Back in the Shadow Pavilion, Seijin twisted a long strand of black hair between fingers that were a little cold, despite the fire. A pity the smith had evaded capture, but that could be rectified at leisure, later on. If this was the chosen path. Male self, as ever mindful of face, insisted that it should be, but Seijin was not convinced. Revenge, generally considered as a waste of time and energy, had never been a huge feature of the assassin's psychology. Pride was all very well, but pride was frequently expensive. It was, however, important not to repress male self's views: Seijin sometimes thought that he was the earliest, most primitive aspect of the Lord Lady Assassin, and one should not lose touch with one's roots.
With this in mind, Seijin took one of the longbows down from the wall and accessorized it with a quiver of arrows, made of the gray wood of between and tipped with congealed moonlight. Then the Lord Lady swept a cloak of misty gauze over one shoulder and stepped lightly down the stairs of the Shadow Pavilion. At the last step, the word of cloud-conjuring was spoken and Seijin's form was hidden by the mists that lay between and the world of men.
On Earth, the city was oppressively hot. Seijin was grateful for the cloak, providing a cloudy layer between the Lord Lady and the polluted air. Earth had been a fresh world, once, but the camps of the steppe nomads had always been filthy with discarded debris and Seijin had seen long ago that things did not change much; they merely became more complicated.
And some things did not.
It was too demeaning to prey upon the weak, like asking a leopard to chase mice. There was a curious thread of spilled blood running through the city air, reeking of a predator's magic, and the assassin was tempted to follow it, purely from curiosity. But it was clearly someone else's hunt and it would be ill mannered, to say the least, to interfere: Seijin placed great store on courtesy. It was too often all one had left.
After some thought, Seijin selected the target based on location: the man was coming out of a dojo in the Bharulay District of the city, a rough area. Seijin, with some satisfaction, saw that the man moved like a killer, and there was the ghost of blood upon him, a psychic stain. It would not have mattered if the man had been entirely innocent of life-shed; it was only important that he be some kind of warrior. Seijin decided to test a theory. Summoning female self to the fore, the Lord Lady stepped out of the shadows and cast the cloak of mist away, to seep into the shadows of the street and disappear.
Easy to see through the target's eyes for a moment, easy to take in the slight, slender girl with the dark hair, the lost look, the fearful expression. Easy to hear through the target's ears the faltering voice, "Excuse me? Do you know the way to Shaopeng from here? I thought . . ."
"C'mere."
And Seijin, tottering a little as if on too-high heels, did so. A brief exhilaration, an indulgence really, of hands closing around the throat, a whispered hate-filled voice, and then the hammer of a human body against the wall as Seijin flung him aside.
Seijin said, softly, "You may fight if you choose."
The prey ran forward, screaming, any discipline acquired at the dojo long since lost. Seijin did not bother to remember the details of the encounter. The assassin played with the man for a while, before growing bored. The next time the prey turned, battered now, staggering, but still upright, Seijin notched a silver-tipped arrow to the bow with slow ease and shot him through the heart.
That night, in the Shadow Pavilion, the Lord Lady dined on human flesh, lightly steamed. The liver and heart went to the Gatekeeper; Seijin did not particularly care for offal. Still, it helped to keep one's strength up and the man's savage essence was gratifying after the relative defeats of the day. And there was still time for an early night.