The Conclave of Accord rose like a great beacon out of Wildhearth's buildings, and the sight set Cephia's pounding heart just a little bit at ease. She forced herself to maintain the same pace, holding formation with the other guards as they marched Anvaal, Hezif and their staff towards the relative safety.

They'd managed to avoid bloodshed during their trip from Almachora, but she knew they'd been shadowed for a large portion of the journey. Robed figures in the dark that disappeared like wraiths haunted their steps, but with the bolstered security now surrounding the designates, it seemed like the cultists didn't want to risk a stand up fight. Between her squad, Morta's enforcers and Anvaal's not-inconsiderable private security, any such attempt would have been a bloodbath.

Still, Cephia could hardly claim to be relaxed. They set out across the smooth stonework of the clearing. Lines of trees like spokes on a wheel speared out from the base of the Conclave, accompanied by tiny canals, like veins that flowed away from the building and into the city. Evening was descending, with the sun squatting low against Wildhearth's skyline and spilling orange-yellow rays between the buildings. Light clattered off the glass parts of the Conclave, spilling prisms across the plaza.

"Almost there, Designate," she said quietly, eyes flickering left and right. "You still good to go through with this?"

"We both have our reservations, as you well know," Anvaal grumbled, "but at the moment I see no alternative."

"I suppose that'll do."

"We'll scout it out," Morta said quietly, moving up alongside her. "Keep your pace."

Cephia nodded. She knew Illando's old second-in-command reasonably well – well enough to trust his judgement at any rate. Morta and his enforcers set out ahead, drifting apart into a rough arrowhead shape and receding towards the Conclave.

The rest of the security detail tightened into a barrier of bodies around Anvaal and Hezif. At the front of the group, Cephia tensed, half expecting bolts to start flying at them from all sides. The plaza was relatively quiet right now, but there was still a steady flow of kin moving in and out of the Conclave, be they guards, designates, or late night staffers. For the moment, things remained quiet. Normal, to anyone else who didn't know what she knew. She loosened her shock-truncheon in its sheathe and made sure her armbow was loaded and ready.

She could just see Morta and his comrades prowling their way up to the main doors, heads twisting and turning every which way, hunting for threats. At length, after finding none, Morta turned and beckoned them. Cephia exhaled sharply.

"Pick up the pace," she ordered.

The falls of their footpaws formed a steadily increasing patter as they accelerated towards the Conclave. Anvaal's face was grim with determination, while Hezif kept his shoulders hunched, head lowered, as though trying to present a smaller target. The big bearkin, Nassavick, shadowed them, ready to use his bulk to shield them if he had to.

They reached the entrance, passing by a pair of baffled looking guards on door-duty, and emerged into the Conclave foyer. A surge of relief filled Cephia when she found Cinder and nearly a score of crimson-armoured guards waiting for her, all of them armed to the fangs.

"Cephia?"

She turned and found Morta hanging back just beyond the threshold. The two enforcers that accompanied him slid into place on either side of the wolfkin officer as he inclined his head to the gathering of Conclave guards.

"Those your people?" he asked.

"I suppose they are."

"Then you can take it from here? I should get back to the command den and check in with Illando."

"We can handle it," Cephia assured him. "But thanks for your help."

He shrugged, looking almost bashful. "Keep the designates safe. I'll let you know when I hear from him."

In a sudden twist of fur and armour he was walking away from her. She watched him go for a moment, then took a deep, steadying breath.

"Y'alright, boss?" Tayge asked quietly.

"I'm fine." She turned back towards the expectant gathering of guards, giving the chest plate of his armour a gentle thump as she walked past. "Let's get this done."

Her heart began to quicken as she approached, seeing confused, worried expressions on the faces of the other officers. Guard-Leader Boel stood at their centre, a heavyset vulkin with mottled grey-black fur and a large, jowly snout. The other officers she'd summoned stood off to either side with their squads clumped around them. Sharder, a female quillkin, stood with arms folded, her stare almost accusing, while a wolfkin, Fern, paced uneasily back and forth, her jaw clenched tight with worry.

"Thanks for coming," Cephia began bluntly, acknowledging each squad leader in turn with a nod of her head. "I know this is all a bit... unorthodox, but I need all the loyal guards I can find."

"Somethin's off 'round here," Fern muttered, looking back over her shoulders. "Y'can feel it. What in the Fire's goin' on, Ceph?"

"I promise I'll explain everything when there's time." She pointed back towards Anvaal and Hezif. "But these two must see the High Alpha tonight."

"Cephia," Boel grunted. "Can you give a little more than that? Some of us are disobeying orders to be here right now. If the commanders catch us they'll have our hides strung from the rafters quicker than you can spit."

Forcing down her frustration, she met Boel's gaze. Before she could open her mouth to explain, however, Anvaal stepped forward, placing a paw on her arm as he moved. Cephia snapped her jaw shut as he started to speak.

"Guard-Leader – Boel, isn't it?" Anvaal inclined his head respectfully, before gesturing to Designate Hezif. "My associate and I have reason to believe there is a danger to the High Alpha. I am afraid the threat comes from within the Conclave. I asked Guard-Leader Cephia to assemble those she deemed trustworthy so we could head this off. If we are right, disciplinary action is the least of your problems today."

The vulkin blinked in surprise. "You think...?"

"I'm afraid so." Anvaal trundled forward to take a firm grip on Boel's shoulder. "I understand there is much confusion and in the Conclave right now. You are right to be wary, but I assure you, we are not your enemies here."

Boel still looked uncertain, but after a moment some unseen debate seemed to conclude within his mind. His face hardened and he glanced at the other two guard leaders. They nodded their encouragement, and heads swivelled to Cephia once more.

"Alright, alright," Boel relented. "What is it you need?"

Trying not to let her relief show, she straightened up. "Boel, your pack's with me. We're heading straight up to the High Alpha's chambers. Fern, you stay here and secure the main lobby. Check everybody who goes in and out. Anybody caught with unauthorised weapons, carrying any cult literature or displaying those bloody symbols, you detain them. No exceptions."

"Ma'am." Fern dipped her head.

"Sharder, take your pack to Urban Pack-Net HQ – secure that room. I want all communications locked down tight. If this all goes sideways we're going to need to coordinate our action."

The quillkin officer nodded her understanding. "Y'really think it'll get that far?"

"Not if we all do our jobs, right now." Cephia moved between them, clasping paws with each officer in turn. "Be safe. I'll buy you all a barrel of lasher when this is all over."

*

The atmosphere within the Conclave made Cephia's skin crawl. Something wrong bubbled in the air around them. They passed groups of guards, designates and administrative staff chattering in hushed tones, somewhere on the line between conspiracy and outright panic. Kin moved through the labyrinthine halls at a frantic pace, casting furtive glances down dark passages.

Her whole body jolted with shock when she saw Savage Fire iconography scrawled on some of the side passages. Conclave staff were already working to scrub away the archaic symbols, trying to restore the frustrating, boring, cumbersome bureaucracy, but she knew it was too late for that.

"Things are worse than we thought," Nassavick rumbled from behind her. "How has the guard allowed this?"

"We didn't allow anything," she snapped as she turned left into a fresh corridor. "When this is over you can lay blame wherever you damn-well please, but that's a fight for another day."

Tense silence engulfed the group again as they continued their ascent. At the head of her contingent, Cephia knew they were drawing attention, but she no longer cared. Tonight they would put a stop to the rot that had set into the bloodstream of Wildhearth. Striding forward with all the confidence she could muster, she stormed past guard checkpoints toward Oslarra's domain.

They packed themselves into an elevator, shoulder to shoulder, rising the final clutch of levels in the central tower. When the doors groaned open, a pair of administrative staff in the corridor beyond took one look at the armed guards and scurried out of sight.

Cephia led them out into the upper levels, where the warm-burning brass lamps gave the place a deceptively welcoming air. Decorative murals watched them as they moved, silent and judging.

When she turned down a broad connecting hall to the right, however, Cephia jerked to a halt when she found an armed detachment of Conclave guards waiting for them. Her pack quickly gathered to her left and right, fumbling for weapons.

At least the other guards looked just as surprised. Most of them had been lounging disinterestedly against the walls, but as Cephia's brigade rounded the corner, they scrambled into motion. A clatter of loading bows and crackling truncheons greeted her as she moved into the centre of the passage. Her eyes narrowed when she recognised the beaverkin, Nestor, standing at their centre.

"Hold!" barked a voice.

A familiar voice.

Anger yanked at Cephia's heartstrings as the guards parted, letting a tall, bulky figure march between them. Commander Senessara stomped through the gap, her eyes bloodhot and furious as she blazed at the newcomers.

"There are no patrols registered for this sector!" she thundered, casting an enraged eye over Cephia. "Explain yourself! This is a high security area."

"Commander!" Anvaal cut in before Cephia could spit out a response. "Please accept my apologies – we are here on my authority."

"Your authority?" Senessara looked him up and down dubiously, but Cephia spotted the flicker of surprise on her superior officer's face. She tensed, one paw falling instinctively to the truncheon at her belt. If Senessara was truly in league with the Savage Fire cult, then she wanted the deerkin dead.

"Yes," Anvaal continued, unperturbed.

"Your authority does not extend to issuing direct guard orders."

"In this case, I deemed it necessary." He gestured to Cephia and her companions. "Your comrades seem to agree."

Senessara seemed to tremble for an instant, as though someone had just poured cold water down her spine.

"And what made it necessary, to you, Designate?" she said.

"We're here to see the High Alpha," Anvaal declared. "It is a matter of the utmost urgency. Anyone claiming to serve the city would do well not to hinder us."

"The High Alpha is engaged right now," Senessara grunted dismissively. "We have orders that she is not to be disturbed. You will have to come back another time."

"This cannot wait."

"I won't repeat myself. You will not see the High Alpha, and that's the end of it."

Anvaal bristled. "Then it appears, Commander, that we've reached in impasse."

It felt like if someone lit a match the whole corridor would combust. Cephia could sense the itching claws of her companions reaching for weapons, the minute shifting of footpaws prickling in her ears as they readied themselves for a confrontation. She moved up alongside Anvaal, gently pulling the deerkin away by one arm. He glanced at her and she gave him a shake of the head.

His eyes widened with realisation, and Anvaal edged backward, whereupon Nassavick placed his body in front of the designate. With him out of harm's way, Cephia squared up to Senessara, her hackles rising as she faced the other wolfkin down.

"Commander," she began, the word slipping off her tongue like ice. "I am going to have to insist that you stand aside."

Even as she spoke, she knew with a sick certainty that Senessara was not about to let her pass. How deep her fellow wolfkin's treachery went, she couldn't say, but she knew this encounter was not going to end amicably.

"You dare speak to me in such a way," Senessara spat. "Does Kremmet know you are off following the whims of the enforcers instead of your lawful Conclave orders?"

Cephia twitched with anger, but did not reply.

"I thought not. Now, I am your senior officer, and I am ordering you to return to your assigned duties."

Unable to contain herself any longer, Cephia allowed a low growl of challenge to boil in the back of her throat as she stepped forward, wrath pulsing in her veins.

"With all due respect, Senessara," Cephia snarled. "I no longer believe that you're acting in the interests of the Conclave. I'm not taking orders from you any more. Now, I'm only going to say this one more time: stand aside."

Senessara looked affronted, drawing herself up to her full height. For the first time in what felt like months, the haze of alcohol lifted from the old wolfkin's eyes. She bared yellowed fangs, her legs bending, ready to spring. Years of indolence and buckets of lasher may have dulled her, but Senessara was still big and strong.

But she those years had left her slow.

Cephia was moving before anyone could react. A bark of anger ripped from her throat as she surged forward, slamming into the other wolfkin and bearing Senessara backwards to the ground with a crash of armour. She landed astraddle her foe and jammed the point of her armbow beneath Senessara's jaw, digging the bolt deep enough to draw blood.

A rattle echoed through the passage from both sides but Cephia didn't flinch. She raised her eyes to see Nestor and his guards with their weapons raised, but in a straight confrontation they were badly outnumbered.

"I am going to give all of you to the count of three," Cephia said coldly. "If you don't lower your weapons, I will have no choice but to conclude that you are acting directly against the Conclave of Accord. You'll charged with treason, and as such, we will be authorised to use whatever force I deem necessary to safeguard the Conclave."

"You're insane!" Senessara choked out, not daring to struggle with a sharp bolt pressed against her jugular vein.

"Am I?" She pushed down harder, pinning her foe to the ground as she drew her lips back in a snarl. "Tayge?"

"Ready, boss," the foxkin grunted. "Just give the word."

Cephia snapped her eyes up to Nestor. "Shall I give the order?"

The other guard-leader's nerve held for a few more seconds, but in the end the beaverkin shook his head, cursing under his breath. His armbow dropped, and seeing his action, the others followed suite.

"Nestor!" Senessara gurgled. "You coward!"

"Enough!" Cephia hissed, looking down sharply. "You are under arrest, commander." With her face etched with contempt, she rose slowly, keeping her armbow aimed at Senessara's prone form. Her eyes flickered up briefly to Nestor and his guards.

"Boel," she snapped. "Their weapons. Now."

The vulkin nodded, waving a paw towards them. Their faces crumpled with frustration as members of Boel's squad divested the traitors of their armbows and truncheons. With them disarmed, Nestor's guards were herded off to one side of the passage.

"Keep 'em there," Cephia ordered. Only then did she pull her armbow away, reaching down and dragging Senessara upright by the collar of her armour. Ignoring the other wolfkin's spitting, snarls of protest, she hurled her one-time commander into place with her companions. "The rest of you, come with me."

She moved at a jog now, twisting through the last few corridors. They encountered no one else, a dread-heavy silence settling on the seat of the Conclave's power. The final passage beckoned. At the end of it a towering door of black wood and iron waited for them – their destination finally within sight – but a single glance told Cephia that something was wrong. She slowed, gesturing sharply behind her with one paw.

"Designates," she said quietly. "Keep back."

"What is it?" Anvaal asked.

"There should be guards outside that door. The High Alpha's personal security."

"No signs of a struggle," Cinder commented.

"Maybe not out here."

With dread creeping in her bones, Cephia gave a nod to her pack, and the guards spread out in the passage. Their training took over. Footpaws patted gently against the floor and truncheons rasped from sheathes, crackling into life as they approached the room. With Tayge and Roave flanking her, Cephia silently placed a shoulder against the left side of the door.

A tiny application of pressure and she felt it move. Unlocked.

She glanced back, nodded once, and then shoved the door open.

Her guard pack spilled in behind her as she launched herself into a roll through the aperture. Cephia felt her knee slide on something slick underpaw, but she didn't stop, springing up with her armbow raised.

She found herself surrounded by corpses. Ruined bodies of robed cultists and grey-armoured guards littered the space, staining the plush carpet with crimson.

A frightening bolt of recognition hit her when she looked closer and realised that she recognised two of them; the duo that had come to collect Illando from their den. The female bearkin had been pierced by a dozen armbow bolts, blood still leaking from her body. Not far away the wolfkin – Remore, she thought his name was – lay with his face staved in by an axe.

Cephia looked up.

The lights in Oslarra's chamber were dimmed, but her sharp eyes pierced the gloom with ease. What she saw shocked her to her bones.

More robed figures – a dozen of them. Weapons glinted in the half-light. Low snarls in a forgotten tongue licked out towards them. Old words chilled her blood.

In the centre of the chamber Oslarra sat frozen at her desk, with a lithe, shadowy figure behind her. A felkin leaned over, clad in a black, padded bodywrap festooned with throwing claws, the blaze of her cobalt headfur visible in the gloom. One paw gripped Oslarra by the scruff of her neck; the other held a viciously shining knife against the High Alpha's throat.

Assassin.

For an instant no-one moved. A stunned silence lingered over them for an instant. The felkin assassin, however, didn't even look up from her task, the glint of her blade flashing against the taut fur of her quarry. As though in slow motion her arm started to move. The tiny, flicker of movement jolted Cephia out of her shock.

"Stop!" she screamed, levelling her armbow.

The assassin looked up.

And dragged her knife across the throat of High Alpha Oslarra.