Due to returning to work and some really, really bad trouble in my reallife, I didn't get to write as much as I would have liked. Stress literally killed my muse and all joy I used to experience while writing. So I found it extremely hard to write this chapter. I hope you enjoy reading more than I did writing it. I would be happy for any comments, even short ones!

Thanks again for Yseult for proofreading and giving me tipps.

PS: Oliver will 'return' pretty soon, I promise!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Last time: Dig stayed behind, looking down at the tiny woman in front of him, who had exchanged the high heels she was so fond of wearing for a more sensible pair of moonboots, and thus had lost several inches. And the dress had been replaced by a jeans and her thick winter-parker, it just hadn't been suitable attire for this climate

He gave her a reassuring smile. "We are one step closer to finding him."

"Yes, we are John. And we will bring him home."

xoxoxo

The single, flickering flame of a candle-stump placed on a narrow shelf illuminated the small stone-chamber and the work-place directly beneath it, a cluttered table, holding knives, carafes, spoons, vials, pots and many other small things.

With slow, almost hypnotic motions a small pestle dove into a mortar, grinding its contents to an earthy-brown paste. A delicate hand reached for a piece of root, adding it to the mix and the grinding continued, ceaselessly. The steady motion broke up the root until it too had dissolved into the mix.

Then the hand took hold of a delicate carafe and poured a small measure of golden liquid onto the paste in the mortar's belly in which the grinding and stirring continued. Adding some more oil, until the golden-brownish, viscous mass had the desired fluidity, the contents of the mortar were poured onto a small, rectangular piece of cloth. Two hands carefully lifted the edges, before twisting them together and slowly wringing downwards, pressing the liquid through the cloth's pores - amber-golden drops fell into the small vial placed beneath the cloth.

When she was done, Halari laid the used cloth aside and carefully pressed a small stopper into the vial's opening, capturing its precious content, the essence of the kava-kava-root, so it wouldn't accidently spill. Then all her work would have been for naught. And she didn't know if she could obtain another piece of the rare root from the merchants without drawing attention to herself. Few knew of the plant or its sedative, even anesthetic effects, it was mostly used by their healers, not common folk. Since she was not a healer, but a servant, albeit a well-respected one, it could lead to questions she'd rather not have to answer. She couldn't risk it. Palming the small glass-vial, she hid it in one of the many folds in her gown, cleared away all remaining evidence of her work, before leaving the relative security of her small chamber. She had one final thing to do…

xoxoxo

Sarab dipped his scraped hands into the well, relishing the soothing coolness of the water which came down from the mountain and fed this man-built-spring. Scooping up two hands full of the water, he threw them on his face and bare chest, rinsing away the sweat, grime and blood from the cuts and scrapes he had accumulated during the training in the arena. The cold water soothed their sting and soon what irrelevant pain there was would fade and be forgotten. Pain held no meaning in the Demon's realm. It was just another currency…

He padded away the remaining droplets of water with his tunic, before drawing the black garment over his head, followed by a long, studded leather-vest and finally his sword-belt, girted across his middle, holding his precious katana. It had once belonged to Tatsu, he had given it to her on the day of Aiko's birth, a gift to symbolize the strength he saw in her for nurturing and giving birth to this new, precious live. And it was one of the very few belongings he had been allowed to bring when he had joined Rhas al Ghul's ranks, after... he refused to follow that thought, not wanting to relive the memory. Joining the League required you to leave your old life behind, your belongings, your memories, even your name. But not Tatsu's sword, he had held onto that, had made it part of his new self – Sarab – Member of the League of the Assissins.

Suddenly Sarab had a sense of being watched. He didn't look up, instead he let his eyes stray from beneath lowered lids, while straightening the vest which had ridden up when he buckled his sword belt, scanning his surroundings with senses sharpened to razor focus. His gaze swept across the men fighting in the arena behind him. It sat on the side of the Demon's palace beneath a large balcony, Ra's al Ghul used to observe his assassin's training. He took in the sweaty, heaving chest, the grunts, the dull clang of swords, yet there was not sound or visual, other than that of his fellow soldiers training, coming to or walking off the training ground. Still, he felt eyes on him.

Giving a last nod to the man standing beside him, he walked away, following a path that would lead him off the palace grounds, back to his place. A single room in a tiny row of houses on the outskirts of the city, holding a bed, a small table and with a fireplace to call his own. But it was his. He walked through the crowded streets, stepping aside now and then to let busy merchants pass with their overloaded carts, before finally turning into an alley between two rows of houses. It was so narrow that one could've easily missed it, if one didn't know to look for it.

Another three steps and he had reached a small archway with an old, wooden door… his door. As he was about to push it open, he noticed a tiny bundle of cloth sitting on the tread plate, so small and of earthen color, he had almost overlooked it. What…? With a sideways glance to the mouth of the alley he assured himself, nobody was looking this way, before he bent down to carefully push aside a fold of cloth. Eyes widening in shock, he immediately threw it closed, swept up the bundle and hastily entered his home, hoping that nobody had seen him.

He took a deep breath to calm his wildly beating heart, only then did he feel comfortable enough to open the parcel. Setting it down on his table, he peeled back the layers of cloth and revealed a small vial sitting in the midst of the bundle… in it an amber liquid. There was no question in his mind, where it had come from or what he should do with it. He knew.

Closing the folds carefully, he took the cloth and slid it into the farthest and darkest corner beneath his bed, while in his mind already planning ahead. Like last time, he would have to choose his next steps carefully...