Archer

Chapter One

Chapter One

Sixteen Years Ago

 In the predawn hours of the night, a peaceful village slept on. A thousand stars glittered in the above skies, and a half dozen or so deer were tucked away into the grasses of the valley below. It was surrounded by hills not quite tall enough to be considered mountains, but at the same time weren’t necessarily plains or flatlands. So hills they were called.

On top of one such hill, a single man waited and looked down at the black silhouette of the village against the lighter black of the surrounding countryside, sprinkled with the occasional flickering light of a torch or candle. It could be said that he wasn’t particularly tall, but not much else could be seen of him. A dark cloak was wrapped around his shoulders against the night’s coolness, and the cowl was drawn up over his face. He carried no torch, lantern, or any other source of light.

A few minutes later, the beat of a horse’s hooves on the soil echoed over the one hill, but was swallowed by the night before it could reach the village, so the villagers were undisturbed. The lone figure didn’t turn as the horse approached behind him and slowed to a walk, which then stopped completely. The rider dismounted, holding something close to his chest protectively.

This new man was taller as the first, perhaps by a half a head or so.  At his side, a sword hung, glinting in the starlight. Instead of a simple cloak, he was clothed in a kind of chain mail, though it didn’t look quite heavy enough to be, adorned with a crest that couldn’t be made out in the dark. It was clear he was a warrior, maybe a freelance based on his light, travel-easy armor, but he held the bundle with extreme care and gentleness.

He approached the figure, stopping a few feet away from their turned back. When he didn’t face him, he called out tentatively. “Jordan?”

This time, Jordan turned to face him, though he couldn’t see into the cowl over his face. His arms were crossed over his chest and his feet were set apart, giving him the posture of an annoyed man. But it wasn’t until he spoke that the warrior realized that something was wrong. More specifically, it wasn’t until he spoke that the warrior realized that the he wasn’t a he, nor his friend Jordan. Instead, a woman’s voice snapped out from under the hood.

 “Took you long enough. Where have you been?”

He took an involuntary step backwards. “Who are you?”

The cloak sighed, and shifted her weight onto one foot. “Jordan said you would be suspicious.” Her voice changed into an almost perfect copy of his friend’s, down to his odd pronunciation of trust. “Here, give him this. It ought to help him trust you a bit more.”

As she said the words, she reached into the folds of her cloak and produced a small letter, more like a note really, and held it out to him. He took it gingerly, unfolded it, and read it quickly.

My friend,

I regret to say I am unable to meet you tonight. There is no end to the work they are having me do at the temple and are becoming more and more wary of what I am doing on my midnight disappearances. “Going out for a breath of fresh air!” only works so many times. In my stead I’ve sent the bearer of this letter. Her name is Dawn, and I assure you that you can trust her fully. May we meet again soon, old friend.

-Jordan

He looked up from the letter again at the cloaked figure, cowl still over her features. She had one hand on her hip, holding back the cloak which, he believed she did on purpose, conveniently showed a silver dagger perhaps even outshone his own sword. She obviously didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, despite his friend’s letter saying otherwise.