Chapter 2

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The night was cold on his skin.

How long had it been since he felt the chill and dampness of a night sky?

He pulled his cloak closer to his chest, vainly trying to gain warmth from the material. It wouldn’t work. Intellectually, he knew that. The frozen blood within his veins was the primary source of the chill and a normal cloak, no matter how fancy, would never be able to solve that dilemma.

How much time was left? He stumbled on the hard-packed earth, his feet losing any feeling of the ground beneath. Catching his fall on the wooden fence running the edge of the field, the man came to a realization. This was it. This was the length of his life, the furthest distance he could run from those who hunted his power.

Carefully, he settled down against the rough-hewn logs. One arm remained to brace his declining body, while the other searched deep within his pockets. It had to be here. It would never leave his body. That was the rule.

Until his death, the deck was tied to him, and him alone. It couldn’t be stolen, though they had tried. It couldn’t be given away, though in times of weakness he had certainly sought to do so. It was as much a part of him as his own soul. Perhaps more. He’d only heard of the death of one other of his kind. The departure of a Haeres from this mortal world was an occasion of great disturbance, if not prepared for properly.

He was not prepared. Not yet.

Finally, his trembling fingers latched onto its smooth surface and lifted it free of his pouch. Staring at the metal-bound card, he once again felt the turning of the earth and sky, the stars beyond calling for their meal of power and the oceans beneath for their debt of darkness.

He clasped his hand tightly, feeling the card’s questions but unable to answer. They had done that to him. Somehow, they had cut him off. Not entirely. But enough to cause this slow death. Then, they chased him.

They were unprepared for the absolute paranoia he had shown. Ever since the death of Glajoi, he had stored up pockets of power and hidden sanctuaries across the length of Vesperia. He had known their machinations would turn towards his treasures. Over three centuries of time was long enough for anyone to build up wealth and prestige. If they weren’t lazy.

His heart stopped for a moment. The ice gripping his veins tightened in excitement, their purpose almost fulfilled, the spells course almost complete. Slowly, sluggishly, his heart beat again.

Minutes left then, perhaps only seconds. He brought the card to his lips. With a whisper that left frost in the air, he imparted the pact.

“Upon my death, I release the call of the mistcrowned king. I renounce all trophies gathered, and all power harnessed. I…” His voice slowed, the impact of his actions giving him pause. If this truly succeeded, he might be condemning himself to an eternity of torture. At best, a slave. At worst, a mindless form of power. Was it truly worth that?

The ice constricting his heart answered the question for him. A thousand years and a thousand more, he would wait if necessary. Vengeance would be his. He had always been patient.

“I swear by the cliffs of Elknai on the edge of the world, by the clouds of Nijut on the edge of space, and by the deep waters of Bruljut on the edge of darkness. May my mind and my essence be locked within the deck, until a worthy successor is found. My blood is my testimony.”

Immediately, he bit off the tip of his tongue, allowing the blood to run freely within. Then slowly, as the ice reached his extremities, he raised the card to his lips and kissed its surface. It glowed a deep crimson for a time, then faded into its normal waves of violet-green.

There. It was done.

The man felt his heart stop once more, the chill filling every inch of his body. Slowly sliding to the ground, he placed both hands upon his chest, card in between. Then, as his last thoughts faded into oblivion, he smiled. Let them find him. Let them try...