Janaxia shaded her eyes with her hand, squinting against the bright sunlight reflecting off the ocean. The docks were busy, workers and cargo shuffling back and forth, ships creaking as they were loaded or unloaded. A few of the ships even had magical spells cast upon them, sitting more lightly upon the waves. While the cool darkness of the Undergarden was refreshing, it was nice to be out in the open air for a change, although the fish being bought in did present something of an unpleasant undercurrent to the fresh ocean breeze.

There was a lot of work and commotion, with foremen screeching orders, although it was hard to tell if it actually made any difference to anyone’s activities or behaviour. She settled herself as comfortably as she could, while keeping an eye out for any sudden commotion. Semari had acquired information from somewhere that their target was in the area, although it had seemed best not to be overly enquiring as to the precise provenance of the information – she had probably been required to, in a very literal fashion, twist a few arms in order to acquire it. While free-lance assassination was rather vulgar and crass, at least it could secure them passage from this place.

She was sat in the private room of a tavern, overlooking the docks – from the cheeky grin of the innkeeper, it seemed to serve as a place of assignations between those of quality and the rather more rough-hewn dock workers. Well, if she were taken for someone pleasuring herself, then hopefully she wouldn’t be remembered at all. Vrintar was with her, with Semari supposedly on the rooftops, if she hadn’t simply gone elsewhere to relax, or was having a nap on the tiles at this very moment.

A bright green hat caught her eye, topped by a crimson feather – apparently that was his marker. An interesting way to advertise oneself, a sign that would be known only by those in the know, otherwise that would pass unremarked. It moved through the crowd, the wearer hidden from view, but apparently of not more than average height. Hopefully they would approach, allowing her to line up a shot, and then the matter would be done with.

They walked closer, emerging from the crowd and showing themselves to be well-muscled, a sword on their hip, wearing leather armour. And, a few steps behind, a rather burly gentleman, clearly a bodyguard or similar – so he was taking at least some precautions, then. Janaxia called up energy, darkness crackling around her hands as she readied herself – could she defeat him in a single burst? It would be best to avoid drawing undue attention, so calling up any of her more overt spells would be unwise.

Semari walked out of a nearby alleyway, her tatty clothing helping her to blend in with the crowd, although her whistling did seem rather exaggeratedly nonchalant. If she could grab him while dealing with the bodyguard, then Janaxia could blast the both of them, Semari’s hardy constitution probably being sufficient to endure such assaults.

The bodyguard suddenly grunted in pain, darkness staining across his stomach, a knife now embedded in his flank, targeting a gap in his armour. Janaxia flung a bolt, sufficiently surprised by this that it went wide and cracked harmlessly against a cobblestone. The bodyguard wasn’t out of the fight just yet though, flicking out a heavy club and smashing it around, trying to push his attacker away.

His attacker looked much like any of the other people wandering about, roughly dressed and unexceptional, save for the weapon they pulled out of the bodyguard – a crack-edged dagger, the blade so black it almost had a lustre of its own. Janaxia threw another bolt and missed, as hopefully-Wendal looked about in surprise, drawing a rapier of his own and settling into a guarded stance.

Semari charged in, to be rebuffed by another figure, seemingly another labourer, but one that managed to block one of her punches, although their skin visibly rippled from the impact, flowing like a thick liquid before settling back into place.

Something flashed through the air, a spark of steel aiming for them, Semari managing to flick it aside and fling it at her own attacker, hitting them in the chest with it, an arrow embedding itself there. They moved back for a moment before pulling it out and tossing it aside. Their hands were now tipped with black claws, that swiped at Semari as she evaded.

Janaxia hesitated, unsure quite what the decorum was here – if the target were to be slain by another, could they still claim the reward, or did they have to kill him personally for it to count? Or eliminate the other killers, so that they could claim the deed for themselves? It seemed overly complex, but Vrintar settled the matter by leaping from the window herself, axe already in hand. Another arrow flashed out and slashed across her shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. Where was that archer? This was scarcely a place where such a weapon could be used without drawing attention, but there were plenty of nearby rooftops and warehouses where a sniper could easily perch.

Unsure who to attack, Janaxia split her fire, bolts crackling towards both of the mysterious attackers, and one towards the actual target. Wendal spun on a heel and flicked it from the air with his rapier, darkness fading away as he sliced through it, before spinning again to try and aid his guard against their foes. He struck, rapier marking a silvery line through the air and slicing into one, cutting through skin. Thick black blood trickled out, before the wound started to close, healing up as Janaxia watched.

The door behind her splintered before getting smashed open, the cheap wood easily breaking as a burly-looking woman burst in, a club in her hands and yelling threats. Janaxia took a second to weigh up her options before moving onto the windowsill, skirt tangling around her ankles for a moment before she let herself drop, the impact against the running through her body.

The mood of the crowd had changed rapidly, with more of the workers now looking rather more ready for violence than they had moments before, various tools suddenly now being held as weapons, sturdy clubs and hooks being pressed into service. She jumped to the side as an arrow shot towards her, narrowly avoiding it but stumbling on the cobbles, charging forwards to try and get close to Semari and Vrintar.

Both were blurs of motion; fists, feet and blades whirling, the clash of metal-on-metal or flesh-on-flesh, as the whole thing degenerated into an unwieldy scrum, with the workers contributing their own efforts to the chaos, striking in from the edges but not wishing to get too much closer and risk harm to themselves. Calling up the frigid darkness was tempting, but would likely irritate Semari and Vrintar, not to mention making it hard to tell if their prey fled.

Instead, she incanted another spell, letting her inner darkness coil up through her and manifest in her eyes. She glared at one of the mob who looked back at her, their expression changing to one of terror, their billhook dropping from their hands as they fled. This at least allowed her access to the eye of the storm, a swirling chaos of combat surrounded by what was becoming a thick wall of the workers, although it seemed unclear who, if anyone, they supported.

She looked at another one, who shuddered and fell into a swoon, his body getting absorbed into the swirling mob and vanishing from view. She flicked her fingers, a blast of power cracking into the attacker with the jet-black blade, hard enough to send them stumbling against the crowd, who took the chance for a few attacks themselves, despite their target seeming to be healing already.

The air above them suddenly thickened, bright blue glyphs appearing, spinning out into a wide circle, before shards of ice formed and started to rain down. One cracked against Janaxia’s head, sparks dancing in her eyes for a moment before she regained her focus. Vrintar and hopefully- Wendal were now locked in combat, his blade flicking and twisting to deflect her axe blows, both of them marked with a number of scratches and injuries, but unable to land a telling blow, as Semari spun and punched between the other targets, who were also fighting each other, the bodyguard having recovered himself enough now to be fighting, even if he was looking rather wounded.

The ice kept raining down, shards slashing at her clothing, before she launched an attack at the bodyguard, attempting to pick off the weakest fighter. This close, amidst the swirling melee, it was hard to accurately target him, and she regretted not carrying a wooden blade for such occasions. She was able to wing him with a bolt and send him stumbling, while trying to dodge the ice that continued to rain down.

Semari and Vrintar were still fighting, a chaotic brawl of fists and blades, too fast-moving to engage in, metal ringing on metal. The two other assassins (if that is what they were) were still striking with claws and blades themselves, attention shifting between their initial target and now Semari and Vrintar. More arrows shot through the air, high arcing shots that were aimed to have the least chance of hitting the crowd.

The assassin’s bodies were shifting now, limbs getter more pronounced and monstrous, talons more savage. One managed to penetrate through Semari’s guard and slash her body, blood welling up from the strike before she struck back, energy rippling around her punch, shadowy flesh splattering out from the impact, before the creature started to regenerate from the attack.

Light burst in Janaxia’s eyes; dazzling, bright and warm, as a bright slash of light appeared in the air, disgorging a glowing figure. They hovered for a moment before descending, a wave of light rippling along the ground as they landed. The blade in their hand was a bar of shining light, so bright it hurt to look at.

It made the assassins flinch away, giving everyone a moment to collect themselves. The angel! Although it didn’t seem to have wings right now, with a more mundane silhouette, save for being formed of light – it appeared to be armoured, at least judging by the shape of its body.

Strike them down! Slay them! Could she command the thing? It hesitated for a moment, head turning to look at her. Had it just rolled its eyes at her? But it moved to attack, a radiant shield moving to block a strike, sword flashing back in answer, black blood gushing out.

More light blossomed, this time fierce and hot as a mote of red firelight shot through the air, before itself exploding like a firework and shooting out a number of smaller sparks, trailing upwards. A figure had appeared on one of the roofs, surrounded by a nimbus of fire, hair forming a bright corona of white gold as the fire made it dance.

Carissia. Shit. The fires twirled around her body, robes rippling from a fierce heat-haze. One of the motes of fire landed and erupted into flames, the crowd scattering. Her voice sounded out, proud and fierce.

‘The fires of heaven shall burn away the darkness!’ Spheres of fire formed in her hands, bright and angry red, as the heat from the blast washed against Janaxia. Blood, bright and red, blossomed from Vrintar’s arm as an attack got through, black blade crackling with an inner energy sucking out Vrintar’s own essence.

‘Turn to ash and be cleansed from this world!’

Janaxia dashed forward, trying to ignore the flame blistering around her, her clothing starting to catch alight.

Semari, you need to run, I’ll take Vrintar!

She sliced her hand through the air, first downwards, then side-to-side, a black gateway appearing for just long enough to dash though, another appearing atop Vrintar. The moment stretched long, blackness overwhelming her in a cool embrace, relaxing and soothing her, until it vanished and she staggered forward, bumping into a brick wall. She could still hear sounds of panic and glanced around – they were on the other side of the docks, having skipped through the intervening space, concealed in an alleyway. Another blast of fire rained down, cobbles exploding upwards, as the glowing figure of the angel faded from view.

The remaining fighters were all staging their own retreats – Semari sprinted for a building, weaving between the shrapnel and vaulting up a building, seeming almost to run up the wall, flipping herself upwards and onto the roof. The ice storm was abating now, the shards and lumps melting away in the heat. A merchant in a rich cloak walked past and saw her, raising their arm to point, before Janaxia glared at them. Their eyes bulged for a moment, the sound silencing in their throat as their eyes rolled back and they stumbled and fell to the floor.

Vrintar was able to catch them before they hit the ground, holding her fingers against their neck, then propping them up against the wall. ‘Asleep. You may wish to disguise yourself.’ She wasted no time in stripping the cloak off the merchant and wrapping it around herself – it did little to hide her bulk, but at least it covered her face. Janaxia took a deep breath and focused, trying to shift her own clothing, shutting her eyes tightly as she attempted to enforce her will upon the world.

She felt fabric shift and alter, a tight corset embracing her chest, a dress falling to her ankles, a light veil over her face. Then she opened her eyes and felt herself, ensuring that it had worked. She now looked like a lady of leisure, on her way to, or from, an assignation – unlikely to draw attention, or at least any connection with an affray such as that at the docks. Vrintar looked a little more unusual in the cloak, too small for her, but would likely be taken as a bodyguard.

Janaxia set a brisk pace, glad that the cobbles here were smooth and consistent. This seemed to be an area for merchants and traders, those wishing to be close to the goods getting traded, but without having to deal with all of the actual labourers doing the work, and currently everyone was rushing to look at the fight, or at least it’s aftermath. A messenger boy ran past, doubtlessly carrying an urgent message for his master to spread news of what had just happened.

Vrintar grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her into the door of a coffeehouse, everyone else crowded around the windows.

Would it not be rather wiser to flee?

‘Criminals flee – here we can pass unobserved and gather information.’

Vrintar’s steely grip didn’t relent on her shoulder, as she was steered into a booth, a gauzy curtain shrouding them from view. Despite the commotion outside, it didn’t take long for a harried-looking waitress to appear and take their order, Vrintar taking it upon herself to do so before talking to Janaxia again.

‘This complicates matters, I would think. Carissia appears to have taken a personal interest in pursuing you.’

Hopefully the decorum of the surroundings would restrain Vrintar from taking any excessively violent action upon herself! Although she had been reasonable previously, hopefully the pattern would hold.

‘I don’t know what happened! Stathis suddenly…’ She was aware that she sounded pleading, almost begging, but commanding seemed unwise, if not fatal.

‘You appear not fully in control of the powers you command, and yet are not using them on me now. That suggests at least some sense. But you appear to be fleeing something – are you content to be the pawn of your family?’

The waitress swiftly returned with a tray, bearing a clay bottle and two finely-made drinking glasses. Vrintar took it and poured a generous amount into each glass, the scent of potent spirits filling the booth.

‘This is the way of my people. As we have fought together, then now we shall drink together. It is a gesture of faith to drink it down in one.’

Despite a floral afterscent, the stuff still smelled vicious, more akin to something from Trakatha’s laboratory than to anything fit for consumption. Still, Janaxia made herself smile and lifted it to her lips, before taking a deep breath and drinking down the glass. It was like fire sparking down her throat and into her stomach, her guts roiling for a moment before she willed them to stop. ‘That is… certainly potent. And quite… interestingly flavoured.’ She blinked away tears, not wanting to show any weakness, although Vrintar seemed entirely unphased as she downed her own drink.

‘You have yet to answer my question. Do you intend to be your Mother’s pawn? Or seize power for yourself? And Poratia’s head on a platter may help slake Carissia’s bloodlust somewhat.’

The stuff seemed to clear her thoughts, making it easier to think, at least aside from the faint burning inside of her. ‘I… I am the heir to the blood. No less than Kinnevar himself recognises that! But…’

‘Then claim it.’ Vrintar topped up both the glasses before raising hers again, inclining her head towards Janaxia’s to indicate that she should take hers up. Although her fingers were starting to feel slightly outside of her control, she managed to pick it up on the second attempt. The scent seemed nicer now, less potent.

‘But… But… Ophexia. And Peresperan. And Mother!’ Memories tumbled in on her, of past pains and degradations and hurts, of being left alone, shivering and cold, locked away into the darkness, hoping to be let out. She drank the glass down then took a deep breath as it coursed through her.

‘If you wish to rise, then you must fight for it.’ Vrintar’s voice was low and serious, as she drank her own down, still seeming entirely unaffected by the drink.

A guard poked his head into the room and quickly glanced around, giving the place a cursory examination before withdrawing, more running past outside. Hopefully Semari had hidden herself away somewhere, most likely hiding on a rooftop.

‘Generations ago, my ancestors were but a few scattered families amongst the mountains. We had no unity and were easy meat for those that wished to prey upon us. A lowlander warrior, bearing a blade of the night made steel, came amongst us. He defeated our strongest warriors, bested our wisest mages, sat himself upon the throne of our clan-chiefs. He trained our strongest and wisest warriors in arcane arts. And then unleashed us, clad in elemental fury, upon the world, to conquer and crush.’

It was hard to focus through the alcohol, now starting to blur her thoughts, but was this a story of Kinnevar? He had spent time amongst the mountain-folk tribes, it is true, although had focused more on their hospitality rather than any mention of training.

‘And so it is to the wielder of the blade of night, the sword of soul’s ruin, the blade of mourn, that I owe my own skills. Were you just some petty chantling, chasing dreams of power in ancient barrows, I would have taken your head myself. But you could be a force for change, if you were to challenge your mother’s dominion. And a debt of old is owed, for making my people what we are.’

There was something deeply unpleasant happening inside of her, as sweat started to bead on her brow, and she tried, as discretely as possible, to look for a nearby convenience, in case a sudden dash were needed. It took a moment to collect her own thoughts, trying to marshal her tongue into obedience.

‘But, but… She might kill me! Or worse…’ She shivered again, jumbled thoughts of torment flashing through her mind.

‘Would fear of death deter Kinnevar? He overthrew kings and emperors. As his heir, should you not be at least as bold? And you appear to have attracted the attentions of a divine being. Most unusual, I should think, for one of your provenance.’

Her guts twisted again, and she stood up, dashing for a discreet door, flicking a bolt ahead of herself to open it, as she made it, barely in time.