Charming, handsome and debonair. That is how many view Sauren Nightflame, leader of the elite Rogues Guild The Crimson Blade. But, beneath the polished exterior, a dark side lurks.
Victimised from an early age by some of the bigoted denizens in Cap...
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The twang of steel vibrating in a solid surface sounded for the umpteenth time. It was accompanied by an irritable grunt and increasing profanity.
A wooden construct at the top of the steps into Sauren's bedchamber had taken a severe beating over the last few days. Gouges in the roughly built wooden target were too many to count, the shavings and splinters liberally littering the floor at its base.
Two days prior to that, he had been too weak to even sit up in his bed. Recovery from his wound had drained him of his usual sprightliness. Monotony had set in.
His condition had irked him to the point he was unusually foul-tempered. He'd demanded Don and Reed fetch one of the training dummies up from the stores for him to vent his anger.
Their efforts had received a few titters from those observing the rigmarole as they huffed and puffed their way across the dust and grit of the courtyard with the tripod target. The dummies were deceivingly heavy and it took the two boys a good half hour to drag it up the spiral stairs which led to their young master's chambers. Their effort resulted in chafed fingers and a few splinters.
Don had delivered an array of throwing knives to Sauren earlier and by the time they had the target in place, he was so primed and frustrated before they had a chance to move out the way he threw the first blade – and missed. He roared his fury and both boys ducked, dreading an onslaught of awry steel.
"I'm going to kill that bitch!" he snarled.
"Not like that, you ain't," Reed smirked pointing to the knife still twanging in the door frame.
Sauren's eyes flared with irritation. "Perhaps I should try a soft target first!" He flipped a knife in his hand, curling his fingers around the leather handle.
Reed ducked behind the target again more to hide his smirk than to shield himself from Sauren's ire. He waited until he heard the thud of the blade hitting the target before he came out from behind. Sauren's face was still like thunder but Reed was pretty confident the half-elf was not going to skewer him.
"Who's the bitch?" Don asked.
Sauren threw another blade. It landed to the outer ring of the target. The result infuriated him more. "Troll!"
"Okay! I was only asking," Don said with a shrug.
Sauren glared at him. "Not you, you fool! The bitch! She's a troll." Another blade whistled through the air and barely skiffed the top of the target. It fell and slid across the floor in the adjoining chamber. Sauren huffed and threw himself back onto his pillows a string of obscenities falling from his lips.
"Oh," Don nodded as he moved round the room collecting the three blades already cast.
Reed took a seat on the longue at the other side of the room. He sat lazily, resting an ankle on the matching footstool. He cupped his chin in his hand as he leaned on the armrest and watched Don retrieving the blades like a hunter's pet would a kill. It was hard to conceal a smirk at Sauren's pathetic throws and subsequent frustration but he quickly looked away when the mahogany eyes stared at him. His shoulders however, could not conceal his mirth.
