Haritek straightened his finely embroidered coat as he stepped out of the brothel. He took a deep breath of fresh air. The stench in the building had been overwhelming and intoxicating.

Outside, a river of unwashed bodies seethed along the street, not daring to look him in the eye. Haritek liked it that way. They all knew that no peasant was immune from him or the power of his station.

As he stepped through the sea of bodies, a wide bubble of space formed around him. Haritek had a reputation of not bothering to avoid pedestrians when travelling in public. He walked leisurely to his destination, the Kallidin household. Apparently, they were good hosts.

Nabhan was waiting for him in front of the house. It was small, but pleasant enough for a Second Ring residence.

“Hello Haritek, do you have the questions sorted?” Nabhan asked.

“Of course." Haritek opened the front gate for Nabhan and gestured for him to go in. The front courtyard was empty. Carefully trimmed hedges framed a tasteful stone garden. They entered the house and found a lone servant dusting a sparsely decorated room.

“Excuse me,” Nabhan approached the woman, “are you able to lead us to the owners of this residence, the Kallidins?”

“Yes your majesties, right this way.” The woman led them further into the house.

“Haritek.” Nabhan whispered. “Should she be punished for misusing the title?”

“No Nabhan. We should not punish the things that solidify our power.”

“What, laziness?”

“Ignorance. And especially when it does no one any harm.”

The woman turned to them gracefully and gestured towards a door. “This will lead to the family. They are sitting for lunch currently.” She bowed and politely excused herself.

Haritek glanced at Nabhan and opened the door. He had to stoop slightly to fit through the doorway.

The door led them to an open courtyard, not dissimilar to the one that they entered the estate through. Although, to Haritek’s mild disgust, they were not precisely the same.

Blood spattered the hedges and ran in rivulets through the stones. Bodies and parts of bodies lay strewn across the ground. Heads amongst arms and legs amongst chests. Tables and chairs were upturned, and the remains of the family and their lunch was being devoured by birds.

Nabhan whispered, shock threading tremors into his voice, “Look, he gave the children their own corner.”

Haritek turned his head away and spat. The air was so thick with the scent of blood he could practically taste it.

“Wh- What should we do?” Nabhan stammered. “I will go to-“ He retched.

“No. We will not report this to anyone.”

Nabhan slowly gained his composure and eyed Haritek warily. “Your reasoning?”

“Is it not obvious? The boy, Ayaz. He is behind this.”

“But why?”

Haritek sighed, “Nabhan, I will forgive your slowness. You are obviously in shock, so I will explain this to you simply. The boy, knowing we would find solid evidence of his deception eventually, has decided to strike first. This was clever because - as it would appear to a reasonable eye such as the Sultan’s - this is simply a vindictive act committed by two men who are enraged at not finding compelling evidence against their rival. So, if we were to report this to the Sultan, it would appear that we would be trying to frame Ayaz and that we are the real villains. Additionally, it does not help us that Ayaz is charismatic, and we have a… reputation not conducive to positive diplomatic relationships.”

“You make sense Haritek. I hate it, but you do.”

“And, before you ask, we cannot simply kill Ayaz and overpower the Sultan. I say this for two reasons. The first is that Ayaz has been planting roots amongst both the nobles and the common people. Already he has set up charities, feeding homes, new studying facilities, and more. This means that if we do manage to take power through a violent coup, we would not hold power for long. Either the army, city guard, or workers union would turn against us, and Ayaz knows that we know this.

“The second reason is that the Sultan almost certainly has a failsafe that can be used against us or any who wear the chain.” He caressed the green gem hanging across his chest. “Of course, this failsafe has never been used, at least to our knowledge. But one most certainly exists.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The simple fact that for hundreds of years, Sultans have ruled alongside men who could kill them in a second with apparent peace of mind. Why would the power structure have remained so lopsided for this long without some unseen influence? How could there never have been an insurrection from our side if it were as easy as it seems? I can even see this in Zoeb’s eyes when he looks at me. There is wariness, yes, but no fear. Never fear.“

“So, what can we do? If we are as trapped as you say.”

“We must disperse and gather powerful allies. Powerful enough to be able to overcome our enemies.”

“The Guardians? You cannot be serious. You saw what happened when we attempted to rouse Wahami. What will make the others any different?”

“We have no other options Nabhan. We must leave.”

“I feel that we are playing into the boy’s plan.”

“Perhaps. I will have to see these events unfold to be certain.”

Nabhan nodded and started walking back. Haritek followed him. The servant woman opened the door just as they reached it and screamed as she saw the refuse behind them. Her horrified gaze crawled to the two men in front of her, and she screamed louder. A silly woman.

Haritek casually stepped forwards and grabbed her throat. The servant's scream halted with a pathetic gurgle and her eyes began to bulge.

Nabhan placed his hand on Haritek’s shoulder. “Has there not been enough killing for one day?”

“Her death will stem the flow of rumour, at least long enough for us to put our affairs in order.” Haritek broke the woman’s neck and threw her out of his way like a child with a boring toy.

Nabhan scrunched his nose in disgust. “What’s one more body on the pile, right?”

“They’re dying like flies these days.” Haritek let out a small smirk and walked on through the house.

“When were they not?” Nabhan countered, following closely.

**********

Corbin lounged in his small, humid room and thought of nothing but the dull ache that throbbed in his skull. He had reconciled with the fact that the ache was now a permanent part of him. Just like his visions and the men who spoke in his skull. The men rarely let him listen when they spoke to each other, but when they wanted him to they made sure he heard every word. Corbin gave a humourless chuckle. Those guys were a barrel of laughs sometimes, but they mostly weren't.

His eyelids were just beginning to flutter closed when a crow screeched outside of his window. Corbin leapt out of his chair and struggled the dirty little window open.

The crow sat calmly on the metal bar Corbin had placed outside just for him. It tilted its head at him and stared with glassy black eyes. With much difficulty, Corbin slowly reached out and grabbed the bird with a gentle hand. He lifted the bird in through the window and placed it in its cage. The bird chirped contentedly, and Corbin smiled. He had made a mistake before when being too hasty and had been forced to discipline himself.

He turned away from the bird and began to force the window shut. He could not bear the stench of the street any longer than was necessary. He paused to stare as one of the Lord Protectors knocked down a civilian who had not escaped his path quick enough. The tall one with a green gem. Corbin whispered along with the men and shut the window all the way.

Quickly, he untied the piece of paper attached to the bird and unravelled it. It was written in a code only he and his dispatchers could understand. Deciphered, it read:

Maintain mission of observation

Create connections with local criminal presence to be used later in mission

Do not under any circumstances incur unnecessary suspicion

You now report to Lord HaI Landoran

War arriving in the coming months

Report back with valuable information

Good luck soldier

Corbin read over the letter many times before nodding resolutely and shoving the paper into his mouth. He chewed whilst he put on his slimy coat and swallowed before he opened the door. He walked down a rickety flight of stairs and through the alley that served as an entrance for the pile of houses that he lived inside.

In order to deceive someone you must live in their shoes, Corbin had always said. If he wanted to, he could have asked Duncan for a proper house in one of the upper Rings, but he didn’t want to compromise the integrity of the mission.

But still. He knew he could have gotten one. Oakhart was a fellow who looked after his own, that he knew for sure.

Corbin made sure to avoid the gaze of anyone who passed him. Even in broad daylight, a foreigner like him was not safe. With this in mind, he entered a dingy brothel crammed into the side of the street.

The place reeked of unwashed bodies and human fluids. Women and men of all ages beckoned him into their rooms. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of some of them, but he put them out of his mind. He had important work to do.

A leathery skinned man approached him and talked to him in Boranian. Corbin shook his head and said, “Not from around here. Do you speak Moradanian?”

The man nodded and grinned at him, showing a full set of rotten teeth. “Yes. I speak. Follow, you want the boss?”

Corbin gestured in the affirmative and followed the man to an office tucked into the back of the establishment. There, a burly man with a confronting mop of red hair sat behind a desk filling out paperwork. Corbin thought the man's meaty hands looked out of place in such a non-violent environment, but he probably looked out of place too.

The burly man looked up distractedly and spoke in thickly accented Dreanary. Corbyn could guess it was a derivation of the word, ‘what’.

“Hello, I’m Corbin.”

The big man blinked, sighed, then tucked his pen and papers away into a draw in his desk carefully. He waved at the rotten toothed man dismissively and gestured for Corbyn to take a seat.

As Corbyn sat down the big man spoke. “Corbyn, why are you here?”

“I am here to make myself useful to you.”

“Useful.” The big man scoffed and slid his hand over his forehead, revealing the shortened stumps of two horns. Corbin had met a Drugrundyr before, and he had been a right arsehole.

“You are a Drugrundyr. I have met your people before.”

“I’m sure you have. Tell me what you want.”

“I am looking for employment. I can steal, kill, intimidate, anything. I am also loyal to the death for my employers.”

The big man smiled unkindly and knocked on the wall. The rotten toothed man popped his head in and left when he nodded at him.

He turned his focus back to Corbin. “Do you know who I am Corbin?”

“No, sir.”

His smile widened briefly at Corbin’s response. “My name is Martulf the Rake, but you can call me Martulf. I am an exile for Dreanar.” Martulf laid his scarred hands on the table. “Can you guess my crime?”

As if on cue, the rotten toothed man came in with a little girl no older than nine. She was dressed in rags, and it seemed to Corbin that she was malnourished

“You were a burglar.” Corbin said, avoiding the sight of the girl.

“Wrong. Guess again.”

“A murderer.”

“Not specifically.”

“Vandalism.”

“I touched little girls.”

Corbin swallowed uncomfortably. He was afraid he would do something rash. He had to stay calm, the voices were getting loud now.

“I was caught for it and escaped the executioner. Now I’m here. Are you still up for the job, Corbin?”

“Yes.” Corbin grated.

“Prove it then, hurt her.” He pointed to the girl.

No, no, no, no. I can’t do it. Yes, Duncan asked me, Hal, asked me, no choice. You do have a choice man, get out of this place. No, I won’t, I can’t. Do it. Now

Corbin stood up and punched the girl in the face. Her nose broke easily under his fist. She whimpered slightly and collapsed to the ground. She tried to stem the flow of blood from her nose as she was dragged out of the room.

Martulf chuckled. “Alright then, you’re assigned to collecting. Gatwar out there will give you the briefing.”

Corbin nodded and left the room.

When he got back to his room later in the day he sat down at his cramped desk. He grabbed a handkerchief from a drawer and wiped the blood from his hand. After a long time, Corbin began to write his reply.