A Bit of My Writing

Because Mich asked to see what I was working on, Here are the first few pages of my novel =] I hope you like it!
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Prologue

            You won’t live through this, his racing mind taunted him; they already know what you’ve done. You’ll soon be found, and then they’ll kill you like they killed all the others.

His heart pounded faster with each step he took as adrenaline screamed through his veins. He pulled at his collar, unable to gulp down enough air to relight his darkening vision.

Oran Caine bounded through the torch-lit halls of his former sanctuary, the Temple of Spirit, pausing only to gaze wistfully out a window at the home he would never again see. He checked his pocket for the thirtieth time and sighed with relief; the stone was still there. He pulled at the cloth that held it, tightening the knot that held the Allsight in its place and praying to the highest stars that the voice in the back of his mind was wrong.

They know where you are, the voice growled, they can smell your sweat. They can sense your fear. They can hear the blood in your veins. He tightened his vice grip on the Allsight and bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. He had to live through this; failure was not an option.

Several times, he could have sworn he had heard footsteps closing in on him from behind, but every time he was wrong, simply paranoid.

Paranoia serves you well if it keeps you alive, he reminded himself.

He approached a corner; the last one he would see before freedom was his. Destron would find that the stone was gone; there would be men everywhere. Then what would he do?

Die, the voice stated flatly. Oran pressed himself against the cold stone of the wall, dragging his head along the rough surface to see around the corner. No one was there.

He pressed his hand once more against the velvet cloth in his pocket, running his shaking fingers over the hard bump that was the reason for his life and, if necessary, his death.

Too many people had already given their lives to keep the Allsight hidden since Oran’s own younger brother, Destron, stole it. Even in the few weeks that the Allsight had been in his possession, Destron had begun to build an empire. Hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children had fallen under his blade, and a good number of those remaining were undyingly loyal to him. Oran had watched his beloved friends die one by one, and stood, restrained and helpless, as their homes were torn apart. Now, as the only remaining Elemental Royal, Oran had no choice…

 No one else could die by his brother’s hand; Oran would see to it.

He stepped out into the hall and turned the corner, staying on his toes. This hall was not carpeted, so each pitter of his footsteps seemed a thousand times louder than the last. Flames flickered from the torches that lined every wall, leaving ghostly shadows that danced and flailed on the ceiling and floor.

Footsteps sounded behind him, loud and clanging from the echo of the stony walls. There was no mistaking it; he was no longer alone.

He slowly unsheathed the knife at his belt, pressing his thumb into the swirling engravings in the handle, and running his thumb over the clear stone at its base. High-pitched metallic ringing sang through the air as he spun to face his pursuer.

Empty, ice blue eyes stared straight through him as he came to face his younger brother, Destron. Frigid air flowed from him in angry waves, sending trembles up and down Oran’s spine. He had dreaded this moment to his very core.

See? His mind hissed, die. He silenced his irritating inner voice.

Destron stepped forward; his eyes narrowed to slits as he began to slowly circle Oran, like a vulture waiting for its prey to die.

“My, oh my,” Destron murmured, “How our positions have changed.” He continued faster than Oran could answer. “You were a king,” he hissed, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Now, look at you. Reduced to thievery; and from your own brother.” He put a hand to his chest in mock hurt, “I am quite disappointed, your most royal majesty.”

“I have stolen nothing, but aye, our positions have indeed changed, Destron. Though, not quite as you say.” Oran took a stride forward, closing the distance between them, and pressed his knife slowly into Destron’s chest. A small trail of blood soaked through his white shirt, spreading outward as the dagger sunk deep enough to touch bone. Destron sucked air through his teeth and let out a low, bellowing laugh. He took a step back, still holding Oran’s gaze. The bloodstain faded and the wound disappeared, leaving only a thin hole in the shirt where Oran’s knife had been.

Oran felt the blood leave his cheeks as a cruel grin spread ear to ear across his brother’s face. Malicious intent was blatant in his cold eyes.

“It seems to me,” Destron snarled, “that you are greatly outmatched. You stand no chance.” He held out a hand, “Return the Allsight, and I’ll leave you with what’s left of your life.”

Oran glared down at the hand in front of him, remembering that his own hand still held the dagger. In a flash, with speed that surprised him, Oran whipped the knife outward. The tips of three fingers fell to the floor between them; they were Destron’s.

“You should know by know how difficult it is to bargain with me,” Oran said, backing away from his brother’s still outstretched arm, “Try healing that.”

 A look of pain and furious loathing replaced the smug grin on Destron’s face as he advanced. Oran continued backward, not daring to look where he was headed for fear of taking his eyes off his brother for even one second too long.

Blood dripped to the floor from the three mangled stumps, leaving a splattered red trail behind Destron, “Stupid idiot,” he growled, his voice lowering in pitch with each step he took, “You have no choice. You will give me the stone sooner or later.”

As a dozen of Destron’s soldiers rushed around the corner, cold stone hit Oran’s back, dropping his heart to his kidneys. There was nowhere to go now. He closed his tired eyes, turning his face to the floor, and sheathing his dagger. Deep laughter bubbled up from Destron’s chest.

“Fear not, brother,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them, “I’ll be quick with your death.” He raised his bloody hand and touched Oran’s neck, pushing on the underside of his brother’s chin to force eye contact. “Aren’t I kind?”

Oran grimaced as he felt three separate trails of blood gushing down his neck and slowly lifted a hand to touch his brother’s chest. “Forgive me, brother,” he whispered, and, with tears in his eyes, shoved Destron backward.

Flames jumped from his palms, engulfing his brother’s body and throwing him backward. Blood-boiling screams rang through the air as Oran watched his brother burn. The soldiers raced forward, half kneeling to comfort their fallen emperor; the others lunged for Oran. He jerked to the side and barely escaped an axe to the cheek. His chest heaved and ached with each wrenching sob as he raced forward and through the two soldiers facing him. He dodged and wound through the angry army until he was once again racing down a straight, carpeted hallway.

He would have killed you first, he tried, over and over to tell himself, repeating it in his mind as though it was a prayer.

Oran wiped his wet eyes and reached into his pocket to retrieve the Allsight. He slipped the pouch out into his hand and, with shaking fingers, untied the knot, letting the cloth fall open in his palm to reveal the precious gem.

Bright lights shimmered through the air as his mind was sucked into the stone, the scene around him changed in flashes of trees and buildings and things he didn’t recognize. Each world he viewed was more curious than the last as he tried to decide which one would be his new, and final home. Lights of every color danced around him as a strong wind started up, pulling him closer and closer to the opening vortex before him. He tried to avoid thinking of his brother, screaming and writhing as the flames consumed his body. Oran glanced behind him one last time to see how far back the soldiers were before turning back to the swirling mass of color and light and racing into the vortex. His heart ached with the results of the unfortunate battle as he slipped the Allsight back into his pocket and continued toward his new home, letting himself fall silently into the headlong rush, and leaving Satera behind forever.

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It is only the Prologue, but I'd like to hear what you guys think =]