Between his injuries and the hike from Eichen, the young bull was more exhausted than he could ever recall. As a result, Theo rose later than he had intended. Even so, the morning was still young, judging by the colour of the sky outside his window. After a heavy breakfast with a great quantity of coffee, the Oak left the inn to find the gates of Hafenstrand open. The minotaur flashed his star stone to one of the men-at-arms, who saluted smartly with wide eyes and was only too happy to answer questions. Orel the Spark was very well known in the city, it seemed, and was unlikely to be home even at this hour.

  “Where would he be then?” Theo asked.

  “Down at the port, sir. He’ll be there with Governor Falkenstein, along with most of the city nobility, and the masters of the Guilds, sir.”

  “And why would they all be down at the port, soldier?”

  “The Spark’s giving a demonstration of some sort,” another soldier answered, as he rubbed his hands together. It was a nippy, if otherwise perfect morning. “He’s had his boys loading barrels of stuff into the old lighthouse out on there on this island about a mile out of the port. Whatever the crafty little lizard’s been up to, he’s showing it off this morning, sir," he explained. "Meant to be something special, but I’d stay clear of it if I was you. That fella’s touched in the head, sir. He’s alchemist and apothecary to all the big Houses around ‘ere, and he’s his own biggest customer, if you get my meaning.”

  “I do,” Theo sighed. “Thank you, but this is too urgent to wait.”

  He proceeded through the gate, following the cobbled streets of the city that was still only just waking up down towards its busy harbour. The city was built on one hill, and the richer houses were visible even from where Theo walked down to the port. They lined a fine road that weaved up the side of the rocky outcrop where the Governor’s Palace and fortress of the garrison were placed, with an excellent commanding view of the land and sea from all directions. Below the finery and order sprawled a hive of houses suited to one or more of half a dozen races spread out in uneven, disorganised patches that overlapped and intermingled frequently. Theo had been here before, years ago, when he had been Dietrich’s apprentice, before Orel had made this place his protectorate. The street itself leading to the harbour was unchanged from his memories of being on it as a sixteen year old. It was certainly busier, however, despite the early hour and bustled with activity around more merchant stalls and carts than he remembered from his first visit.

  He came across scores of well-dressed artisans with their tools in leather bags that were on their way to the shipyard, while coming up from the opposite direction were fishmongers, bringing their catches to market, or to restaurants and inns for breakfast. A wonderful aroma of coffee and frying onions drifted in the chilly morning air, and Theo's breath escaped his muzzle in puffs of steam. From the top of a hilly section of the street, the vast port itself spread out before him. The sea walls, which had been built by the Elves, were the only still standing remnants of them here in the city itself. The old light house out in the bay, the one the watchmen had talked about being the subject of Orel's special attention, was also of Elven origin. It stood on a lone island that commanded the entrance to the harbour. Given the angle of the sun and the blaze of golden morning light upon the surface of the water, the tower was barely visible at that moment. Theo counted nearly forty ships that lay safely at anchor in the harbour, and swore quietly to himself. If the Bauers were here, and hoping to escape to the sea, there were plenty of options open to them. There was no time to waste.

  Picking up the pace, the young bull weaved through a crowd that was steadily growing as the minutes ticked by and the sun rose progressively higher in the east. It was not difficult to track where Orel might be, for descending towards the harbour he soon spotted a large contingent of carriages, all with various paraphernalia of offices or births of rank. These were all gathered around a much larger and business-like Harbourmaster’s office than the one he had seen when last he was here. A bored looking driver for the Tanners Guild pointed out a large crowd gathering upon the nearest sea wall, taking up positions along its crenellations and ballista towers. Theo's walk was not over yet, and he felt his legs throb in seeming protest.

  The great sea wall of Hafenstrand was of Elvish construction, one of the few bits of Elven architecture left standing following the Last Night. Its practical purpose and engineering were such that, uncomfortable though it made everyone who saw it, the wall remained. It stood some eighty feet high by half that at its base, tapering to fifteen at its top. Embrasures and crenellations three feet thick crowned it and gave its top a saw-toothed appearance, while still leaving enough room for several bull minotaurs to patrol it while walking shoulder to shoulder. The Elf masons who'd constructed it had left its surface seamless, or nearly so. Only when the light struck the black wall from the right angle could one see where one block ended and the next began. Its path traced something akin to a quarter circle, anchored on one end to the bedrock of the hill upon which sat the fortress and governor's palace. The other end merged with the landward defences of the city. The Elves had extended spits of land into the harbour as well to build fortifications upon, so that the entrance to the shelter of Hafenstrand's docks was a few hundred yards. This ensured that any ship passing inside the arms of the wall was within range of the ballistae and onagers on the twin Gate Towers that dominated the seaward ends of the wall.

  Human and scaled guards stood at the edge of the wall. His size and his star stone saw him through. Walking along the harbour’s defences, Theo could not help but notice the scarring along the crenellations themselves. Despite centuries of erosion by the rain, it was obvious where there had been engravings embedded into the stone. These had long ago been excised by hammer and chisel. They had been gold, if he remembered what Dietrich had told him about this place on their last visit, but it had not been lust for the precious metal that had brought people out here to get rid of the things. Those had been where the Elves had suspended their enemies: naked, limbless, living forever until The Last Night ended their suffering, too.

  His walk took him closer and closer to Gate Tower on this end of the harbour wall. The docks on the landward side of the wall far below gave way to jumbled mossy boulders, and finally to the sea itself as he neared the gathered nobility. Heavy iron posts sprouted from the wall at this point, joined together by a stout chain meant to serve as a barrier for those who insisted on walking along the landward edge of the wall. It barely reached mid-thigh on the minotaur, who hugged the crenelated stonework instead. Beyond a dozen heavily armed and armoured minotaurs, Theo saw finery. The sea breeze brought the scent of tobacco and the light clink of fine crystal. The bulls, all clad in heavy plate enamelled in yellow ochre with dark purple cloaks, were the Governor’s personal guard. These were Fire Walkers, scions of a mountain clan native to the region. Even the smallest stood half a foot taller than Theo, but his stone got him past them too, though not without a few jokes behind his back that he was meant to hear.

  He soon walked amongst the great and the good of Hafenstrand, passing men with ermine cloaks, liveried servants, and bodies that clanked from the gold finery many strained under. It looked like the beginning of a hunt, or perhaps a party getting ready to go out with their falcons. Women in tight black and white dresses showing scandalous amounts of cleavage carried ebony trays with a golden flame symbol etched into them, offering red and white wines in frosted crystal glasses. Several massive buffet tables had been set up and arrayed along the battlements as well. He found the Governor standing among a cluster of robed advisors, staring out to sea beside an unmanned ballista. The harbour's defenders had evidently been relieved of their duties along this stretch of the wall.

  “Count Falkenstein.”

  The Count turned and regarded him with a hunter’s eye. His black hair and goatee were streaked with grey, though he looked still strong under his yellow robes and heavy purple cloak. He extended a leather gloved hand with his ring of office. Theo bowed, kissed it, and presented his stone and credentials.

  “What brings a member of St. Heinrich’s Order to my city?” the human asked.

  “I bring word of an action by the Order, your Excellency, and instruction from the acting head of our Order.” At this Theo drew out a letter that had been dictated by Eisengrim and signed by the old bull, as well as stamped with the late Siegfried’s seal of office. Watching that stamp being used had made Theo uncomfortable, but time was their enemy, and sensitivity had to be put aside. “I also seek an audience with my colleague who is based here. Might Orel the Spark be among this grand attendance?”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The Count gestured with a nod further up the sea wall, to the Gate Tower at its end. Theo could just spot a lone figure up there, staring out to sea with a telescope pressed to his eye.

  “That is whom you seek, sir. He is just checking the progress of his men on the island. You have my permission to speak with him. I shall read your letter in the meanwhile.”

  “Thank you, your Excellency.”

  Theo walked past a buffet table, where a pair of the women attendants were dutifully shooing away a number of stubborn seagulls who'd arrived steal the nobility’s breakfast. He paused to make a heavy bacon and cheese sandwich for himself, pouring himself some peach schnapps as well before he entered the tower. He had wolfed his second breakfast down before the steps led him to the top, and the figure.

  He was about average height, and wore a heavy cloak with furred shoulders that made him look bigger than he was. The way the wind snapped at his clothes made it obvious that he was a great deal thinner than he was trying to let on. The garments themselves looked expensive, and were a mix of black and white. He was a scaled, as Theo expected, his colouration a stark, jet black. As the young bull approached, he made no move to acknowledge him, instead keeping his telescope trained on the island beyond the harbour.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Theo said. “Might you be Orel the Spark?”

  “The one and only,” was the prompt answer, though the scaled gentleman did not take his gaze away from the island. “And who might you be, sir? I see you were able to get past the guards everyone posted without much trouble.”

  “You saw that?”

  “I have a telescope. It’s rather useful for things like that.”

  Theo felt his brow furrowing. “I thought you were meant to be watching your men?”

  Orel shrugged. “I can do both. In my line of work it’s necessary to keep an eye on your surroundings at all times.”

  “My name’s Theo.”

  Orel lowered his telescope, then. He looked at the bull over his shoulder, bright bullet eyes narrowing for a second.

  “The Oak?”

  Theo nodded. Orel’s face broke out into an unsteady, forced smile.

  “The old man’s latest,” the Spark said with an edge, as he turned to face his companion.

  “And you’re the old man’s first,” Theo said, unable to stop an edge creeping into his own voice.

  Seeing the Spark from the front was not much better. Given how large and baggy his clothes were, one might be forgiven for thinking Orel was an abnormally tall and gangly boy dressed in the clothes of a man. The belt at the scaled’s waist was lined with pouches and a slender dagger. There were holes cut into the leather of the belt to accommodate a trunk that must have been thicker once. Orel’s eyes were like emeralds lodged in coal. Only they seemed to hint at something greater beneath the fragile looking body.

  “How is he?” Orel asked.

  Theo felt his throat become dry just then. It had been coming. Part of him had to have known this would be asked. Why had he not been ready for this?

  A second slipped glacially by, followed by another. Theo wanted to speak. Something held his tongue. He could not look at Orel then, so his attention turned to the ground. He sensed agitation in the figure before him, impatient and apprehension. Would comprehension arrive before Theo could speak it? Part of him desperately wished that it would. He had learned to box because of friends the old man had. He had learned everything that had made him Theo the Oak, from the old man…He had watched him die, helpless to intervene. He had buried the old man.

  “I want you to say it,” he could hear Orel say, just at the edge of senses. “Find your balls and tell me.”

  “Dietrich’s dead.”

  Waves crashed against the sea wall. Seagulls squalled indifferently above. Orel turned and leaned against the nearby battlements. He buried his face in hands. Theo swayed a little where he stood, fighting tears.

  *

  “If it was old age, you wouldn’t be here,” Orel declared at length, after they had both regained their composure. The scaled’s voice was cracked, and he was breathing loudly through his mouth as he spoke. They were both leaning against the wall, looking out to sea. “What happened? Who did it?”

  “His name is Rahm,” Theo answered, looking out across dark and mysterious blue waters. “He’s a minotaur, an archer with a bow taller than you. He tried to shoot Eisengrim, but Dietrich took most of the arrow.”

  “Where was this? When? Tell me everything.”

  Theo obliged. It took a while to recount the last few days' exploits.

  “Magic?” demanded Orel at length.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?” the scaled scowled.

  Theo sighed and rubbed his temples. “Do I sound like I’m joking to you?”

  “It’s real, then?” Orel asked him, looking over at his colleague. “It’s actually real? The old man and that ancient cow weren’t touched in the head at all, then?”

  “I’ve seen it, Orel. I reacted the same way you did. I’ve seen what it can do, and I’ve seen what it leaves behind,” Theo answered, feeling tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hike from Eichen, or this morning's exertions.

  “How many people were at the farm?”

  “Nearly fifty, according to the owner.”

  “And you think he might have come here with his son, and that dog?”

  The Oak nodded. “It’s a working theory. Hafenstrand’s the closest port, and word of what’s happened back in Eichen clearly hasn’t reached here yet.”

  “And this Rahm might be here, too?”

  At this, Theo shrugged. “He might be. Martin was very important to his master, and whoever his master was too, apparently.”

  “My thanks to you, Theo. You’ve completely ruined my day.”

  The bull growled before he could stop himself. He gave Orel a piercing, dangerous look. The Spark seemed unimpressed.

  “I need your help organising a search of the vessels in the harbour,” Theo declared. “Especially those scheduled to leave soon.”

  “I bet you do,” Orel replied with an acid smile. “Well, you wait your turn, Theo the Oaf. This morning’s mine, you understand? Dietrich’s death or no, I can’t cancel this. I won’t cancel this. It’s too important.”

  “Showing off new narcotics, are you? I understand you’re everyone’s supplier.”

  “Been listening to the envious whispers of little people, have you?” hissed the scaled.

  “I’m sure the rank you hold here, along with being able to summon all the nobility to watch a parlour trick or two must be very handy, when you want to bring things into port without someone searching the cargo,” Theo replied with a sigh.

  “Well, I would have to yield to your expertise here, Theodore,” the Spark sneered back. “I probably don’t visit the docks nearly as often as you do.”

  Theo’s grip on the wall tightened. His knuckles grew pale. He snarled at the smaller, fragile male, with murder in his eyes.

  Orel smiled back. “Envy’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? It leads to lots of people saying lots of things when you’re far away.”

  “All of them lies,” Theo said, his voice a dangerous whisper.

  All this did was a provoke a harsh laugh from the scaled. “Of course. Shall we stop this, before one of does something that’ll put them over the wall and into the sea?”

  “What are you doing out here that’s so damned important, anyway?” The Oak growled. He began breathing exercises, trying to ease his heart rate, and calm his sudden for violence. “Why can’t it wait?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Orel smiled. He stepped away from the wall, and Theo, with an enthusiastic clap of his hands. “Out there, stuffed under the foundations of that old Elvish tower, I have a new invention, that will not only change the nature of warfare, but possibly the entire world. It – ”

  A fireball out in the bay cut Orel off before he could say more. It was followed several long seconds later by a rumble that shook the earth. It grew exponentially, as if a thunderclap was racing to meet them. In the same time that it did, he and Theo were thrown clean off of their feet.