Author's Note:
Hey all Long time no see, I've been working like a dog and moving isn't always a good thing.
Well I'm finally back and have a few new stories to tell.
So let's kick it off with this one.
Disclaimer:
I own not a lot in this world and Yu-Gi-Oh is on that list. I do however own these socks... no, wait, these aren't mine either.
Of King's and Thieves.
Chapter. 1
A wave of humid heat rolled across the desert sands - rufusing to give way to the cooler night air. There was no moon that night, but the stars filled the entire sky.
Kajan nocked an arrow in his bow and drew back his arm until his lips brushed the bowstring in a tender kiss. His brow furrowed and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His biceps stood hrd and proud under the strain. "Light it now Kastros!" he hissed. He clenched his teeth and worked his jaw stiffly.
Kastros lowered the tourch to the alcahol soaked cloth wrapped around barbed arrowhead, the moment the rag roared to life Kajan loosed the fire arrow.
Immediately the sky was ablaze with the light and warmth of dawn, and the peace was broken by the sweet hum of bowstrings as all twenty archers loosed a volley of fire arrows deep into the sleeping village of Kul Elna. As the thatched roof's spluttered and crakled into life and the air quickly filled with thick acrid smoke, the first cry of alarm rose from the village.
Kajan lowered his bow and nodded a silent order to Kastros who gave a wild whoop of excitement and gathered up the reins. "For Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen. Devine King of this very Egypt. And for his son, the Crowned Prince Atem. May they live forever!"
"Bak-her! Bak-her Great Pharaoh!"
Kastros lashed the reins the horses sleek backs, raising thick whelts where the rawhide struck, and they plunged forward. The chariot lurched after them as Kajan headed the charge. Before they even reached the edge of the village, Kajn could smell the sharp stink of fear and taste the metallic tang of panic. And he relished it.
"Keep them running steady." he bellowed over the roar of the rushing wind and drew his spear from the chariots weapon bin.
"Of course, Brother."
Kajan leaned over the chariot's side, ready to skewer any and all who strayed too close. Panicked villagers ran blindly into the path of the chariot fleet and squealed, like rabbits in tha jaws of the desert jackels, ans they were cut down. Then an arrow whistled past Kajan's ear and clattered at his feet, a second struck the side of the chariot.
Suddenly the left side horse screamed and collapsed to its knees, an arrow protruding from the poor beasts spine, dragging its team-mate down with it. Both Kajan and Kastros were flung from the chariot and somersaulted through the air. Kajan struck the hardpacked sand with a force that should have crippled him and rolled to a sitting position. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as his brother hit the ground with the sickening sound of snapping vertebrea and pray that the impact had killed him.
Shoving himself to his feet, Kajan limped back to the fallen chariot. The un-injured horse was on its feet, panic showing in its eyes and foam dribbling from its muzzle. Kajan grabbed a discarded long sword, hefted himself up and straddled the horses back. It stamped and pawed anxiously at the sand, still teathered to its fallen team-mate. He pulled the sword from its scabboard, the bronze blade whispered aginst the leather, and with a flick of his wrist the animal was freed from the rawhide teathers of the chariot.
"Hi-up!" he cried and dug his heels into the animals flanks.
He felt the hooves pounding the dry earth beneath his broken body as Kajan spurred the horse deeper into the stricken village, cutting down peasents as he charged onwards. Kastros's breath sent up little dust clouds as he snorted like a terrified horse, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. His eyes rovved and the whites showed in agony.
He was going to die.
He knew that.
Soon th scavengers would come to feed from the corpses. He just hoped and prayed to the Gods that he would be dead before they began eating him.
Already the bronze blade had dulled and was stained with blood. Kajan wrapped his left fist in the horses mane and swung his body right, he thrust the blade down, stabbing a young woman between the shoulders as she knelt beside an overturned cart.
Her body convulsed upright, white hair spilling over her shoulders and blue eyes, impossibly wide with surprise and explosive agony. Ikona never saw the face of her attacker. She only knew the searing pain of the blade as it pierced and withdrew from her body with a wet tearing sound. Her body jerked once when the blade slid free and she crumpled face first into the sand.
Huddled beneath the cart a boy, her son, trembled in terror as he watched his mother collapse. Bright lung blood dripped from her lips and rolled into little mud balls as they hit the sand. He raised himself slowly to his hands and knees and began inching toward her.
"Mother?" the child called so softly, he wasn't sure if he had spoken the word aloud or simply screamed it in his mind.
Ikona rolled her eyes to her son. "S-stay hidden, Little one." she breathed so softly the boy had to freeze to hear her. Sand settled on her bloodied lips as sticky crimson fluid continued to seep into her mouth and slowly drown her lungs.
He hesitated. Confusion and horror clouded his rusty eyes.
Ikona's lips quivered beneath the bloody froth bubbling up from her throat. "Don't-" Her eyelids fluttered once. Twice. Then closed.
The child hung his head and felt his throat clog with grief. He gnawed his bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling, until he tasted blood. In the silence that followed, he lay there, braced and terrified, waiting for the soldiers to return and find him cowering beneath the cart. He felt a tickle beneath his right eye and, as he swiped the back of his hand across his cheek, he already knew what it would be.
Blood.
His blood. He swept his gaze up to the cart above him. A board had come loose and he could see thin, ragged strips of his own flesh caught upon the broken wood.
He didn't know how long he lay there, hidden, cowering beneath the cart, staring into Ikona's dead face, the pit of his stomach ice cold and numb. His chest hollow yet strangely heavy.
Finally the first warming light of dawn peeked over the horizon, chasing away the chill of the night and exposing the full horror of the attack. Slowly he managed to pull his belly from the sand and haul his exhausted body to his mothers side. His eyes hooded and dark with misery, he pushed himself beneath her arm digging and kicking and squirming until he was crushed against her chest.
He closed his eyes. He could cry now; it would be okay. But the tears just would not come.
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The boy stirred when the scent of roasted meat filled his mind, his stomach chortled and wheezed. Opening one eye, he found himself bundled in heavy furs and blankets, and staring up at the night sky.
His mind raced, he he couldn't understand what was happening. He rememberedthe soldiers returning to collect the dead and he'd -
His cheeks heated in humiliation.
He had run away. Run away, like a coward.
He had run and run until exhaustion and the heat of the desert had claimed him.
He fought and wriggled his way from beneath the tangle of fur and blankets and, suddenly, tumbled from the mess, thumping onto the hard ground. Pushing himself upright he noticed the bandages on his feet for the first time, the battered and bloodied soles had been cleaned and bound as he'd slept.
Lifting himself to his hands and feet, he crept toward the warmth of the fire and the tantalizing meat tha dribbled its fats into the sizzling flames. Keeping a wary eye on the silloetted shapes of two men as they feasted he crept closer, draggign his belly along the sand.
Just a few feet more.
One man turned sharply and the boy froze, his gut clenched with fear and he flattened himself to the sand. His aged face hardend and he leaned to his companion, murmuring something the boy couldn't make out, the other man turned now and rose to his feet with a groan. Suddenly he towered over the boy and siezed him by the back of his tunic, ignoring the tiny squeak of protest as he swung the boy onto his shoulder as easily as though he weighed nothing.
"Soggy little pup, you?"
He dropped the boy between himself and his companion and close to the fire.
The boy watched with interest as the man broke a chunk of bread from the dry loaf, paused then pushed it into the boys hands and he wasted no time in filling his mouth.
"Easy lad." The younger man scolded gently as he drew his knife and began sawing a slad of meat from the joint. He offered it to the boy; who stared longingly at the dripping meat then to the bread he clung to with both hands, then back to the hot meat, hunger and confusion obvious in his eyes. Refusing to give up the bread and desperatly hungering for the meat, the boy stared helplessly up at the man. He chuckled and tossed the slab onto the animal skin at the boys hip.
He crammed as much bread into his mouth as he could manage and turned, keeping a careful watch on the meat.
"I still say leave him to the desert, Rahemu."
Rahemu lifted his gaze and pierced his older companion with the same golden eyes as a hunting leopard. "He is a small child, Jakhul." Rahemu hissed. "You would sentence him to death?"
"More dead than alive that one when you happened upon him." Jakhul murmured and lifted a wineskin to his lips. "Your woman will not thank you should this one die on you like your ownpup. I say leave him and spare yourself anymore heartache."
Rahemu's mouth set in a hard, thin line, his golden eyes cold and defiant. He turned and watched the boy as he dropped wht was left of his bread and fell upon the meat, smearing his lips and chin with its fats.
"Do you have a name boy?" Rahemu asked gently.
The boy paused from licking the juices between his fingers and carefully studied Rahemu's face. "My mother named me Bakura." he murmered quietly.
"Where is she now?"
"Gone." he murmured miserably. Tears welled in his eyes. "Men came and hurt," his words trembled and his voice escalated as he fought to finish. "She wouldn't get up. She just lay there not moving ang bleeding. Then the men came back and I ran."
Rahemu stared in horror at the young boy, he knew his mother had been hurt but he didn't know she'd been murdered. "Bakura," He said softly. "Your mother is dead."
The boy's lower lip trembled, then threw his head back and howled and sobbed as only a four year old boy could. He was alone and scared and could only think of his mother.
And she was gone.
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Sorry guys I noticed I had forgotten a line in the story. Please R&R as I think my writing is very rusty compared to my first fic.