EMBERS OF THE FORSAKEN

The Seige

The first torch hit the window and the glass exploded inward.

James hit the floor as burning oil splashed across the room. Taylor was already moving—she grabbed a rug, threw it over the flames, and stomped them out in three brutal seconds.

"They're not waiting," she said. "They're coming now."

"How many?"

"Thirty outside. More on the way." She pulled him to his feet. "Tommy. Now."

They ran up the stairs. The second floor hallway was empty—no guards, no Syndicate, nothing but closed doors and the smell of smoke from below.

"Tommy!" James shouted.

A door at the end of the hallway opened. Tommy stood there, his eyes wide, his hands shaking.

"Jamie—"

James grabbed him. "No time. We're leaving."

"The windows," Taylor said. She was looking out a side window at the street below. "They're surrounding the building. Front and back. But the roof—there's a gap. We can jump to the next building."

"I can't jump that far," Tommy said.

"You won't have to." Taylor pulled a coil of rope from a closet—left behind by whoever owned the townhouse. "I'll go first, secure it, then you climb."

The front door downstairs exploded.

Not with fire—with a battering ram. Wood splintered. Boots hammered into the foyer.

"Inquisition," Taylor said. "Twenty seconds until they find the stairs."

She ran to the window at the end of the hall, smashed the glass with her sword hilt, and climbed onto the ledge. The roof sloped up from there—old tiles, slick with morning dew.

"James, bring Tommy. Move."

James lifted Tommy onto the ledge, then climbed up himself. The roof was steep, but the tiles held. Taylor was already at the peak, tying the rope to a chimney.

Below, the Inquisition broke down the second floor door.

"They're inside!" Tommy shouted.

"Climb," Taylor said. She threw the rope across the gap to the next building—a warehouse, lower by ten feet, with a flat roof. The rope caught on a vent pipe. "One at a time. Tommy first."

Tommy grabbed the rope. His hands were small, his knuckles white.

"I can't—"

"You can." James knelt beside him. "Look at me. You've climbed the Shallows ladders a hundred times. This is no different."

"It's different because there are people trying to kill us!"

"Then don't give them the satisfaction." James tied the rope around Tommy's waist. "Hold on. Don't look down. I'll be right behind you."

Tommy took a breath. Then he swung across.

The Inquisition burst onto the roof.

Six hunters. Golden masks. Crossbows raised.

Taylor drew her sword. "James, go."

"I'm not leaving you—"

"This isn't a debate." She pushed him toward the rope. "I'll hold them. You get Tommy to safety. That's an order from someone who's killed more men than you've spoken to."

James grabbed the rope.

Behind him, Taylor charged the hunters.

---

The rope burned his hands. The gap between buildings wasn't far—maybe fifteen feet—but with crossbow bolts whizzing past his head, it felt like a mile.

Tommy was on the other side, reaching for him. "Jamie, hurry!"

James landed hard on the warehouse roof, rolled, and came up with his knife drawn. Behind him, Taylor was still fighting—her sword flashed in the grey morning light, and two hunters fell.

But more were coming. The roof of the townhouse was filling with golden masks.

"Taylor!" James shouted.

She heard him. She cut down a third hunter, then ran for the rope. A crossbow bolt grazed her shoulder. She didn't flinch. She grabbed the rope and swung across, landing next to James with her blade still wet.

"Go," she said. "Roof door. Down into the warehouse. We lose them in the streets."

They ran.

The warehouse was full of crates—textiles, judging by the smell. Cotton and wool, stacked to the ceiling. Perfect cover.

The Inquisition didn't follow immediately. They were regrouping on the townhouse roof, calling for reinforcements.

"Buying time," Taylor said. "They know we're trapped in this district. Every exit will be sealed within the hour."

"Then we need to get out before the hour."

She nodded. "The old tram line. Runs from the Gears to the Shallows. It's been decommissioned for years, but the tracks are still there. We can walk them in the dark."

"How do you know about it?"

"I used to hide there. When I first deserted." She touched her branded cheek. "It's how I survived the first month."

James looked at Tommy. The boy was pale, shaking, but his eyes were focused.

"Can you walk a long way in the dark?" James asked.

Tommy nodded. "I'm not scared of the dark."

"You should be," Taylor said. "The wraiths nest in the old tunnels. But we don't have a choice."

They moved.

---

The tram entrance was hidden behind a false wall in the warehouse basement. Taylor found it by memory—a rusted iron door that squealed when she pulled it open.

Darkness beyond. Cold air. The smell of old metal and older death.

"Stay close," Taylor said. "Don't touch the walls. Don't make loud noises. The wraiths are dormant during the day, but they can still sense fear."

She lit a small oil lantern—the last of her supplies. The flame cast long shadows that danced like living things.

They walked.

The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The tracks were still in place—rusted rails bolted to stone sleepers. Every few feet, a drip of water echoed through the silence.

Tommy held James's hand. His grip was tight.

"How far?" James asked.

"Two miles to the Shallows exit. Then another mile to the safe house Elias showed us." Taylor glanced back. "Assuming the Syndicate hasn't found it."

"Mira sold us out to the Inquisition. Why would she leave the safe house intact?"

"Because Mira isn't the only player. The Syndicate has factions. Some want you alive for research. Some want you dead. Some want to sell you to the highest bidder." Taylor shook her head. "Mira's faction wanted you alive. But she got spooked. Probably because Elara started training you too fast."

"Elara said the Dying King's followers are mobilizing."

"They are. And that scares everyone." Taylor stopped walking. "Listen."

James listened.

Footsteps. Behind them. Not echoes—real footsteps, multiple sets, moving fast.

"Inquisition found the tunnel entrance," Taylor said. "They're following."

"How far back?"

"Quarter mile. Maybe less." She picked up the pace. "We need to move faster."

They ran.

The tunnel stretched ahead, endless and dark. The lantern swung, casting frantic shadows. Tommy stumbled; James caught him and kept going.

The footsteps behind them grew louder.

"There's a junction ahead," Taylor said. "Left leads to the Shallows. Right leads to the old reservoir. We take the reservoir and double back."

"Why?"

"Because they'll expect us to take the Shallows exit. The reservoir is flooded—most of it. But there's a maintenance walkway along the ceiling. They won't follow us there."

"You've done this before."

"Many times."

They reached the junction. Taylor turned right without hesitation. The tunnel sloped downward, and the air grew damp and cold.

The footsteps behind them paused at the junction. Voices—harsh, military.

"Split up. Half go left, half go right."

They kept running.

---

The reservoir was a vast cavern, built a century ago to hold water for the city's steam engines. Now it was empty except for a shallow lake of stagnant water at the bottom—black, oily, and perfectly still.

The maintenance walkway was a narrow iron catwalk bolted to the cavern wall, twenty feet above the water. It groaned under their weight.

"Don't look down," Taylor said.

Tommy looked down.

The water moved.

Not from wind—there was no wind down here. Something was swimming beneath the surface. Something large.

"Wraiths can't swim," James said.

"Those aren't wraiths." Taylor's voice was tight. "Those are tunnel eels. Mutated. They eat anything that falls into the water. Don't fall."

The catwalk creaked.

Behind them, the Inquisition hunters entered the reservoir. Their torches lit the cavern—dozens of golden masks reflecting off the black water.

"There!" someone shouted. "On the catwalk!"

Crossbow bolts clanged off the iron railing.

Taylor returned fire with her own crossbow. One hunter fell, screaming, into the water. The eels surged. The screaming stopped.

"Keep moving!" Taylor shouted.

James pulled Tommy along the catwalk. The iron was slick with moisture. Every step was a gamble.

The hunters spread out along the cavern's edge, looking for other access points. Some climbed down to the water level. Others found a second catwalk on the opposite wall.

"We're surrounded," James said.

"Not yet." Taylor pointed ahead. "There's a maintenance door at the end of this catwalk. It leads to the old pump house. From there, we can get to the Shallows."

"How far?"

"Two hundred feet."

Two hundred feet of rusted iron, shaking under their weight, with crossbow bolts flying past their heads.

James looked at Tommy. The boy's face was pale, but he wasn't crying.

"Close your eyes," James said. "Hold my hand. Don't let go."

Tommy closed his eyes.

They ran.

The catwalk shook. Bolts pinged off the railing. One caught James in the shoulder—not deep, but enough to draw blood. Silver blood. It dripped into the water below, and the eels went insane.

The surface of the reservoir churned. Eels launched themselves at the catwalk, their mouths full of needle teeth. One latched onto the iron and started climbing.

Taylor stomped on its head. It fell back into the water.

"Keep running!"

The maintenance door was close—twenty feet. Ten. Five.

James kicked it open and shoved Tommy through. Taylor followed, then slammed the door behind them. Heavy iron. The hunters would need time to break it down.

The pump house was small, dark, and blessedly dry. Pipes ran along the walls, coated in dust.

"Where does this lead?" James asked.

"Up," Taylor said. "There's a ladder to the Shallows. We're directly below the old cemetery."

"People bury their dead in the Shallows?"

"People in the Shallows can't afford cremation. So yes." She found the ladder—rusted rungs bolted to the wall. "Tommy, you go first. James, behind him. I'll cover our escape."

Tommy climbed. James followed.

Below them, the iron door shuddered as the hunters began to break it down.

---

The cemetery was small and neglected. Headstones leaned at odd angles. Weeds grew between the graves. The morning light was grey and thin.

James pulled himself out of the ground—the ladder had led to a mausoleum, its door hidden behind a fake stone. Tommy was already outside, breathing hard.

Taylor emerged a moment later.

"Close the door," she said. "We need to hide the entrance."

James pushed the fake stone back into place. It wasn't perfect, but it would buy them time.

"Where now?" he asked.

"The safe house. Elias's place. It's ten minutes from here."

"That's the first place the Inquisition will look."

"Which is why we're not staying there." Taylor started walking. "We're passing through. There's a tunnel under the floor that leads to the river. From there, we take a boat to the Bloom."

"The Bloom? You said that's where Kate lives—the woman who takes in refugees."

"Yes. And right now, it's the only place in the Sundered Realms where the Inquisition can't follow." She glanced back at him. "The Bloom eats magic. Wards don't work there. Hunters lose their way. It's the perfect hiding spot."

"You said it's a fungal forest. That it's alive."

"It is. But it's not evil. It's just hungry. Like you." Taylor's expression softened—just a fraction. "You'll fit right in."

They walked through the Shallows, keeping to back alleys and side streets. The district was waking up—merchants opening stalls, beggars stirring from doorways. No one looked at them twice. In the Shallows, people running from something were too common to notice.

The safe house was dark when they arrived. James knocked—three quick raps, then two slow ones, the code Elias had given them.

No answer.

Taylor drew her sword. "Something's wrong."

She pushed the door open.

Elias was dead.

He was sitting in his chair behind the bar, his throat cut from ear to ear. His eyes were open, frozen in surprise. The wound was clean—professional.

"Inquisition," Taylor said. "They got here first."

"Then they know about the tunnel."

"They know about the tunnel. But they don't know where it leads." She walked behind the bar and pulled aside a rug. A trapdoor. "We move now. No hesitation."

She opened the trapdoor. Darkness below. The sound of running water.

"James, go. Take Tommy. I'll close the door behind us."

James climbed down into the darkness. Tommy followed. Taylor came last, pulling the trapdoor shut above her.

The tunnel was low and wet. Water rushed past their ankles—the river, somewhere ahead.

"Follow the flow," Taylor said. "It leads to the docks. There's a boatman who owes me favors."

They walked in silence. The only sounds were the water and their breathing.

The tunnel opened onto a small dock—wooden planks nailed together, barely stable. A rowboat was tied to a post.

Taylor untied it. "Get in."

They climbed into the boat. Taylor pushed off, and the current caught them.

The river was wide and grey, flanked by the crumbling buildings of the Shallows. The Bloom was visible in the distance—a dark smudge on the horizon, where the fungal forest grew.

James looked back at Ravensbrook. The city of his birth. The place where he'd been nobody.

He would never see it again.

"Tommy," he said.

The boy looked at him. His eyes were red from crying, but his jaw was set.

"We're not going to stop running," James said. "Not until we find a place where you're safe. Do you understand?"

Tommy nodded.

"And I need you to be brave. Braver than me. Because the Ember makes me weak. It makes me forget. But you—you remember everything. You're my memory now."

Tommy's face crumpled. Then he straightened.

"I'll remember," he said. "I'll remember everything."

James pulled him close.

Behind them, Ravensbrook burned.

The Inquisition was setting fires now—not to kill, but to signal. They wanted James to know that the city was closed. That there was no going back.

Ahead, the Bloom waited.

And in the boat, the Ember pulsed with cold, hungry joy.

Yes, the voice whispered. Run. Hide. It makes the hunt so much sweeter.

James closed his eyes.

He didn't answer.