The great hall below us is already a butcher’s yard yet Sapphire’s line holds the bottom of the grand staircase. Not pretty. Not heroic. Just professional. Eight men in chainmail and blue tabards, shields locked edge to edge in a shallow crescent across the lowest six steps. Behind them, two ranks of crossbowmen, another ten or twelve. The formation isn’t flashy. It’s textbook.

  The Cartel continues to try anyway. They come in waves, small, controlled pushes. First squad rushes, shields up. Sapphire crossbows fire. Two men drop instantly, one pinned whilst the rest scatter back into the courtyard. No panic. They just reset.

  Second push comes faster. A dozen this time, throwing smoke pots first. The Sapphire line coughs but doesn’t break. Shields stay locked. Crossbows loose again, slower this time because of the smoke, but still methodical. A Cartel man staggers, bolt through his thigh, another takes one in the shoulder. They reach the foot of the stairs, barely might I add and start climbing over their own dead.

  That’s when the line shifts. The front rank of Sapphire drops to one knee in perfect unison, shields still raised. The second rank steps forward over them. The Cartel hits the sword wall. iron scrapes iron, someone screams as a sworf takes him under the ribs. The formation doesn’t advance. It just stands. Absorbs. Pushes back with short and brutal thrusts. Bodies pile up whilst blood runs down the steps.

  Master watches it all from the landing above, one hand still resting on the nape of my neck, fingers loose in my hair. His breathing stays even. Almost bored. My tail sways slow behind me, brushing his calf, ears forward and twitching. The bond hums quiet between us, his calm seeping into me.

  A third push comes. Bigger. Twenty this time, maybe more. They’ve learned, just bodies just mass assault. They charge straight at the bottleneck, shields overlapped, blades low. The Sapphire crossbows loose in volleys now, three, four, five at a time. Bolts slap into wood and meat with dull thuds. Men fall but yet others step over them. They reach the sword line again however this time a few break through the flanks, two slip past the left edge.

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  The Sapphire formation doesn’t buckle. The flank man pivots, shield smashing into one attacker’s face with a wet crunch. The other gets a sword through the gut from the second rank. Both go down, the line resets and shields lock again.

  Master works methodically. Span. Load. Fire. Span. Load. Fire. Each shot not aimed, each one finding something though. The Cartel notices. Heads turn upward. A few point. Shouts ripple back through their line.

  Master doesn’t flinch and the Cartel tries one last rush, desperate now, no formation, just bodies throwing themselves at the bottleneck. Maybe fifteen make it to the foot of the stairs. Master steps out from cover. He shoulders the crossbow again. Aims longer this time. The bolt flies straight and level, catches the Cartel squad leader square in the mouth as he’s shouting orders. The man’s head snaps back and whilst he drops the rest of the cartel rout.

  Silence falls whilst the Sapphire line holds position for another long minute before the sergeant calls “Stand down.” Men slump. Some sit right where they are whilst others lean on weapons.

  Master lowers the crossbow and I rise from my crouch to match him for the first few steps before straightening to walk at his hip again. My tail brushes his calf once, slow and deliberate. The bond pulses, his quiet satisfaction threading through my restless energy. Not triumphant. Just done.

  The guild master is waiting at the top landing, face pale, hands shaking. He’s been watching from the doorway of our room, still in his blood specked vest. When Master reaches him, the guild master opens his mouth, probably to say something about the fight, the losses, the triple pay.

  Master doesn’t stop. He nods once, same small, polite dip of the chin he gave the guards earlier and just keeps walking past. Barefoot. Unhurried. Hand trailing again, fingers loose.

  I shove my head into his palm without breaking stride. His fingers close around the base of my ears, thumb stroking once behind the right one. My purr kicks up immediately, loud enough to echo in the suddenly quiet corridor.