Dracen Phyre - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Whatever happened behind closed doors never stayed a secret. Secrets had a tendency to bury themselves deep in the mind and fester. They would grow in the dark recesses until busting forth with breathless reveal. Secrets were some things that needed to be expressed. They needed the outlet of being told. Secrets didn’t need to remain secret anymore.
Chasen knew all of this. She’d stood outside many closed doors in her lifetime. Doors that would eventually open to reveal all. It seemed to be the favorite way for most people to tell her things. Things that they had to take a moment to compose so that the information was told correctly, succinctly and occasionally without emotion. Tidy. Her hazel gaze flicked to the locked door and then back to her hands. She continued to carefully pick her cuticles and fingers with a knife. She had nothing but time. The small blade rested easy in her grip. A sign that she was quite capable and comfortable wielding the polished silver. The only thing she could do was wait.
Staring quickly becomes boring after a while, especially when what there was to stare at wasn't that interesting from the start. Though, she reflected, that was the point. The Capital wasn’t meant to be beautiful or showy. It was not a place to exhibit the fine architecture and grandeur of the empire, it was designed as a fortress for the Council; a stronghold to protect the leaders. That was certainly evident in the drab grey stone arches and bare walls. There were the sparse furnishings in the over nighting rooms for the visiting hunters, but those were private quarters. Most hunters were assigned to the attached barracks when they were summoned. In most public areas of the fortress there wasn’t even furniture placed for waiting Hunters to relax. Though no Hunter would relax, there was too much going on in the world not to remain ever vigilant.
Chasen finished with her maintenance, blowing a short huff of breath over her nails, and slid the blade into the sheath strapped tightly on her left forearm. She reattached the strap that held the blade snug in place. Her fingers caressed the leather in habit ensuring that all was in place. It creaked slightly with age beneath her fingertips. The worn brown leather rested close-fitting and comfortable for movement, the angle just right for drawing at a moment’s notice.
She leaned forward and rolled her shoulders, working kinks out from standing for long hours waiting. Feeling a twinge in her lower back, she stepped forward and stretched. Arms reaching over her head as her hands reached for the ceiling. With a crack and pop, she shivered in delight. Readjusting her waistcoat over her breaches, she shifted the belts criss-crossing her waist into a more comfortable setting. The weapons and pouches shifted to more comfortable positions on her hips. Her right hand slid to the little pocket on her coat her fingers gliding over the gold chain that dangled out and slipped though the nearest button hole. She pulled a tarnished bronze pocket watch and noted that she’d been waiting for almost three hours. She’d wait as long as it took.
Still, her cheeks puffing in frustration, Chasen hoped that it wouldn’t be much longer; though she wasn’t surprised knowing the Council. Every decision that affected any Hunters was carefully scrutinized and debated. They would take as long as they wanted and needed in order to ensure that all possibilities had been explored, all to make sure that the best decision was made. There was some comfort in that kind of dedication, but there was also frustration in the lengths of time it often took. Damn bureaucracy. Chasen had little patience for anything outside of the Hunt.
As she fell back to leaning against the stone wall, she crossed her feet at the ankle, rolling them inside her boots to get the blood flowing a bit. It would only be a matter of time before the Council decided what they were going to do. And time was all she had at the moment. She had not heard any news of a Hunt nor had one been issued to her. She had time to kill until she had a chance and leave to visit the tavern with the available Hunts. For now she waited, hoping that the summons from the Council meant something was brewing. An idle Hunter was a dangerous Hunters. She’d heard from others that things were brewing. Big things. Chasen only had a vague idea that the meeting concerned the future of the Hunters. It seemed that it was time for another life changing closed door reveal. She knew that it had something to do with why the world had gone to Hell a millennia or so ago. Literally.
The clang and whir of the deadbolt lock mechanism sliding alerted Chasen that the Council was coming out. She pushed away from the wall and straightened her back. Wincing as her spine popped the twinge that had settled in again. Out of habit she slid her fingers through her hair, pushing stray streaked brown and gold hair behind her ears. Fingers danced over silver and gold ring twists in cartilage and flesh. Chasen moved to stand at attention, ready for the Council. Her hands falling in a loose clasp behind her back, as she balanced with her feet shoulder width apart and stood straight with her shoulders thrown back puffing her chest out. She was ready to move through the bowing and shows of respect that were taught at the academy. She’d done fair in the etiquette class that had shown her what to do when meeting the Hunter officials as well as when encountering other species of sentient beings. Proper etiquette could save one’s life when out on a Hunt.
Chasen frowned as an assistant peeked out the door, his deep red drape trimmed with bronze showing his rank as second to Orton. Orton was the current head elect of the Council. He raised an elegant dark eyebrow at her. She hesitated, giving him a thoughtfully and puzzled look. He huffed and gestured with empathic impatience to come forward, the sour twist to his mouth telling her to get her ass moving.
Rolling forward on the balls of her feet, she made her way quickly to the door. As she followed him quickly thorough the open portal, great surprise filled her that she was being asked inside. She paused hesitantly on just the other side of the door. With an impatient and exasperated huff, the assistant nudged her further inside and to the right as he moved to close the door. Normally only those members of the Council along with their seconds were allowed to pass through this particular door. She waited nervously, her fingers itching to reach for her blade to keep her hands busy, as Orton’s second re-bolted the door; the gears and mechanism whirring, they settled in a clanking thud. He turned as the bolt slid into place, the resounding clunking echoing with finality off the stone walls.
Swallowing nervousness, Chasen fell into step behind him. She tried to push the feeling of foreboding deeper into her stomach. It certainly wouldn’t do to vomit on the Council chamber floor. A subtle hand motion as they entered the lit area caused her to stop and stand at attention again. The etiquette classes springing to the front of her mind again. This time, she faced the seven family heads that made up the Hunter’s Council of Elders. Each member sat in a chair draped in worn and faded family colors. A cape with silver trim hung from each chair.
Sweat beaded at her temples. The light was bright, but not hot. She felt like she’d run six miles, and barely refrained from panting nervously. Nowhere in any of the courses she’d had had there been an instance of such a meeting. These men and women were the most powerful people in her sphere. It was a gathering of the Hunter elite. A typical Hunter may meet one member of the Council over the course of their lifetime, maybe two, but only a handful would ever meet the full Council. And even then it was typically when something horrendous had occurred and a tribunal was called to meet out justice.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her family head sitting, angled to watch her, his second stood to his left staring straight ahead. She sent a prayer to the ancestors that she didn’t dishonor the Davenport name. The second for Orton was standing beside his master’s chair, bent and whispering to the older woman. She was likely in her mid-sixties. An eye patch over her left eye marred her otherwise flawless face. Chasen was impressed. She remembered stories of how talented a Hunter Elder Orton had been in her prime. But to see that evidence before her, Chasen was astonished. Most Hunters had some disfiguring mark or scar marring their face, but Elder Orton had never had her left eye to begin with.
Chasen tensed as all eyes around the circle moved to her, scrutinizing and judging. Elder Orton’s lips curled into a smirk at something her second said. Her fingers flicked and a dismissal of the man. He then fell a step back and stood at attention behind her left side.
Orton sat forward, steepling her fingers in front of her. “Chasen Davenport.”
Chasen shivered and gulped. The sweat dripped down her face, pooling in the hollow of her throat. “Step forward my child.” Chasen moved as though she were one of the marionettes she’d seen as a child in the streets of the Human hamlets.
“We have an assignment of tremendous importance for you,” Orton’s eye studied the young Hunter. The girl was practically shaking in her boots. She was beginning to feel trepidation at giving the girl this mission. Even with her record and the stories, Orton felt the doubts creeping in.
Something must’ve shown in her face as Elder Sanchez spoke up. “Miche, stop simply staring at the girl.” His gentle rebuke reminded Orton of the first time she’d faced the full Council when answering the summons to be a second.
With a grateful smile to Sanchez, she softened her gaze at the girl who couldn’t be more than twenty five. This was a heavy responsibility to place on one so young, but she had to be the one. Everything that the Dreamer had sent word about indicated that the one to start it all again had certain qualities.
Young Davenport had them in spades.
The Council had discussed the message from the Dreamer extensively before looking in each family for the one. Several candidates were presented and discussed. Many were older and more seasoned Hunters, a few from Davenport’s generation; all excellent Hunters. Their community had grown strong in the years since the Eruptions. Orton felt a glow of pride in her people.
Overall, Davenport’s name continued to maintain prominence in the listing. Orton would have doubted earlier on, but Elder Davenport had never pushed or cajoled as other Elders had. He’d carefully considered and regarded all candidates carefully. That care and precision was one of the traits the Dreamer had indicated a need of.