Introduction To Casstus Raye

A brown robed man, cowl pulled low over crystal blue eyes, stalked his target silently through the thick and tangled undergrowth of the dark wood. In both hands he held a small crossbow of hardwood and iron aimed, for the moment, at the ground.

The man’s target stood in a small clearing some one hundred paces away, alone and still. The robed man slowly raised his crossbow and loosed the six-inch bolt at his intended victim. The moonlit figure dropped like a stone unable to take a step before it’s life-force drained from its body.

The brown robed man ran quickly yet silently towards his dead target. As he approached, he drew a small, curved dagger from a sheath at his waist. He stooped and struck deftly at the neck of the already dead, eight-point Yellow Chested buck – draining the animal of its blood. He stood erect – slightly over six feet – and surveyed the woods to his right, his crystalline eyes reflecting the multi-colored light of the three moons. With some quick movements of his fingers and hands, two figures emerged from the wood line moving quickly towards him.

“Dress and spit it, not but cheese and bread once we reach the Fens.”  The robed man spoke calmly as he slung the crossbow over his back and began walking towards the woods from which his men had came.

“By your command, Lord Casstus. Are you returning to camp?” One of the men asked, hands clasped behind his back.

“I will be in my tent Nee’Gat, do not trouble me till morning.”  The Disciple Casstus Raye said as he made his way across the clearing.

“Of course, my Lord.” Nee’Gat replied and bent to help his partner disembowel the large animal.

Casstus stooped under a limb as he entered the wood still a half mile from the camp where his small contingent of Shadowhunters awaited his return.

As he ducked and weaved through the heavy undergrowth, his thoughts strayed to his Masters orders. Seldom had Drakath’Mal deviated from his ambitions even when commanded by the Gods. The Darklord recalling all of Casstus’ hunters , especially the ones tracking the boy, confused him. But he was completely baffled by his Lord’s decision to suspend the corruption of Bo’Chek. Raldamn, at the very least he should have left Kazandra. She had that sot in Tillamun almost completely turned. A season or so more… His thoughts trailed off at the muffled shout of the sentry, “Lord Casstus approaches. Bowmen stand down. “

Casstus noticed the slight rustling of two trees at opposite ends of the encampment and a smirk flashed briefly across his square, beardless face. He had chosen his best Hunters for this trip to the Black Fens – a dangerous and disease ridden land of marshes and bogs – and they were proving it by their diligent security of the camp perimeter - even though they were only a few miles North-West of the Dread Keep.

Casstus drew the flap of his tent and slipped inside. He pulled the cowl from his head, revealing blond hair greased and pulled into a stubby ponytail. His broad, stone-like face bore the scars of battle and the lines and creases of many stressful years in the service of Drakath’Mal.

The brown robed Disciple stepped to a small wood and brass table and lowered his wiry frame onto the single matching chair. He reached for a pitcher of Hinthanian Ale – a thick, pungent green made from the sap of the Bantun bush, and a personal favorite – and filled his flagon, quickly draining and refilling before setting it aside. With a sigh, he leaned forward in his chair and pulled a piece of flax parchment from a stack on the corner of the table. Casstus grabbed the quill from the inkwell on top of the stack and began to write.

Brea Raye,

You, being the First of my harem and one in which I have confided such matters before, always offering me sound advice in the politicks of Drakarr’Kan…

Casstus continued to compose his missive to the First Mistress of his harem and mother of his only son Talian Raye.

…for I do worry about our Lord’s motives and the soundness of his decisions concerning Bo’Chek and the boy, Akina Banebow. Also, see what they can learn of this girl Ana’Ika he finds so intriguing and have them learn, if their skills are as good as you say, what powers she may possess.

He paused long enough to drain his flagon and dip his quill before returning to his letter.

Stay on Talian and his study of the forms. The boy is highly skilled but I fear he enjoys the hunt too much. It distracts him and he is unable to focus properly on the teachings of the Wicked Flame.

Casstus concluded his letter to the First Mistress of the Raye harem, one of the few people he trusted in the kingdom of Drakarr’Kan , and signed it with a large flourished C.

A Rough Draft Opening To A Novel

The boy lay curled on the ground in agony, pain throbbing through his veins, his head and his body. The hard cobbled alley seemed to bite into his very soul. The stench of decaying rubbish and putrid refuse strangely enhanced the horrible feelings. He tried to open his eyes but the bright noonday sun forced them shut. Ral help me, the boy thought. I will never do that… A sharp kick stopped his prayer abruptly.

"Boy, get up!" A gruff voice pounded in his pained head. The boy didn't move. Another kick. "Faldamnit, get up, Akina! Stand and see!" Akina, the boy thought, is that my name? He cracked his eyes open to see, to try at least. The sharp light of the sun stabbed needles into his eyes. He started to close them again. Begging, wishing for sleep that had eluded him all night because of that Faldamn dung he'd been…

"Keep 'em open, Boy. Ral's Light what have you been doing Akina?" The voice asked. That name again, the boy thought, why does he keep calling me that? Am I him? Who am I if not?

He forced his eyes open, despite the pain, and the face that he saw shocked him to realization. He climbed to his feet as quickly as he could manage and positioned himself in a rigid stance, arms straight and flat against his side, hands balled in tight fists. Pain still bloomed within him however, he was disciplined enough to ignore it. For now.

"That Faldamn poisonous junk ain't it, Akina?" The man, Teka was his name, said quietly as he inspected the boy's eyes and lifted his lips, looking closely at red and white splotchy gums. 

"Stop Teka; it is." Akina said quietly while holding the large man's black eyes coldly. "It is time then?"

"Yes, Akina, why else would I be here? Your father is awaiting you in Bane's Glade." Teka replied stepping away from the boy yet still eyeing him up and down.

"Then we ride, Spearmen. And you will refer to me as you always have and not 'boy'. Do you understand me, Teka?" Akina said with a strong voice - a leader's voice - despite the pulsing pain coursing throughout his body.

"Perfectly, my Lord. I was only…"

"Save your words Teka" - Akina paused to choke down bile -" I am in no mood to hear any more. Let us leave this place. Where are the horses?"

Read This Or I Will Send Casstus Raye The Invincible To Assasinate You

"Most of those stories are exaggerations, young man." Casstus replied simply. "How is Kagen? With his Harem I hope."

"Yes Lord Casstus, he is and getting fat since the end of the war." Horib ended with a soft laugh. He was obviously the eldest and most dominate of the brothers.

Casstus didn't particularly care about the two in front of him or their father. He was focused on the twenty tense warriors that he sensed hidden around the massive and mostly pitch black hall.

      The Dark Disciple of the Wicked Flame could pick out five to his right with crossbows at-the-ready, 10 scattered behind him - assorted weapons in hand. The other five crouched aggressively, on the balls of their feet like Ridge Tigers waiting to strike.

      He stared crystal blue daggers at the two brothers eyes until uneasiness field them and they stepped behind the throne.

"Shall we, Master?" Casstus smirked briefly. Drakath chuckled in amusement, "We shall, my Disciple" And waved his massive hand.

      Casstus stayed seated but turned his chair to the left as crossbow twangs echoed through the strangely silent hall followed instantly by dull thuds as the quarrels impacted the teak wood and red-velvet chair. Now, directly in front of him, the five Deathguards poised to leap from the shadows met a hail of tiny balls of fire spewing from the outstretched fingers of the Dark Disciples hands. Each marble-sized globe of flame scorched and seared themselves through bone and flesh, leather and metal with equal intensity; burning vital organs and killing instantly anyone caught in the fiery spray. He rolled head-over-heels into the darkness and disappeared.

      Casstus, using his late father's teachings, melded into the shadows as he stooped to retrieve a sabre and knives from the nearly incinerated body of a foolish Deathguard. He pressed himself against a pillar breathing heavily as he slipped a dozen throwing-stars and daggers into various slits and slots in his heavy leather armor. Calling on the chaotic and barely controllable ball of strength and will, what he had begun to call Mani, allowed him to do amazing things but at a cost.

      Every time he forced strength into his limbs to achieve unbelievable speed and power or channeled the inherent heat of his body to throw flaming balls of fire, he weakened and needed a moment to recover. The Disciple had to be especially careful of drawing to greatly upon his Mani for it could utterly destroy him, burning his body from the inside and leaving nothing but ash and melted jewelry.

      The Dark Disciple took a deep breath, steadying the raging inferno of power threatening to burst through the mental barrier encompassing it, then leaped dozens of feet over his toppled chair and landed in the middle of five startled crossbowmen trying desperately to crank their bow winches. With a flurry of slashes and cuts, dodges and parries - all blazingly fast and lightening quick - eviscerated bodies began crumpling to the ground without so much as a muffled moan.

      Again Casstus flattened himself against a pillar and channeled Mani to enhance his senses, sending them out across the great hall. He could smell the fear and anxiety of the ten remaining Deathguards. He heard the faintest sounds of sabers, swords and pikes lightly brushing leather or metal and the hushed whispers of the remaining Deathguards.

"Fal protect us where is this monster?" One croaked quietly.

"Fal protects the brave not cowards, Dratith. Undercap'n, Raldamnit what …" Casstus pulled his senses back not interested in their plan, he had his own,

      Stepping from the darkness, saber held loosely in his hand as he drug the tip across the rock floor, Casstus Raye the Invincible strolled nonchalantly into the center of the big hall. "Undercaptain,, order your troops if you must but I would rather not kill such a distinguished and recognized unit of Drakarr'Kan's finest." He said that last word with an indignant snort attached to the end. Through his Mani enhanced senses he could hear growls and curses and snarls. And then the patter of leather soled feet moving swiftly over the granite floor.

      With the same blazing speed of his sword-work, the Dark Disciple hurled throwing stars and knives with his free hand into the rushing Deathguards. Nine bodies fell, leaving the Undercaptain - recognizable by the crossed swords embroidered on his collars - charging straight for Casstus.

      The Dark Disciple and soon to be Ta'Fain of the Wicked Flame, sidestepped and crouched at the very last instant using all his might and the tiniest bit of Mani to drive the saber through the officer, cutting him in two at the waist.  The momentum of the running man carried his bottom half several paces while his torso toppled forward, spilling organs and intestines in a sickening plop.

      Casstus stepped over the still gurgling and sputtering Undercaptain sticking the blade into his chest and continued toward Drakath and the applauding brothers.