"Cleanse."

  Jints was discovering something fascinating. This skill, this spell of sorts, that he'd learned. It was fuzzy in the meaning. A stain? Gone. Smells? Disappeared. Impurities in liquids?

  "Cleanse."

  The oil in the pot, filled with black specks of whatever had been cooking in it, suddenly turned a smooth amber color. Jints felt a bit of a strain. It was more taxing to do this than remove surface stains off clothing. Was he forcing the spell to be more than it was meant to be?

  "Fascinating. Cle—"

  "Oi. Out of my kitchen."

  Lutor came in, flapping his hands and forcing Jints back out to the common room. Jints gave a lopsided smile and wandered away amicably. He was still light-headed from the night before, and was happy to rest in the Broken Leg. He'd just settled down in a chair when the kitchen door swung open again.

  "Did you clean the kitchen?"

  "If you wanted it clean, sir, then yes I did. If you didn't, then I can point out the buffoon that thought it was a good idea."

  Jints swayed a little on his feet. He'd really outdone himself last night. Lutor grunted.

  "If you want to keep at it, you can come back. Don't break anything though."

  The innkeeper himself was working his way through a headache. He hadn't been immune to the free drinks Zig was throwing around. Jints wobbled a bit to keep his balance.

  If only...

  Jints slowly turned a slightly shaking finger to point toward himself. Was this dangerous? Probably.

  "Cleanse."

  It was the strangest feeling. The aftereffects of alcohol vanished, immediately replaced by intense fatigue and nausea from overworking the spell. The net result was that Jints felt about the same.

  "Huh."

  Jints walked over to the bar and made himself a hot cocoa drink. The Broken Leg didn't usually stock the stuff, expensive as it was. It was only at Zig's insistence after a letter from Jane that Luter started keeping a small pot of cocoa grinds. Jints added a mark to a clay tablet nearby, making sure the drink would be added to the tab. Eventually he sat back down, steaming cup of hot cocoa in his hand. He took a sip, and felt the warmth and sweetness spread throughout his whole body. The fatigue melted away as his mana was restored.

  "Now that is a fine drink. Fine drink indeed."

  Jints was taking his second sip when the front door burst into pieces.

  Zig didn't mean to destroy the inn. He was just in a hurry. He put his hand on the door and gave it a good push. It was a pull door. Legendary strength meant that, instead of a little embarrassing pause where Zig realized what he was supposed to do, the door simply shattered against the frame, bits of wood showering down.

  "Zig?"

  "Jints! We gotta go. Hepp's here behind me. Where are the others? Gretta? Knob?"

  "I think they've gone out. Are you ok? Would you like me to cleanse you?"

  Zig frowned. Jints seemed a bit out of sorts, probably from last nights party.

  "Come on. Let's pack up our stuff and get out of here. We'll leave as soon as they return."

  Zig grabbed a table from the common room. The top was a thick, heavy board. Zig picked it up and carried it over to the open doorway, setting it down to cover the entrance.

  "This won't do much. Hey, Lutor!"

  The innkeeper came out and stared at the lack of front door.

  "Sorry buddy. I think this inn is about to be attacked. Can you get your wife and leave out the back? Actually everyone that's not the Red Daggers. And lock that door behind you."

  Lutor seemed to take it in stride. Within a few minutes all staff and guests were slipping out the back. Zig hoped they'd be ok. He moved another table to block the back door. Then he joined Jints in packing up all their belongings into travel sacks. He'd rather just leave everything behind, but this was better than sitting and waiting.

  They ended up sitting and waiting. It was painful. Zig kept alternating between checking the windows and hiding from sight. Eventually there was a tap on a window.

  "Zig?"

  It was Knob's voice. Zig sighed in relief, and pulled the table away from the front door. Knob and Gretta came in, looking uncertainly at the exploded front door, and the large heap of bags in the middle of the room.

  "Deal went bad?"

  "Sure did, Gretta."

  Gretta nodded, and walked over to the pile of bags. She picked up her heavy iron shield in one hand, and a couple of bags in another.

  "Let's go."

  No arguments. No questions. Zig loved that about Gretta. He was about to suggest they go out the back door when Knob sniffed the air.

  "Is that fire?"

  Zig could smell it too. He glanced at the magical fireplace in the center of the room, but it didn't usually smell that way. He crept through the kitchen toward the back of the inn. It got hotter, and smokier. He rounded a corner, and saw the back wall was in flames.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Ah."

  Zig ran back to the common room, and motioned for everyone to duck, to get away from the entrance, to hide from windows.

  "The inn's on fire. I'm guessing they're gonna flush us out. That entrance will be a kill zone."

  Gretta frowned, Knob looked scared. Jints looked worried.

  "I'm not sure I can shield all three of you," Gretta said. "This is gonna be difficult."

  "It is," Zig agreed. "If we get separated, let's meet at Red Mine. I'll lay down some cover. Don't try to fight them unless you have to. There are just too many."

  They left their bags in the common room. Zig looked at his goop jars and shook his head sadly. They needed to run. They couldn't take any bags. Zig took out the second rock dust bomb that Knob had made for him.

  "Knob," Zig whispered, "good job on the smoke bombs. They work perfectly."

  He tossed the bag lightly into the air, right where the inn's entrance was. He whipped his club forward and smashed the bag. Fine powder flew out into the street, instantly covering the place in a cloud of dust. The coughing and hacking confirmed that people were indeed waiting outside.

  "Let's go."

  Jints, Gretta, Knob, Zig, and Hepp all ran out into the cloud. Zig waited for them to lose sight of each other, before turning and sprinting in another direction.

  "It's me!" Zig shouted. "I'm the Alchemist! I'm gonna turn you into—Argh!"

  A knife was thrown into his shoulder. Zig ripped it out and kept running. It worked. None of the sailors bothered with the rest of the Red Daggers, leaving them to run free. Zig sprinted down the streets of Liston for the second time that night. His endurance let him go at a full sprint for as long as he wanted.

  "Good luck everyone." He whispered under his breath.

  Gutters felt all eyes were on him, for the second time that night.

  "Ho, frog. Nice sword you got on. Does it have a blade, or is it just a fancy hilt?"

  A few people sniggered at that. Gutters tried to imagine how you'd attach just a hilt to your back. It wouldn't work at all.

  "Ever tried dueling before?" Another boy called out.

  "I've fought trees, never against a real person," Gutters confessed. More laughter.

  "Trees? A frog that fights trees. That's precious." One boy wiped away an imaginary tear.

  "Well let's get you started then. Selwyn's Orders. Tell me, frog, do you fight for pride? Or progress?"

  Gutters looked at Jane. He didn't know what they were talking about. Jane looked defeated.

  "Pride, Gutters," she muttered.

  "Uh, pride, I guess." More laughter at that. Then the boys all started debating over who got to fight the frog. The most recent victor, a man called Toby, seemed to be the leader of the pack.

  "Let's give him an easy opponent first," Toby said. "Lowen, go ahead."

  Lowen looked simultaneously pleased to be picked, and insulted that he was the bottom of the barrel. He drew his blade, a short sword rather than a proper duelling blade, and waited for Gutters to do the same. He did so hesitantly. The two stood in the circle, surrounded by people making bets with each other.

  "I'm not sure how this goes. Do I—"

  Lowen choose that moment to begin. He lunged, trying to skewer Gutters on his blade. Gutters hit the blade aside and smacked Lowen on the forehead with the flat of his blade. That was how that boy out in the courtyard had done it, so Gutters assumed that was the way to fight without actually killing each other. The watching crowd grew quiet when they saw how quickly Gutters had taken the fight.

  Gutters looked back at Jane.

  "Do I bow, or—"

  Jane's eyes widened, and Gutters dropped and rolled to the side. Sure enough, Lowen had tried to stab Gutters in the back. Gutters rolled back up, and this time deflected two swings, before sweeping his blade low and cutting Lowen across the calf. The boy screamed, dropping and clutching his leg. The crowd winced and a couple of boys helped picked Lowen up and carry him off to find a healer.

  Gutters wondered if he'd done the wrong thing. Nobody had told him the rules, and if a pat on the head didn't stop the boy, what else could Gutters do? He had a weird feeling that Lowen wasn't going for a pat, either.

  "You dish out some serious wounds for a man who says 'pride'." Tobey said. There was a dark frown on his face. "We're not too happy when a frog comes in, pretending to be a noble. What are we supposed to do when he starts drawing blood?"

  "Um. Can you explain the pride thing?"

  "If you fight for pride", someone in the crowd said, "you just see who's the better fighter. Nothing serious. You stop when the person's pride is wounded. When you fight for progress, that's when you try to kill each other. For class or skills. King Selwyn came up with the idea, so it's called Selwyn's Orders."

  Finally, someone helpful.

  "Thank you," Gutters said, bowing his head.

  "Shut up, frog." Toby snapped. "Larry, you're up."

  Another boy jumped into the ring, drawing his sword.

  "So, frog, Selwyn's Orders. Pride or Progress?"

  "Pride," Gutters said more confidently. He was starting to understand the situation. This was a nobles dance party. Clearly not the place for shedding blood. They were just having a bit of fun. Larry advanced toward him with a cruel smile.

  "Wrong answer."

  Teeth was woozy. Those invisible men with their poisoned needles. They had a thousand of them. Teeth swore that after this night, she'd stay sober. No more eating alchemists or their poisons. Not for a year at least.

  The horse half-walked, half-ran past a pile of crates. She slowed down a bit, and deliberately looked away, toward the other side of the street.

  Pause. Wait. Now.

  Teeth lunged at the pile of crates, plowing straight through them and chomping down on the space in the middle. She couldn't even see anyone there. The scream and the spray of blood let her know that she'd finally got a second person.

  Two more to go.

  They were so difficult to see. The only reason Teeth knew they were still there was the needles that kept filling up her flank. Each one putting another tiny drop of poison into her system. She sprinted in a short burst, moving to a new street. Each time she moved, the men had to find new places to hide. It bought her time. She had to keep moving.

  "They got Jean." Hemlock swore. "Half our bloody squad, lost to a damn horse."

  Zithers put a finger to his lips. Ever the professional. Hemlock chased the horse to a new street. The beast's eyes were wild, rolling a little as she looked around. Definitely feeling the poison. How much more did they need? Hemlock checked his pouch. This was supposed to last him a month. He had less than a quarter left. He grabbed four more needles, two for each hand, and closed the pouch. He took a breath, and looked not at the light but the shadows.

  Hemlock stepped into the shadow of a recessed doorway. He waited for the horse to look in the wrong direction, threw two of his needles, and stepped immediately into the shadow of some crates, almost exactly where the monster was looking a second ago. There was a pained whinny, and Hemlock saw the horse's head whip toward the doorway he was in moments before.

  This damn horse was costing them way too much.

  At least Hemlock and Zithers could finish the thing off. Zithers was unkillable, Hemlock himself could never lay a hand on the man. They just needed to maintain their training, play the long game. The horse must be half insane from the amount of poison in her system by now. Hemlock waited for Zithers' needles to strike, then threw the needles in his other hand. He stepped into darkness, into shadow.

  Teeth stumbled. She wasn't feeling well at all.

  How shameful, she thought slowly, to be killed by mice. Scurrying in the shadows. I'm not a mouse. I'm...

  I'm a horse.

  Teeth lurched around a corner, trying to find a street that would help her. Not this one. She charged forward, then stopped abruptly, then charged forward again. The strange movement helped. Several times she saw needles fly wide, hitting walls and doors. Another street, how about... There.

  There were only two hiding spots a person could be in, on this street. A cart, and some barrels. Teeth stumbled toward to the barrels. Sure enough, two needles flicked out from the cart, digging into Teeth's skin. She paused, as if to turn around, then lunged with all her strength toward the barrels still. Everything was getting blurry, so Teeth didn't bother trying to see them. She just bit down on the shadows, the only place where—

  There was a crunch and a spray of blood. Finally. Only one man left. Teeth plucked out the needles she could find, then stumbled off. She had to keep moving. She did pause when she sensed quite a lovely message resounding in her bones.

  New skill acquired! Human legacy - Shadow Step (Extreme)