A light, but still substantial, rain had begun to come down at some point in Nyssa’s walk.

  Harrathen was now in sight, its stone walls rose high above the maiden like the ramparts of a fortress, which in many ways they were. In her vast knowledge, she recalled that the town was once just the guildhall that sat at its center like a dungeon’s core, and like moths to flame, where gold is earned, commerce sprouts like a weed.

  The town had grown prosperous on trade and had the defenses to protect that prosperity.

  Guard towers flanked the main gate, and she could see armed sentries walking the battlements above. She paused just around a bend in the road, out of sight of the gates, and sighed deeply.

  Time for another dazzling performance.

  Her hands found the hem of her yellow dress and began to pull, tearing the fabric in strategic places. The sound of ripping cloth made her wince. It really was a lovely dress, and she had paid good money for it, but the story needed to be believable, and a woman who had barely escaped bandits wouldn't arrive looking perfectly groomed and unharmed.

  Nyssa tore a longer rent down one side, then mussed her hair and rubbed dirt from the road onto her face and hands. The effect was convincing enough, she thought, though it pained her to ruin such nice clothing for the sake of deception. Her nose scrunched, almost sneezing before holding it back.

  Next came the more unpleasant part. Nyssa pressed her palm against her skin and let a carefully controlled amount of heat magic flow through her fingers. Not enough to burn, just enough to raise her body temperature and cause her to sweat. The effect would make her look flushed and panicked, as if she had been running for her life.

  Were she in her real form, the sweat would never form.

  The magic also ruined what remained of her makeup, causing the powder to streak and smudge. She caught sight of her reflection in a puddle and grimaced. While she looked appropriately disheveled, it was still painful to see her careful work undone.

  Taking a shaky breath, she composed herself for the role she needed to play: frightened village maiden, the most traumatized of survivors, grateful to be alive after such a scary experience.

  Then Nyssa ran toward the gates.

  "Help!" She called out as she stumbled into view of the guards, "Please, help me!"

  The sentries reacted immediately, rushing forward to meet her. Two guards in leather armor and steel helms approached with weapons ready but not drawn, clearly assessing whether she represented a threat or was herself in danger.

  "M’lady, what's happened?" The older guard asked as the other one looked at the road in case she was being chased, his voice calm but concerned, "Are you injured?"

  Nyssa let herself collapse against the gate, breathing heavily and allowing tears to streak down her dirty cheeks.

  Perfect. A perfect performance so far.

  "Bandits!" She gasped, hand clutching at her chest with heavy heaves, "They attacked our cart on the road. They killed Willem, oh, poor Willem, he was just trying to help me get to town. I barely escaped!"

  The guards exchanged glances. Bandit attacks were clearly not uncommon enough to surprise them, but they took the report seriously.

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  "How many?" The younger guard asked, "Did you get a look at them?"

  "Six of them, I think," Nyssa said, "They came out of the forest near the watchtower. I hid in the woods while they... while they..."

  She let her voice break convincingly, bowing her head, sobbing into her hands.

  "You're safe now," the older guard said firmly, taking ahold of the distressed girl. "Do you need a healer? Are you hurt?”

  Nyssa shook her head, "No, I– I’m just frightened. I'm safe now that I'm here in town, aren't I?"

  "Absolutely," the guard assured her, a warm smile protruding through his gloomy expression. "Harrathen's walls have never been breached. You're under our protection now."

  Then he gestured to his companion, "Ferrin, send word to Captain Rodell about the bandits. He'll want to organize a patrol to check the watchtower."

  Ferrin nodded and jogged toward a building that looked like it might house the guard barracks. The older guard, still without a name and hoping to distract the damsel, asked Nyssa, “What’s your name? What’s brought you here to Harrathen today?”

  “… I was traveling from Skyfallow to visit family. Willem, the cart driver, he was so kind as to give me passage," the girl answered slowly, helped along toward the center of the gate by the guard. “I’m… I’m Nyssa.”

  "I'm sorry for your loss. Willem was a good man. He made this run twice a week, always reliable, always friendly. The whole town knew him," the guard said with genuine sympathy.

  Fool. The deception was working spectacularly.

  However, that information caught Nyssa's attention. If Willem was well-known here, his death would be noticed quickly. Word would spread. How long would it be before the bandits were hunted for? Amithaera barely stifled the chuckle that came from thinking of the saps chasing after dead men.

  “Come on then, let's get you inside. You'll want to find lodging for the night, I expect?" The gates swung open with a grinding of metal and stone, and Nyssa stepped into Harrathen for the first time in quite a long while.

  The town was larger than Skyfallow by entire boroughs now, with paved streets and buildings of stone rather than wood. The main thoroughfare was wide enough for multiple carts to pass, and she could see shops and inns lining the way.

  "Thank you," she said to the guard. "You've been very kind."

  "Just doing our job, Lady Nyssa. And welcome to Harrathen. I hope your stay is more pleasant than your journey."

  As the guard returned to his post, Nyssa made her way deeper into the town. The guildhall would be her first stop. That's where she would find this Gerrard fellow and begin gathering information about her bounty.

  But first...

  She caught sight of herself in a shop window and stopped short.

  The torn dress, the streaked makeup, the disheveled hair, she looked exactly like what she was supposed to be: a traumatized survivor of a bandit attack.

  But she also looked ridiculous for anyone trying to conduct business in a respectable establishment.

  Approaching the window, Amithaera examined her disguise even more.

  Nyssa was a wonderful girl. She thought of the real Nyssa, a dumb little Ranger that had thought to blind the Necromancer with an arrow of darkness and close the distance with her knife.

  She watched her reflection smile, bright innocent eyes refusing to match the fake smile that Amithaera performed. So it wasn’t just the poem now.

  Would every kill haunt her now?

  “... Shit,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head.

  Amithaera took a deep breath, and a deeper exhale. The guildhall would have to wait. First, she needed to find a clothier and purchase something more appropriate. She had gold enough for a new dress, and it would be worth the expense to avoid looking like too much of a victim.

  Closer to the stone walls than she expected, she found what she was looking: “Cordell’s Fine Garments”.

  That would do.

  As she walked toward the shop, Nyssa allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The first part of her mission was complete. She was inside Harrathen, her cover story was established, and no one suspected that the frightened village maiden they had just helped was actually the very Necromancer that had once wrought a blight on their happy little hovels.

  Now came the more delicate work of gathering intelligence without revealing her true purpose. But that was just another kind of performance, and Amithaera was nothing if not an excellent actress.

  And a Necromancer, but that went without saying.