First, of course, I needed to seek out the alchemist. After that, we acquired some...volunteers. Their deaths are regrettable, but necessary.

  Veera smoked a rolled leaf of terva, fuming silently at that little shit. She was late, and the eighth bell had rung almost twenty minutes ago.

  Ryn slouched against the wall surrounding the castle courtyard, fiddling with his repeating crossbow. Veera paced back and forth, almost like a caged animal, while Veldar stood in front of the gates, arms crossed and face blank.

  As another minute dragged by, Sel drifted from the smog bleeding from the Warrens. She infuriatingly said nothing to them as she nodded her hooded head at them. Veldar frowned, his hard face a mask of disapproval.

  With an incredibly emotionless voice, Veldar said, “Split up and head to the Ash Lanes. We’re focusing on the last three blocks in that district. I’ll take the north, Ryn takes west, Veera east, and Seluna south. Do as you see fit—observe from rooftops while occasionally moving positions, patrol while remaining unseen, find individuals worthy of interrogation, and tail any Darkin cultist you find. So long as the cultists aren’t alerted, we’ll have an advantage.”

  With that, he turned and strode off into the night. Sel shared a glance with Ryn as they set off together, leaving Veera to glare after them. She walked towards Imperial Boulevard after a moment, flicking away the butt of her terva.

  While the mission was important, judging by Veldar’s attitude, she was in no rush. The understated elegance of the outskirts of the Suncrest Quarter gave way to the sprawl of the Commerce Quarter, bringing the scents of industry closer—but also the scents of spices, fragrant street foods, and too many kinds of incense.

  The Imperial Boulevard and most streets she passed were packed with noisy life. Every kind of shop or business imaginable stretched out for blocks on either side of the entire length of the boulevard, stalls and street vendors set up on the on the outskirts and in alleys. Some commoners trudged through the crowds, but most of the river of people consisted of merchants, house servants or minor nobles, off duty soldiers and guards, officials from the Church and traders from all over the world.

  Veera spotted the garish red and gold wraps of Kythian spice traders, snobby-looking Kretorian lords clad in stiff, brightly colored suits of emerald, sea-green, or blue—surrounded by rough-looking sailors armed with bulky pistols. She saw gem and silk traders from the far eastern Xia Shen, clad in elegant dark robes, their unarmored guards bearing curved longswords. Even denizens from icy Norn had made the journey—specifically Hanivarans, neighbors and enemies of Sorithia, the continent’s major power. They came bearing precious metals and exquisite arms and armor, all wearing expertly crafted full plate, their steel adorned with floral patterns, gold, and gems.

  People from all over Vyreon, come to bask in the wealth and glory of Vyranthas, the capital of the eastern province of the Aurevian Empire. They came to unload goods for decent silver, and head back to their lands laden with cloth, alchemical mixtures, rare and special metals or specially made steel and more.

  They were all fools. Then again, so was she.

  Veera made it to the entrance of the closest avenue leading to the walled in Warrens, but paused, eyeing a nearby food stall. She could go for some food and ale.

  She approached the man at the makeshift grill behind the wooden stall, slapping some silver on the counter to grab his attention. She glanced at his poorly written menu, enjoying the smell of the spiced beef and vegetables the man cooked.

  “Just give me a sandwich and tankard of ale,” she drawled, leaning her left arm against the counter.

  In less than a minute, he pushed a paper wrapped sandwich and her drink toward her. With no sense of decorum, Veera horked it down in a few moments, to the man’s amazement. It was spicy, but the meat and vegetables had been covered in a sweet, delicious sauce. She washed it down with bitter, crappy ale, and left the tankard there before heading for the Warrens.

  The crowds didn’t lighten as shops became warehouses, the high walls of the Warrens rising up through the smog. She ignored the host of garrison guards harassing commoners trying to get home, and entered the Warrens.

  Warehouses stretched on for a few blocks until they stopped, replaced by the Bellows, the massive crescent of industry that poisoned the city. She hurried through here, annoyed at the particularly acrid smog tonight. Alchemical refineries, forges, and countless other forms of progress and industry belched black smoke and sickly sweet fumes into the night, accompanied by a mess of banging, hissing, bubbling and other odd sounds.

  It wasn’t long before she took some side streets, weaving toward the Ash Lanes, deeper into the quarter. Tenements rose up like drunken wraiths through the smog, leaning and crumbling haphazardly. She considered heading straight to the depths of the Ash Lanes, the stretch of half rebuilt blocks of tenements, but thought better of it.

  Ten minutes of pushing through the crowds later, she reached a rundown tavern, set inside the burnt shell of a tenement just inside the Ash Lanes. Rowdy laughter and drunken singing came from within—the Tipsy Husk was a crap tavern, with ale that was always stale, but she was here for an acquaintance.

  “Desil, you void-touched bastard!” Veera called out, seeing the man smoking a pipe behind the bar counter. The broad man laughed and waved her over.

  She approached, taking a seat at a barrel near the counter. Desil was as scummy as they came, but he owed her. The dark skinned, heavyset man had distant Kretorian heritage, judging from his narrow eyes and wide features. His shaved scalp gleamed in the dim light, his craggy face rather unpleasant to look at.

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  “What are ya drinking, Veera?” Desil rumbled, a grin half hidden behind his thick black beard. He held out a long, still smoldering wooden pipe.

  “I’ll take a double of starshine, and some information.” She placed two silver coins on the counter, giving him a feral, toothy smile as she took the pipe.

  “Ah come on, I can’t be giving intel to guild assassins again,” he muttered, moving to pour liquor into a small cup.

  Veera pulled from the pipe before responding. The smoke was sweet, smooth and much stronger than terva, but after a moment, she raggedly coughed out some smoke. Desil handed her the cup as he took back his pipe.

  “Fireleaf is good, no? The coughing means it’s working,” he chuckled, smoking from the pipe.

  “I need to know about any Darkin cultist presence in the last few blocks of the Lanes, Desil.”

  He scowled and said, “Ya still think I owe you for that, do ya?”

  Veera pointed a finger at him and growled, “You have the best spy network in these parts, and yes, you still owe me for saving you from a bloody end by the Scorched.”

  “But it was so long ago—”

  “It was two months ago!”

  Desil glowered at her. She glared right back. When he sighed and leaned closer, she shot back the starshine—the clear liquor was almost as bad as Vornish swill.

  “Fine, but I didn’t tell you anything, understand? Search for Brother Jorrik, Harlan and Liss the Fang. They’re probably exposed to that cult far more than me,” Desil muttered, dark eyes scanning the room.

  Veera just smiled, thumped him on the arm, and left. All three of the people were Ash Lane dwellers, and she knew just where to find them.

  Not twenty minutes later Veera skulked in a murky alley, growing more amused with each second. Liss the Fang—notorious thief and a scamp of a teenager—scurried down an unnamed side street, garrison guards a few dozen paces behind. The girl almost tripped and dropped the bag she clutched, too busy looking back instead of where she was stepping.

  When she neared the alley, Veera shot out, grabbed her with both arms, and pulled her deep into the alley. She clamped her left hand over the youth’s mouth before she could shout, and waited.

  It didn’t take long for the guards to jog by, their armor as noisy as their voices. They didn’t catch sight of the pair in the alley, and they moved on quickly. Liss bit her hand, earning her a slap to the head.

  Veera spun her around and picked her up by the back of her cloak. Once their eyes were level, she stopped squirming.

  “Why, hi there Veera. Weird seeing you here,” Liss said with a sheepish grin. The pale, skinny youth was clearly scared.

  “Stop your shaking, Liss. It’s not like you tried to steal my coin pouch this time,” Veera sneered. “Desil said you might know something about the Darkin.”

  “Well…‘know’ is a strong term. I don’t know about them, but I did run across them a few weeks ago.”

  “And?” Veera shook her a bit, rolling her eyes.

  “Well, they’ve been snatching up commoners in the district—though just as many are joining them willingly. I barely escaped from a few of those robed bastards one night, though my friend wasn’t as lucky,” Liss said, brown eyes distant and fearful.

  “I’m gonna assume you didn’t see where they’re taking people. Thanks kid.” Veera set her on the ground and strode off.

  “Make them pay, when you do find them!” Liss called after her.

  She wove through several alleys and winding side streets before spotting Harlan outside of a collapsing tenement that hadn’t even been finished yet. He had a few thugs posted around the nearly empty street, but they didn’t stop her as she approached the grizzled man.

  Before anyone spoke, the retired garrison guard turned smuggler lit two rolled leafs of terva, handing one to Veera. She took it with a nod of gratitude, puffing on it as she joined him on a nearby crate. This leaf was higher quality stuff than what she usually managed to buy.

  “What brings you to this crappy district, Veera?” Harlan asked, voice hoarse and low. The tan man had an average soldier’s build, though he’d traded in his armor for a tunic too fine for the setting. His black hair was cut short, and a scar ran across his face and left eye, the pale line disrupted by the black eye patch he wore.

  “Tell me you have something on the Darkin. I’m hunting them tonight.”

  “Ah, shit man. Don’t go asking me about those cultists,” he said with a laugh, smoke leaking from his broad nose.

  “Come on Harlan, I’m sure it’d benefit you. You’re saying that the cult who’s been recruiting and kidnapping, killing people and other weird shit around the Ash Lanes hasn’t affected your operation at all?” Veera pressed, savoring the rich smoke as she eyed him.

  He sighed through his nose and said, “Fine, you arse. They’ve messed with some of my men here and there, but mostly they took over or collapsed some of our tunnels through the district.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Sure, don’t know if it’ll help though. A few months back, we kept feeling tremors in one of our furthest tunnels, one that’s under Feis street,” he said with a shrug.

  She rose to leave, but turned and said, “Thanks, that helped actually. And I’ll be back to buy some of that terva.”

  Veera drifted down the street, considering what he’d said. Feis street was on the very last block of the Ash Lanes. Good chance that the Darkin base was around there, tunneling into the ground beneath some tenement.

  Dread blossomed within her as she neared her final contact. Why’d it have to be the unsettling, self proclaimed preacher. She’d only met him once before, but that’d been more than enough for her.

  She braced herself, then entered the shabby soup kitchen. She ignored the long tables of desperate, hungry commoners and headed to the pot laden table at the back of the room. The ‘preacher’ bustled about, cleaning up.

  Brother Jorrik paused, an eerie grin spreading across his almost skeletal face as he said, “Sister…Veera was it? Welcome! Have you come to join our nightly prayers to Aureon?”

  Veera scowled at him, puffing out a stream of smoke at his face. Most people in her line of work—especially those like her—tended to know religion for what it was. A tool or a crutch. This man, who had no ties to the Church of Ascendant Light, was no different from the rest.

  “You know I didn’t. Tell me what you can about the Darkin cult in the Lanes…or I can think of a few people who’d be interested to know of your little sect here, and how you use it as cover for your drug dealings.” Veera leaned close to the scrawny, white robed man, studying his pale brown eyes.

  “No need for that, sister,” he said, grimacing and holding up his hands. “No one needs to hear of that. The Darkin…those blasphemers. They’ve enticed some of my flock with promises of power and the love of some pale shadow of a god. I’ve heard of some odd things happening near the Shattered Circle—you may want to look into that area.”

  “The Shattered Circle?” Veera asked, ignoring his aggravated gestures and furious expression.

  “A section of the last stretch of the Ash Lanes where a dozen or so tenements recently collapsed. There’s a few untouched buildings at the center, but the area is mostly walled in now.”

  Veera nodded, leaving the man without a word, mind distracted. If she were a secretive cult, that area would be where she’d settle. It was time to do a bit of observation before she sought out the rest of the group.