Empire of Night (Age of Legends 2)

That seemed to be the honest excuse in every facet of the young scholar's life. A basic ignorance of acceptable behavior. When he thought a thing, he did it. Not an uncommon failing with scholars. Brilliant at their work; lost when it came to social graces.

"Appr

oaching an unaccompanied young woman might be frowned upon in some villages," she said, her voice softening. "It is not an issue in the city or in a group such as this. However, when you approach her at night, your motives could appear less than seemly."

She meant it kindly, but his blush deepened, and he stammered that he had not intended any such thing.

"I wish to apologize for my earlier behavior," he said. "There was no excuse."

"Accepted," she said.

He continued--still apologizing, it seemed--but her attention was only half on him, the rest tugged again by her surroundings.

It's a spirit, she thought. That's what I feel, though it's unlike any I've encountered.

In the distance, she detected a faint light, suggesting another camp.

"Ashyn?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought I heard something."

She immediately regretted the lie. He stiffened and reached for . . . Well, he reached for nothing. He was not warrior caste. He could not carry a blade. Instead his hands clenched, and he straightened awkwardly, his gaze sweeping across the land.

"It's just some small creature," she said. "Tova would warn me if--"

The hound sniffed the air and growled.

Ashyn adjusted her dagger. "We ought to get back."

Tova seconded that with a louder growl. Simeon stared into the night. When she nudged him, he jumped so high one would think she'd pulled him in for a kiss.

"Go," she whispered. "I'm behind you."

He nodded. "Yes, I ought to lead the way."

She did not correct him, but she was taking the rear because she was the one with a dagger, and the danger was behind them.

The moment they began walking, a cry rang out. A cry of alarm, followed by running footsteps. Ashyn wheeled, her dagger raised, Tova crouched to spring.

She saw a figure, shadowy in the moonlight, arms and legs akimbo. A second figure chased it, fast and silent, tackling the first like a wildcat taking down a deer. The sounds of struggle ensued, the besieged figure yelping in terror as the attacker pinned him to the ground.

Ashyn ran toward them, ignoring Simeon's cries of "No!" and "Stay here!" While it was possible that both figures had been chasing her, it seemed far more likely that she'd just been rescued, presumably by a warrior guard.

As she drew near, she slowed. Even from a distance, she could see her rescuer was not a warrior. Despite holding a sword, he wore a peasant's garb: a simple tunic, trousers, and sandals. He was young and wiry, with black curls falling around his face as he bent over the prone man.

He glanced up, and she recognized the shadow-shrouded shape of his features.

"Ronan?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping the world safe for you to piss in," he said. "Apparently, it's a full-time job."

She couldn't tell if he was teasing or grumbling. Probably a little of both.

"At least this time you had the sense to bring a guard with you," he continued, waving at the approaching figure of Simeon. Then Ronan's eyes narrowed. "That's not a warrior. Who is he and what is he doing out here with you, in the middle of the night?"

Simeon strode over. "The question, boy, is who are you? And why are you wielding a blade when you are obviously no warrior yourself?"

"Boy?"