Young Writers Society

Chapter 1: Checkmate at Everal

Dera could feel his skin crawling under the layers of cloth and leather that rested beneath his armor. It was a feeling he had never gotten used to. For some reason, any itch that you couldn’t get to seemed to grow until it was all you could think about. He rolled his shoulders in an effort to relieve himself, but all he managed to do was irritate it further. It didn’t matter though, none of it had mattered for so long. He was here for a different reason than the rest of the soldiers gathered around him. He cast his eyes to the side, staring at the rows of tin men stretching well past his peripheral to the right. On his left, just one man separated him from the gap in the ranks that served as a makeshift path.

His lips sneered involuntarily while he snorted. Nothing but a bunch of sheep, Dera thought to himself. They’re cowards, the whole lot of them. They paraded around in armor, pretending that they actually had the power to protect anyone or the interest in such high ideals. All they cared about was saving their own skin, and the best way to do that was conformation and servitude.

Dera sighed, it was partly a passive complaint about the heat beating down on them, cooking them inside of their metal cases like some sort of mobile oven. But mostly, it was because he knew he had been just like them not so long ago. Could he really stand so high and mighty when he had been content to turn his sight from the horrors of his world? How could he look down on them when he knew what it was like to wake up every day, fearing for your family’s well-being?

He pushed these thoughts from his mind. Dera knew that only heart ache lay at the end of that well-travelled path. He had failed himself long ago, and by extension, failed the ones he loved. Now he found himself left with but one option.

And another failure was simply not that option.

He locked his eyes on the gate that was mounted to the castle walls rows ahead of him. It was the lone entrance into the square courtyard, the small passage through the great stone walls that surrounded the small castle on three sides. Far to the right of him was the massive cliff edge the castle had been built on. It wasn’t exactly mountainous, but a sheer drop of fifty feet would be enough to kill any man and made an excellent natural barrier.

“Almost any man,” Dera reminded himself quietly.

“What?” whispered Jeric from his side.

Dera gave his head a rattle, “Just talking to myself.”

He could see from the corner of his eye that his ally was watching him closely, more than likely trying to detect in him any change of his resolve.

“Look, I know you’re nervous,” Jeric turned slightly to cut down on any curious eavesdroppers, “But if we just stick to the plan everything will go off without a hitch.”

Dera tapped his foot nervously, a small tic that always seemed to pop up when he was wound up tight. He turned to face his commander and friend, a man that he had fallen in with months ago after the attack on his home had left him a broken shell and without cause. If he hadn’t joined up with Jeric, he more than likely would have succumbed to his desolation by now.

Dera shuddered, it wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

Jeric was his opposite in nearly every way. Where Dera was naturally quiet and aggressive; Jeric was outgoing and friendly, almost to a fault. Although that was more than likely the only reason he and Dera hadn’t clashed when he had stumbled upon him; he simply seemed to get along with everyone. The man had a certain charisma about him that had inspired trust.

“I know, I know,” he rubbed his eyes with his finger and thumb, “I just can’t shake the feeling we’re overlooking something. Like, I don’t know, like there’s something we missed.”

Jeric simply grinned at him, the familiar and toothy smile stretching his thin beard wide across his face. He clapped his hand on Dera’s shoulder with a loud percussion that drew some glances but thankfully no further attention.

“Trust me, Dera. I’ve thought of everything there is to consider,” he leaned in close to Dera’s ear before continuing, “I was nervous the first time I hit a Magus, too. They’re dangerous enemies, to be certain, but with the preparations we’ve made here and the element of surprise we’ll get him before he even knows who hit him.”

Dera took a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to ease his heart and the hornets buzzing in his belly and willed himself to put faith in Jeric’s words. This was the moment he had waited so long for; the moment he would taste a small portion of vengeance. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the whole thing.

Dear bit his inner lip, “I do trust you, I just-“

“Do you know which Magus we’re here for?” Jeric cut him off, his face losing his smile and growing unnaturally serious.

Dera’s mouth suddenly lost all moisture as a chill tingled down his spine. He could tell from his tone exactly which of the bastards they were about to kill. His eyes closed slightly and lost focus on the world as he lost himself in his past again.

His voice was quieter than wind rustling leaves, “Markoff.”

Jeric nodded slowly. “Yes. Markoff indeed,” he locked eyes with Dera, making sure he had his full attention before continuing, “I needn’t tell you this isn’t an opportunity we’re not likely to come by again soon. But if you think it’s a bad idea,” Jeric’s voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Do you really want to turn back now?

“No,” said Dera with a newfound resolution, “This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is the chance I need to make all right.”

With that, Dera turned and began to prepare himself mentally for the chaos that was about to ensue, when a question sprung to mind that brought a fresh scowl to his face.

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me it was Mar- “

He was cut off abruptly by the blasting of horns from the castle walls, announcing the guest of honor’s arrival. The men standing on either side of the gate pulled the metal slides that kept it barred from invaders. With a brash clank, the massive slabs of oak swung loudly on their hinge, creaking from the years of poor maintenance.

From his position towards the middle of the column nothing lower than the tops of the gates could be seen as they were locked into place against the walls; allowing a wide berth for the group that was arriving. The blaring horns fell silent as the first of the group crossed the threshold into the humble keep’s grounds.

Dera’s suspicion died with his question as he settled into old habits. It hadn’t been easy killing for a living, even when one did it for a good reason.

It took a certain mindset, a different frame of thinking than normal life allowed. Your spirit had to be strong, your will ironclad and your heart sculpted from dark stone. It hadn’t been easy to give into the beast when he had a family to return to, knowing he’d have to reign it in once he rejoined them. It had required two separate men to share one body; two minds and one shell.

But one of those men had died months ago. He settled himself into the dark corner every person had in their mind; the evil that all men are born with buried in them. The sort of darkness you only saw at the flitting about the edges of your vision unless you chose to walk into it. To embrace it.

It was only then could one know how deep it truly ran, a dark vein through the center of their soul.

Jeric turned at attention with a smug smirk, knowing that no further prodding was necessary. Dera had always supposed that was the reason Jeric had asked him along in the first place. Every leader needed someone like him who would handle the dirty work they didn’t want to degrade themselves with. He always boasted about killing Magi and their minions before, but Dera had a sneaking suspicion that he rarely sullied himself with combat. It was more than likely he had been the brains in the operation, not the muscle; thinking himself above such work.

He had the looks of a commander, with his short blonde hair and immaculate appearance. Jeric also had the arrogant attitude to boot. Jeric expected people to follow his orders and plans to the tee; without question or remorse. If the circumstances had been different, he was the type of man Dera would have been happy to slay without hesitation. But as things were, he offered what he needed when he needed it most in his darkest hour.

The opportunity for revenge.

Dera sucked a slow steady breath in through his nose and out of his mouth.

He felt ready.

His mind was clear of distractions and his will honed steel. All the filthy jobs he had done for Jeric would culminate on this day, with the avenging death of the man that murdered his family for his own selfish gain.

Markoff.

That was the problem with Magi, they cared not for the world or people around them. They were creatures of greed and wrought nothing but sorrow in their wake. They existed only to take and, as far as Dera was concerned, they all deserved a painful demise.

Dera smiled. He could be satisfied with ensuring this one met the proper end at least.

With and agonizingly slow pace, the parade had finally reached their row in the line. Amidst the hooting and cheering, a ringing silence settled over Dera like a cloak concealing a hidden dagger. First it was the ornately armored guards, marching proudly in their gilded steel. Then rows upon rows of suckling nobles, gathering like parasites on the belly of a great beast.

Dera looked over the scene, picking through the faces for the unknown image he had built in his mind’s eye. The visage of the man who had taken his family from him. The face of a monster.

He was beginning to lose hope, maybe Jeric’s intel had been mistaken like the countless false leads before now. Then he saw him bringing up the back of the formation like a shepherd watching his flock for irregularities. Two giants winged him, covered head to toe in a crimson armor and wielding wicked axes that could lop a man in two if given the chance. No doubt they handled his grunt work, another fool just like Dera had been.

Except for a key difference; they wouldn’t live past the next few moments. But they were hardly the prize he had his eye on, simply obstacles to be taken note of and eliminated as quickly as possible.

Roadblocks, really.

Markoff’s head was tilted down; a heavy, hooded cloak was worn, despite the heat, that hid his face well. The dark robe covered his entire body, pooling into a puddle that drug along behind him, somehow not picking up dust from the sandy earth we walked on. His body looked like it was carved from darkness; itself as unnatural as the wicked powers he possessed. Dera’s entire body raged with fresh energy; power buzzing through him like righteous lightning streaming down from the heaven’s. With his face set like stone, he pushed the man to his left out of the way. He stepped out into the center of the path calmly as his neighbor crashed into the men behind him with a complaint that was drowned under the loud clatter of steel bodies.

The slow march had continued on, unbeknown to them that trouble was brewing so short a distance away. Dera turned to face their backs, cracking his neck with his knuckles and stretching his shoulders out as he did so. The people near him had been taken by surprise at the sudden turn of events; speaking in whispers as Dera tied his shaggy, dark hair back into a loose gathering.

He smiled a tiny, sorrowful smile. His wife had always joked that every beast should have a tail. Dera hefted his borrowed helmet in his gloved hand and hurled it with all his might at Markoff’s shadowy back. While it whistled through the air, he screamed like a rabid predator finally loose from its cage turning on its tormentors.

“Markoff!”

The bellow tore its way up from unfathomable depths of hate and pain, echoing around the courtyard like a banshee’s cry. Now he had their attention. The eyes of the entire courtyard shot to him; shock and horror written on their cowardly faces as clear the wrath was etched into his. He stood tall, a wolf amongst the cowering sheep, awaiting his target’s attention. In a way, it was like any other assignment he had been on, except Dera was going to enjoy giving into the darkness this time.

The helmet arced towards its target, on a course to slam into Markoff’s head if it hadn’t of been for the quick reflexes of the giant behemoths at the Magus’ side.

They both reached their massive hands out without looking, one managing to catch the helm a hair’s breadth from its target. The trio slowed to a stop as the two guards turned to face him. With a slow, grinding crunch its heavy hand squeezed the helmet into a steel raisin. The bodyguard dropped it to the ground, where the heavy ball of scrap kicked up dust from the dry ground.

Dera smiled an evil grin, the smile of a madman.

The wolfish grimace of a predator thirsting for the hunt.

The beasts were just far enough away that the space between them bent and twisted from the rising hot air. The silence Dera had embraced claimed the waves of people that had gone from warriors to spectators in a blink. It was as if they had forgotten they were soldiers, sworn to a crown that was in turn sworn to the cloaked man before them. This was unprecedented; they had never seen anyone stand up to a Magus before. It was simply unheard of.

Creative suicide, essentially.

Not that they would have wanted to intervene at this point, getting in front of the behemoths and their enemy was a certain death awaiting any fool hardy enough to walk into its embrace. Better to wait and watch it all pan out.

Time stood still as the courtyard froze; nearly all present fearful of breaking the silence and invoking either sides’ wraith. There was no turning back now, that moment had passed with Dera revealing himself.

It’s all going according to the plan, he reminded himself.

The armored beasts began a slow, lumbering run that quickly built up in momentum what it lacked in speed.

Dera was unfazed, and stood steadfast in the path of the raging monsters. He watched them close the distance with a cool composure, the killer’s smile twisting his face maniacally. He began casually dismantling the straps holding his borrowed armor to his body, as if he were returning it to its unconscious owner rather than battle. The chest piece swiveled off one shoulder and hung on by the remaining shoulder strap still attached to him, while the rest of the crudely crafted armor fell into growing heaps on either side of him as his practiced hands danced over its surface.

When he was done, he pulled a small knife from behind the hanging chest plate and cut the remaining strap from his body, allowing it to join its brethren amidst the cloud of dusty debris that had risen around Dera like a growing storm.

The dust completely enveloped Dera as the silent guards had finally reached him, the beast on the left arriving seconds before its twin. Lefty swung his axe first, bringing it down over its head in a tall running strike. It had put all of its strength into it; attempting to split Dera from head to groin and finish the fight before it started.

But its victim would no longer be there once the smoke cleared.

Its heavy weapon sliced through the cloud. The force of the swing split the cloud with a gush of wind, revealing a pile of armor and an axe head that had plowed through the chest piece; burying itself deeply into the ground. He had been the first to strike; so sure to end the battle before it really began. His reckless action was a costly mistake.

Dera decided he would be the first to die.

They had never encountered an opponent like Dera. He no need to hide behind heavy armor and pray that nothing broke through. That was how a coward played at war.

While that first strike sailed down towards him, he lithely slipped to the side. He slid into a crouch and sprinted through the dusty cover to the giant’s side. With a leap he was clinging to its back, moving faster than it or the bystanders could register.

With a speed that would make lightning itself envious, he pulled a long dagger from his boot and buried it deeply into the chainmail covering the space where the helmet butted against the edge of the pauldrons of the monstrous armor but didn’t quite cover it.

Designed to hold up to a glancing cut rather than a stab, it pierced the weak weave with ease.

And, with even greater ease, it pierced the flesh of the giant’s neck. A stream of blood exploded from the torn artery, flowing along the blade and out through the wound; covering the closest spectators in a crimson shower.

Child’s play.

Dera kicked off of the monsters back, landing deftly as the crowd roared with shock. The bright spray of blood continued spurting as the giant let go of the axe and grasped numbly at the short hilt protruding from its neck. He took a few unsteady steps back and forth, confused and unsure of how he lost, before crashing to the ground in the dark pool spreading out in all directions.

The crowd erupted into movement. The horror scene had been enough for the crowd to retreat from the action as far as the castle walls and barred gates would allow. It was unknown who it was more dangerous to be near; the remaining brute or the beast that had risen from their midst like a shadow in the shade. The smartest of them had begun scaling the uneven rock face that made up the walls, hoping to gain safety with height.

Dera rose and stood motionless as the crowd regarded him with a newfound respect. This wasn’t some fool making a doomed statement, bound to fail, this was a dangerous animal.

Hungry, and with the scent of blood deep in its snout.

Dera gave his neck another twist, giving way to a satisfying crack again as he slowly slid a dark, sinister blade from its slumber on his back. If they didn’t recognize his armor before, they certainly knew his profession now.

Clutched in his ebony gage was an evil sword known by reputation to all who lived under the hands of tyranny and terror, granted only to those who killed on behalf of the Magi. A mark of skill and strength. Yet, in the same breath, a source of fear for those unfortunate enough to lay their eyes on it.

For good reason, Dera thought, as he held the blade up towards the bright sky and watched it suck up any light luckless enough to fall into its dark depths. All the while regarding it with contempt and regret.

With shame and sorrow.

A reminder of his mistakes and sins.

His unholy Lamina, the mark of the Slayer.

The remaining monster roared with hate, swinging its axe horizontally from Dera’s right-hand, attempting to bisect the underestimated intruder. Dera leapt above the blow, tucking his legs into his body to lift his feet just above its deadly bite. The beast reeled from its overzealous swing; all the force that it gathered now betraying him. It reeled back on its massive right foot, regaining its balance slightly and turning the weight of its body into power.

It was bringing its crimson axe down diagonally as Dera’s feet returned to the ground faster than he had anticipated the oaf could recover. The giant had been correct in its assumption, he wouldn’t be able to dodge the blow as he had been thus far.

But Dera was done playing reaction, and moved to take the offensive.

Dera held up his free arm parallel to the swing as the axe reached him, allowing it to slide down his shadowy, armored forearm in a cascade of brilliant sparks. The axe ran its course, leaping from his elbow and colliding with the ground like a mighty meteor, cleaving the soil and showering the area with shattered earth. There was no ground left in the crater for the axe to catch on, but it would hardly matter.

The fool’s costly mistake now demanded its dues be paid in full.

With a strength that his slim figure hid well, Dera grasped the shaft of the weapon in a flash with the same hand. His arm still glowing from the friction of the redirection, and cleaved it in two deftly with his black blade. The momentum of the miss sent the axe head bouncing from the ground. It sailed through the air, burying itself into the back of one of the fleeing nobles that had previously stood so proudly by Markoff.

Dera barely took notice. The death of another court rat, as satisfying as it is, was hardly his goal.

He released his hold on the newly crafted walking stick quickly. Losing its counterweight, his prey lurched to its other foot, hands held wide as if trying to catch the air itself as if to prevent its loss of balance. Dera brought his sword around with all of his might, shearing the armor’s metal with a cringe-inducing screech and lopping through the beast’s knee with a sickening squelch.

It came crashing down, its remaining leg unable to support its off kilter and massive body. As it fell to the ground, Dera lifted his sword and brought it down like a woodsman chopping logs. He separated the traitorous leg from its host, allowing it to join its twitching twin in the dirt.

It came crashing down as Dera finished pruning its remaining leg; exposing bone and gory flesh as the blade ate its way through with ease. Like a dying animal, it roared in pain as it tried to sit up and defend itself desperately.

All while Markoff watched silently, making no moves to end his assassin.

Dera couldn’t help but notice, but he had more pressing matters at hand. Besides, the rest of the squad should nearly be in position by now.

Dera had to give the crippled warrior his respect, it moved faster than he’d thought something that size could. Cornered prey tended to surprise you though, he mused silently.

It managed to lift itself with one arm and swing the other out, attempting to ward off another attack.

His feeble efforts were in vain. Dera was on the great beast like a wolf tearing into its now helpless victim ferociously.

Dera slid under the massive arm to move behind the dead man, feeling the air pressure blow the sweat off his face as it passed harmlessly overhead. With a primal roar, he slid his blade straight through the back of its neck with the ease of a strike honed one too many times.

The its high pitched cries of pain were choked off in a gurgle as the blade shot through the front of the neck. Grasping the ridge that ran along the top of the helmet, Dera held it firmly as he twisted his sated blade and tore it out through the side of its meaty neck.

The beast was dead, but Dera’s bloodlust wasn’t finished yet.

Dera brought his blade back through what remained of the neck, severing it and the chain mail that coated it like a beetle shell in a vicious strike. It plowed through, barely catching on the already strained mail, and severed the monster’s head. Dera bellowed in victory, a feral roar born from the raw pleasure of giving into one’s darkest instincts. Feeling more beast than man, he raised the decapitated head high above his own, holding it there as it showered the ground with blood and gore.

Through this crimson downpour, he locked his eyes on Markoff, still reactionless.

Mocking him with his disregard.

Dera’s blood was pumping. His ears were buzzing, and his mind aflame from bloodlust and adrenaline.

He discarded his trophy and sprinted towards the dark figure with long, forceful strides.

Even while lost in his frenzy, Dera could feel something was off. The plan wasn’t not working; it simply wasn’t happening. Jeric was nowhere to be seen, and neither were his reinforcements that should have emerged from the pressed crowd. They were supposed to be holding back any the guards that found the courage to act, yet they were nowhere to be seen.

And he could see some of the guards stirring form their stupor.

Shit, thought Dera, the situation had become very dire indeed. He was skilled, far beyond that of any mortal man, but even he couldn’t handle such a vast disadvantage of numbers. Unable to smash them all, the insects would overwhelm the beast in him with sheer numbers.

The fear of becoming collateral damage evaporated with the death of the crimson guard. Thankfully, many of the surrounding soldiers were content to cower away from the fight, but sizeable group had begun pulling themselves from the thick crowd.

Either out of bravery and a sense of duty, or fear at what cost their inaction may bring when the smoke cleared. Or maybe both, Dera found it difficult to tell anymore.

Such was the terrible power the Magi held over the hearts of the all men.

Almost any man, thought Dera.

Dera felt as if he were sprinting through a collapsing tunnel of armored bodies, his pursuers melting into a near solid mass behind him as they failed to catch him. Despite his speed they’re misses grew nearer as the distance closed.

Those closest to Markoff already had had ample time to pull themselves from the crowd and erect a quick, if somewhat lacking, defensive line. It wouldn’t stop him, but Dera’s heart sunk when he realized it would be enough to slow him down. Those that didn’t join its ranks raced to cut off Dera before he could even reach it, losing in towards him like the teeth of a trap snapping into his leg.

Fate be damned, he had gone from hunter to the creature in the corner in just a few precious moments.

Now he began to panic. Dera didn’t know what had happened, nor did he have the luxury of thinking about it. He was simply too close to give up now, though.

And, he thought objectively, there was no way he was going to live through this for another chance.

This thought galvanized Dera. More determined than ever, Dera doubled his pace. He poured all his might into pounding the earth until he knew he had gained as much distance as he possibly could. He was tantalizingly close, only a mere fifteen feet from his target. He only had one choice now.

With a sigh, he slid his bloody sword into place between his shoulder blades as a diving soldier leapt at him and managed to catch his ankle between his hands. From there, Dera knew there was no escaping the pack that was no longer biting but his heels but leaping ravenously onto him.

Still, that didn’t stop him from giving the first dog a good kick to the face. The man’s nose smashed into pulp from a swift heel to the face and he let go cradle what was left of the flattened mess.

Dera knew he shouldn’t, but he immediately felt better.

Despite loosening the man’s grip; one soldier’s grasp quickly gave way to two, which gave way to third and so on until he was covering in steel ants. Now Dera truly felt like a cornered beast, with no options before him, save one last desperate attempt.

A deathly swan song.

He gave up trying to pull away; instead turning his attention towards freeing his right arm from the soldiers that had latched on like hungry dogs. Dera threw his elbow back, denting the faceplate and the face beneath it in unison.

One down.

Dera swung his arm to the left as hard as he could; pulling the remaining captor gripping it close while slamming his shoulder into the man’s chest. With his good arm free, he slid yet another deadly weapon from its place in his assassin’s armor. What looked like an out of place embellished piece of armor covering his elbow was actually the hilt of a sharp dagger.

Small, but enough to finish this final mission.

With all his might he reared his arm back as far as he dared and sent the elegant blade flipping end over end towards the silent Magus. Dera’s eyes twitched as he watched the blade fly, just seconds away from righteous redemption.

It was all out of his hands now.

It flew faster than an arrow, piercing the air and passing over the heads of the alarmed guards who all dropped to avoid the weapon. It arced down towards its target like a bird of prey setting upon a rodent.

Dera’s heart fluttered, the soldier closest to Markoff lifted his hand to catch it! But gnawing fear was quickly replaced with the urge to collapse in a fit of laughter.

He managed to catch it after all.

Yet, from another point of view, all he did was get himself impaled as well.

The man screamed in raw agony as the blade slammed into his gloved hand, sliding through leather and flesh until its hilt allowed it to go no further. This didn’t stop the powerful missile, however. The force of the blade carried it and the hand backwards into its target. Burying itself silently into the chest of Markoff, it pinned the screaming soldier to the cloaked figure.

A profound silence seized entire yard; all bystanders stood by with slack jaws. Dera knew what they must be thinking. It was unbelievable. One man, one mortal man, had killed the greatest Magus of the land. Single handed.

Dera began to smile, and tears welled up in his eyes as he allowed the soldiers to force him to his knees. They were all over him now, pinning his body into place, from his legs out to his stretched hand.

But before he could celebrate and rejoice in his avenging moment, he realized had indeed been correct.

Something was indeed wrong.