Of King and Outcast

Prologue

A lone figure fought against the torrential rain and the buffeting gales that threatened to tear him from the mountain path and toss him down into the valley where the warm and welcoming lights of a village were barely visible. Undaunted by Mother Nature's threat, he pressed on, soaked to the bones and shivering with the intense cold. Not too far ahead of him there lay a small cave, bitter, but relatively untouched by the elements, offering but a slight barrier from the wind.

Though short a distance it was away, it took half an hour to reach, for the gales were relentless and pushed the man back many times as his strength slowly left him. Upon reaching shelter he dropped his walking stick and bag to the ground and collapsed at the back of the cave, utterly exhausted. He was around twenty years of age, dark haired and relatively handsome but for an ugly scar that fell across his left eye, which was lifeless and clouded. Wearily his eyelids shut, and he listened to the rhythmic drumming of the rain that pounded against the rock two feet above his head.

As he lay there a small snort emanated from his leather bag, and something inside caused it to shake. The man's eyes remained closed even when a small pointy eared head emerged from one of the bag's pockets and glared at him. With a grumble the creature crawled from the pocket and spread out a long pair of bat-like wings, shaking icy water from them and then sitting and grooming them with a long forked tongue.

"You really have a way of choosing the worst possible times for traveling, Kia," the creature mumbled. "I swear you do this to me on purpose."

"And why would I ever do that?" Kia asked to no one in particular, eyes slowly opening. He glanced down at the indignantly wet creature. "Even if I did, I found you in a drainpipe did I not? One would think an Imp would get used to water after an experience like that."

The Imp, for an Imp she was, snorted again. She was roughly a foot tall, and was wrapped in a patched cloth robe with a hood lined with white fur that no more held the warmth it once offered, and was now drenched in freezing water. "With that logic, I would think that an assassin would get used to death, and not feel obliged to visit his targets' graves."

"Times have changed," Kia snapped, eyes flashing angrily. "I feel a responsibility to visit the people I blindly killed. That's why we are here. This is it. The last grave."

The Imp walked to the edge of the cave, looking out into the storm. "And what a welcome she's given us," she laughed, looking up into the foreboding cloud covered heavens. When Kia got to his feet again, crouching due to the low ceiling, she turned to him. "What are you doing? We aren't leaving now are we? We hardly even got here..."

"We stopped so that I could get some of my strength back, not to spend the night," Kia interrupted. "It's too cold, and we'll both freeze if we stay here. If we continue on, there is a house near the peak where we can stay until the weather stops. Now you can either get into the bag, or walk up yourself. You decide."

Seeing no better alternative, the Imp unhappily crawled back into the soaked bag, and Kia slung it over his shoulder and stepped out into the rain. He struggled up the mountain path, wading through the thick mud that was pouring down the pathway, caking his boots and clothes. The wind had subsided for now, offering but a little relief, while the rain continued to hammer down.

Hardly able to see clearly with water streaming into his eye, Kia found himself falling backwards as a large object appeared out of nowhere and slammed directly into him, knocking the air from his lungs and sending his walking stick spiraling into the darkness. He hit the ground flat on his back, the landing somewhat softened due to the muddy ground, gasping for air, and wildly looking for the shape that had struck him. Nothing was visible.

An angry yell from his backpack encouraged him to get to his feet and break into a run, trying to move quickly through the slushy and uneven ground. Though he hadn't been able to make out what the shape had been, he had a confident guess as to what his assailant was.