Prologue

Prologue

Two men entered the village from opposite sides, both on horseback. The village of Prologue lay on the side of a hill, overlooking Lake Wet. The one road that passed through the village followed the shoreline of the lake and crossed the border seperating the Kingdom of Setting from the Kingdom of Locale. Merchants and diplomats often traveled that road during the dry season. It was not the dry season as the two men rode into the village, but it was hot and dry that day, and throats were easily parched.
The man riding from the border was on a brown horse, and dressed in fine linens and silks. Several lengthy weapons dangled from the saddle in their scabbards, and a large pole rose up, from the top of which flew a banner, bearing a noble crest unknown to the people in the village.
The other man was also on a brown horse, and also finely dressed, but all of his clothing was marked with the royal symbols of Setting. These symbols were all known to the villagers, and they bowed low as the horse and rider passed by. He had also brought more.
Both men stopped at the tavern, and waited for the tavernkeepers servant to come and tie their horses. They dismounted in unison and went inside. They ordered drinks and found a corner table where they talked in low whispers for several hours. The man dressed in royal regalia paid for both, and they departed.
Neither man looked back as they rode out of town, but the man from the border ripped the blue banner loose and dropped it as his horse trod along the dusty road. He stopped as he crested the next hill, more horsemen joined him, unnoticed by the villagers too accustomed to strange visits and secret negotiations.
The horsemen all wore bright blue shirts, their pants and jackets were black and trimmed with pale blue. Each had a distinctive noble crest on the backs of their jackets, in yellow and blue, and the handles of their swords were bound with blue-stained leather, now fading from age and use. These men wore the markings of the Duke of Decoie, a Locale Noble who ruled a small duchy far across the nearby border. None of the villagers would have known this, such things were not important to shepherds, to fishermen, or to the tavernkeeper.
It was important, and everything was for a purpose unknown to any but the two men. The royal figure vanished from sight, but the other man stayed on the nearby hill's crest, and shouted something unheard in the village. As one, the other horsemen turned their horses to the village and began to move toward it.
A small crowd, composed mostly of curious children, watched them approach the village. A small girl waved the blue banner that had been left behind, only to have it snatched from her grasp by an older girl in a blue dress. The smaller girl protested, but conceded defeat when the horsemen began to form a line, several yards between the flanks of each horse, at about a hundred yards from the village.
Other villagers joined the crowd as the men on horseback raised their swords to shoulder height. The blades were long, four feet each, and the edges didn't form a smooth curve but had a slight ripple to them. The horses began moving faster, well trained to this task, and the people of the village realized death was upon them when the horses were spurred to a gallop.
“They want the flag back!” yelled the little girl as she began to tug on it again. The larger girl tried to push her away as the others around them began running to the nearest houses. The houses were wood and stone, built to withstand the heavy winter snows and strong lake winds. They were good shelters, sturdy and warm inside their thick walls, walls that a horse could not pass through.
The horses did not need to pass through walls though, they passed through the gaps between homes, leaving the girl in the blue dress shorter by a head, and the smaller girl armless past the elbow as she lay on the dusty road and cried for them to just take their flag back. The men did not take their flag back, but rode through the village until they had reached the other side, leaving several dozen villagers dead or dying on the ground behind them.
The men were silent, and could hear the shouts and screams of the villagers. Reins were pulled and the horses turned. A fisherman charged from the nearest house, brandishing a pitchfork he had beaten into a more suitable shape for fishing. It had three tines, the center one remained straight in line with the eight foot shaft, and the outer two had been curved back into crude hooks.
The nearest horseman tried to block the ungainly weapon with his sword, but the fisherman was used to rough waters and strong fish. He smiled as the central tine went through the horseman's chest, as the man frantically chopped at the shaft with his sword. Another sword slashed across the fisherman's back, bearing bone and muscle to the hot, dry air, and the fisherman fell forward, still smiling, still pushing against the horseman who was toppled sideways by the weight of the fisherman's fall.
The other horsemen left the two dying men, and split into two groups. The first group dismounted and lit torches while the second group trotted back through the village, chopping down any villagers who had dared an escape. As they began to burn the village, the men worked fast. They did not like being dismounted or lingering too long in one location, both were death for the Duke's horsemen.
It was an hour before the entire village was on fire, smoke billowing high into the sky. The horsemen rode back to the man on the nearby hill's crest, and one shorter than they arrived, they rode away toward the border. There were no more screams in the village, nor any living souls to scream. At the edge of the village, the lifeless hands of a headless girl clutched a small banner.

Goe, cause the village of Prologue is destroyed before chapter 1.