Tanit
Two hours before dawn, the hour of thieves. The time when even the bravest sentries feel their vigilance wane, the spirits dance under the moon, and slip into your dreams. I was dressed in my covert expedition gear: tunic and leggings, gun, dagger, tool bag, and hood. All my jewellery and even my talismans, too easily recognizable, were left behind. The murder of Dayal Sambar was in all the evening papers. He had been found with his throat torn out, drained of his blood. The most extravagant explanations had been put forward, albeit none more was more extravagant than the truth.
I was lucky, the rain had stopped. On the docks, there was even a good breeze. I avoided the rare gas lamps and the nightlights hanging next to the doors. I met a few patrolling guards but evaded them easily. Along the way, a black cat silently rubbed against my legs, wishing me luck. The warehouses of the merchant-adventurers were all guarded by crewmembers. Once at Quay 19, I silently circled Iskander's warehouse. Two of his men were playing cards under an awning. I felt the protective spell slowly flowing from inside.
Then, another wave of Power, strong and raw, hit my senses. It must have come from an object meant to be used as a Power source for weaving a spell. Cautiously I headed to the back of the building and climbed to the roof. There, I crawled to the skylight I had spotted earlier. As I suspected, it was open. I peered inside. Everything was silent. Rows of crates were lined up in the dark. The desk near the door was lit by the greenish glow of a lightstone. A tall dark figure of a man was bent over an open ledger. He seemed vaguely familiar. The raw Power wave came from him. At that moment, he closed the ledger, slid it into the third drawer, and began to lock it. He was probably about to leave.
I stood up, crossed the roof silently, and quickly slid down the gutter. Once on the ground, I ran to take cover behind the corner of the warehouse. The man turned up a few seconds later. He landed soundlessly and looked around. In the uncertain shadow, I thought I recognized that face. The Hornet. My heart skipped a beat. Impossible. He was dead. I had killed him with my own hands. I wasn't about to believe in ghosts. Then a silvery glint on his chest caught my eye. A four-pointed silver star. The Power was coming from there. I let out a silent sigh. This wasn't the Hornet. This was a sicarius. He moved away, silently. But by the piss of the Traitor God, what was he doing here? Not only was Barramar outside their jurisdiction, but black lotus juice wasn't a prohibited substance according to their rules. So why was this one interested in its trade?
I climbed back to the roof and returned to the skylight. I opened it, tied my rope to the frame, and slid down inside. I recognized the smell of black lotus juice without difficulty. The spell must have been put there to guard it. I left the crates alone. I picked the locks of the desk and searched through the ledgers, contracts, and bills. I found the one the sicarius had checked: a nobook written in Yartègian numerals. A code, no doubt. I pulled out a sheet of tracing paper from my tool kit and copied them carefully.
Dawn was beginning to break as I returned to my apartment. I collapsed in my armchair, grabbed a bottle of cognac, and took a swig. The blurry outlines of that face wouldn't leave my mind. The Hornet. I only knew him by that name. The greatest assassin of the Empire. The greatest traitor. Maybe I was wrong. Ghosts did exist.
I only saw him once, but that encounter turned my life upside down. Perhaps I owed him my life. Ironic, considering I had taken his. I couldn't help but feel uneasy on the rare occasions I thought about it. My pride, my foolish certainties. It was my last mission for the Empire of Nadinh.
Two days after I had killed the terrorist-mage who had attempted to assassinate the emperor and the entire High Command, Parramon summoned me to his office. For the first time in my life, I heard words of congratulation from his mouth. I should have been wary. But in the enthusiasm of my youth, it didn't occur to me. I was floating on a pink puffy cloud. I was the best. I was a heroine. Me, a child of the slums!
“Excellent work, Captain. The emperor himself will sign the decree admitting you to the Warrior Caste.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
I kept my face expressionless, but inside, I was jubilant. I was going to be one of them! Maybe I would even be officially presented to the emperor?
“Meanwhile, I have a mission for you. You've heard of the Hornet, I suppose?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Who hadn't heard of him? The imperial assassin who had betrayed the country two years earlier! There was a bounty of a million aspres on his head. But he eluded all those who pursued him, as elusive as a gust of wind.
“We've learned that he's hiding in a small house by the Father River. Every evening, he goes for a run in the nearby forest. I should send several men, but all the assassins are dead, wounded or on missions, except for you. You will act alone. You'll post yourself on his route and take him down. Milos will give you the details.”
I felt the excitement of the hunt spread through my chest. What a prey for me! After fifty-three perilous executions, I just needed a guy like him to complete my list. And a million aspres were just what I needed to back-up my future status as a member of the ruling caste. My head swelled.
“At your command!”
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