Lyrua met the Spellward’s eyes, and behind her locks of short blond hair, the woman’s eyes widened with recognition. Confusion and horror twisted the Ward’s face as the guards drew crossbows and fired at Lyrua. One of the bolts deflected harmlessly with a sharp tang off the wall as the Spellward grabbed the man around his head and gruesomely snapped his neck while he was still squeezing his trigger.

Lander’s sword destroyed the other two on its way down as if he had not even noticed them. As he took a step forward, the Spellward was already running another man through his chest with her longsword while a thick steel hook on her right arm found purchase in the eye socket of the last. The last man tried to let out a scream but choked on his spit as the Spellward pulled his head backward. Swinging him around, she allowed his head to crack open upon the corner of the black steel wall.

The rustle of Ove’s wings revealed her standing on a sill above them beyond the edges of Lyrua’s hood. She turned her head slightly to see the bright edge of the woman’s shortsword withdrawing, the light playing in the etchings of archangelic symbols in the blade.

The Spellward bowed to Lyrua, casually wiping blood from her sword and gloves on the cloak of a dead man while she was bent anyway. She touched her spell lantern and the light dimmed.

“Pardon the splatter, my Queen,” she said, standing straight. Her full height stood a hand’s width above Lyrua. She sheathed her blade and crossed her muscular arms behind her. “It was obvious something was wrong tonight when the posts were changed, but I couldn’t have imagined this. Odd to have only one Spellward, when we can only hold that net up for two hours.” She dug three vials of syrupy liquid out of a pouch on her waist. “And then they give us these, after telling us some nonsense about cutting costs.” The liquid hummed gently, sparkling as though reflecting moonlight, even though there was none. The Spellward stared into the vials as if mesmerised by them, before shaking herself free after a moment. “You and his Little Majesty are unharmed, I trust?”

Lyrua nodded over her shoulder at the woman. Her heart beat on the brink of panic and she had not yet caught her breath, but she had the head to recognize Dew of the Moonflower Tree when she saw it. That was no common potion; the properties of that dew were coveted by any with heavy enough purses to ship it from Midnat.

Ove emerged like an extension of Lander’s shadow and stood unshaken before the Ward. “Nice going, Lyskilde.”

Lyskilde nodded to Ove with a small smile.

“You know this woman, Ove?” Lander asked, looking around to find her crouched between his legs.

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes I do. Met her once, blasting silver dummies with bolts of Light. Such tiring training, to master those Light spells. I gave her an apple tart.” She nodded again. “Couldn’t get that Gravity bolt right. Still a strong Ward.” Pointing a wing at the vials Lyskilde still held in her hand, she asked, “Those are Dew of the Moon-flower Tree?”

“Yes.” She stuffed the vials back into the pouch as though suddenly nervous about holding them. “And each costs more than a night’s pay for a Spellward. How do you cut costs by spending more money?” The Spellward shrugged.

Lyrua was still crouched, back partly turned with her son buried against her chest. She stared silently from beneath her hood, so Lyskilde continued. “Highward Toldremand said it must be some treacherous plot, though he did not have time to waste explaining it all to us. I get the idea though. Replace the Spellwards, loyal to the Queen, with bought guards, loyal to coin at worst, and Commander Gammel at best. Or perhaps the other way around. At least Toldremand denied them a change of postings inside the Citadel. It’s good to see you safe.”

Lyskilde looked over her shoulder to check the street behind her, and waited as if to see whether Lyrua would speak. When she did not, the Ward rolled her shoulders and let the rest of her thoughts come out. “That was some trick you tried, hiding yourselves from the net. I’m very impressed you nearly fooled me. I noticed something, so I was paying attention, but then there was nothing there. Until we turned eastward. Whose mana was that?”

“Mine.” Lyrua nearly choked on the word as it came out.

“A-ah. Forgive my manners, my Queen. I thought…” She turned her head to each member of the group. “Ah, Ove knows Dark spells, so she can’t also learn Light. I should have known, my Queen…” She bowed awkwardly, folding herself ninety degrees at the waist, and stayed like that, but her poise was sullied by the sniffling of her runny nose.

“Forget it,” Lyrua said, finding her voice. “I do not need your manners, and I no longer call myself Queen. Can you help us get out of the city?”

“Well, I doubt I’m stronger with Light than you my Queen,” she replied, returning to her straight-backed stance with renewed confidence. “But I am very familiar with the detection net spell, and could easily do what you were trying to. If your goal is to pass through the Night Quarter unnoticed by other patrols, I can do that.”

“Good,” she rose to her feet, her knees wobbling from bending. Covering Athen’s face, she led him around the pools of blood to the main street.

“Something to note my Queen…” the Ward spoke apprehensively. “The Spellwards at the Residential Arch have been replaced. I don’t know who guards it.”

“According to Gottfred the Arches were still properly manned,” Lander said.

Lyskilde wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Where did he hear that?”

“Toldremand.”

“Well, I don’t know, but the man can’t be everywhere at once. They might have changed it after he thought it was done,” Lyskilde shrugged. “But that only makes me wonder where the night watch for that Arch has gone.”

“The streets leading up to it will be almost completely uninhabited,” Lander said in his low humming voice. “Empty, or used for storage. At most, there may be some private security around a guild master’s warehouse or something of the sort. It’s the best, and last place for something bold. If the King doesn’t want the entire city to know what he’s tried to do tonight, he will have to be subtle once we cross into the Residential district.”

“... the King?” Lyskilde said.

“Likely,” Ove said, searching through the guards’ pockets for anything useful. “So, the smart thing to do is not get caught on the way there. Then, what ever we have to face, at least they won’t know when we will arrive.” Finding nothing, she hopped over the bodies to stand near Lyrua and Athen in the street. Her big black eyes focused on Lander for a moment before she spoke again. “It’s time to go. Lyskilde, turn down that lantern more.”

Lander grabbed his cloak at the shoulder, but Ove chirped from the shadows, interrupting him before he could pull it off. “Keep your armour on and save your mana.” When she spoke again, her voice came from high up a nearby wall, in the shadow of a sealed-up window. “I will watch the roofs.”

Lander shrugged, “It’s you and I in the street then, Lyskilde. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, I am ready,” she grinned. “Better, I can lead you through the Night without catching unwanted eyes.”

“You know the Patrols?” Lander asked doubtfully, tilting his head towards the smirking Ward.

Lyskilde dispelled her lantern with a touch, letting the darkness shroud them. “No, but I know where any private guards should be at least.” She spun around on her heel and with a wave of her hand, led them across the street. She marched with the same enthusiasm that Lyrua often saw in Athen when he hurried to tell her something interesting he’d just learned. The familiar vim of pride.

They followed the Spellward’s eager step through an alley heading south, and took such a winding path through the streets that Lyrua’s perception of where they were in the city became muddled. She shied closer to the darkness every time a figure appeared in the distance, quickly forgetting that Lander was twice her size and would more easily be noticed no matter where she stood.

He walked with meticulous, awkward care with arms out for balance, that left him looking ready to topple over. He wobbled a little before putting his foot down. It still tapped loudly enough to make her flinch. It was as quiet as she had ever heard him. Even some of the nobles might have tolerated him if he were always so light-footed.

They stopped against a structure with crooked walls that invaded the road. Without their footfalls the night was almost disturbingly silent, except the breeze and a quiet tapping, almost cracking sound like ice that she assumed must be footsteps somewhere. Lyrua held her son tightly by his shoulders to keep him from wiggling away while Lyskilde peaked around the corner.

“A patrol, my Queen,” Lyskilde said, putting her back flat against the wall. “The Spellward will assist us, if you’d prefer to go through them.”

Lyrua shook her head. “Every encounter we have leaves a trace of where we have been.”

“Then we will go back and find a way around.” Lyskilde pushed off the wall. “Or wait until they pass.” She patted Lander on the chest as she passed him. “Try to keep those feet quiet, or I’ll have to put socks on you.”

Lander growled, but as he followed Lyrua his steps were light enough that they blended with the incessant creaking of his armour. Lyskilde paused at the other end of the road, and Lyrua could hear Lander’s arms crossing impatiently behind her.

“There’s another patrol, with Berrit,” Lyskilde bit her lip, “and so many more guards. They must not have liked her stinging tongue.”

“Can we trust Berrit?” Lyrua asked.

Lyskilde ushered them back down the road. “Of course, but we have to get her out of those guards first. Stay back here.”

“No,” Ove chirped quietly. “you’ll make a mess.” Typical for Ove, she had appeared while no one was looking. “Hold your breath,” she told Athen. Obeying quickly, he inhaled deeply and held it with swollen cheeks. Ove repeated her instructions to Lyrua. “And shut your eyes.” She hurriedly tied a cloth around Athen’s eyes.

“Why?” Lyrua planted her fists on her hips. She did not like being kept in the dark. Ove pushed Athen towards her, and she held him by his arms. “What are we doing?”

“Hold your breath and shut your eyes!” Ove snapped.

Ove swung her cloak, and Lyrua did not have time to take a breath before nothing engulfed her and Athen. It was pitch beyond the shadows of the night, somehow heavy against her body. A kettle drifted into view to her left, still and colourless, and she realised she was slowly spinning. She had only the air already in her lungs, and her chest already heaved for more, but there was nothing to inhale. She squeezed Athen in her arms, holding his head against her chest.

A large hand suddenly squeezed her wrist, and she tumbled silently onto an iron floor with Athen cradled in her arms. She coughed as her back hit the ground and quickly filled her lungs with cool night air. Her bangs drooped before her eye, so she brushed them aside and sat upright. Crossing his legs next to her, her son reached out to touch her belly, and cast a weak Light spell that encouraged healing on her.

He mouthed something, but no sound escaped his lips. A wedge of faded light from somewhere below illuminated the grin on his face. They were on an upper landing of some sort, framed by iron rails and windows with boards crammed into them. The orange light flickered up from somewhere, exaggerating the shadows of high-stacked crates that obstructed her view.

Sounds suddenly trickled into her ears, loud after the forced quiet of Ove’s spell.

“Shush,” Ove whispered. “This is a store house with two private guards. They may be attuned to Dark and Sound so we can’t be brash.” As Ove turned her head, her white beak was visible for a moment as it angled out of the shadow. “Best just to be quiet, and slip out the other side.”

The thought of moving quietly made her think of Lander. She looked for him where the light did not reach, and found him standing stiffly with his arms awkwardly straight. Lyskilde flashed him a concerned look before walking silently off towards the other side of the warehouse.

Ove shook her head at Lander. “Get back in,” she ordered, holding her cloak open. Lander bent his knees to squat, chilling Lyrua’s arms to goosebumps as she imagined the guards hearing the scraping of his armour that almost sounded like ice breaking. Or had that been something else?

“If I overheat in there,” he whispered, “I’ll come back as a feather-plucking ghost and haunt you ‘till you’re bald.”

Squatting he was still taller than Ove, so she had to swing her cloak up to get it over his head. He vanished inside and Ove hopped out of the light.

Lyrua took deep breaths to steady her nerves before taking Athen’s hand and leading him. The floor was cramped with barrels and crates, and where some had lids askew illuminated from below, she could see they were empty inside. She stepped carefully as she led Athen, with her arm stretched out to find things hidden in the dark before her knees could.

Concerned about crossing the light and being seen from below, she peeked through the iron rails. She could see one of the lanterns now, on a wooden table set with plates of half-eaten bread. The warehouse guards were not there. She squinted into the dark around the crates and miscellaneous goods, but saw no sign of them beyond the table. For a moment she thought she saw someone, but it was merely a painting of some old nobleman, staring ahead with bright eyes from under a collapsing cover.

Satisfied there was no one to see them, she scuttled with Athen through the light. A creaking of wood came from behind her and she snapped her head around to look. Sheltered between two towers of crates on the floor beneath, Lyrua made out crimson pooling along the edge of the shadows.

“My Lady!” Ove’s voice called out behind her.

The borders of the light began to squirm. Lyrua lifted Athen in her arms, her memory of the tea room driving her to action. Something crawled ahead, clicking and tapping in the dark. They were tunnelling through the shadows to get in. They could appear anywhere. Backed against the rails she looked over her shoulder at the floor below, and cast her mana into the air. She bound the surrounding moisture, drawing it into a cascading sphere.

Without another thought, Lyrua pushed herself back and rolled over the rail, tumbling with her son into the water. They drifted through it and dropped roughly to the ground. Her head struck the floor, ruining her concentration as her head reeled. The water broke, drenching them in the deluge as she struggled to her feet. Three pins of light burst from the darkness, shimmering like stars.

She helped Athen to his feet, and he hid behind her. In Lyskilde’s light Lyrua could see through the bottom of the warehouse, like a monster’s maw with crates as crooked teeth and shadow-cloaked stalkers crawling through as drops of venom. Ove’s shortsword flashed, cutting into a stalker’s neck. The raven fell out of view, but then reappeared suddenly at the far end of the warehouse and cut another stalker down.

With another flash Ove was somewhere else. Lyrua shook her head. Ove was quick. She pulling Athen away with her until their backs were to the wall. Stalkers clawed and stumbled over each other, competing for her blood. There came the sound of ice again, cracking as if with purpose, like the voice of a shattered glacier. She shivered, pushing Athen along the wall, inching away until he bumped the dusty painting. The painted man’s bulging white eyes looked up at her.

Now Ove was above them on the rails. She leaped off, and with a ripple of her cloak, Lander plummeted from it, landing crouched with a crash. Plumes of steam billowed from his chest with each breath as he cooled his core, and the water that splashed up against his armour quickly burned away. He spared no attention for the twitching, broken creatures crushed under his steel boots. He swung his blade, spilling more blood into the water.

As Ove darted back beneath the second floor landing, the brace on Lander’s armour clicked open, and his hand whistled across the room. A stalker clawing its way free of the painting was flattened like a paper toy. The metal fist splashed into the growing pool of discoloured fluids flooding the ground, and Lander reeled his fist in. The other stalkers were piled beneath his boots in a settling mist, their cloaks of shadow peeling away to reveal their gangly, broken, forms.

Lyskilde jogged down the ramp at the edge of the room. “Bit nastier in here than we thought, isn’t it?” She stuck her hook into the plank barring the door and flung it out with a single motion. It splashed on the ground, and Lyrua heard the sound of ice snapping above.

She looked for the sound. The platform was a mosaic of narrow shadows, unnaturally sharp in Lyskilde’s light. Among them the bright white eyes of stalkers blinked and leered. They crept across the rails, seeking an efficient path to their target.

Ove leaped out from behind a crate as Lyskilde swung the heavy steel door open. She waved her wings with panicked urgency towards the opening. “Flee!” Ove cried. “Flee! Flee!”

Lyrua started moving, pulling Athen by his hand.

Athen's eyes were locked on the landing above, where the icy poetry of something addressed them. “That’s a benaffrygt,” he whimpered.