Rylan took in the scene in the kitchen, keeping his face blank. The squad’s commander was leaning back in his father’s comfortable chair, one leg folded over the other, seeming entirely unconcerned about the deaths of his subordinates. Meanwhile, Artoran was on his knees, the woman behind him holding him up with a fist in his shaggy dark hair, and pressing a dagger to his throat.

  Rylan glanced at the closed shutters on the street side. ‘Arphin,’ he sent along their tether. ‘Tell Leahna what’s going on.’

  [Will do!]

  “Rylan Hawktalon, I presume?” the commander spoke, his eyes gleaming.

  “Maybe,” Rylan replied. “What’s it to you?”

  “Oh, there’s no point in pretending, son,” the man said. “Those eyes, that nose... You are clearly of Talon blood. Seems like I won’t have to take your father in for questioning after all. Now... drop your weapons. There’s no need for all this violence. All the Talons want is to have a little chat with you.”

  “Funny,” Artoran said darkly. “That’s what they told me too, half a year ago. When I could still walk.”

  “That only happened because you refused to cooperate,” the commander replied. “There’s really no point in resisting now; there’ll be nowhere to run once the city has fallen, and it will fall, trust me.”

  The woman holding the blade up to his father’s neck straightened up slightly at her commander’s words, a small smile gracing her face.

  “So,” the commander continued. “I strongly suggest you take the easy route and just drop your weapons, son.”

  Rylan cocked his head to the side. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Oh yeah, why is that?”

  Rylan held Arphin up, then released him. Rather than dropping, the Aetherium blade just hung in the air.

  The commander snorted, looking at the blade with interest. “Fine. Push it to float over here. Gently.”

  Rylan gave the spiritgear’s pommel a little tap, sending it floating over.

  “Good,” the commander said, holding out a hand and grabbing Arphin from the air, his eyes roving over the glowing runes. “Now, take off that strap of throwing knives, and drop it. Nice and easy.”

  Rylan started to do just that, when Arphin spoke up.

  [Boss, you might want to take a step to the left, right about... now!]

  Rylan leaned to the left, trying to make it seem like a part of taking off his belt.

  An orb of yellow light flashed past him, and a sudden breeze filled the kitchen, pushing the shutters of both windows out with enough force that they clattered against the stone of the building’s facade.

  On the other side stood Leahna and Yuel, with their bow and harpooncaster raised.

  The female soldier’s eyes widened, and she tried to pull Artoran up in front of her, but she wasn’t fast enough. An arrow pierced the very hand holding the dagger, causing her to lose grip and drop the weapon, while a harpoon pierced her neck.

  Nazyr jumped up, grabbed the rope still attached to the harpoon, and yanked, causing the woman to stumble forward into the table, then smash her head into its solid stone surface.

  Cursing, the commander jumped up, wielding Arphin as he turned towards Artoran. However, Rylan unleashed the Jump he’d been charging to leap over the kitchen table and tackled the man into the wall.

  The commander raised the spiritgear he was holding, but right before he could do anything with it, Arphin disappeared with a pop, reappearing in the hand Rylan had pressed up against the man’s poorly protected armpit.

  The man let out a wheeze as the skymetal blade forcibly Recalled between his ribs.

  [Hah! Think you can use me against Boss? Keep dreaming, sucker!]

  “Thanks for the little chat,” Rylan growled. “It was delightful.”

  The commander sneered, trying to reply, but Rylan could tell from Arphin’s feedback that the chatty blade had pierced the man’s lung, and he didn’t produce much more than some bloody spittle.

  Just to be safe, Rylan drew Arphin out, and used him to slit the man’s throat.

  The commander sank to his knees, gurgling blood as he reached for his throat. Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped.

  [Damn, you’re so violent today, Boss,] Arphin commented happily. [I love it!]

  Rylan blinked, his breathing slowly coming down as his anger started to fade. He looked down at the blood covering his hands and felt... well, a little shaky, but fine, to be honest.

  These men came here to accost a crippled man and help conquer a city. They knew what they were signing up for.

  Rylan had just stormed right at a group of armed men, and slaughtered them. It was the kind of thing he’d dreamt of doing as a kid—albeit not in such graphic detail. Still, in a way, he felt more like a Quinthar than he ever had before.

  This is why Quinthar get the respect they do. As long as a Quinthar has mana, and doesn’t let himself get grappled or bogged down, normal soldiers don’t stand a chance against them.

  Rylan shook himself from his thoughts and turned to help his father up.

  To his surprise, however, he found the man already standing, albeit shakily and while holding on to the table.

  Leahna burst into the kitchen. “Dad!” she cried, running over to throw her arms around the man, a bit clumsily due to the bow she was still holding.

  “I’m all right, darling,” Artoran said with a chuckle.

  Rylan stepped closer, noticing a small cut on Artoran’s neck. As he watched, it visibly lightened, already closing up.

  “It really worked; Ethereon is healing you,” he said, feeling a weight fall from his shoulders.

  “It sure did!” Artoran replied happily, wobbling unsteadily as Leahna stepped back, prompting her to quickly reach out and assist him. “I’m not back to my old self quite yet, obviously, but after only a few hours of accelerated recovery, I can feel my toes and I’m standing without crutches!”

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  “Thank the spirits,” Leahna sighed. “And your Skills? Your Status?”

  Artoran nodded. “All present and accounted for. Speaking of Skills, that was quite a shot, darling! Weren’t you a little worried about hitting your dear old dad, though?” He pouted at her.

  Leahna rolled her eyes. “I would have been, if Izzy hadn’t shown me that you’d already refilled your Mana Shell.”

  Right, he has a Mana Shell again, too!

  His father had previously confessed that his Mana Shell was at Tier 8—only two away from the cap—which, at the Sapphire-Grade, meant it had a capacity of a whopping 16 points of mana.

  Rylan frowned, his eyes falling back on the rapidly disappearing line on his father’s neck. “Wait, how did he even manage to cut you with his dagger, then?”

  “A Mana Shell is great,” Artoran replied, “but it’s not perfect. It’s decent at protecting from objects that come in suddenly at high speed, but if you push something through slowly, you’ll barely even notice it’s there. By pressing the blade up to my neck, he inadvertently bypassed it.”

  Right. That actually made a lot of sense, considering Rylan’s past experience with having a carrion lizard gnawing on his ankle. It explained why his Mana Shell wasn’t more effective at keeping the beast’s teeth at bay, and why the leather boot he was wearing on his left foot was adorned with little holes to this day.

  “Anyway, aren’t you going to introduce me to your, ehm, friends?” Artoran continued with a quirked brow.

  Rylan turned around in time to see Yuel straighten up from where he’d been crouching by the dead soldier in the hall. Shooting Rylan a brazen wink, he calmly placed a little pouch inside his tunic. “Apologies for my indecorous behaviour, milord. To the victors go the spoils, as they say.” He performed a small, immaculate bow. “Yuel Squallborn, professional mercenary, at your service.”

  “Nazyr Siltbreeze,” Nazyr grumbled, inclining his head a little.

  “Far be it from me to fault the behaviours of my saviours,” Artoran said with a gleam in his eyes. “Please, loot away.”

  “Much obliged, milord,” Yuel said, already stepping inside and heading for the still softly gurgling commander

  “I’ll keep a lookout,” Nazyr grunted, as Leahna started fussing over Artoran.

  Rylan blew out a breath, his heartbeat finally starting to calm a little. Then his brows drew together. While the commander clearly hadn’t had the situation as well in hand as he’d liked to portray, his self-assurance when he’d said the city was going to fall hadn’t seemed faked, and the reaction of his female underling when he’d said it even more so gave Rylan a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  They truly believed the city was doomed. But why?

  There was also the baffling interaction between Askir Brightwall and Karina Bloodtalon he’d witnessed earlier. It’s not just that he couldn’t attack her; he literally couldn’t raise his blade at her... Or perhaps he couldn’t ‘take up arms’?!

  Rylan’s eyes widened when he put the pieces together.

  That sounds exactly like the kind of clause the Talons would put in a Contract! Askir was genuinely surprised when she attacked him, because he thought she couldn’t. He’s signed an agreement, either with the city or the Talons directly, that has a clause that forbids him from attacking a Talon, and should forbid the Talons from attacking him in return!

  But of course, that wasn’t how it worked. Contracts weren’t Contracts at all; they were Writs of Warning. And the Talons were the party issuing the warning, not the one receiving it.

  Which means they’re not bound by it at all! They’re adding promises and clauses about themselves that they can break whenever they want, because those aren’t enforced by Ethereon!

  Rylan felt the blood drain from his face.

  Artoran had said almost every Sapphire in Cliffport had a Contract with the city... and he would bet all his savings that they all had similar clauses. None of them could fight the Talons directly!

  Cliffport was thoroughly fogged!

  “Great Spirits,” he exclaimed abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention. “The commander wasn’t lying... the city is guaranteed to fall; we have to get the fog out of here!”

  Yuel straightened up, coins clinking inside his tunic as he did. “What makes you say that? Cliffport’s forces are nothing to sneeze at, you know...”

  Rylan shook his head. “It’s too complicated to explain right now. Suffice it to say the Talons have been playing the long game with their Contracts, and now anyone who’s signed one is practically helpless before them.”

  Leahna gasped, glancing back at her father.

  Noticing her look, Artoran shook his head. “I don’t feel anything binding me; I’m positive my Contract hasn’t been reinstated by what you two have done.”

  “It shouldn’t have been, no,” Rylan agreed. “But we need to get out of here, or you’ll be signing a new one before we know it. We all will, if they don’t outright kill us...”

  “I’ll grab a bag of essentials,” Leahna said determinedly, already heading for the stairs. “Help daddy get his shoes on, and grab his crutches!”

  “Just one should be enough, really,” Artoran responded. “Oh and someone grab my gittern. I need it!”

  Rylan shot the Hawktalon family home one last, mournful glance before they turned the corner.

  We’ll come back one day... I hope.

  The plan was to return to Kher’s secret passage, and try and find a way down through the caves from there.

  Going back to the Drunken Gull didn’t seem like the best course of action, as they could easily run into more Talon forces there, and their footprints would have faded by now anyway.

  However, they only made it to the plaza with the fogturtle fountain before they ran into a big problem.

  The way forward was cut off by a column of Talon forces, which were pushing siege engines up one of the main thoroughfares, crossing beneath festive floral arches as they headed from the central harbour to the wall separating the lower from the middle ring.

  Hiding behind the fountain, Rylan cursed mentally. Fog! They breached the outer wall!

  “Now what?” Leahna hissed.

  Rylan swallowed. “Maybe we can pass underneath them through the sewers?”

  Artoran shook his head. “I’m afraid not, son. Cliffport’s sewers all run down to the outer wall; they don’t cross big radial streets like that one.”

  “The Drunken Gull’s on the other side as well,” Nazyr grunted.

  “Do you guys know of any other entrances, preferably in South Harbour?” Rylan tried.

  The two former pirates shook their heads.

  “Kher was our go-to guy,” Yuel added with a shrug. “We never dealt with any of the bigger smuggling gangs. They always want a cut.”

  “All right, so we need another way out of the city,” Leahna said firmly. “What about—I can’t believe I’m asking this—the sewers themselves? They go out of the city, right?”

  “Yeah,” Yuel drawled. “But they feed into massive stone silos full of sewage down on the cloudbed, so...”

  Leahna shuddered. “Never mind.”

  Rylan rubbed his temple, trying not to panic. He took a deep breath, feeling the fog billowing out over the fountain tingle inside of his lungs.

  He glanced up at the big stone fogturtle, noting the fog spilling out from its nostrils and by its flippers.

  His eyes widened. “The city’s fogtubes!” he exclaimed. “This fountain must be hooked up to one of them... Arphin, is there an access point nearby?”

  [Oh! There is, Boss!] Arphin replied enthusiastically, sending an impression of a stone cover in a nearby alley.

  “Ehm, you realise the fog inlets are high up on the cliff, right?” Yuel asked.

  “Exactly,” Rylan replied, his eyes gleaming. “They’re just below the docks, for easy maintenance access. The one that runs below the fountain must lead to the southern harbour, right? From what we saw outside, the assault is concentrated on the central harbour, and there wasn’t much action going on down south... We could wait for the right opportunity to climb up and sneak onto a ship, then commandeer it and get out of here!”

  Leahna worriedly glanced at Artoran. “I think it might be a bit early for Dad to be scaling cliffs, down or up.”

  “You could pull me up with a rope,” Artoran suggested, leaning low on his fishbone crutch to stay hidden behind the fountain, an excited glint in his eyes. “My arms are in pretty decent shape, holding on within the fog shouldn’t be an issue.”

  Leahna bit her lip. “I don’t know, is this really a good idea? Trying to sail out in the middle of a siege... it just seems so risky.”

  Rylan turned to her, taking both her hands in his. “That’s because it is. But you know what else is risky? Walking across the cloudbed for days, which is where our original plan would have led, because the cloudcrank is not going anywhere after all those arrows it took. And frankly, I’m tired of hiding in the fog like a little tadpole, living with the threat of the Talons over my head. Aren’t you?”

  He could practically see the gears turning in her head, before a look of determination settled over her face, and she squeezed his hands. “You’re right. I am tired of that. Very tired.”

  “Then let’s do something,” he urged. “Show them we’re done hiding. In fact, let’s take one of their ships. They look pretty sturdy. And fog, even if it does sink, we can just disappear on the cloudbed after all.”

  “Hear hear!” Artoran whispered, lifting and shaking his crutch.

  “I, for one, like the way you’re thinking,” Yuel said. “However, what about the steel grating at the fog inlet? Those are pretty sturdy too, you know...”

  A brief silence fell over the group. Then Artoran pointed at a nearby abandoned cart. “Say, would you gents be able to get one of those wheels off? Because if so, I might have an idea.”

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