Prologue

And so begins the killing of exiles.

The sky’s ominous tone suited the wind as it howled, ripping leaves off of nearby branches; smelt of death, decay, and rotting. The city’s stench,  far worse than any death the boy had smelt before. There was a heavy feel to the atmosphere, downcast as if the city had been enveloped by a demonic entity. Every step the boy took was slowed by an invisible flood of molasses, draping the air, disfavoring the inhalation into his lungs. The warm night’s draft caused his clothes to cling to his body. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and into his panting mouth.  

“All men to their stations!” A destitute voice called out. The command, lost in the wind, but understood to the soldiers by the readying of the Great Man’s sword. The boy deeply exhaled, covering his face with the dark hood of his cloak. He looked to his right. Determined men stood on their toes awaiting the call for the battle to begin once again, their facade’s masking their grimaces. Some men looked terrified beneath the shadow of their mask ; their hands shook as they concealed their faces, breaths brittle with fear and knees weak at the joints.  Others expressed no emotion. They stood completely still, facing the gates, ready to move when given the order. The boy looked up to his left. His father was mounted atop his armored horse, roaring orders to soldiers, over the screeching of the drawbridge as it lowered across the moat.  

Everyone knew the plan. They would go off in separate groups, embracing the entire city with one squad. Tonight would be the biggest of the killings. The boy knew the villagers were onto something. Every day they would come to the castle begging for help as they complained about how the men in their family have passed. They vacant eyes came to complain in waves. There were so many pleading women it almost broke his heart... Almost.  The boy had never been a fan of the peasants. Why should he care about them? They were a waste of space. Their filthy bodies roamed the uncleanly streets as they migrated from house to house to complete their trades.

They were exiles of the mainland; drained of any memory of who they were, or what they had done in their past life, and they had no idea. The villagers thought they had lived here, in the poor health, crumbling, and noxious, bug infested city their entire life’s. Ignorant imbeciles.  Their condition never mattered, their thoughts on town improvement, rendered useless, and celebrations on the dawning of full moon’s meant nothing, for they were nothing. They were the lowest of lows, the poorest of poor, the most splintered of the broken; helpless souls, destined to die.

He would never stoop to their level, for he was the highest of high’s, the richest of the rich, son of a nobleman whose family had ruled over the lands for centuries in the past, and would continue to do so for centuries to come.

“Ready your vial’s!” The Great Man called out. “Tonight!” He started, then paused to look over his men. “Tonight, will be the same as before. Clear out quickly and do not dare get caught!” The Great Man gripped the reins of his horse. “Ready?” He questioned the audience. Roars and shouts came as a reply. “Three!” He shouted over the army of eager men. “Two!” The crowd grew silent. “One,” he finished in a deep tone.  On command, troops split into their separate groups and stormed the city. The Great Man, king of the exiles, laughed, the sound mocking that of a lightning bolt.  

The field that once held more than one hundred soldiers was now an empty plot of dirt, veiled behind the stone walls that provided the castle with protection from the beast’s called villagers.  “Tonight, my son.” The boys father began, stepping off his unmoved horse. “The epidemic begins.”

Author's Note

This is a first draft. I may not continue with this story, but anything is possible.

Reviews

[Angie]

I really like this intro for both the quality of writing and the cliffhanger. The POV as a young boy with a negative outlook on the peasants makes it interesting. It's not very clear where this is going, but I'm interested enough to read more.

[phantom pains]

Thank you so much for taking your time to review my work! Even I haven't figured out the all quirks with this particular story, but it is all coming together the more I work on it.