Featured Novel: The Shadow Channeler | Chapter 27 ('Just a simple uber w00t shall do it :)') | 03/08/08 | Rated 5 Stars

Chapter 11








Sandarus quickly leaped through the
underbrush, running at full speed. He couldn’t be too far away from the man.
His blue cap fluttered wildly everywhere, now full of cuts, creases, and holes.
Emerging onto the road, he began to scan his surroundings. He was somewhere
between Dreadnar and Rilos, he guessed. The man must be heading to that city.
Just a few days ago, he had been in his office, living in pure heaven. Now he was
on a cross-country chase to find a man that could not even be where he thought
he was. The only hard evidence he had that the man was even here was the
remnants of encampment he had seen not too long ago. Even that, though, could
not even be the right person. He hoped to heaven and hell it was, though, as he
looked at his shrinking supply of nourishment. As he continued on the main path
with a brisk pace, he then saw the silhouette of four black figures against the
sun. Quickening his pace, almost to a run, he continued to the spot where the
figures were. He gasped when he saw that the figures were actually bodies. Highwaymen, he thought to himself.
Whoever could have handled these four men must have been a force to be reckoned
with. Hell, Sandarus wasn’t even sure that he
could have taken them all. Looking even closer, he saw the pattern that
they had fallen in. Three in front, one behind, bow in hand. The person who had
done this must have had to dodge the bow, while dealing with three other
swordsmen at the same time. “Amazing…,” muttered Sandarus, glancing at the
bodies once more. “Well,” he said to himself, “There’s no reason to leave these
busy men here…,” With a grunt of effort under the dead-weight of the bodies, he
hauled them- one by one –down to the edge of the forest, dropping them
successfully out of sight. Then, almost as if Sandarus hadn’t just hidden four
murdered men into the bushes, he continued on his way, not disturbed
what-so-ever. He knew about highwaymen. Just useless sfickus that rob poor
travelers on their journeys, usually not leaving the prey alive. This time it’s the other way around, said
Sandarus, with a lazy smile and a glance over his shoulder. As he continued
walking, he recalled something about the man he was following. He did have a hastily casted picture of
him, by the mages (a new and very popular technology in the land of Oriniutum
was a spell that mages have recently developed. They see the person who
requested the spell, remember their face, and cast a spell on a scroll, leaving
a rather stunning imprint of the desired person. Many people love this spell,
and it has also many useful ways of fitting itself in the guard’s duties) who
had seen Hog once before they had escorted the prisoner to his cell. It had
been quite a while, but their trained memory, combined with eye-witness
accounts, gave him a fairly accurate picture. The problem was, it was only the picture. Not the whole body,
only his face. He could be three foot one. Hell, he could be six and a half
feet tall. Luckily, he remembered seeing the man as they escorted the prisoner.
A giant of a man he was. Being at least six foot, probably taller, he wore a
tough armor that probably couldn’t be easily penetrated by any sword. He must
be ahead. How fast could a man of his stature move so quickly? As he kept
walking, he noticed that the sun was already setting. The sun set was a bright
red. Sandarus tried his best to ignore the fact that it was the same shade of
red as Falcun’s cloak.





Hog looked around at the sun set,
and a frown crossed his face. Night was annoying, a time where he could get
easily ambushed. Trying to get his bearings for the last time for quite a few
hours, he looked farther ahead of him. The distant line of a city stretched out
in front of him. Not much further. As he kept walking, determined to move as much
as possible before dark, something appeared, moving down the road fast. It
seemed to be a caravan. Many merchants traveled these roads, selling their
goods, usually swords and nourishment, to the travelers they meet. And yet, they still don’t notice how many
times they get robbed, thought Hog to himself with a smile. As he
approached the caravan, he let out a silent gasp. What he saw was not a
caravan. Hell, it wasn’t even close to
one. What he saw was a line of men, all in black capes, moving towards him with
stunning speed. Hogar looked straight at them, mouth hanging open. Who in the
name of Dread were they? Then, suddenly, Hog realized the similarity of these
men and the ones that had jumped him. He could handle four. He couldn’t handle
forty. Doing a double-take, Hog ran across the path, jumping into the thick
forest bushes. Moving slowly, he waded towards the inside of the forest, aware
of the dangers that lurked there at night. Keeping a hand on his sword, he
moved much deeper, losing sight of the path, and then continued to moving forward.
Well, at least he thought he was
going forward. Suddenly, Hogar began to hear a low buzzing. Then, it grew
steadily louder, as if some kind of bug was hovering somewhere close to him. He
wondered what it could be, trying to think of any forest dweller that could be connected
to that sound. Drawing a blank, he sighed and tried to ignore it, to no such
luck. Suddenly, he had the feeling that something was behind him. He drew his
swords, ready for the men in black capes determined to fight to the death if necessary.
The trees may give him an advantage. Then again, they could actually hurt his
chances. When he turned around, it was as if time stopped. Nothing was there.
Then, a whirlwind of bright red. A stabbing pain in his head. Then darkness.





The man slowly lifted up the man,
not looking down at his face. It didn’t
matter who he was. He was clearly trespassing and would be disposed of. He
carried the man, with surprising ease, to his clearing where he had set up
camp. Tying him to a tree, the man sat down and tried to focus on finishing his
meal. There was no fun in disposing of a man if he was knocked out. The true
sport came if he was awake. He didn’t want to exactly kill the man, but he had
surpassed that choice after he had chosen to knock him out. Back facing the
rather large man, he finished his meal and waited patiently for the man to wake
up. An hour or two later, he heard a groan and a ruffle, then turned around.





Hog suddenly had the feeling of
being trapped. He moved his hands. Nothing. His arms. Nothing. His legs and
feet. Nothing. All were incapable of moving. Where the hell was he? What was he
doing here? Why wasn’t he at his house with Zuthis? Then, like rushing water in
a dry creek, it all came back to him. Grunting, he slowly opened his eyes. He
was in a camp, with a man in a bright red cloak sitting on the dirt, back
facing him. Hog decided to take his chances. He sure as Dread wasn’t a
highwayman, at least not a normal one, anyway. Faking a grunt of awakening, he
started to struggle with his bonds. The man turned around, and walked to the
man. He came face to face with him, then the man’s eyes practically bulged out
of his sockets. “Hog?” he said, voice
full of disbelief and shock. Hogar’s face twisted in confusion. The man quickly
recovered. “HOG! FILTHY PIG!” he
repeated, slapping Hog squarely across the face. It stung harshly. “What a
Fagnis you are, eh? Trying to sneak into my camp?” the man then sat down, this
time facing him, and a smile crossed his face. “Oh yes, trespassers aren’t
accepted in my camp. They are severely punished.” The man got up again, and
began to say something, but was cut off. A whistle of an arrow flew inches away
from the man’s nose, and then another one. And another one. From all
directions! Overwhelmed by the chaos the man frantically whipped around, shooting
lightning bolts everywhere. “ELETRICAS! ELETRICAS! E-L-EC-TR-ICA-S!” Fatigued, the man began to frantically move
around, trying to dodge the arrows to his best ability. Regaining his thoughts,
he grabbed a pair of deadly duel blades from his belt, and ran at full speed
into the darkness. Then, Hog felt hands undoing the bonds that held him there. “Shut
the hell up,” said the voice. Hog did as he was told; not knowing what in the
name of King Regius was going on. Hogar noticed that the arrows had stopped. Hog
hoped to Dreadnar that the man had got hit by one of the arrows. He hadn’t. He approached
Hogar once more, this time enraged at the interruption. “What the hell was that?!” yelled the man. The
hands untying Hog’s bonds froze. “Someone is here,” said the man, looking around.
Hog felt the hands start untying the bonds again, this time with a much more
slower and cautious feeling. When both of the ropes were off, Hog didn’t know exactly
what to do. “Don’t move and shut up,” whispered the voice in his ear. There was
his answer. Trying his best to show that
he wasn’t untied, he glared at the man. Then, suddenly, a man in a dark blue
cloak emerged from behind the man, and arrow nocked in his bow. The man in the
red cloak, froze, and turned around. The man in the dark blue cloak froze, and
let loose the arrow while doing so, and would have hit Hog if he would have
been unable to move. Now was the time to act, Hog jumped from behind the man,
and did a full-arm throw. The man went flying into one of the trees, crumpling
to the floor. “LET’S GO!” yelled Hog
at the man. He did not move. Sighing, he tried to pick up the man. “NO!” he
yelled, “NO! DON’T!” The man was frantic, sobbing everywhere. Not knowing what
the hell was going on, Hog looked down at the man. He was getting up. And then,
before Hog could react, he was already on his feet. Not knowing what would
happen next, Hog took charge, and grabbed the man in the blue cloak, and
carried him away like a guitar case. Hogar wondered why the man in the red
cloak did nothing to stop them.





The man in the red cloak looked
around, confused and at a loss. What the hell had just happened? He had been
ambushed from what it looked like to be just one guy, then his prisoner had
escaped! “In the name of Dread! WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” Sighing, he began to pack
away his things. He thought of the man he had caught, and the man’s face. He
had seen him before. He knew who he was. Where? Wasn’t it...Bah, there was no
time for speculations. Picking up his stuff, he began to make his way onto the
path, being sure to take a different route then the way he had took before.

Chapter 12








“SILENCE!” Yelled King Regius, when
the hall suddenly rose into a buzz of conversation. The room suddenly fell
silent, save a man who had a rather bad cough. That man was then escorted out
of the room by the royal guards. Sighing and mopping the sweat off his head
with his tissue bearing the royal symbol, the king continued his long and torturous
speech. “And so, the ceremony for my beloved son will be held in exactly a
fortnight. There shall be a grand orchestra playing the most tragic of music, mourners
from all the land, a great king to honor him, and I shall be there too.” The
king paused, waiting for the laughs to fill the room. They didn’t. Sighing once
again, he continued his speech. “After the opening ceremony has begun…,” and it
continued on and on, until the sun was lowering, casting glares in the eyes of
annoying spectators. The crown Regius wore was rather uncomfortable, being made
of pure gold, with glamour being the top priority, preventing headaches of
royal proportions not even on the list. He continued his speech, and suddenly
had the urge to take off his crown and throw it at a rather annoying man who
kept closing his eyes and shaking his head every time he made a joke. Twitching
slightly, the king resisted this urge, stuffing it in the corner of his mind,
and trying to focus on his speech. Regius had a rather strange talent. He could
be talking about anything, even re-telling a story full of gestures and
expressions, and do it perfectly, but, while he was doing that, he was able to
think about something completely different. In most cases; a very useful, interesting
tool. In this case, pure hell. He couldn’t focus on the speech even if he
wanted to, so his mind wandered off, thinking about who knows what, bored as
can be. His long, spider-silk robe fluttered lightly with the draft coming in
through a slightly ajar window. It tickled his ankles. Frustrated, and knowing
that he couldn’t bend down to scratch his ankles and that he couldn’t come and
close the window himself, he was at a loss. Suddenly, he had an idea. He caught
the eyes of several guards, and began making small, compact movements with his
head towards the window. The guards nodded, and began escorting several people
out of the room. They didn’t understand.
IDIOTS! All of them! Doing it again, the guards nodded, a little more hesitantly
this time, and began escorting most of the people in the room outside. The
people began to complain, and the king started to sweat even more. Finally, a
man was quick enough to catch on. He closed the windows, and with that, the
king flicked his head towards the door. The man nodded, and opened the door,
letting in the people who had been pushed out. Shooting an angry glare at the
other guards, he continued his speech. Fortunately, the escorting had woken up
most of the people in the room, and at least some of them laughed at his jokes.
Finally, finishing his speech, a man approached him. “Here, your majesty. I
noticed you on stage and well…,” he pushed something into his hands and hurried
off. Confused, Regius brought the card up to his face, and began reading. The house of Jamius, for those with head
trauma and the mildly insane. A furious look on his face, the king ripped
the cards to shreds, and stormed off to his room to prepare his next speech. As
he was walking, he practically collided with another man. He happened to be the
man who had shut the window. “Err, yes, thank you, man, for being quick enough
to catch on. Those other idiots would have escorted me out before they actually caught on.” The man’s eyes glittered,
as if to say, wait until I tell mommy
about this! “Thank you, sire. It was the least I can do. Have a good night.”
The king felt that the man looked sad. Regius was about to say something, then
walked off, then turned around again. “Excuse me. I forgot to ask your name.”
The man whipped around, and said, “My name is Triken, sire.” His eyes were
positively sparkling. “Well, Triken. Tell the royal guards you have an
appointment with me tomorrow, after the daily meal. We shall discuss your
future. Is that alright with you?” “Of course, sire! Thank you so much!” Triken’s
eyes could have been used to guide lost ships to the shore. He ran off, almost
skipping, happy as can be. “Well, that makes one of us.” growled Regius,
walking off. As he was walking to his chambers, he was approached by several
more healers, all with the same card. By the time he reached his room, he
couldn’t hold it in anymore. He walked quietly to his private kitchen, opened a
pantry, enclosed himself in it, and let out a scream of epic proportions.
Getting that out of his system, he moved calmly to his table, dipped his pen
into the inkwell, and began to write. Dearest
sirs and madams, I have come here today… So on and so forth. He was
suddenly interrupted by a knock on his door. A man in a white jacket opened his
door. I swear… The man began. “Hello
sir…” If he… “I saw you doing your
speech…” shows this man that… “And I
just wanted you to consider this…” card, I am going to… “I know you’re
probably reluctant, but you should consider it sire. I’m sorry for wasting your
time. The man handed him a white card. Twitching slightly, Regius took the
card, and read it, to make sure. The house
of Jamius, for those with head trauma and the mildly insane. Nodding and
smiling, Regius looked up and said, “Thank you. Just stay here for a minute
would you?” Regius started rolling up his sleeve. The man in white looked
confused, but stayed there. It was the
king that had ordered him. Bringing back his fist, the man saw what was about
to happen too late. A well aim punch dislodged his jaw from its hinges, and
sent him spiraling into the hallway. The guards came racing down, and looked at
the king in surprise. The older guards, who had been here for many years,
nodded at each other and smiled, saying silently to each other: He’s done it again. The king shrugged,
and told them to put the man in bed, and dent whatever he said, say that he needs
some more rest. The guards nodded, and carried him off. The king sent a silent
thank you to his god, knowing that it was luck and blessing that had prevented
any one from being in the corridor at the time. Moving back into his room, he collapsed
on his chair. Thinking about all that was left to do, Regius sighed. I wish I knew where that man- his name was Sandarus,
wasn’t it? - would tell me where he was, thought the king. Then he paused,
and added, because I’d pack up and go
there with him. Suddenly, he had the urge to do something. Once
again, he moved into his kitchen and opened his pantry door. Closing it behind
him, in a loud and happy voice, rubbing his knuckles, he yelled, “DAMN! That felt good!”





Hazul was almost at the tiny outpost
that his city used to transport people from here to Rilos. He could see it way
in the distance, past a few slopping hills. He had decided that he’d pay for
the trip with what little money he had, then make his way through Rilos, making
a few coin there, then maybe move on to Dreadnar, if money and time permitted. The
problem was, he had to make it to the ship without any one he knew- and Drake
take him if he didn’t know almost everyone in the city- and that would be no
easy task. He decided that the best possible solution was to try to avoid
everybody, if possible, and, if not, thinking of a reasonable excuse to would
let him continue. Looking at the long way ahead of his, he decided he had
plenty of time to think of one. While he was thinking to himself, he was not
paying attention to the road, and ended up tripping on a scarab-turtle, also
known as a Scurtle, which sent him tumbling down the slopping path of the
mountain-side he was going down. He got up from the bottom of the path, swearing
furiously, rubbing dirt off his clothes and face. He looked up, and thought happily,
well at least I covered some ground. He
continued this time, making sure to look out for any damn renegade scurtles on
the road. As he continued on his way, he jumped up (quite high) to pluck a
bitter-sweet fruit from a Sparia tree, then popped it into his mouth. The
bitterness didn’t bother him. He was used to it. Hell, most people in his town
ate rocks, and he wasn’t exaggerating.
His people had a particularly stronger mouth, and stones actually tasted quite
good if made correctly. Smiling, Hazul recalled an old saying in his town. Kiss
my asphalt, cook it, chew it, and then swallow it if diet permits. A little
long, but it always gave everyone a good laugh. Sighing, he bent down to pick
up some dust and sand from the path. Hazul let the sand seep through the crack
in his fingers, watching it fall back down to the ground, or get blown away to somewhere
else. Just like me, he thought to
himself with an ironic smile. He looked up again at the outpost, and sighed. It
had barely come closer since the last time he looked. He wondered why his life
was always so dull. Oh sure, running away from a home was exciting. But because
the economy was bad? Hardly a good reason. Well, throw in a fire breathing
dragon, and maybe a savage or two (“Although my city does have lawyers” said Hazul, laughing to himself) and maybe that would be something to brag about.
But this, running away like a coward, telling no one, was hardly what he
wanted. “Then what the hell do you want
me to do?” He yelled at the sky, “Run away, and take the whole god damn city with
me on a bloody ark?” Angry, Hazul strolled down the path at a quicker pace,
being sure to step over the next scurtle that he encountered. Changing
direction on a sharp turn, Hazul turned to look into the forest that was on his
left. Kind of strange it was, walking, with a beautiful view of the ocean on
one side, and a massive jungle on the other. Concentrating hard on the jungle,
he tried to look for something that he could focus on, do something with.
Nothing. Even the damn sounds coming from it seemed silent. What the hell was
his god trying to do? Bored him to death? He had heard such a fate from Hal, also known as He-who-jumped-off-a-cliff-for-fun-and-died-shortly-after,
but he never thought that it would happen to him! Losing count of the times he
had sighed so far, he began to count his steps, then estimated how many until
the outpost. 9 342, 423, 856, 568, 756. 9 342, 423, 856, 568, 755…9 342, 423
,856, 568, 754… he kept counting and counting. Suddenly, he froze. A rustle in
the forest caused him to whip around, sword ready. Something emerged from the
forest. Well, I did say I didn’t want to
be bored to death, he said grimly to himself, I guess I’ll just get killed. Facing his foe, he understood why the
jungle had been so quiet the last few hours of his travels. Out of the forest,
came a massive, hulking figure, followed by a smell that mage Hazul gag. He had
heard of this things. They were very common in the world of fantasy, something his city called… “A-” A horrifying cry cut through the wilderness,
cutting off Hazul’s sentence. The beast got ready to charge. Hazul took out his
sword, lowered his stance, and got ready for the hardest damn fight in his
life.