The life and times of Revenge

Prologue
Mishantor Woods
R.O.C. 1294

Branches ripped at her skin as Allena raced through the underbrush. Her fearful mutterings alternated with snarls of rage at thoughts of those that had betrayed her and forced her into this living hell. She ran with thoughts of death on her heals, fleeing from the beings that pursued her in the dark. In a moment, remembered anger was forced from her mind as a wolf’s howl sounded behind her.
“No, no, no! Stay away from me you monsters,” She whispered as the ground tore her feet. All her energy was once again on the proper path: escape. She mouthed the word silently to herself as she jumped a log in her path. A stag came rushing out of the forest in front of her. Allena froze, and took off in another direction, fleeing between trees that were spaced to close together to allow the massive animal passage. Timing her jump wrong, Allena caught herself on a rock and fell hard to the forest floor. In front of her another stag emerged from the woods, followed by a massive silver wolf. From somewhere overhead a falcon screamed his song of dominance and triumph as the young woman realized she was trapped. Tears began to dance patterns down her skin as the wolf padded silently forward. Because her eyes were averted, locked by the ground that had forced her to submission, Allena missed seeing the Change. Her flesh still trembled as she felt the contraction and expansion of the air around her as wolf-flesh molded into man-flesh. Images of the past flashed behind her seascape eyes. She knew the reformed skin had a bronze tinge and that the formed sleeveless tunic and pants the man wore had been crafted from the finest black leather. There was embroidery on the edges, done lovingly in silver thread. Its funny the things you remember. I wonder who did that for him, or if he did it himself.
“I told you not to try anything,” the man said gently. “You cannot escape from us!” Break my body but never my spirit. His words gave Allena the strength to stand and face him.
“I am not part of you and I never will be,” she snapped bitterly. “Just leave me alone and go eat the flesh of your children and bathe in their blood like you always do.” The man’s only response was to chuckle softly and reach out to stroke a lock of her silver hair. As she flinched and started to step backward, the man’s hands shot out to grab her shoulders. Her dragged her forward until she was pressed tightly against him, her form melting into his, as if they were one being not separated in any way. As her head snapped up and her mouth opened to curse him for touching her, he dropped his mouth down, clamping it onto hers. The kiss he gave her was neither gentle nor slow, rather it conveyed power and dominance. As she struggled against his arms, his grip became tighter, his kiss more demanding. She felt bruised, violated, by the action. He released her mouth, but continued to hold her cradled in his arms. She hated the hypocrisy of his gentle action. Moments later, a voice broke the silence.
“Ravis, enough.” The voice was light for a man’s, but also foreboding. It came from Allena’s left, where the falcon had landed. She had seen this particular change before, and was both appalled and entranced by the reformed figure. Tall and slender, like the bird he could become, Allena’s first thought had been of apparent powerlessness. The illusion, however, had not lasted long as only a momentary glance was required to notice the tightly coiled muscles laid under the gold-tinged skin. Allena’s vision traveled up his form, ending, as they always had, locked by his eyes. They were the amber color of a bird of prey, a shade not found in true humans. She knew some found them beautiful, but to her they were simply a sign of his otherworldliness. Those eyes only considered her for a moment, before flicking back to Ravis.
“I want to get back to camp. Carry her. The others will flank you to see she doesn’t try to flee again.” While the man spoke he glanced to the two stages. “Be careful with her- you know the importance of her bloodline, and what we need to do to reclaim it.” Ravis removed a hand from her waist, and Allena cringed with the thought of the smirk he must have been wearing. She winced as she heard the whisper of a blade being drawn. As she turned her head away from the amber eyes, she felt the soft sharp pressure of a hilt against her skull.
Her world quickly slid into grey oblivion.



Chapter 1
City of Kiestelan
R.O.C. 1314

Ambrosia felt no emotion as she slid her sica into the man’s heart. He had been a fool to confront her in a sword-circle. She smiled grimly as he slid off her blade, remembering how cocky he had been when he challenged her, certain that he would be claiming her at the end of the fight. Unfortunately, it was not an uncommon occurrence, for most men did not look past her striking appearance to notice the aura of strength and power that radiated from her. As she ripped the corpse’s shirt to clean her blade, she noticed that the spectators, supporters of her opponent, had fled. Not surprising, she supposed, considering it had taken her only moments to actually kill the man. She had toyed with him at first, infuriating him, and teaching a lesson to the men around. Ambrosia had danced around the circle, not drawing her twin swords, laughing at the man’s ineffectual attempts to attack her. He had not been a terrible fighter, simply an egotistical one who had too much confidence in his own abilities- a dangerous trait in an area where disagreements were still settled with blades and blood and death. His fatal mistake had simply been not realizing that Ambrosia was not simply good, but rather the best.
With the last beads of blood wiped from her white blade, Ambrosia dropped the torn fabric on the body’s chest. Leaving the city workers to clean up the mess, she turned to the tavern she had been lunching in before the distasteful disturbance. Entering through the wooden doors, the murmur of voices only dimmed for a moment before returning to its normal roar. Ambrosia knew that in the Interior, where the war was far removed and pompous disconnected officials ruled the populace, fighting was a prosecutable offense. Killing, however, was simply survival in the Outlands. Battles raged constantly between the Changed and those fighting for the Crown. Mercenaries switched sides almost daily as the looting mobs promised new riches to those that were willing to kill. Pulling gold coins from a bag at her side, Ambrosia was glad the system worked as it did. She held up the coins, gesturing at the bartender to head in her direction.
“What may I get you,” he inquired politely as he arrived. Ambrosia let out a mental chuckle. People were always respectful when they knew you were capable of killing them before they could scream.
“I’ll have the Amnite Black- and make sure its strong, not any of that watered down junk they sell around here.”
“Only the best for the best, milady,” the man replied calmly. He took her gold and proceeded to disappear into the back rooms of the establishment. Ambrosia supposed that in order to run an inn full of drunken killers, the man had to learn to be cool, collected, and complementary in any situation. Waiting for her bitter wine, Ambrosia surveyed the room, categorizing its inhabitants. Some tables were full of groups of raucous men celebrating a battle victory or commiserating over the loss of a comrade by drinking themselves to near-death. Wall booths were filled with silent spectators, mainly mercenaries. She had fought against some and with others in the past. No bonds were formed between fighters in this war, however, and neither she nor them took a moment to acknowledge the other.
A barmaid placed the drink down in front of Ambrosia, but she took no time out of her silent inspection to thank the girl. Finishing her survey of the room, Ambrosia caught sight of two men hidden away in the dim, almost lightless, corner table. A chill of unease shivered up her spine as she realized that they were Changed. One had orange-red eyes that pierced the air in between Ambrosia and the man; the other sat with his side to her, his face hidden in folds of grey fabric. Although she was willing to sacrifice her own consciousness and fight alongside them if the price was right, Ambrosia abhorred the Changed. Draining her glass, Ambrosia stood to leave, not removing her eyes from the bloodstained ones that never left her.
Tossing a few silvers on the table to cover the cost of her cooling meal, she cast a final, calculating glance at the hidden men, and then put them from her mind. Although it was uncommon for them to mix with normal humans, it was not an especially infrequent occurrence this far into the disputed borderland. Besides, it was time for her to meet the next paying client.