To Gkr. Malkeon Redwing:

I write this in your own tongue, so that anything I may write cannot be improperly translated. With this in mind, I urge that you turn away from this impending tragedy you have been told to carry out. I urge it so that you will survive the genocide that will assuredly come from it.

It is true that I have been tasked to do something many would consider a heinous act. It is not. There is much that you do not know, much that has not been told to you. I will gladly tell you of such things, and the purpose behind my own task, if you will only listen to reason.

Storm clouds loom over your great city, even now. I trust that we both understand their purpose. If this purpose is fulfilled, all will remain as it was. You have entrusted your life to a rebel cause. There seems to be a great romanticizing of rebellion these days. As rebels tend to go, these are not great men and women. These people you claim as allies are nothing more than murderers and thieves. They are not heroes. You have been chosen by them, not for any deeds you have done, or any good in your heart, but simply because you have the lowest price on your head.

I wish that you were as I, Malkeon. I wish that you were willing to join the cause of King Laecon. May he live forever! His strength lies not in his physical prowess, but in his love for his people. It is for this reason he wishes to remove the rebels from among you. Our great king wishes for no blood. This rebel force wants quite the opposite. I know they have told you otherwise.

I imagine I have not convinced you. I have seen how they turn you against us. Even so, I believe you will eventually be convicted by the truth of what I write to you. Until this happens, I conclude with one final thought.

Trust no mortal.

~Trizkol of the Laconic Armies

Chapter 1

The day was going well so far.

It was Malkeon’s fifth day working at the local magic shop in Asynthandt. The job was not very hard and the workplace was quite beautiful. Crystalline shards hung from the ceiling on invisible wire, and unusually shaped bottles filled with odd elixirs, along with dozens of crystals, both cut and uncut, lined the shelves. But regardless, the floor was filthy.

He had gotten very lucky to have this job. His boss Bildor, a pale plump man with a curling mustache and a thin white beard at the end of his chin, was the only Euronian vendor in the entire city that either he or his family felt could be trusted. It was a very well placed trust. He didn’t overprice things. He didn’t sell low-quality goods. He let the poor, like Malkeon, pay through work.

There had been some debate between the two about how much work he needed. Bildor knew that Malkeon’s sister’s birthday was coming soon. He had suggested Malkeon work three weeks to pay off a beautiful and shiny protection charm. Malkeon had responded that he instead wanted seven weeks, which was negotiated to six, then five, and then sixteen for a brief period before he realized that sixteen and four were separate numbers. And that was their settling point.

Iossa’s birthday had already come and gone. Still, Malkeon worked his hardest, trying to pretend that he did not see the dark blue clouds that loomed over the city.

The steel blue clouds had been bothering the citizens for some time now. It was said that clouds of that color predicted a raid. But raids happened rarely. He had been a young boy in the first raid, perhaps not more than six years old. It had been little over a decade since that time. But other survivors, such as his father and sister, remembered that distinct color.

He remembered the smells. He remembered the sounds. So he hoped to the skies above that there was another reason for the clouds to be the color that they were.

He heard a booming sound come from outside the magic shop. It was something akin to a thunderclap. He was not stupid. He knew that was no thunderclap. Rather, that was the sound of a building crumbling down into its own foundations.

The raid had begun.

Bildor came tearing across towards Malkeon’s position from the other side of the store. He nearly shoved him out the back door.

“Raid!” he screamed. “Save yourself! Run!”

Malkeon raised his eyebrows at Bildor, looking between him and the door.

Bildor nodded. “I’ll be fine, I’ve lived through these before. Now go!”

Malkeon ran as fast as his feet could take him. He was launching himself across the stony road at a speed even he did not know that he could run. He was shoving himself through hysterical crowds of parents with children, all howling in terror. Wheelers, three-wheeled steam-powered vehicles, were abandoned in the street. He dared not look back. He could hear once very loud screams being silenced suddenly by a sickening crunch as he ran. He was nearly trampled himself as he thrust himself forward as fast as he could.

He rushed past long rows of nice brick homes until he finally came to the poorer section. They were something akin to wattle-and-daub houses, and not well prepared for such horrors as raids were. He tried to find his own in the slew of people. The crowds, although still large, had decreased significantly in size since he had first started running. He searched for his family tirelessly, but could not see them. In fact, he still could not find his house. In the insanity of the crowd, had he run the wrong way?

He heard a piercing shriek to his right. He turned towards it instinctively and instantly gained his answer. He almost wished he hadn’t.

He realized he was in fact, in the street just by his house. The reason he discovered that fact was because one of his close-by childhood friends was about to be eaten alive.

He stood frozen in fear. She was in the grasp of a larger humanoid figure. The figure itself was almost beautiful. It had light blue glassy skin. Its body was slender and nearly feline in nature. Its hands were thin, but not gaunt. It had long pointed ears that stretched a tiny bit behind its skull. Long, smooth shining black hair fell to its waist, draped over a white cloak that it was wearing. It was only about a head or two taller than most people. But its eyes were black as coal, and cracks were visible in its face, as though it were a porcelain doll that had been dropped from a height.

He knew of these monsters from before, and from stories even before that. Older citizens called them “shadows”. Most others called them by their more common name - “vaeshla”, meaning “killers of kings”. But no matter what people called them, they were all rightly terrified of them.

His friend Crystal came closer and closer to the monster’s mouth. Malkeon stood still. She screamed for help, and he was just standing there, shaking.

Against his best judgment, he took a step forward. He did not know why. He could not fight one of the vaeshla. He was powerless. Then he took another one, faster than the last. He took another, and another, and then another until it was a full sprint toward this man-eating beast. Just as her head approached its rows of sharpened teeth, Malkeon hurled his fist over his shoulder landed a punch straight into the vaeshla’s abdomen.

It stopped what it was doing and stared down at whatever had just attacked it. It did not seem at all phased by the punch. It blinked its midnight eyes and looked Malkeon direct in the eyes.

Seeing the opportunity, Crystal raised a knife nearly the size of her own forearm and stabbed the monster straight in the neck. The thing shrieked in shock and pain, flinging Crystal into a nearby house. She crashed into one of the support beams. The vaeshla then realized that it was holding her dismembered right leg. It tossed it down the alley.

It ripped the knife from its neck and stared Malkeon down. It began walking towards him, baring its fangs and making what sounded like a hissing noise as it did.

“Think itself strong, does it?” it asked in not much more than a growl.

It grabbed Malkeon by his long black curly hair, tossing him far down the street with one arm. He tried to get up slowly. The monster was waiting for him to do so. Once he was almost up, a leg came tearing down into his spine, smashing it back into the stone beneath. He howled in rage and pain.

It picked him up by the collar, staring him straight in the face. “Think itself brave, does it?”

It picked him up and pounded him in the stomach multiple times before throwing him back into the street. He tried crawling away with what was left of his strength, but it was not fast enough.

“Didst thou believe that thou could truly save thy friend?” It gave out a cackle before continuing. “In attempting so, thou hast saved none. Thou hast only guaranteed thine own death. Thou art but an ant under my boot, foolish human.” It placed its heel on the side of his skull. “And I intend to squish this bothersome ant.”

He felt an intense pressure. He felt his consciousness beginning to fade when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye: a shining white blade. He did not know where it came from. It was not the knife that Crystal had used before. His arm was just within reach of the blade.

Before the monster could respond, he grabbed the blade and swung at the vaeshla’s ankle. It leaped back, but not far enough. In a new burst of strength, he lunged forward, sending the tip of the blade straight into the creature’s center.

The street, which before had been very loud, was nearly silent now. Perhaps it just seemed silent to him. The monster switched its gaze from his face to the blade to back to him, wide-eyed. A thick blue liquid spurted from its mouth before it disappeared into a grey smoke.

Malkeon stood there, the sword still held in place. His head felt heavy. He dropped the sword to his side, fell down and passed out.

He regained consciousness some quite time later, he could not tell when. His eyes slowly fluttered open. He knew he was in a bed, but not his own bed. There were beds all around him with people in them. In the bed just to his left was a white-haired, light olive skinned girl sitting up and staring at him. He knew her well. It was Crystal.

“Where…?” he began asking.

“We’re in the doctor’s home,” she replied in a groggy voice.

“What…?”

“Happened? Well, a vaeshla tried to eat me, and then beat the bloody mess out of you. Then you killed it, I guess… so they all left. We’re lucky to be alive… everyone is.”

He could see now that her leg was still missing, but wrapped up in some kind of white cloth. She noticed the direction of his gaze.

“It’s all right. It… it could be worse. My head could be in that thing’s stomach, but it’s not. So thank you.” She laughed. “You know, Iossa and Eocas keep coming to see you, hoping you’ll get up. And now you’re up, and they’re not here. Cruddy timing, if you ask me. Should’ve slept a couple more hours.”

He let out a long breath before replying. “How long was I asleep?”

“About a day. Can you move your legs?”

He wiggled his toes. He bent his knees back and forth. He nodded.

He could hear some people getting rather upset outside the walls. He had no idea what they were saying at first, but one seemed far more aggressive than the other. Then he picked up a few pieces of the conversation.

“The boy can’t still be asleep,” roared a deep booming voice. “I need information! People saw things and they need answers!”

Malkeon could hear another voice beyond the door, a man with a heavy South Vaelan accent. It was the doctor. “They are resting. You cannot go in!”

“I make the orders around here, doctor. And I order you to let me into the bedrooms!”

After some time of arguing, a tall man in a long grey cloak and a shorter man in a blue cloak made their way through the door. The man in the blue cloak let out a heavy and arduous sigh.

“All right. But I imagine he is still tired.”

Malkeon tried to smile, but it was only a faint smirk lined with a terror crawling up his skin. “I’m not tired.”

“All right, but he may not want to answer questions.”

Malkeon stared at the tall man. He would’ve given him a foul look, but it looked like the tall man already had one. “What’s the question?”

The man in the blue cloak threw up his hands. “What do I know? I’m just the doctor.” He grumbled. “Fine then, have at him, sir. Boy, this is one of the city watchers. Watcher, this is Malkeon Red…”

The watcher gave the doctor no time to finish. “I know who he is. The people claim that you killed a vaeshla.”

“I did.”

“How? You know only faerrin weapons can kill one of the vaeshla. So what did you do?”

“I stabbed it.”

The watcher’s left eyebrow raised slightly. “With what, exactly, did you stab it?”

“A sword.”

His eyebrow raised a bit higher. “What did it look like?”

“White, clear blade.”

Both eyebrows raised, then furrowed. “And where, boy, did you happen to get a white sword with a clear blade?”

“On the ground.”

The watcher laughed out loud. “You don’t expect me to believe an faerrin sword was just laying on the ground right next to you, do you?”

Malkeon paused for a moment. “Yes?”

“Well, I don’t. And being that your father Eocas Redwing is a known former Vaelan rebel, it doesn’t surprise me at all that his son is following in his footsteps.”

The watcher looked downward slightly, but Malkeon could still see the wide grin beneath the shadow of his hood. He chuckled.

“Do you know what we do to rebels when we find them?”

At that moment Crystal launched toward the watcher. The watcher quickly shot his hand up, and a crystal embedded in his gauntlet glowed brightly. She fell down to the bed again just as quickly as she had launched at him.

The doctor’s eyes widened, his lip trembling. “Sir, he’s only a boy! You can’t do this!”

The watcher turned his gaze to the doctor very slowly as Crystal seemed to be struggling against an invisible inhibitor. She screamed as the watcher laughed. “Oh? And you, old man… what do you think you can do to stop me?”

The old man stood still. The watcher smiled.

“Oh, how I live for this.” he turned to door. “Soldiers, take him! This one’s going to the Espya Mountains. Let’s see how he stands up to a multitude of very hungry flesh eaters.”

At that moment, men in fancy metal uniforms walked through the door. They grabbed Malkeon by both arms and began to carry him out. He struggled against the men as Crystal screamed hysterically.

“You can’t take him!” she yelled. “He can’t go! He’ll die! He’ll DIE!”

The watcher smirked. “That’s something of the point, dear.”

Upon feeling the men grabbing his arms, Malkeon felt a headache so powerful it almost brought him to his knees. His left eye burned like boiling water had been thrown on it. He yelled through pain and anger.

The tall watcher looked down at Malkeon and his eyes widened for a brief instant.

“R-right,” he stammered. “We can’t have you… um… c-conscious. Guards!”

Malkeon felt the blunt of a sword hilt and remembered no more about that day.