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           Leaping flames blazed it the hearth, set aflame by one of the Darkfriend servants. She had sworn every one of them in herself, and all were truly loyal to their Lady. Smirking, she closed the thick wooden door behind her and set about readying herself. Lady Arastra Zendemeth, born a blacksmiths daughter thousands of years ago. Now she had gained more power than anyone could have imagined, and tonight she would use it. She wrapped her sword-belt around her waist, then put a cloak around her shoulders. Both the cloak and her silk dress were deep blue.

           She was a slender woman with small shoulders and succulent hips. She had a sway in her walk which drove the servants crazy. Long reddish brown hair bung down to her waist, setting off a vision of innocence along with her large chocolate brown eyes. Innocence was not part of her description, though. Terrifying, yes, brutal, maybe. Never innocent, not to those who knew her well. Smiling to herself, she embraced the Source and wove a gateway.

           Two days before she had received her orders, and she was probably already late in performing them. She had been summoned to the Heart of Shayol Ghul itself, where the Great Lord of the Dark had seen her. The Dragon was Reborn, his blood was pumping through the world again. Her full lips tightened and she stepped through the gateway into the pouring rain. The Bloody Dragon Reborn! She had to do something about this, under His orders. Twenty years time and the two-year-old boy would grow up to conquer the world and the Great Lord himself.

           That was not something Arastra Zendemeth was prepared to allow.

           Closing the gateway behind her, she made her way in the dark toward the tiny village. It was called "The Two Rivers" and was on the outlying boarder of Andor. The fact that she had just journeyed several thousand miles in a single step didn't affect her nearly as much as the fact that she was going to have to find some way to kill this child without waking the entire village. That meant no Balefire. Scowling, she headed past the village and into the forest. The boy supposedly lived somewhere near the village on a farm with his parents.

           The farm was small, surrounded by a wooden fence. In the corner of the yard was a pen containing sheep. Arastra lifted her nose to the animals, she ate nothing in the way of meat and hated most living creatures. Her eyes drifted back to the farmhouse. In the highest window, there were two tall forms. One of them, the silhouette of a woman, leaned down over the bed to kiss her son goodnight. She left the room, and then the man leaned down, brushing his hand in the boy's hair before blowing out the light and vanishing down the stairs. Arastra saw them both emerge into another window and sit down in two separate chairs with books. She smiled to herself and headed for the house.

           She embraced the Source again, weaving a spiraling ramp of air up to the window. She stepped on it, feeling sure-footed. When she reached the window, she pushed on it lightly with her hand. To her positive delight, it swung open, the curtains flying back in the breeze. She channeled her clothing dry and slipped into the room, closing the window silently behind her. On the bed, a small little boy with brilliant red hair slept. Arastra looked toward the door, which was slightly ajar, but no one stirred upstairs. She slipped her short sword out of the sheathe.

           She glided over to the bed, feeling utterly pleased with herself. Raising the weapon, she pulled back the boys blankets. Abruptly, his gray eyes shot open and he caught site of her. A loud screaming wail filled the air and Arastra cursed. Two parents came flying up the stairs and his mother, a short red-haired woman, screamed in fright. Arastra's eyes flew from her to the father, who was pulling out a piece of wood from behind the door. She shrugged and sheathed her blade. For a moment, the couple must have thought she was surrendering, for he lowered his weapon just a bit, and she untensed slightly.

           Arastra embraced the source and channeled a wall of fire toward them. Both parents fell, engulfed in flames. The father hit the wall, alighting the wall hanging with brilliant fire. The mother fell atop him, screaming, then struggled to reach her son, who was now crying loudly. Arastra grabbed her, immune to the flames, and drug her by her ear to the bed.

           Holding the woman up with air, Arastra took the boy by his hair. Weaving once more, she turned him into a pile of bleeding pieces with some razor sharp pieces of air. Smiling evily at the mother, screaming loudly for her son and husband, Arastra threw her down and wove a gateway. The house was smoldering around her as she stepped through and closed the gate behind her.

           Smiling to herself, listing to the screams echo in her ears, Arastra headed for bed. The Dragon Reborn was dead, and the Great Lord of the Dark would rise once more.