It always started the same way. Rain. Thin, and icy, and incessant.

  “The order stands.” Always the same voice, flat and certain. “The village will be purged come morning.”

  “It’s the Seep,” he’d counter every time. “Any magic they have would be weak and harmless.”

  And every time, the commander’s reply grew colder. “Strange you’d know that, Captain.”

  Then he’d turn away, pack on his back, to find the village elder, standing before his people with the look of a man who refused to bow to death.

  And he’d turn his back, walking away as the voices behind him turned to screams. Even when the glow behind him sent flickering shadows chasing up the trees he didn’t dare look back. Then a shift as the shadows clawed at him, raking his skin and dragging his boots into the earth as smoke filled his lungs.

  The clattering of window shutters straining against the latch startled Jezren awake. It took him a moment to register that he was not in the mountain village, but the room he rented for the night in the city of Cortelna. The edges of his blanket fluttered in a current of air desperately searching for a way out of the small room. He took a steadying breath, willing his heartbeat to slow and his breaths into a steady rhythm. Slowly the breeze trapped within the room died away.

  He pressed his palms over his eyes and forced the nightmare- he refused to call it anything else- out of his mind as he rose. He dressed silently, his gambeson marking him as a sword for hire; an identity that kept him on the fringes where few asked prying questions.

  He headed to the Swords of A’anu outpost through cobbled streets crowded with stone buildings pressing together as if they could force impurities from the air itself. The few about this early went about their business with casual competence. Jezren forced down a spike of envy at those who could live out their days as themselves instead of a mask they were forced to wear.

  The outpost sat near the western gate, its palisade wall pressing back against the crush of buildings that clawed for every inch within the city walls. In the courtyard, the smell of soot and metal clung to everything, sharp and familiar. Memories of his soldier days surfaced only to be brushed away. That was another life. Now he did the job, took the coin, and moved on before too many questions could be asked.

  The air inside the cramped commander’s office was heavy with the smell of ink and wax. The commander was hunched over a ledger, quill scratching as Jezren entered. “Name?” It was less a question and more of a box waiting to be checked.

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  “Thane, Jezren,” he responded in the same procedural tone.

  The quill scratching continued as Jezren scanned the room. A small, sealed window mostly blocked by a row of shelves stacked neatly with scrolls; two guards posted at the only door who leaned back against the wall, disinterested. Meant to watch for trouble but not prepared for it.

  Shuffling paper drew his eye back to the commander. “Captain position’s open,” he said flatly, shoving a contract toward Jezren’s chest without looking up. “Pay’s double.”

  Jezren took the papers, scanning them over. The pay was significantly more than he was used to, which made him suspicious immediately. He read more closely and started picking up discrepancies.

  A seven member company wasn’t unusual, but the addition of a healer was. The Holy Dominion of A’anu rarely cared enough about mercenaries’- or even soldiers’- lives to try to protect them.

  The next line down offered an answer; an advisor assigned for the duration. The Dominion protected their own. But even having to babysit someone who’d probably never set foot outside a city gate didn’t explain the pay.

  He found the answer buried near the bottom and understood immediately why they’d tried to hide it. They were going after an Eirach.

  The quill scratching paused, pulling Jezren’s attention back to the commander. He was met with cold impatience. “Pay’s double. Take it or leave it.”

  Jezren hesitated. Having Dominion eyes on him while he wandered the Shatterwilds hunting down one of its more dangerous creatures wasn’t ideal. On the other hand, assuming he survived, the pay was enough for him to avoid any dealings with the Dominion for quite a while.

  He took a quill from the jar on the desk, inked it, and scrawled his signature with sharp letters. He’d just have to survive it.

  The commander took the contract, setting it on a stack of others and digging out another sheet to hand to Jezren before returning to his quill scratching. “The roster,” he said boredly. “You leave after the cage arrives. Walk-”

  “Cage?” It came out before Jezren could catch it. They wanted the beast alive?

  The scratching paused again, the commander lifting his gaze just enough to show his annoyance at the interruption. “The Sanctum is delivering it and the advisor by afternoon. Problem?”

  Jezren covered the pit that opened in his stomach with a shake of his head. “No.”

  The commander turned back to his papers. “Walk in the Will,” he said dismissively.

  Jezren bowed his head slightly and turned, measured strides carrying him past the indifferent guards as his pulse pounded in his ears.

  The bright morning light of the courtyard forced him to pause as his eyes adjusted. He tried not to think about why the Sanctum, the Dominion’s notoriously brutal enforcement arm, wanted a living magical weapon enough to send one of their own on a mission to acquire it.

  He’d just have to survive it.