Legacy WOA30AE EN:Prelude
Legacy: War Of Ages 30th Anniversary Edition
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Contents
Prelude: This Immortal
Dearest Jeannette:
It happened very much the way you said it would; I should have known better than to try. You are so very rarely wrong. She is gone now, I know not where. I could go after her, even now, and I am certain I could find her within a few hours, but I will not. She left this morning. All I could do was watch her pack her things, mute in the knowledge that nothing I could say would change her mind. I had said too much. You would laugh at me, and I really cannot blame you. If I weren’t about to tear my own heart out, I would laugh with you. Laugh at the fool who says too much, hides too little, is too truthful. Laugh at the folly of believing that the truth is important, when all around me the evidence to the contrary abounds. I should never have come here after the duel. What conceit, to think that I could find forgiveness here. I am a fool, a bloody fool, without honor.
Have you ever met Dascoyne? A remarkable swordsman, Dascoyne. He found me last night. I had felt the Foreboding all evening, and knew I was being followed. I tried to lose him, to no avail. I shouldn’t have bothered, I know, but it has worked, on occasion. Not on this occasion. Perhaps I’ve grown too strong over the years to be lost in the teeming crowd of mortals as I once was. Perhaps his will to find me was too strong. It doesn’t matter, either way: he found me.
I had heard of him, of course. From that young Spaniard we met in Brussels, whose name escapes me at the moment. More recently from our old mutual friend: she says hello, by the way. She still looks as young as the day she died. She caught me by surprise, in the theatre last night, playing “guess who” with her ice-cold hands over my eyes. I would have killed her, but there were too many people around. It’s just as well; she warned me that Dascoyne was coming for me. She was warning me, she said, to repay me for what we did in Boston, as if that incident was for her benefit. I told her it had nothing to do with her, but she said that was irrelevant. She had a debt to pay, and warning me was her payment. I humoured her, and said that her debt was paid, after which she bowed and faded into the night, smiling.
I tried to keep to public places, thinking that he wouldn’t dare challenge me in front of mortals. I passed several churches in which I could have claimed Sanctuary, but I couldn’t bring myself to stoop to that level of cowardice. You would have laughed; here was I, desperately trying to keep in the company of a large number of mortals, yet unwilling to step across a threshold and openly declare my fear. It seemed reasonable at the time.
I suppose he grew tired of waiting. I felt him coming closer, and he stepped out from behind an automobile. Younger-looking than I thought he would be, with his waxed black mustache and his oiled black hair. He walked up to me, bowed, and introduced himself. I did the same. The tension was palpable. He gestured to my right, down an alleyway. Feeling defeated and trapped, I went where he directed, and he followed. As we stood en garde, I would have expected some sense of smugness from him, some leering attitude of triumph, but no. He was simply doing as he thought he had to do; he didn’t even seem to take much pleasure in it.
He beat me easily. Every thrust I attempted, he parried as if it were no effort at all. His sword was everywhere, slashing, blocking, batting aside my parries, or worse, avoiding them completely. For every cut I inflicted on him, he dealt three to me. And through it all, his demeanor was serious and attentive, not betraying the slightest emotion. Finally, long after I had exhausted myself trying to keep up with his unrelenting attacks, he impaled me in the chest. God’s teeth, Jeannette, the pain was not to be believed. For a few moments, all I saw were white spots dancing before me, and the sound of my damaged heart filled my ears. He pulled his blade from my chest, and I fell to my knees, fists clenched in agony, but I had not dropped my sword.
Dascoyne said something; I know not what. All I knew was that he was turning away from me, turning his back on me. I lunged upward with all the strength I had left. He spun, and for the first time in our duel, the mask of his expression cracked to reveal what lay beneath: surprise. His sword flew up to meet mine, impossibly fast. But not fast enough. My blade entered his neck above his right collarbone, and left it just beneath his left ear. He staggered backward, hands clutching at the wound, the blood spilling down the front of his silk shirt. Slowly, as if each moment were suspended for a heartbeat before progressing to the next, his head toppled forward, drifting gently to the ground. It landed on the cobblestones with a hollow sound. I turned away and vomited, still on my knees.
I need not describe the Rapture to you. Dascoyne’s life, his will, all that made him a living, breathing creature, his thoughts, memories, and fears, flooded into me, until I would burst. And still more. I heard distant screaming. It may have been mine, but I think not. Explosions raged around me, and through a haze of fire and light I thought I saw Dascoyne’s headless body, rising as if to Heaven. But I was Dascoyne, too, his hopes and dreams, his loves. I was all things.
It ended too soon. The next coherent thought I had was looking at the corpse from several yards away. Which of us had moved, I am not certain: perhaps both. Most of my wounds had healed, although my heart still labored painfully. I gathered Dascoyne’s weapon, a marvelous Spanish blade, and limped away.
I had healed completely by the time I arrived at her home, but I was still soaked in blood. Most of it was mine. She was hysterical when she saw me, but I was able to reassure her that I meant her no harm. She then demanded to know what awful thing I had done, that I should be so covered in blood, holding Dascoyne’s sword. The fear in her eyes stabbed my heart a second time. I feel she knew what I had done, even as I had committed the deed.
After I had cleansed myself somewhat, I told her everything. All that I have said to you, I said to her, and more so. I told her all of the things you warned me never to reveal, never to admit. I described the duel, and how Dascoyne had spared my life. In shame, I told her how in my bloodlust and pain, I attacked him from behind and took his head. I do not think I wanted forgiveness; perhaps I only wanted understanding, but what I wanted matters not. Certainly it doesn’t matter to her, or to Dascoyne. I told her what I am, and what we are, and why we must fight the War of Ages. Through all of this, she said nothing. When I finished, the dawn was close, and the birds had begun singing. Without a word, she packed her things and left. I did not stop her, or try to talk to her further. I had killed her husband and her lover; what else was there to say?
Your Servant,
Dominic