The Twenty-Year War had already taken a heavy toll upon Gerios forces after only two years, and the blow of the Second M?lstrom nearly crippled the entire war effort.

  Realizing that the old ways were failing, Vargarre the First founded the Weavers of the Wing both to prevent another m?lstrom within city limits and to enable the drafting of capable magistrae into military service.

  Excerpt from 'The Royal House of De Astorte'

  “And I'm supposed to believe this story of yours?” Uven snarled, slamming his hands on the table in front of him. “What are you hoping to gain?”

  Dovell stood to the side in silence, observing Magister De Ekkar, who was seated at the table opposite Uven. The fugitive magister did not seem impressed by Uven's display of anger.

  “My gain is not seeing the city engulfed in a m?lstrom,” Karan replied with a calm demeanour. “That you refuse to believe what I told you is the real issue here. Especially considering you can verify it within the hour.”

  He's right, Dovell thought. He wouldn't tell an obvious lie like that.

  When Dovell heard that Karan de Ekkar had appeared at the gate, he had ordered his lance on full alert before rushing out to see if it was true. He couldn't imagine why the fugitive magister would suddenly allow himself to be arrested.

  Now he knew, however. White Candle's flame will burn brightly one last time, casting a shadow that will cover the entire city in darkness.

  “We will have it verified,” Uven said, his eyes shooting fire. “And while we wait, you can tell us everything you've done since you disappeared.”

  “There is no time for that,” Karan bit back. “Don't you understand? With the pressure as high as it is, even low-tier spells will cause volatility to jump up to the crest point. If it exceeds that point—”

  Again Uven slammed his fist on the table. “Don't lecture me on ?ther. I'm a guard-captain of the Royal Guard. I know more about its dangers than you ever will.” Red veins had become visible in his neck.

  “Uven,” Dovell said. “You might want to step out for a bit.”

  Uven's gaze drifted towards Dovell. “What?!” he barked.

  “You are being belligerent. Magister De Ekkar is cooperating with us.”

  “Are you taking his side now?” Uven asked, scowling.

  “It's not a matter of sides, Uven. Do you recall what happened with the Luria Syndicate two years ago?”

  Uven did not answer, turning his head back towards Karan.

  “Yesterday you told me to let it go,” Dovell said. “Today I'm telling you.”

  Uven kept staring at Karan, who met his stare with calm disinterest.

  “Fine,” Uven said, jerking upright. He stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  “Thank you,” Karan said. “I was worried he might strike me.”

  “I did him a favour, not you,” Dovell said as he approached the table. “I have the exact same questions and you will answer them. Then we will see if you are lying or not.”

  In reality, there was no need for Karan to convince Dovell. He knew Karan's story was true the first time he heard it.

  Two days ago, Dovell had visited the two ministry buildings that held the city's blueshift portals to tell them that no blueshifting was allowed during the coming day. In both locations the channellers present had expressed relief rather than annoyance, as they were having increasing problems calming the ?ther after every shift.

  They thought it was because of all the extra shifts taking place, but that was just wishful thinking.

  Dovell suppressed a smirk. There was no reason to let Karan know he believed him yet. Let him sweat for a while.

  “I will answer any question you may have,” Karan said, oblivious to Dovell's intentions. “But you need to tend to the problem at hand first. Or perhaps you do not believe me either?”

  “I believe you had a good reason to come here. Whether you're telling the truth is another matter.”

  Karan raised his arms in disbelief. “Why must everything be a trick to you? I purposely came here myself to convince you of the urgency.”

  “You're Callium. That is enough.”

  Karan scoffed. “I take it you heard about my involvement with the incident at the ring mansion?”

  “I did.”

  “Then you know I'm not part of Callium. I haven't been since they decided to make me a scapegoat.”

  “Is that what happened? Your incompetence caused a ghast to escape from the sanctum and kill a good man. I'd say they were right to blame you.”

  Karan's face flushed red and he scowled at Dovell.

  Does that make you angry? Good. “Tell me what you did after you fled from the Imperator.”

  “I hid.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “The Seventh District, and before you ask, I don't know the exact location. The owners of the haunt I stayed in have measures in place to prevent that.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Prudent would be a better word.”

  “And at what point did you join forces with the Daughters of Ashira?”

  “Seven days ago.”

  “Who else are you working with?”

  “Nobody,” Karan growled. He was clearly angry now, yet Dovell could tell there was also a hint of underlying fear.

  “I find it hard to believe that you managed to do all this without help. Could it perhaps be the dark assailants who helped you?”

  Karan's anger turned into shock. “You think I'm in league with them? They tried to kill me!”

  “So you say,” Dovell said. “But if I think about it, you were in a perfect position to assist them. You entered the sanctum, and who knows what you did in there besides shifting out spelltomes.”

  Karan did not respond to Dovell's accusation. Instead he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him.

  “I see you don't want to talk about your associates. So let's talk about the ones who talked about you. The Daughters we arrested at the ring mansion had some choice words to share with us.”

  Before Karan could answer, the door of the room opened and Rooy stuck his head through. His shallow breaths indicated he had been running, yet his face was pale rather than red.

  Dovell experienced a sense of unreal calm. It has been confirmed.

  “A moment, sir?” Rooy said, glancing at Karan.

  “I think my proof has arrived,” Karan said with a smirk.

  Dovell ignored him and walked out of the interrogation room, closing the door behind him. He turned to face Rooy. “How bad is it?”

  “Very bad, sir,” Rooy said as he leaned with one hand against the corridor wall, catching his breath. “The place Magister De Ekkar told us about isn't even the worst of them.”

  “Any spots above the crest point?”

  “Not yet, but it won't be much longer.”

  “How long?”

  Rooy shrugged and shook his head. “We have no idea, sir. Not until we discover what is causing it. They already sent out patrols to shut down everything and anyone that might use magic, but eventually even something as small as a sun sigil will set the whole thing off. My guess would be a day at most.”

  Only a day.

  “Is there any location that stands out?”

  “That's why I came to get you, sir; Grandmaster Lakrin wants to speak with you about that.”

  “Alright, lead the way.”

  They didn't have to walk far before they arrived at one of the larger rooms in the Stockade. There were several people inside looking at a sizeable map that had been pinned against a standing wooden board. One of them was the Whisper's grandmaster, and the rest were an assortment of members of the Whisper and men from several Royal Lances. Kret Irridos of Sixth Lance was the only other guard-captain present.

  “You wanted to see me?” Dovell said to Lakrin as he ran his eyes across the map. “Is this the map Magister De Ekkar brought with him?”

  “It is,” Lakrin replied. “The numbers in red are the ones we gathered moments ago.”

  Dovell brought a hand to his chin as he examined the numbers. “That's peculiar. Some locations aren't showing nearly as much of an increase as others.”

  “Indeed,” Lakrin said. “And if you look at those locations in particular, you should see what they have in common.”

  Dovell placed a finger on the map, moving it across various locations.

  The White Candle, River's Turn, the magic guilds, the ministry buildings. All of them are areas where scryings are performed regularly. That can't be a coincidence.

  “Someone is doing this on purpose,” Dovell said. “They're avoiding the areas where the increased pressure would draw attention.”

  “You don't seem surprised by this.”

  “After I heard what's happening, I knew it couldn't be natural, thus it would be logical for them to try to avoid detection for as long as possible.”

  “We have reached the same conclusion.”

  Dovell narrowed his eyes at the map. “But if the Daughters set up all these scrying stones and took readings every day, why didn't they notice?”

  “The project belonged to the same magistras who were involved in the mishap with Callium two days ago. No more readings had been taken since then.” Lakrin waved his wrinkled hand dismissively. “But that's not of importance. What is important is why I asked you to come here. I take it you remember the Duster syndicate we've been suspecting of involvement?”

  “What about them?”

  Lakrin pointed at the map. “See those two blue dots? Those are the locations of the two haunts we know of.”

  Dovell frowned as he brought his face closer to the map. One in the Seventh District and one in the Sixth. He checked the nearby readings and understood what the grandmaster was hinting at.

  “They're the source.”

  “Exactly,” the grandmaster replied. “We know that these Dusters were smuggling strange objects called kareks into the city and...”

  The grandmaster trailed off as he caught sight of something.

  Dovell turned to see what Lakrin was looking at and saw that a tall man with a stern face had entered the room. He was wearing the Royal Guard's full dress costume and the clasp that held his purple cloak signified the rank of guard-marshal.

  Dovell immediately snapped to attention, and from the corner of his eye he saw other guard members do the same. Not because of the man who had just entered the room, but because they knew that if Andel Ivozon of First Lance was here, then so was the King.

  “You may enter, sire,” the guard-marshal said.

  The murmur in the room ceased and King Darych strode into the room. He was wearing a nobleman's clothing, but nothing that made him stand out apart from the golden circlet with six different coloured gems set in the front. His round face looked tired and his grey eyes reflected that fatigue. Two more members of First Lance shadowed him as he walked towards Lakrin and Dovell.

  “Your majesty,” Lakrin said with a bow. “How unexpected to see you visit the Stockade.”

  “I had to see for myself,” King Darych said, waving his hand at the rest of the bowing people. “Please resume your work.”

  People continued their conversations in far more hushed tones.

  “I hear terrible things,” the King said. “I need to hear the truth, please.”

  “I'm afraid it is as bad as you heard, sire,” Lakrin said solemnly. “If things continue as they are, a m?lstrom will be inevitable.”

  The King brought a gloved hand to his face and massaged his temples “Does it never end? After we finally dealt with the White Candle last night, it was the first time in weeks I enjoyed a full night's sleep. Yet now this...” He waved at the map. “Tell me there is something we can do.”

  “There is, sire,” Lakrin said. “I was just informing Guard-captain Messchiel about how to strike at the source of this disruption.”

  “Good,” King Darych said, lifting his eyebrows and turning to Dovell. “If that is possible, then do so immediately.”

  “I will take care of it, your majesty,” Dovell said. “Those responsible will not elude us any longer.”

  “See that they don't, Dovell,” the King said, his expression hardening. “And I hereby give you permission to use any means necessary to stop these people. No mercy for those who wilfully invoke the wrath of the ?ther. Neither my father nor grandfather would have expected any less.”

  “Your will shall be done, sire,” Dovell said, inclining his head.

  The King nodded his approval. “Nonetheless, I retain my desire to learn of the exact nature of the threat. It is times like this that I realize my knowledge is sorely lacking. I do not possess even a tenth of the wisdom my grandfather had.”

  “Allow me to explain, sire,” Lakrin said. He pointed to the map, “As you can see, sire, ?ther pressure in several locations in the city is at a dangerous point. You are familiar with the crest point, I believe?”

  “I am.”

  “Once the ?ther volatility goes beyond that point, there is a chance that an ?ther blowout will occur. However, the current situation is somewhat different.”

  “How so?”

  “Normally the crest point is reached because of intense magic use, and the volatility that accompanies that use is what triggers the blowout. However, in our current situation only the pressure is high. Volatility is not.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means that as long as we keep volatility under control, no blowout will occur. Pressure does not tear the barrier between the ?ther and the natural world; volatility does.”

  “I'm afraid to say I never fully understood the difference between the two.”

  “That is understandable, sire. They do go hand in hand, after all. Perhaps it helps to think of each element as a different coloured marble, like the gems in your crown. Now picture these marbles rolling. The speed at which they are rolling represents pressure; their direction is the volatility.”

  “So you are saying that the marbles are rolling very fast, but all in the same direction.”

  “It is as you say, sire. As long as they are rolling in the same direction, no blowout will occur. However, if their direction changes, things would be different. Collisions would start to happen, and because of their high speed, this would have immediate and devastating effects.”

  “An ?ther blowout,” the King said, nodding thoughtfully. “What does this mean for the city?”

  “It means that as long as nobody performs any magic, nothing will happen. However, as the pressure keeps rising, eventually it will reach a point where even something as simple as charging a sun sigil will cause massive volatility.” Lakrin stopped for a moment to cough into his hand. “Yet that's not the worst of it, I fear. Because the pressure is so high everywhere in the city, it means that one blowout will be nearly guaranteed to trigger several more, and those in turn as well, leading to...”

  “A m?lstrom,” the King finished, before falling silent. His posture sagged slightly as if the weight of his responsibility had become too much to bear.

  “I'm afraid so, sire.”

  “Stop this from happening,” the King said, turning to look everyone in the eyes. “Whatever the cost may be.” With that, the King turned and left the room, the men from First Lance falling in behind him.

  Dovell watched him go with mixed feelings. King Darych was a good man who genuinely cared for his people, yet he did not possess half the capabilities or intellect of his father or grandfather. Yet despite that, he insisted on trying to be like them; especially his grandfather, Vargarre the Second. This desire had led to some poor decisions on the King's part with far-reaching consequences. It wasn't a coincidence that emigration from Rios to the Wastes was higher under King Darych's reign than any of his predecessors.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  This time he is right, though. The people responsible for this must be stopped at any cost.

  “You were telling me about strange objects,” Dovell said, returning his attention to Lakrin and the map.

  “Kareks, yes,” Lakrin said. “It's extremely likely both of these haunts have at least one in their possession, and it is a reasonable assumption that this item is responsible for the rising pressure.”

  “And you want me to seize one.”

  “Indeed,” Lakrin said, again pointing to the map. “Once we have all the new readings, we should be able to narrow down the locations of their unknown haunts. We already have several watch patrols in the worst areas, who will hopefully be able to find the exact locations by scrying.” He tapped on the map. “However, we don't know what is waiting for us inside those haunts, and I'd rather not ask the watch to face men with skills like the dark assailants. Hence my request to you; your lance is the most suited for this task.”

  “We'll leave at once,” Dovell said.

  The restlessness he had felt since yesterday had vanished, replaced with a sense of exuberance. Now we will end this for real.

  “You think they are expecting us, sir?” Bastian whispered.

  “You can count on it,” Dovell said. “Although perhaps not this soon.”

  Along with Rooy and Bastian, Dovell was observing the front of a common cottage house, one of many in the Sixth District. Its white painted walls stood in stark contrast with its dark, grey roof tiles, but otherwise there was nothing special about it.

  A perfect place for a haunt.

  The men of Fifth Lance had divided into two teams. Dovell's group was watching the front, while Nissek and the others approached from behind.

  “Are you certain this is it?” Dovell asked the young woman from the Whisper who had pointed out the haunt to them.

  “That's it,” she replied with a soft voice. “This is the house the courier entered.”

  Dovell glanced down at her. She was the same woman Second Lance captured at the White Candle right after the attack by the dark assailants. He had no idea exactly what her involvement with the Whisper was, but he didn't trust her. The story that explained her presence at the White Candle, while possible, relied too much on circumstance in Dovell's opinion.

  And why does she keep clutching her ears like that?

  Felt crouched with her left ear between her index and middle finger as if trying to snip it off, a gesture she had performed several times during the carriage ride here.

  Dovell had not asked her about it as he had spent the time coming up with a plan to assault the haunt. Dovell's team would be creating a distraction at the front of the house to draw the inhabitants' attention away from the back, where Nissek and the others would attack them. It was a straightforward plan and would not have presented many difficulties if it wasn't for the current state of the nearby ?ther.

  Dovell glanced at the scrying stone he was holding and noted that even the small volatility caused by the scrying itself was greatly amplified. It was clear that any more powerful spell they used could send the volatility over the crest point and into a blowout. Something we must avoid at all costs.

  “How are our bulwarks doing?” Dovell asked.

  “Stable,” Rooy answered. “They alone won't matter. Not yet at least.”

  Dovell stretched the muscles in his neck. Even if we take care not to cause a blowout, the enemy might not be similarly inclined. Especially not if we are up against the dark assailants.

  Yet despite the risks, he knew they could not wait. Every moment lost was a moment the risk of a blowout increased.

  “Signal Nissek to stand by,” Dovell ordered.

  He nodded to Bastian, who unclasped his purple cloak and then started to walk towards the house. Around his shoulder hung an inconspicuous bag that held the key to their distraction; a non-magical bomb that would hopefully tear the front door from its hinges and distract the haunt's occupants from the real attack that would come from behind.

  Keeping items like that as part of the armoury was the best decision the Royal Guard ever made, Dovell thought.

  Bastian closed in on the house with a steady pace, but his gait was stiff and awkward. Dovell knew that Bastian's bulwark was to blame for that, and he fiercely hoped that the occupants of the haunt would not notice.

  With a last step, Bastian halted in front of the low fence that surrounded the haunt's small front yard and stretched his arms, avoiding looking at the house itself. He then took the bag from his shoulder, reached inside it for a moment, then heaved it over the low fence, sending it flying towards the front door of the haunt.

  The bag hit the door with a loud thump and Bastian ran away with a stunted gait that would have been hilarious in any other situation.

  “Are you sure that bomb will work, sir?” Rooy asked. “It's been years since we last used one.”

  As if in response to the guard's words, the bag was suddenly consumed in a ball of fire and a loud explosion rumbled through the street, followed by the sound of breaking glass. A great cloud of black smoke spewed forth from the explosion, obscuring the haunt.

  That should get their attention.

  “Sir,” Rooy said, with urgency in his voice. He pointed to a spot on the street and Dovell bent forward from his hiding place to look.

  Bastian was standing, unmoving, in the middle of the road as if he had turned into a statue.

  He overcharged his stasis bulwark.

  “Krat,” Dovell cursed. You fool, what are you doing?

  “They might not have seen who threw the bomb,” Rooy said.

  “Doesn't matter. If they see him standing there like that, they'll know he's responsible.”

  Through the smoke he saw movement behind one of the haunt's windows, followed by the sound of more breaking glass.

  They spotted him.

  The dark smoke prevented Dovell from seeing what was happening, yet before he could react the distinct sound of a releasing crossbow reached his ears.

  The bolt cut through the smoke, twirling the dark cloud around its path before hitting Bastian in his lower back.

  Dovell cringed at the sight, even though he knew that a regular crossbow bolt couldn't possibly harm Bastian in his current state.

  The wooden tail of the bolt started to sag; slowly at first, before accelerating until it fell out of Bastian's armour. No blood appeared either on the tip of the bolt or in the hole it left.

  That's good, Dovell thought. If they are using crossbows instead of magic, it means they aren't willing to cause a blowout either. That's to our advantage.

  “Are we going to retrieve him?” Rooy asked, flitting his gaze from one window of the haunt to another.

  “No. We'd only expose ourselves as well; they can't harm him anyway. We'll wait for Nissek's signal. In the meantime, we will try to keep away any civilians who try to approach.” He inclined his head towards a nearby house where a woman with a small child had appeared in the doorway, looking to see what the noise was about.

  Fortunately, she didn't seem too keen on investigating after another crossbow bolt struck Bastian; she pulled her child back inside and slammed the door shut.

  Dovell spied the other nearby houses and noted with relief that nobody stirred near them. The wild rumours of the past weeks have made everyone afraid to act on their own.

  “Nissek and the others have entered the house,” Rooy reported.

  “Let's go then,” Dovell said, before pointing at Felt. “You. Watch Bastian until we secure the haunt.”

  “Okay,” she answered, avoiding meeting his eye.

  Rooy and Dovell dashed across the street and approached the haunt from the side. Most of the smoke had dissipated already. Dovell kept a close eye on the shattered window that faced in their direction.

  Upon reaching the haunt, they both pressed themselves against the wall near the broken front door. Inside, Dovell could hear voices yelling in Enti and the sound of a sword fight.

  Dovell nodded to Rooy, and both men drew their swords before Dovell leaned forward to look inside. A small empty hallway with two doors was all he could see, so he slipped inside, Rooy shadowing him closely.

  “You take that one,” Dovell whispered, nodding towards one of the doors. “Don't take any chances.”

  With a powerful thrust, Dovell swung open his own door and jumped into the room behind.

  The first thing he noticed was a bronze-skinned man kneeling behind a flipped table and reloading a crossbow.

  With two strides, Dovell closed the gap and thrust his arming sword at the man, who stumbled backwards, throwing the still unloaded crossbow at Dovell.

  Seeing that his thrust wouldn't reach, Dovell deflected the crossbow instead and took a proper stance, equipping the buckler on his hip. A glance around the room showed only one other person there: a Duster male sitting against the wall cradling a wound in his abdomen, his shirt soaked with blood. His breathing was ragged and his gaze unfocused.

  That one won't be a problem.

  Dovell returned his attention to the man in front of him who had drawn a kilij: a single-edged sabre used by many of the western clans in the Dust Empire.

  “Throw down your sword,” Dovell commanded. “You are surrounded.”

  The man spoke a few words in Enti and then spat on the ground, before circling the table towards Dovell.

  Dovell glowered at the man. He probably can't understand me. Have it your way then.

  They leaped at each other at the same time.

  The Duster swung his kilij in a wide arc, striking Dovell's buckler with a loud clang. Dovell brushed it off and thrust his sword at the Duster, who dodged it by contorting his body away from the steel point.

  He's agile.

  They exchanged several more light blows until the Duster backed off, glancing at the other doors in the room.

  You want to escape?

  The man was a trained sword fighter, yet he gave Dovell no hardship. The kilij was a weapon intended to be swung, not thrust, and was therefore much harder to use in this cramped living room than Dovell's arming sword. It would only be a matter of time before Dovell could overpower him.

  The Duster apparently reached the same conclusion, as after a final glimpse at Dovell he bolted to his right towards the front window.

  Dovell immediately matched his movement and closed in, maintaining a defensive posture.

  Upon seeing that he wouldn't reach the window before Dovell, the Duster spun around and took another swing. Dovell intercepted with his buckler and thrust his sword at the Duster's shoulder, this time striking true.

  With a scream the man dropped his sword and grabbed his shoulder, sinking upon one knee.

  “You should have gone in the other direction,” Dovell said as he kicked away the kilij.

  The Duster ignored him, whimpering indistinct sounds.

  This one isn't a battle-hardened veteran by any measure. Strange.

  Dovell took a few steps back and listened. The fight in the other room seemed to have ended as well, so he decided to wait for its outcome. If the other Dusters were of the same ability as the one he faced, his men shouldn't have any problems.

  He didn't have to wait long; the door on the far wall swung open and Nissek burst into the room, followed closely by Harra. Some of the tension on his face evaporated when he saw Dovell.

  “Sir,” Nissek said, after taking a deep breath.

  “Report.”

  “We took down three men. One fled, but I see him over there.” Nissek pointed at the wounded man slumped against the wall. “Tobiac is outside making certain nobody gets out.”

  “Injuries?”

  “None. They got some glancing blows in; nothing the bulwarks or even our armour couldn't handle.”

  Another door opened and this time it was Rooy who entered the room.

  “Report,” Dovell commanded again.

  “I found a man hiding in a cupboard,” Rooy said. “He talked a lot but it was all in Enti, so I have no idea what he was saying.” He smirked. “He wasn't armed, so I locked him in.”

  “Did we cover all the rooms, then?”

  “If Rooy passed the two back rooms, I think so, sir,” Nissek said. “Unless someone is hiding in the crawlspace above us, but I doubt anyone had time to climb in there.”

  “I only found that one guy,” Rooy said. “There were no other hiding places.”

  “Good,” Dovell said to Rooy. “Then signal the watch and the Winged Keep to tell them we've secured the haunt. Nissek, gather the ones still alive and tie them up. Tend to their wounds as well; that one looks like he could die any moment,” Dovell instructed, gesturing to the man by the wall. He turned and walked to the window to see what was happening outside.

  The street remained abandoned except for Bastian, who it appeared was still acting out his lifelong dream of being a statue. Felt was also still there, peeking around the corner of the house Dovell and the others had been hiding behind.

  Didn't she speak Enti? He beckoned her to come over.

  Nissek approached the window as well and looked outside. “Did Bastian monolith himself?”

  “He did,” Dovell said. “Probably overcharged when the bomb went off.” He turned around. “Rooy, after you're done with signalling, go dispel Bastian's bulwark.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rooy said.

  When he turned back, Felt was already standing near the window.

  She's a fast one, Dovell thought.

  “What is it?” Felt asked.

  Dovell was peeved at her disrespect, but he swallowed his retort. She wasn't part of the Whisper, so she was under no obligation to be respectful, and there were more important matters to deal with right now.

  “You speak Enti, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then help us interrogate these men. I need to know everything they know as soon as possible.”

  “Okay.”

  She didn't seem enthusiastic about it, but Dovell didn't care; he had other things on his mind. Now that they had captured some of these men, he needed to find out what they knew immediately. There were still many haunts like this one left and those would be much harder to find.

  Furthermore, he was puzzled by how easy it had been to subdue the Dusters. While their lack of magic use was easy to explain given the circumstances, the same thing couldn't be said for their lack of fighting experience. Dovell expected them to be more capable considering the impact of what they were doing.

  A short while later, Fifth Lance had secured them all and Dovell found himself staring down upon a peculiar-looking item they had found in the solar.

  “This is definitely the source, sir,” Nissek said as he passed a scrying stone over the item. “The pressure here is higher than anywhere else.”

  “That's the item they smuggled into the city,” Felt added. “A karek.”

  “How do we make it stop?” Dovell asked.

  “I'm uncertain,” Nissek said. “If it's using a sigil of some kind, we can drain that to stop it, but with the pressure as high as it is, it will take a while to even find the charge pattern.”

  Dovell nodded and stepped back into the living room, where four Dusters were now seated along the wall. All of them were plain-looking and wearing simple clothing. Their appearance did not stand out in any way.

  “Any runestones on them?” Dovell asked Harra, who had finished treating the man Dovell stabbed.

  “Only signal stones, sir,” Harra said. “No other spells and no hidden weapons either.”

  Signal stones. That's not good; they might have had a chance to warn the others.

  “Then let's hear what they have to say.” Dovell drew his sword and pointed it at the smallest man, whose fear was obvious from his behaviour. He was the man Rooy had found hiding in the cupboard.

  The man's response was immediate. “No hurt. No hurt,” he pleaded.

  “Ask him where the other haunts are,” Dovell said to Felt, who was standing to the side.

  With a soft sigh, she stepped forward and addressed the frightened man in Enti. He responded by saying something back while shaking his head vigorously.

  “He doesn't know,” Felt said.

  Dovell leaned forward, bringing his sword closer.

  With wide eyes fixed on the blade, the man rattled off a battery of incomprehensible words.

  “He says they weren't told where the other haunts are,” Felt said. “He only knows the four others here, a courier and his leader.”

  “Where is his leader then?”

  “He left yesterday,” Felt said, translating the man's continuous stream of words. “The last order he gave was to keep guarding the karek. Nothing else.”

  Felt asked something in Enti, and the man responded with more words and a shrug.

  “What did you ask him?” Dovell asked as he glared at Felt. “I'm the one doing the interrogation here.” Maybe asking her to do this was a mistake. The Whisper may claim she is trustworthy, but who knows what her real allegiance is?

  “I asked him if he knows what the karek does,” Felt said. “He doesn't know.”

  “Who believes that?” Tobiac scoffed. “He's obviously lying.”

  “Is he?” Dovell said as he lowered his sword. “Look at him, he's about to wet himself.”

  “Every element can jump over the crest point in a heartbeat,” Tobiac exclaimed. “How could they not notice?”

  “They don't have any runestones here, so no scrying stones either,” Rooy said. “They might have noticed having an easier time channelling, but that's it.”

  Could it be true that these men have no idea what they are doing here? Following that line of thought, an unnerving idea blinked into Dovell's mind.

  “Ask him when his leader was supposed to come back.”

  “He wasn't expected back for a couple of days at least,” Felt said after asking the man.

  “I was afraid of that,” Dovell said, sheathing his sword. “Rooy, signal the Winged Keep. Tell them to move in all available members of the watch to take the haunts without delay. Assume non-magical resistance only.”

  “Are you sure about that, sir?” Rooy asked. “These guys were easy to subdue, but what if the dark assailants are in one of the other haunts?”

  “They won't be,” Dovell said, turning to face the arriving watchmen outside. “They wouldn't risk an elite force being swallowed by a m?lstrom. Keep in mind that it was blind luck we learned about this when we did. If Magister De Ekkar hadn't told us, there is a good chance we would have remained ignorant of the danger for another day.” He pulled at a glass shard that remained in the rabbet of the window frame, before turning back to the tied-up Dusters. “And by then it would have been far too late for us to do anything. Under those assumptions, fielding second-rate troops like these makes far more sense.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rooy said. “I will instruct the Keep to assault all positions.”

  “Can I go now?” Felt asked timidly.

  Dovell redirected his glare from the Dusters to her. “No.”

  In truth, he didn't have any immediate need for her, but there were some things that he wanted to ask her. Things regarding the events at the White Candle and the alliance between the Whisper and Hyna.

  But those will have to wait.

  Dovell stuck his head outside the window and yelled to Nissek, who was speaking with a watch sergeant. “Nissek, when you are done, take the karek and these Dusters back to the Winged Keep. Take Bastian with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nissek replied. “What will you be doing?”

  “Assaulting the next haunt,” Dovell replied with a grim expression. He grabbed Felt by the shoulder. “And you are coming with us; I might have an additional need for a translator.”

  When Dovell arrived at the next suspected location, they were greeted by the sight of a burning house and injured watchmen being treated for their wounds. It seemed the fight here had ended as well.

  “Where is your commander?” Dovell asked the first watch member he met.

  “Over there, sir,” the man said, pointing to a short man who was in the process of swearing loudly to two watch members. Dovell went over.

  “Captain,” Dovell said as he tapped the man on the shoulder.

  “What?!” the man yelled, whirling around. His face was red and filled with anger.

  Upon seeing the silver Royal Guard clasp on Dovell's chest, that anger vanished in an instant. “Guard-captain, my deepest apologies. I've been under—”

  “I understand,” Dovell cut him off. “I'm Guard-captain Messchiel of Fifth Lance. Tell me what happened here. How many men did you encounter?”

  “We don't know exactly,” the watch captain replied, his fingers twitching around the hilt of his sword. “We didn't know which house was the haunt, so we had to spread out to take them all at once. They saw us before we saw them.” He gestured towards the injured watchmen seated on the street.

  “I assume the house on fire was theirs?”

  The watch captain nodded, his shoulders sagging. “They set the fire themselves and escaped out the back.”

  Dovell glared at the man. “They escaped?”

  The watch captain tried to make himself even smaller than he already was. “We killed one of them,” he mumbled.

  “Did they carry an object with them? A stone item as large as a dinner plate with six protrusions grouped in three pairs?”

  “I don't know, sir; I sent men to try to find them.”

  Useless.

  Dovell turned away and stared into the flames of the burning house. If they all have signal stones, every haunt in the city will have been warned by now.

  “Sir?” Rooy asked. “What should we do now?”

  “We move on; nothing else we can do here.” He turned back to the watch captain. “You, however, will stay here and control this fire. And after it is safe to enter, you will search this house in its entirety until you find the stone I described to you.”

  “A dinner plate-sized stone with six appendages. Yes, sir, I will take care of it.”

  “Tend to your duties,” Dovell said, waving a dismissal.

  The captain dipped his head and then scurried away.

  “Rooy, where's the nearest suspected haunt site that isn't under attack yet?”

  “I haven't heard back from the Keep yet, sir. Olissa switched to outgoing contact only to prevent mind fatigue.”

  “As expected,” Dovell said. “One telepath to serve as a contact anchor for three lances isn't nearly enough. Although I suppose it's a good thing nobody is left idle.”

  He eyed Felt, who again was holding her ear between her fingers.

  This again. “What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

  Felt retracted her arm. “It's nothing.”

  “I've seen you making that gesture for a while now,” Dovell said, narrowing his eyes. “Is that some kind of spell you are weaving?”

  “I don't know how to weave spells.”

  “Then you won't mind if I make certain.” He grabbed her wrist. “Rooy, scry her.”

  Rooy complied and held a scrying stone near Felt, who stood silent and stared at her feet.

  “Scrying shows nothing, sir,” Rooy said when he finished.

  “See?” Felt said. “Now let me go.” She attempted to free herself from Dovell's grasp.

  “I'm not letting you go until you tell me why you keep gripping your ear like that. The city is under siege and I will not suffer unexplained behaviour from the likes of you.”

  Felt remained silent for a moment and then took a deep breath.

  “I'm praying to the Nightsinger.”

  Dovell didn't respond. Did she say she's praying? He stood dumbfounded for a moment, then let go of her wrist. Of course, I forgot she's from River's End. Superstitious beliefs like that are rampant there.

  “If you dislike it so much, let me go back,” Felt said, stepping away from Dovell. “I already did everything you asked.”

  Dovell could tell her desire to leave was genuine. Her eyes flitted around, and every time she moved, it was as if she was about to jump out of her skin. She appeared like an animal trapped in a cage, desperate to get out.

  He wasn't about to let her leave, however. Not now. “You stay with us.”

  “I got a message from the Keep, sir,” Rooy said. “There are problems in River's End. People are massing in the streets and impeding the movement of the watch.”

  Dovell groaned. “Those fools. Always looking for a reason to riot.” He clasped the bridge of his nose. “Anything else?”

  “Just that ?ther pressure is plummeting in the areas where the kareks were recovered and drained. The pressure at the haunt we attacked has diminished by half.”

  Dovell let go of his nose and straightened himself. “That at least is good to hear. We'll head for River's End next then. Tell the Winged Keep to inform Nissek and Bastian they should meet up with us there after they've delivered the karek.” He turned. “Tobiac, go fetch the ca—”

  “No!” Felt screamed, startling everyone around her. “No, no, no, no,” she continued, covering her ears, her eyes wide with panic.

  “What? What's wrong?” Tobiac asked as he grabbed Felt by the shoulder.

  “We can't go there. We can't. It's so loud.” She staggered around, yet kept her gaze firmly fixed on a point somewhere to the south-east. “Something terrible will happen.”

  “What do you mean, something terrible?” Dovell said, grabbing her other shoulder.

  Felt's gaze snapped to Dovell and she grasped his wrist tightly with both hands. “We have to go. We have to go right now. Get out of the city before it's too late.”

  What the blaze has got into here? Is this about that Nightsinger nonsense? Yet superstition or not, the distress Felt showed was very real, and it made Dovell anxious.

  “The song... the song...” she pleaded. “He's so angry.”

  “What song? Who's singing?” Dovell insisted. The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise.

  Felt opened her mouth as if she wanted to answer, but then she jerked herself around and contorted herself out of both Dovell's and Tobiac's grasp. A moment later she was running down the street, dodging the hands of some watch members who made half-hearted attempts to stop her.

  Dovell watched her go with a stupefied look on his face.

  “Sir?” Tobiac asked with an equally surprised expression. “What just happened?”

  “I have no idea,” Dovell said, “but it can't be anything good.”

  He turned around to face in the direction Felt had been staring a moment ago. In the distance he could see the dark hulk that was the Crag rising up against the horizon. She was looking towards River's End.

  A sense of foreboding washed over him. It was the same feeling he had experienced before entering the White Candle, and this time it was even stronger.

  The men around him fell silent, and they all stared in the same direction as Dovell. For several moments nothing happened, then the men resumed their conversations with hushed voices.

  And then it appeared, a racket that rumbled across the city like thunder during a storm, enveloping everyone. But this rumble wasn't a thunderclap. It was something unnatural; the sound of a thousand breaking windows, not made of glass, but of metal and stone. It was a sound that couldn't possibly be made by anything that existed in the natural world.

  And then it passed, leaving the street in blessed silence apart from the sound of crackling fire.

  “What the blaze was that?!” Rooy exclaimed, the first to articulate what everyone was thinking.

  Everyone, that is, except Dovell, who had heard a similar rumble a long time ago. A roar that heralded one of the darkest periods of his life.

  “That,” Dovell said, his features appearing as if hewn out of stone, “was the sound of an ?ther blowout.”