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  By the time the palace came into view, Raneth’s jaw ached from gritting his teeth. Whatever pain dampening effects his adrenaline had given him had worn off, leaving his side feeling as if burning coals pressed against his skin and somewhere deeper inside where the third one had vanished. With each step, the end of the third bolt scratched against his hip, making the Bayre hiss through his teeth. Cold sweat clung to his body and his sleeves stuck to his armpits. Taking another step, Raneth inhaled sharply, breathing through the pain before exhaling. He gulped in another breath before he took his next step, his teeth still clenched together. “Raneth?”

  Lifting his focus from his feet, Raneth spotted another man in full royal official uniform jogging towards him; a royal official jacket clung to the other’s frame, the green splodges of the torso gaping apart, revealing Rikward’s matching blue long-sleeved top and the two rectangular metal tags that swung at his neck. He reached Raneth’s side faster than the Bayre expected and wrapped his left arm over his shoulders. “Raneth, where’s Cray?”

  “He isn’t here?”

  Rikward shook his head. “No. What happened?”

  Half dragged, half aided by Rikward, Raneth held back a groan as the unharmed royal official in charge of protecting the entrance of the royal palace increased the pace. Raneth’s stomach lurched in warning. “Wait.”

  Rikward stopped aiding him closer to the royal doctor. “What?”

  “I just need a moment,” gasped Raneth. “They must have taken him.”

  “Who? What happened?”

  Eyeing the remaining distance to the palace, Raneth was thankful that the moon had dared to peek out and illuminate the Giften Kingdom, however slightly. The palace wasn’t too far away. I can suffer through this. I’m stronger than this. “I don’t know. They swarmed us.” Raneth’s left leg gave under him, almost pitching the two men over.

  Rikward steadied them. “Forgive me for this, Raneth.” He grabbed Raneth at the waist and lifted him onto his shoulder.

  A tsunami of spasms jabbed at Raneth’s left side as the burning torment of his wounds shrieked. Raneth gripped the back of Rikward’s jacket, bunching the material tightly in his fists before he threw up down the other’s back.

  Rikward’s steps paused. “Did you… Did you just?”

  Raneth gulped down the tangy saliva. “Yeah… Sorry.”

  “Urgh.” Rikward stormed towards the palace.

  As his brain started to feel as if it were rocking in his skull, Raneth closed his eyes but that only made him feel worse. Reluctantly opening them again, he watched Rikward’s heels before his stomach revolted and a second spew of vomit ripped free, this time mostly water. “Sorry,” repeated Raneth.

  “Just as well I like you,” stated Rikward as he strode through the gaping entrance corridor of the palace. From a pocket he fished a set of keys free. He paused at the large double doors painted bronze and unlocked the left side, knocking just twice before stepping inside. “I’ll take you to Quinn and grab Louise and Lemmy for you.”

  The older but less experienced royal official carried Raneth to Royal Doctor Quinton on the first floor, and dropped Raneth as gently as possible against the empty bed nearest the door. Raneth dry-retched but he didn’t know if it was because of the harsh stab of pain that erupted in his torso at the press of the mattress or if it was because of the after effects of a more severe MIR attack. “Quinn,” called Rikward. “Raneth needs you.”

  “Raneth? But isn’t he supposed to be escorting Cray?” asked the doctor as he stepped into the eight bed ward from a doorway on the other side of the rectangular room.

  “Someone ambushed them,” stated Rikward, slowly easing his jacket off and holding it at arm’s length to inspect the back. “Someone’s done quite the number on Raneth and Cray’s gone.” Rikward glanced at Raneth. “I’ll let the other royals know.”

  Numbly, Raneth nodded before he turned his head to look towards the royal doctor. Quinn was one of the older men in Raneth’s life. With black curls that crowned only the back of his head, the man’s grey eyes looked upon Raneth through wire rimmed blue glasses. “And what happened to you, exactly?” he asked as he strode to a basin at the side of his office’s door. He scrubbed his hands as he waited. “Well?”

  “Someone shot me three times… Then I formed.”

  “You formed with things in you?” Quinn grabbed at the stack of paper towels by the basin and dried his hands and forearms, dumping the used paper into a bin. He strode to Raneth’s side and inspected the two visible bolts. “You idiot.”

  “I know,” murmured Raneth.

  “I’m get my gear and get started. Enjoy the rest because you’ll have a lot of explaining to do when you wake up.”

  Don’t I know it.

  Chapter Four

  Aldora

  It was still dark the following morning when Aldora stepped out of her home to accompany Haethowine. The village leader pressed a warm cup of green tea into her hand before they began their morning patrol of the village. “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  Aldora looked up at her bald friend. “Warily,” she murmured, before sipping the green tea. She inspected their surroundings; as Haethowine looked around the streets, checking windows, doorways and the entrances to other streets, pathways and roads, Aldora cast her brown eyes to watching the rooftops, trusting in the tidbits of training she had gained from Raneth and a combat teacher at the Royal Official University. Once or twice since rescuing her village, she had spotted royal officials taking the quickest way through the village, prowling across rooftops, whilst Haethowine remained unaware.

  “Why warily?” he asked her.

  “I read the full file before I went to bed.” Aldora gave a twitch of a smile. “Kept dreaming of drowning after that.”

  “It’s good you read the file. Now pretend I didn’t,” insisted Haethowine, raising a hand in front of them. A small spark of light erupted above his palm before fire flicked outwards, turning into an uneven sphere. He frowned and the fire smoothed into a contained orb of fire.

  “You’re getting better with your gift.” Aldora gave Haethowine a smile. “Alright. So this Jules Rivermud guy might not be in the village, but if he is, he’s been tracked by Raneth though sightings, weapon and food thefts, rashes of pickpocketing when there’s crowds—”

  “Not exactly something the village gets often.”

  No. Out last crowd was when I became the Dagger Bearer. Aldora looked down at the blade at her right hip. The blade could be considered a short sword. The gold split blade was secure in its sheath but the silver hilt with its embedded diamonds and jets twinkled from the light of Haethowine’s gift-fire. She ran a finger across the head of one of the two snarling snakes that made the ends of the guard.

  “What else?”

  Frowning, Aldora mulled over the paperwork still sitting on her bedside table. “Raneth left a note on the back of some of his notes. He said Jules is a coward. He’ll run from us once he knows we’re looking out for him, unless his sons show up or if he knows they’re on the way. Then he could attack us.” She paused, nipping at the inside of her cheek as she tried to remember more. “I don’t remember anything else.”

  Haethowine pointed at the cobblestones to their right. “Cigar spit.”

  Idiot. Aldora nodded before she and Haethowine moved to the small globule of chewed cigar.

  The village leader knelt down and picked it up, before pressing a hand to the ground near it, and then inspecting the nearest wall. “It didn’t rain last night but this is soggy,” he said.

  “So whoever spat it out is nearby.” Aldora slipped her hand to the Dagger of Protection’s cold grip and drew it, ignoring as the gems dug into her skin.

  Haethowine’s fireball grew slightly larger as he straightened, the perfect sphere becoming less so, the flames of the fire flicking out towards the dark morning’s sky. “It might not be him,” reminded Haethowine, “but none of the villagers chew cigars as far as I know.”
/>   I don’t think I’ve even seen anyone smoke them either. Aldora nodded as her stomach started to be a little too light. “We’ll be careful. The Dagger won’t let me hit an innocent, anyway... Do you think Seth will be baking yet?”

  “Probably.” The village leader inspected the rest of the cobblestones around them. “I don’t see any signs of where the spitter went. Let’s go and grab breakfast and check in with Seth.”

  The gaslight from inside the bakery flooded the cobblestones through its display window, lighting Village Circle where the ceremony of Aldora’s naming as the Dagger Bearer had taken place ten months before. The patch of grass in the centre had been resown but the rooftops surrounding the clearing almost in the centre of the village were in various stages of repair. The Buzzard Cafe’s had never been harmed although new glass panels were fitted into their window frames. The general store’s roof was covered by tarpaulin, keeping the expected winter rain at bay when it arrived, and the other small shops of the village had either tarpaulin or partial tarpaulin and some newly refitted tiles. Aldora led Haethowine in the clearing, noticing the picnic table outside the cafe was littered with bird droppings that her friend, Jenny, would have to scrub off when she arrived to open it up. Her stomach growled and so Aldora strode ahead, marching across the patch of grass and stepped through the mostly glass doorway into the bakery. “Seth?”

  “Aldora? That you?”

  She smiled as she confirmed it was her and Haethowine, the smell of fresh bread filling her nostrils and the warmth billowing from the back room enveloping her. Seth stepped out of the backroom and smiled at them. He’d lost both his parents in the attack, and although he sometimes looked overly tired from continuing the family bakery, he seemed fairly adjusted to his rebuilt life. “We’re a little earlier than normal,” stated Aldora. “Sorry about that. Any left-overs for us?”

  Used to Aldora and the village leader popping by on their morning rounds, Seth shook his head, a sheepish smile across his face. “Not today. Somebody pinched them last night.”

  “What?” Haethowine stepped up to the glass counter separating them from Seth and looked towards the shop front. “But everything looks as it should.”

  “You’re telling me,” said Seth. He gestured towards the backroom. “They must have come in through the back. Whoever it was stole the left-overs I had put to the side for you two — some apple turnovers.”

  My favourite. Aldora shook her head. “It’s not a problem, Seth. Do you want us to take a look?”

  “Please do. It looks like they raided the stale bin in the alleyway too.”

  “A fox or badger could have done that for the bread and sultanas in some of your wares,” suggested Haethowine.

  “Maybe.” Seth shrugged before folding his arms. “Either way, I’m going to ask Mr Leoma to come by and update my locks later. Maybe get some extra ones on the back door.” The young baker gestured to the back door. “I’ll put some chicken salad wraps to the side for you once Jaleel’s brought her chicken delivery.”

  Haethowine fell into step behind Aldora as she eased past the glass counter and into the back room. The heat from the large ovens pressed against her skin, becoming almost painful. The key sat proudly in the back door’s keyhole, so Aldora turned it and headed outside, back into the streets of her recovering village. The pavement here was new; plain flat slabs marked the way to leave the back of the bakers and the other shops of Village Circle, but Aldora’s attention swept to the two metal bins tucked against the brick wall of Seth’s. She ignored the larger rectangular one for the waste and went instead to the small circular bin. She drew close but stayed a step’s distance, carefully inspecting the ground around it, before sweeping her focus outwards. Behind her, the comforting smell of Haethowine’s aftershave caught Aldora’s nose as he joined her. He was quiet. Giving me a chance to see if I spot anything he will, she realised, focusing even more carefully.

  The level surface of the alleyway allowed Aldora to observe with more ease than normal that there was nothing there to pay close attention to. As she gazed along the walls either side of the alleyway and down the other entrances and exits that led to the back of other shops, Aldora didn’t see anything further away either. How does Raneth track criminals in settlements? This is so much harder than I realised. She and Haethowine had never before been pre-warned that a criminal might be in their village — royal officials seemed to avoid telling the settlement leaders, or so Aldora had noticed with Haethowine. I should ask Raneth why that is. What little I’ve had a chance to read suggested Haethowine’s supposed to be notified. She looked at him over his shoulder. Or has he just not told me? Trying to keep me safe? I know I’ve not spent as much time training as others would like but I’ve done what I can. It’s not my fault the Royal Official University is too far away to go everyday and they won’t give me one of the dorm rooms there.

  “I don’t see anything,” she said.

  The village leader was quiet for a moment, watching Aldora. “If everyone could track criminals, royal officials would be out of a job,” he said. “Come on, let’s continue our patrol.”

  As the sunlight crept into the village, the streets around Aldora and Haethowine started to bathe in life. Curtains were opening behind windows, opening windows sang the noises from within the homes, and the smell of freshly arrived raw meat began to waft down East Street as the two protectors of the village reached its original cobblestones. The clatter of hooves and the rumbling of wood against the cobbles warned the morning’s public carriage was easing its way through the village. It slowed as it reached the mouth of High Street and turned into it, heading for the main gate and ignoring the smaller black gate that Aldora had used the year before to warn of the attack on the village. “Look, there’s Jake. I thought he wasn’t due back from compulsory Legion Time until next week?”

  “You’re right,” murmured Haethowine. “It’s only been three weeks, not four. Let’s go and see what’s what.”

  Yeah. Having him around whilst Raneth isn’t might help. A member of the Fourth Century, First Cohort of the First Legion, Jake Fitnet was expected to reach higher ranks than the basic legionary rank. Seventeen years old, the legionary had been serving since the legal age of fourteen as a reserve and had gone to the village school in Aldora’s class. She waved.

  He grinned and repositioned the chunky backpack on his shoulder as they walked up to one another. “Hi, Aldora.”

  “Jake, how was the 411?”

  The legionary shrugged. “Ah, you know. Same old, same old. Did some drills, heard some tales of skirmishes they’ve been to without me and some more stories about my centurion and optio. They weren’t there again. Apparently they’re in the field.” He looked at Aldora expectantly.

  “Oh.” Why’s he looking at me like that? She trailed her eyes down his tall frame, inspecting him for injuries. “Did they send you home early?”

  “Yeah. They cut it short because they’d planned on some plumbing work on the base and it’s faster with less of us there.”

  “Gets you out of the way.” Haethowine patted Jake’s shoulder. “Good to see you home.”

  Haethowine and Jake talked between themselves so Aldora looked around the street. The village’s small hospital was slotted near the east gate, barely big enough to hold the whole village. Beside it was the butchers, a metal crate of fresh meat sitting outside it, with Jaleel pulling free half of a sliced pig. She shoved it onto her shoulder as Aldora watched and trotted into her shop before returning a moment later and grabbing another. The first Dagger Bearer in a hundred and one years turned, checking the buildings that ran down the street, parting only briefly to reveal the other streets and roads of the village. A few villagers walking through the streets smiled in return to her look and Aldora happily returned each. One caught her eye in particular — a man she didn’t recognise. Slipping a hand into her back trouser pocket, Aldora withdrew a bulletpoint list of the description of Raneth’s criminal and read it. Lowering her h
ead so it looked like she was looking at the list still, Aldora lifted her gaze, looking back towards the man in the almost grey blue jacket. He does look a little like the description but the jacket’s wrong. He could have stolen that recently. She glanced at Haethowine and Jake; the two men were still talking. I’m not supposed to approach a criminal. Just identify them and protect the village. Sod that though. Haethowine was still unaware, his hands waving back and forth as he and Jake discussed one of his previous experiences before he retired from the Third Legion.

  That’s gotta be him. The stranger was standing at the edge of a street, looking across East Street at the black village gate as he leaned his side against a house. Why’s he just standing there?

  “Winnie,” uttered Aldora, keeping her voice low. Haethowine frowned, looking her way. Aldora nodded towards the man she didn’t recognise. “We know him?” Haethowine looked at the stranger and a frown rippled onto his face.

  Obviously not, she thought. Aldora strode towards the man, slipping the Dagger of Protection into her hand, and gave him a disarming smile just in case. “Good morning. I’m the Dagger Bearer, and this is the village leader.” Aldora gestured towards Haethowine. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Won’t take long.”

  The man glanced at Haethowine, then her before he turned and bolted. Aldora raced after him.

  “Aldora, no!” yelped Haethowine.

  She ignored Haethowine, dodging two villagers as the stranger sped around a corner and vanished from view. I mustn’t lose him. She kept on, almost brushing shoulders with the local carpenter before she jerked to a stop at the corner. What if he manages to hurt me? She gripped the Dagger harder, feeling as the sharp edges of the gems dug into her skin without biting. The Dagger will help me. If it’s him. But it’s got to be him. He ran. Her next steps were slow, quieter than before as she sucked in her breaths, ignoring the thump, thump, thump of her heart against her chest. Raneth does this all the time. Eleven months a year. She couldn’t see the man or any sign of where he might have gone, and there was no other villager in view to ask.