Times Past: Origin [Content Warning]

[Ebon Ilnaren]

((As noted in the Content Warnings post, this thread contains depictions of brutal violence, rape, and sexual depravity, as seen from the perspective of the survivor. While I have done my best not to be overly graphic, such horrors are part of what shaped Ebon into the man he is today.))


Part 1 - Taken

Many years ago....

The sun shone bright upon a small village, nestled between fields of rain and forested hills. It was High Summer, a festival time in Ar-Kyrul, and so the townfolk and farmers came together in celebration. Yet beneath the surface joy ran an undercurrent of fear, for High Summer was also the time for culling.

* * *

"Azure! Don't run s'far from home! Mama will be mad!" Behind a small farmhouse at the edge of town, two children played in their family field, a boy and a girl. The boy, who was older, laughed even as he admonished his sister to slow down. "I'll tell her and she'll shake you!"

"Can't catch! Can't catch!" As she crested a rise, the girl paused a moment to turn and stick her tongue out at her brother. "Nyah nah, Ebon!"

The boy's black eyes widened in sheer terror, for behind Azure, a single figure dropped out of the sky. Clad in silver mail and billowing, silver-threaded cloak, the stranger hovered over both children, silent and menacing. As Azure turned and looked up, screaming, he looked down at her and smiled.

It was not a pleasant smile.

Though he had never seen one before, the boy recognized the intruder from stories his parents had told him, horrible tales and warnings that if the children misbehaved, the Silver Knives would get them. Now one of those very same nights was here, in front of him. His heart thudded with the fear. "AZURE! RUN! Hurriaaaagh!" He was unable to finish the warning, for suddenly his brain was afire with pain, his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Something--a hand?--grabbed Ebon's hair and yanked hard, pulling his head up, as the Knife crouched down in front of him. "You have spirit, boy. Best to lose it, now; where you're going, spirit will get you dead... or worse than dead." Then the force that gripped his hair lifted him up from the ground, none too gently, and both children were half-marched, half-dragged down the hill to their farmhouse and the village beyond.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

The village was in flames.

By the time their captor had brought Ebon and Azure to the market square, more than half of the buildings were well on their way to ash. Townsfolk dashed to and fro, some trying to hide, others pleading to the invading Silver Knives for their lives. None put up a fight; those few who had, at the start, lay strewn about the square, their blood pooling and drying in the dust.

Looking up, Ebon saw several heads speared upon pikes. One of them, in particular, caught his attention. "P-papa?"

"Silence, boy! Stay here, both of you." The Knife's command was followed with a brief, but painful, mindlash, and he stalked off.

Weeping and screams filled the air all around the two children, and as they stood there two women burst into view. Their clothes ripped and tattered, they dashed across the square... but while one kept going out of sight, the other spied Ebon and Azure, and froze. "No! My babies!" She managed two steps towards them before her feet were yanked from beneath her by an unseen force.

"Mama!" cried Azure.

A Silver Knife stepped into the square from the direction where the other woman had disappeared. He looked to the children's mother and his lips curled into a cruel smile. "When you're through with that one, lads" he said, calling over his shoulder, "I've another here." Ignoring the boy and girl watching him, the Knife strode over to his next victim and, with the casual arrogance of one who knows he will not be stopped, tore at her clothes. She screamed, but could not struggle; her arms and legs were pinned to the ground by the same force that had tripped her.

Though his young heart burned to break free, to fight back, Ebon could only watch helplessly as first one Knife, then another and then yet another ravaged his beloved mother. They laughed and urged each other on, while through it all tears streamed from her eyes and were matched by Ebon's own tears.

When the last Knife rose to his feet, he glanced over to the children and then back at his comrades. "Hers, those are." He looked down at the woman lying in the dirt and sneered. "Get up, you!" Slowly she gathered herself up and stood before the three invaders, eyes downcast. "Ah, you're broken, aren't you. There's nothing left in you. Just as we-"

At that moment, she looked up and spat in his face. Silence hung over the tableau, making seconds feel like hours. Then the Knife backhanded her and sent her reeling, staggering backwards until she stood near her children. The Knife's eyes shone with a cold light.

There was a popping sound, and something warm and wet struck Ebon's cheek.

"That's enough of that," said a cold voice; it was the Knife who had first captured the two children. Now he stepped past them, with more young ones in tow. "This is the lot of them. Let's be on our way." Turning, he motioned for the children to walk, and led them through the village. They paused at a large home, where three more Knives were herding the last remaining villagers inside as they cried out in sheer horror. Once all were trapped within, the doors were sealed... and, with a thought from the invaders, the walls burst into flame.

For several minutes the Knives and the children stood there, watching the flames consume the building and its contents while the air filled with the acrid scent of burning flesh. The captain, the one who had captured Azure and Ebon, looked at all of his newly acquired charges with a grim expression. "Your lives, as you have known them, are over. Now and forever, you belong to the Kyrul. Move."

So the children were guided back down the road, out of the village that had been their home since they were born, and into slavery.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Part 2 - Broken

The years passed after Ebon's village and family were slaughtered, while he and Azure were taken into slavery. Claimed for the Kyrul's palace, they were separated from one another; Azure was relegated to the women's slave quarters until she was old enough to work, while Ebon found himself in the kitchens. He scurried about, anxious to please his masters and so avoid the lash or, worse yet, a mindwhip from one of the crueler overlords. Often, as he passed, he heard the word "freak" float behind him. It did little to help his morale.

Ebon found that he was a freak due to his pure black eyes. In a realm where bodily form and features dictated one's caste, abnormality meant poverty or, worse, enslavement; many of the palace slaves were unusual. Some had odd-colored hair, others extra-jointed fingers, or some other feature that marked them as different. The only odd ones who were not slaves were the Silver Knives... but then, they bore a different sort of chain, lower-caste children found to possess the psionic gift, indoctrinated to serve the Kyrul without question. In his rare private moments, Ebon found that he felt sorry for them, too.

* * *

Another year had passed; Ebon was thirteen. He had been taken from the kitchens and placed as a serving boy. He wasn't sure why, although he heard vague whisperings.

"....a pretty boy....”
"....think some of them might like him...."
"....fresh blood...."

None of this talk gave him any hope, and the other serving boys and girls kept to themselves, their haunted eyes looking away. Still, he went about his task as best he could.

One of the noble girls, Ulara, seemed to take a special interest in Ebon, claiming him as one of her own special servants. She was only a few years older than him, but an abyss beyond age separated them, for she was one of the Kyrul's own kindred, brown-skinned--darker than Ebon's own olive-tan--and green-eyed, and just under five feet tall. Still, she smiled upon the boy, and spoke to him kindly, and he began to grow comfortable in her service.

Yet even her other serving boys had those same haunted eyes. After several months in Ulara's charge, Ebon learned why.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

"Ah, what a lovely day this has been," cooed Ulara as she drifted into her chambers. "A pity about his lady... the trouble with nobility is that one has to maintain a sense of public decorum, no?" She glanced to the slaves around her, who looked down and murmured agreement. "Well, I'm not going to let my night be spoiled by that. Hmmmmmmmm... Ebon, remain. The rest of you may go."

As the boy stepped forward, the others looked at him with a mixture of pity and relief in their faces. He, however, was oblivious; this was the first time he had been asked to attend Ulara as she prepared for sleep, and he wanted to impress her.

Once they were alone, she motioned for him to follow as she walked over to the bath and sat on the bench beside it. "Remove my dress, please." Ebon blinked and his dark eyes widened in shock, but he quickly approached and began to assist her, untying the ribbons and lacing that secured her silken garment. "You have a gentle touch, Ebon." Once undressed, Ulara rose and slipped into the warm bath to relax while he poured more warm water over her, and rubbed lotions into her hair. All the while, she sighed contentedly.

The bath done, she rose out of the waters; Ebon held out a robe, but she shook her head. "No need for that... now attend." Crossing to her sleeping chambers, she lay down upon the bed, her nude body stretched out. Ebon stood by the doorway, hesitant to enter, even as Olara crooked a finger at him. "Come here, boy... attend me." Was there a hint of impatience in her voice?

Slowly he crossed to the bedside. "Yes, mistress?"

"You're a pretty one, Ebon.... and well-named, with those eyes of yours. Do you think me pretty, too?"

"Y-you are the loveliest in all the Kyrul's realm, mistress." Ebon wasn't sure what else to say; he was young, but already he had begun to realize that Ulara and the other girls were more than he had thought. Such ideas shamed him, and his skin darkened in embarrassment.

Ulara smiled, rolling over onto her side. "Why, Ebon, I do believe you're blushing, you darling boy." She held out one hand to him. "Come, lie with me... you've no reason to fear."

Realization struck Ebon like a lightning bolt. The slave quarters were not well-partitioned, and he had heard the sound of coupling in the night.... but something, some instinct, told him this was not something for which he was ready, not yet. "Mistress, I... no, please... I...."

That was the wrong choice of words.

"No?" Ulara's inviting eyes grew cold as ice. "No, you say?" A wave of agony washed over Ebon, and he dropped to his knees as she rose from the bed. "Pretty though you are, you do forget your place! I am your mistress, you are my slave. You will do... as... I... SAY!" Again her mind seized Ebon's, but this time there was no pain.... only a shock of disassociation and revulsion as she forced him to crawl upon the bed, and lay still. Then unseen hands ripped his clothes apart until he was all but naked.

Ulara slid over him, smiling again... but she did not release him, and that smile was cruel. "I will have you, darling Ebon... a pity you couldn't enjoy the experience." He felt his own body responding to her touch despite his inner cries of anguish as she rose above him...

...but all he could do was watch.

* * *

Two years. It had been two years since Ulara used Ebon and eventually discarded him like an old puppet, a particularly apt analogy. He had lost everything: his home, his family, his innocence… and, finally, himself. The boy was little more than an automaton, performing the tasks set before him without lifting his eyes, eating and sleeping purely by rote.

He was broken.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Part 3 - Found

“Boy!” The dark-eyed lad turned and looked up when he heard the voice calling. “Get over here, boy!” He hurried as quickly as he could, for it did no good to delay; all that would earn him was a lashing at best. The scullion-chief gestured to a tray as he approached. “It’s your lucky night. You get to walk the halls of glory; our Master is entertaining tonight, and demands refreshment. Take that to his chambers.” There was the briefest of pauses. “You do know the way, don’t you?” The boy nodded once, and moved to take up the tray. “Off with you, then!”

As he watched his youngest servant go, the chief sighed. Why did he always get the broken ones?

* * *

It was late, and though the palace halls were not empty, they were quiet. Torchlight flickered and threw ominous shadows against the walls as slaves hurried past, silent in their tasks. Now and then courtiers relaxed upon elegant furniture, indulging in their passions for food, or drink, or each other without shame. Occasional whispers sounded from behind him, but he dared not stop or even look back. Tapestries and fine artwork adorned the walls, while statues looked out upon all who passed by them.

The boy hated those statues. He felt as if they were leering at him.

Finally he came to his destination, an ornate curtained archway flanked by two guards clad in silver armor. One of them looked down as he approached. “What do you want, freak?” When there was no immediate reply, he took a step forward, reaching for his blade.

The other guard lifted his hand in a staying gesture and looked down at the boy. “Well?”

“The Kyrul sent for refreshment.” Keeping his eyes down, the lad raised the tray he carried, holding it up until it began to shake in his trembling hands.

A knowing smirk crossed the first guard’s face as he stepped back into position, while his partner simply sneered. “I can imagine. Very well, you may pass.” He waved the boy through as silken curtains lifted out of the way.

Sounds reached out to the boy as he made his way through the grand chambers, filled with the opulence that power demanded. They were sounds of lust and of pain: the rustle of sheets, the sliding of skin against skin… sounds all too familiar to him, and above them all the harsh grunts of the Kyrul as he had his way, the whimpers of his latest plaything, forever ruined.

“Ah! Boy! Set that down!”

His lord and master’s voice boomed in his ears and mind alike as they boy set the tray upon the side table and turned to leave. He paused just a moment, then hurried out of the room.

* * *

Back in his bedroll, huddled in a corner of the scullion quarters, the boy thought back to that moment. As he was turning to go, something touched him, a sense of someone familiar, and for the first time he lifted his eyes to behold two figures lying upon the bed. One was the Kyrul, oblivious to all but sating his hunger as he reached for the newly-brought food, but the other, almost dwarfed by her tormentor, stared back at him with eyes that pleaded for rescue. Eyes so much like his own, eyes of solid….

“Azure,” whispered Ebon as the truth struck him, and in the depths of his mind a memory stirred, a memory of happier times. In finding her, he had found himself once more.

Now all he had to do was find a way to get them out.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Interlude

"Matron, I'm sorry, I haven't been well the last few days." Eyes of deep, solid blue gazed up at the frowning woman, matron of the palace's pleasure slaves. Azure, the aptly-named owner of those pleading eyes, quickly glanced down. "I thought I could take some of the night meal, but... I'll clean it right away!"

The other woman's frown deepened into a disgusted scowl. "Yes, you'll clean up your spew, and then we'll have you to Healer Jisecor! I'll not have you sickening the rest of the girls!"

A gasp slipped from her lips, and then Azure redoubled her efforts to remove all trace of her retching. "Please, matron, that's hardly nece-AAH!" The cry cut off her words as a slap resounded through the chamber.

"Learn your place, girl! Now move!"

* * *

When the healer emerged from the alcove where Azure waited, her expression was unreadable. "Matron? A word." She approached the older woman and spoke in low tones. "You've been lax in your responsibilities." A staying hand went up to silence the matron's protests. "Azure has seen three passings of the moon's blood. The last one was two months ago."

The scowl on the matron's face was edged with anxiety as she hissed, "Impossible! She can't be of age yet!"

"You doubt my expertise?" There was a touch of venom in Jisecor's voice. "She belongs to the Kyrul. You know the laws and their consequences." As the other woman silently pondered those words, the healer moved to a shelf and filled a small vial with dark, viscous liquid before handing it over. "Consider this a mercy. I do." Then she went back to the alcove and pulled back the curtain, all smiles. "Thank you for waiting, Azure! I've given your mistress some medicine to relieve your illness. You'll soon be feeling better."

With a shy smile, Azure dipped her head. "I live only to serve." The words came by rote, and then she backed away, past the matron before turning away.

Neither Azure nor Jisecor saw the slavemistress' eyes narrow or her frown darken as she followed her charge out the door.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Part 4 - Lost

Escaping from the Kyrul's slavery was far harder to accomplish than it was to dream, or so Ebon quickly found. Harder still for two. That did not, however, stop him from planning; if anything, the challenge kept him focused when he could spare a thought for it. This wasn't always possible, of course; though the nobility and the Silver Knives who guarded them had varying specialties and degrees of psionic gift, more than a few were telepaths. For most of his day, Ebon had to struggle to control himself, dampen his hopes and plans lest a stray thought lead to their discovery.

He could not afford any lapse, for Azure's sake as much as his own. Moreso, even.

"They killed Forlen." The unexpected voice made Ebon's dark eyes blink, and he turned suddenly to his companion, Lucas, as the young man went on. "He was trying to sneak up and out of the lower kitchen's chimney flue. I guess he figured nobody'd be watching them, and he was certainly skinny enough to get through it. That's why he was always sent to clean 'em."

"Wh-what happened?"

Lucas squeezed his scrubcloth in the dirty bucket, then soaked it again. "Missed where to place his hand, coming out the top, and started sliding back down. He kept his mouth shut, but that didn't matter; they'd sensed him."

Ebon sighed and gave a little nod. "Knives came quick, then?"

"I think they were waiting for him, like some sort of game. They settled down all around him, but didn't do anything right away. Then someone started a fire down below, got it good and roaring." Lucas shuddered for a moment. "Then one of them used his gift and gave him a push down. He roasted right there in the flue, legs charred right up to his knees." Another squeeze, and the youth rose to his feet. "They fed what was left to the scurriers in the sludge drains."

They're always there, always watching. Ebon's thoughts filled with despair.

"Forlen was stupid." Barely more than a whisper, Lucas' voice just reached Ebon's ears as the pair worked. "He tried to get away on his own. Can't be done. Need help." The boy glanced around, but nobody else was near, and then he grinned at Ebon. "Need the Feranor."

"They're just made-up, stories told by grown-ups to help us sleep."

The older lad shook his head, just once. "My da, he saw them once. Helped two of 'em get away from a Knife patrol, when he was my age. He always told me, whenever anything happened that set the Knives and highcastes scurrying, 'That's the Free Men, that was.' I know they're real." Lucas' voice faltered for a moment. "They have to be."

[Ebon Ilnaren]

"Hold, boy!" Ebon froze in place instantly upon hearing the command, as the silver-clad Knife approached. He glanced down at the cart the boy pushed, then sneered. "Time for supper, is it? You're a bit old to be visiting the Kyrul's favorites; he might get jealous." Reaching out, the Knife grabbed Ebon's chin and tilted the boy's head back to peer into his eyes. "It would be a shame for a handsome lad like you to lose his manhood. The palace slavemasters would get some fine stock, breeding from you." A dark chuckle followed as he released the boy and strode past, down the corridor.

A hushed whimper escaped Ebon's lips, before another voice interrupted his thoughts. "Boy! Hurry up and bring that food! We're famished!" Scowling from the harem quarters' doorway, the matron watched as he approached, but stopped him just before entering. She spoke again, without looking, in a quiet, insistent whisper. "You need to get her away from here, soon." When Ebon blinked in confusion, the matron continued. "Your sister. Or they will kill her."

"Azure?" he replied, matching her tone. "How did y-?"

"Your eyes. I'm not an idiot." Now she did look down to meet his gaze. "I have contacts. They'll reach out to you. Tomorrow night." Withdrawing her hand, the matron spoke again, in normal tones. "Go, boy! I'll take this from here! Get back to your place." Pushing Ebon away, she took the cart and wheeled it inside, leaving him to stand there before he turned and rushed away, back to the kitchens.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

The night passed, and the day as well, though it was painfully slow. Ebon worked hard, as he did every day; not out of any joy to serve, or even from a sense of duty, but rather because it quickened the passage of time. Today, though, was different. Today would be his last as a slave.

He took great care to keep that truth, that hope from his thoughts, however. Otherwise, he knew he would die a slave, and likely soon.

As day transformed into evening and then stretched towards night, however, doubt crept into Ebon's mind. Had it all been a trick? Was he betrayed?

"You, boy." The voice came from the doorway to the palace kitchens, and Ebon turned to see a man in silver armor pointing at him. "Come with me. Now." He turned, and the boy set down the tray he was carrying and followed, not knowing whether he was being taken: to freedom, or death... or simply pain. Other Knives and servants gave them only the briefest of glances, if they even noticed the pair at all. Eventually Ebon overcame his anxiety enough to pay attention to his surroundings, and realized that they were taking a back way to the harems. Was this the contact that the matron had promised?

Though the entrance to the slave chambers was close, two figures in hooded robes waited in the alcove. One was small, and as the newcomers approached, she lowered her hood to reveal a young face with bright blue eyes that shimmered in the torchlight. Before she could speak, however, the other figure reached out to stay her, then lowered her own hood.

Ebon blinked in surprise, while the Knife stopped short. "Healer Jisecor. I did not expect to see you here, so far from your sickrooms." One hand dropped to his sword.

"I told the matron that painless death would be a mercy to the child, but when she refused, I agreed to help get them both out of the city." Jisecor drew herself up straight and proud. "I wear my shackles no more, neither hand nor heart."

"I am a free man," replied the ersatz Knife, almost by rote, and then he frowned. "I was unaware that you were one of us. Call me Penel."

The healer stepped forward, bringing Azure along with her and speaking in low tones. "It's not something to be heralded throughout the palace. Now then... there are some herbs that I need replenished that can only be gathered in the night, as the sunlight diminishes their potency. These are my thrall helpers, and you are set to guard us in the night. Shall we go?"

[Ebon Ilnaren]

A lengthy pause filled the empty hall, before Penel lifted his hand from his sword hilt, gesturing for her to precede the group. Ebon and Azure fell behind, and he brought up the rear. More than once they were stopped and questioned, and each time the guards let them pass, until finally they were outside under the night sky, moving through the Kyrul's city. As they went, Ebon looked up at Jisecor, a question burning in his mind. "Why would it have been a mercy to kill Azure?" He reached out to take his sister's hand as she gasped at those words.

Jisecor paused a moment before answering. "She is older than was believed when she came into the Kyrul's... service. Old enough to carry a child, and she does. His child." She let that fact sink in before continuing. "You know our laws; it is forbidden to mingle blood between castes. Those who would bring a mongrel into our world must die in pain... both parents. That's the intent, anyway, and why our Great Master prefers unblooded girls for his pleasure."

Disgust was plain in Penel's face as they paused, entering a small courtyard. "So he would have the girl cut down now to save himself? But if we take her... we can use the child to weaken the Kyrul among the other highcastes."

"You could," cried out a voice, and then three figures entered the courtyard from the other side. Two of them were clad in silver armor like the man with the escapees, while the third wore an ornate robe with intricate filigreed decoration and a dagger at his waist; his skin looked to be dark brown under the moonlight, and he sneered. "But you won't leave here alive." Jisecor stepped back beside Penel, drawing a single-edged cutting knife from her belt even as he drew his own sword, while Ebon moved to stand before Azure; his sister, upon hearing that voice, had cringed and dropped to the ground, well and truly cowed. The Kyrul, seeing that, let mock sympathy creep into his voice. "Poor child."

"You leave us alone!" cried Ebon vehemently. He reached down to pick up a piece of brick and hurled it at the evil tyrant with surprising accuracy. Before it struck, however, one of the Silver Knives gestured and the stone seemed to ricochet harmlessly away.

As if on cue, things all happened at once. The first Knife advanced, while in a whirl of robes and glittering blade, Jisecor turned and raised her blade towards Penel, pressing it to his neck before he could react. The blade was sharpened to cut easily through tough stems and bark; flesh was nothing as she calmly and cleanly sliced open his throat. Ebon turned and, grabbing Azure's arm, pulled her to her feet and they began running back the way they'd come, only to find the second Knife suddenly step out of empty air before them, cutting off their escape.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Dragged back before the Kyrul, both children were thrown to their knees in front of him. Jisecor stepped up as well, a triumphant look on her face. "I brought them to you, Great Master, as I promised! I am your loyal one, as ever!"

"Of course you are," crooned the robed lord. "Because I wanted you to be. That's my gift, you see, to play in the hearts of others, to sense their feelings and to twist them. Now, however, your time is through." There was a glint in his eyes, like a brief flash of green, and then Jisecor's expression shifted from triumph to confusion and then to horror. "Unfortunately, with what you know, how could I possibly trust you?" He gestured, and the telekinetic Knife's mind pried the knife from the healer's fingers and plunged it into her chest. She stood there in shock while the Knife drew his sword and raised it.

Under the moon, the blade flashed once, follwed by a soft thunk and then a larger one as both parts of the corpse fell to the ground.

"It's a pity, really. She was an excellent healer." The Kyrul sighed and then looked at the two children as his Knives came to stand behind them. "You've given me quite a chase, girl... and your devoted brother, too; yes, I can see the resemblance. I saw it that first night, boy, when you brought refreshment while I took your darling sister; did you think I was blind? Your hope shone like a star that night, and for all the months since then!" Reaching out, he patted Ebon on the head, like a master petting a loyal hound. "I thought, what wonderful sport, to let you plot and plan, and see how far you might get! Then she brought the news," and he gestured towards Jisecor's rapidly-cooling body, "and I couldn't let the game go much longer. We took the old woman first."

"Matron?" asked Azure with a whimper.

"Yes, a tough old woman, finally pushed to her limits. She reminded me of my brother in that regard." He chuckled evilly at the memory. "But she couldn't last long, and gave up everything. From there, it was easy to draw you into my trap." With a sigh, the Kyrul dropped to one knee, now nearly eye-level to Azure, and level with Ebon. "I almost wish I didn't have to kill you both."

"You don't!" Ebon's voice was raw with need, the need to survive, for Azure to survive. "We won't tell anyone. On our lives, we swear it! Please!" He saw something change in the Kyrul's expression then, a tenderness that wasn't there before. The tyrant reached out a hand and gently stroked Azure's cheek. Hope welled in Ebon's heart and his voice cracked as he spoke. "We won't betray your secret. Will you spare us?"

The tableau held frozen for a moment, and then the Kyrul withdrew his hand and stood up. Looking down, he smirked at Ebon. "No."

Hope crashed within Ebon's heart, replaced with despair as Azure floated up, held in the one Knife's mental grip while the Kyrul drew the dagger from his sash. With a cruel smile, he plunged the blade into the girl's gut, slicing up before pulling back as the telekinetic hold released her to collapse beside he brother.

"e-ebon...." Then the life left her eyes.

Still on his knees, staring down at his sister lying dead, Ebon closed his eyes tight against the world. A wordless scream of pain burst from his throat as his mind's eye faded to white and he was lost.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Part 5 - Hunted

Something akin to ecstasy filled the Kyrul’s face as the boy’s despair and pain flooded through him, and he drank it up like the finest wine. It had been a fine evening and he was sated on the recipe of betrayal, fear, and raw emotional agony, savoring it like a well-cooked meal. Turning back towards his palace, he gestured to the Knives behind him. “Bring the boy. We’ll make an example of him.”

Then he felt the pain melt away, replaced by something else. Rage.

A rushing sound came from behind, followed by choked gasps and heavy, metallic thuds even as he spun around to see what had happened. Both of the Silver Knives, his personal guard, elite among their ranks, lay in crumpled heaps at opposite sides of the courtyard. Meanwhile, the boy remained where he was, kneeling, head bowed. Then, slowly, he looked up.

Those eyes that had been blackest shadow now blazed with a hot, white glow that flooded the Kyrul’s vision. Desperately he tried to summon his gifts, to raise some sort of defense as the field of white became edged with red, a blood-red miasma seeping into his mind’s eye until it was all he could see.

His dying scream was cut off by a crunch of bone.

[Ebon Ilnaren]

Ebon returned to himself to find he was being shaken gently by the shoulders. “Come, boy. The Knives will soon come, and you should not be here when they arrive.” Strong arms lifted him to his feet, but even in his daze a thought penetrated and he gave a frantic glance all around the courtyard. His gaze fell first upon the Kyrul’s corpse, its face unrecognizable amid a bloody mass of flesh and crushed bone, and then he spied where his sister had lain. The sight of Azure’s small form cradled in someone’s arms, being bundled in linens, set him scrabbling to reach her but he was held fast. “She will be treated with respect, but we must away. Now!”

Without another word, Ebon turned and followed the man, too numb to think of resisting. They dashed through the alleys, keeping to the shadows whenever possible and trusting to swiftness whenever not. Through it all, the man muttered a continuous, droning chant under his breath.

Finally they stopped at a small home, little more than a hovel really. Still droning, the stranger opened the door and motioned Ebon inside before following. Blinking, the boy watched as he took up a stance in the middle of the room, and as his chanting rose slightly, a soft reddish glow lined the edges of the door and curtained windows. Only once it had faded away did the man turn and regard Ebon with a smile. “There. We’re safe from prying eyes--or prying thoughts--within these walls.” Crouching low, he reached out to lay a hand gently on Ebon’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss tonight, lad.”

“What?” Still too stunned to really comprehend everything that had happened, the boy just looked at him. Then the truth struck Ebon hard, and he remembered. “A-” A sob wracked his shoulders. “Azure! He killed her, he….” Tears welled up in those dark eyes, tears of pain, of loss, of despair. The same strong arms from before now wrapped around him, drawing him close in a comforting embrace as he wept.

It felt like an eternity--though in fact the time candle had dropped only a mark and a half--before Ebon’s flow of tears stemmed, and he drew away from the stranger, who released him without comment. Wiping his nose with the back of one hand, he regarded the man warily, for all that he’d been crying in those arms moments before. “Who are you?” A heart beat once. “How can we be safe? They’ll find us!”

“Be still, lad.” The man gave his guest a warm, open smile that Ebon met with a hesitant one of his own. “The people here know me as Yar, simple laborer for hire, and not a particularly expensive one at that. I was named Astenyar by my parents, and you may call me such if you wish. As to your second question… I’ve had years to attune myself to this place, to make it my well of power and shape the wards that shield us. Without knowing exactly what to look for, even the strongest among the elite would simply skim over my home in their searches. And they will be searching, believe me.” Astenyar’s expression grew more somber, more grim. “You slew the Kyrul, and his mental death cry must have shaken every mind in the Palace to its core. Oh, yes. They will be hunting you.”

[Ebon Ilnaren]

The Palace was in turmoil. With the Kyrul’s death, factions within the ruling caste seized the opportunity to settle old scores, to advance a rung or two up the proverbial ladder. It was dark and bloody, and the way of things when a ruler met an untimely end. In such a land as this, the veneer of civilization could be thin indeed. By the next evening, many would lie on the killing floor, and the realm would have a new master.

A young woman crept through the Palace passageways, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the echoes of battle and pain. Though a royal cousin, she held no ambitions for rule herself; she preferred the comforts of nobility without the pressures of rule. That did not, however, prevent others from seeing her as a target for manipulation. Or elimination.

She would much rather be the manipulator--or the eliminator.

Besides, she had set herself a task. The images from her kinsman’s death sending resonated in her mind’s eye. While others vied for position, she would seek out his murderer and bring him back for justice, or for vengeance. In the Palace, the two were often held as the same., and it would set her in good stead with whoever came out on top this night.

If only she could make sense of the images that burned behind her eyes. A face, a young face that seemed somehow familiar, but the eyes were just empty hollows… no, she realized, not empty. Black. A wicked smile spread across her face. “The pretty boy.”

Now she knew her prey, and he would know her. “Not so broken anymore? Perhaps there will be time to play before your homecoming, little Ebon.”

* * *

Far away, beyond the city, someone else had sensed the Kyrul’s final thoughts. Gathering his gear, he dropped from the branches in which he crouched, landing softly on his feet. “The Kyrul is dead.” Around him, the man’s comrades stopped what they were doing and turned to look. “I want the one that killed him. Let’s move!”

[Ebon Ilnaren]

“Out of the way! Move!” The bellicose cry scattered most of the people crowding the city street. Those who didn’t react quickly found themselves brutally shoved aside--if not slammed hard into a wall--as soldiers charged past. Up ahead, the sounds of battle rang in the air, clashing metal and agonized screams.

For the past two weeks, the bloodletting had raged throughout the city in the wake of the former Kyrul’s assassination. A new ruler had taken the Palace, but his reign was not yet unchallenged, despite many of the noble families swearing fealty.

Many, but not all. Of those that did, more than a few were dealing under the table as well as upon it.

Yar shook his head as he watched the contingent of guardsmen pass, a figure in silver-plated armor at their head. Once they had moved on, he shouldered his crate of goods and continued on his way to market. It was a hefty load, an order of hammered metal servingware that he was delivering for a tinker who paid fairly. Carts and steeds were expensive, after all. Besides, it gave him an excuse to take his time loading and unloading the goods, and he used that time well. Listening, and learning… and looking for the right connections to get his youthful charge to safety.

“Hello there, big boy!” It was Old Feenah, the fruitseller who hired him now and then to haul her handcart. “I see Tinker Arron has you hard at work. When you’re done with that delivery, stop by my cart on your way back. I’ve got some fresh eska melons in today! I’ll give you a good price, maybe even throw in an extra to share.”

“Well, I may come by at that!” Though he smiled, Yar’s mind was clouded. Why did she mention sharing? While it was true that young Ebon’s presence at his home required more food than a man alone might need, he’d gone to great lengths to spread his purchases around, never buying too much at any given stall or cart. She couldn’t have known.

Could she?

No, he mused. Feenah was old and her faculties weren’t what they had once been. She was sharp as a knife when it came to barter and bargaining, but otherwise she was not so observant. The woman had a good heart, though; he almost wished he could confide in her, but that would put himself, Ebon, and Feenah herself at risk.

Besides, he realized, there was a simpler explanation. The old woman did love playing matchmaker, and had been trying to get him together with more than a few pretties over the years. He expected that, when he stopped by again, she would mention some lovely who enjoyed a ripe eska melon, and perhaps he might want to share some over breakfast.

Once more he shook his head, as he reached the cafe where Arron had told him to deliver the dishware. Ebon would enjoy some eska with his porridge, at least.

Not far away, one of the cafe patrons turned her gaze his way and smiled. It was an enticing smile, and Yar felt his heart skip. He dared not respond, though; after all, he was a simple laborer making a delivery. So he averted his eyes, keeping them focused ahead and down, a lowborn man who knew his place among his betters.

Meanwhile, the woman watched him go, and once he was out of sight, her enticing smile curled into a smirk. The image of a hollow-eyed youth lurked in the back of her mind…

...and for just an instant, she’d sensed it in that carryman’s mind as well. The hunt would soon be on again.