Huw Carrington – Author

Tooth and Nail – Prologue

“Some gods do not die; they break.”

• Highmage Hastigr Graylen (309 I.Y.)

* * *

Families were complicated. It didn’t matter if they were bound by blood or covenant, few things could be said to be so twisted.

Klaus sighed. He should’ve felt happy. His commander had finally recognised all his hard work. This was it. He’d dreamed about the Royal Guard since he’d been old enough to play soldier.

Instead, he now worked his first rotation. Klaus hadn’t realised how much emphasis the royal family put on the guard in guardsman.

With one foot falling in front of the other in an unsteady, arrhythmic pace, he made his rounds. Others might’ve preferred a more even march, but he’d always found the innate unpredictability of his stride kept his mind sharp.

He didn’t know how to feel. When he finished patrolling the miles of corridors and passages beneath the Emperor’s palace, command would reward him with time with his family. Some of it, anyway. His wife and friends had assured him he’d enjoy it, but he couldn’t help but question their faith.

His sister had contacted him without warning a few weeks before, suggesting their reunion. He hadn’t spoken with her since before he’d enlisted. She hadn’t approved of his chosen path, but then he hadn’t thought much of hers either. Neither of them really got along with each other, truth be told.

For the life of him, Klaus couldn’t work out why she wanted to speak with him now, or their brothers for that matter. With one missing on some misadventure, and the other locked within the Spire, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen either of them. Whenever it was, they’d got along with one another about as well as they did now. Too many differences between them all, and too many years apart.

In spite of all that, it’d be good to see them again. If they could keep themselves from arguing, he might even have fun. He’d never admit it to their faces, but Klaus regretted how they’d parted. He couldn’t give up an opportunity to clear the air between them. After all, they were the only family that he truly had.

His uneven steps led him to the Palace’s Great Hall. As a simple soldier in the Imperial First, he’d have struggled to picture such a place. Tainted by the few details that had made it down to the rank and file, his imagination had painted luxury beyond reckoning. Such naive dreams didn’t do the chamber justice.

Balconies, art, and plush furnishings lined every wall. Blues, greens, and gold covered every surface. Carpets as deep and lush as meadow grass extended before him. A single square foot of that fabric probably cost more than he’d made in a month at his last posting.

Rumour had it that the Emperor planned some announcement here for the next day. He’d end up on watch for that too, if he was lucky enough to attend at all.

Checking his sheathed sword out of habit, he skirted the room as he continued his round. Though his gaze took in the fabric of tapestries and the marble busts of unknown men and women, Klaus held himself back from touching anything. If he was going to ask for leave to see family, he didn’t want to risk drawing notice from his superiors for the wrong reason.

Something moved at the corner of his vision, and he spun to face it. That hanging had moved, he was sure, though it hung down straight and motionless now.

One hand on his blade, he edged towards the tall lengths of expensive blue fabric. Wincing at the drape’s delicate touch, he flicked it back. Nothing but an empty alcove.

Moving his hand away from his sword’s pommel, Klaus let out a relieved breath. The wind must’ve played a trick on him. A weary mind could paint many pictures.

As he turned to continue his rounds, a slender, gloved hand locked over Klaus’ mouth and nose. His sword never left its scabbard, the attack coming before he could react. Something sharp and hot sliced through the leather padding under his arm, breaking flesh and penetrating deep within him. Twice more it drove sideways into his chest, cutting vital organs, before Klaus felt its sharp caress across his neck.

The unseen attacker’s grip didn’t falter as his struggles weakened. Where the blade had stabbed him, his body grew cold. A strong hand pushed his arm away as Klaus made a final, desperate effort to break free.

As his strength faded, and the figure lowered him to the ground, he caught a glimpse of his assailant. Clad head to toe in dark cloth and leather, with a hood concealing their face in shadow, it could’ve been anyone. He couldn’t even bring himself to cry out even the weakest of alarms as they reached down and wiped their blade clean on his uniform.

First swirls of dimly recognised colour, and then darkness swarmed the edges of Klaus’ vision. As it closed down to a narrow point before disappearing completely, a single wry thought rose within him. Thank Hein, dying would be easier than reconciling with his family.

* * *

As it tilted back, the chair – some modern copy of a master’s design – creaked in a most satisfying manner. Across the Hall, the assassin glanced around as if hearing the sound before returning to their task.

With his scuffed and worn boots resting on another seat, Haber laced ringed fingers behind his head and watched the figure work. Over the centuries he’d grown accustomed to such questionable actions, and so too, it seemed, had the hooded killer. He cocked his head, watching as they wiped clean the blood splatter and hoisted the fresh corpse across their shoulders. There was a certain reward in watching the competent at work.

For the briefest of moments, Haber considered following as the murderer moved to dispose of Klaus’ body. The guardsman had had his own story – loves, habits, and flaws – but now he lay dead all because he’d stood in someone’s way. It could’ve been anyone stumbling upon the killer, but a promising soldier had paid with his life. That poor guardsman; it was never just the wind.

No, following the assassin wouldn’t benefit anyone. Haber had never pursued the divining of people’s fates like some he’d known. Visions of the future spoiled all the fun. Still, he’d developed a certain instinct when it came to such plots. This single dead man didn’t matter anymore.

Oh, sure, he could’ve spun Klaus’ image around himself and taken his place. Haber had done it before, borrowing a spark of an erstwhile sibling’s power to shape the illusion. It might even prove a worthwhile distraction for a while, but he wasn’t sure how close to these events he truly wanted to be.

Stretching, he rose from the chair. Carefully returning it to its original resting place, he adjusted his elegant shirt and crossed the room. Wandering over the carpet and ignoring the spot where the Imperial had died only moments before, he walked to where the guardsman had disturbed the assassin from their work. Adjusting his black trousers, Haber crouched and tilted his floppy-brimmed blue and orange hat to one side to better inspect the flagstone.

Where the assassin had had to lever and labour, Haber slid a hand along one worn edge and raised it as easily as if turning a page.

His eyes shifted and danced across the tightly packed rubble before settling on the tiny cluster of desert rose. Nestled in a dusty depression, its sandy, crystalline shards protruded in a flower-like pattern.

This was what had drawn him here. The strange stone radiated sorcerous power. Someone had spent a great deal of time, effort, and essence creating it. Few had the talent to craft beacons like it anymore. He’d checked in on them all at one point or another over the years. For all his desires to be free of others’ expectations, such oversight was what he’d agreed to in the first place. One shouldn’t ignore such responsibilities.

Replacing the flagstone, hiding the crystalline beacon once more, Haber stood. The temptation to investigate further, to witness whatever would unfold, grew within him, but it wasn’t his time yet. This plot had to unfold further, he was sure of it.

Turning on the balls of his feet, he walked away. He’d sensed others here in this palace that he didn’t wish to cross paths with. Neither of them – the brute or the apprentice – had forgiven him for the part that he’d played in this small world’s history. They should’ve thanked him and the others anyway; neither would’ve existed if he hadn’t accepted that responsibility so long ago. Still, that was a story common in all men. No one appreciated what came before them.

Pausing at a tall window of frosted glass, Haber looked up. Through the twisted crystal and the silver clouds of night beyond, a blue-green light reached him. Few mortals would’ve spotted the Comet, but he wasn’t like the other players in this game.

“Well,” Haber whispered to himself with a slight shrug. “It’s about time.”

With an amused smile, he took three long steps and was gone. For all his interest to see what came next, experience dictated that remaining there could cost him dearly. The power of a god was nothing when compared to that of a story.