A plot has been discovered by the order. The Emperor has joined forces with our enemy, Cadell of Bryn, that he may be assured of his control over the capitol, Aliyah. Hanan believes that the Emperor fears rebellion. He needs more men and stronger armies to enforce his laws where whispers of civil war have been uttered in the dark. Cadell has the men and the resources to aid his Majesty. In return, Cadell wants land; he wants a foothold in our country in preparation for the day when the Emperor is too weak to defend us. The Emperor is too blinded by his greed and lust for power to see the peril he has put our people in.

If the Emperor had not yet lost all the loyalty of his people, he surely has now. He has betrayed the peoples’ trust. What he has done is unforgivable.

We must fight this, before we are destroyed.

- Scroll of Hyram

1110 K.E.

--------------

The moment I set foot into the First District, I knew I was out of my element. The glamorous architecture, the clean swept streets, the noted lack of smog; it was all foreign to me. I lived in the Third District, and things were vastly different there.

At that time, when my story takes place, Étaín was divided into four, equal sections. The First District, the Second District, the Third District, and the Fourth District. Each Council member represented a district within Étaín. The First Chair represented the First District, the Second Chair represented the Second District, and so on. Each representative lived in his or her respective district. However, they did far more than simply reside in them. They ruled over them. Unofficially, of course.

The Council of Étaín ruled over the city as a whole. They enforced the laws of old, and created new ordinances by unanimous decision. They acted as criminal court. Their power was essentially limitless. When the Council had been created some hundreds of years before, the idea had been to keep the balance of power even. With each council member representing their district and their people’s best interests, balance and equality could be achieved. However, over time, the balance of power shifted. The Chairs were created, and with them the uneven distribution of power and influence. The Council members started vying for First Chair with disturbing fierceness. The people’s interests were forgotten. And slowly, the people of Étaín began viewing their district’s residing Chair member as their unofficial king. The Council members took advantage of this. They started changing the minor laws of their districts to suit their purposes, while the other Council members looked the other way, as long as the favor was returned. The Council that had been created to establish fairness and equality throughout Étaín had warped into a Council of kings and queens. They did as they pleased with the districts they represented, acting as if they owned them, and only kept up the Council Meetings for appearances.

However, because the system allowed the higher Chairs more authority than the lower, their districts prospered while the others suffered. The First District’s lavishness became a byword in Étaín, treated with understandable scorn by other districts. Likewise, the Fourth District was renowned for its extreme poverty and shabbiness. The Third District was little better. You can imagine the culture shock I suffered when I beheld the First District through one of the metal gates built into the tall, intimidating adamantium plated wall that served as the barrier between the districts.

But that barrier had to be breached, for good or ill.

--------------

City of Étaín

578 P.K.

--------------

Feye stood before the walls of the Great Barrier and weighed her options. The massive, fifty-foot, adamantium plated wall, patrolled at the top by guards, cut the city into quarters; the boundaries of the four districts.

Earlier that evening, the day after Ainsley Aitkin’s midnight proposal, she had paid a visit to a gunsmith under Shennum’s pay. Known only by his pseudonym, Dai, he was the best weaponsmith south of the Noírín jungle. Feye had left The Reaper in his care days earlier for touch ups. Now that she had this new assignment, she preferred to have her gun with her, even if she didn’t plan on using it.

Dai liked to keep to the Third District, which proved useful to Feye. When Shennum moved to a new location that happened to be in another district, the old gunsmith opted to stay behind. However, when the syndicate chose to repose in the Third District, Dai liked to room with them, knowing there would be more business if he were on hand. Now that Shennum and his crew were occupying a condemned factory warehouse that stood in a particularly rundown section of the Third District, Feye knew just where to find him.

He had given her a rather chilly reception, telling her she was too careless with the maintenance of her gun. A gun with that much extra equipment built into it had to be checked and cleaned more thoroughly, Dai said, else it would easily fall into disrepair. Had Shennum been there to hear the old man’s assessment, he would have laughed; Feye was quite protective of her Reaper, treating it as one might treat their child.

After retrieving her gun from the disgruntled Dai, Feye had picked up some other necessities out of the syndicate’s storerooms. Extra throwing blades and holsters; a bulletproof, black cat suit; a utility belt to store cartridge rounds; stealth boots; night vision goggles, and last but not least, knock-out gas.

From there she went back to her apartment, to outfit herself with this new equipment and to mentally prepare for her assignment. Though she had spent her day reviewing maps of the First District and blueprints of the First Chair’s estate and felt secure that she had all the information she required, she knew that mental preparation was the key to a successful hit. Bullets and blades did not keep assassins alive, should they be caught, but a calm, collected mind.

Feye didn’t leave her apartment again until nightfall. Though her features were hardly different from the majority of Étaín’s citizens, with her long chestnut hair, dark copper skin, and slanted dark eyes, she preferred to avoid being seen. Melting into a crowd was not difficult when necessary, but there was always the chance that someone might remember her face, and that was a risk she did not like taking.

Once she reached the juncture of the Great Barrier that divided the Third and First districts, she melted into the surrounding shadows and surveyed the area. Sentries were posted across the expanse of the Great Barrier at all times of the day and night. The Council said it was to keep criminals from spreading out and scattering across the city in an effort to evade capture. Most of Étaín knew it for what it was; a means to keep the city and its people in check. Passing from one district to another had become quite the production, requiring all manner of legal documents and passports. Most didn’t even bother to try, keeping to their own districts for business and only visiting family or friends from other districts on rare occasions.

Among the bundles of information Gauri had given Feye were copies of several guard sheets, listing the hours, breaks, and movements of the sentries along this section of the wall, not to mention the time sheets for the sentries guarding Enlil Qusay’s estate. If Feye was correct, as she knew she must be, one of the guards was due for his break any moment now. One could accomplish much in the short period of time it would take the guard to turn his back and call out for his replacement…

Tugging on the grappling gun hanging at her waist, Feye readied herself for that crucial moment.

The games were about to begin.

-

Hinrik was not a patient man on his best of days, and this was most certainly not one of his best days. As commander in chief of five squads of men under the employ of the First Chair, he had to be in near constant communication with all of his squads. You could imagine his irritation when his men didn’t report promptly, or in some cases completely forgot to. Tonight was proving to be one of those nights. As the night progressed Hinrik had noticed that several of the men he had stationed at the south entrance to the mansion were not reporting back at ten-minute intervals, as per required. He quickly sent three of the men that he kept in reserve for just such occasions to check on the situation. When they also did not report back in a timely manner, he knew the First Chair had an unwelcome visitor.

An unwelcome visitor prowling around the southern entrance, no less, Hinrik thought to himself with grim humor as he strode swiftly down a tiled walkway of the First Chair’s large estate. The walkway lay inside a breezy, pillared hall that paved the way to the South Wing of the mansion. Once at the end of this hall, he went through a pair of large, double doors that opened out onto a spacious outside terrace. On the other end of this terrace stood the doors that led to the South Wing; once inside the South Wing it would be easy to locate the hall that led to Qusay’s safe-room. The very room that Hinrik’s men had been guarding. The room which their guest was no doubt trying to locate.

Looks as if the old man isn’t so paranoid after all, Hinrik thought. Time to earn my pay.

As the commander-in-chief made his way along the dark terrace, shafts of moonlight piercing the overcast sky overhead, he noted the unusual silence. Normally at this time of night the dissonant chirping of frogs and crickets was hard to ignore. Now the silence settled over the garden was thick and heavy, a stark contrast to the chirping and tweeting he was so accustomed to. Somehow he found this more unnerving than his missing squad men.

Once at the massive double doors that marked the entrance to the South Wing, Hinrik pulled out his sidearm, put his back to the left-side door, and slowly eased it open, peering into the darkness that lay beyond. Discerning anything other than shadowy silhouettes was exceedingly difficult, however, as his vision was quickly becoming blurred by tears.

Tears? "Gas…" He muttered softly to himself with a frown marring his young face. Knock-out gas, to be exact. Most likely of the best make and quality one could find. He detected no odor, saw no residue in the air or on the ground. The only traces left of the gas were whatever vapors that hadn’t yet dissipated. He had obviously walked right into a cloud of the remains, the reason his eyes were watering so profusely.

Now he knew what had happened to his missing men. The only question was, where to find them? And whom, exactly, was he dealing with?

-

Well, Feye mused with a wry twist of her lips. This most certainly wasn’t the challenge I had expected it to be.

She had to admit, when she had so easily infiltrated Enlil Qusay’s estate and evaded detection, she started to feel somewhat smug. When she had reached the South Wing and lured the sentries guarding the safe-room away from their posts before promptly taking them out with her knock-out gas, however, that lulled sense of complacency snapped. This all seemed a little too easy. When she had accepted this assignment from Gauri Adil, it had been under the impression that it would not be so very easily achieved. Apparently the Second Chair had exaggerated the difficulty of this mission, and the lengths to which Enlil Qusay would go to guard the Scroll.

For there it sat, in the middle of the room, on nothing more than a decrepit, faded hunk of wood that might once have been considered a table.

Once Feye had disposed of the guards and hidden their unconscious bodies underneath some shrubbery in the outdoor terrace, she had made her way back to the safe-room. She had been completely surprised to find the door not only unlocked, but also uncensored by any alarm system; she knew because she had taken great pains to make sure of this fact before entering the room. Disgust warred with wariness as she wondered if Enlil Qusay was simply so arrogant that he didn’t believe anyone audacious enough to even think about stealing from him, or if he was merely so stupid that he thought twenty-some guards would be enough protection against anyone with a mind to take the Scroll.

Arrogant and stupid, Feye decided with no little contempt as she strode towards the table the Scroll sat on. Might as well finish the assignment and get over the disappointment.

In the span of time it took to take a step, Feye felt a white hot stab of pain sear across her left arm just before the sound of a gunshot reached her ears.

Instinct took over as Feye whirled around, unsheathing a dagger hidden in her utility belt as she did so. Before taking the time to aim, she threw the blade towards the door.

Her mind registered the sound of a dull thud. By the time her reason caught up with her instinct and she realized exactly what she was seeing, Feye was mentally cursing her arrogance. How could she have been so careless?

Kneeling before her in the uniformed garb of a lower level patrolman, his back to the closed door of the safe-room, her blade imbedded in the wood just above and behind his shoulder, was a young man who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties. Tanned skin; smoky gray eyes; strong jaw; aquiline nose; high forehead; all capped off with a thick head of black curls. The bright, metal badge at his chest was a sharp contrast to his plain uniform. Feye’s attention, however, was trained on the gun he held pointed straight at her chest.

Feye narrowed her eyes at the man as he slowly, almost languorously, cocked the gun and marginally tightened his finger on the trigger. A petty intimidation tactic any thug would use, but she had no doubt of his skill. He had dodged her dagger, hadn’t he?

The youth stared at her for a moment longer before slowly rising to his feet. The gray of his eyes was hard and cold as he regarded her critically. Then he frowned, gaze roving up and down her form before locking eyes with her. He was clearly just as disconcerted as she was.

"You."

Feye’s expression never betrayed the surprised recognition she felt, for which she was extremely grateful.

"Hinrik," she said conversationally, "It’s been awhile. I must say, this is the last place I would’ve expected to see you."

His eyes never lost their icy tint, and he did not lower his gun. "I could say the same. You’re slipping, Feye. Had this been a few years ago you would be standing over my corpse right now."

Feye allowed herself a predatory smirk, though her eyes didn’t reflect the sentiment. "Don’t be stupid. I can still kill you where you stand. I simply don’t have the heart to eliminate a former comrade."

"‘Former’ being the key weird."

"Once a assassin, always an assassin."

His smile was faint, grim; wistful. "You haven’t changed."

Her expression hardened. "And you’ve changed too much."

Without warning, Feye flew to her right while yanking a dagger out of her sleeve. Without a moment’s hesitation she threw it straight towards Hinrik’s throat. Never faltering she ran forward, The Reaper in hand and ready to fire.

Hinrik rolled to the left, avoiding the dagger thrown at his jugular by a hair’s breadth. Perched on his knee, he took a split second to aim his gun before pulling the trigger.

Once again Feye felt the searing sensation of a bullet wound in her shoulder, but didn’t dare stop. Feinting right, then leaping left and forward, she pressed the barrel of her gun to his forehead before he could dodge, prepared to end their scuffle before they drew unwanted attention. Hinrik was having none of that, however. The next thing Feye knew, The Reaper went flying out of her hand and she was flat on her back, staring up at the only man who had ever downed her. His foot still hung in mid-air, but he quickly changed positions, crouching low and aiming his gun at her. With strength honed from years of experience, she swung her legs and flipped up straight into a handstand, just as she heard a loud bang and saw a dent form in the floor, mere feet in front of her face. The sound of the gunshot reverberated in her skull, spawning an ugly bitterness inside her, a sense of betrayal despite knowing that he and she were no longer comrades in Shennum’s syndicate. They were world’s apart now.

That didn’t stop the swelling need for revenge.

Feye wasted no time. The distance between them didn’t permit her to attempt to dodge a bullet; her only option was to disarm her attacker. She dropped down in a swift duck before delivering a high kick, sending Hinrik’s gun flying through the air. Now the field was even. Hinrik quickly countered with a reverse punch right into Feye’s wounded shoulder. Blood spattered on contact. Feye reeled back, more from the incredible pain than from the force of the blow, and raised her arm to block. He was too fast for her. He followed with a punch to her throat that left her fighting to retain consciousness.

He’s holding back, she realized, dropping to her knees as she fought to get oxygen to her brain. Those strikes weren’t meant to render damage but to debilitate.

He wasn’t fighting to kill her. He wanted to capture her alive.

Somehow that knowledge infuriated her all the more.

"Fool," she wheezed, "the only way you’ll stop me is to kill me."

For the briefest moment, he hesitated. That was all she needed.

Curling her toes for a proper foothold, she gathered her legs underneath her, muscles tensing as she prepared to jump. Too late he realized what her next move would be, and before he had taken a single step back she was up on her feet and lashing out with her dagger.

Hinrik stopped cold as he felt the cool blade pressed roughly against his jugular.

Feye’s eyes glittered as she watched him. "You never could carry out your mark to the end. Shennum and I told you enough times, back then, but I suppose it still hasn’t sunk in. Let me make it perfectly clear." She pressed forward, cutting him, making him bleed. "Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share."

He held her gaze unflinchingly. The sincerity in his expression angered her, though she didn’t understand why. "Therein lies the difference between you and I."

Her jaw clenched. "You were working alongside me not too long ago. What right have you to be preaching now?"

To her utter astonishment, he smiled. It was a knowing smile, a pitying smile. She hated seeing it on his face; that face she knew so well. "I got out," he said simply, as if that were more than enough explanation.

"You’re a fool," she spat. "You really believe this makes a difference. You really think you can atone for the blood on your hands."

"Whether I can or not, at least I’ve tried."

Feye flinched, something she would forever after curse herself a fool for. Hinrik had also worked with Shennum; she herself had taught him to use such moments of weakness to his advantage. He did so now.

His movements were so fast that Feye couldn’t follow them visually, even in hindsight. She felt the movement in the air as he brought his fist up and under the arm holding the dagger to his throat. In an instant he dislodged it, making her bone ache with blow to her elbow joint.

Then she saw it. He bent his free arm and pulled it back, preparing to smash his elbow into her face for the blow that would knock her out and end it all.

She almost smirked. That had always been one of his favorite maneuvers. She knew it well.

Feye swung her head to the left, just as his elbow shot past and grazed her cheek. In the next instant she connected her knee to his groin and surged forward, using her weight to shove him back. Disoriented from the pain of her first blow, he lost his balance and stumbled, landing on his rump. Wasting no time she located The Reaper, lying on the floor a few yards away, and ran towards it with all the speed of her experience. She heard him curse colorfully before righting himself and running after her.

He was fast. He always had been. He was right on her tail. She had no doubt that in a few short seconds he would have her knocked unconscious, as she had her back to him and he was quite skilled with moving blows.

However, she was skilled as well, and she had the advantage of a head start. In the next second her hand curled around The Reaper’s handle. Swinging around, her left hand shot out and grasped Hinrik by the neck just as she placed The Reaper’s barrel against his forehead. His eyes widened in surprise, and she could’ve sworn that for an instant, she saw the fear in his eyes replaced by resignation, a twisted sort of acceptance. And then he smiled at her.

"I lose…"

She couldn’t remember a time when the sound of a gunshot had sickened her heart so.

She was Feye. Étaín’s top assassin; Shennum’s best agent; she had killed hundreds in her pursuit of that title. Blood was her legacy.

But then she watched Hinrik’s eyes roll and close. She watched him fall backwards onto the floor. She watched the blood pouring down his face from the bullet hole in his head.

In that moment, she would’ve given anything to wipe the blood from her hands.

Hinrik had been an assassin once. He and Feye had often shared difficult hits in their earlier days as Shennum’s lapdogs. But even after rising amongst the ranks of Shennum’s syndicate, Hinrik had been squeamish about killing. Oh, he had always followed through with his assignments. But for days afterwards, he’d have a pained, haunted look in his eyes. Those expressive gray eyes that had hardened with time and experience in order to hide the regret he still felt at killing.

Then he had left. It had been sudden. One day he was there, and the next he was gone. The last Feye had heard of him, he had joined the law enforcement and risen to the rank of captain in a matter of months. She had known right away what he was trying to do. After all, it wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence in Shennum’s extended operation. Often, those seeking to become one of Shennum’s famed assassins didn’t realize how difficult killing really was. Many people took the route Hinrik had after their first few hits. Trying to atone for the deaths they had caused. Trying to repent.

Feye had never understood it before. Most of the people Shennum’s clients ordered hits on were politicians, and in Feye’s mind, eliminating a politician was on the same level as swatting a fly. Étaín’s political infrastructure was corrupted beyond recognition, on every level. It was near impossible to find a rising political leader who hadn’t already been sullied in their attempt to get to the top.

But now, looking at Hinrik’s dead body, a sickening feeling twisting in her gut, Feye was beginning to comprehend Hinrik’s need to atone.

She stood there a moment longer, staring at the life she had snuffed out, silent and faceless thoughts slipping into her mind and leaving as silently and meaningless as they had entered. A curious numbness was settling within her, the distant apathy she was more accustomed to feeling after a hit.

She had a terrible feeling that it would not last long.

Gathering her wits was a struggle. Only after she had gathered her scattered daggers and stowed the Scroll of Hyram carefully into a pack she had slung across her back did reality start to set in. Surveying the room once more, carefully checking for any signs that might give away who had done the dirty deed, and satisfied that there were none, she shot Hinrik’s dead body one last lingering glance before shooting out the door and disappearing into the shadows from whence she had come.

-

Shennum was waiting for her at headquarters when she returned. He remained seated behind his desk as she casually strolled into his office, eyeing her intently.

"I see you ran into some trouble."

Feye glanced down at herself briefly before shrugging and dropping her pack onto the room’s empty chair. So he had seen the blood. She hadn’t really expected any less. She had made a makeshift bandage out of her cloak, placing a wad of cloth over the wound before wrapping it, hoping the pressure would be enough to stop the blood flow until she got back to headquarters and had a practitioner properly attend to it. However, due to the pain in her shoulder and the sheer quantity of the blood, she had made a rather messy job of it. "None that I couldn’t handle."

Shennum’s gaze slid to the pack she had just discarded. "You have it, then?"

"I wouldn’t have bothered to come back if I didn’t," she replied in a monotone, rolling her shoulders and wincing.

Steely blue eyes studied her. "Smart girl."

She mirrored his look. "No honor amongst thieves."

He grinned at her; a strange expression on him, as his eyes always held a noted lack of real emotion despite what the rest of his face was doing. "None whatsoever. When does Miss Adil expect the Scroll?"

"I’d love to chat, Shennum, I really would," she quipped, "But I need one of our good doctors to extract the bullet from my shoulder." Shennum didn’t know, as of yet, about Ainsley Aitkin’s offer, and she was perfectly content to keep it that way.

Shennum, clearly unconcerned by her current condition, waved his hand casually at the door. "If you must. I expect a debriefing later."

Feye once again took up the pack containing the Scroll and slung it over her good shoulder. She had just placed her hand on the doorknob when Shennum’s voice stopped her.

"One more thing, my dear. I trust I needn’t worry about any unwelcome visits from the police toting incriminating evidence?"

Feye paused, struggling with an odd, lingering feeling that left a bitter taste in her mouth. Icy gray eyes danced in her mind.

"No, Shennum. I left no sign."

And I left no witnesses…

A/N -- The plot bunnies are evil. EVIL.

Mad props to my bro for the indispensable help on the action scenes that were so painful for me. I doubt I would’ve finished this chapter so quickly without him. I guess being a karate kid does have its advantages.

Also, my heartfelt thanks to my dear friend, L.W., for responding to my pleaded cries for help and giving me such useful suggestions. She renewed my fervor for this story.

Reviews are always greatly appreciated. :) Really, it’s sickening how happy they make me.