Medneth and Moyan

Medneth and Moyan





It was a pitch black night and the streets Moberab were unlit seemingly to facilitate the sneaking of the Marazín. Guards silently patrolled the streets around Moyan’s palace. Moyan was a lord who had become too powerful for the Emperors liking.
Medneth lurked in the shadows of an empty brothel, breathing silently and surveying the movements of the nearby guards, watching for any signs of absent mindedness in them.
One guard forgetting that assassination attempts in Moberab were as common grains of sand are in Fathfél settled himself against the wall of a derelict building for a nap though he needed it not for he was a Tágrath. Tágrath need no sleep, however it is a pleasure among them. His life would be forfeit if it was discovered any got past his vigilance.
Medneth relieved the guard of the eventuality that at some time in his immortal life he would fall collateral to some assassination attempt by slicing his throat. He then hid the body in a small alley.
Medneth then crouched and crept forward drawing Bozimith his bethred short sword for he sensed security would be tighter now that he was drawing closer to the palace.
A guard came around the corner but didn’t see him so Medneth quickly returned Bozimith to it’s ornate but practical sheath then backed himself against the wall and held his breath. The guard walked straight past him.
‘Nemoreth’ the guard called out in a croaky and clearly frightened voice. The guards were well disciplined, they would never move from their post.
‘The biggest mistake of your life’ thought Medneth. He jumped silently behind the guard and grabbed his Adam’s apple crushing it in his palm until the body fell limp. He dumped the body on top of Nemoreth’s, crouched again and crept forward once more.
‘Shadow’ Medneth thought to himself that was what his name meant. It was reputed that the only part of him that was visible when he donned his Marazín uniform was his shadow but he knew it not to be true, noone else did.
He moved the poisonous pellets in his mouth under his tongue for he perceived the imminent danger was over. Those pellets would have been used to kill himself had anything gone wrong.
He pulled Bozimith silently out of its sheath and turned left down a smaller road.
Bozimith meant blade of vengeance, he had used it to kill the man who had murdered his father when he was just nine years old. He was now much older (seven thousand one hundred and eighty nine years old), wiser and known as the best Marazín there ever was. He served the Emperor and unlike many other Marazín did not travel to Vikdía where his skills would be even more greatly paid and sought after.
As he pressed on the moon slid out from behind a cloud and shone down accusingly upon him. He cursed his luck but continued on, now even slower.
He heard the sharp twang of a bow string and looked up; an arrow was hurtling toward him. He raised Bozimith and deflected the arrow harmlessly away, another came at him but again he was able to halt its flight before it could reach him. He saw a dark shape on the roof of the building opposite him and threw a shuriken at it. It screamed out with pain before falling off the roof. Medneth shuffled diagonally across the road passing the body on the way, it was a Marazín too but of a lower rank than him, all were. He removed the shuriken from his unfortunate victim’s face, pushed the body into the shadows beside a building and ran on, now favouring speed over stealth.
A rush of air sounded behind him, Medneth spun around and locked swords with another Marazín. He slid Bozimith down to his enemy’s hilt and kicked the Marazín firmly in the chest knocking it backwards. Medneth swung but a sword was raised in defence and his blow was blocked but so great was its force that his enemy’s sword fell clattering to the ground. He stood on the sword and his opponent knowing it was defeated jumped over him and fled. Just as it was just about to turn a corner Medneth threw a shuriken at the fleeing shadow hitting it in the lower leg slowing it greatly. It turned the corner and Medneth gave chase. Around the corner a wide road led directly to the palace gates but they were still some distance away. The Marazín was running straight for them. Medneth had to stop it. He threw another shuriken this time hitting the fleeing figure in its back forcing it to sink to its knees. Medneth ran up behind the dieing, defeated and disgraced Marazín. He drove Bozimith through its back and sheathed it. The shuriken was too deep in the back of the Marazín to be retrieved.
Medneth lifted the body and carried it with him as he merged with the shadows of the buildings to his right. He then took a right turn glad at the opportunity to get out of the line of sight of the gate. He dropped the body in the shadows and crept forward.
He took a left turn, the road led straight to the palace walls. From his position Medneth could only see three guards between him and the wall but he knew there would be many more around the corners in the tributary roads.
He went on a little farther before deciding to take the roofs of the buildings as his route. He threw his grapplehook (which had cloth wrapped around it to muffle any sound) onto the overhanging eave of the building on his left and pulled himself onto the roof before drawing the grapple hook rope up after himself. Just then the moon which had been threatening his mission pulled a cloud from the west to cover itself, the cloud was thin however and some light was still able to reach Moberab.
He crouched as low as possible for his silhouette would be his greatest enemy up there. He looked ahead at the walls they were taller than any of the surrounding buildings, so if he stayed low when looked at by someone on the walls he would be only set against the dark city not the sky and if he was lucky he would remain undetected.
Soon he reached the edge of the building, below him he saw a guard. The gap to the next building wasn’t beyond his ability to jump and he decided to continue on the roofs. He bounced up and down on his flexible muscles in preparation for the jump. Then he leapt across the gap all the while looking at the guard to make sure he wasn’t spotted. He landed noiselessly and the guard was none the wiser of his stealthy actions.
He crept on a little quicker now anxious to get into the palace grounds. The next gap he came to was not as wide as the last and though there were two guards below he was safe for they were talking and paying no attention to their surroundings. He made the jump with no difficulty and continued on. The next gap was a real challenge it was wider than any of the previous ones, on the other side of the gap were the palace walls. The walls were about a metre higher than the roof Medneth was on, not only would it have to be a long jump it would have to be a rising one aswell. He thought fleetingly of using a grapple hook but realised it would be easily spotted, he would have to jump.
Luckily there was only one guard on the walls and none on the streets. Medneth waited until the guard on the wall was on the move and jumped. He was just able to grab the edge of the wall with his left hand but nearly dislocated his shoulder his knees smashed into the wall and pain washed through his body but he held on, he was trained to handle pain. He grabbed the wall with his other arm and swung himself up onto the wall. The guard on the wall was singing to himself and didn’t notice Medneth drop himself into the palace garden.

The trickle of a fountain greeted Medneth at the other side of the wall. It muffled the sound made he made as he crept over the dry leaves. He crept under a lone Fuchsia and sat down to plan his route. There were many bushes and trees dotted haphazardly around the lawn which surrounded the palace. Cover would be easy to find. Medneth knew there would be a bare patio surrounding the base of the palace as all places of importance were guarded by such patios. That would pose some problem but not one Medneth had never dealt with before. Guards were patrolling the lawn and were armed with light in the form of torches one of the Marazín’s greatest enemies.
He set off for the palace low on the dewy grass. ‘SNAP!’ Medneth heard a twig break behind him and he spun around swiftly. He found himself facing yet another Marazín. It was about four metres away, from what he could see unarmed and as still as a statue.
‘I sport no weapon’ it said nodding at recently drawn Bozimith. Its voice was harsh and slow clearly a man’s. Medneth put Bozimith away; there was no honour in killing an unarmed Marazín.
Medneth made the first move; he jumped at his opponent fists clenched and knees withdrawn into his stomach. He drew his legs from his stomach as he reached his opponent and when he did he kicked at his chest. The kick was blocked but its force knocked the Marazín to the ground. The Marazín quickly jumped to his feet and sent a rush of punches and kicks at Medneth but all were blocked with ease. Medneth retaliated with a similar combination of punches and kicks, they were all blocked. They both realised they had underestimated the other. A smile formed on each of their faces for a good opponent was what all Marazín wished for.
The fight began. They exchanged blows and blocks, no attack ever hit its mark they were too good for that. All the while they were unbothered by guards maybe the Marazín had ensured they were left alone or maybe it was a terrible leak in defence. The fight lasted for how long Medneth did not know but he knew it lasted too long. Maybe the fight went on for so long because both were reluctant to end it, for them it was the ultimate joy; no woman could satisfy them so.
Medneth began to tire of the fight and exerted himself in trying to take victory but to no avail. ‘I am the greatest how could this be’ he thought to himself. He eventually convinced himself that he was the greatest and didn’t have time for games. When his back was turned to the other Marazín Medneth drew a small knife and concealed it in his sleeve. He then ran at his opponent and aimed a deadly punch at his face. As he had guessed the punch was blocked but just before it landed Medneth slid the knife out from his sleeve, it cut clean through his opponent’s left hand. The Marazín had not expected such a furtive attack for he was confident in Medneth’s honour. He screamed not, just clutched his bleeding hand and said bitterly ‘You have no honour’.
‘You have no intelligence’ was Medneth’s swift pre prepared reply. Medneth went at him with his knife. The Marazín tried to defend himself; he flailed his arms madly and cursed Medneth under his breath. It was no use Medneth stabbed him in his right arm and left leg.
Medneth’s opponent was now knelling on the grass arms limp by his side almost passed out from blood loss. ‘Time to die’ said Medneth mockingly. ‘Honour over intelligence, whatever were you thinking’. Medneth held his opponent’s head up and stabbed him in the chest, staring into his eyes as he killed him. He wiped his knife clean on the honourable Marazín’s cloths and dumped his body under a bush.
‘I never liked that honour system’ Medneth said to himself silently as he set off once more. He took cover behind the many trees and bushes and made rapid progress across the lawn. Ahead of him a long dark shape appeared, as he got closer he recognized it to be a hedge lining the patio.
He pushed his body through the hedge and poked his head out the other side. There were guards with torches and little shadow for him to work with. There was no point on risking a run he knew if he was spotted there would be more arrows heading his way than he would be able to deal with. Even if he did somehow make it into the palace he would be easily caught. He pulled his head back into the hedge and thought. Though there was little shadow for him to work with there was still shadow and he’d have to find some way to exploit it. Eventually he decided to creep between the circles of light given off by the guard’s torches. He emerged from the bush and crouched by its edge. Two guards were walking towards each other from his left and right. If he stayed where he was he would be caught, he had to move and quickly.
He purposed to dash through the darkness between the two circles of light for they had not met yet. Just as his legs stretched in acceleration his resolve wavered if he was caught he would have to kill himself. But if he didn’t move he would definitely be caught. It was too late to retreat if he went back into the bush he would be heard. ‘Why am I being so irrational?’ he thought to himself. For the first time what had been instilled into him in training failed to make him make the right choice. The circles were just about to merge it was too late for a dash so he jumped. The light closed in around him burning his eyes but he heard no sound of discovery, he landed without a sound by an immobile semi-circle of light emanating from a torch strapped to the palace wall.
He moved away from the light and followed the palace wall left and came to a cheap iron door. ‘Lucky’ he thought. He drew Bozimith, slid it into the lock and fiddled it around cutting through the iron lock like cheese. He then withdrew Bozimith, opened the door and stepped into the palace Bozimith raised.

The room he entered was darker than the night outside and Medneth could see nothing save for some light coming from under a door. He felt his way along the wall at his left and came to the wooden door. There was an inch high gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. Medneth looked under the door on the other side there was a well lit but unguarded passageway. He opened the door and walked through. He heard muffled voices and dropped into a crouch. He tiptoed on and came to another wooden door and opened it a crack. The voices were clear now.
‘Moyan is strong; he may well be Emperor one day. There is no use in betraying him’ a voice said.
A second voice replied ‘He thinks he is strong, he is not’.
‘He has many Marazín in his service, some of the best’ the first voice said.
‘Not Medneth’ said the second voice.
‘Medneth is not real’ the first voice said in a patronizing tone. ‘The oldest Marazín is four thousand years old; rumours of Medneth have been around for six thousand years no Marazín live so long. If he was real he is either retired or dead in any case he is not to be feared’.
‘How would you know?’ asked the second voice.
‘Common sense and the intelligence not to believe in crap’ retorted the first voice.
‘I saw him when I guarded Moyan’s old palace, that was only five years ago’.
‘If he is so great…..If you saw him you would be dead’
‘Well it wasn’t me, I heard my friend cry “Medneth” as he died by a knife to the eye. We blocked all the exits, the place was swarming with soldiers but he escaped. Only Medneth could have done that’.
‘You honestly talk the biggest load of crap; there is no use in talking to you. Moyan is in line to be the next Emperor and Medneth is not real, alright. Bye’. The feet of the first voice carried him away from the other guard and into another room. Medneth smiled, he’d kill him.
The owner of the second voice began to mutter angrily to himself and Medneth took the chance to open the door and enter the room. He emerged on the left side of a staircase in a bright hall. The guard still in the room was on the stairs to his right but out of view because of the stairs.
Medneth backed himself against staircase and moved to his right. The guard stepped off the stairs and walked directly across the room to a wooden door on the opposite wall. Then the guard began to turn around, Medneth grabbed a throwing knife from his belt and threw it at the guard’s neck. It hit its mark and the guard fell to the floor completing his turn as he did.
The door by which the body lay, Medneth guessed was the one which the other guard had left through. He looked under the door, the shape of feet were clearly outlined. He drew Bozimith and kicked the door open hitting the guard and knocking him to the ground. He then quickly sprang into the room, grabbed the guard, pulled him back out the door, closed the door and pointed Bozimith at the disorientated guard’s face.
‘Where is Moyan?’ Medneth asked threateningly.
The guard didn’t answer he just stared terrified at his fallen comrade’s face. ‘Where’ Medneth repeated but the guard just shook his hands so Medneth punched him sharply in the jaw. ‘I can make your life very painful’.
‘Probably in his study’ the guard said nasally.
‘Where is that’ Medneth asked.
‘Up that stairs’ he pointed at the stairs his comrade had last descended before he was killed. ‘In the door, first left, up the stairs and it’s the only door’.
‘Thank you’ said Medneth.
‘Do not kill me’ the guard pleaded.
‘I must you see. I am Medneth and how could I live up to my name if did not’ with that he sliced the guard’s throat and returned Bozimith to its sheath. The expression of fear mingled with surprise was frozen onto the guard’s face.
He picked up the bodies of the two guards, put one on each shoulder and then brought them to the dark room and dumped them.
Medneth then climbed the stairs and put his ear up to the door which met him at its vertex. From what he heard he guessed there were two guards. He burst through the door into a long corridor a throwing knife in each hand. He threw one at each of the guards, both fell, one dead. The other threw his own knife at Medneth, it missed and Medneth picked it up. He then walked over to the guard who was now passing out from blood loss and stabbed him in the chest finishing him. He then dragged the two bodies to the dark room where the others lay.
In the first door on the left was a small bright room with a spiral stairs in the far right corner. Medneth with his sensitive ears heard footsteps coming from above and quickly ran behind the last spiral. The steps had a vertical gap between each step, a bare foot landed before Medneth’s face and sprayed sawdust into his eyes, this stairs was obviously new. In blind pain and rage Medneth drew his knife and drove it into the heel in front of his nose.
‘Agghhhhh’ shouted the owner of the heel and fell down the last few steps. Medneth put away his knife, drew Bozimith with smooth fluidity, pounced on the man and slashed him spilling blood and the contents of the man’s stomach on the floor.
Medneth looked at the body it was without armour or arms, it was strange, wasn’t he near Moyan? ‘That guard better not have lied to me’ he whispered to himself. Medneth could sense most lies and that guard didn’t seem to be lying but he had no time for riddles so he put those thoughts to the back of his mind.
Medneth then started up the stairs, leaving the body where it lay. The stairs was long and Medneth took it slowly. It was creaky but Medneth with his sensitive ears could hear the first rumour of a creak and thus reposition his foot to prevent any sound giving away his presence. The stairs was haphazardly lit and at the end not at all. When Medneth saw light around the endless corner he crouched and moved even more slowly.
He emerged from the stairs into a small landing with double doors facing him. There were voices coming from behind the doors.
‘Where is the food?’ a voice shouted, Medneth guessed it was Moyan’s. An inaudible mumble followed Medneth guessed it belonged to some servant. ‘Well get it’. A mumble replied.
Footsteps were coming towards the door so Medneth backed himself up against the wall beside the doors. The opening doors shielded Medneth from view but the servant turned to close the doors, he was met with Bozimith in the chest.
Medneth walked around the still open door into the study. A man Medneth presumed to be Moyan was sitting at a desk facing him looking calm. ‘Strange’ Medneth thought for there were no bodyguards and all nobility always have at least two with them.
‘Weapons or not?’ the man asked.
‘What’ questioned Medneth surprised.
‘I Moyan was once a Marazín, a good one I was told and I will not die without a fight’
Medneth didn’t answer he expected this to be quick; he did not have time for a fight.
‘Well then I will choose unarmed’ said Moyan. He then stood up and walked from behind his desk.
‘Fine’ answered Medneth in the end.
The combat was silent and as in the palace garden none hit their target. Medneth didn’t find the fight as hard as the last one but Moyan was still one of the toughest opponents he had faced. ‘Why was I not told Moyan was a Marazín?’ Medneth thought to himself, it enraged him the Emperor had sent him on a mission he hadn’t even fully researched.
Now fuelled with the anger of being kept in ignorance Medneth gained the upper hand. Though he had been taught never to fight with anger it worked this time,
he passed Moyan’s defences and hit him squarely in the nose breaking it. Moyan stepped back shaking his head and splashing blood on Medneth’s pitch black cloths.
Medneth struck again hitting Moyan in the chest cracking some ribs. Then he kicked him in the chin severing off the end of Moyan’s lolling tongue. Moyan fell to the ground and lay gasping, swallowing blood and holding his ribs.
‘Kill me…….I lose’ he said unemotionally between gulps of blood.
Medneth drew and raised Bozimith and cut through Moyan’s neck. He took the head and opened the study window. He saw that he was in a tower rising out of the main palace. He hooked his grapple hook onto the windowsill and jumped out, the grapple hook rope in his left hand, Moyan’s head tucked tightly under his right arm. He lowered himself carefully onto the palace roof.
A guard who was on the roof saw him as he landed but Medneth used his mental abilities to induce severe dizziness on the guard who then fell off the roof onto the patio either dead or unconscious. Medneth followed him down but he did it carefully. He dashed across the patio; he had to get out quickly for soon there would be guards everywhere. He jumped the hedge and began to sprint towards the wall.
Halfway through the garden a guard appeared in front of his path, he met Bozimith and Medneth continued on. He came to the walls and climbed a stairs which led up onto them, grabbed a guard who was looking over the ramparts and threw him over them. He then jumped over the ramparts himself, it was quite a fall but the body of the guard cushioned his it and he came out of that daring move unhurt.
He ran to his left but then stopped for the gates were on the wall only about twenty metres away. There were two towers at either side of the gate and if he was seen the amount of arrows that would spew from them would be deadly. He leapt onto a small one story building on his right and began to creep along its roof heading away from the palace, Moyan’s head still in his grasp.
‘Intruder’ shouted a guard on the walls. A hail of arrows came flying from the walls, Medneth ran. He wasn’t hit but another flurry of arrows came, he waved Bozimith behind his back and with amazing luck deflected an arrow which otherwise would have pierced his back. He kept running, jumped a gap onto the next building, more arrows fell around him. He jumped another gap and kept running, fear keeping him alert and out of the path of many arrows. The arrows stopped for the guards had lost him in the darkness. Relieved he came to another gap but this time didn’t jump instead he placed Moyan’s head on the corner of the wooden roof and secured it with a knife.
He then jumped off the building, spat out the poisonous pellets from his mouth, ran to the right, took a left turn into a refuse lined lane and ran away from Moyan’s palace back to the Emperor to get his money.


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