I decided to extend Chapter 3, and so it is here as two separate parts:
Clearing her thoughts, Siona hurried after them. As she walked into the street, she was unprepared for the scene before her. She stood in a wide street on a slight incline, the midday light shining brightly on the cobbled road. Buildings, most at least two stories tall, lined the street. This appeared to be a mercantile district. She glanced down the street; Lynx and Raven were already heading down the hill, joining the throngs of other citizens going about their daily ritual. She jogged to them.
“Where are we going?” Siona asked.
“A meeting,” Raven answered. She obviously had a specific location in mind.
Siona wanted to follow Raven, but her instincts told her to run and hide. She had no business being in the streets of Alandon. She would be caught again, and then sent back to work at another plantation—or worse.
“It’s all right,” Lynx said, leaning toward Siona. “There’s no need to be frightened.”
Siona fidgeted despite herself. She could not help looking around her at all times. “The city is just so big,” she said, “and there are so many people.”
“Exactly,” Lynx replied. “We blend in perfectly with the crowd.”
The road curved to the right ahead, intersecting with another street. Raven continued to stride purposefully ahead. “But what if someone attacks us?” Siona insisted. “Or what if someone sees me?”
Lynx chuckled, disregarding Siona’s obvious discomfort. “Siona, you are safe with us. Besides, who is going to recognize you? You were twelve when you were kidnapped, and even though you don’t seem to have noticed, you are a woman now. You don’t even look like an orphan child anymore.”
Siona looked down at herself. The clothes she wore did fit better than the outfit she owned at the plantation, but they still hung loosely on her. She still was rather diminutive, and having Leon towering over her made her feel even smaller. He did have a point, though.
“I suppose your right,” Siona said, mostly to mollify Lynx. She did understand what he said, though. None of the other people walking in the street with them bothered to look at them, let alone attack them.
“What did Raven mean when she told Karissa she was the Watcher?” Siona inquired, changing the subject.
“Karissa is watching over us as we speak,” Lynx said, gesturing upward. “Whenever a group of us travels in the city, one of us is assigned to be the Watcher for the group.”
“Why?”
“So that we don’t have to expose ourselves,” Lynx explained. “It’s much simpler for a thief to distract someone, even attack them, than ordinary citizens.”
Siona nodded, glancing up toward the rooftops. Karissa was nowhere in sight. How could she be watching their group? Lynx must have been exaggerating; she most likely was behind them somewhere in the street.
As they walked, she studied the people passing by them in the street. The city had not changed much in the past five years, although she expected that the slums had grown larger. More people packed the city streets daily, coming from all parts of the world to live in Alandon. Over thirty different noble families called the city home as well. With so many people, crime was everywhere, causing soldiers to police the streets where they wanted and ignore the places they were needed.
Despite everything, the residents did not appear to be an oppressed people. They went about their business as usual, just as Siona remembered. Only she had watched these people from shadowed alleyways, trying her hardest to stay hidden. Most did not even understand that not everyone in the city lived well. The poorest parts of Alandon were riddled with whorehouses and beggars. Siona recalled hiding herself behind some minor nobleman’s manor, waiting for any food scraps that were to be thrown away that day. On occasion, she could find a family who would feed her for a day, but no one dared to take her in. The Emperor’s enforcers, chiefly his own Adepts and the Royal Knights, periodically hunted down and killed part of the beggar population, and then sent off the children to the plantations.
Siona had been captured in a similar raid. She had no memories of her parents, but her older brother, Kam, had done his best to raise her. Unfortunately, he had beaten her dozens of times, especially when she had failed to bring back food for him. Life with Kam had not been ideal, but he had protected her from those who tried to harm her.
Until, of course, the Royal Knights had discovered their usual hideout. They had killed Kam and captured her, sending her off on the next prisoner carriage. Lord Irawen had paid for the next delivery, and so she had found herself at his plantation.
The Emperor’s laws had made it possible for her to be sold into a life of slavery. However, she could not turn a blind eye toward the rest of the city’s inhabitants. The excuse of ignorance did not make up refusing to see what was happening in the city.
“Lynx,” Siona began, “how is it that all these people can live so well, while others suffer?”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Siona,” he answered. “Most of the people you see here are not living in luxury. For the most part, these ordinary citizens work all day to support their families at home. Some can’t handle it and are crushed. In a city of this magnitude, there are just too many people and not enough money.”
He gazed into the distance, toward the citadel. The enormous, squarish building rose from the center of the city, a dark, ominous reminder of the Emperor’s omnipresence. “That’s where all the money is,” Lynx resumed. “The people are taxed so heavily that they barely have enough to sustain themselves.”
“And the lucky few who do manage to rise to noble status apparently forget what it was like to be a peasant,” Siona spat. She hated even the mention of noblemen.
“Now don’t be too hasty in your judgment,” Lynx retorted. “Some of the houses would like to change the way things are. Unfortunately, the Emperor does not allow that sort of talk.”
They turned into a small alleyway that passed through a break in the buildings. Siona continued to dwell on the topic of noblemen. To her, they were all the same. If some of them actually did care about the wellbeing of the lower class, why did they not act more charitable? The one act of kindness she had observed had come from House Velariel, a house of moderate importance. Lord Velariel had tried to establish an orphanage. The Emperor had allowed the project to be completed, only to send his soldiers to burn the shelter hours later.
“We have arrived,” Raven proclaimed, bringing Siona back to the present. They stood in front of a small, rather unimposing house. Raven tapped lightly on the door. A slit opened and a pair of eyes looked out.
“Ah, Lady Raven,” a man said from the other side, his voice muffled. He pulled the door toward him. “Do come in.”
“Thank you,” Raven answered, marching into the front room. Lynx waved Siona forward, then followed her inside. Both of her companions had adopted subtle threatening postures: Raven, stiff and formal, still managing to look like a queen, and Lynx, slouching yet somehow watching every corner of the room.
A group of men was seated in a semicircle in the room, which was much more spacious than the outside of the building had suggested. Seven pairs of eyes turned to regard the newcomers. Siona felt uncomfortable beneath the passing scrutiny of these strangers.
One man stood alone in corner in the back of the room. Like Raven and Lynx, he put off a dangerous air while remaining nonchalant. The only other man in the room, who had been addressing the seated men, stepped forward to greet Raven. He was a rather short, squat man, with flecks of gray in his hair. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he approached the group.
“I apologize for our tardiness, Jasner,” Raven said. “I had some business to take care of this morning.”
“No apology is necessary, Lady Raven,” the man, Jasner, replied. “Please, join us.”
Jasner led Raven toward the front of the room. Lynx maneuvered Siona toward a pair of empty chairs behind the main group. He nodded respectfully to the man in the corner before taking his seat.
“Gentlemen,” Jasner began, “this is Lady Raven, the woman to whom I referred earlier. She has been of great assistance to us in these past months, and last night, she rid the world of one of the Emperor’s plantation lords.”
The men grumbled something, but Siona was not listening. “What is this?” she whispered, leaning toward Lynx.
“This is a meeting,” Lynx replied, grinning. Siona almost smiled back at him; his constant humor was intoxicating.
“I mean, what are we doing here?” she said.
“We are here to lend our support to the rebellion,” he answered. “I’m sure Jasner will explain himself shortly.”
Indeed, the short man had begun gesturing toward Raven. Siona returned her attention to the leader of the gathering.
“Yes, gentlemen,” Jasner continued, “we now have a man of great worth and valor to lead us: Raynar Karban. He will undoubtedly free us of the oppression of the Empire after so many years.” He gestured toward Raven. “And now, with the help of the Brotherhood, our victory is assured. We only ask that you join us, my friends, in our noble cause.”
For a moment, the seated men were silent. Whatever Siona had drowned out must have been important. Finally, the men clapped quietly, respectfully. Raven nodded to them.
“We will assist the rebellion in any way we can,” she said. “We only ask that we receive our payment on time.”
“You will, my lady,” Jasner said soothingly.
Siona turned back to Lynx, intending to ask him another question, when Raven announced that they were leaving. She seems to have a knack for interrupting me before I even speak, Siona thought. She stood with Lynx and followed Raven to the door.
They returned to the street. Before Siona could speak, Raven held up a hand, silencing her.
“You may ask questions once we have returned to the safe house,” Raven said. “It is time we put you to the test.”
She turned and headed back the way they had come. With a sigh, Siona followed, Lynx close behind her.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Adept Story, Chapter Three A
Chapter 3 is complete. Enjoy.
CHAPTER THREE
Siona awoke in her bed. She rubbed her eyes, wondering why the taskmaster had not come to wake her. She closed her eyes again, thinking that maybe she had actually woken up too early.
Her eyes shot open as she remembered. She sat up immediately, realizing that she was not actually on her sleeping pallet, but an actual mattress. She surveyed her surroundings and saw that she sat in a small bedroom. The room was bare of any furniture save for the bed and a dresser standing against the wall at the foot of the bed.
Quickly, she threw off her sheets, and stood. Her shirt and trousers were gone, replaced by a white nightgown. For a moment, she began to panic, wondering what exactly they had done to her.
Calm down, she told herself. If they wanted, you would be dead already. Obviously they want you for something.
Taking a deep breath, Siona closed her eyes for a second. Her instincts told her to flee, to get as far away as possible from this strange place, but she could not. She remembered everything that had happened the night before, but none of it made sense. She needed to know who—or what—those people were.
She stepped up to the dresser and opened the top drawer. A clean pair of trousers and a shirt sat folded inside. Unlike her old clothes, these were not torn and stained with perpetual grime. She pulled off the nightgown and dressed herself, relishing the feel of the new clothing.
She moved toward the door and peeked out, looking in both directions. No one was outside. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked out into the hallway. To her right was a stairwell leading downward. Unsure of what she would find, she slowly descended.
She found herself in a large dining room. Square tables dotted the area, complete with four chairs apiece. In the center of the room, the man Lynx sat, eating what looked to be some kind of meat. He looked up as she entered.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said, smiling. Like her, he wore simple clothing. Siona had almost expected him to still be wearing the black uniform he had worn the night before.
Siona approached the table. “Where are we?” she asked.
“Alandon,” Lynx replied. Siona drew in a sharp breath. “Now don’t panic. We are completely safe here.”
“This is Alandon,” Siona stated. “No one is ever truly safe.”
Lynx shook his head. “Don’t worry so much. Take a seat; I’ll find you something to eat.”
Siona took the chair across from him, making sure she had a good view of both the front door and the back doorway. He stood and moved into the kitchen at the back of the room and returned a moment later. He carried a plate with a piece of cooked meat and vegetables. He set it down in front of Siona and handed her a fork. She eyed him suspiciously.
“Eat it,” Lynx said. “It won’t kill you, I promise.”
Siona picked up the fork and jabbed at the meat. It was surprisingly tender and came away easily. She took an experimental bite.
“It’s…delicious,” she said in amazement. She began eating in earnest.
Lynx chuckled. “That’s not very ladylike, you know,” he said as she shoveled the food into her mouth. She shot him a glare and continued eating, slowing her pace somewhat.
“I’ve never eaten this well is all,” Siona pointed out between bites.
“Well, get used to it,” Lynx replied, returning to his chair. “Raven has taken a special interest in you. It seems that you are staying here for the time being.”
Siona swallowed the last morsel of the meat. “Where is Raven?” she inquired.
“She’s probably off gallivanting around the city,” he answered offhandedly. “She usually doesn’t return until afternoon.”
Siona glanced toward the window and realized that it was already past midday. “How long was I asleep?” she asked.
“We put you up there as soon as we arrived here,” Lynx said. “That was just last night. You did well, actually. I’ve seen other Adepts take up to three days to come out of the shock of their first time using a travel stamp.”
“That was that paper you used, right?” Siona asked.
“Correct,” he replied. “We use those to travel to a specific place instantaneously. The shock of the experience knocks out everyone the first time. I’ve only used them a handful of times.”
Siona started in on the vegetables, mostly beans. “I don’t really remember any of it. What happened?”
“Nothing bad,” he answered. “You went unconscious as soon as we appeared on the roof.”
“On the roof…” she said, trailing off. “Who are you people?”
Lynx paused. “I can’t tell you much, right now. Raven may have brought you here, but she does not part with secrets easily. You two are a lot alike, actually; neither of you really trust anyone.”
Siona looked away. “I’m sorry, Lynx,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t, so don’t sweat it,” he said, smiling again. Siona sensed that was his reaction to everything. “Anyway, I know what it’s like in the compounds. I was there once, too. Not at Lord Irawen’s plantation, of course. I was rescued over a year ago, when I was nineteen.”
“How long were you there?”
“Four years,” he said. “I managed to lay low in the city for a while, but eventually I got cocky and tried to steal from a restaurant. The owner caught me and sold me to a plantation. I managed to break his arm in the process, though, so it was not a total loss.”
Siona nodded. Lynx really was a large man. “So, what about Raven?” she asked. “What’s her story? Why did she come to the plantation last night?”
“We were hired to do so,” Lynx explained. “We’re part of an organization that works with…special cases. We don’t ask our employers why they want a job done, we just do it.”
“But, what about those symbols she drew?” she persisted. “What were those? Why was Raven surprised that I could see them?”
Lynx chuckled. “Patience,” he said. “Raven will explain everything in due time. She’s the boss here.”
Suddenly, the front door burst open. Siona jumped, surprised by the sudden motion. A woman entered, closing the door behind her. She was not much taller than Siona, with long honey-blonde hair.
“Hello you two,” she said sweetly, smiling at Siona. “It’s nice to see you’re awake.” She moved past them into the kitchen, humming softly.
“That’s Karissa,” Lynx said. “If you think I smile and laugh a lot, wait until she starts talking.”
“I heard that,” Karissa called from the other room. She returned holding a plate containing food identical to what Siona had just finished. She set the plate on the table, turned her chair backward, and plopped down.
“I didn’t expect you to wake up for another day at least,” Karissa said, “as small as you are.” She stuffed a bite of meat into her mouth.
“You’re one to talk,” Lynx retorted. “You aren’t much bigger than her.”
Karissa shoved him playfully on the shoulder and continued eating. Siona was taken aback by their almost childish banter. She had expected them to be much more serious, like Raven had acted the night before. They were not worried that they were in Alandon, the center of the Red Empire.
“So how was your trip?” Lynx asked.
“Uneventful, as usual,” Karissa replied with a mock sigh. “The citadel is as locked up as ever. They really take security seriously. Honestly, the Emperor is nigh invincible; I don’t think he needs to worry about being assassinated any time soon.”
Siona looked at Karissa, jaw dropping. The woman acted as though the Emperor were of little importance. “You went to the citadel?” she asked.
“Of course,” Karissa said, nodding. “I’ve been there lots of times.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being caught?” Siona asked in disbelief.
“Why should I be?” Karissa replied. “I’m dressed just like anybody else walking the streets.”
“But, it’s the Empire,” Siona insisted. “The Emperor can order his soldiers to kill anyone on a whim.”
Karissa shook her head. “He could, if he ever left his stronghold.”
She turned her attention to Lynx and began a new conversation, but Siona was no longer listening. Why had they brought her here? What did they expect of her? She knew nothing about them, other than their apparent disregard for danger.
The Red Empire had stood strong for five hundred years. The first Emperor had conquered over a dozen different nations, forming them into a single, cohesive empire. When it was all over, he had returned to the city of Alandon, the greatest city built by man, and established it as his capital.
Now, the third Emperor ruled. Like his predecessors, he lived longer than any normal man, and yet no one had really ever seen his face. It was rumored that he attended court gatherings in full armor, never allowing even the richest lords to see him. Siona wondered how anyone could speak of such a man without feeling a sense of dread. Provided that he really was a man.
Siona felt as though everything she knew was now being turned upside down. As a slave, life had been simple. She worked to stay alive; there had been nothing beyond that. Before then, the same rules applied to living in the streets. As grand as Alandon was, it was not devoid of its slums. Many people were forced into lives of hardship. Siona had been abandoned when she was only ten because her parents had decided they could no longer take care of her, and had simply left her in the market one day. From there, she had joined a gang of other orphaned children. They had been fairly successful, until a high lord discovered them rooting through his garbage one day.
Sitting in this building with Lynx and Karissa, who seemed so unconcerned about the havoc they had already caused—and most likely planned to continue—was strange and alien to Siona. Yesterday, she had been a slave; today, she was not sure what she was.
“Why am I here?” Siona demanded, causing Lynx and Karissa to falter in their conversation.
“What do you mean?” Lynx asked.
“Why did you bring me here, to Alandon?” Siona said. “What can I possibly do for you people? I don’t even know who you are.”
Lynx leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So, are you telling me you were more content with the life you had before?” Siona paused, taken aback. “I know this is hard to accept, especially after living like that for so long, but you are in good hands. Your life is changing for the better. You’ll see.”
Siona pursed her lips, thinking. He was right, though. Working at the plantation had become her life. That was all she was good for, and ever would be. Her chance encounter with Raven had been different, drawing Siona like a magnet.
“I know what you’re thinking, Siona,” Lynx continued. “I thought the same thing. When a person is forced to live a certain way, it becomes the only way. Such a drastic change is difficult to accept at first.”
“I think I understand,” Siona replied. If Lynx was to be believed, he had been in her situation before. One thing still bothered her, though. “But I still don’t know why you brought me. What good am I to you?”
Lynx sat back, chuckling. “That again. You sure are a curious girl.” Siona blushed, causing to laugh again. “Raven will explain. It’s her duty to tell you.”
Siona nodded, but she still was not fully convinced. They obviously expected her to do some kind of task for them. Nothing in the world was truly free. Before she could press the issue further, the front door swung open again, revealing a tall woman. Like Karissa and Lynx, she wore the traditional clothing of the peasantry, although she managed to wear the outfit like a queen. Jet-black hair fell to her shoulders, framing a beautiful face.
Seeing her in the daylight, Siona barely recognized Raven. Siona was not prepared for how breathtaking she would be. It was nearly impossible to connect her to the same woman from the night before.
She closed the door and strode to the table, standing behind the empty chair. Lynx and Karissa waited patiently for her to speak. Siona held her breath, noticing the silence that had descended on the room. Lynx had not exaggerated; Raven truly was in control here.
Finally, Raven flicked her left hand. A knife slid from the sleeve, dropping into her waiting palm. The entire piece was of one solid metal, painted black. Siona guessed that the extended triangular blade was about six inches long, leading into a hilt ending with a small metal ring. She turned the handle toward Siona.
“Take it,” she prompted.
Hesitantly, Siona took the proffered knife delicately. “Why?” she asked in confusion.
“You found that last night,” Raven said. “I took it from you to clean it. Consider it my welcoming gift.”
“Thank you,” Siona said, hoping that was the correct response.
“Mark the handle with your name,” Raven said. “That way, everyone will know that was your first knife.”
Siona nodded, unsure what the point of the knife was. She was hardly a fighter, considering her size. However, she had no intention of doing anything that might procure Raven’s displeasure.
“Now, down to business,” she said. “The meeting will be starting shortly. I see you have all eaten. Karissa, prepare yourself; you’re the Watcher today.”
“Yes!” Karissa exclaimed, jumping up and fairly running upstairs.
Lynx shook his head. “Lucky her,” he said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to attend the meeting today.” He stood and followed Raven to the door.
Raven looked back. “Get up,” she said to Siona. “You are coming with us.”
Siona was taken aback. “Why?” she asked.
“You will see,” Raven answered. “This is the first day of your new life. Come with me, and I will explain why I brought you here.”
She placed a hand on the doorknob and pulled it open. She stepped outside. Lynx looked back at Siona and smiled. For a moment, she almost believed that there was sincerity behind the expression. Regardless, Raven had knowledge that she wanted. She needed to know as much as possible.
And then she would leave them.
CHAPTER THREE
Siona awoke in her bed. She rubbed her eyes, wondering why the taskmaster had not come to wake her. She closed her eyes again, thinking that maybe she had actually woken up too early.
Her eyes shot open as she remembered. She sat up immediately, realizing that she was not actually on her sleeping pallet, but an actual mattress. She surveyed her surroundings and saw that she sat in a small bedroom. The room was bare of any furniture save for the bed and a dresser standing against the wall at the foot of the bed.
Quickly, she threw off her sheets, and stood. Her shirt and trousers were gone, replaced by a white nightgown. For a moment, she began to panic, wondering what exactly they had done to her.
Calm down, she told herself. If they wanted, you would be dead already. Obviously they want you for something.
Taking a deep breath, Siona closed her eyes for a second. Her instincts told her to flee, to get as far away as possible from this strange place, but she could not. She remembered everything that had happened the night before, but none of it made sense. She needed to know who—or what—those people were.
She stepped up to the dresser and opened the top drawer. A clean pair of trousers and a shirt sat folded inside. Unlike her old clothes, these were not torn and stained with perpetual grime. She pulled off the nightgown and dressed herself, relishing the feel of the new clothing.
She moved toward the door and peeked out, looking in both directions. No one was outside. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked out into the hallway. To her right was a stairwell leading downward. Unsure of what she would find, she slowly descended.
She found herself in a large dining room. Square tables dotted the area, complete with four chairs apiece. In the center of the room, the man Lynx sat, eating what looked to be some kind of meat. He looked up as she entered.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said, smiling. Like her, he wore simple clothing. Siona had almost expected him to still be wearing the black uniform he had worn the night before.
Siona approached the table. “Where are we?” she asked.
“Alandon,” Lynx replied. Siona drew in a sharp breath. “Now don’t panic. We are completely safe here.”
“This is Alandon,” Siona stated. “No one is ever truly safe.”
Lynx shook his head. “Don’t worry so much. Take a seat; I’ll find you something to eat.”
Siona took the chair across from him, making sure she had a good view of both the front door and the back doorway. He stood and moved into the kitchen at the back of the room and returned a moment later. He carried a plate with a piece of cooked meat and vegetables. He set it down in front of Siona and handed her a fork. She eyed him suspiciously.
“Eat it,” Lynx said. “It won’t kill you, I promise.”
Siona picked up the fork and jabbed at the meat. It was surprisingly tender and came away easily. She took an experimental bite.
“It’s…delicious,” she said in amazement. She began eating in earnest.
Lynx chuckled. “That’s not very ladylike, you know,” he said as she shoveled the food into her mouth. She shot him a glare and continued eating, slowing her pace somewhat.
“I’ve never eaten this well is all,” Siona pointed out between bites.
“Well, get used to it,” Lynx replied, returning to his chair. “Raven has taken a special interest in you. It seems that you are staying here for the time being.”
Siona swallowed the last morsel of the meat. “Where is Raven?” she inquired.
“She’s probably off gallivanting around the city,” he answered offhandedly. “She usually doesn’t return until afternoon.”
Siona glanced toward the window and realized that it was already past midday. “How long was I asleep?” she asked.
“We put you up there as soon as we arrived here,” Lynx said. “That was just last night. You did well, actually. I’ve seen other Adepts take up to three days to come out of the shock of their first time using a travel stamp.”
“That was that paper you used, right?” Siona asked.
“Correct,” he replied. “We use those to travel to a specific place instantaneously. The shock of the experience knocks out everyone the first time. I’ve only used them a handful of times.”
Siona started in on the vegetables, mostly beans. “I don’t really remember any of it. What happened?”
“Nothing bad,” he answered. “You went unconscious as soon as we appeared on the roof.”
“On the roof…” she said, trailing off. “Who are you people?”
Lynx paused. “I can’t tell you much, right now. Raven may have brought you here, but she does not part with secrets easily. You two are a lot alike, actually; neither of you really trust anyone.”
Siona looked away. “I’m sorry, Lynx,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t, so don’t sweat it,” he said, smiling again. Siona sensed that was his reaction to everything. “Anyway, I know what it’s like in the compounds. I was there once, too. Not at Lord Irawen’s plantation, of course. I was rescued over a year ago, when I was nineteen.”
“How long were you there?”
“Four years,” he said. “I managed to lay low in the city for a while, but eventually I got cocky and tried to steal from a restaurant. The owner caught me and sold me to a plantation. I managed to break his arm in the process, though, so it was not a total loss.”
Siona nodded. Lynx really was a large man. “So, what about Raven?” she asked. “What’s her story? Why did she come to the plantation last night?”
“We were hired to do so,” Lynx explained. “We’re part of an organization that works with…special cases. We don’t ask our employers why they want a job done, we just do it.”
“But, what about those symbols she drew?” she persisted. “What were those? Why was Raven surprised that I could see them?”
Lynx chuckled. “Patience,” he said. “Raven will explain everything in due time. She’s the boss here.”
Suddenly, the front door burst open. Siona jumped, surprised by the sudden motion. A woman entered, closing the door behind her. She was not much taller than Siona, with long honey-blonde hair.
“Hello you two,” she said sweetly, smiling at Siona. “It’s nice to see you’re awake.” She moved past them into the kitchen, humming softly.
“That’s Karissa,” Lynx said. “If you think I smile and laugh a lot, wait until she starts talking.”
“I heard that,” Karissa called from the other room. She returned holding a plate containing food identical to what Siona had just finished. She set the plate on the table, turned her chair backward, and plopped down.
“I didn’t expect you to wake up for another day at least,” Karissa said, “as small as you are.” She stuffed a bite of meat into her mouth.
“You’re one to talk,” Lynx retorted. “You aren’t much bigger than her.”
Karissa shoved him playfully on the shoulder and continued eating. Siona was taken aback by their almost childish banter. She had expected them to be much more serious, like Raven had acted the night before. They were not worried that they were in Alandon, the center of the Red Empire.
“So how was your trip?” Lynx asked.
“Uneventful, as usual,” Karissa replied with a mock sigh. “The citadel is as locked up as ever. They really take security seriously. Honestly, the Emperor is nigh invincible; I don’t think he needs to worry about being assassinated any time soon.”
Siona looked at Karissa, jaw dropping. The woman acted as though the Emperor were of little importance. “You went to the citadel?” she asked.
“Of course,” Karissa said, nodding. “I’ve been there lots of times.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being caught?” Siona asked in disbelief.
“Why should I be?” Karissa replied. “I’m dressed just like anybody else walking the streets.”
“But, it’s the Empire,” Siona insisted. “The Emperor can order his soldiers to kill anyone on a whim.”
Karissa shook her head. “He could, if he ever left his stronghold.”
She turned her attention to Lynx and began a new conversation, but Siona was no longer listening. Why had they brought her here? What did they expect of her? She knew nothing about them, other than their apparent disregard for danger.
The Red Empire had stood strong for five hundred years. The first Emperor had conquered over a dozen different nations, forming them into a single, cohesive empire. When it was all over, he had returned to the city of Alandon, the greatest city built by man, and established it as his capital.
Now, the third Emperor ruled. Like his predecessors, he lived longer than any normal man, and yet no one had really ever seen his face. It was rumored that he attended court gatherings in full armor, never allowing even the richest lords to see him. Siona wondered how anyone could speak of such a man without feeling a sense of dread. Provided that he really was a man.
Siona felt as though everything she knew was now being turned upside down. As a slave, life had been simple. She worked to stay alive; there had been nothing beyond that. Before then, the same rules applied to living in the streets. As grand as Alandon was, it was not devoid of its slums. Many people were forced into lives of hardship. Siona had been abandoned when she was only ten because her parents had decided they could no longer take care of her, and had simply left her in the market one day. From there, she had joined a gang of other orphaned children. They had been fairly successful, until a high lord discovered them rooting through his garbage one day.
Sitting in this building with Lynx and Karissa, who seemed so unconcerned about the havoc they had already caused—and most likely planned to continue—was strange and alien to Siona. Yesterday, she had been a slave; today, she was not sure what she was.
“Why am I here?” Siona demanded, causing Lynx and Karissa to falter in their conversation.
“What do you mean?” Lynx asked.
“Why did you bring me here, to Alandon?” Siona said. “What can I possibly do for you people? I don’t even know who you are.”
Lynx leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So, are you telling me you were more content with the life you had before?” Siona paused, taken aback. “I know this is hard to accept, especially after living like that for so long, but you are in good hands. Your life is changing for the better. You’ll see.”
Siona pursed her lips, thinking. He was right, though. Working at the plantation had become her life. That was all she was good for, and ever would be. Her chance encounter with Raven had been different, drawing Siona like a magnet.
“I know what you’re thinking, Siona,” Lynx continued. “I thought the same thing. When a person is forced to live a certain way, it becomes the only way. Such a drastic change is difficult to accept at first.”
“I think I understand,” Siona replied. If Lynx was to be believed, he had been in her situation before. One thing still bothered her, though. “But I still don’t know why you brought me. What good am I to you?”
Lynx sat back, chuckling. “That again. You sure are a curious girl.” Siona blushed, causing to laugh again. “Raven will explain. It’s her duty to tell you.”
Siona nodded, but she still was not fully convinced. They obviously expected her to do some kind of task for them. Nothing in the world was truly free. Before she could press the issue further, the front door swung open again, revealing a tall woman. Like Karissa and Lynx, she wore the traditional clothing of the peasantry, although she managed to wear the outfit like a queen. Jet-black hair fell to her shoulders, framing a beautiful face.
Seeing her in the daylight, Siona barely recognized Raven. Siona was not prepared for how breathtaking she would be. It was nearly impossible to connect her to the same woman from the night before.
She closed the door and strode to the table, standing behind the empty chair. Lynx and Karissa waited patiently for her to speak. Siona held her breath, noticing the silence that had descended on the room. Lynx had not exaggerated; Raven truly was in control here.
Finally, Raven flicked her left hand. A knife slid from the sleeve, dropping into her waiting palm. The entire piece was of one solid metal, painted black. Siona guessed that the extended triangular blade was about six inches long, leading into a hilt ending with a small metal ring. She turned the handle toward Siona.
“Take it,” she prompted.
Hesitantly, Siona took the proffered knife delicately. “Why?” she asked in confusion.
“You found that last night,” Raven said. “I took it from you to clean it. Consider it my welcoming gift.”
“Thank you,” Siona said, hoping that was the correct response.
“Mark the handle with your name,” Raven said. “That way, everyone will know that was your first knife.”
Siona nodded, unsure what the point of the knife was. She was hardly a fighter, considering her size. However, she had no intention of doing anything that might procure Raven’s displeasure.
“Now, down to business,” she said. “The meeting will be starting shortly. I see you have all eaten. Karissa, prepare yourself; you’re the Watcher today.”
“Yes!” Karissa exclaimed, jumping up and fairly running upstairs.
Lynx shook his head. “Lucky her,” he said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to attend the meeting today.” He stood and followed Raven to the door.
Raven looked back. “Get up,” she said to Siona. “You are coming with us.”
Siona was taken aback. “Why?” she asked.
“You will see,” Raven answered. “This is the first day of your new life. Come with me, and I will explain why I brought you here.”
She placed a hand on the doorknob and pulled it open. She stepped outside. Lynx looked back at Siona and smiled. For a moment, she almost believed that there was sincerity behind the expression. Regardless, Raven had knowledge that she wanted. She needed to know as much as possible.
And then she would leave them.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Adept Story, Chapter Two
Chapter 2 is complete. This story does not have a title yet, so I will refer to it from now on as "The Adept Story". Yes, that sounds lame, but it's not the title. So, here it is. Enjoy. Hopefully Chapter 3 will be completed by the end of the week.
CHAPTER TWO
When Siona arrived at the manor, she could see that the woman had already entered the grounds. The front gate, made of iron bars, was smashed inward, a gaping hole in the center.
Cautiously, Siona stepped through the opening, making sure not to cut herself on the jagged metal ends. An ornate cobblestone walk extended toward the entrance to the manor itself, running between two rows of cultivated shrubbery. A line of lanterns suspended from tall metal poles stood on either side of the walk. Trees and other greenery were planted throughout the yard. It was a stark contrast to the quarters Siona was used to living in.
Her nose wrinkled as a stench washed over her. Dead guards lay scattered along the path. The mysterious woman had made short work of them in the two hours it had taken Siona to reach the manor. Surprisingly, she did not feel any sadness for these men. They had been people, true, but they had been the ones who had oppressed her and her fellows. They would have been the ones who murdered in the morning, if she had not been saved.
She stepped around the bodies, breathing through her mouth and holding her nose. As indifferent as she was to the situation, she still did not like the scent of corpses. Fortunately, they were fresh, else Siona would have gagged from the smell.
She crept toward the door, wondering where exactly the woman had gone. She wanted to thank her savior, and aide her in freeing the rest of the orphan workers. It would not be right to simply leave them behind, unsure of their fate. It was night, and most of them would be asleep by now; they would not know what had transpired unless Siona told them.
A shout came from above, and Siona looked up, trying to identify where it had come from. A window on the third story shattered, a large form falling through. Siona yelped and scurried out of the way, barely avoiding the glass shards. The body crashed to the cobblestones a moment later.
Siona moved to the man, knowing he was already dead. A black knife, the handle and blade made from a single piece of metal, protruded from the man’s chest. Siona glanced toward the window, and thought she caught a glimpse of a cloaked form gazing down at her.
Determined, Siona gripped the handle and yanked the knife out of the man. Drops of blood fell on her trousers, but she did not mind. She wiped the blood from the knife on the man’s shirt, and then moved to the door. Like the metal gate, the thick wooden doors had been blasted through, little more than chunks of wood hanging from the hinges. Siona pushed her way inside.
The interior was lit by several lanterns, casting shadows across the floor. A rich, golden rug extended from the doorway to a large staircase across the room. The walls were a deep red, and several paintings depicting past lords and ladies hung between doors and lantern rungs.
Siona was taken aback by the lavishness of the room. She had never seen such beauty. It was such a waste of wealth. Siona clenched her fists, the knife pushing into her palm. She was furious at the lord of the plantation. He could have easily spared money to give the orphans better lives, but instead chose to enslave them.
She did not understand. There were only a handful of orphanages throughout Alandon, and most of those had to be hidden from prying eyes, lest they be sold out to a noble. Any one of the noble houses, even the minor ones, could fund a dozen orphanages, where they would actually be cared for.
She approached the staircase and gripped the rail, using it as a support to ascend. Despite the excitement of the situation, she still was exhausted from the day’s work. When she reached the top, her legs ached. She did not stop, though; she needed to find that woman.
She stood on a landing that ran around the edge of the room. She began walking toward a spiral staircase at the other end of the hallway, passing even more doors. What did they need all those doors for? She had never been in a house like this, but it seemed like a waste of space.
A light appeared on the staircase in front of her, accompanying a pair of voices. Her heart racing, Siona opened the closest door and darted inside, closing it most of the way. The voices drew nearer.
“Where could she have gone?” the first voice asked.
“Not sure,” replied the second one. “The manor isn’t all that big; there aren’t many places to hide.”
“Well, obviously she’s alluded us so far,” the first said. “It’s giving me chills. You saw what she did to the men outside.”
“It’s a scare tactic, Nem,” the second answered. “Once all the guards awoke, she probably realized that she was in over her head. She might not even be here anymore, for all we know.”
Siona frowned. The woman had seemed so determined; she could not have just disappeared. On top of that, Siona had seen her only minutes before, on the third story. No, she was not gone.
She simply was not allowing herself to be seen.
“I don’t think so, Jaren,” Nem asserted. “She’s an Adept. They don’t give up that easily.”
They continued on down the walkway. Siona held her breath as they passed the door she was hiding behind. In the weak light, they did not notice the partially opened door.
Siona watched as the guards rounded the corner and descended to the first floor. Carefully, she crept out from her hiding spot and resumed travelling toward the staircase at the end of the hall. Several lanterns lit the stairwell. Siona was glad for their light; she did not want to be caught alone, especially in the dark.
She reached the third floor and came into a hallway that extended to either side and around the corner. Siona stopped. She did not know which way would be safe. If any of the guards caught her, she would be killed on sight.
As if reacting to her thoughts, four guards rounded the corner to her left, nearest her. They saw her and paused, unsure what one of the workers was doing in the manner. Not waiting around, Siona fled in the other direction.
“After her!” one of the guards shouted, kicking the whole group into motion.
Why did I come here? Siona thought, panicked. I should have just gone back to my bed and forgotten this whole incident. In seconds, she felt one of the guards grabbing for her shirt. She tugged it forward, holding the excess in her hands. She dodged around the corner, breathing frantically. The hallway ahead of her was dark.
A figure detached itself from the shadows, knocking into the lead guard. The figure pushed the guard down and spun around, throwing out its hands. Two objects struck two guards in the neck, knocking them to the ground. The one in the back hesitated, allowing the figure to pounce on him. A hand darted toward his neck, and he fell.
Siona turned to her savior, only to find herself being shoved backward into the wall. The figure pushed back its hood, revealing a woman’s face.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
Siona tried to think of something to say, but her mind was locked up. Had she simply traded one enemy for another?
“You should have stayed back there and gone to bed,” the woman said angrily. “If you had not shown up, I wouldn’t have had to save you again.”
“I’m sorry,” Siona croaked, unsure what to tell the woman.
She gasped as she felt herself rise, her feet leaving the floor. She looked at the woman, and froze. On the front of her shirt, a strange, alien symbol had appeared, as if drawn with light.
“What…is that?” she stammered.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “You can see it?” she demanded.
“Yes,” Siona mumbled, unsure of what “it” was.
The woman stood transfixed for a moment. “What’s your name, girl?” she asked. Her tone had become softer, more polite.
“Siona,” she managed. Hovering a foot above the floor was becoming increasing disorienting.
“Hmm,” the woman said, tapping her chin with a finger. “Could she really…?” She trailed off, realizing that she had begun thinking aloud. She locked eyes with Siona, and without any movement, the symbol disappeared from Siona’s shirt, dropping her to the ground.
“I’m Raven,” the woman said, offering a hand to help Siona up. Siona merely gazed up at her, petrified by her sudden change in attitude.
“It’s okay,” Raven said reassuringly. “I won’t hurt you. You…startled me is all.” Without waiting for an answer, she gripped Siona’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “We need to leave this place. I’ve already taken care of Lord Irawen.”
Siona stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. “He’s dead?”
“Yes, I believe I said that,” Raven replied.
Tears began to trickle down Siona’s cheeks. The man who had seen to her capture, allowed his men to abuse her and her companions, and had nearly taken her to his bed that night, was dead. She threw her arms around Raven’s neck.
“Thank you,” she cried.
Raven pushed her away. “You sure are a weepy girl,” she asserted.
“Not usually,” Siona muttered. In fact, she could not recall when she had last cried, for any reason. Now, overwhelming happiness washed over her.
At last, she regained control of herself. She dried her eyes and cheeks with a sleeve. “What about the others, though?” she asked. “What will happen to them now?”
“Don’t worry about them,” Raven replied. “One of my friends took care of the rest of the taskmasters. They should have freed the other orphans by now. Where they go from there is up to them.”
“Good,” Siona said, nodding. Despite her mistrust for the others, she knew that they deserved their freedom just as much as she did.
“Now, we need to leave,” Raven insisted. “You can cry all you want later.” She turned and headed back toward the stairwell.
“Where are we going?” Siona asked, hurrying to catch up. Raven was a half a foot taller than Siona, so she tried to match Raven’s quick pace.
“Just follow me and don’t ask questions,” she retorted. It seemed her caring moment had passed and had been covered up by her original rough exterior. Siona honestly did not mind; she was used to that kind of treatment.
In minutes, they exited the manor and returned to the front walk. Raven stopped and pushed back her black cloak, revealing a small pouch strapped tightly to the side of her waist. She flipped open the cover and retrieved a small rectangular piece of stark white paper.
“Burn building,” she said. She began to draw a pattern on the paper with her finger, lines of light trailing behind. Siona watched in amazement. Finally, the symbol complete, the woman slapped the paper onto the door frame.
“I suggest you move away,” she commanded. Siona took a few hesitant steps toward the iron gate. Raven stepped backward, pushing Siona farther away from the building.
“Activate,” she said clearly, pointing at the piece of paper. To Siona’s surprise, the paper burst into flames, lighting the wooden doorframe. The fire started to spread quickly.
“There,” Raven said, turning and climbing through the hole in the gate. “It’s finished.”
Siona followed her, but could not resist looking over her shoulder. The entire doorframe was already ablaze, and the fire was climbing upward, as if it were a living creature.
Once they were safely away from the burning manor, Raven paused underneath a tree. The leaves blocked the light from the moon; she would have been invisible if not for the flames consuming the manor. Siona took the opportunity to study the woman’s attire. In addition to the black cloak, she wore lightweight, form-fitting clothing, the color matching that of the cloak. With the hood up, Siona figured the woman really could disappear in the darkness.
A soft thud to her right startled Siona. She whipped around and saw another figure, cloaked similarly, standing in the open.
Where did he come from? Siona wondered. Aside from the few trees, there was really nowhere to hide. Maybe he flew here, just like Raven did earlier.
“Is the job finished, Lynx?” Raven asked.
“Of course,” Lynx replied. He threw back his hood, revealing the face of a young man. Disheveled hair fell across his eyes as he studied Siona. “Who’s this, Raven?”
“Don’t you worry about her,” Raven answered, regarding Siona. “I think she might be useful. Do you have the travel stamp?”
Lynx barked a short laugh. “Like I would lose that,” he scoffed. “There are barely enough of them left as it is.” He put his hand to his side and produced a piece of paper, identical to the one Raven had stuck on the house, only with a different symbol drawn on it. He moved closer to the two women and carefully laid it on the ground.
“Close your eyes, Siona,” Raven instructed. She took a hold of Siona’s left arm and Lynx’s right arm. Lynx likewise took their free arms, completing the circle.
“Whatever you do, don’t struggle,” Raven continued. “This might seem uncomfortable, but it will only take a second.”
Siona nodded in assent. However, her suspicion and panic were growing again. She barely knew these people; how could she trust them? What were they doing huddled around a simple piece of paper?
“Activate,” Raven commanded, staring at the paper. The lines of the symbol glowed, and the whole design began to rotate. As it sped up, the symbol widened, enveloping the group’s feet. Siona looked down in horror, and tried to pull free of Raven’s grip.
“Don’t struggle,” Raven reiterated. The symbol was now expanding upward, shrouding them in a spinning cylinder of light. “Think of something pleasant. It will all be over soon.”
The light now completely covered the three of them. Siona took one last look at the manor, already buckling from the damage the fire was causing. As it crashed to the ground, the light of the symbol flared. A loud crack sounded in Siona’s ears. She glanced at the two black-clad figures, and suddenly felt as if she were being pulled apart.
She screamed, and the world went dark.
CHAPTER TWO
When Siona arrived at the manor, she could see that the woman had already entered the grounds. The front gate, made of iron bars, was smashed inward, a gaping hole in the center.
Cautiously, Siona stepped through the opening, making sure not to cut herself on the jagged metal ends. An ornate cobblestone walk extended toward the entrance to the manor itself, running between two rows of cultivated shrubbery. A line of lanterns suspended from tall metal poles stood on either side of the walk. Trees and other greenery were planted throughout the yard. It was a stark contrast to the quarters Siona was used to living in.
Her nose wrinkled as a stench washed over her. Dead guards lay scattered along the path. The mysterious woman had made short work of them in the two hours it had taken Siona to reach the manor. Surprisingly, she did not feel any sadness for these men. They had been people, true, but they had been the ones who had oppressed her and her fellows. They would have been the ones who murdered in the morning, if she had not been saved.
She stepped around the bodies, breathing through her mouth and holding her nose. As indifferent as she was to the situation, she still did not like the scent of corpses. Fortunately, they were fresh, else Siona would have gagged from the smell.
She crept toward the door, wondering where exactly the woman had gone. She wanted to thank her savior, and aide her in freeing the rest of the orphan workers. It would not be right to simply leave them behind, unsure of their fate. It was night, and most of them would be asleep by now; they would not know what had transpired unless Siona told them.
A shout came from above, and Siona looked up, trying to identify where it had come from. A window on the third story shattered, a large form falling through. Siona yelped and scurried out of the way, barely avoiding the glass shards. The body crashed to the cobblestones a moment later.
Siona moved to the man, knowing he was already dead. A black knife, the handle and blade made from a single piece of metal, protruded from the man’s chest. Siona glanced toward the window, and thought she caught a glimpse of a cloaked form gazing down at her.
Determined, Siona gripped the handle and yanked the knife out of the man. Drops of blood fell on her trousers, but she did not mind. She wiped the blood from the knife on the man’s shirt, and then moved to the door. Like the metal gate, the thick wooden doors had been blasted through, little more than chunks of wood hanging from the hinges. Siona pushed her way inside.
The interior was lit by several lanterns, casting shadows across the floor. A rich, golden rug extended from the doorway to a large staircase across the room. The walls were a deep red, and several paintings depicting past lords and ladies hung between doors and lantern rungs.
Siona was taken aback by the lavishness of the room. She had never seen such beauty. It was such a waste of wealth. Siona clenched her fists, the knife pushing into her palm. She was furious at the lord of the plantation. He could have easily spared money to give the orphans better lives, but instead chose to enslave them.
She did not understand. There were only a handful of orphanages throughout Alandon, and most of those had to be hidden from prying eyes, lest they be sold out to a noble. Any one of the noble houses, even the minor ones, could fund a dozen orphanages, where they would actually be cared for.
She approached the staircase and gripped the rail, using it as a support to ascend. Despite the excitement of the situation, she still was exhausted from the day’s work. When she reached the top, her legs ached. She did not stop, though; she needed to find that woman.
She stood on a landing that ran around the edge of the room. She began walking toward a spiral staircase at the other end of the hallway, passing even more doors. What did they need all those doors for? She had never been in a house like this, but it seemed like a waste of space.
A light appeared on the staircase in front of her, accompanying a pair of voices. Her heart racing, Siona opened the closest door and darted inside, closing it most of the way. The voices drew nearer.
“Where could she have gone?” the first voice asked.
“Not sure,” replied the second one. “The manor isn’t all that big; there aren’t many places to hide.”
“Well, obviously she’s alluded us so far,” the first said. “It’s giving me chills. You saw what she did to the men outside.”
“It’s a scare tactic, Nem,” the second answered. “Once all the guards awoke, she probably realized that she was in over her head. She might not even be here anymore, for all we know.”
Siona frowned. The woman had seemed so determined; she could not have just disappeared. On top of that, Siona had seen her only minutes before, on the third story. No, she was not gone.
She simply was not allowing herself to be seen.
“I don’t think so, Jaren,” Nem asserted. “She’s an Adept. They don’t give up that easily.”
They continued on down the walkway. Siona held her breath as they passed the door she was hiding behind. In the weak light, they did not notice the partially opened door.
Siona watched as the guards rounded the corner and descended to the first floor. Carefully, she crept out from her hiding spot and resumed travelling toward the staircase at the end of the hall. Several lanterns lit the stairwell. Siona was glad for their light; she did not want to be caught alone, especially in the dark.
She reached the third floor and came into a hallway that extended to either side and around the corner. Siona stopped. She did not know which way would be safe. If any of the guards caught her, she would be killed on sight.
As if reacting to her thoughts, four guards rounded the corner to her left, nearest her. They saw her and paused, unsure what one of the workers was doing in the manner. Not waiting around, Siona fled in the other direction.
“After her!” one of the guards shouted, kicking the whole group into motion.
Why did I come here? Siona thought, panicked. I should have just gone back to my bed and forgotten this whole incident. In seconds, she felt one of the guards grabbing for her shirt. She tugged it forward, holding the excess in her hands. She dodged around the corner, breathing frantically. The hallway ahead of her was dark.
A figure detached itself from the shadows, knocking into the lead guard. The figure pushed the guard down and spun around, throwing out its hands. Two objects struck two guards in the neck, knocking them to the ground. The one in the back hesitated, allowing the figure to pounce on him. A hand darted toward his neck, and he fell.
Siona turned to her savior, only to find herself being shoved backward into the wall. The figure pushed back its hood, revealing a woman’s face.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
Siona tried to think of something to say, but her mind was locked up. Had she simply traded one enemy for another?
“You should have stayed back there and gone to bed,” the woman said angrily. “If you had not shown up, I wouldn’t have had to save you again.”
“I’m sorry,” Siona croaked, unsure what to tell the woman.
She gasped as she felt herself rise, her feet leaving the floor. She looked at the woman, and froze. On the front of her shirt, a strange, alien symbol had appeared, as if drawn with light.
“What…is that?” she stammered.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “You can see it?” she demanded.
“Yes,” Siona mumbled, unsure of what “it” was.
The woman stood transfixed for a moment. “What’s your name, girl?” she asked. Her tone had become softer, more polite.
“Siona,” she managed. Hovering a foot above the floor was becoming increasing disorienting.
“Hmm,” the woman said, tapping her chin with a finger. “Could she really…?” She trailed off, realizing that she had begun thinking aloud. She locked eyes with Siona, and without any movement, the symbol disappeared from Siona’s shirt, dropping her to the ground.
“I’m Raven,” the woman said, offering a hand to help Siona up. Siona merely gazed up at her, petrified by her sudden change in attitude.
“It’s okay,” Raven said reassuringly. “I won’t hurt you. You…startled me is all.” Without waiting for an answer, she gripped Siona’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “We need to leave this place. I’ve already taken care of Lord Irawen.”
Siona stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. “He’s dead?”
“Yes, I believe I said that,” Raven replied.
Tears began to trickle down Siona’s cheeks. The man who had seen to her capture, allowed his men to abuse her and her companions, and had nearly taken her to his bed that night, was dead. She threw her arms around Raven’s neck.
“Thank you,” she cried.
Raven pushed her away. “You sure are a weepy girl,” she asserted.
“Not usually,” Siona muttered. In fact, she could not recall when she had last cried, for any reason. Now, overwhelming happiness washed over her.
At last, she regained control of herself. She dried her eyes and cheeks with a sleeve. “What about the others, though?” she asked. “What will happen to them now?”
“Don’t worry about them,” Raven replied. “One of my friends took care of the rest of the taskmasters. They should have freed the other orphans by now. Where they go from there is up to them.”
“Good,” Siona said, nodding. Despite her mistrust for the others, she knew that they deserved their freedom just as much as she did.
“Now, we need to leave,” Raven insisted. “You can cry all you want later.” She turned and headed back toward the stairwell.
“Where are we going?” Siona asked, hurrying to catch up. Raven was a half a foot taller than Siona, so she tried to match Raven’s quick pace.
“Just follow me and don’t ask questions,” she retorted. It seemed her caring moment had passed and had been covered up by her original rough exterior. Siona honestly did not mind; she was used to that kind of treatment.
In minutes, they exited the manor and returned to the front walk. Raven stopped and pushed back her black cloak, revealing a small pouch strapped tightly to the side of her waist. She flipped open the cover and retrieved a small rectangular piece of stark white paper.
“Burn building,” she said. She began to draw a pattern on the paper with her finger, lines of light trailing behind. Siona watched in amazement. Finally, the symbol complete, the woman slapped the paper onto the door frame.
“I suggest you move away,” she commanded. Siona took a few hesitant steps toward the iron gate. Raven stepped backward, pushing Siona farther away from the building.
“Activate,” she said clearly, pointing at the piece of paper. To Siona’s surprise, the paper burst into flames, lighting the wooden doorframe. The fire started to spread quickly.
“There,” Raven said, turning and climbing through the hole in the gate. “It’s finished.”
Siona followed her, but could not resist looking over her shoulder. The entire doorframe was already ablaze, and the fire was climbing upward, as if it were a living creature.
Once they were safely away from the burning manor, Raven paused underneath a tree. The leaves blocked the light from the moon; she would have been invisible if not for the flames consuming the manor. Siona took the opportunity to study the woman’s attire. In addition to the black cloak, she wore lightweight, form-fitting clothing, the color matching that of the cloak. With the hood up, Siona figured the woman really could disappear in the darkness.
A soft thud to her right startled Siona. She whipped around and saw another figure, cloaked similarly, standing in the open.
Where did he come from? Siona wondered. Aside from the few trees, there was really nowhere to hide. Maybe he flew here, just like Raven did earlier.
“Is the job finished, Lynx?” Raven asked.
“Of course,” Lynx replied. He threw back his hood, revealing the face of a young man. Disheveled hair fell across his eyes as he studied Siona. “Who’s this, Raven?”
“Don’t you worry about her,” Raven answered, regarding Siona. “I think she might be useful. Do you have the travel stamp?”
Lynx barked a short laugh. “Like I would lose that,” he scoffed. “There are barely enough of them left as it is.” He put his hand to his side and produced a piece of paper, identical to the one Raven had stuck on the house, only with a different symbol drawn on it. He moved closer to the two women and carefully laid it on the ground.
“Close your eyes, Siona,” Raven instructed. She took a hold of Siona’s left arm and Lynx’s right arm. Lynx likewise took their free arms, completing the circle.
“Whatever you do, don’t struggle,” Raven continued. “This might seem uncomfortable, but it will only take a second.”
Siona nodded in assent. However, her suspicion and panic were growing again. She barely knew these people; how could she trust them? What were they doing huddled around a simple piece of paper?
“Activate,” Raven commanded, staring at the paper. The lines of the symbol glowed, and the whole design began to rotate. As it sped up, the symbol widened, enveloping the group’s feet. Siona looked down in horror, and tried to pull free of Raven’s grip.
“Don’t struggle,” Raven reiterated. The symbol was now expanding upward, shrouding them in a spinning cylinder of light. “Think of something pleasant. It will all be over soon.”
The light now completely covered the three of them. Siona took one last look at the manor, already buckling from the damage the fire was causing. As it crashed to the ground, the light of the symbol flared. A loud crack sounded in Siona’s ears. She glanced at the two black-clad figures, and suddenly felt as if she were being pulled apart.
She screamed, and the world went dark.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Third Story
This is the third story that I am working on currently, and will most likely become my main focus for now, as it is slated to be the shortest. Once again, it's a draft, but I hope everyone enjoys it.
CHAPTER ONE
Siona awoke to a loud banging on the front door. She groaned, knowing that dawn had come, and it was time to go to work in the fields.
The door slammed open, allowing sunlight to pour into the small building that was Siona’s living quarters. A man stood framed in the doorway, thick arms crossed, glaring angrily at Siona and the nine other workers rising slowly from their cots.
“Wake up, you lazy lot,” the man growled, hauling the worker nearest to him up. “Those crops aren’t going to harvest themselves.”
He turned and exited the room, but Siona knew he would return in a few minutes if the workers did not come out. She grimaced; “workers” was the nice way of describing their situation. They were slaves, really. There wage consisted of food and shelter, nothing more.
Siona threw back the coarse blanket that covered her and sat up. The “house” she shared with the nine others was nothing more than a large rectangle. Ten wooden pallets covered in woolen blankets were their bedding. The only real furniture was the table and chairs in the center of the room. Their meals were brought to them, if they could even be called meals.
She pulled on a pair of dirty trousers and a loose fitting shirt. Both were dull blue, since the dye was the easiest to manufacture. The plantation owner would not waste more money than necessary to clothe the orphans.
Siona and her housemates were all orphans. Plantations and small farms dotted the land for thirty miles around Alandon, the capital city of the Red Empire. Most of the plantation owners picked up children who had been abandoned by their parents from the city, knowing that they would not be stopped by the Emperor. Alandon was like a massive, living being, and so required large quantities of food and other resources to keep it running. That, in turn, meant finding enough laborers to work the fields.
Siona had been caught when she was twelve, just over five years ago. Most only lasted two or three years, but some, like her, managed to make it longer. Despite her small, scrawny stature, Siona had fought for her survival for the past five years. She was now one of the oldest in the orphan population.
With a sigh, she picked up her wicker basket and moved to the door with the others. The burly man who had woken them waited outside, a thick leather whip coiled in his hand. Like the other taskmasters, he was dressed in sturdy work clothes. The sleeves of his shirt were torn off, so as to expose his muscled arms, reminding them that they were no threat to him.
The group stepped outside into the dawn sunlight. In the distance, Siona could see proud Alandon, standing tall and mighty. For the most part, the city was a grand place, a testament to what men could build.
Only, the city was no longer ruled by a man.
Siona looked around, seeing other groups of orphans emerging from their houses. There were ten houses in all, set up in two rows, in the encampment. It was only one of many. A fence surrounded the yard, although none of them would even consider trying to escape.
The taskmaster led their group through the gate of the compound toward the fields. Their particular compound sat atop a hill overlooking the nearest field, where corn was growing currently. Siona hated this time of the harvest season, when the corn stalks were nearly eight feet tall. Siona, who was just over five feet tall, had a hard time reaching the cobs that grew near the top of the plant. On top of that, the stifling heat of the fields made the job nearly unbearable. Of course, a lashing from one of the taskmasters was much more unbearable.
“Keep the line moving,” the taskmaster commanded. Several members of the group, perpetually worn down by a shortage of food and rest, were already slowing from the ragged pace that the master kept up. They quickly straightened, not wanting to feel the lash on their backs.
At last, they entered the field proper, spreading out amongst the rows. As always, Siona was determined to bring in all she could before the midday heat really began. As long as she fulfilled her quota, she would survive another day. That was all she could hope for.
The sun was barely visible over the horizon by the time Siona and her group returned to their quarters for the night, sweaty, itchy, and exhausted. The younger ones flopped down onto their pallets immediately, resting before the evening meal came. Siona frowned; doing such a thing only drenched their blankets with their sweat.
Siona pulled a chair out from underneath the table and eased into it. The young ones—if they lived long enough—would learn that maintaining control of oneself was crucial to keeping up a façade of strength.
Unfortunately for her, being on the edge of womanhood was not beneficial in her situation. Despite the constant lack of energy, Siona’s natural beauty shone through, although she did not think of herself as beautiful. Being a woman in this environment was simply another obstacle to overcome. Some lords took girls from the orphan compounds to their beds, and then killed them the next morning. She had seen the taskmasters gazing at her, studying her. She feared that her time was almost up.
A boy came up plopped down on the chair next to her, disrupting her musings. Siona glanced at him. Like her, he was old, nearly sixteen. He was lucky, though; he had developed early in life, giving him a rather discernible advantage over smaller, younger workers.
“Hi, Siona,” the boy said. He flashed a toothy grin at her.
Inwardly, Siona sighed. “Hello, Mannik,” she said.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Mannik, like all the older boys, began taking a liking to Siona immediately early on. Some viewed her as an elder sister, others, in different ways. Fortunately, none of them had been stupid enough to try anything.
“I have some news for you,” Mannik said eagerly.
Siona perked up at this. Mannik had an uncanny ability of picking up gossip. “Well, would you be kind enough to tell me?”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling. “But maybe you should do me a favor.” His eyes flashed down momentarily, so fast that Siona barely noticed it.
“Typical boy,” she huffed. She made as if to leave the table.
“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist. She glared at him until he let go. “I mean, that’s not what I meant. I’m your friend.”
Siona nodded, but she did not believe him. She had no friends. If it was a question between his survival and hers, he would choose his own. That was the way the world worked. Siona had been abandoned by her parents; she would not put it past Mannik to do the same.
“So what’s your big news?” she inquired, putting the conversation back on topic.
“Oh, that,” he said, flashing another smile. “Well, do you remember those rumors about the rebellion?”
“Of course,” she answered. As frivolous as it seemed, a small part of her hoped that someday she and her companions could be freed. Anyone who fought against the Red Empire would be a useful ally, for a time.
“Well, those rumors are true. They say a small force has been sabotaging other plantations, disrupting supply lines, and…” he lowered his voice and leaned in, “…even assassinating some of the nobles.”
Siona’s eyes opened wide. If Mannik was telling the truth, then this was the best news she had ever received in her life. Hope swelled in her chest, but she pushed it back down. It would be useless to hope for something if she was killed sometime soon.
She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door swinging open and banging into the wall. Their taskmaster and another large man carried in a steaming pot. They set it on the table, nearly knocking Siona and Mannik out of their chairs at the same time. One of the men threw a stack of bowls and a wrapped up pack of spoons onto the table, and then left the way they had come.
As soon as the door closed, the entire group jumped up, rushing for the pot. Siona, being faster, grabbed the bowls and spoons away and began passing them around the table.
“Aw, come on Siona, I’m hungry,” cried one of the boys.
“Everyone will get their share,” she responded. Typically, there was only enough stew to nearly fill each bowl, and so some of the larger orphans would try to bully the smaller ones out of the way. Siona had taken matters into her own hands; no one would starve as long as she was alive.
Eventually, all the bowls were filled, and the group took their seats around the table. They ate in silence, too focused on eating their meal, lest someone else take it away. The lords and taskmasters always insisted that the orphans were better off at the plantations, where they had regular food and shelter. Siona had managed on her own in the city, often eating better than she did here.
As she took her last bite, the door was thrown open, startling all those in the room. After the meal, the taskmasters never returned to the compound until the morning. Siona turned toward the door; three men filed into the room.
“You,” the leader said, pointing at Siona. “Come.”
Siona froze. This was it; she was being taken to be the plaything of the plantation lord, before being murdered in the morning.
Before she could react, two of the men grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet, pulling her toward the door. She began to kick and scream, knowing it would do no good. The men were at least a foot taller than she, and could probably pick her up with one arm. The other orphans simply stared at her, unable to help and unwilling to bring trouble upon themselves.
They pulled her out into the night. A cool wind tossed her hair about, sticking to the tears that had begun to run down her cheeks. This could not be happening to her. Why now? Why had they waited five years to take her?
She closed her eyes and screamed. To her surprise, the weight lifted from her arms. She opened her eyes and saw the two men who had been holding her flying away into the darkness. Their leader stood wide-eyed as his feet left the ground. He tried to struggle, but it seemed as though he was held by invisible ropes.
“That’s quite enough of that,” a voice said from behind Siona. She turned and saw a figure detach itself from the roof. A small object flew past Siona and struck the hovering man in the stomach. She watched in surprise as the man drew in a sharp breath before falling to the ground.
“Are you all right?” the voice asked. Siona looked at the person, still cloaked in the shadows. She could not be sure, but the voice sounded like a woman’s.
“I’m…okay,” was all she could manage.
“Good,” the woman said. “Don’t worry; they will not be bothering you anymore.” The woman jumped into the air, and to Siona’s surprise, darted away, flying toward a building several hundred yards to the west: the plantation lord’s manor.
Siona stood still for a moment, wondering what she should do. She surveyed the men; they showed no signs of stirring. She stared in the direction the woman had gone, and then, against her better judgment, began moving toward the plantation.
Something important was about to happen, and she intended to find out what that was.
CHAPTER ONE
Siona awoke to a loud banging on the front door. She groaned, knowing that dawn had come, and it was time to go to work in the fields.
The door slammed open, allowing sunlight to pour into the small building that was Siona’s living quarters. A man stood framed in the doorway, thick arms crossed, glaring angrily at Siona and the nine other workers rising slowly from their cots.
“Wake up, you lazy lot,” the man growled, hauling the worker nearest to him up. “Those crops aren’t going to harvest themselves.”
He turned and exited the room, but Siona knew he would return in a few minutes if the workers did not come out. She grimaced; “workers” was the nice way of describing their situation. They were slaves, really. There wage consisted of food and shelter, nothing more.
Siona threw back the coarse blanket that covered her and sat up. The “house” she shared with the nine others was nothing more than a large rectangle. Ten wooden pallets covered in woolen blankets were their bedding. The only real furniture was the table and chairs in the center of the room. Their meals were brought to them, if they could even be called meals.
She pulled on a pair of dirty trousers and a loose fitting shirt. Both were dull blue, since the dye was the easiest to manufacture. The plantation owner would not waste more money than necessary to clothe the orphans.
Siona and her housemates were all orphans. Plantations and small farms dotted the land for thirty miles around Alandon, the capital city of the Red Empire. Most of the plantation owners picked up children who had been abandoned by their parents from the city, knowing that they would not be stopped by the Emperor. Alandon was like a massive, living being, and so required large quantities of food and other resources to keep it running. That, in turn, meant finding enough laborers to work the fields.
Siona had been caught when she was twelve, just over five years ago. Most only lasted two or three years, but some, like her, managed to make it longer. Despite her small, scrawny stature, Siona had fought for her survival for the past five years. She was now one of the oldest in the orphan population.
With a sigh, she picked up her wicker basket and moved to the door with the others. The burly man who had woken them waited outside, a thick leather whip coiled in his hand. Like the other taskmasters, he was dressed in sturdy work clothes. The sleeves of his shirt were torn off, so as to expose his muscled arms, reminding them that they were no threat to him.
The group stepped outside into the dawn sunlight. In the distance, Siona could see proud Alandon, standing tall and mighty. For the most part, the city was a grand place, a testament to what men could build.
Only, the city was no longer ruled by a man.
Siona looked around, seeing other groups of orphans emerging from their houses. There were ten houses in all, set up in two rows, in the encampment. It was only one of many. A fence surrounded the yard, although none of them would even consider trying to escape.
The taskmaster led their group through the gate of the compound toward the fields. Their particular compound sat atop a hill overlooking the nearest field, where corn was growing currently. Siona hated this time of the harvest season, when the corn stalks were nearly eight feet tall. Siona, who was just over five feet tall, had a hard time reaching the cobs that grew near the top of the plant. On top of that, the stifling heat of the fields made the job nearly unbearable. Of course, a lashing from one of the taskmasters was much more unbearable.
“Keep the line moving,” the taskmaster commanded. Several members of the group, perpetually worn down by a shortage of food and rest, were already slowing from the ragged pace that the master kept up. They quickly straightened, not wanting to feel the lash on their backs.
At last, they entered the field proper, spreading out amongst the rows. As always, Siona was determined to bring in all she could before the midday heat really began. As long as she fulfilled her quota, she would survive another day. That was all she could hope for.
The sun was barely visible over the horizon by the time Siona and her group returned to their quarters for the night, sweaty, itchy, and exhausted. The younger ones flopped down onto their pallets immediately, resting before the evening meal came. Siona frowned; doing such a thing only drenched their blankets with their sweat.
Siona pulled a chair out from underneath the table and eased into it. The young ones—if they lived long enough—would learn that maintaining control of oneself was crucial to keeping up a façade of strength.
Unfortunately for her, being on the edge of womanhood was not beneficial in her situation. Despite the constant lack of energy, Siona’s natural beauty shone through, although she did not think of herself as beautiful. Being a woman in this environment was simply another obstacle to overcome. Some lords took girls from the orphan compounds to their beds, and then killed them the next morning. She had seen the taskmasters gazing at her, studying her. She feared that her time was almost up.
A boy came up plopped down on the chair next to her, disrupting her musings. Siona glanced at him. Like her, he was old, nearly sixteen. He was lucky, though; he had developed early in life, giving him a rather discernible advantage over smaller, younger workers.
“Hi, Siona,” the boy said. He flashed a toothy grin at her.
Inwardly, Siona sighed. “Hello, Mannik,” she said.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Mannik, like all the older boys, began taking a liking to Siona immediately early on. Some viewed her as an elder sister, others, in different ways. Fortunately, none of them had been stupid enough to try anything.
“I have some news for you,” Mannik said eagerly.
Siona perked up at this. Mannik had an uncanny ability of picking up gossip. “Well, would you be kind enough to tell me?”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling. “But maybe you should do me a favor.” His eyes flashed down momentarily, so fast that Siona barely noticed it.
“Typical boy,” she huffed. She made as if to leave the table.
“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist. She glared at him until he let go. “I mean, that’s not what I meant. I’m your friend.”
Siona nodded, but she did not believe him. She had no friends. If it was a question between his survival and hers, he would choose his own. That was the way the world worked. Siona had been abandoned by her parents; she would not put it past Mannik to do the same.
“So what’s your big news?” she inquired, putting the conversation back on topic.
“Oh, that,” he said, flashing another smile. “Well, do you remember those rumors about the rebellion?”
“Of course,” she answered. As frivolous as it seemed, a small part of her hoped that someday she and her companions could be freed. Anyone who fought against the Red Empire would be a useful ally, for a time.
“Well, those rumors are true. They say a small force has been sabotaging other plantations, disrupting supply lines, and…” he lowered his voice and leaned in, “…even assassinating some of the nobles.”
Siona’s eyes opened wide. If Mannik was telling the truth, then this was the best news she had ever received in her life. Hope swelled in her chest, but she pushed it back down. It would be useless to hope for something if she was killed sometime soon.
She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door swinging open and banging into the wall. Their taskmaster and another large man carried in a steaming pot. They set it on the table, nearly knocking Siona and Mannik out of their chairs at the same time. One of the men threw a stack of bowls and a wrapped up pack of spoons onto the table, and then left the way they had come.
As soon as the door closed, the entire group jumped up, rushing for the pot. Siona, being faster, grabbed the bowls and spoons away and began passing them around the table.
“Aw, come on Siona, I’m hungry,” cried one of the boys.
“Everyone will get their share,” she responded. Typically, there was only enough stew to nearly fill each bowl, and so some of the larger orphans would try to bully the smaller ones out of the way. Siona had taken matters into her own hands; no one would starve as long as she was alive.
Eventually, all the bowls were filled, and the group took their seats around the table. They ate in silence, too focused on eating their meal, lest someone else take it away. The lords and taskmasters always insisted that the orphans were better off at the plantations, where they had regular food and shelter. Siona had managed on her own in the city, often eating better than she did here.
As she took her last bite, the door was thrown open, startling all those in the room. After the meal, the taskmasters never returned to the compound until the morning. Siona turned toward the door; three men filed into the room.
“You,” the leader said, pointing at Siona. “Come.”
Siona froze. This was it; she was being taken to be the plaything of the plantation lord, before being murdered in the morning.
Before she could react, two of the men grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet, pulling her toward the door. She began to kick and scream, knowing it would do no good. The men were at least a foot taller than she, and could probably pick her up with one arm. The other orphans simply stared at her, unable to help and unwilling to bring trouble upon themselves.
They pulled her out into the night. A cool wind tossed her hair about, sticking to the tears that had begun to run down her cheeks. This could not be happening to her. Why now? Why had they waited five years to take her?
She closed her eyes and screamed. To her surprise, the weight lifted from her arms. She opened her eyes and saw the two men who had been holding her flying away into the darkness. Their leader stood wide-eyed as his feet left the ground. He tried to struggle, but it seemed as though he was held by invisible ropes.
“That’s quite enough of that,” a voice said from behind Siona. She turned and saw a figure detach itself from the roof. A small object flew past Siona and struck the hovering man in the stomach. She watched in surprise as the man drew in a sharp breath before falling to the ground.
“Are you all right?” the voice asked. Siona looked at the person, still cloaked in the shadows. She could not be sure, but the voice sounded like a woman’s.
“I’m…okay,” was all she could manage.
“Good,” the woman said. “Don’t worry; they will not be bothering you anymore.” The woman jumped into the air, and to Siona’s surprise, darted away, flying toward a building several hundred yards to the west: the plantation lord’s manor.
Siona stood still for a moment, wondering what she should do. She surveyed the men; they showed no signs of stirring. She stared in the direction the woman had gone, and then, against her better judgment, began moving toward the plantation.
Something important was about to happen, and she intended to find out what that was.
Monday, August 30, 2010
New Story, New Characters
This is a new story I have begun, separate from the Spectrum Crystals one. This is a draft of the first chapter. It's a little simplistic, and may seem confusing, but everything will make sense in the next few chapters.
I sense a certain presence stirring, something I have not felt in a thousand years. Perhaps it is he, returning to this world at last. I wonder what he is planning.
CHAPTER ONE
Weak sunlight filtered through the tree tops, shining on a young man resting on a large stone jutting from the dirt. With gentle fingers, he unfolded a torn, crumpled piece of paper.
Jacen, he read. I hope this note finds you well. When you left us four years ago, you told us you would return one day. I do not know whether you found what you were seeking, but whatever that may be, I wish you the best of luck. But just remember, you will always have the people you lived with for eight years. Return home soon, Jacen, at least for a little while. No matter what happens, don’t close yourself off completely.
See you soon, Jacen.
There was no signature, but Jacen recognized the characteristic handwriting of his old friend and teacher, Marlow. Jacen had received the letter a week ago during his stay at a small farming village. Apparently, Marlow had contacts in places Jacen would have never guessed, and the very man that had housed Jacen presented him with the short message.
As he finished rereading the note, a small smile came to his lips. Little did Marlow know, Jacen had been planning on returning to his hometown for several weeks. Now, he sat just miles outside Seras, the town where he had spent most of his life.
Stuffing the note back into his pocket, Jacen stood up and stretched, relieving some of the tension in his body. He had been traveling for a week through the woods, camping out on the rough terrain that the Seras Woods grew upon. He could hardly wait to finally sleep in a real bed again.
He began walking, heading south down the dirt path he had been following since entering the woods. It twisted around trees and bushes, creating a pleasant way to view the natural beauty that abounded here. However, large predators did roam this area, forcing travelers to always be on their guard.
Jacen was not particularly concerned, though. He had spent the majority of his free time as a youth exploring these woods, becoming intimately familiar with every twist and turn of the trail, and had grown into a skilled tracker. In all those years, he had never once been attacked by any type of predator.
What really concerned him about his journey home was not wild animals, but the people he had left behind. Some, like Marlow, had understood his reasons for wanting adventure. They knew that some people were struck by a strong impulse to go out and see the world, rather than living in ignorance. Marlow had been the same way, at Jacen’s age.
Others, though, had questioned, even ridiculed, Jacen’s choice to leave upon reaching adulthood. They believed that he had a responsibility to give back to the other townspeople, and that his duty was to begin work, and eventually start a family. In some ways, they were right. Jacen planned on doing exactly what they wanted—in a few more years, though. He had taken all their comments in stride.
Those were not the people he was hesitant to confront. Rather, it was just one person: his childhood friend, Kairi. Jacen remembered the day vividly. She had been only fourteen when he left Seras behind, and had not completely understood his reasons. Jacen was four years her senior, and had become an adult. After all this time, Jacen worried that Kairi might not forgive him for his departure.
He stopped, realizing that something was not quite right. He strained his ears, listening for anything unusual. There were no sounds of small animals chirping and squealing. Even the wind seemed to have died, leaving a still, eerie presence on the air. Silence was unnatural in this area. The whole situation felt wrong.
Suddenly, a man burst out of the undergrowth, stumbling onto the path. He was dressed in simple brown trousers and a shirt designed to blend into the trees. A dark cloak billowed around him, disturbed by his stepping onto the dirt. His clothing was starkly similar to Jacen’s own.
“Excuse me,” Jacen said, readying himself for the worst. The man turned toward Jacen, studying him with proud features. Brown, shaggy hair fell to his shoulders, and dark stubble covered his chin.
“Watch out!” the man yelled.
“What?” Jacen asked, unsure what the man was about.
“I said, watch out!” The man charged at Jacen, knocking him to the ground. Grunting, Jacen began to push the man away from him.
Several trees snapped, bark and wood exploding outward, showering Jacen and the strange man. A large stone object swung through the air where Jacen had been standing moments before. As the object pulled back, Jacen thought it looked like a human hand.
“Move!” the man cried out, hauling Jacen to his feet. They ran down the path. Jacen cast a furtive glance behind, and nearly stopped in surprise.
What seemed to be a man came onto the trail. Only, the man was twenty feet tall and made of stone. The forearms and lower legs were thicker than that of a normal man, and the head bore a blank expression. Red eyes burned in the creature’s head, watching Jacen and the man as they fled. With a roar that shook the woods, the creature lumbered after them.
The man pulled Jacen off the trail, through the thick bushes, and into a small ravine. They ran down the ravine, finally stopping at a large rock overhang that jutted out of the side of the ravine walls. The man pushed Jacen into the small pocket, then lay inside it as well.
Jacen opened his mouth to speak, but the man held up a finger to his lips, telling Jacen to remain absolutely silent. Jacen held his breath, wondering what exactly was happening, when a muffled thump reverberated through the ground. Every time the creature took a step, Jacen felt the earth shake.
A stone foot came into view, followed by the other one. The monster seemed to have stopped, scanning the area for the two men. Jacen’s heartbeat quickened, pounding so loud that he was sure the strange stone creature would hear it.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the feet moved away, and Jacen noticed that the force of the creature’s footfalls began to fade. Finally, the man rolled out from beneath the overhang. He beckoned for Jacen to follow, who fairly scrambled to his feet.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“Not so loud,” the man said. He looked in the direction the creature had gone. “That was a golem. It started following me earlier today.”
Jacen stared at the man skeptically. He seemed to dismiss a twenty foot tall stone man as commonplace. “What was it doing here? What are you doing here?”
The man chuckled. “So many questions,” he said wistfully. “I am here because this is the quickest route to a town called Seras, which, I presume, is where you are headed.”
Jacen frowned. How had the man discerned that little piece of information? Jacen eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“I am Kol Fenrig,” the man said, smiling. “And you are?”
“Jacen,” he replied. “Jacen Thren.”
Kol nodded. “The golem is probably gone by now. Let’s get back up to the trail.”
Jacen followed as Kol climbed up the side of the ravine, grabbing rocks and roots to climb the steep dirt walls more easily. They came out of the undergrowth and emerged onto the path once more. They resumed their journey south.
As they walked, Jacen noticed that Kol had assumed a jaunty, wistful attitude, as if he had not just been chased through the woods by a giant stone being. Jacen was not sure if it was an act, or if the man was always like this.
“So, what brings you to Seras?” Jacen asked hesitantly. He did not trust this strange man yet. If he posed a threat to the Jacen’s people, he needed to know.
“I have a friend who lives there,” Kol replied. He glanced at Jacen, catching his eye. “You might know him. His name is Marlow.”
Jacen raised his eyebrows in surprise, prompting a chuckle from Kol. The man seemed to find the littlest things humorous. “Yes, I know him,” Jacen said. “He’s like a teacher to me.”
“Interesting,” Kol said, rubbing his chin. “Marlow’s an old friend of mine. I expect that he will be excited to see both of us.”
“Probably,” Jacen mumbled, trailing off. He could not understand it, but he was being taken in by Kol’s offhand manner. He did not really want to divulge any information about Marlow or his home, in case this was some kind of trap. Jacen had learned early in life, before coming to Seras, that most people could not be trusted.
They spent the next ten minutes in relative silence, Kol occasionally making some small talk. The path sloped upward, and as they came to the top of the hill, Jacen could make out Seras, only a few hundred feet away. He smiled; he was almost home, among the people he knew best.
“There it is,” Kol said, grinning. He headed off down the hill, leaving Jacen standing at the crest alone. He hurried after him, not intending to allow Kol to arrive first.
“Hold on,” Jacen said. He looked up at the town, and his next words trailed off. In the fading daylight, he could just make out a column of smoke rising from the center of the town.
I sense a certain presence stirring, something I have not felt in a thousand years. Perhaps it is he, returning to this world at last. I wonder what he is planning.
CHAPTER ONE
Weak sunlight filtered through the tree tops, shining on a young man resting on a large stone jutting from the dirt. With gentle fingers, he unfolded a torn, crumpled piece of paper.
Jacen, he read. I hope this note finds you well. When you left us four years ago, you told us you would return one day. I do not know whether you found what you were seeking, but whatever that may be, I wish you the best of luck. But just remember, you will always have the people you lived with for eight years. Return home soon, Jacen, at least for a little while. No matter what happens, don’t close yourself off completely.
See you soon, Jacen.
There was no signature, but Jacen recognized the characteristic handwriting of his old friend and teacher, Marlow. Jacen had received the letter a week ago during his stay at a small farming village. Apparently, Marlow had contacts in places Jacen would have never guessed, and the very man that had housed Jacen presented him with the short message.
As he finished rereading the note, a small smile came to his lips. Little did Marlow know, Jacen had been planning on returning to his hometown for several weeks. Now, he sat just miles outside Seras, the town where he had spent most of his life.
Stuffing the note back into his pocket, Jacen stood up and stretched, relieving some of the tension in his body. He had been traveling for a week through the woods, camping out on the rough terrain that the Seras Woods grew upon. He could hardly wait to finally sleep in a real bed again.
He began walking, heading south down the dirt path he had been following since entering the woods. It twisted around trees and bushes, creating a pleasant way to view the natural beauty that abounded here. However, large predators did roam this area, forcing travelers to always be on their guard.
Jacen was not particularly concerned, though. He had spent the majority of his free time as a youth exploring these woods, becoming intimately familiar with every twist and turn of the trail, and had grown into a skilled tracker. In all those years, he had never once been attacked by any type of predator.
What really concerned him about his journey home was not wild animals, but the people he had left behind. Some, like Marlow, had understood his reasons for wanting adventure. They knew that some people were struck by a strong impulse to go out and see the world, rather than living in ignorance. Marlow had been the same way, at Jacen’s age.
Others, though, had questioned, even ridiculed, Jacen’s choice to leave upon reaching adulthood. They believed that he had a responsibility to give back to the other townspeople, and that his duty was to begin work, and eventually start a family. In some ways, they were right. Jacen planned on doing exactly what they wanted—in a few more years, though. He had taken all their comments in stride.
Those were not the people he was hesitant to confront. Rather, it was just one person: his childhood friend, Kairi. Jacen remembered the day vividly. She had been only fourteen when he left Seras behind, and had not completely understood his reasons. Jacen was four years her senior, and had become an adult. After all this time, Jacen worried that Kairi might not forgive him for his departure.
He stopped, realizing that something was not quite right. He strained his ears, listening for anything unusual. There were no sounds of small animals chirping and squealing. Even the wind seemed to have died, leaving a still, eerie presence on the air. Silence was unnatural in this area. The whole situation felt wrong.
Suddenly, a man burst out of the undergrowth, stumbling onto the path. He was dressed in simple brown trousers and a shirt designed to blend into the trees. A dark cloak billowed around him, disturbed by his stepping onto the dirt. His clothing was starkly similar to Jacen’s own.
“Excuse me,” Jacen said, readying himself for the worst. The man turned toward Jacen, studying him with proud features. Brown, shaggy hair fell to his shoulders, and dark stubble covered his chin.
“Watch out!” the man yelled.
“What?” Jacen asked, unsure what the man was about.
“I said, watch out!” The man charged at Jacen, knocking him to the ground. Grunting, Jacen began to push the man away from him.
Several trees snapped, bark and wood exploding outward, showering Jacen and the strange man. A large stone object swung through the air where Jacen had been standing moments before. As the object pulled back, Jacen thought it looked like a human hand.
“Move!” the man cried out, hauling Jacen to his feet. They ran down the path. Jacen cast a furtive glance behind, and nearly stopped in surprise.
What seemed to be a man came onto the trail. Only, the man was twenty feet tall and made of stone. The forearms and lower legs were thicker than that of a normal man, and the head bore a blank expression. Red eyes burned in the creature’s head, watching Jacen and the man as they fled. With a roar that shook the woods, the creature lumbered after them.
The man pulled Jacen off the trail, through the thick bushes, and into a small ravine. They ran down the ravine, finally stopping at a large rock overhang that jutted out of the side of the ravine walls. The man pushed Jacen into the small pocket, then lay inside it as well.
Jacen opened his mouth to speak, but the man held up a finger to his lips, telling Jacen to remain absolutely silent. Jacen held his breath, wondering what exactly was happening, when a muffled thump reverberated through the ground. Every time the creature took a step, Jacen felt the earth shake.
A stone foot came into view, followed by the other one. The monster seemed to have stopped, scanning the area for the two men. Jacen’s heartbeat quickened, pounding so loud that he was sure the strange stone creature would hear it.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the feet moved away, and Jacen noticed that the force of the creature’s footfalls began to fade. Finally, the man rolled out from beneath the overhang. He beckoned for Jacen to follow, who fairly scrambled to his feet.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“Not so loud,” the man said. He looked in the direction the creature had gone. “That was a golem. It started following me earlier today.”
Jacen stared at the man skeptically. He seemed to dismiss a twenty foot tall stone man as commonplace. “What was it doing here? What are you doing here?”
The man chuckled. “So many questions,” he said wistfully. “I am here because this is the quickest route to a town called Seras, which, I presume, is where you are headed.”
Jacen frowned. How had the man discerned that little piece of information? Jacen eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“I am Kol Fenrig,” the man said, smiling. “And you are?”
“Jacen,” he replied. “Jacen Thren.”
Kol nodded. “The golem is probably gone by now. Let’s get back up to the trail.”
Jacen followed as Kol climbed up the side of the ravine, grabbing rocks and roots to climb the steep dirt walls more easily. They came out of the undergrowth and emerged onto the path once more. They resumed their journey south.
As they walked, Jacen noticed that Kol had assumed a jaunty, wistful attitude, as if he had not just been chased through the woods by a giant stone being. Jacen was not sure if it was an act, or if the man was always like this.
“So, what brings you to Seras?” Jacen asked hesitantly. He did not trust this strange man yet. If he posed a threat to the Jacen’s people, he needed to know.
“I have a friend who lives there,” Kol replied. He glanced at Jacen, catching his eye. “You might know him. His name is Marlow.”
Jacen raised his eyebrows in surprise, prompting a chuckle from Kol. The man seemed to find the littlest things humorous. “Yes, I know him,” Jacen said. “He’s like a teacher to me.”
“Interesting,” Kol said, rubbing his chin. “Marlow’s an old friend of mine. I expect that he will be excited to see both of us.”
“Probably,” Jacen mumbled, trailing off. He could not understand it, but he was being taken in by Kol’s offhand manner. He did not really want to divulge any information about Marlow or his home, in case this was some kind of trap. Jacen had learned early in life, before coming to Seras, that most people could not be trusted.
They spent the next ten minutes in relative silence, Kol occasionally making some small talk. The path sloped upward, and as they came to the top of the hill, Jacen could make out Seras, only a few hundred feet away. He smiled; he was almost home, among the people he knew best.
“There it is,” Kol said, grinning. He headed off down the hill, leaving Jacen standing at the crest alone. He hurried after him, not intending to allow Kol to arrive first.
“Hold on,” Jacen said. He looked up at the town, and his next words trailed off. In the fading daylight, he could just make out a column of smoke rising from the center of the town.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Eagle Trail
I wrote this poem in the first semester of my sophomore year at college. Now that summer camp is over, this seems like a good time to post this.
Many start up the trail with you,
Young and cheery boys.
Some drop out along the way
As you continue onward.
You begin to learn more
About the woods, yourself,
And how to be a good person.
As you grow older
You must continue up the trail.
It has grown steeper, and
You find that there are not as
Many others with you now.
At last you reach the top.
Hands reach out to help you up.
You stand among your fellow Eagles,
And prepare to help the next Eagle up.
Many start up the trail with you,
Young and cheery boys.
Some drop out along the way
As you continue onward.
You begin to learn more
About the woods, yourself,
And how to be a good person.
As you grow older
You must continue up the trail.
It has grown steeper, and
You find that there are not as
Many others with you now.
At last you reach the top.
Hands reach out to help you up.
You stand among your fellow Eagles,
And prepare to help the next Eagle up.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Chapter One Revised
Here is a revised version of chapter one. I decided to begin with the primary protagonist this time instead of the secondary one. The setting is different as well, but I feel that it is for the better, as the other version would have wasted time with eventually reaching the place where the story now begins.
CHAPTER ONE
Vincent Thar awoke that morning, unaware of what fate had in store for him that day. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Throwing back the sheets, he stood and moved to the window, pulling the curtains to the side. Weak sunlight poured in, giving a pink tinge to the room.
He looked down at the street below and beheld people wearing tattered clothing walking down the road, heading for the refugee center nearby. Vincent shook his head; even this early in the morning, refugees trickled into the city. They had nowhere else to go but Therin, hoping the crown would be able to protect them.
It had been six months since the death of King Dehan. Rumors had spread like wildfire across the nation. Some stories told of a legion of fiery demons that came in the middle of the night, killing hundreds of people. Other tales spoke of a single man, wielding a Crysblade, burning his way through the palace. The stories only served to build on the fear the general population felt.
Aldera had known peace for decades. Soon after Dehan’s death, though, his brother Tordain had vied for control of the throne with Gedric, Dehan’s son and rightful heir. Almost immediately, Tordain and a group of nobles retreated to the southern lands, and the kingdom was divided. Suddenly, in the midst of civil war, soldiers who were supposed to serve the crown returned to their homes, fearful of what their own countrymen would do.
It had all happened too fast, in Vincent’s opinion. No one wanted to believe that the king’s own brother had arranged for the assassination, but the hasty action taken by Tordain and his followers cast suspicion upon him.
There had been a time when the city gates would not have opened this early in the morning. In fact, the city guard itself had become nearly useless. According to even the eldest who lived in the city, no outside dangers had ever threatened Therin. Now, though, the amount of guards patrolling the city walls had doubled, and refugee centers had started up to provide a temporary home for those whose real homes had been swallowed by the advancing armies of the south.
Vincent did not understand. Soldiers were supposed to be loyal to their king, not a single lord or lady. How could men who had trained and lived together throughout their adult lives suddenly turn against their comrades? War had always seemed like something that could only happen in other lands.
He turned away from the window, trying to clear his thoughts. He had more pressing matters to attend to that morning. His father, one of the most talented blacksmiths in the city, needed Vincent to report to the shop earlier each day. The demand for more weaponry to be forged grew each day. Many of the men among the derelict travelers volunteered to join the army, swelling its ranks. With nearly half the military gone, the additions were welcomed. The new soldiers needed to be trained, and weapons and armor were essential supplies.
Vincent walked to the dresser sitting near his bed and opened a drawer. He pulled a pair of sturdy trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. Both articles were dappled greens and browns, remnants of the days he had spent living in the woodlands south of the city. He had moved to the city several years ago, as his father intended Vincent to carry on the blacksmith trade. Vincent had not been particularly thrilled with the prospect at first, but had soon come to appreciate the business that his father ran.
He dressed hurriedly, pulling on a pair of woolen socks and boots. He moved to the shelf underneath his window and slipped his knife onto his belt. The increasing number of residents in the city produced more desperate conditions. Even the capital of Aldera was not devoid of its more shady areas.
He exited his bedroom and came into the front room. His house was plain, consisting of only a few rooms. His habits had not changed due to his time in the city. His needs were small, and so he kept his life simple.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the street, pulling the door shut behind him before locking it. Groups of refugees moved along the road, their eyes downcast. Vincent could not believe how many there were. Despite many of the regions of the south giving their support to Tordain, hundreds of refugees came in every week. The safety and security that Therin offered attracted many people in these dangerous times.
He headed north down the street. This section of the city was kept fairly clean, inhabited mostly by middle class workers. No city the size of Therin was free of its slums, though, and they had only grown since the divide. The newly crowned Gedric was forced to focus most of his attention on military matters. It was an unfortunate situation for any new ruler, as the people would soon come to believe that the king was ignoring their needs. Vincent was fortunate to work for his father, whose business was only increasing.
He moved quickly, politely dodging around groups of travelers. Small houses lined the street, and several of them had been converted into temporary homes just a block from Vincent’s house. Soon, residents in the city would be forced to take in guests as well.
Turning into a back alley, Vincent walked toward the next street over. His father’s shop sat directly across the street from the alley. Compared to the other road, this one was nearly devoid of travelers. There were fewer refugee centers here, as the nobles who organized the homes tried to keep the areas spread throughout the city.
The door to the shop was open, so Vincent stepped into the front room, moving past it into the forging area beyond. It was a wide room, with several open windows providing plenty of circulation.
Four apprentices stood near heavy anvils, beating hot metal with their hammers. In the center of the room stood his father, Alec Thar. He was a bear of a man, the soot streaking his face adding to the image of a wild animal. Despite Vincent’s misgivings about taking over his Alec’s business some day, he was always happy to see his father. The man projected an air of calmness. He was like a rock, a steadfast part of Vincent’s life that would never change.
Alec looked up and saw Vincent coming through the doorway. “Ah, you’re here. Just in time.” He threw Vincent a thick apron and a pair of leather gloves. “We have a long day ahead of us, son.”
Vincent tied the apron around his waist and neck and slipped on the gloves. His father was already pounding away at a bright piece of steel, turning it into yet another blade. Vincent moved to his own anvil, studying the note his father had stuck there with the day’s instructions. With an inward sigh, he picked up his hammer and began to work.
The sun was just starting to cast shadows across the buildings when Vincent stepped out of the shop. As autumn set in, the days were growing shorter, meaning less time to work while it was still light. He understood why his father was so rushed. There never seemed to be an end to the demands made by the king and his war council.
There were far more people out in the street now. Many different shops could be found up and down the road, and various merchants were always coming by to find new products to sell in other cities.
Vincent, however, was not interested in purchasing anything, nor was he ready to retire for the night. Instead, he turned north, moving with the flow of the masses. Eventually the road began to slope downward, and less people frequented this area. He followed the road as it curved, noticing the gradual change in well-kept houses to ragged, broken buildings. The road became filthier, as did the area’s inhabitants. Beggars sat in alleyways, making a point to act desperate.
Vincent knew he was fortunate and that others were not. Every three or four days, he traveled to one of the city’s slums to aid those running the community kitchens made available to the poor and disheartened. For some reason, Vincent felt obligated to help those in need, hoping that in some way he was bettering their lives. It was a naïve, idealistic notion, but he clung onto it nonetheless.
He proceeded down the street, when a strange feeling overcame him. It was like a slight itch on the back of his neck. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, trying to find the one who was watching him. No one so much as gave him a second glance.
Dismissing it as unimportant, he continued on. However, he could not shake the feeling that he was being observed and followed. He had nearly been mugged before when he first began volunteering at the kitchens, with a group of men following his every move. This time, though, the sensation was more intense, as if the unseen eyes were burning into his skin.
As he passed an alleyway, he heard a commotion from within. The alley was dark as he turned into it. He thought he saw the vague shape of a man wrapped in a worn cloak. It seemed as though he had fallen over, whether from malnutrition, lack of sleep, or alcohol. Carefully, Vincent approached the figure.
A foul stench assaulted his nostrils, causing him to nearly choke. He covered his nose with a sleeve and pressed on. As he drew nearer, a rat scurried away from the man, taking a piece of bread with it.
Vincent paused a few steps from the huddled figure. He did not seem to be moving at all. Cautiously, he reached out and tugged on the man’s cloak. When he did not respond, Vincent edged forward, crouching down. He grabbed the man’s shoulders firmly and rolled him onto his back.
Lifeless eyes stared up at him. Startled, Vincent let go of the cloak and backed up against the building behind him. How could this be possible? The city watch was supposed to prevent occurrences like this. If nothing else, immigrants from the same towns tended to look out for one another.
He looked the body up and down one last time, trying to determine the cause of death. He noticed a large red splotch staining the gray shirt underneath the cloak. Hesitantly, Vincent pulled the rolled the man’s shirt up to get a better look at the cut.
As if struck by a lightning bolt, Vincent’s back struck the brick behind him. He slid to the ground, eyes wide, running a hand through his hair. There, cut into the man’s chest, was a single word.
“Thar.”
CHAPTER ONE
Vincent Thar awoke that morning, unaware of what fate had in store for him that day. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Throwing back the sheets, he stood and moved to the window, pulling the curtains to the side. Weak sunlight poured in, giving a pink tinge to the room.
He looked down at the street below and beheld people wearing tattered clothing walking down the road, heading for the refugee center nearby. Vincent shook his head; even this early in the morning, refugees trickled into the city. They had nowhere else to go but Therin, hoping the crown would be able to protect them.
It had been six months since the death of King Dehan. Rumors had spread like wildfire across the nation. Some stories told of a legion of fiery demons that came in the middle of the night, killing hundreds of people. Other tales spoke of a single man, wielding a Crysblade, burning his way through the palace. The stories only served to build on the fear the general population felt.
Aldera had known peace for decades. Soon after Dehan’s death, though, his brother Tordain had vied for control of the throne with Gedric, Dehan’s son and rightful heir. Almost immediately, Tordain and a group of nobles retreated to the southern lands, and the kingdom was divided. Suddenly, in the midst of civil war, soldiers who were supposed to serve the crown returned to their homes, fearful of what their own countrymen would do.
It had all happened too fast, in Vincent’s opinion. No one wanted to believe that the king’s own brother had arranged for the assassination, but the hasty action taken by Tordain and his followers cast suspicion upon him.
There had been a time when the city gates would not have opened this early in the morning. In fact, the city guard itself had become nearly useless. According to even the eldest who lived in the city, no outside dangers had ever threatened Therin. Now, though, the amount of guards patrolling the city walls had doubled, and refugee centers had started up to provide a temporary home for those whose real homes had been swallowed by the advancing armies of the south.
Vincent did not understand. Soldiers were supposed to be loyal to their king, not a single lord or lady. How could men who had trained and lived together throughout their adult lives suddenly turn against their comrades? War had always seemed like something that could only happen in other lands.
He turned away from the window, trying to clear his thoughts. He had more pressing matters to attend to that morning. His father, one of the most talented blacksmiths in the city, needed Vincent to report to the shop earlier each day. The demand for more weaponry to be forged grew each day. Many of the men among the derelict travelers volunteered to join the army, swelling its ranks. With nearly half the military gone, the additions were welcomed. The new soldiers needed to be trained, and weapons and armor were essential supplies.
Vincent walked to the dresser sitting near his bed and opened a drawer. He pulled a pair of sturdy trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. Both articles were dappled greens and browns, remnants of the days he had spent living in the woodlands south of the city. He had moved to the city several years ago, as his father intended Vincent to carry on the blacksmith trade. Vincent had not been particularly thrilled with the prospect at first, but had soon come to appreciate the business that his father ran.
He dressed hurriedly, pulling on a pair of woolen socks and boots. He moved to the shelf underneath his window and slipped his knife onto his belt. The increasing number of residents in the city produced more desperate conditions. Even the capital of Aldera was not devoid of its more shady areas.
He exited his bedroom and came into the front room. His house was plain, consisting of only a few rooms. His habits had not changed due to his time in the city. His needs were small, and so he kept his life simple.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the street, pulling the door shut behind him before locking it. Groups of refugees moved along the road, their eyes downcast. Vincent could not believe how many there were. Despite many of the regions of the south giving their support to Tordain, hundreds of refugees came in every week. The safety and security that Therin offered attracted many people in these dangerous times.
He headed north down the street. This section of the city was kept fairly clean, inhabited mostly by middle class workers. No city the size of Therin was free of its slums, though, and they had only grown since the divide. The newly crowned Gedric was forced to focus most of his attention on military matters. It was an unfortunate situation for any new ruler, as the people would soon come to believe that the king was ignoring their needs. Vincent was fortunate to work for his father, whose business was only increasing.
He moved quickly, politely dodging around groups of travelers. Small houses lined the street, and several of them had been converted into temporary homes just a block from Vincent’s house. Soon, residents in the city would be forced to take in guests as well.
Turning into a back alley, Vincent walked toward the next street over. His father’s shop sat directly across the street from the alley. Compared to the other road, this one was nearly devoid of travelers. There were fewer refugee centers here, as the nobles who organized the homes tried to keep the areas spread throughout the city.
The door to the shop was open, so Vincent stepped into the front room, moving past it into the forging area beyond. It was a wide room, with several open windows providing plenty of circulation.
Four apprentices stood near heavy anvils, beating hot metal with their hammers. In the center of the room stood his father, Alec Thar. He was a bear of a man, the soot streaking his face adding to the image of a wild animal. Despite Vincent’s misgivings about taking over his Alec’s business some day, he was always happy to see his father. The man projected an air of calmness. He was like a rock, a steadfast part of Vincent’s life that would never change.
Alec looked up and saw Vincent coming through the doorway. “Ah, you’re here. Just in time.” He threw Vincent a thick apron and a pair of leather gloves. “We have a long day ahead of us, son.”
Vincent tied the apron around his waist and neck and slipped on the gloves. His father was already pounding away at a bright piece of steel, turning it into yet another blade. Vincent moved to his own anvil, studying the note his father had stuck there with the day’s instructions. With an inward sigh, he picked up his hammer and began to work.
The sun was just starting to cast shadows across the buildings when Vincent stepped out of the shop. As autumn set in, the days were growing shorter, meaning less time to work while it was still light. He understood why his father was so rushed. There never seemed to be an end to the demands made by the king and his war council.
There were far more people out in the street now. Many different shops could be found up and down the road, and various merchants were always coming by to find new products to sell in other cities.
Vincent, however, was not interested in purchasing anything, nor was he ready to retire for the night. Instead, he turned north, moving with the flow of the masses. Eventually the road began to slope downward, and less people frequented this area. He followed the road as it curved, noticing the gradual change in well-kept houses to ragged, broken buildings. The road became filthier, as did the area’s inhabitants. Beggars sat in alleyways, making a point to act desperate.
Vincent knew he was fortunate and that others were not. Every three or four days, he traveled to one of the city’s slums to aid those running the community kitchens made available to the poor and disheartened. For some reason, Vincent felt obligated to help those in need, hoping that in some way he was bettering their lives. It was a naïve, idealistic notion, but he clung onto it nonetheless.
He proceeded down the street, when a strange feeling overcame him. It was like a slight itch on the back of his neck. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, trying to find the one who was watching him. No one so much as gave him a second glance.
Dismissing it as unimportant, he continued on. However, he could not shake the feeling that he was being observed and followed. He had nearly been mugged before when he first began volunteering at the kitchens, with a group of men following his every move. This time, though, the sensation was more intense, as if the unseen eyes were burning into his skin.
As he passed an alleyway, he heard a commotion from within. The alley was dark as he turned into it. He thought he saw the vague shape of a man wrapped in a worn cloak. It seemed as though he had fallen over, whether from malnutrition, lack of sleep, or alcohol. Carefully, Vincent approached the figure.
A foul stench assaulted his nostrils, causing him to nearly choke. He covered his nose with a sleeve and pressed on. As he drew nearer, a rat scurried away from the man, taking a piece of bread with it.
Vincent paused a few steps from the huddled figure. He did not seem to be moving at all. Cautiously, he reached out and tugged on the man’s cloak. When he did not respond, Vincent edged forward, crouching down. He grabbed the man’s shoulders firmly and rolled him onto his back.
Lifeless eyes stared up at him. Startled, Vincent let go of the cloak and backed up against the building behind him. How could this be possible? The city watch was supposed to prevent occurrences like this. If nothing else, immigrants from the same towns tended to look out for one another.
He looked the body up and down one last time, trying to determine the cause of death. He noticed a large red splotch staining the gray shirt underneath the cloak. Hesitantly, Vincent pulled the rolled the man’s shirt up to get a better look at the cut.
As if struck by a lightning bolt, Vincent’s back struck the brick behind him. He slid to the ground, eyes wide, running a hand through his hair. There, cut into the man’s chest, was a single word.
“Thar.”
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Chapter One Draft
This is the first chapter of my new project. It's a lot slower than the Prologue, as this is just the beginning, so bear with me, it will pick up in the next few chapters. Also, it's a lot shorter than the Prologue.
CHAPTER ONE
In the years since her split with the Order of Protectors, Rain had never enjoyed her freedom more.
She walked down the dirt road, a lone traveler in the chilly autumn afternoon. The trees nearby did little to shield her from the wind’s embrace. Her cloak whipped around her legs, forcing her to put a hand to her side to keep the article in place. If she chose, she could simply ignore the cold, but she sometimes liked to appear to be a normal person, instead of the powerful magic user that she was.
She crested a hill and spotted her destination through the trees. Padau was a large town that sprawled across the fields bordering the eastern woodlands of Aldera. It was only midday, but she had not slept in a real bed for two weeks, and felt that she deserved the break. Her journey was only going to grow even more difficult as she traveled farther north.
Four months ago, King Dehan had been assassinated in his palace in Therin, the capital city of Aldera, in the northern region. Rumors had spread like wildfire across the nation. Some stories told of a legion of fiery demons that came in the middle of the night, killing hundreds of people. Other tales spoke of a single man, wielding a Crysblade, burning his way through the palace. Rain suspected that the latter may be true; after all, the news of Renker’s death had reached her as well. Like her, Renker had found his own path, away from the scheming of the elders.
But now, he was gone as well. The thought made her uncomfortable. He had been an excellent swordsman, one of the few who used a perfect blend of might and magic to defeat his opponents. He had also been one of her closest friends.
Rain put a hand to the violet scarf she wore around her neck, the ends hanging down her back. Only a handful of Protectors ever fully mastered the ability to actually change a Crysblade into something else, so as to disguise it. Rain liked to be able to enter a room full of people without a sword looming over her shoulder at them.
Reassuring herself of the scarf’s existence was a habit she had developed recently. The world seemed unstable since the king’s and Renker’s deaths, as if everything she had known were coming undone.
Aldera had known peace for decades. Soon after Dehan’s death, though, his brother Tordain vied for control of the throne with Gedric, Dehan’s son and rightful heir. Almost immediately, Tordain and a group of nobles retreated to the southern lands, and the kingdom was divided. Suddenly, in the midst of civil war, soldiers who were supposed to serve the crown returned to their homes, fearful of what their own countrymen would do.
It had all happened too fast, in Rain’s opinion. That was part of the reason why she was heading north. Despite her departure from the Order, she still felt it was her duty to end conflicts and seek the truth whenever possible. She intended to see who had murdered one of the few friends she had in the world, and uncover the reasons behind Tordain’s secession.
She came to the top of another hill, trying to clear her head. The landscape in these parts was beautiful: green fields, ample for farming, extended for miles, bordered by the woodland she stood in. She spotted several farmhouses as she set off again. Most of the men in and around Padau were farmers. Some of these families had lived here for generations.
Judging the distance, Rain guessed that she was just under a mile away from the town proper. Hopefully, the people of this town would be accommodating. Despite the way folk tended to react toward Protectors these days, Rain tried to keep a positive attitude. She wanted to remind them that there was still some good to be seen in the Order.
Rain took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. After having spent most of her life in a city, she found the openness of the countryside both inviting and soothing. Even with the chill in the air, she found the familiar presence of the trees comforting. They reminded of her of her childhood, though most of it had become foggy over the years.
One memory that she could always grasp was a time when she would explore the forests near her home with her father. He had been a woodsman, guiding travelers to the correct trails that would send them to their destination. He had taught her everything he knew, hoping that she could make a living following in his footsteps.
And then he had passed on, only days before Rain’s eleventh birthday. Even now, fourteen years later, she recognized it as the turning point in her life, which had eventually led to her desire to be a Protector.
Presently, she came to the edge of the woods, stopping on the tall hill that overlooked the town beyond. Finally free of the shade of the treetops, the world seemed to turn brighter as she moved on down the slope. The road widened as it extended toward the town.
Despite the reputation Protectors carried with them, Rain enjoyed being around other people. She had not seen another person in two weeks, choosing to camp in the wilderness. It made for faster traveling, but she missed the company that others offered.
At last, she stepped into the town, walking between the houses that lined the street. Most of the men were working in the fields, harvesting as much as they could during the day. Their children, those not old enough to help with household chores, were free to play through the streets. They gawked at the strange traveler that entered their town. Rain flashed them a smile, and they went about their games, unaware of the fear most people regarded her with. Their mothers, however, were not as welcoming, scowling at her as she passed by.
She found the sign she wanted, a painting of a shepherd’s crook above the door of a two-story building. A smaller sign hung from the first, depicting a mug. The signs marked the building as both an inn and a tavern. Many merchants passed through Padau to buy the produce grown in the region, as well as other travelers heading to the larger cities in the north.
Rain turned the handle and pushed open the door. The tables in the dining room faced toward a stage for entertainment for the patrons. The main counter was to her left, a door behind it leading to the kitchen. Only a few men were there, eating their midday meal. The inn would see more business later that night as the workers came in for the day.
A portly man stood behind the counter, idly wiping the pristine surface with a cloth. He looked up as Rain approached. His eyes lit up as he recognized what she was. Her unusual garb always made her stand out. While most women wore dresses, she wore tan shorts and a lightweight blue shirt, pulled snug by a sleeveless white vest that flared out at the bottom. The violet scarf and cloak completed the outfit.
“Welcome to Padau, traveler,” the innkeeper said, keeping a polite smile on his face.
“Hello,” Rain said, smiling pleasantly. “I’d like to rent a room for a few nights, please.”
He eyed her suspiciously, most likely wondering what a Protector would want in his town. “That’ll be one silver mark per night,” he stated, remaining stiffly formal.
She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and produced a single gold mark, worth ten silver marks. “I believe this will cover the expense.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” he replied quickly, taking the coin from her. He bent down and pulled a box from beneath the counter. He unlocked it and deposited the coin within. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your room.”
He came out from behind the counter and led her through the dining room to the staircase in the back. They ascended to the second floor, and he led her to the second door on the right side of the hallway. He reached into the pocket on his shirt and grabbed a key. He unlocked the door and handed the key to Rain.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked. His initial mistrust seemed to have faded now that she had paid for the room.
“I would like a meal brought up, please,” she answered, handing him a silver mark.
“Right away, ma’am,” he said, heading back down the staircase. Rain entered the room and observed her surroundings. A bed sat in the far left corner, a nightstand with a candle standing next to it, and a wooden trunk resting at the foot of the frame. A brass tub and a washbasin were located against the wall to her right. She grinned; after two weeks on the road, a real bath would be welcome.
Light shone through the window above the bed. Rain crossed the room, throwing her cloak down onto the bed. She removed the four pouches from her belt, setting them on top of the cloak. They were filled with an assortment of items, including two extra sets of clothing, carefully rolled up so as to fit inside the belt pouches.
A soft knock on the doorframe made her turn, noticing the serving woman. Nervously, she handed a platter with a large dome covering to Rain. She opened her mouth to thank the woman, but she hastily retreated down the stairs.
Rain sighed. It was always the same. Paying it no heed, she closed the door and locked it. She placed the platter on the nightstand; she would open it in a few minutes.
Carefully, she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and held it straight. It stiffened and began folding in upon itself, transforming into an elegant, single-edged blade. Like her gloves, the crystal housed in the blade was a pale violet.
Violet suited her nature. As a mixture of red and blue, she was able to help others or destroy them. The dichotomy made the color difficult to wield; few other Protectors chose to use it, instead staying with the primary colors.
Holding the blade in her hand made her feel secure. The uncertainty she had been facing since Renker’s death faded, leaving behind steely resolve. She would find his murderer, and make the criminal pay for his crimes.
Finally, her routine complete, she sat down on the edge of the bed. She removed the covering of the platter and was assaulted by the scent of cooked meat, potatoes, and steamed vegetables. She intended to enjoy this meal.
CHAPTER ONE
In the years since her split with the Order of Protectors, Rain had never enjoyed her freedom more.
She walked down the dirt road, a lone traveler in the chilly autumn afternoon. The trees nearby did little to shield her from the wind’s embrace. Her cloak whipped around her legs, forcing her to put a hand to her side to keep the article in place. If she chose, she could simply ignore the cold, but she sometimes liked to appear to be a normal person, instead of the powerful magic user that she was.
She crested a hill and spotted her destination through the trees. Padau was a large town that sprawled across the fields bordering the eastern woodlands of Aldera. It was only midday, but she had not slept in a real bed for two weeks, and felt that she deserved the break. Her journey was only going to grow even more difficult as she traveled farther north.
Four months ago, King Dehan had been assassinated in his palace in Therin, the capital city of Aldera, in the northern region. Rumors had spread like wildfire across the nation. Some stories told of a legion of fiery demons that came in the middle of the night, killing hundreds of people. Other tales spoke of a single man, wielding a Crysblade, burning his way through the palace. Rain suspected that the latter may be true; after all, the news of Renker’s death had reached her as well. Like her, Renker had found his own path, away from the scheming of the elders.
But now, he was gone as well. The thought made her uncomfortable. He had been an excellent swordsman, one of the few who used a perfect blend of might and magic to defeat his opponents. He had also been one of her closest friends.
Rain put a hand to the violet scarf she wore around her neck, the ends hanging down her back. Only a handful of Protectors ever fully mastered the ability to actually change a Crysblade into something else, so as to disguise it. Rain liked to be able to enter a room full of people without a sword looming over her shoulder at them.
Reassuring herself of the scarf’s existence was a habit she had developed recently. The world seemed unstable since the king’s and Renker’s deaths, as if everything she had known were coming undone.
Aldera had known peace for decades. Soon after Dehan’s death, though, his brother Tordain vied for control of the throne with Gedric, Dehan’s son and rightful heir. Almost immediately, Tordain and a group of nobles retreated to the southern lands, and the kingdom was divided. Suddenly, in the midst of civil war, soldiers who were supposed to serve the crown returned to their homes, fearful of what their own countrymen would do.
It had all happened too fast, in Rain’s opinion. That was part of the reason why she was heading north. Despite her departure from the Order, she still felt it was her duty to end conflicts and seek the truth whenever possible. She intended to see who had murdered one of the few friends she had in the world, and uncover the reasons behind Tordain’s secession.
She came to the top of another hill, trying to clear her head. The landscape in these parts was beautiful: green fields, ample for farming, extended for miles, bordered by the woodland she stood in. She spotted several farmhouses as she set off again. Most of the men in and around Padau were farmers. Some of these families had lived here for generations.
Judging the distance, Rain guessed that she was just under a mile away from the town proper. Hopefully, the people of this town would be accommodating. Despite the way folk tended to react toward Protectors these days, Rain tried to keep a positive attitude. She wanted to remind them that there was still some good to be seen in the Order.
Rain took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. After having spent most of her life in a city, she found the openness of the countryside both inviting and soothing. Even with the chill in the air, she found the familiar presence of the trees comforting. They reminded of her of her childhood, though most of it had become foggy over the years.
One memory that she could always grasp was a time when she would explore the forests near her home with her father. He had been a woodsman, guiding travelers to the correct trails that would send them to their destination. He had taught her everything he knew, hoping that she could make a living following in his footsteps.
And then he had passed on, only days before Rain’s eleventh birthday. Even now, fourteen years later, she recognized it as the turning point in her life, which had eventually led to her desire to be a Protector.
Presently, she came to the edge of the woods, stopping on the tall hill that overlooked the town beyond. Finally free of the shade of the treetops, the world seemed to turn brighter as she moved on down the slope. The road widened as it extended toward the town.
Despite the reputation Protectors carried with them, Rain enjoyed being around other people. She had not seen another person in two weeks, choosing to camp in the wilderness. It made for faster traveling, but she missed the company that others offered.
At last, she stepped into the town, walking between the houses that lined the street. Most of the men were working in the fields, harvesting as much as they could during the day. Their children, those not old enough to help with household chores, were free to play through the streets. They gawked at the strange traveler that entered their town. Rain flashed them a smile, and they went about their games, unaware of the fear most people regarded her with. Their mothers, however, were not as welcoming, scowling at her as she passed by.
She found the sign she wanted, a painting of a shepherd’s crook above the door of a two-story building. A smaller sign hung from the first, depicting a mug. The signs marked the building as both an inn and a tavern. Many merchants passed through Padau to buy the produce grown in the region, as well as other travelers heading to the larger cities in the north.
Rain turned the handle and pushed open the door. The tables in the dining room faced toward a stage for entertainment for the patrons. The main counter was to her left, a door behind it leading to the kitchen. Only a few men were there, eating their midday meal. The inn would see more business later that night as the workers came in for the day.
A portly man stood behind the counter, idly wiping the pristine surface with a cloth. He looked up as Rain approached. His eyes lit up as he recognized what she was. Her unusual garb always made her stand out. While most women wore dresses, she wore tan shorts and a lightweight blue shirt, pulled snug by a sleeveless white vest that flared out at the bottom. The violet scarf and cloak completed the outfit.
“Welcome to Padau, traveler,” the innkeeper said, keeping a polite smile on his face.
“Hello,” Rain said, smiling pleasantly. “I’d like to rent a room for a few nights, please.”
He eyed her suspiciously, most likely wondering what a Protector would want in his town. “That’ll be one silver mark per night,” he stated, remaining stiffly formal.
She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and produced a single gold mark, worth ten silver marks. “I believe this will cover the expense.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” he replied quickly, taking the coin from her. He bent down and pulled a box from beneath the counter. He unlocked it and deposited the coin within. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your room.”
He came out from behind the counter and led her through the dining room to the staircase in the back. They ascended to the second floor, and he led her to the second door on the right side of the hallway. He reached into the pocket on his shirt and grabbed a key. He unlocked the door and handed the key to Rain.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked. His initial mistrust seemed to have faded now that she had paid for the room.
“I would like a meal brought up, please,” she answered, handing him a silver mark.
“Right away, ma’am,” he said, heading back down the staircase. Rain entered the room and observed her surroundings. A bed sat in the far left corner, a nightstand with a candle standing next to it, and a wooden trunk resting at the foot of the frame. A brass tub and a washbasin were located against the wall to her right. She grinned; after two weeks on the road, a real bath would be welcome.
Light shone through the window above the bed. Rain crossed the room, throwing her cloak down onto the bed. She removed the four pouches from her belt, setting them on top of the cloak. They were filled with an assortment of items, including two extra sets of clothing, carefully rolled up so as to fit inside the belt pouches.
A soft knock on the doorframe made her turn, noticing the serving woman. Nervously, she handed a platter with a large dome covering to Rain. She opened her mouth to thank the woman, but she hastily retreated down the stairs.
Rain sighed. It was always the same. Paying it no heed, she closed the door and locked it. She placed the platter on the nightstand; she would open it in a few minutes.
Carefully, she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and held it straight. It stiffened and began folding in upon itself, transforming into an elegant, single-edged blade. Like her gloves, the crystal housed in the blade was a pale violet.
Violet suited her nature. As a mixture of red and blue, she was able to help others or destroy them. The dichotomy made the color difficult to wield; few other Protectors chose to use it, instead staying with the primary colors.
Holding the blade in her hand made her feel secure. The uncertainty she had been facing since Renker’s death faded, leaving behind steely resolve. She would find his murderer, and make the criminal pay for his crimes.
Finally, her routine complete, she sat down on the edge of the bed. She removed the covering of the platter and was assaulted by the scent of cooked meat, potatoes, and steamed vegetables. She intended to enjoy this meal.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Prologue Part 2
PROLOGUE CONTINUED
Lloyd stepped forward, wiping blood from his sword on the furniture he passed. This room was only the first in a set of a group of chambers, depending on the lavishness of the king. He stalked to the end of the room, pushing open another set of gilded doors. The room beyond was basically a smaller version of the room he had just come through. The larger sitting room was for guests, while this one was for the king and his family.
Lloyd frowned. The room was deserted. Surely those swordsmen were not the only resistance the king was sending forth. No one, especially a king, would choose to die willingly on the night of a celebration.
Wasting no time, he pushed through to the next room. As he had suspected, it was the bedchamber. The room was surprisingly humble in appearance. It was rather large, true, but there were very little furnishings compared to the sitting rooms before it. A large bed sat against the far wall, with two doors on either side leading out to a balcony overlooking the sea. The doors were open, the light from the full moon shining in.
The royal family was nowhere to be seen. Instead, standing before the bed was a man in silver-blue armor. The figure held an oversized broadsword in his hands, the point resting on the ground.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Lloyd said. He caught the gleam of a crystal in the base of the blade, and inwardly sighed. It was a Crysblade. He studied the man’s armor, noticing how tiny interlocking plates covered the usual areas made vulnerable by typical armor. A large, clear crystal was set into the middle of the breastplate.
Lloyd wondered where Dehan had acquired not only a Crysblade, but also a full set of Crysarmor. Crysarmor was much harder to make, and so it was much rarer than Crysblades. As far as Lloyd knew, the Protectors no longer employed the armor. The clear crystal was beneficial yet harmful at the same time. Due to its size, it gave the one wearing the armor the speed and maneuverability one would have normally. Unfortunately, the crystal’s lack of color strictly limited its abilities, and its size sapped the wearer’s energy faster. While useful in certain situations, it was not practical for long-term battles.
The armored figure raised its sword. The weapon was a good six feet in length. Under normal circumstances, it would have been unusable, but the enhanced power the armor’s crystal granted made the size necessary. While Lloyd’s sword was just as durable as the larger one, its extended length gave the figure a slight advantage.
“If you don’t mind, I have a king to kill,” Lloyd said. “So, I don’t suppose you could simply step out of the way.”
The man did not answer. Lloyd had not expected him to. “Have it your way,” he sighed.
He leapt forward, channeling energy through his body to make him faster and stronger. He swept his sword in an arc, aiming for the man’s stomach. A Crysblade could slice through normal armor. Unfortunately, it only left a large dent on Crysarmor. Eventually, a Blade could break through, but it would wear down the user.
The armored warrior reacted instantly, sweeping his sword around at head level. Lloyd ducked out of the way and pressed forward again. The man, ready this time, countered Lloyd’s attacks. He was not slowed down by the bulky armor, as one would expect, and his extended reach kept Lloyd just out of range.
Time to try something else, he thought. Opening himself up to the crystals, Lloyd leaped toward the western wall, spinning in midair so that his feet connected with it. He fed energy into the wall, allowing it to hold him in place. A soft red light shone wherever his feet touched.
The figure swung at Lloyd, making full use of his Blade’s length. Lloyd ran along the wall, dodging out of the way as the other’s Crysblade sheared through stone. Lloyd sprung away from the wall, hitting the ceiling, and then struck downward. His sword connected squarely with the man’s helmet, leaving a large furrow across the right side of the plate covering his face.
The man staggered backward, knocking into a support for the canopy above the bed. Even with the added protection of Crysarmor, a powerful blow to the head could send anyone reeling. Pressing his advantage, Lloyd struck at the dent he had made on the lower part of the breastplate, and was rewarded as the metal gave way, tearing slightly.
Suddenly, stars exploded in Lloyd’s eyes as he flew away from the warrior and out the door, back into the small sitting room. He landed in a plush chair, tipping it over backward. He grunted as he came up to his feet. Blood was trickling down the side of his head; the man’s armored fist had made a slim gash just above his left ear. He put a hand to the side of the head and performed a quick self-healing spell. Thankfully, the cut was small enough to drain very little of his energy.
As he regained his bearings, the armored warrior came through the doorway. Lloyd looked down, noticing that the long red carpet extended into this room as well. He smiled, draining as much power as he could from the rug, turning it into a soft pink color. He held out his left hand, palm open, and let out a blast of air. The invisible force struck the man, sending him crashing into the bed frame and bringing the canopy down on top of him.
Cautiously, Lloyd stepped into the bedroom, preparing to unleash another burst of air if necessary. The man rolled out of the wreckage of the bed, sword still in his hands. Not wasting any time, Lloyd pressed the attack, using quick, darting strikes to hit different points on the armor. The man was able to counter most of these, but he was visibly slowing. With the wounds he had received, the crystal in the breastplate was wasting too much power keeping the man and armor moving.
Lloyd pushed forward again with his hand. An invisible force drove the armored figure out the balcony doors, and Lloyd immediately closed in. The balcony was rather large, and the full moon above provided ample light.
The warrior was growing more desperate, taking larger swings. His brutish tactics were not only ineffective, but also wore him out that much faster. Lloyd ducked beneath the attacks, popping up to strike at the open spot on the man’s stomach. A steady stream of blood began to drain out of the tear.
Reinforcing his blade with more power from his crystals, Lloyd struck the man on the side of the head. He dropped to his knees, sword clattering to the floor. Seeing him kneeling, Lloyd realized just how big the armor had made him seem. It did not matter now. The fight was over. Lloyd turned away, needing to move onward.
“Why?” the man called out. “Why are you doing this, Lloyd?”
Lloyd froze in mid-step. He returned to the kneeling, dying man. The man put his hands to his head and removed the helmet, throwing it to the side. The right side of his head was bruised and swollen, the eye closed.
“Renker,” Lloyd said. “Playing a bodyguard, I see.”
The big man drew in a pained breath. “The Order is fracturing,” he replied.
“I know,” Lloyd said, smiling. “That’s partly my doing.”
“So it was you,” Renker hissed. “The elders have been frantic these past few months trying to catch you.”
“They did, actually,” Lloyd said. “I escaped just this morning.”
Confusion crept across Renker’s face. “Then how are you here?” he inquired. “Unless….” His eyes widened as realization set in. “You took one of the transport crystals, didn’t you?”
Lloyd grinned wickedly. “Indeed I did.”
“So the Order really is dividing,” Renker said. Lloyd could see the sadness in his eyes. “I suppose some of the Order is now loyal to you.”
“Yes,” Lloyd answered. He crouched, putting himself at eye level with Renker. “So tell me, what are you doing here?”
“I was not pleased with the direction the Order has been taking these days,” Renker said. He turned his head and spit blood out of his mouth. “I decided to return to my homeland and serve my king.”
“Ever the patriot, Renker,” Lloyd said, shaking his head. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a king to kill.” He stood up, keeping his sword at his side. With surprising speed, Renker grabbed his arm.
“What are you planning, Lloyd?” he demanded. “How can killing the king benefit you?”
“I’ve indulged you enough, Renker,” Lloyd said, hardness creeping into his voice. “It’s time I was on my way.”
He brushed off Renker’s hand and brought his sword up. There was no fear in Renker’s eyes, only hatred. Lloyd was used to seeing that. He set the blade against Renker’s neck. He would give Renker an honorable death; it was the least he could do.
He pulled his arms back, and then stepped into the swing, cleaving Renker’s head off cleanly. The body fell to the side. Wordlessly, Lloyd turned and entered the bedchamber.
He doubted that the king had fled the palace. Instead, there was probably a secret passage in the bedchamber that would take the king and queen to a safe room. Unfortunately, nowhere was truly safe where Lloyd was concerned. He began checking the walls for any hidden entrances, moving aside dressers and shelves. The walls were bare, though. He turned to the bed and knocked it to the side with a push of air. As he had thought, a trapdoor was set into the floor. He hooked a finger through the handle and pulled. It did not budge, meaning it was locked from the inside. With two quick stabs, he broke the hinges and kicked the door in.
He dropped down into the hallway. It was painted in the same red and gold pattern as the rest of the palace. Lloyd thought it awfully shortsighted of the king to trap himself like this. Then again, Dehan was no coward; he would rather die than flee. Lloyd was ready to fulfill that wish.
He walked down the passage, noting the torches on the walls. He pulled several of the flames to him, using the crystal in his sword to bind them to the blade. The metal in Crysblades did not burn or rust with age; they were, for the most part, impregnable.
He continued down the hallway, at last finding a thick wooden door. The king and the rest of his personal guard waited inside. Unconcerned, Lloyd slashed through the door, the fire on the blade burning through instantaneously. He kicked the wreckage down and crossed the threshold.
Four men rushed him immediately. Lloyd swung once, sending the flames into the guards’ faces. They screamed in agony as they fell. Lloyd walked forward, watching the only person remaining in the room: King Dehan himself. The queen was not with him. Lloyd did not care; he only needed to kill the king.
For a man who was about to die, the king stood proud, as if he were the one in control. Lloyd admired the man’s courage, as foolish as it was.
“You could have fled, you know,” Lloyd said. “Survived for another day.”
“I know you would have come after me,” Dehan answered. “I saw you in the feast hall and beheld you for what you are.”
“I’m honored,” Lloyd said, grinning. He walked toward the king, stopping a few steps away.
“Well then, get on with it,” Dehan said. “I only hope you are ready for what you are about to start.”
The king knew what Lloyd’s plan was. There was no more use for words. Lloyd set the tip of his Blade against the king’s heart.
“As you wish,” he said, driving the sword through Dehan’s chest. He let the body slide to the floor, wiping the blood off his sword on the king’s robes. With a flick of his wrist, the sword began to change, widening, extending, until at last a red sash hung limply in his hands. He tied it around his waist, and then pulled a spherical silver crystal from his pocket. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the place he wanted to go. He vanished from the room, off to play the next piece of his puzzle.
He hoped the world was ready for his next move.
Lloyd stepped forward, wiping blood from his sword on the furniture he passed. This room was only the first in a set of a group of chambers, depending on the lavishness of the king. He stalked to the end of the room, pushing open another set of gilded doors. The room beyond was basically a smaller version of the room he had just come through. The larger sitting room was for guests, while this one was for the king and his family.
Lloyd frowned. The room was deserted. Surely those swordsmen were not the only resistance the king was sending forth. No one, especially a king, would choose to die willingly on the night of a celebration.
Wasting no time, he pushed through to the next room. As he had suspected, it was the bedchamber. The room was surprisingly humble in appearance. It was rather large, true, but there were very little furnishings compared to the sitting rooms before it. A large bed sat against the far wall, with two doors on either side leading out to a balcony overlooking the sea. The doors were open, the light from the full moon shining in.
The royal family was nowhere to be seen. Instead, standing before the bed was a man in silver-blue armor. The figure held an oversized broadsword in his hands, the point resting on the ground.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Lloyd said. He caught the gleam of a crystal in the base of the blade, and inwardly sighed. It was a Crysblade. He studied the man’s armor, noticing how tiny interlocking plates covered the usual areas made vulnerable by typical armor. A large, clear crystal was set into the middle of the breastplate.
Lloyd wondered where Dehan had acquired not only a Crysblade, but also a full set of Crysarmor. Crysarmor was much harder to make, and so it was much rarer than Crysblades. As far as Lloyd knew, the Protectors no longer employed the armor. The clear crystal was beneficial yet harmful at the same time. Due to its size, it gave the one wearing the armor the speed and maneuverability one would have normally. Unfortunately, the crystal’s lack of color strictly limited its abilities, and its size sapped the wearer’s energy faster. While useful in certain situations, it was not practical for long-term battles.
The armored figure raised its sword. The weapon was a good six feet in length. Under normal circumstances, it would have been unusable, but the enhanced power the armor’s crystal granted made the size necessary. While Lloyd’s sword was just as durable as the larger one, its extended length gave the figure a slight advantage.
“If you don’t mind, I have a king to kill,” Lloyd said. “So, I don’t suppose you could simply step out of the way.”
The man did not answer. Lloyd had not expected him to. “Have it your way,” he sighed.
He leapt forward, channeling energy through his body to make him faster and stronger. He swept his sword in an arc, aiming for the man’s stomach. A Crysblade could slice through normal armor. Unfortunately, it only left a large dent on Crysarmor. Eventually, a Blade could break through, but it would wear down the user.
The armored warrior reacted instantly, sweeping his sword around at head level. Lloyd ducked out of the way and pressed forward again. The man, ready this time, countered Lloyd’s attacks. He was not slowed down by the bulky armor, as one would expect, and his extended reach kept Lloyd just out of range.
Time to try something else, he thought. Opening himself up to the crystals, Lloyd leaped toward the western wall, spinning in midair so that his feet connected with it. He fed energy into the wall, allowing it to hold him in place. A soft red light shone wherever his feet touched.
The figure swung at Lloyd, making full use of his Blade’s length. Lloyd ran along the wall, dodging out of the way as the other’s Crysblade sheared through stone. Lloyd sprung away from the wall, hitting the ceiling, and then struck downward. His sword connected squarely with the man’s helmet, leaving a large furrow across the right side of the plate covering his face.
The man staggered backward, knocking into a support for the canopy above the bed. Even with the added protection of Crysarmor, a powerful blow to the head could send anyone reeling. Pressing his advantage, Lloyd struck at the dent he had made on the lower part of the breastplate, and was rewarded as the metal gave way, tearing slightly.
Suddenly, stars exploded in Lloyd’s eyes as he flew away from the warrior and out the door, back into the small sitting room. He landed in a plush chair, tipping it over backward. He grunted as he came up to his feet. Blood was trickling down the side of his head; the man’s armored fist had made a slim gash just above his left ear. He put a hand to the side of the head and performed a quick self-healing spell. Thankfully, the cut was small enough to drain very little of his energy.
As he regained his bearings, the armored warrior came through the doorway. Lloyd looked down, noticing that the long red carpet extended into this room as well. He smiled, draining as much power as he could from the rug, turning it into a soft pink color. He held out his left hand, palm open, and let out a blast of air. The invisible force struck the man, sending him crashing into the bed frame and bringing the canopy down on top of him.
Cautiously, Lloyd stepped into the bedroom, preparing to unleash another burst of air if necessary. The man rolled out of the wreckage of the bed, sword still in his hands. Not wasting any time, Lloyd pressed the attack, using quick, darting strikes to hit different points on the armor. The man was able to counter most of these, but he was visibly slowing. With the wounds he had received, the crystal in the breastplate was wasting too much power keeping the man and armor moving.
Lloyd pushed forward again with his hand. An invisible force drove the armored figure out the balcony doors, and Lloyd immediately closed in. The balcony was rather large, and the full moon above provided ample light.
The warrior was growing more desperate, taking larger swings. His brutish tactics were not only ineffective, but also wore him out that much faster. Lloyd ducked beneath the attacks, popping up to strike at the open spot on the man’s stomach. A steady stream of blood began to drain out of the tear.
Reinforcing his blade with more power from his crystals, Lloyd struck the man on the side of the head. He dropped to his knees, sword clattering to the floor. Seeing him kneeling, Lloyd realized just how big the armor had made him seem. It did not matter now. The fight was over. Lloyd turned away, needing to move onward.
“Why?” the man called out. “Why are you doing this, Lloyd?”
Lloyd froze in mid-step. He returned to the kneeling, dying man. The man put his hands to his head and removed the helmet, throwing it to the side. The right side of his head was bruised and swollen, the eye closed.
“Renker,” Lloyd said. “Playing a bodyguard, I see.”
The big man drew in a pained breath. “The Order is fracturing,” he replied.
“I know,” Lloyd said, smiling. “That’s partly my doing.”
“So it was you,” Renker hissed. “The elders have been frantic these past few months trying to catch you.”
“They did, actually,” Lloyd said. “I escaped just this morning.”
Confusion crept across Renker’s face. “Then how are you here?” he inquired. “Unless….” His eyes widened as realization set in. “You took one of the transport crystals, didn’t you?”
Lloyd grinned wickedly. “Indeed I did.”
“So the Order really is dividing,” Renker said. Lloyd could see the sadness in his eyes. “I suppose some of the Order is now loyal to you.”
“Yes,” Lloyd answered. He crouched, putting himself at eye level with Renker. “So tell me, what are you doing here?”
“I was not pleased with the direction the Order has been taking these days,” Renker said. He turned his head and spit blood out of his mouth. “I decided to return to my homeland and serve my king.”
“Ever the patriot, Renker,” Lloyd said, shaking his head. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a king to kill.” He stood up, keeping his sword at his side. With surprising speed, Renker grabbed his arm.
“What are you planning, Lloyd?” he demanded. “How can killing the king benefit you?”
“I’ve indulged you enough, Renker,” Lloyd said, hardness creeping into his voice. “It’s time I was on my way.”
He brushed off Renker’s hand and brought his sword up. There was no fear in Renker’s eyes, only hatred. Lloyd was used to seeing that. He set the blade against Renker’s neck. He would give Renker an honorable death; it was the least he could do.
He pulled his arms back, and then stepped into the swing, cleaving Renker’s head off cleanly. The body fell to the side. Wordlessly, Lloyd turned and entered the bedchamber.
He doubted that the king had fled the palace. Instead, there was probably a secret passage in the bedchamber that would take the king and queen to a safe room. Unfortunately, nowhere was truly safe where Lloyd was concerned. He began checking the walls for any hidden entrances, moving aside dressers and shelves. The walls were bare, though. He turned to the bed and knocked it to the side with a push of air. As he had thought, a trapdoor was set into the floor. He hooked a finger through the handle and pulled. It did not budge, meaning it was locked from the inside. With two quick stabs, he broke the hinges and kicked the door in.
He dropped down into the hallway. It was painted in the same red and gold pattern as the rest of the palace. Lloyd thought it awfully shortsighted of the king to trap himself like this. Then again, Dehan was no coward; he would rather die than flee. Lloyd was ready to fulfill that wish.
He walked down the passage, noting the torches on the walls. He pulled several of the flames to him, using the crystal in his sword to bind them to the blade. The metal in Crysblades did not burn or rust with age; they were, for the most part, impregnable.
He continued down the hallway, at last finding a thick wooden door. The king and the rest of his personal guard waited inside. Unconcerned, Lloyd slashed through the door, the fire on the blade burning through instantaneously. He kicked the wreckage down and crossed the threshold.
Four men rushed him immediately. Lloyd swung once, sending the flames into the guards’ faces. They screamed in agony as they fell. Lloyd walked forward, watching the only person remaining in the room: King Dehan himself. The queen was not with him. Lloyd did not care; he only needed to kill the king.
For a man who was about to die, the king stood proud, as if he were the one in control. Lloyd admired the man’s courage, as foolish as it was.
“You could have fled, you know,” Lloyd said. “Survived for another day.”
“I know you would have come after me,” Dehan answered. “I saw you in the feast hall and beheld you for what you are.”
“I’m honored,” Lloyd said, grinning. He walked toward the king, stopping a few steps away.
“Well then, get on with it,” Dehan said. “I only hope you are ready for what you are about to start.”
The king knew what Lloyd’s plan was. There was no more use for words. Lloyd set the tip of his Blade against the king’s heart.
“As you wish,” he said, driving the sword through Dehan’s chest. He let the body slide to the floor, wiping the blood off his sword on the king’s robes. With a flick of his wrist, the sword began to change, widening, extending, until at last a red sash hung limply in his hands. He tied it around his waist, and then pulled a spherical silver crystal from his pocket. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the place he wanted to go. He vanished from the room, off to play the next piece of his puzzle.
He hoped the world was ready for his next move.
Prologue Part 1
All right, so here is my latest project. I must say that I liked this writing more than any other I've written, so I hope people get the same amount of satisfaction from it. It's about seven and a half pages on MS Word, so I split it up into two parts here.
Also, I'd like to point out that the main story itself does not revolve around Lloyd, the focus of the prologue. This mainly serves as a description of the main aspects of magic in the story.
PROLOGUE
On the day he was supposed to die, Lloyd Tremblar wore black. All black, to mark him as a criminal and an enemy of the Protectors. Black, to symbolize the supposed evil that he had committed, and planned to continue.
He smiled. It was almost an honor to be held in such high esteem by the elders of the Order. It had taken them long enough. Lloyd had set his plans in motion years ago, and only now had the other Protectors realized what he was doing. Those Protectors who were still loyal to the elders, of course.
He sat on a sturdy wooden bench at one of the long tables in the feasting hall, idly watching the people dancing in the area that had been cleared in the center of the large stone room. The feast itself was over, but the real celebration was just beginning. The time had come for the drunken nobles to make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Very few had any real talent at the art. It seemed as though only the high nobles, the king, and the queen, seated on their raised dais at the far end of the room, kept a hold on their emotions. Nearly everyone else in the hall, if they were not dancing, were clapping and tapping their feet along to the rhythm.
They made Lloyd sick. True, he had once been like them, completely carefree. His role as a Protector had been an easy one. Like his fellows in the Order, he served the law, ending disputes as fairly as possible, and also keeping a handle on those that were lucky enough to possess any Spectrum Crystals. His station in Aldera was rather boring, actually; the Alderan people were generally peaceful.
After tonight, he hoped that would change.
A man detached himself from a group of onlookers and made his way toward Lloyd. Nonchalantly, he plopped down on the bench, facing the crowd. Lloyd glanced at him briefly, before returning his focus to the plate he had barely touched.
“Well?” he asked.
“There’s not much to say,” the man replied. “As expected, the king’s chamber is on the third story, pretty much right above where he is sitting now.”
“And how many guards are posted there?” Lloyd inquired.
“Half a dozen,” the man said. “But you can expect more to join them once the king and queen retire for the evening.”
Lloyd frowned. He had hoped the night’s activities would provide some entertainment, but it seemed that was not going to happen. He sighed inwardly and turned to face the man.
“Good work, Dren,” he said. “No one saw you, right?”
“Of course not,” Dren snorted. “I’m better than that.”
“That, and you blend in much more easily than I do,” Lloyd continued. It was true; Dren was of average height, with a strong build, brown eyes and hair, and a rather unassuming posture. He was an expert at blending into a crowd, and was easily forgotten by those who saw him.
Lloyd, on the other hand, cut quite the striking figure. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, and had an air of greatness about him. His bright green eyes and silver hair marked him as someone different, as did the unusual garb he typically wore: loose pants, a red sash around his waist, and a light sleeveless shirt. His outfit was no different today, except for the color change.
He looked toward the royal table, and smiled. Finally, the king and queen were taking their leave from the hall, as were several of the high nobles. Dehan’s son, Prince Gedric, remained behind. Conveniently, the king’s brother, Tordain, was not in attendance tonight. That would only further his plans.
The family did not announce themselves, so as to not draw attention to their departure. King Dehan was a shrewd man; he knew assassins like Lloyd were always watching. Despite the outward appearance of peace, Lloyd knew the power of the Alderan military. It was probably the reason they enjoyed so much tranquility.
Despite himself, Lloyd nearly laughed. He found the situation highly amusing. Here he sat, unwatched, in the feasting hall of a powerful king. A king that he was going to kill tonight. Lloyd had escaped his execution earlier that day. It was unfortunate for the Order that they had not been able to contain him, for Dehan’s death was one of the key points of his plan.
“Well, Dren, you should be off,” Lloyd said, turning back to his companion. “You know where you need to be.”
“Yes sir,” Dren answered. He drifted off, joining the crowd again, blending in perfectly. Lloyd knew that he would depart soon; it was foolish to leave immediately after the king, though.
He waited a full ten minutes before rising from the bench. A servant came and began to clean the place he had just occupied. Lloyd ignored the woman and walked slowly to the entrance of the hall. The large, oaken doors had been thrown wide open and held in place by blocks, showing that people were free to come and go as they pleased.
He stepped through the doors and into the wide hallway beyond. The cool air was a reprieve the heavy scent of bodies clustered together. Lloyd headed toward the nearest staircase. As he walked, he pulled a pair of black fingerless gloves from his pockets, slipping them on. A red crystal, about an inch in diameter, was set into the back of both gloves, and they seemed to glow from within.
Delicately, he untied the sash from around his waist, taking it in one hand. With a flick of the wrist, the sash straightened and began to change. The edges curled in, the ends shortening, taking on the shape of a weapon. At last, where the sash had been, Lloyd now held a long, single-edged sword. A small circular guard marked where the hilt met the blade. Like his gloves, a red crystal was set into the base of the blade, visible from both sides.
It was a Crysblade, the weapon of a Protector. The weapon was deadly, yet beautiful. All Protectors carried a blade like his, though they varied in length and crystals. Typically, Protectors chose crystals for their blades that matched the crystals in their gloves.
The Spectrum Crystals were the source of power for Protectors and other magic users. Lloyd believed there had been a time when people could wield magic through their own bodies, but that time was long past. Now, people were only born with only a tiny spark of magic, feeble remnant of a time long gone. Everyone had the latent ability to learn how to use their power; unfortunately, that power had to be channeled through a Spectrum Crystal.
Lloyd liked red. It was a color of power. Technically, he could perform any spell he knew, but the farther away he strayed from his color, the weaker the spell would become. It was part of the reason Lloyd liked to destroy rather than heal; healing was for the blue users.
The manifestation of the sword completed, Lloyd ascended to the third floor of the palace, taking note of the large quantities of torches that burned in rungs on the wall. They could be useful. Creating fire drained much more of his energy than simply controlling fire that already existed.
The hallway he entered was much like the one on the first floor: wide and devoid of people. It was almost a shame to not let people see him. After all, what was the satisfaction in doing something if no one saw him do the deed? At least the ones who mattered would know it was he who had killed King Dehan.
He turned down a side passage, heading north through the palace. Dren had said the king’s chambers were roughly above the feasting hall, which meant the royal bedroom overlooked the Alder Sea, the vast body of water that bordered Aldera to the north, and made Therin, its capital, a prosperous shipping city.
The hallways in the palace did not lead straight to the king’s chambers, of course. Lloyd was forced to take several more turns, often having to backtrack. It was designed to make those unfamiliar with the palace become lost, if they were foolish enough to travel around unescorted. Fortunately, Lloyd had a keen sense of direction, especially with the heightened senses the crystals afforded him.
He turned into another hallway, noticing how a rich red carpet extended down the middle of the floor. At last, he was drawing nearer to his destination. The twisting hallways made the palace appear larger than it really was, and he had wasted more time traversing them than he would have liked.
Torches lined the walls, allowing Lloyd to spot the two guards armed with spears standing just before the intersection of yet another tedious hallway. He strode confidently toward them, sword held facing downward by his side. When he was halfway to them, the man on the left turned his head, finally noticing Lloyd.
“You there,” the man called. “Stop!”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Lloyd said cheerily, rapidly closing the distance between them.
“I said stop,” the guard said. They faced him, spears held level. Lloyd held up his free hand toward them. The crystal glowed as it channeled power through him. The sensation caused his whole body to tingle, giving him pain and ecstasy simultaneously. To channel with a Spectrum Crystal was to feel truly alive.
Before the guards could react, flames from a dozen different torches leaped from their brackets and assaulted the men. They screamed as the fire spread on their bodies, their armor only serving to cook them faster. Lloyd passed between them, dispatching both with a quick thrust, ending their torment. Normally, he would have enjoyed the show, but not tonight. He had other business to attend to.
He sent the fire whirling back down the hallway, spreading them among the torches they had come from. The sensation brought on by channeling faded, leaving him feeling numb in a way. The Spectrum Crystals did grant their wearers enhanced abilities, but channeling made those enhancements pale in comparison.
As he rounded the corner into the next hallway, four more guards came charging down the hallway at him, their spears poised to strike him before his sword could reach them. Again, Lloyd pulled on the power of his crystals, allowing it to feed on his spark, amplifying it a thousand-fold. Most of the torches in the hallways went dark as he drew the flames to him. A massive ball of fire appeared in front of him, and he sent it speeding down the hallway. It consumed the oncoming guards instantly. Lloyd allowed it to dissipate, stepping over the charred bodies.
He approached a set of richly gilded doors. These were the king’s chambers. He pushed the doors open and stepped into a large sitting room. Couches, chairs, and tables filled up most of the space, and bookshelves and busts of past kings lined the walls.
Ten soldiers stood in a semicircle, swords drawn, watching Lloyd carefully. Unlike the men in the hallway, these men were the king’s elite guard. They would have been trained to deal with any sort of intruder, whether he used Spectrum Crystals or not.
Lloyd looked around the room. It was lit by closed lanterns. He ground his teeth in annoyance; it was much harder to break through all the shutters to access the flames inside. Clearly, Dehan was prepared for such an eventuality. After all, most assassins tended to wield red crystals.
Lloyd stepped toward the waiting guards, raising his sword before him. As well-trained as they were, Lloyd was no ordinary assassin. He was a Protector. He had been trained in all forms of combat, from fighting with fists to fighting with blades. He doubted that these men would be much of a challenge, even if he did not use his crystals.
“Greetings,” Lloyd said, smiling. He was always happy when events went his way. People always seemed to find his cheery manner in the midst of death to be frightening. The guards, however, were not fazed.
“Well then,” Lloyd sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
The red carpet beneath his feet was helpful. Spectrum Crystals could also draw small amounts of power from objects of the same color. Lloyd used this to his advantage, allowing some of the added energy to spread through his body.
He stepped forward, sword flashing through the air. To the soldiers, he seemed to blur across the room, his sword slicing cleanly through the neck of the man directly in front of him. Like people, objects could also be reinforced by the power of the crystals. Unlike regular swords, the blades used by Protectors were forged with the help of crystals, making them far shaper and sturdier. The added benefit of a personal crystal made the Protector blades nearly indestructible.
The men moved away from him as the first body fell. Lloyd had to give them credit; they reacted faster than he thought they would have. Unfortunately, they were only giving him easier targets. He had seen a team of swordsmen fight in a single, cohesive unit before; that tactic would have been much more useful in battling a Protector.
He turned to his left and made a slashing motion with his left hand. The color of the rug he stood on paled, sapped by his crystal. A red line appeared across one of the men’s chest. He screamed as it burned through him, separating his body in two.
As he had hoped, the men decided it was better to attack him together. Lloyd spun, blade moving to deflect the strikes that descended upon him. He moved like smoke, slipping among their attacks. He made wide, sweeping strokes that incapacitated two men at a time. He sliced through their feeble chain mail, spilling blood and guts onto the floor. He severed limbs as wounded men continued to fight.
He rammed his sword into a kneeling man’s throat and pushed the body off the blade. The body toppled to the side. The men lay in a circle around him. Most were already dead. Three were still alive, but their lifeblood was seeping into the plush carpeting, their vitality slowly ebbing away.
Also, I'd like to point out that the main story itself does not revolve around Lloyd, the focus of the prologue. This mainly serves as a description of the main aspects of magic in the story.
PROLOGUE
On the day he was supposed to die, Lloyd Tremblar wore black. All black, to mark him as a criminal and an enemy of the Protectors. Black, to symbolize the supposed evil that he had committed, and planned to continue.
He smiled. It was almost an honor to be held in such high esteem by the elders of the Order. It had taken them long enough. Lloyd had set his plans in motion years ago, and only now had the other Protectors realized what he was doing. Those Protectors who were still loyal to the elders, of course.
He sat on a sturdy wooden bench at one of the long tables in the feasting hall, idly watching the people dancing in the area that had been cleared in the center of the large stone room. The feast itself was over, but the real celebration was just beginning. The time had come for the drunken nobles to make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Very few had any real talent at the art. It seemed as though only the high nobles, the king, and the queen, seated on their raised dais at the far end of the room, kept a hold on their emotions. Nearly everyone else in the hall, if they were not dancing, were clapping and tapping their feet along to the rhythm.
They made Lloyd sick. True, he had once been like them, completely carefree. His role as a Protector had been an easy one. Like his fellows in the Order, he served the law, ending disputes as fairly as possible, and also keeping a handle on those that were lucky enough to possess any Spectrum Crystals. His station in Aldera was rather boring, actually; the Alderan people were generally peaceful.
After tonight, he hoped that would change.
A man detached himself from a group of onlookers and made his way toward Lloyd. Nonchalantly, he plopped down on the bench, facing the crowd. Lloyd glanced at him briefly, before returning his focus to the plate he had barely touched.
“Well?” he asked.
“There’s not much to say,” the man replied. “As expected, the king’s chamber is on the third story, pretty much right above where he is sitting now.”
“And how many guards are posted there?” Lloyd inquired.
“Half a dozen,” the man said. “But you can expect more to join them once the king and queen retire for the evening.”
Lloyd frowned. He had hoped the night’s activities would provide some entertainment, but it seemed that was not going to happen. He sighed inwardly and turned to face the man.
“Good work, Dren,” he said. “No one saw you, right?”
“Of course not,” Dren snorted. “I’m better than that.”
“That, and you blend in much more easily than I do,” Lloyd continued. It was true; Dren was of average height, with a strong build, brown eyes and hair, and a rather unassuming posture. He was an expert at blending into a crowd, and was easily forgotten by those who saw him.
Lloyd, on the other hand, cut quite the striking figure. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, and had an air of greatness about him. His bright green eyes and silver hair marked him as someone different, as did the unusual garb he typically wore: loose pants, a red sash around his waist, and a light sleeveless shirt. His outfit was no different today, except for the color change.
He looked toward the royal table, and smiled. Finally, the king and queen were taking their leave from the hall, as were several of the high nobles. Dehan’s son, Prince Gedric, remained behind. Conveniently, the king’s brother, Tordain, was not in attendance tonight. That would only further his plans.
The family did not announce themselves, so as to not draw attention to their departure. King Dehan was a shrewd man; he knew assassins like Lloyd were always watching. Despite the outward appearance of peace, Lloyd knew the power of the Alderan military. It was probably the reason they enjoyed so much tranquility.
Despite himself, Lloyd nearly laughed. He found the situation highly amusing. Here he sat, unwatched, in the feasting hall of a powerful king. A king that he was going to kill tonight. Lloyd had escaped his execution earlier that day. It was unfortunate for the Order that they had not been able to contain him, for Dehan’s death was one of the key points of his plan.
“Well, Dren, you should be off,” Lloyd said, turning back to his companion. “You know where you need to be.”
“Yes sir,” Dren answered. He drifted off, joining the crowd again, blending in perfectly. Lloyd knew that he would depart soon; it was foolish to leave immediately after the king, though.
He waited a full ten minutes before rising from the bench. A servant came and began to clean the place he had just occupied. Lloyd ignored the woman and walked slowly to the entrance of the hall. The large, oaken doors had been thrown wide open and held in place by blocks, showing that people were free to come and go as they pleased.
He stepped through the doors and into the wide hallway beyond. The cool air was a reprieve the heavy scent of bodies clustered together. Lloyd headed toward the nearest staircase. As he walked, he pulled a pair of black fingerless gloves from his pockets, slipping them on. A red crystal, about an inch in diameter, was set into the back of both gloves, and they seemed to glow from within.
Delicately, he untied the sash from around his waist, taking it in one hand. With a flick of the wrist, the sash straightened and began to change. The edges curled in, the ends shortening, taking on the shape of a weapon. At last, where the sash had been, Lloyd now held a long, single-edged sword. A small circular guard marked where the hilt met the blade. Like his gloves, a red crystal was set into the base of the blade, visible from both sides.
It was a Crysblade, the weapon of a Protector. The weapon was deadly, yet beautiful. All Protectors carried a blade like his, though they varied in length and crystals. Typically, Protectors chose crystals for their blades that matched the crystals in their gloves.
The Spectrum Crystals were the source of power for Protectors and other magic users. Lloyd believed there had been a time when people could wield magic through their own bodies, but that time was long past. Now, people were only born with only a tiny spark of magic, feeble remnant of a time long gone. Everyone had the latent ability to learn how to use their power; unfortunately, that power had to be channeled through a Spectrum Crystal.
Lloyd liked red. It was a color of power. Technically, he could perform any spell he knew, but the farther away he strayed from his color, the weaker the spell would become. It was part of the reason Lloyd liked to destroy rather than heal; healing was for the blue users.
The manifestation of the sword completed, Lloyd ascended to the third floor of the palace, taking note of the large quantities of torches that burned in rungs on the wall. They could be useful. Creating fire drained much more of his energy than simply controlling fire that already existed.
The hallway he entered was much like the one on the first floor: wide and devoid of people. It was almost a shame to not let people see him. After all, what was the satisfaction in doing something if no one saw him do the deed? At least the ones who mattered would know it was he who had killed King Dehan.
He turned down a side passage, heading north through the palace. Dren had said the king’s chambers were roughly above the feasting hall, which meant the royal bedroom overlooked the Alder Sea, the vast body of water that bordered Aldera to the north, and made Therin, its capital, a prosperous shipping city.
The hallways in the palace did not lead straight to the king’s chambers, of course. Lloyd was forced to take several more turns, often having to backtrack. It was designed to make those unfamiliar with the palace become lost, if they were foolish enough to travel around unescorted. Fortunately, Lloyd had a keen sense of direction, especially with the heightened senses the crystals afforded him.
He turned into another hallway, noticing how a rich red carpet extended down the middle of the floor. At last, he was drawing nearer to his destination. The twisting hallways made the palace appear larger than it really was, and he had wasted more time traversing them than he would have liked.
Torches lined the walls, allowing Lloyd to spot the two guards armed with spears standing just before the intersection of yet another tedious hallway. He strode confidently toward them, sword held facing downward by his side. When he was halfway to them, the man on the left turned his head, finally noticing Lloyd.
“You there,” the man called. “Stop!”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Lloyd said cheerily, rapidly closing the distance between them.
“I said stop,” the guard said. They faced him, spears held level. Lloyd held up his free hand toward them. The crystal glowed as it channeled power through him. The sensation caused his whole body to tingle, giving him pain and ecstasy simultaneously. To channel with a Spectrum Crystal was to feel truly alive.
Before the guards could react, flames from a dozen different torches leaped from their brackets and assaulted the men. They screamed as the fire spread on their bodies, their armor only serving to cook them faster. Lloyd passed between them, dispatching both with a quick thrust, ending their torment. Normally, he would have enjoyed the show, but not tonight. He had other business to attend to.
He sent the fire whirling back down the hallway, spreading them among the torches they had come from. The sensation brought on by channeling faded, leaving him feeling numb in a way. The Spectrum Crystals did grant their wearers enhanced abilities, but channeling made those enhancements pale in comparison.
As he rounded the corner into the next hallway, four more guards came charging down the hallway at him, their spears poised to strike him before his sword could reach them. Again, Lloyd pulled on the power of his crystals, allowing it to feed on his spark, amplifying it a thousand-fold. Most of the torches in the hallways went dark as he drew the flames to him. A massive ball of fire appeared in front of him, and he sent it speeding down the hallway. It consumed the oncoming guards instantly. Lloyd allowed it to dissipate, stepping over the charred bodies.
He approached a set of richly gilded doors. These were the king’s chambers. He pushed the doors open and stepped into a large sitting room. Couches, chairs, and tables filled up most of the space, and bookshelves and busts of past kings lined the walls.
Ten soldiers stood in a semicircle, swords drawn, watching Lloyd carefully. Unlike the men in the hallway, these men were the king’s elite guard. They would have been trained to deal with any sort of intruder, whether he used Spectrum Crystals or not.
Lloyd looked around the room. It was lit by closed lanterns. He ground his teeth in annoyance; it was much harder to break through all the shutters to access the flames inside. Clearly, Dehan was prepared for such an eventuality. After all, most assassins tended to wield red crystals.
Lloyd stepped toward the waiting guards, raising his sword before him. As well-trained as they were, Lloyd was no ordinary assassin. He was a Protector. He had been trained in all forms of combat, from fighting with fists to fighting with blades. He doubted that these men would be much of a challenge, even if he did not use his crystals.
“Greetings,” Lloyd said, smiling. He was always happy when events went his way. People always seemed to find his cheery manner in the midst of death to be frightening. The guards, however, were not fazed.
“Well then,” Lloyd sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
The red carpet beneath his feet was helpful. Spectrum Crystals could also draw small amounts of power from objects of the same color. Lloyd used this to his advantage, allowing some of the added energy to spread through his body.
He stepped forward, sword flashing through the air. To the soldiers, he seemed to blur across the room, his sword slicing cleanly through the neck of the man directly in front of him. Like people, objects could also be reinforced by the power of the crystals. Unlike regular swords, the blades used by Protectors were forged with the help of crystals, making them far shaper and sturdier. The added benefit of a personal crystal made the Protector blades nearly indestructible.
The men moved away from him as the first body fell. Lloyd had to give them credit; they reacted faster than he thought they would have. Unfortunately, they were only giving him easier targets. He had seen a team of swordsmen fight in a single, cohesive unit before; that tactic would have been much more useful in battling a Protector.
He turned to his left and made a slashing motion with his left hand. The color of the rug he stood on paled, sapped by his crystal. A red line appeared across one of the men’s chest. He screamed as it burned through him, separating his body in two.
As he had hoped, the men decided it was better to attack him together. Lloyd spun, blade moving to deflect the strikes that descended upon him. He moved like smoke, slipping among their attacks. He made wide, sweeping strokes that incapacitated two men at a time. He sliced through their feeble chain mail, spilling blood and guts onto the floor. He severed limbs as wounded men continued to fight.
He rammed his sword into a kneeling man’s throat and pushed the body off the blade. The body toppled to the side. The men lay in a circle around him. Most were already dead. Three were still alive, but their lifeblood was seeping into the plush carpeting, their vitality slowly ebbing away.
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