Alchemical symbol: Nickel [https://i.imgur.com/SX7htXR.png]

On his hands and knees on the hard cobbles, Nevin stared at the wolves, and the wolves stared back. They were dire-wolves, a pair of them: twice the size of a grey wolf with thick coats of shaggy fur and a bite to shear through bone.

He felt no fear. Moonlight bathed the street in stillness and peace. Angels whispered, their voices soft and musical like viols and clarinets. Get up, Nevin.

Moving seemed a great deal of effort. ‘Why?’

Run, Nevin.

His body seemed a long way off, only tenuously connected. Still, angels spoke and he should try to obey. He had always obeyed orders. That was the right thing to do.

Warmth embraced him, helped his rubbery legs support his weight. He staggered to his feet.

Run, Nevin.

If he ran, the wolves would chase him. Wolves were only wild dogs, and dogs liked to chase. Wolves ran fast. He used to run, in training — in full armour, too — but wolves were much faster than him on his best day, even if his legs didn’t feel like they were held together with wet string.

Run.

Both wolves stared right at him. Their eyes were fire, burning holes in the night. Long white teeth glistened.

‘Bugger,’ Nevin said, and ran.

They’d catch him easily on the straight. He slammed round a corner into an alleyway. Purple and crimson flashed across his vision. The end of the alley glowed brilliant white. Feathers rustled.

He burst out into the light. A thousand soft hands tugged him to the left. He put his head down and sprinted, though he was falling not running, the helpless tumble of a child down a steep hill.

His heart hammered against his rib-cage. Each breath stabbed with savage pain. He should be looking for a way to escape but he saw nothing, only muddy cobbles appearing from the darkness. All he could do was run.

Another junction. Angels shoved him to the right. He staggered. His ragged breathing was the panting of wolves on his heels. As in childish nightmares, his legs moved slower and slower, heavier and heavier. Even angels could only move him so fast. He swayed with every step.

Where were the wolves? They were bloody slow. They should have been on him by now. Sharp teeth should be ripping his legs from under him, tearing into his flesh. Any second now — the next step, the next breath, the next —

They were playing with him. With the thought came a rush of anger: he didn’t mind dying so much, but it was intolerable to be sport.

He glanced behind. White fangs lunged from the darkness. His foot snagged stone, and he was flying.

Falling.

He hit the ground hard on his shoulder, tumbled and raised his hands to the snarling jaws. Heat surged in his chest, a rapid pulse of warmth like a second heartbeat, throbbing down his arms. Angels screamed; their rage burned through him, and out.

His hands burst into flame. The wolf yelped and leaped away.

Nevin rolled to his feet and ran. No angels pushed him now, only terror. All warmth had gone with the fire. Frozen cobbles slipped and slid under numb feet. He weaved and staggered down a tunnel of black wings.

Light beckoned. A pale glow outlined a group of figures.

Fresh energy poured into him. He charged forward, waving his arms to attract their attention, shouting: ‘Wolves! Run!’

Six people, three of them small. Children. Ragged children, carrying…

If he had breath, he would have laughed. The angels had saved him. They’d led him to this unlikely rescue. All he had to do was stagger past. As soon as the wolves set eyes on this buffet, they’d forget all about him.

Captain Nevin vai Phylaxes: to save his own skin left children to be eaten by wolves. A true hero.

‘Run,’ he gasped.

And he turned to face the wolves.

Alchemical symbol: Antimony [https://i.imgur.com/7omjkx8.png]

Clouds covered the moon. Quiet now, the children bunched together and crept from one ruined building to the next, tensely watchful.

Andra snuffed the air. The breeze blew from the west, where there were no houses or streets. The mountain was steep there, a place of straggling grass and stunted bushes broken by boulders, a place where foul water bubbled hot from the ground and stained the black rock red and yellow.

No humans lived there. Few animals either. And this street too was empty, though humans had lived here not long ago. They had camped in these burnt out buildings — but many days ago they had gone, leaving behind only stale smells, rubbish, and rats.

Hair rose on the back of her neck. She halted. In the buildings, rats scuttled. The children breathed, wind hushed, and in a nearby street — someone was running.

Andra strode forward to join Boss.

‘What is it?’ Boss hissed.

She held up her hand. Quiet.

A man screamed. They all heard that; the children clung to each other, hearts racing.

‘Back,’ Boss said urgently. ‘We have to go back. Move.’

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Stone walls echoed running footsteps. A man staggered round a corner. Blood on his white clothes, blood on his face: he reeked of blood and fear. He raised his head and saw them. His feet stuttered. He almost fell, recovered, and ran toward them, shouting: ‘Wolves! Run!’

Shadows followed him, shadows with hunched backs and bristling manes, pricked ears, long jaws, and eyes that burned red. The two dire-wolves padded into the street, male to the right, female to the left, moving to flank their prey.

The man ran. He weaved unsteadily, exhaustion and pain in every step. Death was behind and he could not run much further. As he approached, he veered to the left as if to pass the children, and at the last moment stumbled and seemed to change his mind.

He stopped and turned to face the wolves. His hand fumbled for a weapon that wasn’t there.

The wolves too had stopped. Smell came first with them, then sound, then sight. They smelled the meat, they smelled the small humans and Andra, and they hesitated. A moment ago they had prey and purpose, an easy hunt — now there was a choice. They were unsure what to target first.

The children had frozen. Mouse and Slight and Tick crowded close to Boss and Lump. Terror bound them into a single animal. If one broke, they would all run.

Andra stepped in front of them. ‘Do not run,’ she hissed.

Her guts twisted in pain. If she were fit, she could fight the wolves. But she was not. She was so weak even walking with the children had strained her.

The wolves stalked forward. The male wolf slunk up the right side of the street, the female on the left. Their gazes darted from the man to Andra to the children. They would pass her, circle the children. If the children ran, the wolves would chase and pull down the stragglers. If the children stood their ground, the wolves would dart in to bite and snatch.

Andra flexed her claws. Weak as she was, if she must fight — well, she would fight. She could buy time for the children to scatter. The wolves would take the slowest; the rest would escape.

But there was a chance a fight could be avoided.

She fixed her gaze on the male wolf. ‘This is mine.’ She spoke in her own language. The wolves did not understand, but it seemed right to speak to them in the language of the ice-plains. They were kin, of a sort.

At the sound of her voice, the wolves froze. Ears twitched. Teeth gleamed white. Eyes that should be dark glowed red like embers.

She spread her arms and showed her teeth. ‘Hunt elsewhere, brother. This is not your place.’

After so long with only human words in her ears, her own language tasted strange and slippery. No matter. The wolves did not understand words, but they could understand intent. Her body spoke a language they knew, one predator to another: What is mine, I defend. What is mine, I fight for. Here I stand. Go hunt elsewhere.

‘Mine,’ she growled.

The wolves lowered their heads. The hair on their backs bristled. They understood, but their prey was near, and they hungered. She knew that hunger all too well. They weighed their hunger against her threat. She was one and they were two; the humans she did not count.

She turned her head slightly. The man stood at her side. He stared at his hands and swayed. Well, he wasn’t her problem. Boss and Lump had the smaller children bunched behind them. Boss was very pale, her face set with grim determination. If this failed, Andra thought Boss too would fight, if only to give the others a chance to run.

‘Boss,’ Andra hissed. She stretched out her hand. ‘Meat.’

The girl didn’t move. Her eyes focused on Andra. Understanding broke through the terror; Boss thrust a joint of meat into Andra’s hand.

Andra dug her claws into the raw flesh, and heaved it into the air.

The joint bounced on the cobbles inches in front of the male wolf. Startled, the wolf jumped. Another lump of meat landed a few feet from the female wolf — and then another hit the street, and another.

‘Enough,’ Andra said. Too much would only confuse the wolves. She waved the children back.

The male wolf sniffed the meat, then with sudden decision, seized it. The animal turned and trotted away, tail high. After a sniff, the more cautious female grabbed a joint and followed her mate

Andra took a deep breath. Her legs trembled. The children gathered round her, all silent, watching the wolves vanish into the night.

‘You talked to them,’ Mouse whispered. ‘You told them to go and they did.’

Andra shook her head. ‘Go. Hurry.’

‘What about him?’ Boss asked.

The man had dropped to his knees. He slowly folded forward and collapsed on the cobbles. Andra nudged him with her foot. He didn’t move.

‘We go,’ she said.

‘We can’t just leave him,’ Mouse said.

Andra squinted at the child. Mouse had spoken with great sureness, yet they could certainly leave the man. Nothing would be easier.

‘He tried to help,’ Mouse said. ‘He’s hurt. The wolves might come back and eat him.’

‘So what?’ Boss said.

Boss had good sense, for a human.

Mouse scowled. ‘When we found Andra, she was hurt and that wasn’t our business. You said so. But we helped her anyway.’

‘Only because you said she would help us.’

‘Well, maybe he’ll help us.’

‘Have you seen it,’ Boss said, ‘or are you just saying that? We can’t help everyone.’

‘We can help him. And we should.’ Mouse turned to Andra, appealing.

Andra sighed. She crouched by the man and prodded him with her claws. He didn’t move. He wasn’t going to wake up and walk anytime soon. He smelled — odd, like sickness, and— She leaned in and sniffed deeply.

‘Ugh,’ Boss said. ‘What’s she doing now?’

He smelled of the marked one who had stuck his knife in her gut.

She hauled the limp body over her shoulder. Her gut screamed. She grimaced and ignored it. It was only pain. ‘Enough talk. Go now.’

Alchemical symbol: Zinc [https://i.imgur.com/db6WC9b.png]

‘So that’s done,’ Sparrow said.

Zult grunted. He eyed the shadows lurking at the edges and corners of buildings. Angel’s Alley and the wolves were far behind them, but still too close for comfort.

‘You think the wolves got him?’ Sparrow asked.

‘He’s dead. Forget him.’

Angel’s Alley wasn’t the real name. Just what people called the streets along the wasteland, on the edge of Blazes territory where the scab-heads hung out. Or used to, before the wolves took to hunting there. Even scab-heads had enough sense not to stick around to be eaten — those who weren’t too far gone, anyhow.

It wasn’t where Belle went with her friends. He didn’t think so, but he didn’t know where she was. He couldn’t be sure. If he’d seen her, what would he have done? Dragged her back home? Zohan used to do that, dragged her home weeping and whining and bruised, and she’d just run away first chance she got. But she came back, when she dried out. She always came back.

Thinking of Belle brought a dull anger. Aimless rage, because what use was being angry with her? She couldn’t help it. Once angel’s blood got you, you were a scab-head until you died. Neither violence or words would fix her. And though she wasn’t much of a mother, she was the only mother the child had.

‘How did the prigs know to find us at the chapel?’ Sparrow said.

‘The alchemist girl.’ Zult pictured her, how they’d last seen her. Angry and scared. Sparrow should have just paid her. It was a shame, but there was little doubt it was her who’d talked. Who else could it be?

‘Huh.’ Sparrow scratched himself. ‘Yeah, that must be it. We’ll have to do something about that.’

There were rules. Everyone knew the rules and the consequences for breaking them. There had to be consequences, whether you liked someone or not, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t pick and choose. They would have to find the girl and remind her of the rules.

He didn’t know her name. But he’d recognised the prig, the one they’d left for the wolves. It was the same man who’d chased him, when he’d gone looking for Zohan at the alchemist’s place…

Well, well. Small world.

‘I know how to find her,’ Zult said. ‘Leave it to me.’