The Old City

0.14: New Players

Thirty Minutes Earlier

Pernita wiped blood off her hands as she meandered back to Firkaan's group. Behind her, the unconscious archer from the Silver Bears lay unconscious, his shirt in tatters from dozens of long but shallow lacerations.

"We have a rat but this one doesn't know who it is."

"Are you certain?" Firkaan asked. She shot him a glance that threatened to slit his throat if he doubted her, and he shrugged his shoulders to rescind his comment. "We can sort out who later. Does he know where Granada is?"

"Lucien moved Granada to the eastern stronghold. Assuming they made it that far, Marek would have run into him."

Firkaan froze, as though slowing his body could accelerate his mind. He reviewed the intelligence they'd gathered before the assault and everything that had happened today. This cold reasoning was all he could do to keep dread from overtaking him.

"We have to split up. Pernita and I will go to the eastern stronghold. I hope you are ready for another fight." He looked at the dozen men remaining. "Everyone else, split into two groups: one to carry back our seriously wounded and another to dig around their base. I want to know their secrets. I want to know every hole, Underground outpost, weakness, and godsdamned strength they have. Take what you can, then burn it down and regroup at our warehouse."

They moved like a hoard of drones at his order, several bending down to gather those who had been knocked unconscious or were bleeding out. Firkaan allowed one final glance at Rhys's pale corpse and grabbed the shoulder of a man who was about to lift him.

"Leave him. His body does us no good. Focus on the living and the stronghold."

He shifted his attention back to Pernita, who tossed her bloodied handkerchief, which gently glided down and fell upon Rhys's head.

"Are you ready?" she asked. Without answering, Firkaan took off, sprinting past the stronghold and following the smoke he now saw rising hundreds of meters in the distance.

***

Present

Firkaan was heaving by the time he arrived at the devastated pavilion, having sprinted without break to find his leader.

Turning the corner, he caught a glimpse of two men leaving to the south, but was paralyzed when he noticed Granada hunched over, dragging himself toward the Black Phoenix building, blood gushing from his side. Nearby guards ushered him inside and closed the doors firmly behind.

"Who was that?" Firkaan shouted, jogging to Marek's side. "What the Hell just happened?"

"I do not know," Marek said, holding his injured arm. "But we need to find out. The man with the spear did that to Granada. I want him in the Silver Bears, no matter the cost. We need power like he possesses.

"Why are you here? Where are all your men?"

"When we took the northern stronghold without heavy resistance, I realized Granada was not there. Pernita interrogated the sole survivor and confirmed two things: that Granada was here, and that we have a traitor in our midst. Everyone else is cleaning up the mess, but we rushed down to support your assault."

Marek nodded, wincing as Firkaan wrapped his wound with a bandage he'd pulled from his vest. He did not mind the pain. He did not welcome it like Pernita seemed to, but merely viewed it as a cost of his campaign.

"Should we go after Granada?" Pernita asked. "He seemed gravely injured. This could be our best opportunity to end his threat."

"We don't know what else is in that building. I won't be much help and I need you both at full strength for the next battles. For now, we retreat."

"Next battles?" Pernita inquired, ears perking up.

"Oh yes. This is merely a diversion, a delay. The First Ring will be mine, and there are many, many more battles to come. But tell me more of this rat. If indeed we have a traitor amongst us, our first order of business is to exterminate him."

***

The Mermaid's Wing, One Hour Later

They had avoided the main roads and chosen to drift toward Marcus's transient home in case they were being followed. Adrenaline was all that had kept them afoot. But now the danger had passed, and the two old friends collapsed the moment they entered Marcus's room.

Seneca felt the rough grain of the wooden floor against his face, too tired to move. He laid there for many minutes recalling the day's events, half-hoping they were nothing but a daydream.

Then he heard Marcus laugh, short chuckles at first that soon ballooned into a full bodied roar.

"I didn't think I would make myself known my second week back," Marcus exclaimed.

"How is that funny?"

"It's not, it's awful! It's one of the worst things that could have happened because now those assholes will either want to kill me or recruit me. No matter how you look at it, I – no, we – have targets on our backs."

Seneca pushed himself up. "I still don't get it."

"Life, brother, is a petty bastard. Every time I carve out some small joy for myself, it finds a way to take something back. I thought gettin' out of that prison meant my life was on the ups, but now I'll be hunted in my own city."

"We'll be hunted. I'm the one who actually crossed blades with Marek. He will have seared my face into his memory. He is surely sending goons to every corner of the First Ring to find out about us."

Marcus stood and stretched his long body. Though every inch was sore (being thrown into a building might do this), his scrapes and bruises were not serious and would heal in time. The bandage on his forehead would draw attention like aunties to gossip though. Normally he would wear the pain like a badge of honor, but with the city looking for an injured anomaly, evidence of his conflict would be an inconvenience. Still, in the privacy of his own room, he basked in the cool success that washed over him after a well-fought battle.

"How much of the First Ring will know what happened tomorrow morning?" he asked.

"Too many people. The staff here is surprisingly sharp and will realize you were the mystery figure before long. Perhaps your crew will hear the rumors and sell you out. It is only a matter of time before you need to move."

At that moment, the door crashed open, and a foot fell to reveal Angelica's furious and worried face.

"Where the Hell have you two been?" she demanded, storming straight into Seneca's face. "It's not safe to be out today. It sounds like the gangs are fightin' worse than usual today. You need to be careful – especially you, Marcus."

Marcus and Seneca traded glances. A light calm cascaded over the room as soon as they recognized her then they burst out laughing.