A breeze ruffled Luke’s open coat and hair as he lounged on the grayish grass against an enormous stone segment of the Ulciscor Wall. The gate remained tightly shut to his left, and an open field spread out from it before becoming encircled by the Pines a short distance away, creating a small pocket in which there could be no cover for an invading enemy. The parapet wall loomed high above, soldiers crossing back and forth on patrol periodically, the thumping of their boots quiet from afar.

Captain Deen Daniels wore the silvery armor of the Guard, resting on the pommel of his spear, driven point-down into the earth. He watched the edge of the Pines, wary. The guardsman was ashamed that he had seen the two assassins so slowly. He had confessed so himself to Luke a short time ago. Now, he stood in silence, dutifully defending the stronghold of Mirastelle.

To either side, they were flanked by three soldiers each. One he had come to learn was a tall man in silvery armor with steel-gray hair and iron-colored eyes, Lieutenant Arston. In spite of his hair, he was not old. Rather, he looked only a few years older than Luke. It was a common trait of the people of Munitio. The others were his subordinates. With all of the extra hands, it was clear that the South Wall was no longer a place of least concern in the eyes of General Wolf and his majors.

Luke did not daydream, not this time. All of his thoughts were pinned to the coming night, to Filose. How were just five people meant to rob the Empire of a highly-treasured shipment? It seemed suspicious, almost. Vander Wolf was famous for plans so unorthodox that his allies often called him a fool until said plans were successful. Then, they didn’t know what to say. Luke didn’t like the uncertainty, but… anyway, he had been thinking about this all day and had gotten nowhere. The sun had past its zenith, and evening would be coming.

He shut his eyes and yawned, and when he opened them, a white-haired woman in a plain shirt, buckled trousers, and boots was standing inches away from his face. He jerked his head back in surprise and smacked into stone just as he realized it was Aisha.

He glanced up with annoyance, rising and rubbing the back of his head. Aisha was looking down at him, that Ahraran marking striking underneath her eye. She did not laugh, but she was smirking. Somehow, that irritated him more than a laugh would have.

“Hello again, Luke Nixus.”

He flushed. This woman took joy in sneaking up on him, didn’t she? “Hello, Aisha,” he said after a moment, face still red. She smiled again.

“Ah, it’s you,” Daniels said, walking over. “Aisha, right? You used the side entrance.” Two of the closest guards glanced to see what was going on and began to wander over, but a sharp look from Captain Daniels sent the pair back to their duties.

“Yes, to both,” she answered. The side entrance was a camouflaged stone door a short distance off. Luke had not spotted them until Daniels explained it to him, but there were several. Ordinarily, they only open from the Wall’s interior, but she must have unlocked the mechanism and come through.

“Is this about tonight?” Daniels said, lowering his voice.

“No, no,” Aisha said idly, waving a hand. “I’d just like to borrow Luke for a bit. I promise to return him later.”

“Er, well, go ahead.” The captain turned to leave and took up his position again. He wiped at his forehead with a soft part of his gauntlet before resting his hands on his spear.

He knew now that Daniels was uneasy around Aisha, because he did not know her, and yet she seemed to be Wolf’s primary bodyguard. It was strange that even an Ulciscor Guard captain had no idea who she was, but perhaps it made her job easier? Supposedly, even the Guard couldn’t be trusted these days.

“Shall we?” she said coolly, striding off without waiting for an answer. He reluctantly followed her through the side entrance.

Through the door, the Wall’s interior was basic but functional, stone all around with connecting hallways and stairways going up and even down leading to small closet-like rooms where the men of the Wall took their breaks if they did not want to venture back into the city. The stairs had some kind of metal framework underneath them, likely a trap that when sprung would send the planks tumbling to the ground, denying an enemy that had breached the entrances further access. Luke couldn’t fathom how they’d get this far, anyway. It was those gates or nothing, and that endeavor would take quite some time and effort with catapults or siege rams.

They passed through into Ulciscor proper and trekked down a few side streets. All of the buildings in this district had tiny windows or narrow arrowslits— likely, this entire area had been a battleground during the war.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going,” Aisha said. She strode toward an alleyway with squat stone homes tightly packed together. She glanced at him, and he shrugged in response.

Just before it seemed they would venture into yet another street, she stopped at the edge of the alleyway and fished a key from her pocket, unlocking a sliding door. That was interesting. Sliding doors were more common in Shinkai or… Ahrar. Could this be her home?

Aisha gently slid the thick wooden door open, gliding softly over stone grooves, and stepped inside. Luke followed.

Inside, it was much of the same as the Daniels residence. Sparse of furniture, plain, softly-colored walls. There were no tapestries or paintings of birds, though. Ahrarans generally did not believe in the Flocks. Instead, there were beautifully woven carpets with geometric patterns, two square carpets in the spacious room at the front of the house and a third, longer one spanning down a corridor. He heard the door slide shut and a lock click. Aisha dropped the key back into her pocket and exhaled.

What were they doing here?

“Finally,” she said, opening a thin cabinet and reaching into the top drawer. “I’ve felt exposed without these.”

Aisha pulled out two matching curved knives dressed in sheaths, the design a particularly wicked-looking green and black scribblesnake with horns above its eyes. The knives themselves were wide as her forearms and half as long.

“And those are?”

“These?” she asked, pushing with her thumbs, letting the leather sheaths slide away and drop to the carpeted floor. A sinuous curve trailed down the blades. “These are what I’m going to kill with, today.”

And then she lunged at him.

Green!

The world seemed to slow as a feeling of adrenaline took a sudden, sharp hold on his body. The Ahraran woman flashed forward, right-handed knife first. He took a step to the right, the knife thrusting wide. He pulled himself harder back and to the right as she slashed from her left. Luke spared only a heartbeat on the front door— no wonder she locked it again!— before circling behind her and dashing down the corridor.

He ran fast, faster than he thought he could. A second set of footfalls told him she was not losing much ground. The corridor led him past some side doors— useless, the time it would take to get them open would end with knives in his back— and eventually took him through an open doorway into what he immediately recognized as a kitchen, though with a few, strange appliances that he did not recognize. Probably Ahraran. The question was, where were the kitchen knives?

There. He spotted a wooden knife holder sitting on the counter, several hilts sticking out. The footfalls behind him stopped for an instant, and he knew he had to move. Aisha cleaved air as he barreled through her kitchen toward those hilts, knocking aside an empty pot with a handle sticking outward. He grabbed a handful of utensils off the counter— chopsticks and soup spoons, mostly— and flung them behind. A rush of air and a clang of metal told him she had batted them all away. He dove for the knife holder and grabbed what he could, two straight kitchen knives only good for cutting fish and meat, serrated and mismatched in size. Understanding that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing— and that he was probably going to die— he spun to confront her.

Her eyes were ferocious and fixed upon the weapons in his arms. She glanced up and made a small smile, swinging both knives. Somehow, the world seemed slow enough that he was able to intercept them with his own flimsy counterparts, though he dropped the smaller knife in his left hand from the force of the impact. He pulled away, metal grinding as their blades parted.

He could not spot the symbol of Cathartes on the hilt of her twin knives, but he knew that it must be there. Why she was trying to kill him was plain. He knew too much. Far too much.

She stepped toward him.

What was this woman’s relationship to General Wolf? He would never find out. He could feel the blue-eyed man cackling at him.

Aisha raised her knives, and Luke lowered his own and threw it aside. He braced himself to avoid the attacks. He would duck and dodge as long as he could, but he had a feeling she would win in endurance.

She slashed, first outward, then upward at an angle. The blades narrowly missed him. Instead of taking another step, she raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you had given up,” Aisha said, still smiling faintly.

“I did,” he said.

“And?”

“I’m not gonna make it free,” he laughed. Laughed! That feeling of adrenaline was working wonders. “Work for it.”

“That sounds rather tiring,” she said, and walked over to the table in the center of the kitchen, tossing her knives on top with a clatter and plopping down in a chair. “Not interested.”

What?

Luke stood still, and realized he was breathing hard. He hadn’t run that far, had he? Aisha lounged in that chair as if she had been sitting in it all along.

“What do you mean? You’re giving up?”

“Giving up at what, exactly?” she said, eyeing him coolly.

“At trying to…” Kill me.

“Trying to kill you?” Aisha asked. “What gave you that idea?”

“You said so,” Luke said, panting.

“I never said I was going to kill you,” she said. She was wearing that small smile again. “You must not be very good at listening.”

He stared at her.

“It was just a… a joke?”

“More or less.” Her smile broadened.

His mouth hung open. It was a joke? She had tried to cut his throat open as a prank! What was wrong with this lady?

“You move quickly,” Aisha said. “I wanted to see for myself that you were fit for tonight. The majors may take Wolf’s blessing as proof, but I do not.”

Not just a joke, then. She was testing him. Now it all made sense. His muscles loosened, and that feeling of adrenaline faded away.

“Why didn’t you say this was sparring?” he asked. “I could have injured you, or worse!”

She laughed raucously, and Luke’s face reddened.

“I appreciate the concern,” she said after her laughter had finally died down, still smiling. “But that doesn’t tell me how well you perform in a life or death situation. You were sufficient, by the way. I won’t raise any complaints.”

“Well, thanks for that.” Luke grimaced.

“Come on,” she said, rising and walking toward one of the fallen knives. “Let me show you how to handle some weapons. Your grip is terrible.”

“I don’t stab people for a living,” he muttered.

———

Deen Daniels, First Captain of the South Wall, was a man of routine and diligence. He watched the carved-out edge of the Pines in quiet concentration, day after day, and today was no exception. What was an exception, however, was Lieutenant Arston and the others close by, good soldiers with work ethic to match his own. Most often they patrolled from atop the Wall itself, but recent events had brought them down to intercept foes and maintain a greater vigilance than one man alone could. He trusted them with his life. He never thought that trust would actually be put to the test during his lifetime, after the war ended and the Agreement was signed, but the world had a strange way of working sometimes.

He knew very well what the other regiments thought of the South Wall. It was a drain on resources, and an entrance seldom used by travelers. Those two boys— and their pursuers— were the first visitors in weeks. It ought to be closed up and abandoned. What use had Ulciscor of a gate that faced the Crack?

On the other hand, there were those who said it was a dumping ground for the city’s trash. A place to put the useless members of the Guard. It was not a popular opinion, but such words were whispered nonetheless. They had been said to Deen’s face more than once over the years, mostly by soldiers in the Second Regiment, the Southwest Wall. That was the important gate, they said, and they were right. The Southwest Wall maintained a near constant stream of visitors from dawn to dusk. They prided themselves on being the very entity that separate Terra Daeva and Mirastelle. He wished there was stronger unity among the Regiments, but wishing would not make it so, as his father had been fond of saying. In the coming days, the entire Guard would rally behind General Wolf, and that was enough.

The air was pleasantly crisp on his face, not quite cold, but definitely not warm. Inside the silvery armor of the Guard, he was sweating. There was no getting around that, not anymore. The armor would be needed for what was coming. At least winter was close. That would slow forces from Munitio, a boon for Mirastelle if this really was an all-out invasion. The sun was long past its peak, nearly to setting, and Luke Nixus had not returned. Deen assumed he would not be seeing him again until it was time for departure. In fact, it was about time…

It was not a moment later after the thought that they were relieved from watch duty. Deen heard a gauntleted hand rap a few times on the metal side of hidden door built into the stone and looked toward it. There, he saw the Second Captain standing beside the opened door. That was Velox, a spindly blond-haired Mintakan man with an impressive knack for the spear. Deen had no idea why the man had been shipped off to the South Wall a few months back, but here he was. Deen voiced the order to swap, and he, Arston, and the others were soon filing into the Wall after their positions had been taken up by Velox and his own subordinates.

He made the short trip to his quarters inside the Wall and nearly jumped at the sight of General Wolf waiting inside, seated with his boots up on a tiny piece of furniture.

“Ah, Captain Daniels. Excellent. Do you need a moment?”

“Not particularly, general. Are we leaving, then?”

The grizzled man stood, passing Deen and starting into the hallway.

“Soon. First, there is a task I must see to. Will you accompany me?”

“Of course, sir,” Deen said, turning. His armor clinked as he tapped fist to chest in salute.

They entered the city proper, soon striding up the wide stone steps of the Council Building, seat of the government in Ulciscor. Certainly, the most important sanctuary in all of Mirastelle outside the capital. Without this city, Mirastelle was nothing more than a dream of the departed.

Venturing within was a rare experience for Deen, but he did not have time to gawk at the high ceilings and thick pillars, the cavernous hallways bearing marble floor tiles designed perhaps a little too intricately for the simple, matter-of-fact style of the rest of the city. Vander Wolf strode ahead with purpose, stone-like face chiseled with a sense of determination and confidence.

Clerks and laborers parted from their path as they went deeper, reaching the inner halls of the structure. Further in, the whole place seemed to get more luxurious, almost wastefully so. Of course, though Deen was only a simple man of the Guard, anyone knew politicking often required appearances to be deceiving. Perhaps the lavishness had been used to put emissaries of Terra Daeva and the other Asundrian nations at ease, where they would visit and find here a nugget of familiarity in this serious, almost solemn city. There was an intolerance for games in war-born Ulciscor, but here, here they could pretend.

There was something peculiar he noticed. Some men narrowed their eyes at the general, or turned their head with a frown, or similar as the pair crossed by. Not all, but some. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to the people, neither age nor gender nor station. What was that about? Was there a rift between the military and the bureaucracy? Or something more personal? Why had General Wolf waited for him in his quarters? Was a bodyguard in the Ulciscor Council Building necessary?

He was about to ask the man directly when Wolf stopped at a beautifully carved darkwood door bearing the golden nameplate of Maro Ren and turned to him.

“Wait here, Captain. I must speak with the mayor. See that we are not disturbed.”

Deen nodded, and the general entered to confer with Mayor Ren. It was a thick door, properly soundproofed, so he could hear nothing as he took to parade rest with a soldier’s diligence.

He pondered those strange stares and frowns for a time. Could they be related to what the general was so concerned about? Had these supposed Guard spies also infiltrated the bureaucratic side of Ulciscor, here in the Council Building? That was more than worrying. It was plausible. After all, Amon Munitio, the great warlord of the modern age, could not breach the Walls by traditional methods. Such subterfuge seemed all but inevitable. But then, why had General Wolf let the spies go on festering like this? Surely now, on the cusp of war, it was time to deal with them. Perhaps that’s what the meeting inside was about. Flocks, it wasn’t Deen’s responsibility, but… a man who could press a knife to your neck while you slept was surely the priority, even during wartime. Especially during wartime, when leadership became critical.

When Vander Wolf emerged from the mayor’s office, his stony face seemed somehow even more weathered than before, as if he had just heard reports of losses following combat. Deen did not ask after what had happened inside— he’d have been let in, otherwise.

The general exhaled softly and excused himself, ordering Deen to stay put while he ‘ran an errand.’ As the general vanished into the next hallway, the door to the mayor’s office opened to reveal the most extravagant room in Ulciscor, finely furnished and decorated with brilliantly patterned Shinkaian rugs, works of art across the walls, and chest-height marble pillars along the gold-inlaid walls bearing vases and glass designs.

Mayor Maro Ren paused in the doorway, flanked by a guard on either side, both in fine silken uniforms colored silver on black. He was an incredibly short man, wearing an expensive-looking suit and striped tie, the former straining against his girth. He was clean-shaven and balding, what remained atop his shined to polishing head was blond and neat. He spared a glance for Deen through rimless oval spectacles.

“Need something, soldier?”

“No, sir,” Deen said. “I was ordered to wait here by the general.”

“I see,” Ren said, smiling jovially. “Carry on, soldier.” The mayor was known for his easygoing personality, but Deen couldn’t help feeling tense around the man. After all, Maro Ren was, politically speaking, the second-most important man in the country, behind Ranboc himself.

The mayor left with his guards in tow without another comment, and was soon replaced by the returning General Wolf.

“Let’s be off, Captain.”

“Yes, general.”

———

Mammon Rigel, the Emperor’s Silhouette, Sixth Elite of the Terra Daeva Empire, lounged easily inside the Ulciscor Council Building.

He was not worried about… well, himself, though he had to appear so— desperately so— outwardly. Inwardly, he was gleeful. Years of preparation and planning were at long last coming to fruition. He could hardly wait to see the look on that fool’s face when he revealed himself.

The radio transceiver buzzed, and he spoke.

“Sirius.”

“Yeah!” The noise distortion from the loud greeting hurt Mammon’s ears, and he pulled the transceiver away, disgusted. “I’m here, man. What’s up?”

Even through the radio, the Sirius boy’s tone of informality was stark and appalling. Perhaps as a boon for the glorious deeds to come, the emperor would allow Mammon to slit the boy’s throat for his disrespect.

“You are receiving a gift tonight. An assortment of prey to hunt. Your men will, of course, know who is exempt…”

The conversation continued, ironing out the final details to tie up this unforeseen thread of events.

Idiot boy or not, he was a loyal servant of Terra Daeva, and he would see the job done. That didn’t stop Mammon Rigel from fantasizing about that boon. Surely engineering the toppling of a nation was worth a loyal servant or two.