They did not have long to wait before the next body turned up.

This time, however, it was not a nameless kin from the underdocks, but a grey-robed cleric – a devoted follower of the Great Peace. It confirmed Illando's suspicion that the small group of fanatics he and his companions had slaughtered in Gjornharr were only a small symptom of a much deadlier disease sweeping through the outer districts.

And this time, someone was definitely making a statement, sending a gruesome message that they held no regard for the Great Peace that had founded Wildhearth and the sister-cities of the continent. He suspected the brazen brutality of the kill – and the target – was retaliation for the dead cultists.

Illando clicked his tongue against his teeth in annoyance as he examined the corpse lying in full bloody view in the neighbouring district of Denneke, a low buzz of anxious noise fizzing at the edge of his hearing.

The local watchguards had helped them set a cordon to keep the crowd of onlookers out of the way, but not before dozens of citykin had clapped eyes on the dead cleric. The news spread like fleas through the district and it had been all he could do to avoid a full blown panic among the kin who lived here.

"Y'think we got someone's attention?" Gensher muttered, crouching on his haunches as he studied the remains.

Illando snorted derisively. This unfortunate soul was not tucked in a seldom-used sluiceway, but staked out in full view of one of the busiest thoroughfares in Denneke. An elderly bearkin, the body had been bolted to the wall of a repair shop by a set of heavy iron construction rods, and showed the same evidence of mutilation as the first. More of the impenetrable script had been scribbled around it in a mix of dried blood and black ink.

"How'd someone manage to do ... this without being seen?" Ellewyn murmured in disbelief.

Illando glanced back over his shoulder at the young pack-leader, wondering if it had been wise to allow her to tag along. She was technically out of her jurisdiction, but he knew they needed allies among the watchguards if they wanted to repair the wounds of the past. This seemed as good a way to start as any, with someone who seemed to at least care about her job.

"They didn't kill him here," he told her, making a lazy gesture to the ground around the cleric's feet. "Not enough blood."

"Sure enough." Noelle nodded her agreement. "If they'd cut him up here the place'd be swimming."

Ellewyn grimaced. "Lovely."

"Just sayin'."

"So we need to find the murder site."

"That'd be a start." Illando straightened up, his muzzle tight with thought. "But until we know what these markings mean we're still going to be swinging in the dark."

"Sir – Illando?" Ellewyn piped up. "I've been liaising with Senior Pack-Leader Bronco in Palharr district about the murder in Gjornharr. He's got people looking into the disappearances across districts. We're trying to figure out a pattern but... well, there's nothing concrete so far, but he might be able to help us."

"Y'really want to drag more dogs into this, Illando?" Farler grunted.

In a flash Ellewyn was in front on him, squaring up to the burly wolfkin, eyes blazing with anger.

"Call me 'dog' again," she snarled. "I dare you."

Farler smirked and opened his mouth.

"Easy now," Illando growled, cutting him off. "We're all on the same side here." Stepping over to the pair he took a gentle grip of Ellewyn's shoulder and eased her away, keeping a wary eye on his fellow enforcer. "If we're going to get to the bottom of this mess we're going to have to rely on each other just a little. We can't cover the whole city on our own, Farler."

"You're in charge," the other wolfkin replied blandly.

"Bronco's got respect in the watchguards," Illando continued, "and he knows the districts better than we do. It can't hurt to keep him in the loop."

Farler nodded. "When do we go?"

"I'll take Ferrow and her pack," he replied. "You and Gensher head back to command and get a pack sent down here to turn this place upside down. Then I need you to coordinate with the watchguard commanders in the other districts. We need to make our presence known; let people know the enforcers aren't sitting on our tails while their friends are getting butchered in the streets. Speak to Morta and strip any spare bodies out of the teams working the Silk and redeploy every pack we can spare to help."

Gensher frowned. "Help how, exactly? They've got plenty of bodies of their own patrolling out there."

"You saw the guards at Gjornharr. They don't have the numbers or the backbone to dig into the places that really need it. Find the places the watchguards won't go, and that's where they'll need you. That's where I need you. Night patrols, the underdocks, tunnel systems, back alleys – the worst places you can think of."

"It's a glamorous job," Farler laughed. "And if anyone runs across more of those crazy mongrels?"

"Permission to hunt. Do what you have to do." Illando glancing pointedly at Gensher. "But try to take at least one alive for questioning."

Farler smirked, shooting Gensher a sly look. "Yes, sir."

"Noelle?"

"Boss?"

"Grab any techs you need and see if you can't figure out who's been printing those little pamphlets. They're professional jobs – someone had to pay for them – so there's got to be a trail somewhere."

She nodded. "If it's there, I'll find it."

"Then go," he ordered.

"What... what about me?" Ellewyn asked, stepping forward.

"You?" Illando turned to face her, arms folded and one footpaw tapping against the hard-mud road surface. "How long until you're missed in Gjornharr?"

"Missed?" she scoffed. "The seniors are probably glad to be rid of me for a while. Apparently I'm 'difficult'."

He smiled. "Then I guess you'd better meet us in Palharr."

***

Illando had never been to Palharr District, but he had to admit, ever since the events that had led to his predecessor's downfall, he'd been mildly curious about the place. What he found was an unremarkable, rough-shod mass of rickety buildings planted in Wildhearth's south-west spiral. The place was home to a large foxkin population; sly-muzzled, quick-witted technicians, traders, smugglers, scavengers and salvage workers for the most part. It stank of metal and circuits, the whole mess coiling around a sprawling trademarket in the centre of the district.

It was hard to believe that one person from this place had brought about Hera's downfall.

He didn't like foxkin. They thrived in the shadows of back room deals and underground commerce, likely to steal the fangs clean out of your mouth if you weren't paying attention. Those he'd interacted with in the Conclave had been self-serving snakes, trying to scrabble their way up Wildhearth's ladder with a minimum of effort for maximum reward. He avoided them on principle when he could.

No chance of that now, though. Trying to bury that instinctive dislike, Illando squared his shoulders and stalked on through the cold, wet evening, with Ferrow and her enforcer pack close behind. The sun was beginning to dip below the clustered mass of Wildhearth's buildings, and clouds swirled overhead, letting loose a thin film of rain that coated his armour. The enforcers gleamed in the gathering twilight.

They turned right off the main thoroughfare that carved through Palharr and came into sight of the district's main lawhouse. It was bigger than he'd expected. The horseshoe-shaped mass of kiln-hardened ceramic brickwork loomed out of the mist, ribbed with metal and reinforced wood and climbing five stories high. At the early hour the plaza out front was quiet, with a trickle of citykin and several patrolling watchguards, shoulders hunched against the rain. Their posture stiffened, however, when they spotted Illando and his fellow enforcers marching up to the front door.

Eventually one of them plucked up the courage to bar his path, moving down the broad steps at the front of the building and raising a paw.

"Hold there," the vulkin grated. He was a burly specimen covered in black fur, with large ears and an almost rectangular muzzle. His free paw rested on the truncheon thrust through his belt. "State your business, please."

Illando allowed himself a thin smile as he came to a halt, allowing Ferrow and the six other wolfkin of her command to spread out behind him. The watchguard's eyes flickered left and right uneasily.

"We're here to see Senior Pack-Leader Bronco," Illando told him flatly. "If you need to waste time confirming it, don't let me stop you."

The guard bristled for a moment; glanced back at his companion by the door. The other watchguard replied with a small shake of the head. Not worth it.

"Go on through," he replied, stepping to one side. "Call in at the front desk and they'll let Bronco know you're here."

Illando waved his companions forward without a word, stepping past the guard and planting a paw against the heavy darkwood door of the lawhouse. It swung open with a grind of ageing hinges, spilling the wolfkin into a cavernous lobby area. They found Ellewyn waiting for them, pacing impatiently at the front desk where a weary-looking clerk sat, alternating between glugging down muskbrew and typing furiously.

"About time!" Ellewyn grumbled when she spotted them.

"Believe it or not, I've got more to worry about than your schedule," Illando shot back irately. "Is he here?"

"Yeah, he's waiting on the upper levels for us. But..."

"But?"

"He only wants to meet with you and me. Your bodyguards'll have to stay down here."

"Is that a fact?" Ferrow rumbled, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What's the matter – your boss doesn't trust us?"

"Frankly, no." Ellewyn held the wolfkin's gaze unflinchingly. "Can you conjure up a reason why he should?"
"It's alright, Ferrow," Illando cut it, placing a paw on his subordinate's shoulder. "Keep your eyes open down here. I'll fill you in when we're done."

"Sir." She swallowed down her obvious reluctance. "Don't be long."

"I'll make it quick. Now," he addressed the clerk directly, halting the young vulkin mid-gulp of her muskbrew, "get on the howlwire and tell your boss his guests are here. Please," he added as an afterthought.

The clerk nodded sharply, almost dropped her mug on the desk and hammered a number into the howlwire set built into the formidable front desk. She placed the bulky receiver to her ear and there was a brief, hushed exchange over the wire. A few minutes later a quartet of tall, heavily armed and armoured watchguards arrived from the upper level. Their armour was the same dark blue as the others Illando had seen, save for one shoulder-guard that had been painted a charcoal grey. He didn't recognise the distinction, but could infer from context. The watchguards had their own specialists entrusted to deal with Wildhearth's more violent criminals.

"Enforcer Pack-Leader Illando?" the lead guard inquired.

"Yes."

"Please follow us."

He exchanged a glance with Ellewyn, then stepped forward with his head held high. The guards formed a square around the pair and escorted them up through lawhouse's curving rampways. He didn't see any elevators out here – he supposed the expensive of their installation was something only the Conclave and the Silk could stretch to.

They caught glimpses of the day to day chaos that engulfed the guards, seeing some criminals being wrestled into cells or interrogation rooms; others sitting sullenly at desks awaiting judgement. Guards and administrative clerks scuttled back and forth, chatting animatedly around their breakfasts. The smell of cooking meat and hot muskbrew filled the corridors with an odour Illando found quite pleasant. Bronco, it seemed, ran a tight ship here. The whole place bustled with energy.

The noise and the smells faded as they reached the upper level where the pack-leader offices were situation, alongside many unmarked rooms Illando suspected had less savoury purposes. The law in Wildhearth was not an easily defined selection of rigid rules – the watchguards had a lot necessary leeway in how they went about policing their districts. The main rule was to keep the peace, whatever form that had to take.

At length, the four guards escorted them down a broad, square passage that ran the length of the fifth floor, and halted at a plain wooden door. A brass plaque bolted to it read 'Senior Pack-Leader, Central Law, Palharr District'.

The lead watchguard thumped on the door twice with a clenched paw. A muffled voice from within responded.

"Send 'em in!"

Illando stepped over the threshold with Ellewyn shadowing him, and found a rather more austere space than he'd been expecting. Beyond a private muskbrewer build into a small kitchen space on the left, the place was functional, with two computer rigs, a long metal desk and a dozen file cabinets that seemed strewn randomly across the back wall. Bronco himself stood leaning over the desk, pouring over a copper-etched map of Palharr. He could see pricks of colour over the thin sheet where the watchguard had made extra markings.

The door closed behind them, and Bronco looked up. His foreboding expression did not fill Illando with confidence.

"I gotta say," the watchguard commander began. "This isn't how I thought my day was going to start."

"You and me both, watchguard," Illando replied. "But it looks like you and I are chasing the same problems."

"Ain't that the truth?" He beckoned them forward. "Ellewyn passed on her reports on the bodies you found in Gjornharr and Denneke. That, along with the pattern of disappearances around here, adds up to one hell of a mess that we've barely scratched the surface of."

"She said you were trying to coordinate between districts; that you might be able to help." Illando spread his paws wide. "Whatever you've got, I'm all ears."

"From what I've heard, you think you've found some kind of... cult operating in the districts?" Bronco asked.

He nodded. "Seems that way. Same markings, and the same kind of killings across two different districts, as well as the report in Whaveloda about the kidnapping done by 'robed crazies'? All adds up."

"I have to agree." The watchguard blew out his cheeks in a sigh, easing down into his high-backed chair and clasping his paws together.

"Sounds like you already know what we know," Illando continued, moving over to stand opposite the vulkin's desk. "Ellewyn said you could help. Can you?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I don't have anything concrete yet," Bronco answered, and Illando could hear the frustration in the big watchguard's voice. "But I can feel what's going on out there."

"Feel?" Illando bristled, feeling his claws flex instinctively. "I'm gonna need a little more than that."

"There's a reason I asked you to come alone." Bronco slapped both paws down on the table, looking up at him. "There is something very wrong out there, Illando, even if I can't prove it yet, and I don't know who we can trust."

Illando felt his jaw tighten with unease. They still really had no idea how widespread this cult group had spread through Wildhearth's outer districts, or who might be coordinating them. All they had right now were pieces of the puzzle. The idea that someone in the watchguards or the Conclave could have been involved somehow seemed far-fetched, but he had seen stranger things.

"But you trust me?" he asked after a moment.

"I trust what I know about you. I saw what you did to Hera's loyalists. I might not have agreed with everything you did, but I know why you did it. You want things to go back to the way they were."

"Yes, I do." Illando inclined his head to the map.

"So do I," Bronco replied, "and for that to happen, we're going to need each other."

"Alright, so you trust me, and I'll trust you. What information do you have?"

"This cult of yours? I think I know how they're getting they're recruits."

"Enlighten me."

"They're targeting everyone in Wildhearth who's been stomped into the dirt and forgotten about."

Illando snorted. "Wildhearth's always had kin who struggle to get by. That's a long way from taking orders to butcher people."

"Ordinarily, yes, because they had no other choice. Things have changed now."

"What, because of these robed freaks?"

"Because of what they've been through. After Hera, after those experiments at Belforra, and now this? The disappearances and the killings – they've all happened in some of the poorest, left-behind places in the city."

"Everyone's got their scars," Illando rumbled. "But Hera's dead. Wildhearth is the same as it's always been."

Bronco shook his head. "It's not that simple. The people out there just don't believe in us anymore, Illando – enforcers or watchguards. It's a mess. You dig deeper into the outer districts and kin are openly hostile to my people, no matter the situation. For them, these murders and kidnappings are just the latest thing that we haven't stopped. They'd don't think we can keep them safe. Worse, there are plenty of them who think we just don't care."

"I know some watchguards who don't," Ellewyn muttered bitterly.

Bronco gave her a knowing look. "Exactly. You add that to an awful lot of people who've reached the end of their tether with the Conclave, and it gives you a pretty ripe recruiting ground."

"But why the murders? Why the abductions?" Illando asked, shaking his head. "Why the bodies on display? How is that recruiting for a cause?"

"My guess is that they're showing they can get away with it." Bronco shrugged. "No-one's stopped them. We haven't been able to find any of the kin that disappeared except for the two that turned up dead. Put that in people's heads, and they start thinking that this is what could happen to them if they just carry on as normal."

"So you think people are just joining this gang out of fear?"

"That's my guess." He tapped the map with one claw. "There are too many sightings and incidents for this to be an outside organisation. There are only so many ways to sneak into Wildhearth. They're bolstering their numbers with locals – anyone they can rope into whatever craziness they're selling."

Ellewyn pinched the bridge of her nose with one paw. "This is insane."

"You think so?" Bronco smiled sadly. "You'd be surprised what can seem like a good idea when you've got nothing left to lose."