The words hung in the smoky air between them.

Gabriel's jaw clenched as he processed this. Murder. She wanted him to kill someone, and the binding magic would force his compliance one way or another. "Who?"

"A Paladin." The mage's expression didn't change, voice remaining conversational as if discussing weather or crops. "Commander's enforcer, visiting from the Order's northern fortress near Gaveston. He's been in Bridgedon for a week now, cleaning house as they call it."

"Cleaning house how?"

"Enforcing purity laws." Old rage leaked into her voice despite her controlled tone, words clipped short. "Hunting anyone suspected of unnatural abilities. Anyone with strange eyes or unusual talents. Anyone the Church deems impure or corrupted." She drew on her pipe again. "He's killed a dozen in a week. Men, women, children. The charges don't matter. If the Church suspects corruption, it purges it."

Gabriel's chest tightened. He knew this kind of Paladin, had trained alongside men who believed righteousness justified any atrocity. "And you want him dead."

"I want him erased." The mage's eyes burned with carefully banked fury. "I want him screaming. I want everyone who follows him to understand what happens when you touch what's mine."

The intensity in those words made the shadows in the room press closer.

Gabriel studied her weathered face, seeing past the professional detachment to the grief underneath. "This is personal."

"Very." The mage set down her pipe with deliberate care. "His name is Castor. A young pup, six foot three, blond hair, blue eyes, scar on his left hand. A year ago, he was stationed in Bridgedon during a different purge. My daughter was seventeen. Beautiful girl, learning her letters at the Church school, never touched magic or politics or anything except her studies."

Gabriel's face remained still

"He took her one night after evening prayers. Kept her for three days in the cathedral basement." The mage's voice remained clinical, detached in the way people spoke when emotion would break them entirely. "When he was done with her, he claimed she'd confessed to demon worship. Burned her alive in the town square as an example to others who might be tempted toward corruption."

The shop fell silent except for the lamp's faint hiss.

"She was innocent," the mage said quietly. " Never worshipped anything except the Seven like a good girl should. She was just there, and he wanted her, and his authority let him take whatever he wanted."

Adan shifted slightly by the door, his expression carefully neutral but his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Gabriel's mind was working through implications even as rage built in his chest. He'd known men like Castor at the academy.

The Order called it necessary purging.

"Where is he?" Gabriel's voice came out flat.

"Cathedral. North side of the city. He never leaves without eight guards, elite soldiers from the northern fortress. They rotate shifts but never let him walk alone." The mage pulled papers from a drawer and spread them on the desk between them. "Four guards minimum, eight at most. All trained, all loyal, all very good at their jobs."

"Eight guards plus Castor." Gabriel's mind was already working through the mathematics of combat. "Against two."

"You're not required to succeed," the mage said simply. "The debt magic only requires you try. If you fail and die in the attempt, the debt is satisfied through your death."

Gabriel met her calculating eyes. "I gave my word when I accepted your help. I'll pay the debt."

"Even knowing it puts you back in the Order's sight? That killing one of their Commanders will bring the full weight of the Church hunting you again?"

"Yes."

"Why?" She tilted her head, genuinely curious. "Why honour a debt to an old woman you don't know, for a price that might kill you?"

"Because a debt is a debt." Gabriel's jaw tightened.

The mage studied him for a long moment, smoke from her pipe curling around her face. Then she nodded slowly.

She stood and moved to a shelf, pulling down a leather folder thick with papers. She spread them across the desk with ease, revealing schedules, maps and detailed observations.

"Castor's routine," she said. "He's military precise, follows the same pattern every day. Dawn prayers in the cathedral, breakfast in the refectory with his guards, morning patrol through the north quarter checking on suspected corruption cases. Lunch at noon, afternoon interrogations in the cathedral basement, evening prayers, dinner, bed by tenth bell."

Gabriel scanned the papers, committing details to memory. Times, locations, number of guards at each point.

"He never varies," the mage continued. "But there's a window. Every day he visits the bathhouse for two hours. Only four guards accompany him inside, the other four wait outside. The bathhouse has three entrances, including a back door that leads to storage. Easy enough to access if you're quiet about it."

"When's his next visit?"

"Tomorrow. Mid-afternoon, second bell."

Less than a day to prepare, to plan, to figure out how to kill four elite soldiers and a Paladin Commander without dying in the process. Gabriel felt the weight of it settling on his shoulders even as part of him welcomed the clarity of having a target, a purpose, an enemy who deserved what was coming.

"There's more," the mage said. She pulled out a sketch and placed it where Gabriel could see clearly.

They'd been at the academy together before Gabriel's exile, before everything changed. Not friends exactly, but familiar enough that Gabriel remembered the way he fought, the techniques he favoured, the aggressive style that relied on overwhelming opponents with raw power.

"You know him," the mage observed. Not a question.

"We trained together. Before." Gabriel's hands clenched into fists as he stared at the sketch. "Before I was exiled. Before he became whatever this is."

"Will that be a problem?"

Gabriel thought about the seventeen-year-old girl, about three days of torture in a cathedral basement, about a pyre in the town square while a Paladin watched with cold satisfaction.

"No," he said. "It won't be a problem."

The mage smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. "Good. Because the debt requires proof. Bring me his head. That's the price."

He nodded without hesitation. "Understood."

"One more thing." The mage's expression turned serious. "If you fail, if you're captured, I never gave you this information. The debt magic will fade eventually and you'll die slowly over weeks as it drains your life force. But my name stays out of it completely. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Then we're done talking." She gathered the papers and handed them to Gabriel. "The bathhouse is called the Silver Basin. North quarter near the cathedral. You'll find it easily enough."

Gabriel took the papers and folded them carefully into his pack. "Anything else I should know?"

The mage was quiet for a moment, studying him with those calculating eyes. "Castor's very good. He's fast, smart, ruthless, and he won't hesitate to kill you the moment he understands you're a threat." She paused. "If you go in without a solid plan, you're dead before you draw your blade."

"And boy?" The mage's voice softened slightly. "When you take his head... make him suffer first. For my daughter. For all the others he's killed. Make him understand what he's done before the end."

Gabriel met her eyes and saw the grief underneath the rage, the mother who'd lost everything and could only watch while her daughter's killer walked free.

"I will," he said quietly.

They left through the blue door, stepping back into Bridgedon's oppressive daylight. The door closed behind them with a sound like a cell locking.

Adan checked the street in both directions before speaking. "Well. That's complicated."

"Yeah."

"You sure about this? Eight guards and a Paladin Commander?"

Gabriel thought about the debt magic that would drain him slowly if he refused, about the girl burned alive to cover a Paladin's crimes, about Castor's face in that sketch looking older but still recognizable.

"I'm sure."

"Then we need a plan." Adan gestured northwest. "Cathedral's that direction. Let's scout the bathhouse, get a feel for the terrain before tomorrow."

They led their horses through Bridgedon's tense streets, moving slowly to avoid attention. Gabriel's mind was already working through possibilities, sorting through combat scenarios, trying to find an approach that didn't end with him and Adan dead in a bathhouse.

Four guards inside. Four outside. Plus Castor.

Three entrances. Multiple rooms probably.

Need to isolate him. Separate him from the guards.

And do it quietly enough that the ones outside don't hear.

The plan forming in his head was brutal and risky, with about a dozen points where everything could go wrong.

But it was the only plan that had a chance.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.