The Fire Mountains and the Ragged Sea are just two of the natural barriers that encircle the Dust Empire. The Ashen Desert and the Sea of a Thousand White Fangs lie to the north, the Emerald Death to the east, and the Rasanthe Ocean and the Dust to the south. This isolated location makes it easy to see why the Empire has maintained a very isolationist approach to other nations; it is a small world by itself.

  Excerpt from 'Annotated History of the Dust Empire'

  “I still don't like this plan,” Cecille said as she stared out the closed carriage's window at the passing houses.

  Rocam huffed. “You agreed to it all the same.”

  She turned to face him. “I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. There are too many things that can go wrong.”

  “There are always things that can go wrong,” Rocam replied as he rubbed his forehead; he was clearly growing tired of Cecille's complaints. “If we want the information we need, this is the only way to get it in the short time available.”

  “I know, I know,” Cecille said, waving her hand in a warding gesture, “but to kidnap one outright with the intent of torturing the information out of him? We've never done something so violent before.”

  “I will take care of the marrow digging; the only thing you have to do is make certain we grab someone suitable. The bar sees several of them every night, so you will have enough time to pick a target. You signal us who it should be, and we'll pick them up once they head back to their haunt.”

  “You and Ventus,” Cecille said uncertainly, glancing to her side where Ventus was twirling a crossbow bolt between his fingers. I don't like exposing Ventus to dangerous things like this.

  Rocam noted her glance. “He can take care of himself. He knows how to use a crossbow, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “You could have let Hans back you up.”

  “And what would your excuse for being at Echeb's trade-house be then?”

  “We could have thought of something else,” Cecille said before throwing up her hands. “Oh, forget it. Let's just get this over with.”

  A short time later the carriage arrived at Echeb's trade-house and Cecille stepped out of the carriage.

  I must be insane to do this, she thought as she looked at Echeb's trade-house, basking in the soft yellow light of the setting sun. She wondered if she really was ready to walk into the lion's den.

  Let's get this over with. Cecille pulled open the door and stepped inside.

  Despite the late hour, the trade-house bustled with activity. At least half the booths were filled with men speaking in various tones of agitation, as servers ran around bringing refreshments and taking orders from the merchants.

  One of the trade-house's negotiators approached Cecille. “Can I be of service?”

  “Yes,” Cecille replied. “I'm to meet a scent trader from Rios here. Has he arrived yet?”

  “What is his name?”

  “Tosh Valerr.”

  The negotiator pointed towards the back. “He's sitting right there.”

  Cecille followed the man's finger and spotted Hans, who had seated himself in an open booth near the rear of the main room.

  “Thank you.”

  As she approached, Hans rose from his chair in greeting. “Madam De Alistrin. I'm pleased you made it.”

  “Sir Valerr,” Cecille said, inclining her head. “I'm glad you could meet me on such short notice.”

  “Allow me,” Hans said, pulling out a chair.

  Cecille sat down and took a moment to survey her surroundings. The location Hans had chosen allowed a clear view of the rear of the trade-house. Cecille's gaze wandered through the room until it finally alighted on an inconspicuous door towards the back. That door led to a small enclosed garden between this building and the adjacent one, which housed the members of the Duster syndicate.

  So far, so good.

  “Is everything in order?” Hans asked with an apologetic smile.

  “Yes, it's fine,” Cecille said, beaming a smile back. “Now if you please, tell me what you have on offer for the coming winter.”

  Hans started to talk, yet Cecille did not listen to him beyond the first couple of words. Everything he was saying had been carefully rehearsed between the two of them the day before so that he could pose as Tosh Valerr, a scent trader from Rios, providing Cecille with a legitimate reason to be here. It was part of the plan Rocam had suggested two days earlier: kidnap one of the syndicate members and learn as much from him as possible.

  She had been stunned by the audacity of the idea, but at the same time she understood there was no other way. Only by interrogating one of the syndicate's members directly could her outfit hope to gain the information they needed within the little time that was left.

  He made it sound so easy, but operations like this never go the way you want.

  One problem had already raised its head. Cecille noticed that the bar was devoid of syndicate members. Great, nobody here. This operation is off to a good start. Those Dusters better show up before closing time.

  Time went by and Cecille watched the light of the sunset recede from the room, leaving it in the warm glow of the wall-mounted sun sigils. The back door remained closed save for the occasional employee.

  “It seems that nothing has caught your interest,” Hans said, giving her a knowing look.

  “I'm sorry,” Cecille said, realizing that Hans had exhausted his rehearsed story. “Perhaps you have something else to offer? These standard items are already familiar to me. I'm looking for something more exciting and stimulating.”

  “I might have something to that end.”

  He took a small runestone from his pocket, charged it and then placed it on the table between them.

  “Will a voicesphere suffice?” Hans asked.

  “What's the radius?” Cecille asked. “Is it working?”

  “It is now.”

  She tilted her head towards the back of the booth. “I'm sure that negotiator with the triangular goatee is sitting on the other side of that board.”

  “Anyone behind there isn't within the sphere.” Hans said, tapping the dark-blue stone. “Although I find it rather odd that a trade-house would eavesdrop on their patrons. That can't be good for business.”

  “It's because they are hiding something. I'm sure of it.”

  “Hiding something indeed. It's not going well, is it?”

  Cecille shook her head. “According to Rocam, there should be at least a handful of them at the bar right now, but do you see anyone besides those two old coots?”

  Hans did not turn his head to look. “I noticed.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “You're asking me?” Hans said, a hint of confusion creeping into his expression.

  Cecille felt blood rushing to her cheeks. What am I saying? I'm the operator. I'm the one who's supposed to decide what happens next.

  She covered her mouth with her hand before biting her lip. She wasn't accustomed to someone waiting for her to tell them what to do. Both Rocam and Ventus usually did whatever they felt like, albeit for different reasons.

  I suppose we just have to wait. We can halt the operation whenever we want. She plucked at her dress sleeve. Or is that too passive? Should I do more than that?

  “We will have to wait. Maybe they will show up later.” She reached into her pocket to signal Rocam.

  Over an hour of fake gesturing and handling small bottles later, there was no sign of any Dusters and the trade-house was starting to empty as closing time approached.

  This is a bust, Cecille thought. Wherever they are, they aren't here.

  “Do you want to stay until closing time?” Hans asked.

  “No. I don't think they're going to show up. Rocam signalled he is certain they were here every night the previous few nights, yet they aren't now.” She let her gaze wander over the now almost empty room.

  “Might they know of our plan?”

  Cecille snapped her eyes back to Hans. “What? No. That's impossible.” It was an unexpected suggestion. One that she hadn't considered at all. Could that be the reason? She shook her head in bewilderment. No, it can't be.

  “In any case,” Hans said. “I think it's a good idea to leave. If we are the last people here, we will stand out too much.”

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  Cecille nodded. “I agree. They are about to close anyway. Let's just give them some parting lines and then leave.” She reached for the voicesphere to give it to Hans, only to freeze mid-motion.

  The back door she had been watching swung open and three men came through it. Two of them weren't familiar to her, but she recognized the third one.

  Rishad...

  She placed the voicesphere back on the table and shifted towards the back of the booth.

  Why is he here? I thought the three of them were holed up in Echeb's mansion?

  Hans leaned forward on his elbows, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “That's a possible mark, I assume?”

  “Yes. The one with the unshaven head.”

  While Rishad's hair didn't match his companions' soldier cut, his outfit did. A brigandine, combined with boiled leather gear for his limbs. The only thing missing was a helmet.

  “They look ready for battle,” Hans said.

  He's right, they do. She moved as far back into the booth as possible. If Rishad spotted her here, it would be troublesome.

  The three Dusters walked towards the front of the room and Rishad addressed one of the negotiators there.

  “Are we still leaving?” Hans asked, eyeing the Dusters who were now within his field of view.

  Cecille racked her brain. Rishad was the perfect mark, as he was bound to possess the information they wanted. However, the plan was to grab someone who was alone and tipsy; Rishad was neither.

  Hans drummed his fingers on the table; a sign that Cecille took for impatience.

  I need to decide. But what is the best decision?

  In her pocket the signal stone vibrated again. She grabbed it to see what Rocam was saying.

  Spotted three targets. Mark?

  Cecille's breath became shallow. The sudden pressure of the decision lay heavily upon her, and for the briefest of instants she wanted to let it all go and return to her house, sit on the couch, and eat a sweetcake.

  No! I'm not going to back out. I've suffered enough humiliations the past week. I will not let it all be for nothing.

  She jumped up from her seat, startling Hans. “Are they looking this way?”

  “No, but it looks like they are finishing their conversation.”

  Good. “I'm going to the toilet. From there I will wait until Rishad comes back and signal Rocam.”

  “Rishad? Isn't he one of the leaders? And why do you need to be there for that?”

  “There's three of them. It would be better if I'm there as well. And besides, they might spot me if I remain here.”

  Hans looked like he wanted to protest, but she cut him off. “You pretend to leave, then find somewhere you can keep an eye on the front of the trade-house. If they don't go through the back, you can follow them. You can use a shade shroud, correct?”

  “Yes, I can.” Hans replied. If he had something more to add about Cecille's sudden plan, he kept it to himself.

  “Go then,” Cecille instructed, before pacing towards the back door.

  Beyond lay a narrow hallway with a door at the end that led to the enclosed garden. Two doors on the left in turn led to the toilets. She dove into the one nearest to the exit, and signalled Rocam to get ready.

  And now I wait.

  The smell of urine worked its way into her nostrils and she wiggled her nose in disgust.

  Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long. On Cecille's right, the distinct creak of the hallway door opening reached her ears, followed by the heavy footsteps of several people.

  That must be them. ?ther flowed from her hands into the signal stone.

  The stone gave a short signal back. Ready.

  Another door opened. This time the sound came from Cecille's left.

  They've gone outside.

  Cecille opened the door of the toilet and peered around it. The back door was ajar, exposing a small crack of darkness.

  “Check the alley,” she could hear Rishad say in the distance. “See if it's empty.”

  Oh, krat. Both Rocam and Ventus had hidden themselves in that alley somewhere, and neither of them was capable of using a shroud spell.

  She shuffled forward towards the exit and peeked through the crack. Rishad and one other man were standing in the middle of the garden. She could make out the silhouette of the third man as he walked up to the tall fence.

  “Nobody there,” the third man said.

  That's a relief.

  “Good. We meet again at the staging point,” Rishad said.

  Then he rose steadily up into the air and vanished into the night, leaving Cecille staring at the night sky open-mouthed.

  Did he just fly away?! She blinked several times to see if it wasn't just the sparse light playing tricks on her. But that's impossible!

  The second man also began to ascend, and Cecille tilted her head upwards to follow him until he was gone as well. When she turned her head back down, she noticed the last of the three had made his way to the middle of the garden and was doing something with his outfit that Cecille couldn't make out.

  With a grunt, he finished whatever it was that he was doing, and started his ascent as well.

  Somewhere on her left Cecille heard a snapping sound, and the man dropped out of the air like a sack of potatoes. He hit the ground with a thud, and a dark figure burst through the fence gate immediately after.

  Is that Rocam?

  The new figure kneeled down next to the fallen Duster and Cecille could hear soft chuckling. She recognized the voice. It was Ventus.

  Cecille became aware that she was still standing in the hallway and slipped through the door, closing it behind her.

  Ventus jumped to his feet and stretched out an arm towards her.

  “It's me,” Cecille said. “Did you get him?”

  “Oh, Cecille,” Ventus said. “I thought it was you. I got one.”

  She jogged over towards him as quickly as her dress allowed. “Did you see those men, Ventus? They flew away.”

  “They sure did!” Ventus exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement and waving his crossbow around.

  “Be quiet,” Cecille said. “Where's Rocam?”

  “There were some men he had to speak to.”

  Some men to speak to? At a time like this?

  She recalled Hans' earlier remark about the Dusters being aware of their plan. What if Rocam is playing both sides?

  “Look,” Ventus said, holding something up. “This is a big one.”

  Cecille looked at the object, straining her eyes in the light of two distant sun sigils.

  It's a runestone; a big one with an odd shape. Does this rune contain a spell to make them fly?

  “Take all his runestones, Ventus,” Cecille said, “especially that one. Hide it well.”

  “Yes.”

  “What the blaze are you doing here?” came a hushed voice from the dark.

  Cecille knew it was Rocam even if she hadn't recognized his voice. “Forget about that, where were you?”

  “I had to distract some passers-by,” he answered as he arrived at the body and looked down upon it. “Is he dead?”

  “They flew,” Ventus said, waving his free hand in a flowing motion. “So I shot him like a bird.”

  Rocam kneeled next to the Duster and felt his neck. “He's dead alright. What were you saying about flying?”

  “They lifted themselves up in the air and vanished,” Cecille said. “That's what they did.”

  “Oh,” Rocam said before falling silent for a moment.

  This is the first time I've seen him lost for words.

  “Operation is done then,” Rocam eventually said. “Let's bail.” He pulled the body up by its shoulders. “Ventus, get the legs.”

  “Could I fly too?” Ventus asked, grabbing hold of the body.

  “Who knows? Let's get out of here. Whatever it was that these Dusters were planning, it is happening right now. Let's ditch this corpse somewhere out of sight and then regroup.”

  “I'm going back inside,” Cecille said.

  “Are you insane?” Rocam hissed. “Just come with us.”

  “If they don't see me leave, they will think I have something to do with all this.”

  Rocam mumbled something in response that Cecille couldn't make out, before shuffling away out of the garden, carrying the corpse with Ventus.

  She ignored what was no doubt an unflattering remark and went back inside. The hallway was as empty as before, and she took a moment to calm herself.

  A tumult of thoughts were tumbling over one another in her mind, but she knew now wasn't the time to mull things over.

  I must make sure they see me leave and then meet up with Hans. After that, we can try to figure out what is going on.

  With an air of confidence, Cecille swung open the door and stepped through it. The booth she had been occupying was now empty and there was no sign of Hans.

  Good.

  Pleased, she hurried towards the exit, nodding goodbyes to some of the nearby employees.

  She was almost at the front door when a voice stopped her. “Madam De Alistrin.”

  A deep chill enveloped her. It was a voice she had heard before; one with an Enti accent.

  She turned her head and there, seemingly out of nowhere, stood Kaseem, the man who had held the conversation with the magistrate at Echeb's soirée.

  “I am surprised to see you here,” he added, regarding her with a cold stare.

  Cecille was a heartbeat away from total panic. This can't happen. Not now. Why run into him? Why is he even here?

  The front door was less than ten paces away, yet that insignificant distance suddenly appeared enormous.

  Kaseem noted her looking towards the exit, and gestured to two of the men with him. They sprung into action and ran towards Cecille.

  Run. I must run, she told herself, yet she could not move; her earlier confidence had fled from her body, taking all its strength with it.

  The first of the two men grabbed her arms and she allowed him to twist them behind her back.

  Another voice came from behind Kaseem. “What is this? Who is this?”

  The round belly of Echeb appeared from behind the group of men, and its owner positioned himself next to Kaseem. He inspected Cecille for a moment, starting at her breasts before moving up to her face.

  “What are you doing, Kaseem?” he said in Enti. “Do you fancy her?”

  Kaseem did not respond, merely glowering at Echeb as if the suggestion offended him.

  “What are you doing?” Cecille said, having recovered a bit of her strength. “Unhand me.”

  “That's not going to happen,” Kaseem answered in Rion. “I have some questions for you.”

  “Leave her alone, Kaseem,” Echeb said. “This is bad for my business.”

  “To the burning sands with your business,” Kaseem snapped in Enti. “Go back upstairs and prepare yourself. I'll take care of this.”

  Echeb hesitated.

  Kaseem again glowered at him, and raised his arm as if intending to command another one of his men.

  “Have it your way then,” Echeb said. He scuttled away out of Cecille's view.

  “You can't keep me here,” Cecille said. “I'm a citizen of Tasselhane. You can't treat me like this.”

  Kaseem approached Cecille. “Do not play stupid with me, woman. I know what happened between you and Fazir.”

  He smirked when he saw Cecille's shock. “Yes, I know. Fazir tells me these things.”

  This is very bad. “I'm here for a trade opportunity; ask the negotiators.” She looked around for one of the trade-house employees, but realized they had all left. There was nobody here except Kaseem and his men.

  “After Fazir told me,” Kaseem continued, “I believed him that you were just a drunk whore, yet now I find you here on this particular night.” He beckoned to one of the men holding her. “Search her.”

  With obvious glee, one of her two captors ran his hands over her body, making certain to touch every part. After he was done fondling her breasts, he found the signal stones in her hidden pocket.

  “Runes,” the man said as he held up the signal stones.

  “This is rape,” Cecille said with a broken voice. “Unhand me, or the garrison will hear about this.” She struggled against her captors, but their grips were like iron shackles, making the attempt futile.

  Kaseem laughed.

  It was a very unpleasant cackling sound; he held his chest as his head bobbed up and down with each cackle.

  Cecille stopped trying to free herself. It had begun to dawn on her that something was very wrong here, beyond their being in full battle gear. Why is he so confident about this? What is it they are going to do?

  “The garrison will hear of this?” Kaseem said mockingly, finally recovering from his outburst. “Maybe they will, but matter it will not. Not after this night.” He looked at the man to Cecille's left. “Take her to the billet and lock her up. We'll see in the morning if she really is a spy.”

  The man who had searched her dragged her through the room towards the back door she had emerged from moments earlier.

  Cecille let it happen in a daze. Where did everything go so wrong?

  When they entered the garden, a flicker of hope flared up inside her. Maybe Rocam and Ventus are still nearby.

  “Help! I'm being held captive!” she yelled.

  The Duster growled and smacked her in the face, causing her to spin around and fall down. The iron taste of blood entered her mouth.

  “Shut up, whore,” her captor said. He picked her up and pulled her onward towards the neighbouring house.

  Cecille struggled with all her might while staring at the dark alley, hoping to hear the sound of a crossbow bolt being fired.

  It did not happen.

  Upon entering the house and seeing the door close behind her, Cecille went limp and tears started to stream down her face.

  I should have left with Ventus and Rocam. Why was I so stupid to go back inside?

  Her captor dragged her up several stairs and threw her into a small room, locking the door behind her.

  Cecille curled up into a ball in the dark, crying and wishing this was all a bad dream.

  She had no idea how long she had been laying there when a pale orange light washed over the ceiling above her.

  What's that?

  Swallowing her sobs and rubbing away her tears with the sleeve of her dress, she got to her feet and staggered towards the room's sole window. There she had no trouble spotting the source of the light, as it would have been clear to everyone within a ten-kivor radius.

  That's why Kaseem laughed when I mentioned the garrison, she thought, as the light of the inferno that engulfed the citadel shone on her face. They aren't here to attack the other syndicates. They are here to attack us all.