The Covenant Rising

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It was a place of cheap magic.

A swarm of tiny sphinxes gathered, fluttering just above her head. Snapping jaws, whipping wings, curling tails. They weren’t convincing. Their colours were wrong, and up close they were semi-transparent.

Serrah swatted irritably, her hand passing through them as if they were dawn mist. They disintegrated into countless infinitesimal specks, like glowing rust. The tips of their spread wings were the last to go, popping out of existence in little burnished puffs.

‘We going to skulk here all night, Ardacris?’

Phosian hissed.

He hid next to her, but the alley was too dark to make out his features. His garb, like hers, was uniformly black, with a silk mask covering nose and mouth. Where flesh showed, it had been smeared with ash. The sheen of their blades was dimmed by grease and soot.

Serrah inwardly bridled at his familiarity and the disregard of her rank. But in deference to his connections she whispered only,

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