Chapter One

Figures in the Fog

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The fog crept in from the sea, covering the forest in a thick and unpenetrable blanket. A hut sat just outside the boundary of the trees. The hut itself was small, barely two rooms, but it was enough for the three people the resided in it at the time. The roof was lopsided, leaning too far to the right, but it kept out the wind and the rain and the snow, and that was all that mattered.

Inside the hut, a fire crackled happily in the hearth, and a woman tucked her child into bed in the other room. The woman was in her early thirties; the child was a girl-child, eight or nine. The woman hummed a wordless melody as she made sure the blankets were packed in tight. A man sat in a chair, alternately staring at the fire and at the dark doorway that led to the room his wife and child sat in, all the while smoking a pipe.

The woman finished her song, tousled her child's dark brown hair, and walked out of the room, pulling the door behind her. She closed it by taking a piece of rope that was tied to the knob and hooking it over a nail that protruded from the wall. She walked calmly over to the man and sat gracefully on the floor beside him. The woman leaned her head on his leg and the both stared into the fire. They sat in silence.

Finally, the man spoke. "Did you give it to her?"

"Yes."

"And she knows not to show it to anyone?"

"She would never have shown it, even if I hadn't told her to keep it hidden. She's a smart child."

"Did you tell her what to do, if we . . . if we . . ."

"I told her."

"This place isn't safe any longer. We must leave tomorrow, go somewhere. Far away. A new land, new names, new lives for all of us."

"I know."

"I never imagined it would come to this. It is lucky that she knows not what she possesses."

"I know."

The two fell into silence again. Outside, the fog rose higher and thicker.

Two figures crept through the trees and the mist. They moved stealthily, with the grace of cats: soft and deadly footfalls that melted away in the muffled forest. Both figures looked ahead, to where a lopsided hut sat forlornly, a fire-glow coming from the windows.

They moved as shadows, sidling up to the house undetected. One peered through the only dark window in the house. He viewed a child, sleeping peacefully although her feet hung off the edges of the bed. His partner made an inquisitive noise, and he shook his head and waved her on.

They made their way to the front of the house.

The woman and man were interrupted in their thoughts when the door burst open, revealing the forms of two people standing with daggers drawn. The figures lunged toward the two sitting on the hearth, putting knife to throat. The woman managed one strangled noise before both were silenced forever.

In her darkened room, the girl awoke with a start. She opened her mouth to call out, but snapped it closed, some sixth sense warning her to stay silent. Instead, she flung back the covers and crept to the small crack that remained between the door and the wall, a peephole between darkness and light. Two figures, clad in dark cloaks, dark tunics — two figures clad in darkness tore the room apart. Her parents lay dead on the floor in pools of blood.

The girl sprang back from the crack, chest heaving, gray eyes burning with unshed tears. She bit her lip and blinked fiercely. She could not cry! There were more important things at hand. She did not have much time.

As quietly as she could, the girl pulled the single chair in the house and wedged it under the knob of her door. She ran to her chest and heaved it open, pulling out her bag, a blanket and spare clothes. She put on her toughest boots, even though they pinched her toes. The girl grabbed all that she could and shoved it into her bag. Next, she pushed the windowpane out the window, hearing it land in the dirt with a soft noise. The girl thrust her bag out the window, and then climbed through it herself, wiggling her shoulders to fit herself through.

The girl landed in the dirt with a thud, but sprang up immediately, unharmed. She grabbed her bag and sprinted into the fog-covered forest. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable crack of splintered wood as the figures broke down the door to her room, followed by a howl of rage. The cry of "We must find her! We must find it!" faded into the mist as she ran from a shattered past.

Under the girl's shirt, close to her heart, a deep blue gem on a leather thong bounced with the rhythm of her running.

***

No one noticed the solitary teenager as she walked with the flow of the mid-afternoon crowd. She was wearing lower-middle class clothes, and her coloring was such that she blended into the background of the clash of humanity that was the marketplace. Little remained to identify her as a girl who ran for her life one foggy night, many years ago.

The girl glanced out of the corner of her eye at a woman striding forward to her left. The woman was lenient; her cloth bag hung open. Slowly, the girl worked her way toward the oblivious woman, until she was walking just behind and a little to the right.

Suddenly, the girl tripped. She crashed into the woman's right side but caught herself before she could fall to the hard stone street. "Sorry," she said to the woman, smiling sheepishly. The woman flashed her a return smile, but didn't stop, or say anything. The woman continued walking until she was, once again, a figure in the crowd.

Slowing her pace to a walk, the girl watched silently before turning to her right and down a side-street. She made her way through a labyrinth of back streets and alleyways before pushing open a door and stepping into a dimly lit room.

"What's the haul, Cass? What'd you nick?"

A male voice addressed her as she stepped over the doorframe and pulled the door shut. She turned around and stuck her hands on her hips, facing the teenager who sat looking at her with a grin on his face.

"Next time, Brin, how about you yell it to the whole street?" she accosted him.

"Oh, come on, Cassandra," the boy said, mocking her name. "You know I wasn't sayin' it that loud."

"Loud enough for the Street-Men to hear you," Cassie retorted.

"Take yourself off! Just show me what you hauled," the boy Brin said, rolling his eyes.

Cassie removed a medium belt purse from its hiding place inside her tunic. Sitting down, she upended it over the floor. Five or six silver coins cascaded down, along with several silk scarves and a brooch.

The boy grabbed for the brooch. "Where'd you find this beauty?" he exclaimed.

"Some idiot of a woman left her pack open. Easier than breathing to grab, and she's long gone by now. Never even realized it."

"Nice," he said. "It'll fetch a pretty penny at Uncle Morit's."

Now it was Cassie's turn to roll her eyes. "Why do you call him your uncle? He's just the owner of a pawn shop."

"He asked us to call him uncle — you know that. And I'm obliged to do anything that keeps him happy, elsewise he starts asking questions we don't wanna answer." Brin flipped a coin into the air and caught it. "Well, I'm off to buy us a decent meal. You wanna come?"

Cassie shook her head. "I've had enough of those people for one day. I'll stay here and nap. You wake me up when you get back — and if you eat all of it yourself you'll wake up a finger or two short!"

Passe laughed as he walked out the room. Cassie yawned. She rolled over and onto her sleep-mat. Pulling a ragged blanket over her form, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep soon after that.

Cassie awakened suddenly to a crashing noise at her door. She sprang up, reaching for her knives as a reflex, but relaxed when she heard a drunken mutter from the other side of the door. The intoxicated man staggered off down the street, leaving curses still hanging in the air.

She shivered. Cool night air seeped in through the cracks of the wood. Reaching for her overtunic, she stopped and frowned. How could it be night, and Brin not back yet? He had left in the middle of the afternoon! And she knew he would have awakened her if he returned home and left again.

Sighing, Cassie shrugged the tunic over her shoulders. She bent down and scooped the day's haul back into the pouch, but froze before she finished.

Where was the brooch?

She groaned exasperatedly, realizing the only possible explanation. Wasn't it just like Brin to go to Morit's without telling her! He'd probably nicked the brooch while she wasn't looking. And of course, if he went to Morit's he'd get involved in the back room card game that Morit always had going! Completely forgetting, of course, that he'd promised to bring back food for her, and himself!

She shoved the rest of her haul into the bag and fastened it to her belt. Cassie stomped out the door and slammed it behind her and set off through the dusty streets to Morit's pawn shop.

It took her close to fifteen minutes to reach the pawn shop. She marched straight in through the front door and back behind the rack of clothes to the next door, leading straight into the back room. "Brin! Morit!" she shouted angrily as she opened the second door, but she choked on the stench that flowed out the door.

She stopped and looked into the room. Her eyes widened in horror.

Brin and Morit both lay on the ground, their throats cut. Their clothes were in disarray, and any bags the two had had on their person were upended and had obviously been rooted through. It was plain to see that they had been searched.

Cassie slammed the door, blocking off the sight. She gagged, and threw up on the floor. Straightening, she looked frantically around. Was there any sign in the shop that something was wrong? Why hadn't the killers taken anything, if it was a botched robbery?

She ran through the store, looking for something, anything out of place.

Nothing was.

The clothing was still undisturbed on the rack. Old clocks still ran. Fragile knickknacks were unbroken. The jewelry was —

The jewelry.

The items of jewelry on their racks were scattered across the counter. Some of the precious stones had been shattered. They had been disturbed. They had been searched. The jewels' disarray was the only thing that spoke of death in the back room.

A coldness seeped into her body, freezing her on the spot.

They had found her.

After so many years, when she finally thought she was safe, they had found her after all. The same people who had killed her parents were out looking for her, and she didn't even know who they were. Her head whirled. In the haze of confusion and fear, one truth pushed its way to the front of her mind.

She had to get away.

Cassandra's logical mind took over. There was nothing for her at her lodging. All she had was the day's haul, and she had brought it with her. There was nothing to go back for. They had probably already found her lodging and were waiting for her to come back.

She would go away. Far into the West. She would take a boat down the River Ekale and into the east side of the Inland Sea, and she would land in a country so far away from her own that no one would be able to trace her. She would vanish, and get to a strange country, where no one could find her.

She would go to Tortall.

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