a friend, but I need feedback on what people think about it. If you find any grammatical/spelling errors, please tell me so I may change them. If you have any comments, questions, concerns, grips, etc., please tell me. I have most of the next chapter finished, but I don't know if I should even continue. Therefore, if you want more, please tell me what you liked/disliked. I need to know what I'm doing right and wrong. Thank you for your time.

***

Onyx Calleisto stood with his back to the large stone palace's wall. He gazed out across the city that had imprisoned him for the past ten years. Little had changed in the way of streets and people. The streets were still filled with people and trash. People hadn't washed themselves in days at the earliest. It was strange to think of wanting others to be clean after being around filth encrusted prisoners for a decade. It took all his strength not to go scrub himself in a river until he bled out all the dirt and grime after eating maggot infested meals.

Before being imprisoned, he would have spared a little sympathy. Those days were behind him. He couldn't afford time for the weak and pathetic. He wouldn't, even if he could. They were worthless. Worse than that. Liars at best. Stupid one's too. Had they not known he would have gotten out of prison and want revenge? The least they could have done was poison one of his pitiful meals, just to escape his eventual wrath. None were smart enough though. Especially the noble, Jesper, which had framed him. He would die slowly if, no, when, Onyx got his wish.

Murder.

It still disgusted him after all these years. He had rarely lifted a finger in defense of his own life before. Any who knew him at all could have told the courts that. The few who really didn't like him could as well, but they'd probably lie about him like the others had. But the poor city folk had to take the word of a noble before a fellow peasant. Even one as generous with his hard earned coin as he.

He snorted contemptuously. His own blood had turned on him too. His half-brother Jerim, his mothers son, but not his fathers, had testified against him. Telling lie after lie of his exploits in torturing small animals as a child. If he remembered correctly, and he always did, those were Jerims little pets he tortured to consume time. It was Jerim who had shaved that cat bald and cut off it's tail after she had the misfortune of tripping him.

That Onyx would do something like that was preposterous! Had anyone looked into his late teenage eyes, they would have seen his innocence. But that innocence was the last thing the courts were looking for.

Unfortunately, a bloody knife in his possession was more than enough evidence that he had killed that poor barmaid. His poor barmaid. He wished he could not remember her still. Too much pain had been dealt to him while he lay awake in his small cell with twelve other criminals. Time had only numbed the pain to a small stabbing in his heart and a full-fledged punch in the gut.

Ann.

She had such a sure countenance and lithe legs you would forget you were on fire if she didn't tell you. And she always would. A good woman. The best of women. Why did that butcher have to set his eyes on her? She was beautiful, true, and a good dancer, but not a noblewoman. She was someone a poor man could always pride himself in having as a wife. Not one for royal courts.

Onyx guessed she would have been smart enough to get along fine, and eventually turn out like a noble, but he was bad at guessing other people's intelligence. That was another of his failings. It went right along side being too naive about people.

More than one man had fallen for Ann's good looks and charm. All had been turned away with a sore cheek when they tried to force her to do something she knew was improper. He was the only man she would let touch her, but he was too shy and thick-witted to notice. Not until that bloody night had he found out that she felt the same way about him that he felt about her.

It had taken him the better part of half of his sentence to realize that. At any point in the three years before her death, he could have asked for her, and she would have consented. No, she would have been ecstatic with joy. He hoped so, at least.

It didn't matter now, she was dead, and all his hopes with her. No woman could compare with her. That would be like putting a firefly to a raging inferno. Nothing could come close to her beauty. Sunsets looked bland when seen beside her face. He didn't think he could settle with just another woman.

Oh how he wished he had asked for her hand sooner! They could have lived so happily together, alone in the wood surrounding Kam-Bel's north eastern quarter. The city who had charged him with her murder.

Onyx's stomach growled sourly, but he ignored it. He had eaten some five hours ago, and eating now would only make him grow weak. He needed to be hard, strong-willed and determined if he was to get revenge. And he was going to get revenge. He couldn't live with anything less.

Though he could never tell anyone, he knew who had killed his little woman. Lord Jesper, a fool, and an ugly one at that. Telling someone would just get him in trouble. He had seen it time and time again. Men convicted of killing someone when it was clear that a rampant noble had done the deed. The prisoners would scream for mercy in the end. Yell at the tops of their lungs that they just wanted out of jail.

They had all died horribly. It was always torture, trying to "get a confession of the truth." All the guards were doing was giving an excuse to beating someone to death or tearing off their flesh one strip at a time.

He had seen too much blood, and planned on seeing more. Hopefully not his own, but that was doubtful. What Onyx was planning would get him caught and probably beheaded.

It would be worth it, though. Even if he only half finished his job, it would be of small consequence. Just a sad ending to a sad life. Death would be a welcomed end to the pain in his heart. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about it. He would have those moments later, when he found his unsuspecting prey.

Slowly he pushed himself from the wall and started walking down the street. As he entered the street traffic, the people parted. No one wanted to brush up next to him. His cold blue-grey stare convinced them of that. He could have frozen the ocean with that gaze. Onyx tried not to breathe too deeply. A breath of clean air was rare around the unwashed scum of the streets.

That he was bigger than most of the people he passed was nothing new to him. He had always been large for his size. Tall enough for a man when he had seen barely fifteen summers and he kept on growing. A feat that his parents would have been proud of, had they been alive.

Onyx liked to think of his parents. Both had been kind and generous. Unfortunately, they had also been very elderly when he knew them. They had died as normal old people do, their bodies just stopped. He hoped it wasn't painful for them, the dying. Next to Ann, they were one of the best things that had happened to him. Had they but lived a month longer, it would have been double the time he had known Ann.

When Onyx had been born, Jerim had been about fourteen years older. Even with his years in prison, he still couldn't figure out how such an old couple had had a child. At their age, they should have been settling down to grandchildren, not raising one of their own. It was just strange for people that old to have a child his age.

Being a child when they had died left him a poor street urchin for the remainder of his fifth year of life. Jerim had been on his own for quite some time, and never even thought about bringing in his own brother. As luck would have it, an elderly scholar just happened to bump into him on the very street he would meet Ann less than nine years later. Of course, like everybody else did, the man commented to him on his size, saying he was roughly the size of boys' two years his senior. Onyx hadn't known what senior meant, but was impressed with the nice old man. After a time of looking him up and down, the learned man told the boy he was in need of a strong pair of arms to move some books. The work wouldn't be much, as the man planned on reading them more than moving them. He would also be given food and shelter.

Onyx hastily agreed.

During the long years of hauling books and cleaning, Onyx was taught reading and writing. Along with that, he became a sort of apprentice to the wizened old man and learned many things of the world. He was taught tremendous things of foraging and harvesting, before learning basic arts of battle and kingship from books gathered in the library. Numbers came after medicines, which was brought on while he was gathering information about cooking. Eating things had always interested him. He even learned some of architecture, before being taken from his adopted parent.

Onyx still glowered and towered over everyone as he marched his way down the street to the market. Few people stayed around him long enough to buy anything from the hawkers or craftsmen. He guessed he frightened many of them, stroking his belt knife as he was. His wool brown shirt was stained with blood from a nose bleed he had earlier that morning, but most took it for someone else's blood, which suited him just fine. That would just mean less people trying to bully him. His matching pants were splattered as well, though most with berry juices from outside the city. Onyx thought he must look very ominous, standing there blood stained and all.

His blue-grey eyes looked a little sunk in and ill, but that would go away with time. Despite his thin face, he was thick. Thick enough to do a blacksmith proud. It was mostly natural strength, but a lot of it came from working-out in his cell with twelve other men. It seemed harder to stab a man in the back if he looked to be able to rip your arms off without breaking out in a sweat.

All thoughts were silenced by spying a familiar face. Harl, one of the two thugs that had held him down while Jesper slit his woman's throat. Red heat filled his vision as he stalked closer, looking around in the crowd for Harl's twin, Glen. Both were lacking in brains, so Onyx felt that their death wouldn't hurt anyone too badly.

It would be hard stalking through a crowd that parted in front of you. Slowly Onyx hunched his shoulders, hung his head slightly, and took on the bleak look of everyone else in the street. That was another thing he had learned in jail, being as obvious as a speck of dust and about as harmful-looking. Only being truly invisible would make him be noticed less. So far, the only thing people would notice about him was his lack of stench, but being around so many others who did stink covered for him nicely.

Thankfully, Harl was still stupid, and bullied his way through the street, making a large opening behind him for anyone to slip into. Especially a person with a knife. . .

The encounter would have gone fast, a quick stab to the heart, then a small run into another street, and making himself look unobtrusive. Unfortunately, Harl turned left, and took the knife in the lung, instead of the heart. Normally, Onyx would have liked to watch him die painfully, but only had they been somewhere without so many eyes. They were in a street, though, throwing danger into the mix. Everybody would remember the tall scary-lookin' man walking through the street glaring at everyone.

Fear made his hands move quicker. He wrenched his blade out the dead man, and stabbed again–once, twice, three times–never caring where the dull blade met flesh.

After puncturing Harl, he leapt for the nearest alley, ripping off his shirt as he ran. Discarding the bloody knife and his shirt, he dashed back into the street, trying to blend in without a shirt and spatters of blood on his cheeks.

As his head darted around for a seamstress, he moved down the street, away from the castle and the corpse he had just made. Five buildings down, he spotted one, a whitewashed double-storied house and place of work. A painting on the paneled wooden door showed a needle and thread, the symbol of a worker of clothing. Slipping in, he headed straight for the woman he deemed to be in charge.

She was a slim woman, sporting a blue bonnet and a matching ankle-length dress. He supposed she was beautiful, but since Ann, he'd never looked at a woman that way. Gold-brown locks splayed in front of her eyes and Onyx couldn't help but wonder how she saw with those things constantly in front of her face like that. He figured she was in charge, since she was speaking animatedly to a short girl, who hurried to get away once the woman in blue was finished with her.

"You the owner?" he croaked. He hadn't spoken in–what, two, three days?–and his throat wasn't used to saying so many words in such a short period of time.

"I am," she replied in an airy kind of voice.

"I need a shirt." He would have just said "shirt" but he could at least act civilized, even if he was covered in blood and shirtless.

"So I see," she said dryly, eyeing his muscled scar-riddled chest. "When?"

"Now. And pants. Please." he hated asking for help, but he had no wool and no knowledge of clothing. That was one of the things that wasn't covered in the library. He left no doubt in his voice that she might not do it.

She sniffed sourly and grumbled something of impatience.

"I have nothing in your," she paused and her cheeks reddened. He wondered why, but she was talking again, "size. But. . .No, no, you're much too big for that. If you'll let me measure you, I'll be able to have something for you in-"

"No. I need it now." His voice was becoming accustomed to speaking and was able to get more out.

"I don't have it now," she said testily. "But if you give me time-"

He growled at her and she jumped. He doubted he could have sounded more like a bear if he had tried. He just turned on his heel and left. He needed clothing now, not in a couple of days. The nights in Kam-Bel's forests were colder than the nights inside that flee-ridden hole in the castle.

After he looked in at four more seamstresses, he finally gave up, and just asked the price for a blanket. He cut a hole in the middle for his head to go through and wore it like that. Luckily, it was oiled, so he would at least be protected if the Gods suddenly decided the earth needed to have a nice, cool drink. He also added a buckle to either side to prevent it from blowing open. It was long, but it covered his blood stained pants, so he didn't mind it as much.

He set off to find a decent knife from a blacksmith. It took him a while, there weren't many people around who could perfect the uses of iron, and very few who knew the secret arts of steel. The knives that he did find were all sharp, but he wanted dull, because dull meant pain when it tore flesh. Sharp would be fast and he could only except slow. Jesper would pay badly for what he did to Onyx's beloved.

So he started dulling the blade. Scraping it around the wooden smithy, striking it on the heavy iron anvil, and digging holes in the rocky dirt floor with it. Soon enough it was dull, paid for, and sheathed safely in his belt. Or as safe as it could be, in Onyx's hands and with what he had planned for it.

Gazing from the heat filled, smoky inside, he scanned the people around him. He slipped out easily enough, and went to his full height. His glare returned in full force to his face. A woman carrying a bundle of clothing dropped it in the mud after seeing him. She quickly scurried off after gathering the dirty shirts. Nearly breaking into a run, she turned a corner and he could almost imagine her hiking up her skirts and dashing off for help. Onyx allowed himself a small smile, which seemed to scare the people even more.

Three streets later he found himself back at the street Harl had died. Maybe Glen will show up, he thought mercilessly, seeing his stupid face after Onyx stabbed him, like he had his brother. Death would not come easily for Jesper, after he disposed of the guards. Another small smile crept up on him. At least, he thought it was a smile. By the way people moved away from him, he guessed it must be something nearer to a grimace.

Three hours of waiting proved nothing but time wasted when he could be using to finding the two walking dead men.

As Onyx prepared to leave the city for the night, his eyes spied a rather dumb-looking face. It was almost a mirror image of the stupid face of his victim but seven hours gone. Life was finally looking good for him. This time, he needn't worry about a speedy death. Glen was going to die much slower than his brother. Ideally, Onyx wondered if Glen knew his brother was dead. It wasn't likely. They were both at the outskirts of Kam-Bel, and the opposite side of the city where as, Harl had died only five blocks away from the palace. It looked like he was just returning from a visit out of town, much the better. He wouldn't be on his guard, now.

Slowly Onyx approached Glen, sidling up by him, and slowly pressing the point of his dagger against the mans' left armpit. Grabbing him by the arm, Onyx guided Glen in a circle, saying only, "keep moving or you're a dead man."

Despite his lack of intelligence, the twin hurried along beside his captor. Evidently even one as dim-witted as he could appreciate the threat of death. Slowly, the two moved toward the northern end of town, where a small copse of trees was waiting patiently. In three minutes they were safely away from eye shot of any in town.

Time seemed to thicken like jelly as Onyx pushed Glen to the ground. Right as he was turning to face his captor, his eyes caught a gleam of metal less than an inch from his face. Onyx was standing above him, knife almost brushing his large nose.

"Where's Jesper?" Onyx asked hoarsely. He had waited for this moment for ten long years, and he wasn't going to have it spoiled by not knowing where the noble was.

"G-gone. Please don't hurt me. I have a family."

He ignored the rambling. The only family he had was dead as of this morning.

"Where?"

"The C-Council, my lord." he said dumbly.

"I'm not a lord." Onyx spat. "What council?"

"The Council of Seerers. S-South. They're holding a tournament for any who thinks they can–"

"I don't care who thinks what! When did he leave?"

Glen paled, "t-two days' ago. L-lord Jerim went too."

"Who?"

"J-Jerim Calleisto."

Onyx's eyes narrowed. "I never knew he was a lord. What claims does he have of the title?"

"Jesper lorded him. Please, please let me go. Please?"

He barely heard. Jerim, a lord? Could this imbecile be trusted? How long would it take to this Council? If, that is, the Council even existed. A two day lead may be able to be over-taken if he left fast and hardly slept and ate.

"When they left, did they have horses?"

"Y-yes. Th-they did."

Onyx swore loudly. Then did it again, because the first didn't vent enough anger.

"Alright. For your information, you may live,"–he was just a pawn anyway and Onyx wanted Jesper, not an idiot–"but if I ever see your pathetic, stupid face again, I'll cut it off."

Glen bounded to his feet, and hobbled off out of Onyx's field of vision. Evidently he had hurt him when he pushed him to the ground. Onyx didn't bother trying to feel guilt for what he had done. He was probably making a mistake letting the idiot walk away anyway, but he didn't have time to properly dispose of the idiot. A two day lead?

His thoughts were suddenly silenced by a swift pain to the back of his head. Black blurred his vision as he fell to the ground, a stupid voice echoing in his ears, but none of the sounds made any sense.

**************