The Beauty of Redemption

Prologue

       Two dark-cloaked figures stood on a moonlit road. One, the troupe master, was tall and stocky, while the other was thinner, but about the same height. Even under the hood of their cloaks, their faces were exposed to the lantern light.

       All around them, tall trees enclosed the road where they stood erect. In between them stood a wolf with large yellow eyes and gray fur. Together, the pair scanned the woods.

       "They should have been here by now, Morgalo," the Troupe Master told his companion.

       "We should wait just a bit longer," Morgalo said quietly. "Perhaps they are having trouble keeping her on the horse."

       Suddenly, the two men heard the pounding of horses' hooves. Finally, the Troupe Master thought. Three horses approached from the front of the two men, their riders kicking their sides to urge them forward. The leader, who rode a palomino, came to an abrupt halt two yards from the Troupe Master and quickly dismounted.

       "Monsieur," the man said, panting slightly. "We were unable to find the missing girl. We searched for hours and found nothing!" At this, the man swallowed, his short, muscular frame trembling slightly.

       The Troupe Master laughed inwardly. Fear is a powerful weapon, no? he asked himself. Smirking, he gazed down at his trembling subordinate.

        "Anything else, Riquardo?" he asked quietly.

        "N-no, Monsieur, no-nothing at a-all," Riquardo replied, swallowing hard. Behind him, Riquardo's companions tightened their reins, looking ready to spur their panting mounts into action.

        The Troupe Master laughed softly and shook his head. "Really, you must calm down before you faint, Riquardo," he said. "I expected this bit of news; hoped for it, even." His smirk deepened as the trio's expressions became more confused. Even Morgalo cocked his head to the side.

       "What do you mean?" Riquardo asked tentatively.

       "That girl is the key to restoring our troupe's reputation and it will be far easier if she is free for now," the Troupe Master replied matter of factly.

       "But, Monsieur, how is that possible? We must make an example-"

       "Patience, Riquardo. We will make an example of her, but it will take time."

        Riquardo turned to Morgalo.  "But do you not want to avenge-"

        "I do not," Morgalo replied, his eyes narrow. The other man paled.

        "My father does not deserve to be avenged," Morgalo said, his tone authoritative. "He should have kept his fists to himself. Anyhow, if she had not killed him, someone else would have obliged."

         "That girl can help us find and destroy the one who ruined us," the Troupe Master continued. "In a sense, I suppose that would be avenging Plamen Garaldi. But he will not oversee the victory over that cursed architect!"

         Riquardo looked more confused than ever. "What do you mean?" he asked. Behind him, one of the riders cursed quietly.

         The Troupe Master laughed. "Oh, save your breath," he told the cusser. "You have not heard the story, Riquardo?"  The shorter man shook his head.

        "Let's just say that Monsieur Garaldi attempted to design the Paris Opera House, but lost the contest to a certain upstart architect. He chose to be part of the workforce to be a part of the project. A pity, really; he lost respect in the troupe after that stunt. Disgraced his whole family, actually..." He cast a sideways glance at Morgalo, who was looking down at his wolf. "Does that answer your question?"

        Riquardo nodded.

        "Good. Let us be off," the Troupe Master said, his shoulders squared. At his side, the wolf bristled and moved closer to Morgalo.

        As Riquardo turned to mount his horse, the Troupe Master lunged forward and grabbed the man's chin and the back of his head. With one quick motion, he twisted the man's head. A sickening snap sounded and Riquardo went limp.

        The two riders forced their mounts backward with cries of alarm. Morgalo's wolf growled and got between his master and the murderer. The Troupe Master let the man's body fall to the ground with a thud. He shook his head as he lifted his gaze to the frightened men.

         "I hope you realize just how important it is to follow my orders to the letter," he said, sounding as if he were lecturing two schoolboys. "Since he was in charge and my plan is going well, I will let you live." His expression hardened. " Do not expect such a mercy next time," the Troupe Master said coldly.

        The men nodded vigorously.

        "Now move this corpse out of the road," the Troupe Master ordered, pointing to some bushes in front of one of the trees.

       The men remained in their saddles.Their bodies were tense and stiff.

        "Need I remind you of what I just said?" the Troupe Master asked with a bit of a growl in his voice.

         In the blink of an eye, both men scrambled down from their horses' backs and picked up the body. Heads bent down, they walked slowly to the bushes and dropped their deceased companion into the leafy grave. That being accomplished, the men raced back to their leader.

        The Troupe Master nodded with satisfaction and motioned for the men to mount their horses. While they obeyed, he walked carefully to the riderless horse. Morgalo followed close behind him.

        I guess they know why I did not bring my own mount, Morgalo thought smugly. Just before he climbed into the saddle, he turned and gazed down the dirt road. The lantern lit his face with an eery glow as his cloak hung onto his frame.

        "You think you have escaped, do you not?" the Troupe Master asked in a murmur, gazing at a partly hidden sign emblazoned with the word, Paris. "Indeed, my little mouse, the chase has just begun!"

        Smirking, he mounted the horse and motioned for Morgalo to follow him. Then, the Troupe Master spurred their mount into action. The men followed in suite and the group rode away into the night, the wolf running close behind them.