The Innocence of Teacups
Azure City

They arrived at the boarder the following morning. Freyr’s health perked up when the toll booth came into sight. However he was less than enthusiastic at arriving now in the knowledge someone had stolen his voice. Especially when the someone in question could be Freyr.

The glass trees came to an end. To make up for this there was a large wooden sign, with flowers and vines carved round the edges. In the middle were the words: WELCOME TO ZOTICAS. What a warm welcome or so it would be if there was no need to walk under the sign and over to the large wooden booth, where a young woman sat, watching their every movement but kept a cheerful smile. With no qualms Freyr waltzed right over to the booth. He jogged uneasily after him, and kept his distance, as Freyr worked his fake charm.

“A good morning to you, my dear.”

“Certainly,” said the border control lady. “Have you been to Zoticas before?” “Indeed. I used to be a frequent visitor in my younger years.”

“Really?” She almost yawned and dropped the smile then went rummaging round in what sounded like a drawer. “How long ago exactly?”

“Let me see,” Freyr said while counting on his fingers. “I’d have last been to Zoticas approximately fourteen years ago.”

The lady dumped a large roll of parchment on the counter which was fixed up against the window. “Name please.”

“Valaire. Freyr Valaire.” This was said very off-handly.

The lady traced her finger down names and gave an excited gasp when she hit Freyr’s name. “Lord Freyr Valaire!”

Lord Valaire this was all news to him. Days ago his Freyr was nothing save a sleazy merchant. Now he was a sorcerer and apparently a lord too.

“It states here you’re a close friend of Lady Lev’s.”

“More of a distant friend really. I’ve had strict business in Kazara however thought I’d take a break from hard work to let my young assistant experience a glorious country.” At that moment Freyr pushed him so he was stood right by the window. “My assistant. Will you be wanting to cross examine him?”

“I’m sure he's fine if with you, Lord Freyr. Erm I’m sorry to have to ask but I’m supposed to ask proof of who you are with you laying claim to such an important name.”

“I’m glad.” Freyr pushed his sword into the booth and pointed out a spot on the hilt. She inspected it, looked at her parchment then nodded her consent.

“Here’s a coin for the lad.” Freyr slipped a gold piece onto the counter.

With nothing more to say, Freyr inclined his head at the guards, took him by the shoulder and pushed him along the path. Getting into Zoticas had been a doddle for them. How could Freyr be a lord? No one in Kazara seemed to have heard of him. Then again he’d never known Freyr’s last name because it never passed his lips. When they were away from the booth he stopped walking and stubbornly stared Freyr out.

“What am I not allowed to have a past? You know before you came along I was living the high life.”

Here they went again in their pathetic loop. He turned sharply and walked fast. All he wanted to know was what kind of past. No one ever bothered to tell him anything. After a moment’s thought Freyr ran to catch him up.

“Let me try to explain. I used to be a lord then my wealth fell away so I turned merchant. What I said came out all wrong. Before you I was living the high life not doing anymore has nothing to do with acquiring you. Can you stop being so sensitive all the time?”

No he couldn’t stop being sensitive when someone had stolen his voice. They walked on without interaction.

There were many intersections in the road however Freyr knew exactly where they were going without having to pause for thought. They kept to the side of the road because every so often a horse would gallop along. This country was strange seen as no farms were in sight and there was a sparse amount of foliage. There were however clumps of buildings everywhere, dotted about in the most random of places. Soon he found himself amongst some of these buildings which were small and carved from a white type of stone. Groups of children in bare feet ran in between these houses whilst adults strolled lazily along without much purpose. As they got deeper into what was turning out to be a city, the buildings grew and got more elaborate. Even the most basic of shops had fancy swirls carved into door frames.

Freyr grumbled as a quill seller pushed his wares under their noses. He took a look at the brightly coloured quills being sold but Freyr pushed the tray away. How rude. He shook his head at Freyr, gave the quill seller an apologetic smile, and watched Freyr stride off without any worry he wouldn’t be followed. No longer an apprentice he side stepped into a shop to have a look round.

Happened this shop was stocked with what he found most interesting in the world. One shelf was home to juggling balls. Underneath those were some brackets which he was guessing were used to hold fire eaters’ torches. Some stilts were stacked in a corner. He’d never seen a stilt walker before. Wow this place even sold a trapeze. What he’d give to have a go on one of those. He wandered round the shop for a long while and watched in admiration as some jugglers came in for new balls. They must belong to a troupe because one of them was paying more attention to the stilts. When the little group left, Freyr came storming in, saw him straight away and whoosh a semi-heavy ledger flew at him. Thankfully he caught it without getting his head knocked off.

“I’m buying you this and asking which one you liked. Low and behold I look like a mad man talking to myself. You can’t wander off in a city; I might never replace you again. Fortunately I’d the sense to back track and ask the quill seller if...”

While Freyr lectured on he went inside his pack, took out his ink and wrote as neatly as possible while standing up: Thank you kindly for the ledger. This one is perfect. I’m your assistant rather than apprentice so thought there’s no need to trail everywhere after you. We should really discuss my duties and wage, don’t you think?

“Heh,” mustered Freyr when he showed him his first piece of writing. “Duties and a wage! Is money all you can think of?”

I must have inherited that trait from you.

Freyr snickered and left the shop. This time he followed. No he was far from thinking about money it was more to do with gaining some independence, unfortunately money was needed to have any.

“I need to put some more thought into these matters,” Freyr said as they went through the streets. He tried not to let his attention waver as he watched the comings and goings of city life. “Tomorrow afternoon I would like to visit my old friend Lev. Seen as I don’t trust those Sapphire Knights of hers I’d like you to make sure no one tries to attack me.”

What is your motive for visiting such an old friend?

“Hurh questions questions! Does there always have to be a motive?”

With you yes. You don’t seem to bother having any friends. We should have friends; it gets awfully lonely.

“I prefer my own company.”

So your motive is?

“All I want is a little chat. This is exactly why I never bothered teaching you to write because you’d be constantly questioning me.”

Some questions needed asking, like a very important one which would constantly be on his mind until he asked. So important he stopped in the street to think up a way to phrase his thoughts.

You wouldn’t wish me silent though, would you? You’d be pleased for me if I could talk? There, this way he had not accused Freyr of stealing his voice but would get to see a reaction.

“Of course I’d be pleased to hear you speak.” Freyr actually looked genuinely sympathetic towards him. “The fact is you can’t and have to live with it. People put up with worse: lost limbs, blindness, ghastly rashes. I’d say being a silent assassin is rather fortunate. You’re lucky I found you. Now come along, I need to send Lev a telegram to tell her I’m coming for a visit.”

Still slightly unsure he tried to tell himself Freyr played no part in taking his voice and went with him without complaint. There would always be a nagging inside because Freyr was a superb truth bender it was hard to tell when he was fooling.

The Juggler was located on the Entertainment District. All around were people in colourful garments. Never had he seen so many sets of entertainers in one place, practising and earning at the same time. Freyr called them beggars and snorted away in contempt until they got inside the inn. His own eyes had been fascinated by all the juggling, even those who constantly dropped their balls, or the stilt walkers who fell over, threatening to break their legs. It was the amateur fire eaters they’d purposely stayed away from. Now he sat alone at a table, sipping from a small glass of white wine. He sipped because Freyr only ever bought him one and he wanted to make it last. When he got his own wage he could buy extra. Freyr was having a lay down before dinner. He was too excited to be some place new and vibrant to bother resting. You never knew what type of person would step through an inn door. After seeing the sorts outside logic dictated some of them would come in for a drink.

Most heads turned when a woman wearing a sky blue cape, and white dress with sequins shimmering on the hems and neckline, came into the room. She smiled sweetly giving gentle plucks at a lute she carried. What must be regulars settled down at one table which the musician hopped onto and sat with her lute rested on her knee.

“What stories would you like to hear this summer’s night?” she asked.

Stories. A bard then. The bards at home in Kazara were straight to the point telling their tales and never backed them up with music. While stories were requested, Freyr came and joined him at his table.

“I see roast chicken is the dish tonight. My taste buds will be thankful to eat something you haven’t attempted cooking.”

If you don’t like my cooking prepare your own food.

“I thought you enjoyed cooking.”

You know I don’t.

“I buy, you cook.”

Excuse me. I’m the one who gets sent shopping.

Freyr flipped a coin in his hand. “I supply the funds.”

Which would get stolen without me.

“Wrong again. I taught you to use those knifes so in all fairness I’ve been keeping my own wealth safe all a long.”

Your money would still be stolen without me. You’re getting older, Frey. Am I in your will?

A shadow cast over Freyr’s face and he slammed his coin on the table. Words were troublesome; he’d obviously written the wrong thing. He put down his quill as Freyr huffed off to the bar. He could always apologise and explain he’d been joking. Too bad all jokes held an element of truth. Freyr did appear worn some days. Age was obviously a sensitive issue. So as much as he wanted to scribble out an apology there would be no use so he distracted himself from the awkwardness by watching the bard tune her lute.

Freyr came back with a large glass of red wine and a boring tankard of water for him. He crossed his eyes, Freyr snickered.

“I shall live until I am eighty at least. I’ve got another forty years left so there is no need for a will. You keep us safe.”

One of Freyr’s shorter tantrums. He nodded his agreement unsure he agreed with such a long life expectancy however wanted to keep the peace.

As the tavern dined the bard played a merry tune on her lute which caused Freyr to scowl all the way through his meal. He found the music to be relaxing as did everyone else.

He wiped his greasy hands on a silk napkin. Freyr settled back into his chair whilst gently tipping wine into his mouth. Someone cleared their plates, replacing them with a dark blue lantern, with silver stars painted onto the door where you pushed the candle though. Freyr did not even give the lantern a glance.

The bard was beginning a story, told as an epic poem, using rhyme. He leant forwards on his chair, to catch her lyrical words better. Freyr sunk into his chair and stared at the table, with his eyes half open. Strange, usually Freyr would hang round the bar, boasting away to whoever happened to accidently cross his path. Sometimes a poor someone would end up being talked into signing contracts to buy all manner of things. He supposed they’d nothing to sell at the moment. They were supposed to be stocking up in their church. Never mind. He concentrated further on the bard. She had the gentlest voice in the world and would suddenly turn into a sharp baron’s voice, then a shy maid’s, and her imitation of a romantic knight was very convincing. He was smiling all the way through her narration. When this story was over she plucked at her lute and sang them a new poem which made him dozy.

“Huh enchantress! Turning heads, even yours. It’s all an act,” Freyr grumbled not caring who heard him.

His cheeks burnt up. How could Freyr say such a thing so loudly when the bard was performing? The bard ignored the comment and carried on playing her lute, even though she must have heard the criticism.

*******************

This was the first time he’d been given a room to himself at an inn. Usually he would make up a bed on the floor to save on expenses. Maybe his master was finally appreciating him. His hands brushed down the front of the new tunic he was wearing. The white material was the silkiest his skin had ever touched and gold threading woven in places tickled fingertips. The white trousers were a bit tougher.

Lady Lev was hosting a summer party and instead of a spot of afternoon tea, as Freyr requested in his telegram, they were invited to this party. So for a huge chunk of the day they’d been out shopping for something suitable for a lord and his assistant to wear. He’d never been to a posh party before. Freyr had given the advice that he smile and keep close unless told to do otherwise. Well more instructed than advised.

Right that moment Freyr waded into his room without even knocking. Merchant was transformed into wealthy lord thanks to a crimson tunic, long black cape, black trousers and knee length boots. A decorative seeming sword swung at his thigh, only he knew better, inside the sheath was his usual rapier. He got to his feet double quick and straightened himself out.

Freyr’s eyes rolled over him for brief seconds. “You’ll do.”

You’ll do. He was obviously not lordly material. Then again he was only supposed to be a lord’s assistant. A money pouch was handed to him which he tied to his belt to keep safe then followed Freyr out the inn. Outside stood a handsome open top carriage pulled by two white horses. The coachman opened a door and Freyr went climbing into the carriage and once seated he got in too. What a way to travel. As they went along the road, people stared at them, curious to know who they were. Who were they? He longed to know.

“Right, you remember my briefing?” Freyr murmured in a low voice so the coach driver wouldn’t be able to hear what he was saying. He nodded but Freyr went over all he’d told him over lunch anyway. “We’re not in Kazara anymore. You do not shake a lord or ladies hand at a party, instead you bow. Keep right at my heels unless I tell you otherwise. Look all around you for threats or other odd activities.”

Smiling he leant over the side of the carriage as they came onto a new road and went by a large rectangular building, with many window shutters set into the stone. On looking up to the top of the building he noticed there were four turrets with flags flurrying away in the summer breeze. He longed for the sun to still be shining so he could see the emblem.

“Barracks,” Freyr murmured then turned all his cynicism into a slight upwards turn of the lips, as the carriage rolled uphill. This sudden change meant they must nearly be at their destination. Yes there was a manor house sat on the top of this hill and another carriage was in front of them. When his master changed into character it meant he had to transform into his role too. Reluctantly he pulled himself away from the edge of the carriage and sat up straight. Freyr liked his assistants serious so serious he would be even though he found being thus incredibly boring.

The carriage stopped on a circular gravel drive. Waiting for the coachman to open them the door was tedious but was the proper way to go about entering a party for the nobility. He wanted to stare in amazement at two fire jugglers performing on either side of the door to greet the guests. Instead he pretended not to notice them as an assistant was there to work rather than enjoy the sights. Freyr gave a wide smile, pretending to be impressed at the entertainers, then gave a sweeping bow at a lady in a low cut sapphire dress. Her chestnut hair was done up loosely in sapphire ribbons. She curtsied and on rising gave a nibble of her lip.

“Do beg my pardon but I cannot for the life of me recall your name,” she said.

Freyr whipped out his invitation and held it out for her to see. “Tut tut my dear Lady Lev, how could you have forgotten your old friend Freyr?”

Lev’s eyes brightened and she threw her arms round Freyr’s neck. “Freyr Valaire you wicked wicked man, staying away so long! After two years of not hearing from you I gave up ever seeing you again. Where have you been hiding for... how many years has it been?”

“Fourteen. I’m afraid I have been exceedingly busy and could afford no distractions.”

Lev gave a giggle, drew away from their embrace then slapped Freyr on the shoulder; not the welcome he’d been expecting. Because of all the bowing he’d thought these nobles would be rather stern in their mannerisms.

“You Kazarans are a serious bunch.” And Lev’s eyes found him. He looked away, wanting to be kept out of any interactions, scared of what back story would be spun about why he was mute. “Is this handsome young man with you?”

“He’s just my assistant.”

“For a moment there I thought he might be your son. Freyr with child. No, I cannot imagine such a thing. Enjoy yourselves. I shall come seek you out when I have finished greeting my guests.”

Off they went down a corridor, following behind some more party guests. Everyone was there to have a good time except for them. Each room in the house was host to a different activity. People branched off into whichever room interested them most, or clustered in corridors to drink and chat. There were even some lovers clogging up the staircase having a full blown make out session. Freyr led him straight to the room which interested the majority of the guests.

This manor house had its very own ballroom. Wow. There was a brass band playing on the stage. People stood round the edges of the room as though wanting to dance but not daring to be the first. As soon as they were in the ballroom a woman with a silver tray of champagne offered them a glass.

“Ah champagne how delightful. One for me but my assistant is not to have a drop,” Freyr said on taking a glass.

At those words his mind shook awake. He was supposed to be a bodyguard and there he was gazing about at the band. Discreetly he looked round the room for any threats and saw nothing out the ordinary. Off went Freyr to do his usual meet and greet with all the confidence in the world. While all he did was try to look casual and felt out of his depth amongst all these guests, who flocked to Freyr as he announced himself to one person. When one knew they all heard somehow. Lord Freyr this and Lord Freyr that; all were charmed.

He twisted himself round as Freyr made himself the centre of attention. No one dodgy about. His eyes slanted up to the ceiling in case someone was lurking on a chandelier. What a view. Sapphire horses were painted onto a night blue ceiling, as though they were galloping across the sky. Everyone talked without paying him any attention until Lady Lev walked up behind him.

“Still as delightful as he was fourteen years ago,” Lev said as she watched Freyr mingling. “I’m surprised he has a handsome youth such as yourself in his employment, in case you steal his thunder.”

There was no chance of him ever taking away Freyr’s popularity with the general public. His cheeks burnt up. Handsome him? She was probably being polite. Such a thought extinguished the fire on his cheeks. A moment later, Freyr saw Lev with him so left his conversation and came over to them.

“I hope you’re not working your assistant too hard tonight. This is a party after all.”

“A party yes however I have some small business to attend first. I come bearing a message.”

Lev swiped two glasses from a serving girl and he was handed one of those glasses. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking however it would appear rude to refuse. Lev was taking a gulp. He gave the smallest of sips then glanced at Freyr. Nothing so he took a second sip.

“A message? I hope it’s an interesting message with raunchy details.”

“Nothing raunchy I’m afraid. The message comes from the priest of Violet Town.”

Lev faked a yawn. “Priest boring.”

“Yes I replace priests a bore myself but his message is of the upmost importance to him. His livelihood is at stake.”

“And you care because?”

“He’s a friend of a friend who I owe a favour. Can you at least humour me so I can return to my friend and say the message is sent?”

“Go on then but do be quick. I’m eager for you and your assistant to have some fun.”

“Two of your knights were snooping in Violet Town. The priest says he knows nothing of dark magic or secret labyrinths. He’s scared you’ll have your knights destroy his reputation.”

Lev’s hands knotted round her glass. “And does this so called priest also know one of my knights was murdered in Violet Town?”

“Yes, as do I. However your knight was killed by a blade not any form of magic so how do you know his murder is linked with the warlock?”

Mystery unravelled. Freyr was here to put Lev off the hunt for them. Why Freyr refused to tell him of his intentions made him wonder.

“The mayor of Violet Town is dead too. I don’t blame the priest or the church but am quite certain the warlock was in Violet Town.”

“I think you’re chasing after idle gossip No dark magic was ever seen there.”

Lev gave a small smile. “Maybe you’re right. In any case if the warlock was in Violet Town he or she will have moved on by now. Let us speak of happier things, like your assistant. Have I mentioned he’s handsome?”

“Yes in your front doorway. And don’t go getting any ideas he’s yet to reach seventeen.”

He blushed as Lev giggled away then took another swig of her champagne. “Oh Freyr, I swear you have wicked notions about me. I’ve no idea why. I was only paying the boy a compliment. Do you have a sweetheart?”

He blushed further and shook his head. Girls would never be interested in him because there was no time for them seen as Freyr didn’t like him having friends, and kept him too busy to even try making any.

“Quiet aren’t you? I suppose Freyr has told you to be silent in case you speak out of turn. Not to fear, you are at a party so chatter away.”

How awkward. You’d have thought he’d be used to these types of situations by now but no being referred to as quiet always made him fumble about with the cuffs of his sleeves, like he was doing then.

“I’m afraid Eagle can’t talk,” Freyr spoke up and placed his hands on his shoulders and pushed him down a little. “He’s mute. He can do most things save for talking.”

There was a surprise. For once Freyr refrained from calling him dumb. He supposed if he was acting as a lord’s assistant being dumb wouldn’t look too convincing.

“Mute!” blustered Lev and her eyes widened over him, as though suddenly seeing him as ugly rather than handsome.

“Yes mute. Do you have a problem?”

“No it’s just,” Lev started and paused in mid-sentence as though thinking of an appropriate manner to address the situation, and finally carried on with, “I’ve never met a mute person before. Does he have a tongue?”

“Yes. Speech is the problem, he can’t form verbal words. I’m guessing he might have been abused in some way as an infant. He writes words beautifully, don’t you?”

He nodded. Yes he’d been abused as an infant alright by having some thief steal his voice.

“How awful. I cannot imagine a life without being able to voice my opinion.”

“You have lots of those,” said Freyr.

“Certainly. I even have an opinion right now. I think you should let Eagle enjoy himself tonight. I get the impression you are hard workers so ought to take the night off. Everyone deserves a break.” Lev linked arms with Freyr and stood so close they were touching. “I’d be honoured if you would be my opening dance partner.”

Freyr drained his glass. “One dance to make up for being out of contact for so long. Eagle, our message is sent, you’re dismissed.” Freyr led Lev over to the dance floor. On his way leant in close to him and whispered, “keep your eyes active.”

Away went Freyr leaving him holding an empty glass. Watching Freyr dancing was a sure way to waste rare free time. Being a lone at a party was depressing. He could try to make some friends. How did he do that when he’d left his ink at the inn? He placed the empty goblet on the floor then went for a wander while sipping at his own drink. So many people and there he was with no confidence to go up to any of them and introduce himself.

His feet took him out the packed ballroom and he lingered in the corridor, where a few others stood chatting away. Having champagne to drink was a distraction from being alone. It was too bad he was nearly all out. He gave a deep breath, in hope someone would hear and take notice by inviting him to join in with their conversation. There was wishful thinking. Giving up on ever being noticed he found a lounge with only a couple of people inside and slipped onto a chair. Everywhere he went everyone seemed to be very loud, which must be down to all the champagne. This was pathetic, him sitting around like Freyr at the inn the other night. He pulled a face, got up quick and found his way out the manor to get some air. There was no way he would ever become a sullen cynic.

Warm night air greeted him and dazzling flames added a more exotic type of heat. What were those fire jugglers up to? They were entertaining a small crowd by hopping round while swinging torches. He edged over to the small crowd to get a closer look. Ah the fire jugglers were dancing. Fire dancers then. The crowd clapped them on and he joined in, hoping he was getting the rhythm right. How embarrassing would it be to sound out of tune?

“Use a couple more torches!” a young lady with vibrant red hair called out.

Kalama.

Not liking to see her, he took a step away from the crowd and stopped clapping. Sasha was stood right at Kalama’s side. Well more slumped than stood.

“And you try cheer up.” Kalama saw her comment only made her friend well up so placed an arm round him. “I’m sad too but life is for the living. Anyone can die at any time. Am I right?” This question was directed at everyone nearby. It was then he noticed all these people were carrying sapphire sheaths. Bloody demons! Trust him to walk into a pack of Sapphire Knights.

“She’s right, Clod. Your ticket to success is deceased. No more hiding behind, Lanzo. You’ll have to make it on your own now.”

Sasha pulled away from Kalama and made his way down the hill.

“Stop your picking on him. He’s just lost his best friend for pities sake.” Kalama made a move to go after Sasha. “Hey Sash, you come back here! We’ve not even gone inside and said hello to Lev.”

He was tempted to go after Sasha himself but knew it would be a reckless thing to do. Even still he felt bad for the guy, and always would do, having caused his pain in the first place. Reluctantly Kalama stayed with the Sapphire Knights however her eyes were no longer with the fire dancers.

Not wanting to be noticed he went inside and oh dear there was Freyr holding two glasses. Once his master started drinking at a get together there was no stopping him. Lev was ushering him into the lounge. Back to the ballroom with him then. He could have another glass of champagne and wait for the party to end.

There were some splendid dancers out on the dance floor. Watching them sure helped to pass time. He even noticed getting a glance off a young lady about his own age, with distinctive hazel eyes. With a quick roll his eyes ended up staring at the floor. This was ridiculous. He wanted some attention and now he received some retreated from the scrap thrown to him. A hand stroked down his knife hilt. If he could kill then making a few friends ought to be easy. Having talked courage into himself, he looked up to seek out those hazel eyes, and was met with two giddy men wearing the exact same outfit however they couldn’t look less different seen as one of them was lanky and other bulky.

Bulky clamped a hand on his shoulder almost crippling him over. “What’s a young lad like you doing a lone at a party?”

“You should be out on the dance floor, chasing the ladies,” Lanky said way too loudly then grabbed his arm. “Come along, join in!”

Join in well there was a turn around. Almost dancing Lanky was leading him over to the dance floor. Finally someone had noticed he was alone and in need of some company. When they reached the dance floor he assumed they were there to dance however the grip on his arm got tight, a hurtful kind of tight. Bulky’s hand reached for his other arm. Oh gosh here was a situation. They went hurrying through all the dancers. He tried to stretch out his hands to reach his knives and was inches away because of restrained arms. His second reaction was to pull away from these men, in response they held him tighter and walked faster. A situation for sure.

When they got out into the corridor he scanned it for Freyr. He could really do with being rescued. There was no Freyr. People stared as he attempted to pull himself free.

“Move aside, this one’s drank too much champagne!” Lanky called out to counter the starers which worked a charm. Everyone who bothered to stare turned away and got along with their business with the odd comment about the youth of today not being able to control their alcohol intake.

So he was whisked away outside. Once out in the fresh air the fake jolliness evaporated and was replaced with a sadistic cloud. Bulky twisted his arm behind his back while Lanky tugged his other arm so hard he was surprised it didn’t pop out the socket. How he wished the fire dancers were still performing but they were no longer there and neither were any Sapphire Knights. Down the hill he was dragged. They went right past barracks, away from any type of road. Some stone statues were coming up. Statues which turned out to be ruins of statues. He bit his lip as he got swirled round crumbling rocks.

Think, think, think surrounded his mind. There must be a way out of this predicament. Which way? Calm, keep calm. He was a trained assassin. Trained assassins didn’t stay captured.

Smack he was pushed into a broken statue, sending stony powder flowing. Bulky’s fist came hurtling towards his face. With not near enough space between him and Bulky his face took a pounding, right on the cheekbone. Bam bam bam went both cheek and heart. Bulky grabbed a fistful of his tunic and threw him onto the floor where he was met with Lanky’s boot.

“You outright filthy demon!” Lanky shouted.

You didn’t get more insulting than calling someone a demon. Lanky’s boot was aiming for his chest. This time he was quick too, threw his hands forward catching the boot in his hands, then pushed and twisted at the same time. Lanky took in a sharp breath while Bulky pulled him away till he was on his knees.

“Lord Volaire was harbouring you then,” breathed Bulky on grasping a fistful of his hair. “I wonder why.”

“Doesn’t matter. Lady Lev says it must die before the moons align.”

Moons aligning? Die?

Die!

Assassins did not die easily. All fired up he blanked the rest of the world, including the painful parts and struck out with his elbow, ramming it into Bulky’s stomach. From here, fast as snake viper, he reached for a knife. His fingertips managed to tap onto the hilt as Bulky yanked at his arm. Result. Knife was in hand. Killer instinct sprang into action. Being fast was better than brute strength. Arm all restricted but hand still free, he twirled his wrist to move the knife, trying to slash anything belonging to Bulky. Hacking up some saliva he eyed Lanky waiting for him to make a move. The guy came right at him with a sword. In protest he spat which did little save anger his attackers further. While Lanky wiped spit from his cheek he went for his other knife. He had to move even if moving was in vain. Bulky was snatching for the knife he’d managed to gain possession of.

No way!

Bulky tried to grab his wrists to stop him moving his knife around. Flick, he threw the knife behind him. The blade reached its target, scraping under Bulky’s eye. Bulky’s reaction gave him precious seconds to grab the second knife from its sheath while replaceing his way onto his feet. He span. Slash. Went at Lanky then zoomed attention back on Bulky. He needed both knives. Bulky was holding one of those knives while wiping away the blood which trickled down his cheek.

“Got some bloody fight,” growled Bulky.

“I like them springy,” chuckled Lanky.

They were circling him like wolves weighing up the option of who was going to gain the largest mouthful of meat. Where was a way out? This was probably the silliest thing he’d ever done but he closed his eyes and relaxed his grip on the knife. This was just another fight with Freyr. They were training. He wasn’t going to die. All that needed to be done was to get hold of the other knife. There was always a way.

“What’s it doing?” Bulky grumbled.

“I think it’s about to soil itself.”

Keep listening to them. Lanky was laughing while yes Bulky was coming straight for him. Again he went riveting up against a stone ruin. Only this time knife was in his hand and he thrust it forward as his back slammed into the ruin. Clash, Bulky hit his blade then pulled away fast. Bulky aimed for his neck, he ducked and head butted into Bulky as his sword stuck tight in the statue instead of his throat. He opened his eyes and was met with Bulky hunching over winded. Lanky was on the move to aid his associate. With one quick slash Bulky’s throat was slit. Hurh hurh hurh came from Bulky’s gaping mouth but no air went down. Taking a deep breath of his own, he swiped his knife from Bulky’s failing hand, opened his eyes and looked Lanky in the eye as though to say: Come get me then.

He stepped away from his dying predator turned victim and swung both knives round in wide circles, getting a feel for them.

“You’re a sixteen year old kid,” snorted Lanky and charged at him.

Almost seventeen actually and some kids were trained their whole lives by the best. Metal on metal chimed as their blades met. Eagles struck with talons, he wasn’t much different, these knifes were his talons. They were having quite the dance where the orchestra was the whirr of flying blades and soft tap of soles. Forgetting one of them was about to die, he felt as though he were flying up towards the clouds, without Alaric this time. His body was free to do whatever he wanted. No restraints. Then squelch. The high ended as blood spurted from Lanky’s eye and his attacker screamed, “garrrh!” as loud as his lungs would allow. The quickest way to give Lanky pain relief would be to... push... Brain squelched like the eye. Skull cracked. All went silent.

His stomach spasmed as a fresh corpse hit the ground. Bile crept up his throat as he fled from two more lives ended by his hand.

A single light shone up ahead. He ran towards this one light, needing to be away from darkness. As he got closer to the light he saw it was the barracks and stopped short, paces away from an open lit up window.

Barracks there was no way he could go there not where Lanzo used to live. There came the bile. He put his hands on his knees, leaned over and wretched up champagne. What a noise he must make for someone dropped out of the window; they were coming over.

“Do you need some assistance?”

No, no, anyone but Sasha, please. Here was the kindest guy he’d ever chanced to meet right there being kind.

“Eagle, what’s happened to you?”

No questions came about why are you in Zoticas where I live after your master told me you were going home? Only concern for his welfare which only made his retching more violent.

“Here.” Sasha held out a supportive arm to him. “Come along inside.”

In desperate need of wanting someone to help him he stumbled into the supportive arm being offered and was led into barracks. The doorway was huge however inside the corridors were narrow and dark. Dark until they reached Sasha’s room, where there were candles lit on the table and windowsill. Sasha led him right over to the table and gave his back a rub to try subside his dry heaving. He put his bloody knives on the table, wanting them to vanish never to be seen again.

“You’re shaking and... has someone beaten you up?”

Obviously. He worked his stiff jaw up and down while he stared at a ripped, blood stained tunic. Not all his blood which was more traumatising than relieving. Sasha went to hunt round on a shelf then placed some parchment and ink on the table.

“You can tell me all about what happened if you like.” Sasha pulled up a chair so they were sat together.

He picked the quill from the ink pot and placed the nib on the parchment all ready to write. The feathery part was trembling and letters blotted. So shaky.

“How thoughtless of me, you won’t want to write after what you’ve been through. Just relax, okay?”

Nowhere near okay. With a tighter grip on the quill he wrote, trying his best not to blot the words. Two men kidnapped me from Lev’s party. They took me to some crumbling statues.

Words ceased as his mind raced. When the moons aligned something was supposed to happen. Maybe the something was him killing Freyr to save Sasha. Lev could have found out about the deal the spirit wanted to do with him and tried to have him killed to protect Freyr. A possible explanation but how could she have found out? However surely Lev would value one of her Sapphire Knights more than some old friend. Plus Lanky said Freyr had been harbouring him so perhaps it was his master’s fault he’d been taken from the party.

An arm coiled round his shoulders. “You’re safe now, kid. No one can touch you in barracks.”

Safe, possibly now the opposition were killed. A kid no. An assassin yes. What to do next? There was no way he was stepping foot in the manor when Lev was out to kill him. Being in barracks was dangerous too. These knights took orders from his death wisher.

“You know what? You should get some rest. It’s very late and –”

And Sasha was cut short as Kalama called out as she entered the room, “Sash, you in? I couldn’t stay at the party any longer knowing you were cooped up in here all alone.” On noticing him she pierced him with a dirty glance. “What’s he doing here?”

“I found him staggering about outside. The poor kid has taken a beating.”

Kalama rolled her eyes and ran over to the table. In a flash one of his dirtied knives was in her hands. “Really you think someone beat this lad up? When look, two knives are sat smirking on your table, covered in blood.”

Kalama was onto him. He looked down at the table as guilt consumed him yet again.

“Two knives. Didn’t Lanzo’s killer wield two knifes?”

Oh gosh no.

“Yes but so do lots of people. You’re suspicious of everyone.”

“I don’t trust him. What’s he even doing here when he was supposed to be going home to Violet Town with his master?”

“He’s mute not deaf.”

“Like I care. Answer the question.”

“How should I know? I was more concerned about the state he was in. Besides I think I’d know my best friend’s killer when I saw him.”

“You’d think,” murmured Kalama and tossed his knife onto the table. “If you’re so certain he’s innocent ask.”

“I’m so sure I have no need to ask. Now stop harassing us, he’s scared.”

Scared no. Frustrated yes. He lay his head down on the table. Nothing made any sense. Felt good to get his head down; could drift off to sleep this way and would have done if Kalama hadn’t burnt his ears with her words.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you the terror tale about the child with no tongue?”

“You know perfectly well my parents never told me stories. They’d shout tall tales at me I suppose but that’s neither here nor there. It’s a scare story, Kalama, and he happens to have a tongue. You shall offend him.”

Head still on the table he reached for the quill and scribbled away then held his note out to Kalama.

“I’m not offending him. He wants to hear the story.”

“But it’s just a silly story.”

“A story you two have never heard. I can’t be bothered to tell the whole thing. The basis of the story is that a child with no tongue is being brought up by spirits and one day he will come and destroy Zoticas.”

“How’s he going to destroy Zoticas?” Sasha asked on leaning back into his chair and folding his arms.

“Spirits are training him up in their in-between worldly ways.”

“Dark magic?”

“Yes, dark magic.”

Sasha gave a single laugh. “Dark magic, Eagle? That’d be daft. You’re forgetting spirits work with light magic which makes a hole in your suspicions about Eagle. Besides stories aren’t real.”

“All stories must grow from a grain of truth or there would be no emotion to tell.”

Whoever had concocted this story got their webs crossed somewhere. Spirits never taught him any dark magic however Freyr sure used it. He stuck out his tongue and waggled it about. Sasha laughed and Kalama wrinkled up her brow. Maybe this story, Zotican parents told their children, was a coincidence. Were there such coincidences? There must be a rumour somewhere caused by someone.

Where did this story come from and when?

“Erm I suppose mine and Sasha’s generation of children. I was seven when this tale was told to me by Lanzo’s mother, Sorcerer Lorraine, she told the most wonderful stories. You’d have been born by then wouldn’t you? How old are you now?”

Whoa whoa whoa, the knight who’d been tracking down his master for using dark magic, had a mother who made up stories about what seemed to be a vivid version of himself. No such coincidences at all. He and Freyr must have some kind of history here. Maybe he’d been too young to remember what the history was. The task now was to replace out exactly what.

“Almost seventeen if I remember correctly,” said Sasha then got hold of the parchment and wrote down a note of his own. “I saw something on a poster at the Entertainment District I thought you might be interested in,” Sasha said in an attempt to change the subject. “There’s a troupe looking for a new acrobat. Fresh blood they want and I thought of you.” The note was pushed over to him which had the location of tryouts and date which happened to be the following evening. “I don’t know why they hold these events at night.”

“Because people who aren’t properly interested aren’t going to bother coming out at the dead of night to impress with their back flips and handstands,” Kalama said. “And you’ve gone completely off topic. I don’t believe for one moment Lanzo and you were at Violet Town for no good reason.”

“We were there purely to track down the warlock.”

“Were you? That’s what Lev told you to do. She always had her private words with Lanzo. I saw them going off together before you two went to Kazara.”

“Lanzo wouldn’t have kept an important detail away from me about any mission.”

Freyr was left alone with Lev right now. Jovial voices were outside the window. The rest of the Sapphire Knights were returning from the party. Freyr might be looking for him. One thing remained certain Lev wanted him dead. She might want his master dead. He was supposed to be a bodyguard. He picked up his knives and waved his goodbyes.

“What going already when you’ve been beaten up so horrifically,” Kalama exclaimed and put a hand over her mouth in mock shock.

“Let the lad go in peace. Try stay out of trouble from now on hey?”

At a sprint he left barracks, cutting through baffled Sapphire Knights as he went. There sure were quite a few of them around. Barracks must be almost full up. Despite being hurt, his legs pumped all the way up the hill to the manor house. Most lights were extinguished and there weren’t even any stragglers coming out the door. His cheeks flushed. The knights must have been the last guests to leave. If Lev wanted Freyr dead she could have gotten her knights to kill him already while he’d been listening to Sasha chattering away.

Shit.

The door was thankfully still open so he burst through it then closed it quietly behind himself. There was no sense in making lots of noise to alert the lady of the manor to his whereabouts. He crept along the corridor, catching himself on the wall every so often to keep himself from slumping around. He’d not taken such a heavy beating in a long while. Talking was coming from the main lounge and one voice belonged to Freyr. He padded over there and stood right by the closed door with his ear against the crack between the wall and door. If someone passed by he must look like a horrid gossip, straining for something to talk about.

“We could take this upstairs.”

“I need to replace my assistant; he’s probably waiting around for me in the ballroom. Wouldn’t have the sense to get a carriage home himself you know.”

“I can easily have a servant send him a message.”

“Well I suppose...”

A glass clattered to the floor by the sounds. The only thing a servant would supposedly be doing was cleaning up his corpse. Knowing his duty as a bodyguard he pushed open the doors. Freyr was sprawled on a chaise lounge with Lev leaning over him. Behind her back shone a jewel encrusted dagger, all ready for the right moment to plunge. Freyr stared over Lev’s shoulder at him, the intruder, crashing their drunken escapade. He wondered how much champagne Lev had topped Freyr up with before enticing him on the chaise lounge, as he reached out for her arm, and tugged hard, to get the dagger out of Freyr’s range.

“Eagle! What are you doing?” Freyr yelled at him as he put his knife up against Lev’s neck all set to be done with her if need be. He met Freyr’s eyes, trying to tell him everything he couldn’t say.

“Your assistant is mad,” screeched Lev.

He shook his head and kept his knife in place. A split second later Freyr’s eyes lit up all wild. The facade of long lost smitten friend flared away to reveal the true nature of a shady merchant. “What have you done to my assistant?” He slipped his knife to one side just in time as Freyr clawed both hands round Lev’s neck and began to apply pressure. “Why’s his face bruising?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he fell over,” gasped Lev.

He held up two fingers then preformed a miniature dual and afterwards tilted his head at Lev.

“You’ve had a fight with two people?”

He nodded.

“He’s had a fight with two people and you have something to do with it, while distracting me with flirtatious charms and champagne. What is it you’re scared of?”

“Nothing I swear!”

“Nothing. A person doesn’t usually try kill somebody unless they’re scared of something.”

With a wobble because of the champagne, Freyr stood with his hands still round Lev’s throat, threatening to lift her up with him. He was glad there seemed to be no servants about or he would have probably been instructed to kill them.

“TELL ME!”

He was almost certain that Lev was unable to tell them anything because Freyr’s grip round her neck was on the verge of strangulation. Which meant Freyr was attempting to put the fear of demons into her rather than gain any answers. Yeah this was a rather scary scene. Should he stand guard at the door? Nope Freyr dragged Lev round the room by her neck then shoved her onto the chaise lounge, and drew out his sword.

“You’re on the wrong side of me now. No one hurts my assistant. Come near either of us again, or send your pathetic knights after us, and they’ll end up the same way as Lanzo.” The sword scraped lightly across Lev’s neck, as Freyr made himself glow red. “I can cause terrible destruction when angry. If you promise to keep quiet and leave us alone then no immediate harm will come to anybody. You whisper a word about my unique qualities then hold yourself personally responsible for my actions on Azure.”

Lev gave a shudder which Freyr frowned at as he turned to his regular colour and sheathed his sword. “I do believe this party is over. Come we shall walk to The Juggler so I can come round properly.”

As though nothing ever happened, Freyr swept off out the manor house and he tried to jog after him without letting on he was about ready to keel over with pain exhaustion.

Their night was nowhere near over for when they arrived at the inn, Freyr’s champagne intoxication had fully cleared up so he was shoved into his room and the cross examination began.

“What exactly happened tonight?” Freyr wafted parchment at him while thrusting a bottle of ink into his hands. “Write, write, write!”

He snatched at the parchment and sat on his bed doing as requested.

“Details, details, details!”

While he wrote down what he deemed appropriate for his master’s eyes, said master was pacing the room all heavy footed. Goodness knows what the other guests must think of all the noise. As soon as the quill left the parchment Freyr pounced on his narrative of events and read with deep interest. He’d mentioned everything except for his visit to Sasha’s room in barracks. There was no way he was receiving a scolding after the night he’d dealt with.

“Moons aligning,” Freyr murmured and broke into a smile which he could not tell if it was happy or sad. “Silly men. Lev is making up stories to frighten her employees and they bought the tale because I’m a wicked warlock and ought to be playing about with the moons and so on. Yes I’m sure this will be the explanation.” Freyr crumpled his words up inside a fist as he started to leave the room. “You rest for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow we’ll forget all this nastiness and take the piss out of the entertainment on offer in this wretched country. Good night.”

He fell backwards, glad to have his head on a pillow. Those moons aligning were more than stories to frighten people. Oh heck he should really tell the full truth about spirits taking Sasha away when the moons aligned and the only way to save him was to kill... okay maybe definitely not tell Freyr this part. There was no way he was ever going to kill the man who’d taken him in as a little kid. Besides Sasha didn’t even know about the deal. If he kept this to himself it would never bother him and Freyr. Too bad for Sasha. What a mess. He blocked out his problems on falling to sleep and experienced pleasanter dreams than what was happening in day to day life as an assistant to a sorcerer- merchant- lord person.