The descent back down from the fortress on the hill was, to Gaba’ké’s dismay, not much easier than the ascent up the hill had been. Night had fallen and the darkness on the steep road down the mountain made what would have been easy steps into treacherous careful ones. That would have been the case on any odd night, but tonight the moon remained hidden and the darkness felt as thick as wool over their eyes.  He regretted not having the foresight to bring a candle or illum stone to light the way.

Gaba’ké drew upon his agindan sense as he descended. It helped him sense the slope as it descended away from him, but did little to aid against the burn in his calves and the slipperiness of the stones beneath his sandals. Yet, even with his extra sense, the others fared better. Gaba’ké chalked it up to their youth. He wasn’t the young man he had once been, nor did he want to be, but he was quick to think fondly of youth’s long-absent advantages. It also seemed clear that his fellows lacked his fear of taking a fall in the dark; one that robbed them of their ability to walk. He mused retrospectively; death pursues those it can catch first.

Their meeting with Elvi Batari, Aginjigaade of the Soldiers’ Guild, had gone exceptionally well. That was until the twist that additional treacheries had been found within the guild’s own ranks. Ohacha’s fortune was likely stolen a second time by soldiers of the guild itself. Still, this gave them a foundation to work off of. For the first time in weeks, they had a lead and the agency to act. Both meant hope.  Tomorrow, Rolena would accompany Sergeant Ashill on her visit to Patzau Minoc.

Minoc, it seemed, collected the flow of information through Caso. Elvi had all but said so outright. In hindsight, the revelation felt obvious. Gaba’ké had suspected there was more to the eccentric affluent Patzau than first impressions suggested. He had recognized them upon first meeting, after all. With, what Gaba’ké felt was a good relationship with the Minoc’s Aginjigaade, Kuta, he was confident that the ebullient man would help. What Gaba’ké was more concerned about was how much it would cost. Patzau Minoc didn’t seem the type to do anything for anyone without an incentive. But, for whatever reason, Ohacha determined that would be something for Rolena to negotiate. Or perhaps, it was a blind-spot the boy was overlooking. They could discuss in the morning. It was far too late and Gaba’ké felt far too tired now to bother.

And so, it was with great relief and a considerable amount of fatigue that Gaba’ké passed by the dark stone obelisk at the bottom of the mountain. From here, Piitra’s apartment was close and the road less treacherous. The dimly lit windows that spilled light into the street came as a great comfort against the veil of thick darkness that wrapped itself about them along their descent. Looking back, the silhouette of the fortress was imperceptible, save for the dim fires that lit the watch posts high on the hilltop. They crossed the hexagonal plaza and walked north towards the older smaller canal near the house. Gaba’ké yearned for the comfort of a bed and time to rest his tired feet. It had been long and hard day crossing the city, and nothing more would make him happier than to see it end. But as their party approached Piitra Hadashenta’s home in the canals, Gaba’ké understood his hopes of getting rest tonight were slim. Somebody was inside the house.

Despite the the weariness in his legs and ache in his feet, Gaba’ké rushed forward from the back of the column.  He waved a hand to stop Ohacha and Rolena, who were sharing in a quiet conversation in the dark street. They went silent, suddenly on guard. Rolena reached for the crossbow she carried on her back and stared quizzically for more information. Cask drew one of his blades with a metallic whisper. He eyed the streets around them for signs of danger. The few people around scattered silently into the darkness. Their preparation for combat wasn’t exactly what Gaba’ké had intended, but they had stopped their approach and gone silent and that was enough.

Gaba’ké focused. His recognition of the signs was instinctual. Too many years spent in vigilance. They were still out of sight from the house, just around the corner. And he knew that even if they watched with careful eyes, there would be no signs of the intruder. No shadow would move across the windows. No doors would stand ajar. No lights would be lit. To all but an Aginjigaade, no sign would betray the hidden lurker within.

Gaba’ké was Aginjigaade. And he was schooled, not wild. He possessed senses other mortals lacked, along with the knowledge to read signs hidden in plain sight. He could perceive spirits in both natural and imbued forms: those visible and tangible, and those timid spirits that hide within their elements and objects of affinity. The intruder had given away no sign within their control. Instead, the spirits within the old house betrayed them. Spirits fear humankind and retreat in their presence; it was this final distinction—the total, unnatural retreat of every spirit in the house—that revealed the unknown presence inside.

Sprits filled every corner of the world. They were beyond count. Some were small and insignificant, sticking close to objects of their affinity like leaves to a tree or frogs to a pond. Others were larger and more powerful, sometimes even territorial. Spirits could always be found concentrated around their specific natural affinity; water spirits around puddles and stream, fire spirits around forges and flames, earthen spirits around dry creek beds and clay ties. And only in the presence of danger would spirits hide. There were patterns, and therefore predictability.

Each and every spirit inside the house above the ground floor had imbued itself. Only something alive, inside the house, could scare so many spirits into hiding. Spirits would flee from animals like cats and dogs, but only a person could have scaled the walls, opened a window, and secreted their way through the house in mischief. To Gaba’ké’s senses, each revealed spirit sensed was strong and even like candle-flame in the dark. But those spirits in hiding felt muffed and muted, their light dulled down to an ember by the defence mechanism. All this, he perceived and understood in mere heartbeats.

“Theres somebody inside the house” Gaba’ké said carefully. The group remained frozen.

“You’re sure?” Cask asked, turning his attention ahead. They were still a short distance from the house and more impressively, out of line of sight. The road was dark. Windows on either side of the narrow street were lit with a soft glow. It did little to subdue the darkness that enveloped the empty street they had found themselves stopped in.

“How do you know?” Ohacha asked. “I can’t even see the apartment yet.”

Gaba’ké frowned. This was a difficult thing to describe. “I can sense the presence of spirits” he began, “and I can also sense when spirits have hidden themselves from people; the ones that melt away as you enter a room and disappear into their surroundings. To you, they’re gone. Imperceptible. But to me, I still see them. I sense their presence. They don’t leave. Only hide. All of the spirits on the upper floors of our home have done just that; hidden themselves.”

“And that means a person is slinking about the upper floors?” Ohacha asked.

“In this case, I believe so. Yes.” Gaba’ké answered.

“How do you know it wasn’t a mouse or a bat or something scaring the spirits away?” Cask asked.

“Perhaps if one or two of our rooms appeared disturbed…” Gaba’ké explained, trailing off to focus. “But only the main floor and cellar seem undisturbed. I’d wager our intruder entered from one of the canal windows. They’ve been about both top floors and remain lurking there.”

“What do we do?” Ohacha asked. “Can we catch our intruder?”

“We could try” Cask ventured. “But it would be a risk if our visitor is another assassin.”

“We could try to scare them off” Rolena suggested. “Or call for help from the soldiers guild?”

“If the Casoyans get their hands on the assassin, we’ll never get a chance to interrogate them ourselves” Ohacha countered. “I want to catch this intruder. We have the element of surprise. There won’t be a better opportunity to seize an advantage and learn more about our enemies.” Gaba’ké nodded his support.

“I’m concerned that whoever we find up in that house will be far deadlier than we expect” Cask said. “I don’t want a repeat of Onera” he warned.

“Whoever it is that’s in there, they’re not Aginjigaade” Gaba’ké confirmed. “I would be able to sense them, just as I did with the Aginjigaade assassins back in Onera.”

“What if there’s somebody who can elude your senses?” Rolena asked.

“There isn’t” Gaba’ké answered, knowing his words to be a lie. If one like that were up in our bedrooms, there’d be no hope for us anyway. “And if there were, it would be sloppy of any Aginjigaade to make a mistake as sloppy as this. No, whoever is up there isn’t one of my kind.”

“I want them caught” Ohacha said firmly. “There has to be a way to accomplish it.”

Gaba’ké walked through the dark night towards Piitra’s apartment as conspicuously as he could manage. The whole time he approached, he had both eyes trained up towards the windows on the upper floors looking down over the street. He couldn’t sense whoever was up there, but he had the uneasy feeling of being watched. He channeled power through his agindan sense, hardening his body. If an attack came, he would be ready for it. After all, for this plan to work, he needed to be the tool to flush out their intruder.

Close at Gaba’ké’s side, Ohacha walked nervously in step. His was the second risk. Any assassin inside would be hunting him. And so, Ohacha knew that to make the plan work, he needed to be the bait. After watching the master Aginjigaade catch an arrow out of mid-flight, Ohacha felt confident Gaba’ké’s abilities to stop any ranged weapon brought to bare. If the arrow had a stone or metal tip, chances were that Gaba’ké could even sense it coming. Only a headless arrow would effectively elude his agindan sense. However, that didn’t stop the young prince from using the older man’s hardened body as a shield as they approached the front door. Cask followed a few steps behind. The swordsman kept a close hand to his hilt.

They made it to the front and ascended the three steps that dropped them at the landing. Gaba’ké let out a held breath. Cask unlocked the door while Gaba’ké kept his eyes peeled outwards at the dark and empty street. The door unlocked with a click. Gaba’ké swept inside. The plan swung into full motion. All three men rushed the stairs. But while Gaba’ké led Cask took up a candle and hurried up to the second floor, Ohacha descended into the basement crawlspace to keep himself hidden.

Despite the hardening of his skin and bones, Gaba’ké wasn’t invincible or impermeable. A hard enough blow to his body or limbs could kill just as thoroughly as any other man. More than that, the weakness of all Aginjigaade enhancers were the eyes. His was a powerful skill, but no power is insurmountable and no defence is unassailable. Gaba’ké silenced the part of his mind that repeated those fears. He braved his way up the stairs in spite of them. The top wooden step groaned under his weight and Gaba’ké froze. The silence that lingered made his knees weak.

The soft candle flame in his outstretched hand brought light, but also left shadows at its edges. Looking down the hall, there were four doors, one for each bedroom, and a smaller fifth that led to the privy over the canal. Ahead, a second staircase led to the largest bedroom on the top floor. Each room remained shadowy and motionless. The tension made his hands tremble.

It was one thing to be startled. The body chooses how to react on instinct. Whether to fight or fly. Expecting surprise is a different experience. Gaba’ké knew in his heart that an attack would come. But not when or from where. He walked forward, fear and anticipation corroding what little confidence he had mustered. Gaba’ké of Ayaan had fought in three battles in his life, and counted searching through the dark on this night far more terrifying than those experiences. His moved slowly, his body unwilling to cooperate. Somewhere, in one of these rooms or in the larger room above, the intruder lingered.

Breathing in deeply, Gaba’ké tried the first room on the right. It was Ohacha’s room and seemed to him the most obvious place for the intruder to hide. Plus, it was one of the two rooms with windows overlooking the street. If the intruder had witnessed their approach, it was likely from this vantage. The room was dark. Gaba’ké spotted Ohacha’s trunks still filled with his belongings. They sat unopened on the bed. He braced himself and stepped through the doorway, candlelight filling the room.

Nothing happened. Nothing seemed amiss. Nobody stirred. Ohacha’s room remained still. Gaba’ké leaned over a lit the sconce on the wall. The wick lit and additional light filled the small room, driving back the shadows. The only place a person could hide now was under the bed or behind the wardrobe. Neither seemed a prime choice for a surprise attack. He left them unchecked, and moved onto the next room across the hall.

Next was his own room. The door was slightly ajar, just how he remembered leaving it. Gaba’ké reached forward, candle in hand, and pushed the wooden door open. The room slowly warmed to the candle’s glow. Then, in a wink, the flame was snuffed. The strike that came from the darkness struck Gaba’ké’s outstretched hand with blinding speed. The candlestick was knocked from his hand, and clattered to the ground as whatever hit him, bit through his hardened skin into his flesh. Gaba’ké shouted in surprise and pain and stumbled back into the hall. Gaba’ké pulled his hand away in reflex. With it came the long knife, still imbedded in his stony skin. The long knife came free as he stumbled and clattered nosily as it hit the candlestick on the floor. Blood welled from the gash.

His attacker showed herself. She wore black clothes. A dark mask with snarled teeth, long whiskers, and angry eyes covered her face. She brandished a second long knife that matched the first. It was about a forearm’s length that curved slightly at the tip and was as black as night. The edge of the knife glinted in the low light from the window. Gaba’ké could see her eyes beneath the mask and she looked as surprised as he was. Had he been any other man, her slash would have taken his arm and his life moments later. Her hesitation dissolved. The assassin pressed forward for second strike, aiming for his face. She knew already, in that single exchange, what he was and where he was weakest.

Gaba’ké hurled himself forward in answer. She was quick, but few have ever fought a man unafraid of leaving themself exposed. Her knife took him in the sternum. It was a blow that would condemn any other man to impalement. The knife grazed hardened skin but didn’t have the strength to puncture. The grinding sound of metal on stone was shrill. She changed posture, aiming again for the face but wasn’t precise enough to find his eyes. The knife caught him next in the collar. It glanced off as he barreled into her. The two tumbled.

Gaba’ké came down on top of her. He grasped had his strong hands on her black clothes but she was nimble and wriggled out from underneath him, twisting. He tried to get a better hold, but she was too nimble and escaped. She came up, but the knife she had used against him was nowhere to be seen. Gaba’ké drove himself upwards and she pulled a smaller dagger from a hidden place. In the tight space, he was faster and brought a hardened fist hard into her chest, feeling ribs crack.  

The assassin gasped as the air was forcibly expelled from her lungs. She remained upright, despite the heavy blow and threw the smaller knife defensively. Gaba’ké pulled back and found himself staggered by the sudden blur of her attack. The throwing knife raced towards his face, filling his vision. He blinked, no other reaction remotely fast enough to match its speed. The knife took Gaba’ké in the face, just under the left eye. The throw was near perfect. Just a finger’s breadth from his vulnerable eye. But only perfect would do. The weapon ricocheted off the outer edge of his eye socket. Gaba’ké had his hands defensively to his face a split second later.

By the time he opened his eyes again, the assassin was already halfway outside of the open window. Gaba’ké raced forward, catching a glimpse of her as she clambered atop one of the tree branches that bowed over the old canal. Then, with an unmistakable and solid thud, she yelped and careened backwards. The assassin hit the water below with an unmistakable splash.

Gaba’ké reached the window a moment later. Even in the dim light, the water rippled where the assassin had fallen into the canal. The fall from tree to canal was just over two-stories.  A fall like that could do real damage. Even if the assassin had managed to right herself before hitting the water, it would have hurt; especially after the blow he had dealt to her ribs. Their plan had worked, mostly. The blood that ran steady down his arm was an unwelcome surprise. It dripped steadily off his fingertips onto the wooden floorboards. He tore his sleeve and haphazardly wrapped the wound.

Relinquishing his physical enhancement, Gaba’ké focused his sorcery into a new spirit. As the enhancement dissipated, other places where the knife had grazed his hardened flesh welled thin lines of blood. He paid them no mind. Instead, he focused on channeling, expanding his agindan consciousness and isolating stone spirits that could yield the intended result: physical manipulation. Not wanting a repeat of the auction house attack, Gaba’ké carefully selected a familiar type of spirit and channeled his power through it like a lens. He felt his well of spiritual power drain.

Physical manipulations were simply mentally, but physically taxing. Pushing and pulling were simple concepts, but moving a ton of rock was no easy feet even when the rock was compelled to do so. The strain was the very opposite of Gaba’ké’s physical enhancement abilities. He would need to draw forth additional power. All he could manage, if possible. Once focused, he moved the interlocked canal stones, shaping them to his will. The canal closed, first downstream on the left, and then upstream on the right. The rocks themselves moved under his strain, forming new hard canal walls and separating the small section behind the house into its own basin. There would be no escape for the assassin now. Her only option for escape would be to clamber up out of the canal where Rolena was already ready and waiting. She was trapped, the metaphorical fish in a barrel.

Gaba’ké let the power dissipate, exhausted. He had little left to give. He released the channeled spirit and it fled from him. He turned slowly and lumbered out of his bedroom. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him and he nearly fainted. He blinked away the spots that dotted his vision and breathed deep. “I’m okay!” he shouted down at Cask, who was waiting for the signal. “Assassin! Escaped out the window. Rolena took her with a quarrel. She’s trapped in the canal.”

“Rolena’s in the canal?” Cask shouted back, confused.

“The assassin was a woman” Gaba’ké huffed, lumbering down the stairs. “She’s in the canal. I’ve sealed it off. Go help Rolena. I’ll get Ohacha.” By the time Gaba’ké reached the main floor, Cask was already gone, running around to aid Rolena. Ohacha peered up at him expectantly from atop the cellar stairs.”

You’re supposed to be hiding” Gaba’ké said.

“I heard you say the assassin’s gone” Ohacha replied. “We’ve caught him?”

“Her” Gaba’ké corrected, “and we will see.”

“Let’s go then” Ohacha said. Gaba’ké watched the prince frown as eyes shifted down to Gaba’ké’s bloody arm. The blade had broken through his hardened skin and bit all the way to the bone on his wrist. It hurt terribly and he could no longer move his thumb on the hand. He was still holding a piece of his ripped sleeve against the wound and the blood had soaked through the thin cloth.

“Spirits, are you alright?” Ohacha asked.

“I’ll be fine” Gaba’ké said confidently. He hoped it was true but something felt wrong. Not being able to move his thumb or pointer finger made fear well inside him. He ignored it for the time being and tried to brush past the prince for the front door.  

“Here” Ohacha said, removing his own fine shirt. Before Gaba’ké had a chance to protest, Ohacha had ripped the fine fabric and was preparing to wrap the wound.  He sighed and removed his hand, letting the prince replace his makeshift bandage with the expensive silk. It was a waste, and a poor choice for a bandage, but protesting kindness wasn’t in his capabilities. However, both men froze when they saw the wound. The blood was red and flowing, but the skin below was starting to turn an unnatural purple colour.

“Poison” Ohacha gulped. Gaba’ké nodded. He tried his best to remain calm. “Maybe the assassin has the antidote” the prince suggested, trying to appear hopeful. Gaba’ké didn’t share his initial confidence. One thing at a time, he thought.

“Let’s go” Ohacha said.

“No,” Gaba’ké protested, “You stay here.”

“And what if there’s a second assassin?” Ohacha argued, “Did you check every room? I’ll be here alone and unprotected.”

Gaba’ké scowled and then relented. “Fine” he said, ignoring the pain spreading across his arm.

The two men left, following in Cask’s steps. Ohacha seemed eager, but Gaba’ké felt too weary to walk, let alone run the short distance. Multiple times, he stopped to clear his mind from the weight that had settled over his body. He felt as if fighting for wakefulness was as fruitless as pushing back the tides. Ohacha had no choice but to stay close, and hold Gaba’ké’s good arm as they went. They rounded the corner to the small bridge that crossed the canal and followed the narrow street on the opposite side of the canal.

As they approached, it was clear that Rolena and Cask loomed over a body in the street. The figure was sprawled out on their stomach, elbows above her shoulders and hands on the back of her head. Rolena had her crossbow trained on the assassin, while Cask stood a little closer with both swords drawn. Gaba’ké and Ohacha approached slowly. The assassin faced them. The mask that had covered her face was gone. She held an intense look. One that had a clear mix of hatred, fear, and pain. Gaba’ké could see why. One of Rolena’s crossbow quarrels pierced her thigh just above the knee. The bodkin tip was dark with blood.  

“Are you okay?” Rolena asked, her voice full of concern. Her eyes locked seriously on Gaba’ké’s.

He met her gaze and lied, “I’m fine.”

“He’s been poisoned” Ohacha said hastily. Gaba’ké gave a resigned smile. It was hard to reprimand acts of kindness. But now isn’t the time to worry about me, Gaba’ké thought.

“I’ll be okay” he repeated. Another round of dizziness rocked him and he squeezed his eyes shut to quell the sensation.

“No, this is serious” Rolena insisted “You saw the mask, no?”

“I saw it” he admitted. He was too tired to think about it. “Does it mean something to you?”

“She’s a stone assassin” Rolena said. Her tone was heavy, “Mada’abi Stone Assassin. I recognize the mask” she added.

If Gaba’ké had any energy left, he might have reacted with alarm or surprise. Instead, the verdict hit him no harder than exhaustion already had. He knew the stories. Everyone knew the stories. The Mada’abi were the killers of the east. A small kingdom once famous for its warrior class. Now it was infamous for the treacherous murderers that had reshaped their kind into something different, more sinister. Gone were the warriors of old and in their stead stood a cabal of killers that had all but destroyed the old ways. The new era dealt in more subtle arts of killing. Now, acolytes of the new Mada’abi Stone assassins were loosed elsewhere to complete their training, spreading across the many islands of the starlight sea. They are considered to be the best for-hire killers one can hire. And expensive were their talents. An encounter with one is considered a death-sentence.

“How do you know she’s not a fake?” Ohacha blurted. Gaba’ké pressed his hands to his face. Another wave of exhaustion rocked him. He felt nauseous but the wave passed.

“When I was a mercenary in Nuneko,” Rolena explained, “I was contracted for a siege on a castle. The enemy was a rebellious lord who had hidden himself away after a failed insurrection. When we failed to breach the fortifications, the siege stalled and the King of Towiin who had hired us was furious. He terminated our contract and hired a pair of stone assassins to handle the problem; one master and one apprentice. The King wanted the man alive, so the assassins killed the rebellious lord’s four children the first night. Then, when he still refused to surrender, the assassin killed the lord’s wife the following night while they slept in the same bed, leaving her body next to him. We were still packing up to leave when the assassins returned that second night. I saw him with my own eyes. He was carrying the lady’s head and wore nearly the same mask.”

“All of the acolytes wear them?” Ohacha asked. He wasn’t aware of this piece of lore. He too had heard the stories, but there were few known cases of a Stone Assassins straying further west than Onera. And no known stories of any of their ink in his homeland. He found himself off kilter. Not sure to be excited or horrified by the unexpected turn of events.

“No,” Rolena answered nervously, “not the acolytes. Keep back from her. Ohacha, keep behind Cask and Gaba’ké. She’s still dangerous.”

Gaba’ké focused as best he could. She was dangerous. The slash that would have taken his arm proved that. As did the poison. Approaching her would be a risk. Keeping her alive would be a risk. The plan was fool-hearted. They had been warned there was a Mada’abi assassin in Caso but he hadn’t taken heed of Kuta’s warning. Not once had he considered the true danger.

And so, Gaba’ké resolved himself to the only option left that would keep Ohacha, Cask, and Rolena safe, as well as let them have their desired interrogation. There was only one solution. One option that would both protect them from her and keep her breathing long enough to answer their questions. He channeled power one last time, despite his weariness. The assassin sunk into the stony street like a ship taking on water. She stared at Gaba’ké with a panicked look as her limbs disappeared from sight. This was it. His last effort to pacify her. There would be no chance of escape now. Her arms and legs had sunk into very earth; buried and filled without the lift of a finger. And now he was overtired. Weak to the point of true exhaustion. He felt… weary. His knees buckled and he caught himself with what little sliver of consciousness remained.

“Ohacha” Gaba’ké croaked, his voice hoarse. Gaba’ké passed out.

Ohacha watched in horror as Gaba’ké crumpled to the ground at his feet. Rolena rushed forward and the two of them rolled the old Aginjigaade onto his back. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead. His face was pale and drained. He didn’t stir as they moved him. Meanwhile, Cask kept his eyes focused on the assassin buried in the street. She didn’t seem capable of striking from her position, but he wasn’t about to give her an opportunity to prove him wrong.

“The poison is already spreading through his body” the assassin said. Her accent was thick and foreign. When she spoke, she emphasized unusual sounds in the trader’s tongue. It took Ohacha a moment to understand what she had said at all.

Everything below her shoulders had been submerged by Gaba’ké’s sorcery. Her hands were free, but she kept them behind her head despite the unexpected change in position. He didn’t trust that they were empty. Her face was pained and her breaths were rapid and shallow. He could only imagine her discomfort. “I have the antidote on my person” she baited. “It’s on my hip. You’ll have to free me to save him.”

“If he dies, you die” Ohacha replied. I can’t let him die, Ohacha thought. There has to be a way.

“Let us negotiate then” the assassin said. “You captured me alive. Therefore, you must want something besides the antidote.”

“Who sent you?” Ohacha demanded.

“That is a strange ask, boy” the assassin answered. “Most know whom wants them dead.”

Ohacha huffed, “Perhaps you’ve failed to consider that I have more than one enemy.”

“I see, I see” she said, “You must know which enemy. You must know who to strike back at.” Ohacha nodded eagerly. The assassin smiled a wicked smile. “Unfortunately, this is something I cannot do. It is against our creed.”

“Then you die” Ohacha said.

“Then he dies too” the assassin gloated.

“Not even if I pay you more?” Ohacha asked. Cask’s eyes flicked upwards for a split second.

The assassin smiled again. “Not even then, I’m afraid.”

“Then keeping you alive is worth nothing to me” Ohacha said. “You won’t answer my questions nor will you cooperate. You have now confirmed that killing you and taking the antidote from your corpse is the best path forward–”

“No, no” the assassin cut in, “I didn’t say anything of the sort. Besides, killing me would help you very little. I carry multiple poisons and antidotes on my person and–”

The slash that came from Cask’s sword was swift and ruthless. It was a blur that cut straight past the assassin’s neck, cutting her no deeper than a cat’s scratch. She froze and her eyes bulged. Blood welled from the shallow wound.  

“Ohacha” Cask said, not taking his eyes of the assassin. “Let me kill her. She won’t tell us who sent her, and without Gaba’ké conscious, we won’t be able to search her for the antidote. It’s buried in the stone along with the rest of her body. Since she will not tell us who sent her, and she cannot help Gaba’ké, there is no further need to leave her alive. We should kill her and remove Gaba’ké’s hand, perhaps at the elbow, to ensure the poison can’t spread.”

“Its already spread” Rolena protested. “Didn’t you see him collapse?”

“I don’t believe the poison was the cause,” Cask said, “and neither does she” he added.

The assassin finally moved past her shock and glared up at him. “You cut me!” she shouted.

“Keep quiet” Cask snapped, “or I’ll cut you for real” he threatened. He continued, addressing Ohacha, “She looked as surprised as us when Gaba’ké collapsed. He’s overtaxed himself.”

“How can you be so sure?” Rolena countered. “Are you so willing to gamble with your friend’s life?”

“No good warrior depends on chance alone” Cask said. “And the true gamble would be trusting an assassin. Especially one sent to kill us. I don’t believe she carries an antidote at all. It’s a ruse to have us free her.”

Ohacha spoke next, “Cask speaks true. The fact is that without Gaba’ké, we cannot free her from the stone. Even if she has an antidote, we will not get it from her unless he wakes again.”

“The right course would be to find Gaba’ké what help we can, now” Cask said, concurring. “She won’t speak, and she can’t help us. Let me kill her and rid us of the danger. We can argue about what to do for Gaba’ké after she’s dead.”

“How can you both be so sure?” Rolena asked. “If you’re wrong–”

“I’m not wrong” Cask said.

“But if you are, consider what we lose” Rolena hissed.

“I asked for Ohacha’s permission, not yours” Cask snapped.

Ohacha frowned. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He looked down at the assassin. Her head and hands sprouted from the stones like human flowers.“This is your last chance to tell the truth,” he warned. “If you won’t tell us anything relevant, I’ll hear your last words.”

She wrinkled her nose and then spit towards Cask’s feet. She then spoke in a foreign tongue Ohacha couldn’t understood. When she seemed finished, Ohacha nodded. Her head rolled the next instant.

It happened so fast that Rolena gasped a full second later. “Now we’ll never know who sent her” she hissed. “Gaba’ké was poisoned for nothing.”

Ohacha scowled at her challenge to his call, “It is foolish to scrutinize the choices made against what might have been.

“We might have faired far better” Rolena said.

“We might have faired far worse” Ohacha countered. “We agreed on a plan and we worked well to see it through to conclusion. We hoped to gain information, and though the assassin refused to speak explicitly, I believe she answered my question none the less. But we can worry about that after we get Gaba’ké some help.”

Ohacha moved closer to the old Aginjigaade. He was still unconscious on the cobblestones. Beads of sweat clung to his brow. Ohacha knelt and Cask used his blade to cut away the full sleeve of Gaba’ké’s robe, exposing the arm. Ohacha removed the makeshift bandage that had come from his shirt. The thin fabric was soaked through and came away sticky.

The wound was a thumb’s length up the wrist from the hand. The skin around the wound was an unnatural dark purple colour and radiated outwards. The cut was deep and Ohacha could see the white of bone where the assassin’s blade had struck and lodged itself. Rolena bent down and checked Gaba’ké’s breathing and pulse.

“I don’t recognize this poison,” she said, “but I’m not an expert to begin with. We need to get him to a healer.”

“These Mada’abi killers are supposed to be the best” Cask said. “I wouldn’t count on finding an antidote. We should amputate the hand and stop the spread now. Best to do it now before he loses the whole arm or it spreads to his heart.”

“That’s barbaric” Rolena protested. “We need to get him to a doctor. If the doctor doesn’t have an antidote, then we can talk about amputation.”

“I agree with Rolena” Ohacha said. “We have to try.”

“What do we do about her?” Rolena said, gesturing to the bloody neck that sprouted from the ground and to the severed head that lolled near by it. It was a gruesome sight.

“Cask and I will handle her and take care of Gaba’ké” Ohacha instructed. “You go and find a doctor. We’ll monitor the spread of the poison.”

“Where should I go?”

Ohacha frowned, not sure of an answer. “Head towards the square we came from. We passed a drinking house. Any good barman will know where to find a doctor.” Rolena assented and turned back the way they had come, leaving Ohacha with Cask.

“We should take the hand now” Cask said once Rolena was out of earshot. “It would be the safest course.”

“We have to give Rolena time to try” Ohacha insisted. “We’ll make the call if she hasn’t come back. What do you suggest we do about her?” The assassins head still sat in a pool of blood. Her face held an ominous scowl in death that made Ohacha’s skin shiver.

“We could toss the head in the canal and let the fish at it” Cask suggested.

“We can’t risk somebody finding a severed head” Ohacha countered. “Plus, that doesn’t help with the rest of her…” He looked to the stump of neck and limp hands that protruded from the street. The sight made him want to vomit.

Cask crossed his arms in thought. “The canal is still an absolute mess. Gaba’ké wasn’t exactly subtle. Let’s hide her body and then bring back to the house. We can figure out the assassin later.”

Ohacha agreed. Cask tossed a box over the decapitated body and then scooped up Gaba’ké in his arms. Ohacha lingered a moment longer by the canal. The stone barrier that Gaba’ké had erected was still in place, creating a break in the canal. That’s not something we can fix without Gaba’ké, Ohacha ruminated. Then, in the canal he spotted something floating in the water, its eyes staring up at him. He walked forward and saw that it was a wooden mask. The Mada’abi Assassin’s mask. The one Rolena and Gaba’ké had been referring to.

Ohacha walked forward and collected the mask from the canal. It was carved from soft wood that flexed with his touch. The mask’s face stared back up at him with overly-large eyes atop high cheekbones. The face narrowed to a strong pointy chin. It bore no resemblance to the assassin they had just killed. Cask beckoned and, not knowing what else to do, Ohacha walked back to the assassin’s corpse. He retrieved her severed head, lifting it by her short hair. He took it and the mask back with him towards the house. He ran the short distance to catch up with Cask, who still carried the old Aginjigaade delicately in his scarred arms.

They reached the house unimpeded and Cask laid Gaba’ké down on a couch in the sitting room by the front door. The old man didn’t stir. Cask drew one of his swords and swept upstairs, well aware that Gaba’ké had been attacked before finishing his search of the house. Cask felt in no mood to take risks. However unlikely a second assassin seemed, Cask wasn’t keen on gambling.

Ohacha was still holding the head and the mask. Not knowing what else to do with them, he set the mask down on a table and then found a large ceramic bowl for the head. I’ll burn that later, he thought. Even though the woman was a killer and an enemy, Ohacha didn’t think he had it in him to curse her soul by leaving her body unburnt. To do so would be an invitation for cursed spirits. Or so the superstitions led him to believe.  

The sounds of Cask ruffling about upstairs, closing windows and locking doors echoed from above. Ohacha returned to Gaba’ké’s side. He reached forward and held Gaba’ké’s hand in his own. For the first time in Ohacha’s life, Gaba’ké looked frail. Never before had the old Aginjigaade appeared anything but solid; the boulder that splits the stream. Now he looked his long years. Ohacha, never one for faith or prayers, whispered one anyway for his old mentor.

Cask swept back down the stairs and approached. His face was flushed, “How is he?” Cask asked.

“He moved a bit” Ohacha answered, “but he didn’t wake up.”

“I see…” Cask said. “How long do you want to wait?”

“Hm?” Ohacha grunted.

“For Rolena to return.” Cask said. He pulled a cloth and handed it to Ohacha.

Ohacha didn’t answer right away. Instead, he wiped the sweat from the Gaba’ké’s forehead. Cask opened the old man’s shirt and checked his breathing. Gaba’ké had always been built like a labourer with thick arms and legs on a stout frame. But youth had left him many years ago and now his body showed signs of age. He was sweating and his clothes clung to his skin, and Ohacha dabbed there too.

“You said before that the assassin revealed to you who sent her?” Cask asked, changing the subject.

“Not exactly,” Ohacha said, “but what she said held truth. Think back to Onera. It took more than six weeks before the first assassination attempt came from Bartiin. And he used vagrants in the streets and tried to poison us through servants in Lord Anup’s employ; people with little to lose. Not trained killers. It took two years for real killers to come for us and those were the Emperor’s Aginjigaade assassins brought from overseas. That attack was at a much higher threshold of skill and coordination—the kind meant for toppling kingdoms.”

“I follow,” Cask said, “but what does that have to do with who sent the Mada’abi assassin?”

Ohacha continued, “The Onerans abhor political violence and instability. Onerans destroy their enemies socially; through isolation, selective disclosure, and orchestrating traps and binds. In Onera, there was no established system for having a person assassinated because that was never the Oneran method for wielding political power and influence. But here, in Casoya, things are different and we were fools to think otherwise. We let our guards down and Bartiin’s first attack was far swifter and far deadlier than anything we experienced in Onera. But Bartiin could never have organized that kind of assault so rapidly. Not alone. And yet it came, which means that he must of had help. The enemy that has acted against us is somebody who has been in Caso long enough to be familiar with its criminal underbelly and would follow through with Bartiin’s mission despite his absence.”

“Everything you’ve said makes sense,” Cask conceded, “but that doesn’t help me understand who sent the assassin. Somebody here in Caso also has a feud with us?”

“That Aginjigaade from the soldier’s guild just told us who else in the city has a feud with us,” Ohacha revealed. “Our deaths are Belvaas and Bartiin’s missions but the Careyago emperor has made it clear he wants us dead to. And unlike in Onera, the Careyago have a remarkable presence here: trade writs and merchants from across the empire. And if their ambassador is anything like the ambassador we had removed from Gaag, they’re the type to meddle in politics and…”

“Use criminals as a tool for influence and profit,” Cask finished, finally understanding.

“Now that Bartiin is gone, only one group has the motive and financial backing to send a Mada’abi Stone Assassin,” Ohacha concluded. “One group would have an existing connection to this city and its crime network and would continue the assignment Bartiin started.”

“Spirits, the Careyago Embassy” Cask said. “You reckon it was the ambassador?”

“It should have taken Bartiin months to organize the Auction House attack” Ohacha continued. “Aramuk only felt comfortable with us going to the Auction that day because he believed we had a window where we remained protected. He never foresaw the speed and might the Careyago could muster.”

A loud knock sounded from the door and both men went silent. Ohacha watched Cask’s hand slowly reach for the blade at his side. A second knock, more urgent than the first sounded.

“Cask, open up! it’s me!” Rolena’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Upstairs” Cask hissed. “Go check from the window. I’m not taking any chances tonight.”

Ohacha climbed the stairs and turned right into his room. He pushed aside his trunks of belongings and pressed his face against the window and caught the glimpse of two figures down on the staircase below. One was clearly Rolena, though her figure was warped by the old glass. The other figure was larger. A man, presumably. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and Ohacha shouted down at Cask, then watched as the two figures disappeared into the building.

Ohacha crept down the stairs quietly, knowing Cask and Gaba’ké would warn him to keep his distance from the stranger that had just entered. Despite them, Ohacha’s desire to understand what was happening and if he could help overrode his fears. From atop the stairs, Ohacha peered under the ceiling and saw a portly man kneeling over Gaba’ké’s. Cask caught his eye and gestured for him to go upstairs. Ohacha ignored him and came down into the sitting room.

The portly man turned at his coming. He was local Casoyan and had the look of a man still trying desperately to hold on to what little there was left of his middle years. He had a large round face that might once have been diamond shaped and small beady eyes. Grey hairs peppered his short black straight hair. He gave Ohacha an odd look.

“Ah. This is my son” Cask said, starring intently at Ohacha as he spoke the lie. “Please, is there anything you can do for my master?” he asked. “I think he’s been poisoned.”

“Our master is a very important Aginjigaade from… Ayaan” Rolena reiterated.

“I’ll see what I can do” the man said in a groggy voice. “You have coin?”

“Yes, certainly” Cask replied.

Cask gave Rolena a look. She swept across to Ohacha’s side and not-so-subtly lead him up the stairs and away from the doctor tending to Gaba’ké. Once they were out of earshot, he addressed her in an urgent whisper, “How did you get back so fast?”

Rolena led him into her own room and closed the door, leaving it ajar by a sliver. They stood close together in the darkness of the room. Neither had bothered to bring a candle. She moved over to her small trunk and unlatched it. “I was really fortunate!” she whispered back eagerly. “I rushed back the way we had come to that alehouse you mentioned. I approached the barman and asked about a doctor and he pointed down to Doctor Bol, uhm, the man downstairs. I was practically leaning over the doctor to ask the barman for a doctor and he heard the whole conversation.”

“What did you tell him? That Gaba’ké’s an Aginjigaade and that he’s been poisoned?” Ohacha asked. He watched as she ruffled through her trunk and removed several items.

“Of course!” Rolena exclaimed, moving her hands to her single long braid that ran down to her mid back. “Why lie to a man we’ve asked for help?” she continued. “In my experience, if a doctor’s any good, they seem to figure out the truth of things. And if they’re not very good, they’ll believe the lie and do more harm than good anyway.”

Ohacha watched as Rolena’s hands moved skillfully to undo the long mess of hair that was released as she removed her braid. It was dark, like his own, but unlike his small curls her hair was straighter and wavy. It seemed to have a redder tint too, even in the low light. He continued to watch as she removed the small bracers off her forearms. Next came her armoured chest piece, pulling it up from her shoulders and over her head.

Ohacha realized that he had become distracted, watching her, and tried to think of another question, “Do you think he’ll be able to help?”

Rolena turned away from him and removed her undershirt. He gulped as the bare skin of her back drew his gaze. Marks spotted her back but Ohacha was too focused on her muscles and curves to notice. He turned away in embarrassment as she undressed. His cheeks flushed and he prayed she couldn’t tell in the dark room.

“Better than you or I” Rolena answered. She turned around, already donning a new shirt and noticed Ohacha had turned around. She smiled. How cute and endearing, she thought. She hadn’t spared a single thought about modesty in the moment. But now, thinking back, she grasped it might have been in poor taste or manners to change in front of the prince.

It was strange because she felt in some way that she knew Ohacha, Cask, and Gaba’ké fairly well over the last year and a half together. Yet there were still quirks and oddities to these westerners that surprised her on occasion. Perhaps they were more prudent about these things than she had understood. The Oneran elite had been.

Back in Onera, the revealing of skin beyond the face or feet in public was seen as ignoble. And even then, noble ladies showed preference towards shawls that obscured their faces and dresses that trailed along the ground. Only the poor and the peasants in the fields let the sun tinge their skin. But Rolena had never been one of those ladies, and her years of work as a mercenary had further hardened her against leering eyes and lecherous behaviour. She had encountered her own fair share of lusty drunks and lowly perverts. A few had even served alongside her in the company. She had changed her clothes in front of many of them without a second thought, knowing best how to handle herself. A woman on the march has to be durable enough to resist the scoundrels. A captain that protected their own was equally important. Society only works with consequences.

“Let’s go back” Rolena said. Ohacha turned to look at her and she caught the blush on his cheeks but pretended not to notice. “You should change too” she added, gesturing to his torn shirt sleeve.

Ohacha had forgotten about the ripped shirt. It hadn’t felt important at the time, but thinking back, the shirt might have been the reason for the odd look on the doctor’s face. He slipped into his room and changed shirts into something more comfortable while Rolena waited at the top of the stairs. When he was finished, they descended to the main floor where Gaba’ké was sitting up straight. His hands were covering his face. The doctor, Bol, sat on a chair close by while Cask hovered anxiously near by. Cask looked up, while the doctor and Gaba’ké remained unperturbed.

“He’s just come to” Cask said in a hushed voice. “Seems he’s in some pain. The poison has spread but not by much. The doctor’s taking a close look at it still.”

“What happened to the assassin’s knives?” Ohacha asked.

“They might still be upstairs” Rolena said. “Let me check.”

Ohacha watched her turn and ascend back the way they had come. His eyes lingered a fraction longer than they should have before he turned his attention back to Cask who gave him a quizzical look. He ignored the swordsman. “Perhaps if we have a sample of the poison, the doctor might know it?”

“Should we show him the mask?” Cask asked. “Maybe the Mada’abi all use the same poison? I can go back to the canal and get it.”

“No need” Ohacha said, “Its sitting over there on the table” Ohacha added. Cask peered over and, to his surprise, the mask sat exactly where Ohacha said it was. Panic filled his eyes and Ohacha reached over and put a firm hand on his master’s shoulder. “I brought the head too” he added. “It’s in the kitchen. Don’t let the doctor in there until you get a chance to move it.”

“What about the rest of the body” Cask asked.

“Not much I could do about that” Ohacha said. “I left it. Our best hope is it stays dark enough that nobody notices. It’s off the main road… but the blood could be an issue. I could send Rolena out there to see if she can clean it up a bit.”

“No” Cask said, “I can do that. She didn’t want to kill the assassin. It doesn’t seem fair to make her clean up my mess. Regardless, so long as Gaba’ké’s construction in the canal remains, there’s little we can do to cover our mess.”

Ohacha only grunted in ascent. That was when Gaba’ké looked up at them. Both men approached eagerly. They kneeled before him while the doctor continued to look at the arm. “How do you feel?” Ohacha asked.

“Exhausted” Gaba’ké said. “The arm’s hurting pretty bad. Not sure if it’s the cut–” he grunted in pain and doctor Bol apologized. “Not sure if it’s the cut or the poison” Gaba’ké finished.

“You passed out” Cask said. “It was exhaustion, no?” The doctor shifted awkwardly. It was clear that he was listening in on their conversation.

“Let us switch tongues” Ohacha said, switching to Gaagian. “The doctor is listening and I have private questions I wish to ask.”

“I understand” Gaba’ké said, also in Gaagian. “To answer your question, Gohara Cask. I think so. Blocking the canal drained me far more than I expected. Then… I… I don’t know what I’d have done if she’d the opportunity to attack, even from a prone position. Your safety was my priority, my prince. I used what little energy I had left.”

“Thank you, master Aginjigaade” Ohacha said. “The assassin, she is still buried in the stone behind the house. She told us that she possessed an antidote. However, it is not clear if her words were truthful or poison themselves. Do you want to try and retrieve the antidote?”

Gaba’ké winced again. “I have not the energy to try. Nor do I believe the assassin possessed one. I must admit something to you and ask for your forgiveness. As your loyal friend and guardian, Ohacha.” Ohacha leaned in intently. Gaba’ké continued, “I know that Aramuk and I are not your parents, but to us you have been our child since that dreadful day.”

“No, you don’t have to say anything. You’re going to be okay. We’ve brought you a doctor,” Ohacha cut in. He needed to believe.

“That’s not it” Gaba’ké said. His face was a mask of exhaustion. “I knew the risks. I knew that there was a strong chance I lost myself for good when using my abilities that last time; to bury the assassin. To use my Aginjigaade abilities, my spirit must be stronger. It must overwhelm the spirits I hope to channel through. I almost lost my last contest. Had I lost, it would have meant death. The end of my spirit. I was weary and desperate. And to be truthful, I feared the poison would claim my life anyway. It was a reckless thing, but I did what I thought was right. I did it to protect you.”

“There is nothing to forgive” Ohacha urged. The doctor leaned over and touched carefully at Gaba’ké’s would and he recoiled with a jolt of pain.

Tears ran down the old mans face as he responded, “I acted out of my own selfish desire to protect you. To protect you, and Cask and Rolena, at all costs–”

“Its okay” Ohacha said, “I forgive you and I will always forgive you. Without you, I’d have been killed a long time ago. Your heart, Gaba’ké, has always been in the right place. You did what you thought was right, and I will never fault you for that.”

Gaba’ké’s eyes glanced past him and Ohacha noticed Rolena had returned. She was waiting silently, behind them. “Doctor Bol” Rolena said, getting the man’s attention. “This was the knife used against my master. I believe some of the assassin’s poison remains coated along on the blade.”

Ohacha watched as Rolena presented the doctor the knife. The blade was single-edged and about the length of her forearm. Narrower at the hilt, the blade widened along its length before ending in a hooked tip; a uniquely foreign style. Rolena held the knife outstretched towards him, but did not remove her hand from the grip.

Doctor Bol stared wide-eyed at the blade. His voice waivered as he drew away from her. “Please” he quivered, “Take that away from me… and be very careful with it! Your assassin…” he added nervously, “You are sure that they are dead?”

“Yes” Cask said with confident disdain. “The bitch is dead.”

“And you understand the significance of this death? You understand who it is you have slain?”

“Yes” Cask repeated. “A Mada’abi Stone.”

Doctor Bol gulped. “I need proof… assurance. They will kill me too if you’re lying. How are you certain its dead?”

Cask looked at Ohacha, and then at Gaba’ké who also seemed interested in the answer. “Her severed head is sitting in a pot in my kitchen” Cask said, no longer interested in hiding anything.

Doctor Bol nodded nervously. He also looked squeamish. Ohacha wasn’t sure if it was the mental image of the severed head in the other room or other words the doctor seemed reluctant to say. He seemed to process that information and collected his thoughts before continuing, “I don’t know how better to tell you this,” he began, “but there is no antidote for this poison here in Caso. It is a carefully guarded Mada’abi secret. I suspect the blade is coated in some kind of venom, but from which beast I could not guess. There is nothing I can do but amputate the arm. If we don’t, the poison will slowly spread over the next couple of hours until his heart stops.”

“I was worried it would come to this” Cask said. Rolena covered a gasp with her hand.

“This is difficult to stomach, I understand. But you should consider yourselves blessed” Doctor Bol continued. “To best a Mada’abi assassin; few have ever accomplished what you claim to have done.” Gaba’ké moaned and all attention turned back to him. “You are lucky, friend” the doctor said to Gaba’ké, getting the man’s weary attention. “A cut close to your heart or neck and you would be dead by now.”

“Gaba’ké” Ohacha said, switching back to Gaagian again. “Tell me, do you wish to wait and try to recover enough to check her body for an antidote or play it safe with the doctor and amputate now? He suggests taking your whole arm.”

“Ohacha” Gaba’ké almost whispered. “That killer never had an antidote. Take the hand and let us be done with this.”

“Are you sure?” Ohacha asked.

“Certainly” Gaba’ké whispered.

Ohacha turned to the doctor and addressed the man. An anger settled within him and it boiled beneath the surface. He spoke in an even tone that hid his true feelings, “My master wishes to have the hand removed at once. Please help us determine where best to amputate. We will need your help with preparation and to ensure the wound heals correctly and without infection.”

“Of course,” Doctor Bol said.

As they were preparing for the amputation, following the doctors’ instructions, Rolena pretended not to notice as Cask pulled Ohacha aside. “The day after tomorrow” he said in a hushed voice, “Once Gaba’ké is recovering, send me to the Careyago Embassy.” Ohacha’s ears perked up. “Let me get whatever information I can. Perhaps even a confession. Rolena can protect you while I’m out. Let me end this once and for all.”

Ohacha first instinct was to protest. Sending Cask as an assassin was a revolting thought, and then Ohacha’s confidence waivered. He reconsidered the idea. Strike now to protect ourselves in the future. Sever the hand that wields the knife. No more assassins until the Careyago send a new ambassador or Bartiin returns again. It could buy months of safety. The more he considered the idea, the more his doubts faded. His only hesitation remained bound to the knowledge that neither Aramuk nor Gaba’ké would have supported the action. But uncle Aramuk is dead. Gaba’ké is dying to poison as we speak. Look where upstanding principles has landed them.

He made a decision. Mercy is reserved only for those strong enough to grant it. Morality returns with peace. “Do it” Ohacha said.