Prologue 3

            He’d been waiting for weeks, watching the political situation steadily deteriorate. He’d taken over a small hovel in the hills, killing the hermit who lived there and turning his goats out into the wild. No one had bothered him, and no one would. After this night, he would be long gone, his route to promotion solidified. Before long he’d be serving the elders directly. None of the interlocutor messengers and contacts to work through.

            As Coalition forces moved in, the Republican Guard abandoned their posts. But while US and British troops scrambled to secure and protect the oil fields, a particular museum was forgotten. Though not by all.

            With the chaos of invasion, there was no reason to stick to the shadows. No one to challenge him as he made his way to the museum. He could hear the bombardment of the city continuing, lighting up the sky with flashes and smoke. Entering the security gates, he congratulated himself on beating the looters. All the same, he’d have only minutes to work before they started to show up. He kicked the front doors in, the metal crumpling like paper. An alarm sounded shrilly, but there was no one to answer it. He took a moment to look at the wall-map of the building that hung in the foyer, before ripping it down and taking it with him. He paused as he passed the first security camera, staring up at the lens. No need to worry, he decided, the looters would certainly destroy it for him.

            He weaved through the maze of halls and rooms, noticing that many of them had already been cleared, the objects removed to supposedly safer vaults around the city. But not everything was gone. He hurried on, hoping that what he was looking for had been overlooked. At last, he came to a room that opened up to a vaulted ceiling. A long, glass display case spanned from one end of the room to another, glittering with an array of artifacts. He moved around it, passing through the moonlight that fell through the skylights, looking for something in particular. He stopped near the middle, facing the entrance. Pulling a glass cutter from inside his coat, he set to work cutting a circular hole. Carefully, he removed the glass, setting it aside. He was about to reach in, when something tickled his senses. A rustle of fabric.

            Another had entered the room.

            He looked up. A figure stood in the doorway, cloaked in shadows. The intruder stepped forwards, aware now that they had been noticed, and let the moonlight fall across his face.

            He gasped and recoiled. “You!”

            The newcomer raised a finger to his lips and gestured to hush him. But instead of sound, waves on energy coursed out from his mouth.

            The thief managed a gurgled scream before the case shattered, throwing up shards of glass, and his body combusted in a shower of dust, ash and flecks of bone, coating the wall behind with a layer of grime.

            The interrupter moved silently to the remnants of the case and removed a small, palm-sized object, which he slipped inside his cloak.

            Shouts echoed in the museum as the looters finally arrived, ransacking the stealing. When they eventually reached the room, none noticed the fine grit on the wall, in their haste to gather what they could. And the glass skylight was assumed to have shattered from the force of bombardment on the city.