I am hard at work on The Deity Staff. Sorry that I have neglected you!
Here you go. A little sneak peek!!
It actually took her two days to find a lead for Rivyen. Broenef Cros’seau was the first name on his list and the only one De’Embra gained a bit of insight into.
The man was a nephew to Duke Bareth Cros’seau. He had been living with his mother in a farming village near the capital city, Keliada. The same time as the Cros’seau family had been found guilty and exiled, his mother had contracted a severe case of Fleve Virus and died. Having no other relatives, Broenef moved around to differing cities. Eventually, he took up residence in the crumbling Cros’seau mansion. For years, he maintained the estate on the volcanic Leibrec Isle. It had only come to light that the whole place had been deserted for an unknown amount of time.
Rivyen sat uncomfortablely atop Rashae, his black mare, and stared up at the weathered castle. As he studied the ancient, ruined home, he could not shake the feeling he was being watched and studied. The smoky glass windows of the structure resembled dead buglike eyes. Whoever or whatever might roam within remained unseen.
He dismounted and tied Rashae to a hitching post. If there was any way to find and track down this elusive Broenef he hoped he would find it inside.
The front door was not locked but due to inclement weather, the wood frame around it had swollen and sealed tight around it. He decided to walk the impressive grounds and see if there was another entry. Perhaps one of those cheerful windows, he thought to himself.
Near the back eastern wing, he discovered a cellar door which had started to rot. After a few good kicks, the lock gave way. Inside, it was thick with cobwebs and dust piles but nonetheless empty. It did have one set of dilapidated steps leading to another door. His luck had turned and this door was unlocked.
Upon entering however, he was immediately blinded by a bright, orange glare. He fumbled about at the top of the steps, grabbing onto a thin counter to keep his balance. His vision finally cleared, but there was no sign of what had caused the light.
He listened carefully but sensed no other movement or noise.
Rivyen paused at the end of the counter as he noted a tan, stained paper discarded in a trash bin. He unfolded it. The stains were actually lands made upon a map. He did not immediately recognize the area. Alert a few moments he determined it was an old rendering of the Ramanon region. Someone had made handwritten notes and even penciled two letters BK on the edge of one border of the Risa continent.
He folded the map back together and stuffed it inside his pack for later review. Then he closed the cellar door and crossed to a large chamber. It was once a formal dining room he guessed.
Near the center of a table rested an empty wood tray next to a tall glass vase. Wilted flowers and stems sat inside the old stemware. An obvious centerpiece at one time. Dust covered everything as expected, but Rivyen’s eyes fell upon a square shaped print on the tray. It had a barely noticeable layer of dust.
Something was missing. It had been there next to that vase and now it has been removed. It was likely an art piece. He twisted about, slowly scanning the rest of the formal chamber.
Other art from the wall and some from a shelf were taken — he could see more dust impressions. And another sculpture was likely missing. Were the works valuable or were there some personal attachment, he wondered.
Perhaps if I track down the items, I could—
A fist shot out and rocked his head back to the left. Another followed up, bowling him over as it caught him in the stomach.
Before anything else could happen, Rivyen’s reflexes kicked in and he dove to the side. He tumbled into a roll, sprung to his feet to face two black and red clad figures. Beleardea!
He caught the dwindling signs of an electrical force wavering in the air behind them. A Gate Spell has been used to drop the Beleardea assassins in unseen. That orange glare upon entering must have been some sort of magical alarm ward. He was foolish to have ignored it. Now he would pay the price for it.
His hand shot to his belt and unsheathed his long sword. The golden bracers he wore lent him an advantage of unnatural speed and he swung the sword point back and forth before him.
“That was quite rude. You did not even say your names and introduce yourselves,” he taunted.
The men before him backed up and spread their legs and arms into fighting stances. They moved with cat-like grace and remained silent. Each held a dagger in one hand and a companion three-prong clawed Ramseur in the other.
“As you insist!” He thrust in a feint with his sword at the left assassin while slinging with his right hand a small grappling hook hidden inside one sleeve of his robe. The magically-enhanced throw caught the man off guard and snared around his boot.
Rivyen yanked the man off his feet and without mercy violently plunged the sword tip into his exposed throat. Blood fountained up his leg and over his boots.
The surviving assassin backed warily away. “Yevvik coy Hesh maya napa Liss!” The voice was high-pitched, angry, and very feminine. Rivyen had assumed wrong, he realized.
“Now that it is a fair dance, we can take our time to enjoy the music, m’lady.”
She shifted to the left putting the edge of the table between them. Taking her own advantage, she sprang toward a dark chamber attached to the dining room. He chased after her, unwilling to let her escape. As the assassin entered she easily darted up a bare wall and flipped up and behind him.
It had been another clever ploy. Now he was trapped in a room with no obvious exits. She stood poised in the arch of the doorway.
To Rivyen, the best defense was offense. He swept his blade low but rose toward her chest while spinning in to thrust his elbow into her face. She parried the sword easily with her hand claw, securing it between two tines while ducking his elbow jab.
He was impressed and a little worried at her obvious combat prowess.
Continuing his spin, he twisted away and tried the grappling hook again. Aware of it, she easily leaped over it and scoffed at his attempt.
He shrugged, then reset his feet. She abruptly gave up her post at the door and charged him. She slid on her knees as he swung for her again. Looking up into his face, she thrust one dagger’s pommel into his left knee while the other fist came up to fling a purplish powder into his dumbfounded face.
Sputtering the dust from his mouth and lips, he stumbled, now blind. He was in dire straits now. He swung his sword in short swipes trying to keep her at bay stalling while his eyes cleared. He heard movement to his left, but it did not sound like an attack. A hard kick to his hand knocked the blade to the floor. He wanted to retreat but being blind, he had no idea where he would escape.
“Re tad Tass mia mo desc el?” She said but her words were incomprehensible.
His vision would not clear. Through a blur he could only make out some shapes and shadows. The metallic taste in his mouth scared him. Was he drugged, poisoned?
He heard her step forward and pick up his weapon from the floor. She intended on killing him with his own sword!
Having no choice, he clasped his hand on a silvery green medallion at his neck. He muttered the invoking command, “Pre’ema Delta Los!”
A hot flash of heat erupted from the magical charm. The small room bottled the spell’s effect and intensified the explosion. It rocked the assassin off her feet and threw her from the room back into the shady dining area. He heard her hit several chairs and the glass vase shatter in a thousand pieces across the floor.
Flames bloomed upon parts of the walls and doors. Smoke began to fill the chamber.
Her fuzzy shadow now wreathed in green flames streaked back across the chamber and into the kitchen. She was going to escape through the cellar as he had come in. He shook his head. It bothered him to let the assassin run, but he was still in no condition to stop her.
****
Standing again next to Rashae, he caught his breath. His vision had slowly adjusted to normal.
The fire inside was starting to intensify. The castle would be gutted within the hour. He hoped he had not missed any leads of import.
He opened his robe and rummaged in one hidden fold. Inside the tunic of the male assassin, he had found in a pocket a small leather journal. These two had already been ransacking the castle before his arrival.
Now he took time to examine it. On its cover of the book was the Cros’seau Family Crest. Inside were some written passages and dates. However, the majority of the book was blank.
Within one entry, he focused on a curious name. A young cousin Broenef mentioned that lived in Ramanon.
A Brielle Kess…
The Official Website of Author Derek Barton 