The Shaltearan Brotherhood used all Cloaks as disposable assets knowing the hazardous nature of the job would weed out the real killers. The guild also placed far too much faith in its own instruction and training. Pride was one of the guild’s chief weaknesses, for little consideration had been given to the illuminating fact that Shade had been trained in the only ranks deadlier than the Shaltearan Brotherhood—the legendary Unseen of Jui-Sae.
Bwedrig growled at the drunken Derve still fast asleep on his counter. The fat barkeep had a habit of losing patience whenever a customer lost the capacity for drinking. He lumbered over. He seized the Derve by the collar. He yanked the drunkard off his stool and dragged him across the floor.
The Derve did not stir. Shade would’ve ordinarily ignored a barkeep’s tending to his own bar, intoxication was after all a disgustingly human pastime, but something about the incident did not sit well with him. The Dervish man’s eyes cracked open a hair. Shade’s eyes widened in recognition. The man was sober. The Derve’s pupils betrayed the patient alertness of a predator lying in wait.
Shade leapt from his stool. “Bwedrig! Watch out!”
Festan stopped playing his widdlepipe.
The Derve handsprung to his feet with a quickness that surprised even the legendary Dark Elf. Shade heard the piercing whisk of a light chain weapon as it cut through the air.
Bwedrig sprawled to the floor, but the blow was not aimed at the fat bartender. Shade had not even seen the Derve display his weapon. His finely honed survival instinct was all that saved him. He brought his arm up to block his neck and protected his jugular. He felt the piercing sting of pain as the dart end of the Shaltearan whip tore through his left forearm.
“Shade, no!” Festan shouted.
Blood sprayed from his open wound, but Shade managed to retrieve his daggers. Shade slipped into Unseen form hoping to recover. He ground his teeth seething with contempt for his miserable and near fatal failure. How had he failed to recognize the true Shaltearan assassin?
“Aaah, where did he go?” Festan stammered.
The two assassins coldly ignored the Faun.
The Shaltearan assassin grinned darkly back at Shade. He whirled his deadly chainlike weapon over his head. The Dervish man allowed the Dark Elf to soak in the full humiliation of the near deadly blunder.
Shade scowled at the man’s smug overconfidence. The Dark Elf watched as the Derve demonstrated his mastery over the dart-tipped whip. He swung it around his body then up and over his arms with a whirling artistry that made Shade’s head spin. The weapon was a Jiu Jie Bian more commonly known as a “chain whip”. It was feared for its speed, unpredictability and ability to be concealed in common garb. Shade had experienced its stinging effectiveness firsthand, but the sting to his pride struck a far deeper blow.
Shade readied his stance and clenched his teeth through the pain. His blades danced lightly in his fingertips.
The Shaltearan Assassin charged the Dark Elf. He swung his exotic whip in treacherous circles cutting wide arcs that the Unseen barely escaped.
Shade flipped and spun and ducked, but still he felt the whip nearly graze his skin time and time again. The Shaltearan’s strikes were far too precise to be fooled by Shade’s unseen form. The man must have concealed a terramite amulet or bracelet in his cloth tunic. Shade was impressed. Unlike the would-be assassins before him, this man was a trained killer…a true representative of the order.
But Shade had been trained in the ranks of the Unseen. Assassins trained to adapt to attacks as fast as flashes of light. He brought his daggers up to parry so precisely he actually deflected the razor sharp tip of the chain whip, a seemingly impossible feat. The Shaltearan staggered backward in shock. It didn’t take the Dark Elf much longer to master his timing. The swaggering grin fell off the man’s face. Beads of sweat and frustration poured down his brow.
Shade slipped out of unseen form and pressed the attack. He pushed the Dervish man back across the tavern floor. The Derve struggled to parry with a weapon ill designed for blocking attacks. The Dark Elf ducked just as a lightning fast riposte cracked overhead. Of course, he still needed to be careful. Shade took several cautious steps back as the Shaltearan’s lashes grew far more erratic. It was times like this when he had to be extra careful. He could smell the man’s desperation.
“Get him, Shade!” Festan shouted, “Get him!”
The Dark Elf ignored the Faun and centered all his attention on reading his opponent’s movements. He watched and dodged as the chain swung around for each strike. It took him a moment to reallocate the timing of the swings, but then he saw the opening. He sprung forward and cut through the chain of the whip. The dart end spun through the air and hit the wall. Shade seized the man by the arm. He plunged the dagger deep into the Derve’s heart.
“The price of a missed opportunity,” the Dark Elf said coldly.
Shade twisted the dagger into the Shaltearan’s heart and treasured the look of shock that ghosted across the man’s face. A smirk of scornful satisfaction danced across his dark features. He yanked the blade out and allowed the man to drop callously to the floor. He took out a dark cloth and wiped his blades clean. He put a dagger away and bit down lengthwise on the other blade.
Festan ran over to him. He squatted next to Shade. The assassin could see the pain in the Faun’s eyes. A dead silence filled the tavern.
“Shade, you’re hurt,” Festan said.
The Dark Elf shook his head and the Faun quieted. Shade pulled out a roll of bandages. He bit down harder on the knife as he momentarily wrapped his arm. He would treat his wound, but not yet. Not when he had questions that begged answers. Shade knelt next to the Shaltearan’s corpse. He took hold of the folds in the Man’s long-sleeved tunic and ripped them open. Then he took his knife and cut along the sleeves and the pant legs. He heard the collective breath suck out of the room as he exposed the man’s bare chest, arms and legs.
Festan gasped in shock. He stared at Shade his innocence rocked hard. The slime of the underworld watched in morbid curiosity. Shade heard one man tell another that Dark Elves had a history of mutilating corpses in dark arcane rituals. The assassin ignored the ignorant remark and continued in his work. His only interest was in the story the man’s body would tell.
Festan asked, “Shade, what are you doing?”
Shade didn’t answer. He studied the cursive hieroglyphic symbols that had been tattooed into nearly every inch of the man’s flesh. The markings spread from his chest, ran up his arms and down his legs. The Faelin estimated this Shaltearan Assassin had over six-hundred individual symbols, each representing a kill. Shade gasped. The Sixth Rank! The prior Shaltearan Assassins had only a handful of marks to their credit, but this man had ascended through six ranks of the Assassin’s Codex!
The Dark Elf leaned back and pondered the meaning of his latest kill. He had never killed an assassin of so high a rank in the Shaltearan Brotherhood. Generally, kill one high-tier Shaltearan Assassin and the brotherhood would concede the loss and brand it a cleansing of the order, but killing a second could ignite an assassins’ war. Shade would gladly welcome so lofty a challenge, but to engage in such a war here in an open bar would be an exercise in idiocy.