“So what is this about?” Astrid asked as they walked along a road that was bathed in the morning light.
Newly awoken pedestrians hurried along the cobblestone towards the elevators. The air was cold, and below a thin mist had settled over the lower levels. The spires appeared like jutting islands rising from an ocean of white.
“It's about a mission,” Edmund said and adjusted his hat. “One out of the ordinary, but I don’t know much more than that.”
Wretch yawned. “I thought we were going to lay low for a while?”
“That was the plan, until they denied my request for leave,” Edmund said with a slight shake of his head.
Wretch breathed in the autumn air. “I don’t mind. I’m just one step away from Blaze. And the sooner I get there, the better.”
Elenya was walking with her hands in her pockets, the cleaver fastened in a bag slung over her shoulder. She only wore a vest and suit despite the frigid air.
“Cheer up old man, more jobs means more coin, or are you afraid the rat will surpass you?”
Edmund just kept shaking his head.
They followed the winding street to the nearest elevator. A queue had formed and people were casting them curious glances. Edmund and Astrid were undoubtedly human. Elenya, with her height and broad shoulders, could have been a non-Blessed, though that was debatable with the chunk of iron slung over her shoulder.
Wretch did not.
The furred arms, the tail and black sunglasses made it certain. He was touched by the divine power of the flame.
They crammed into the cage-like structure of the lift and with the heavy turning of gears it began to descend. They flew down into the thick clouds, a wetness building on their skin and scales.
They passed through and suddenly the city below was laid bare. Half a dozen plumes of smoke rising into the clouds above.
“More fires tonight,” Astrid said with a shake of her head.
“The Gulschaks are planning something big,” Wretch said, licking his lips.
With a heavy thud and the groan of mechanical springs, the lift came to a stop. Edmund led them through the crowded streets. The hazy spires appeared like giants through the low-hanging clouds.
“This is the central headquarters so I need you to behave. These are our superiors,” Edmund said as they closed in on a large office building, nestled at the base of one of the spires. No sign hung outside, but every window glowed with lamplight. It could have been any old bureaucratic complex, if it wasn’t for the guards in booths.
Wretch’s eyes flickered to the passersby and pedestrians. He’d never been to the Bureau of the Hunt.
One woman caught his eye, dressed in civilian attire except for a pair of well worn boots. Keeping a watchful eye at any who approached.
This place is probably crawling with secrets and Blessed alike.
They walked up the steps, the captain in front. The guards gave him a nod of recognition.
“No one is going to check who we are?” Elenya asked.
“I’ve come here every day for fifteen years,” Edmund replied.
Inside, the building was deliberately unremarkable. Clerks sat behind narrow openings in the walls. Doors and stairwells branched into a maze of offices. A man reading the paper in an armchair lowered it as they entered.
Another one, Wretch thought.
“Edmund, of the Richter Company, you are expected,” said one of the clerks, barely sparing them a glance.
“Good morning,” Edmund said as he removed his hat and Wretch quickly did the same.
“Where to?”
“Gregory will escort you,” the clerk said without looking up from his paperwork.
The man in the armchair stood, smoothing out his suit. He looked to be in his thirties, with slim features and a well trimmed mustache under bushy eyebrows.
“Please follow me,” he said, tucking the newspaper under his arm.
Astrid and Wretch looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. The man opened a door and led them up a wide staircase made of stone.
“I don't believe we’ve met,” he said, giving them a courteous smile. “I’m Gregory, Denier of Rights.”
Edmund’s brow furrowed. “Once there was a hunter called Gregory of Fleeting Rebuttal, but that was years ago.”
The man nodded. “That was my Fireling name. I work in a different branch of the bureau now. Don't ask. I won't be able to answer.”
Probably a Blaze then, Wretch noted. Must be strong.
They walked in silence, passing a few clerks and officers on the way. The building was far larger inside than the outside would have you believe. Finally, Edmund broke the silence.
“Our pay from the Sternthal expedition, why has it been delayed?”
The man clicked his tongue.
“I will let the boss answer that one,” he said as he stopped at a door that must have been at the very top floor of the building. He swung open the doors of oak and gestured for them to walk inside.
The room was expansive and luxurious. Spears lined the walls, dozens, if not hundreds. One end of the room ended in a massive window panel. The orange morning light from the rising suns seeped through the mist above to shine on a wooden desk in hues of dark red.
Two people were standing by the window while one was seated at the desk. One Wretch recognized immediately, a large and muscular man in a wrinkled trench coat. His face was wolfish and sharp.
He had seen him at the Hunters feast, all those months ago.
Andryi, the Storm's Fury, or at least that was his name as a Fireling. His eyes now carried an unnaturally strong bluish tint, his skin glistening as if soaked by rain. Seems Wretch wasn’t the only one ascending at breakneck speed.
Beside him stood a woman with short brown hair and impeccable posture, hands behind her back. She wore a suit that reminded Wretch of an officer's attire and her face had an expression of displeasure that he guessed was permanent. An array of pouches clung to her belt, and several exotic scabbards peeked up from her back.
The third figure sat behind the desk, a female signing documents without looking up. Still Wretch felt a tingle in his chest.
“Come closer,” she said calmly. “I am a woman without time to spare.”
Her voice was cool and melodic, like an echoing song.
She wore black trousers, a white shirt, and a vest. Clothes made for movement, not ceremony or status. Black hair spilled over her shoulders and she carried an unreadable expression. She looked ordinary, but Wretch’s eyes saw details others couldn’t. Her hands were webbed by thin scars, so numerous they lightened her skin tone.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“No,” Edmund said clearly, stepping forward with hands behind his back.
“Good,” she replied. “There should be some secrecy.”
A shiver traveled up Wretch’s spine. She looked up. He recognized her likeness, plastered on posters since he was a child. His hair rose on end.
Her eyes lit for a moment, packed with such fierce flame they burned with tongues of fire.
“I am Maria the Impaler.”
A pressure exploded through the room. The spears rattled. The world plunged into darkness. Their knees buckled.
“Left hand of the Saint,” she called. The previous melodic tone exchanged for a deep, inhuman rumble.
To Wretch, everything else beside the woman's eyes faded into black, two burning orbs gazing straight through prey. Every ounce of his flame screamed for him to run. A screech reverberated against his ears as she spoke.
“Patron of hunts.”
Unwanted visions flashed before his eyes. His own body, skewered by spears, hoisting him towards a red sun.
They all fell to their knees gasping for air in cold sweat.
And it was over. The pressure evaporated to nothing and the room blinked back into light. Maria tilted her head. Now looking like nothing more than a scarred middle aged housewife.
“I apologize, I thought it best to leave no questions about my authority,” she said casually. “But none of you fainted. You’ve no doubt faced much for the city.”
Sweat dripped down the forehead of Edmund and his broad shoulders were shaking. “Ma’am, excuse us.”
If she made an expression, Wretch didn’t see it, fighting the nausea from only her killing intent.
“Rise, captain,” she said. “You’re all my proud hunters.”
Edmund straightened and Wretch pushed to his feet.
What a monster.
“Ma’am, how can we be of service?” Edmund said with a tremble. The Richters had seen their captain defend against hordes of slaughter hounds, strike back against Gulschak ambushes and face down countless horrors, but it occurred then that Wretch had never seen him tremble.
Maria and the two companions behind her were all watching them intently. The head of the bureau drew a swath of falling hair behind an ear. Her eyes previously filled with demand and crackling blessed power were now relaxed.
“Your efforts have reached me, the military and the church,” she said, lifting a thick file of paperwork.
“Three successful hunts, the discovery of the Gulschaks infiltration, the evacuation of Sternthal when the army fled. Even two Firelings surviving the trek through the wilds,” she said, thumping the stack of paperwork back onto her desk.
“I have a mission for you.”
Edmund cleared his throat. “I reckon refusal is not an option?”
Wretch cast a glance on Elenya and Astrid. The taller girl was holding the limp healer by one arm. Still Astrid spoke.
“I understand it now. Where all the Blaze hunters go.”
Maria raised an eyebrow. “Astrid the Tender I take it. A diligent student from Von Ager College turned hunter.”
Astrid pushed up her glasses with a trembling hand. “It's a vetting process, for the next step.”
Maria gave a look of surprise that slowly turned into a smile. “I would like to refute that, but that is somewhat true. If a little blunt.”
“Though make no mistake. You’re not ascending to the Hunter Corps today. But continue on this path and we might meet again. And yes Hunter Captain Edmund the Selfless, you will comply.”
“Chief, we shouldn’t speak about such things,” said the stern looking woman behind Maria.
The left hand of the Saint nodded.
“Wretch will be subjugated to a ritual. It won't hurt much. Henceforth you’ll be free of the bureau’s duties, but are required to move about the city for six hours each day.”
“Make sure to try and cover as much different ground as possible with whatever mode of transportation you prefer. Let him choose the path. No further instructions or explanations will be needed but now that your efforts will be used against the Gulschaks.”
Edmund adjusted his tie and his eyes grew to slits.
“A ritual? You have to understand ma’am, I care deeply for my hunters,” he said without breaking his gaze.
Maria nodded. “Secrets within secrets captain. The Saint is close. You’re safe in her city.”
“Additionally, the payment owed from your recent operations will be released upon completion, with an added sum of seven thousand pounds.”
Edmund’s fingers froze on his tie.
“Seven… thousand?” he said with a whisper a little too loud.
The left hand of the Saint shifted her eyes to Wretch.
“Wretch, Collector of Wounds. Who foiled the Gulschaks once, survived beyond the walls and killed a Blaze at the rank of Fireling,” Maria said, looking towards him with a clear gaze.
Wretch gulped at her words.
“Keep going. I have high hopes.”
“I want something,” Wretch said, the words rushing out of his mouth. But this was his chance.
The room turned to him. He cleared his throat, steadying his voice.
“I want something in return,” he repeated.
Maria tilted her head curiously. “And what might that be?”
He locked eyes with the Patron of hunts. “Unrestricted access to the archives, and the means to find my father. He was a hunter. Or something close to it.”
“Is finding Gulschaks not enough for you? In the files you are portrayed quite vividly as unyielding in your hunt for the traitors…”
Wretch shook his head.
“If we find them, that’ll be their last day in life, I can promise you that. But access to the archives will aid my search. When all this is done.”
Maria squinted her eyes, looking him over in earnest before continuing. “I had thought you’d be unruly, perhaps even fight my command, but to barter. That is a surprise.”
She was quiet for a moment before speaking.
“Acceptable. Kattla and the rest will escort you out,” she said finally and picked up another paper from her desk.
Wretch exhaled deeply.
The stern looking woman with short hair stepped forward and led them towards a side door, Astrid still leaning on Elenya and the rest of them walked stiffly.
They walked down snaking corridors, each of the Richters regaining their composure little by little. Finally entering a simple chamber, different crude knives and tools were placed on an exquisite mahogany table along with a basin of stone.
The stern woman stepped up to the table.
“You,” she said and pointed to Wretch. “Come closer.”
Andryi, the scraggly and broad man crossed his arms and the man who had led them inside, Gregory, leaned with his back towards the wall.
Wretch walked up to the table and looked at the woman without blinking.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Your blood, in the bowl. Some guts you have to ask something of Maria herself.”
To the side Edmund showed a frown but Wretch just nodded.
“How much blood?” he asked.
“More than you think,” she said without a hint of joy.
Elenya gave a ringing laugh from the side and the stern woman shot her a look.
“Wow, I would not say that to the kid,” Elenya said and looked at the woman without blinking. The two women stared at each other with palpable tension.
“Kattla,” Gregory said with a sigh. “A little kindness doesn’t weaken authority.”
A loud crack rang out in the room.
“See,” Elenya said with a confrontative smile.
Everyone turned to see Wretch standing over the stone bowl with his eyes lit. His right hand, now turned into a crablike claw, severed his other hand by the wrist. He didn't flinch and just looked at Kattla and Gregory as blood pumped out of the massacred flesh with every heartbeat, spurting into the bowl in a splattering of red.
He gave a faint smile as his right hand squirmed back into the regular claw.
“Just tell me when to stop,” he said.
“Alright, now that’s more than enough,” Kattla said and for the first time her expression wasn’t that of absolute rigidity and boredom.
“Okay,” Wretch said simply and picked up the severed hand from the table. He pressed it to the simmering wound and the flesh squirmed together with a wet noise.
Edmund stepped forward and put a hand on Wretch’s shoulder. “Anything else?” Edmund asked with a knitted brow, looking at the people from the Hunter Corps.
The stern woman, Kattla, shook her head. “That’s sufficient.”
“I’ll show you out,” said Gregory and turned to another door.
The Richters walked out and during their walk, Elenya gave Kattla one last long stare. They stepped down the stairs, passing a few hurrying clerks.
“I am really sorry about Kattla and the boss,” Gregory said with a genuine smile of embarrassment. “They have their way of doing things. They’re effective but can come across a bit… crude.”
“It's fine,” Wretch said, limbering his left wrist. Elenya only blew air through her nose in response.
“I do apologize,” Gregory continued. “But this is for the good of the city. I promise.”
Edmund gave him a glance but nodded in response. They moved into the lobby, the same clerk sitting with eyes glued to paperwork.
“Take care now. And remember what she said,” Gregory called behind them.
They stepped out onto the broad street between the spires, the bustling city full of life. After a few paces, Astrid stopped abruptly, bending forward with her hands on her knees.
“We… we just met that woman.”
“We did,” Edmund replied while putting on his hat. “And they gave us a job we couldn’t refuse.”
“I don't like it,” Astrid replied.
“Me neither,” the captain answered, giving her a helping hand up to her feet.
“These missions,” Astrid said. “The rail repair, whatever this is, they’re not normal. Are they testing us, or is there something else?”
Elenya shrugged. “I think it's fine. In fact it's nice to know there is a path forward. Isn’t it Wretchy?”
She turned but their scout had already paced further down the street, walking forward without them.
Gregory entered the large chamber of Maria’s office. It was dark and a soft white light of the moon shined through the window on the other side of the large desk.
Kattla was standing behind the desk with her jacket folded in her arms. On the dark wood sprawled heaps of paperwork. Maria was laying down on top of the documents, her back rising and falling rhythmically.
Kattla pressed a finger to her lips and looked at Gregory. She placed her coat over Maria the Impaler, left hand of the Saint, with an affectionate smile.
Soundlessly she walked around the sleeping figure and towards Gregory, stepping over the wide carpet without the slightest noise. As she snuck past him, Gregory closed the door as gently as he could.
In the hall, the gas lamps were burning, casting shades along their features.
“She hasn't slept in three weeks,” Kattla said softly. “The paperwork doesn’t end. Still she killed a Pyre that approached the outer wall just yesterday. I don't understand how she keeps it up.”
Gregory nodded. “It's the damn saboteurs, lured beasts, broken rails. We have more than we can chew.”
“We’ll strike back, clean and hard,” Kattla answered.
“Me and Andreyi have scouted out the place,” Gregory said and made a difficult expression. “Their captain, he’s promising. Why haven't we given him a hint on how to reach Blaze?”
She nodded in understanding. “His past partner carried the Ingenuity Flame. She had to be removed.”
Pain flashed across Gregory’s features. It was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.
“I left Andreyi to keep watch. He’s still not used to seeing the things up there. Have you activated the curse?”
His female colleague nodded and produced a ring of silver. It had a clear imprint in the scratched metal of two people embracing each other, both holding a knife to the other’s back.
She rolled it over her fingers. “It's indirect, but it will bypass whatever protection from divination he’s using. Now, let's get some rest while we can.”
They continued down the corridor, deeper into the massive structure.
“I rarely see you use that Blessing,” Gregory said in a more measured tone. “What exactly does it do?”
“It was one of my first,” Kattla answered. “I grant the effect of a Blessed item to another, taking the drawback upon myself, requires but a drop of blood. Fortunately, I’m already on poor terms with the people in my family. But he’ll find his in return.”
Gregory nodded.
“An item to find your kin but increase the animosity between you. Typical of the Flame to grant such a drawback,” he nodded in thought as they walked. “We’ll start the operation in full at dawn, three out of the ten members of the Hunters Corp, we won't fail.”
They took a right into a pathway carved into the spire itself, their footsteps echoing against the stone.
“That kid,” Gregory continued. “Have you read his file?”
“Wretch? Of course I did. Not an easy life, I’ll give him that,” Kattla said.
“Could you do it?” Gregory asked.
“Do what?”
“Cut off your own hand without flinching?”
Kattla frowned. “Without flinching…”
“No.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “People aren’t meant to carry the Beast’s Flame. Look at the chaos that bloody scoundrel causes. He used to be my scout, to think they’re related.”
“You met The White Death? You didn't mention that at the mission brief,” Gregory said, pausing at what was seemingly nothing but a plain stone wall. He inserted a key into a tiny crack.
Kattla made a grim expression.
“It was back when I was still new. Grendel was irresponsible, lazy and strong. Kept talking about finding his father. Carried a Compendium even as an Ember.”
Gregory froze. The key still in hand.
“What?”
Kattla pushed the door open.
“I know, I asked the boss for their father’s file.”
They entered a spacious room stacked with binders and gear leaning towards every wall. A luxurious group of armchairs and sofas around a fireplace.
“Secrets even above the Hunter Corps,” Gregory said, throwing his jacket on a chair. “What do you think their father is?”
“The real deal.”