First_Chapter

Chapter One: The Hunter and the Prey

He flattened against the wall of the house. His black tunic melted into the darkness, making him almost invisible. It was a cool, almost cold night in Uldar, but he did not shiver. He was focused on the voices inside the building, and he inched closer to the shuttered window to better make out the words. He smiled as he recognized one of the voices. Orath - he was here. Finally.

"What do you have for me this time?" asked Orath.

"Something special. I think you'll like it."

"Show me."

"Come with me." There was the heavy sound of footsteps on wood, and then there was silence.

Jarryth counted to twenty while rummaging through a large pouch at his waist. Pulling out a flimsy strip of metal, he inserted it between the locked shutter doors, found the latch, and with a flick of his fingers, unlocked the catch. The shutters opened silently and he put the metal strip inside his pouch.  Brushing aside the curtains, peeked inside the room, and then climbed into the room, closing the window after himself.

Looking around the rectangular room, Jarryth noted two exits other than the window, one at the opposite end of the room, and the other halfway down on his left. It was sparsely decorated, as one would expect of someone who owned a small home in a city. The chair and footrest next to the oak bookshelf were plush and well used, without looking worn. The walls were a dull whitewash with a small mediocre woodcut of a pastoral scene, probably made by a local craftsperson.

The wood floor creaked slightly under the pressure of his weight as he walked to the far door. He put his ear to the door and listened for the pair of voices . . . nothing.

He wondered if they knew he was coming. It had been a long time since he had been ambushed. Dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand, he told himself that he had kept out of sight and was careful whom he talked to. Orath was as difficult to track as they came: he crisscrossed his trails and backtracked often to lose anyone trying to find him. It was only yesterday that he was just a single day behind Orath. His target shouldn't have a clue that a hunter was here. Even if he did, that still wouldn't save the man. Justice awaited this killer. Steeling himself, Jarryth slowly pushed open the door.

The room was empty, except for a cooking area and a few pieces of furniture. It was obviously the living area of the house, where the owner welcomed guests and ate meals. Decorations were non-existent, and the only furniture was a pair of chairs, which told him that the owner didn't visit the room often.

The brown haired hunter was sure they used the house to make the deal and then split, away from the eyes of the law. That left the other door, which must be the bedroom and the only place Orath had left to hide. Jarryth slowly moved towards the door and put his ear to the wood paneling.

He heard the muffled sound of the two men talking and smiled. He put his hand on his hip out of habit, feeling for the hilt of his sword, till he realized that he had left it outside the gate at the inn. The gate guards confiscated all weapons coming into the city, and the hunter code demanded strict obedience to the laws of each nation. The only thing that resembled a weapon was a small blade for skinning animals that was more useful for leveraging open stubborn windows and doors, than for sticking into people.

He pushed the door inward and it opened smoothly into the bedroom. Orath and his partner turned their heads and stared at Jarryth. The contact collected himself, quickly scooped up some gems into a small sack, and started inching towards the shuttered window at the back of the room, while Orath held his ground. His deep voice was rough and instantly irritating.

"It's not healthy to break in to another mans home."

"I am a fully authorized hunter for the Kandinaar Alliance. You are wanted for questioning concerning your whereabouts on the night of the autumn festival in Corrindor."

"What happened during the festival?" asked Orath.

Jarryth snorted. "Even in this two horse town, they know the Duke of Arrinson's family was murdered in their beds and you were seen in the area on the night of the festival."

"You're gonna bring me in because I was seen in the area? After you bring me back, are you hunting down the other ten thousand that were seen at the festival too?" Orath sounded disinterested.

"I doubt it," the hunter said. "Besides, the witness that saw you in the area was the Lady Arrinson's maid, and she saw you leave the house by a back window," he said.

"Nothing doing. I have business here. Now are you going to leave on two feet or in a box?" Orath asked.

"I've been a hunter for over four years and I have yet to see any of you come without a fight."

"The box it is then, little man."

Jarryth became acutely aware of the other man's size at that point. He was well built and would give most men pause before starting trouble, but Orath hulked over him. His heart fluttered for an instant before gaining control over himself.

Orath's stepped forward and he retreated in exactly the same measure. He dared not look to the left or right as he kept his eyes on the murderer's face. The other man's glare never left him either and he snarled as he continued to follow the intruder's backpedaling.

Suddenly, Orath rushed him. The hunter quickly stepped back, and tripped over the chairs' footrest. A huge meaty fist flashed through the air and he managed to only take a grazing blow on the corner of his chin. His head snapped sideways and he dropped low as another fist shot over his head.

The first round over, both men circled the room, kicking away obstacles that would get in their way. Orath chuckled, a throaty, ugly sound. He had tangled with large men before and found that most fought the same way. They mistook their large size to be an overpowering asset. Just as this one did. They couldn't be more wrong.

The assassin lunged forward, his fist centered on Jarryth's gut. The smaller man twisted to the left and grabbed other man's arm at the wrist and elbow. Using the giant's momentum, he threw him into the wall. Orath caught himself at the last, and spun to face his attacker, with the hunter was waiting for him.

He stepped on the villain's foot, struck the larger man's thigh with his free knee, and followed up with an elbow smash to the rib cage. The two attacks caused the man to fall back against the wall, smacking his head against the hard wood that he had narrowly avoided slamming into seconds before.

Jarryth barely caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and raised his arm protectively, stopping a speeding stool from breaking his head open. His arm took the brunt of the impact, and he gasped as his arm nearly went numb with pain. He kicked the coward in the midsection before he could strike again, and the thin man crumpled to the floor, the air whooshing out of him like an empty leather sack. He made a mental note to keep better track of all his assailants in the future.

Ready to turn around and face the killer once more, he sensed the larger man's attack a split second before he felt it. He dropped to the floor and only got trampled on as Orath stumbled over him, instead of being flung across the room. He groaned loudly and cursed himself for not paying attention.

He rose as quickly as he could. Nothing felt broken, but he hurt all over, and the arm that blocked the stool felt useless at his side. Orath did not look much better, for he was limping and shaking his head from the blow he had received. Neither one could take too much more of this.

Orath made no move to come at the smaller man. His eyes focused on his enemy's movements. Both of the opponents were weaving a little on their feet. The hunter clenched his fist hard enough to crack the knuckles. It was time to end this little game. Jarryth backed away measuring each step, so that he didn't fall over anything like the footstool a second time. The other followed cautiously, but made no move to close the distance.

The details of the room seemed sharper for some reason, possibly because he knew that if he did not subdue the giant soon, he might indeed see the inside of his box. He almost laughed, looking around. The room had been decently decorated, if rather spartan, but now it was a mess. The stool that had smashed into Jarryth's arm lay close by the far wall near the man who had wielded it. The reading chair and footstool were overturned, kicked aside during the fight.

He felt his injured arm and grimaced, faking only a small part of the pain. He missed a step backwards and fell down on his rump. With a growl, bear of a man was on top of him, fists flailing. The hunter grinned and raised his knee enough to catch the brute between the legs. His smirk was torn off his face when the full weight dropped on him.

The fallen hulk was thinking of little else besides his pain, Jarryth was finally able to get out from under the other by wriggling and pushing one handed. He stood above him and cast a simple spell, one that had been one of his first after discovering he could wield magic.

Orath fell asleep immediately. It would have never put him to sleep at the beginning of the fight, but now he was tired and hurt, he was easily susceptible to its effects. It had been shown to him as a way to cure insomnia, but over the years Jarryth had found a much more profitable way to employ it. He kicked Orath lightly to make sure and was satisfied.

"Now, to get the lug on my horse!" he said.

* * *

They traveled for the rest of the night and most of the next day, stopping only for cold and quick meals, and Jarryth made camp in a natural clearing the following day only when the sun began to sink behind the plains. His captive made no noise and collapsed, sleeping almost immediately, even though his hands we still tied in front of him. He took notice of Orath out of the corner of his eye, while clearing a spot for a small fire.

Convinced that his prisoner was not going anywhere, he went off to look for kindling and larger sticks to use for his cooking fire. The brush was plentiful, but it had been a good year, leaving few pieces of wood that would be good for anything other than making smoke. He roamed around the camp in a large circle. Although Orath had run on foot on and off for eighteen hours, he had seen too many prisoners escape their hunters, to trust the man to stay put.

He grinned at the large man's prostrate form as he picked up a stick. He must have fallen down every other mile, he thought. Serves him right. Murderers deserve no better and this one much worse. The worst was over he was sure. He had been very careful the first six hours, staying off the main roads and scanning all directions, including skyward. It was always hard to tell if one of his prisoners had friends willing to come after a hunter. This one had none evidently.

He finally found enough wood to make a proper fire and returned to the clearing. Orath was snoring lightly and had his back to the camp. Jarryth checked the man's bonds and tightened them. Satisfied, he turned to making the fire and soon he had the kindling burning nicely. After that, it was a small matter to make it a nice blaze. The hunter retrieved the hare that he had shot in the morning, setting his stomach rumbling. Dinner would not be an instant too soon.

After he skinned and gutted it, he dropped it into the fire. It was always a waste of time to make a spit. It also left him to watch and listen for intruders that might have ideas about walking off with his horse or make a late rescue attempt.

After his meal, Jarryth made his bed and prepared for sleep. This whole affair still nagged at him. The hunt and capture had been too easy. Well, the hunt was easy, and if it hadn't been for his accomplice, the capture would have been rather dull as well. It almost seemed as if Orath had wanted to be found. He almost smiled as he drifted off. Who wanted to be brought back for interrogation, and certain death? He must have just been very sloppy.

When he awoke, Orath was already awake, and eating the leftovers of the cooked rabbit, tied hands and all. The hunter rummaged through his packs and found some jerky to munch on as he broke up the camp. Soon it was hard to see where a fire had even been. He secured his packs and hopped on his horse. Orath dropped the bone he had been gnawing on and stood ready to run once more.

He set the pace at a brisk walk for the bulk of the day, only taking short breaks for the meals, and eating cold meat and cheese. No taunts or conversation passed between them, and he increased the pace whenever he felt Orath might feel inclined to open his mouth for anything but breathing. The day passed quickly and once again they found themselves camping for the evening.

He was surprised when Orath fell down inside the camp perimeter, but did not go to sleep. Orath was quite muscular and it was serving him well. He decided to forego the fire to dissuade the assassin from trying anything while he left the campgrounds. He sat watching the larger man as the shadows fell into darkness. Orath finally sat up in the near dark. They could not make each other out except as the most basic of shapes.

"That was quite a ride, chief," Orath said.

"It's going to get better as we near the city. I can't afford to have you to entertain escape plans before I hand you over to the warden. The running you've been doing is just a warm-up exercise."

"Don't worry about me, I won't be going anywhere. I need to get back anyway."

"Go back? You are ready to die. The city guards want a piece of you, law or no. Duke Arrinson was good to the guards, and they'd like to repay the favor. Right now, that'd be taking you out and dispensing their own justice, and then handing you to the high court, if there was anything left."

"I guess you've got some work to do when we get to the city." He laughed. "I wonder if you'd lose your contract if the guard learned who I was before you got me to the warden. All this effort for nothing."

"I can live with that. Losing the money is worth the price of knowing that you will kill no more, assassin."

"Whatever,"Orath said, seeming to shrug. "Like I said, I have business within the city walls."

"It better be within the prison walls and be finished quickly because, I think that once you are in the wardens hands, you can count your life in hours."

"No, I expect to live a long time. Longer than you will."

"What makes you think you will survive your trial?" asked Jarryth.

"And where would I be if I gave away all my secrets for the asking? No, but I will reveal this be careful where you choose to tread in the near future."

Jarryth shifted in the darkness. Orath's voice had changed from a mocking taunt to sincere seriousness without pausing for breath.

"That sounds like a threat. My contract states that you only have to come back alive...""

"A threat? No, just a warning. Dangerous days are coming, and if you have nowhere to turn to but yourself, then you will die."

"Are you a prophet now? Give over, Orath. I can't decide whether you are mad or playing some devious game. At any rate, I think that it is time for sleep."

He stood up and cast a simple spell around the other man. "Don't move more than ten feet in any direction. I have cast a spell around you that will alert me if you do, and I will not be kind about bringing you back here."

"What I told you was the truth. I tell you this because there are three new gods that have overpowered the dark gods and will soon destroy the rest," said Orath.

"Impossible. The world would be destroyed."

"Nevertheless, it has been done. The dark gods are no more and the new gods rule in their place. The Elemental Lords sit on their twilight thrones and do nothing, and gods of light cower from the truth and pretend that nothing has happened."

"The gods, good or evil, light or dark, have brought me nothing but misery. Maybe they'll all kill each other and leave me alone," Jarryth said.

"You don't get it do you? They care nothing for us. They did not create the world or make us after their wishes. They will destroy us because they can. We will be their playthings, and when they tire of their games, they will unmake us."

"Go to sleep," said Jarryth as he knelt down to go to sleep.

He lay down and looked up at the stars. They seemed to be staring back at him with their thousand eyes. It was said that each star was the home of a god and that they looked upon their world from that great distance as easily as one might look at one's own hand. Why did they take such an active role in the lives of men? Haven't we suffered enough because of the machinations of the gods?

His mind circled back to his conversation with Orath. "The dark gods are no more and the new gods rule in their place." Jarryth didn't even want to think about what that would mean.

One side dared not try to destroy the other as that would have disastrous consequences, or so everyone thought. If the god of life was destroyed, slowly all life on the planet would die.

Did the new gods take over the aspect of the dark gods or is the planet on a course for absolute destruction? Better yet, is Orath trying to gain some psychological advantage? If so, what is his ultimate goal?

* * *

"Come to the altar, my daughter."

Chryssa woke up with a start. Already the voice was receding from her consciousness. It played on her mind like the dance of the morning sun on the dewed grass and was gone. Only the insistent impression that she was to go to the altar remained.

Although she was sure it was well past midnight, sleep had fled from her. She dressed quickly and put her priestesses robe over her slim figure. As she walked out the door of her room, she tied her honey blonde hair with a white ribbon that she always wore. She hurried down the corridor of the temple, almost forgetting about her slight limp, in order to reach the altar with all due speed.

The altar room was spacious, the largest chamber in the complex, and it was well-lighted. Candles lined the walls, but the room was primarily illuminated by divine power. Light flowed around the room, but it had no visible source. It was a constant reminder of the presence of their goddess.

She walked past the pews to either side of her and stepped up to the altar. It was comprised of a single rectangular block of pure white marble, about three feet high, two feet across, with a somewhat wider width. She knelt on the padded rest at the foot of the altar and prayed.

"Great Lady, in preparation to commune with Thy holy spirit, I sacrifice myself to Thee."

Chryssa cupped her hands and raised them towards the ceiling. "I offer all that I am and all that I possess to Thee to do as thou wilt. My pride and humility lay slain beside thy servant as she now observes to do thy will. I seek no aggrandizement nor reward, only to do as required and no more."

She lowered her hands and clasped them to her chest. She swam within the solitary confines within the walls of her mind. Troubling images arose, as they always did when she meditated, threatening to destroy her tranquility.

Always the first, was that man, the butcher of her life, Arik Kelinor. Why can't I forget him? Why can't I forgive him? Again, as he always did, he stood over her framed in the midnight black, snarling at her, sword bared, and her knee shattered. Why was he saved from destruction when it cost me so much?

"Daughter."

The voice was light, both warm and searing hot. It warmed every part of her body, and searing, as it burned away all of her pain and tears. Chryssa felt a great light emerge before her closed eyes, like one might sense if one walked from a dark tunnel into the daylight. She opened her eyes and beheld the object of her adoration, her goddess.

She looked similar, and at the same time very different from the paintings and mosaics created by the faithful. No art could capture the majestic pose of her graceful frame or the compassion in her smile. Her whole body shown with light, but it was not painful to look on. It was a radiance, a crown of glory that was her banner, an ensign of all she stood for.

She gasped, and almost fell from the altar. She caught herself, and quickly lowered her eyes with flushed cheeks. She flushed deeper, if that was possible when she heard the goddess laugh, a gentle chiming chuckle.

"Stand, daughter. I called you because I believe that you are ready to undertake a task for me."

"Anything Lady. I stand ready to serve."

"A week from now, a man will come to you. You do not know him now, but you will recognize him when your eyes rest upon him. Give him all he needs and aid him in his quest," she said.

"How will I . . ."

"My powers are great," she interrupted. "You will be given ability to know and understand as it is required of you."

Chryssa's voice was soft. "What does he seek?"

"A group of men seek to throw the world into chaos and darkness. He has knowledge that will sunder their plans and put a stop to their machinations for good."

"Why do we need this man? Is not Thy priesthood sufficient to overcome these evil men?"

"They are but part of the problem. These men are the mortal arm of cabal of gods that seek to overthrow the natural order. If I marshal the priesthood against them, then these other gods will send forth the full extent of their powers, both in the flesh and in immortal might. The world would not survive such a conflict."

Chryssa nodded and accepted the truth of it. She had never heard of religions openly clashing, except on the night that they rescued Arik, and no one mentioned it, even within the halls of the temple, even though they had lost many good men and women that night. Not only would it hurt the image of the religion, it might cause vigilantism among the public people unrelated to the conflict would die because they uttered words too close to a side of the struggle.

"You may feel that as a priestess of Light, that you should be taking the lead in rooting out this accursed group. I say that this is not the case. You are both equals, but in a decision where you can not agree, he is to take the lead," she said.

"If I may ask, why is this?"

"I have watched you advance within the ranks, and have guided your advancement, but you have faults which still keep you from your potential."

"I understand," Chryssa said.

"No, you don't. You have past hurts to body and spirit that you refuse to let heal. Your pride is a poor salve for these wounds. The injury festers and grows as time passes. You agreed to sacrifice all that you have and are, and yet you keep this close to your heart. Till you can free yourself of the prison of your own making, you will not grow, and you must follow this man."

Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly bowed her head in embarrassment. Criticism was never easy to take. Her superiors had chastened her before, but always with tact. Chryssa did not know how to respond.

"I meant no disrespect," she whispered.

"You have been a good servant, and an asset to this temple. Obedience has never been your chief concern here, however. This must stop. You have superiors, and they are over you for a reason. Those that will not learn to live by the law by kind words will learn it by the rod. Am I clear?" Her voice was an earthquake and Chryssa shook, though by some miracle, nothing else in the room moved.

She nodded. She was numb all over and could hardly move. Still she didn't look up at her mistress. The silence stretched and she wondered what it was that she wanted from her. The great light was still there, warm and bright, so he hadn't left. Finally she gathered her courage and looked up.

The goddess smiled. "Good. I have not driven you off completely. I have asked your help because I see an inner strength that will see you through to the end of this task. If I chose one of my more disciplined servants, every eye would turn to their activities. You however, are not well known, but you possess the intelligence and stamina to complete the tasks set before you. Go about your usual duties and assist me in this matter when the time comes."

Chryssa stared in wonder as her goddess vanished and the room returned to its normal illumination. Her words ran around in her mind, and swirled. She had been chosen worthy of a special task! He trusted her above all the other clergy in the temple. She would not fail that much was certain.

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