He ran even though his lungs burned with fire.

  The heavy rains mixed with his sweat, stinging his eyes and obscuring his vision. He knew Port Kraken well enough to avoid the open plazas and main thoroughfares. The seaport was famed for its many streets and tall buildings that represented the vast and varied mix of Sanctum's peoples.

  At this moment, Arman Dah'ay couldn't care less about the splendor of the seaport. He scoured the area in hopes of finding someplace to hide.

  The smaller side streets and service paths were his only chance. Being Vidria, his dwarfish nature made the narrower paths more accessible. Slapping the water from his face, he continued to charge forward. Behind him, he could hear the bellowing yells of pursuit getting louder and closer.

  Arman sprinted hard across the wet cobblestones even though the slick stones threatened to take away his footing. He focused on everything in front of him, searching for a sign of safe harbor. What he was looking for was up ahead—he just needed to make it there before they saw him. Ducking into one alleyway and out another, he turned onto a smaller service path meant for trash pickup and waste disposal. Luckily, the rain lessened the smell, but the already slick cobblestones became even harder to manage. As the small path sloped down, he caught sight of his prize: a crude star mark cut into the stone, no bigger than a fist, small enough not to be noticed unless you knew to look for it.

  With a sharp turn, he threw himself into the thin alley, slamming into the brickwork. The shock of pain piled onto the rest of his aches as he allowed himself a moment to breathe, but that was short-lived as the smell hit his nose.

  Forgotten sacks of trash sat along the wall. The smell was rancid even in the damp weather, and the scent of sweetness tried to invade Arman's throat. He wanted to retch, but fear overrode his sense of smell. What he needed was behind the bags. Moving quickly, he pushed the wet bags aside and found what he was looking for: a sewage port with the same crude star. Usually these ports were barred to prevent accidents, but this one was without bars and hidden by rotting garbage.

  Arman was familiar with the shadowy criminal organization within Port Kraken that used these sewer entrances—the Daggered Star. Quickly stepping around the bag, he lowered himself down inside. Oddly enough, he found a step within reach. Bracing his feet on the landing, he pulled the sack in front of the port, obscuring the entrance once again.

  Looking around, he saw that the landing he was standing on was one of two. The Daggered Star accommodated unscrupulous individuals of any size. It was an amusing thought, the first one he'd had in the past ten minutes. However, that was short-lived. Lightning flashed across the sky, thunder booming. The echo of the thunder bounced off the walls below, making it louder. With the sacks obscuring his view outside, he knew Port Kraken's security force was combing the streets, but they would not find him here. The criminal associations within the port knew how to evade law enforcement, and this was just one of many ways they did so. Situations like this proved that having friends in low places was useful.

  His biggest concern was the Lightning Bearer's Children.

  He knew they were leaping from rooftop to rooftop, searching for him like hawks for a rabbit. Much like their patron god, the Lightning Kin were a dangerous and unruly lot who threw their hammers first and asked questions later. Typically, they served as the Guardians of the Parthenon.

  The Parthenon of Port Kraken was the largest structure on Sanctum dedicated to all the Divine. The building boasted wings dedicated to each pantheon. A follower of any faith could find a place to pray. However, to prevent any theological "disagreement," the Lightning Kin were there to end disputes quickly. Being included in his search made Arman's problems go from bad to worse.

  Lightning flashed again, and the Vidria took a deep breath.

  "I should have trusted my gut and jumped overboard."

  ***

  Half an hour ago

  The ship was just outside Port Kraken, and the Radiant Lord's gaze had started to drift below the horizon. Arman watched as the dark gray clouds slowly rolled in from the north. The thought of more damp weather was not exactly pleasing, but at least it was not Avalon. All of that business was behind him. The trip across the ocean was just under five days—the winds had favored them on the way back. Once they made landfall, he would need to arrange for a skiff to take him down the coast to Ophir at first light. Going back into Ophir would carry particular risk, but he had already accounted for it. At the same time, Ophir was the capital city of faith-driven Setesh, and gold and silver easily bought silence among the right people.

  The trip would take half a day, but it was faster than land travel. From Ophir's port, it would simply be a matter of taking another boat down the River Iteru to the Great Library of Litharge, home of his next acquisition: a very specific Skald.

  He smiled to himself as the final stretch of his plan was coming together. Its simplicity was what made things easy. He would take a few days to verify the records and maps of the northern mountains at the Great Library. Once confirmed, it would be a matter of enticing the Skald with a tale of exploration, adventure, and lost treasure. The story itself would not be enough, but the promise of letting them sing a tale of their own making would be hard for any Skald to pass up.

  Then it would be a matter of locating the treasure in question—the Shears.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The sound of a whistle broke Arman's train of thought. Turning his attention from the horizon, he saw Captain Hywel at the wheel while his First Mate called out orders. The port was now in view, bustling with activity. All around him, Arman watched as the sailors worked to slowly lower the sails while others waited to drop anchor. It was a level of precision he could appreciate without it being overly complex—everyone had a part to play.

  However, something seemed off, and he could not place it. Shaking off the feeling, he made his way below deck to gather his things. His trunks could be shipped or stored elsewhere, but the items in his satchel had to stay with him.

  Above deck, he heard the crew begin preparations to offload the goods. He and the other passengers would need to disembark before that could start, so it was a courtesy to be ready to go when the final whistle blew.

  Fully geared, he closed his door just as a whistle sounded and the ship made a slow, lurching stop. There had been six other passengers with him: four humans and a pair of dwarves, all Mainlanders and traders. From their grumblings over meals, Arman gathered that things had not gone well for any of them. When asked about his own endeavors on the island, Arman shrugged and complained that it was hard being a cartographer who was only allowed to see certain parts of the island of Avalon.

  By the time he made his way up, the passengers were already heading down the gangplank, followed by three sailors already hauling sacks on their shoulders. He had missed his window, but luckily they were still dealing in sacks of goods. Waiting for the sailors to pass, he looked across the pier, and the same old feeling itched at him again. Looking back at the other piers, he saw two or three ships moored to each one. The dock where Hywel had made berth was empty. While it was a larger ship than most, being the only ship moored seemed odd.

  Coming down the gangplank with the last of the sacked goods, the Vidria followed the sailors and paid more attention to the surrounding activity. Peering around the legs of the sailors, he could see the Dockmaster at the start of the pier with a few members of the city's security force in tow. Among them was a man in a deep red tabard with silver adornment.

  What was a member of the Order of Valor doing here?

  He watched as security waved off the four humans, but the group encircled the pair of dwarves. Movement from the corner of his eye let him catch a few figures on nearby rooftops. Something was definitely going on, but what?

  The dark skies finally released their burden, and the rain fell lightly as he got closer to the group. Keeping the sailors in front of him, he scanned the area and saw that a few more security members were walking up to the now irate dwarves. Just as he stepped off the pier and onto the cobblestone, he heard one of the dwarves shout.

  "Look, you stupid git! We're real dwarves—not some desert rat! This is my gods-honest beard! Those Vidria shits could not grow one to save their life! Do we look like a pair of sun-bleached bastards?"

  The blood drained from Arman's face at the realization.

  Shit.

  Taking the chance, he calmly peeled away from the sailors and headed toward one building. He just needed to round the corner.

  "Good luck, Master Dah'ay!"

  The voice boomed from across the pier.

  Arman froze and looked over his shoulder. Captain Hywel waved to him from across the pier, smiling.

  All eyes were now on him. He took a breath and a step forward when the world exploded.

  A nearby crate shattered next to him as a large hammer slammed into the ground. Rounding the corner, he ran down a market thoroughfare full of carts, goods, and people. Sprinting through the crowd, he tried to take his jacket off when lightning flashed overhead and a barrel full of fish exploded next to him. Yells of anger and fear filled the air as the crowd watched the hammers fly up from the ground and return to the Lightning Kin above.

  Whether it was guilt, fear, or just mass panic, the street became a sea of bodies scrambling to get away. Arman scrambled with the crowd as carts and barrels exploded around him. The Lightning Kin began throwing their hammers down at him from the rooftops. It could have been pure luck or the fact that he was a smaller, fast-moving target among a sea of growing chaos.

  Seeing another one of the Kin swing back with his hammer, Arman dove behind a reinforced barrel. When the hammer hit, the barrel absorbed most of the blow. However, the force of the impact knocked the air from his chest and sent him flying back into an alleyway. Forcing himself up, he ran into the darkness as their eyes continued to search for him.

  ***

  There was another flash of lightning, and he could see the glint from a pair of small blades.

  He knew he was not alone.

  A woman in dark clothing leaned against the wall, her hands resting on a pair of blades tucked into her belt.

  "I believe you are in the wrong place, mister. There is a pretty hefty—"

  Before she could finish, Arman cut her short by tossing a small coin purse at her.

  "Listen, I do not have the time for threats, niceties, or protocol. I spent the last week on that backward island full of self-serving assholes, and now I have those hammer-happy deviants after me."

  Arman cautiously lowered himself to the ground to face his new companion.

  She was human—young, but the scars on her face said a lot more. She had caught the bag and held it in her hand with a look of disgust.

  "You think this is enough to buy your way out of this trespass?"

  Arman rolled his eyes and slowly opened his jacket and took out a larger purse. Opening it, he poured its contents into his hand—sand.

  "You must have taken a pretty hard hit to the head if you think sand is going to help you. What are you going to tell me next—that it's magic?"

  "Well, no."

  Arman said as he closed his eyes and cupped the sand in his hand. With a mixture of anger, irritation, and sheer will, he stretched the sand like dough in his hand. The substance stretched out instantly, becoming hardened crystal. With surprising speed, the tip of the newly created jagged spear was at her throat.

  "The sand is not magic. I am. I am also out of patience. You will take me to see the Meister NOW, or I will end this conversation and find someone who will take me to him."

  Slowly nodding her head, she looked off to the side. Another figure came out from the darkness. Arman instantly recognized him. His face was a bony palette of pale bluish skin, housing a pair of impossibly black eyes. They were like small pools of darkness—everything about him was unnatural. He was the Daggered Star agent who had provided Arman with the map that led him to the mad Sage Phaendar.

  "This way, Master Dah'ay," he said with a whispered voice. "They are expecting you..."