• ∞ Prologue ∞

    Night had fallen more than five hours ago. The rain had started long before then, and had since evolved from a light rain to a full-fledged thunder storm. Lightning crackled through the sky, thunder roared, and wind whirled around, whistling through tree tops. Dark, gray clouds blanketed the sky, blotting out the stars. The moon, though, was still visible, its light giving an eerie glow to the trees.
    Despite the harsh weather, Luana was still there, standing in the middle of a clearing in the forest. The grass under her feet was slick from the rain, the ground soft and muddy. Luna Venatoris. She gripped the hilt of her sword, but did not draw it out of its scabbard. This wasn’t at all what she had expected when she came here earlier that night. Luna Venatoris. The words came to her again. The Hunter’s Moon.
    “Lassen Sie heute Abend in der Nacht, dass diejenigen, die für den Tod der Arbeit von meinem Schwert sterben. Mein Herausforderer, komm heraus!” She cried out.
    All around her those who called themselves Mortis Servusemerged from behind the trees. She could see the glint of the moonlight reflecting off their weapons. Some carried maces and flails, others swords and daggers, still others axes, some even had spears—they would be easily beaten.
    Several of them called out at once, “Dieser Kampf ist unser zu gewinnen! Lassen Sie die Jäger sterben heute abend!”
    Within an instant they were charging toward her. She unsheathed her sword, and readied herself for the battle.
    She killed the first few easily, striking them in the most venerable places—the side, the neck, and the chest. She turned around, and barley dodged a mace. Its spiked head struck the air right where her head had been. Remaining in a crouching position, she drove her sword into the man’s leg; this would render him immobile at the very least.
    Luana jumped to her feet. Once she was grounded, she spun, sword outstretched, in a circle, hitting the chests and necks of her opponents. Most of them cried out in pain, others didn’t have enough strength left to do so.
    A sharp pain shot up her arm. Looking over she saw that the very edge of a flail had embedded itself in her upper arm. She swung around, the flail’s spikes tearing through her skin. She pulled a dagger from her belt, and stabbed the flail’s owner. She’d meant to cut his neck, but he’d moved, as a result she punctured his cheek. When he opened his mouth to yelp in pain, she saw the end of the dagger protruding from his inner cheek. She yanked it back out, blood spraying everywhere, some even hitting her face, and stabbed his heart. He staggered back and crumpled to the ground.
    Two men with spears charged at her. Seconds before they struck her she leaped, and the two men struck each other instead. The oldest trick in the book, she thought, and they fell for it. Sad. She wiped her bloody hands on her pants.
    She busied herself with fighting the man on her right. With a few quick strokes of her blade he was dead. Luana lifted her gaze for a moment to look at the moon. It was in this moment that a large hand seized her shoulder and flung her to the ground. She slid a good distance, mud and grass collecting in her hair and on her clothing. She moved her hands away from her face only to see the sharp point of a sword make its way toward her chest.
    She twisted away. The sword pierced her shoulder, sinking roughly three inches into it. A man grunted in frustration and pulled the sword out, sending a wave of pain through her. She kicked out, hitting him square in the chest. She forced herself up, injured arm working against her. She lifted her sword off the ground and surveyed the area around her. There were still hundreds of them left. At this rate she would never win, but she wasn’t about to give up.
    With every one of them killed, her arm got weaker and weaker—she was loosing too much blood. I didn’t matter, though, she was going to kill every last one of them, and if she didn’t she was going to die trying. She hated these people. It was a hate that was generations old, a hate that everyone she knew shared. This hate, she thought, is what makes us strong. It is why we never lose to them.