Prologue

Prologue

Dalan Hafid's feet crunched through the green grass, throwing a spray of morning dew up into his sweat drenched face. The weight of his sheathed sword bore down upon his back a knife was tucked into his belt at his left hip. His breath came in rasps and each one that he took rent his lungs asunder. They found me. They followed me... All the way across the Centran border! Dalan thought as he flailed toward a line of tall thick trees which stood against the horizon like sentinels, watching over the small helpless human figure. They could be anywhere... they could be here... He thought as he remembered the figures of the two Al-Mahid assassins, their faces obscured by black turbans and facial wraps that concealed all but their cold, lifeless eyes. Sprinting through the woods, Dalan pulled up the left sleeve of his brown military fatigues, revealing an arm of the same color, spattered with crimson from a newly opened gash which ran across his forearm. He wondered how long he could keep up this pace before passing out, or even if his blood would lead his followers straight to him upon his seeming inevitable collapse. Dalan's parched lips curled into a grim smile. Well I did desert their army after all. Gave up my only way out of that godforsaken prison. Ran away from the only way to clear my record. A way to clear my name, for Sharah's sake. Dalan realized the irony of his thoughts, as he ran through the forest glade a free man. At least for now.


The shadows from the trees seemed to flit over Dalan, bits of the crisp orange dawn sky played down upon him. Between the trees ahead of him, he saw the glint of the same light off of a clear glassy surface. Dalan stumbled out into the clearing and looked up in awe, his pursuers forgotten. In front of him a large mass of green blue water glistened in the dim light of the young day. On a large island of land, in the middle of the lake, stood a tall imposing stone wall, dappled with blue-gray and purple stones and was at least, Dalan thought, 7 stories high. So, this is Gabradia. He thought, staring up at the turrets of the blue, gray and purple speckled stone walls in amazement. A great gray stone bridge, wide enough for thirty men to walk astride, stretched half a mile across the vast river to a place slightly further down the riverbank. From within the city, arose a tower, twice as tall as the walls that cloistered the city. It was made of the same blue-gray stone as the rest of the kingdom and it's conical walls came to an sharp point at the top. Dalan rushed to the bank and greedily drank in the water, coughing and sputtering as he drank it in. It tasted of sea salt and perhaps something more putrid, yet his thirst compelled him to continue. When he had drunk his fill, he stood up and staggered to the edge of the bridge. His body would carry him no further. Walking closer to the bank of the river, he wedged himself on the cold stone under the bridge, and lay down. Pulling out his knife, he pulled back his overcoat and cut a swath of his sleeve away from his shirt. The thick woven material made a tearing noise as he sawed into it. Pulling it away from his shirt, he tied it tightly around the gash in his left arm, staunching the flow of the blood. I'm going to die aren't I. They... They are going to find me. Dalan thought as closed his eyes and fell asleep.


. . .


When he awakened, the orange evening sun was sinking behind the line of trees in the distance. Dalan opened his eyes and looked up at the purple pastel colored sky. Standing up, he examined his left arm, which had stopped bleeding. Black crusted blood clung to the fabric tied around the wound. He walked around the side of the bridge, noticing the last travelers of the day ambling across the massive bridge toward the city gates. Dalan felt a sharp pain in his side that doubled him over. I haven't eaten for 2 days. He thought as he stepped onto the hard stone bridge.


“Yer got any food?” Dalan's parched voice grumbled at a lady who was passing by. She quickened her pace and paid him no mind. “Do yer have some food you could sp-” Dalan stopped as the man he had addressed walked quickly past him. Dalan walked up and down the bridge for the next couple of hours, asking for food or gold, but received no response aside from a man who muttered “Groveling dirty Mora, go back to where you came from.” under his breath. Well, I see the Gabradians and Centrans share a common sentiment about me. Dalan thought has he continued to walk. Night had fallen and the bridge was lit only by torches spaced every 20 meters or so, which cast flickering shadows upon the last of the returning travelers. The guards that he had seen guarding the entrance to the city had left temporarily. They are going to close the gates. Dalan sighed and unsheathed his standard issue Akhmet army knife, its rough edges glinting in the sparse torchlight. He concealed the weapon in his right hand, which he hid under his tattered brown overcoat. Another sharp pain jolted through his body and Dalan clutched at his side with his free hand. As he staggered upright, he felt a little lightheaded. Must have lost a damned pint of blood. He thought as he steadied himself and nodded to reassure the people around him on the bridge. No one, however, was looking his way. Lowering his head to conceal his face, he joined the crowd walking to the gate. Near the edge of the bridge, a young girl, no older than eighteen, four years younger than himself, was pulling a merchant's cart, which was almost empty from a good day of sales. Her shoulder length golden blonde hair flew behind her in the breeze. Dalan slowly edged across the crowd and edged in next to her, his footsteps matching hers, his right shoulder almost touching hers. “Give me your money and you wont get hurt, little lady.” Dalan whispered. The girl started, but continued when Dalan continued “keep walking. Don't try anything.” She continued to walk along the bridge, slowly and cautiously, refusing to make eye contact with Dalan.
“And what is it you want to do with that money?” she asked him, her light blue eyes intent on not meeting his.
“Thats-” Dalan winced as a sharp pain went through his side. “Thats none of your business.” I've got to act fast. Dalan thinks. Before the guards return.
“I'm reaching for my change pouch.” The girl said, reaching down cautiously. For a second, her eyes met Dalans' and he felt uneasy. Its almost as if she is about to... With a flick of her wrist, she drew a sword from a brown leather sheath hanging at her side and swiped it at Dalan with such speed that it whistled through the air, the tip of the light two edged blade barely missing his nose as he jumped out of the way. Screams issued from the surrounding crowd as they stumbled to get out of the way. “A bit careless, don't you think?” the girl said “I'd think that you thieves would be smarter than to attack an armed target.” Damn. Dalan thought as he looked up at the girl, who was slowly walking towards him, backing him toward the other side of the bridge. He regretted that his wits weren't about him. If I was in any better condition, I would have noticed her sword. Dalan thought. “Drop the knife.” the girl said calmly, still walking towards Dalan. No. I cant. I would rather die than go to jail aga-. His thoughts were interrupted by a now jarring pain that wracked his body. Dalan's vision blurred over, he staggered two steps back and the next thing he felt was the cold pavement against his cheek as he fell unconscious.


. . .


“Get up.” a female voice told him. Dal opened his bleary eyes and looked around him. Street lights lit up the street of an apparently deserted city. Tall, narrow residences, made of cobbled purple, blue, gray and white brick and purple shingle roofs lined the side of the road on which he lay. Lay? Dalan thought. He looked down and noticed that he was sprawled in the thinly plated, but durable aluminum pushcart that the girl had been pulling earlier on her way into the town. His hands moved down to his belt to feel for his sword sheath and his knife. Gone. The girl was standing a few feet away, unlocking the door to one of the residences, Dalan's sword slung across her back. She probably has my knife too. He thought. Across the street, the buildings were more sparse, large and spread apart. Deserted bazaars, their wares relocated for the night stood at the side of the street opposite Dalan. “Can you stand?” she said, more softly this time, walking back towards him, the door to a building open, a soft, welcoming light coming from inside.
“Yeah.” Dalan replied as he swung his legs out of the pushcart and tried to stand. His weight threw him off balance and he stumbled into the girls arms.
“Men these days. Do women have to do all the work?” She said, though Dalan could not see her expression in the darkness. She put his arm around her shoulder and carried him inside of the building. The door led to a hall with a flight of stairs, lit by lanterns flickering with an unusually white-yellow light. at the top of the stairway, the hall turned abruptly to the right. into a long hallway with oak wooden doors on both sides. Still supporting Dalan, the girl walked to the third one on the right, inserted another key and opened the door. The small one room flat was lit by two of lanterns which emanated same bright yet soft light that lit the stairwell and the hallway. A small bed with fluffy cream colored sheets which matched the color of the wallpapering, sat in the corner near the doorway. The girl and Dalan walked over to the bed, his feet dragging the floor and she set him down upon it. The plush mattress billowed as it conformed to his body. He sunk into it, weary and ragged. A desk sat in front of the window, with a lantern on it, fire burning brightly. In the far corner, a small wooden reading table with a lantern sat next to a plush lavender colored chair. "I'll be right back." The girl said as she left the room, closing the door. She returned shortly, pulling the aluminum cart behind her. Its wheels made a rumbling noise against the unpolished wooden floor. She rolled it into a closet, closing the door, then walked over to Dalan.
“Those... Lights?” Dalan managed, pointing at the lantern hanging on the wall, then the one on the desk.
“Hm?” the girl asked. “Oh, those. Pyrelights. I suppose you have never seen them before since you are from Al-Mahid. They have a ban on all magicks except porting over there, right? The idea for these lights was created by a couple entrepreneurial magi in the town. The flame burns brighter than fire and goes out only after a month or so. Its also self contained. Perfectly safe if you spill it. You just scoop it up off the floor with a dustpan.” The girl walked over to the black iron stove, which was glowing heartily and placed a purple porcelain teapot on it. Removing a jug of water from a nearby shelf, she added some to the pot and threw in some yellowish and greenish herbs. How did she know that they have a ban on magicks in my country? Dalan wondered. She must be well traveled. “You don't look too well.” She continued. Did you drink from the river?” Dalan nodded. “South or north bank?”
“South” Dalan replied weakly.
“Figures.” The girl said dejectedly. “This tea should help. Apparently, the Elvaan who built this city positioned the waste system so that the sewage is dumped southbound, flowing out to sea. Brilliant race if you ask me. I suppose your people could have become like that as well.” she quickly added. “Pity that the darkening occurred and all.” The darkening. Dalan thought. The reaction of the religious fanatics in control of our country to the period of scientific and philosophical enlightenment hundreds of years ago. Ala-Meidan history? Who IS this girl?
“Hi-history?” Dalan managed.
“Yes, I read about history from all over. I'm a merchant, so it helps to know about the countries that you travel to to sell your wares.” she responded. Steam began to rise out of the teapot. The girl opened the cabinet next to her and pulled out a loaf of bread and some strips of dried roasted meat and set it on a black wooden tray. She then took the teapot off of the stove and poured a cup of the green colored tea.
“This is...” the girl began but was interrupted by Dalan.
“Menthe and... Camellia...” Dalan finished her sentence. “C-cures stomach pains and nausea.”
“Hah! It seems that even fanaticism cant crush the scientific spirit of a Mora. Sorry, I am not used to having a foreigner in my place." Gil laughed. not used to foreigners? Dalan thought inquisitively. He thought of the nation from which he came, Al-Mahid, and its diverse mix of the tan, dark-eyed Al-Mahid, the light skinned Roma, who migrated from the far off nation of Yagua and the predominant race in the region, the Mora, a dark skinned, coarse haired people from the nation of Moorea, which was separated from Al-Mahid by the vast South Sea. I guess it is a little different here. Dalan thought. "Anyways," Gil continued, "My nation inherited most of its technologies from the Elvaan about a few hundred years ago. Way back then, used to be a slave-labor city. They subjugated us Centrans. To fuel an Elvaan war of some sort.” the girl said bitterly. “Anyways, since we were introduced to this technology without developing it, people don't have a clue as to why anything works. Even now, hundreds of years later, our best scientists are still having trouble.” The girl carried the tray over to a small wooden table beside the bed and sat it down.
“Drink.” she ordered. Dalan picked up the cup and put it to his mouth. Hot steam rose up and warmed his face, which was cold from fleeing through the forest in the dead of night. The hot liquid warmed his whole body as it went down his throat. He could already feel his strength returning and asked the question he had been dying to ask since he has arrived in this strange place.
“Why? Why did you save me?” He asked, putting the mug down. The girl looked at him, slightly confused, her head cocked to one side.
“I... I honestly don't know. Perhaps it is because you remind me a little of myself... My past. Drink and eat, then get some rest. We will talk in the morning.” the girl stood up and walked back over to the stove
“Wait!” Dalan said The girl turned around. “wait... What is your name?”
“Gil. Gil Regalia.” she replied “And you?”
“Dalan Hafid.” Dalan said, putting down a piece of bread. The tray was nearly emptied, only crumbs of the bread and the more burnt pieces of the roasted meat remained.
“Nice to meet you Dalan. I wish the circumstances on which we met were better though. Get some sleep. You look like hell.” Gil said, smiling. Dalan choked a laugh out halfheartedly and reclined back on the bed. Mug in his hand, he took one last sip of the tea and felt the tingling effect of the herbs spread slowly through his body. Setting his mug down on the side table, Dalan relished the moment, the softly lit, warm cozy room. The food, the warm tea. He closed his eyes and for the first time in weeks, a peaceful sleep overtook him.


. . .


Dalan awoke to the morning light pouring through the green day curtains which were pulled to. For a few moments, he lay back and let the light from the sun warm his face. This is more like it. Dalan thought as he propped himself up on his elbow. A small piece of parchment that had been resting on the bed fluttered onto the slightly dusty wood floor. Dalan reached down and picked it up. He squinted at the letters of the message, struggling to recall the little bit of Duali, the language of both Centra and Al-Mahid, that his parents had taught him.

Dalan,

I have gone to the central square to sell some goods. The door next to the closet leads to a washroom if you want to freshen up. There is running water for a shower, but it is cold. I will be back in at midday with food. Don't leave the room or open the curtains. They are looking for you.

P.S.

I bought some clean clothes for you and left them on the chair in the corner.

~Gil Regalia~


Dalan could make out the words clothes and shower, but put the letter down in frustration after trying to decipher the rest. Dalan looked over at the chair and saw a white cotton shirt, a brown leather jacket and a pair of long pants made of some rough material. ...looking for me? Dalan thought, perusing the only other coherent phrase that he understood with his limited comprehension of language The assassins, no doubt. He swung out of the bed and walked over to the window, looking through the day curtains. On the streets below, he saw masses of people milling around on the cobblestone streets. Vendors on the street corners hawked their wares to the crowds on the street. In the light of day, the hodgepodge of blue, purple and gray stones that the buildings and city walls were composed of had a pleasing effect on the eye, giving the city a soft, violet tint. On a street corner, not far away, a group of young men put on a dazzling light show, to the applause of many of the bystanders, who dropped coins into a hat resting nearby. Magi. Dalan thought. He was amazed at how freely magic was used within the walls of Gabradia. Scanning the streets, he did not see one single Mora or Al-Mahidi, dressed in assassins' clothing or otherwise. To strike like the howling wind and leave no trace behind. Thats their mantra. I doubt I will see them unless they are the last thing that I see. Dalan looked around the small apartment again and wondered why this Gil trusted him so. Upon careful examination, Dalan found that there were no true valuables left within the room and her cart, which she had carried in after she brought him to the room was gone, presumably to hold the various goods she was selling. Yet, here he was, alone in her apartment, with a chance, if he so wished, to steal enough to allow him to flee the country. But he didn't wish. Not after all she had done for him, in spite of his threatening her life. And run where? Dalan thought. Surely there is nowhere that he wouldn't eventually be found and meet an untimely death by poison or the blade. Dalan smiled. Blade. He thought, remembering that she had relieved him of his weapons as well. I wouldn't last a second. I'd be robbed by bandits before the assassins could even get to me. Dalan sighed in exasperation. At least I'm safe for now. He thought as he stood up and walked to the washroom.


. . .


“Well, don't you look dapper?” Gil said dryly, closing the door of the apartment behind her. Dalan lounged in the plush chair next to the window. His new clothes were a little small for his well built frame, but fit nonetheless. His short wavy black hair was combed back neatly and parted from the widows peak in the middle.
“Thats the difference between a night of running through the forest and a good shower. I'm glad you can tell the two apart.” Dalan retorted. "And why didn't you tell me that the washroom had only cold water? If your idea was to wake me up, then you succeeded."
"I wrote it in the note! Didn't you read it?" Gil replied, exasperated.
"Oh, that is a good one, a Mora beggar reading a letter. I'm lucky that my parents taught me to read even that much before they..." Dalan's voice trailed off.
“Well, I'm glad you washed the sheets as well as yourself. You smelled like you brought the whole Gabradian forest in here with you last night.” Gil said under her breath as she walked over to the desk, her thick golden hair cascading behind her. Dalan thought he saw a small smile form on her lips, but it vanished as soon as it had appeared. Gil put her cart into the closet and pulled out a couple of brown paper bags, spotted with grease at the bottom and a jug of brown liquid. She tossed one of the bags to Dalan, who opened it, crinkling the paper as he peered inside. The savory smell of bread, butter, spinach and meat wafted from the bag and Dalan felt hungry again. He rummaged through the bag and found a smoked turkey leg and a small pie of some sort. Dalan picked up the pie and examined it, before biting into it. He closed his eyes and chewed on it, noticing that it was stuffed with a warm green leafy vegetable, which was thoroughly mixed with a creamy sauce.
“Eat. Bought it from a street vendor. The green stuff is called spinach.”
“Its good” Dalan said through a mouthful of pie.
“I wish I could have gotten in earlier, but I was at the Drunken Magi gathering some info.” Gil continued.
“Drunken magi?” He asked.
“Local pub downtown. You are pretty infamous.” Gil said as she pulled out two dusty mugs, wiped them off and poured some of the dark liquid into one, then the other. “Gabradian ale. It may be a little strong for you, but its the best ale in all of the Centran continent.” She said, walking over to where Dalan sat and handing him a mug before taking an enthusiastic swig from her own. Dalan smiled at the condescension but offered no retort to her questioning his drinking experience. Gil walked over to the bed and sat down on it, pulling the turkey leg out of her own bag “A couple of guys were out in the town square asking if anyone had seen you. Looked like they were from your country. They said you were an escaped convict.” Dalan looked at her, but said nothing. “Well, are you?” There was a moment of silence, only broken by Dalan pulling the large turkey wing out of the bag. Despite the awkward situation, his hunger compelled him to continue eating. After taking a bite of into the juicy meat, he looked up at Gil.
“Yeah, I'm a convict.” He said matter of factly. “I was an orphan as a kid. Grew up on the backstreets of Akhmet with a few other kids. Some of the older ones taught me how to survive, how to be quick with my fingers and even quicker on my feet.”
“Pickpocketing?” Gil asked. Dalan nodded and continued.
“When I was fourteen, I was caught. The options were losing my hand.” Dalan made a slicing motion with his hand, “or going to jail for the next twenty years. I took the jail time. I don't know how much information from our country you get up here, but we are currently at war with our neighbors in our continent of Al-Mahid, the Jazair. Well... Last I checked, it was more like a slaughter. Our leader, Dey Jaffar Pasha commanded an expansion into their territory and offered freedom to any jailed petty criminals like me. We had to serve a 5 year term in the war and then we were to be set free. The Jazair are a simple people. They generally keep to themselves and hunt and gather in the wilderness for the survival of the tribe, but we needed resources, since most of our land is a barren desert. Their land was far more fertile than ours. Dalan finished the last of the spinach pie, taking a swig of the dark ale before continuing. “Anyways, I was in the advance force. We were basically all criminals who were being used as human shields for the better fighters. The Jazair don't usually interfere with other nations, but that doesn't mean that they cant organize when they want to. The battles that we had fought were tough and they were almost a match for us. They seemed to always be prepared for us and there were rumors that their seers and shamans called upon the spirits of their dead soldiers to discern our next move.”
“That is madness.” Gil laughed.
“Thats what I thought at first, but is it really? Up until that point, they had proven themselves to be a very simple culture, but upon attack, they organized themselves into an effective fighting force, battling a force 3 times its size from a civilization at least a thousand years more advanced. Some of their soldiers fought as men possessed and would often take on a couple of our finest mercenaries without breaking a stride. Sometimes, I think that the only reason I survived was dumb luck. I was not strong enough to fell any one of their soldiers by myself and neither were many of my comrades. Is it any wonder that such rumors were going through the camp? Their power and organization were unparalleled!”
“But why did you desert?” She asked. “Those men said you were a deserter and a criminal when they asked about you.” her eyes widened in realization. “It was fear. You weren't raised as a soldier. The sight of such forces must have terrified you.” Dalan smiled knowingly and dropped the remains of the turkey leg back into the bag which he crinkled up and set on the table next to him. He took another swig of ale, concentrating on the liquid burning its way down his throat. Hoping it would wash away the memories of fear and anguish which haunted him from the past week.
“Not exactly. I was scared, yes. But the commanders were even more so. They feared retaliation and that, should the Jazair retaliate, even the capital of Akhmet would not be safe. In a plan born out of desperation, they decided to attack the city of Agar and slay anyone that was found there. Women, children, no one would be spared.” Dalan stated, his lips pursed in a grim line. “I signed up to clear my name, not to slaughter families. That was when I decided that I had to leave. I fled for Centra under the cover of nightfall, with provisions that I had stolen from the military camp. It was a weeks journey to Centra. Once I arrived, I stole some food to stay alive and lived on the streets as a beggar for a few days. The assassins eventually tracked me there and almost killed me. I was forced to flee again and I ended up here.” Gil was thoughtful for a moment. She looked at Dalan curiously.
“Well, you certainly didn't seem like the petty criminal type.” she said matter of factly. “I was orphaned as well. I'm from Port Albert. Both of my parents died when I was fourteen. They were attacked by pirates at sea while returning from port Izaria on the Centran continent. I took the last of their money and used it to become a merchant myself, but I haven't been through anything like what happened to you. Maybe thats why I helped you. When you robbed me last night, you didn't seem malicious. You almost seemed... desperate.”
“Hah! Well I guess things didn't work as intended. Its hard to be cruel and cold when you have been running from assassins all day.” Dalan laughed gruffly.
“Well your running isn't over.” Gil replied. “We need to discuss how we are going to get you out of here.”
“Where would I go even if I left? They tracked me thus far. Why stop here?"
“Amaurea” She replied confidently. Its a small Elvaan island between Centra and the Aurensvale coast. You should be able to get there by climbing the Nadel mountains north of here. There is a bridge over the water that should get you there.
“Yeah but Gil, its the Elvaan you are talking about. I don't think they take kindly to Humes waltzing onto their land and asking for asylum.
“Half-elves,” She corrected him. “They would be more than welcoming to you. Some Humes choose to live among them. If you so wished, you could find a job and settle down there.”
“But what about the assassins?” he asked.
“First of all, you probably aren't that important to Al-Mahid. I am willing to bet my merchant's guild membership that the two assassins that came here are all they sent to look for you. You are a deserter, not a spy. Also, you say the war is still going on right?” She asked. For a second, Dalan wondered what ever became of the proposed slaughter at Adar.
“As far as I know.” Dalan responded
“Then they would probably need the country's best fighters on the battlefield, if these Jaza'ir are anything like you described. The question is, are you worth tracking onto Elvaan territory? Even civilian elves practice magicks as a part of their daily lives. It is much more prevalent than anywhere in the Hume world. Moreso even than here, the Hume capital of magick users. Most of their citizens probably have super-sensory spells and would easily spot anything less than the best Hume spies and assassins available.” Dalan relaxed noticeably. Perhaps there is some hope. He thought.
“How would I find this Amaurea?” He asked curiously.
“Climb the Nadel mountains to the peak. From there, you should be able to see the coast. If you head north-northeast down from the peak, you should see the bridge. We should pack now. It should be easier for you to leave under the cover of the crowds during the day. I'm sure they are keeping watch for you even at night.” Gil stood up and opened the closet. Dalan could hear the clanking of metal as she pulled something out of her pushcart. Gil closed the door and walked over to Dalan, handing him his knife and his leather-sheathed sword. He stuffed his knife into his belt and strapped his sword across his back. She also presented him with a large threadbare bag, which he took, looking at Gil inquisitively.
“Food.” She explained. “Anyways, from Northbridge province to Amaurea is about a four day journey. You'll need the provisions.”
“Can't I just find a porter and port there?” Dalan asks.
“The porters guild mandates that Elvaan cities can only be teleported to from within Elvaan territory. Same with other continents as well. Al-Mahid and Centra are the only exceptions, since they are united on a common landmass and share vaguely similar cultures. Besides, even if you tried to find a member of the Church of Alphus who practices such magicks and can port to Amaurea, I bet that those assassins are making sure you don't use a port to escape anyways. They are probably monitoring anyone who they suspect can use such magick.” Gil responds.
“You have a point there,” Dalan said, reprimanding himself for his carelessness. Dalan stood up, slinging the brown threaded bag over his shoulder and walked to the door.
“Northbridge is a few minutes walk northwest of here. Be careful. Needless to say, make sure that you aren't followed. You know what to do once you leave the city.” Gil said.
“Gil. Thanks for everything.” Dalan said, feeling remorseful that he had attempted to rob her earlier.
“Yeah, whatever. If you survive, I'm sure you'll pay me back. You seem like that kind of guy.” Gil said in an unconvincingly nonchalant tone. Four days. Dalan thought. If i can make it to this Amaurea place, I can start all over again. With one last glance at Gil, Dalan stepped out of the threshold of her flat and turned down the hallway to walk down the stairs. As he pushed the door open, he raised his hand up to block his eyes against the bright sunlight which streamed down upon him. Crowds of people went about their business, magi bustling in and out of a building down the street, a mother reprimanding her child who was pouting and pointing at a sweets vendor. A cool midday breeze blew across his face. Dalan smiled. And even if I don't survive. Maybe I will find freedom in death. Dalan stepped fearlessly into the mass of people, knowing that no matter what happened, he would soon be free.