Rise of the Order 5

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She had nothing left.

With the brutality of the fighting and the need for healing after the crash, she had used every bit of her energy.  She could either tend her wounds and fall irreparably unconscious from exhaustion or battle the remaining swordsmen and die slowly. Either way, hers wasn’t the only life to hang in the balance.

The ferocity must have remained in her eyes, the frustration of a trap successfully closed and the hunter knew it. Slowly she lowered her hands, taking in the stance of the remaining swordsman.  His guard remained steady but made no move to advance on her.  She slowly rested back on her haunches, still every bit the coiled snake, ready to pounce, but the swordsman backed away to the manacle hanging from the trees.  He gave it a sharp tug, never taking his eyes from her, and the long chain pulled free, spooling to the ground beside him.

He pulled it forward with him, sword still drawn, with the cuffs of the chain outstretched in his hand. Sweat beaded heavily upon his brow. The tension of the situation was not lost on this man; though the battle was hard fought and his opponent was all but defeated, he knew the look of desperation on her face and the dangers of being careless with cornered animals.

“Around the neck,” he said, tossing the manacle in the dust in front of her. His eyes never left her.  She glared at him, her body unmoving and her face stone determination.

“Tisk, tisk, my pet: you’re far more valuable to me than this wretch,” the silver-haired man said.  Her eyes darted back towards him, but she remained unmoving.  Once the chains were on her, there was nothing to stop him from killing the girl anyway.  Her only bargaining chip was time and that would soon be out.  With each passing second the look of fury grew on the silver-haired man’s face, his calm façade wearing away with his patience.

He raised his sword then, murder in his eyes.

“Mayris!” shouted a voice within the woods. The silver-haired man was struck in the shoulder by a long bladed knife. The force of the blow knocked him off balance and the blow that would have severed the girls head came down weakly striking the earth.

This was her chance.  With the swordsman off guard she surged forward with animalistic speed.  The swordsman was distracted but rounded quickly on her with his sword. She lifted the chains of the manacle up before her, deflecting his blow. He came at her again, but not before she spun the chains around her head, wiping with deadly force striking his head.  With him dazed, she pulled herself upright  into a limp. Batting the near useless sword from the stunned man’s hands she swung her clawed hands, ripping face and throat apart. When he fell, two forms stood face to face in the distance.

The silver-haired man stood perfectly still, his eyes pure malice, with the length of his sword sticking through a young boy.  He was petrified, hands grasping at the sword’s hilt trying to release it from the man’s grasp as though it would reconcile his fate. “This is no place for children,” the silver-haired man said. The boy could only cough, blood spraying lightly from his lips, as the silver-haired man pulled the sword from his stomach turning to face her. The bloodlust still burned in his eyes. He reached up and pulled the knife from his shoulder and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Though his left arm hung useless to his side, the slim double blade in his right hand struck out mercilessly.  He strode towards her.

Her mission had become an utter disaster.  Gallet was likely marching to her death; the children she had come to protect had fallen with her, hard, likely to great injury; now, a third faction that had come to her aid, lay dying.  Her heart gate throbbed with the pain of those around her – those she had planned so long to save. The empathy she felt for those she had failed and the vile hatred that writhed from the silver-haired man set off a spark in her heart.

With a concussion of sound, her heart-gate erupted with renewed strength.  Its green light spun before her like fire. Within moments the icy tingle of healing seeped into her muscles, closing her wounds and renewing her strength. 

As the sword blow fell upon her, the Matriarch’s wings snapped open and a gale of wind crashed against the silver-haired man, staggering him. Her strikes followed through so quickly with his guard down that he had little time to react. Her claws striking furiously at the air as he backed away dodging the blows. His sword swung upward in a moment of sure footing and the Matriarch’s wings pushed her backwards away from the blow that followed, his blade swinging with a berserker’s rage.  His strokes were wild but the her wings gave her a balance advantage that he could never hope for. The sweet, chilling hum of her wings wrapped the entire forest in anticipation as she danced between his strikes.

He raised his sword striking an overhanded blow.  With a bone shattering strike to his wrist and the full force of her elbow into his sternum, she made him pay for his overconfidence. Her air enchanted strike sent him flying, spinning backwards, his back hitting a tree with an audible crunch.

She stayed perfectly still for a moment; her guard on high alert should another threat appear from out in the forest.  Her wing song calmed as she dismissed the gale winds and the natural forest sounds began to reassert themselves.  After a count of thirty she ran to the boy who’s distraction had saved her life, her eyes never quite leaving the silver-haired assassin’s limp body.

The boys eyes were beginning to glaze with hypoxia; his lips and chest covered in spit and blood.  He breathed in raggedly but looked up towards the Matriarch as she lifted his head into her lap.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said, gasping.

“Don’t speak, there isn’t much—“

“She gave me this for you,” he said looking away towards the ground at his side.

She leaned forward and saw the knife the assassin had pulled from his shoulder. Picking it up, she was struck by the familiarity of it.  With sudden panic she turned it over to see a small GV carved into the bottom of the hilt.

“Where did you get this?” she said, her eyes growing wider.  When he didn’t answer she shook him forcefully. “Where did you get this?!”

“Please, take care of my sister,” he said, his breath coming is short gasps.

She belted the knife; the knife that had protected her as a child; the knife that belonged to her friend; the knife that had never left her side; the knife that had come to her rescue one final time.

She opened her heart gate as wide as she could, her eyes filling with tears.  Healing her own body was one thing, but she was far more familiar with her gate’s combat capabilities than with its ability to heal others.  The energy from her gate communed with the boys spirit energy. It gave her guidance and she gave of herself the energy required to repair the damaged flesh.  Without knowing if it would be enough, she closed her eyes whispering an oath to the sprit flows around her:

“I am called the Matriarch; my name is Venara of the Raven clan. My friend and street sister, Gallet, has sent this boy to me. Give me the strength to protect his life and the life of those I have put in jeopardy for a chance at a better life.” Tears rolled from her cheeks now in silent sobs, “Give me the strength to use the gifts you’ve given me.”

The rolling heat of the fire of life roared through her and into the boy as she surrendered to the power of the spirit world; for the first time since her clan had whisked her away from Gallet and her life as a street urchin, her façade crumbled and she was Venara.

*

The fire raged on, licking the stone of the cliff side. The guards had formed a bucket brigade and the few water keepers in the town waged war on the inferno.  The keep would be nothing but rubble by morning.  A man stood on the otherwise abandoned battlements, watching.  His bald pate and golden eyes gave the smile on his face the look of satisfaction. His simple brown  robes belied the gold adorning his fingers. The Son of Order could be a modest man, but modesty was so… mundane.

“It’s always so… messy,” the Son of Order said.

There was a deep rumble of earth grinding on earth from deep within the stone mountain Kanton was forged upon.

“Oh yes, of course,” he said in response. “In order to build, one must destroy. I was simply fond of the keep.  Gorn was a garish man, but I did so enjoy his taste in décor.”

The rumbling again emanated from the mountain – though it’s vibrations weren’t felt by the people below.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Soon.” 

The earth roared again, this time shaking the city.  The voice alone of God could be vengeful.  Orak, the Son of Order, took one last look at the city before the swirling white light of his crown gate formed a singularity above his head. He slowly dematerialized, his cheshire  grin dissipating as each particle of his being was swept into the vortex. Kanton’s appointed leader, who had all but given the city to the Children of Order, had fallen.  With that, the city was cemented into the Order’s grasp.

End of Part 1

Rise of The Order is an epic fantasy world full of wonder, intrigue, and magic. I first came upon the idea with my friend Mike as we were talking about the Hindu Chakras. I thought it would be a really fun way to create a magic system for a universe. The end of part 1 is really a prelude to the bulk of the story, as we see the Son of Order himself appear to be pleased with the results of the night. 

I'm really excited to continue exploring these characters, and a lot of new ones, as the world of Ysilla begins to develop its own ecosystem, history, and culture. The battle for salvation is already underway and the characters don't even know it yet. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed Part 1 of Rise of the Order. Please comment, share and subscribe to see more content every Tuesday and Thursday.

Rise of the Order 4.2

< < Back to Rise of The Order 4.1

For the span of twenty heartbeats there was nothing.  The cry of birds had faded soon after her falling but wherever her attackers were, they would not easily let themselves be found.  She hesitantly opened her heart-gate, searching for some sign of emotion from her attackers but there was nothing but stillness.

The only warning she had was the dust stirring in the moonlight’s ribbons, then she snatched the arrow out of the air, spinning her body absorbing its momentum.  At the end of her spin she drove the arrow head home into the chest of a veiled figure that had been approaching from her left.  It left out a soft groan before toppling to the ground.  Stillness reigned again.  She waited twenty heartbeats, then another, then another. 

“I know you’ve found me, hunter” she said coolly. “Let us stop playing coy and have ourselves a dance.” Her gaze was focused, nearly unused, is if relying completely on her other senses.

There was a shuffling from the branches above and then, with a thump, a chain manacle hit the ground in front of her.

“I do not  give up on my quarries easily, Daeva. I mean to see you in those chains and back in Kanton by morning either by your will or mine,” the disembodied voice echoed from the trees. The manacle swung slightly with the breeze. Whoever this man was, he was no ordinary soldier; the most battle hardened men could be calm in the face of fear and adrenaline, but they still felt it and she would be able to feel it through them.  This man held no emotion that she could sense what so ever.  The chain dangling from the tree branch was held by a void.

“You are a powerful woman,” his voice said from her left.  She swung, talons lashing, to face it only to find emptiness where the man should have been. “I’d not heard of a Daevan Gatekeeper before you.” She swung about wildly looking for the source of the voice but it changed places with every new motion, “You would be a valuable asset to the Order, indeed.”

Whatever he was doing to throw his voice, she knew flailing about was no way to catch the man.  She closed her eyes to center herself around her heart-gate.  She couldn’t feel him now any more than she could a moment before but giving herself a focal point within would keep her from being pulled off balance.

“You waste your talents,” he said.  She had to keep him talking; the source seemed to be moving around her coming from multiple sources.  “What do you think you accomplish, taking children away in the night? Are fairy tales meant to scare children in the flesh?”  The voice seemed to be encircling her now.

“The children are not yours.  They have lives of their own that they will choose how to live them.  The Order cannot decide how before they’re off their mother’s apron strings,” she said.

“These children have no mothers; their apron strings are those of the Order,” he said. “Would you raise them yourself? What life could you possibly offer them with more choices than the world the Order can offer them?” he trailed off in laughter.

“There are those yet to be controlled by the Order,” she said. “You preach to the people you occupy that the world is a safe place within your embrace, yet fight on multiple fronts! Each one I bring across the border is another—“

“Is just another calf to be sent to slaughter,” he cut in. “More mouths to feed; more stain on a world overrun with narcissism.  It’s pitiful, really; people like you. The more you struggle to be free, the more you’re tied down by your own chains.  It’s nothing worth this much effort, I assure you.  The Order comes: what refuses to comply is always eliminated.”

Around her, the brush began to stir as men poured out of the thick foliage.  She was exhausted, but she knew there was no choice left.  As with all things with the Order: if the cog didn’t fit the machine, more force was required.

*

Kayne scrambled through the thick forest on foot.  With all the commotion in the inner city, it had been simple enough for him to slip away unseen.  The panic that fueled his flight had lessoned only slightly in the hours since Gallet’s assault.  It was odd, though he’d grown up on the streets of Kanton, the treacherous forest terrain  seemed like a second playground under his feet.  Just keep running, he thought, keep running.

He had abandoned his military issued armor in favor of the speed he had in his simple leather jerkin.  The only metal he carried was the rough iron of Gallet’s knife.

His training with the forces of Order had taught him about the power of adrenalin to affect one’s endurance but as the forced his way through the thick brush of the forest he realized he’d never run for so long in his life. When you’re running away from everything you ever knew, you’re fleeing from a boulder down a narrow corridor.  The thought irked him.  He could have easily marched with the gate patrol back into the city to see to Lord Kant’s estate but Gallet’s command echoed in his mind.

Reassert your life, or you’ll have made an enemy of me.

How could she be so hypocritical? He wasn’t the only one.  What about the rest of the children back in the Ministry? What about his sister?

With that thought, he came stumbling to a halt leaning heavily on the thick bark of pine wood.  He would have to go back for his sister. Life was hard within the Ministry; he had been old enough to look out for her, made sure no one would take advantage of her, but with him gone – hell, deserted – who could care for her?  He would provide for her, no matter the sacrifice.  He wanted more than anything a world where his family could create something for themselves.

He suddenly became aware of just how exhausted he was.  His breathing had been labored but it wasn’t until he stopped that the magnitude of his flight caught up to him.  He stood taller, panting with the tree supporting him, the chirp of insect and animal alike an ever-present soundscape. In his sudden calm he looked about; the trees grew tall, undisturbed this far into the wilderness.  The canopy was thick, but rivulets of light danced in the darkness.  The forest was alive, alive as Kanton, alive as the stone of Ysillia itself.  At the heart of all life there was struggle. Through the unfamiliar noise of wilderness he heard sounds of something he knew: the sound of fighting.

He crept forward, careful to leave all plant life undisturbed. The last thing he needed was to alert the party to his presence and join the fight without ever knowing what it was for.  He stopped behind a thick tree with a large clearing just beyond and saw a winged creature fighting desperately with three swordsmen. A daeva – he’d never actually seen one before. She was obviously wounded, though from the scattered bodies it seemed that she had dispatched several other men. Her wings held to her back limply with the aid of a belted cloak as though broken. She favored her right side but she moved as lithe as a serpent, striking blows and dodging sword.

Even with their superior numbers and wounded prey, it was obvious that the men were outmatched.  Her claws sliced through flesh followed by a hammer blow, knocking one of the men off his feet.  The two remaining circled, careful not to let the daeva inside the defensive range the swords provided them.  The swordsmen swung at her, trying to push her into the other – she danced gracefully around their blows trying to force them to one side of her, but the men had kept her far from the tree line and though she still danced nimbly around each blow it was clear that running was not an option.

The attackers worked in a pincer. She turned to face the man who’s sword swung at her in a downward arc; one hand caught the sword mid swing followed by the cracking of bone as she twisted and broke the man’s wrist.  She pivoted, her other hand around the attacker’s neck, using the momentum of his strike to follow through into the other man.  The second attacker took the opportunity to, instead of going for the killing blow which would have landed his head on a platter of earth, thrust his blade deep into the daeva’s thigh. The sword fell weakly from the first attackers now limp hands and the daeva let out a bestial cry, falling to the knee of her wounded leg.

She crouched in guarded position as the second attacker backed safely out of her reach. Even with her superior skill, this fight was nearly done.

“Enough!” came a voice to  the right of the melee. The moon shone brightly through the clearing on a huddled mass.  A figure rose from the shadow – a man; his silver hair shone brightly against his black cloak.  He threw the mass at his feet forward revealing a sobbing girl tied hands to knees, her golden pigtails were sodden in dirt and tears glistened in her eyes as they met Kayne’s.  They widened in a moment or recognition.

“Steady your hands or the child dies,” the silver-haired man said.

Kayne only had moments to act. If he chose poorly, it would mean the death of his sister.

To Rise of the Order 5 > >

Rise of the Order 4.1

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Kayne couldn’t be sure what the Head Mistress was up to; he’d never seen her dressed in anything but her simple house gown. Dealing with a raucous house full of children, he was accustomed to seeing her scowl from time to time but the scorn in her eyes had been a look totally foreign to the boy.  How could someone he had grown to love so much show him such venom?

The man who had been at his side patrolling the city tonight was a stranger.  They’d had little to talk about and the disgust in his voice when meeting Kayne was clear.  The man may have been a veteran of the patrol, but certainly not of combat for all the discipline he showed, or lack thereof.  Still, he couldn’t shake the feel of it all.  He’d thought combat to be a glorious sport all its own but seeing the raw brutality of it all, how quickly a man could go from standing to dead, he didn’t think that any man’s life would be worth the price of his own.

He forced his legs onward, still shocked by the randomness of it all, to the northern gates.  He had to get away from this place.  If he could escape all this death he certainly wanted to.  He felt the knife strapped to the side of his leg – Sunder’s Peak was days away, and desertion was punishable by death; he had to hope that whatever the Mistress was doing would keep the solders occupied until he could find safety.

The gates loomed ahead and though the officers outpost was just outside, Kayne saw no movement.  He was sure that the eerie hum was the reason for the additional company being called back from the outlying areas – one of the daevas, the winged devils the Mistress had told them all stories about.  He wasn’t sure they were even real – he certainly hoped he’d never meet one. The sound coming from above the forest was unmistakable from how Mistress Gallet had described it.  The guard had been expecting trouble at the gates and if it truly was a daeva it would be far over the city walls by now.  This revelation would have the captain in a foul mood.

He made his way forward.  The gates were closed of course – the Children of Order welcomed anyone to their cities. The light shown on those who loved order; chaos welcomes the embrace of darkness. Or so the saying went.  He made to knock at the guard’s entrance when a peep hole slide open revealing a beady set of eyes.  They looked at Kayne then around to make sure he was the only one present, their focus finally ending back on Kayne with an expectant look.

Kayne looked back, suddenly petrified.  There was a pass phrase that all messengers needed to speak with an officer.  The man’s eyes narrowed before Kayne blurted out: “I must speak with the captain!”

The sight hole slammed shut and the bar slid opened.  Any relief Kayne had felt in those brief moments vanished as the door opened and the man stood with his sword in hand and eyes filled with death. He took two steps forward, his sword raised in a guard position, and Kayne was taking steps backwards, hands raised up in deference.  “I-I-I d-d-don’t know the pass phrase.  I was s-s-stationed with the inner city guard.  There’s been an attack on the lord’s—” he was cut off as the guardsman took a vertical slash at him.  He jumped sideways, hands still raised in front of him, and continued: “fifty men! The entire inner city guard has fallen! We’ve got to…” he trailed off as the guardsman suddenly relaxed his posture looking back behind Kayne towards the keep.

Slowly, Kayne turned in the direction the guardsman was facing.  Black smoke rose into the night lit by popping embers from the heart of the city – from the keep itself.  Kayne’s jaw dropped and he looked back at the guardsman who met his eyes.  “Well don’t just stand there, boy, the captain must hear of this immediately!” he said, sheathing his sword and turning back to the gates. 

His heart thumped in his chest but he made his way to the door and stepped inside in front of the guardsman.  A man leaned over a table dimly lit by candle light, he didn’t stir as the two stepped into the room until the guardsman spoke up, “Captain, the keep is under attack!”  He looked up, sharply. “Tell him, boy, tell him!”

“Th-th-there’s a company or more, s-s-sir.  The guardsmen with me kept me hidden so I could get a message to you. “

“What nonsense is this, Jall? You have a boy come here with dribble about the keep being besieged with a full company of the Order’s finest at the gates? I’ve got enough to deal with tonight without…” he trailed off as Jall pointed out the door insistently.  The captain hurried out the door, followed by Jall and Kayne; the three of them stood there speechless as the fire flickered shadows against the sheer wall of the cliff making the entire city look like a cook fire.  The captain’s weathered face wrung with stress, “Chaos is abound this night,” his voice a reverent whisper.

The captain spun on Jall, “Call back the forest patrols.  Get the northern guard back immediately.  If an attack is already underway the best we can do is regroup and hope we can arrive before they’ve secured the gates.” Jall saluted running to the gates and barking orders to solders who stood beyond.  Soon the entire northern gate was a mess: mounted messangers running off into the night.  A horn called out into the night and men ran to their new post, responding to the command.

In all the commotion, no one noticed a boy slip around the gate and make his way east along the forest’s bank.

*

Her flight above the forest had been weaved with frustration as the Matriarch realized there was no way for her to know if she was being followed through the thick canopy beneath her.  The city was long behind her now, but the remaining distance on her journey was daunting.  She had to make it back by morning else the children wake from their drug induced sleep – if that happened she had no way of carrying them safely back while in flight.  She had to hope that luck was on her side, that Gallet’s sacrifice would be enough to see them all safely back to the roost. 

She flew low to the tree line, wanting to stay out of view as much as possible.  The canopy was thick, and it would be hard for anyone to locate her visually from under the trees – still her wings sang into the night and anyone within two miles could hear her on a night so clear as this one.

There was a rustle in the branches bellow her as the archer’s bow revealed his hiding place.  She did not have enough altitude to evade his attack and the arrow struck her abdomen.  It sunk deep into her left side, shuddering to a halt, and then she was falling.  Her wings, unable to hold themselves open, closed at her back loosely and she fell.  Limbs catching on branches from every direction, the arrow’s head shredding her insides as her body was jostled by the crash landing before the shaft finally broke as she slammed, head long onto the dirt below.

At some point she had lost the children, she didn’t know when and hoped for their safety.  If she couldn’t defend against her attackers however, their safety was irrelevant.  The forest was alive with the calls of wildlife she had startled in her crashing descent which would mask the sound of her attackers closing in on her.

Then there was always threat of the golems.

Her abdomen was constricted in a tight knot as she pushed herself off the ground to her knees.  With one taloned finger she cut away the square of leather where the arrow had struck to examine the wound.  On the surface it didn’t look bad, but she knew the internal damage was extensive, most of her organs would be bleeding and if something wasn’t done soon she would bleed to death.

She pulled the arrow out with a loud, defiant cry then slouched over weeping.  She had such little strength, a wound like that drained strength fast, but she righted herself as best she could channeling her heart-gate.  The green light swirled out from her chest and a warmth enveloped the wounds.  The exhaustion was fierce and her throat was dry but the organs and muscles knew the healing path, their fibers stitching back together until the bleeding had stopped.

She closed her gate and with the strength she had remaining she sat up and began to tie her belted cloak back over the wings.  They ached with every touch – they were badly damaged in the fall as well, but she was forced to only use her gate on the most pressing of injury.  She would have to find the children and, if necessary, fight for their survival.  Her wings ached, but tied to her back she knew the belted cloak would act as a sling to support their weight.

Looking up, she saw that the forest was dark; what little moonlight that did make it to the forest floor were tiny ribbons.  The dust from her fall stirred in the air giving the moonlight the appearance of dancing on air.  She gingerly rose to her feet, assuming a fighting stance.  Her taloned fingers spread wide in a high guard, her body ready to channel pure vengeance upon her attackers but she remained perfectly still.  Waiting.

To Rise of the Order 4.2 > >

Rise of the Order 3.2

< < Back to Rise of the Order 3.1

One of my absolute favorite parts. An explosive battle ensues with two powerful Gate-keepers.

It was a hundred paces or so to the gate, and Gallet covered it in a matter of seconds – just as Hace opened the door, swinging inward on its hinges to let Red in.  She took Red hard in the back with her left shoulder, slamming him into the heavy door flinging Hace to the far wall before he knew what hit him.

Hace was trying to recover his sense when Gallet’s blade took him and he fell to the ground wide eyed.  She turned back in the small guard house to see Red face down on the stone floor, legs still halfway out the door.  The root enhanced strength of her shoulder slam had broken the man’s back.  He’s sightless, wide eyes stared out above a mouth open for a scream that he would never again have breath for.

She dragged the man into the room and closed the door, latching it.  With her crown gate opened, Gallet could sense nearly eighteen individuals within the keep – all but three were visiting their dreams. There may be a few guards around the compound but the Lord was a proud and private man; the servants that he kept lived in the keep and by all accounts his personal escort met him at the gate.

The Keep was the same granite color as the inner city but created in a more utilitarian style.  The walls were vertical.  A strange green plant clung to the side of the wall climbing all the way to the battlements.  The main entrance was approached by a steep, narrow flight of stairs – only wide enough for two men to walk abreast. The ground of the courtyard was tilled soil and small, exotic plants were framed by wood boxes displayed between pathways.  Gallet had never seen anything like it.  Its beauty sent a shiver up her spine.  None of these plants were native to Kanton, who’s foliage consisted of the strongY’ell wood trees and grasses and fungus that survived beneath the forest’s canopy.  The color palette of the country side was greens and browns; the vibrant red, blue, and indigo colored flowers in the garden were a sharp contrast.

She made her way into the courtyard, at first carefully scanning the ground to avoid stray twigs that would snap giving away her position, but she soon realized the grounds were well kept; the paths swept clean and the planter boxes checked for unwanted intruders on a regular basis.  With the two guards dead the interior grounds were deserted.  From here, the keep looked much smaller than it had always appeared from the outside.  In her mind she compared it to a man: puffing out his chest to the world, but when he finally let a woman into his confidence he appeared much more innocent and childlike.

She strode up the long staircase with muted footsteps to approach the vine covered walls.  She tugged at them, testing their strength, then began to pull herself upward toward the second level where the Lord’s study lay.  Her root gate had been opened continuously for far too long now she realized as she pulled herself upward onto the vines.  Her lungs bore an unquenchable thirst and the air she made no dent in the deficit she had acquired. Soon, she thought between panting breaths.  Her target was near and soon she could rest.

The battements were clear as she finished her climb.  Just ahead, over the first story entrance, was a door that led into the study.  She opened it and the heat from the fireplace washed over her.  She hadn’t realized the full extent of the pressure she had put on her body until she entered the room; the chill in the outside air had kept her temperature down but now she felt dizzy and fever sick.  The sweat pooled in her leathers and stained the cotton tunic she wore around her breasts. With the stress on her body overwhelming her, she fell to one knee, barely noticing the man’s profile sitting in the chair in front the fire.

“This day was bound to come.” He spoke in a powerful bass, the sound of his voice rattled Gallet.  He didn’t stir from his seat, he simply continued staring into the fire, a book closed in his lap.  Gallet had never been inside but knew the layout from former children of the Ministry who reported to her about the happenings in the keep.  Their intelligence was invaluable to her, but lucky as some might have seen it for the children to be taken into the Lord’s keep after growing up in the Ministry, Gallet knew it was the Lord’s lust for young girls.

The room was long and rectangular, the walls covered in books from floor to ceiling. The only furniture was the ornately carved chair the Lord sat in and a small round table beside him.  It would have seemed odd to Gallet, if she’d had the energy to think it, that a room of so much space be occupied by so little.  In her world, space – a place to simply be and exist – was a luxury.  She had carved out a small amount of space for herself in the Ministry, but what little she had was given to the children.  This room spoke volumes about the values the nobility of Kanton had – while the peasantry lived in boxes in the commons, Kanton’s Lords lived in wide empty spaces.

“The lives of men are so petty.  While they fight one enemy, they allow themselves to be occupied by another,” the Lord said.

Gallet’s laugh was sickly, “Yes.  Petty, Gorn.  The rock we use to smash our foes cuts us in the end.  The rock changes hands countless times but men like you never learn to respect the tools you use.”

“Heh, externalizing an internal conflict,” Lord Gorn said as he stood from his chair, still facing the fire.  His hair was short and peppered with gray but he maintained the physique of a man half his age.  The fur lined neck of his form fitting coat clung to the sides of his chest and showed the definition of his chest and abdomen.  He turned and faced her now.  “Like it or not, Kanton’s alliance with the Order is a mutually beneficial arrangement. You’ve seen first-hand: children have a purpose, they go to sleep with food in their bellies.  The city is no longer under constant siege by the golem and we retain a fragment of our former lives here.

“You struggle with abandonment all your own don’t you, Mistress?  You were orphaned by the Sundering, weren’t you? It must have been a difficult time for you – living in the streets.  Perhaps you cannot bring yourself to believe that your ‘rock that cuts’ is the same as the hand that feeds.” His smile held no mirth as he went on. “Surly, if Mommy and Daddy hadn’t gone away, life would have turned out better – sunnier.”

Gallet was unable to speak but every breath she took came out as a growl – a growl full of rage that consumed her completely.  She stood, facing him; each of them holding the strong confident posture of a predator.  Gorn sighed, relaxing momentarily.  “So be it,” he said and the fire from the hearth burst in violent rage.

Gorn’s hands focused a swirling yellow light at his sternum – the solar-gate – and then as with the force of his hands, the fire leapt from the hearth driving straight for Gallet. She dove, rolling over her left shoulder to avoid the blast which struck the book shelf behind her, it too becoming consumed in flames.  Gorn was preparing another blast from the hearth; she had to keep moving to avoid his attacks.  Two fireballs struck just behind her as she ran to the far end of the room before cutting back towards Gorn and his chair. 

She pulled her sword from the sheath, striking, but Gorn was too fast.  His lithe movement anticipated her every sword blow.  Her attacks distracted him from channeling his power gate, but his martial skills were equally impressive.  Gorn conceded no ground in their exchange.  He side stepped Gallet’s thrust, moving inside her reach striking her with a two-handed blow that knocked her off balance.  Then he was crouched low with a sweeping kick and Gallet fell to her side – the short sword falling out of her hands.  Gorn was upright again channeling his power gate; the flames in the room all seemed to grow in intensity. 

He looked down at her with a feral grin.  “I have sacrificed too much for my city; my kin, my friends, my soul – you’ll not take that away from me!” 

His arrogance steeled her to her oncoming fate. Her root gate lent her the power of the earth; though she had been using it to this point to increase her strength and endurance, if she released her control over the gate it would consume her completely.  She couldn’t avoid the barrage of fireballs Gorn was preparing; the power gate gave him command of any heat source in the room and with each new fire he started his power grew.  She grabbed the sword from the ground and rose in the fastest motion she could manage, releasing the constriction she had imposed on her Root-gate and suddenly she felt the unstoppable surge of earth roaring through her.

Fire streaked through the room from four points, slamming into her body, splashing against stone that once had been her flesh.  Her sword thrust forward, the final defiance to the man who had killed so many innocents; the man who had defended his treatment of her children in the Ministry; the man who had executed her mother and father.  The sword’s blade was buried half way into Gorn’s chest, piercing his heart.  His expression one of shocked denial.  He squirmed for a moment, trying to free himself from the upturned blade but her stone grip made it impossible. As blood trickled down the edge of the blade, he slowly slumped forward.

The earth had consumed her but her goal had been achieved.  Though she gave her life, maybe the people of Kanton could wrestle free from the grip of the Order without Gorn’s political influence.  In her last moments, the keep burning all around her, she opened her Pineal-gate a final time to enjoy the happiness she had hoped to create amongst the people she loved so much.  Instead she found that once again, she was the rock in the hands of a master she had never seen coming.