Custodia stood on a vaulting rooftop, watching as the Vangen scurried through her city streets like frightened rats. A black cloak pulled taut against her armor, strong wind tugging at the hem, billowing the fabric behind her. Up above, the sun was beginning to descend, the eastern horizon already beginning to bruise. Twilight would fall upon them soon, and then the unforgiving night. 

She needed to act quickly if she hoped to beat the Vangen for good. Their Captain was a wily one, always quick to get his second wind, a trait she’d long since come to terms with. No doubt the man was already planning his next move, and so she would do the same.

But she had other business to attend to first. The two Ministers she was waiting for were, unsurprisingly, late. Apparently, punctuality was a foreign concept for a Sorcerer, even the naturally Talented ones.

A stirring in Custodia’s chest alerted her of a Minister's presence. She heard his boots first, clanking like a wagon full of pots and pans. He stepped around the golden dome that dominated the rooftop, iron armor glinting dully in the dying sunlight. His dusty black cloak twisted in the breeze, a sad ragged thing barely covering his shoulders. The grip of a long black blade jutted from one side of his shoulders, its pommel fierce and nebulous, white speckles on the inky surface naturally drawing Custodia’s eye.

“Where is Cannis?” The iron warrior demanded. He stepped up beside her, hard eyes beneath his great helm watching the Vangen intently.

“Late, just like you, Tranquillis."

“Hmph. I am here though, am I not?”

Custodia gave a wry smile, “Yes, if just barely.” A falcon screeched overhead. She watched as it circled around them before tipping into a dive. It sliced through the air with practiced ease, encasing itself in its wings just before reaching the ground. Feathery plumes and inky smoke swirled about as the falcon grew in size before touching down gently on the roof.

A young man stood before them now, black cloak lined with dark, downy feathers. He wore a simple red sammite robe, a slit cut down the front, exposing his hairless chest. He was thin for a man his age,  youthful face hollow and gaunt, chin, cheeks, and eyes jutting out in sharp angles. His dark hair was cropped short, a single streak of blonde slicing over one side of his temples.

“Busy, were you?” Tranquillis waved a hand over at the fleeing Vangen.

Cannis smiled, revealing a sharpened canine. “One of their Tribunes thought his boasting would scare me. I had to show him the error of his ways.”

Tranquillis snorted and ran a hand through his gray beard spilling out beneath the helm. “That’s Danic pride for you. All bark and no bite. Makes men cocky, but there is still enough life in him to learn from this mistake."

“Not if I have my way with him.” Cannis gave a bleating laugh. “I'm going to tear that one to pieces just like I did his men.”

“No,” Custodia said, stepping between them. “You will not.”

“You dare steal my hunt?” Cannis hissed back at her.

Custodia settled a hand on her hip. “I dare to steal nothing. I'm only here to give you orders. The Vangen have broken off in different directions. One north, one south and one west. Tyrannus wants you south, Cannis,” Custodia pointed in the direction, where the Alban Sea lay glinting a few districts away.

“But I want the prince," Cannis whined. “He's my prey! My kill! You have no right!” The pupils of his eyes shifted into two dark slits as a snake's tongue darted past his lips.

Custodia stood her ground. “I have every right. Or have you already forgotten who leads this rebellion?”

Cannis grimaced as if he’d tasted something awful. He stared at the ground, grumbled something inaudible. He turned on her in a flash, hand suddenly that of a scorpion’s barb as he lunged at her.

She didn’t even flinch. His stinger passed harmlessly through her, as if he were striking air. She looked down at the cruel looking barb before turning back at him, a cruel smile on her lips. “Are you quite done, child?”

Cannis glared at her with narrowed eyes before letting out a shriek. He pulled his cloak around him, dark plumes swallowing him whole. Moments later a monsterous raven emerged, soaring high into the air before turning south, massive wings flapping. Soon it was gone, leaving Custodia alone with Tranquillis once more.

“You shouldn’t taunt the lad like that,” the iron warrior said sagaciously. “He is young, but still very powerful. Angering the boy will only make things more difficult for you.”

Custodia snorted. “I’ve broken boys like him that were twice his size and half as patient. Don’t worry about me.”

Tranquillis tapped his helm thoughtfully with one finger. “You speak of the Vangen Captain, if I'm not mistaken.”

Custodia found herself frowning, creases tugging at the corners of her lips. “That was a long time ago, but yes.”

“That’s the past for you.” Tranquillis shrugged, his armor clanking with the motion. “Forgotten in time and yet always present, shaping our lives for the future.”

“I never took you for a philosopher.” 

Tranquillis gave a withered laugh, his voice dry and hollow beneath the great helm. “At my age the body withers but the mind still grows. I must say I've grown rather thoughtful these past few years, but that is neither here nor there. You have a task for me, last I recall?”

Custodia nodded, happy to be talking of something else besides the past. “Tyrannus wants you to pursue the Danic Tribune to the north. He feels that your Talent would work best on him.”

Even with his face hidden, Custodia could tell Tranquillis was smiling. “Ah, what a joy it will be to fight a warrior of my kind again. Truly, Tyrannus honors me. I will go then and give glory to our Imperator.” He held his hands out in front of his chest, the left clenched in a fist, the right a flat palm pressing into the knuckles. “For the Emperor, Custodia."

She mimicked the gesture. “For the Emperor, Tranquillis.”

The iron warrior turned and stepped off the roof. He dropped like a stone, cloak billowing up around him as he plummeted to the streets below. Custodia leaned over, watching as he impacted with a mighty crack, legs bending ever so slightly. With a yawn and a stretch, Tranquillis marched off northward, directly towards the fleeing Vangen.

*

The streets of Byzantia were a maze to Regis. Every road, path and allyway twisted and curved at such odd angles that it left him feeling frustrated and dizzy. It was either that, or the punch to the guts he’d gotten earlier from Cannis.

At the very least he was still alive. The battle at the Forum had been a complete disaster. Just thinking about it made his blood boil. fecking magick. It had no place in a battlefield. Killing was meant to be something you worked to get good at. What Cannis had done to him, what he’d done to his own men, was unnatural. Sickening, even. 

Regis looked down. Magus was still unconscious in his arms, skin a pale, waxy sheen, his eyes half open, unseeing, frail fingers grasping tightly to his furs.

Regis had seen men like this before, standing at the very edge to death's door. They’d lie there all helpless, squawking like newborns straight from the womb. The irony of it all. 

A cold, somber thought danced in his mind. As of now the magician was nothing more than dead weight, his fate uncertain. It would have been easier to simply lay him on the road, cut his throat and be done with him, but the thought of answering to Dux afterwards gave him pause. 

A hawk shrieked in the distance, pulling Regis from his dour thoughts. He peered up through the city canopy, watched as the apricot sky shifted into darker hues. Night was fast approaching and the thought of wandering the city's twisted streets in near darkness sent a chill down his spine.

The towers. He needed to look for the Palace towers. That was what Dux had told him, but from where he stood everything looked like a damned tower. Thick stone homes clustered around him like stacked rat's nests, roof awnings stretching out in all directions. Here and there a spire would jut out of the rocks like severed fingers, leaving him to second guess whether it was part of the palace or not.

“Damn it all,” Regis cursed under his breath. Back in Danic you could have fired an arrow straight at the Karl's hall without any problems, but here in the Empire trying to find your way around was like trying to catch piss in a storm. The houses were too big, the streets too small. How anyone could live here was beyond his understanding.

“Curse this city." He flicked his gaze about as he fruitlessly searched for the towers. “Curse its people, its treacherous Sorcerers, its...,” He clamped his mouth shut. In all his years of living, he’d learned quickly what dark thoughts could do to a man. Cursing his own salvation right now would only lead to ruin. Respect the Omens. Respect the Empress. He repeated the mantra in his head just to make sure.

“Sir?" one of the guardsmen stepped up beside Regis, Sergeant Ruber by the looks of it. The man’s heavy set features were as cherry red as his bushy eyebrows and his even bushier mustache. “Begging your pardon, but we need to consider finding shelter soon. The men need rest.”

Regis looked over his shoulder. The remnants of his crew trudged wearily behind him in a sad little colum, some walking on their own, many being assisted by others. Of the three hundred that he’d counted, only two thirds appeared to remain. The rest, well, Regis didn’t have to guess where they’d gone off too.

“This city eludes me,” he muttered. “I’d have about as much luck finding shelter as I would finding those damn towers.”

Ruber stroked his mustache thoughtfully and looked around. “No doubt, given how pressed together everything is. We must be in the Slate District, east of the river.”

“You used to live here?”

Ruber gave a brief nod,  lips curling in a soft frown. “Once, but that’s not the point. The point is that I may know of a place for all of us to rest, if you don’t mind me suggesting?”

Regis shrugged his shoulders. “By all means. Lead on.”

Regis followed the sergeant as he stepped past him to scout ahead. They moved through another set of clustered homes, some little more then a few walls barely kept upright. All the while Magus squirmed in his arms, breath wheezing, eyes rolling beneath their lids as if he were in some kind of nightmare. Regis couldn't help but relate. Wandering through Byzantia was starting to feel like a nightmare for him as well.

And then, just as the last remaining slivers of twilight began to fade away, the city suddenly yawned open into a wide, spacious plaza. Regis found himself standing in the silhouette of a grand and frighteningly tall structure. It rose up as if to pierce the very sky, walls ribbed with buttresses and crenels alongside towering belfrys. Here and there the ghoulish carvings of gargoyles hid amidst the architecture, gray bodies hunched over tall stained glass windows glowing with candlelight within.

But it was not the statues nor the impressive size that caught his eye, but the cross held atop the structure's gigantic bronze dome, like a silver sword aimed towards the stars, red sunlight giving the edges a fiery sheen. 

“The Sanctus Sophis,” Ruber said reverently. “The Sanctuary of Gods and Men.”

Regis found himself gawking. He composed himself, clearing his throat. “Sounds regal. What is it?”

“It is a place of worship,” Ruber answered him. “A place to find succor in hard times, or perhaps a warm meal on the ocassion.”

“Reminds me a lot of the Hofs back in Danic. Where men could go to give thanks to the gods and pray for their favor.” Although even Regis had trouble believing that part. The last time he’d tried to pray, the Gods had not answered. Only the Empress had.

“The Sanctus is all that and more. Every God whose land the Empire conquered has a shrine built there in some capacity here. People may worship who they please, a freedom not given by many.”

Regis curled his lips back in a sneer. “I suppose even the Empire is capable of doing something right.”

Ruber appeared to not have noticed the sarcasm. “Indeed. The priests of this holy site are known for taking in the sick and the hungry. Hopefully, they’ll still be there and are willing to let us in.”

“I’m not exactly in the mood to give them a choice,” Regis said. He adjusted the magician in his arms, shook the numbness from his fingers and marched straight towards the Sanctus, Ruber dogging at his heels.