sarab

A Conversation Between Two Assassins A FICLET IN NP

The man with the scars on his face, still in his black costume, pressed upon the wound on his arm, his eyes moving stealthily to Master’s second-in-command as he stood opposite him in the corridor. The man had questions and he wanted answers, being high in the rank of the League himself.

“Sarab,” he spoke, addressing the second-in-command with a nod.

The other man nodded back. “Shebah.”

The scarred man, Shebah, tied the cloth around his arm. “I have an inquiry, Sarab, if I may.”

Sarab gave a curt nod to proceed. He did. “Why did you not search the woman tonight?”

He saw Sarab’s face remain dead like they all had been trained to be, his voice still neutral. “Because it was not Al Sah-Him’s wish.”

The man shook his head, not understanding the new heir or his obsession with the woman who had been a visitor three weeks prior. He spoke softly. “Men were injured and lost for his wish. It could all have been prevented.”

Sarab pursed his mouth. “We serve the Demon’s Head and his Heir with our lives, Shebah. Do no forget.”

He took a step towards Sarab, his mentor, his trainer, whom he respected the most of most men. “Yes. That woman dared to defy the Demon’s Head the last time she was here, before his servants. Tonight she proved a mightier threat than we counted upon. Clearly, Al Sah-Him has not let go of his previous bonds with her for his judgement is clouded.”

Sarab lowered his voice and spoke softly. “We still serve him.”

The man tamped down a wave of frustration that was foreign to him. He had been bested by that bespectacled woman the last time, a small woman with no training and a spear had made him taste dirt when she had hit him on the head. That same woman was responsible for two of his fellows taking their last breaths tonight. She was a Trojan horse. And she would invade this fortress. Did they not see that?

He spoke softly, looking at Sarab. “That woman is more than what she seems. And Al Sah-Him’s preoccupation with her is a matter of grave danger for the League. The Demon’s Head perhaps is not aware. We were there, Sarab. We saw it. That woman…”

“Is none of the League’s business.”

The booming, commanding voice came from the door. The man looked up in surprise to see Al Sah-Him striding forward with silent steps, his entire body commanding everything around him. The man’s head bowed of it’s own accord.

“Al Sah-Him,” he spoke softly, courteously, a sliver of fear snaking in his veins.

“Look up,” Al Sah-Him ordered. He did, expecting to find his icy cold stare. What he found instead was burning blue.

Al Sah-Him opened his mouth, his words soft but steel. “That woman is not to be touched. That woman is not to be thought of. Tell all you have to. Anybody go near a hair on her head, they will face my wrath. Am I understood?”

The man nodded, his heart grave with trepidation. Al Sah-Him nodded back before looking at Sarab and walking out swiftly with him following.

The man stood with his hand pressed to the wound that woman had caused, the woman he was not to think of, the woman Al Sah-Him had commanded not be touched, and he knew without a shadow of doubt that Al Sah-Him had not let go yet, and what had happened tonight at the warehouse was only the beginning.  

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