Risens was at home in the shadows of Windwake’s alleys. He knew the twists and turns well enough to recognize the new piles of refuse and crates that had been piled in their dank, concealed corners.

  He’d given deeper thought to Mother Raven’s words and realized he’d made more than one pair of new friends of late.

  With his attention split between the sky above and the obstacles in his way, he moved through Broad toward the Springs. The solution to a pair of his tasks lay in the alleys of the disparate quarter.

  The birds flew independently of each other, yet it was clear they worked in tandem. One circled high overhead, disappearing behind the crests of the buildings. The second stayed low, zipping ahead of him and following the winding alleys. At each intersection, it would perch on a sill or clothesline, waiting for his approach. A few minutes into his trek, it found reprieve on a pole extending from the wall—likely intended for hanging drawstring bags or some similar device.

  The raven’s sharp warning slowed his advance.

  Despite his success at using the Voice of the Raven to beckon them to his side, he had yet to develop a means to communicate with the birds directly. He didn’t know the intricate nuances of their language, but the warning in the shrill tone was clear.

  Something he hadn’t noticed upon his first meeting with the ravens was the slight glow that surrounded them. He could only describe it as a magical aura, though he’d never known tell of a magical bird. Then again, how else could he explain their willingness to heed his call?

  Risens ducked behind a mound of refuse, ignoring the stench of rot as he surveyed the majestic bird and listened to the sounds of the city around him. The distinct shuffling and grating, as if someone dragged something heavy and wooden across the slick stones of the alley, echoed through the cramped confines.

  The raven’s focus was intent, tracking the source of the sounds from the corridor. After a short watch, the noises stopped, and it called again. This time, there was no urgency in its report. As it flapped ahead, he noted the change in the aura that surrounded its sleek figure. What had started as a dull green had now shifted to a muted yellow. While he could clearly see the changing colors, he was certain that the glow did not radiate onto the walls near it, or even onto the wood on which it had perched.

  Risens peered into the gloom of the alley ahead before entering. Blocking much of the path, nearly ten meters ahead, a heavy crate had been deposited in the rear of the adjacent building. That the ravens could be summoned to fight at his side had already been made clear. They could be used as his eyes in the sky, guarding over his movements from above. He was curious to understand what else they could do.

  Under the careful watch of the birds, he snaked through the city again, this time, without stopping. The distance from the Raven’s Court to the Springs was not far, and he reached his first destination quickly and unnoticed. Spread throughout each of the various sections of the city were vendors where one of his ilk could restock their gear, or in his case, acquire new clothing without questions or coin.

  The shops and their keepers were loyal to the crown, yet all operated independently. As such, even among their number, a few were far more discreet than others. It was to one of these he had charted his course.

  Throughout his time of service to the King—which, truthfully, spanned the entirety of his life—Risens had occasionally used the shops scattered around the city. This one, however, he had not had need to visit in years. The front was weathered and nondescript. Its windows, frosted with age and neglect, gave view to a paltry supply of simple blades and other bits and bobs. He knew from experience that the steel contained within the secreted stock, accessible from the rear of the building, was far superior to the serviceable gear up front. The same held for the gear as well.

  Risens looked up at the ravens that had guided his path—one perched atop the protruding frame just above the door, the other circling low over the rooftops. The aura surrounding the furthest was challenging to see at such a distance, yet the other’s was clear. It had transitioned from green when he first summoned the creatures to an amber-yellow. But now, itwas a faded red, and it seemed to pulse in a steady rhythm.

  Then, in an instant, they disappeared.

  Thankfully, he had safely reached his destination, but now he had something new to consider. Just like his mask and Talons, these twin birds could only remain with him for a determined period of time.

  As with his other newly acquired skills and items, each would also have an expected period of rest before he could call on their services once more. That more birds could be added to the flock could be an invaluable addition. He took solace in believing that since they had beckoned his earlier call, they were more than likely to do so again.

  “Thank you for your service,” he whispered to their shadows. “You are released with my thanks.”

  With the ravens gone, Risens turned his attention to the doorway hidden in the darkness of the alley. He was only a few blocks from the concealed entrance to Tawny’s discreet clinic, though they were vastly different. The healer’s door was marked subtly by the cross that denoted her profession, while the door to the shop was all but invisible except for those who knew where to look. The protruding ledge above marked its location. To any but the trained eyes, it appeared like just another meaningless feature in the rundown, cobbled-together structures that bordered the shadowed back alley.

  The section of the building before him was constructed of innocuous-looking weathered stone. Its exterior was slick with grime and growth, but he knew the rock underneath hid a secret. The surface was mageEnhanced, guarding the contents concealed within. Pressing his hand against the single round stone set among the naturally angular others, he felt the tingle of the mageLock as it disengaged. He stepped back, his hand falling cautiously to his blade as the hollow click of the heavy lock withdrawing sounded from within.

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  A narrow section of the wall under the sill swung inward with a muted groan. The disguise was impressive. Even knowing a doorway was shrouded among the facade, the seams were nearly invisible amongst the dirt and grime.

  Risen stepped quickly into the small entryway, re-latching the door behind him. The interior chamber was narrow and intentionally unadorned, leaving no nooks in which any could hide. A few meters ahead, a solid steel door blocked the passage. Knocking three sharp raps on the door, he waited patiently for a response. The vendors who ran these discrete locations would never ask questions, yet he banished the Shadows Shroud out of an abundance of caution. Now that the King had seen him wearing the mask, he would need to be extra vigilant. Rumors of an anonymous assassin wearing a metal mask bearing the likeness of a raven were sure to reach his ear.

  He was no longer sure it mattered, yet maintaining precaution was never time or effort wasted.

  As it was, he was thankful he still wore the fabric neck covering that had protected his face from the chill of the mountains’ icy heights. Pulling the slightly torn fabric up over his nose, he watched the door as a thin strip at eye height slid to the side, exposing a pair of dark eyes behind it.

  “I’m in need of clothing fit for a king,” Risens said, reciting the necessary code.

  “Only the finest in Halthome here,” came the prepared reply before the small opening slid shut.

  He heard the jingling of a keyring and the metal panel opened to reveal the shop within, much of its view blocked by the expansive man looming in the doorway.

  He was easily a head and a half shorter than Risens but nearly twice as wide. Dwarves had long since vanished from the realms, yet if there was a man more closely fitting their storied description, he’d never seen one.

  “If only clothing could talk. Must’ve been epic, no?” Under his deep, gruff voice, a longing was undeniable. A yearning sense of desire for adventure, as if he’d been confined to these walls for the entirety of his life, forced to watch the world travel by without him.

  The dramatic, heavy limp—like one leg was far shorter than the other—as he turned and hobbled from the doorway, hinted at the true cause of his lack of adventure.

  “That’s a word for it,” Risens responded, knowing that the man would have no means of truly understanding his words.

  The man led Risens into a modest room. It was sparse in terms of embellishments, but no space was wasted on the walls. Black and dark-colored clothing, capes, tunics, belts, and pants covered two of the walls, split only by a narrow corridorleading to the changing rooms beyond. Only a few scattered views of the dark wood behind peeked through the darkness, like muted stars in the night sky.

  With the exception of a second heavy, iron door, the opposite walls were lined with an impressive collection of weapons for the tiny, seemingly rundown shop. Though clearly not as well-stocked as the king’s armory, the quality and quantity of the blades were obvious.

  “Assume you don’t need any suggestions,” the man grumbled. “Take what you need.”

  He stepped back, leaning heavily against the reinforced door, folding thick, hairy arms across a barrel chest that deflatedwith a labored sigh.

  Risens nodded as he turned to the wall of clothing. The designs of the garments were all fairly similar, though he wasn’t overly picky. The eyes of the keeper following him as he made his selections sent a shiver of warning through him. He wasn’t afraid of the man himself, though the attention was uncomfortable. He only took a single lap around the room’s perimeter to collect a new cloak, pants, shirt, another wrap to cover his face and neck, and a small supply of lock picks.

  “Good cloaks, those are,” the man noted. “The new design is lighter, and the fabric doesn’t make as much noise when it rubs. The hidden, interior breast pockets are watertight, sealing the contents inside. Change in any of the rooms you’d like. The fire’s still burning in the hearth; throw your scraps in there.”

  “My thanks.” Risens bowed his head.

  The shopkeeper acknowledged him with a grunt, though he remained where he stood as Risens moved down the narrow hall to the designated changing rooms. Thankfully, both doors were open, spilling an orange glow and a noticeable wave of warmth from within. Confident no one lurked inside either, he slipped into the one on the right side of the hall. Only then did the stocky merchant turn to exit the room.

  There was something peculiar about him, though Risens couldn’t place it. In some regard, that was to be expected. The owners of the shops, scattered throughout the city, weren’t chosen for their aptitude for the courts, but their discretion.

  He resolved to change as quickly as possible. He’d already determined the room was empty, but a rapid visual survey of the room proved the tiny space held no murderous traps. With the door closed behind him, he began to undress.

  As he unwrapped his face, his eye leveled on a rectangle beveled into the wood of the back wall. The curious design reminded him of the retractable viewing port on the heavy entrance door, though this one had no means of operating.

  Risens had no desire to prolong his stay here. He had been set on an unexpected quest, one that he was surprisingly anxious to complete. If only he’d retained his supplies in the avalanche, he’d have only needed to stop to collect a new cloak.

  It wasn’t until he’d stripped himself of his current clothing that he realized just how mangled it was. He could have likely just tugged on one of the numerous scraps hanging from the cape to unravel the whole garment. The pants and the tuning were little better.

  Risens was thankful for his athletic frame and flexibility, as the room he’d been provided was barely wide enough for him to extend one arm fully. He grinned at the thought of the shopkeeper attempting to use the space. He doubted the man would even fit, let alone be able to bend over.

  As promised, a small fire in the tiny hearth heated the space to nearly sweltering while bathing the room in a wavering orange glow. The alchemical flame needed no fuel to continue silently burning away. A small stool and peg for a hanger were the only accouterments, and they became quickly laden with his belts, blades, and Raven’s Guide.

  Dropping his shirt into the hungry flame, he took a moment to appraise the Brands that scarred the skin of his torso—four distinct, yet seemingly random designs. The number itself was inconceivable. The powers behind them, even more so. With days left before his required return to the king, he hoped to have time to explore more of the doors within the Roost, perhaps adding more to his chest.

  Saving the thoughts of the possibilities for another time, he donned the new clothing, stowing his compact tome in his breast pocket while strapping the rest of his blades to his body. He kicked the rest of his old clothing into the small hearth. With a quiet crackling, the fabric took to flame, vanishing into ash.

  Risens turned to exit the door when the familiar orange glow that lit the room shifted to a deep blue. He whipped his head back around as the hissing sound of rushing air filled the cramped room. A billowing cloud of dark blue smoke puffed out from the hearth.

  He swore before clamping his mouth shut, and returned the Shadows Shroud to his face as the room filled with smoke.