The cold night air buffeted around Piotr’s coat as he and Sam sped back towards Youbé Port. Youbé Port quickly came into stepping distance as the twin varog hauled the boat in. Towers of sable smoke blanketed the town’s rooftops; frantic guardsmen scooped water from the port and quickly scurried back into the town. Shouts of a need for more water rang amidst the panicked cacophony of a frightened town.

  Finally the boat lurched to a halt, and Piotr and Sam climbed atop the nearest stony pier that jutted out from the port. A shot of pain jolted through Piotr’s shoulder; his wound had not yet been treated. But right now they didn’t have time for that.

  “Go, Piotr, do what you can. Just don’t push yourself too hard,” Sam nodded to Piotr. With a flare of his affinity, Piotr was off, heaving himself upwards to the tiled rooftops.

  He plopped down more heavily than he would’ve liked and climbed to his feet. With effort and persistence, he made his way deeper into town, landing on one of the tallest buildings around, the bell tower.

  The full scene of the attack laid itself bare before him. A crimson mountain of flame enveloped one of the few remaining guardhouses; guardsmen emptied their bucket’s liquid contents onto the inferno to no avail. Cries of anguish and rage reverberated from the populated street. Guardsmen ushered the townsfolk back. Looking at the town’s horizon, Piotr spotted more dancing red beacons; judging from the previous attack, he guessed they too were guardhouses.

  Once more, he attuned his tired body; his muscles surged with power, and his fatigue dissipated. It was time to quell those flames; placing his left foot forward, he dropped to the street below.

  ???

  The house on Valence Street stood just ahead. Ignoring the catching breath in his throat, Sam sprinted ahead. He had to know that Ratchet and Christi were okay. Reaching the steps of the entrance, he pushed strongly on the front door. The hinges swung back. A horrible stench pervaded Sam’s nostrils; he recognised that distinctive smell. A sickeningly sweet aroma. Death.

  Sprawled at his feet were the fresh corpses of two guardsmen. “Ratchet! Christi!” he yelled as he dashed inside. The smell only grew thicker; more corpses littered the lounge as he entered, each sliced open like cattle.

  Please no, the thought arrested Sam’s mind.

  He heard heavy breathing; resting on the couch was a familiar thickset man, Ratchet. A sigh of relief exhaled from Sam’s clenched jaw.

  Sam hurried to Ratchet’s side, scanning his body for any wounds. “Are you hurt? Any areas of immense pain?”

  Ratchet grunted and shifted himself up. “Besides some bruised ribs and a wounded ego, nah, I’m all good.”

  Sam glanced about. “Where’s Christi? Is she still upstairs? I’ll go check on her quickly.”

  Ratchet caught him by the forearm; pain twisted Ratchet’s face. Sam knew why.

  “Don’t bother Sam, Christi…. She left with Kydin; it was her own choice.”

  A chill tingled Sam’s spine. He had hoped something like this wouldn’t happen; they all did. Sam sat himself down in the armchair opposite Ratchet. Piotr and Sam had made a promise to Christi four years ago to help her slay the monsters responsible for destroying her home. Instead they had chosen their duty, an oath sworn to the Pioneers, to Anriel, and to this town.

  “I haven’t given up on her, Sam. We’ll get her back. No matter what.” Sam met Ratchet’s eyes; despite it all, that fervent determination of his still burned. His promise to Christi still remained. At the very least he wanted to see him fulfil his wish.

  “Come, let me help you to your feet, my friend.” Staggering to his feet, Ratchet stood shoulder to shoulder with Sam.

  “Thanks.”

  Hooking his arm over Sam’s shoulder, he sported a hardened face. One that radiated his determination.

  “Let’s go get Christi back.”

  Sam smiled at him. “Let’s.”

  ???

  Exhausted and cold Piotr sat atop the stage placed in the town’s central plaza. Beneath the Yharnam Tree, away from it all. The last of the embers that had singed this town flickered above him. White crested leaves fell from the half-charred branches above. Craning his neck, he looked up to the once mesmerising and cherished symbol of Barakat. Half of the tree’s white-surfaced bark was dark and stained beyond its original brilliant radiance. Pinpricks of red embers trickled along the branches.

  Footsteps clomped on the stone ahead of him. Abraham stalked forward until the sight of the Yharnam Tree stopped him in his tracks. Anger writhed his face. “Those bastards! How dare they?!” Abraham bellowed through the plaza square. Kydin had dealt another cruel blow to Barakat; this attack, however, was the most catastrophic so far. The townsfolk would be livid over this. This town would turn against Piotr and Sam; there was no doubting that.

  Abraham stalked forward. Fists clenched at his side. Here we go, Piotr thought as he braced himself.

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  “Thank you.”

  Thank you?! Did he hear that right? Was Abraham of all people thanking him?

  Abraham sat beside him before continuing; he looked to the Yharnam Tree. “You anticipated an attack like this; while we lost the remaining guardhouses to arson, I worry what more we could’ve suffered were it not for you.” Meeting Piotr’s eyes, he nodded to express his gratitude. “So thank you.”

  Piotr nodded in response. “So you are capable of gratitude after all,” he commented.

  “Bah! I’m just willing to give credit where credit is due. That’s all. Where do we go from here?” Abraham exhaled.

  Piotr slumped back and reflected on all that had transpired in the last few days. The initial attack on Inchydon guardhouse, the destruction of Brand Gate, and now this. So far Kydin had continuously remained one step ahead of them. They danced to his tune; how could they retaliate against such a foe? The answer came to him.

  “I have a proposal, one that could allow us to get the jump on Kydin.”

  Abraham’s head jerked to the side. “Well, go on then.”

  Piotr eased himself to his feet and turned to regard Abraham. “It involves you. Adriana can’t know about this until the plan is enacted; only you and I must know of this.”

  “You know I can’t do that. I trust Adriana with everything; she deserves to know too,” Abraham frowned at him.

  “We need to trust each other on this one. Believe me, the less people know about this, the more effective this plan will be,” Piotr said.

  Abraham paced around the square, deep in thought.

  Piotr sighed, “Then answer me this at least. Do you want to win? Do you want to beat Kydin even if that only means trusting me? I swore to you I would protect this town, so will you do the same?”

  Abraham stopped at the Yharnam and pressed his palm against the blackened trunk of the tree; he exhaled. “Yes, by my brother’s name I want to win. Axci, damn it all I do!”

  Piotr joined him at the tree and extended his hand. “We agreed then?”

  Abraham glanced at his hand and then slapped it away. “I’ll trust you on this, but I’m not shaking your hand.”

  Piotr chuckled. “That’s good enough for me.”

  ???

  Sam and Ratchet trudged through the mostly empty streets of Barakat. The smell of burnt wood hung on the gentle breeze. Outside one of the charred remains of the guardhouses, soot smudged guardsmen gathered to pay their respects to their fallen comrades. White sheets hid the faces of those who had perished in the blaze. A young girl knelt by one such sheet, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Ahead of Sam and Ratchet an anxious crowd seemed to ebb in one direction. Towards the town’s central square. Above, the familiar sound of the bell tower’s bell rang out, signifying one thing. A meeting was being called.

  “Now? What’s going on?” Ratchet asked as he looked around.

  “Nothing good, I suspect,” Sam replied.

  They approached the plaza following the flow of the crowd. A singular voice boomed from the plaza square. A voice that evoked a fury of anger. Slipping through the tall, narrow archways, they parked themselves near the back against a wall.

  A gasp escaped Sam as he noticed the ruined Yharnam Tree, a tree that Abraham used to support his vehement speech.

  “We have endured enough! These Fheitgr savages continue to take and take. Well, today marks the final straw! The roots of this town have been upended, and yet Piotr Henlein has done little to stop this. He has failed us, like the Pioneers before him and the Pioneers that will come after him!”

  Ratchet shifted about; his face grew red. “What nonsense is he spouting? We’ve done all we can for this town. It’s not Piotr’s fault,” he growled.

  “I don’t know; I’m half inclined to agree with the man.” Sam glanced in the direction of where the voice had come from. A cloaked man clutched at his shoulder. It was Piotr; he gestured to the two to remain quiet. “Just trust me on this one.”

  Abraham continued his tirade, accompanying his speech with wild gesticulations. “He swore to us he would protect this town. That he would do everything to protect this town, and yet where is he?! This supposed help of his is a farce! A facade to justify their incompetence. The Pioneers have failed us in the past, and now Piotr Henlein has failed us. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of these failures!”

  The crowd roared with every exclamation; hanging on every word. He had them in the palm of his hand. Abraham was the conductor, and the crowd was his orchestra. Together they conducted a furious melody.

  “Tomorrow Piotr Henlein will take to this stand here to explain his inabilities. We will have our answers.”

  He pumped his fist into the air. “For Brand! For Barakat!” Those four words continued to be chanted wildly. “For Brand! For Barakat!” Sam felt a tap on his shoulder; Piotr nodded to the exit and led them away.

  They ducked into an alleyway some five minutes from the plaza. Piotr removed his cloak, wincing as he did so. He trudged over to a nearby crate, dusted the surface down, and perched atop it. Sam began tearing at the discarded cloak and fashioned a makeshift bandage to cover the wound. “Piotr, you’ve lost a lot of blood already; you need to rest.”

  Piotr waved him off, “We can’t rest Sam, not until Kydin has been dealt with.” Sam sighed and continued tending to the wound. “Care to explain that whole fiasco then? Allowing Abraham to turn the whole turn against us is quite the daring manoeuvre.”

  “Horace always said, ‘Sometimes you have to play the role of a fool to fool the fool who thinks he’s fooling you.”

  “What?” Ratchet frowned at him, and Sam smirked as he finished tying the makeshift bandage tightly. Piotr hissed a groan.

  “Horace was always a wise man,” Sam remarked.

  “Dumb it down for me, gents,” Ratchet said.

  “I asked Abraham to perform that speech. That last attack confirmed what I had begun to notice recently. Kydin has always intentionally attacked Barakat in my absence.”

  “And?” Ratchet cocked his brow.

  “It means Kydin has been attempting to turn the town against me from the very start. It’s a smart ploy, so for once we’re playing into Kydin’s hands, but of our own volition,” Piotr said.

  “Ahhh, that’s clever; he’ll think he’s won and be none the wiser.” Ratchet nodded in understanding.

  “Exactly, my friend.” Piotr slumped forward, crashing to the ground.

  “Piotr!” Sam reached down and helped him to his feet.

  “Piotr, this is serious; you need to rest.” Piotr dragged himself to the crate, slumping back against the wooden surface.

  “Where’s Christi?” he asked, looking around. Sam and Ratchet’s faces dropped.

  “She’s with Kydin,” Sam whispered.

  “I see, that’s rather…” Piotr's voice trailed off.

  Piotr slumped to the side, drifting into unconsciousness. Sam rushed to his side, shaking him gently. “Piotr! Ratchet, help me move him.” Ratchet hurried over and helped Sam heave Piotr to his feet.

  A lone figure approached the two. Hood drawn, concealing his face. Sam passed Piotr off to Ratchet and tensed for combat. The man drew his hood back, revealing an angular face adorned with roguish facial hair.

  The man of the hour, Abraham. “Come, we’ll move him to a secure location. And be quick about it.”