Searching for Hope

By Joshua Miller

Chasing after the man who killed his fiancee, Daniel is on a quest for vengeance that leads him beyond the edge of the world into a greater world than he ever knew existed. This world is embroiled in war and despair. He is unable to avoid being quickly caught up in the events of the rest of the world, forced to abandon his own personal quest for a more noble quest with newfound friends and enemies. It is a quest... for hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499057263

Book preview

Prologue

Ah, the game of chess. It has been around for ages, not since the beginning of time, but for most people, it might as well have been. No, the humans actually created it, one of the few things made by the humans and enjoyed by all races that have come across it. Some races believe that it is the only worthwhile creation of the human race that has not been designed for war. Truth be told, though not directly for war, its purpose was to help teach generals and generals-in-training how to think, how to use tactics, and how to strategize for war. Other games have built on chess for this, more elaborate games, but nothing has come close to outdoing chess, in teaching and popularity.

Two men play a game of chess in a small cabin in a remote land. Both are old and of different minds about things. One is a teller of history and foreteller of future events, while the other is now content not to be in it to direct the future, but simply to watch. Both excel at watching, but the second man has nearly perfected it. He sits alone in his cabin and watches the world through eyes few are able to create. He is able to watch from above and within. He is not a God; neither of these men is and has the desire to be.

The watcher moves his pawn forward a space. The herald moves a rook. Both are superb in this game, and most games result in a draw. Rarely does either make a mistake. The watcher moves another pawn, readying his pieces for an offensive, moving his blocking pawns so he has the ability to call on his more powerful pieces when the need arises.

The watcher looks up from the game to the herald, his dark brown eyes filled with intellect. You have not told me why you have chosen to pleasure me with your visit, he says.

The herald moves a pawn this time before looking up to meet the watcher’s eyes. Does everything need to have a reason?

Of course, the first answers. Without a reason, it does not exist. Even if you came by only to say ‘hello,’ that would be a reason. It would be a simple reason, but knowing you, your reason for visiting cannot be that simple. He moves a knight to the side. Had the herald not known better, he might have thought the watcher had moved it without paying any attention to the game, but no, the man was a watcher in all things, including minute details such as a game of chess played by two friends.

Perhaps, perhaps not. Not all things I do are as filled with reason as you think. Sometimes, I wish to do things for myself, for pleasure.

Not this time.

The herald grunts for a response. His friend knows him too well. You are right. He moves his rook once again and places the pawn he has just taken off to the side of the board. The watcher makes no comment to this taking of his piece. It is, after all, only a pawn, but it is a pawn that can become a queen. It cannot become the most important piece, but it can become the most powerful. Heroes are frequently made from simple soldiers or farmers, the real world equivalent of a pawn turning into a queen. You watch, as well as I do. Have you noticed anything with the world?

The watcher moves his queen a single square. I notice much.

I know, my friend. That was not the question.

I am aware of that, but I do not see how this question involves me.

All things affect everything. It is the way of the world.

I believe I know what you are asking me, and the answer is yes, I have noticed him. To answer your next question, I have also noticed what he is planning. It will not come for a long time, but I do see it coming, though it is not in either of our hands to put an end to it, for better or for worse.

For the first time in a long time, the herald loses his cool. But I am tired of seeing all these things nobody sees and not being able to do anything about it.

"You have been doing something about it."

But nobody listens! he snaps. They are all too sure of themselves, sure that nothing can happen to their perfect little worlds even while they crumble one by one.

That is why they will fall, the watcher points out.

So this man will win? he asks incredulously. He shakes his head, realizing that the watcher cannot see this. Of the two of them, the herald will be more likely to see into the future.

The watcher shrugs anyway. Sometimes things need to fall before they can rise. A pawn cannot become the queen if the queen has not yet been taken. It is your move.

With a smooth motion, the herald stands and waves aside the board. The game crashes to the floor. I don’t give a damn about the game, my friend. I care about the world, and I am dead tired of watching this happen over and over again, only worse this time.

The watcher does not lose his cool. Like every other time, whether they listen or not, someone will be there. Someone always appears to help the people. This is the way of the world.

But why should someone always come at the end and help clean up the mess when we can do something to stop the mess before it even exists?

Because, sadly, as I have learned, telling the people will not help them. Whether through cryptic songs or straight truths, they will not listen. At least with cryptic songs, they still hear. With truths, it will only earn you their enmity. These things cannot be changed. How can you know beforehand whether this will occur without your help or because of it?

The herald shakes his head. This is a puzzle which he has not been able to solve. He has tried and failed, and no doubt, he will always try and always fail.

Tell me, what do you see? the watcher asks.

Nothing useful, the herald responds as he falls into the chair. I see two men. The first is a well-seasoned warrior, one of many years of experience. He is dressed in black, from his shirt to his pants, gloves, and even his boots. He bears little blades between his fingers, on the backs of his hands, and on the base of his feet. He wields knives with purple bands of silk wrapped around their hilts. Throwing stars are concealed up his sleeves.

What about his appearance?

I’m getting to that. He is strong, but he isn’t largely built. What muscles he has are rock solid. He is a force to reckon with, whether with weapons or without. In his eyes, I see a great intellect, a mastermind of killing and fighting.

What color are his eyes?

They are a hard, dark blue with a fearsome glint in them. He looks at people with his jaw set and his eyes narrowed slightly, and he causes fear in anyone who sees him. His hair is dark brown, and he has let it grow down to his shoulders. It is loose and slightly wavy. It gives him a sort of reckless appearance that must serve him well.

Interesting. Do you know what is important about this man?

The herald shakes his head. I know nothing at all beyond what I have just told you except for this: his name is Jonathon Ulraich, and he is being hunted. He waits for a response to the name, but to his surprise, the watcher gives him none. They both know who this man is. The herald knows this. They have both dealt with this man in the past. He is not a man to be trifled with.

Hunted? For what? the watcher instead asks.

For what he has done in the past.

Our past or his past?

The herald shakes his head again, this time in frustration. This man Jonathon is a terrible man, but he cannot see what event set the second man to hunting him. I do not know. I see much, am told some, but yet there is still so much that is kept hidden from me.

So who is following this man of death? Can you see that?

Yes. You might say he is also a man of death, but then again, you might also say that he is a man of life.

How can he be both?

I am not sure.

That’s all right. So what does this hunter look like?

He’s about the same height as the first man …

How tall is the first man? the watcher asks, also an excellent listener, though he prefers to call it watching with his ears.

Slightly taller than average height, a few inches short of six feet.

The watcher nods in interest, the ruined game of chess forgotten on the floor of the cabin. Go on.

He is well built. He is a little stronger than the first man and almost as solidly built. His appearance is similar to the first, but I have a sense that either neither of them notices this or it doesn’t stay long enough in their minds to think about it. The only differences are that the second man has let his facial hair grow, giving him a rather rugged appearance, and that his eyes still have a sense of innocence in them. He has seen death, yes, but his eyes have not yet seen the tragedies they are going to see.

Fascinating. So these two men are enemies? The herald nods. What is important about these two men?

I do not know. The way I see things, these two men might not be important at all.

It is the watcher’s turn to shake his head. No, I have a sense that these two people are important. I believe that.

The herald nods. Yes, you might be right. No, I know you are right. I just don’t know how right you are.

The watcher smiles. Back to the game of chess?

Yes, but then I should be leaving. I would hate to leave the people without any type of warning at all.

The watcher nods and returns the board and pieces back to the table in the correct places they are before the herald has knocked them to the floor. Excellent. This time, I am going to beat you, he says, and he does.

Chapter 1

He stood there, staring at the mountains looming before him, one hand on a canteen, the other on the hilt of his favorite knife. It wasn’t quite a short sword, whose length was two feet long, nor a regular knife, whose usual length was one foot long. A more appropriate name for the foot-and-a-half-long blade would be a long knife. The long knife was an expensive weapon. The reason was because the blade was made of silver. One blacksmith, whom he had met in his home city of Carcina and specialized in creating blades, was a very superstitious fellow who always fretted about lycanthropes. Lycanthropes couldn’t be harmed by normal steel for some reason Daniel didn’t know, but they could be harmed by silver, according to the legends. The silver blades had been of excellent quality and workmanship, so he had decided to purchase one. And the smith had said the knife he had picked was a special one, not made by him. It was a blade made with powers, explaining the runes, the smith had told him, but he hadn’t known what powers it had. Daniel didn’t believe the sword had powers, of course, but the weapon was made of such high quality that he couldn’t pass it up. It had cost him several months’ pay, but he felt it was worth it for the fine blade, and if he did happen across a lycanthrope, then he would be able to fight and kill it, assuming the legends and stories were true, that is.

The long knife was not his only weapon, however. He had two three-quarter-foot-long knives, one in each boot. Both were made of steel and placed in leather sheathes. A small hand crossbow was strapped to the outer side of his left thigh. It was strapped in tightly, yet in such a way as to come loose if he pulled on it lightly with the appropriate motion. Attached to the outer side of his right thigh was a leather case, which held twenty bolts for the crossbow. On the right side of his leather backpack was a loosely attached ash bow. Next to it was a leather case with the eighteen arrows he had remaining for the bow. His last big weapon was his long sword, a three-foot-long blade of steel strapped to his back beneath the pack where he could pull it out easily. It was a well-worn blade and had been in his family for several generations. The last weapon, one he did not use often and was very carefully hidden in case he was captured, was hidden in the folds of his pants. He could reach through the hole in his right pocket, and down just below the knee was a small leather strap. Attached to the strap was a metal case with a blowgun and half a dozen darts in small cubbies. Inside the metal case were four different poisons. He had one that would put the victim to sleep, one that would paralyze the victim for several hours, or less, depending upon the amount of poison on the dart, one that would cause great pain, and one that would kill almost instantly. The one that would cause great pain was designed to assist with getting answers from a person. It was a form of torture, and he could end it any time with the antidote he also kept in the case. The need to use that poison had only arisen once. He considered an absolute last resort. He didn’t like to give pain to any living being, not even his worst enemy. His training had consisted of numerous tactics to either kill quickly or to capture alive his enemies.

He didn’t wear any armor, for that would be too heavy on this constant traveling. He wore normal clothes and a thin layer of leather, not much protection from weapons but was good against the cold and partly from the wetness when it rained. In the pack hanging on his back, he had different things needed for survival: an extra pair of clothes, food, a thin bedroll, rope, flint and steel, and herbs and such stuff for healing, among other things. At his belt were six water skins, five filled with water and the other empty, and a smaller skin for wine he was saving for when he finally defeated the assassin.

He then saw what he was looking for, a tiny shadow climbing the mountains, the shadow of the assassin he was hunting. He had been hunting the assassin who was now creating the shadow with the help of the sun for four and a half months. Now, the monster was only approximately half a day away. Before, he had been several days behind the assassin when he learned that it had left the main city areas and was heading east. What was east, he did not know, just that the assassin was headed in that direction. Since he was hunting the assassin, he was headed in that direction as well.

For the first two weeks, he had hunted the assassin in the capitol city, chasing it in a seemingly never-ending chase through the city’s byways and sewers and everywhere else before the assassin had left, floating from city to city for another three and a half months before suddenly fleeing, heading east. He had been three days behind two weeks ago, but now, after gaining bits here and there, he was only about half a day behind. It was a lot, and he thought he could catch up soon, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind was making him unsure if he truly wanted to. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid.

He was afraid because he was coming to the Border. The forest was mostly behind him, a few trees going up the mountainside. They quickly thinned out, leaving ahead of him the bleak, chilled mountains. The mountains didn’t make him afraid; it was what was said to be beyond them that terrified him. What was beyond the mountains, no one knew. Most rumors said there were devils and demons, though the stories never claimed what the different between the two were, if there even was a difference. The most likely answer to that was demons and devils were the same creatures with different names. Other stories said that the world just dropped off, and if you fell, you fell for eternity, never dying, just falling. Most people thought the former was true, however. They had, after all, begun building a hold, Unus Hold, on the western mountains to fight against the demons and devils. This close to the Border, he hoped neither was true.

Looking at the assassin, he wondered what it was thinking. Did it believe in either the demons or the end of the world? Did it know something the others didn’t and was using the rumors to escape? His eyes opened wide. If the assassin knew, or was nearly one hundred percent sure, that there wasn’t anything horrible beyond the mountains, then it could use the fear of the legends and what might be beyond against the one trailing it to escape. That fear would prevent him from either hurrying after the assassin or even going up at all. The fear of death conquers nearly all. It was that fear that the assassin was playing on.

Feeling sure that the assassin knew something he didn’t, he hurried after it. He hadn’t gone ten steps when he stopped. What if the assassin was simply crazy? He laughed at that and continued hurrying up the mountain. If the assassin was crazy, it wouldn’t be a very good assassin. This … thing … was a genius. It had escaped weeks of being hunted. No crazy person could do that. What if the assassin didn’t know what was beyond? What if the assassin knew that there were demons and wasn’t really going all the way up?

Shaking aside these questions, he gathered his courage and was determined to not be bothered by these pointless questions. He would find out when he got there, for better or for worse.

The mountainside at this point wasn’t very steep so he was able to make good time even through the foot of snow. He knew the snow would become deeper and the traveling more difficult, but he didn’t want to think of that yet. First, he had to actually get up to that point.

Glancing from side to side occasionally, he saw that the tree line had virtually thinned out to where there were but a few trees standing tall at this height. These were spaced out randomly as if someone had been using the trees as darts, and these few trees had been thrown with so little accuracy that they should be lucky they landed on the mountain at all. This thought distracted him for a few long minutes until his thoughts once again found their way back to the assassin and to the mountain. The near lack of trees meant he was getting higher and hopefully closer to the assassin, the thing he was chasing.

At midday, he stopped for only a minute for a drink of water and rest. The months of walking and jogging and chasing the assassin had strengthened muscles he had never known he had. He could walk almost an entire day without taking a break, which was what he did without exception. Any delay would allow the assassin to escape. He also took an apple out of his pack, one of a dozen he had bought at a tiny village three days back.

He took a bite of the apple and continued walking quickly up the side of the mountain.

It was about two hours after midday when he looked at where the sun was positioned. He stopped and looked ahead toward the top of the mountains, but he saw they were still far away and difficult to reach. So far, the way had been easy, but at various points in the path he still had to travel, the mountains rose into miniature cliffs. From this distance, he couldn’t determine how high the cliffs were, but while some might not be difficult to overcome, others appeared to be at least several hundred feet tall. No matter the route, if the assassin was able to reach the top, then all he had to do was follow its trail. Neither of them had climbing gear so if the assassin could make it to the top, then so could he. He took another sip of water and continued walking; however, it wasn’t long before he stopped again.

Before him, he saw the remains of a body. Nearing the remains, he was able to examine the bones. He determined that the body had once been a man by the way the bones were shaped. One of his classes had discussed the physical differences between male and female bodies in different states of decomposition, from fresh bodies to skeletal bodies. There were numerous differences in bone structure between male and female bodies. The easiest to spot were the hips. Having wider hips typically signified the figure as being a female. These most were most certainly those of a male.

The man still had some hair and meat in places. Most of the meat had been ripped off, indicated by the sharp teeth marks in the bones. He thought it most likely that the bite marks were caused by wolves, but he didn’t discount the idea that another creature might be the culprit. Though he hadn’t heard of anything but wolves in the mountains, it didn’t mean other animals didn’t exist, simply that no one had told him about anything but the wolves. There was still blood, although it was frozen. Apparently, flies and other blood eaters thought it was too cold in this area to live in. There were still the remains of the leather outfit the man had worn, along with some furs, though most of those had been ripped off to shreds. The leather belt around the skeleton’s waist was partially deteriorated. The scabbard was also leather and also in poor condition. He pulled out the sword inside and saw that it had been broken in about half, but was still in moderate condition besides being in two parts. He grimaced at all the frozen blood on the blade. It then occurred to him that though this man had died fighting, the sword had been placed back into the scabbard. A later group of explorers had probably done that in at least partial respect. Not burying the body helped to serve others as a warning sign against the wolves. He thanked whoever did this for the warning before continuing onward.

He thanked the unknown explorers again not an hour later when he saw the hint of movement in the snow and instantly knew he had seen a wolf. It was the wrong shape to be the assassin. Since wolves were the only thing left, he knew it was a wolf. That was called simple deduction through the process of elimination. That was what his teachers had called it, though he hated that name, thinking it was too long and created by someone who wanted to show off their own intellect by creating a sophisticated title with big words.

With his left hand, he grabbed a knife, and with his right, he grabbed his short sword. Fighting against the wolves, the long blade would be too big and long to fight efficiently. The weapons he grabbed were perfect. He would have grabbed the bow, but he unlikely would be able to lose more than one arrow before the wolves were on him, preventing him from grabbing these blades in time.

A howl suddenly broke loose into the cold air. It would have unnerved a lesser, untrained person. Fortunately, he wasn’t that type of person, though it still made him nervous. The howl was followed by several others. He listened closely and was able to determine that he was now surrounded by wolves. There were several more howls that were replaced by growls as the wolves neared.

An instant after hearing the growls, six wolves leapt at him. The wolves ran at him from all sides, snarling their hunger at him. He growled back at them and threw his knife at one, grabbing another blade even before the first knife hit the wolf. The wolf screeched for a second before it tumbled to the ground, dead, with the hilt protruding from its throat.

Five wolves were now close, honing in on their prey, though they were making the mistake of trying to make another predator into prey. He quickly made a complete circle, cutting into several wolves with his short sword. They weren’t killed, but those wolves held off for a second, a second which allowed him to stab one in the chest and begin circling around again, slashing at several more, killing another with a cut at the throat, though it screeched and snarled for nearly half a minute before it finally fell over dead. Apparently, the wound had been deep enough to kill, but not deep enough for a quick kill. One wolf tried to bite his left side, but without looking, purely on instinct, he slashed it in the face with the knife he held in his left hand. He had been instructed to rely on instinct when fighting. The best warriors are ready for anything, all because of pure instinct, every block, every attack, all based on instinct. So his teachers claimed, but he had never managed to grasp on to that instinct and hold on like his teachers desired.

There were some nabs and nips from the wolves mostly warded off by the leather, but each time, the leather weakened a little. This is how that man must have felt before the wolves killed him, Daniel thought. He had killed some, but they were slowly killing him. He stabbed and cut, injuring several more and killing the one already with a slash to its face with a jab through the skull, but he wasn’t sure he could ward them off for long, even though there were only three left. He wondered how long the man had lasted and how many wolves he had killed.

He screamed aloud his battle cry, Ayla, help me with your great knowledge to defeat my enemies! and fought back with new tenacity. He stabbed one in the face while slashing at another with the short sword. One wolf leapt at him, trying to take him down. The attack was from the back, and most people would have been knocked down flat by the wolf and quickly killed by the others, but somehow, he knew and he ducked, raising his left hand, driving the knife into the wolf’s stomach. The force ripped the knife out of his hand, but he didn’t think the wolf was going to last long, especially since it landed hard, driving the blade even further into its belly. Daniel quickly grabbed his silver dagger and fought on against the last two wolves.

He cut and slashed this way and that, injuring the two, but the blades didn’t go in deep enough to kill either of the wolves. He finally got the fifth with a sword wound deep enough for a killing blow. The final wolf suddenly howled and fled, afraid for its life. Daniel was covered with a couple of dozen minor wounds. There was blood everywhere, most of it belonging to the wolves, but still plenty belonging to him.

He was glad that the wolf had fled. He smiled and then toppled down to the ground in exhaustion, falling unconscious. The last two wolves had fought mercilessly. The fifth had been able to bite straight through the leather and into his side before the sword stabbed deeply into its back.

He woke up when he heard something coming into his range. There were five wolves, probably coming back for more. Taking a quick glance at the sky while grabbing his weapons, he saw he had been unconscious for an hour and a half. The wolves, seeing his sudden movement, turned tail and fled. He supposed since they had already lost five of their number to him, they weren’t about to take any chances and lose another five. He wondered how many the assassin had killed. It had probably killed its share in numbers of them, another reason they hadn’t risked it, even though he was injured. Or perhaps it hadn’t had to kill any, but instead had simply stared the wolves down.

He walked on for a short time before he saw a large area covered in blood. He didn’t see any bodies or anything besides the blood. He assumed the wolves that had been killed by the assassin had been dragged off by their fellows for dinner that very night. Few beings ate their own kind, including wolves, unless they were alone without food. In cases of starvation, wolves did eat their own kind. Speculating, Daniel thought, that finding and eating dead wolves would probably be preferable because they wouldn’t be forced to fight against their own kind, though fighting would make the wolves stronger as they weeded out the weaker.

He wondered if the assassin had also been killed, but he doubted it. The assassin was better than him, and he had fought them off. The assassin had probably not let any of them escape. Of course, the assassin was just another ruthless beast, even more merciless than the wolves.

Finally, about two hours after sundown, he found a place that looked to be a good place to rest. It was a small cliff, if one could even call it that. The so-called cliff was ten feet high and thirty feet long. He wondered if the assassin had climbed it or if it had just walked around. On the side of the miniature cliff was a small boulder. It wasn’t big enough to sleep on, but it would be good to lean up against and then sleep like that.

He shrugged off his pack and took out his bedroll. He removed his bow and arrows and his sword. The rest he could leave on because he had been trained to sleep on his back and only on his back. He never rolled over. Also, he was a light sleeper, a natural ability that he had expanded upon by training himself in stages.

Essentially, he was able to keep his body in varying states of awareness. He could set his light-sleeping ability to keep him asleep even if something stabbed him or if drums were beat next to his ear, or he could wake up if the slightest sound was made anywhere within his range of hearing. Because the assassin was probably about ten hours ahead of him, maybe a bit more, he could sleep in between the two extremes. He didn’t want the slightest wind to awaken him, nor did he want any of the wolves to start gnawing on him before he awoke.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, however. Sometimes, he was able to fall asleep immediately. Other times, he had to calm his mind and relax his body in order to eventually fall asleep. Though sometimes it was related to how aware his body remained during the night, it was not always the case. Fortunately, whether he was able to fall asleep quickly or not, he required only four hours of sleep each night. Most likely, this trait was primarily what had allowed him to not only keep up with the assassin but also to slowly gain ground on it. A smile slowly formed across his face as he thought about how close he was to this final confrontation. His thoughts faded to darkness as sleep overcame him.

He woke up when he heard a stick break several feet from him. Immediately, he was on his feet, with the silver blade in his hand. Through the darkness, he could see the outline of a human shape. He waited several seconds before he could see the long, slightly wavy brown hair of the assassin and the glint of the moonlight off the knife, though that was all, for the rest was black. The assassin had put paint or charcoal on himself to make even his face appear black.

Just like hated enemies, which Daniel considered their relationship to be, whether the assassin thought so or not, they threw themselves at each other. The two knives clashed, the silver knife half a foot longer than the steel one. The assassin tried to stab him, but Daniel deflected the knife with his own. Pain suddenly exploded in his left knee, and he saw the assassin’s leg move backward.

He fell back and tried to favor his right knee as the left one throbbed. The assassin deftly sliced with its own knife, not caring that it was blocked, twisting around while spinning, the left hand coming up. Instead of being punched, Daniel was cut across the cheek. The assassin had a tiny blade in the back of the hand. He felt his right cheek with his left hand and fell back even farther. The assassin was impossibly quick. Daniel hadn’t known that the first time they had fought and had nearly been killed because of it. Now he knew and was prepared for it, but even being ready didn’t help him fight against it.

He quickly tried to think of what might save him while trying to think of where the blade was coming from. He found out he wasn’t able to do both at the same time as fast as he had hoped. He dodged just an instant too late, the bladed glove cutting his left shoulder and pushing him down. He swore as he hit the ground roughly.

On his back, an idea occurred to him. The assassin was about to bring the knife down into him when Daniel quickly lifted his knee and fired the bolt that was always in the crossbow at his thigh. He heard the click and a second later, a hiss, a noise which meant he had hit the assassin. There was a snapping sound, and the assassin backed away. The assassin turned and jumped on the boulder and then leapt up high, his hands holding the side of the tiny cliff pulling him up. In an instant, the assassin was gone.

Daniel quickly jumped up and put a new bolt into the crossbow. He gathered his things and quickly prepared to go after the assassin. Barely a minute after the assassin had jumped up to the top of the cliff, he did too. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite as adept as the assassin. He slowly pulled himself up. He saw the assassin running up the mountain. Daniel tried to follow, but his knee couldn’t handle it. He had to stop and wrap a bandage around his knee so it wouldn’t become worse, and after several minutes, he was following the assassin, even though he was limping greatly.

With his knee injured, the going was tough. He made slow time since he couldn’t bend it well, and pain continuously lanced through his leg every time he put weight upon it. He glanced up at the sky and saw the time was only an hour after midnight. He groaned, thinking of how he would kill the assassin, if he could. In excellent condition, he had had difficulties fighting the assassin. In this condition, he was likely to be killed. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily true. The assassin had been hit by his bolt. The assassin could be worse off than he was. Smiling for the first time in days, he continued thinking of how the assassin was hit. He then chided himself. He was doing what had nearly gotten him killed in the first place: underestimating. Overestimating the assassin was better; he would be more prepared. However, being over prepared was sometimes just as bad as being under prepared. He needed to think the assassin was still in great condition. He needed to figure out how to defeat the assassin as if it hadn’t been hit. That was the safest way.

As he walked, his thoughts involuntarily turned to how little he had smiled over the last four and a half months, ever since he had begun hunting the assassin. Not only did he not have any other life because of it, but the bastard had killed his parents and fiancée. Not only was this a job because he was working for his king, but it was a personal job.

He hadn’t laughed twice in the past months. He had laughed but a single time, a good, enjoyable laugh when that cute little girl had entered the room he had stayed in for a few hours in the tiny village several days back. She had entered the room with a pan filled with something. She asked him if he wanted a pie. Having not eaten much except for rations in the last months, since rations stayed good for a long time, he had full-heartedly said yes. He had never been so surprised in a good way when she removed the top and inside was mud. She had asked him if he had wanted a mud pie. That had brought back many joyful memories of being a little child and making mud pies and when his mother had tried to scold him for playing in the mud while trying not to laugh.

His thoughts turned to his parents and the woman he loved, his fiancée. His parents were getting older, his mother at fifty years of age and his father six years older than her. His fiancée was only a year younger than him, being twenty-seven. He had been brought up by his parents. His father had taught him so much that he knew: how to hunt, how to set snares, how to catch fish, how to skin animals, and most importantly, how to use weapons and how to track. These things that his father had taught him had brought him into his career, the same career his father had been brought up learning. It had been in the family for many generations, since the beginning, nearly two hundred years ago. His mother had taught him things that a good person should know, like etiquette, how to get along with people, how to get what you need from people. She mostly taught him the civilized part of his vocation, while his father taught him the wilderness part. Not only that, but he had been taught to read and write in several different languages. He knew the languages that the mythical creatures called Ayel, Zwerg, and Nas used. It wasn’t useful in ordinary life, but it was useful talking to his father in code since no one spoke those languages. He still suspected that his father had created them so they could have something that they shared with no one but each other, especially since their names were so strange and didn’t mean anything.

Finally, they had taught him how to cook, clean, do house chores, and train or care some animal, though mostly with the animals they owned, which included a falcon, dogs, pigs, cows, and most importantly, horses.

That took him until he was fifteen, when he was finally able to join the army, though it was small and rarely used. The army had steadily grown, however, after a huge riot had broken out five years ago. He couldn’t remember what started it, but it had almost caused a huge civil war. In order to prevent something else like that from happening again, his king had increased the army from five thousand to nearly sixty thousand, about one quarter of the people. Half of all the men joined the army and stayed there. Because of that, many women had learned the men’s jobs.

In the army, he had learned how to use a much wider variety of weapons than those he preferred, about the laws of the land, how to deal with thieves and brigands, and what to do in case of an emergency. He did that for about eleven years before becoming a tracker. For slightly more than one and one half years, he had learned about espionage and sneaking around, basically how to become a thief or assassin, to get to know them and their ways to be able to hunt them down quickly and efficiently, if preventing their occurrence wasn’t successful.

Then, five months back, he had been assigned what should have been an easy assignment. He was to help protect his king at a banquet. He was one of fifteen trackers, and there were one hundred soldiers. No one had made any threats against the king, and no one saw any reason to. Daniel’s job was mostly to look impressive to scare away any drunk that would like to take a swing at the king. It hadn’t turned out that way, however.

He had been standing several feet away from the king when there was a sudden commotion. One of the people attending the banquet had jumped up and had killed four soldiers in a single instant, running straight for the king. The assassin was blocked by several rows of soldiers. Everyone thought this person was insane. The assassin had turned and was slashing and cutting at the people at the banquet, mostly nobles and advisors to the king, though there were several tables filled with commoners or peasants, the two most common names for the working class. No one could stop the assassin. He cut through the several rows of soldiers like they were children wielding wooden sticks. Several soldiers left to bring reinforcements. Several trackers hurried over to meet him. They put up a better fight, but none could stop this single man. He hacked away at the soldiers, trackers, nobles, and advisors alike, whoever came into his reach. He didn’t seem to care; he cut them down indiscriminately.

The king watched with interest, though he was still confident that his men would be able to protect him and kill the assassin. He didn’t realize that only one of the newest trackers would be able to stop this killer. There was now a circle of death around the assassin. Everyone fell back from the dead and dying and watched stunned as the assassin ran up toward the king, the other fourteen trackers dead, as well as most of the nobles, advisors, and soldiers.

Daniel rose and met the assassin ten steps in front of the king. Only now was the king beginning to worry, though he didn’t act on it; he just continued sitting on the throne and watching his would-be assassin come at him. Daniel slashed his long sword at the assassin. The assassin easily ducked and stabbed with his own blade, a foot long knife. Daniel couldn’t bring his long blade back fast enough to block the blade, but he tried dodging it and was only partly successful as the blade went several inches into his side, though it could have been much worse.

Daniel let go of his sword, not caring that it flew against the wall with a clang. In that same second, he brought out his short sword and his silver knife. The assassin slashed at him, though the knife was blocked by his own. At the same instant, the assassin had kicked him, slamming its foot into Daniel’s knee. He howled at the assassin, though more in anger than in pain, even though his knee was cut. He had realized then that every part of the assassin was a weapon, not just what it carried in its hands. He had failed to remember that detail during their encounter on the mountainside, and it had nearly gotten him killed because of it.

They slashed and cut at each other, the assassin not taking any hits, while he took several minor wounds. What ended it that day was his quick jab, a jab of pure instinct, which cut into the assassin’s left arm, the arm it favored. The assassin couldn’t move its arm very well, so badly was it damaged. Reflecting on that day, he realized the assassin was a true warrior, fighting with nearly complete instinct. The assassin had smiled, then turned, and fled, cutting down half a dozen soldiers who tried to bar his path. Even with one arm out of commission, he was still a great threat.

Since he had been the only tracker to go against the assassin and come out alive, Daniel had been assigned to track the assassin down and kill him or preferably, bring him in alive. So far, he had been unable to do either.

The assassin had spent two more weeks in the city, trying again three times to kill the king, each time ending in failure, though each time success was only narrowly missed. It seemed to be mostly luck that the assassin hadn’t killed the king. During this time, Daniel had thought about his family but hadn’t been worried about them. Normally, he probably shouldn’t need to be, but this case was not normal. The assassin enjoyed bringing suffering to others, and though it enjoyed causing emotional pain more than physical suffering, the assassin was adept at both.

Daniel went home to see his family one day, two weeks from the first assassination attempt on the king, to find the door open with a black ribbon tied around the doorknob. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and entered his parents’ house. There was blood everywhere. The insides of his family members had been cut out and spread all over the inside of the building. He nearly passed out from the sight and smell but was able to hold out long enough to note that his mother, father, two younger sisters, and his baby brother were dead.

Immediately, he thought of his fiancée. He turned and ran from the site of the slaughter of his family, though people probably thought he was fleeing from the sight and smell. It was a fifteen-minute walk to his own house, though he ran it in under four, the fastest he had ever run it. He saw his house. He saw a dark figure crouched by the door. The dark figure straightened and turned as he approached. He saw the shoulder-length brown hair and the piercing blue eyes of the assassin looking at him. The assassin grinned and then chuckled before running away. He saw a black ribbon tied around the doorknob and ran after the being that had just killed his fiancée and family.

He chased the assassin through the street for nearly an hour, several soldiers being killed trying to stop it before Daniel lost it. The assassin had jumped down into the sewers; at least that was what Daniel had believed, correctly, though he hadn’t realized it until later. He went down into the sewers and searched the area. Just as he had been about to give up hope of any sign of the assassin, so he found the assassin’s den. It took him only a moment to realize that the assassin had just left moments before. He could even hear faint footsteps, though the footsteps echoed far in the sewer tunnels. Still, he took off after the noise.

The assassin escaped from the sewers, but through a chance mishap, the assassin had been spotted leaving the city secretly. Daniel had grabbed the equipment he needed and quickly followed the assassin into the approaching darkness.

The darkness brightened into daylight. He looked around and saw that it was nearly a half hour after sunup. Somehow, the memories had cut him off from this world and its pain, though not the pain of memories. He hadn’t been attacked or physically injured. He wondered if he would have come back to reality, the present, if he had been attacked again by either the assassin or the wolves.

He looked forward, and what he saw amazed him. Somehow, in all that time, he had come to the top of the mountain. The top was a rugged area about twenty feet wide at this point, though, throughout, it fluctuated between three and thirty feet wide. The flat path atop the mountain went both north and south as far as he could see.

He then saw the assassin. The assassin seemed just as confused as he was. He barely heard the assassin swear. Daniel looked back at the sky and realized that somehow, more than a single day had passed. He then looked back at the assassin. The assassin was now carrying a black leather pack. Daniel didn’t see any bandages on the assassin though, so he didn’t know where the assassin had been hit. Like him, it must have put its bandages inside its clothing.

The assassin recovered quicker than he did, which didn’t surprise him. The assassin had an impressive instinct and reflexes that served it well. A woman behind the assassin came into his view as the assassin turned and grabbed her. She too seemed confused as to why two men had suddenly appeared close to her. She was able to bring up her arms to defend herself, but the assassin easily knocked them aside and reached to her temples, one hand on each. The woman screamed lightly and reached for her temples, though her hands were knocked away by the assassin as it grabbed her.

The assassin then turned around, holding the beautiful woman in its arms. The assassin’s right hand encircled her waist. The other hand held a knife against the woman’s throat. For some reason, the woman didn’t look terrified, just worried, and maybe with a look of thinking, as her eyes appeared to be looking somewhere else and yet nowhere as well.

Move, Daniel Celan, and this woman dies. At the sound of someone speaking, the woman looked up. She looked at Daniel, though it appeared to be more through him than at him, and hope entered her face.

Who? How? He couldn’t speak. He was a little surprised at the assassin knowing his name, although not much, since the assassin had known who his parents and fiancée were, but he was completely flabbergasted at who this woman was and why she was up here in the middle of nowhere. It was like she had just appeared here, though Daniel realized she probably thought the same about him, and she would be more correct than him. He didn’t know and couldn’t explain, nor could he ask his questions clearly.

He saw the assassin shrug and heard it say, It matters not. What matters is whether you want her, a completely innocent bystander, to die just to get to me.

Daniel nearly screamed his hatred for the assassin. He sure felt it and probably even showed it, but he couldn’t act on it, even though he had been told once to ignore whoever the enemy might bring in and focus completely on the target. The assassin had killed many and would kill many more if not stopped, so this one would be of no consequence. What was one life compared to the many the assassin would kill in the future if not stopped in the present? He was taught this, but did not believe it. He could not believe his teachers had attempted to teach him this philosophy.

In the end, what he decided was that his teacher was only partly right. What he said was true, but if he could somehow save this extra one, why not try, no matter the chance of failure? That was what he believed. He remembered telling his teachers that. They all nodded and said it was a noble sentiment, but he shouldn’t forget that hesitation could cost him everything, the current hostage plus more in the future.

Don’t hurt her. She is not a part of this.

Neither should you be. How about we make a deal? You walk away from this, and let me walk away from this, and I will let her go.

You know I can’t do that.

I know you can, and you will if you want this woman to live.

You attempted to assassinate my king. You killed more than half of his advisors and many others in the attempt. You have been sentenced to death.

I would have killed him too, if you hadn’t interfered.

That is unimportant.

Unimportant? It’s very important. It means I want to kill you just as much as you want to kill me, the assassin said as Daniel chuckled at that, saying that was not true. Yet I would be willing to forget what you did if you just walk away. Walk away and live happily.

How can I when you killed the only ones I loved? You forced me to not be able to walk away! he screamed at the assassin. Rage filled him, a terrible rage from the bottom of his soul. The woman’s face turned into an expression of sadness for him, but it lasted for only a moment.

I completely regret that.

No, you don’t. You took pleasure in hearing their screams, didn’t you? You enjoyed making them suffer.

Ever so slightly, he thought he saw an expression of distaste cross the assassin’s features, but it was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure he had actually seen it. Actually, no. I killed them very swiftly. I didn’t want them to suffer, just you. But we can end this if you choose to walk away.

No, Daniel said stubbornly.

Well then, I guess she will just have to die. Remember, I don’t care about her, if she dies or not. I couldn’t care less. I just want to walk away, the same as she, I’m sure.

Not knowing what else to do, he looked at the woman. There was nothing he could do to protect her. If he ran at the assassin to try to save her, the assassin would cut her throat and probably still kill him. What he needed was time or speed. If he could run at very fast speeds, a hundred, probably a thousand times as fast as the fastest being, then he could do it. Those were the only two ways, and they were both impossible. The assassin looked at him and also at the crossbow and his hands. He could get the crossbow and shoot the assassin, but the assassin would be able to cut her throat. Even if it didn’t, the assassin would probably position the woman before itself to make her take the bolt. He wished there was some way to do it, but there wasn’t.

He could walk away. He could walk away, but could he trust the assassin to keep his part of the bargain? Probably not. Knowing the assassin, it would kill the woman anyway and still get away. If he circled back around, he might be able to fight the assassin, possibly killing it, but the woman would still die.

So what do you say? Will you walk away? This is your last chance.

He then saw the woman’s lips move, though no words came out. She was just moving her lips, but upon those lips, he saw words that were never spoken: You have all the time in the world, if only you will it.

What did that mean? Did it mean if he willed time to stop for everyone but him that he could rush across the fifteen feet and take the knife from her throat? It was impossible. It was absurd. Things like that only happened in the stories that were told to children, of hopeful heroes who have capabilities beyond those of ordinary people. It helped to keep the fear away and the thought of bad people doing bad things away from the children by focusing on the good, on the heroes. No matter what he thought of them as a child, he knew they were false, that they were only stories. It was foolish.

Looking at the woman, he saw her mouth the words a second time. Hope and despair filled her, despair at the situation and hope that he might listen to her and believe the crazy unvoiced words that had been shaped by her lips.

He took a deep breath, his mind moving at a hundred miles per second. He played with the words in his head, played them as if somehow he could make them become a reality. Another part of his mind attempted to think of a situation in which he could stop the assassin and save the woman.

Slowly, unbidden, the two thought processes converged on the other, and his mind subconsciously began to focus on the slowing down of time, of causing the time to slow down enough in order to allow him to save the woman. He pictured the sun moving slower and slower so it nearly stopped. He pictured an hourglass spilling sand into the bottom. He pictured less and less sand spilling out at once. He pictured one sand molecule coming out, then a long space, then another one.

Somehow, from somewhere, he felt something inside his head. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was or how to describe it. He couldn’t grasp it, but it was there. He didn’t feel pain, not exactly. It was like a sort of tingling feeling. It was a warm, tingling sensation. With the sensation, he felt something inside himself, more deep inside than the feeling. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he tried to grab it. He reached for that feeling, wondering at the same time if he could. As doubt about whether he could reach for that feeling began to fill him, the feeling inside him diminished and the warm, tingling sensation started to leave him.

No! he screamed inside himself. He did not want that feeling to go away. He wanted to know what it was and what he could do with it. He reached for it again, searching within his mind through the blackness to try to find that thin sliver of light, of understanding, and maybe of something more. He searched and searched, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack as big as these mountains.

Abruptly, the tingling sensation suddenly came back again. He felt renewed hope and confidence that had come with the feeling. In the next instant, everything exploded inside his mind.

He fell back, his eyes wide open, but he managed to retain his balance. Neither the assassin nor the woman so much as flinched. Neither made a movement of any kind. They were completely still. It was as if time had stopped for them. Immediately, after thinking that thought, he glanced at the woman and thought about what she had said about If you will it, it will happen or something like that. He remembered hearing some father