Chapter (A Meeting with Destiny)
Clunk, clunk, slick... clunk, clunk, slick.
Adrius shambled towards the castle's main gate. With pain burning deep in his aching legs he pushed through the heavy iron braced door. Adrius clinked and dragged his way across the large foyer, not at all touched by the magnificent size of the high stone walls, adorned with torches and scattered tapestries.
Swiveling his head from shoulder to shoulder he took in each fine stitched picture in its own right, all the while making sure he wasn't being watched from the floors above. The foyer was rounded and rose like the barrel of a gun aimed towards Heaven.
'This must have taken forever to build,’ he thought to himself.
Giving a quite whistle he allowed himself a half smile, grinning in spite of the pain that surged through him with every beat of his failing heart. His death close at hand and the legendary Vicari had begun to accept his destiny.
In his peripheral Adrius caught movement from one of the tapestries at the top of the left staircase's balcony. Squinting through the dim light, he tried to zero in on the motion. The cloth tapestry flicked as if caught in a breathless wind and Adrius smiled.
Set on his target he started towards the stairs, continuing to eye his surroundings skeptically as he went. The castle's foyer was like something out of medieval Europe. Adrius half expected to spot a "Knight of the Round Table" as he headed up the set of dark stairs.
Slowly but surely Adrius conquered the castle's first story. Wanting to further investigate the movement he had spotted, he crossed the balcony. Using his sword for a cane, as well as, a crutch he lifted the tapestry to reveal a doorway.
Far too small to lead to a hallway of much use, Adrius gently pushed open the worn wooden door and stepped inside. Standing only a meter inside the secret passage he heard the patter of soft footsteps not far ahead. He started forward sheathing his weapon and leaning the burden of his broad shoulders up against the wall of the narrow hallway.
“God please don’t let me fall dead this close. May the current grant me strength,” he prayed in a whisper. He could see clearly now the purpose of his destiny.
A mere fifty meters ahead of the dilapidated Adrius, Silver Fox walked spiraling up the steep incline to a little known balcony at the very top of the foyer. His bow in hand, an exact replica of his master's, he too carried a quiver of poisoned arrows.
Muttering to himself he prepared to take up his position of ambush. The Vicari were strong. He had no doubt that at least one of them would continue past his soldiers. And trying to confront his master, they would meet their doom. And as the servant climbed the incline of the tower's pass his Master made a glorious decent.
Bow in hand Famine slowly descended flight after flight his swords hanging lightly at his side occasionally clinking against the small exposed edge of his metal greaves, and even their black Ash metal had yellowed after years of his touch.
He wore a black robe over armor much like that of his riders. Unlike his fallen brother, War, Famine based his killings on stealth and speed. Preferring an ambush to a head down frontal attack. He taught his men to do the same.
The Horseman moved slowly down each stair one at a time until he stood atop the first story balcony overlooking the ground floor of the foyer. He had waited an eternity for this day, and anticipation blinded him to the otherwise obvious scratch marks recently added to the balcony's stone floor. He knocked an arrow and waited.
Running at full tilt in an attempt to get back to his brother before the beast discovered they was there, Angelo burst through the heavy basement door nestled between the two flights of stairs. Throwing his shoulder into the door as he twisted the heavy iron handle he sent himself crashing into the foyer barely able to keep his feet under him.
After catching himself, he froze dead in his tracks. Something was wrong. The current erupted into a surge of danger. Angelo's throat tightened and a familiar tingle ran the course of his spine. Worse yet that sickening thin feeling had returned. Dropping the Tears of Eden into his awaiting palm he spun on his heels just in time to split an arrow that a figure on the balcony had sent whistling toward him.
The archer had already reached for another arrow before the splinters of the first had hit the ground. Knocking the butt of the second arrow he drew and aimed. If he could not win by treachery he would do so with speed and skill.
His shoulders squared, Angelo held his ground. Wiggling his shoulders he shrugged off the rider’s cloak. It rumpled to the floor at his feet, a canvas painted in a sticky menagerie of different types of blood, none of it his own. The figure, who could only have been the Horseman, fired again.
The arrow tore through the air, moving in what seemed like slow motion through the steely emerald eyes of the Vicari. With a quick twist of his shoulders he let the shot float harmlessly past, skittering to the ground in a clatter of steel, stone, and breaking wood.
Angelo bent his knees. Cocking back every muscle in his body he loaded himself up like a cannon. The beast dropped his bow and drew his steel.
