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The air was warm, and as Alesia stood next to the tent, she couldn’t help but look toward the sky. To the west, the sun was setting over the trees, painting everything with strokes of red and gold. To the east, stars were already shining against the dark blue of night.
The scene was almost eerie in its calm, the unease only heightened by the chaos that Alesia knew would reign over the area later.
In just a few short hours, the sky would not be the only thing painted in red.
And yet, the world would still carry on.
Battles had to be fought for wars to be won.
Sacrifices had to be made.
“You remember what I told you?” she asked the boy standing next to her.
“Something bad is going to happen,” the boy repeated solemnly. “I don’t have to watch, but I have to be there.”
“Good. And if things go wrong?”
“I run,” the boy answered. “I run and I don’t turn back.”
Alesia nodded and began turning back to face the sun when the boy asked, “
Why
do I have to run? Why do I have to leave you? I want to help--”
“
Hush
, Jem,” Alesia snapped. “You run because I say so. You run, and you don’t ask questions.
You can’t ask questions
, understand?”
“Yes,” Jem muttered. “I understand.”
“Good,” Alesia said again. “Good.”
“The Commander will see you now, sirs,” a young man not much older than Jem said, stepping out of the tent.
Alesia nodded and followed him inside.
Somehow, Hymen Asema had never changed.
In all the years she’d known him, through all the battles and the wars, her mentor had remained untouched.
How was it that Alesia had become someone she herself could hardly recognize, but this man, this murderer, this sell-sword and snake, stayed ever as he was?
Round and smiling in his crimson robes, with a booming laugh and a merriness about him that hid the fury and cunning that lay just beneath, the Head Commander of the Shroud sat at his desk with a goblet in front of him and quill tucked behind his ear.
He had never changed.
Alesia had just learned to see him clearer.
“You wanted to speak with me, Rowan?” Hymen asked, as if he didn’t know her given name, as if he wasn’t aware of all the secrets she’d worked so hard to keep hidden.
“Yes, my lord,” she said slowly, looking to the man’s face for any sign of…
What?
What was she looking for?
Remorse?
Regret?
Fear?
And why?
To make the task at hand easier or harder?
“Well then, what about?” Hymen prompted, raising his cup. “I trust you’ve heard the plans for tomorrow. Your men should be prepared to ride at dawn.”
For a moment, Alesia faltered.
The man in front of her had taught her to wield a sword, to ride a horse, to skin a hare, to listen and see and
learn
from those around her. He’d taken the scared young girl with naught but anger, stolen leathers, and her sister’s son and made her into a soldier, and one of the best on the continent.
“That… That’s what I came to ask about my lord,” she said after a moment. “I heard we ride at midnight--”
“No, no,” Hymen interrupted. “We ride at dawn. Your men will be ready?”
“Of course, my lord,” Alesia muttered.
“If that’s all,” Hymen said slowly. “Sit, sit. It’s been a while since we talked. Your brother’s getting big now, isn’t he? Almost a man. How old are you, boy?”
Alesia glanced toward Jem, who was standing dutifully in the corner. “Eight, sir,” he said.
“Eight?” Hymen repeated. “And your brother’s yet to give you a sword?”
“Not yet, sir,” Jem answered. “Says there’s no need for me to fight when the war’s soon to be over.”
And there,
there
, in a single, flickering moment:
Guilt
.
Because for all he’d done for her, for
them
, in the end, Hymen was still a sell-sword, still a mercenary, still spineless and virtueless and willing to sell them out to the highest bidder.
“Should all go to plan tomorrow morning, Jem will never need to know blood,” Alesia said evenly, her hand moving her slowly to the quiver strapped to her belt.
“I suppose you’re right,” Hymen murmured, suddenly unable to meet Alesia’s eye.
“Of course, you and I have different plans,” Alesia replied.
For a moment, Hymen’s eyes grew wide, and he looked as if he were about to speak, to yell or scream or argue or defend.
What words, Alesia would never know, for in the next moment she drew a bolt from her quiver and, in a single, smooth motion, stuck it through the mercenary’s neck.
The filching at the end of the bolt was immediately painted scarlet as blood spurted from the man’s jugular.
Jem was crying, Alesia could hear him from behind her, even as she drew her sword on the young squire who had let her into the tent earlier.
“Call together the council of commanders,” she ordered. “Tell them the Shroud has a new leader, and the plans of battle have been changed. We ride at midnight. Prepare the men.”
The young boy nodded and quickly left the tent.
Alesia stared at the corpse in front of her.
Tomorrow, a new world would be born.