Back Stab

Back Stab

1301

         A cloaked figure slipped from one shadow to the next on the streets of Navan Port. Clad in black, the indiscernible silhouette melded easily with the shadows cast by the buildings that lined the streets. Despite the clouds partially shrouding the moon, its gleam was bright enough so that any form of light was hardly needed to navigate the twisty streets of the Docks District.

         Suddenly the figure stopped by a shadowy doorway and spoke two words into the darkness. “Lovely evening,” he said, pulling a note from a pocket of his cloak and handing it to someone who was waiting within the darkness. The man leaned back against the wall casually.

         “We’ve been betrayed,” the messenger began to say, “and there is only one way to solve this problem.”

         He leaned to his left to peer into the shadows but saw nothing, but somehow he knew his contact was still hidden by its impenetrable darkness. “I want him dead,” the man continued, turning back to lean against the wall, “and I want his head.”

         He began to move off but stopped suddenly and said: “And be sure to tell him that Cesc O’Vallagh sends his regards.”

         With that he moved off again, flitting from shadow to shadow, trusting his contact had understood his orders. A moment later, when the hooded man had disappeared from sight, another hooded figure slipped from that shadowy doorway and casually ambled in the opposite direction, through a veil of thinly-layered fog.

*  *  *  *  *

         The walls gleamed with a thin layer of ever-present moisture. There were very few torches alight down in the tunnel complex of the guild; not that light was ever needed, for most who ventured here were well accustomed to a lightless world. People of the mundane would easily lose themselves in this place; lose direction; lose their sense of time. But those who roamed these halls day in and day out learned to keep track of everything.

         It was a quiet place, like a library, with only whispers and sibilance that could be heard from a fair distance as it echoed off the stone walls. It was usually as quiet as a graveyard, but tonight, however, there was a certain excitement present that could be heard on those whispers that traversed the complex, carrying with it word of the guild’s finest warrior.

         She walked down dark, dingy corridors with a rhythmic dripping sound that echoed off the walls of the secret passages and chambers that was the home of the Silent Blades Guild. So silently she moved that her footfalls could not be heard and she moved so expertly between the shadows that she seemed like nothing more than a figment of the imagination to any who may have seen her.

         But those that saw something move to their side quickly, and silently, admitted to their mind’s foolish trickery.

         Many times, it seemed, this talented warrior could move where it was thought impossible to move. Too many times she made impossible things seem difficult and difficult things merely easy. There was always something about Xest that made it seem as though effortlessness was her goal. But, while there was always that about her, there was also the undeniable mysticism that seemed to be so much a part of her life.

         She moved to open an iron door and light filled the corridor where she stood. She moved inside the light-filled room and closed the door behind her. Xest looked around the room then, noticing so many small trinkets that were, no doubt, worth a pretty penny on the streets of Navan Port above.

         Tapestries and gold-framed paintings lined the walls of the grandiose room. The woman moved then to sit on a chair at a big oak table that blinked in the light from the polish that was perfectly layered over it. The tabletop displayed a picture of a great battle of demons and angels, intricately incised into the table’s surface. Everything in the room seemed to have its place, which made Xest believe that the occupant was perhaps the most meticulous person she would ever meet.

         “You’ve arrived,” came a familiar voice at her side. A man emerged from the shadows of a candle-lit room, cleaning and trimming his nails with a masterfully crafted dagger. Its blade was curved inward towards its sharpened side, making it even sharper than a straight blade or a blade curved in the opposite direction.

         “As you requested,” Xest replied, removing the cowl of her black cloak and draping it over her shoulders. Her hair was thick and cherry-red and probably hung halfway down her back. The man couldn’t be sure, though, for her hair was neatly tucked behind her cloak. Her eyes seemed wild, so big and so strangely coloured. Today her eyes seemed to be greener than the day before, Malvin noticed.

         He had noticed this strange colouring of the woman’s eyes, often changing from an undeniable blue one day, to light green the next. Many rumours had been spread about the supposed meanings behind the colour changes in her eyes in the past, so much so that it served only to add to this woman’s innate mysticism.

         Xest knew that she was mysterious to people, and hence kept people guessing and, more often than not, second-guessing.

         “What did you want?” Xest asked, tapping her fingers on the table.

         “Straight down to business,” Malvin replied, “very well. I need you for another task, Xest.” A piece of his thumbnail flicked through the air with a slice of his razor-sharp dagger.

         “What’s new?” the woman asked sarcastically.

         “Come now, Xest,” Malvin said. “Don’t be like that. This one will at least pay well.”

Xest looked on suspiciously at the man, “Indeed.”

         “What’s that supposed to mean?” the man asked, stopping his relentless nail-trimming to cast a curious gaze upon the half-elfish woman. Xest preferred to keep her elven inheritance as secretive as possible, but couldn’t really care what this human man before her knew about her.

         “I’m just saying that it had better pay more than the last one you gave me,” Xest replied.

         A moment of silence passed. It was agonisingly slow for Malvin, who was caught in one of Xest’s typical staring games. Her cold eyes were fixed on his stern gaze, but he soon blinked and looked away from the uncomfortable situation.

         “Who do I have to kill?” Xest asked, a victorious smile forming on her delicate face.

         Malvin flipped his dagger in his hand and threw it with such force that it thudded into a painting on the wall opposite him. “Him,” the man replied, moving away from the table to lean against the wall of the room where had entered from.

         “This is getting interesting,” Xest cooed, eyeing Malvin with a cocked brow. “How much?”

         “Five hundred gold pieces,” Malvin said, turning his attention back to his nails.

         “Five hundred gold pieces for killing an ambassador,” Xest said with a laugh. “Are you serious?”

         “Obviously.”

         “Ha,” Xest laughed. “Double it and he’ll be dead before the week is done.”

         “Do you think I’m made of money?” Malvin asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the red-haired woman. He pushed himself from the wall and moved to remove the dagger from the painting and then began to trim his nails again.

         “You are a high ranking master of this guild,” Xest said, looking at the man as though he were crazy. “I know you have money.”

         “A thousand?” the man asked, not even looking up to the woman.

         “No less,” came her reply.

         “In that case, Xest,” Malvin began, “bring me his head as proof and you will get your thousand gold pieces.”

         A few moments of uneasiness passed before Xest finally spoke. “You know I hate bringing body parts back as proof.”

         “And I’d prefer to have body parts than just a mere painting,” Malvin retorted, finally content with his nails and sheathing his dagger. He moved to stand in front of the woman, who merely looked at him with cold, green eyes.

         “I’m not happy about decapitating someone so that you have a new trophy for your collection,” Xest said. “But a thousand gold pieces is a lot of money and I could surely do with it.”

         “So we have a deal then.” the man said more than asked, moving joyfully to sit at the head of the table.

         Xest looked into Malvin’s eyes again, initiating her staring game to see who was stronger in will. She had played this game countless times with many of her masters, and had thus become quite adept at it.

         But she flinched first and looked away as the thought of the conditions of her latest contract crossed her mind. But she had need of the money, and so would go through with the assassination.

*  *  *  *  *

         “My lord,” the ambassador heard his informant’s near-irritating voice from the doorway behind him. Ambassador Téphor Gorhand was staring out of his window, his thoughts running away from him as his eyes scanned the cityscape that was unfurled in front of him. His long, black hair was greasy-looking with a shiny glistening that was quite visible in the sunlit room, and clung to his back like it had no life of its own. He was a tall man and built in a way that would make some barbarians shy away from him. He turned on his heel to regard Ottum with a furrowed brow.

         “What is it?” he asked. His voice was deep and resonating. He stepped off to the side of the room to a shelf and gazed at its contents. Whether he was looking for some title in particular or just browsing the shelf’s contents, the informant could not be certain, not that the ambassador’s taste in reading was any of his concern. And judging by the size of the man, Ottum certainly never made it any of his concern.

         “I have news of Malvin, my lord,” he said finally, not daring to press the hulk-of-a-man’s patience.

         “Let me hear it then,” came the ambassador’s reply.

         “Well, my lord,” Ottum said, “you know how Malvin despises you?

         “I needn’t be reminded.”

         “Well he’s sent an assassin to kill you, my lord.” Téphor turned to regard the informant again, who was still standing by the room’s entrance and turning his eyes away from the man.

         Téphor knew Malvin had harboured some resentment towards him, if not for the open threat Malvin had given him, then surely for the note he had received from the man only two days before.

         The note had advised the ambassador to leave the city within good time, for the sake of his own life. Téphor had read the note with certain scepticism at first, but began to believe the man’s intentions all of a sudden with the news of the assassin Malvin had sent to kill him.

         “Who’s the assassin?” Téphor asked suddenly, wondering why Malvin had sent someone to kill him instead of doing it himself.

         “A woman called Xest, sire,” Ottum said with the underpinnings of fear embedded in his voice.

         “A woman?” the ambassador said, more to himself than to Ottum. A smirk slowly grew on his unshaven face. “Malvin, you fool, do you really believe a woman could best me?”

         Ottum did not say anything as the ambassador strolled back towards the window to look out over the cityscape, nor did he want to either, for he knew the truth about the assassin sent to kill the ambassador. Though he never admitted it to anyone, the informant harboured a measure of hatred towards both the ambassador and the woman hired by Malvin.

         But he feared both equally.

*  *  *  *  *

         Xest moved along the walls of a building close to the ambassador’s manor in the Government District. The moon was out still, waning until the next full moon. Without a cloud in the sky to cover the light of the stars and moon, the woman had to pick her movements most carefully.

         She knew that any sort of curious activity in this part of the city would mean her job was all for naught. So she darted, from the shadow she was concealed in, to the next shadow. She had timed her movement to perfection, falling behind the shadow curtain of a doorway just before two members of the city watch came into view.

         Xest watched them as they walked up the cobblestone street towards her destination. Her black clothing helped in these situations to conceal her from the wary eyes of the Watch and her magical boots ensured quiet passage between those shadows.

         A few minutes later, after following the two watchmen to right in front of the manor, Xest found herself concealed behind a high hedge opposite the south-eastern corner of the manor. She watched for a moment as the two watchmen turned down a street and disappeared.

         She kept low as she scanned the area. She noticed two guards at the main entrance. She noticed the campanile of the Arcane Order behind the ambassador’s manor as she continued to scan the double-story building for the best possible entry and escape points.

         The woman silently slipped out from behind the hedge and moved stealthily to the northern end of the building. Xest jumped across a drain that went all around the manor and held against the building’s northern wall. The area was quiet, with little activity from citizens, watchmen and city guard alike. She dropped down without a sound into the drain and moved further along it before stopping underneath a grate used to cross the drain. She heard activity above her, behind what appeared to be the backdoor of the ambassador’s complex. She silently thanked her mother for her elven inheritance.

         Xest stayed there, looking up through the grate to finally see the door swing outward towards the street. Two men, dressed in chainmail armour, clanged overhead with steel greaves and boots. When they were barely ten strides away, Xest jumped from the drain and moved towards the door before it closed.

         The assassin entered into a well-lit room. Without stopping, and trusting every instinct she had, she took a few steps further into what appeared to be a kitchen and turned left into a walk-in cupboard, silently closing the door behind her.

         She looked down to the gap between the door and the floor, noticing a shadow pass by the door then. She nearly stopped breathing altogether, fearing the person on the other side of the door would hear even her most silent breath.

         Her keen sense of hearing picked up the footsteps approaching the cupboard but stopped short of the door.

         “Ahoy,” a man with a gruff voice said on the other side.

         “What’s on the menu tonight?” came another, far younger voice from further into the room. Xest did not stop to listen and hastily pulled a glass vial free from her belt pouch. She quickly quaffed the potion before stowing her cloak underneath one of the shelves that lined the walls of the pantry.

         She moved to the door. Silently placing her fingers against it, she began to climb. Her fingers and boots stuck to the door, but every step she wanted to take they pulled free and stuck silently again; allowing her climb the wall like a fly would on glass.

         Her long, red hair draped down, like a tapestry draped from the roof, as she clung to the ceiling of the pantry. The door clicked and light suddenly bathed the area and a plump man entered the pantry, immediately turning to search for something on the shelf to his right.

         The shelf where Xest had hidden her cloak.

         He turned back towards the door suddenly, apparently finding what he was looking for, and left the pantry, closing the door behind him. Xest thought for a moment, and then reached down to the shelf below her. She snatched at a Hessian sack with one hand and sent it falling to the floor.

         The bag hit the ground with a thud, but did not tear.

         “What was that?” she heard the man who had entered the pantry only moments ago say. The door opened again and the man entered, looking down at the floor to find a sack of wheat lying there. He knelt down to pick it up and replace it where it was normally kept, wondering all the while how it had fallen off.

         If Xest were to get out of here she would need to act soon, and this was her best opportunity. She released the grip on her boots first and then her fingers and fell, feet first, to the floor and landed without a sound.

         Reaching for a dagger from a bandolier, she deftly cut a line across the man’s throat, spilling his life force down his throat from the open wound. He slumped to the floor, his blood pooling where he lay. She moved quickly to close the door, looking down as the man gave his last breaths before dying.

         The lethal woman knelt down and reached for her cloak before his blood stained it, keeping her eyes fixed the man.

         Collateral damage, she thought to herself then.

*  *  *  *  *

         Xest had moved from her position in the pantry and was trying to find her way upstairs, where she knew she could find the ambassador. The ambassador’s manor was awfully quiet, Xest realised, and the thought perturbed her more than just a little. So far it seemed, to the woman, that it had been far too easy to enter the secured complex. But, she thought, the ambassador was known to have little protection when he travelled to distant cities.

         She located a staircase to the side of the main entrance. The wooden floorboards creaked overhead and Xest managed to slip into a darkened nook just as the footsteps sounded throughout the vestibule.

         The woman watched as a single man stepped into view and made his was down a corridor and turned left to follow the corridor’s path. Xest thought of following him but quickly decided against it, thinking the best course of action was to go for the ambassador himself; and to get out of the manor as soon as she could.

         She came out from her hiding spot and, with deadly stillness, ascended the staircase leading to the second floor. She turned down the corridor to her left, meaning to work her way anticlockwise around the building until she found her target.

         By process of elimination, she peered into each room that lined either side of the passageway. But one room in particular caught her attention. Where she would normally have disregarded the room, she felt compelled to enter this one to take a closer look at an object glinting in the light at the further end.

         She entered the room, slowly, lightly closing the door behind her and made her way to where that incessant blinking was originating from. She stepped over the wooden floor in toe-heel fashion to cushion her steps; a trait learned from her days at the Mercenary Imprest.

         A big oaken table loomed before her, many pieces of parchment and other smaller items laden over top it. She took her time in inspecting each trinket, but paid particular attention to a pendant that her trained eyes quickly spotted as pure silver. She picked up the lead-shaped pendant in her hand to take a closer look at the tear-drop shaped stone imbedded in the silver.

         It was a real emerald, she concluded, swiftly dropping the pendant into one of her belt pouches. She took up one of the parchments that lay scattered on the table and read the first few lines. Her eyes scanned to the bottom of the page and read who the parchment was signed by: Ottum Suthe.

         The note had not been sealed yet and, the woman figured, the man who had descended the stairs was the writer of this note. She replaced the note on the table and turned to take a look at the rest of the room. She scrutinised every detail and, when she was satisfied that there was nothing more of value, moved towards the door to continue her search for Téphor Gorhand.

*  *  *  *  *

         Ottum Suthe walked back to his personal chambers. His footsteps echoed off the walls of the foyer as he ascended the staircase with weighty legs. He had been hard at work for the past two days and had not gotten much sleep in that time either.

         He walked down the corridor and began to make his way to his personal chambers when he passed a door just as it clicked open. He stopped suddenly and turned back to se who was inside the room, remembering that he had just come from that room moments ago to leave a note on the desk there.

         The door opened slightly and he quickly caught a glimpse of one wildly green eye. As quick as he had ever seen anything move before, the door swung open fully and in a flash the woman stepped forward. She slapped the man with the side of an ice-cold shortsword and held it firmly against his face.

         With the slightest movement Ottum made, the sword was turned down then quickly upwards, forcing the man onto his toes as he felt the sharp blade pierce the skin under his chin.

         “Where is he?” the woman asked in a whisper, her eyes all the more wild. Ottum could tell she was hunting, could tell immediately that Malvin’s assassin had already come looking for the ambassador. A world of confusion came upon the man suddenly, thinking whether to protect the ambassador and not say – to the detriment of his own life, surely – or cowardly tell the woman where his room was, in the hopes that she would not just push the cold blade into his brain anyway.

         “He… he’s in his personal chambers,” Ottum stammered.

         Xest pushed the blade slightly, “Where?”

         “On the other side,” the man replied quickly with the undercurrents of fright in his voice. He caught a quick glimpse of the blade pushed under his chin, noting that frost lined the blade’s sharpened edge and a blue hue from the blade made it seem all the more cold.

         It was in this moment of literally standing against the edge of death that Ottum appreciated the beauty of it all. A woman, sent to kill Téphor, had him pleading for his own life – albeit quietly. She readjusted her grip on her icy blade with a gloved hand and looked him over, then glared directly into his fearful eyes.

         “Show me.”

*  *  *  *  *

         A knock at the door brought Ambassador Téphor Gorhand from his deepening thoughts. The pensive man had been thinking of this woman who would try to assassinate him, though he never knew when she would arrive, or whether he would be long gone by that time. He had, after all, already made plans to leave the city of Navan Port

         The door swung open inwards and, much to the ambassador’s surprise, a woman followed his informant, Ottum, into the room. She held a blade firmly against the base of his skull. He stood up suddenly, a shocked look finding his face. He had never expected the woman to arrive so soon to kill him.

         But he would not go down without a fight, he assured himself.

         Xest drew forth Fireblade, the blade of her father’s heritage that spanned many generations. The longsword immediately bathed itself in orange flames, but did not seem to affect the woman in the slightest. She shifted to her right, both arms outstretched between both men and her.

         “How many have you killed trying to get to me?” the man asked in his typically deep voice. The look on his face showed authentic signs of concern at that moment, Xest realised.

         “One,” the woman replied coldly.

         “Where?”

         “It matters not,” Xest replied. “You won’t be leaving this room in one piece.”

         Téphor regarded the hooded woman then, wondering how Death could be such a beautiful specimen. Had she not been an enemy to him, he would surely have made every attempt at wooing the gorgeous woman underneath that cowl.

         “You’re sorely outnumbered,” Téphor said suddenly, trying to defuse the situation. But somehow he knew his attempts at calming the wild woman would prove to be more difficult than at first thought possible.

         “I’ll slay you and all your men,” she said in response, giving Téphor the impression that she had her sights set at killing him, and he believed she would indeed kill all his guards just get to him.

         His hands dropped to his side, “then I have no choice.”

         Téphor turned quickly and ran to the sword he kept on the wall, as a trophy of sorts; a testament to his youthful military days. Everything happened so quickly and Xest hardly had time to react. The woman saw Ottum turn to make his way for the open door, and no doubt call for help. She dropped the shortsword suddenly and pulled a dagger from one of the two bandoliers she kept slung diagonally across her chest.

         With a flick of the wrist, she sent the projectile spinning tip over hilt towards the fleeing victim, followed closely by a second dagger. The first caught the man in the lower back and the second dead centre in his back. He howled in pain and fell to the floor, and screamed even louder when he realised his legs weren’t moving anymore. He tried desperately to reach the blade in his back to pull it free, but its difficult position in his back made it almost impossible.

         To her right she heard Téphor’s charge and was nearly beheaded, but for her quick reflexes. She dropped and spun underneath his raised arms, turning perfectly to pick up her discarded shortsword. Her cherry-red hair flicked about her as she came out of the spin when her cowl fell backwards onto her shoulders. She brought her blades up in time to slap aside a powerful one-two strike from the surprisingly quick man.

         The two combatants faced off again, Xest catching a glimpse of the struggling man on the floor. She knew she had to end this quickly, lest a score of guards enter through the door to come to the ambassador’s aid.

         The ambassador came in again with an amateurish attack routine.

         She slapped each attack twice with each of her blades, the plangent sound of steel on steel ringing out in the room. With her last defensive slap, she twisted her hand and set her fiery sword to work, pushing the blade forward at his exposed gut.

         Showing great agility, Téphor stepped backwards and turned to the outside of the blade, coming out of the spin to slap aside a thrust with the icy shortsword. He immediately began to work a counter attack, putting the woman on her heels and forcing her backwards. He worked his sword from high to low and back up, scoring only one hit on Xest’s thigh. But it hardly slowed her movements, as her feet were always set in the right places. The woman brought her blades parallel to each other and pushed them into a forceful, downward strike from the ambassador. She stepped toward the ambassador with her right foot and shoulder-charged him, pushing him up and away.

         Téphor was quick enough to land on his feet and move out of the way before Xest’s fiery sword singed past the ambassador’s exposed abdomen. Xest continued her movement, stabbing with the short sword and slicing with her longsword. She did well to duck underneath the ambassador’s only attempt to counter attack, but his movement had slowed as his quill and paper-trained arms grew tired from the weight of his sword.

         Téphor attacked, desperately throwing his weapon forward towards Xest’s throat, but he realised this trained woman was far too quick and merciless with a blade. She stepped out the left, swinging her longsword in an upward arc that sent the ambassador’s weapon too high to recover in time from.

         The man anticipated her next move, but tired and aged limbs and lack of training proved to be his downfall against this battle-honed assassin. Xest dropped low, bringing both her weapons parallel to slice across his exposed lower torso from her left. They bit deep into his flesh and worked together to freeze and burn his skin simultaneously. She hardly slowed as the ambassador dropped to his knees, clutching at his bleeding wounds. The half-elf continued her initial movement from left to right to spin and thrust her longsword backwards and through the ambassador’s chest. With emerald-green eyes, the assassin pulled her blade free easily enough to finish the man off, turning once more and slicing from right to left with her shortsword, beheading the ambassador.

         His head hit the floor with a sickening plop and his body thumped on the floor shortly after.

*  *  *  *  *

         Xest stood by the open window and looked back towards the door, the sounds of a dozen footsteps reverberating down the passageways towards this room. She looked down quickly to her head combatant and the dead Ottum lying at the door. She stepped over to the window, facing the doorway and reached up with her fingertips to the wall above the window.

         The potion she had used earlier was still working, feeling her fingers stick to the stone. She got up onto the windowsill and climbed upwards, disappearing just before the first of the guards came crashing into the room.

         The first guard looked down at the two dead men lying on the floor; a pool of blood had formed by the beheaded body he recognised as Téphor’s and a dagger was protruding out the back of Ottum. He quickly began to move to the open window, figuring the killer had used it to escape.

         Sword in hand he moved to the window and looked out, staring down at the street for anyone who may be running away from the atrocity. He turned back to see the rest of the guards enter the room, weapons drawn, and looking at him curiously.

         He shook his head, quietly answering their questions as he did.

         Xest, crouched on the roof, looked over the city. Lights twinkled in the many buildings of Navan Port and could see the moonshine off the waters of Navan Bay. She stayed for a few minutes, thinking it best to be quietly on her way before the city guard arrived.

         She realised then that she would be home in short order to enjoy the rest of this beautiful night.

*  *  *  *  *

         Xest moved easily through the familiar tunnel complex of the thieves’ guild. She had taken a thousand steps in these lightless halls before and seemed to know exactly where everything was.

         It was not long before the familiar door of Malvin’s quarters loomed before her, like a giant loomed before a dwarf. It was intimidating to say the least, but Xest had nothing to fear. Malvin was a wretch of a man, sending her out to do all his dirty work.

         She opened the door with a creak and shuffled inside. She noticed that the man had been doing some renovations. The furniture had been shifted and placed in other positions and the paintings and tapestries had all been changed around since her last visit.

         Malvin sat with his feet up on the table, his arms folded across his chest. He looked at the woman as she entered, his greying hair hanging low over his eyes. His stare seemed to pierce straight through her, studying her every move until she finally say in the chair on the further end of the table opposite him.

         “What are you gawking at?” she asked, swinging a bag from her back to land on the table with a slight thump.

         “I was just daydreaming,” Malvin replied. He stood up from his chair immediately strode over to Xest. She stared at him as he approached her. He caught a glimpse of her eyes, bluer than he had ever seen them before.

         He had studied her eyes intently, thinking that the popular belief of this woman’s eyes was true; that the colour depicted the mood she was in. He was never absolutely sure about these assumptions, but he did believe that when they were blue they depicted a calm, almost caring mood.

         “What do you have for me?” he asked, inquisitively trying to peek into the bag.

         “Do you have my money?” Xest asked, merely closing the bag before he could catch a glimpse of its contents.

         “Of course,” he replied, pulling two small brown pouches from his belt and handing them to her. “Now let me see.”

         Xest halted him with a hand on the chest. She eyes him with extreme suspicion, pulling the bag closer and inspecting its contents. She took one of the shiny gold pieces out. It fell from her fingers and rolled between Malvin’s legs to the wall behind him. She moved quickly to retrieve it.

         “What’s this?” she heard Malvin roar as she reached down to the floor. He found nothing but bolts of cloth and a large stone within the bag. He turned his stern visage to Xest, the vein in his forehead bulging out and his eyes accentuated his anger all the more.

         “Oh,” she merely replied, “I didn’t want his head in my bag.”

         “Then what’s this back for?” Malvin asked, taking a breath and turning back to inspect it.

         A sharp, cold pain entered his back and shot up his spine. She deftly removed the blade from his back and spun him around, stabbing the blade deep into his gut and retracted it again. She looked into his eyes and placed the bloodied dagger against his throat as he looked up at Xest. The fiery-haired woman’s eyes had changed from an intense blue to the emerald green all men learned to fear. A wry smile formed on Xest’s beautiful face.

         “Cesc O’Vallagh sends his regards.”