Bricker and Nobles Publishing

By V. Bricker and K. Nobles

PROLOGUE

The Sword and Scimitar, a bar that Khalil frequented in Markaza, the capital city of Alkhazai, was not as busy as it normally was. On most nights, the place would be flooded with patrons, but either it was still too early for such a crowd, or the coming monsoons had the city’s people working extra hours to make up for the time lost during the rains. Settling himself at his usual table, Khalil watched a few people drift in and out of the front door. He caught the bartender’s eye, and the older man promptly poured a tankard of ale for him and sent it over with one of the serving women. Her long black curls bounced as she approached, and she set the drink on the table in front of him, white foam spilling over the side. The woman gave him a wink and turned away, sauntering back to the bar. Khalil grinned as he watched her leave, enjoying the sway of her hips, before picking up the tankard and taking a long drink. It was cool and brisk on his parched throat. 

Loud giggling drew his attention to another table near him. A man with a face identical to his sat between a woman dressed in tight clothing that accentuated her curves and a man, who looked like he’d crawled up from the city’s underbelly, with a narrow face and dark eyes that constantly darted around the room. The woman fawned over his twin brother, Jamal, leaning in to whisper in his ear and making him chuckle. He looked up and his eyes met Khalil’s, which were the same golden amber color as his. Jamal grinned at him and turned his head to whisper something back to the woman, making her blush. 

Khalil raised his eyebrows, amazed at the ease with which his brother operated. Jamal had no difficulty accepting his lot in life and enjoyed himself thoroughly. He and Jamal had grown up together, and while they looked alike, Khalil felt that they had radically different personalities. Jamal seemed to revel in what they did, but Khalil… Well, he knew what they were doing wasn’t right. Sometimes, he felt so disgusted with himself that no amount of drink or soft flesh could wash the feeling away. 

But what could he do about it? Maybe it wasn’t what he wanted in life, but he didn’t have the power to change it. This was what the gods had given him. 

Khalil felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. It was the feeling of being watched. He lifted the tankard to his lips again and glanced around the room. There were a couple of the usual girls, who were leering and whispering to each other, as well as patrons that he’d seen before. Two older men with long graying beards played chess in the corner, another larger man in his thirties sat at the bar, and a local merchant and his son worked on their ledgers at another table in between drinks. There was Jamal, of course, but he seemed too occupied with his companion to pay him any mind. 

The only person he didn’t recognize was the bard playing softly on a sitar at the back of the room, but that wasn’t odd. Performers constantly flowed through the area. This woman was not from Alkhazai or the surrounding countries, with her fair skin and hazel eyes. She was older than him by a few years and was dressed in the styles he’d seen coming out of the west, with their layers of clothing that covered most of their bodies. It was unfortunate for her that she wouldn’t make much coin with such a sparse crowd.

He glanced at the leering girls and caught the eye of the pretty dark-haired one dressed in red. Lowering her eyelashes seductively, she grinned at Khalil, then wove her way toward him. She added an extra sway to her step, making her hips that much more pronounced. Setting his drink on the table, Khalil returned her grin, and the feeling of being watched passed. The woman slid into the chair next to him and placed one manicured hand on his arm as the bard struck up a more stirring tune. He downed the rest of his ale in one long pull and waved to the barkeep for another. With a glance down at her bosom, he leaned into her, the heady scent of poppies flooding his senses. Khalil let himself be carried away in the melody and in the wandering hands and exposed flesh of the woman attending him. 

Several ales later, the dark-haired woman had moved to sit in his lap, and another woman with large eyes and skin the color of charcoal had joined them. It was getting late, and he should probably have started making his way back to his quarters, but he was enjoying himself too much. Maybe he would stay the night. Places like this always had rooms available for private entertainment, for a price. 

Khalil stood, the two women still hanging off him. They grinned, and his dark-haired companion started tugging his arm while the other urged him along from behind. They pulled him toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the upper floor. He didn’t resist. 

It wasn’t uncommon that he found himself in this position after a mission, after a kill. After such an assignment, he wanted to feel alive, to feel anything. He wanted to drown out the voice that nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that he could be more than the prince’s dog. 

The bard’s eyes met Khalil’s as he surveyed the room one last time. The greenish-brown gaze seemed to pierce through him, and he was certain that she had been the cause of the feeling he’d had earlier. She frowned slightly before turning away, giving a placating smile to a man who leered drunkenly at her. 

Khalil felt another gentle tug on his shirt and push on his back. He grinned at his companions and let himself be led up the stairs, to the pleasures that awaited. If the bard was a threat, he could deal with her 

later. He was an assassin, after all.

Khalil stood amid a crowded, dusty square. It looked like a market in Markaza, a place he could have walked through over a hundred times and never taken notice. As he considered his location, the rooftops and buildings he knew so well materialized out of the darkness beyond the square, matching his thoughts of the city beyond the little market. The wind kicked up the sand lining the street and flung it into the air, tinting his vision with a goldish-brown cloud and obstructing the view of the city again. 

Through the haze, he spotted a man and a woman watching him. The man was tall and muscular with an angular face and hair like the sun. The woman was slender and pale with long black hair. Their eyes met his for a moment, and Khalil felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of those gazes. It was hard to breathe. His instincts screamed to either fall to his knees before them or run, but he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. Then, as abruptly as it came, the feeling was gone. The woman placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and gave a small shake of her head, then the two figures turned and faded once more into the dust.

What is going on? What am I doing here? Khalil’s thoughts seemed to hang in the air around him.

Looking at all the people crowding the market, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something was very, very wrong. The people didn’t seem to be going anywhere or doing anything. Normally, a place like this would be filled with colorful stalls selling anything the heart could desire and shouts of haggling men and women loud enough for the gods to hear. These people didn’t seem to have any purpose to their movements, and the only sound he could hear was his own heavy breathing as sweat gathered in his palms. They were silent in their vigil, as silent as the dead. 

They stopped milling about the square and all turned to stare at him at the same time, ashen-skinned under the fine coating of sand and grit. 

“Who are you?” Khalil asked, and his voice echoed like he was in a long hallway. But that wasn’t right. He was outside, wasn’t he? 

A heavyset man stood in front of him; dried clumps of dirt flecked his dark beard. Blood soaked the front of the man’s tunic from a small hole in his chest right above his heart. With a chill, Khalil recognized him as a merchant who had failed to pay the prince’s tax. The man had been one of his first kills.

Khalil jumped back from the merchant, but his back hit the stone wall of the building. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he looked more closely at the people surrounding him—men, women, and even a few children—each bearing the marks of the mortal wounds he had dealt them. They did not speak. They did not move. They only stood and stared at him with dull, lifeless eyes and bloodless faces. 

Panic began to creep in on him, closing his throat with an unfamiliar sense of suffocation, even more intense than what he’d felt under the gaze of the mysterious man and woman. He reached for his sword, but it was gone. Even the dagger he kept tucked up his sleeve was missing. Khalil balled his hands into fists, ready to strike. What else could he do? Everywhere he turned were the ghosts of those he’d murdered. 

“Khalil,” a small voice whispered from behind him. 

He whirled around and came face to face with a woman, a woman who was only a distant memory. She had long, silken, dark-brown hair and darkly bronzed skin that was exactly like his own. She looked up at him, the golden eyes he remembered in his dreams swimming with sadness. He didn’t remember her being shorter than him, but he hadn’t seen her since he was young. The woman was beautiful, as beautiful as she had been in life. 

Khalil’s arms dropped to his side, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. This couldn’t be real. “Mama…” he said softly. 

She reached out her arms, and suddenly he was a child again, enveloped in the safety of his mother’s embrace, all panic forgotten. The fear and shame he’d felt moments ago melted away until all that remained was a great sadness within him. “Mama…” he said again, sobbing into her shoulder as she embraced him. She patted his hair as they sank to the ground, holding one another. 

Khalil’s mother was dead. She’d been dead for nine years. She couldn’t be here, but he found it hard to grasp logic when she was there, holding him, comforting him. He could feel the warmth of her body as he pressed himself against her. “I’ve missed you,” she said, kissing the top of his head, and her voice sounded pained. 

He had to get her away from here, away from the ghosts that had come for him. With great effort, he pushed himself away from her, but still grasped her arms. Khalil glanced around them, looking for an escape from the market, but he needn’t have bothered. The square had disappeared along with the remnants of the lives he’d destroyed. They were in a small, dark room that was covered in dust and furnished plainly with only a bed and wardrobe. He knew this place too. It was the room in which his father had kept his mother prisoner. 

She stared at his face, examining every line and contour as if she were committing it to memory. “Khalil, I’ve come to give you a second chance.” 

“A second chance?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“Redemption,” she clarified. “Another chance to live.” 

“What are you talking about? How are you here? I thought you died. Did Father hide you from us?” There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but she just shook her head and smiled sadly. 

Leaning in to kiss his forehead, Anakah’s lips were soft and warm against his skin. “Seek the monks at Ta’Shela. Earn your redemption, my son.” She pulled back from him, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Then she reached out her hands, gently covering both of his eyes, the world around him slowly going dark. 

“I’m sorry, Khalil…” 

Khalil awoke with a start. The room was pitch black, so dark that he couldn’t see the barest hint of his surroundings. He shook his head and groaned. It felt like thousands of tiny sprites were hammering away at his skull. Rolling over, he felt soft, warm skin brush against his arm. Memories of the night before came flooding back to him as the woman let out a quiet “Mmmm…”

He reached over her to the bedside table that he was sure had been there earlier, feeling for something to use as a light. He remembered seeing an oil lamp. Was it still the middle of the night? Why was it so dark? His hand bumped something cold and hard, knocking it over. The item tumbled to the ground, the sound of breaking glass banishing the remaining drowsiness he felt. That must have been the lamp. 

The woman gasped and knocked his arm back as she moved away from him. There was the sound of a door opening and quick footsteps coming toward them. 

“Levana! Are you all right?” came another voice that he recognized, the dark-skinned woman that had shared his bed. He still could not see anything. Shouldn’t the hallway have been lit? Why hadn’t she brought a light with her? It was hard to imagine either of his companions moving around so deftly in the dark. 

“Yes,” said the woman called Levana from very close to Khalil. “It just startled me. Are you all right, my…” she trailed off with a squeak. He felt the blankets flail around him and a loud thump as she moved. Khalil patted the bed around him, but she had gone. 

“What? What is it?!” He reached out for her but only grasped at air. 

“Your eyes!” she shrieked, her voice piercing into his skull. 

Khalil winced, recoiling from the sudden flare of pain in his head, as the sound of their feet hitting the floor echoed through the darkened room and then faded moments later as they ran from him. 

He felt his face. Nothing felt different, yet he still couldn’t see anything. Not even the barest hint or indication of the bed or blankets that surrounded him. A cold feeling settled itself at the bottom of his stomach as his heart rate sped up. How had the women been able to see well enough to leave the room so quickly when he was still enveloped in this blackness? 

Khalil heard the light thumping of booted feet and then a softly whispered curse. The door creaked as it swung closed, and a small clinking sound told him that the door latch had been slid into place. He reached around for his sword and dagger, but like in his dream, they were gone. The sigh of released breath and the subtle creak of leather told him that he was not alone. Soft footfalls began to approach him. 

He leaped out of bed in an instant, hands up, ready to defend himself from this new assailant. Unarmed combat was not his specialty, but even without his weapons, he could still prove deadly. 

The footsteps halted and the intruder let out a scoff. “Oh, stop that,” came a strangely accented woman’s voice, sounding impatient. There was another rustle of cloth before something light hit Khalil’s hands. He batted it aside and resumed his defensive stance, listening for approaching footsteps. None came. Only another creak of leather and an exasperated huff.

“You have an undeniably fine physique, but considering the circumstances, it might be best if you clothe it.” The voice was amused, but Khalil didn’t drop his guard. 

Her statement broke through his confusion. Could this woman see him? A cold panic began to crawl up Khalil’s spine as he remembered the words spoken before. Your eyes…

“Who are you?” he asked, resisting the panic as best he could and trying to appear calm. He was met with only silence. Khalil was about to repeat the question when he heard the thumps of heavy footsteps out in the hall. A knock sounded at the door. The woman’s boots crossed the room quickly, the latch lifting with another click and the slight creaking of the door. 

“What’s going on up here?!” an outraged male voice demanded, the innkeeper who’d been serving him drinks the night before. “Levana was in hysterics when she woke me!” 

“What do you think is going on up here?” the female voice said back coolly, the strange accent she had earlier was now gone. “Surely, you’re used to the sounds of a good tumble ‘round here,” she spat. “It’s not my problem if your whore is too stupid to know the difference between the sounds of flaying and rutting. Now, get the hell out of my face before I find you something to scream about!” The door slammed shut. 

There was silence in the hallway. After what felt like an eternity to Khalil, the heavy footsteps retreated, and the woman let out a relieved sigh. 

“Well,” she said, accent back. “Perhaps you’ll consider getting dressed now?” The boots slowly approached again. Her voice took on a soothing tone. The same tone that he’d heard used to calm a frightened animal. “It’s all right. I’m here to help you.”

Khalil dropped his fists and blinked rapidly, still unable to see. He was beginning to understand what was wrong. He was… he was blind. There wasn’t any other explanation for why the world was still dark when it wasn’t for this woman or the others. How had this happened to him? Why had this happened to him? 

“Who are you?” he whispered with a tremor in his voice as she guided him back to the bed to sit and handed him his clothes. As she helped him dress, he struggled to fight down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. 

“You can call me Rhyn. I was playing down in the tavern last night.” She was the bard he’d seen watching him. Rhyn moved away and, moments later, handed Khalil a long strip of leather that was his belt and weapons. He could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest as she helped him dress, the anxiety making his hands shake violently.

 Once he was fully clothed, Khalil asked the question that his mind had been screaming at him the entire time.

“What’s happened to me, Rhyn?”