Assassin's Promise

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Mykal walked out of the large building. Chiseled into a slab of marble—perhaps once hanging over the main entrance, but now in two sections on the ground—was the word Library. Clearly, inclement weather, war, abandonment, and time had taken its toll on the two-story structure. Stored for protection in vaults located several floors below ground were all of the rare, and outlawed leather-covered books, thread-bound parchments, and rolled scrolls.

Eventually, the hall of knowledge became more fittingly known as the Ancient Library Ruins. It was where Mykal, Blodwyn, and Anna went after King Nabal forced them out of Grey Ashland. The war between the kings had been brutal. Despite everything they’d done to ensure Nabal’s win, the outcome was less than they’d hoped for. Here, Mykal was expected to master his newly-realized powers as a wizard.

Closing his eyes, Mykal rubbed his temples. The throb had started shortly after dinner and now, some three hours later, hadn’t let up. Thankfully, neither had it become worse. Long days spent studying magic out of primordial books, and late evenings dedicated to the application of what he had learned under the direction of his mother, were beginning to wear his nerves thin. One of the only things he looked forward to was the few hours each evening when he honed his fighting skills with Blodwyn. It gave him the opportunity to exercise his muscles, instead of just his mind.

Speaking of Blodwyn, Mykal walked over to where his friend sat on a different chunk of marble. Under the starlit sky, he had a fire going. Rocks encircled the arrangement of kindling under stacked logs, and he absently poked at the wood with the heel of his staff.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Thought you’d be fast asleep by now.” Blodwyn nodded toward another chunk of rock.

Mykal sat, slowly, wincing.

“Are you okay?” Blodwyn asked.

“It’s my head. I’m just tired. I tried lying down. Guess I’m just not ready for sleep.” Mykal leaned forward, resting elbows on knees, palms toward the fire. “This is nice.”

“My favorite part of the day.”

“Your fires?” Mykal asked.

Blodwyn shook his head. “It’s more than that. It’s the sky. The moon. The peace that comes with it. Rarely have I had the chance in life to sit and appreciate the world, as I’ve had since we’ve arrived here. So much has happened in the last few months. I guess having the time to reflect on some things has become more important to me lately.”

“Speaking of reflection…” Mykal raised an eyebrow. “You do owe me some stories. I know it’s getting late, but I’d love to hear them.”

Blodwyn snickered.

“Did you think you’d get away from telling them to me?” Mykal asked.

“I suppose, I hoped you wouldn’t bring it up.” Blodwyn stabbed the staff into the fire. A log rolled over. A spray of orange embers erupted into the air.

Too many years had gone by and there never seemed a long enough lull in the day for storytelling. While Blodwyn knew everything about Mykal, there was very little Mykal knew about Blodwyn’s past.

“Because you have trouble remembering?” Mykal laughed.

Blodwyn shook his head. “Because I have trouble forgetting.”

Mykal sat up straighter, dropped his warm hands onto his thighs, and said, “If you prefer not to get into it, I’d understand, Wyn. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Blodwyn held up a hand. “It’s okay, Mykal. Sit. You’re right. I do owe you some stories. You’ll have to bear with me at times. The telling won’t always be easy. I guess the best place to start would be around the beginning. I was nine, almost ten years old, and my father was taking me fishing …”

PART I

ON A ROAD TO THE BEGINNING