Chapter Twenty-One: “Striking Back”

Gavrial reached out to move a piece on the chess set then pulled his hand back. Across from him, Vlad grumbled something about needing to trim his beard between moves. The fool foreigner did not even begin to understand the complexity of the game. His moves were wild and made no sense, not that he did not exploit a weakness Gavrial might have left open, but he seemed to do it almost accidently.

“This year, friend,” Vlad said. “Aren’t there traditionally time limits on this game?”

“I’m using the time you aren’t,” Gavrial said. “Shush.”

“Maybe we should start taking a shot of vladka every time a piece is captured.”

Gavrial looked irritably to the side of the board, where only his own white pieces stood captured. “Would that mean you’d start losing pieces?”

Vlad smiled and pulled out a flask, tipped it back, then offered it across the board. “I didn’t say who would take the shot, did I?”

Gavrial frowned then grabbed the flask, although he sat up and looked around. The common room was empty; the Aviary did seem to miss mornings, more often than not. Still, for all their loose attitudes at night, if Nikki saw him taking a drink this early, she’d box his ears. He did not even want to think of what Kira or Cook would do to him.

He took a swig and looked back at the board without handing the flask back. There, perhaps, was the move he needed. He reached out to move a piece, and a door opened in the back of the hideout. Vlad groaned as he pulled his hand back and looked up.

“Morning, Gavrial,” Markus said. “Didn’t expect to see you up and about. Unless I miss my guess, the party lasted until near four in the morning.”

“Something like. I just never went to bed.” He gestured to the cup of black tea sitting in front of him. Not until Markus raised an eyebrow did Gavrial realize he had done it with the hand still holding Vlad’s flask.

“I can see,” Markus said. “Think you are clear enough in the head to talk a bit? Looks like you’re having a hard time at the chess board. I’d hate to distract you.”

“He has a hard time no matter what he’s been doing,” Vlad said. “I don’t know why I keep agreeing to play him.”

“Bah.” Gavrial pushed away from the board. “I can’t even remember whose turn it is.”

Vlad held up a finger. “It’s—”

Gavrial did not give him the chance to finish. “What was it you wanted to talk about, Markus?”

Markus sat down, glanced at the board, and moved one of Gavrial’s pieces. “I need to know where the rebels are.”

Gavrial narrowed his eyes. “And why would you need to know that?”

Bryon walked into the room from the back hallway. “Because he wants revenge.”

Markus looked back at Bryon. “Not exactly.”

“Revenge?” Gavrial rubbed his chin. “You still harping that Lector is that shockshield bastard?”

Markus turned back to him. “You don’t think so?”

“I didn’t say that,” Gavrial said. “Just that I’m not completely sold on it being him, either.”

“The pieces just add up,” Bryon said. “He’s the one who sent us to Dunny Manor, likely as a set up for a field test of his device. He undoubtedly has dealings with Lord Shadow and could have found out we’d be in the Thieves’ Race, he’s interested in revenants, and he wears the High Meister’s bracer and carries a shockrod. What more do you want?”

“Some common sense, perhaps?” Gavrial said. “Why wear a mask if he was just going to wear a bracer that names him outright?”

“It would implicate Tesma as well,” Markus said. “In fact, people would probably assume it was him, first.”

“Alright, fine, Lector’s our man,” Gavrial said. “So what do we do about it?”

“That’s more of a pickle, isn’t it,” Bryon said. “Even though we know where he will likely be, the rebellion is well enough financed that they surely have plenty of thugs in the building we haven’t seen.”

“And there is still the matter of the shockshield itself,” Gavrial said. “And his other little toys. Sure, a wooden club can get through the shield, but it still seems like a weak offense against his shockrod and those little balls of his.”

“Don’t worry about Lector,” Markus said. “I’ll handle him.”

“You got lucky in the Warrens,” Bryon said. “Don’t count on that twice, Markus.”

“I haven’t pulled all of my tricks out yet, either,” Markus said. “I wasn’t just a spy in the war. I was an assassin. Just tell me where to find him.”

“You act like you are going to do this by yourself,” Gavrial said. “Don’t fall in love with the idea. That bastard killed Jak and has caused no end of grief to us. On some level he’s probably even responsible for the Hole getting burned down. We want our piece, too.”

Vlad looked up from where he was still studying the board after Markus’s move. “Yes, quite. A Rasputnik always pays his debts, and I have quite the bill with this fellow.”

Markus sighed and looked at Bryon. “You coming too?”

“I’ve had my fill of adventure,” he said. “They are right, this is Hole business, not just yours, but I’m not as young and spry as I used to be. I’ll work recon and help with the plan, but I’ll leave the gunslinging to you.”

“He’s going to have to be expecting us,” Gavrial said. “He’s only been flaunting who he is the whole time. The place is likely to be guarded pretty heavily.”

“He also knows who we are,” Bryon said. “We are thieves, not soldiers, and he is rather clever. If I were him, I’d actually leave a tempting, covert path open and be ready to spring a trap.”

“Then we go in the front door,” Markus said. “I am a soldier, and Gavrial has enough weaponry to be several.”

“A frontal assault?” Vlad said. “Crazy enough that it just might work. But it might be better with a few more bodies.”

“Volunteering?” Gavrial said.

“Heaven no,” Vlad said. “I don’t even know how to use a gun.”

Markus looked at him skeptically. “You can blow a ship up without any planning, but you can’t fire a gun?”

Vlad shrugged and went back to looking at the board. “Never saw a reason to learn.”

“It isn’t hard,” Markus said. “You just—”

“I’ve tried, Markus,” Gavrial said. “Oh believe me, I’ve tried. Don’t waste your breath.”

“Still, that leaves us with two attackers and one lookout,” Markus said. “Three lookouts if you count Margot and Gust.”

“And three attackers.”

They all turned to see Kira walking into the main room. She looked remarkably better, despite a few light bruises and cuts that still decorated her face.

Bryon shook his head. “Kira—”

“Don’t even start with me, Bryon,” she said. “I don’t want to hear anything about my ‘recent ordeal’ or how it will be ‘too dangerous’. I’m a member of the Hole, and I’m coming with. And unlike some people, I know how to use a gun just fine.”

To accent her point, she patted her holstered revolver.

“You still look beat halfway to hell,” Gavrial said. “I know you’d be good for it, girl, but seriously, I’m surprised you can stand.”

“Amazing what a few shots of vladka and a night in a real bed can do for a person,” she said. “I wasn’t treated all that bad down in the gaol. Not nearly as bad as I know some of them can be. I’m coming with you on this, and you’ll have to stick me back in a gaol to stop me, which seems somewhat counter-productive.”

Gavrial looked around at the other men. Vlad was smiling, Bryon was frowning, and Markus was unreadable. He ran a hand over his scalp and sighed. “Fine, but if I have to carry you out of there, you’re not going to hear the end of it.”

“Same goes for if I end up carrying you out,” she said.

“Aha!” Vlad reached forward and moved a piece on the board. “What are you going to do now, brassman?”

Markus glanced at the board and moved another piece. “Checkmate.”

The smile slid off Vlad’s face. “Wait, no, but . . . .”

Markus looked to Bryon. “What I am going to do now is strike back. Like Vlad, Lector will have made a critical mistake that all of Sentat made during the war. Just because your opponent is hurt doesn’t mean they are out. Sometimes, they come back even stronger than they ever were. Now come on, daylight’s wasting.”

* * *

Rojer flipped through the report as he walked into his office. There were some days he wished he could just burn all the paper, the consequences be damned. Some days, but not many, when he thought of the alternative: rooting around in the mud on the lines. He closed the folder and looked up, unsurprised to see the man sitting in a chair in front of his desk.

“Captain Hares,” Douglis Tidor said. “I find myself once again in need of your unique talents.”

Rojer looked the boy over. His face was puffy, and there was an unkemptness to his hair that belied the crisp lines of his suit. And there was something wrong with his face.

“They say real men wear their bruises with pride,” Rojer said. “Instead of hiding them with makeup and looking like popinjays.”

Douglis blanched and narrowed his eyes. “Have you worn your bruises proudly where those who would scorn you for them could see?”

“No,” Rojer said. “I haven’t had the occasion. Real men, I spoke of. I am a different sort of beast, Lord Tidor. I am a cautious man. Cautious men do not receive those blue and black badges of merit to display, at least if we can help it.”

“If you are calling yourself a coward, I think you are being harsh on yourself,” Douglis said. “A coward wouldn’t have burned down a block of the slums without a second thought.”

“Oh, I had second thoughts.” Rojer poured himself a drink and sat down behind his desk. “Plenty, I assure you. Burning down the slums was the best way to cover my tracks, though. Extreme perhaps, but effective. A braver man would have trusted the ineptitude of the constables.”

“They would have had no reason to follow you if you had only kidnapped my sister,” Douglis said. “Why start the fire to hide from them?”

“Because it was not them I was hiding from,” Rojer said. “I was hiding from everyone else. From your sister’s friends. From other people that might be interested in her or her friends. From people I couldn’t even begin to imagine might be interested. I hide with pride, Lord Tidor, and I do what I can to not stick my neck out.”

“Unless the pay is right,” Douglis said. “That is what it comes down to in the end, isn’t it?”

Rojer twisted his lips into a thin smile. “They say every man has his price. One who claims he does not merely has not been offered enough money yet.”

Douglis reached into his coat pocket, wincing as he did, and pulled out a thick envelope. “I need you to reacquire my sister.”

Rojer made no motion to take the envelope. “And how, might I ask, did you lose her?”

“The gaol I was keeping her in was raided by her friends,” Douglis said. “In addition to reacquiring her, kill her friends, if you would be so kind.”

Rojer leaned back and sipped his drink. “I’m afraid this is not the kind of work I deal in, Lord Tidor.”

“You want more?” Douglis said. “I’ve already doubled the fee from last time in this envelope. That should cover the killings, not that you didn’t obviously try that last time. This time, make sure of it.”

Rojer shook his head. “You misunderstand me. It doesn’t matter how much money you offer a blacksmith, he’s not going to be able to sew you a dress.”

Douglis sat the envelope down on the desk and folded his hands. “Nothing has changed. You need to discretely raid a thieves’ den, steal her back, and dispose of the witnesses.”

“Plenty has changed,” Rojer said. “My contact to her gang does not trust me anymore. They have moved dens. And, as I’ll say for a third time, this is not the line of work I engage in.”

Douglis stood up and sneered. “You will engage in it, Captain Hares. Do not think you are so high that you can ignore me. You’re father may sit on the Council, but you are still a commoner. Anything you could implicate me in would be swept under the rug by my father, and in the process you would be swept with it. Now take your blasted money and find my sister.”

Rojer looked up at the fuming boy and laughed. Douglis’s face grew red, although the makeup made the blush uneven, and Rojer laughed more.

“What is so damn funny? Answer me, peasant!”

Rojer sat his glass down and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he was in control of himself.

“Tell me, Lord Tidor, how long did you wait in my office for me?”

Douglis furrowed his brow at the question. “What?”

“How long did you sit here, waiting, after Sergeant Fresen showed you in?”

Douglis balled a fist but instantly loosed his hand as he winced. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I knew you were here before Fresen ever showed you back,” Rojer said.

“And you left me waiting?” Douglis said. “I sat in here for nearly an hour!”

“Yes,” Rojer said. “Because, as I said, I am not a brave man, Lord Tidor. I am a cautious one, and I knew why you were here. Yesterday, I had two people inexplicably come asking after your sister. Odd people. One, a certain meister, and the other—”

“A bastard in a mask.” Douglis’s eyes were wide, and he finally sat back down. “And that could ignore bullets.”

“I don’t know about bullets,” Rojer said. “But yes, masked, and with a shockrod besides. Why these people were interested in your sister I don’t know, and I really don’t care. But I have realized there are prices a man can be paid that are not money. I deal in information, Lord Tidor, nothing more.”

“I still don’t—”

“Understand about the wait?” Rojer shook his head. “I’m guessing someone hit you rather hard on the head. Or perhaps you have always been slow and I just ignored that when you threw all of that money at me. It is simply this, Lord Tidor. I was plying my trade. I was selling information.”

On that cue, a concealed door opened up at the back of the room, behind Rojer. He did not turn around, but the look on Douglis’s face told him exactly who was standing there.

“Lord Tidor,” Rojer said. “I trust you have heard enough?”

“Plenty,” Robbert Tidor said.

Douglis stood up again. “Father, I—”

“Sit back down, you worthless slug,” Robbert said. “And here I thought you were starting to turn out to be a competent heir. Perhaps I should have let you run off to the streets, too.”

“Wait,” Douglis said. “You mean you knew?”

“Knew that you had kidnapped your sister?” Robbert frowned and walked over to loom down on his son. “No, you managed to hide that from me rather well, or perhaps it was Walden. I swear, if he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself for that. But I did know where she was. Do you think my own daughter could run away and hide right under my nose without me finding her? I’ve known she’d turned into a sewer rat not even a month after she left. And good riddance, I say. She was weak, and would have not even been fit to marry off to improve the family position.”

“But, you told everyone she died,” Douglis said. “In the country.”

“And you about ruined that, now didn’t you?” Robbert backhanded Douglis, bringing a scream out of the boy. “I had the sympathy of the city, still do in some circles, and how would it have looked if she suddenly came back from the dead when I had professed to everyone of having seen her thrown down a ravine by her startled horse? She was always of more use to me dead than alive. If you wanted to truly do our family a favor, you would have seen her dead in truth.”

“But why not kill her back—”

Robbert backhanded Douglis again. “Don’t presume to question me, boy!”

Rojer watched and kept his face neutral. He knew the answer, of course. House Tidor had not been as wealthy and influential as it was today back when it lost its eldest daughter to her tragic accident. Simply put, Robbert had not been able to afford to see her taken care of, and likely by the time he could, she was so deep to ground that he could not find her, probably under Bryon’s wing. But that was information that no one had paid for, especially a presumptuous whelp being beat on by his father, so Rojer kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open.

Robbert turned to him. “Keep whatever he was offering you for this job. I trust that will cover payment for telling me about this.”

“I think it will cover it,” Rojer said. “As always, Lord Tidor, thank you.”

“Don’t be so smug,” Robbert said. “I’ve a mind to see you knocked down a peg or two as well for dealing with my brat and keeping it behind my back in the first place.”

“He did offer me a rather large sum of your money,” Rojer said. “Which, I will remind you, I returned to you.”

“And that is why I’m not going to turn you into the tribunals,” Robbert said. “That and I’d have a hard time replacing you. A hard time, mind, but not an impossible one. If anyone else from my house tries to contact you, you come to me, understand?”

“Quite,” Rojer said.

Robbert nodded and hauled a whimpering Douglis up and pushed him forward. “Pull yourself together, you twit. I have a carriage waiting outside, but I won’t have you sullying our good name even where only baseborn soldiers will see us.”

They left, and Rojer reached over, picked up the envelope, and opened it. True to his word, Douglis had doubled the amount. It was worth having given Robbert the first fee as a gesture of good faith. Not, of course, that Rojer would actually rat out anyone from House Tidor that came for information. No, that was business as usual. But the first one that wanted more would have their name on a note to Lord Tidor before they had left the building. That was the way of information. You respect the rules, and no one gets hurt. No city blocks get burned down. And no maniacs in masks jump you in a dark basement and nearly kill you.

Rojer finished his drink before returning to his paperwork. Yes, all was right with the world again.

* * *

Gavrial put a handful of seeds into his mouth and sucked on them while he waited. Across the alley, Markus paced and constantly checked his pocket watch, as though Vlad’s distractions could ever be missed.

“Calm down,” Gavrial said. “What happens, happens.”

“I was a soldier, Gavrial,” Markus said. “You think I don’t know that?”

“If I was to judge from how you’re standing?” Gavrial shrugged and spat a seed out.

Markus snapped the watch shut and shoved it into his coat. “I’ve been in plenty of battles, and infiltrated enemy camps more than I’d care to count. Each time, I was nervous, and every soldier I ever talked to was nervous too. How can you be so calm? This man killed Jak!”

“Yeah he did,” Gavrial said. “And I’m looking forward plenty to getting that revenge. But it will come when it comes. Until then, relax. You’ll use up all your steam, worrying about like that.”

Markus glowered, but at least he stopped his pacing. That was getting annoying. Seriously, soldiers worried before every single battle? That seemed a bit much to Gavrial, but then again, he did not go into a place all that often expecting to be shot at. No, he much preferred to be the one doing the shooting, and with any luck, today would be just that.

It was, of course, a Salteen plan to the bone. Distraction, misdirection, and stealth, even for the nearly war-like nature of it. Vlad, Kira, and Gust would cause a ruckus in the front, even making it seem like they were truly planning to come right in the front door and kill. Meanwhile, Markus and Gavrial would slip in through the back and intercept Lector, who would most likely be trying to flee, along with any other leadership that was in the building. It had taken a bit to convince Markus that he would be better off in the back and that actually going in the front with guns blazing would be counter-productive at best.

“It’s funny,” Gavrial said. “My mother used to tell me stories of brave generals and kings who would fight right on the front line, where it was the hottest. Reality is such a shameful difference. They seem to be the first to run the second it looks bad.”

“And how exactly are they supposed to be generals and kings if they are busy fighting?” Markus shrugged out of his coat and laid it neatly across a barrel. “The second they draw a gun, they stop leading and are no better than a common soldier.”

Gavrial stared at Markus, not quite hearing the last part. Under his coat, Markus was wearing strange clothes that revealed most of his metal parts, even to the point of his now short pants that stopped just above his knee having panels cut out of them to give access to the compartments on his thighs.

“Troena above,” Gavrial said. “It isn’t even the first time I’ve seen all of it, but it still shocks me.”

Markus knelt and felt along his legs with his eyes closed. “You know, sometimes even I forget. Even with the constant feeling of something pulling at the back of my head, with the constant different feeling in my legs and arm. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I am whole again.” He stood. “Little good it does me.”

They stood in silence for several minutes then Markus reached for his watch. Before he had it completely out of his pocket, an explosion shook the entire block. The sound of bricks crumbling and falling came from the street.

Markus paused and looked down the alley. “Did he . . . did he actually blow part of the building up?”

Gavrial spat the last seed out and drew a gun. “He blew a boat up the last time I needed a quick distraction. I wouldn’t put it past him. Come on.”

Markus turned back to the door and emotion drained from his face. He tried the handle, which was of course locked, so Gavrial stepped back to give him room to pick it. Instead of manipulating the lever on the back of his hand, though, Markus simply took a step back, planted a foot behind him, and kicked the door in.

Wood splintered and went flying, and what was left of the door hung limply from a single hinge. Gavrial frowned as Markus walked in without even drawing his gun. So much for the stealth.

Inside, people were already in the halls, looking towards the street where it still sounded like the building was mid-collapse, but a few had turned at the sudden entrance Markus had favored. Those that turned screamed, and soon all the eyes were on the revenant that had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

Most of the people ran, either back behind doors or towards the sound of the collapsing building. One, though, drew a gun. Gavrial leveled his own weapon, but Markus was faster. Instead of reaching for his gun, the revenant stooped back down, and a compartment that Gavrial had not even realized was there opened in the man’s lower leg. A sort of disk with sharpened blades popped out into his hand, and as he was standing back up, he threw it with a sharp flick of his wrist. The blades spun blindingly fast and whizzed through the air, and then were buried in the man’s neck. At least, they were buried until the man’s head fell backwards, connected only by the thinnest bit of sinew and bone.

Markus stepped over the man as if he was a piece of overturned furniture, stooping mid-step just long enough to pull the bladed disc free. Gavrial grit his teeth and hurried after Markus, keeping an eye out behind for other possible attackers that might have thought to hide until they passed then surprise them.

Markus paid no mind to Gavrial, and instead started to kick doors in without even trying them to see if they were locked. People screamed, and he gave most of the apartments only a cursory glance. Bryon had told him what to look for, what kinds of things would likely mark a room the Rebellion used. Those, he searched more thoroughly.

By the seventh door, Markus had killed three more men, all of which had been hiding in Rebellion apartments, and the building had stopped shaking and only now groaned as though it was about to fall down. Gavrial could hear some of a firefight outside, and he gave a small prayer to Troena that the others managed to only distract and not get fully drawn in. For Gavrial’s part, he had not fired a round yet; Markus was too fast with that disc.

When Markus kicked in the seventh door, he stumbled back as a small, knobby ball flew out towards him. It brushed his metal arm, and everything turned blue for a moment. When Gavrial could see again, Markus was on one knee, groaning.

Gavrial did not pause to think. He rushed Markus and pushed him to the side while firing several rounds into the dark room. Wood splintered from the bullets, but nothing else. After a moment, Gavrial’s eyes adjusted, and he could see the room was empty. He started to get up, and Markus pushed him off.

“He’s here.”

Gavrial grunted, and by the time he was back on his feet, Markus was already running into the room. Gavrial took the time to turn up the lamps via a knob by the door, and sure enough Tesma’s lights came to life.

He rushed after Markus just in time to see him throw the disc. Lector stood on the far side of a room by a closed door, the key forgotten in the lock, and he drew his shockrod in a fluid motion. Somehow, he hit the disc as it spun at him, and blue light flashed as the disc deflected and buried itself into the wall. Gavrial leveled his gun, but Markus pushed it down.

“Here I am, Lector,” Markus said. “The revenant you so desperately want, come to you. You have hunted me for so long, why flee now?”

Lector shifted his balance and kept the shockrod up. “I don’t know what you are talking about, monster.”

“No shockshield today, Lector?” Markus said. “Don’t tell me I’ve caught you unawares. Or was it damaged somehow in the gaol, and that is why you ran away?”

“Shockshield?” Lector frowned but kept his guard up. “You think I’m the man with the shockshield? I’m flattered, but I’m also afraid that you’re quite mistaken.”

Markus drew Bryon’s dueling cane out of the makeshift sheath that had made for it and rushed the meister. Gavrial had his gun back up as soon as Markus moved, but he was too fast, and he belted down blows so quick that it was all Lector could do to parry them.

There was no grace to the fight. Gavrial had seen fencers, back when they did the Tresling Gardens job, and he had seen what skilled bladework was. This was not that. Blow after blow, Markus brought the cane around with such speed and force that it would surely cave Lector’s skull in if it made contact.

And then the cane cracked. The top half went spinning through the air, and Lector’s parry went high. To his credit, the meister saw his opportunity and started to twist the motion into an attack, but Markus was nonplussed. He merely dropped the broken stump and extended his arm, grabbing Lector by his collar. A moment later, the man was flying through the air, shockrod spinning out of his hand. It landed in a corner, and he landed on a table, shattering it.

Markus walked up to him and held his arm out. A blade the length of his forearm whipped out in an arc, slashed Lector in the arm, and stopped just short of the man’s neck. Markus stood there, poised, as Lector stared up at him. Gavrial took the chance to look the meister over.

“You killed our friend,” Markus said. “And you have made it clear that you will continue to antagonize me. I do not relish killing, but I think, perhaps, I shall enjoy this one death, this justice in a city that has forgotten what such a thing even is.”

“It’s not him,” Gavrial said.

Markus stood still for a long moment. “What?”

“Look at his wrist, Markus.”

Lector was wearing his sleeves rolled up, as thought he had perhaps been tinkering at a workbench before they had blown half of his hideout away. His left wrist was covered by his meister’s bracer, but the right one was bare.

“What about it?” Markus said

“There’s no bruise.”

“So?”

Gavrial pointed. “There is no bruise. I hit that bastard hard enough I’d be surprised if I didn’t break a bone. There should at least be some sort of sign of it. His wrist is fine.”

Markus looked at the wrist again, and then he took a step back, lowering the blade. “You aren’t him.”

Lector slumped in the wreckage. “I believe I already said that.”

Markus took another step back and looked down at the shockrod. He then turned around and left the room. Gavrial kept his gun trained on Lector but glanced back over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Markus said. “We’re done here.”

Gavrial frowned. Lector only looked at him, his face amazingly calm for having been almost killed by a revenant and having his base of operation torn to shambles. Gavrial walked out slowly, keeping his gun on Lector the entire time, and then bolted after Markus soon as the meister was out of sight.

* * *

Markus sat in the pew and took a deep breath. He did not have to sit long before Father Morgan sat down next to him.

“What happened, my son?”

“I killed,” Markus said.

Morgan nodded. “Why?”

“I thought they had been the ones to kill my friend,” Markus said. “I was sure of it.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No.” Markus put his head in his hands, which were now properly covered by long sleeves and gloves. “They weren’t. He wasn’t. The first few were in the heat of a battle. It was them or me. But him . . . I almost killed in cold blood. Troena above, Morgan, I wanted to!”

“But you didn’t,” Morgan said. “You stopped yourself. That is what is important.”

“I didn’t stop myself,” Markus said. “I was stopped. I was about to kill him without even making sure.”

“Who stopped you?”

Markus laughed despite himself. “A man who has killed in cold blood more times than I care to count.”

“You have survived this test, Markus,” Morgan said. “At least with some semblance of your humanity. That is a start.”

“I have not passed it yet,” Markus said. “He’s still out there, and I still have to deal with him.”

Morgan furrowed his brow. “Who?”

Markus lifted his head and looked up to the altar. “Tesma.”

 

Story by Richard Fife | Art by April Herron