Title: Suspension (Prologue)
Author: Scheherazade
Email: desertrose@gundamwing.org
Pairings: Eventual 3+4
Warnings: AU / nothing else as of yet
Notes: Fantasy-type AU. It'll get better, I promise. ^_^ I'm not too fond of this part. Just read it quickly and get it over with so Part 1 will make sense.
/…/--thoughts
*…*--italics
The night was completely black--no moon, no stars. Quatre peered through the darkness at the Dancing Cat Inn, eyes roving over the side of the building until they found the right window. Somewhere in that room was his target of the night.
He couldn't believe his luck--the shutters were wide open! No one with a scrap of sense left their window open at night in the city. /Figures he's done something to get himself killed over./
Ten minutes later, he had scaled the wall and was clinging flattened next to the open window. The high, breathy strains of some beautiful instrument floated into the night, weaving an eerie melody that completely hypnotized Quatre. He shook himself angrily, almost losing his grip in the process. /Wake *up*, Quatre!/
Completely silently, he edged over and peered inside the room. A tall brown-haired man was seated on the edge of a cot, eyes closed as his fingers danced across a flute. Quatre couldn't believe it--this man was an *idiot*! Anyone who so much as visited Al-Rassan--gateway to the vast Rassan desert--knew to watch their step. /Just makes it easier for me, I guess./
He slipped inside, pausing on the wide sill for a moment. Then in one swift, sudden movement, he was across the room, the tip of a blade pressed to the musician's throat.
His victim --Trowa Barton--froze.
"I'm supposed to kill you," Quatre said softly. "However, I give everyone one last chance. Answer this question correctly, and you go free."
Barton's eyes snapped open in surprise. For a long moment, he stared at Quatre, almost as though trying to see through him.
"What's the question?" he finally asked in a low monotone.
"What's the symbol of the Raberba clan?"
The Raberbas were one of the many tribes that wandered the Rassan desert, remote and solitary. Quatre was a Raberba--one of the few who ever left the desert to live elsewhere, harsh and unyielding though it was. He had never met an outsider who knew anything more about the desert clans than rumors and half-remembered legends, even in Al-Rassan. It was safe to say that this fellow--a *Northerner*--would know even less.
"A stooping hawk."
"What?" Quatre gasped.
"Their symbol is a stooping hawk."
It was suddenly hard to breathe. Their was no way, no possible way… "Have you ever met a Raberba?" Quatre demanded, cold fear suddenly clutching at his heart. What if he had been about to kill an honorary clanbrother?
"No."
Thank the gods for small blessings, at least. Quatre spun around and dashed for the window, scrambling through and quickly descending the wall. As he dashed away through the narrow streets, one question dominated his thoughts.
/Who the hell is he, anyway?/
* * *
Even after the strange assassin had gone, Trowa Barton couldn't move from the edge of the cot.
When had an assassin last gotten past his guard? Not for a very long time, that was for sure. Even though he gave an appearance of carelessness to the point of foolishness--all right, he practically set up an open invitation to criminals--every fibre of his being was tensed and on the alert, *ready* for something just like what had just happened.
How had that one managed it?
Trowa shuddered. It was too close. Much, much too close.
*****
One final note: Yes, the name Al-Rassan is shamelessly swiped from "The Lions of Al-Rassan" by Guy Gavriel Kay. ^_^