Black Steel: A Tale of Fire and Mind

Silence.

The winds were singing their songs of despair and gnawed at every surface. The sky was crying a barrage of tears, sharp and heavy, and turned the recently sowed field into dark, muddy pools. It didn’t matter.

Only the silence.

Seraphina was standing close to the edge of the tree line with her squad. Waiting. Every few leagues, squads of ten, like hers, were doing the same. One for each outpost. To match the number of groups. Two hundred and thirty raiders and assassins against roughly seventy sentries. To overmatch the defending force.

Their observations revealed that outpost rotations happened every hour. A party would arrive from the city to the first outpost to start their shift and the party previously occupying the tower would traverse the few leagues to the second outpost. Every hour would find them in the next spot until they’d go through all twenty-three. Only then would a party rest.

Silence.

Seraphina had asked to take lead of the squad sent to the first outpost. The most integral one for their success in stealth. With so few assassins in their ranks, for fighters they had many, and her standing with the council, she’d gotten her wish. She didn’t much care about comrades, as her chosen few were either on the other side of the walls, or the other side of the land, but the Shepherds still ordered nine others to join her. She could hear them. Unfamiliar breathing around her. Anxious steps, pacing, behind her.

Soon, a new party of sentries would join the dance. They did not yet know it, but they would be the link to break the first chain of Ironham’s defense. Seraphina had been counting, the moment was coming. And then, in the distance, she could see lanterns. It was time. She let her comrades know. They lined up on either side of her. Every sense, alert. Every muscle, ready.

The ten moved closer to the wooden tower. Crawling in the mud. Eyes kept on their enemies. The fresh sentries talked to their outbound friends. All in high spirits, still well-rested. Seraphina and her own rose to a crouch and ran. The storm and their muddy clothes obscured their approach. The heavy rainfall and the winds muffled their steps. When they were in range, four archers remained in position. Seraphina and the remaining five resumed their fast approach.

They stopped just a few yards away and waited until the outbound men packed their sacks and left. The raiders bid their time a little while longer so none other was within hearing range, only the new party. Then Seraphina did what she did best.

She played with fire.

If someone snuffed the torches and hearths burning bright at each outpost, the defenders would send people to investigate. A fire no longer burning was easy to spot. Even in foul weather. But a fire hovering away from its torch was hard to notice at a distance, even harder during a storm. The archers could see it though. They were waiting for it. The signal.

The moment they noticed the flames form arrows above the heads of the sentries, they let loose. Seraphina and the rest of the raiders sprinted off. Before they reached the sentries, two were already down, the archers had shot them dead. Seraphina let the flames return to their hold and tackled one of the two men left standing. As they hit the ground, two daggers replaced his eyes and the man drew a breath no longer. Seraphina stood up, ready to attack the second man, but another had taken care of him already.

No more silence.

Everything came crushing in her mind. The screams her victim never managed to let out. The laughs he would never have with his loved ones. The tears he would never shed for someone lost. The moans and grunts that would never escape his lips during nights of lust and passion with a woman, whether wife, mistress or whore. The joy of seeing his children born and raised. Every moment of a life not lived through haunted her.

The first time she’d killed, those images, those sounds, those experiences that would never come, had overwhelmed her. She’d fled the scene and hidden for a full day, even from Maxwell and Emmery. She hadn’t feared discovery. The emotional toll had just been too great. The realization she’d cut a life short had been too much for her to handle. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. Her brother and cousin hadn’t yet killed, they couldn’t understand and so, she’d carried the insufferable burden until her return to Bandville.

Barkley had taken her aside and they’d talked. He’d given her the most obvious piece of advice to overcome the plague in her mind. “Find the why. What would happen if you didn’t kill him? Find the answer and focus on that, not the deed.” For her first kill, the reason had been self-defense. In the second, the survival of her charges, an innocent ten-year-old Blower and her family. In her third, to ensure the success of a covert operation, because if she hadn’t killed and the guard had found her, ten Shepherds would die instead.

That night, there was only one reason for every death in the hours to come. Eliminate the force that would otherwise surround them once they marched to the capital. Fewer obstacles and an easy mind. She focused on that.

After countless times of practice, the familiar process took mere moments and the mental noise disappeared, muffled by her goals. The repercussions would come. But later. If she survived the night, every face would come to torment her in her sleep. She would see every pair of eyes she shut mirrored in her own. But she would be alive. The League of Shepherds would hold Ironham. And hers was a small price to pay for such a success.

The fist outpost was theirs. One of the archers was already running back to the forest’s edge to inform their forces. Seraphina ordered her eight comrades to stay behind, four to don their enemies’ armor, while she moved on to the second outpost. With the element of surprise to aid their endeavours, they were more than enough to eliminate the next two squad rotations. By the third rotation, if all went well, there would be at least twenty raiders against four sentries.

With the first outpost theirs, Seraphina ran to the second, keeping a steady, yet fast pace. She needed to cover the distance while running, in a similar time to the trotting horses of the sentries, with a raging storm to hinder her as well. She made it with some delay. She crawled the last yards to avoid detection and fueled the torches. The sentries were surprised, and Seraphina stopped it before they got suspicious, hoping however, the raiders had seen the signal.

While Seraphina was catching her breath, laying down in the mud, she kept her eyes on the grass, on the side of the outpost away from the city. Where she knew, if the Shepherds had seen her signal, raiders would make their approach. Her lungs welcomed the rest, but her mind kept counting. It was taking them longer than she’d liked. Just before she enkindled the hearth again, she saw them.

Seraphina rose to a crouch, unsheathed her bow and knocked an arrow. The raiders got into position. Four archers in the back, six closer to the edge. Like her team had done. Seraphina willed the flames into arrows and the game began. Seraphina let loose six arrows. All found mark. Three kills were hers. She would’ve had four, but one of the raiders managed to reach the last one before her arrows could. Eight more men dead. The second outpost was theirs. One man remained to make sure the hearth didn’t die, four took the horses and rode to the first outpost as reinforcements. Seraphina took the rest to the next one. She followed the same strategy three more times. Ran. Signaled. Killed. By the time she’d helped take five sentry parties, she counted fifteen kills. Then she waited for the rest of their force.

Out of fifty Elementals in the Shepherds’ forces, five were scorchers. While planning their attack, they left the last six watchtowers out, so they would have the time to deal with the rest, and assigned a number of them to each of the scorchers, since their affinity allowed the most inconspicuous signal. Since she was young and fit, they assigned Seraphina with five. At her request, the first five. When they were timing their attacks, they figured that by the time Seraphina had reached and taken the fifth, the other scorchers would be done with their own as well, and only one or two would remain.

They’d timed their foray well. With their troops approaching the line of the outposts, the deep blue of the night sky would still mask their efforts for hours, even without the storm to aid them. Clad in armor covered in mud, the Shepherds marched forward to Ironham.

Seraphina was never good at leading others. Directing them. If anyone asked her to devise a covert infiltration, with minimal exposure, she could do it. Even though she preferred executing her plans herself, she could delegate objectives to achieve success. But leading men and women into battle wasn’t her expertise. She was a weapon, not a commander. In sizzling moments of clash, she set out to kill every enemy standing in her way and wishing her harm, but showed little interest in the whole. She wasn’t one to turn the tide in her side’s favour. There were others, far more capable, to direct their force.

One of them was Reggie. He was waiting on the other side of the wall, by the gates of the citadel. The Bashers were alongside him, ready to follow his directions and put an end to any hope of survival the Ironhammers had. If those gates remained open, they could flood the fortified hall and, considering their greater numbers, take the city. If not, there would be siege, and during the siege, word might reach the capital. If they sent their vast army, without support the Shepherds were doomed. They were not ready to tackle the empire’s legions. Not just yet. It was imperative they avoided such an encounter. Seizing the city without delay worked in that direction.

As part of the squads assigned to the first set of outposts, Seraphina was among the men and women who would enter the city from the north entrance to Ironham. Smaller, more obscured, imperial troops primarily used it. Located closest to the barracks, it was the one the sentry parties went through on their way to the outposts and the start of their long shift. While it was bulging with imperials, the scouts inside of Ironham reported that the watchmen on the wall were least mindful of that particular point of entry.

“They think only someone insane would dare come through the barracks. Or anywhere close for that matter.” Acilia’s scouts had said. The Shepherds weren’t insane. They were confident in their numbers and had Elementals on their side. If things went sour, the scorchers could always torch the place. One way of the other, the rebels would get through.

Three hundred rebels, Seraphina included, approached the gate, waiting for the next party of sentries to come out. When they heard the creaking sounds the wooden barricade made as the watchers pulled them open, the archers drew. When the face of their enemies emerged from the crack, the archers let loose. Another set of arrows flew past the open gates. Only then did they charge through. No battle-cries. No screaming. Only running.

On a peaceful night, their rushing feet and their metal armor would make noise. Booming noise that would undoubtedly wake all imperials still asleep. But the early winter rainfall and thunder were ever present in the past hours. Even then, while the storm was clearing, the imperials in the barracks didn’t realize they were under attack until they came face to face with Shepherds. But it was too late to act. Most stood stunned and the rebels cut them down before they regained their senses. Others died in their sleep, their throats cut before they had a chance to wake up.

Seraphina watched as their brutes invaded the bunks and heard the screams as their enemies fell one after the other. If anyone managed to slip past the horde of brutes, the archers were ready to put them down. Seraphina concentrated on high ground. She was looking for watchmen on the roofs or the wall, ready to sound the alarms if they detected danger. Wherever she expected to find imperials, she only saw Acilia’s narks, watching their oppressors’ downfall in their charcoal cloaks. She nodded at the one above her head, a girl, not yet a woman, and she spurred off to inform the others.

Standing by gates with her fellow archers, Seraphina saw Gavin, her commander, approach her, covered in blood. “Clear on the left, we’ve closed them down on the right dorm. Light them up.”

Seraphina disagreed. She believed they shouldn’t expose themselves so early, before their people were inside. But she was thinking about their detection, while Gavin was considering how many they might lose if he sent his people in confined space with alert enemies, instead of burning down the building.

But even if there wasn’t merit to his logic, Seraphina would follow though, for she wasn’t in command. She lit up the tip of the arrow knocked on her bow. She aimed through an open window at the underside of the roof. She let loose. The bolt didn’t find its mark, but etched itself in the chest of an unfortunate imperial who chose the wrong moment to peak his head out and use his marksmanship skills on the intruders. The man fell forward, crashing onto the Shepherds barricading the doors and windows so no one would get out alive.

Seraphina tried again. That time no body stood in her arrow’s way. It hit the roof and Seraphina moved closer to the dorm to influence the flames. Her teachers in Elemental studies would always joke that she could control every flame in their land, no matter where she was, because fire burned bright within her. With her eyes closed, she could always tell when they approached her with a lit torch, where it was and even call the flames to herself. There hadn’t been many times in the past her high affinity proved useful. Due to a bad temper, it’d mostly been a nuisance in her attempts to sneak.

But there was no longer fear of discovery, her peers knew. The fire called and Seraphina guided it. The blaze grew and grew until it spread everywhere. The screams were deafening. The anguish, the pain, insufferable. The imperials started banging on the doors, desperate to get out. The Shepherds held strong. The flames licked on the imperials’ flesh, melting it away at first, but it was too much and eventually scorched them. The smell was overwhelming, the continuous howling was pitiful, but neither Seraphina, nor her comrades backed down.

When the screams died down, most Shepherds moved deeper into the city, but many turned to look at Seraphina. If there had once been someone who wasn’t afraid of her, her combat skills and determination, they were after that display. They knew she could harm them with her bow and blades, but they were realizing she didn’t even need those to harm. To kill. The concern, the fear, were evident in the looks she received and how they pulled back from her.

With the gates then wide open, Shepherds kept coming inside. “Archers! Take the high ground and rush ahead. The rest, move in! Kill and shackle, kill and shackle!” Gavin yelled. They followed Gavin’s orders and spread out.

Seraphina and a few others climbed on the roofs, while the rest of the archers, the ones on the heavier side or simply older, went up the ramparts. The close proximity of the buildings in Ironham allowed the Shepherds on the roofs to be swift and agile. They moved ahead, as instructed, felled any lonely imperial they found in their path, wishing to avoid them running off to alert more of their enemies, deeper into the city.

“We shouldn’t allow anyone to escape and tell the others. Better they suddenly hear our march.” Someone had suggested in their strategy meetings. Seraphina couldn’t agree more.

She was still in the military district of the city, unfamiliar territory to her, but she could navigate her way to the citadel. From the roofs, it was hard to miss, it stood taller than every other building in the city. She could not see the edge of the inner wall, an extra precaution for the Viscount’s Hall, but the Hall itself was visible. She raced towards it.

Once Seraphina broke out of the barracks, recognition came. The dullest market in the land was even grimmer than she remembered. Kai and Acilia’s forge stood proud, but no weapon decorated the coal black windows, for every weapon they’d made was in Shepherd hands that night, and no people slept in its quarters for the old, the women and the children were supposed to be hiding in the basement for shelter, while Reggie and his team were standing by the citadel’s wall, holding the gates open. She ran across the roof tiles of the jeweler’s shop and momentarily wondered if the young, yet white-haired woman still ran the business. Seraphina held her in high regard because the woman had once mended Seraphina’s pendant, the one belonging to her mother, then safely returned to her neck.

The jeweler’s shop and her house were two of the many buildings that Acilia’s scullions had been scratching a large E while they’d been waiting for a storm to come. It was a mark to show the horde that women and children resided inside. A mark that meant there should be no killing, but shackling the residents instead. The rebels were there to take the city through force, but they didn’t want to harm innocents. If someone took up arms against them, it would be a different matter.

Seraphina didn’t stop skidding from rooftop to rooftop. The tiles were slippery from the rainfall so she watched her steps, but her pace didn’t let up much. To the west, on the other side of the city, fires were starting to break out as well. The other scorchers. A sudden urgency hit Seraphina and her steps came faster. Their luck was running out. Soon, they’d be against fully aware enemies. She braced herself and kept going.

Below her, the horde was advancing relentlessly. The ones in front entered the buildings to capture or slaughter, but the rest kept going and in somewhat tight space, their numbers didn’t seem to dissipate. They’d prepared well. As long as Reggie and the Bashers kept the citadel gates open, all was well. Success was close.

Two more blocks and she’d see the gates. Two more blocks until their two hordes collided at those gates. “Elements be praised, let those gate be open.”

As the thought passed by her mind, a massive explosion made the dome of the main Hall crumble before her eyes. For a moment, Seraphina became the wife of a man caught in the fiery vortex. Her breath caught and she stopped moving. She pictured Reggie in her mind and a sharp pain pierced her heart. She wanted to scream. She wanted to give up.

Just for one moment. Then she buried it all deep within her.

Like she’d told Barkley hours before, no one needed Seraphina that night. Not even her husband. They needed the weapon they’d forged her to be. Sharp. Lethal. Merciless. At the hand of a skilled warrior, a weapon, a tool, could spread death and terror to their enemies, but it was also bound to circumstances and the laws of its nature. Seraphina was an assassin. Silent. Always preferred to strike from the shadows. She could no more partake in open battle, than an arrow could fly against the wind. Just as the arrow could reach its full potential and find its mark if circumstances favoured its flight, Seraphina would be most successful and useful, if she did what she knew best. “Remain unseen and kill.”

Ignoring her orders, she broke away from the archers on the roofs and continued by herself. She stopped looking for targets to fell and she progressed faster. She reached the citadel gates and saw Reggie and the Bashers had kept them open. But the blast had turned the dome into rubble and it’d rolled into a pile right at the gates. Blocking the horde out and the lords in. Blood, guts and bones spread everywhere.

Seraphina took in the scene before her, searching for an easy way in. There was none. Not there. But she knew where there was a hole. She’d helped make it herself. Her eyes moved away from the gates and onto the horde. She needed Gavin. But she was failing to find him. The longer she’d wait, the worse their chances would become. For the second time that night, she disobeyed her orders. Instead of holding her position, she jumped from rooftop to rooftop, heading out of the city, towards the aqueduct. Reggie and Vivienne had had little problem crawling though the crack when they’d rescued Keira. Seraphina could only hope the rainfall hadn’t flooded the pass.

“Lord Reginald…” Someone called. Reggie opened his eyes and found Sevi, Acilia’s nine-year-old sister shaking him. “They need you.” She said and skipped out of the room. Reggie took one long breath before getting up and walking to the dining room where they held their meetings.

“I just returned from our camp. It’s time. We’re sure the guards don’t change their routine, so they’ll launch the attack tonight.” Acilia announced and the tension grew in the room. The sixteen people, all roamers, that’d managed to come in Ironham had spent their days in the city in unrest, working at the various jobs their forged papers provided. Tedious times for a roamer, but they’d endured. The news of action rung well in their ears.

On the other hand, the Earth Elementals and Reggie had spent their time trying to clog the gate mechanism. To do so, they needed bashers with as great affinity to their element as Seraphina had to hers. They couldn’t be obvious. They needed to do their work discreetly. Thankfully, when the bashers returned from Briohall, there were four who could execute Reggie’s plan. Six more bashers had come into the city for extra support, even if their affinity wasn’t at such high a level.

For two fortnights, Reggie and the bashers had set up a stall by the gates. Kai had asked the imperials’ permission and they’d granted it because as a smith whose blades hung at the waist of most Ironham imperials, he was well respected in the city. Many of the officers held the best blades his workshop made. It was a necessary evil to avoid prying eyes. No one had suspected their main supplier was a spy.

Nor his new vendors. Reggie used his skills in speech to promote weapons and armor, while the bashers seemed to work on steel when in truth, they were gnawing at the stone around the gates. Their goal was to block the portcullis in place by melting, in a way, the rock onto the iron grating. The gates would then have no space to move and wouldn’t roll down if the imperials released the mechanisms holding them aloft. From dawn to dusk the bashers had been hard at work and from dusk to dawn they’d be sleeping, too exhausted to do anything else. Their elemental manipulation had been taking its toll on them, but by the end of the first fortnight in the city, they’d said they’d done it. Although confident the grating would remain stuck, they’d kept applying more and more of their mending to the stone for another fortnight.

“They don’t expect us to sit back, eh?” Ave, the youngest yet most attune basher, asked. His face smooth as a babe’s, no wrinkles or hair to smudge it. He couldn’t have seen more winters than Griffin, but he led the bashers in Reggie’s plan. Reggie had seen him turn a boulder into gravel, while he was sitting blindfolded in a tent and people moved boulders to different positions. He was perfect for Reggie’s plan.

“Not exactly. We’ll move in on the citadel, but they wish us to wait here until the seventh rotation. By then, they should be inside and even if we get caught, it won’t matter.” Acilia said and most nodded. “I know I’ve asked too many times, but do you think the gates will hold?”

The bashers nodded, but it was Ave who answered, more respectful than one would think for his years. “Lord Reginald’s description was perfect. We knew what we were up against before stepping foot in your city, Mistress Acilia. The iron gates are covered in rock. They will not move unless the wall comes down. We assure you.”

Acilia nodded back in respect. It was unlike everything Reggie had heard about her, no mockery or flirtatious remarks, but they were under no normal circumstances. A battle was looming. “Then I believe that is all. My father will move the last of our people to the basement for shelter. Prepare as you will, for the time is near.” She started to leave, but the roamers cleared their throats. Loudly. They needed her attention. She turned. “Yes?”

Ave glanced at Reggie. Thought he’d never asked, since he was the one to devise the trick with the citadel gates, the Shepherds inside the walls seemed to look to him for directions, not the city guild masters. He was not the best warrior, not the best assassin, not even the best archer. But he had a way with people. He could command them, inspire them, convince them to rally to his cause.

They looked up to him and sought his guidance. The roamers brought into Ironham with him were no different. He looked at Acilia. “I’m sorry, but you will need to join the others in the basement. You have no training and we have our orders. Our numbers are high enough to allow all civilians to seek shelter.”

The spark in Acilia’s eyes was as close to her true self as he’d seen since he’d come to her father’s workshop. Her lip trembled, but she nodded. “Whatever the League wants, the League gets. If you’ll excuse me…” She rushed out of the room.

Excitement filled every roamer. They would soon have what they longed for. Some action. There wasn’t much they could do at the time, so Reggie let them talk amongst themselves while he returned to his bed for some shuteye. He hoped the following night would find him lying in his wife’s arms. Both of them safe and sound.

◊◊◊

Night came and the storm still raged on outside. Reggie and the roamers put on their armor and fastened their weapons in place before they made sure their people were in the workshop’s basement, safe from the upcoming fighting, and tried to sneak across the city to the citadel walls. They’d counted the watchmen rotations and moved only when the seventh came to pass. With the help of the storm, they sneaked past the guards they encountered and reached the walls undetected. Their orders were to hold the gates open and wait for their people. The bashers assured of the first.

They broke into the house closest to the wall, shackled and muffled its residents and then, they wanted to wait for the hordes. But they couldn’t, because they saw Acilia running outside. They opened the door and called for her, just loud enough so she could hear. She turned and rushed into the house, as fast as she’d rushed out of the dining hall hours before. Everyone was furious and kept asking her what she was doing, until one said to stop.

“I’m a scorcher. You need me.” She said as if it was a reason good enough to go against orders and logic.

“What’s done is done. Leave it be.” Reggie said ignoring her words and trying to calm the roamers. They didn’t settle down, not exactly, but at least they took their hands off their blades.

Acilia didn’t stop there though. “Oh, I took out one you missed.”

Reggie spun around. “You did what?” That time the roamers didn’t simply reach for their weapons. They also unsheathed them.

“The patrol? Two blocks south? I cut him down. Bludgeoned him to death.” Acilia said oozing pride. “He never saw me coming.”

“His friends? What of them?” Ave asked, rubbing off the sweat over his eyebrows.

“There was only one.” She replied and arched an eyebrow. The roamers grunted and ran to the door. “What’s happening?”

“They’ve been patrolling in fours tonight. We didn’t want to kill anyone, we sneaked past them. Did you at least hide the body?” Reggie pleaded, already guessing the answer. She shook her head. He turned away from her. “Alright, change of plans. We’re getting inside the citadel.”

“Our orders…” One of the roamers tried to say.

Reggie cut her off. “I know, but we have to adapt. I have faith in our friends’ elemental work, but desperate times lead to desperate measures. The Shepherds need people inside if the imperials get desperate.” The roamers nodded, seeing the merit in his words. “Acilia, stay close.”

They gathered their equipment and walked out of the house, their steps measured, their eyes and ears alert, seeking danger. They found it behind them. The guards Acilia never saw were rushing to the citadel to warn their masters, but when they came upon the Shepherds, they roared and let arrows loose on them. The bashers had good reflexes and the few bolts had no chance of reaching them. Instead, the Elementals hit them with gravel faster than the roamers could reach for their arrows.

The men fell to the ground, dead most likely, but the damage was already done. The guards at the gates, the very same ones the Shepherds were trying to sneak up on, heard the cries and came looking. The imperials saw them and the growing fire in the south part of the city, but they didn’t run at them. Instead, they stepped back and yelled something to their brethren at the top of the wall. Reggie couldn’t hear, but as he and the roamers ran at them, the imperials were panicking more and more. He could guess they were ordering the gates closed.

The iron grating wouldn’t budge, though. Ave and his bashers had performed well. The Shepherds ran with renewed confidence. The archers kept shooting anyone they spotted through the opening. The bashers kept sending rocky projectiles at the guards on top of the wall. Once close to the wall, even Acilia directed flames to their enemies, burning everyone the fire touched and disorienting everyone else.

Reggie and the roamers passed through the gates with few injuries and even fewer casualties. Only one man fell, a basher. They were in. No matter what happened, they were in. “Ave! Take the bashers on the wall and help the horde from above.”

“Got it. You heard the man, come on!” Ave said and the nine broke away from the group, heading up.

“We’re easy pickings here. Maybe we should storm the Hall.” Reggie suggested as they put their backs against the doors. “Acilia, how many are inside?”

“Guards? The Viscount’s personal bodyguards. Twelve. The rest are staff, don’t know the count.” She replied immediately. “Aside from the wall, all other troops are in the barracks.”

“We can take twelve, right?” Reggie asked the roamers as they scoffed. “Let’s secure the Hall!”

It took them a while to bust the barricaded doors open and head inside. Before they reached the grand staircase, an onslaught of cooks and servants hit them, pans and clubs in their hands. Anything they’d found handy. One servant had grabbed a spear from one of the statues clad in armor. They were inexperienced, fighting for the first time it showed. But they fought with vigor, for they were fighting to save their lives. Reggie cut and slashed with little care for defense. He killed the cook coming at him before he could raise his pan. Single slash across the neck. He cut the broom of the next attacker in half and used one piece to stake him in the heart. The roamers around him were in similar situations. They all held strong still.

Then Reggie caught a whiff of their demise. He looked down. Black. Too much black. At the top of the staircase, the Viscount of Ironham, in all his golden glory, smirked at the invaders. Reggie looked around in panic, searching for Acilia. He found her clobbering a man and rushed to her. “They’re flooding us with oil! Can you snuff every torch?” The trembling lips, the bulging eyes were answer enough. Her reach wasn’t long.

Reggie scoped the room. The staff were stacking powder kegs one atop the other at the corners behind them. Their legs were drenched in black oil. Their attackers were many, too many to pass through. Their only hope was to cut them down before they rained fire on them. Reggie went back to cutting down the men he faced, getting closer to the roamers. “Push through! Up the stairs to the Viscount or they’ll light us up.”

Anyone who had heard him looked down at their legs. They doubled their efforts and slowly advanced to the staircase. But the Viscount observed their progress and ordered his guardsmen to set them alight. Reggie’s eyes were glued to the lord as he hacked and slashed every unfortunate soul standing in his way and saw one of the guards knock a flaming arrow. Reggie’s moves became more desperate and some hits found their mark on his body. He had to get away from the pool of oil. But his time was running out. The arrow was already flying.

In a few moments, it would land and spark their pyre. Accepting his defeat, he resolved to taking down with him as many of their enemies as he could. Time seemed to stand still as one after the other, the men before him fell until there were no more but women. Innocent women, not warriors. Women clutching to their children.

He didn’t raise his sword against them. He would not be that kind of man. Not in his dying moments. The fire would engulf them all soon anyway. Pushing on, he managed to reach the staircase. Impossible. He could smell burning flesh behind him, feel the terrible heat. He shouldn’t have been able to reach the stairs. But he did. Turning around, he saw Acilia gathering every flame shot at them to herself. Hers was the burning flesh. The heat was coming from the vortex she’d wrapped around herself. She was keeping the fire aloft, away from the oil, sacrificing herself to give them a chance.

The surviving roamers and Reggie took it. They ran up the stairs, chasing after the fleeing lords. The roamers ran ahead to the corridor, but Reggie stood by the archway and looked back at Acilia. He nodded at her and placed his hands over his heart in deep gratitude. From what he could see in such distance, her skin was melting, running down her bones, but she was still alive, still held strong. She started laughing, delirious. “Go! They can’t win!” She yelled. She never showed her pain.

With one long last look, he turned away and followed after the roamers. A few strides later, a grand explosion occurred and the blast threw him to the ground as the keep shook. The dome was collapsing behind him. He got up, his right leg gave out, his ankle throbbed in pain, but he got up again and skipped away towards the roamers. They spread out to find the Viscount and his entourage. They went through every room, searching for them. They looked for them in the balconies and then barricaded those balconies when their prey wasn’t there. On and on they went, Reggie wasn’t amongst those who found them. At some point, he and two others heard the sound of steel clanging against steel. They followed the sound to their targets.

Seraphina crawled through the muck and emerged from the hole in the wall covered in mud darker than her clothes. The garden was empty as expected. She unsheathed her daggers and walked inside. She knew the citadel grounds, but didn’t know where the Viscount might retreat.

The deeper into the castle she went, the more peculiar it seemed that there were no people around. The kitchens were never empty. Even if the explosion drove them away, she should’ve have been able to hear them rushing away. But there was no sound. Only the overwhelming odor of crisped flesh. Seraphina didn’t allow herself to think of the victims for long. She couldn’t be distracted.

She moved away from the kitchen and headed upstairs, two floors up, where the mountain first met the keep. There, the first chambers belonged to the Viscount’s personal guards, the second along the hall housed the Viscount and his family and his steward used the third to oversee the estate. They always barred those doors better than most in the keep, but Seraphina had managed to seduce a guardsman and learned that all were connected through a hidden passageway whittled into the mountain. The man had been foolish enough to even show her the entrance.

Seraphina went inside the guardsmen’s chambers and pushed on the stones facing the door. The stone fell away to reveal the hollow passage. She squeezed through the first few strides until the crack became wider and she moved on to the Viscount’s chambers. She hadn’t been that far inside, so she didn’t know which stone to push on next. She did it at random, until she hit the right one and as quietly as possible, she found herself in the room. But there was no one there. Not the Viscount, nor his family. She did the same with the steward’s office, but again no one. She returned to the corridor the same way she came in and tried to figure out where to look next.

She guessed Viscount Declan, a selfish and cowardly man, would choose to lock himself away from any action. The doors to his chambers were well protected, a good choice to hide but an obvious one. Seraphina herself had proved it so. The next best choice would be one few people knew about. The concealed cave he held the extra gold his city produced. The one Seraphina had managed to infiltrate the last time she’d been there. Barred with a marble door with carvings by the best artists in Wallowdale. At a distance, it was impossible to realize it was a door. The marble was well-carved, the artists’ cuts were the cleanest Seraphina had seen when she’d inspected the door. She ran there.

Again, no people stood in her way. No servants, no guardsmen, no lords. The floor was pristine, no rushing feet had marked its surface. Seraphina continued her way to the marble carving, fast but alert just in case, and when she reached the secret entrance, she finally found indication someone had passed through. The floor mosaic was crystal clear across every inch, but right in front of the cut marble. Liquid stains led a trail into the wall. While waiting for the doors to open, someone had wet themselves.

Seraphina didn’t like the way she had to proceed. She didn’t know another way inside the cave. She didn’t know how many people were inside. She only knew that the moment she pushed open the door, her enemies would know where she was and expect her attack. But she had no choice. The longer she waited, if there was anyone alive, the worse it’d be for them. She breathed in and pushed. Her luck hadn’t run out, the door started sliding back. They hadn’t barred it yet. She snuffed all torches to hide her presence and pushed.

She didn’t open it all the way, just enough so she could slip through. She did and quickly tiptoed to the wall. With her back against it, she walked forward in the darkness. She’d seen they didn’t light torches close to the entrance, so she kept walking until she saw dim light ahead. As she crept closer, she could hear whispers, but couldn’t make out the count of voices.

Daggers in hand, she closed the distance, but didn’t get to see the people sitting around the small fire. As she moved away from the wall to get behind a pillar, two imperials attacked her from above. One fell on her and brought her down, the other landed next to her and both raised their swords against her.

Seraphina’s instincts kicked in and she stabbed the attacker on her with both daggers, rolled out from under him and run her blade across his neck. He never got to scream. She rolled away from the second attacker and threw a dagger at his head as he was sitting up. He managed to scream, but she was already running at him, and with her second dagger she brought him the same fate. The scream, that shrill voice, made her hand tremble and the cut wasn’t a clean one. Her attacker’s weeping sent a chill up her spine. The second imperial hadn’t been sitting up, he’d been standing. She looked at the bodies.

Small. Too small. Children. Two boys. Too young.

The people by the fire heard the boy’s scream and rushed his way. Seraphina could hear only three sets of footsteps. They rounded up the pillar and shone the torchlight on Seraphina as she was staring down at the gurgling boy. Seraphina took her dagger out of his eye socket and struck his tiny heart. She ended his misery, pulling her blade out, but his fingers still clutched on his sword. Wooden. His brother’s too. They would’ve never hurt her. They’d whacked her, but she didn’t realise there had been no pain, no scratch.

Seraphina looked up and found the Viscountess and her two handmaids watching in terror. The handmaids gasped. The Viscountess shrieked. The mother’s scream turned into a snarl and she attacked Seraphina with bare hands. Seraphina didn’t hesitate with her. She dodged the charge and punched the Viscountess in the chest. While she was trying to catch her breath, Seraphina came at her and rooted her dagger in the chest of the Viscountess. Once she was dead, Seraphina slowly laid her body down, allowing her to join her sons in peace.

Seraphina turned towards the handmaids. Both were crying, but they didn’t make a move to harm her. “Where is Declan?”

They jumped back when she spoke. She walked towards them and they fell to their knees, shielding their faces with their hands. “We don’t know! The lord sent the lady and their children here while he’s dealing with the invaders.”

Seraphina wasn’t pleased. The explosion was the coward’s doing. With Reggie likely dead, caught in the blast, the Viscount would die. A long, painful death.

She reached below and ripped the nightgown the Viscountess wore. Killing them was unnecessary. They were no threat, she needed only tie them up. “To the cart. Move.” She pushed them to the gold-filled cart and tied them up. All the while, they were crying and calling her a murderer. They weren’t wrong. When she was done, Seraphina walked to her three victims.

She took a closer look at the children. She needed to remember those faces. They could not be just another number to her body count. Blonde hair on their tiny heads, sprayed with the red of their blood after they fell. One had a gash across his neck, still bleeding. The other was unrecognizable. An empty hole where his left eye used to be. His neck wide open, similar to his brother’s. His chest open as well, for Seraphina’s daggers proved too big for his small frame. Her heart ached at the sight.

She carried their mother and laid her next to the boys. She stepped back and called. The flames answered. They engulfed the bodies. The same horrific smell of burned flesh she’d smelled on her way up reached her nostrils. She waited until the bodies turned black and she snuffed the fire. She walked towards the door.

“Child-killer!” She heard one of the maids say. She stopped. She clenched her hands. Her knuckles turned white. She breathed. Unclenched her fists. Moments later, an arrow protruded from the maid’s eye. Seraphina didn’t bother checking if the girl was dead. Putting behind everything that transpired in that cavern, she was already walking out. On the hunt for the Viscount.

The lord and his guardsmen could be anywhere in the keep. She would need to track him down. She headed to the destroyed dome. Two floors down it was. No people in the first, but she found many footprints, far too many, leading down. She followed them until she heard the unmistakable sound of metal against metal. She proceeded with caution. Down the stairs, bow in hand, arrow already knocked on. Then she saw them.

Viscount Declan was running her way. His head was turned back, looking at his pursuers. Reggie’s team. Seraphina drew back her bowstring, aimed and let loose. The Viscount fell screaming, holding his leg. For the time being she ignored him and turned her attention to the fighting in the corridor. She didn’t count them. She simply walked forward and hit them with arrows when she had a clear shot. A guardsman grabbed a Shepherd, using her as a shield to get close to Seraphina.

She had another weapon in her arsenal. Seraphina wasn’t just able to control fire, but also create it. The man’s head lit up, giving the Shepherd the chance to twist out of the headlock and stab the man. The Shepherds had the fight under control, they didn’t need Seraphina’s input, but it brought their win faster.

When the imperials were all dead, down to the last guardsman, she closed the distance between herself and the Shepherds. “The keep is empty, one maid tied up upstairs. Where’s Reggie?” They were still catching their breaths, but they pointed down the corridor. To the dome. The demolished dome. Seraphina clenched her jaw. “Stay here.” She said and turned back to the Viscount.

She approached him slowly. Flames building around her, they brought sweet caresses to her skin. Declan was wailing still. His eyes were glued to the fire surrounding Seraphina. He knew his end was close, but he didn’t know what she had in store for him. She knelt by his side. Sparks appeared by his legs. “Please, I have a family. A wife, children.”

Seraphina grabbed the arrow protruding from his thigh. She twisted it and he screamed. The sparks on his legs became flames. She shook her head. “No, you don’t. Not anymore.” She watched as terror overwhelmed him. “How many did you kill tonight?”

“Seraphina…” A roamer from Reggie’s team said touching her shoulder.

She burned him. “Stay out of my way, Cypher.” The man knew her well enough to follow the order. “Tell me, Declan, how many died by your hand tonight?” The flames engulfed his legs.

“Noooone! I swear!” He wailed. His flesh was melting. “I didn’t kill anyone!”

“What about your word?” She twisted the arrow once more. “How many did your men kill?” She snarled.

“We were fighting for our lives.” He yelled, his body was shaking from the pain.

“How!? Many!?” She screamed at him as he wailed. Another hand touched her shoulder and she burned it too. “Leave me be.” The hand didn’t pull back, so she turned around and found Reggie. Alive. She snuffed the flames.

“Cypher, take him and join the horde.” Reggie said and the roamers pulled the Viscount away from Seraphina. “You disobeyed your orders, didn’t you?”

She stood up and sheathed her blades. “Slightly. I was no good waiting.” He seemed confused. “The grating never came down, but debris blocked the gates. It’s too much, they’re probably still trying to clear the way. I couldn’t just sit there.”

“You would’ve. If I wasn’t in here, you would’ve.” He tried to touch her. She took a step back. “What happened?”

She shook her head. It was not the time or place for her to break. People were watching. “How did you survive?”

Reggie recognized her moment of weakness. He didn’t press on. “Acilia. She sacrificed herself to give us time to flee.”

“Why was she here? She wasn’t…” Seraphina stopped herself. She knew the woman. She was headstrong and wanted to fight. “The people of the Keep?”

“Massacred. By our steel and her fire. He had them all stand between us while his men flooded us with oil. A sea of people so we wouldn’t get to him before they set us aflame. Acilia couldn’t snuff them, but she pulled them to herself and held on till her last breath.” Reggie said and took a long breath. “The servants…they wouldn’t move. They just sat there. Waiting to get killed.”

Seraphina gritted her teeth. “You should’ve let me deal with him. He needs to pay.”

“He will, but not by our hand. It’s not our job to judge him.” Reggie reminded her and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull back that time. “You’ve secured the floor above?” She nodded. “Our job’s done then, isn’t it?”

“Seems that way. Ironham’s a free city.” She said and sighed.

“At what cost, though?” He asked and looked at her from head to toe. “The blood? Any of it yours?” She shook her head, unable to speak. “Good. Could you lend a shoulder then? I think I broke my ankle.”

Since meeting the twins, Vivienne had seen many wonders in their travels. The grand white obelisk of Neverfall was the first and very best. She was too anxious, fleeing for her life at the time, when they’d first come into the city to take a good look at her surroundings. She hadn’t appreciated the brutish beauty. The closer they rode to the city the more imposing the details became.

The obelisk held the history of the city, when it lost its freedom during the Isolation, carved on its surface. It depicted battles between the Neverfallers and Damien’s armies, the mountain and sun banners held high. Even though Neverfall eventually fell to Damien’s advances, the mountain seemed grander, more imposing, compared to the small and dull sunrays. Like their people. No matter their jewels and their riches, the people of Dawnfield, too scared they might displease their lord, led empty lives, under the complete control of their rulers.

But the Neverfallers cared little Viscount Fergus was their pronounced lord. He had no Keep built for himself and his. He didn’t rule them. He listened to them. He didn’t grant audiences to the people because he was one of the people, living amongst them, in a house built upon the mountainside like every other man. He worked alongside them to bring their city to its former glory, a task easier those days while the empire wasn’t breathing down their neck, instead focusing on a mad manhunt for Seraphina.

Even before the League of Shepherds decided their chance had come, Fergus and his father before him had been trying to dissociate themselves from the capital. They’d been the last stronghold conquered, something they often reminded the other cities. They considered themselves free, even though they were still paying homage to the emperor.

For that reason, the League was formed in Neverfall. To grow and flourish, the first Shepherds moved away, to the three corners of the lands, but left behind people to establish the first guild. Clay, the guild master then, had sent word the previous winter that the tension between Fergus and the capital had increased and Fergus himself had been considering rebelling. The only thing that stopped him was he couldn’t ensure victory and therefore, the safety of his people. Their bad odds against the massive army didn’t allow it. But Clay knew the League was gathering an army of their own.

Every major city was falling to their hands, by force or guile. Combined with the League’s own people, roamers and hivespeople alike, they could match the numbers of Dawnfield’s defenders if they’d gnaw parts of her reinforcements. The council agreed that Vivienne, the only trained Aetheral capable at the time, needed to be in the party meeting Fergus to ensure that if they would form an alliance, it would be true. And so, they didn’t act on the favorable information until Maxwell, Seraphina, Vivienne and Reggie reached Hollow’s Grove.

Although, things turned out different than they imagined. Considering Seraphina’s new situation and Vivienne’s insistence she be left behind, the council had no other option but to convey the information only to Vivienne and Maxwell. They also provided additional goals for their stops along their way to Neverfall. Mountmend, Wallowdale and Ashbourne allied themselves with the Shepherds. Neverfall was the last stop the council had pointed. Viscount Fergus would then graph their way.

They rode on, closer and closer to their goal, and as they approached the city, the sound of music and laughter filled their ears. No checkpoint denied them access to the city like Ashbourne. The watchers on the wall simply waved them in and soon they reached the origin of the sounds. “Didn’t know there was a carnival this time of year.” Maxwell said scratching his chin.

“I don’t remember them being so cheerful either. Does that strike you odd?” Vivienne asked, equally surprised.

“It does. Let’s just get to Tricky Slopes and find out what’s happening.” Maxwell suggested and they trotted around the crowd to the tavern. The city was packed with people. Surely more than she remembered in their last visit. “The hammer…”

“Huh?” She breathed.

Maxwell pointed ahead to a group of drinking men. “Those men have a hammer etched on their shoulder. The sigil of Oremart. Need to get to Clay.”

Vivienne nodded, but carefully spread her reading wave. She found no hostility in the people, only jubilation and at times, intoxication. A lot of dancing and ale had been flowing for days. She could see it in the minds of the people. Puzzled by her findings, she didn’t share them with Maxwell. Instead, they both stared in bafflement as they rode deeper into the city.

When they got close, her gift touched Clay and he realized it not a moment later. She felt the shift in his mindset. He was careful, very careful with his thoughts, not once stepping out of the mindset of the innkeeper he pretended to be. It was amusing to consider the effort it must’ve taken him. She mentioned it to Maxwell whose booming laugh startled the drunkards beside them. “Let’s put him out of his misery then, shall we?”

They did. They led their horses into the back of the Tricky Slopes, to the inn’s small stables and found it packed. Maxwell whistled, but no one answered the call. He got off his horse and handed the reigns to Vivienne. “I’ll be right back.”

Vivienne nodded and waited. She didn’t hold back her reading and observed the shift in Clay’s demeanor when he saw Maxwell. “You little…” He thought to her and went on to curse himself for not expecting her arrival. He and Maxwell rushed out back and found her giggling. “You didn’t have to snoop, you could’ve told me you were here.” He whistled and two boys appeared behind him, reaching for the horse reigns.

“I don’t snoop. I just tried to figure out what’s happening.” Vivienne said dismounting. She tried to get her belongings, but the boys wouldn’t have it.

“They’re here to take your things upstairs, don’t worry. Come, we have work to do.” Clay directed.

But Vivienne wasn’t the woman she once knew. What he asked of her was simple, nothing worth arguing over, but she wanted to make a point. She reached for her sword and took her time strapping the sheath around her waist. She grabbed her daggers and placed them in their straps on her ankles, one at a time. Every move was calculated, deliberate. She might follow orders, but she was in charge of herself. He needed to know that.

“Isn’t she something?” She heard Maxwell say to Clay.

“A wild spirit, I see.” Clay tried to whisper back. He cleared his throat. “Lady Vivienne, whenever you’re ready…”

She nodded and took off her woolen coat, one of the young boys came to her side immediately to take it. “Shall we?”

Clay took them inside and, after yelling for Oris, guided them to the cellar where all Shepherd meetings took place. Maxwell and Vivienne were telling him of their journey since they had been in Neverfall last, when Oris and the girl Vivienne hadn’t seen before came down with trays of food. “Finally, sit down already.”

“Sorry, father, but we have too many customers upstairs. Had to wait for the cooks to fill the trays.” Oris said placing the trays in front of their guests. “Glad to see it was you snooping.”

“Oh, shush already. I call it investigating.” Vivienne said and picked up a fork. The lamb stew she had before her worked wonders. Even in the humid cellar with the overwhelming earthy smell of the walls, the air became hotter and easier to breathe in, she relished in it. “Thank you for the meal. Smells delicious.”

“Mmhmm, mmhmm. It is.” Maxwell said already digging in.

“We have good cooks. They also love your recipes.” Oris replied smiling to the woman. “Max, Vivienne, let me introduce you to my wife, Beata.”

“A pleasure, milord, milady.” Beata said bowing to them. “Though, I have seen you before from afar. Embersummit used to be my home.”

“Mason’s daughter, right? Head builder in the dome?” Maxwell asked and, wiping his hand, offered a handshake. She nodded. “Good man, good man. How did you get here?”

“Shortly after you left and us, ‘summiters could finally travel south, father didn’t miss the chance to see and admire the marble obelisk. He brought us here…” Beata said looking at Oris, who kept grinning.

“I think they can figure out the rest.” Clay asked trying to rush things on. “Back to business?”

“Let’s. We told you of our journeys, now… What’s going on here? Oremartians are playing nice with Neverfallers?” Maxwell asked and went back to his meal.

“Long story short, Fergus married his daughter off to Viscount Bailey of Oremart.” Clay said, assuming the information was enough.

“Bailey’s the Viscount? Since when?” Vivienne asked, racking her mind to find that account. All she remembered was his older brothers were in command. They were twins, she knew, but their names escaped her.

“Last winter. Ever since losing their father, the twin brothers had an intense ruling, both steering to different directions, until they had enough and butchered each other for leadership of the entire hold. Oremart was headless, so her advisors sent for Bailey. He’s led them since.” Clay explained. “Assassinating their old bastard of a father has been one of your best jobs, Maxwell. That wretched city has been in turmoil and our lives far easier.” He kept slapping his knee as he laughed.

Maxwell stopped chewing and gritted his teeth. Only Vivienne noticed and reached for his hand. Clay seemed to forget what that assassination personally cost Maxwell. “Shh…” She whispered and let her Aether calm him. The tension broke, but he still stared at Clay as if he would pounce. Vivienne tried to cut his laughing short. “The people then? Here for the wedding?”

Beata nodded, but Oris was the one to speak. “Everyone’s here for the wedding, yes. We’ve had our hands full with the legitimate business.”

“No time to breathe, let alone learn if it’s all part of an alliance Fergus is trying to establish, or an innocent act of love between two young people, though I doubt it.” Clay barked, his face once again scrunched as if he took a bite off something sour.

Vivienne couldn’t understand why Clay found either case unfavourable. Either would benefit the Shepherds in different ways. But there were holes to suggest the wedding was a political move. “Calliope’s studying painting in Wallowdale, isn’t she?” She asked. She recalled she’d seen the name of Fergus’ daughter on the lists of important people in Wallowdale when the Elders had presented their targets. Calliope was one of the people she and Maxwell could use in their attempt to take over the city.

“Until recently. Also, Bailey attended the festival in Wallowdale last spring. Word is her big painting of the obelisk had him so awestruck that he started courting her for a while, before asking Fergus for her hand in marriage. We haven’t crosschecked these rumours so far, but father doesn’t believe them. He thinks it’s all a plot.” Oris said scratching his head. “A lot of time’s passed, shouldn’t Seraphina be with you?”

“No, she’s not coming.” Vivienne said, but he narrowed his eyes. “We left her behind with our main force. Her face’s a red flag amongst the empire…” she said and Maxwell nodded along. “…but most importantly she’s become a mother.”

“Seraphina? A mother!?” His voice came out as a squeal. Even Clay raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

Only Beata didn’t seem surprised, but she had not seen Seraphina before Reggie became a part of her life. She didn’t know how distant, how unreachable Seraphina used to be. “Congratulations to lady Seraphina and lord Reggie. Boy or a girl?”

Maxwell huffed. He still wasn’t fond of Reggie, probably never would be. Vivienne took it upon herself to answer. “We left before the birth. We’ll have to finish this war before we can see the child.”

“We should leave the chatter and get back to Fergus and his alliances then, right?” Clay suggested. Vivienne nodded. “We sent word to Hollow Grove that Fergus is getting restless with the capital’s doings. The envoys with the Elementals were the last straw, it seems. Like you’ve seen, he’s allying himself with Oremart…”

“We don’t know that yet. It could be love, father.” Oris interjected, still shaken with the news about Seraphina. Vivienne didn’t pry, unease of what she might find. Because even if he was married then, Seraphina was his first infatuation, albeit unreciprocated.

“I’ll never believe that. The timing’s too suspicious. Last spring we have a second Drudge raid and now Calliope marrying’s an Oremartian Viscount?” Clay asked no one in particular. “No. I doubt his intentions are pure.”

“His may not be, but his daughter’s might.” Maxwell said, finished with his meal. “Bailey’s not a bad man. His parentage may be unfortunate, but he’s a good lad. His brothers were terrible, groomed by their savage father to take over the hold after his passing, but not him. His is a pure soul, nurtured by his gentle mother, I assure you. A student in Wallowdale’s Hall of Words for years.”

“You admire him.” Clay admonished.

“Yes, what is there not to admire? The man has written ‘A tale of queens and workers’, which uses metaphors to reprimand his father’s ruling ways, judging the empire itself. Honestly, I don’t know how he’s alive.” Maxwell said.

At a mention of a book, Vivienne started smiling. No matter how many battles he’d face, the scholar in him would never give way to the warrior. No matter how haggard his appearance would be, his face would always light up when presented with books and literary discussions. She couldn’t help providing an opening so he’d elaborate. “Probably because he was a Viscount’s son and now a Viscount himself? Why though? Is the text so damning?”

Maxwell scratched his head and pursed his lips. “Not exactly. Or rather, not outright at least. It’s that blue leather book I always carry with me? About how a true ruler should lead his people. Bring out the best in them through working together, not coerce them with fear.”

Vivienne giggled. “That book’s about ants.”

“Eh, I beg to differ. He calls the people ants to avoid death, but it’s quite obvious.” Maxwell said, nodding to himself. “You just have to read between the lines.”

“Most people don’t do that. In fact, not many can.” Vivienne said.

Maxwell huffed. “They should. We learn a lot from reading.”

“We learn more from spying.” Clay said and looked at Vivienne. “From prying, even more.”

“You want me to read Fergus, I get it.” She said and he looked excited with the idea. “But I’ve told you before, I can only hear what’s in a mind in that moment, not what was.” She explained and his expression returned to that of a grumpy old man. “We’ll have to get him to think about his motives while I’m reading. And don’t forget that if he knows about Aether, that’ll be even more difficult to achieve.”

“We could meet with him.” Maxwell suggested. “Wilfried allied himself with us.”

“Because his wife’s a Douser. Do you honestly believe he’d done it otherwise?” Vivienne asked.

“No, but Fergus has a good reason too. Especially if the wedding’s a sham so Oremart and Neverfall pull their armies together and maybe try to go against the capital. I think they’d welcome another force.” Maxwell said and there was merit in his words. “Besides, I don’t agree with what the council told us to do. Neverfall will rally with us if Fergus is alive and shows his support. If we take him out and put a puppet in his place, I’m not sure the Neverfallers’ allegiance will be the same.”

Clay nodded. “It’s true. We won Ashbourne with little effort because Clare has been the Viscountess for many winters and bore Micah’s children. She’s as beloved as her husband was, so the transition was easy, no objections from the advisers. Here it won’t be like that. The advisers will ask for Calliope. To be honest, I don’t think we stand a chance to put a puppet in the lead.” He paused to grab his chin and hum. “Hm, but to go from that, to meeting with Fergus and exposing yourselves? It’s risky. We can’t decide for ourselves. I’ll have to send word to the Grove. Oris, get…”

Vivienne cleared her throat, interrupting him. “We are on a schedule. If all’s going well, our forces are marching to Larcbust as we speak. By summer, we need to have the armies of Oremart, Neverfall and Ashbourne on our side so we can move in on Sabaria. Right now, we only have one of those cities on our side. We can’t delay.” She looked at Maxwell. “What do you think? Should we go meet with him?”

“I think it’s the best choice. If we fail in talking, we can take him out and move on with the puppet. But if we proceed with the puppet like the Grove’s asked and fail…” he started shaking his head. “…I doubt we’ll ever have Neverfall.”

“I know.” Vivienne agreed. “Clay, I’m sorry, but we can’t follow your advice.”

Clay slammed his hand on the table. “You may have changed, Lady Vivienne, but I haven’t. I am still guild master of this city and unless I consent, you can’t do as you please.” Vivienne felt her feet go cold. She looked down and found the stone floor was enveloping her and Maxwell’s feet. “You will stay here until Hollow Grove has resolved this matter.”

“Are you mad, Clay? What is this?” Maxwell yelled, trying to get up. He lost his balance and fell back into his chair. “Release us, you fool.”

“I will do no such thing.” He said and threw rocks at them. Before the projectiles touched them, he turned them into shackles, like their feet they couldn’t move their hands. “Oris, Beata, their weapons.”

Oris followed his father’s command immediately, but Beata hesitated. “Father, they have the Elders’ blessing. I know it. I’ve seen it. Maybe you shouldn’t…”

“They have their orders too.” Clay said while Oris was pulling her sleeve in warning. “You have yours. Will you be like them and not follow my orders?”

Beata argued, but Vivienne didn’t care to listen. She turned to Maxwell while she still could, before Clay decided to turn them into human statues. “He’s gone mad, you see that, right?”

“The moment I went in but didn’t want to believe it. What do we do?” He whispered.

“The only thing we can do with madness. We suppress it.” She said and looked at the family before her. Beata was still arguing in their favour. Oris was silent, but his father was shouting.

Vivienne never wanted to learn how to manipulate people with her element. Strip them of their will. Turn them into puppets if she’d master her gift. But she’d begged Lucian to teach her, knowing it would prove useful in tight situations. Like Ironham. Like then. She let Aether wash through her, touching everyone in the room. She read them all, but focused on Clay. She dove deeper, prying, like he didn’t want her to. Dark shadows filled his mind, paranoia and grief governed his senses. Grief over his wife, who Vivienne knew he’d lost a short while after they’d settled in Neverfall.

Her reading wasn’t subtle. She wanted his attention. In the haze of his derailing thoughts, it took him a while to notice, giving her the chance to see everything that was wrong with him. But when he did notice, fury drove him to stand in front of her and make his rocky shackles squeeze her limbs. “You think you know it all? I will break you!”

Despite the pain, she looked him right in the eye. “I know enough.” Reading gave way to webbing. His eyes glazed over. “You will release me right now.” He did in a heartbeat. “Now Max.” Again, he did. They both rubbed their wrists to get the blood flow going. “Sit down and don’t speak another word.” He did without resistance.

Beata rushed to Vivienne and Maxwell to inspect their injuries, but Oris ran to his father, shocked. “What did you do to him?”

“Something you should’ve done when he first lost his mind.” Maxwell yelled. “How did you allow him to run this guild when he’s clearly not fit? He tried to kill Vivienne!” He grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him up. “Who? Vivienne. The one person trained to counter the emperor!”

“Max… Leave him be.” Vivienne went to Clay and put her fingers to his temples. Even with that little influence, his mind was cracking. “Don’t blame him. You didn’t want to believe it either.” She tried to mend what she could, but reversing the damage wasn’t in her power. Only slow down the progress. She looked at Maxwell. “It’s not his fault, he’s sick. His mind. It’ll only get worse from here.”

Maxwell let Oris down, but his anger was still there. “You have to take him away from here. He’s a liability.”

“We can’t. The guild…” Beata said and Oris nodded.

“We’ll meet with Fergus and see how it turns out. If he stands with us, your lackies can take over for a while. If not, Ashbourne can send people to take over.” Vivienne said and took her hands off Clay. “I’ve hampered the deterioration as much as I can, but he cannot stay here.”

“We can look after him, keep him away from people.” Oris pleaded.

“It’s not exposure you should fear, Oris. He’s a well-attune basher. You saw what he did to us. He tried to crush my bones. What happens when he tries that on someone who can’t stop him?” Vivienne asked.

“I’ll take care of him, I promise. He won’t be a problem.” He said, trying to change their mind.

“You will. And he won’t. Because neither of you will be here.” Maxwell said and held up his hand when Oris tried to speak. “Be glad my sister’s not here. She wouldn’t give him a chance to live. Take what we give you.”

“My sweet… they’re right. What he did is treason. We should be grateful for their kindness.” Beata said kneeling next to her husband. “We can take him to Embersummit. Surrounded by the earth, he might feel at ease.”

“If he loses it though…” Vivienne whispered to Maxwell.

“Even if he does, there are many bashers there to help find a solution. In the Grove… with the council off with our army, the Grovers might kill him.” Maxwell said and Vivienne nodded, not thinking of that.

“He gave his life to the Shepherds. He…” Oris wept.

“Shh, we know.” Beata cooed. She turned to Maxwell and Vivienne. “Milords, we will do as you command. You have our word.”

“Fergus dictates how we’ll proceed. We’ll go meet with him once he’s free of the celebrations and then we can decide on the course of action.” Maxwell said, his hands still trembling from the anger. “Agreed?”

Beata nodded and they waited for Oris. It took him a moment to stop the weeping, but he nodded as well. He stood up, composed. “Allow me to show you to your room.”

“Before you do that, I’ll keep him asleep with Aether. Max can get you a recipe for a remedy to keep him disoriented until he’s out of here.” Vivienne said and Maxwell nodded. She knew he had the recipe written down in one his journals.

“Thank you, Lady Vivienne. I’ll make it as soon as I get the ingredients.” Beata said with a short bow. With that, Vivienne and Maxwell retired to their room. More wary than they’d thought they would be riding into Neverfall.