They didn't reach Argain quickly. Reed didn't hide his face as it was clear the Council hadn't been informed about the convicts’ escape. No slaver would want to pay or take the place of a fugitive convict. They’d say he died on the way and that would be the end of it. The only exception was those who absolutely couldn't be allowed to escape. Then the Council would allocate the nearest Guard and put a reward for one’s head.

  On the way the capital, Reed hadn’t seen a reward poster with his name on it. So, it meant he wasn't that important. And anyway, Ermod obviously didn’t think Reed was such a daredevil as to return to the city from which he was sent back to Belden. Either no one told Ermod about Reed’s escape or they told him Reed was dead. And that was good, convenient. The advantage of surprise was on Reed's side.

  Meredith didn't appreciate the idea of returning to Argain but she didn't argue. That was understandable. She couldn't leave and couldn't stop him either. Reed assured her that they wouldn't stay for long.

  Reed recovered gradually, and soon he started working again. At first a little, then more. The first contracts were hard, as if he had forgotten who he was before. He rested longer, coped slower, and took less work, so he often barely scraped by with money. That was why the journey took so long.

  When Argain appeared on the horizon, it was already getting colder. Winter was approaching and Reed was almost the same as before he was put in chains for the second time. He hadn't changed the armor, though he had wanted to for a long time. The stolen armor was okay on a thin, exhausted body, but over time it became tight, restricting. Reed hoped to work in the capital for a while, primarily for money but also to prepare an escape plan after he killed Ermod. Killing a Council member certainly wouldn't end in penal servitude. He would be executed, publicly. Therefore, escape had to be thought out in advance. And Meredith could rest from the constant traveling and change of residence.

  They found an old house, just two small rooms. Dusty, almost rotten, but needed by no one. The owner had long since shifted closer to the city quarters and was just glad to receive money for the premises that had long burdened him. In Argain, desolation was not tolerated: either you keep everything within the bounds of decency or you pay a tax, and later the house is taken away. Therefore, the owner didn't set the price too high, and the unexpected tenant was just what he needed.

  Since they returned to the capital, Meredith holed up in the house and didn't want to go out. Reed often saw her busy with something. He didn't demand anything related to the household from her. He didn't care about dust and food quality, so while he worked, Meredith was left to herself. When Reed returned, they played dice and she was very angry that she couldn't win. He laughed and shrugged. Later, he finally revealed the secret of success. Reed cheated. Meredith pouted for a short while and then asked him teach her.

  The rains started soon after, and Meredith found yet another reason to stay indoors. One evening, Reed was returning home wet and angry. A serious bruise was spreading under his eye and his lips ached. The job had been successful and the money was a pleasant weight in his pocket, but fatigue overpowered any sense of satisfaction. The cloak lay heavily on his shoulders, sticking to the cheap leather. He was ready to give a fortune for normal, comfortable clothes. Turning toward the merchant street, he calculated. If he found work soon, the money would be enough, even if he spent extra now. On the other hand, how could he work if he’s uncomfortable? The pants hindered his running and were clearly the wrong size by now. The upper armor unpleasantly constricted his chest and shoulders, robbing him of his agility in combat. Sighing, he made up his mind. Having his own armor gave him confidence, and even the rain didn't annoy him as much as he bought it.

  He was about to leave when he noticed a jeweler's shop. The ornaments were expensive but worth the price. Reed didn't often see such finery, but in the capital, it was common. The locals had enough money for expensive trinkets, while Reed mostly hung around the poor quarters. He was choosing for a long time. Cold rain drops slid down his collar, making him shudder. His hands grew cold and obeyed him poorly. Gusts of wind tousled his hair. Reed desperately wanted to be by the fire, but he didn't hurry. For the first time in his life, he was buying something not for himself. Finally, he made his choice, irritably brushed wet hair from his face and walked home.

  Meredith was sitting at the table, silently staring at a jug. Her face was angry and tense. Her hands twitched. She crumpled the edges of her sleeves and sighed angrily from time to time.

  "I'm sure the jug regrets whatever it's guilty of," Reed tried to give his voice a cheerful tone, but it didn't work out very well. Meredith looked around, swept a gaze over him, and frowned.

  "You're all wet."

  "That happens when it rains," he joked. He allowed himself to do this more often, and Meredith didn't take offense.

  "I'll have to remember that," she responded with sarcasm, turning away.

  "So why are you angry?" Reed asked, pulling off the wet armor. The fireplace wasn't enough to keep the house warm, but he had lost the habit of complaining long ago. Clothes got dry, they didn't die of cold, and that was good enough.

  "Trying to move it."

  Reed raised an eyebrow and then stopped short. He remembered her secret.

  "I thought you did that with your hands..."

  "It gives it away," Meredith explained.

  Reed made a face of understanding, surprised at how many habits she had managed to pick up from him. He often tried to be subtle and over time Meredith began to do the same. But it is one thing when you're a mercenary, but quite another when you're a child. On the other hand, she is a mage.

  "Isn't it easier to learn with your hands first?"

  Meredith simply shrugged.

  "I can do that, but it's very noticeable. I want to draw less attention."

  "I get it."

  "You have a wound," she pointed a finger at his split lips. "And a bruise."

  "Yeah, it'll pass soon."

  "Does it hurt?"

  Reed shrugged vaguely. He had ceased caring about bruises and split lips long ago.

  "Sit," Meredith ordered briefly, heading toward her bag. Over time, she had collected a lot of miscellaneous items, some of which were surprisingly useful. She took out a small jar and a piece of cloth.

  "Sit," she repeated, and Reed, sighing, sank onto the chair. Meredith deftly opened the jar of oily ointment, dipped the cloth into it, and carefully smeared it over Reed's lips and the bruise.

  "What is this?" he asked, grimacing as the bitter substance got into his mouth.

  "It will help your wounds not to swell or fester. The bruise will fade faster," she explained quietly.

  "Where did you get it?"

  "Bought it a long time ago. They don't really want to sell anything to you. How many tries did it take you to buy anything for me?"

  "Quite a few," Reed chuckled, feeling his split lips stretch unpleasantly. "They don't cheat you?"

  "I say it's for a respected gentleman," Meredith smiled in response. Putting aside the cloth, she returned to her jug. "I'll sit a bit longer."

  Reed nodded and stepped out, intending to clean himself up. The rough fabric scratched his beaten face unpleasantly, the ointment tasted bitter on his lips, and his hair had grown too long, but he didn't care anymore.

  He sat, thoughtful. During his time in the capital, Reed hadn't only been earning money. He had been following his plan. From time to time, he went to the Council building and had already managed to find out how often they changed the patrol. He found Ermod's house too, but the shifts of the guards on duty there could vary. He didn't want to rush. A mistake would cost him his life.

  He planned to spend the next few days scouting Ermod's house, and then focus on the murder plan. It wasn't that Reed didn't know his business. Rather, he was stalling, enjoying and anticipating how he would carry out his plan. He had replayed all possible methods of killing Ermod hundreds of times, and each subsequent idea pleased him no less than the previous one. Sometimes these daydreams took on monstrous outlines, and Reed had to stop himself. It wasn’t the good old hit job this time. Reed couldn’t slide into the abyss of bloodlust. Reed snapped out and rummaged in his bag. In a moment he went out to Meredith.

  "I think I have something that will please you," awkwardness slipped into his voice but he quickly hid it behind his usual mask of detachment and indifference. Meredith, still sitting at the table, tore her gaze away from the jug and swept her eyes over Reed. Waiting.

  Reed shifted from foot to foot, opened his mouth as if about to say something, but then closed it again. Words didn’t come. He didn’t know how one should present gifts to girls, especially little ones. He shrugged, grimaced painfully, and only then approached Meredith, extending his hand toward the table. His palm covered the gift almost entirely, but Meredith understood. Her eyes lit up with impatience. Reed gently lowered a small silver comb onto the table.

  "What for?" Meredith asked breathlessly.

  "Uh... for hair," he mumbled.

  "I know. That's not what I meant."

  "If you don't like it..."

  "I like it." Her lips stretched into a wide, open smile. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Reed's waist. "Thank you."

  Reed didn't know how to behave or what to say, so he simply stood there, trying to drive away the awkwardness. To his relief, Meredith soon let go of him and turned to examine the gift.

  "I've never seen anything like this."

  Forcing a smile, Reed sat at the table, watching.

  "Just try not to flash it around here," Reed explained. "Some might try to take it away."

  "Thank you," Meredith repeated once more, examining the small stones in the weave of the comb. "Is this what your Mother's tears look like?"

  "I don't know," Reed smiled. "Maybe."

  "Can I ask you something, Hector?" She suddenly turned serious, looking him straight in the eyes like an adult.

  "Of course."

  "What is your business here? Last time it ended... not very well. I know one shouldn't return to where they were caught."

  "Dita, I..."

  "You know I won't tell anyone."

  "I know," Reed exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. Closing his eyes, he sighed again and covered his face with his hands. Only after some time he looked at Meredith again. "I don't know how to explain."

  "However you can."

  "I am here for revenge."

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  "On whom?"

  "The man who forced you to follow me."

  "He exiled you to penal servitude?"

  "How do you know?"

  "I've seen such caravans before, when my parents were alive. Dad's friend said they are led somewhere far away to work. Not everyone returns."

  "In general, yes. I was supposed to stay there forever."

  Meredith pursed her lips, stroking the comb with her fingers. Fear flickered in her eyes, changing into sadness.

  "And what will you do to him?" she asked suddenly, but she looked as if that wasn't exactly the question she wanted to ask.

  "Have a talk," Reed grumbled, rising. He walked over to the fireplace and pretended to stir the wood, but in reality, he simply didn't want Meredith to see his face. He stood like that for some time, hoping Meredith would get bored.

  "Hector?" she called quietly, as if afraid to disturb him.

  "Hm?"

  "Will you kill him?"

  "Why do you need to know?" Reed snapped, suddenly flaring up. "Just tell me, why? What will change?"

  "I..." Meredith stumbled and fell silent. After a while, she looked up at him again. "What if they catch you again?"

  "They won't," Reed chuckled.

  "They caught you once."

  "I wasn't prepared then. I killed the Blessed One because I was angry and didn't think about how I would get away or what would happen next," Reed said, the words coming out unexpectedly. "Everything that happened on that square enraged me. I felt I couldn't just let it be but I didn’t think much then. That’s why they caught me."

  "Did you do it because of me?"

  Reed nodded and then added, "And I would do it again."

  Reed wasn't lying when he said that. Meredith wasn't the only reason he had killed the Blessed One, but she was far from the last. And he really would have done it again. He just would have prepared better. That decision had been impulsive, anguished, and truly ill-considered. He was angered by how much power people like the Blessed One held. They threw lives around like trash, showing no mercy. Everyone in the crowd who rejoiced at the execution could have ended up on the scaffold tomorrow, but they cheered. And that pissed him off too. Reed himself wasn't an icon of order and piety, but he didn't want to kill without a reason. When he took contracts, he had a choice: he could kill or he could refuse, and he regularly exercised that choice.

  "If that man sent you to penal servitude for killing the Blessed One, it means they were in it together," Meredith said slowly, breaking the silence.

  "Yeah, the Council gets paid for helping the Church during the hunt. And also, because killing someone is illegal."

  "Then I hope you succeed."

  Meredith, still clutching Reed's gift, headed to her room. He remained standing until he suddenly called out to her.

  "May I ask you a question as well?"

  She turned and nodded silently. Her gaze was unwavering.

  "Why did you follow me?"

  "You already asked."

  "And you never answered."

  Meredith shrugged. "You were sent there because of me."

  "Dita..."

  "Because of the Blessed One," she interrupted, giving Reed no chance to object. "I have no one else, and you... you've done so much for me. I didn't want you to be in pain."

  Reed found no answer and simply nodded, watching her nervously clutch the only valuable gift she had ever received. Meredith was calm as she spoke of her sacrifice, but fear swirled in her eyes. It had been with her for a long time, wearing masks to hide. But Reed had already learned to peer beneath those masks. He always knew what Meredith feared or how she looked like when she was unhappy or pleased.

  Before leaving, she looked at Reed one last time. "I will help you."

  Reed had no time to respond as Meredith was already gone. She didn't want to hear objections, and her voice was so full of confidence. She was sure that Reed would take her with him that he couldn't find the words to refuse. Of course, he wouldn't take a child on a mission, but how, keeping her out of it was another problem to solve. A sigh escaped his lips as he sank into a chair, staring mindlessly at the flames in the hearth.

  ***

  It rained that evening. Again. Reed picked up Meredith and moved her to another place. His plan wouldn't take long and Forfield was close at hand. Forfield was to be the next stop. If you kill a Council member, it's obvious that simply moving to another city won't be enough to feel secure. They would begin searching for him, and Reed counted on reaching the border before the Guard could spread word of the reward for his head. If they moved fast, there was a chance.

  Reed had prepared for a long time. He had never planned a kill this meticulously. As he learned of the reinforcements in the capital Guard, he couldn't ignore it. A plan had formed even before he finished reading the papers that belonged to the officer Reed had killed.

  Naturally, they would search for the officer's killer, but would they find one? How could they, when the man responsible had long since been written off? Reed knew no one expected his appearance in the capital and took advantage of that, staging the murder to look like a botched robbery. From the papers, he learned about several kreyghars who were to join the service in the capital. Killing commanders and officers was dangerous, unreliable, and rash. It was better to slip right in among them, and Reed knew what he had to do. There were no portraits of the conscripted guardsmen, and obtaining documents wasn't a problem. The dead love to share.

  According to the description, Reed could only pass for one of them. It was the kreyghar from Marren. The guardsman was due in the capital in two days, which meant there was still time to set an ambush. Reed rode out that same night, deeming it a practical move. First, while they were searching for the officer's killer, Reed would be far away. Second, it gave him more time to prepare the trap.

  He had to take Meredith with him, and not just because he feared leaving her alone in the city. She was to serve as a distraction. It was the first and last time Reed deemed her involvement appropriate, and Meredith readily agreed. By the evening of the next day, they were already outside the capital. Reed scouted the road leading to Marren, hoping the guardsman would choose this specific route. Taking detours was pointless and slow, and the man was expected at his post. Besides, who would dare delay a man in armor with a sword at his side? Even petty thieves and brigands rarely risked attacking guardsmen, knowing the trouble far outweighed the profit.

  They didn't have to linger by the road for long. The rain added to the misery and irritation, but Reed was full of cold determination and viewed the downpour as just another whim of nature. Meredith found the waiting harder. She couldn't sit still and sometimes grumbled, complaining about the weather. Reed understood her, though. She wasn't used to such conditions, nor to waiting for something uncertain. The fleeting chances of success were not enough motivation for her. She only kept herself in check because of her promise to help.

  The day neared its end, giving way to an equally nauseating, wet evening. Reed and Meredith sat a short distance from the road as they needed to see it without losing sight of any travelers. As twilight fell, Reed extinguished the fire, drawing a snort from Meredith as she huddled into her cloak. The merchant caravans had passed long ago, and none of the occasional travelers looked like a guardsman on the move. Guardsmen had their own distinct habits. They never hid their swords, riding with their blades flashing for all to see. Warriors always boasted of their steel, treating their weapons with a near-sacred reverence. Moreover, Reed knew the target’s general features.

  He saw him as dawn loomed on the horizon. Giving Meredith the command, he went around to catch the man by surprise. Everything happened as if in a dream. Reed barely thought about what he was doing. The plan in his head was perfect. Reality seemed like just another trick of the imagination during preparation. Then, Meredith ran onto the road, wet and pale with horror in her eyes, and screamed. The kreyghar slowed down as he noticed the child, and then the horse suddenly reared up. Blood splashed into the mud as the bowstring still vibrated, shaking off cold droplets. Reed could hear only the ominous whistle of the arrow that had pierced the horse’s neck just as it began to slow. The guardsman had no time to react. The dying animal pinned him to the ground, twitching.

  Meredith smiled eerily as she watched the scene. Reed leapt from cover, tossed aside the bow, drew his blade, and approached with a measured step. He waved Meredith away and knelt. Heavy raindrops dripped from his hair, tracing icy paths down his cheeks before vanishing into the collar of his leather armor. Reed tossed aside the guardsman’s helmet and grabbed him by the hair.

  Naturally, the kreyghar tried to resist, but the weight of the dead horse pinned his leg and robbed him of maneuverability. Reed had known this would happen. It was the reason he had shot the horse. He stepped on the kreyghar’s arm, grinding the guardsman’s palm into the mud. Then, Reed knelt, pinning the man down with his other knee. He didn't want blood to splatter the armor, so he drove the dagger into the man's eye. The guardsman convulsed, nearly throwing Reed off, but soon fell silent.

  Contrary to expectations, Meredith had not turned away, and he felt an unaccustomed sting of shame. Yet, there was no regret in her eyes. There was nothing there at all. Exhaling, Reed adjusted his clothes, stowed the dagger, and began to remove the armor from the dead guardsman.

  The success was minor, but it was enough to satisfy him. After returning to the capital, Reed studied the documents he had stolen from the guardsman he was to impersonate. Once finished, he concluded it wasn't much of a loss. The kreyghar had frequently participated in the hunts, and successfully so. But unlike Reed, that man had fully understood the path he chose. The armor was a bit loose, but who would bother checking? His ears were well-hidden within the folds of the guardsman’s palaka, the cloth warriors usually wore beneath their helmets. It would suffice for now as by the time anyone questioned why Reed refused to remove the palaka, he would be long gone from the city.

  Toward evening, he went to the Guard headquarters, the location of which he had scouted long before becoming an impostor. They met him coldly, drenching him in a wave of irritation over his delay, before sending him off to the barracks. As Reed had hoped, the presence of the palaka drew no questions. They only asked him to show his face as they verified his papers. Reed feared they would force him to remove the hood entirely, but that night he was lucky. It made sense. Who would check for elven ears if they didn't suspect an intruder? Still, a faint trace of anxiety lingered as he entered the room where the watchmen waited.

  After an hour, Reed realized that engaging with kreyghars was far easier when they didn't know they were speaking to an elf. It seemed his prejudices were not so far from the truth. Belden people had no place in the Guard. They were never invited over, never shared tables in decent establishments, and were never asked about their service or the hunt. They were simply hated. By concealing his origin, Reed only confirmed his suspicions about the kreyghars.

  After spinning a few heavily modified tales about his supposed 'service,' he took out a bottle. It was part of the plan as well. Reed already knew who was assigned to guard Ermod’s house. Reed had memorized their names and now knew their faces. He even confirmed his information once the guardsmen became more talkative.

  Nothing in his demeanor betrayed his anger, impatience, or hatred. Reed joked and laughed at their jokes, listening to their stories and weaving his own tales while pouring the guardsmen glass after glass of tsipur. He told them such a vintage could only be found in Marren. The guards drank, unaware that the 'special ingredient' had been added not by a distiller, but by Reed himself. A little something, procured from a man whose trade was far from the production of fine spirits.

  The 'ingredient' had a delayed effect, ensuring Reed remained clean. The drunken guards eventually dispersed, and Reed headed out for his own watch. In an hour or two, the poison would take hold, and guard duty would be the last thing on their minds. Reed hadn't bothered to buy a sleeping draught as he had chosen poison from the start. After listening to the stories and boasts of the guardsmen, he was certain that their deaths would be no great loss to society.

  Reed stabbed his shift partner and dragged the body into an alleyway, leaving it there as he departed. It didn't bother him that the guardsman had noticed his elven ears in the heat of the struggle. Reed never intended to leave the man alive anyway. Shedding the armor along the way, he threw the pieces aside, savoring the lightness of his familiar gear. His cloak billowed in the wind, merging with the night sighs of nature, and Reed smiled as he felt the rain approaching. He was pleased not so much by the rain itself as by the advantages it brought. First, the noise would mask any accidental sounds. Second, it would wash away his tracks. They would search for Ermod’s body, but by the time they found it, Reed would be far from the capital. Along his intended route, the guards were already collapsing, making it easy to slip past. The poison had taken hold and soon they would drift into an eternal sleep.

  He waited for Ermod around the corner of his own house. What fool would decorate a mansion with pillars so easy to hide behind? If his calculations were correct, the wait wouldn't be long, but his impatience grew, clawing at him. Reed couldn't stand still and kept looking around. It started raining soon, just as Reed expected. The first drops drummed loudly against the roofs, masking the scraping of armor against the cobblestones as the guardsmen departed to their gods. He stood watching as trickles of cold, dirty water gathered into puddles. Soon he heard footsteps. Reed looked out, peering from the cover of shadows and stone arches. A commoner. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Reed returned to his position, boring into the space before him with a venomous stare.

  Some time later, Ermod appeared, and Reed nearly leapt from his spot. He let the man approach before stepping out into the light of the street lamps, grabbing Ermod by the collar. Reed slammed Ermod’s face into the stone wall of his own house, and dragging him into the darkness.

  "Recognize me?" Reed rasped directly into Ermod’s ear, not letting go. The sound of tearing fabric followed as Ermod tried to break free. Though he was larger, he was no match for Reed's strength.

  "You!" he gasped, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. "You’re dead!"

  "Maybe I am," Reed chuckled darkly, slamming Ermod’s head against the wall again. Blood streaked the man's face. Ermod coughed, falling to the ground.

  "What do you want?"

  "You already know," Reed’s voice was a hiss, barely audible over the rain. He kicked the kreyghar in the chest, pinning him to the cold stones of the city streets.

  "I’ll give you money! All the reports say you’re dead. You can just leave!"

  A hysterical chuckle escaped Reed’s lips, turning into a grimace of the rage he had carried since his second escape from the chains. He raised his blade and struck deep beneath Ermod’s ribs, twisting it before pulling it out. He struck again and again, until the rage finally ebbed away.

  When Ermod was nothing more than a bleeding husk, Reed exhaled and habitually smoothed his hair, as if he were stooping to pick up a handkerchief rather than taking a life.

  Soon, Ermod’s body was in a storm drain leading out of the city. It wouldn't wash away overnight, but the guards wouldn't look for the body there immediately. A smile lit Reed’s face as he walked away, passing the bodies of the guardsmen lying dead in the district that had become the finish line of his revenge. He encountered living souls along the way but drew no suspicion, receiving only a few insults that brought nothing but a smile to his lips.

  Meredith sat on her horse, gloomy and dissatisfied, looking like a sparrow caught in a downpour. She remained silent, though she was angry that Reed had found no reason for her to participate in the job. He believed there was no reason for her to be that deeply involved. The rain exhausted and irritated her. Reed had realized that long ago. Winking at her, he smiled again. Meredith simply let out a sigh of relief, nodding in response.

  Reed leapt onto his horse and spurred it forward. With every passing moment, Argain grew more distant, but neither rider turned to look back as the capital faded behind the horizon.