Argenteo

PROLOGUE

Lord Jack Hearte was has having a very bad day. Three different groups had attempted to rob him on three different, independent occasions. This had caused him to be late for a buisiness meeting, and Lord knew how he hated to be late. Consequently, the deal had nearly fallen through and the payout had been a few thousand pounds less than he was expecting. His hackney had overcharged him, his favourite horse had just been injured and the late November rain was ruining his favourite coat. As he was thinking that there was no possible way for his day to get any worse, he saw himself being eyed by some men lurking in the shadows of some run down buildings. He sighed, knowing that another attack was imminent.

He pretended not to notice at first, but his hand twitched to the blade sheathed at his side. He would be irritated, but walking along the back streets of Amaria alone at night, dressed as expensively as he was made it look as if he was inviting people to steal from him.

And indeed he was. He needed some relief from the anger that had been building all day. The lord wandered deeper into the city, into darker and more remote allies, and to his increasing joy, the men followed. He glanced up as if surprised to find himself where he was and looked around frantically, acting lost.

The thieves took this as all the indication they needed and emerged from their hiding places, surrounding and easily outnumbering him, with six of them to one of him.

Harte spun on his heels to face his assailants, his confident smile fading as he noticed the marks branded onto their hands and the badge sewn to their lapels. It was hard to see in the dim light of the moon, but he was able to make out the symbol as a sword broken in two, with a wing sprouting from the left of the blade: the stigma of The Arch, a lawless group that brutally murdered noblemen before stealing everything they had and leaving them naked in the street. If they were some common group, Harte would have had no trouble defending himself against them as he had three times prior, but the members of Arch were rumoured to have remarkable skill, rivaling those of Level Four or Five knights.

He swore under his breath, angry at his egoism, however, not quite cursing his arrogance. Harte had enough skill to take on two Level Three's at the same time, so he was confident that while he may not be able to defeat them, at the very least, he'd be able to do them some damage.

The pack closed in on him, and he drew his sword, the polished blade singing as it was drawn. He said a silent prayer, expecting it to be his last and fixed his cool silver eyes on as many of them as he could.

Yet, before any of the seven men knew what was happening, a dark shadow flew over them, and they looked up in time to see a black shape somersault in the air before gracefully landing in front of the lord.

His coat was dark, as were his trousers and in the darkness, not much of him could be made out except for the slenderness of his limbs and a pointed, angular face.

Hanging from his right hip was a long thin shape, which was assumed to be a sword. Immediately concluding that the man in black was one of the lord's men come to protect him, the six came forward to attack.

Almost instantly, the man had his sword in his hand and was running towards the Arch members. One swung at him, almost expertly, but he dodged with ease, forcing the hilt of the blade into the man's face, then thrusting forward in the same motion, he pushed the sword into the sword-wielding arm of another.

Having seen two of their companions felled so effortlessly, the remaining four lost some of their bravado, but continued to advance nonetheless.

He moved to them at breathtaking speed and met blades with two of them, while the other two advanced towards Harte. He spun, releasing the his sword from the fray, then went to attack again, using technique to brush aside an attempted parry. He then flipped his sword to a more blunt looking edge, using it to slice at the robber's neck.

The man turned a fascinating shade of purple and crumpled to the ground, his hands clutching his neck, eyes fixed on the sky. The shadow turned to face the other thief, who was by this point, too afraid to handle his sword properly, and so, was dispatched with a well placed kick to the abdomen.

It was at this point he realised that he had been so caught up in his own fight - if it was worthy to be called so - that he had forgotten about the man to whom he had come to aid.

Looking back at the lord he saw the last two of the six lying by his feet, and the man himself with his sword re-sheathed looking on in awestruck admiration. He would not admit it for his life, but the man in black was impressed at Harte's ability to dispatch such high level swordsmen.

He made to walk away, but was stopped by the feeling of someone pulling on his arm. He turned, surprised and saw the lord. Skilled with a sword and uncommonly quick - his opinion of Harte was growing with every passing moment. "Strong, too," he mused, as the grip above his wrist was not tight enough to hurt, but steady, in the way that implied it was incredibly difficult to shake.

"Are you intending to walk away so casually after saving a man's life?" Harte inquired, "Without giving him so much as a chance to repay you?"

"I do not believe I have done anything worth repaying. The debt you imagine is nonexistent."

"Does my life mean so little? How could I appease my conscience by letting my saviour go, with no fee for my rescue? At least let me know the name of the lord you serve so I may thank him later."

"I serve no lord," said the man, his voice measured and calm. "Therefore I have no name to give. If that shall be all, I should like to take my leave."

"No lord?" He asked incredulous. "With skill such as yours? Well it is of no consequence. Your name shall suffice. Pray tell, what shall I call you by?"

"Are you in the habit of asking the names of other's before providing your own? Alexander Argenteo. Now release me, if you please." He replied, his voice losing some of it's calm and shimmering with a hint of anger.

"Lord Jack Harte; and I am afraid I shall not. At least you must allow me to board you for a while, at the very least," he said, feeling that he was close to winning the argument. "If I must, I will drag you down the street by your arm."

"If you hold me in such a way, people are bound to misunderstand, and unlike you I do not have a reputation, let alone a title to ruin."

"Well," Harte replied, "If you hope for it to be avoided, the most simple option would be for you to accept my offer. After that, I shall let you go with no struggle. Seven days is all I ask."

Argenteo seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Three at the most." He argued.

"Five," the lord bargained.

After considering for a while, he sighed and conceeded, "Agreed, albeit reluctantly."

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Feel free to drop in any suggestions :D Comments and votes are always nice ;)

Also, feel free to correct my grammar, etc.

I'm so tired and it's not even midnight.

Song for the chapter: Canterbury - Friends? We're More Like A Gang

Oh, and I don't know which time period this is supposed to be in. I'm not good at sticking to historical rules so I just invented somewhere :D