The Pain of Compassion

by Roland Boykin

  Eyes of the Deluti

  Book 1

  THE PAIN OF COMPASSION

  by Roland Boykin

  Copyright 2017 Roland J. Boykin

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of the publication via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage illegal electronic distribution of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place or incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Benita Prins.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my friends and family who have stuck by me through this whole process. I would especially like to thank the folks at the Kitsap Writers Group, and my writing partners:

  Michelle Van Berkom

  Carrie Lawrence

  Meghan Skye

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue ~ End of an Age

  Chapter One ~ A Whisper from the Past

  Chapter Two ~ Odd Meetings

  Chapter Three ~ A Betrothal

  Chapter Four ~ Together Again

  Chapter Five ~ Time to Believe

  Chapter Six ~ Death of a Princess

  Chapter Seven ~ The First Arch

  Chapter Eight ~ The Scarred Mage

  Chapter Nine ~ So It Begins

  Chapter Ten ~ On To Seaside

  Chapter Eleven ~ An Ogre at Court

  Chapter Twelve ~ The Oasis

  Chapter Thirteen ~Truth and Rumors

  Chapter Fourteen ~ Jewel of the Plains

  Chapter Fifteen ~ Brothers

  Chapter Sixteen ~ Balance

  Chapter Seventeen ~ Acceptance

  Chapter Eighteen ~ Secrets & Mysteries

  Chapter Nineteen ~ Emma’s Fear

  Chapter Twenty ~ A Deluti Arrives

  Chapter Twenty One ~ The Ancient One

  Chapter Twenty Two ~ The Anger Within

  Chapter Twenty Three ~ Hope Revived

  Chapter Twenty Four ~ Three Leave As One

  Chapter Twenty Five ~ Navon Returns

  Chapter Twenty Six ~ Race Against Time

  Chapter Twenty Seven ~ A Deluti At The Gate

  Chapter Twenty Eight ~ Sword of a Deluti

  Chapter Twenty Nine ~ The Cup Of Truth

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue ~ End of an Age

  Now was the time to finish this. Only Demitrios, the last surviving Deluti High Lord, had the power to locate and if possible, destroy the Dark Lord. He rode at the forefront of the Army of the North, an alliance he had forged between Northern Ogre, Mountain Wolves, the light-shifters of the Elintria and Humans. That alliance proved to be the turning point in a war that had lasted for decades. The Dark Lord of the South refused to acknowledge the intelligence and fighting abilities of the Elder Races. For that reason, his army was comprised entirely of humans and their sorcerers, whom he treated little better than slaves.

  The Army of the North advanced steadily across the Plain of Sarglon and approached the Stagwood Forest. Ahead of them stretched an ancient, densely packed wood. The Dark Lord had established his final defensive line there to protect his fortress at Bryhom. At the High Lord’s signal, the army positioned itself for attack with archers and sorcerers to the front, followed by ogres, wolves and human swordsmen. The horsemen were positioned as rear guard due to their disadvantage in the thick forest.

  As the first volley of arrows darkened the sky, and fireballs sped towards the forest, lightning strikes sent by the Dark Lord’s sorcerers began falling among the archers. Holding position, the sorcerers and archers continued to provide covering fire until the wolves, ogres, and Elintria assassins reached the edge of the forest. The swordsmen then followed to sweep through in their wake. Riding among them, Demitrios provided as much protection as he dared, but every death added to the burden of sorrow weighing on his heart.

  His personal shield protected him from attack but did not block out the pungent odor of ozone and the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh. They had left behind a plain littered with the bodies of human and animal, but in the forest, Demitrios knew they would have the advantage. The wolves and ogre were formidable predators and the Elintria would quickly eliminate anyone firing from the trees.

  A sudden immense gathering of power alerted the High Lord to the presence of his enemy and the shocked realization of the terrible mistake he had made. The forest was a trap. With the last of his energy he sent out a powerful mental command to the entire army to abandon the forest immediately. Face buried in the mane of his horse to keep from being swept off, they careened through the forest with the roar of an inferno pursuing them. Tendrils of smoke trailed from the burnt ends of the horse’s tail as they escaped through the western edge of the forest and ascended to a rock strewn meadow. The horse, lathered and trembling, stopped a few paces away from the body of a man slumped against the side of a large boulder. Demitrios fell from his saddle and stumbled over to his brother. The face of his twin was beyond recognition.

  Compassion overwhelmed all other emotions as he gazed at the burnt and blackened body before him.

  “Why have you done this to us Scorpios?” he cried. “Your lust for power has destroyed the last members of our race. The Council of Five have given up their lives and forged their spirits into the five Amulets of Focus. Those amulets are now hidden from you throughout both kingdoms. The Deluti are no more. You have placed the future of this world in the hands of the humans.”

  The body of his brother convulsed, one eye cracked open, and a hiss escaped through burnt and blistered lips.

  “Kill me.”

  “I can not. Regardless of what you have become, you are still my brother.”

  Anger invoked by the senseless destruction and death his brother was responsible for, rekindled the power of a Deluti High Lord in him. He rose to his feet and stood straight and tall. “You will live, but your wounds will never heal. Suffer with your injuries and the knowledge of what you have done to our people.”

  Demitrios walked over to stand next to his horse and stared at the smoking ruin that had once been the Stagwood Forest. With a faraway look in his eyes, he continued.

  “Many generations from now, the blood of the Deluti will return through the line of humans even stronger than before and our time on this world will come to an end. I have foreseen it.”

  Back in the saddle, he turned away from the broken body on the ground and whispered, “Goodbye, brother.”

  He never looked back.

  Chapter One ~ A Whisper from the Past

  Flickering torch light cast shifting shadows across the courtyard as two figures faced each other in the center of a practice circle. It would be several hours before the sun cleared the eastern wall of the Keep and its glow would chase away those shadows. Pre-dawn dew glistened from every surface and added to the chill of a late spring morning. It failed to match the frost that surrounded the Baron’s two youngest sons.

  The sound of wooden practice swords connecting in a series of thrusts and parries filled the air, then quieted as the combatants circled each other looking for an opening. Formed from th
e same mold as his father and brothers, Micah easily outweighed his younger brother by fifty pounds of muscle that filled out his chest and arms. This provided him no advantage over Navon, who had developed a skill and speed unmatched by anyone in the Keep.

  Once again they came together amid a flurry of swinging swords, neither giving ground to the other until the younger brother landed a solid hit to an upper arm.

  “You will pay for that, Navon.”

  “Perhaps, but I will never again allow you to abuse me, Micah. Not only am I a better swordsman, after my naming ceremony tonight we will be equals in this family.”

  With a growl, Micah rushed him only to have Navon nimbly sidestep and smack him across the shoulders as he charged past. “I’ve heard a rumor that Father plans to put you in charge of the latrines after your naming.”

  “At least Father chose wisely when he put you in charge of the pig farms. They match your personality perfectly,” Navon retorted.

  No longer interested in sparring, Micah cast aside his wooden sword and attacked his brother open handed. Navon dropped his practice blade and calmly stood his ground in the face of his brother’s rage. At the last moment he grabbed one of Micah’s arms and using his momentum, spun the older boy to the ground.

  Spitting dirt, Micah slowly rose to his feet, eyes narrowed to slits. Drawing his knife, he hissed, “With that hair and pretty face of yours, you’ll fit right in with the women’s bower once I’m done with you, little brother.”

  The arms-master, who had been watching from the shadows, strode to the middle of the circle and focused his fierce continence on Micah. “In all the years I have served the Baron, never has a member of this family pulled steel against another. You are a disgrace to the name of Roddel. Your father will determine what becomes of you, but for now, remove yourself from my sight.”

  He turned his back on Micah and studied Navon who now stood with downcast eyes. After enough time had passed to force the young man to look up, Master Drummel spoke. “That’s better. From this day forward, never cast down your eyes before any man. Now, since I distinctly forbade sparring without supervision, I expect to see you in the armory right after you break your fast. Maybe a day spent repairing armor will help you remember when I give an order.”

  Navon nodded and turned away, the arms-master’s words barely registering. Foremost in his mind was the hate he saw in his brother’s eyes before leaving the practice yard. That look disturbed Navon more than he cared to admit.

  ***

  Every other lamp was lit in an attempt to keep the shadows at bay in a Keep designed for defense that lacked windows on the ground floor. Winter carpets still covered the floors as the stone had yet to catch up with the warmth of the coming summer. His mother’s touch was evident in the placement of spring flowers under several oil lamps. Their fragrance helped to remove the musty odor of the winter damp.

  Navon made his way down the stairs and into the passageway leading to the dining hall with a lighter step than usual, that morning’s confrontation a distant memory. He had looked forward to this day for many years and took extra care in his appearance. Everyone’s eyes would be upon him as the Baron announced his son’s coming of age and assigned him his first official duties as a member of the ruling family.

  After a nod and a smile from his oldest brother, Altair, and a respectful bow towards the Baron and his Lady Mother, Navon solemnly took his seat at the lower table amid the excited whispers of his siblings. Micah was nowhere to be seen.

  The Baron stood holding a goblet in one hand and turned to Navon with an unreadable expression before he muttered a curse that only his wife could hear, “Damn the Deluti! This is not right.” He flung the goblet to the floor and stormed out of the room.

  In the ensuing silence, Navon slowly slid back his chair, got up and carefully placed it under the table, then retraced his steps toward the lower entrance to the dining hall. Safely alone out in the corridor, he began to run, taking the stairs two at a time. Hot tears of shame and rejection burned his cheeks as he tried to distance himself from the looks of sympathy on the faces of everyone in the Great Hall. Why? Why had his father done that to him? Was he really such a disappointment?

  The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs alerted him to the eminent arrival of his brother, Altair. He ran into his room and wiped the tears from his face. No one was going to stop him now that he had made his decision to leave.

  His brother walked in and stood for a moment watching him pack before he spoke. “Are you sure you want to do this, Navon?”

  “No, but what choice do I have Altair? Father made his feelings perfectly clear and you could see from the look on everyone’s face that they also understood what was happening. I am outcast and no longer have any hope for a future as part of this family.”

  The youngest of the Baron’s children, Navon had been given a small room on the upper floor of the Keep. A giant oak rooted in the center of his room would have been as nothing compared to the presence of his brother. He wished Altair would just leave him alone with his misery but his brother’s concern also gave him comfort. Altair had always been there when Navon needed a shoulder to cry on and never laughed at his fears of being different.

  Navon stood in front of his small wardrobe, his light blond hair falling forward to conceal the tears that threatened to flow again. Altair approached him from behind and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Do you know how eagles learn to fly, little brother?”

  Unable to speak, Navon shook his head.

  “The chicks spend weeks standing on the edge of their nest just flapping their wings. It builds up their muscles. Then one day, the parents will push a fledgling out of the nest. He will either learn to fly or fall to the ground where he will die. I think Father just gave you that push.”

  When he didn’t respond, Altair turned his brother around and with a finger under Navon’s chin, raised his head, wanting, needing to look him in the eyes. “You have no idea how much I envy you, little brother. The rest of us will always be chained to this Keep or at least to our little corner of the country. Do you remember all those fantastic tales of the world that traveling bard regaled us with at last summer’s festival? You are free to travel and experience those faraway places for yourself, while we are prisoners here to our duties and responsibilities. From the day you were born, we have all felt that you were someone special and that someday you would have to leave us.”

  Altair reluctantly released his little brother and quickly moved towards the door. Once there, he turned back with as fierce a look as Navon had ever seen on his brother’s face. “Learn to fly, Navon. Never forget that you are a Roddell. If you are ever in need, send word to me and I will come regardless of what Father says.”

  Micah disappeared around the corner as Altair closed the door to Navon’s room. Chuckling at his little brother’s misfortune, he rushed up the stairs to the rooftop and the dovecote there. Quickly penning a short note, he attached it to the leg of a very special pigeon. As the bird faded from sight, he smiled in satisfaction. Some fledglings are pushed out of the nest, hit the ground, and die.

  Unable to concentrate on his packing after Altair left, Navon sat on the edge of his bed trying to make sense out of what his brother had said. A knock at his door jarred him out of his thoughts. Wondering who it might be, he heard a soft voice outside calling.

  “Navon. May I come in?”

  By the Eyes! It was his mother, the last person he expected. She had never come up to his room before, so why now? He swung open the door and answered with a bow. “Of course you may come in, Lady Mother.”

  All the excuses for why he was packing melted away as he watched his mother calmly survey the room while holding a plain wooden box in her hand. The box was like nothing he had ever seen before. The edges had darkened with time and the simple design spoke of an age long past.

  “Long ago it was foretold that when evil once again made its presence felt in the world, t
he Eyes of the Deluti would return to combat that evil. That day has come and is why I am here. I have something that has been in my family for many generations. I became the bearer of this box on the day my mother passed from this world. Inside is the amulet of a Deluti.” She opened the box and removed a triangular amulet that contained three luminescent eyes and was attached to a small gold chain. “Once you put this around your neck, the amulet will disappear and only you have the ability to remove it.”

  “Why are you giving this to me?” he asked, unable to keep the hurt and frustration from his voice. “You have many sons and daughters who are more deserving of this than I.”

  “Navon, no one in living memory has worn this. Tradition says that the bearer of the box will know who is to wear the amulet or who to pass the box on to for the next generation. The moment you were born, I knew you were the one to wear it but that I was not to give it to you until you were ready to leave. There is a power in you, Navon, and the amulet will help you focus that power. Please put it on, my son. It is yours.”

  With trembling fingers he reached for the amulet. The loop in the chain appeared to be too small to slip over his head. The chain began to glow and Navon felt a tingling travel up his arms and into his chest. The glow quickly faded and the chain separated, revealing a tiny clasp.

  At a gasp from his mother, he raised his eyes and stared in awe as the box disappeared in a flash of light. He reached behind his neck with the ends of the chain where they snapped together to become a solid loop once again. From the look of wonder in his mother’s eyes, he knew the amulet was no longer visible. Unnerved by the touch of the chain, he froze as a voice in his head whispered, “Go north.”

  ***

  Far to the north, in a castle hidden deep within the Mountains of Mists, the Ancient One raised his head and smiled. Far to the southwest, across the Straits of Durmont, the Stagwood Marshe trembled as Scorpios clenched his scarred fists in a fit of rage. The slave who had been serving him burst into flames, reduced to a small dusting of ash on the floor.