Phantom
Uh, I didn't do it.
This is an Inheritance Cycle fic. Yes I read that series, hopefully someone else here has.
Also I have more chapters up on fanfiction.net, I'm working on putting everything I have there.
Rain poured out of the black sky, sheets of freezing water were soaking everything that was not under cover. There was no moon, instead just a jet expanse that stretched across the heavens, shadowing everything to be almost impossible to see.
Kadan was crouched in a ditch, shielding himself from the storm; rivers of rainwater were turning it into a muddy-banked icy river, with dirt slick grass making it a horrible place to spend the night. His leather and mail armor was indistinct from the filth around him, and he was camouflaged perfectly, as were the four men with him.
All five were dressed in the same light mail and leather armor, with long swords at their waist and heavy crossbows on their backs. Hanging off their belts were numerous pieces of equipment, from grappling hooks to small knives and fire lighting equipment, along with long-picking kits, parts of traps and various other vicious looking items. Each man was tall and powerful, all over six feet in height and with broad, muscular shoulders. They were all unmistakably soldiers, having a brutal, harsh feel to them, killers who were unfeeling and uncaring, they would execute their orders or they would die trying. But there was something more than that, an air of professionalism, being the best, combats skill as savage as the most frenzied barbarian controlled and directed by incredible discipline and skill. They were not uncomforted by the cold or the wet, they were not tired and they would not succumb to fatigue. They would fight to the death.
They were the Hunters, Galbatorix’s elite troop of personal assassins, bodyguards and enforcers, capable of slaughtering many times there own numbers and defeating incredible odds. Each one had been subject to possession by spirits, much like a shade, before the spirits had been banished from them, leaving them in control of their own body but also keeping the extra-ordinary strength, speed and savageness that made shades so dangerous. They were the Hunters, and they were unstoppable.
Kadan had been alive now for a hundred and twenty-five years, though he had the same social capabilities as a young man of nineteen, as that had been when Galbatorix for had selected him to join his very first unit of elite warriors, subjected him to the possession and then trained him for twenty solid years to fight in hundreds of different ways until all he could do was engage in combat and defeat his enemies with a cold ferocity that terrified even the bravest. He was undefeatable, the very pinnacle of the warrior, an unmatched swordsman, tactician and brilliant shot with his crossbow. He had killed some of the greatest warriors that had tried to oppose the King and was the commander of fifty of his best Hunters.
And he hated every second of it.
When Galbatorix had invited possession of Kadan all those years before he had placed a mighty enchantment upon him. Galbatorix had managed to slave Kadan to him, using arcane and ancient magics, too terrible to comprehend, to make him a manifestation of his cruel will. Kadan existed, but completely controlled by Galbatorix’s spell. Could he escape he would retain his awesome abilities and fight against the King with all his might, but he could not, and as such had been forced to slaughter hundreds of humans (and, many years ago, elves and dwarves), complete evil missions and undertake enforcements of tyrannical law through terror and butchery.
With a single leap, he bounded out of the ditch, the four others after him in perfect synchronicity, landing hard they rolled and began to move at a half crouch, drawing their crossbows fluidly, spreading out expertly. In front of them was a camp where presumably thirty Varden warriors were located, resting after their ambush of a tax caravan earlier that day. Now they were the ones who would be subjected to the ambush.
The dark ahead was impenetrable by human eyes, but the Hunters' unnatural sight pierced it and easily saw the low tents, each with perhaps five troops in it, in a loose circle, the few picket sentries huddling against the trees for shelter, the sodden ash that was all that remained of the campfire.
Kadan straightened and sprinted forward, his booted feet almost silent on the thick, wet grass. Raising his crossbow he sighted down it for split second before loosing the bolt. It sped across the clearing in which the rebels had pitched their tents and thudded into the throat of one of the four guards. Around Kadan three of his fellow Hunters did the same, and the guards all dropped silently to the attacks, all except one who gave a loud cry as the shaft of wood slammed into his chest.
The Varden were not the most disciplined soldiers but they were wary and adept at waking at the sound of a noise out of place. In a few moments there were men tumbling out of their tents, blades gripped in their hands. The Hunters were interspersed amongst them, enemies were on all sides, and they were trapped.
But they had no intention of fleeing.
Faster than thought Kadan dropped his crossbow and drew his long sword, turning the unsheathing of the weapon into a lightning strike that slid between a man's ribs and out again like he was made of parchment. Spinning, he lashed out savagely, his blow smashing the shield of a foe before snaking past his guard and putting him to eternal rest.
Kadan unleashed the warrior within him, blade ripping into bodies and carving easily through flesh and bone again and again. He fought like a soldier; steady on the ground, striking heavy vicious blows that unbalanced an opponent before finishing him and moving to the next enemy. The mud on his armor became mixed with blood, and the two were washed together by the pouring rain, causing the horrible mix to drip from him.
Blocking a strike he rammed his blade up to the hilt in an enemies belly, kicking him off and turning to another foe, laying into him with savage skill. The man fell back, his sword arm just a stump, before Kadan’s blade took his head off.
For a second Kadan whirled around, attempting to locate a new enemy, but he found no one. Then he realized they were all dead. His troopers stood around him, each surrounded by the dark shapes of dead men. They all looked at him, in their eyes he saw the endless sorrow of one who is forced to kill and slaughter against his own will, mixed with the fury that was the part of them that was the will of Galbatorix. There was silence amongst them; the howling rain was all that could be heard. Then each man lifted his head and looked around. The faint but unmistakable sound of hoof beats came from the thin forest around the Hunters, it was so faint as to be almost silent to even their ears. Kadan guessed the riders were perhaps a mile away…
Twenty elven riders burst from the forest, their horses' hooves muted by magic. Each of them bore a long lance and ornate shield; they were heavy cavalry, designed to tear the heart out of forces and make them flee. Not for the first time in his history, Kadan was caught unawares, but it took him only a split second to react. With a shouted command to his warriors he turned and ran, his path perpendicular to the elven riders. They split with precision to persuade but Kadan and his men were already running, dodging trees and bounding over boulders with far more speed the their pursuers, weighed down with armor as they were.
The Hunters tore through the forest at breakneck speed, instinctively splitting up and circling round, hoping to surround the cavalry. Each man was perfectly aware of the others position, their brilliant senses allowing them to track each other’s movement perfectly. In a single moment they all turned towards themselves and bounded inwards, homing in on the cavalry. As one they reached the force and leapt into the air, blades whirling.
The elves were unprepared for resistance and in the opening moments four were cut down, horses entangling and their formation turned into a mass of squealing mounts, yelling enemies and spraying blood mixed with rain on elegantly carved burnished steel armor. The elves fought back well though, beautifully forged blades clashing with solid human steel in a battle for supremacy. Kadan reckoned his warriors could beat twice their number of elves in straight combat, but they were outnumbered three to one and out of the corner of his eye he saw a Hunter cut down by the three elves surrounding him. Still he fought with manic skill though, he was a captain of the Hunters, one of their oldest and most lethal warriors, and he would not be defeated by these foes.
With a single strike his weapon slid into the exposed armpit of a rider, yanking it out and swiftly parrying a hail of blows from an enemy who had leapt from his horse to fight on foot. The elf was skilled, strong and fast, but Kadan punched him in the face with all his strength, breaking his nose before striking him on his helmeted head. As he prepared for the final strike he felt something slam into his back. A horse fell into him and he was slammed into the wet, muddy grass. His blade fell from his grip and he was for a moment stunned before armored hands grabbed at him. They were thin but exceptionally powerful, dragging him to his knees. Kadan looked up to see an armored fist whistling towards him. The blow, perhaps the strongest an elf could land, knocked his head back and he felt his skin split by the metal gauntlet. The blow would have torn off any normal man's head.
Spitting blood, Kadan looked around again to see that he had been defeated. His men lay on the earth, at peace from the horror that haunted them at last, with perhaps half the elves joining them in death. The other elves were all looking at him, there eyes filled with hate and anger. Four of them gripped him so tightly as to bruise within seconds. Kadan struggled and managed to whip an arm free in the meantime punching an elf so hard in the stomach it dented his breastplate; this was answered by another strike to his head, and he slumped in the elves grasp. They bound his arms behind his back, using a steel chain to keep him trussed. He was lifted to his feet. Normally he would have continued to fight, but this time he accepted his capture. Rain dripped down his scarred face, and his head hung as he was dragged to a horse and slung onto its back. He felt someone lift his head and he found himself looking at the stern face of a beautiful, young elf woman, her eyes staring at him with revulsion flaring in them. Then her fist met his face for a third time and Kadan was plunged into unconsciousness.
Chapter 2 will be posted here soon, I have chapters up to five up on fanfiction.net, my name there is PhantomX0990
Also I have more chapters up on fanfiction.net, I'm working on putting everything I have there.
CHAPTER ONE
Rain poured out of the black sky, sheets of freezing water were soaking everything that was not under cover. There was no moon, instead just a jet expanse that stretched across the heavens, shadowing everything to be almost impossible to see.
Kadan was crouched in a ditch, shielding himself from the storm; rivers of rainwater were turning it into a muddy-banked icy river, with dirt slick grass making it a horrible place to spend the night. His leather and mail armor was indistinct from the filth around him, and he was camouflaged perfectly, as were the four men with him.
All five were dressed in the same light mail and leather armor, with long swords at their waist and heavy crossbows on their backs. Hanging off their belts were numerous pieces of equipment, from grappling hooks to small knives and fire lighting equipment, along with long-picking kits, parts of traps and various other vicious looking items. Each man was tall and powerful, all over six feet in height and with broad, muscular shoulders. They were all unmistakably soldiers, having a brutal, harsh feel to them, killers who were unfeeling and uncaring, they would execute their orders or they would die trying. But there was something more than that, an air of professionalism, being the best, combats skill as savage as the most frenzied barbarian controlled and directed by incredible discipline and skill. They were not uncomforted by the cold or the wet, they were not tired and they would not succumb to fatigue. They would fight to the death.
They were the Hunters, Galbatorix’s elite troop of personal assassins, bodyguards and enforcers, capable of slaughtering many times there own numbers and defeating incredible odds. Each one had been subject to possession by spirits, much like a shade, before the spirits had been banished from them, leaving them in control of their own body but also keeping the extra-ordinary strength, speed and savageness that made shades so dangerous. They were the Hunters, and they were unstoppable.
Kadan had been alive now for a hundred and twenty-five years, though he had the same social capabilities as a young man of nineteen, as that had been when Galbatorix for had selected him to join his very first unit of elite warriors, subjected him to the possession and then trained him for twenty solid years to fight in hundreds of different ways until all he could do was engage in combat and defeat his enemies with a cold ferocity that terrified even the bravest. He was undefeatable, the very pinnacle of the warrior, an unmatched swordsman, tactician and brilliant shot with his crossbow. He had killed some of the greatest warriors that had tried to oppose the King and was the commander of fifty of his best Hunters.
And he hated every second of it.
When Galbatorix had invited possession of Kadan all those years before he had placed a mighty enchantment upon him. Galbatorix had managed to slave Kadan to him, using arcane and ancient magics, too terrible to comprehend, to make him a manifestation of his cruel will. Kadan existed, but completely controlled by Galbatorix’s spell. Could he escape he would retain his awesome abilities and fight against the King with all his might, but he could not, and as such had been forced to slaughter hundreds of humans (and, many years ago, elves and dwarves), complete evil missions and undertake enforcements of tyrannical law through terror and butchery.
With a single leap, he bounded out of the ditch, the four others after him in perfect synchronicity, landing hard they rolled and began to move at a half crouch, drawing their crossbows fluidly, spreading out expertly. In front of them was a camp where presumably thirty Varden warriors were located, resting after their ambush of a tax caravan earlier that day. Now they were the ones who would be subjected to the ambush.
The dark ahead was impenetrable by human eyes, but the Hunters' unnatural sight pierced it and easily saw the low tents, each with perhaps five troops in it, in a loose circle, the few picket sentries huddling against the trees for shelter, the sodden ash that was all that remained of the campfire.
Kadan straightened and sprinted forward, his booted feet almost silent on the thick, wet grass. Raising his crossbow he sighted down it for split second before loosing the bolt. It sped across the clearing in which the rebels had pitched their tents and thudded into the throat of one of the four guards. Around Kadan three of his fellow Hunters did the same, and the guards all dropped silently to the attacks, all except one who gave a loud cry as the shaft of wood slammed into his chest.
The Varden were not the most disciplined soldiers but they were wary and adept at waking at the sound of a noise out of place. In a few moments there were men tumbling out of their tents, blades gripped in their hands. The Hunters were interspersed amongst them, enemies were on all sides, and they were trapped.
But they had no intention of fleeing.
Faster than thought Kadan dropped his crossbow and drew his long sword, turning the unsheathing of the weapon into a lightning strike that slid between a man's ribs and out again like he was made of parchment. Spinning, he lashed out savagely, his blow smashing the shield of a foe before snaking past his guard and putting him to eternal rest.
Kadan unleashed the warrior within him, blade ripping into bodies and carving easily through flesh and bone again and again. He fought like a soldier; steady on the ground, striking heavy vicious blows that unbalanced an opponent before finishing him and moving to the next enemy. The mud on his armor became mixed with blood, and the two were washed together by the pouring rain, causing the horrible mix to drip from him.
Blocking a strike he rammed his blade up to the hilt in an enemies belly, kicking him off and turning to another foe, laying into him with savage skill. The man fell back, his sword arm just a stump, before Kadan’s blade took his head off.
For a second Kadan whirled around, attempting to locate a new enemy, but he found no one. Then he realized they were all dead. His troopers stood around him, each surrounded by the dark shapes of dead men. They all looked at him, in their eyes he saw the endless sorrow of one who is forced to kill and slaughter against his own will, mixed with the fury that was the part of them that was the will of Galbatorix. There was silence amongst them; the howling rain was all that could be heard. Then each man lifted his head and looked around. The faint but unmistakable sound of hoof beats came from the thin forest around the Hunters, it was so faint as to be almost silent to even their ears. Kadan guessed the riders were perhaps a mile away…
Twenty elven riders burst from the forest, their horses' hooves muted by magic. Each of them bore a long lance and ornate shield; they were heavy cavalry, designed to tear the heart out of forces and make them flee. Not for the first time in his history, Kadan was caught unawares, but it took him only a split second to react. With a shouted command to his warriors he turned and ran, his path perpendicular to the elven riders. They split with precision to persuade but Kadan and his men were already running, dodging trees and bounding over boulders with far more speed the their pursuers, weighed down with armor as they were.
The Hunters tore through the forest at breakneck speed, instinctively splitting up and circling round, hoping to surround the cavalry. Each man was perfectly aware of the others position, their brilliant senses allowing them to track each other’s movement perfectly. In a single moment they all turned towards themselves and bounded inwards, homing in on the cavalry. As one they reached the force and leapt into the air, blades whirling.
The elves were unprepared for resistance and in the opening moments four were cut down, horses entangling and their formation turned into a mass of squealing mounts, yelling enemies and spraying blood mixed with rain on elegantly carved burnished steel armor. The elves fought back well though, beautifully forged blades clashing with solid human steel in a battle for supremacy. Kadan reckoned his warriors could beat twice their number of elves in straight combat, but they were outnumbered three to one and out of the corner of his eye he saw a Hunter cut down by the three elves surrounding him. Still he fought with manic skill though, he was a captain of the Hunters, one of their oldest and most lethal warriors, and he would not be defeated by these foes.
With a single strike his weapon slid into the exposed armpit of a rider, yanking it out and swiftly parrying a hail of blows from an enemy who had leapt from his horse to fight on foot. The elf was skilled, strong and fast, but Kadan punched him in the face with all his strength, breaking his nose before striking him on his helmeted head. As he prepared for the final strike he felt something slam into his back. A horse fell into him and he was slammed into the wet, muddy grass. His blade fell from his grip and he was for a moment stunned before armored hands grabbed at him. They were thin but exceptionally powerful, dragging him to his knees. Kadan looked up to see an armored fist whistling towards him. The blow, perhaps the strongest an elf could land, knocked his head back and he felt his skin split by the metal gauntlet. The blow would have torn off any normal man's head.
Spitting blood, Kadan looked around again to see that he had been defeated. His men lay on the earth, at peace from the horror that haunted them at last, with perhaps half the elves joining them in death. The other elves were all looking at him, there eyes filled with hate and anger. Four of them gripped him so tightly as to bruise within seconds. Kadan struggled and managed to whip an arm free in the meantime punching an elf so hard in the stomach it dented his breastplate; this was answered by another strike to his head, and he slumped in the elves grasp. They bound his arms behind his back, using a steel chain to keep him trussed. He was lifted to his feet. Normally he would have continued to fight, but this time he accepted his capture. Rain dripped down his scarred face, and his head hung as he was dragged to a horse and slung onto its back. He felt someone lift his head and he found himself looking at the stern face of a beautiful, young elf woman, her eyes staring at him with revulsion flaring in them. Then her fist met his face for a third time and Kadan was plunged into unconsciousness.
Chapter 2 will be posted here soon, I have chapters up to five up on fanfiction.net, my name there is PhantomX0990