As the smoke cleared, Hastiand had disappeared and so had the man in the black cloak.

  “What in the nine hells was that?” said the old thief.

  Satchel said nothing, but ran down the alley several paces and stopped, checking around. Jarek helped Addie get to her feet as Satchel returned.

  “What just happened?” said Addie.

  “I don’t know,” said the old thief. “But, this whole thing just got more interesting. You’ve both stumbled into something with far-reaching arms. We need to get on the road and soon. You two go back home. I will return after I’ve checked with some of my contacts. We’ll worry about the supplies later.”

  Satchel nodded and took one last glance over his shoulder before leading Addie toward the opening of Beggar’s Corner.

  ~*~

  Hastiand glanced nervously out one of the windows of a tavern several streets away. His breathing was heavy and cold sweat dampened his forehead. The thumping in his chest slowly died away, but his heart still raced. His shoulder and arm throbbed in pain. He had pulled the knife out and allowed the mandolin to heal his wounds. The instrument was angry and at times made the pain pulse hard before repairing the damage. Hastiand felt its fury as it rested on the chair next to him.

  “You should have let me kill them all,” it whispered furiously.

  “Quiet. Someone will hear you.”

  Hastiand ran his hands up and down his face. He had failed. The opportunity was there, and he couldn’t take the scroll. If the man in the black coat hadn’t shown up, he might have succeeded. Now, the old man would be more prepared the next time. That is if Hastiand had a next time.

  No, can’t think that way, he thought. There will be a next time, and I won’t lose.

  He called for the serving girl and ordered a pint of their strongest ale.

  Unbeknownst to Hastiand, from a high perch across the street, a pair of eyes watched him.

  ~*~

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  On the same night, in the seedy district of Piper’s Way in the Pipes, a pile of cloth shaped like a man sat huddled against a rain barrel. Pathetic moans came from the pile as it moved side-to-side. The pile hugged its right arm close to its chest.

  “He took my arm,” it whimpered in low, cracked voice. “Such a disgrace.”

  It began to cry.

  “No honor. My chance…gone.”

  The left hand came out from under the cloth, clenching a rusty old dagger. Tears streamed down his face and splashed on the ground. He let out a small sob.

  “I’m sorry Sade. Iko.”

  With that, he stood and pointed the weapon straight at his gut. He raised the dagger and brought it down hard. He winced as he waited for the pain to come.

  But, it never did.

  Something stopped the dagger. Kazi opened his eyes and saw a white gauntlet holding his arm fast. He looked up and found himself staring straight into the cold, gray eyes of the White Knight. Kazi screamed and tried to pry himself loose of the Knight’s grip, but it only tightened.

  In a voice, smooth and steady, but full of command, the Knight said, “Quit struggling, please. You’ll hurt only yourself.”

  He squeezed tighter, forcing Kazi to drop the knife and cry out in pain. The Knight released the Komji’s arm and kicked the dagger away. Kazi fell to his knees.

  “I want to die!” he pleaded. “I have lost all my honor.”

  “What good is honor if you are dead?” said the Knight.

  “Honor is everything! My home and family have already been stripped from me. I have even failed in the simple task you gave me. My dishonor is sealed forever. I am no better than dirt.”

  The Knight knelt and brought his eyes level with Kazi’s. With hair bright as snow, and armor, shimmering and clean, he stood out as an icon of purity next to the ugly, scarred mess that was Kazi. A thin smile crept onto the Knight’s face. Kazi did not know whether to be comforted or afraid.

  The Knight stood. “Let me help you regain that honor.”

  Kazi stared at the Knight. “How?”

  “I want to give you a second chance, Kazi. You have suffered much in your effort to help me. And I generously give second chances to those who deserve one. Are you deserving, dear Kazi?”

  The Komji fell at the Knight’s feet. “Yes, I am, my lord.”

  “Will you renounce your life and submit to my will?”

  “Yes, I will follow you. Please, just tell me how I can regain my honor.”

  The Knight’s smile widened. “Good, Kazi. Very good. But, first, let me take care of your arm.”

  Kazi looked down as the Knight pointed to his right arm.

  “Unwrap it.”

  Kazi did so.

  The Knight aimed his palm at Kazi’s arm. A bright, glowing light formed in the Knight’s hand. It sparked and crackled as it became a sphere the size of a large orange. With a clapping sound, an arc of lightning shot out of the ball and connected with Kazi’s arm. The light burned like an intense fire and he wanted to pull his arm away, but something held him still. He gripped his forearm as pain shot through his whole body.

  He dared a look at his right hand and was amazed at what he saw. The hand had grown back. His wrist and palm were the right size, shape, and color as before. The pain died away as his fingers finished growing and the light faded as Kazi stared at his hand in astonishment.

  “Now,” said the Knight’s voice, smooth as glass, “let us continue your renewal.”