Guardian of the Night

6

Bilain had barely spoken a word to Ranaie, or held Amaini, over the past couple of days and she had left the tavern early once more. It strained her, but, after the day before, she couldn't face either of them, despite how much she craved their affections. Four streets. The distance between the last fire and her home and family, and she had not rushed to care for them, ensure their safety. She had stayed and protected The Sprawl first.

No other fires had broken out and she had dismissed the Weather Mages before they drank her entire wages in the Timid Fox, with the usual hefty payment for their services to boot. The Watch couldn't afford to call them too often, but they had to. The Weather Mages, and their ability to call down rains upon flaming buildings, were essential to keeping The Sprawl safe.

Too many events played on her mind. Too many occurrences that were outside of her normal duties. Too many things to think about and consider and mull over. Where Bilain should, at this moment, be in her office, reviewing everything, assigning Watch members to tasks, investigating several trails of which she knew not where to begin, she found herself on patrol instead. Criss-crossing the streets and alleyways of her home.

The people had returned to their normal way of life almost as soon as the fires had burned themselves out. Returning to their drinking, their fighting, their debauchery. Little caused such a stir in The Sprawl that could turn their heads from their daily lives for long. Each community fell back to their invisible boundaries, back to the streets and houses where they felt most at home. Where they felt safe.

Few Other-Kin lived in The Sprawl, though some enclaves existed. A group of Dragon-Kin, sitting in the furthest reaches of The Sprawl, to the north before the press of buildings gave way to Ganshorn's Field. Kannai, both former slaves, tail-less and beaten down, and those born free, tended to live individual lives, trying to avoid attention. Fae lived in the uppermost housing, their eyes never far from the clear skies. Even a few Rat-Kin and Toad-Kin could be found in the darkest alleys, the tightest places, keeping to themselves.

For the most part, The Sprawl remained home to humans. Humans from almost every nation upon the continent of Karramon. She had not enough fingers to count the number of cultures that filled these streets, the smell of their foods tickling noses and rumbling bellies. Their different dialects of the Common Tongue giving the sounds in the air a musical quality.

Bilain loved The Sprawl without being blinded to its darker sides. She knew crimes were committed all the time, often under her very nose, but preventing crime was not part of her duties, nor was, up to two days ago, investigating crimes. She and her Watch were there to maintain the peace, to stop crime if they encountered it, to put themselves between brawlers. There was no justice in The Sprawl, only consequences.

Without thinking, her route had carried her from the Watch House, to the site of the second fire where she used her bully stick to pick at the charred remains. Those that had died here were now in the Pyre building, awaiting a return to fire, only, this time, there would be nothing left of their bodies, given back to the Patrons. Four streets. Only four streets from her home. From her husband. From her grandchild.

Her wanderings carried her, then, along twisting, winding streets that appeared to have no order or design, to the site of the first fire and the place where she had encountered the mysterious shadow figure. Here, she tried to remember all that she could of that figure. Tall, strong and shadowed. It came back to those shadows every time. Shadows that hid the figure well. Except the eyes. Eyes filled with pain as they held up the burning beam, allowing Bilain to escape the flames with the haberdasher.

It came as no surprise that no reports of the shadow figure claiming lives came in that night. The Sprawl had become as quiet as it was before, though that was a relative level of quiet. It never truly came to silence. Not ever. Shouts and screams always rang out. Pitiful moans. Raucous laughter and the sounds of bards tumbling from the many taverns in the Ward. Poor the folk may be, but they always found coin enough for drink.