Prologue - Ash and Steel

Wisps of ash drifted through the air illuminated by the pale moon and the dim orange glow of embers. A haze of smoke heavy with the smell of charcoal, roasting flesh and decay filled the spaces between them. The flames had died down to a low crackle, broken only by the occasional pop or tired groan as blackened timber fought to maintain its strength.

Waves of heat from the surrounding buildings pressed at her face as she prowled through the village, wary eyes constantly scanning every collapsed wall and broken doorway. Her ancient blade gleamed in the dim embers ready to strike, lest someone had survived the blaze.

A low groan, followed by a sharp crack sounded to her left and a huge post departed its foundations, crashing towards the road. She leaped lithely to the side rolling behind a charred wall as it crashed into a molten pool of glass upon the road below. The liquid splashed across the surrounding buildings, flaring the embers of faded fires. She emerged calmly from her temporary cover then with the swift footed surety of an alley cat stalked through the wreckage. The soot that marred her white robes clung to the material momentarily, before slowly sliding back towards the cobblestones.

They had fallen upon the village just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The villagers had been completely unaware and the town had fallen without even the semblance of a struggle. The raid had been a complete success. Every man woman and child had been exterminated and the buildings had been destroyed. All, except for the large wooden church in the

center of town.

Common sense told her it should have burned as the fire raged around the city yet here it stood in clear defiance of her will. Her men had refused to return to the village and set it to the flame, believing its god had staved off the fire and stood ready to defend it should they try their luck again. So it had fallen to her to finish the job. A mirthless chuckle passed her lips at the thought of a god being more powerful once it’s people had been destroyed.

Burnt bodies littered the streets as she approached the proud wooden doors to the house of Aethelis, matron of justice and mercy. The dark wood refused to give as she gave it an experimental shove. She thrust her impossibly thin blade through the gap between the doors, swiping it upwards in a flash of strength and steel. There was only a slight resistance as it passed through the wooden brace holding the doors closed. A deep thud echoed from behind the doors as the timber fell from its place. With her free hand she pushed against the heavy wood and stepped across the threshold.

Hot air rushed past her and into the building, blowing stray hairs into her eyes. Lights of green and blue danced wildly across the walls illuminating row upon row of dark wooden pews. They shone through a stained glass effigy of Aethelis positioned high above a stone altar, no doubt caused by flares of fires as they briefly burst into life again outside.

Stepping through the door, her nostrils were assaulted with the stench of rotting bodies. The putrid smell made her gag but sheer determination stopped her from vomiting. She wrapped her shawl more tightly across her face but the scent of crushed desert flowers barely even surfaced through the reek.

Hand on hilt, she advanced carefully up the center of the church, waiting for someone to show. As she passed the first pew the source of the smell became clear.

Pale faces stared sightlessly in agonized horror along the lines of benches. Their bodies clothed in white and lain with care head to toe, filling all the spaces on every line. Arms and legs sported large black welts, some scabbed and covered with dried puss, others full and ready to burst.

So this is why so few were tilling the fields she thought.

She had just bent over to examine them more clearly when a voice came from behind the altar.

“Come to plead for mercy for your crimes?” it rasped.

She whirled on the spot, eyes sweeping the building. There, beside the altar. A young man had crawled out on his hands and knees. He was dressed in the deep purple robes of a priest of Aethelis but they were ill fitted, as if he were a boy wearing his fathers clothes.

“A little young to be a priest aren’t you?” she her low voice husky from the smoke.

The man coughed then groaned and fell to his side. The same black welts that covered the bodies stained his pale skin. She sheathed her sword again then sauntered through the pews to examine the man.

“Where is the bishop?” she demanded.

The man rolled onto his back “He gave his life in sacrifice for our sins,” he gasped.

She snorted with derision “You mean he killed himself so he wouldn’t have to suffer like you.”

Keeping one eye on the man, she examined the contents of the altar. It was spread with the symbolic symmetry that only a pedantic priest could provide. Leather bound holy books of purple and green were interspersed with golden bowls full of tiny pendants of woven rope, the sign of Aethelis. She picked up one of the books and flicked aimlessly through the pages as she walked towards the dying man.

“I must say, I am a little confused,” She said, leafing through the pages then tossing the book at the man “You speak as if I have anything to be sorry for.”

He flinched as the book thudded against his leg. His fearful eyes watched her every movement, waiting for a fatal stroke. She crouched down next to him and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“Your pathetic race knows nothing of the world,” she hissed “You profess to forgive my sins? I’ll bet you’ve never been further than the closest city. I am Shyan! I have lived hundreds of your life times and travelled the world. I’ve dined with kings, killed gods and watched as their followers wailed with despair. You are nothing. You will always be nothing and no one will remember you when you are gone.”

She released his head and he winced as it thudded against the floor.

Shyan pulled a match from a pouch on her belt then grabbed another book from the altar. In a fluid movement she lit it and held it to the ancient pages. They flared instantly and the book burst into flame. The man cried out in despair as his precious relics began to burn. A cruel smile crossed her face and she dropped it on his chest, quickly covering him with more tomes from the altar.

His robes caught fire quickly and his cries merged into one long piercing scream of fear then agony. The flames spread relentlessly across the altar and up the walls. Shyan looked back from the door at the writhing form of the flaming priest. The job was finished. Her campaign had begun.