The Betrayer

"Dallan, what is this place?"

He turned to see his companion’s gaze fixed upon the chest.

"Cease! Such queries are unimportant. Come, let us open the chest."

Jethro moved slowly to the wooden construction and threw open its lid. Maps spilled out, carpeting the soft, lush grass with complex drawings and elaborate diagrams. Although he had been expecting that the collection would be impressive, Jethro was amazed by the sheer weight of maps that engulfed him. Behind him, Dallan began to laugh hysterically.

"At last! How long have I waited for this moment? Finally I have the maps!"

Darkness had fallen by the time Jethro and Dallan returned to the city. The night sky was blacker than an evil soul, the stars failing to penetrate the profuse mass of swirling cloud. Rain hammered down, drowning the world in a torrent of stinging water.

Gradually, they made their way through the gloomy streets, the chest strapped precariously to Jethro’s back. Buildings appeared to loom threateningly out of the blackness, and the few people that they met refused to speak. As Jethro turned the final corner, he could see the inn’s outline framed ominously against the dim sky.

The door, presumably closed to defend against the driving rain, creaked open under the force of Jethro’s booted foot. The bar was completely dark except for a single, flickering torch that hung in its bracket on the opposite wall. Sighing heavily, Jethro dropped the chest onto the stone flooring with a resounding clang.

"Anybody here?"

His question went unanswered. Out of the blue, Jethro remembered the tale that the barman had told the previous day, informing him that nobody stayed in the inn past nightfall. Jethro snorted derogatorily.

"Damn fairy stories," he swore.

"I told you before," the murmur came from behind him, "that myths are always based on the truth."

Jethro spun around to see Dallan leaning against the closed door.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Dallan moved away from the door and came to stand in the middle of the room.

"It means, my friend, that you should never disbelieve anything until you have heard the whole story."

"Will you stop talking in damned riddles!"

The torchlight cast an iridescent glimmering over Dallan’s face as he replied.

"Think back, my friend. What did the barman tell you?"

Suddenly, Jethro remembered.

"The house owner... the Betrayer... he killed someone." Concentrating hard, he fought to recall the conversation. "In this inn, he killed someone... after... after he had... found the maps." Realisation dawned slowly on Jethro.

"That is correct, my friend. And do you remember why the locals never stay here beyond nightfall?"

"Yeah," Jethro’s voice was barely more than a whisper, "because they’re scared he might return."

"He? Who is he?"

"The Betrayer."

Torchlight flickered once more over the room. In the split-second that the glow illuminated his face, Dallan smiled.