At the Ash Guild she leaned atop a triangular rooftop, rested her arms on its tip, and overlooked the square. Nothing. The magnitude of her task set upon her then. She was trying to find a lone man in the entire city, one who appeared to have no friends, no allegiances, and no clear motive other than killing thieves. She had a vague description to go on based on his clothes, and a rumor that he had blond hair. Some said he had red eyes, but she dismissed those, as well as the stories claiming he had demon blood and blades for hands. But blond she could work with.
She dozed for a while, not meaning to. Sometime later she startled, ashamed of her weakness. It’d been a long twenty hours, sure, but she’d handled worse.
“Nava would be so disappointed,” she whispered, feeling sad and tired. Nava had been one of the last three Faceless women, killed at the hand of a dark paladin of Karak. They’d been deemed outcasts, traitors to their God. But it was their God that had abandoned them, and so she’d turned on his paladin that had come for Alyssa, protecting her. Zusa had given Karak no prayers for the last five years. She missed Nava and Eliora more than his presence.
Not far to her right, down in the alley, she heard someone cry out in pain. Curious, she rushed over and leaned down. Her eyes widened. Whirling below her was a mass of gray cloaks, spinning and sliding as if possessed. Three men fought against it, all wearing the colors of the Ash. A man lived inside those cloaks, and she saw his face, his blond hair…but even that wasn’t what convinced her. She saw his eyes, and they were tormented yet lost in pleasure. One by one the thieves fell, throats sliced and chests cut open. His skill was incredible.
“Watcher,” she whispered, drawing her daggers. “I find you at last.”
She felt a seed of worry planted in the back of her mind. Her master wanted the Watcher brought back alive, but the way he fought, the way he moved, it might be impossible. He’d die before surrendering, she knew that the way she knew he’d prepared for her attack from above despite all her silence.
His swords danced, their weapons collided. Her feet slammed into his chest, but he held his ground. She pushed off, flipping twice in the air before landing on her feet. The two stared at one another, a smile blooming across her face.
“Ethric was the last true challenge I fought,” she said. “Can you be the next, Watcher?”
“Damn woman,” said the Watcher. He pointed a blade at her cloak. “Who is it you work for? What fool have you sold your soul to?”
Zusa laughed, the amusement only half acted. The man was watching her, analyzing her. She felt naked before his eyes, as if in time he might know every movement. She was doing the same to him, true, but he was too guarded, too still.
“You seek my colors?” she asked. Slowly she lifted one arm, slashed it, and let the blood drip down onto the cloth of her cloak. She wondered if her spell would take hold. Her strength had come from Karak, or so she’d always thought. She’d once lived within shadows, danced with cold fire on her blades, but not since Ethric had she tapped Karak’s power.
The color spread through the cloak in seconds, turning it a vibrant red. It coiled around her, as if suddenly alive. Zusa felt her blood pound in her ears, her head ached from the effort, but still she smiled. Perhaps Karak hadn’t abandoned her after all.
“I serve willingly,” she said, tensing for an attack. “I have sold nothing.”
She lunged, one dagger looping upward to block, the other thrusting for his chest. Her cloak wrapped about her like a shield. When the Watcher countered, her dagger parried his blade away, but her thrust met his other sword, and her arm jarred at the strength of the block. Her cloak lashed out like a whip, its fine edges sharp as razors. It slashed across his face, blood splattered them both, and then he leapt back. His hood fell lopsided, and she saw how blue his eyes were, how dirty his face was. Who was hidden beneath the guise? Who would Alyssa find when she dumped his body before her?
“Neat trick,” the Watcher said before leaping into his own attack. Their weapons clashed again and again, his speed incredible. Twice Zusa had to spin and let her cloak snap inward, deflecting a killing thrust. This was no spar, no game. He wanted her dead. That seed of worry in her mind grew to a thorn. One of his swords slashed her thigh. The other pierced her chest, shallow but painful. The worry bloomed like a deadly flower.
It was the narrowness of the alley they fought in that saved her. When he lunged for a killing blow, she kicked off the wall, sailing over his head. Her feet hit the opposite side, the collision jarring, but she pushed off, higher. Her cloak trailed below her, twisting. It lashed at him, cutting deep grooves into his arms. He’d expected her to land, not continue back the way she came. The cloak kept him off balance, and when she landed, she lunged in, daggers leading.
She underestimated his speed.
The sound of steel hitting steel rang in her ears, and her carefully coordinated attack broke as his swords danced. She refused to relent, chasing every backward step he took. There was still no fear in his eyes, only death. Whether it was for her, or himself, she didn’t know.
The ache in her head grew. She couldn’t maintain the cloak’s enchantment much longer. It’d never hurt like this before, never drained her so terribly. Maybe Karak truly had abandoned her, as she’d abandoned him. Or perhaps Karak wasn’t with her at all? Intrigued, she suddenly somersaulted away from him, pulling out in mid-attack while he was unprepared to give chase. She’d once been able to treat the shadows as doorways. Could she still do so?
The sun was low enough that several deep stretches of darkness remained in the alley. Zusa focused on one behind the Watcher, then turned and leapt at the shadowed wall behind her. Part of her expected to hit stone, but she passed cleanly through. Again her mind ached, but when the distortion ended, she was behind her opponent. Her cloak resuming its normal color and shape, she flung herself at him, knowing her chance to surprise him like this again was non-existent.
Any normal opponent would have died, but this Watcher was beyond normal. He looked a man possessed, and the moment she vanished he was already spinning, searching for her. He parried her leading thrust, and she was forced to use her other dagger to counter a slash aimed for her throat. Her momentum continued, and they slammed into one another. His head cracked against the wall. Her hands a blur, she cut once, twice, into the tendons at his elbow. The sound of his sword hitting the ground was music to her ears.
He screamed, but the pain did not slow down his other blade. She felt its edge dig into her skin, and she rolled with it to prevent too deep a cut. Blood ran down her face and neck, urging her on. She used both her daggers to pin his sword aside, then rammed her elbow into his throat. He gasped for air, his gag reflex leaning him closer. Pulling her daggers back, she hit his temple with the hilts. The Watcher dropped to his knees.
“I’ll kill if I must,” she said as he leaned on his arms, as if bowing to her. “Come now, and face the woman you wronged.”
“I’ve wronged no one,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Murderer of children. Liar. Surrender now.”
He laughed. It was tired and broken.
“ I am the murdered child, woman. Ask my father.”
He flung his cloak at her. As she batted it aside, his heel followed after, ramming into her forehead. Fearing an attack, she retreated, her daggers falling into defensive positions. Her blurred vision saw no attack. He was gone, but where? Follow the blood, she thought. Follow the blood.