Part I : The Kindness of Barbed Wire

  The refugee camp outside the North Gate was a city of ghosts, huddling in the mud.

  A cold wind whipped down the narrow pathway, rattling the flimsy tarps and sending the acrid smell of damp woodsmoke and unwashed bodies into the air.

  Despite the misery, the sound of children's laughter echoed, a strange, resilient weed growing in the cracks of their broken world.

  Thorgar ducked under a sagging clothesline, his expression grim. "It's emptier than last week".

  "They must have heard about the Emperor's decree," Emethriel replied, his sharp eyes scanning the faces they passed—hollow, listless, and hopeless.

  "The Beastfolk are 'honored guests' now. No point cowering in a ditch if the wolves have been invited into the hall. They're going home".

  "Well, that's good, isn't it?" Thorgar said, forcing a note of optimism.

  Emethriel just grunted, stopping before a makeshift tent larger than the others. "Don't be so sure".

  A seamstress sat at the entrance, her needle working with a frantic, practiced speed on a child's torn tunic. She was breastfeeding a toddler, while another, slightly older child with a hacking cough was curled at her feet. Several other small, grimy children orbited her like nervous satellites.

  She looked up, her eyes landing on Thorgar, and her face hardened.

  "Well, look who it is," she snapped, her voice like scraping rust. "Finally found time to visit the peasants, did you?".

  Thorgar’s face flushed. "We've been busy, I—".

  "Save it," she cut him off, her gaze dropping back to her needle. "The world's always busy when poor folk need something".

  A tense silence settled. "Are the children... accounted for?" Thorgar finally asked. "Any more... incidents... since I was last here?".

  The woman deftly unlatched the toddler and shifted, pulling the coughing child onto her lap and rocking her with a rough, impatient rhythm. "Your little brawl must have scared it off," she said. "Hasn't been back for the kids, anyway"

  Emethriel noted the packed-up bundles inside her tent. "You're leaving?".

  "Why would I stay?" she shot back. "It's not like the high-and-mighty folk of Oakhaven are weeping for us to move in".

  "What about the children?" Thorgar asked, his voice full of genuine concern.

  The woman’s face twisted into a sneer. "What about them? You think they're my duty? I'm not their mother. If the church doesn't take 'em, they'll have to find their own way, same as everyone else".

  She saw the look of profound disappointment on Thorgar's face and sighed, her anger deflating just a fraction. "Lilia said she'd ask your boss for help," she muttered, as if embarrassed by the concession

  Thorgar's hope surged back. "She will! I'll convince her, I promise!".

  As they turned to leave, the woman’s voice stopped them. "There's something else. Rumors".

  "What kind?" Thorgar asked.

  "Missing people. Adults, this time".

  Emethriel frowned. "An adult would be a different hunt entirely for a shapeshifter".

  "I don't think it's the shifter," the woman agreed, her voice flat. "I think it's poverty. Folks get desperate. They either sneak out of the city to find work elsewhere, or they try their luck hunting in the woods for a quick buck. Either way, they don't come back".

  "Well... thank you for your help," Thorgar said, "and for taking care of the children".

  The seamstress looked at him, then deliberately at the children huddled nearby, her voice rising so they could all hear. "Don't thank me. I didn't do it from the good of my heart. Lilia paid me. If it were up to me, these little shits would be on the street".

  Thorgar recoiled, his face red with suppressed anger. Before he could erupt, Emethriel grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

  "That woman... she's evil!" Thorgar seethed as they walked toward the sewer entrance outside the gate.

  "No, Thorgar," Emethriel said quietly, his eyes on the path. "She's too kind".

  "What? Are you deaf? Didn't you hear that venom?".

  Emethriel stopped and looked back at the tent. "I did. She was making sure they wouldn't miss her when she leaves. She's pushing them away now so it hurts them less later".

  Part II : The Descent

  They reached the sewer entrance, a heavy iron grate set into a stone culvert near the city wall. As Emethriel began to check the lock, a muffled sound made him freeze.

  "Hide. Now," he whispered.

  They ducked behind a large, moss-covered boulder just as four figures emerged , their movements furtive. One of them, a reedy man, was visibly trembling.

  "You sure this is the only way in?" the man stammered.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  A short, bald man beside him who seemed to be the leader, spat on the ground . "What are you afraid of? Getting wet?"

  A third man, put a reassuring hand on the scared one's shoulder. "It's a simple snatch-and-grab, Gyles. Don't worry. We've got a guard on the payroll. He'll look the other way. We just slip into the Estate, grab what looks expensive, and we're out".

  "But what if we get caught?" Gyles whined.

  The short, bald man let out a harsh laugh. "Caught? And then what? They throw us in a cell? How's that any worse than the life we've already got?".

  The four of them lifted the heavy sewer grate, slipped inside, and vanished into the darkness. Thorgar and Emethriel emerged from their hiding spot.

  "Shouldn't we stop them?" Thorgar asked.

  "What for?" Emethriel replied, already prying the grate back open. "Let the City Watch earn their pay. We have our own monsters to hunt".

  They waited a few minutes for the thieves' footsteps to fade, then, one by one, they descended into the black, stinking maw of the Oakhaven sewers.

  Part III : The Split

  "Aaaiee!"

  A high-pitched, womanly shriek echoed off the dripping stone, followed by the frantic splash of boots. Gyles, the reedy thief, was plastered against the sewer wall, his eyes wide with terror.

  "It was a rat! Just a rat!" the short, bald leader snarled, his voice a low growl of contempt. "Gods, I told you we shouldn't have brought this pipsqueak. He's going to get us all caught."

  "Sorry, Kellen," Gyles whimpered, his teeth chattering.

  The four of them reached a junction where the tunnel split, two dark, identical maws vanishing into the blackness.

  "Now what?" one of the men asked.

  Kellen, the leader, pointed left. "Gyles. You take that one. Scout ahead for fifteen minutes, then report back."

  Gyles’s face went pale. "Alone?"

  Kellen took a menacing step toward him. "You got a problem with that?"

  "No! No, boss, of course not," Gyles stammered, and with a final, terrified look back, he plunged into the left tunnel, his small lantern bobbing frantically before disappearing.

  The moment he was gone, Kellen jerked his head to the right. "Let's go."

  "Aren't we waitin' for him?" the third man asked.

  "Don't worry," Kellen sneered. "That tunnel circles back and merges with ours in about two miles. He'll be walking for hours."

  "So we're ditching him," the third man said, a note of approval in his voice. "More shares for us, then."

  "He's a burden," Kellen spat, and the three of them continued into the darkness.

  Part IV : The Scent of Rot

  Thorgar and Emethriel arrived at the same junction minutes later, the air still thick with the thieves' passage. Emethriel consulted his map under a small, conjured light.

  "Which way, tracker?" Thorgar rumbled.

  "Left," Emethriel replied, his voice a quiet murmur. "The main branch goes straight to the estate, but this one has smaller sub-tunnels. The shifter would prefer a place with more exits."

  They walked in a tense, claustrophobic silence, broken only by the drip of water and the distant skittering of unseen things. They checked alcove after alcove, finding nothing but plundered chests and a few scattered skeletons, their bones picked clean by rats.

  After a long while, Emethriel stopped. "You smell that?"

  Thorgar sniffed the air. Beneath the stench of mildew and waste, there was another, sharper scent. It was the smell of a slaughterhouse, of rot and decay. He knew it well.

  "Death," he growled.

  He took the lead, his hand on his hammer, following the smell to a section of wall that looked like a dead end. A small, dark opening was hidden near the floor. It opened into a larger, natural cavern.

  Thorgar stumbled, his boot catching on something soft. He looked down. It was the body of a child.

  In the center of the room, piled like discarded dolls, were seven other bodies. They were little more than skin and clothes; the flesh and bones seemed to have been… dissolved.

  Thorgar’s blood ran cold. He recognized the tattered dress on the body nearest him. It was the shapeshifter girl he had fought at the refugee camp.

  Emethriel knelt by one of the other children, his face a mask of cold, clinical focus. A thick, black, tar-like goo was oozing from the child's empty eye sockets and ears.

  "It... It wasn't just hiding," Thorgar whispered, horrified.

  Emethriel touched the black substance, his gaze hardening. " This was a... a harvest, Thorgar," he said, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

  "What do you mean?"

  Emethriel looked around at the eight small corpses, a nest of husks. "I think it was feeding. And... I think it's grown."

  Part V : THe Changeling

  The three thieves were moving quickly when a figure popped out from a side tunnel, waving its arms. "Boo!"

  Kellen yelped, stumbling backward and landing hard on his rear.

  It was Gyles. He was doubled over, laughing like a child who had just played the perfect prank. "Got you! You should have seen your face!"

  Kellen scrambled to his feet, his face purple with rage, and smacked Gyles hard across the back of the head. "Don't do that, you little idiot!"

  "That was quick of you," the third man said, his eyes narrowing.

  "I know, right?" Gyles chirped, his fear completely gone. He bounced on his heels as he fell into step with them. "This place is great! Not scary at all!"

  "You... seem different," the man observed.

  "I am!" Gyles replied with a wide, bright, and deeply unsettling smile. He began to hum a jaunty, tuneless song as he skipped ahead.

  Kellen just rolled his eyes. "You're on watch. Nothing more. Now shut up."

  "Hmm-hmm, I know!" Gyles nodded happily.

  They reached the exit.

  A guard in the blue-and-silver of the Greyoak estate was waiting above, holding a bundle. "About time. Here." He tossed down four City Watch uniforms. "Put these on. You won't have much time, and you're restricted to the area around the main storage. It's the only place with no oversight tonight. Get in, get out. Understood?"

  The three thieves nodded, quickly pulling the uniforms on over their rags. But when Kellen turned to Gyles, he was gone. Vanished into the shadows of the tunnel.

  "Damn him!" Kellen hissed. "He slipped off again!"

  "Forget him, boss," the third man urged. "Let's go."

  They entered into the estate's sprawling gardens, the corrupt guard leading them to a storage depot. They pried open crate after crate.

  "It's nothing but shit!" Kellen whispered furiously. "Wine, old banners... nothing worth hauling."

  "We could go further in," one of them suggested.

  "No. Too many guards for the ceremony. Grab that roll of leather. It might fetch a few coins. Let's leave."

  They returned to the sewer entrance. "Where's Gyles?" the guard asked.

  "Who cares?" Kellen grumbled. "He's probably already been caught." They slipped back into the darkness, their heist a complete failure.

  Thorgar and Emethriel reached the high, moonlit walls of the Greyoak estate. "A dead end," Thorgar said, frustrated.

  Emethriel's gaze was fixed on three small figures in the distance, running from the estate, one of them carrying a rolled-up bundle. "Doesn't look like they had much luck, either," he murmured.

  "They must have ditched the weak one," Thorgar noted.

  "Come on," Emethriel said, walking toward the wall where the thieves had emerged. "If they got in, so can we."

  They searched the wall, but the entrance was seamless. "It's spell-bound," Emethriel said, sensing the faint magical traces. "Opens from the inside." He sighed. "It's not like the shifter could have—"

  "Oof!" Thorgar's foot slipped on a loose rock, and he went tumbling down the steep, rocky embankment that bordered the river.

  "You alright?" Emethriel called.

  "I'm fine, I'm—" Thorgar stopped, pushing himself up. His nose twitched. "Emethriel... get down here. Something smells... wrong."

  Emethriel scrambled down the rocks. He smelled it, too. The same sickeningly sweet, rotten smell from the sewer cavern.

  They found him at the water's edge, his body wedged between two boulders. It was Gyles.

  "Wasn't he with them?" Thorgar asked, confused.

  Emethriel knelt. He didn't need to check for a pulse. He pointed to the boy's face.

  A thick, black, tar-like goo was oozing from his nose and ears.

  A cold, horrifying realization washed over the halfling.

  He stood up, his gaze lifting from the corpse to the glittering, laughing, music-filled manor on the cliff above.

  "It's inside."