The passage was rough. The little boats were tossed on the swelling sea and the waves sucked them perilously close to the jagged cliffs. The sounds of retching and groaning were snatched away by the chill wind, but eventually they gained the calm of the wide harbor and scrambled out of the boats in the deep shadows of the sea wall.

  Riot peered out at the glowing lamps hung around the harbor wall. The first civilization he had seen in days. The tower was a dark shadow rearing over the city, and the streets were thronged with people all making their way slowly to the north gate. Traders, laborers, women tugging children, Faelen guards, and sailors formed a surging crowd, their excited chatter rising over the city.

  “Looks like Moran’s distraction worked,” Loic said.

  “Let’s hope he can make a decent enough show of it. If he gets killed too fast, we’ll have a problem,” Riot replied.

  “You underestimate him, he has some skill and he admires both of you. I think he wants to prove himself,” Quinn said.

  “Forgive me Miss Quinn, but lords and arcanists don’t admire, envy or respect men like us. They’d have to see us as men first,” Loic said.

  Riot wasn’t sure he agreed, and for the first time he found himself hoping that the young arcanist survived. “Let’s move before we all end up in a cold grave.” Riot turned and hissed to the line of crouching men behind him. “Mix in with the crowd; if anyone gets separated, we meet at the tower,”

  Their ragged line soon joined the back of the crowd that moved northward. Snippets of conversation said that the arcanist had brought a dozen duelists to challenge the High Faelen that controlled the citadel. Others said it was just a roving arcanist who was here to rid the citadel of the oppressors. One said that the lord of the tower himself had descended to defend the city, but his words were met with murmurs and furtive glances at the tower in the center of the city.

  Their group quickly fractured, and as much as Riot tried to keep them all in sight, he soon found himself alone with Loic, who forced a path forward using massive arms like shovels. Anyone who turned to complain quickly fell silent when they saw who was pushing them.

  “Can you see any of the others?” Riot called.

  “I see Crease and Fletcher. Miss Quinn and the smelly arcanist are ahead of us, but none of the others. They’ll make it to the tower,” Loic assured him.

  The young northman came to an abrupt halt and grunted, and Riot looked past him to see a man laid out on the cobblestones at his feet, a heavy cudgel rolling out of his limp hand.

  Four more thugs materialized around them, all heavyset, with the busted knuckles and scared faces of tavern brawlers. Loic bellowed and charged two of them as Riot was hit from behind and staggered forward, dark spots swimming in his vision.

  There was no room to draw a weapon here, and the crowd was still around them, so Riot raised his arms to block the blows from fists and knees, before catching one of them on the jaw with his fist, hearing the crack of bone as the man's head snapped back.

  Riot was tackled from behind and driven to the cobblestones, flinging out his hands to seize his attackers wrists and a short blade plunging down. The wall-eyed, square jawed thug breathed heavy, flecking spittle onto Riot’s face as they wrestled over the blade that was an inch from Riot’s eye.

  He knew it would hurt, he’d already marched on the busted knee for a week, but no-one got out of a gutter fight unharmed. Riot drove his knee into the thug’s groin, flipped the knife around and headbutted the pommel, driving it into the other man's chest.

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  Riot pushed the dead body to one side and stood with a curse as pain speared through his leg. A fleshy thump next to him was followed by a gurgling sound, and the man behind Riot folded up on the cobbles with Loic behind him.

  “Thanks,” Riot said, flinching as a crack sounded nearby and a flash of arcane light burst out, followed by the screams and shouts as the crowd surged like frightened sheep.

  Loic and Riot pushed their way forward, relying on kicks and punches to move the panicked citizens out of their way. Riot stumbled and looked down to see the body of Odred, the small arcanist, dead or unconscious, on the floor.

  “Check on him,” Riot ordered Loic before searching the faces of the surging crowd around him for any sign of Quinn.

  “He’s alive,” Loic reported.

  “No sign of Quinn, though,” Riot cursed, the street was emptying now, and there were flashes of yellow uniforms as Faelen guards came to investigate.

  “Miss Quinn!” Loic yelled.

  The northman began to push forward again, calling out for Natalia, but Riot stopped him. “If they know we’re here, we don’t have time for this.” Riot seized the dazed arcanist by the scruff of his robes. “We need to get to the tower.”

  The panic of the crowd fell away as they approached the squat fortress at the base of the tower. The dark streets were abandoned here, and the houses were derelict, as if no one wished to live in its long shadow.

  There was a movement inside the large entranceway, and they approached cautiously, relieved to see that it was Crease and Fletcher, and behind them the rest of the Leybound.

  Fletcher sported a bruise on his left eye that was already beginning to blacken, and Lehan had a busted lip. Norton, the young boy they had found on the road after the ambush, sat against the wall with a dazed expression on his face.

  “Did we lose anyone?” Riot asked, scanning the faces in the gloom.

  "No, sir, a bit of bother, but we gave as good as we got,” Fletcher replied.

  “I saw Price, sir, at the back of the crowd, only for a second,” Crease reported.

  So he knew they were here. Had he let them come through? No time for second guesses.

  Loic returned from the back of the fortress. “There’s no one inside, and this is the only way in, just like Moran said.”

  Riot nodded, looking down as the small arcanist moaned and rolled around on the floor. Riot seized him and pulled him up to his feet. “Where’s Natalia Quinn?”

  "Nooo, no no,” he gibbered.

  Riot shook him so violently his head lolled from side to side. “What happened?”

  “A man, leybound with one eye. He took her,” Odred sobbed, tears streaking down his dirty face. “You must get her back, my mistress.”

  “We have enough men to hold the tower; I could take a few and look for them,” Loic began.

  “No,” Riot interrupted him. “That’s what Price wants. We stay here and finish the job. Then we go and find that bastard.”

  Riot pulled Odred inside to the base of the tower and threw him against the small wooden door. “Open it,” he commanded.

  “My mistress, you must—”

  Riot drew his sword and pointed it at Odred's neck, the tip pricking his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Open it.”

  Odred gulped and fumbled in his filthy robe, producing a key and forcing it into the keyhole with shaking hands. There was a heavy clunk from inside, and the door creaked open to reveal a musty, dim chamber.

  The small arcanist stepped in and was instantly swallowed up by the gloom.

  “Odred,” Riot hissed, the words consumed by the heavy silence inside.

  Riot looked to Loic, who stepped back and clutched the pendant that hung from his neck as if warding off a great evil. “I said I’d fight men, not make deals with devils. We’ll hold the tower.”

  Riot squared his shoulders and took a step forward inside, feeling a whisper next to him followed by a foul smell. Whipping around, he saw Odred dart back out of the small door that slammed shut behind him, Riot threw himself at it, but it was firmly locked. Outside, there were shouts followed by a dull thump and a stream of cursing in Northern.

  “Loic! What’s going on out there?” Riot shouted, hammering on the locked door.

  A moment later, Riot heard Rimmer's voice through the door. “The little bugger got away sir, we couldn’t stop him. Loic can hardly walk; the little bastard kicked him right in the... well, in his unmentionables.”

  Riot leaned his head against the rough wooden door and sighed, then turned and made his way into the arcanist’s tower.

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