The Avenger's Circle

The Avenger's Circle.

(13-6/1&2).

    “Kith!”

    Kitharu Ikramra opened his eyes slightly, letting the shining light of the late evening break into his mind; acknowledging the worried voice.

    “Kith, get up! Something’s wrong!”

    Kith jerked upright in his bed, turning his dark eyes to his mother; her face peeking around the corner of the tiny straw doorway to his room.” What is it?” he asked, leaping to his feet and pulling his cloak off the floor from where it lay at the head of his sleeping mat.

    “The new squad of Isari guards has arrived,” his brown-haired mother said worriedly, stepping out of his way as he exited his sleeping quarters,” your father –“

    Kith didn’t wait for her and sprinted down the rickety bamboo hallway, calling back,” I'll take care of it!”

   Everyone in the village of Kurmarak knew of his father, Ehn Ikvar Ikramra’s, hatred for the Isari soldiers. He didn’t try to hide it, especially around the Isari.

   Curse you old man! He hissed angrily to himself, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. He rushed past the living room of the house where his younger brother and sister sat, looking frightened, at the hearthside.

   It wasn’t the first fight that the townspeople had had to restrain his father from.

   The truth was that nobody trusted the Ikramra’s! They had appeared out of the blue in Kurmarak valley almost fifteen years previously, when Kith had only been two. They’d been dead poor: Hopeless.

    They had been accepted into the community and his father’s carpentry skills had been put to good use, but the Kurmarakan’s had gotten more than they’d bargained for, and once Ikvar had settled in he had no intention of moving out.

   What had bothered them was that his father had known how to fight: Something that the Kurmarakan’s viewed as terribly evil - To them, anyone besides an Isari knowing how to fight was an abomination.

   Kith shoved the door open and rushed out into the muddy street, looking up and down the rows of small, bamboo houses, suspended over the marshy land by bamboo stilts. In the distance, to his right, he saw the Kurmaraka Keep looming out of the mists.

    Angry yells split the still air.

    Throwing caution to the winds he ran as hard as he could for the sound, flying past the locked up houses: Hoping that he wouldn’t arrive too late.

    He skidded to a halt, mud spattering up about him, as he entered the village square; placed directly before the gates of the fort. There a sight unfolded before his eyes.

    Half a dozen red-skinned, drunk-looking, low ranking Isari soldiers were standing in a ragged row in front of the village head-house, their armor splattered with mud, their crafty yellow eyes gleaming softly. A few yards in front of them stood a tall, powerfully built man in his mid-fifties, arms crossed as he glared down at them.

    Cowering a few feet behind the man was a boy, a few years younger than Kith, wrapped in the arms of his mother and father. A few half-frightened village men stood about, watching.

   “I told you to get out of our way!” One of the Isari roared, stepping toward the porch of the head-house, lowering his hands threateningly to the hilt of his sword.” That whelp” he pointed at the boy,” kept pelting me with stones! We are Isari, such treatment CANNOT be condoned!”

   The man standing in his way didn’t look a bit fazed. He leaned back against a support beam of the porch and scratched the stubble on his chin.” I heard you the first time. And you are men: If the ‘whelp’ had been pelting me with stones I’d just have tanned his backside for him. Like a man. Not threatened to stick a sword through him,” he said easily.

   “Just let ‘em have the kid,” one of the watching villagers called to Ikvar.

   The boy continued to cower; his parents seemed broken between agreeing with the villager and trying to protect their son.

   The Isari who had taken the lead for the other’s ignored the villager and whipped out his weapon, the half-transparent blade shining in the evening light,” if you don’t move then by VasoGevajis’t name I’ll strike you down where you stand!” he roared threateningly.

   Kith sighed; the Isari wouldn’t have bothered to warn any of the other villagers if he’d been in Ikvar’s place, he'd have cut them down without a thought. But Ikvar wasn’t one who was told off lightly.

   This wasn’t good.

   He glanced reassuringly at the the boy that his father was protecting – cowering in the mayor’s arms (His father).

   He smiled back at him, terrified.

   Ikvar shrugged nonchalantly in response to the threat.

   “Guys, really,” Kith stepped forward, speaking easily” why even bother bothering with one scrawny little kid? I think he's learned his lesson: I have my doubts he'll be pelting you again.”

    Two of the Isari glanced sideways at him, and he saw a look of tired resignation in their eyes. It was obvious that they’d been through this before.

   Ikvar smiled half-amusedly down at the lead Isari.” Maybe you should challenge him to a duel, Talek?” he suggested.

   In perfect timing three of the men behind Talek chuckled softly, only to be silenced as their leader turned to them furiously. Talek glared up at Ikvar but re-sheathed his sword: Seemingly defeated,” one day Ikramra, you will pay!” he snarled.

   Kith smiled in relief.

   Suddenly something in Talek seemed to break; he turned half way away from Ikvar and then screamed blood-curdlingly, whipped his sword out of its sheath and swung for Kith. Kith stumbled back in surprise, shocked at the feel of the warm blood trickling down the side of his face.

    Ikvar, however, roared in anger and leaping forward grabbed the short Isari by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground – crushing him.

    In repayment for crushing Taleks throat Ikvar took a pair of Isari swords across this arms.

   Kith cried in alarm and terror, leaping forward only to be beaten back by swinging swords.

    Ikvar sidestepped a swing by one of the Isari and kicked him in the chest – sending him flying a dozen feet, to crash into the mud. He caught the next man by the wrist and kneed him in the side so hard bones cracked sickeningly.

   A moment later the six Isari lay in the mud and filth about him, bleeding and groaning.

   Kith stared at his father in shock. He’d never seen fighting like that. Suddenly he froze, behind Ikvar a figure loomed, a sword raised. A scream caught in his throat . . .

    Ikvar smiled tiredly at him, his black eyes creasing – and then the sword descended.

    His father’s body crumpled to the ground without a cry, eyes going dead. Behind him Talek staggered away, as though just having stepped out of a coma. He looked down at the bloody sword in his hands and then at his men, unconscious and wounded about him, and then turning, he staggered away into the mist – heading away from the fort.

   Kith leapt forward and rolled his father’s body over . . . but he instantly knew he was too late. A pair of dark, dead eyes stared up at him from a tan face. He was dead.

   Sorrow filled him,” No!” He choked out, his throat suddenly felt dead and dry.

   He was dimly aware of someone step down beside him and laying a soft hand on his shoulder. The rest of the villagers stared in shock . . . at the Isari.

   ”I am so sorry Kith,” a voice said softly. A figure knelt next to him, allowing her pretty silk dress to drag in the mud,” I truly am.” It was Ara, Ithe’s – the boy Ikvar had been protecting - older sister: One of Kith’s only friends.

    Suddenly Kith felt something change inside him. His father had loved him and taken care of him for his entire life. Now he was dead. Why? Slowly he reached out and his hands closed on the gilted hilt of a sword, lying half-buried in the mud.

    Talek was going to pay for this!

     He stood angrily, brandishing the weapon and turning in the direction that Talek had gone.

    Ara laid a petite hand on his arm,” don’t Kith! You know that won’t fix anything!”

    But Kith wasn’t listening, throwing her hand away he stalked off.

    “Kith!” she called, running after him.

    “No, Ara!” her father cried leaping after her. But she was already disappearing into the mist. . . . The mayor looked down at the bodies.

    The cursed Ikramra man had deserved to die: If any of these blessed Isari had died then his soul would burn in the darkest depths of the nether for all time. Best his line be obliterated. Talek would not harm Ara.

    Grimacing he turned to the awaiting, burly, villagers.

    I would like to say that Kith turned away from his decision to have his revenge: But I cannot. The truth is that emotions are more powerful than that. Revenge especially.

    I will not make it my place to judge what Kith did, it was well within his rights. I will not think little of him for it either though, because chances are that I would have done just the same in his place.

        The knife whistled through the air, flashing in the light of the falling sun as it spun end over end, wicked curved tip following heavy spiked hilt.

    “Kitharu!”

    Ara’s panicked scream seemed to echo down the forlorn slope, bouncing back and forth in Kith’s brain, going in slow motion . . . just as the dagger was.

   Twenty feet in front of him, Talek’s eyes gleamed with triumph, his wicked curved fangs showing as he pulled his lips back in a feral smile.

   You’re not dying now Kith, he whispered to himself, not after all you’ve done already.

    Faster than the eye could follow he reached out and snatched the wheeling knife straight out of the air. How did I do that? He wondered in awe, looking down at the gleaming weapon in his hand.

    Both Ara and the Isari stared at him in shock.

    “How did you do that?” Ara echoed him, speaking softly.

    It was the Isari who acted first. Reaching down he jerked a long, curved sword out of its sheath on his thigh and went for Kith, bounding over the slick swamp ground, screaming blood curdling war-cries that echoed off into the valley about them.

    Kith froze: He’d been trained all his life to fear the Isari, they were his natural rulers. To hold a weapon meant treason. To fight an Isaria meant almost certain death. And to kill an Isari meant only one thing; Damnation to the depths of the nether realm.

    But this creature had killed his father. This thing had murdered him. This monster, superior or not, deserved to die.

    Who are you to judge? His father’s words echoed in his ears.

    Talek swung his weapon as he landed, sending the razor sharp blade cutting through the air, flying for Kith.

    Ara screamed in horror, dropping to her knees: Too afraid to act.

    But the blow never struck.

    Kith felt hate, like molten lead, course through his veins, burning its way through him: Screaming to be released.

   There was a flash of flame so bright and so hot that when Kith opened his stinging eyes he found himself standing in a meadow, the grass charred and covered in blood . . . bits of Isari bone, armor, and clothing scattered everywhere.

    Because someone had to, he replied softly to his father’s accusing voice.

    Ara stared at him,” Kith!” She screeched in horror, dropping to her knees, terror filling her beautiful blue eyes,” what have you done!” She screamed.

   He raised the knife, not sure exactly what had happened,” I . . . I judged.”

   Suddenly Ara threw her arms to the sky and looked down at the filthy ice, her lips moving frantically: Praying to the Three Father’s -  The VasoGevajis't

   Confusion and fear filled him, what had he done? He was such a fool. Not only had he doomed his soul to eternal damnation, but he had most certainly brought the wrath of the Isari down upon his people.

    NO! Some part of his mind cried. The Isari are NOT god’s we do not have to obey them! Why live in slavery when a light shines before you!

    An arrow arced out of the mist and sank to the feathers in his back.

    Ara screamed in horror, rushing forward, but another arrow tore through the air and with a horrifying tear went straight through her neck. She sank to the ground beside him: Dying as he was.

    A moment later a dark cloaked trio of Isari archers looked angrily down at the two dead bodies: Their leader was avenged.