Wistful Sun

Prologue

The patrol set off again at the crack of dawn. The camp lied at least twenty miles to the north, hidden among the mountains. The road leading up there followed the natural path of a gulch, barely wide enough to let the column pass, winding amidst the tall peaks of the mountain range. The warm season, short as it was, made easy what would have otherwise been an unfeasible ascension, especially for the supply-loaded charts that the ath'ar were carrying along. With some luck, they would have managed to reach the camp within the day.

At least on this, Zavee and her comrades agreed.

The girl nodded at two of the other squad members, who had been staying posted on the sides of the road, then she drew her dagger. The patrol was made of around two dozen armed ath'ar. Over double the numbers of her own squad. Many less than what she would have needed to quench her hatred.

Two flaming orbs detonated on the sides of the column, stirring a cloud of smoke and debris. The ath'ar's closed ranks scattered in the chaos – enough for the girl to sneak behind them, unnoticed, along with her comrades. A few instants after their blades flashed, two of the ath'ar were lying down, their throats slit open and stained in blood. Four more had been severely scorched by the flames. The rest closed their ranks and drew their swords, but by then the assassins had encircled them already.

With a quick sprint, Zavee jumped sideways – just in time to avoid the swing of the warrior in front of her. If that sword had so much as brushed her, her light clothes would have done nothing to protect her. But the girl had no need of that. Her reflexes were more reliable than any armor.

Zavee's dagger swung swiftly through the air and slipped through the armor plates of her opponent, just above his forearm. The warrior screamed in pain as the blade plunged into his shoulder, and tried to strike back with a lunge aimed at the girl's chest. But his arm, weakened by the wound, lacked the strength of his first attack.

With a simple twist, Zavee deflected the blow and, after drawing a second dagger, she plunged her weapon in the ath'ar's neck. A gush of blood spurted from the warrior's mouth, soaking the assassin's ebony skin. But Zavee was not satisfied yet. She plunged her dagger into the ath'ar's throat a second and a third time, letting his warm blood streaming down her hand, before pulling out both her weapons as the warrior's body collapsed.

Near her, her comrades were easily slaughtering the patrol members, one after the other. Nobody in Zavee's squad produced the slightest sound during a fight, other than their breaths. So, despite the raging battle, she managed to make out the murmuring of a prayer. The girl barely closed her lids in time, but the same could not be said about her comrades.

From the ath'ar's hands burst a wave of blinding light. Zavee's red eyes opened just enough to see the ath'ar ripping through the guts of the two assassins in front of him. A step would have been enough, for him, to be within reach of the girl.

A black, silent figure sneaked behind the warrior, his outline still blurred to Zavee's dazzled eyes. The figure crouched down and, with a simple gesture, drove his two curved blade into the ath'ar's ankles, piercing through the metal plates like they were made of leather. The warrior fell on his knees, crying out his pain, but the person behind him shut him up with a swift kick to the back, knocking the ath'ar down. Meanwhile, Zavee and the others sheathed their weapons and approached the wounded enemy.

Now that the light had vanished and her eyes could see clearly again, the girl made out the traits of the silent figure. It was not a pretty sight. The male, slender and completely bald, wore a light leather armor, like Zavee's but thicker. A horrible burn had scarred the left half of his face, giving his expression a grotesque and feral appearance. But, after all, the girl knew that Malik's fierce aspect was nothing, compared to the bloodthirst possessing him during battle. And, sometimes, even beyond.