Chapter 2
Emmeric
Emmeric lay on a dune, watching over the peaceful desert village below. There were subtle signs of life this late at night—a few lights in windows and a couple of people milling about. His eyes shifted to his friend Talon, who was lying beside him on the sand. He was a shadowy figure against the waning crescent moon, but the bright red of his hair still shone like a beacon.
“Tell me why we’re here again,” Emmeric whispered. “There’s, what, fifty people in that village? Why are we even bothering?”
Talon shrugged. “Same reason we’ve raided the last two, I guess.”
Emmeric shook his head with a small frown. “It just…it doesn’t seem right. These villages are so small and self-contained. What does it matter who rules them? It’s not as if they can offer anything to us. What are we going to steal—their dirt? Plus, we’re all but declaring war, attacking a settlement in another kingdom.”
Talon peered at him out of the corner of his eye. “Careful, Emmeric, that’s toeing the line of treason.” He grinned widely, cuffing Emmeric on the shoulder. “You’re lucky I’ve known you for so long. Anyone else would have turned you in for a reward. Besides, they most likely want it for a strategic outpost that would fly under the radar. It’s a good thing you aren’t our war general; we’d be running around in circles.” Talon chuckled.
Emmeric bit back a sigh, glancing down at the village again. “We should go give our report to the prince. I want to leave here as soon as possible.” He stood up slowly and silently; Talon did the same beside him. They slunk back to where the rest of the band of soldiers were waiting for instructions. Even without a fire to illuminate him, Crown Prince Zane was prominent—his immaculate posture and wide shoulders set him apart from the others.
“Report.” Although his tone was muted, the command was sharp and demanding. Zane wasn’t somebody you wanted plotting against you. Guess it runs in the family, Emmeric thought.
Talon answered, “Only thirty to fifty civilians, sir, if you include children. No sentries of note, and everyone is bedding down for the night. No reason to believe they would put up any sort of fight.”
“Good,” Zane replied. “Let’s get out of this godsforsaken desert. We move out in five minutes.”
The soldiers all saluted by bringing their fists to their chests, and then began their last-minute preparations. Emmeric Sullane wiped his sword absentmindedly, unfocused, thinking only of the carnage to come. It never got easier. In fact, it seemed to get harder with every year and village. He glanced around at the other men. The seasoned veterans were laughing and joking with each other, though some looked how he imagined he did: introspective—possibly a little frightened. Some of the newest recruits were praying. It was beyond his understanding how they, as human beings, could carry out such acts. Killing so many and becoming numb to the murder. Several of these men were twenty or thirty years older than the others that had recently grown into their positions. Or maybe he was just assuming they felt nothing. The cajoling might be a coping mechanism developed over years of following orders. Wasn’t that what he was doing anyway? Following orders? He needed to appear exactly the same as the others, falling into line, ready and willing to end lives simply because his emperor and prince ordered it.
Talon and Emmeric both had recently celebrated their twenty-eighth birthdays in the past two moons, Emmeric being one month older, and Talon loved to tease him for it. Is it past your bedtime, old man? Emmeric usually rolled his eyes and would throw a light punch, which inevitably devolved into a wrestling match. They had been friends practically since they were born, their families living next door to each other. When Emmeric was fifteen, his parents died in a tragic accident while in the market selling their wares. Emmeric moved in with Talon’s parents and they became even closer—more like twins than only brothers. At the age of eighteen, both joined the service of the Empire, despite protests from Talon’s family. But they were young and cocky, and eager for adventure. Emmeric wanted the sword fights, rescuing damsels, fucking them into a stupor, and moving on to the next adventure waiting for them. What he found instead was ten years of drills, being talked down to by their superiors (especially the prince), and killing people who certainly didn’t deserve to be killed. Women came and went, but no damsels, and nothing serious, for which Emmeric thanked the gods. He did not need or want to be tied to a woman or children; people he’d only have to worry about while away. This way was easier.
Emmeric felt a calloused hand on his own, stilling his movements, and he glanced over at Talon. He had a wry smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The moments before a raid or battle were always when Talon was the most serious—it was disconcerting. “You’re about to cut your finger off there,” he said. “C’mon, old man, we’re heading out.”
Everyone around them started putting away their scant belongings, donning armor, and strapping on swords or knives. The supply wagon waited up the road. That would be the rendezvous point once they completed the raid. If Prince Zane proclaimed victory or called for a retreat, they had only ten minutes to get to the wagon; anyone late would fend for themselves.
“Hey, I’m not happy about any of this either,” Talon whispered as they marched. “But this is our job. This is what the emperor and prince have ordered us to do, and we do it or face the consequences. That’s all this is: following orders. Now get your head out of your ass and start working before someone notices you’re having a fucking moral crisis.”
Talon was right, again. Emmeric took a deep breath of the crisp desert air, cooler now since the sun had set. He could smell the meat the villagers were smoking to store, and a faint whiff of cactus blossoms.
Following orders. That’s all.
The group crept up the side of the dunes silently, the front line peering over the edge to look down upon the village to ensure everything was silent. One man raised his hand. The signal. Men in the back lit torches and passed them forward; soon they all held one. The world settled and became so quiet in that moment, as if it was holding its breath, waiting to discover what would happen. Emmeric’s neck tingled as though he was being watched, and a heavy pressure that felt a lot like fate settled over him. He shuddered.
Prince Zane broke the peace as he shouted, “Charge!”
Twenty soldiers sprinted down toward the sleepy village. A sword was in Emmeric’s right hand, another strapped to his back, and a torch in his left. He had to be extra careful as he ran and slid down the dunes—he’d hate to fall and gut himself on his own sword. By the time they reached the edge of the village, confused people were emerging from their huts. The front line of soldiers set the overhanging thatched roofs ablaze, which burst into flames instantly. Of course, everything was dry in this desert. The hush of earlier suddenly dissipated and sound rushed in from all directions, disorienting Emmeric—the crackling of fire, screaming, children crying, officers shouting.
Torches were being dropped in favor of swords, and villagers were being cut down where they stood. Soldiers continued to run through the village, setting it ablaze as Emmeric followed. He lost sight of Talon quickly. A small knot of worry formed in his chest for his friend, but knew he was skilled and could take care of himself. While there were less than two dozen soldiers, this village was not prepared to be attacked. Women and children were not spared; they never were under Uther’s rule. A villager ran towards Emmeric with a broom raised over his shoulder. A broom. Without thinking, his sword sliced through the man’s neck easily and he dropped, gasping for air, a curtain of blood flowing down his neck. A keening cry rent the air. Emmeric saw a woman drop to her knees beside the man; he was probably her husband. Was. He turned away from the sight to spare her life—bile rising in his throat as it did anytime he had to kill an innocent—but another soldier beheaded her in the next second. Her warm blood splashed on Emmeric’s face.
He turned away in shock, now forcing the vomit to stay down, and that’s when he saw her.
A woman was standing in the middle of the chaos, firelight reflecting off her sweat-soaked golden-brown skin. The fire, debris, and soldiers seemed to avoid her completely, despite her lack of weapons. She was small, not much taller than a child, but lithe; Emmeric guessed she was close in age to him. Long, black hair whipped around her upturned face. She was yelling; her features scrunched in anger and fear. He couldn’t hear what she was saying over the sounds of battle. Craning his head upwards to see what she was shouting at, only the stars were visible. All of this Emmeric gleaned in a few seconds, as he stood unmoving within the raging massacre, sword slack and forgotten in his hand.
Suddenly, the night sky lit up and something large streaked overhead. The fighting stopped abruptly as everyone turned in shock and confusion to watch the falling star that appeared to be hurtling straight towards the village. It became eerily quiet and the hairs on Emmeric’s arms stood up as though he were in the middle of an electrical storm, the strong, sickly-sweet smell of ether heavy in the air. He found the woman again—ignoring the battle, the people, the sky. She was no longer staring up; she was looking right at him.
The two strangers made eye contact for only a moment before the star passed directly overhead and came crashing to the earth in a colossal explosion of light. The blast knocked Emmeric off his feet, his last memory of the strange woman staring at him like she saw through his soul. Then everything went black.