Chapter Four
Orannis didn't even try to hide his cocky grin as his opponent sheathed his sword, defeated. He held his blade in his hand, twirling it expertly, dazzling the crowd watching.
"Anyone else?" he called out. "Does anyone else wish to test their luck against the mighty Orannis?" His eyes shifted to the crowd, watching the men murmur to each other and the women stare at him in amazement and awe.
"No one?" he asked after a moment. The wicked sneer in his voice made his eyes sparkle. He went to sheath his sword in disappointment, but a man stepped forth and Orannis hurriedly pulled it back out again.
"A challenger?" Orannis asked smartly.
"Yes," the man replied bravely. "Hetea from Chasel."
"Well, Hetea, are you ready to fight me?" Orannis outstretched his arms and then dipped low in a bow. Hetea snorted at the mockery and charged unexpectedly.
Orannis, still in his bow, twirled away. Once he was a safe distance from Hetea, he straightened his back, the twinkle gone from his eyes. "That was unfair," he remarked darkly.
"I do what I can to win," Hetea answered. The crowd muttered some things that neither of the two men could catch.
Hetea charged again, but this time Orannis was fully prepared. His sword snapped out, slapping against Hetea's blade, the metal crashing. Hetea stumbled back, but managed to keep on his feet.
"You'll pay for that," Hetea snapped, coming again. Orannis waited until Hetea was right on him before he twirled his sword in a parry.
Hetea backed off and this time Orannis took the offensive. He came slowly, stalking Hetea it seemed. His sword was at his side, but that did little to matter. He was within two steps of Hetea before he moved to attack.
Orannis lifted his sword and began a series of attacks so fast that Hetea was unable to block. His sword darted to the left in a feint, moving in an arc to the right so quickly that Hetea staggered back. Orannis wasted no time in placing his sword at Hetea's exposed neck.
"Do you yield?" he asked, his condescending tone back. Hetea nodded and scrambled to get to his feet. Orannis turned his back on the crowd for a moment looking at the tiny drop of blood on his blade. He must have broken the skin on Hetea's neck-only slightly, he knew.
Oh well, he thought, not feeling any need to apologize.
A soft whisper of a word was uttered from behind, but it was enough. Orannis spun around. The smell of Free Magic he knew all too well filled the air and he glared at Hetea, who was standing before him. Orannis hurried to bring up a shield that would block the magical attack and it had covered him just in time.
"Damn you," Hetea yelled and turned to run. He was too slow. A single word came from Orannis's mouth, spoken under his breath so that no one heard. Instantly Hetea fell to the ground. Orannis turned again, his back to the crowd.
Gathering his belongings, he said to them, "Hetea of Chasel is no more. Let it be a lesson to anyone who dares to attack Orannis the Destroyer while his back is turned. I'm done here."
Without another word, Orannis packed up his things and headed off down the dusty street.
*** *** ***
Not a single person in the crowd wasn't staring at Orannis as he left. Mouths dangled open in an awkward gape as they slowly processed what had happened before them. A man had been killed. The man had just been alive not a moment before, but now.the still body of Hetea littered the ground before them.
There was only one in the crowd who didn't share the near universal expression of fright and amazement, but there was no way for anyone to realize it. His head was completely covered by the cowl of his long cloak, his face hidden to anyone who glanced his way.
Well, the man thought grimly, Dyrim had better be right about this. We are risking an awful lot.
He turned on the heel of his boot sharply and began walking briskly down the street, hardly fazed by the amateur swordsman's death. A woman turned her head to look at him, but nothing was said. The Dead were not the only dangers in the realm; strangers could not be trusted.
The man's palm rested on the pommel of the sword at his side. The position was natural and calm, completely normal for him. He walked down the paved road quietly, his boots clicking against the stone in a light rapping noise.
He had been walking for nearly ten minutes before he turned to his right and entered the tavern that stood along the road. The stench of beer and ale filled his lungs as he took in the sight around him. Men were drinking and flirting with the barmaids; others were sitting in clusters, talking or gambling.
But one was not taking part of the activities around him. He sat alone at a wooden table, a mug of ale tight in his grasp.
So this is Orannis, the man thought as he took a cautious step towards the table. Carefully, he approached and stopped before the man.
There was a still moment of silence where Orannis glanced down at the table, acknowledging the man without looking at him. It seemed like minutes had droned by before he lifted his head and stared hard at the man near his table.
"Yes?" he breezed impatiently, not wanting to be disturbed. He hoped his tone would scare the man off.
"I need to speak with you," the man said, his voice rich and smooth. Orannis snorted.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man smiled coyly as he brought up his hands to slowly lower his cowl. A few strands of long brown hair had fallen out of the binding leather band, but the man didn't seem to notice. Deep brown eyes stared at Orannis, both studying him and allowing to be studied himself.
"Your name?" Orannis pressed after he had had a good, long look at the man.
"I'm called Saraneth," the man said, moving to sit in the empty chair across from Orannis. "I have been sent here by Lady Dyrim of Navis to-"
"Who again?" Orannis interrupted. Saraneth's lips thinned, but he said nothing of it.
"Lady Dyrim," he repeated. "She has Seen."
"Seen what?" Orannis was beginning to lose his temper and his tone was clearly giving away his skeptical thoughts.
Saraneth didn't answer the question. "I've heard of you, Orannis," he said instead. "I've heard of your powers and skill from all across the realm. I'm sure that some time in your travels you have had a run-in perhaps with the Dead?"
Any other man would have shuddered. Who spoke of the Dead in such a casual way?
But Orannis's face was blank and expressionless as Saraneth went on, leaving his question unanswered,
"Dyrim has Seen new power in the kingdom. She has seen Nine people standing against Free Magic."
"Why stand against it?" Orannis broke in again. Saraneth sighed, but Orannis didn't wait for him to speak. "Use it. It's helped me out-"
"Free Magic kills," Saraneth spoke, his voice suddenly harsh. His eyes turned dark. "It doesn't help anyone. Dyrim knows this; hundreds of people know this. We need to bring an end to the danger here, the Free Magic and the Dead."
"How?" Orannis's voice was short.
"Dyrim knows," was Saraneth's reply. "She has Seen it."
"Ah ha," Orannis laughed, "you've been tricked by a-"
"We need your help, Orannis," Saraneth said, cutting in again. "I have seen you fight. You're skilled."
Orannis put on a smug grin. "However much I accept the compliment, I don't think I'll help you in your little adventure, Sara-Sarn-Sarsa.."
"Saraneth," he supplied icily. He shook his head, letting his annoyance and frustration fade away. He was beginning to think Dyrim had been wrong about asking Orannis for help..
He tried the last trick he had up his sleeve in a vain hope. "We can pay in gold," he offered. Orannis looked up, his eyes wide and glinting.
*** *** ***
Dyrim sat in the cushioned chair sleepily, her eyes half closed. She would be leaving for Belisaere early the next morning and she knew that she would have to be well rested.
Her dirty blond hair fell in soft ringlets down her half-covered back. A thin white shirt fit over her, a tear running along the seam for nearly two inches. A long brown skirt came down to midway down her leg, shortly below her knee.
Dyrim yawned, slipping more comfortably into the chair. She would reach Belisaere and then the visions in her mind would vanish. Dyrim smiled at the thought. She would stop Free Magic and end the Dead.and those Sights plaguing her would finally go away.
Saraneth was already gathering the Nine. She had Seen them all in her dreams and he was following her orders. Dyrim's contented smile faded when she realized how lost she would be if it hadn't been for Saraneth's help.
She had Seen him first in a town in the south. She had sent a message to him, asking for his presence in Navis. She learned through her visions that he was wondering the land, a swordsman and mercenary of sorts. Dyrim had Seen him battle Dead, and she knew that he would be greatly needed on such a quest as this.
All she had to do now was wait. Things were already coming together; it would not be long.
Orannis didn't even try to hide his cocky grin as his opponent sheathed his sword, defeated. He held his blade in his hand, twirling it expertly, dazzling the crowd watching.
"Anyone else?" he called out. "Does anyone else wish to test their luck against the mighty Orannis?" His eyes shifted to the crowd, watching the men murmur to each other and the women stare at him in amazement and awe.
"No one?" he asked after a moment. The wicked sneer in his voice made his eyes sparkle. He went to sheath his sword in disappointment, but a man stepped forth and Orannis hurriedly pulled it back out again.
"A challenger?" Orannis asked smartly.
"Yes," the man replied bravely. "Hetea from Chasel."
"Well, Hetea, are you ready to fight me?" Orannis outstretched his arms and then dipped low in a bow. Hetea snorted at the mockery and charged unexpectedly.
Orannis, still in his bow, twirled away. Once he was a safe distance from Hetea, he straightened his back, the twinkle gone from his eyes. "That was unfair," he remarked darkly.
"I do what I can to win," Hetea answered. The crowd muttered some things that neither of the two men could catch.
Hetea charged again, but this time Orannis was fully prepared. His sword snapped out, slapping against Hetea's blade, the metal crashing. Hetea stumbled back, but managed to keep on his feet.
"You'll pay for that," Hetea snapped, coming again. Orannis waited until Hetea was right on him before he twirled his sword in a parry.
Hetea backed off and this time Orannis took the offensive. He came slowly, stalking Hetea it seemed. His sword was at his side, but that did little to matter. He was within two steps of Hetea before he moved to attack.
Orannis lifted his sword and began a series of attacks so fast that Hetea was unable to block. His sword darted to the left in a feint, moving in an arc to the right so quickly that Hetea staggered back. Orannis wasted no time in placing his sword at Hetea's exposed neck.
"Do you yield?" he asked, his condescending tone back. Hetea nodded and scrambled to get to his feet. Orannis turned his back on the crowd for a moment looking at the tiny drop of blood on his blade. He must have broken the skin on Hetea's neck-only slightly, he knew.
Oh well, he thought, not feeling any need to apologize.
A soft whisper of a word was uttered from behind, but it was enough. Orannis spun around. The smell of Free Magic he knew all too well filled the air and he glared at Hetea, who was standing before him. Orannis hurried to bring up a shield that would block the magical attack and it had covered him just in time.
"Damn you," Hetea yelled and turned to run. He was too slow. A single word came from Orannis's mouth, spoken under his breath so that no one heard. Instantly Hetea fell to the ground. Orannis turned again, his back to the crowd.
Gathering his belongings, he said to them, "Hetea of Chasel is no more. Let it be a lesson to anyone who dares to attack Orannis the Destroyer while his back is turned. I'm done here."
Without another word, Orannis packed up his things and headed off down the dusty street.
*** *** ***
Not a single person in the crowd wasn't staring at Orannis as he left. Mouths dangled open in an awkward gape as they slowly processed what had happened before them. A man had been killed. The man had just been alive not a moment before, but now.the still body of Hetea littered the ground before them.
There was only one in the crowd who didn't share the near universal expression of fright and amazement, but there was no way for anyone to realize it. His head was completely covered by the cowl of his long cloak, his face hidden to anyone who glanced his way.
Well, the man thought grimly, Dyrim had better be right about this. We are risking an awful lot.
He turned on the heel of his boot sharply and began walking briskly down the street, hardly fazed by the amateur swordsman's death. A woman turned her head to look at him, but nothing was said. The Dead were not the only dangers in the realm; strangers could not be trusted.
The man's palm rested on the pommel of the sword at his side. The position was natural and calm, completely normal for him. He walked down the paved road quietly, his boots clicking against the stone in a light rapping noise.
He had been walking for nearly ten minutes before he turned to his right and entered the tavern that stood along the road. The stench of beer and ale filled his lungs as he took in the sight around him. Men were drinking and flirting with the barmaids; others were sitting in clusters, talking or gambling.
But one was not taking part of the activities around him. He sat alone at a wooden table, a mug of ale tight in his grasp.
So this is Orannis, the man thought as he took a cautious step towards the table. Carefully, he approached and stopped before the man.
There was a still moment of silence where Orannis glanced down at the table, acknowledging the man without looking at him. It seemed like minutes had droned by before he lifted his head and stared hard at the man near his table.
"Yes?" he breezed impatiently, not wanting to be disturbed. He hoped his tone would scare the man off.
"I need to speak with you," the man said, his voice rich and smooth. Orannis snorted.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man smiled coyly as he brought up his hands to slowly lower his cowl. A few strands of long brown hair had fallen out of the binding leather band, but the man didn't seem to notice. Deep brown eyes stared at Orannis, both studying him and allowing to be studied himself.
"Your name?" Orannis pressed after he had had a good, long look at the man.
"I'm called Saraneth," the man said, moving to sit in the empty chair across from Orannis. "I have been sent here by Lady Dyrim of Navis to-"
"Who again?" Orannis interrupted. Saraneth's lips thinned, but he said nothing of it.
"Lady Dyrim," he repeated. "She has Seen."
"Seen what?" Orannis was beginning to lose his temper and his tone was clearly giving away his skeptical thoughts.
Saraneth didn't answer the question. "I've heard of you, Orannis," he said instead. "I've heard of your powers and skill from all across the realm. I'm sure that some time in your travels you have had a run-in perhaps with the Dead?"
Any other man would have shuddered. Who spoke of the Dead in such a casual way?
But Orannis's face was blank and expressionless as Saraneth went on, leaving his question unanswered,
"Dyrim has Seen new power in the kingdom. She has seen Nine people standing against Free Magic."
"Why stand against it?" Orannis broke in again. Saraneth sighed, but Orannis didn't wait for him to speak. "Use it. It's helped me out-"
"Free Magic kills," Saraneth spoke, his voice suddenly harsh. His eyes turned dark. "It doesn't help anyone. Dyrim knows this; hundreds of people know this. We need to bring an end to the danger here, the Free Magic and the Dead."
"How?" Orannis's voice was short.
"Dyrim knows," was Saraneth's reply. "She has Seen it."
"Ah ha," Orannis laughed, "you've been tricked by a-"
"We need your help, Orannis," Saraneth said, cutting in again. "I have seen you fight. You're skilled."
Orannis put on a smug grin. "However much I accept the compliment, I don't think I'll help you in your little adventure, Sara-Sarn-Sarsa.."
"Saraneth," he supplied icily. He shook his head, letting his annoyance and frustration fade away. He was beginning to think Dyrim had been wrong about asking Orannis for help..
He tried the last trick he had up his sleeve in a vain hope. "We can pay in gold," he offered. Orannis looked up, his eyes wide and glinting.
*** *** ***
Dyrim sat in the cushioned chair sleepily, her eyes half closed. She would be leaving for Belisaere early the next morning and she knew that she would have to be well rested.
Her dirty blond hair fell in soft ringlets down her half-covered back. A thin white shirt fit over her, a tear running along the seam for nearly two inches. A long brown skirt came down to midway down her leg, shortly below her knee.
Dyrim yawned, slipping more comfortably into the chair. She would reach Belisaere and then the visions in her mind would vanish. Dyrim smiled at the thought. She would stop Free Magic and end the Dead.and those Sights plaguing her would finally go away.
Saraneth was already gathering the Nine. She had Seen them all in her dreams and he was following her orders. Dyrim's contented smile faded when she realized how lost she would be if it hadn't been for Saraneth's help.
She had Seen him first in a town in the south. She had sent a message to him, asking for his presence in Navis. She learned through her visions that he was wondering the land, a swordsman and mercenary of sorts. Dyrim had Seen him battle Dead, and she knew that he would be greatly needed on such a quest as this.
All she had to do now was wait. Things were already coming together; it would not be long.