Chapter 3

When I was left alone in the room, the quiet whispers of the cold wind made the flame from the candle dance in its direction, my mind drifted to the possible outcome of Sudan's tricky plan if I was sane enough to agree to it. It was maddening enough that he was doing this not because of his pious preaching of charity and generosity but because he longed to hold a seat in Antuan, and I was even madder that he held me accountable for all the lives at stake under this vermin of a disease that is not only wrecking my insides but also causing me distress. The worst is, he is right. I needed that herb.

Sudan is all but an honest man. There is no doubt he was a great healer and a medical practitioner, being a young alumnus of the academy, but he was no good-natured man, despite his devotion to One God and the seven sons. The wolfsbane was one of his many antics to earn the favor of the masters. If curing a whole city of infectious Rot, surely the deed was worth commending of a good place in the Circle, and that is a dream fulfilled for the old man.

The door creaked loudly. I glanced at it and first saw the big curls of hazel color running from the top of her head down to her bottoms. I knew who she was from a glance at the hair, but I still awaited her face to reveal it. "Couldn't sleep again, Adel?" I asked.

She raised a bow. "You ask me to visit you before bed," she went for the round oak wood table from the corner which holds a canister and a glass. She shot me a glance, "He should've served valerian root. It greatly helps with your sleep,"

I sighed. "I should've asked for it, then. I am in dire need of a good rest." Like a cue, I massaged my neck feeling weary of sitting in a bed for hours. I am not fond of idling.

I felt a sharp pang of pain from my wound. I grunted from both frustration and pain. I settled myself in a comfortable position before I turn my gaze upon the lady who had managed to stifle a smile.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm glad I provide you some amusement,"

She chuckled. "This one needs a boil," with a flick of her hand, the canister smoked hot. I saw how her essence dissolved through the cold gust of air, leaving a faint white glow of essence for my eyes to feast. I turn my eyes up to look at her with a warning which she just laughed off. She grabbed a teapot and poured herself the hot lavender tea. "No one's looking."

"Until someone does," I said sarcastically. I rest my back on the brick wall. The cold must've seeped through the cracks as I felt it upon touch even with the thick garment I wear.

Adel's discreet use of her essence to do her chores remains safe in my presence, but one uninvited eye could put us in grave danger, the reason why in her slightest wielding I would nag about it which the nonchalant lady would make light of saying that I should loosen myself. Her frequent use of her essence without getting caught is a surprise to me. Many eyes are watching us in these halls, looking for anything to use to bring us down, or me, in particular. Apparently, not only the Red tower has its political scheming.

"How did it go?" She asks as she sat down on a chair beside my bed, the teacups she held loosely on one arm. The lamp flickered.

"Fill me in with the latest information on Gilga."

"You need not worry. Everything is smoothly following the course the Hand had laid. Gilga is in turmoil but Dardau is in the most proficient hands. What baffles them the most is how you survived the attack. Your concern should be on those wildings. How they manage to cross the Waste is beyond me."

They have mobilized the unit of Black cloaks to investigate the cases and keep a close watch on the bordering village. There had been multiple attacks from both east and west, all had the same similarity of assault, and the common folk have ears and mouths to respond to these alarming stories. The Regent is in a much more delicate position, considering the game he had played, and the mouths of common folk are a pain to his ears and so he dispatched his soldiers to take the matter to an end.

Perhaps the shifters were aware of the tales, yet no movement has been reported from them. It should be them who should be on the front in this matter - it was their kind who wreaks havoc - but they cling so tightly to their sacred lands that the outside world seems to not have significance.

"What do you know of the Rot?" I asked her.

She sipped on her cup, taking her time. "I know that it is what burdens you as of the moment." She chuckled. "The virus spreads through bites, claws, or a direct drop of blood from an infected person. The disease is a fucking viper. You don't know for a certain time it will spike. The origin was werewolves, particularly, the Rouges as they call them. This virus occurred a long time ago - I do know not the exact cycle. Reading was not my specialty - but now, according to what I've heard, the cases of infection had risen to a certain number that alarms the neighboring countries."

The old man's words were true, then. Many have been afflicted by the problem. All the more it is hard to ignore that calling.

I nodded. "And the cure?"

"Monkshood. They put it on the wound or drink it if they could even swallow the nasty liquid." she grimaced as though she tasted it herself. But I cannot say, the matters of learning in that forsaken tower of Carale were beyond what I know.

"I'd prefer the first method, personally, albeit excruciating. But the herb is scarce, especially in western lands. There are only a number of a merchant who was allowed by the tribes to harvest and produce it, and it cost a fortune. 15 shillings per bag of it or more, I heard, depending on whom you buy. Black traders offer less, though," she continued.

I fall silent on my thoughts. I had a hunch I will be stealing from the black traders under lord Argilao's infamous private militia and how that would end up will be either her on the ground, soaked in blood, or an addition to my long list of triumphs.

"You seem deeply bothered." She noted. "You pick your nails when you're troubled with something. Perhaps that is why you called on me. Well, talking to that old hag does not fructify anything."

"He can't cure me, he said. He doesn't have a supply of wolfsbane."

"Well, shit." blunt irritation registered on her face, eyes slit like she heard something ridiculous. "He told the Maestra quite the opposite. He informed her that you'll be in bed for weeks, if not days, for better healing. I was convinced something is wrong. An expert would know those damages could not be easily fixed."

"He wants me to steal for him. A shipment from the Isles bound to lord Argilao. Wolfsbane. I reckon three crates at least. Tomorrow at midnight. I had my hunches it is under the watch of black traders and Argilao's most prized private troops." I spat bitterly.

"Why steal for him? You have enough from your holdings. I, too. We could purchase with our funds combined. You'd be sentencing yourself to a certain death."

I glanced at her. Her defined brows arched. We have been friends for I don't know how long. Since she was fostered by Maestra for ten years, we've grown fond of each other. I was first to be a trainee, brought from the slums of the wet market attempting to steal to make a living. I had the talent, as I was told by Maestra and so she took me in. Adel on the other hand had been acquired from one mission. Her aptitudes match the ranking sisters and so she was forced to take the order. Out of all the sisters in the house, I was drawn to her the most. Perhaps it is her blatant use of words not meant for insult but the simple slap of truth, or it might be her coolness with everything that I find comfort amidst the blabbing of the ladies. Nevertheless, she is the truest companion I could ever have but I will not forsake her earnings for my benefit. She knows of this, yet her calling is as great as mine. We were taught to never rely on other people's expense, and while I

"He's got the old man for leverage. I certainly did not carry him to let him die on his bed. The does not make a sound story, does it? Arlac will think me idiot had it happened," I said, half-truth, half-jest.

"And that is why nobles die first." She quoted and grimaced, "Even if Sudan did cure the city, he'd have to handle the inquisition from the Tower. I bid him luck with that. Their doctrines forbid them to acquire knowledge and materials from the banned."

Sudan might've some up on his sleeve for that, I am sure. He spent years trying to climb the high chairs without anyone from the Tower noticing his crooked ways. Besides, he laid out the plan with the precision that it is impossible to think of him as lacking a safe escape. How about my escape?

"You'll do it?" she asked for the last time. Her face crossed a hint of worry that quickly diminished. "I might suggest accompanying you but you sure won't let me. That is why I will keep an eye on that old hag from here."

"I don't have a use for you in this stupid purloin. Best you keep a close eye on his movements until I arrive,"

She snickered at my pompous words and stood. She held her hand out to me. A familiar liquid in an enclosed container flashed before my eyes. Had the effect wearied? I looked at her and took it.

"You must know Angel's breath nullifies the effect of the concoction even if the effect had not been wearied. That means anyone with hyper senses will smell and sense her, despite you trying to shove her to the depths of your existence. You must be utterly careful,"

I nodded and said my thanks to her before she left to gather her sleep. I know the lady is worried but this is something I could handle on my own. Could you? I shook the doubt off my mind.

Well, if not for my wound this would all be child's play. I have to be tactful of my movements considering it will be limited for now. I threw a glance across the room, spotting the elixir contained in a small bottle. The Angel's breath will provide me with the strength my body needs momentarily. It must only be ingested once in a cycle, or else it may fail my body in an instant. Fuck's sake. Will I need to rely now on herbs?

The morning came quickly as I expected. I slept a wink last night. My mind is too bothered with all the occasions for the past few days that made my body unable to rest. The purloin will take place at midnight after the city has gone to slumber and only those who move amidst the shadow are awake. When noon came, I met with the crew Sudan has provided me with. I expected the least from it; a band of sickly lads small enough to hide from suspicious eyes and blend in the shadows but quick with their feet and so I was not surprised at all when I came to see them. They have a leader, Akar is what they call him, a tad bigger than the lot and a wily one, someone who is easy to work with. I gave them their task and be off with the day, preparing for the mystery of the night.

I gathered my tools from the armory. I had free access to it - years in service with commendable records earned me that - avoiding unnecessary queries over my business is a must in this house. I had my twin dagger blade forged by my only trusted smith, Gregor. The skilled blacksmith is too humble for his talents. His works were one of the finest of the city yet he dwells still in slums.

Sudan visited me that night. He cleaned my wounds and replaced fresh ointments, then wrap it again with fresh clothes. He blabber with his unabashed desire to gain a seat which I gladly did not pay attention to.

"Your wound is healing fast," he noted. "Have you had any hallucinations of some sort?"

"No," I said. He told me the Rot spread fast due to the deep cut on my shoulders. But all his symptoms have yet to occur. As the matter of fact, I feel as though I am normally recovering. There was a pang of pain, sure, but nothing above that level of torment.

"Is that unlikely?" I asked.

He shook his head, "No, not at all. I have heard of victims who showed an incredible amount of resistance to the Rot. Perhaps the medicine I devised greatly helps,"

I wave of annoyance shook my patience. I know he is not keen on healing me. He does this because he needs me in great condition to execute his plans, "By your hands, won't it?"

He laughed heartily at that and made sure I can function properly tonight with some stitches and healing remedies. Waiting for tires me more than idling. Then, he reminded me of Angel's breath.

"I have it with me," I assured him.

The howls of hounds echoed through the city. I felt a longing in my bones from listening to it which I immediately dismissed. Moon rose up to its glory, claiming the vast emptiness of the sky. I went down the market, avoiding the bigger roads. All of the stalls and stores were closed. Few of the taverns are still open for booze and trouble and some fun with prostitutes. The lamp posts were lighted for the first twenty yards from the house. From there, the surroundings were void of light, only by the moon I was able to discern my way. I walk down forbidden streets, and dark alley walks and pass unto narrow paths like it was the back of my hands. The wind whispered soothingly, and here I pray it takes my worries away with it.

Soon enough, my eyes met with the familiar wooden platform and the long horizon of the sea. The moon gleams above it and is reflected in the waters, seemingly like the moon has gained its twin. Different kinds of ships were anchored. Some were fisherman's boats scattered on the harbor. Trading galleys, carracks and skiffs, great cogs, and longships: all lined up on the harbor made me realize what kind of busy street the pier must be in daylight. Some of the ships have crews aboard, probably doing their duty. Fishermen have returned back from the sea with their crates of fresh catch to be sold this morning.

She rose

this morning, feeling the uneasiness in my veins. She made her disapproval of this silly mission known by keeper quiet and never to surface. As though her presence left my body completely. I tap into her yet, I gained absolutely no response. It made me bothered but thought the best of it. This way would be easier.

I approached the platform discreetly but not enough to catch suspicion, though they are rather occupied with their businesses. Guards seldom patrol the area, considering how far it is from the capital that their lazy legs would wobble, or might be that their legs have other worldly matters to attend to. Gratia's whorehouse would be the perfect spot to patrol, I reckon. The Blues is not difficult to spot among the big ships even at night. The name itself suggests it. The wooden planks were painted in hues of blue. The only color that was not white, was the color of the signage. The structures were built with hardwood and detailed carvings. It looked new, as though picked out straight from the shipwright.

I saw men picking up crates, shouting over their grated male voices, and unloading them towards the wagon waiting at the corner. Sudan's instructions were precise. I was here on time. I saw the familiar crest of Argilao branded on their breastplate - a three horn and a blade adorned in green paint - and the mark of the serpent on other crew's arms. Black traders and private military.

I moved out from my position behind loads of chop wood and went closer to take a detailed look. I smelled the air once, the salty ocean, the stink of the folks, and took a guess of their numbers. Twenty men. twelves from Argilao and eight from the traders. I took with me ten blades. Shooting them from a distance would knock me off my feet. I should be able to take five down with close combat, and five with distance kill. But surely they will beat me if I take all five of them at once...

I stopped at my own thoughts. I did not smell the wolfsbane, not a tang. I took a whiff again and confirm my hunches. My eyes focused on the crates being dismounted. It was a third of the batch. It has the same materials as any other crates I have seen but why can't get a sniff of the overpowering rank smell of flowers?

I tap in my beast. She responded but with a whim. I urge to let her surface and in a split, I was able to trace a scent of the essence. Not a pleasant one. Must be from a corrupted source. The crate was clad by it, preventing any particles from coming out. So, they are using mages now to operate? How clever, and dangerous all the more.

I remained watching, and as soon as I saw the lads coming off from the cabin, I began moving silently. They wore the same expression as yesterday, grim and waning. But instead of ragged clothes, they wore the sigil of the Argilao branded on their shirt. One of the traders smacked them and I hear, "you were paid to do better, dimwit! quick with your feet or you'll lose it!"

Two jumped in front to maneuver the horses whilst three of them, including the big Akar, walked on foot, following the wagon silently. Ten of the guards followed shortly. They will attend to the crates and guide them to Argilao's manor, routing for the long tread yet away from dubious eyes. They were bondservants to the lord of Eighal Hall, they say. How did Susan acquire all five of these lads without a question is no wonder to me. He probably bribed them or 

threatened them. Nonetheless, I care not.

Walking on foot to Argilao's Manor through the West gate will take them about an hour. They will first need to cross the small bridge before they step foot on the wood. I must extract the shipment by then.

I slip past the pile of sacks, in between narrow passages, behind the stack of wooden crates all with great vigilance. They seem not to notice a thing. I continued following them and observing the guards. Some of the traders were sloppy and brash. It is the warriors I should be wary of.

"These stinky shits think we are working with them," from a distance, I hear their murmur. Two warriors from Argilao's military clearly do not intend to keep their plain annoyance with the traders. They snickered and mock them for the duration of their short travel. In my mind, I encourage their contempt. It is easier to infiltrate the quad if they have gaps in their stronghold.

We approach the bridge, and harder it is to conceal my presence with just the trees and shadow. Although these lots seem to be dull, they are still honed by the battles they have fought. Spotting ambush is one of their known skills. Two pillars made of bricks from each end of the bridge stand tall amidst the dark. The twin was seldom used to cross over the Inner Gate, being that the use of the main road was more convenient, and other, you'd have to deal with the thieves and some bandits.

I fasten my pace, surpassing the group behind me while constantly avoiding being seen. I gathered the thick layer of my cloak and dress and examine the leather strap on both of my legs, the scabbard holding the four daggers tightly. Done that, I flap the hem of my dress down to conceal the weapon, reaching the ground and I positioned myself in a strategical way. I hear them approaching moments after, their laughter and gruff voices echoing through the silent forest. The clanking of their armor and the wheel grinding against the stoned ground is enough to solicit attention from an unwanted party, but these men seem to be indulgent still in their own delight, unwary of the bandits lingering in the woods.

"Help! " I shouted and rushed to their path, in a very womanly tone, begging. If one was listening closely, one would notice the rehearsed and forced timbre in between the sobs but men react quickly with their other heads.

I fell on my feet, seemingly true, but my grunt is genuine. The impact hit the wounds, still fresh, on my back. I feel it twisted.

One guard approached me in tiny steps, alerted and cautious, with his one hand on the sheath of his tower-forged sword. The sigil gleamed under the moonlight. Argilao's three horns of glory. With one swipe of look among the group, all had the same expression and wary, I sob loudly while remaining on the ground.. My theatrics was not of the best, at least not among the sisters, but it is sufficient to swoon a hoard of men like a cat purring to be mated.

"Hush, lady. What troubled you?" The man asked. "Put down your kerchief," he ordered to which I obliged,

I made sure my face shows it. With my brows drawn upward, my mouth in an inverted smile, and my eyes pleading, innocent, and scared, I caught him at his feet. I saw how his eyes lit up as desire consume him.

"Please... some thieves are trying to rob me!" My tone changed, and so is my accent mimicking one of the easiest dialects to copy. They seem to realize the familiarity of my words and their distinct pronunciation of them. They murmured.

"Ardun, she must be from Aglor." One man guessed, a keen interest evident on his face. I turn to look at him, not ever dropping the facade, and nod.

"Aye, sir. I boarded a ship from Aglor and have only been here for quite a while. I am to visit a family but I came across those people, trying to take away my purse and belongings. May the Sons save me from those sinners!" I joined together my hands, a gesture to honor the Spirits.

The first man, Ardun from what I recall, seem to believe me. He looked at his comrades and turn his eye on me, now with finality. "Where are you headed?"

"I know not the city, sir, but I have been told I must go to Wind Farm across that bridge to see my sister,"

Some men cackled at the back. This entertains them as much as I abhor it. The traders are at the farthest of the line, guarding the herbs. They can't see me, the reason why they were confused at the sudden halt.

"Oi, what's happening there?" Raspy and gruff voices resonated from the back.

"Come on now, then. We must cross the bridge." The other said. Quickly, the man approached me and lend me his hand, a wide smile plastered on his lips. He is surprisingly pleased. Very pleased.

I breathed in as I reached for my shawl. Maintaining eye contact with the man, I placed back my shawl over my nose and mouth to cover it and slowly rose to my feet with his support. His uninvited hands were placed where they must not be, much to my annoyance but I have to bite back my words.

I  noticed their eyes remained on me -- focused and watching -- all other men on the back extended their necks to take a peek, and as I threw a quick glance at the lads, and with a curt nod, they began their move as I did mine.

"Hey! What'r ya doin'?" One trader in the nearest of the lads shouted.

Before they could ascertain the commotion, I reached from my pockets and sprinkled in the air the powdered ruchin. The dust spread through the wind, its white-colored particles scattered everywhere a nose might sniff it. Quickly, they coughed and gagged. I took that time to reach for the rear of the line. With unnatural speed, I lunge for the black traders.