Wind of Destruction
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Wind of Destruction
Joshua A. Spotts
Published by Joshua A. Spotts
Copyright 2011 Joshua A. Spotts
License Notes
Table of Contents
Cover
Prologue
Unknown Fate
Returning
Quest of Doom
A Haunted and Hollow Soul
Prologue
I will slay them all before I die. I stared at the body on that bloodied bed. I had been ordered to assassinate this man for no reason.
I remember that day…the day that turned me against those who were all I knew, against the life that was all I knew, a life of fighting. I knew there was a peace in the world, somewhere. But before I could find that peace I had to quell the fire of rage inside me. This thing, this feeling, could only cease if those who had ordered me to this vile deed were dead! The blood is on their hands and I am pure. I am pure, Oh tormenter! All of them will die. Death shall find them no matter what. Death shall wipe her cold hands on their faces as they scream for mercy. Death shall kiss them with her cold, flesh-rotting kisses. They shall suffer and Death shall be their mistress. Moreover, I shall be Death’s agent, bringing her to them.
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Unknown Fate
I started that day like any other, a simple meal to break the night’s fast, a run around the walls of our compound, then a brief spar before noon meal. Every morning we ran in a perfect line. We ran from parapet to parapet. We were used to it. I realize now, after many years, that I was numbed against the reality of companionship and love. I didn’t care what happened to those who were killed. I only knew that I didn’t want to die, I feared Death. I was haunted by her cold kisses should she come to me. This is what drove me to be better. We were taught revenge, hate, and how to cheat the conscience. I was later to take my revenge, poor fools! I hated them.
Revenge, it’s such a terrible word. The act leaves a lasting impression on the mind, even after you have accomplished it. You thought it would satisfy your hate...it never satisfies! Fool! Never! Never satisfies, no, it doesn’t.
Silence! I should continue my tale, for it is an important one. Waste too much time and you never have any when you need it, as my trainers used to say.
In our training, timing was of huge importance. If you could master the art of timing you were better than the others; the better fighters lived. The weaklings died and the dead men told none about our organization in those deep, wooded highlands. Secrecy is what we wanted, so no one we brought in ever went out again if they failed. The only ones who were allowed to leave were the Masters and they only went on missions, swiftly returning once they completed their task.
Eventually, after having been through grueling training since my fifth birthday and having lived in the compound for twenty years, I attained the level of Master. I do not know why they entitled me Master, for the ’masters’ were slaves to the Order and to their art. It was then that they began training me how to manipulate the life around me. I once saw a man die because he absorbed too much of the forest’s energy. He shriveled and fell to the ground, his body pulsing with energy though his life was snuffed out by the overwhelming power. I learned this art with caution, fearing it, which allowed me to slowly adjust my mind and body to the power that I would absorb, unleashing it at will. My will, no other man’s, mine, my own whimsical will.
After several days as a Master, I found that I had an amazing ability to take energy from anything without a struggle. Even some of the greatest Masters struggled at times. My talent did not go unnoticed. It was not long before my kind Master, the one who raised me and paid special attention to me, died. The other two Grand Masters began giving me harder and harder tests, hoping that one day I would kill myself. That day never came, though I wish now it had instead of the day of that fateful, hated, mission. That mission which neither Fate nor I knew would change the course of this land forever.
I remember walking slowly through those dense, crowded streets. The people swarmed about me like maggots on rotten meat. I had never seen so many people and of so many different types, scrawny poor people, fat rich people, muscled soldiers and acrobats, loud salesmen hawking their various wares. The noise was amazing. I focused my hearing only to the things which sounded like a weapon being drawn and talk concerning me. I had nothing to worry about, but this was my first mission and I did not want someone to just come from the crowd and end my life. It turned out, to my eternal haunting, that on that day I was the one who ended my life, transforming it into a mad vengeance without true purpose.
I came to a tall building. It was fat and squatting on the bottom floor and then every other floor got progressively narrower. It reminded me of one of the Great Master’s spearheads. The same ones that had viciously stabbed the life out of the only fellow student I had liked and trusted. Outside the rough door hung a sign; I fingered my dagger, this was the place.
Now all that was left was to find the person who matched the description written on my dagger blade. I was tired from the long walk. Pushing my way through the crowds, I walked into the corner of the tavern and sat down by a drunken old man. Beer ran freely off his greasy beard as he labored to bring the clay mug to his muttering lips. I laid a hand on his shoulder and started chatting with him. Within moments, I had drained enough energy from him that he went unconscious, looking as if he had only drunken too much. I was revived and ready for a few friendly questions with the bartender.
“A nice glass of mead, sir,” I asked with a forced smile on my face.
“What are you grinnin’ aboot?” Was his sour faced reply as he handed me the mead. I pulled out my coin purse the other Masters had given me and asked him how much the mead was. The many coins jingled and his eyes lit up.
“Twenty coins,” he answered, rubbing his hands on a dirty rag.
“Twenty?”
“Hard times.” His hand went up as if to reach for a glass and then went swiftly back down to start washing the bar with the rag.
“Really? They just got harder.” I answered as I reached for the dagger hidden underneath my long cloak. I could hear a few chairs creak as their occupants got up. I could sense the weapons being drawn. “The fun is only beginning.”
“What the…” Too late, he never spoke again. I lashed out with my hands and grabbed the fat bartender. My years of intense training enabled me to lift him easily and hurl him across the bar! I whirled around and ducked a club. I reached out with my mind, casting three of the men against the back wall. I moved like lightning. I never needed to use my dagger. I just dodged and broke their necks with simple moves that would never have worked on any of my fellow Masters, though I found they worked with surprising ease on these pathetic excuses for men. These men were only fit for mugging old ladies. One man charged me from behind and I leapt up, flipped over backwards, and then lashed out with my leg, breaking his backbone.
“Just my job, fellows, don’t be concerned. Free drinks! This man is officially out of business and his stock must be emptied. Drink well!” With those words I slipped upstairs to let those few witnesses of the fight drown out their memories with good ale, wine and mead. Earlier, during the fight, I saw my mission objective slip upstairs. I crept along, using my skills to detect the energy coming from the rooms. Most were empty. Only three were full and two of those I knew could not be my victim because they had frail energy waves. My victim had strong waves that would profit me well when he died. They had told me that much.
When I entered the room I saw a serene figure sitting on the bedside. The face I recognized from one of my few memories of my parents…the ones who abandoned me. That face, I knew that face. No time to figure it out. I had only o
ne life and that life was the Order. It was time to kill.
I moved toward the figure; he just looked at me. I drew out my dagger and he smiled. I moved closer and raised my arm for the killing blow. He lifted his hand, palm up. I knew him but my life was with the Order. I kept telling myself that. As I brought my arm down, something stopped its downward arc. My arm stiffened and the dagger dropped to the ground. I summoned energy and used it to cast the man across the room.
“Why? Why, my son? I wish to talk to you. Why do you think I’d let you come in here?” I heard the man’s calm voice ask as he got up. He dusted himself off. I summoned the dagger up into my hand and moved forward a cautious step.
“Your son? You abandoned me!” I roared at the frail looking man. I could recall him now, laying me down as a four year old on an old wooden cot. I could hear that wooden door creak as my