Doors and Deaths

Matrew ran down the corridor; his feet pounding on the cold hard floor-stones. The sound of pursuit faded into the distance. A burst of laughter welled up deep inside of him; he stifled it to a quiet chuckle. No use giving his position away now he had escaped. They could never keep up with him.
Pellar, his father’s steward and Mayet, the manor’s chief maidservant, were both older than his parents, so it really was no surprise.
Pellar was a large man, with a great big grey beard and a head full of curly grey hair. He liked to joke that Pellar was fatter than he was tall and while this was not strictly true, it came pretty close in Matrew’s opinion. There was no way that he could keep up; he could not even run, he could not even walk, it was more of a waddle. Side to side he went, his thighs grinding roughly against each other. He had no chance of catching Matrew.
Mayet the chief maidservant, was a frail old woman. She had been a young woman when his father was just a boy and Matrew thought her ancient. She claimed it was undignified to run and she was a woman of extreme dignity. She had forcibly tried to impress upon Matrew the manners and bearing of a young lord on several occasions, yet somehow her teachings never held. She would be slowly gliding along the corridor, a steady, yet slow pursuit, with absolutely no chance of catching him.
Having put some distance between himself and his pursuers, Matrew slowed his pace to a walk. They would never catch him now. He trailed his fingers slowly along the delicate tapestry; enjoying the soft, silky feeling beneath his fingertips. He briefly stopped to admire his reflection in one of the gigantic mirrors which hung along the wall.
He was a tall, skinny youth, long and lean in appearance. His hair was long, hanging almost to his shoulders and it was so dark that it seemed to suck the light out of the room. His eyes on the other hand were dark brown and they seemed to shine in the light.
Ever since Matrew had reached his twelfth birthday his father had subjected him to an ever increasing workload. Matrew was expected to know geography, languages and history. It sometimes seemed to Matrew that he was expected to know absolutely everything.
He had run away from his reading and writing lessons again. He could speak and write in the languages of the West, Tolan and Asleash. He even knew a few choice words in the barbarians tongue, none of which Mayet or his Lady Mother approved. But now his father had decided that Matrew needed to be fluent in the languages of the savage Pic-tane, those of the Chatune Empire and those of the Eastern lands.
Pellar spoke almost every language fluently and thus he had been engaged as Matrew’s tutor. Matrew was sure that Pellar would rather be overseeing to his father’s estates and thus, whenever the opportunity presented itself, he would extricate himself, with all haste, from his hideous lessons.
He casually strolled through the manor; delighted with his apparent ease in freeing himself from his lesson. All he had to do now was make it back to any one of the many guestrooms.
From any of those rooms he could disappear. Servants had claimed that sometimes he seemed to vanish, they swore they had seen him enter a particular room, and yet when the room was searched no trace of him could be found.
His parents had long suspected that he had discovered some ancient, secret passageway, used to flee the manor in the event of an emergency, however, no-one seemed to be able to locate such a passage and Matrew had never yielded his secret. His father had even had a magician called in to search the area with his magic, however, that too had been a failure. The magician claiming that since his art had found no trace of any secret passages, there were none.
He had insisted on testing Matrew for any magical ability despite his father’s protests, yet that also proved unsuccessful. The truth was that despite the magician’s claim the secret passageways did exist.
Matrew had found them completely by accident. He was idling at a writing task for Pellar, toying with the ornamental glass chandelier above his bed, when his quill became, quite accidentally, lodged in one of the candles. He got up and stood on the bed reaching for the quill. He almost had it when he toppled forwards, his hands desperately grasping for any hold. In his panic his hands caught the delicate glass ball on the bottom of the chandelier and with a pop, it came free.
Much to Matrew’s amazement, the glass ball was still connected to the chandelier by a thin thread. To his further surprise, when he released the glass ball, it slowly returned to its original position and a small golden door swung open in the corner of the room. The most surprising thing was, that moments before, there had not been a door in the corner. It was magic.
This was where he proceeded now, to one of his secret doors. Quickly checking for anyone nearby, he slipped inside an unused guestroom and proceeded to pull the glass ball on the chandelier. As always a small door swung open in the corner of the room and Matrew strolled inside, shutting it behind him.

The room which Matrew stepped into was brightly lit, spacious, and well kept. He was always amazed, as far he knew no-one ever changed the candles, yet they were always burning brightly. The walls were covered in fine silken tapestries even lovelier than those which hung on the walls of the manor. The floors were laid with thick, intricately woven rugs, soft and smooth underneath his bare feet.
He simply did not understand the room. Who had hung these fine tapestries and laid these beautiful carpets? Why had they? As far as he knew he was the only person who knew about the doors. It just seemed a bit pointless. It was as if someone had built a secret house within a house.
Two other doors beside the one he had stepped through led from the room. Unlike the golden door behind him these were a pair of ordinary wooden doors. They led deeper into the secret house and it was to one of these that Matrew made his way.
Matrew skipped through the corridors of his secret house, revelling in his escape from his tedious language studies. He did not see why he had to learn the languages of the East. It was not as if he ever intended to travel there; he could not even imagine leaving the city of Tulan let alone the Kingdom of Tulay. The Chatune Empire and the Eastern lands were so far away and separated from the West by the barbaric Jaykin, Matrew could not understand why anyone would want to go there.
According to one of the many boring lectures that Pellar had subjected him to, the Chatune Empire was considered the mother of all civilized lands. Courageous explorers from Chatune had long ago braved the dangers of the barbarian plains and settled the lands of Asleane and Tulay. So too had the Chatune spread East, colonizing the lands of Malike, Zor-yne and Tamarine.
The West, Asleane and Tulay had been left to their own devices, the distances and dangers too great for governance. The Eastern lands, however, had been considered as provinces of the Chatune Empire, their lands subject to Chatune rule. Their lords and Kings being made to swear allegiance to the far distant Emperor. This state of affairs had existed for over five-hundred spans and thus it came as shock, when the child turned on the mother.
The Zor-ynians’ turned upon their masters conquering the neighbouring provinces of Malike and Tamarine and establishing the Empire of Zor-yne.
Now there were two Empires in the East, Chatune and Zor-yne and they were in constant conflict with each other. The East had become a land of death and war, where no man was safe.
His father was currently meeting with the ambassador from the Chatune Empire. His father was the ruler of one of the great noble families of Tulay. He was the Lord of El’mear, the King’s first advisor, and his uncle. He was the second most powerful man within the Kingdom of Tulay and he often met with foreign dignitaries at the behest of the King.
The ambassador from the Chatune Empire was an exotic man to Matrew’s eyes. He skin was a pale golden tone, lighter than any found in Tulay. His eyes were a strange green colour, the like of which Matrew had never seen before. His hair was a light brown colour which he wore, tightly bound in a complicated braid, that hung from the back of his head. He sported a thin waxed moustache and a small beard which covered only the middle of his chin.
His clothes, however were the most bizarre thing to young Matrew. His trousers were tight and hugged his figure. While his shirt was loose and billowing, the sleeves falling well below his hands. He wore only bright colours, hues of blues and yellow, disdaining the dark colours worn by the people of Tulay.
His father was meeting with the Ambassador presently and Matrew was curious as to the contents of their discussion. He made his way towards the section of his secret house which opened into his fathers private study. If he pressed closely enough against the golden door, which opened into the study, he could hear exactly what was being said. Conveniently, each golden door also had a glass peephole in the centre. A device that Matrew had often employed to check the way was clear for his reappearance. Therefore, he would be able to see what was happening as well.
Matrew approached the golden door that led to his father‘s study. His heart hammering a thunderous beat within his chest, if he was caught his father would punish him most severely. If there was one thing his father disapproved of it was spying.
Carefully he pressed himself against the golden door, closing one eye to better peer through the narrow peephole. His father sat on one side of the table and the Chatune ambassador sat on the other side.
His father was a small man, wiry and slender. His dark black hair was thin and receding, covering only the back and sides of his head. His face was clean shaven and he currently wore a smile.
The Chatune ambassador also smiled, although to Matrew’s eyes the expression looked forced.
They sat in silence each staring at the other. Then his father said something. Matrew muttered quietly, one of the words in the Barbarian tongue, that his mother and Mayet so disapproved of. They were speaking Chataine.
Matrew understood most of what was said. Tolan having developed from Chataine was a very close language and the two languages shared many of the same words. It was the writing he found most difficult; Chataine writing was incredibly complicated and ornate and while he could speak the language almost fluently he had great difficulty with the writing.
Nevertheless the pace at which his father and the ambassador spoke made the conversation difficult to follow.
It had something to do with moving troops across the Jaykin Plains, a feat even Matrew knew was impossible. The Jaykin were incredibly savage and permitted no trespassers upon the plains. It was death to try.
The Chatune ambassador insisted, that this was the fastest possible way for any sizeable force from Tulay to reach the Chatune Empire. His father agreed that this was so, but insisted that it was reckless and foolhardy to try, and that any force who attempted such a journey would almost certainly be lost to the savage Jaykin.
His father proposed that the safer route lead them through the Kingdom of Asleane to the south and then East, through the lands of the Pictane. The Chatune ambassador agreed that this was by far the safer route, although not without risks, as the Pic-tane were unlikely to tolerate any sizeable force crossing their lands.
The Chatune Ambassador’s major problem with the safer route was that it would take considerably longer for the men to arrive. His father sympathized with the ambassador’s desire for speed, yet made clear that he would never recommend the route through the Jaykin plains. The meeting ended there and the ambassador took his leave.
As the door swung shut, leaving his father in the office alone, Matrew let out a breath he did not even know he had been holding. The implications of the meeting he had just overheard, Tulay was not just considering joining the Chatune in their war against the Zor-yne Empire, they already had. They were simply trying to decide on the best route to bring a Tulayian Army into Chatune lands.
Tulay was at war with the Zor-yne.
Matrew was preparing to back away from the door, his mind reeling from the implications of the meeting between his father and the Chatune lord. Suddenly his father’s door burst inwards and a giant black cloud swept inwards. Matrew watched in horror as a large black clawed hand reached out and ripped into his fathers chest. He wanted to scream but all that came out of his mouth was silence, as if the vision of terror had stolen his voice. It was like something out of a nightmare.
He backed away from the door, unable to take the sight of the Black daemon tearing his father into bloody pieces. He turned and fled through the passages, running without thought, or direction, tears silently streaming down his face.
Screams rang out cutting through the eerie silence of the manor. It was his mother. He ran towards the sound, not knowing what he would do once he had reached it.
He did not stop to think, but burst through the golden door which lead to his parents chambers.
The scene he emerged upon caused the bile to rise within his throat. His mother lay in a pool of blood on the bed, a long dagger protruding from he chest. One man stood over her and another stood guarding the door on the far side of the room.
Matrew did not think, he just acted. He charged the man standing over his mother and they fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs. The man suddenly convulsed underneath Matrew and went limp. The hilt of the dagger protruding from his mothers chest had buried itself in the back of the man’s neck.
He turned to face the other man, rage overwhelming any instinct to flee. The man pulled a long curved sword from the sheath on his back and stepped towards him. For a brief instant Matrew knew absolute panic and then his rage inundated him. With disregard for his own safety, he charged the armed man. The move seemed to take the advancing man by complete surprise and he failed to bring his sword to bear before the young boy collided with him. They went down hitting the hard stone floor with a heavy smack, the man’s sword clattering loose across the ground. The man thrust Matrew from him sending him sprawling across the floor, rolled over and lunged for his sword his hand just closing on the hilt.
Matrew, having recovered quicker than his assailant expected, sprang onto the man’s back, pinning him to the ground before he could regain his feet. His fist closed in the man’s greasy hair and savagely he beat the killer’s head against the ground until all that remained was a bloody mess of skin and bone.
He slumped, the rage which had fuelled him in his attack flowing out of him, like a river bursting through a dam. He stumbled across to the bed and pulled the dead man from atop his mother. Crying anew, he sat on the edge of the bed and gently cradled her lifeless body.
She was a small, slim woman, with dark brown hair which hung to her waist. Matrew thought her the most beautiful woman in all Tulay, but now her beauty was marred by a horrible bloody gash which had ripped open her chest. Blood had soaked through the sheets of the bed, both his mother’s and the man’s he had killed and it soaked into Matrew’s clothes as he cradled his dead mother.
In his haze of sorrow, Matrew barley noticed when the smoke which began to billow into the room. It was only when he began to cough and retch that he noticed his predicament. Thick, black smoke filled the room and he was beginning to find it difficult to breath. He coughed harshly, gathering his mother in his arms he turned and stumbled from the room. Smoke filled the corridors and it was hard to see more than a couple of feet in front of him. Nevertheless he stumbled onwards, the weight of his dead mother growing heavier with each step.
He reached the large staircase which led down to the manor’s entrance hall and fell. He tumbled, rolling over and over as he crashed from stair to stair. His mother’s body came free from his arms halfway down the stairs. He, however, continued to fall, bruising himself on each stair. He hit the bottom stair with as thud and lay paralysed in extreme pain from the fall. He tried to stand, but his legs would not support his weight and so he crawled towards the large wooden doors, which led out onto the street, pulling his weight along with his arms. He was almost to the doors, when someone grabbed him, he felt a moment of intense shock, and than began to thrash about, struggling to be free.
“Stop struggling boy, I need to get you out of here,” spoke a deep and raspy voice. It was Pellar, he realized and so he ceased his struggling. Pellar easily lifted his weight and bore him from the manor. They issued from a door which smoke billowed out of like a giant chimney. Pellar waddled across the street and fell, his lungs heaving as they gathered in air. Matrew lay weeping, lost in the shock and horror of the moment. His parents were dead, they would never again hold him in their loving embrace, they would never again tell him that they loved him, they were gone. Mayet ran towards Pellar and Matrew, gathering the young boy in her arms, slowly rocking him back and forwards, whilst crying. His breathing came harshly and blood coated him from head to toe.
“They’re dead,” he spoke, his voice soft and sorrowful, “they killed my parents”. Mayet just stared at Matrew, tears running down her checks.
“I know,” she finally replied softy.
Matrew had no time to reply, pain engulfed him, his last sight was of thick black smoke pouring from the windows of the manor and then there was nothing, just silence and darkness.