They descended the archive steps, and Illando couldn't quite decide if he should be satisfied or not. They had name now for their opponents in this game of bloody shadows, but how did one approach hunting down a cult that was supposed to have died out a thousand years ago. How did you into the mind of these beasts to grapple with such a perverse ideology?

As afternoon drifted towards evening and the sun dipped closer to the thicket of Wildhearth's buildings, kin came spilling from the surrounding offices, warrenaries, shops and residences to fill the broad avenue that passed in front of Bonequill's main entrance. He and Noelle descended into the flow, uncaring of the surprised glances that came their way.

Enforcers didn't spend much time at Bonequill Archive, it seemed.

"So, if I've got this all straight," Noelle said as they walked. "We're actually dealing with a copycat cult right now?"

"Sounds like it, doesn't it?"

"Not gonna catch me trawling the Peaceworks, but fangs, that's a long way from rippin' up the rulebook." She shook her head, flapping paw towards their surroundings. "I'd take this mess over whatever those mongrels are spouting."

"That makes two of us," he agreed as they turned left into the flow of citizens, the smell of musks mingling with cooking food and burning oil braziers.

The whole thing made Illando's claws itch and fur prickle with disgust. As a wolf, he was no stranger to savagery and killing, but the world had marched onward, giving him a framework within which to apply those natural aptitudes. The pure chaos that the Savage Fire cult espoused made his soul boil. Violence without constructive purpose was stupidity.

"Something smells good..." Noelle murmured wistfully, pausing and turning back the way they'd come, nose scenting the air.

"Report back first," he replied, continuing forward without sparing a glance. His stomach growled, but there were better places to eat closer to home. "We can grab something once the others have been briefed – my treat. Patrols need an update on what they're up against out there."

He carried on a couple of more steps but she didn't reply. Illando stopped, letting out a faint sigh of exasperation. He started to turn.

"Noelle-,"

"ILLANDO, DOWN!"

Noelle's sudden yelp cut him off. Questions surged in his mind before his enforcer training took over. He began to drop, but before he could follow the warning from his companion, she cannoned into him with shocking force, tackling him to the side. He heard a thrum; caught a glimpse of a robed figure in the crowd as he went down.

Then her heard her scream.

It was a blur of movement; the sudden impact to his side, the sensation of falling then the cry from his comrade. They crashed to the ground together and he immediately felt her grip slacken. Something hot and wet splashed across his armour as they landed.

Noelle rolled off of him, and when he twisted around to look at her, Illando saw with horror that a bolt from an armbow had caught her in the flank. It had been aimed for him, but in knocking him aside she'd put herself into the weapon's path. Noelle let out a blood-spitting curse of pain and slumped onto her back, her paw falling away to reveal the wound in its entirety. His eyes widened in horror when he realised she'd been hit by no ordinary bolt.

Scattershot; the thing had splintered apart on impact, ripping across her body with a shrapnel shower of wood and metal. Even through the enforcer armour the bolt left a bloody pattern of deep lacerations in her side. Without it she would probably have been killed on the spot.

His instincts came roaring back to the front of his mind an instant later and he shot upright, turning away from his injured companion to find the shooter. He saw the assassin, a lanky, rag-furred foxkin with his hood thrown back. trying to reload, but the heavy armbow looked homemade, with a steeltwine cord that took a lot more winding than the standard gear of the watchguards and enforcers.

He glanced back at Noelle.

"I'm alright, I'm alright!" she hissed through clenched teeth, pointing at the assassin. "Get that mongrel bastard!"

Illando didn't need any further urging and he shot off, sprinting in long, powerful bounds towards the foxkin. Out of the corner of his vision he spotted the two Conclave guards that had been stationed at the archive door come racing from their posts, yelling orders to each other and bellowing for the crowd to get out of the way.

Seeing the trio converging on him, the foxkin assassin spat an unintelligible curse and hurled the heavy bow aside. His left paw came up with a smaller wrist-mounted armbow loaded to fire. He snapped off a shot, but with time to see it coming Illando ducked to his right, leaving the bolt to sail past him. A cry rang out as it struck an unfortunate bystander instead.

Illando didn't have time to worry about bystanders now as the foxkin turned tail and ran, sprinting through the crowd, knocking aside anyone too slow to get out of the way. He bolted in pursuit of the would-be assassin, hurdling fallen onlookers and jinking between bodies. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the glint of red as the otterkin guard from the archive ran at a diagonal to him, trying to cut the attacker off.

The assassin shed his robes, revealing a rough-fit suit of lightweight armour that clung to his spindly frame. Carving a diagonal path through the crowd, the foxkin sheered away from the Silk heading back towards the city proper. There was a passenger dock not far from here, Illando knew – it was the most logical destination for his quarry. If the assassin could get to a barge he could vanish back into Wildhearth's thrumming masses.

Illando was not going to let that happen.

Redoubling his efforts, he began to reel in his prey, his powerful physique launching him through the crowds like a rocket. The fox was fast, but smaller and slighter. In a straight line he couldn't hope to outrun a wolfkin, let alone a fully grown male enforcer. The nimble figure drew closer in Illando's eyes, and to his surprise, the otterkin guard had also managed to keep pace.

While Illando stayed on the assassin's trail from behind the guard managed to angle his run to cut the attacker off, forcing the foxkin to twist to his left down a side street. The otterkin got close; tried to lunge to catch their quarry.

A longclaw dagger flashed in the half-light and Illando gritted his teeth, seeing the guard go reeling backwards with a yowl, clutching his left arm. The blade had bitten deep, gouging the otterkin badly.

Nonetheless, the guard's distraction proved decisive. The time it took the assassin to turn and strike allowed Illando to clear the past few meters of space between them. By the time the foxkin turned and started running again, Illando was close enough for the attacker's musk to fill his nostrils, the same smoky scent of burnt water and charcoal he'd smelled in the tunnels.

There was also a glimmer of fear.

Diverted from his preferred route, the assassin began randomly twisting and turning through the streets, scattering kin as he went, lashing out with growing wildness at anyone who barred his way – accidentally or not.

Illando edged closer, jinking right to pursue his quarry between two sets of bulbous quillkin den stacks. Their walls were littered with handholds and climb-nets to allow access to different levels for the quick-pawed denizens. Over head rope bridges and swing lines dangled between the structures, and startled, bush-tailed citykin looked down in alarm at the chase unfolding.

Feeling him close in, the foxkin tried a final desperate gambit, launching himself at one of the net-covered walls and trying to yank himself up. He hauled himself maybe a two meters into the air before Illando got close enough to pounce.

Letting out a guttural snarl, he leapt, reaching out and snagging the assassin by the collar of his armour. Illando let his momentum and bodyweight do the rest as he soared past, ripping the foxkin from the wall like a band aid. His prey let out a choking gasp as the collar of the armour was yanked back into his throat, before they hit the ground. Illando rose and tossed the wheezing assassin hard into the wall, winding him.

"End of the road," he spat, looming over the assassin.

Baring his teeth, the foxkin raised his longclaw and lunged forward. In a careless motion Illando sidestepped, catching the assassin's knife paw and slamming a knee up into his foe's gut, driving out what little air remained in the foxkin's lungs. Wrenching hard, he extracted a brutal snap from his adversary's wrist and the longclaw dagger clattered to the deck, accompanied by a strangled howl of pain.

The foxkin staggered backwards, eyes blazing hatred at Illando as he clutched his broken wrist. His teeth gnashed together, revealing his crimson-painted canines.

"You're a deadbeast, enforcer," he growled through the pain. "You just don't know it yet."

"Speak for yourself," Illando sneered back, taking a step forward. "You hurt one of my people, foxkin. That's earned you a one way trip to the enforcer cells. But I'll make sure there's plenty of time for us to talk. Think about it. If you're smart, and talk fast, and I can make sure your stay is a short one."

"Hah, you're not as different from us as you think." The assassin forced a smile through his agony and pulled a small vial from his pocket, filled with a shining, clear liquid. Illando's eyes widened and he started forward.

"The Fire will cleanse," the foxkin spat before ripping the cork from the vial with his teeth and gulping down its contents.

"Fangs!" Illando swore, reaching the assassin an instant later and smacking the vial out of the assassin's paw. It shattered against the nearest wall, spattering droplets of the viscous liquid over the brickwork.

Too late. Three quarters of the concoction had already vanished down the foxkin's throat, and it didn't take long for Illando's suspicions to be confirmed as his quarry started convulsing violently.

Foam bubbled at the corners of the assassin's mouth and his eyes fixed Illando with a manic stare the few instants of life he had left. Then they rolled back. A horrible choking sound wrenched out of the foxkin's mouth and his muscles went rigid for a moment. Then the eyes glazed over in death and the body went limp.

Illando stood there over the dead assassin, a mixture of shock and bitter frustration coursing through him at having been so close. The enforcers had ways to loosen the tightest jaws, and having a live suspect to interrogate could have catapulted their efforts forward by weeks. It appeared that the cult leaders knew that too, providing their servants the means of a final escape. In a few short seconds the possibility of a prisoner had slipped through his claws.

All he could hope for now was that the corpse could still give up some secrets.

***

Illando could only watch, his whole frame simmering with barely contained rage as the medicaries worked. Beyond a screen of class, under the crisp pale lights of the enforcer infirmary two of them leaned in over Noelle's body, digging around in her abdomen to extract the splintered shards of the scattershot bolt. He could see her flinching and jerking in pain, her jaws clamped down tight on a bundle of toughened barktwine rope. Her neck muscles bulged, and he could hear her muffled, agonized exclamations through the infirmary walls.

After a couple of minutes, mercifully the painkillers started to kick in and her struggles lessened. The medicaries hadn't wanted to wait when they saw the wound, deciding that, if she could handle the pain, the sooner they could get the debris out of her the better. Noelle hadn't taken much convincing. She was a lot tougher than he'd given her credit for.

She also might very well have saved his life. He felt a surging, indignant sense of wrath coursing through his veins, growing with every second that he watched his fellow enforcer suffer. Her body slowly slackened out, eyes fluttering, and she spat out the length of barktwine, letting her head rock back against the pillow. He could see the muscles in her neck unwind.

"She gonna be okay, boss?" Gensher asked, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. He watched tight-jawed, his brawny arms folded tight across his chest.

"They said her major organs are undamaged," Illando answered, his eyes not leaving Noelle's stricken form. "The armour caught the worst of it. She was lucky."

"What about the body?" Farler asked quietly. "Were they able to get anything from it?"

"Not yet. Scum downed a dose of concentrated crystalrake; killed him in seconds. Medicaries are doing an autopsy and we'll try to identify him, but I wouldn't get your hopes up."

The other wolfkin sighed. "So we've got nothing?"

"At least you know we're on the right trail now," Morta cut in sharply. "Why else would they try something like that? They were trying to cut you off before you could tell anybody about what you found in that archive."

The ash-furred enforcer moved forwards, his face cold. Leading Illando's old pack, he'd been coordinating the patrols in the Silk, keeping the Conclave under a watchful eye while the others dealt with the chaos of the outer districts. In effect, the attack had happened on his patch, and he clearly wasn't happy about it.

Illando nodded, his muzzle twitching. "Someone made a big mistake." He turned to Morta, his tone hardening like a diamond. "Take the pack to the streets around Bonequill. I want you to personally speak to witnesses and the archive guards – see if you can retrace that bastard's steps."

"Sir."

"The rest of you, follow your assignments. Make sure Noelle stays on the blocks till the medicaries give her the all clear."

"What are you going to do?" Farler asked, unease creeping into his voice.

"I'm going to find out who wanted me dead, and tear their spine out." The words came out in a coarse, grating snarl as his emotions began to bubble up and over at last. The sheer gall of the attempt on his life was only matched by the indignant anger at how close the perpetrators had been to succeeding. He tore his gaze from Noelle's prone form and turned to leave.

"Illando, wait," Farler pleaded, moving to block his way and raising a pleading paw. "I know you're angry, but think this through."

"I've thought enough."

"No! I know how you feel but if you go wild like this you'll just draw attention to yourself. Whoever it is will go to ground and you'll never find them. We need to keep our heads."

Illando grabbed Farler by the throat with a growl, cutting off any further protest. Baring his teeth he rammed the other enforcer back against the wall.

"Do you understand what just happened?" he roared. "Do you?!"

Farler wrestled loose, coughing for breath. "Someone tried to kill you," he spluttered. "I know-,"

"Not just me, Farler!" Illando tightened his grip, his fury spilling out like an overflowing cauldron. "Someone just tried to assassinate the commander of Wildhearth's enforcers, and if it weren't for Noelle they might have succeeded! I shouldn't have to explain what that means to you. If this goes unpunished they'll be back; they'll try again."

"But-,"

"There are not a lot of people who knew we would be at the Bonequill Archive, at that precise time." His voice dropped to a menacing hiss as he brought his face close to the other wolfkin. "There is a traitor skulking right under my nose, Farler. I am going to find them, and then I'm going to kill them. This ends, now."

Shoving Farler out of his way, Illando stalked from the room, leaving the others with nothing but the echo of his anger.

No-one else was foolish enough to try and stop him. Leaving the infirmary behind, he moved back into the main compound, where other wolfkin wisely parted around him, sensing the black mood of their leader. Enforcers stepped aside, sharp and at attention, but he ignored them, his mind seething in a stew of suspicion.

Only when the door to his office above the command hearth boomed shut did he feel able to think clearly. Alone, in the cool, quiet space, he sat down and swallowed down a glass of strong lasher to steady himself.

He sat in the solitude of his office for a couple of minutes, letting his blood settle. He didn't want to be around the others right now. He felt like lashing out at anything with a pulse, ripping it to pieces with his claws and teeth. As he'd been trained to do, he suppressed that urge, breathing deep and forcing the red mist to recede, closing his eyes as his pulse ebbed back to normal.

The anger stayed there, churning like magma beneath the surface, but contained for now.

Only one body in the city had the resources to perform surveillance on the enforcers, and that was the Conclave itself. Between their security division, technicians, private bodyguards and simmering anti-wolfkin sentiment, someone could conceivably have hacked their internal communications, as well as having spotters out in the city.

Could the cult really have penetrated so deeply into Wildhearth? The thought seemed insane to him, yet it was also the only thing that made sense. Nobody else could have orchestrated an assassination attempt like that. Someone in that snake-pit was working with the cult of the Savage Fire. He doubted the perpetrator understood the full depravity of the organisation they were helping, but in the chaotic power struggle that had engulfed the Conclave of Accord, he knew there were enough unscrupulous kin willing to take whatever edge they could get.

He mulled over that unsavoury train of thought for a few more silent, solitary minutes before reaching for the howl-wire set built into his desk.

Illando made one call to set his counter-strike in motion.