The soft-footed assassins clambered the cobbled villa wall and tore across the trellises into the manicured gardens below. With a practices ease, a soft click, and the light hum of the crossbow string, a quarrel sped from atop the villa tower and into the first of the four assassins. The attacker crumpled under the impact and the three others turned their heads up to face their assailant, surprised but unperturbed. The three remaining assassins separated as the alarm sounded. The guards, each one selected for their skills and valor were already vigilant, but also overconfident. This was the sixth assassination attempt this season and the soldiers were well-versed in dealing with the usual miscreants and local thieves contracted to attempt the killing. This time, however, they would find their adversaries of a higher caliber. Rushing out into the garden, eight soldiers in heavy leathers and fine curved bronze tulwar blades marched out to meet their quarries. The assassins moved like extensions of the long afternoon shadows that crept across the gardens. They were upon the villa guards only moments after they appeared.

Rolena looked down over the edge of the belfry tower, crossbow at the ready, and took another shot. The quarrel missed its target as the assassin dodged skillfully. Now that the attackers knew she was there, there was little chance she’d hit a second target, especially as they engaged the soldiers below. Confidence shifted to genuine concern as the first, then second and third soldiers were cut down by just one of three assassins in the garden. In the span of a few short breaths, all eight lay dead or dying. Shit, Rolena thought to herself, conflicted over the act of leaving her post. Unable to squash the growing unease as the assassins slipped into the building below, Rolena slipped the crossbow onto her back and descended the ladder.

Inside the Lord Anup’s capital estate, six former lords and princes of Gaag sat around a table debating what action to take next to put Prince Ohacha Krimas of Gaag back on his rightful ancestral throne as King of Gaag. A wine glass smashed loudly on the stone wall as red liquid blossomed into a stain across the cool stone. The men around the table turned to face Lord Guharo Provis as rage warred across his face.

“This is nonsense, Aramuk” the disgraced lord spat. “I am tired of going around in circles. We have been sitting here in this room for months. The boy wants to mount a new attack, you say no. The boy wants to sail to Ayagiim to retake his mother’s ancestral throne, you say no. The boy wants to sail to Juking to march an army north, you say no. Is he to be King, or are you?”

Ohacha Krimas pursed his lips, not keen on being referred to as ‘the boy.’ Lord Yoliim Kulimas, never one to veer far from Aramuk’s opinions, turned to the disgraced prince looking for a rebuttal. Ander Kulimas, Yoliim’s son, scoffed at the wine that now splattered his face. Aramuk stood abruptly with the sound of scraping wood across the stone floor. He palmed his hands on the table and leaned over to address the group.

“I will not have us follow through on any of these actions without properly considering their purposes, strengths, and weaknesses. You might be too drunk to remember our previous discussions right now but we are not in any position to follow through on any of the plans Ohacha has suggested. He is still young and it is important that we understand that actions have consequences, both foreseen and unseen. His ideas are worthy of discussion, but not yet worthy of action. We don’t have the armies to take Gaag and even if we did, the Careyago would march straight south from Ayaan to see our heads on lances. We can’t take Ayagiim because the island is too close to the Careyago navy in Hosagiin. Juking doesn’t have the population to raise an army and we don’t have the ships to sail it north to Gaag leaving us with an impossible two-hundred league march north. We go in circles because we haven’t found our best move.”

“Sit down Provis” Gaba’ké said. “You’ve always been quick to judge and slow to contribute.”

“I swear on the spirits of the seas old man” Provis sneered.

“You couldn’t sense a sea spirit if it swam in your soup” Gaba’ké mocked.  

“Enough!” Ohacha said, silencing the room. Provis glared at the old Aginjigaade but Gaba’ké ignored the drunk lord. Aramuk smiled at his nephew. “Uncle, you are correct that my plans have faults but Lord Provis also speaks truth. We cannot sit here forever.”

“Agreed” Lord Kulimas echoed. “My spies back home tell me Belvaas the younger now rules in place of his father. This could be… good timing for us…. Belvaas’ son is untested, and perhaps weaker than his father, your brother…” He trailed off as Aramuk walked over to the wooden doorway and opened it to shout at a servant to come clean the mess on the wall. The men watched the old prince as he resumed his seat at the table, Lord Provis following suit.

“Where else can we find allies to our cause?” Ander asked the group. “There must be another option?”

On the far side of the estate, the three assassins moved through the labyrinth of rooms, avoiding the soldiers obstructing their path whenever possible. Death followed in their wake. Turning into a new room, the first assassin moved with knives in hand to meet the next guard standing in the way. The soldier, a burly woman, drew her bronze tulwar and slashed towards her attacker only to have the assassin’s long thin blade slip under and up into her unprotected armpit while the second knife found the base of her neck. She gasped one last silent breath as the assassin pulled the blades out with a slashing motion, opening the wounds and guaranteeing a swift death. She collapsed.

Rolena ran through the many rooms following the sounds of shouting and fighting, trying desperately to find the assassins inside the estate. Shouting echoed through each and every hallway. Turning through a doorway at full speed, she ran hard into Cask, the Gaagian sword master. She fell with a heavy thud and the swordsman’s blade was at her throat. He pulled the thin blade away from with a lightning-fast efficiency.

“Spirits” he sighed, “I almost skewered you, Rolena.”

“And I’m happy you didn’t.” she answered, picking herself up off the ground.

“Why aren’t you at your post?” Cask asked.

“Why the fuck do you think?” She answered, already beginning her run down the hallway.

“Fair point. What’s happening?” he asked, following at her heel.

“At least three assassins inside” she huffed. “I already killed one from the tower. They’re highly skilled. Very deadly. Just two of the three Lord Anup’s eight heavies in a handful of seconds.”

“Then why are you charging in first?” Cask asked.

“Good point” she said, letting the swordsman pass her.

At the end of the long room, a body tumbled backwards with a gut-wrenching crack as the soldier’s head hit the stone floor. Hearing the terrible sound, Rolena was concerned for the man’s skull right up until she saw the knife embedded in his throat. He gargled one last breath as two assassins appeared in the doorway. Cask approached at high speed. Rolena drew her crossbow from her back with practiced ease and pulled the latch, launching the quarrel directly at the first assailant. To her dismay, the assassin dodged the projectile. The second assassin, seeing the path blocked, turned away to find another path and disappeared out of sight.

Cask came to a stop just steps away from the assassin and his attacker leaped with incredible agility. Cask lifted his sword and parried a throwing knife Rolena hadn’t even seen thrown. The swordsman seemed to glide backwards like a spirit, never letting the knife-wielding assassin close enough to reach him as his swords danced in reaction to the assassin’s movements. With a surprising jolt, Cask reversed his movement to step into and around the assassin with a defining swing of his swords. The attacker’s body slumped, hitting the hard ground and sliding to Rolena’s feet. She jumped back, expecting the assassin to press the attack.

Cask didn’t even look back as he ran to chase after the second assassin. Rolena exchanged her crossbow for the short sword on her hip and approached, not quite believing the assassin to be dead. She flipped the body and saw the deep cuts that marred the attacker’s torso and legs and the long bisecting gash that had ended the contest. I would have thought it impossible, Rolena thought, standing over the body. Cask managed to cut him each time he pressed the attack. The speed of the exchange chilled her. Absolutely terrifying. Collecting her wits, Rolena set off after Cask. Two assassins down, two to go.

On the other side of the mansion, the remaining lords of Gaag sat in comfort entirely unaware of the chaos in the gardens. They heard no alarm bells tolling danger.

“Where the hell are the servants?” Lord Provis asked, interrupting lord Kulimas for the second time. Lord Kulimas glowered at his counterpart but found his look ignored.

“Actually, you raise a valid concern Guharo” Prince Aramuk agreed. “It does not usually take this long for someone to appear. Guharo, can you find somebody? I’m keen on eating soon. Perhaps they’re ready to bring food to the table for us.”

“Spirits, no. Not me.” Lord Provis responded. “Ander, you go, boy.”

“Ander is not your servant, Guharo” Lord Kulimas protested.

“It’s alright, father” Ander said calmly. “I can go.”

“No” Prince Ohacha said, standing up and stretching his limbs. “You all stay. I’ll go. I need to visit the latrine anyway. I’ll fetch upon the cooks before I return.”

Ohacha walked around the table, avoiding the wine still pooling on the floor and stepped out of the room into the wide hallway beyond. Stepping into the large hall that dominated the western wing of the villa, Ohacha peered around at the strangely quiet and vacant space. Lord Provis is right. Where are all the servants? he wondered. The hall outside their conference room was large with tall square marble pillars lining the length of the room. Overhead chandeliers boasted the soft glow of illum stones, rather than wax candles, hinting at their benefactor’s great wealth and generosity. The fact that this palace overlooking the sea was only his city home spoke wonders to his influence in the city. He’s not even King of Onera.

Ohacha turned left and made his way down the long hall towards the western garden. His soft slippers slapped his heels and echoed oddly on the polished floors. Ohacha furrowed his brow, unsure what to make of it. As he exited the hallway into the warm evening, the oddity ceased and so to did Ohacha’s thoughts on the matter. At the same moment, a figure appeared from the opposite door and sped towards the conference room where the five lords sat.

Gaba’ké sat up in his chair abruptly. “Shut up!” He barked, then closed his eyes and focused into his agindan sense; the sense gifted to the Aginjigaade. It was something only he could do among these lords, and it was one of the many reasons he had earned a seat at this table.

“Here we go again” Lord Provis groaned. “Old man Gaba’ké always thinks–”

“Stop talking” Gaba’ké hissed, trying to focus. Something is wrong.

“Why?” Lord Provis hissed back, his intoxication fueling his less agreeable side. “You’ve always thought yourself better than us Gaba’ké. Maybe because of your skills as an Aginjigaade or because you’re Ayaani, an outsider. You are…”

“Stop talking, Guharo” Prince Aramuk warned sharply, speaking over the drunk lord.

“But I think that you think you’re better than us because of your friendship with the old King Zhiigan. You’re the last of King Zhiigan’s old guard. The only son who didn’t betray him.”

“Enough, Guharo” Aramuk warned again, adding his own anger to the order.

Gaba’ké burst from his seat, reaching for spiritual power. The unnatural musty-earthy smell of Aginjigaade sorcery filled the small room and tinged their nostrils. Aramuk stared in wide-eyed shock at the old Aginjigaade, unable to comprehend what Gaba’ké was about to do. Spirits, Guharo has finally gone and brought forth the old man’s wrath. Instead of unleashing his sorcery on the drunk lord, Gaba’ké turned towards the door as a figure burst through it. The four other men at the table stood in shock as one of Lord Kulimas’ officers swept through the doorway, sweat pursing his brow.

“My lords” the man said through ragged breaths, “There are assassins in the building. They have killed many of Anup’s guards and are on their way here now! I have men guarding the rooms leading this way and Captain Hill has soldiers bolstering the gardens. I fear it may not be enough.”

Prince Aramuk stared back in silent shock. He looked to the other men in the room, but they too seemed unable to process this new information. ‘I fear it may not be enough?’ What calamity is upon us? Lord Kulimas had risen, but remained still, obviously unsure of what to do or where to go. No assassin had ever made it far into the building. This is impossible, Aramuk repeated to himself. Lord Anup’s villa is a fortress. Walls and soldiers and battlements. Gaba’ké didn’t wait for the others. The Aginjigaade sorcerer swept out of the room. The earthy smell chased him out the door. The four lords scrambled from their seats and followed him into the hallway, feeling safer next to the old Aginjigaade than without him.

Gaba’ké had been pivotal in ensuring the old King and his royal family escaped safely the night of the great betrayal. He had never waivered in his support of King Golan, and now Golan’s only son, Prince Ohacha. Aramuk trusted the sorcerer wholeheartedly, no matter what nonsense Guharo spouted. Ander pulled his dueling sword from his side and helped Gaba’ké vigilantly take point. Good thing the lad keeps the thing on him, Aramuk thought to himself. He felt vulnerable without a weapon of his own. Not that such a thing would be much use in my unskilled hands.

“I can sense something” Gaba’ké said “through the stone.”

“Where are they?” Lord Provis asked. “How many are there?”

“I have half a mind to leave you behind Guharo” Gaba’ké snapped. “I can’t tell how many there are. There are echoes of footsteps throughout the eastern wing. Its impossible for me to know who is friendly and who’s an enemy.”

“Spirits” Aramuk said, realization dawning on him. “Where is Ohacha?”

“Don’t worry about him” Gaba’ké said. “Nothing we can do now will help him.”

“I can go after him!” Ander said.

“No.” Gaba’ké said. “Protect your father and Prince Aramuk”

“What about me?” Lord Provis beseeched.

“You can protect them too” Gaba’ké answered and the drunk lord scowled.

A loud smash sounded from the eastern wall and on the opposite side of the great hallway. A pair of Kulimas’ soldiers backed into the room with a sword wielding assassin giving chase. The two guards fought together, both defending and attacking with the support of the other while the attacker maintained his push into the hallway. The killer’s gaze shifted as he saw the noblemen recoiling on the far side of the room. A chill ran down Aramuk’s spine.

Feigning an attack, the assassin lunged left and slashed at the hand of the closer soldier, loping it off at the wrist. The man screamed in shock and pain and retreated while the second soldier took the first’s place with a fleury of new attacks. Backing out of range and parrying the blows, the assassin lunged for a second strike to match the first that had claimed the hand. The soldier, ready for the attack pulled back only to discover the lunge had also been a faint to draw the retreat. The assassin dodged past the soldier and made a break towards Gaba’ké and the Gaagian Lords.

“Run!” Gaba’ké shouted as he drew forth power. He channeled his power through one of the talismans in his pocket. Several stone missiles shot forward from the marble floor at high-speed. The assassin dove into a slide, narrowly avoiding the bullets. They whizzed past, exploding on impact.

The assassin continued to press the assault, crossing the hall in mere seconds. Gaba’ké changed talismans and channeled through a new spirit. His skin hardened to a lustrous shine, strengthening his body. The shift between channeled spirits was near instantaneous, the mark of a master. It also came just-in-time as the assassin’s thrown knife took him square in the chest. Instead of sinking into flesh, the knife bounced harmlessly off his hardened skin.

To Gaba’ké’s dismay, a figure darted forward to intercept the assassin. Gaba’ké watched as Lord Kulimas’ son, Ander rushed forward, dueling blade drawn, intent on facing the assassin head-on. Oh, Spirits. No! Don’t– was all he had time to think. For in that same moment, the assassin dodged the precise thrust of Ander’s dueling blade with inhuman agility. The assassin’s own blade slashed downwards, taking the young lord’s head in a single swing. There was no falter, no celebration in defeating an opponent. The assassin pressed his advantage even before Ander’s body could hit the cold marble floor. The blade flashed, faster than Gaba’ké felt possible. The sword glanced off of his hardened body with an unnatural singing of metal on stone.

The assassin lurched back, staggered by the blade’s refusal to bite into its enemy’s neck. More strikes followed as another slash cut along Gaba’ké’s chest and another across his exposed thigh. The clothing Gaba’ké wore was splayed wide and the blade scratched at his harden skin, but Gaba’ké remained standing. He thrust outward with a hardened fist but was far too slow to catch the nimble attacker. Recognizing the effort to be futile, the assassin feinted a decisive blow to the eyes; an Aginjigaade enhancers largest weak point. Gaba’ké reflexively raised his arms to protect against an attack that never came and the assassin slipped past the old sorcerer and straight for the Gaagian captain and the exiled lords behind him.

Aramuk watched, dazed, as the assassin easily slew Ander and then bypassed Gaba’ké on his way towards them; on its way towards him. It moved with inhuman speed, like a vengeful spirit straight out of the ghost stories mothers told their children. Everything happened so fast. Yet it felt like he waited patiently; a forsaken prince and his inevitable death.

The assassin cut down the Lord Kulimas’s captain as if he were a child wielding a stick and not a renowned swordsman. Lord Provis, who had remained frozen in fear, finally turned to flee. Aramuk reflected later that it was the wine in the end that had done him in. Lord Provis slipped and slammed his face hard on the polished marble floor. Teeth broken, the loud lord clambered to his knees only for the assassin to unleash another vindictive swing of the blood-stained sword, severing the drunk lord’s head from his body.

“Its not possible,” Aramuk stammered. “No man wields this much speed and strength.”

Gaba’ké ran to catch the assassin but had yielded too much distance in protecting himself. Prince Aramuk Krimas watched in horror as he became the assassin’s next target. He closed his eyes, knowing there was no chance for escape. He turned his face, wincing at the anticipation of his own death. Pain blossomed from the arm he brought to shield his face but less pain than he anticipated would accompany death.

The prince opened his eyes a few heartbeats later, fear and shock immobilizing him. His heart beat hard inside his chest. Something warm trickled down his thighs. Pain emanated from his arm and he turned it over slowly to see dark red blood leak from a wound he didn’t remember receiving.

Gaba’ké grabbed him by the shoulders and spoke to him. At him. Aramuk stared back but heard nothing. Comprehended nothing. He looked down. There, on the marble floor, was the assassin and the bloody sword that had killed so many. So many in such a short span. He backed away, still terrified. His legs buckled, but Gaba’ké held him upright. He looked back down at the dead assassin.

That was when he saw the object that protruded from the back of his attacker’s skull. Blood and brain matter had splattered across the cold floor, staining the prince’s soft slippers. He looked up to meet Gaba’ké’s gaze again. Gaba’ké was shouting across the room and Aramuk followed his old friend’s gaze. On the other side of the room stood Rolena, panting, crossbow in hand.  

“He’s alive” Gaba’ké shouted. It was the first thing Aramuk processed as his mind returned to him. Gaba’ké smacked him softly across the cheek and Aramuk recoiled. An odd unnatural floral scent caught him by nostrils and Aramuk recoiled. Combined with the smell of blood and the acidic smell of liquid running down his legs, Aramuk vomited.

“Aye” Gaba’ké said. “This one was an Aginjigaade. By the way he moved and the smell of the sorcery, an enhancer for certain. Vitality aspected. I’ve never seen a person move that fast.”

“The others moved at the same speed” Rolena said, still catching her breath. Aramuk noticed that a new quarrel already sat primed in the groove. The strong zesty smell of sorcery seemed to envelop the dead assassin and Rolena winced at the stench. “Son of a bitch” she said, bringing her fingers to her nose, “the others didn’t smell like this one.”

“If they were all that fast, we can only hope now that this one is dead, the others won’t be as monstrous” Gaba’ké said. “I don’t know how quick it will wear off. It might be immediate, or it might be a slow return to normal strength and speed.”

“Where’s Ohacha?” Rolena said, glancing around.

“We don’t know” Gaba’ké answered. “Where’s Cask? I thought he’d be with you.”

“I don’t know” Rolena answered. “We got separated” she added with worry.

“How many were there?” Aramuk asked. It was the first thing he had said. Both Gaba’ké and Rolena looked to him for the first time. There was pain and anger in Aramuk’s eyes.

“Four climbed the eastern wall of the garden” Rolena answered. “I killed one in the garden. Cask killed another in the east wing. And…” she gestured down to the body on the floor between them. “unless more came in a different way, there should be one left.”

Gaba’ké watched as Lord Kulimas held the headless body of his son. Blood stained his robes. Heavy sobs suffocated his cries and breaths. “Then we need to find the last one before we’re cradling any more slain comrades. We need to find Ohacha and Cask right now!”

After relieving himself at the latrine, Ohacha walked at a leisurely pace back towards Lord Anup’s villa. The thin line of day teased its final goodbye over the horizon as darkness filled the sky above. The evening air was comfortable and warm. The day had lost its overbearing heat. Large bats whizzed through the air above chasing the insects that circled around the stone lamps that glowed in the night. The air smelled like the sea, algal and crisp. It wafted up the cliffs alongside the sound of breaking waves. Other sounds permeated the night, but they were muffled and unrecognizable.

Alone in the gardens, Ohacha spotted a group of spirits and stopped to watch the mysterious creatures. In his home, Gaag, glimpsing spirits is considered a good omen. Ohacha enjoyed their unique beauty and freedom. It was rare to see spirits around people. They were known to vanish before your eyes when approached. Ohacha wished for the agindan ability sometimes. Seeing spirits, even after they disappeared. He could only imagine what the world might look like. But more than that, he reveled in knowing that spirits were the vessels through which Aginjigaade sorcerers channeled their power. If he had that power, anything might be possible.

There were four, but as Ohacha looked closer, he realized the four were in fact six. Each one was the size of a fist. Their bodies were corporeal, but as if made from nature. One hung from a tree-branch, its body like moss. Another blended into the tree with a body made of bark. Another looked as if made from stone, while two more looked as if they were balls of grass. The last one looked like the burst of a flower bud. Each one had beady onyx eyes. Older and more powerful spirits are rumoured to grown even larger and take more animalistic shapes. Legends even tell of spirits with sentience that speak the human tongues and devour humans. Ohacha didn’t believe the stories. He had seen horrors. Fantastical tales no longer frightened him.  

A grumble from his stomach reminded Ohacha of his purpose. Food. He turned away from the garden, leavings the spirits and the bats and the sunsets and made his way back towards Lord Anup’s palace. He reached the marble steps to the estate and felt an uncomfortable pop in his ears. The sounds of the sea abruptly disappeared and the muffled noises he thought he was imagining became clear as screams and shouts and bells. The shift in soundscapes was jarring and Ohacha recoiled at the unexpected noise, backstepping. The pressure once again changed and the unnatural sounds of alarm disappeared, replaced with the calm sounds of the sea below and the whizzing of bats.

Confused, Ohacha stepped forward again and the soundscape returned to chaos. He crept forward to the door and stared down the long corridor at a figure standing atop a dead body. Ohacha’s heart lurched and he froze in place, hoping the figure hadn’t heard him approach.

The figure turned its head and revealed only a pair of dark eyes that locked on him. Ohacha took a step back and the killer turned and rushed towards him. A second body appeared between Ohacha and the intruder. Even without seeing the newcomers face, Ohacha recognized Cask by his posture and stance. The attacker slowed to a halt until they stood just a few paces opposite.

Cask stood, both swords in hand. Ohacha rarely saw the sword master draw both of his famed blades. The two figures stood, each poised and ready to spring, neither willing to make the first move. Cask stood composed with his twin blades, while the assassin stood twirling it long knives with practised ease.

The seconds dragged on for an uncomfortable amount of time. Ohacha considered whether he should use the opportunity to flee. Am I safer here with Cask? Or am I safer trying to escape? Without warning and with the jolting speed of an arrow released, the assassin launched down the tight corridor and covered the distance between them. The hard ringing of metal pierced Ohacha’s ears and he flinched away from the sudden noise. Looking back up, Cask stood over the dead assassin. He wiped clean and then sheathed his swords. He turned to face Ohacha and even in the dim light, Ohacha could see the blood running down the swordsman’s neck where the killer’s knife had cut him.

With a strange convergence of pressure, the two worlds of sound collided again into one. The panic and the sea. The shouts and the buzzing insects. Cask let out a heavy sigh and collapsed in the hallway next to his fallen foe. He moved to wipe the blood from the shallow gash on his neck. Instead of the intended effect, he smeared blood across his brown skin. Ohacha approached slowly and the pungent, almost stormy smell of sorcery filled his nose.

Cask looked up at him after staring at his bloody hand, “It’s a miracle I found you in time.”

“Are you okay?” Ohacha stammered, unsure of what else to say.

“I’ll be just fine” the swordsman answered. “Spirits, I am tired though.”

“Who was that?” Ohacha asked.

“An Aginjigaade assassin,” Cask answered through ragged breaths. “A gift your cousin sent you, I’d wager. It’s got Bartiin written all over it too. I hope somebody else caught that last one. I’ll lose if I have to face another one.”

“There were more than just him?” Ohacha asked.

“Him was a her” Cask said, pulled away the face covering to reveal a woman’s face. She had foreign features. Careyago? Ohacha didn’t recognise them nor her bronze coloured skin. Her face was angular and, in any other context might have been beautiful. “She was one hell of an Aginjigaade” Cask added.

“She was a sound Aginjigaade?” Ohacha asked. “I’ve never encountered one before.”

“And I hope you never encounter another like her” he added. “There was an enhancer too. All of them were enhanced. Damned fast and super deadly. Belvaas has sent his fare share of assassins but never at this caliber.”

“Mada’abi Stone Assassins?” Ohacha asked, curious about the legends.

“No,” Cask breathed more than said. “These ones are Careyago. The face…” he added pausing, “not the right face for a Mada’abi. Not Cayanoshi, but one of the other conquered territories, like Gaag.”

The sound of boots on stone echoed down the hallway and both Cask and Ohacha looked to see Rolena turn the corner, crossbow at the ready. Ohacha hadn’t even seen Cask draw his swords and yet his master had found a moment to draw them in a flash. Rolena lowered her crossbow and walked to close the distance between them. “Thank the spirits you two are alright” she said, approaching.

“You get the last one?” Cask groaned out as he stood back up.

Her expression drained at the question. “I did…” she answered, hesitated, then added “but I wasn’t fast enough. Lord Ander and Lord Provis are both dead. Ohacha, your uncle was injured in the fighting but he’ll be fine. He’s just a little rattled. Lord Kulimas, on the other hand, is devastated. He’s taking it poorly. You both know how much he adored Ander.”

“Ander was a gifted pupil. He was far too young for this fate” Cask said somberly, “and Lord Provis was a loyal friend to the true crown. They both deserved better than to die in a foreign land far from home.”

“And Gaba’ké?” Ohacha asked.

“He’s unharmed but very distraught. The assassin managed to get past him” she said. “He blames himself for their deaths. Cask, you know him best. Talk some sense into him lest that foolish idea linger on and fester into something destructive.”

“He’s being too hard on himself like usual” Cask said. “These were Aginjigaade, all trained assassins and physically enhanced to make them more deadly. By all accounts, we should all be dead. It’s a miracle we’re not.”

“Let’s go find your uncle, Ohacha” Rolena said. “We’ve lost a lot of men and Lord Anup has lost half his guard.”

“To just four assassins?” Ohacha said, still not quite believing it.

“Three” Rolena corrected. “I took one down in the garden before it all began.”

“If that forth one was also an Aginjigaade, who knows what our fate might have been. The advantages they held might have compounded. These weren’t just any assassins” Cask added. “I’d wager they’re the ones the emperor sends to topple hegemons.

The three of them rushed back to the grand hall. Soldiers and servants were congregating and tending to the wounded. Tensions in the room remained high. Doorways were barricaded. Soldiers dawning shields flanked key choke-points into the room. In the center, Aramuk stood amongst a host of the surviving officers, barking orders. The mood was grave.

Ohacha, Aramuk, and Rolena were admitted and met Aramuk in the center. All heads turned as they approached. Gaba’ké let out a sigh of relief and broke wrap Ohacha and Cask in his arms. Ohacha tried to extricate himself from the mountainous hug but was unable to remove himself, despite being a head taller.

The Aginjigaade grabbed Ohacha round neck and pulled him in close, planting a respectful nod on the young prince’s temple. “Thank the spirts, Ohacha” Gaba’ké said, turning to lead the three towards Aramuk. “I worried for you. Tell me what happened!”

“I got distracted by some spirits in the garden. And then again by the sound barrier just outside of the palace–”

“One of the assassins,” Cask cut in, “manipulated a sound barrier to quell noise across the palace. That’s why we couldn’t hear the alarm.”

“Yes,” Ohacha continued. “I found the edge of the barrier and got confused. Once I figured out what was happening, I re-entered the building and Cask defended me and the last assassin. He managed to kill the attacker before she reached me.”

“And we’re damned lucky he did” Gaba’ké said with a sombre smile. “Not everyone fared so.”

“Lord Provis and Ander” Ohacha said. “Rolena told me.”

“Right” Gaba’ké said. “Not to mention dozens of soldiers and guards. This was a devastating blow to our strength.”

“We need to leave Onera” Ohacha said.

“I agree,” Aramuk said, joining the conversation. “Nobody will want to stay here after tonight’s loss. And I expect Lord Anup will be happy to be rid of us. I fear his kindness and patience with us will end when he hears of what has happened here. I’ve already dispatched a runner to inform him and another for the healers. It’ll be costly.”

“We’ll need to send one to Lord Cardim as well” Ohacha added. “As Foujdar of the city, he will need to know.”

“Very true” Aramuk agreed. “Though, I am of the belief that General Cardim views us as a nuisance. His family has close ties to the new ruling class in Ayaan and is more friendly with the Careyago than most others. We should be careful, lest he find reason to blame us for this catastrophe enacted upon us.”

“I believe Ohacha has a valid point” Gaba’ké said. “Not to devalue your assessment my prince, I agree that he seems cozy with the Careyago, but bringing the general here immediately will let him see the damage inflicted without room for debate. Delaying his arrival will only provide him the mental flexibility to reshape the story to better suit his perceptions of us.”

“I yield to good council. We’ll send a runner” Aramuk said, gesturing to a soldier who came to receive the order.

“How many dead?” Ohacha asked, looking around the room at the wounded soldiers. Tens filled the space, their voices of dread and pain filling the room to a point of discomfort. Their comrades, the lucky ones, helped in whatever ways they could.

“The numbers are still coming in” Aramuk answered. “The number seems to be twenty or more of Anup’s mercenary guards and another twenty-five of our own, not including some of the serving staff.”

“The killed the serving staff?” Ohacha asked, incredulous.

“No witnesses” Cask answered. “There’s probably a dead beggar in the street outside who might have seen them climb the outer wall. That’s their style” he added. “How is Lord Kulimas doing?”

“Spirits, the man is a wreck.” Aramuk said with a lofty sigh. “And rightly so. You all know I’d be the same if I were the one holding Ohacha’s dead body in my arms.” A solemn silence spread between the group. “I watched him die” Aramuk said, breaking it. “I’ve never seen a man… die like that. To die in combat yet… beheaded as cleanly as a criminal under the axe. That moment will haunt my thoughts.”

“We’ll build him a grand pyre” Gaba’ké said. “An immense one for the lot of them. They all deserve a pyre of great honour for their sacrifice and service.”

“I can’t speak for the rest of you, but I won’t sleep tonight.” Aramuk said, running his hand through his beard. “Cask, Rolena, Gaba’ké, you three are dismissed. Please get some sleep. Or go find a bottle, or a partner, whatever it is you do to recover. Tomorrow we’ll reconvene and discuss plans to leave the city.”

“I want to come with you to wherever it is you choose to go next” Rolena blurted.

Prince Aramuk smiled a sad smile. “I’m not sure you do, but I’d be a bloody fool to deny you. After all, you saved my life tonight.” Ohacha jerked his gaze at this new information. “We can talk tomorrow about that” Aramuk added, gesturing calm to Ohacha.

“Tomorrow then” Cask said, and he and Rolena turned to take leave, leaving Ohacha, Aramuk and Gaba’ké. Those two princes have a long night ahead of them, he mused to himself. Good sleep is reserved only for the heinous and the wicked. “You know…” he said, turning to Rolena as they walked through the long hallway together.

“Sorry, Cask. Mine’s the bottle. You’ll have to find someone else.”

“That’s too bad.” The swordman said looking upwards at nothing in particular as they walked. “As the local, can you recommend any nice establishments in Onera?”

Just past the middle of the night, even before the runners leading the local the healers returned, a local crone managed to talk her way past the guards at the front gate and into the palace. She wandered towards the hall, compelled to the hall where the wounded lay gathered. Gaba’ké was lying in bed when he sensed her. He had been trying and failing at sleep. His mind remained too focused on the one thing he could always do to protect his princes, sense other Aginjigaade. He had failed them today, but he wouldn’t fail again. And, when, as he suspected, a new Aginjigaade appeared, Gaba’ké felt vindicated. He bolted upright in bed. Dressing swiftly, he took off in a panic to find the unknown Aginjigaade who now walked the halls below. Following as best he could, he tracked her spirit to the great hall and smelled the subtle but sharp acidic scent of her Aginjigaade sorcery as he entered the room. He spotted her. She sat on a stool next to one of the soldiers and he hurried towards her, unsure what exactly he would do upon reaching her. She simply sat there amongst the wounded. Gaba’ké approached and the old woman shot up a boney hand between him, stopping him in his tracks. She spoke to him but none of the sounds she made amounted to words he understood. Oh, for spirits sake, Gaba’ké thought angrily.

Gaba’ké turned and pulled an Oneran mercenary away from his task. The soldier, a young man with a moustache and goatee blinked in surprise. “Do you speak Tralang?” Gaba’ké asked, starling the confused soldier.

“Um, yes sir” the solder responded.

“And Oneran?” Gaba’ké added.

“Of course,” the man answered.

“Translate for me” he said, directing the soldier to where the old woman sat. “What’s she saying?”

“She says… she says she is helping them. She is not healing, but helping” the soldier translated.

“I can smell the sorcery but I can’t tell what she’s doing” he said to the soldier. Its decay aspected. How could she be helping them with decay aspected sorcery? He thought to himself. “How is she helping? I need to know what she’s doing?” he insisted. The soldier spoke to the woman and the woman replied in a long string of words.

“Um. Rot, sir” the soldier said.

“Rot?” Gaba’ké repeated the word as a question.

“Yes. She says ‘Not healing but no rot. She is… just a lonely woman who speaks to the rot. But she does not love the rot. She will… stop… the rot from spreading” the soldier translated.

“Spirits. She’s stopping the spread of infection?” Gaba’ké asked.

“I think so sir.”

“Who is she?” Gaba’ké asked and the soldier repeated.

“I don’t know” the soldier answered, adding “sir” after a moment.

“Well, ask her” he insisted.

“She says she is nobody sir. Just an old woman, sir”

“Just an old woman” Gaba’ké repeated. An old woman with the skills of an Aginjigaade. The world is a strange place.  “I’ll talk to Prince Aramuk. Be sure she doesn’t leave without being paid.”

The healers arrived shortly after, tired, groggy, and unprepared for the large number of dead and dying requiring their help. Amongst the group was another Aginjigaade, a younger man with a triangular face and long straight black hair that flowed down past his shoulders. Gaba’ké, now very tired, exchanged a spiritual greeting; a brushing of the agindan. It was impolite of him to be so forward, but Gaba’ké was done with politeness tonight.  The man, following the lead of his troop, marched confidently into the center of the hall and locked eyes with the old witch, still leaning over the last remaining soldier she hadn’t visited. He gave her a curt nod and she returned a crooked toothed smile. He walked away entirely confused by the exchange, then sat down cross-legged in the center of the wounded. A salutiferous floral aroma emanated outwards with him as the nucleus. He soothed the pain felt by those around him. The sounds of pain and struggle in the room lulled and then ceased. The room sounded eerily calm without the groans and whimpers.

Gaba’ké leaned on the wall at the edge of the room, immensely tired. Ohacha entered the room, spotted Gaba’ké and walked over to where the old man stood. A simple nod was exchanged but neither opted to speak. When the Aginjigaade stood from his place in the floor, Gaba’ké moved towards him and Ohacha followed on instinct.

“You’ve healed them?” Gaba’ké asked.

“Spirits, no.” the younger Aginjigaade said, his Oneran accent heavy on his words. “I just calmed their minds to dull the pain. There are no sorcerous healers in Onera.”

“I am Gaba’ké of Ayaan” Gaba’ké said, “and this here is Prince Ohacha Krimas of Gaag.”

“A pleasure to meet you both” the Aginjigaade said. “I am Nol Woodrice. I work with the healers here in the city to sooth the sick and wounded. It makes helping people easier when they too are at ease.”

“Thank you for coming to our aid today, Nol” Ohacha repeated. “How bad does it look?”

“Gimafi” Nol shouted towards another healer, pulling him into the conversation. “How are the looking?” Nol asked the other man.

“We’ll have to cauterize a few of the wounds but your other Aginjigaade there has done wonders by cleaning the wounds. That’s a rare talent.” He added.

“She’s not one of ours.” Gaba’ké said. “She just wandered in. Said she could sense the rot.”

“A local?” the man asked, incredulous.

“Seems so” he answered. “The soldiers here don’t recognize her but she doesn’t speak Tralang, only Oneran.”

Lord Cardim arrived shortly after with a company of guards from the city watch to help with the cleanup. The bodies of the slain were identified and counted, the wounded who survived were seen to, and blood was washed from the stone floors and walls. The next morning, a great pyre was built and a memorial service to honour those slain was held. Ohacha stood next to his uncle at the front of the rows of soldiers and officers as they watched the pyre catch flame. The pyre of bodies ended up nearly twice the height of a man and ten men shoulder to shoulder. The bodies of the slain Gaagians, as per the custom, were burned with sage and a local tree similar to Gaagian cedar. The flames spread wildly until fire engulphed the pyre. The great flame reached skyward nearly to the height of the villa tower from where Rolena watched the procession.

The following day, Lord Anup arrived to survey the damage and speak with his guests. Aramuk, seasoned to disaster and gracious to his friends, paid for the funerals for each of the guards lost under Lord Anup’s care as well as donations to the families that could be located. Still, as expected, the Oneran lords’ kindness had expired. The Gaagians convened one last time, this time in the gardens close to where the pyre still smouldered. Wispy tendrils of smoke hung in the air. For the first time, Rolena sat amongst the group. Ohacha, Aramuk, Gaba’ké, Lord Kulimas, and Cask seated at the table with her.

“Mina’abik” Gaba’ké suggested to the group. “The city is controlled by the Ohegan Kingdom. It isn’t too far, perhaps 12 days from Onera by sea and is peaceful. There will be Aginjigaade there I will have connections to from the Ayaani Aginjigaade School. Many of the Ohegan Aginjigaade travelled to Ayaan for study in previous decades.”

“Mina’abik doesn’t hold any more value than Onera” Aramuk said. “Perhaps we can find someone amenable to our plight but we stray farther from our goal of reclaiming Gaag for Ohacha. No Aginjigaade acquaintance from the past will help us bolster our armies and navies. With Lord Provis dead, many of his most loyal men are actively discussing abandoning the cause to return home despite the Careyago.”

“Then we must strike a target” Ohacha suggested, “entice them back by showing we are active in our campaign and willing to move towards our end goal. Ayagiim is the only place that makes sense.”

“We cannot hold Ayagiim even if we managed to take it” Cask said. “We couldn’t hold out against a siege from the Careyago.”

“I think we are also all forgetting that when we fled from Ayagiim the first time, immediately following your father’s failed invasion of Gaag, we left the city to the Careyago and their counter-invasion fleet burned a lot of the city for its support in the attack” Gaba’ké said.

“All the more reason the people of Ayagiim will support us taking the city back from the Careyago” Ohacha said.

“All the more reason the people of Ayagiim will not support us taking control of the city.” Gaba’ké countered. “We abandoned them to the Careyago to save ourselves when we fled to Onera. They will not care that your mother was Princess of Ayagiim, Ohacha. You have as much family left in Ayagiim as in Gaag. Those who remain may not look kindly on us.” 

“Why not Casoya?” Rolena suggested nervously. “Caso. The city isn’t far from Onera, still in a wider sphere of influence with Gaag. It’s a major city of trade and industry. It is considered very safe.”

“I have considered Casoya” Aramuk admitted. “My caution lies with its open ties to the Careyago. With Casoya’s ports open wide to any with coin, the Careyago Emperor, who has an abundance at his disposal may be influential within the city. Although, this is only a hunch. However, the Casoyans rule by an eight-ruler council that is too complex for me to follow. It may be difficult to determine where their allegiances will lie. With us, or with the Careyago who hunt us? I fear we will be vulnerable.”

“What other choice do we have, uncle?” Ohacha asked. “Jurang, Nuneko, Juking, and Choke are too small. Towiin has a timid alliance with the Careyago. You said Mina’abik is too passive, as are the cities further east.”

“Casoya is our best option” Lord Kulimas said drawing heads. “Coming here to Onera has been… costly. We need more coin if we’re to continue to pay for soldiers and ships, even the few have remaining.”

“You speak the truth; we can sell what treasures we still possess at the Casoyan Auction.” Aramuk said. “I can reach out to a very old friend in the city. When Golan, Belvaas and I were still boys, we travelled to Casoya with your grandfather, Ohacha. We stayed with a powerful family, the Yohati’s. Perhaps, despite the time that has passed, we can still find an ally within the city.”

“Casoyans are ruled by gold more than morals” Gaba’ké said, scornfully. “So long as we spend it, they’ll be happy were in the city.”

“Then its settled” Cask said.

“Ohacha,” Aramuk said, looking towards his nephew, “you are our leader, rightful King of Gaag. It is your decision to make.”

“Then we sail for Casoya.”