Iarkspur was cold, she was wet and she was beginning to regret ever leaving her cozy encampment. She was not dressed for a journey in winds as harsh as the ones that had battered her as she and Arledge traveled south. Days of trying to find the most sheltered places whilst walking over rolling hills. They look cool and open, which is precisely why it was impossible to find anywhere to totally avoid the nearly freezing rain on the way down. They then had to avoid things that Arledge called Soagdars. Essentially acid spitting dogs taller than she was. Eventually they made it to the main road, only to be held up to allow military patrols to pass by. Another wait at Watercross. These locals had great names for things, considering they were waiting to cross the water. A few hours on a rickety boat with a battered sail and an oarsman that never kept quiet about the myths of the deep, even though they were travelling over what was really just a huge lagoon. Anything as large as the creatures he was describing would have been spotted long ago.

The icing on the cake, which put the ice on Iarkspur, was getting lost as they tried to navigate the city. They could barely find anyone to ask for directions as it was so cold and once they finally found a couple guards to help them, the guards didn’t stop at all. They bowled right through Iarkspur and Arledge, knocking them both into the snow. Thankfully one of them looked back. Iarkspur would remember his face for when she next met him and perhaps, she would might bump into him even harder.

Following Arledge’s advice, they slipped into an Inn for the night. He had been surprisingly charitable with his money on the way down and getting rooms in this Inn was no different.

Iarkspur burrowed into her bed as soon as she could, trying to wring warmth out of the sheets and into her person. She had decided very quickly into their journey that she hated the cold and, by association, the snow.

Having the room just adjacent to the chimney of the large fireplace on the ground floor meant Iarkspur’s room ran a little warmer than the other rooms, but not enough for her to be entirely satisfied. If she hadn’t had such a long day of walking on already blistered feet, she wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep in this city.

Instead, she slipped from shivering to snoring before she could curse the weather another time.

The fire having died down significantly over the night, Iarkspur’s room had frost building on the inner side of the windowpanes. Once she had forced herself out of the comfort of her pocket of warmth, Iarkspur walked over and ran a nail over it and chipped some of the ice off to make sure.

“I hate this place,” she said her chest involuntarily shaking as the cold set in.

There was a knock at the door as Arledge, always up earlier than she was, called through to ask if she was ready.

“Just a m-minute,” Iarkspur called back.

“I’ll wait downstairs. I think I can smell warm cocoa with my name on it.”

“You can smell your name?”

Arledge didn’t respond to her joke. He rarely did. He had opened up on their journey a little. He had talked about his family and their life in the forest, getting interested in hers when she explained she also lived in Urkeoaes. He didn’t bring them up when prompted, but she had found he would mention them when reminded of old memories.

The man in red, he also explained, was a member of the Severed Redemption. The group was a collection of heroes with a variety of talents. They had made a name for the themselves across the continent of Viamarr by practically single-handedly ending a war up North between Breeax and Luwraeg, helping fend off the latter force from advancing up North and conquering the smaller country.

The man, Douglas Davistone, was a wealthy scholar and one of the best magical practitioners on the continent, possibly the world. He was also well-known for being a stick in the mud, but kind to the public. It didn’t make sense that he would go out of his way to travel into the forest to attack a village.

To Iarkspur, the disconnect meant that Arledge was likely just as in the dark as she was about the man’s motives. All the more reason to find their home in the city and question them directly.

A strong breakfast of oatmeal for Iarkspur and a carrot for Arledge. He gave the innkeeper some strong words as they left, a lot of them to do with stereotypes, Iarkspur felt bad for giggling as he did.

It took them the better part of the morning to find someone to point them in the right direction. The sun was just hitting its highest point as the two misfits dragged their feet to the modest front door of the Severed Redemption. Iarkspur had been expecting a much heavier coating of black paint to decorate the outside of this four-story house. It was wedged between two other buildings, as most were on this island, but the top story pushed it head and shoulders above the two next to it. Plain walls, with windows placed at intervals up the side of it. The front door had two steps leading up to it and a small plaque, next to a brass knocker, that read: “Urgent matters only. No fans, no nonsense and no deliveries. If you wish to contact us, please visit the Atipumal Archives or the Passage of Potential. We thank you for your discretion.”

“Screw that,” Arledge said as Iarskpur read the plaque to him, “what’s a knocker for?”

“Knocking?”

“So, please, do it.”

Iarkspur hesitated before clutched the brass ring and hitting the door firmly three times. There was only one passer-by but she tutted loudly at the two as she passed.

There was no reply from inside. Iarkspur tried the knocker again, but the same lack of response greeted them.

“Perhaps we should go to one of these places. The Optimal passage or something?” She said, looking down at Arledge. He didn’t look like he was paying attention to what she was saying. His nose was twitching erratically.

“Something’s wrong,” Arledge said, “I can smell… blood. Yeah, blood. Inside. Lots of it.”

“They’re warriors, right? Maybe they’ve been training and that’s why they don’t want to answer the door.”

“It feels wrong. We need to get in.”

“I know, that’s what I’m saying. They don’t want visitors and-”

“Can you please, please stop talking and start thinking?”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, I just. We’re this close.”

Iarkspur shrugged and leaned against the door.

“We can’t just break in,” she said.

“We can, and we have good reason,” Arledge said, smiling.

“Okay, I guess morally we would be allowed. Legally? Likely not. Physically? Definitely not.”

“Why not?” Arledge asked, cracking his neck and loosening up his shoulders.

“Well, I can’t manipulate plants in this sort of weather, with no plants around. And you’re just, well, a rabbit,” Iarkspur said, having the self-awareness to look embarrassed as she said it.

“Just a rabbit?” Arledge said, “Oh, please, I’m actually hoping one of them is waiting to fight an intruder. I’d like the challenge.”

As Arledge finished up his words, he walked over to the other side of the street and sized up the distance. He waved an arm to motion Iarkspur to get some distance, which she did, and got in a crouched position braced against the wall on the other side of the street. He then sprung off, shooting like a bullet through the air towards the front door. At the last moment, he spun in the air and kicked out, kicking the door open and breaking the lock through the door frame at the same time.

Iarkspur ducked her head around and into the house, where Arledge was standing in a fighting stance.

“What the gods was that?” She asked, staring down at Arledge. He didn’t turn or even really acknowledge the question, although Iarkspur swore she could see a small shrug.

Arledge did not loosen up from his stance. To Iarkspur, there was no immediate threat, but he stalked ahead further into the dark building. Iarkspur pushed the front door to and tiptoed after him.

The entrance room was long and felt larger on the inside than the crushed exterior had appeared. The floor was made of a polished, slick dark wood. There were stuffed heads of all sorts of beasts lining the walls and skins made rugs to walk on. Neither Arledge nor Iarkspur stepped foot on one, respectfully skirting the sides of the room as quietly as they could.

There was second room beyond the lavish entrance, that had a spiral staircase rising up from the center of it. Arledge held up a paw but Iarkspur had already seen it. The blood.

It blended in well with the dark reflective surface of the wood, however the shade was off. Slick and red, it had dripped all the way down the stairs, pooling on the ground floor. Arledge crept over, on full alert, and dabbed a paw into the puddle. Iarkspur could see strands of it clinging to both the paw and the floor. It had dried a lot, become congealed, but it was still relatively fresh. Perhaps the temperature had kept it going for longer without completely drying out? She was used to seeing dried blood relatively quickly after a kill in the woods.

Arledge was moving up the stairs, hopping silently from one step to the next. Iarkspur hurried to keep up. She didn’t want to be in this building, especially not alone.

They climbed to the first floor, but the blood trail continued up, so they did too. All the way to the top floor, the two of them followed the spiral of red. Iarkspur saw the top and threw up over the balcony as soon as she tore her eyes away. Arledge did not look away.

Standing, pinned to wall, was the white-haired man. Douglas Davistone. He was long dead and was pinned up in a similar fashion to the case of dead butterflies to his left. His body looked absolutely drained of its insides, which likely explained the blood down the stairs. An x was smudged onto his forehead in blood and a trail neatly led from him to the stairs.

After staring at the man that had killed everyone he loved, Arledge slapped himself out of his trance. His dragged Iarkspur back down the staircase.

“Come on, Ia, let’s get you back downstairs,” he said soothingly, although his voice shook, betraying his own uncertainty.

They reached the third floor and, despite himself, Arledge left Iarkspur to quickly check in the other rooms. One was a library that looked to double as a study, with open books and papers strewn everywhere. The other rooms were owned by other members of the Severed Redemption. Arledge didn’t have to guess which ones as they too were strung up in their rooms. One lady had been tied over an anvil, apparently while it was being used. Another, smaller lady, was tied up in enough twine to put in kneeling, praying, position. From the utensils around her, she had died from the elements, all of them. Arledge decided against looking in any more rooms. He wasn’t one with a weak stomach, but even seeing Douglas had pushed his limit and he despised the man.

He hurried back to Iarkspur, suddenly very aware of where they were.

“We need to go,” he said. She just nodded, quietly crying. “Iarkspur, hurry. Down the stairs. If we get caught in the home of the most beloved group of heroes on the continent, in this situation?”

He pushed Iarkspur on, a little more forcefully than he would normally but they couldn’t risk being spotted here. There was already one eye witness that had seen them at the front door.

“One last step, okay, now straight forward to the d-”

“Hello?”

There was someone standing in the entrance hall, the front door wide open to the cold.

“Hello,” the person repeated, “my name is Beth. I’m wondering if you could help me.”