Lost

Prologue

Note: To some of you, a few of the names here might sound odd. That's because the prologue is based in lesser-known, foreign culture. Don't worry, chapter 1 onward will have a more familiar, common-place setting and names.

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Bare black stone walls. Black carpets. Black furniture and black high arched ceiling. Everything in the courtroom of the Tor Mahal – literally 'The Black Palace' – was in the grim, haunting hues of black. The room had a cold, unwelcoming air about it. And why wouldn't it? This was where dirty secrets were discussed, warnings issued to the unruly, punishments announced to maintain order, and death sentences handed to those who refused to stay in line. Indeed, as the cloaked figure cowered in the shadows next to the raised platform, it looked like someone was just about to have a sentence handed over to them.

The middle aged woman, Farhiya, had her face obscured by the cloak draped over her head like a hood. Although she tried to stand still and alert, it was obvious that she was in a lot of anguish. She did all she could to hold back her tears and not fidget or clench her fists, however, she couldn't help herself. She threw a terrified glance towards the only other occupant of the room.

Sitting on his throne-like seat on the high platform, was the old aristocrat; owner of the Tor Mahal, and chief of the Tor Gul tribe, Agha Barlas Gul.

Agha Gul was a tall, thin man. He had a pointy beard and piercing, cold grey eyes. With a dark cloak draped over his shoulders and a heavy black turban over his head, he looked as intimidating and unforgiving as ever. The old man completely ignored her existence, waiting. What exactly for? Farhiya could only dread to know. His long, slender fingers kept spinning his gold staff as each painful second dragged by. Her quick glance swept over the staff's top which was carved into a squawking eagle's head. The bird's eyes, a glittering pair of tourmaline crystals, shone maliciously with the reflecting light. Trembling with fear, Farhiya quickly looked away.

Blinding pain kept shooting from the small of her back to the toes of her right foot. She was frightened and in pain, but the old man always got more annoyed if she showed signs of weakness. She gritted her teeth in agony, waiting for permission to be granted to take a seat. Agha Gul was made aware of her worsening sciatica a few weeks ago, but protocol was to be followed at all costs. Favors were only granted to those who were worthy of such luxury.

And not everyone was worthy.

Farhiya, for one, was definitely not worthy. Although supposedly family, she was nothing but a tool. To be used and then discarded.

At long last, her silent prayers were answered. The courtroom doors opened and heavy footsteps echoed across the walls as the man's boots collided with the stone-floor. Farhiya glimpsed the man that passed her and her heart sank. It was Toryal Gul, Agha Gul's distant relative and a loyal spy. He had icy-grey eyes and light hair, like every other pure-blooded Tor Gul. Yet, the scar stretched on his temple just across his left eyebrow was a feature unique to him.

Taking a step or two towards the platform so he had his back to her, he bowed his head, respectfully.

"Agha Gul, you summoned me?" he asked, breaking the overwhelming silence in the room that seemed to echo off of the high ceiling.

"Ah, Toryal Gul," Agha Gul acknowledged the man who was dutifully standing in front of him. "What news did you bring us?" he inquired, his voice exuding authority and a coldness that made his challengers tremble and cower in fear.

Although in no position to confront the old aristocrat, Farhiya still felt the urge to recoil into the shadows. Yet, she stood unmoving and alert, doing her best to not to give in to excruciating pain that threatened to knock her down.