The Kakos Realm Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  Just as he peered out a bedroom window, Rashnir noticed movement at the doorway. He spun and drew steel; an intruding servant froze. Hands up, the man silently pled for his life.

  The servant waved his hands and pointed to his gaping, open mouth. This servant also had no tongue. Rashnir relaxed a bit. The servant had apparently been lighting the candles in lieu of the failing light. He set his candlestick down on an end table inside of the door. He went to the large, finely crafted wardrobe and opened its dual shutter doors. Removing a hooded cloak, he slung it across Rashnir’s shoulders and clasped a simple brooch at the neck to hold it in position. The servant motioned for Rashnir to follow.

  After checking that the hall was clear, the mute led Rashnir down the corridor to another bedroom. He led him inside and motioned to stay put for a moment. Quickly returning, the silent traitor brought a cloth sack and handed it to the escaped prisoner.

  Rashnir slung the sack over his shoulder. Peeking inside, he found a wine skin, bread, raisin cakes, and dried meat. The look that the servant gave Rashnir communicated more than words could have; he wanted Rashnir to escape, and he wanted to help. Participating could give him small victory over Harmarty, at least.

  The servant led him two doors further, to another room on the backside of the palace, and showed him a window. This side of the structure had thick, hardened vines creeping from ground to roof. The vines made a perfect ladder to escape by. Rashnir bowed; the servant returned the gesture and left to resume his duties.

  Pulling the hood low, Rashnir climbed out the window and quickly worked his way to the ground. The castle grounds burgeoned with shadows. He darted down pathways and alleys, scouting ahead to maintain stealth.

  After a quick search, he found the stables. Few horses remained; Harmarty had departed some time ago to propose to Kelsa. The only person left behind had been the stable master who’d fixed his eyes on Nikko. The horse kicked at the stable gate wildly. The steed knew something was amiss about his new surroundings. Nikko and Nightshade had been stabled next to each other; both stamped threateningly as if they knew they were captives. Rashnir grabbed a piece of lumber and crept behind the stable master.

  One deft swing later, Rashnir incapacitated his only remaining opposition. He reclaimed his horse and calmed him down. Rashnir freed Nightshade and patted his flank, saying goodbye to Rogis’ horse. Then, he mounted his own.

  The guards at their post yelped when Nightshade galloped past them unridden. They cussed something about the stable master being drunk again and chased after the animal as it galloped away. Using Nightshade as a distraction, Rashnir slipped through the gate and into the main courtyards.

  He kept to the backside of Capitol City. Doing his best to look like a commoner riding a horse to pasture, he scouted the area with as much speed as he could risk until he found what he was looking for: the small gate herdsmen used to take their animals through. The way was unguarded and Rashnir slipped through. Once out of view, he urged Nikko to top speed and they soon raced across the countryside.

  ***

  Rashnir raced his horse through the shadows and rode straight through the estatuary gates at breakneck speed. The smell of smoke filled his nose and he could feel the filmy soot settling on the air while he rode up to the flames.

  His home raged like a pyre; flames leapt and danced under the stars, throwing ash to the moon. At the foot of the inferno leapt shadowy figures as they danced, reveling in celebration. Another fire instantly kindled: this one in Rashnir’s heart. He raced onward as Harmarty’s troops partied.

  In the noise of the fire and revelry, no one heard Nikko galloping in until Rashnir crashed upon the distracted horde. He fired a shot from each crossbow, killing two nearby guards. The jubilant crowd suddenly realized they were under attack and took up arms.

  Tossing the pistols aside, Rashnir unsheathed his two swords and attacked from atop his horse. The flamelight strobed the battle as he swiped and stabbed from his mount, slaying numerous guards and crossing sword after sword only to find his rage-filled blows strike home each time. Bodies piled up around his horse and the oncoming tide of attackers thickened until there was no more room to move.

  His blood boiled as he pressed against the crowd, killing anyone that did not yield. Rashnir spotted Harmarty at the edge of the crowd; a look of fear plastered to his face. Beside him did not stand Kelsa, but his giant brute of a bodyguard, Rutheir. He urged Nikko through the crowd, hacking away at the opposition as if they were vines in a forest; all fell before his assault.

  Suddenly, Nikko gave a shrill cry and hop-stepped in pain. Then again, and again; the noble horse almost dropped to the ground. Rashnir saw them: archers. Arrow after arrow struck his horse until the animal finally surrendered to the pain and fell to the ground. Nikko neighed his last as Rashnir rolled to the ground and charged against the wall of opposition.

  Attack after attack consumed his vision as he struck and parried, forcing his sight into a rage-shaped tunnel; more and more often, his blows met with sword rather than flesh. Suddenly, as crossing swords whined with a sharp “clang,” Rashnir felt a blunt blow to his chin. It knocked him completely from his feet. The corner of his periphery vision identified the culprit; Rutheir had entered the fray. As soon as Rashnir rolled to his rear and prepared to launch back into the assault, warriors mobbed him. The weight of the guards’ bodies prevented him from breathing. They pinned him to the ground and crushed his lungs.

  As the mob cleared, they restrained the Ranger on his knees, hands held behind him. King Harmarty approached, a smug and smiling Rutheir following at his side. A glazed look fell on Harmarty as he stood before his subdued enemy. Rutheir was about to draw his sword when Harmarty stayed his hand. “Bring the brands!” he cried.

  The crowd cheered, pounding fists to the sky.

  Rashnir’s panicked eyes darted around, searching for help in the faces around him. His eyes locked on only one familiar face in the crowd, Jaker. The scout who he’d once called friend, third in command of the Rangers, played witness to this all.

  Jaker wore a sad face. The scout turned and looked at Rashnir as he noticed the gaze.

  A minion brought the king a red-hot iron rod, pulled from the nearby burning wreckage. Harmarty motioned for Jaker to come forward and witness the event.

  The look of betrayal on his face convinced Rashnir that Jaker had nothing to do with this plot. He too was a pawn. Jaker’s look of disbelief fell upon Rashnir; sorrow and disappointment mixed equally with hatred.

  “Jaker,” Harmarty said, “You will now be in charge of Rogis’ Rangers after Rashnir’s treasonous actions.”

  Suddenly Rashnir understood; he’d been framed. “It’s a lie!” he screamed upon deaf ears.

  “Witness this, Jaker, and spread the word in the cities and in the guilds; Rashnir, second in command of Rogis’ Rangers assassinated his superior in an attempt to usurp control from him. How typical,” Harmarty sneered, “After all, he did it once before, did he not, striking down the mighty Mind in cold blood?”

  Harmarty continued, “My former teacher, the great Rogis, confided in me recently that he feared for his life, that Rashnir plotted his demise. Feel free to examine the body where it lies in state in my castle; Rogis was stabbed in the back.

  “The funeral will be for the general public and his friends. We found Rogis’ estate in flames before we rode in here, hoping to put a stop to the madness that this maniac has wrought upon the area. We’d hoped to save the girl, Kelsa, but it appears that he set fire to it with her trapped inside before riding off to murder Rogis’ family as they slept in their beds.”

  Jaker’s eyes welled up and he turned away. He turned back only once and gave Rashnir a cold, piercing glare: a death threat. Jaker turned and left, too disgusted to stay and witness the punishment.

  Rutheir seized Rashnir’s right hand and forced it open, palms held upward as the king laid the brand across flesh, searing burn marks into the ski
n. He completed the brand-mark on one hand and then branded the other, ignoring Rashnir’s screams and demands to see Kelsa.

  When it was over, soldiers held Rashnir down as Rutheir savagely beat him before casting him aside like a limp sparring dummy. There was no point to the beating, except it brought pleasure to Rutheir who heaped further humiliation upon Rashnir. Eventually, the King’s remaining troops mounted their horses and departed as if the whole evening had been a sport.

  Rashnir, in too much pain to walk, and hands incapable of letting him crawl, used his elbows to pull himself towards the flaming rubble of the mansion. Now burned down to the stonework of the foundation, it had mostly collapsed upon itself. He found a familiar body lying prone in the nearby grass: Dane.

  The crippled Rashnir belly-crawled up to the old man and rolled him over as best as he could. The elderly servant groaned with ragged breaths.

  “Where is Kelsa?” Rashnir asked him gently, trying to rouse his senses.

  Dane’s milky eyes rolled in their sockets. He could barely stay conscious.

  “What happened here?” Rashnir demanded.

  “They came… they surrounded the house. We had barred the doors and windows so that they could not get in. The king was in a rage, demanding that she come out to him. He told her that he defeated you in combat and that she shouldn’t fear for her safety anymore. He said that they would finally be married.

  “Kelsa, of course, refused. Harmarty lit the house on fire and told her that she must choose him or death. We were on the second floor. We planned to escape out the rear, but the fire spread so quickly, and the staircase was soon engulfed in flames. Even if she wanted to go to Harmarty, she could not have. We were about to escape out a window, but a flaming ceiling beam fell and pinned Kelsa to the floor. The library burned around her as another beam fell, knocking me out of the window.”

  Dane looked into Rashnir’s eyes. Both men cried, weeping bitter tears. “Forgive me. I was too weak to save her. I tried… I did. Once I hit the ground… I couldn’t move my legs. I had to lay here and listen to her scream… she screamed your name for so long. She was so sure that you would save her.” Grief-stricken, Dane fell silent; he stared into the sky and his tears glistened under the stars and firelight.

  Darkness and anguish consumed the two survivors before unconsciousness eventually crept in. Rashnir awoke the next morning to smoldering rubble; intense pain wracked his body. Dane had died sometime during the night. Rashnir could only wish that his fate had been the same.

  Nothing remained of the house or its surrounding structures. His dead horse, Nikko, lay amongst the strewn, fallen bodies. A pall of death hung above the place. Harmarty had succeeded; he hadn’t only taken away his possessions, but he’d killed all those that he loved. He’d destroyed Rashnir, stripped him of his honor and of his livelihood. Rashnir had no more friends; because of the mark he’d been branded with and the tale he’d ordered told, his professional connections would abandon him. The only thing he truly possessed now was hatred.

  Chapter Five

  Rashnir rode through the evening. The sky deepened to a muddy red as the horse galloped at an increasingly uncomfortable pace under Rashnir’s guidance.

  He passed several homesteads and wondered what it might have been like had he stayed on Mallow’s farm. Could he have enjoyed a common life like so many others before him? For that matter, what if he’d grown up with a loving father, like Rogis had been to his children? Was Rashnir cursed, forsaken by fate or by whatever deities might exist? Whenever he got ahead in life, some new, unforeseen force brought him crashing back down to a new form of captivity. Was he enslaved to an ill-fated destiny?

  The jaded exterior surrounding his heart cracked slightly. Rashnir felt the machismo façade crumble in the coming darkness; tears streamed down his face and with nobody around to see it, he let them.

  A jumble of thoughts coursed through his mind. There must be more than this. Mankind must have some purpose. If the myths were true, if Yahweh created man, then for what purpose? And why would he have forsaken them? His thoughts turned to Nhoj. If he had lived, perhaps he could have given Rashnir more information. In the short moments he’d had with him, Nhoj had been the only example he’d ever seen of religious kindness.

  The only thing that Rashnir knew was that his life, up until this point, had been little more than a mess of chaos coupled with a general lack of purpose. Whenever he thought he’d found an honorable pursuit in life, another person’s greed stripped it from him.

  Rashnir gave up on his thoughts, on thinking altogether. He focused on the sounds of the night air as he continued his secret journey. He would soon arrive at the castle’s rear gate. The animal gate that he’d escaped through so long ago would help him infiltrate the castle. Rashnir glanced down at the sweaty horse and cursed. I’ve never ridden such a slow horse. Only a few hours of darkness would remain by the time he expected to arrive.

  The night trickled on and he arrived without incident. Rashnir had committed the act countless times in his mind, mentally playing out every conceivable scenario. When he found the solitary posted guard sleeping lightly, he knew exactly what to do.

  Well beyond earshot of the sleeping watchman, Rashnir climbed down from his horse. He crept up, silent as a stalking cat. The vengeful assassin recognized the man’s face; every person present on the night of Kelsa’s murder had been burned into his mind. Rashnir slipped his borrowed sword into the man’s vitals as he covered the guard’s nose and mouth.

  Rashnir dragged the body into the low shrubs near the castle walls. He tethered the horse to a copse of prickly bushes and slipped inside the gate.

  Stealthily, he slinked through the shadows and arrived undetected at the main keep. At such an early hour, nobody remained awake. Most of the king’s entourage would have partied well into the night and passed into deep sleep before this part of early morning.

  Grabbing the sturdy vine lattice, Rashnir hauled himself up the castle wall using the same natural ladder he’d used before. Reaching the fourth level, he snuck through a window. The king’s bedchamber would likely be on the fifth floor, but the vines didn’t reach that high.

  Someone occupied the room, but didn’t hear the Ranger creep through his sill with wraith-like silence. Under the cover of heavy snores, Rashnir tiptoed through the room and towards the door which remained slightly ajar. With only a slight creak, he opened the door only enough to slip into the sparsely lit hallway.

  The far end of the hall was better lit than the rest; torchlight spilled through an open door. Muted voices emanated from inside the room, resonating through the passage.

  “Harmarty has already given me his full authorization,” a gravelly human voice claimed. “Your king must simply follow suit and ally with us as well. We are, after all, not overly different when all is boiled down. Despite a species difference, we are all subject to the same powers—the same rules governing nature and magic.”

  “I am simply saying that our king might not be as willing to pledge full support to a cause that he does not have full faith in.” This slurred and guttural voice sounded distinctly nonhuman.

  “Faith, grr’Shaalg? It is very much a matter of faith. Even though he may lack faith in the religious tenets that we desire to implement, I do know that he fully supports one aspect of this cause: personal gain. This alliance will be especially lucrative to those who join quickly, especially for those who help most at the beginning stages of our grand plan.”

  The human’s voice mused with a slight threat, “A demonstration of power may be needed to convince you and your brethren?”

  “No…no, Absinthium. I know your power and so does my king. I have no desire to invoke your wrath. Between only you and me, my king already knows he is in too deep.

  “We know we must lend you support—even if for self-preservation, if nothing else. We do it gladly, however, for personal gain. Your plan is viable and your power is immense. Mere mortal
s cannot contend with the mystic powers you represent. Our kingdom cleaves to you to the last of our kin.”

  Rashnir crept closer to the light; his curiosity piqued as he eavesdropped on an undoubtedly highly confidential conversation. He found a spot in the darkness with just enough of an angle to peer through the open doorway. Inside the room sat Absinthium and grr’SHaalg.

  Absinthium, the human, was a lean and wiry old man with grizzled features. His bald top, but for the hair that hung on the sides and back of his head, stood in stark contrast to the black eyepatch over his left socket; the silver locks almost touched his neck. He wore a robe woven of elegant, fine materials and was adorned with gold chains and trinkets—many of them likely amulets. He propped his odd looking staff against his lap.

  The staff drew Rashnir’s attention. The center of the rod was metal—something much shinier than iron; the bottom and top looked like gnarled tree roots made of a woody substance resembling the vines Rashnir used to access this level. Atop the staff, the root-like wood knotted into an ugly bulb. More of the vine-like tendrils encapsulated a tiny, glowing gem. This was undoubtedly some kind of arch-mage from the Luciferian Order.

  grr’SHaalg, a goblin, was very different in appearance. His dark, hideous features had been adorned by a simple, dusty loincloth and a purple fez cap that indicated his station as envoy of a goblin king. Around his neck hung a simple, wrought iron chain with a plain bauble fastened to it. Made of pure gold, the trinket was a simple metallic bar, about one-third the size of a brick. Several sigils and markings were engraved upon it.

  The goblin leaned into the conversation, “King Nvv-Fryyg wants me to negotiate a better deal for him if possible, but he knows he might not get one. He knows that what you have in store for him might be all he can gain. Truthfully, he would be content with what you’ve already offered. I shall tell him that nothing more can be bartered; there will be no monetary compensation for our cooperation—only the prestige and power inherent in such an affiliation. For doing this, will there be a reward for me?”