CLEO – Ankratur

  “What happened to my plate?!”

  Rosalia chuckled, at the same time looking slightly guilty. “Cleo put a hole in it. It looks like you’ll be able to start that cheese grater business you were talking about.”

  “I wasn’t serious! You did this on purpose. You never did like my plates.”

  “We had to test Cleo’s Hole card on something, and the plate was just lying around.”

  “Lying around, sure.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one. Just not in green.”

  “You’d better. Anyhow, back to the orichalcum beads… Cleo, I knew you were a princess. I have a nose for sniffing out royalty.”

  “Eww, Kalak, that just didn’t sound right.”

  “I’m not a… a… fraking princess!” Cleo said.

  “Swearing now, are we?” Kalak said.

  Cleo closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “The dress was a gift just before you summoned me, or portaled me, or whatever you’d call it. What’s so valuable about the beads? What’s orichalcum?”

  Kalak snorted, then went to grab his mug and sit down on the other side of the low table. “It’s a rare metal. With coins you have copper, then silver, then gold, and then there’s orichalcum. It holds magic extremely well, so it’s usually used when making artifacts.”

  And something to spend on odds and ends, Saskia had said. Cleo thought she’d meant the neck torc and armbands, but apparently not. “So what should I do? Remove the beads from the dress and sell them?”

  “Yes!” Kalak said.

  “No!” said Rosalia. “Keep them! Find work so you have money to survive and to spend on niceties. Sell your armbands and torc if you have to. But don’t sell the orichalcum if you can help it. One of the major expenses of having an artifact made is the raw materials, and with your orichalcum you could have a great wand core enchanted, and have metal left over.”

  “She wants to go to the Misk-Imas Institution, Rosalia,” Kalak said. “And I don’t know much about the Institutions, but I do know about the staggering tuition fees.”

  And Rosalia had attended one for a year, she’d said. Perhaps her family was wealthy. But then why was she out here risking herself? And she really would like a wand to defend herself with, since using one meant not using your cards and she could keep her curse spell up her sleeve. Cleo shook her head slightly. She needed more information, as usual. “Okay, I’ll keep the orichalcum. But what exactly are the Institutions?”

  Rosalia peered into her empty mug, a disappointed expression on her face. “You could say they’re a mix between a university, a monastery, and a place where rich brats and the fortunate gather and learn as much as they can about cards and their classes and abilities; along with alchemistry and the sciences, history, and other academic subjects. Most people that attend Institutions do so when they’re young and have come into their class card, but that’s not always the case.”

  “Most likely bought for them by their family,” Kalak added.

  “Yes,” Rosalia continued. “At considerable expense. Some enter later in life, for whatever reason. Plenty of people only get cards when they’re older. There are lectures, and classes for certain subjects, and tutorial groups; though a lot of lessons are more individually tailored, but there are some exceptions. Essentially, you can stay as long as you like if you pay their fees. Or provide valuable research. Or have a class card or abilities, or mindset, that makes you particularly adept at the apexes.”

  Cleo leaned forward with interest. “What, exactly, are apexes?”

  Rosalia tapped the stack of triangular metal objects on the table, and Kalak’s eyes widened. “Apexes are divine items, as is the system of apexes. These metallic keys are able to open portals to a specific area, also called an apex. They unlock the way to challenging and rewarding encounters, and as you know, the best way to tier up cards is by putting yourself through stressful situations. So, they’re almost a cheat, but luckily there are limitations to the apexes.”

  “Like dying,” Kalak muttered.

  “Yes. But the monsters that inhabit them also drop loot.”

  Cleo thought for a few moments. “So, apexes are an experience and loot farm?”

  “If I comprehend your meaning, then I guess you could say that,” Rosalia replied. “If you’ve ever wondered how nobles and wealthy individuals can have such high tier classes and abilities without fighting on the frontiers or in the Imperial Legions, it’s likely because of apex delving.”

  “They’re still useless in a fight,” Kalak said. “Since they’re too scared to risk themselves, they hire a strong team to carry them through. Far less stress on them though, so they don’t tier-up as quickly, but it’s enough if you do a lot of apexes. Bunch of pants-pissers if you ask me.”

  Pay to win, thought Cleo. Or maybe pay-to-kind-of-win. “Which means the wealthier you are the easier it is. That’s unfair.”

  “That’s life, though, isn’t it?” Rosalia said. “But they don’t rise to anywhere near the power of sorcerers, who are another kettle of fish. No one knows how they get so powerful; even S tiers can’t hold a candle to them. Which has led to many speculating that you can rise to double-S tier, or triple-S, but I’m sure if that were the case it would be common knowledge. Sorcerers are a big deal, but notoriously closed-mouthed. There’s not much information about them, other than they’re called upon by the Empire to fight higher-tiered undead and demons. Anyhow, I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know about sorcerers.”

  Kalak stood and stretched. “It’s late already, so let’s go to the guild in the morning. And I’m starving so let’s table this discussion until we have a decent meal in front of us, or you two will talk until morning. Once Rosalia gets going about sorcerers she doesn’t stop.”

  Rosalia grinned wryly and nodded. “Cleo, I have some sandals you can wear.”

  * * *

  Crimson clouds smeared the horizon as the setting sun touched the dark skyline in the distance. The streets weren’t so crowded as evening approached, though the stone of the pyramid and the buildings all gave off enough residual heat to make Cleo wish she had an ice-filled cold drink in her hand.

  Kalak led them through the maze of buildings to an eatery of sorts, crammed in between a tavern and a butcher. A sign above the slatted wooden door read “Salt and Wood”, which Cleo thought was not quite pretentious and a name she’d steal if she ever opened up her own restaurant.

  String music and the hubbub of conversations emanated from the busy tavern, while the butcher looked to be about to close up shop, and there was a small crowd of people trying to bargain a man in a blood-splattered apron down on price. A thick plume of smoke rose from two chimneys on the roof of the eatery, and when they entered Cleo was almost overwhelmed with the heat and the scent of roasting meats.

  Maybe they have something like chicken? She had seen little water except for the putrid lake, so fish was probably off the menu, but she hadn’t seen the other side of the pyramid either, so maybe there were rivers and other less filthy lakes nearby.

  Rosalia placed a hand on Cleo’s arm and guided her after Kalak, who’d hastened off to a corner booth while waving to a server. The servers were better dressed than she expected: dark-gray pants and white linen buttoned shirts, covered with black aprons. Maybe this was an upmarket restaurant.

  “I don’t have any coins,” Cleo said to Rosalia.

  The mage shushed her. “It’s my…our treat. It’s the least we can do for someone who saved our lives.”

  “We wouldn’t be breathing if it weren’t for you,” Kalak added.

  Cleo nodded as they sat down, but vowed she would pay them back. A debt was a debt, after all. She peered around the room. There was a large opening at the back, which led onto an area where the grilling was done. A massive, round, steel grill hovered above flaming coals, suspended by chains from thick ceiling beams. Two cooks bustled around the grill, turning meats and stirring pans, a sheen of sweat on their faces.

  A thin young man with curly brown hair approached. “Your usual, I take it, Kalak?”

  Kalak nodded vigorously. “Rare, mind you. And two beers for me.”

  “Of course. Where’s Scrubby? Is he running late?”

  A silence descended across the table as Kalak’s mouth drew into a thin line, and Rosalia cleared her throat. Cleo looked down at the table, anywhere except at Kalak and Rosalia.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the server said. “He… ah, he was a good man. And for Rosalia and your friend?”

  “I’ll have the braised fowl with peppers and onions,” the mage said. “And a glass of the white.”

  “I’ll have the same, please,” Cleo said.

  “Excellent choice,” said the young man, flashing her a smile. “I’m Gill. I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to the city or just visiting?”

  “She’s a princess,” Kalak said. “Too good for the likes of you, Gill.”

  “I’m not a princess!”

  “She saved our lives,” Rosalia said loudly, as if to stall off an argument. “We’re treating her to a meal and helping her out where we can.”

  A fleeting look of shock passed across his face. “Oh,” he said in a disappointed tone. “I mean, it’s good she saved you. But she’s carded as well, then.”

  “That’s right, Gill. So hands off.”

  Cleo’s face burned with embarrassment as the server looked down at the floor and walked away. “I can talk for myself, Kalak.”

  “You’re too good for him.”

  “You hardly know me!”

  “Yeah, but I know him. Gill’s always trying to stick his—”

  “Kalak!” warned Rosalia. “What he means to say is that unless you’re planning on staying in Ankratur for an extended period, then there’s no point in starting a relationship. And you have a hero class, so you’re probably going to be too busy anyway.”

  “I wasn’t… even if I did… he wouldn’t… nobody wants someone who’s sick.” Cleo’s face burned even more and her eyes stung. She averted her gaze from Rosalia and Kalak as an uncomfortable silence grew, and busied herself looking around the room again, taking in details she’d missed the first time. An older couple held hands at a smaller table… sweet… but most of the clientele were groups of four or more, and their clothes were definitely better quality than what the people she’d seen in the streets were wearing. The restaurant was obviously a place that Kalak and Rosalia came to as a treat when they returned from the Defiled Lands. A kind of ritual; a celebration for surviving.

  Cleo could relate. Her dad often said that food could be both a necessity and an indulgence. She brushed aside thoughts of him and the rest of her family as best she could. She didn’t want to forget them, but dwelling on what she couldn’t change would not help her situation. Still… she missed them all dreadfully.

  Rosalia cleared her throat. “Now that we’re here and we’ve ordered, we should get back to what we were talking about. I have a feeling Cleo will want to start her journey to Lethanas as soon as possible.”

  Cleo would have liked more time to compose herself, but… “Lethanas is…?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Where the Misk’Imas Institution is located. A harbor city, so if you traveled to the coast you could take a ship there, but I’d recommend an overland caravan. It’s probably easiest, and less expensive, and you won’t have to change transport part way through which is always a hassle.”

  “The caravans are always looking for extra help,” Kalak said. “Not for common guards, they have plenty of those, but if you’re carded you’re always welcome. When things go to shit you’re invaluable. You’ll probably be able to negotiate a much cheaper rate—maybe only have to pay for your food, and then you can relax on the journey and hope you don’t run into trouble. We’ll help set you up with a pack and some gear. There’s an adventurers' market nearby.”

  Cleo wasn’t sure what sort of trouble a caravan could get into, but assumed it was along the lines of undead and possibly bandits, or scavs. “How long will it take to get to Lethanas?”

  Kalak peered over her head with a frown. “Where’s the food?” he muttered.

  “You shouldn’t have annoyed Gill,” Rosalia said. “Now they’ll take forever. In answer to your question, Cleo, from a few weeks to more than a month, depending on the caravan, how heavy the goods are, to what animals are drawing the wagons. Everything is variable.”

  “Hmm… horses are probably the best. I know oxen are slow.” Cleo knew little about pre-industrial travel, but she did know that horses were mainly used until the early 1900s before automobiles replaced them.

  “What’s a horse?” Kalak said.

  “Er… a domesticated animal you can ride?” Cleo replied. “You know, four legs, a tail, a mane, eats grass and oats. Likes apples.”

  Rosalia was looking at her, eyebrows raised. “I’ve never heard of one. Maybe they’re local to your country.”

  “Ah… yes… heh… that must be it.” No horses! This was a strange world.

  “Oxen we have, but as you said they’re slow. But most of the caravans use plain-elks or bison or ovis, and in hotter climates, iguanacus.”

  “Iguanacus? And what’s an ovis?”

  “Iguanacus are big lizard-type animals,” Kalak said. “And an ovis is a larger type of sheep, with less fur.”

  “Wool,” Rosalia said.

  “Whatever. We’ll check the caravan register in the morning. Rosalia and I will visit Scrubby’s family first thing tomorrow morning. It should be done soon, and then it’s done.” Kalak stood up and waved at another server, then grimaced and sat down heavily when he was ignored.

  “Fraking Gill…” he muttered under his breath.

  Rosalia covered her mouth with a hand and coughed discreetly. “There’s a chance Scavs could get to Scrubby’s cards, if goblins don’t first. It might be they’ll turn up at a Deck Makers here and we might be able to buy one, if it’s not too expensive. I’d like to do something for Scrubby’s daughter. One of his cards would hold sentimental value for her.”

  “Yeah,” Kalak said. “Even a crappy common card is good.” He opened his mouth to say more, but didn’t and then closed it again.

  At that moment, three servers appeared. Two bore trays holding their food, and another their drinks—two foaming beers in glass mugs, and two crystal goblets of white wine. Soon, each of them had their meals in front of them, and a cool drink. A basket of freshly baked bread slices was deposited in the center of the table.

  Kalak practically inhaled his first mug of beer before grabbing a knife and fork and digging into a massive steak that hung over the edges of his plate. The braised fowl with peppers and onions was drenched with lashings of a thick, rich pan sauce, and smelled heavenly. Cleo’s nose picked out familiar scents of garlic and rosemary, or whatever the local equivalents were in this world. Along with the crystal goblets, the plates that held the food were made from bone china, and Cleo bumped up her estimate of the technology level here in this world—this wasn’t a medieval era, clearly, despite what she’d seen so far. Maybe it was rougher out here on the frontier, which made sense.

  Rosalia raised her glass of white wine. “Here’s to surviving.”

  Kalak clinked her glass with his second mug of beer, and Cleo did the same with her wine. They all sipped, though Kalak’s was more of a gulp, before he returned to wolfing down his steak.

  “Anyhow,” continued Rosalia. “We were talking about apexes. But I think we should eat for a while first.”

  The three of them spent a few minutes eating in silence, except for Kalak’s slurping and chewing. He really did eat with his mouth open, but Cleo was so focused on her delicious meal and her grumbling stomach that she hardly noticed and it didn’t annoy her.

  After a while, she put down her cutlery and sipped her wine. It wasn’t sweet and had a faintly peach-like flavor. “Apexes, then,” she said. “How do they work, and what are the limitations?”

  Rosalia finished her mouthful before responding. “I could probably talk for hours on this subject, but I’ll try to summarize. Apexes have rarities, just like cards. Your copper ones are F tier, iron are E tier, silver are D tier, electrum C, gold is B, orichalcum A tier. And finally, star metal is S-tier. As you’d guess, the tiers get more difficult the higher they go. At each of the Institutions there’s an apex device, which can activate the apexes.”

  “If copper apexes are the lowest tier, then why were you surprised I had some?” Between questions, Cleo continued with her meal, which was one of the best she’d ever eaten. It was no wonder Rosalia and Kalak came here. She vowed to leave her glass of delightful wine half-finished though.

  “Because apexes, any apexes, are rare. If a team completes an apex, then another apex of the same tier will drop, so they can continue delving that tier of apex. Occasionally, the monsters they kill will drop an apex, which can also be a tier higher if they’re lucky. But at most, they might drop two to three apexes each delve. Sorry, that’s a lot of apexes!”

  Cleo nodded in understanding as Rosalia spoke. A restricted exp and loot farm that’s probably monopolized by the wealthy. It was probably more complicated than that—everything was—but at least she now had basic information and somewhere to start. “I think I get it… and you said that most people hire a team to get them through apexes? Which makes it safer, but you’re less likely to tier up because it’s less stressful?”

  “That’s about it,” Kalak said, as another huge steak was deposited in front of him—this one slathered in a green sauce that looked a lot like chimichurri. He grabbed a slice of bread and tore it in half, dipping one part into the sauce. “You can’t die for real in an apex, from what I’ve heard.” Rosalia nodded in confirmation. “But you can get severely injured, and if your team ‘dies’ without finishing the apex, then another won’t drop for you. So you’re done, unless you have another apex.”

  “It takes a longer time to tier up using apexes,” Rosalia said, “at least the way it’s usually done, and wastes a good deal of money, but it works. Except if you progress with an overpowered team you’re not a seasoned fighter, really, and apex runners are looked down upon by hardened card-holders. Still, they tier-up and that’s what they want.”

  Kalak let out a muffled burp, then continued shoveling in rare steak covered with sauce. Rosalia’s plate was almost licked clean, the woman having sopped up her gravy with torn off chunks of bread, and contained only the bones of whatever bird it was. She glanced at him, and then continued.

  “It’s a degraded form of dungeon delving. My advice to you, Cleo, would be to find a couple of people you can trust, who also want to apex delve, and attempt yours with them. Without a team holding your hand, it’s the same as a dungeon, really. But keep in mind it’s not going to be easy, and the risks of injuries and possibly wasting your apexes are real.”

  Okay… she could find out more once she was at the Misk’Imas Institution. Apexes weren’t hard to figure out; they were basically a game mechanic. She could probably sell her apexes, or use them like Rosalia suggested. But what about dungeons? “So, dungeons are similar to apexes?”

  “Kind of, though not really. You can die in dungeons, they’re not like apexes at all in that sense. Dungeons are huge, and are usually managed by the Adventurers Guild. Monsters respawn due to the high concentration of ambient mana, and there’s loot, but the Guild doesn’t allow hand-holding like the Institutions do. Anyone can enter a dungeon if they have permission, but the difficulty of higher or lower levels increases quickly.”

  “You said they were huge. How big are dungeons?”

  “Massive,” Kalak said through a mouthful of meat. “Ankratur is a dungeon. That’s why there’s an Adventurers Guild outpost here.”

  Cleo couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open in shock. “This pyramid is a dungeon? The entire thing?”

  “There’s a guarded and warded entrance on the First Step, next to the Adventurers’ Guild Outpost,” Rosalia said. “As if the frontier wasn’t dangerous enough. Carded come from all around to test themselves and to tier-up. And there are dungeon offshoots in the Blighted Lands, but those lesser ones are usually overrun with goblins.”

  “So, you could take on those lesser ones, but you’d have to clear the goblins out first?”

  “Hah!” Kalak said. “And their traps, and then seal the dungeon off until monsters respawn. It’s usually not worth the hassle since the offshoot dungeons are so small. But I have heard that some countries use them for training. A few of the free-cities do as well.”

  “Free cities?” Cleo said. There was so much to learn and understand, she felt like her brain was exploding.

  “City-states. Independent cities that claim and govern the surrounding land. There’s a bunch of them the Empire’s fighting with on the northern front. I heard a few sorcerers got involved, so it’s bloody work.”

  Rosalia waved her goblet of wine. “Sorcerers,” she said with reverence. “They’re like us mages, but better. If I knew how to become one, I would. It’s not tiering-up, I’m sure of it.”

  “Spent a lot of time thinking about them?” Kalak asked sarcastically.

  “You know I have! When I was young, I dreamed of becoming a sorcerer. Of serving the Imperial Legions and bringing the fight to the undead. But, alas, I am destined for lesser things. Still, it has to be a skill card, or a card of another type we don’t know about. Maybe it opens up more card slots—”

  “That’s nonsense,” Kalak snorted.

  “It could be true! You don’t know it’s not. Anyway, from what I’ve heard their abilities are strange. They speak their spells or abilities in a bizarre language, and some of them have books they call grimoires.”

  A spell book? Now Cleo was even more intrigued. “And these sorcerers are common at the Institutions?”

  Rosalia shook her head. “Not common at all, but you see them sometimes because of the apexes. But they delve orichalcum tiered, usually alone, or so I’ve heard.”

  Kalak dropped his knife and fork onto his empty plate with a clang, and drained the rest of his beer. “That’ll do me for now.”

  “Not going for a third steak?” Rosalia said.

  “Nah. One time was enough. I wasn’t regular for a week afterwards.”

  “Too much information, Kalak.”

  “You’re probably right. Are you two done? Because I’m exhausted.”

  Cleo grabbed a slice of the crusty sourdough bread to eat on their way back and nodded that she was finished. “I think I ate too much as well.” One more slice couldn’t hurt.

  Rosalia drained the rest of her wine and stood. “Then let’s get some rest. We could use it, and we’ve a tough morning to get through tomorrow.”

  Scrubby’s family.

  They made their way back through semi-dark streets lit by three moons and alchemical lamps at intersections, made and maintained by Imperial alchemists, or so Rosalia explained. The mage prepared a bed for Cleo, consisting mainly of blankets, in a tiny room on the second floor of their dwelling. With eyes burning from exhaustion and still aching feet and muscles, she made use of the privy, scattering a mixture of wood-ash and ground-up fragrant leaves to keep the smell in check, and had a quick shower.

  Cleo would not remember falling asleep.

  * * *

  From the summit of Ankratur, where he’d consorted with transmogrified undead crows for information, the stepped pyramid had seemed far steeper than it did from the first few Steps at the bottom. Then again, most other things did as well. Standing at the top of things was treacherous, for the unprepared and ignorant.

  Zane Korath leaned against a sun-warmed wall of a back alley as he slowly ate spiced meat on wooden skewers. They were delicious, steaming hot and heavy with spice, the meat well-seasoned and tender, and slightly charred. Food always tasted better when you didn’t have to pay for it, but his enjoyment was slightly spoiled by having to meet such a low ranked Dark One at the ass-end of nowhere—or ‘People of the Undead’ as they called themselves nowadays, as if that made their sworn oaths more palatable.

  A dream-message from his master had brought him here, as swiftly as he could fly. The Defiled Lands were cold at night, and he’d been shot at by goblins as he’d rested for a time and tried to regain some warmth huddled in the crook of a branch on a dead tree. The greenskins he’d let be, not wanting to unleash a spell on them and leave traces of his passing. It was unlikely Imperial mages would be snooping around the Defiled Lands, but he was always careful to a fault. Careless got you injured or killed, or worse: demoted to serve fools.

  He glanced down the alley that formed the back of an upmarket restaurant and saw his contact emerge from its back exit. Sweat patches darkened the armpits and collar of his white linen shirt, and his black apron bore smears of fat and grease and various sauces. Although a back-alley meeting might be cause for suspicion in itself if they were observed, Zane wasn’t going to pretend he was a patron of the restaurant and join the other diners.

  Any one of them could be an Imperial spy, or on their payroll.

  The young man saw him and paused, then plodded over. By his reluctant steps and slightly pained expression, Zane could tell he was already regretting his dark oaths. This one would soon slip up and be for the executioner, if he wasn’t mistaken. Best to get this over with quickly and be gone from here.

  “Working hard today?” he said.

  The young man licked his lips and glanced nervously around the almost empty alley. “The heat makes it difficult, but at least I get paid.”

  Honestly, who makes up these signs and counter-signs? Zane thought.

  “I’m Gill,” the restaurant server said, holding out his hand to shake.

  Zane ignored it. “Just call me Drellik.” It wasn’t his real name, nor one he used often, but names were like lovers—easily discarded. The dream-message his master had sent had been vague, as they always were, but his mission had narrowed as another message came through when he was perched atop the pyramid a short time ago. This one pushed through his waking thoughts in the form of a daydream, startling him enough to let out a squawk and disturb the other crows perched nearby. Something definitely had the higher-ups riled.

  “What are you… what can I do for you, Master Drellik?” mumbled the server.

  “I was called here because something is afoot, and you are the key.” Apparently.

  “I… nothing’s happened. I swear on my mother’s life.”

  “There’s no need for that. Did anything unusual happen today? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No, it’s been a normal day.”

  “Think, Gill. Or I might have to apply some incentives, and I don’t think you’d like that.”

  The young man gulped and swallowed. “I can’t think of anything. Usual customers, nothing stood out.” He stood there and squinted, as if that would somehow organize his thoughts. “One of the carded teams that roam the Defiled Land came in for their usual survival meal, but one of them had died out there. I think The Blessed got him.”

  The Blessed—Undead. “Anything else?”

  “No! That’s all. I can ask around if—”

  “Please don’t do that. Hmm… who is in this group?”

  The words tumbled out of the server, eager to please and be rewarded. “There’s Kalak, he’s a warrior type, and Rosalia, a mage. They had a team of three, before. Scrubby, their third, has probably now joined The Blessed.”

  “I wouldn’t be calling them that in public if I were you. They hardly seem like a remarkable team to me, one that would necessitate calling me away from my work to come here.”

  “I don’t know, then. Maybe it was the girl with them?”

  Zane suppressed a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do go on.”

  “I’d never seen her before. She was thin, but pretty. All uppity though, and Kalak told her she was too good for me. But they did say she saved their lives. She was carded, too.”

  The last was said with naked envy. Ah, the rejection of a pretty girl, and carded power. Shame and lust were the easiest ways to the hearts of small men. Petty injustices drove them.

  As always, Zane lived by his maxim: observe, understand, act. The world wasn’t complicated, as long as you were logical and brutally practical.

  “It might be her, then,” he said, and the server responded just as he thought he would.

  “Do you think so? I thought there was something strange about her. Kalak said she was a princess, but I thought he was joking. Maybe he wasn’t!”

  Zane smiled, but it was the emotionless smile of a killer. One step, and his enchanted star-metal knife slid into the young man’s chest. The server gasped and coughed, then, blood bubbled from his mouth as the knife twisted and churned inside him. He fell to the ground, fingers scrabbling in the dust on the stone. It took only moments for him to die, but when he did, his murderer had already disappeared into the cold night.