Sword of Destiny

Epilogue: Beginning

Present day

It was success, utter success. Of course it was a success. He had planned the whole thing meticulously. He rode straight-backed through the streets of Altunia, victory edging closer with every step taken. Success! It enriched his soul, and he thrust his great-sword into the air, roaring nothing more than a guttural scream. Two thousand voices echoed the victory. Two thousand bodies that followed him to success. Success!

Something crawled down his back, but it was probably sweat. Maybe. Then again, it was the late season, and it wasn't that warm. At least it wasn't warm in Ahan. He wiped a hand over his brow, and the glove came back dry. But beneath the layers of leather and steel, he could be sweating, couldn't he? Yes, that was it. It was definitely sweat.

But things were easier than even he'd expected. He was quite literally strolling his horse through the lower reaches of the Old Town, stepping the mare over the rounded cobbles. He'd expected a fight at the gates, a chaos of citizens and steel, but instead he'd got nothing. It was a stroll.

They were later than expected, floating into the estuary closer to midday than at dawn as he'd hoped. That would have given the population sight of his coming, given them a chance to hunker down or flee. That must be it. The island citadel, which had been called the Foundation Isle when the Delfinians were still custodians, showed clear signs of defiance. There were a handful of house guards littering the gatehouse, but the showing was weak as expected. Yes, it was his genius. Nothing more. The Mandari invaders were embroiled in the diversionary tactics of his genius, and that's why he was here, strolling right into their heartland. It was success, utter success. Nothing more ominous than that.

Had he really exceeded even his own high expectations? That was rare these days. He had always been able to dream. At many points in his life, it was all he had.

"General."

The interruption came from the guiding hand of his colonel, but he ignored the gesture. He was drawn back to his moment of becoming, to that scene on the field of the Bloody Gash where he had faced the ashen breath of the Grey and survived. No, he'd more than survived. He'd become Mandestroy. On that day he'd acted for the benefit of his colonel, intending to win favour with the untouchable echelons of the military hierarchy. Now he looked down upon his own colonel. How far had he come? Maybe he had exceeded expectations after all. The colonel still stared at him.

"Yes?"

He followed his officer's extended arm, but he wanted his officer to speak his mind. The sweat trickled, and doubt crept in. Something wasn't right.

"Smoke. It's coming from the estuary."

And it was smoke, a great fountain of it spewing into the heavens, staining the sky where the higher winds blew it out to sea. It was impossible to see exactly what the source was, but it didn't take much to work it out. There was only one thing in the estuary that would burn so well - a fleet. Was it the fleet of the invaders? It seemed unlikely, and that meant it was his fleet. His means of escape was going up in flames.

For just the slightest of moments he shivered, but he hid it beneath the heavy layers of his armour. He looked away, not wanting to be infected by events. It was irrelevant. This had always been a one-way journey.

And if his fleet was burning, what of it? The rewards would outweigh that cost. Enough had been paid already. He stared straight ahead, sparing himself the sight of smoke smeared sky. He continued doggedly on.

"General."

"It is unfortunate, but it will not stop us. Now, let's focus on the task at hand."