They stepped onto the cobblestones and headed for the frontdoor.
It opened just as they reached it. A red-haired woman was inside; Mirage glanced at the short sword the woman wore and felt her lip curl. A Cousin. One of those lackeys she had been mistaken for in Enden, an obedient servant of the witches.
The Cousin bowed to them, showing no sign of fear or even surprise at finding two uniformed Hunters already inside the gate. Mirage swore inwardly, understanding. Ward of some kind. No wonder the guards are so lax. With tricks like this, how did that witch ever get assassinated?
They were conducted inside. The Cousin offered no greeting, and neither Hunter chose to break the silence. Intimidation was a useful tool, and although the woman was not outwardly cowed, Mirage could see the stiffness in her back. She smiled beneath the windsilk of her mask.
The Cousin led them to an elegantly carved door and opened it, gesturing them inside.
Given the sumptuous appearance of the rest of the house, the nearly bare room was jarring. A few high-backed chairs stood in a rough semicircle facing the door, and in the center of the arc sat a woman. The shadows of the chair’s wings cloaked her, but Mirage knew without being told that this was the witch.
Both she and Eclipse saluted their summoner.
The Cousin shut the door, and the room remained silent for several long moments. Then the witch spoke. “Silverfire.”
Mirage instantly tried to analyze that. Had she not known what school was hired? If so, the cut of their uniforms would have told her that. But the voice, almost devoid of inflection, was unclear; it could be that she had known, and was making some comment on the choice. Mirage could not tell.
“Have you been told anything?” the witch asked.
Her voice sent chills down Mirage’s spine. Melodious and smooth, like any witch; they depended on singing to control their magic, and so they trained their daughters’ voices from the time they could speak.
“No, Katsu,” Eclipse responded, defaulting to the generic form of address for a witch of unknown affiliation. “The commission merely said that Tari-nakana, the Fire Heart Key, had been assassinated, and that two Hunters were to be assigned to investigate the situation. It instructed us to come here and find you, and bound us not to speak of it to anyone else until now. That was all.”
The witch stood. She was taller than Mirage by a good bit, of a height with Eclipse. “Tari-nakana was returning to Starfall when she fell from her horse and broke her neck. A simple tragedy, or so it would seem. But the snake that startled her mount is rarely active during the day, and avoids open spaces such as roads. When the horse’s saddle blanket was removed after it was put down for two broken legs, its back was inflamed—not seriously, but enough to make it more skittish than usual. And the girth strap was quite worn—again, not enough to look suspicious, but more than anyone recalls it being.”
Mirage felt a flicker of professional appreciation. So that was how it was done. Clever, and subtle. No one clue so glaring that anyone would point a finger at foul play, and no mischief strong enough to be caught before it could come to harm.
“These three anomalies caused us to investigate,” the witch continued. “There was no evidence of anyone planting the snake, or tampering with the saddle girth, but the blanket had been touched with a very mild powder that irritated the horse’s skin. Given that, we suspect that the other two were also not chance.”
“What’s our assignment?” Mirage asked.
“Hunt,” the witch said bluntly. “Hunt the assassin and capture or eliminate her; either is acceptable. But also Hunt the one behind the assassin, the one who ordered the killing done. That, more than the first, is of paramount importance. But exercise caution; we do not wish to alert the employer. Inform us of your discoveries before any action is taken against that one.”
Eclipse nodded. “Who will be our contact?”
“Myself. Do you accept the commission?”
“We do,” Mirage said, knowing she spoke for both of them. Her fingers tingled with anticipation of the Hunt. It was a feeling she had missed, these past months.
The witch ought to have taken their oaths then. But she didn’t, not right away, and a chill prickled at Mirage’s neck. Why was she hesitating?
“I must warn you,” the witch said. “I will require a blood-oath. Do you still accept the commission?”
Mirage froze in shock. Many Hunters went their whole lives without ever taking on a blood-oathed commission. It was glory and death, all in one. Only the most delicate of situations merited blood-oaths, because they required the services of a witch to bind the Hunter to the task. If the Hunter completed the commission, he lived, gained great fame, and could ask three boons from his employer—whenever he wanted, no restrictions.
If he failed, he died.
If anything would require it, this would, Mirage thought But am I ready for it?
Glory, fame, and three favors from some very powerful people.
Or death.
She had wanted a challenge.
Mirage looked over at Eclipse, and found him doing the same. She was not at all certain what his choice would be until their eyes met. An instant only; that was all it took for them to know their answer.
“We accept,” Eclipse said.
The witch stood and beckoned them forward. She pulled a small table from her side to in front of her, and Mirage saw that it held a small dagger, a shallow silver bowl, and a faceted crystal. Witches’ tools.
“Your weapon hands, please,” the witch said.
Mirage’s heart was beating rapidly with apprehension. This could make her name for all time, put her into legend with other great Hunters of the past. But she could not forget the danger, the threat of death. If they failed, neither of them would live to take another assignment.
But if we succeed, the reward is worth it. And I’m arrogant enough to believe we will.
The witch interlocked their right hands so they were gripping each other over the bowl. Their gloves had been tucked into their belts.
She slid the dagger carefully between their wrists, flat against the skin, and held the crystal in her left hand. Then, without warning, the witch flipped the dagger to its edges and drew it downward, opening up a shallow cut on the inside of each Hunter’s wrist. Their blood dripped together into the silver bowl, forming a dark pool on the reflective surface.
The crystal the witch held began to hum as she held it above their hands. “You are charged with the task of serving justice to the assassin of Tari-nakana, Key of the Path of the Heart of the Ray of Fire, and of discovering the instigator of the murder. Should you fail, you will die. Should you succeed, we who have hired you bind ourselves to grant three boons to you, whenever you might require them. Do you accept?”
Mirage and Eclipse recited their responses in unison. “I swear, on my oath and my name as a Hunter, that I will devote my utmost efforts to the task, or accept the retribution of the Divine Warrior who holds my oath.”
Right hand on the bowl, left hand holding the crystal, the witch sang a series of sharp notes in the language of magic. Mirage’s stomach lurched as their commingled blood suddenly rushed upward, back through the gap between their wrists, to strike the crystal, where it was absorbed. The witch set the newly dyed ruby back onto the table and clasped their bleeding wrists in her own hands.
“Your oath is accepted. You are free to Hunt.”
A sudden surge of pain made Mirage grip Eclipse’s hand in resistance. And then it was gone, as quickly as it had come, and the witch was moving the table away.
Mirage released Eclipse’s hand and examined her wrist. Even in the dim light, she could see the thin scar. It glittered peculiarly, with a greenish shade that seemed to be a reminder of the strangely colored magical fire that had sealed it shut. The scar would mark her for life, a sign that she had undertaken a blood-oathed commission—and, if all went well, survived.