“It is not about what we want friend thief,” Abrafo replied calmly. “Your fate is not ours to decide.” He paused. “Take him.”
At least that’s what Makami imagined had been said, because the big man spoke his last words in an unfamiliar tongue. But his leopards pounced at his command. They were upon him so quickly there was barely time to react. Strong hands grabbed and wrestled him to his knees. The knife he had held was twisted from him, skittering onto the sand, as a longer sharper blade was placed to his neck. About him Master Dawan’s cries of protest mingled with his daughters screams. Then suddenly, there was a cry of pain.
Makami looked from the side of his vision to see Kahya, unveiled and wielding her large blade. The commotion had drawn the woman from the tent and she had emerged, weapon at the ready. One of the men that had held him down clutched at his arm, cursing at the blood that seeped through his clothing. Kahya moved towards him again, deadly intent her eyes. But the leopard was faster. He slid out of her way, and with his good arm caught her by the wrist, wrenching it cruelly until she cried out and released her grip. A quick blow to the woman’s side seemed to take her breath, and she doubled over in agony, the fight momentarily gone from her.
“There’s no time for this,” Abrafo growled in annoyance. He grabbed Kahya, tossing her towards her family and drawing a large sword with a jagged end which he held menacingly. “As we planned! Hurry!”
Makami watched the chaos about him unfold, lost in a void of pain. The markings on his chest had begun to move long ago, rising with his own fear, and they burned with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm him. He barely noticed as his shirt was ripped away, or when a hand touched his chest, slathering on something cold and liquid. And then, quite unexpectedly, the pain diminished. It ebbed away, all but vanishing. Soon, he could feel nothing at all.
Makami looked down to his chest in surprise, to where two strange markings in red had been freshly painted, still dripping from him like cold blood. Whatever the symbols were, they numbed his skin, making it feel as if cold needles were prickling him. The markings on his chest slowed their rhythm and then went still.
“Good then,” Abrafo said, his toothy smile returning. He looked down to Makami and winked. “You see, we have our magics as well. Weak yes, but enough to keep us all safe.”
Makami stared at his chest, dumbfounded. Looking back to his captors he glared at them. Men who not only hunted him, but who knew how to subdue him. These leopards had been well-prepared.
“Who are you?” he asked behind clenched teeth. “How do you know about me?”
“We are couriers,” Abrafo replied plainly. “Sent to retrieve and deliver you.”
“Deliver me? To who? Who do you work for?”
Abrafo walked over, bending down to his haunches to meet Makami’s gaze. “The sorcerer who you came upon that night, belonged to a secret brotherhood.” He pulled forth a strip of red cloth tucked into his shirt, opening it for all to see. Upon it in black ink was printed the dismembered hand of a great cat, its claws ready to strike. “They call themselves the The Leopard’s Paw. The sorcerer who died was one of the most powerful among them, and his brothers have been unable to recreate the magic he worked that night. But why recreate, when you can merely steal...eh, thief?” The big man laughed at his own wit.
“They want this.” He pointed to the markings on Makami’s chest. “And they have sent us to find you. Or rather a courier was sent to hire us—the The Leopard’s Paw never shows its true face. The brotherhood could sense you and offer guidance in our hunt...but only when the markings were moving, or when a doorway opened, when the magic was at its strongest.”
“It flared greatly in the trading town you spent time in, about the same time I mysteriously lost three men I had ordered to search for you. You would not happen to know of them?” Makami winced slightly and Abrafo’s smiled widened. “No matter, greed is often the end of fools. But by the time I arrived you had gone into the desert. We followed, only to have the trail end. The brotherhood was unable to sense you, as if the markings had gone silent.” Makami said nothing. Kahya’s tutelage had unwittingly spared him for some time. If only he had known all of this earlier, how much more lives could have been saved.
“But I know little of magics,” Abrafo shrugged. “My business was to find you, with or without the brotherhood’s help. We must have gone through near a score of caravans in this cursed desert, searching for you, killing and taking food and water as we needed, leaving no sign of our passing. But the goddess of the Amazi must have smiled upon us with good fortune today.” He turned to Master Dawan and his family, who remained huddled together, fear painted on their faces. All except Kahya, who knelt before her father and sisters protectively, her dark eyes glinting steel. A pang of regret washed over Makami as he thought of the danger he had brought them.
“These sorcerers,” he said. “They can remove these markings from me then?”
Abrafo laughed, glancing to his companions who responded in kind. “Remove them? Oh yes. That is their intent. My men and I have a wager on how the brotherhood will claim the markings. They think the sorcerers will cut out your chest and mount it on a wall, from where they can call their dark spirits. But I believe they will peel
