by JManess
He struggled to discern the figure in the darkness. At first glance he might mistake the man for a woman because he wore his dark hair long, nearly down 230
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to his waist. It seemed to absorb the meager light from the entrance, but there was no mistaking his build. Though he was not as muscular or as large as Lord Derek, he moved with a lean, masculine grace that spoke of years of training and skill. He wore a long loose robe over equally loose trousers in a style Derek had never seen before. The man wore no armor and carried no weapon, but Derek had just seen him take out an alert and efficient guard without any sign of effort.
Derek waited to see what the man would do next, his grip still firm and steady on his own unsheathed blade, and his shield at the ready. The man paused, listening for the other sentry, and then dragged the unconscious guard to a clump of weeds, tucking him into the bushes with appalling ease.
He melted back into the shadows again when the second sentry came crunching by, his boots crushing dead foliage without a concern for stealth or caution. Derek would flay alive one of his own guards for such lazy and reckless behavior while on shift. The second sentry went down faster than the first at the skilled hands of the unknown man, and he didn’t bother to drag this one into the weeds. It seemed that he’d determined, as had Derek, that the prince did not feel the need for much caution this far into Halidor’s borders and had set only two patrols.
The man moved toward the entry but stopped and slowly turned, the light limning the edge of his features while concealing them in shadow. The hair on the back of Derek’s neck rose as he swore that the man’s unseen eyes pinned him where he crouched, supposedly well hidden. He froze and felt a deep chill at the flash of a red glow from where the man’s eyes should be, before the man swung soundlessly back to the door and entered stealthily, using a key he must have removed from one of the sentries.
Derek took a moment to regain his composure and push away his unease, telling himself that the man had not seen him, and the flash of red had been a reflection of light. Derek rose quietly from his crouch, for a moment envying the man his flawless silence as his own armor creaked gently despite how well he oiled and cared for it. He then took another quick survey, saw no movement, and heard only the song of the night insects. Convinced he was unwatched and unnoticed, he followed the man, pleased to discover the door still unlocked.
Just inside the door, Derek found another guard unconscious. It appeared the shadow man moved with more speed and less caution now as Derek searched the entry hall, his eyes gliding over the yellowed spidersilk walls,
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decaying staircase to the upper floors that didn’t look fit to hold his weight, dust and debris piled in corners like a filthy snowdrift, and scarred wooden floors which hinted that a basement lay below this ground level.
He ignored the upstairs, figuring the prisoner would be kept most likely in the basement; it was the first place he would check. The empty feeling of the obviously once grand manor house with its crumbling stone towers filled Derek with a sense of depression, an echo of the hopeless atmosphere that overlay the place. From what Derek knew of Prince Onian, this place suited the dictatorial heir to his father’s throne. The man had no use for luxury, as long as he had access to power and complete control over people.
Derek moved slowly over the floor, testing the boards carefully and hoping no creaks alerted anyone occupying the basement to his presence. He kept his mind off the fear of what Onian might be doing to the princess as he slowly crept over the floor and down the left hallway, eschewing the right wing and the center great hall littered with broken furniture and tattered hangings, in the hope of finding steps to the lower floor. Halfway down the hall, he came across another unconscious man and figured he was on the right track. A new fear assailed him as he wondered why this shadow man seemed to seek the same thing he did.
Derek continued down the hall, passing several splintering iron-bound wooden doors, before he found what he sought, at the very end of the long hall, where the moth-eaten red spidersilk carpet ended: the wooden floors gave way to a stone staircase that spiraled down. Light from sconces on the steps filtered into the murky shadows of the hallway. Here, two guards slumped against the wall. When Derek passed them he realized that neither of them breathed, yet there wasn’t a mark on them to explain what killed them. He noticed that neither guard had had a chance to draw his weapon or protect himself with the shields now rolled against the wall. The shadow man moved quickly and with deadly efficiency. Still, if Derek must meet the man in combat, at least he would not be taken by surprise, and the man would find him far more formidable than a few bored guards pulling a night -shift detail.
Again, he pondered what the shadow man sought as he continued down the stairs, his own leather boots barely making a sound on the narrow stone steps. The heavy atmosphere of the basement level seemed to suck up any sound and swallowed the light just a few steps from each torch sconce.
The basement steps led from a narrow stairwell to a wide-open stone 232
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floor cluttered with crates, bins, and barrels. Most appeared new and well kept, though some farther back were broken open and spilled out their contents of grains, rice, and rotting vegetation onto the relatively clean stone floor. A few desiccated mice corpses curled in the corners and against the walls of the room, and only a murmur of voices emanating from much deeper into the basement broke the stifling silence.
Derek followed the sound, his sword held close but ready to swing, his shield arm up as he slunk toward the other occupants, wending his way through a maze of boxes and clutter. He begrudged every sibilant sound his movements made. Though they sounded barely audible even to him, he imagined that each soft scrape or leathery creak exploded into the heavy silence like wizard fire.
As he moved closer, the soft murmurs of the people at the end of the basement grew louder and he realized that the underlying susurration he’d heard was chanting. Over the chanting he heard a strident, arrogant voice speaking very good Arivan with a cultured Halidorian accent.
That had to be the prince; Derek didn’t believe his chosen guards would speak fluent Arivan. It was still difficult to make out what the man was saying, and he wondered where the shadow man had disappeared. His hunch said the shadow man sought the same thing he did, and he would rip the man apart before he would allow Sondra to fall into his clutches.
Derek aimed for the final stack of crates, and he moved with agonizing caution as he focused on the people on the other side, hoping that he heard the princess among these men and praying that she remained unharmed. At the back of his mind, he felt the time slipping away from him and knew that his caution must be tempered with speed or some guard or servant might discover the fallen sentries.
Just as he lifted from his crouch to peer over the crates, an explosive din erupted amongst the people in the basement. He heard men grunting, the sound of steel unsheathing, and the distinctive thud of flesh meeting flesh in a flurry of kicks and punches. Suddenly, the chanting changed, growing frantic and increasing in volume. Derek felt sweat break out on his face. His stomach churned and he had to physically brace himself against the crates to avoid responding to the compelling sound of the chants. He heard a triumphant laugh from the prince, more steel unsheathing, and then a sound that made his heart stutter—a piercing female cry.
Derek jumped up; shook off the strange sensations caused by the chanting,
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and froze at the tableau that met his eyes. The princess stood chained to a wall, battered and dirty in a simple maid’s uniform. A series of runes were drawn around her; candles flickered and glowed where they sat strategically placed amongst the runes. At her feet, the shadow man crouched, locked in some internal struggle, his expression fierce, his unusual almond-shaped eyes glowing with a fiery red light, his wais
t-length black hair flowing around him, and his fists clenched in concentration.
Two wizard adepts in Academy robes stood before the princess and the man and chanted loudly and quickly, their own faces beaded with sweat as they appeared embroiled in an unseen battle. The prince stood off to the side, a half dozen of his own personal guards around him, their swords unsheathed. They all stood frozen, watching the spectacle.
Derek considered whom to attack first, when the prince spoke.
“You might as well come out and join us, Warlord. After all, you have traveled such a long way to be here.”
Derek froze, then gritted his teeth and moved out from behind the crates, his sword still unsheathed. The prince’s guards immediately surrounded him, but they didn’t attack. Derek soon learned why. The prince, like all arrogant fools, wanted someone to gloat at.
“Just look, Warlord, at your ‘guardians’ now. I have the pleasure of having not one of Ariva’s dragons in my control but both. Don’t you like my new pets?
My bone golems shall be as nothing, compared to the devastation wrought by two marvelous dragons. Sadly, you won’t be there to see the destruction; I must admit I find you far too dangerous to live. Such a pity after you fought so bravely to defend your pathetic little kingdom at Ulrick Pass.” Derek glanced again at the shadow man, noting the glowing red eyes. He recalled the massive black dragon that had very nearly roasted both him and Sondra. He looked up at Sondra, and she didn’t even glance at him, though she must know someone new had joined the fray. Her own eyes remained pinned on the man before her, her agony at his suffering plainly evident for all to see.
Derek suddenly realized why the shadow man had come here; for the same reason he had—for love. Derek wasn’t sure what to think about the revelation when the prince continued, unaware of the Warlord’s internal struggle.
“I understand the princess once belonged to you. Tell me, did you know she was a shape-shifting monster when you kissed her? I did.” The prince smirked at Derek, his leer ugly and mocking.
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Derek forgot about his concerns over the princess’s feelings for the shadow man; he forgot about his own danger. He completely forgot himself as rage consumed him. This filthy bastard had laid a hand on Sondra; he had dared touch her. How far had he gone—had he raped her? Derek didn’t know and didn’t wait to find out. The wave of fury engulfed his consciousness, and he welcomed the darkness that arose to swallow him.
Prince Onian demanded that Lord Derek drop his weapon, but he wasn’t honestly paying much attention to the man, more fascinated by the battle between his hired wizards and the very strong-willed dragon. He couldn’t believe his good fortune! Once the wizards finished subduing the male dragon, they could continue their work on the princess. The wizards had recognized the man immediately as a dragon, and the moment he recklessly stepped into the runes circle, they focused all of their effort on conquering and controlling him.
Prince Onian was thrilled. Finally, he would have an unstoppable force: two powerful slaves to his will. With both dragons, he needn’t stop with the destruction of Ariva; he could annihilate Barselor and that arrogant bitch that still demanded the secret to make her a lich, even after her defection from the battle. Then he could invade Bladen and oust King Arctuor and his heavy knights. He could continue on, conquering every kingdom in the southern lands. Soon, he would be the ruler of an empire large enough to rival the ancient Alverian Empire.
Onian was engaged in his musings and plans when an enraged cry split the air. The sound so unnerved the wizards that they stumbled in their chant and very nearly lost control over the black dragon, an error that would have proven instantly fatal as he struggled mentally against them to crush their minds.
Onian turned back to the man his guards should have been dispatching, only to witness a head fly past him as one of his own guards fell to his knees in a pool of blood. The guards tried to stab at the insane man within their circle of swords but they moved too slow, not anticipating his inhuman strength.
He slipped out of the circle over the dead guard and spun around to meet the remaining fighters, parrying the closest one’s blows with his sword and slamming his shield into the other man’s arm so hard that one of the spikes stabbed right through the guard’s gauntlet and deep into his forearm. He dropped the sword and looked up from his arm in time to see Derek’s sword slide into his forehead. He collapsed without another sound.
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The guards moved to flank Derek, stepping over their fallen companion, and the right guard scored a hit on Derek’s side, burying his sword into Derek’s gut. The enraged warrior didn’t even falter; instead, he swung his sword so hard that the other man’s blade snapped before Derek punched him in his startled face, the metal studs on his gauntlet crushing the guard’s nose and spewing blood from his eyes and mouth. He fell to the floor choking on his own blood while Derek parried aside the other guard’s sword, kicked him back, and then thrust his sword into the man’s stomach as he recovered.
During the fight against the enraged Warlord, the wizards continued their struggle against the dragon. Sondra tore her eyes away from the strange man before her whom she had recognized immediately as her beloved dragon. His struggle with the wizards terrified her; she feared they might win and gain control over him, and she knew that becoming a slave would destroy Tolmac.
The shout of rage she’d heard moments ago finally registered, and she turned her head to see Derek, her noble Warlord, hacking the guards to pieces with blood-soaked abandon. He seemed different: larger, more fierce, his blue eyes hard as chips of ice, freezing his opponents as he chopped off limbs or bludgeoned skulls. His face twisted into a monstrous mask, no longer ruggedly handsome but terrifyingly harsh. In a way, as he pulverized the face of one of the guards who’d taken pleasure in beating her, she was horrified by the monster Derek had become, but in another way, she felt a strange shiver of excited desire at the ferocious look of him, a primal attraction to such violent strength that didn’t bear thinking about even while her true love struggled for his freedom at her feet. She felt helpless as she watched the two males she cared about fight for their lives, and she could only strain helplessly against the manacles that chained her to the wall.
Prince Onian drew his own sword and moved in to finish off the Warlord himself after his second guard fell beneath Derek’s blade. He yelled at his men to step aside as Derek continued to slaughter them without taking another hit.
The stomach wound bled sullenly. Onian knew it was a mortal wound that would kill the man eventually, but he couldn’t afford the cost of waiting for the Warlord to die on his own as he piled up the bodies of Onian’s men.
The remaining guards stood aside to let him fight, and Onian moved in like the skilled fighter he was, assessing the other man’s weakness even as he parried the heavy blows with his own sword and shield. He sliced at an opening in Derek’s defenses but found he only scored a shallow cut that barely parted 236
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the laces on Derek’s tunic, leaving behind a thin trickle of blood. Derek laughed maniacally and countered by smacking aside Onian’s sword and slamming his shield at Onian, who met it with his own. Derek managed to shove the smaller man back, his rage-enhanced strength nearly knocking Onian to the stone floor. While Onian recovered his footing, another guard attacked. Derek met his swing with his own sword, pulled the man past him, broke his sword free of the other man’s. and buried it to the hilt in the man’s exposed side. He spun just in time to meet Onian’s renewed attack and dodge a calculated swing that slid off his helmet rather than sliced through it.
Derek’s feral grin and wild laughter made Onian uneasy. He had fought and killed many skilled warriors in his time. He was the greatest warrior in Halidor, but he had never fought a man so unaffected by a mortal wound, so unconcerned with his own impending death, so apparently pleased to be
in the midst of mortal combat—and outnumbered. He charged at Derek with a flurry of slices and slashes that he usually reserved for truly skilled warriors, but this time his speed had little effect. Derek batted aside the swings like bothersome gnats, moving with his own deceptive speed, his attitude mocking as he kicked out and missed Onian, who quickly side-stepped to charge at Derek obliquely.
Derek cut down the remaining two guards before they saw him coming when he unexpectedly turned his back on Onian and charged them. He batted aside their swords and buried his own into the neck of the first one, then ripped it free on a tide of blood, chopping at the throat of the other. He spun again to meet Onian’s sword as the last guard succumbed to his wounds.
Derek swung his sword with incredible force, and it scarred the entire front of Onian’s shield, burrowing through the metal and ricocheting through Onian’s arm so that he could barely lift it from the pain. While he struggled to bring up his defense, Derek brought down his sword in a second heavy arc, and only Onian’s raised blade kept the wound that began at the base of his neck and slashed across and down to his hip from cutting him in half. He broke away from Derek, backing up in shock as his own armor peeled away in sections, trailing rivulets of blood.
Derek glanced contemptuously at him as Onian dropped his sword and clasped his bleeding wound; then he turned and advanced on the wizards.
Onian, only now feeling the burning agony of the wound, backed away, took one last longing look at the dragons, glanced at his dead guards and the gore surrounding him, and limped away while the madman’s back was turned,
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making haste for the upper levels of the building, determined that none of them would escape the manor alive.
