KELL – OUTSKIRTS OF KESTREL LAND, INDIANA PEAKS
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4TH CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING 845 PBM
The forests were alive with the sounds and colours of a new Spring. Everywhere the eye could see flowers were blooming creating a myriad of patchwork colours in blues, reds and yellows, contrasting and enhancing the vibrant greens of the trees and shrubs, in what was considered by many poets to be amongst the most beautiful areas in all of Driax. A light covering of bracken was scattered across the ground, creating a soft cushion underfoot, and an icy mountain breeze ensured that Winter was not yet completely forgotten.
“Thuddd!”
The lethal steel-tipped arrow slammed into the thick pine trunk - barely inches above the head of its intended target.
‘By the ancestors, that was close,’ thought Kell, the young Indian warrior at the centre of this lethal pursuit. Terrified, he darted between trees, his heart racing at the closeness of the recent miss, and hopeful to avoid another such encounter.
He weaved in and out of the trees and shrubs of the mountainous forest, his sure-footed movement borne of years moving through the wilderness, and his mind trying to move in ways to keep as much cover between himself and his three attackers as possible.
‘Just stay alive long enough and my family will save me.’
He felt an instinct to dive. He did without hesitation. He rolled behind the hard cover of a clump of rocks as another arrow passed overhead. Kell quickly peered over the rocks but could see none of his foes amongst the trunks and undergrowth in front of him. With fear and adrenaline pumping through his body, he slipped his tomahawk from his belt and edged towards the end of his cover, his eyes continuing to survey the woods, but with no success.
‘Where are they?’
Unable to see, Kell decided he better keep moving, so he bolted from his cover, weaving in and out of the trees just as before. Two more arrows lanced out from his concealed attackers but again both were thrown off by the rapid direction changes and neither found their mark. It was not until a figure stepped out of cover barely twenty feet in front of him that Kell realised why there had only been two shots in this salvo. One of his foes was now in front of him, and was close enough to touch.
Dressed in leather skins like Kell, but with the bone based tribal markings of the Antori tribe adorning his clothing and skin, the rival Indian swung his warhammer, a wooden hafted weapon with a large metal hammer on the end.
With instincts borne more from a life in the wilds than from any conscious thought, Kell quickly brought his axe up in front of his face. He was rewarded bare seconds later when it was almost smashed from his grasp by an impact with the heavy-headed warhammer, the lethal end of which missed his face by a matter of inches. Continuing with his momentum, Kell threw his shoulder into his opponent's chest, knocking the other off his feet and backwards onto the ground hard. Kell would have been able to continue running but his foot got caught in the man's quiver and he tripped, landing unceremoniously on his face in the bracken.
Slightly dazed from the impact, his world slowed. Sounds of his two other pursuers grew louder, but the winded gasps of the grounded enemy indicated he wasn't an immediate threat.
‘Get up! You have to keep running. Fight through the pain. Ancestors give me strength.’
Kell rolled to his feet, feeling a surge of adrenalin fuelled power. He gathered his tomahawk, and began to run as best he could towards another pair of thick wooden trunks. He heard a barely muffled scream come from behind him. He stopped upon reaching the nearest tree, and began to peer into the woods behind for some indication of what had happened. He could see the man he had knocked over recovering his warhammer but his gaze was fixed firmly on something to the right of him, something that was presently obscured from Kell’s view by the trees.
The image of another Kestrel warrior, Kell’s tribal people, charge into view with a distinctive, vicious-looking, two-handed war-club held ready in both hands. With an ease bordering on disrespect the warrior swatted the futile strike of the winded Antori man aside, and drove his weapon into the man's chest, the huge spike which jutted from the mid-point of the massive weapon now visible punched out the victim's back. As the wielder pulled his massive war-club out, the corpse, now unsupported by the spike, fell with a slump to the ground. Blood quickly stained the surrounding bracken a deep red.
Kell scanned the scene in front of him as he approached the older warrior, and marvelled at the grace Ka-Took had shown when handling his large unwieldy weapon. He turned to look for the other two attackers and saw Maguare dragging them by their hair into the clearing. The lifeless forms bore evidence of their last battle: one pierced by an arrow, the other bearing the lethal marks of Maguare's tomahawk and hammer.
“Zalen-ti,” Kell called out, a traditional way of thanking another Kestrel warrior for his aid in combat, and implied a debt that would one day be repaid. But these men were Kell's father and older brother. Kell accompanied them on hunting expeditions for the precious skins and meat of the stag and other animals that lived in the area.
The fact that the resulting prey of this trip had not been stag was unintended, but these other men had attacked Kell, Ka-Took and Kell's older brother, Maguare on sight. Which was troubling, as there had been a tentative peace between their tribes for several years now.
“Let's move. More Antori could be nearby. We should alert our tribe,” instructed Ka-Took. The two sons, seasoned by years in the wilderness alongside their father, needed no further urging and set out. When Ka-Took later rejoined them, a distant wisp of smoke and the acrid scent of burnt hair lingered in the air, hinting at the Antori's fate.
“Why did he stay behind to burn the bodies?” Kell asked Maguare, seeking comfort and an explanation. Remaining behind to do so was dangerous.
“‘He has burned them to ensure they say dead,” replied Maguare. “You should always burn Antori bodies to dust. Or the darkness which curses their tribe may return them to life to exact vengeance on their killer.”
‘So this is my first encounter with the Antori. In most of our legend stories we are fighting them or their allies. A hatred burns within Father for them. Maguare says they killed Mother. I was too young, and barely remember her or our life before that day. But Father has not forgotten. I have heard he lead a warband of our bravest warriors into Antori lands seeking her, hoping perhaps she had survived and been made a slave, as is often the Antori custom. But he returned without her, and I believe much of the warband that went with him.’
‘Some say only two warriors returned alive from that band, Ka-Took and Hantoxx. I don’t know what they found there, but Maguare says it changed Father forever. I suspect the stories began then about the evil that had grown in the Antori lands, infecting both the animals and the plants. Nature there is not the way it should be. Thin, sickly animals. Lean and weak looking trees. It as if the ancestors and the nature spirits have abandoned the place or become very sick.’
I have only strayed close to Antori lands twice in my life. And may the ancestors be my witness, I say you can feel the evil in the air around you as you get close. Afterwards, nightmares of strange monstrous creatures hunting for my soul haunted my sleep for almost a full cycle of the red moon. I would happily never go there again.
Yet we have had peace for five years now. So why were these three so close to our lands? And why did they attack us? Does this mean the peace is at an end?
Still feeling the adrenalin flowing through his body, Kell picked up the pace and took the lead of their little group. They were many miles from their village, but it was important they return as quickly as possible.
Six hours hard march later Kell led his father and brother into the clearing that made up their small village. Ka’Took gave a quick warning to those on the outskirts of the village to be vigilant, before leading his boys into the heart of the settlement.
The village had been Kell’s home for several years now and returning home always made him feel safe. No group of Antori would dare stray too close to here.
Thin tendrils of smoke spiralling skywards from the village's heart and the inviting aroma of roasting meat rekindled Kell’s awareness of his hunger. It was time to eat. He trusted Ka-Took would brief the tribal elders. The weight of the day's events lifted from his shoulders. With a comforting arm draped around Maguare, the brothers made their way to the feast.
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VASTUK – HALL OF ASSASSINS, MASCHERATA, DRASAK
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4TH CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING 845 PBM
Vastuk Tirilani, or Vastuk the Deceiver to his ‘friends’, surveyed the seven figures seated at the semi-circular dais before him. Each donned a ceremonial mask, representative of their clan - from the fierce depiction of the Emerald Jaguar to the white skull mask of the Ghost Warriors.
‘Compose yourself. Just assembling them in one room is an accomplishment. From here, House Tirilani begins its ascent to the pinnacle of Drasak society.’
“You dare call us all together?” challenged the typically ferocious representative of the Raging Tigers. “This better be good Deceiver, or tonight you dine with the fish.”
‘Play this carefully if we wish to survive until morning.’
“Forgive me for this breach of protocol,” he apologised. “But I believe you all knew I had invited the others before you arrived this evening. After all, nothing happens in Drasak without the knowledge of her dear Assassin Guilds.”
Vastuk joined his hands and bowed his head, in what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of respect. Six figures nodded their heads in agreement. The Tiger, however, thumped his fist on the table.
‘So nearly everyone. The Raging Tigers clan are famous for their rage and aggression. They prefer killing their targets up close, with particular honour going to those who can kill their opponent unarmed. Aggressive traits like that might make their clan more inclined to take our task.’
“Perilous times befall us. Surely, you've noticed the King's audacious belief that he should actually govern Drasak,” he ventured further, longing to discern the reactions behind those masks.
‘Curse these confounded masks!’
“The King is deluded, fancying himself as a Klydorian King, or worse, the Merlo Emperor. Alarmingly, many in Drasak are now entertaining such beliefs.” Once more, the Capellan and Tiger concurred, and Vastuk believed he detected agreement from the Striking Scorpion.
“And how would you suggest we solve this problem?” asked the Capellan, catching Vastuk slightly off-guard.
‘Curious. We had been told the representatives would likely withhold all comments until they reached a decision. Apparently these young Capellans do things a little differently.’
“We need to remind him of his place, to make him more amenable to the proper order of things,” Vastuk replied, smiling in what he hoped was a placating manner.
“Can you perhaps be more specific?” enquired the Emerald Jaguar, a surprisingly soft feminine voice.
‘Careful with this answer Vastuk. Her opinion will hold a lot of weight with the others as the Jaguars are currently the most powerful clan. But she is also baiting us. She is forcing us to reveal our plans, thus laying us at their mercy when they chose what to do with this information. And what we say next is likely a death sentence from any loyal to the King, or perhaps those seeking to gain his favour.’
“We propose we first assassinate his son. Should that fail, his daughter. And if all else is in vain, we resort to the ultimate measure: ending the King's life.”
‘Even in Drasak, where the Assassin Guilds have largely held sway for hundreds of years, this is brazen. Are there any here who have the heart for such an undertaking? Might more than one agree to help? Could we get them all?’
“If nothing else, the succeeding King would be loath to defy the Assassin Guilds again after witnessing the eradication of the former's lineage,” Vastuk concluded.
“And who would be the sponsor?” asked the Night Hawk.
‘What you are really asking is who will take the blame if this goes wrong. In Drasak, the Assassin Clans have long ago seen fit to have the law written that Assassins are rarely to blame for their own actions. It is the sponsor that suffers the full brunt of the law. Of course, as no reputable Assassin Clan would ever reveal their sponsor, it is generally a system which works well for everyone involved.’
‘Still, if you go after the King and fail, someone would pay dearly. Would the acting clan hand over the sponsor to avoid being wiped out? A loss of prestige in the marketplace is hard to recover from. But extermination was terminal.’
“Myself and my family.” As Vastuk uttered the words he knew he was now committed.
The Capellan bowed in a gesture Vastuk took to be respect. Not everybody took it so well.
“My clan wishes no part of this,” responded the Jaguar. “But we will uphold traditions and keep your contract confidential.”
Vastuk inwardly smiled.
‘We had dreamed of the Jaguars helping us, but we knew they would not gamble their position at the top of the pile. However, by inviting all of the major clans and offering them the job. they will all be bound to protocol, and forbidden from revealing our plot to anyone. The spoils for revealing a plot to assassinate the King would be immense. But with the Jaguars' public adherence, no other clan will likely defy the convention.’
“As will we,” was all the Hawk said, as he followed the Jaguar from the room.
‘The Night Hawks would have been a nice ally. Their agents range much further than others, and they will risk missions in places many others will not. But it is not to be.’
“And what do you get out of this?” asked the skull-masked Ghost Warrior, his voice eerily deep and hollow.
‘The Ghost Warriors. As much spies as you are assassins. You deal in information. We think it doubtful your clan would do something as bold as this. But you can shape how the others react with your questions.’
“The King will need to take on new advisers once he has seen the light. The current ones are part of the problem. House Tirilani wishes to be chief amongst these. We will ensure he follows the correct order of things,” he replied. Everyone in the room understood this would also elevate his family's wealth and power. The rewards, after all, seemed to justify the risks.
“Your actions may cause other families to rebel too,” cautioned the Clan Cobra representative.
‘Clan of the Cobra. Each assassin specialises in killing a member of a certain race. With specialisation comes mastery. But can you ever really trust those that can kill that which they know most intimately.’
“Yes. And then we can cleanse the Drasak royal court of all the troublemakers in one go,” Vastuk replied as calmly as possible. The room went silent as the remaining clan representatives considered their positions.
‘The die is cast. Now we just have to hope one of the Clans will have the courage to go with us. The rewards for them in prestige alone will be considerable. And while the King of Drasak doesn’t really rule, his favour and influence are still significant if they can be controlled.’
As the Cobra and the Scorpion left he was down to three potential allies; Clan Capellan, the Raging Tigers, and the Ghost Warriors.
‘The Scorpions were never likely to take this task. They prefer their targets to be aware of their killer beforehand, enjoying the hunt while their target tries in vane to stay alive. That would be risky indeed when your target has the resources of a King.’
“How much does it pay?” growled the Tiger. “Much risk equals much cost.”
“Much risk heralds great glory,” countered the Capellan.
For the first time that evening, Vastuk smiled outwardly.
‘Clan Capellan, the youngest of the clans currently on the Council of Assassins. They have ridden a wave of conflict and anarchy to get here, and may well use more of the same to further advance their cause. No doubt some of the older clans perceive you as a massive threat so if you don’t grow in power quickly, one or more of them may well take action to snuff you out. At least, that is what we would do if we were them.’
“I propose 20% of whatever lies in the royal treasury. A testament to the King’s dedication to the old ways. Each of the seven clans would receive 1%, with the remainder divided among the assisting clans,” Vastuk offered.
“Have any other noble families pledged their allegiance to your cause?” probed the Ghost Warrior.
“None of your concern. I've made it clear that this venture's responsibility rests solely with me,” Vastuk replied. “So, who’s in?”
“What of the Xenon?” uttered the Ghost Warrior, his voice sounding as though it came from beyond the grave. “This mission may incur their wrath.”
Vastuk was at least a little surprised by this question, and that surprise reflected on his face just briefly.
‘Why would you bring up myths at a moment like this, Ghost Warrior. Your image as the clan with all the information would take a serious hit if the market knew you indulged in such superstition. Xenon means silent death in the Drasak tongue, and I too know the legends that this secret order protects the royal family from the assassin clans, and perhaps also protects Drasak itself from those same Clans. Those same legends say they were part of the original agreement when the Guild Charter was first signed by King Luciidus II, over three hundred years ago. Of course, like all good things in Drasak, the charter was stolen and all those who have seen it are dead. Just like these Xenon, even if they did ever exist.’
“A children's tale,” he scoffed. “Have any among you ever encountered a Xenon?”
“What of you, Tiger? Your own clan-lore says your original Guild Master was killed by a Xenon. Will you risk their wrath again?” continued the Ghost Warrior, “I believe they promised to wipe you out to the last cub if you angered them again.”
Even through the mask, Vastuk could see the uncertainty in the Tiger.
‘No. Could this ghost story really be the undoing of our grand scheme?’
They all waited silently for a few moments, before the Tiger stood and slowly exited the room. They could actually see him looking all around, as if he expected a monster to leap from the shadows and slay him where he stood.
“So who is in?” Vastuk repeated, suddenly unsure of himself.
“We were never in,” replied the Ghost Warrior bluntly. “But I wasn’t going to leave until I knew everything there was to know.”
The skull-helmed figure made no attempt to leave the room, but instead just turned to look at the Capellan, who was wearing the strange, idealised ninja mask that was their symbol.
“We will assist you. But we kill the daughter first. The King will be less upset if his remaining heir is a male.”
‘Why must we weaken our masterful plans with the ideas of our lessers? Lesser minds just cannot see the intricacies of it all like we can. But we need the Guilds onside. And if this is the price to get the Capellans to agree, then accommodate we must. We still achieve what we want from the meeting.
“We can agree to that,” conceded Vastuk, although visibly irritated with the alteration to his plans.
With agreement reached, the Ghost Warrior followed protocol and left. What was said between a sponsor and the Clan was for nobody else to hear.
Drawing a deep breath, Vastuk relished the weight lifting off his chest. The stakes were set, and the game had begun.