Book of Kayal: Houses of Light Page 3

  The Emperor fought back the first assassin and his foe swiftly perished as Servak guided his own assassin dagger through his heart and then slashed his throat open. There was no contest between the two and the Wolf Emperor prevailed like a lion fighting a cub. The second assassin, however, was only knocked down and his life was spared. Jumping from the bed to the corner at the other end of the chamber, Servak pushed the assassin, leveraging his body to jump higher and further, and grabbed the blade leaning on the wall after a graceful tumble.

  Once the Emperor had his Unnamed Blade in hand, he moved so that the window was behind him, setting up the manner of his death as he had planned, to guarantee that the blade will fall into its intended hands.

  The man plunged at the Emperor and cut him twice, inflicting a fatal wound for each occurrence in which the first severed an artery in his neck and the second another in his thigh. With the third and final leap, Servak positioned himself in a manner that the momentum of the charging man would push him out of the window and into the courtyard from a deadly height, where he would sink into oblivion.

  Servak Darkhide, the Demigod Wolf Emperor and first of his title, was killed that night. The man who had unified the entire continent of Nosgard under one banner was no more, and his legacy was all but undone, for he had one remaining card to draw –and it bore the name of ‘Salus.’

  With the death of the Emperor, Malus, his firstborn, was declared his successor. With the coronation the Sky Wing had its victory and once more managed to plant their puppet at the head of the Nosgardian Empire.

  Slowly, the Empire grew divided and started to rot away into a brief shadow of its former-self, a speck of dust separated from a desert. One by one, the kingdoms of sentient beings were driven away from the new emperor.

  Senna and its allies were the first to renounce Malus and his unjust rule, for they were a safe distance from the mainland and also separated by sea. Alvissmal and Partha remained within the imperial, but detached themselves from all they could without formally rejecting the Malus’ claim. Kol, however, was the only kingdom to keep its relations unaffected, since Servak was their Razul and father of the new emperor.

  And thus the glorious Empire of Nosgard began its descent into chaos.

  Chapter 2: From Quiet Life

  ‘For as long as you can keep him safe and treat him as you would your own son. With you last breath send him to the returned and have him repeat when trees are not themselves.’ Emperor to Hermit.

  1

  Under the light of a full moon two black mares galloped swiftly through a forest at night. They were fresh as they had been smuggled out of Gallecia on a carriage under the pretense of being of breeding quality. A seal with the Countess’ sigil tricked the guards into falsely believing that they were destined to Katabasis Keep. The Countess, of course, had provided her official seal to Anaria and asked not of her intention, for she had called upon a favor once given to the Countess; and the Countess was known to honor her word and repay her debts, no matter the cost. Yet her word was not easily given. Her loans not easily taken.

  Once the carriage was far enough from civilization and prying eyes, Anaria took out the mares and placed a wrapped body onto one of them. The other she rode herself. The empty carriage continued towards Katabasis. Anaria guided the two mares into the forest, taking an indirect route and avoiding the road as she had been instructed.

  It started to rain, first a drizzle and then a constant stream of countless drops of fresh water, washing away the Eastern Desert’s dust from the green leaves of the tall Gallecian trees. The mares’ hooves became muddy and their steps more treacherous. Their part of the journey was finished. Fortunately Anaria was not too far from where she was instructed to leave the comatose Salus. She bound the mares to a tree trunk and carried Salus on her back. The feat was barely manageable for Anaria as her small, aging frame gave her little strength to rely upon.

  She struggled with the paralyzed body of Salus for an hour before she gave up on carrying him and proceeded to drag him. Eventually she reached a tree marked with a shallow carving of an imperial eye on its east-facing bark. After removing her bow and quiver, noticing that her arrows must have fallen during her walk, she untied Salus’ restraints and uncovered him, leaving him at the mercy of the elements with his bloodied assassin’s clothes.

  Doing what she could, Anaria pushed around the tree’s leaves to keep Salus as dry as possible, leaving as little a trace as she could manage. Then she took out her hunting knife and cut off the mark from the bark, taking it with her to discard piece by piece throughout her journey to wherever she was heading next; she had not decided yet.

  The rain had stopped and Anaria heard distant voices approaching. She was certain that no one followed her. For a moment she considered fighting off the passersby, whom she judged to be two, and then reconsidered, thinking that they might be participants of Servak’s ploy. She sheathed her blade and before escaping took one last look at Salus, his face tattooed beyond recognition. She smiled one last time at Servak’s youngest son, instinctively suppressing her tears, and then faded into darkness.

  She heard the two men speaking once they found the bloodied man and breathed deeply, relieved by knowing that they bore no ill intent towards Salus, rather spoke of caring for him until he was well enough to care for himself.

  And so Salus’ deliverance began.

  2

  It was a pleasant summer day. The birds chirped joyfully while hopping from one tree branch to another. Critters of all sorts enjoyed the easy summer days where food was plenty and their litters grew strong. A blue sky, filled with the occasional cloud, oversaw all these little occurrences as a forest near Gallecia flared with life.

  Amidst the trees a small cabin stood. Three dwelled within the cabin built long ago by a now-aged man. The old man sat on the porch and worked on tanning a pelt he had just acquired.

  “It is indeed a fine day,” a young man, of age slightly over two decades, said. He carried some wood he had just lumbered. The man was not of a particularly strong build yet had an admirable spirit filled with the eager essence of youth.

  “Archer, you startled me,” The old man said, his bold head never moving, brown eyes fixed on his work.

  “I will never get used to this unfitting name, Keshish.” He dropped the wood next to the three steps of wooden stairs that welcomed visitors.

  “It seemed fitting at the time. When Balta and I found you three years ago you were soaked in bloody clothes and carried a bow and an empty quiver with you. Considering the circumstances, Archer seemed rather appropriate.”

  Archer took a deep breath and stared at the bright blue sky. Two birds engaging in their usual summer courtship ritual caught his attention. They tweeted back and forth while flying in a random, yet fairy relaxing, pattern. “Well, you and I both know I’m no archer.”

  Keshish smiled, continuing to work on his pelt. “Archer or not, you are my friend, and a much needed one nonetheless.”

  “Tell me that again once game returns to this forest, proper game like deer not those measly squirrels that bare too little meat to be worth hunting.”

  Keshish sighed. “Tell me, Archer, have you reconsidered searching for your past?”

  Archer leaned on the cabin’s wooden wall next to Keshish. “I’m happy with what I have now, little to concern myself about and a healthy life in this forest.” He waved his hands at the vista ahead of them, mostly large trees wealthy with green leaves, fruit and some of them with beautiful pink flowers. “What if I end up digging in the past and uncover something that would make me a little less happy. Would it still be worth it?”

  “I don’t know, youngling. I guess my own curiosity would make it impossible to stay away from seeking answers.”

  “By the gods I hope you’re not serious enough about seeking your answers to make you consider joining the ranks of those pompous Parthan scholars.”

  They both shared a laugh and at that moment another man arrived
on a wagon and interrupted the conversation between Archer and Keshish. A strong brown horse pulled the empty wagon carrying the hermit’s other helper, Balta.

  “I brought you things from Windbreeze,” he spoke.

  “What did you bring?” asked Keshish.

  “Ale and the sweetest bread I have ever smelled.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The ale I drank and the bread I ate.”

  Archer looked at the hermit and smiled. “Why did I even ask?”

  Keshish nodded as he continued to focus on his task at hand.

  “Old man,” Balta shouted – yet there was no need to shout – “catch this.” He threw a leather pouch at the sitting hermit, but Archer was the one who caught it. “This is something for you to darken that pipe of yours with.”

  “Ah…I was hoping you would not forget. Gratitude, my rash young friend.”

  “I am not as young as you believe me to be.”

  “Everyone is young when compared to my age.”

  Balta shook his head.

  “It’s time to prepare lunch then,” declared Archer. He then entered the cabin to prepare a humble meal for the three to share.

  3

  At night Gallecian patrols arrived at Keshish’s isolated cabin. The old man sat on his porch, finishing off the last of the pelts he had planned on tanning that day. Seven men clad in the shiny Gallecian steel coat-of-arms silently investigated the area from atop their horses. At the center of their red-trimmed black tabard was the all-seeing eye of Gallecia with a shadow of a wolf instead of the retina. Keshish observed them wearily, feeling uneasy.

  “Are you the owner of this fine establishment,” one of the Gallecians mocked. The black wolf emblem on his shoulder pad marked him as captain of the group.

  “Aye.” Keshish stood up. “How can I be of assistance?”

  “We just need to ask you some questions, old man.”

  “Go ahead then. Ask your questions, young lad.” He smirked at the man. His thick white beard covered much of his expression.

  The captain inspected the area more thoroughly for any signs of others sharing the cabin with Keshish. He looked around and saw three clean bowls stacks atop one another, with three wooden spoons still damp from the water used to wash them. Several cloth shirts hung on the branches of a withered tree, a few of them looking tailored for one much slimmer than the old man. There were many other signs that Keshish was not alone, but nothing indicated more than two other men living with him, or perhaps a woman fond of men’s dressing and living habits. “Who else shares this place with you?”

  “Two young men who help me keep my seasonal quota.”

  “Quota?”

  “Timber.”

  The Gallecian hummed, showing no interest in Keshish’s quota, and continued his interrogation, “Where are they now?”

  Hearing footsteps coming from the forest, Keshish gasped, “Ah…here they come.”

  Balta appeared first with a large load of timber carried on his back and Archer followed carrying far less in the same manner. So far, Keshish spoke truth, but the Gallecian would not leave without being absolutely certain that his target was not hidden in this cabin.

  Looking at Archer the captain said, “You there with the ink!”

  Archer stood still as the man approached him, still on his steed. “How can I help you, sir?”

  The Gallecian looked at him, completely ignoring his question, and addressed Keshish, “Since when has he been dwelling here?”

  “Next summer would make it five years.”

  “I see.” He looked around, once more scanning the area. “Remain here until my men search the cabin.” He commanded his subordinates to enter the cabin and thoroughly search it for signs of a fourth inhabitant. Shortly afterwards, after having ravaged the cabin and leaving much of its content misplaced, they reported that nothing was amiss and that the evidence suggested the man spoke true.

  “I apologize for any trouble we might have caused you. Please enjoy the rest of your evening, old man.” He strode off with his small group.

  Archer looked at the hermit for a moment, wondering why he lied about his stay.

  “Why are you looking at me like that, boy?”

  “Five years?”

  “Three…Five…What’s the difference?”

  “Honesty. I see no reason why you would lie to them, Keshish. If they ever uncover the truth they would suspect your intentions just because of your little harmless lie.”

  “I guess my old head isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I very much doubt it,” Balta said. “In all seven years I’ve been with you I haven’t heard your tongue slip once. Perhaps we should call a healer to examine you.”

  “I’m fine. Just a little nervous, that’s all,” Keshish said. “Anyway, let us have some supper. I’ll put everything back in place as you prepare the food.” He then looked at his nearly-finished pelt. “I guess this can wait till tomorrow.”

  Balta produced two wild rabbits from a pouch he carried on his back and gave them to Archer. “Time to cook.”

  ”Indeed it is.” Archer took the rabbits and entered the cabin. Until he slept, Archer could not stop thinking of the soldiers.

  4

  The very next day another group came to the hermit’s cabin, it was the second one this week, once more from Gallecia. Yet this time they wore silver capes and bore a silver emblem of a stag’s head on their chest.

  “I am Gullveig of the Silver Stags,” said the leader of the small group. “We are here to arrest the two men you harbor. Where are they?”

  “And I am Keshish,” he said calmly while rising from his tanning station to face Gullveig. “What offence have they committed to have the Emperor’s Silver Stags come for them?”

  A group of large hounds arrived at the cabin and encircled it, making sure that no one would be able to escape without them noticing. A few of the hounds broke off and started to sniff at the surroundings.

  “My orders are to capture the fugitives you harbor and escort them back to Gallecia,” the Silver Stag said. “Even if I wanted to tell you the reasons for their capture I could not.”

  “Are you oathbound? Or do you perhaps fear the actions of an old man?”

  Gullveig snarled at Keshish. “Silver Stags fear nothing, old man.” She unsheathed her short sword which she carried on her back and pointed it at Keshish. Gullveig, the proud Gallecian blonde, had been left ill-informed about her target, which drove her to one of the fits of rage she was famous for amongst her Silver Stag sisters. Yet this time, at Keshish’s reminder, she took the opportunity to vent while avoiding the consequences her quick temper often bore.

  The two young men were on their way back, but noticing the hostile strangers they remained hidden in the forest while watching the events unfold. A breeze prevented the hounds from detecting their scent, for it was blown away from their sensitive nostrils, but for a brief moment it stopped and the dogs were alerted of their presence.

  Once the Watcher hounds, the Silver Stags’ sentient animal companions, alerted Gullveig of young men’s presence, she shoved Keshish aside and ordered her band to capture their targets, pointing her blade straight at Archer and Balta.

  Archer and Balta wasted no time and abandoned their cover to run further into the woods, a futile attempt considering their trained pursuers. It did not take long for the dogs to reach them and bite down on their ankles, effectively incapacitating their two victims and allowing their bipedal companions the chance to reach and bind them.

  As she dusted herself and walked towards her steed, Gullveig looked at the hermit and said, “You chose your side poorly, old man.” She mounted her steed, looked at Keshish and added, “I do not know what these two men have done or what threat they pose, but I know that you are somehow involved.” She whistled, signaling the others to mount and follow her. They obliged as soon as Balta and Archer have been prepared for the voyage.

  Once the wardens were far enough fr
om the cabin Gullveig ordered them to set up camp. The journey to Gallecia was not a quick one and they would need to pace themselves if they wanted to remain in a position to defend themselves should anyone come for the captives.

  5

  At midnight the two prisoners were still awake. A Silver Stag kept a lazy watch over her sleeping comrades, considering that they were well into the Emperor’s territory and away from danger. Little did they know how carefully they were being watched.

  After completing her short patrol, the warden rested on a tree and started to doze off. A poisoned dart caught her by surprise in her neck and she quickly fell into a deep sleep. Shortly afterwards, when the Stag fell onto the ground, a slim woman dropped from the sky above the two bound prisoners. It was difficult to make out her features from the dark other than the outline of her slim body whenever the cloak fluttered away from her.

  “Can you run?” she asked of the two in a calm, low voice.

  Archer’s tongue did not respond to his thought, so Balta spoke for the both of them, “We can,” he whispered.

  “Follow me.” She cut the ropes securing their hands and feet and led them into the forest. Six horses awaited them, three packed with bulky grey bags nearby and another three some short distance away. The woman directed the heavily burdened horses away and let them gallop as fast as she could command them to, leaving a false set of tracks for the wardens to follow. Archer and Balta then followed the woman’s lead through the forest towards another three horses, the ones meant for them. They rode them and galloped away. A faint trail was left, for the careful woman had set the path with carefully placed stones and twigs that made it difficult for others to track them.

  “Where are we going?” asked Archer.

  “To Fort Pax.”

  He stopped his steed. “I must go back to the cabin.”

  “It would be suicide.”

  “I can’t leave Keshish behind. I must go back.”