Chapter 1.

Cleansing Fires

"White birds shall vanish from the North, and great evil shall die and be reborn." - Alaundo.

o - o - o - o - o

The child huddled beneath the blankets of her bed, listening to the dim screams from somewhere outside the temple. Each scream represented another life lost; an attacker repelled, of one of her guardians defeated.

Her bedroom door burst open, and Old Mallik ran into her room, slamming the door closed behind him. For a moment he stood leaning against the door, panting as if he had run a hundred miles. Then his eyes sought out the bed, and the child shaking beneath her covers.

This situation was outside the realm of her experience. Since her birth six years ago, she had been carefully raised and nurtured by the priests. Her actions and movements had been shadowed by her guardians. There were no other children in the temple, and no other females. She had no friends, no companions, only the priests and the guardians. And ever since she was old enough to talk, she had been told that she had a great purpose, a divine purpose; she was to become High Priestess at the temple. And so the priests had taught her the ways of their god, and the guardians had kept her safe from dangers she could not perceive in this lonely and desolate temple, all but forgotten in the chaos which raged throughout the land.

"Child!" said Old Mallik. His eighty-year old voice was dry and hoarse, and as he approached the bed she smelt the familiar mothball scent of his robe. "Get up now and put on your cloak. We're going outside. Hurry!" he instructed.

The priests never spared the lash when they thought it was necessary, so she jumped to obey his instructions. Her cloak was hung neatly in her wardrobe, and she flung it around her shoulders, her hands shaking as she tried to fasten the buttons. Her fingers did not want to comply, and as she began shaking even more strongly, with fear and confusion, tears sprung into her eyes.

"Come here," said Mallik, grasping her shoulders and turning her around to face him. He knelt, slowly because of his arthritis, and knelt on the floor. "Enough of that! We won't accept weakness in our High Priestess! Control your tears and your fears, or I'll leave you here for the attackers to find. I won't risk my life to save a weakling!" he said, fastening her buttons one by one.

The girl rubbed a hand across her eyes, wiping away the tears. Then she sniffed a few times, wishing her handkerchief was in her pocket, and looked again at Mallik.

"Good," he said without a smile. He held out his hand and she took it. Together, they left the room via a hidden back door, and entered the network of secret tunnels that riddled the ancient temple.

o - o - o - o - o

The tunnels were cold and dark, and the child struggled to keep up with the elderly man. When her legs began to tire, he had to half-drag her along, causing her cloak to drag in the ancient dust of the place. At one point she lost her footing completely, and was dragged along the floor, grazing her knee along the hard stone. It wasn't until she cried out in pain that Mallik hauled her to her feet. But even as he did, he kept moving, not daring to stop.

The child had so many questions that she wanted to ask; What's happening? Who are the men attacking us? Why are they trying to hurt me? Where are my guardians? Where are we going?

But she dared not ask them. She knew from experience that the priests did not answer what they called 'frivolous, unimportant questions'. They told her what they thought she needed to know, when they thought she needed to know it. They answered only questions that related to her studies, and to the great Lord.

Mallik stopped suddenly at a dead end, and reached into a dark patch of shadows with his ancient hand. The girl heard a grinding sound, and slowly, the end of the tunnel before her began to move. A cold wind swept into the tunnel as the crack widened, revealing a hidden door.

It was only then that she realised how silent the tunnels had been; from the time she had entered the tunnel in her room, she had heard only the sound of their running feet and their breathing; hers, a rapid, quiet panting, and his, a fast, dry rasping.

Now, she was returned to the real world. As the door opened, the sounds of battle made it to her ears; screams and cries, orders being shouted to both attack and defend, and the distant clash of weapons. As soon as the tunnel was opened wide enough to allow them to squeeze through, Old Mallik dragged her behind him, and they stepped out into the forest.

It was lighter, out here, then it had been in the tunnels. The moon was full, and the stars were twinkling brightly in the sky. They seemed almost merry, quite at odds with the harsh, cold wind that whipped the girl's long, unbound hair across her face. She pulled her cloak closer around herself, to keep out the chill.

"You must be silent from now on, child. We are still close to the temple, and if we are heard, I will make sure you are the first of us to die," said Mallik. She looked up at his face and gasped in shock; orange light played over his face, causing shadows to dance beneath his eyes and his chin. But the light didn't seem to be coming from him, it merely seemed to be reflecting on him.

She turned, and stared in shock at what lay before her eyes. The temple was besieged by hundreds of figures. Some were on horseback, some operated small siege machines, but most were on foot. They all wore cold, silvery armour that reflected the same orange light; the light of the burning temple, now a raging inferno.

As she was drinking in the sight of the massive fire, Mallik dragged her again, and she hurried to keep up with him. She had never been in the forest before, and struggled to avoid the undergrowth with her small six year-old legs. Sharp brambles scored the skin below her skirt and angular rocks pressed effortlessly through the thin soles of her indoor slippers, cutting into her feet.

Mallik was, she realised, taking her away from the attackers, from the bad men who had killed her guardians and rent her temple home with fire and sword. Exhausted as she was, she sent a mental 'thank you' to the great Lord, for sending Mallik into her room before the fire had trapped her too.

"Stop!" barked a voice from somewhere within the trees to their right.

Mallik stopped, and with his free hand, he drew a dagger from his belt. Remembering what he had said about making sure she died first if they were discovered, she put all her strength into wrenching her hand from his grip. Free, she threw herself to the floor and tried to crawl away. She heard noise behind her as Mallik moved, and then she could crawl no further; his foot had come down on the end of her cloak, preventing her from moving.

He raised his dagger as he bent down towards her, and she screamed. She had never screamed before in her life, never had reason to, but now she screamed in sheer terror. Mallik's eyes were fervent as he thrust the weapon towards her throat.

Another weapon, a massive war-hammer, smashed into Mallik's arm, and the dagger was flung from his hand as the bones in his arm shattered. A booted foot came up, kicking the priest backwards and away from her, but still she did not stop screaming. She screamed as the war-hammer was swung around again, and the armoured figure wielding it brought the weapon down on Mallik's skull, spattering the forest floor with the priest's brains.

She screamed as a second figure scooped her up in strong arms, and held her close to him, in a firm, but not crushing, embrace. The figure made soothing sounds as he carried her back towards the burning temple, and she finally stopped screaming, too exhausted to continue. Instead, a sort of numbness settled on her, and she let her body go limp in her captor's arms.

"What's this?" asked a voice, and the part of her mind that was still paying attention realised that there were many, many more armoured figures around her now. Most of them went about their own business, but a few had gathered to observe her, and the man who held her.

"A girl, Sir," said the man beside her captor, the one who had killed Mallik.

"We found her being dragged bodily by one of the priests. She was trying to escape from him, and when we caught up with them, he tried to kill her," her captor elaborated. His voice was warm, and strangely comforting.

"Well then, let's see her." She was removed from the warm body and held up. She looked at the man far above her, seated upon a tall grey horse. His own hair, what little she could see of it beneath his helm, was also grey. "Pretty little thing," he said at last.

"What would you like me to do with her, Sir?" asked her captor, pulling her to the warmth of his body again. The grey-man regarded him with intelligent brown eyes for a moment.

"My men can't take her. The church of Tyr has taken in dozens of orphans already. Too many parents have been killed during the Troubles... take her back with you. If your DawnMaster will allow it, she can remain in Lathander's care."

The grey-man left then, and several other men followed him. Her captor took her towards a group of low tents set up in a circle around a campfire. He seated himself on a large rock, and sat her on the end of his knee so that he could look over her more thoroughly. At the same time, she studied him.

He looked nothing like the priests or her guardians. Like everybody she had ever known, he was an adult. But she understood, in some indefinable way, that he wasn't the same type of adult as Mallik, or the grey-man who had first assessed her. He was younger; there was no grey or white in his hair, and he was mostly clean-shaven. His eyes were dark brown, like his hair, and an orange cloak, fading to yellow at the ends, was wrapped around his shining armour.

"You're safe now. Nobody will hurt you. My name is Sir Eldon," he said, giving her a smile. It was something new to her. "Do you have a name?"

She did have a name, but something possessed her to shake her head.

"Well then. If you've no name, we'll just have to give you one. How does 'Esmerelle' sound? It was my grandmother's name... she was a wonderful, kind woman who passed away last year. Would you like to be Esmerelle?"

She nodded. Yes. She didn't know what 'kind' meant, but she could be 'Esmerelle'.

o - o - o - o - o

The next morning was grey and drizzly. The armoured men packed up their camp whilst their priests consecrated the ground with holy water - to keep the undead from rising, Sir Eldon informed her. She didn't know what 'undead' were, but she was glad to see the priests casting their incantations. In a world which had changed drastically overnight, priests were a familiar thing to her.

Sir Eldon picked her up, and held her in his arms as he mounted his horse. She had never been held in a caring fashion before, and found it quite comforting. She especially enjoyed seeing more of what was around her from the higher view of the horse. Her life within the temple had been secure and sheltered - she had not even been allowed outside before.

When everybody was ready, the warriors set their horses walking, and they left in a long, shining column. Safe in Sir Eldon's arms, Esmerelle turned to look back at the temple of Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Now it was nothing but a burnt-out husk of a building, an empty shell. She turned away as she was taken steadily away from her old home. And her old life went with it.