“Do you trust this man completely?” Mer asked, gesturing toward the young guard at her side.

  “Completely? No. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world whom I trust completely. But I trust Yone more than almost anyone else. If our words make it out of the castle, it will not be on his lips.”

  Mer caught himself chewing on his cheek and forced himself to stop. He chose his words carefully, like the steps of a mouse through a field of snakes. “Alright, then. Here’s my message: storms are gathering over the city, and that’s no accident. The one who sent me burned the doll you gave her, but she bears its remains as a bracelet she’s kept to this day. I saw it myself.”

  Princess Cora’s brow furrowed as she listened, each word causing a deeper ridge to form. At first Mer was worried he’d been too vague, but then he saw a spark of recognition flare in her eyes. She nodded to herself. “She’s really here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her expression fell, the bright spark of understanding replaced by disappointment. “Better she had stayed away. I doubt this city will survive to see the winter.”

  “The city will survive,” Mer said. “But not necessarily everyone inside. Do you recognize the sigil on my coat?”

  She looked at the wolf on his sleeve and shook her head.

  “The wolf of Fevre Geere,” Yone informed her. “Means he’s a ranger.”

  “Not just Fevre,” Mer said. “It was her family’s sigil before her grandfather saw to the house’s destruction. But yes, I am a ranger. If you need our help – if you need her help – you have only to seek us out. Do not trust anyone who isn’t of the wolves.”

  “With all due respect,” Yone said, “Yours is not the only company within this city looking to protect the princess. The royal guard will fight to the death to ensure her safety.”

  “And you may have to, before the time comes.” Mer sighed. “That’s my message, Princess. What you do with the information is up to you.”

  “Thank you, Ranger,” she said, tilting her head ever so slightly.

  He bowed and turned to leave the room. His stomach rumbled at the prospect of heading down the thousand steps empty, but he doubted he’d be able to convince anyone to bring him food based on the cool reception of the guards.

  It was a long, miserable trip down the steps, with nothing to look forward to at the end of the trip but more bone stew. Maybe one of the gate watchers will have caught a rat or two, he thought, ashamed at the hope the thought brought him. The occasions where meals came with meat were becoming rarer and rarer, and he knew soon enough they would disappear altogether.

  That’s the thing about Vicrum. With walls so high and direct access to the sea, it should have been impossible to siege. Unfortunately, the generations that had passed without so much as an attempt had rendered its rulers lax in their preparations. They hadn’t bothered to maintain much of a navy in the port, and their food stores were laughably slim.

  He paused halfway down the steps, staring out at the city below. He couldn’t see the Ma’isan army from the peephole, but he knew they were still there. Don’t much like Fevre’s idea of sallying out, but maybe it’s our only option. Anything other than waiting to starve seemed preferable to him.

  With a sigh, he continued down the steps. A group of a dozen men in Tevulun gold were waiting at the base, centered around one Mer hadn’t expected to find out in the open. For the second time that afternoon, his hands hovered near the dagger at one hip and sword at the other.

  “Captain Okal,” Mer said, coming to a stop on the third step up. “What brings you here?”

  The captain’s dark gray hair was pulled into its usual half-ponytail. The sunlight peeking above the plateau cut a straight line across his face, making him narrow his already-beady eyes. “My men and I are here to place you under arrest, Lieutenant.”

  “For what crime?” Mer’s gaze swept over the men surrounding the captain. The three he’d met at the top of the thousand steps were milling near an overweight man he guessed was their sergeant; they stood off from the others by a few paces, like lepers who’d been cast out.

  “Not crime. Crimes. Multiple charges of assault, theft, kidnapping, murder, and rape,” the captain answered.

  “All that in one afternoon? You make me sound so industrious.”

  “We know the rangers orchestrated the attack on the Farai estate, Lieutenant. Really, the Wolves of Vicrum? How stupid do you think we are? You could have at least come up with a more suitable nickname.” The smile he was struggling to hold back made the corners of his eyes wrinkle, giving the lie to what he said.

  Mer cleared his throat, pacing toward the edge of the stairs closest to the plateau. If it came to a fight, no one would be able to sneak up behind him, at least. “The attack on the Farai estate was three nights ago, correct? I couldn’t have been there – I was busy ministering to the sick and wounded. Some of your men included.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t have been there yourself. That’s not your style. Fevre wouldn’t have placed any of her precious men at risk. But arming the poor and helping them infiltrate the estate? That sounds like exactly the kind of plan she’d cook up to me.”

  “Fevre is clever in her plans, I’ll admit. But always in service to the Tevuluns. Are you accusing the rangers of turning traitor?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Captain Okal’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “We just need to find out what you know. The man we captured from the group that attacked the Farai estate fingered the rangers as those that armed and trained him. Can you blame us for chasing down the lead?”

  Mer had to work to maintain an indifferent face to the news they’d managed to capture someone from that night. Fevre will want to know about this, was his first thought. Then, The fool doesn’t realize he’s being played. “Admit it, Captain. You don’t truly believe the rangers are behind this. You want to capture me because you think it will provide you with leverage against Fevre. It won’t, though. She knows any one of us would rather die than jeopardize the rest.”

  The captain moved his hand to the hilt of his own sword. “Are you refusing to come with us?”

  The guards’ swords were typical one-handed numbers, longer than Mer’s own weapon but not by much. His eyes swept from the weapons to their armor – only the captain and one other wore plate, making the rest easy targets. Of shields, there were a half-dozen.

  Mer plodded down the last few steps at an angle to the group, keeping the plateau to his back. “You realize what this will mean, Captain. There is no taking it back. Commander Fevre and the rest of the rangers will view this as a declaration of war. Both groups will lose many men, and will make Vicrum all the easier in the taking for the Ma’isans.”

  “If we cannot maintain order, then we have already lost.”

  “Fool.” Steel grated against steel as Mer drew his weapons, falling into a ready stance.

  The nearest group – the three Mer had met at the top of the stairs – readied their own swords. They moved clumsily; Mer charged one whose sword had stuck in its scabbard, striking him in the throat with the hilt of his dagger. The man went down with a choking sound, but Mer didn’t have time to gawk. He crossed both of his weapons over his head to block a downward blow from the sergeant, flinging the man’s sword to the side.

  He lunged forward, falling to his knees to strike at the sergeant’s patellar ligament. His dagger dug through leather, sinking two fingers into the man’s leg just below his kneecap. When he spun away the sergeant tried to follow, crying out as his leg collapsed under him.

  The remaining two guards hesitated, looking at the group closest to the captain as if asking them to take the lead. Captain Okal took three steps to close with the man with a scar over his eyebrow, grabbing him by the collar of his coat. He used the hold to toss the taller man toward Mer; the guard stumbled, fumbling to raise his sword.

  Mer side-stepped the weak attempt at an attack, bringing his own sword around to slice through a forearm. The other man’s sword clattered to the ground as he fell with a hiss. Mer backed away from him and the others on the ground, eyeing those that remained.

  The majority of those remaining held shields they hid behind as they advanced toward Mer in a coordinated advance. They fanned out in a semi-circle around him, edging him back toward the plateau. He noticed with a grim smile that the captain himself didn’t participate. No, of course not. He may have convinced himself – and some number of his men – otherwise, but he was a coward at heart.

  Mer feinted at the man on the left side of the semi-circle with his sword; the group reacted accordingly, turning to close on his right flank. He reversed to the other side, bringing his sword around in an overhanded swing that rang off the helm of the rightmost guard like a bell. Taking advantage of the man’s momentary disorientation, Mer kicked his shield away from his body and plunged his dagger into the crook of a shoulder. It came away bloodier than he’d hoped.

  The flat of a sword caught Mer on the back of his head, making him cry out. He tried to pull away from the man he’d stabbed, but the guard grabbed him by his coat sleeves and held him in place. Another blow reverberated up and down his arm, followed by a wave of nausea. Three men dragged him down to the ground, stomping on his hands to make him release his weapons.

  Captain Okal’s boots appeared, upside down from his viewpoint. “I hear you’re careful of your hands, surgeon. Perhaps we’ll start the interrogation by breaking your fingers.”

  Mer struggled against the arms holding him, but there were too many. He fell back with a groan; a kick to the side of his head made the world turn black.

  Chapter 17

  Micol

  Micol, Vasha, and Joji sat in silence in the basement of the Wolves’ safehouse. Torchlight flickered on their faces, filling the room with acrid smoke. Visala had gathered the three of them and ordered them to wait at a wooden table without an explanation of why or how long they ought to wait, but it was becoming apparent – to Micol, at least – that they would be there for a while.

  “Have I ever told you the story of how I ended up on the streets?” Joji asked.

  Micol shook his head.

  “I thought not. It’s something of a taboo subject, isn’t it? We never talk about how we ended up so desperate as to join our little band of misfits. Not so long ago, I was a captain of the largest galley in Ghita Gratianos’ fleet. You’ve heard of Ghita Gratianos?”

  Vasha was first to answer. “The Gratianos’ are salt traders, aren’t they?”

  “Aye. I hear the youngest son is some kind of big military commander.”

  “Prelate Gratianos?” Micol asked.

  Joji waved a hand. “Sure, that sounds right. This story isn’t about him, though. It’s about Ghita. So it’s important you know who she is. Ghita is the matriarch of the Gratianos family, and I swear her soul is made of iron. Many’s a time she sent us out in the midst of a storm, and many’s a time we lost half the fleet. But as long as my galley made it to Kuranka and back, the journey was a profitable one for her.”

  “The last time we sailed was middle of the harvest season. I’m guessing neither of you have much experience with the waves around the Kayn Protectorate?” He waited for Micol and Vasha to shake their heads. “Just as well. They’re harsh at the best of times, and during the harvest season the chop runs high enough to toss the largest galleys.

  “Now, normally Ghita was wise enough to hold onto her best ships during the harvest season. But a leak had seeped into her salt stores, wearing them away, and she was running low on supply. Rather than send her buyers into the arms of another merchant, she grabbed me and told me to take four dozen of my best. We sailed around the eastern coast of Accalia, fighting hurricane winds and swells that would have made Calamity herself run for shore.”

  He paused for effect, looking at both of them to be sure he had their full attention. “It was the hardest journey we ever made, but we arrived in Kuranka a month later. They loaded us up with salt and sent us back. The trip back was calm for the season. As we rounded Death’s Thumb – that’s what sailors call the peninsula on the northeastern coast of the Synod – I remember thinking Calamity must have been on our side.

  “Joke was on us, though. A few days later we ran into a storm that took half of my crew and shredded all but the smallest of our sails. By the time we made it into port, I’d lost two more men and a good portion of the salt we were supposed to be bringing. And what did Ghita do to reward us for braving the storm?

  “She fired me and all of my remaining men. Refused to pay us for the journey. Told her merchant friends we’d pilfered her stores and nearly ruined her.”

  “Skora!” Micol swore. “How could she do something like that?”

  Joji smiled. “Probably because we were pilfering her stores. The leak I told you about was our doing, to cover our tracks.” The humor faded from his eyes. “It was the rum, for me. When I was in port my men could hardly keep me sober. And when sailors are the ones keeping you away from the bottle, that’s when you know things are bad.”

  He paused at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. As two figures came into view, he finished his story. “After that, my crew left. Not that I blame them. I sold everything I owned trying to chase away the nightmares, and once I ran out I found myself on the street. Where they found me.”

  Micol followed the older man’s eyes to a pair of forms. He recognized the first as Visala, but the second wore a hood so deep his features were impossible to make out. He waited until all eyes were on him to lift it, tossing it back to reveal his face.

  “Death!” Micol gasped, falling to one knee. The others did the same, bowing their heads.

  “No need for all that,” Death said. “How are you faring, my wolves?”

  Vasha was the first to find his voice. “We’re alright. Ready for our next assignment.”

  A grin spread slowly on Death’s face. “Very well. As you seem to have guessed, a new assignment is precisely what brings me here. I have received news of your comrades from the Farai estate. Two were captured. One passed just after the last dawn, and one still survives.”

  “Sakaye,” Micol said.

  Death nodded at the name. “Captain Okal has blamed the Tevulun ranger company for the attack. My informants tell me he has detained their second in the same floor of the dungeons as our captured Wolf. I need you to free both of them and bring them back here. Take the second by force if you have to.”

  Vasha cleared his throat. “All due respect, sir, but how are we supposed to do that? I’m not too proud to admit I’ve spent my share of time in the Vicrum dungeons. They’re dug right into the heart of the plateau – there’s only one way in and tons of stone on every side. One cell in seven has a window large enough to pass a hand through, with each of those leading to a tunnel dozens of paces long. Not to mention, the guards are the meanest bastards I’ve ever come across. Something about the stale air… it changes them.”

  Death waited for a moment to make sure the other man was done before responding. “You say you’ve spent time in the dungeons? Then tell me, what lies in their center?”

  “The lift,” Vasha answered.

  “Exactly. Whoever holds the lift holds the dungeons. And we have a plan to take it. It’s no accident we’ve selected three of you. You will enter as one, but each of you will have a specific role to play. Visala will speak with the two of you –” he nodded to Vasha and Joji, “— to share details on the parts you are to play. Micol, come with me.”

  Micol did as Death asked, grunting as he rose to his feet. He followed the aspect to a dark corner of the basement – the other man folded his arms across his chest, fixing Micol with an appraising stare. “I hear you acquitted yourself well in the raid on the Farai estate. Your friends say you fight with the speed of an aspect, if perhaps missing some of the finesse.”

  “Th-thank you.” Micol found himself unable to meet the aspect’s eyes. All I did was kill a man and run away while the rest were trapped, he thought.

  Seeming to sense the reason for Micol’s hesitant response, Death grasped his shoulder. “Was it easier this time?”

  “Was what easier?”

  “Taking another’s life.”

  Micol shook his head.

  “I suspected not. If it helps, I can tell you the fruits of your sacrifice have saved hundreds from a crueler death by starvation. Such is the balance for all things we do. The world needs men like us; men who can bear the stains on our souls as long as they bring more benefit than harm.”

  “Do you think I’m a coward?”

  Death cocked his head, seemingly taken off guard by the question. “No, not at all. Why do you ask that?”

  “The others, they… whisper. They say I deserted them at the Farai estate just like I deserted the army.” Micol’s face flushed – he hated to admit to the weaknesses in his mind, but Death’s demeanor pulled the words out of him.

  “Did you desert them? I thought you left to get help. Help which Visala was able to give, I might add.”

  “She was, but…” Micol sighed. “If she had refused, I don’t know what I would have done. I doubt I would have returned to the estate.”

  “Nor would I have expected you to. What some might frame as cowardice seems like prudence to me.” The older man shook his head. “Besides, that didn’t happen. Help was granted, and in many ways it could be argued your actions saved your friends. If there are any who maintain otherwise, they are not worth listening to.”

  Micol nodded pensively. Doubts still plagued his mind, but Death’s words helped quiet them somewhat.

  “Now,” Death said, “About your role in the next plan. The efforts to capture the lift will require two groups. Vasha will lead one, Joji the other. You will join Vasha’s group. If all goes well, you will stay with them throughout the mission. But if something goes wrong, you will carry the only hope of escape for your friends. Jeshan will instruct you as to its use. And – this is important – you must ensure those who are with you either escape… or perish.”