Imperatrix Fallen: Alith's Cradle

Golden Arch - Part I

                                                                                      (1)

The city of Endiablada was the perfect place. A secret meeting between representatives of the rebel high command, from Thomas Russ side, and a pair of spies loyal to Alan Russ was about to take place. Five men sat on a bench, thirty paces away from the inn where the meeting was to be held. It was a reasonable distance, close enough to monitor their target without raising suspicion. They were armed with pistols and dynamite—enough to leave no trace of anyone foolish enough to attend the damned meeting. Their orders were clear: sabotage the alliance between a few disgruntled commanders of Thomas Russ and the intelligence forces loyal to Alan.

Endiablada was a border town under Thomas' principality—too small and poorly positioned to draw any military or strategic interest from either side. Artists, scholars, and deserters from across the King's County had started arriving shortly after the first battles broke out, pushing the already struggling town into deeper hardship. Criminal gangs began to emerge, claiming sovereignty over the town, while the civil guard lacked both the resources and the will to intervene. The townspeople had even come up with a saying: "The last city to be recognized." It was bittersweet—sad, yet strangely hopeful. They bragged that when the war finally ended, they would be the last to be annexed.

One of the five men discreetly reread the informant's letter notifying them of the meeting: "There will be seven. Two will wear glasses, and one will carry a cane..." He looked up, and there they were, entering the inn—the seven men they had been waiting for. They waited three minutes, then went inside.

"Dammit, Roth! If you don't pay the bill this time, I'll cut your ears off!"

The woman who appeared to be the innkeeper scolded one of her customers. At the same table, five other young men burst out laughing at the scolding.

"Come on, Mama Yorka, be kind to us," pleaded a young girl with freckles and black hair, trying to calm the innkeeper. She tried to hold back her laughter, but failed miserably, releasing a loud guffaw.

"Disrespectful brats!" the innkeeper barked.

At the other end of the room, the seven targets sat near the restrooms, far at the back of the hall. Between them and the exit was the table of drunken youths. "Perfect, they'll have no escape," one of the five men thought as they positioned themselves by the door.

"Let's not wait any longer," one of the assassins, the one responsible for the explosives, said, rising from his seat to start the attack. The plan was simple: plant dynamite in the bathroom, wait for the explosion, then shoot down anything that moved. Since it was a "secret" meeting, security was at a minimum to avoid suspicion. The mission was supposed to be a walk in the park.

"What strong arms! Such a hunk!" a rosy-haired girl from the drunken group grabbed the assassin's shoulders as he stood up.

The men were caught off guard by the girl's actions. They hadn't seen her coming.

"Hey, introduce me!" The other freckled girl joined her friend and sat on one of the men's laps.

"Hey! Leave my girls alone!" One of the young men at the table stood up abruptly, glaring at the group of assassins.

The situation was escalating. With the commotion, their targets could slip away at any moment, yet there they sat—silent, watching each other, oblivious to the growing chaos. It was strange. The targets seemed nervous—too nervous. Their table wasn't set, the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen, and the girls didn't smell of alcohol. The analysis came too late. Two of the young men were already pointing pistols at them, while the freckled girl calmly approached with all their weapons in her hands—stolen during her "introduction," of course.