Illando hadn't expected to be dragged back to Palharr District so quickly, but this could not wait. Bronco and Ellewyn had a prisoner, and though the vulkin pack-leader had been tight-lipped over the howl-wire, it was clear this captive was linked to the cult.

He had considered going alone, still unsure about how paranoid he should be right now, but in the end he decided the risks of getting caught on his own outweighed those of someone sharing whatever information Bronco had for him. So, leaving an impatient Noelle in the enforcer infirmary, he set off with Ferrow and Farler. He considered them trustworthy – at least for now.

The trio traversed the enforcer tunnels of the Silk and boarded one of Wildhearth's lumbering tram-carriers to the outer districts. As the engine clattered into life and the machine's great wheels began to turn, Illando weighed up how much he wanted to share with their watchguard compatriots.

The carriage cleared out when the enforcers entered, which gave him a small measure of satisfaction. Despite the mess in the outer districts, closer to the real centre of power, citykin knew that the wolves were not to be trifled with. He leaned against the rattling wall, arms folded, his face settling into a brooding frown.

A half hour later they stalked out into Palharr, briefly alarming the kin waiting at the main tram-carrier station before vanishing into the alleys. Staying clear of the main routes, Illando led his escort towards the rear of Bronco's lawhouse as instructed, still mindful of the eyes likely stalking his steps.

At the rear entrance of the looming structure, Pack-Leader Ellewyn was waiting for them.

"Thanks for coming," she said, craning her head to look past the three wolfkin.

"Nobody followed us," Illando grunted impatiently. "Want to tell me what we're doing here?"

"Not out here. Come on." Beckoning, the watchguard turned and opened the small gate in the lawhouse's outer chain fence.

They filed in after her and the gate clanged shut, its heavy padlock and scent key being fastened back in place before Ellewyn led them to a small door in the structure's massive rear wall. It would have been easy to miss, dull grey metal barely more than a blob of shadow against the backdrop of the hardened ceramic brickwork. No guards stood outside it – no one to see them enter.

Bronco, it seemed, was taking no chances.

The door led to a back stairwell. They encountered only two guards, one at the base and one near the top, both wearing the shoulder-guards of charcoal grey and armed to the teeth. Wary eyes watched them as they ascended, and Ellewyn exited on the fourth floor of the lawhouse, leading them into a broad grey-panelled hallway. They took a sharp right almost immediately, moving along the rear wall where small, square windows looked out onto the district. White light fixtures fizzed gently overhead as they walked.

Just as Illando's patience was starting to thin, Ellewyn took a left turn, moving back into the centre of the building. They passed through a double door flanked by another pair of watchguards, and he found himself looking into a large, grey room. The smell of cheap muskbrew pricked at his nostrils. A sheet of almost opaque armour-glass filled most of the opposite wall, and a single desk with a sleek, silver-hulled computing rig squatted off to his right, connected up to a bank of screens.

There were three watchguards inside: a technician at the computer, a tall, slim guard with a sharp muzzle, and Bronco, who currently loomed over a muskbrewer with his back to them. The Pack-Leader turned as they entered holding a steaming mug in one big paw.

"Commander," he said, raising the mug slightly in acknowledgement.

"Alright, Bronco, I'm here," Illando replied bluntly. "What is it?" He stepped past Ellewyn, eyes flashing to the screens and across to the glass. To the right of it a small, solid metal door had been installed, with a gleaming new scent-key lock built in.

"We've picked up someone who we believe is connected to the killings you've been looking into." Bronco inclined his head to the sheet of smoky armour-glass. "This is one of our private interrogation rooms for more ... sensitive matters. I thought you'd want to be here for this."

Illando raised an eyebrow. He exchanged a nonplussed look with Farler, who shrugged, before stepping over to look into the interrogation room.

Beyond the glass, a scrawny, sullen-looking felkin glowered at the wall in front of him, his paws fastened to the arms of the chair he sat in. Evidently he'd been in there long enough to stop tugging at his bonds, but Illando could see the raw skin on the felkin's wrists where the rope had bit deep, indicating some particularly violent struggling. However, this individual wore no robes and he didn't see any of the tattoos that normally marked out the cult members.

"Who is he?" Illando asked.

"A couple of Ellewyn's people picked him up trawling the factory quarter in Gjornharr," Bronco replied. "Seeing as her commanders seem to be letting this mess unfold under their noses, I ... requested a transfer."

"Hasn't given his name yet," Ellewyn explained, sipping at a mug of muskbrew as she fixed the prisoner with an accusing stare. "We had some complaints from kin in the area about harassment. I didn't think much of it at first, but when we confronted him we found that he was handing out these."

She handed over the ragged bundle of rough cut papers. Illando took them, instantly feeling the brittleness. Not barkpaper – maybe a cheaper variant made from the outland reeds instead of trees. When he looked at what was printed on them, he realised why Bronco had summoned him so urgently.

They were pamphlets, not dissimilar to the ones he'd liberated from the cultists before, but instead of being filled with opaque verses from long lost worlds, these sheets were much more direct.

REDISCOVER YOUR TRUTH: KENDRIS SPEAKS

Your protectors have abused their power.

Your leaders have been corrupted.

Your lives have been cast aside.

Wildhearth has lost its way, entangled in the wires of technology and the machinations of money. While your loved ones are under threat and you scrabble in the gutters to survive, your leaders scheme behind closed doors.

You cannot rely on them, nor should you. You have been shackled by a lie, forced to suppress your true selves in the name of 'progress', of so-called 'peace'.

We have seen what the Peace creates. A world unequal.

There is another way. Hear the words of Kendris. Learn what a freer life could be.

Find us, then find yourself.

The Fire will cleanse.

A jolt of anger and disgust raced up his spine. The aim of the little sheet was simple enough to discern. Just as Bronco had surmised, the cultists were targeting the downtrodden and forgotten kin of Wildhearth, luring them to a place where they could find purpose, no matter how heinous. He resisted the urge to crush up the note. Wildhearth was no paradise, but it was better than the alternative being espoused by the followers of Kendris.

Whoever was masquerading as the long-dead warlord was playing a simple, despicable game. He handed a pawful of the sheets to Ferrow and she leafed through some of them, letting out a derisive snort.

"Brass muzzles on this lot, eh?" she growled. "Recruiting right in your back yard, watchguard."

"I take it that drivel means something to you?" Bronco asked.

Illando nodded.

"Illando," Farler put in. "We should take him back to the compound and question him ourselves. After what happened-,"

"That's my prisoner," Ellewyn snapped. "You're not taking him anywhere."

"Agreed," Bronco rumbled. "Anything you need to say to him can be done here. Now, who – or what – is Kendris?"

Farler gave him a wary look. Illando felt his jaw clenching as he considered his options. He understood the other enforcer's reticence. It didn't seem like anyone in this pit of a city could be trusted right now, but without some level of coordination with the watchguards on the ground, tracking down the Savage Fire members would be nigh on impossible. He simply didn't have enough people to cover the necessary ground.

"You said you didn't know who to trust," he said carefully, turning to face Bronco and Ellewyn. "Nor do I. That means nothing I'm about to tell you leaves this room, alright?"

With that, Illando launched into a partially edited retelling of what they'd discovered at the Bonequill Archive, and about the origin of the verses. The watchguards listened with growing incredulity, casting more than one disbelieving glance at the prisoner. He explained the origin of Kendris, and the supposed ideology of those that followed it.

For now, he left out the attempt on his life.

"Bloody fangs'n'fire," Bronco muttered, scratching his muzzle with an idle claw. "Looks like this cult of yours has graduated from kidnapping and have started a plain old recruitment drive."

"Which means you were right," Illando replied. "They're dredging the lowest of the low and giving them another option." He pointed at the parchment in Ferrow's paws. "But those leaflets don't say where the meetings are taking place."

"Felkin there must know," Ferrow grunted, shooting a murderous look at the captive. "They want more kin in their pocket, but they're smart enough to not leave the paper trail for us to track down. He must just be passin' the word."

Bronco nodded. "That makes sense."

"So what do we do?" Ellewyn asked. "We tried questioning him but he's kept his muzzle locked up tight."

"Maybe someone else can question him." Illando flexed his claws, turning to the door of the holding cell. "Did you search him when you brought him in?"

"Of course," Bronco rumbled. "We're not amateurs."

"What did you find?"

"More of those pamphlets, a few hundred barkstamps, some kinda home-made dagger, and a little bottle of something."

Illando's brows rose with interest. "A little bottle, like a vial?"

"Yes."

"Filled with clear liquid?"

"How'd you know?"

A grim smile crossed his face. "It's concentrated crystalrake. He was supposed to glug that stuff rather than get dragged off to a lawhouse like this. I've seen it before."

"Oh." Ferrow smirked knowingly. "I think you've got your angle, sir."

Bronco waved a paw at them. "What are you two talking about?"

"He was supposed to kill himself rather than get caught," Illando explained. "But he didn't. That means his life means more to him than following that cult." He rolled his neck from side to side in preparation, fixing his eyes on the felkin. "Open it up. I'll get us our location."

Ellewyn shifted uneasily. "What are you going to do to him?"

"Whatever we need to."

"We're not torturers."

"No-one's asking you to be." His voice was cold as he met her gaze. "But I am, if I have to."

She moved to block the door. "No, you can't do thi-,"

"Enough!" Illando cut her off with a snarl. "If you don't want to get your paws dirty nobody's going to make you, but unless you want to join him, get out of my way."

She bristled and her lips curled with a snarl. He saw her paws clenching into fists and hoped dearly that she wasn't stupid enough to test him.

"I'd move, if I were you," Farler suggested calmly. "He's not joking."

"Ellewyn," Bronco interjected, stepping over to stand beside them, looking from her to Illando and back again. "Someone needs to get that information."

"It's torture," she hissed back. "It's wrong, and makes us no better than them!"

"It'll be a grooming session compared to what his friends did to those dead kin," Illando growled. He tapped his temple with one claw. "You forgotten that already?"

A tremor of hesitation flashed across her face. "No, I haven't forgotten."

"Well, if you don't let me do my job you can look forward to plenty more of those bodies. Now stand aside."

Bronco eased forward, casting Illando a warning glance before turning to Ellewyn, dipping his head down and speaking low into her ear.

"We need to know," he said, placing a paw on her shoulder. "I don't like it either, but without information from that felkin we're going to be stuck chasing our tails and a lot more kin are going to get sucked into this mess. It's my jurisdiction, and my responsibility, alright?"

A tremor of anger shook her neck and shoulders and he saw her claws flex, but as her eyes flickered around the room, Ellewyn could see she'd lost this battle. Giving Bronco a reluctant nod, she stepped to the side, shooting Illando a bitter glance.

He ignored it, not wishing to anger her any further. All things considered, he found that he actually quite liked the young watchguard, but right now he had a task to perform, and couldn't let her morals get in the way.

The cell door slid open with a spitting hiss of hydraulics. He drew himself up to his full height before stepping over the threshold. As soon as he entered the room he could smell the fear rolling off of the felkin, no matter how tight-lipped he may have appeared to the watchguards. The captive's eyes flashed up to him; terror blanched his face for an instant. Whatever lies or threats had led him into the employ of the cult, he hadn't expected to find himself trapped alone with a wolfkin enforcer.

The door slid shut behind him.

For a moment Illando said nothing. He simply walked to stand in front of the prisoner, folding his arms and examining the scrawny felkin with a critical eye. He waited, one footpaw tapping idly. A full minute ebbed by and still he said nothing, watching and waiting as the scent of fear rose around him.

"What do you want?" the felkin hissed suddenly, his voice shrill.

"Ah, so you do speak." He bared his teeth in a threatening grin. "I take it you know what I am?"

"Enforcer." The prisoner yanked at his bonds, without success. "You ain't got no right to keep me here like this."

Illando ignored that as he unfolded his arms, edging closer and raising one of the pamphlets. "You've been handing these out."

The felkin twitched; clenched his jaw as defiantly as he could.

"I'd like to know where the meetings take place," Illando continued calmly.

"I ain't done nothin-,"

He broke off with a yelp as Illando clouted him across the face with a contemptuous swipe of one paw. The parchment scattered all around the felkin and he straightened in the seat, blinking in surprise and with blood seeping from his nose.

"Y' can't do that!"

"The meetings," Illando said, as though nothing had happened. "Where are they?"

"I don't know!"

"I don't believe you."

Now the prisoner's eyes were wide, the full realisation of his situation slamming home. He glanced at the locked door; looked beseechingly towards the glass, but there was no help coming. The felkin swallowed hard, looking at the floor.

"Don't know," he mumbled.

Illando let out a snort of frustration, clenched a fist, and smashed it into the captive's jaw with enough force to send a broken tooth skittering across the floor of the holding cell. The felkin squealed, the chair almost tipping over from the impact. Illando reached forward, grabbing him by the shoulder to steady him.

"This will be a lot quicker if you stop lying to me," he growled. "So, let's set some ground rules. Every time you lie to me, I'm going to hit you a little harder. I'll let you decide how much of that you think you can take."

"If you kill me you'll never find them!" the felkin blurted, shrill panic seeping through his bloodied lips.

"Kill you?" Illando smirked. "You're stupider than I thought."

"Wh... what?"

"You think the watchguards can stop this? Stop me?" He dropped down onto his haunches in front of the squirming prisoner. "No-one's going to help you, friend. Not the watchguards, not the Conclave, and not your friends in that little cult. No, you're very much on your own right now, so I'd start thinking pretty hard about your own skin."

"You can't do this to me!" he shrieked.

Illando placed a paw on the felkin's thigh, a gesture that made the prisoner go rigid with fright.

"I've dealt with some of your... associates," he said, speaking amiably, as thought to an old friend. "You don't strike me as the type to get wrapped up in this lunacy."

"The Fire will cleanse, the Fire will-,"

"So I've heard." Illando suddenly dug his claws into the felkin's leg, pressing deep and drawing blood, along with a yowl of pain. "But the thing is, I don't think you really believe that. If you did, you'd have swallowed down that crystalrake before the watchguards could lay a paw on you. And yet, here we are."

"I..."

"So you don't want to die for that cult." Illando shrugged. "Makes sense to me."

"I can't, if they found out-,"

"You should be more worried about what I'll do to you if you keep this up." He dug his claws deeper. "Where are the meetings?"

"You gotta keep me away from them," the captive babbled, desperation creeping into his voice. "If they find that I turned on 'em, they'll string me up like the others. Y'don't know what it's like! They'll ... they'll..." He broke off with a strangled sob, and Illando could see this unfortunate individual had landed in way over his head. In that moment, he felt a jolt of sympathy for the felkin.

"There are plenty of holding cells," Illando told him, lowering his voice. "I can reserve one for you. I can make sure you spend some time locked up, say, for as long as it takes me to clear your 'friends' out of the city? Then you're in the clear."

The felkin tensed, his whole body trembling as varying degrees of terror collided within him. He winced, sniffing through his broken nose, tears welling in his eyes from the pain. One last glance at the door seemed to finally sway him and he nodded.

"They move around. I got told to send folk to Helsfur this time," he said hoarsely. "Down to the old saltworks. They've got one of the packin' houses set up."

"When do they meet?"

"Late tonight." The felkin let out a low whine of pain. "Kendris'll be down there speakin'. If you leave quick you can get there before it starts."

Illando rose from his crouch, and saw the visible relaxation in the felkin's body as he stepped back. He regarded the prisoner for a long moment before placing a paw briefly on the felkin's shoulder. Then he turned away as the door slid open again.

"Helsfur," Illando muttered as the door clunked shut behind him. "I might've known."

"Nice work," Farler said with a sly smile.

Ellewyn glared at him. "So what do we do now?"

"Helsfur's way out of our jurisdiction," Bronco said apologetically. "I can put some contacts out to the local watchguards, see if someone out there's got the spine to take this on, but it'll take time."

"Nowhere is out of my jurisdiction," Illando grated. He beckoned Ferrow and Farler to follow him. "Let's go. We've got a party to crash."