Roger and the Leopards face their first mission: recovering a member of a Haikk noble family prepared to swear loyalty to the Imperium. If safely recovered, their support could tip the balance in Western Mekkar. Failure would mean disaster for the Seventh Army Group.

Given his moment to show what he is made of, Roger may have to take more than a few dangerous, possibly fatal, gambles...

The imposing city walls of Al-Madin were built shortly after the first colonists, most of them from the lands of the Achaemenid Empire, arrived on Haikk thousands of years ago. While they would not survive a siege with the modern weapons of the Imperial Guard, for anything like a rabble of bandits or other scum, it was a significant obstacle to the riches inside. The massive gate to the city, facing the paved roads that stretched across the continent of Mekkar to its patchwork of cities, towns, and other hamlets of civilization, was under constant guard since the Imperium returned to recapture the planet.

Two of those guards stood at the gate, trying to stave off the boredom of such menial and uninteresting work, amusing one another with jokes and stories of their life in the city. The two towers that made up the gate house were staffed with eagle-eyed men who could see threats before most could figure out what was going on. The dual suns were setting now, red balls slowly climbing behind the horizon, shortly before the gates were barred and no travelers or visitors would be allowed in. That's when the two men were seen. Shouting down to the guards at the gate, the watchmen had done their duty admirably. The gate guards quickly readied themselves to the foreigners, watching as they approached with suspicion. As they closed in, they saw the colorful regalia of the local clergy on the leader, followed by a hooded man wearing the brown, simple robes of a monk.

"My sons! I trust I'm not too late to enter the city!" the priest called out.

The two guards watched the holy pair approach before one of them spoke.

"No father, but we will have to inspect your person before we let you into the city. It's not anything personal, with Edmund and the Terran apostates wreaking havoc, we can't trust anyone at face value anymore."

The guards moved to pat down the two, and seemed satisfied. One of them moved to lower the monk's hood, which caused the priest to cry out in protest.

"Brother Rajeed has taken a vow! He can not show his face!"

The priest moved to the guards and whispered in their ears.

"He was maimed by bandits as a child. You do not want to see what's underneath that hood."

The guards hesitated, not wanting to find out what the priest meant.

"Forgive us our trespasses, father. You two are welcome in the city of Al-Madin. I trust you will cause no issues."

"Of course not, my sons. Let me bless you before I leave you to do your duties."

And with a blessing, the holy men entered the city.

XXXXXX

Moving through the crooked, wildly placed streets with surprising ease, the two arrived at a small monastery belonging to a local sect of the Imperial Creed. Welcomed warmly by the Abbot in charge, they found sanctuary as night approached.

"You have come far, brothers! Coming all the way here from Damas, that was a dangerous crossing. How did you avoid Edmund and his band of infidels?"

"Even apostates such as them would never dare to attack or molest holy men. They may be infidels, but they still believe in the holy light of the Emperor. Forgive them, they do not know what they do, or the tyrants they blindly follow."

"Well said, Brother Al-Luz. And the monk following you?"

Al-Luz looked at the hooded figure silently sitting in the corner.

"A local from the south. He was brutalized by bandits as a young man, so now he hides his face to prevent others from seeing the horrors inflicted on him. Voice of an angel though. You should hear him sing mass."

The monk suddenly stood up and whispered into Al-Luz's ear, which received a nod before he turned to the abbot.

"Rajeed wants to see if there is a cathedral or chapel nearby. He wishes to pray. No offense, abbot, but he finds more comfort in the company of laymen than the members of holy orders."

"I understand," the abbot said before looking at the hooded figure.

"Church of our Beloved Lady. Go left from the main doors and keep heading down the street, you can't miss it."

The monk nodded, leaving the two to converse on theology and the ills that had befallen Mekkar since the Imperial forces had arrived. The monk opened the doors to the monastery, looked both ways down the empty street, and turned right towards the city walls.

XXXXXX

The lone guard, wearing the decorated armor preferred by the sharrif of the city, but hated as uncomfortable and clunky by the unfortunate soldiers wearing it, was looking over the city wall, watching the horizon fade into seemingly endless darkness that surrounded the well-lit and bright city. He had been on duty for nearly four hours, halfway through the interminably long shift. He was starting to doze off as he leaned on the wall, before he was jolted by the sound of singing. Looking quickly to his left and right, he saw a monk approaching him, singing a chant.

"Pie Imperator Domine, Dona eis Reqiuem."
The monk repeated it again as he slowly moved to the guard, who quietly kneeled in respect to the holy man. The monk stopped singing and patted the guards shoulder.

"Rise, my son," he said in an odd accent.

The guard rose and looked at the monk in respect.

"My son, have you ever been punched by a monk?"

"No, brother," the guard spluttered before realizing what he was asked.

The monk quickly lowered his hood, revealing a somewhat handsome looking man with short brown hair and a fair, almost pale complexion.

"First time for anything, mate," he said with a smile, before throwing a wicked thrust into the confused guard's face, knocking him out cold as slumped to the floor of the guard path.

The monk grinned in satisfaction, before his face twisted in pain as he grabbed his throbbing hand, cursing under his breath. He quickly looked around to find a place to hide the guard, sighting a large box, probably to hold rations or drink for the guards, maybe weapons as well, but large enough to hide a body. Dragging his victim to the box, much to the monk's relief, he found it was empty. After thrusting the unconscious body inside and closing the lid, he pulled a grappling hook and rope from under his robes. Connecting it to the wall, he threw the rope down, leaned and looked toward the city, letting out a bird-like whistle.

With no response after a few moments, he whistled again.

And again.

And then, halfway through another whistle, growled and turned to look at the bottom of the rope, staring in disbelief at ten helmetless Eldar standing there, looking back up at him.

"What the hell are you all standing down there for?" he quietly hissed in frustration.

"We're awaiting your signal, serjeant," one of the Dire Avengers, Daidre, whispered back.

"What did you think I was whistling for? Just for the fun of it?"

"We thought you were whistling to yourself," one of the Striking Scorpions responded.

"Cael, what do you think I would use as a signal?"

"For most operations, we recite poetry or use hand signals."

"I don't know any of your signals!"

"We only use those amongst ourselves, it's a code that hasn't been broken by the other races, even the Mon-Keigh."

"Cael, what am I?"

Cael looked up at the monk before frowning and looking at the ground.

"I… see the problem."

"No shit. Up here, now!"

Nervously watching the guard paths and the city below, Roger Wessyng soon had ten Eldar over the walls, moving to cover and avoiding being discovered by any guard or citizen of Al-Madin. One of the Avengers opened the box where Rogers' victim lay asleep, a red mark across his face. He turned to Roger and gave a slight smirk.

"Nice hit, serjeant. I would think a man like him would've taken a harder punch."

"Appreciated, Iaolo. Take that as a warning next time you annoy me. Tie him up and gag him while you're at it."

A few chuckles and smiles from the Leopards followed, the final member getting over the stonework shortly after. Looking down to double check for any stragglers, and seeing his warriors all facing the city, he discreetly dropped the horseshoe hidden in his hand over the wall. Satisfied, he pulled the grapple from the stone and hid it near the box. He motioned for the ten to follow him to one of the guard-towers connected to the wall, opening the door and watching them all rush in. Closing it behind him, he turned to face them.

"We're alone, no one's in this tower. Guards here are complacent, damned sloppy, so we have little to worry. Now, the plan one more time. I know we've gone over this, but I want us to be absolutely sure."

The group surrounded him and listened intently as he pulled a pict out, displaying a young, attractive looking young woman.

"This is why we're here everyone. Her highness, Aamira, or princess if you prefer, of the western Emirate of Yalat: Noura. Around the time the Imperium invaded this wonderful planet, Yalat and Al-Madin were involved in some ancient blood-feud nonsense. More importantly, she blundered, along with her late personal guards, into an ambush of Al-Madin hired mercenaries. We are here to get her out of the prison in the qasr of Al-Madins ruler, escort her back to Edmund, hand her over to her noble and very powerful family, and help our comrades in the rest of the Seventh Army Group secure the loyalty of western Mekkar."

Cael raised a hand.

"What are our rules of engagement?"

"No killing unless absolutely necessary. We're ghosts. Get in, leave no trace if we can help it, and get out with Noura. And I don't care if she screams, kicks, or tries to kill you. Noura. Comes. Home. Alive. No if's, ands or buts. If any of you kill her, you'll be joining her in hell, I'll make sure of it. We need to prove that we can work together and win. No letting me down. Any questions?"

None of the Eldar moved or spoke.

"I'll take that as a no. I'm keeping the monk disguise, it'll let me move on the streets easier. No one bothers holy men. I want all of you to stay close. Keep to the rooftops, stay out of sight. Daidre, are the Rangers in position?"

"They're on top of that clocktower. We have a view of the whole city. Here," she said as Roger was handed an ear piece. "We finally got it to work with your primitive ears. No offense."

Roger chuckled as he fitted the small bead-like object into his ear.

"At least my ears can fit with most helmets. There we… go. Shae, can you hear me?"

"Acknowledged serjeant. Alax and I are on station. He's watching the main gate, no movement or alarms sounded. I was watching you and the strike group, no response from any of the nearby guards. You're in and undetected."

Roger winced as he listened to the report. The Eldar communications net was incredible. No interference, no crackling or tinny voices. It sounded crystal clear, beyond that, it sounded like the Ranger was right next to him, despite being a mile or so away in the city.

"Fantastic. Stay on station, let me know if that changes."

He turned to the ten in his strike group.

"Masks on, folks. We're moving."

Departing the guard tower, a lone monk and ten shadows stalked the streets of Al-Madin.

XXXXXX

Roger moved with purpose in the city, having received a layout of the city in the days before they arrived from an unknown source. D'Uxford had given him files and picts, but said nothing of how they got into his possession. Better to not ask some questions. But having memorized and looked at the picts again since he arrived, he felt comfortable about how to get to the qasr without being followed, and more importantly, how to escape it and get away safely.

And despite having now spent a week commanding and living with his Leopards, they still amazed him, as he saw in the corner of his eye the Strike Group moving with a fittingly cat like grace over the roofs of buildings, leaping between ledges, grabbing wires or poles to throw themselves over seemingly impossible distances. He took a bit of pride, knowing these graceful warriors had chosen a clumsy and more primitive man like himself to lead them.

"Hey! You! Stop where you are!"

Roger froze, realizing he was being called out.

"Serjeant, do you need help?"

"Hold on a second before killing anyone, please," Roger hissed.

Turning to face the challenger, he nervously watched the shadowy figures on the rooftops turn towards him.

"Pardon me brother, but what the fuck are you doing out here at night?" the man slurred, stumbling as moved to Roger.

"He's inebriated. No threat."

"Thank you Daidre," Roger muttered before answering the drunkard.

"I have no place to rest my head brother, such is my life. The life of a monk finds much in reward from little."

"Oh fuck off. You don't have any place to sleep?"

"Well, my brother Al-Luz found us a place in the monastery of the Holy Blood-"

"That pig sty? Not worthy of you, your holiness. Come with me, I'll give you a reward. As in a bed that's comfortable and not filled with lice. Damn things are everywhere."

"I am… grateful for your kindness. I accept. Where do you live?"

"Only place to live-" he stopped to let out a noisy belch. "You must not be from around here to not recognize me."

"Correct, friend. I am visiting from Damas."

"I am Sal-Quatar, loyal servant to our noble lord Sal-Hadin, senejaal and commander of the qasr of Al-Madin."

Roger started and looked at the drunk.

"You're inviting me to stay at the qasr?"

"No, I'm inviting you to rut my sister. Of course, you little holy man! Why stay here and- oh no."

He stumbled to a nearby wall, pressed his hands against it, leaned, and vomited a shockingly large amount.

"Oh God-Emperor forgive me. I lost a hundred thrones on a game of cards and spent what little winnings I earned to drink the pain of defeat away."

Roger moved over to Sal-Quatar, holding his head up as he gasped for breath and now sobbing.

"Please forgive me, brother, I have sinned! Sinned! I drink and gamble too much! My wife and my mistresses now barely look at me! I feel like the world is falling apart! It is almost too much to bear!"

"Serjeant, what is he saying?"

"Peace, my friend, peace," he said, patting the man's back as he wept before whispering to his squad. "He's in charge of the qasr, he's inviting me to stay the night there. We have our way in."

"Fortune smiles upon us," Daidre said with more than a little satisfaction.

"Fate is a wheel, it can turn at any minute," he said, louder than he meant to. Could he trust this man? And could he trust being safe in the qasr held by the enemy?

"You-you're right brother. I am merely, urgh, at my bottom. I can only ride up!"

Sal-Quatar snapped up and let out a laugh.

"To the qasr, brother!"

"Bless the Emperor for entwining our fates."

"Wise words! Wise words!" the senejaal cried out, heading towards his charge with the monk, and more than a few unexpected guests, in tow.

"By the way, what's with the hood?"

"Sacred oath to keep my face hidden. Old wounds from a bandit raid."

"My apologies, friend. You are safe here, especially with me!"

XXXXXX

Passing with no issue through the qasr gates, Roger and his new, less than sober friend arrived in the great hall of the qasr. Stumbling as he turned on his heel to face the monk, Sal-Quatar grinned.

"I have forgotten, my friend. Our guest rooms are taken. But there is room in the dungeon."

Fearing a trap that was about to be sprung, Roger could feel the weapons being readied in the shadow, masks focused on the fat drunk facing their commander.

"I don't understand, senejaal."

Sal-Quatar threw his head back and laughed.

"Scared you didn't I! I love doing that, getting people in here and then scaring the living shit out of them. In all seriousness, and I do apologize for any mental anguish I caused, we do have some quarters kept in good condition in the dungeon. One of them even has a princess!"

"Really? Who?"

"Noura, the rose of Yalat herself! We've kept her in decent conditions for this last year or so, waiting for her family to pay that damned ransom! The emir was furious when they tried to cheat him the last time they tried to free her, so we'll keep for a while longer I think. But the cell across from her is clean and as good as the one she's in, so being a guest there is hardly an insult."

"Emperor bless you, friend. I will accept. I must ask if I can get some food before I retire."

"Of course! I'll dine with you. But first, let me show you to your room."

Leading Roger down the spiraling path to the dungeon, the senejaal kept tripping and stumbling, somehow never falling down the tight, treacherous stairs. With more than a little disappointment, Roger realized that leading someone up these steps would be a trial, even without being chased by alerted guards or facing a response from a prison break. He was in unfamiliar ground, the plans and picts of the qasr never showing the dungeon or its details.

"Almost there, brother. There's Noura's cell. Hello your majesty! You have a new neighbor!"

There was silence as the two waited for a response that never came, the princess hidden behind a thick wood and steel door.

"Bitch. Anyway, make yourself comfortable, I'll go and inform the cooking staff to make us something. Maybe you can give Noura her last rites. Ha!"

Sal-Quatar stomped up the stairs, leaving Roger alone. Hearing the dungeon's door slam shut, he rushed over to the cell containing Noura, the thick door having a small opening, probably for food. There were no guards anywhere, a sign that the garrison was confident no one would escape, and the Leopards were still hidden in the great hall. Guards were posted everywhere, patrolling the upper-levels, the doorways, the alcoves, but none could see the Xenos in their midst.

"Eyes on target. I'm fine down here, keep watch. Let me know when my new friend is coming back here."

"Understood," Cael quickly responded.

"No change anywhere in the city, serjeant," Shae added.

So far so good, as far as Roger could tell. He opened the food hatch.

"Aamira? Noura? Are you alive in there?"

He heard silence, and suddenly feared that she was dead all along, starved or strangled in her cell. Then he heard a sudden rush to the door.

"Who are you?" a feminine voice with the lilting accent of Haikks people quickly asked.

"My name is Roger. You heard of Prince Edmund? He's sent me here to get you out of this and get you back to your family."

"At last! I've almost given up hope of freedom! That… pig of an emir and his men leer at me everytime they give me food or check-in on me. I was worried that my family couldn't pay the ransom."

"I'm in the room across from you. Don't tell anyone about me, it's important you-"

An Eldari voice cut in.

"The drunk is returning."

"Dammit. Look, we have people here in the qasr, we'll free you. I don't know how, but we will."

"Please Roger, don't give me false hope."

"I won't your majesty," he said, quickly shutting the food hatch as he heard Sal-Quatar trundle down the stairs again. He finally entered the dungeon and turned to Roger.

"Accommodations to your liking?"

"Better than a monastery."

"Good! Let's get some food."

XXXXXX

Moving out of the dungeon, the pair returned to the great hall, looking at the large amount of food on offer.

"Please, brother," Sal-Quatar said, offering a seat.

Sitting down, he looked at the food, all of it mouth-wateringly inviting. Taking a chunk of what looked like some kind of bird, he paused to see his host tear into the animal as well. Suddenly he heard a voice.

"I infiltrated the kitchen while you were in the dungeon. Don't worry. No poison here."

Could've been told that earlier, Roger thought. He was on high alert now. He was in the qasr, an easy place to spring a trap behind its heavily guarded walls. He had been in the literal dungeon, placed in a cell. And now he was being offered food that could easily be poisoned. But nothing happened. No ambush, no assassination attempts, nothing.

"Where is the emir?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Old fool goes to bed early to pray. Prays too much if you ask me. Man is terrified of the evils of the world."

"Well, given the galaxy we live in…"

"True, but my emir, peace upon him, and pray for him brother, he believes even the simplest of superstitions. Sees signs in the dust, the stars, and is absolutely-" he cut off suddenly, looking to both sides of the hall, the guards all around ignoring him or continuing their patrols. He leaned into Roger and whispered.

"The man is terrified of spirits. Djinns. Devils that appear in the dark. He has nightmares about them sometimes. They're so bad he wakes up screaming. He is a brave leader, but I think he's afraid of spirits more than Edmund, the bastard."

He leaned away, chewing a leg off the bird, or whatever it was.

"How does it all taste?"

"Better than holy gruel."

Sal-Quatar laughed before taking a handful of olives and shoving them in his already stuffed mouth.

XXXXXX

As the clock tower chimed at midnight before going silent for the next 6 hours, Roger sat in his cell, quietly conversing with his Leopards over how to complete their mission.

"We have no easy way out of the dungeon. Worse still, we'd have to sneak or fight through the most heavily defended part of this city, which while I know you all could do, is not really the best way to go through with this. Suggestions anyone?"

Daidre responded first.

"Is it possible to disguise her and take her away?"

"Not likely. I don't know how to open her cell in the first place, or where the keys are. And sneaking a woman, even disguised, out of here is not feasible."

A long silence followed.

"I've been invited to stay a few days. I'm going to get some sleep, maybe come up with a plan. That guard I knocked out is probably going to come to, so get Kallen and a few of our reserve force to take him away. Don't kill him, but take him somewhere he won't be found easily. Shae, any changes out there?"

"Nothing to report. The replacements for that guard you dispatched have not noticed or assumed nothing is wrong. Very curious."

"Good. Everyone, get some rest if you can, but be ready to act if something goes wrong. I know it's not much of a plan, but we're in a tough spot right now. Cutting comms now, but if things go to hell, sound the alert on my earpiece. Good night."

Roger pressed on the earpiece and laid down on the bed. He was worried now. He was about to fail a simple, if arduous, task that would damage his standing with not only the Leopards, but Edmund and D'Uxford as well. His first assignment seemed to be very likely his last and he was hardly happy about it. He rested his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, hoping to finally rest. He suddenly felt a presence to his side, his eyes darting to what he assumed was the final strike that the emir of Al-Madin had planned all along. He turned and pulled his dagger, and nearly dropped it when he realized who it was.

"Anya?"

The unmasked Ranger had a face of stone, barely showing any emotion or feeling.

"Hello Roger."

"You-you're supposed to be with Kallen and the rest! What the hell are you doing here! How did you find me- no, how did you get down here!"

"I follow paths less followed, and see trails barely trod."

"I would prefer you to not speak in pretentious quotes that seem deep."

"You will not last long among my people then."

"If this mission goes as well as it has so far, I won't."

Anya frowned and crooked her head slightly at him.

"What do you mean?"

Roger laughed, before remembering that the dungeon had his target only across the hall.

"I can't figure out a way to succeed at this. She's only feet away, but I can't free her, let alone sneak her out of the qasr, get her through the streets, get her back to Edmund. I'm… not sure how we're going to win this."

Anya shook her head and placed her gloved hand on Roger's shoulder.

"Where are you now?"

"In a dungeon, feet away from a princess."

"Correct, but you are inside a city that seems impenetrable. You became friends with the commander of this fortress, got invited to stay here, and are now only paces away from a woman you didn't know lived. A failure would have never gotten past the walls. Fate has protected and aided you. You have succeeded so much with such little effort that now the slightest issue seems an impassable obstacle."

Roger looked at Anya before turning to the cell door. She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. He had succeeded in sneaking through a city with the help of one of D'Uxfords agents, Al-Luz, probably not his real name, but still. He had blundered not only into a high ranking and very friendly member of Al-Madin society, and had gotten into the most defended and watched place in the city, and now was only paces away from his target. Now that he couldn't figure out what to do next, he seemed to fall apart.

"You're right. But I have no idea what to do next. I can't figure it out for the life of me."

Anya removed her hand from his shoulder and tapped her fingers on her knee.

"Do you remember, when the council dismissed you on Ducaish, you spoke with Kallen about warriors listening to each other's advice?"

Roger nodded after a moment, thinking back to the discussion while the craftworlds magnificence glowed through the window at him.

"I remember that. I also remember that he and I were alone. Or were we not?"

"You were, but he does talk to me. I actually enjoy his company."

"Good to hear. What is your point?"

"You said that in the forces of mankind, you listen to advice and opinions. Are you willing to listen to the advice of an Eldar? Or is your Mon-Keigh pride too strong for something like that?"

"If it were some random Eldar, yes. But you're a Leopard, and your opinion is always welcome."

Anya smiled at Roger, filling him with a strange feeling in his chest.

"I have an idea of solving our problem down the hall. Do you remember that conversation you had with Sal-Quatar? About the emir and his superstitions?"

"You talked to one of my strike group about that?"

"I've been following you since you entered the city."

Roger opened his mouth to protest, but he remembered his father saying something about gift horses and their mouths.

"Yes. Do you know any… what did he call them, djinns?"

"Unfortunately no. But what if we could make one?"

"You know how to summon daemons?"

Anya giggled and quickly returned to her firm gaze.

"How would you react to seeing an Eldar in the middle of the night in your bedchambers?"

Roger smiled.

"I think you saw that a few minutes ago."

Anya nodded.

"What would you think if you had never seen an alien before, believed in demons and devils in your midst, and saw an Eldar standing over you?"

Roger thought for a few seconds before taking a deep breath in realization. He tapped the comm-piece in his ear.

"Roger here. Anxo, you told me you were an actor before you followed the path of the warrior. Think you still have the chops? I got an idea. It's a bit far-fetched, but it could work…"

XXXXXX

Emir Sal-Hadin, ruler of Al-Madin, conqueror of the Arori lowlands, terror of Yalat, and many other titles his breathless heralds would rattle off in solemn occasions, enjoyed his opulent lifestyle. Fine silk sheets, cool air from vents connected to massive machinery outside his qasr flowing into his chambers, its marbled floor almost reflective from its constant polishing, and most nights, except this one, in the company of beautiful women, sometimes as many as ten at a time. He was not an out of shape man, his gut stretching out more than he liked, but still a capable fighter and lover, as his friends and "friends" would attest. But tonight was different. His dreams, normally so peaceful, or as peaceful as a ruler could have, were tormented and wicked. Instead of visions of maidens and delectable food, it was riven by horror, despair, and anguish.

The one torturing him now seemed more like a vision. He was riding a white horse through the burnt out remains of farms, crops laid sallow, dead families lining the roads, hung from poles, gutted by swords, and the women-he bared not to think it. He rode hard, seeing his city, its walls gleaming in perfection, soon to be ravaged by the same nightmare that had befallen the rural folk. As he closed in, he heard a horrid roar, and standing before him was a lion. A golden lion, with claws drenched in gore, a piece of human flesh dangling from its bloody mouth. It watched and leapt at him, throwing him from his horse, rolling in the ashes of wheat fields before stumbling to his feet. He tore the scimitar from his scabbard, and readied himself. The lion growled and charged straight at him, claws outstretched, teeth gleaming, eyes burning with flames of hatred, cutting at his-

He awoke, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. Looking around him and seeing he was in the comfort of his bed chambers, he relaxed. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he looked for the pitcher of water servants always left on his nightstand, pouring it into a glass still red with the marks of wine. He took a sip, finding it cold and refreshing. The finest of water from the wells was always his right, as laid out by his ancestors' rules and decrees.

He walked to his private balcony, looking over his beloved city, now covered in the dark of night, the lights of houses and taverns glistening like stars. The dream was a portent of his worst fears, he determined. Edmund, Prince of Anglerre, bearing heraldry of a golden lion, would come here and try to destroy everything Sal-Hadin had cared for, his ancestors had built, and the future he hoped his sons to inherit. He shuddered to think of his beloved boys being held as hostages, much like his hated enemies daughter in his own dungeon. He resolved to never let it happen, taking a sip of water and turning back to his nightstand. Filling the glass again, he rubbed his face and took a few deep breaths. He needed to relax, to rest. He needed all the strength to face down that lion of the Imperium, to stand tall and defy the odds, to fight for the freedom of Haikk from its Terran oppressors. He needed his sons to find inspiration when they ruled, when he was too old, to-

He felt a chill, a presence. As if something was watching him. As if an evil spirit had entered his chambers. As if he was about to look into the horrid eyes of evil itself. And he was right.

He turned around slowly, like a man who knew what fate held in store for him but was almost too terrified to accept it, and to his unimaginable horror, looked into the beady red eyes of a green colored monster, who though masked in nearly pitch-black darkness, was taller than any man, limbs long and lanky, semi-covered by a black cloak. Before he could scream or beg, it spoke to him in a low growl that would rankle even the strongest man's spine.

"Sal-Hadin. I have come for you."

His fingers, paralyzed in pure terror, dropped the glass, which shattered into hundreds of pieces on the floor.