Acclayne Book 1: The Game Begins
Chapter 14

That son of his really was a piece of work; must have gotten it fromhis mother's side. Giflyn stroked his moustache as he thought – ithad been a habit of his for as long as he could remember. He hadshaved it clean off once; he was lost without it. At any rate itwould definitely be the last time that he left Flyn Jr in charge ofthe stall. He'd left him alone for all of five minutes and had comeback to replace him being taken for a ride by a minor. A girl no less!Sometimes he wondered if the boy had any sense at all. He'd had animportant appointment this afternoon – one that he couldn't affordto miss, and he couldn't even count on his own son to hold the fort.He was a complete liability; and he told him so. On more than oneoccasion. Luckily he was able to call in a favour from a friend andso could attend his appointment. That was where he was right now. Hehad been at least ten minutes late, but fortunately for him he hadarrived first and so would still have the upper-hand in thisexchange. He had been chasing this piece for a very long time andhe'd be damned if he wasn't finally getting his hands on it today. Hesmiled and rubbed his moustache with glee.

He settled into hisstool and ordered himself a second pint. His client was not renownfor their good time keeping and so he made himself comfortable – orrather as comfortable as one could be in such surroundings. They'dagreed to meet in The Bloody Rose; an aptly if not subtly namedpublic house seated within Vallaylii's Assassin Quarter. Giflyn knewit well and had done business with most of the people at one time oranother. He wasn't a murderer; he merely supplied the weapons. It wasthe customer's choice as to what they did with them; but he knewenough not to ask questions. It was one thing he prided himself on,his discretion. He certainly didn't pride himself on his fool of ason!That boy would ruin him, he was certain. Should've sent him offto join the guards when he had had the chance, but no, Belthedacouldn't bare to see her only son shipped off for military trainingand so, much to his annoyance, he'd had to let him stay. He'll runthe stall, she'd said, give us more time together, she'd said. Pah!He was working twice as hard now to fix the boy's mistakes. Hisknuckles whitened as he subconsciously tightened his grip on the pintglass.

“Careful now, anytighter and you'll break it.” A small gloved hand was rested on hislarge meaty one. He jerked it away, startled, and almost knocked overhis pint. The gloved hand caught the glass before even a drop waslost.

“AYE! You startledme!”

“I can see that; wereyou not expecting me Giflyn?” His client sat down beside him. Shewas covered in a long blue-black hooded cloak; he recognised it asbeing a kind of assassin's uniform, apart from the small golden bearthat was stitched at the nape of the neck. He hadn't seen thatbefore. He craned his neck to look at it more closely but the designwas partially obscured by her hood. “To business then.” Her voicewas soft but firm, She pulled down her hood and turned to face him,her dark hair was pulled back away from her face. He'd forgotten howlovely she was – a perfect porcelain doll: massive dark brown eyes,almost black; sweet pouting lips and beautifully pale skin with anever so slightly pink tint in her cheeks. He found himself wonderingif it was only her cheeks that blossomed in that divine colour...

“I have somethingthat you want.” He felt his cheeks burn; she spoke as if she hadheard his thoughts.

“Y-You do?” Hehoped she could not hear his desire in his voice; she would becertain to use it against him.

“Is this not whatyou've been looking for?” She slid a folded cloth towards himacross the bar.

“Oh?” He picked itup as delicately as he could with his large fingers. On closerexamination he determined that the fabric was silk; black with goldthreading. Rare for these parts. Beneath the folds he could feelsomething flat and hard. It couldn't be.

Slowly and with greatreverence he unfolded the fabric until, sat on the bar, in front ofhim was a throwing star. A throwing star the likes of which he neverthought he'd actually get to see; let alone hold. The weapon waspaper thin yet entirely rigid; made from some metallic compound thathe was unfamiliar with. This fact did not surprise him; knowing thestar's origins as he did. The five pointed weapon was truly a work ofart – the five points symbolising the five women who wielded theweapon. The surface was covered in an intricate design which appearedto be etched into the metal and picked out in the thinnest of gold.He lifted it to have a closer look; mindful to keep it rested atopthe silk fabric so that he didn't cut himself on any of the razorsharp blades. He pushed his finger through the small hole in thecentre, letting the silk fall over his finger and cover his hand sohe could better examine the edges. There was not so much as a nick inany of the blades. It was perfect.

“Well well well...”Giflyn's mind was now entirely at the task at hand. “May I askwhere you managed to acquire such a unique specimen?”

“You may ask, but youwill not get an answer.” He glanced at her before turning hisattention back to the throwing star; a wide smile spread across hisface. She was as secretive as always. “I take it you are pleasedthen?”

“My Lady, pleased isnot the word.”

“Good, as I'm sureyou can appreciate that I went to great pains to get this to you; andI'm sure you've heard the stories...” He nodded in response but didnot look at her; “...I may very well be cursed for stealing aDolakian blade. Though I have probably been cursed for a great manyyears.”

“As much as I respectthe Dark Assassins I do not believe all of the stories are true.”

“Then you are abigger fool than I had first thought.” With lightening quick speedshe took the star back from him and, quite impossibly in the onemove, folded it neatly back up in the silk cloth.

“Lady Cholden...”

“Hush!” A few ofthe other patrons turned to look their way briefly before returningto their drinks, “In case you have forgotten; there is asubstantial price on my head.”

“Forgive me. What doyou want for the star?”

She glanced around theroom and instinctively he did the same; though he had no idea whothey were looking for. She composed herself and in a lowered voicesaid;

“I need you to takeme to Oakley's tomb.”

“Ah, you know as wellas I that she's not buried there.”

“That's as maybe, butI have reason to believe that something of hers is.” In spite ofhimself he laughed openly at her – aware that she could kill himwhere he sat if she so wished.

“You can't possiblymean...”

“I do, and as youclearly know of what I am referring to then there is no need to speakfurther of it here.” She lifted her hood back over her head andstood.

“I will provide youwith a means to get in.” Giflyn rubbed his moustache in thought; itwas wet where the remains of his pint clung to the edges. “Afterthat it is up to you to replace what you want, though I doubt you'llreplace it. I've searched for it myself for many years, as you canimagine it would make an excellent addition to my collection...”She cut him off; uninterested in his collectors drivel;

“Entrance is all Irequire.”

He stood up beside her,she barely reached his shoulder. “And what of the star?”

“You shall have whatyou want,” she turned her gaze up at him and he felt the firewithin him stirring once again, “when I have what I want.”

***

Juney perused the dimlylit room at a leisurely pace. Giflyn had accumulated quite acollection since she had last paid him a visit. He was wise to keepsuch a vast array of illegal weaponry away from his home. If theauthorities were to catch him then to say that they would not belenient would be an understatement.

She loved doingbusiness with Giflyn; he understood her needs completely. The factthat he left her alone to examine his collection was proof of this.She felt at home among the swords and crossbows. More so than she hadever felt; even with her family. Her family had used her as a tool,an artefact, predestined for certain tasks. Not unlike the itemsaround her. No, not like them at all. She had respect for thisweaponry, even love. Every time she wielded one it was like a gift.The power of The Mother bestowed upon her. Life and death in herhands. She had not commanded such respect from her family.

She picked up a silverlongsword, turning it over delicately to examine it. Thecraftsmanship was remarkable; intricate patterns were etcheddelicately into the blade, extending a few inches above the handle.From West Kabel no doubt.

Giflyn was busyinghimself at the other end of the room, packing small weapons into abag: he knew what she'd need. That's why she always came back.

“You must have had ajob getting your hands on this.” It was a statement rather than aquestion. He glanced at her over his shoulder, panic crossed his faceonly momentarily but it was long enough for her to see it; though shecould sense it off him anyway. She toyed with him; “How much?”

“I-Uh...” he turnedaway, “...not for sale.”

She smiled to herself,“Sorry? I think I may have misheard you, only I could have swornthat I heard you say it wasn't for sale.” She ran her glovedfingers along the length of the blade, the leather drew a satisfyingring from the sword. Giflyn pretended not to hear her. “Surely youdo not mean to refuse me such a magnificent work of art? Such a thingcannot possibly remain locked away, you are robbing it of it'spurpose...”

He turned to her now,she knew she had struck a nerve. Giflyn was the only person that shehad met who appreciated fine weaponry as much as she. To suggest thathe was not showing the blade the respect it deserved was akin toslapping him in the face.

“I assure you myLady, that any price I put on the blade you would deem too much.”He smiled but remained uneasy- he was trying to call her bluff.

“I think not.” Shepaused, allowing his panic to mount. “Though I am sure you areaware that I have killed for less,” she flexed her hand around thehilt of the sword, “and the only thing that would make this swordmore glorious would be its spilling of fresh blood.” She did notremove her eyes from the blade but in her peripherals saw him edgingaway from her and into the desk behind him. His hand grasping for aweapon. She smiled, it had been a good many weeks since she'd seen aproper battle; most of her jobs called for a clean, discreet kill,and as much as she hungered for it she had more important things tobe getting on with. She placed the sword back in it's holder.

“Ah Giflyn, I despairof you. Can't you take a joke?” She smiled at him and though he hadstopped searching for a weapon he remained uneasy. He knew her wellenough to trade with her but he also knew her well enough not to takeany threat she made lightly. She enjoyed her line of work far toomuch; he recalled that she had referred to it as a 'calling' on morethan one occasion over the years. “Besides, you know full well thatit's just not my style. I need something more... subtle.” Shelifted her hands and shrugged, a picture of nonchalantness.“Restraints of the job, you know that.”

He visibly relaxed. “Inthat case,” he composed himself, “I have just the thing.” Heturned again and searched a little before crossing the room andhanding her a five bladed dagger. The blades themselves were thin andmade of a shiny black metal while the long handle was made of a darkwood. “As they say; I saw it and I thought of you.” Juney took itfrom him gingerly and instinctively held the handle width-ways acrossthe top of her right palm. Her fingers curled around the wood, onebetween each blade. She had not held one of these in a long time, yetstill it felt natural to do so.

“A dagger of Dolak?Hmm...” she smiled; genuinely pleased as she weighed it in herhand. Her arm felt complete.

“And for you a fairprice.” He smiled in return; he knew she would not be able torefuse this gem. He had been saving it specifically for her. Alongwith the satchel of throwing daggers and other various weapons she'dcome for, he'd be making a handsome amount- regardless of whether ornot he finally got his hands on the star. He still longed for it, nodoubt about that, but if he pushed his luck with her he knew that hecould lose his money and maybe even his life. He had a family tothink about, and even though she had traded with him for years heknew that, to her, he was expendable. His family was his priority atthe end of the day, even that fool son of his. That was where theydiffered.

“You know that moneyis no object.” She tossed him a heavy bag. He didn't even see herpull it from her cloak. The coins clinked together as he caught it.“I dare say that will cover it. May I ask where you managed to getthis from?”

“You may ask, but youwill not get an answer.” He smiled.

“Touché.”