Ryder’s internal clock woke him from slumber. He rubbed his neck, irritated that he had fallen asleep in his chair again, and hauled himself up to get ready for work. Images of the disturbing visit to Tiro’s mansion crept back into his thoughts as he washed and dressed, making his stomach flip over with remembered stress.

Today would bring more stress with the city in an uproar over Bálok’s arrival. Since the off-world ruler had not visited Mindaris for at least a century, Ryder was sure the day would bring profound horror for many Algolians as the resident gentry went to great lengths to impress their overlord.

Shifting into his aging form, Ryder slipped into in his finest finest trousers and dress coat as ordered by the guild and double-checked, triple-checked every inch of his outward appearance. On his way out the door, he grabbed an apple from a basket that had been left on the counter and hurried to lock up.

The sidewalk was already humming as residents from the townhouses on the street made their way toward the business district. As usual, no one spoke, keeping their eyes lowered to avoid making any kind of contact. Ryder munched on the juicy apple, caught up in his apprehensive thoughts about the afternoon’s events, and had just rounded the corner onto the main avenue when he was suddenly struck by the uncanny feeling that he was being followed. At first he couldn’t decide whether it was just the lingering aftereffects from yesterday’s scare or was actually real, but as he continued on along the avenue, the sensation wouldn’t shake loose.

The feeling of eyes boring into his back from behind was palpable. Ryder sent his glance to his left and right, making furtive scans of the nearby pedestrians and doorways which revealed nothing amiss. When he reached the passageway to the inner courtyard behind the long row of storefronts housing his studio, he paused a few paces in and leaned back against the wall, covertly watching the stream of people walking by. Several minutes passed and the peculiar sensations dropped away.

With a shake of his head, the goldsmith chalked the odd experience up to frayed nerves and continued on the rest of the way to the studio’s rear entrance. He unlocked the heavy door and flipped on the lights before walking through the well-swept studio to his cluttered workbench. Hanging up his coat and rolling up the sleeves of his fine linen shirt, he picked up the wax medallion he had started the day before prior to Haz’s unexpected visit and climbed onto his high stool, immediately absorbed by the design of his newest piece.

Tevan was early to arrive. “Master Dundalk!” he called when he saw Ryder slouched on his stool over his work. The journeyman hurried across the studio and came to a halt a respectful distance from Ryder’s right elbow. “All went well with your delivery to Lord Tiro’s palace?” he asked solicitously.

“Well enough,” Ryder responded as he carefully examined the chunk of wax in his hand, reaching for a pointed detailing tool from a stand at the back of his bench. “I’ll be leaving again this afternoon to go up to the Guild Hall.”

“For Overlord Bálok’s tour of Tessin?”

“Um-hmm,” Ryder replied distractedly. “The masters of all guilds have been summoned to the square by mid-afternoon.”

“I see,” Tevan murmured, his voice tinged with concern. The kind-hearted man fretted every time his aging master was called away from the studio in spite of the fact that Ryder did little to foster such loyalty in any of his subordinates.

“I’ll be back before first sunset to close up,” he said placidly as he focused on carving an intricate pattern across the wax casting. With a muted sigh, Tevan moved off to his own station as the back door opened to admit the first pair of apprentices arriving for work.

By mid-afternoon, the medallion was nearly complete. Satisfied that he’d be able to do the casting in the morning, Ryder laid the heavy piece of carved wax carefully aside and straightened up the loose tools he had used during the day. Donning his coat, he nodded once to Tevan and headed out the front.

Masters from shops all along the wide pedestrian zone stepped out onto the cobblestones. Goldsmiths, lapidaries, weaponsmiths, knifemakers, watchmakers, glass masters, ceramists, and sculptors alike, all wearing the badge of Tiro’s house, moved in a silent river on their way to the gate.

Ryder diligently held his pace to that of an older man. He kept his head lowered as he walked, careful to avoid brushing against anyone else, and it crossed his mind that the sensations of being followed were blissfully absent.

As soon as he passed through the open iron doors into the reptilian quarter of Tessin, the noise and tension in the streets escalated dramatically. Drahkian nobility, escorted by retinues of liveried servants, poured out of the townhouses and into awaiting vehicles, lavishly dressed in velvets and silks, and adorned with layers of gem-encrusted gold jewelry. Ryder recognized several pieces that had come from his studio as he and the other Algolian craftsmen on the sidewalks darted and danced to stay out of the way of the agitated gentry.

The wide square in front of the Guild Hall buzzed like a hornets nest. The far side of the plaza was filling rapidly with the reptilian upper crust of lesser houses and a good number of servants who packed in behind them at the back and out into the neighboring streets. On the front steps of the Hall, two hooded truthsayers stood in silent watch over the area just below reserved for the elite of Tiro’s Algolian guild property, put on display for the visiting dignitary like a collection of valuable china, leaving his crowning jewel of the Assassins Guild to be showcased within the confines of the walled Assassins Hall.

Hulking Drahkian soldiers in the navy blue of Tiro’s house barked out orders to the stream of incoming Algolian artisans and merchants coming down from the trade quarter. Ryder was herded toward the section of goldsmiths near the center of the front steps where the heavyset figure of Donal Kirkner, Grand Master of the Goldsmiths Guild, could be seen perched at the top, overseeing his flock of master smiths with his usual air of officious self-importance. Ryder kept his head lowered as he took up a spot at the bottom of the steps, hoping to escape the calculating eye of the duplicitous sycophant.

As he turned around to face the square, the goldsmith next to him looked up and nodded. Gavin Clarendon owned one of the shops across from his and had been the unfortunate master who had lost the journeyman to the reptiles the week before.

“Gavin,” Ryder acknowledged with a reticent nod. “Any word about young Micah?”

The goldsmith’s chiseled features hardened with anger. “No,” he bit out in a low voice, his eyes darkening with pain and grief. “I’m sure we’ll never see him again.”

“We heard—”

“That story was totally fabricated,” Gavin cut in bitterly. “The last person to step out of line in my shop was Micah.”

Ryder’s wrinkled brows furrowed in puzzlement. “Then why?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin hissed, “unless it was a jab at me. I’ve been keeping my head down and my mouth shut, but I am sure that fat ass behind us had something to do with it. I’ve spoken up against him too many times in the past and now Micah’s paid the price.”

The scraping crunch of a heavy man’s shoes against stone sounded on the steps above them.

“Speak of the devil—” Gavin muttered under his breath.

“Master Dundalk,” the oily voice drawled as the grand master appeared disconcertingly close to Ryder’s right shoulder. A sour smell faintly reminiscent of Drahkian odor wafted to Ryder’s nostrils and he clenched his teeth in a supreme effort to keep his revulsion from showing.

Glancing up briefly into Donal’s dull eyes, he dutifully tipped his head. “Master Kirkner.”

“I heard you paid a visit to Lord Tiro’s mansion yesterday,” the portly man declared with a menacing edge to his voice. “Is there a problem I need to know about with one of our most talented jewelers?”

Ryder squelched a wave of trepidation and forced his features into a placid, ingratiating smile. “No, Grand Master. I made some minor adjustments to a tiara ordered by Lady Anja. She seemed to be quite excited about the piece when I delivered it into her hands,” he said pleasantly, carefully enunciating his words in an effort to divert the reputed lecher.

When Donal’s brows rose at the mention of Tiro’s youngest daughter, Ryder added with wistful innocence, “She really is a beautiful young thing.”

The grand master’s eyes glazed over for a moment before he chuckled deep in his throat. “I’m glad to hear the lady was well pleased,” he sniggered. “Too bad we won’t have the opportunity to see her wear it at the Governor’s Mansion tonight.”

Abruptly, the color dropped out of the Donal’s already pasty complexion as his beady eyes shifted to a point somewhere off in the square, his face contorting into a grimace. “Make sure you keep your customers happy, Dundalk,” he groused as he wheeled his bulk around and hurriedly made his way back up toward the top of the stairs.

Ryder pulled in a breath and let out a quiet sigh.

“Well played, Ryder,” Gavin murmured. “Just watch your back. That bastard has eyes and ears everywhere.”

An outpouring of nervous noise ran through the gathered masses all across the square and the source of Donal’s sudden panic came into view from the avenue on the north side. Ramád’s tall charcoal gray figure stalked through the press of bodies, his dark crest rigidly splayed as he shouted orders to the soldiers in navy.

“Down on your knees! Lower your heads!” the Drahk cried out repeatedly in Mothertongue over the sea of silvery Algolian heads.

Ryder gingerly lowered himself to one knee and leaned on the other, bowing his head while surreptitiously keeping his eyes on the spectacle taking place in the square.

Ramád walked down the open corridor ahead of a group of soldiers carrying heavy disruptor rifles. The nobleman’s piercing amber eyes darted all over the crowd while the shiny pommel of the long blade strapped to his thigh flashed with each of his long strides.

Behind Ramád and the armed party, a lavish, open black vehicle pulled into the square and paused, raising a deafening roar from the reptilian spectators and troops. Tiro’s massive charcoal form, decked in navy blue velvet and shimmering gold wristbands, stood in the back behind the driver, his left hand gripping the front seat for balance. Beside him, sprawled casually across the other half of the wide back seat was an enormous grayish-green Drahk, visibly quite a bit larger than the imposing Lord of the Assassins Guild, wearing a dark green sleeveless shirt with insignia badge and gold serpentine bands on his upper biceps.

Ryder was startled that the overlord of the entire Perseun Cluster of star systems who answered only to the Emperor in Draco was dressed in the unassuming garb of a soldier. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the man who held all of their lives in the palm of his hand, but subdued simplicity would never have occurred to him. He had come to associate excessive ostentation with the arrogance and cruelty of the Drahks, but he quickly realized that the face of tyranny could take on many unexpected masks.

“Bálok is bloody huge!” Gavin whispered beside him, mirroring his own dumbfounded reaction to seeing the Drahkian ruler in the flesh. Ryder nodded numbly as another sensation hit home—the overlord’s sheer size was a patent reminder of the inescapable magnitude of Drahkian control. Like a small child trapped by an abusive adult, the helpless feeling that he could never, ever win tightened his chest with anguish.

The black vehicle crawled forward into the corridor lined by Tiro’s soldiers. Behind them, the sea of reptilians dropped to their knees in a show of subservience and respect for the powerful sovereign. Tiro’s deep voice could be heard above the nervous rustle of the crowd as he made comments to Bálok whose yellow eyes skimmed once over the masses bowing in the square.

“He looks bored,” Ryder whispered in a barely audible voice.

“It’s too bad we can’t give him a taste of one of Abdil’s flares for a little excitement,” Gavin muttered, his mouth twisting with disdain.

Ryder let out a single snort in response. The intense stellar flares that burst out of the red giant every sixty-some odd days had a devastating effect on the off-world reptilian species. The ranking families who owned ships fled the system at the first sign of radiation, leaving the rest of the reptilian population to ride herd over their holdings through the violent madness that ensued. Bálok’s visit had specifically been scheduled between the cyclical flares to avoid any possibility of the overlord being caught in the ravaging storms.

The moment the black sedan finished its pass and pulled out of sight, the packed square broke into a hubbub of noise as people rose from the ground and began to move away. Antsy to return to the comforting quiet of the studio, Ryder kept his expression shuttered as he moved with the throng of Algolians heading back toward the artisan quarter. Gavin walked beside him in companionable silence, matching his elderly gait and leaving him to his solitary thoughts.

They were a couple of blocks past the iron gates of their own quarter when the first flier screeched overhead. Ryder glanced at Gavin whose expression reflected his own wary dismay. The sharp-eyed, long-toothed winged saurs that ranged over the city every night to enforce curfew were generally not released until after second sundown.

“I was afraid they might pull something like this,” he fretted aloud as he started off at a slow run after other craftsmen who were already rushing down the sidewalk. He knew he had to get his studio people home, but he was hesitant to break into his full stride in front of so many sets of eyes.

“Who knows what else they might let out for an extra harvest while Bálok is in the city,” Gavin exclaimed as he came up alongside. “I hope somebody gets those gates closed. Come on, let’s go! I’ll help you,” he said, holding his hand out to the aging goldsmith.

Instinctively Ryder shied away. “I’ll be fine. You go on,” he said, nodding his assurance to the other smith.

“Alright, Ryder, be safe,” Gavin offered with concern before he picked up his speed and disappeared into the river of running people.

Ryder jogged through the streets at a steady pace and arrived at his shop moments after a second beast appeared, gliding over the pedestrian zone. He flew in the front door, startling young Janish in his cleaning chores, and reached quickly to throw the bolt behind him. “Fliers are out early!” he called, tearing into the studio with Janish following closely behind. “Drop your work everyone—let’s go!”

Cautiously opening the door into the back courtyard, Ryder scoped out the sky overhead, listening several long minutes before he ushered all of his charges out into the crate-strewn passage. “Get yourselves home quickly—stay alert!” he said in a low voice. After locking the back door, he fell in with the stream of craftsmen emptying out of the workshops and moving stealthily toward the exit.

Thinking through his usual route home, he reluctantly concluded that he had no choice but to navigate the primary avenue before he could reach any of the lanes and alleys that ran behind most of the long blocks of townhouses south of the business district. No sooner had he turned onto the avenue sidewalk when the feeling of probing eyes gripped him like it had that morning before work. There were plenty of people on the street running for shelter which made it difficult to pin down exactly where the watcher might be. He swung his head sharply in both directions as he ran, searching for the source of invasion, but again came up with nothing he could identify as the possible cause of his unease. His mind raced. No one in their right mind would be following him with the fliers out—unless that someone had no reason to fear the dangerous beasts, a thought he definitely did not want to contemplate.

In spite of the added risk, Ryder quickly decided to take a long route home to see if he could shake himself free of the watching eyes. Running several blocks past his usual turnoff, he darted into an alleyway and ran at his full speed down the darkening passage, carefully crossing the next avenue, and continuing on through a back courtyard on the other side. He zigzagged his way to the deserted lane behind his apartment and before he approached his doorway, he stood next to the wall in the shadows, panting and listening. When he was sure the feeling of being watched was completely gone, he slipped around the corner like a wraith and pulled out his keys, opening the door to the small flat with ginger care before slipping inside without a sound.

He stood in the kitchen for several minutes to catch his breath, glad to be off the street and back in the relative safety of his home. No smell of food this time, he thought distractedly. Perhaps it had been a one-time boon from the woman he had encountered the day before. Crossing the darkened kitchen to the living room and switching on the light, he sent his gaze nervously around the tiny space. Everything was in its place—sketches and pencils all over the table against the wall, heavy curtains drawn across his only window, the single chair at the small kitchen table—and a loaf of fresh bread sitting on a board on the counter. Surprised, he walked back over to the small cooking area and found three chunks of cheese placed neatly beside the bread.

“I could get used to this,” he muttered as he grabbed a knife and sliced off several thick hunks of bread and pieces from each of the cheeses, piling them onto a plate which he set aside on the table while he changed out of his stiff dress clothing.

Throwing on his robe, he shifted into his own form, washed his face and brushed out his long hair before hurrying back to retrieve the plate of food. Stuffing a large chunk of sweet smelling white cheese into his mouth, he walked over to his cluttered drawing table, switched on the small desk light, and stood looking down at his drawings, munching contentedly as he thought about which sketch he wanted to work on next. Setting the plate on the table beside him, he picked up the nearest pencil and sat down, instantly engrossed in a drawing he had started of the male protagonist out of his father’s book.

It was late when Ryder finally put his pencil down and sensed all at once that the invisible eyes were trained on him again. His veins turned to ice as a sudden chill worked its way up his spine. The window—the haunting feeling of a figure standing just outside the window a few feet away made him nearly jump out of his skin.

Bolting up from the table, he dashed across the room, flung open the door, and flew around the corner to the back of the house, but not a soul was in sight, nor did he hear any telltale sound of fleeing footsteps. The narrow lane was empty and nearly pitch black—except for a single sliver of light escaping through a crack in the heavy dark drapes covering his window.

Ryder’s stomach twisted. If Donal was having him watched, he’d have all the evidence he needed now to hand him over to Tiro, no doubt for a sizable reward.

With a miserable sigh, he walked back into his apartment and nervously doused all the lights. The security of his tiny haven had vaporized and been replaced by a gnawing vulnerability. He went to bed and lay awake, staring into the blackness of his bedroom, anxiously wondering when the inevitable shoe would drop.