Clouds covered the night sky like a blanket, shielding the earth below from the pale light of the stars.

  Under the cover of those same clouds, shadows engulfed the alley, but it did not hinder Oak’s sight. His hellish gifts allowed him to pierce the veil of darkness and see the world in hues of black, gray, and white.

  How strange a thing it is to surpass your limitations. The blood that flows will be black like ink.

  Oak let the wraith of the Librarian loose with simple instructions. Seek and prowl. Search and destroy. The Kashari had a spook. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  Ur-Namma and Sadi shuffled forward by his side. The elf leaned against Sadia’s shoulder, pretending to need the girl's support to stay on his feet. They made a good show of it, stumbling along with the awkward gait of a drunk and his fed up helper.

  “Remember,” Oak whispered to Sadia. The elf did not require instructions. “Keep the ruse going until I strike.”

  Sadia nodded. The motion was jerky and nervous. Her hands shook.

  He wanted to offer a calming word, but this was not the place or the time for pep talks. Oak realized he had never even asked the girl if she had been in a fight before or whether she had ever killed a man. Now, it was too late to ask.

  No matter. The blood stains and baptizes in equal measure. Soon, such questions will be moot.

  They walked past an intersection of narrow alleyways and headed further into the labyrinth of warehouses, traders, and smokehouses surrounding the docks of Kesh. Occasional flashes of light reached them from oil lamps hanging over larger streets, but such a fleeting glow only made the shadows deeper and hungrier.

  Up ahead, three men walked into the alley, their silhouettes stark against the warm glow of burning oil. They carried clubs. Oak stumbled against the wall to hide his right arm and palmed the handle of his hunting knife to make sure it was within easy reach. He glanced back the way they had come. The fishermen who had followed them from the tavern turned into the same alley, completing the encirclement.

  Somewhere along the way, they had acquired batons of their own.

  “Three ahead, three behind,” Oak whispered. “I will deal with those in front.”

  Sadia fingered her enchanted bracelet and swallowed. Ur-Namma leaned further into the girl’s shoulder and placed a hand inside his robes.

  Not long now. The anticipation was killing Oak. He wanted to charge, but he held himself back, clutching the frayed reins of his self-restraint with blood-stained fingers. Not long now.

  Sixty feet. Forty. Twenty.

  “Hello there!” Oak slurred his words like a man on the brink of passing out of inebriation. “A fine evening, no?”

  “Depends on the person. A fine evening for us, yes. For you? Not so much,” said a young man holding a nasty looking wooden club on his shoulder. He had a well-groomed mustache, and he was wearing a dark-colored scarf.

  Oak figured he was the leader, since the other two flanked him like a pair of loyal dogs.

  “My word, Yan. I know we were told they would be drunk, but this tall mongrel can barely stay on his feet,” loyal dog number one said, shaking his head. “A shame.”

  In his mind's eye, a noose replaced Yan’s scarf. Oak imagined the man hanging from the branch of a tall tree, swinging in the wet autumn wind. Clammy and bloated corpse-flesh spotted with drizzle.

  “Quite so, Afrim, quite so.” Yan slapped the palm of his hand with his club. The sharp whack echoed in the alley. “You folks should have kept your noses out of other people’s business.”

  “Business? You are a funny fellow!” Oak laughed and stumbled forward, hugging the wall on his right. “I don’t have a share in any business!”

  Just a little closer. He clenched his left hand into a fist.

  Oak pushed off the wall and launched himself at Yan. He was a mink bouncing, a boulder rolling downhill. Knuckles crunched against soft flesh and brittle bone. The man buckled like a corpse and fell against the fellow on his left, sending him stumbling backwards.

  A wave of frigid cold bloomed in the Waking Dream right on top of them, sending a shiver down Oak’s spine. The Librarian had found its prey and scattered the spook's ruined mind amidst the waters of the Unreal Sea. Sinking memories brushed his wards, disintegrating on impact like snowflakes melting on bare skin.

  The handle of the hunting knife felt warm and solid in Oak’s grip. He pulled the blade from its sheath and continued his charge, right towards Afrim, who had been standing by Yan’s right shoulder. The bag of meat and bone screamed, eyes wide with fear, and lifted his club to strike Oak down.

  Two steps were all it took.

  His hand snapped up while the club flashed downwards. Oak caught the screaming man by the wrist and sank his knife into the walking corpse’s guts. He twisted the knife and ripped it out, causing Afrim to retch and quiver. Warm black blood ran down the blade and covered Oak’s hands. He leered into Afrim’s unbelieving brown eyes and smiled.

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  Stab. Stab. Stab.

  Afrim lost his grip, and the club tumbled to the alley floor with a clatter. A weak, grasping hand clawed at Oak’s shoulder, reaching for salvation.

  “G–God,” Afrim mumbled.

  A warning slithered into Oak’s mind, carried by the sound-waves bouncing around the alley. The broad end of a baton swung towards the back of his head. The third man had finally stopped fumbling with his weapon and leaped to action. Wailing echoes of mortal pain painted the trajectory in clear lines.

  Oak stepped back and leaned out of the way.

  The club swept past his nose and crashed into Afrim’s surprised face with bone-breaking force, snapping the man’s head back in a shower of blood and bits of teeth. Oak closed in and hacked across the third man’s throat with his knife. Blood sprayed wildly from the cut arteries, flowing down the man’s chest.

  The meatbag stumbled away and sagged against the wall, clawing at his bleeding throat. Bloody bubbles burst from his lips and dribbled down his chin. He tried to speak, but could only manage a desperate, pleading croak.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Oak glanced back towards the other side of the fight, just in time to witness one of the fishermen striking Sadia with a baton. Her enchanted bracelet flashed with light, and the man’s baton stopped before it could even brush Sadia’s skin. The force of the blow reverberated back along the man’s arms. The fisherman fumbled his baton and tripped, landing face down in the dirt with a frightened yelp.

  Red lightning crawled out of Sadia’s heart and flowed down her left arm. She barked a word, and the lightning surged at the man laying at her feet. Flesh sizzled, and the man seized in agony. The clothes on his back and the hair upon his head caught on fire, eliciting a gurgling scream of pain.

  Shadows danced on the walls of the alleyway, making merry in the firelight. Oak’s engine chimed.

  Ur-Namma crouched over the bleeding corpse of another thug. The elf stood up, the long dagger in his hand dripping with blood. There was a bubbling hole in the man’s chest.

  The last man standing threw away his baton and turned to run.

  Oh, no you don’t. No one escapes.

  Like a charging bull, Oak thundered past Sadia and Ur-Namma. He leapt onto the man’s back and rode him down to the ground.

  “Aargh, shit!”

  The broad-shouldered fellow tried his best to wiggle free, but he didn’t have much luck. All warriors worth a dam needed to know at least the basics of wrestling and Oak was better than most. Every year, at summer solstice, the people living in Spoke and in the surrounding hills held games and competed in feats of strength.

  Oak had not lost a wrestling bout since he had turned fifteen.

  He held the struggling man down with ease and pressed the point of his knife against the back of the man’s neck. The fisherman cursed and kicked at the ground, sending sand and dirt flying through the air. With loving care, Oak pushed the blade through and severed the man’s spine. The kicking stopped.

  Ah. What a feeling. Witness my glory, Ashmedai.

  There was a lightness in Oak’s chest that spurred him on, threatening to carry him away to a wonderland of blood and offal. He rose back to his full height, cloaked in dread and eyes shining with joy. His fingers were slick with warm blood.

  One still drew breath. He stomped back, past Ur-Namma, Sadia and the burning corpse, to the three men he had laid to waste.

  “Was killing that last man really necessary?” Sadia asked with a wavering voice. She hugged herself. “He was running.”

  Oak turned towards Sadia and stared at the girl. His fingers twitched.

  Sadia stepped back, face pale. “Forget I said anything!”

  A growl spilled from somewhere deep inside Oak’s chest, and he lifted Yan up by the collar of his shirt. The man was coming to, blinking rapidly with a dazed look in his eyes.

  “Oak! Don’t kill him!” Ur-Namma hissed. “We need him alive.”

  Oak’s fists ached, and he tasted metal. It was hard to sheath his hunting knife. The blade didn’t want to return to the leather’s embrace. He slapped Yan awake.

  Thwack!

  “What the fuck!” Yan shouted, trying to shield his bruised face. He shook his head and took a good look at the giant holding him aloft. “By Mammon’s beard.”

  Ur-Namma walked up to the two of them, dagger in hand. “You better start talking, or my large friend here will splatter your brains all over this alley, and we wouldn't want that, would we?”

  “I want that.”

  Ur-Namma glanced at Oak, narrowing his gray eyes. “Oak?”

  Oak breathed hard. “I want that.”

  Yan whimpered.

  “Talk, Yan. Time is running out.” Ur-Namma stepped to the side, so Yan could have a good look at the smoldering corpse of the fisherman Sadia had fried with her spell. “Who put you up to this?”

  Yan just stared at the corpses, lips trembling.

  The first slap got Yan’s attention. The second thudded right onto the man’s broken cheekbone, eliciting a tortured scream. Oak slapped him a third time for good measure, adding more purple bruising to the man’s beat up face.

  “Fuck! Alright, alright!” Yan shouted. “The patriarch told us to get rid of you, okay?”

  “We suspected that might be the case.” Oak growled. “Details. Now.”

  “Well, you have been skulking about, investigating the attack on the nursery, right?” Yan asked, panting for breath. “Word came you were out drinking yourselves blind, and the patriarch figured we could nip the investigation in the bud. Told us and Mirela to ambush you.”

  Wait. Mirela? A suspicion bloomed inside Oak. Wasn’t the midwife who destroyed the poltergeist attacking the nursery called Mirela?

  “You never said what your last name was. What is your full name, Yan?” Oak loomed over the man and stared into his frightened eyes. He licked his lips, imagining the way his fist could break Yan’s handsome smile, and grinned. How prettily the teeth would tumble. “Who is your patriarch?”

  “I–I am Yan of clan Carcani! Honest!” Yan shouted and pushed at Oak’s chest. When that did precisely nothing, he leaned away instead. “Endrit Carcani is my patriarch!”

  Oak dropped Yan on the ground where he collapsed like a sack of potatoes, cradling his beaten face.

  “Well, well. Isn’t this an interesting development?”

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