Who Tends the Flames of Chaos
Who Tends the Flames of Chaos
Interested parties set about throwing gasoline on the fire just to watch it burn. A chase ensues as Iatr & Klem's escape goes awry. And, maybe you SHOULD be afraid of black cats.
Previously in this story arc;
If you are new to this story, start here, and read from the beginning.
Who Tends the Flames of Chaos
The man leaned against the wall, staring out through a gap in the curtain, his lips curled into a smile as the spirit of chaos marched through Ylan Plaza. Protesters fled in every direction, pursued by mounted Kings Guards and city Watchmen. Smoke twisted and billowed in the air as horses thundered through the square, scattering smashed carts and frightened wounded people.
He tapped an elegant finger against his jaw, and considered how he’d describe the day’s work to his employer. The magical suppression blasts were a clever touch—an efficient way to keep these wild animals in line. The protest had been a fascinating study in how the city’s factions tore at each other’s throats, especially the leather crafters. They believed they were persecuted, that everyone was taking advantage of them, and were hungry for a fight.
A few well-placed bribes had yielded the expected results. Chaos. And opportunity.
His eyes locked on a figure emerging from the smoke, armour gleaming like a conquering hero. Sir Quinas Artur. Captain of the King’s Guard.
His smile widened, sharp and predatory. With elegant precision, he tied back his jet-black hair, humming softly. Reaching down, he lifted the heavy crossbow beside him, and checked to be sure that the cold iron bolt was in place.
“Time to stoke the fire one last time…” he chuckled, as he raised the crossbow to his shoulder.
Today’s work would pay well.
“How did you get in? And how’d you know I’d be here?” Klem hissed.
“I saw an open window on the second story,” Iatr said, “Someone had abandoned their cart beneath it. I climbed up when I saw the turd brothers follow you into the alley. Thought I’d open a door for you to slip in as you ran by. Just got lucky I guess.”
Iatr shrugged, as if this was completely normal.*
* - Klem considered the odds of this, but lacking any education in estimation, statistics or gambling - gave up quickly. He figured it was unlikely. Very unlikely.
“And… there’s no one in this house?” Klem said, looking around nervously.
It was a beautiful house, owned by someone with enough money to be living in a short walking distance to the city’s main financial and trading hub, known as Ylan Plaza. On any other day, he’d be eyeing the place for things to steal. The paintings on the walls, the polished furniture—everything screamed that he and Iatr didn’t belong. And the eerie quiet, broken only by distant shouts from outside, made his skin crawl.
“Might be, but if there is, they're hiding,” Iatr said nonchalantly.
“The stairs are that way,” Iatr continued, pointing to an open archway. “I think I saw a balcony on the inside of the alley we can use to jump across without going down to the street. If the watch is comin’ to this house, we probably don’t want to leave out the front door.”
They crept quietly down the hall, away from the back door and passed an open door that led into a large kitchen. Klem stopped, tempted by the golden opportunity to get a free lunch. But thinking better of it, he turned back to Iatr, just as his friend walked right past him and into the kitchen.*
* - Iatr was the kind of thief who saw stealing a free lunch as a moral imperative.
Mostly because Jake had always told Iatr there was no such thing, and he was on a lifelong mission to prove Jake wrong.
About this, and literally everything else.
Klem felt his anxiety rise as if the pressure of the outside world was closing in on him. “We don’t have time!” Klem hissed, gesturing down the hall, despite not knowing where it led.
“Fighting the law makes me hungry.” Iatr grinned, rummaging through the shelves. Klem frowned at him, but followed him in.
They were halfway to the larder when a knock thundered from the back door. They froze.
“Okay, maybe we should get going…” Iatr muttered, backing away from the food with a sorrowful glance.
A cold shiver crawled up Klem’s spine, as if he’d been submersed in ice water from the sewers. He shook from the sensation as his muscles tensed. He tried to relax, but the back door unlocked with a loud metallic clunk, followed by the groaning creak of the door opening.
Iatr’s wide eyes met his. Without a word, they bolted toward the stairwell. They crept up the large winder staircase, the distant chaos from the streets muffled by the house’s thick walls.
And that’s when they heard the chanting.
Captain Daleannah Hood, Gale Knight of the Red Riders, wasn’t used to obeying protocol, or waiting for the lumbering city watch to catch up.
She had sent her second in command, Gerald, to fetch them, but her instincts told her there was more to this house. If she was going to be tasked with hunting down everyone connected to this chaotic violence, she’d be thorough—and round up everyone, then let the watch sort it out.
It was clear there would be hell to pay, and those payments would be collected from all over. Best they not be collected from her or her squadron.
Daleannah closed the door with a soft click. With a flick of her silver spell rod, its garnet-tipped head gleaming, she traced a glowing pattern in the air. Four runes flared to life, white and red, before fading to nothing.
“Saṃvaraṇa.”
She clipped the rod to her belt and gave the door a tug. Sealed. No one would slip past her now.
She prowled through the opulent house with deliberate, predatory grace. Her eyes flicked over the intricate tapestries, heavy wooden beams, and shadowed corners. Every sense was sharp, alert. She was on the hunt, and that’s when she felt most alive.
Her footfalls were silent as she slipped from room to room, the distant chaos of the streets barely penetrating the thick walls. She paused, listening. While the house seemed empty, something felt off.
Her hand hovered near the hilt of her sword, fingers brushing the cold steel. Magic was her preferred weapon, but here, in the tight confines of a merchant’s home, it would be reckless. And rude. Setting fire to the place wouldn’t be worth the paperwork and inevitable court case.
She would make sure no one escaped before the watch arrived.
Then came the creak of floorboards from overhead.
Daleannah’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
Without hesitation, she stalked toward the stairwell.
Charging up the stairs, she moved towards a closed door at the end of a side hallway from where she’d heard the creak. As she closed on the door, she drew her sword and kicked.
The door slammed open, sending a cloud of dust spiralling into the air. Daleannah stormed into the room, oxblood coat trailing behind her, short steel sword in her left hand pointing like an accusing finger at…
Nothing.
The solar sat in stillness, warm light filtering through wavy glass windows, casting dappled patterns on the polished floors. Faint sounds from the chaos below slipped in through the single open window, a reminder of the world outside.
A cold hearth dominated one wall, its ashes long dead. On the mantel sat an open book, a half-burnt candelabrum, and a tipped glass with the faint scent of stale bread. A heavy tapestry hung on the opposite wall, the scene of a merchant ship in a stormy sea, crashing through waves like a giant wooden scythe. Near the window, a worn high-backed velvet chair sat in the sun, inviting but abandoned, its dark wood showing years of use.
Tucked inside the wardrobe, behind a set of coats abandoned in their owner’s hasty departure to escape the local unrest, Klem froze at the sound of the door slamming open.
They’d tried to force the second-story window open, a rusted hinge giving them trouble, when it finally jerked free. Iatr had stumbled, heels thudding against the floor.
There had been a creak. That echoed. The boys froze, and met each other’s gaze.
Iatr mouthed, It’s fine! Klem shook his head, mouthing back, Too loud! Hide! He pointed to the closet. They scrambled inside, heartbeats pounding louder than their footsteps.
They pressed themselves into the wardrobe’s shadows, barely breathing. Footsteps moved toward the open window, each one deliberate and heavy. A woman cursed under her breath as the second window finally creaked open.
The sound of her boots echoed, then faded, swallowed by the shouts from the streets below.
“Captain!” a faint voice called from outside.
“What is it, Gerald!?” the woman snapped, her voice coming from the outside balcony.
Klem nudged the wardrobe door open with his foot, just enough to hear better.
“What do you mean they’re not coming?” the woman sounded angry and indignant.
“They’re not coming! Sir Artur was shot—” The rest of Gerald’s words were swallowed by the noise outside, but Klem caught the name. Sir Artur. The name was known to almost everyone in the city, being both a beloved war hero, and more recently, a hated oppressor of the common folk.*
* - While he doesn’t get much credit for it in recent days, during his “beloved war hero” era it was well known that he had been a fisherman before his promotion to the knighthood.
After 25 years of war and a handful of savagely crushed public protests, this part of his lore is rarely mentioned.
“Serves him right!” the woman shouted. There was a pause, then a scoff. “You know as well as I do we won’t get there in time to find the assailant.”
“Fine, I’m coming,” she snapped, sounding exasperated. Her boots thudded across the floor, frustration at being interrupted by a state emergency in every step. The door slammed shut, and silence fell over the room.
“She gone?” Iatr whispered from the other side of the wardrobe.
Klem said nothing for a moment, cringing at Iatr’s voice. He felt the coats move as Iatr shuffled over next to him and asked, “She gone?” again.
Klem rolled his eyes, sighed and whispered, “Probably. But maybe we should check… quietly?”
Iatr snorted, “With an exit like that? She’d have to be some kind of—”
The wardrobe doors flew open. Klem and Iatr shrieked in surprise as gloved hands grabbed them and yanked. Coats spilled to the floor as they collapsed in a tangled heap.
“I knew it!” the woman snarled.
Klem leapt to his feet and shot for the open window, Iatr close behind. The woman lunged, her hand grazing his arm, but Klem ducked beneath her reach. Cursing, she gave chase, but she wasn’t used to chasing slippery street kids.
They bolted through the window and out onto the balcony. Klem, seeing no other option, jumped over the balcony’s railing and slid down the wall, landing in the street below. Iatr followed, scrambling over the opposite side.
Iatr cursed as the woman caught his collar, but he went limp, slipping from her grip. He dropped with a grunt, trying—and failing—to roll gracefully as he crashed into a heap of alley trash.*
* - Which probably saved his knees from a career ending fall.
Klem landed smoothly and rushed to help Iatr to his feet.
“Get up! We need to go!” he hissed.
“Stop them!” the woman yelled from the balcony. Klem glanced up, heart sinking when he saw her uniform—that of an aerial cavalry officer. Her tanned skin, dark auburn hair and expression of blazing fury gave him the feeling she was about to set him on fire.*
* - Her being a Gale Knight, setting him on fire was completely on the table.
“We need to go. Now!” Klem yanked Iatr to his feet, and they sprinted down the alley.
“Stop who?” came the confused voice of Gerald, behind them. “Captain Daleannah, we need to get back to the square!”
“STOP THEM!” she shouted.
They didn’t look back. They just ran.
Daleannah cursed as the two street kids dropped into the alley below, far more gracefully than she’d expected from a pair of hungry runaways, and ran away from her.
Why they were hiding in a wealthy merchant’s house didn’t matter to her. They were out of place, clearly caught up in something, and they weren’t going to get away. She was tempted to restrain them using magic, but it wasn’t a good look using magic on civilians in public. Particularly kids. People got the wrong idea about those sorts of things.
She whistled three sharp notes into the sky and sheathed her sword, checking her gear in one swift motion.
A chestnut horse, clad in red leather barding, galloped down from the sky, its hooves striking the air like cobblestones, leaving blue pools of light in its wake.
She vaulted onto the balcony railing and leapt.
Klem and Iatr scrambled over the retaining wall and skidded down the steep brick slope, crashing into the semi-enclosed conduit that led to the sewers. Above, aerial cavalry circled the sky, and the boys ducked and weaved, trying to stay out of sight as they raced for the nearest sewer access. They knew the neighbourhood well enough, having recently engaged in some wholesome local pickpocketing, and bolted as if their freedom depended on it.*
* - Which, to be fair, was a pretty accurate assumption.
Klem’s heart raced as he spotted an aerial horseman hovering above the building next to the conduit. Grabbing Iatr, he dragged him toward the dark tunnel of the sewers, silently thanking Lugh it wasn’t the rainy season.
The daylight faded as they slipped into the protective cover of the sewer tunnel. They ran deeper into the shadows, stopping only when the light had fully vanished behind them.
A faint rustle echoed nearby, and a black cat leapt from a pile of refuse that hadn’t made its way to the river.
Iatr jumped, then laughed. “Damn sewer cats.”
The cat glanced back at him with wide unblinking eyes. It met his gaze for a moment before turning its back on them, its tail twitching slightly as it wandered deeper into the darkness.
Klem glanced back toward the faint daylight behind them, and swore.
“Captain, we need to return to the square, we have orders!” First Lieutenant Gerald Mattius shouted. “We can’t waste time chasing unknowns when there are real agitators out there! These are just kids!”
“Gerald,” Daleannah snapped, her eyes flaring with her displeasure, “I’m going after those kids. And I don’t need your help. Take the squadron and chase whoever shot Sir Quinas, they’ll be long gone by the time you get there.”
“But, Captain—” Gerald protested.
“Go! That’s an order,” Daleannah barked. “Give Sir Quinas my insincere apologies. I’ll deal with these two.” She heard Gerald let out an exaggerated sigh in response, but she ignored him, already turning away.*
* - Gerald was of the opinion that Daleannah didn’t actually like being in command, given her proclivity towards defying orders. But he assumed that she hated being a subordinate more than being in charge, and so suffered having soldiers under her command.
It did mean he spent a lot of time being “acting captain” of the squadron.
She swung her leg over her horse and leapt off. Her cloak billowed around her as she dropped out of the sky, plummeting towards the ground a hundred feet below.
With a flick of her spell rod, she traced a glowing rune in the air. Wind howled past as a silvery mist bloomed on the ground below, softening her fall as it rose to meet her. She sank slowly into the haze, landing lightly on the stone floor of the sewer conduit.
With a sharp slash of her left hand, the light vanished.
Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the tunnel ahead. Tightening her grip on the spell rod, she strode intently into the darkness.
“Ah, Hel, she’s coming!” Klem whispered in horror, eyes wide as the Gale Knight appeared in a plume of light, falling out of the sky like a predatory hawk.
Iatr glanced back from the departing cat, swore, and bolted down the tunnel, not waiting for Klem—who ran after him without hesitation.
The cat, startled by the noise, darted into a side tunnel and vanished into the dark.
Iatr led the way, veering off the main sewer tunnel and into a narrower passage. Darkness swallowed them, broken only by faint shafts of light filtering through sewer grates above.
They slowed as the tunnel closed in, dodging piles of trash that cluttered the floor—unwanted debris discarded by the city above.
Klem glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing. “I think we ditched her!”
Iatr slowed to a trot and slumped against the sewer wall, panting. Klem’s stomach growled as his heartbeat gradually steadied. The events of the day were taking their toll on them.
He looked over at Klem, and then his eyes flicked down the tunnel.
“Of course we did,” Iatr said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the sleeve of his coat over his sweat covered brow. He glanced over at Klem, then down the tunnel, his face going pale.
“Or maybe we didn’t,” he muttered. Then he was off again, sprinting into the dark.
Klem glanced back and saw the woman sprinting down the tunnel, a glowing orb of light hovering before her like a search beacon. His heart pounded, and he took off after Iatr, adrenaline flooding his veins.
They were used to running from the law. But not from someone cheating with magic.
Iatr bolted from the intermediary tunnel into a main sewer and broke left, heading deeper into the system. They were heading vaguely toward their home turf, where the smaller tunnels would give them an edge. But they weren’t there yet, and unfamiliar side tunnels carried their own risks—especially from the things that lurked in the dark and were protective of their homes.
Klem followed Iatr, running as fast as his legs would carry him.
Behind him, the woman shouted, “Bandhanajāla!”
A strange tug lurched inside his chest, and he glanced back just in time to see a web of gold light spinning toward him. He screamed and dove to the side.
Klem crashed to the ground as the light web sailed past him, hurtling down the tunnel. He screamed Iatr’s name, who turned just in time to be caught by the golden web. It wrapped around him like a cocoon, dragging him to the ground. He kicked and screamed, struggling as the glowing ropes pinned him in place.
“IATR!” Klem shouted, scrambling to his feet and rushing to his friend’s side. Iatr thrashed against the golden ropes, but the harder he fought, the tighter they constricted, pulling him deeper into the glowing trap.
“Let me go!” Iatr screamed, but the web only tightened, ignoring his desperate struggle.
Klem reached for his knife, only to remember it was gone. He cursed and tried to tear at the ropes with his hands, but they were too tight, slipping from his grasp.
Iatr cried out, his voice raw with frustration and anger as the web constricted tighter.
“Klem, run!” Iatr sobbed, his voice breaking.
“I’m not leaving you,” Klem muttered, his voice tight with panic as he kept pulling at the ropes.
“Bandhanajāla,” came the voice from the tunnel, much closer this time.
Klem looked up, his vision blurred with tears, just in time to see another web of golden light spinning toward him, far too close to dodge.
The light web slammed into Klem, knocking him off his feet. His breath left him in a rush as the world slowed, slipping into a strange, dreamlike haze. A loud buzzing filled his ears, radiating from the golden bonds wrapping around him. They felt oddly familiar, and some part of him stirred at their touch, humming in recognition.
He blinked, wondering why he didn’t feel more afraid.
“It’s going to be okay,” Klem murmured, his voice distant and calm. Iatr’s frantic breathing slowed, quieted by the unnatural serenity in Klem’s tone.
Klem lay perfectly still, and the ropes responded, loosening ever so slightly, as if they recognized his surrender.
Captain Daleannah approached the two bound boys, her mind racing.
Iatr. Klem.
She’d heard those names before, but where…?
The riots.
Jake Bracken.
Iatr—his step-son.
The one Sheriff Ratcliff was desperate to catch.
A wide, savage grin spread across her face as it clicked.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise. The infamous Iatr and Klem—scourge of the markets, bane of the tanners, and rivals of Rundell’s own Sheriff.” She laughed, the sound sharp, but amused.
Today was turning out to be a pretty good day, she thought.
She loved being right, and was looking forward to rubbing it in Gerald’s face.
The small black cat’s ears twitched at the sound of the wizard’s words: Bane of the tanners… rivals of Rundell’s Sheriff.
The cat’s eyes dilated, and a smile that a human would confusingly describe as maliciously feline, spread across its face. It padded toward the scene, tail erect and twitching, each step landing on the stone with predatory silence.
If anyone had been watching this cat, they might have noticed the small tuft of white fur on its chest—shaped like a small flame—begin to glow.
“Well, well. The two little troublemakers who inspired Ratcliff’s idiotic move. Fleeing from the Bracken boys AND the chaos I have no doubt you had a part in causing,” the woman’s voice was harsh but amused, her witch-light casting a cold glow that drowned out the golden bonds wrapped around them.
“Do you have any idea how many people were hurt today because of you?”
Klem’s dissociation faded, his awareness returning. He focused on the woman before him—a well-fed, muscular figure with auburn hair and tanned skin. She wasn’t wearing the standard cavalry uniform he’d expected. Instead, an odd belt and harness held various tools clipped on by metal carabiners and rings. Her sword was sheathed, her clothes far too warm for the season. In her right hand, she held a silver rod, intricately engraved and tipped with dark red jewels.
She was a Gale Knight. Rundellian’s aerial cavalry: every one of them a battle mage or magically gifted. He’d seen them before, flying their magical horses above the city, but they were usually out on the frontlines in the war with the Sidhe. To see one here, up close, was far more terrifying.
“Let us go, you witch!” Iatr shouted at her, still fighting against the bonds, giving into his need to fight ‘the man’, even when the man was a woman.
Klem sighed. “She’s not a witch, Iatr…”
The woman chuckled. “So you’re the cultured one. Klem, right?” She locked eyes with him. He nodded.
Everything is going to be fine.
The thought slipped into his mind like an intruder. He frowned. Across from him, the woman’s smile faltered, her brows furrowed in confusion. She shook her head, and Klem felt something odd ripple through his body, his nerves starting to tingle.
“She walks like a witch, talks like a witch,” Iatr spat, “and uses magic like one too!” He struggled again, only to gasp as the ropes tightened, forcing him to go limp.
The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You’re awful. That is so prejudiced I don’t even know where to begin…”
Klem’s gaze drifted past her to a shape moving in the darkness. His eyes widened as a massive black cat, its shoulders towering above his own, emerged silently from the shadows. Its eyes were pools of black, and a single white tuft of hair in the shape of a flame stood out on its chest.
Before he could react, it lunged at the woman.
She must have seen the look on his face and turned, just in time for the cat’s massive paw, easily the size of her head, to slam into her chest. She screamed as the force threw her off her feet, sending her flying down the tunnel.
Klem watched in awe as she sailed over him, the sound of her scream echoing in his ears, the look of pain on her face burned into his mind.
The witch-light and the golden bonds vanished at once, plunging the tunnel into darkness.
The cat roared, the sound rattling the stone sewer walls, making Klem slap his newly freed hands over his ears. A deep, primal fear seized him as his mind latched onto a name—a creature he’d only known from the old stories his mother used to tell him.
Cat-sìth.
“Klem, let’s go!” Iatr tugged at him, and Klem, still dazed, let himself be pulled to his feet.
A crack of thunder echoed, and the tunnel filled with furious red light. Klem turned to see a whip of flame lash out as the Gale Knight hurled a spell at the Cat-sìth. The giant cat leapt over the fire, vanishing mid-air and reappearing as it landed on its feet. The flaming whip struck the tunnel wall, and an explosion sent rock flying in every direction.
Dust swirled in the air, illuminated by the flickering flames, casting everything in a surreal glow. The walls shook with each clash of spell and paw, the sewers echoing with the sounds of battle as the two mythic forces fought for dominance.
“KLEM, LET’S GO!” Iatr’s shout snapped Klem out of his daze.
He nodded, and Iatr took off running. Klem spared one last glance at the raging battle before turning and fleeing into the darkness.
Fin - for Now
Editorial Note;
It’s been another busy month and I’m 1 out of 2 on my story posts. Curses.
Turns out that marketing a story blog is pretty time consuming.
There’s this advice on substack that says “Just focus on making better writing until people can’t help but notice you.” However, Van Gogh died poor, so I think that philosophy may be flawed. I think there is a certain wish fantasy that occurs within this idea, that we can stay away from the ‘icky marketing’ and just focus on the ‘purity of prose.’
As many entrepreneurs will attest, you can make something beautiful that you think is the best thing in the world, many people will tell you is the best thing in the world, and then that business fails because no one buys into it.
This was a harsh lesson I learned back when my brother and I ran an art studio.
Lack of engagement and financial support definitely weigh on my mind. I’d rather this substack not go down the road that Crystal Cradle Inc. did.
So I dove down the rabbit hole of substack marketing pretty hard this month. My usual writing time was spent on posting notes, making appeals and trying to develop connections to other writers on here.
‘Getting my name out there’ and all that. And it worked pretty well, it seems. My list grew over 40% in a month.
So thank you to everyone who signed on over this last month. I promise to do my best to make hanging out as I spin these tales worth it.
And if I don’t… well, I guess you can always unsubscribe? It is a free platform afterall, and I’m not forcing anyone to be a free or paid subscriber.
And an even bigger thank you to everyone who has been here since the beginning. I don’t take your participation and attention for granted, and wish I was able to deliver more in the time I have.
Turns out this project is rather a lot of work.
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