front of the altar of the Dark Six in the basement of Emon Gorsedd’s manor. Part of her was terrified and outraged at this loss of control, but part of her, a part which had been so lonely since the exorcism of her evil spirit, welcomed it.
Then she felt herself falling into darkness. Down, down, down…
She hid in the shadows of the alleyway between two buildings, one belonging to a bookseller, the other a mapmaker. This part of Sharn lay close to Morgrave University, and though it was late, the streets remained crowded. That came as little surprise, since the City of Towers never slept. The pedestrians were primarily students, Makala guessed, given their scholars’ robes and youthful age. They traveled in loud, laughing packs as they searched for distractions on their various quests for amusement. The noise and commotion of the students didn’t bother her, however. Quite the opposite. They would provide excellent cover while she went about her work.
The alley was cleaner than she’d expected, with just a few scattered bits of trash about-apple cores, crumpled vellum, a few chicken bones that had been picked clean by vermin-but there were no rats here now, and the ground was thankfully clean of urine and feces. This wasn’t the first time Emon had dispatched her to Sharn, but it was the first time that her assigned task had brought her to this part of the city. It was certainly a step up from the working-class section of Cliffside, where she’d worked before. Maybe if she were lucky, the next time she was sent to Sharn, she’d get the chance to work in the Skyway, where only the wealthiest citizens lived.
The mapmaker’s shop was closed, but Makala knew the man was still inside, waiting for a courier who was due to arrive sometime before midnight. Makala had no idea what the courier carried or why the mapmaker preferred to have it delivered after business hours. Her orders were simple: when the courier arrived, kill him before he entered the shop, take the leather pouch he was to deliver to the mapmaker, and bring it back to Emon, and that’s precisely what she intended to do.
She heard nothing, but she felt air move lightly across the back of her neck, and she knew she was no longer alone in the alley. Without hesitation, she drew a dagger, whirled about, and threw it at the newcomer.
The blade flew straight at the man’s heart, but he didn’t so much as flinch. His hand swept up in a blur, and there was a metallic clang as he deflected her dagger with one of his own. Makala’s blade struck the outer brick wall of the bookseller’s shop, then fell to the ground, point dented, the knife now just one more bit of detritus in the alley.
Still holding onto his dagger, the man approached her. He was dressed all in black and wore a traveler’s cloak with the hood pulled up to conceal his features. Despite the hood and the alley’s gloom, Makala knew who it was. How could she not?
“Diran!” she whispered. Even the surprise of seeing him wasn’t enough to make her break training and call out to him in a normal voice.
The man reached up with his free hand and drew back his hood. “Hello, Makala. Good to see you.”
Makala wanted to rush forward and embrace Diran, but there was something different about him. His voice, his eyes… plus he still held that dagger.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “You disappeared after being sent to kill that magewright’s daughter.”
“She was but a child, and an innocent one at that,” Diran said. “I couldn’t kill her.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d feared Diran had met with foul play, though she’d still held out hope that he would return to her alive. Now, to hear that he’d purposely abandoned his assignment…
“She was nothing more than a job, Diran. Emon accepted a contract on her, and he sent you to carry it out.”
Diran smiled sadly. “I couldn’t.”
“I could and I did. Emon sent me to finish the job.”
Her words seemed to strike Diran with the force of a physical blow. Shock and sorrow registered on his face.
“Makala… she was no more than five…”
Makala shrugged. “And now she’ll never reach six. Death comes to all of us eventually. It just came to her a little sooner.”
“Don’t quote Emon’s words to me! I know them just as well as you!” He was almost shouting now, his hand gripping the dagger so tightly his knuckles were white.
“You’ve become so emotional, Diran, I don’t…” She trailed off as she realized what had happened to him. “You no longer possess your dark spirit!”
“You mean, it no longer possesses me,” Diran corrected, “but yes, I am free of the foul thing.”
“Foul? Diran, the dark spirit is a great gift! It sharpens the mind, strengthens the will-”
“Hardens the heart,” Diran said grimly.
She nodded. “Necissarily so. Without it, we would be lost.”
“I am without it, and for the first time in a very long while, I don’t feel lost at all. I’ve… found a new purpose, Makala, a new place to study, a new teacher… I’ve come to ask you to forget the man you’ve come here to kill, to forget the Brotherhood, forget Emon, and come with me. My new teacher freed me of my dark spirit, and he can do the same for you.”
Diran sounded almost as if he were pleading now, and his display of emotional weakness disgusted her, or rather, it disgusted the dark thing that dwelled within her, but as there was little difference between her spirit and its, it amounted to the same.
“Don’t be foolish, Diran. Let me finish this job, and then I’ll take you back home. Perhaps Quellin can-”
“I’ll never permit another entity to possess me,” Diran said. “I’d rather die first.”
Despite the fact that he still held the dagger, Makala moved closer and put her arms around his waist. “Diran, listen to yourself. The loss of your Other has unbalanced your mind. You’re not thinking clearly.” She gave him a quick kiss on the end of his nose before releasing his waist and stepping back. “Now just wait here and be silent. My target is due any-”
“The courier isn’t coming,” Diran interrupted. “In order to find you, I had to discover what your assignment was. I intercepted the courier before I came here and warned him off. By now he’s likely aboard an airship and making ready to depart the city.”
Cold fury surged through Makala. “I have never failed a job!”
“Until now,” Diran said.
Kill him! She heard the thought in her own voice, but she knew it belonged to the Other.
I can’t… It’s Diran. I love him!
The fury continued to build inside her, overshadowing all other feeling, all other thought. When it was done, all that remained was the desire to slay a traitor to the Brotherhood of the Blade.
She reached for her sword, but she’d only managed to pull it halfway out of the scabbard before Diran reached into his cloak, brought out a dagger, and flicked it toward her with a smooth, graceful motion.
The last thing she remembered seeing was Diran’s tear-filled eyes.
“How delightfully tragic!”
Jarlain let go of Makala’s hands. Feeling weak as a newborn infant, Makala rose from the chair, staggered over to the bed, and flopped down onto the mattress. She immediately tried to rise again, but her body was too weak and refused to obey her.
Jarlain came over and patted her on the leg. “Don’t worry. The fatigue will pass soon and you’ll be able to move again.”
Jarlain crossed to her dressing table, turned the chair back around, and sat down. She picked up a pearl- handled brush and began to run it through her long, raven-colored hair, gazing at her reflection as she stroked. The woman’s normally pale face was slightly flushed and she wore a lazy, dreamy smile. Makala thought she looked like a woman who’d just experienced a most pleasurable session of lovemaking.
