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shall be at the front door,” said Ibrahaim. “We will have to fight. Prepare yourself!”
    Caina opened her mouth to ask how he intended to fight his way through the Immortals, but by then Ibrahaim had thrown open the door and dashed into the alley.
    And just as she had suspected, four Immortals awaited them, axes in hand as they prepared to hack down the back door. For just a heartbeat the Immortals stared at them, caught by surprise, but then raised their axes.
    And in that heartbeat, Ibrahaim moved.
    His scimitar seemed to jump from its scabbard and into his right hand, and he moved in a blur, his blade plunging into the armpit of an Immortal. The man fell, blood streaming down his black cuirass. One of the Immortals reacted faster, slashing at Ibrahaim with the axe. He dodged, his scimitar snapping left to deflect another Immortal’s thrust.
    And then he punched the Immortal in the face with his black-gloved left fist.
    It was one of the stupidest things Caina had ever seen. The Immortals’ skull masks were steel plate, reinforced and anchored to their helmets. There was no way a punch could harm them, let alone even stagger them. She expected to hear the bones of Ibrahaim’s hand shattering.
    Instead the skull mask crumpled like paper, accompanied by a loud clang and the hideous crunching noise of a collapsing skull. The Immortal fell, blood and brains leaking from the ruined mask as Ibrahaim ripped his fist free to face the remaining two Immortals.
    Caina gaped in astonishment for just a second, and then sprang into motion. 
    Both Immortals faced Ibrahaim, their attention upon him, which made it easy for Caina to step behind the nearest man and drive her dagger into his back of his knee. The Immortals’ armored boots protected their feet and calves and the front of their knees, but not the back. The Immortal bellowed in fury as Caina yanked her dagger free and spun to face her, but his maimed knee would not support his weight, and his leg buckled. The Immortal fell with a snarl of pain, and Caina drove her bloody dagger into the right eye of his skull mask. She felt the blade sink deep. The Immortal went rigid, the axe falling from his hand, and fell upon his face with a clatter.
    Caina stepped away from the corpse, intending to aid Ibrahaim, but he had already dispatched the final Immortal. 
    “You are finished already?” said Ibrahaim, shaking a few drops of blood from his scimitar’s blade. “Capital. I suggest we hasten. Please follow me.”
    He returned his weapon to its scabbard and ran into the alley, and Caina could think of nothing better to do than to follow him. Ibrahaim led her through the maze of alleys behind the shops of the Alchemists’ Quarter. They were cleaner and tidier than the alleys of the Alqaarin Quarter and the Anshani Quarter, but were nonetheless still a maze. At last Ibrahaim stopped before a narrow door and rapped out a specific series of knocks.
    He used his right hand, she noted. His left remained a fist at his side. He had not opened it for the entire time Caina had seen him. Perhaps he had lost his hand, and replaced it with a block of stone or steel, something that could smash through the armored helmet of an Immortal. Though he would have to be strong, tremendously strong, to pull that off, and his left arm looked no larger than his right.
    The door swung open, interrupting Caina’s thoughts.
    A man with a crossbow stood beyond the door. He was in his early fifties, and had the look of a Nighmarian commoner and the grim face, muscled arms, and upright stance of a veteran of the Emperor’s Legions. His gray hair had been cut down to bristle, and he wore a short-sleeved tunic, trousers, and heavy boots, a broadsword waiting in a scabbard at his belt. The Legion tattoo visible upon his right bicep confirmed Caina’s guess. 
    “Ibrahaim Nasser,” grunted the man, his Istarish carrying a heavy Nighmarian accent. “You’re early.”
    Nasser? Caina had heard that name