Blood-Hound Vael spat a mouthful of dark phlegm onto the lower marble steps, gesturing with the notched falchion in his left hand while his iron-splinted right wrist remained strapped against his belt.
Behind him crowded forty elite enforcers from the Four Great Pill Houses.
They wore reinforced bronze chainmail and carried spiked bucklers. Their eyes burned with the jittery, violent light of combat stimulants.
Beside Vael, Chief Alchemist Doran clutched a leather pouch packed with chemical flash-bombs, his lips drawn back in a venomous sneer.
“The patriarch wants the boy dragged down by his heels,” Doran hissed, pointing up the curving stone stair. “Break the door. Kill the spearwoman. Leave Master Ash’s little clerk alive so we can flay the pill formula out of his tongue.”
“Quiet, alchemist,” Vael growled, his wolf-skull tattoo pulsing crimson along his neck. “Just keep your fire-bombs ready.”
Vael signaled with two fingers, and the first four enforcers charged up the winding spiral steps.
At the upper landing outside Booth Nine, the heavy oak door remained shut.
