Alright. This is the first time I've posted any of my original work. I need and desire feedback, especially for my original work, so please don't hesitate to post a comment or two.

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Prologue

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Bowen's irritation grew with each step he took up the steep incline. His eyes narrowed agains the glare of the setting sun, he scanned the ridge above him for the one he sought. She was not hard to find; a tall, slender silhouette against the orange sky. Bowen stopped for a moment, his hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his broadsword strapped securely to his hip. He prepared a reprimand for the girl, then shook his head knowing it to be useless yet prepared to do it all the same. He climbed the rest of the slope. She didn't look at him as he reached her side, her eyes intently fixed on the brilliance of the setting sun.

"They're coming." She said softly.

Bowen scowled. "The scouts report everything to be clear, Lady Perren."

The girl sighed, a small exhale. "They're coming, nevertheless."

"If that's the case, we'll be long gone by the time they get here."

"Yes." She looked at him, then. She was nothing more than a girl, barely into adulthood. She stood a head smaller than him, and held herself proudly. Bowen grew more irritated under her unnerving gaze.

"I told you not to leave camp."

No," Perren smiled slightly and without mirth. "You ordered me not to leave."

"So why," Bowen said through clenched teeth, "did you?"

"I don't take orders."

"When you're with me you do, damnit!"

"No." She said again, and looked back to the sun. Bowen said angrily, "What do you expect me to do?"

" I expect you to do your duty. Nothing more."

"My duty? My duty is to escort you across these highlands to Silith Sanorian, meanwhile protecting you from the large and somewhat hostile army at our backs. I, "Bowen continued with heated emphasis, "am trying to do my duty, but I find it difficult when I don't know where the hell you are!" He turned abruptly, and said before heading back down the ridge. "I expect you to be back in camp immediately."

"Do you even, "she called to him as he found his way in the growing dark, "know who I am?"

Bowen halted but didn't turn. "I know you are the Lady Perren of Eldwiste. I know the Lord of Sanorian has urgent need of you in his kingdom. And I know that my army and I have been hired to get you there. Yes, I know who you are."

"You," she said, her soft voice carrying clearly, "have no idea who I am."

Bowen snorted, exasperated. Perren went on, "You must have recieved a huge sum for this ..."

Bowen nodded curtly.

" ... And then there is the army which has pursued us without rest for days on end. Do you know why?"

"It is, I assume, because of your importance to the Lord of Sanorian."

"It is a Hunt."

Bowen swiveled then, to find her before him. "A hunt?"

"Trexen Drayk is an extremely powerful being, General Bowen. Do not take him - or his army - for granted."

"Trexen Drayk." Bowen said. "The mage that leads them."

"Yes."

"Why," he asked slowly, "does he hunt?"

Even in the failing light, Bowen could see the bitter smile that crossed her face. "It is in his nature." She said. "As it is in mine to flee."

"Wha-" Bowen started, but Perren slid past him and began the descent into the mercenary camp; a spirit of dusk clad in ghostly white. He followed, wondering at her words, wondering at her. She lef him into the camp where fires burned and voices told him that his troops were still very much awake. He stopped in his tracks as Naymar, his captain, materialized out of the dark.

"The last of the scouts just came in, General."

"And?"

"Everything's calm. Nothing in sight."

"All sentries posted?"

Naymar nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Naymar acknowledged the dismissal and headed for the nearest fire, while Bowen headed for his tend, half wanting to join in drink comeraderie, half wanting to crawl into his bedroll and sleep. But Perren's words still lingered in his thoughts, and he entered his tent deep in contemplation.

*****

Perren woke to the sounds of battle.

She knew instantly what had happened, knew why her sense of foreboding up on the ridge had been so strong.

Trexen had come.

Perren swiftly left her bedroll, dressed still in the flowing white garb of her status. Hands trembling, she parted the tent flaps, and her eyes were presented with scenes of battle, clear now as dawn broke. The soldiers of Trexen swarmed throught the camp; Bowen's warriors, caught unaware, struggled to defend themselves. She could not see the General, and did not care. Her only thoughts were of flight.

The horses, she thought, despising the terror that rose in her now, I must reach the horses!

She left the tent them, quickly running back behind the row of tents assembled for Bowen's officers. She should have known Trexen would attack with the coming of dawn, should have foreseen it.

But she hadn't.

And now this small army was paying the price.

A warrior lept in front of her, blade wet with blood, face twisted into a leer as he caught sight of her. Perren stumbled to a halt, frantically chanted in a language of magic and had the satisfaction of seeing his face contort grotesquely before erupting into flames. She ran on, reached the horses that had not fled the turmoil. She heard her name shouted over the clamour of steel against steel and painfilled cries, knew it to be the General, and hastily mounted a frightened mare. Let Bowen think of her as he would; she could save more lives this way. With a savage kick she turned the horse away from the raging battle that had once been a camp, and directed it to the north, soon finding the simple dirt road that had guided them only the day before.

As the wind roared in her ears, Perren both hoped and dreaded that Trexen would follow. It is the only way, she knew, and urged her mount on.

*****

Bowen's eyes swam through visions of bestial men snarling with hatred, and blood. The blood worried him more than his enemies; he knew that blood meant death. His hand, wielding his immense broad sword, swung a deathly arc towards the nearest enemy soldier. Steel sliced cleanly through thin mail, flesh, and bone, and the enemy fell, his blood spraying an unwholesome red geyser which splattered into Bowen's face. He shook his head, took a deep breath and for the merest of seconds surveyed the camp. It was not good. The enemy soldiers of the mage Trexen outnumbered Bowen's small mercenary army two to one. Bowen growled. Victory would not come easy to these bastards. He plunged one more into the fray.

Death danced a whirlwind around him. His eyes took in minute details, his arms wielded his weapon with practised skill. The blade cleaved smoothly through the skull of one man, stabbled through the neck of another, creating a path for Bowen, leaving behind a trail of carnage. Something white caught his eye; he whirled and saw Perren racing towards the horses.

"Perren!" He shouted hoarsely as she reached the terrified mounts. Realization hit then, and fury raced through him. "PERREN!"

She was a traitor. That was why she was fleeing now. She'd lef the army right to them, and he hadn't had a clue. Chances were that she was not the real Lady Perren at all; instead being a mimic or a spy. Fury fueled him to move as Perren's horse bolted away, and he struck out with more violence. To his right, Naymar struggled ferociously with another until his head was neatly severed from behind. "Naymar!" Bowen howled as all around him his men were felled. All this death because of her!

Bowen broke free of the mass of chaotic confusion, swung himself aboard a prancing charger. He wheeled it about and raced after Perren with cold fury in his eyes.

*****

Perren pushed her mount on as fast as it could run. The dirt road flew by; trees and their leafy canopies blurred to form a green tunnel which stretched on and on. Follow me! she cried silently, knowing that she invited her own inevitable death. It was then she saw the man directly in her path. She jerked the horse to a shuddering halt, close enough to see his expression; to see the oblivion it held.

Lifetimes of hatred, terror and anguish rose inside her. Countless deaths cast a shadow on her soul. He strode nearer, stopping only a few feet away. She could see his grim smile, see his eyes clearly; they held no color, were just empty space. Perren's senses flared; the colors around her grew sharper, the scent of the lathered horse stronger, the sound of her own shallow breaths infinetly louder.

He said, in a voice older than time, "Perren."

She swallowed thickly and tried to speak past the pounding of her heart. "Trexen."

"The Hunt ends here."

The words were ritual to her, and so was her reply. "Only to begin again, later."

"As always."

"Yes." She studied him. The terror had faded, leaving only sorrow for the truth that bound them together, forever, in a game that would not end.

"I have won."

"Not yet."

He smiled, a small turn of the lip. "Soon, then."

Her laugther was sharp and cold. "There is no end to this; we will spend eternity thus"

"I know."

"You could stop it, here and now."

"You know I cannot."

Cannot, or will not?"

"It doesn't matter, not anymore."

"No," Perren whispered, "not anymore."

Trexen stepped closer. Automatically, Perren backed the horse a step. Silence fell.

And then he spoke. "It will not be done by me, this time."

"What do you mean?"

And then she knew.

*****

Bowen nocked the arrow slowly, keeping a steady eye on Perren and her mage counterpart. They had not seen him, not yet, and he knew that they would not until the arrow flew. The bow was steady in his hands; he had found it tied to the back of the charger's saddle, a perfect tool for revenge. Naymar's death flashed vividly in his mind, and he let loose the arrow. It buried itself deep in Perren's back, and she gave a harsh, anguished cry. Yet Bowen knew, even as the blood stained the pristine whiteness of Perren's robes, even as she slid lifelessly from the horse to the ground, even as the laughter from the mage echoed mockingly around him, that he had been horribly, terribly wrong. The mage raised a hand in mock salute to Bowen before stepping over the crumpled form of Perren, mounting the horse, racing away to the north. Bowen gazed in mute horror at the one he had just slain, knowing now that she had not come here to destroy him and the lives of those he commanded, but to save them. The knowledge had been instantaneous, inexplicable in its origin. Somehow Bowen had gotten off of the charger and stumbled to where Perren lay, curled on her side. He fell to his knees and took the limp body in his arms. It came to him again; the realization that he had killed something pure, something true. He looked deep into the eyes that were now vacant, and before he turned away, reflected in them saw the face of a man cursed forever by what he had done.