Sanctuary's Assassin (The Complete Part 1)

By Loren Elias

A healer’s duty is to sustain life, not take it. It seems a fact irrefutable. But when a dark prophecy seems ripe to unfold, She will become His Instrument of Death.

After the Wrongful Execution of her father, the Healer takes the young girl in, intent on Raising her in Five Virtues, Squelching thoughts of Revenge, Training her to take her place among the Elite Guard that protects him from the Tyrannical King who has sworn to rid the world of Magic, but when that King brutally murders one of the healer's own and a Dark Prophecy seems ripe to unfold, he will go from forbidding revenge to laying the way for her. His Sanctuary of Healing will birth an Assassin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Loren Elias
• Release date: Jul 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310228414

Loren Elias

I am a city dweller living in the Southern United States who often dreams, as many of us do,of times when you would ride two weeks on horseback to get to the next city, news spread upon the lips of a bard, and your life could be snuffed out at any time by an offended mage.I am a student of world religion, philosophy, linguistics and history; a practitioner of martial arts and a dabbler in alternative medicines.I come from a long line of Healers. Nurses, Doctors, and Pharmacists(once called witches) are among my ancestors so my current project, The Healer's Creed Series, while set in fantasy-based medieval times, is both a tribute to the healing arts and an allegory of sorts for the contradictions that plague a Healer as he strives to uphold the creed to which he has sworn himself in modern times.From the Hippocratic Oath:... I will keep them from harm and injustice.I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody if asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Similarly I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art.I will not use the knife, not even on sufferers from stone, but will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this work...What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself holding such things shameful to be spoken about.If I fulfill this path and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely. may the opposite of all this be my lot. End.

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Sanctuary’s Assassin

Book 1 of The Healer’s Creed Series

The Complete Part 1: Chapters 1-21

Loren Elias

Copyright Loren Elias 2015

Published @ Smashwords

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CHAPTER 1

He could not say why it caught his eye---The shimmer of the golden stalks rising up from the mural of fertile fields, one yellow sun tripping nourishing light past an eastern horizon. It was not his first visit. He should have just walked right by it. He knew his purpose, their purpose. They had not been called to this place to take in the sights and smells of the Palace Habenhold as convincing a temptress as she might be.

Yet, as he entered the room, the Altar of Ceres greeted him. He could not avoid her abundance. Every manner of flower and grain and fruit and nut, bushels of melon, baskets of barley, the first fruits of the land, Ceres’ bounty flowing down her steps across the marble floor. He pulled up a slipping hood, tried to look away, reminding himself of his purpose.

He hastened from the entry way, past a dozen high windows, half a dozen white stone columns toward the carved wooden table where strategy was laid, alliances forged and in many cases the very fate of Nine Worlds decided.

Darkness crept in through the windows as Lesser Sun melted into the land. The shadows might have reached them had it not been for the torches lining unblemished walls. They surrendered the most welcoming glow as the he rounded the table to find his seat.

He shook though the room lay pleasantly agreeable; for the Palace Habenhold, as magnificently as it caressed the senses, bore a certain eerie chill. And it brought him no wonder; for no less than a mirage encased him, a beautifully rendered image upon a crumbling ruin. He tried to forget it even for a moment, make himself believe what dark eyes beheld, but anytime Builder Magic littered the air, little could be said to be as it seemed.

Weighted eyes peered out from beneath a heavy forest hood, worn from weeks of travel both, to see familiar faces. First that of Olev, a wise old dragon, no less than his brother, no greater friend. Olev lifted his jaw to one side and narrowed an eye in subtle greeting. Healer, good to see you, My Friend

Olev. The Healer replied as he dredged a crooked smile before turning to the man in the chair next to him.

Sajjan spared not a glance as his face held only weight of a human face bearing the grief that called them to this place.

The Healer sighed, lifting his chin to allow a coarse hood to slide from his face, revealing a head of straight black hair and a gently weathered face.

Dirwan swooshed past him as she straightened pink frilly skirts to taut and took her seat. A mound of soft brown curls framed fair, rouged cheeks. She looked as if she were attending a ball of the royal court not an important meeting such as this, but The Healer thought it nothing out of the ordinary. After all, as he bore the blood of the Healer Line, so was she of the Builders. Throughout history Builders had been known for their infatuation with extravagance. No greater proof of the fact existed. Were these rooms not of her imaginings alone?

Of no compare, Dirwan’s dress was, to the attire of Hapaku following close behind her in a simple smock. Two long, thin braids grey but not with age capped her shoulders. A scarf wrapped her head tightly, lest she suffer the dishonor of a revealed ear. Her appearance fell quite in keeping with the traditional vestments of her people, the Brocacians a land across the great waters far removed from the Healer's home. Hapaku, of the race Broiack was born of the line called Harvester.

As Hapaku approached them Olev only lifted a smooth-scaled head. A slender tail flicked from one side to the other and then came to rest again. A nimble back arched a bit and then he just lay there, with eyes as big as Hapaku’s head following her as she reached the table and pulled a chair at Jabari’s right side. Dirwan had settled at his left down the long side of the table. Sajjan sat across from them next to an empty chair--- a bitter reminder of the events that had summoned them here.

Finally, Sophrena of the Seer line entered with a scurry of dark plump, spindly legged attendants circling around her. Her eight hollow eyes shot out across the room and seeing everyone there at last, she swooshed her attendants away as her body transformed from that of a spider one and a half as tall as a man to a gaunt woman with piercing grey eyes and flowing black hair.

Actually, she took the form of a gavi. But few at that table had ever seen a gavi, so they could only think of her as a very tall, thin human woman with long pointed ears. Nothing else made sense in their minds. She took her place at the foot of the table.

Only then, did Olev expend the energy to slink his scaly head. The old dragon’s body again rested just behind Sajjan. Olev's head curled around and up at the front of the table.

Dirwan, who sat closest to him, elongated a narrow neck, up-tilting a pointed chin to look him in the eye.

Two massive claws stood so nearly the height of the table. Talons dragged across stone.

Dirwan pressed delegate hands into her ears to block the sound.

Olev spoke in a roar of a voice, quite characteristic of a dragon his size. Despite quite concerted efforts to adjust his volume, as far as those around were concerned he spoke in a voice so nearly unbearable, a booming roar. Builder?

Present. Dirwan answered as the Balancer spoke her line.

Healer?

Present. A low voice rumbled from beneath Jabari’s weighted face.

Harvester?

Hapaku raised her head. Present, Dear.

Artist?

Sajjan sighed at the unspoken void left by Olev's failure to call for the Historian line prior to his own Present. He looked toward the empty seat at his side then away.

Jabari’s heart ached.

Olev paused, with the calling of each line more painful than the last.

Sophrena spared him the misery. The Seer is present and who stands among us to represent the Line of Balance?

I do. Olev spoke, blinking once then twice the two massive orbs that were his knowing eyes. I call this meeting to order. Let it be written that on the day which has seen fifteen Haerfests of the rule of Ruric that the Order of E’epa doth convene. As it was in that day that our father’s father’s father’s father were called upon the mount E’ epa to uphold the Five Virtues as we guide our peoples. He turned keen sight if not his head to Jabari. Will you do the honors? Ju’s glance fell upon an ancient text tightly woven yet fraying with age as it lay folded into Jabari’s guarding grasp.

Jabari nodded, rolling a thumb across crumbling pages, that without a spot of magic would most certainly have long since returned to the land that beget them. With a shifting eye he found that place, those words no one wanted to hear. He knew they had heard it a hundred times. Undoubtedly they knew the words by heart. As if bringing the word to the air yet again would somehow increase their understanding, he spoke. Here it is. I know we have all heard these words spoken to us from our earliest Haerfest. A foreboding, a warning of a day to come. I have brought with me on this long journey a book which has been with us since near the beginning. A book of prophecy. This book holds that warning that all of us have been raised to heed. He was stalling and he knew it. He just did not want to say the words written nearly a thousand Haerfests past that now seemed finally to be becoming their reality. Finally he freed the words into the air. When the final light is cut, darkness reigns.

Dirwan gasped a shrill cry, again covering her ears as if puffy, pink sleeves could protect her, could make it not be so if she just blocked it out.

Sophrena’s dark, hollow eyes surveyed her surroundings before returning to them. Thin, pale lips cracked as she spoke. The Final Light. Sophrena repeated those solemn words. Through the generations, there has been speculation as to what this means. But now, now, in this time, it is clear as the day is long that the Historian Lucius was the ‘final light.’ Sophrena folded her gavi arms and then unfolded them and then folded them again as if she did not know what to do with such worthless appendages. Cut down as he was without an heir for the E’epans by a wretched human, an evil king of the land Aletheia that many of us call home. Now comes the Darkness. When his mother died like she did of the sickness we should have known, we should have locked that boy up, bred him until we got our heir, but now, now the Historian line is gone forever. An unseen force threw Lucius’ chair back away from the table. It cracked against the far wall, unable to stand the force, shattering into a million little splinters.

Dirwan wept.

Jabari drew trembling hands to rest against dry lips. But we didn’t know. No one knew what the prophecy meant. Not until now. Hands fell hard to the heavy wooden table. What’s done is done. But still we move forward, as we must. Jabari knew they should have figured it out but they had not and now all they could do was move forward, plan for the future, brace themselves for the looming darkness ahead.

Dirwan shook her head, with eyes so barely parted as if she might be brought again to tears. We need to prepare. We must help the people through this. Ruric’s reign thus far has been a thing greater than the conjurings of the night, but now that the last light it cut.

Jabari could not believe he lived to see this time, a time spoken through the ages as being some distant future, some tragic fate for mankind used to spurn young E’epans to stay focused on their purpose. Now here they were actually facing it. It frightened him beyond words. But he knew he had to be strong. Greater strength had never been needed in his lifetime. But if it were strength that these times demanded, strength he could not say he had.

Sajjan sank thick fingers into a head of thicker hair of deepest brown. We have to do something. We can’t just allow this to happen. Stay in the background, cleaning up the slaughter that lies ahead. His tone lay cool but growing apprehension rang apparent. Again he ran his fingers across straight brown strands, pushing them away from the frame of his face, then allowing them to fall again around cheeks of wind-brushed red.

Sophrena, with dark hair flowing down knobby shoulders of the fairest complexion could not hide her contempt. We’ll not do what you are thinking. You know that the E’epan must never interfere in the rule of our peoples. We have been called up out of respective peoples to stand apart from such things. She swept a wayward black curl away from her vision and glanced toward the darkening windows beyond then back to them.

Sajjan leaned forward with posture fierce, eyes intent. But they are not your people who must endure this. You would stand by if the land of Brocacia were prophesied to befall such a fate? Wouldn’t you try to change it? He looked to Jabari and Dirwan for affirmation. Jabari, Dirwan and I must think of Aletheia our land, our home, our people.

Jabari’s eyes rounded the table, making note of each expression he found there. The greatest weaver could not have woven a strand tighter than the purpose that held them there. He knew them all well, had spent many a day in that very hall discussing matters of the world. But the matters of debate had always centered on a drought in the Ganda Region. How do we get water to them? A battle between lands. How could the conflict be resolved? Nothing---nothing like this---of such grave concern where the fate of humanity itself now found a new dwelling upon their shoulders.

Olev lifted a scaly head higher, looked around to all of the E’epans there, each line represented save one. Such a plague will not stay in Aletheia. When he saw Dirwan reach for tender human ears he lowered that resounding voice yet again. Brocacia’s fate is in the same basket as are all regions of Nine Worlds. Broiack and Brim, Gavi and Spider. Human and Qaan’u. None will be spared.

Then maybe. Maybe there is something we can do. Hapaku’s eyes were insistent, her tone firm. We could depose Ruric.

Olev released a hardy laugh. Have you any idea what that would mean? Who in Aletheia could take his place? Between this King and the last, every Qi, every High Councilor, every General who opposed him has been killed. Even their heirs were wiped out. They risked no rivals. Not a highborn still lives who could rule the land. You cannot just hand off the mantle to a peasant and say ‘Here, rule Aletheia. You are King now.’ Utter Nonsense.

Jabari could hear a hint of distain in the Balancer’s voice but he knew that Olev spoke the truth.

One of the Kanas of Brocacia could lead the land out of this dark time until a suitable human can be found. Hapaku spoke between