Chapter 17: The Imperial City
Lan stood amidst the carnage, the metallic savor of blood thick in the air. The bodies of guards and assassins remained strewn across the cracked road, limbs twisted, faces frozen mid-scream or locked in grim resistance.
Blood soaked into the sunbaked soil, darkening it to a muddy red. The prior ornate royal carriage smoldered behind him, its gilded trim blackened, the wood warped and cracked from fire and arcane residue.
One horse remained.
The lead stallion—its flanks streaked with sweat, its mane tangled with smoke and ash—stomped nervously at the edge of the road. Its wild eyes tracked Lan, nostrils flaring, every muscle ready to flee.
Lan let out a quiet sigh.
"I suppose my grand entrance to the Imperial City is ruined."
He approached the animal slowly, cautious. Every movement he made was calm, measured—no sudden gestures, no sharp noises. The wind tousled his scorched robes, fluttering ash around his boots.
The horse whinnied, backed a step.
Lan raised a hand, letting the beast sniff his soot-stained fingers. Its ears twitched. It didn’t bolt.
"Easy," he murmured, running a gentle hand along its neck.
The horse’s shudder softened. The tension bled from its posture. Still wary, but no longer on the edge of panic.
Lan worked quickly. He unbuckled the tattered harness, freeing the stallion from the broken shafts of the carriage. Then he turned toward one of the fallen guards—a middle-aged man with a shattered windstaff still clutched in his hand.