《Et Non Lucem》


 Chapter One-The Silent Stone

    Only the insistent drumming of raindrops falling against the ancient stone blocks could be heard in the darkness. Again and again they fell, crashing into the unwavering stone, only to be rebutted away with effortless ease. Yet still they came, in a desperate attempt to break through the molding stone. The storm was unyielding, relentless, fat tear-drops pounding away, as if the heavens themselves were crying, storming and raging in despair and agony at some unknown atrocity committed against them. And maybe they were.


    Inside the stone, there was life. One need not peer too deep, nor listen too hard to know this. The soft patter of tiny paws as rodents scurried from nook to cranny, searching for a morsel to eat could be heard all throughout the night, even through the storm. Still, that was not all that could be heard. The sounds of men, rowdy and uncontrollable as they amused themselves with their petty vices, gambling and drinking the night away could be heard echoing within the stone.


    The folk gathered in here were hardy, strong built, no doubt having been gathered from the roaming northern tribes, whether willingly or by force was anyone''s guess. These people were of a fair, almost ethereal complexion, with pale skin and light blonde hair dominating their features and their eyes spanning a spectrum much wider than your typical brown and black of the Empire, traits that many would have considered attractive if it weren¡¯t for their violent tendencies and fondness for the drink. These northern tribesmen were savages, barbarians with no culture, incapable of learning or reasoning. As such, it was only natural that the Empire take them in as protectorates, to teach and to protect these poor animals lest they continue to do themselves and others harm. Or at least, that is what most folk would tell you.


    Yet all was not as simple as the sight and sound of these inebriated men would have you believe. These were no wayward travelers and vagabonds, simple peasants and farmers seeking shelter from the rain, making merriment for merriments sake, having a night of reprieve before returning to their daily toil once more. This was something else. There was nothing worth celebrating in here. Never had been, and there never would be. These men would not be returning to their old lives, traveling and working, the menial labor that they had all hated so much. The hard work that they all missed so much. They would not be leaving this stone fortress anytime soon. Not tomorrow, not in a week, a month, not for years. Perhaps not ever.


    There were no lutes being strung inside the mess hall, the roaring fire and torches bracketed to the halls every few steps providing only a small amount of warmth and light. There were no jovial drunkards recounting their day¡¯s events, standing on stools and shouting out over the throng of people wanting just one more drink. Everyone here had lived the day together, and none had reason to want to relive it. Neither were there tales of great adventures, of glorious escapades from days past being told, for those had all been recounted over and again the first few months of their stay in this gods-forsaken stone in the middle of nowhere. No, these men were a serious kind, drinking and finding respite from their lives at the bottoms of their tankards, gambling and swearing in an attempt to forget themselves, to find some modicum of what they remembered life was like before they were sent here to rot.


    Still, the most obvious tell that these were no common folk was their wear. They were clothed in apparel that no commoner would have, especially not in the Empire. They were clad in armor, a ramshackle deal with flimsy scraps of leather clinging to their bodies, shoddy plates of dented metal or long-ago rusted chain mail, with ugly gashes running across the plates and chain links, testaments to past mistakes. Some of the men preferred to have blades strapped to their waists, pointy metal sticks made of crude iron, chipped and dull from negligence and misuse. Others still toted around large bludgeoning instruments, large wooden clubs made from light ash or oak, or perhaps even a large mace, heavy and unwieldy, forged from cast iron in some blacksmith far away from this place. Regardless the weapon, they all shared something in common. All these men had blood on their hands, and more often than not, it was not a warrior''s blood.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The ancient stone castle sat situated at the very fringes of the empire, with not a fragment of civilization for many leagues in any direction. This was a lonely place, hidden in a stretch of the Mortuum Est Saltus, the Dead Forest. Nobody knew what had happened to these woods, only that the forest had been found and recorded by the empire, and other civilizations before them, dead and blackened. The trees bore no leaves, no plants could grow, no animals could live, no life could exist. The center, strangely enough, was the castle. The only hint as to what had happened to this forest were the trace amounts of powerful magic that still lingered here, only nobody knew what kind of spellwork could have wrought such death, nor how long ago it had happened or who had done it.


    Alone in the stormy night, surrounded by a dead forest and secluded from the rest of civilization, this relic of a past civilization was the perfect place for keeping a secret. If anyone dared tread past the poorly armed warriors, the sputtering torches embroiled in their desperate and eternal struggle to keep the dark and cold at bay, deeper and deeper into the darkness of the cold, silent fortress, they would find a door. But this door was no ordinary door, for it was old. This door was as ancient as the stone that surrounded it from all sides, older than the empire itself. The door was made not of wood, or of iron, but of a strange metal, blacker than ink, forever cold to the touch. Black ice, it was called. Upon this black metal were runes, words of power etched onto its surface in a long dead magical language. They were seals. This door, this prison, for that was what it was, it had been created with a purpose. It had been constructed long ago, by a people long forgotten, for a single reason. To keep something in.


    And still the secrets of this ancient prison did not end there. If any fool of sufficient power, a power hungry archmage or a meddling sorcerer were to force entry into this prison, breaking the seals and descending down the withered and broken steps that led to the dungeon proper, they would find a site that no mortal was ever meant to see. The prison had not even a passing semblance to the holdings of man, to the Empire¡¯s sprawling networks of iron bars filled with screaming men and women, begging for mercy or pleading their innocence for crimes both petty and large, never to be granted either. Here, there was only silence. Here, there was only one room.


    A single room. A single hall led to this single room. 10 steps. That was what separated the bottom of the stairs and the door to this single room. The hall was made of the same black ice as the door descending into it. The door leading into the single room was as well. No light touched this place. No light could exist in this place. The biting cold that clung to this black metal would ensure any spark died before catching fire. Any glimmer of light, of hope, would be doused in darkness, and frozen by ice.


    Everything was covered in runes. There were seals and traps, illusion-breakers and detection charms, words of power that not even the brightest magi from the empire''s finest academies could uncover the purpose of. The hall was lined with them, hundreds of them. The door at the end was comprised of nothing but seals. Whoever had built this prison, they had poured every fiber of their magical prowess towards the goal of allowing nothing to escape from this damned place. One could only wonder what it had originally been built to contain, and what had happened to both the prison¡¯s builders, and whatever had been contained within the prison.


    Walk down the hall 10 steps, open the door, and do it all without dying. A simple enough task the the Empire failed to accomplish. 27 legionnaires died in the attempt to force entry, 8 magi during the attempt to break the spells, and a total of 51 legionnaires and 17 more magi when they triggered a devastating fire rune, the flames flooding up the steps and spilling through the halls and into the castle proper. The flames all died moments later, snuffed out by the unearthly cold that radiated from the black ice. The stones, strangely enough, did not scorch. All of this, however, the months of work, all the lives lost, the mages pushed to extremes, holding up wards to stave off the cold and turning off the magical traps and seals one by one, it all paid of in the end. When they finally opened that black door, they found inside of it the magical find of the century.


    Now, years later, inside that black door, there sat the tragedy of the century.

 Chapter Two-Distractions and Chance Encounters

    A warm breeze swept across the plains, bringing with it the start of Ver. It was almost harvest time, when the farmers of this land would take up their sickles and wage war on Terra to steal her living gold. The gilded fields of barley and oat swayed to the gentle tempo of the wind, nimble dancers ablaze with life, ready to meet their ends with naught but grace. This was the golden cradle of the Empire, a swath of land that stretched from horizon to horizon, perfect soil for farming, with no readily apparent reason for its existence. Many considered it a boon from the gods to the children of the Empire, while others still postulated and wondered how it had come to be.


    The cradle was home to a sprawling city, thousands upon thousands resided inside its towering stone walls, with many more living outside the walls, making their living harvesting the fields of oak and barley that gave the cradle its name. Inside the walls of Tal''Amin lay a sprawling network of streets, alleys and dead ends, a veritable maze that preyed upon the easily distracted, and most importantly, newcomers and visitors. The streets were purposely arrayed to funnel citizens toward the city center, and one of the largest markets in the Empire.


    It was in this overcrowded bazaar, with merchants peddling their wares and farmers selling their produce that a young girl found herself running through, feet pounding on cobbled stone as she turned one corner and then another, refusing to accept the simple fact that she was, in fact, lost


    With what may have been a muffled curse muttered under her breath, the young girl finally began to slow down, brushing away a lock of platinum hair that had fallen over her eye. ¡°Well, at least I made it out of the market,¡± She whispered to the empty alley she now found herself in, the din of hawking merchants still audible and causing her own voice not to be. She slowed to a walk now, beginning to catch her breath after her sprint through the city, ¡°but now I''m lost.¡± She finished mentally and with a sigh, realizing that she had no idea where her brother or father were, what part of the city she was in, or even what direction her home was in.


    A small smile now formed on her face, realizing that she was alone, and therefore, had nobody to tell her what she could and couldn''t do. She was free. Immediately, her mind began plotting, wondering how she could get herself out of this mess without needing her family to help her, and eventually settled on simply finding someone to ask for direction. She smiled now, continuing to walk down winding alleys deeper and deeper into the city, realizing that she now found herself in a position where she would be able to solve her problem herself, and that she was just like the hero of one of her story books, off on a quest to save the princess or slay the dragon, ready to return triumphant to her kingdom and be rewarded handsomely, to be forever remembered as a great champion of her people¡­ before exiting out onto a main city street and realizing that there was absolutely nobody around.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Hello?¡± She called out, her voice rebounding through the vacant streets and silent homes, utterly perplexed at how eerily empty this area of the city was. Putting her dreams of grandeur on hold for just a moment, she began pacing down the cobblestone path, her every footfall made up of equal parts determination to find anyone that could give her some simple directions, and trepidation as she couldn''t help but feel that something was wrong here.


    ¡°Why is an entire street so totally empty?¡± She thought to herself, continuing to walk through and occasionally crying out a few ¡°Hello¡¯s¡± and ¡°Anyone here''s?¡± Eventually she wandered up to one of the buildings, a simple single level home, made of stone and topped with a thatched roof. She walked up to it, a small raised fist coming up to rap on the scarred wood surface, only instead of standing before her knuckles as they hit the surface, the door gave ground, swinging inwards slightly and causing the light-haired girl to pause in surprise for a moment, a brief moment of hesitation as she wondered if she should truly be here, or if she should instead double back. But that was all it was, just as moment. ¡°If anyone''s inside, I''m coming in!¡± She yelled into the old building as she pushed the door open, ready to step inside when she suddenly heard a loud shout come from the end of the street.


    ¡°¡®Ey! You! Stop right there! Yer not spossed to be in ¡®ere!¡± Rang a thickly accented voice from behind her, and she quickly turned with a start, pleas of innocence already at her lips lest the guard who had caught her trespassing accuse her of theft, or worse. ¡°Sorry sir, I was just lost and was hoping that¡­¡± she began, attempting to explain herself in earnest before the man standing before her held up a gauntleted open hand, a symbol for silence.


    ¡°¡®S not my job to know why yer is here young miss, jus to make sher yus ain¡¯t.¡± spoke the guard, his large mustache quivering along with a thick accent and terrible drawl the girl had never heard before. ¡°Jus leave, go back to yer folk, an don come back ere.¡± Continued the guard, sounding and looking every bit like one of the many drawings of pompous, overly important men she always saw in her story books, with his exaggerated mustache and puffy clothing underneath shiny armour, with a golden badge resembling a roaring lion perched to his left breast, polished to the point that it practically glowed. This man was nothing but trouble, the girl thought, and decided it best she leave before he did to her what he no doubt had done to the people who had once lived on this street.


    ¡°Oh! Alright sir,¡± She began, a large smile springing to her lips, looking the very picture of an innocent and obedient little child as she tried to hide her mounting fear, ¡°i¡¯ll just be leaving back through there,¡± The girl stepped past him and pointed to where she had emerged from into this dead street, ¡°my father and three older brothers are just over there on business.¡± she finished, lying and hoping this monster wouldn¡¯t try anything for fear of retaliation from her non-existent three older brothers.


    ¡°Well little miss, you bes get goin¡± responded the old guard, looking thoroughly bored as he waved the bothersome little girl off and turned the other way to return to his patrol. The platinum haired girl resisted the urge to take off into a full sprint, and instead decided to leave at a brisk walk, hoping the man would not return and attack her from behind. After a few harrowing moments, she finally made it back to the alley that had led her here, and with one last look at the guard nonchalantly pacing around the quiet street, turned and broke into a sprint back toward the marketplace, wondering if her dad and brother would actually believe what had just happened to her.

 Chapter Three-Market Altercations

    ¡°What in Infernum¡¯s name do you mean you lost her? She was right next to you, how could you not know where she went?¡±


    ¡°Father, this is not my fault, you know how she is. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll turn up, let¡¯s just get back to the market and wait for her there.¡±


    After a brief pause, an older man with greying hairs nodded to a taller, lanky teen wearing the finer clothes of a successful farmer and merchant in the golden cradle, as they both turned to retrace their steps back to the Grand Bazaar at the city center.


    ¡°Where do you think she could have run off to anyways?¡± Began the teen, his sharp black eyes peering about for their quarry. ¡°I mean, she was right next to me, how does she always manage to run off like this?¡±


    The older man turned his head slightly to face the teen, also scanning about for the missing girl and responded. ¡°She takes after your mother, Marcus, she was always quite the explorer.¡± At this the man''s coal eyes turned distant, as if looking at something just behind where he should, before finishing his thought with an audible sigh. ¡°Mary would have known what to do with her, honestly, I try my hardest with the girl, but she never really seems to listen.¡±


    With that, the two then continued down the winding streets of Tal''Amin in a conformable silence, the teen known as Marcus having nothing to add to the older man''s words, and choosing to simply focus on searching for his trouble-prone sibling. Finding her wouldn''t take long.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Just as the two men walked back into the hustle and bustle of the main market center, a ruckus could be heard over the natural din as a crowd had gathered around one of the booths.


    ¡°I''ll bet you a silver that that''s her in there.¡± Spoke up Marcus with a look of practiced humor on his face, as if though this was a common occurrence, yet he still found it amusing nonetheless.


    The older man''s curt response of ¡°You¡¯d win.¡± was much less amused than the younger next to him as they both sped up into a steady jog toward the commotion. It took a few moments, but they managed to make it to the crowd and had begun pushing through, only for the crowd to part on its own, cheering as they parted to reveal a younger girl with platinum blonde hair being dragged along by a city guard in full plate, a red faced merchant standing nearby and looking all forms of smug, clutching an ornate platter to his chest as if it were his child.


    ¡°Pardon me sir, but would you mind telling me what just happened here?¡± Spoke up the senior, him and his son both stepping up to the guard as the crowd began to slowly disperse.


    It was the merchant who spoke, a large man who was surely accustomed to large meals, clearly never having done a day of hard labour a day in his life. ¡°You want to know what happened? I¡¯ll tell you what happened! This thief attempted to make off with one of my platters!¡± He shouted, gesturing to the girl still in the guards arms, struggling to break free.


    ¡°That''s a lie and you know it!¡± She retorted, ¡°I was just coming through when someone shoved me into into your booth!¡± Both the merchant and the younger girl were red in the face and staring daggers at this point, both no doubt just about ready to go to blows when the guard finally spoke up.


    ¡°Be that as it may, young miss, but you were caught with the platter in your arms, and it is nothing but your word against the merchants. I¡¯m afraid i¡¯m going to have to ask you the follow me to the local precinct to get this all sorted out,¡± he then turned towards Marcus and his father before continuing on ¡°and i¡¯m afraid i¡¯ll also be asking you two gentlemen to leave. This is none of your business.¡± He finished with sharp tone, no doubt ready and willing to use force to get them to leave if necessary.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid this is our business,¡± began the senior of the two, his face clearly betraying his mounting exasperation at recent events. ¡°You see, this happens to be my daughter, Avina.¡±

 Chapter Four-All too Easy

    The stone fortress stood tall and bright in the darkening night, men in chain lining the parapets of the mighty stone walls, rising high into the black sky. The men stood attentive, pacing to and fro across the walls with blazing torches in hands, many with strung bows slung across their backs, while others still cradling crossbows to their chests. All carried a blade sheathed to their waist. Out here in the calm, cool night air, all was quiet, nothing but the jingling of chain and the crackling of the torches could be heard.


    They were not alone.


    Unbeknownst to these men was the fact that they were being watched. No, not watched, studied. Perched in a thicket of sturdy oak trees towering above even the mighty human construct just a stone¡¯s throw away was a shadowed figure on a branch facing the fortress¡¯s left wall. The man had arrived with the dawn, the sun having preceded him by mere moments, and had been watching, observing the fortress, it¡¯s people, their pattern and mannerisms, their quirks and timings, all of their secrets.


    Waiting.


    Now, as the last creatures of the day scurried off into their lairs, seeking shelter from the predators of the night, as the crickets started up their simple tune, soon joined by the owls in the trees as they too joined the chorus of the night, the man rose from his crooked branch, from where the fortress below was nothing but a map and its guards nothing but ants, and he leaned forward, tipping ever so slowly into the darkness below, before being engulfed by the shadows.


    This particular fortress, unlike many of its ilk, had not been constructed on a hill, whether perhaps because the architect had been afraid of heights, maybe allergic to common sense, or simply a fool, nobody truly knew, only that the fortress sat in a clearing surrounded by woods on all sides, and that the space from the trees to the walls was nothing but grassy open plains, with not even a pebble to hide behind and use as cover. All in all, it served its purpose, it was a rather difficult place to walk into if you weren¡¯t welcome.


    On this night, the open plains were in utter turmoil, as the guards atop the walls continued their rounds, sending their torchlight down and making it dance, small patches of light moving here and there as the guards shuffled and turned, with everything else cast in absolute darkness. Typically, the chaos would have been enough to deter any unwanted visitors in the night, the dancing lights moving much to erratically and much too fast for any normal being to have a hope of making it through.


    The stranger from the trees made it halfway to the wall in mere heartbeats.


    He danced and swayed to the rhythm of the lights, moving where they had been and away from where they would be, never once touching where they were. Every chaos had some order to it, and every pattern could be repeated, no matter how intricate it may seem. In only a few more moments, the man was at the walls, with no guard the wiser at their spectacular failure.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    It was all too easy.


    The man had arrived exactly where he had planned, at the base of the wall just 5 meters below a window barred with iron bars, leading directly into the fortress proper. A minor obstacle. Without breaking pace, the stranger took a single leap up towards the window, padded leather gloves making contact with the iron bars, an inaudible whisper coming from a hooded face as effortlessly the bars were torn free of their holds, and thrown into the room within. The intruder then proceeded to slip through into the room himself, again whispering to himself as he did so.


    The room was unlit, yet the outlines of boxes and crates were unmistakable in the gloom, and as a gloved hand slid over one of the crates with effortless ease, the layer of dust covering them also became apparent. He had entered in a storage room that hadn¡¯t been used in a very long time.


    It was all too easy


    He slowly walked towards the door at the other end of the room, listening closely for anything that would betray the presence of human life on the other side of the door. Hearing nothing, the stranger began by slowly creaking the door open, before confirming the lack of  life in the hallway outside and swiftly slipping out of the room, softly closing the door behind himself.


    Now it was only a simple matter of reaching the top floor, as after all, where better for a king to live than the very top. This truly was all too easy.


    It took only minutes as the man stalked the deserted castle halls, a black specter silently creeping in the shadows. Patrolling night watchmen would pass through empty halls, swinging their fire-sticks about to beat the shadows away, only to find that nothing was there.


    On one instance, a poor lad no older than 17 with wispy strands of black hair framing his face chose to enter a dark room for a quick reprieve, knowing he wouldn¡¯t make it to the nearest latrines on the other side of the castle. The boy¡¯s body would be found a few days later, pants down and with a slit throat.


    Soon enough he arrived at the entrance to a spiral staircase located at the center of the fortress, placed at the end of an opulently decorated hall built of gleaming marble lined with gold molding as grand platinum chandeliers swung above the red velvet floor. The man smirked as he began ascending the steps.


    It was all too easy.


    Only a few steps up and he began hearing the voices, the distinct treble of a large man, likely one of the northerners royalty preferred as guards, a tradition installed by the previous Emperor. Six steps in and the chatters became clear enough to decipher words and phrases, two men arguing on whether an axe or a sword was the best weapon to use in a narrow hallway. Twenty-one steps in and the staircase was nearing its end, with no one to hear the soft rasp of blades sliding free from their sheaths. As the man finished his climb and turned the corner, the last thing the two northerners would ever see would be a pair of shimmering metallic objects flying towards them, and then darkness.


    So easy, far, far too easy¡­


    He was on the king¡¯s floor now, the royal suite. It was now a simple matter of walking down the hall and opening the blood-splattered door at the end, guarded now only by a pair of slumped corpses. Then he felt it. That sharp, electric feeling as all his hairs stood on end, that unnerving sense that something was profoundly wrong with the universe, that something was here that shouldn''t belong, something not of this world.


    It was magic.


    As he turned up to look, everything became clear. The rune was simple, a weak charm meant to disable a victim, not kill. Someone had informed the king of the Emperor''s plans, and a mage had set a trap, and he had fallen for it. After all, people rarely looked up, a human flaw he himself exploited to no end. All this and more passed through his mind as he fell with a smirk on his lips, all in the few heartbeats it took for the magic to overpower the meager barriers surrounding the assassin and, as his body collapsed upon the cold stone floor, his open eyes saw no more.

 Chapter Five-A Meeting With the Captain

    Towering far above the tiers of Tal''Amin was the second tallest construct in the Empire, behind only the Turris Magus, the crowning jewel and embodiment of all imperial magical advancement through the years. This construct was known as the Golden Spire, and was a monument to the vast wealth the golden cradle was home to, thus the spire¡¯s name. The spire itself was off limits to most people, reserved only for guests of importance, such as visiting archmagi or high ranking government officials, with a floor reserved for the Emperor himself.


    It was in the shadows of this gleaming edifice that the city castle stood, it¡¯s sheer curtain walls encircling the golden monument and protecting it from any who would dare defile such an architectural achievement. The Arcem Aestes, the Summer Citadel, was home to the cities officials, its governor, and the city¡¯s guard and private army. It truly was wonderful what money could buy.


    It was within the citadel¡¯s walls that all official city policing business was conducted, having multiple rooms for processing and investigating crime and criminals, along with a complex cell network underneath the constituted the cities dungeons. Any criminals and witnesses to crime that were apprehended or encountered either in the city or the surrounding farmland would be bought in for further questioning and made to wait in an appropriately titled waiting room.


    A waiting room was nothing fancy, a simple room built into the the side of the main castle itself, whose only purpose was, oddly enough, to provide a place for people to wait. Simple, yet comfortable, wooden benches lined the wall facing the adjacent interrogation room, directly to the left of the external entrance into the room. Inside the room were three doors, all three made of simple oak and mounted to wooden frames by rusted iron hinges, creaking something terrible whenever anyone so much as cracked them open.


    The first of the doors lead back out to the main court and to the city proper, this being the door the group had been ushered through into the room. The second lead into the interrogation room, where a pair of guards were currently taking the merchant¡¯s statement, while the third lead further into the citadel itself, also, strangely enough, being the only door with strange carvings in its otherwise well-maintained surface.


    It was in this room that Avina found herself sitting between her father and brother, the former being very much less than pleased at his daughter''s latest antics.


    ¡°What in Infernum happened out there Avina? We turn away for a few seconds, and you manage to completely disappear, only to wind up what, getting caught stealing something? I thought I raised you better than that!¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t stealing anything! Somebody just pushed me and I ended up falling onto that idiots cart, then his stupid platter started falling down and I caught it before it hit the floor and shattered! If anything, he should be thanking me, not pressing charges!¡±


    ¡°And now you''re lying to me. Really? What is this actually about Avina? Was there a little fairy on the platter that you had to rescue? Or wait, no, maybe¡­¡±


    The father was then interrupted by Marcus, throwing both him and Avina a hard stare as he spoke up for the first time since being brought into the citadel.


    ¡°The both of you need to stop. Father, is it too much to ask that you actually trust Avina? And Avy, seriously, you need to stop wandering about all the time. This time it was just a greedy merchant trying to frame you for theft, but the next time could be worse.¡±


    Before the conversation could go any further, however, they were interrupted by the loud whine of rusty hinges as a door was pushed open. They turned to look, not at the door leading into the interrogation room, but at the scarred door leading further into the castle just as a woman entered the room, a pair of large emerald eyes framed by curls of flaming red hair sweeping over the room as she continued forward, only to stop as a second door swung open with yet another piercing whine, revealing the merchant and the two guards.  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The woman came to a stop a few steps from the three men, allowing Avina to notice just how tall the woman was, as she stood there, towering over the men that had just exited the room by over a foot. She was clad in half-plate, with swirling marks and strange symbols that rather reminded Avina of the carvings on the door etched into the armour, which gleamed far too much to be made of actual steel. On her left plate was an emblem, a griffin of crimson and gold clutching a small ruby in its claw as it reared up, almost appearing as if it were ready to leap off the silver-steel and take flight.


    Attached at the woman''s right hip was a sheathed blade, a simple wooden hilt wrapped in fine leather crowned by a pommel of that same silvery-steel the woman''s armour was made of, on which was mounted a small blue sapphire. The guard curved upwards slightly at the ends, made of silver-steel and with another sapphire mounted in its center. The blades scabbard was a deep midnight blue, covered in a latticework of what seemed to be veins of ice running across its surface.


    The woman then spoke, her voice a low, icy whisper, as if raising her voice to address the members of the room was beneath her ¡°The girl is innocent. The merchant has an accomplice in attempted fraud. Deal with the situation.¡± She then turned her piercing stare to Avina, and simply stated ¡°Follow me.¡±, before walking into the interrogation room.


    Avina herself simply stared, trying and failing to comprehend what had just happened when one of the guards spoke up. ¡°You best follow her in, girl. It¡¯s never wise to keep the captain waiting.¡± With that, both guards turned and walked into the keep, the loud, whining hinges not quite drowning out the merchants indignant sputters of ¡°She¡¯s lying!¡± and ¡°I demand proof!¡±.


    As the door shut behind the screeching merchant, Avina turned to look at her father and brother, simply shrugged and said ¡°I guess i¡¯ll be back in bit¡­¡±, her voice trailing away as she walked into the interrogation room, not waiting for a response. As soon as the door had shut behind her, the woman once again spoke up, her tone laced with less ice than before, yet still in that same quiet, deadly whisper.


    ¡°Sit.¡± She said simply, her large emerald eyes, Avina noticed with some trepidation, appeared to be glowing in the dimly lit room. A single torch served to illuminate the stone room, the flames dancing faintly as Avina moved to sit at a simple wooden table, resting on a wooden chair that was noticeably less comfortable than those in the waiting room had been. Sitting directly across from her was the woman, her luminescent emerald-green orbs staring at her, unblinking, and she appeared almost dead in her stillness.


    Finally, after what had felt like a lifetime to Avina, the woman stirred and spoke again, this time her voice was considerably warmer, no longer was frigid ice lining her every syllable. ¡°Tell me, what is your name?¡± The question was not, in fact, a question at all, but a command, one that Avina hastened to obey.


    ¡°Avina.¡±


    The woman simply stared, blinked once, then sighed before fixing Avina with a look that could best be described as disappointment. ¡°I suppose it is rather unfair of me to hope you would understand how this works. Very well then, allow me to explain. I am interrogating you, and you will fill your every answer with as much information as you can, and all that information shall be nothing but the truth. Am I understood? Good.¡± Then without waiting for a response, the women simply repeated the question.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Now many things can be said of young teenagers such as Avina, that they are stubborn, rebellious, of how they believe themselves to know better, of their naivety, and many things besides. What can''t be said, however, is that they are suicidal, and in this moment, Avina learned the definition of self preservation. As she sat in her not-so-comfortable chair in the dimly lit room and looked into those glowing green eyes, listening to that frigid voice, she realized something else, and that was that she had yet to answer the question.


    ¡°A-Avina Aurelia, madam.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. Now Avina, did you, or did you not, steal that platter?¡±


    ¡°No. Someone pushed me into his cart, I was just catching his stupid platter!¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± By now, the woman¡¯s voice had mellowed out considerably, but her eyes still pinned Avina to her seat, her gaze sharp and her eyelids rarely closing.


    ¡°Wait, good? That¡¯s it? I-I mean, I''ve never been interrogated before, so obviously I don''t really know how this works, but shouldn''t you have some proof? N-not that i¡¯m complaining, mind you, but why just blindly believe me?¡±


    ¡°Trust me, this is not blind. I know that the merchant was lying, just as I know you are telling the truth. People¡¯s bodies often tell a story that they refuse to tell with their words. I can read people the same way I would a book.¡±


    The woman then leaned forward, resting her chin on polished gauntlets as she spoke, voice full of intent. ¡°Now then, I want you to tell me about your day. Start from the moment you arrived in the city, skip over no detail, and do not embellish.¡±


    At this, Avina¡¯s curiosity was piqued, so naturally, she asked one simple question, a simple one word question. If she had known what the response would entail, if only she had known that life as she knew it would end at that moment, she may not have asked. Or perhaps she would have hastened to ask all the more, for truly the minds of humans are not as simple to understand as many think. However, she did ask, and the woman did respond, and her fate was sealed.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°There is a monster loose in this city, and you are going to help me get rid of it.¡±

 Chapter Six-Ready or Not, Here I Come

    The stranger awoke to darkness, to the moans of the damned and to the stench of the broken, the unholy pits of despair mankind was famous for across the continent, the place where lives went to rot and die.


    He was in a dungeon. Again.


    Suppressing a sigh he sat up, taking stock of all he could, the tiny cell made from moldy stone slabs he had been placed in, the fact that he¡¯d been striped of all his gear, beng left entirely nude save for his undergarments, the lit torch that was dimly flickering just behind the iron bars and the partly rusted iron chain around his left wrist that was attached to his rancid, disease ridden cot.


    Outside his cell there was no guard.


    There was no guard, and only a single flimsy shackle with no visible runes of power engraved on its surface, nor were there any runes anywhere else that he could see in his cell. All this information and more rapidly processed through his mind, as probabilities were calculated, plans and contingencies were created and everything was triple checked for mistakes as he stood up from his cot with a groan, joints popping as he stretched out, rolling his shoulders back, before finally standing still once again.


    The conclusion was fairly simple. Someone had tipped off the king about an attempted assassination attempt, and his mage had set a trap to incapacitate the would-be assassin, no doubt to coerce the agent into revealing information about his employer. Unfortunately for the king, he had miscalculated two very important things. One, he had assumed a normal human would come for his head. Second, he had assumed a simple shackle and some iron bars would hold him.


    He would pay dearly for these assumptions.


    The man hooked a single finger under his manacle, lifting up, and with a deafening cry the iron began to warp, twisting and becoming deformed as it bent out of shape, until with a resounding crack it broke, clattering to the ground. Similarly the metal bars to the cell screamed in futile protest as they were effortlessly bent apart, and the man stepped out into a hall. To his left ran a hallway further into the dungeon, steps leading to places still unknown. To the right there was a plain wooden door, reinforced with iron studs and mounted into the old stone walls that comprised the castle.


    There was also a very alarmed guard.


    Now, King Bran was a good king, a kind man who looked after his subjects and always treated his men well. His guards and soldiers were loyal, well trained, well geared. Unfortunately for the good king, there was only so far a man stuck on dungeon duty would be willing to do for his liege before the situation fell firmly into the ¡°not my job category,¡± and mostly nude prisoners bending iron bars and casually striding towards him while whistling a merry tune most certainly fell into said category. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°H-h-halt, wh¡­¡± the guard stuttered out, only to be cut short as the man strolling up to him held up a hand, requesting his silence. A request he was more than willing to oblige. Dealing people who could bend iron bars was most certainly not in his job description.


    The man continued his merry tune and leisurely stroll, and the guard had a chance to look him over, noting only that there was nothing to note. Before him was truly the most average man he had ever seen. He had the black eyes and hair of most imperials, himself included. His body was well muscled, yet retained a compact form, more muscle tone and a whip-like strength than the bulging muscles more prevalent on true warriors and soldiers. His face was equally unassuming, just a man in his mid 20¡¯s, and as he continued his approach he noticed his height was just short of his own 5 feet and 11 inches.


    At last the man came to a stop, his merry whistle ending along with his final footstep, placing him within an arm¡¯s reach of the trembling guard. Then he spoke, his voice clear and commanding, a deep and rich voice that carried with it the kind of authority most nobles could only dream of.


    ¡°Hello, good sir. Could I trouble you for some help? It appears i¡¯ve woken without any of my clothes, and there¡¯s a rather terrible draft down here. If you could simply point me in the direction of your armoury, or better yet, where my own equipment is being held, I would own you a debt of gratitude.¡± The man spoke with a pleasant smile on his face the entire time, seemingly paying no mind to the continued screaming and crying all around him, nor the fact that he was, technically speaking, an escaped prisoner facing down the guard in charge of making him a former escaped prisoner.


    ¡°A-a-ah, y-yes, w-well, u-um¡± began the guard once again, stuttering out the beginnings to a response, his mind failing to understand anything other than the fact that whoever this man in front of him was had bent the iron bars of his cell, had casually strolled up to him while whistling, and had asked for help finding clothes.


    ¡°Ah, come on lad, spit it out,¡± replied the unassuming man, his small smile still on his face, ¡°I promise I won¡¯t bite. Ah, but where are my manners, here I am beseeching you for favours, and you don¡¯t even know who I am! Now I have many names, but you can just call me Linus.¡±


    The guard simply nodded, and with a tremendous force of will swallowed down his nerves and forces himself to form a full coherent sentence. After all, the man seemed nice enough, maybe if he played along he wouldn¡¯t have his neck snapped like a twig?


    ¡°My name¡¯s, uh, Jordan, sir, Linus, um, guard to his royal majesty king Bran. Uh, armoury, right, uh, I dunno where your clothes are at, but just through this door is one of the armouries, it¡¯s usually full of guards, so I dunno about just walking up.¡±


    Linus smiled a little bit more now, seeming to nod to himself once, as if confirming something or other, before taking a step forward and putting his right arm on Jordan¡¯s left shoulder, much to the guard¡¯s discomfort if his startled jump was anything to go bye.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Jordan,¡± Linus said, his smile still plastered on his face, ¡°Now, I think i¡¯ll take it from here. Goodbye.¡± And with that, the now dead guard¡¯s body slumped to the ground, a horrible crack having echoed throughout the dungeon, intermixing with the ever present cacophony, the body¡¯s neck bent in a truly unnatural way.


    There was not even the slightest hint of surprise on the lifeless face, there had been no reaction at all, in fact. It seemed Jordan simply hadn¡¯t realized his life had ended.


    And with the, the still smiling and now once again humming man bent down and unsheathed the dead guard¡¯s sword, wondering why the man in question hadn¡¯t bothered to bring it to bear himself, before dismissing it as an idle and ultimately useless question. He looked back up at the wooded and iron door, and softly sang out a sentence, a warning.


    A promise.


    ¡°Ready or not, here I come.¡±

 Chapter Seven-Running out of time

    A perfect blue sky marked the start of a new day in the Imperium Draconis, the Dragon Empire. The massive empire¡¯s territory stretched far and wide for thousands of miles, from the rocky cliffs and warm beaches of the western coast of Alderia, to the easternmost portions of the empire, covered in forests and mountains, surrounded on all sides by independent human kingdoms. From the far frozen north inhabited only by giants, beasts and the northern tribes, far down to do endless sandy hills of the and scorching plains of the howling desert. It was a vast territory, and one ruled efficiently, and at times ruthlessly, by one man.


    Emperor Justinian Dreki.


    The emperor was the first born son and sole inheritor to the Noble family Dreki, a bloodline that could trace its roots back to that of the dragon¡¯s, if their claims were to be believed. As to the logistics involved in intermixing human blood with dragon blood, nobody truly knows, only that the Dreki where indeed something less than human. All members of the noble family, tracing back for centuries had a very distinct mark.


    Their eyes.


    In place of normal pupils, all descendents of the Dreki bloodline had the same eyes. Golden orbs like fire, molten and seemingly alive in their fury, with onyx slits blacker than the darkest nights splitting them down their centers like some terrible chasm, and endless void of nothing surrounded by fire. The eyes of a dragon.


    Emperor Justinian had been a young man once, strong, his presence equal parts awe-inspiring and terrifying, but his days of glorious combat were long gone. Where once had been a proud warrior stood a wizened man, brown hair having faded to grey and now to white, his muscles atrophied beyond practical use. Yet what had not been lost to time, in all 256 years of his existence, was the feverous fire with which his eyes burned. Even know, as he gazed across his city, across the rolling waves of rooftops, down the dizzying maze-like appearance of the hundreds, no, thousands of streets that comprised Ur-Droman-Alfim, gazing at the majesty of the Turrus Magus.


    Now mankind has accomplished many things in their short time on Alderia; they tamed the horse, they invented the wheel, they bound magic to their will, they chopped forests and built cities and roads and conquered the land, but of all their grand accomplishments, the endless spire of the Turrus Magus was the grandest of them all. The tower was made of pure enchanted porcelain, engraved with golden runes of power, some flowing freely as if water running down the towers sides, while others still where jagged, intense and powerful with no grace, no strategy, simple runes created for a simple purpose. In the early dawn light the tower lit up like a beacon, it¡¯s runes bathing the city in a golden light that put even the still rising sun to shame.


    Without a doubt, man had accomplished no greater feet than an enchanted spire that could outshine the sun itself.


    It was in this early morning glow, with blue sky, the rising sun and the soft enchanted glow of the Turrus Magus, that Emperor Justinian Dreki found himself admiring all that he ruled, not for the first time thanking whatever god may have been listening to him. He stood with his arms leaning on the molded silver railing of one of the imperial palaces many balconies, surrounded only by the early sounds of life echoing from the city below.


    It was then that his quiet was shattered as the oak door behind him opened, a legionary marching onto the silent balcony, under the watchful eyes of two royal guards.


    The legionary was adorned in the same style as most others, covered from neck to toe in steel and padded cloth and leather, the front of his neck was covered in a jointed gorget that offered sufficient protection from any glancing blows aimed at the throat, while still allowing enough movement to maintain situational awareness on a battlefield. His body was encased completely in an singular steel cuirass, with an extended separate plate hanging down and covering his crotch area. Sleek, angled pauldrons adorned his shoulders, meant to deflect blows rather than stop them, while also providing a minimum of impedance to a legionaries movements. Down arms was a layer of cured and hardened leather, riveted together with steel studs, covered by steel gauntlets that protruded a round plate towards the soldier, elevating off his body and curving outwards, providing a barrier for the elbow crease that did not impede the use of the elbow. The elbow itself had an additional plate mounted to it, small but thick, steeply angled to ease in the deflection of blows. Running down his legs was a set of plated greaves, with much the same design as the gauntlets, a small yet thick and steeply angled plate over his knees, and a protruding plate extending outwards and over the back of the knee. The ensemble was completed with shin guards and heavy plate boots weighted and reinforced at the tips to both provide additional protection, and lend an additional strength to kicking attacks, with protruding plates covering the ankles.


    It was a suit of armour fit for the most elite of knights in other kingdoms, a tested and perfected design created by the Empires artificers, and yet, the countless legions of the Empire all had access to this armour, a testament to their wealth and industry.


    The Royal guards were adorned in a similar armour set, the only differences being that their own was comprised of enchanted runic plate, flowing symbols of an eldritch language pulsed with their every movement, and that they still had blades sheathed at their sides with their full-plate helms resting atop their hilts. No visitor to the Imperial Palace could were a full plate helm, or draw weapons, and the guards were mandated to not cover their faces unless faced with an intruder. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The legionary who had approached Emperor Justinian gave a crisp salute, and simply waited as the emperor slowly turned to face him. Justinian had been a great warrior, and later a general, long before he had become a politician. He did not abide by the silly tradition of kneeling, much preferring his subject to salute if they had to show some respect, and preferring they simply got to the point and didn¡¯t waste his or their own time with meaningless posturing and inane drivel.


    ¡°Legionary Marcus of the thirteenth imperial legion, my liege!¡± Came the introduction, the man¡¯s voice clear and loud, as he continued on with his message.


    ¡°The legion has arrived at Fort Brast, and have finished conducting their investigation. I¡¯m to be their telepathic medium, i¡¯ll relay all the information I can see, and everything i¡¯m told about the situation. We begin by your command, my lord.¡±


    Emperor Justinian nodded, and legionary Marcus proceeded to lower his salute and close his eyes, connecting his vision to that of a mind mage attached to the thirteenth legion currently on site at Fort Brast, where an imperial spy had claimed King Bran was to be staying for a short while.


    ¡°There¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s bodies everywhere. By the gods¡­¡± began Marcus, his pallor dropping to a near white tone, as he took a deep breath and composed himself. ¡°Captain Tarsus claims every man is dead, they¡¯re all¡­ there¡¯s heads cut off, arms and legs severed, blades slit¡­ everyone had been butchered. What¡­¡± Once again Marcus stopped. His breath was coming in fast and haggard now, as a weak telepath his main purpose was to stay behind in cities and relay information gathered by the legion, essentially acting as a phone that could not makes calls, only receive them. Because of this, he had never been exposed to the true brutalities of war, and was rapidly losing his composure.


    A voice spoke up then, it was neither quiet nor silent, it was a simple voice, older and mature with time. It spoke neither too slow nor too fast, and each syllable was enunciated to perfection.


    ¡°Enough, legionary Marcus. I do not care for the details of the guards. I only wish to know whether King Bran and his magus are confirmed dead.¡± Said Emperor Justinian.


    Marcus took a single breath, composed himself, and nodded, relaying the message to the mind mage he had been connected to, and received the answer. ¡°King Bran was found in his bedchamber, throat slit, no sign of a struggle. The magus¡¯ body is nowhere to be find, my lord, it appears he escape, but rangers have been sent out to track him down.¡±


    Justinian nodded, once, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and dismissed marcus from his presence, turning back to the balcony railing and leaning on it once again, watching as the sun crept higher into the sky and the Turrus Magus¡¯ light finally began to be outshone. He stood this way for only a minute, perhaps a bit less, already knowing what would happen next, what would show up next.


    It was watching, he knew it, for it was always watching when a report was made, and it always let him know.


    ¡°My my, it seems i¡¯m famous, aren¡¯t I?¡± came the voice from behind him, and he as he turned he saw that plain, unremarkable face, and suppressed a shudder.


    ¡°Linus.¡± Greeted Emperor Justinian, opting to simply wait and see what the thing would do.


    ¡°Tch, well, with a greeting like that i¡¯m beginning to think you don¡¯t like me very much Justinian. Oh well, I suppose I can¡¯t have everything, now can I?¡± As Linus spoke, he began to slowly circle around the emperor, moving behind him and to the spot at the balcony that Justinian had just occupied as he remarked ¡°It really is pretty out here. Especially love that Turrus you guys built, fun little thing, isn¡¯t it? I could just get lost in all those runes for days on end and still not finish solving them all.¡± He sighed then, a dramatic, over exaggerated sigh, before finishing his circle and turning to face the Emperor again.


    ¡°Well, I suppose it¡¯s time for some business, old man. I did what you asked, now it¡¯s your turn. I expect my reward within the week.¡± Lunis said, a small, pleasant smile now resting on his face.


    ¡°Of course, Linus. On the matter of business, there is another task I would like your assistance with. Of course, you will be rewarded quite handsomely if you accept. A small matter has arisen in Tal¡¯Amin-¡±


    Justinian¡¯s speech was then cut short as Linus said ¡°Yes, yes, a street went missing, Titiana still hasn¡¯t made any progress, it¡¯s all a wonderful little mystery. I¡¯ll be more than happy to deal with it for you, all you have to do is pay up. Now, if that¡¯s all i¡¯ll be taking my leave now.¡±


    ¡°Wait, there¡¯s one more thing,¡± Said Emperor Justinian, his impassive face breaking into something that could be best described as curiosity. ¡°The magus assigned to King Bran, he wasn¡¯t found at the fort, but you aren¡¯t one to leave witnesses. Where is he?¡±


    At this, Linus¡¯ eyes almost seemed to sparkle, the black pupils dilating as his plastered smile stretched unnaturally across his face, but it never reached his eyes.


    ¡°Oh, him. Ah, he caused quite a bit of trouble, you see. Seems he had been expecting someone, so I figured, maybe he would talk if a brought him to you. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find the little gift I left for you somewhere in the palace. Now then, i¡¯m afraid i¡¯ll be taking my leave know. After all, Tel¡¯Amin is quite far, there¡¯s no telling what horrible depravities could be taking place there as we speak.¡±


    And with that, Linus walked around Emperor Justinian, over the railing, and disappeared from sight, yet even his plummmet could not match the sinking feeling left in Justinian¡¯s stomach as he walked back inside his palace, approaching his room and turning the golden handle to swing open the thick enchanted mahogany door, paying no heed to the pair of royal guards that flanked either side of the entrance.


    And surely enough, sprawled out on his bed, entirely nude, was a struggling man bound with his arms above his head and tied to the headpost, legs spread out tied to the ends of the large bed, and resting atop him was a glistening human heart, with blood running down the screaming magus¡¯ sides and drenching into the opulent quilts if the emperor¡¯s bed. On that heart were carved the words


    ¡°To: Emperor Justinian Dreki


    From: Linus¡±


    ¡°Gods save us all,¡± Thought Emperor Justinian as he stared at the twisted site before him, even as his guards rushed in screaming and ushering him from his bedchamber, ¡°I¡¯ve created a monster, and i¡¯m running out of time¡±