by Robert Day
A stunning blow to the back of the head dropped him, by what he could only guess as the hilt of a weapon. His vision blurred quickly as he fell, and his ears rang, but it ended shortly after as another blow connected with his head, and everything was darker than even the starry night above.
Chapter 5
In a sheltered glade, fresh with the cool night air atop the Blade Mountains, four figures rested amid the heavenly pillars of moonlight filtering through the thick canopy overhead. A shielded fire, throwing up sparks which dissipated into the cool air, burned low, as its warmth was not a necessity, a sentient weapon waiting to be used if needed.
Not far from the glade, perched low in the thick branches of a tree downwind from the camp, a dark figure watched with statue like attentiveness, the only movement being the dark, emotionless eyes. Close fitting black clothes made him all but invisible against the darkness.
After a time, having witnessed all he needed, the figure twisted and dropped the dozen feet to the leaf littered ground below, using the thick bole as a shield. He landed with barely a sound, less than a squirrel might have, as if he barely needed the ground for support.
Then like a specter he was moving, silently drifting between the dark trees, leaving no trace or stirring not a leaf or twig. Such were the skills of this dark figure, honed through years of work on the toughest streets and long hours at the hands of the most skilled teachers: Assassin, Spy and Warrior all in one.
Nearing another camp nearby, he slowed to a walk, this one darker and more secluded between a wall of trees and a sharp ridge. There was no fire and little light. He felt his skin tingle, as though he were dropping into cold water, but the feeling passed as he moved through the wards which were set along the perimeter. A black armored figure, one of four guards patrolling their arcs, moved towards him, but on recognition passed him and let him enter the camp unhindered.
Hagar made a sneering smile as the guard passed and his hand slowly relaxed from near the hilt of one of his swords. He could almost feel the man's mocking gaze on him, as he had since the Tournament. So much had hinged upon his victory that his failure had shamed him greatly in the eyes of his colleagues.
Yet the guard was of no consequence and he would gladly have slain him as a warning to the others if he had not been needed. Their numbers were few, and their approaching plan would require as many men as they had, if not more.
A tent was erected in the center of the camp, squat but wide, sectioned off inside where Adakar and Myrtti resided. A pale light illuminated the middle room, which he entered to find both men kneeling before an unrolled map of the region. Both looked up, flickers of annoyance at the interruption quickly disappearing as they recognized Hagar, and they looked up at him questioningly.
“There are no wards, and they number only four.” He enjoyed their attention as they waited on his words, but knowing the urgency of their plan he had not kept them waiting too long.
“Then we must act tonight,” reiterated Adakar fervently. “We cannot risk letting them get onto the lowlands near Brek, or our advantage will be lost.”
Myrtti nodded slightly, but his coal black eyes held some reservation. “Do not underestimate these two, my friend. His powers are older than even mine.”
“But you can defeat him, isn't that what you said?”
Myrtti inclined his head. “Yes, though only if I am quicker than he is. At the very least I can keep him preoccupied while you snatch the girl away.”
“And the others?” asked Hagar with a cruel smile, his hand resting on a sword hilt. How he wanted to slay this Barbarian, Tyrun, who was apparently kinsmen to the hated Thorgast, at whose hand he had lost not just the tournament. He delighted in dealing out death, but this one would be more exquisite. His smile widened as the gaze Myrtti gave him told him the others would be better dead than alive.
“Hagar, show us the layout of their camp.” The assassin knelt, and as they went through their final plans, he could not help but picture the pleasure he would soon be feeling.
Kitara wiped weary eyes as she sat the large tome beside her, balancing it precariously atop the gnarled log. Turning her eyes towards the low burning fire, she closed them with a sigh, seeing the orange glow through her eyelids, like a cloudy dawn holding back the sun.
Four weeks out of Thorhus and she was homesick. She missed her family, her friends, and her warm comfortable bed, yet the adventure of travelling was increasing the further they went. She had been away from Thorhus before, to Brek and other outlying towns and cities, but never under these free conditions. It was like one of the many times she had been able to ride outside the city, only there were no guards and no curfews. She had enjoyed those times, and now she knew she would enjoy this journey to the Elvin nation.
She knew few Elves, Llewellyn having been the most notable, plus a few of the magicians who had occasion to visit Thorhus. She even remembered vaguely an Elvin Traveler who had visited her father when she was very young. She remembered this because he had appeared alien and beautiful to her, the first Elf she had seen. She had read many tales, both mythical and factual, and if the Elvin city were near as breathtaking as she imagined it, then no matter what travails they met on the road, it would be worth the perils.
“It offers few answers at first, Princess.”
With a muffled cry she turned and rose at the sound of the soft voice, smiling in embarrassment and sitting back on the log when she noticed the old Scholar, Ka'Varel, standing behind her with his slender pipe in hand, staring at the fire as if searching for answers himself within the fiery embers. She realized he was speaking of the tome, and she nodded agreement.
“It seems I have read the same thing over fifty times, each one different but the same. I know that sounds stupid.”
“Not at all,” acquiesced Ka'Varel. He lowered his large frame on the log next to her, placing the tome on his lap, still staring unblinkingly at the small fire with his forest green eyes. “It is what I have thought many times, but that is the nature of prophecy, to show something without making it visible or overly obvious.”
Kitara regarded the white haired man askance. He was a stranger, enigmatic and mysterious, whose appearance heralded many startling revelations, yet she felt from the moment she saw him that he was worthy of trust and respect. There was about him an aura of power and charisma, much like her father but more tangible.
“Why are we going to Lloreander?”
His emerald eyes closed then, and for a moment she thought she had angered him.
“How much did Valdieron tell you?”
“Everything,” she admitted softly, almost apologetically.
“That is good, though even Valdieron does not know the extent of this.” He gave a slight chuckle, though for what reason Kitara could not tell. “Do you know of the Sylvan Druids?”
The name was not unheard of by Kitara, but she had no recollection where or when she had heard it.
“They are the Elvin Wise Men,” continued Ka’Varel, “Masters of the Essence. They are as one with the forest in which they live. They must be warned of this coming threat.”
“How much of a threat has it become?” asked Kitara anxiously.
“You know already of the Nexus Gates, but like sand hills on a beach, the Seals which hold them are slowly being eroded. With each Portal opening, more Demons will come forth. However, there is one Portal we cannot allow to be reopened.”
“Why?”
“The Ashar'an are kin to the Kay'taari, but the Unlife that the Ashar'an worship is not a term for the evil they spread, but a sentient entity. During the last War of Power between the Kay'taari and the Ashar'an, this entity was banished to the voids and sealed there with the same magic used to create the seals outside the Nexus gates. But do not fear yet, for the seal inside the void is empowered by the outer seals, and although these are weakening and breaking, it will take the final destruction of the outer seals before the inner seal will decay.”
Any other perso
n telling her this would have caused Kitara to laugh it off as a story or embellishment, but she knew Ka'Varel would not be telling her unless is was truth. “How long will it take for all of the outer seals to break?”
Ka'Varel sighed. “I do not know.” There was tiredness in his voice, and the Princess wondered at his true age. He appeared not much older than her father, but he carried about him an ageless aura.
“The seals are breaking one at a time, as if a power is concentrating on one after the other, so I cannot say how long it will take. There are seven remaining not counting the one inside the void. It may be half a year before they are all broken, with luck it will be longer.”
He did not have to say that without luck they could be at war even sooner. As the daughter of a King, Kitara knew the realms were not prepared for a battle of such magnitude. A widespread era of peace had existed for as long as she could remember, and her father had severely cut the ranks of his own armies for economic reasons. Other leaders had done likewise, the total of battle trained soldiers far less than they had been a decade before. Her father was sending missives to these leaders to warn them of the possibilities of war, but even so, time would prove crucial if they were to rebuild their forces.
“Will Valdieron be successful?”
She had meant to ask if he would be safe, but did not want to show how her feelings ran for the young warrior, but even so she felt his eyes on her as she stared into the fire, and she could not help but feel he was smirking slightly. She unconsciously felt for the hard presence of the piece of the Disk hanging from the chain around her neck.
“We must hope so, for so much rests on his finding the pieces of the Disk. It will be a long and hard road for him to travel, alone and in many ways unwise to the ways of the world, but do not doubt his determination or courage. He has skills and talents he is yet unaware of, and we know he can take care of himself.”
“He is so alone. I wish we could help him.”
“We are, Princess. Everything we do will assist him in different ways, some unseen.”
“Then we can only do what we can, and hope.”
Ka'Varel’s only response was a hissing breath, perhaps brought on by the cold. She rose to leave, turning to bid him good night, but what she saw froze her in place.
Ka'Varel sat rigid, his head pulled back so the chords in his neck strained, and his eyes were rolled back. His mouth was set in a rictus snarl, and his skin was pale though dotted by sudden beads of sweat. His gnarled hands clawed at the rough log, and it seemed as though he was not breathing.
Kitara screamed then as a dark figure loomed before her. It carried a dark bladed longsword, while a cowl concealed a face not perceivable in the firelight. A brief glimpse showed dark flesh, smeared with a dark coating.
The figure raised the weapon, making to strike, but as Kitara threw herself backwards onto the hard ground, the figure instead struck at the unprotected form of Ka'Varel.
Or at least she thought he was unprotected. As she cried out and made to rise, clutching at the dagger at her side, the dark blade rang as it careened off Ka'Varel as if he were made of stone. The dark figure thrust again, aiming for the old man's heart, but the tip scraped across Ka'Varel's chest, tearing a gash in his shirt but not flesh.
Kitara rolled to her feet and spied several more figures entering the camp, like specters in the dancing firelight. All carried dark swords, though two figures remained at the edge of the tree line, sheltered by the dark.
Andrak and Tyr were roused, both beset by two dark figures. Hoping the two could handle themselves, she turned back to the prone Ka'Varel, not knowing how long the shield that protected him would last. The figure attacking Ka'Varel seemed preoccupied with his task, but when she made to advance, he shifted to keep her in sight as he hacked away. Feeling helpless, but knowing she could not hope to defeat the man with a dagger and cursing that she had left her Rapier near her bedroll she did what she hoped would at least delay the figure and threw her dagger at him.
With uncanny speed, the figure reversed his sword and batted aside the dagger with a steely clang. The sword reversed again, as if the diversion had merely been an inconvenience, and struck once again at Ka'Varel. This time, the blade penetrated whatever barrier there was and drew blood, though only a slight line as the barrier took the brunt of the strike.
Spurred on by this, the dark figure swung again, drawing another line across Ka'Varel's chest, markedly deeper than the first. Blood flowed slowly, as if held back by the invisible shield.
Kitara flung herself desperately at the dark swordsman, knowing Ka'Varel was at the man's mercy. Her senses reeled from the shock and suddenness of what was happening. She knew brigand attacks were not uncommon between Brek and Thorhus where many merchants travelled, but these seemed to be more than simple brigands with their fine weapons and precise ambush. There was also the magic affecting Ka'Varel, which probably meant one of them was a magician of some power.
The swordsman evaded her attempted grapple with ease, spinning to grasp her extended left arm. With unnatural strength, he spun her around before him, facing away with her arm pressed across her body, pinning both arms as he held her wrist in a steely grip. His sword was angled across her, alarmingly close to her throat.
“Do not struggle so, my Princess.”
Hagar! That voice was indelibly etched into her mind since the night of Llewellyn's death. A feeling of dread clutched at her, weakening her legs as she guessed at the real reason behind this attack. She had believed Hagar returned to his homeland after the unsuccessful tournament, but it seemed he still held hopes of having her.
But what would happen to the others? She turned to Tyrun and Andrak, and saw they were still surrounded by dark swordsman. By the dim firelight she could see that both were bleeding, but two dark bodies lay still at their feet. Tyrun appeared outraged as he tried to break free and come to the aid of the unprotected Ka'Varel, but the swordsmen cut him off at each attempt, though they were careful of his flashing battleaxe.
With renewed determination she struggled against Hagar's grip, almost sure he would not harm her. His grip was firm, however, and he easily restrained her before spinning her away from him, straight into the arms of another dark figure, who just as easily forced her arms behind her back. She felt metal encircle her wrists, and then two soft clicks as the cuffs locked. She jerked her arms as the figure released her, but she could not break the shackles. The figure grabbed the metal chain connecting the two and pulled her back towards him.
“Your destiny is with me, Princess,” hissed Hagar, hefting his sword. He paused briefly, his face hidden by his cowl. Suddenly a flickering of light ran along his dark blade, a blue iridescence that sparked like lightning. Turning to Ka'Varel, Hagar thrust at the old man's open chest, and as Kitara screamed, the enchanted weapon pierced what remained of the invisible barrier with a steely hiss and passed into flesh.
Tears came to Kitara's eyes as Ka'Varel slumped forward off the log, freed from whatever had him paralyzed, and as she watched, a dark pool of blood began to seep through the grass, ever-growing.
A piercing whistle cut across the glade as Tyrun bellowed furiously at the sight of Ka'Varel’s demise. Kitara turned as the big man literally rammed his way through the dark swordsman, using his axe like a scythe to keep them away. One was not so lucky and was almost split in half as the wicked axe sliced into his side, and unluckily for Tyrun become embedded. The barbarian had to jerk the weapon free, but as he did, one of the swordsmen stepped forward and struck at his unprotected side.
If the big man showed any pain as the sword pierced his side, there was no evidence as he spun and punched the swordsman, the force of the blow sending the man flying backwards. He landed and was still, his head twisted in an inhuman position.
Hands grabbed at Kitara and she was lifted onto a figure's shoulder, losing sight of Andrak and the barbarian momentarily. Twisting her head to look again, she saw Tyrun pressing through the remaining dark figu
res, charging towards Hagar.
Hagar waited, standing above Ka'Varel with his sword held at the ready. Not even the sight of the charging barbarian intimidated him, and Kitara wondered if he invited the confrontation.
The shrill whistle sounded again, twice, and the figures battling Andrak dropped off, the Prince slumping to one knee as they did so, clutching at a dagger in his side and Kitara screamed his name, though he seemed not to hear. Hagar also turned, hesitating momentarily before he too ran after the others.
Kitara struggled as she was carried away, but there was no freeing herself. She continued to scream and shout, but a gag was roughly placed over her mouth, and then a thin hood, obscuring her vision.
“Let us be away from here, and quickly,” commanded one of the figures. Kitara felt herself passed to another as they started off, unceremoniously tossed over the figure’s shoulder. Her weight did not seem to affect him as he ran with smooth, effortless paces.
Emotion and shock overwhelmed her as her thoughts drifted back to the camp. Tears came unbidden and her body shook with racking sobs as she pictured Ka'Varel: dead, or at least dying, while Andrak and Tyrun were injured, who knew how badly? It gave her hope, knowing if they weren’t seriously injured they would be able to follow these men and rescue her.
“Do not cry, my bride,” whispered Hagar, his voice the only thing showing signs of the strain of carrying her. “I have rescued you so now you can follow your destiny. You will find happiness with me in time.”
“Why? Who are you?” The gag muffled her question, but Hagar seemed to have heard it as he gave a chuckle.
“Why, I am Kiroba, my love. When we get to Dak’mar, you will be afforded all the honor and respect befitting the wife of one of their leaders.”
