The shadow figure did not rush them. Instead, it merely advanced on Tress and Urahk with a slow, almost leisurely pace, twirling its sword in its hand with a mocking and lazy confidence.

“Go,” Tress hissed to Urahk, drawing her own weapon. The boat was still rocking around her, and the queasiness in her stomach had not abated, but Tress could feel the adrenaline surging through her body now, and her mind was becoming focused on the threat before her. All other matters faded into the background as the shadow-thing consumed her attention. “Get help. Go!”

The orc spun around to run, but tripped over his own two feet and fell face-first onto the wooden boards of the floor below. Tress scowled and held up her sword. She braced to protect both herself and Urahk.

In that instant, the shadow-thing’s gait shifted. No longer content to simply prowl forward, it broke into a mad dash, sword raised high, the sharp and still-bloody tip pointed directly at Urahk as he tried to climb off the floor.

Tress moved to intercept. She blocked the shadow-thing’s strike, sword to sword, and the clang of metal on metal rang in her ears. The shadow-thing jumped backward as Tress attempted to counterattack. Her sword met only empty air.

“Get up and run!” Tress barked, and she moved forward into the healer’s cabin, intent on pressing the attack and taking this assassin down.

Shadow Magic. The killer was obviously using Shadow Magic to conceal itself. Judging by the voice, Tress assumed that her opponent was likely a woman. She got in close, feinted to the side, and then drove her sword into the killer’s chest.

But the assassin was already dodging away. The shadows surrounding her were pulsating—waxing and waning in a continuous motion that it difficult to tell where exactly she was. Tress’ sword speared through the cloud of darkness, but it made contact with naught but empty air.

She brought her blade back up just in time to parry an answering blow from the assassin, but too late Tress realized that she was not the assassin’s true target. As their swords met once again, the assassin spun away and threw a steel pan—one of the countless medical instruments that had been scattered about the cabin during her murder of the healer—through the doorway. The metal struck Urahk square in the forehead just as he was standing up, and the orc crumpled into unconsciousness.

Then Tress thought she saw a slight motion in the shadows; a small nod of the killer’s head. Just then, her foot slid on the pool of blood beneath her, and Tress let out a cry of alarm as she lost her balance and fell on her ass.

Blood splashed around her, clinging to her clothes and matting her golden hair. Tress tried to scramble to her feet, but the wet blood gave her no reprieve, and she merely slipped on it again. Her sword fell from her grip and skidded across the floor.

The assassin chuckled. “Poor luck, my dear,” she said as she lazily approached Tress once more.

Tress’ eyes widened with realization. Poor luck. Her slipping on the blood, Urahk tripping over his own feet… neither of these were simple coincidence.

“Oh damn,” Tress said. “You’re using Chaos Magic.”

It was damn near impossible to tell beneath that veil of shadows, but Tress swore that the assassin grinned at her.

Chaos Magic was powerful and rare. Those few darksworn with access to the domain had the ability to make adjustments to probability, to alter the chance of certain events happening. In this way, they could bring either fortune or poor luck to whomever they chose. Combined with Shadow Magic, it made for a perfect combination for a professional assassin, which likely meant that this was no random killing.

But Tress didn’t have time to figure out why someone would want the Menelen’s onboard healer dead. She had about three seconds before a sword was driven through her neck, so she needed to act now.

Summoning up her own Magic, Tress blasted the assassin in the face with a gust of wind. The killer temporarily distracted, she was able to roll away, grab her sword, and jump to her feet—but not before leaving something else where she just was.

The assassin regained her balance and looked down at Tress, still seemingly at her feet and struggling to stand up. The assassin raised her sword to strike at the illusion, but hesitated.

No time—Tress leaped forward and swung her sword at the killer’s back.

The assassin spun around and parried her strike.

Tress’ eyes widened in disbelief. “Illusion Magic,” noted the assassin. “It is a powerful tool, but I’m afraid that you need more practice with it, my dear. Your copy was moving far too slowly to be real. It gave you away.”

She struck out with her free hand. No, Tress realized too late, not her free hand. All this time, as the two had fought with swords, the assassin had been concealing a dagger.

The blade buried itself into Tress’ side, and she let out a scream of pain and agony as she felt it slide into her flesh. She stumbled away and blasted the assassin with another gust of Air Magic—anything to keep this bitch away from her.

Tress fully expected the assassin to charge again, to press the attack and deliver a killing blow, but she didn’t. Instead, the assassin had paused. The shadows moved oddly around her, and Tress, struggling as she was to maintain consciousness, one hand gripping her sword for dear life and the other clutching her bleeding side, got the distinct impression that the assassin was listening for something.

My shout, Tress realized. She’s worried that people heard me shout.

She couldn’t help but smile through the pain. Opening her mouth wide, Tress let out an even louder scream than the first, putting her all into it. The assassin took a step back in surprise and then, to Tress’ delight, ran for the exit.

She could hear people running down the halls now. Tress flung herself out the doorway, over Urahk’s unconscious body, and saw sailors headed her way. With what little strength she could muster, she pointed her sword at the absconding shadow.

The sailors gave chase, but the assassin rounded the corner and vanished from sight. Tress didn’t care about that, however. She fell to her knees, head dizzy, and dropped her sword. With both hands, she held her bleeding side.

When her brother reached her, she was too exhausted to greet him, and was barely aware of much of anything.