The moon lighting the ink-black sky cast an otherworldly glow over the desolate expanse of Shantytown. Shadows writhed like specters along the crumbling walls of ramshackle buildings while a profound stillness whispering secrets of despair hung heavy in the air. Mathilda, her heart racing, pulled her daughter Eliza close, as much to shield her child from the biting chill that seeped through their thin, tattered coats as to protect her from the potential dangers lurking all around.

“We must be quiet, Eliza,” Mathilda whispered as she scanned the darkened street. For now, reaching out with her sorcery, she sensed nothing. But that could change in an instant.

Eliza, her bright eyes too wide for her small face, nodded obediently.

The breeze smelled of damp earth and decay, a lingering reminder of life in Shantytown, whose best days had passed long ago. Everything about the border town was old. Its history, its foundations, its people. But oldest of all was Shantywall, a bastion of weathered stone rising a hundred feet over the dilapidated shops and tenements and thick enough to withstand the most powerful blasts from the war wizards of old. Once, the ensorcelled wall had even endured the rage of the Old Gods.

Voices from the street’s other side caught Mathilda’s attention. But it was only noise from The Singing Sword, its open door leaking conversation as the proprietor tossed a drunk past his allotment for the evening from the tavern and onto his arse.

“Come, Eliza.”

Mathilda tugged on her daughter’s hand, leading her across the street and down the dark alley spanning one side of the tavern. They stopped at the bottom of a short flight of moss-slick stairs, where Mathilda unlocked the door to their makeshift apartment. Inside, Mathilda lit a stubbed candle and put on a pot for water. Above them, boots stomped across the Sword’s floor, but the tavern seemed quieter than usual since the usual sounds of merriment were subdued. Only when Mathilda finished stoking their meager coals did she notice Eliza hovering in the room’s shadowed corner.

Catching her mother’s eye, her daughter asked in the quietest of whispers, “Is it safe now?”

Mathilda’s heart ached to see Eliza’s soft trembling. Kneeling before her, Mathilda brushed a strand of her daughter’s plum-colored hair behind her ear. “For now, yes. But we must stay alert. Your aunt will not stop until she finds us.”

Outside, the wind howled, rattling their lone window as if it carried Isadora’s name on its frigid breath. Clenching fists, Mathilda almost wished Isadora was here so she could make her pay for forcing this life of caution and secrecy on Eliza. They had a reckoning coming, sure enough. When that time came, she would end her coven sister once and for all. Only then could she guarantee Eliza's safety.

“The Spirits whisper words of warning,” Mathilda said. “Perhaps you heard them too? No? Your aunt follows our path, no matter how much I hide it. Soon, we will need to move again.”

Eliza nodded, understanding. This was neither the first nor the last time such danger forced them to flee.

“But what if she catches us before we leave?” Eliza asked.

Mathilda cupped Eliza’s face, drawing strength from the bond they shared. “We will fight. Together. I will do everything to keep you safe. But if I falter, you know what you must do.”

Another nod.

“Say it out loud.”

“Run. If you can’t stop Aunt Isadora, I need to run.”

“As hard and as fast as you can,” Mathilda said, “and never look back. No matter what happens to me.”

Mathilda wrapped her daughter in a tight embrace before returning to the preparation of their meal. The soup was thin and not nourishing enough, but it was all they had. Though Mathilda sensed Isadora close, Mathilda didn’t think she’d made it to Shantytown yet. But agents of hers, those who roved far and wide looking for Mathilda and Eliza, already darkened the town with their presence. Eliza didn’t know that, nor did she need to know. Let her have some peace, as little as there was to be had these days.

When the soup was ready, Mathilda ladled some into two chipped wooden bowls, making sure Eliza had the larger share.

“Eat, sweetheart,” Mathilda urged.

Mathilda watched as Eliza brought the soup to her lips, each tiny sip a reassurance that maybe their situation wasn’t so desperate after all.

Noise from overhead—merriment from The Singing Sword—sounded almost foreign, a stark contrast to their isolated existence. She turned her gaze to the window, searching the shadows outside while faint laughter and the clinking of mugs echoed from the walls. For just a moment, she let herself imagine a different life—a life free from Isadora’s influence, filled with laughter and simple joys. But the dream was fleeting, shattered by a rattling knock on their door. Mathilda’s heart raced, the illusion lifting. She straightened, instincts sharpening with urgency.

Eliza’s spoon clattered to the floor, her expression overwhelmed by despair until her mother placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Whatever happens, remember what I told you.”

Eliza picked up her spoon, then she bobbed her head in rapid succession.

Mathilda crept to the window, peering through the cracked glass and straining her eyes to see into the stairwell. Their flickering candlelight revealed little besides the silhouette of a person standing at the door.

“Mathilda!” the person hissed. “I know you’re in there!”

Not Isadora. Even Eliza knew it, as she let out a sigh of relief.

Mathilda opened the door a crack, revealing the pointed stare of a young woman.

“Gretchen! What do you want?”

Stick-thin, Gretchen could almost squeeze through the cracked door. She satisfied herself by pressing her face inside. “You said to let you know if any suspicious strangers came by the Sword. Well, someone did.”

Mathilda opened the door to admit her spy. Once inside, she locked it.

“Who? Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” Gretchen said, frowning. “Did you miss the part about him being a stranger? Oh, hello, Eliza.”

Eliza’s lips pressed into a thin smile.

“Describe him!” Mathilda commanded.

“Big, like an ox. A hard man with a hard stare. He kept looking around the room, sniffing. Ya know, like a dog.”

Mathilda’s shoulders sank. “A bloodhound.”

“A what?” Gretchen asked. “You serious?”

“The Bloodstone Coven uses them to track their enemies,” Mathilda said, her focus growing distant. “Isadora must have hired him to find me and Eliza. Was he still at the Sword when you left?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. I left out the back, and I did like you told me. I circled around a couple of blocks before coming here. He never even looked my direction, so he had no reason to wonder about me. Before I left, I heard him ask about a woman with a child. That’s why I came here right away.”

Mathilda let out a breath. “Thank you. You did good. I wish I could somehow repay you.”

Gretchen waved a hand. “No need. Just a friend helping a friend. You’d do the same for me. I know it.”

Mathilda wasn’t so sure, especially where her safety and that of her child were concerned, but she said nothing.

“I should get back before I’m missed,” Gretchen said. “Anything you want me to do?”

Mathilda shook her head. “Stay away from the bloodhound if you can. He’s dangerous.”

Gretchen nodded. “I won’t take any chances. But you and Eliza, be careful, you hear?” The woman’s gaze fixed on Eliza. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Eliza said in her soft voice.

Once Gretchen had slipped back into the night, Mathilda turned to her daughter.

“Eliza, gather what you can. We won’t be returning here.”

“Do we have to?” Eliza asked, but she was already roving the room, packing her scant belongings into a knapsack. A doll, a painting that Mathilda had made depicting happier days, and a worn book of fairy tales that Mathilda often used to lull Eliza to sleep with dreams of magic and adventure. These few items were all she valued, and all she had.

Mathilda packed a waterskin half full of water and a handful of dried meat sticks she saved for occasions like these. She strapped a small sword to her waist. Then she banked the coals in the stove and, by the time she was finished, Eliza stood by the door, ready to leave. With Eliza’s hand in hers, they stepped into the night.

The moon illuminated their path as they navigated narrow alleyways and side streets, their every footfall taking them further from The Singing Sword and the bloodhound and, Mathilda hoped, the danger of being caught.

But hope was too often fleeting, and so it proved now. Rounding a corner, Mathilda came up short. She yanked on Eliza’s arm to draw her close. There, at the center of a crossroads, stood a bloodhound. Not the one Gretchen described, but one lanky and hunched, his expression stone but with a light in his eyes that Mathilda perceived as satisfaction at locating his prey.

Cursing, Mathilda realized she should have been using her magic to look ahead, not behind. But too late now. Shoving Eliza behind her, Mathilda saw no safety existed there, either. Another bloodhound stepped from the shadows. Broad and muscled, here was Gretchen’s hound, waiting as they passed and positioned now to cut off their escape.

Isadora’s henchmen said nothing as they stepped closer. One drew a sword. The other, a dagger. But one does not hunt a witch without the aid of magic, so each weapon flared to life as runes along the blades lit up.

“Stay behind me, Eliza,” Mathilda commanded, her heart pounding.

With sword raised, one bloodhound charged. Mathilda kept her small sword in its sheath. Only her magic could prevail in this contest, so she raised her arms, crackling bolts of lightning-like purple energy erupting from her fingertips.

The henchman, ready, caught the bolts with his sword. Mathilda’s sorcery danced along the blade, darkening the steel, and for one instant, as the sword contained the witch’s power and the hound’s lips turned in a smug smile, it looked as if all her effort was for nothing. But hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her child, so magic fueled by rage poured from Mathilda’s hands. The hound’s sword responded, its runes glowing ever brighter until one flickered and failed. Soon, another did the same, the glowing sigil blinking once, twice, then dimming all at once. Mathilda’s power had no end, so more followed until so few remained that the henchman’s smug expression transformed into panic and, finally, fear.

Almost too late, Mathilda saw the other bloodhound lashing at her with his dagger. But she hadn’t forgotten about him. Her sword wasn’t magical but its blade was sharp, and with the hound so close, she sidestepped his lunge, drew her sword, and plunged it into him to the hilt. While his body slid free, Mathilda delivered one last surge of energy to the other, overwhelming the last of his defenses. Her magic enveloped him, lighting his bones as it hurled him away.

With her chest heaving, Mathilda let her energy fade. She turned to find Eliza trembling, her lips quivering and wide eyes shifting from one corpse to another.

“There, dear, it’s over now.”

Mathilda took her face in her hands and pulled her close.

Behind her, one of the hounds slid across the cobbles. “Not over, witch,” the bloodhound gasped, clawing toward his prey on his belly. But blood welled beneath him, and Mathilda knew he wasn’t long for this life.

Releasing her daughter, Mathilda stepped on the man’s weapon hand.

“Eliza, close your eyes.”

Once Eliza had done as instructed, Mathilda looked down at the hound and said, “When Isadora finds your corpse and summons your spirit back from the dead, tell her what happened here tonight. Make sure she knows the same fate awaits anyone else she sends.” Then she plunged her sword into his back. The hound died with a sigh.

Silence enveloped the street, the stillness settling heavily after the tumultuous battle. If anyone had noticed, they kept to themselves behind locked doors. A mixture of relief and exhaustion washed over Mathilda as she turned back to Eliza, who still had her eyes squeezed shut. Without a word, Mathilda lifted her daughter and carried her.

“You’re safe now,” Mathilda told her.

Eliza responded by burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.

Above them, the moon shone brightly, a beacon leading them to their next destination.

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This story featured the following characters from the Assassin Without a Name series:

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