The Five Warriors (Chapters 1&2)

Chapter ONE

A bloodcurdling howl pierced the darkness, bringing Adrian to his feet in a swirl of bedclothes and clatter of weapons. Untangling himself, he drew his sword, its two cubit length gleaming in the firelight. Squinting through fog he tried to make out where the howl came from. Never taking his eyes off the surrounding forest he moved toward the fire and kicked more wood into the coals.
He recognized the howl as the hunting howl of a Raikin, a large creature that walks upright, as a man does, but has the body of a wolfheind. They had the reputation of being vicious killers that are nigh impossible to kill. Even the great Leviathan yielded to these ferocious beasts.
Adrian crouched, waiting for the attack. Another howl, a second, third, fourth, and fifth howl from behind him made him pause and evaluate the situation. He weighed his options. 1) He could stay, try to fight in close quarters and die, or 2) he could run, and fight where he chose and have a fraction of a chance of winning.
He chose the latter, scooping up his bow, quiver, and knapsack as he started towards the trail that ran between these mountains in hopes of making it to a clearing where he could make his last stand.
As he ran, he could hear the heavy breathing and footfalls of the Raikin as they steadily closed the gap. Right when he thought his lungs were going to burst he exploded into the clearing, chest heaving. He turned, dropping his sword and raised his bow, nocked an arrow and let fly.
His arrow flew straight and true, striking the Raikin leading the pack in the chest and slamming it to the ground, unconscious. The others stopped abruptly and melted back into the forest the way they came. Retrieving his sword and taking the stance Wounded Panther, he could sense as much as hear them circling him, waiting for the slightest opening. The attacks came suddenly, fast and furious, a frenzy of flashing steel, flying fur and severed limbs.
Ducking under a swing that would have torn his head from his shoulders had it connected, he raised the sword in an upward cutting motion that hacked off the Raikin's arm. The beast howled, blood spurting from the stump in a fountain that would put the Geysers of Aldan’twar to shame.
Kicking the beast’s knees out from beneath it he lifted his sword over his head and drove it down through the Raikin's head until the tip of his sword exited through the beast’s back in a flurry of blood. Wrenching the weapon free, he surveyed the scene. It looked as if a troop of Kartians had been through here. Blood, gore, and torn up earth everywhere. A low cough made Adrian spin, at the same time dropping into a crouch, ready for another attack.
The source of the cough was the Raikin that had an arrow protruding from its chest. It had risen to its feet and now snarled, glaring at Adrian with eyes full of hate. Strangely enough, he didn't attack, but coughed up blood and made a strange noise akin to clearing one's throat.
Then, to Adrian's astonishment, he spoke.
"Who are you?" He graveled.
When Adrian hesitated, the abomination persisted angrily," Who Are You!?"
Adrian had recovered his wits and now replied guardedly," For whom do you seek this information?" He knew that this particular Raikin, though smart enough to speak, would not ask him unless he had been sent by someone. “I seek this for myself,” it said, “and no one else.
“Well,” thought Adrian,” I can always kill it later. I am Adrian Karmichael, Taliknar, oldest of The Five Warriors ."
At this the Raikin's eyes widened, betraying to Adrian an emotion previously thought alien to the…species; Fear. The thing shook its shaggy head, “No! It’s…its, not possible,” it muttered,” I was there. Nobody survived, nobody!” he looked up, past Adrian, and then suddenly shifted his focus back to the human. Adrian tensed, sensing trouble. Too late he realized his error. “By the Lords of Kalantin, how could I be such a fool?!” Spinning in place, he launched himself sideways just as a shaggy mass tore through the space he had recently vacated. Still not swift enough, however. Adrian grunted in pain as felt the vile claws rake across his ribs, tearing flesh and cracking bones.
Adrian sprawled to one side, rolling. Regaining his feet in a single, smooth motion he reached for his…sword? It wasn’t there. A quick glance around the clearing showed that it was in the hands of the sole unwounded Raikin. “Oh quesh!” he thought, fumbling around his waistband. He did not find the object of his search. At this moment the wounded Raikin chose to speak. “Human, you are clearly outnumbered. Surrender now and we will take you to our akainti for Questioning. And,” he added with glowing eyes, “we will guarantee you a swift extermination. “While I appreciate your illustrious offer,” Adrian replied dryly, “you can take it-”
With a snarl the unwounded Raikin lurched towards Adrian, swinging the sword he held awkwardly. At this, Adrian lips curled back into a snarl.
The Raikin hefted the blade, and then slashed clumsily at his head. Adrian easily avoided the strike, ducking inside the reach of the blade and hammering a blow into the Beast’s side that cracked bones. Dropping the sword, the Raikin didn’t have a millisecond to react before Adrian’s foot connected with his head. An audible snap was heard as the once-feared…thing, fell to the ground.
Spinning to the remaining Raikin, he was surprised to see it crouched and waiting for him.
“I will devour your heart while it still beats, puny human,” it said, lips frothing with blood, “and gain the Power of the True People.”
It leaped towards him, snarling. To the Raikin’s surprise Adrian did the same, barely evading the slashing claws. Knocking the hideous beast to the ground, Adrian seized the arrow that had gone unnoticed and now ripped it out of the Raikin's chest, bringing the black heart with it. The Raikin howled with pain, coughed and died. Rising to his feet, Adrian moved to where his weapons were and collapsed into a heap. His mind was swirling frenzy of thoughts and questions.
How could that Raikin talk? And…Ahh! The pain in his side was making him lightheaded; He must find a place to rest before nightfall. How could?…Such a thing had never been heard of or recorded for as long as humankind had kept records. Was it Majick? And if so was it Street, Channel or…Adrian shuddered… The Dark Art? Why did it ask who he was? And when he told it, why had it been afraid? With these thoughts swirling around in his head, Adrian did not sense that he was being observed.
At the top of the ridge two sets of beady black eyes watched him till he was out of sight.
"He's not going to like this report, Balthazar," one said to the other.
"Which is why you’re going to give it to him, Swvint," the Balthazar replied indifferently, watching the place where the human had disappeared.
Sventi turned to look toward where the stranger had gone and asked," Do you think we should follow him? Master Lu---What!?! By the bowels of Karton, I’m going to give it to Him!?!
“No," Balthazar replied evenly "and yes. The Master’s orders were clear. We are to observe only and report back immediately." As an afterthought he added," besides, he's not going anywhere in much of a hurry, not in his condition.





Chapter Two


“It’s His eyes,” Marian thought.
As her gaze ran over the King she realized that it was his eyes that unnerved her. He looked out over the crowd gathered from his throne with what appeared to be aristocratic indifference, possibly boredom. But his piercing crystalline-grey eyes were ever alert, flitting over the people congregated here, soaking up information like a water-starved sponge. They flicked over Marian, sending chills up and down her spine. The eyes ran over the crowd once more then turned their attention to the young lady on his left.
Shuddering again, Marian turned to her pot of tea and while pouring, surveyed the Great Hall. It was an old structure, to be sure. The walls were made of heartwood and the pillars of solid granite. She was sitting on one of the many balconies that were somehow cut out of the solid granite. The Hall gave the illusion of going on forever, in that it was large at one end and narrowed towards the where the throne sat. Suddenly, there was a commotion around the Throne.
Wait, no, it was just the Guard change. These were his personal guards, fearsome warriors wearing the latest prototype armor made of Dragon scales. Strong enough (theoretically) to turn away an iron arrow, it fit like a second skin, showing off their corded, rippling muscles.
“Need I remind you again that it is not proper ladylike etiquette to stare, Miss Andrews?” asked reproachful voice said behind her.
Marian turned to face a stern, but somehow at the same time, pleasant Nana. “I am sorry Nana.” She sighed. “But I find that these social gatherings the king calls for have no point and are quite…tiresome“. She fanned herself airily with an intricately designed leather fan. The response did not satisfy Nana, for she launched into one of her prepared lectures. “These ‘pointless, tiresome social gatherings’ as you call them, are vital to your future of becoming a lady of nobility. How do you expect to…”
She broke off in mid-sentence as the doors to the great hall opened, creaking on their thirty season old hinges, revealing two lithe figures that moved with viper-like grace. They were dressed in tunics colored all black except for the red-dagger-through-white-skull painted over the right breast. A long, slender, curved sword was slung over each of their backs. A hood covered their head and face, with the exclusion of their eyes. A collective gasp rose from the crowd as the figures passed through it, neither looking left nor right, eyes for the Throne only. The people bowed respectfully as they passed, for these were the King’s Assassins, trained from childhood in the arts of stealth, magic, and manipulation. They had the utmost undying loyalty for the King, willing to kill their own family if he so ordered.
They approached the throne, bowed down low thrice then rose and moved to their places to the right and left of the throne. As they gave their report a look of anger grew on the Kings face, then turned to a contemptible sneer. As the people began to whisper among themselves again, Marian caught snippets of the conversations of the balconies around her.
“…heard they torture subjects mercilessly for f…”
“…only report in after they‘ve completed…’
“…e’nt human. The only things that are worse are…”
“…ever saw him again after that. I’ve heard…”
The Assassins finished with their report, stood. The King rose, motioning harshly for silence.
“Something has been brought to my attention that disturbs me immensely,” he purred.
Utter silence.
“I have been told that there are those of you amongst us that are dissatisfied with my performance as King and wish to retire me early”. He grinned savagely. “Until you are rooted out and…purged,” he spat the word,” not one person will leave this Hall”. He turned to his guards and ordered them to leave, and to lock the doors behind them.
He swiveled and faced the crowd once again and drew his sword saying,
” Those of you that wanted to challenge me, do so now,” he said contemptibly. So, in saying, he strode to the middle of the Great Hall. They came slowly, a sliding through the crowd, twenty of them, all minor Nobles. They encircled him, swords drawn, all ready and willing to sacrifice their lives for their cause. They started forward only to hesitate as the King threw his head back and laughed maniacally. “Give me twenty men like these and I could conquer the world, so dedicated they are to their cause.” Sheathing his sword, he put up his hands and dropped into a fighting crouch.
“Come to me, my prey”.
The young men started forward uncertainly, and then stopped. One, swallowing his fear, attacked, rushing in with sword raised high. He reached the King and his sword arced downward in a stroke that surely would have cloven the King in two had it ever connected. But the King, almost disconcertedly, sidestepped and now launched his counterattack. Before the Noble’s sword struck the ground the King’s fist hit him in the temple, knocking him senseless.
The King picked up the limp body, the muscles in his arms bulging. With a mighty heave and a grin, he threw the man into a group of astonished observers. They scattered and the Noble hit the ground with a dull thud. The King laughed again, meeting each of the young Noble’s eyes.
“Surrender now and your lives will be spared,” he roared,” you will be set free, given a Title of Lordship, and, for those of you yet married,” he smiled disarmingly, delivering his ultimatum, “the woman of your choice from my harem. He paused to let his words sink in. It was well known that the King only employed the ‘best’ women in the Known World to satisfy his insatiable sexual appetite. “Those of you willing, kneel at this time”. He stepped back and fixed them with a glare that seemed to bore into each of their souls. Seventeen young men weighed their options and stepped forward. Two never wavered, the thought of giving in stricken from their minds. They stood there, swords at ready, beckoning to the King.
His face turned to an evil sneer. “Then you will burn forever…in Hell!”
He dropped once more into his fighting crouch hands together, palms out, arms extended. A strange feeling of pressure came over the room, as an ill-feeling wind passed through the hall coming from, seemingly, nowhere in particular. Sweat poured from the King’s brow, a look of concentration fixed upon his face, the muscles in his arms bulging as he strained against an unseen force. The gathered people gasped in horror and shock as a ball of light the size of a fingernail appeared between the King’s hands. It grew to the size of a man’s head then exploded into flames. The crowd screamed as a shaft of light leaped from the ball striking the two rebellious nobles and consuming them with fire. They screamed, writhing in agony as the flames burned off hair and skin, leaving them featureless. The King’s face had lost all trace of humanity, his skin stretched skull-tight across his face. He strained harder and the flames seemed to intensify. Then, in one instant, his victims exploded, showering the crowd with burning chunks of meat and spraying blood over the crowd of people.
The King straightened, turned, went to his Throne and sat down hard. After a long moment he looked up at the silent, reverent, crowd. Patting the arm of the Throne affectionately he asked, “Are there others who wish to object to my being placed on the throne?”
There were none.

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The cloaked figure slid through the trees noiselessly, pausing every few paces to listen for any sound that would alert him to danger. After a time, the figure came upon a small clearing far off the beaten path that was obscured very carefully, naturally, but not so much that it would draw attention.
In the center of the clearing smoke rose from the ashes of a small fire, partially obscuring the four men that were sitting around a small pile of sand, arguing vehemently and making violent gestures at one another. He sighed quietly, as if disappointed. The men were on their feet now, shouting and waving their arms about. When there was a pause in the bickering the cloaked figure stalked silently into the clearing, seizing the closest man to him by the scruff of his neck and demanding” What’s the meaning of all this kranton?”
The men, startled, drew their various weapons and encircled the man in an instant, weapons held menacingly, only to lower them when they realized who it was.
A man named Thomas O’larder stepped forward. “Linder, by the Lords of Kalantin, you scared us.”
“As well I should have,” Linder replied,” I could hear you from two-hundred paces off. If I can hear you with these aged ears at that distance, then any young fool could hear you, creep up close and overhear what you were discussing then go running to the authorities.” As he was saying this he released his hold on the man’s tunic and sat down one of the many stumps that littered the clearing.
“If you had been here earlier, at the agreed time, and hadn’t startled us half out of our wits when you did get here this might have never happened,” the young Gabriel Knox. A fiery young man not yet out of his teen seasons, Gabriel, although meaning well, tended to be reckless, compulsive and impatient.
“Me?” asked Linder, incredulous, “Young man, I was not the one shouting at the top of my lungs and waving my arms around akin to a village idiot.”
Gabriel, feeling chastened, had sat down on a stump, and was sulking.
“And furthermore,” Linder continued, “we should move our meeting place and rotate through different locations from now on, on an irregular circuit.”
“What ‘different locations’ do you speak of?” asked Jeddah Stallman. A squat man of 41 seasons, he had more than his fill of life, having served under the King in the Narth Campaign*. He continued, smiling, “Seeing as how last time we ventured out of this forest to meet, we barely escaped with our clothes.”
This broke the tension as they all chuckled, remembering. That particular meeting, held in a small grass hut, had gone late into the night stretching until after the moon had set. When they finally stopped talking and arguing they were so exhausted they decided that instead of going their separate ways, they would spend the remainder of the night in the hut. As it is customary for peasants, and even lower Nobles, to use their cloaks as blankets they had been in their cloth-garment when the Forest Guards arrived. It was widely rumored that the only reason they escaped is that Guards were laughing too hard at the sight of five cloth-clad men bursting every which way out of a grass hut, completely destroying it, and running full-tilt for the forest.
“Aye, I’ll agree, we got lucky that time,” murmured Thomas,” but I’d rather not tempt fate again. A hearty chorus of “Aye’s” was heard as the rest agreed.
“So,” Linder said, rising, “What was it that you fine fellows were arguing about before I,” he paused to clear his throat, “interrupted”?

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Adrian had walked for a half a night and almost a full day before collapsing on the outskirts of a small village. He crested a small hill, staggering drunkenly, and then stumbled down the other side…
…coming within a handspan of crushing the young Lady that was sitting there. She gave a startled yelp jumping up to run. She stopped, then when she saw that he was hurt she ran faster, calling for help. The world went black.
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Rachelle O’clair of the House of Faith had been hard pressed to find time every day to steal off to her special place in the woods, but on this particular day she had finished her studies early. She had been lying against the grassy knoll enjoying the cool autumn breeze when she found herself dozing off. She loved the way the breeze toyed with her hair, tugging at it with invisible fingers. She loved the way the forest sounded, birds twittering, leaves rustling, the call of the red Tarnian. The quiet calm was suddenly and rudely shattered by a form covered in blood falling almost into her lap. Frightened, she jumped up and started to run, then stopped as she saw that it was a young man, and badly hurt at that. At this, she ran towards the house for calling for Gretchen, her maid and lady in waiting. Gretchen came running in a swirl of skirts and gasped in shock when she saw the bloody mess. Then in one motion, she was at his side tearing the hem of her skirt into strips for bandages. “Hurry m’lady” she breathed, “we must get him inside as soon as possible. Hoisting the battered form between them, they started for the House, calling to the guardsmen to get a litter.
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He awoke with a jolt that banged his aching head into the headboard. “Headboard“?!? He cracked an eye open and immediately slammed it shut, emitting a groan as it only served to make the room swirl in a flash of blinding colors. He tried once more and met the same consequence. He rolled over on his side to try and get more comfortable but all that it accomplished was sending wave after wave of pain through his left side.
Rachelle started at the sudden groan, turning to see if the stranger had awakened. She had been worried about his health. He had been lying there for days, still alive it seemed, but barely. He was still running a high fever and occasionally would mumble in his delirium. As she turned she saw him open his eyes then immediately close them, groaning once more.
“Are you alright, sir? Can I get you food or drink?” Rachelle asked.
No sooner than the words had escaped her lips that Adrian became aware that he was ravenously hungry. He attempted to form words but all that came out was intelligible gibberish.
Rachelle still understood, and as she hurried through the halls to get the food and water, she grabbed a young servant boy along the way.
“Go to my Father’s study and tell him that I request his presence in the guest room.”
The boy nodded, understanding the urgency, and ran to relay the message. She hurried to the kitchen, swatting the cooks out of the way when they tried to help. She prepared some broth made of pungent spices that grew north of the Forest. When she arrived back at the room her Father was already there. A slight figure of forty-five seasons, Torin Chillian of the house of Faith was a kind and gentle sort of man. He was now sitting at the edge of bed cooling the stranger’s forehead with a damp cloth.
Rachelle made as though to speak but stopped as her Father made a sharp gesture with his hand.
“He sleeps still,” he whispered.
Slowly so as not to disturb the stranger, Rachelle set the tray of food on the bed and moved toward her father. Whispering in his ear she said, “His fever broke a half a glass ago. He should be waking soon.”
As if to punctuate her words the stranger groaned, stirring the bedclothes. He rolled over on his back giving her a clear view of his face. She found herself looking upon a handsome, almost beautiful, young man. He had short, luxurious dark brown hair, a tanned face that bespoke of long periods of time spent outside and, upon the opening of his eyelids, she found herself gazing into eyes as blue as the Crystal Sea.

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Adrian opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was elaborately decorated with intricately designed wood furniture. It was the kind of room that he wouldn’t even want to hear about for fear of accidentally breaking something. On further inspection he realized he was not alone. A man was sitting at the edge of the bed and a girl…a beautiful girl was standing at the foot of the bed staring intently into his eyes. The moment seemed to last forever yet be the most fleeting experience at the same time. He was immediately taken by her opaline-green eyes and her long, flowing, raven black hair. The dress she was wearing accentuated her figure perfectly. Allanar snapped out of his trance as the man cleared his throat.
“I welcome you, stranger,” he said. “This is my daughter, Rachelle Chillian. And my name is Torin Chillian.”
At this the girl curtsied, bowing her head. Adriannodded back and winced as the movement brought fresh pain into his already throbbing head. “I…my name is Adrian, good sir,” he rasped.
Torin spoke again. “I trust that you are comfortable? If you need anything, just ask Rachelle. She will be caring for you in the days to come.” He smiled reassuringly.
At this Adrian, gave a start. “In the days to come?” he croaked. He took a drink of the water Rachelle had brought. “How long do you intend me to be here?” he asked in a more normal voice.
Torin’s smile disappeared, replaced by a gentle look. “When we found you were a bloody mess, You had two ribs missing, the wound itself was rotting and you were delirious, dithering on and on about how these big wolf-creatures had attacked you.” He sniffed, disbelievingly. “I was almost ready to believe you until we found the claw marks of a panther around the wound.”
When Torin mentioned the wolf-creatures Rachelle noticed that Adrian‘s eyes went dark with fury but he said nothing.
If her father had seen he gave no sign that he had, continuing on. “You must forgive me Adrian, I must return to my study for I am expecting an important message from The Hollows and it could arrive at any time.” He rose, bowed and left the room leaving Adrianand Rachelle alone.