“No, you’d just steal our food,” the patriarch said. “And leave us to starve.”

  Joji snorted. “From your tone, you think that’s some great injustice. But when it’s you and your tax collectors inflicting the same fate on the poor you shrug it off as the way of the world.”

  The man glared at him. “I have earned everything I own. You would blame me because I have been successful in my business? Just because –”

  The black-haired woman’s fist interrupted him, sending the nobleman to the ground.

  “Why did you do that?” Micol asked.

  In response, she looked at him and opened her mouth, revealing a fleshy floor where her tongue should have been. She turned back to the nobleman, using her rope to secure the man’s arms and legs.

  That left Micol with the unsavory task of doing the same to the wife and daughter. He approached them slowly, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. He addressed the wife. “You saw what my friend did to your husband. You don’t want the same to happen to you, do you?”

  The woman shook her head, her eyes burning into him with a look of pure hatred. But she allowed him to tie her up; he made an effort to do it in a way that allowed the fur draped around her to stay in place, fashioning it into a kind of impromptu slip. He barely had enough rope left to secure her feet, drawing them so close together she wobbled in place for several seconds. He offered an arm to lower her to the ground.

  The child stared at him, wide-eyed the whole time.

  Micol met her gaze. “That’s the last of our rope, it seems. You’ll have to promise me you won’t try to escape. Can you do that?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you say it out loud, please?”

  “I promise.”

  Joji crossed to the body of Saulie, turning it over to check for more rope. He looked at Micol and shook his head.

  Her promise will have to be enough, Micol thought. He joined the others in shuffling about, gathering the weapons of the guards in a pile. He had little experience with swords, but from what he could see the steel was good. Perhaps they could sell some of them for bread. Or, failing that, we could use them in our next operation.

  A thud from the main hall drew his attention. He turned to watch as the first group returned from the cellars, dropping a succession of heavy burlap sacks.

  The black-haired woman whistled low.

  “How much do you think they have?” Micol asked.

  “Enough to last them through the siege,” Joji answered. “I’d wager a year’s worth of grain and several months of meat. Maybe more.” He reached down to grab a sword, twirling it in a neat circle.

  Vasha’s group headed back down, more than one of them throwing dark looks in the direction of the courtyard as they went.

  The guard closest to Micol started shifting, working his hips back and forth as he ground the rope binding his hands against a stone column. Joji casually approached the man. He brought the flat of the sword against the guard’s temple in a single motion, producing a grunt. The guard’s head slumped as he fell still against the column.

  “The next one of you who tries to wear through your ropes isn’t going to get the flat of this blade, understand? If you don’t want to join our friend Saulie over there, you’d best keep still.”

  A few of the prisoners nodded. The rest blinked or dipped their heads slightly, apparently deciding to get a head start on the keeping still part. Micol thought he saw the grizzled captain from earlier jerk unexpectedly; he was hidden in the shadow of another column, making it difficult to be sure.

  Sakaye approached Micol. He had one sword at his belt, and held another out by the cross guard. “Listen, deserter. You’ll want a sword when it all goes down. These axes at our belts are better than nothing, but not much.”

  “Do you have to call me deserter?” Micol asked.

  The man cocked his head. “Have to? No, I suppose I don’t. It’s what you are though, isn’t it?”

  Joji answered for him. “He’s one of us now. A Wolf. What he was before doesn’t matter.” He took a step toward the other man, lowering his voice. “And I’d imagine he’s not the only one among us who has a past he’d sooner forget.”

  “Hmph. I didn’t mean nothing by it, but if you both are going to get so hot under the collar…” He lowered the cross guard of the offered sword, turning to toss it back on the pile.

  “He’s right,” Joji said to Micol. “You’re going to want a sword when –“

  He was cut off by a cry from Sakaye as the captain leapt forward out of the shadows. The captain’s hands closed on Sakaye’s ankles, pulling him off balance; he landed on his back with a resounding thwack. Before he could recover, the captain was on top of him, one knee on either side.

  “Elian!” the captain shouted. “The gate!”

  Another guard jumped forward, loose ropes trailing behind him as he ran for the closed iron gate. Micol and his mute ally ran for him, reaching the gate moments after he’d gotten it open. The three grappled with one another, a tangle of limbs that changed direction each moment.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Micol saw a blur of movement. He shifted in time to see the daughter running toward them and the open gate. The moments slowed as he kicked one leg free, reaching for her with his left arm. Elian, recognizing his intent, seized on his other arm and pulled with all of his might. It was enough to allow the girl to slip past, the trailing strands of her hair kissing Micol’s fingertips.

  With a roar, Micol turned back to the other man. Micol pummeled him with his free fist, taking just three blows to knock him away. He slipped through the gate, hoping to catch the girl, but it was too late. Her shrieks echoed through the streets as she ran, bringing neighbors to look out their windows.

  Still, he chased, holding onto some vain hope of stopping her before she could find help. That hope faltered when a trio of men appeared in Tevulun yellow. They took one look at the scene before readying weapons to charge at Micol.

  The turn from hunter to hunted was swift. Micol skated to a stop; he stumbled backward, twisting to run toward the gate. If I can get back soon enough, we can close it and keep them out. Each step put more distance between him and his pursuers, giving him a ray of hope.

  At the gate, his hopes sank. The guard’s still form lay at the entrance, his body half-in and half-out of the entrance. The mute woman he’d been grappling with was slow to get to her feet, too slow to allow them to close the gate in time.

  Inside the courtyard, the captain of the guard had subdued Sakaye. He paced around Joji now, eyes searching for an opening.

  “She escaped!” Micol cried. “The city guard is on its way!”

  Joji’s eyes flicked to Micol, then back to the captain. The captain used the opportunity to charge, his metal coat deflecting Joji’s sword as he brought clubbed fists down on his head.

  Micol charged forward, joining the mute woman in trying to rip the captain off their friend. It took several moments; by the time they managed to separate the pair, Micol heard the three city guards arrive at the gate. A look over his shoulder revealed two guards heading toward them, the other stopping to free the rest of those in the courtyard.

  “Fools!” Joji spat. “To the main hall! We’ll bar the doors!” He scrambled to his feet, forgetting his sword on the ground. They ran for the main hall, outpacing the guards in their mail. A clicking of crossbows sounded behind them – bolts sank into the velvet carpet ahead, but thankfully none of them hit Micol.

  They rushed to close first one yawning door, then the other. It was only halfway closed when the wood reverberated with the thud of a body hitting it. Others followed, and soon the doors were opening again.

  “Skora! Drop whatever you’re carrying! They need help up there!” Vasha’s voice had never sounded so sweet. He appeared moments later, his hair dusted in white flour. Vasha’s men grabbed onto the doors, and with the group’s combined effort they managed to get them closed. The bar slammed down with an air of finality, locking the guards out.

  But also – Micol realized – locking them in. His chest heaved as he looked at what remained of their group: the two others from the courtyard and the five Vasha led. “What now?” he asked.

  Vasha exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. The whole plan depended on making sure the guard didn’t find out about this. Every moment we’re in here, more of them will come. Soon enough, they’ll break through.”

  “How much did you manage to bring up?” Micol asked, his mouth watering at sight of the gathered sacks of rice and grain, bookended on one side by a pile of sausage and on the other by salted pork.

  “This is barely a third of what’s down there. We haven’t even started on the wine and ale. I’d imagine it would take us till sunrise to bring all of it up here.”

  Micol grimaced at the sound of metal tearing into the wood of the door behind him. “We can hear you in there!” a man said. His voice sounded like that of the grizzled captain, but Micol couldn’t be sure. “We have nearly two dozen swords out here, and half as many crossbows. We’ll break through if it takes us all night! And then you’ll pay in blood.”

  “Darshan!” Saulie’s brother said, his eyes wide with horror. It took a moment for Micol to see why; the black-haired woman had taken a pair of crossbow bolts, one in the shoulder and one in the leg. The color was rapidly draining from her face as she wobbled on unsteady feet.

  Micol helped Joji lower her; the older man used his axe to cut strips from his tunic, tying them tightly around the bolts. “We have to leave the bolts in, understand? She needs a surgeon to close the wounds. If we pull them out now, she’ll start bleeding on the carpet and we don’t have any way to stop it.”

  “Understood,” Micol said. “We should leave now. Make our way to the second-floor balcony and use the hooked lines to get down.”

  “What? And leave the rest for these leeches?” Vasha’s lip curled with distaste. “You really are a coward.”

  “When those men outside make corpses of us, it won’t matter how many sacks of wheat we managed to drag up from the basement. Better we make it out of here alive. There’s no shortage of nobles in Vicrum.” Micol looked around at the rest of the group, gauging their reactions; Joji nodded back at him, but otherwise he found little support.

  “Let’s put it to a vote,” Vasha said. “Who wants to tuck tail and run?” Micol, Joji, and one of the others from Vasha’s group voiced their assent. “And who wants to finish what we came here to do? What our brothers out there gave their lives for?” The rest of the group – aside from Darshan – shouted their votes. “Right, then. Best get to it.”

  The doors behind Micol shook with the force of a sword strike. He heard wood splinter as another blow followed.

  “Those won’t hold long once they find hammers,” Vasha said. “And more men will be gathering out there by the minute. I don’t like our odds.”

  Joji paced, the rhythm of his steps following the drumming of the attacks on the door. “It would take hours to break through with their swords. And they’ll be blunted by the effort. No, I think this is a ploy. They’re planning something…” He trailed off, eyes rising to the doors at the end of the hallway.

  “What is it?” Micol asked.

  “How well do you think Death’s spies studied these corridors? They said the main hall was the only way in on the first floor, but what if they were wrong?”

  Micol’s blood ran cold. He felt something at the edge of his consciousness, a tingling that seemed to confirm Joji’s fears.

  Instinct told Micol to run away from the approaching feeling, but he didn’t have anywhere to run to. Instead, he followed it, making his way through the hall with cautious steps. A staircase rose from the left side of the hall, leading up to the second floor and – eventually – the balcony he’d entered through. At the end of the hall were two doors, one on either side. The same copper smell Micol had felt during the fight in the alley weeks before wafted over him, threatening to make him sick.

  With an unplaceable certainty, he knew there were men approaching the door on the right. He pulled the small axe from his belt, slow paces taking him to the doorway. The pots and pans of a large kitchen greeted him at its opening. At the other side of the room a door creaked open.

  Micol charged forward with a silent growl; the face that greeted him was etched with surprise and fear. He sprinted toward the door, ending his charge with a kick that sent the man sprawling. He slammed the door shut, searching for a latch.

  Unfortunately, there was none to be found. He put his back to the door, boots scrabbling against the floor as he struggled to keep it closed against the attempts of those on the other side.

  Joji appeared at the kitchen entrance. “Skora!” He rushed forward, dropping his weapon as he reached for a heavy wooden table. Micol groaned with effort; the door was starting to inch open, and he felt like there was little he could do to stop it.

  The door opened enough for someone to get a leg through. Micol hacked at it with his axe. The owner cried out, withdrawing. For a moment, Micol was able to get the door closed. But then the pressure came back even stronger than before.

  Unable to lift the table he’d chosen, Joji worked it into place in a series of rotations. He pushed it forward with a grunt, the wood scraping against the floor. It was close enough for Micol to get his hands on, using the added leverage to maintain his position.

  A knife slipped through the gap at the door, slicing the side of Micol’s arm from shoulder to elbow. He cried out, falling to his knees. A form slipped into the room in the momentary lapse; Micol was able to throw a knee out to close the door again once they were in, and Joji shoved the table home.

  Crawling out from under the table, Micol saw the man who had managed to get in: the grizzled captain of the family’s guard grinned at the pair of them, switching hands with his knife so he could draw the sword at his hip. “That won’t last long,” the man said, nodding toward the table. As if to make his point, it scraped forward an inch.

  “You alright, captain?” a voice asked.

  “I’m fine. But if you and your men could see fit to break on through, I wouldn’t complain about it.” He backed against the wall of the kitchen, knife and sword held ready.

  “The legs!” Joji hissed. “Knock out the legs!”

  It took a moment for Micol to process the command. He knocked off the closest leg with three swift strokes. Over his shoulder, he heard the captain make his move as Micol crawled under the table to knock out the other leg.

  He said a quick prayer to Death, that the aspect might see fit to spare Joji until he was done with his work under the table. It took longer than he would like, the awkward angle forcing him to make several weak cuts at the other front leg. It didn’t help that it kept getting knocked by others trying to get in, forcing him to pause every few seconds to push it back against the door.

  Finally, the leg gave way, causing half of the table to fall on top of him. Micol worked his way out from under it, breathing a sigh of relief when a heavy slam of the door produced little more than a vibration in the makeshift stop. The remnants of the two front legs caught on tile, holding the table in place.

  Joji fell beside him, holding up the broken haft of a small axe in an ineffectual attempt to stop a downward stroke of the captain’s blade. Micol reacted on instinct, raising his own axe to meet the captain’s sword edge-to-edge. The steel and iron sang, sending a shock through his arm.

  He was on his feet in an instant, pressing the attack. The captain’s blade moved swiftly to keep him at length – their weapons met again in front of the captain’s chest and his dagger shot out, slicing toward Micol’s belly. He jumped back, narrowly avoiding a fatal wound. The dagger’s edge split the outer layer of his skin, making him hiss.

  Micol side-stepped away from Joji, allowing the captain to push him back toward the kitchen entrance. His axe and youth allowed him to react faster, but he could tell he was outmatched when it came to skill. He deflected a piercing thrust and turned away from the follow-up dagger strike, only to be caught in the back by the man’s sword. It was a weak blow, but still deep enough to draw blood.

  They moved into the main hall, drawing away from the kitchen and the blocked door. Micol kept an idea in the back of his mind, a hope one of his allies would see the fight and save him. He could hardly spare a moment to look, though; in the open space of the main hall, the captain was able to make full use of his sword, swinging it overhead to arc down toward him. Micol met its edge with his axe again, but the move left him exposed to the dagger. His other hand shot down, preventing a killing blow at the cost of a cut digging deep into his palm.

  Vision swimming, Micol stumbled on the velvet carpet. He fell to the ground, batting away sword strikes as he kept the dagger at bay with kicking feet. Each kick cost him; before long, he could see trails of red forming a map of knicks and cuts running along his legs.

  The captain’s face appeared in his vision, triumphant. It turned to horror an instant later. He fell to the floor, a kitchen knife sticking out from the base of his skull.

  Joji approached, a hand held out to help his friend rise. “You move like nothing else I’ve ever seen,” he said as Micol clambered to his feet. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re no good with that axe. But you move fast.”

  “Maybe that’s good enough.”

  “This time it was.” Joji jerked his head toward the dead captain. “So much for not being killers, eh?”

  “We didn’t do anything to him he wasn’t trying to do to us.” For the first time, Micol noticed the wound at Joji’s thigh; it had stained his beige breeches red, trailing down to the floor. “That looks bad.”

  Joji let out a barking laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

  They returned to the foyer; Micol sized up the pile of food, frowning at it. It had certainly grown, but not enough. “This is taking too long,” he said, more to himself than his companion. Outside, he heard the sword blows continuing against the door, although they sounded weaker than before.