Terryn Chapter 1

The wind was cold and rustled the cowl of his cloak. He was just starting to get used to hood. Where he came from, there was no use for a hood on the dunes of the Taltek desert. Anything that trapped heat would kill a man in the mid day sun. This place was much different. He had nearly frozen to death the first few weeks he was in the city, but with a little thievery he acquired this heavy cloak and some thicker clothes. He had never thought about the winds here cutting through his thin vest and short leggings as though they weren't even there and he was as naked as the day he greeted the world. Snow was starting to fall, and time was now of the essence. The cover on the ground would show his tracks, and lead his pursers right back to him when he was completing his mission. The man who fell from the wall wouldn't be found until it was too late. The Hooded Man left the turret room undisturbed. He would be in and out of the castle before anyone knew the guards were dead. Why he was there they wouldn't know, but it was not for them to understand. He placed one foot on the dead guard's back and pulled on the dagger chain. After three pulls, the daggerhead came out and the killer wiped it off. He paused a second to put a single bronze coin in the purse attached to the dead man's belt.
Can't send him to the afterlife with no way to pay The Forefathers.This coin will pay for his journey to the stars.
The Hooded Man hurried along the wall and came to place where several haybales had been stacked up at the base of the wall on the inside. Pulling his cloak around his arms, he dropped silently into the chaff. As he rolled himself out, he darted quickly into a nearby stable. The Hooded Man grabbed a few apples from a basket next to the door. He put four of them into the small bag he had slung over his shoulder. He walked through the stable looking at each horse. Standing in a stall nearest the far doors of the stable was a beautiful dappled mare. He held an apple out to the animal, trying to comfort it. The last thing he wanted was a commotion. The big animal snorted, let out a soft whinny, and watched the stranger for a  few tense seconds. Finally, it reached forward and took the small fruit from his hand. The Hooded Man put the reins on the small black mare and, after saddling it, led it out of the shed.
His walk across the yard was uneventful. The snow was falling, but now that he was on the ground, his tracks would be indescernable from those of the other guards and servants in the yard tonight. As he walked, he took note of different features in the yard. He noted the men in the gatehouse, watched a few men at arms warming themselves by a fire in a warming house.
For a place so large, it is quite lightly guarded.
This castle, The Castle of the King, hadn't been attacked in close to 400 years. This little incursion wouldn't be noticed. It couldn't be noticed. One man couldn't break into a keep of this size, and that was what The Hooded Man counted on. He would look into the kings face as the King died. Stealth was his weapon, the shadows his brothers. He wouldn't be stopped, his fate was there. Up in that keep was the key to his kingdom. He was here for a reason.
There is no more important crown than the one you take. I will wear it well, and it'll be more grand than father's.
The main keep door was closed with two guards stationed to the sides. Both carried halberds, the half-moon blade glinting in the light of the torches next to the doorway. This was one of the rare moments in his plan when he was exposed. He kept his head down and hurried on, hoping not to be noticed.
Sometimes even the best laid plans fail.
"You there! Stop!" called one of the guards. He started walking over to the man in the hood, "Where are you taking that horse?" He came to a stop and sized up the man in the hood. His helm reflected the moon light and the glow from the torches. He kept his distance, no less than the sweep of his halberd could reach. The assassin was out in the open now, he couldn't kill this man, or one of the archers above the gate would pin his heart to the dirt before he could turn to run. He had to answer and hope that his Santorii wouldn't give him away too quickly. Languages hadn't been his strong suit.
"To the kitchen, cook wants to go to woods tonight,. He searches for mushrooms." 
"Mushrooms, eh? At this time of night?"
The assassin thought hard for a second. Then he replied "the unacom grows under the cedar trees at night," he said struggling to sound like a local, "the king enjoys them with his breakfast."
The guard walked toward the horse. He checked the saddle bags. Finding nothing of interest, the guard turned to the hooded man, who had turned his face down to hide it. "What is your name?" inquired the guard.
"Westgarth, sir" said the cloaked man.
"Westgarth, just Westgarth? Are you from anywhere?" The guard started to reach forward to pull the cloak back from the man's head. The assassin readied his sword hand, but before the guard could reach him a large piece of fruit hit the guard in the side of the helm.  A voice called down from the gatehouse, "Hugo, for crying to the Titan, let the peasant go! He's not going to take you to the orchard and pick your flower!" Laughter erupted from the men standing nearby. The guard's face flushed bright red, embarrassed by his fellow guards mocking, then whacked the horse's hindquarters with the handle of his halberd. "Ah, get your stinking, godless self along. Don't bother me on duty." With that the guard left and sulked back to his position by the door.
The Hooded Man had lied to him. He was Waldan Terryn, Crown Prince of Taltek Had the guard pulled back the cloak he would have seen ebony skin  and close cropped hair. Tall and thin with mahogany colored eyes, Terryn was the image every person in Asitiri thought of when asked of the Taltek people. Most had never seen one before, but the Taltek were feared by the Asitirians. There was talk of them possessing great magic, capable of wiping entire nations off the face of the Earth. They worshipped strange Gods from the stars and ate snakes and manticores from the desert. Terryn had no special magic, but he hadn't told that to the few people who had uncovered his identity.
Better to be feared than loved.
He was here on a secret and sacred mission from his land. His was a destiny to rule his people and the key to it was here. Terryn continued past and down the side of the building. He turned the corner and continued along the keep's high wall alongside the great gardens. He came to another doorway, this one was much smaller than the main doors into the Kings Keep. This was a servants entrance, and it was closed for the night. The smell of rye bread baking was saturating the air. He walked past and into a grove of Clementine trees. Hidden behind the trees was the wall and a gate. This was much smaller than the heavily guarded gate at the front. It was only big enough to fit a small horse and a cart through. The kitchen gate. The Assassin found the bar and lifted it free. He pushed the door open to find another grove of trees, this time Elban peach, on the other side. He carefully tied the small black mare to a low hanging branch and pulled a few more of the small apples from his pouch. He placed them on the ground by the horse, and went back through the Kitchen Gate.
He approached the servants door and knocked three times lightly and waited. He listened, and soon he heard footsteps. The door opened a crack, and he heard a giggle. With a smile he said "It is me, let me pass." His Santorii wasn't the greatest, but it would pass. It was a difficult language to master and some of it escaped him in conversation.The door opened wider to reveal a kitchen serving girl, thin as a sapling and no more than seventeen. She wore a worn out shift that was faded and covered in flour.
The servants in this land are treated worse than the dogs at home.
She ran her fingers through her dark hair. Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief. With a sly smile, she moved out of the way. Terryn stepped in and shook his cape out. She ran her hands over the soft fur on the outside. Saying nothing, she grabbed his hand and led him through the kitchen quarters and out into the darkened main dining hall. This was the one the King used for his state dinners. Along the walls hung shields emblazoned with pictures of animals and stars. The great candleholders that hung from the ceiling were dark now, as was everything except the hallways. The serving girl pulled the assassin over by the table.
"Waldan, take me here, like you did that night in the orchard." She stood on her tiptoes and locked her lips to his, her thin frame pressing against his. Reaching up, she began to unlace her shift. The servants were malnurished, and her body had few curves.
This one will never survive childbirth.
With a gentle hand, he stopped her. His skin was dark, so much so it blended into the shadows, and contrasted her pale skin quite strikingly.
"Milla, now is not time. I came tonight for different reason."
"What better reason is there?" She ran her hand under his shirt and down his toned stomach. "You can take me with you when you leave. Just like we talked about. I could see the world with you."
Before she could go any farther, he stopped her, this time, decidedly less gentle. He grabbed her hand as it crossed his beltline and pulled it away. "Not now" he stated flatly. "I'm here for something else tonight."
"I'll give you whatever you need"
"Girl, this is not time for that," Terryn said.
"What? What else could you possibly want?"
The man called Waldan said nothing and turned away. "It's not for you to understand. Please back to bed. Trust me, it is for your own safety" He touched the side of her face tenderly. With that, he took off down the hallway. Milla ran to the arch and looked down the hall, but he was already gone.
The Grand Foyer was a magnificent room. Along the walls stood mounts of armor from every nation on the planet. The horse archers from the plains south of Waldurian, with their brightly plumed helms and thin leather armor. There was wicker armor of the Taltek, where the sun gets so hot in the deserts there it would cook a man who would wear the plate and mail used in Astiri. On other wall were the displays of the Kalamese pikemen, and the Amer warriors, both of which Terryn hadn't seen in person yet. There were also mounted hides of animals that lived in Astiria. A gruesome reminder of the Alder family's brutal history was placed in a case in the entry way. To the left of the great marble staircase was a spear mounted into the floor. On it were the heads of the last three kings to hold out against their will in the War of Unification. Terryn remembered the story from his tutoring as a child. The only one he knew who the owner was was the lowest one. It was from the head of the Santorii King of Pearl Haven, who was betrayed by the Donderrick family. Terryn knew this story from his youth. His father had used it as a lesson about who a king should trust. The head was kept as a prize and the rest of him was cast into the cauldren of Mt. Fournax, where the stomach of the earth opens. The mountain ate his body with flames. A sudden pattering of feet made Terryn hide in behind a crouching shadow cat as a serving girl hurried past down the hallway. After she had disappeared again, he continued on.
Moving silently across the reception hall, Waldan counted four guards in and around the stairs leading up to the top of the castle. On the floors above, were the royal family's apartments. Digging into a pouch at his hip, Waldan withdrew the kunai dagger. It was a gift from his father before he was sent out to complete his hemdu, the sacred task of assassinating a king and taking his crown. Once you had the crown, you were deemed worthy to be King of the Taltek people.
Waldan was planning his next move when shouting arose from the outside. The guards all ran down to the front door. It seemed someone had found the dead guard on the wall earlier than expected. Waldan knew his task had just gotten much harder. Time was of the essence now. He put his kunai and its chain back into the pouch on his left hip. He dashed up the stairs whilst the guards were preoccupied at the door. Running up the stairs, taking them three at a time with his long legs, he reached the royal chambers quickly. Scanning the hallway he saw no one. Wasting no time he raced down the hallway to the Kings Quarters. This was where he had met Milla, and this is where they had their first rendevous. He had gotten into the castle then a different way. He slipped quietly through the door and into the antechamber.
Here was the living space the King enjoyed, piled with all manners of books and parchments. The room was lined with bookshelves and a great desk sat at one end of the room. A fire was burning in the hearth to the left of the lecturn, the coals throwing ghostly shadows on the walls. A bench with many cushions and a lounge chair were also available in the apartment's forechamber. The Assassin noticed a chill in the room, along with the smell of dirt, though he didn't see any piles of earth, only heightening the oddity of the room. Through the gloom, the walls gave off a blood red glow in the light of the fire in the hearth. Gliding silently past two statues at the doorway, Waldan approached the King's bed. King Lartus Alder, the great conquerer now lay in his bed helpless. His crown, four strands of different metals were woven around each other, with a large cut sea green stone set in the middle of the forehead.His hair was long and grayed, and his face was gaunt and weathered. He looked closer to 80 than the 50 growing seasons he had seen.
Power has a way of aging a man well beyond his years thought Terryn as he looked down on the comatose monarch.
The time to strike had been hurried along by the poisoning that had left the king in a Longview Sleep. No one was ure when, or if, the great king would awaken from this slumber. If Waldan wanted a crown, now was the time. He couldn't kill a dead man. He slid his dagger out of its scabbord, and he began the Prayer of Death, a rite in his religion said for a King in his final moments
Your crown had grown heavy
And your time has come
The new King is here
He gives you to the Forefathers
To rule on Apophis
Forever
So consumed on his task was Waldan, that he never heard the footsteps behind him. As he finished, the felt all his hair stand on end. Something very unnatural was was near him. The odd smell of earth returned. He turned his head enough to see the two huge figures looming over him. He rolled quickly to his left as a huge hand came down beside him. Waldan rolled to a corner and what he saw sent a chill through his body. There stood two men who looked like the dead from the grave. Both were still quite muscular, and their skin had a slight greenish pall to it.Their hair was long and unkempt, their clothes were in tatters. Both were carrying a long spear shaft with a huge metal claw at the end. Neither wore armour, and seeing this Waldan drew his sword.
The battle he took to them was furious, but for such decrepit look beasts, they managed to block him pretty well. He parried and thrusted, cutting at them where ever he could. The War Forms, drilled into his head as a child during his training flowed, and he would have laid an average man to pieces. Every blow landed led to a seeping of black fluid from the wound, but the monsters seemed unaffected.
This is not right, Waldan thought to himself, I must escape. I cannot get this crown tonight.
One of the creatures grabbed him by the neck and lifted him from the ground. It brought him eye to eye, and stared at him for a second. The creature then dropped him to the floor. It stood over Terryn, seeping black ooze from a dozen different wounds. It brought the club up over it's head, and brought it straight down at Terryn's head. The Assassin rolled quickly to his left to dodge the blow and slid out between the massive legs of his attacker. As he darted toward the kings living quarters, a hand grabbed the back of his cloak. Terryn turned and with a swing of his sword, and removed one of the beast's arms. That one move bought enough time to break for the door. Stumbling into the antechamber, he ran to the door and flung it open.