*Disclaimer: since I am obviously not John Flanagan, I do not own any of his characters, nor the world he created; that is his honor, not mine. However, the story plot is mine, sprung from my wildly out of control imagination, as are some of the characters.

Prologue

The evening was thick with shadows; and some of them were alive. One of them emerged from the darkness;.

"Enough of this petty competition, we have rumors to spread, an intelligence force to infiltrate, and a kingdom to overthrow. If we all stay hidden to show off our skill in unseen movement, we'll never get anything accomplished."

"You would do better to stay silent than to speak our plans aloud. You know we were waiting for your signal." The second one reprimanded as it stepped forth. "And when you speak of 'petty competition', do you speak of yourself?"

"There is no time for meaningless arguments either; we have much to do if we're going to do it quickly, cleanly, and as smoothly as possible: everyone hates a bloody war." A third spake, seeming to appear from nowhere to step between the first two.

"We all have to be of one mind if we're going to pull this off successfully." A soft voice stated as it's owner walked up. "Now, we're all here; except our infiltrator. Where is he?"

"He's-" A sound made him break off; the sound of a horse walking. The four looked up to see a well built stallion, whose speed and endurance was clearly testified in every line of his compact body; the kind of horse that people fight wars over, but they had eyes only for his rider.

"Looking for me?" A cold voice asked from behind.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to give away your position unless you-" The first began to lecture, until he saw the scimitar whose point rested not three inches from his chest. "Well met. You are indeed ready for this mission, young one. I hope you have tempered your skill with wisdom, for you will need it."

"I am more ready than anyone has been since the dawn of time. Give me a task and I shall not fail."

"Failure is not in our vocabulary. Are you sure this is the one?" The fourth asked, looking to the second for an answer.

"There is none better. The world has never known the like; death is his blade and danger his shadow. I'd rather cross blades with the Devil himself." He stated flatly.

"Blades maybe, but what of his bow?" The first remarked sarcastically. He wasn't even finished before the scimitar vanished and a bow materialized; the thrum of a bowstring was loud in the clearing as the boy fired: one, two, three, four, five, done so smoothly and quickly that to those listening, all five shots sounded as one. All of them hit their chosen target.

"They won't know what hit them." Cold eyes looked to the first, daring him to fault the skill which had just been proved.

"Blade of fire, bow of lightning, burn of ice, strength of steel; one such as this cannot fail." The third whispered, a feeling of strange foreboding chilling him to the core. The second stood next to his apprentice, and the words he spoke seemed to reverberate throughout the clearing long after it was empty:

"The prophecy has been fulfilled."

* * *

Two riders walked their horses in the fading light of dusk; side by side, and obviously in no hurry, both lost deep in thought.

"Everything has been properly set up, all you have to do is be there." The older one said, his deep voice breaking the silence between them.

"I know what must be done, Gabriel; I won't let you down." The other whispered softly. He turned to look at his daughter, riding tall; he could feel old memories flooding his mind; but he kept himself cold and aloof.

"All our hopes ride on you." Just then, a flicker of movement caught his eye; the signal. This was goodbye. Having seen it as well, his daughter nudged her horse into a lope; before she got out of hearing, he called to her once more; "May God be with you!" In answer, she raised her hand in farewell before pushing her horse into a gallop. In a matter of seconds, she was out of sight. "And may His angels keep you from harm." He whispered softly to himself; turning his horse into the trees, he let the horse pick his way as the memories of how things once were finally broke through his control. His face deep in the shadows of his cowl, no one could have seen him cry.

Behind him, his daughter raced north. Her horse's speed was such that it could well be the reason for the tears leaving tracks down her face; but she knew that, if anything, it would be the Devil, not God, who would be with her.