Krug had spent most of the night at the club, Kal and two more of his brutes enjoying the scenery. Sophia had shown up, looking as ravishing as she was capable and he was more than pleased to allow her a seat at his side for the evening’s entertainment. Too early to see the grand finale however, an informant snuck up behind him and delivered him a message that her father had been seen entering the burrow and he looked to be in a hurry. Calling it a night, he’d gathered his entourage to continue the party in private at his apartments instead.

Following up on his plans, they were ready for the first day which would see broader action in the other burrows, discord and disruption, taking the attention of the policing soldiers and the captains, stretching their resources to tire them out. The warning Malta had delivered to Sir Rabb put into place the countdown for the city’s implosion, a way in fact to speed things along, under the guise of giving them time. He expected the four barons to swing into confused action, come down hard to control their underlings and restore quiet disorder, all the while the secret dealings Krug had woven into place would begin all at once, designed to rile them up. On the first day, the Kitskan boat would arrive and begin to unload. Unexpectedly, there would be three Kitskan boats instead of the agreed upon one. Torn between refusing and complaining about it, to which Krug had not planned on making himself available for that, Tatiana would have to accept and Droga would have to make way. When the cargo came off, three times the warehouse space Pontas agreed to, he too would be looking for answers, but only a very large group of very big Rogun and Kitskan “blacksmith’s” would be on hand to hear his grievances. And they really didn’t listen so well.

That night, ten black-robed, silent footed Rogun Black Tower loyalists would join Krug and Kal while they entered the barracks to slit the throats, simultaneously, of the sleeping officer knights. Without them, the regular soldiers would likely flee, and even if they didn’t, they were more evenly matched with their invading enemies. Krug preferred a fair fight.

Day two would see the crates being distributed and hauled through the city to be placed where the invaders would best need them, a mystery to the local crews who will be none too happy at the territorial shove and the general malaise and wariness of the city would begin to widely set in. The honest people of Divik, after getting a good look at the circling hounds of their underground overlords, would finally believe Commander Rabb, roust their families and get out. In droves, he suspected. Distrust and tempers, he hoped then, would be on the fly in the face of growing fear from the leaders.

Day three promised to be a big day. Krug looked forward to it with relish. Malta would arrive, his big Rogun vessel snaking its way into the centre berth, made vacant by some paid off pirate loyal to him. He would disembark and give the order to attack and every man, woman and child that remained and in their way, would fall. Simple.

Malta would lead the advance and invasion, Kal and Krug his trusted officers at his side, all the way from the docks to the block house. Sir Rabb, hopefully without a knight comrade to back him up by then, would then remain the last man standing to defend his queen’s name and honour, in the stinking vestiges of her failed city. Malta would stretch him from his neck over the wall and set him on fire. For the queen. He knew the queen liked fire.

Krug smiled and stretched, his arms wide over the back of his sofa. The sun streamed in, bright and cheerful and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well.

Once the city was captured, burning and crumbling for all it mattered to him, he would secure Malta’s quarters, turn the able-bodied men around and start loading his take back on the ships while Malta watched the front door for his pretty bird to arrive. He knew by now word would have reached her that her son, the current king of Rogun had been kidnapped from his throne and his whereabouts were unknown to them. Malta’s arrival would signal the checkmate to her, that he had her caught in his crosshairs. She would have no choice but to come to him, on his terms, to save her mewling bastard, whereas Malta planned on burning them both on the pyre.

Krug expected Malta to expire directly in that confrontation himself, so his cargo needed to be loaded beforehand. Ticking the days and weeks off on his hand, he figured they had a week before the city was completely in Malta’s control, and a month before Nyssa arrived from the capital to confront them. Serviced near indefinitely by supply ships called up by the pirate brethren that were paid to support them, Malta had no worry that he could hold her hastily assembled forces back from the walls that long. Orak’Thune built good walls. They would hold.

Krug was grinning where his head rested on the back of the sofa, his eyes closed. He felt hands on his thighs and tilted his head up to see Sophia sliding her way around his lower half, wearing nothing but a multi-layered gold chain necklace that swept lightly over her breasts. He’d had a decent enough time in her company the previous night, but hiding her from her father had been a close call. He needed both of them intact in order to control them. He really only needed to do that for two more days, maybe even only the one.

Krug watched her slink down to kneel between his knees, her hands rubbed his bare thighs. He loved to watch the rich kittens breaking themselves on ruffians, outcasts, degenerate bastards like himself. They’d been groomed and preened to be the highest of society, clean and prim and proper, and yet, Krug had been quite successful in getting a few just like this; on their knees in a rented apartment, half-inebriated on winds-knew-what opiate, with a man they barely knew - or - thought they knew because mommy never taught them not to trust everyone they’d meet. He knew they wouldn’t find their rich boy counterparts like this, and it made him laugh to think they’d spend considerable time trying to get through the lace, linen and petty coats before ever catching a glimpse of bare skin. Krug had them naked and rubbing themselves on him in span of a few dates.

Sophia was lost to it, he could see that. She’d taken more sapphire the previous night than he’d ever seen and she’d not come down from it yet. She was coherent, but not registering much.

“Well? Are you going to stare at it or suck it?” he said to her. Sophia’s eyes moved slowly up and her head wobbled but she held on.

“Then can I go home?” she replied, her eyes blinking too slowly. Krug frowned.

“You want to go home? Why?” he asked, sitting up and moving a hand to brush her hair from her shoulder in a falsely gentle gesture. “The time has come. Rogun is on the other end of that blow, Sweetheart,” he said to her calmly. “I thought we had a deal?”

“I-I know,” she said and dropped her eyes, her head nodding in an uncontrolled bob between them. “And I want to, I just-“ she cut off and shrugged. Krug smiled to her while he lifted her chin in his fingers so she would look at him.

“It’s OK,” he said to her softly. “It’s OK, Sophia, I know what you want,” he added and while he leaned back, his hand brought a small vial over from the end table. Sophia whimpered.

Krug positioned himself and tapped a clean line of the blue powder up the length of his shaft, then lay back, stretching once again his hands along the back of the sofa. He grinned at her.

“Krug,” Kal called him, his head popping around the door. Krug only looked up in mild surprise. “We got the uh, the guy,” he told him, his eyes dropping to Sophia. Krug grinned at him and waved one hand at his friend to come in. A commotion at the door and two burly men shoved through behind Kal with a drooping and bound man between them. They shoved him into a chair, tied him and left, save Kal who stood with his hands lightly clasped and his feet wide apart, watching.

Sophia moved to look but Krug stopped her with a hand to her face.

“Eyes on me, lovely,” he said to her. “You may begin,” he added and grinned wide.

Sophia moved slowly and when she started to snort the powder the man behind her started to scream and fight against his bindings. Kal, annoyed at the disturbance, grabbed an open bag and stuffed it over the man’s nose, a large cloud of white powder exploding from around his face. He could hear the man cough, wheeze and fight for oxygen through his gag.

Slowly, the drug took effect and he sagged, growing quiet, his eyes glazing over.

“There, one big happy family,” Krug said and hissed loudly in pleasure when Sophia took him in her mouth. Five minutes later and Kal moved forward, untying his pants. He lifted the girl’s rear and moved in from behind. Sophia moaned in pleasure.

Stragen’s mind crumbled. The drug dulled his senses, he couldn’t feel his body, it felt like everything was happening in slow motion. Two men pleasured themselves with his daughter’s body, she too glazed over and barely aware and he prayed that was a blessing to her. If he lived through this day, he would never forget the vomit on his gag, unable to clear it, the choking on it. The tears and the rage while it happened and the drug keeping him from fighting it. His baby girl was doing these things with their enemy, before his eyes. He had been trying to find her, to take her from there, but she’d made deals with them, he’d discovered, lied about where they were from, not told anyone she’d set up meetings with the other families behind his back. He’d found out all this when Kal had surprised him at the Silk, hooded him and stolen him to this dive apartment and tortured him all night with stories of his daughters undoing’s.

Her price? To be taken away from him and Swan. To leave Divik.

“I curse you, Rogun,” Stragen mumbled in the gag. “I curse you. May the Fire Queen burn you to ash.”