Endwin had never seen an Odoe assassin work- he had never heard of them until a few months ago, but he nonetheless had conjured a clear image of nine of them, tip-toeing lightning fast down the tiled halls of the royal palace. They were an expensive hire, and in typical form for assassins they weren’t exactly warm or grateful. But Endwin was. He could afford a bit of patience with these mysterious foreigners, they were about to make him king.

	“Sir?” said the carriage driver from out front, “I believe this is the tavern you directed me to, but-”
	“We’re here?! Did anyone see us?” They had taken a service carriage and one of the slaves mules. He knew they wouldn’t be recognized but he was lost in the thrill of the moment. He clutched the bottle of Valoran madeira he had brought as an extra little gift for the killers. A sign of his gratitude. His brothers had told him this was all a stupid idea- but he’d have the last laugh. A little cash and a little kindness and he’d have his prize. He peeked out the window into the pitch black of the night.
	“Well, no sir. You see, it’s like I told you before. Everyone’s asleep- the pub aren’t even open,” he said opening the door for Endwin.
	“Sshh! I told you not to say a word! This doesn’t concern you,” Endwin whispered as he held his bottle close and scanned his surroundings.
	Everything was the same shade of hazy purple. A film of starlight defined the inky black figures from each other, but Endwin couldn’t find his man. He couldn’t make out any human figures in the darkness.
	“Sir, there are animals out in the dark-”
	“Quiet!” Endwin tried to hear footsteps or breathing. Something human amongst the din of frogs and crickets.
	Then a figure coalesced from the twilight and spoke to Endwin.
“You should not have taken a carriage. This was discussed.” There was dreadful seriousness in his silent voice. “You are also too early.”
“I apologize, I meant nothing by it- I- I brought you this,” he extended the wine and the bottle glimmered in the moonlight. “-also, of course, your money.”
“Who is he?” The carriage man blushed in the darkness. In truth he didn’t really kno how to answer that. He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on and he was told not to ak questions.
“My driver- he’s only a driver. Perhaps you don’t work with many clients of my personal status. This is simply how I get around, I didn’t think-”
They all heard it. A horse galloping through the mud towards their location. Endwin would’ve dropped the bottle in fear if it had been a cheaper vintage.
“Get in your carriage!” The voice in the dark shoved Endwin back in with his driver. The thumping of hooves was growing louder and louder- it could even be more than one horse. Endwin let himself believe it could be one of his brothers. Surely one of them followed him out here to give him a scare and turn him away from his plan. What a funny way for this evening to end; he imagined the stories he’d tell of his mixup with the assassins at the dinner table. Of course everyone would laugh.
No matter how nice the lie sounded he couldn’t get images of ghostly riders and murderous bandits out of his head. His inexperience with all things beyond the walls of his home was playing against him.

Theywaited, shaking with fear, until Endwin realized just how long there was quiet. Not silence, but whispers. One of the whispers was from the shadowy figure he was paying. Was this a joke? Some prank pulled by assassins on gracious nobles? He imagined two shadowy figures, chuckling quietly like little children. He wanted to throw the door open, chastise them and walk away with his money. He reached for the doorknob but stopped short: what if this was how ghosts worked? He remembered the story his mother used to tell him about children coaxed into the woods by what they thought were the calls of sprites, only to be kidnapped and never heard from again.
	The door opened itself, the shadowy figure no longer hidden behind a low-hanging hood. The moon cast a glow on his somber face. He looked angelic, but pained.
	“What is going on? What was all of that?” Endwin poked his head outside and tried to find the second whisperer. “Who was that?”
	“I apologize, but there has been a change in our plans.” in a silent maneuver he pulled a dagger from his coat and slipped it into Endwin’s trachea. He pulled back and let Endwin collapse into the lap of the carriage driver, writhing and coughing up blood. As the driver looked up at the assassin, the dagger sunk into his own neck.

	The assassin draped his hood back over his head. Treachery like this was shameful to him, but he had his reasons, and he had his price.
“I will find a clearing in the forest to burn this,” said the second assassin, “it will be ash by morning.” He mounted his horse and began to lead the mule and carriage away.
“How many did we lose? What do we tell everyone back home?”
The man on the horse didn’t look back. He did not stop. “Everyone. You and I are all that’s left. We tell the people we have failed. What you are going to tell your father-” He turned on his saddle. “That I cannot say. Good luck, Kaio”

	As the carriage was led away, Kaio pictured his comrades. The men he had learned from and taught, grown with and trained with since he was a child. Their corpses probably littered the floor of some hall of the palace, coating the turquoise tiles with their blood. All it ever took was one loose tongue to ruin a job. Masters of the craft could be killed by an unkept secret. Kaio would likely never find out who said what and why they did it. It was always the same. All questions and no answers. They had gotten off lucky this time. Rarely did saboteurs ever contract their services as retaliation. It must have been politics beyond Kaios pay grade. He felt nauseous thinking about it. It was a dirty thing to do, and Kaio had never considered his work dirty- even as killing goes. His people were not always mercenaries: times had gotten hard. In old days the Odoe worked for malicious gods and other spirits wishing to interfere with the mortal realm. Kaio was not alive in those days. His only memories were of his starving neighbors, too poor to adapt to a changing world. He never regretted devoting his craft to helping them survive, but his pride was hurt. And now his men were all dead, and he was running back home to be scolded by his father.
	Kaio listened to the sounds of the night and looked up at the moon. He left after a time, but he could not be heard, or be seen.