The tall man strode down the plank with a calm, comfortable gait. In the afternoon sun, his coppery skin gleamed, though only his cheeks. His head and shoulders were covered by a hood, to conceal his grotesque features from passersby. The hot days on the ship had been brutal, but he had no other option. For the man named Nerediil, public appearance was not an option. His teeth had been turned into long fangs and his hands bore claws—side effects of the magic that had perverted him and built him into the beast he now was.
He inhaled and banished such depressing thoughts from his head. Those ideas are what had gotten Virn into such trouble. Nerediil was not like Virn, he had been this way for years and would be this way for many more.
The streets of Rema were not what he expected—though he had not known what to expect on the last day of the Year 1478. They were cluttered with bodies. People were drinking and smoking and drugging. Even the guards seemed to be enjoying the festivities, though some remained on duty. Across the city, big bonfires had been lit to draw people to parties and feasts. Even the Iron Palace in the distance was aglow with commotion.
Nerediil started walking that way. It was his destination after all. He had been sent to get answers from that appallingly extravagant construction, not the kind of answers one could get with ambassadorial visits. Nerediil was a creature of violence that had been sent for violent answers.
But he was soon distracted. He spotted a young woman with beads in her hair and the smooth dark skin of his homeland. She was dancing with a friend of hers, some plain drab with blonde hair, in front of a tavern in the south part of town. But the dark haired woman was divine—her bare back twisted back and forth to the tune of a wooden flute, and she threw back her head to laugh, showing bright white teeth. Nerediil sat on a barrel across the street, a keg of some kind, and watched her.
A drunk man asked him to move, and Nerediil turned his face to the man, showing him the tough hide that covered his cheeks and forehead, and said, “No.” The man was already delirious and stumbled away without another word.
When the dark skinned woman finally left the tavern, with her friend, she walked further east, not toward the Iron Palace. Nerediil considered what to do. He knew he ought to follow his orders, causing minimal commotion in Rema. But it had been a long time since Nerediil did what he wanted to. He stood up from the keg, and followed the two women through the night-time streets.
It didn’t take long for them to hurry their pace away from the hooded stranger, but he kept up easily until the fairer haired one rounded a corner and said, “Guards, we’re being followed!”
Two guards stepped out from the adjoining streets.
“I just want to talk,” Nerediil rasped. “You two looked so good dancing…”
The woman with dark skin wrapped her hands around herself to hide away her body from him, while the guards shook their heads and told Nerediil to be on his way.
“You’re overreacting,” he said. “I’ll buy you a drink, I’ll buy you all a drink!” He prayed that the guards did not do what he thought they might.
“Be on your way, girls,” said one of the guards. “We’ll handle this.”
The two young women hurried down the street, while Nerediil stepped after them. One of the guards drew two inches of his sword. Nerediil snapped the man’s arm to the left, pulling the sword out the rest of the way. He grabbed it by the blade. It was easy to yank it free of the man’s broken grip, then smash it across the man’s face. His spine snapped, and he collapsed against the wall behind him. His comrade had drawn a sword too, and slashed with all his strength at Nerediil’s exposed back. The blade punctured the skin an inch deep, but no blood welled up from the wound. The flesh was covered by a thick hide, and the blade was not thin enough to cut through it.
Nerediil thrust the pommel of the blade he held into the man’s exposed shoulder, puncturing the muscle and organs with the part of the sword never designed for killing. Then he went in search of his nearly lost prey.
It was a New Year across the world. Even though it was a smaller occasion in Rema—where the Eternal Emperor’s birthday counted the years—it was a good turning point for most people. A time of introspection and consideration. Nerediil had no doubts he would invade the Iron Palace as he had been commanded… but he might as well enjoy his vacation while he was here.