Part I - Cloak and Dagger

Lightning. Distant flashes periodically lit the tall manor, casting the faces of the many dragons there in an eerie and sudden glow. Thankfully, however, these dragons were made of stone.

The port city called Illikon, crown jewel of the Northwest and seat of power in the wild and untamed outer region of the Achaean Empire, slept peacefully despite the storm at sea. Darkness lay within nearly every building that wasn’t an inn or tavern; only the deepest night-life still bustled. Coupled with the stillness of candlelit streets and the gentle waves heard in its seaside districts, the city was nothing short of beautiful.

To the west, the great Castle Illikon overlooked the sprawling docks that held ships from lands local and distant. The keep, with turrets reaching for the heavens and surrounding crenelated walls, appeared starkly modern against the many older-style structures throughout the city below, such as temples to the gods held aloft by tall pillars and alive with pedimental sculptures.

In such an atmosphere, the whole world felt calm and quiet. How could turmoil exist when here rested such a peaceful city?

Peaceful, at least, save for the assassins set on taking a man’s life.

Two men crept through the night, scaling the outer, black-iron-bar walls of the noble home. But as they made their way up, before they ascended over and down onto the green manor grounds, the sense of being watched crept up their necks. In the streets nearby, a silhouetted shape stopped. A citizen of Illikon – and he saw them.

He froze. So did the assassins. For half a moment, they looked at each other.

The citizen turned and ran. The taller assassin’s hands clenched tighter at the fence they climbed, but the shorter wheeled and leapt from the wall with incredible speed, meeting the cobblestone street in a graceful roll. The tall assassin followed.

“We cannot let him live,” said the short one as the tall assassin landed alongside him.

“We can’t just kill him – we can’t leave a trail of bodies,” the tall one shot back, but the other assassin gave chase, taking off after their witness. “Niall— get back here; we’re blown!”

The shorter man, Niall, disappeared around a streetcorner. The tall assassin rose to his full height, eyes scanning buildings along the way. His partner chased the fleeing civilian on foot, but he had other plans.

The tall assassin, Kye Vakurseth – a name he rarely shared due to its obvious unnatural sound – got a running start and leapt up onto the side of a nearby building. He scaled it with ease, finding handholds or else making them with a great gauntlet on his left hand and arm: segmented steel engraved in strange and intricate designs, covered in spikes, and ending with long, metal claws in place of his fingertips.

He pulled himself up onto the roof and set off at a graceful run. With incredible speed, he cleared the gap to the next rooftop. Never once did he slow, gaze focused on the streets…

The civilian still ran. In the distance, a tower loomed. Probably a post of the city watchmen. Kye couldn’t let him reach it.

Hot on the man’s heels came Niall, rapidly gaining on his target, his long black cloak billowing behind him like a banner of untrustworthiness. Kye, however, overtook them both. He pivoted, jumping from the high rooftop, diving like a falcon – and taking down the unsuspecting civilian.

Kye tackled him, using him to soften his landing, and easily pinned him despite his shouting and flailing.

Kye started, “Be quiet if you know what’s good for y—”

Niall didn’t pause. He charged straight over, dagger in hand that Kye didn’t even notice him drawing, and in a flash, the blade sliced the man’s throat. Hot blood sprayed Kye in the face. He reared back, shielding himself from any more of it.

“Blood and shadow!” Kye swore, an odd oath to the ears of Men.

The man sputtered and choked, clutching his neck, fingers scrabbling uselessly. Niall watched him suffocate and said, “I told you we cannot let him live. Help me dispose of him once he is a corpse.”

Ineffectively wiping his face with his right hand, on which he wore only a fingerless black glove rather than a huge clawed gauntlet, Kye blinked past the blood and glowered at his partner. Niall grabbed the dead civilian under the arms and rapidly hauled the corpse toward an alley. Though his build looked narrow, Niall was remarkably strong.

Kye threw a glance back at the Draconius Manor, the house where their target lived, which they yet again had failed to infiltrate. Walled and intricately decorated, it rose high even over the other rich structures. Gargoyles and grotesques of dragons lined its sides and roof, and a pair of dragon statues flanked the gates of the tall fence surrounding the manor grounds. Candles burned in several windows despite the late hour – with more wicks lit as Kye watched. Someone must’ve heard or seen something and woken the household. Why did the House of Drake have so many servants, and why were some always awake? Why was their target always awake?

They’d languished here for several days, unable to kill the man they sought, and that was far too long.

Kye followed Niall into the darkness of the alley, scanning the area again for any potential witnesses. Thankfully, he saw none, though he did spy some watchmen coming down the way. He squeezed his broad shoulders into the very cramped path Niall had chosen.

“Where are you even planning to hide that?” Kye asked incredulously, keeping his voice low. The stink of blood and death filled his nostrils – it wouldn’t be easy to disguise. And he needed to wash his face…

“Perhaps I’ll feed it to you,” Niall remarked.

Kye fixed him in a flat stare. “Gross.”

“Your kind eat flesh, I’m sure.”

“I already told you, don’t talk about ‘my kind.’”

Niall ignored him. “I’ll throw the body in the ocean. No one will be the wiser.”

“It’ll wash up or get caught in a sailor’s net…”

“Let me handle it. I’m still not impressed with where you hid your ‘accidental’ kill in this forsaken city.” He cast Kye a look of daggers over his shoulder. “And wash your face. It’s covered in blood.”

Kye frowned but did as he was told, muttering as he went, “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

He departed the alley out the opposite side, letting Niall handle his own dirty-work. He wiped his face as best he could with the cloth he used to clean blood from his blades, making a mental note to wash properly when he got the chance. Moments later, Niall reappeared, skulking alongside him with his dark eyes darting at every shadow.

They made quite a pair. Niall was below average height for an Achaean, a man of the Empire, whereas Kye didn’t know his own heritage but stood as tall as the enormous men of Northrim. And while Kye wore a suit of form-fitting and sleeveless black leather that showed his lean and muscular physique, Niall’s dark, unremarkable clothing and jerkin left only his face uncovered, his form sinewy and his neck eternally crunched near his shoulders.

Kye led the way back toward the Draconius Manor. He wasn’t done studying for tonight. His partner followed him without protest, staying in Kye’s sizable shadow. Niall pulled his hood over his head, covering or otherwise shadowing his greasy black hair and patchy yet equally as greasy beard. His features were unpleasant, like the random shapes of a root vegetable but without the comfort of knowing a vegetable was a thing growing beneath the earth, not meant to be gazed upon, rather than a person.

In nearly every way, Kye was Niall’s opposite. Clean-shaven, Kye had a handsome and chiseled face, with a strong jaw and a heavy brow to match. Black hair just over shoulder-length was mostly pulled back into a low, loose ponytail over his neck, with only a few strands hanging freely on either side of his face. His white skin carried a subtle nutty hue.

The peculiar duo walked past the manor of the House of Drake again, playing it casual, glancing from afar. Why was it, Kye wondered again, that their target never seemed to rest?

He’d since learned what room belonged to the man he and Niall had been tasked to kill, and it never went without a lit candle, movement, or both.  When Kye had first accepted this job – having been hired by a particularly memorable employer who’d worn a mask, all his visible skin slashed by claw-mark scars from great beasts – Kye had foolishly, even arrogantly, expected that killing one knight would prove easy. He’d succeeded in many missions before, some for employers nearly as offputting.

Yet always his target either remained in the middle of a city that knew him well, surrounded day and night by seasoned soldiers, trained warriors, and veteran knights, or else he traveled far afield on the Plains of Illikon, to distant castles and villages out of reach, often still with companions. Some called him a hero, others called him a nuisance and a bastard, but either way, he was the center of someone’s attention. Their target, the knight Sir Tom Vincent Drake, clearly liked it that way.

The assassins, skilled though they were, had only ever gotten barely beyond the walls of the manor grounds. Each time they moved closer, something happened… like tonight – twice now.

Hooves charged down the street. Kye stopped in his tracks, and Niall still followed in his shadow. A group of armored knights arrived at the Drake Manor’s entrance, dismounting their steeds. Two servants rushed over and threw open the metal gates with an ominous creak. The knights and servants argued about something to do with ‘Sir Tom,’ the assassins’ target.

“We are fools and cowards,” Niall declared from the darkness nearby. “We should just sneak in and kill him. It’s been days, Kye – maybe even weeks; I lose track of time when I drink. The Messengers will send someone else, find us, and punish us for our incompetence. Our hesitation will be our doom.”

Niall was a loyal member of the Silent Messengers, a mysterious group of assassins to which they both belonged – unfortunately. The Messengers had long ago taken in Kye when others would not, but his feelings about the situation were complicated. Kye looked over his shoulder at his partner, whose sour expression darkened the already deep creases of his face.

Kye shook his head. “We can’t get near him— look at this. You wanna go over there and fight six knights? Even if we did win, we’d kill them in the middle of the street and then the rest of the city would be on us like hounds on a wolf.”

“Then you would kill them, as a wolf does hounds.”

“Yes, and what would you be doing?”

Niall didn’t answer. Kye squinted at the colorful heraldry on the knights in question: yellow and blue, decorated with blue fishes. Fins adorned their metal armor. They were from the House of Marks, a family with which the Drakes often feuded.

“You’ve become too interested in your observations of the target,” Niall pointed out, as if on cue. “We’re meant to kill him, not study him.”

“It’s part of the process.”

“But you must go through with it. You study enough to kill him, then you kill him. Or her. Or maybe even it, if it’s an unborn child.”

Kye’s insides twisted. “I really don’t want to hear about that.”

“No? You’ve never had a target like that? I have been sent to kill an infant before, too. Sometimes some noble wants the firstborn dead.” Niall shrugged. “Often it’s the uncle. Easiest job you could ask for.”

“People like you are why demons exist in the first place…” Kye muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kye answered. He watched as the distant knights, still speaking loudly and with intent to wake the entire household, marched into the manor. Maybe Tom Drake had slept with the wrong woman again, as he was apparently wont to do. Whatever the case, their brief chance to get close to him – if it had ever really existed – was gone for the night.

Kye strode off down another street, leaving the manor behind. Niall’s soft footsteps followed him.

“Where are we going?” he asked. “Don’t you remember we have a job to do? A late job? And that the Messengers won’t be happy with our performance?” Niall paused. “And do you plan to continue walking about the street looking the way you do?”

Kye said nothing. He knew he stood out in his gear, especially that vicious gauntlet he used so often. To compliment it, he wore on his left shoulder a single leather spaulder decorated in two upward-pointing metal spikes. A bandoleer of knives reaching across his chest completed his frightening attire. Niall, meanwhile, looked relatively unassuming in his travel cloak, even if it made him stand out when walking streets usually occupied by local nobility. As they left the wealthiest districts behind, however, such cloaked travelers drew fewer looks. After all, Illikon was a busy city and a port of trade, visited by all manner of folk, some from distant regions.

“Why am I the leader?” Kye retorted instead of addressing his outfit, even while he rested his metal-clawed hand on his swordbelt alongside the golden hilt of his curved-bladed shamshir, a Parsanshari weapon that Imperials often called a scimitar. Like so much of his outfit, his foreign and gilded sword also stood out. “You go kill him, if you’re so capable. I’ll back you up.”

Not answering, Niall kept following. Kye returned to the open city streets but didn’t walk near the lights. He stayed near the shadows, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice.

“Then what are we doing instead?” Niall insisted, snatching for one of Kye’s arms to make him stop, but Kye kept walking. “How are we still working toward our goal?”

“We’ll get close to him a different way—”

A door flew open on the opposite side of the street. A skinny, haggard young man sprawled from it, bodily ejected from the building. He landed in a heap, putting his arms over his head and curling into the fetal position. Two larger figures stepped out after him, looming, hands curled into fists the size of bricks. Kye watched impassively, giving them a wide berth and hastening his gait. He wanted no part in whatever it was. Niall said nothing, not so much as glancing that way.

But as they left the scene behind, Kye still caught a few words. “We need something that will work by midnight tomorrow, or you’re a dead man. The Watch is on us like flies, and we need to be gone. Understood?”

Kye shook his head. Corruption ran deep even in the most civilized and safest of places, and here he was a part of it. He frowned, but he didn’t turn back.

“I am surprised to see criminals operating in this part of the city,” Niall commented, keeping his voice low.

“Every part of a city has crime,” replied Kye.

Niall scoffed. “You’re wiser than I think sometimes.”

“So are you, once in a while.”

Again he scoffed, with more feeling this time, “It’s rare for you, Kye. Like killing a watchman and compromising us not long after we arrived here. What if someone finds that body? And all because you like some stupid girl…”

Kye stopped, turning on his heel. Niall stopped too, instantly lifting his empty palms in fear. But Kye still pointed a long, metal-clawed left finger right at Niall’s narrow chest.

“Don’t,” he said, “call her stupid. And you just killed a guy too.”

“Fine. Then tell me, where are we going when our target is behind us?”

Kye resumed leading. “To a tavern. I need to think, and I like doing that with food… and a drink.”

“You are eager to drown in ale whatever otherworldly sorrows plague you, Kye, but you never actually seem to get drunk. Can… something like you actually get drunk? Does wasting coin on drink help your self-pity?”

“Will you leave me alone? I’ve got enough in my head without you trying to get in there too.”

Niall chortled an unpleasant laugh. “It would be an interesting place. Perhaps I’d learn a thing or two about—”

“Niall? Shut up.”

Finally, the other assassin fell silent. They continued undisturbed through the quiet, starlit Illikon. Kye slid into the shadows as a city watchman, clad in a chain shirt and a deep blue tabard decorated in the city’s golden gryphon emblem, passed on the opposite side of the way. Niall’s hand crept toward one of many daggers hidden on his person, but Kye pushed his arm away. The watchman gave them no trouble, moving on without a word.

Shortly thereafter, they reached a building with candles in the windows and noise leaking from an open doorway. Smells of roasted meat and finely-brewed ale reached Kye’s nose, making his stomach growl and leading him inside.

The inn bustled with activity despite the late hour. Kye looked over the heads of assorted standing patrons, tall as he was. He spied the best path to a dark corner, exactly as Niall had predicted, and sat at a table away from the commotion. Niall followed close behind him as Kye’s size parted a path through the crowd.

“Don’t see our target in here, do you?” asked Niall, his dark eyes continuously darting everywhere.

“No,” Kye replied, half in thought.

A barmaid came by. Kye ordered a drink, and Niall looked at him expectantly until Kye finally ordered one for him too. Once the barmaid left, Niall put on an ugly smile.

“I’m surprised you made it this far in the Messengers, Kye,” he remarked. “You’re so… what’s the word? ‘Nice?’ I suppose that would work. Perhaps also ‘gullible.’ Easy to influence.”

“No I’m not. It’s your big brown… black… puppy-dog eyes,” Kye replied wryly. “They’re irresistible.”

Niall’s ugly smile dropped into a glare. “Do not tell me I’m cute.”

Kye scoffed out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m… I’m not gonna do that.”

He looked around, searching for anything of interest. The crowd was surprisingly varied. Nobles mingled at certain tables, most staying apart from any common folk or strange travelers. One nobleman clad in a bright blue tunic caught Kye’s eye – and the man stood, making a beeline for them.

“Who is he?” demanded Niall. Kye heard in his voice that he already plotted murder. He looked like a madman on the defensive, the whites of his eyes visible beneath furrowed brows.

“Shh,” Kye hissed. “How should I know?”

The nobleman stopped at their table, resting his own tankard on it. The barmaid arrived at the same moment, dropping off their drinks, the fuller of which Niall immediately snatched. Their noble visitor not only wore a bright blue tunic, but it was pinned in place by a brooch of shining silver, depicting a trio of cresting waves. Kye didn’t know what house that was, but he’d seen their target, Tom Drake, interact with people wearing such heraldry before… usually with a sorrowful air about him.

“Greetings,” said the nobleman, plastering an amicable smile onto his good-looking face. His swept-back, platinum blond hair looked so perfect Kye almost thought it fake. “Haven’t seen you two around before. Newcomers?”

Niall’s already lined face darkened into an even worse scowl, and he didn’t respond.

Kye cleared his throat and answered, managing a smile in return. “We are, actually. My name’s Seth, and this is—”

“Do not tell him my name,” Niall snapped.

Kye froze for a moment in aggravation and white-hot embarrassment, but the nobleman merely chuckled. “That’s alright, friend,” said the noble, “you needn’t share it. It’s nice to meet you, at least, Seth. You have a unique taste in attire. I don’t see men dress in – well, in spikes. What brings such… flavorfully-clad folk to Illikon?”

Without intending it, Kye shifted in his seat. The nobleman’s pale eyes drifted down Kye’s side, landing on the beautiful, intricately-crafted scimitar he wore. Its golden hilt with its spiked finger-guard and crosspiece shone in the candlelight, and its dark leather sheath with elaborate designs was hardly subtle, either. Envy all but radiated from the man. Kye reached down with his gauntleted left hand and rested it protectively on his sword. The nobleman’s eyes immediately cut back up to Kye’s face.

“Just stopping by,” Kye answered. Pointedly, he added, “I didn’t actually get your name…”

“Oh. Gods, where are my manners?” the nobleman laughed it off as one might laugh at someone else’s poor joke, and Kye narrowed his sky-blue eyes. “I am Faro Pelagius.”

Niall coughed a chuckle past his tankard. “‘Faro?’” he echoed incredulously.

Faro arched a faint eyebrow. “That is my name, yes. I am not however a ‘pharaoh,’ like of Kemhet, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Again he gave his laugh, which always sounded the same. It was meaningless. Kye heard no real mirth behind it.

“And what about you?” asked Kye. “Or do you always wander up to heavily-armed strangers and ask them their names?”

“A-ha! Good one, Seth. Good one… No, I only thought you looked rather lost, actually. I also thought you looked strikingly noble. Er – you, I mean, Seth.”

“Thank you,” Niall said. Faro looked confused at his genuineness. Niall’s moist-lipped smile pulled his mouth wide, making him look like a toad with a dark mustache and goatee.

Kye said, “Thanks, but, um… I’m not really sure what that has to do with anything.”

“It has plenty ‘to do,’ actually,” replied Faro. “There’s a banquet tomorrow evening in Castle Illikon. It won’t be half as exciting as that banquet before Sir Tom and Sir Cassian nearly killed each other in their recent joust, but it should be entertaining, anyway…”

Kye’s interest piqued at the mention of their target. “What happened at the joust?”

“You didn’t hear? Sir Cassian nearly killed Sir Tom – it’s a wonder he didn’t, lancing him in the face like that. Then Sir Tom retaliated by nearly killing Sir Cassian in return.” Faro laughed yet again. “It was quite a show. That Drake bastard went after him like a beast.”

Niall’s eyes cut Kye’s way. Their gazes met briefly.

“That Drake bastard,” Kye said, “being Sir Tom Drake, right?”

“Yes. He’s a bastard son, if you didn’t know. Half Nordling, to boot. The whole thing is a scandal, if you ask me – I don’t know why he was ever allowed to become a knight, much less take a squire of his own…” Faro’s voice drifted, and he shook his head. “Anyway, the banquet. No weapons are allowed, so you won’t be able to carry these – sundry blades of yours.”

Again Faro glimpsed Kye’s scimitar. Kye noticed, though he wasn’t sure Faro meant him to, and his hand on his shamshir gripped a little tighter.

“Right,” Kye said blandly.

“All the nobility are invited, as are many travelers, even some only passing through. Seeing as I… recently lost my nephew and have no sons to parade about, I cannot be charitable and bring them, so I thought I’d be charitable by inviting someone else instead. You two look like just the men I would love to see shaking up such a banquet.” Faro’s fake smile returned in a flash. “What do you say? I’d love to hear your stories.”

“So you are inviting us to get back at some other noble who wronged you,” Niall said. “Is that it?”

Faro screwed up his brow. After a moment, he replied, “Something like that, friend. You catch on quick.”

Niall laughed – probably the first real laugh of the conversation. “I like you. We will attend the banquet. Isn’t that right, ‘Seth?’”

Kye’s left hand wandered back up to the table, where he absently scratched a line in the wood with a long, metal claw. “Yeah – sure, we’ll come. Why not, I guess.”

Faro clapped his hands together. “Wonderful. I assume you have something to wear or can acquire it – you can’t walk in there looking like that. You’ll be my personal guests of honor. Anyway, see you then.”

With that, the nobleman swept away as suddenly as he’d appeared, returning to a table of men dressed like him and leaving the pair of darkly-clad warriors behind. Niall laughed again, but Kye bit his lip at the strange symbols he’d absently etched into the wooden table. He scratched them out in a hurry as the barmaid returned, dropping off their food.

“What a rich fool,” Niall remarked while Kye dug into his plate. “Inviting smelly strangers to a banquet just because some other noble angered him. It’s incredible. I wish I was a noble and played such games.”

“You’d be good at it. And I’m not smelly. You’re the one who apparently hates baths.”

“They’re a waste of time only women should indulge in. Like this banquet will be, if we spend too long there.”

“Actually, it might be the breakthrough we need. Tom Drake might be there.”

Niall hummed thoughtfully, taking another swig of ale.

“But,” Kye continued, “if that Faro guy thinks he can buy my scimitar, he’s in for a disappointment.”

“Did he mention that?”

“He kept staring.”

“I see. Well, if he does make you an offer, you can get another sword. We can even take some months and go all the blasted way to Parsanshar and get you another shamshir, if you love them so much. I’d take his gold.”

“I’m sure you would, Niall, but it’s personal.” Kye scooted his own tankard closer. “I don’t like the way he looked at it…”

“Sometimes men look at each other’s swords.”

Kye paused in the middle of guzzling his tankard, staring past the rim of his cup at Niall.

A beat passed.

“That is not what I meant,” Niall said.

“I hope not, or I know I’m not going,” Kye muttered, setting his drained tankard down. Niall eyed it.

“You remind me of a Legionary, wolfing down your food like that. Were you in some military or another?”

“No, I was just starved my whole life.” Kye hesitated; he hated answering questions so reflexively. “I mean… um. None of your business.”

Niall shook his head. “You’re an odd one.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that about a dozen times since we first got partnered up.”

“I cannot stop wondering about you. I know what you—”

Kye sat up straighter – so straight he loomed over not only the table but Niall as well, his broad shoulders casting a shadow on his fellow assassin. Niall snapped his jaws shut.

A moment later, however, Niall reluctantly finished, “What is it, then? Your sword. Some kind of historical weapon? Family heirloom?”

“No one here would know,” Kye answered, his tone dark and uncharacteristically terse. He settled back into his seat.

“They wouldn’t? Is it…” Niall’s mouth fell open. “Is it some kind of accursed artifact? Is it magic?”

“You wanna say that any louder? Stop asking so many questions. You weren’t like this when we were traveling. You didn’t even say two words.”

“I do not like talking when traveling, but now I’m drinking. It’s very different. Anyway, I like knowing about people – learning secrets.” His broad smile returned, lifting his patchy mustache. “Always good to know others’ secrets.”

Kye shook his head, saying, “You’re a horrible person.”

Niall kept smiling. After rolling his eyes, Kye reached across the table, grabbed Niall’s drink, and drained its contents.

After finishing their meals, the two departed the inn and found even quieter streets than before. Night settled well over the city of Illikon. Pulling in a deep breath of the cool air, Kye tasted the coming winter. His luck being what it was, of course he’d received an assignment in the Northwestern Empire on the cusp of the coldest time of year. He hated cold.

“These Northmen and their Northwestern kin are all mad,” said Niall as they set off. “Rumors of war circulate everywhere. Half the tavern was talking about it. Who goes to war in winter?”

“Northmen, I guess,” Kye answered. “The crazy ones, anyway.”

“And the insane Imperial Heartlanders looking for any excuse to retaliate, perhaps. I’ve heard tell the Frost Ravens are leading the charge… We need to kill that knight and get out of here before the gates are so heavily guarded even we cannot escape.”

But Niall’s words were lost on him. Kye heard a woman’s frantic voice begging for help. Though he knew he shouldn’t have, Kye stopped. Niall halted behind him, narrowing his eyes.

“What?” he snapped, hearing nothing.

Kye only lifted a single long, metal claw on his left hand, quieting his partner. Niall scowled. Without explanation, Kye slipped through an alley and down another street, peering out into a lane – one that wouldn’t lead them to the shoddy inn where they’d been spending their nights. A loud sigh erupted behind him: Niall’s way of pointing out the divergence from their path. Kye ignored him.

In the doorway of her home, a robust, heavy-set Northwoman with long blond hair spoke to a pair of men in chain shirts. Sparse candlelight from within the house shone on their chests, showing the golden gryphon on their blue tabards. Watchmen of Illikon…

Desperation filled the woman’s voice. “She’s missing – my little girl, someone took her! You have to do something!”

“Calm down,” said a watchman. “Tell us what happened.”

“I— I don’t know! She was right beside me, and when I turned for only a moment, she was gone! I thought she’d only run ahead, but she isn’t inside – you must help me find her! A little girl alone this time of night!?”

“When was the last time you saw her? Minutes ago, an hour…?”

“Kye,” Niall hissed, grabbing one of Kye’s muscle-bound bare arms. He tugged it so sharply that Kye faced him. “I don’t know why you care about this, but this is not our mission. We need clothing for that banquet.”

Kye jerked his arm from Niall’s grip, but he didn’t protest. Blocking out the mother’s frantic words, he resumed the trek to Illikon’s slums.

Kye said, “It’s the middle of the night. We can’t buy anything right now. Do we have enough money, anyway? Won’t it be expensive? I’ve never bought anything like that before.”

“We have enough. If you don’t, though, I’m not covering for you.”

Kye sighed.

“I’ll be at the Donkey,” said Niall. He meant the Flogged Donkey inn and tavern, where he and Kye were staying. Kye didn’t care for it, but at least it was affordable and not frequented by knights or even watchmen… except one watchman friend of Tom Drake’s who liked to drink there, but he paid them no heed.

“And I’ll go find a shop that sells tunics,” Kye replied, “and do all the work.”

“Yes. I enjoy our relationship. I’m hoping you’ll learn from it.”

Kye didn’t comment.

Niall went on, “This is why I’d make an excellent nobleman. I know how to command and use others, like that nobleman tonight wants to use us to make some sort of point.”

“‘Command?’” Kye echoed incredulously. “You were the one following me earlier.”

“One must sometimes feign following in order to lead. If you push too hard, always lead and command, then your victim becomes aware. The real trick is making sure he never realizes it. Your desires must become his – but he must think the desires wholly his own. You see?”

Kye rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. “That’s really twisted. I hate it.”

Niall smiled an ugly smile. “Thank you. Manipulation is an art. And, of course, there’s the simple fact that the leader will be blamed, attacked, or even killed before the follower. Then the follower can escape.”

“Great. That ale is helping me learn a lot about you.”

Prompted, Niall fell silent. A glare crawled over Kye’s skin like ants, and he regarded a sneering Niall.

“What’d I do now?” Kye asked, throwing his hands out.

“You’re nervous again. You are always nervous. It’s a terrible trait. Fix it.”

“So is that supposed to be my desire or yours?” Kye retorted.

Niall looked ready to slap him.

“And what makes you think I’m nervous, anyway?” he added, mustering a decent amount of outrage. He kept rubbing the back of his neck. Niall shook his head.

“Go scout, Kye. I’ll be drinking.”

They parted ways, disappearing into the night.

Purchasing suitable clothing was easy enough, and on the day of the banquet, Kye and Niall strode through Illikon clad in relative finery. Kye’s tunic was bright golden-yellow, Niall’s toga white with a rusty brown-red sash. Kye readjusted his attire self-consciously, knowing it showed off his physique. Niall, meanwhile, didn’t look bothered. He also didn’t look good.

Kye felt naked without his knives… and especially without his scimitar. More than once, he reflexively attempted resting his left hand on its hilt at his hip, only to find it missing. At least he didn’t have to concern himself with weapons right now – in theory, anyway. All that concerned him was maintaining his focus.

When they neared Castle Illikon, however, they found an army.

Imperial knights marched down the main road leading directly from Illikon’s eastern gates to the castle. Every single one rode on horseback – and every single one was suited for battle, not ceremony. Kye stopped abruptly on the side of the street with so many other bystanders, blinking in confusion, towering in the crowd.

“What the hell is this?” said Niall.

“Didn’t you hear?” asked a woman nearby; people seemed more inclined to speak with them when they wore ordinary clothing instead of armor and weapons like a pair of killers. “They’re leaving for Northrim. Things have gotten bad up there, they say.” She shook her head. “I fear war will soon be upon us.”

“It’ll be a quick one,” another bystander remarked. “The Empire’s crushed barbarian tribes countless times.”

“I’ve heard the barbarians are united now. Seems like a bunch of nonsense. I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

Niall added nothing, looking back at the knights. He said only, “This is our luck.”

“You can say that again,” Kye replied almost distantly, because he saw who led the army.

Heading the knights from across the Northwestern Empire rode their target, Sir Tom Drake, clad in his steel muscle cuirass decorated in bright red dragons and the golden crown of Achaea. His helmet also was in the style of an Old Achaean hoplite but covered in dragon motifs, his nose-guard a dragon head, topped in a tall and proud horsehair crest of bright blood red running from his forehead to the back of his skull. The long tail of it hung down his neck. He stood out even among the other knights, given his crest and bare, muscular arms. He looked like some old Achaean hero from the Empire’s Golden Age.

The dragon knight rode his horse under Illikon’s gatehouse, disappearing onto the open, sprawling plains of golden grass surrounding the city. Kye sensed Niall’s growing despair before he even spoke. His partner turned in a circle and looked in every direction before finally glaring Kye accusingly in the face.

“Now what do we do?” Niall hissed.

Kye didn’t answer at first. He watched the army go, more men than easily countable following Drake’s lead…

“This is your fault,” Niall said, jabbing a finger into Kye’s side with enough force to drive a dagger. “You’ve been distracted this entire time by something or another and you’ve let him escape.”

“He didn’t ‘escape,’” Kye retorted immediately. “He’s— right there. He’s coming back. And anyway, if he doesn’t, then… I guess it’s taken care of.”

Niall scoffed. “What of this banquet, then? Do we still go? What even is the point now?”

“To learn things. We rub elbows with these nobles Drake is a part of, and maybe we can do something to get closer to him when he comes back. It’s not like we’ve been able to get close enough to kill him before now, anyway.”

Unconvinced, Niall only snorted. Kye resisted informing him how often he did that. Navigating the streets as the rest of the knight army departed the city, Kye led them to Castle Illikon, following a small train of nobles heading that way. The drawbridge lay at rest, allowing them passage into the vast castle grounds. Horses tended by stablehands stood about on the grass. Many steeds wore colorful banners of different noble houses, dotting the green plain with bright hues of red, blue, yellow, more green, and silver, among others. Kye didn’t recognize many family sigils, but he knew a few from his time spent figuring out how to discreetly kill Drake.

Men and women in fine togas, stolas, and tunics of assorted designs and colors filed into Castle Illikon. A few wore more unusual attire, white and with even more skin revealed, along with intricate jewelry of gold and azure. They were from the nigh-impossibly distant land of Kemhet, far to the south.

“Real Kemhetis? Here?” Niall said in surprise. The assassins had posed as travelers from Kemhet when they’d first entered Illikon. Foreign visitors from far distant lands frequented Illikon more often than they’d realized.

Kye followed the crowd until they found themselves in a feast hall, where the many guests took seats at a great table of dark wood. Others remained standing, several with goblets in hand, and chattered about gossip, news, and diplomatic matters. If Kye fit in anywhere, he thought, this scene was surely the opposite.

Then he saw a huge problem only a few feet away.

Kye recognized a few warriors among the nobility, easily spotted either by their scars or because they wore ceremonial armor in place of usual noble attire. One such warrior was a knight conversing with a Kemheti – and, emblazoned in red and gold on the knight’s tabard, was the four-pointed star of the goddess Astra Aeterna.

Kye swallowed. The cult of Astra Aeterna, The Eternal Star, had only risen to prominence in Achaea recently. A few decades ago, an Emperor named Antares had declared himself an Astra worshiper and put her star on the Imperial crown. Since then, knightly orders had arisen in her service, despite the goddess rarely interacting directly with Men, according to her followers.

The knight in question looked like a member of one such order. Specifically, one called the Knights Templar, who served as intermediaries among the many Olympian temples in the Achaean Empire. Rigid in their duty, obscenely rich, and accepting only the noblest of noble, the Knights Templar not only used their worship of Astra to remain impartial among the politics of the Olympian-worshipers… they also used their holy light to hunt and banish all evil. Though any truly unholy evil crossing over into the realm of Men was beyond rare, should anyone bear witness to such a thing, the Knights Templar answered the call to slay it.

Blood drained from Kye’s face. What was one of them doing here? Illikon had no Templar presence…

“Food,” Niall astutely observed aloud, pointing at a table of finger-food set out as appetizers before the feast. “I’m going to go get some.”

“Wait,” Kye said, grabbing his shoulder. “Could you at least try to have manners?”

“Why? That Faro man invited us because we look like we have none, did he not?” He chortled. “Well, me, at least. Apparently you’re quite the pretty-boy.”

Kye rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is, don’t draw too much attention, okay?” His attention flicked to the man wearing the star of Astra again. “Especially not from him.”

Niall followed his eyes, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ afterward. “I see. It’s no concern of mine, but since we’re partners…” he allowed a pause before finishing, “I’ll do as I already planned and go eat food. How does that sound?”

He freed himself from Kye’s grip so hard several people nearby looked over in alarm, perhaps expecting a brawl breaking out. Kye straightened his tunic again and, stealing a final look at the knight of Astra, followed Niall.

Along the way, Kye kept his ears open for any interesting conversations. Someone excitedly mentioned a thalamegos, which Kye figured or at least hoped was a ship, in the waters off the coast of Illikon. It sounded like a highly unusual occurrence. He also heard discussions about the weather and a storm, and several people talked about the visitors from Kemhet, seemingly connected with said ‘thalamegos.’ More gossip that largely flew over his head wasted away his attention span. By the time he neared the food table, Kye had stopped listening. He snatched a goblet of wine—

“Earl Warren Drake,” someone behind Kye said, “did your son not just ride to war?”

Kye nearly choked. He resisted looking behind him at the father of his target. During their time studying Tom Drake, both he and Niall had become familiar with the family patron, but never had Kye been this close to him before. He saw in his mind’s eye Earl Warren in his red and gold tunic adorned with dragon sigils and motifs, yet he focused only on the food in front of him, remaining casual.

“There is no ‘war,’” answered a deep voice – Warren Drake, Tom’s father.

“Then why would Illikon march an army of so many knights out the front gates – heading north?”

“I do not participate in gossip, and military affairs are not the concern of merchant lords. If you wish to discuss rumors, you’d be better served seeking Earl Cassius and his wine-soaked son.”

Footsteps walked away; Kye assumed Warren had left. Glancing at Niall, Kye received a subtle nod of confirmation from his partner. Finally, Kye turned – and saw Faro standing right behind him. He nearly started.

“You two did make it, after all,” Faro declared with one of his bland chuckles. “How are you enjoying the banquet?”

“Not really used to this stuff,” Kye replied reluctantly.

“Indeed? I would’ve thought such affairs could provide ample entertainment for uncommon travelers, witnessing Illikon’s glory…”

In the corner of his eye, Kye noticed the holy knight’s colorful tabard— he was coming their way. Every hair on the back of Kye’s neck stood on end. A chill crawled across his skin. He wanted to run.

“Lord Faro,” the holy knight said, “I must speak with you.”

Kye knew a good ounce of color drained from his face, leaving him feeling cold, but he resisted looking at the Templar. He kept his gaze on Faro and forced as natural an expression as he could.

“I’m currently speaking with some friends,” Faro shot back, hostile. Kye swallowed so loudly it sounded comical.

“That’s alright,” Kye nearly blurted. “We’ll be around.”

Faro glared at him as if he’d expected Kye to back him up somehow. Kye plastered on a nervous, half-cocked smile.

The holy knight said again, “Lord Faro.”

“Fine,” he spat. Faro paused, inhaled, and corrected calmly, “Fine. I shall speak with you again soon, then, Seth.” He allowed the Templar to lead him off, but Kye heard Faro say, “I already saw you interrogating another of my friends, one who traveled far to meet me. What exactly is your intent, knight?”

Kye waited until they left. Relief crashed into him like the surf against Illikon’s rocky coast. Not wasting a moment, he gripped Niall’s nearest arm, hauling him back toward the door. Niall sputtered in outrage.

“What— what are you doing?”

“We’re leaving,” Kye said flatly.

“Why? Because you are a coward?”

“No, because I don’t want to die horribly.”

“That’s called cowardice.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Kye kept going. He glanced back at the holy knight, whose back was turned. Faro stared the Templar in the face, brow furrowed. Though Kye wondered why a Templar would irritate another noble so much, he didn’t care. Probably nothing but convoluted noble politics, anyway.

No one stopped them. Despite his claims, Niall followed Kye without complaint, so he released his arm. Kye rounded the corner, now but a few steps away from freedom…

And he ran right into a nobleman. Kye nearly barreled the man straight into the ground in his haste, but the noble caught himself on sturdy legs. Kye stumbled back and immediately showed his hands.

“Whoa, sorry,” he blurted, “I was just—”

Earl Warren Drake regarded him, his deep blue eyes judging in silence. A knot formed in Kye’s throat and silenced him. Warren, however, merely straightened himself and fixed the askew golden amulet around his neck, one depicting the family’s rearing heraldic dragon. Kye had seen Tom Drake wearing an amulet exactly the same but of silver.

“It’s alright,” said Warren. He paused. “You must be foreign. I don’t recognize you. Did you come on that thelemegos?”

“Uhhh,” Kye began, feeling uniquely stupid. Niall appeared alongside him and butted in.

“No,” said Niall. “We came from the land, not the sea. We are not that rich.”

Warren arched a brow. “I see.” He glanced them up and down. Kye’s skin crawled; Warren’s attention lingered on him in particular. “I feel I’ve seen you before…”

“Really?” Kye laughed it off, not sure it was his best effort. “I’m nobody.”

Warren looked unconvinced, but he shrugged. “Whoever you are, you seem to be in quite the hurry to leave. I’ll not take any more of your time. Good day.”

With that, Earl Warren Drake swept off, his one-shouldered red cape trailing behind him. Kye sighed so heavily in relief his shoulders sagged. Niall, however, loudly sucked his teeth and took a few steps back, watching Warren rejoin the banquet.

“Now the father knows what we look like,” Niall said darkly.

“Who cares?” replied Kye, resuming his walk. “The whole idea of being assassins is that we aren’t seen when we do our job. And we aren’t after him.”

“You make good points. Far better than you usually make, in fact.”

“Have you ever given a real compliment in your life?”

“No.”

They passed by many beautifully-clad Illikon royal guards and watchmen on their way out. Worry and fear were plain on the faces of everyone Kye passed. Even Warren had the same air about him, Kye thought, albeit subtler. The war was about to start – everyone in Illikon feared it… and everyone knew it, too, whether they admitted it or not.

“We really need to do our job and get out of here,” Kye muttered.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“At least we didn’t have to go all the way to Rimegard with the others…”

Niall choked out a harsh chortle. “Yes, that’d be rich. I’d be surprised if that place hasn’t already fallen to the barbarians. Where are we going now?”

“I,” replied Kye, “am going back to the inn and getting my stuff. I need my weapons.”

“Planning to murder another watchman?” Niall asked coyly.

Kye threw him a sharp look. “I dunno. Are you planning to murder another random civilian?”

Niall’s expression didn’t change.

Kye finished, “No, I’m not. I just I want my sword. I’d like my daggers too, but I need my sword.”

Kye offered no further justification, heading straight out the castle gate and through the grounds, taking the quickest path back to their shoddy room in the Flogged Donkey.

When he arrived at their room, Kye knew something was wrong.

A sixth sense warned him before he even opened the door – and though nothing immediately appeared out of place, Kye’s eyes locked on the shoddy bed that was too small for him. Before leaving for the banquet, he’d placed his scimitar in its sheath underneath it, hidden beneath some random clothing.

The clothing had been pushed aside. His sword was gone.

Kye froze in the doorway, his mighty frame silhouetted in the light. He set his jaw. Behind him, Niall ducked beneath his arm, peering at whatever drew his stare.

“I’m such an idiot…” Kye groaned.

Niall cut his eyes up at him. “I’ve pointed this out many times,” he said, pushing past Kye. He went to his own possessions, rifled through them, and barked a triumphant laugh. “They took none of my things.”

Looking through his own and discovering nothing else missing, Kye said, “That’s because nothing else here is really all that valuable.”

“And that strange scimitar of yours is.”

Kye hesitated. But he answered firmly, “Yes.”

“Well that’s a shame, but it’s nothing to fret over. We can get you a new weapon.”

Surging to his feet, desperate frustration overtaking him, Kye inspected the nearby window – clearly how the thief had broken in – and shook his head. “I’m getting it back.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

Kye’s voice held more determination than it had during his entire stay in Illikon. “No. I’m getting it back, Niall. Tom Drake isn’t even here right now anyway – we don’t have a target.”

Niall threw his things down like a child having a tantrum. “Why do you care so much about that blasted sword? It’s another distraction! Is it pride? Is it because you’re too good to use an ordinary weapon like the rest of us?”

“This isn’t about pride,” Kye answered. His tone, for once, silenced his partner. “That ridiculous nobleman, Faro, couldn’t take his eyes off it. He even commented on it, indirectly or not. And he knew I wouldn’t have it with me for that stupid useless banquet… He must’ve hired somebody to steal it for him while we weren’t here.” Kye rubbed the long, metal claws of his left gauntlet together, though they made almost no sound when he did. Niall watched, one eye twitching; he knew only dark magic could silence metal so. “I’m going to Faro’s place.”

“You what?” Niall coughed a guttural laugh, which gurgled with phlegm. Kye grimaced at the sound. “You are mad. I considered us lucky that our target spends almost no time in his family’s distant castle, fortified as it must be – but we can scarcely get near the Drake manor here in Illikon, either. And now you want to break into a different one?”

“The Pelagius family isn’t quite as rich as the Drakes. We can do it.”

Niall paused and thought about that. His pensiveness lasted only a moment before he declared, “Alright, I’ll come.”

Kye snorted. “Yeah, I thought so. Take whatever you want while we’re there; I don’t care. I’m just getting my sword… but I also wanna know what some Illikon nobleman could possibly want with it. Or how he’d know anything about it.”

“Why would someone want it?”

If nothing else, Kye owed Niall that much. Reluctantly, he looked his partner in the face again. For once, Niall waited, not pressuring him. Kye took a deep breath before giving his honest answer.

“Because it wasn’t forged here by some mortal hammer and anvil. It was shaped in the Underworld by the ancient demon lord Akhoman, King of All Agonies, a fallen god… and he made it for me.”

Niall asked no more questions, nor did he protest. They set out that evening, shortly before the lanternarii would light every candle in the posts along the richer city streets. Kye hastened for the Monument District, where most of the nobility had their manors within Illikon’s city limits. Hopefully, Faro was still there and hadn’t already departed for whatever outlying land he or his family owned…

Following directions from a passer-by, Kye once again led the way. Niall trailed several feet behind, maintaining his distance. Kye didn’t bother keeping an eye on him, using the sound of his footfalls, quiet though they were, to know his partner was still with him.

Among the other beautiful homes in the Monument District, the Pelagius family manor appeared outright unassuming. Anyone of common blood living in such a spacious home would feel like a king, but compared to the estates of greater families, it looked like a simple, two-story building with only a handful of rooms. Kye wondered if they even had any servants… maybe one or two, at best.

As they neared, Kye nimbly leapt up onto one of the lampposts outside, swiping the candle from it with a reach of his long arm. He did the same with the next light. Niall watched him, perplexed, following when Kye slipped into a nearby alley.

“What are you doing?” demanded Niall, sounding as outraged as usual.

“Buying us a little extra time,” Kye replied, handing Niall the candles. He stuffed them into his sling-bag like a packrat.

An hour passed, then an hour and a half – and Kye watched a lanternarius arrive, lifting a flame on a pole toward the waiting candle in the lamppost, as he had for all the others. Finding no candle, however, he paused and sighed. He checked the next light before leaving. Newly lit lightposts now staved off the night, save for around the home of Faro Pelagius. Kye considered himself lucky this region of the city used candles instead of oil lamps. They wouldn’t have been so easy to remove.

“You’re smarter than I thought,” Niall scoffed.

“Thanks. I think?”

Kye, however, didn’t return to the main street. He carefully climbed a few feet up the side of the Pelagius home, finding handholds with his right and making sturdier ones with his left. Kye reached a window, tugging on the sill before deeming it safe and using it to hoist himself higher.

Crime in the Monument District of Illikon was nearly unheard of, but watchmen still patrolled here. Given the war close on the horizon, Kye hoped the night watch had their hands full with refugees and other assorted restlessness… but he heard voices and footsteps on the street, coming his way.

Niall hissed a warning up at him. Kye moved quickly.

Sliding the glass pane from its housing, Kye looked down at Niall, who waited below. He dropped the pane – and Niall caught it perfectly, gently propping it against the building. Kye tested the interior shutters but found them locked. Sliding the tip of a long claw between them, he easily pushed the latch out of place. It was hardly very sturdy, especially against his gauntlet.

He slid the shutters open, motioning down to Niall before slipping inside. A hall stretched before him, relatively undecorated; surprisingly so, for a noble family. Two more shuttered windows let in no light, and Kye waited a moment, his sensitive eyes quickly adjusting to the semidarkness. On his right was a closed door marked with a three-pronged trident, the favored holy symbol of Poseidon. Other ritual items lay around its base like some kind of shrine. Kye shivered, giving the door a wide berth.

Voices drifted from the stairwell at the far end of the hall behind him. They sounded increasingly agitated. Hopefully whatever was happening would distract the servants, if there were any…

Niall soon joined him, carefully sliding the window shut behind them. Only one door in the hall stood ajar. Kye approached it gingerly, peering through the crack and keeping his ears open. It seemed unoccupied, so he slowly entered the chamber.

He stepped into a fairly sizable room, a combination of a bedroom and study, with yet another shuttered window. An ajar door led to a small washroom, and there were other furniture and personal items, but Kye took an interest in the writing desk directly opposite of the door. He approached and glanced it over, eyes alighting on a pile of parchments – and something odder resting beside them.

It was like a soft sculpture. It resembled a cat, if crudely rendered. Unfamiliar with the specifics of mortal materials, Kye didn’t know what it was made of, but it was soft and fluffy, colored saffron – a yellow-gold; Kye always heard it likened to the orange fruits of Parsanshar – with red stripes sewn in, crafted from scraps of nobles’ colorful tunics. Frowning thoughtfully, Kye picked up the little crude plush cat, its face of black button eyes and a crookedly-sewn nose staring back at him. Something about it felt wrong, even sad, though Kye couldn’t place exactly why.

“What is that?” asked Niall in a harsh whisper, side-eying him.

“A child’s toy, I guess,” Kye replied quietly. “But Faro said he didn’t have any offspring. Maybe someone else in the house does.”

Niall went to the writing desk, pawing through a few parchments. “Or maybe not. This does seem to be his room, judging by the address on the letters.” He paused. “Nyx’s mercy.”

“What?”

Picking up the letter, Niall said, “I needn’t know much of nobility trying to write in code to decipher this. They’re talking about kidnappings. Trafficking. Or attempted ones, at least. I knew a smuggler once who used the same language to discuss cases with his clients. He worked with the Trade Guild. By that I mean, the Trade Guild. Imperials should perhaps vary their methods…”

“Kidnapping? For what?”

“Whoever Faro is corresponding with, he mentions needing an artifact of great power.”

Kye scowled. “Fang…”

“What?”

“My sword.”

“Your sword has a name? And it’s named ‘Fang?’”

Hesitantly, Kye answered, “That’s what I called it. I’m not saying its real name, not in this world, and not so near those holy symbols outside.”

Niall grunted, dropping the parchment and looking elsewhere. Kye, meanwhile, stuffed the plush animal in his belt. It looked ridiculous, carried at his hip where he generally kept his shamshir. Niall blinked at him in disbelief.

“You cannot be serious,” he said. “What’s your interest in that thing?”

“I don’t know yet, it just bothers me,” Kye answered. “But I know it can’t belong to Faro. If they kidnapped somebody, it probably belongs to someone else’s child, so I don’t like it being here.”

“Now you’re going to concern yourself with children or the imagined feelings of toys? Are you a child, yourself?”

“I wasn’t born in this world of color and pretty little animals and growing things like you were,” Kye retorted, throwing out his gauntleted hand. “It’s not my fault you take all this for granted.”

“Take what for granted?” asked Niall, not looking at him. He paid more heed to a thick, old tome bound in black leather he found beneath the pillow of Faro’s bed, which he of course was busy ransacking. He cracked the book open before adding, “Silly little toys of cats? Yes, I’m so thankful for those.”

“Nevermind,” Kye muttered, picking up a parchment set out on the writing desk like something recently penned.

“Your fascination with this realm is very amusing, Kye, but you must leave it behind at some point and focus on your…” his voice drifted, “work…” He suddenly looked up at Kye again, holding aloft the dark tome. “Is this what you really look like?”

Kye’s nerves shattered. He wheeled and saw Niall presenting an illumination of Akhoman, the most ancient of all demon lords. It was a crude and speculative depiction, yet it was near enough to the truth that it made Kye blanch. Two large arms and two smaller arms, all bearing three clawed fingers… four horns, great spreading wings, a long tail ending in a spearhead, and they even roughly captured his toothy, fanged head, which mortals likened to a canine skull—

“This face… it nearly reminds me of an illumination I saw once – of a werewolf. But this is a demon,” Niall added. His voice dripped with fear. His eyes avoided Kye’s own. “I’ve never heard of such things.”

“And I’ve never seen a werewolf,” Kye answered, terse. “I don’t know a lot about them.”

“You don’t want to. Trust me. I never have seen one either, or I assume I’d be dead, from the stories I’ve heard. They wear the guises of men… also not unlike you.”

Kye’s nostrils flared. Niall didn’t see it.

“Though those beasts must shed their false skins under the moon’s light, and you—”

Lunging, Kye slammed the book shut on Niall’s fingers. Niall hissed and swore.

“Okay,” said Kye acidly, “that’s enough about your scary mortal fairytales. I don’t have anything to do with the werewolf curse, neither does Akhoman, and what Akhoman might or might not look like isn’t any of your concern. Let’s focus. Like why does Faro have a tome about demons? Imperials don’t exactly copy those.”

With a snort, Niall muttered, “Saying we need to focus is rich coming from you, particularly with that silly toy in your belt.”

Kye read the parchment in his hand, not listening. It too was a letter, and it spoke of something called a thalamegos. The thing he’d kept hearing about at the party… The great ship.

“What even is a thalamegos?” asked Kye.

“A pleasure barge, essentially. Like that one anchored off the coast of Illikon as we speak, the one people at the banquet couldn’t shut up about. They are impossibly expensive and difficult to manage. It’s so large it can’t dock here in the city. Why? Does Faro own it? I thought most or all of them were from the Heartland and Kemhet. Gods, that lying miser must be richer than a dragon…”

Kye didn’t point out the envy in Niall’s voice. “Yeah, well, we need to get to it somehow. Faro is headed there tonight – he must’ve already left. He wrote he has ‘the artifact,’ and that—”

The letter ended mid-hand. Realization pulled Kye’s shoulders taut.

He suddenly grabbed Niall with his enormous left gauntlet, dragging his partner to the nearby washroom door. Niall struggled in protest, spitting some choice swears, but he couldn’t escape Kye’s grip. Kye shoved Niall inside and then squeezed in after him, pushing the door almost entirely shut. The washroom was even smaller than Kye thought at first glance. Small spaces irritated him, and Niall being there made it so much worse.

“Why in Hades are we hiding in a private lavatorium like a pair of weeping women?” Niall snapped, shoving up uncomfortably close beside him and peering out at the empty bedroom.

“Faro didn’t finish his letter,” Kye answered, keeping his voice low. “Somebody interrupted him but he didn’t even put it away, so he left in a hurry. I’m pretty sure somebody’s looking for him, and I bet they’re the ones downstairs right now. I’m surprised they didn’t already walk in on us…”

Niall snorted again. “So, we’ll kill them.”

“What’d I say about not leaving a trail of bodies?”

“Indeed, too late; you already started it.”

“Nobody found him, and I didn’t mean to do it,” Kye hissed defensively.

“Shush,” Niall ordered. Kye angrily snapped his jaws shut. Niall was right – footsteps approached from the hall outside, bringing voices with them.

“…the day the Empire even suspects its own and its allies,” an accented voice finished in a biting tone.

“I needn’t explain myself to you,” replied a man with a voice like stone. Kye thought he recognized it.

“You certainly haven’t. Your accusations are ridiculous, and what you are doing is outside the jurisdiction of your order.”

The door to Faro’s room swung open. In stepped a lavishly-dressed man from Kemhet, one Kye had seen at the banquet. He wore a deep scowl, his pale eyes darting over the room and its contents in a hurry, as though wondering what he should put away. And the holy knight, also from the banquet, followed him.

Kye’s throat tightened.

“You and Faro may take that up with the master of my chapter,” said the Knight Templar.

The Kemheti barked a laugh. “And where is that? All the way in Caltha, or do you have no chapter that far north, either? Vyzigord, perhaps, or did that Duke run you out in favor of his own order? I know you knights enjoy butting heads.”

“You ask many questions I will not answer. Each word you speak, however, tells me more of your guilt.”

The Kemheti sneered, but Kye noted the way he went to the writing desk and backed into it, hands behind him. His wandering fingers deftly found the unfinished letter, without looking, and stuffed it into the backside of his garments. Niall exhaled a scarcely suppressed, nasally laugh. Feeling Niall’s breath, confined as they were, made Kye wonder if he could simply tear down the walls for immediate escape.

“And why do you assume I’m guilty?” asked the Kemheti. “Why do you assume Faro, a prestigious noble, uncle of a boy who was fated to become a knight of Illikon, is also guilty? You realize that of which you accuse him is the same thing that killed his own nephew – cut him down in his squirehood.”

“I am aware,” the Templar answered, his steely gaze scanning the room. “That is precisely what might fascinate him into such crimes.”

“Madness,” the Kemheti declared. “I remind you again that such darkness killed young Radek. Why would that lead a man to fascination?”

But the knight didn’t respond. He didn’t move. His eyes were locked directly on the door to the washroom. Kye’s heart pumped ice.

The Knight Templar saw them.

“Go— go, go!” Kye nearly shouted, shoving Niall out the door. He staggered from the washroom face-first, catching himself and darting for the exit. Kye went on his heels, straight into the hall, not looking back.

“Thieves!” cried the Kemheti man. “After them!”

“They are no common thieves,” Kye heard the knight say, his words accentuated by the ring of steel leaving its sheath— “There is too great an evil about them.”

“Niall, run faster!” Kye urged, voice cracking from terror. Niall took the approaching corner first, barreling at such speed he grabbed the wall and spun around it to make the turn. Kye did the same, the claws of his gauntlet leaving ruts in the wood. They faced yet another hall – but it opened at the far end into a staircase leading down. The exit.

“Run where!?” Niall barked back. “You were too incompetent to plan an escape!”

“That guy’s a knight, I bet he had a horse – we’ll take that, now go!”

“Both of us on one horse!?”

“Ahriman’s breath, who cares, just keep running!”

Footsteps thundered close behind, the loud pounding of the knight’s boots. A chill ran up Kye’s neck, but he dared not risk looking back. He passed a stand holding a bust – and reached out, digging his claws in, knocking it to the floor in his wake. An even louder crash followed when the knight tripped over it.

They neared the exit— Niall took off down the stairs while Kye leapt and cleared both railing and banister, landing heavily but gracefully. Niall skidded to a stop scarcely before crashing into him, and Kye threw himself out the front door.

Cold night air hit him in the face. Still the two candleposts outside the manor remained unlit, giving them the advantage of darkness. A horse hitched nearby whinnied at the sight of them, while another steed beside it remained calmer. But two horses meant…

Two knights.

Something swung at Niall’s skull. He ducked narrowly in time. The mace’s head grazed Kye’s left arm instead, scraping his segmented armor there.

Immediately, Kye drew a dagger from the belt over his chest and lunged at the second Knight Templar. The bodkin point drove neatly through the knight’s tabard and mail shirt, piercing his chest. Kye wrenched the dagger back out, kicking the knight away at the same time, and pulled free from his reach.

Hooves beat against cobblestone. Niall was already gone, his horse galloping down the street. Kye made for the remaining steed and leapt onto its back – it snorted, trying to throw him. He didn’t let it, ripping away the line hitched around the lightpost and turning the horse even as it twisted and bucked. With a firm hand on its neck, it suddenly obeyed his command and galloped instead. Buildings and streets whipped past them.

“My horse!” bellowed the first holy knight, his voice fading as Kye rapidly left them behind. “He stole my horse!”

Imperials and their horses— Kye refocused. The horse ran flat out, its breath little more than hard grunting in its chest. He was terrifying the poor beast; he knew that. His metal claws splayed on its neck, points digging gingerly into its hide, made it feel fear born from another realm. Because of this, it followed his command. Kye hated doing it. He liked animals, despite how they didn’t at all like him.

Once he felt sure he’d left the knights behind, he slowed the steed and leapt off its back, making immediately for the nearest building. He climbed with the speed and grace of a frightened cat running up a tree. Surveying the streets, he found no pursuers immediately on his trail.

The Templars would surely raise an alarm, however, even without more of their own number in the city. That gave him less time and less freedom to move around Illikon… but at least no one had seen the truth about him. Kye was still merely a criminal to them – a household thief, nothing more, and unworthy of a Templar hunt. Maybe they even believed he was some agent of Faro’s. Kye didn’t care.

But the knight sensing something evil bothered him. There was no way for a mortal to know the truth about him when he was disguised. No ‘sense’ lent them such power.

Kye made his way over the rooftop, descending into the next alley and walking the streets. He needed to reach the docks and find Niall. Hopefully, he wasn’t too far ahead. And hopefully, he went there at all. Even if he hadn’t, Kye would board the thalamegos alone. He only hoped Tom Drake would return soon after, so they could formulate a final plan and take him out. But, more than that, Kye hoped the Silent Messengers wouldn’t punish him for taking so long assassinating his target…

And that he could recover his sword before it was too late.