Fire Prince

Fire Prince

  By Kris Shamloo

  Copyright 2012 Kris Shamloo

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  Chapter One – The assassination of Nobleman Eilef

  The portal connecting the two planes would be open for less than a day. The ivory tower was dressed in gilded banners. Thin black burns pockmarked the surface beneath the fabric. The assassin risked being trapped if he failed. He carefully burnt his hand and foot holds into the surface. His purpose was clear; his actions were methodical.

  The steady winds off the plains gave substance to the banners, concealing his body from the sentinel. The red glow of his fingers was faintly visible through the cloth. He climbed higher. The solitary winged sentinel caught a thermal and spiraled lazily upwards around the hidden warrior. A wisp of smoke reached the sentinel, her eyes widened.

  The assassin heard the sentinels screech of alarm and froze. He released the vain hope that his presence was not the cause of her scream and muttered, “Damn, jig’s up.” Surprise was still on his side; he burnt a new set of holds outside the concealment of the banner. The sentinel dove towards him immediately. The great bird was greeted with a ferocious bolt of flame.

  The sentinel’s limp body fell towards the ground through a cloud of smoke and singed feathers. “It won’t be long now,” the assassin told himself. More sentinels would arrive shortly. He raced towards the pinnacle in bursts of flame and ash. He hung against the railing of the pinnacle with one arm and eyed his pocket chronometer, “Bit early.”

  The old priest guarding the treasures atop the tower stood at the ready with his bow drawn. The arrow’s head tipped with white light. “Stop right there young man,” he said. “I’m not here for your life priest; I’m here for that,” the assassin pointed to a small plain box. “I will not tolerate thieves; it is my sacred duty to protect these relics.” His voice shook; his bow shook.

  Two sickles of lava poured from the assassin’s wrists into his hands. The intruder sighed, he saw the priest’s arm wobble. Half in fear, half from the strain of holding his bow taut the priest loosed his arrow. With a flash the flame warrior cut the flying arrow and crossed the checkered marble floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you are a good man.” The warrior’s whisper was sincere, his right sickle piercing cleanly through the priest’s chest.

  He turned to the small box sitting amongst a lavish array of precious items. He opened the lid with a strange reverence for its contents. The dull crystal was cradled by a small velvet pillow. His gaze at the object was broken by the howling screeches of the reinforcing sentinels. “You planned for this; you’ll make it,” he said to himself.

  Hastily, he stuffed the crystal into his pocket. In a sweeping arc he dove from the tower pivoting around the railing. His sickle caught the center of the highest banner and he rode the wave of tearing fabric in a fury towards the bottom. A spurt of flame cushioned his landing and sent a spider web of cracks through the cobblestone street.

  The city guard had reached the tower, a full squadron of battle hardened great falcons, huge avian predators native to the plains of Eida. Combat was not his mission; the assassin ran. The sharp eyed leader spotted the flame warrior and screeched commands. The squadron dove.

  The city’s roads were a sprawling network of twisting alleyways. Only a few of the largest main roadways were thoughtfully planned. The corridors hid the warrior from his pursuers. “Damn!” shouted the warrior stopped cold by a dead end. The smoke cleared and the assassin had elevated to the rooftops.

  An eager falcon dove in towards his prey, talons tipped with white light. The sentinel crashed into a stained glass sky light as his target vanished back to the alleys. The lead guard screeched at his subordinate in anger; the chase ran on.

  The adrenaline was intoxicating; the hard-minded assassin was thoroughly enjoying his first true mission. He thought to himself; just make it to the farm. The sentinel’s formation widened as they tried to control the assassin’s movements. With a screech the slimmest falcon broke off outpacing her fellow guards.

  The fleeing warrior saw the sleek bird heading off towards the portal site; it’s going to warn the portal guard. A desperate fireball launched towards the sentinel but fell well short. The further from the center of the city the chase went, the more exposed the assassin became. Single dives could be dodged, but in the open a coordinated attack was a serious threat.

  The lead guard saw his window of opportunity. In a few hundred yards the buildings vanished into the open plain. The command was given and the squadron prepared themselves. When the flame warrior broke through the safety of the city’s buildings he would be forced to contend with the great birds. The lead guard flew higher, his timing would be perfect. He dove at the exposed thief.

  The bird’s speed was tremendous. He plummeted towards where the assassin would be the most exposed. His light tipped talons shone brightly, echoing the falcon’s fierce determination. The dive flattened as he turned parallel to the ground. Wake from his winged body threw laundry and rooftop furniture into the streets.

  There was nowhere for the assassin to hide now. He left the safety of the city and was in the open field. Almost there, he thought. He guessed the sentinels would try to stop him here at the outskirts of the city. The warrior hadn’t underestimated the capability of his foes; he knew the power of a falcon in a full dive. The lead guard dropped on him like a meteor.

  There was a blinding burst of earth and flame. The lead falcon’s body skipped across the plains tumbling wing over wing. His talons were empty. The mighty avian regained his composure and screeched to his squadron. Nothing. Their chase had failed, the assassin vanished.

  Safe underground the assassin quickly moved towards the portal site. His network of tunnels had taken weeks to build but his diligent preparation was paying dividends now. Periodically, he stopped and collapsed lengths of his tunnel. His hands pantomimed the action of the spell.

  Nearer his destination he stopped in his small storage room stocked with emergency supplies in case he failed to cross through the portal in time. The water was stale and lukewarm but refreshing after the stress of the pursuit. He emptied the canteen and sat down. Flicking open his chronometer he saw he had a few hours to kill. His eyes closed.