The Lost Eight by Duron Crejaro (read me a book .TXT) 📕

Prologue: Flight

Night had fallen many hours ago. The brightness of the moon was deeply shadowed as a heavy shroud of ominous clouds drifted silently through the sky. A strong wind shook the branches of the enormous Bris tree. Perched high up, on a sturdy arm of the weathered old tree crouched a man. His large hooded cloak fluttering angrily in the breeze.

 

He pulled his hood lower as the wind began to pick up. A heavy sigh was lost to it, his keen senses could feel the rain approaching. All life in the forest had gone silent as the storm began. Just then, lightning crashed in the distance, as small droplets of rain began falling. The rain created a gentle patter as it struck the lush canopy above, only to be drowned out by the roar of thunder.

 

The lightning became more frequent, giving brief flashes of illumination to his surroundings. It silhouetted an immense castle before him. He turned his head slightly, almost saddened by the beauty of it, despite the dark events of late. Grandiose spiraling towers jutted from the ground, reaching for the heavens. Massive walls, thick and seemingly impregnable surrounded it, made of a curious dark quartz-like stone. Even in the gloom he could faintly make out the archer slits, simply from the torchlight of the corridors within. In the center of the complex was the crown jewel, an expansive domed palace, delicately carved from white marble. The dome was polished it seemed, into a mirror sheen, as it perfectly reflected the intricate patterns of lightning as they streaked in awe-inspiring patterns through the sky.

 

The man shook his head slightly as he leaped forward, arms extended. His eyes remained open, despite the intensity of the falling sensation. Gracefully he caught a lower branch and used his momentum to carry him into an arcing tumble, landing safely on the ground with a slight squish in the now damp grass. Without hesitation he was on his feet, making a mad dash the forty or so yards to the main wall. Here he stopped briefly, rain cascading off his cloak. Within its folds he reached, drawing out a length of rope attached to a blackened grappling hook. Backwards he stepped several paces. Peering into the darkness, he judged the distance to the window above. A quick flick of the wrist launched the hook skyward. A few cautious pulls ensured him that the rope was secure, before he painstakingly began his ascent up the rain soaked wall.

 

Upon reaching the summit, he quietly pulled himself into the confines of the passageway. An almost panting sigh of relief escaped him, the remnants of the storm beading off him onto the cold stone floor. A brief glance was all he gave the corridor. He already knew the layout of the castle and its defenses. All the outer wall corridors ran the length of the walls, occasional windows in place to give archers safe vantage points from which they could defend their lord. Every so often a torch lined the wall, providing what little illumination they could as the draft from the raging storm caused them to flicker angrily.

 

Another sigh, this one of sadness, audibly passed his lips as he turned. Deep down he knew that this would be the last time he ever set foot in this castle. He set off quiet as a mouse towards his destination, his feet leading him from the memories of so many years wandering these very grounds. His mind drifted, going over the events of the day before. Wonder, that’s all he could do, was wonder. Had there not been anything more he could have done?

* * *      

Anger, seething anger is what he felt most, as he pushed aside the shocked sentries and violently flung open the ornate double doors to the council chambers. Several men, including the king jumped, visibly startled by the intrusion on their meeting. A few at least had the sense of mind to draw their blades.

 

Recognition hit the king's face, "What is the meaning of this?" He bellowed.

 

Remembering himself, he quickly dropped to a kneeling bow, "Sire." He stood facing the king, the anger still hot in his eyes as he advanced towards the king. "You cannot do this," A simple statement full of heat, and sincerity.

 

A bemused look crossed the king’s face as he turned towards his men, waving away their weapons, "I believe you forget who I am."

 

The rage dissipated ever so slightly at his mirth, as his tone lowered a bit, " King Disrasi. Sire. You cannot do this. Her armies will not be stopped. We are to few."

 

"And what, you expect me to turn tail and run? Like a dog from an angry master?" Disrasi muttered through gritted teeth, "I will not be cowed by her. Not by HER." It came out nearly as a roar when he said it, his mailed fist slamming down on the council table. The tension in the room was palpable, no one moved.

 

A cringe crossed his face, he knew well the kings anger, "Sire. You must listen. She has it my lord. We're not sure how, but we know that she has found it. She will not be stopped. If the royal family falls to her now, all may be lost." He paused for air before continuing.

 

The king raised a hand to silence him. "We will stop her, and when she lies broken and defeated before us," he paused, thumping himself in the chest for emphasis, "I will execute her myself."

 

"You know of what I speak, Sire." Confused glances issued forth from those gathered, all except the king. "And you know that she will not be stopped. If you think otherwise you are a fool,” He stated forthrightly, meaning every word as he turned on his heels and stormed out.

 

* * *

A subtle noise brought him back to reality. He slowed his movement, easing slowly around a corner. Up ahead, over the boisterous storm raging outside the walls, the almost inaudible sound of men talking could be heard. Most others would not have noticed, but he did. He eased himself into the shadows of the passage, as he began to creep steadily forward. He could see them now, two guards in full battle dress. They seemed rather unconcerned with their duties, leaning casually against the large oaken door behind them. A grim look passed his face; he knew what had to be done. He could not risk them raising an alarm.

 

As he stalked at his prey, his hands slid to his weapons. His left pulled a small wickedly curved short sword forth. The blackened steel blade, matched the dark obsidian encrusted hilt, seeming almost invisible as he gave it a twirl in the darkness. His right wrist twitched and an odd looking stiletto appeared in his hand. It was much shorter then the sword, the narrow blade extended to a point before angling back down to form a vicious hook. The cross guard hilt was oversized on one side, in an arc that seemed to not quite fit the blade.

 

Then he jumped them, bursting forth from the shadows like some feral creature from a nightmare. The first guard almost managed to get his blade up in time. Almost. A surprised gasp escaped his lips as the vicious short blade plunged through his throat. He clawed at his neck briefly, and gave forth a gurgled attempt at breathing, as the light quickly faded from his wide fearful eyes. The hooded man jerked his blade free, feeling movement off to his side. He leaned back just in time, feeling the light swish of air as the steel blade passed, narrowly missing his face. In the same moment he gave a deft twist of his wrist, and thrust the stiletto down, hooked the assailants blade with the oversized cross guard. He continued his movement fluidly, ripping the blade free from the guard’s hand. He never paused, turning the thin blade of the stiletto upwards. It found its mark without error, as it slammed home just below the mans sternum. Quick and mostly painless it was, as he let the man slump to the floor lifelessly.

 

In remorseful silence, he cleaned his blades, before returning them to their sheathes. A quick search of the bodies revealed exactly what he was searching for, a large iron key. Then one by one he hoisted the dead men to the nearest window, pushing them out of it, lest they be discovered sooner. He silently gave a small prayer for his sins as he unlocked the door. The old iron hinges groaned loudly under the weight, as he pulled it open.

 

He made quick work of the spiral staircase, bounding up it two, and sometimes three steps at a time to where it opened up into a larger chamber. He scanned the room. It had apparently been setup as a temporary shelter. Only a few spartan bits of furniture littered the room, including two overly large canopy beds. A large fireplace was built into the stone wall, casting a warm glow through the room. Two small children, no older than six and three sat before the fire. Instantly they turned, warily watching the stranger. The oldest clutched a short silver dagger in a trembling hand. He defensively pushed his younger sibling behind him, "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?" A blur of questions tumbled franticly from the young boy’s mouth.

 

Saying nothing, the man quickly pulled back the hood from his head. Before them now stood a man, tall and lithe, well muscled. His hair was mostly black, though small patches of gray had crept up in various places over time, marking him as probably middle aged. His face was sharp, high cheekbones and a rather small nose. His short cropped hair, showing off unusually scarred ears. His cool gray eyes looked upon the two children fondly.

 

"Elris!" exclaimed the boy excitedly, as he put away the small dagger. "What on Repik are you doing here?"

 

"There is no time. You must come with me children. She is coming." Elris urged them "Take nothing, only your clothes, we must be gone before she arrives."

 

"But father said." began the young boy.

 

Elris began shaking his head in agreement, "Yes, Yes. I'm well aware of what your father wishes. He has changed his mind and sent me to fetch you two,” A small little lie of no consequence.

 

Elris ushered the two children quickly through the seemingly deserted castle. He knew however, that this was not the case. The castle had occupants; a token crew and guard had no doubt been left behind. While the king took his armies into battle, they would wait and prepare for the kings expected triumphant return. Elris shook his head, two thoughts crossing his mind. One that he should be with the king himself, second that those left behind were maybe worse off than those who would die in the battle. He pushed these thoughts aside, knowing deep down that the children must be kept safe, until they were ready. He remembered the charge given to him so long ago, and he would see to it, no matter what he was forced to do.

 

With a practiced expertise, he guided them through the complex. He navigated lesser-known passages and deserted hallways were used to avoid any of those left behind. It did not take long for them to enter the large magnificent kitchen of the palace. Elris was unconcerned; the few kitchen staff that remained had known him far longer than the current king. He had made arrangements with them as soon as he had resolved to take this course the day before.

 

He gave an elderly woman a slight nod, leading the children to a large storeroom in the back. Elris spared the confused children a wink, and