He wept until his tears surrounded his heart and froze to a material harder than diamond and blacker than coal. His eyes dried, yet they were stained red in the wake of their spillage. A breath, a pause, and then hate. His tears had released him from all else except that which sustained him, fueled him, and prepared him. Again his weakness was set upon his fire like wood upon a pyre wherein all things were burned away to ash by the flames of a disgust driven need to be filled. This fire grew inside and caused him to seethe with rage until his rocking was replaced with an equally involuntary clenching. And there he sat, the vaulted Hand of Satan, leader of his dark legion, having wept the greater share of humanity and felt an even greater share of its hate, with nothing to console him, not even his master’s voice. There he sat, worshiped by tens of thousands of his hate twisted followers. There he sat, the Son of The Devil Himself. There he sat, alone.
Comeract (Mercenaries).
"Elklirin, when aiming, it is very important to limit one's breath, not by depth, but by its frequency. Long, easy breaths will produce more steadiness of hand and eye than the quick repetition your body will seek to demand. That is why, above all, even before you master the bow, you must master your breathing. In doing so, you will have taken the first step to mastering yourself," his father said at the beginning of his first lesson in archery.
"I do not understand, Drahin," said a very timid boy seeking nothing but the approval of his father.
Smiling warmly, his father saw the eagerness to please and the innocence of youth. "It is not important that you understand now, on this day. Only that one day, you will," he said as he affectionately placed a hand upon the young boy's shoulder.
"But why, Drahin? Why must I master the bow?" asked the boy, emboldened by his father's tender touch.
"Because, Eklirin, it is the essence of the hunt. And the hunt is the essence of our life," said his father as he looked to the forest marking the edge of their formal land.
"Will you not always be here to hunt for us?" he said as he mimicked his father’s look to the forest.
Laughing at his son’s innocence, the father slung his bow around his back and squatted down to address his son on equal levels, "My little Rony. I will be around for a long time yet to come, but there will be a day when I am not. On that day, and quite possibly before, the responsibility of the hunt will fall to you. That is why you must learn and master the bow. Besides, you will have a younger brother or sister to protect. Your mother thinks this child will be a girl. What do you think of that, my little hunter? Do you want a little sister?"
"Do little boys or girls cry more?" asked Rony in return through the innocence of youth.
"I supposed that depends on the condition of the child, not on whether it is a boy or a girl."
"Oh, ok," answered Rony. He paused for a brief moment and then continued, "Because I do not like it when the baby animals cry in the woods and I do not think I will like it when this baby cries."
Again, chuckling at the innocence and truthfulness of his son, he replied, "Little Eklirin, babies cry only when they need something."
"Well, can they not just talk instead of crying?
This time, the deep laughter of his father made Rony feel a little ashamed for asking what his father must have thought was a silly question, "Oh Rony, learning to talk is not that easy. And babies do not cry that often, at least you did not." Setting him down once again, his father continued, "Now, if you have no other questions about your little brother or sister, we can proceed to the hunt. Shall we go?"
"Yes, let us go!" said the young boy excitedly.
"Good, because I smell many animals upon the wind; animals that we can hunt," and with the finality of this statement, he turned and started to slowly walk to the forest. The boy grabbed his small bow and smaller quiver of arrows and followed his father as fast as his small legs would carry him. The walk to the woods was not very long, but for a boy of six years, it was long in terms of its test to his patience.
"Do you think we will find a bear?" asked Rony.
"Not this hunt, little one. We are on the hunt for smaller prey. Prey that will not try to bite us back," answered his father.
Within a few minutes, they had crossed the greenish brown confines of their grassy clearing and into the lush greens of the forest. While walking, there were several cleared paths they could have chosen, some no larger than the width of a single man, and others large enough to allow a horse drawn carriage to pass. They bypassed them all and stayed within the boundaries of that which was less traveled, and certainly not cleared. A while into their hunt, the father signaled for the boy to stop and kneel down. He obeyed his father and squatted low. He watched his father examine the ground with a very light touch. "What is it, Drahin? A bear?"
"No, Rony. It is not a bear. Today we are hunting squirrel. Come here. Can you see its tracks? What can you tell me about them?" Rony, still crouched, inched over to his father remembering his lesson on maintaining silence.
"It looks like there are two different animals. These look bigger than those," he stated as he pointed to the two tracks in the front and then to those behind.
"You are right that they are different in size, but it is one squirrel. The hind claws are about a time and again as large as the front claws. Most animals have larger hind claws than front claws. What direction are they pointing?"
Rony took a moment and pointed as he said, "It was going that way."
"You are right! Now, tell me if the tracks are old or new."
Again, Rony took a moment, but looked up at this father after his examination with a puzzled look, "I do not know. How can you tell that?"
"Look again. See how the edges of the tracks still look defined and sharp. And see how there is still some dampness in the imprints of the pads, even in the shallow prints? That is how you can tell. The wind has not had the chance to wear away the muddy edges. Nor has it had the opportunity to dry the moisture of the forest floor. By the look and feel of this track, we are very close."
"What do we do now?" asked the boy as he looked in the direction he thought the tracks were leading.
"We continue the hunt. But where should we now focus our eyes? What do you know about squirrels?"
Thinking of everything he knew of squirrels, he answered his father's question with a large grin on his face, "We look up."
"Right you are! However, we should get our bows ready. We may not have much time once we spot our quarry. It is better to be prepared than to be caught without a bow in hand and arrow ready." Both father and son unslung their bows from their backs and knocked an arrow, the younger of the two mimicking the elder as much as he could. "Now, let us search the trees. I am sure our prey is close."
As Rony looked up, he heard and saw a faint rustling of the leaves in a tree about thirty feet away from them. Before he voiced what he saw, his father began his instruction, "Yes, Rony. I see it too. Now, there is a sequence you must perform before you let your arrow go. Do this, every time, and you will find your surroundings shrink in size, and your targets grow. First, draw your arrow back half way, to tune your muscles to the tension you will need to fully draw it. It will produce a smoother transition and lessen your innate error. Secondly, draw a breath half as much of your full capacity and hold it as you complete your draw. Next, allow your breath to slowly drain itself entirely, but allow it to pass through your lips and not your nose. This next step, I cannot teach you, you will have to find it for yourself, but it is the most important. Before you empty your bow, you must pause long enough to empty yourself. You must be clear of mind and soul. You must possess nothing of yourself. Only when you empty yourself of all can you truly release your arrow with purity. It is this purity that will carry it to your intended target without fail and with repetition. Now, watch as it is done." As his father proceeded through all of the detailed steps, taking time to allow his young son to watch, Rony saw his father's breath slow, just as he had instructed. He saw th
e pause and assumed his father emptied himself, though he did not understand the last statement. And then he heard a stunning sound; a sound that vibrated within him. He heard the faint thrum of the bowstring as his father let his arrow fly. The thrum was followed by a quick hissing of wind as his arrow streaked toward its target. And lastly, he heard the faint and low thud as it impounded into the soft flesh of the squirrel. These three sounds, their sequence and magnitude, he would never forget as they would become the guiding sounds for a peace found only in the solitude of the bow.
Which is why, when he heard these sounds instead of feeling the cold reality of the goblin's sword, he was confused. Four more times the familiar sequence invaded the expected reality of his death, and four more times his confusion grew. Two more, and then silence. A minute passed, or possibly two, or quite possibly only a few seconds as his confusion had pre-empted his natural sense of time's passage. But his hearing remained. And the silence, for as long as it lasted, was broken by the shallow and light footfalls much more slowly paced than their goblin captures.
At that moment it occurred to him that his eyes still remained closed in anticipation of the death blow; in fact, they were closed tightly enough to have caused him to feel a pulsing behind his eyes. Not prominent and certainly not permanent, the pulsing was still enough to invade his consciousness in this moment, the moment that was supposed to be his death and finally bring an end to his guilt. But instead of his end, he found his beginning when he opened his eyes and saw the still breathing form of Liani lying in front of him. He faintly heard a female voice and looked in its direction. He saw a woman with blood speckled on her face, joined by four men, all with their weapons drawn but in a non-threatening posture.
Zyndalia. Instantly his eyes darted around and found both solace and relief when they landed upon her. She was crying, but amidst her tear streaked face, was an odd mask of the same relief he was feeling. Perhaps involved in his emotions too greatly to realize he and they had been rescued, his awareness had initially bypassed the sight of the several armed figures emerging from the trees. Though, when he heard a muffled wince from Liani, it brought everything to a sharp and acute state of awareness.
Snapping back to the reality of the moment more quickly and with greater violence than that offered by the sharpest whip, his head spun and focused upon a large, muscular figure bending down and attempting to lift her from the ground. Inexplicably, he tore through the bonds restricting his hands behind his back and lunged with the feral grace and power of the largest of wolves. Catching the large man off balance, they toppled into a mass of summersaulting humanity. They ended their tumble with Rony upon the larger man, who was firmly pinned beneath his knees. But their rescuers were not without skill of their own and responded with the same lightning quickness. Before he could squeeze the neck his hands had fallen upon, two men grasp his arms and were attempting to forcibly remove him from his current position of dominance. Yet even with the fullness of their force, they were only successful at preventing the crushing of their companion's windpipe. It took a third man to remove Rony, and only because he had a running start, throwing the entire mass of his body at Rony's back.
And it took no less than all three of them to pin the enraged young man to the ground. Sputtering and gasping, the previously pinned man rose from the ground and approached Rony. As he did, he glanced to his other companions who instantly moved to contain Zyndalia and Liani. "I would have expected to receive at least a mild show of gratitude considering we just saved your life and the lives of your two quite lovely companions," said a rough voice still affected by the crushing grasp of his now captive upon his neck. He paused and waited, but all Rony was able to return was the primal stare of rage, void of any emotion except to attack that which threatened him and his friends.
"Nothing? Not one thing? Listen, Boy, we just saved you and yet you offer only an attempt to kill me?" said the voice again, clearly asserting himself as the leader of the small band of saviors.
"Perhaps it is because we threatened his little whore," taunted a female voice in more of a statement than question.
Not removing his eyes from Rony, the raspy voice said, now returning to its full strength, "Perhaps you are right, Dianali. But then you would know what a whore is, would you not?" The laughter from the others this statement produced seemed to quell the rage within Rony and brought him, once again, back to the reality of his current predicament. And as his rage tempered, so too did his unusual strength and animalistic vigor.
"I am your whore, Borinth, and as such, yes, I know a whore when I see one," she paused and felt Liana's breasts to further taunt Rony, "Yes, this one is indeed a whore."
"Easy now Dianali, we do not want to insight any more rage from our new friends here," Borinth said. And in response, Dianali's hand moved from Liani's breasts to her neck in a threatening gesture of control.
"As you wish, but this one is still good to control. I think I will keep her as my whore," the woman said as she lightly licked the exposed neck of the younger girl, clearly meant to taunt Rony, who had increased his struggles in response to the woman's taunts.
"Easy, Boy, you would not want her hand to slip and accidentally cut your pet's neck now would you," Borinth replied.
Rony, still pinned by all three men glanced around to survey the full scope of their condition and numbers. Zyndalia, still kneeling, was surrounded by no less than five members of Borinth's group. Liani, who was held around the neck and waist by Dianali, was surrounded by no less than five additional members. And if those fifteen warriors, including the three holding him and Borinth himself, were not enough to further sink his heart into desperation, he counted at least ten more figures standing in the distance keeping watch. Indeed, though he had been rescued from certain death, his eyes forced him to question the condition of his current emancipation. Was it better for he, Zyndalia, and Liani to have been slaughtered by the goblins, or would their current wards exact upon them a greater form of captivity resulting in an existence worse than none at all? Based upon their initial interaction, he did not have an answer; nevertheless, he decided to relent as continued resistance would probably prove to be no more effective than standing in the wake of a tidal wave with the idea all moisture could be avoided.
Seeing Rony's resistance wane, Borinth eased his tone and approached him, "There we go. You see, we are not in the business of hurting anyone. Unless you stand against our current employer," this provoked a mild chuckle for the rest of the group within earshot. "But from the looks of you, I would wager you are not part of any evil raiding party. Nor do you have the look of “demons” either. Yet, I would like to find out more about you before I let you roam freely. After all, you did try to dislodge my throat from the rest of my body. So, boy, who are you?"
"I am no one," Rony replied in a resignation of defeat and impotence.
"Well, it is much more than no one who is able to keep me flat on my back, let alone require three of my men to hold him down. So I will ask you again, who are you?" he responded to Rony’s distant tone.
He looked to Liana, and then to his sister Zyndalia, and hoped for some guidance, but when their eyes were void of any suggestions, he was left with nothing more than he and his sister's story. And with it came the only hope he had for mercy. Because that's all he ever wanted, someone to believe that he had done his best, and in spite of all of his efforts that seemed to lead to repeated failures, his best would be good enough. And that showed more brightly than any other aspect of his caring. So, in the presence of this man Borinth, whom he did not know, and all of his companions within the distance his voice would carry, he told his story in its entirety. As his words revealed his tears and heart, those men who held him down released their grasp. The hands holding both his female companions loosened their grips as it became clearly evident these three posed no threat at all. They had been beaten by their circumstances, and although they had shown great strength, whatever strength they had remaining
was spilled forth as Rony's words spilled upon their ears. Borinth, in particular, was almost moved to tears.
Upon the completion of Rony's tale, which ended with his instinctive reaction to seeing Liani in potential danger, Borinth, as well as the other members of his group fell into a silence indicative of one produced by hearing a heart made alive. Their leader knelt down to approach Rony's face almost close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, "It seems, boy, you and I are of similar substance. I am years your elder, and have seen years of pain that would reveal yours as a small ripple in an even smaller pond, yet I appreciate your honesty. If that is indeed what your answer was. But I am not convinced of that yet. You see, these times are treacherous and devious. With all the rumors of a potential dark army, with wisps of demons and devils, with things that cannot be explained floating upon the wind, I cannot simply let you go because of a well spun story without the vetting of time. I appreciate your life as well as the lives of your women, but I appreciate mine more, as well as the lives of my companions. Yes, to answer your unspoken question, you will continue to live as will they, but only under the strictest of understandings. Their lives will be rested upon the behavior and ability of you to follow me. Do you understand?"
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 61