PROLOGUE
"One Month Ago"
The full moon is shining down on the Midland moors as a thick fog rolls through the small village of Grimhaven. Suddenly a young teen bursts through a gate and runs into the village's central lane. He casts about in confusion, unsure which way to bolt. He is dressed in commoner's garb, with tousled brown hair, and face that will be handsome in a few short years.
While the boy considers his options, a second man crashes through whats left of the gate. The pursuer is a large and meaty man with an oft-broken nose and weather burned face, wearing the black and red uniform of a D'haran soldier. The boy bolts immediately, choosing left if only because his feet are pointed slightly more leftward.
As the boy -- whom we'll call Rabbit -- hurries down the lane, the D'haran dog is joined by three of his fellows, and immediately the pack of them sets to braying and barking on poor Rabbit's heels.
Rabbit runs down the lane, past fenced yards and pens, coming to a stable, its door partially open. Casting a quick glance behind him, he dodges inside, and prays the fog will be enough to cover his tracks. Inside the stable a solitary lantern hangs from a peg, illuminating several stalls, all empty but one, which contains a large black stallion. But of more immediate concern to Rabbit is the stranger sitting calmly on a bale of hay, his back to the lantern, his eyes to the door, a wild-haired silhouette.
The man sits cross-legged on the bale, wearing a dark cloak that further obscured his shape. In his hands appears to be a lute, which he seems to be tuning. Rabbit steps forward cautiously. Fear compelled him into this stable, but something far beyond fear prevents him from entering further. A deep and horrible sense of dread and despair coils in the pit of his stomach.
The quad of D'haran soldiers has reached the stable, and bursts inside. They immediately seize on Rabbit, but he pays them no attention at all, his eyes transfixed on the silhouetted man. The soldier who had lead the chase shakes him roughly and barks in his face.
"Thought you could break curfew, did you? Are you resistance? Answer me!"
The soldier, expecting a struggle and finding none, is puzzled, until he follows Rabbit's gaze and catches sight of the shadowed stranger. His comrades notice him as well. All stand silently. A discordant note pierces the quiet, followed by a disapproving neigh from the stallion.
From the shadowed figured comes a long and slow release of breath, an exaggerated sigh of annoyance and frustration. He sets the lute down by his side.
"Identify yourself!" barks the D'haran soldiers, as if to take command of a situation that has so far left him feeling far less than in command. The stranger calmly stands and steps down from his perch on the hay bale. Only then does the soldier realize that while the hay bale casts a solid square shadow, the stranger himself casts none at all.
"I said identify yourself!" barks the D'Haran again as he grips the hilt of his sword and begins to draw his blade. The rasp of metal on metal sends a surge of familiar confidence through his spine, lending its steel to his spine.
"Kheoton yarbliss." replies the stranger, but the tone of his voice tells the soldier this is not a name, but an invocation! The stranger steps forward, hopping down from the bale and -- as if he had stepped into roiling cloud of invisible smoke -- disappears from sight!
The advancing D'haran grunts in surprise, and his comrades immediately let go of Rabbit as they draw their own blades. Rabbit falls to his hands and knees and begins crawling as fast as he can towards to stable's open door.
The first D'haran's sword falls to the ground with a clatter as he drops to his knees, clutching futilely at his chest as his hair turns white and his skin withers like parchment in the desert sun. He pitches forward, but before his corpse can hit the ground the second soldier is screaming in agony as a similar transformation overtakes him.
The third soldier is still puzzling out what had happened to his comrades when a sharp pain in his chest ends all such consideration, and he too falls over -- white as a ghost and dry as dust. The last remaining soldier turns to flee, and though the door is only a measure of four or five broad steps from where he stands, he does not survive to walk out the stable.
Rabbit is still on his hands and knees when he feels the cold presence of the shadowless stranger over him. He whimpers as a rough hand grabs him by his hair, pulling his head back. Certain he will die, he offers up a prayer to the Confessors. And then the world is dark and silent.