The morning greeted him with cold, grim silence. Tallis pushed himself out of bed with a groan, hoping that things had solved themselves. They hadn't.

"One thing at a time," he told himself. Job one today was breakfast. Shockingly, there was still some food left. Considering how thoroughly Cold Iron had torn the house apart, he was shocked they had left him the bread and old cheese that they did.

He could almost hear Edward's voice in his head, "just knock the fur off of 'er and it's still fit to eat."

The memory sent a twinge of pain through his heart. They were still gone and he still had no idea how to save them. In all likelihood they were in the city, stewing in a holding cell inside the office. Of course, he'd been around Faerunners enough to know that there was no way he'd get in for a visit without being thrown into a cell himself. Maybe that was for the best, at least they'd be together.

He finished his meager breakfast and headed out to the barn. He opened the doors and nodded to the horses.

"Good morning, horses," he said. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

If the horses answered he would really freak out. He let the horses out of their stalls and turned them loose in the pasture.

"Um, okay, excellent," he said. "You have all the grass you can eat. It looks like there's a big barrel of water here for you to drink. That should be everything you need. Have a good day."

Fantastic. Two chores down, counting breakfast. Next he hobbled over to the chickens, threw them a handful of feed, had a minor breakdown that his entire life was in shambles, and then walked back to the pasture to watch the horses. Was this really how he was going to take this? Could he just sit and wait for Cold Iron to finish beating a confession out of his parents?

The soft crunch of gravel pulled him away from the answer churning in his mind and he turned to find a coyote stalking up the path to the house. The horses caught its scent and promptly lost their minds, running as fast as they could to the other end of the pasture. Tallis shuffled back, pressing himself into the fence. He was sure he was going to be eaten but with a flash of violet light the coyote blinked out of existence. In its place stood Callan holding an axe in one hand and his shotgun in the other.

"Good morning, Tallis," he said. His voice was low and threatening, almost a growl. "I'm here to make sure you and I will not have any problems."

If Tallis could have squished himself through the fence and run away with the horses, he would have. "No. There aren't any problems between us. Everything is fine."

"Are you sure? Because I am not very pleased with what I heard from you yesterday." He lowered the shotgun. "I want to like you, Tallis, really I do, you seem like a decent person. But you're pushing my limits."

"I don't understand. I'm not doing anything."

"You were going to betray us to that detective."

Tallis pointed back over his shoulder towards the house. "Well, I don't think you have to worry about that anymore. Cold Iron tore the house apart. My parents are in jail, probably."

Callan put his weapons away and his expression softened. It was either a look of sympathy or pity, Tallis couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Callan. "Truly, I am. The raids have been getting worse and worse. Those Agents are honourless rats. If they had the stomach to face us one on one they wouldn't have a hope of standing against us."

"I believe that. I don't think I've ever seen anything put an agent down in one shot before."

"That's Valerie's doing," Callan laughed. "You should see the rifle she uses. I'm sure it was built to knock dragons out of the sky or fell entire armies with one shot." He paused, looking at the nervous horses. "I'm sorry if I frightened your animals. Would you like help with your horses?"

He didn't wait for an answer, instead he vaulted over the fence and walked towards the horses. He had an easy gait and a sense of calm seemed to pour off of him. In short order he had the animals calmed and they followed him back to the fence.

"Can I come in and see the damage to the house?"

Tallis shrugged. "I suppose. I have the worst of it cleaned up though."

They walked into the house and Tallis made a note that the Greater Fae breezed past the salt line without slowing down. So much for that piece of folklore holding true.

Callan sniffed the air and pointed to the bowl on the table. "You are a bit of a mystery, you know that? You use magic, you keep the old rituals, one of death's own messengers watches over this house, yet you work for the enemy. I am starting to understand why that agent would accuse you of having one foot in each camp."

Tallis held up his hands and made a gesture towards the warrior to stop. "Back up a second. What the hell do you mean death's messenger is watching the house?"

"The owl outside. My people believe they help carry souls to the afterlife."

"Dad said it was good luck.” He didn’t know why he was surprised. Everything else had already gone wrong. There might as well be an overgrown vulture ready to carry him away. "I guess he was wrong. Sounds like more of a curse than anything."

Callan sat and stirred the ashes still sitting in the bowl. “You know that is a very human thing, to see death as something bad or evil. Death is just change with a different flavour. It’s not an end, merely a transition.” He picked up the bowl and frowned down into the grit clinging to the bottom. “Come look at this.”

Tallis stepped in behind him and looked over his shoulder. Most of the ash was sitting in one pile but some of it was stuck to the bottom of the dish.

“What do you see there?” asked Callan.

“I don’t know a lump?”

“Lump is not one of the signs I know. Try harder.”

He squinted at the smear of black. “It looks almost like a bird. A blue jay maybe?”

“Your eyes must be well and truly fouled up. Is the ash blue to you?”

“No the ash isn’t blue to me. It’s grey. What do you see then, if you’re going to be so damn cryptic?”

“I see the grey jay, the whiskey jack."

Tallis took the feathers out of his pocket. "Now that is a strange coincidence."

Callan snatched the feathers from him, holding them delicately in his huge hands. "There are no coincidences in life. In stories maybe, especially when the author needs some contrivance to push the plot along but in life? No. Everything here unfolds as it was meant to."

"Sure it does," said Tallis, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Everything is predetermined, nothing matters at all, every choice you make is the right one."

"I don't know if I'd go that far. I have made my fair share of wrong choices, like everyone else, but given the chance I'd make them again. Each mistake was valuable in the end."

"Just stop the philosophy crap." Tallis rolled his eyes. “I don’t need that garbage.”

“Harsh words,” said Callan. He stood and paced through the kitchen.

A hot flare of regret spilled up his cheeks and Tallis caught the Fae by the arm, turning him around and meeting his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just a bit of a rough subject for me.”

Callan nodded and gave him another look that was either sadness or pity. “I don’t know if you’ll believe this, but I am a classically trained good listener. We can talk about it if you want to."

“How can you be classically trained in listening?”

“It’s a traditional Fae art. If you don’t want to say anything that’s fine.”

Tallis shrugged. There was something that Norman always said about the Greater Fae and stories, he just couldn’t remember if the advice was to always trade stories with them or to never trade stories with them. Fifty-fifty was good enough odds for him right now. “There was a runner we arrested a while back and that’s all he would talk about in interrogation. Fate and destiny and how choice was an illusion. He sold a sack of red stone to teenagers and didn’t show them how to use it. They burned down a school. Ten kids were hurt. Five died. And the runner just sat there and laughed. He said it was his part to play to introduce a little chaos and change the world. So, don't feed me that fate garbage. The way I see it, it's just a way to pretend that everything you do is right. It's a way to dodge consequences, to avoid taking responsibility."

"And you're sure this man was a Faerunner?" said Callan. Something angry and dangerous danced behind his eyes.

"He brought magic into town, so yes. I'd say he was a Faerunner."

"The Guild must have a real image problem up here. Down south or further west we'd never let something like that happen. You're sure he was one of us? He wasn't just some crazy arse with a pocket full of magic?"

"That's what Faerunners are aren't they?" Tallis shrugged.

"No. For the most part we help people, especially in cities like this where magic is prohibited. Sometimes things turn ugly but if your detectives weren't so heavily armed things wouldn't escalate like that most times."

"I was always told we only arm our agents because the Faerunners started shooting first."

"And the truth is likely mired somewhere in between both stories. The point is we aren't murderers. It's our mission goal to blow up schools and kill people. We run spells to people who need them, teach people that need teaching, put people in the right places at the right time, and get people out of bad situations. Frankly, I don't understand why you treat us like criminals. We're not doing anything wrong."

"You take people out of rough spots, eh? You ever break anyone out of jail?" They could debate the finer points of why magic was dangerous and illegal later. For right now, Tallis was only worried about finding a way to help his parents.

Callan raised an eyebrow. "A jail break is a tall order."

"But you've done it?"

"We have. Without exception, they are loud, messy, dangerous, and expensive. We'll need people, weapons, and most importantly a good plan."

"Right." Tallis stepped across the room and pulled the weather beaten rifle out of the closet. "There. I'll take this and you already have your shotgun. We're all set for guns."

"You really know nothing." Callan took the rifle from him, checked that the action was smooth and peered down the sights. "This rifle is older than you are and has been treated roughly it's whole life, it deserves a quiet death at home instead of being pressed into battle. That leaves us with one shotgun that works and one rifle that will likely fail us given the opportunity. Already, this doesn't paint a picture of success for me."

Tallis' gaze fell to his feet and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Okay, okay. You don’t have to tear my head off over it.”

“I do.” He nodded. “When lives are on the line I can absolutely tear your head off over it. If that thing jams or misfires or falls apart in a fight people could die. It has to be perfect.”

“That’s a big assumption that we’re going to be in a gunfight though isn’t it? Things could go smoother than that.”

Callan kept the rifle and walked towards the horse barn. “I have not had the displeasure of breaking people out of jail often but in my experience they don’t let you walk in and take the prisoners without a fight.”

“They should just be in holding at the office though. It’s not like it’s a maximum security prison. There aren’t many agents there, and your team shot most of them yesterday. I doubt there will be any people there to put up a fight.”

Callan left the house, walked into the barn and helped himself to a saddle. “Let’s get your horses saddled. If this is what you want to do I’ll need to see what the rest of the band thinks. We can talk along the way.” Callan did most of the work to round up the horses and get them ready to travel. He chose their biggest mare and still managed to make the horse look small when he swung up on top of her.

Tallis picked their most gentle gelding and gave him a pat on those. “Phaethon, listen.”

The horse made an effort to look anywhere but at Tallis.

“Hey, seriously, listen. I need you to be good to me, okay? Don’t buck me this time.”

The horse let out a small whinny, and Tallis swung up into the saddle.

“Before we go any further, what’s on the table for compensation?” Callan asked. He gave the reins a flick and set off with Tallis falling in behind him.

“Money?” said Tallis, not meaning for it to sound like a question. “We don’t have much but we have a little.”

“I don’t think everyone else will be willing to risk their lives for ‘a little’ money. These are nice horses could we have these? Or chickens?” he pointed to the coops as they passed them. “It’s been a long time since I had a good egg.”

“I’d rather just pay you. I can’t leave my parents with nothing when they’re free. The farm will struggle without the horses. We might be able to spare the chickens though.”

Callan rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I would kill for fresh eggs but I don’t think anyone else will. Think hard. There must be something of value around here.”

A grin spread across Tallis’ face. “I don’t think there’s anything here, but there are some things in evidence at the office that might be worth it.”

Callan turned in his saddle and raised an eyebrow. “Evidence? I don’t think false confessions and smoking guns will help us much.”

“No, but spells and charged crystal will.”

“Now you’re speaking my language. Come on.” He gave his horse a kick and they sped off down the lane. Halfway to the city they slowed and veered off the main road, dipping in under the trees and continuing at a canter down game trails and shallow streams. Shafts of gold slanted down through the canopy and their breath fogged in the morning chill. The first touches of crimson and amber kissed the web of green overhead, and a serene silence hung between the trees. The more vocal songbirds had left for the season and those that were left were busy fattening up before the cold hit or storing food for winter. The Faerunners camp was hunkered down next to a swift running brook. Tents were crouched between bushes heavy with berries and a covered wagon stood sentinel by the edge of the camp.

“I was expecting something a little, I don’t know, more glamorous I guess,” said Tallis.

“What?” Callan slowed to a stop and swung down from the saddle. He spread his arms wide, took in a deep breath, and smiled. “What’s not to like out here? It’s beautiful. Much better than being cooped in the city behind all that rowan wood and iron. Dreadful.”

“At least the city is interesting. There are things to do there. Just listen, there isn’t even a sound out here. There’s just nothing.”

“That’s the beauty of it.” Callan smiled even wider. “It’s quiet. There’s some peace here, and some time to hear yourself think. You’re not bombarded by noise and smell and people and things to do all the time. It’s bliss.”

Tallis shrugged and hopped off his horse. “Whatever floats your boat I suppose.”

Callan patted him on the shoulder and led him into the center of camp. “I found our next job,” he called out.

The metallic click of a revolver being cocked answered him.

Tallis turned slowly and came face to face with a nickel plated pistol. The woman holding it was beautiful with straight black hair, dark eyes, and tan skin with golden undertones. She was wearing a simple buckskin dress with turquoise bracelets and small gold earrings.

“Callan,” said the gunwoman. Her voice was cool and patronizing. “You aren’t seriously bringing him in for a job are you? Do those horns go all the way through your brain? He’s one of them.”

"This is Setia," said Callan. "You've technically already met. She shot your handcuffs apart."

"Couldn't resist the trick shot," she said. "You still didn't answer me though. What's he doing here?"

Callan put both of his on Tallis shoulders, holding him between himself and the gun barrel. The gesture felt like it was supposed to be reassuring but Tallis couldn't help but notice that it left him trapped between a mountain of muscle and a loaded gun.

"This," said Callan. "Is our newest client. He wants us to break his parents out of the local jail."

Setia lowered the pistol but didn't take her finger off the trigger. "That's going to be rough. What's the take?"

"Everything in the evidence locker. Tallis says they keep a lot of spell books and gemstones in there."

"Seriously? You want us to bust open a jail for picture books and magic beans?" She holstered the pistol and ducked into a nearby tent. "Can't wait to hear what the boss thinks of that."

"That could have gone better," said Callan, letting Tallis go and walking to the covered wagon. He reached into a box instead the wagon and pulled out a tin of peaches and a can opener. “I have a hard time with Setia, and the rest of the crew, truth be told. I have not been working with them long and I don’t think they like me very much.” He opened the can and snatched a fork from the inside pocket of his coat. “I think the others will go for your plan. Reclaiming some stolen magic would be a much needed win for the guild.” He pushed the can towards Tallis. “Here, have some if you want. It shouldn’t take long for the others to make their way back.”

Callan finished the can of peaches and swiveled one ear back towards the center of the camp. He slipped his fork back into his pocket and pulled tallis back into the center of the ring of tents. “All right, stand up straight. You’ll need to pitch your idea to the boss.”

As if on queue a bear of a woman stepped out of the underbrush. She was nearly as tall as Callan, heavy with muscle and fat, and had skin like burnt mahogany. She was dressed plainly, in drab colours and tough fabrics, and wore a black fur hat made from a wolf or coyote. The animal’s head sat perched on top of her own and a tail fell down from the back of the hat. A huge rifle was slung over her shoulder and her gloved hands were stained with blood.

“Did you have much luck, boss?” Callan asked.

She shrugged and set the gun down, and threw her gloves down next to it. “Yes and no. I got a deer, but this damn big cat decided it needed the kill more than I did. Jumped me when I was halfway through gutting it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, boss. I’m sure you’ll get one next time.”

She pulled a flask from her back pocket, taking a drink. “Assuming we don’t starve before then.” She put the falsk away and looked Tallis up and down. “Who’s this?”

"This is our next job," said Callan. "His parents were locked up for a few pieces of whitestone and some sage, and he'd like us to free them."

She let out a soft sigh. "They're getting worse." She sat down on a stump next to the ashes of a campfire. "I just don't know how much we can help. The city's going to be on the lookout for trouble after the raid. I don't think we could survive another shootout."

"It doesn't have to be a shootout," said Tallis. "Not if we time it right."

The boss raised an eyebrow at Tallis. "Explain."

"There normally aren't many agents in the office. And the ones who are there get sent out on their patrols after the morning briefing. All we need to do is show up after ten and there won't be many people there."

"How many?"

"Three clerks, one receptionist, a quartermaster, and the captain."

"So," the boss counted on her fingers. "That's what? Five, six guns against the four of us. I don't like those numbers."

Callan gave Tallis a playful shove. "If all the clerks are as tough as this one, I will take on all three of them myself."

"You don't have to take on any of them," said Tallis. "They aren't armed. The captain has a six-gun she likes and the guard in the armoury doesn't go anywhere without a rifle but that's it."

Setia slipped out of her tent. “Four on two is much better odds. I hate it when we have to fight fair.”

“F-four” Tallis stammered. “There are only three of you … unless-”

“Relax,” Callan interrupted. “There are four of us here. Aragam left to go fishing early this morning. Now that you mention it, they should be returning soon. Have you seen him, Valerie?”

The boss leaned back and shook her head. “Didn’t come across him while I was out there.” She stood and collected her rifle. “I can go have a look.”

“You just got back,” said Callan. “Let me go look for him. With all the cologne he wears I could smell him from a mile away.”

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “You can follow if you want to. Setia stay here. Watch the camp.”

Tallis was sure by camp she really meant him, but that was fine. If their situations were reversed he wouldn’t exactly trust himself either. Callan and Valerie left the camp and Setia  sat down on the stump the leader of the group had just left. Tallis sat across from her and cast a nervous look around the camp.

“So,” he asked. “Have you been doing this long?”

She drew her gun again, not aiming it at him but making sure that the threat was clear. “I don’t like you,” she said. “I don’t trust you. And right now I don’t think this offer of yours is a good idea.”

His mind drew a blank for something witty or reassuring to say and all he managed to do was open his mouth and make a few stumbling noises.

“Good comeback. Do you have a reason why I shouldn’t put in a bullet in you now? Save us all the trouble of you marching into what I’m sure is an ambush.”

Tallis put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. Everywhere he went there was always someone ready to step on him, someone to shove him out of the way, someone to give him an extra kick when he was down. “Fuck it,” he said. “If you’re going to shoot me, then go ahead. Shoot me.”

A look of uncertainty flashed over her fine features before she got her poker face composed, but she didn’t reach for the gun.

“Callan said you were good people,” Tallis continued, spreading his arms wide. “So is that true, or are you going to prove what the rest of the world thinks of you and kill me right here. I’m defenseless, and I know you can’t miss.”

She put a thumb over the gun’s hammer and let it down easily before gently slipping the gun back into its holster. A slow smile spread across her face. “You have balls on you the size of melons.” She laughed. “Stones and spirits kid, ‘fuck it, shoot me.’ I’ve never seen someone make a play like that before.”

He stood and made for the edge of the camp. “If you won’t help me then I guess I’ll just have to do it myself.”

“Yeah? And how are you going to swing that?”

He turned with a shrug. “Quietly. The man at the front desk will fold easy under pressure. Then I just need to bluff my way past the clerks and open the cells.”

“Just open them, huh? They unlocked or something?”

“No.” Tallis let out a frustrated groan. “I guess I’ll need to find the key.”

Setia took a step towards him, grabbing his left and pulling a small pin out of her hair. She slipped the pin into the shackle that was still locked around his wrist and gave the pin a twist. The cuff opened.

“You can find the key,” she said. “Or you can let me worry about the locks.”

His eyes lit up. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

“Even if everyone else is out, yeah, count me in. If you're willing to take a bullet for it, it must be important. And who knows, maybe it’ll be fun.”