No sooner had Boras left the rooftop in pursuit of Sitra, was Torrance rounded his attention on the despondent Arcos on the roof’s edge. He stalked across the training floor towards him, his sweaty red hair pushed back and plastered to his scalp.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you, kid?” He demanded as he stood over Arcos.

  Arcos glanced up from cleaning his latest swallowblade. He gave Torrance a look, a look that could have been a mix of anger, indifference, or sadness, before looking back down to his knife to clean it again with the rag.

  Torrance crossed his arms and remained where he stood, standing in front of Arcos and not giving room.

  Arcos continued to clean without pause.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” Torrance asked, tone still bristled with irritation. “Or is this going to be the new attitude we’ll have to contend with from now on?”

  When Arcos made no move to reply nor to stop cleaning, Torrance twitched his fists.

  “Arcos. Answer me.” He uttered. Arcos ignored him.

  “Arcos!” Torrance raised his voice.

  No response. Only the swallowblade was cleaned.

  Torrance grunted. With a blur of speed honed from training, Torrance’s hand snapped forward. His fingers ripped the swallowblade from Arcos’s hands and with that single movement, Torrance flung the swallowblade over his shoulder with a short bird whistle and a thunk into the wooden wall of the stairway’s cabin.

  Arcos reacted with near-instant speed. With a shout of anger, Arcos launched from his seated position to punch Torrance. But the older Apostate was ready.

  Torrance calmly twisted his body to the side, allowing the wild swing that Arcos fired to glide past his face.

  Torrance then grabbed the front of Arcos’s shirt and pushed him back whilst at the same time, locked one of his feet behind Arcos’s leg. With a heave and a snarl, Torrance flipped Arcos over and slammed him down into the roof with a crash.

  Arcos gasped, feeling nearly all the wind be knocked out of his body. Wheezing, Arcos scrabbled and writhed with rage. But Torrance was taller, bigger, faster.

  Torrance dropped down onto Arcos’s front, locked his arms to his sides with his thighs as he straddled him and pressed his forearm into Arcos’s throat.

  Not hard enough to choke him. But nearly not light enough to free him.

  “Kid!” Torrance bellowed as Arcos struggled and spat like a trapped Sarku kitten. “Kid!”

  The door from the stairway opened and three new members of the Waywards stepped onto the rooftop, holding practice swords and shields. But on seeing the struggling, screaming pair, the mercenaries wisely about-faced and retreated quickly down the steps.

  Eventually Arcos ceased his spitting and only relented to just glare at Torrance with purest anger.

  Torrance stared back. There was a glint of paleness in the blue of Arcos’s irises, like the glint of moonlight. If that was how Arcos’s anger was displayed, then Torrance made it clear to seek it out whenever it appeared.

  Torrance spoke with a shuddering breath, shuddered by his own anger. He hated doing this. The three kids meant a great deal to him. Damn this boy for forcing his hand.

  “Alright… I am going to release you. And if you attempt to attack me again, I will break your arms and legs. Do not treat me lightly, brat. I may be an Apostate of the Guild, but I have not forgotten our teachings, our diligence and especially our cruelty. Challenge me again, you will lose and suffer greatly. Understand me?”

  Arcos’s lips were tight and thin. His blue eyes were sharper than bolts.

  “I’m gonna need a nod, kid.” Torrance pushed.

  Arcos nodded.

  “Good.” Torrance lifted his arm and stepped back from Arcos with a rise of his body.

  He stood over Arcos, who remained on his back. Arcos’s chest rose and fell with quick succession, his nose flared with each breath.

  Torrance lowered a hand to help Arcos stand as Arcos raised himself on his elbows. But with a hiss, Arcos slapped away Torrance’s hand.

  A tightness of hurt coiled in Torrance’s chest, but he pressed down the feeling with a taut expression of hardened training. He stepped backwards as Arcos rose up to his full height. His arms were locked by his sides and his fists were clenched.

  Torrance crossed his arms and gave Arcos an appraising look. Arcos held himself with a stronger stance, so he was getting stronger. But there was a level of cold arrogance, an arrogance only fuelled by the desire for bloodlust and revenge.

  Torrance could relate. He had plenty to be vengeful for before he grew up and learned to control himself.

  Reeva and Boras explained to him what Arcos’s history was with the people of Silverstreak and especially to the Nightgirl who was abducted by Markus. Such a connection would provoke this type of feeling and Torrance knew right there, on that rooftop, that that could not be allowed to fester. Arcos was becoming dangerous.

  For now, a good type of dangerous for their eventual enemies. But if he were to turn his rage on his allies, like he did now with Torrance…?

  “You’re thinking about her? Nerisity, was it?” Torrance asked.

  Arcos gritted his teeth.

  “You’re thinking about the others as well?”

  Arcos sighed through his nose and glanced towards the north, in the direction of the Hunters’ Fortress.

  “Markus? The Bodyhunters?” Torrance leant forward. “You want to kill them all?”

  Arcos snapped his head back to him. “Wouldn’t you??” He finally spoke with trembling words.

  “I would.” Torrance nodded. “But not when it means I become a liability to my friends.”

  “I am not a liability!” Arcos snapped and stepped into Torrance’s space. Torrance was tall, at least a head on him. But that did not diminish Arcos’s ire as he glared up at him. “I am ready to fight. I have been ready to fight for days! You know I am prepared for anything!”

  “You are prepared to die.” Torrance replied coolly. “That is different from what I want you to be prepared for. I would like to have you survive the fight and enjoy the life you fought hard for.”

  Arcos spat away from him and stalked back towards the edge of the roof. He pressed his hands on the wall and stared out across the sunlit city.

  Torrance rubbed the back of his head. “Fucking hells, kid…” He followed him until he turned and sat down on the wall, hands on the stone and back to the city. But his eye was on Arcos. “Talk to me. What’s got you so fucked up?”

  Arcos blinked a few times before summoning a wealth of strength to talk. “I’ve been having dreams. Bad ones. I keep seeing my friends… Nerisity… being chained up, being whipped, beaten. Even things worse than that…” He paused, mouth opening and closing. “You understand better than anyone what I’m thinking about.”

  “Yeah.” Torrance nodded. “Those were some nasty times… I can try to empathise with you on those days. But not the seven years you had, compared to the paltry months I endured.”

  Arcos said nothing to that. What could he say?

  So Torrance continued. “When I think back to that time, it makes me sweat. You know, for the first few weeks, I slept on the floor at night. I hated the thought of sleeping on a bed. It was too soft. I thought I was going to sink in it like quicksand. It made me feel like an animal, just like how being in that pit made everyone else feel like animals. But look at us now… We survived. We thrived. We’re made of steel, honed by those bad times and, gods, does it feel good to know that we’re stronger for it. And now we’re training to right a serious wrong and put an end to bastards who have had this coming for a long time. But I need to know that we can rely on you, kid. And that you know that you can rely on us.”

  “I do. And you can.” Arcos said softly.

  “I don’t believe you.” Torrance shook his head. “You have been an island unto yourself. You never train with us. You stay awake at night, you sleep throughout the day when you aren’t training. Those two friends of yours? They are worried for you. They come to me asking for advice to help you. But I can’t do anything until you bridge that gap.”

  “They have nothing to be worried about. They don’t need to care about me.”

  “Well, that’s just a pile of Sarku shit. They care for you, because you helped their town and you and them both defied the Guild to rush to Silverstreak’s aid. You all have a stake in this fight and you were bonded as Initiates of the Guild, now Apostates. So they care for you, whether you like it or not.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “I didn’t ask for that!” Arcos shouted, slamming his palms into the stone wall. “I didn’t ask for any of this!!” His head hung low, causing his blonde hair— turning a shade of white against the sun— to hang and wing past his face. It made him look haggard and beyond his tender age of eighteen.

  “I just wanted to be a blacksmith. I wanted to grow up happy in the city. Not be here, fighting psychopaths and killers… You don’t understand the feeling I had that night!” He met Torrance’s gaze. “You don’t understand the feeling of being ripped away from a happy life. Broken away from a childhood! You don’t fucking get it.”

  Torrance did not look away.

  But he did smile. It was a sad smile, filled with utter pain even if it was muted and dulled by time.

  “I know the feeling, Arcos…” Torrance said. “I watched my entire family get slaughtered before my eyes."

  Arcos froze. Torrance continued.

  "I remember my mother screaming for me to run for my life before her neck was snapped. My father begging for mercy before they cut off his head. My aunt howling as her throat was cut. My older brother being bludgeoned to death with a hammer. The fire that burned down my home and my little sister’s voice drowned out by the flames as she burnt to death, out of my reach. I watched that all happen and I will never forget that for the rest of my life… So yeah... I know exactly how that feels.”

  Arcos said nothing. He was stunned by the admission. Torrance’s entire family? Everyone?

  He stared at Torrance with a fresh understanding. “But… but you just seem so…”

  “Content? Relaxed? Easy-going?” Torrance cracked out a laugh. “Fuck no. I’m putting on a show. I’m a disaster underneath, my friend. Emotions like a storm and unfortunately, killing bad people is the only way to relieve that pressure before I pop like an over-boiled kettle.

  I’ve got my demons, just like you. But the difference between us is that I am in control of them and have been for a long time.”

  Torrance sighed. He slapped his knees and stood up. He turned around to Arcos. “You are at a crossroads, my friend.” He said with a finality that signalled the ending of this conversation / lecture.

  “You have a choice in the coming days. You can go into this fight with a fucked-up mind, killing everyone in your path to get something akin to justice. Maybe you’ll hurt us on your way, maybe you won’t. But it will not be pretty and you will not find peace.

  Or…

  You can charge in with a clearer mind and fight for goodness and justice. And not lose yourself to the blood. Maybe you’ll be able to come to terms with your past and not let it break your future. Your move, Arcos. See you downstairs.”

  Torrance clapped Arcos on the shoulder before leaving the silent boy alone on the roof.

  Arcos remained there for the majority of the day. He gave time to his thoughts and Torrance’s words. He did so until he came to a decision.

  When he was alone as the rest of the Waywards retired for the evening, Arcos took up Alaintiqam from his belongings and began training in his imposed solitude.

  And with each swing of the silver sword that sliced through the darkness of the encroaching night, Torrance’s words of encouragement, care, and loyalty were slowly driven from Arcos’s increasingly clouded mind…

  Replaced by Alaintiqam’s promises for sweet and cold revenge.

  ???

  It was the sixth day in the late afternoon of that week when Torrance called for an emergency meeting in the mess hall. Within the hall, the Waywards gathered - all thirty-five recently trained members including Maraby, Torrance, and the trio - sitting on one side of the room. Seated on the opposing side - and this was a surprise by most in the room - was Victor Sade himself, with his lieutenants Vanto, Sitra, and forty chosen members of his Mercury Gang.

  Torrance stood up and thanked the Mercury Gang for their presence.

  “I have been contacted,” he began, “by a colleague of our cause. Her name is Malka Catcher, a bounty hunter. She’s found out from those in her circles that Baron Markus has decided to move up his calendar for the sale of his latest corral of prisoners. It seems he intends to rid himself of the burden as quickly as possible.”

  There was a murmur that rumbled through the twin groups of fighters.

  “When?” Victor Sade asked as he exhaled yet another puff of his cigarillo through his mask’s slits.

  “He intends to ship them off tomorrow,” Torrance confirmed. “And according to the information I have gathered, the First Battalion, which he commands, is being sent on patrols outside and away from the fortress due to a disturbance along the North Coast. Another slave uprising has taken command of the port Cliffside twenty miles from here. The entire Fist Battalion is gone. Leaving the fortress defended only by the fifty or so Bodyhunters.”

  “That still makes it a dangerous place, especially with a full group of those ruthless bastards…” Vanto added. “How do we get in without launching a siege?”

  “Malka came up with a good plan, finessed by myself, of course.” Torrance winked rakishly, which drew an amused scoff from Maraby. “The plan requires two teams. The Waywards will play the role of slave catchers with Malka, and the Mercurials shall be the captured slaves. The actors playing slaves will wear manacles for show. But the chains are very brittle, designed so by a friend of mine in the Smithy Quarter. One quick tug, and they shall snap in two.

  The slaves shall be brought in until they are in the bowels of the fortress. Then they fight. Overpower and kill Markus’s men in the cells, break out the slaves, and bring them back out. Meanwhile, Malka and her guards will set fire to the fortress, causing chaos which we will escape out whilst under it.”

  There was a pause as the people around Torrance considered the plan. A few people murmured, and one Mercury woman made a grimace of ill-confidence.

  “A very risky plan, Four Claws,” Victor stated, voicing some of the malcontents in the group. “Are you certain we cannot simply wait for the transfer of the prisoners? We can ambush Markus on the road where he’d be most vulnerable.”

  “I’ve considered that.” Torrance replied as he started to pace in the area between the two groups. “Out in the countryside, Markus will for certain have his Fist Battalion back in full strength and some of his Bodyhunters in turn for back-up because he knows he would be at his most vulnerable. We will be outnumbered by those combined forces and Markus will be on high alert for any rescue. He is aware that his actions in Silverstreak have earned him enmity from most in the land and he will be prepared for attempts on his life. It’s not just us who want to see him destroyed. No, our only chance is the fortress and to hit it tonight. There is no other way to achieve this… How many men can you spare for this mission?”

  “Including Vanto?” Victor glanced up and down his ranks, appraising his members. “I can give you thirty-five members. You?”

  “I have thirty fighters. That’s an even sixty against the fifty Bodyhunters. My three students and myself will be amongst the slaves, as the fighting in the fortress itself will doubtless be more brutal than that in the courtyard of that place. I believe that this can be achieved, surprise is on our side after all.”

  A few half-hearted chuckles emanated from both sides of the room.

  Sitra looked to Victor with a confused expression. “Am I not included in this?” She whispered.

  Victor patted her knee lovingly and replied in a similar volume. “I need you here to handle the affairs in the city. Vanto will be enough to keep an eye on the proceedings.”

  Sitra opened her mouth to protest, but a tension in Victor’s hand on her knee silenced her. But her eyes were sharp with irritation.

  She looked towards Boras who sat across from her, sandwiched between his friends Reeva and Arcos.

  Boras glanced at her momentarily, then pointedly turned his eyes away to watch Torrance.

  Sitra felt her chest heat with pained anger at the intended ignorance. For the last two days, Boras had gone out of his way to actively avoid her as much as she was avoiding him.

  Unsurprising.

  When she came by to converse with Torrance, Boras would leave the room or go on a patrol of the district with Reeva.

  When Torrance came by with others to visit Victor at The Mercurial Den, Boras would refuse to come, stating any excuse that would exclude him from the visitation.

  It was not that she could blame him for it. Especially with how their last conversation had ended.

  Fuck, it was ugly.

  Maybe she could have handled it better.

  She would have told him eventually about her… personal activities. She would have explained that that kiss… that stupid fucking kiss was just transactional. Nothing more. But she didn’t. She lashed out, just like he said she did. Like a petulant child. And she hurt him hard and he fired back with as much cruelty. But she still felt a flicker of guilt for punching him. That was uncalled for, even though he deserved it for insinuating that she was a slut. She demeaned herself with that reckless punch and she further demeaned herself by hurling insults at his back like some deranged fishwife.

  But then she later found out what the Darganian translation for his Tashiishan comment was… Poltju. It meant ‘weakling’.

  Oh, that guilt burned away like arm hairs to a flame. Sitra could have killed him for that. Weakling. Weakling.

  She was not weak. Not with everything she had done to get to where she was now. She was Sitra godsdamned Sade, righthand to Victor Sade.

  No one dared to call her weak. And yet Boras did. Bastard. Arrogant, drunk bastard.

  Sitra clawed her trousers as she sat, facing Boras who refused to meet her glare.

  Fine. Fine. He wanted to be like that? Fine. It didn’t matter to her. It didn’t.

  It shouldn’t matter to her. It really shouldn’t matter. So why the fuck was it bothering her so much that he refused to look at her? No. No, that will not do.

  She was determined to give him a piece of her mind and hurt him as much as he had hurt her.

  Victor rose to his feet, prompting his people to stand with him. “That settles it then. Let me begin my selection, and then I shall take my leave.” He made to start his selection, but he paused, then he gave a nod to Torrance.

  “Not to tempt the Hands, but I have a good feeling about this. We have a good omen with us.”

  “Really? What omen?” Torrance asked.

  Victor pointed up with his burning cigarillo, with a cocked head that people usually assumed was his smile beneath the mask. “There’s going to be a full moon tonight.”

  It did not take long for Victor to have his thirty-five chosen and readied. Each of the group was given a hearty handshake from Victor, a warm embrace from Vanto, and a promise from both men that their loved ones would be cared for should they die out there.

  It was that last part that made every person in the hall realise the severity of the task at hand.

  People were going to get killed in this fight, a lot of them.

  This was different from a knife scuffle on a pier or an ambush on unsuspecting merchants. Where the numbers were stacked well enough in their favour and every advantage was gifted to them. This would be a true battle with no definitive outcome. A true fight to the death against an enemy famed for their ferocity and ruthlessness.

  Equally, Torrance held a quick meeting with the Waywards in a secluded part of the hall. Arcos, Reeva, and Boras stood at the front of the group of thirty Waywards as Torrance faced his motley company.

  He put his hands behind his back and hung his head, clearly coming up with the words to summarise the feelings of this day and the hope for the end of it. He looked up to the faces of the people before him, and his stony expression returned, filled with diligence.

  “It is a strange thing for most of you,” he began. “To be thrown headfirst into the jaws of combat with so little preparation. Believe me, if I had the powers of the Gods, I would have given you months to prepare instead of the paltry week you had. But we are here now, against a foe worthy of their name. As you can imagine, they are a group of monsters. When we face them, they will show you no mercy. As I expect you shall return none. Everyone, I’m not going to lie to you. Not all of us will return from tonight. Maybe I won’t as well. Make no mistake, people. This will be the fight of our lives. Against one of the most deadly forces in the history of Dargania, I shit you not.

  But it is the right thing to do. For if I am going to die tonight, then believe me… I shall die happy knowing that I did it so that those children, shivering in those cells, will not die in the dark or in the clutches of some dirty bastard. So are you with me, lads? … Are you with me, lads??”

  A resounding “YES!” replied with gusto.

  Torrance nodded sharply, his face a grim visage of death. “May the Black Watch over us,” he uttered under his breath.

  Arcos smiled grimly, feeling his right hand starting to twitch with terrible anticipation.

  And Boras and Reeva saw their friend’s face and they exchanged a deepening look of concern.