Savage Messiah dobas-1

by Robert Newcomb

  She took two measured steps forward and then stopped. Lifting the blade over her head with both hands she crept forward again, stopping less than a meter from the unsuspecting man's back. Intent upon taking his head from his shoulders with a single strike, Satine brought the sword down and around with all her strength.

  The moment her blade began cutting through the air, the man leaped to his feet, faced her, and raised his hands. As the razor-sharp blade whistled around, he clamped his open palms down upon either flat side of it, halting it in midstroke. Helpless to retrieve the sword from his iron grip, Satine looked into the eyes of the man who had just bested her.

  Then, smiling to herself behind her mask, she released her hold upon her sword. Just as she had been taught, she let her arms fall to either side. Her opponent smiled.

  Suddenly, he tossed the weapon into the air. It turned over twice, its silver blade flashing. He caught it one-handed by the hilt. Turning it around, he handed it to her. After giving him a short, respectful bow, she took it. The man returned her bow.

  "Hello, my child," he said simply. The timbre of his voice was old, calm, and reassuring. "It is good to see you again."

  After sheathing her sword, Satine unwound the black scarf from around her face. "And you, master," she answered back. "I am glad to see that your skill at blade-catching has not diminished."

  The old man embraced her warmly. "And had I not reacted in time, would you have halted your blow?" he asked.

  "Of course," she answered. "But we both know that has never been necessary."

  Smiling, the old man beckoned for her to sit with him. Satine lowered herself to the green mat.

  She recognized the familiar blue and white tea service sitting before her. As the old man came to sit opposite her he offered her some, and she accepted. She took a long draft of the rich, black tea, then looked back into the wise eyes of the man she so loved and respected.

  For many years Aeolus had been both her teacher and her surrogate father. Then had come that fateful day when she had finally decided to leave her post here at his school, and strike out on her own. It had been a hard decision, and she knew that the choice of her current occupation brought the old man heartache and worry. But he also knew why she had done it. In some ways, even he could not completely disagree with the dangerous path she had chosen.

  The bald head that he shaved every morning glinted in the light, and his penetrating eyes regarded her calmly. The neatly trimmed gray beard was just as she remembered, and the still-muscular body that belied his eighty Seasons of New Life remained coiled and ever ready beneath the folds of his martial garments. Satine took another sip of the tea, then put down her cup.

  "You heard me in the hall, didn't you?" she asked. "When I rendered Morgan unconscious."

  "Truth be known, I first sensed your presence when you pried open the skylight," Aeolus answered. "After all, who could take morning tea properly with all of that infernal racket? You made more noise than a thunderbeast! I taught you better than that!" Then he looked concerned. "I assume Morgan will suffer no lasting effects?"

  "No," she answered. "Although I doubt he will be pleased when he wakes up. What will you tell him?"

  Aeolus smiled. "Only that upon my orders he was being tested by another student, one who shall remain nameless. Besides, his shame at having been bested will probably overcome any curiosity he might have about who it might have been. Serves him right! He should never have been caught off guard like that. Still, I suggest that you use the front door next time. It makes things so much easier."

  She smiled again. "True," she answered. "But not nearly so interesting."

  Aeolus' mood became more somber. He put down his cup. "You have not visited here for more than a year," he said. "Then you suddenly appear in your combat garb, and clandestinely enter my school through the rooftop. It is apparent that you want your visit to be kept secret. Why are you here? And why do you seem so burdened?"

  She took a deep breath. "I have come to tell you some things," she began. "And I need to ask for your help."

  Aeolus shifted his weight and stared at her. Realizing he was not going to respond, Satine chose her next words carefully.

  "After the successful completion of the sanctions I have recently accepted, I will be retiring from this life," she announced.

  Looking into Aeolus' eyes, she expected to see joy at her news. She was well acquainted with how much he disapproved of her profession. Instead, she was surprised to see a look of increased concern cross her master's face.

  "I would prefer that you retire now," he said quietly. "This very day, in fact. My opinion on this issue had not changed. But you also know that as long as I draw breath, you will always have a home here."

  "Thank you," she responded. "But this last mission is far more dangerous than any I have ever accepted. The sum I demanded reflects that. With this money I can finally retire, and spend the rest of my life pursuing my other goal."

  Aeolus' face darkened. "This personal vendetta of yours will never bring your father back," he said to her. "Even if you find the man who killed him. I loved Jacob as though he was my own son. You know that. He was not only my finest instructor, but also my best friend. But he's been gone ten years. You must let it go, if you are to have any semblance of a normal life. I would have thought that your years here at the Serpent and the Sword would have taught you that."

  Satine looked down at the floor. "Apparently I was never destined for a normal life," she answered. "Surely you, above all people, can see that. I simply cannot rest until I find Father's killer-even if you have somehow made your personal peace with it."

  Memories of her childhood flooded her mind. Her mother had died giving birth to her, but her father had worked tirelessly to make up for the loss.

  Jacob had been Aeolus' head instructor at the martial school known as the Discipline of the Serpent and the Sword. The serpent represented the various skills of hand-to-hand combat, and the sword stood for the arts of armed combat. Satine was a master of both. As a widower, Jacob had been forced to bring his young daughter to the school with him every day. The school had quickly become her second home.

  When Satine was twelve, Aeolus asked her and Jacob to move in with him full-time-a common practice in Eutracian martial arts circles. At that point, Satine began her formal training. It had even been discussed that one day her father would inherit the school from the childless Aeolus, and Satine would then become her father's head instructor. Sadly, none of that had come to pass.

  In a fit of jealous rage, one of the lesser students who had been passed over for the title of head instructor killed her father in his own bed. At the time it was rumored that the murderer had been under the influence of a mind-altering drug designed to enhance one's enlightenment. He had then run away, using his considerable skills to become one with the night. Satine had given chase, but to no avail.

  Satine had been twenty-five years old at the time, and her father's murder had forged within her an intense need both to find his assailant and to make the man suffer mightily before she finally killed him.

  She knew that to find her father's killer she would need money, and lots of it. To acquire money, she would need a trade. The only skills she possessed that might generate such sums were her combat arts. When she made the decision to defy Aeolus' teachings of peace and serenity, she reluctantly left the school and she began selling her skills to the highest bidder.

  And so she wandered Eutracia, searching for both her next sanction, and the vile monster who had killed her father. Her reputation grew quickly. Soon, rather than having to search for work, she was being sought out. In between commissions she used up every kisa of the money she had earned. She knew her quarry's name; once she had missed him at a local tavern by only a day. Since then she had not been so fortunate, and it often seemed to her that the vermin she chased had somehow disappeared from the face of the earth. But her determination had not flagged.

  She looked back at Aeo
lus. "There is something else you need to understand," she said haltingly, unsure quite how to tell him.

  "And that is?" her master asked.

  "My new sanctions are to be political killings," she said. "Given how much you always supported both the monarchy of Nicholas I and the Directorate of Wizards, I thought this was something you should be aware of. You know that I have no such political leanings. But I would like to ask that, should it become necessary, I can come here to hide. Now that you have been told, if you wish to dismiss me from your life forever, I will understand." Her gaze went to the floor.

  "It's true that I once favored the monarchy, and the wizards who helped to guide it," Aeolus answered. He rolled his teacup between his palms. "But times have changed. It is widely known that the prince killed his father, and that he is in league with the very winged demons that butchered so many. It is also rumored that he has caused some manifestation of magic to go about Eutracia, destroying everything in its path, and that the surviving wizards gladly serve his purposes." He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "You have no doubt seen the bodies in the streets?" he asked. Satine nodded.

  "Whether these rumors have merit is not for me to say," Aeolus stated. Then his demeanor stiffened, and he leaned forward a bit.

  "The path you have chosen will be dangerous," he said seriously. "You are about to go to war with those who command the craft of magic. They are far more proficient in death-dealing than you or I could imagine. I cannot condone what you are about to do. But if you need a place to hide in order to save your own life, you will be welcome here."

  Aeolus thought for a moment. "Given what you have just told me, I assume you will be visiting the community of partial adepts?" he asked.

  Satine nodded.

  Aeolus sighed. "Such a vile place," he said. "Are you sure that you must go there?"

  "Yes," she answered. "These new sanctions will surely be the most difficult of my career."

  "Will you be dealing with the rogue herbmaster, Reznik?"

  "Yes," she said. "There is no other choice."

  Realizing that she had accomplished everything she had come to do, Satine knew it was time to leave. She reclaimed her sword from the floor and stood. Aeolus came to his feet with her. She had almost forgotten how tall and imposing he was.

  "Goodbye, my child," he said softly. "May the Afterlife watch over you."

  She took both of his gnarled hands into hers. "And you," she said softly, then turned, walked out the door, and didn't look back.

  The master instructor sat back down upon the floor mat and took another sip of tea. Distantly, he heard the almost inaudible sound of the skylight hinges creaking shut, telling him that his greatest student had just departed. Then the muffled sound of thunder signaled the return of the storm.

  Typically, Satine had been purposefully coy about the identities of her targets. He knew that had he asked her their names, she would not have told him-and he appreciated her desire to protect him by keeping him in the dark. But he could guess. And if he was right, and her targets were those of the royal house or the wizards they commanded, he wasn't sure he could accept that.

  Short of killing her, Aeolus knew that there would be nothing he could do to stop Satine, and killing her wasn't an option he was willing to consider. He understood all too well that her impending mission would soon force him to make a life-altering choice. A choice between two people he very much loved and respected.

  The thunder came again, and he looked sadly down into his teacup.

  CHAPTER XII

  TRISTAN sat in a high-backed chair atop the carpeted dais and watched people stream into the Chamber of Supplication. A flood of terrible memories plagued him. The last time he had appeared before so many of his subjects had been on his coronation day, when the Sorceresses of the Coven had attacked. This time, although the room and the purpose of the gathering were very different, the mood was in many ways the same. As on that awful day not so long ago, these citizens gathered before him were angry, terrified, and unsure of the future. As before, they believed the craft lay at the heart of all their troubles.

  The prince couldn't help but wonder whether any of these people had actually seen him kill his father, or witnessed the barbaric slaughter of the Directorate of Wizards. The terrible things he had done that day had been forced upon him, but many of these people would not know that. They no doubt had also lost loved ones to the ferocious Minions of Day and Night, long before he had become the winged warriors' new lord.

  Worse yet, rumor and innuendo always tore through Eutracia like wildfire, especially where the royal family was concerned. As was always the case with gossip, much of it was sure to be outright lies. He desperately needed his subjects' trust and understanding. But he knew that securing those things would be difficult.

  Tristan glanced around. The Chamber of Supplication was the second largest room in the palace; only the Great Hall was larger. He had ruled out the Great Hall as a meeting place. That was where the Coven and the Minions had first appeared and then done so much of their dirty work. Asking his already traumatized subjects to return there would have been too great a burden for many of them to bear, not to mention the effect the place would have on Wigg, the prince's twin sister, and perhaps even him.

  Excepting Geldon, all the members of the Conclave of the Vigors were seated with him upon the dais. The hunchbacked dwarf and Ox had left the previous evening with a phalanx of Minion warriors to determine the whereabouts of the ruptured Orb of the Vigors. So far, no word had been received.

  Abbey, Celeste, Adrian, Shailiha, and Tyranny were seated on the prince's right. Wigg, Faegan, and Traax were on his left. He had given some thought to excluding the Minion warrior from these proceedings, for Traax's presence would no doubt startle and inflame many of the attendees. Then he had reconsidered. Traax was a full-fledged member of the Conclave, and he deserved to be treated as such.

  Tristan looked around the room, remembering how important this chamber had once been to his father and to the Directorate of Wizards. The Chamber of Supplication was the hall in which the king and the late Directorate had heard requests from the populace at large. This usually occurred on the first of each month. Hundreds of people had attended, each seeming to bear a request more urgent than the last.

  Tristan remembered sitting here by the king's side, as Nicholas quietly considered petitions. The prince had listened intently, in preparation for when he would become king. Those days seemed far away.

  The morning breeze gently moved the patterned draperies by the open stained-glass windows. Dappled pillars of morning sunshine streamed in, making the highly polished marble of the chamber shine. It was almost as if Wigg and Faegan had enchanted the room, making it eager to be of use again.

  Seeing that the hall was now filled to overflowing, Tristan looked over at Wigg. The First Wizard nodded. Shailiha gave her brother a brief smile of reassurance. After taking a deep breath, Tristan stood and held his arms wide in a gesture of welcome.

  "Citizens, subjects, and friends!" he began loudly. "I am Prince Tristan, son of Nicholas and Morganna, the late king and queen of Eutracia! You have been invited to this hall in peace, and no harm will befall you. I know you have many questions and concerns, and we on the dais will attempt to answer them for you. Before that begins, I must tell you the story of how and why our nation has arrived at this crossroads. It is a tale that you may find incredible. But it is true, nonetheless."

  Pausing, Tristan looked out over the crowd. The faces staring back at him looked angry and skeptical, and not a few of them glowered with outright hatred. But all were silent. For the time being, at least, they seemed willing to hear what he had to say.

  He went on to tell them of the attack by the Coven of Sorceresses, of how Shailiha had been kidnapped, and of what he and Wigg had suffered to bring her and the Paragon home again. He explained the return of his son Nicholas from the Afterlife, and the subsequent construction and destruction of the Gates of Dawn,
followed by his son's death. Lastly he told them of the Scrolls of the Ancients, and of his lost half brother named Wulfgar, who had tried to employ the scrolls to pollute the Orb of the Vigors. He went on to say that this was the manifestation of the craft that had already wounded so many of them and caused the destruction of Brook Hollow.

  He introduced each person on the dais, explaining the various contributions each of them had made in the name of their nation. By prior agreement with Faegan and Wigg, when he introduced Adrian he was careful to make no mention of the secret order of the Acolytes of the Redoubt. When he finally finished, he cast his gaze back and forth over the crowd, searching for reactions. They weren't long in coming.

  The first to address him was a man dressed in modest peasant garb. He looked tired and worn, and his right hand had obviously been recently bandaged. Jumping to his feet, he raised his injured limb and pointed it at the prince.

  "Liar!" he shouted loudly. "You say your newly formed Conclave wishes to protect us from the orb! But what you really want to do is to kill us all! Don't lie to us! I saw you do it, that day you destroyed Brook Hollow! You and your wizard came flying out of the east in the litter your winged monsters carried. Then I saw Wigg raise his arms and cause the orb to fly directly over the town and turn it to ash! What other cities have you ordered that abomination of the craft to destroy, while at the same time you try to blind us with your little speeches about goodwill, eh? Don't lie to me! I lost my wife and both my sons in Brook Hollow! I watched them die, helpless to do anything about it! If I thought I could get away with it, I'd kill you right now with my bare hands! You aren't half the man your father was, and everyone here knows that!"

  As others in the crowd began to shout and wave their fists in agreement, the man who had just berated Tristan suddenly took a brazen step toward the dais. Traax immediately leaped to his feet and drew his dreggan.

  Hearing the blade's familiar ring, Tristan snapped around. He shook his head, tacitly ordering the warrior to stand down. It was clear that the situation could rapidly deteriorate, and violence was the last thing he wanted. His face a mask, Traax finally slid the sword back into its scabbard and reluctantly took his seat.