Earlier that night, in the village of Row:


    Two travelers stride into the subdued settlement in the valley of the Long Fang Mountains. The twin peaks curl around it like the maw of an ancient beast, their jagged ridges glinting in the Tower-light. Scents of pine and the acrid tang of wood smoke hang heavy in the air.


    Along the streets, patrolmen move in a dreary rhythm; shoulders slumped under the Warlord Karich Urough’s rule. Dust rises from their tired footsteps, settling in the cracks of splintered wooden beams and sagging rooftops. Every inch of the place bears the scars of its master’s iron grip, from crumbling walls to the quiet sobs from within its shuttered homes.


    Making her way down a forlorn street is a woman in stark contrast to Row''s hollow-eyed inhabitants. She moves with a purpose that turns heads and widens eyes, her silhouette sharp and striking against the backdrop of decay. Dressed in all black, a flat-brimmed hat crowns her tall frame, and her blonde hair flows in wild disarray beneath it. The outfit she wears is of glaringly expensive make. Its blouse sports a plunging, collared neckline and billowing, unbuttoned sleeves. A long cape draped across her back ripples with her alluring movements. Her impeccably pressed pants look fresh from the tailor''s rack, hugging the lithe curve of her hips.


    Trailing behind her is Rhody, a girl on the verge of adulthood, clothed in the gray woolen robes of an acolyte. Her petite frame struggles against a pack suited for a circus strong-man. Her every step is an effort as she adjusts the heavy straps digging into her shoulders. It bulges with equipment: munitions, spare clothing, and Zeph''s leather-bound log book tucked into a side pocket. Around her neck is a silver chain. A flame-red pouch hangs at its end, swinging beneath her.


    The girl’s soft features and nervous glances mark her in deep contrast to Miss Calm and Collected. The black-clad bombshell struts forward without a care, daring anyone to stand in her way.


    “Zeph,” Rhody calls, her voice strained with exertion. “Can we… slow down? Just a little?”


    The woman doesn’t even turn her head. “Slowing down,” she says, “is for people who haven’t got a warlord to kill."


    Her terse statement cuts through any objections Rhody harbored. The girl pulls her inky-blue locks into a ponytail and trudges on, trying her best to keep up.


    Ahead, a group of six patrolmen rounds a corner, their spears popping against the packed dirt ground. Their steps falter as they take in the tall figure striding toward them.


    “Halt!” barks one of the men, his voice cracking. He levels his quivering spear with all the grace of a newborn calf. Battling his anxiety, he tries to steady it.


    One of the rear guard nudges another, "Theod''s report... that''s her, the Ace of Swords..."


    As Zeph walks on, Rhody’s feet root in place, her breath caught between panic and disbelief.


    The acolyte''s hands fumble around the pouch of her silver necklace, unclasping it and sliding out a tarot deck. The pristine cards are backed in midnight blue with a sprinkling of gold-foiled stars. Eyeing the spear-man, her left palm cups the deck. The shaking fingers of her right snap up the top card. Turning it to her eyes, its face is a glossy white, without suit or rank. She lets out a small sigh of relief before moving her attention to the next patrolman. Zeph shoots Rhody a quick glance. "None of these whelps warrant a reading; put those away and ready yourself, like we discussed."


    The patrol’s lead steps forward, his weapon poised at Zeph’s chest. “You’ll go no further. Row''s got a curfew; anyone breaking it’s to be imprisoned and lashed ---Karich’s orders!”


    Zeph’s eyes drop to the shaft in his hands, and she grins—a toothy, predator''s grin. Her gaze flickers, measuring him. “You’re going to subdue me with a stick?”


    The patrol leader inches the razor-sharp head of his spear closer, its tip tapping a button on Zeph''s blouse. “You’re going to subdue Zepharin, the next Queen of Assassins, WITH A STICK?!”


    The man stutters, “A-a spear.”


    Her hand blurs into motion. One moment, it hangs loose at her side; the next, it points a silvered revolver at his spear''s shaft, just beneath its tip.


    The man’s eyes snap to the word “APPLAUSE” engraved into its barrel. BANG. A shower of splinters pelts the patrolman’s face, and he reflexively turns away, his shout of surprise swallowed by the echoing crack.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    “What spear!?” She cackles as Applause''s recoil whips her arm around her like an orbiting celestial body, its revolution ending against the side of his head. The impact lands with a deafening clang, his helmet flying loose as he crumples to the ground.


    Chaos erupts. The remains of the patrol lunge forward as Zeph sidesteps their rush, more dancing than fighting.


    BANG.


    A single shot rings out, shattering a second spear.


    BANG, BANG.


    The fragments of a third and fourth scatter to the ground.


    One of the guards rushes her from the side, but she twists on her heel, her cape flaring out like a raven''s wing. The man, dazzled, doesn''t register the heel of her thigh-high boot zipping toward his throat.


    She moves like a river cutting through stone, her strikes precise and efficient.


    BANG. Applause belches smoke and fire as she dismantles the patrol’s defenses, shattering their weapons and resolve with little effort.


    Shouts rise from around the village, growing louder as lanterns flicker to life in nearby houses. Curtains rustle as wary eyes peek out, their owners unwilling to intervene but too curious to turn away.


    “Zeph, I think we should start moving!” The shrill of Rhody''s voice calls out to her as she searches for an escape route. Her trembling legs and the weight of her pack conspire to keep her still.


    Lantern light dances between the surrounding buildings, casting long, jittering shadows across the uneven walls and streets.


    BANG.


    "Empty!" Zeph shrugs as she tosses the hot revolver over her shoulder. Duty overcoming her, Rhody rushes forward to catch it with a startled yelp, fumbling to reload the weapon.


    Zeph snatches a discarded spear from the ground, twirling it like a marching baton in a lazy figure-eight.


    “Why are you fighting the whole town!?” Rhody shouts as her fingers fumble around the ammunition. “Aren’t assassins supposed to be subtle?”


    “What, who told you that!? An assassin’s supposed to be notorious. How would a subtle assassin even find work!?” Zeph retorts, her voice filled with indignation as she ducks beneath a wide swing and sweeps the legs from under a new arrival.


    The patrolmen continue to fall until only one remains, useless, like the tip of a busted spear. His knees buckle and drop as Zeph approaches, her arm reaching for his paltry weapon. He offers no resistance as she slides it from his hands.


    She tosses it aside and holds out her now empty palm. The acolyte returns Applause, its belly full, to its rightful place.


    “Now,” Zeph says with a sugary lilt. “My assistant Rhody''s going to ask you some questions.”


    The man nods, his lips trembling as Rhody shuffles forward, flipping open Zeph''s logbook. The black cover of the leather-bound tome peels away like an old scab, revealing rows of names. Each is dressed with a thick line through its middle. Line after line of past marks march across the page, then another page, and more others, leading to six names that remain untouched, the first of which is Karich Urough.


    “Keep’s defenses?” Rhody asks, her pencil poised. Her tone is clipped but steady now, her earlier nervousness replaced by a determined calm.


    The man stammers out everything he can recall: guard rotations, entrances and exits, and directions to Karich’s chambers. Zeph, disinterested, taps the barrel of Applause against her thigh.


    <hr>


    Wrapping up the interrogation, Rhody hoists her pack and returns to Zeph’s side. “Okay, I think I’ve got a plan.”


    Zeph raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. “First step?”


    “It seems our best shot of entering the Keep unscathed is through its roof.”


    “Alright, prepare the hook.” Zeph starts trudging toward the peaks in the distance, intent on the Keep lying between them. The towering structure seems to pulse with menace, its jagged parapets slicing into the night sky.


    “Wait, don’t you want to know the—”


    “Rhody!” Zeph says, “Don’t pull my focus.”


    “But-”


    “No buts.” Zeph tosses her head, her golden locks spinning behind her. “Just keep up.”


    Zeph strides away, casting a long shadow across the dusty ground. Rhody groans and pockets the logbook, trudging on.


    Looking up at the tall walls of the Keep, she can’t hold her tongue, “You don’t expect me to climb rope with this pack on?”


    “You’ll figure it out," Zeph calls over her shoulder. "Father Herus said you’re resourceful.” She glances back, her grin sharp and unapologetic. “Now hurry up. I want to claim this mark at daybreak. That’ll read better in the papers.”


    Behind Zeph and Rhody, the village lies silent again, though its inhabitants remain restless. Children peek from their hiding spots, their wide eyes following the gunslinger and her retainer as they vanish into the distance.


    Above, the shadow of the Long Fang Mountains’ Keep looms large, the faint sound of the wind whispering promises of challenge and glory.