Whistle stood in the door to the laboratory, watching his apprentices. Dusk was sitting crosslegged on a table, sweat beading his brow as he concentrated. Dawn stood barefoot and empty-handed in the center of the stone practice-circle, prepared to defend himself against whatever illusion Dusk tossed his way next.

Whistle almost smiled. For the last few years, they'd seemed all knees and elbows and too-long limbs, but they were beginning to edge out of their adolescence, the promise of adulthood showing clearly now. The changes in them bemused Whistle - Dusk had been a plain child, while Dawn's sweet face and shy demeanor had beguiled and charmed at every turn. Now, however, Dusk bid fair to echo his mother's solemn beauty in masculine form; while Dawn's baby fat had melted away to reveal planes and angles in a face that would never be called handsome, even if it wasn't precisely unattractive.

Their personalities had shifted with the onset of puberty as well. The hitherto shy Dawn had become a mischievous rogue, dragging Dusk into adventures and escapades Whistle would never have credited to either of them. Dusk had embraced the role of follower, ceding the spotlight to Dawn with nary a protest. Whistle suspected Dusk was still their true leader, but was without proof, or any idea of whether they'd contrived the thing between them or merely fallen into the pattern that came to them most naturally.

The two still shared a bed, as they had for the whole of the seven years they'd known each other - a circumstance which surprised Whistle, though he looked in vain for any sign that the friends had become lovers. Certainly, they welcomed female attention, and Whistle had tested his investigative and deductive powers by pinpointing their assignations with several admirers, though he allowed them to believe him ignorant.

The most surprising thing, Whistle thought, was that nothing had shaken their friendship. Even their childhood spats had seldom lasted more than a day, though they both had demonstrated plenty of temper and a capacity for carrying a grudge. Classroom competition, the jibes of other children, and lately the sly manipulations of their lovers - all these had tried and failed to put a wedge between them. Against all comers they presented a solid wall of defense; and with each other they swapped between fierce contest and firm support with an ease that dazzled and sometimes even confused their master. In the last year, as Dawn's voice had settled into an adult register, they had begun to talk about becoming partners and to practice partners' tactics.

Dusk gestured now with his left hand, and three dark figures slid from the cracks in the wall to advance on Dawn menacingly. Whistle's eyes narrowed in concentration as Dawn summoned an apple-sized fireball and threw it at one shadow, which obligingly froze into pace. Dawn backed swiftly toward the corner, whispering syllables that unleashed a swirl of purple-limned bolts toward the second, then drew his dagger, dropping into a crouch as a similar set of greenish bolts streaked toward him from his target.

"HALT!" Whistle snapped. Both boys turned their heads toward the door, the illusions freezing exactly in pace while Dawn's purplish bolts splashed through their target to impact on the far wall.

Whistle strolled into the room and walked leisurely around Dusk's illusions, noting with satisfaction the level of detail. He fingered the scorch marks left on floor and wall by Dawn's spells. "Why didn't you take out the mage first, Dawn?"

Dawn relaxed his cautious stance, sheathing his dagger again as he gestured toward the figure he'd hit with his miniature fireball. "Poison on the darts," he explained. "I wanted him out of it before they had a chance to surround me."

Whistle looked back at the figure and noted the telltale gleam on the half-raised dart. "Good work," he told Dusk. "Very nice detail." He looked back at Dawn. "Magic is more dangerous than poison," he said sternly. He pointed to the illusory green bolts still hanging in the air. "You can't dodge those."

Dawn looked chagrined. "Yes, master."

Whistle looked at the illusion of the mage, still wavering where Dawn's bolts had pierced it. "Good job with your missiles, though. You're getting much faster."

Dawn flashed him a quick smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"As for you..." Whistle turned on Dusk. "Mages don't stand in the front, if they show themselves at all. Build that group for an experienced guildmember, and they'll know something is wrong."

Dusk ducked his head, his fingers shaping, {Yes, master.}

Whistle nodded. "Both of you - clean up in here. I want you in my office in ten minutes." He looked at each of them briefly to be certain they understood, then strode from the room.

Dusk slid off the table and ran to grab the scrub-brushes while Dawn filled a bucket with water. As Dawn put the bucket on the floor near the scorch-marks, Dusk tossed a brush to him and signed excitedly, {In the office? What do you think he wants?}

Dawn grinned and applied himself to the mark on the floor. "I dunno." They were each in Whistle's office once a week, separately, to initial their growing debt to the Shadowguild in Whistle's carefully-kept books, and that was it.

Dusk took a lazy swipe at the mark on the wall. {Do you think we'll get a job? We're ready, I know it!}

Dawn glared at his friend over the bucket. "If you don't hurry up, we'll be late."

Dusk grinned and turned back to his work. They cleaned quickly, then raced down the stairs to end breathlessly at the door to Whistle's office. Dusk, a hairsbreadth quicker, knocked.

"Come." Whistle was on his feet, leaning against his desk with his arms folded across his chest. "You're late, gentlemen," he said mildly as they entered. "Our visitor has more important things to do than wait on a pair of half-fledged mages."

The tall woman at the bookcase said, without turning from her perusal of his collection, "It's all right, Whistle. Things have been slow this week." She looked a moment longer, then turned, a faint smile touching her thin lips.

Dawn's eyes widened and Dusk gasped softly as they both stood a little straighter under the gaze of Nightsorrow, the guildmaster's first lieutenant. "Ma'am," Dawn said breathlessly. "Forgive us."

She looked Dawn over slowly, from head to toe, then let her gaze move back up Dusk's lean frame. "A matched set, are you?"

{Partners,} Dusk affirmed.

She smiled again. "Very well. It's about time for you to start earning your keep." She picked up a thin dossier folder from Whistle's desk and flipped through it idly. "There are three men who have outlived their usefulness to this guild. They were permitted to retire about two years ago, and they have recently begun selling our secrets to outsiders." Her eyes fixed each of them in turn. "They must be dealt with. Whistle believes you can handle this. Can you?"

Dusk and Dawn exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance. "Yes, ma'am," Dawn said. "How much for the job?"

Nightsorrow laughed. "Cocky, aren't you? How do you know if I'm offering a fair price if you ask before I've even told you their names?"

Dawn half-bowed. "With all due respect, ma'am... There have been nine retirements in the past three years. Duriel and Patch were strictly loners. Incubus and Succubus moved to Waterdeep. Intassa's partner is still guild-bound, and so are Redwine's children." He glanced at Dusk with a faint grin and concluded, "That only leaves Brick, Featherfoot, and Fang - and they've worked together before."

Nightsorrow glanced at Whistle with raised eyebrow. He smiled thinly. "I told you they were clever," he said mildly.

She smiled. "So you did." She looked at Dusk appraisingly. "You know about them?" He answered with a single nod. "You've told... your partner?" She glanced briefly at Dawn, one eyebrow raised. Dusk nodded again.

Nightsorrow took two steps closer to the boys, taking Dawn's face gently in one hand and tipping his face toward the light. "What about you?" she asked softly. "Have you told Dusk about your past?"

Dawn's mouth tightened briefly. "Yes, ma'am," he said, forcing his voice to calm. "Everything." He met her gaze with eyes like ice. "We're partners."

She released him and stepped back again, watching him. "I didn't want Niko to take you on," she said matter-of-factly. "It's bad business to bring a whore into the shadowguild. They don't know much about loyalty, and they'll sell anything to anyone. Niko brought you in anyway." Her eyes met his calmly. "I'd like to be wrong about you, sunshine. But I'll be watching."

"Yes, ma'am," Dawn forced through his teeth. He clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them again. He'd heard it before, from other children, testing him with the barbs most certain to strike home - and the stakes for this test were very high, indeed. "I know where my loyalties lie."

Dusk put a hand on Dawn's shoulder, and the smaller boy relaxed as if a candle had been snuffed. {My partner is not a whore,} Dusk signed to Nightsorrow, his face set.

She laughed suddenly. "No questioning your loyalty, is there?" She dropped the slender dossier back onto Whistle's desk, then turned back. "Two thousand, for the three of them."

Dawn straightened, shaking off Dusk's hand. "A little low, isn't it?"

Nightsorrow looked at him sharply, then grinned. "No lack of brass in you, either, is there? Yes, it's low. You're both untried, and they'll be wary. If you botch it, then Niko's got a mess on his hands. Besides... There's other coin to be paid in, that doesn't demand tithe." She smiled thinly at Dusk. "At any rate, it's not negotiable. Do the job. Whistle will coordinate, but I've forbidden him to help you. This is your initiation. Understood?" She eyed them closely as they nodded. "Good." She looked at Whistle and nodded once, then left without ceremony.

Whistle waited a few moments, watching his apprentices as they stared after her. When they showed no sign of movement, he clapped his hands sharply. "All right, gentlemen. Vacation's over!" He picked up the dossier Nightsorrow had left on the targets, and offered it to Dusk.

The boys looked at each other for half a heartbeat, then raced for their room.

Dawn put the last carefully-written sheet into the stack on the floor between them and leaned back against the wall, pressing his fingers against his aching eyes as he waited for Dusk to finish.

He looked up at Dusk's gentle touch on his arm. "Done?" Dusk nodded, and he sighed. "There isn't enough."

Dusk snorted. {What more do we need?} He grinned eagerly. {We could take them tonight.}

Dawn frowned. "No, I don't think so." He shuffled out one sheet. "Look here. They've listed Featherfoot's trick here under 'Unusual Abilities', but they don't say how he really does it."

Dusk snatched the sheet from Dawn's fingers and tossed it back into the pile. {Who cares?} he said, furiously blinking back the tears that rose. {I want them dead!}

Dawn put his hands on Dusk's, silencing him. "I want them too. How could I not? Aren't we partners?" He smiled, and Dusk returned it faintly. "I just... Look, it's been ten years, almost to the month, since the guildwar. And it's our initiation. They held stuff back on purpose, to make it harder. To test us." He tightened his grip on Dusk's hands. "I want them, but I want to do it right. I don't want to rush in there, in the name of vengeance, and fuck up because we were missing vital information."

Dusk took a deep breath, then gently pulled his hands free. {What makes you think anything's missing? Maybe they just don't know.}

Dawn shook his head, then laid down to reach under the bed, pulling out a small locked box. He brushed his thumb over the worn guild-mark, then opened the box and pulled out their own painstakingly collected notes. "Look here: Remember the Snitch said that after he'd talked to Featherfoot, he felt kind of dizzy, like he'd gotten into some bad wine? And he couldn't remember so good afterwards." He shuffled papers. "And Trudi said the same thing, that she felt muddleheaded after he'd been to see her..." He dropped the notes back into the box. "There's nothing like that in these notes."

Dusk nodded reluctantly. {All right. We'll have to do some more research, then. But how?}

Dawn bit his lip. "You think Master Whistle would help?"

{Nightsorrow said he couldn't,} Dusk reminded him.

"She didn't say what kinds of limits were on it, though... He might be willing to loan us some money, at least." Dawn looked at Dusk almost desperately. "He was your father's best friend. He must want us to succeed as much as we do."

Dusk looked thoughtful. {For that matter... why didn't he kill them himself? It's been ten years!}

Dawn scratched at his jaw, considering. "Kin-right? Leaving them for you?"

Dusk looked dubious. {He had Keffya strung for you.}

"Keffya wasn't my kin. Besides-"

"Besides," Whistle interrupted from the doorway, "Keffya was a two-silver weasel working without guild authority or permission. Patch would've reported him even if he had taken you back, Dawn." The wizard stepped into the room, sitting gracelessly on the edge of the bed, ignoring their embarrassment.

"The risk involved in arranging Keffya's demise was minimal." He nodded toward the papers on the floor. "Those three... I wasn't able to set it up during the guildwar, and when it was over, they came back. They swore to Niko, and he pardoned them." He met Dusk's eyes. "Officially, it was Mist who killed your parents, and I was forbidden to carry it any further." Whistle frowned and banged a fist on his knee with remembered frustration.

"When they retired, though, I knew they'd fuck up, sooner or later, and that would be your chance." He sighed slightly. "Initiate runs aren't usually this difficult, and they're hardly ever assassinations. I'm sorry for that. But the timing..." He shook his head, his eyes back on Dusk's. "I knew you'd want them."

Dusk nodded emphatically. {Dawn will help me. We can do it.}

Whistle looked at Dawn with the same cool, measuring gaze that had frightened him so much seven years earlier. Now the slight youth put a hand on Dusk's shoulder, pale blue eyes calm and cold. "Whatever has to be done," he promised solemnly, "we'll do."

Whistle nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Thank you, boys." He stood and moved toward the door, stopping with one hand on the frame. "Oh, Dawn...?"

"Yes, master?" Dawn was already picking up the notes again.

"What she said to you... A lot of the guild think that way. I'm not one of them."

"Th- thank you." Dawn shuffled the notes in his lap without truly seeing them, then looked up. "She's wrong."

Whistle nodded. "You could choose a new name," he suggested. "After your initiation. It might help people... forget."

Dawn's mouth tightened briefly. "I'll never forget. Why should they?"

"All right. It's your choice." He sighed briefly, then straightened. "Don't forget to sleep, gentlemen, and don't burn out the lamp wicks." He smiled at them then, almost fondly, before slipping out, carefully closing the door behind him.

Dusk looked cautiously around the edge of the crates they were hidden behind. {Nothing,} he signed to Dawn, who sighed soundlessly and pounded a fist on thighs half-numb from lack of movement.

{How long have we been here?} Dawn asked, the irritable snap of his fingers betraying his nervousness.

Dusk glanced up at the clear night sky. {Couple of hours,} he hazarded.

Dawn grimaced. {How much of that stinking ratspiss beer can they drink?} he demanded.

Dusk grinned at him. {You didn't call it that a few-} He broke off his teasing as the tavern door opened and three men emerged. {That's them,} he said, his grin turning predatory.

Dawn put a restraining hand on his partner's arm. {Not here,} he reminded Dusk.

Dusk glared at him briefly, but didn't answer. Stealthily, keeping to alleys and shadows, the boys followed the trio. Brick, an enormous bear of a man, had Fang by the back of his collar, keeping him upright. All three men laughed uproariously at some joke, and Fang almost slipped out of Brick's grasp.

Featherfoot said something with a quiet snigger and pointed, and Brick nodded. The trio changed directions slightly, angling toward the red lantern district. Dawn elbowed Dusk with a grin and a thumbs-up: In a whorehouse, the three would split up, making them easier prey.

The boys tucked themselves into an alley opposite the trio's chosen brothel, and watched closely. "I wish I dared use a scrying spell," Dawn breathed.

Dusk nodded, then shrugged. They never had nailed down the source of Featherfoot's peculiar and unique abilities, and had only acquired a tiny amount of new information about what those abilities even were. Despite being fairly certain that they weren't the result of magic, Whistle had recommended strongly against attempting to use subtle magic on the trio until Featherfoot had been eliminated, or their cover had been blown.

{We need to get in there,} Dusk said. {Money?}

Dawn shook his head. {Didn't bring any. I didn't-} He broke off and nudged Dusk, pointing. On the third floor, a slight figure was climbing unsteadily through the window onto the small balcony. {Fang?}

Dusk narrowed his eyes and nodded. {Is he betraying the others? Or just getting some air?}

Dawn spat into the street. "Who cares?" he whispered. "We'll never get a better shot at him."

Dusk nodded, his lips moving silently. Fang, having achieved the balcony without mishap, turned to urge his evening's companion to join him.

From the shadows of the alley emerged hundreds of rat-sized shadows with evilly-glowing eyes in dozens of colors. Despite having seen this illusion before, Dawn shuddered as they raced past him. Some of them sprouted wings; others merely swarmed up the bordello's wall like enormous insects.

An overeager flyer caught Fang's attention, a flicker in the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look, and staggered half a step backwards as several dozen flying shadows zipped toward him and began to circle him slowly, like miniature sharks.

Fang turned to watch their apparent leader, blood draining from his face as he caught sight of the climbing swarm coming up the wall. He stepped back the other way, heading for the window.

Half a dozen flying shadows dropped to hover beside the window menacingly, and Fang hesitated. Having gathered, the climbers suddenly sprouted wings of their own and took to the air, joining those already circling.

Dawn caught sight of the whore through the window, one hand pressed to her face, her eyes wide with fear. He began to whisper his own incantation. In slow motion, Dawn saw her hand drop and her mouth open. She took a deep breath to scream, and then her eyes rolled and she dropped to the floor as Dawn's spell released its energy. He sighed with relief, and returned his attention to the narrow balcony.

The menacing shadows were circling faster, the bolder ones diving toward Fang's face, breaking off with only inches to spare. The others barely dodged the man's wild swings. Dusk was shaking with effort, his face beginning to glisten with sweat. Careful not to break his concentration, Dawn put a hand on Dusk's shoulder, watching Fang intently.

Fang flailed, staggered, flailed again, and then lurched. He tripped and fell over the low balcony rail with a despairing cry. Dawn jumped to his feet, one hand on the hilt of his dagger, ready to finish the job if necessary.

Dusk grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back. {Wait,} he cautioned. Both young men stood, silently waiting.

They did not have to wait long. Featherfoot and Brick boiled out of the house, half-dressed. Featherfoot held a knife warily, but Brick's enormous fists were empty. Brick's keen eye scanned the shadows while Featherfoot crouched to examine Fang.

"Gone," Featherfoot hissed. "And not a mark on him except where he hit the ground."

Brick cursed viciously and quietly, scanning the shadows again. His eyes locked on the alley where Dusk and Dawn hid. "There." He stalked toward them, Featherfoot close on his heels.

"Shit," Dawn whispered. He drew his dagger, and Dusk fished a handful of darts out of his vest.

Brick growled under his breath, and a faint blue glow suddenly illuminated Dusk's face, then began crawling swiftly down his torso. His eyes widened with surprise and more than a little fear. They'd never seen anything like this before. Their collected information hadn't said anything about Brick being able to use magic of any sort. Dusk pushed Dawn heavily. {RUN!} he snapped when Dawn looked back at him in disbelief. Dawn blinked once, then snarled, charging toward Featherfoot.

The scrawny man squeaked like a cornered mouse, then fled, his feet not quite touching the ground as his speed increased to something more than human. Dawn cursed and gave chase, panting the syllables of another spell.

A pair of purple bolts slammed into Featherfoot's back, knocking the man to the ground and giving Dawn a few desperately-needed seconds. He didn't slow as he closed, slamming into Featherfoot just as he reached his feet, knocking them both through the door of what appeared to be an abandoned shed.

Featherfoot fought like the cornered rat he was, kicking and clawing and even biting as they rolled on the dirty floor. Faster than a man should be, Featherfoot scrambled for his dropped knife and whirled, menacing Dawn with it. Dawn blocked the door, his mind racing for options. He couldn't hope to stand toe-to-toe against Featherfoot in a knife fight.

Sensing he'd taken the advantage, Featherfoot's eyes glittered, and he advanced, slashing. Dawn dodged, but just missed losing his left eye to the wicked blade, and blood poured like a waterfall down his face. He snapped four quick syllables and spread his hands, and a gout of fire knocked Featherfoot back.

Before he could recover, Dawn charged him again, tackling him and knocking him to the floor. He grabbed Featherfoot's knife hand by the wrist and pinned it to the floor, then fumbled for his own knife. He looked down, ready to finish it-

-smell of rancid sweat and the taste of half-rotten meat made the gorge rise in his throat, but the hand in his hair tightened, yanking, reminding, forcing tears to his eyes and promising worse punishment still if he-

Dawn gasped and ripped the cobwebs of nightmare memory from his eyes. Featherfoot was already halfway to the door, and he flung himself across the space between them, wrapping his arms around Featherfoot's legs and dragging him back. Featherfoot reached for his knife again, but Dawn kicked it from his hand. They fought, rolling on the floor. Featherfoot punched at his throat, and Dawn jerked back, gasping at the pain but avoiding a crushed windpipe.

He twisted again, trying to get a clear shot at Featherfoot's neck-

-tied him over the rail, high enough to force him to his toes, the ropes biting into his wrists and ankles, the wood rough under the bare skin of his stomach-

With a hoarse shout Dawn freed himself from the waking dream. "NO! I won't go back, I-" Without thinking, his hand shot out and snatched the fleeing Featherfoot by the belt, throwing the man back to the ground. Dawn's eyes widened in sudden realization, and he grabbed Featherfoot by the throat. "It's you doing that," he gasped. "You're doing it..."

A silvery-red shimmer of pure fury hazed his vision, and he slammed Featherfoot's head against the ground, snarling in wordless anger. Featherfoot's eyes rolled up into his head and he went limp, but Dawn was already beyond reason.

The bluish light spread over Dusk's face and dazzled his eyes, making Brick hard to see in the dark of the alley. Brick could see him all too well, however, and Dusk narrowly missed being knocked into the wall by an enormous fist.

Brick pulled a medallion from his pocket and held it up. Dusk just had time to recognize Cyric's device before Brick snapped, "KNEEL!" and a terrible weight settled around him, forcing him to his knees. It only lasted for an instant, but an instant was far too long. Dusk gasped and fell backwards as Brick's boot caught him solidly in the stomach. He rolled over, pulling his arms over his head to ward it from another kick, hissing against the pain of filling his lungs, fighting to stand.

He scrabbled in his vest for another dart, flipping it in Brick's direction without taking time to aim, hoping only for enough of a reprieve to climb to his feet. Brick snatched the dart from the air and threw it back, forcing Dusk to throw himself out of the way of his own poison.

"Brat," Brick snarled. "Go home, and tell Niko to send someone who knows what they're doing." He advanced again, swinging his ham-like fists.

Dusk dodged one swing, but Brick's second connected with his arm solidly enough to leave it tingling from the elbow down. He flexed his fingers, testing the pain - if the arm wasn't broken, the bruise was bone-deep, but at least he could still move it.

He backed away, but Brick kicked out with the speed of a snake, catching him in the ribs and making him stumble. "Brat," Brick snapped again. "Go now, or you die."

Dusk backed further into the alley, ducking another swing as he fumbled in his pocket for a handful of sand, his lips desperately shaping the magic he needed.

He flung the sand toward Brick's face, and it flared into a brilliant riot of color that forced the larger man back a few steps. Dusk snatched his last two darts from his vest and threw. A hit! He gasped in relief. He only needed to stall until the poison took effect, now.

He drew his dagger, slashing viciously to keep Brick at a distance. Brick swayed slightly, his eyes narrowing with the realization of poison. His jaw tightened and his lips pulled back into a sneer. "I'll take you with me, brat," he snarled. He swung, and Dusk moved the dagger to block.

With a grin, Brick completed the feint, grabbing Dusk's arm in a grip like steel and throwing him into the wall. Dusk's head hit the bricks with a hollow sound, and he slid bonelessly to the ground, unable to move. His stomach clenched around the sickening knowledge of failure as Brick loomed over him, a shadow in the center of his failing vision - and then all was dark.

He couldn't be dead, he thought muzzily. His head and arm hurt entirely too much. With sudden remembrance, his eyes snapped open.

Brick had collapsed in the garbage not far away, the poison having done its work. Dusk swallowed heavily, and looked up at the sky. Half an hour at least he'd been unconscious. Time and more than time for him to be gone from the scene of this fight; the Purple Dragons would be here at any minute.

Why hadn't Dawn moved him? Sudden panic gripped him. If Dawn hadn't come back... He rolled to his knees, and the ripping pain in his stomach made him choke and retch. He forced it down - he had to get out of this alley, and he had to find Dawn.

He dragged himself to his feet, and stumbled toward the alley's mouth, looking around warily before turning onto the street. This was the direction Dawn had chased Featherfoot before they'd left his line of sight.

He tried to move casually, but the pain made it difficult. He settled for moving more slowly than he'd have liked, but with a smoother gait. At the first alley he stopped, breathing slowly, hoping to catch his breath. His stomach lurched again, and he forced it down before continuing slowly on his way.

He'd had a concussion before, he remembered. He'd felt much better after he'd thrown up. He found a garbage pile in the next alley and let his stomach turn.

A mistake, he discovered almost immediately. This time the concussion was compounded by an injury in his guts. The dull throbbing pain caused by breathing became the stab of a dozen knives when he heaved up his dinner. But that pain caused his stomach to turn again, setting in motion a cycle of pain he feared would never end.

Finally, however, it stopped, leaving him on his hands and knees, dizzy and trembling. Almost, he prayed for death. But he forced himself upright. He had to find Dawn first. And if necessary, he thought grimly, avenge him.

Fighting nausea and pain with every step, Dusk continued. Featherfoot could move faster than normal men, he knew, but how far could they have come? He looked back, and was dismayed to see he'd gone only a handful of blocks. He set his jaw determinedly, though it made the pain in his head spike, and walked faster.

He'd gone another five or six blocks when he heard it - a man's hoarse scream, quickly stifled. He looked around as quickly as his head dared, and heard another sound, a soft, low snarl in a voice that made his heart thud: Dawn.

He followed the sound to a dilapidated shed, the door broken half off its hinges. What he saw through the narrow crack chilled his blood: Featherfoot was hanging by his hands, lashed to the rafters with strips of his own clothing. His face was a smashed and bloody mess, his bare torso covered with bruises, welts, and blood. His hands had obviously been broken before he'd been strung up, and he was holding one foot off the floor, the ankle twisted and broken.

Worst of all, Dawn was walking in slow, predatory circles around the beaten man, his eyes cold and insane in a face twisted with fury, heedless of the blood that still oozed slowly from the cut over his eye.

Dusk slammed through the door. In the blink of an eye, Dawn had spun, his knife low and ready-

He froze, his face suddenly blank. The knife dropped from fingers gone cold and nerveless. "D-dusk?" He blinked.

Dusk ignored his partner. Four long strides placed him in front of Featherfoot. One swollen eye opened a bare crack, eyeing him with the light of recognition and understanding. "'Stalker's brat," he gasped, his voice hoarse and mushy. "I should have known... Your father and I hated each other, boy, but I gave him an honest death." His breath whistled, and he grunted involuntarily with pain. "Call off your dog. At least let me die like a man."

Dusk looked at Featherfoot, then nodded. With one swift motion he drew his knife and opened Featherfoot's throat, putting an end to his pain. Carefully, not trusting himself yet, he cleaned the dagger and resheathed it. Finally, his face set into a mask of stone, he turned back to Dawn.

{What is this?} he demanded.

Dawn was looking at Featherfoot, his pale face taking on a greenish cast.

Dusk took one step closer and slapped Dawn across the face, hard. {What happened?} he demanded again.

Dawn's eyes turned toward him slowly. "I... I don't... He..." He looked past Dusk again, at the tortured body, and suddenly spun away, falling to his knees and retching violently. Dusk watched for a moment, impassive, then turned to cut Featherfoot down and drag the body into the corner.

Dawn gasped, "Gods, Dusk, I didn't mean..." He stood slowly, his face full of fear. "He... did something to me, and I..." He bit his lip, fighting the rising tears. "I'm sorry. Please, don't..."

Dusk looked at him closely. The insane fury had faded from his eyes, leaving behind horror and exhaustion and pain. He relented, reaching out with his good arm to brush Dawn's hair from his face, a familiar, forgiving gesture. {Come. We should be gone from this place.}

A single sob of relief escaped him, and then Dawn put an arm around his partner's shoulders to support him as they left.

Whistle opened the door silently and looked at his apprentices. Dusk was on his back, his breathing shallow and uneven. One arm was splinted and bound; the other was wrapped firmly around Dawn's shoulders. The smaller boy's head was pillowed on Dusk's shoulder, his face still streaked with recently-shed tears.

Whistle scuffed his boot against the floor, and Dawn's eyes flew open, his head lifting to look at him. Dusk shifted slightly in his sleep, but the healer's potion had been potent, and he slept on. Whistle beckoned and Dawn nodded, slipping out of the bed to join him.

Whistle led Dawn down the stairs, to his office. He pointed to a chair. "Sit." He left Dawn hanging, nervously trying not to fidget, while he poured himself a cup of tea and settled behind the desk. He eyed Dawn appraisingly for a long while. "What happened?"

Dawn grimaced and looked down. "I don't know."

Whistle frowned, keeping his voice gentle, but firm. "Unacceptable. Why did you torture Featherfoot?"

"Master, I- I know it was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Dawn, I'm only going to ask you this once more, and I expect you to answer as fully and completely as you possibly can. Why?"

Dawn closed his eyes, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "He... made me remember, things from... from before. I- I don't know what he did, Master, I really don't. We were fighting, and then suddenly all I could see was- was the memory..." His voice lowered even more. "It was almost like reliving it." He glanced up, his eyes dry but agonized. "It... made me a little crazy, I guess. I wanted to hurt him, for doing that to me, for... for all the times I was hurt." He looked down again. "I'm sorry."

Whistle sipped his tea. "Why did you leave Dusk? That's part of what partners are for - to keep you from going too far."

Dawn nodded miserably. "He... Brick had some kind of spell. Dusk told me to run, so I wouldn't get caught in it, and I... Featherfoot ran, so I chased him."

"I'll talk to Dusk. Next time - you stand by your partner, Dawn. Spread out if there's a spell to avoid, but don't leave him."

Dawn nodded. "Yes, master."

Whistle regarded the youth in silence. After a few moments, Dawn whispered, "My punishment, master?"

"I'm thinking about it," Whistle told him sternly. "This isn't a broken curfew, or a skipped class. This is serious."

Dawn nodded again, and sat still, waiting while Whistle considered.

Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Two things. First - you are going to learn how Featherfoot did what he did. On your own time. Dusk can help you with the legwork if he likes, once the healer lets him up, but every copper comes from your pocket, is that understood?"

"Yes, master."

"And second... You need to face this thing and put it in the past, or it will continue to rule you. So. Again, out of your own pocket, you are going to go outguild and find some sunshine." He ignored the startled, horrified look on the boy's face. "Buy or carve or steal, I don't care how you do it, but you're going to find a boy, and do for him what Patch did for you: You're going to remove him from that situation, and put him somewhere better."

Dawn blinked at him. "Master?"

Whistle raised his eyebrows. "Was there something unclear?"

"N- no, but I don't know wh-"

"Good," Whistle interrupted. He opened a drawer and put a small leather pouch on the edge of the desk closest to Dawn. "Your fee for the job, minus the Guild's tithe and the cash you borrowed from me for the investigation, which leaves you with about four hundred. That's to split with Dusk, of course."

Dawn closed his mouth and swallowed. "Yes, sir." He reached out and picked up the pouch, gingerly, as if it might bite. "Was that all?" he asked timidly.

"One more thing." He fixed Dawn with a piercing look over the rim of his teacup. "Neither Niko nor Nightsorrow nor myself will tolerate the amending of a guild contract for personal benefit. This will not happen again. Am I clear?"

Dawn swallowed again. "Yes, master. I- I'll try-"

"No." Whistle set his teacup down, his voice taking on a hard edge. "It will not. Happen. Again."

Dawn looked up at him and took a deep, shaky breath. "Y-yes, master." He hesitated. "It won't happen again."

Whistle nodded and picked up his teacup again, his voice mild. "Good. Thank you, Dawn. You may go back to bed now."

Dawn stood and walked to the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob. "Master?"

"Yes, Dawn?"

"I... Good night, master."

"Good night, Dawn. Sleep well." He waited until the door closed behind him, and he heard Dawn's quiet tread on the stairs, then sighed and whispered, "No dreams."