The Nameless Assassins

Preceptor Dunvil

Hundreds of blades whistled through the air.

Faith never flinched. Letting them bounce off her armor and clatter to the floor, she mourned, "Oh, she was so much cuter when she was playing with dolls instead of daggers."

That, of course, was when one of her baby cousin's new toys grazed the side of her neck.

Ash and I didn't waste time dodging either. Turning my head to protect my face, I drew Grandfather, while Ash jumped sideways and charged straight at Dunvil.

"Get the Eye!" Faith yelled after him. "That's the most important thing!"

Pointing his lightning hook at the Preceptor, Ash starting channeling the essence of That Which Hungers. Yellow lines that glinted like gold spiraled through the crackling blue energy and leaped out to strain for the Eye. It looked like it was going to work – until gold light boiled out of Ash's skin and blazed up around him. Blinded by his god's insatiable need to possess everything, especially artifacts of the Church, Ash stumbled and fell to his knees.

At the same time, I prowled towards Lauretta, who re-formed her cloud of daggers with one sharp, beckoning gesture. They hung midair, tips quivering.

I can help, child, Grandfather offered.

Maybe later.

I circled Lauretta, hunting for a path through her daggers. Like Djera Maha, Admiral Strangford, and Elder Rowan before her, she neither wore armor nor carried mundane weapons – and, in some ways, fighting an Ascendent who was still new to her powers was easier than dueling, say, one of Mylera's sword masters.

There.

Zigzagging between daggers that turned a fraction of a second too late, I slashed at Lauretta's belly. Grandfather's blade parted her robes and opened up a long gash exactly where it would bleed most. Crimson blossomed across cream silk. I spun and sprinted back out.

With a cry, Lauretta shoved both palms outward and pelted me with blades. I parried as many as I could, but some still got through, and no matter how sturdy my armor was, it hadn't been designed for a hail of knifepoints. Blood started to trickle down my chest, soaking my undershirt.

Lauretta summoned the daggers back into a swarm. Teeth gritted, I went back to circling her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Faith crouched in front of Setarra, sketching a series of wards in pink chalk. By now I'd seen enough of her and Ash's arcane work to recognize runes that would weaken Dunvil's barrier. "Teacher, please, I need you," she appealed. "I hope you forgive me for everything I've done!"

The demon glowered down at her with no hint of reprieve in her flat, black eyes.

Unfazed, Faith produced a sheath of notebook paper covered with pre-drawn wards and arranged them behind her own work. These runes were brightly colored and slightly crooked – and very obviously done with crayons from the orphanage art supply closet, wielded by the orphans themselves.

We were going to have to talk about that.

Later.

Faith finished off her ritual by tying pink ribbons onto every tentacle within reach. Then she stood back, placed her hands on her hips, and twinkled at the demon, "No, wait, I was just kidding. They were delicious!"

One black tentacle lashed out, striking and denting the barrier. Dunvil grunted, gripped the Eye more tightly, and redoubled his chanting.