Harul stepped out into the darkness of early morning with an ache in his back and the taste of stale bread in his mouth. It was a short walk to his post. Working early mornings was tough enough without rationing food and water. But that was for the council to resolve. All he need do is relieve the poor souls that worked the twilight shift. Better early mornings than long nights.

He trudged through the dark and empty streets stifling a yawn with one hand and his ghata in the other. The bigger constellations still dotted the night sky. Ahead, a dog scampered through the streets. It knocked a pot over with a crash and Harul lifted his club defensively. He waved it menacingly at the empty street and let out a hard sigh. Too many strange things about lately to not act jumpy.

As Harul approached the Southern Gate, one of his guildmates ambled slowly towards him from another street. They exchanged polite greetings and then walked together the rest of the short distance. Her name was Noma and Harul both liked and respected her. She was an older lady like the Patzau—the old Patzau. He liked her because she carried herself with a strength that outpaced her years. That and her confident no-bullshit attitude. It scared off some of the younger guildies but behind her large size and sour face, it she was generous and cheerful. More than that, she would keep the younger lads in line. That is to say, shifts were easier when Noma was around.

They were decent enough friends, as far as colleagues went. They didn’t meet outside work and he suspected neither would they ever. She wouldn’t hound him with naïve questions intended to circle the conversation over to youthful boasting. Nor was she the sort to join the guild in the hopes of impressing a potential lover. Neither did she lust for violence and blood. She was ordinary. And ordinary was how Harul preferred things.

They walked together in comfortable silence as, ahead, one of the younger guildsmen on their shift opened up the door that led up to the gatehouse. Harul and Noma were still twenty paces out when the door burst opened again and the younger soldier spilled out into the night air. A low agonizing sound escaped his lips as he hit the ground backwards, hard. The door he tumbled through swung back to closed only to burst opened again. A different soldier stepped forward and stabbed the downed man straight through the chest with a sword.

Harul and Noma froze. The soldier with the sword froze. The man who had been stabbed froze, though he froze because he was dead. All three of them stared at the lifeless body. Then Noma was drawing her blade and the soldier who had killed the other man was shouting up the steps. And before Harul had the good senses to understand any of what was happening a crossbow bolt took Noma in the leg and she reeled in pain.

“Sound the alarm” Noma urged. Harul stared, dumbfounded. Noma had no time for it. She pushed him and repeated the order, “Sound the fucking alarm, Harul!”

Harul blinked and took off in a dash. She wasn’t his superior, but knew sense enough to listen. The sound of metal on metal rang out behind him as blades clashed in the darkness behind. Trusting her, Harul fled and didn’t look back. He wanted to, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He ran and his mind replayed the moment the sword sunk into the other soldier’s chest again and again.

The nearest alarm bell was in Dohina square and Harul was there before he knew it. He heaved breath and limbs as he raced up the wooden ladder to the bell nest. He’d never been up here. Few had. It was littered with dust and droppings. Harul didn’t care. He dragged himself onto the rickety landing with everything he had left and gaped at the eight bells arrayed before him. Eight bells. Eight notes. Thousands of possible songs of warning. He knew only a handful. He played the one for danger at the South Gate.

Ohacha jolted awake to the sound of bells. The lonely song was urgent and unfamiliar. It brought back a torrent of unwanted memories. Of Aramuk dying in the seat next to him. Of spilled blood in the street. The tune multiplied as another set of bells joined in. Panic ensued. The room was dark and claustrophobic. He reached out and touched cold hard stone walls and for a brief moment he worried their escape had been a twisted dream. That he remained locked away inside the dark Casoyan prison. Then a warm hand clasped his arm and Ohacha faced Rolena in the darkness. He had been breathing fast and shallow. Cask and Gaba’ké were there too and Ohacha remembered where they were.

It had taken Gaba’ké the better part of three hours to tunnel his way through solid rock into the prison. It was had been physically and mentally exhausting. One that required significant concentration and control. Even to a Stone Aginjigaade, moving mountains was a feat. As such, Gaba’ké was spent by the time they touched sunlight again. 

Ohacha had thought that his first steps out into daylight after being locked away would be emancipating. He was wrong. The fear remained. His body, underfed and malnourished, had struggled through the narrow tunnel. The daylight was blinding and debilitating. They were all thin and weakened, anxious at each unfamiliar sound. Making matters worse, Gaba’ké was barely able to walk in the end. He walked on unsteady feet and was barely conscious. They had needed to carry him as they descended down the mountain. It was a daunting task for anyone, let alone three starved prisoners.

It had taken them until dusk to reach the bottom. They had worked in silent need. All suffered. None complained. They braved the steep slope and thick vegetation, just as Gaba’ké had on his way up. To Ohacha, it was the price of freedom. He would pay it a thousand times over. They stopped when Gaba’ké needed it, and continued when the old man was ready. All the while, they dreaded the moment the alarms would sound and soldiers would announce their pursuit. Even as slipped back into the city’s streets, it was a fear that ate away at their hopes.

Once in the city, they had returned to Piitra’s apartment to see what they could recover. As it turned out, most of their belongings remained. Their trunks had been ransacked and their valuables were missing, but much more remained discarded in piles and strewn across the bedrooms. Their weapons were gone, save for Rolena’s crossbow, which she had stowed above a bureau. Also unfound was the assassin’s blade hidden alongside her mask in the salt basket in the basement. Overall, the apartment remained stocked with enough food and supplies for the night. And so, exhausted and unwilling to push their luck, they locked themselves in the cellar amongst a nest of blankets and stayed the night.

And that was where they awoke as the bells tolled. It was dark. Almost no light filtered into the dark crawlspace and Ohacha crawled on three limbs, his arm outstretched, seeking the staircase.

“Where are we?” Gaba’ké asked. He sat up and brought his hand up to his temple, wincing. “My head is throbbing.”

“We’re in the cellar of Piitra’s apartment” Cask answered. He began climbing up the dark stairs to the main floor. He reached the landing and unlatched the cellar door. It opened and a faint early morning light filled the stairwell.

“Why?” Gaba’ké protested. “Why aren’t we at the ship?” He made to stand, and then held himself steady under the rush of blood that came to his head.

“We were all too exhausted” Ohacha said with a tone that suggested this was not a point to argue. “It was a risk, but one I decided was better than the alternative. It was just for the night.”

“This is the first place they would look!” Gaba’ké insisted. The bells continued tolling, adding to his urgency to be gone from this place. He looked around, though for what no one else was sure.

“And if we’d run into soldiers, what were we to do?” Cask added, speaking up. “None of us had weapons. The three of us hadn’t eaten in days and you were so far gone I was starting to worry you’d been poisoned again. We’d never have made it. Ohacha made the right call.”

“It was just for the night” Ohacha repeated.

Gaba’ké looked down at his missing hand and turned his wrist over, as if the appendage was simply hiding. He sighed in frustration and pushed his remaining hand into his temple. “You should have left me” Gaba’ké said. “You would have made it. Those bells. They’ll be after us now.”

“You don’t know that” Cask argued. “Those bells have gone off a number of times since we’ve been in the city. They tolled each time there was fighting in the slums.”

“Escaped prisoners seems a good reason to ring the alarm” Rolena countered.

“Then we need to be gone from this place as soon as we can” Gaba’ké urged.

Cask disappeared up the stairs as Ohacha, Rolena, and Gaba’ké collected what little belongings they could carry and made their way upstairs. The bells were more pronounced up here. Everyone in the city would be awake now. Cask came barreling back down the stairs at a breakneck pace and all three turned as he launched himself into the room.

“Somethings on fire” Cask announced in a huff. “Smoke all along the coast. Spirits, it looks to me like a damned invasion. I’d bet the bells are tolling for that.”

Gaba’ké shook his head. “Better to assume they know you’re all missing” he insisted. “We can’t stay here. We should go now while we have a chance. Grab what you can.”

Cask looked to Ohacha and the prince nodded. He too wanted to be far away from here. Ascending the stairs to his room, he looked around at the mess of clothes. Ceremonial outfits from Gaag mixed with summer clothes from Ayagiim and silks from Onera. The mess was a motley of places and times in Ohacha’s life. Each felt representative and impactful, yet none stood out as important. He had worn these clothes, but none felt important enough sacrifice for in his flight across the city. In the end, he abandoned them all, sticking to the clean outfit he had chosen at random in last night’s darkness.

A knock sounded on the door and Gaba’ké poked his head in, “Expect a knock on the door. It shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

He was gone before Ohacha had a chance to inquire further. And then the knock came at the door and Ohacha peered down over the street at two figures dressed in dark clothing. The door opened for them and he rushed down the stairs, eager to know who had come and how Gaba’ké had known. The short round-faced girl Ohacha recognized as Minoc’s Aginjigaade stood in the entrance and Ohacha disregarded his concerns. She wore a more traditional set of clothes with a long skirt and a sash around her waste and shoulder. It was different. More colourful and natural seeming than her white robes.

“Kuta” Gaba’ké announced. “What an unexpected pleasure to have you with us today.”

The person next to Kuta was much taller. She was dressed in similar clothes but it wasn’t until she turned and Ohacha glimpsed her scar that he recognized Kuta’s friend as Yuromi Ashill.  Ohacha met Yuromi’s gaze and she looked painfully in his direction. Something was wrong. Her face made it plain to see. Ohacha couldn’t also help but notice the disguised sour look on Rolena’s face and the eager way in which Cask ogled the spare sword Yuromi had on her hips.

“We’re ready” Kuta said. That was when he noticed both women wore rucksacks.

Gaba’ké welcomed the two women inside and Yuromi closed the door behind them quickly, making sure to latch the door shut after they were inside. Despite the unease written across their faces, Gaba’ké ambled forward and scooped Kuta up in an awkward hug. She looked clumsy in the older man’s embrace and looked relieved when he let her go. “Thank you” Gaba’ké said sincerely. “Thank you for helping me.”

“It was no trouble” Kuta said dismissively. “I am impressed and relieved you were able to return safely. I must admit that I had my concerns.”

“What is she talking about?” Ohacha asked, interjecting. He stared at the young Aginjigaade suspiciously. “You sent him to retrieve us?” he asked.

Gaba’ké turned to face Ohacha. “After I left, that morning we argued, I went for a walk to clear my mind.” He let out a hard sigh and looked down at his still-bandaged stump. “Losing my hand” he continued, “it was an unexpected thing to have happen. I had thought myself virtually immune to blades and, until then, I had been right. I never once considered finding myself crippled. That’s not the point I was trying to make. I wanted to speak with another Aginjigaade and Kuta is the only other person I knew how to reach. But, instead of finding Kuta, I found myself frustrated and drunk at a winehouse. I woke up the next afternoon in an alleyway and stumbled my way back here. But, instead of finding you, Kuta was here. She told me what had happened to you and where you’d been taken. She even told me where I might find you, right down to the cell wings. Without her, I’m not sure I would have known what to do, let alone how to find you.”

“Oh” Ohacha said in a disarming tone. “Well, thank you for that” he added awkwardly. “I think it is fair to say that we owe you our freedom, and perhaps our lives. I– we, we are truly grateful. If there is anything I can do…”

“There is something” Kuta said flatly, “and this is why Yuromi and I have come.”

“Oh?” Ohacha said again, immediately apprehensive. Played me like a drum, he thought.

“We require transport off the island” Kuta said. “We wish to leave as soon as possible; a sentiment I expect you share.”

Ohacha looked to his trio for support. He could think of no reason to deny them. Even Rolena seemed unwilling to argue. “Of course,” Ohacha agreed. “Consider it done.”

“Good. We need to leave. Right now!” Yuromi announced eagerly.

“As in this very moment?” Gaba’ké asked. “We’re not quite finished packing.”

“Our window is closing” Kuta announced. “You can hear the bells. Fighting has begun. Soon it will spread through the entire city. Rebels and rioters have already entered the city. They seek to reclaim and destroy. And then the guild will fight back and seek to quell the chaos and it will only get worse. This will be a day of violence and blood. If we don’t wish to be caught up in it, we need to leave right now.”

Yuromi nodded keenly in agreement. Cask and Rolena both let out nervous breaths. Ohacha covered his mouth with his hand and remained silent, reflecting on the new and important information. “How long do we have?” he asked.

“It’s best to assume they are already on their way” Yuromi said. “Here” Yuromi added, presenting Cask with a sword. They were unornamented. One of a thousand identical forged Casoyan bronze short swords. They were nothing like the old Gaagian style curved blades Cask loved, but they would do.

Cask accepted the loaned weapon graciously.  “Then let’s not dither” he said, standing taller.

Gaba’ké fidgeted awkwardly and then, with reconsideration, held his tongue. He wanted to tell Yuromi about Elvi’s fight in the fortress. He wished to tell Kuta about the identity of the dual-affinity Aginjigaade she sought. But doing so now seemed counteractive to their goal of escaping. For Yuromi, there was nothing she could do with that information now anyway. But for Kuta, his fears stemmed from the things she could do. There will be an opportunity later, Gaba’ké assured himself.

They were out of the apartment and leaving The Spires in the time it takes to boil a kettle. They moved hastily as additional bells tolled, drowning the city in auditory anxieties. The alarms echoed off the walls, suffocating one’s ability to think. They were ill prepared should trouble find them. Only Yuromi and Kuta seemed ready for the trek. The soldier carried her mother’s weapon at her hip, the blade hidden under a fold in her skirt. Rolena had her crossbow and Cask his new short sword, which left Ohacha carrying the Mada’abi assassin’s long foreign knife.  

Shouts echoed down a side street to their right and down sixty paces distant stood a hoard of people shouting back and forth. It was a standoff between locals, unaided and unarmed and a group of men. Even without knowledge of their tongues, Ohacha understood that there was conflict. He paused to watch as a woman pushed her way forward into the armed men. She was screaming at them in outrage. Others in her group tried to pull her back and calm the situation. Her screams of hatred were replaced with screams of terror as she was cut down in the street. A tug on Ohacha’s sleeve pulled him reluctantly away as the scene turned ugly. Rolena met his eyes and, meeting his stare, shook her head no.

Further down the street, a squad of Casoyan soldiers turned down their street, rushing forward in haste. There were about twenty, each with full war kit including shield and spear and skullcap or helm. They marched forward in more of a wave than a military line and the few people curious enough to poke their heads out doorways or those looking to flee retreated at their approach. Doors were shut and latches were clicked. Yuromi, at the head of the group, turned their odd group of outsiders down a narrow alleyway at first sight to avoid any interaction. Behind, the soldiers ambled past with little interest in the six bodies that disappeared into the shadowy alleyway.

The tight space was a mess of jumbled crates and junk left about discarded. The back street smelled of garbage and waste. As they pushed down the narrow passage, woodsmoke joined the cadre of scents. There were empty fowl cages, tattered woven baskets, and empty vegetable boxes. Both Kuta and Gaba’ké gave warning at the same moment and the group stopped abruptly. Ohacha looked ahead, but couldn’t see much of anything. He caught the stray whiff of urine and winced. A cat scurried between his feet carrying a fish in its snaggle-toothed snarl. We must be closer to the coast now. Whatever they had waited for had passed and then continued onward.

They left the alleyway behind and hurried across one of the major streets. Yuromi knew the way and the rest followed. The smoke was already thicker here, closer to the bay. Ohacha felt his throat growing drier and scratchier. As they crossed the street, Kuta and Gaba’ké stopped on the far side, their eyes glued southwards. Ohacha followed suit and spotted the wall of people arrayed across the street in the distance.

The mob postured down the street. They brandished weapons, smashing down doors and tossing rocks and bricks through windows. Warriors in warpaint hurled rocks and insults at the few soldiers keeping their distance. Every so often, a warrior would break from the column and make a challenge those soldiers, hurling insults and beating their chests. The entire column would cheer as the Casoyans retreated before their challengers. Only when a lone figure stood in opposition to the crowd did their advance slow. Like a wine cork holding back a river, the lone figure held its ground before the advancing mob. Several soldiers waited on the edges of the street with shields ready.

A bright flash of light made Ohacha cover his eyes. When he opened them again, fire was all that remained of the mob’s front lines. This wasn’t the sort of fire that burned within a hearth or a atop a wick but something hotter and more powerful; a true conflagration. Ohacha heard the crack and felt the distant heat on his face. Nothing remained in the blast area. The fire was snuffed almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving only dark ash between the lone Aginjigaade and the mob beyond the range of the explosion.

“We should leave” Kuta said hastily.

Something kept Ohacha rooted in place. Perhaps it was awe, or perhaps it was horror. The smell of smoke and char drifted on the wind. It was mixed with an unnatural spicy-smoky smell from the sorcery itself. Beyond, the rebels on the front lines scattered and then reformed ranks at range. The nearby soldiers pushed forward, shields raised and led the Aginjigaade away from the crowd. It was the right call. Slingers and archers appeared and volleyed projectiles at the retreating Casoyans. By the time they were away, the shields resembled porcupines.

“They won’t fall into that trap again” Gaba’ké said, tugging Ohacha away and into the next alleyway Yuromi, Cask, and Rolena were already halfway through.

“What… overwhelming power” Ohacha gawked.

“Nobody is infallible” Gaba’ké said. “I’d bet he’s got one, at best two more of those in him before he drops dead of exhaustion.”

“It’s a delay and scare tactic” Kuta said quietly from Ohacha’s side. He hadn’t even realized she was there. “That was Kawaka Badil. He’s the Aginjigaade for the Banking Guild. We should stay clear.”

“Why does the banking guild need an Aginjigaade like him?” Ohacha asked, incredulous.

“Would you try to steal money from a man like that?” Kuta asked. “Each guild has at least one Aginjigaade. Most serve as protectors for their Patzau; like myself and Patzau Minoc or Elvi and Patzau Ashill”

“What about Janos Tydana?” Gaba’ké asked carefully. Ohacha stared into Gaba’ké’s eyes but the old Aginjigaade seemed intent. Ahead and out of earshot, Rolena and Cask still followed close behind Yuromi who squeezed into the next alleyway away from the fighting behind them.

Kuta trailed with Ohacha and Gaba’ké at her heels. “He’s Aginjigaade to Yohati’s guild…” Kuta said. She was nearly shouting over the tolling bells. “Why?”

“Has there been any bad blood between him and Elvi in the past?” Gaba’ké pressed.

“They’ve never been known as friends but…” Kuta said, peering over her shoulder. The shamed look on Gaba’ké’s made her freeze in her tracks. Her tone turned serious, “Why do you ask?” she pressed.

Gaba’ké hesitated a moment before speaking. “When I was at the fortress rescuing Ohacha and the others, there were two Aginjigaade fighting atop the tower. The distraction helped keep me hidden after I tunneled in. One of the Aginjigaade was Elvi. I’m fairly certain the other was Janos.”

Kuta blinked rapidly, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean when you say fighting?” she asked anxiously. Ohacha looked back and forth between the two Aginjigaade nervously. “How do you know it was them?”

“Kuta, I think he killer her” Gaba’ké said plainly. She opened her mouth to speak but he interrupted adding, “and I think Janos is the dual-affinity Aginjigaade you’ve been looking for.”

“What?” Kuta stammered.

“You told me one that you were looking for an Aginjigaade with two affinities. What affinity does Janos Tydana have?”

A series of emotions rolled across her face. “He… he has a light affinity” she answered. “He can’t be the one.”

“Is he fully aspected?” Gaba’ké asked.

“Yes” Kuta answered.

“What does that mean?” Ohacha interjected.

“Not now, Ohacha” Gaba’ké snapped. “What about the other Aginjigaade in the city?” Gaba’ké asked. “What are some of their affinities?”

“It means he has the full range of aspects for each elemental affinity” Kuta said, answering Ohacha. “For an Aginjigaade like Janos, it means he can create and destroy light, as well as manipulate it to produce illusions. And, I don’t know there are a lot of us.”

“Ignore the common affinities. Who’s left?”

Kuta tugged on her sleeves until her knuckles turned white. She was stressed. Her emotions fought against each other, overwhelming her ability to think straight. “There’s a healer, a wax witch, a fielder, Kawaka is a flamer… there’s a fully aspected naturalist” she stammered.

“Are there any ice Aginjigaade?”

“Ice?” she repeated. “No. Not to my knowledge” Kuta said.

“Then that settles it. Janos was the one who attacked Elvi” Gaba’ké said. “His second affinity is ice, though I don’t yet understand where he was able to draw spiritual power from. Unless he carries some kind of totem or talisman I hadn’t noticed before.”

“You’re absolutely sure there wasn’t a second Aginjigaade there with him?” Kuta asked.

“No” Gaba’ké admitted, “but sometimes you have to trust your instincts.”

“Stop!” Ohacha said, interrupting. “Why are we talking about Janos right now? We should be escaping?”

Gaba’ké and Kuta shared an understanding look.

Kuta replied, “Life as a young Aginjigaade is dangerous, especially without a mentor. It’s rare to see an Aginjigaade live to adulthood without someone to guide them. Someone who can teach you to keep yourself safe and to protect you from evil and harmful spirits. And from yourself. When I was a little girl, my mother brought me to Cabiya to save me from that fate. I was raised by another woman, an Aginjigaade, and two years ago she was murdered by a Casoyan Aginjigaade. The only clue I had as to the murderer’s identity is that the Aginjigaade who killed her had two affinities. I came to Caso to find my master’s murderer.”

“Janos is that Aginjigaade” Gaba’ké said. “But I cannot advise you go after him.”

“I must” Kuta announced. “If what you have said about Janos and Elvi is true, then I have to go. Not only for my master, but for Elvi. And for Yuromi and Yanata who loved her and were her family.”

“You can’t turn around now?” Ohacha blurted out. “Its not safe out there. We can’t wait for you.”

“Nor should you” Kuta said. “But I need to do this.” Before there was a chance to protest, Kuta turned and broke off in the direction they had come. Ohacha watched, dumbfounded as the young Aginjigaade seemed to disappear from view into the smoky streets. Rolena, Yuromi, and Cask returned at the same moment Kuta disappeared from sight.

“What’s going on?” Yuromi asked. Her face was flushed and she took in deep gasps to catch her breath. “Why did you three stop?” she demanded. “Where is Kuta?”

“Kuta has something she needs to do” Gaba’ké said, not elaborating.

“What? Now?” Yuromi asked. She all but wheezed out the words.

“And she will need my help if she is to succeed…” Gaba’ké said, the realization sweeping him as he spoke the words. “You four need to get to the ship. Kuta and I will catch up with you soon. I promise.” Without the faculties to protest, Gaba’ké followed in the direction Kuta had run.

“Where are they going?” Rolena asked, honing in on Ohacha who stared blankly away.

Ohacha turned around and met Yuromi’s gaze. His heart sank as he gauged the destruction Gaba’ké’s confession would bring. He kept the truth from her. Speaking it now would be a death sentence.  She was reckless, like him. She would run headlong into the chaos after a fight she wasn’t equipped for. He instead put his trust in the two Aginjigaade answering, “They’ll catch up with us.” He forced his feet forward. “Let’s keep moving.”

Rolena opened her mouth to protest but a pleading look from Ohacha emphasized that now was not the time. They continued down the alleyway and turned down a main avenue parallel to the coast. A crowd ahead brought the groups’ quick pace to an awkward halt as refugees fleeing the south side bottlenecked against a battalion of soldiers pushing across the bridge. Bodies pushed and shoved against one another trying to squeeze across the narrow crossing. Carts and palanquins from various traders and nobles were bogged down against the sheer number of people heading in all directions. Ohacha pushed in only for Yuromi to drag him out painfully by a hand on his shirt collar.

“Don’t go in there” she yelled over the bells and crowd. Ohacha more read her lips than heard her words.

“Why not?” he yelled back.

Cask and Rolena leaned in close to hear her words “At best, we get separated and at worst, one of us gets trampled to death” Yuromi warned. “Those rioters weren’t that far behind us. If they suddenly round that corner, this crowd will panic and people will die. Crowds can get ugly really fast.”

Ohacha looked at the chaos unfolding. Ahead, a man hoisted his children one-at-a-time and surrendered them to the crowd. Arms hoisted skyward ferried the two children across the mob like boats on a sea of hands.  People leapt over the canal railings to swim through the murky water to reach the other side. Others stood atop boats and barges that moored along the canal walls. A larger canal barge slammed into another boat and the crossers chancing their way atop both ships were tossed violently into the water below. It was the kind of crowd where you could jump and there would be no guarantee when your feet might hit solid ground again. And she doesn’t consider this an ugly crowd, Ohacha mused.

“Where do we go then?” Cask asked, eyeing up and down the long canal. Ohacha followed his gaze to where Patzau Palace loomed to the east. It glowed in the morning sun. Then he looked opposite to where the canal opened out into the bay.

“Towards the bay” Rolena said, gesturing towards the final bridge before canal met sea. “The bridge there has a taller arch. No wagons or palanquins will block the way.”

They left along the canal, pushing alongside those others who saw the chaos at the main canal crossing and decided against it. They were three-quarters of the way to the bay bridge when the sounds of the crowd erupted behind them. The mass of people surged like a swell upon rocky coast. People pushed in terror against the recovered surge of rebel warriors and rioters. The front line of soldiers forcing their way against the crowd were pushed back, crushed and immobilized by the very people they sought to protect.

Their group reached the arched bridge over the mouth of the canal and laboured the steep semi-circle of steps. Ohacha stopped at the top, out of breath, and turned to watch as people leapt from the main bridge they had come from in greater numbers. They fled, abandoning their belongings, clinging only to the desperate hope of escape from the rampaging army.

Yuromi had been leading them north to reach Ohacha’s ship and, far off in the distance, he thought he spotted it amongst the smoke ahead.  It still moored in the main dockyard where they had first landed inside the city. He had expected the way forward past this point to be clear of obstacles. He was mistaken. Casoyans flocked to the docks, hoping to buy or receive passage out of the city. Sailors were more occupied with putting out fires and wrangling loose ships.

Along the coast, ships burned. Ohacha coughed as the gritty taste of smoke and oil scratched at his throat. He was thirsty, but hadn’t any water. In the bay, ships seeking to flee collided with the piers and piles and each other. Tangles of oars and ropes and rigging clogged the bay. Seamen worked and shouted to protect their vessels and, when possible, douse the flames. Fleers piled against a nearby ships and held onto the gunnels and oar ports even after they had cast off into the bay. The clung for dear life. Feet dangled over the dark water. Some who tried to scramble aboard were knocked savagely back into the sea by the sailors above.

Ohacha scrambled down the bridge, pulling up the rear of the group. Rolena had waited for him at the bottom, while Yuromi and Cask ran on ahead, not looking back. They had a speed and endurance Ohacha couldn’t match. As they ran together, bodies of soldiers and innocents appeared along their path. Dark blood stained the worn cobbles. It seemed unfathomable that the invasion had reached this far into the city and yet the evidence suggested he must be wrong in that regard.

They continued their escape, tracing the soft curve of the bay along the city until the reached the main sheltered port. This was the place they had first come ashore in Caso, all those months ago. Change hadn’t been kind in that short period. The main road here led inland to the Auction House and eventually up towards the mountain gate. They were so close now, the number of steps to freedom shrinking with each stride. He ignored the bitter taste in his mouth and the sweat dripping down his back and pressed onward, suddenly invigorated by the taste of escape. His legs and lungs burned from the effort of running. He wanted out. Away from this city of nightmares. Away from his unravelling plans. Away from the reminder of his failures.

And then he saw Bartiin.

Thoughts of escape crumbled like dust in the wind. Ohacha had imagined this moment a thousand times. This was the man who had sworn himself to Gaag and destroyed it instead. The architect of his family’s betrayal and destruction. Belvaas’ right hand.  Aramuk’s murderer. Lord Kulimas’s murder. The deaths of Ohacha’s mother and father. The deaths of Provis and Ander in Onera. The source of the endless assassins and Gaba’ké’s missing hand. An evil spirit in the flesh.

Ohacha didn’t think; he moved. The world narrowed until it contained only a single blade and a single heart to drive it through. Exhaustion vanished. Time slowed. The twenty paces between them shrunk to five. Ohacha roared. It was a sound of pure grief and hatred. Bartiin spun. Ohacha lunged. The blade fell. Bartiin dodged. He swung again. Bartiin had his own blade out. He parried.

“I’ll kill you!” Ohacha screamed. His voice was hoarse and desperate as he stepped in to take the next swing.