Right Hand

Right Hand

                Tadyel and Dot had a bit of a conversation on the way back to the shop.

                "Almost everything owned by a few hundred people just went up in flames," said Tadyel. "How could you even think of making that pun?"

                Dot shrugged. "Enemies," she replied. "This was a victory - a flawless one, at that. Not quite a knockout, but a perfect opening round."

                "Thrath are the enemy," said Tadyel. "These were... normal people. Misled. We shouldn't ... revel? No, we shouldn't take their suffering lightly." On second thought, Tadyel realised 'revel' was actually accurate.

                "I don't have quite the soft spot you do," said Dot. "Misled they might be, but they'd do worse to us without qualms."

                "This is the start of a particular long moral discussion I've had a couple of times," said Vanna. "Given the secrecy of our operations, it would be wise to have it in private." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Also, I could use some sleep before I deal with the fallout from this. Dot, can you handle updating Eden?"

                "Sure," said Dot.

                With that conversation avoided, they walked the rest of the way mostly in silence. Tadyel half expected a group of Followers to appear from nowhere to take revenge but nothing happened. The Followers were too busy relocating.

                Things were almost normal for the next few days. The ordinary refugees remained relatively close to town despite some objections, and cut the few ties they had with the Followers. As a gesture of trust some even began turning Followers away, in or worse. A handful of Follower agents were found dead; though by whose hands - refugee or townsfolk - was always unclear. In many cases ordinary refugees would be found dead the next day.

                The Followers had already found themselves a new camp site further away from town. Half a day's walk was not enough for many in town, who began calls for another 'eviction'.

                How the Followers had managed to build a new camp when all their stuff had been burnt mystified many of the townspeople; although Vanna explained to Tadyel that numerous shipments of goods the Followers had brought were never accounted for. Vanna suspected they had been stashed for use in a situation like this.

                For Tadyel, the main difference was the tension. A reprisal from the Followers was inevitable according to Vanna. Waiting for it - expecting it at any moment - was very stressful. Sleeping was difficult; what if they attacked while she slept? The only reason she could sleep at all was Vanna's assurance that someone was always keeping an eye on the shop - who or how she would not say.

                Four days after the Follower camp was burnt Dot joined Tadyel for lunch, mostly to complain about having nothing to do. "We're burying our fists with our backsides instead of striking," she complained.

                "Striking what?" asked Tadyel.

                "Anything! We should be cutting off their supplies at least," grumbled Dot.

                "Well, you and Vanna are the ones who talk to Eden," said Tadyel.

                "I suppose you don't mind this ... waiting," said Dot. "No killing, only waiting for the bastards to show up and do us in."

                "Not really - I mean, I do mind it. I'm scared and stressed too, Dot," said Tadyel. "But I know it's not going to be over for a while."

                Dot groaned. "I'm just... Being ready for a fight this long takes a lot out of me," she said. "And it's boring. You and Vanna work, but I've got nothing to do all day. I can't go out and work or anything or I'll get nabbed. I'm going 'stir crazy', I think it's called."

                "It can't be quiet for much longer," said Tadyel. "Vanna said the Followers' new camp is complete, more or less. I don't will or even can 'bury their fists with their backsides'. They'll do something big soon."

                The sound of a door closing made Tadyel look towards Vanna's room - Vanna had just exited. "No customers to handle?" she asked, coming through to the kitchen.

                "No," said Tadyel.

                "We've had a bit of a gab over lunch," said Dot. "Has Eden got any orders for us yet?"

                Vanna smiled in amusement. "Yes, actually," she said. "We've got an assassination order. I don't know how, but a high ranking Follower believes they are going to meet someone in the burnt out brewery late tonight. We'll be there instead."

                "Any more details on the target?" asked Dot.

                "Male, average height, bulky muscular build, shoulder length grey hair, should be dressed in a singlet and pants, likely to be armed with a dagger only, late fifties, noticeable scar on right forearm, chubby yet long face, nose bridge is thick, eyebrows black despite greying of hair," said Vanna.

                "You could have just said 'Yes'," said Dot. Vanna stuck her tongue out.

                "I'm in a good mood. My request for a break to marry Donovan after the Followers are dealt with was approved!" said Vanna, with barely contained joy. "And he'll play at being a wandering tinker so he can visit."

                Tadyel resisted the urge to say something morbid, and Vanna's demeanour became serious again. "We'll head out three hours after tea," she said. "No training, but there is some work for you to catch up on, Gel."

                "Baaah," groaned Dot, "More empty time."

                "Well, you could always make tea. Or my lunch?" suggested Vanna.

                "... No," replied Dot.

                It was strange to Tadyel that despite recent events business was as usual. A charitable soul was even paying for repairs to the clothes of the refugees still camped near town. The burning of the camp, and fear of the Followers, seemed unable to stop everyday business. Well, there had been a handful of fire damaged items brought in, but nothing more than that.

                While working into the evening her thoughts happened upon a strange comparison - her approach to life, to possessions, was almost the same even so far removed from the Thrath. Enjoy luxuries when you can, and work hard otherwise. Having any possessions at all had taken a while and only been at Vanna's insistence. Maybe the day to day lives of the townspeople would change if the situation continued for a long time; or maybe they only would when it was unavoidable.

                Though it was an interesting thought Tadyel did not share it. Vanna was busy catching up on a wide variety of complicated tasks and Dot had decided to train alone rather than lurk. Even if they hadn't been otherwise occupied Tadyel probably wouldn't have mentioned it.

                Vanna approached Tadyel while she was walking around, stretching her legs after sitting down for hours. "It's time," Vanna said. "Go get ready."

                Tadyel nodded silently. She stashed the piece of cloth she would use to hide her face and a robe into a small pack she slung over her shoulder. Around her waist she sheathed her sword - something many were wearing for protection any way. They left through the back of the shop, Vanna and Dot both carrying similar packs.

                Getting to the brewery without being was easy despite the size of their group - Vanna knew the routes of the guards better than Tadyel did by far. It made Tadyel wonder if Vanna snuck out at night to do missions unbeknownst to Tadyel. Or perhaps Vanna just had a good memory.

                The night was overcast, hiding the brewery almost completely from sight. From the look of it the front door had been torn out and replaced with a simple gate that was held in place with a padlocked chain.

                "Masks and smocks on," said Vanna as she unslung her pack.

                Tadyel complied, retrieving both items from her pack and putting them on. Wrapping the piece of cloth around her face so that she could breath and see while completely concealing her identity had seemed esoteric when she first learnt how to, yet it had proven very useful.

                Once all three had concealed themselves Vanna motioned the forwards. She produced a key from her pockets and unlocked the chain, unwinding it and leaving the gate hanging open.

                After they had made their way inside Tadyel asked, "How do we have the key?"

                "We sold the padlocks the guard are using," said Vanna. "Although it was really in case someone was imprisoned."

                "Shouldn't we be quiet?" asked Dot. Suddenly the burnt floorboard she was standing on creaked and snapped. "Ow!"

                Tadyel chuckled softly. "Careful," she said.

                "We should have about half an hour," said Vanna. "Hide behind the pillars that flank the door. I'll be at the far end."

                "Got it," whispered Tadyel. Dot gave her affirmative through a short nod.

                Unlike Dot, Tadyel managed to make her way across the floor - and even to the pillar - without incident. Still smiling about it she concealed herself, and got ready to wait for their target to arrive.

                She wasn't waiting long - ten minutes later she heard the gate slam into the wall of the building. Light from the entrance formed stark shadows around the column, and a male voice called out, "Are you here?"

                he voice sounded oddly refined - Tadyel realised that it was an accent she had only ever heard put on for jokes or tales. It was the way those from the eastern end of the peninsula spoke, or at least those in a major city state found there. The 'here' almost sounded like 'he-arrr'.

                "Yes," replied Vanna from the far end of the room.

                "Good, good," said the voice. Tadyel could hear the source moving into the brewery floor, and the man's footsteps. "It's good that not all you townsfolk are deaf to our pleas. We just want to save those coming through the desert from the Magi! Is that truly such an ask?"

                There was silence for a moment, although Tadyel could hear the man continuing his walk. "It might just be," said Vanna. "Who the heck are you expecting to meet, anyway?"

                "Huh?" said the man. Tadyel supposed that was her cue to step to step out from behind the pillar; as she did so she saw Dot doing the same. "Well, I came out here to meet one of our occasional benefactors. Are you not her?"

                Tadyel saw Vanna coming around the side of the charred still she had been hidden behind with a crossbow in hand. "No," she said, unfortunately just as Dot managed to find another weakened floorboard to crack noisily. This time Dot managed to fall forwards with a thud instead of just slipping.

                "What was - oh dear," said the man, whirling around and spotting both Dot and Tadyel. He also managed to completely ruin Vanna's emergence - between that and Dot falling on her face things had taken an eerie turn for the comical.

                "Now listen," he said, taking a step backwards towards Vanna.

                Just as he was about to continue speaking Tadyel heard the twang of Vanna's crossbow and a short, wet, ripping noise. The man gasped and clutched at the blot that had just emerged from his left lung. "Wha - what," he said, falling to his knees.

                He continued to gasp and cough as Tadyel rushed at him, hoping to end his suffering quickly. He turned at her as she approached - light-footed, but still noisy. His face bore a confused look, which it kept as Tadyel unsheathed her sword into a slash through his skull. Only the strike, as he fell backwards, did she remember to check whether he was their target. Thankfully, the man she had just killed looked exactly as Vanna had described.

                "Rushing like that was unnecessary," said Vanna, coming alongside Tadyel. Dot joined them, limping. "You could've wound up worse off than Dot."

                "I didn't want him to suffer," said Tadyel. "Sorry."

                "Gah," groaned Dot. "That side's far less burnt. Piss and shit and -"

                "Check your leg over and let's get out of here," cut in Vanna. "I don't know whether or not the person he was expecting is going to show."

                "Arright," said Dot. Her voice was somewhat pained.

                Tadyel wiped her blade off on the dead man's clothes as Dot gingerly checked her injury. "Seems alright," she said. "Twisted ankle or some shit."

                "Good," said Vanna. "Back to street clothes and let's go."

                Less than two minutes later they were changed and back outside. Vanna supported Dot as they walked, helping her hobble along at a reasonable pace. "So," said Dot. "Donovan, hey?"

                "Yes, Donovan," said Vanna. "Who I know you haven't met."

                "Well, since it'll keep my mind off my damn leg," said Dot, "How about you tell us about him?"

                "Alright," said Vanna. "He's nice."

                "Ha," said Dot.

                "No, he's a good man," said Vanna. Tadyel zoned out as Vanna kept talking - romance wasn't a particularly interesting subject for her. Maybe one day... But not until her work was over. Or maybe after a few years - perhaps she'd get used to living under constant threat enough to do that sort of thing despite the worries.

                They did reach the shop safe and sound despite Tadyel's worries, at least.

Darkness

Darkness

                I look into their eyes as I walk down the corridor. Such fear. Like there was nothing to be seen but the dark. They are all captives of my comrade in a terrible quest for power, chained to the walls of almost every corridor to save space. These ones are broken, they flinch away as I walk past if they notice my presence at all.

                Strangely I have yet to find any that aren’t broken. All seem to be waiting for what they fear most to come true – death, or perhaps something worse. My comrade’s methods are quite terrible. Whether they are worse than mine is debatable, though my methods are certainly less painful.

                These broken souls will be used as the raw material for soldiers in my comrade’s army. Those that are too far gone will be given a new intelligence that controls their actions and hurts them should they dare to do anything. Those not quite so far are given a choice: work for my comrade or face more pain. They are long since broken, so they accept. Some recover enough to think of betraying my comrade and suffer the consequences. Most never dare.

                Finally I finish making my way down the corridor, arriving at the door through to my comrade’s ‘processing’ chambers. This refers to a variety of things – primarily torture and several kinds of magical modification – but this section is the one he runs personally. It is the ‘training hall’ for the twisted souls he finds and trains to carry out his dark work elsewhere.

                The guards allow me to open the door and step inside without even acknowledging my presence. Despite this, they pull the door close behind me with a clang.

                I find myself on a walkway, overlooking a selection of surgical tables. Thankfully the room is empty – class is not currently in progress. My comrade is here, however, as I knew he would be. He stands imperiously halfway along the walkway, looking down at the tables below. When he is taking class he calls out instructions or chastisement from up here; unless serious action is required. In such cases he leaps down and … does whatever he sees as necessary. I have had the misfortune of seeing class in progress here several times.

                “Greetings, comrade,” he says as I approach.

                “Hail, comrade,” I reply. We are very similar in appearance, he and I. Tall, imposing bastions of might and magic. It is what makes us suited to our dark quest.

                “You are here for your share of the prisoners, I presume?” he asks. I stand about a metre away from him. As always, I am grateful for the few centimetres of height I have over him.

                “Yes,” I say. His prison is far larger than mine; and in exchange for being allowed to exclude those willing to study under him from the split he holds all those captured in our raids.

                “Good,” he says. “My prisons are almost full from this lot. We should hold off on raiding until I finish more levels.”

                “You could always give more to me,” I say. This is… Annoying. I am finished with my prisoners far faster than my comrade, although his work utilises them far better.

                He laughs. “No; for then we would not be equal in power!” he says. “That would not be good for me.”

                “I am not as powerful as you seem to think,” I say. This is a lie, although also me being overly humble. My comrade has a firm grasp on my power; as good as my understanding of his.

                “Yes you are,” he says. “Each soul you twist to your will through clever manipulation is worth a dozen of mine; and those you do not choose are used to make weapons, armour and beasts greater than anything our victims have ever seen. With that delightful twist, using them against your will corrodes their very souls.”

                I smile. “I find the system works quite nicely,” I say. “I could always utilise them to make weapons for you.”

                My comrade pauses for a moment, mulling over this new idea. “No,” he says, “for we have the issue of our wills aligning. Suddenly my warriors are unarmed, or worse.” He laughs. “A nice try, however.”

                “Very well,” I say. I straighten my shoulders, causing my back to crack. “Have you split the prisoners into two groups yet?”

                “They’re ready to go,” he replies, leaning back against the railing. At times like these my mind always turns to dark things. Perhaps not as dark as our quest, but… Betrayal. Now is a time I could strike true.

                I do nothing. “Good,” I say. “My people are ready to welcome them at the far end of the tunnel. I’ll lead them through.”

                He nods, and then turns his head to look down into the chamber below. “Assistant!” he calls out.

                A meek voice softly replies, “Yes lord?”

                “Have the prisoners sent into the tunnel now!” he calls out. “And speak up next time, or you’re practice this afternoon!”

                “Yes lord!” the voice replies loudly, somehow still quite meekly.

                “Do we have any other business?” my comrade asks.

                “No,” I say. “I will see you in two days to plan our next move.”

                “Very well,” he says. He holds out his left hand.

I take his hand in my right and give it a solid shake. “Until we next meet,” I say.

“Until then,” he replies.

I turn around and walk from the chamber at a quick, steady pace. My comrade will, as always, have turned back to the railing. I asked him why he spends so much time in here once; ‘to better teach’ was his reply. He plans his lessons, and wonders how better to instruct the depraved few who serve him willingly.

Travelling back through the corridors, past countless dead-eyed prisoners, is still eerie. Over the years it has gotten worse and worse, of course. At first there were only a handful near the prisons, and now every wall is lined…

My thoughts repeat themselves, to an extent, as I make my way back to the tunnel. When I arrive, passing unchallenged through a quartet of guards, my thoughts turn to the journey ahead. I will enter the tunnel through the normal entrance, which will then be hidden. The prisoners will be released from a cell that adjoins the tunnel, and I will lead them through to my citadel a day’s walk away.

We play a cruel trick upon them, me and my comrade. They think they are being lead to freedom and that I am their guide. At the far end they are welcomed, analysed while being treated as guests. Then I begin my manipulation of those I wish to serve me, and the rest are quickly made use of. I grin at how I have hidden the horrible methods I practice within such simple sounding words.

I have reached the middle of the tunnel and hear the cell entrance opening behind me. I turn around and face the prisoners. Some are weak, or tired, or injured but all have hope in their eyes; they are not broken. They have not been harmed. This is what I prefer to work with.

“Follow me!” I say. “And quickly. The guards will discover your absence soon!”

They start moving without question. Sometimes someone will ask, ‘Where are we going?’, but not often. That comes later. No questions is a good sign – it means more will be easy to fool. I scan the crowd for the other important thing. None look at me strangely. My disguise, an old hermit, has held.

I smile at my luck just as the first of them reach me. “Quickly, quickly,” I say, “you have all escaped a terrible fate.”

Many smile back. They do not know what awaits them, but they assume it to be good.

This is a foolish mistake.

Arsonist

Arsonist

                The rush to get to the Followers' campsite was odd for Tadyel. It was the first time since coming to Green Creek that she had to hurry; and seeing Vanna rushing as well added to the feeling. Normally Vanna - and the missions she planned - were calm affairs punctuated by spurts of violence. Running through town with a handful of 'necessities' for the event was new.

                As they went they were joined by some other townspeople, roused by friends and family to come 'bring justice' to the Followers. Many of those awoken had been looking for an excuse to force the followers out for weeks; the rest were close to Numin or her son. None came to try and calm the crowd. The few who objected stayed home.

                There seemed to be an odd energy in the air - a collective feeling of anger and excitement amongst the townspeople. Even Dot seemed to be affected by it; yet Tadyel and Vanna were not. Vanna was keeping herself calm, which was necessary if she wanted to steer events. Tadyel was feeling something entirely different: concern about what they were about to do, and tired from the running. She felt like stopping so she'd have a chance to get her thoughts straight.

                They kept running, though, right out of town and along the road to the farm property the Followers called home. It lay only a short distance away - a thirty minute walk or much less at a run.

                Moving through the town they had amassed quite a crowd of others running alongside them, yet when the Followers' camp came into view those already there were far more numerous. Tadyel hadn't realised there were so many people living in the town - even the guard, standing in front of the mob of townspeople, numbered more than she had thought.

                The camp was impressive. The handful of buildings that were obviously once part of the farm stood in the centre, surrounded by a mixture of new buildings in various stages of completion. Surrounding them - for quite a distance - was a field of tents, the innermost large and complicated and the outermost useful for little besides shelter and storage. It had to be enough for several hundred people to live.

                Many of those people were standing at the edge of camp closest to the road, a solid mass challenging the townspeople. Many of them were unarmed, and those that were could barely be called so. Quite a few children were mixed into the crowd, along with the elderly and even a pregnant woman. At the far side of the camp Tadyel could see a few people sneaking off - from the look of it, the rest of the children and elderly.

                As for the townspeople, most were carrying torches and weapons. A handful had even lashed torches to the end of poles to give them more reach. At least four hundred had arrived already, fanned out behind the guard who stood at the forefront of the crowd. The guard seemed to number almost a hundred themselves, a solid line blocking the townspeople and reaching almost entirely along the camp. Many of the guards carried torches as well.

                Snippets of angry yells reached Tadyel as she reached the back of the mob with Vanna and Dot. "Leave our lands!" and "Murderers!" were popular. Tadyel caught a more official sounding voice - likely the leader of the guard - saying, "Clear out now! You are no longer welcome!"

                A massive "Shh!" started coming from up ahead. The guards were trying to quiet the mob down, and were luckily successful. "Now that you can hear me," came the guard leader's voice, "Please leave the area!"

                "This is our home!" came a distant reply. The rest of what they were saying was drowned out by an angry murmur from the crowd.

                A second "Shh!" calmed the townspeople again. "This is Green Creek land and you are no longer welcome!" said the guard leader. "Vacate this area immediately!"

                "We're not going to leave! You can't just force us out!" replied a different distant voice.

                "Guard, advance!" ordered the guard leader. The mob started pushing forwards, keeping pace with the guard. There were at least six hundred townspeople present now.

                "This isn't going to be pretty," muttered someone nearby. Tadyel looked to Vanna and Dot - both were busy trying to peer through the crowd as it advanced with only faint angry whispers.

                "You're doing the Magi's dirty work!" yelled one of the Followers. They sounded as distant as ever - Tadyel figured they were pulling back as the guard advanced.

                "Piss off!" yelled one of the townswomen, loudly. From another, "We don't care about your spat with the Magi! You killed Numin and Minnow!"

                The faint whispers quickly became yells once more; angry cries of "Murderers!" resounding throughout. The feeling in the air was getting stronger and stronger. It scared Tadyel - this was a crowd quickly getting out of control. It felt like they could do anything, terrible things, based on the impulses of the group. As if no-one could control the angry beast the town had become.

                A scream split the air. She caught a glimpse through the crowd of the Followers - one had just been struck down by a guard. Tadyel paused at the sound and so did a few others, but the advance did not stop. Then sounds of fighting began to come from up ahead, grunts and the sound of wood on wood.

                Everyone around her suddenly started surging forwards as they rushed to join the brawl. Vanna held Dot back and put out one hand to keep Tadyel back as well although it was unnecessary. "Don't," said Vanna. She looked at Tadyel and finally noticed Tadyel's reluctance and fear. Pulled out of the mood herself, she understood.

                Rather than run they jogged forwards. Dozens of townspeople rushed past them, eager to give the followers a beating. All the movement cleared up the crowd, finally allowing Tadyel to see what was going on.

                A large number of Followers and townspeople - including most of the guards - were brawling on the camp's edge, but not all. Quite a few Followers had retreated into the camp only to be followed by the townspeople. As the Followers tried to grab what they could the townspeople roped them into smaller fights or started lighting things on fire. Only a few dozen people - including Vanna, Dot and Tadyel - weren't rioting.

                "Aw shit," said Dot. "They'll trap some of themselves if they keep lighting fires like that."

                "It's up to the guard to sort that out," said Vanna. "Into the brawl. We need to end this."

                "Won't that, um," said Tadyel. She was worried that they'd be revealed if they fought properly.

                "It'll be fine!" said Dot. "I used to box!"

                Vanna flashed a quick glare at Tadyel and added, "It won't be that dangerous. It's worth the risk." Tadyel nodded and ran alongside Vanna and Dot as they headed straight for the brawl.

                A brawl of this scale was new to Tadyel. She had to wonder if anyone could ever keep track of it all. Not only had she never seen so many combatants - each seemingly engaged with several opponents at once - none of them were fighting to the death. Swords remained sheathed; fists and truncheons were the weapon of choice and the few bodies on the ground were probably alive.

                Entering the brawl was weird as well. No-one seemed to notice the addition of a few new people to the fight, even though several people stumbled or flew past them. They penetrated quite deeply before an enthusiastic Follower took a swing at Dot, only for the blow to be expertly blocked and countered with a knock-out punch. Tadyel spent a moment feeling glad Dot hadn't done that to her - then she was suddenly grabbed from behind.

                "Gotcha!" yelled the Follower, pleased that he'd managed to execute a grab. Tadyel elbowed him in the stomach and pulled him forwards over her leg, sending him tumbling to the ground.

                He started to get up, lifting his face from the dirt, but Dot kicked him in the back of the head. "Eat some dirt," she said with a chuckle.

                Looking around for Vanna, Tadyel found her up ahead. She was very close to the leader of the guard; and had also somehow managed to get into a fight against two opponents. Dot and Tadyel ran to her, dodging around various fights, and arrived just in time to see Vanna slam one Follower into the other with a throw.

                The Follower she hit was still conscious, but unable to get the much larger - and unconscious - thrown Follower off. Vanna smiled as Tadyel and dot reached her. "Keep an eye out while I grab Frennet," she said, then joined the messy fight surrounding the leader of the guard.

                Unlike most of the fights in the brawl the guard leader and her two cohorts were outnumbered, directly taking on seven Followers at once. Despite this they seemed to have the upper hand - and certainly would after Vanna joined the fray. It was also slightly apart from the rest of the fights, having almost reached the edge of the tents.

                Tadyel and Dot stood between the fight and the rest of the brawl, keeping an eye out for any Followers trying to join in. Dot spotted one almost immediately, and they both ran at her; she ducked past Tadyel only for Dot to hammer her jaw hard enough for it to crack. She screamed, then collapsed to the ground holding her jaw.

                "Hah," said Dot. "If you're wondering, they're trying to nab Frennet. Surprisingly coordinated given-" Whatever Dot had to say was lost as another pair of Followers appeared on the far side of the fight. "I'll take 'em." Dot ran past the main fight towards the new arrivals.

                Tadyel caught a quick glance of the fight as she turned back around. It had already dropped down to a three versus three. One guard and four Followers were out for the count. The guard leader - presumably Frennet - was fighting like a madwoman, swinging one of the unconscious Followers around as a weapon.

                Tadyel turned back to the rest of the huge brawl. No Followers seemed to be edging towards them - in fact, the distance between the main brawl and the fight had widened as the brawl died down. Some Followers must have retreated, and a few of the guards and townspeople were helping injured people - including the Followers - out of the fight. Some of the townspeople were missing as well; which led Tadyel to suddenly realise that she could smell a lot of smoke in the air.

                "Tadyel!" called out Vanna. Tadyel turned around and saw that the fight had ended. Vanna, Frennet and another guard stood victorious over a pile of Followers, and Dot had joined them already.

                Tadyel quickly ran over. Vanna started talking to Frennet as she came, although the general din was enough to prevent Tadyel from hearing anything until she was quite close.

                "-burn the entire camp down, which is fine, but they'll be trapped in it!" said Vanna.

                Frennet looked at the camp intently, and made a strange hand gesture to her fellow guard. He cupped his hands and Frennet stood on them, boosting herself up so she could see further into the camp. "Shit," she said. "Lonnel, get everybody out of that brawl right now. Tell them to get everyone out of the damn camp before they burn to death. No - get them to help get everyone out of the brawl first, you can't do it alone. Tell them we'll burn the camp from the outside."

                "How bad is it?" asked Vanna.

                "They've got themselves about half-trapped already," said Frennet. "Thank you for pushing through the brawl to warn me."

                "No problem," said Vanna. "It was mostly Dot."

                "Sure it was," said Frennet. "If you wanted me to believe that you should have sent Dot in to the fight." Vanna winced. In a quieter voice Frennet added, "Yeah, if I wasn't predisposed towards liking the Magi I'd have the three of you locked up. As it stands, go help the wounded."

                Tadyel almost froze at Frennet's words. Dot put a hand on Tadyel's shoulder and said, "Come on then." Looking around Tadyel couldn't see anyone conscious nearby who could have overheard, but still...

                Frennet smiled, then headed off at a jog to get her troops out of the brawl. "I think she knew anyway," said Vanna, lifting up one of the injured guardsmen. "Carry them like this; Dot, grab two."

                Tadyel and Dot struggled to copy the lift Vanna had done, forcing her to carefully demonstrate it a couple of times. Once they'd gotten the hang of it - and picked up two guards and two Followers between them - Tadyel felt a change in the wind.

                It was followed by a massive cloud of smoke as the wind's new direction sent it billowing over them and into the brawl. Tadyel coughed and covered her mouth with her free hand. Up ahead, the few still fighting seemed to suddenly lose interest - the Followers rushing away to save their stuff and the townspeople wondering where all the smoke had come from.

                The trio jogged through the quickly emptying space that had been a brawl minutes before, stepping over discarded weapons and junk. Turning back after they reached the place the injured were being cared for (and in the case of the Followers, sneaking off from when they woke up) Tadyel could see most of the camp again through a haze of smoke.

                Almost all of the camp seemed to be on fire; bright patches and plumes of smoke coiling up from everywhere. Even the far side that she could barely see was ablaze. Looking closer, it seemed like only half the camp was actually alight; the bright patches were far more visible than the dark ones. Still - half of the camp was a lot. The buildings near the centre had already become an inferno.

                Vanna, Tadyel and Dot continued helping the injured away from the camp. Most of those knocked out were waking up, so for the most part they supported those with injuries instead of carrying them.

                Clearing the battlefield didn't take very long - there were many injured, but also many willing to help out. Additional help in the form of chastised townspeople also arrived, trickling out of the camp from amongst the flames as the guards found and ordered them out.

                By the time they had finished helping the injured the camp was truly entirely on fire. A scattered ring of townspeople could be seen at the edges, putting out spot fires and otherwise making sure that only the Follower camp burnt.

                As for the Followers, apart from a few who were injured quite badly (and were receiving many angry looks from less kind townspeople) they had retreated. The townspeople didn't care where they had gone - so long as it was further away, it was good. If they went somewhere closer, well, the process would be repeated tomorrow.

                As there was finally nothing else to be done, Vanna, Tadyel and Dot sat on a nearby hill they could see the entire camp from. It saddened Tadyel a bit to think of how much stuff - how much of people's lives - was burning down there.

                "This puts us ahead of schedule a bit," said Vanna. "Although we might have to do something about Frennet."

                "If this one," said Dot, pointing at Tadyel, "hadn't frozen when Frennet mentioned the Magi we'd have dodged that."

                "Maybe," said Vanna. Tadyel felt like squirming.

                "Did we have to do this?" asked Tadyel. "The Followers are just puppets of the Thrath. It's exactly what Mavnen was gloating about."

                "They're a threat, and this is the quickest way to force a proper conflict," said Vanna. "Or, if we're very lucky, an end. But I think the Followers will attack after this. Either directly at us, or at the town." Vanna leaned back on her arms.

                "Mm," said Dot. "You could say we did this so things really heated up."

                Vanna sighed deeply. Tadyel just stared at Dot in shock.

That Moment

That Moment

                'A blade is only as sharp as its wielder.' Sounds profound, but doesn't quite work. Mostly because the effectiveness of a blade is not solely in its sharpness, so using sharpness for effectiveness and measuring that with the wit of - No, never mind. That's not what I want to cover today.

                What I want to go over is, well. You know that moment - the one right before you strike, or a plan goes into action? The perfect moment for it to begin and you take it, flipping the situation on its head. In a fight you might slip through a gap in someone's defences. In a plan the actions you take bring immediate victory or an unassailable position. In a game of chess you move one piece and your opponent realised that they're defeated.

                It's a glorious moment. Whether through planning or insight everything just clicks into place and go! Your opponent is down, paralysed, beaten. They never saw it coming.

                These are my thoughts as I scamper through the dusty, tangled mess that makes up the tavern's roof. It's the largest tavern in town and the mess is the result of countless expansions. Over the years it has grown so large that it now covers four entire city blocks, a mass of corridors, rooms, bars and more. Some small parts are forgotten or abandoned, subject to rumour and mystery.

                I am here because one of the city's richest merchants is having a secret meeting with her mysterious business partner. My employer wishes two things: firstly, to know who she is meeting; secondly, the elimination of them both (though only if possible).

                The job pays well but I'm unsure how I'll manage to take down two people. Or more, if they brought guards. Thinking about it, they'll certainly have guards. With luck, they'll be left outside while the meeting goes down inside.

                My plan for now is just to get to the room. Quite how my employer learnt of the meeting I don't know. He isn't the most organised of people even at his best, and his network of agents can be summarised as 'a couple of cousins with bureaucrat jobs'. Maybe one of them found out via the watch?

                As I get closer I start to worry about what might happen if the watch show up. More than anything else it would be messy. I might get a chance to strike if I'm lucky, tossing a poisoned blade at an exposed back...

                But I probably wouldn't. If the guard show their faces I'll bail, probably take a less sneaky route out. Getting out would be far more important than getting out undetected at that point.

                I'm wanted by the watch, of course. They don't approve of assassinations, and plenty of people with plenty of money don't approve of skulking around for information either. Luckily for them I don't even need to be framed; just a little bit of outrage about my par for the course crimes.

                Outside the room there's nothing. If there are guards they're inside - or maybe one or both haven't arrived yet. It's unlikely; the meeting was meant to start ten minutes ago. I'm meant to catch them mid-deliberation in theory.

                I creep through the ceiling above the room, squeezing through the tiny crawlspace. It's tight as heck and occasionally a literal pain in the butt. I press my ear against the roof, right above the middle. Faint voices; whispering. I can barely hear them. It sounds like two women; probably the merchant and her mysterious partner.

                To get myself a peek into the room I shuffle over to the ventilation that sits high on one wall. Someone has been here before - the duct is damaged already. I slip a mirror through and squint at what I can see through the grate.

                Two people are in the room - a woman in fine robes and another woman wearing a hooded cloak. Turning the mirror a little I can see a third woman in the corner, armoured and armed. It turns out she's the only guard - and she must be trusted to be allowed to stand in the room.

                Actually, I'll need to try to kill her too. Maybe she's the partner? She isn't talking, though, the cloaked woman is, then the merchant. I pull the mirror back up and think. There's only one source of light in the room. If that were to go there'd be nothing to stop me knocking them all out with a series of poisoned daggers - I'll be able to see in the light coming from the window since my eyes are adjusted, and theirs aren't.

                The light in the room comes from two orbs set into the ceiling. I find them easily enough - screwed in. Lucky. I twirl the screws out of each carefully and tie them to a string that holds them in place until I decide otherwise.

                After I get myself into place - squeezing down inside the wall is rather unpleasant - I go over my plan. Lights, daggers, deaths. I smile, and release the lights.

                Darkness. I strike. Three yelps, little struggling.

                Perfect.

Really

Really

                "Thirty-fourth and Thirty-third?" said the radio, almost inaudible over the buzz caused by the poor tuning.

                "Thirty-fourth and Thirty-third," said the radio. A different voice this time.

                "Roger, on my way," replied the first voice.

                One of the balaclava clad henchmen swore. "They'll be all over us in a couple of minutes," he said, tightening his grip on his shotgun.

                Their boss glared at them. He was the only one to have shown his face, and also the only one who hadn't worn a balaclava. The almost comical iron helmet he had been wearing was set down on one of the theatre chairs. "That's the point, in case you forgot," he said. He went by 'Ironhat' to fit in with the sensibilities of the city. "While the cops are all over us Tophat will be blowing up their headquarters."

                "Aren't we meant to get away first, though?" asked a henchwoman. She only shifted her glance away from the hostages for a moment, but it was long enough for one of them to move. Ironhat caught it - the idiots were probably planning something.

                "If we can. Tophat is behind schedule, so we stay," said Ironhat. "And you idiots!" he barked, "stop fidgeting! If I see one more of you make a move I'm going to shoot the unlucky bastard!"

                The hostages cowered, fearful of both his threat and his voice. None of them really knew who Ironhat was, of course. He was just one of countless lieutenants' lieutenants, a member of one of the legion of organisations under the Lords of Sin. That he and Tophat worked directly for the Lords - under the 'Sane Hatter' - was something they weren't meant to know.

                Silence settled over the theatre; fearful hostages clustered on the stage, henches guarding them, and more henches spread throughout the room and the rest of the facility. It was those outside the theatre hall itself that would be fighting first - the hall was serving as their nerve centre, ergo the radio.

                They'd struck during an under-booked play. Interrupting a production of 'Oh My Lords!' had a kind of delicious irony about it for Ironhat. Not to mention that the play itself was crap. The Lords took advantage of the sin they represented, they didn't exemplify or fall victim to it as they did in the play. That was the point of them being Lords.

                As Ironhat settled back into the chair beside the portable radio, he heard a small thud. Turning in his seat angrily he quickly found the culprit amongst the hostages. "Last chance," he said, voice dripping with menace.

                Unless there was a hero of some kind amongst the hostages - or Lords forbid, a bunch of Sleepers - whatever nonsense they were building up to was going to end badly for them. Ironhat honestly didn't care. If they tried to stand up to the Lords it was what they deserved. Soft-hearted bullshit wasn't something he did.

                A rattling gasp came from the hostages, and as Ironhat stood to give the whole group the evil eye he saw an elderly man topple over with a loud thud. Here we go, he thought, walking over.

                Seemingly instinctively the hostages had shuffled back from the old man with the sole exception of a woman. She was poking him with the skill of a doctor, diagnosing him as best she could. As Ironhat's shadow fell across the pair she said, "He's having a heart attack."

                "Really?" asked Ironhat, quite sarcastically. "I thought he was just short of breath suddenly after getting a bit excited."

                "No, he's having a heart attack, sir," said one of the henchmen. He winced when Ironhat glared at him.

                The woman was similarly unimpressed. "He's going to die if we don't get him out of here," she said, looking directly at Ironhat.

                "Are you sure?" he asked. "Are you a doct-"

                "A surgeon, and I've only ever studied heart attacks," she said. "He needs to get out of here now or he's going to die."

                "Can't you do anything? Keep his heart beating or whatever it is you do," said Ironhat. This was going to be amusing.

                "No! Not without equipment," said the woman. She looked closely at the old man - his breath had been reduced to ragged gasps. "This is bad. He won't live through this without medical attention. He needs to go to the hospital!"

                Ironhat blinked twice, then pulled out his pistol and shot the old man's chest three times. The surgeon looked at him in horror. "Wh - why?" she stammered.

                "Because his life was only valuable as a hostage, and given that he'd be dead before the police get here this shit was a waste of time," said Ironhat. "Now, I know you tossers are planning something, so let me tell you something. We"- he waved his free arm to indicate his henchmen and himself -"are the get stuff done guys. We don't fuck around.

                "If any of you do anything, I am going to shoot you. So stay still, be quiet, and you'll probably survive this. Shooting you when we flee is a waste of time, ammo, and will bury us in legal shit if we get caught. We only need you to stall. Do you understand?" No-one said anything. "Say yes on three if you understand. One. Two. Three."

                A chorus of 'Yes' came from the hostages. "Good," said Ironhat, wandering back to his seat. A pair of henches started shifting the old man's body; putting their training to good use. The radio was halfway through a particularly buzzy message, prompting him to retune it slightly.

                "zzs been killed. Approach with caution. Total hostages: thirty-four," said the radio.

                Ironhat pursed his lips in thought. "Here they come," he said softly. He smiled up at the camera. You only needed a little bit of bait to lure a fish away from home. Then you could snatch the eggs away. Or just blow the whole place up.