Kappsi sat staring into the makeshift holding cell, her thoughts blacker than the night that settled over Wildhearth. Opposite her, Brickle sat in the furthest dark corner behind the iron bars, still muttering oaths to the Savage Fire, her face twisted with rage and ruin. Some of the wildness had seeped out of her eyes from whatever drugs they'd been pumping into her, but the lingering effects of Kendris's brainwashing would take a lot longer to go away.

If they ever did.

A life wrecked, and for what? She felt the muscles in her throat constricting with fury, her claws flexing. Who would answer for this? News had reached them that Kendris was dead, but somehow that didn't make her feel better. It was too far away, too abstract in her mind.

The urge to break something sizzled in her bones, a determination to exact personal revenge on Brickle's tormentors. She watched as her friend twitched and twisted, eyes screwing shut and neck flexing; tendons stood out. A shuddering breath went out of Brickle's body and she seemed to relax a little, whispering to herself.

A creak of hinges eased Kappsi's attention away. She looked from the cell and found Skoppa slinking through the door to the dock house basement. He padded down the stairs, his face heavy with weariness. Brickle's eyes flickered open, flashing over to him as he walked across the room to join Kappsi. He swallowed hard; gave her a small nod of recognition.

Brickle's eyes closed again and she turned over, sinking into a ball with her back to them.

"How's she doin'?" Skoppa asked quietly.

"The same." Kappsi shook her head. "It's just wrong, y'know?"

"Aye." Sitting down beside her, he passed her a beaker of dark ale. "Get that down you. Might settle your nerves some."

"My nerves ain't the problem." She sipped at the ale anyway, letting the bitter, heavy liquid salve her throat. "Somebody's got to pay for this, Skop."

"I think Illando an' his wolves are off doin' the revenging for us."

"Oh, and that makes me all warm and fuzzy inside."

Skoppa shrugged awkwardly "Least they killed Kendris."

"That's all the enforcers ever cared about."

"Well, this is all his fault, ain't it?"

Kappsi scowled, claws clacking against the beaker. "He wasn't the one who picked out Brickle. I saw the beast who got her snagged by that cult. We all did."

Skoppa nodded slowly. "The barge-master?"

"Aye."

"He could be anywhere in Wildhearth right now, sis."

"Y'think so?" She looked at him. "If I were him, I'd be gettin' outta the city before someone found me. Not a whole lot of ways to get in and out of the city undetected."

"I suppose not." Skoppa eyed her warily. "What exactly is it you're wantin' to do here, sis?"

"I wanna find that muck-dredging mongrel."

"And then what? Y'wanna hand him off to the watchies? To the enforcers?"

"No, Skoppa." Kappsi drained the last of her ale and placed the beaker down the bench. Standing up, she turned to face him. "I want this one myself."

At first he looked like he wanted to talk her out of it. Then he turned to Brickle, his eyes fixing on her prone form for several seconds. She saw the claws of one paw flex, scratching against the rough fabric of his kilt. He took a gulp of ale, and sighed, rising to meet her gaze.

"You sure you wanna do this, Kappsi?"

"What do you think?"

Skoppa nodded his understanding. "I'll get Haarm, but if we're headin' the underdocks we're gonna need more than the three of us."

"I know," she replied, gesturing to the door. "And we ain't the only ones to run afoul of those damned cultists. Think you could find us a few more willin' bodies?"

"I reckon I could find us a bloody army if I needed to," Skoppa chuckled blackly. "Then you tell Old Glaw that we're takin' the night off," Kappsi growled, "and get the dock gang together. We've got our own scores to settle."

*

The barge engine grumbled, propelling the dented, warped hull through Wildhearth's canals. Ensconced at the helm within the armoured tub, its otterkin barge-master gripped the wheel tight. Mehrs trembled, eyes wide as he tried to grapple with the shock of failure.

Years of planning, extinguished in a single violent confrontation.

He still couldn't believe Kendris was dead. The hynakin had been a god, a legend come alive to drag Wildhearth out of the muck and mire into a new age. At least, that's what Mehrs had believed, but now his faith had cracked, like a blemished jewel. He murmured a verse under his breath as he guided the barge onwards, trying to rationalise what had just happened.

His crisis of faith would have to wait for another day, however. Right now he knew he needed to get out of the city. After the battle at the Conclave the enforcers were on the warpath, hunting down the remaining members of the Savage Fire cult, and they were not taking prisoners. Wildhearth's streets ran red with the blood of retribution.

Mehrs knew it would only be a matter of time before they tracked him down if he stayed.

The barge swung to the left around a bend in the canal, sliding down into the half-light of the underdocks. Buildings glared down on the fugitives, with sputtering lights and whorls of smoke from dockside bars. Mehrs ignored them, squaring his shoulders as he slid past these last bastions of civilisation. There were no other ships here; few bargemasters even knew this route existed.

The sluice gate came into view at last, and he felt a thin layer of anxiety slid away. Soon they would be beyond Wildhearth's walls and out into the open world, free to regroup and reevaluate. The Fire would not die with Kendris. Mehrs nodded to himself. They hynakin had failed, but the world was still sick; still crying out for a saviour. Those loyal to the old ways would not abandon them.

As the canal narrowed towards the gate, a thought struck him – something he'd never considered before. Perhaps this was all meant to happen. Perhaps it was Mehrs himself who was meant to stoke the Savage Fire once more? Perhaps he'd played the wrong role in this story, following Kendris' whims. His faith had been misplaced – in Kendris – but not in the Fire. Resolve began to take root in the grizzled otterkin's heart. He would be back. He would-

The barge lurched to a halt.

Mehrs' thoughts scattered as the sudden stop flung him hard into the helm wheel and knocked the wind out of him. A screech of bending, scraping metal filled the air and the barge rocked violently from bow to stern. Cries of alarm echoed through the passages behind him. Cursing and spluttering, Mehrs scrambled upright, checking his instruments.

They'd stopped. Or more precisely, something had stopped them. He whipped his head around.

"What in the bloody Fire was that?!" he snarled aft. When no one answered he let out a snort of frustration and rounded, stomping out of the wheelhouse and mounting the stairs up to the barge's deck.

When he emerged, he found some of his crew, speaking furtively to one and other, some leaning over the sides, trying to get a view of something in the water past the ship's bow. Mehrs stormed across the deck until he stood beside one of the vessel's barge-herders, the younger otterkin standing with a long punt pole in one paw and a baffled expression on his face.

"Well?" Mehrs demanded. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," the barge-herder replied. "It's like we're snagged on somethin' but there's nothing in the canals that could stop us dead like that."

Mehrs composure was fleeing rapidly as he glanced around, seeing nothing but dark buildings looming in on them like judging sentinels. The last time he'd passed this way it had felt triumphant, but now, slinking out into the dark again, he felt like the whole city was getting ready to bite him in half.

"Have you been in and looked?" he snapped.

"Not yet."

"Then get over the side, you dolt!"

The barge-herder gulped; nodded and leapt into the canal. Mehrs waited, pacing uneasily back and forth for the brief moments before his subordinate surfaced again.
"Well?" he barked, leaning over the side.

"Nought seen anything like it, sir," the otterkin told him, shaking his head in disbelief. "There's a bloody steelnet across the canal! Somebody barbed the top of it and it's hooked right into the bow. We're stuck fast."

Mehrs' felt his blood chill. "Can you unhook us?"

"Aye, in time, but we'll need to beat the bow plates back into place once we've got the hooks out before we can get underway again. Some of them have near come clean away."

"How long?"

The otterkin shrugged. "Maybe an hour?"

"An hour?!" Mehrs blurted in a rage. "You've got ten minutes to get my ship off those bloody hooks or I'll have your hide!"

The barge-herder opened his mouth to protest, but a clear, high voice sliced out across the air, cutting him off.

"Ahoy there!"

Mehrs felt the fur prickle up his spine with unease and he stepped away from the rails, one paw falling to the longclaw dagger thrust through his belt. He turned his gaze on the dockside and saw a tall figure step from the gloom.

Even in the twilight of the underdocks he could see her clearly enough. A powerfully-built otterkin female, she wore a padded bodywrap over her upper torso and a docker's kilt. A heavy boathook hung in one paw, but his eyes were drawn to the black-bladed dirk clutched in the other. He recognised the weapon – an enforcer blade. How in the Fire would an otterkin dock worker have gotten such a thing?

"Having trouble there?" she called. A grim smile crossed her face and she inclined her head to the bow of the barge. "Seems like you've gotten snarled up on the nets, mate."

"Does it?" Mehrs growled, sliding his dagger from its sheathe. "This doesn't concern you, girl. I suggest you be on your way and let me get on with my business."

"Business with the Savage Fire, eh?" She tapped the flat of the blade against her kilt. "Don't remember me, do you?"

"Why should I?" Nervous energy was beginning to course through him – he could feel his heart beating faster as he glowered at her. "I don't know who you are or what you're talking about."

"Bloody coward," she sneered. "Not so tough now that the wolves buried your boss, eh?"

Enough. This is enough. They needed to get out of here, and do it quickly. He spun away, grabbing the guard rail and looking down on the barge-herder in the water.

"Unhook us, now," Mehrs snarled, spittle flying. As the other otterkin splashed beneath the surface again, he whirled back to face this interloper, rage boiling inside him at her impudence. "As for you, you'd do well to slink back to whatever sinkhole you dragged yourself from, before I send your carcass to the Fire. We're leaving this city and you're not stopping us."

Her face darkened at that and she lashed out, striking a nearby oil drum with her boathook. A clang reverberated through the canalway, but as the echo died, Mehrs heard the snap of an armbow firing. Instinctively he dropped flat, but there was no whistle of a bolt overhead. Nothing seemed to have happened.

Had he imagined it? Were his nerves really so frayed?

He rose slowly, scanning the dockside.

Then he spotted the bobbing shape in the canal, just past the bow of the barge. A cold shiver of fear passed through him when he realised it was the barge-herder, dead, with a thick bolt sticking out from between their shoulder blades. His eyes widened.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Mehrs turned, dread gripping him by the shoulders as he faced his tormentor. Her boathook stuck over and over, and soon more joined in, a horrific, metallic drumbeat rising to fill the narrow canalway. All around her more silhouettes appeared, stalking from the shadows until they took on physical form.

There were dozens of them. An army of brawny otterkin and beaverkin dock workers filled the banks on both sides, faces set in expressions of vengeful anger. Armed with a fearsome array of makeshift weapons, they battered them against rails, barrels, walls and blades to crate a din that stung his ears.

The female otterkin stepped forward, pointing her blade at him.

"Hope you're ready for the Fire," she roared over the noise. "'Cause you'll be seein' it soon."