The Third Chapter

The air hung about Savill heavily. He knew what Dal'Khan was trying to do. His mind raced with combat, almost carrying him away. Then with a swift motion his frail frame contorted itself, raising the shinrak to a threatening position.

Dal'Khan smirked. His concentration was gone, and the old man before him would not simply let him pass. He sighed and looked at the old man's face. The lines around the piercing yellow eyes were deep cuts of time. They were determined yet worried at the same time. Dal'Khan knew his worry.

"Morpher, you are much to out of practice." The young and statuesque elf spoke arrogantly.

"And you are too confident, my friend." Savill spoke out of the corner of his mouth, spitting the words. He stepped around the tall figure with catlike grace, incongruous with his form. His long black hair was sliced with gray. Dal'Khan followed these strands down the old man's back with his own steel gray eyes. His head cocked to the side and he drank in the old man. He knew the moment would be upon him when he would strike.

Savill peered at the young elf, assessing his slender form with a master's precision. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each leading to the boy. What was Devin to do if he were to die here? His teachings would stay but the connection would be broken. Yet he knew in his heart that there was no way he could stand in the way of the elf. His eyes burned with rage, his mind pierced the darkness. The last, and only, thing he could do was warn the boy so he could at least have a chance. His spirit moved about the trees as his body remained contorted before the elf. He passed through the dark forest and came upon the earthen hut. He entered the window and saw his boy sleeping, mouth open wide and gaping. His heart felt light to see the boy whom he loved almost as a son, but he knew what must be done.

Devin lay in dreamless sleep, tired and confused. He wondered why the old man had chosen the next day to introduce him to his people. He had met his kind before on his treks to the market, but he had never known them. He wanted to know them, and through his thoughts he felt something. It was a warm presence in the room that only his unconscious skin felt. Then he saw a face, the face of his master in his mind's eye. It was a bizarre sight because he knew that the face was not of his own creation.

"Run Devin, Run..." The old man's voice penetrated his new dream like a knife.

"Why?" he asked, frightened.

"Seek the Praetorian, Devin. He will help you." Then the image of his master was blurred. A smatter of blood seemed to permeate the vision, going everywhere, filling his sight and drowning his sense.

"Why, Savill?" He was even more afraid now than ever. Then his eyes snappedopen to a sound. A piercing howl, the sound of a great Panther roaring its disapproval in the distance. Devin was bolt upright in his bed now. He threw his legs over the side and looked out a window. In the distance he saw flames rising, a pillar of smoke telling of thelocation.

"Savill..." he whispered to himself, his mind racing. He had left the old man in that direction, and the only thing he could bring himself to do was go there. He pulled his shoes on and grabbed a small rusty sword from the dresser. It was a poor blade but it was the only thing that was at hand. In moments he was out the door, the unwieldy and heavy sword dangling from his hip. Tears filled his eyes when he realized his plight. He openly cried as another howl echoed in the forest. His legs burned from exhaustion as he reached the clearing. Ahead he saw a bonfire. There was his master, hanging like a thief above the dancing flames. His body was bleeding and battered. A small group of horrid creatures was hopping up and down madly around the old man. Dal'Khan caught sight of the boy, his hand gripping the rope tightly as he grinned in the teen's direction.

"This was easier than I thought," he quipped as he let the hemp slip past his long fingers.

"Nooooooo!" Devin cried out as the old man's limp form fell into the raging flames. A brilliant cloud of purple and green smoke billowed up from the fire and danced about the clearing, covering the small creatures who instantly burst into tiny blazes themselves. Dal'Khan menacingly called to the air.

"Old man, it is over! Your attempts are now in vain." And he pulled from beneath his cloak a blade that Devin would remember forever. A black blade of the darkest steel from the Demonic Forges of the Cascal Mountains. The hilt was designed like a dragon's skull in the black metal, the handle long enough for two hands, and the end a long spike that beckoned death like a messenger. Devin's legs felt like jelly and he stumbled back. The burning creatures around him were wailing at him with horrible contempt and he was afraid. Tears streamed down his face, yet he heard a voice.

"Devin, listen to me: you must run, you must get to the Praetorian. Dal’Khan is too powerful. I myself was defeated by is deceptions, but you must survive! You are too important to the Design. Quickly you must go, or I will have died in vain."

"But Savill..."

"Go, my son. I love you..."

"Master!" Devin cried out loud, his vision returning to him.

"Your master cannot help you any longer, boy." Dal'Khan stood poised above the boy. Devin peered into the steel grey eyes of his captor. Then, with some strange inadvertance, he rolled to his side, feeling the hilt of his own blade. Dal'Khan began his horrible decent on the boy just as Devin wrenched the sword from the rusty scabbard. With a quick and awkward motion he raised it, closed his eyes, and yelled.

Silence fell over the clearing. The creatures who had been wailing exploded into tiny fireballs. Devin's eyes opened slowly to see the black steel stuck in the ground beside him. The hand gripping it was awkward and wrong. He followed the arm to the face of the man who held it, his eyes filling with disbelief. Then he saw his own sword, piercing the shoulder of the redoubtable elf. Thick black blood flowed down the blade, its wielder wincing at the sight. The elf stumbled back and gripped his sword. The fire began to die as the shadowy form of Dal'Khan faded from Devin's trembling eyes. The clearing was empty now and Devin sat with the sword raised, on his butt, and in utter disbelief. He began to stand, when a voice called to him as if from the very air.

"Boy, you shall not think this is over. You have been lucky this day, but heed my words. You will die by my hands, and it will be worse than anything you can imagine."

Devin shrank back and began to cry, his trembling hand dropping the blood-covered sword. Huddled by a tree he fell asleep for a second time that night with only three definites in his mind. The first was that his master was dead, the second that he would no longer be safe, and the last that he had to find this Praetorian before it was too late.

The First Chapter
The Second Chapter
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