“We couldn’t find him. Not a word from the north,” Bennje said, pulling the long section of leather out of the pool of tannin.

The acrid pool of chemical was a mix of tree bark and plants, softening the leather after Benn and his tanners stripped any remaining flesh from the hides they were delivered by the butchers in Landor.

The Tannery was outside of the city, just outside the stone walls that protected the city.

Bennje shook the hide, stretched over the frame he and his men had put it on before it was submerged.

The big man was Dragh’s size. His beard hanging down to his chest, his arms like casks from the hard labor he did.

“I’ll never understand why you work here,” Dragh said to the man, covering his nose and following him through the almost empty factory.

It was night, torches lit the large vats of tannin, some of them bubbling in the shadows.

Bennje laughed aloud. He put his hands up and waved to the three other men still working. His only staff. “You’re the only fool who’d visit this stinking place,”

Bennje wiped his face with his dirty sleeve. “You get used to the smell. Eventually. Can you even smell death anymore, General?”

Dragh ignored the comment.

“Don’t worry about the north. I’ve taken care of it,” Dragh looked back across the large room at the three men working the vats before following Bennje through a small door into his office.

“Ahh, so you sent Hemmelle and your young tribesmen,” Bennje sat hard on a wooden chair behind a desk covered in scrolls.

“You know far too much my friend,” Dragh sat across from him in the only other chair in the office space.

“You pay me to know. Some things you pay me to forget. Why are you here Dragh?” Bennje asked.

Dragh leaned back and sighed.

“Who killed them? Tell me what you’ve found. I’ve been chasing shadows in the south Bennje. What good is a spymaster if he cannot find me who killed my family!”

Bennje raised an eyebrow at the outburst.

Dragh breathed heavy, his anger getting the best of him.

Bennje pulled a pipe out from his desk drawer, lighting it off the candle that was burning in the lone lamp in the dark room.

Dragh’s nose wrinkled at the sick smell of hides and chemicals, a whiff of it making it through the walls of the office.

Bennje puffed on his pipe, eyeing Dragh. After a few moments, Bennje grunted.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“I can tell you, there is no word of your killers moving from south to north. The channels say nothing.”

Dragh pointed at Bennje. “Do not tell me that. Do not tell me I am wrong. I know they killed them Bennje. I KNOW IT.”

Bennje nodded. “And yet, the church. They speak of something, of a force in the shadows. The ones’ you’ve been chasing. The ones I have you chasing. They call them - “ Bennje paused. “They call them Alamata.”

It was Dragh’s turn to quirk an eyebrow at his spymaster. “Alamata. What?”

“The Church speaks of them, yes, them, in the same breath as they speak of death, of Kiever himself,”

Dragh sucked in a breath. “You’re sure they are involved?”

“I am sure that they know something Dragh. That they are the first lead my men and women have been able to find in months. It is only whispers. Nothing more. The Church, you know is the Council. But we hear that Kents is sending a shipment on a journey south. Gold, lots of it,”

“Payment,”

“I only speak to what is said, and what is no said. You do the guessing,”

“I raised the Blood Dragon. I will not stop until they are dead,” Dragh growled.

Bennje watched Dragh, saying nothing.

The Blood Dragon was the banner of The Dragon Legion. It’s red dragon on a black banner was only raised when the Legion itself was committed to battle. Dragh had raised it the day that he’d heard of his son and wife’s death. He had marched his Legion south, in full conflict with the edict of the Council.

“Damn the Compact,” Dragh muttered.

“What?” Beenje asked.

Dragh rose form his seat, nodding. “Keep looking,” he said, turning and opening the door.

“You’re welcome!”

Dragh didn’t turn as Bennje shouted the last line.

He didn’t need to thank Bennje. He paid him a king’s ransom to run his stable of spies. Moreso, he’d saved Bennje from death many times over. The hangman’s noose was always over a spies shoulder. If they were caught, they’d be killed by their own, or the other side before they even had time to swing.

Bennje had started in the Second, many moons ago, missing the final march of General Nestor. He’d survived, but Dragh had found him after, hidden away in his tannery.

Dragh left the tannery and entered the city through it’s north gates. The gates were manned by soldiers of the Third Legion, General Quintus’ boys.

They passed him through without a second look.

That was one of the perks that Dragh had at the commander of Landor’s armies. He didn’t enjoy anonymity, but he ruled the armies unchallenged. They all knew his story, what treachery he’d survived in the north at the hand of his own uncle.

The streets of Landor, paved with the stones of the Car Lauch Mountains were mostly empty at night. It’s people either in bed or in a tavern.

Dragh enjoyed the quiet as he walked back to the barracks close to the castle. He looked up, the moon high in the sky, stars twinkled in and out of the inky black sky.

The scuff of a boot behind him brought him back to the present.

Dragh looked from side to side, careful not to look backward. At this time of night, someone behind him could be a drunk stumbling from an alleyway.

Or, it could be something more menacing.

Dragh listening, keeping his pace normal. His heart rate was rising, his heart jumping now.

He could hear the faint tell tale of soft steps behind him.

No loud, but there. Not of a drunken man, but of someone who didn’t want to be heard.

The battle lust came to him, excitement washed over him as his right hand gripped the blade of Drago, his dagger. The leather fit his hand exactly, just rough enough for gripping, but smooth form use.

Dragh saw an alleyway cutting through the rows and rows of villas and houses stacked on top of one another. He was in a rough part of Landor, closest to the gates, working inward. He darted down the alleyway, turning and crouching in a battle stance, hugging the corner of the stone building.

“If you hadn't sent Hemmelle north, you wouldn't be crouching there, waiting for your own death.

Dragh felt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Tasia. How long have you been following me?” Dragh grunted.

Dragh stood, sheathing Drago and took a step around the corner to the street he’d just left.

A light hand touched his shoulder as his daughter twirled around his front, performing a spin and bowing at the end.

“When were you going to stop in dad?” Anastasia smiled wildly.

Dragh grinned at his daughter and pulled her into him. He smelled his hazel hair, closing his eyes and breathing her in. She smelled like her mother.

Like home.

He pulled back and looked in her eyes. “Dare I ask how you knew about Hemmelle?”

Anastasia smiled, her teeth white in the darkness of night. “First, you never go anywhere without uncle Hemm. Second, a guardsmen saw three men out in the forests at the toe of the Car Lauch in the west. They refused to stop when ordered. Just the night that you returned to the city.

Dragh cursed. “I told him to remain hidden, to move at night.”

He knew it was no use trying to hide the truth from his daughter. His son has his Kingdom, Landor. His daughter had her own kingdom, information.

“He did.” Anastasia said.

Dragh laughed then. “There is no hiding these things from you is there Tasia?”

Anastasia corked her eyebrow. “Where is he going father?”

Dragh felt his smile fade. “Let us get a drink before we return to the castle.”

Anastasia stiffened. “You’re going back.”

Dragh sighed, trying to take her hand.

Anastasia pulled her hand back.

In the low light of the night, Dragh could see the hurt on his daughters face. He took a step forward.

Anastasia took a step back.

Dragh took is a breath. His heart broke at the sight of his daughters pain. The flash of betrayal on her face.

“You’re going back, and nothing I said is going to stop you is it?” Anastasia looked away.

“I have to.” He said.

A tear rolled down Anastasia’s face. “You’re the General. You don't have to do anything.”