Chapter One

The Façade

It was on the cusp of midnight that Pan felt an uncontrolled feeling of hatred and pain coil around his gut. It was a sensation he was unused to having, because the upbringing he had suffered through had hardened his emotions and only the most desperate of situations stirred a response from him.

He lifted a hand to wipe the trails of sweat from his chiseled face, briefly letting his fingers shield his eyes from what lay before him. He was stood in the midst of a massacre that filled the street of burning buildings, grimacing at the screams and yells that echoed through the crackling of the rampant flames.
The air was laced with smoke that stung his sapphire eyes, but he dared not wipe away the tears that streaked his cheeks; they were a sign of his grief and he left them for all to see. Unable to comprehend what had happened in this once great city, his sword dropped from his trembling hand and clattered to the ground by his feet.

‘How could she do this?’ He whispered, his voice low and heavy. He looked up to see the sliver of moon was crisp and white, and the stars were like scattered diamonds across the velvet sky. ‘These were good people!’ He screamed into the night.

He panted fiercely with rage, waiting intently for a response and when he got none, he grudgingly looked back at the crumbling ruins of Lanolak. The city had not always been this way; it was once a fruitful centre of commerce, but a war had raged in these parts for many years now, a war that was instigated by Queen Iradeth and her Sorcerer. They were the most powerful duo the Western Lands had ever seen and the sworn enemy of the Tanus Clan, of which Pan was betrothed.

The Queen herself was not unlike any other woman from around these parts; ungainly and driven mad by her own contempt and thirst for power, but it was in having possession of the fateful Sorcerer that her military advances were unmatched and unprepared for. She was unstoppable because the Sorcerer had the ability to see the future in perfect clarity; he could roll back his eyes and scream to the Heavens; desecrating the barriers that kept time in place and laying witness to the events that were yet to come. He was the powerful one; and the one Pan was here to kill.

He had been tracking the Queen for weeks, as he had been instructed by Jolende, the Leader of the Tanus and the man that had taught Pan everything he knew; raised him from a child into the assassin he had become. His orders to Pan were clear; Iradeth had laid waste to these lands for too long now, destroying the homes and cities of fair people in order to prolong her reign. She was evil; pure and simple and she needed to be stopped.

Pan had lost Iradeth and her army soon after they entered the Erward Forest, a tangled jungle of ancient trees, where their weighty boughs formed a canopy so dense it blocked out all light and cast the forest floor in a dismal twilight.

He had heard dire tales of the place, and unwilling to venture into the woods alone, he returned to the Tanus only to hear of the attack on Lanolak. He left in a hurry; taking no provisions with him he spurred his horse at breakneck speed across the Plains of Amun but arrived in the city far too late. The battle had already ended, and the Queen and her army were now safe within the Fortress walls.

Still standing in the ruins of the outer city, Pan hung his head in despair and stared down at his blood-stained hands. If only he had ventured on alone; if only his fear of the Erward Forest had not forced him to retreat like a coward he would have been able to stop Iradeth and her assault. The fate of Lanolak was on his shoulders now, burdened to him like a child without kin. He could not save the city now, but he could save all others from the same demise.

‘She will not get away with this,’ he snarled through gritted teeth. ‘I will end the reign of this malevolent Queen.’

He clenched his fists tight, inhaling deep breaths of acrid air in an attempt to encourage his bravery and bide the nerves that stung his heart. Smearing the tears from his face, he picked up his sword and slid it into the sheath on his back. He glanced around the street one last time, building his thirst for vengeance and when he had seen enough to heighten the adrenalin surging through his veins, he pulled the hood up over his head of long ebony hair and disappeared into the shadows.

He needed only to follow the trail of destruction to the Fortress in the centre of Lanolak; a mighty stronghold that once served the rightful King of these parts. Now Pan assumed that the King was dead, and if that was the case, then the men he saw loitering outside the Fortress walls must have been under Iradeth’s rule.

A troop of the guards filled the entirety of the bridge which crossed the moat, surrounding the Fortress in a river of dank, brown water. The huge oak doors behind the men were barred, and without causing great alarm Pan knew he would find no easy way into the citadel from there.

Swathed in the shadows of the surrounding buildings he scoured the Fortress with his keen eyes, contemplating another form of entry. Eight looming octagonal towers stood at regular intervals, rising from the massive walls and surrounding the central keep that rose even higher into the dark sky.

Seeing no other way in but to scale the walls, Pan moved quickly and slipped into the still waters of the moat, keeping watch on the party of guards on the bridge. The water was warm and slimy, and as his feet graced the bed he felt reams of reeds entangle his legs. Even so, he fought through the murky waters relentlessly, his black, woollen cloak weighting him so immensely he struggled to stay afloat as he moved deeper into the moat.

He reached the walls and planted his hands flat against the cold grey stone, pausing to catch his breath. He looked up at the battlements that stood almost fifty feet above him to find a cold sense of despair settle into the pit of his stomach. He had no time for such feelings of anguish, he had already faltered once on this mission and the result had meant the death of hundreds.

Taking no notice of the fear that swelled inside him, he reached up out of the water and gripped the top of a stone with the tips of his fingers. Pulling himself up, he found difficulty in finding suitable hand and foot holes in the worn stonework, which meant his climb to the top was longwinded and plagued with times of which he needed to backtrack and choose another path.

His cloak slowly dried on his ascent, the brown water pouring from the material and splattering down upon the peaceful surface of the moat. The noise was incredible the higher he climbed and if it weren’t for the sounds of the aftermath of battle filling the night air he would surely have been heard.

When he finally reached the summit his muscles felt as though they were on fire. Rabid bursts of pain exploded in his arms and legs and caused so much discomfort that he could barely comprehend his plan of action.

Panting and weak he peeked up over the merlons, to find that the battlement was empty of guards. A thankful sigh escaped his lips as he threw himself over onto the walkway and fell to the floor in a heap. He gasped for air as the sweet relief of solitude brought comfort to his aching body, wincing from the pain as it tortured him.

He stayed there for as long as he could allow, giving his muscles time to heal and his breathing to resume its normal pace and it was only when he felt himself fit that he clambered to his feet and headed towards the nearest tower, staring down at the hive of activity that had engulfed the Fortress.

He pulled open the door to find a curved stairwell lay before him; the lanterns that hung on the wall were dazzling and bathed the stairs in a flickering orange light. He heard no sound of footsteps or voices from above or below, so shut the door quietly behind him and started his descent down the winding staircase.

As he grew further down, faint voices drifted up towards him and he slowed, stopping completely when two guards came into view. They were both well built men, with harsh, rugged faces and hair that shimmered like a glacier. It was long and ashen and it tumbled from beneath their worn helms down onto their shoulders. They wore armour of burnished steel that still bore the scars of battle and gleamed in the iridescent light from the lanterns. They spoke quickly in rough, husky voices, and Pan honed his ears to determine what was being said.

‘Queen Iradeth has informed me that she fears for the Sorcerer’s safety, so warrants that I seek more protection,’ the slightly taller of the two guards said.

‘Do not tell me that I have to spend the rest of the night pacing beyond the door to the quarters waiting for dusk to break?’ The other replied, growling as he spoke.

‘It is under Iradeth’s orders, do not question it.’

‘As you wish.’ He bowed gracefully. ‘Where is the Sorcerer?’

‘The eastern wing of the keep, on the third floor; make haste.’

Pan stayed close to the guard the entire way across the courtyard, and onwards into the central keep. He kept to the shadows, out of sight of the rest of the guards that milled about the Fortress. They seemed lost; having already fulfilled their task in battle, they had little else to do but wait for more orders and the notion didn’t settle well.

By the time the guard reached the third floor of the keep, the hallway was bustling with activity, and Pan found he was outnumbered by almost a dozen. He could not fend them all off without attracting attention and even more armed guards, so the moment Pan stepped out into the hall, he leapt up onto the beams that supported the vaulted ceiling and disappeared into the darkness that lingered there.

Leaping from beam to beam, he followed the guard all the way to the centre of the long hall, where a cluster of guards stood uneasily before a set of large, mahogany doors that were engraved with swirling vines and pockets of glistening gems. When the guard Pan had followed joined ranks with the others, a gentle silence fell over them.

Crouched above on a wide beam, Pan contemplated how he would get past them and into the quarters beyond. A sudden idea struck him and he slipped his hand to his side and pulled a small silver coin from the leather pouch on his belt. He held it tight in his grasp for a moment and looked either way along the corridor, before hurling it towards the stairwell as hard as he could.

The moment the coin struck the stone floor the guards were thrown into turmoil, and dispersed from the door in a flash. The tinkling of the coin as it bounced and rolled towards the stairs sounded like the delicate music of a glockenspiel, it echoed around them.

‘What was that?’ One yelled, gripping the hilt of his sword.

‘Someone’s here,’ another replied. ‘Find them.’
Four guards started off down the hall towards the stairs, their swords now drawn and held firmly in their hands. Pan stayed where he was, his gaze shifting from side to side as he watched the guards disappear through various doors and bends in the hallway, leaving just two standing at the doors.

When Pan was sure he was alone with them, he slipped his hand to his belt once more and took out a small dagger from its sheath. Taking the blade in his fingers, he aimed, and threw it at one of the guards, hearing it hum as it spun through the air. It caught the man in the neck; the only place that was unprotected by his chain mail and he slumped back against the wall with a thud, blood streaming down his dappled armour.

The other guard leapt back in fright, his sword swinging wildly in front of him. ‘Who’s there?’ He called, fear tangible in his voice.

Pan didn't reply just yet, but drew his sword and waited for the opportune moment of which to strike. He only waited for a second or two when his chance arose and the guard turned his back to him. With that, Pan dropped to the floor with feline grace and plunged his sword straight through the guard’s armour into his back. A muffled yell escaped the guard’s lips as he stumbled forward, his arms flailing at his side.

‘I am a Shadow,’ Pan replied, leaning in to whisper in his ear. The guard was motionless and gasping for breath. ‘And a rebel against your cause.’

Pan withdrew his sword, letting the guard stagger aimlessly before he collapsed onto the floor, his sword falling from his grasp. On hearing voices rise from the stairwell, Pan knew he had no time to hide the bodies so turned, pushed open the door to the Sorcerer’s quarters and slipped inside.

Lavender and camomile filled the air with a sickly scent, suffusing the atmosphere with an austere presence. The only light came from a huge marble fireplace that was stacked high with flaming logs, the bark crackling and hissing beneath the heat. Six arched windows flooded the room in a dull haze of waning moonlight, illuminating the four poster bed that lay against the far wall. It was adorned in white linen drapes that billowed in the breeze from the open window like waiflike spirits.

Pan shut the door quietly behind him, securing the lock as footsteps and yells could be heard from the hallway. He looked around the room, squinting to see through the gloom to find that of the two leather bound armchairs that stood before the fireplace, one was occupied.

‘You’ve made a grave mistake in coming here,’ came an eerie voice. It sounded almost melodic; deep and soulful like the call of a beast.

Banging started on the doors behind him,
startling Pan as he edged forwards.

‘The only mistake here is your aiding Queen Iradeth in her quest for supremacy,’ Pan replied, securing the sword in his hands. ‘Her reign has cost the lives of countless innocents; she is immoral.’

The man stood, turning towards Pan as he lingered by the doors. The subtle moonlight and blaze of the fire caught in the wrinkles on his face, making them seem more profound and his gleaming face all the more haunting.

He was pale and emaciated, with not a single hair atop his head to soften the harshness of his features. He wore a fitted burgundy cloak, with embroidered detailing around the cuffs and hem, the thread twinkling in the firelight.

‘You speak of Queen Iradeth as though she is the enemy,’ the Sorcerer began, keeping his watchful, grey eyes on Pan. ‘Far from it; she has a gallant design for the Western Lands, one that cannot be fulfilled without sacrifice.’

‘I’m glad you understand the concept of sacrifice,’ Pan retorted, readying himself. ‘Yours is the greatest of all; you bear a treasured gift, Sorcerer, but one that is being used against the good of humankind.’

In a flash Pan leapt across the room and knocked the Sorcerer off his feet, sending him tumbling backwards. Clutching on tight to his robe with his free hand, Pan rammed the sword into his chest as the pair rolled carelessly across the stone floor and stopped at the foot of the bed. Pan, now straddling the Sorcerer, kept his hands firmly on the sword’s handle and looked down at him in remorse.

‘I offer you my sincerest apologies dear Sorcerer,’ he whispered softly. ‘Iradeth has clearly poisoned your mind.’

As the life slowly ebbed away from him, Pan stood and pulled the sword from the Sorcerer’s chest, wiping the blade clean on his cloak. He looked to the door only to realise that the banging was growing even more furious; there was no way out.

‘I knew you would come,’ came a light, delicate voice from beside the fireplace.
Pan almost dropped his sword in fright, but he kept a rigid grip on the hilt and directed the blade towards the origin of the sound.

‘Show yourself,’ he replied flatly, watching as from within the wavering shadow, a woman stepped into view.

She was incredible, with deep auburn hair that fell in featherlike tussles, framing her slender, porcelain face. She wore a cream velvet gown that accentuated her willowy physique, the fabric almost glowing and giving her an ethereal presence. Her emerald eyes sparkled like long forgotten pools; deep and brimming with power she stared at him unafraid. She stepped closer, her hands outstretched to show she was unarmed.

‘You are just how I imagined you to be,’ she said softly, her face caught in a half-smile. ‘Although you are a little late.’

‘Who are you?’ Pan asked naively, still wary of the peculiar woman.

She bowed. ‘I am Kelinia, the Sorcerer.’

She spoke with such sincerity Pan believed her at once and he gasped as he looked down at the man he had just killed. ‘Then who is that?’

‘He is the façade,’ she replied, edging closer. ‘And the one who kept me prisoner. I owe you a debt of thanks in rescuing me.’
She was in front of him now, looking at him with eyes of longing. Pan returned her gaze. ‘No,’ he snapped, stepping back from her. ‘This was not a rescue mission.’

Her face softened in pleading. ‘Please, I know you are a killer, but the words you spoke just moments ago lead me to believe your heart is true. I have not been aiding Iradeth out of choice; she has forced me, kept me captive. If you take me with you I can help you defeat her once and for all.’

He was caught; he had been deceived many times in his life and in all honesty he was unsure as to whether he should believe her. Her eyes begged him to, they pleaded with every ounce of her being but it was more the feeling of conviction she radiated when she spoke that caused Pan to look at her.

‘How will we escape?’ He asked.

She turned from him and made her way over to the doors and when her slight hand grasped the handle she looked back at him. ‘Stay out of sight, I will see to the guards.’

Pan concealed himself behind an armoire, and when she was satisfied she pulled back the lock and the banging stopped. She opened the door, to a barrage of guards, all panting with faces full of anger and fear.

‘There is an intruder,’ Kelinia said quickly, her voice calm and soothing. ‘He has escaped out of the window and is making his way down to the courtyard as we speak; find him, all of you.’

‘Yes Sorcerer,’ the closest guard replied and gestured the men off.

Kelinia waited until all were gone then signalled for Pan to reveal himself.

‘There is another way out of the Fortress,’ she said as she led him back into the hallway. She did not stir at the sight of the slaughtered guards, merely stepped over their corpses and carried on. ‘A hidden tunnel that leads out past the southern wall; it is our only escape.’

Pan did not reply, but followed without question. Their escape was made in silence, and when they reached the entrance to the tunnel, hidden behind the stables in the courtyard Kelinia had noticed Pan’s disregard. She did not speak of it until they were safely making their way down the dank passageway.

‘You are troubled?’ She asked, glancing over her shoulder at Pan as he followed.

‘My task was clear,’ he said with shame. ‘I was under strict orders to find the Sorcerer and kill him,’ he faltered. ‘Her; in flouting my instructions I am risking everything I hold dear to me.’

‘They will not take lightly to you returning with me?’

Pan looked away from her, his sorrow-filled eyes speaking volumes. ‘You have done too much to warrant a safe house with the Tanus; they will kill you.’

‘Then we are renegades,’ she said, stopping and forcing him to look at her. She took his hands in hers, her skin warm and soft. ‘Together we will overcome Iradeth’s reign on these Lands and defeat her once and for all.’

He seemed unconvinced. ‘That is a bold statement, Kelinia.’

‘You forget,’ she smiled coyly. ‘The Queen is powerless without me at her side.’
He smiled in return. ‘I can see why.’

As they started off again, Pan was caught in trying to determine if things would ever be the same again, or if now was the start of a brave new chapter in his life; a powerful ally at his side. Either way, he was fallen.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.10.2009

Alle Rechte vorbehalten