The other five began to fan out, slowly, cutting off my retreat. The trap was sprung.
"Sorry," I said, with a tight smile. "I'm a bit behind on my taxes, already owe enough in the Waking World as is. I don't suppose you'd give a new face like myself a freebie?"
The answer was six blades being summoned into existence.
I turned and ran. Not in blind panic, but with a specific direction in mind: back toward the narrow, defensible alley we had passed moments before. I heard their shouts and the pounding of their boots as they gave chase, their friendly façade gone, replaced by the snarls of hunters.
I burst into the alley, skidding to a halt in the centre. They poured in after me, six against one, confident in their victory. Kael was at the front, his smile now a vicious grin. "Nowhere to run now, fresh meat. Now give us what you have, and we'll let you walk out of here with no flesh missing—"
He never finished his sentence.
The shadow I cast on the wall next to him detached itself. Sasrir flowed into existence with the silence of a nightmare, his form solidifying between Kael and the man behind him. His hands were already moving. A curved sword appeared in each, and in one fluid motion, he drew the left blade across Kael's throat and plunged the right into the heart of the second uniformed man.
It was so fast, so utterly unexpected, that there was no sound. Just a wet gurgle from Kael and a soft sigh from the other as they collapsed. The remaining four skidded to a halt, their faces a perfect canvas of shock and terror.
The third uniformed man fumbled for the sword at his hip. Sasrir didn't give him the chance. He took a step forward, and as he did, the sword in his right hand dissolved into shadow and reformed into a heavy, spiked maul. He swung it in a short, brutal arc, catching the man squarely in the temple with a crack that echoed sickeningly in the confined space. The man dropped like a sack of stones.
Thirty seconds. That was all it had taken. The friendly greeting, the chase, the ambush. From a seemingly helpless victim to three corpses on the ground. The remaining three thugs, the hired muscle, stared at the carnage, then at Sasrir, who stood calmly amidst the bodies, his dark eyes already fixed on them. Their courage, which had been based on overwhelming numbers, evaporated. The fight was just beginning, but for them, it was already over.
**********************
The man on the ground, whose name we learned was Jarek, whimpered as Sasrir calmly stepped over his dead companion to begin methodically searching the bodies. The sound of Sasrir's quiet efficiency—the rustle of fabric, the clink of discovered coins or trinkets—was a grim counterpoint to Jarek's ragged breathing. The initial, cheerful façade of Kael and his crew was now a distant memory, replaced by the cold reality of blood-soaked cobblestones.
I kept my crouch, my friendly smile never wavering, though it likely looked more like a predator baring its teeth to Jarek. "Now, Jarek," I began, my voice still deceptively light. "That was a very unpleasant welcome party. Let's try again, shall we? But this time, you're going to do the talking. Start with Gunlaug. Tell me everything you know. His mood, his routines, the strength of his guards, the layout of Bright Castle. Don't leave anything out."
Jarek's eyes darted from my face to Sasrir's looming figure and back again. Terror was a potent truth serum. "He-he's the king!" he stammered, spittle flying from his lips. "The Lord of Bright Castle! No one challenges him! He has an army! They have Memories, powerful ones! He sits on a throne and judges everyone who enters!"
It was all grandiose, fear-filled generalities. "Specifics, Jarek," I chided gently. "How many guards at the main gate? What are their shifts? Where does he sleep?"
"I don't know! I swear!" he cried, clutching his bleeding leg. "I'm not one of them! I just... I ran errands! I got in because my friend, Kael..." he gestured feebly at the corpse with the slit throat, "...he was a Hunter. He vouched for me! I just live in the outer barracks! I've never even been to the inner keep!"
This was disappointing. We'd caught a small fish, not a key to the castle. "The survivors on the Outskirts, then. The ones not under Gunlaug's thumb. Where are they? How do they survive?"
Jarek shook his head, confused by the line of questioning. "The Outskirts? That's a death sentence! The Corrupted roam freely there! Only the mad or the desperate live there!"
"Fine. Rumors, then. The Seven Statues. The Lord Shards. What have you heard?" I pressed, watching his face closely. This was the real test. If he knew anything concrete about the Shards, it would mean the information was more widespread than I'd thought.
Jarek's brow furrowed in genuine confusion, mixed with his overwhelming fear. "The... the statues? The old heroes? They're just landmarks! Cursed places! No one goes near them except the crazy Pathfinders, and half of them don't come back! Lord Shards? I... I don't know what that is! Is it a type of Memory? A new rank?"
His ignorance was a relief. The true significance of the Shards was still a well-kept secret, known only to the very top tiers like Gunlaug and maybe the most established Legacy cohorts. This fool was just a grunt.
It was then that a spark of defiance, born of sheer desperation, flickered in his eyes. "You're dead," he hissed, his voice gaining a shred of venom. "You hear me? Dead! Kael was one of Gemma's scouts! He's Gunlaug's champion! When he finds out you killed him, he'll tear you apart with his bare hands! Your only chance is to let me go! I can tell him it was a monster attack! I can smooth it over!"
I almost felt sorry for him. He was trying to play his only remaining card, but he had no idea how worthless it was. "Gemma?" I repeated, feigning thoughtfulness. "Big man? Power of regeneration? Don't worry about him. We'll have a chat soon enough."
My dismissal of his threat seemed to confuse him more than frighten him. But then I asked the question that truly broke his understanding of the situation. "What about Seishan? And Effie? Where do they usually operate? Are they working together yet?"
Jarek's jaw went slack. The terror in his eyes was suddenly mixed with pure, unadulterated bewilderment. "How... how do you know those names?" he whispered. "You're new! You just got here! Effie's a wild woman and Seishan never leaves the Castle! Who are you?"
I just smiled wider. "I'm a guy who asks questions. And you're a guy who's not answering them. Seishan. Effie. Tell me what you've heard. Now."
He babbled, the coherence of his story breaking down under the cognitive dissonance. "Seishan, she leads the Handmaidens, the girls. She keeps them safe, stops them being raped. Apparently she's some sort of Legacy, but I don't know the Clan. Her Aspect...it fucked with her skin, but that's all I know."
"And for the Beast Woman... she lives somewhere in the City, no one can track her down. She fights with her fists and teeth, like an animal! No one works with them! They're freaks! Dangerous freaks! Especially Effie, Gunlaug put a marker on her, anyone who teams with her gets the axe."
His information was, again, a mixture of exaggerated rumour and half-truths, but it confirmed their presence and their general territories. That was enough for now.
Sasrir finished his grisly task, returning to my side with a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. He had retrieved a few coins, a serviceable-looking dagger from one of the thugs, and most importantly, Kael's leather jacket, which bore the spiral insignia. It might grant us passage, or at least a second glance instead of an immediate attack. The worst thing about fighting fellow Awakened was the fact everything of value was stored in the Soul Sea and vanished upon death.
He had told us all he knows, which is little more than street gossip and the fears of a small man.
I nodded slightly, still looking at Jarek. The man was sobbing quietly now, broken by the interrogation and the sheer surreal horror of his situation. He had expected to rob a helpless newcomer and had instead stumbled into something far beyond his comprehension.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Jarek," I said, standing up. The friendly smile finally left my face, replaced by an expression of cold neutrality. My Flaw, Justice, assessed the situation dispassionately. He was a would-be robber and murderer. Leaving him alive was a risk. He could report our descriptions, our capabilities. He was a liability, and definitely deserving of death.
But he was also pathetic, broken, and knew nothing of real value. Killing him now would be efficient, but it served no greater strategic purpose beyond immediate convenience. It was… excessive.
"Let him go," I said to Sasrir.
Jarek's head snapped up, disbelief warring with a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Sasrir didn't question the order. He simply gestured, and the shadow dagger pinning Jarek's leg to the ground dissolved into smoke. Jarek cried out in a fresh wave of pain as the wound was freed.
"Run," I told him, my voice flat. "Go back to your barracks. Tell whatever story you want. But if you ever see me again, you won't get a second chance."
He didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, clutching his bleeding leg, he hobbled away as fast as he could, not looking back. He vanished around the corner, leaving us alone in the alley with the dead.
I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Well, that was informative."
Barely," Sasrir countered, handing me the bundle of loot. "We know the strong are where we expected them to be, and the weak are afraid. We learned nothing of substance about the Castle's defences."
"Maybe not," I said, pulling on Kael's leather jacket over my Starlight Shard. The insignia felt like a cheap disguise, but it was better than nothing. "But we confirmed that Effie is here and active. And we know that no one is expecting us. To them, we're just another piece of the nightmare. That's an advantage."
"And besides, we're not actually planning on raiding the Castle, remember? We're here to fight in, to take it down from the inside."
"By killing four of the Lord's men?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow. "Why did you let that scumbag go anyways? Who knows how much innocent blood he has one his hands?"
I just shrugged and didn't answer. I looked down the alleyway where Jarek had fled. The city seemed to swallow him whole. We had taken our first step into the human politics of the Forgotten Shore. It was, I reflected, just as treacherous and bloody as fighting monsters.
No wonder Nephis wanted to burn it to the ground.