| Subject: Here ye are mate. Chapter 2 is inside. |
Author:
Sekin
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Date Posted: 18:27:08 10/27/04 Wed
In reply to:
Sekin
's message, "It's sad that no one comes anymore to this board...I've read some really incrediable pieces that people used to post here...It's such a shame that that's not the case now...I'll have more of the story posted by tomorrow, I have so much homework to do tonight. So, sorry about the delay, but I'll post tomorrow, I promise!!!" on 22:49:11 10/26/04 Tue
Chapter 2" Then Came Fire
The throne room was robed in darkness. Only objects or people standing new to the guttering, few torches that lined the walls were illuminated. Outside, the circle of light, everything was dim and blurry, details lost to the shadows.
The flames were reflected in the King¡¯s eyes, burning and blazing, making his gaze fiercer still. Kneeling before him, bent almost completely over, the man named Shadows waited. His stiff posture was a result of the King¡¯s hideous stare. Silence held for several more minutes, before it was broken suddenly by the King¡¯s voice.
¡°You dare come back?¡± The softness of his voice made the words more menacing. ¡°You have failed.¡±
Shadows chose his words with care. ¡°I could not just run away Lord.¡±
The King advanced on him, his face twisted in a savage snarl and his steps short and fast with rage. ¡°You are no Acon¡¯sarbor Shadows! You are a traitorous worm!¡±
Shadows¡¯ only movement was to clasp a gloved hand to his bleeding side. He had taken that cut across his ribs during his latest mission, in service o his King. Now however, the wound seemed to pulse with the same mocking laughter that danced in the King¡¯s eyes. ¡°I did not fail to betray you Lord. The manor was heavily guarded, I-¡°
¡°You are a liar and a traitor!¡±
Shadows shook his head, his eyes on the floor.
The King¡¯s wrath faded to cruel delight. ¡°Say it,¡± he jeered. ¡°Say it Shadows. I order you to say that you are a traitor and a worthless worm!¡±
Shadows hesitated, his jaw tightening.
¡°Say it.¡±
Shadows¡¯ voice was strained and trembling with fury. ¡°I am a worthless worm Lord¡¦I am a traitor Lord¡¦¡±
The King¡¯s laugh was tinged with insanity. ¡°Exactly!¡± he howled. ¡°Exactly! And do you know what I do to traitors?¡±
Shadows shook his head, eyes bright with tears of helpless rage. He clenched his injured side tighter in an attempt to stem the blood flow.
¡°I mark traitors. I mark them well, with a crescent moon. You see, the moon is fickle as well, she changes night by night.¡± The King slowly drew his sword with a rasp of steel on leather. He placed the point to Shadows¡¯ left cheek and cut the flesh in a crescent shape with the utmost care. Shadows made no move to rise or defend himself.
¡°When I have done that,¡± the King continued, ¡°Then Shadows, I place the noose around their necks and watch them hang.¡±
Shadows bowed his head. ¡°If that is how you wish it to be Lord.¡±
The King threw back his head and bellowed with laughter.
Havenard Targon sat bolt upright in bed as the dream released him. His green eyes scoured the room for anything out of the ordinary, the King¡¯s howl of mirth still ringing in his ears. Finding nothing amiss, Havenard slumped back onto the pillows. His breathing slowly returned to normal, but he groaned, disgusted with himself. Covering his eyes with a hand, he sighed deeply. That dream again!
¡°Some mercenary you are,¡± he growled to himself, ¡°Can¡¯t even get drunk enough to stop dreaming¡¦¡±
With another sigh, Havenard kicked back the blankets and rose. He knew that sleep was now moving too quickly for him to re-catch and anyway, he had an early job to do. Walking over to the window, he undid the latch and slammed the shutters outwards, letting early dawn light flood the room.
The bedroom was a small, cube of stone that was the largest room in the house, and also the messiest. The ramshackle bed took up an entire wall and a leaning wardrobe occupied anther. The walls were slashed and gouged from many cuts and swipes by various weapon blades. The mirror tucked away in one corner was the only piece of furniture that had escaped damage.
Walking over to the wardrobe and ignoring the few bottle shards that crunched under his boots, Havenard opened the doors carefully. He withdrew a deep brown shirt, almost as wrinkled as the one he had slept in, but cleaner. Tugging the tunic off over his head but keeping his old breeches on, Havenard slipped into the new top. He tossed the dirty one onto the bedpost.
He then surveyed himself in the mirror with a bitter half-smile. A man around thirty stared back at him with light green eyes. His blond hair was matted and the rough beginnings of a beard were un-kept. He was tall and graceful looking, and on his left cheek, ran the white curve of a scar. When his eyes came to rest on that scar, Havenard shook his head angrily and turned away.
From the wardrobe, he withdrew a flask made out of dark glass and a chipped sword. Sheathing the sword in a battered leather scabbard, he slung the weapon over his shoulders so that the blade rested along his back. The flask he carried in his right hand.
¡°All right,¡± Havenard sighed resignedly. ¡°Time to head to work.¡±
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