Prologue
Achteon crept quietly through the town. He'd already visited the armory and the barracks. He'd committed to memory the size of the enemy army, their weapon supplies, and their armor. Now, all he needed to do was make it back to safety and relay the information. After that, his job was done. He could just kick back and relax and let the fighters do the rest of the work. The trick was getting home alive.
He slipped silently through the darkness, praising the night for its cover. As he danced from shadow to shadow along the quiet street, he peeked through the open windows of the buildings around him. More out of habit than anything else. The training process of becoming a spy had a tendency to instill plenty of habits into young minds like Achteon's. It was the view in the next window that would bring Achteon on the stop and cause him to crouch down and peer inside--all in order to gain information on the enemy, he told himself.
There, in full view of Achteon, bathed in the pale light of the candles spread around the room, was the General. He could barely see her belly-button over the lip of the bathtub in which she knelt. Two young handmaidens knelt beside her bathtub, drawing sponges up out of the water, gliding them along her body. Achteon's gaze followed a sponge as it caressed her stomach, washing along the curve of her hip, easing up along her side. It disappeared from his view behind her back, only to reappear at her shoulder, brushing along her neck, and stopping just below her collarbone. Lithe fingers squeezed the sponge, forcing a cascade of water to flow down her chest, encasing her breasts in the waterfall, causing them to glisten in the candlelight even as the water trickled away.
A sound drew Achteon's attention away. The night watch was coming down the street, their hounds sniffing for his trail. After one last, longing glance at the General, Achteon turned darted down the street toward the town's wall. Scaling it was no problem for the trained spy, and moments later, he was running over the open plain beyond, heading for the safety of his army's encampment.
Kings of Chaos
I unsheathed my sword, Freud, for the umpteenth time and began to spar with an imaginary foe, mostly to kill time. I hate waiting for spies to return. They're always so unpredictable. Most of my spies had returned already. All of them, in fact, except for one. Achteon was still in the field, and I wouldn't start the attack without him back in camp. Unless he was dead, of course. But my spy network was good, and Achteon was one of my best--and one of the most thorough. It was best to wait.
But I hate waiting.
I had all the information I needed from my other spies. They were able to bring back everything I needed to know. Enemy troupe size was minimal, their treasury was full, their defenses were strong, but that can be overcome. Maybe Achteon was taking it upon himself to do a little sabotage? He certainly has the skills, and if the right opportunity presented itself, he could very well have taken the chance.
