A goat track led from the crest of the cliffs along the city's walls all the way to its well-fortified gate. Entrance was not an issue for him, as the guards and citizens alike were too busy gaping at the scene unfolding in the harbour, slack-jawed and afraid.

  Rahm was not. He was impressed, of course, but not afraid. He had seen hints of a world long gone. Nothing from this new one could scare him.

  Riding into the streets of Hafenstrand, his big shire horse’s hooves clopping loudly on the cobbled streets, the minotaur towered completely over every person that he encountered. He did not worry about anyone foolish enough to get in his way. There would only be one winner in any collision he might get into, and indeed the crowds knew this as well as he did. They parted before him, giving him a wide birth. The way they parted before him, as though he were some noble or lordling, inspired nothing but contempt in the minotaur. For a moment, he thought he understood Volkard's disdain for the common people of the world. Seized by a sudden impulse he didn't fully understand, he looked over the milling crowds with the Sight that Volkard had granted him. Rahm felt something like disappointment as he passed through the crowd. Their lights were dull, glazed with mediocrity, and so unlike the bull he had fought back at Eichen. He had blazed with sorrow and hate. Did he know to come here to find Martin? Rahm hoped so. He really did. They had an account that needed settling.

  The road he was on crested one of the twin hills that Hafenstrand had been built upon, and the archer paused to admire the massive column of smoke that towered above the harbour far beyond the arms of the city's massive seawall. When he had fled Eichen, bloodied and battered, he had looked back and seen something much like this. When the plume had begun to fall, he realized that Volkard was dead. It had been hard to understand what he had felt in that moment. He had not loved the black bull, nor had he hated him, especially. They had been associates working towards a goal they both would benefit from once it was achieved. Both had understood the danger, as had all those who had found their way to the Master, and died in his service. Despite his ambivalence, he'd found it hard to not think back on the drinks they'd shared, and the stories of the clans they'd been exiled from, as he made his way to Hafenstrand. The archer sighed, and turned off into a side street. The ship with Martin Bauer would be here soon, and he needed to be ready before then.

  Though he had never been to the port city before, he had been briefed by the Master about it, as they had about Eichen. The Elves were gone, so the story ran, but not all of those who had loved them were. It took Rahm some time, but he found the inn he was looking for, hidden deep within twisting narrow streets. Coughing beggars sat on the cobbled ground, and snarling packs of dogs that kept a wary distance from the archer and his massive mount prowled the shadowed alleys.

  The sign above the peeling door bore a sunflower and no written name. Rahm tethered his horse outside, and immediately went around the back into the alley where the trash was thrown. Through all the squelching filth and rats there was a wooden crate with no garbage on top of or around it. He found a burning man drawn on the wall in black ink, hidden close to the ground behind it. Rahm smiled as he pushed the crate back in place. Not everyone remembered the Old World with fear and hate.

  A dwarf was leaning over the bar when he entered, serving no one in particular. There were a few men in a booth at the far corner of the cramped room, eating breakfast and chatting. A listless woman sat closer, staring off into space and past the half-empty stein of ale on her table.

  Rahm regarded them all, in both ways that he was capable of. Again, he saw quiet desperation and idiocy everywhere, except with the dwarf. He flickered with secrets and superiority. Rahm approached but did not sit.

  “Help you, sir?” asked the dwarf, who looked bored. He was leaning over a book which he was studying with an odd-looking glass device. These signs of wealth were out of place given the general aura of decrepitude palpable in the rest of the room. It spoke to Rahm of carelessness. The Ashen of Eichen had been brazen, but that was because the town was all but dead and on the edge of the New World. It was different here, supposedly.

  “Schnapps,” Rahm said. He glanced once more at the other patrons before leaning a little over the now abandoned volume as the dwarven innkeeper leapt off of his stool with a crude ladder on the side to get his order. It looked to be a history of the river dwarves, so that at least might be explained away. “Is this your place?” he asked the dwarf as he was presented a stein filled with a liquid that smelt of apples.

  “Aye, sir,” answered the dwarf. He climbed back onto the bar, and didn’t even bother to check the coppers Rahm pushed his way. He returned to his volume.

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  “Perhaps you can help me, then,” Rahm said, taking a sip of his drink and half looking around the bar again. “My brother came here last year, looking for work.”

  The hand holding the glass device stopped its progress over a map covering the page.

  “Did he, sir?”

  “I’m bringing him news.”

  “What might that be?”

  Rahm sipped his drink again, leaned down, and lowered his voice.

  “The flowers on the tomb are back.”

  If the dwarf was surprised, he hid it well. He closed his book without sound or ceremony and tucked it into the folds of his jacket.

  “Follow me,” he ordered, slipping quietly down to the floor. He opened a door nearby with a key, revealing narrow stone steps and walls lined with barrels.

  Rahm put his drink down and followed. As the innkeeper started down the stairs, the minotaur pulled the door shut behind them. There was a surprising amount of light down here. The steps went directly down, and were easy enough for him to descend on. The dwarf struggled, but the bull made no offer of assistance. They would get there.

  Eventually, they reached the bottom, which opened up into an airy basement. Narrow, barred windows here and there clung to the edges of the ceiling, providing slivers of light and a view of the feet of people passing by above. Vast barrels dominated two walls. A third presented a large set of steps and a wide doorway, which presumably led out into the alley Rahm had checked before.

  “Where do you hail from?” the dwarf demanded, all pretence gone. Rahm saw the slight glint of a dagger’s pommel amid the folds of the little man’s jacket and snorted.

  “Eichen,” he answered. “Before that, it was the Dead Lands.”

  This got the response the archer had been hoping for.

  “You come from The Master?” the dwarf asked, in awe. “You have seen the city?”

  “Yes, brother," Rahm nodded. "I have seen the city.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “I will tell you,” Rahm replied. He unslung his bow and quiver, and was unable to stop himself from sighing in relief as he leaned them against one of the barrels. The younger bull had much to answer for. “But tonight, after you have gathered the Ashen here to me.”

  The dwarf's awe lingered, tinged now with unease.

  “Is there a problem, brother?” Rahm asked

  “It’s rare for us all to gather at once, sir,” the dwarf replied.

  “Are you persecuted here?”

  The dwarf shook his head, and a sly smile spread across suddenly cruel lips.

  “We barely get bothered here at all, sir. The city's hunter is…not a believer," explained the dwarf. His grin widened. "He just uses his position to make money and have his cock sucked. We’ve been left alone since he came here, for quite some time now.”

  Rahm frowned at this. If they were not persecuted or actively hunted, then why the problem? “So what are you saying, brother?”

  “Just that there’s no way I could fit all of us into his building, let alone the basement,” answered the dwarf with a laugh.

  The smile was infectious. Rahm turned to regard his brother.

  “If it was just the important people I wanted to consort with, would they fit in this basement?”

  “Just about, sir.”

  “How soon can they be gathered here? I have a mission of absolute importance, and time is my enemy.”

  “I should manage to have them here by nightfall,” the dwarf said, after a moment of careful thought.

  “Then do it,” Rahm commanded. “As well as any of our brothers and sisters who might have any association with the harbour and the shipping there. I need them all here by sundown, if not sooner. This comes from The Master himself.”

  “I’ll see to it at once,” the Ashen replied with a nod.

  “Thank you,” Rahm said, and sighed again. This task before him had looked great. If only Volkard had known about the state of things here, the confrontation in Eichen might not have occurred. “I will rest here a bit. I’ve been on the move for days. Send me down something to eat, will you? I don’t care what. I’m hungry enough to eat anything just now.” He paused as one of his injuries complained about his movements, hissing in pain. "And send for a barber, if you have any among you that you trust."

  “Of course, sir.” The dwarf bowed, and turned about, but he did not immediately leave. Instead, he walked confidently up to one of the vast barrels that stood tall enough to reach the ceiling. He reached for the tap, but instead of working it as normal, he twisted it suddenly. Rahm heard a click, and a doorway became obvious as the dwarf opened up a secret passage. It was pitch black inside, but the archer could just pick up stairs leading down.

  “If you want to pray,” his brother explained, “you can do so down there. But don’t sleep down there. “The Temple here still dreams, sometimes.”

  “Thank you,” said Rahm.

  The dwarf took his leave. The minotaur sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and waited.