Ashja went down to the common room to break her fast. She sat at the same table she had shared with Morhirr and Fynnwyn the day before, only this time, her back was to the wall. She had a fairly good view of the common room.

She thought about what she should do this day. She needed to learn her way around the dockside and find more clothing. The tunic and trews had worn through in places. Her weapons and armor needed repair. What she really wanted was one of the lightweight outfits she had worn during her sparring lessons with the monks. It was much easier for her to stay balanced than when she wore even the lightest leather armor.

After a satisfying meal, she left the tavern with a spring in her step and a goal in her mind. The first stop was to find clothing that didn’t make her look like a beggar. She headed toward the Dockmaster’s Plaza and happened upon a tax collector by the name of Sylben Ango. He was looking for someone, anyone, to help him collect a debt.

Why not? she thought. I haven’t found the armorer yet.

She approached the man and offered her services. The task seemed simple enough; search the house, find the goods for the tax, and deliver them to Master Ango. Just the kind of job Ashja liked. Slick, quick, simple.

She entered the house and searched it from top to bottom. No cloth merchant. No goods. The only place left to search was the basement. And it reminded her of the training house she had had to endure when she was first adopted by the cult. Dark, dank, dangerous.

She crept through the darkness, using her ears and the air on her skin to guide her steps. She closed her eyes. They were mostly useless in the blackness of the basement, anyway. Carefully, she placed one foot in front of the other, her mind slipping back in time.

**********

The darkness was total. She could hear, smell, taste, feel. But she could not see. She closed her eyes. The sounds of the magical constructs caught her attention and drew her blades. She smelled the oil that coated their bodies, tasted it when one passed close by. The air around her shifted. She struck out with her sword once, twice, and it no longer moved. A pool of oil crept toward her feet. Best get moving before it soaked into her boots and made her footprints visible. She sheathed her weapons and hoped the noise of the skirmish hadn’t attracted more mechanical sentries. Or worse yet, a guard.

She wondered if Brother Varn realized she was gone for good. She was supposed to be performing her morning rituals, doing her morning chores, then on to the training house. Instead, she’d donned her armor and belted on her weapons under her robe, then hurried out of the monastery. Her boots would have given her away had anyone looked. It was a good thing she was diligent about her morning duties, otherwise they might have noticed her premature departure. She figured she had a two-hour start. If her luck held, she would get have four hours’ start before Brother Varn noticed she had fled.

Ashja pulled out her bow and nocked an arrow, another held in reserve. She moved with her back to the wall, senses stretched into the darkness. This time, she smelled it before she heard it. She pulled the string on her bow, aiming at the sound. *Thwack, thwack, thud* Two down. She put away her bow, then crept forward.

She knew what would happen if they caught her. She shuddered. But she had to get away to find out how far the evil had spread. What she had overheard Brother Varn say the evening before she left had turned her blood to ice. The Eldrid Brotherhood was planning assassinations of high-level government officials. Most especially those officials who resisted or opposed the spread of their sacred doctrine into secular affairs.

She cocked her head to one side and crept ahead. Two more mechanical sentries approached. Drawing her blades, she backed herself into a corner and waited. The sentries paced the tunnel where she had just been, closing in on her scent. In moments, they attacked. Her blades flashed, striking metal. She searched for the joints, the weak spots of the mechanical devices.

Oil splashed across her hands, making her weapons slippery and hard to hold. She reacted as the monks had taught. She sheathed her weapons, centered herself, and attacked with a series of throws and twists that tore the joints, releasing the precious fluid. The sentries lay motionless. She opened her eyes and saw a dim light in the distance.

**********

Ashja followed the trail of broken crystal lamps that still gave off a faint light. She found the merchant and convinced him to settle his debt. She returned to Master Ango with the payment, and asked him for directions to the nearest armorer. He directed her to The Arsenal. She finished her errands and returned to the inn, a lot on her mind.