He'd never felt like this before.

You were born to do this, Illando. Whatever you do and wherever this goes, trust your gut.

Cephia's parting words. Peace, how he wished she'd been right. Illando knew that on some level he was headstrong, self-assured. You needed that quality to be an enforcer, the willingness to act when someone else wouldn't; to make the hard decisions while others bickered on the sidelines.

And where had that gotten him? Betrayed and almost murdered in some derelict fish factory by a band of insane cultists.

He trudged alongside Bronco, simmering with self-loathing as he allowed the vulkin to lead them to safety. A pack of heavily-armed watchguards forty-strong was the only reason he was still breathing right now. Through his shamed pride, Illando forced himself to dredge up some gratitude.

"That was good timing," he muttered as they walked.

"I reckon it was."

Illando rolled the words around uncomfortably in his mouth before letting them out. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank Jett," Bronco replied with a rueful smile. "She's the one that caught the message. Tipped her off that it couldn't have been Gensher clawing behind your back. If she hadn't called me when she did and sent me out there..."

"Well, it's a good thing she did." Illando sighed. "I'll thank her when this mess is over."

"What now?" Gensher growled, stumping moodily along behind them. "Kendris left us there. He thought we were dead meat." Hostility rolled off of the big enforcer in tangible waves. His armour was caked in gore, his fur soaked with cultist blood. He looked like a demon had walked right out of the Savage Fire to join them.

Illando wondered if Gensher would ever forgive him. He felt so stupid. They'd stopped off long enough at the enforcer safe house to dial Noelle on the howl-wire, to report Farler's betrayal and the outcome of the attempted raid. Even as he recounted what happened, he could still barely fathom it.

"Why would he do that?" Ellewyn asked, striding along at the head of her own pack of watchguards to their left, riot-pike resting carelessly along one shoulder. "If he wanted you dead why didn't he stay and finish the job?" She looked weirdly content, perhaps happy to be doing something – anything – that might actually make a difference, no matter the reason.

"Must've been after something else," Bronco muttered. "But what?"

"The Conclave." Illando felt his lungs tighten as it hit him. "Peace, he's heading to the Conclave."

It was the only explanation. He thought back to Cephia, to everything she'd told him about the targeting of Wildhearth's designates. Such an action would have been the first step on the road to a coup. The next would be to get rid of any force large enough to oppose them. If he'd been killed out in the desolate nothing of Drambower along with his warpack, the remaining enforcers would have been left depleted and leaderless, many of them with no knowledge of where he was.

Bronco looked at him sharply. "They couldn't."

"I think they might," Illando replied. The creeping sensation of self-doubt swiftly evaporated as his enforcer training burned to the front of his mind. "They wanted us out of the way. He didn't even care if we died down there. He just wanted us locked in that place to keep the enforcers out of the fight."

"Then we'd best get you lot back to the Conclave, eh?"

Illando stopped; turned. Towards the rear of the group three otterkin dockworkers struggled along, carrying the unconscious form of their friend – Brickle, they'd called her. It was Haarm, the one with the tattoo who spoke, his face a mask of determination as he detached himself from the group, letting Kappsi and Skoppa support their limp burden.

"Something to say?"

"If you wanna get back to the Conclave, fastest way is the canals," the otterkin replied. His voice was tight, like he was fighting to control himself. "Y'can't try hoof it back. Things might be all over by the time y'do."

"He's right," Kappsi cut in. "Best charter yourselves a boat and quick."

"I need to get to the enforcer headquarters first, to organise my people."

"Nearest dock to us don't run passenger ships," Skoppa pointed out. "It's a freight stop."

"I'm sure they'll make an exception," Illando replied, fighting to keep the snarl out of his voice. He turned his attention back to Haarm. "You know where this dock is?"

"Aye." He nodded, tapping his chest with a clenched paw. "Follow me. We'll see if we can't find you an empty freight barge. They can move a lot faster'n you think when they aren't loaded with cargo."

"Sounds good to me." He glanced over at Bronco, and the big vulkin gave an emphatic nod of his head.

"Right then." Haarm cleared his throat, skittering awkwardly to the front of the group. After taking a moment to get his bearings, he looked back to Illando; beckoned. "Everybody follow me."

The otterkin set off, moving with the speed of reckless abandon, but Illando had no trouble keeping up. Gensher dropped back to help Kappsi and Skoppa with their burden, taking the unconscious cultist over his shoulder like a sack of flower and pounding through the streets unhindered.

With the healthy enforcers and watchguards screening their steps, they pelted through the streets of Drambower proper. Illando tried to stamp out the voice in his mind telling him that he shouldn't be blindly following some tattooed docker into the dark. In another time it would have felt absurd, but right now what choice did he have? His one chance to redeem himself was to get back to the Conclave in time to stop Kendris. If he failed, he might as well hurl himself into the Fire for all the worth his life would be.

So he put his head down and kept running. Haarm bounded and sprung down a narrow, claustrophobic alley that spiralled below the main streets, before spilling them out onto the broad, hard-paved slabwork of a canal bank. The water was suddenly very close, gushing through the great stone canyons of Wildhearth. Now that he'd walked inside one of them, Illando couldn't help feeling a little uneasy at being this close.

Startled kin recoiled into their alcoves, bars and dockhouses as the force of armed kin swept into the night. About a hundred yards distant, Illando picked out the lights of a dockyard and the low booms of cargo cranes hanging dormant.

And the low hulls of three barges.

Out in front, Haarm went barging into the nearest dock office. Illando skidded to a halt, flapping at the others to stay back. Raised voices crashed out of the open door along with a cascade of warm light, before the their guide re-emerged, dragging another, older otterkin onto the dockside.

The barge-master took one look at the gathering of enforcers and his face blanched with terror. He stuttered for words before turning to Haarm.

"Err, aye... aye, I could lease the barge tonight."

"You'll get it back," Illando grunted impatiently, stepping forward. He stood several inches taller than the dark-furred barge-master. "And we're good for the stamps. We just need passage. Our business is not with you."

"Aye, course, why would it be." The otterkin chuckled nervously. "Just, err, hang about a spell and I'll get her ready to push off, eh?"

Illando nodded, and the barge-master scurried off, clambering up the boarding ramp of the closest vessel, his movement erratic with fear. Muffled banging and swearing came from within the hull.

"All of you," Illando raised his voice, motioning the wolfkin forward, "get ready to board."

Enforcers prowled past him, the members of his warpack itching for vengeance. It raged around them like a torrent of electricity, even Gensher, who strode eagerly to the front of the line. Their pride had been badly gored by Kendris's trap. They all wanted vengeance.

He intended for them to have it.

"Hope you don't mind," Kappsi called as the wolfkin trooped into position. "But I think we'll sit this one out."

He turned; found her sitting on the dockside, her shoulder sagging with exhaustion, Brickle's unconscious form draped across her lap. Skoppa crouched beside her, head hung in weariness, and Haarm slouched over to join them. Scratching through his headfur, Haarm looked at him.

"She's right, mate," he said, his voice heavy. "We ain't cut out for a bloody war."

Illando nodded. "I think you've done more than enough." His gaze drifted to the otterkin they'd dragged out of the cult hideout, examining her, trying to see anything but an enemy. He tried to look past the Savage Fire tattoos; tried to get himself into Kappsi's mind.

In the end, he couldn't do it. The sight of those damnable symbols set his blood boiling and hurled him back into that factory, back to being surrounded by screeching, braying enemies that wanted nothing but to rip him apart.

Eventually he just averted his eyes, addressing her and trying to sound empathetic.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Illando said.

Kappsi gave a defeated shrug. "Thanks, but I don't think sorry's gonna help her much."

"Maybe not." He sank down onto his haunches, reached out and placed a firm paw on her shoulder. "For what it's worth, Kendris won't live to see another sunrise. I promise you that."

The young otterkin looked at him, a bitter smile filling her face. "Good. I'm gonna hold you to that one."

Illando nodded, giving her shoulder a single, reassuring squeeze before he stood up. As the other wolfkin piled onto the commandeered freight barge, he trudged back over to Bronco. For a moment they stood there, neither sure what to say.

"So," Illando managed eventually, flicking a paw towards the barge. "Care to join us?"

"Afraid I can't – not yet at least." Bronco's voice was thick with regret. "I have to get back to Palharr. It's a mess out there."

"I understand." He stuck a paw out to the vulkin. "I'm sure I'll see you soon."

Bronco smiled thinly, accepting the grip. "I don't doubt it. Kick those mongrels out of the Conclave, enforcer, and I'll make sure you've got a city left to put back together."

*

The enforcer compound was a whirlpool of confusion. Illando waved the medicaries away impatiently as he swept into the command den, his mind racing. The shock of Farler's betrayal lingered in the back of his mind, but had been supplanted by a far more urgent feeling.

Cephia was in the Conclave, and he had to get to her.

"Peace'n'Fire, it's good to see you!" Noelle emerged from the throng, racing over when she saw him enter. "You okay?"

"No," he spat back. "No, I'm not."

"Oh, eh, yeah, I guess you wouldn't be." She swallowed hard. "Farler?"

"Gone, but he'll be with Kendris, I'm sure of it."

Noelle dragged her claws through her headfur wearily. "Scorches your mind, don't it?"

"More than you know." Looking past her, his brow furrowed. "Now, you feel like explaining exactly what's going on around here?"

"Oh, aye, pretty much a great old pissfire," she replied with a grimace. "Not long after you checked in, all the bloody Fires broke out. Morta's been trying to keep a lid on it, but from what I can tell, those bloody crazies have kicked off all over the city."

He thumped her lightly on the shoulder. "Then we've got a lot of work to do. Come with me."

With Noelle at his back, he plunged into the storm, eyes flashing left and right as he tried to gather as much information as possible. Pack-Leaders and technicians tossed him quick salutes as he passed, afterthoughts to the real crisis they were dealing with. Weaving from console to console, he peered over shoulders, scanned reports flooding in from wolfkin patrols across the city, and began painting a very unpleasant mental picture.

The cult seemed to be everywhere at once.

At the far end of the room at a much larger command console he caught sight of Morta, his old second-in-command snapping orders left and right as adjutants passed him reports. He grabbed one enforcer by the scruff of the neck, grating something into their ear before virtually hurling them on their way. Morta was a good soldier, but he wasn't ready to contain something like this. Illando could almost feel the pent up stress and anger from here.

"Report!" he roared, his powerful voice immolating the hum of chatter in the air in an instant. Morta whirled around, an expression of both bafflement and relief plastered across his face.

"Sir?!"

"Yes, I'm here." Illando stormed through a sea of surprises faces toward him. "Report, now."

"Thank the Peace. We're fighting bloody fires all over," Morta replied quickly, gesturing to the blizzard of activity in the command den. "Some kind of attack on the Conclave and the surrounding districts. I've got packs in running street battles with those cult mongrels. They tried to hit Bonequill, blazed a whole street of buildings in the Mellit Haar entertainment district, and they've got kin firebombing random parts of the Silk."

"Diversion, it's all a damned diversion," Illando snarled. "I want all nearby packs withdrawn, Morta. I need them here."

"Sir?"

"Leave the Silk to the watchguards. If the cult take the Conclave nothing else out there is going to matter. Call them back."

"But-,"

"Do it!" He grabbed Morta by the front his armour, eyes blazing. "We need to get into the fight. Once you've recalled those patrols, assemble them at the Conclave tunnel and-,"

"We can't," Noelle interrupted. "Sorry, boss. We already sent a scout pack up there. Looks like Farler told 'em exactly what to look for, cos they collapsed the tunnel entrance. It'll take hours to dig our way through."

"Bloody Fires," Illando swore, kicking a chair so hard that it went flying across the room with a crash. He stood for a moment, claws flexing in and out as his brain raced to the next option. His eyes flashed back up to Morta. "Then I guess we're going in the front door."

"Eh?"

He set off, dragging Morta along by the arm. Noelle scampered in their wake, and Illando led them to the main map display of Wildhearth in the middle of the command den.

"Pass the word," Illando told them. "Arm every able-bodied wolf in this place and assemble them here." His paw shot out, one claw tapping the main tram-carrier station outside the Conclave. "Let me know when your people are ready."

"Sir!" Morta nodded and scurried over to the nearest technician, issuing the orders as he went.

Glancing around he spotted another figure trying to make some sense out of this mess. Pack-Leader Lykas stood arguing with three tech operators, snarling and gesturing wildly with both paws. He was just as caught up in this mess as everyone else.

"Lykas!" Illando barked.

Lykas's head snapped towards him. He waved away the technicians with an irritated paw, locking eyes with Illando. His lips drew back, revealing his canines.

Illando stood his ground; beckoned.

After a moment, the pack-leader loped through the bustle to join him.

"Well, it's a right fine mess you've made of things, eh, sir?"

"And I'm sure you'd love to tell me all about it," Illando shot back. "But right now we've got bigger things to worry about. You know what's happening out there. Right now I need you."

Lykas stance loosened. The claws of one paw drummed against the thigh plate of his armour, and he let out a long breath through his nose. He didn't go so far as saluting, but his usual expression of mild contempt was gradually been replaced by one of concern.

"What do you need from me?" he asked, gesturing over his shoulder. "My people are already out there. So far the north of the city's dodged the worst of it, but it's only a matter of time."

"I want you to call every pack in the northern districts, and call them back here, right now."

"Now? Illando, if the attacks reach the north-,"

"There is a coup underway, Lykas," Illando butted in, stepping closer. "And I'm going to need every fang, claw and blade I can get if we're going to stop it. Do you understand?"

Lykas stiffened. His muzzle twitch, but after a couple of seconds he dipped his head. "Yes."

"Good." Illando pointed to the map. "Make sure they're battle-ready and meet us at the Conclave plaza, here."

Lykas's face flicked for an instant as he considered the orders, as though weighing up the truth of Illando's words. A glance around the command den, however, was enough to quash whatever doubts he might have had. He dipped his head in acknowledgement and shot off to muster his forces.

Illando took a deep breath. In a slow motion, he rotated back towards the map table. Morta was frantically doling out orders, with Noelle alongside him battering out messages across the howl-net, howling to bring their forces home. The noise faded into a background blur as planted his paws on the edge of the table, leaning and glaring down into the display.

His gaze fixed on the warped circle of the Silk, and on the neatly etched image of the Conclave of Accord. No mistakes this time. No more tricks. Just a battle to decide who would guide Wildhearth into the next age. Illando's claws dug into the table, muscles straining as he generated sickening scrape of bone-matter on metal.

If it was his last act in this world, he would have his reckoning with Kendris.