Crossing Forbidden Lines (Guardian Series Book 2)

by J. W. Baccaro

  “I do,” Darshun answered, recalling the torment Talvenya interjected into his soul not very long ago, accompanied by the thought of being the only Nasharin left—before meeting Kaylis of course—a most dreadful, depressing feeling. “The punishment is worse than death.”

  “Indeed, boy. If I did not believe the promise of a family I would have chosen death long ago.”

  “You seem wise for a Troll, unlike the stories I have heard. But I’m telling you, if you wish to live, turn around and walk away. I promise to take you with me when I break out of here. Otherwise, your kind shall be extinct today…and by my hand.”

  Revealing his yellow-white slimy teeth by way of a grin, the Troll answered, “No. I’m going to do what I have been commanded, boy. Break every bone in your body and hold you up to that pretty Elf over there watching from the cage.”

  “So be it,” Darshun said releasing a long sorrowful sigh.

  Towering over him, the Forest Troll swung the heavy-chained flail at an arc.

  Darshun ducked, and then quickly moved aside as another attack launched his way; this time the ball struck the ground, the metal spikes driving into the dirt.

  The Troll grumbled and brought it back up, swinging it around and around until finally lunging forward, bringing the flail straight down.

  Darshun managed again to sidestep the blow.

  “If we were in my element you would not be dodging so easily!” the Troll growled, ripping the flail from the ground. “Either fight or stand still!”

  With a saddened look Darshun answered, “So be it.” A slight red glow began to form over his body, astonishing many because he was not supposed to be able to transform. But the glow is all that happened, nothing further, nothing more…it wasn't unheard of for common warriors unleashing a type of glow, knowing how to manifest their energy. Still, it seemed—odd.

  The Troll raised its flail once more about to strike from an arc.

  Then, like predator to prey, Darshun suddenly leapt high, unleashing a powerful swing of the sword, shifting the very air, creating a mighty wind. He swiftly sliced the Troll in half, beginning at the skull and out through the groin.

  The body split in half, releasing what must have been gallons and gallons of dark red blood and a few bits of squishy organs probably pieces of brain matter, heart, intestines and stomach.

  “I am—sorry,” he whispered as his opponent’s severed corpse lay at his feet. Darshun remembered his Uncle Seth one time speaking about how certain creatures were never meant to exist, how it seemed proper to slay them and such a thing wasn’t on the same level as murder. Cullach and Draconians perhaps, for he’d had yet to encounter one with an unadulterated heart—but Trolls? The majority of stories shared around fires in the night repetitively preach their wickedness of how they belong solely on the side of the Dark. Not all stories are told with absolute knowledge of the truth.

  “This creature—was not all that bad. He only wanted to repopulate his kind, start another family that the Prince took away—all because they chose not to worship the filth of Asgoth.” Darshun also wondered what this creature might truly be capable of if they were fighting in the forest, as the Troll had called it his ‘element.’ Now he would never know, except maybe in tales—again probably making Trolls out to be gruesome. It didn't seem fair.

  “He was deceived and used for mere entertainment,” Darshun spoke loudly. “What choice did he have anyway? Now he is dead, an entire breed of Trolls gone, by my hand—extinct. It should not have happened this way.” He clenched his fists tightly, greatly expanding his muscles and a spider web of veins. He looked up toward the High Wizard and Prince, shouting, “Is this all you spineless cowards can offer!! Come forth, Prince of fools. Let me decimate you before all to see. Then, I will take on the false Wizard seated at your left side. You call yourselves warriors? Come down here and prove it!”

  The crowd fell bewildered at the ‘blasphemy.’

  Prince Sicarius stood up in haste. “How dare he! A Nasharin, mocking my royal name? That cannot be. He mustn’t be allowed to live.”

  “Settle down Sicarius,” Levieth spoke, his face remaining expressionless. “He is merely trying to provoke you to fight.”

  “Yesss, and fight him I shall!”

  “I would not advise it.”

  Sicarius looked to him, his dark eyebrows raised. “Are you forgetting I am the former champion of the Arena?”

  “With the desolation you brought, how could I forget? Though, you are the heir to your father’s throne in the world to come. Do not provoke fate.”

  “Are you claiming I cannot beat that filth?” he scolded, glancing down at Darshun.

  “Watch yourself, Prince.”

  With the warning from the High Wizard, he seemed to realize his manner of speech and quickly settled his temper, at least against one whose power ascended the horizons. “Levieth, if it is because of how he destroyed the Six Champions and the Troll that has you worried, understand I could have obliterated those weaklings just as easily. You ought to know that my father and mother, the mightiest spell casters in the world have trained me. Besides, according to my mother that Nasharin cannot transform, not that it would matter anyhow. Nevertheless, his chances of winning are well—he has no chances! None! Fear not, I will humiliate him, then destroy him.”

  “Talvenya wishes the boy alive.”

  “I don’t care what my mother wishes. She won’t harm me. In fact, she’ll thank me for what I am going to do to him.”

  With a frenzied fervor, the crowd started shouting him name, “Sicarius! Sicarius! Sicarius!”

  “See?” the Prince asked raising his arms high to appease the chanters. “They are calling for me. I mustn’t disappoint them.”

  “As you wish.” Levieth nodded, watching him as he abandoned the balcony. The High Wizard then stood up and stepped toward the edge, setting one hand on the railing of the barrier gate, the other holding his staff. He looked down at Darshun and for a moment the Nasharin stared back, almost—edging him on to also come forward and fight. “Either, that boy is most deficient in wisdom, or he’s cloaking his power.”

  Prince Sicarius prepared himself for battle putting on a knee-length coat of mail, a thick leather belt holding two finely polished black sticks, the tips of them bearing two images. One of his father, the other his mother, both having incredible artistic detail. He painted black markings upon his face as if he were riding into war; took up his sword aligned with beautiful gemstones of emerald, diamond, amethyst, rubies and sapphire down its center. He then entered the arena. The crowd cheered him on as he approached Darshun, his shiny silky orange-red hair whipping in a gust of wind. He looked handsome, definitely Talvenya's heir nearly every feature shining with beauty. But his eyes, those deep illusive emerald eyes vomited almost a pure evil…just like the Queen's, bent on selfish desire, thriving on the pain of others.

  ~~***~~

  “I hope you are more of a challenge than the others,” Darshun muttered.

  Approaching the Nasharin, the sound of the Prince’s footsteps crunching over the dirt, he responded, “Those weaklings knew not power.” His tone seemed ripe with darkness, his lips forming a most seducing smile. “And soon you will see…neither do you.” He stopped, standing about six feet from his opponent. “Darshun, is it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I take it I need no introduction, but let me just say I am the former undefeated champion of this arena.”

  “Until today.” Darshun smiled.

  Glancing aside with a grin of haughty laughter, Sicarius responded, “You really are a piece of work, I give you that. The mockery you display is unheard of in Asgoth.” He looked to him, his eyes flashing an eerie green. “Shortly, you will learn how powerful I am, and then—just how foolish your manner of speech is. I will not toy with you as my mother did, Nasharin!” The Prince drew his sword and attacked immediately, in almost a frenzy of rage.

  He seemed much faster than any of the Six Ch
ampions and Darshun struggled to block fifty swings, and a hundred thrusts. There were times when he almost caught a fatality, dodging a long arching slash to the throat or a quick strike to the heart. Yes, Prince Sicarius fought excellently, no doubt trained by Talvenya, probably the King as well.

  Darshun went on the offensive but Sicarius countered his blows with hard clashes then twirled Darshun’s sword out of his hands and thrust forward his shield striking Darshun in his face, fiercely knocking him to the ground.

  The crowd roared in excitement.

  “Did you like that?” the Prince asked standing above Darshun, his lips curved high, his expression full of ecstasy.

  Darshun rolled backward then jumped up, blood trickling from his lip. “Well, I must admit, you’re not as weak as I thought,” he said, brushing the dirt off his torn breeches. “But in comparison to me, you are still very weak.”

  “How—dare you insult my talents!” he screamed, eyes widened. “Even now you have the nerve to mock me? I am the Prince of Asgoth and nobody talks to me that way. Nobody!”

  “You are a Prince of fools, and of cruelty. You thrive on the pain of others. You force others to do your will for selfish desires. There is no reason to involve outside creatures for these silly little games, promising them lies and deceit, taking away their freedom—and their families.”

  “You mean like that Forest Troll? Is that what springs your mockery, your anger… a mere feeble Troll? Ha!” He laughed hysterically, tossing back his orange-red hair. “My mother was right about you, Darshun. You are far too passionate toward other creatures. That makes you weak.”

  “My passion for what’s right is what has pushed me forward, made me the warrior I am. Listen to your heart and it will tell you the truth, be it there is any truth left in a soul of rotting vile.”

  “Enough of this nonsense! I did not come down here for a speech. I came to destroy you. You are a Nasharin right? As I understand Nasharins love power and strength, they frenzy after it, so to speak. So then, how about I show you mine? It’ll save me time anyway. I have much more important matters to attend to, rather than stare at you all day.” He unattached the two black sticks from his belt and touched the flat ends together. The images of his parents on the opposite sides came alive with light: his father’s red, his mother’s purple. The sticks instantly forged together creating one massive staff. He raised the staff into the air, holding it long-sided and parallel to the ground. Out of each image shot beams of energy meeting in the sky, swirling and fusing together.

  A cloud of reddish-purple formed while an unnatural thunder cracked. All within the bleachers covered their ears.

  “My mother is a Goddess, my father is a God,” Sicarius shouted over the unnatural winds, the strength blowing Darshun back a good hundred feet. “Both their powers in addition to my own are intertwined within the haunting cloud overshadowing us, a sign of our lordship and divinity, to install fear to all who oppose Asgoth. Hundreds have met their fate under this storm, towns and cities. Now you, a Nasharin, shall also join the protesters…by way of ashes!” He thrust forward the staff and the cloud descended upon Darshun, causing an explosion just as the mist touched the ground.

  “Darshun!” Kaylis screamed.”

  “Fear not,” Kelarin assured him. “He is fine.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Before that attack hit, his form changed.”

  “You mean he—transformed?”

  She nodded.

  “I couldn’t see it.”

  “Few did, except the High Wizard maybe. The change was faster than the common eye.”

  “But you saw it?”

  “Yes.”

  Kaylis looked at the burning fire where Darshun had been standing. It seemed difficult to imagine he could still be alive within those flames, even in Transformation. Clearly, did it seem he met his fate by the Prince’s attack.

  Kelarin, on the other hand, looked as if she knew differently.

  Prince Sicarius smiled victoriously. “Seems I’ll have to borrow some more magic from mother and father to refill my Destructive Staff. Though, mother warned me not to be so foolish with her ‘gift’ of energy as to use it on a solitary opponent rather than a village. No matter, it was worth it to see that Nasharin’s face before I incinerated him. Ha! I may even gather up his ashes to deliver them into mother’s palms. Let her blow them away in the Azriel River. Yes, let the Angel of Death take him. He lost his way in this life. I’d hate to know he got lost in the next.”

  Then something occurred to Sicarius—the scorching fire, the blistering flames still burning like material being consumed. Only—there seemed to be nothing there to burn, just ground. Perhaps Darshun hadn’t been reduced to ash as the Prince thought? Maybe a smoldering skeleton and the flames feasting on that? His bones after all were Nasharin, not Human. Though, even then it would not cause such a fire to continuously scorch, nor elevate so high.

  Something wasn’t right. “What is this? Has my magic gone trickery?” He cast forth a spell of extinguish, a spell he commonly used in the past to make pathways through burning infernos. However, this time nothing happened. “Why do the flames not die?” he wondered, sweat dripping down his brow.

  Then inexplicably, two eyes glowing like a couple of hot red coals glared at him through the flames. There was a roar…a shaking of the ground and the fire took shape around the figure with the piercing eyes, changing over to dark-red the flames burning around him as an aura.

  It was Darshun; the crowd screamed in horror. Even the High Wizard stood up in haste. It became clear this inferno wasn’t a result from Sicarius’ attack at all. Instead, it’d been Darshun. The Prince’s attack did nothing, went out prior to the explosion from Darshun’s Transformation—the Transformation that caused the explosion.

  “There is just—no possibility!” Sicarius gasped, taking a few steps back, nearly stumbling over.

  “Is that all the power you hold?” Darshun asked, his voice clear and confident, his long fiery hair swaying. “Here, let me show you the true power of a Nasharin, the warrior race every creature fears by name.” Darshun lifted his arms high and throughout the air red sparks appeared, scattering chaotically followed by red wave-like energies.

  Sections of the battlegrounds broke apart too, churning up bits of rock. The pieces themselves levitated into the air, mixing with the other strange activity in the sky.

  Keeping his arms raised he drew this phenomena together, forming or fusing it all into one concentrated ball of spinning energy with a red glaze of fire surrounding it. Five feet in diameter and hovering in the sky, an attack known as the Fire Star, Darshun’s second ability he’d learned while training at Shajin Island. A mysterious attack that draws out unseen energies, heat, stone and invisible elements among Fire Magic, merges them together and forms what all were witnessing at that very moment.

  “Stop this!” the High Wizard yelled.

  Darshun raised his head shouting, “You are the ones that started this! Remember? Now that the odds stand against your favor, you want me to cease? You’re going to have to finish what you started!” He faced the Prince. “Or rather, I am.”

  Sicarius turned pale as fear overtook his being, for the magnitude of the power of Darshun’s Fire Star seemed overwhelming, like the sudden tidal wave storming onto land from the deep sea. The rush of power limitless, its path of destruction endless, but it was too late to flee, nor beg for mercy—not that it would have done any good.

  Darshun’s mind, body and soul existed solemnly on annihilation. He cast down his arms and the star screamed toward the Prince with red fire trailing it like a falling star from the heavens.

  With a final look of despair on Sicarius’ face the attack struck, exploded and disintegrated every inch of his body, leaving behind nothing but a dusting of ashes. The son of Talvenya fell dead.

  For a moment, the crowd fell completely silent. Not a word or whisper could be heard. Just creatures sitting still, dazed with thei
r mouths hung open. But then the silence broke and the crowd went into a massive uproar, demanding Darshun be executed.

  “Silence!” the High Wizard shouted, his voice shattering their hearts like a loud thunder. He climbed atop the balcony gate, balancing himself on the rail, lifted out his staff and a strange black cloud materialized out of nowhere. Levieth stepped onto the cloud and levitated down before Darshun, who was still in Transformation. “So, you can transform,” Levieth spoke, the cloud around his feet fading to nothingness.

  “Does this mean I am the new champion?” Darshun asked with a big smile.

  With an expressionless face the High Wizard responded, “If you wish to live descend to your prior state immediately. Or you shall have me to deal with.”

  “Hmm…as you wish.” Darshun obeyed not wanting to cause any more trouble than he already had. For he did plan on breaking out of whatever cage he would later be placed in and roam the castle at night, searching for Abaddon’s lair. But the excitement of the battles disoriented his thinking. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea, showing his power, destroying the Prince or even transforming, for surely now they know a common cell cannot hold him.

  Levieth signaled thirty Draconian guards to his side, armed to the max with crossbows. “Bring this Nasharin to the Arion Chamber, and bring him unscratched. But do be careful to watch him. Let not your bows down until he is within those chambers.”

  “As you command my lord,” they answered in unison like puppets.

  “Arion Chamber?” Darshun muttered. “Sounds like fun.”

  The High Wizard said nothing. He simply stared at Darshun a moment or two, his face still lacking any emotion, and then walked off, around the guards and out of the Arena.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Arion Chamber

  They began the transportation, fifteen standing in front of him walking backwards, the others behind, clustering as close as could be with fingers itching to pull the triggers of their crossbows. Many aimed for his heart others between his eyes…all ready to strike were he to try anything.