The Horse was a sight for sore eyes. An oasis on the grimy desert of the filthy and abandoned. The musicians were in full swing, the rich reedy accordion and beating drum coaxed tired strangers inside. The aroma of spicy meat pies drifted through the air. He licked his lips desperate for something to wash down the bitterness in his throat. His tired legs brought him across the stoop, urging him to sit on the familiar stool and forget the day’s events. But an urgency gnawed at him, keeping him from dawdling.

The accordion deflated into dampen lull. He avoided the glassy eyes of the patrons and walked to the bar’s edge. After a lifetime of awkward silence, the drum ramped up and the air filled with music. However, their eyes still loomed from their goblets and plates. Whispers and half truths hung on the fringes of the jovial atmosphere. Julie kept her distance; remaining across the bar as she dried a mug. It wasn’t the first time he faced her furious glare. But something was different; the hatred hurt him more than he cared to admit.

“You have some nerve showing up here.”

“I know, I know, but trust me it’s all over now. After tonight—”

“The Tower.” She placed the mug on the bar top. “That’s where they took him, in case you’re wondering.”

“Jules, not now, I have a mark. I need one more thing from you. A Louise at the cliffs.”

“They locked Milo in the forsaken Tower, and all you care about is duping some broad?”

“She’s not a—never mind. Milo is a tough kid; I’m sure Flann is already pulling the puppet strings for his release. He’ll be back on that stool drinking mead in no time.”

“You’re unbelievable. They’re right about you, you’re heartless. How many times have I defended you, stuck up for you? Made excuses for you? You know what, all this makes me wonder if it were me; would you have left me behind?”

“Jules, it’s not like that. We’ve been together since the beginning. We’re the closest to family each other has.”

“The gang is my family Chris, and at one point it was yours too. And you abandoned one of us, sentencing him to the gallows.”

“I owe them nothing!” he slammed his fist on the table; jarring the music to a stop. “I’m my own person now.” He fumbled in his pocket and produced the purse Sexton gave him and tossed it on the counter.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Payment for the Louise, what’s ever left is for you and Milo.”

“Like throwing money at it will make us square. Your coin won’t make you a saint, won’t make us forget what you did.”

“What do you want Julia? I apologized. I paid my debt. What else? Grovel at your feet? What Julia, what?”

“I can’t believe you, you’re an asshole.”

“Fine, then I’m the asshole.” He reached over the bar and grab the fanciest bottle in arms reach.

“I won’t be pulling your drunken ass from what ever gutter you find yourself in tonight, you mark me.”

“So long Jules,”

“You walk out that door Chris, don’t you dare come back!”

“If that’s what you want,” he held the bottle for her to see, “take this from the purse.” He made a theatrical bow before walking out the door for the last time.

He ripped the cork from the glassy neck, tossing it into a gutter. The malty whiskey coated his mouth and the smoky after taste danced on his tongue. It was wet and, most importantly, potent. It travelled down his throat leaving a lingering bite. Not too much, but enough to make him feel alive. It poked at the numbness of his soul and urged him forward. He pushed passed shoulders, hissed at those who got too close. The mere presence of another soul felt suffocating. Their existence, their judgement, squeezed him from all sides. Everyone had their opinion, gossip, assumptions, and it filled him to the brim. Weighed against him until he was about to burst.

But the docks were quiet. The stalls for the fish market were shut tight. With daylight fading the sailors finished their work and secured their boats. A weathered dinghy greeted him; the gentle sway offering a place of peace. Gripping the bottle’s neck, he stepped inside and made himself at home on a bundle of canvas sail bags. He rested his feet on a pile of nets as he grew accustomed to the fishy seaweed smell drifting from the nearby huts. The whiskey burned as it slid down his throat. He watched the sun burnt men coil rope and laugh at an inside joke. Others tightened lines and scrubbed the creaky decks. Two cheery men wave at him, their muscles peeking through their faded shirt sleeves.

The boat swayed, he took another swig, and watched men gaggle beside a darkened warehouse. Dizziness floated over his head and as his body relaxed. He wished it was enough to make him forget. To erase Sexton and Bayliss from his mind. The bastards, he mumbled. They’re everything he hated about Blue Bloods. Pretentious assholes who prefer to play God than do anything beneficial for society. They had all the money, power, and means to do anything, and they chose to be sick fucks. Whatever, he muttered taking another gulp. Drowning the guilt and ego at once. He got duped into being a mule. It stung, and as he watched the men exit the warehouse, he pondered his next move. They worked in pairs, caring what looked like bundles of canvas bags and tossed them into a cart. From where he sat, he had two options. One, finish the fine bottle and waste the night under the stars. Or two, do what he does best, and fuck up a rich prick’s plan.

The factory shifts were changing creating a stream of sweaty and exhausted workers flooding the streets. The sailors slung salt-stained canvas bags over their shoulders and left the docks as the sun began to set. He meandered through the street wondering when and if she’d show herself. If she new what was good for her, she would stay in the rented room they got for the night and lock the door. And remain there until daybreak when the ferry was to set sail. In the morning she’d be gone, and he wouldn’t be happier to have a woman walk out on him. But he caught a glimpse of her flaxen braided hair and staff. Stupid girl, why are you alone?

She walked through the people, slipping past the crowd like a fish in a stream. She caught the attention from others but she didn’t dawdle. No eye contact, no conversation, she glided through the obstacles until she reached a less crowded street. Not wanting to startle her, he kept his distance, following her as she navigated through the passageways. In his zealousness he accidently kicked a pebble in her direction. It rolled past her causing her to turn to challenge him.

“Hey there beautiful,”

“Have you been following me since I left the inn? My answer stands. Besides I have important business that doesn’t require you.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see the pattern with you and your business.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“There’s no need for you to pretend. Someone like you will be socially ruined if you were seen with a poverty-stricken chum like me. I just want to get to know you better. Nothing more, nothing less. I promise. Just let me help you with your ‘important business.’” She thought for a moment, her eyes surveying his face for any trace of deceit.

“Alright, fine.”

“So, where we going?”

“The magic shop owned my Mister Drover. My opal is loose and he’s the only one in this place a Mage can trust with their staff.”

“Whacking a skull as hard as Artie’s would do that to ya,”

“I regret nothing,” she smirked.

A wooden sign creaked on rusty metal hooks above a nondescript door. Engraved in the aged wood was an eight-point star with a sun in the middle. Weather paint clung to the cracks and edges but the vibrancy was long gone. He passed it hundreds of times and always remembered the beating he got when an older kid caught him picking the lock. Mister Drover was a landmark on the corner for generations and folks were adamant he be left alone. There wasn’t a thief in the district that didn’t remember getting scraps from Mister Drover as a kid.

The muscles in his back shuddered as he entered, recalling the kicks he suffered. But he was a foolish kid back then, hungry, and stupid. Now he followed Moira, not as young or hungry, but more foolish. He calculated the prices of the gems behind the counter. He knew little about Mage staffs, but he could appreciate beautiful piece of work when he saw it. Moira ignored the shelves of items, the enchanted scrolls, and the dusty garments hanging on a rack in the corner. Instead, she approached the desk and ran the bell on the counter before turning to him; ensuring he wasn’t stealing anything behind her back. To put her mind at ease, he joined her side as Drover appeared in the doorway from the back room, his short form shuffled to the counter.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry for the hour but is it possible for you to examine my staff, I think the stone is loose.”

“Haven’t heard that in a while, hmm…oak handle, heat and water-resistant polish. This text, the staff is older than I am!” He ran his fingers around the letters engraved in the brass plate at the base of the arch. “They certainly don’t make them like this anymore. Quite impressive Mistress Mage.”

“Can you secure the opal?”

“My dear, I can fix anything.” He smiled disappearing momentarily to fetch his tools. He started his work with her attentive eyes watching his every move. Chris whispered so only she could hear.

“What does he mean by ‘impressive.’”

“That’s no business of yours,” pushing his face from her.

“She’s being modest,” Drover interjected, “an Opal Staff is quite a remarkable thing. While other gems limit a Mage’s magic to one element, an opal allows the owner a chance to master all four elements without modifications. Although, that’s not to say it makes learning magic any easier, it still requires work.”

“What does the jewel have to do with anything?”

“It focuses magic and ensures a safe manipulation.” She continued, “without the gem, magic will be unstable and dangerous to everyone within the vicinity.”

“I’ve seen others with every other kind of staff, but not yours. There isn’t even an opal here.”

“Because it is illegal to sell Opal Staffs,” Drover answered, carving the wood with a little tool.

“The National Council believed Opal Staffs were too powerful for the general population. They destroyed most of them about a hundred years ago and made it illegal to create new ones.”

“Only six remain in circulation, however, the Council bestowed them to their elite members.” Drover corrected brushing a sticky glue substance under the gem.

“And let me guess, they passed the staff on their children and each family member since?”

“More or less, there are a handful of staff unaccounted for.” He finished his work and handed the staff back to her. She thanked him, paying his price and they left.

As he walked her towards the inn she was staying in, he kept thinking of what Sexton told him earlier. He said something about the ring being a weapon unseen for centuries. If he was right then the Opal staffs were destroyed around the same time. Were they related to the same purge?

“So that staff of yours, does it mean you come from some rich and powerful family?”

“Maybe. Or a member of my family happened to steal it, and I am descended of thieves and pretenders.” She’s good. He liked it when they made him work for it.

“What’s the National Council?”

“It is a group of influential Mages elected as elite representatives of the Order, who ensure all Mages obey the Mage Oath of Obedience and Code of Conduct. We usually refer to them as the Imperial Council or just ‘The Council.’” She paused, sniffing the salt air, “this isn’t the way to the inn.”

A head of her, the hustle and bustle of the kingdom faded away, and the narrow road led to the path leading away from the district. The docks stretched before her littering the harbour with boats of all sizes and functions. The horizon was a rich violet with dimming stars awakening from their slumber. But the docks weren’t their destination. He led her to a small dirt road, usually frequent by lovers and dreamers. It curved around the eroded rocks that sheltered the harbour, leading to a dense wooded area.

“I told you, I don’t take no for an answer.” He grinned guiding her to the picnic Julie laid out for them. One day he’ll make it up to her.

Pulling a bottle of wine from the basket he poured her a glass as she listened to the waves splash against the rocks below. It was a romantic place, but he wasn’t after that. He needed insight into a world beyond his scope. And she was his best shot. But she wouldn’t give it up freely. She needed to relax, let down her guard, only then will she tell him what she knows. The waves, the evening sky, and a cool breeze; it was therapeutic.

“Just ask me already.” She mumbled taking a sip.

“What’s your business with Allan?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me how you got the queen’s earrings?”

“Fair play,” he set a few meat pies and figs on a plate. His stomach grumbled chiding him for skipping meals. He grabbed one of Julie’s pies and took a bite; savoring the gravy and spices as he chewed.

“Why am I here Chris?”

“To show you Lollardum isn’t all bad.”

“It isn’t exactly a vacation destination.”

“Especially, for people like you, I mean; your kind isn’t welcomed here. I’ve seen others like you left to die in the alley. Or hung outside the kingdom as a warning to the others.”

“I’ve heard the stories.”

“But here you are. How curious,” he smirked stuffing his face.

“Is that it? I’m some puzzle to you?”

“You may be the greatest puzzle yet, my turtle dove.” She was beautiful in the moonlight; her eyes were stunning when they were on their guard.

“You walk into apparent danger with only a cat and a child. I’ve seen Mages enter with a full guard.” A small smile formed at the corner of her lips, fading in a blink of an eye.

“I know how dangerous it is outside of the Kingdom of Ancients. Most of us hear the stories and choose to remain in hiding. It makes sense to live in places where we are accepted and protected.”

“Your kind are the most powerful beings of the continent. And you are afraid of us? In all honesty, you all should gather your forces and demand vengeance.”

“Some of us will agree with you,” shaking her head in regret, “and it is those who your kind murder in the gutter and hang from trees. You will never fully understand what we are capable of. If you did, you wouldn’t say such things.”

“Your kind has no reason to fear us. Mages possess all the power.”

“Do you know why the Gods created us in the first place?”

“To rule over the Innocents, it’s what I hear the Mages preach in the streets,”

“Those Mages are charlatans,” she said vehemently. “No reasonable Mage would trust them with scripture or their coin. Mages were created to help Innocents communicate with the Gods. We are a tool used to help keep Umara in harmony. We swore an Oath to Zander to protect the Innocent and the vulnerable. Everyday we face a moral dilemma. How do we defend ourselves without breaking our Oath to Our Gods?”

“The ones I’ve met don’t seem to share your moral dilemma.”

“There are always those who want to make a name for themselves. Recent graduates from the Academy tend to feel like they have something to prove and find their way in–so called—troubled areas.” she rolled her eyes, taking another drink.

“Is that what happened before?

“Before?”

“When Drover talked about the Opal Staffs being destroyed. There must have been an event leading up to the decision: to disarm your soldiers.”

“I disapprove of your word choice. But to answer your question: I don’t know.”

“Come on,”

“I’m not being difficult, I swear. The library housing those scrolls caught fire, and a great number of records perished. There’re gaps, somewhere between the creation and popularity of staffs and the Council restricting the Opal. I don’t believe the Opal is any more powerful than the others. But someone felt threatened by them, and in the end that was enough.”

“People in power, often prefer to keep it. Who do think had the most to gain from removing the Opal from production?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think anymore,” taking a longer drink, covering her bitter expression with the goblet. “The Council has made it clear that my opinion isn’t warranted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Chris please, I’ve had enough,” placing her cup on the blanket, “I should leave.”

“I think you should finish what you have to say,” he placed a gentle hand on her arm.

“I shouldn’t talk about it. Especially, with you,”

“Because I’m an untrustworthy thief?”

“No, because you are an Innocent and it’s improper to discuss the downfalls of my Order with an outsider.”

“I guess every club has their own rules,” he pretended the word ‘outsider’ didn’t hurt.

“I hope one day all of this will stop. I hate the ‘us versus them’ mentality. It seems like every day it gets harder to pick a side worth fighting for.”

“Moira wait,”

“Chris!” A voice called from a rattling bush behind them. Chris froze, watching the trembling foliage as he planned their escape. “Julie told me I’ll find you here. I’m not mad about the earrings, Chris?”

“Damn it, why is he here?” Zack emerged from behind a tree; directly in front of Moira. He was dressed in plain clothes with his sword at his hip.

“Why is she here?” He drew his sword. Moira froze, eyeing her staff at her foot.

“I thought you returned to Alexanderia?”

“What are you doing alone with her?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came for answers. The stunt with the earrings was over the top, even for you. Since when you associate with Mages?”

“Forget it, I was just leaving,” she reached for her staff.

“Touch it and I’ll slit your throat.”

“That’s unnecessary!” He had no idea what game Zack was playing but he didn’t like it.

“I don’t trust her.”

“I’ve had enough of this! I’ve tried to be the adult tonight, but you left me no choice.” In a single motion she flicked her foot, catching her weapon mid air, and pointed the head at Zack’s heart. “You want a fight, knight, then let’s fight.”