Whispers stirred Alize from her slumber. The night’s sad beauty still enveloped the caravanserai with no promise yet of the dawn. Alize shifted and the bed responded with a timid creak. After that, she remained perfect still and listened hard.

“If that’s the case, don’t you think you should tell her?” Davram murmured in the next room.

Onder’s voice answered. “There’s no use waking her now. I’ll tell her in the morning if it’s still a problem.”

Alize moved slowly to set her feet on the stone floor without disturbing her couch too quickly. All the muscles in her body held taut, letting her control even the tiny of movements with deliberate precision. While the men continued talking, she knelt beside the door to peer into the band of light escaping through the keyhole. Onder sat engulfed in an armchair with his eyes closed. The Mage’s staff in his hand was no longer disguised.

“Does their Conjurer know about you?” Davram asked. He stood outside Alize’s narrow field of view, but she could hear his apprehension in his voice.

“No, no. I’m just ruining his confidence in his own abilities, poor fool.” Onder answered without opening his eyes.

The door creaked as Alize pushed it open and her companions shifted their gazes to her in perfect vergence. She blinked to see the Sargon Kell with them too. He rose to his feet, but left his sword leaning against the bed.

Alize raised her eyebrows and spoke her first word to him. “Explain.”

“Someone tried to enchant you,” Davram responded. “Luckily you’re not a very good sleepwalker - woke me up and Onder broke the spell. He’s still breaking it, because whoever it is keeps trying.”

Alize balked and immediately flushed red. “I don’t sleepwalk.”

“An enchantment, lady Hrumi,” Onder answered, his eyes still closed.

“And no, you certainly don’t, that much was clear.” Kell added.

Alize swept her gaze over him again, hoping that her poise could make him regret making any comment about her coordination.

But he met her gaze brightly and Alize dropped her eyes.

“That’s the third attack on you I count,” Davram observed. His held his sword at his side, and Alize could see his fingers flickng over the hilt.

“Maybe four,” Kell observed, “if you tell us why you’re favoring your left leg.”

Alize drew her arms around herself. How could Kell have so quickly noticed her stiff movements, all the little signs of Celillie’s assault? Did she wear it so obviously? Could Kell see the demons eating her alive each time she remembered the renunciation?

Don’t think about that.

Davram answered for her. “She tripped in the forest, Kell.”

“I don’t hurt myself tripping,” Alize snapped in response. But even she could hear how defensive she sounded, how guilty.

“Well,” Davram bent his head to acknowledge Alize’s denial, “when you’re ready to share what’s going on-”

“There’s nothing going on beyond a Mage taking my-” Alize glanced at Kell. What does he need to know about my lost magic? She lowered her voice. “You know, before I met Onder, none of this-”

“Yes. I know,” Davram interrupted. Alize did not appreciate the exasperation in his voice. “And we have our own theories about that. We’ll discuss them when Onder can participate too.”

Despite her misgivings, Alize nodded in acquiescence, halting only to glare at the Sargon Kell again. He looked away quickly, discomfited to have been caught staring.

At least Alize could feel smug about that.

She considered Kell. She would not have guessed he was a Sargon, even with the sword scabbard at his side. Without their heavy helmets and armor, he and Davram looked like people instead of metal-faced monsters.

But Davram had killed the wolf in the forest when she had failed to. Unlike the Hrumi, he underplayed his strength until it was needed. Alize wondered if Kell did the same. What strength might he bear?

Onder abruptly stopped in his murmuring and gasped, “There are more attackers coming. Alize, get in the back room.”

“To hide?!” Alize hissed. Lumbering footsteps sounded in the hall, crowding against the door. Alize jolted at the first blow the attackers launched on the wood. The door buckled but held.

“Yes, to hide. It’s you they want.” Davram spoke, his voice low and clear. He drew his sword while Kell copied his movements. The next thump on the door was much louder.

The sound of wood sustaining a blow or shattering beneath it ring utterly different. The third blow announced the latter. Slivers of wood splayed to the floor, others flying over the tousled bedspread.The room’s four occupants watched the point of an axe gleam in the wood before withdrawing swiftly.

Alize ducked into her room and returned brandishing her dagger.

Onder pressed his lips together without voicing any further objections, though his disapproval registered in the lines in his face. For a moment the relentless hammering on the door splintered the candlelight. Mage, Hrumi, and Sargons assumed their positions.

Kell shouted as the door broke and five men flooded the room. Davram engaged arms with two of them, his sword flashing like a sickle. Onder shot green light at the third who promptly collapsed to the floor. The fourth figure attacked Kell but Alize stepped forward to swipe his arm and his torso before slicing a wide gash in his neck with her blade.

Her victim took a thousand years to fall. Alize had never killed anyone, man or woman, before in her life. And there was no time to think, nor to feel.

The last assailant retreated to the hallway, running past a sixth man who opened his eyes and lowered his hand from a position that matched Onder’s conjuring stance. As he turned to follow his companion, Alize noticed the same gray glow cracking the skin around his eyes.

Alize, Davram and Kell chased on their heels. Alize nearly tripped over the fifth assailant when he fell without any reason. Davram cried simply, “It’s Onder. Alize, go back! Kell and I will handle this!”

Alize increased her pace in open defiance. No Sargons would fight her battles. The Conjurer bolted out the caravanserai entrance and Davram, Kell, and Alize raced behind him. Outside the night lay hostile, the rats and larger shadows scurrying behind the trash heaps in the streets.

Alize dodged to the right, for a clear view past the Sargons, then bit her lip and did something she normally avoided during a hunt. She took aim and flung her dagger. It struck true, nicking the muscle in the Conjurer’s leg. He stumbled and fell.

Kell landed on top of him, striking him in the face. “Who are you?!”

Davram crouched to help Kell restrain him. Both men breathed hard. The Conjurer’s responding spell fizzled in the air and Alize gave silent thanks for Onder’s aid.

“You can’t protect her!” the Conjurer hissed. The cracks around his eyes seemed to expand, their eerie glow strengthening.

Alize snatched her dagger from where it had fallen. “That is not their task!” she snapped.

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The man’s eyes scoured her. “You fool,” he exhaled, his laughter ripping from him, “you’re dead within three days!”

Instantly Alize had her dagger pressed to his exposed neck.

But under her gaze, the Conjurer’s temperament changed from smug to fearful and then terrified. When he started gasping for air, Alize pulled her dagger away in confusion. He fought for breath, rasping and groaning, while Davram pushed Kell and Alize aside, pressing his lungs to try to help him. But the man kept struggling, his eyes widening to convey the fear he could not speak.

“What’s happening?” Davram demanded, his voice sharp.

As they watched, his skin darkened around his bulging eyes. Then he blinked one final time, and his struggles ceased.

In the new silence his eyes opened once more, this time without recognition. Alize knew from his blank gaze that he could answer no more questions. He wheezed in shallow bursts, his lips curling to a downward snarl.

“What happened?” Davram repeated, softer this time. Hesitantly he lifted his hands from the man. The Sargons looked as horrified as Alize felt.

“He’s still alive,” Kell murmured.

Alize swept her hand over the Conjurer’s gaze but the man did not react. The truth weighed heavy in her thoughts and she dreaded to speak it aloud. “He must be connected to someone by magic. They’ve taken his soul.”

“Nocturne,” Davram stammered, blanching, “and left his corpse like this?”

The body struggled to rise, producing a strangled groan as Kell pushed it back down. Its knuckles turned white grasping against the ground.

“It’s not a corpse,” Alize corrected, wishing she could avert her eyes, “the heart still beats. But the body is weaker, without a soul.”

Again the man groaned and strained to press its chest upwards.

“They separated his soul from his body? Like the Kogaloks do?” Kell asked.

“Like your own government.” Alize glared at him. “You’re a Sargon, you’ve seen a soulless body before.”

“No, I haven’t,” Kell responded softly. Both he and Davram flinched each time the body jerked.

Alize frowned, “Someone had a charmed life.”

“I’ve seen it,” Davram whispered. He shivered as he spoke. “When I was much younger. Omurtak help us.”

“We should kill it. That’s the only mercy left.” Alize grasped her dagger and began rising to her feet when she heard Kell draw a sharp breath. She turned just in time to see a ball of light emerge from the man’s chest. It shuddered in the night, slowly drifting east but wrenching towards the body repeatedly. Then it dawned on Alize – the magic was not seeking the empty body, but drawing ever purposefully towards her own.

Her wild cursing did not deter the dark magic. In an instant it shot forward, striking her in the chest.

Alize did not register falling but when she again became aware of her surroundings, she lay on her back.

Kell bent over her saying something, but Alize’s gaze swept next to him to where the same pale-faced man stood once more, his translucent form outlined in the moonlight in the street. Alize stifled her gasp, comforting herself that he would vanish again as soon as Onder could remove the magic from her as before.

The nausea returned in a rush. Alize pushed herself off the ground and her eyes widened. The empty streets had transformed to a congregation of people, the image rippling like the surface of a lake. Ghostly faces surrounded Alize in the darkness, searing her with their eyes while their lips shaped unheard words. Alize’s head throbbed and she blinked heavily, feeling heat build in the pit of her stomach. Then her fingers found her dagger hilt and Kell shouted. The world whirled and she slammed into the ground once more.

This time the physical pain almost surpassed the nausea. Alize inhaled deeply to replace the breath knocked from her lungs. She dropped her dagger from her hand, unsure of why she held it.

In that instant the Conjurer’s body lurched towards Alize, curling its cool fingers around her neck. His skin no longer glowed and he looked on her without seeing. Alize raised her fist in defense but it was Davram who struck him down.

The body bled onto the stone street.

Alize clutched her head, trying to manage the pain that throbbed in her skull.

“Let’s go,” Davram commanded.

“Where’s my dagger?” Alize rasped. Her voice sounded far away. “The man is here again, Davram.”

Davram pulled Alize to her feet. When she faltered, he pressed her to lumber forward in a daze. She tried to make sense of the red streak she could see emerging from Kell’s upper arm.

But even her disorientation did not distract her from the mess in the caravanserai. Five bodies and a broken door lay strewn in their path. Once inside their room, Alize sank to sit on the couch in the men’s room. When Onder approached she felt the heat in her gut again. The next instant she found herself on the floor, her head reeling in pain.

“Quickly, Onder!” she heard Davram cry. Shocks rattled Alize followed by a welcomed emptiness.

Alize opened her eyes to Davram and Onder gaping as if she had just sprouted wings and offered them lemonade. She blinked and made a face as she struggled to sit up. “Nocture,” she muttered, “what was that?”

“I took the magic from you.” Onder replied, his amazement etched on his features even as he wavered on his feet.

Davram caught Onder’s arm to steady him. “Again,” Davram told Alize pointedly.

A fierce pain focused around Alize nose. “What happened to my face?”

Kell crouched next to her with a cloth. Moving slowly, he slipped his hand behind Alize’s head so he could press the cloth lightly to her nose.

“Oww,” she grumbled, since her nose seemed terribly tender. When Kell removed the cloth, Alize was only mildly surprised to see it soaked with blood. She could feel more dripping down her chin.

Only then did she register her empty hands. Alarm shot through her. “Where’s my dagger?”

Rising, Kell with withdrew her dagger from his belt. He twisted the blade in his hands to extend the hilt to Alize.

She grasped it hesitantly. It bore some thought that Kell had been able to wield it.

“It looked like you were trying to attack Onder a moment ago,” Kell answered. “not you, like someone was flailing your arms. You fell.”

“Breaking your fall with your face.” Onder added. “It appears someone can exert control over whoever holds this magic.”

“We watched the original bearer lose his soul,” Davram interjected, shuddering.

“And the magic sought Alize?” Onder asked.

“Yes.”

“But if they wanted her dead, why not take her soul while they had the connection?”

Alize endeavored to appear as perplexed as the men. She knew the answer but her silence protected the Hrumi everywhere. “Perhaps you removed the magic before they had a chance,” she offered.

“Unlikely,” Onder responded, massaging his forehead. Though he moved stiffly from his exertions, he began gathering his bag together. “We need to leave. We are now rather exposed.” He indicated the shattered door just as a wood chunk fell from the mangled hinge.

Alize unceremoniously grabbed the blood-soaked cloth from Kell, keeping it pressed to her nose. “But you said that there are materials here that you need to return my magic!” she protested. Her pinched nose undermined her gravity.

“As there are in the next town too.”

“But there might also be attackers in the next town,” Alize persisted, “what, what is going on?”

“Musing will have to wait until we are away from this forsaken place.”

“Perfect.” Alize grumbled.

Kell followed them to the stables, retrieving a brown steed. A bribe later, they left the gate of Mizre behind them.

They rode until a muted orange sunrise unfastened the sky from the horizon. With Kell cast in the weak light, Alize recalled her dagger thrust and the red streak on his arm. She guided Josoun to his left side, where a brown crust had stained his sleeve from above his elbow to nearly his wrist.

“What’s this?” she asked, pulling closer. You can stab a Sargon ten times, Celillie had expounded, and he will begin healing the instant you release your dagger. But Alize recognized the iron whiff of blood. This wound was still open.

Kell paused before meeting her eyes. “An accident,” he answered, his words slightly slurred.

“You mean me,” Alize rejoined, stunned both by the claim and Kell’s casual delivery. If she had committed violence against him, he could demand recourse. Indeed, she expected him to.

“You weren’t yourself, so don’t worry about it.” His dismissal floated away with the breeze, resolved, forgiven. Logical as dry rain.

“Well,” Alize stammered, “stop and show it to me.”

Kell tugged his reigns, his brown eyes regarding Alize in half-hidden suspicion. “Why?”

“I’ll bind it for you.”

“A Hrumi would help a Sargon?”

Alize flushed cold. Was he insulting her? “More surprising that Sargon would help a Hrumi first.”

She intended her words to similarly disarm him, to disconcert him that he violated his mandate as a Sargon. But Kell only shrugged, the action carrying no malice.

Alize bit her lip and called ahead to their companions to stop.

Dismounting his horse, Kell wavered on his feet and the blood drained from his face like the darkness from the sky above them.

Alize bent under his shoulder to help him sit down. He weighed heavier than she was accustomed to managing.

“I felt better on the horse,” Kell huffed.

“I should expect a Sargon to better know your limits,” Alize chided.

Kell’s responding chuckle came out slightly pained.

Onder and Davram joined Alize to assist her. When she pulled back Kell’s sleeve, Onder turned green and retreated. A deep gash in Kell’s upper arm ended halfway down to his elbow.

Alize knew the pain of such an injury, and felt moritified to have inflicted it. On a stranger. A stranger who had not even threatened her.

Not yet anyway.

This felt to be yet another debt that she had no way of repaying. To accrue any more would be a mark of clear insanity.

Kell jostled under her touch, drawing Alize’s attention back to his injury.

“Hold on a moment, will you?” Alize murmured.

Davram knelt next to her to press his hand on Kell’s forehead while Alize shuffled through her sac. She had kept prepared hellebore for Onder’s wound, but now she bound it in a poultice for Kell. Its antidote properties could also ease an injury.

Kell hissed softly as Alize pressed the poultice to his wound, but Alize knew from experience that a numbing sensation would follow the stinging. With all the care of a Hrumi being tested by her clan leader, Alize bound the wound closed and waited.

Kell flexed his arm, studying the bandage with surprise. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“Old Hrumi remedy,” Alize nodded, adding half-seriously to both Kell and Davram, “so don’t tell anyone.”

Kell held her gaze while he inhaled slowly. Alize braced for a question but instead he clamped his mouth shut, leaving her to puzzle over what thoughts he chose to censor. She felt his eyes on her back as she left him standing in the awakening sunlight.