Acclayne Book 1: The Game Begins
Chapter 15

The panel below the large bronze figure read: “Doneskus the Resilient.” Malcolm joined me in front of the statue.

“Ah, Sir Claude Doneskus. We learnt about him last year. He was a prominent figure in the first war between Glakyrie and Bromyth. On our side of course...” By the size of him I didn't find it hard to believe. “He spent most of his time on the front line, very unusual.”

“How so?”

“Well the fact that anyone actually survived the front line was a miracle; Bromyth took no prisoners. Secondly; he had no magical capabilities whatsoever, which by normal standards would have made him useless. Try as they might; however, no one could kill him...” I nodded along, trying to retain as much information as I could. We'd only been in the museum for a little while and I felt that I had probably learnt more about Glakyrie in the last hour and a half than I had done about Earth throughout my whole time at school. “...He survived two direct shots to the chest, the severance of his left arm and the gauging out of his right eye.” I flinched at the thought. “With a wooden spoon.”

“Eww. They weren't kidding when they called him resilient were they?”

“Nope. He was the only man to ever withstand such a beating. He received a knighthood for his services.”

“I should bloody hope so.” I squirmed. People seemed to get knighted for the strangest things back home. “He must have been chuffed.” Malcolm looked at me quizzically. “Proud, must've been proud.”

“Ah right, yeah I suppose he would have been; had he not received it posthumously.”

“They managed to kill him then?”

“Oh no, turns out he was immune to the forces of man, yet deathly allergic to grapes. They reckon it was all that celebratory wine that finished him off.”

“Hmm. Ironic. But I suppose everybody has a thing.” I shrugged. We stared at the statue a while longer in silence; myself out of respect for the deceased; Malcolm, I could only assume, was thinking on what he had done for his country. He had enabled Malcolm to live the life he did; the thought was humbling. As I was considering this Malcolm turned to me:

“Do you want to see your mother?”

Understandably the question caught me off-guard, and my response had turned out to be along the lines of: “Guh-plugh?” Which Malcolm must have understood to be an affirmative and proceeded to lead me to a side room. The gold plaque by the door frame read:

“Alaina Oakley, The Great.” I swallowed hard.

“Now here's a woman that didn't have a 'thing'.” He smiled up at me but I barely noticed. I had seen photographs of my mother; I had one beside my bed at home. They were all pretty normal; smiling, pulling faces, general messing about. All standard stuff. She'd always just seemed normal, not like the Amazonian figure standing on the plinth before me. Just like Sir Claude Doneskus she was cast in bronze and seemed larger than life; unlike Doneskus; however, she had the room to herself. She stood tall, her head tilted backwards as if surveying everything before her. Her long hair cascaded down her back in waves and her face and posture were so striking that I didn't immediately notice that her finely muscled body was barely clothed.

I walked slowly across the room to her so that I could examine the detail of her face. She was beautiful; strikingly so. It was hard to believe that my own mother had been this warrior-goddess.

“You look just like her.” Malcolm's voice came from behind me. The very thought seemed ridiculous and I laughed aloud. I turned to look at him over my shoulder. His cheeks had began to blush a deep pink and I immediately felt horrid for laughing; I hadn't intended to embarrass him.

“Well thanks, and here's me thinking that I'd got my good looks from my goofy looking dad.” I smiled, “But now that you mention it- that's definitely my nose.” I stroked my nose with my finger, we had the same tiny bump right in the middle, and for a moment she was human again; my mother.

“Wow, look at all this stuff.”

I turned around and for the first time took in my surroundings. I'd been so entranced by the huge bronze statue that I had hardly even noticed what else was in the room.

“Holy shit.” Malcolm laughed; my face must've been a picture. It sure felt as if my jaw was now acquainting itself with the floor. All around us were different weapons. Some were recognisable as swords and what I could only assume were pistols, but others... well, God only knows what they were. They looked bloody dangerous enough- sharp bits sticking out in all sorts of uncomfortable looking directions.

“It's amazing that one person could master so many weapons.”

“You what?”

“Your mum wasn't 'The Great' for nothing you know. She mastered all of these; some of them they think she made herself.” He gestured around the room. “I mean, I'd say they're mostly replicas but it's to give you an idea more than anything else.” I had an idea all right, and it wasn't a good one. The bad guys were clearly going to be expecting some sort of unstoppable weapon wielding goddess. Instead, they were getting me; the apparent trump card who had never even held a gun. Probably because I couldn't even figure out how to work a staple gun properly; and there are laws against clumsy people carrying guns where I'm from...

“I'm pretty sure we're doomed.” I muttered

“What's that?”

“Just thinking out loud. Nothing to worry about.”

***

Methyn was not a coward, or at least he didn't think of himself as one. He liked to think of himself as a man who was smart enough not to put himself into very many dangerous situations. He usually did quite well. Today, on the other hand, was turning out to be an off day.

“You finished with that?” The man addressing him was clearly a native of the Assassin's Quarter; where Methyn had so unfortunately found himself. He was at least a head taller than the sorcerer and much older, so Methyn suspected, though his scar ravaged face might have been misleading. His left eye, or what was once his left eye, was covered by a stained eye patch. His other eye was eyeing up Methyn's half-eaten sandwich.

“Uh, yeah.” Methyn pushed the plate across the bar towards him. He hadn't even wanted the sandwich. It had been bought for him and he'd only eaten that much out of politeness, and fear. Fear was quite a large contributing factor.

You see, when Methyn had realised where he was he had begun to panic; he had quite accidentally managed to put himself in a rather dangerous situation. Now as any assassin in the trade knows; a panicked man is a liability. Why is he panicking? Does he have something to hide? Will he even be able to complete the job? The questions raised are endless and none of them have a positive answer: unless the question was whether or not someone was going to get killed in the imminent future. Methyn had begun to hyperventilate when he was finally cornered in the street.

“Oi. Not seen you before.” The deep and booming voice that came from above him belonged to Joe-Knuckles. Named for his preferred method of battery. No one knew why it was pre-fixed with “Joe”. His name actual name was Steve. Methyn gulped.

“I-I-I-er, f-f-friend.”

“Friend?”

“M-M-M-Meeting.”

“You're meeting someone eh?”

“D-D-D-Don't know w-w-w-”

“You're not from round here are you?” Methyn shook his head. “Well lets see little man,” Knuckles put his hand down on Methyn's shoulder, hard. “Everyone gotta eat right?” Methyn wasn't sure where he was going with this, or if he expected an answer but he nodded anyway. Agreeing was usually the best thing to do. “Well then, how 'bout I get you to a pub. Bound to find you there... won't ask who- s'against the code.”

Knuckles, the seemingly friendly giant of a man proceeded to steer Methyn deeper into assassin territory to a pub called, quite frighteningly; The Bloody Rose. He assured Methyn that if his friend was looking for him then they'd show up here sooner or later, Everyone did. Not always alive mind you. Ha ha, only kidding- assassin humour, apparently, was pretty morbid. And so Methyn found himself sat in The Bloody Rose, sandwiched between two men who he could only assume were wanted murderers, waiting for an imaginary friend who was definitely not coming to find him.

The man with the patch had finished his sandwich and was glaring at him. Methyn noticed a sliver of ham dangling from his lower lip. He tried his best not to stare.

“There's sumfin' off 'bout you.” He said. His speech was slow and strained. Methyn wandered if he maybe had had too many blows to the head. “You ain't one of us.”

“Ah, I- waiting on a f-f-friend.” The man rubbed his chin, his stubble-beard made a rough scratching sound as he stroked it.

“Magic man.”

“Excuse m-m-me?” Stammered Methyn. The man may have seemed slow but he had Methyn figured out right away.

“Don't trust you lot. You's like rats.” Methyn gulped. Those who had mastered the science of magic may have been respected by the general populace, but Assassins had a major beef with them. It was generally accepted that it was because assassins were trained in the physical, While wizards could barely lift their own body weight the majority of the time; yet they could achieve the same results. Understandably this frustrated a lot of people, unfortunately for Methyn Eye-Patch was one of those people. “Scurry away at the first sign of trouble.” He had him there- he was pretty good at scurrying; though he'd always thought of himself as just having good survival instincts. In fact, his survival instincts were kicking in even as he thought about it. He slid back on his stool and practically onto the lap of Not-Really-Joe-Joe-Knuckles who had been busying himself chatting up a rather buxom barmaid.

“What tha?!”

“Urk.” Managed Methyn as Knuckles stood up and knocked him off his stool completely.

“Got a problem?” Demanded Eye-Patch.

“Seems I do.” Knuckles snarled. The well-endowed barmaid scampered away; no danger of her attempting to stop the impending bar-brawl. “Seems that it might be your face. Reckon it could do with some improvements.” He punched his right hand into his left. Methyn scooted backwards along the floor and under a table where he inadvertently brushed up against the leg of a surly young woman. From where he was sat under the table it sounded as if she might have punched the guy sitting opposite her. Across the room Knuckles had Eye-Patch in a headlock and was hitting his good eye repeatedly. It was beginning to make a stomach-churning squishing sound. Knuckles' knuckles were drenched in blood.

One of Methyn's tried and tested methods of self-preservation was the 'remain hidden and oblivious' approach. This largely involved hiding under a heavy item of furniture for protection- the table usually being the preferred choice- and closing ones eyes whilst humming show tunes. The humming- needless to say- was to be done quietly so as not to draw attention to oneself. He also found that rocking back and forth often helped.

Methyn proceeded to employ the 'remain hidden and oblivious' method. Today's tune of choice was “I love you almost as much as I love my horse.” He was always one for the classics.

***

“You found us then?”

“You stole my fucking purse!”

“Language.” I had been wondering how long it would take Kaylaer to come after me when she realised that her purse was missing. Not long apparently, and she'd managed to find us no problem- not that we'd gone far; we'd been in the museum all afternoon. She growled loudly and I could feel a smile threatening to form on my lips. I tried in vain to stop it, knowing that it would just aggravate her more. “From that tone I take it that you didn't have a good afternoon? We've had a lovely-”

“Shut the hell up! You know I've had a shitty afternoon; you made sure of that!”

“I've no idea what you mean.” I shrugged and looked over at Malcolm who was pointedly reading a book. I put my hands in my pockets. I hoped that my acting skills were up to par; “Oh! Is this it?” I took out her small, red leather purse. She snatched it from me and immediately checked the contents. “Now now, no need to-”

“You had no right!”

“I must have gotten confused; I probably picked it up when we were packing away our things this morning.”

“It is easily done Kaylaer.” Ah, bless Malcolm. He'd briefly abandoned the pretence of not being involved to defend me. It made me feel kinda guilty; even though I was sure I'd done the right thing. Teenage girls can be a danger to themselves.

“Stay out of this you whiny little-”

“Hey now, I'm the one who had your purse.”

“You admit it then.”

“I never said that I took it.” I allowed myself a smile and Kaylaer let out a low grumble. We both knew I'd taken it, and we both knew that she didn't have any proof. Like Malcolm had said; it was easily done. She stormed across the room, sitting down heavily on a bench. She folded her arms; I'd give her a minute. “So,” I turned back to Malcolm, “there's always been a kind of tension between Corthus and Cortharen then?” We had been going over some general Glakyrian history when tornado Kaylaer had hit. Malcolm was poring over some old books, pointing out bits that he thought I might find interesting.

“Yeah, it's gone on ever since the founding brother and sister really. They were so different that conflict was the natural course of things- though it has been relatively calm for the last half a century or so. They even tried to rejoin the two royal families.”

“Trying to recreate some kind of familial bond?”

“Exactly.”

“And-?”

“It didn't exactly work, or rather, it didn't turn out to plan. The princess of Cortharen and the prince of Corthus were betrothed when they were young- per the agreement of the royal families of the time.”

“Arranged marriage...” I pulled a face.

“I know, but that was usually what happened in the royal family, though not usually between the two kingdoms. As it turns out they were a really good match- that's what made it such a tragedy.”

“Oh?” Despite myself, my morbid curiosity had been piqued.

“The two of them were married; as per the arrangement. Both kingdoms were over-joyed, and a year or so later, the princess fell pregnant,” A horrible feeling was brewing in the pit of my stomach; I felt like I knew what was coming next. “Everyone was so happy, relations between the two families couldn't have been better, that was until the complications,” I knew it. “She died giving birth to their only child.” I gasped; even though I knew it was coming, but knowing never makes it less horrendous. My heart was thumping in my chest. I thought of my own mother, how she had done the same; she'd given her own life so that I could live. Tears stung my eyes and my heart went out to that other motherless child.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kaylaer had joined us. Typical, couldn't fault her timing.

“Nothing, it's just very sad. Don't you think so?”

“Whatever. So what happened?” She pulled up a seat beside me.

“Well apparently her husband wouldn't send her body back to Cortharen- she was to be buried in the tomb of the Corthus royal family. They didn't like that; as far as they were concerned he and the child were responsible for her death. Things have been a bit tense ever since, and needless to say; it's not been tried again.

“How come I didn't know about this?” Kaylaer was leaning back on her chair, swinging precariously on the back two legs. I used the distraction of her question to dab at my eyes. The story was heartbreakingly close to home.

“It happened years before we were born. Besides the fact that it was very sad; nothing really came of it. Things were strained anyway.”

“Yeah I guess, can't believe they'd be so pig headed about it; considering they're clearly all about family now.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean even we've had to get involved this time. It was a bad situation back then, but it was nobodies fault.” Kaylaer showing what appeared to be compassion? I was shocked.

“That's true, things like that never are, shame the same can't be said for the King's brot-”

“Um, I hate to interrupt whilst you two are actually getting along...” I was satisfied to see looks of discomfort from the both of them, “It's okay no one would ever believe me if I told them, but where the hell is Methyn?”

***

Nonplussed, Juney stepped over the unconscious Bloody Rose patrons, fighting was common amongst assassins so bar brawls were to be expected, though even Juney had to admit; not usually on this kind of scale. Not a single customer was upright and only the two bar-people escaped unscathed. The busty barmaid was cleaning up around fallen people, while the bar manager was rather unsubtly pick-pocketing a man who was draped over a bar stool.

Giflyn let out a large breath as he climbed the last stair and stepped into the bar. “Wow, worst I've seen in a while.” Juney made no reply as she scanned the room for signs of movement. The stench of piss and spilled beer was heavier on the air than usual; she suspected that one or more of the people lying motionless on the floor had voided their bowls. “I wouldn't want to have to clean this up.” Giflyn laughed .

“Shut up.” Juney said matter-of-factly. A small noise from across the room had caught her attention. With silent swiftness she unsheathed a small dagger and carefully made her way over the prone bodies. Her hunched stance was predatory, her footsteps light but sure so as not to make a sound. Giflyn remained as quiet and as still as he could manage, eyeing her cat-like elegance appreciatively. She came to a stop just in front of a heavy table, an unconscious man with a black eye was sprawled across it. Juney pulled him off with little effort- despite the fact that he was twice her size- and let him drop unceremoniously to the floor...

***

Methyn tentatively opened one eye, then slowly risked opening the other. Within three seconds he noticed two things; firstly he noticed a large pair of black boots standing in front of him, they hadn't been there when he'd closed his eyes and he hoped beyond all hope that they were empty. The second thing that he noticed was the sudden falling and landing of an unconscious man beside him. His brain did not have time to process this information as it was distracted by a loud scream, which he later realised was coming from his own mouth.

In fight or flight situations Methyn always chose flight. He contributed his on going life as a testament to the effectiveness of this choice. What Methyn failed to recall; before attempting to run, was that he was sat under a rather large table. A large table that was significantly harder than his head.

“GLARGHLE!” His scream petered out as he fell back to the floor in a daze. He was only slightly aware, in the back of his mind, of the table being moved from above him. The part of his mind that was aware of this chastised him for such a stupid judgement call. The rest of his mind made an incoherent babbling noise.

“What the hell?” A man's voice came from the blur above him.

“I knew I recognised that scream.” He knew that voice, who was it? “Come on, lets get you up.” Suddenly, or maybe not suddenly- he couldn't quite work it out- he was being pulled up to his feet. “Think you can stand?” asked the familiar voice. He thought he managed to mumble something in response. He could feel his body sinking but was relieved to find he was being held firmly in place by a pair of small, strong hands.

“And this is-?” The unfamiliar male voice asked.

“Part of my assignment.” Jay? Jo... “No idea what he's doing here.” Joon- “Yes, Juney.” He hadn't realised he'd been babbling out loud.

“Which part?”

“None of your business.” The familiar voice snapped. Juney, yes. Methyn's vision began to focus. Who was she talking to? Supplies... she'd gone to meet someone.

“Ssssupplies...?”

“Yeah, supplies. This is Giflyn; he's an associate of mine. Help me steady him will you?” Methyn felt, rather than saw, Giflyn steady him from his other side. He'd hit his head; he remembered. Under a table. There was fighting... and a scary man with an eye-patch. As Methyn's memory came back to him the room snapped into focus. There was blood and bodies everywhere. “Methyn?” Juney's hand was on his bare arm now. How did that happen? “You're okay. Everything's fine.” He felt a wave of calm lap over him. It was okay. He was fine. He managed a smile. “There, see?” Juney slowly stepped back. “You okay to stand on your own?” Methyn nodded and as he did he felt something warm trickle down the side of his face. He wiped at it with his hand- his fingers came away red.

The last thing Methyn heard before he passed out was Juney's voice;

“Fuck- not again.”

***

“Is he always like this?” Giflyn had slung Methyn over his shoulder and was walking back to the centre of town alongside Juney. She strode purposefully just ahead of him; her stiff stance betraying her exasperated mood.

“From what I can gather; yes, and it's getting really old, really quickly. What the hell was he doing in there in the first place? That's what I'd like to know.”

“Starting fights by the loo-”

“-Don't you people have rules about this kind of thing? He's a civilian for fuck's sake!” She snarled through gritted teeth.

“Well we can hardly-”

“This is my job on the line- there is more than one person who would gladly have my head for this.”

“He's that important is he?” Giflyn used his free hand to stroke his moustache and glanced down at the prone figure slung over his shoulder. He was a wizard; He'd know that from a mile off. Must be something for her to be going to all this trouble.

Juney sighed; “It's not about him – it's about the bigger picture.”

“I see.”

“No. You don't. I'm not paying you to see so just leave it.” Giflyn decided it was best not to respond; she was in a foul mood and he knew exactly what she could be capable of and had no intention of pushing her further.

As they left the assassin's quarter and headed further into town Juney removed her hood; what had kept her inconspicuous there would only draw attention to her here. She might as well have a flashing neon sign above her head that labelled her “bad news.” Abruptly she stopped and whirled round to face Giflyn.

“You best put him down and try to wake him up. I need to pick up something so just stay there. I mean it. Do. Not. Move.” she turned to walk away; “I've had enough of being ignored today.”

***

It was late afternoon when Kaylaer, Malcolm and Alaina decided to leave the museum. Upon stepping out of the building, Alaina exclaimed that she hadn't realised how quickly the afternoon had gone by and suggested that it might be best that they wait for Juney in the square where she had left them. Kaylaer wondered if Alaina was operating on a different time scale as the afternoon had dragged painfully by since she'd joined them. Nerds. Thankfully the square was much quieter now; Kaylaer wasn't fond of big crowds. Being surrounded by people tired her – all that bustling energy around her just seemed to drain her of her own, and right now she was feeling quite exhausted. If only Malcolm would shut up for two minutes and quit the walking encyclopaedia routine. She couldn't understand how Alaina could stay so interested – she'd lost the will to live about twenty minutes into the impromptu history lesson and she'd become quite adept at zoning Malcolm out. She sat quietly a few feet away from the others beneath the Oak tree in the centre of the square – her back pressed up against the rough bark. The market stalls were shut now and their vendors looked to be packing up for the evening; after a busy day's trade.

Kaylaer dipped her slender fingers into her pocket and stroked the hilt of the dagger. Her dagger. She couldn't believe that she'd gotten away with that one. Prudy-pants would have a fit if she found out. Kaylaer smiled to herself; serves her right for taking her purse.

“And then it was declared that – hey do you hear that?” Kaylaer heard the tone-change in Malcolm's voice and zoned back in.

“Hear what?” Alaina looked about her; a lost look on her face. Kaylaer shook her head, it was like babysitting a child, but there was definitely a noise... and it was getting closer-

-It was the sound of rhythmic footfalls on cobbled stones and they weren't far away. From his vantage point in the Oak tree the young man could see a few streets away. There they were, and they were coming closer; making their way from North to South. Their relentless marching perfectly timed and well-paced. They would be at Corthus within days. He hadn't expected them to move so quickly. Alox had not informed him of this.

He looked down at the three below him; he had been waiting for them all afternoon. With any luck they would just be passed unnoticed. He couldn't afford for them to find her now. Not yet. No doubt they'd be looking for her. If they could get to her now they'd be pre-empting themselves – though it would hardly be a fair fight. Not yet anyway. What the hell was she doing? She was meant to be protecting her. She was never this lax- he hadn't seen her all day in fact; Cholden was losing her touch.

He sat quietly for a moment feeling the gentle pulsing of energy from within the palm of his hand. The echo pulse was weaker than it should be- the blonde haired child was directly below him...

...Kaylaer stood up to better watch the soldiers as they passed. There were hundreds of them, she didn't recognise the uniform.

“Cortharen? I wonder what they're doing here.” Of course Malcolm would know. Well, at least that was that solved.

“Probably some routine drill or patrol or something,” she shrugged, “or they heard you were coming.” Malcolm's cheeks burned and Kaylaer felt a smug sense of satisfaction.

“Though it's more likely that they heard you and your smart mouth were in town, but I think they were overestimating you by sending so many.” Alaina gave a nonchalant shrug and winked at Malcolm. Kaylaer grumbled, how dare she. She wished they were coming for her; even if it meant being stuck alone with Malcolm.

The soldiers marched on and within a few moments they had passed them by without so much as a glance in their direction; leaving many a puzzled market vendor in their wake.

As the sound of their heavy footfalls gradually faded away a familiar voice broke the new-found silence:

“I wonder what that was about.” Kaylaer whirled around to see Juney leaning casually against the tree.

***

“'An hour or so', was it?” I put my hands on my hips in what I hoped was an authoritative manner. Juney just shrugged it off. So much for that. “Where have you been?”

“I told you, I had to get some supplies. Better question is; where were you?”

“Excuse me?” I let my arms fall back down to my sides; I wasn't sure why but it felt as if the power balance had shifted. It wasn't in my favour- she was pissed about something. “Malcolm and I have been brushing up on some history, was actually rather-”

“And what about you?” She had turned on Kaylaer now. There was a brief moment when I thought I saw a flash of panic cross her face- but it was gone before I could be sure. Instead, it was replaced by a look of indignation.

“None of your business.”

“I will have you know, young lady, that when one of my party wanders into the Assassin's quarter it is-”

“-I didn't mean to...” She trailed off quietly.

“-You didn't mean to what? I was talking about your idiot teacher. What the hell have you been doing?” How Kaylaer was managing to keep her nerve I will never know. Malcolm had half hidden himself behind me, though to tell the truth I felt like hiding myself. Juney's temper had reached boiling point and she was now so far into Kaylaer's personal space I thought that they might collide; Kaylaer was not retreating.

“I have to be able to defend myself; seeing as you're completely incapable of doing it!”

“How dare you-”

“Well come on then, what did happen to Methyn? Will we assume that you couldn't protect him either?”

“He is perfectly fine, no thanks to any of you, and don't you dare use that tone-”

“-I'll use whatever tone I damn well like. Besides, what kind of a guide would leave two children with that idiot?” Her finger was now pointed at me.

“Excuse me?”

“That 'idiot',” Hey now, come on... “is the woman who is going to save your sorry ass one day so how about showing some respect!”

The two of them were almost nose to nose now; neither backing down. As a rule I was not generally scared of Juney; she kept to herself mostly and in my experience she wasn't that quick to anger, but something had certainly rattled her today. If I was in Kaylaer's position I think I'd have been on the floor begging for forgiveness by now. As I thought on this I was distracted by a low groaning noise. It was Methyn, and he was being helped along by a large man with an impressive moustache. That was, at least until he was dropped, unceremoniously, at the base of the tree. He groaned a bit more in protest.

“Ah you'll be fine, bump to the head won't kill ya. Never did me any harm.” He laughed, it was a loud, low sound that hummed in my ears.

Juney finally turned to us; “This is Giflyn; my supplier. Giflyn this is my team.” The giant of a man made a beeline for me.

“Pleased to meet you Miss Oakley.” He took my hand in his and shook it vigorously.

“Likewise.” He eyed me intently and I found it rather disconcerting. Obviously he knew who I was; who I was supposed to be.

“And these are the kids from the Corthus institute.” Juney gestured briefly to Malcolm and Kaylaer in turn. Giflyn frowned as he acknowledged Kaylaer.

“You-” He took a step forward and for the first time I saw Kaylaer visibly frightened. Juney stood ahead of her; instinctively protective despite their argument. I hoped Kaylaer acknowledged it.

“You know each other?” she raised a speculative eyebrow.

“That pocket-sized dose of trouble tried to put me out of business earlier,” Juney stiffened, was I missing something? “You know as well as I that I can't be caught selling knives to minors Cholden.” Juney's supplier sells knives? I should have known. Juney looked down at Kaylaer over her shoulder.

“Whatever, it's not like I bought one anyway. That cow took my purse-” and with that Juney spun round and slapped Kaylaer clean across the face.

***

He had never seen Cholden fly off the handle like that. Even when working she was always calm and in control. He knew she was capable of extreme anger- but only when greatly pushed. That army must have rattled her; that or she had developed an attachment to the girl. Stranger things have happened.

He watched on as the child recoiled from shock. She would have to learn to keep that in check. Never show weakness; that was part of the basics.

Cholden dug deep into her pocket, and as if a switch had been flipped; the pulse in his closed hand became strong. The echo pulse becoming almost tangible. He felt compelled to go down to her- as if an invisible rope was pulling him down; yet he remained perfectly still. He had anticipated this feeling. This longing.

He looked on, helpless, as Cholden forced the stone, his stone, into the child's hand. He noted how she instinctively pocketed it- as if she knew that it should be there. No wonder it hadn't felt as strong as it should have; Cholden had had it. He looked down to find her staring up directly at him. Their eyes locked. It was only a split second but it was enough to confirm what he already suspected. She knew he was following them.

With that she turned on her heel and stalked off across the square, shouting an order;

“Follow me.” And he knew that it wasn't just for her team.

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