The Skymaster's Shadow (Updated: 29/05/16) Chapter 19 Released)

[Lortano]

So, new chapter a day early because I have work to do over this weekend and I've already spent another week working on this. This is the first half of a mega chapter that I split into two because it was way too long. In any case, this bit is 2000 words long, so sorry if its a bit chunky.

In good news, this chapter introduces a PoV of someone we've already had a little bit of a taste of, way back in Chapter 6.

So, Hralfur, step up and be counted.

Chapter 14: The Contract (11th November)

Hralfur looked over the railings of his schooner as it ploughed through some heavy winds on its way north. Normally, heading towards a place that wanted him dead would have been crossed off of his to-do list, but as the Grandmaster often put it, war was an excellent time to find more clients. And he could hardly disappoint a client after his recent success. This particular request had come through four days ago. Like with all contracts, it was done via the Call, where a client wrote his name and location on a piece of parchment and then prayed to Thanos for help. The parchment would then be thrown in a fire and left to burn. Within moments, so it was said, the statue of Thanos himself within the Cult’s temple would speak aloud the details written on the burning parchment. The first time Hralfur had heard this for himself, the thin raspy voice of an old man coming from seemingly nowhere while Loputos hurriedly scribbled the information down, he had still been shaking a few hours later. Even walking past that statue made his heart beat slightly faster to this very day, though from exhilaration from being in the presence of a god or from fear he wasn’t quite sure. This request was a little unusual though, because its location was listed as ‘The Ancient Road.’ The problem was that the Road was incredibly long, stretching from west to east across the Hundred Tribes for many, many miles. So, having spent three and a half days getting to the Road, he had spent a long time going back and forth, searching for some signs of life. Eventually, as the light began to fade, he found what he was looking for, a large group of tents nestled under some trees near a particularly overgrown part of the Road. Nomads, it appeared. He tensed a little and his eyes narrowed. Twice before he’d been hired by nomads and twice they’d tried to kill him on the spot and he had no doubt that it would be the last time they would try. He felt the ship land gently, a light shaking accompanying the thump. He left the wheel and strode down to the side of the ship, a ladder waiting to take him down to the ground. “Go with Plan A if something goes wrong.” The crew all nodded as one and Hralfur gave them a reassuring smile. Plan A was the unofficial name for abandoning a Cult member rather than risking an entire ship. It was a cold plan, but one that made the most sense in most circumstances. The Grandmaster himself had summed this up when he gave an introductory speech to some new initiates. “If you are sent out on a contract, make sure you bring back your dagger with you. If you don’t come back, make sure you leave it buried in your target’s neck.” With that quote in mind, he climbed over the side and made his way down the ladder, landing upon the soft grass just in front of the cobbled road. He checked his inside pocket for his pistol and was emboldened as he felt its cold touch. As he walked across the road, grass growing through the cracks in the cobbles, he wondered if it said a lot about his life that he only ever felt comfortable and at ease when having a weapon on his person. It probably did, but then again everyone else he’d ever met without one usually ended up with a bullet in their heads. He was suddenly faced by two burly men, both with scimitars in hands and scowls on their faces. Hralfur felt his apprehension return, but he kept his calm and stopped mere feet from them. He spoke, keeping his voice level and calm and trying to give off the ‘air of superiority’ that Loputos often spoke of, the kind that intimidated all but the bravest of men. “I am the man Morjan called. I believe he was waiting for me?” The two of them looked at each other for a moment, before staring at Hralfur with clear scepticism on their faces. It was one of the few times in his life that he wished he wore the Thanos Cult tabard for identification, but he’d left it in his cabin because he found it far too flashy to be used out in the field. Instead, he glared at both of them and they both flinched slightly. He breathed out in satisfaction, he had them scared now. Reluctantly, one of them jabbed a thumb behind them and they parted, allowing him access. So far, so good. Once again, he heard the Grandmaster’s voice in his head, giving his helpful advice. “Fear is our greatest asset.” And he was right. He was always right. He found Morjan tending to the fire in the centre of the camp, a bearded man with an air of desperation about him. So many clients had that air, but this one seemed particularly strong. Who would he want killed that would make him so desperate? He looked up as Hralfur approached and got to his feet. He extended a hand and Hralfur reciprocated, giving a small smile as he shook hands, though he was slightly unnerved by how large the man’s hand was compared to his own. “Good day. I am Hralfur, Spear of Thanos.” He began, a standard greeting, but one that always had the desired effect and he felt the grip on his hand tighten a little. “Ah, a big shot eh? Come quickly, let’s speak in private.” Morjan’s voice was deep and booming and an air of enthusiasm that stirred even Hralfur’s introverted heart. Morjan gestured towards a tent that could only be described as gaudy. Compared to the rest of these brown and grey tents, this red and gold abomination stood out like a sore thumb. It reminded Hralfur a little bit of Prince Alexavier’s coat, his hand rising to his chest a little as memories of that man came rushing back. Hopefully the tent wouldn’t be as troublesome as the late Prince of Castfor had been all those years ago. As they entered, he was greeted with a treasure trove scattered about the place. Gold and silver aside, there were also stone tablets, rolls and rolls of parchment and even a large statue of a man that was covered in rust and seemed to glare at Hralfur with its unblinking eyes. He turned to Morjan, who was pouring wine into two glasses. “You seem rather well off. I trust that will be reflected in payment.” He added a slight edge to his voice, just to ensure that this man didn’t attempt renege on payment. It had happened only once during his fifteen years with the Cult and suffice to say that the client in question had been dragged screaming into the Temple of Thanos, never to be seen again. “I’m willing to pay any price for what I’m about to ask.” The chief replied, passing Hralfur a glass. He drained the glass in one go, surprised that the wine was somewhat decent and not some cheap nonsense that usually passed for the real thing. “Do go on.” Hralfur took a seat on a colourful looking rug and waited expectantly as Morjan sat down opposite and took a sip of his own wine. If his story was as bizarre as his tent, he’d be surprised. “It’s my daughter. We captured some Isim kid five days back and he must have slipped his bonds overnight. She was gone as well and…well, I think he might have kidnapped her. Hralfur was almost disappointed. Killing children was never pleasant and from such a man he was expecting something far more interesting. Nevertheless, he spoke up, just to confirm what Morjan was asking. “I see. You want me to bring your daughter back and kill the boy then?” “W-well, not exactly.” The chief looked away as he stammered out the answer and Hralfur raised an eyebrow. Was he seriously asking what he thought he was asking? “Oh, you want both dead? That is a new one.” He’d heard of the occasional patricide and matricide before, but killing your own child? Even he struggled with the thought of ordering such a thing. Morjan’s eyes went wide and he accidentally knocked his glass over onto the rug as he raised his hands in protest. “N-no! I don’t want any of them dead! I want them both brought back alive.” He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “So let me see if I understand you, sir. You contacted the Cult, which specialises in killing people, and you wish to give me money to NOT kill anyone?” He still spoke calmly, but he couldn’t help adding an irritable tone. “Look, the boy is worth his weight in gold, I can’t have him as a corpse!” Morjan protested, pointing towards a golden cup in the corner Hralfur rolled his eyes and got to his feet. Honestly, he’d spent four days travelling for this? It was enough to make him long for the days that it had taken him to infiltrate the Citadel during his assassination of Victor. “I’m sorry, but the Cult does not just help people out. I don’t save people, I kill them.” He spoke coldly, before walking towards the entrance. “Come on, please! You’re the best at finding people.” Morjan pleaded, grabbing onto Hralfur’s knees as he passed. He shrugged him off and continued on. “Finding and killing.” Hralfur responded, as he headed towards the tent flap. Morjan placed his head on the rug now, prostrating himself and speaking very quickly. “If I don’t find the Hardcastle boy, then my head is-“ Hralfur stopped at the entrance to the tent and slowly craned his head. No, it couldn’t be. But if there was one thing he knew about Hardcastles, it was that they always managed to put themselves in the most awkward of places. “Did you just say Hardcastle?” he spoke quietly, hoping he’d misheard. A grin crept across Morjan’s face and Hralfur cursed his own curiosity. Once those sorts of people found a weakness, they’d attack it the same way schooners swarmed a damaged frigate and rain shot after shot down like the Sky God himself was sending down thunderclaps. “Aye. Carson Hardcastle, brother of the two admirals. What a catch, eh?” “Yes. Yes, a great catch indeed.” Hrallfur said, rubbing his chin with one hand. Carson… He felt his shoulder throb from where Carson’s bullet had gone clean through and he found himself quite torn. It was quite against Cult policy to take missions that did not involve some sort of killing and he’d likely be chastised for it when he came back, no matter the amount of money he was given. On the other hand, he hated the idea of Robert’s son wandering in the Hundred Tribes, how could Robert ever forgive him if he let Carson die? To hell with it. He made up his mind and turned back around, taking Morjan’s hand in another handshake. “Very well. I’ll take your assignment. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of so much ransom money.” Morjan shook Hralfur’s hand so vigorously and with such a huge smile on his face that it made Hralfur feel uncomfortable, before he slapped him on the back and gave a hearty laugh. “Excellent! Now, we tried to follow them south from the camp’s original position, but we lost them a few days back.“ The flap of the tent was almost torn off as one of the men rushed in, sweat caking his brow, swallowing hard as he started shouting. “Morjan! A frigate just landed outside the camp!” Hralfur felt his stomach sink faster than the sun during a Hierofalt winter. A Hardcastle going missing and a frigate following close behind? It could only be one person. The one person who he wanted to meet the least. Anyone but her… Morjan rushed to his feet faster than Hralfur could ever have expected and rushed for the entrance. He turned back for a moment, his smile gone and replaced with a grim, hard look that most nomads had permanently stuck on their faces. “Stay here, Spear. I’ll deal with this lot.” As he left and the flap covered the entrance, Hralfur got to his feet and crept over to the tent wall, just to the right of the entrance. Yes, he was told not to leave the tent, but nothing was said about him looking. Maybe he’d picked up one too many bad habits from Master Jenkins. Withdrawing one of the two daggers he kept in his inside pockets, he cut a small hole in the canvas and put one gleaming eye to it, staring out into the centre of the camp. On one side, Morjan and his band of raiders. On the other, soldiers with the Black Wolf on display. Isim was here. The first thing he saw were the guns. Four shot rifles, each one held by an Isim soldier. That didn’t worry him too much, but his eyes drifted to the person standing ahead of all of them, glaring directly at Morjan with a look of pure contempt. His eye widened a little as he recognised her and he ducked down instinctively, noting with annoyance that he was breathing ever so slightly faster. “Ryla.” He muttered to himself.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, that's an interesting situation Hralfur's got himself into, isn't it? I'm looking forward to part 2 of this one!

[Lortano]

AT LAST! HA HA HA!

But seriously, I've been head scratching for ages. This chapter was mostly written today, at least the second half was and that was only after I talked to a friend about my problems with my story. Anyway. Here you are, have fun and comment and .

Chapter 15: The Promise (11th November)

Of course she was here, because it appeared that despite his devotion to the god, Thanos wanted to play jokes on him. Still, he couldn’t deny that it was nice seeing her face again after all these years. The short red hair had still not lost its lustre after all these years and her face, despite crow’s feet beginning to appear at the corner of her eyes, still had echoes of the Ryla that bounced around in Hralfur’s head to this day, the fiery young woman who beat him up every day for years. He strained his ears to listen as the two leaders raised their voices a little. “I’m looking for a boy, raiders.” Ryla spoke first, her voice still calm and steady, but with that little edge that made him cringe a little. Ryla being on edge was never a good thing for anyone in her vicinity. “Is that so? Well, we have plenty around here, Miss Sykes. Some of them are even unmarried!” Morjan replied, motioning to his fellow raiders, roaring laughter coming from them in response. Hralfur groaned silently. Joking with assassins was one thing, but baiting Ryla was about as sensible as sticking one’s hand into a furnace and expecting to come out unscathed. Her face made no obvious movement, but Hralfur saw her jaw clench slightly a telltale sign of trouble. “I’m looking for a very specific boy. Carson Hardcastle.” That stopped the laughter and Morjan began stroking his beard thoughtfully. Finally he stopped and replied, “Never heard of him.” Ryla slowly reached inside her pocket and Hralfur braced himself for a gunshot. But instead she produced a note and presented it to the crowd. “Then why on my way down from Isim did I come across a lone horseman, heading North with an interesting message? And why did he tell me that I’d find the senders camp right here? And why, when we hanged him from a tree around fifty miles north of here and I was reading this letter as he swung, does the name Carson Hardcastle get mentioned at least twice?” Morjan fell silent and stared into the fire. So much for his old charm. “A-ah. Yes, that note is from us.” He eventually stammered out as Ryla tossed the note into the fire. “So, you did kidnap the boy?” “Yes. Yes, we did.” Morjan hung his head as his men slowly began to edge away from him and some even looked to the edges of the camp. “I see. Hand him over now and I’ll let you all go. We can all pretend this never happened.” That surprised Hralfur. Clearly this was urgent if she wanted to let these people off without even demanding compensation. “Well you…you see…errr….we sort of don’t have him anymore.” Ryla’s expression said it all really, it fell into that hard stare and grimace that it always did before battle. Though this would hardly be a battle, more like a one sided massacre. “Where. Is. He.” She said, incredibly slowly and deliberately, her brow creasing as she stared a hole straight through Morjan’ head, a hole that might become very literal if events continued down this path. “I don’t know! Please, I’m begging you, don’t-“ he began but Ryla stormed over, stepping over the fire and grabbing him by the throat. He froze as she began to shout, a finger pointed at his face. “SILENCE! If you speak another syllable from that tongue, I’ll cut it out!” “L-look, I didn’t sell him or anything. He must have slipped his bonds in the night and-“ “What did I tell you about-“ At that moment, one of Morjan’s men threw something and it flew through the air, a metallic ball that reflected the flames as it fell directly into the fire. Hralfur recognised it immediately, a Castforian grenade and tossed himself to the ground as a tremendous explosion caused the fabric of the tent to ripple. He sat up immediately though and grabbed for his pistol. Ryla. Thanos, I beg you, don’t let her… He ran out of the tent, passing several horribly wounded raiders and made his way towards the centre of the explosion. In the background, he heard the sounds of fighting, gunshots and swords clashing. But none of that mattered; he had to find Morjan and Ryla. He found Morjan lying face down in a large pool of blood, his back torn asunder by the shrapnel. Hralfur had seen such wounds before and without immediate help, he’d be as dead as Prince Alexavier. He rolled him over and found him breathing, his eyes rolling in their sockets. “Spear. Is that you?” he spoke, his voice weak and his speech slurred. “It’s me. Do you have any last words for me to give to your daughter?” A bit blunt, but he’d rather he got something out of the man instead of gurgling and screaming. That would be very hard to romanticise when he told the girl. “Oh, so you really don’t pull your punches when it comes to delivering bad news. Well…Gah!” He coughed hard and reached round to his back, slowly tapping the wounds and flinching every single time he did. “Oh curses. It really is bad. Oh Jolfur, Rolson, Asel…” He started breathing faster and grabbed Hralfur by the lapel, pulling him close. “Listen, assassin. I’ve done terrible things in my life, things that nobody should do. So, why not go out on a similar note. I want to amend our contract.” “How?” Hralfur responded simply. He had no interest in hearing this man’s life story, especially now. “I want you to keep my daughter safe and kill Carson. That son of a mangy dog brought all this on me, took me from my daughter…so I want him dead.” “I-“ Hralfur’s mind raced as he processed this request. “I’ll hold you to your word, assassin. On your honour if that’s what it takes. Find my daughter. Find Mila and end the boy.” Hralfur hands shook as Morjan lowered himself back to the ground and hissed again. His honour had been questioned. How could he face anyone if he failed? How could he kill Carson? How could he… “Go! Time for old Morjan to go to that God you love so much. And by the time I get there, I hope that brat’ll be there too.” Morjan spat out, slumping to the ground and breathing hard. Hralfur stood and did indeed walk away, but he had no intention of escaping yet. He headed closer to the epicentre of the explosion, searching for Ryla. He found her lying unconscious nearby, with only minor injuries. It looked like she’d been able to use Morjan as a human shield before the bomb had gone off. Such quickness of mind, Hralfur marvelled, as he grabbed her by the arms and dragged her towards a nearby fallen tent. Anywhere was better than on the cold, hard ground. He placed her on the canvas, sitting beside her and breathing hard, partially through exertion and partially through sheer relief. He chuckled to himself as he turned to her. “You have put on some weight.” He joked. Thankfully she wasn’t awake; else she’d have killed him for the joke alone, let alone the whole murdering the king matter. This turned his thoughts back to his real task. He had to kill Carson. Not only had his client made the contract, he’d challenged his honour. Oh, how Master Jenkins had hoped to get that prideful streak out of his system. He still remembered slashing that boy’s neck open in Luscon with his scimitar, all over a stain on his honour and the constant lessons he’d been given about it. Yet even today, he could never handle such a stain, especially a stain from someone he could no longer kill. He stood up to leave, sighing. His ship would have gone, so he’d have to go things the old fashioned way, track them down on horseback. His back was already pre-emptively complaining about this, as was his posterior. Then he felt a tug on his sleeve. He froze and turned. Ryla was holding him, her eyes slowing flickering open, her teeth gritted in pain. “Thank you, whoever you-” Her eyes opened wide and Hralfur drew back as she stared at him. She took a sharp breath and reached for one of her rapiers. “Hralfur?” “Yes. Yes, Ryla, it’s me. What a time to meet again, eh?” “What are you doing here? And why did you help me?” He turned to go, hiding the tears starting to gather in the corner of his eye. Thanos it hurt to not be able to talk with her, to share a drink with her, to just be near her. But he could never do that. Not anymore. “Why did I help? You clearly didn’t value our friendship if you have to ask why. As to why I’m here, mostly for the same reason you are. I’m here for Carson. I’ve been ordered to kill him.” He spoke, trying to hide his wavering voice. She grunted again and he heard her climb to her feet, growling and cursing to herself. “You- you’d call yourself my friend and in the same breath say that you’d kill Robert’s son? Thaddeus was right, you have lost your mind.” “Trust me, I don’t want to, but orders are orders. The only reason I’m telling you this is because I want you to try and stop me. Save him Ryla, save him from me.” He walked away as she threw curse after curse, stinging insult after stinging insult at him, yet no bullets. Maybe even the Stone Hearted Sykes had some spark of affection in there. He suddenly found himself face to face with a horse, neighing and desperately trying to pull itself loose from a pole. At last, some good luck. He set to work immediately, untying the poorly done knot and tossing the rope aside it was only as he went to climb atop the beast that he groaned. No saddle. While he was resilient, the thought of pursuing his targets while riding a horse bareback made him cringe slightly. However, the fighting around him was starting to quieten, so perhaps riding away in massive discomfort would be a damned sight better than being shot to pieces. He mounted the horse and it began to trot forward on its own, even a beast as stupid as a horse had some sense of self preservation. By now the smoke was clearing and as the last sounds of battle fell into silence, he brought his hand down hard onto the back of the horse and held on for dear life as it sprinted away, carrying him off into the night.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

I could almost feel slightly sorry for Hralfur.

Almost.

I'm interested to see where this ends up...

[Lortano]

So, a tad late, but I have actually been writing this short chapter and the next two after it. These next two will be published together on Sunday and will be...I don't want to say unmissable, but they will certainly have a crucial part of play.

Anyway, for now have this short 600 word chapter. I haven't written something this short for a long time, so...cheers to you all.

Chapter 16: The River's Edge (14th November)

Carson almost cried when he saw the river come into view. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it, it had been at least two days since they’d seen the last one, another landmark in their journey north. This river was wider than the rest they’d come across, it looked as though it stretched forty feet from bank to bank. The water, despite being a dark, foreboding blue colour, looked so inviting to him and he closed his eyes as he thanked Lupum to the heavens. Mila threw him down on the bank and untied his hands and the moment they were free he dived forward, scooping handfuls of water into his parched mouth as the river flowed, all the way east towards the Gash, as all rivers did. “Easy there pinkskin. Wouldn’t want you to choke on that.” His captor commented behind him, sounding about as concerned as he would be if he’d dropped a hat on the floor. How considerate. Go straight down to Thanos, you stupid- He ignored her and continued shovelling the water as she knelt down beside him and calmly filled a small flask. Her flask of course, he was only given whatever water they found on the way. Yet another reason for him to hate her. At last he lay back, letting out a loud sigh as his head hit the muddy ground. At last, a moment that he could call peaceful, perhaps even pleasant, if he ignored his captor sitting a few feet away. Her back was to him, her black hair cut to ear length as she corked up the flask. He felt his nose twitch a little at the sight of her. Perfect, she’d dragged him so far for so long that he’d developed a nervous tic. Still, soon it would all be finished. She would have her money, he would have his freedom and they could both live their lives without ever meeting again. And good riddance, he thought as he imagined being able to sleep without having his hands and feet bound and in a bed that didn’t have ants crawling all over him. “How far to go?” he asked, as he did every day. She sat herself down next to him and pointed off into the distance, past the river flowing westwards. Carson squinted and saw something in the distance, a grey shape amidst the near flat plains. “I see something.” “That’s Vorstrad, the last Tribe before the border. It should be deserted by now, no tribe would sit this close to Isim when one of your kings are on the warpath.” He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. They were so close. “So another day or two and we reach Isim?” “Pretty much. Honestly we would have been here quicker, but I took us a longer route. It avoided the usual migration routes, so we wouldn’t run into any more Red River sorts.” Carson shuddered at the thought of the Red Rivers. If every tribe was like them, then he was glad they hadn’t met anymore and the Red Rivers themselves had finally moved away three days ago, allowing them to move ahead. “Will we rest soon, or will we try to get to the city by nightfall?” She stared into the distance, a small ‘hmmm’ coming from her mouth as she sat there. Then she stood up and gave a grin that sent shivers down Carson’s back. “I think we might just be able to do it, pinkskin. But there’s one catch.” “What?” he almost sighed out the word. Of course there was a catch. She pointed at the river. “The nearest ford is about five miles west of here and that would take far too long. So, Carson, do you know how to swim?” she spoke and his face fell further than he’d ever thought it could. He knew how to fly well enough, but he could swim about as far as a lead weight.

[Merchant of Venice]

but he could swim about as far as a lead weight.

Disgusting stereotyping, in my time i have seen many a lead weight swim freestyle, backstroke, breaststroke. Some can be very good swimmers and I reject your revolting generalisation.

Apart from your discrimination against lead weights, great short chapter Lortano. Somehow even with the city close by, it might take a bit longer for Carson to get there.

[Alwyn]

Good chapter! I wonder what complications Carson and Mila will encounter now. (Merchant, that's a good line about lead weights!)

[Lortano]

So then. Who wants to see the end of this little saga? Two chapters to get this out of the way.

Chapter 17: Vorstrad

It was late evening when they finally approached the walls of the city. Carson couldn’t help but marvel at them, the city was far more sophisticated than he’d ever imagined it could be. It couldn’t hold a candle to Urbpolis, or even Luscon, but it was still quite advanced. The gates were open and through them was an empty street, a very wide and well paved one. Yet Carson shivered slightly at the sight, the thought of a city without the people deeply disturbing. It was as though he had woken up and everyone in Urbpolis had simply vanished, leaving a calm but tense atmosphere in their wake. “So can we just….walk in?” he asked nervously. “Do you see any guards? Or anyone at all?” “You said that they left the sick and old? Where are they?” She seemed flustered and snapped back, “Well, I said MOST do that. The Vorstrad Tribe is one of the few that drags everyone with them.” He shut up after that and focused on more pressing concerns, namely his extremely damp clothing. True to her word, Mila had thrown him into the river and he’d been half dragged across, flailing and screaming. The walk had been long enough for him to dry out, but he still shivered a little as they entered through the gate. On the plus side, in trying to get him across Mila dropped the rope she was using to bind his hands down to the bottom of the river, so now he had some sort of freedom, even though it was at the end of a pistol. Shivering, he still took the time to look at the buildings, they looked so different to the ones back home, for one thing the stone they were made of was darker and there were at least a dozen large spires that twisted their way skyward. And lining the road were statues, all of them depicting the same thing, a red faced portly man who sat on a throne, surrounded by cups of wine and baskets of food. One of their strange gods, no doubt. As they entered the main square, Mila held her arm across and Carson stopped. Across from them sat a horse, tied to a nearby post. His thoughts raced with ideas as Mila stared at the horse, her face going ever so slightly paler. Someone was here. Someone would take him away from this horrible woman. She dragged him forward and approached the horse, examining it as it looked down at Carson. Even it seemed to pity him. That or it wanted some fresh hay and a good rest. It was probably the latter. Mila stepped back and looked all around the square, a look of concern on her face. “There’s a fresh pail of water near the horse and he looks exhausted. The rider has to be in the city.” “So? What’s the chances of him attacking us?” His question was answered immediately as a door behind them crashed open. They both turned at once and Carson took a step back, his throat tightened. The man approaching them from one of the buildings was a familiar one, a pale face with light brown hair atop his head. Hralfur. “Who the hell are you?” Mila demanded as he approached and he stopped, staring at her for a moment and Carson stepped back again as his eyes swept from her to him. What was he doing here? “He’s a Thanos Cultist.” Carson shouted at her. She stared at him in alarm, before turning back to the assassin. “Is that true?” He nodded and spoke, the voice as calm as it had been the last time Carson had seen him. “It is. I’ve been looking for you two for the last three days. I must admit, I never expected you to make it to the border with Hierofalt so quickly.” Carson blinked a few times as he processed what was said. Border with…Hierofalt? “Mila.” He began quietly. She had the guiltiest look he’d seen since one time Tarkon had stolen Sykil’s boots and been caught red handed. Only this was much less funny. “Yes.” She finally spoke, but she still refused to look at him. “Are we at the border of Hierofalt?” “We…are.” He glared at her, somehow his respect for her had managed to sink to levels deeper than the river he’d been dragged across. “You were going to sell me out to the Prince, weren’t you?” She mumbled something and Carson couldn’t restrain himself from shouting. “What was that?” “He…probably would have paid more anyway.” she said and Carson felt his fingers itch, rage boiling inside him. “You-“ Carson stepped forward but Hralfur stepped between the two of them and pointed a finger at him. He stopped instantly under the glare of those brown eyes. “We can talk about who lied to who later. For now, I have some bad news for both of you.” “Cultist, if its about my prisoner, I want my cut for bringing him in!” Mila interrupted and Carson had to make a conscious effort to not go for her. Even now she’d sell him out. “Trust me, I’m not ordered by Krolssi. I’m actually from your father. He wanted me to make sure you were alive and well.” “What? Why would he-“ “He wanted me to do so because he didn’t have long left to live.” He said bluntly, with the voice of someone who’d seen so much death that another one was merely a statistic. What a strange way to think about things, Carson thought to himself as Mila stared at Hralfur, her eyes bulging wide. She spoke again and this time it was quieter. “Is he dead? Did you see him die? Tell me! Is everyone else-“ “He had a thousand grenade fragments in his back. If he survived, it would be a very miserable existence. As for the rest of his followers, they’ll either be scattered or killed. Speaking of which, that leads me to my next bit of bad news.” He turned to Carson and produced a pistol, pointing it directly at Carson’s head. Carson took another step back and his heart had somehow managed to find itself in his tightened throat. Oh no. He didn’t, did he? “I’m afraid that Morjan also requested that you die. I’m not too happy about doing this, but as your father used to say, ‘We all have to do things we don’t like, it’s the drinks afterwards that make it all worth it.’” Carson thought and thought and thought, his mind racing until at last he blurted out the only thing he could think of. “You talk about father and yet you’d kill his son? Some friend you turned out to be.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the pale man and a frown came upon Hralfur’s face, he lowered the pistol slightly. Behind him, Mila was still standing there in shock, though her eyes were slowly drifting to Carson. “Is your father a god, Carson? Forgive me, but I can’t disobey an order from Thanos, no matter who it may be. Plus, perhaps you remember our encounter atop the Citadel?” He pointed at his left shoulder with the pistol, before immediately pointing it straight back at him. “I promised myself to pay you back for that. Now, enough talking, I ask that you stand still and make this as quick and painless as it can be. I’ve no wish to drag this out.” He raised the pistol and Carson stepped back once more, looking left and right for a place to run. Then, as Hralfur steadied his aim, Mila ran forward and leapt onto his back with a terrifying cry. As his head jerked back in surprise, she manoeuvred her body and bit down right into his wounded shoulder, hard. He let out a loud cry and sank to one knee, the pistol clattering onto the floor. Carson ran forward immediately and grabbed it, pointing it directly at the struggling mass. Now was his chance to finish the job once and for all. “What are you doing pinkskin? Shoot him!” Mila screamed at him, but before Carson could fire Hralfur pulled her over his shoulder and grabbed her in a choke, putting her between himself and the gun. His teeth were clenched in pain and his left arm hung limp at his side but his eyes still burned with determination and, for the first time, anger. “Nice try, but don’t think it’ll be that easy. You know who I was trained by, Carson, and you can only guess at how good I’ve become since I left him. Now, I’m not supposed to kill this girl, but if she happened to be in the way during a gunfight, it would be an unfortunate accident if she were killed.” Carson raised the pistol and pointed it directly at Mila. She still struggled, but she looked completely terrified as he contemplated pulling the trigger. She’d dragged him through nightmare after nightmare, treated him like dirt and had lied to him. Yet she was willing to put her life on the line to save him? How could he- Hralfur seemed to sense his indecisiveness and grinned a little beneath the pain. “Go on then, Hardcastle. Can you kill her and hope the bullet goes through me? You’ll have to make a pretty good shot to do that. Trust me, I’ve done it enough times.” “Run you moron!” Mila shouted at him, but Hralfur tightened his grip and her words devolved into gargles and choking noises. Carson took a step backwards, looking behind him towards the road they’d come down. If they really were close to Hierofalt’s border, this was his best way of escaping. Anywhere north of here was safer. He bowed his head and waved at Hralfur. “Sorry, but I think we’ll have to settle this another time.” He turned and ran, not looking back as he heard the assassin curse behind him. Then the gunshot. He turned back and saw Hralfur holding a second pistol, pointing it directly at him. Mila was lying at his feet, still alive and breathing. A second shot and Carson ducked as he ran, the bullet striking a nearby wall. He pointed his own gun behind him and shot blindly, before ducking into a nearby alley. He closed his eyes and raised a shaking hand. He couldn’t shake now, not when a shot would matter above all else. He peered out of the alley and ducked back right away as a shot missed his face by inches. “Nice reaction!” Hralfur shouted out. From his glimpse, the assassin was walking down the middle of the street, eyes never leaving the alley. Why would anyone do that if they risked being killed? Unless… Unless he thought that Carson wasn’t worth the trouble of trying. He gritted his teeth a little and tightened his grip on the pistol. He’d show this so called assassin something challenging. He backed down the alley and ducked down a connecting street. Pushing his back against the wall, he took a quick look at his previous hiding spot, pulling his head back as he saw the long shadow of the assassin near the entrance. Plucking up the courage, he shouted out while trying to keep his voice stable. “Come round the corner, Cultist! I’ve got five bullets left with your name on them!” There was a moment of silence, before the reply came. “If your hand is shaking as much as your voice, then I’ll take you up on your offer.” He heard the footsteps and threw himself into view, squeezing the trigger twice before ducking back behind the wall. He wasn’t sure if he hit Hralfur, but he had to hope against all hope- “You really need to stop saying things and then not being able to back them up. You missed both.” The voice of Hralfur said in a matter of fact way. Carson ran down the alley as fast as he could, not even bothering to look back. He had to hide, somewhere, anywhere. He still had some faith left, Jenkins would surely be hot on his heels. There’s no way he would abandon him, not all the way out here. He looked left and right as he emerged on one of the main streets, it looked like the western one, searching for a way out. Then he saw it, a large building opposite with some strange writing on it. The barrel on the sign was the clue though, the building was probably some sort of brewery. With one last look behind him, he saw a silhouette round the corner and he ran straight into the building, pushing the heavy doors wide open and slamming them shut behind him. He looked around for a moment. There were two storeys to the building and the vats, by the smell they’d been empty for a while, were as tall as the building. They formed two neat rows and between them were a set of stone steps leading upwards to the second level. He sighed and started to walk but was tugged back as he tried. He looked down and saw his trouser leg caught in the heavy frame. He tugged again. Nothing. He couldn’t open the door. Not with Hralfur out there, what if he saw him? He pulled his leg hard and the fabric tore with a loud ripping noise, leaving him with a huge hole in them. Still, better than a hole in the head. Still holding the pistol as he made his way along the lines of vats, Carson felt his breathing relax a little. He might be stuck for a while, but as long as no one had seen him, he was fine. Then the knock on the door. He froze and looked up the stone steps, before taking them two at a time and crouching down near the top. A muffled voice called through the wood, “That’s a nice bit of trouser leg we’ve got caught in the door. You really don’t have the best luck, do you?” And the door was pushed open, Carson bowing his head and shaking as Hralfur stepped through, the door slamming shut with a loud, unbearable bang behind him. “And now your luck has damned you for good.”

Chapter 18: The Birth of Carson

Carson pressed himself against the wall as Hralfur began to walk. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. “So you are hiding then?” the voice of the assassin called into the darkness. Carson swallowed and began to edge along the wall, towards a small tower of boxes in the corner that he hoped, prayed would hide him. “Do you really think you can escape me?” Hralfur called again, in a mocking tone. Thankfully, he still had his pistol, as much good as it would do against a Cultist, let alone one as good as Hralfur. Moving away from the wall, he crawled behind the boxes and sat behind them, careful to keep every part of him out of sight. One mistake and he’d be dead, as dead as King Victor, with his head scattered across the table, glistening bits of brain mixing in with his food. Carson forced such thoughts from his head, but found himself shivering. He raised a hand and watched it quiver, then he pulled the hand close to him and scolded himself. Idiot! I’m still armed, there’s still hope here. The sound of footsteps on the stairs threw him straight back into the reality of his situation. Tap, tap, tap. A pause gave Carson time to take a breath, as he slowly reached into his jacket and removed his pistol. Three shots left. More than enough to kill someone, if they hit the right spot. “What exactly possessed you to go out to war at your age? Arrogance, I imagine. Arrogance with a little bit of fear mixed in, fear that you’ll never be as good as your father.” The voice called out again. He’s trying to bait you. Ignore him. Ignore him. He gritted his teeth and peered around the side of his hiding spot. Hralfur was halfway up the stairs, a pistol in his right hand. The left was holding onto the wall and even in the darkness he could see that it still pained him. He grunted to himself and climbed the last few steps, tutting loudly as he stood mere feet from the boxes. “Hmph. I insulted you and you refused to come out and fight. What kind of Hardcastle are you?” He turned his head towards Carson, who ducked back and pushed himself into the ground. He pointed the pistol up towards the ceiling. If Hralfur decided to poke his head round, he’d get what he deserved. Those torturously loud footsteps began again, but they grew fainter instead of louder. Climbing back up on his knees, Carson tentatively poked his head around the side of the boxes. He couldn’t believe his luck. Hralfur was heading the other way, his back to him. The back which presented a large, tempting target. He raised the pistol, holding it steady in both hands. Missing was not an option. No, hitting anything non vital was not an option. He pointed it directly at the centre of Hralfur’s back. If he was accurate, the bullet would hit a lung. If he was lucky, he’d hit his heart. He pulled the trigger and was nearly deafened by the gunshot that shattered the miserable silence surrounding him. Smoke filled his vision as he fired twice more, praying to Lupum above that he’d hit. He must have done, there was no way he’d miss three, no way Hralfur could have survived if he had hit. The smoke began to clear and he let out a gasp of relief as the slumped body appeared, face down with the pistol lying several feet away. He slowly got to his feet and looked down at his empty pistol, then back to the body. A smile began to cross his face and he let out a laugh. He’d done it. He’d actually killed Hralfur. He was still wary, if any of the stories about the Cult were true then it was never a wise idea to assume they were dead. He edged his way towards the body, pausing at every step. A single movement from the dead man and he’d bolt. But he wanted to, no, had to make sure that he’d done it. He reached the body and poked it a few times with his toe. No movement. He sighed a little and crouched down, staring at the face of the dead man. It was Hralfur alright, his shoulder length brown hair covered the eye on the visible side of his face. In his back, three neat holes where the bullets had gone through. With a grunt, Carson rolled the body onto its back and looked it up and down. The eyes were open, frozen in shock. He shivered and kept his gaze away from them. They were just too…alive for his taste, humanising the man that wanted him dead. As he moved his eyes down Hralfur’s face, he noticed something glinting in the candlelight near his neck. Curious, he reached down and touched something hard, something metallic. He leaned in closer as he pulled it up above the neckline. It looked like some sort of vest. A vest made of metal. Suddenly he felt the hand on the back of his head, yanking his hair. He cried out as Hralfur sat up, silenced as the pistol went into his open mouth. Carson’s stomach flipped, his heart in his throat, his trousers soaked from fear. “You should have run.” Hralfur said, his mouth a sad, sad grimace. And then, as Carson desperately tried to speak, he pulled the trigger.

[Lortano]

So I've been working on this little side story for a while and I think, character development wise, that it might be one of my best.

Side Story 5: Sykil

Thaddeus thumbed through an interesting book he’d found in his library. It was a book about magic, and various rumours about how it used to exist back in ancient times. Lupum above, a silencing spell for his sons would be a wonderful thing, but alas such knowledge had died out a long time ago. With a sigh, he slammed the book shut and got back to what he should have been doing, watching his three apprentices beat the ever loving hell out of one another. It was this way every single week, he’d bring them all to his manor several miles south of Luscon. Attached to the side of the manor was an old brewery that Thaddeus had converted into a training room, where for many years he had honed his skill, his strength and his personality. Setting aside his personal merits, he turned his eyes to the middle of the room, just as Hralfur drove a fist into Ryla’s gut and sent her collapsing to the ground. “Nice hit! Ryla, work on your guard!” Hralfur turned and gave a happy smile, before being tackled from behind by Robert. Ryla simply gave a groan of acknowledgment, before staggering to her feet and throwing herself on top of the battling duo and throwing in left and right hooks. He had to marvel at how they’d grown over the past three years, Hralfur having turned sixteen just a few days before. He was still a fast striker, ducking and weaving before landing a jab to Robert’s face, who stumbled back directly into Ryla’s vicious uppercut. She’d grown even more savage than when she was recruited, mostly directing that savagery onto Robert. And Robert…well, he’d becoming slightly taller, more muscular. In many ways, the perfect soldier. His eloquence and speech was lacking, but considering where he’d been born and raised, Thaddeus wasn’t especially surprised. He was still as mischievous as he’d always been, and not a moment went by where he wouldn’t find some way to tease Ryla. Which of course, usually led to large fights. And much laughter on Thaddeus part. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was unusual, he always made strict instructions to leave them be while they practised in his training room. With a frown, he stood up and headed over, opening the door a crack just to see who was out there. It was a woman, a swarthy looking one with a bandana round her neck and brown hair tied back in a bunch. But that wasn’t what really confused him. Two things really, really confused him. Firstly, behind her sat a huge schooner, inconsiderately set down in his front garden. Secondly, she was holding a writhing bundle in her arms, a new-born baby. “Hello?” Thaddeus asked, still staring at the ship. Surely it had crushed a rather lovely statue he’d been gifted by George! She gave a smile and replied, her accent instantly recognisable as from Rivcon, the nation nestled in the mountains north of Isim, immediately putting Thaddeus on guard. “Hello there. I heard that Robert Hardcastle often comes here.” “Before I answer anything, who exactly are you to so rudely land in the middle of my garden?” He demanded, but she pointed at the baby in her hands and then responded. “Ask Robert, he knows me well enough.” She replied and for once Thaddeus had no witty comeback, he was genuinely curious about who this woman was. He turned and shouted at his still battling apprentices, “Quieten down and take a break. Robert, get over here.” Ryla and Hralfur instantly collapsed to the ground and reached for the several dozen jugs of water Thaddeus kept around the room for convenience sake. If some was spilled and the floor became slippery, that just made the training much more interesting. Robert headed over, sweat pouring down his face and with a fresh bruise on his cheek. Thaddeus then threw the door wide open and stepped aside, allowing the woman to step over the threshold. She stood about a head shorter than Robert, but as he saw her face his eyes instantly went wide and he stammered out, “Y-you?” “Yeah, me. Hello again Robert. Did you miss me?” She smiled sweetly, but there was an edge to her voice that Thaddeus noticed immediately. “Y-yes of course! How’ve you been?” Robert gave a nervous laugh and scratched the bruise with one hand, which Thaddeus noted, he only did that when he was taken by surprise or nervous. The Rivconese woman placed her hand on the bridge of her long nose and spoke, “Well, mostly alright, a few attacks here and there but nothing too troublesome. Oh and this as well.” With that she thrust the writhing child into Robert’s arms and turned on her heels, walking out of the room. Robert looked down at the child in alarm and headed after her, shouting as he went. “Hey!? Is that all you have to say? What’s this supposed to be?” She turned her head as she walked and shouted back, “That, my dear Robert, is what we ladies refer to as a ‘baby’. It’s what happens when two people love each other very much. I’ve had to deal with this parasite for nine months in my belly, so you get a turn now.” Thaddeus covered his face with a hand as he tried to hide his smirk. Now he remembered this woman. Not her name, but he knew that Robert had helped her out after a few raiders had set about her ship on the border with Rivcon. They’d seemed to get along fine but clearly Robert’s heroic act had proved more fruitful than he’d hoped. By now Ryla and Hralfur had come over and stood side by side, staring at the altercation. The woman was almost halfway across the lawn and Robert wasn’t far behind, taking small but frantic steps as he held the bundle in his arms. “What kind of- how am I supposed to look after a kid, eh? I’ve got no house, no way of feeding him!” “Can you stop shouting Robert? He’s trying to sleep. It took me three hours to get him that way.” She replied, her schooners engines beginning to fire up as she approached. That was too much for Thaddeus, he burst out laughing and turned away, head in his hands. Halfway up the ladder, the roar of the schooner muffling all the noise, she looked down at Robert, who by now was so stunned he’d simply fallen to his knees and yelled something at him. Then she blew him a kiss and jumped on board, the ladder was dragged up and the schooner rose, flying away within moments, leaving behind the broken statue that had once been the centrepiece of Thaddeus’ garden. Thaddeus managed to stop laughing for a moment to make his way out of the room, followed by Ryla and Hralfur, Ryla in particular had a massive smirk as they approached. He sat himself down beside Robert and sat down beside him. His apprentice turned to face him, his face pale and his lower lip trembling a little. Of course, this only made things even funnier for Thaddeus and he couldn’t help himself but ask, “So…something you want to tell me?” “Shut up!” Robert snapped back, keeping his voice low, but he could tell that the young man wanted to tear out his hair by the roots. “You really should be careful with women like that, y’know.” Thaddeus began, but Robert pointed down at the baby as he spoke. “I’m not talking about HER, the kid just shut up and stopped crying! Don’t wake him for Lupum’s sake.” He hissed and Thaddeus fell silent. Fortunately, Ryla took the opportunity to pipe up. “Now what was that little joke you made a few weeks back about me being married off and pregnant within a year?” Robert’s silent glare told the whole story and with a slightly shaky voice he spoke. “I swear on all that I own that if you wake Sykil up, I’m giving him to you and running for it.” She backed away a little, something that Thaddeus made sure to make note of. Ryla’s one weakness: Babies. That could lead to lots of fun in the future. “Sykil? Did you make that up on the spot?” Hralfur asked, leaning over Robert’s shoulder to look down at the child, twisting his head from side to side to get a better look. “No. She….um….she told me to call him that just before she left.” “A Rivconese name, if I remember rightly.” Thaddeus said, scratching his chin. “You have a better suggestion, old man?” the new father said and Thaddeus had a brilliant idea come to his head. There was of course only one name that would do for this child. “I was thinking….Thaddeus perhaps?” he replied, raising an expectant eyebrow. It was a good strong name and surely it would be common sense for an apprentice to thank the master for his years of hard work. Robert looked down at the baby and drew in a sharp breath. “Sykil it is.” He finally responded and lay back, clutching the bundle of cloth and child against his chest like it was a part of him. Thaddeus cursed to himself and lay back as well. Oh well. Maybe next time.

[Lortano]

Right, I'm updating all the links in the OP so everything is up to date. Currently in the middle of exams so no update this Sunday, though I am very close to finishing the next chapter. In the meantime, feel free to keep reading and keep on having fun!

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, that's very dramatic!

I particularly liked the way you kept the tension going through the scene where Carson was hiding from Hralfur (and got his trouser-leg caught). The story of Sykil's arrival was interesting, but I think that one will get more interesting later on.

[Lortano]

So, another chapter. Shorter, but sweeter, methinks.

Chapter 19: Night over Vorstrad

Hralfur stared into the blank eyes of the boy he’d just killed for a moment, before the lifeless corpse fell aside with a heavy thump. Hralfur immediately felt the remnants of whatever had been in Carson’s head start to leak, soaking into the fabric of his trousers. Yet he didn’t stand, he let out a gasp of pain and fell back into his lying position, placing a hand on the shoulder, still tender from where the girl had bitten him. While the mail shirt had protected him, the pressure still stung like anything. And that wasn’t including the three bruises he undoubtedly had in his back from Carson’s gunshots. With effort, he got to his feet slowly, breathing heavily, the elation of the hunt slowly dying within him as he looked down at his victim. He was almost proud of the boy. He’d hit with all three and had he been slightly more intelligent, he might have questioned why an assassin would walk out in the open so blatantly. But, being young and stupid, he hadn’t. That happened with every person Hralfur killed, they always thought they were smarter. Young, old, even King Victor had believed himself safe in his old age and that no one would ever try to bring harm to an old man. He looked down at the corpse, sighed and dug around in his back pocket, pulling out a small tin. Twisting the top off, he smeared some of the black paint within onto his finger, knelt and drew a line running down Carson’s still warm cheek. Then he did the same to the other, leaving the body as though it were crying black tears, as Thanos was often depicted. It wasn’t something he did often, merely to those who he believed had earned it. And by merely being related to a friend, Carson had earned it. He took one last look at his friend’s son, blood still dripping out of his mouth and covering his lips, while his hair was matted with the contents of his head. Forgive me, Robert. With a final blink he turned on his heels and heading back down the stairs, at a very brisk walking pace. There was no point in staying, he had to get back to Hierofalt before Ryla got hold of the trail. He did not want to meet her again, especially after she found Carson. He shoved open the doors, shaking slightly as the cold night breeze hit him. It was still night, the city still as deserted as it was during the day. He was glad about that, the guard around these parts were not fond of the Cult, as he had found to his cost multiple times during his missions in the Hundred Tribes. Yet they had gone south to fight, all because of a war the Cult had started. He chuckled to himself at that, they’d fight and die for something that most of them would hate. How ironic. He began to walk, tucking his hands inside his pockets. He’d left his horse in the market square, the posts they used to tie ribbons and signs up to had been perfect for tying it to. A few minutes later, he entered the square, turning left as he did so. He frowned as he found himself staring at a bare post, devoid of both rope and horse. How? Then he realised. The girl, Mila. She’d left Carson to die but had been quite happy to take the horse and run with it. “Damned girl.” He muttered to himself. It was a long way to walk, but if he had to, so be it. Fortunately, the south gate wasn’t too far away and the Hierofalt border was only a few days away. A rumbling sound caught his attention and his eyes immediately shot up to the sky. It was a frigate, no doubt about it, he’d recognise the sound any day. He ran out into the middle of the square, spinning as he did, searching for it. And he found it, coming from the North West at an alarming speed. “Oh Thanos,” he yelled at the sky and turned on his heels, sprinting for the nearest building. He knew it was too late though, he could hear the yelling from the ship as he dived through a nearby window, sending shards of glass everywhere. He threw himself under a nearby table and held his head in his hands. If a target was lost in a city, there was one special way to deal with it as far as Isim was concerned. The first explosion shattered the glass in the second window. Grenades, thrown from the deck of the ship, were the most advanced anyone had ever gotten in making ships useful in sieges, yet he couldn’t deny their effectiveness now he was on the receiving end. The explosions continued, this time further away. He scrambled up and jumped out of the window and ran towards the west side. He smelled smoke and allowed himself a glance. Where the ship had gone, devastation had followed and the south street had been annihilated, several buildings already starting to go up in flames. The ship was beginning to turn, the moon revealing the shadow of the massive beast as it came around for a second run. It was Ryla, no doubt about it. One bombing run was usual, but two? That was the mark of determination. He stood and watched, climbing atop the fountain as the ship stopped above him, hanging like the tapestries in the depths of the Temple of Thanos. Then, with a low rumbling sound, it began its descent. Apparently Ryla wanted to settle this on the ground. A fair strategy, he reasoned, as he leapt off the fountain and ran up the main northern street. After all, as devastating as grenades were, they were woefully inefficient when trying to kill one person. Not that he intended to be in the city while they were searching it. Now she’d given up her air advantage, there was no way she could stop him from reaching the north gate. He’d be gone like a shadow in the fading light, once more leaving her grasping at empty air. He’d gotten quite good at it after fourteen years. Then another rumbling sound hit his ears, his heart sinking faster than Robert’s Skymaster as he moved his gaze skywards. For the sound was far too familiar to him, the hum of the Boreman-Hardwyk engines that were attached to every schooner that Isim owned. And worse, each ship had its own sound, its own identity in his ears. And this was the one sound he remembered most clearly of all. The hum of the Sickle, the hum of Thaddeus Jenkins, the hum of the Pioneer himself. Passing across his field of vision, he beheld the famous ship, a row of rifles on the deck pointing down at him. And at the wheel, face hidden in the shade, the familiar white coat caught the breeze and waved at him like an angry fist of cloth. He took a step back and looked for a way out. Behind him, ladders lowered from the Fury and in front of him the shouts of alarm from the crew made it quite clear how trapped he was, like a young bear caught in one of Prince Krolssi’s devious traps. He darted a side street and just kept running, not bothering to look back. He had to keep under the cover of the stone houses, keep himself hidden from the keen eyes that could spot a figure running in the dead of night.

[Alwyn]

Great chapter, I particularly enjoyed the arrival of the Sickle. I wonder if Hralfur will be able to complete his escape.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

I think your descriptions have been really good in the last few chapters. They really heightened the tension in Chapter 19. So now (like Alwyn) I'm wondering what will happen to Hralfur next.