Now… those of you with a knack for subterfuge are probably thinking: this has all the makings of a classic trap. An evil cult, up to no good, leaving their doors wide open after very publicly sending a carriage through there? Obviously, they were trying to bait any other children out there into entering their godforsaken abode. And those of you who know a bit about how cults operate are probably thinking: they probably just didn't think to have anybody close the doors. Cults are very prickly on planning for their Grand Schemes, but they tend to let other niggling details, like having somebody around to close the front door, fall to the wayside. Monomania will do that to you.

I scampered down the bridge as fast as I could with Mailyn close behind, the ocean breeze in our faces. The wind provided some respite from the stench of the canals, though not as much as you might think, since it had to blow through most of the Green Stones to get to us. We pattered right past the big swinging doors of the building's entrance and into a vaulted stabling area that served as the building's atrium - this layout is not atypical in the few Green Stones blocks connected to the mainland, since space is too cramped for proper stables. A dark-clad woman stormed out from the back, grumbling about 'those idiots leaving the doors open' in Mouldevican Slartic.

Fortunately, Mailyn and I were well out of the way by then, crouched to the side and in the shadows, staring up at one of the impassive and impressively-tall destriers. It's said that the Florian destrier is descended from the imperial war-horses of Old Turia, the battle mounts of the august emperors of that lost land. One of the old pirate lords of early Perdita bred the beasts on Calentios before having several dozen stolen by a rival warlord, who paraded them around Floria and gave the foals as gifts to all her friends

I'd never been so close to one of the beasts before - easily twenty hands high and as black as the Nurass's own steeds, except for the little blob of white fur that splotched its forehead like whichever god was responsible for coloring animals had missed spot. In that moment, I knew that I would one day possess such a majestic creature. To Mailyn's horror, I reached up and rubbed the horse's snout - as big as the animal was, I could barely reach it. After the cultist closed the doors and stormed back into the compound, Mailyn yanked me away from the destrier.

"Don't you know those things bite?" she hissed.

"What? Horses? No they don't!" Back on Barsoa, I'd had my very own pony, Pranto, and she hadn't attempted to bite me even once. Of course, my parents had almost certainly paid somebody to train poor Pranto before they let me within ten meters of her and Mailyn had spent her early years on a farm. The beasts of burden she was familiar with probably hadn't been professionally-trained. "You wouldn't bite me, would you, boy?" I asked.

Mailyn rolled her eyes, but only for an instant, because the horse snorted and shook its head, as if it could actually understand me. Which, of course, it couldn't - the average Florian destrier, intelligent and tireless as they are, is capable of learning no more than a few dozen verbal commands.

"You can understand me?" I asked.

The horse shook its head again… shook its head 'no' again, that is. Maybe it just liked shaking its head. Mailyn huffed. "If it could understand language, it would speak Slartic, not Perditalog," she said. That was a good point. Everybody knew the best horse trainers were Mouldevican.

"Fine," I grumbled. I double-checked to make sure the coast was clear. "Let's go."

We crept from the stables and over to the main entrance to the temple complex: five steps up to a sturdy wooden door boasting no fewer than four heavy locks. Fortunately, none of them were actually locked and the door was slightly ajar. For a cult practicing illegal human sacrifices, this group wasn't very good with doors. Unless, again, it was all part of an elaborate trap to lure us in.

We climbed the stairs, old and creaky with a patina of dust wherever foot traffic hadn't trampled the wood smooth. Fortunately, both Mailyn and I were both reasonably slim and good at sneaking, so neither of us creaked much. We couldn't sneak as well as Aldo, who was probably the best natural sneak among all the Scamps (not to be confused with being the best actual Sneak, which all of us were years away from), but we were pretty sneaky. I peeked over the railing as we ascended to the next floor. Two men and a woman, all in dark robes and wearing the 'Star of the Forsaken' (the eight-pointed iron wheel with a silver skull and a vertical spear bisecting both the skull and the wheel) the symbol of necromancers who wished to 'break the cycle of death' since ancient times.

Technically, it is not illegal to wear a Star of the Forsaken in Floria… in fact, it's a popular accessory at fancy costume parties where people dress as evil wizards and such… but if you're seen wearing one while not drunk or on your way to get drunk on a festival day, it's as much as a declaration that you're up to no good. As I've emphasized, I hope: these cultists weren't exactly subtle. For instance, the snippet of conversation that Mailyn and I were immediately privy to upon creeping up to the top of the stairs would have gotten them all killed if anybody in authority had so much as heard about it.

"With those two children… both of them quite potent… that brings us four sacrifices of exceptional quality." Cultist Guy One said in accented Slartic. Fortunately, Mailyn and I had both done well enough in our language classes that we were practically fluent in the language (any Scamp is generally conversant in at least five languages by the time they become a Sneak, and I worked as a translator for ten or fifteen hours a week).

I almost gasped at the man's declaration, but Mailyn's hand muffled my mouth. A moment later, she muffled my sigh of relief - they were speaking of future sacrifices, after all, not ones that had already occurred. Mailyn shot me a meaningful look, motes of fire sparking in her eyes, and I blinked in acknowledgment, settling my emotions. I knew better than to make noise.

"I agree. It should be enough to attempt the ritual again." Cultist Gal said.

"Hold on…" Cultist Guy Two said. "We have no idea who these kids are… somebody could be looking for them…"

"Well… we're sacrificing them regardless, so…" Cultist Gal equivocated.

"No, I mean… what if somebody with connections comes looking for them? That group of kids was actually looking for us, asking the locals, and at least two others got away. What if they're…" he cleared his throat meaningfully. "What if they're Collegium?"

"Collegium?" Cultist Gal laughed. "You're seeing shadows where none exist. I assure you - they're guild kids or talented street rats. If we had a young shadow in our custody, we'd know it."

"How, exactly?"

"We'd… we'd know!" she insisted. "So… shall we off to the Dead Canton tonight?"

"That location is… we think it's compromised," Cultist Guy One said. "Three of our people disappeared and we have no idea what happened. So we'd better do it here… these stones contain old magic on a level with what we'd find out in the graveyard, maybe even better."

"Wait… now?" Cultist Guy Two asked. "Shouldn't we wait until midnight?"

"You know as well as us that our findings suggest it's an old groom's tale," Cultist Gal scoffed. "For what we do, time of day doesn't matter and those corpses aren't getting any fresher."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" he asked.

"They're the ones who left in such a hurry to inform Lord Schvarziveld… let the feckless fools miss our moment of triumph," Cultist Guy One said levelly. "Our first steps toward a loyal army of the dead."

"Well stated, brother. Let's have at it, then," Cultist Gal stated. "Are we all agreed?"

"Hmm… yes," Cultist Guy Two eventually acquiesced. "Fine. I agree."

They stood from their chairs and, for the first time in what seemed like a very long time, I peered over the railing to see what was afoot. The three cultists stood from their spots around the table, Guy One taking a last quaff of his drink, before they drew their cowls about their faces and shuffled toward the back of the temple. I shared a look with Mailyn, who nodded wordlessly - we would follow these bastards to where they were keeping their sacrificial victims - including our friend, and we would stop them. What else could we do?

The inside of the necromancer's temple filled me with unease, my breath coming fast and my heart hammering away in my chest. It took an effort of will not to whimper or tremble, but this was serious work we were doing. We were rescuing our friends.

The necromancer's temple was a dark and airy place, pale sunlight streaming in from tiny windows high above in the vaulted ceiling, casting the great chapel in chiaroscuro. What had once been the main floor of a temple had since been converted to a mixed living space with cots and sleeping rolls arrayed at one end of the floor, space for at least twenty people to sleep.

Workbenches and alchemical rigs occupied the opposite end, of the space and a variety of common areas and study desks sat in between. Everything was accented with skulls and bones - sometimes actual human and animal skulls, carved dark with dense runes and pulsing with subtle and unsettling magic. Most were the silver-painted skulls that adorned the little Circle of the Forsaken symbols they had everywhere. The smell of a musty, lived-in place pervaded throughout, and I got the impression that the cultists did not bother with regular baths in the Largotto.

Fortunately, the gloom provided good cover for two children in earth-brown garb and well-practiced sneaking skills. The whole of the place was empty, the rest of the cultists out and about on whatever business they had. It was quite possible, or even likely, that they had otherwise normal jobs and lives. Some might have had families. Perfectly normal people if you ignored the sacrificing children for evil necromancy bit.

"Hey, look," Mailyn whispered. She reached for a pile of smooth, brightly-colored pebbles resting upon one of the workbenches. They looked like semiprecious gems of some sort and, no doubt, either of us could have sold the stones at the Gionian Market for a few tollos apiece. Or, then again, judging from the caustic smell emanating from that workbench, maybe they were something else. It was suicidally dangerous to handle alchemical unknown alchemical reagents, and handling known alchemicals was only slightly safer.

I pulled Mailyn's hand away at the last minute. "We don't know what those are. We'll worry about it after we stop these guys, okay?"

"Yeah," Mailyn agreed with a frown. I don't want to even think about what would have happened if her hand had inadvertently sparked near those things.

A door creaked shut down a dark hallway, so we approached carefully, peering under the little gap between the door and the floor to ensure that nobody sat in wait on the other side. I could vaguely see the silhouette of Cultist Gal descending a staircase and out of view. As quietly as we could, we eased the door open and crept in, catching the tail of Cultist Gal's dark robes as they disappeared around a corner and down further stairs… stairs going down into the ancient green stone. I pulled the door closed behind me, but not quite enough to shut it - it's easy to underestimate exactly how loud a door clicking shut is until you accidentally do it. It's best to leave them a bit ajar where possible.

The cramped stairwell was hewn directly into the stone, heading down further than I would have expected - rumor is that most of the green stones are piled atop older stones that sank into the silted basin of Floria Bay. Indeed, as we descended, I traced with my finger the hairline fracture where the upper stone ended and the lower stone began. Even now, I can only marvel at the arcanistry it must have taken to move such large blocks from the Old City across the Largotto and four kilometers upriver. I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, the narrow corridor skewing to the right. I could hear cultist voices, clearly projected through the enclosed space. Shadows flickered about, their glowglobe lanterns casting long silhouettes.

"This latest one's still out," Cult Guy Two said. "I think he's got a head injury…"

"He's still breathing, right?" Cult Gal replied.

"Sure."

"Good. He doesn't need to be awake - he'll struggle less."

"Actually, we may need to wake him," Cult Guy One said. "The emotional state is important to the ritual - terror and desperation will augment the power sent to the-"

Just then, the ajar door at the top of the stairs banged open and a figure shuffled down several stairs before calling out: "Hey! What in the holy hills of hell? Did you guys start without me?"

"No, but you'd better hurry!" Cult Gal One replied. "We're making preparations."

"Well… I'm here now." Cult Gal Two started down the stairs, leaving us sandwiched between the three cult members down there and Cult Gal Two rapidly descending the stairs. The wan light of her glowglobe projected well for perhaps three meters… three meters that were rapidly encroaching upon our little hiding spot at the base of the stairwell. I drew my little knife and reached out in the dark to squeeze Mailyn's shoulder.

"You take the left," Mailyn whispered, and she bounded up the stairs, the metal of her blade glinting as it entered Cult Gal Two's light radius.

I unfolded my own knife and bounded after her, my knuckles going white from how hard I grasped the weapon. It wasn’t much of a knife, its carven bone handle about the right size for my small hands and the blade not much longer than ten centimeters, but I'd practiced with it and taught myself how to sharpen it - the merchant who'd sold it to me was known for the high quality of her alloys. My senses took in everything as I rushed up at the dark-clad woman, the rough-hewn stairs giving my feet good purchase, the woman's confusion quickly turning to surprise and then fear as Mailyn and I shot in from different angles.

"Hey, there's two-" she shouted. "Ah!"

Mailyn stuck her with her knife. I didn't think there'd be much of a sound when somebody got stabbed, but there was. Not very loud, and not too dissimilar from somebody cutting through a particularly rare cut of steak, only a bit wetter. The blade tore through the woman's cotton robe, which made a lot more noise than the actual stabbing, as did the woman's yelp of surprise. Then I felt something around us twist. Mailyn was sent stumbling down the stairs…

Cult Gal Two was a mage, if not a particularly powerful one. If I had to guess, most of the cult people were. And, of course, one of the first things they teach in mage school is how to express their thaum as raw, semi-directed force. Fortunately, the woman mostly missed, which is why Mailyn only stumbled down the stairs rather than rocketing into the stone walls.

Fearing that Mailyn might be hurt, I slipped into an enraged panic and stabbed at the woman myself. Pushing a blade through cotton clothes and flesh took a bit more force than I'd expected, and I lost my hold on the blade entirely when I tried to pull it out and it got stuck on the torn robes. The woman then turned to me, anger literally flashing in her eyes. The mage shaped her thaum and pulled something sickening into being. My guts churned as she worked her magic.

Dark, ropy tentacles of pure stygian darkness shot out of nowhere and dragged me backward and down - only they didn't drag me through regular space so much as pull me into the Shadelands. A normal person might have panicked and let herself get dragged right down into the cold annihilation of the abyss - but I actually felt safer in the shadows than I did battling a grown mage in the regular world.

The tentacles that gripped me paused and relaxed as we transitioned into the Shadelands. My guess is that my natural magical abilities shifted us over prematurely and the primitive will driving the tentacles was confused. That gave me enough of an opening to squirm out of the their grip, scampering away as quickly as I could. I was immediately expelled from the Shadelands the instant I re-entered the cultist's glowglobe radius. The force of light pushed me up and out, plastering me painfully against the rough-hewn ceiling for just a moment before releasing its grip entirely and sending me tumbling right back down and on top of the even-more-surprised, twice-stapped cultist. I shouted and swung my fists wildly, sobbing as the panic finally caught up with me.

"Vix!"

Mailyn dashed up the stairs, flames and the crackle of raw energy coursing along her hands and arms. With fury in her eyes, she grabbed at the woman's face, pressing her little fiery thumbs into the woman's eye sockets as she screamed in wild pain.

With a final spasm, Cult Gal Two's brief stint in our lives was no more. She died right around the time that Cult Guy Two rounded the corridor at the bottom of the stairwell. "What in the hell is going on up there. Are you - ah! Guys! There are two kids in the-"

I lifted my knife and brandished it threateningly. "We're from the Collegium! Let our friends go!"

Cult Gal rounded the corner and into the pale glowglobe light. Cult Guy Two glanced in her direction. She scratched her head. "Well… damn. I guess you were right."

"W-what do we do?" Cult Guy Two sputtered.

A smile crept along the corners of her mouth. "We sacrifice them, of course."