Katarina stood on the balcony of the city's tallest tower which also served as her residence staring down at the city sprawling below.
The capital tonight resembled a disturbed anthill: the torches of the guards darted across the rooftops, sketching a bizarre, useless chessboard of light. And the streets were packed to the brim with soldiers. Somewhere out there, in that stone web, was he. Flitting in and out of sight like a ghost, as if mocking her power.
The day's anger had already burned out, replaced by a heavy, wine-induced fatigue.
Two empty bottles of the elite "Blood Ruby" lay at her feet, but for some reason they hadn't drowned the sorrow only sharpened the feeling of impotence. A stack of reports on the Cotto and Saigo clan lay on the carved table. She reached for them again, flipping through pages covered in dry, bureaucratic lines.
"Boring." Leaning back in her chair, she thought, 'An ordinary clan of hired killers. They know their place and don't stick their necks out. Until today...'
"Damn bastards!" a hoarse cry escaped her lips. "You can't catch one man?! What the hell are you even good for?!" The goblet with the dregs of wine flew down, shattering on the stones far below with a ringing echo of impotence. She tried to stand but plopped back into the chair; her head was buzzing.
He was somewhere out there. So, close it seemed reach out through the night... and you'd touch him. The helplessness crested again, replaced by a familiar, destructive rage. Her gaze, sharp as a dagger, slid over the sleeping districts.
A desire pure, primal to burn this wretched city to the ground along with all the trash scurrying within it stirred in her chest. Palaces, hovels, soldiers, thieves, the innocent all would burn in the cleansing fire.
To ashes.
"Brrr..." She shook her head sharply, banishing the mad vision. "No. I just... sometimes get carried away. But sit on my hands? While they let MY fate slip away?!"
A tired smirk twitched at the corners of her lips. An old saying echoed in her wine-inflamed mind: "If you want something done right, do it yourself."
The decision came instantly, and immediately, elegant silks and velvets flew onto the luxurious bed. Their place was taken by a tight, dark-gray suit for freedom of movement practical, unrestrictive. Over it, a long cloak of coarse wool, hiding her figure and the gleam of the weapons on her belt. The mirror reflected not the Empress, but a shadow dangerous, determined, and already utterly drunk.
She stepped out onto the balcony again. The night met her with a piercing wind, and she would ride it. Katarina spread her arms, not for an embrace, but to gather power.
The air behind her ignited. Not just light pure energy, condensed into two colossal wings of red, hot flame. They didn't burn her, at least, but shone dazzlingly, illuminating towers and roofs for miles around. Every feather was like a whirlwind of pure, concentrated will.
A sharp sweep—and she plunged downward. Not falling soaring. Like a bird of prey spotting its quarry. The cloak fluttered in the wind as the wings left a trail of hundreds of thousands of sparks in the night.
Below, in the alleys, torches froze in amazement, frightened faces jerked upward. But her gaze was fixed only forward into the chaos of roofs and shadows where her ghost was hiding.
…
Saigo leaned against the cold brick wall of an alley, catching his breath. His heart was pounding like a drum after a cascade of jumps from roof to roof.
The situation couldn't be worse. The cavalry patrol, whose hooves had so timely muffled his dealing with the thieves, had treacherously spotted not him, but merely the edge of his cloak, flickering over a cornice.
He'd had to jump down, scrambling like a cat down ladders and drainpipes until he reached the ground. "They'll find the bodies soon. The whole district will be turned upside down. The chance for a quiet escape is fading..."
Options there weren't many.
Run now straight through the merchant quarter. But it, as he'd seen from above, was lit by thousands of lanterns, torches, and shop windows. Besides army patrols—hundreds of private guild guards, ever vigilant and greedy for rewards, patrolled the streets. Trying to pass through there would be akin to suicide.
The second option - change his skin. And as if a sign from above, his gaze fell on a young man, panting and running along the cobblestones. A purple armband on his shoulder the mark of imperial couriers and he was completely alone.
A perfect target.
In an instant, having thought through his plan, Saigo picked up a cobblestone. WHOOSH! the stone cut through the air and flew with a precise hit to the temple.
THUD! The courier collapsed into a drainage ditch without a sound. Saigo dragged him into deep shadow, behind a pile of crates.
A quick equipment check: the guy was shorter, thicker around the waist, but... it would do.
Five minutes later, Saigo was striding down the street in a new skin: A half-closed helmet with an aventail (conveniently hiding his hair and the upper part of his face). A leather breastplate with an embroidered emblem a purple phoenix rising from flames (the sign of the Palace courier service). Dull-red bracers and greaves, and a message bag slung over his shoulder the main attribute of a courier, essential.
He walked boldly, not hiding this time his posture was pointedly tired, his step lazy, giving any outside observer no reason to doubt his cover. Patrols merely nodded, seeing the familiar colors.
"The best disguise is to be in plain sight."
Passing another patrol, curiosity got the better of him; he peeked into the bag and naturally found a stack of parchments. The very first "report" made him barely hold back a hoarse laugh:
"...Subject (Saigo, Cotto Clan) spotted at the 'Velvet Coffin' brothel. Entered seeking shelter, BUT WAS QUICKLY DETECTED BY ESTABLISHMENT STAFF DUE TO LACK OF FUNDS AND A LEWD GAZE AT THE LOCAL DAMES. WAS FORCED TO RETREAT..."
"For internal use, I see," Saigo thought, hiding a smile under his aventail. "Someone's definitely having a laugh. They can't be serious..."
He was wrong. Below, in small, clumsy handwriting, was an addendum: "Report #7. Confirmed by Captain Gron's patrol. Forward to Central HQ."
The irony: while generals were searching for the ghost who killed the dragon, official papers described him as a boor who fled from prostitutes under a hail of their curses.
Such was the Empire's bureaucratic machine...
Saigo moved on, dissolving into the smoke-thick darkness of the night city. His path led north to where the wall was lower and the guard was already looking south.
But somewhere high in the sky, a winged shadow with cold eyes had already begun her search, combing through roofs and alleys.
The game of cat and mouse was just beginning.
…
The corridors of the Mages' College seemed the embodiment of infinity walls built of ancient stones with shimmering runes stretched forward, spiraling upward.
Marcus, sweating under his armor, cursed its weight with quiet, inventive swear words. Marimed floated ahead in his house slippers, muttering calmly:
"This layout... Energy nodes, you see? Magical balancing. You sleep easier at night knowing you're in contact with the universe."
"Easier?" Marcus wheezed. "I'll starve to death here before I find the exit!"
"Patience, my friend. We have arrived!"
A snap of Marimed's fingers and the massive oak doors with silver inlays swung open silently, as if weightless. Marcus stepped inside—and his breath caught in his throat.
The room wasn't a room it was a cave of books. Folios in leather, dragonhide, even stone bindings were piled up to the vaulted ceiling, forming precarious towers.
It smelled of centuries of dust, dry herbs, and urine. And in the center of this chaotic temple of knowledge, on a black marble pedestal, hovered the Orb.
Not just an orb—a mass of absolutely transparent crystal the size of a cartwheel. Inside it, a living mist swirled, shimmering in all shades of violet and steel.
"This... what?" Marcus squeezed out, unable to look away.
"The Orb of Foresight," answered Marimed, tossing his robe onto the nearest mountain of books. Underneath were worn canvas pants and a sweater with smiling faces.
"Yeah, but... never seen one like this?"
"I understand your confusion. I was stunned too when they delivered it last full moon." He rubbed his beard. "They say they quarried a single crystal somewhere in the Heart of the Ice Peaks. The power in it is... monumental. Wild and untamed."
Marcus saw his reflection in the orb's smooth surface eyes wide, mouth slightly open in amazement. He immediately twisted his face into its usual mask of weary seriousness. "Look foolish, Captain, and that's not good for you at all."
Marimed clapped his hands, and the mist inside the orb swirled faster.
"Right, let's get an image of our future Impe..." he stumbled, looking at Marcus.
"Emperor?" the captain prompted, rummaging in his bag for the leaf with Saigo's description.
"Hmm, I don't recall the egg teaching the chicken," the mage grumbled, but without malice.
"Marimed!"
"Heh-heh, alright, alright, have mercy, I'm just an old grump." He took the parchment from Marcus, skimmed it: "Height above average, athletic build, ash/gray hair, cold, green eyes..."
"Hmm... Stately. Handsome. Cold..."
'Old man, I didn't come for your opinion. Help me find him, then we'll go get drunk.' Marcus's thought was clear, though his face remained stony.
Marimed sighed, approached the orb. His palms lay on the cool crystal. His eyes closed—and a cold, phosphorescent light gleamed from under his lids. The mist in the orb swirled, seethed.
"Now, what's there..." the mage whispered.
"HMM... Nothing."
"Emptiness." He opened his eyes, the light around them faded.
"And now?" He focused again. The light flared.
"Also... nothing."
"HMM... Once more..."
"No," Marcus said quietly, clenching his fists. Disappointment burned in his mouth like ash. "So, he's wearing an artifact or an amulet against scrying."
"Just great..." He was already turning to leave, but Marimed sharply raised his hand.
"Not so fast! I cannot see him... But the places he was or will be? Quite possible! Now..."
The mist in the orb thickened, streamed. The surface shimmered like water in a dark pond.
And suddenly—an image appeared. Not Saigo. A house. Modest, even shabby, on the edge of the slums. Familiar to Marcus from reports the very hideout where the fugitive was first spotted after the dragon.
"Progress!" Marimed exclaimed. "But... not it. Not now." His fingers dug into the crystal. The light from his eyes grew brighter, almost painful. "Further! Show where he is going! Where he strives!"
The orb shuddered. The image of the house swam, dissolved. For a moment, blurred outlines of high walls, towers appeared...
Marcus frowned: "What's that? Where is that?"
Marimed squinted, the light in his eyes flickering like a candle in the wind:
"I don't know the place... But I feel... It's important to him. Very. Someone lives there... his anchor. His reason for returning." The mage turned to Marcus, and in his old eyes shone a strange understanding. "Don't look for the killer, Captain. Look for the man. Find what he protects... and he will come himself."