Prologue
General Hakirma knelt, trembling at the feet of his king, head bowed as if in defeat. He, who had faced the rebel armies of the north, the savage southern tribes of Ragort without batting an eyelid. He now trembled in the presence of the one who was supposed to support him.
"What orders your grace?"
Even the utmost restraint could not hide the tremor in his voice.
"What orders can be given to a failed general?"
The question came not from the throne but the shadows surrounding it. He knew the voice, loathed it, and feared it. Her voice.
From the depths of the darkness stepped forth a figure swathed in a dark cloak. In the gloom it could almost have been black, yet he knew that it was in fact deep emerald green. She stood just behind the throne in deference to the king's power. Yet Hakirma knew that she was where the might truly lay.
"You allowed him to escape!" The words dripped scorn, uttered by one whom all knew to fear.
"It could not be helped- he used his power. We could not restrain him."
"You allowed him to escape... unchallenged."
"That's a filthy lie!" Hakirma roared, his fear and outrage defeating his caution, "you may be as him, but what can us mere soldiers do?"
"Fool." She spat the word as a snake would poison. "You are the reason we are now in jeopardy. What if he passes it on? What if we cannot track him down before it's too late? What if he goes against us?"
"He is old and weak, especially after what we did to him, he won't have gone far. We will catch him. We will return him."
"Not without assistance; you are too weak. I will find him. You will fetch him. Before it is too late."
Hakirma hurried from the chamber, cursing his fate. He had allowed the prisoner to escape. And now all hell was to break loose.
