Of Ancient Passages: Chapter 2: Dark Days for Chess Pieces

A lean figure sits on the side of the bed. Horns droop to the nape of his neck. His grey skin is sweaty, muscular body heaving in and out. His scarred back slumps. Yawning he puts on his clothes and armor.  
 
Lastly, he holds up his katana marveling at its craftsmanship. He cleans the blade, the red moonlight hits it and the sword shimmers. Respectively he balances it on his four fingers. Incents burns and he runs his blade through the smoke. Getting on his knees, he bows to the blade.  
 
“I thank you mother. Blessed be to me. Let me be your hand and dispense justice. Let this blade be an extension of my body. I am Death sent to carry your will. I am the King’s guardian. For he is my father. My life is battle. A warrior unmatched and with no equal. Protect me mother. In return, I will be your hand. Blessed be.” He chants.
 
Once finished he kisses his blade and sheaths it. Opening the door, he comes out to the stars. He loops up to an unfamiliar scarlet moon into the cool night and the soft wind. Tucking his ceremonial helm under his arm, he walks. Pink petals  linger on the ground before being gusted away. Baring there scent with them as it runs through the city, it has such a sweet and honey smell. He feels like he could wake up a thousand times more to that smell.  
 
All across the city guards are marked by there torches, silent sentinels of justice, watching for any sign of unlawfulness. Few people walk at this time of day, this early in the morning. Now was the time when the guards change there shifts. He gets closer to a guard, near to pass him by.  
 
“Anything to report?” He asks.
 
“All’s well, sir.” The reply is ready.  
 
He hides his smile. Reporting to his underlings always brings a sense of stature. More than that is the feeling of responsibility, for it is his and few others to hold such honor as to guard the King. It is what his mother made him. All of his race hold such fealty, warriors like no other. They pledge there duty, life and limb, and not because they need to.
 
His life holds only to serve and be loyal and useful. To fight as they are taught: war breathes enlightenment, and battle brings honor and duty, duty tempers serves and inexperience, experience is knowledge, power. That is the way of his people. That is the way things always have been for his people, and he would not see it changed. Why would he change a philosophy, and lifestyle that he has suckled the breast of his entire life.  
 
Those standing guard at the doors open it for him. Taking the right passageway, he ascends the stairs. Taping his foot on the pressure plate a secret corridor opens. It leads him out into a higher hall. The secret way closes and he moves on. After a few moments, he exits and continues.  
 
A new figure from a separate hall joins him. He speaks up. “Morrow Tsuk.”
 
“Morrow Morthium.”
 
Morthium yawns. “Guarding the King is a pain in the ass.”
 
“It is an honor.”
 
Morphium jiggers. “Maybe for you, you durafan bastard.”
 
Stretching Tsuk adjusts his armor. “I have never met a nephalim so grumpy.”
 
“Sorry, didn’t get much sleep.” He shakes his whiskers.
 
They take post at the King’s door. They try to wake up, punching each others arms, and slapping each other playfully. The candelabras give little heat, but they are quite snug in their layers. The light casts eerie shadows on the floor. Tsuk jumps when a woman comes out. Tsuk smiles and the woman smiles back.
 
He nudges Tsuk. “Looks like our King had himself a good early morning snack.”
 
“He wants to see you Tsuk.” She says before walking off.
 
He goes inside. A frail old man sits at his desk. Robe covering his thin body. Who would know him for a lion, someone who commands armies. He seems just an old man, but not really, not just. He is a king and king means kingly.  
 
His amber eyes look to Tsuk. “Please sit.”  
 
He does so, resting in a finely decorated chair across from him. I must note that his desk is not very large. It is strewn about in arcane literature. Subjects of dreams to stars to reading the future, things an old man may find of worth. All layered with his crumbs and scribblings.
 
“You have guarded me for nearly thirty years. Protecting me from all manner of things. Catching me in a few indecent situations.”
He laughs. “All those I remember fondly. I have known you since we were both young and full of spirit. I have always considered your council to be refreshing. You do not placate me, you say what you mean and I have always liked that. It is a shame my wife cannot understand. In my youth, I did some terrible things. Things I would rectify if I could. Age has a way of giving foresight. Experience is the key. Do…do you think I am a bad person?”
 
“No, of course not. You are our king. I will die for you.”
 
He gets up and looks out of the window. “The stars are beautiful, ever there. They have shined since my birth and they will shine at the last twinkle of my eyes. I don’t have much time left. I can feel the march. The last sand is faltering in my hourglass. In any guise Death, may come to collect on me. None can delay it or escape it. We can only decide to do the best we can as it knocks on the door.”
 
Tsuk shakes his head. “Don’t talk like this. You have spirit left.”
 
“Sadly my sons are dead. It has been nearly a year now. I miss them with all my love as a father ever possessed. All my other heirs are disappointments. They do not care about the Helingate Empire; they care only for power, not for the people. Not like me. Mark my words; after my departure, it will all turn rotten. The Empire does not have the will it used to. It is older than I; does Death knock on its door as well?”
 
“Should you be telling me this? My council does not extend to this, nor would I wish it.” Tsuk asks.
 
“Probably not, but I am old and I am king. Besides, I enjoy the company. I get little visitors at all. I do not sleep, I have recurring nightmare. It starts with a boy, eyes blue as the Sibat. Then a girl showering him with kisses, young love perhaps. I see my kingdom seared by a giant taloned gauntlet. A sinister force is immersed in armor with an army at his back. He clutches his chest and falls into darkness. The blue eyes stand out in shadows atop the others chest. The clouds grow grim. It is quite a disturbing thing to see. Like any dream, it is very murky. It always awakens me.”  
 
“It’s just a dream, sire.”
 
“Perhaps it is or perhaps not, no matter. I shall be quite busy in the weeks to follow. A treaty with the Niarea Dominion is to be discussed. Its leader is quite brilliant I am told. What was his name? It escapes me. Sorry I am rambling; I am keeping you from your duties.”
 
“No lord, you are my duty.”
 
“Peace is the best kind of victory. I hope that things can go back to the way they were when I was young. I miss those days; I would see them returned to glory. Things grow too dark, filled with false hope. I will restore hope. A golden accomplishment before my end. Thank you.”
 
“Why thank me sire?”
 
“I thank you because you need to be thanked. Because I do not want to find my last moments without thanks. Leave me I am finally tired.”
 
Tsuk nods. “Yes, your majesty.”
 
He leaves the room and returns to his post. Tsuk earnestly hopes for better days. People need their hopes restored. They need to know that the King is not just some old man. He just cannot do the things he could. Let us hope he keeps his resolve.  
 
“So what did he say?” Morphium asks.
 
“He just wanted to talk, seems lonely.”
 
“Lonely! Ha! With all those concubines?”
 
“You fool.” Tsuk says.
 
Morphium becomes serious beating his fist against his breastplate. The durafan repeats this motion. A sign of respect to any warrior. He is not really a fool, just young. He is filled with youthful ambitions. A young man’s gain, but really Morphium is here because of the pay.  
 
A candelabrum falls from the table catching the rug on fire. They stomp furiously. From the King’s room comes a muffled cry. Morphium goes to check. Franticly Tsuk stomps until all is well. Following, he too enters the King’s chamber.  
 
Blood splatters the wall. The King lies on the floor with a dagger in his skull. A shame falls upon the durafan. The nephalim fights against the assassin. Sword crosses dagger. Tsuk unsheathes his katana and joins the fray.  
 
If power is experience then the youth has little. Only luck saves him. The veteran warrior’s skill and expertise help tremendously. His katana stops the others dagger. Still the assassin has great skill.  
 
The murderer wears a long black coat with the hood pulled up. A frightful mask rests on his face. It is made of wood, polished well, painted red. The mask has a gleeful smile and cheerful eyes. However, the person underneath has neither. In fact, that mask makes his movements harder to read.  
 
He continues to block and parry around his friend. “Morphium move!”
 
Tsuk pushes him hard out of the way. Their weapons clash in deadly force. The assassin is no novice his swordsmanship is pristine. He gives the veteran warrior a run for his money. The intruder takes the offensive backing him up. He has to work hard to keep the dagger away.  
 
They play the dance well with quick feet. One advances the other gives room. Tsuk’s fist slams into his face. The mask cracks, fracture lines grow wide. Until it falls from its place. The figure stays to the shadows.  
 
Morphium rushes in sword slashing. “For our king!” He screams.
The assassin ducks low and the sword catches in the wood. The dagger comes up and slams down. Morphium stumbles back, falling flat. The blade is caught in his neck. He grasps at it but it is too late. His breath is heavy; a magenta puddle grows on the floor. He goes far too quickly.
 
The murderer runs to the window. His face can be seen only for a moment. The most distinctive feature is the long scar that goes from one side, of his face, to the other. That is all he catches of the mysterious person. Before the window shatters and he disappears through it. Into the merciful infinity, that hides him so well.
 
Morphium is dead as is the King. He hears what he could not before. The clanking of many footsteps that grows louder as they close. Realization sets in quick. It is over and he has failed in his greatest duty. Helingate soldiers storm into the room, surrounding him.
 
Queen Amaness comes in after. Her eyes widen when she sees the blood. She makes a soft quibber at the sight of her dead husband. Rushing to his side, she examines him in faltering hope. Weapons point all around Tsuk. Quickly he falls to his knees and throws up his hands.
 
Slowly her gaze descends on the lone survivor. “What have you done?”
 
“Me? I didn’t do this!”
 
“My husband lies dead! You are the only one here.”
 
He thrusts his hands to the window. “An assassin came; it was over before we entered the room. Together we tried to kill him but he was too much.”
 
“Save it. That is a very likely story. Did you make it up yourself or did you have help? There is no proof, so you weigh my hands. Arrest him.”  
 
“No! No! This is not my doing! It’s my honor and service to protect!” The soldiers grab him up.
 
“I know all too well your kind. You and your kin have a nasty habit of going rogue. Your bloodlust is insatiable. This assassin of yours is the perfect lie. You have done this!” She points her finger at him in hard accusation. “You will rot for your crimes. You have been shamed. I will deny you of a glorious death. I will deny you of death altogether. You will be tortured endlessly your mind will turn to mush. Damn you! Damn you for killing my husband!”
 
The soldiers take him away. “Wait! You must believe me! Wait! Wait!!”
 
It is no use. He will soon be locked away for a false crime. Shadows of the bars grow heavy over years. Wheels turn in his head. Focusing on torture and crushing instability. He struggles hard against his captors.  
 
Wiggling he works to get away. There are so many arms about him. It is useless. He finds himself taken into the prison. Thrust into a cell they chain him to the wall. They take his armor and his sword.
 
One of the soldiers takes a lash in his hands, letting it uncoil to the floor. “This is gonna be fun."