They had evaded capture yet again.

Agnes Beatha and her Servicer had disappeared into the woods, and hadn’t left a trace except for the horses that were found trotting back towards Sean O’Farrell’s keep.

The Duke O’Farrell sat in his office, his hands clasped together atop the table as the North and South Kings sat across from each other glowering, and the North Prince remained standing, casually leaned against the wall.

“Let us try and make sense of the day, shall we?” Sean began slowly, and with forced patience as his head thudded in pain.

Ever since his guards had returned from their search with his horses, and the maids had stopped weeping about a ghost haunting the keep, he had found a looming migraine waiting for him.

“It all started when that Servicer came in.” The South King barked his hands gripping the armrests of the chair.

“Then, we checked and found Lady Beatha is in the coffin. We started the funeral-, during which Duke O’Sullivan allegedly attacked Prince Raphael. When we went to take the coffin with Lady Agnes away, she jumped up, and ran away with her Servicer- whom was somehow freed with the aid of a mysterious and powerful person. They run into the forest, and disappear completely. Just as Lady Beatha had done earlier this year.” The North King summarized impatiently his eyes never leaving the South King’s face.

The 2 King’s were breathing hard, as though they had just been in a fistfight with each other, but at long last, Aidan moved his gaze to his son whom remained grinning to himself in the shadows.

“We now are not clear on whom helped Lady Beatha and her Servicer, and we are unclear about why she came back in the first place.” Sean began slowly while keeping his eyes open, but lowered, as he fought against wincing at the pain in his head.

“Oh please!” The South King scoffed his dark blue eyes glittering.

“I do not believe for a second that Duke O’Sullivan attacked the South Prince. I think that wretch got up and did it herself!”

“How could she have gotten to his chambers without being seen?” The North King challenged.

“Why did the Duke have the weapon in his hand? And why was he covered in blood?” He continued his fist pounding the table.

“The Duke said she handed it to him.”

“And he just took it like he were accepting an apple?” The North King asked sardonically.

“Why else would she come back?! She would’ve come for revenge only!” The South King was on his feet his face turning red.

“Why is it that she would want revenge? Remind me, I cannot seem to recall…” The North King stood and folded his arms over his chest defiantly.

It was at that point in the conversation, when a loud knock rang out into the room.

“What?!” Both King’s demanded not taking their eyes off of each other.

The door opened to reveal a cowering maid, and a tall elderly man clad in black.

“M-My Lords, t-this is-”

“I can introduce myself.” The man stated crisply, as he stepped a black polished shoe with a brass buckle on it into the room.

“I am Basil Burniby. I am a solicitor here to see Servicer Arlen, Son of Ida. I was traveling north to confer with Duke O’Farrell on his whereabouts, and upon my arrival today heard that he is within your care.” He sniffed slightly as he peered through the tiny spectacles on his wrinkled nose. He bowed his head slightly towards the 2 King’s whom both looked as though they were about to explode from the day’s frustrations.

“Did you not get the message? That Servicer and his Mistress have already fled.” The South King declared casting an appraising eye over the man’s somber black clothes.

“You are from the South Kingdom?” Aidan noted as he stared at the man’s impractical footwear.

“I am indeed, your Majesty. I have traveled a great distance at the bequest of my employer.” Basil bowed once again as he addressed the King.

“Who is your employer?” Sean O’Farrell queried rubbing his temples with his fingertips, and wondering if he were in the middle of some kind of aggravating nightmare. He could not remember such a cacophony of events happening at once outside of war.

“That is confidential Duke O’Farrell, my apologies. Though did I hear correctly that Lady Beatha is not in fact dead?”

“You did, and as your King I command you to inform us whom your employer is.”

Basil Burniby looked to the ceiling before closing his eyes, and gently pushing his spectacles up his nose.

“As you wish, your Majesty. My employer is the Late James Arthur Landon Murphy.”

The room went silent.

The North King dropped his arms to his side, and Sean O’Farrell stood.

“What is it you want with Servicer Arlen?” Sean inquired frowning.

“I would inform you that the information is once again not to be shared, but I am beginning to see that I will be ordered once more to violate my client’s privacy from each Monarch of this continent.” The chastising tone was not lost on the men, and it was met with unapologetic looks of anger.

“Very well then. Captain James Arthur Landon Murphy, Son of Earl Edward Murphy the 4th of the Southern Kingdom, he has left the entirety of his fortune to the Servicer named Arlen, Son of Ida.”

The exclamations that erupted from the Kings, and Duke were nonsensical as they all occurred at once.

The South King was the first to be properly heard when he announced;

“Servicer’s by law cannot inherit property or worldly goods. Their possessions will go to the Ruling Family!” He waved his hand angrily.

The Captain had been a wealthy man by the time he had died, and the thought of that wealth going straight to the hands of the Ruling Family was giving the South King palpitations.

“I am aware your Highness, that is why I was inquiring about the Lady Agnes Beatha.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped, and even Prince Arthur stood straighter as they suddenly began to piece together where the conversation was going.

“By the Gods… She will inherit everything?!” The South King looked as though he were ready to collapse.

“When was this will and testament made?” The Duke demanded, his head beginning to spin.

“This was drafted nearly 29 years ago on May the 20th.”

“Lady Beatha was not even born then!” Sean bellowed at the unflappable executer.

Basil pushed his spectacles even further up his nose, as though trying to mask his exasperation.

“No, but Servicer Arlen was.”

No one knew what to say, and so Basil continued seemingly annoyed, and prepared to finish the conversation once and for all.

“The Captain was very clear. Servicer Arlen was to receive all of his fortune and worldly possessions. He said if the laws hadn’t advanced by the time of his death to count Servicers as people viable for inheritance, then it would be passed to the Master or Mistress of Arlen, son of Ida.”

“Just… how much is Lady Beatha set to inherit?” The South King asked.

The executer told them, and while the South King plopped down in his chair unable to stand, the North King’s jaw dropped, and Sean O’Farrell, weakened from the day, collapsed onto the ground.

***

Sean opened his eyes blearily to see a blurred room in the cool light of day, and after a few moments, forced himself to sit up, unaccustomed to the heavy feeling of weariness in his body.

He frowned as his vision took its time coming into focus, and then jumped startled when he saw Bertha sitting at his bedside. Her arms and legs crossed, and an unreadable expression dominating her strained face.

“What happened?” Sean demanded his voice hoarse.

“You collapsed during a meeting with both rulers of this continent.” Bertha reminded stiffly.

“Blasted- why did no one wake me?” He tried to rouse himself further, but found that the heavy feeling in his body worsening.

“We did.” She remarked. Her eyes then flit to Sean’s exposed arms. They had stripped him of his coat and thicker tunic, and left him in a light bed shirt rolled up to the elbows.

“When were you planning on telling me about that?” She nodded at the black veins that pushed out his skin as they spread along his arms.

Sean hastily drew his sleeve down, and slipped his left hand under the covers.

“It is none of your concern.” He answered uncomfortably before clearing his throat and adverting his gaze.

“Is this why you’ve been so hell-bent on marrying Lady Agnes Beatha?” Bertha’s tone remained level and calm, and it somehow made Sean all the more squeamish.

“You did not believe me when I said the Thief of Souls was still at large- and he is. We need powerful magicks to thwart him again, and the children of Agnes have been foretold to have immense power.” He did his best to not sound angry, but there was still a note of bitterness.

“You… expected an infant she bore to conquer an elderly Mind Magicker before he either accomplished his goals, or died?” Bertha started slowly, then gradually continued her line of reasoning before Sean could defend himself.

“Given that the Thief of Souls is well into his 90’s, let us say for arguments sake, that he lives another 3 years at most. We will again stretch the current circumstances, and presume that Lady Beatha waltzes in that door this minute, leaps willingly into your bed, and becomes with child. After nearly a year she births a babe, and in 2 years that child will face off against this Mind Magicker whom is either- at that point, already remarkably powerful, or dead.”

Sean did not respond.

Bertha closed her eyes and leaned her head into her hand.

“Did the poison already rot your brain, Sean?”

“How could he have lived through what we did to him! How could he be alive this long? He has to have other means of being alive and that could mean he is going to live for far longer than most and-”

“Sean. I am not saying we do not need to defeat the Thief of Souls. By all means we need to find the old codger and beat him to death with his glass orb. My point is; what in the world were you thinking for Agnes? Can we let go of her now?”

Sean was pinching the bridge of his nose willingly himself not to start shouting.

“Now more than ever, I cannot unfortunately. We need her offspring here strengthening the North. Not only that, but if we leave Lady Beatha committing acts of violent crimes, she could quickly land herself on the executioners block. The only thing preventing her from that right now, is I am not going to press charge for her stealing the journal, and there is still speculation on who brutally dismembered-”

“She stole what journal?” Bertha cut in sharply.

“His journal Bertha. At the funeral when she miraculously sat up and searched me, she stole the journal.”

“Good Gods- does this mean she-”

“She could be in possession of a summoning stone.”

“The real dilemma with Lady Agnes Beatha, is we have no idea about her motivations right now. She is unpredictable, and chaotic. I will admit I could not believe the stories I was hearing about her until today. I would never have imagined the girl who showed up sopping wet and unable to speak to me, is now murdering people, and wearing men’s trousers.”

“The trouser’s are the least of your worries with her I think.” Bertha pointed out dryly.

Sean shrugged then smiled at her.

When she didn’t smile back however, the moment of levity quickly left his gaze.

“How long do they say you have Sean?”

“They told me a few years at most.”

“And when did they tell you that?”

“Earlier this year.”

Bertha sighed, her throat began closing, and her hands gripped each other as she tried to fight off the inevitable swell of emotion.

“How?”

Sean grinned bitterly to himself, staring at the midnight blue coverlet he rarely spent any time under.

“No one is certain, but I have my theories.”

***

Aggie woke up screaming.

The sound of squeaking cell doors, grunts of fellow prisoners, and the stench of sickness and waste flooding her senses as she thrashed in the night. Tears were streaming down her face, and her heart was hammering as she strained to listen for the footfalls of the crew or the Captain…

And then, there were warm arms lifting her, and holding her. The touch at first made her tense, but then the soft calming voice of Arlen slowly dragged her from the weight of her nightmare, and after a moment, she slowly awakened.

Arlen held her patiently until her rapid breaths slowly returned to their normal shallow pacing, and he could feel her sweaty body gradually relax in his embrace. Whenever he heard the grunts and shouts in her sleep, he would sit himself on her bed, and lift her into his arms speaking softly to draw her back from the darkness.

When he was certain that she was once again asleep, Arlen reached his arm over to the bedside table, and lit the candle atop. Often Aggie was unable to fall asleep with a lit candle, but once a night terror had stricken, somehow it helped her sleep through the rest of the night.

Wearily, he leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes, leaning back with Aggie still in his arms.

The Dwarves had managed to find them a room with 2 single beds once they had managed to return to the city. However, with Aggie’s revenge successful, and the Thief of Souls’ journal safely in the hands of the Minkies, Aggie’s night terrors worsened.

It was as though her subconscious mind knew she had time to begin processing the horrors she had seen and experienced on the ship.

It had not yet been a week since they had returned to the safety of the Dwarves, and in that time Arlen had not slept properly once.

Not that they were doing anything that required him to be on high alert, but he could not deny he was struggling with his worry over Aggie. During the days, she trained and barely spoke, and at night she shouted and thrashed.

The Minkies had found the Thief of Souls had written his journal in some kind of made up language that they were working to decipher with the Dwarves, and while Aggie had sat in on the first few hours, and would occasionally pop back in, she seemed unable to sit for very long.

Arlen was considering their day plans when he fell into a fitful sleep, and awoke only when there was a knock at the door.

Aggie was unwilling to pull away from her slumber, and so Arlen slowly moved himself from under her, then rose and opened the door to reveal Ned.

The Dwarf was bouncing on the balls of his feet as though he were about to explode with his own excitement.

“I think I did it! I even found something really important when I went to log my search and- Wow. You look terrible, you doing okay?” Ned asked cocking his head to the right side as he stared at the pale Servicer.

“It is fine, but thank you for your concern Ned. What is it you have done?”

By this time a disgruntled groan came from behind Arlen as Aggie slowly sat up, and then joined Arlen at the door, her hair thoroughly mussed and her eyes bloodshot.

“Gods if I didn’t know better I’d say you 2 had a newborn babe in there with you.” Ned teased his smile returning to his face.

“Remember how I asked the Minkies Queen to gather a vile of Servicer blood so that I might run experiments on metals, stones, and gems that could be compatible in being a conductor and shield of their magic?” He asked the words rushing impatiently out of him.

His audience blinked at him slowly.

Unable to handle the lackluster response, Ned grew impatient.

“Never mind! Just follow me!”

“Ned… It is morning… we need food… perhaps a bath…”Arlen said slowly leaning his shoulder against the door frame as he rubbed his eyes.

“I swear Arlen, you get more human every day. Where is that unflappable charm and etiquette?” Ned began bounding away after Arlen shot him a less than amused expression.

“Suit yourselves! Just hurry over once that all is done!”

As they watched Ned disappear down the corridor of doors that lead out to the well-lit street of the Dwarvin City, Arlen turned to look at Aggie whom was already staring at him with a mixture of weariness and curiosity.

“We don’t know for certain that I am half a Servicer. Please refrain from assuming so until we speak to my mother.” He said flatly, his chest tightening at having to say the words aloud.

Aggie’s eyebrows shot up as she blushed while biting her lower lip, and considering what she wanted to say next carefully.

“I wasn’t thinking that, I promise. I was thinking that Ned is right. You still are far more distant and composed than anyone, but you are slowly becoming more… like the rest of us.”

Arlen frowned, and turned to face her with his arms crossed. Aggie hurried on in her explanation raising her hands up with her palms turned towards him.

“I am saying I like it. I like that you feel more… close.” She finished lamely, and after saying them blushed more deeply when she processed that she sounded like she were more interested in Arlen than was appropriate.

“That sounded bad, but I don’t mean it like that, I mean-”

“Mistress, if you feel closer to me because of my demeanor becoming more relaxed then all is well.” Arlen said giving her a tight half smile.

“Way to throw a ‘Mistress’ in there to debunk my sentiment.” Aggie grumbled before turning back to the room.

Arlen continued smiling, but something in his chest shook which in turn made his stomach clench.

What both Ned and Aggie had said scared him.

He was scared that he was becoming more human the more time he spent away from the other Servicers, and what that particularly terrifying about that notion, was that it meant he could be the son of a monster after all.

*

After a hasty bath and quickly buying a couple of apples and a loaf of bread with some of their dwindling funds, Aggie and Arlen found themselves once again inside Ned’s workshop, where he had already gathered the Minkies, Tork, Reggie, and Birgitte.

“Thank you all for coming to this meeting. I know today is another splendid day in our city, and that you all-”

“Ned, before noon hour please.” Birgitte interrupted pointedly.

“Right, okay… Well, you all know how I have run the tests on the Servicer’s blood to find-”

“-Compatible metals, gems, stones, so on and so forth, yes Ned. Come on! Tell them!” Reggie was the only other one in the room that seemed as excited as Ned.

“Yes! Well… it turns out, I am not the first Dwarf to have done this after all! In fact, one of the previous Ministers of War had done exactly what I have done. He was named Moe Efo- but while I have focused on how to neutralize the Servicer’s powers, he sought to replicate them! I did not know this had ever happened in history until I was cataloging my own findings in our archives. He died shortly before the end of the War of Kinds, but I believe he found a gem and metal compatible to create a Servicer’s bond between 2 beings that don’t have a drop of Servicer’s blood in them.”

The entire room went still.

Everyone stood up straighter.

The Minkies Queen stepped forward, her face pale.

“The Thief of Souls. He bound the First Beatha to himself.” She whispered turning to stare at everyone behind her.

She immediately whipped her head around back to Ned.

“What kind of Gem is it, what does it look like?”

“It is a plain ruby, but it has to be held by a particular metal. I have to figure out which kind still, but it is a very powerful creation.” Ned’s eyes were bright with the excitement of his discovery, and clearly very pleased with himself.

“How long until you find the correct metal?” The Queen breathed excitedly.

“That is where it gets tricky. I got lucky with the gem because Moe logged that part of his find, but as for the metal, he remained ambiguous. He obviously had done all of this without anyone down here knowing. He probably wanted to protect himself from suspicion.”

The look of disappointment was in no way masked on everyone’s faces.

“Have some faith though! I am hoping within 6 months I can have the answer. It truly should not take longer than that. In the meantime, I wanted to talk with Lady Beatha and Arlen.”

The group stared expectantly at Ned.

“Alone, everyone. Please get out!” He beamed at them, hands on his hips.

After blinking several times at the cheery rudeness, the Minkies Queen slowly turned and the rest of the audience filed out except for Tork, Birgitte, and Reggie.

“I thought you wanted us alone.” Aggie pointed out raising an eyebrow at Tork and his wife.

“Do you have a problem with me being here Beatha?” Tork asked with a grunt.

“Not really, just curious about why.”

Reggie cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Aggie we uh- well Ned and I… we really want to make yours and Arlen’s weapons. My parents are just… well…”

“We’re here because this would be his first creation after studying for years.” Tork announced proudly.

“Sorry Aggie, we really had to see the designs these 2 had come up with.” Birgitte gave an apologetic smile, before she then turned her pleased motherly gaze to her son.

“Show them!” She urged eagerly.

Reggie cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed at his parents show of support, but continued nonetheless as he gestured them over to a long rectangular table where sketches and notes had been made.

“You see, for Arlen, we want to create swords perfect for his height and build, but yours is going to be a little more… tricky.” Reggie turned his pale blue eyes to Aggie whom still looked too stunned at the proposition to properly respond.

“We want to make you a staff like the Queen’s that can compact itself, but we wondered about adding a few upgrades to yours.” Ned jumped in then, unable to help himself.

“We heard from Tork that you always have to retrieve the knives you throw, and in a battle that isn’t exactly practical, so we designed a staff where the knives at the end of your bow staff- while they can become detached, are less of a javalon like the Queen’s, and more like the knives you throw. The fussy bit is that once you click the handle in a rotation, a magnet will pull back the knives within a certain distance-”

“A what?” Aggie asked perplexed at the word.

“A magnet,” Reggie began clearly starting to join in on the excitement of his and Ned’s designs.

“A magnet is an iron component that-”

“No iron.”

Reggie stopped the beginning of his explanation puzzled.

“There will be a day in the near future when Arlen and I have to go to Tara. I want a weapon that can come with me anywhere. I don’t believe any iron is allowed in Tara.”

Ned and Reggie looked at each other stunned for a minute, then suddenly bowed their heads close to one another and began whispering fervently.

After a minute, Aggie and Arlen shared a concerned glance, but the 2 finally separated.

“We will come up with a redesign. Now, our next question; Would you like your weapons to have some magical properties?”

Aggie blinked stunned.

“What do you mean… magical properties?”

“Well… one reason I gathered the Servicer’s blood for experiments, is as I said to find ways to neutralize their abilities. Given that I have heard you both plan on facing the Ruling Family, wouldn’t it be helpful to have a weapon to even the proverbial field?”

Arlen’s jaw dropped, and for once Aggie looked far more excited.

“You can do that?!”

Ned and Reggie nodded excitedly.

“For Arlen’s swords we could-”

“No magic.” Arlen interrupted shortly.

Ned cocked his head over his right shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Arlen curiously.

“I do not trust magic I do not understand. Dwarvin craft I am still slowly learning about.”

Ned straightened his shoulders.

“Fine fine…. What about a magically enhanced weapon?” Ned tried then pressing his fingertips together.

“No. No magic Ned.”

“I see. Well… I guess that is all we need for now. We will do what we can. Now please leave. We have work to do.” Ned waved them off.

As Aggie and Arlen approached the door, they heard the not so quiet whispers of;

“Are we still going to imbue them with magic?”

“Of course we are-”

Arlen and Aggie turned around, Aggie was the first to explode, caught between incredulous on Arlen’s behalf and laughter at the feigned innocence on their faces. Arlen however wore a rare scowl, which edged out how the Lady chose to handle the situation.

“Is it hard being chased by squirrels all the time?” She demanded.

Reggie and Ned frowned.

“Because you both are fucking nuts!”

Reggie, Tork, Arlen, and Birgitte burst out laughing clutching their sides while Ned continued to look confused.

“Squirtels? What are Squirtels?”

Aggie laughed harder while Arlen looked to the ceiling trying not to crack a grin.

“One day Ned, I will introduce you to the tree rodents.” Reggie managed clapping his friend on the shoulder then grinning at his parents.

Aggie sighed then looked at Arlen.

When he finally locked eyes with her, his expression softened.

“Fine.” He acquiesced her silent argument.

“Let’s see what these nutcases come up with.”

Everyone but Ned winced.

Aggie turned to Arlen whom was grinning, looking unjustly pleased with himself.

“Maybe leave the jokes to me.”

It was enough to set the entire room off all over again.