Aggie watched unenthused as she sank the blade into the bullseye mounted on top of the cart for the 20th time that evening. The target had been made out of a small empty keg of ale, and using shoe polish, had a black dot in the middle for her to aim for. The color wasn’t helpful in the sinking light of the evening, but Tork insisted that it would do her good to practice in less than ideal scenarios.

Despite herself, Aggie was appreciating that whereas before she could only throw her hatchet and knives 10 times at most, she had doubled her abilities in a matter of weeks.

So far, Aggie had had to practice throwing with her left hand, lying down, and while standing on one leg.

Her left hand’s aim was awful, but after a few hours of Tork’s careful tutelage, she was beginning to be slightly less terrible.

Arlen on the other hand was moving at lightening speed in his duels with Tork, their blades ringing out over the rolling green hills, and sending Quib scurrying over to Ora who would watch and occasionally applaud as she tucked away a wheel of cheese for her evening meal.

Tork also had Arlen learning to fight an armed opponent without a weapon. Teaching him to dodge, roll, and eventually steal a weapon from the assailant.

The Prince slept through most of the training on the soft ground, but would occasional crack open an eye when Ora would shove a ripped piece of bread with a cup of water at him. His coloring was improving, but he had still been sick at least 5 times throughout the day. Aggie had been grateful that they were in an open aired cart, otherwise the stink would’ve been horrendous.

With a sigh, Aggie turned to look at the mountains that weren’t so terribly far off in the distance, and marveled at their majesty.

Rockfell had been a city carved into the cliffs, marking the end of the mountainous range that ran along the North border of the continent, and blocked off the sea from view. What laid North, were several smaller islands, but further past that in any direction was weeks of sailing until other smaller continents could be found. It was one of the closer small islands where Arlen’s people resided, and to travel to the North Kingdom had taken him a week of sailing, and another week of traveling through the mountains to reach Sean O’Farrell’s keep.

Aggie briefly wondered where Arlen’s people had come from originally. He didn’t look anything akin to the King’s Servicer, which meant that they cam from different continents, and yet they were both Servicer’s. Aggie wasn’t sure how that worked. Or perhaps it had all started with one family, and they had all traveled the world.

But that would mean they had all bred with people that weren’t Servicer’s if they all looked so distant.

Or perhaps, there were different kinds of Servicers…

Aggie didn’t know why she hadn’t been more curious about Servicer’s before, but suddenly as she pulled on one thread of questions, she found other threads pulling loose along with it.

“Beatha, I want you to join Arlen and I in this dodging training. I imagine you are going to do a lot of it should an assailant ever accost you before you can get a knife out.” Tork called over to Aggie as she pulled her dagger from the barrel on top of the cart.

The Lady joined Arlen, whom was standing with his hands on his hips, panting slightly from the quick movements he had been pulling to not get stabbed by a thrust happy Tork.

“For now, let’s worry about dodging punches as those are the most likely to occur.” Tork nodded at Arlen, and the Servicer and his Mistress turned to face each other.

Arlen started slowly with a jab from his left hand, causing Aggie to leap clumsily out of his way, and stumble over her own feet.

Tork chuckled at her inelegance, and then guided her through proper stances.

After a few pointers from Tork, and more practice runs, Aggie was able to dodge faster movements, and stay balanced, but she was not picking it up nearly as quickly as Arlen had.

When darkness was thick between them, they all decided to retire for the evening, laying down under thin blankets, everyone hoping that the clouds overhead wouldn’t break and leave them a soggy mess.

*

Sleep had come easily, and Aggie had successfully fallen into a deep dreamlessness, when a loud ‘toot’ from Ora that sounded somewhat like a trumpet blast, woke her. Aggie automatically grabbed at one of her knives, but found she wasn’t quick enough as hands smothered her mouth and pinned her arms down to her sides.

Aggie fought with all of her strength as her assailants were trying to haul her away from her blanket.

It was dark, and Aggie had a hard time seeing, but realized as she squirmed under what felt like 2 men’s grips, that Arlen was also trying to fight off assailants.

No one however, was fighting harder than Tork.

There were a series of grunts, and the sound of steel clanging, but when Aggie heard the thud in the grass, she felt her heart stop.

He couldn’t be dead.

He absolutely could not be dead.

Aggie was beginning to fight harder, needing to rush to her friend’s side, when from the darkness, another loud trumpet horn sounded.

Lightening suddenly cracked the sky, beaming down and blasting the ground, with crackling heat, and illuminating the scene for everyone.

Each person froze, and Aggie’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, when she realized that it was Ora who was standing in the middle of their cramp ground, her purple fur standing on end, and her fists clenched as she stood over Tork where a group of 8 beings wearing masks and furs stood with spears, swords, and bow staffs. Aggie was certain she could see him breathing in the light, as Ora roared on the group that was now trying to reorganize themselves to fight the new risk.

Aggie didn’t get a chance to see anything other than the Prince lying weakly on his side, trying to force himself upright to help, before she felt a sharp blow to the side her neck, and fell unconscious.

***

Sean O’Farrell had been on the road for 4 days, and his mood was grim as he rode on towards Rockfell. His thoughts were churning over the impending war, his campaign for the crown, the whereabouts of the Thief of Souls, and last but far from least, Agnes Beatha.

He was in the thick of these thoughts, when he saw 2 horses and a cart in the distance cresting the hill.

In the driver’s seat, sat a large Beast Awares that appeared to be wearing chainmail.

The Duke braced himself, he knew this had to be Tork, the bounty hunter and former military Beast Awares. He remembered his brief encounters with the fellow through the war, and knew that he was ruefully stubborn, and very opinionated.

Sean hoped that there wouldn’t be any drawing of weapons when he announced Lady Beatha’s identity, and his intention of taking her with him immediately.

He looked at Richard MacDermott who had had also guessed the identity of the nearing Beast Awares, and whom his passengers would be.

It wasn’t until the horses stopped perhaps 6 feet in front of their horses, and Tork stepped down sporting a fresh gash above his eye and a black expression, that Sean realized the exchange may not be amicable.

“Is there a reason you’re taking up the whole road and not moving?” Tork demanded angrily. He was in no mood to deal with any delays.

“Tork, I believe? We’ve met before, I am Lord Sean O’Farrell, and this here is Lord Richard MacDermott. We served together in-”

“The War of Kinds. Yes, I remember.” Tork continued glaring up at them waiting. Sean arched his eyebrow, and abandoned his diplomatic tone.

“I need to investigate your cart.”

“No. Now please get out of the way.” Tork turned back, and mounted the drivers seat as Sean and Richard shared a grave look.

“Tork, on the King’s authority I need to look through your cart. I believe you are unwittingly harboring a fugitive.” Sean’s voice was hard, and he watched the Beast Awares while furrowing his brow.

“Fine!” Tork snapped as he jumped down, and gestured angrily at the cart. “Have at it!”

“Tork you will mind your tone or I will report-”

“I don’t give a horse shit what you will report! Hurry up!”

Sean slowly dismounted his steed with Richard, and slowly walked over to Tork who glared down at the man.

He took his time walking to the back of the cart, preparing himself to lay eyes on Lady Beatha. He wondered if she would be curled in a ball trembling, or trying to hide under a food bag with her Servicer.

Instead, Sean was stunned to see an empty cart except for the crowned Prince, and a strangle large ball covered by a blanket. The Prince sat weakly against the back of the cart, and gave a meek wave at the Duke.

“Your majesty!” Sean bowed deeply, trying not to explode in fury at the young man. Where the hell was Beatha?!

“Hello Lord O’Farrell.” The young man sat up straighter, and smiled at the Duke. “You look well.”

Sean nodded silently for a moment.

“I heard Tork found you and that you were ill.” Blunt as ever, Sean didn’t wait for a response from the Prince.

“Has the young woman who was present when you were found, stayed in Rockfell?” Sean asked while Richard joined his side and bowed to the Prince, while Tork ambled up and kept his arms folded across his chest.

“Erm… no.” The Prince locked eyes with Tork before returning his gaze to the Duke.

“She was kidnapped a few nights ago with her brother by a group of Minkies. Not sure what the dilemma is though. She was a Minkies woman herself, so it could’ve just been an internal-”

“I beg your pardon?” Sean interrupted the Prince out of shock, and immediately realized he had rudely spoken over the future ruler of the continent, but his etiquette took a backseat.

“Tork, the young woman who was with you, were you aware that she was Lady Agnes Beatha of the Southern Kingdoms, and my betrothed?”

“She was Lady Beatha?!” The Prince moved to the end of the cart past the blanket that moved to reveal a spiky ball that was sniffling, and then shakily stood on the dusty road.

After they had made way for the Prince to join their group, Tork turned with his eyebrows raised in surprise to Sean O’Farrell.

“The Minkies woman was Lady Beatha?! Who was the man with her- oh. So sorry my Lord.”

Seeing the embarrassment on Lord O’Farrell’s face was the highlight of the past few days for Tork. He couldn’t help his insinuation that the Lord’s bride had left him for her lover.

“That ‘man’ was her Servicer. It isn’t any kind of inappropriate relationship. It is impossible.”

“Are… Are you sure?” Tork asked slowly. The Duke was going to be made to squirm for being a rude pain in the ass. Much to Tork’s amusement. He was having a hard time laughing.

“What do you mean ‘Am I sure’?” Sean’s tone let Tork know that he had better not sully Lady Agnes Beatha’s reputation further.

“Oh I just find it strange for a woman to take a male servant is all… They slept in separate chambers when they weren’t on the ground with the rest of us, so I have no reason to believe what you’re saying isn’t true.” Tork shrugged innocently as Sean O’Farrell glowered.

“What happened to her?” The Duke ground out the words. He was ready to start hitting the Beast Awares.

“She was kidnapped.” Tork’s expression was serious, but he enjoyed seeing Sean O’Farrell’s jaw twitch.

“Yes the Prince mentioned that, but how? I know you are a seasoned warrior.” Sean’s piercing blue eyes stared down the Beast Awares, who responded by grunting.

“They got us in the night. Whole group of I would say around 20 or so.”

“Were you in the mountains…?”

“Nope. I just assumed that the Minkies couple had done something wrong, and maybe their group was bringing them back for justice to be dolled out.” Tork shrugged feigning casualness.

He was wasting time. He had to bring the Prince back, and leave immediately to find Aggie and Arlen. He was hoping that he wouldn’t be too late.

“Very well then. I will hire your services the moment you return the Prince. I insist that you bring her back to my keep hastily. I will be gone for the next 2 months, so she had better be returned by that time.” Sean pretended he was in control of the situation, but he was screaming internally.

The Duke did not have time to hunt down Lady Beatha and her damned Servicer! Fat load of good he had done. The glorified servant hadn’t prevented the rebellious young woman from running away, or from being kidnapped. He reasoned that in light of Arlen’s failures he would send a letter to The Ruling Family outlining his disappointment…

“Your majesty,” Sean had turned to walk back to his horse, when Richard MacDermott turned to the Prince who was reduced to leaning weakly on the cart. He was doing far better than at the start of the journey, but he still wasn’t fully recovered.

“You seemed… oddly disbelieving when you discovered Lady Agnes Beatha’s true identity. What was the reason for that?”

The Prince shrugged, and shook his head.

“I just wouldn’t have thought that the crazy knife throwing woman who killed 2 people was a Lady and future Duchess.”

No one said a word. The breeze rustled through the soft grass, and Sean O’Farrell slowly turned around to face Tork and the Prince whom were standing innocently side-by-side.

“Lady Beatha,was the one to kill the 2 Beast Awares…?” The Duke asked slowly.

“Yes.” Tork responded staring evenly at the Duke. He was interested to see his response to this discovery.

“She throws knives?” Sean seemed as though he were a ticking bomb. Lord MacDermott slowly moved away from the Prince and Tork, not wanting to be caught in the blast.

“And a hatchet. Well she didn’t at first, but I thought she wanted to be a bounty hunter so I taught her how to-”

“SHE FUCKING THROWS KNIVES AND KILLS PEOPLE?!”

“Out of self-defense to save her Servicer, and one of the culprits who needed to provide their confession to the magistrate. Yes, she did kill 2 Beast Awares.” Tork’s calm reaction to Sean’s explosion was impressive, as the Prince seated himself with a wince on the back of the cart, and Richard MacDermott gingerly reached up to touch his ears.

It was probably for the best that Tork hadn’t mentioned her gouging out someone else’s eye.

Without any further words, Sean stalked over to his horse, mounted his steed and took off at a gallop, leaving Lord MacDermott scrambling in his wake.

Once they had disappeared over the gentle slope, that the Prince and Tork had recently come over, the Prince turned to Tork with a small smile on his face.

“You know Tork, I can’t help but recall over the past few days that you kept calling the Minkies woman, ‘Beatha’.” Tork turned swiftly and stared at the Prince.

“Don’t worry. It’s thanks to all of you that I’m out of there alive and… recovering. I won’t inform Sean O’Farrell that you’ve been knowingly training and hiding Agnes Beatha and her Servicer.”

Tork nodded once in gratitude, before turning to walk back towards the driver’s bench.

“Tork? When do you think Ora will be able to return?” The Beast Awares paused at his majesty’s question, and slowly turned his head so that the Prince could only see his profile.

“I don’t know. She used a lot of her power, and when she does that she has to go back until she’s recharged. Some Beast Fey take years to recharge.”

The Prince nodded sadly, and with great effort, hoisted himself back further onto the cart where Quib was now sitting. The beast pressed its wet nose into the Prince’s thigh, and so he rubbed the creatures snout slowly.

“Hopefully she’ll be back soon.” The Prince smiled sadly. He had only just met the Beast Fey, but she had saved Tork and him. She had taken care of him, and even though she was back in the Fey world where she was safe, the Prince wished he could thank her.

***

Aggie had no idea where she was, or whom had taken them. All she knew was that she had been blindfolded and her hands bound for days, and they had been walking until her feet felt like bloody stumps.

She had tried talking to Arlen once, but a hand had covered her mouth.

For the first day and night she had felt as though her heart would burst out of her chest from fear. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want Arlen to die.

She wondered if Sean O’Farrell had arranged her assassination as a result of her running away.

Then days 2, 3, 4, and 5 passed, and eventually she resigned herself to her fate. Anytime she had to relieve herself, someone was present, and even though the blindfold didn’t block out all light and shapes, she couldn’t even tell if it were a man or a woman that was present.

Her face had burned with shame and embarrassment the first few times, but by the end of the 7th day, she somewhat enjoyed feeling of a breeze on her arse.

They had been walking on hard rock and gravel for at least a day, and Aggie had found that the temperature had been getting steadily colder. On occasion, she would bump shoulders with Arlen, or she guessed it was Arlen, and she would nearly leap out of her skin. From what she felt on these collisions, he felt tensed. As though he was in tremendous pain.

A hand suddenly grabbed Aggie’s shoulder, making her yelp in surprise as it pinched her into standing still, and then pushed her down on to her knees.

Aggie was relatively certain she wasn’t about to be murdered just yet, given that they had first made her walk all that way. She reasoned that there had to be better ways of disposing bodies…

Her hands had been tied in front of her, and she was quite certain that her wrists were raw and bloody from the bindings. If it hadn’t been her petrifying fear from the first few days, she would’ve been crying from the agony her body felt.

She had thought being trained by Tork had been tough, but being walked to death and bound the entire time with a blindfold on, made her re-evaluate her standard for discomfort.

Without any warning, the blindfold was removed from her eyes, and Aggie found herself blinking in great pain in front of a large fire, while the rest of the world lay in darkness at the late hour.

After a moment, she turned her head and saw Arlen on his knees 10 feet away, with his own blindfold being removed by the same masked individuals that had taken them that first night.

When Aggie turned back to the firelight, she realized that the masked group was now merged with a crowd of fur wearing people, encircled around the fire, all with their faces painted with various patterns and splotches of black.

Aggie deduced that the ones who wore masks, were some kind of warriors, as they were the only ones with weapons other than daggers, but her observations came to a screeching halt when one of the masked people stepped away from the crowd, and stood in front of Aggie.

The figure reached up, and pulled off the mask that was carved to look like a monster out of a dark wood, to reveal an unpainted face.

A woman’s face.

Aggie gaped. The woman had flaming red hair that was half pulled back, and was so messy it looked as though it were a bird’s nest. Her face was pale as she frowned down at Aggie.

Slowly, the woman crouched down and crept closer to the prisoner. The Lady tried to move back but a strong hand held her in place.

The woman was practically nose-to-nose with Aggie, and she smelled of fire and roasted meat. The woman sniffed Aggie, and sat back on her haunches.

The woman looked around the crowd, and then back at Aggie while glaring.

“Not one of us.”