V: Ignition

Now

There was a low, indistinct muttering coming from the gathering of guards that filled the entry hall of the Watch building. As Captain Centius entered the room and walked behind the front desk to face the group, he let out a short sigh. He only had a little over a dozen men, that was all he was ever willing to pay, and almost every single one of them looked like they'd rather be somewhere else.

It was past midnight, after all, and most had been forcibly called back from either their beds or their tavern cups. He could tell by the way many seemed to wobble drunkenly even while standing in place. A few bleary-eyed ones looked like they had just thrown their guard tunics over their nightshirts in their rush back to headquarters. The captain knew he had only himself to blame; he hired them because they would follow orders for what he paid them, but none were shining examples of brevity or care. The worst they ever had to deal with was the occasional drunken brawl, or sometimes a fight between members of the Family and Raine's men.

"Shut up and listen!" He called out, forcing most of the murmuring to stop. "We've received a special request from the Family. The prodigal daughter, Kythra, is no longer under their protection. This is a manhunt of the highest priority; we have been tasked with finding and apprehending her alive. Accompanying her is a mercenary of some sort from outside the island. Middle-aged, greying hair, dressed in a dark cloak like a blackheart."

He gestured to the Watch's clerk, and the bespectacled man came up beside the Captain and held up a sketch that he had drawn based on Harken's description. A few of the guards leaned forward and began squinting at the drawing.

Captain Centius continued, "This sellsword apparently broke Kythra out of one of Raine's buildings in the western hills. It is believed they will attempt to make their way further in through the city, likely for the docks district. We're to intercept them before they get that far. Harken has described the mercenary as being both skilled and deadly, so do not attempt to- what is it?" He stopped as his most senior lieutenant raised his hand.

"Are we getting paid overtime for this?" asked Lieutenant Drayven. That seemed to rouse the rest of the room to attention, and the murmuring started up again as others voiced their agreement with the lieutenant and parroted back the same question.

The captain grimaced and said, "Yes, yes. Usual rates, courtesy of the Family. Don't interrupt me again. Harken has authorized us to bring in the mercenary dead, but from what he tells me, this outsider has a way with-"

Another hand at the front of the group went up. "Uh, excuse me, sir?"

"I said no more interruptions! And- wait, who in the Nine Hells are you?" The captain's brow furrowed as he noticed for the first time that a stranger had made his way through the room to the front of the crowd.

"My name is Dace. I came here to report a crime, but it appears you are already looking for me. So I wish to turn myself in." The man pointed at the sketch held by the clerk.

Staring agog at the man for a few seconds, Centius seemed to lose his train of thought. He silently glanced at the sketched face, then did a double-take at the lanky person standing before him. The man even had a bandage wrapped around his left hand, matching the description of the injury Harken gave. Letting out a longer sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're telling me you are the deadly mercenary Harken was talking about?"

"Deadly? I know not what you mean. Just a courier, I am, in town to deliver a shipment. I was out walking earlier in the evening and came upon a ruffian, a pudgy-faced man, accosting a young woman in the western neighbourhood. I threatened him a bit just to scare him off, and he shot my hand with a crossbow!" He raised his left hand, showing off the bandage with a fresh spot of blood formed in the middle. "But then he fled the scene saying he would get back at me. Do you know who he is? Can I have him arrested for this?"

Internally cursing at Harken, the captain threw his hands up in exasperation. He hated how that idiot could be so overly dramatic at times. He muttered, "Fine. You're here, we'll need to take you into custody for questioning until we get Harken back as well."

"Oh, well then, I suppose I should also hand this over to you." Dace swiftly reached into his pocket and removed a black, fist-sized sphere with a wick sticking out of it, which he then tossed on the desk in front of the captain.

After an awkward moment of delay, some of the guards seemed to react to the bomb and cried out in surprise, reaching for their weapons. The captain waved them down, "Explain. What is this?"

"A small explosive." When Dace saw the officer's glare, words began tumbling from his lips. "I was never warned beforehand that these were forbidden here. I arrived on this isle a short time ago to fulfill a delivery order to a merchant in town, but they confiscated my supply at the docks. But it turned out they missed this one that I was carrying on my person, and when I realized I still had it, it was too late and I was already on my way to explain the seizure to my buyer, so then I-"

"Fine, fine." Captain Centius was hating every second of this and motioned for the man to shut up. He pointed to the clerk at his side, and handed him the bomb. "Take this to the armoury with the rest. Lieutenant Drayven, take him to the interview room. I'll follow soon."

He raised his voice toward the rest of the guards, "The rest of you are dismissed."

There was a low grumble as the lieutenant stepped forward and took Dace by the arm, leading him to one of the rooms further in.

As the others began shuffling out, one of the rank-and-file guards asked, "Are we still getting paid extra for coming back here tonight, or...?"

"Get out," growled the captain, ignoring the fool's question as well as the foul muttering from the rest of his men that continued to trail through the air. He turned and followed after the lieutenant and the supposed 'mercenary' that Harken was so eager to locate. He was going to need another drink before dealing with any more of this.

There was a clattering as the lock opened, and the door to the armoury swung open. A musty breeze blew into the station clerk's eyes, making him cough briefly. Glancing inside, the clerk made a feeble attempt to wave the smell of gunpowder away from his face. He pocketed the key before turning to mount his torch in a sconce just outside the room, and then stepped inside.

The long and windowless room was old, one of the few structures on the island that actually predated the town itself. But its age was showing. Cracks in some of the stones and mortar were obvious to him whenever he had to stop by to lock something up. For years, the clerk had been trying to convince the Captain that they needed to reinforce the decaying wood and stone walls, but any talk of the costs would inevitably shut the conversation down.

Letting out another sigh, the clerk stepped over to the nearest table within sight and placed the small bomb on a cloth, amid numerous other explosive implements. The plain truth was that the Watch didn't confiscate these materials for safety reasons; it was all just part of their racket. Seize a few barrels of black powder from an incoming ship at the docks, hang on to the stuff for a few weeks, and then sell the barrels at a marked up price to another outgoing one. A few sacks of gold went to the Family to keep them happy, and it was a win for everyone.

Smirking to himself, the clerk began walking down the aisles of the room, figuring he might as well do a quick inventory of their supplies, if only to make sure none of the other guards had slipped in to steal any of their supply amid the commotion earlier.

As he made his way between the shelves, he failed to notice a faint hissing noise coming from the black device he had just placed on the table. Nor did he see the wisp of white smoke that was beginning to leak from the bomb.

"Like I said, officer, this is all just a huge misunderstanding."

Lieutenant Drayven sighed to himself, then gestured toward the seat at the opposite side of the table, the one facing the door. As the suspect sat down, the officer said, "I don't especially care. Just wait for the captain and Harken to get here. They'll sort this out with you."

The officer collapsed into the chair facing the suspect and removed his helmet. As he set the piece of armour down on the corner of the filthy wooden table, he pinched the bridge of his nose, much like his captain was wont to do. He added, "And then hopefully I'll be allowed to go get some damn sleep for once."

Dace leaned forward slightly. "You and your captain speak with resentment whenever you mention this 'Harken' fellow. It sounds like he has you both at his beck and call. Is he your taskmaster?"

The lieutenant sneered and scoffed. "Ugh, not in any official sense. He's a right fool, but he has the backing of the Family." He looked away and added under his breath, "Or whoever's running things on the island now."

"And Raine's company? Do they have influence over your squad?"

"That's a matter of perspective. They've been nipping at the Family ever since Raine furled his sails for good and took up residence on the western edge of Riftmere, but-" The guard seemed to catch himself in that moment, and his eyes flicked straight to the suspect's. "You ask a lot of questions for a bloody courier."

"Just curious."

Drayven narrowed his eyes at the 'courier'. His tone grew colder as he said, "You aren't the first inquisitive outsider to land on our shores. In fact, you're not even the first to sit in that chair." He gestured around them. "These walls are soundproof. You could scream bloody murder and none would be the wiser, not even someone standing right outside the door. We've put it to the test before, you see." The guard pointed at a heavy dent in one edge of the table that still had a dark streak of dried blood across it.

Nodding slowly, the suspect refrained from further questions and simply stared forward, not breaking eye contact.

The door behind the lieutenant creaked open. Twisting in his seat, the officer looked back and gave a half-hearted salute as Centius entered.

"Damned waste of my time," the captain growled. "Everyone so slow to arrive, and then in such a hurry to get back to their lousy beds."

Half rising from his seat, Drayven said, "Speaking of which, now that you're here, can I...?"

"Keep your anchor moored, you layabout. We're not starting until Harken comes back. If nothing else, he might find the haste of his request amusing." The guard captain stepped around the table and gave the suspect a look of mixed disdain and annoyance. "You know, despite being in charge around here, I actually prefer a low-stress environment. And whenever Harken comes calling, it means I have to deal with people that I'd much rather just be done with and toss into the harbour. So I don't know if it's true or plain misfortune on your part, but by aiding that woman, you've gone and gained the ire of the lad now running the Family."

There was a silence that hanged in the room for a long moment before the captain continued. "Where is Kythra? What happened to the prodigal daughter?"

Dace's eyes were locked on Centius'. The suspect slowly opened his mouth and said in a measured tone, "You said you are in charge here. Yet you only act at the call of another. Strange how those who wear a chain long enough come to forget its weight."

The captain leaned down closer, nose almost touching the suspect's. "Don't try to get snide, old man. Right now, you're about to have the Family coming at you from one end of the city, and Raine's company from the other. It was hard enough to believe that both groups want the girl alive. It's even harder to believe they'll soon be one and the same."

A sudden banging on the door cut into the conversation. It swung open and the station's clerk looked in at them, wide-eyed. "Fire! Fire in the armoury! We need to clear out, now!"

"Now hold on, what-" Captain Centius started to raise a hand, but the clerk fled before he could even point a finger. The door hadn't even finished moving.

"Ugh. Everyone I know is either a freeloader or a coward." Grumbling under his breath, the captain stepped outside the room to see what the matter was.

Turning around in his seat, Drayven started to rise again and said, "Should we evacuate? If there is a danger, then I don't want to-"

"Shut up and stay here," barked Centius, not even sparing a glance back as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Letting out another low sigh, the remaining officer turned back to the suspect, who was still sitting quietly with his hands below the bare table.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, and the lieutenant was struck with the sudden sense that there was something... different about the scene before him. His eyes fell to the corner of the empty table.

"Where's my helmet?"

The suspect's arm seemed to snap forward as he pitched the Drayven's own helm at the officer's face. Too slow to get his own arm up in time, Drayven felt the hard steel crown crack against his nose, causing his head to knock back as his vision blurred.

Without pause, the suspect was on his feet and pivoted, grabbing his chair by the top and, in the same revolution, hurled it around, striking the officer in the side and knocking Drayven to the ground, screaming out in pain.

Still stunned from the blows, the lieutenant managed to lift himself from the floor into a sitting position before he felt a hand roughly grab him at the back of his neck.

"Good thing the walls are soundproof," Dace said flatly. It was the last thing the guard heard as his head was slammed forward, directly onto the table's bloody dent.

A thick, acrid white smoke was streaming through the hallway. Captain Centius waved a hand in the air ahead of his face, which did little to clear his vision as he moved down the wide corridor. The smoke trail was indeed leading him toward the station's armoury, but despite the clerk's claim, the guard captain could sense that there was something off about this. For one, the smoke was white, not dark. For another, if something was burning in the armoury, he would have heard explosions long before he made it this far.

Rounding the corner, he immediately saw that the door to the armoury had been left wide open by one of the idiots working for him, probably the clerk. The thick smoke billowed out freely, stinging at his eyes slightly as he approached. He removed a cloth from his pocket and held it other his nose and mouth with one hand, then entered the room, following the smoke to its source.

There was no heat emanating from the chamber, but that did little to ease his concerns. Stepping forward to where one of the tables should be, the captain was able to reach out and grab what appeared to be the source of the smoke. It was the black, fist-sized 'bomb' that the suspect had relinquished earlier. The device didn't feel hot in his grasp as he stared at it. The smoke was rapidly shooting out of the top, around the wick.

Was the old man just trying to cause a nuisance? Centius sneered as he removed his helmet and dropped the smoking device inside, then draped the small cloth over, slowing the spewing smoke.

Turning back, the captain moved toward the door, still waving a hand ineffectually at the nearly opaque air. All this stunt did was raise his ire, and the suspect was going to feel the brunt of that anger when Centius got his hands on him.

As soon as he stepped through the threshold to the hallway, a gloved fist struck out from around the corner, striking him squarely between the eyes without a helmet to protect him.

He cried out and staggered backward into the armoury as he saw stars. Swinging a fist blindly in the smoke, the captain felt only air as he faintly hear his attacker stepping into the room and moving around him.

"Do you think you're getting off this island in one piece, stranger? They already know who you are and what you look like." Centius glanced around as he reached down for his sword.

A blow from behind suddenly took the captain in the back of his knee, and he fell forward as a small blade simultaneously came around the right side of his neck, slicing deep as he went down.

"You idiot," he croaked out, grabbing at his wound. "The Family holds the docks, and they'll kill you as soon as you set foot."

Looking toward the door, the captain could barely make out the dark figure stepping toward the hallway. The suspect briefly leaned outside, reaching around at something on the wall. When the old man came back into the room, the captain saw that there was a lit torch in his hand.

"Whoever built this structure never intended for it to store munitions," Dace observed, gesturing at the wooden walls with the torch. "And you have only your own incompetence to blame for keeping an open flame burning within arms' reach."

As his vision grew dark amid the white smoke in the room, Centius could only watch in horror as the blackheart drew his arm back and pitched the torch deep into the room.

Kythra paced the width of the alley impatiently, eyes fixed on the guards' base down the street. Shortly after Dace went in, she saw about a dozen guards lazily wander out and disperse into different directions. Some time after that, a bespectacled man charged away from the building, screaming like a lunatic for anyone in earshot to clear the area. The few late-night vagabonds and drunks loitering nearby didn't seem to care.

Had Dace been arrested or killed? Kythra repeatedly clenched her hand into a fist and released it. Worse, what if he flipped and was planning to turn her in for a reward of some kind. This was a terrible idea. Why did she let the mercenary convince her to agree to his plan?

Harken. Rentris. The damned Watch. All conspiring to keep control of the city, her birthright, out of her hands. Dace was right about one thing; she needed to know the full extent of this betrayal. However far the web went, she was going to need names. Then she could decide how many would be swinging from nooses by the harbour.

Any further thoughts in her head were suddenly blasted away, as one side of the guards' headquarters exploded in a combination of deafening noise and blindingly bright fire. Knocked off her feet and onto her back, Kythra could only hear a constant ringing in her ears and had spots in her vision, afterimages of the bright flames overtaking the shadows of the night.

Blinking several times as her sight slowly returned, Kythra raised her head and looked about in a daze. Whatever degree of calmness existed on the street was completely gone as people began rushing out from nearby buildings, many pointing and gawking at the massive fire that had destroyed almost half of the Watch's base, and was now threatening to consume the other half. Not only that, the ring of buildings surrounding the headquarters all appeared to have been struck by burning debris, and the numerous ramshackle wooden structures threatened to add more kindling for the blaze.

A firm hand suddenly grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her up to her feet. Squinting through the thick ash that now permeated the air, she saw Dace, his expression grim as ever, as he half-led, half-dragged her away from the site. A cluster of townsfolk was forming around them, as people continued to rapidly gather in the street, many yelling at each other. To her still-ringing ears, the cacophony seemed muffled and distant, and she had difficulty focusing on anything.

None of the townsfolk paid any heed to Dace or Kythra as they moved through the crowd in the opposite direction, leaving the explosion behind them. Still dazed from the blast, Kythra followed the mercenary. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't make out any words, even as the ringing began to subside.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she could only see the bright flames, which were now rapidly spreading out from building to building as glowing embers blew through the night's air.

Harken stared at the painting and slowly stepped from side to side, not breaking eye-contact. It was a portrayal of a winged woman, a glowing celestial being, gazing and reaching up toward the sky against a gloomy blue-grey background. Surrounding her were dozens of shadowy hands, many gripping and tearing at her feathered wings. The fear-stricken face of the celestial seemed to follow him whenever he moved, like she was looking to him for help.

He snorted and took a step back, shaking his head. Whatever story was behind that disturbing painting, it wasn't relevant to him. Glancing further down, he could immediately see that the wooden frame was discoloured and warped at the bottom. Water damage, no doubt. Likely plundered from a ship somewhere along the Sword Coast.

Most of the diverse furnishings and finery in this room were probably stolen at one time or another. And now it was all thrown together into some parody of a respectable establishment. It ended up being more of a testament to the island's history of piracy than what Raine likely intended.

"So the Family's lapdog comes yapping at my door once again." A hoarse voice from behind took Harken out of his thoughts.

Harken turned to see Raine himself hobble in, cane in hand. The elderly man was flanked by six armed men, a trio on each side. They evidently thought this posturing would be intimidating, but Harken instantly saw through the display. They were trying to give the appearance of a team in matching crimson uniforms, but instead they were wearing a patchwork of different outfits dyed in varying hues of red.

One 'bodyguard', a bare-faced lad standing a step behind the rest and sporting a black eye, had donned a pair of brown pants that were clearly just stained with red paint in a rush.

"Strange days," Harken mused aloud. "Here I thought the Family and your Company were to be working together. So why is it, then, that your lads kept Kythra in a cell, rather than a grave plot like we planned?"

Raine's cane clicked against the hardwood floor as he closed in on Harken. "You mean like you planned. I have ears around the island. I know Rentris really ordered that his whelp of a sister be kept alive. It turns out the only one who actually wanted her dead was you." The old man pointed the head of his walking stick at Harken, prodding him in the chest. "So what game are you at here? A power play of your own? They say you shouldn't kill the messenger, but when he is making up his own damn message, then maybe I should do Rentris a favour and send him your head. His father would have appreciated a gesture like that."

Harken kept a smile on. "I'm the one trying to do a favour for both of you. Rentris agreed to pass control of the island to you. He thinks he can eventually convince Kythra to come around or at least step aside, bless his naive soul. But savvy folks like you and I know that the prodigal daughter will continue to be a thorn if left unchecked."

"Then go cut your own damn rigging! Did you come here just to irritate me? I didn't trust Alagon, and I don't trust you. If Rentris wants to relinquish the island to me, I won't say no. If you and Kythra want each other dead, fine, deal with it yourselves. But don't ever again try to fool me into fixing your problem for you. And don't think that you can trick me into granting you a seat at my table, either. I surround myself with those loyal only to me." He gestured a hand to either side, and each of his bodyguards chuckled in turn, as if on cue. Raine turned and fixed a harsh gaze on the young guard with the black eye. "You be silent. It's your fault Kythra escaped from her cell. See if I ever trust you with anything more than latrine duty."

"Yes, you're a regular monarch, I'm sure." Harken eyed each bodyguard, then returned to grinning at Raine. "Kythra has hired a mercenary and may be making a move against her brother. It would behoove you to help us ensure nothing unexpected occurs that might upset the deal you have in place."

"You mean she might try to come after you and Rentris for killing her father. As far as I'm concerned, you can all go ahead and slaughter each other. I'll just deal with whoever is left. Besides, I've no reason to fear her, what can one or two people do? I have plenty of manpower, and so does Rentris." He turned on his heel and started pacing away, cane clicking in step. "So go back to your boss and plead your case to him. I'll not waste more time on the likes of you. You talk far more than is ever needed."

Harken's fingers twitched at his side. All it would take is a single motion of the arm to throw a knife into the back of the old man's neck. Suppressing the urge, he simply straightened the front of his jerkin and nodded his head at the six guards who lingered behind after Raine exited the room.

A menacing orange glow, glinting through the window next to the painting, caught his gaze. Staring outside and downhill to the city below, Harken noticed for the first time a distant fire, burning across several buildings at the centre of the island. Narrowing his eyes at the consuming flame, Harken couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling that this had something to do with Alagon's wayward daughter.