On the brink of the precipice the cloaked figure bore the violence of the night’s storm stoically. Empty eyes, shielded from the wind driven rain beneath the dark hood, remained focused and unblinking on the village far below.

Through the tempest, pitiful tiny figures could just be made out battling in sodden exhaustion against the raging heavens as they strove to keep the wind from stealing away what little they had ever had. The watcher remained unmoved and unmoving.

Waiting.

Suddenly the black on black sky was torn asunder by a blinding flash as a peal of thunder, so loud even the howling of the wind seemed momentarily subdued, crashed down from directly overhead. Almost too brief to follow, the lightning arced down towards the village where just before striking the ground it forked in two. Despite the sheets of rain, huts burst into flame conjuring new energy in the scurrying desperate villagers. The watcher let out a weary sigh.

"Message received and understood, you heartless bitch," and turning to the small doorway set in the rock behind him, he stalked from the cliff top and out of the storm. Within, a winding staircase lead down into the interior where a small fire cast dancing lights and flickering shadows that bled away into the brooding darkness that otherwise filled the chamber. Slumping into a high backed chair facing the hearth and throwing back his hood he stared vacantly into the flames. ’’Another menial task reluctantly doled out to a hated child.” There was no-one there to answer. Instead, perhaps caressed by a momentary rogue draft, the flames in the hearth suddenly leapt and crackled angrily. “Still, no reason to get excited. It’ll be a while before there is anything much to do.” Sinking back into the chair he closed his eyes as the flames died back down.

Next Chapter: Excerpt from much later in the book