Call Of Justice (in progress)

Prologue

It was an unususlly dark night for the Vers mountains, which were normally wrapped by clear skies and bright stars during nighttime. The eerie silence was also unnerving. Horse hooves trotted along the paved road, one of the only remnants of the imperial domination those two hundred years before. The sound of horseshoes clacking on the stones neared the city gates, rousing a homeless man from his sleep. The beggar's wings shuffled at the approach of the imperial convoy. His only eye scanned the party, trying to discern as much detail as he could in the dim moonlight. He frowned when his gaze met the convoy guide. Dishonored lickspit! How did he end up among the imperials? The telltale wings folded across the guide's back marked him clearly as a Daakh, which literally meant "bird man" in the old tongue, kinsman to the beggar and to the people living in the Vers mountains, enemy to the empire and to those who saw the blessing of flight as no more than some demon's mark.

The guide must have caught his gaze, because he turned his head towards the beggar and fluttered his wings in defiance, a slight move only understood by other wing bearers. The guide's head then snapped back towards the main road, as if not wanting to attract any attention towards other people. Still, the beggar couldn't help but wonder how many curious Versians will think it wise to peek behind curtains or poke a head through the doorway to witness the passing of the imperial convoy.

He tried not to think of how many would breathe their final breath that night because of it.

***

The nights were long in the Vers. Kahayin was no stranger to those seemingly endless stretches of darkness. As a kid, he'd often wonder where the nights came from. As an adult, he knew the real reason, but his childhood dreams and speculations always bested the facts of reality. His favorite theory was that night came from the dust snake holes that punctured the rocks at the highest altitude. It also explained why dust snakes were so pale.

Smiling at the memory of encountering his first dust snake, Kahayin kept his gaze straight forward, counting all the reasons why his homeland was worth betraying. It seemed that the closer he got to his home, the fewer reasons he could find. Not entirely helpful now that the deed was done and Legate Larend - Larend the Merciless, of all the people! - was in the carriage behind Kahayin. He nervously ran a hand through his short, fiery red hair, giving up halfway through because of the impossible knots in the always tangled strands. There used to be a time when his only problem was how sore his tail felt when riding a horse. Now he had to be grateful for being allowed to keep his wings. The Imperator's men were generous like that.

"How long do we have to go through this damned land, demon?", one of the Tribunes asked, stretching after a long nap atop his mount. "I'm tired and my body aches."

As if you've stayed awake all night, watching for Hell-spawns, Kahayin thought.

The buildings were getting larger and more vividly colored and decorated the further in they rode into the city. The first whisps of dawn beamed in the horizon, like divine halos on the odd-shaped homes of the Daakhi. The Winged Folk needed room to rest those huge wings, the wingspan more than twice the height of the wings' bearer. Kahayin had always admired the long, elegant, albatros-like wings of some of the Western Daakhi, strong enough to withstand the tiresome trip across the ocean. Kahayin had no such wings. He had short, rounded, swift wings that resembled those of a sparrow in shape. Practical for short-distance flights with good maneuvering abilities. Still, Kahayin couldn't take his mind off the days he had spent on the Western shore, watching the endless span of the Great Ocean. There was a different world beyond the vast stretch of waves, they said. A world where humans were few and Daakhi ruled.

A world where a pair of wings didn't bring the word "demon" on everyone's lips.

Before Kahayin knew it, he and the convoy had neared the Carran's residence, the largest and most decorated building in town. The Carrans were in a way little kings over their small domains. That was the way the humans had allowed the Daakhi to keep their freedom. Divide et impera, an ancient motto claimed. Separate and conquer. If the Daakhi were not allowed to rally under a single commander, it would be harder for them to make a move against the ever-expanding Empire. And it was easier for the Empire to defeat them one by one. Still, if the rumors were true, then it would not be long until the Rebels start recruiting men straight from under the Carrans' noses.