The wind blew slowly, as if it didn't wish to disturb the ashes of what had once been Lhant Manor. The sky was painted a blazing crimson gold, burning without billowing plumes of smoke. A young man of twenty knelt before the house's remains. Red hair and brown eyes marked him as Andreo Lhant. Who would have been Lhant's next lord instead offered flowers on the tiny memorial tablet that acknowledge the people who died.
Sopherias, the blossom Lady Sophie Lhant had been named for a century ago.
The lady was absent, attending a council meeting of Windor's leaders in Barona; Sophie had always stood as regent until the next lord came of age to rule. It was a strange thought, that Andreo might never succeed the position. The people of Lhant lived, a fair amount of them, anyway. But he spoke for everyone when he said he couldn't believe Lhant had been so brutally attacked.
"Young Master," said the manservant behind him. "It will be dark soon. We should go."
Andreo stood, black coat hemmed in gold rustling in the breeze. He hoped the flowers wouldn't blow away. "Sorry, Al. I was just thinking." He coughed as he tasted ash in the air. He remembered his water bottle running low, and the spring by Lhant Hill. He could fill it in the nearby stream ... but he wanted to see that hill again.
"Let's see Lhant Hill before we go."
Those might have been Andreo's final words.
It boggled him. He didn't understand. Lhant already burned, what use in slaying the would be lord of a village wiped off the face of Windor? He should have noticed the signs. The servant's fidgeting. His nervousness. The way he kept asking how long they'd be, and whether anyone would know where they were.
Whether anyone would hear Andreo scream.
In the end, Andreo hadn't perished. He fought off the manservant-traitor and would be assassin-thanks to the swordplay he'd learned. The martial arts Sophie had taught him years ago. There was a partulicular kick that disarmed an enemy. He held the dagger in shaking fingers, still feeling the adrenaline rush.
He stared at the spot where the servant had lost his footing, and fallen down the cliff.
"Al ... why?"
The sun would set soon. Andreo was alone; if more assassins didn't kill him, monsters would. He shoved the dagger in his belt, sheathed his sword. The bright red tassel, tied into a thick knot for good luck, brushed his fingers.
I didn't know it then, but Lhant was only the first of many casualties.