Beneath marble rooftops, where colorful fabrics reached across the lower black alleys that encompassed the dark streets of jedawl, men of the desert made their way to the nearest tavern, hoping to sooth their troubles with fine wine and finer women. Under the candle lit ceiling of one such building, with its brown fur coated seats, wine stained wooden floors and tall exotic women, men of every sort traded gold coins for strong drink and easy pleasure.

  "Jedawl grows greater by the day," roared a large man, red wine spilling from his black beard.

  Seated across him and witnessing his boasting, two men frowned and shook their heads. These older jewdalian's, both bald yet with opposing colored eyes waving behind their eyes and who could have easily been mistaken for twins, sighed at the specatcle. The younger man, clearly a soldier in his prime, still bore the mark of untamed pride, a trait that often lingered in those unwilling to learn from experience. And as he laughed, the older men's hands, moving with an almost shared thought, retrieved the cups from the table to sooth their irritation with wine.

  The man closest to the right and with a darker shade of brown coloring his eyes, placed his cup on the table.

  "Why do you say such a thing," he asked, anger bubbling behind his voice.

  Surprised, the hazel-eyed Jedawlan to his left shot him a warning glance

  "Death is everywhere, it comes in the night without cause or explanation. And not to mention the raiders outside our walls. The city is getting greater, no, it is going to hell."

  With a smirk spreading across his black-bearded face, the boastful Jedawlian quickly finished the rest of his wine.

  "Ha details! The world is cruel as is life and yet we thrive. Thats what makes this city great. Where else in this world wou ld you find such a contrast of savagry and civility. No where thats where!"

  His fist slammed the table, nearly upending the cups and drawing every eye as a candle fell. His point resonated through the tavern.

  "Forget it," the other man whispered.

  "Reason has left him. But i understand why you say what you say, and what you are alluding to."

  "So you too have heard - about the accident in the palace."

  Irked by their whispers that ignored him, the man slumped back down, resembling a sulky child.

  "Ha Spoil the night why don't you. You, woman, come here - pour me more wine."

  "What happened could not have been an accident," continued the older man, "to fall from such a height, and a gaurdsman no less. "

  "A gaurdsman is still a man, and even they can fall to melancholoy of the mind. SUch thoughts exist in us all."

  "But in one so young. I know the boys mother, who works the bizzare, i've shopped their for years. Not even twenty years old she told me and he was not one to have such black thoughts."

  "Still prattling!" the giant-jedawlian yawned. "Still going on about the matter. Death comes to us all and it doesn't care how old we may be. Although i do forget that neither of you old goats has seen as much battle as me, so maybe you aren't as versed in such matters."

  A silent, cloaked figure loomed behind the three Jedawlians, the hilt of a sword just visible beneath his dark cloak. His sudden, dry cough was the only warning before he spoke

  "May i join you," asked the stranger with a calm and confident voice.

  With a gasp, all three men turned to him. Startled and puzzled, the Jedawlians exchanged glances at this stranger who wished to sit with them. As the silence stretched, an aura of intrigue about the man swayed one of the older Jedawlians, a type known to enjoy a good tale from a stranger. He slowly pulled out a vacant stool from beneath the table.

  "ple-"

  "wait a minute!" said the man who boasted, interjecting the old man's invitation.

  "Who are you to join us. We know neither your name or your character. Worse still you conceal your face."

  A satisfied smirk appeared on the large Jedawlian's face, as he sank back down into his chair.

  "True my face is concealed, but its only because i am better looking like this then with it off, believe me freind. As for my character, i'm generous to those i share a table with if that will suffice."

  The confidence in the strangers voice, a steady and unnerved sound that stood firm as a rock, made the large jedawlian, a man use to having those around him bend to his will, snort. From the table where the three men's cup sat, he grabbed one which wasn't his own and drank, slammig the cup on the table once finished.

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  "What do you want?" he asked, contempt seething in the back of his voice.

  "Simply to hear more of what happened from the palace, so far I've heard only fragments that reflect pieces of truth, yet it sounds like you pair may know more."

  "Ignore him," the elder gestured to the jewdalian, "wine has his mind."

  "Please sit with us."

  Accepting the invitation, the stranger sat down on the sheep skinned stool between the two older men.

  "Thank you."

  From the crowd and with a silver platter of cups in her hands, A black woman, tall and with skin as smooth and alluring as onyx, came to the table and approached the stranger, smiling.

  "What can i get you dear?" she asked with flustering cheeks.

  "Nothing for me," he replied, "but your best wine for these men who have let me sit beside them."

  With a handful of gold coins that he pulled from beneath his cloak, the stranger paid the her. Seeing this, the booastful jedawlian's anger was tempered slightly.

  "I suppose you may stay. But you, wench be quick, i'm beginning to become sober from being too long without wine."

  The woman threw him a contemptous look that would have made any man with shame cry, before picking up his cup.

  "So is it true?" asked the stranger, "murder in the palace."

  "Unfortunately it is," one of the elders answered, "a young man met his end from a great fall."

  His answer worried the stranger, who as if in thought over the grisly details of the incident that transpired in the palace, went silent. His eyes glazed over as he looked into the distance, replaying these events in his mind.

  "Did you know him?" he asked, pulling himself out from such thoughts.

  "Only through an aquantice," answered the darker eyed elder, "But i've not seen her for some time now. I only pray that she's alright."

  The woman returned to the table with three new cups and a slik skin that smelt of strong liquor. Unscrewing the silk skin, she placed the cups onto the table before each man and poured the blood-red liquid.

  "Interesting," the stranger continued, "But if i'm not mistaken the palace grounds lay directly beneath the spire of the sultans quarters."

  The elder men's expressions quickly soured.

  "What is it?" the stranger asked.

  "Yes- you're right but surely you're not saying-"

  "Don't fret freind," the stranger said, trying to set them at ease.

  "I'm not saying anything, merely guessing. I would not suspect the dear sultan of committing such an act on his own men."

  "Then who do you think committed this act?" asked the other elder.

  "I do not know but i have my suspicions on one individual, someone who came not long ago and made herself amiable to great and powerful men. Perhaps men as great as the sultan."

  As the stranger finished these words, both the elders faces lit up with a shared disbelief that was born from some particular moment.

  "Well - a woman has-"

  Before the elder could finish his sentence, the large Jedawlian, who had been quiet up until now, slammed the table and spilt what wine remained onto the floor.

  "Sheath your tongues!" he roared "Baseless rumors mean nothing. The sultan allowed her asylum after she was attacked by raiders."

  "But how do we know?" asked the hazel eyed elder, his nerves dwindling quickly.

  "I've seen her stand beside the sultan at one of his speeches. Why would the he permit her this grand gesture. Why he even brought her to the honory parade just for the guardsman. Why would someone so trusted by the sultan order such a thing. Answer me that"

  "You are a guardsman?" asked the stranger, his interest piqued.

  "Yes," the guardsman stood up and leaned close to strangers face. "An interrogator. And believe me when i say, your gossiping and tall tales will cease here or i'll have you in chains in the dungeons beneath the palace."

  "Ease yourself friend. I understand your loyalty to your comrades and i understand that wine makes mans wills hot. But your infatuation with this woman should not cloud your mind to the possibilities, besides I'm not saying that this wom-"

  "Insolent wretch, she's not just a woman, she is a godde- wait a minute."

  The jedawlian stopped mid-explanation and squinted his eyes at the stranger.

  "Lift your hood," he said.

  "Like i said before friend I'd prefer to keep it on," the stranger explained calmly.

  "And i may prefer to stick a blade in your gut if you don't do as a ask," threatened the man, now reaching for his blade to back his threat.

  While fear would have come naturally to most men who had received such a threat by a city guard, especially in the city of jedawl, where they were known to violently enforce the law, the stranger couldn't help but chuckle.

  "Easy there," he said, "While i'm open to friendliness, don't mistake me for a man who'll not answer a threat in kind."

  The guardsman laughed, wine flying from my mouth.

  "You think i don't know your type. I've seen men talk tough and then cry like new born babies under the sun, especially when i put the hot irons to their flesh."

  "And you find such things amusing do you?" asked the stranger, a growing dark confidence in his tone.

  "A man must find satisfaction in his work and I've found much in mine. Now, take off the hood or I'll do it myself."

  A heavy sigh that expressed his frustration that the inevitable would occur escaped from beneath the strangers hood.

  "You'll not change your mind will you?" he asked, "Not even for more wine."

  "What do you think coward - wait - wait - you're"

  Fumbling over these words, the large jedawlian's hand shot out for the strangers hood while his other unsheathed his dagger. The stranger grabbed the giant's fingers as quick as he could and, in a vice like grip and with an unsettling crack, applied pressure. A torturous yell filled the tavern. Desperate, the guardsman lunged for the stranger neck with his blade.

  With one seamless motion that only a master swordsman could have performed, the stranger deflected this attack and severed the guardsman's fingers in a silver arc from the sword beneath his cloak.

  As spurts of crimson vomited from the stubs that were once his two fingers, the guardsman fell to the ground. The tavern erupted into panic with drunken men and half naked women, all of them screaming and running outside.

  "It's you" cried the guardsman, still clutching the stubs.

  "The desert jackal she ordered us to slay."

  "Yes its me. And now - guardsman - you will help me slay her."