“What is that stone you wear around your neck?” Young Nabal asked. He sat on a stump whittling a piece of wood with his dagger not even looking up at her as he asked. They sat near enough to Larsa trade road to hear a caravan if it happened to come by in the evening hours. Datura busied herself searching the tall grasses by the edge of the woods for weeds and flowers for her potions. She searched out Nabal often at night and took him on late night excursions. Usually in some form of training. She taught him to steal, pick locks, mix poisons and creep in the shadows as silent as a leaf fall.

“You see this?” She held up a long stem with flowers and petals spiraling up the three-foot-long stem. The blue flowers resembled war helmets when looked at from the side. “This makes a potent poison for your arrow tips. Sufficient to take down a man or a bear. Be sure to apply it to the shaft not the sharp edge of the arrowhead, you don’t want to accidentally scratch yourself with it. Monkshod can be used in small doses for a pain killer.” She trailed off. “Oh, and here is devil’s weed, and foxglove over here.”

“You are ignoring my question Datura.” Nabal looked up from his carving and Datura lowered the purple trumpet shaped flower. The black stone hung in front of her collar seeming to absorb the light of the moon and shining none back. It was as smooth as a cut jewel and as black as pitch. Datura glanced down at the stone as if just noticing it even though she never went anywhere without it. Nabal waited patiently. He scratched his short thin goatee. His facial hair had begun to grow in thin long wisps that he grew out proudly. Datura smirked at his attempts to appear more as a man.

Datura dropped the flowers and walked over to Nabal holding the stone between her forefinger and thumb looking down at the stone. She mumbled something to herself as she walked and stopped beside Nabal contemplating something. Finally, she looked up at him. “Touch it Nabal.”

Nabal furrowed his brow and sat for a moment before complying. He reached up and touched the stone with his finger and leapt from the stump backwards gasping. “That thing is alive.” He stayed several feet beyond the stump as if it were large enough to protect him from the threat on the other side. “What is it.” He asked the whites of his eyes showing.

“It is an Imp stone.” Datura let the stone fall back against her chest. “It has an Imp trapped within it. I trapped him inside and use him often. Haven’t you wondered why I can see so well in the dark?”

“An Imp. Like the ones in the stories? Don’t ever talk to, and definitely never bond with an Imp. That kind?”

“I didn’t bond with him. I trapped him.” Datura smiled as if they were discussing to a spider under a cup.

“How do I catch one?” Nabal asked with eager eyes. The sound of a wagon rumbling on the road beyond the hill drew both of their attention and they both ducked into the obscurity of the darkened forest. Nabal counted his breaths until his heart calmed. He adjusted his focus as Datura had trained him and prepared to breach the wagon covertly as she distracted the merchant guards. The routine was well practiced at this point. Nabal pulled his cloak over his head and lay his bow against the tree. He shed his dagger belt and his quiver of arrows; he couldn’t have the clatter of weapons calling attention to his deeds.

“You want to know how to capture an Imp?” Datura asked pulling a vial from her rear pouch.

Nabal pulled his hood back down to look her in the eyes. “You want to talk about this now? They will be over the hill in a minute.”

“Do you, or don’t you?” She asked examining the contents of the vial.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nabal said perplexed.

“You are nearly an adult now Nabal, don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old.” She pulled the cork with her teeth and smelled the dark liquid inside. “Let’s play a game.” She turned to look him in his inquisitive eyes. “The man in the wagon is the king. You must assassinate him without being discovered by the guards.”

“You want me to kill the man in the wagon?” Nabal exclaimed then ducked as if the wagon might hear him.

“What do you think I have been training you for Nabal? Petty coin and goods?” She smirked at him incredulous.

Nabal blushed and looked back at his weapon remembering the first time she walked him through a kill. A small deer he had shot in a clearing. She had field dressed it and taught him how it compared to a man. She sprawled out the organs on the ground as she illustrated the many ways to kill. It had made his skin crawl. “You want me to kill the king?” He said without looking back.

“Eventually.” She held the vial out to him. “Tonight, is just practice.”

Nabal took the vial and smelled it. He recoiled at the smell. “How am I supposed to get him to drink this?”

Datura chuckled. “That’s not for him. That is for you.”

“What does it do?”

“You will see.” Datura gestured to the wagon cresting the hill behind him. “You are on your own this time Nabal. I will be watching from here.” She looked at him sternly. “Don’t get caught.” Seeing his nervous shuffle, she cleared her throat. “You are ready, now go.” She whispered now as the wagon was getting close.

Nabal ducked down and drank the bitter vial. He made a face but did not make a noise as he slipped his knife from its scabbard. The wagon rumbled down the hill toward them. Two guards walked in front of the mules and a driver sat in the seat. The wagon was covered, and the lamp was fortunately no longer lit in the cabin. Nabal readied himself and felt the strange potion kick in.

The wagon seemed to slow. His heart slowly hammered against his ribs. Thump... Thump... Thump… The smell of the night air became more pronounced and the fear in his belly was gone. All that was left was pure focused calculation. He crept into the tall grass like a panther closing in on a gazelle.

The guards talked amiably as they walked along oblivious to the threat mere feet from them. The driver looked as if he was nodding in his seat. Nabal crept until he was a hand grasp from touching the road and coiled up his muscles. The wagon rolled in front of him, and he pounced. He meant to land silently on the step rail on the side of the wagon and grasp the window edge. He failed to notice there was no rail under this particular window. When his foot missed, he grabbed the curtain instead and ripped it free. Over committing to his task, he clambered back up on the door and kicked the bottom of the door with the toes of his boots.

The wagon driver pulled the wagon to a stop and Nabal pulled the door open slipping inside before the driver could turn and look back. Inside the merchant stirred in his bed and opened his mouth to scream at the sight of the intruder. Nabal quickly drove his razor edge into the man’s chest exchanging the scream for a sickening gurgle. He froze and dropped the blade. He stared at his hands astonished and began to wipe them on his pant leg vigorously. He had never killed a man before and the feeling was appalling. He felt dirty. The door to the wagon flew open and Nabal spun to see one of the guards standing with his sword drawn.