View Full Forums : Fiction: Kyathi's New Secret (Lyrebyrd)

07-31-2001, 06:09 AM
“Kyathi grinned evilly at his opponent,” J’rain whispered, telling about Kyathi’s one failed fight that day. Kyathi’s friends Ikra and S’katha leaned in to hear him better.

Kyathi (Ky for short) winced at the painful memory and decided to depart. J’rain noticed, and exclaimed, “Oh, don’t leave yet. I’m about to tell them the good part!”

Kyathi winced again, yanked his cloak on and sprinted out the door, but it was too late. The inn shook with roars of laughter that echoed out onto the street behind him. Ky stormed quickly down the street, angry at himself, and angry at J’rain for humiliating him.

When he finally stopped, he was near a tavern named The Broken Sword. He went inside and was disapointed. There were all of two people, the barkeeper and a shadowy figure ina dark corner. He started towards the table, examing the person. She/He/It looked like an assassin, possibly a thief, but more likely an assassin. He’d better be careful if he wanted to keep intact. When he reached the table he sat down comfortably, and he stared boldly at the figure. The figure was a she. He measured her in his mind, and he came up with deadly. Like any other dark elf, she had blue-black skin. Unlike any dark elves, she had silver eyes and raven black hair. That pointed her towards a half breed. Half light elf, half dark elf. If so, she was probably part of the underground group. The underground group had a large amount of light elves in hidden tunnels under the ground. When a ‘good’ person was captured, they would try to rescue the person, or put him/her/it out of his/hers/its misery. If any of the underground were caught, they swallowed poison to prevent themselves from being interrogated. So the entrances to the tunnels remained hidden.

Fool,” she insulted him. Her voice was a husky soprano.

He nodded. “I probably am. My name is Kyathi, Ky for short. Yours?” he asked politely. No point getting killed for being rude.

Her eyes narrowed. She was measuring him, and she finally answered, “You know better Kyathi. Names and questions kill. But I will answer because I am bored. My name is Fertha. I am a half breed, and I am an assassin. You probably know more tha you’re letting on. So humour me and I will let you survive.”

“You’re half light elf, you are an assasin, and you are most likely part of the underground. You also know I can’t kill you, so I guess I better find out what you need to know,” he answered as politely as possible.

“Any news on the new captive?” she asked, knowing he would answer.

He sighed, “I’m playing anonymous shift guard on the light elf captive for third moon. The dark priests, bloodmages and deathbringers are ‘interrogating’ him when third moon is down, and the light has not come yet. If you don’t save this light elf before third moons peak, he will not survive.”

“Good enough.” She nodded her thanks and left.

The barkeeper came to Kyathi with a tankard of beer. Kyathi dug out three large gold coins and handed them over. He sat there nursing the beer for a large period of time.

Later that night (third moon, nearly peak) he was sitting on a chair ‘guarding’ the captive. The captive light elf was green eyed and had flaming red hair. After a period of time, the light elf raised his head and looked Kyathi in the eye. A bit of fire danced along the silk cords binding him, but the cords had been made from silk that resisted all types of magic or elements. “Well?”

“Well what?” Kyathi asked.

“When are you going to interrogate me? I know you shadowwarriors. You love to cause pain. I’m fair helpless with these bindings,” the prisoner snapped.

“Shut up!” Kyathi whispered viciously. The other guards were coming out of their trance-like dozing. In other words, they were waking up, and Fertha was in the shadows.

A guard collapsed, an assassin’s throwing knife in his throat. The other guards drew their swords. Kyathi unsheathed his sword and while pretending to guard the prisoner, dropped his dagger to him. The light elf looked at him oddly, but cut his bindings. Then he practically flew to the shadows, where a fiery portal to the underground stood. Kyathi wasn’t far behind. Another guard collapsed; Fertha was taking careful aim before she threw her daggers. Before the light elf went through the portal, a guard went up in fire. Kyathi noted for future reference that not all light elves were linked to nature, air and water. Some were linked to other elements, like fire. Then the guards were on them. Fertha gestured for him to go through the diminishing portal, but he shook his head and pledged, “My dark sword will defend you with it’s blade, and my dagger will ward you with its point. When both are gone, my self will protect you with all its abilities. (This is a shadowwarrior oath).”

She stared at him for a second, but she went through. The portal was smaller, but something was holding it. Kyathi could not afford to let the guards through it. Now that he realised the dark elves were on the wrong side, the evil side, he realised he would go down fighting them, just so that those of the underground would survive. HE lunged at the guards, slashing and stabbing with all of his abilities. The guards were frightened, because he was much better than them. He was nearly a deathbringer, not that he would ever achieve that rank now. Oh well. He cut the guards down fairly quickly, but not without wounds. He had a deep gash in his side and his sword arm. The portal was much smaller than it was at first, but he made it through. He slid down, and the world went dark.

“Kyathi, wake up please,” a voice that reminded him of Fertha cut through the darkness, trying to call him back. With it came some light farther ahead, and he tried to reach it. It was like pushing against a sea of stone, trying to move. He inched along, getting closer to the light. He was having trouble breathing, or doing anything. It took a large amount of work to even breathe. He was having trouble breathing. He was repeating himself, not good. Then he stopped breathing. He couldn’t help himself, he just did.

“Kyathi, I know you can hear me. I’m getting a lifemage. Just hang in there, please!” the voice called. He waited, but the havens were coming closer. They nearly had him when a force of light and healing grabbed him, forced air into his lungs, then wrenched him away from the havens painfully. He sat up. He had made it to the light and the real world. Before him was a very harried looking lifemage and Fertha.

“ ’Bout time you got back, lout! I thought we had lost you!” she said scathingly.

Kyathi smiled at her. She was definitely special. Then he asked, “Where am I?” It didn’t come out right.

Fertha looked at him curiously, “So, where and when did you learn Light Elvish?”

“Don’t know.” It came out right this time. He must have to specify how he wanted to talk.

The lifemage sighed, “I warned you. He now knows a fair bit of what I know. If you had listened to m-“

“He was about to die and you were standing around talking about foolish lifemage technicalities!” Fertha inturrupted rudely.

“You didn’t have to be rude about it!” said the lifemage in an aggrieved tone. The lifemage stormed off.

Kyathi looked around and noted, “I’m in the underground, right?”

“Yes. Are you going to be helpful or dead? If the latter, I shouldn’t have bothered with the lifemage.”

“I’d like to join your, ummm, group of helpful people.”

“Good,” Fertha said, smiling at him in a way that made his heart warm up.

Fertha taught him a fair bit, showed him around and gave him a new title that the light elves use. Swordsworn. A few days after that title, he started his new job of helping the underground. The information he gained and the guard shifts he took made their job easier. He continued doing so for a few years until he was caught. The underground helped him out. He and Fertha rescued captives as a team after that. It constantly amazed him at how interesting his life was. He did more, but that is not for me to tell.

My story ends here, but Fertha’s and Kyathi’s stories go on.

May Tunare Bless You With
Sunny Skies and Dry Roads

Lyrebyrd Falconspirit
Dreamer, Writer and Holder
of the One True Magic.