Everything went to plan. Everything. It hadn’t been easy, though the operation had gone smoothly. The only minor hitch had been when Skamsen almost lost the lady. He should be relaxed. He wasn’t. He stood sentry out on the balcony near the side wall and scanned the streets below for movement in and out of the shadows. As a child, none of the pranks he had tried to pull on his best friend had ever worked; some part of the plan always broke down. Though he could never plan for every contingency, Skamsen had put a great deal of effort and planning into pursuing Vicanda. It seemed it was enough. Skamsen had defeated him.

As promised, Skamsen and the Lady were passing the night in the finest inn along the southern seaboard of the northern continent. They dined like royalty, danced to music played by the city’s finest musicians, and the Lady drank of the finest wine. Skamsen did not. He steered clear of the decadent beverages despite the Lady’s continued insistence. She appeared to be free of any worry. His worries only grew.

After leaving the beach in the early hours of the morning she’d nearly drowned, the Lady had ridden beside him on the cart as they made their way to the mountain passes. She sat in silence, deep in her reverie, huddled up tight in the blanket as her clothes dried. Skamsen let the silence persist. He guessed she’d be soon seeking answers.

Just when it seemed she couldn’t work things out any longer in her mind and needed to vocalize her thoughts, she let out a deep sigh. Her shoulders relaxed and she rested her head against his arm, wrapping a blanket-bound arm around his. She closed her eyes, a thin contented grin on her lips.

“I thought for sure you’d ask me by now,” he said.

She shook her head, her wavy hair shaking with the breeze.

“You don’t wish to know?” he said.

She sighed again. “Master Skamsen, of course I wish to know. But I don’t want to know.”

For several minutes they road in silence, only the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt road keeping them company.

“Why?” he said.

She patted his arm, her touch soft and light. “When I left with you, I trusted my fate to you. My destiny lies in your hands. If you believe there are things I should know, tell me. If not, I will rest in your wisdom.”

Several more minutes of only the sound of the horses trotting followed before she once more sighed.

“Very well, master Skamsen. Tell me the answers. I believe you have greater need to speak them than I need to hear them.”

He nodded at the realization. “Yes. That seems to be true. What must I tell you first?”

She shrugged. “I suppose you should tell me who the man is you fear so much as to warrant us leaving in the dead of night, crossing an ocean and nearly drowning and riding with this strange contraption on the cart behind us.”

“Vicanda,” he said.

“Is that a name I should fear?”

“No. You shouldn’t know the name. Only those operating in the shadows, some of the wealthy – those who gained their wealth through illicit means – and the nobles and politicians. Vicanda is an assassin, perhaps the most dangerous ever to graduate Sarvotstra. He has taken up your Mark.”

“How do you know it was him? Aren’t there other assassins?”

“First, I know because I intercepted and stole the Mark intended for him. Secondly, the Mark is for a woman.”

She leaned away from him to get a better look at his face, smirking slightly. “Really? Are women that difficult of Marks?”

“Quite the opposite, actually. It isn’t considered an honorable thing to assassinate a woman.”

“Is Vicanda not an honorable man, then?”

“It matters not since he has a notoriety. The weight of his name means he’s already proven his prowess and ability. Now, his name carries more weight than honor. And the power of his name means there are few targets he won’t take, children being one of those. The empire forbids it.”

“The empire has laws of..of…assassinhood? Or whatever the name is.”

“The empire here in the north and down in the southern continents sanction it. All Marks must be registered with the authorities. By the way, not all Marks are to be killed. Often, the most lucrative ones are when one powerful entity wishes to send a message to another.”

“And mine?”

He looked at her then looked away, giving her the answer she sought.

“Does this mean,” she said, “that since you know all this and seem to be neither a wealthy lord, noble or politician, that you operate in the shadows? Are you an assassin?”

He nodded, then qualified his response. “More accurately, I’ve been trained as one but have not officially graduated from Sarvotstra.”

“Did you fail out? Quit?”

“No. I was given the task…the Mark of Vicanda himself.”

“What has he done to deserve that from his teachers? Did he kill the wrong person?”

“Students like Vicanda and me who have no benefactors or sponsors must repay our debt to our masters. If we do not, a Mark is sent out on us. Vicanda believes his notoriety outweighs his debt. He is wrong. Currently, I am the only one who knows of the Mark. If I fail, then a host of servants of Sarvotstra will be sent out for him.”

“What makes you think Vicanda won’t simply leave this Mark alone? Why the extra effort? I can’t be that lucrative of a Mark. He must sense that Sarvotstra wants him.”

“But he also wants me. I’ve made him want me to draw him out.”

“How? Did you know him from your time as a student?”

“No. We all knew of him. For the last several months I’ve been treading on his name. I took up Marks in his name and botched them. And I’ve done it again with you. He’ll want to get us both.”

“Will you kill him?” she said, her eyes fixed on his cheek.

“I must,” he said not meeting her gaze.

“You seem torn by this, Skamsen. Why?”

“My lady, I studied at Sarvotstra to learn to fight, hunt and track down quarry. I only mean to kill one person in my life, and I’ll consider my life complete if I die with only taking the life of that one man.”

“But that man is not Vicanda.”

Skamsen shook his head.

She rested her head against his arm again. “You realize, Master Skamsen, that despite all you’ve told me, you haven’t answered my first question.”

He knew the question to which she referred. During the past year and a half while he’d been devising his plan, he’d often questioned his true reason behind the elaborateness of the scheme.

“Did you ever climb trees as a child?” he said.

“Oh no. I never lived anywhere near trees. I grew up on the streets of cities. I often climbed the barefaced walls to escape…to escape predators of a different sort, not always managing to do so. My parents died from the plague, and I became a ward of anyone who thought they could make money off me. I would love to have had trees to climb as you did. But enough of my sad and dreary childhood. We’re speaking of you and trees.”

“I had a wonderful childhood. The pain and suffering came later.”

She let out a light laugh. “Skamsen, shall we sit here and compare the sadness of our lives and see whose pain and suffering was worse? It is a fine day. And if you are correct, it may yet get dark. Tell me of climbing trees.”

Skamsen grinned and nodded. “Very well. My childhood friend and I used to climb the highest of trees, daring each other to go higher and higher. As we descended, we began challenging one another to see how far a drop to the ground we could manage. At first, we hung from the lowest branches and dropped. Soon, the branches we dropped from spanned the length of two horses. One day, I reached a height that hurt slightly when I landed. Not my feet. My wrist as I landed and rolled to the side. He sought to match. He miscalculated and landed slightly off center. His ankle snapped. Being poor farmers, he could not afford a doctor. His parents were livid. They set his foot the best they could. It never healed properly, and he walked with a limp from then on.

“After that, I continued to drop from the trees. Yet I never dropped from a height greater than I had that day. I wished to. The distance didn’t scare me. And I longed to go higher. I simply couldn’t risk a lame leg.”

“You learned your limits,” she said.

“Perhaps. I knew I could drop from further if ever needed. But when would I ever be in a tree and need to drop from such a great distance? I don’t know if I fear Vicanda, or if I simply know my limits.”

“You may get a chance to test your limits, but I doubt it.”

“You don’t think he will attack us?”

“He most certainly will. I know something of men, Master Skamsen. And they are all the same. What you label as cowardice, I dub self-preservationist. I didn’t always escape the predators. Some walls were simply too steep. Several times early on, I had to give in to avoid my bones being broken or my face smashed. As I grew older, I stole knifes and daggers. When a thief wished to rob me of my stolen items or my virtues, if I but brandished a blade, most would leave me alone. They weren’t willing to risk their blood being shed for something they could easily get elsewhere. Those a little more brazen – not braver – who pressed their luck thinking I would be too scared to slash them learned quickly how much of a self-preservationist I was. Some only left with a cut on the arm. One lost a few fingers. And one lost his life. He was a repeat offender, though, not brave. He miscalculated the risk, even after I’d slashed his leg in warning.”

“You’re right,” said Skamsen. “Things did get dark.”

She shrugged. “Life isn’t always roses, as you know. This Vicanda is the same as every other man. He must suspect who has been destroying his reputation and why. Yet he hasn’t come for you yet. Have you considered, Master Assassin, that Vicanda is afraid of you?”

Skamsen had not considered that. He would have no reason to believe that. Believing that could lead to a miscalculation.

She interrupted his thoughts with a final one of hers. “You’ll know soon. The easiest way to kill us both would be to kill you first. If he doesn’t consider you a threat, he’ll go after you first. Then, since I’m just a woman and an easy target, it’d be all too easy to kill me.”

With that, she threw off the blanket, unashamed of being bare in front of him, the trees and the sun. She collected her clothes, dressed and sat beside him again, resting her head on him once more.

Skamsen wasn’t sure if Vicanda would follow him there or lie in wait along the road. He hoped Vicanda wouldn’t have enough time to ambush him. Once the assassin figured out how close to Sarvotstra they rode, he might not follow.

But he had.

When Skamsen and the Lady reached a narrow roadway between a steep cliff falling away on one side with a steep cliff-face rising on the other, he reined to a halt. The black stallion tied to the back of the wagon snorted.

“What is it?” said the lady, following Skamsen’s gaze.

“He’s here. Sostrad can smell him. I can feel it. Get inside it,” said Skamsen, pointing with his chin to the large, hallowed wooden ball chained onto the cart.

The Lady obeyed without hesitation. Once the door snapped shut, the latch inside it clanked as it slid home, hiding her away.

With a click of his tongue, Skamsen urged the horse forward. Sostrad pranced behind, his hooves beating loudly as he wished to ride with his master into battle.

Then the battle began.

An arrow whizzed toward them from an archer behind the rocks above. Skamsen rolled to the side and off the seat. The arrow thwacked into the wagon nowhere near where he’d been sitting, the archer’s aim poor. Skamsen landed on the dirt and sprinted toward Sostrad, cutting the tether, allowing the battle horse to find his own enemies.

The archer would be an annoyance, not a priority. His errant arrow proved he was likely a hired hand, not the assassin. Another arrow landed in the dirt several horse lengths from him. Skamsen grimaced. He had a better chance of being hit by the fletched missile while vacating the location the archer aimed.

Crouched behind the wagon, Skamsen scanned the cliff face. Sostrad warned him of the enemies from behind by galloping back the way they’d come. Skamsen turned in time to see three men clamber up to the road from the cliffside. One distracted the stallion and sped down the path. The other two charged Skamsen, each wielding a crude and rusty blade. Drawing a short sword perched on his back, Skamsen sprinted toward them, his boldness surprising the attackers. They lost their footing as they tried to slow down. The hardest part about dispatching of them would be keeping them alive. His sword made from the strongest steel, he swung a mighty blow toward the nearest attacker who threw up his blade in self defense. The blades clanged and the attacker’s wrist bent awkwardly under the force of the attack. He cried out and dropped the sword. With his free hand, Skamsen punched him, rendering him unconscious with a single blow.

The other stopped his attack and retreated a step, holding his sword up with shaky hands. His eyes went wide as he processed new information. Skamsen guessed these men expected their target would provide no resistance. Now that the attacker knew he’d been lied to, he contemplated his decision.

This man and his comrades had been nothing more than a distraction. They were wasting his time. Skamsen raised his sword and sneered. The man ran.

Skamsen turned back to see Vicanda drop from the cliff onto the cart. The Lady screamed for help. As Vicanda took a step, the side of the cart nearest the cliff collapsed. The wooden ball broke free of its anchors and rolled off the cart toward the cliff. Vicanda leaped to the dirt as the wooden sphere bounced over the edge. The Lady cried out again.

Skamsen raced toward the cliff edge. A single chain that remained attached to the ball snapped taut as the ball jerked to a stop and slammed into the cliff wall. Vicanda reached the edge first. He leapt over the side and grabbed ahold of the chain, sliding down it toward the suspended cage below.

Before checking on the ball and chain, Skamsen braced the cart and locked the wheels, keeping them from rolling. He whistled. Sostrad abandoned his quarry and sped back. Skamsen tethered him to the far side of the cart. “Don’t let the cart move.” Sostrad dug his hooves into the dirt, pulling the rope taut and toward the cliff face.

When Skamsen reached the edge, Vicanda had already smashed in the door and was clambering inside toward the lady. She screamed.

Taking a deep breath, Skamsen grabbed the chain and slid down it. He landed on the ball as the door sprung back into place. He pulled an iron bolt from his pocket and locked Vicanda inside. He heard a growl from within. Skamsen grinned and sat back on his heels, taking several deep breaths.

“My lady,” said Skamsen. “Are you well?”

“I am well, my lord. This latch is a little stuck, but I’ll soon have it open.”

“No wait!” Skamsen yelled. “Don’t open it yet!”

Too late. The latch she fiddled with was at the bottom side of the ball. With her body weight on it, when she undid the latch, she fell through. She screamed again. This time, however, fear filled her voice.

“My lady!”

“Skamsen! Help. I can’t hold on much longer.”

Sliding down the side of the cliff, holding onto one of the broken chains still attached to the ball, Skamsen reached the bottom of the cart. She clung to the inside of her secret compartment.

“I shall swing to you and grab you. When I do, let go.”

She nodded.

He pushed off the cliff wall toward her. As his arm wrapped around her waist, she released her hold. They swung back and hit the side of the cliff. His grip on both her and the chain remained firm. He expected to see terror on her face. Instead, she grinned up at him.

“You all right?” he said.

She slapped him on the chest. “Of course I’m all right. I was just thinking…” She peered down at the rocks far below. “Do you think if we dropped from this height that we’d survive?”

He chuckled. “We might have a couple of broken ankles, perhaps a severed spine, maybe a cracked skull.”

“Is that all? It might be fun.”

“Only on the way down.” With that, he loosened his grip on the chain for a brief moment before grasping it again, but not before they slid several inches down. She let out a short scream and buried her face in his chest.

“I believe I am afraid of falling from this height. Yet strangely, in your arms, Master Skamsen, I am quite at peace.”

“That’s because you know I’m the one who has to do the heavy lifting to get us back to the top.”

“Once we do, will you make love to me?”

He looked away from her steady gaze and piercing eyes. “If you ask me that again, I will drop you.”

With her free hand, she turned his face toward hers. Before he could react, she put her lips on his. His grip on the chain faltered briefly again. This time she didn’t scream, and neither did her lips leave his until she was finished.

Once Skamsen had pulled himself and the lady to the road, he used the winch in the cart and hauled up the spherical prison housing the most dangerous assassin to come out of Sarvotstra in several decades. Skamsen reset the cart that had tilted before and had sent the prison rolling over the cliffside.

Ensuring the prison was secure and his black horse tethered again, Skamsen and the lady set off for Sarvotstra, arriving in the early evening of the third day. Once Vicanda’s prison had been secured on the cart, they’d heard nothing from him since hauling him up after hearing his death threats all the way up the cliff.

Skamsen unhooked the cart and for the second time it tilted to the side, dumping the prison ball to the dirt inside the walls of the school. Sarvotstra himself greeted Skamsen.

“Have you completed your task?” said Sarvotstra, his bald head gleaming in the moonlight, his silvery white beard shimmering.

“Possibly. He is inside. I’ve heard naught from him for days.”

Sarvotstra nodded and sighed, as if deciding how best to deliver bad news. “Very well, Skamsen. We will bestow upon thee the honor of being called a servant of Sarvotstra.” Before Skamsen could speak his thanks, Sarvotstra stopped him with an upraised hand. “However, you shall not be given the designation of Marekari. Therefore, you shall not take up any Marks, not even ones not requiring a death. Nor shall you deal in death in our name. If you kill, you shall be subject to the laws of the empire.”

Skamsen nodded. He didn’t think it was possible to graduate from Sarvotstra without the assassin designation.

“Instead, servant of Sarvotstra,” said Skamsen’s teacher, “you shall be a khidan sikari. A hunter of vermin.”

“You mean a bounty hunter,” said Skamsen. He guessed his teacher knew that this occupation had funded Skamsen’s operation the past few years.

Sarvotstra nodded. “But you shall have the same debt as a Marekari. If you desire to change your status and truly graduate, you must come back to me and complete the assignment I give you.”

After saying his farewells, Skamsen unhitched the horse from the cart, saddled it and his, and he and the Lady rode together down the mountainside toward the coast where they would make their way toward her true lord.

It took them another day and a half to reach the first city with an inn worthy of his promise to the Lady. As they rode, she told him stories – the good ones – of her youth. She recounted how an ill-fated attempt to steal a hog led to her meeting her future husband. After falling in the mud and covering herself from head to toe with dung, dirt and hog urine, she fled the scene. Her eyes full of dirt, she lost sight of the path ahead. As she crossed over a short rock bridge spanning a small stream, she slammed into the rear of a horse. It shied and its rump rammed back into her, sending her careering over the rock wall and headfirst into the creek. While she splashed around angrily and cursed out the rider for not controlling the horse, the once laughing bystanders grew silent. The ladies went about their business. The men cast a lingering glance before following their women. The man on the spooked horse rode off the bridge and into the creek, stopping right beside her. Her temper died as she stared up at the bright smile of the man gleaming down at her. He held his hand down to her, beckoning for hers. As she lifted her arm, she caught sight of its pale skin. She saw her reflection and saw a face free of several years of dirt and grime that had been well in place before the hog’s mud. Could the ghostly and beautiful face staring back really belong to her? She clasped the man’s hand, and he whisked her away. They were married within a fortnight. Skamsen had laughed at the images she had depicted, though it was hard to envision her with hog crap all over. All he saw was the angelic face she possessed. And then he tried his best not to.

She recounted some of the best scores during her run in the streets. The gods, she believed, had been good to her since she never came under the scrutiny of the local constables or magistrates and keepers of the peace and law. She grew pensive and silent for several minutes.

“I almost said no,” she said at length.

“To what? To me?”

“No, Skamsen. Never would I say no to you. To him. I almost didn’t get married. I’d grown accustomed to the daily struggle, thinking it was fate. I’d grown prideful of the victories I’d scored against my predators, my triumphs now outweighing my defeats. But, Skamsen, I’d been recently defeated. And then I missed…I was late.”

“Late? For what? I thought your meeting with your husband was by chance?”

“Skamsen, must you force a lady to explain what she means? Was your wife never late?”

“All the time, for dinners, for rendezvous with me in the meadows, for religious services…”

The lady smirked and swatted him on the arm. “Skamsen.”

“I understand what you mean. And yes, she was late once.” He shook his head in answer to her wordless question.

She nodded with understanding. “I said yes and planned on making him think I was so fertile that I’d conceived faster than expected.”

She now shook her head in answer to his unspoken question.

“My body was debile, poorly nourished,” she said. It couldn’t handle a child. Or perhaps the gods punished me for my intended lie or for escaping their curse that had sent me to the streets in the first place. A few days after our betrothal, my womb…”

“I’m sorry.”

“After that, my womb never accepted any more seed. That’s why husband sent me away. I do not think ill of him for doing so. Had he been cruel, he could have simply sent me back to my home amongst the swine.”

After that night, she spoke no more of it.

For the past few days, the routine had been the same. Rise with the sun and ride until they reached a town with a grand inn. After dining on the finest of food and drinking the finest of wines, the Lady would retire to her bed. Whether out of habit or intuition, Skamsen would perch on the balcony and stand lookout. Not having a time constraint, he saw no need to push onward at his preferred pace. And at their rate of travel, it may yet take them several weeks – or more – to arrive at her home.

Each night as they drew closer to her husband, the Lady seemed to grow more anxious, her mirth more forced. Along with hers, his apprehensions increased. She assured him his mind simply didn’t know how to cope after having spent the better part of a year fixated on one man. He wanted to believe her. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t.

In a matter of days, he would deliver her to her husband, and Skamsen would have to take his leave of her. Now, each time wine touched the red of her lips and left them moist, he longed to kiss her again. Yet he dared not voice or act on his desires. It would be a betrayal to them both. He decided it best to take her home as quickly as possible. He had other quarries needing pursued.

He sighed and stepped inside the inn room, locking the balcony doors. Embers in the hearth cast deep shadows in the room. The lady slept. Or maybe she lay with her eyes closed. He still couldn’t tell.

He crept near her, unsure of how he was going to tell her that he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible. In the dim light, he could see her grinning as he drew close.

She whispered. “Master Skamsen, is it time to leave or have you come to make love to me?”

He knelt beside her, the words not forming in a way he wanted. Before he could stop the joke from departing from his mouth, he said, “Yes. It is time.”

She rolled onto her back and threw an arm across her eyes. “Really? I feel like I haven’t slept at all. Is it really time to leave already?”

He chuckled. “No. It is not time to leave.”

“Then why did you…” She raised her arm and opened a wary eye to him. “Are you serious?”

He shook his head and chuckled again. “No. I’m sorry. I’m joking. It is not that time either.”

“You’re joking?” she said, no smile on her lips. His smile left.  She said, “Why would you joke about making love to me?”

“My lady, you’ve been joking with me about it. I’m sorry. You are right. I’m foolish for making light of something very serious.”

He rose to leave. She took his hand in both of hers and held his palm to her cheek. He settled back to his knee. She let out a deep breath and sank into her pillow. “Skamsen, my love, I was never joking.”

His heart raced more than he could control at hearing her words. Love? That’s not a flippant word. She’d never said it before, not even when talking about her favorite foods. It sounded strange. It made him want to flee. He’d been a fool to entertain thoughts of her. He tried to pull his hand away. She simply gripped it tighter, pulled it to her chest and rolled to the side so that it remained trapped beneath her. Her face was now only a breath away from his. Her eyes glistened from the embers in the hearth; the moisture on her lips gleamed and beckoned his.

When she spoke, her whispered breath was hot on his face. “You loved her, didn’t you?”

Skamsen’s lips moved. No sound came out. He had been careful never to speak of his wife…not to anyone.

She smiled. “My love, I know you did and still do. Fate brought us together. Whether our destinies continue to lie together only the gods know. I am certain that I must go back and face my husband, even if he did try and kill me.”

Skamsen shook his head. “I…I don’t think…”

She shushed him. “You are deeply in love with me. Do not be ashamed. Our love for one another so far has betrayed no one.”

She touched his face and said, “You once asked me to put my complete faith and trust in you. I need you to put your faith and trust in me. I think it’s only fair, don’t you?”

He nodded.

She continued. “You know I belong to my husband, and I am bound to him until either death takes me or it takes him. This was the entire reason he wished for my death, for only death can sever our union. Therefore, Skamsen, my love, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What is it you need me to do?” he said, dreading the request.

She shook her head. “If you trust me and have complete faith in me, you’ll tell me you’ll do whatever I ask before knowing what it is.”

He inhaled and exhaled deeply several times, trying to control his racing heart and his conflicted mind. There were only two things she’d ask of him. Only two. It was forbidden to do either. 

“My lady,” he said, his voice full of conviction and strength, “whatever you ask me to do, I shall do it.”

She rose and threw her arms around his neck and embraced him, pulling his head tight to her shoulders as she wept. “Thank you, Skamsen. Thank you.”

He hugged her close as she cried not for her own happiness or sorrow. She shed tears for him. Regardless of which of the two favors she’d ask of him, both options would require that he break his vow…and the law.