Empire of Man Book 1 The First Empress

The first man came toward her and the one she struggled with. Her only hope was that in the dark neither would notice her movements fast enough to react. As the blade came down on her she released the arm she held and fell to her knees.

One powerful arm shot up while another barreled down and the two comrades delivered their blows to each other. Luckily shadow nemesis two was able to impale shadow nemesis one before the first removed his arm. The first gurgled over and pinned her beneath him. One Arm was too busy cursing the forsaken gods to consider finishing off her, helpless girl trapped as she was at the moment.

Wriggling free, the shot of adrenaline left her running with spurts of blood flowing furiously down her hip. But she had the oilskin couriers canister. No water, no herbs to stem the flow of blood, but the message, the message would make it through. Though she didn know what it was, Lyla was certain that it was a request for help from the Imperial Army.

There was a garrison at Balast because it was such a large shipping port. Father had said so just last week. Was it last week? Or last year? Or had he pointed it out to her on the one and only trip shed taken there all those years ago?

Please don lose consciousness. The desperate litany chanted through her mind. Despite knowing that it was unlikely to do much good, Lyla pled with herself beneath the brightening pink and gold sky. Bargaining had stopped working once the water skin she had bribed her body with ran dry just before midnight. Maybe begging would suffice.

Fresh rivulets of sweat mixed with the stale dried perspiration of the day before leaving muddy trails along her cheeks. The drops which hung off of her eyelashes and burned her eyes were nearly as annoying as the drops that clung tenaciously to the tip of her nose or pooled in that divot just below it. Time flowed in fits and spurts.

If Lyla had still been capable of raising her hands above waist height then she might have made the effort to wipe the droplets away. It wasn just the mid-day heat, it was fever. Part of her mind still functioned even if her body was trying to shut down. There was blood. So much blood. And the smell of it as the morning warmed brought with it the memory of the dead floating back into her vision.

Haunted by a dual vision; one the road before her, one the caravan dead, Lyla plodded on. Dimly she was aware that the track had become a paved road and too far below her for her to think about, was the sparkling port of Balast. A few farmers on the fringe of town were passed by as they plowed their fields. Peripherally, Lyla was aware of the increasing number of people and the ever-downward pull of gravity dragging her down the cobblestone slope.

Her unsteady gait drew attention and the blood-soaked tunic and trousers sent as many running away from her as toward her. But it was not till she was almost at the gates that someone actually sought to stop her. Through blurred eyes, she struggled to lift one-handed the sword which was meant to be wielded by two while the fingers of her left hand clutched tightly at her precious ward; the oilskin courier canister.

Where the sword had come from she wasn sure. From the men she had fought before? Perhaps? But it must stay between any approachers and the message she carried. The message, the message was for the Magistrate.

No one could have the message. All the terror and anguish of the past two days tore from her throat with the fury like only one of the swan maidens could muster when protecting their charges. Her whole village was her charge. This message was all of their lives.

The first attacker never had a chance by himself, but more were coming.