Lord Farthing stomped towards the alley as Sir Natton checked the winded Sir Caitiff for additional damage. Khazmine’s strike had dashed any hopes of the staunch knight speaking anytime soon, but he was otherwise intact. Caitiff wordlessly waved for Natton to leave him be and pursue their lordship, who was just about to trudge out if sight into the dark recess across from The Blanched Hart. “My Lord, please wait for us!”

But he did not wait. Lord Farthing brandished a crystal-handled stiletto knife that had been artfully concealed in his oversized brooch and forged a path forward into the eerie darkness of the alley. He made it two steps into the strange black void before something cold and metallic bashed into his face.

“Gah!” Lord Farthing dropped his tiny weapon to bring both pudgy hands to shield his battered nose. “Gods old and new, what the—"

Instead of finding the wicked half-breed, Lord Farthing glanced up and found himself face-to-breastplate with the most enormous juggernaut of a woman that he’d ever seen. His bulbous nose was the only padded protection Lord Farthing had as he plowed into the immovable titan, who sneered at his unwelcome proximity. She had a hard-lined face from sun and sword exposure, dark brown hair cropped short, and a penetrating stare from narrowed gray eyes. In addition to her imposing figure, another warrior emerged from the shadows, clad in equally impressive black armor that had silver accents and red trim.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my way?” Farthing demanded of the two giants who towered overhead. Neither one deigned to speak to him, and instead, took a menacing step forward that pressured Lord Farthing to back up into his lately arrived knight. “I say again, who are you?”

“My lord, are you—” Natton propped up the unbalanced Lord Farthing and shuddered at the two warriors once he realized they were there. A rush of air flooded his lungs as Sir Natton gasped at the dark-haired woman in front of him. She had the unmistakable armor, accents, and sigil of her mercenary guild, plus the livery collar of her order’s chain of command, which carried a rank of major. “S-S-Solanai…”

“W-what?” Lord Farthing sputtered in confusion.

“Solanai, my lord,” Natton swallowed hard and averted his eyes from the stone-faced woman. The stink of fear and cheap liquor soured her expression further until Natton managed to pull himself together.

These were likely the same warriors that had torn up some local hole-in-the-wall tavern last week and beaten the living daylights out of his holiness’s elite Star Guard. Apparently, they even had a senior officer or two among them, if he remembered correctly. “They’re f-formerly of the Dark Army. You see that collar, sire? That makes her—”

Oh, sweet Ancients, Natton’s mouth dried out once he’d recognized the cruel, menacing stare from her cold, gray eyes. Standing at nearly two heads taller than himself, and three stone heavier than his Lordship, this broad bruiser was a statue come to life, and almost certainly a monument to the Goddess of Vengeance. It’s really her…

Major Tazanni Barshaw, a nightmare made flesh.

“Makes her what?” Lord Farthing blathered aloud.

Natton’s words fully failed him now, as his tongue was dried and twisted from the shock of seeing such a phantom before him. Major Barshaw was rumored to be one of the most savage, brutal enforcers of the Solanai. Armed with nothing but a whip and her massive, bare hands, she bestowed painful deaths to all in her path during the ill-fated Territory Wars. Were it not for her commander pulling her away from the battlefield, Major Barshaw might still be ravaging the plains cities to this day…

“Wha-we should, uh, we should leave, sire,” Natton trembled violently as he clasped Lord Farthing by the arm. His fearful stare caught Farthing’s eye, and he could see his own blanched face in its reflection. “Ra-ra-right now.”

The shambling advance of Sir Caitiff caught the Major’s attention, and she balled her hands into fists once he approached with his short sword drawn. The color drained from Caitiff’s face, too, as he pleaded to his lordship with a pained cough. “Flee, sire! Flee!”

A sound of unearthly thunder cracked in the alleyway, though there was no angry raincloud overhead. Instead, a handsome pouch of gold stags dropped to the slicked pavers as his esteemed lordship and the fearful house knights fled in a panic. Not one man of the three gave a moment’s thought to retrieving the pouch once it had been expertly detached by the crack of Barshaw’s bullwhip. With luck, these three fools would think twice about slumming around Merchant’s Quarter after dark.

The Solanai waited until Lord Farthing and his men had left their sights before collecting the sack of coins as a prize. A curt nod of her head sent Barshaw’s lieutenant to retrieve the handsome pouch of stags. He stuck a black gauntlet into its opening to retrieve two gold stags with surprising dexterity, then handed the pouch to the waiting major.

“Two stags for our trouble,” Lieutenant Mevralls explained with a low-pitched growl, “and reparations enough for Harriet Cadlen.”

It was difficult to read his commanding officer’s expressions, as usual, but Mevralls continued once Barshaw nodded in approval of the arrangement. Now, all that was left was to deal with the source of their shared conundrum. “We've found the etherling, Major. What shall we do with her?”

Major Barshaw swaggered into the shroud of darkness with footfalls that didn’t make a sound, followed by Lieutenant Mevralls with the pouch of treasure. The officers waded through the dense void until they reached a clearing at its center, where their third member was wrangling a familiar youth in tensed arms.

“The little b*tch bit me!” the third man snarled and gestured at the nip taken out of his cheek. It was barely enough to draw blood, but the bite was enough to show how desperate Khazmine was to escape from her unknown attacker. “See here, Major? Look what she’s done to my face!”

“Silence, Hallem,” Mevralls scolded. Though they were still under the protection of the shroud, it didn’t offer any shielding against eavesdropping. “Did you harm her at all?”

“No, sir,” Hallem sneered, “She’s as healthy a mishmash mongrel as I’ve ever seen.”

Mister Hallem’s disdain for outcasts was obvious to Khazmine, who squirmed under his overbearing grapple with waning vigor. He initially avoided touching Khazmine at all, probably due to the superstition that half-breeds were filthy and carried disease. Hallem had managed to master his distaste for outcasts and stuff a gag in his captive's mouth to prevent injuries, but she still strained against the Solanai for freedom. Khazmine twisted in his grasp while her strength ebbed away, until the approach of the major stopped all attempts to flee.

“Permission to lower the shroud, Major?” Hallem requested as Barshaw stepped closer. “It’s taking extra effort to maintain it and keep this thing detained, ma’am.”

“I’ll keep the shroud active, Mister Hallem,” Mevralls interjected. A fresh flicker of ether fanned out around the foursome as a somehow richer, deeper void enveloped them. Khazmine winced and was unable to see more than a few feet in any direction, and wouldn’t know where to flee, even if she were free to do so. Hallem eagerly let the half-breed go once the barrier around them was secured and wiped his hands on his armor's surcoat cloth. “I advise you to stay where you are, miss.”

The outcast removed the gag and raised a curious brow in epiphany as this impenetrable barrier finally made sense to her. The Solanai weren’t called the “Dark Army” because they were evil, it was because of this horrifying shroud. These officers were also ether users, able to conjure this, this…

It wasn’t truly darkness. Not really. Instead, this horrible blackness was the absence of light. Lieutenant Mevralls suppressed the light around them, effectively creating a void where neither fire nor sun could penetrate the sphere.

“They’re light magicians,” Khazmine whispered into the darkness at her realization, much to the amusement of Major Barshaw. The hardened woman cracked a hint of a smile at the outcast’s cleverness, and her eyes crinkled at their edges, softening her expression.

It was no wonder the Solanai dominated the battlefields, even when terribly outnumbered. They fought and won in darkness. The unexpected arrival at such an explanation sent a shiver down her limbs as Khazmine’s breath quickened. To have such control over ether was unthinkable. If they can do all this, then—

“What were you doing in Merchant’s Quarter, miss?” Mevralls asked with a tilted head and curious green eyes that bore into the outcast. “We’ve been watching you for days now, but this is the only time we could sense ether in you.”

That much was true. Khazmine had so little ether saved that she’d only used the last of it out of desperation. And if it weren’t for Lord What’s-his-face, Khazmine could have avoided detection entirely.

Major Barshaw maintained an unblinking stare as Khazmine drew her ears back fearfully. It was foolish to try and deceive such a person, and Khazmine bit her lip at the prospect of trying to sell another flimsy lie. No, the truth was her only option here, and Khazmine trembled mightily while relating it.

“I need a job, mistress.” Khazmine admitted as she rubbed her battered forehead and tried to shield herself from Barshaw’s piercing stare. “Any job. I’ve not had a proper meal in days, and was looking for work, ma’am. No one in Cheapside would hire me, so I came here to look. That’s the honest truth.”

“Are you willing to work hard?” Mevralls asked while casting a brief glance back to his superior officer. Barshaw simply nodded in response. “As it happens, I’m sure the barracks could use a good fetch-and-carry.”

“You can’t be serious,” Hallem objected. “She’s just some filthy stray, sir. She’ll muck up the whole camp!”

“I am clean, sir,” Khazmine snapped back at him, casting her glacier-blue gaze into his disgusted face. “If not to your satisfaction, then I shall endeavor to do better.”

“She’s a mutt! Major, allow me to dispose of this, this—"

“Please, give me job—any job—and I will serve you faithfully!” Khazmine begged loudly to drown out Hallem’s protests. Her face glistened with beads of sweat as desperation took hold of her senses. “I ask you to honor your charter, please…”

Such a clever one. Major Barshaw unfolded her tensed arms and approached Khazmine like some titanic predator stalking prey. She placed an enormous, calloused hand against Khazmine’s chin and lifted her head gently to get a look at her. The major was certain that this was indeed the Deceiver from the Tavern last week. She had even cited the Solanai charter in her pleas for work. Yes, even her icy blue eyes are the same.

Both Lieutenant Mevralls and Major Barshaw had witnessed Khazmine activate her ether stores and use them to increase her speed earlier. It was an uncommon and ingenious use of magical energy, especially for an untrained etherling. If instructed properly, perhaps this outcast could learn other skills with ether that would be useful.

“There’s nothing in the charter that says we have to give away good jobs to vermin!” Hallem shouted.

Khazmine flinched at his vitriol and allowed her gaze to fall to her feet. Even if she’d dealt with such hateful comments all her life, it was still difficult to hear. Sure, it was hard to stay clean, she knew that. But what good was it to call her names as well?

Who would want to pay good money for the bathhouse when such coins were better spent on a hot meal or a place to stay, anyway? If she had the money, perhaps others wouldn’t call her vermin. But it was what it was, and Khazmine had few options when it came to money at present.

“And besides, Colonel Glazebane wouldn’t want some outcast in our camp!” Hallem bellowed, and in so doing, took two steps way over the line. Who was he to decide his commanding officer’s opinions on anything or anyone?

“Then he shan’t have her in the camp,” Lieutenant Mevralls snapped back like an angry marsh hound, with muscles tensed and teeth bared. “Until she’s proven worthy, that is… That’ll be all, Mister Hallem.”

“But sir, she’s filthy! She’s—”

Major Barshaw closed in on the defiant Hallem and bowed low enough to stare into his anxious eyes. The hair on his and Khazmine’s necks stood on end as the colossal warrior’s ether stormed around them in a ferocious cyclone of darkness as the major finally spoke.

“She’s MINE…”