Mekior paced slowly through the city. His mind wandered, dwelling on Gyv, her disappointment that they had no children, the fights and arguments growing ever worse, and then her leaving to go to another city to start anew. How do I explain it to her? Can I reveal myself to her; let her know who I really am? He walked on automatic, senses seeking out the wrong, the tainted. In the five years since the refugees had arrived from weald Hall, the city of Harmony Lake had grown. The refugees quickly established themselves, gratefully accepting the assistance and rulership of the Dark Paeons. They trusted in Delire, who now sat on the ruling council, an adviser to the Master, and no one doubted the effect she had or the equality shared by all despite the bad reputation of the Dark Paeons..

His circuit took him through the great market; crowds thronging its narrow paths, a multitude of scents rising from those who sold food to those who peddled spices brought in by merchants foolish enough to travel just to earn a quick coin, and then very different scents when one ventured where the beast traders sold their wares. With all the strangers, the market was always an area of concern, an area that could all too easily hide a spy or an informer. Mekior moved through and would have exited in peace if he had not been knocked to his feet by a child darting between his legs, pursued by a man dressed simply in a leather tunic with pants of similar make. As the man passed, Mekior, even caught up in his reverie, felt a wave of nausea and he turned, sprinting after the man and boy.

"Give it back, boy." The man stood over the prostate form of the child, arms reaching out for him, the threat evident in his movements and his tone of voice.

"What has the boy taken from you, friend?" Mekior's voice penetrated the tableau, the man's head jerked around to look at the newcomer, while the boy using the distraction to scramble away, edge around the two men and run down the alleyway, leaving the two alone.

"What do you want from me? Wait, I know you, you don't rule here and I take my orders from another!" The man’s voice was kept soft, he did not want attention now, "That boy stole my seal; if it falls into the wrong hands my cover is blown!"

Mekior laughed at the man, coming forward so he stood before him, but a few feet separating the two.

"I am the wrong hands! I will find the boy after this, but first I will deal with you!" He hefted his sword, stabbing forward suddenly, aiming for the man's stomach.

Deftly, swiftly, the man twisted, the blade passing harmlessly by. He struck back, claws growing from his hands, his whole body shifting, changing, features mutating into those of a nightmare monster.

"Renegade! I will destroy you. Your type fetches a good reward!" Its claws shot out, striking at the sword, driving it to the ground even as it leaped into the air, legs flashing around to try to rip him with their talons.Now it was Mekior's turn to duck, twist, shift his form into a scaled creature, his arms elongating with razor sharp fins, claws with metallic tips. He moved faster than the eye could follow, his hands shooting out, punching through the fiends chest, ripping out its heart, then its stomach. He stood over the stunned fiend and shifted back to his human form. Mekior knelt down, leaning close to the fiend who, while mortally wounded, remained alive, sustained by another heart that continued to pump within its body.

"Yes, I am a renegade, one of the native born, and I own allegiance to none! I am a creature of this world now. I have lived within these caverns, amongst these humans and their allies for my entire life. You have but seconds to live before I destroy you. You will not live to betray this city or myself." Mekior stood, grabbed his fallen sword, and hacked at the fallen fiend, mutilating it so badly that no evidence remained of the wounds that had led to its death. It was then that he noticed the boy. He must have sneaked back, watched the fight and seen the transformations of both fiends. Mekior walked up to him, hand open and held out.

"Give me what you took from him, boy." He looked down at the boy; saw a scruffy street urchin wearing torn and ragged clothes, a distended stomach visible through a ragged and torn shirt, feet bare on the cold cavern floor.

"Sir, I know you. You are Mekior, the famed fiend hunter! That was amazing! I couldn't believe the fiend's illusion, its ruse to try and make you look like a fiend yourself! I mean if you weren't Mekior, the Fiend Hunter, I would have thought that you might also be a fiend." Awestruck the boy walked forward and gazed at Mekior. "Here, I stole his purse. I know I shouldn't but I'm very hungry!"

Mekior took the purse from the boy's outstretched hand and smiled. Thank the Gods that this one thinks he only saw an illusion. I have become careless, and I have my answer, I cannot reveal myself to Gyv.

"Thank you, boy. Come with me, you will be well rewarded for this. Your actions revealed a traitor and a spy to us!" Mekior opened the purse, the belt pouch heavy in his hands. Inside were two handfuls of gold coins, enough to feed this boy for the next ten years, and a lead seal. Grimly he took the seal and gave the bag to the boy.

"Did you look within this pouch, boy?" Mekior looked at the boy, trying to judge the truthfulness of his response.

"No, Sir. I know it must have lots of coins inside, it is heavy! I think at least ten copper must lie within!"

Mekior's smile broadened. A simple solution then, this boy will not want to explain to the guard how he got the pouch. "Here, take the purse and its contents as a reward. Come, boy, take your reward and then let us go to the guard. They will want to know everything you saw and heard from this man."

The boy took the purse and his eyes widened as he looked inside and saw the glint of gold. He set off with Mekior, keeping a short distance from him until they entered the marketplace. As they did so, the boy darted off, losing himself in the crowds. Mekior smiled, his secret would remain in place for a while yet. No overly inquisitive guard captain would have a chance to question the boy too closely over what he had seen.

***

Jeria looked around the room. A blazing fire warmed it from a massive hearth, large enough to hold the two carcasses of cave beasts slowly roasting over the flames that filled the room with the aroma of cooking meat. Jeria looked around, but saw no one nearby, the torches that lit as he arrived evidently reacting to his presence. He saw two comfortable, high-backed chairs set in front of the fire and tall glasses with some clear liquid and ice floating within. Little rivulets of moisture slowly ebbed down their sides, the whole scene comfortable and inviting.

"Take a seat, make yourself comfortable." The voice was urbane, cultured, as the speaker stepped into the room from a door concealed behind a hanging tapestry. The speaker was short and looked human. He was wearing an outfit that would be the envy of a merchant prince, fine cotton pants, a silk shirt with a velvet jacket, rich clothing expertly tailored to his figure. Jeria did not trust appearances; the power of the fiend responsible for bringing him to this place was beyond question. This person was at the top of the food chain, a food chain in which personal power meant as much as power mustered from supporters and factions courted.

Jeria walked to one of the seats and sat down, the plush padding melding to his body, gently massaging him. The man sat down next to him, luxuriating in the heat radiating from the fire, sipping from the glass next to his chair. Jeria followed suite, sipping the liquid and finding it to be sweet, pure, cool spring water. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the ambience and the healthy smell of the roasting meat.

"You must be wondering who I am, what I want with you? The first question is simple; I am Secheriab, fiend of the first tier and aide to the ruler of the eighth circle. My master has sent me here for a very simple reason: to get rid of Kirest and stop the conversion of this world into a mirror of hell." He stopped, aware of the effect of his words on Jeria who sat stunned.

"I am sure you wonder why the Lord of the Eighth would want to stop this invasion. Simple, really, Kirest was one of his Dukes. The power Kirest has accumulated, the powerful fiends he has suborned into his service has caused my master great distress and concern. He does not like this expansion of realms; it brings an imbalance to a system that has been in balance for longer than the human race has existed." He swivelled his chair, looked at Jeria, and continued. "Your role is simple, put us in contact with the resisting cities. They would never accept our overtures openly and you are probably the sole half-fiend trusted enough to even get an audience with the cities' rulers."

Jeria sat still and let the information be absorbed, filter through his preconceptions and ideas about reality. He thought about how easy it would be for the fiends to have killed him, and to have destroyed the group with whom he had been travelling. This room, the power of the fiends within, his hosts comfort with dealing with him while he was still armed, and with no fear for any action he might take, were all indicative of a casual power that the wielder took for granted. He felt drowned, out of his depth, this situation needed those used to dealing with power to deal with it. He looked at Secheriab.

"What do you need me to do?"