The Nameless Warrior: Part One

     The Lupe was very small and very young, she decided. Very young indeed; perhaps it had been abandoned. All the better, for then no master or friend would travel after the sorry lump to learn of its health or whereabouts. Looking down at the red fur - mangy red fur, further proof it was not wanted from wherever it came from -- she made up her mind. However the Lupe came upon her cloud, she would not let it leave.

     He brought back the Black Satin Collar and placed it before her. "Here," he muttered, the challenging growl threatening to surface.

     "Good boy. Sit there a minute. I may have something else for you to do." Jhudora turned away from the red Lupe and took the collar. Muttering a few words, calling up on the reserves of power, she placed it into a box and waved a hand. A purplish-black cloud puffed upwards from the box, and she smiled cruelly to herself.

     He slunk away and disappeared into the winding passageways of her castle. He knew it better than Jhudora herself, and frequently he could escape her "tender" administrations by losing himself in the darkened halls. Often he had stumbled across books and other objects, items his mistress had long forgotten, and would take small pleasure in glancing at the pictures in the books and batting about the other things. Pouncing always gave him a small thrill of anticipation and adrenaline; sometimes, he could just remember a soft voice, a ball, a throw, a chase . . .

     And then he would land, lightly, so as not to attract any attention with undue noise, and the memory would dissipate, and cold reality seeped back in. Today, though, he did not go wander. He knew where he wanted to go. Padding into one of the two rooms he had found the most interesting to experiment with the contents; a room with various swords and weaponry. Books that he had gathered from around the castle, any and every one he could find with a sword within the pages, lay around on the floor and showed pets using them, sticking them into other people and wielding them with heroic skill. Imitating the pictures, thrusting the swords with all the rage and hatred he felt towards his life and the world in general, he practiced in the secluded room. Dodging, leaping, twisting, turning, he had no concept of levels or abilities other than what Jhudora had infused in him - whether they were willingly accepted or forced upon him. He only knew the brief release of his mundane, fearful existence, the transition into dreams about becoming someone that the world would know. A hero, like those in the books that afforded him a release of the pain-filled life he led. A hero that would be respected, would be awed, and maybe, maybe, liked.

     "Lupe!"

     He heard the call, the dreadful beckon from dream to wary alertness that he could not ignore without terrible consequences. Consequences he'd experienced often before, for various reasons from not coming fast enough to being in Jhudora's sight when she was angry. Carefully putting the sword up, he scampered down the stairs and through the secret door, under the wooden table and up the short flight of stairs before arriving at the workroom.

     "You called," he mumbled.

     Jhudora turned and looked him over. "Humph. I need you to go to this house and take the earth spell book. You have," she glanced at the table, at the bubbling cauldron, "ten minutes."

     Baring his teeth in anger, he scurried out of the castle and into Faerieland. People strolled down the streets with their pets, and for a precious second he allowed himself to feel a burst of jealousy and resentment before he thought back to the brief picture she had shown him; he was illiterate, Jhudora not caring how intelligent he was or not. A large house, constructed of mostly silver, though a room of cloud and gold also sat on the lower floor. Thinking hard, he recalled one such house that fit that description, down a street where more of the wealthier owners lived. If he cut through the garden of that house, under the fence of that one, and then across that street, he should be there. Imagining all the horrible punishments he'd be given if he did not return in time, he quickly followed the trail he mentally plotted and dashed into the garden of the specified house.

     Six more minutes. He crept though a window and into the house, praying that no one was in. He was skilled in the art of thievery for the quests he was sent on cost money, and Jhudora never gave him the money to do so. Jhudora also jumped at the chance to send him to a specific glade in Meridell to pilfer various items such as cookies, shakes, plants, books, weaponry, and clothing. Why, he didn't know. He didn't care - if it kept her busy with her spells and caught her interest, he was left alone for a much longer space of time. A goal he continuously tried to reach.

     Finally! His eyes lit upon a book like the one in the picture she had showed him, sitting on a shelf with other books. Snatching it up, he dashed towards the window only to hear the dreaded sound of footsteps. Hastily, he hid in the shadows like Jhudora had taught him (beat into him, more like), and cowered as a fairy ixi stepped into the room.

     The ixi glanced at the bookshelf and blinked a moment. "Funny," he muttered to himself, clopping over to the shelves. "I could've sworn that Dhiibshowl had an Earth Spell book." Glancing up at the wall above the books, he murmured, "No events I can see."

     The Lupe took the chance to dodge towards the window, only to be knocked backwards by the ixi. "Ah-ha!" it cried, towering above him. "You have our book, don't you? What's your name? Why are you here?"

     Only three more minutes left, the Lupe thought, panicking. Desperately, he leaped forward and, surprising the ixi, knocked it backwards.

     "Whoa!" The ixi scrambled to its feet even as the Lupe disappeared over the windowsill. Not one to give up, the ixi followed without hesitation, trailing the Lupe through the busy streets of Faerieland until he stopped in dead surprise, watching the rangy red Lupe scamper into Jhudora's castle.

     "Jhudora?" the ixi said in puzzlement. "I thought her quests were buyable. Why steal . . . ?"

     The Lupe dashed into the workroom, placing the book by her feet. "Here," he panted.

     "Hmm. Just in time. You cut it close." Jhudora picked it up and glanced at the cover. "Slowing down?"

     He squared his shoulders. "It's here," he mumbled.

     "Huh." She turned away from him, to her Book of Spells.

     Gathering up his courage, he cleared his throat. "Mistress?" he hedged.

     Surprised, Jhudora turned to him. "You address me?" she asked. Looking over the quivering form, she smiled lazily - not a good sign. "What do you want, boy?"

     "I - I would like to know what my name is, mistress," he whispered.

     For a moment, she sat there, staring at him with shock and growing amusement, seeing an opportunity to grind him under her heel even more. Finally, she leaned forward, making the Lupe cower back farther. "You have no name," she hissed, her words cutting the Lupe to the bone. "You were abandoned upon my door; no one even cared if you ended up at my castle. No one cared enough to check on your well-being, to see if you were happy. But I have taken care of you, fed you, taught you, for two years. You have no name. You have no family. Because you have no use. No importance. Only those who have worth get names."

     Trying to blink away tears, trying hard not to show weakness, he managed to say, "As you say, mistress."

     And he scampered away into the shadows, curling himself into the only room with a window. Only then did he release the tears that scorched his face, burnt his soul, and tore out of his eyes. Only then did he whimper and sob to himself; not loudly, never loudly, for that would bring Jhudora, and she would punish him for showing weakness, for being what she did not want him to be.

     Meanwhile, a determined ixi scoured the streets for clues to a ratty, thin, underfed red Lupe living with the feared Jhudora.

To be continued...