The Grim (Ravens #3)

prologue

A/N: I was going to wait to post this, but I'm anxious so here it is. 

Daylight had been strong when the eight men abandoned the truck outside the kingdom's territory, but after two hours of walking, the sun had begun to set. All was well, however, for their destination was right ahead.

The man in front took a deep breath, savoring the fresh, unpolluted air that floated above the forest canopy. He always found peace in his missions outside his kingdom's walls, in the rustling sounds of the trees above him, the chirping birds darting freely through the sky. It was still winter, of course, so no green leaves bloomed around him, yet the nature's beauty never ceased to amaze him.

"Remember," he said, turning to face his comrades, "Only shoot if they attack us first. Our king would want them alive." He was perhaps forty years old, with a hardened face and eyes drained with sorrow. The empty look of a man who had lost his wife and daughter to disease. He had risen in the ranks to become one of the top commanders for the king's guard. Such a task was far from easy, but it was a nice distraction. He needed such a distraction.

"They're children," said one of the others. He was the youngest of the group, sent out on his very first mission beyond their boundaries. It was his time to prove himself, his time to prove he deserved a place in the king's ranks.

"They stole three-hundred dollars worth of food," grumbled the leader, "Our king demands payback." The younger man nodded, averting his gaze to the ground. He ran his left hand along the top of his rifle, trying to find comfort or justification for what they had been assigned to do.

They could hear the target camp long before it came into sight, for the commotion had already begun. By the time they could clearly view the thieves, it seemed a fight had already commenced. Two bodies lay limp on the forest floor, their blood seeping into the dirt. With no leverage point, it was impossible to make out the details of the fighters, and so the king's soldiers spread out, encircling the campsite.

The leader aimed his pistol at the sky and shot, the alarming sound enough to avert the attention of the wild scene they encountered. The kids all seemed to freeze, heads darting in the direction of his fire.

"By order of King Hunter Summers," he screamed, "We demand that you stand down."

All eyes then snapped to the west, where the youngest guard had crumpled over, slain by a ravaged boy coming from behind. His small victory lasted for hardly a moment before another guard opened fire, killing him on the spot.

The leader returned to those left in the center, staring in shock at the bloody scene before them. "Come to your knees, and drop your weapons," he ordered, "You obey, or we shoot." Slowly the tight circle of the youth began to unravel as the kids fell into an orderly line, dropping to their knees as the guards closed in. In the center now were four teenagers, three boys and one girl, at which the others shot bitter glares. The leader nodded to his comrades, and the guards acted in an orderly fashion as they gagged and chained the wrists of the bandits.

It was quite the perfect timing for such a feat, for the sun would soon be gone and no wandering eyes would see the soldiers marching their prisoners away. It was a sad sight to see, no doubt about it. In fact, the leader could hardly stand to look at the four teenagers. His wife would never have approved, but she was dead and gone. He had been forced to adapt, and oh, would he be paid well for such a package.

When they returned to their truck parked at the forest's edge, the four were hoisted into the back, and left sprawled on the metal floor as the leader stepped forward underneath the wide open door.

"Get some sleep," he said, "We head to Monarchia in the morning."

And then the darkness encompassed them whole.