Timed perfectly to provide an answer to this question, a circle of dark figures materialized from the thick mist around us, appearing like phantoms that had taken sudden physical form. They were dressed in black, wore hooded cloaks, and were armed with crossbows,
Yumo-Rezu and Friya gasped; they’d been standing mere yards away from these people, yet had had no idea they were there. I, on the other hand, had not only known, I’d been expecting them.
“That’s no natural beggar stink,” one dark figure rasped, aiming his crossbow at my face. “If you’ve come in disguise thinking to get the drop on us, we’ve got bad news for you … very bad news.”
Friya growled out a wordless threat behind me, ready to transform into a ferocious werewolf in the blink of an eye. Yumo-Rezu’s hand surreptitiously slid inside her rags and curled around her dagger. A fight, however, was not going to be necessary; the right words could end this conflict before anything could break out, so I uttered them.
“The dark hand rules the night, and silent shadows are the terror of all living men.”
The dark figures immediately lowered their crossbows, for nobody but a member of their brotherhood would know these words. “Welcome to Luminescent Spires, brother,” said the figure in front of me, all traces of menace and aggression gone from his voice. “Our blades are at your service, as yours is in ours, should it be required.”
“Who are these people?” Friya asked warily.
“Fellow assassins,” I answered. “I may have stopped actively working as an assassin a long time ago, but once you join the Assassins Guild, you’re in it for life.” I then addressed the assassins who had surrounded us. “Thank you for your welcome to this unholy city, brothers … and sisters?”
They threw off their hoods. In the misty gloom, I saw that they were all men, ranging in age from early twenties to late fifties.
“Ah, all brothers, I see,” I said.
“What is your shadow name, brother?” the oldest of them asked me.
“I am Jang al-Ghazul,” I answered, speaking a name I hadn’t uttered out loud for a very long time. Everyone who joined the Assassin’s Guild was given a name in the language of the Desert People that was used exclusively for the guild.
A ripple of excited whispers immediately arose in the group of assassins. My assassin name had quite a reputation attached to it.
“The legendary Jang al-Ghazul!” the man gasped. “I am Rhuz al-Shein, brother, and we are most honored to have you in our presence! But tell us, brother, why have you come to this forsaken place? Death stalks these streets readily enough; no one needs our services anymore.”
“And that’s exactly why I’ve come here. I have quite a story to tell, but for now, we need to get off the streets and into a safe house for the night. The guards are scouring the city for us. And uh, we need to get rid of these disgusting rags too, of course.”
“Follow us, brother,” Rhuz said. “We’ll take care of everything. First though, let’s get rid of those vile rags.”
We took off our disguises, which the women were most relieved to do, given the nauseating stench of the filthy material. Two of the assassins pried open a nearby sewer cover, and we dropped the rags into the sewer, saying goodbye to our temporary identity as beggars. I had to chuckle; I’d made Elandriel’s prophecy come true, and little did he know that it was a prophecy that would end up bringing about his downfall.
Then, moving as swiftly and agilely as cats and as silently as ghosts, the assassins raced off down the alley. I shared a quick glance with Friya and Yumo-Rezu, who both seemed suitably impressed.
“Not bad, are they?” I said with a smile.
Both women gave silent nods before we followed after the assassins. With the two beauties beside me, we scrambled over walls, up and down ropes, tiptoed across rooftops, jumped across canals, scurried through tunnels, and zigzagged through a complex network of dark alleys. It was only after we reached an innocuous looking cottage that we stopped. The cottage was fronted by a neatly tended garden and a pretty porch lined with potted plants. It looked as if a sweet old lady lived here.
Rhuz al-Shein knocked on the door in a complex pattern. After a while, an elderly woman opened the door, wearing a charming smile of pure innocence on her wrinkled face. As soon as she saw us, though, the smile vanished, and a much harder look entered her eyes. She stepped aside, and in the language of the Desert People, she invited us in.
We entered the cottage. After closing and locking the door behind her, the old woman swept aside a large rug on the floor, revealing a hidden trapdoor. Rhuz opened it and dropped down into the black void, and one by one his fellow assassins dropped silently into the hole behind him. I went after them, and Yumo-Rezu and Friya dropped in behind me. When we were all in, the old woman closed the trapdoor above us.
Torches flickered to life all around us, ignited as if by magic, and the writhing orange flames revealed a huge underground basement, much larger than the size of the cottage itself. Despite the torches burning on the walls, the room remained thick with inky shadows, and there were more areas of darkness than there were of light.
In the areas of the room that were illuminated by the torchlight, I could see all manner of assassin’s weapons mounted on the walls and standing at the ready in weapons racks. Various types of armor were at the ready on wooden dummies. There were also large wardrobes full of all sorts of disguises, and chests crammed with any kind of equipment an assassin might need, from grappling hooks and rope ladders to lockpicking tools and flash bombs imported from Yeng. There were also a number of
