The Flames of Deception - A Horizon of Storms: Book 1 Read online

  A Horizon of Storms: Book I

  The Flames of Deception

  By A.J. Martin

  Text copyright © 2014 Alex Martin

  All Rights Reserved

  To Laura, for everything

  www.AHorizonofStorms.com

  The Chase

  70th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  The sound of thundering hooves on cracked cobblestones could be heard on the air for miles as a masked rider tore through the streaming rain. Clad in a black leather jerkin, cotton britches and shrouded by a brown cloak, the figure pushed onward atop his jet - black horse, riding through the fallen wreckage of a city centuries - dead, desperate to shake his pursuer who closed the gap between them with every second that passed. His sodden cloak ruffled and flapped in the ferocious gale that whistled around the clustered, mutilated colonnades of the ancient, decaying city. He passed crippled houses and the scattered remains of weathered marble statues, their figures severed at the arms and waists. The eroded and chipped, emotionless faces watched him as he tore up the dirt around their pale, cracked feet.

  By the side of a well - worn, brown leather sword scabbard, fastened to his belt was a small, rain - soaked, red velvet pouch, tied by a thick knot of twine to the beltstrap. He clung to it tightly with his right hand as if untrusting of the looped cord that secured it to his person and with the other hand on the reins he drove his horse onward, skirting another crumbling building beset with ivy. With one powerful push of the horse’s hind legs he cleared a ditch that might once have been a flowing river full of life, but now held nothing but thirsty brambles and jagged, brittle thorns. The rider fell forward in his saddle as the horse landed heavily on the other side and he squeezed his legs tightly to her flanks to stop from toppling over completely.

  The weather worsened as he continued to ride and the horse’s pace flagged. Pulling off the saturated hood about his head he shook his long, dark hair free of amassed droplets of rain. Trickles of water flooded down his face and over his thick eyebrows, clouding his vision as he lowered his head to his horse’s ear.

  “Come my girl, you must pick up the pace!” he called to her through the whistling wind. The horse snorted as if in acknowledgement and sped up. The rider took a second to look behind him. A moment later, he wished he hadn’t.

  The creature that chased the rider sat atop its own horse: a ghostly, grey nightmare of a creature, pale and naked save for a coarse, torn strip of fabric across its waist. The rain poured over its slimy, mottled skin, stretched tightly over its lean flesh and thin bones. Its bulbous head was covered with thick black veins, jutting out under the stretched skin like suckling leeches. They snaked across a ferocious, protruding brow, intensifying the picture of malice already emblazoned on its mutated face. Its eyes smouldered with a pure, liquid hatred: the deep black portals the size of oranges set into its skull sucked the courage out of any that dared look into them. As the rider gazed into those eyes, which were in turn fixed solely on him, he could feel the anger that poured out of them: a primal thirst for his blood. The demon snarled at him as he continued to stare, its razor teeth glinting in the cloudy moonlight. The rider knew all too well that those thin, steel - like pins could tear flesh from bone. He had seen it happen to his travelling companion, the barbs slicing the meat from his body and churning it up with ease, as if it were nothing but gelatine. At that moment with the rain lashing his back, they were all he could focus on. He had fought all manner of creatures: men of all different races and species, but never had any of them instilled in him the terror that he felt at that moment. The creature was old and feral, darker and more dangerous than anything he had come across before. It wanted the stone and it would do anything to get it. He gripped the velvet pouch tighter.

  The mare reached the top of another mound of earth and rubble and began to descend again, sliding down the steep hill to the boundaries of the abandoned city, the loose mud scattering under her hooves as they headed further into the path of the wind. The tempest tore at the man's clothes and the raindrops stung his crimson cheeks as a crackle of thunder signalled overhead and a flash of lightning illuminated the ghostly city. The creature behind him became visible again very briefly in the sparking light and his heart caught in his throat as he glanced back. However many times he saw that figure he couldn’t still the fear that gripped him when he looked upon its monstrous guise.

  “Hyah!” he cried to his horse, slapping the reins to encourage her. “There are many more lives at stake than just yours and mine tonight girl! Hyah!” They sped on through a final slalom of broken - down pillars and archways, clearing the boundaries of the city, bursting on to a field of long, wet grass. The rider risked another look behind him and his breath caught as he realised how close the demon had grown.

  Faster and faster it pursued him and closer it drew- so near that the beast could almost lay its hands on his horse’s tail. The rider veered to the left, winding through the grasslands. The creature followed, still gaining ground and in seconds the two were riding in parallel. The beast swiped at him with its claws and snarled as the rider slipped away again to the left. In moments though, it would catch up again. It was relentless.

  The rider swallowed and his lips trembled. Shaking his head, he fumbled at his side, untying the pouch from his waist, careful not to let the bag drop from his grip. He held it tightly in his fingers and brought it up in front of his face. The object inside glistened through the small opening in the tightened fabric and he became transfixed for a moment by the violet light that spilled out. Whispers of voices emerged from the bag for a moment and an image of the young girl filled his mind. Other thoughts and pictures tried to enter his thoughts, but he shook his head and they dispersed. Then he nodded to himself and fastened the bag carefully to the reins. He patted the mare and whispered in her ear.

  “Bring yourself home safely to Mahalia, my girl. They must know what awaits them.”

  Pulling his sword from its sheath, he sprang from his saddle as the creature drew by his side again and grabbed it by the arm, dragging it with him to the ground. They rolled through the grass together, until the creature kicked out with its powerful legs and knocked the rider aside. The man came to a stop face down in a puddle. Raising his muddied head he looked around maniacally for the creature. It was still rolling around on the floor several feet away, scrambling about like a cat on an icy pond, trying to set itself upright again. Good. Mud dripped from the man’s fringe as he forced himself up, his hands disappearing in the saturated muck beneath him. His legs shook from exhaustion, but he persuaded his limbs to let him stand and threw off his heavy cloak, taking his sword in both hands as the creature began lumbering towards him. It snarled and smiled its malevolent grin at him. The beast had no forged weapon to speak of: its arms were all the weapon it needed. They were enormous, out of proportion with the rest of its starved, stretched body, and on the end of their muscular trunks were twisted, spiked hands, twice the size of a humans, with three long, claw-like pincers. It gestured with them and then with a roar jumped at the rider, flailing wildly. He darted out of its wake but before he could recover his stance the creature flung its weight at him again, catching him on the cheek with a claw and splitting the skin. Blood smattered the ground from the gash, and as it oozed from the fleshy cut, it mixed with the rain and slid down his neck beneath his shirt. He embraced the pain, put it aside as he had been taught to, and raised his sword again. This time he lunged forward, parried with his foe, slashing at the monster’s shin and its midriff. He nicked its torso and a thin line of blackened, turgid crimson blood blotted the pale skin as it dribbled
out from its veins like curdled milk; thick clots splattering the floor. The creature stepped back and examined its wound, but before the man could take advantage of its disillusion it rallied and cast a clawed hand at him again, knocking him to the ground. He wheezed as the wind fell out of him and spun with his back to the dirt as another arm came lunging down at him. It was all he could do to stop those claws from clasping his neck, blocking the attack with his blade and forcing the creature back. He kicked out with all his remaining strength and gathered the room he needed to force himself up. He staggered backwards, muscles aching, and readied himself again. As the creature lolloped wildly back at him, he darted aside, ducked his head beneath another swiping arm, stepped behind the beast and, raising his weapon atop his head, brought it humming down on to the beast’s elbow joint with a triumphant yell, ripping off an arm. The creature screamed and wailed in pain, dashing away from him, cradling its leaking stump with the other hand. Mashed flesh and spiky bone stuck out from the creature's wound. It simpered like a dog a moment, snorting and whining. Steam rose from its nostrils into the cold, wet air. The man watched several paces away, his chest heaving, waiting for the creature’s next move.

  The beast’s eyes narrowed and the man shivered. It felt like it was looking straight into his soul. Then it shrieked like a rabid monkey and pounded towards him. The rider’s eyes grew wide. He raised his sword, but the creature sprung up like a frog and drop- kicked him in the face before he could swing. The rider’s jaw dislodged and several of his teeth sailed through the air. He could taste the blood from his cut gums. His vision blurred heavily, as if the haze from the rain wasn’t enough. He threw his sword in front of him as he saw a fuzzy limb come at him, but the creature knocked it from his hand and hit him clean in the chest. Winded and cut across his torso the man fell, hunched over in agony. Warmth spread across his body and for a moment he seemed so very, very far away. It was over, he knew, and as he closed his eyes he pictured his wife, his child, and the house in which they lived, bathed in the amber glow of an autumnal light. He smiled at their faces.

  The haggard creature seized the moment to defeat its prey. It threw its razor-sharp claws down into the rider’s back, thrusting hard and breaking his spine before bursting out through his chest. There was no time for the man to scream- he was dead before he could utter a noise. The creature freed its hand from the gaping hole in the man’s body and inspected the fleshy ligaments that sat tangled between its claws, sniffing them curiously. The rider’s corpse slumped to the ground, lifeless.

  A hideous, wicked smile emerged on the creature's face as it inspected the kill closer. It bent down and smelt the iron in the man’s blood with its forked tongue as it poured from his body and soaked into the mud. Then it threw its head into the air and howled with delight, dancing in the torrent of rain in triumph. A moment later, with its celebrations over and acting with purpose once more, it began rifling with its one arm through the man’s clothes, searching his pockets and tearing the shirt from his body to find what it was looking for. It grew ever more desperate as it continued, tugged the body this way and that, patted and slapped at the sodden fabrics of the trousers. But it was gone. The rider no longer had what it was looking for.

  The creature’s screams carried on the wind for miles.

  The rider-less mare fled from the sound with all the speed she could muster, her hooves pounding the sodden land for traction. Fields of grass blurred into one another. The rain finally died down and in the distance, the shadowy image of a large city came into view against a mountainous backdrop. She flew for the silhouetted land. Never in her life had she moved as fast as she was at that moment. Howls from close behind spurred her on until the colossal pyramid- shaped structure of archways and pillars resolved itself further out of the darkness from the light of thousands of torches within. She approached the grass plains at its base.

  Behind, the demon gained ground once again. It had to have what it had come for! Failure was not an option for it! The enemy could never have the gemstone! As it slapped the reins of its horse harder, it closed in on the mare. The creature smiled: it would reach her before she could make it into the city. Closer. Closer. Close enough! A twisted arm reached out to the exhausted animal. Then the beast’s deep, dark eyes caught sight of a flash in the black skies above and a bolt of lightning seethed downwards, straight towards it, striking it in the chest and sending it flying from its horse, rolling through the soaking grass. When it stopped the creature looked down at its steaming chest. A black mark stretched across its ribcage.

  Through the rain a new rider hurtled towards the creature, a tall iron staff in hand. Their eyes glowed like bright sapphires in the darkness and their curly brown hair whipped in the gale. The monster snarled, rose to its feet and then ran towards them as they pointed the staff towards the demon. Fire poured from the end of the rod, engulfing the creature. It wailed and threw its flaming body around, trying to shake off the maelstrom, but it was useless. As the skies rumbled, the beast fell, burnt to the core.

  The new rider stopped for a moment in front of the body, poking at it with the staff and then nodded. He looked around, but the creature’s horse had already fled into the night. He turned away from the corpse and reared his own horse, galloping back towards the city, the lone mare now safely in its grounds and with her, the velvet bag and its contents that her rider had died for.

  Above, the storm raged on.

  “The storm front approaches upon the horizon and all that seems to stand between it and the sacking of the world are the band of four, who haunt my dreams every night this past year. They appear destined to blow away the sickly winds and cast out the darkness that seems so insurmountable. I am almost certain now that they are the only saviours from that horizon of storms, even if those around me think me mad and dismiss my warnings. But there is more I see. One amongst them holds the bloodline of the Akari!”

  From the notes of Isser Interlock, the Poet Laureate of the Kingdom of Aralia, written 451 N.E. (New Era).

  An Eye at the Door

  112th Day of the Cycle, 495 N.E. (New Era)

  The sun had only just begun to creep above the horizon of early morning as a knocking on the east gate of the City of Rina, Capital of the Kingdom of Aralia, broke the peace. Mist hung heavily in the crisp air, and dew coated the grassy plains that spread out from the white, stone - walled city in all directions for miles. Aside from the dusty, gravel path that wound its way around the countryside, the city was an isolated, whitewashed beacon within the lush, overgrown fields, filled with early summer blooms.

  The door to the little - used entrance rattled on its old, iron hinges as the knocking continued. Its cause was a lone, young man, who rapped again and again with the end of a tired, wooden staff. He stopped a moment to let the dust settle from the surrounding stones, swept the long, straight, brown hair of his fringe out of his eyes and across his mildly tanned brow, and then exhaled impatiently, puffing out a tune through his lips. He was tall and slender, with a posture that exuded confidence. Then, clicking his tongue, he rapped again, louder still than before. With his free hand he played with the pendant around his neck, twisting it impatiently between his fingers. The silver arrowhead caught the emerging daylight, and a round cut ruby encrusted in its centre glinted. To most people on the continent of Triska, the meaning of the emblem was palpable: only a wizard of Mahalia wore such jewellery, and men had learned to tread carefully when the arrowhead made itself known.

  “Come on,” the man sighed, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I haven’t got all day, you know. If I did I would be somewhere warm and cosy.” He knocked his staff against the door again, and again, and then again – rata-tat, rata-tat. At last a person opened the peephole in the door, and a beady, bloodshot eye poked out. It took in the young man standing just beneath the hatch, studied his delicate features, and then, with a guttural voice, addressed him.

  “Who’s there?” the eye said. “For the gods’ sakes, I was
‘aving a bloody nap! Do you know what time it is?”

  “Time you answered the door,” the man said beneath his breath, but then smiled broadly. He struck his staff into the soft earth and brushed off his expensive red coat, its shoulders bristling with golden - embroidered overlay twisted into delicate, floral patterns, and its gregariously flared sleeves glittering with sequins. Lace spilled out the ends from a silken white shirt beneath as he raised his hand in salutation, and with his other hand he loosened a dark blue cravat, tied messily around his neck, as he spoke. His grey eyes sparkled, and for the smallest of moments they seemed to flash a bright blue.

  “My name is Matthias,” he announced, nodding to the peephole. “Who are you?”

  “That’s none of yer business! Bloody foreigner!” the eye grumbled. “Right pains in the backside!”

  Matthias raised a brow in surprise. “Do you speak to all your guests so politely?” he asked.

  “Yer ain’t no guest ‘ere,” the eye continued. “Not whilst you is on that side of my gate! Now what is it you want?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Why do most people knock on one side of a door? I would like to come in,” the man known as Matthias continued.

  The eye squinted. “If I’m to let you in Mister, I’ll need to know more than just yer blooming name! What’s yer business ‘ere?”

  Matthias sighed. “I’ve come from Mahalia. I have business in your city on behalf of the Council of Wizards.”

  The eye in the door sniggered at him. “The Council of Wizards yer say? A young lad like you? You is barely what – twenty years old?”

  Matthias leaned forward. “Let us just say, my friend, that I look good for my age.” He smiled knowingly.