Nightwatch

I made a mistake.

I set out on patrol alone. I knew the outer districts were dangerous, but I had ignored my companions' warnings. Intruders crawled over the walls. They dug tunnels. They could even hide inside the walls themselves. From within, they gnawed away at our city, slowly destroying it from the inside.

They were creatures of the night. Just like me.

I hadn't expected this.

According to my messengers, the larger beasts had been driven south, beyond the ditch. Bill the Butcher was keeping them under control. Or so I had been told—at least until sunset.

Yet one wrong step, one careless turn, and suddenly I found myself surrounded.

I had only one stroke of luck.

One of them clumsily knocked over a pile of scrap wood and twisted pieces of iron. The resulting clatter woke a little one nearby. Its cry tore painfully through the silence of the darkness. For a moment, they froze in confusion. It was enough.

I finally managed to master my fear. With a well-placed kick, I sent the one behind me sprawling, then ran. But I knew I had bought myself only a few seconds.

Babies might seem like easy prey to the uninitiated, but we knew better. They were protected by the witches. Scratch one of their children, and you'd end up in a cooking pot, simmering away as stew.

They would boil anyone. Eat anyone.

And draw strength from them for the next battle.

No.

These monsters wanted me.

I run. I race through the narrow alleys at breakneck speed, forcing my way through stagnant pools that reek of piss, shit, and rotting meat. But I can't stop. My pursuers won't rest until they catch me. They are bloodthirsty, savage, fearless. Calvenra is no city for the faint of heart. And their kind are the worst of all. They are drenched in blood from head to toe. Once they catch your scent, there is no escape. I have lost many friends to them.

My brother was torn apart right before my eyes. Our mother never recovered from the grief.

I am not fighting for myself alone. I fight for those we have lost—and, above all, for those of us who remain. For the big ones, the Providers who believe in us.

There has to be a way out. They may be faster than me. Stronger, too. But I'm smarter. This city is mine. I know every house, every alley, every stone beneath my feet. I have allies. There are more of us than there are of them. I only have to reach a safe place. After that, they won't stand a chance.

I'm almost there.

The sky is beginning to change, from black to deep blue, then to something lighter. In the distance, the first red rays are already beginning to break over the mountains. I have to hurry. The fate of the city rests in my paws. I have to survive the night.

Five against one. I've been in worse situations. Just a few more moments, and I'll reach Calvenra's most notorious warrior.

Garrick. The giant.

He's bigger than any Provider I've ever seen. In his home, the tamed fire still dances before dawn. The whole district comes to pay their respects. They beg for his mercy. I've helped him many times with intruders whenever he's been away on a mission. Because of that, I have certain privileges in his presence. I can ask for mercy whenever I need it, and I'm even allowed to sleep in his home during the day. But I have to admit, the flames of the fire demon still frighten me. When I was young, I saw the Woodcarvers' district burn to the ground because of one careless mistake made by an inexperienced recruit.

I can barely keep up anymore. My lungs are burning, as though a thousand needles are trying to claw their way out of my chest. My legs ache, and blood is trickling down my back.

Then I see the light. I catch the familiar, sweet scent.

One of the beasts appears in front of me. I don't know when it broke away from the others. But it doesn't matter anymore.  I'm surrounded. I have no strength left to fight. Only a few steps…

I try to call out, but all that comes from my throat is a weak, rasping wheeze.

A door flies open. A tremendous roar. Garrick charges the monsters, weapon in hand. I can't hear what he's saying. Perhaps he isn't saying anything at all. I'm exhausted. The world begins to fade into darkness…

…

Warmth surrounds me. Cool water touches my tongue. I hear the fire demon crackling somewhere inside its soot-blackened cavern. A soft blanket wraps around me.

I've survived.

I don't know what happened to my pursuers. Some of them must have fled. Others, I imagine, fell victim to Garrick's fury.

My friend is busy with something farther away, on the counter. He turns toward me. Our eyes meet. Neither of us says a word. We simply offer each other a quiet acknowledgement of respect.

Steaming meat and a little bread are placed before me. I glance out the window. It can't have been long. Only a few minutes, perhaps. I'm still in time. I look at the inviting bowl. Then at Garrick. We don't have time for this. I have to get there before dawn, or the city will fall. And he knows it, too.

He gives me a nod. He understands. I have to go.

With some difficulty, I rise to my feet. I'm trembling. Every part of me aches. But there is still strength left in me.

Garrick steps out into the street first. He surveys the surroundings. Once he gives me the signal, I cautiously peer outside. Silence. The immediate danger has passed. I set off. I don't look back. I just keep moving forward.

Nothing noteworthy happens during the rest of my journey. My companions from the night watch are making their way home. The younger ones stop respectfully and bow before me. My older colleagues urge me onward with amused remarks. But, of course, they know.

I never fail.

The city wall stretches high above me. It was built in the days of my great-great-grandfathers. The scars of countless battles are still visible across its stones and iron beams. The gate opens by means of a peculiar mechanism. Only I can operate it.

They are already expecting me.

George—the kind-hearted, if somewhat dim-witted big one who believes himself to be a gatekeeper—leads me, as always, to the heart of the mechanism.

“Right this way, Your Grace!”

At least he knows how to show proper respect.

The circular contraption of wood and iron groans into motion beneath my paws. Despite my injuries, I carry out the operation with grace and elegance. George grips the handle protruding from the wheel and moves up and down with it, performing some sort of dance for his own amusement.

I don't mind. It is rather entertaining to watch.

The gate opens.

Just a few has come through yet. But soon the streets will be filled with the big ones. They will arrive with heavily laden carts, paying tribute to the warriors. They will pamper my warriors with their fresh provisions.

I will rest for a little while, too. I settle onto my designated sleeping place in the guardroom. Slowly, sleep begins to take me.

George's replacement arrives. I hear them talking quietly outside.

“Did His Grace do another fine job, George?”

“You bet he did. He's already sleeping like the dead. Looks like he got into another scrap with some stray dogs. His back's covered in blood.”

“Shouldn't we bandage him up or something?”

“Ah, leave him be. He'll go begging the baker for food again. The baker'll patch him up. Anyway, I'm off. I'm dead tired.”

“All right, George. Get some rest.”

Their deep, rumbling voices make it difficult for me to understand what they're saying.

But these dim-witted big ones never understand us true warriors either. If only they knew how much I do for them…

…

Sweet dreams, Your Grace.