Fog rolled thickly down the forested hills, gathering over placid waters and spilling onto the bridge. Jakeev could hardly see the next set of mage light lamps ten paces ahead. He pulled his scarf tight to his nose against a breeze of bad air and plowed on ahead, away from the stench of camp. The only sounds were wind and his own wet footfalls, but in a country full of mages one never trusted his own senses to get him by.

Glyph stones in his pockets throbbed with warmth. Approximately two mage lights away there was a presence. If not for the stones, he would never have noticed. Still, the warning did come at some delay. Likely this was a mage from the capitol, schooled in thieving and espionage. Not that the institution halls advertised themselves with such garish, unholy titles. Both could be valuable for a nation with a mind for warfare and lying to its civilians. Namera’s tactics had made Jakeev what he was. Odds were that she had done the same for this mage. And how then could he blame the fellow?

All hail the mother nation.

If the glyph stones had not been delayed, the mage would have meant nothing to him. Jakeev was trained to respond to intent. When someone hinders your defenses, he means to break them entirely. Mages are slow moving creatures as a rule. In battle, they do best in positions similar to the posts of archers, away from heavily armed enemies. They needed time to recover after every attack and being behind a wall of compatriots afforded them this. Had this one understood his tactical place and how to read physique, he might have known that he was ill matched. Jakeev did not mind ridding his nation of idiots.

He launched into a sprint, barreling into the mage and upending his balance so that they crashed down together. With one knee braced in a shallow puddle and the other pinning the man’s thigh down, Jakeev rested a muscle thickened arm on his windpipe. They froze there for a moment and he strained to listen past the wheezing breaths of his target. Neither sound nor the throb of a glyph stone gave away any waiting collaborators. It was a mage unskilled with attack spells who bothered to hide his presence. Either they were alone or whoever was there didn’t matter.

The Madame was his target’s saving grace. She would not be made to wait and this was already a delay that would have him riding his waiting horse much harder. If he was to have a fresh prize for his later games, this man was not it. A serrated dagger hung from his belt, gleaming in the faint mage light with never-dull charms. Jakeev removed his arm from the man’s throat and in one sweep, pulled the dagger and slit the carotid.

There was a strong temptation to leave his mess, but for the sake of later traffic he grabbed the corpse up as he stood and lowered it quietly into the water. Jakeev waved goodbye as if to a friend and smiled. The mother nation had made him this way. It was she who brought him another step closer to the clergy. Jakeev feared the restriction, but he would deserve his clerics mark and robe when the time came and mother would see what she had made him.

Fog rolled thickly down the forested hills, gathering over placid waters and spilling onto the bridge. Jakeev could hardly see the next set of mage light lamps ten paces ahead. He pulled his scarf tight to his nose against a breeze of bad air and plowed on ahead, away from the stench of camp. The only sounds were wind and his own wet footfalls, but in a country full of mages one never trusted his own senses to get him by.

Glyph stones in his pockets throbbed with warmth. Approximately two mage lights away there was a presence. If not for the stones, he would never have noticed. Still, the warning did come at some delay. Likely this was a mage from the capitol, schooled in thieving and espionage. Not that the institution halls advertised themselves with such garish, unholy titles. Both could be valuable for a nation with a mind for warfare and lying to its civilians. Namera’s tactics had made Jakeev what he was. Odds were that she had done the same for this mage. And how then could he blame the fellow?

All hail the mother nation.

If the glyph stones had not been delayed, the mage would have meant nothing to him. Jakeev was trained to respond to intent. When someone hinders your defenses, he means to break them entirely. Mages are slow moving creatures as a rule. In battle, they do best in positions similar to the posts of archers, away from heavily armed enemies. They needed time to recover after every attack and being behind a wall of compatriots afforded them this. Had this one understood his tactical place and how to read physique, he might have known that he was ill matched. Jakeev did not mind ridding his nation of idiots.

He launched into a sprint, barreling into the mage and upending his balance so that they crashed down together. With one knee braced in a shallow puddle and the other pinning the man’s thigh down, Jakeev rested a muscle thickened arm on his windpipe. They froze there for a moment and he strained to listen past the wheezing breaths of his target. Neither sound nor the throb of a glyph stone gave away any waiting collaborators. It was a mage unskilled with attack spells who bothered to hide his presence. Either they were alone or whoever was there didn’t matter.

The Madame was his target’s saving grace. She would not be made to wait and this was already a delay that would have him riding his waiting horse much harder. If he was to have a fresh prize for his later games, this man was not it. A serrated dagger hung from his belt, gleaming in the faint mage light with never-dull charms. Jakeev removed his arm from the man’s throat and in one sweep, pulled the dagger and slit the carotid.

There was a strong temptation to leave his mess, but for the sake of later traffic he grabbed the corpse up as he stood and lowered it quietly into the water. Jakeev waved goodbye as if to a friend and smiled. The mother nation had made him this way. It was she who brought him another step closer to the clergy. Jakeev feared the restriction, but he would deserve his clerics mark and robe when the time came and mother would see what she had made him.