651 Ísharan Year, 54 years ago.

Rénso stood silently in front of the enormous mosaic crystal window, deep in contemplation. The window was at least twice as tall as he was, in an already cavernous room on the second floor of the villa. He studied the intricate crystal work, the meeting of metal and crystal in some places delicate, and others deliberately left crude. The midday sun shone its bright light through, casting colors and long shadows across the room. This particular window depicted Noa, the Amí of Solace. The goddess’s glowing likeness was rendered masterfully, kneeling with ethereal pale skin and long flowing red hair that curled to the floor around her body, head tilted back, her mouth open in deliverance of benediction. Smiling, he reached up and touched the red hair, warm from the sunlight. 

Beautiful.

He turned away, walking across the wooden tile floors in the room that was far too extravagant for a mere guard, his short sword clinking softly against his plate mail with each step, echoing off the forest green walls adorned with stylized flower patterns and trimmings in gold plated metal. He glanced at the infamous swords on display that hung from hooks on the walls, instruments of death rendered useless as ornamentation. He knew they cried out for blood, and wondered how many breaths they had taken in their time to earn their names.

The room had paintings of the Séna and his family on the walls, and luxurious couches and tea tables in the center of the room for entertaining guests. 

It had already been three months that the royal guard had been in this villa, along with a scant crew of handmaids and royal attendants. All for the purpose of concealing the most important person in the kingdom. 

A sharp knock came from behind the door. 

“Captain!”

Rénso opened the door and was greeted by a young scrawny blonde-haired guard, his hair a tousled mop on his head. 

“Captain, the town lord is present, asking for the Captain of the Guard,” he said, standing straight, his right fist over his heart in salute. 

Rénso inspected the young guard. Staying at the villa had naturally made the guards lazy. His chest plate strap was too loose, his leather boots were un-fastened, and his hair was unkempt beyond regulation. 

But the kid was a knight in his early twenties, and Rénso couldn’t do a full redress like he could with a squire, for knights had earned some respect at least. 

“I’ll meet him in the reception room.”

“Yes, Captain.” The guard turned to leave. 

“Híran,” Rénso called, “you’re out of regulation.” 

Rénso pointed to his hair. The young knight turned and gave a salute and headed down the stairs. 

“Indolent knight,” Rénso muttered, following behind to meet the guest.

He caught his reflection in a mirror on the wall. After 39 years, his own brown hair was greying, medium length and shaved on the sides in compliance with regulation. The graying stubble on his chin was growing in, and he was overdue for a shave.

Nan, the town lord, was a short and portly man who had a good relationship with the ruling Séna’s family. He was also a mage but was never one of any renown. 

Rénso entered the reception room on the first floor. A large and open rectangle, it had multiple couches arranged around tea tables, explicitly meant for treating guests and making good first impressions. The interior walls were lined with bookshelves full of tomes and academic primers and codices. And hidden in the spaces between hung crystal lighting fixtures over standing statuettes. The seating areas had decorative rugs, whose make was likely of the Sekh tribes of the Séwaragí deserts in the southeastern subcontinent, multicolored and woven in exotic patterns; they were unlike any other seen on the continent of Alcrést. 

In the warm days of spring, the maids would slide the glass paned outer walls open, allowing one to step out from the room and into the gardens or sit on the edge of the room and watch the exotic fish in the pond. 

Today was one of those days. 

Nan was seated with his back to the door, crunching on the snacks that had been served. Rénso cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence.

“Oh Rénso-shíé!” Nan stood up, holding a teacup and saucer. 

Kiyo, the colored rock candy traditionally served with tea, had fallen in crumbs from his red tunic to the rug.

Rénso held his hand up and gestured for him to take his seat, and walked to the opposing couch. His plate mail and sword made navigating the space with grace utterly impossible. A wince crept across his face as he sat when his sword struck the bottom of the tea table and violently shook the cup and saucer that was set out for him. 

Nan fidgeted nervously.

“I’m no Shíé, Nan-shíé,” Rénso smiled. 

Shíé were exclusively landowners, and Rénso was a simple free commoner who knew he had risen much higher in society than he had any right to. 

“Ah, I’ve forgotten. Apologies, Rénso-raíséjí.” Nan half-smiled nervously. 

Rénso eyed him curiously. The man was in his mid-fifties, balding with thin brown hair. Today, he wore golden rings with emeralds set into them. Two or three on each hand. Rénso had never seen Nan wear those before, but he assumed he must have been an air mage, but he didn’t know enough about magicka to make a conclusion. 

Nan was dressed well enough for a country Shíé, and by all accounts was in good health. 

So why is he now pallid, sweaty and shaking like a timid boy on his way to the gallows?

“Are you alright?”

Nan nodded. Rénso eyed Nan’s hands and looked up to meet his eyes. 

Ah, and there it is. 

Rénso had seen that look before. It was the look that was on the eyes of every green knight that has ever been sent to battle for the first time. The look of nearly every soldier who has met the end of his halberd. The same look his wife gave him the last time he saw her.

Terror.

“So, it’s happening then?” Rénso adjusted his gloved hands. 

Nan went wide eyed and took a deep breath, as if to gather all the courage he had.

“Yes.”

“How much time do we have?”

Nan rubbed his chin, scratching the stubble with a worried expression.

“It was reported to me that they would be here in four hours or so.”

“Then that means they’re already here.”

Nan nodded solemnly.

“Leave this place,” Rénso said, placing his hands on his knees and standing. “Don’t worry, we’ll defend the prince with our lives. And don’t tell them that we’re here.”

Nan made a quick nod in acknowledgement and stood, starting toward the door. 

“Nan-shíé… It’s been good working with you these past few months.”

Nan bowed silently as he left, the door closing behind him with a subtle click. 

Rénso sighed, bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose. Nan showed Rénso far too much respect. A Shíé, bowing to a commoner? 

He was a bumbling fool, but he had supplied them with provisions the entire time. And as far as Rénso knew, he hasn’t uttered a word of their true purpose here to anyone. 

He had remained a true friend.

Rénso took a step out of the room and into the hall. Híran watched him, his eyes wide and fingers anxiously twitching. He had overheard the conversation.

“Inform the Vice Captain and head of staff to gather everyone in the main hall.” 

Híran bowed curtly and left.

Rénso walked into the main hall and leaned on the massive staircase banister. The main hall was every bit as extravagant as the rest of the villa, with its gorgeous white marble floors buffed to a mirror shine, bordered on the sides by marble colonnades that supported the hallways above. 

The entrance doors were made of large, thick oaken slabs, on which were carved reliefs of the glories and histories of the Séna’s family. And on the rear wall opposite the entrance, was the highlight of the hall, a grand wooden staircase, featuring three large multi-story windows on the intermediate landing, opening to a view of the villa’s center courtyard, and the rear of the grounds, which held the lady of the villa’s personal gardens and aviary. 

The handmaids and servants gathered in the front, with the twenty royal guards lined up behind. All told there were around thirty souls. Rénso stood at the head.

“I’ve received news a little while ago,” he began, “Today is the day we’ve been dreading since we evacuated from the capital.”

The handmaid’s faces darkened with audible gasps. The guards held mixed expressions. The older, grizzled among them were stone-faced and silent, nodding as if they were accepting their fates. The younger were confident, almost excited, itching for a fight.

Poor things.

“The Imperial army should be here within four hours. But their scouts are probably here already. Non-combatants,” Rénso pointed to the handmaids and staff, “you are relieved of your duties. I thank you for your service. You may hide here in this villa, try to hide in the town, or escape on your own. I don’t suggest it though.”

He looked past them to the soldiers in the rear.

“Royal Guard!”, he bellowed, and the guardsmen came to a salute. “At the cost of your lives, you are to defend the crown prince. Barricade the doors and prevent their entry as long as possible.”

“Yes, Captain!” They shouted in unison. A few of the handmaids jumped.

Rénso began breaking the men up into groups and assigning them egresses to barricade, when he felt a tug at his sleeve. To his right was a young handmaiden, a comely brown-haired girl, with brown eyes and olive skin and a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She couldn’t have been a day over sixteen.

He didn’t remember her name.

“Rénso-shíé, I can stay and attend to the prince.”  Her words and voice were as sweet as honey. He was not a Shíé, but he would let it slide for her this time.

“Are you sure? Don’t you understand what’s coming?”

“I understand.” A tear fell down her cheek. The staff already knew what was happening, and probably before he did. They had been talking about it in hushed tones all day.

Rénso looked at her with pity. They had escaped the capital to protect the Nélíssé crown prince from the Ilorisian Empire’s armies. But now it’s come down to this, and they will likely have to lay their lives down in defense of the kingdom’s future. This girl knew this and willingly offered herself. Men were usually killed by invading armies, but women suffered fates worse than death. 

Rénso took out one of the two throwing daggers that was strapped across his chest, a simple blade with a wooden handle.

“If it comes to it, do it here,” he said, touching a spot on the side of her neck with a gloved finger, “In and out, clean. You’ll go quickly.”

He paused, before offering her the blade handle. 

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she replied, grasping it cautiously and slipping it in the front pocket of her apron.

Rénso nodded. One could hope.

“Do you follow Shiïrífa?” Rénso looked out the grand staircase’s windows at the figures depicted in brilliant crystal.

She shook her head in denial. Religion was quite free in the west, after all.

Rénso nodded solemnly. “Well, I’ll  pray that the Goddess Noa-amíshía grant us some solace.”

She looked at him in bewilderment for a few moments before bowing, thanking him for the gesture. She didn’t know whether he saw it or not as she left him there at the foot of the staircase, silently praying. 

But praying to who? The Amísén are all dead, she thought.

---

Prince Sonoro didn’t like carrots. He didn’t like peas either. Potatoes were good, and so were mushrooms. He liked to separate them on his plate and did not want any of the sliced meat to touch the vegetables. 

Today he was served in his uncle’s room, on the tea table that was always in the corner. He normally ate in the dining room, or in the kitchen with the handmaids, but never in his uncle’s room. That was different. He didn’t know what the adults and the staff were doing today, but everything seemed different. 

He was even dressed in his royal blues, the itchy woolen breeches, tall socks and leather shoes, with the collared shirt with the annoying lace. Over that, he was supposed to wear a matching blue overcoat, but it was just too hot for that. There was a beret somewhere around here also, he knew, but he couldn’t find it right now. This was all different too.

Even Anka was different today. 

He watched her in her plain maid’s uniform, fussing as she looked out the windows. Anka had been with him for a long time, or at least as long as he could remember. She wasn’t the head handmaid, that was Rulia. But Rulia stayed behind at the capital when they came to the villa.

Anka could be gloomy sometimes, though. 

But still, Anka was here. He liked Anka. 

“Anka, let’s play a game,” he said, swinging his legs in the chair. 

“We can’t right now, Noro-haku.” 

Some things were a little different, but she still called him by his nickname, Noro. He liked that, and that she was still polite in using his honorifics. 

She watched as the knights walked past with lawn furniture. Rénso walked alongside them, pointing toward the entrance, giving guidance and orders. She twirled a lock of hair between her thumb and index finger as she watched. In other, more peaceful times, perhaps she would think Rénso handsome. She was of marriageable age after all. 

A tug broke the illusion, as Sonoro wrapped his arms around her left leg, making her dress taut. He joined her in watching the commotion out the window. She glanced down at the small boy; his dark brown hair neatly parted in the middle and his green eyes bright and still full of wonder.

“What’s happening?” 

“I’ll tell you later.” She closed the curtains. “So, finish your dinner. Hurry up, now.”

She gestured toward the table, and he reluctantly let her go, walking back over to his seat.

“I’ll play a game with you if you finish your plate.”

Sonoro grinned from ear to ear, eating ravenously. 

Anka smiled at him wistfully, suddenly aware of the dagger stashed in her apron pocket; the weight of its implications made her neck and back break out in a nervous sweat.

“Anka, more juice.” Her mind stopped racing, interrupted by the boy holding up his glass. 

She frowned.  

“You’ve drunk the whole carafe!” She sighed, taking a deep breath. “I shall bring another. Wait here.” 

Sonoro nodded.

Anka walked into the hallway on the second floor and shut the wooden door to the master’s suite. This wing of the building was reserved for the prince and his attendants, the guard captain and vice captain. It was luxuriously furnished with crystal-lit scones on the walls lighting the carpeting throughout.

There were paintings and tapestries here too, and she took a last look at them as she walked past. Some depicted the Amísén, and yet another depicted the ancient wyrm of creation, the Amítokka, the creator god.

Dead.

It was no secret. In the Amíkota, the creation story and divine event, the one god willingly sacrificed all parts of its body to create the universe, dying in the process. That’s why people worship the Amísén, the countless children of the Amítokka instead. 

But they’re gone too, killed. 

Anka put it out of her mind, as she reached the top of the stairs in the hall. The guards below were securing a bookshelf to the front door. 

She ignored the futility of it all, walking down the ornately carved wooden steps, thinking of all the large windows that covered the villa. It was distressing, and she tried her hardest to prevent the despair from showing on her face. She continued around the right side of the staircase to the servant’s kitchen, past the bustle and shouting of the guards. 

The kitchen was in a large and utilitarian room, with clay and plaster walls, basic and quaint compared to the splendor and luxury of the rest of the villa. Along the far wall was wooden counter space, and a set of stacked wood-burning brick ovens, to cook meals fit for the servants. On the right was a door which exited into the courtyard gardens, where herbs and vegetables were grown amongst the decorative flowers. On the left, it had access to the cellar icehouse whose ice had shrunk since the previous summer. It was well overdue for a visit from an ice mage.

Anka walked through the icehouse doorway, and down the earthen steps, which were dimly lit by an overhead crystal cluster, glowing faintly with stored elemental energy. The temperature dropped sharply, and she could see her breath when she exhaled. The icehouse was simply two long wooden shelves along the brick side walls, with a center hanging rack for frozen meats. She thought of how nice this villa would be in the summertime, serving the Séna and his children, as she grabbed a carafe of juice she had prepared earlier that morning, stopped up with cork. 

Walking back through the kitchen and into the main hall, she collided with the vice-captain, Lítto. He was a tall, red haired man with green eyes, light-tanned skin and sharp features. He was young in appearance, but was still able to regale the staff of stories in the campaigns in the war against Ilorisia, which had been going on for the past thirty years or so. His father was a proper city lord, and so he also inherited the title of Shíé. 

Anka bowed in apology and continued on her own up the stairs.

---

Lítto brushed himself off, and watched the girl walk up the stairs to the prince’s quarters. He was old enough to be her father,  and yet she was about to risk her life in this battle that she truly had no part to play in.

But he had a job to do. The approaching enemy force was unknown, and they desperately lacked for information. There was only one person they could count on in this situation, the Aíludé guard, Tínaré.

Lítto walked through the servant’s kitchen behind the main hall, and out the side door into the gardens. Like the villa itself, the gardens were beautiful. There was a pond in the center, filled with exotic fish and aquatic flowers, and hyacinth bushes were lined up against the house. Large birch and willow trees were sparsely planted, providing shade in which to sit and picnic. Red bricks were inlaid into the ground, providing a stable path through the bushes and flower displays, and Lítto’s boots clapped softly against the stone as he walked. 

At the end of the trail toward the back of the garden was the aviary, where colorful birds from around the continent once were once contained, chirping and singing songs from faraway lands. These days, however, it remained silent. 

Lítto found Tínaré there, arms outstretched, with a hawk perched on a gloved right arm.

Tínaré was an Aíludé man, the long-lived silvery white-haired race of men with eyes that sparkled and flowed with all the colors of the rainbow. He was of average height with fair skin and an athletic build, his silver hair always was within regulation, and his irises were yellow with iridescent shapes and patterns, like fractals of color.

Their eyes were always unsettling for Lítto to look at, as they appeared to be something otherworldly. Looking at them was as if staring into the deep aether in the sky itself. They also lived about twice as long as regular men, and Tínaré was no exception. For someone in his seventies, he appeared to be in his mid-thirties. 

But Tínaré was a nénéjí, a whisperer, someone who could command beasts and lesser creatures simply by talking to them. Lítto did not know how it worked but was able to appreciate the usefulness of the ability.

And this skill was in desperate need today.

Lítto approached the gilded metal bars of the aviary, opening the gated door to step in.

“Vice Captain,” Tínaré’s back was toward the entrance, with the hawk still on his arm, “Forgive me for not saluting you.”

Tínaré smiled and turned toward him, as the hawk shot him a curious glance.

“No matter, I see you’re busy.” Lítto waved it off, looking away. He could not look him in the face and was convinced Tínaré knew it, staring at him on purpose to unnerve him. 

“We’ll need you today to do some surveillance with your partner.” Lítto shook a finger at the hawk. “We know nothing of the approaching force.”

“Of course. I’ll bring him right away.” Tínaré brushed past Lítto and out of the enclosure. He whispered to the hawk in that discordant way that nénéjí spoke, as if it were two voices coming out of his mouth at the same time. 

Lítto’s hair stood up on the back of his neck as he tried his best to mask his discomfort. Tínaré lifted his arm and the hawk flew off, and they watched it fly into the distance. 

“I’ve given an utterance to survey the road into town and report back to me when the soldiers are seen.”

“Do you have another one? Another creature you could use?” Lítto asked.

“Nénéjí can only have one contract at a time.” Tínaré held the aviary door open for Lítto as he exited, closing it behind him. The two walked through the garden back to the villa.

“Although… I could think of six people that could have more.” Tínaré scratched his cheek.

Lítto turned his head to look at him. “Six? A Witch?!”

Tínaré nodded. “Probably.”

They walked the rest of the way silently as the sun began to set, entering the villa through the open glass doors of the reception room. Rénso was here in the shadow, seemingly lost in thought. He perked up when he saw the two enter.

“Lítto! Tínaré! Are you enjoying your stroll through the garden together?” Rénso had a smirk on his face. 

They saluted, and Rénso returned it.

“Captain, we’ve begun surveillance on the road leading to the town,” Lítto said.

“Good. I hope they don’t expect us to have a nénéjí, otherwise they may not take the most direct route.” Rénso looked at Tínaré. “Try not to let your bird be seen. It’s getting dark, and hawks aren’t active at night. They’ll know right away if they see it.”

“If we had an owl nearby, I’d sooner change my contract,” Tínaré lamented with a shrug.

Rénso glanced at Lítto, who averted his gaze in shame. He knew about Lítto’s aversion to Aíludé eyes and smiled a little at his vice captain’s discomfort. 

“In the meanwhile, Tínaré, you’ll stay close to me or Lítto and provide us with any information you can gather. I’m field-promoting you to this unit’s information officer.”

Tínaré saluted. 

“Now Captain, what about this?” Lítto gestured at the floor to ceiling windows which would not reasonably be barricaded. 

“It’s what I was thinking about before you arrived. We just have to hope they aren’t smart enough to come from behind. It may make more sense to guard the funnel points on the grand staircase, or on the second floor. That’s too close to the prince though…” Rénso trailed off. “Seal this door. Let them come into these rooms, but the doors behind them will be blocked.”

He gestured to Tínaré to leave the room. 

They walked out into the main hall, and Lítto relayed the orders to the guards. The head of staff and a few maids remained; most others were now hiding in the staff quarters. It was time to talk strategy to the prince and his maid. 

He walked up the stairs toward the Séna’s quarters, with Tínaré following behind.

“When I go in to see the prince and his handmaid, wait outside the door. Don’t let anyone in.”

Tínaré nodded.

Rénso came to the door and knocked softly. The young brown-haired handmaid opened the door and smiled.

“Rénso-shíé!” she said in that saccharine way of hers. Again she called him a Shíé, but there was no time to correct her.

Rénso entered the room, closing the door behind him. She walked over to the foot of the bed and sat there, watching the prince play.

The prince was laying on the carpeted floor playing with hinaríkoto tiles. That game was played by mercenaries and adults in teahouses and less reputable places across the continent. 

Who taught this to a six-year-old? 

Rénso eyed the maid suspiciously. But he still couldn’t remember her name.

“Listen,” he began, addressing both the maid and the prince, “Pretty soon there will be fighting. When it starts, you must hide somewhere…” Rénso looked around. “Say, what about that closet there? Both of you can hide there, and do not make a sound. The guard will protect you.”

Prince Sonoro smiled. “See Anka, everything will be fine!”

Ah, her name was Anka.

Sonoro stood and walked over to her, grabbing her hand as she caressed his cheek. Rénso eyed Anka with a furrowed brow and worry on his face. Meeting his gaze she understood. 

Everything was not going to be fine.

Rénso made quick small talk with the prince and excused himself, closing the door to the room behind him.

“Captain, my familiar has returned. I’ll check with it quickly and report back what I find out.” Tínaré ran down the stairs. 

Rénso sighed again and sat on the landing of the great staircase in the hall. The other guards had all taken to napping against the walls, joking with each other or playing hínaríkoto games. 

That game again. 

Still, some others were praying in the small shrine on the grounds. Rénso might find himself there if he had more time. Dying was one thing, but waiting for death was even worse. 

Tínaré came running back a few minutes later.

“Captain,” he puffed, “There are… two wagons full, drawn by full grown aséna. Following them are twenty pikemen on foot.”

“So around fifty soldiers?”

“Yes, by my count.”

Fifty was a respectable amount, but it almost seemed too little. These soldiers knew the prince was here, so why would they think fifty would be enough? If a kingdom is hiding a royal, wouldn’t they normally send many more soldiers to protect them? Nélíssé sent less because this was supposed to be a secret, small operation. 

Were we betrayed?

He didn’t want to consider that possibility. No, maybe there was another reason. He wondered if they sent mages. A single aquamarine order mage was worth twenty regular soldiers. If they sent a thulite or aegirine order mage, it would be completely devastating. Those are worth squadrons, or small armies. Or maybe they have a Witch, who can topple kingdoms singlehandedly?

He came to a sudden realization. We have to assume they’ve sent mages. 

Rénso shuddered. 

Unfortunately, the best they had was their orator. And there was a limit to what he could do. After a considerable time in silence, Rénso spoke.

“Relocate to the office adjacent to the Séna’s quarters. Open a window or break one if you need to. Have your hawk give us as much information as you can when they approach the villa.”

Tínaré saluted and went back upstairs. Rénso studied his guards, who were despondent after overhearing his conversation, now knowing that they were vastly outnumbered. 

“Ready yourselves. Have your polearms and short swords at the ready. Toss all non-essential equipment. The twenty of us here will hold this hall. This is a defensive battle, so we have the advantage. We’ll push them back, then retreat to the capital.”

They perked up a bit. At least they were moving now, securing their armor and readying their polearms. He had given them a way out, a foolish hope for the future. 

Rénso looked around. Where is my halberd?

It was an intimidating weapon, a shining steel axe head with a piercing tip on top of a wooden pole made from the desert oracle’s tree that was as tall as a man and a half. Cryptic runic-script runes were etched into the pole, supposedly preventing it from splitting or breaking. It was originally a staff that belonged to a Sekh tribe, who gifted it to the king of Nélíssé a hundred years ago, who then made it into the standard of the Nélíssé Royal Guard, to be wielded by its captain in perpetuity. 

Walking down the hall with his halberd in hand, he stopped at the Séna’s office, and Tínaré opened the door.

“Captain. It’s strange, the caravan is simply walking through the square, coming directly here. They’re not even attempting to search the town.”

Rénso frowned. He knew exactly what that meant.

“Also, there’s an Aíludé woman among them.”

“Is she a nénéjí too?” 

“I can’t tell. But she’s quite flashy. She’s got a lot of jewelry on, and a circlet on her head.”

“Shit,” Rénso grimaced. “A mage. Can’t you tell what color the gemstones are?”

Tínaré shook his head. “The hawk’s vision is quite good in the dark, so I will keep trying. But I don’t want him to get too close.” 

Rénso nodded and patted Tínaré on the back. He left quickly, hurrying back down to the main hall, and up to the front doors. Flipping the latch to the viewing port, he slid the little door open, and looked out the barred peephole in the door. 

It’s only a matter of time now.

“Get ready. Five on either side of the grand staircase, guarding the egresses. Ten with me to guard the front.”

Lítto directed them into position. He grasped his own polearm tightly and adjusted the strap on his breastplate. They were all wearing their open-faced burgonets, the helmets painted in the Nélíssé red and black colors, with the royal hawk emblem embossed on the side. 

Rénso could see them approach in the distance, and they were just as Tínaré said. There were two wagons, each pulled by aséna, the gigantic black and grey wolf-like beasts of burden. Fifteen soldiers jumped down from each wagon, some wearing full blue plate mail with golden accented highlights, and others in a lighter haubergeon, with light blue plate. The soldiers in full plate mail wielded pikes, but the ones in light plate appeared to carry longswords and daggers. And there was one silver-haired beauty among them wearing a cloak. Underneath she had on a short leather gambeson and white flared culottes which went to just below the knee. Around her waist were leather straps, holding pouches of what were presumably gems and crystals, with a short sword strapped to her hip.

“It’s rubies,” Tínaré whispered. Rénso didn’t even hear him approach. 

“She’s got on a treasury of jewelry. A circlet, bracelets, rings, arm bands, a jeweled gorget, earrings, nose rings, golden leg bands. The lot of them, encrusted with rubies.”

Rénso knew that rubies meant a fire or bombard mage. Mages release the elemental energy of crystals and gems. So long as there remained energy to extract, a mage was a force of nature. 

“We’d either have to make her go clear, which could take a long time, or catch her off guard,” Rénso explained, “We’ll address it when the time comes.” 

Their guests gathered in the dark in front of the villa, and the one appearing to be their leader stood out. They all knew well enough to stand from within bowshot. 

“Nélíssé guard! Come and treat with us! Let us discuss the terms of your surrender! You do not have to lose your lives here!” he shouted.

There wasn’t an immediate reply.

The silver-haired mage looked up toward the sky.

“The mage noticed my familiar.”

Rénso turned to Tínaré. “Tínaré… take a bow and fire a warning shot toward her.”

He grabbed a nearby long bow and walked over to a window. Nocking an arrow, he pulled the string taut, arced the bow and released. The arrow came crashing through the window and flew off into the blackness of the night. 

Their leader followed the arrow’s trajectory through the air as it landed a short distance away from the mage.

“They don’t seem to like you, Rína-shía.”

She glared at him with her head tilted. Her eyes narrowed as the corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown. “We have our answer. Are we doing this?”

Rénso watched as the arrow that Tínaré shot burst violently into flames. To his chagrin, she appeared to be skilled too. 

The enemy soldiers lined up in formation and began to advance on the front door. Half the group ran toward the sides of the building. 

“They’re coming around the back as we thought. They intend to surround us here. Take defensive stances!” Rénso shouted, turning to his men. 

They all took on a defensive form, bladed their bodies, feet planted shoulder-width and a half apart, knees bent, lowering the center of gravity. It was the perfect stance to thrust a polearm, repelling enemies from a distance. 

Tínaré went to another window, and fired an arrow into the advancing soldiers, hitting one square in the chest. He fell with a thud, collapsing into a heap of metal and chain. The reply came quicker than he could react, as the entire window lit up in flame, the glass melting from the heat. He jumped back to the center of the hall. 

“At least it isn’t bombard magicka,” he said to nervous chuckles. He tossed the bow and grabbed his polearm.

There was a loud bang at the front door, as the enemy soldiers began to tear it down. But it was from a noble tree with a proud history that weathered both storm and snow, and so it refused to give way so easily.

“Tínaré, go to the prince’s quarters and tell the brown-haired maid that it’s time. She’ll know what you mean.”

Bang, bang! 

Rénso thought that they must be getting closer, and joined the formation behind the doors. The furniture they stacked must have been easily burned away by that mage. 

Cracks began forming, and smoke started pouring in from under the doors. They could hear the splintering of wood, and the thock, thock, thock of axe heads tearing it away, layer by layer, like rhythmic marching counting away the seconds to their deaths.

Just a little more now.

From behind them came a crash, the sounds of glass breaking.

They’ve entered the reception room!

The sounds of foreign soldiers filled the villa, shouting about which direction to go. Unfamiliar voices. His soldiers behind him cried out a battle cry, desperate and guttural. He turned to see the situation. The enemy was just out of sight, but he could see his soldiers thrusting their weapons. The first blood of this battle was shed.

Crack!

One last hit, and there was an opening in the front door. 

Before Lítto could turn to see, a condensed jet of flame burst through, reaching the center of the hall, and engulfing his left side. It was for a moment, but it felt like every sensation in his body screamed out all at once, and he fell to the floor cradling the side of his face, still smoldering from the brief exposure.

Rénso and another guard came to his assistance, kneeling to see the damage.

“Lítto… Lítto, let me see, move your hands, let me see,” Rénso said, swatting Lítto’s hands away. Lítto moaned in response.

The whole left side of his head was a red and bloody mess of skin, melted and singed. Nothing remained of his left ear, save for a blackened hole covered in blood. This was beyond any of their skill to treat. 

The front doors were nearly broken through. 

“Let him rest on the side. We’ll take care of things here.” Rénso looked down at Lítto, the grief plain on his face. “Noréaré, my friend.” 

A wish of a safe return home.

He walked back to the front formation with purpose as the door finally gave way. The enemy pikemen clashed with the guard’s halberdiers, and the clashing of metal-on-metal rang out in the hall. 

Rénso dodged a pike thrust aimed at his head, the steel tip whizzing as it went by. He turned his hip and focused the point of his halberd directly on the enemy’s sternum. With a sickening crack, the point broke through the breastbone, and he collapsed, never to breathe again. Rénso again thrust at the next pikeman, catching him in the leg, but the guard next to him took the spaded end of his pike to the face and it went clean through, leaving gore and blood spattering on the white marble floor.

Behind him, his men were fighting their own losing battles; as the enemy was too numerous, and their mage had put a damper on their enthusiasm.

At the corner of his eye, he saw the silver-haired woman approaching for another attack, from just behind the formation. She raised her tattooed hand, and it began to glow with red elemental energy. She was still too far away for a halberd thrust to reach.

Rénso fell back from the formation, calling for another to fill in. He took out his remaining throwing dagger, and moved to the right, hoping to avoid being seen. She turned her head to speak to the man next to her, and Rénso quickly snapped his wrist, throwing the blade across the hall.

As if time itself had slowed, he could see it moving through the crowd, just missing a pikeman, whose thrust struck another guard’s belly, spilling viscera to the floor. It turned point over hilt, repeatedly in a seemingly endless dance. 

The silver-haired mage turned her head again and saw out of her eye what appeared to be a large blade an arm’s distance away from her. 

It was too late to avoid. 

The dagger struck her in her left eye, its deep purple, yellow and red flecked iris now completely eviscerated, the blade cutting downward through her cheek. It would not kill her, but she would never see with that eye again. 

She let out a blood curdling scream and was quickly taken away from the battle. 

Rénso smiled in satisfaction, before slipping on the blood-soaked marble floor. It brought him back to his senses. Looking down, he saw it was Tínaré laying in a large pool of blood, his eyes wide and vacant. His jaw was missing, and all that was left of his mouth and throat was a bloody gaping maw. 

They were not doing well. The front door was all but lost, and the number of guards on the side egresses were down to two and three. He looked over at Lítto, who was slumped over, lying dead on the floor.

“Fall back to the prince’s hallway!” he shouted, as the last of the guards in the front took a downward thrusted sword to the throat. 

The order had come too late. 

Rénso ran up the stairs to the hallway and saw an enemy soldier opening and closing doors, looking for the prince. Somehow, this one had gotten behind them. Deciding it too unwieldy, Rénso dropped his halberd, and unsheathed his short sword. 

He ran toward the unsuspecting soldier, stabbing him in the back with an upward thrust through his hauberk, piercing his heart and killing him instantly, as swift as viper’s strike. Letting the man down to the ground slowly, he swung the sword to wick off the blood, then quietly entered the Séna’s chamber, which appeared to be unspoiled. 

The closet door was closed, and he hoped against hope that the maid had followed through on his instructions. He knocked on the door softly.

“It’s me,” he whispered.

Two soft knocks were his reply. They were safe. 

Rénso took some time to remove his armor and lick his wounds. He hadn’t felt any pain this whole time, but now his body was sore all over from the melee. 

A loud crash. Was it the next room over? 

He heard shouting, and orders being given. His own men were all surely dead by now.

There was a deep laceration to his inner thigh. His arm was also cut deeply, and he was trailing blood as he walked. He had another deep cut on the right side of his abdomen. A little closer and that would have been fatal. 

Why didn’t I notice it?

The door to the room creaked open slowly, and Rénso grabbed his sword, swiftly moving toward the closet.

Five soldiers slinked in, swordsmen by the look of it, in their blue light plate and shining new haubergeons, with leather belts and blue and gold barbuta, their longswords pointed directly at Rénso.

Another taller man stepped in, who walked with more authority. Rénso thought this must be the leader. 

But his head was swimming. He couldn’t tell if it was due to the thrill of the battle wearing off, or the massive blood loss. A steady stream of blood flowed from the wound on his thigh, filling his boot. 

“Rénso-raíséjí, is it?” the tall man asked, looking directly at him. He acknowledged his position as a leader, but said it in a condescending way that asserted his own position as higher. 

The man was tall with black hair and shaved sides, and a single braid down the right side of his face. His dark blue eyes scanned the room. He had a roguish smile, mischievous. One that would charm women across the continent. It absolutely incensed Rénso.  

Rénso held his sword at the ready, waiting for the first one to jump at him.

“Again, I’m here to treat with you. Surrender the prince to us.”

“Why would I do that? I’m dead either way.” Rénso deliberately avoided looking at the man. 

He shall be the one I stab first.

“Very true!” The man laughed. “Oh, forgive me. I am Kaíya of Lorísé, a Fourth Sword of the Ílorísían Imperial Army. Well met.”

“Is that someone I’m supposed to know?” Rénso had venom in his voice. 

Kaíya frowned and nodded, resigned to the unpleasant end.

“Let’s not keep Rénso-banshé waiting. He so badly wants to return his breath to Téléra. But first, do you have any last requests? Could I send a letter to your family, perhaps?” 

Kaíya crossed his arms.

“I’ve said my goodbyes already.”

But there is one thing…

“How did you find us here?”

Kaíya smiled that stupid smile again, and nodded. “Did you know that you can move anyone in this world? Everyone has something that they will pivot around.” He eyed Rénso’s bloody body. “For me, it’s women. For you, maybe it’s your duty. And for that city lord, it was his own skin.”

Rénso stared at him blankly, grasping the wound at his side. Blood leaked through his fingers.

“But Rénso-banshé, the little prince will be the pivot that moves your country. So don’t worry – we wouldn’t dare harm a hair on his head.”

He unsheathed his sword. 

The swordsmen charged, and Rénso swatted a few of the blades away. He was stabbed clean through his left arm, and another caught his left foot, making a hole for the accumulated blood to pour out. He stumbled a bit, but thrusted, catching one of them in the face, slicing the man’s cheek as the barbuta lifted off his head. 

Another sword stuck him in the stomach, the pain making him double over, as dark blood began seeping out and running down his groin. Kaíya then stabbed him in a downward thrust into the back on the right side, cracking ribs as the blade punctured his lung, and robbing him of all his breath. 

Rénso dropped his sword. Defeated, dying and bloody, he collapsed to the floor.

Kaíya stood over Rénso for a moment, the annoying smile completely gone from his face. He leaned down to talk to Rénso softly, wiping his bloodied sword with a handkerchief. 

“I know it was you that did that to Rína’s face. She’ll live the rest of her long life missing an eye, scarred and disfigured because of you.” He sighed in disappointment. “And she was so beautiful, too.”

He sheathed his sword. “Find the prince!”

Rénso could barely hear anything anymore, his hands and feet going cold. He knew it, instinctively. He was done for. They’ve failed.

Thump, thump, thump.

Footsteps past his head. He could faintly hear a woman screaming. Was it that girl?
What was her name again? He couldn’t remember anymore. It was all so distant now.

Now it was a man yelling. More movement, and a loud THUMP this time, and he was face to face with the handmaid girl on the floor. 

What was she doing on the floor? Did she fail her job as well?

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth as if she was saying something. But she made no noise. Blood was spurting out of the girl’s neck with each heartbeat, staining her face and hair red. Rénso tried to smile. She had done it.

Good girl!

The imperials carried the boy past them and out of the room. And then the thumping had finally stopped. Rénso could see flames creeping up the wall in the distance, consuming a priceless tapestry, but he could no longer bring himself to care. Smoke began filling the room.

But this girl in front of me… I’ve seen her before. He groaned laboriously. Breathing was so, so difficult.

After a while in silence, he studied the girl’s face again. She had stopped moving now, her eyes and pupils wide and tear-stained staring into the aether beyond, her face ashen and mouth open, the blood from her neck slowing to a trickle, pooling on the wooden floor— sticky, warm and wet. It covered his left hand, which had long since gone cold. 

It feels nice. 

He stared at her again, putting the pieces together. The ethereal pale skin and long flowing brown hair, dyed crimson with blood, that curled to the floor around her body, head tilted back, mouth open in deliverance of benediction…

“Noa!” he coughed, spattering his blood all over the girl’s face. He saw the ghost of an Amí in the dead girl’s face. 

She had come to save us at last! She had answered my prayers! 

He was ecstatic and desperately tried to caress her face. But he could no longer move his arms.

For the Amísén of men are forever out of reach. Scripture.

He thought that he would beg for salvation. But this too would prove to be impossible. His sight went dark.

For the Amísén of men are not to be seen by mortal eyes.

And then, Rénso did not have another thought. Nor did he ever speak another word. They lay there silent and motionless, as the fire consumed the room and burst the windows; the villa soon becoming an incandescent beacon in the darkness of the night.

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Thanks for reading the Prelude! For more on this upcoming novel series, and more information about the world of The Blades of Alcrést, stay tuned to my site here, or on instagram: @rickymarlowe_