Chapter 1
Gromdain, Yarthmont 1st, AC 991
Akesoli, Republic of Darokin
A stone sailed past the young girl's head, ruffling her red-gold tresses as it missed by a finger-width. Their aim is improving, she mused to herself, stopping her steady walk to stand passively in the middle of a rutted, unpaved side street on the north side of Akesoli. A quick, subtle glance to the sides revealed plenty of citizens going about their business doing their best to pick their way among the numerous puddles of stagnant water. She even spied the glint of chainmail peeking over the neckline of a barely disguised watchman standing sentinel over a particularly rich merchant's side door.
Surely, they saw it. How could they not when she was so often greeted with eyes either narrowed in anger or widened with fear? And there stands the watchman, pretending to be oblivious, no doubt rationalizing his inaction by convincing himself the unused door should be his only concern. She focused on him for just a moment, long enough for their eyes to meet. He blinked once, then turned his back on her, deciding that the door needed yet one more inspection. It would be a very thorough inspection, the girl knew, for the watchman would not turn around again until he was confident the incident was over.
Only after she was satisfied that this time would be no different than all the others did she bother to notice the taunting laughter and jeering encouragements coming from behind.
"Aren't you going to run?" one of the boys goaded. She heard the malicious smile in his voice. "You always run. Need another reason?"
Vicious little brats.
There was no need to turn around. She already knew who they were. The names and faces sometimes changed, but the essence of who they were always remained the same: rich boys all, scions of the great merchant houses of Darokin masquerading as common street thugs to carry out the wishes of their fathers and uncles. All of them together had fewer street-smarts than the average lady-in-waiting, but that mattered not a whit to them, and why should it when the law did not apply to them?
The watchman was still inspecting the door.
"Hurry up and throw before she runs!" Elias Mauntea urged one of his companions; the speaker was the nephew of the Chancellor himself. She would recognize the cool, refined voice anywhere and the girl found herself wondering if this was how young men were trained to rule nations – taking cheap shots at unarmed young girls from behind.
She felt the next throw coming, instinctively ducking to allow the jagged missile to fly over her head. Their aim was definitely improving. As if to add another insult to this entire affair, the stone hit the ground a short distance away, jumping and plowing its way through the mud to smack against the boot of the uncaring watchman. The bastard actually looked down at it, casually kicked it aside, and continued his business with the door.
"Throw another one!" The voice of Elias again. For some reason, the girl desperately wanted Elias to throw his own damned stones.
"But she's just standing there," came the response. She was not sure who this boy was, possibly a new recruit, but she utterly refused to turn around.
A heavy sigh from a third member of the group. "She's standing there because she's defying us. We can't tolerate defiance, can we? Now throw it."
"What if I can't hit her? You couldn't hit her so what makes you think I can?" His voice dropped away as if ashamed. "Besides, I don't want to get into trouble."
An even heavier sigh from Elias. "If you don't think you can hit her, how can you get in trouble for missing?"
A fourth boy chimed in with a heartfelt, "Yeah!"
The girl inwardly grinned to herself. It was working. In the past, whenever confronted by this group of supposed paragons of Darokinian society, she had fled even before the first rock was thrown. In some cases, she had managed to elude them before they had even spotted her. Yet now, there she stood motionless, daring them to hit her, flaunting her passivity with the simple act of refusing to face them.
Something was not right, and all the boys knew it. She hoped they were feeling the first prickles of an emotion she planned to formally introduce them to: fear.
They were all hesitant – even Elias – and uncertain exactly how to proceed. It was one thing to chase the girl all over the city, scaring her with the pursuit without having to deal out any real bodily harm. But standing vulnerable, she was forcing them to make an active choice to injure her, and she could feel the indecision fairly oozing from their consciences.
"All right," the youngest finally relented. He sounded more despondent than eager, and the girl knew why. She could feel it, too.
For most everyone, there come moments throughout life when the path is clear, when a decision appears so obvious that one must wonder if there ever really was a choice at all. For most, however, those decisions revolve around matters of importance only to those faced with the choice – which crops to plant, what wagon to buy, or who to marry. The outcome effects few and no history book anywhere will ever record the outcome.
It is a rare person indeed who catches a flickering glimmer of the future so profound that it borders upon the realm of prophesy, a passing feeling powerful enough that even the Immortals demand that time be suspended long enough for that feeling to be fully acknowledged and absorbed.
The girl saw no visions. There were no booming voices of portent or whispered words of wisdom, and no divine entity intruded upon the confines of her mind, dazzling her with its radiance and raw, terrifying power. It was just a feeling, nothing more, but one charged with enough temporal energy to nearly rock her off her feet.
She knew – she just knew – that if the boy behind her threw the third rock, her life, and the lives of countless millions, would change into something unrecognizable. Whether that change would be for good or ill, there was no way to know. In fact, the girl found that doubt weighed heavily in her mind. How could something so insignificant as the toss of a stone become so monumental? It was simply impossible to comprehend – at least at this point – but that implacable feeling could not be denied.
She knew, too, that if a third stone was thrown, a fourth would surely follow – and a fifth, and a sixth, until one finally struck home. She actually considered, albeit briefly, the possibility of allowing a stone to strike her. An old Glantrian saying came to mind: Progress comes from doing things differently. If she ran, as she always had, they would give chase, and nothing would change. If she stood there and did nothing, she would be injured, perhaps severely if they hit her in just the right place. She also knew that if she implemented her third option, the feeling of impending change would become the reality she sensed.
As if by the wave of a divine hand, time resumed its normal, ticking relentlessness, but that was an illusion of course. Time had not literally frozen. It only seemed that way.
She heard the rustle of the boy's linen shirt as he pumped his arm to send the next stone arcing inexorably toward the back of her skull. Passersby on the street stopped and stared, the watchman shifted his gaze ever so slightly to see the result of the throw while still pretending to secure the door.
The girl bolted, nearly slipping in the wet mud from her sudden acceleration. She careened wildly down the road, her arms flailing to keep her balance, splashing through puddles and sliding in the mud, coating her shoes and silken skirts with slime and sludge. Weaving through the sparse crowd, she had no intention of allowing her pursuers to lose her. She merely wished to lend the impression that she did. If she felt they were falling too far behind, she took a deliberate slip in the mud, grabbing a nearby citizen to keep her balance, waiting for the boys to close to the proper distance before running off again.
She had a plan. It was risky, foolish, and involved everything she had hoped to avoid, but it was time to do things differently. Ahead and to the right sat a low, stone building shaped like an 'H'. It served as the barracks for the Akesoli Watch in this district of the city, and with evening rapidly descending, it would serve her purposes extremely well. After a quick look over one shoulder, she ducked into the shadowy indentation between the two wings, moving quickly to one of the corners, where she would be hidden in the early darkness. This being the backside of the building, the walls windowless and with storage containers lined against the wall, she was certain she could remain unseen – at least until the time was right.
She fully expected the four boys to come charging around the corner, plunging headlong into the cul-de-sac, confident that they had her cornered. Except they did not. Instead, she waited, calming her breathing, steadying her hands. The adrenalin was interfering with her concentration, and she found herself annoyed.
They were out there, though. She could hear them, just around the corner.
"Where'd she go?" the youngest asked.
"Where do you think, idiot!" Elias snapped. Their boots made disconcerting slurping noises in the mud as they moved around just beyond her sight. "And for being stupid, you're the one who gets volunteered to go in there after her."
"You're crazy. I'm not going in there! She probably went in there to ambush us, just like we do to her all the time."
"Ambush us with what?"
"Why don't we all go in together?" This was the second boy, Elias's right hand. His name and house escaped her at the moment, and she had no desire to remember. "Strength in numbers, as they say."
There was silence for a time, save for a sucking sound as one of the boys pulled his foot out of the mud. A lamplighter happened by, crossing her line of sight some distance away, swinging his long-poled torch jauntily as if he were performing for her benefit. The girl idly wondered if the watchman was still inspecting his door.
"Fine," Elias groused. "We'll all go."
She pressed herself against the warm stone of the building, relishing in its ambient heat as the temperature of early spring began to drop. Even before they came into view, she began the incantation that would change her life – and the lives of so many others.
The four boys entered the cul-de-sac walking shoulder to shoulder, placing each step carefully as if expecting a pit to open beneath their feet. Mere silhouettes backlit by the flickering lamplight, their heads moved from side to side, scanning the walls and shadows for any sign of her hidden presence.
"Where is she?" the second one asked, beginning to lag behind the others. "I don't like this at all. Not one bit."
"Where do you think?" Elias growled, annoyed and perhaps more than a little nervous. The girl could not see his face, but his posture indicated that he was definitely on edge. "She ran into a dead end, so it stands to reason she's still in here."
"Not necessarily," the second one said. Was that a tremor in his voice? "How do we know that she didn't run in here only to get killed by something else lurking about, and now whatever it is wants to kill us?"
The youngest and newest of the group stopped dead in his tracks. "Now why did you have to go and say something like that for?"
She heard Elias's customary heavy sigh, one of eternal patience and long-suffering tolerance. "Oh, that's just brilliant, Theo. Why not tell a ghost story while you're at it. What kind of fool criminal or monster would start a killing spree in the back yard of the Akesoli Watch?"
Theobald Hallonica. That was the name she could not remember earlier. He was the nephew of Bertram Hallonica, patriarch of the third richest house in Darokin. It was a name she would never forget again.
Elias gestured toward the boy who had stopped. "Get over here, Andreus. We don't have time for this nonsense."
"All right … except, what are we going to do with her once we catch her?" He took a few running steps to catch up with his friends. "I mean, did anyone think about that?"
None of them had, and that revelation caused all four of them to stop. They were a mere two arm-lengths away from her hiding place now. Their conversation had drowned out the whispers of her spell, but now she was holding the power back through sheer force of will. The arcane energies threatened to tear out of her in one mad, uncontrollable surge that would most likely kill all of them, including herself. The strain was nearly unbearable.
"Well … " Elias began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "you know what our orders were. Must I explain them again?" Even he seemed uncomfortable with whatever he had been told.
A soft, belabored sigh escaped her lips before she could stop herself. It was too much. The energy was beginning to seep out of herself undirected and unharnessed. Just a few more seconds. She just needed them to come a bit closer…
"Did you hear that?" the one called Andreus gasped. "I heard something right in front of you, Elias, and slightly to your left!"
"Where? I don't see…."
"By the Immortals' fury, her eyes are glowing!"
"That's enough for me, orders or no orders."
Elias stared at her unmoving even as his friends began to panic. Mortified as he was at seeing those softly glowing orbs staring back at him in the darkness, he found the courage to step forward and reach for her arm, determined to pull her out of the shadows.
"I know you can use magic," he said resolutely, "and I'm not going to be intimidated by …"
The triggering word of her spell spilled out of her mouth like too much ale, tendrils of magical energy literally oozing down her chin in thin lines of dazzling white light. She lifted her hand, palm up as if in supplication, a tiny grape-sized sphere of crackling blue energy appearing there in front of her.
Elias remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the beauty of the spell and the girl who wielded it. His three companions, on the other hand, were already turning on their heels, beginning a mad dash to the perceived safety of the road beyond the cul-de-sac. Her eyes again locked with his, the nephew of the mighty Chancellor, and he could see the eldritch light dancing in her electrified eyes. Only then did he find the good sense to run.
A thin, jagged shaft of light lanced out of the sphere and caught Elias in the center of his back, stopping his retreat before it even began. He stood there momentarily, precariously balanced on one foot, the other in mid-stride, before falling forward, his face slamming into the soft earth. Before Elias had the chance to fall, the spidery tendril exited the boy's chest, seeking Andreus, who spasmed and jerked for several seconds before crumbling like a breached wall. The final two met the same fate when the line of energy split in two, each seeking one of the boys, each putting him down, smoke curling into the air from singed clothes and skin.
The girl closed her hand over the sphere, allowing it to dissipate. It was over. It was done. The point of no return had been reached. She took a long, deep breath, savoring the silence and the crisp, chilly air – then dropped to all fours, exhausted and spent. She could only hope that no one would find her, lying amid the bodies of her victims, before she had time to drag herself away.
"Saffron!" She heard her name called from across an eternal void, unfathomably far away. It was what she expected to hear in a dream. "Saffron, get up!"
"What?" the girl responded, the sound barely a whisper. She was not even certain if she had actually said the word. "Go away."
A gentle shake followed. Her sapphire eyes flickered open, blinked and nearly closed again – until she spotted a foot directly in front of her. All of her instincts told her to react, to jump to her feet, reach for a weapon, run away, yet she was too exhausted, too apathetic to move.
"Go away," she said again, this time with a little more force. "Let me be."
She could smell the scent of oil on armor, the tangy odor of a leather scabbard. Chain mail links tinkled. Stiff leather boots creaked. The man was armed and armored, which likely meant he was a member of the Akesoli Watch or, less likely, a passing adventurer. No, she decided…a watchman, for he knew her name. Mustering what little energy she possessed, Saffron reached around with one arm and rubbed the back of her head, feigning a wound.
"There were six of them," she murmured. It took more effort than she wanted to give just to speak. Her throat was raw, her mouth tasted like metal. "They … surprised me coming around … a corner. Chased me in … here. I don't … I don't remember …"
"I wouldn't believe that story even if I hadn't seen the entire affair," the man said brusquely. And yet … and yet there was something familiar about that voice, something her confused and magic-befuddled mind just could not quite grasp. She quickly dismissed it as delirium.
The girl lifted her head up enough to look at the man, but it was still dark, his face masked in shadow. Then she dropped her head back to the ground – too hard – her hair splaying around her face like a luminous halo. She exhaled a long, weary sigh.
"Fine. Take me to the magistrate, then. I'm tired of this, tired of you. In fact, why not execute me here and now? You can say these boys did it."
She was surprised she had managed to say that many words without passing out, but her apathy was giving way to anger. The fact that the man chuckled only made it worse.
"Find that funny, do we?" she growled. She was about to get up when her stomach lurched into her throat. Reflexively, she leaned away from the man and retched into the dirt, gasping for air.
"I don't find that funny," the vaguely familiar man admitted. "As for your impending execution, I would never dare to sever such a lovely neck."
"So it's rape you're after," Saffron said with a sigh. "You'll have to kill me first. I'm not going to suffer through that."
The man chuckled again, sending the girl into fits of rage – at least in her own mind. She was still too weak, too disoriented to take any sort of action. Strangely enough, angry though she was, Saffron really did not know why she was angry. It was all so … distant.
"You honestly don't know who I am?" the man asked, his voice sounding genuinely concerned. He shook his head once or twice in dismay, then leaned in suddenly, kissing her forcefully on the mouth.
Saffron struggled at first, her muffled protests lost in the exchange, but her memory began to return. She knew those steely gray eyes, the wavy dark brown hair, the compassion that he shared only with her. It all came back to her in a torrent – the boys, the rocks, her spell. It hadn't been a dream after all, and she felt the warmth of tears threatening to rim her eyes. With one firm application of her will, that vulnerability was pushed aside.
As she was about to return the kiss, it was over, the man rocking back on his heels to stare at her.
"Does that jar your memory at all?"
"I can't believe you just did that," the girl complained, though her words carried no fire.
"Did I do something wrong?" He stood up then, holding his arms out to her. "Let me help you up."
"Wrong? You kissed me!" She reached up, grabbed his arms, and allowed him to pull her upright. Her vision blurred, the nausea threatened to return, but she maintained her feet by leaning heavily on the armored man beside her. "And after I just emptied my stomach. That could not have been a pleasant kiss."
The girl pressed a palm into one eye, trying to rub away the pounding taking place behind it. "I'm sorry, Thoranton … I'm not at all myself at the moment. I really didn't know who you were until a moment ago."
Thoranton nodded gravely, reaching his arm around Saffron's back to support her. "Can you walk? We can't linger here much longer. I need to get you home so I can make a report of this fiasco to my commander."
Saffron whirled around to stare at the watchman with disbelief. "What? You're going to report this? What kind of … what are you … why are you doing this?" She pushed away his arm and nearly fell over from the dizzyness which ensued after her sudden turn. Thoranton immediately steadied her again.
"Because if I don't, they will," he informed, gesturing to the still unconscious youths scattered about the cul-de-sac. "They're not dead, in case you were at all concerned, and if they get to the magistrate first … "
The girl took a long, relieved breath. "I see your point. But before we go …"
She disentangled herself from Thoranton's grasp, dropping to all fours and straddling her first victim, Elias Mauntea. With some effort and a great deal of strain that marred her otherwise perfect face, she laboriously began untying the knot which kept the boy's pouch of coins attached to his belt.
"You can't be serious, Saffron," Thoranton admonished. He reached out to stop her, then thought better of it, instead adopting a rather annoyed stance behind her. "You're the daughter of one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in Darokin ---"
"And one of the most hated, " she muttered under her breath.
"--- yet you feel the need to rob them?"
The girl tugged the pouch loose, hefted it in one hand, then beckoned for Thoranton to help her stand once again.
"Absolutely," she answered with a gasp. She was still having a hard time catching her breath. She felt like she had just sprinted around the entirety of Lake Amsorak. "They owe me for this."
"Leave the rest," Thoranton ordered, fixing her with a weighty stare. "If their money is gone, they'll use that as a motive."
"Me?" Saffron said, feigning surprise. "Now what motive would the daughter of one of the most powerful and wealthiest men in Darokin have in robbing these poor victims of a few silver daros?"
"If you say so," Thoranton said, smirking at her when she could not see. "But seriously, leave the rest. I don't think you have it in you physically to steal three more pouches."
"Perhaps not," she relented, allowing the watchman to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her from falling over. She draped her arm around his shoulders as the two hobbled slowly toward the street.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," Thorantan said as they paused beneath one of the torch-lamps, bathed in a flickering orange light. Both took a quick look around themselves and saw a street populated only by a pack of stray mongrels poking through scraps of trash. The air was thick with impending rain and Saffron breathed in the scent.
"Do what?" she asked nonchalantly, too preocccupied with the approaching storm to put his question into context.
"Using magic too advanced for you," the watchman responded with a worried frown. "I don't want to see you end up like your mother."
"Step-mother," Saffron corrected irritably, "and I don't even like acknowledging that much. My so-called mentors are holding me back, Thor, and you know it. Are you aware that Talandri promoted Aislynn yesterday?"
"You can't be serious," Thoranton guffawed, blinking as if he had been slapped. "Aislynn is, what, two years behind you?"
Saffron nodded. "Closer to three. Yet here I am, still being forced to tinker with cantrips like some first year initiate, and I simply won't put up with it anymore."
"So you're sneaking around stealing spells behind everyone's back?"
"One does what she must," she replied with an edge to her voice. "Kenthira, my step-mother, is bribing my instructors to hold me back. There can be no other explanation unless I've suddenly become incompetent."
"Are you certain?" Thoranton quickly added, "Never mind. I'm sure you are, but that doesn't change what it does to you. I would think being the sole heir to the Faendale holdings would give you cause to care."
A long, weighty silence ensued between the two, allowing the sounds of distant thunder to rumble through the city streets, a thoroughly ominous, foreboding sound.
"I really don't think I'll be inheriting the estate, Thoranton, so I'm not going to worry about it. No, don't bother asking me why I believe that. I'm fairly certain you'll know why very soon."
The watchman opened his mouth and closed it again several times, obviously trying to find a way to pursue this dire pronouncement further without evoking Saffron's ire, but finally let the matter drop with a gruff clearing of his throat.
"If you insist," he finally said, giving in to his lover's wishes. "Will you be fine, walking home alone, what, with your, ah, weakened condition and all?"
Saffron stepped away from Thoranton, standing on her own. With strength returning, her head clearing, she nodded affirmation. "Besides, with your esteemed compatriots patrolling the streets, why should I fear for my safety?" The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable.
"Saffron …"
"Forget I said anything." She turned slowly and sauntered easily down the street away from Thoranton. "I'll see you tomorrow night," she called over her shoulder. Thoranton stood and watched her disappear into the gloom, breathing in the faint scent of lilacs left in the wake of her parting.