Path Of Lyssa Prologue Ch 01

Path of Lyssa

is being written as part of a novel-writing challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!

Current word count:

7,180

---

Prologue

A snap of his fingers, and she was gone. Karaszen allowed himself a moment to enjoy the shivering, ringing echo of her scream against the stone, and then a further moment to take in the silence. With a serene smile, he lowered his hand to the bed once more.

This was much better. Though she had been an entertaining distraction these past years, a pleasant way of keeping his bed warm, the softening in his muscles told him that her absence was something he'd craved. Now he had time to think without her hungry mewling in his ear. Without having to answer more of her inane questions. Karaszen ran a hand through his lank black locks, which had stiffened like dry straw under the perspiration of his recent bout with his now absent beau. There was the comfortable, cosy warmth in his nethers, too, marking the last of their times together.

He stretched his lithe arms up over his head and winced out his pleasure, then hopped up from his mattress with an eager grin. Without his constant companion around to suck away his time like she sucked his dick, he could do anything he wanted. The evening was his to spend as he wished.

Karaszen's lengthy member, his pride and joy, slapped against his thighs as he jauntily made his way across the rug. It was still a little wet from her insides, a sloppy memory of her that would soon fade. Karaszen ran his long fingers across the row of bound tomes on their shelving along the wall, his fingertips reading the embossing and delivering their titles to his mind without his having to look at them.

Enchantments of the Shadow. Mordecai's Treatise on the Falsification of Life

.

The Tamyng of Darke

. Old reads, now. He'd retained all he needed of these books in his memory long ago. They were essentially only still here for the sentimentality and decoration. Paving stones on his road to glory. Now that his constant distraction wasn't around anymore, maybe he'd have a go at reading them again.

He passed along the wall and arrived at the tall, iron-framed window, pushing aside the black curtains and letting in the light. Dour clouds overhead obscured much of the burning sunset, their black shapes making the sky appear like a smith's coal-lined forge. Stray orange-red beams illuminated the jagged land around the Black Palace. They ran across the slate of the surrounding mountains' sheer sides like ethereal trickles of magma. Karaszen took the balcony door's handle in hand and stepped out into the chill.

He was naked, but that didn't bother him. He'd long ago learned to subdue and seal the chill beneath his senses. And if one of his army of servants were to look up at this crowning tower of the Black Palace and see him? See his lordly manhood? Well, that was no bad thing. Let them witness his grand stature!

Not that most of his workforce was in any fit state to appreciate a good cock. Leaning forward on the stone rim of the balcony, Karaszen looked down at the mass of writhing shapes in the valley below. The workers with their gaunt limbs and ragged leather skin. The soldiers in their dented bronze, hands forever clasped around their rusted iron weapons. The Dark Adherents in their deep cloaks, hurrying about with tall, self-important strides, making themselves look busy so that nobody would demand their time of them. Karaszen could respect that.

Many of the throng were dead, returned to life through grim enchantments. They dug the trenches and stacked the stones of Karaszen's increasingly grand Palace with an unyielding, inhuman persistence. Or they were slaves from the surrounding villages, forced to match the pace of their undead colleagues until they keeled over, spent. At which point, Karaszen would raise them up and have them continue. Marvellous.

He breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air. The clouds seemed to pull down towards him in obedience to his heavy breath. Then he let out a long, satisfied sigh that ran down the smooth walls of the tower and washed over the heads of the Dark Legion. The thousands arrayed to enact his will. Literally breaking themselves on the altar of his enjoyment.

Karaszen grinned. When he brushed at the long fringe of his dark hair, his fingers ran across the little black pearl inlaid into the skin of his forehead. It thrummed with trapped power at his touch, and then fell still. Yes, with a peerless workforce and impossible arcane powers at his command, vast acres of land subdued by the swords of his followers, his own fierce intelligence and ambition, and no hex-lorn woman to hold his attention, he really could achieve anything.

So, what should he achieve tonight?

---

1 - Strays

"

Lyssa...!

"

With a start, she came to. She sat up on the creaking surface she had been lying on and took a deep breath of air into her lungs. She coughed, spluttering out a string of mucus, and she raised a hand to her lips to keep the bile from scattering across her skin.

"Here, love. Drink."

A gnarled hand passed into view, holding a clay saucer brimming with chilled tea. The scent was sharp and arresting, tugging at the curtains still half-drawn across her mind. She took the saucer gratefully and drained the contents down her sticky throat. Sharp indeed! Another bout of coughing later, this time accompanied by a firm pat on the back by her unseen supporter, and she felt much renewed.

"Thank you," she croaked.

She looked about. This place was entirely unfamiliar to her. A small, cozy, heated room made of rounded granite bricks, lined with straw and with heavy wooden beams overhead ready to catch the brow of the unsuspecting. The woodwork in the two doors and long table was chunky and pragmatic, lacking the elegant swoops and subtlety that she believed she was used to in such furniture. Four stools, set before four sets of cutlery. And pallets just like the one she was sitting on. There were two others that were not hers, each against a different wall. Neither was occupied. And the round window just behind her head told her it was night when she turned about to regard it. The room would have been dark if not for the glow of a lantern suspended above the table from one of the roof beams.

Beside her was an elderly woman wrapped tightly in a fur-lined cape. Her pale face was a labyrinth of wrinkles, but her small, dark eyes glittered in the lamplight with a vigour she should have left behind long ago. Her clothing was thick wool in simple colours, save for a tasselled belt of faded red loose around her hips and another tying back her grey curls.

"You rise with the scent of sustenance, I see," the old woman chuckled. "That is well! No fiend of the Darke would react so familiarly to fresh food and drink. Are you hungry, love?"

She nodded her head, thinking of nothing else she could do. She could feel her own hands pressing against her stomach, though she hadn't commanded them to do that.

"You are in luck, then. My Tomas is a fine cook. His glazing is a work of art!"

The woman laughed fondly. Her hand came down on her bare shoulder. Her skin was warm.

"You are very welcome at our table," she continued. "I am Tabitha. And you are, love?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I..." she tried, then paused to lick her lips. "I... know not."

"You don't know?" Tabitha raised a hand the brushed at some of her hair. The gnarled fingers slipped smoothly through her silken locks. Tabitha pressed her touch against her temple with a curious frown. "A loss of memory, is it? That is truly inconvenient. You don't recall your own name, love?"

A face in the dark, a whisper on the wind.

"L-Lyssa."

"Is that right?"

"I... I believe so," said Lyssa. The name seemed to fit, for the most part. But it tugged uncomfortably around her, like a dress handed down from a stocky sister.

"You can usually tell much from a name," Tabitha smiled with coy mischief. "Knowing your own should provide the foundation for recalling the rest of who you are. 'Lyssa' is a common enough name among the village girls, but this body of yours!" The old woman laughed, her dark eyes aglint. "Your shape would fit much more neatly among the courtly women of the cities, Lyssa! And this hair! I imagine all manner of hearts could be tangled up in it! I hope you don't mind my saying so, of course."

Lyssa shook her head, at a loss for words. She glanced down her own body to try and make sense of Tabitha's words. She saw a rounded, feminine figure, large, pert breasts and a tight waist. Wide hips and creamy thighs bordering a trim bush of jet-black pubic hair. She reached up to where Tabitha's hand had stroked and measured her bouncing, curled locks around her own shoulders with fascination for her own, unfamiliar form.

"Nothing?" Tabitha shrugged at her. "My words not ringing true at all?"

"I am sorry..." Lyssa sighed. "I have naught within me, not even mine own face."

"You speak like a southerner. Does that sound right? The coastal cities of the ancient kings?"

"N-No. Only..."

"Yes?" asked Tabitha, leaning closer.

"I see... a man's face," Lyssa explained. She closed her eyes that she might recall the vision clearer. "He is close. He whispers my name..."

"What does he look like?"

"Dark hair, like mine... A firm jaw..." Lyssa swallowed, unaware of her own hand gently stroking at the sensitive skin on the inside of her bare thigh. "Luscious topaz eyes and thick, noble lips. A lord's hooked nose. And... something on his brow. A gemstone? Wh-What is it?" she asked next, opening her eyes to see Tabitha's smirk.

"You sound besotted, love!" the woman chuckled. "I don't recall ever meeting a man such as that out here in the woods, and I suspect I would recall such a comely fellow! But then again, we do get so few visitors. You are the first we have had in well over a year, and I can't imagine you came here by choice."

"No?" asked Lyssa.

"I found you bare as a babe and curled up tight in the grass," Tabitha sighed. "I could not suspect that you walked yourself here in such a state and then lay yourself down so casually. Especially with nothing to your name. No visible injuries, only the streaks of dried tears on your cheeks and... a scent. A scent like..."

The woman's gaze shifted away from Lyssa and off towards a horizon only she could see. But a moment later, she shook her head.

"Eerie things like this do happen from time to time, now that we are living in this Era of Shadow," she said instead. "The flow of mana is frightfully disturbed, thanks to the bloody Dark Legion. I had thought you some sort of forest sprite come to make mischief among my vegetables. But now that I see you up close, I can't imagine you as anything other than a human woman. And for now, that is plenty."

The woman's smile was warm indeed. Lyssa found her lips bending to mirror it.

"It is hard to find friends in these dark times. We must reach out whenever we can. And if you need a-..."

One of the two doors in the stone room opened up suddenly, and in stepped a young man. Lyssa believed him to be around seventeen years of age, based on context her waking mind couldn't recall. He had chestnut hair just slightly on the far side of unkempt, and dusky skin the colour of tree sap. His tunic had once been verdant, but it had faded with age and wear from rainforest green to winter pine, and the knees of his breeches were scuffed. But it was his eyes, dark and intelligent, which Lyssa used to draw the connection between this young man and the elderly woman seated beside her.

"Aunty, did you need my help to prepare the table?" Tomas asked at once. He had his hands crossed at his front in a show of obedience, but his dark eyes flickered shamelessly up and down Lyssa's nude form.

Lyssa didn't move to cover herself under the teenager's attention. In fact, she could feel her shoulders arching gently backward to accentuate the curve of her breasts, though she wasn't sure why she would do that. But Tabitha made up the difference. The woman moved with shocking grace in grabbing the empty saucer from Lyssa's hand and tossing it through the air at the young man's head. The clunk of dish against head resounded throughout the room. Tomas recoiled with both hands pressed over his temple.

"I'll prepare

your

hide with a good roast, you little pervert!" Tabitha snarled. "Get out of here!"

He retreated at once, tugging the door shut behind him.

Tabitha sat back on her hands with a weary sigh. "I'm terribly sorry, Lyssa love," she said. "You likely don't recall what boys his age are like, but let that be all the evidence you need to judge them. Randy, opportunistic little pests, they are. Not like us women at all."

Her aggravated sneer broke open into a wide laugh at once, and Lyssa was left blinking. Had that been some sort of joke?

---

Dinner was roast venison, served in slices and with a garnish of fresh herbs. Tomas laid the plate in front of her with a courtly bow fully at odds with their rustic surroundings, and his cheeks flushed with pride when Lyssa smiled gratefully for him. His aunt, meanwhile, slapped him on the back of the head as he passed her by. Still, the elderly spinster explained with a smile the rack of deer they were keeping chilled in the undercellar, the nearby glades where sprigs of herb could be readily collected, and the nest of bees that Tomas had been nurturing out near the back of the cottage, all ingredients in tonight's meal. When Tabitha started eating, she wrinkled eyes closed with blissful pleasure. And Tomas couldn't help but look a little smug from the far end of the table. Which left one additional plate of food.

"For Tomas' mother," Tabitha explained, spotting the angle of Lyssa's gaze. "My youngest sister. Now... no longer with us, I'm afraid. But we still like to leave out an offering for her each mealtime, don't we lad?"

Tomas nodded. "And then it goes straight to Gertrude, the lucky swine."

"Well, there's sentimentality and then there's wastefulness. Tamarin would agree, I have no doubt."

"So it is just the two of you here at all times?" Lyssa asked, pushing the cooked meat about on her plate with her fork. Her idle prodding nearly let the honey-glazed venison slip onto the lap of her new dress, gifted to her by Tabitha. She liked the way the dark wool hugged her chest and upper arms, but a belt would help pull the garment in around her waist for better effect.

"It was just me for longer," Tabitha answered. "Until Tamarin and her little boy came along. This was during the Lord's Rise, you see, the maelstrom that was the beginning of the Era of Shadow. Much safer for a young woman and her infant son out here in the protection of the woods than down nearer the cities, where Tomas' father had perished in the conflict."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, right. You

wouldn't

know."

"The Dark Lord's ghouls patrol all the major roads," Tomas told her around a mouthful of food with a sagely nod. "They venture into the woods from time to time, but they aren't nimble like living people are. Some even get preyed upon by the wildlife. And the Dark Lord needs those ghouls to keep harrying the borders of the nations on either side of us, so he doesn't like to waste them."

"These dark trees have always been good to me in that sense," Tabitha said with a smile. "Though they do not protect against all dangers. As we well know."

Lyssa drew her eyes across Tabitha's sad countenance, then to Tomas', then to the empty seat across from her own. There was a tale there, and a part of her wished to hear it. But she relented.

"I thought you said you were hungry!" Tabitha said to her next with the earliest hint of a scowl.

"A-Ah, yes. Of course." Lyssa obediently skewered some venison and took a bite. It was good... said a rational part of her mind. A calculating and logical part. Not the emotive and passionate part that had pushed out her breasts when a young man had laid eyes on them. She chewed and swallowed with easy familiarity, recognising Tomas' culinary talent in the conflicting crispiness of the texture, the juiciness of the meat and the sweetness of the glaze. But not really tasting it for herself. Deep within, deeper even than her stomach, another void remained entirely unsated.

"I hope you do not protest mine remaining here this even," she said by way of distracting herself. "Verily, I have nowhere else to turn."

"You may stay as long as you like, though I'd rather you help me around the house tomorrow morning as recompense," Tabitha smirked. "You any good with your hands, Lyssa?"

She looked down at them. Soft skin, free of blemish and callus. Finely sculpted nails. Not worker's hands at all. Still, something in the old woman's question caused her to smile.

"I believe I am," she said.

"Then you can help me in the garden," Tabitha said with a decisive nod. "Even a poor amnesiac like you can lend a hand. The onions are ripe, but many come up from the soil fallow. I would have you remove the rotten ones from the harvest and toss them to the roots of the hardy trees. You would be doing us a grand favour. My young layabout nephew will be free to fetch water from the river."

"Ahh, you aren't serious..." Tomas grumbled. "It hasn't rained in days! The well's practically empty!"

"Then it's a good thing we have someone freeing you up for the day, eh?" Tabitha chuckled.

Tomas grimaced down at his plate. But something caught his eye, and he glanced up towards Lyssa with a curious raise of his brow. And Lyssa, though she couldn't fathom why, winked at him. Tomas, flinching and reddening, dropped his fork with a clatter.

"But if we can reunite you with this handsome phantom of yours, love, we should be doing so," Tabitha continued, thankfully none the wiser.

"I shall have to ask other kind souls such as yourselves on the road ahead," Lyssa said with a smile. "Where might you suggest I begin my search?"

"If I'm suggesting anything, it's staying here," Tabitha replied with a frown, jabbing her fork at her. "The world outside has gone to rot, thanks to the Dark Legion. I didn't mean that as a suggestion that you should go gallivanting off into the wilderness like one of those heroic types. I instead meant that I send out some feelers. If we can deliver some letters out east, we might get something back. Stay here, love."

Tomas was also nodding his head, his dusky cheeks still faintly red. "You should stay. You can stay as long as you like," he told her.

"Thank you..." Lyssa sighed as her heart grew heavy from their compassion. She ran her fork through the layer of honey on her plate, her subconscious mind carving out the shape of the face of the man in her memory with her utensil. His eyes, beseeching her. His lips, naming her. The unspoken promise of... what, exactly? Something that made the void inside her quiver with eager excitement.

No, she could not stay. The whispered name was inexorable. She could no more ignore the call than she could decide to stop breathing. Looking up, her mind sought out what she would need to follow that call. She eyed the pair of leather boots hanging by their strings by the door, the shoulder satchel lying discarded underneath Tomas' pallet and the waterskin squeezed between two herb pots on the round windowsill. They weren't hers. In the deafening song of the man's whispered voice, that didn't seem to matter all that much.

Tabitha sighed. Lyssa couldn't tell whether she could determine her thoughts or not. "Sleep on it, I beg," said the old woman. "In the morning, we can discuss... maybe a shared trip out to Ducal Rout and the surrounding villages. Many strays from the south made their way up there after the massed armies of the Dark Lord razed their homes. Maybe one of those folks has seen your man. But that really is as far as I will take you, love. Any further east, and we will be in the shadow of the Dark Legion."