Work Text:
It was shortly after midnight in the Citadel of the Black Bishop, and the great hall was bathed in moonlight and swirling pools of deep shadow. Slowly and silently, a small barefoot figure crept along the edge, breaking into short sprints only to vault across the patches of light into the comfort of the next shadow’s embrace.
Finally reaching the far end, the figure pressed herself up against a column and stopped to catch her breath. She knew she had a few minutes before the next patrol of guards would pass by, after which she’d have a good half an hour to carry out the rest of her plan.
Kyrial Falco had been a “guest” of the Black Bishop for just over two years, ever since his undead army poured across the Umbrian border into the south of Florin. Her father had been the Viscount of Argento, the border district that was the first to bear the shock of the invasion, and he stood bravely at the head of the forces that were arrayed to stop them. Unfortunately, promised reinforcements from the north never arrived, and the lines eventually broke. Her father was captured and brought back to the keep, and Kyrial watched helplessly as the Umbrian commanders executed both of her parents, breaking the morale of what scattered forces remained and ending the siege.
She was 9 years old.
Since then, she’d been kept as a political prisoner in the court of the usurper, as insurance against the population’s resistance. She had her own suite of rooms in the citadel, and her education was attended by an array of tutors, some of whom she suspected were prisoners themselves. In addition to the usual history, religion, and diplomacy, some talked to her in hushed tones about arcane energies and the power of the mind to harness them. She found this particular line of instruction curious and intriguing, and spent much time in the libraries hunting for more information to try and unlock the Umbrians' magical secrets.
Aside from schooling, a strict governess made sure that she was clean and healthy, so that she could be regularly brought out to be seen openly in the palace, paraded in front of the Umbrian nobles like some sort of prized show dog. She’d learned quickly not to make a fuss during these processionals; while her captors were careful to never injure her visibly, they were quite thorough in communicating their master’s displeasure at her every disobedience.
As long as she was quiet and obsequious, she was treated well. Well, enough, at least. After all, she had value, and they would continue to keep her serene and comfortable for as long as they believed she was useful for keeping their conquered peoples placid. Over time, she was given more and more freedom to roam the interior of the Citadel, as reward for her compliance, which allowed her to spend even more time in the libraries. But a soft and gilded cage is still a cage, and she bristled at its luxurious confines.
So she quietly bided her time, but she was never idle. She was watching. Listening. Learning.
Patiently, she waited for the guards to arrive, pass through the great hall, and down the other long corridor on the far side of the chamber. As the glow of their lantern receded, she once again slipped from the shadows, across the final stretch of open floor and up onto the dais. She paused for a moment beside the great throne of the Black Bishop and suppressed the urge to sit in the chair with a soft giggle, then slipped behind it, pulling aside a heavy tapestry on the wall to reveal a small door.
Dropping to her knees, she slipped a lockpick out of her sleeve, deftly opened the latch, and pivoted inside, pulling the door softly closed behind her. She didn’t stand, but remained in a crouch as she surveyed the room, scanning for anything new in this familiar space. Normally, she snuck into the Bishop’s sanctum to access its extensive library, but tonight she had a different target, and no time to linger.
In a case behind the ornate desk, a wicked weapon sat on a stand, gleaming slightly in the soft moonlight. A curved edge extended from its onyx handle, while another swept back underneath. The bottom edge was serrated rather than smooth, while the top edge had several notches designed to trap opposing swords. From tail to tip, it was about two feet long, though it was hard for her to decide if it was a very short sword, or a very long knife. Either way, it was a nasty bit of business, especially in the skilled hands of the necromancers of Ravensbridge.
It was called “The Amputation Knife” by the Umbrians and seeing one wielded by the Dark Disciples was enough to send a crowd of ordinary men into panic. Despite its fearsome shape, it was a surgical weapon, made for rending souls from the crevices of the bodies they inhabited.
Carefully, she gently pried open the door of the elaborate glass case, wincing slightly as the hinges creaked, and then lifted the blade from its perch. She took a moment to look at the reflection of her pale eyes in the mirror of the steel, then slipped it into her belt. Glancing down into the case, she noticed a folded pair of leather bracers on the shelf below the stand. Shrugging, she scooped those up as well and tucked then into her pouch at her side.
She paused for half a moment, sweeping her eyes across the shelves of ancient tomes, filled with knowledge she’d not yet been able to crack. Perhaps one or two might go astray, and would they really be missed?
“Don’t.”
She did not startle at the stentorian voice that rumbled in her head. She knew it was for her and her alone. “Ah, you never let me have any fun!” she whispered to the empty air, her Argentan lilt betraying a hint of amusement. “Besides, I already finished reading the last one.”
“Sooner or later, child,” the low smooth voice echoed, “you will find those boundaries you have been probing for. You may not find the results of crossing them entirely to your liking.”
Ah, it’s child now, she thought, flicking her eyes up into the back of her head for a moment. That means he’s proper annoyed, and I should stop lollygagging. It wasn’t just the court’s boundaries she liked to test. She also delighted in seeing where she could usefully press upon her mysterious benefactor’s patience. It wasn’t malicious, even if he did affectionately call her a brat when she was in a mood to explore the topography of his curious psyche. After all, you never knew when you’d find the breach in the fence that would let you slip through and attend to whatever mischief lay beyond.
With one last, reluctant look at the towering shelves of books, she dropped down near the floor again, ready to slip through the giant throne room and creep back to her own quarters. I wonder what he wants with this wretched thing, anyway? She thought. Just as soon I’d never see it again, unless I get the chance bury it in an Umbrian’s unsuspecting back. But this wasn’t for her, and she owed the man a great deal for his extracurricular tutoring in subjects she was sure her captors would strongly disapprove.
Glancing out the window, she realized that she didn’t have much time before the guards came through again. She slipped through the door behind the throne, carefully listened for oncoming footfalls, then dashed twice across the lit sections of floor to the welcome embrace of the far shadows. From there, it was a simple matter to hug the walls along the corridors, using the heavy drapes framing the occasional windows as extra cover, until she reached her rooms. Taking a last furtive look up and down the hall, she cracked the door open, just wide enough to slip her slender eleven-year-old frame into the rooms beyond, and then softly guided the portal back onto its latch.
“36 minutes and 17seconds” The voice echoed disapprovingly. “You’re late.” The voice was still in her head, even though she knew he was standing somewhere in the room with her. She wasn’t sure precisely where, but it wouldn’t take long for her to put eyes on him. The girl had an uncanny gift for mentally recording her surroundings and then finding the things in that picture that were out of place. If she was awake and paying attention, it was almost certain that she’d noticed at least six curious things to later follow up on when no one was paying attention to her.
“Ah, come on, Hawke. What’s a minute and 17 seconds between friends?”
Sweeping her eyes through the room, she noticed a slight break in the line of the shadows that bathed the floor, and without speaking, did a lazy, graceful cartwheel that ended in a curtsey, directly in front of him. Somewhere during this tumble, she managed to drop the stolen blade into her hand and flourished it theatrically as she reached a stopping point. Holding form, she looked up at her mentor, a crooked, gleeful grin on her face.
Hawke stood straight, looking down at his young pupil. He was a tall Umbrian man, with dark skin and a smooth bald head. A neatly kept beard framed his mouth, and the leathers beneath his cloak were worn but supple. Despite himself, he chuckled. The young girl’s irrepressible energy was contagious, if sometimes impossible to channel in the right direction.
“A minute and seventeen seconds”, he said, now out loud, relieving her of her bladed bounty, “is enough time for an Umbrian Necroficer to remove every bone from your body while preserving the shape of the flesh.”
“Is that the sort of thing they’re like to do?” she asked, curiously. Somehow, she wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t sure he’d seen her afraid even once, despite her dire circumstances. He’d seen his young charge be giddy, playful, performatively polite and formal, witheringly sarcastic, determined, willful, and even, on a moment where she did not realize she was being observed, cold…almost cruel. But never afraid. She seemed to view her captivity as a puzzle she just hadn’t quite solved yet. He was hoping he could get her out before she did, because on her own, there’s no telling what she’d attempt once she thought she had all the answers.
Because, critically, she wouldn’t. There was so much outside these walls she was innocently unaware of. He was going to need to shatter that innocence soon, though he did not look forward to the task. But he knew that if he wanted this extraordinary youngster to see her 12th birthday, he needed to get her out of this castle.
“Do you know why I asked you to steal this, Sparrow?”
Kyrial visibly relaxed at the return of her nickname. “It’s…shiny, and you need it to enhance your nest?” she offered glibly, the crooked grin flickering impishly on her face.
“No. This blade is more than a cruel weapon, or an artifact imbued with dark magics, though is both of those things. This blade…” he tapped the flat of the steel gently against her forehead, “is a passport. The men that carry these are people of import, and no one questions their business, because no one wants to become their business.”
“Is it finally time?” she looked up hopefully, her eyes wide. You could see the wheels spinning in her head.
He smiled. “Yes, Sparrow. It is time to fly.” He went over to the window and looked pensively down to the wide bailey below. “You’ll want to get together those things you really need, but don’t overpack, because we have a long journey ahea…”
She appeared at his elbow, a small satchel slung over one shoulder. “Ready.”
Hawke raised a eyebrow. “You couldn’t have known tonight was the night. When did you pack the bag?”
“Two years, three months and fourteen days ago,” she shrugged. “I don’t have much worth keeping.”
Hawke shook his head. “Amazing.”
“Oh, that reminds me. I got you something!” Kyrial rummaged in her side pouch and produced the leather bracers. They were simple but finely worked with elaborate designs embossed along the edges, and each had a small purple jewel inset on the wrist.
Hawke’s eyes widened. He turned the objects over in his hand, appraising them. “Do you know what these are?”
“Nah.” She shrugged. “I’d seen their like, once before. Since they were in the same case as the blade, so I figured they must be worth something.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. These are…rather extraordinary.” He slipped on the bracers. “Now then, we’d best be on our way before these are discovered missing or leaving will become rather more difficult than it already is.
Noting the courtyard patrol had just turned the corner out of sight, Hawke removed a small crossbow from his pack, and fired a bolt at the tree down below. A silvery line trailed behind, and as the quarrel found purchase in the solid oak, he pulled it taut and secured it.
“Follow behind, Sparrow. We have exactly thirteen minutes before the patrol returns.”
Hawke looped a leather harness over the rope and took the grips firmly, then swung himself off the edge of the window. The line bowed slightly with his weight, but he quickly landed on his feet by the tree. He turned and looked back up at the ledge.
Kyrial was standing perfectly framed in the window, staring off into the distance towards the mountains to the north. Her face was indescribable in the moment, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and stubborn determination that Hawke knew all too well. He was just about to send her a telepathic nudge when suddenly she leapt forward, holding both grips in one hand. As gravity took hold of her, she swung her body gracefully forward so that her feet were in front of her and wrapped her legs around his chest as she made contact. Dropping her arms onto his shoulders, she giggled. “Whee!” she said in a soft stage-whisper. “That was fun!”.
The tall man shook his head, but the smile was broad on his dark face. He dropped her gently to the ground, and then looked up at the line. With the flick of a wrist, a glowing blade appeared in his hand and flew towards the window, slicing the line cleanly before disappearing. It fell to the ground, and he began spooling it on his arm to stash in his pack.
Without speaking further, the two began shadow-dancing across the courtyard, dashing through the pools of light for the refuge of the dark. Finally, they arrived at the battlement walls, and Hawke knelt to face his young companion. “This is the last test for tonight. If we succeed, tomorrow you will have an entirely new set of problems to solve.”
He pulled a dark cloak from his pack and wrapped it around her, pulling the hood up to hide her face. Pushing her in front of him, they approached the gate.
“I am taking this one out.” He hissed at the guard in Umbrian.
“Um, I’ll need to verify that…” the guard began. Hawke raised a hand, allowing his own cloak to fall to the side, revealing the wicked blade at his belt.
“I. Am. Taking. This. One. Out.” He bit off each word with palpable menace.
The guard, seeing the Amputation Knife gleaming at his side, quickly abandoned his protest and gestured the pair into the barbican. A few tense moments went by, but then the portcullis behind them lowered and the outer gates begun to swing open.
Neither spoke as they strode out of the Citadel and into the morning twilight. Three-quarters of a mile from the gate, Hawke led his young charge off the road and into the deeper forest, where they made their way up a steep hill to a clearing. They could see the spires of the cathedral catching the first rays of sun as the dawn began to spill across the land.
Hawke placed a firm hand on Kyrial’s shoulder. “They won’t let you go easily, you know. We’ll need to travel hard to put distance between us before we can start to relax. The reach of the Black Bishop is nearly as long as his memory, and it’s entirely possible that no place will ever be entirely safe. I’m afraid that the road ahead is going to be rough, and sometimes unpleasant.”
She looked up at him, her pale blue eyes nearly the colour of steel in the early light, and shrugged. “At least it’s going somewhere.” She glanced back at her now abandoned prison. “Not done with them. But they’re not a today problem.”
Without waiting, she turned her back on Ravensbridge, and started down the hill. A few paces away, she glanced back at her mysterious mentor.
“Come on, old man. The whole world is this way.”
Hawke shook his head and pulled his pack up onto his shoulders. “Lead on, my lady,” he said, sarcastically, with an exaggerated half-bow.
The young girl smiled at this address and quirked an eyebrow. “And don’t you forget it.”
The two travelers made their way down the hill and through the forest, leaving behind the dark spires of Ravensbridge.
The Beginning…