We swam upstream from the metal gate, the passage narrow and our breast strokes slow. Up the tube that went into a small dark room inside of the castle, a stone platform off to the side where a guard yawned and read from a little book. To the end of the water way, there was a net that snagged small fish (sardine sized) and raised them high up. I observed the man from the dark waters. There was a rush of water so loud that our breathing noises were muffled. And the room was dark enough that our figures didn’t seem like much inside the raging currents.

The man rose and yanked on a chain. The net would rise up, move to the side and open up. The fish bounced along the stone for minutes before dying. Then the man would move the chain again and drop it. There were piles of fish already.

The man sat down. Reading, and adjusted the torch just barely above his head.

I nodded to Sylas. We came to the edge and crawled up the stone platform, our forms low. The loud currents behind us. Sylas grabbed a knife by his chest. The man turned his little book and looked up, rubbing his eyes. He stood. Went for his sword on his waist. Sylas threw a knife through at his throat. He held the blood wound. I came up, pulled his breastplate off and stabbed him in the heart.

We looked around. The room led to archways, a sort of aqueduct below the city. There were some sewer lines. A damp, dark place where the water flowed from. Down deep inside the city.

The Silverfangs looked at the body. Obrick nodded his head and closed the mans eyelids shut.

“Are you going to do this for every body?” Sylas asked.

“It’s good to show respect. Wouldn’t you want the same.”

“Stew my ass for all I care.” Sylas said. “Dead is dead.”

“Dead is dead.” I said.

“Obrick. You’re with the Silverfangs. Start clearing the archers up top. Cause a scene, make ‘em work for you.” He said. “Virgil, you get front gate. I’ll go get the back.”

“Just you two?” Obrick asked. “Shouldn’t you take someone else. I’m more than enough to make a scene.”

“Sometimes bodies can be a liability. The youngblood can take care of himself.” Sylas said. “No arguments. Let’s split.”

They looked at each other then to me, as if their concern could change a thing. Never could. I turned my shoulder to them and disappeared into the columns and arches of the aqueduct, searching for the way up. What turned out to be a spiral staircase up to the next floor. Here, at the base of the crystalline tree, wet and sleek, the holes were deep. Mines dug into the body of the tree, barrels of powder dug and dragged out onto a platform where the powder was laid out in giant piles. It was moist, a rake to the side of this platform. What I presumed to be the means by which they spread out the substance and allowed it to dry out for use. A few guards were here, watching the holes, yawning. A few workers too, mostly doing the busy work of maintaining the tools. Filing down the pickaxes and shovels. Greasing the wheels. It was a dark room, covered to the ceiling with wooden planks. I could hear men above and now it was start to make sense. We were one level below the residencies, and two levels below the base of the city where most of the markets and daily-doings were done. Above even that were the walls and the interior caves of the giant tree. The whole damn city was built around this center piece, and what a thing it must have been to build it.

To surround yourself in the depths of the waters and to struggle to contain such a behemoth.

Then to build a city just to mine the damn thing.

I walked up the stairs, out into the wiry and wooden floor, almost like a fence, surrounding the roots and holes of the tree. A thin powder lining covering everything. Small cabins lined the perimeter, some with lit candles. Others empty of life.

A few cable lines and wooden scaffolds lead up. Two guards stood next to one such entry way.

I grabbed a pickaxe laying in a wheelbarrow and hung low, careful with my feet on the chicken wire and wooden planks. Some areas more stable than others. I came close to one of them, the torch light finally revealing me. I swung wide, impaled one in the throat and against the wall. The other drew his sword but I ran up and dug a knife into his guts. I put my hand on his mouth and kept stabbing at his abdominal until I could feel the swelling in my hands. His chain mail was ribboned with bits of meat, a bulge where his guts protruded. Like a swollen belly with infant.

I snuffed the torches. Some men grunted in suspicion off in the other side, I could see the far off approach of a torch.

I climbed. Shimmying up the wire, up to the next floor. I made it to the top, touched the wood by which the rope hung from and lifted myself up to see. Homes constructed along the point along the crystalline tree just before it branched off into absurdity. You could see the formations of these branches. The body was different here, softer, the tone of black almost resembling gray. And here, there were doors and windows grafted onto the body of the tree. Along with flat roads leading off from the mine platforms. The floors were scattered flattened, and now the magnitude of the city was obvious. Away from the mine entrances, the floors were solid and concrete. The windows hung with fruits and vegetables and flowers. Bay hales fed horses living in stables along the edges. Apartment complexes were in the far end, what I soon realized was the front gate of the city. My goal. Somewhere beyond the giant growths of the city. I ran. Dodging the lights and keeping away from main streets. The roads were botched with holes where meteors had struck. There were mass graves, piles of bodies waiting to be burned or perhaps shipped off. Along the floors of the city the water ways ran, little streams that carried blood and dirt out from the center of the city (and tree).

The air smelled of death. Burning.

Never lose heart. Always remember what it’s for, I told myself as I ran. Run, forget the weight of blood on my hands.

I came to the front of the gate, a lone tower standing to the side. A few archers waiting by the top of the gate. I ran around the tower, out into a door. Peaking before I entered and spotting a few men on shifts. A knife for each. They took them in the face, holding onto the grip before sliding down the walls. I looked both ways, a few more guards at the far end. My goal was above, however. I went inside, past the two corpses and took account of the surroundings. It was a long hallway, inside the very walls, with plenty staircases leading up. The chains holding this damn thing up. One end lead to a dungeon, to barracks, to a kitchen. The other, on the left side, was towards the door and I suspected; to the way to open the door.

I dragged both bodies to the sides, laying them on each other behind a table. Not that it’d really hide them for long. I went down the hall, looking my way to the stairway (in what seemed to be every room). I kept walking, steady, then increasing as I approached the end. It should have been easy. I only saw two guards. And I was entering so many rooms and closing so many, without so much as any trouble that I should have been able to kill them easily.

And so what a strange thing it was that leading up to the door chains and turning wheel, there was no one there. I stopped at the room. A large rectangular thing, a single guard at the end. A massive beast of a man, three guards around him. They watched the entrance, weapons in hands. Long swords, of course, sweating underneath their armor. And it was me and these four. Me, at the entrance of the door room looking down upon them with narrowed eyes. One guard flung a bell and the noises shot through the room. I heard more bells. Alarms being set off, a fleet I’m sure were approaching. I close the door behind me, a wooden door, and put the long board across from it. The room itself had small gaps in the ceiling, windows from which wind blew from that let the tattered banners flow. A few chairs. But mostly just these few men and the pillars in between them.

One of the guards came screaming at me, his sword above his head. A young man, no older than sixteen. Acne still on his face. I met him part ways and stabbed him through the throat.

It was simple, I thought; kill the four and open the door and leave through one of the windows in the high vaulted ceiling.

The first man was already dead. The two approached, both guarding themselves and angling off each other until they formed a circle around me. They came in quick and I dashed to the sides, leveraging myself to avoid slashes across my body. One lost his balance and I sprung at him, taking his eyes. He flailed about, the other charged me. I parried, stepped on his sword, and drove a knife through his heart. The blind guard was still slashing at air. He struck a pillar and dropped his sword. I came behind him and slit his throat.

It was just the big man and me.

“You didn’t help them.” I said.

A pantheon of a man, with a horned helmet. A Y-formation about his helmet gap where I saw one single eye stare back. He was covered completely in armor. Large pouldrons, a metal glove that held his glaive against his shoulders. He swept in front of him and spun his long-weapon.

“Are you Xanthus’ champion?” He asked.

“No.” I said. “I am of the Crows.”

“A Crow?” He stepped up. “I am Brunthus of Carillion. You will die today. What is your name?”

I held both knives to my sides. Men pounded at the door behind me. Some were screaming for the axe.

“I am Virgil Darko.” I said. “Vice Captain of the Fourteenth. Serving for Vicentius Volarus.”

“Volarus.” Brunthus said. “That fallen family. Disgraceful.”

I stepped up. He pivoted and turned his glaive into his other hand, now his left.

“Never the less, we will fight honorably.”

I groaned and ran at him. Hands behind my back. Within a meter from him, he spun. The air split and I backed off, eyes wide. A pillar next to me was split open. Brunthus’ glaive shattered the stone, fragments of it were in the air still. The dust made me cough behind my face. I skipped to my left, then right, dancing from side to side. Brunthus watched, glaive on his shoulder.

The wind wisped below my feet, not breaking yet. I hadn’t learned it quite well like Sylas.

Brunthus slammed down with his glaive, almost predicting where I was going. The earth exploded, he walked around, keeping his weapon out and in between us. I did not cross it.

“Where did you learn to move like that?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t you like you know?”

“Are you a wind walker?” He asked.

“No.” I said. “Not yet.”

I rushed at him. Jumping in the air, the gust below my body exploding up like a small spring. I came high above the man and had my knife pointed down.

Brunthus stepped on his own weapon. It split at a hinge, the sharp end shooting straight up.

I moved my shoulder but felt the cut along my cheek and stepped back. Brunthus drew back his glaive, a long chain rattling as the sharp end retracted. It snapped in place at the pole arm and that was about the time I was starting to worry. Brunthus detached his weapon and spun his chained blade in the air, like a helicopter.

“Fuck me.” I watched it go around. He shot out. I moved my head, the tower behind me splitting open. I leapt to the side as the knife snapped back towards him. And so it began. Brunthus shooting out his glaive and me running around, avoiding the destructive power. Feeling bits of cobblestone rise and strike me. Dusts of destruction coming past my face as I rushed forward. The glaive shot. I jumped. It swept. I bounced off the wall. The glaive carved lines into the cobblestone, streaks where he had tried to sever me.

And as I approached; inches off his face, the chain snapped back and Brunthus twisted his spear, a helicopter blade almost. I took two steps back.

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” I asked.

“Do you talk in all your fights?”

“Only the hard ones.” I said.

I postured up, bounced off the balls of my foot. This one would take dexterity. I spun my blades in my hand, cut the leather straps around my waist. Lightened my load. Ten pounds of gear came off me. I jumped back and forth, back and forth.

Brunthus shot. I came forward, ducking so low that the blade and chain whizzed past my face. He retracted it, I jumped over it and grabbed his face. I put both hands on his helmet, wrapped my legs around his neck. He dropped his glaive and pulled at me, the iron grip clutched my arm, I stabbed a sword through his helmet holes. I stabbed him, underneath the little air gaps in his helmet. His face bled and he screamed and fell to his knees. He took out a little short sword and swung it up, it diced my straight across the face horizontally.

I grabbed that arm and brought him completely down with it, leveraging his own limb against himself.

I moved. Put his arm in an arm bar, pulled. Every vein in my own body seemingly popping with the intensity of the grip. Skin can be armored. Joints, not so much.

I twisted, I pushed my hips. I dragged his limb down and down until - pop.

He screamed. I scrambled, got on top of him, one of his arms completely dead and the other trying to rid me off his body.

I cut the leather straps on his helmet, and yanked it off. All the while he dug his metal hand into the cut on my face.

I took his helmet off partway, revealed the neck. He screamed. Kicked.

And I stabbed him. Drew the blade back, stabbed again. The blood squirted all the way to the walls of the floor. Blood down into the deep cuts of the room.

Brunthus went limp. I dragged myself to the chain and wheel and kicked it. The whole thing spun, the chains rattling as they turned at the axle of mechanisms beyond the room. It snapped and off I could hear a door collapse. I touched my face, winced. Behind me the door was about to burst with men.

They wouldn’t find a thing.

I climbed off the little gaps in cobblestone, to a window high above and dragged my ass out.