And Now, for Your Reading Enjoyment

Back in the day (read before I had a family) I used to spend an inordinate amount of time reading, and almost as much writing. Below is the opening chapter of one of my unpublished masterpieces. Who knows, maybe some editor with a deadline is even now surfing the blogs, desperately hoping to encounter a previously here-to-for unknown writer. If you are such an editor, please drop me a note! ;) For the rest of you, enjoy and feel free to critique . . .


    My foes ambushed me on my way to the bathroom, an unglamorous but highly effective time for an ambush. Nearly two months had passed since I was last attacked. I should have been ready, but wasn’t. I felt secure in the knowledge that they believed me dead from our last encounter, as I very nearly had been. That time luck, fate, or Divine Providence had taken care of me. Tonight could be different, and would be if I didn’t move fast enough.
     As I said, I had been on my way to tend to one of nature’s obligatory functions when something caught my eye. I was nearing the latrine, and so expected to see a partygoer or two, but found instead that it was deserted. However, the courtyard behind me seemed to suddenly fill with swirling forms, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw swords flashing in the bright moonlight. Having been on the run at various periods in my life, I automatically became defensive, casting about for a weapon and a defensible position. I had my dagger, but it would be little use against a large party of armed men.
     The latrine ran parallel to the back wall of the manse I was in, and then dropped down to run underneath the wall and over the cliff that the manse sat on. A few bushes screened the latrine area from the rest of the courtyard, but none of the branches was large enough to use as a cudgel, had I the luxury of time to cut one and trim it. However, lying near the bushes was a pair of workman’s shears, abandoned by some worker in the past. They were rusty, and one handle was cracked nearly in two, but the rapidly approaching footsteps told me I hadn’t the time to be selective.
     Snatching up the shears, I turned to face my attackers, counting them as I dropped into a fighting stance. Two larger figures held their position some twenty paces from me. Another broke from the group and circled to my right, cutting off any chance of breaking past him back into the crowded rooms I had left moments earlier. My left was blocked by one of the courtyard’s towering stone walls. Three more continued to advance directly at me, spreading out slightly to give themselves room to swing their weapons without injuring each other. They had narrowed the gap to approximately ten paces when they stopped, one of their number stepping forward and speaking in a low voice, “Cedric, you shall not escape this time.”
     “I have in the past. What makes you think this time will be different?” My words betrayed none of the fear coursing through my body.
     “Before we have sent those with little experience to deal with you. Now you are faced with the Fyar J’aroll’s personal guard. You will not survive.” Those words were the last sounds any of them intentionally uttered. I sidestepped the first attacker’s broadsword as it descended and spitted him on the hedge shears. Stepping back, I wrenched the shears from his lifeless body and lifted them in time to knock away a slim cudgel whistling towards my ribs. As I parried the cudgel, my left boot rose and caught the man’s windpipe, crushing it. The block had finished splitting the handle of the shears, leaving a poorer grip on my weapon, but fewer attackers to face.
     By now sweat flowed freely from my body, stinging my eyes when it dropped from my forehead. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my remaining attackers. The one still standing in front of me hesitated, and I pressed the attack, stepping towards him and swinging my bloody shears. His blade came up to block the shears and I stepped underneath his defenses, plunging my dagger into his heart.
     I heard a whisper of leather on flagstone, and turned in time to have a fist collapse my nose. I staggered back, trying to blink the tears from my eyes, and took a kick to the ribs. Stumbling sideways, I smashed into the wall, numbing my arm so that the shears dropped from my grip. Now my assailant was battering my body with blows, which I could only take, being unable to see or defend myself. Another heavy blow landed, knocking my to my knees. Blows rained down upon my head, and I began to slide down the wall. Spots danced before my eyes while my arm suddenly came to life, tingling and buzzing the way a limb will when blood flow suddenly returns.
     Seizing the opportunity, perhaps my last, I shoved my revitalized arm out in front of me, my hand crushing shut when the fingertips brushed cloth. Fortunately, my hand had found a vital area, as evidenced by the scream that issued from the man’s throat, a high keening cry that quickly climbed into the range beyond human hearing. I clambered up the body in front of me, tightening my grip on both my dagger and my foe’s anatomy. More footsteps sounded in the courtyard, drawn by the man’s earlier scream. I knew I had no time left, so I drove my dagger upward into the man’s groin and twisted, spurting his life’s blood over my hand.
     Standing up, I cast about for a means of escape, and suddenly felt a presence moving towards me. It belonged to one of the two figures that had held off earlier. Both were approaching. I felt my eyes being drawn not to the bejeweled man wearing ceremonial robes, but to the dark, sinister figure that flowed in his wake. Now several other figures crowded into the courtyard. Not wanting to continue this in front of an audience, I sheathed my dagger and made my escape, sliding down the latrine and over the lip of the cliff. My fingers scrabbled at the cliff’s edge, slippery with blood and the latrine’s contents, catching hold just before my arms fully extended. I held that position forever, nearly five minutes, listening to the voices of those in the courtyard, straining to discern individual words over the rush of water and other, less appealing substances that splashed my head and drained down my body.
     Realizing that the voices and torchlight were approaching my hiding place, I began searching for a hand or foothold, hoping to make my escape down the face of the cliff. The toes of my right foot caught the slimmest of outcroppings at full extension, and I slowly eased my weight on to it. It held, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Next, my right hand moved down until it encountered a crack barely wide enough to wedge the tips of my fingers into. I did so, straining to expand their grip on the nearly shear cliff face.
     In such a fashion, I made my way down the precipice, trusting that no one would think to look for me there. No one did, or else I was concentrating so hard on finding my next grip I never noticed. Sweat poured off me, causing me to slip occasionally, but I clung precariously to the wall, striving to maintain three points of contact at all times, with only one hand or foot moving at a time, and never until I was secure with the position I was currently in. That is a lesson I had learned the hard way, trying to move too quickly on a rock face I thought I knew well. It took months for my ribs to heal, and I never made the mistake of rushing a descent again.
     As I neared the bottom of the cliff I was currently descending, the beating I had suffered began affecting me, causing me to miss a handhold. I bumped and scraped my way down the last twenty feet of the now rough wall, collapsing in a heap in the hard packed sand that the cliff fronted. Rising groggily to my feet, I set off down the beach, stumbling occasionally when my foot encountered a stray stone or stick. I stumbled hard and fell, pitching down the bank of a small stream to land head first in the mud and stones lining the bank. I lay there momentarily, letting my trembling, aching muscles rest. They had been strained far past any term of normal endurance.
     The stones underneath me grew uncomfortable quickly, and I stirred from my position. The blood had crusted around my nose while I rested, but as I moved my head it began to flow again. Probably left a trail any boy could follow, I thought in disgust. I plunged my head under the creek’s surface, knowing the cold would help stanch the flow. The shock brought my senses back fully alert. The loss of blood had dulled them, and dull senses were a luxury I could not afford if I were to survive this night.
    Realizing that to stay where I was could only give my enemies an advantage, I drank from the stream, then began to move into the woods, looking for a hidden place to rest where I would not be exposed. I knew that my night was not over, for there were still two opponents unaccounted for. While I moved, I pondered the significance of those two foes whom I would still have to face this night. Some hundred paces into the woods, I found a deserted thicket and sank to the ground.
     While I rested, I thought bitterly that only hours ago I was partying, enjoying the pleasures my position in this world had brought me. Now I was wounded and hunted, no better off than the deer whose bower I had temporarily claimed. I’ve been in this position before, and if God is with me tonight, I will live through this hunt, as I have the other seven in the past two years. “God be with me,” I prayed, “or at least blind luck.”
     Skill I have, but it alone would not be enough, for they had planned well, and I had been unprepared. Obviously I had been unprepared, or I wouldn’t be shivering in the bushes in the middle of the night. I rubbed myself with bits of grass to warm up, pondering my situation, my liabilities, my resources, and my options. Liabilities were many, resources and options few, so I offered up another quick prayer and began to move, hoping to worm my way through this night without further incident.
     Not to be, for I had no sooner left the bushes concealing me than I tripped, breaking branches, scraping flesh, and alerting my pursuers to my location. I knew they were close because I heard a shout go up as I went down. I thought about praying yet again, but instead saved my breath. I was going to need it. Dropping into a tall crouch, I pulled my dagger and waited. "Let them come to me," I thought. "I am tired of running." I heard the first one approaching from the north. He fell easily when I sliced his throat. His haste, and mine combined for a quiet kill. "Finally," the thought crossed my mind, "something to my advantage." The other pursuer still didn’t know my exact location.
    I checked the body quickly, leaving the large pouch tucked inside his shirt. Another time I would have taken it, but tonight I had neither time nor reason. Instead, I claimed his dark woolen great cloak, as well as the blade his lifeless left hand clutched. His right was empty, but a large signet ring rode his index finger. That I took, for it could serve me well in the future.
    Better armed, and in a slightly better mood, I made my way toward the heart of the woods. I knew now I had only one further foe to face, and then I would be free, at least for this night. The moon had gone down, but my eyes had not seen light in hours now, so I traveled quickly. Too quickly, because I was in the clearing before I perceived it, and the danger it held. The being faced me, its head and form concealed by the thick robe it wore, blacker than anything I had ever seen, so black it seemed to absorb light. Perhaps it did. Those who served the Far J’arol had access to materials not usually found on this plane of existence.
     “human!” The word came out as a sneer, and I could hear the purposeful lack of capitalization.
     I bowed, not deeply. “Yes, I am.”
    “I suspect the archbishop is dead. It is his cloak and sword you carry as your own.” The being stated. “He was a fine soldier. You have once again proven your worth as an opponent.”
     “I have?” My mouth formed the words, but my brain was busily engaged in trying to watch for the attack I knew was coming.
     It nodded, then through back its hood. The face was human, but too perfect. Perfectly symmetrical and flawless, it was obviously the face of a Kompanion or gaur’ Dian sent to dispatch of me, prompting my question, “Have I so garnered the evil one’s attention that he no longer sends mere mortals to apprehend me?”
     It laughed, and I parried the long blade that swept towards me.
     “Not bad.” Then I had no more time for words as the evil creature attacked, two blades at once. I fought defensively, trying the being’s skills. Being under the Far J’arol, who would have adequately programmed this minion to challenge and dispatch me, it eagerly pressed the attack. I fell back under the onslaught of flying steel, towards the edge of the woods. I could sense the darkness behind me, but it was not the darkness I sought. Darkness would be no help in combat with a being of the dark. Rather I sought the trees, like the one I felt behind my back. I slid around it, then another, and had a moment’s respite from my attacker.
     It was enough. I jumped, catching the branch above me and pulling myself up. Quickly I positioned myself, then my newly acquired blade and I dropped as one, spearing the form that sidled around the trunk of the tree. An otherworldly scream parted its lips, and the body parted in twain. I stood between the two halves, covered in unearthly gore, and smiled. I was still alive. I had survived another hunt!