Prologue: A Failed Plan
The tiny ragtag band fled through the rolling field for their lives.
It had all gone wrong, their mission ended in failure, and they themselves revealed to the night.
The leader, a young man of his early twenties, ran in the center and ahead. Over the pound of his pulse and feet he listened to the distant padding of his two companions. One single thought kept drumming through his mind with each breath he took.
How did they know?
His mission had not been a light or easy one. Assassinating an emperor, one as powerful as he was corrupt, was a tremendous risk. He’d received four years to carry it out, and his own pick of five partners for the task. For his limited experience, the responsibility and faith was a surprise. But he’d determined to prove himself worthy. So, he had watched, waited, planned, and implemented without a single misstep. There’d been no error, he was sure.
Following a lead from his informant, he waited for the emperor to take a routine visit to Saron, one of the riverside towns east of the capital. He’d marked the imperial coach’s insignia, counted how many guards would be in the escort. Everything needed to plan. He set up his ambush in time for the customary rest at an upscale inn outside the town borders after sunset. The guard lowered while emperor was inside, left only two soldiers to loaf and watch the coach.
That was their moment of opportunity, their target’s moment of weakness. They’d quietly done away with the unprepared men. Next, two of his team dressed in the soldier’s uniforms matched to fit, the helmets masking their faces in the dark.
He, along with his remaining two companions, waited within with their crossbows. Meanwhile, the last member of the team hid in the tall grass to keep watch.
The plan was simple and perfect; he was certain it had been without flaw. Emperor Dabyan always insisted on opening his own coach door and getting in first. The young man’s source told him that and he’d verified it for himself before in the months he spent watching his target. He would fire as soon as the door opened, and they would drive off before the soldiers could mount their horses. Next, they would abandon the coach at the river and swim downstream. When they reached separate spots to emerge, they would make their way back to a rendezvous point. There would be no way to trace them. He was certain there’d been no flaw left un-patched, no risk un-thought of.
But something went wrong.
How did they know?
He’d heard his hiding comrade in the grasses outside yelp in warning as the door opened. Startled, he fired on pure reflex- and hit a soldier who’d opened the door instead. The emperor had chosen to break his routine in that moment.
How?…
Confused, he’d yelled for his men outside to drive. But the orders went unheeded. In the disastrous following seconds. he and his two comrades in arms struggled to escape the coach. Outside, as they battled their way free to flee into the dark fields, they’d found their teammates slain without a sound.
How had they known?!
Now, the man brushed perspiration and congealed blood from his brow as they raced through neck-high razor-grass. Their weapons abandoned and lost, notions of flight taking priority over fighting. As fast as feet could carry them, they made their way for the distant river.
Their feet carried them away from each other as well. It made sense. If anyone was to escape alive, it was better to be a sole survivor than a group of captives or corpses.
Divide up the pursuit…
The whistle of arrows sang from the distant hill behind him, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Two perfectly aimed arrows.The failed leader heard a sudden gasp of death to his left and a thud, then a second one to his right. He was alone and the last man running. He closed his eyes and tried to run faster, knowing that the third arrow would be for him.
He heard the hissing whistle and switched his direction farther north. There was a sharp strike to the ground behind his retreating heel. He’d gotten out of the arrow’s path and the archer’s range in time.
It’ll be all right. I’m going to make it. Just a little further…
He might have failed, he might have lost four brave and good friends, but he’d live to tell the tale. He might even have a second chance to return and complete his mission. Not all the mounted soldiers in the emperor’s army could catch him now.
But wait…why aren’t they chasing me already?...
Still with a sense of triumph in his heart, and still running, he glanced back at the hill- and stumbled in shock.
Shit...
He’d thought all or most of the soldiers would either be in pursuit or standing on the hill with their crossbows. Hitting three moving targets so swift one-after-the-other required at least two skilled archers.
Instead, he saw a solitary figure upon that hill, silhouetted against the night. It dropped the crossbow to the earth and put a hand to its lips with a grace that instantly told him who the archer must be.
Not him…of all who served the emperor…only he could have figured us out…
A low sonorous sound, more like that of a dying wolf’s howl than a whistle, swept across the plains. An icy chill of dread crawled up the man’s veins.
“No…”
He moaned in despair as he turned and tried to run faster. There was no doubt about who his adversary was now. There was only one creature in the emperor’s stables who answered to that call, and she only let one person ride her….
But he’s not supposed to be here! He’s supposed to be up north! That’s where the last letter said he’d be! Why’d he change his damn mind for? How did he guess?
The young fugitive knew now that he was doomed as sure as he ran, to worse than death if he was lucky.
He reached up and felt for the familiar weight around his neck. He tried to think of home, friends, his father, his sister, any comfort to keep his feet flying and block out the approaching hollow hoof beats. But the sound seemed to echo throughout his head more than in his ears. He heard the river only a few lengths ahead now, could feel the land smoothing downwards under his feet. He only had a little further, and not even that thing could touch him in the pure running water…
Five more paces…just five more…four…three…
There was a roaring whinny right by his ear, and an open hand struck the back of his head, swatting him down like a mayfly. Pitched forward, the young man tumbled until he struck a boulder head-first. Stars exploded in his vision. Grimacing with pain, he turned over to see his attacker as the rider wheeled around to face him.
The horse that snorted and pawed at the ground was shadow-colored except where the moonlight touched its flanks and shone in a ghostly hue. The malevolent eyes were as milky white as the foam cornering its mouth as it gnawed against the bit.
Astride the mare sat a dark-haired man framed against the stars that seemed to flee his vicinity. He stared down at the helpless rebel on the ground. No soft emotion graced the rider’s lean pale face. Under his detached arrogance, humanity might have seemed invisible. But a slight glint to his shadowed eyes and the hint of a twisted smirk in his lips suggested otherwise.
The young rebel stared back for a moment frightened and fascinated. Then darkness clouded his head and he fell back into oblivion
