I dragged my finger over the blade, admiring the way the metal was shaped into a tapered wave. The hilt was propped only delicately in my other hand, and the crimson glow of the inlaid geodes reflected off my palm. It was a beautifully crafted piece, and a most lethal weapon to boot. The unique shape meant each strike was deadlier, each twist more painful. I could spear an organ and sever another with a simple jab.

“It has a brother,” Terrik said, holding up a second dagger. I took it from him and held one in each palm, placing them alongside one another. They were even more impressive as a pair.

“I will take both.”

Terrik smiled, revealing the gap of missing teeth on the upper left of his mouth. “I knew you would approve,” he claimed. “You have always favored the intimacy of close combat.”

“Proximity allows control. I have no use for ranged weaponry. It leaves too much to chance.” I dug into the pocket of my jodhpurs and extracted several vials. The citrine liquid within pulsed as though it were alive. Terrik eyed the glass capsules eagerly, and I said, “Concentrated angui venom. Two drops to the tip of a blade, one for ingestion.”

“You seem to have learned much from your time with the farmers,” the A’li-uud replied, pleased. In the blue light from the mineral lamps dangling throughout the lair, the thick scar trailing from his hairline to his upper lip appeared shiny. He had had that scar since our meeting four years prior, but I only realized at that moment I had never asked him how it was received. Terrik was not the sort of whom one asked those kinds of questions.

“Yes,” I acknowledged with disinterest. “The Elders were not wise to convert my sentence to labor, though I am grateful they did.”

My snaky companion leered. “Perhaps they will place you in the altisuam mills next time. There has been a resurgence of requests for finger-blades, and I have found the teeth from the ‘suam saws do quite well.”

“There will be no next time,” I returned at once, fastening the dagger sheaths to either side of my belt. “I have no intention of another arrest.”

Terrik crooked an iridescent eyebrow, which tightened the scar below into near-transparency. “You are not suggesting renouncing the rogues?” he probed skeptically.

I would have ignored him but, just as he was not one to query, Terrik was also not one to ignore. “No, I do not intend to renounce the rogues,” I said as I slid the daggers into their places. The weight of one on each side of my hips felt comfortable, and I tested the ease with which I could draw them. They slid metallically from their scabbards without flaw. Terrik was still eyeing me, so I continued to speak. “I merely intend to change course. The underground trade has become too saturated, and the guards too smart. It will not be long before entire operations are shut down.”

“To what do you intend to shift your focus?” He pressed a finger over his lips as he asked, muffling his words slightly.

“I have not yet decided,” I evaded. I sheathed the daggers again and looked up, inclining my head. “I do appreciate our working together, though, and I am quite pleased with my latest purchase.”

Still, Terrik held his forefinger to his mouth, staring at me. I felt uneasy. I was not an A’li-uud who was frightened easily, and I certainly was not an A’li-uud to be intimidated, but Terrik was unpredictable. It was precisely that, his inane unpredictability that made him such a successful and infamous trader. Amongst the rogues, he was revered and feared in equal measure, and few were willing to work directly with him to meet their ends. I had been one of the few willing, but there had been several times throughout our working relationship in which I felt he might become less of an ally and more of an enemy, and this was one of those times.

Finally, he dropped his hand back to his side and leaned casually against the cave wall behind him. “I have been good to you, Zuran, yes?” he asked carefully.

It was a loaded question. I had learned the tricks to Terrik’s manipulative methods through observation long ago. If I answered in the affirmative, it meant he felt justified in asking or demanding a favor. If I answered in the negative, it was an invitation to battle. There was no satisfactory response to be made, but there was only one if I intended to leave the lair unscathed.

“Yes.”

“I have helped you make money? Helped you find the means to get what you wanted to get and do what you wanted to do?”

“Yes,” I repeated, barely moving my lips.

He tilted his head to the side. He was not smiling, but there was enjoyment behind his glittering eyes. This was a game to him. He had always been a predator, but I had become the prey.

“I have always supported any decision you have made, yes?”

For a third time, I agreed, “Yes.”

“Good.” He was practically salivating now as he verbally cornered me. “Then, I want you to be assured I will support you in this as well. If your desire is to contribute to the rogues outside the underground trade, I am happy to do what I can to help you.”

I waited for him to go on, to stab me with the hook that I was certain would be attached to this line, but he did not expound. He merely looked at me, smiling slightly and leaning against the wall. When it became too uncomfortable to look back at him, I replied brusquely, “Thank you.”

“To that end…” There it was: the hidden twist. He rolled the vials of angui venom between his fingers, and they tinkled lightly each time they inadvertently hit one another. “I have the perfect position for you.”

“Position?” It was a word generally reserved for the militia, synonymous with rank. Part of being a member of the rogues was our distinct lack of organization. There were no jobs within the underground, only those who needed something done and did it.

Terrik nodded, a smug smile maiming his twisted lips. “We need a mole.”

“Pardon me?”

He pushed himself forward, straightening up from his slouch against the wall, and took a step toward me. In his ardor, he looked manic and frenzied. His eyes were wide, his teeth gleaming in the blue light, his nostrils flared. Terrik was an imposing A’li-uud to look upon in the best of times, but this was the face I imagined his victims saw just before he told them their consequence for shorting him in trade.

“A mole,” he said. “We need someone on the inside. As you said, the guards have become too smart. The underground market is in danger of utter extermination if we do not put securities into place. You said you wanted to shift your focus out of trading; well, here it is.”

“You want me to join the warriors?” I asked incredulously. I could not fathom doing something as regimented as owning a shop, let alone spending my days and nights taking orders about everything from my hairstyle to my attitude from someone else.

“It should be an easy transition for you,” Terrik noted. “You are already a deadly fighter, and you have been arrested enough times to have gained a measure of insight into the job. And your brother is part of the guard, is he not?”

“He is,” I acknowledged tightly.

Terrik grinned widely, again revealing his missing teeth. “How perfect! He can certainly put in a good word for you, maybe help you get those arrests off your record to ensure your eligibility.”

“I doubt Kharid would allow me to join the militia, Terrik,” I contended. “I am too high-profile an outlaw.”

“Oh, but it is all in the wording, dear boy!” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him. I felt the array of knives beneath his vest, as bumpy as a rib cage. I realized he had a large mass on his back beneath the vest’s hem, and I immediately knew he was carrying a gaar’kon gun. That was unusual; it meant one of two things: either he had some business to settle after his meeting with me, or he was prepared to ensure I had only one option regarding his proposal. Knowing Terrik, it could have been both. “You simply tell the Council how much you regret your misdeeds, how you were short-sighted and entitled and lacking in judgment. You thank them for their efforts in rehabilitating you into a worthy citizen. And then you tell them you want a chance to prove yourself.”

“I expect the Council is astute enough to see through a plea as thin as that,” I said dryly.

Terrik released me and spun to face me once more. He was grinning from ear-to-ear now, widening his scar to an unnatural berth. “You expect the Council to see through it because you believe them to be as shrewd as we are. What you are forgetting, Zuran, is ego. We know what we do not know, and we learn. The Elders want to think they know it all, making them stagnant and arrogant, but they do not necessarily believe it. So, when someone steps forward and praises their choices, it reinforces their desired omnipotence, and their ego accepts the praise as truth. They are fleeced by their own psyches.”

I frowned. Terrik’s assertion was very much the truth, but the fact was I had no desire to become a warrior. He circled his arm behind his back, though, and I remembered the gaar’kon. I had no choice. I was to become a warrior of the Dhal’atian milita.