The moonlight entered the palace window and crept through the room, illuminating the lush carpet. Extravagantly overstuffed chairs and an ornate wooden wardrobe adorned one half of the room, the other occupied by a luxurious canopied bed and an ancient, dark stained desk next to a door that led into the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of one of the plush chairs was a solemn girl. She was busy wrapping cloth around her upper arms beneath which lay dark blue tattoos. The blue signified her family station; each tattoo described her life thus far. She still had many more tattoos to add and hoped tonight’s excursions would not be the last ones etched into her skin.
She pulled on a tight tunic over a soft long sleeve shirt and donned a pair of black pants, slipping on supple leather boots and lacing them tightly. Standing, the girl tied back shoulder length sleek black hair and grabbed a thin, black cloak from the back of the chair. Draping the cloak across her shoulders, she pulled the hood over her face, hiding her features in shadow. Looking around one last time she sighed and pulled herself onto the window ledge lifting her face to the moonlight before closing her green eyes and plunging over the edge to shimmy down the makeshift rope that hung to the ground.
*
Fires burned high and the shouts of the Renegades mingled with the yells of the village men and the cries of women and children. Two men sat atop matching black stallions surveying the havoc. One sat arrogantly in the saddle, his black and red armor glistening in the light of the burning houses, the red steel shining like fresh blood. His short black hair was slicked back from his unshaven face and he watched the massacre around him in silence. A scar on his upper lip created a constant sneer.
On the second midnight stallion sat a man in dark green leather armor with black breast mail and black leather boots. Strapped across his back was a quiver of arrows, a longbow fastened to the horse’s saddle and within easy reach. In addition to this he carried a short sword and his gloved hand rested on the pommel as gray light blue eyes looked out from a bronzed face. He reached up with a hand to push an unruly tuft of bright red hair away from his eyes.
Unlike his comrade, he didn't enjoy this attack and although he knew it was necessary to fight the kingdoms that were loyal to the Mage King, he didn't think it right to attack defenseless villages, harming women and children in the process. Many of the other Renegades shared his views but they wouldn't speak out against Kryas, who wouldn't hesitate to punish those who spoke ill of his plans.
Gylat regarded the attack with pursed lips. This was not going according to plan at all. For one thing, the villagers had appeared to be prepared for the attack, which meant that someone had warned them. This was foul news since the only ones who knew of the attack were the Renegades and that meant one of their own had potentially betrayed them. Gylat would have to find the culprit and discover why he or she had turned against them.
Secondly, there was a semblance of order in the villagers' fighting which would indicate that someone was aiding their battle strategy and it didn't make any sense for farmers and herders to be experienced in battle techniques. Hand to hand combat might be a necessity to survive against bandits and cut-throats but their retaliations were executed with calculated skill. Gylat did a mental count of the fighters and mages he had brought and didn't like the outcome. They had already lost far too many men in a battle where the casualties should have been minimal and mostly on the opposite side. Something was definitely going on.
"Oh stop worrying Gylat. We're crushing this village,” Kryas spoke, interrupting the other man’s thoughts. “There's nothing to stop us from going right to the castle," the man in black and red pointed beyond the village, but his companion’s brow only furrowed further.
"I don't know Kryas. These villagers seem very well organized for peasants and farmers. We should have taken this village far quicker and at a lesser cost. To both sides." The last he said under his breath and Kryas did not hear him over the gurgled cries of a man falling to a blade only a few feet away. Gylat watched their own man fall shortly thereafter, an arrow sprouting from his eye, blood exploding from the socket and waterfalling down his face as he collapsed to the ground. Kryas followed his gaze and frowned.
"Perhaps you are right. They do seem more in control than any other village we've sacked. Almost as if someone were helping them . . . there!" Kryas stood up in his saddle and pointed. "That man in the black cloak!" Gylat looked in the direction Kryas was pointing to see a man pointing and gesticulating, apparently giving orders to a group of ragged villagers that were gathered around him. The man’s face was shrouded by a deep hood and Gylat couldn’t make out his features. "I want him alive Gylat. He might be from the palace. I'm sure we could use him as a bargaining chip and if nothing else, we can make an example out of him." There was a wicked gleam in Kryas's black eyes as he watched the hooded figure. Gylat slowly took up his bow and aimed an arrow, easily pinpointing his target. He pulled back his arm and after a moment's hesitation let the arrow fly.
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