Even several hours after the sun had dropped behind the high city wall, and darkness had descended on the city, the main square was still alive with chatter and the aroma of honey cakes, drifting from small stalls.
Tonight was a special night- several of the king’s most trusted generals were present here in Janderouth- the most northern city of the southern kingdom- a mere seven leagues from the border.

“Tomorrow, we strike!” shouted Arthaeus- the king’s second in command, and the highest-ranking general in the nation. “Soon, the scum from the north will be all but gone- no more of these petty skirmishes, for tomorrow, we will invade, and slaughter them all!” At this he bowed from atop the small stage that was in the middle of the main square, elevated so even the peasants could catch a glimpse of the important official.
After a few moments, someone in the crowd started to applaud Arthaeus, and slowly the whole of the crowd joined in, until everyone was clapping and cheering.
All but one.
One figure stood in the crowd, unmoving amongst the cheering sea of bodies that surrounded him, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He wore a black cloak that covered from his head, as a hood, down to his feet, which were also covered in soft black leather shoes. In this dark apparel, he was next to invisible, even with the full moon gleaming down into the square, which itself was flooded with torchlight. He waited patiently, and when the opportunity came, he took it.
The man standing in front of him- a large man, who stank of meat ‘probably a butcher’, he thought to himself. The butcher was suddenly jostled aside by another man, in an effort to see the general, but in that split second when Azreal could see the general in full view, a dagger had already slipped out of his sleeve into his hand, and he had thrown it directly at the general.
Then he ran.
He slipped through the crowd with ease, everyone eager to let him out so that they could take the better position that was offered. As he ran past a small baker’s stall- one of many in the crowded square, he extended his hand and quickly snatched a packet of six honey cakes- bound together with a net of twine- from their place in the stall, and slipped them into his cloak. He ran on until he came to a small stone staircase, protruding from one of the buildings lining the main street. It rose about a meter before turning into the building, it wasn’t much, but it was enough. He sprinted up the staircase and leapt from the top, his fingers gripping the solid stone of a windowsill extending from the wall. He struggled for grip, but the momentum from his jump helped him, and he vaulted from the window upwards, jumping from sill to sill until he reached the a lower part of the roof, onto which he clambered. He stood still for a moment to catch his breath, and looked back towards the square- even from here, he could tell that the his dagger had done it’s job- the general was being carried away on a stretcher, a white sheet draped over his body. He could see that the whole crowd was confused, and many mothers were screaming, running about in panic- the whole square was in an uproar. There were even fingers pointing and accusations flying across the marketplace.
Azreal grinned and continued north, leaping from rooftop to rooftop until he reached the north wall. Several young recruits were busy patrolling wall, but they weren’t doing a very good job of it. After about a minute of observation, Azreal scrambled up the wall and over the other side- out of the city, where he untethered his grand black horse- Bloodbane- from a tree and started to ride- the long journey back home.

The full moon did little to illuminate the vast plains between The Last Wall and Janderouth, as it hid behind a thick cloud like a hare from a fox. As a result, the plains were dimly lit, and having a watchman patrolling the wall was useless- he wouldn’t see anyone coming until it was too late anyway. Nevertheless, Seybur dutifully strode up and down his section of the wall, staring out into the half lit gloom. But after a few hours, when the lack of excitement was driving him insane, he was suddenly awake.
Azreal and Bloodbane had no trouble at all crossing the seven leagues that lay between the city and the border, even if a soft blanket of clouds covered the moon. As he approached the wall, which was easily ten meters high and just as wide, he leapt off his horse and tied it to one of the several shrubs that lined the base of the wall, then scaled it as if it were a ladder, making less noise than a cat.
He emerged only feet behind the watchman and put his hand on the watchman’s shoulder, who turned around, almost screaming.
“Shhh,” Azreal whispered, “It’s just me, brother.” He continued, taking his hand off Seybur’s shoulder “now, where’s uncle Hawke?
Seybur smiled then playfully punched Azreal in the arm, before replying “He was at home in the study when I left- and by the way, do you have to make me wet my breeches every time?”
“Of course I do” Azreal replied, rubbing his arm “Because you break my arm every time! Oh, and Seybur, can you bring Bloodbane home after your watch, he’s just down there, by the gate.”
Seybur sighed in agreement and turned to look over the wall, and saw Bloodbane there, standing there patiently, munching on a mouthful of the hardy leaves that grew on the shrub he was tethered to. When, he looked back, Azreal was already gone.