Reyna hid underneath the stairwell, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t be found. As her pursuer descended, the brutal object in his hands impacted each stair with a dullen thud. She could see the clash of vibrant red against steel in her mind’s eye. She could envision with a sickening clarity the violent tableau she had walked into just minutes ago. The bitter smell of iron and decay mingling with the constant, stagnant fume of dust and disrepair, the awful crunching sound.

Daddy stopped at the foot of the stairs, just next to her. His head turned, and as his eyes passed over her, she heard an unfamiliar voice, silent yet all-encompassing in her head.

Hide.

Daddy looked past her, looked through her. She looked down — and saw that she was no longer there. Invisible, unnoticeable. With a shake of his head, Daddy walked to the kitchen.

“Reyna…” he said in the sing-song voice he used when they were playing hide and seek. She followed him silently.

In the kitchen, he looked under the table. Reyna gagged when she accidentally stepped in some of the blood that had dripped from the hammer — her mommy’s blood. Resolutely, silently, hidden – she picked up a kitchen knife, the big one her mommy used to chop meat.

And avenged her mother.



Reyna conducted most of her business in Shrike’s southern district. If one knew where to look, one could buy or sell nearly anything here. Stolen trinkets, weapons, or Reyna’s personal favorite — information. She made a healthy living in the seedy underbelly of the city, spreading secrets as though they were a particularly insidious infection. Hardly anything happened in the city that Reyna wasn’t listening in on. She bought, sold, and breathed the secrets of those more powerful than her.

That’s what was so great about Shrike, she mused to herself as she walked through the rain-washed streets. Anyone could come and make a living here, doing what they loved.

She walked through the merchant-lined alleyway, her cloak pulled back so the sheathed blade at her hip was openly displayed. She wasn’t usually bothered in the southern district — the regular travelers through knew the unspoken rules, and the risks of breaking them. Regardless, the streets were more hollow than normal. Tensions had been on the rise for quite some time, and the criminal aspect of the city was hunkering down, preparing to weather the coming storm. While they were hiding, Reyna was planning on looting everything she could get her greedy hands on.

Reyna made a sharp left, ducking between two of the conspicuous market stalls. Embedded in the grimy floor, completely invisible from the street was a set of stairs covered by a pockmarked wooden trapdoor. She went through and sealed the door behind her.

As unfortunate as it was, for safety’s sake, Reyna had to do most of her business in the cavernous sewage system underneath Shrike. The system was a maze of grated dead ends and looping hallways, and Reyna knew it like the back of her hand. She had carved out quite a nice meeting space down here.

She reached into a leather pouch at her waist and pulled on her mask. Best not to risk the chance of someone getting a good look at her, should someone have managed to get the upper hand on her for once. As she reached up, her shoulder twanged uncomfortably. That stupid pebbleskin on the road had managed to land a lucky hit on her, and the sheer force behind the blind swing had nearly broken her arm. She didn’t let the pain show. Hide it away, don’t let people see. She put on her mask.

Her lair — she had come to terms with the fact that that’s what the small room was, though she wished it could be described differently — was not close to the entrance she used today. She made certain to enter the sewers from a different entrance every time, to ensure that she couldn’t be followed. She was in for a long, smelly journey. With a sigh, she went on her way.



—



Reyna had spent a week down here in the sewers, trying to find a suitable location to go about her business. Her lair was a section where three different corridors linked up. The overlap created a sort of oddly shaped room, composed of acute angles and long, flat walls. Most importantly, there was a grate in the ceiling which let in air — which made it significantly easier to sit and do business in here than in the rest of the place.

Once she had decided that this was going to be her lair, she had tried her best to make it homey. The large oaken table in the center of the room had been hellish to get down here, even with the talents that her Command afforded her.

Currently, the two people she was meeting were sitting, awaiting her presence. Reyna sighed. That was the problem with some Tasked: they knew far more than you wanted them to, all the damn time.

“Scry, I should have known better than to assume I could keep any location hidden from you.” Reyna pulled out a chair that was across the table from the two people and flopped herself down onto it.

As was usual, Scry kept her face hidden entirely hidden behind a porcelain mask that covered everything but her eyes, and thick grey cowl which hid her hair. Hide had tried to figure out who Scry was — she couldn’t ignore such a blatant challenge — but the girl’s Command simply outmatched hers in that arena. It didn’t help that Guard followed her around like a loyal dog, keeping her identity safe and hidden. All she knew was that the two of them were humans, and that they weren’t particularly enamored with the criminal lifestyle.

“Always a pleasure, Hide.” Scry started, locking gloved hands in front of her on the table’s surface. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

“Please,” Reyna answered. Scry had refused to tell her beforehand why she wanted to meet, only that it was important. Reyna had long since learned the consequences of ignoring someone with a Command like Scry’s — the person was as often a slave to the Command as the Command was a tool for the person. Despite the urgency, she couldn’t contain her impulse to pester the two.

“Would your dog like a bowl of water? Maybe a treat?” She smirked, while gesturing at the man who went by Guard. He didn’t move, and she couldn’t see any part of his face behind his mask, a mirror of Scry’s own. Really, what was the point of doing this business if nobody could see the shit-eating grin on your face. That’s why Reyna had designed hers to leave as much of her face visible as possible — the curves of the mask changed the shape of her face enough to disguise her identity.

“I’ll keep this short, because I detest talking with you,” Scry said.

“Flatterer.”

Scry sighed. “The orcs from the Red Desert are coming en masse to take Shrike. Apparently there is something in the city that they want, and badly.” Reyna took her feet off of the table and leaned forward.

“Which orcs?” She asked.

“Scry mirrored her, leaning forward and grasping Reyna’s hands in her own. They were cold. Reyna pulled her hands away fast and shoved them underneath the table. She didn’t like contact, especially if she wasn’t warned before it happened.

“All of them.” Scry whispered. “The Red Desert is emptying, and fast.” Reyna was shaken. It wasn’t unheard of for small parties of orcs to attack travelers or send out raiding tribes to small cities that shared a border with the Red Desert. But such a large strike force was something that hadn’t been seen on the face of Ryria for thousands of years.

“Wha-what do they want?” Reyna asked. Despite herself, despite her fear, she felt a grin stretching across her face. This, this was information that she could use. The kind where she put herself on the razor’s edge, balancing enormous risk with enormous payoff. She felt alive.

“I don’t know,” said Scry, “but I know that you run the largest underground information network in Shrike. Telling you can’t hurt the city’s chances.” She stood, and Guard rose smoothly next to her.

“Wait,” Reyna said, scrambling up to her feet. “This is valuable information. What do I have to give you for it?”

Scry met her eyes. Reyna looked into their depths and saw fear. Visceral, horrifying, bone-shaking fear. Scry was terrified. The room suddenly felt a lot chillier than it was before. Reyna couldn’t even think of a quip to ease the tension.

“This was free. Because I have scried you, and I know your motivations. You will spread this information to those who I think need it, and to those who can prepare. You’ll do it for the profit and for the thrill, but you will do it nonetheless. Your avarice won’t let you do nothing here.” With a nod and a gesture to Guard, the two of them left the room, leaving Reyna alone with the dripping of the walls.

Scry was right. It was infuriating, really, how often that was the case. Reyna would spread this around. The smallest seedling of a plan took root in her mind and began to grow.



—



Reyna walked through the central mall. She had swapped her somewhat obviously-villainous guise for the outfit she normally wore: a pair of thick cotton breeches, leather boots, and a billowy shirt. She carried with her a bag, slung over one shoulder and filled to the brim with letters and scrolls. What better way for her to transfer information illicitly than to transfer information legally?

She was a messenger, and one of the best trusted among the cities various officials — she personally delivered correspondence to the guild leaders in the city. If she kept building her reputation, she might even get requested to deliver for the palace itself. If the city even exists, she added bitterly. Scry’s news had worried her, but the girl had been right. Reyna couldn’t resist passing along the information. If she was careful with how she proceeded, she could reap bountiful rewards.

She stood at a grimy doorstep in front of a short door and knocked thrice. A small section of the door slid away, and a pair of clear, curious eyes looked out at her.

“Yes?” A gruff voice asked, muffled through the wood.

“Message for Deitrich,” Reyna answered, voice chirping. The slot in the door slid shut, and there was the noise of some shuffling about behind it. She was used to it, the dwarves in the city were a suspicious lot — introverted and secretive, they had established their own community within the city. Deitrich was their leader, and Reyna had his ear. She knew that he would listen to her.

The door opened, and the dwarf guard ushered her in, holding his axe uncomfortably close to her as he escorted her into the smoky room.

—

“Reyna! How are you, dear?” Lysselia asked. Reyna enjoyed her visits to the Mage’s Forum, as Lysselia always tended to meet her personally. The elderly elven woman was a skilled conversationalist and a shrewd business-woman. Their discussions were often pleasurable fencing matches, paring wit against wit to see who could exit with the most gleaned information.

“I’m fairly well off, how are you Lyss? How’s the new crop of mages?”

Lysselia seated herself in the high-arched chair that was just behind the large mahogany desk, and one of her attendants swiftly brought her a cup, steaming from the warm tea. She took a sip and sighed contentedly.

“As usual, the Forum has been hectic since our new students have arrived, but with a touch of luck we will have them trained in Satisfaction’s ways within the fortnight. Lrfshmn is running them through the motions as we speak.” The elderly lady grinned, deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes getting deeper with the motion. Lysselia was swift to smile, quick to laugh, and easy to please, but she was also deeply cunning. Reyna assumed that Lyss had more of an idea of Reyna’s businesses than she had any right to, but as of yet the elf hadn’t let anything slip.

“Are any of them cute?” Reyna asked with a wry expression. Lyss let out a crystalline laugh that reverberated throughout the room.

“I wouldn’t know, dear, I wouldn’t know. It has been far too long since that has been important to me. There are certainly a lot of strong casters, if that is something you’re looking for…” she trailed off, expectantly. The old mage often tried to worm information out of Reyna this way, but she rarely bit.

Reyna took a deep breath. “It’s not, Lyss. Unfortunately, I have bad news.”

—

“Orcs are coming to Shrike?” Miles asked. “What are their numbers? Do you know their formations?” Miles led the Herald Hawk mercenaries, which were as close to Shrike got to a standing army. The man was bald, and much of his personality stemmed from that simple fact. He was gruff, easy to anger, and extremely effective in the position he held. He had begun pacing in front of his desk, which was covered in all sorts of maps and papers. Reyna would have to sneak back in here and have a good, long look later.

“I don’t know anything more than what I’ve told you. My source told me that the Red Desert is emptying,” Reyna answered. “And no, before you ask, I can’t tell you where I got this information. But I’m certain that if you look, there will be other sources corroborating what I say.”

“What do you think?” Miles asked. “How long until they arrive?”

“Within the year.”

—

“What can we do about this incursion?” Deitrich asked as he took a puff from his long-stemmed pipe. Reyna shrugged, then looked pointedly at the dwarf looming over her. The guard had gotten a bit too close with his axe, nearly shearing off a lock of her hair. He was fresh, clearly over-zealous about his guarding duties.

“I’m certain that the Herald Hawk’s would be glad to work with you. Dwarves’ steel defenses are well-known throughout Ryria — Hame, my apologies. Reyna had to be careful with her words in front of Deitrich. The dwarf was quite easy to scare, and it was all too easy to accidentally “impugn both his honor and the honor of all dwarvenkind,” yadda, yadda, yadda.

Reyna fiddled with the goblet that Deitrich’s butler had handed to her. It would have been rude of her to not accept it, but she wasn’t planning on getting drunk right now. A sip was all that was expected of her, and she obliged.

Deitrich was obviously troubled by the news. The old dwarf was used to defending his community — they kept obviously, blatantly separate from the goings-on of Shrike proper. While Deitrich himself was not well-liked by the guildmasters note the Potentate, they recognized him for what he was: the first and foremost ruler of the dwarves in Shrike. He was known to be shrewd and thoughtful, and had built the dwarves community up from nothing in the face of insurmountable odds. He was a force to be reckoned with, and his help would be necessary in the coming conflict.

“What do they want?” He asked.

—

“I don’t know,” Reyna answered, “my client refused to give me any information more than I’ve shared with you.” Lysselia’s facade of casual comfort had swiftly evaporated, leaving behind the crafty persona within. Her brows were drawn tight, a youthful excitement on her face — the sort that doesn’t draw back from a challenge, but relishes in it.

“Satisfaction is cruel,” Lysselia answered, the blasphemous prayer easily leaving her lips. “I will have to think on this. Please, Reyna, I must think. You may have your leave.” Reyna nodded at the elf woman, and left the brightly-lit antechamber, the afternoon wind sending a chill through her as she exited.

—

The day had cooled significantly, and Reyna was sitting on one of the balustrades of the merchant’s guild, chowing down on a handful of mixed nuts and fruit. She was satisfied with her day’s work, and had decided to treat herself to a snack. As the sun set over the top of Shrike’s walls, she mused about the day.

The orcs on their way to Shrike were coming for something that they had lost, or something they thought belonged to them. They would either get it back, or destroy the city searching for it. Or do both, and damn the consequences. There were very few forces on Ryria that could stand against the might of every orc on the godsforsaken continent.

Reyna didn’t know what the orcs wanted, or what would even be valuable enough to stop the constant infighting and chaos of pebbleskin society and aim all of the beasts in one direction. But she knew what her plan was. It had sprouted in her mind as her best ideas often did.

She would search the city. She would find whatever the orcs were looking for, wherever it was. She would find it.

And steal it.

