"Don't put your leg on me, dumbass." A drunk hollered to another drunk.

The Guard Guild sat at the edge of the city, its stone walls blackened by soot, flags fluttering with the sigil of a clenched fist.

Inside, mercenaries and guards-in-training laughed, drank, or polished weapons under the dim orange glow of torches. Conversation dipped when Enconola entered, her silk skirts swishing across the rough floor like a foreign creature among starving wolves. Alpha Skuzinlly, beside her, was all ...