The Guardian Of Empires

The Beginning

Author's note:

The writer does not aim to portray any factually accurate historical events or real personalities in this story. The author does not intend to express support of any political, religious or philosophical movements. The author asks readers to take this book as a piece of art with the intention of bringing joy and inspiring mind and soul, as any other art does.

Prologue

A young man named Jacques-Louis Lazarus was rapidly walking through a pine forest to the south of the Lumi-Perro Mansion. It was late at night, the forest was immersed in silence and flooded by light from the waxing moon. The young man's heart was pounding, but his mind was clear as it was filled with fresh air first time after six months of imprisonment at Marquis's. The man was breathing deeply. Freedom made him feel like he was walking on air, and at the same time, straining his senses in fear of being hunted. Suddenly, in the distance, somewhere behind, he could hear hounds barking as they followed his trail.

Jacques-Louis hastened his pace. He wished he was close to a river or creek so he could wash the scent from his clothes, making it more difficult for the dogs to track. Sparse chance for this wish — no water around, only dry coniferous underlay with sharp stones. In the dark, Jacques-Louis clung to the boughs, with the sleeves of his shirt torn and his skin scratched raw by the thorny underbrush, which only made the dogs' job easier.

Dog's barking, low and loud. Giant dogs, getting closer and closer. The man realized his chances were slim, but this reckless attempt was his only hope.

Hounds' barking cut the night air, overwhelming Jacques-Louis with their unbearable loudness. The dogs were nearly upon him. Breathing heavily, he stopped and turned. Twinkling in patches of moonlight, dogs appeared here and there among the trees: large Bloodhounds and Blue Gascons. All of them were running right at Jacques-Louis. "They won't attack," he hopefully thought. He knew hounds were trained to follow prey and alert the handlers when the prey was cornered. He guessed it right: the dogs surrounded him, getting within distance of a kick, barking deafeningly, but not attacking.

Jacques-Louis's nerves were strained to the limits, the sight of bared fangs and massive jaws did not promise anything good. Cold sweat ran down his back.

In hot pursuit of the barking dogs are their masters who will soon overtake the fugitive. His only hope for escape would have been to reach the nearest village and climb over peoples' fences, cutting the dogs off and hoping that someone would offer him refuge. Now his odds of success were even worse.

Overcoming the fear paralyzing his limbs, Jacques-Louis turned around and ran again. The dogs, whose tireless barking grew louder, rushed after him. They were running next to him, and he was terrified. Some of them ran ahead, rushing to his feet; just a little closer, and they could bite. Jacques was running as fast as he could; the thought of freedom seduced him, fueling his strength.

He looked forward and hoped to see clearance between the trees. Instead, behind his back he heard something more frightening than the dogs: human shouts and the clatter of hooves. The chase was close, and Jacques, out of breath, sped up as much as his aching muscles allowed him to.

The forest became denser, and it was harder to run fast. Suddenly, he hooked a root with his foot and collapsed, slamming his hands on stones. Severe pain pierced his right foot twice: he stretched the tendons of his ankle, and one of the hounds, an enormous beast, driven by primal instincts or egged on by the shouts of her master, dug her teeth into his calf. Other dogs surrounding him in a dense ring continued barking. Hooves clatter and triumphant exclamations were closing in. Jacques was hissing and growling through his teeth, writhing in pain, grasping his injured leg with his hands. His fingers felt the blood oozing out of the wounds. Yet his mind remained cool and continued to work flawlessly. Yes, now he would be twisted up again and taken back to Lumi-Perro Castle. What should he do? Jacques-Louis crawled to a big stone, and lying supine, brought his smeared in blood palm to his face, smudged his temple and a part of his hair as well as the stone next to his head; then dropped his head to the ground, closed his eyes and froze. His ears deafened from hounds' barking. It seemed like all Cerberus's along with hellfire, surrounded him in a lasso of insane malice.

'There he is!' said a guard of Lumi-Perro.

'Cha-a-rming,' drawled the Marquis. His voice was cold and irritated. 'Is he alive? Did they bite him to death? Pick him up!'

'Come on, stop!' someone shouted at the dogs.

Jacques-Louis heard someone's steps next to him. The man turned him on his back and checked the pulse on his neck.

'Alive! But looks like he smashed his head. Unconscious.'

'No wonder,' assumed the Marquis in his strange way.

Jacques-Louis felt his hands tied; he was lifted like a sack of grain and thrown over a horse's rump. In this position, he rode through the forest back to the castle, cursing the day he made a deal with Alfonso Borges and allowed an introduction to the Marquis.

The procession entered the spacious courtyard of the Lumi-Perro castle, and the darkness of night grew warmer, cut by the flames of torches and oil lanterns. Castle servants full of curiosity wanted to see the fugitive, the only one who had ever escaped Marquis's control.

Jacques-Louis was overwhelmed with vexation, and the torment was so intense it washed away all the limitations of his rational essence. These people knew him as a friend of alchemists, sorcerers, and witches. Now it was time to pursue the excesses he had never been capable of.

Jacques-Louis was lowered to the ground.

Marquis bent over the bleeding prisoner, lit his face with a torch, squeamishly brushed wet hair from his forehead and tried to examine the alleged wound on his head. Jacques-Louis opened his eyes, his mouth had twisted into a vast, terrifying smile; his spine arched, his heels soaring uncontrollably into the air and then pounding on the ground. He screamed with all his might:

'Oh, what a miracle, blessed Jesus! Your hands are like sweet honey, and your glance is like the radiance of the omniscient sun! Beata Maria! Touch me again, tender angels, with the light gold of your naked skin. Oh, what an unbaptized beast I am! May your blessing come down upon me.'

The man burst into loud, insane laughter that made everyone who were present feel cold. They involuntarily folded their fingers to cross themselves, appealing to the Lord, and asking protection from the devil.