Scratch gave the tall man’s neck a final twist, snapping the spine with a loud crack. Releasing the corpse he trotted around the chamber, his nose twitching as he searched for Frentis’s scent.

“This is an interesting structure,” Caenis observed, moving to one of the columns that stretched up to the vaulted ceiling and smoothing his palm over the brickwork. “Fine, very fine. You don’t see craftsmanship like that in the city these days. This is a very old place.”

“Thought it was part of the sewers,” Dentos said dully. His back was turned to the man he had killed and he stood with his arms tightly crossed, shivering as if chilled.

“Oh no,” Caenis responded. “This is something else, I’m sure. See the motif here.” He pointed out a strange stone carving set into the brickwork. “A book and a quill. An ancient emblem of the Faith signifying the Third Order, a sigil long out of use. This place dates from the earliest years of the city, when the Faith was still new born.”

Vaelin’s attention was mostly fixed on Scratch but he found himself drawn by Caenis’s words. Looking around the chamber he noted there were seven columns rising to the ceiling, each with a carved emblem set into the base. “Once there were seven,” he murmured.

“Of course!” Caenis enthused, moving around the chamber to inspect each of the columns. “Seven columns. This is proof, brother. Once there were seven.”

“What are you wittering about?” Nortah demanded, some colour returning to his cheeks. In contrast to Dentos he appeared unable to look away from the body of his slain enemy, his sword still bloody.

“Seven columns,” Caenis replied. “Seven Orders. This is an ancient temple of the Faith.” He stopped beside a column to peer at the emblem it bore. “A snake and a goblet. I’d wager this is the emblem of the Seventh Order.”

“Seventh Order?” Nortah finally looked up from the corpse. “There is no Seventh Order.”

“Not now, no,” Caenis explained. “But once…”

“A tale for another day, brother,” Vaelin told him. He turned to Nortah. “Your blade’ll rust if you don’t clean it.”

Barkus was examining the riches piled on the table, running his hands over the gold and silver. “Good stuff here,” he said in admiration. “Would’ve brought a sack if I’d known.”

“Wonder where they got it all,” Dentos said, hefting an ornately engraved silver plate.

“They stole it,” Vaelin said. “Take what you want but don’t let it weigh you down.”

Scratch gave a short yelp, his nose pointed at a solid section of wall to Vaelin’s left. Barkus moved to examine the wall, thumping his fist against the bricks a few times. “Just a wall.”

Scratch scampered over and sniffed at the base of the wall, his paws chipping away at the mortar.

“A hidden doorway perhaps.” Caenis came over to run his hands over the wall’s edges. “Could be a catch or a lever somewhere.”

Vaelin pulled the axe from the limp hand of the man he had killed and walked over to smash it into the wall. He kept hacking until a hole appeared in the brickwork. Scratch yelped again but Vaelin didn’t need the hound’s senses to tell him what lay on the other side, he could smell it plain enough himself: sweet, sickening, corrupt.

He exchanged glances with Caenis, finding sympathy in his friends eyes.

Frentis… Wanna be a brother… Wanna be like you…

He redoubled his efforts with the axe, bricks and mortar exploding in a cloud of red and grey dust. His brothers joined in with what tools they could find, Barkus using a hatchet taken from an enemy, Dentos a broken chair leg. Soon, enough of the wall was gone to allow them to enter.

The chamber beyond was long and narrow, torches set into the walls provided light enough to illuminate a scene from a nightmare.

“Faith!” Barkus exclaimed in shock.

The corpse hung from the roof, its ankles chained and arms secured with a leather strap across the chest. It had clearly been hanging for several days, greying flesh loosened and sagging from the bones. The gaping wound in the neck showed how the man had died. Placed beneath him was a bowl, black with dried blood. There were five more bodies hanging in the chamber, each with their throats cut and a bowl placed beneath. They swayed slightly in the draft from the demolished wall. The stench was overpowering. Scratch wrinkled his nose at the corruption staining the air and kept close to the wall, as far from the bodies as possible. Dentos found a corner to throw up in. Vaelin fought the desire to follow suit and moved from body to body, forcing himself to check each face, finding only strangers.

“What is this?” Barkus said in sick wonderment. “You said this man was just an outlaw.”

“He appears to be an outlaw of considerable ambition,” Nortah observed.

“This isn’t about thievery,” Caenis said softly, taking a closer look at one of the hanging corpses. “This is… something else.” He looked down at the blood-black bowl on the floor. “Something else entirely.”

“What would…?” Nortah began but Vaelin held up a hand to silence him.

“Listen!” he hissed.

It was faint, an odd sound, a man’s voice, chanting. The words were indistinct, alien. Vaelin followed the sound to an alcove where he found a door, slightly ajar. Sword held low he eased the door open with the toe of his boot. Beyond was another chamber, this one roughly hewn from rock, bathed in the red glare of firelight, deep shadows flickering over a sight that made him stifle a shout of shock.

Frentis had been tied to a wooden frame in front of a roaring open fire. A gag was firmly secured in his mouth. He was naked, his torso marked by many cuts forming an strange pattern on the skin, blood flowing freely down his body. His eyes were wide open, alive with agony. At the sight of Vaelin they widened further.

Next to Frentis was a man with a knife, bare chested, his strength evident in the knotted muscle of his arms and the hard angular lines of his face, a face with only one eye. The empty socket had been filled with a smooth black stone, reflecting a single red point of firelight as he turned to Vaelin. “Ah,” he said. “And you must be the mentor.”

Vaelin had never truly wanted to kill before, never felt a real bloodlust. But now it raged in him, a song of fury blinding his reason. His fist tightened on his sword hilt as he stepped forward into a charge…

He never knew what happened, never truly understood the paralysis that seized his limbs, only that he found himself sprawled on the floor, his lungs suddenly empty of air, his sword clattering from his grasp. His hands and feet felt like ice. He tried to stand but could find no purchase on the floor, flailing like a senseless drunk as the one eyed man moved away from Frentis, his knife a bloodstained yellow tooth in the fire’s glow.

“Ho there!” Barkus shouted, charging along with the others. “Time to die One Eye!”

The one eyed man raised his hand, an almost careless gesture, and a curtain of fire rose in front of Vaelin’s brothers, sending them reeling back. The fire wall spanned the chamber, rising from floor to ceiling, an unbroken barrier of swirling flame.

“I like fire,” the one eyed man said, turning his angular face back to Vaelin. “The way it dances, quite beautiful don’t you think?”

Vaelin tried to reach inside his cloak for his hunting knife but found all his hand would do was shake uncontrollably.

“You’re strong,” the one eyed man observed. “Usually they can’t move at all.” He glanced over at Frentis, wide eyed, blood streaming from his cuts, his naked form straining against his bonds with all his strength.

“You came here for him,” the one eyed man continued. “You’re the one he said would come to kill me. Al Sorna, Blackhawk fighter, assassin killer, Battle Lord spawn. I’ve heard of you. Have you heard of me?” He gave a mirthless smile.

Vaelin found to his surprise he could still spit. It landed on the one eyed man’s boots.

The smile disappeared. “I see you have. What did you hear I wonder? That I was an outlaw? An overlord of outlaws? True of course, but only in part. No doubt you had to kill several of my employees to get this far. Didn’t you wonder why they wouldn’t run? Why they were more afraid of me than you?”

The one eyed man crouched down, his face close to Vaelin’s, hissing, “You come here with your sword and your brothers and your dog, and you have no idea of your utter insignificance.”

He turned his face, displaying the black stone in his eye socket. “You would be forgiven for thinking this a curse. But it was a gift, a wondrous gift for which I should thank your young brother. Oh, the power he gave me, power enough to set myself up over all the scum of this city. I have made myself a king of thieves and cut-throats, I’ve eaten off silver plate and slaked my lust on the finest whores. I have everything a man could want, but yet I find there is one thing I can’t forget, one thing that troubles my sleep…” He rose and moved towards Frentis. “The pain of a gutter born whelp putting a knife through my eye.”

Frentis writhed in his bonds, his gagged face distorted with rage and hate. Vaelin could hear the muffled obscenities he attempted to spit through the gag.