It was the end of January.

  "Already the end of January, and yet we’ve made no progress whatsoever," thought Jeremy Conenti, a regular volunteer in the Twelfth Reconnaissance Regiment in Mainor. "Those bastards are still camped out by the walls, freezing, shelling us, but they're not getting the result they want, and it seems like Cassander doesn't care, either. No one has seen them receive any help. Their foragers head into the woods twice a day and come back with heaps of game, which they immediately roast over fires and divide among thirty thousand people… I wonder how many hunters it takes to bring down enough food to feed an army that size? By the end of winter, there won’t be a single animal left in the surrounding forests. Amazing they haven’t just given up and fled to the warm southern shores. To their conquered provinces. Something’s keeping them here, something’s making them continue this war. Doubt it’s Cassander’s orders—against a horde of pirates looking to desert, he’d be powerless. Then what? Saelin? I don’t buy it."

  A pale sun hung in the sky. It was there only to help the bored sentries tell day from night, because the frost had set in, and the only real warmth came from a good fireplace, which the officers had not spared wood for. Wood, like everything else, was rationed and issued at a set time, and at that rate, the supply was supposed to last till spring. April at the latest. But everyone hoped things would be resolved before then.

  Jeremy shivered and tightened the belt on his uniform fur cloak. Up here on the walls, snow lay untouched, and sometimes they swept it away just out of boredom. Sleeping bags were also kept here so that night sentries wouldn't have to leave their posts or wake their replacements. Beyond the crenellations stretched a plain that reached the horizon, dark with people. Crude ramparts were visible here and there, hastily built to conceal cannons. At the horizon bright spots marked officers’ tents. All of it far out of reach for bows, ballistae, or catapults. For cannons, though—a perfect range. The cannonballs flew constantly, and the outside of the wall was likely chipped and cratered. No one knew for sure, because for three weeks now, no one had dared peek over to assess the situation.

  "What a silly pastime you’ve invented," Viggo said lazily, squinting and blowing smoke rings as he tapped out his pipe. "What do you even see in this game? There’s not a drop of excitement, the player has to rely entirely on his own brain."

  "Viggo," Remiz said, carefully moving a rook on the chessboard. "For a game to become interesting, you have to be good at what you’re not naturally good at. You have to think, Viggo."

  "Nonsense. As if poker or dice don’t require thinking. They’re excellent intellectual games. But chess—rubbish."

  "You don’t understand a thing," said Jeremy, hovering his fingers over the pieces as he considered his move.

  "Agreed. I don’t understand these black-and-white figurines, nor the Nocturn philosophy that sees this game as the height of art. Just outside these walls is the real war, within arm’s reach. And here you are, playing pick-up sticks. Don’t believe me? Stick your head out, you’ll understand real quick where the real fight is."

  Jeremy tactfully kept silent. He was thinking. He’d challenge anyone to a duel who questioned his prowess as a fighter, and he believed he could show what he was capable of in battle, but chess intrigued him more. The chance to command, to devise tactics and strategy.

  But Viggo was bored.

  "By the way, where’s Kairu?"

  "No idea. Probably wandering the city. Ever since he got back from the hospital, he hasn’t been himself. Maybe that nurse is to blame?"

  "Nah, he’s been hanging out with Dalid," said Zargel, blowing on his fingers and rubbing them. "Lately, they’ve become real close friends. Don’t know what they’re scheming, but it seems like for the first time in days, Kairu has a goal. Something more than just killing pirates in large quantities."

  "Which, honestly, I welcome," said Jeremy calmly. "They take their shifts properly, don’t complain, don’t get in anyone’s way. What more can you ask for?"

  ***

  The tavern was tiny. It nestled in a back alley of the Trade District, tucked between massive shops selling fur and leather. A sign above the entrance read: The Lame Dog. Far away, the town hall clock struck noon. Dalid pushed the door open confidently, and Kairu and Woody followed him inside.

  The interior was dim and dusty; little light filtered through the tiny windows, and most of the room was lit by candles. Outside, the street seemed deserted, but inside the tavern it was packed; even at midday, beer flowed like a river and serious conversations buzzed. Dalid walked confidently up to the bar. Kairu thought the barkeeper—a huge, shaggy, unshaven man—smiled at Dalid for a split second, but his expression darkened as soon as he noticed Kairu and Woody.

  "Hey there, Bear," Dalid said softly.

  "And to you, Dalid," the barkeep replied after a pause. He stared hard at Woody. The thief raised his chin defiantly in response.

  "It’s fine, they’re friends," Dalid said.

  "So, what do you need?"

  "Two bottles of red Surrell wine, vintage 1452, for me and my lovely wife."

  The barkeep gave him a long look. Then sighed and said:

  "Yes, Dalid, that was a fine vintage. I think your wife will appreciate what we’ve got in the cellar. Want a sample?"

  "We’d be most grateful," Dalid grinned.

  "In that case, this way," said Bear, stepping out from behind the counter and opening a door to the kitchen.

  They passed through another dark room, hot from the stoves, where cooks' knives clanged and the air smelled of fresh bread, spices, and onion stew. Dalid led them confidently to the far end of the kitchen, where almost no firelight reached. In the darkness, another door stood hidden. He pushed it open and led Kairu and Woody down a steep stone staircase. For a few seconds, the sounds of the kitchen faded behind them. Silence fell. Then Dalid knocked on another door, and a few seconds later, it was opened.

  "Dalid! At last! It's been forever!" a young man greeted him with an embrace.

  "Hey there!" said Dalid. "Kairu, Woody—meet..."

  "Capercaillie," the young man said quickly. "We try not to use real names down here, just in case. Maclevirr’s spies are everywhere. But still, glad to meet you, Kairu and Woody. We’re always happy to see new faces. Lately, there’ve been fewer and fewer of us."

  Kairu looked around. The basement room was far more spacious than the main tavern hall. Several small windows under the ceiling let in a bit of light. In that dimness, faces were hard to make out, but there were many people: at least fifty, standing shoulder to shoulder, talking. At the far end of the room was a raised platform, with a table on it, and above that, a banner bearing the faint outline of the letter "C".

  "Bloody hell, look at all the people!" Woody whispered. Dalid grinned, pride lit up his face.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Everyone’s waiting for you, Dalid," said Capercaillie. "If you’re ready, we can begin."

  "Let’s wait a little longer. Maybe someone else is running late."

  "Rapier is late. Which, generally speaking, is unlike him. He was supposed to bring the report from his last assignment…"

  "The theft of Bassmert’s documents," Dalid nodded. "Yeah, I don’t like this. It’s not like Rapier to disappear so suddenly. I expected him to at least contact me directly, but he never showed up."

  "You think he might have been caught?" Capercaillie asked anxiously.

  "Anything’s possible. Maybe we should have canceled the meeting. But we’ve been apart too long, and without face-to-face meetings it’s very hard to maintain morale. I decided to take the risk."

  "What are the chances that Rapier might break?"

  Dalid shook his head.

  "Any one of us could break," he said. "I’ve heard they really know how to torture in Maclevirr’s dungeons. Alright, I’m going to make the opening speech. No point in dragging this out."

  He nodded to the two of them and began pushing his way through the crowd, smiling and greeting everyone along the way. Kairu, Woody, and Capercaillie followed. The hum of conversations slowly died down, and all heads turned toward Dalid as he climbed up onto the table, standing in front of the banner.

  "Friends! Cassians!" he declared loudly. "I’m glad to welcome you here today, in this tavern that has so kindly provided us with the means to gather. Let me remind you: it is very important to keep the location of this place secret. Never mention it, neither where we meet, nor the name of our order. Bring only those people whom you would trust with your life. These are dark times, and that means we must hold on to each other even more tightly. In the name of the revolution, the cause that Professor Petros entrusted to us!"

  The hall erupted in applause. "Petros?!" Kairu thought. "So he was behind this too?"

  Dalid began calling people from the crowd, shouting out their codenames. Each one came up to the table and read their reports.

  "In the past month, another two hundred copies of the manifesto have been printed, and a thousand flyers. They were distributed at the Institute, as well as throughout the Trade, Port, and Crafts Districts."

  "We managed to bribe one of the Arsenal guards. On Thursdays, during his shift, we can have access to the weapons for an hour."

  "A source close to the Secret Chancellery reported that Maclevirr has issued a decree for the arrest and interrogation of several individuals. Among them is Professor Kammervill from the Telekinesis Department, who has always supported us, offering meeting spaces and donating money… We need to warn him, or if he’s already in prison, gather a care package for his family…"

  "It’s always nice to see new faces at the meetings," someone near Kairu said quietly. He turned around.

  In the dim light it was hard to make out the girl’s features, especially with part of her face hidden under a hood. But he could see she was a Nocturn, with gleaming brown skin and piercing black eyes. Black curls fell from beneath the hood.

  "New recruits are hard to find," she said. "Recruitment is delicate work. You can only reveal yourself to those closest to you, those you’re ready to trust with your life. That’s why new people here are rare, and each new arrival is an event. What’s your name, and what brought you here?"

  "I’m Kairu, and this is Woody," Kairu said. "And actually, we’re not part of the order. Dalid brought us, we serve in the same unit. We’re trying to find out something about the fate of a woman who was in the order six years ago…"

  The girl smiled. But she didn’t have time to respond. The basement door burst open, and Bear rushed in.

  "Secret Chancellery guards are here!" he shouted. "They’re already searching the main hall, they’ll be in the kitchen soon!"

  Chaos erupted in the basement. The crowd surged in all directions at once, but there wasn’t enough space to run, and people just bumped into each other. Someone almost knocked Kairu over; he stumbled, barely keeping his balance by grabbing Woody’s shoulder, then turned around, only to see the girl had already disappeared into the crowd. Dalid jumped up on the table and shouted:

  "Calm down! No panic! Everyone to the emergency exit, one at a time!" He pointed to a barely noticeable door in the corner, next to the banner.

  Somehow, the crowd managed to organize itself. Someone opened the door, and people began rushing through it into the darkness, where a spiral staircase led upward. Kairu was nearly swept in with the stream, but he pulled away and elbowed his way over to Dalid, who was hurriedly taking down the banner from the wall.

  "Dalid! I can help!"

  "Run! If they catch you, you won’t be able to help anyone!"

  "I’m not leaving you here!"

  "I won’t be left here," Dalid laughed. "I’m just going out last, you understand? I promised Yuffilis I’d take care of these people, and I can’t let him down…"

  "You know Yuffilis too?" Kairu gasped.

  "Of course. He—"

  "Guys, hate to interrupt, but now’s really not the time for chit-chat!" Woody shouted, panting as he ran up. Kairu turned. The crowd had nearly vanished into the dark passage behind the door, leaving only Kairu, Woody, Dalid, the Bear—and the curly-haired girl in the hood.

  "Right. Go!" Dalid nearly ordered and pushed Kairu toward the door.

  They rushed up the stairs single file in the dark, leaping steps as they went. Dalid and Bear stayed behind to lock the door from the inside. Several tense seconds stumbling forward almost blindly, hearts pounding, lungs burning—and suddenly, sunlight slashed across Kairu’s eyes. He winced and blinked rapidly, momentarily blinded. They were in the tavern’s backyard. Former meeting attendees were scattering in every direction, and when Kairu could see again, all he caught were backs disappearing among the narrow houses.

  "This way!"

  The girl tugged him by the arm and darted into a nearby alley. Kairu had just enough time to glance back, but Dalid and Bear still hadn’t appeared. He had no choice but to follow the commanding girl. Woody was sprinting alongside them. They weaved through a maze of shacks, eventually emerging into the back courtyard of a house. They slipped into the shadows, hopped a low fence, crossed a garden, and crouched behind the corner between two tall buildings. Kairu hunched down, breathing heavily.

  "We don’t have much time," the girl said quietly. "We need to split up and get out of here, the farther, the better. We don’t know if they saw our faces, but if they did, they’ll be hunting through the whole city."

  Kairu nodded, still gasping for air.

  "What’s your name?" he managed to ask, catching his breath slightly.

  The girl threw back her hood and shook out a mass of curly hair. She smiled. Her eyes were large and dreamy, drawing him in with a mysterious glow that made it impossible to look away. Kairu looked at her and realized he had seen her somewhere before.

  "My name is Joanna," she said. "I came from Boreain. I used to make a living by thieving there, but now I’m fired up with revolutionary ideas."

  "No kidding, that’s exactly my story," Woody muttered.

  "You were asking about a woman who was in the Order six years ago?" Joanna turned to Kairu. "Who is she?"

  "Her name was Amalia... She was murdered. The Fighters' Guild never found out who did it."

  "I’ll try to find something out," the girl nodded. "Where can I find you?"

  "At the barracks of the Twelfth Volunteer Regiment... or at Saint Eiris Military Hospital."

  "I’ll come by in the evening," Joanna said, smiling again, and at this moment a shout rang out, and several soldiers in black cloaks bearing the emblem of the Secret Chancellery ran around the corner and cut them off. Joanna let out a sharp cry and bolted in one direction. One of the guards ran after her, and another shouted:

  "Freeze! You are under arrest for participating in a meeting of a banned organization!" and with that, he drew his sword.

  Kairu instinctively grabbed the hilt of his sword hanging at his waist. The soldier took this as a sign of aggression and lunged first. Kairu didn’t even register how the sword ended up in his hand, blade forward, or when exactly he struck to parry the attack. He hadn’t expected the soldier to be so clumsy, practically throwing his own throat onto Kairu’s blade.

  Woody screamed hoarsely and ran off somewhere. Kairu barely managed to sheathe his sword. He turned around, dodging the falling body with blood spurting from the neck. "That’s it. I’ve crossed the line," flickered through his mind. Seeing the soldiers hesitate, he dashed in the opposite direction, slipped between buildings, darted down streets and alleys, trying to find unfamiliar paths that might lead him to the city wall. Only one thought pounded in his head: How fast would the warrant for his arrest spread across Mainor, and would his volunteer status in the Twelfth Regiment protect him?

  Three times he was nearly hit by wagons delivering munitions to the walls. Soldiers on patrol leapt aside but didn’t try to stop him, while he ran on, frantically, as if unaware his legs were burning, his lungs barely expanding, and his heart about to burst. Finally, he glanced back and realized no one was chasing him. He stopped, gasping for breath, his knees trembling.

  He had become a killer.