Free Web NovelChapter 1: The Wrong Campfire
Zephyr Plains was the most beautiful stretch of open land in the Suncrest Empire, at least outside the capital walls.
By day, it was always green.
Grass rolled with the wind. Wildflowers grew all the way down the gentle slope toward the base of the walls, and the air carried that clean smell of fresh-cut grass.
This was also one of the lands blessed by the Wind Spirits. The wind here was never too strong, never too heavy. Most of the time, it felt like a hand brushing gently across your face.
There was something comfortable about lying on the plain with one arm under your head, dozing in the sun, and listening to the grass move all afternoon.
But Zephyr Plains changed at night.
Once the sun went down, those soft little breezes turned nasty.
They came howling from the far end of the plain, racing over the grass and slipping straight into collars and cuffs.
There was no warmth left in them. The wind was cold and hard, like knives scraping over skin.
The coldest hours in the Suncrest Empire always came after dark. Even in midsummer, the late-night wind on Zephyr Plains could feel like winter.
"Move, move!"
Tap, tap, tap.
Stars hung overhead, and darkness covered everything around them. A tight line of boots hurried through the black forest at the edge of Zephyr Plains.
Soft earth sank under their steps. Thin branches snapped. Leaves hissed as they brushed past.
The noise was low.
Not low enough.
A group of men in black infiltration gear pushed through the undergrowth.
No lights. They kept close to the shadows, moving in a tight line with barely any space between them. Their breathing was shallow. Their weapons were already in their hands. They moved fast, but carefully, like one wrong sound could get them all killed.
"We’re almost out of time."
A hoarse voice came from above, somewhere in the branches. It was not loud, but the whole group slowed the moment they heard it.
"If we don’t get it into the city tonight, none of us walks away clean."
No one answered.
Only the sound of boots and crushed leaves kept going.
The scout at the front suddenly stopped. He crouched behind a thick tree and stared toward the edge of the forest. A second later, he raised one hand.
"Boss," he whispered. "Light ahead. Looks like a fire. Someone’s sitting beside it."
The man above lowered himself from the tree.
The leader did not answer right away. He looked through the branches in the same direction as the scout. Sure enough, a small orange fire burned in the distance.
It was not big, but in that kind of darkness, even a small fire stood out. The flames shook in the cold wind and threw a weak light over the grass around it.
"Hm." The leader raised one hand and pressed it down. "Slow. Stay sharp. Move through the grass on the side first. Let’s see what this is."
The line stopped at once.
The men in black bent low and slipped toward the side, hiding themselves in a patch of grass tall enough to cover most of their bodies. They moved carefully. Even the rustle of cloth was swallowed by the wind.
A few pairs of eyes looked through the grass toward the campfire seven or eight yards away.
A teenage boy was sitting beside the fire.
He did not seem to notice them.
Firelight moved across his face. One half was lit. The other half was buried in shadow.
He wore a fur-lined officer’s cloak, but he sat there like he was in his own courtyard, not on the freezing plains outside the capital.
In his right hand was a huge ham, almost the size of a man’s head. He tore into it like he hated it. Fat shone on the skin and dripped onto a stone near the fire with a sharp hiss.
He took another big bite, then grabbed the wineskin at his side and drank.
Wine ran down his throat. He let out a heavy breath, but the anger on his face did not go away.
"Tch. Those idiot lords," he snapped, not even trying to keep his voice down. The men in the grass heard every word. A few of them stiffened. "Always pushing me aside. Always waiting for a chance to lick my mother’s boots. Trash. All of them."
He bit into the ham again, hard, like the meat was some noble’s face.
"Disgusting. Every last one."
The fire jumped, and the grease at the corner of his mouth caught the light.
"Even today," he growled. "Those filthy noble bastards—if my mother hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve dragged every two-faced piece of trash among them straight to the slaughterhouse."
The men hiding in the grass stayed silent.
The boy was Kael Ashborne.
Adopted son of Empress Aurelia Valemont.
And the youngest person ever to hold the Suncrest Empire’s highest military rank.
Grand General.
With that title, he should have looked untouchable.
In some ways, he was.
Most people liked him. Some adored him. Some even believed the Empire’s rise had started with him. He was still barely a teenager, but he had already taken part in the greatest expansion the Suncrest Empire had ever seen.
Because of him, a small country that had once been trampled by its neighbors had fought its way into land those same neighbors had never dared dream of taking.
And more importantly...
He had been adopted by Empress Aurelia Valemont herself.
That alone was enough to make many people lower their heads.
It was also enough to make others hate him.
But the Kael Ashborne sitting beside that campfire now looked nothing like an imperial Grand General.
He ate meat, drank wine, and cursed the nobles and princes of the capital like he had been holding it in all day. One dirty sentence after another came out of his mouth. No restraint. No fear. No concern for who might hear him.
The grassland stretched around him. The night wind blew. The fire leaned sideways, and sparks rose before dying in the dark.
Only after he had cursed enough to clear the anger from his chest did Kael lift the wineskin again. He shook his head, took a long drink, swallowed twice, and let out a breath that smelled of wine.
"Hah. Trash."
He sounded almost better after saying it.
One of the men in black leaned closer to another and whispered, "Boss, it’s just some brat. Should we rush him and cut him down?"
No one moved, but several hands tightened around sword hilts.
They were ready.
The moment their leader gave the order, the boy by the campfire—meat in one hand, wine in the other—would be dead.
Who he was did not matter.
Why he was here did not matter.
If he got in the way of the plan, he could not be allowed to live.
But the leader still did not give the order.
He shifted behind the brush and watched Kael again.
The fire moved across the boy’s face. He still looked young, but anger had twisted his expression into something unpleasant.
Kael stayed exactly where he was, ham in his right hand, wineskin in his left. He did not even glance toward the forest.
He really did look like some reckless young noble who had wandered out here by accident.
But the leader could not relax.
Something was wrong.
He could not say what it was. He only knew the feeling would not leave him.
The mission had already reached this point, though. Time was running out.
If they failed to get that thing into the city tonight, none of them would survive what came after.
The leader slowly breathed out. His eyes hardened.
"Yes," he murmured. "If we don’t want the plan exposed, we have no choice."
Even if they had to charge to their deaths, they had to move.
"Set the dragon egg aside first," he said. "Then everyone goes in together."
His voice was low, but the words made the men behind him freeze.
Several of them looked toward the rear of the line, where a few men were guarding a large golden egg.
Even in the middle of the night, the egg still gave off a soft golden light. Its surface looked smooth and warm, almost alive.
"Boss," one of them whispered. "That’s our target. What if we lose it? He’s just some teenage brat. Do we really need to go that far?"
The leader did not answer right away.
He kept watching the boy by the fire.
Kael was still sitting on the grass, drinking wine and holding that greasy ham. He looked far too relaxed. Almost insulting, really. As if the killers breathing ten steps behind him were not worth turning around for.
Another cold gust swept across the plain. The fire bent to one side. Sparks rolled across the grass and flashed against the edge of his fur-lined cloak.
The leader’s brow tightened.
At last, he shook his head.
"No. I don’t think it’s that simple. Stay alert. We’re already this close to the city. Don’t screw this up."
