The Rat King began escorting Viryl and Anker to his lair, taking over from Coronice as their guide through the filthy sewers of Meridania.

As they marched, the Rat King bitterly confessed, “I had hoped that if I were to be uncompromising, the girl would eventually give in. You would have needed her help in the battle that lies ahead. Silly brat!”

Anker, intrigued, observed, “You seem to know her well.”

“Of course. When her village was wiped out, she took refuge in Meridania. As often happens with those who are abandoned and starving, she ended up in the sewers, and we took her in despite her dark heritage. She is not a bad girl, but she is greedy and longs for a life of ease. That does not sit well with our beliefs,” the Rat King explained.

Outraged, Anker blurted out, “She is not a bad girl? She is a diabolical murderer, that is what she is. If you had seen what she did to the village of Valacqua…”

The Rat King sighed and narrowed his eyes, then replied, “My eyes are everywhere. And I also know how the plans for your elimination were carried out. I do not intend to justify her. But the girl is going through a bad time. She had deluded herself that the Grand Master loved her as a father loves his daughter, but then she began to disappoint him and her expectations collided with reality. For him she is nothing more than a mere tool. Her animalistic instincts are taking over again, and you have no idea how difficult it is for one of her kind to suppress them. She is a miserable creature, a victim of her hunger and her loneliness. Her nerves have held out far too long before giving in to bloodlust.”

Anker crossed his arms as if to express his dissent. The Rat King did not intend to justify her, and in fact in his eyes he had failed. Women, disabled people, children: Coronice had spared no one. She undoubtedly had a score to settle with that village, but her revenge had been atrocious, unworthy of a human being. The sins of the fathers should not visit upon the children.

Viryl did not intervene in that debate. For his part, he could not judge Coronice too harshly. He had also happened to do horrible things, wanting to protect or avenge a loved one. For example, he had recently promised himself to kill Dioryl, and he knew he would do it without any remorse. Anyone who stood between him and his goal would be swept away.

After the Rat King's words, silence fell again. The group wandered through the tunnels of the sewers for another twenty minutes, until they reached the deep main channel where all the others flowed. Two walkways made of concrete blocks had been built on the banks and at the end of a long straight stretch the orange light of some torches shimmered. On either bank, in the torchlit area, sat two beggars, and when they saw the Rat King approaching, accompanied by strangers, they bowed their heads respectfully.

Beyond the lookout, the tunnel opened into a cistern, and the wastewater poured down into a black abyss. The concrete walkway on which they stood extended into a wooden staircase that wrapped around the stone wall of the giant tank, and led to a series of overlapping, interlocking platforms of wooden planks, on which huts and shacks had been built.

The structure seemed precarious, and Anker thought with horror of falling into that abyss, drowning in the foul waters that bubbled dozens of yards beneath his feet.

Yet the beggars and rats who lived there did not seem to have the same worries at all. They were arranged in groups around stone fireplaces, and to warm themselves they stoked crackling bonfires, apparently unaware of the fact that if a burning coal flew onto the floor it would end up in a disaster. Some, in the dim light, devoured bread and salami, even though the air was filled with a pungent stench that could tighten the stomach of any human provided with a nose.

When the Rat King passed, all bright eyes rested on him and all activity stopped. But no one dared approach. The king received no requests and gave no orders to his court. Those men seemed in total harmony with the lowly beasts that surrounded them, as if they had become part of the pack themselves, and perhaps, as such, they were able to communicate with their leader without having to use the verbal channel.

The Rat King continued to climb higher and higher, moving from dais to dais, until he reached the one at the top, about three yards by three yards. There was a bed of straw on the ground, and the gray king sat down, crossing his legs. From the straw emerged a mangy rat, the size of a sheepdog, and settled into his lap. The king began to pet the animal, unconcerned about the possible transmission of the disease that blighted it.

Anker and Viryl had followed him up to the perilous peak without protest, but both were finding it difficult to hide their discomfort. Even Viryl was repelled by the idea of being so close to that sack of mites and fleas.

As if enjoying the expressions of disgust on his guests’ faces, the Rat King began, “Welcome to my stage. Please sit down, we have a lot to discuss.”

“I prefer to stand,” Viryl replied without a moment's hesitation.

“Me too, but pretend I accepted,” Anker echoed.

“Oh, do you happen to find my home repulsive?” the Rat King asked with a sneer.

Viryl and Anker looked desperately into each other's eyes, searching for words to justify themselves. Of course they found it repulsive, but offending their only ally at that delicate moment was not exactly a prudent choice. On the other hand, they sensed that their faces spoke for them, and a lie would have been short-lived.

“Of course they do, of course they do!” the Rat King replied to himself, while scratching the wounded animal's face, “What can we do? Our god's path is one of torment and renunciation, but one that amply rewards its devotees.”

“Cutting to the chase, I imagine you know a way to sneak us into Dioryl’s — the Grand Master’s residence unnoticed, or you wouldn’t have offered your help. Right?” Viryl asked, relieved that he didn’t have to answer the trick question.

“There are no secret passages or hidden paths that could lead you safely there. But if it is the concern for the Grand Master’s hired hounds that is troubling you, then yes, o fallen knight, I could help you elude them,” the Rat King stated, then took a moment to consider his next point, and continued, “However, don’t begrudge me, but I must take all necessary precautions. I appreciate your burning will, fallen one, and I have faith in you, but I need to be reasonably certain that you will succeed in your endeavor. Otherwise, I might as well leave you to your fate and keep my brothers safe.”

“I understand your point, but I don’t know the Grand Master, much less his defenses. If I had any information, we could devise a plan that would grant you the certainty you seek,” Viryl replied.

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“Of course, information is our specialty. Do you know what a dragon is?” the Rat King asked point-blank.

“Dragons do not exist. There are large Ferenkelts that have the shape of reptiles, and winged, scaled Fekoros that vomit fire. However, dragons in the strict sense of the term are nothing more than a fantasy of the ancients who had to fill the blank pages of bestiaries with their imagination, since it was too dangerous to travel in person to the Sanctuaries,” Anker replied.

“You are right indeed, lad. And in fact the Dragon Lodge thrives on imposture. Unfortunately, the fact that their dragons are a fiction does not make them any less dangerous. The Grand Master creates them with his arcane arts and raises them in his country villa. A dragon is born from the fusion of a reptile and a remora. A dragon’s weak point is the latter, which nests in its heart. If you want to kill a dragon, you must pierce it in the chest,” the Rat King commented.

“Very well. Spears are my weapon of choice,” Viryl stated.

“But there is more. The Grand Master is a resourceful man. He is a grafted, and he has two followers who always follow him. You have already defeated the most fearsome one, but the other also has her… peculiarities. She is a priestess of Malsenial and can perform miraculous healings on those who have faith in her. You won't be able to kill him unless you take care of the priestess first,” the Rat King continued.

“I deduce that Dioryl is capable of using magic. However, since he is not a knight, he will not be on our level,” Anker observed.

“Oh, you are the experts on this,” the Rat King conceded.

“In any case, it does not seem like a joke to me to break into a mansion guarded by dragons. Or rather, Fearkan in the guise of dragons. Do you also happen to have some kind of giant rat monster that can even the odds in a fight?” Anker asked innocently.

The Rat King stared with his blurred and incandescent pupils at the knight, clearly offended by that request. He replied acidly, “Who do you take us for? We are not just any sect. We are a family. And we reject any form of violence and display of power. We do not resort to such means.”

Viryl folded his arms and said thoughtfully, “This expedition is meant to be conducted stealthily, focusing on eliminating the target and avoiding as much engagement as possible. So a pitched battle between dragons and giant rats would have seemed like a foolish idea to me anyway. But the boy is right about one thing. We need help. If your family can help us in any way, you should do that. Simple information doesn’t seem enough to me if you care about our success.”

The Rat King scowled and replied, “What a rush. All our support was already planned.”

With that, the gray king patted the rat on the bottom of his thighs, to make it move aside. Then he stood up and headed for the edge of the dais, which swayed noticeably.

Below them were glimpses of the cistern’s stone walls, illuminated by fires on the platforms below. In the background, the incessant roar of the sewage waterfall could be heard. Sensory deprivation seemed to transform the sewer, a concrete urban expedient to cleanse the city of its impurities, into a Plutonic abyss exuding mystical energy.

The Rat King clasped his hands behind his back and, his vacant eyes lost in the pit, solemnly declaimed, “Ours is the oldest creed in Meridania. A single and symbolless creed, which sprouts spontaneously in every society. When an individual loses everything and ends up on the margins, if he has ears to hear, our merciful nameless god reveals himself to him and transforms him into our brother. His way lies in deprivation. The more marked our renunciations, the more our presence fades. We give up our possessions, our role, our name, our individuality, our strength, our senses, and we become shadows.”

Then, turning to Viryl, he added, “When night falls, the nameless god wraps us in his shroud and makes us undetectable. If I wanted, I could take the crown from the Emperor of Rokmar and no one would notice. But if I did it out of greed or pride, the god’s protection would abandon me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly. So?” Viryl pressed.

“So the blessing of the nameless god can be bestowed upon you, too. The conditions for being considered eligible are a state of deprivation and the absence of a blessing from another deity. But you must be careful. Your journey on the path of the nameless god has not even begun, so his grace will be only partial. Loud noises or obvious movements of objects, such as the opening of a guarded door, will reveal your presence. Also, as soon as you draw your weapon against an opponent, you will become visible again,” the Rat King explained.

“Why are you only addressing Viryl?” Anker asked, sensing that behind the Rat King’s explanation lied an unpleasant truth.

“Because, young man, you cannot be helped in this way. I thought I was clear when we met. First of all, you have never given up on anything. I feel it clearly. If you have come this far it is because you have not even been able to swallow your pride. Secondly, a deity already hovers over you,” the Rat King replied.

“Don’t speak heresies. A deity?! I do not know any deities other than Sylyphyr, my family does not know any, my ancestors did not know any! And I think I said my last prayer over five years ago: I certainly can't be said to be in God's grace. Until a few weeks ago I didn't even believe that the pagan sects you occasionally read about in the newspapers were a thing to care for, just a problem for the inquisitors! How can a deity ‘hover over me’?!” Anker exclaimed excitedly.

“No heresy. I don't know if it's because of a blessing or a curse written in the stars, but one thing I can tell you for sure. Your soul is not accessible,” the Rat King stated desolately.

“Nasty business, kid, nasty business. Once we get this thing of the Grand Master sorted out I promise I'll help you get to the bottom of it, if you want. But for now let's stay focused on the main issue. Are you basically suggesting me to go alone?” Viryl interjected.

“If you think you can do it, yes. But if we want we can figure out a way to bring the lad in too. We cannot hide him, but we can hide his weapons. We will simply have to tell the Grand Master that we discovered him wandering the sewers and deliver him to his residence. By doing so, if you follow the cart that will take him to the mansion, you will be able to enter it without interacting with anything or anyone,” the Rat King suggested.

“It is not up to me to decide. If the boy decides to turn himself to the pursuers, his life will be in my hands. Only I can save him. So, Anker, what do you say?” Viryl asked.

“I fear we have no other choice,” Anker replied dejectedly.

“There is always another choice. To wait here. Our refuge is hidden from those who do not know the arcane power. The knights who pursue you cannot find us, and the Grand Master is short of men. In a few days he may tire of waiting, and he could come himself to the dungeons of Meridania to look for you. You could ambush him. However, I ask you not to jeopardize the cistern. You must face him away from here,” the Rat King suggested.

Anker mulled over this alternative, and for a moment it seemed to him that a faint glimmer of hope lit up. He did not want to surrender himself in chains to the enemy, and at the same time he did not want to let Viryl go alone. He would be vulnerable along the way, and it wasn’t a given the knights of the Order of Libertas would deliver him so easily. If their order was to kill him, they might just do that.

But who could guarantee that Dioryl would venture into the sewers alone? The Rat King’s lair was hidden, but he could reveal it, and there was no stopping him from bringing mercenaries with him. Not to mention that their time was running out: the trail of blood they had left behind in Valacqua would soon be discovered, and suspicion would immediately fall on them. Even if they had escaped Dioryl, who would have kept the forces of law and order of the League of Free Communes at bay?

Last but not least, Anker hated the place. It stank of human feces and an uncontrollable itch was driving him crazy. Waiting there for days? Out of the question. He didn’t want to stay a minute longer than necessary, even if it meant death.

“Let’s do it,” Anker boldly decreed.

“Okay,” the Rat King replied, smiling, “Let’s see if you like this version for the letter I’ll send to the Grand Master. After defeating the Brotherhood of the Crawling Worm and fleeing into the sewers, the knight, exhausted, chose to surrender. The fallen abandoned him and resurfaced to continue his battle. Alone and disoriented, the knight wandered through the sewers until he came across my brothers. He is willing to surrender unarmed and reveal the last known location of the fallen, as long as his life is spared. What do you say, can it work?”