A Dance of Ghosts

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Kadish Fel wore a rut into the dirt floor as he paced in the center of the large warehouse. The smell of dust overwhelmed his nose, and he sneezed often. All around were giant squares of hay stacked to the ceiling, hay Kadish would sell to the outlying farms come winter. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, for it was the only way to keep himself from drawing his swords and twirling them as a nervous tic. But drawn weapons wouldn’t do, not when he needed his ambush to succeed.

“Not sure I’ve ever seen you so nervous,” said Carlisle, a squat man who helped Kadish with the more brutal affairs of his Hawk Guild. “You really think Darkhand will be that frightening in person?”

Kadish stopped his pacing, just for a moment.

“You know his reputation,” he said, running a hand through his auburn hair.

“Aye, I do,” laughed Carlisle. “But I also know people love telling tales, and that the tales get larger with the telling. This guy lives three kingdoms away, and every story making its way here probably went through many tellings before ever reaching us.”

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