Sir Kenneth looked around in disquiet as the knights marched into the city from the Noble Quarter. He, Sir Jaime, Geoffrey, and Bernard were grouped with around twenty other knights under one of the Castellan’s honor guard. Kenneth couldn’t make out anything of the man’s appearance under the shining platemail.

  The city itself was what made Sir Kenneth nervous. He remembered the bustling streets from the day prior. Now, they were nearly empty. The only exceptions were the still forms of those who no longer needed to worry about fleeing for their lives and those who still cried out for help.

  “Eyes up,” Sir Jaime muttered. “We’re not here for the dead. If there’s someone you can help quickly, give them a hand. But stay with the group. Don’t get separated.”

  “Where is everyone?” Sir Kenneth asked cautiously. “The streets are empty.” He couldn’t help but glance at an unlucky man who had been struck by a falling roof tile. A pool of red beneath the man’s unmoving body said that he’d not be getting up again.

  “The locals know to dive for cover if the Wizards get uppity,” one of the other knights contributed grimly. He wore the crest of House de Flèche. “This isn’t the first time someone fired off a spell that hit citizens instead of its target. That’s what drew the Witch Hunters here.” They all looked up at a massive spike of ice protruding from a nearby building’s roof. “This might be the worst I’ve seen, however.”

  As they rounded a street corner, the Honor Guard drew his steed to a halt. The knights on foot presented their shields and formed a rank on either side of the mounted man, facing down where he was focused. Down the street from them, two Wizards were consumed in a spat. Both looked to be fairly young and had not yet developed the trademark knee length beards of their profession.

  In fact, one of them was a woman, to Sir Kenneth’s surprise. That didn’t stop her from cursing at her compatriot so rancidly that it would curdle milk on the spot. Both Wizards were dodging back and forth between overturned carts and merchant stalls while they waved staves at each other.

  “You utter buffoon! As if the great Tower of Lahaeb would bother attacking the bundle of twigs you call Saqaei!” The woman screeched as she ducked behind a stall. Her staff poked out from behind a crate of apples and unleashed a bolt of fire at the other Wizard. It sailed across the street and caught the cart the man was hiding behind on fire.

  “Buffoon! You stinking harlot! I’ll have you know that-”

  “Should we… do something, Sir Jaime?” Kenneth asked the older man. “We’re supposed to stop any Wizards we find attacking people, right…?”

  “That’s the job of the Witch-Hunters, lad,” the Honor Guard called down from his steed. “These ones are just jumped up Apprentices. Unless they actually hurt someone, we’ll just cordon them off until one of them can make it over.”

  At that moment, the Wizard hiding behind the burning cart stuck his own staff out from cover and loosed a spell in the Lahaeb woman’s direction. His aim was poor. Instead of striking the merchant stall, the lightning bolt which erupted from his staff crashed through the window of a house behind her. A child’s panicked scream directly followed.

  “Nevermind, RUSH THE BASTARDS!”

  The knights charged down the street. Those with shields jogged out in front, shields held out to protect their fellows. Other knights which preferred two handed swords or polearms followed close behind.

  Both Wizards only seemed to notice the men charging down the cobbled street at them after the Honor Guard’s shout. The couple of moments it took for them to realize they were under attack from a third group allowed the knights to close the distance. On one side of the street, the Wizard from Saqaei hurriedly raised his staff and tried to rush out a spell. He must have mispronounced a word, because the crackling whip of electricity that erupted from his staff curled around out of control.

  The arcing lightning struck the Wizard as well as two of the knights in front. All three jerked around as their muscles spasmed out of their control. A moment later, one of the following knights rammed a mace into the Wizard’s kneecaps. He was carried to the ground by those who followed as he screamed in agony, his staff summarily ripped from his hands.

  On Sir Kenneth’s side of the street, the woman from Lahaeb was quicker off the mark. She first created distance between herself and the charging knights with a quick incantation. “Aqd’alhaeb!” Fire flared from the soles of her boots, which sent her skidding backwards along the cobblestones.

  Sir Kenneth instinctively dodged to the side. A memory of the Wizard Mortimer at the shepherd’s hut flashed through his mind. Just as he expected, the woman immediately followed up on creating distance by letting out a burst of elemental magic in the knight’s direction. Several of them snapped up their shields to block, but licks of flame curled around the metal to singe hair and skin alike.

  The dodge had taken Sir Kenneth out into the middle of the street. He continued running forward as the woman continued to send bursts of fire down the side towards the group of knights. She seemed to have gotten carried away with herself and was yelling something about ‘daring to attack the Towers’.

  ‘If you’re fighting an archer, or someone else who fights from range, get in their face.’ Sir Raban had said. ‘Everyone panics when some bastard runs up, trying to knife them in the gut.’ Kenneth kept running as fast as his legs would carry him. He could hear the Honor Guard’s steed charging down the street behind him, but he didn’t intend to wait on someone else.

  Sir Jaime and the brats were some of the knights getting cooked. He needed to repay their kindness.

  The Wizard woman seemed to notice that someone was getting close just as Sir Kenneth pulled back his sword to swing at her. She gave a screech and the flames beneath her boots burst outwards, sending her flying upwards into the air. ‘Get in their face’ echoed in Kenneth’s head. With no other option, he completed his swing and hurled the sword directly at the Wizard’s head.

  Whether by pure luck or an uncommon burst of skill, the arming sword spun in an arc up at the fleeing woman. It tumbled end over end, twisting horizontally in the air. The blade fell short of her face, but got tangled up in her robes between her legs. She gave a sharp yelp of pain as the sword’s sharp edge cut her across the calf.

  The magic that she’d been relying on sputtered out of control as she lost concentration. A scream followed as she dropped to the ground. She fell right through the awning of another market stall, getting tangled in the cloth as she smashed into the crates of fruit on display.

  Sir Kenneth blinked as the magical fire winked out of existence. The woman was unconscious. Hooves skidded across the cobblestones as the Honor Guard reined his horse in, attempting to not run the young knight over. Kenneth turned his head and stared into the eyes of the warhorse, which huffed hotly in his face from how close it had come. He reached up to idly pat it on the muzzle and was bitten for his trouble.

  “The bloody Hells was that?” Sir Jaime cried from further down the street as he looked out from behind his shield and saw Sir Kenneth standing puzzled right in front of the Honor Guard’s steed. “Did someone get the whore?”

  “Your former squire seems to be either blessed, or well trained,” the Honor guard commented dryly as the other knights hurried over. “He took her right out of the sky with a single blow.”

  “Did he now? If only he were one of mine. That’s Sir Kenneth of Reimse.” Sir Jaime jogged up to Kenneth’s side and sheathed his sword before clapping Kenneth on the shoulder. “Trained by Raban the Flesher, if you’d believe it.”

  Both men stared at Sir Kenneth, who was still in a state of shock. “... Did I really do that?” he asked in disbelief. “Is she dead?”

  “That’s a good question lad,” Sir Jaime agreed and dragged the young knight towards the demolished stall. “Never stand around chatting before you’ve done the coup de grace.”

  “W-what, we’re going to kill her?” Sir Kenneth pulled away from Sir Jaime at the man’s words. “While she’s disabled? That’s barbaric!”

  “A lad as bloodthirsty as you, worried about that? Who would have thought?” Sir Jaime leaned forward and pulled the woman’s head up from the tangle of wreckage. He used one thumb from his gauntlet to open one of the Wizard’s eyelids. “She tried to torch five of us lad. That’s a hanging offense, doesn't matter who you are.”

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  “The young knight of Reimse, however, is correct,” a subtle voice interrupted them. One of the Witch Hunters had appeared as if from thin air, clutching their staff next to the Honor Guard. The horse sidled away from the eerie figure, knickering in discomfort.

  “It is the will of the Castellan that all Wizards who can be captured are to be bound and gagged,” the Witch Hunter continued as they stepped forward to inspect the demolished stall. “This is why you were to call on me and my compatriots, rather than risk taking casualties.”

  The Witch Hunter looked at the damage to the street and listened to the panicked sobs of children from the house struck by the lightning bolt.

  “These are extenuating circumstances. I will congratulate you on swift and decisive action… this time.” The Witch Hunter’s hood turned towards the Honor Guard. “Our Lord will be watching for any who act… recklessly. For now, bind these two. Give me their staves. See to your wounded and have two men accompany me to deliver these miscreants.”

  Sir Kenneth was surprised to see how readily the Honor Guard obeyed the hooded Hunter’s orders. Commands were barked out in quick succession. Kenneth himself seemed to be excluded from these duties, as the ‘hero of the moment’. He was still a bit dazed, but had the presence of mind to retrieve his new arming sword from the remains of the stall. Thankfully its edge was still sharp, but it had acquired a slight bend that he’d need to have mended.

  “Have you fought a Wizard before, young Sir?” The Witch Hunter asked Kenneth suddenly, making him startle. Their voice was quiet and reserved when not giving out commands. Kenneth’s eyes turned to try and see what was under the hood, but was unsuccessful. Between the Witch Hunter’s garb and armor, there wasn’t a millimeter of exposed skin.

  “Oh, er, no Sir,” Kenneth replied after recovering his wits. “But I have seen one fight, on one occasion back home. My former knight trained me a bit but… I think… I think I was mostly just lucky to be honest.”

  The Witch Hunter’s hood bobbed in acknowledgement. “So it goes. It is best to remain humble in these things, young Knight. Too many good souls have perished trying to accomplish feats of legend, when they themselves are mortal men.”

  “If… If I was sent on a mission by my Lord to hunt a Witch, what should I do?”

  “Hmm…” The Witch Hunter pondered the question. “There are only so many of my Order, this is true. Reimse is a… remote Barony, yes?” They didn’t wait for an answer. “Then you must be swift, strike from a position of surprise, and bring far more than the twenty knights you have today. A rogue Wizard’s apprentice in the city is one thing…”

  “... a True Witch in the Wild, is a far more dangerous foe. You will be fighting in their home territory. Expect many devious traps and to lose a fair number of your men. Losses will be inevitable. If all else fails, flee. It is imperative that someone remains alive who can contact my order.”

  “I… thank you for your guidance,” Sir Kenneth said as he bowed at the waist. The Witch Hunter waved him off and turned to leave. Two new staves had been delivered to them, which they held in the crook of their arm.

  “Think nothing of it, young Knight. With all sincerity, pray that today is the last time you will ever need to call on my Order’s services.” The Witch hunter then left without further comment, two captive Wizards in tow.

  Unfortunately for Cassia, her plan had not exactly gotten off to an easy start. Asking the servants for more plain travelling clothes had produced another dress. While it was made from a more durable material than the soft green fabric she’d originally been provided with, it didn’t serve the purpose she needed.

  Asking for a set of men’s clothes was out of the question. The servants simply assumed she was asking for clothing for Sir Kenneth. When she pressed too hard, they started to get suspicious. Cassia was left to stew at the inn as she pondered over what to do.

  Stealing a set of clothes could work, but what if she got caught? While she didn’t know what the local laws were, she imagined that being branded a thief would get her in a lot of trouble. It would also place Sir Kenneth’s story into question.

  As she racked her brain for a solution, a complex series of sensations filtered across the connection between her and Sanguine. He was performing magic of some variety. The intensity of his focus was more than a little overwhelming for her. It was like a concentrated sunbeam hitting a location close to her. She wasn’t burnt, but she did feel a residual sensation like a sunburn.

  A short while later, she felt Sanguine searching for her. She responded eagerly, trying to convey her location, but she wasn’t as good at emotional sign language as her dragon. To her surprise, it seemed that Sanguine and Visk were almost directly below her.

  There was nothing else for it. She was tired of waiting around while other people did everything. A quick search of the knights’ quarters revealed some travel packs stuffed into a closet. She selected some items from each, so that no one pack was missing enough to be easily noticed.

  Cassia couldn’t take one of the carry packs without someone noticing, but a rough cloth that hung over one of the windows sufficed for a makeshift bag tied with a bit of string. The last thing she took was a small lantern with some candles. If she was going to go underground, she’d need to be able to see.

  With no other option for clothing, she changed into the travelling dress that she’d been provided. It was still a little difficult to move around in, but wasn’t as restrictive as the green one. After a moment’s hesitation, she bundled the green dress into the sack. Maybe, just maybe, Sanguine might like it if she wore it.

  The next complication that she ran into was getting out of the building. If she walked down the stairs and out the door, people would ask questions like ‘where was she going’, ‘why was she wearing different clothes’, and ‘what are you doing with that sack?’

  It took Cassia a couple of minutes of pondering to remember that she could probably just jump out a window. She had surprised herself at times, with just how strong she was. She’d been able to jump high into the air to grab Sanguine’s horns and she’d punched through a stone brick wall! Her hand still hurt a bit, but surely that meant she could easily climb out of a second story window.

  She’d found a window that she could open, which led out into the alley behind the inn. A quick inspection showed no one walking around. Most folk were taking cover inside after the earlier battle in the city.

  Climbing out of the window was, in fact, complicated by wearing a dress. The problem was how dresses tended to get caught on any stray nail or wooden splinter on the way down. She had to fight just to get her body over the windowsill. Even then, she heard an annoying sounding rip as she dropped down to the alleyway below. A scrap of fabric was left hanging on the window above her. There was also no way to close the window from down on the ground.

  “Godsdamnit,” she hissed to herself. “Nothing for it. Onward we go. Now to find a way underground.” She vaguely remembered where she and Sir Kenneth had emerged from the ground, but the route they had come from led back towards the Market Quarter and the brigands who had captured her. She didn’t imagine that they would be as merciful if she met them again.

  “Quit being a nervous ninny Cassia.” She carefully walked down the alley with her purloined sack. “You were alone in the woods for years. Why are you so bloody tense now?” The simple answer, which she knew, was that she was a fish out of water here. The Forest was her domain, which she’d hunted in for years. Osteriath was completely foreign to her. She was acting foolish by striking out on her own.

  But she couldn’t stand it any longer. She wanted to be with her Dragon and to leave this wretched city.

  Finding an entrance into the undercity proved to be a difficult task. The Noble Quarter and its surroundings was the newest part of the City. Much of the clutter associated with Osteriath’s architecture hadn’t had sufficient time to build up. In addition to that, the nobility’s guards were patrolling the streets. Anyone not indoors was being forced to take shelter wherever possible.

  Cassia had some skill at moving stealthily from hunting in the forest, but the combination of the unfamiliar environment and her unfavorable clothing got her in several close shaves. Dodging around the guard patrols was an entirely different experience to hunting. First and foremost, the guards were (relatively) just as intelligent as she was. They were also experienced at finding people who wanted to hide.

  By the time she finally did find an entrance to the underground, her nerves were frazzled. It was a heavy metal grate set into the stone off to the side of the road. She wondered how she was going to move it… but then remembered punching through a brick wall again. That was going to take some getting used to.

  When she saw no one around, Cassia scurried out of the nearest alley and reached down to grab onto the grate. Her dress was once again uncomfortable and restricted her, but she persisted. She was sure she heard some stitches pop as she heaved and slowly pulled the grate out of the ground.

  Voices from an approaching guard patrol alerted her to be quick. She pulled harder and opened enough of a gap to drop into. Iron rungs had been driven into the stone walls of the space beneath the grate. One hand grabbed her sack to carry it while she climbed into the hole. She was able to hold onto both it and a rung, long enough to reach overhead and drag the grate back into place.

  “Did you hear that?” A voice called from down the street. “Over there, by the gutter.”

  Cassia hissed and scrambled down the iron ladder. It went just under four meters below the street before arriving at a small platform which stood over a trickle of water. On either side of her, a small tunnel ran into the darkness with water flowing down it. She ducked into the one heading down just before the guard patrol walked up to the grate.

  “Do you think that someone is down there?” one guard asked his fellows. “I swear that I heard something moving.”

  “Don’t be daft,” another said. “That metal must be over a hundred pounds! It’d take at least two strong blokes to even budge it.”

  Cassia’s eye twitched. Her recent strength startled her, but being compared to a man got on her nerves.

  “Get moving you twits,” a third voice called. “We still need to check the rest of the block before we can take a rest. Look sharp!”

  The voices faded away as the men marched down the street. Cassia breathed a sigh of relief. She took the lantern out of the pack and set it down. A flint and steel she’d ‘borrowed’ let her light a small candle after a few tries. She placed the candle into the lantern and packed everything else back up, careful to keep the green dress out of the grime.

  As she pulled the sack over her shoulder and held up the lantern in her free hand, she used her connection with Sanguine and signalled him to come and meet her.