The shit hits the fan and we're getting a glimpse of what's going down for the rest of the book.
Also Ninjas.
The next
morning, Sylenthros left his tower and sealed it shut with his magic. The ward
he had left outside his room hadn't detected anything, so he decided to ignore
the noise he'd heard, sticking it in the back of his mind. He had more
important things to worry about. Chances were that whatever it was he heard was
nothing more than his tired mind playing tricks on him.
Sylenthros
wore his favourite set of robes, green with a splash of blue embroidery and
tied tightly at the waist by a matching blue sash. It fluttered behind him as
he walked past the saluting guards at the palace entrance. A red carpet with
golden trim ascended the giant staircase to the top of the palace.
Not wanting
to take the time and energy to walk up to the palace doors on foot, Sylenthros
focused on the top and sliced at the air with his arm, ripping open a hole in
reality like the blade of a sword. Through it he could see the Golden Gate that
led into the heart of the palace. He stepped through the portal and appeared at
the top. The tear sealed itself behind him and then vanished as if there had
been nothing there to begin with. The guards opened the Gate as he approached.
However,
Sylenthros stopped at the breach, eying the two soldiers.
“I see
neither of you are in uniform,” he said. “Or is our military so short on men we
have to employ commoners?”
The guard
on the right shrugged. “I forgot it at home.” He shifted on his feet, the metal
of his armor clanking as he moved.
Sylenthros
looked at him with a cocked brow. “Both of you?” Both guards just shrugged
again and muttered a halfhearted response. The elf could only sigh. “Never
mind, I don't have time for these childish games. I have more important
business to attend to.” He made a mental note to inform the Captain of the
Guard about the breach in protocol. The soldiers were becoming too cozy with
their jobs, and it was clearly time for a change.
The
Archdruid stepped through the Gate and eyed the guards over his shoulder one
last time before the palace was sealed shut behind him. Sylenthros' eyes
adjusted to the lower level of light coming from ensconced luminescent globes
along the walls. The hall was bare, and spots of it had new marble placed into
the walls. At a casual glance, it looked like it fit together, but when one
looked closely they could see where the new material met the old.
The entire
hallway had been ravaged during the war, when the demons had invaded the city.
Statues of kings and queens from every era of Kitair's history had crumbled before
the beasts, and great claw marks had cut through the walls as if they hadn't
even been there. Where once magnificent tapestries covered the wall from floor
to ceiling, now there was nothing except the bare marble stone. Scrolls telling
of the long history of the elves had been forever lost during the battle, and
few beings remained who could recreate them.
The halls
looked naked and plain compared to their former glory, and as Sylenthros walked
through the palace he felt the same sadness about the loss of their history and
culture that he felt every time he stalked its halls. Though there was an
effort put forth to restore the palace to its original state, most of the work
that had been done was simply repairing the building itself and its surrounding
landscape.
Sylenthros
rounded a bend, heading towards the center of the palace where Relena's
cloister was situated. He took a few steps, then stopped. The halls were eerily
empty. There wasn't even a guardsman in sight to greet him as there usually
was. He heard a light scuff, the found of feet leaving the ground. He whirled
around to look behind him but saw nothing there.
Something
else echoed down the halls to his right and he spun to face it, but again there
was nothing there. The sounds existed for only the briefest moment in time
before they faded as quickly as they had appeared, and now Sylenthros was sure
it wasn't his exhaustion causing him to imagine things.
The hairs
on the back of his neck bristled. Something or someone was following him. He doubled
back to a three-way fork he had come from and looked around. No one, not a
soul. He even looked up at the ceiling, thinking perhaps someone was levitating
there, but it was clear as well. There was no magic in the area, which was even
stranger than sensing some magic. Most elves carried a repertoire of spells
with them, and it was rare to find a part of the kingdom that was barren of
magical energies.
What in
Gaia's name is going on? Sylenthros decided enough was enough. He dropped a
cloak of invisibility over himself, marked by the sound of rushing wind before
his form melded into his surroundings and his disappeared entirely. In
addition, he took this opportunity to shift into the form of a simple house
cat, shrinking him in size and reducing the sound his feet made to nothing more
than a whisper.
A cat would
go noticed in the palace, and his invisibility spell didn't make him silent.
But using both magics at once made him as stealthy as the wind itself.
Better
safe than sorry, he thought has he prowled the halls. His ears swiveled to
and fro, searching for the source of the sounds he'd been hearing. He kept
going until he reached an opening. It led into a circular, roofless garden with
a fountain at its center, one that had been erected to honor those that had
died during the war. A balcony surrounded the entire garden providing a nice
view for anyone on the second floor.
When
Sylenthros got out into the open, he hugged the walls and kept his tail close
to his body. His nose twitched as he picked up the scent of flowers and
something else. Something foreign. He looked up, and was shocked to see a pair
of elves garbed in the blackest cloth he'd ever seen. Their faces were
concealed, and the only things not covered by black were their eyes. They had
foreign looking weapons on their backs, though from this distance Sylenthros
couldn't tell what they were. The two elves stood on the edges of the balcony,
looking around.
Neither elf
spoke, but they made several intricate hand gestures back and forth. It was a
language that Sylenthros had never seen before, though he knew of several hand
dialects on Muriaj used by various peoples. Whatever they were saying, it was a
complete mystery to him. After a moment, they simply vanished. They didn't fade
out or step into a portal though. One moment they were there, and one moment
they were gone.
Sylenthros
blinked a couple of times, not sure if he'd been imagining the elves or not.
There was no invisibility spell being cast and suddenly their scent was gone,
too. He wondered if there had been anyone there to begin with. He had to
suppress the instinct in his animal's body to want to scurry away and hide.
No,
there was definitely something there, he told himself. There's no use in
trying to deny it, there's someone creeping around the palace. I need to warn
Relena.
Reigning in
the cat's instincts, Sylenthros continued onward. Things were starting to fall
into place. The palace should had been crawling with guards, but it was deathly
silent, save for the quiet pitter-patter of his paw pads. There wasn't a single
soul in sight. No guards, no grounds keepers, no cooks or servants. He needed
to find Relena, and fast. Sylenthros subtly began enlarging his form,
increasing the length of his strides and his speed as he rushed through the
palace.
The sound
of the fountain faded behind him as he darted down the halls. The marble walls
were a blur as he picked up speed. He slid around corners as his paw pads
fought for purchase on the smooth floors.
If only
I could teleport right into her throne room. Damn those wards! Sylenthros
thought as he approached the final stretch to her cloister garden that housed
the throne. Magical wards had been placed to prevent anyone from teleporting
into the throne room, and normally that was supposed to keep her safe from
someone appearing without warning in her chambers.
Sylenthros
skidded to a stop and took a few steps back to hide behind a corner when he saw
Zefar standing outside Relena's room, pacing back and forth. He looked
impatient, like he was waiting for someone. Sylenthros stood back up, shifted
out of his cat form, and watched Zefar for a few moments.
What is
he doing here!? He's not allowed in the Royal Court until they've come to a
decision about the Society's removal. However, the wheels in the elf's head
continued spinning, putting the pieces of everything together. No, he
wouldn't raise a hand against Relena. He wouldn't dare! He stopped for a
moment, focusing, and composed himself. I need to take care here...
Sylenthros
came out from around the corner and approached Zefar, removing his invisibility
spell before the other elf could sense it. “To what do we owe the pleasure,
Lord Zefar?”
The
Pureblood's leader looked up at him with a start, surprised at the sudden
intrusion, but then he smirked at him. “Oh, it's just Leafsblade,” he said,
speaking as if the Archdruid were nothing more than an insect. “What do you
want?”
“I should
be asking you the same thing. I came to speak to the Queen.” Sylenthros pointed
at Zefar. “You, however, are not welcomed here until the Court has come to a
decision. Please leave at once.”
“I think
you presume too much. I'm not here to discuss the particulars of the Court's
decision. I'm only here to see Relena.”
“You will
address Her Highness as the Queen,” Sylenthros said. “I realize that being as
arrogant as you are, you may think you're not obligated to carry yourself with
an air of respect around others, but you should remember where you are and whom
you are speaking to. I would have thought someone who considers himself a
proper elf wouldn't carry on in, what was it you said, 'such an ill-bred
manner'?”
Zefar's
smirk crept across his face. “Don't play games with me, Leafsblade. I'm not
some simpleton you can waylay with trickery and a sharp tongue as you do to so
many others.” He looked to the doorway to Relena's throne room, and ran a hand
over the wooden double doors. “Besides, you forget your place. Yours is not to
question what I or the rest of the Purebloods do.”
“Is that
arrogance really becoming of a proper noble?” Sylenthros asked. He clicked his
tongue a few times then said, “Acting like a god would only invite Nova's wrath
into your home. Or has your childhood dream always been to become a lightning
rod?”
“Joke all
you want,” Zefar said, “But you're not in control here.”
“I beg to
differ. The Queen is the one in control, especially with the majority of the
noble houses backing her.”
“Is she?”
Zefar asked.
The
question struck Sylenthros like a slap in the face. “Step aside Zefar, or I'll
strike you down myself!” At that point, he no longer cared about properly
conducting himself. The Purebloods were up to something and he had to find out
what.
“As you
wish,” he said, bowing to the side so Sylenthros could open up the throne room
doors.
As the wood
creaked and parted before him, he froze in place, hands still on the doors.
There, sitting atop her throne, was Relena's bloodied corpse. The grass was
coated in arterial spray from a large cut that split her neck nearly in half.
Her once beautiful, silver hair was now matted to her body by the enormous
bloodstains that covered her. Standing around the throne were the black-garbed
elves, wielding ursar katanas. They turned to regard him, and when one of them
nodded his head, two of them vanished only to reappear instantly next to
Sylenthros.
“What
trickery is this!?” the Archdruid roared as he felt the blade of a sword
against his throat. It cut into his skin slightly drawing a thin trickle of
blood. He leaned his head away, but his hair was grabbed sharply near his scalp
and he was held in place. “How can these elves move like that?”
“Poor
Sylenthros,” Zefar said as he stepped out into the cloister, “Looks like
there's something you didn't know and didn't plan for, is there? You spent so much
time worrying about international affairs that you couldn't see the problems on
your very doorstep.”
Sylenthros'
eyes were fixated on Relena. He was examining her body as best he could from
his position. She'd stopped bleeding hours ago, and everything was dried and
clotted. Even from many yards away, he could tell that she'd been dead since
the morning.
Just how
long had Zefar been waiting here? How could I not have foreseen this?
“My
agents spotted you coming into the palace, and I couldn't pass up the chance to
rub this in your nose,” Zefar said. “Look at what she has brought upon herself.
For all her power, she chose to waste it on helping the disgusting, impure
races that inhabit this continent, when she should have been using it to return
Kitair to its proper glory, to a time where we ruled after the fall of the
Orcish Empire.” He leaned forward and whispered in Sylenthros' ear, “You
shouldn't have pushed me by singling the Society out in court.”
“Why would
you do this?”
“We had
always planned to eliminate Relena,” Zefar admitted. “After all, she was the
biggest obstacle to our goals. Your little stunt yesterday only required that
we expedite the operation. Even now, the palace is falling under our control,
and news of Relena's death has already reached the other noble houses. Soon,
the city will erupt into a civil war as the nobles try to take the throne for
themselves, and that's when the Pureblood Society shall strike.”
“They
aren't so foolish!” Sylenthros spat. “They'll know who is responsible for
Relena's death.”
“You're
such a blind fool. Politics was never your game was it?” Zefar asked. “No, you
were better suited to your books and your gardens.”
“Where's
the palace servants then?”
Zefar
laughed at him. “Did you really think that the meagar force of guards and
riff-raff in this castle could stand up to the Purebloods? Do you know how easy
it was to dispatch them using the ninjutsu my operatives have learned? They
spend a decade training in that Gods-forsaken land of savage bears to learn the
secrets of their mystical arts, and it has finally begun to pay off.”
“So even
after all this time, after all that the Pureblood Society has preached, you
couldn't achieve your goals without foreign aid,” Sylenthros remarked. “How
pathetic. Is this your idea of purity, Zefar?”
“It doesn't
matter what you think, Leafsblade. You uphold your values and morals, even once
push comes to shove. That's what makes you weak. Only those willing to abandon
their beliefs for the sake of progress will survive.” Zefar turned to the
ninjas that had Sylenthros restrained, and nodded his head.
As the
katana cut through Sylenthros' throat, the elf disappeared. Everyone in the
room stopped, stunned by the sudden development, and looked around.
From above
the cloister, standing on the rooftop, Sylenthros shouted, “Really Zefar, you
give yourself far too much credit! The guards at the Golden Gate, the missing
patrols, the strange elves in black roaming the upper floors, the noises
outside my tower, and your presence just outside the throne room... did you
really think I wouldn't piece everything together? Did you really think I'd
walk right into a trap face first? I'm not a scholar for nothing!”
“Don't you
mock me!” Zefar's hand shot up and a bolt of lightning screeched across the
clearing. It struck Sylenthros square in the chest, but just like before, the
elf disappeared again. “Stop playing games, you ill-bred mongoloid! Stop
delaying the inevitable!”
Sylenthros
watched from above, having assumed his owl form and taken to the air before
he'd sent his illusionary double to speak to Zefar. “You forget who you're
talking to, Zefar. I'm the Archdruid. I command the very elements themselves!”
With a
shriek, Sylenthros funneled a large amount of mana below him. A dense fog rolled
into the throne room and shards of ice formed above the palace, raining down on
the ninjas and Zefar. He heard the Purebloods' leader scream orders as he fled,
but before Sylenthros could give chase, several of the ninja appeared without
warning nearby. Throwing knives flew up from the ground, and the pair of
ninja's coming at him sliced at him with their katanas. Sylenthros ducked and
rolled, avoiding a fatal blow but his left wing was clipped by the blade of a
sword.
As the owl
fell, he conjured a ball of light that burst into an array of scintillating
colors, blinding his attackers and giving him a moment to escape. He took off
as fast as he could, hoping that no one had seen where he was going.
As
Sylenthros rushed to take refuge elsewhere in the city, he could hear the
shrieks of the townsfolk as Pureblood soldiers marched into the streets and
began slaughtering the humans and half-elves that lived there. The Archdruid
ducked into an alley and shifted out of his owl form. He clenched his fists as
he watched from the darkness, wanting to do something to save the people.
However, he knew if he did something it might give his location away and he
might not escape next time.
I don't
have time to prepare another elaborate illusion like the last one, he
thought. I need a distraction, and a place to make sense of things. Wasting
no time, he channeled mana into his palms and slammed his hands into the
ground. Earth elementals arose up from the streets and began to fight back
against the Pureblood soldiers, buying the fleeing citizens a chance to escape.
Dropping an
invisibility cloak over his head, Sylenthros ran. There was nothing more he
could do, not when those ninja could appear instantly and without warning next
to him. He needed time to plan his next move.
Relena,
I'm so sorry. The screams faded away as he left the main cavern behind,
heading for one of the druid groves on the outskirts of the city. It was there
he hoped he would find a chance to recuperate and plan how to strike back at
Zefar. Assuming that the Purebloods weren't already waiting at every grove for
his return.
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