TNS 1, Part 6
Wow, is it up to 6 already?? It feels like I only just started doing these little posts. I’m so happy to have gotten the feedback from some of you guys. I love hearing about what people think of my tales, and what my tales make people think of as well! It was a loooong day, so that is the reason for the very late post. It also is the reason that this week’s story is a bit shorter.
As always, click here to read past parts.
Pekosh rode low on his stallion. Wind held his cloak tight to his body with the speed in which he traveled. Moments before, the guards of Keep Byron should have seen him just through the trees. With any luck, a number of them would be on his trail now. He was sure the keep hadn’t forgotten the Zeegrak. The last time he cared to check, there was still a rich bounty on his head.
That had bothered Pekosh long ago, but it worked to his advantage now he hoped. Men blind for gold did things differently than other men. It wasn’t likely they would inform the master of the keep yet in the hopes of keeping the gold for themselves.
With a lunge he shot off the horse and rolled smoothly on the ground. The horse continued on into the darkness as asked. With concentration the Zeegrak hid himself to his surroundings. The horses coming toward him would not seem him hidden as he was. To his delight, five of the men rode past at close to full speed.
He was off the second they passed back toward his victim. The gates of the keep were, as expected, manned by only two guards now. He didn’t have much time before the others would give up the chase. He wrapped up in a bundle of rags and pulled out the cane he had stashed earlier. In seconds he had become a beggar calling on protection for the night.
Within range of the guards, two daggers flew true and the men were choking for air where his daggers had sunk into their throats. The men went down quietly. A guard on the tower above the gate cried out and Pekosh dashed inside before they could close him out. Being closed in would be something to worry over later.
In the keep proper five guards died before the Zeegrak was forced to run. It would have been easy enough to kill dozens more, but it wouldn’t get him any closer to accomplishing his mission tonight. He ran not for the Lord’s tower, but for an underground cellar used to store wine and liquor for the royalty. Again he concentrated and vanished from sight, then he waited while considering taking a few bottles of wine when he left. Some were very old he could tell. If the Byron household was good for anything, it was in those bottles.
Eventually the door above him opened and men rushed inside. The guards wandered in and out of the aisles between racks looking for anyone hiding. They wouldn’t see him though, perched above them atop one of the racks, invisible to their inferior eyes.
Finally satisfied, all but three of the guards went to stand outside the cellar or search for the invader. Again hoping for luck, the guards inside the keep didn’t expect it was him yet. He waited another minute for those in the room to calm a bit before he crept up toward them. When he was moving they could see him if they looked, but none were looking at the back of the room. Only at the door.
Two more daggers sprang from his fingers as he jumped from the rack. A third was in his hands almost instantly after releasing the others. This one he didn’t throw though. He landed softly behind the guard and the man turned to find a dagger slice cleanly across his throat. He never made a sound.
Pekosh grabbed the man’s sword from his hand and kicked him hard in the chest. Even as the dying man flew backwards he turned and held the tip of the blade against the Lord’s neck.
“You can have whatever you want, if you spare my life.”
“And what if what I want is your blood, Narscael?” Pekosh pulled back his hood. Lord Byron didn’t even blink.
“I haven’t been called that in some time, Zeegrak.” The man had the audacity to spit the words at him.
With a clean slash Pekosh took his head off. There were few he would tolerate such a thing from. That man was not among them. He took the amulet from around the dead man’s neck then remembered the boy. He was cowering, white as a ghost. Pekosh considered him and dropped the sword.
“Yo- You aren’t going to kill me, sir?” Finally, a Byron that showed him respect. He almost laughed before thinking about the boy again. He wasn’t really the Lord’s heir after all, why should he be cruel? He was sure that the Queen did not know that the son she lost nine years ago wasn’t really dead.
“Kill you? Why, no, I’m not. I have other plans for you little Lordy.” He grinned down at the child. With a glance over his shoulder he saw Narscael in his true form. He decided not to let the child see that his father was actually a Zeegrak.
Tags: Fantasy, podcast, The Conflicted Zeegrak, Tuesday Night Stories, Writings
