Guns of Illonia

This is the new story that I'm beginning to work on, and as the weeks progress I'll gradually upload chapters at abuot a rate of one or maybe two per week. The eventual length of this story is unknown, but I plan on it being somewhere in the neighborhood of eventually getting to around 100-150,000 words.

The story doesn't take place in Felarya, but I figured you guys were fans of fantasy, and I thought you could give some quality feedback. I've got no real experience in writing novel length stories, so please bear with me, as a lot of the chapters might end up being ripped apart and revised. So onto chapter 1.






Chapter 1

Arol's lungs burned, as he fled towards the ten foot wall that surrounded the compound of House Olac. He looked back, and could hear dogs barking in the distance, and fear began to pervade his mind as the guards searched the grounds. Darkness was on his side, however and if he could just get into the slums outside in the city, he'd be clear. Arol then began reaching into himself, and channeled all of the strength that he'd painstakingly stockpiled over the previous weeks, and with out breaking stride, jumped and barely cleared the iron spikes that topped the ancient bricks of the wall.

Arol landed on his feet, and began to run as fast as he could past the upscale shops that made up the Upper Market District. In his right hand, he was carrying a locked reinforced briefcase, that bore the mark of the Illorna, the ancient foes of the ruling Magetocracy. Arol began to slow down, as he entered an dark alley behind an upscale bakery. He had made it. Six years of planning, all for what was in this strange locked briefcase. Pausing to catch his breath, he heard the sounds of footsteps rapidly approaching him down the dark alley.

Arol reached down to his waist, and pulled out an obsidian dagger and prepared for the worst.
“I know you are in that dank hellhole thief, give up now and I'll see to it that you have a clean and fast death.” A voice that might have been that of a viper sounded into the darkness. Arol tapped his bronze ring, and started to enhance his eyes, and saw that his worst fear had come to pass. It was one of the Hands of Olac, a magic using assassin trained from birth to serve as body guards to the ruling house. The small ridges on his exposed face and fore arms gave away the fact that he had metal buried in his flesh, for the sole purpose of storing magical energies.

Arol began to tap every vial of mercury he was carrying to enhance his speed. It was his only chance, as the assassin could easily kill him in single combat. Arol turned and ran, and he could hear the assassin pick up the noise of his footsteps and begin the pursuit. Arol's heart pounded as he tore through the alleys, as he made his way to the run down slums of Low Town. Arol's sole thought was on reaching the Lusty Barmaid, where he could offload the briefcase to the Resistance. He ran down a narrow winding “street” that was covered in human and animal waste, the smells were simply overwhelming, and for a brief instant he thought he had lost the assassin that was tailing him. That's when he felt a painful jab in his lower back, and he stumbled.

He rounded a corner and began to squeeze through a narrow alley that was just wide enough for one man to walk through. Arol's bronze ring ran out of magic at just that moment, and he was all of the sudden feeling around for the walls in the blackness. He could feel a warm wetness from his lower back begin to ooze down his linen leggings, and he knew he was bleeding badly. He reached around, and felt small dart, jutting out of his back. Arol decided against ripping it out, as it likely had a barbed head on it. He could see the light peaking out ahead of him, as he reached the red light district where the Lusty Barmaid was located. Mentally his relief was enormous, as he only had perhaps a half mile to go to get to his drop point, but his hopes were shattered when he saw the silouhette of the assassin.

“You should have just given up. Now I'm going to have to make an example of you.” The assassin said.

Arol turned again to try to run, and he tripped and fell in the darkness. As he tried to scrabble away on the ground the assassin caught up to him, and slammed his knee on his back slamming Arol to the ground. Arol let out a yell, and the assassin quickly looped a garrote around his neck. Arol felt the thin rope tighten around his neck, and he struggled fiercely, trying to throw the assassin off of his back, as his air was being cut off. It was right at that moment, that he felt sharp pain, as a small knife was driven under his ribs by the assassin. Arol began to see the world, dim, when all of the sudden, the garrote when slack. Arol rolled onto his side, and looked up seeing a young man holding a club. The assassin lay dead near him, blood running out of his ear from the impact. The young man knelt down next to Arol, and Arol started gurgling, as his blood began to fill his lungs. Arol delirious from his blood loss and tried to say something, but couldn't. As he began to lightly moan, his breathing started to pick up in speed, and with a sickening rattle, he died eyes wide open.

Tomar Cylarian looked around in the dim light, and saw a briefcase on the ground next to the dead man. Tomar reached down and picked up the briefcase. Noticing the unusual symbol on the outside of this case, he tried to recall where he had seen it, but it just seemed to be out the grasp of his memory. Tomar looked down again at the dead men, and thought to himself, what he was thinking getting involved. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd seen a man get knifed in a dark alleyway, but seeing the ridges on the assassins arms convinced him to act. The Nobles in their compounds sending out their twisted killers into the peasant neighborhoods, specifically abducting children only to sap life from them. Well it wouldn't happen this night, Tomar thought, nope this night that murdering bastard would rot.

Tomar then noticed that the man who was attacked by the assassin, had a bronze ring. This was peculiar. Metals like that could get a man arrested, if he was caught with it. Tomar then reached down, and padded the dead man down, and found his hands covered in mercury. Upon reaching the man's neck he saw a gold necklace. Tomar was taken aback by this discovery. That was no ordinary piece of metal. Bronze and Mercury were things that he might expect to see on a rare occasion, because a few people in certain businesses had found that a bit of enhanced eyesight or speed might be worth the risk. However, gold was a metal, that he had described to him, and it was valuable enough that being caught in possession of a gold object would put man's head on a pike out in the market square. Tomar didn't know why gold was of such value, but he now had a good idea as to why this assassin was after this man. The dead man on the ground had to be an agent of the resistance, only one of their people would ever risk roaming around with that much metal on themselves. Tomar then carefully removed the necklace, and placed it in his pocket feeling it's smooth texture. Tomar then left the bodies as they lie, and began to make his way to the Lusty Barmaid down the street, with the hopes of offloading these items to the resistance.

The way Tomar looked at it, was that after what he did tonight, only the resistance could possibly save his life, because killing a Hand of Olac likely meant that he was a marked man. Someone had to have seen him go into that alley, and with the price that'd go on his head, any peasant who saw him would sell him out. Tomar saw the Lusty Barmaid up ahead, but something was amiss. The normally loud and ruckus place, was quiet. Tomar quickly went into a nearby alley, and leaned up against the wall. The Nobles had figured out about the Resistance cell here, Tomar thought. “Damn.” Tomar muttered under his breath. Tomar then thought about old man Circo. He'd help him out, in fact he might even recognize the symbol on this case. Tomar then quietly began walking to the old Circo's house.

Circo lived in the harbor district, and was an old retired sailor. He owned a small dry goods exporting business, and as a kid Tomar spent his days working for Circo. It was late, possibly only an hour from daylight, but knowing how old Circo was, he'd probably be up. Tomar approached the Circo's Import Export, from the side entrance and knocked at the door.

“We're not open yet! Come back in a few hours!” An old but sharp voice let out. Tomar knocked again.

“GODDAMNIT! Do you have shit for brains? I told you we're not open!” The old man yelled. Tomar then knocked a third time.

“Okay, whoever you are smartass, you're going to get a foot up your arse.” The old man whipped the door open, and his anger drained away upon seeing Tomar.

“Ahh... Why didn't you say it was you. Come in, come in. It's been a long time since I've seen your face around here. What did you do this time?” Circo inquired as he let Tomar into the establishment. Circo's dry goods was basically a warehouse with an upstairs portion, where Circo lived. Grain, gravel, and Pots, iron bars, pretty much the staple items from around the the greater nation of Olac, filled the place. Tomar said “Let's go upstairs, I've got somethings to show you, and I thought I might be able to get some answers from you.”

Circo looked at Tomar, and nodded, and started to hobble up the stairs, as his bum leg hindered him. Closing the upstairs door behind Tomar, Circo said “So what is it boy, what made you come in the wee hours of the morning to trouble an old man?” Tomar then shifted his cloak around, and revealed the medium sized briefcase, and removed the gold necklace from his pocket and held it out. Crico looked at them, and said “Do you recognize that symbol boy?” Pointing at the case. Tomar shook his head, and said “It looks familiar, but I can't place it.” Circo said “That's the symbol of Illonia, don't you remember those stories I used to tell you as child?” Circo then continued “I want to know how you came into possession of these things, because either one would be more than enough grounds for a slow painful death in the market square.” Tomar then told the entire story of what happened that night, and Circo nodded his head. Circo then sighed and said “You really did it this time boy, we need to get you out of here. Fortunately for you, I've got a contact who I know is in the resistance, the only problem is, is that he's over in Menethris, across the bay from here. I do business with him on occasion, as he sells me grain that is stolen from supply trains that run to port over there.” Then walked over to his dresser, reached in and pulled out a coin purse. “Here is 30 rakar, this should cover you for a one way ticket to Menethris from here in Olaran.” Handing Tomar a small pile of the peculiar green beads. “The ship will arrive this evening for it's weekly delivery of grain to me. You'll book passage on the vessel on the basis of you being an apprentice to Elrod who's my resistance connection. We'll hide that brief case and necklace inside of my old seachest, which I used to use to keep my valuables. It's got a false backing on it, that should fit the briefcase. In the meantime, I don't want you leaving this room, until I come for you. The last thing I need is for someone to connect you to me. So get some rest, because you're going to need it.”