Guremurin had grown tired of this game. The lies and deceptions had delighted him at first, but he was glad they would end today. The joke had grown stale.
He tied a white sash tight to secure his black robe about him and smiled with pride. He alone among his tribe had been cunning enough to sneak through the forest, past the searchers and through the cracks in their towering walls, and arrive here.
The empire's barriers had been breached in the past, he knew. There were legends. But the braves before him had not been as clever; they had all been tracked down and caught in the end. None had gotten half as far. None would have had the patience to wait for months as he had, playing pretend.
After today, Guremurin knew his name would never be forgotten. The Father of Night's own lips would speak it with praise....