Casstus'Raye Gets Tested

The banebow chronicles

by

Michael J. Davis

Casstus’Raye

      On the night Drakath named his Disciple Ta’Fain – an old tongue word meaning “master” – Casstus found out how true the old High-Chiefs words had really been.

      Drakath’Mal ordered him to the Keep throne room, a rare occurrence considering they usually met on the practice field or the conditioning area. When he arrived, the darklord lounged on his large iron throne languidly eating raw strips of meat, blood trickling down his chin. Casstus approached slowly, studying the strange etchings on the black granite floor and puzzling over the pulsing throb of the vein like lines covering the walls. The sparse torchlight revealed but a fraction of what he assumed to be thousands of glyphs and pictograms, some large and some small, carved into the ground. As to their purpose he couldn’t even speculate.

“Ancient things of magic, Casstus, far beyond your understanding.” Drakath said, as though he had read his disciples mind. Perhaps he had. “I said nothing, Master.” Casstus responded and saluted in the Drakarr’kan fashion, fist placed sharply to forehead. “You summoned me?” Drakath ate another strip of meat, flecks of blood and bits of some pulverized beast flying from his mouth as he spoke. “Yes, Disciple. Sit.” Casstus glanced around for a chair then began to sit on the ground when a man dashed from the shadows carrying a cushioned, high-back chair, set it behind him and then disappeared just as quickly.

“You have mastered the Wicked Flame sooner than I expected. Very impressive.”

“Thank you, Master.” Casstus said making himself comfortable in the chair.

“But I think I would enjoy seeing one final test of your skills before I name you Ta’Fain.” A devious smile creased the darklords lips.

“What did you have in mind?” Casstus asked nonchalantly.

“Ah, just a demonstration for some interested parties. But before I introduce our spectators allow me to explain what it is I would have you do. I have 20 of my Deathguards hidden within the hall, prepared to attack and kill you at my command.” He waved a hand and a man rushed out, retrieved the empty bowl from the arm of the throne and then scurried into the shadows. Casstus never flinched.

“You will be given no weapons and granted no mercy. My Deathguards will use all their considerable might and every instrument available to them to destroy you. I advise you to do everything in your power to prevent them.”

“And these spectators?” Casstus asked as he crossed his legs at the knees and shifted his weight, leaning further back in the chair.

      Even before he had learned the Wicked Flame, Casstus had been practically fearless. Now, with his Mana safely locked within him and ready for use whenever he should call upon it, dying had become a forgotten word in his vocabulary. He was so confident in his abilities that even the threat of Drakath’s highly trained and heavily armed Deathguard – any one easily capable of dispatching a dozen or more berserking Scale heathens without even breaking a sweet – gave him no anxiety or nervousness. All that he felt was the pulsing and surging of his Mana preparing for the inevitable. And eagerness.

“Horib, Terib, Come forth.” The Darklord boomed as though he needed to be heard but two young men appeared immediately from the gloomy, blackness behind the iron throne. Casstus knew them. “Kagen’s boys?”

“Indeed. They are to be my next disciples. I will teach them the Wicked Flame as I taught you.” The two stepped forward and each clasped forearms with Casstus. Horib, dark-haired and eyed like his father, introduced himself last.

“And I am Horib’Kaet, Lord Casstus. Our father has spoken of your exploits many times. It is an honor to finally meet Casstus’Raye the Ghost.