“Fine, I'll admit it, the lumber was bad, rotten to the core. Call off your dogs, I'll pay!”

Veronica laughs, turning to Draken.

“Sometimes our presence is all it takes.”

The fall of the magistrate’s gavel echoes in the chamber.

“Fifteen silvers to the plaintiff, next case.”

The band plays off the parties of the previous case and begins the traditional fanfare as the plaintiff and defendant of the next case rise from their seats in the gallery and take their positions on either side of the well. The bailiff announced the particulars of the upcoming case.

“Johann Simms, convicted theif. He accuses Lord Waverton of defrauding him out of his savings, three hundred pounds of silver. Lord Emille Waverton, knight and landlord says the charges are laughable and the case should be dismissed. The cases are real, the people are real, the rulings are final, be seated.”

Johann Simms approaches the bench with his hat in his one hand, the other having been replaced by a metal hook. He wears a mixed patchwork of sewn and mended clothes, which may have once been well made. His face is gaunt and his cheek tattooed with the ringlike mark which proclaims him a convicted thief.

Draken sees enough of himself in the man that he can’t help but feel suspicion. Suing a noble for such a sum would take enormous balls, especially if the guy’s brazen enough to be lying.

In the man’s position, Draken would like to think he’d have the skill to pull off such a job but who could expect to fool the witches?

“Don’t disappoint me,” he thinks as he tries in vain to suppress a growing admiration.

“I am a thief,” the man says boldly. “I do not claim otherwise and I do not apologize for my past, I only state that I paid the price for it.I saved my earnings, however ill-gotten, with the intention of investing. One day I was approached by a man who said he represented Lord Waverton, he offered me a chance to buy part of a building compound which Waverton was trying to unload.”

“And this didn’t strike you as suspicious?” The magistrate interrupts.

Simms grunts.

“Of course it was suspicious, your honor. It was the fishiest scheme i’d ever been approached with. So, I demanded to speak with Waverton himself.The man was hesitant at first but said to meet him in the Dovetail Inn, Waverton would be there that Friday, seeing any interested investors.”

“How did you know that you met the real Waverton?” The magistrate asks.

“I’m no fool, your honor.” Simms says. “I immediately asked around about Waverton and found out where he lived. I cased the place for two days as if I planned to rob it. Disguised as a begger, I approached Lord Waverton four times, accosting him once to get a good look at the scar on his right wrist. Still not satisfied, I followed him on Friday from his home to the Dovetail Inn. Only then was I fully convinced I was dealing with the real Lord Waverton. The deal he offered to me and the other men, strangers I don’t know, was steep but fair.”

He hands the magistrate a folded document.

“This hasn’t been notarized, ” the magistrate states grimly as he glances over it.

“The seal is forged,” he grunts. “Printed on low grade parchment, not even an apprentice clerk would use.” He throws the deed to the floor with disdain.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

Simm opens his mouth to reply but is silenced by the abrupt bang of the gavel.

“You’ve had your say,” the magistrate says. “Now let's hear what Lord Waverton has to say about it.”

“Do I really have to say anything?” Waverton asks. “This whole affair is a farce.”

Draken reaches for Waverton’s mind and feels a wall. It’s like a defense barrier of jumbled thoughts which gives way after a little push, too easily. Past the wall he sees a man confronting Waverton as he eats alone at an inn table.

“I own the building now, Waverton,”Simms says. “At least that’s exactly how it will look to a magistrate.Save yourself the trouble and hand it to me willingly and we can avoid unpleasantness.”

“You’re crazy,” Waverton replies. “Trying to steal a building, what good can it do you? The tenants are mostly paupers coasting on my good will.”

Simms smiles wickedly.

“I’m sure they just need the right motivation.If not I hear these tenements are terrible fire traps.”

Waverton looks at Simms, aghast.

“Those kinds of fires kill hundreds!”

Draken has seen enough, he stands and approaches Lord Waverton.

“Master Fox?” The magistrate asks. “Is there something you would like to add?”

Draken plunges his hand into Waverton’s vest pocket.

“What the devil are you doing?!” Waverton screams.

He pulls a small crystal amulet from Waverton’s pocket.

“Just as I thought,” he says, holding it up for the magistrate’s inspection.

The magistrate glowers at the amulet and after a long moment clears his throat.

“What is the meaning of this, Master Fox?”

“Wizardry,” Draken says, tossing the trinket up and catching it. “A very convincing scene plays out in the mind of whoever wears this, drowning out real memory with a kind of melodramatic play. Luckily I’ve encountered a much more sophisticated version of this spell.”

He throws it to the magistrate. “See for yourself, Mac.”

Turning quickly on his heel, Draken grabs Lord Waverton’s wrist. “Meanwhile I’ll see just what this bastard was trying to hide.”

***

A group of hooded figures meet in a darkened hall.

“How goes your end of business, Waverton?” One figure in the lead asks.

Waverton clears his throat.

“The tenement scheme goes smoothly, I’ve milked several petty miscreants and ne'er-do-wells into the venture. My people have already planted enough evidence to put most of them away for a year at least. By the time they get out their words won’t be worth spit, some have reputations so bad they aren't even worth the effort.”

“It’s a start,” the lead man says. “The more of those sorts we keep from earning real money, the better. I don’t like the ambition their type shows when it gets a taste. Lets keep the merchant class from getting any bigger.”

The others nod their agreement.

“We nobles must protect ourselves,” Waverton says. “We must do all we can to keep the low born low.”

A gong rings and a string of nude girls are led in through the bronze door in chains. “We may not be able to buy slaves in the Arcane Triumvirate just yet but we can surely rent them.” A chest is opened, filled with torturous looking sex devices. “No need to be gentle, let's do our best to break them.”

Just as they throw aside their robes, Draken is pulled from the vision by Veronica.

***

The audience in the gallery boos from disappointment.

“Not that sort of show, my good citizens. Let’s not corrupt the youth.” Veronica says, shooting Draken a concerned look. “We’ll talk later,” she whispers in his head.

The magistrate furiously bangs his gavel.

“In light of this new evidence,” the magistrate says through gritted teeth, “I must rule in favor of the plaintiff.”

“You can’t!” Lord Waverton begins to shout but shrinks to silence under the magistrate’s warning glare.

Draken doesn’t need to read minds to know there is something going on between these two. The magistrate clutches the amulet tightly in his hand, daring Draken with his eyes to try to look into his head.

“You will pay the full amount, that is my ruling.” The magistrate is about to bang his gavel but Draken clears his throat and steps forward.

“You have something more to add, Master Fox? ” The tone of the magistrate’s voice is murderous.

“More of a question,” Draken says. “It’s my first day, so forgive me if i’m wrong in thinking this. But would it not look terribly bad to send a common man away with lashes for attempting to manipulate the court yet in the very same day to send a noble off with no punishment for trying to do the same thing with the aid of magic? ” Draken shrugs. “Unless of course you are saying that because this is a magical crime it is we mages who should take charge of punishment and the council should be brought in.”

“No!” The magistrate almost shouts but his voice can’t quite raise above a whisper. He seems to have gone a shade white.

“There will be no need to bother the council, Master Fox.” He bangs his gavel again. “Ten lashes for daring to use wizardry to attempt to fool this court. Because I am merciful I will spare you the mage’s legendary wrath. Let each scar be a reminder of my kindness.”

Waverton is speechless, led away looking as if he is still trying to grasp what has just happened.

Simms approaches Draken.

“What you did, sticking up for me, I can’t thank you enough.” He says.

Draken shrugs again.

“Call it professional courtesy.” He hands the man back his coin purse. “People like us should stick together. Though i’ll admit, I had hoped you were guilty, to steal a building would be one hell of a heist.”

Simms casts the boy a worried glance before shaking his hand.

“Sounds like you still have the life in your system, ” he says. “Straddling the line is a dangerous place to be, don’t let who you are ruin what you can become.”

The comment leaves a strange taste in Draken’s mouth. It sticks with him when he takes his seat.

He wonders if he should be thinking of ways to step back from the game but the angry eyes of the magistrate pull him from those thoughts. Something new replaces them, the knowledge that the game is bigger than he ever imagined and that the players at the top like to cheat. Fair enough, cheating is his specialty.

***

The wheat fields only seem endless. But for Leela, who spent much of her youth either idling in their vastness or lending a hand to aging farmers in exchange for fresh pies and war stories, they are only endless in their familiarity.

She slows her stallion as she approaches a farmer’s stone cottage. She knows this thatch roofed building well. The home of old lady Haggerty, a widowed woman who’d held on to her husband’s farm for twenty years after his death. She worked herself to the bone for this place and it seems she put up a good fight.

What Leela first took for a bundle of rags is unmistakably the old woman’s body. Haggerty was the sort who never lost her looks. Even bruised and dead as she is, Leela can’t help but to envy her beauty.

It isn’t hard to understand why the bastards wanted to rape her. The bloody knife clutched in her hand tells the story well enough. Footprints leading away from her corpse finish the tale. They don’t go far and end in a pool of mud where a soldier of Valis lay face down and clutching his stomach, as dead as his victim.

Leela expects to feel something. For the dead woman, for the gruesome scene before her. Numb, she just feels cold and numb and very tired.

“Can’t leave the lady here to rot.” She says to the horse as she dismounts. He wickers an impatient reply. Leela shakes her head. “You would say that wouldn’t you.”

Not wanting to be hasty and pull a muscle, she takes a moment to limber up.

The stretches pop out some of the kinks from her joints and she shakes her hands until they feel loose and ready.

She takes the old woman by the shoulders, grabbing hold of the torn but solid fabric of her dress.

She heaves the dead weight once, twice and then a third time before she gets it facing the right way and then steadily walks backward.

Who would have thought that such a small woman could weigh so damn much. Pulling her into the cottage is like hauling a big sack of rocks. She’d planned to be quick about this but the wind is out of her. Once she’s pulled the body to the center of the floor, Leela feels the long morning and the night before catching up to her.

She doesn’t remember deciding to lay down on the dead woman’s bed but she finds herself there just the same and her eyes begin to droop.

She awakens to the sound of horses galloping up to the cottage.

“Damn!” She curses aloud.

Nobody approaching on horseback is likely to mean well, let alone two some bodies. Yes, she’s certain of it. There are two new horses out there and the voices of two men.

With a start she realizes that most of her gear, including almost all of her prepared spells are with her bags out there on that noblest of steeds.

She runs a quick inventory of everything on her person as she scrambles from the bed.

“I tell you she couldn’t have survived that arrow I put in her.” One of the voices says.

“Then where the hell is she?” The other replies. “Perhaps some locals retrieved the body or maybe you’re not as good a shot as you think you are.”

“I got her right in the chest!” The first voice protest. “Soon as I saw what she did to Balor I did her in and came for you.”

“No point in arguing about it now,” the other man says. “Let's just get Balor’s body and go.”

Leela remembers the ream of spell parchments in her pocket. Most are for healing, useless in this situation but six are for accurately guiding a missile towards its intended target.

“Where the hell did this horse come from?” The first man asks.

Leela bites her lip, if they check out her stallion, they’ll figure out they’ve got a mage to deal with. They may even be smart enough to call for backup.

“It’s a farm, you idiot.” The other man says.

Leela lets out the breath she was holding. Thank the gods that they’re stupid. Now she has to take this small respite to quickly attach the spell parchments to some type of weapon.

Of course the only weapons she has on her are two small knives, one of which is for eating.

That and her preparations will take more than a moment. First she has to prick her wrist and bind one of the six parchments to it.

“This doesn’t look right.” One of the men outside says, the first man she thinks. “There’s a trail leading into the cottage, maybe the bitch did survive and dragged herself in.”

Leela quickly ties the parchment to the hilt of the second knife. Just the two knives is not ideal but all she can do, the footsteps are getting closer. She puts her back to the wall.

“You hear that?” The first man says. “Someone’s moving around in there.”

She hears feet on the hardwood floor and throws the first knife before she sees the shadow of the man. There is a gurgling sound before the shadow expands and the body hits the floor.

“Shit!” The second man shouts followed by three rapid ear-splitting pops, like small claps of thunder.

Glass and splinters fill the air as the devilish little weapon blasts the cottage. Leela ducks for cover with an athlete’s speed, knowing full well how dangerous these bastards can be when they set their mind to killing.

“I know you’re alive in there,” the soldier says. “Come on out or i’ll burn you out.”

She scrambles across the floor, passing the light of the threshold and a fresh clap of thunder. A dangerous gamble but in that instant long bolt from one side of the cottage to the other, she gets her look at the man. She sees how far he’s standing from the threshold and calculates the distance in her mind. Perfect accuracy won’t be worth shit if she can’t throw far enough. She takes a stance with her good knife in her hand. He isn’t too far out, she’s confident of that as she lets it fly and the blade somersaults in the air, twisting and changing course to fly right out the door. She hears one last clap of miniature thunder and then the body hits as her ears continue to ring.

She stands and retrieves the knife from the neck of the first man. The look on his face tells a story of confusion more than pain. She wipes the blood off on his tabard and puts it back in its place. The next man groans as she passes the threshold. She sees him feebly reaching and quickens her step to kick the deadly little gadget out of his reach.

She picks the gun up.

“I seem to be collecting these now.” But of course there will be no conversation this time as the man has already succumbed to his wound. Leela finds her horse and begins slowly unpacking the things from his saddle.

“They were right about one thing,” she says. “This is a farm and I think you’ll do just fine here for a while.” She rubs his muzzle affectionately. “You’ve been about the bravest friend a girl could ask for.”

***

As Leela crests the hill to spot her home village for the first time in months she takes one last look at the rising column of smoke behind her. The cottage took time to go up and only the thatch roof and what few bales of hay she could manage to get inside the little stone house are likely to burn. Yet with all said and done it’s a better funeral than the old lady could have expected in her final moments and far better than what the three soldiers deserve.

Now her eyes fall on her village once more and she sees the troops gathered in the square and marching from house to house. The enemy has arrived, no surprise but still a shock.

She knows that she’ll be walking into a game with different rules and yet the game goes on. For the sake of the dead she’ll keep playing until she finds the winning move.