The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion Read online

  The Reaper Realm:

  Threads of Compassion

  By

  K.A. Lentz

  Edited & Illustrated By M.A. Lentz

  Copyright © 2014 K.A. Lentz

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN

  Print: 978-0-9861233-2-0

  ePub: 978-0-9861233-1-3

  Mobi: 978-0-9861233-0-6

  Cover design by M.A. Lentz

  eBook and print layout by eBooks By Barb for booknook.biz

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One……Slaves and Captains

  Chapter Two……Worlds Apart

  Chapter Three……A Brother’s Love

  Chapter Four……Introductions

  Chapter Five……To Make a Great Escape

  Chapter Six……Unexpected Meetings

  Chapter Seven……Strange and Unusual Creatures

  Chapter Eight……Communications with the Dead

  Chapter Nine……Understandings

  Chapter Ten……New Beginnings

  Chapter One:

  Slaves and Captains

  Forced to wait three, long days for his marks to arrive, the assassin heaved a sigh of relief as the fleet of four finally sailed into the bay below. Hidden from view along the face of a mountainous cliff, he crouched low atop a high ledge and surveyed the scene before him. A flotilla of anchored warships lazily bobbed side by side on the incoming tide. Their forest of masts rose from layered decks housing a company of sleeping cannons, all together creating a formidable barricade hugging the rugged shoreline. Scanning their profiles outlined by the setting sun, the stealthy onlooker watched as hordes of sailors loaded onto ready tenders for their brief but welcome shore leave. Skeleton crews dutifully remained behind hustling along as they loaded various sized containers onto a non-stop stream of dinghies ferrying supplies to the budding encampment. The assassin turned his eagle-eye gaze away from the ships and down to the sheltered beach below. Its creamy ocean of sand was alight with trails of blazing torches marking the hubbub of hurried activity. Bustling along like a colony of ants, the crew of each vessel remained busy setting up clusters of camps for the entire armada.

  Multiple campfires sparked to life as the waking stars above crawled through the growing darkness to begin their nightly glow. Between spots of firelight the assassin could hear commanders barking orders to their underlings diligently scurrying about. Emerging from a throng of disembarking crew-members, an unusual newcomer gracefully wove around the crowd before entering a small camp of high-ranking officers. The cold, evening air carried with it a sweet blend of perfume affordable only by the wealthiest of individuals. The unseen observer lurking above closed his eyes, lifted his nose a tick, and deeply inhaled the intoxicating scent. Calling to him like a siren, the enchantment deepened as her songbird voice reached his hiding spot. Slowly opening his eyes, the assassin’s gaze followed her trail of speech down to its camp of origin.

  Another ship’s commander stood beside a roaring fire with his peers, nearly drained goblet tightly in hand. Directing her stern gaze at this unprepared officer, the high-born woman coolly stated, “I’m here at my master’s bid to inform you of the captains’ wishes to remain aboard ship tonight, entertaining their… guest. You are to set up camp as previously ordered and stay ashore for the evening.”

  “Guest?” the commander mumbled in surprise.

  The woman was quick to respond, “Yes, a guest. I must also add that you are to take up residence within the main tent, to show a presence on shore. Is that clear?”

  Not giving him time to answer she curtly turned on her heel and quit the camp. Stammering a bit, the commander managed a ‘Yes Milady’ before the woman disappeared into the shadows between campfires. With a deepening uneasiness, the assassin watched as she didn’t merely walk from the camp… she floated out.

  The assassin weighed these new variables carefully in his mind, reformulating meticulously laid plans. His master had not mentioned anything about the captains entertaining a guest aboard ship, much less one so powerful as to travel with a mage. Why had she paused before uttering the word guest? Why was the commander just as bewildered by this guest as I? The fleet of four had boarded and traveled together from their original port; he had obtained that information from a highly reliable source. Who is this mystery visitor?

  Waiting for the encampment to settle, the assassin sat in his high shadow and listened to tidbits of information floating to his ears. He waited while the smell of roasting venison, diligently turned on spits, began tickling his nose. He continued to wait as sounds of ale eagerly opened and merrily poured rang throughout the camp. Unable to wait any longer the dark figure stood, looked the scene over a final time, and then closed his eyes against the pain of unwilling compulsion.

  Bolstered by a growing haze of beer none took notice of the slight chill creeping down their spines, naively attributing the sensation to the cold ocean breeze nipping at their backs. Preoccupied with laughter and song, none could hear the eerie sound of a thousand tiny ice-crackles emanating from runes sparking to life beneath the assassin’s simple leather garb. Their glow hidden from view beneath his woolen cloak, each rune upon his skin churned with a delicate, crystalline light. Brightly they shined as he removed his drape and let it drop to the ledge floor.

  Visible now in the budding moonlight, two rather plain looking swords rested in open-ended sheaths tight against the assassin’s back. Both exposed blade-ends and their strap secured hilts failed to gleam in the moonlight as other swords would, instead they drew currents of energy into their flat, reflection-less surfaces. Given the weaponry’s obvious magical imbuement, it was strange to observe their unique, yet rather dull design. The only hint to talents beyond their otherwise conspicuous ability was an ancient string of branded runes running the length of each slithering blade. Unassuming between this pair of magical swords rested a fist-sized length of deep purple branch tucked into the small of his back. Covering its velvety bark was a scattering of runes identical to the language marking his blades. These mundane looking weapons coupled with his simple ranger’s garb allowed the assassin to blend into a crowd of untrained eyes, but he had no need for such deceptions here.

  In a burst of movement the assassin descended his cliff-face with the ease of a spider. He effortlessly navigated intermingling camps along his route to shore, completely undetected by the merrymaking occupants within. Without so much as a pause he walked into the water as if it wasn’t there and then quickly swam the short distance to the first ship. Pressing his ear to the vessel’s hull, he listened hard to the hustle and bustle for any sign of a high-ranking dinner underway. There wasn’t one; this ship’s captain had obviously been ferried to another. Swimming to the next in line, he listened again only to receive the same answer. Making his way to the third ship, the assassin’s keen elvish ears detected muffled sounds of festivities echoing through the water. The faint vibration of a lone voice hummed unintelligible as he approached, shortly followed by a chorus of laughter twisted in the murky depths.

  Faster than a fish the assassin swam to the water’s surface. He traversed up the ship’s hull with ease before slinking undetected over the railing and onto the empty deck. In a flash he made his way across its deserted expanse and down into the belly of the ship. Luckily only one, unprepared crew-member obstructed his path during the descent. The soldier had been surprised, when looking up from parchment in hand, to find the hallway blocked by a menacing intruder. Unaware of what he faced the foolish young man tried to politely demand the stranger off his vessel, yet before he was able to finish this haughty request the crewman was felled to the floor with a lifeless thump.

/>   Making his way deeper into the ship, the assassin was guided by sounds of merrymaking still flowing from the room at the end of his path. Pausing outside the door for a moment, he listened for each heartbeat within. As he reached for the fine, brass doorknob preparing for the task to come, the swordsman was mildly startled when the door opened for itself. Emerging from behind the wooden portal appeared the sweet smelling mage from earlier. Caught off guard, her eyes widened before regaining their icy composure and she quickly shrouded her body in a shell of visible wind. A moment later her elegant songbird voice whispered in Reaper-tongue, resonating through the very fabric of the world around them.

  Her whispers echoed into the assassin’s soul from every molecule of air he breathed. They echoed in his head and lungs, even seeping into his thoughts. Striving to regain control he realized this was no mage, but one such as he… a reaper’s slave. Nearly paralyzed by the effects of her magic, the storm-slave was unaware he had fallen hard onto his knees. His opponent’s slight form had risen toward the high ceiling, surrounded by a haze of energy clinging like an aura. Silken, blond hair streamed out behind the wind-slave, crackling with the same runic light glowing beneath her flowing, white robes.

  In one, swift movement the assassin stood and boomed out a deafening roar, his register growing louder as a kaleidoscope of purple and blue light emanated from beneath his armor. Just beyond the stunned obstacle before him was a crowd of people doubled over holding their heads… all except a regal woman standing tall at the far end of the table. Without fear she simply stared back, her eyes shining white as snow within an expression of surprised humor. He had seen her before, and where gave him no comfort. She was one such as his master, a reaper. If he didn’t know better, the assassin might believe he had been set-up.

  Focusing on the threat at hand, he reached over each shoulder to the swords strapped upon his back and began his assault in one graceful movement. The storm-slave swung relentlessly in a seriatim of attacks. The wind-slave parried each deadly blow with bursts of energy from the palms of her hands, all while expanding a thick current of air to engulf her stronger opponent. He knew he had the advantage, not just in brute force, but the field of battle as well. She dared not transport through him and drag the fight off to a more maneuverable space, for without her… there was no barrier between him and those she desperately guarded. Forced to remain where she was, the wind-slave could do nothing but defend the master who would destroy her if she didn’t.

  Finally her strength waned and the assassin connected. Once again cracking through her icy composure, the wind-slave loosed a pained yelp as panic streaked like a comet through her azure eyes. The note of fear trying to hide in her voice caused a surge of power within the swordsman, drawing out a primal instinct of his own. As though wielded by a guided hand, the assassin’s second blade cleaved a path through her torso and up into her heart. The wind-slave’s blood mingled scream died out as she crumpled lifelessly to the floor. Accustomed to fighting his kind, the storm-slave knew it would only be a matter of time before the wound healed and she was up fighting once more.

  Stepping through the doorway she had so desperately defended, the assassin stood in full view of the room. A young soldier just inside hesitated for a moment before charging, weapon drawn. The words of his master rang through the blood in his veins, “If any draw weapon upon you or try to stop you from getting to my marks… do not hesitate to kill them.” The storm-slave mourned the child’s next move.

  With more energy than skill the young man hastily swung at his target. Ducking the clumsy attack, the assassin sank a lone blade through the boy’s middle, quickly depositing him atop the unconscious slave in the doorway.

  In a flash the swordsman was looming over his first target. Foolishly attempting to escape his fate, the portly ship’s captain thrust his female companion in front as a shield against the oncoming doom. Staring death in the face the frightened woman defiantly stuck out her quivering chin, her strength of spirit shining through tear-filled eyes. The assassin glared at the man behind her with a look of pure disgust. Reaching out to disarm the captain of his shield, the assassin was greatly relieved when the woman simply fainted on her own. The hysterical man, still foolishly attempting to hold up his unconscious companion, failed at his task and dropped her like a sack of potatoes. In the next moment his bulging, round eyes flashed with the horror of his own death as it bore down upon him. Felled by a swift strike, the gurgling captain crumpled to the floor beside his peacefully sleeping companion. The assassin spared a moment to spit on the man before stepping over his quivering mass to the next victim.

  It was in this moment a young captain took this brief opportunity to make a futile attempt at escape. Only a flash of movement could be seen as the assassin jumped back to the door, forcing the unfortunate youth to impale himself on his killer’s waiting blade. A look of amazement was etched upon the young man’s face as he slid from the sword to join the growing crowd on the floor. All the while these events took place, the elegant woman at the head of the table stood staring on with mild curiosity lighting her star-white eyes. The room’s few remaining occupants cowered around her, claiming proximity as possible sanctuary. She, in turn, acted as though they didn’t exist.

  Striding onto the table, the assassin glared down its length to the placid woman waiting at the far end. Stopping a pace from her, the powerful pair eyed each other until their silent trance was broken by the unsteady voice of a teenager. The youngest within the captains’ ranks was standing fearfully by the woman’s side. Panic radiated from his expression as the poor boy begged for his life, “What!?! What is it you want of us!?!” His voice shook and cracked as he sputtered, “Please, please spare us… please, sir! My father is powerful, it’s how I became a captain, and he can solve this I promise!”

  The regal woman merely laughed and looked over at the hysterical boy. Her eyes deepened to a smoldering orange as she chided, “Shut up, boy, and think before you speak! Kill us… such insolence!”

  Upon her words the poor boy lost what little control remained. “You shut up!” His face contorted with anger as he spat back at her. Returning his expression to a look of pleading, the boy turned to his would-be killer and begged, “Please, sir, kill her if you must, but… I’ll… you… I will do as you ask, then let me go and I’ll never say anything of it again.”

  The storm-slave reached out, seeking a regretfully violent end to the boy’s desperate pleas, but the reaper spared him the trouble. Her eyes burned with crimson fire as she quickly reached over and grabbed the young officer by his throat. With a muffled yet audible snap, she casually broke his neck before discarding him over one shoulder like a broken toy. The two serving girls huddled behind her shrank into the nearest corner, horror dominating their shocked features. Through it all, she never took her eyes off the assassin.

  “How very interesting!” Pausing, she backed up to give him a head-to-toe appraisal before continuing on, “No matter! It seems your master has won this round, which of course means war. I cannot ignore her meddling in my affairs.”

  Stepping down from the table the assassin matched her look of dismissal with one of icy composure. A strange, unfamiliar voice screamed within his mind to kill her, to sink his combined blades through her middle. As the urge grew to insurmountable heights the storm-slave declared in a barely audible whisper, “There will be no more war…”

  The woman standing before him was unprepared for what came next. In a flow of movement the assassin gave into the now begging voice. Holding his blades as one, he did as the voice commanded and sank them without hindrance through the reaper’s stomach. Her blazing eyes widened in surprise as she let loose a deafening roar. Anger marring her creamy complexion, the reaper looked down and hastily grabbed at the weapons in an effort to remove them. Upon contact her hands began smoking and hissing, causing her to scream and roar all the more. Glaring up at her attacker, eyes aglow with fiery anger, she tried backing off the blades. They refuse
d to release her, holding fast to the depth he had sunk them. A fine mist began to form along her skin as trickles of vapor started to drizzle like blood from both sides of her wound. Fury was replaced by horror as she reached for the slave daring to attack her. Wrapping both hands around his neck she found her grip powerless, no stronger than a human. Surprise was faintly evident upon the storm-slave’s face as he realized his swords appeared to be killing a reaper!

  Mist poured from her now in such excess that it carpeted the room. Her slave, once lying unconscious in the doorway, had awoken suddenly and began violently wreathing in pain. Briefly glancing over his shoulder, the assassin caught her expression of thankfulness horrifically mingled with a fear of death. Hoping to end her torment, he turned back to the woman still struggling on his blades.

  The reaper had nearly vanished entirely, most having billowed off as the rest rapidly followed. Her head and upper torso were all that remained, ending in a ghostly haze at the border of her physical being. Not a drop of blood had issued forth from the wound—nor would it—she had not a drop to spill, only energy. As her beautiful azure eyes fogged over, three words escaped her steadily vanishing lips, “No… my… d… domain.” A moment later the swords clung together in empty air; nothing left of the blood-thirsty tyrant but a low lying fog slowly wafting through the doorway over the body of her dead slave.

  The assassin replaced his lethal weapons to their sheaths and turned to quit the chamber. Pausing at the doorway, he bent down to lift the wind-slave into his arms. Her gentle scent and soft elvish features caught him as he gazed mournfully down at her lifeless face. We can die… . Through the centuries he had hoped his last breath would find him, but feared that day would never come. Now he saw the proof of his hope. The storm-slave stood tall, resolutely intending to bury the wind-slave as his people had once done long ago.