Auntie Ling’s shoulder itched, and the muscles around where she’d been struck by the crossbow bolt were growing stiff. I’ve been poisoned, she realized, but didn’t let the thought interfere with her duty. She threw her full weight against the door, blowing it off of its hinges and sending it careening into the residence’s entry hall.

  The Rock Knives were catching on, or this batch was smarter than the previous one, because none fired early. Her foes waited until they could see her clearly before triggering their crossbows. Auntie Ling protected her eyes with a foreleg. She felt the bolts’ stings across her body.

  Pain means nothing, she thought, barreling into the closest of the Rock Knives. Her claws made short work of him, slicking the floor with his blood. No carpet, she noticed. Only polished wood. A glance showed that Hong Fei had come into the entry hall and ducked behind a cabinet for cover.

  Auntie Ling growled, infusing her throat with qi to shake the gangsters’ courage and draw their attention to her. Of the six in the entry hall, five tossed aside their crossbows to draw knives and clubs from their belts. She smelled their fear, yet they still came at her.

  The gangster who’d held onto his crossbow took careful aim at the giant badger. She ducked her head, and the bolt scored a line along the top of her skull. The target had been her left eye.

  Hong Fei shot at the man in return, yet the Rock Knife dodged with extraordinary swiftness. The bolt thunked into a wall instead. The gangster scowled in response, his eyes full of condescension. Then he seemed to smile, and he ran away toward the corridor leading to the rest of the residence.

  The other gangsters moved to surround Auntie Ling. She pounded the closest of them atop his head, and the bones of the man’s skull and spine shattered. Another attempted to get behind her, yet he was sent flying when she kicked with her back leg.

  Her nose picked up the copper-tanged scent of essence, and she spun in time to catch a club from striking her in the rib cage. The man looked at her in horror. But before she could decapitate him, a compatriot of his drummed upon her opposite side with a stone club.

  The man before her retreated a handful of steps, and his compatriot—a woman who looked like she could be his sister—withdrew as well. The scent of essence doubled. Both were Body Forged.

  A third, remaining gangster threw down his knife and ran for the stairs leading down. Hong Fei should—

  Auntie Ling panicked. She’d last seen Fate’s Attendant by the smashed doorway, yet the spot behind the cabinet was empty and he was nowhere else to be found. At least not in the entry hall. Could he have gone back downstairs? Or had he chased after the crossbowman deeper into the residence?

  The badger’s shoulder continued to heat up. It was beginning to feel like someone had filled the spaces between her muscles and bones with hot, gritty sand.

  The brother and sister split up to flank Auntie Ling. She’d need to take care of them quickly so that she could find Hong Fei, to protect him until the ambush was reversed… and the poison incapacitated her.

  ###

  Hong Fei couldn’t help worrying about Auntie Ling. The badger wasn’t moving as she ought to; she was clearly suffering more than was to be expected from the handful of crossbow bolts that had struck her. It was likely one or more had been envenomed.

  The culprit was probably the marksman across the bridge. Their bolt was tipped with a head meant for large game. The Rock Knives had come to this ambush prepared.

  Included in that thought was the man currently leading Hong Fei deeper into the residence. The gangster’s demeanor was different from the other Rock Knives: he was older, yet moved with a speed and precision the others lacked. Perhaps the man was an elite within the gang or one of their hidden leaders. Why else would he have a black number 2 above his head?

  Hong Fei’s essence streamed into his legs, his surroundings blurring. He wanted those Fate Points.

  Odds were, Hong Fei was heading into a trap. He knew it was a gamble chasing after the fleeing gangster, so he prepared to retreat at the first sign of trouble. Which came almost straight away: after dashing through the residence’s salon, dining room, and kitchen, the man scurried up a steep set of stairs.

  To the roof? Hong Fei wondered. The door at the top had been left open, casting the sun’s bright light across the kitchen wall. He skidded to a stop, not willing to chase the gangster out into the open. No doubt more crossbowmen were stationed up there.

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  “You must be stupid to think I’ll follow!” Hong Fei yelled. His throat felt thick, so he cleared it before continuing, “I’ll stay here if you want to a proper fight… unless you’re afraid? I wouldn’t blame you, since that saber you’re carrying doesn’t look like it suits you.” He laughed, the tone mocking. “You’re clearly the type whose better with his manhood in his hands than a blade. I wonder if you swing it around—”

  The taunts stopped when the gangster came down the stairs, step after cautious step, with saber at the ready. The weapon was thick, nearly double what was usual for a weapon of that type. As for the man wielding it, he appeared to be nearly twice Hong Fei’s age. A fine scar ran across the area above his right eye. Another traced a line down his left cheek, going past his chin and down his neck.

  The man’s eyes went to all the right places: taking into account the hearth, the chimney, the shelves with their pottery, the vegetables and meats hanging from the rafters, and the knives left on the counters. Someone had been chopping scallions before they’d been pulled away from their work and forced downstairs with the other bystanders.

  The Rock Knife took in the ruined state of Hong Fei’s sword and smirked. “You mock me, but the state of your own… armaments is sorely lacking. What happened to the tip?”

  Hong Fei grinned. “A warrior-mocking gecko bit it off.”

  The gangster snorted, and Hong Fei noticed how his foe had recognized the creature’s name and the danger it posed, which was to be expected from a Rock Knife, but there was more…

  The man’s steps roll from the outside in, like he’s used to testing his footing or moving quietly. He’s calm under pressure, good with a crossbow, and comfortable with a sword… a hunter perhaps? The black 2 enticed Hong Fei into further speculation: This man might be a disguised Tiger Mask, one who specializes in eliminating spirit beasts.

  “What?” the Hunter demanded. “Run out of words now that you’re facing a foe stronger than you?”

  “You’re that fearsome?” Hong Fei asked in return. “Come, show me. I’ll let you make the first move.”

  “Don’t mind me for being impolite,” the Hunter replied, flicking his left hand in an attempt to draw Hong Fei’s eyes that way. With his right, he thrust the saber in a deep lunge.

  Yet, Hong Fei had already moved aside. Taking the initiative, he’d dropped into a roll to the side of the lunge and come to standing. His sword swept toward the Hunter’s torso.

  The man avoided the blow with extraordinary grace; the movement had been too quick for it to have been simple essence or qi. The Hunter’s eyes widened in outrage. “Dishonorable scoundrel! With behavior like that, no wonder your troops were massacred under you.”

  “Oh ho,” Hong Fei replied, his eyes narrowing. “You know my story.” Quietly, he gathered his qi to cast Lion on the Battlefield. He held back, however, not yet relying on the spell to help with the fight.

  “Who hasn’t heard of your incompetence?” the Hunter retorted as his saber swept forward.

  Hong Fei deflected the strike. He meant to do so lightly, yet his sword rang with the impact. The Hunter grinned fiercely and pressed the attack—sword and saber clanging like they were metal clubs rather than weapons of skill and grace.

  Hong Fei slipped into the Hong water-style arts, and his movements became supple. He shifted his sword to his right hand only to take a fencer’s stance.

  The Hunter, meanwhile, continued to tread the path of speed and strength. The former complimented the latter, making up for the exaggerated attacks and movements. Hong Fei caught an opening, landing a light cut on the man’s arm, yet it drew no blood.

  He’s accustomed to fighting creatures larger than he is. And the spell he’s using—that’s a comprehensive art at work.

  “You’re outmatched,” the Hunter claimed. He continued to swing his saber as if wanting to cleave his foe in two. Without his speed enhanced, it would’ve left the man wide open to counterattack.

  As it was, Hong Fei bided his time. So far, he’d been able to read where each attack would go, and the water arts had been enough to shift them aside. A witness to the fight might think the two fighters were evenly matched, the pair dancing in the kitchen’s enclosed space. Who knew, however, what tricks they each kept hidden.

  After nearly a dozen more moves, the Hunter stepped out of reach. “A shame,” he muttered, shaking his head in disappointment. “That one so skilled fell into such dishonor is a tragedy.” The man looked steadily into Hong Fei’s eyes. “You’re better than I expected, but it’s time for you to die.”

  The Hunter moved at a pace quicker than before, unleashing an attack directly upon Hong Fei’s weapon. The sword shattered, metal splinters glinting before they embedded into the wooden floor. The saber licked out, the Hunter lunging to send the tip deep into the swordman’s undefended chest.

  Hong Fei fell backward at a speed not yet witnessed during their duel. He matched the swiftness of the Hunter’s attack, his robes fluttering. In his left hand a crossbow bolt appeared, the one that had been shot by the Marksman, which he threw at the Hunter’s own torso left open by the lunge.

  The man rapidly retreated. “What? How did you move so quickly?” He looked down in confusion, then brushed the fletching with a finger. “I recognize this—” he began. A grimace stopped his words. He scowled at Hong Fei. “This toxin, where did you get it?” He clutched his heart. “No.” Then more strongly: “No!”

  The Hunter lifted his saber to attack again, but would Hong Fei really have been content to lay on the ground watching? He’d rolled to standing, then pulled a blue-steel sword from his spatial ring. A lunge of his own sent the tip through the Hunter’s neck.

  His foe slumped to the ground, and the black number 2 above his head faded away. Hong Fei’s brow furrowed. He stabbed the Hunter a second time, then a third and fourth. There’d been no cool energy. For some reason, he’d not collected any Fate Points.

  Was I wrong… Could the Hunter have been cursed instead of the one cursing?

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