Death at dawn

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‘The envoy is waiting, milord.’

Kael kept looking at the maps for a while before acknowledging the standing guard. With an impatient move of his hand, he motioned him to go and fetch this ambassador from Hegthan, Earl of Djornen and Anesse. While he waited, Kael reflected on how this campaign had lasted longer than he had anticipated. Indeed, the extra mercenaries he had hired to strengthen his army would soon become a burden on his arks. But old Hegthan was a shrewd strategist, way clever than he himself was, and was fighting at home. From the start, Kael had decided to rely on sheer numbers, rather than cunning, and this choice was paying off. For the last two weeks, Kael had suffered losses, but his own forces had caused an irreparable damage on the Earl’s army. Part of the same army had already deserted him, running into the woods, and morale had to be very low in the enemy’s camp. He sipped some mulled wine from his goblet, and smiled. An envoy sent to negotiate. Ha! The old fool was already defeated, and he knew it.

A gust of wind announced the entry of three of his personal guards, surrounding a young, wiry man dressed in plain clothes, who was unceremoniously forced to kneel down in the middle of the tent.

‘Have you taken all his weapons?’ Kael asked the nearest guard.
‘We checked him before he was allowed into the camp, milord, and he carried no weapons’, the man answered.

Kael stood from his folding chair and walked towards the young man, noticing with contempt how his guest was looking nervously around, shuddering whenever his gaze passed over the guards’ sheathed swords, and Kael’s formidable battle axe, which hung from one of the tent’s poles. This lamb-eyed lad had never worked as an ambassador before. For all he knew, he was probably one of the hundreds of commoners drafted into Hegthan’s service when the conflict started.

‘What is the name, farmer?’ Kael demanded, grabbing the other man’s chin with a callous hand, forcing him to look into his eyes.
‘Na… name?’ Said the young man. ‘Do you mean my… my name, your lordship?’
‘No, I meant your best cow’s name.’ Replied Kael, much to the amusement of his guards. ‘Are you daft, apart from an uncultured country lout?’
‘My… my name…’ Said the young lad, trying to look around once more ‘…my name is Death, milord.’

Before Kael had time to register what the other man had said, he felt a blow to his throat that sent him reeling backwards. Falling on all fours, Kael saw that the lad half standing, right arm pointing where his neck was a second ago, fingers outstretched. One of the guards shouted something, but was quickly silenced by the lad kicking him in the groin with his left leg. The young man then circled on his other leg like a dancer, and kicked another of the guards in the face with the same leg, making a bloody ruin of his nose and front teeth. The third guard had managed to unsheathe his sword, and swung it madly, trying to chop that devil into small pieces. The lad effortlessly avoided a vicious swing to the head by dropping to the ground, hooked the other man’s leg with his own, and brought him down on his back. While the soldier was falling, the youngster circled around, lifted his legs over his head on a quick handstand, and then landed with his knees using all his weight on the other man’s chest, causing a loud crack.

Kael was choking, and his vision was blurred with tears of pain. His windpipe was crushed, and he knew without a doubt that he was dying. However, he was somehow beyond caring. He still marvelled at how the lithe assassin took the fallen man’s sword from the ground and threw it at the guard with the ruined face in one fluid movement. Half the blade went into the soldier’s chest, the force of the blow sending him crashing against one of the braziers that kept the tent warm. The brazier toppled over and the coals fell on the carpet below. Black smoke started to fill the tent, and flames licked hungrily at the canvas.

The last soldier, coughing and clutching his crotch, was trying to stand up using his own sword as support, but couldn’t manage more than a painful parody of a genuflection. The young man, after taking Kael’s axe from the pole, struck the guard hard in the head with the handle. He then removed the man’s cloak, and calmly put it on before leaving the tent. Kael’s eyes stung with the smoke, although his vision had gone a while ago. The last thing he heard, growing fainter as he fell further into oblivion, was the assassin’s voice.

‘Someone help! Lord Kael’s tent is on fire!’

[ September 13, 2006, 13:58: Message edited by: Colthrun ]

 

Not bad, not bad. Nice little reading, certainly not too long, but neither was it too short. Could be a good start for a series...
Althought I have to admit, the handstand-part was a bit over the top for a realistic story. But who am I to judge?
Anyways, I say this was worth reading, and if this was just prologue or such, I will certainly read the rest as well, when it comes.

 

Thanks for the feedback, this is something that came to my head yesterday (work was particularly boring ).

I got the handstand part from a Capoeira movement, I was thinking on something like this actually.

 

Oh, now I see. Well, seeing that the assassin seemed to be very lithe and athletic to some good degree, it doesn't sound so over the top, now that I look at the pic and think it a little.
That kind of move is veeery hard to pull off, but I think it's safe to assume that the assassin was quite acrobatic.

On the sidenote, I think this has actually made me think about some writing myself. The thing I've been thinking about isn't almost anything like this (Well, there IS an assassin, but otherwise it's quite different). Weird

 

Yeah, I also want to kill someone after I leave work in the evening.

 

I enjoyed it. While it wasn't long enough to be truly great (and epic!), Goli was right in saying that it was a good length. Before the picture I had visions of the handstands that I did waaaaay back when I did gymnastics.

*Awaits a continuation of the tale*

 

I really enjoyed that Colthrun, hopefully you'll have more boring days at work so we can read more tales