Mikhail jogged through the dark, quiet alley between two long greenhouses. Klara and Matvei followed behind him. Ahead ran the lanky Pavel Adamov. The four of them each carried packs with the various equipment they may need for such a task of sneaking into Kosgrad.

  Uncle Yuri had set them down shortly after nightfall, several miles from the edge of the greenhouse fields surrounding Kosgrad. They’d been running for an hour now over the frost-covered ground. His breath warmed his face inside his half-mask, and he rubbed his forehead, always wary to keep any sweat away, lest it freeze.

  The greenhouses were home to hundreds of acres of grain, fruit trees, and plants for alchemy. An entire Guild, the Harvester Guild, existed solely to maintain the fields housed beneath glass. Protected from the frigid cold of Serovnyain nights.

  Mikhail had decided last minute to join them. Risking capture by the Alchemist Guild was better than being around the Sila. And it gave him time to think. There had to be a way to rescue Dominik. Mikhail was sure the crazy-haired Alchemist was still alive, and probably in the depths, the very mines they were busy working out how to break into. He’d need to talk to Klara about finding the man if they could.

  Pavel reached the end of one greenhouse and turned left, taking them several dozen yards before he turned right again down another row. Once again, Kosgrad loomed ahead of them, lights of the taller buildings glowing above the city walls set high on a cliff. According to Yuri, the city’s sewers exited at the base of the cliff, running in a stream to the Zmeya River, south of Kosgrad.

  Breathing laboured, Mikhail continued to follow Pavel, hoping they’d reach Kosgrad soon… before he passed out. At least the last few weeks had left him in slightly better shape than when he’d been in the Alchemist Guild.

  Finally, they reached the heavy shadows at the base of the cliff and slowed to a walk. Mikhail stared up at the hundred feet of sheer rock, then the stone walls of Kosgrad, which added another eighty feet to the cliff. They were directly below the airship dock now, a thick uzhasgart platform that extended sixty feet beyond the edge of the wall, cutting off the moon. Goosebumps raced up his spine as he considered the amount of Sila that had been killed just to make that platform.

  “Tread carefully,” Pavel whispered. “The sewer is close.”

  Mikhail had no idea how Pavel navigated the darkness, but he did. Mikhail followed the shadowy outline, trying hard not to blink for fear that Pavel would disappear completely into the night.

  The smell of faeces and urine grew with every step and a minute later he nearly walked into a suddenly still Pavel.

  Klara, however, did walk into Mikhail.

  “Hey,” Mikhail whispered. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “Shut up,” Klara whispered back, her voice muffled by her half-mask. “I can’t see a cursed thing.”

  “We’re at the sewers,” Pavel said.

  “Really?” Mikhail asked, breathing through his mouth.

  “Yes,” Pavel said. “That’s why the smell is so bad.”

  Mikhail scowled at the darkness as several chuckles sounded behind him.

  “Wait here.” Pavel’s footfalls crunched on gravel a moment before thudding against concrete.

  A whispered conversation filtered through the night and Mikhail frowned, straining to hear what they said. Who was Pavel speaking to? Metal scraped against metal and rusted hinges creaked. A match grated against concrete and a small but painful light flared.

  Squinting and trying to blink back tears as the light burned his eyes, Mikhail stared at the mouth of a tunnel before them. Pavel stood just inside on a narrow footpath that ran beside a river of muck. The light grew as Pavel lit a handheld gas lantern he’d pulled from his pack. The lantern was a metal frame with glass windows set into it. At the base, a small tank of compressed gas sat. Pavel held the lantern aloft by a thin metal handle.

  As Mikhail’s eyes adjusted, he noted a shadowy figure a few yards down the tunnel, their face hidden in beneath a hood, though they wore no coat. Their arms looked like they’d been wrapped in heavy strips of cloth.

  A guildless.

  “Get in,” Pavel whispered, ushering the crew into the tunnel.

  Mikhail and the others quickly stepped up onto the ledge and filed passed Pavel. Once clear, he pulled the grate shut, locking it from the inside. Mikhail assumed it could only be opened from inside to keep it secure. Though it surprised him that the Alchemists hadn’t posted guards at the seemingly obvious entry point to the city.

  But then, what did they have to fear? They had their own army, and the Warrior Guild fought for them. In one blow they’d reduced the Sentinels to just several thousand soldiers. Even if they could get into the city, the Guild buildings were fortresses themselves.

  “This way,” the guildless whispered with a coarse but feminine voice. She led them through the rank and cold sewers. Only the glow of Pavel’s lantern behind them lit their path and kept them from taking a muck bath.

  Mikhail lost track of the time as they trudged through the sewers. Ahead, he could swear he heard a dull roar, slowly growing. But he couldn’t be sure over the monotonous gurgle of the sludge flowing beside them.

  Eventually, they stepped from the tunnel and into a large, circular chamber. The roar increased as they crossed the threshold, and Mikhail tried not to gag. By the light of Pavel’s lantern, Mikhail saw a massive pool of muck sat in the middle of the room, with several… “waterfalls” pouring into it.

  Without missing a step, the guildless led them around the outside of the chamber until they reached the first of what Mikhail lovingly referred to as a muckfall. The guildless stopped by a series of metal rungs mounted in the wall and pointed up.

  “Thank you,” Pavel said, “I know my way from here.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The woman nodded and melted into the inky darkness.

  Pavel looped the lantern to his belt and began the climb.

  Mikhail quickly followed, keeping close to the light with the others only a few rungs behind.

  On reaching the top, Pavel hung to the wall, holding the lantern out so they could see for the climb. Once everyone was up, Pavel led them along a low tunnel they had to duck to fit in. Every twenty yards a shaft disappeared up into the stone.

  Pavel muttered something after passing each, and Mikhail realised he was counting.

  Finally, Pavel stopped beneath one. “This is it. I’ll go first, and when you get up there, whatever you do, don’t draw weapons.” With that, he handed the lantern to Mikhail, reached into the shaft and pulled himself up.

  “You next, Mikhail,” Klara said, taking the lantern from him.

  With a deep breath, Mikhail followed Pavel’s lead and climbed the shaft. His side throbbed with every stretch, and he gritted his teeth. He’d be a happy man the day his rib healed…

  The cold stone was slick against his coat. Frost covered? They must be near the street, very near. Above, metal scrapped against stone and the pale light of the moon light filtered down the shaft, brightening as Pavel pulled himself out.

  Soon, Mikhail emerged into an alley. After the sewers, the moon and the light filtering from windows high above felt like daylight.

  Then he saw half a dozen figures oozing from the shadows, all dressed like the guildless in the sewers. Mikhail’s hand strayed to the knife on his belt. Last time these muckers found him in an alley, they stole his Alchemist coat and left him with a few bruises. Bruises that had only just faded.

  “Leave it,” Pavel said, waving a hand at him.

  A gaunt guildless approached them, a long-bladed knife in his hand. “Those coats look warm,” he said, his voice muffled by the cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth.

  “Put the knife down, Yeven,” Pavel said. “These coats aren’t for you.”

  The gaunt man faltered, his brow creasing. “Pavel?”

  Klara emerged from the shaft as Yeven lunged at Pavel. She didn’t hesitate, she launched herself forward, catching Yeven by the throat and lifting him from the ground. His knife clattered to the ground as he grabbed her wrist, trying to ease the pressure on his throat.

  “Koskova, no!” Pavel said, panic in his low voice.

  Yeven gurgled as Klara lowered him.

  “I told you not to fight,” Pavel said, grabbing Klara’s arm and yanking it away from Yeven. Yeven sagged to his knees, gasping.

  Klara stepped away from Yeven, scowling. “You said not to draw weapons. I didn’t, but he was lunging at you with a knife! What was I supposed to do?”

  “Trust me,” Pavel said, helping Yeven to his feet. “You were supposed to trust me. He wasn’t attacking.”

  “Lady friend?” Yeven croaked, nodding towards Klara as he embraced Pavel.

  Pavel snorted. “Captain’s family.”

  “Pity. She’s got fire.” Yeven let go of Pavel and retrieved his knife, his eyes twinkling. “You could do with a woman like her to protect your scrawny backside.”

  “Enough,” Klara said, her voice colder than the frost covered cobblestone. “We need to see Ruslan.”

  Yeven’s knife disappeared into the strips of cloth wrapped around his waist. “Who’s Ruslan?”

  Mikhail sighed and turned his attention to the rest of the guildless hanging in the background. Sometimes Klara just needed to shut up and let others deal with problems.

  All the guildless were similarly dressed, wrapped in thick strips of cloth, scraps from blankets worn enough to be rejected by someone with the luxury to buy a new set when one hole appeared. People like him only a few weeks earlier.

  He tried to ignore that thought as he studied them. One woman, maybe an inch shorter than him, but broader in the shoulder, caught his attention. Despite the lack of regular meals, she had an air of confidence and power about her. And she was staring at him, frowning.

  Mikhail blinked and looked away, feeling his cheeks burn.

  “No,” Yeven said, “I have no idea who this Ruslan is.”

  Pavel sighed. “We don’t have time for this, Yeven.”

  Yeven clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re humourless, you know that? Come.” He turned and marched down the alley.

  Pavel looked at Mikhail, Klara and Matvei, shrugged apologetically, and strode after the guildless.

  The others fell in behind him and after a moment, Mikhail realised the heavyset guildless woman had fallen into step beside him. He did his best to ignore her—as much as was possible with her staring at him.

  Finally he gave up. “What?” he asked, locking eyes with her.

  “It is you!”

  “Me who?” Mikhail asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

  “Your coat fed us for a week before they caught Sven.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The woman’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t remember me? You generously donated your coat to us a few weeks ago.”

  “So you ‘gave’ her your coat, Mikhail?” Matvei asked.

  Mikhail glowered back at Matvei.

  “Yes, he did,” the guildless woman said. “Hardly needed any persuasion.”

  “All right, that’s enough,” Mikhail interrupted. “I’m glad my coat was such a wonderful boon to you, but did you really have to lose it? I loved that coat.”

  “Of course you did,” the guildless said. “Who wouldn’t love a life of warm beds, beautiful food, a roof? Depths, even a blanket with holes.” She lifted arms wrapped in strips of a holy blanket.

  “Fair point,” Mikhail muttered as they caught up with the others, who had stopped by a metal cover similar to the one they’d just climbed from. Yeven crouched and hauled it clear and ushered them down. Several guildless went first, followed by Pavel, Klara, then Mikhail. The guildless woman and Yeven went last.

  As Mikhail descended, he heard the cover grinding across the stone and slamming into place, cutting off the light from above. Below, however, a lantern flared with a soft, sputtering hiss.

  Mikhail dropped with a wet splat onto the narrow path running beside another sewer tunnel. He tried not to gag, the sludge drifting down the trench had overflown and coated the path in a layer of muck.

  Yeven landed lightly in the muck and pushed passed them. “This way!” he said cheerfully.

  Dozens of twists and turns later—throughout a shallow layer of muck—Yeven finally paused by a heavy door set into the wall. He rapped on it in a long, complicated rhythm.

  Silence.

  Then a bolt slid back, and the door swung open.

  Warm air washed into the tunnel with a soft yellow glow of gaslamps.

  “Welcome home!” Yeven said, waving them through.

  Mikhail followed Klara, Matvei and Pavel into the room. Pavel already had his half-mask off and his hood back.

  Mikhail’s jaw sagged as he took in the vast room filled with guildless. A room warm enough that none had their faces covered. Several gas heaters were scattered through the room, along with dozens of bedrolls.

  “Pavel?” A giant of a man rose from where he’d been crouched beside a young boy on a bedroll. He turned to a woman nearby, “get this kid food, he’s half starved.”

  “Ruslan!” Pavel said, striding into the room, arms wide. The two embraced.

  “It has been too long,” Ruslan said, thumping Pavel on the back, “far too long, brother.”