The sun was a white orb in a cloudless sky and the seabirds wheeled and shrieked in the slight breeze. He savored his beer, lounging on the fountain, enjoying the feeling of fine silk against his skin. Around him the usual commerce of Lion’s Arch ebbed and flowed; he took in the colorful cloaks and mentally named most of the guilds they belonged to. He saw none that interested him, for he also had an encyclopedic knowledge of whose blood was worth what to whom.

He regarded himself as a hunter of men. If there was a bounty anywhere, he likely knew of it. Of particular frustration was the whereabouts of the young ranger Dale. She was said to be in the desert, but the men sent to find her had no word. Dural sneered to himself; Leth was an idiot and so was his fumbling mentalist friend Renard. They sent fops to do the job of an assassin. However, Twistwood had not contacted him until this morning on the matter...the messenger had been most urgent. Apparently something had happened, for the girl was wanted alive and unharmed.

He had spoken to some rangers in the city and this had led him to Kouric’s name and also to the old master Jael. Dural knew the name as he knew many things. A tough and irascible man who had trained many rangers who had come to some notoriety. There were other stories about Jael defying Grenth, an interesting story to be sure. It made him smile. Such a man would not have unskilled students, so the hunt may be fun. First he would find Kouric and talk to him.

He drank the last bit of beer. A member of Sky Gate flicked past and Dural smiled. There was a thousand gold on that little mage. He watched her move across the square; she appeared alone, but the bounty was very low for the potential risk involved. He cast the thought aside and began thinking about his primary quarry again when he heard a familiar name bubble through the crowd.

“I’m looking for Kouric.”

Dural picked up the lute on the wall beside him and stalked through the crowd. A short, plain woman with newly cropped hair was stopping adventurous looking types and asking them. She had a long inlaid rosewood box over her shoulder on a leather strap. She wore a plain habit and he easily identified the weave pattern at the edges as being from Serenity Temple. Her clothing was travel worn and she carried a heavy pack.

“Lady.” He said, striding forward with a winning smile. “I am Temise…and I know where Kouric is.”

“Oh thank Dwayna.” She clasped her hands and bowed to him politely. Closer to her, Dural could see she was maybe a few years over thirty, her face etched with care. Her calloused hands rested on a plain black walking stick. Carefully looking at her he determined she was probably a low member in her order, a herbalogist by her strong scent and not a seasoned traveler; her shoulders were aching by the way she stooped. Dural grinned at her in what he hoped was a friendly manner.

“So what brings you to Lion’s Arch, sister?”

“I am bringing some things to Kouric as I was asked. Where is he?”

“In Bergen Hot Springs. It is not safe for you to travel alone there, I could accompany you…I am good with a blade. It would be an honor to protect a sister of Dwayna.”

She stared at him for a moment then stepped away. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Like what?” Dural was taken aback by her reaction. It was rare that anyone saw through him to his true motivation. She shook her head.

“Like a hungry charr? What do you want with me?”

“Nothing, Lady. I am but a mercenary. I guess I expect recompense, but I am utterly trustworthy.” He mentally cursed himself. She was far more intelligent and perceptive than her little isolated order had led him to believe. Perhaps she had traveled in her younger years and met people like him.

“I will get other company. Thanks for telling me of his location.” She turned away and then looked behind herself as he continued following her. He saw the glint of fear in her eyes as she fled and felt a little thrill. Oh, she knew him for a predator. He slowed down and marked her movement through the plaza. She was rather distinctive and easy to track, he followed her slowly, careful to keep his head down. She led him to one of the grassy hillsides where the dregs of the adventuring community liked to meet.

None of the mighty and influential met there, only scruffy warriors, charlatan mages and ragged transients. The monk talked to a few of them until a dirty looking ranger nodded and accepted a drink from her wineskin. Dural knelt behind a wall and watched as she slowly gathered a small band around herself. She was good. He chided himself; she’d come from Ascalon to Lion’s Arch somehow. Monks were very desired by these roving types.

She wasted no time and was soon trotting down the slope with three men on her heels. She had a warrior, the ranger and a plump little mage. Sighing, he followed them to the gate, deciding that he would be merely a spy, though he was eager to see what was in the beautiful box.

It took them the rest of the day to wander through the Krytan countryside. He watched them slay a few tengu while he ate a little lunch. If they had but moved a bit to the side, the Tengu would not even have seen them. She had picked some blunderers, likely they were all poor for a reason. Yet the woman kept them healed with considerable skill, calling out to them occasionally when they chased a fleeing enemy. She had enough command to bring them back to her…the young warrior blushed at the sound of his name. Dural was amused despite himself; he had completely misread the monk and that was unusual. She was not the soft silly scholar he had imagined.

As evening settled over the green hills they came south into the cleft that marked the entry to Bergen Hot Springs. Dural paused outside the gate to unpack his gray cloak and to hide his lute in the bushes. If he kept his head covered and hunched himself, it was unlikely she’d guess at his identity. He slinked inside the gate and watched as the little party dispersed.

He followed the monk down to where the merchant had his cart. She was already talking to a lanky man in a wide brimmed hat. His armor gleamed slightly beneath the dirt of the road; good Kurzick armor. If it was Kouric then he was a well traveled man. He’d probably met assassins on his forays. Dural wrinkled his nose and kept to the side, watching as the monk unshouldered her precious burden and held it out to the ranger.

Kouric took it from her with an expression of dread. Dural leaned forward as the ranger knelt and opened the case. The man sat back and then sat down on the grass.

“I can’t keep this.”

“He told me you must have it.”

“He should have been buried with it. It’s his bow…how could I take it and hope to honor him?” Kouric lifted a gleaming red bow from the case; it was lithe and delicate and the ranger’s hand trembled as he turned it over gently. In silence Kouric bent the bow and strung it gently.

“He said you would do what was right.”

“Gods. I’ve never done that.” Kouric rubbed his forehead wearily, then finally put his hand on the grip and drew the fine string. The bow unfolded slightly and the lanternlight lit its translucent limbs like fire. Dural admired it for the glorious and rare weapon that it was; worth a fortune in the right market. Kouric seemed to be aware of people staring at him and he quickly unstrung the bow and put it back in its splendid case.

“I was hoping that tomorrow morning you could take me to the Temple of Ages?” The monk asked softly. “You do have the distinction of being a guide.”

“Why would you want to go there?”

“I have something that belongs to Grenth.”

“Sister, what would you want with him?”

“I must go. Then I will go home”

“Why do you stay at Serenity Temple? What is there for anyone in Ascalon?”

“I stay in the places where the wounds are in need of most care. Your master did as well. Do you fear to be weak in the face of evil? Jael told me about you. He said you doubt yourself, but he that would never be ashamed of you.”

“I was never fit to be his student.”

“Nonsense.”

“He was not hard enough on me.”

“Because you punish yourself.”

“I am a failure.” Kouric shrugged. “I am a drunkard and a fool.”

“If you believe that then you don’t have to do anything, I guess. Makes it easy for you.” The monk shrugged. “You will take me in the morning though?”

“Yes, of course.” Kouric agreed, his voice beginning to grate. “Anything.”

“As long as it doesn’t hurt you.”

“Yes. I am afraid you are right, Isida.” Kouric snapped. “Aren’t you going to ask after Dale? You haven’t said her name yet, but I know where this is going.”

“No, I know she is missing and that you have not bothered looking for her.”

“The Twistwood are looking for her. If they knew I was searching, they would kill me.”

“So you hide here?”

“I don’t know where she is. Where would I start? What gives you the right to stir me up anyhow?”

“I don’t know. You could try.”

“Perhaps. Or she might be dead. Then why would it matter? If she is alive, then it’s her own choice what she does. Maybe she doesn't need my help.” Kouric shrugged. “I want to sleep now. You’ll get your trip in the morning. If you have smite prayers I recommend bringing a few for our zombie friends.”

“Very well.”

“Good night.” Kouric rumbled with finality, wrapping himself and the rosewood box under his cloak and turning his back to her pointedly.

The assassin smiled to himself. Would anyone miss a ranger and a monk that disappeared in the vast swampy waste between Bergen and the Temple? He could snuff out the competition and become rich into the bargain. Wealth and death in one trip. He was going to enjoy himself. Two nicely experienced opponents to play with, but none the less vulnerable ones.