Chapter 3

Chapter 3 (S1P3)

        “Phineas!” Called a rotund and distinctly unremarkable individual to little effect. “PHINEAS! You slovenly excuse for a hunchbacked centaur!” He called once more to the same effect. “PHINEAS BARTHALOMEW OGLETHORPE your mother was an ogre and you smell like cabbage!”

        “Ah mum, what d'ye be wantin now!?” Replied a particularly ugly and especially small man driving a decidedly unstable cart filled well beyond its capacity.

        “You're late AGAIN!” Shouted the clearly upset man rather agitatedly.

        “Yer not me mudder!” Said a startled Phineas.

        “Yes, I know, but you really are very late and its making me late and I HATE being late,” said the man with a hint of exasperation.

        “I swear I heard me mudder though,” muttered Phineas as he looked around with a hint of paranoia in his eyes.

        “Phineas, I have a great deal to do today and I can't stand that gods forsaken dialect of yours. Please speak to me like a Valerian and offload the shipment.” The man spoke calmly with obvious effort.

        Phineas simply nodded, muttering to himself about “the ole bat wouldn't follow me three and a half thousand leagues … would she ?”. He forcefully shook his head in response to his own question, showing just a hint of paranoia in his eyes. It made quite a comical sight as Phineas had a beard that fell clear down to his toes and it shook rather violently in response to his affirmation. Jax couldn't help but giggle in response to the immensely comical sight. He tried to stifle the fatal chuckle mid breath, but it was too late. He had been discovered. His father turned instantly to stare at the barrel that had transformed from fantastic protection and a wonderful hiding spot into a deadly prison in less than a second flat. However, Instead of the usual colorful tirade his father his father did something immensely worse. He didn't explode, he didn't yell, scream, or throw nearby objects. He did the worst thing imaginable, he didn't get angry. He simply growled a single word, “inside”.

        By now Phineas had wound his unkempt beard around his torso and was in the process of tucking it into his belt.

        “My apologies,” mumbled Beorg to Phineas.

        “What about them?” replied Phineas.

        “Never mind,” grumbled Beorg.

        “Don't mind if I don't then!” the little man howled with laughter, feeling especially clever.

        “Gnomes,” Beorg grumbled under his breath.

        Phineas slowly turned and a dangerous glint entered his eyes like a well banked forge fire, ready to ignite into an inferno at the slightest provocation. Beorg felt the previously chill morning air increase in temperature rather rapidly as beads of sweat started to form in the small of his back. He took an involuntary step backwards as Phineas casually lifted a barrel twice his height and width and casually set it across his shoulder, hefting it like a pillow rather than a twenty stone mass.

        Beorg recoiled in a stumbling shuffle and made a nervous effort to busy himself immediately. Beorg had never particularly cared for the tiny man, but he could do the work of two in half the time and for less than half the price. Even if he was always late, he was willing to make an exception as Beorg's love of punctuality was narrowly superseded by his love of coin. Contemplating the importance of timeliness inevitably brought his mind to his errant knave of a son's similar lack of punctuality, finding the thought of Phineas to be a trifle unnerving. Thankfully, despite the interruption, Garreth was still working away cataloging and checking the new arrivals, whilst Jax was not visible as usual. The boy had an unnatural ability to disappear when wanted and appear when least desirable. The contrast between his sons was so profound he wondered how they came from the same womb.

        Staunch Garreth was everything he could ask for, reliable, trustworthy and a hard worker. He could give Garreth a task and leave him to it for a week without needing to check in on him. Jax on the other hand couldn't be trusted with sweeping the store room without constant supervision. It took more effort to make him work than to do the work itself. The boy was a menace and he desperately wanted to find him an apprenticeship somewhere just to be rid of the hassle of watching him. Unfortunately, despite his obviously cleverness, he seemed determined to apply his keen intellect to circumventing labor rather than increasing the efficiency of said work.

        He had tried apprenticing him out to over twenty different trades and the result was always the same. “Doesn't work”, “causes trouble,” or the worst comment of all was “things seem to have a habit of disappearing when he's around Beorg, I'd keep two eyes on him as one just ain't enough with them nimble fingers of his.” Thankfully the man was a good friend and had kept his sons indiscretions to himself, after Beorg had paid him for his trouble and for several trinkets missing from his wifes jewelry box. He had never found the missing items despite an epic search of the entire house and shop, and Jax had pleadingly expressed innocence. Beorg was quite positive that his son was responsible, much as he wished he wasn't. The trend of items “disappearing” around Jax was occurring far too consistently to be coincidence.

        Beorg simply hung his head, he wanted to love the boy. He truly wanted to teach him his trade and make him useful. He wanted him to have good moral values and listen well. It was as if the boy wasn't even his blood. No, that idea cropped up far too often in his head and he refused to admit his wife would commit such an act. They had been through far too much together for him to even consider the idea of her betrayal. It was unconscionable, though he didn't even look like him. Garreth had his weak chin and sandy hair, his brown eyes and button nose as well as Beorgs' tendency for overindulgence where food was concerned. Jax on the other hand, took after his mother he supposed. Jax was lithe as a whip and had a strong hard chin with high cheek bones and jet black hair. His eyes were the deepest blue, crystalline and piercing. They unnerved Beorg when he looked into them. This tended to result in a number of uncomfortable encounters between them as Beorg desperately wanted to look into his sons eyes and see some good in them. He thought, if only he could find something that the boy enjoys doing, some trade that strikes his fancy, he could put that mind to something useful rather than his constant mischief.

        By now Phineas had finished unloading his bursting cart and strode coldly towards the pensive, muttering Beorg. Phineas interrupted Beorgs grumbles by simply holding out his hand expectantly. Beorg silently handed him a carefully weighed and measured pouch of coins. Phineas wordlessly accepted the payment, slipping the pouch into some hidden pocket in the folds of his grimy tunic without counting them or even pausing the gauge the weight. He never counted his fee and it unnerved Beorg's meticulous nature. He had never cheated the man, but the fact that he didn't count his fee was extremely unsettling. Valenoch was a city of undesirables, a haven for those who weren't wanted elsewhere in the world. No one was foolish enough to commit outright theft under the watch of the city guard, knowing full well the price. However, many would try to short others in business deals by using false coins or “light weight” gold, shaving off bits here and there and selling them in bulk to jewelers was a very lucrative trade in the dark city. Most haulers would first weigh the pouch with their own scales, never trusting a merchants. They would often then bite the coin to assure themselves it bent like gold, rather than resisting and giving off the truth of nickel or tin hidden within.

        Not Phineas though, he had a feeling Phineas would know if the purse was light. Although the odd little fellow was generally and rather disturbingly jovial, he had no desire to see the extent of his patience. It was rare to see him upset and today was perhaps the third time in as many years that that odd fire had arisen in his eyes. The comment about gnomes had clearly set him off, which surprised him as he had always assumed him for a gnome. “If he was a gnome, why would he be upset by being called one?” He thought out loud.

        “Well, maybe he's a dwarf or a man with a bit of goblin in his blood.” Replied Beorg quietly.

        Beorg nodded to his sons surprise intrusion to his thoughts, always a solid fellow his comment was a valid one. But more unsettling wasn't Phineas's parentage, but his strength. Each of those barrels were filled to the brim with flour and weighed well over twenty stone. It took himself and both his sons to drag one a few inches and usually two burly haulers over twice the size of Phineas to actually life the things. To make it even worse he had actually carried them. Haulers usually only lifted them onto a roller, as even two large men had difficulty carrying them the few spans from the cart to the roller. Beorg had always thought agora's a silly thing. Although massive and useful for long term storage, they were extremely cumbersome and difficult to transport. The fact that Phineas had lifted one of the gigantic two span high containers like a quarter keg of ale sent a shiver down his spine.

        Jax chose that moment to attempt his escape from the store room as he heard his father grumbling over the new shipment. Beorg quickly turned his fear and discomfort concerning Phineas upon his impudent sons untimely arrival into his field of vision. There soon followed a number of pointed remarks about “places not to be and times not to be there” punctuated by a multitude of smart slaps across his bottom with a wood soup ladle. This particular ladle was Jax's true nemesis as it always seemed to be handy in times like this. Jax managed to stammer out a semblance of an apology between the steady beatings he was receiving and his father stopped with a sigh of complete exasperation. The familiar sigh seemed slightly more resigned than usual and Jax quirked his head to the side with curiosity, wondering if there was more in his father's exasperation than the usual dissatisfaction with his unruliness.

        “I have too much to deal with today to add you to my list. I want you to take the list off the counter and collect the packages waiting for delivery. Take them to the addresses listed and return immediately. I can't be bothered to watch you today.” Beorg said sullenly.

        Jax barely managed to maintain a meekly bowed head as he grasped the neatly wrapped package from a nearby shelf. He forced himself through sheer will power to silently and slowly exit the shop, showing no signs of excitement. The second he escaped however, he leaped full four farthings in the air, twirling gleefully into a pirouette and gracefully landing with a flourish. His victory celebration was abruptly cut short by his brothers pointed throat clearing. Jax turned, trying abashedly to allow his raven's mane to cover his scarlet cheeks as he stared intently at his shoes.

        “Harrumph, ahem. It is rather difficult to deliver a package without a destination. While I am sure you will deliver the package and return, you might require the destination and receipt. Now, no payment is necessary as this item was paid for upfront. “Please brother, just take it there and come back. Things aren't going so well right now, take this freedom as an opportunity. I know you hate this place, I know this life isn't for you. But maybe if you just take the package and come back father will give you another. I know its not perfect, but if you run deliveries for father you have a sort of freedom. Besides, there's no soup ladles involved in deliveries as I understand.” He said the last with a wicked grin and a wink as he set the list on the package and returned to the shop whilst Jax stood dumbfounded and involuntarily rubbing his soar bottom with his free hand.

        Garreth was a mystery as ever. He rarely spoke, claiming one shouldn't speak unless something really needed to be said. According to Garreth idle conversation wasn't particularly necessary and as such they had never been close. He had never been cruel, distant, boring, but never cruel. That monologue was perhaps the most words Jax had heard from his lips in a month and they had been words of advice. Garreth didn't give advice, if asked what to do he would say, “ask someone with more experience.” This of course was maddening as Garreth was the only person really available with more experience than Jax. He couldn't ask his mother as she would just say, “please, just listen to your father, he loves you.” As such Jax remained blissfully uninformed when in need of advice. This strange burst of affection and advice from his brother was more than he could bare and he sat down on the steps to the shop in stunned amazement.

        This of course reminded him that his backside was still quite sore from his discussion with his father concerning places not to be. With a yelp he leaped into the air, dropping his package as a result. Immediately recognizing the absolute peril of his situation he nearly bent himself in half twisting in mid air to capture the lost package, turning his shoulder to the hard ground and throwing himself into a roll to break the fall. Coughing and spluttering in the dust he grabbed the list of delivery addresses and made his escape before his brother or father came out to see what the commotion was and stripped his new found freedom from him.

        Limping slightly and nursing a severely bruised shoulder he darted into the nearest available alley before his father could revoke his punishment from him. Usually his “dutiful, faithful, trustworthy” (and a host of other often repeated adjectives) brother was trusted with special deliveries. He stopped for a moment and mentally apologies to his brother. Garreth really wasn't a bad sort. He was just so damned good all the time it was impossible to measure up. Even when Jax tried to do things the way his father wanted it was never as good as Garreth. As such Jax had decided a long time ago that he was doomed to be second rate and as such there was a blessing involved. As he was permanently last it didn't matter if he was second to Garreth by a hair's breadth or by a landslide. As a result he had decided if he was going to be second to his brother he might as well enjoy it. This naturally meant that he had stopped trying to cover his tracts and had instead found that it was more important to find an activity that was so much fun that it was worth the punishment afterwards. Following this strategy he had found life far more enjoyable. He got in trouble a little bit more, but he didn't really mind as he had already accepted the possibility of trouble and the severity of punishment involved, calculating the ratio of fun to punishment and finding it acceptable before hand.

        As such he had been dubbed good for nothing by most, but at least he was happy, for the most part anyway. At this particular moment a fantastic realization dawned on him though. His plan had worked! For once, one of his masterful escape plans had worked. Not that his plans didn't usually work, they just tended to get interrupted is all. But not this time! This time he was free! He considered whether he could take credit for the escape as he casually juggled the package above his head, watching it soar over drying laundry stretched between the buildings on either side of the narrow alleyway. It was his plan after all, sort of. He had wanted to get out of the shop and had hid behind the barrel as a method of possible escape. The rest had been a bit of luck, but it had all truly began with his plan. He decided to take credit regardless.

        Whilst basking in self congratulation and juggling happily he considered how best to spend his morning of freedom. The package juggling was starting to tire his arms and it made him realize that this burden would clearly become tiresome during his morning of freedom. He decided to deal with it first and turned down another alleyway pondering where he might deposit it to be free of its weight. He wandered a time and caught sight of the dark river cutting through the great canal on his right and an idea miraculously presented itself. He would take it to his stash and place it there for safe keeping until later. He would deliver at some point or another, when he found the time.

        He wove his way through the familiar alleyways, avoiding the major streets as usual, preferring the shadows as always. He had never been a fan of large crowds, as they were generally smelly and he had long since discovered that his keen sense of smell was far more detrimental than helpful. He could smell sailors at five hundred spans and the thought of coming within a few farthings of a fisherman nearly upset his breakfast. Besides, the bright sun always hurt his eyes and the shadows of the alleyways were much easier to see straight in. After a short time of navigating the maze of Valerian back streets and by ways he came to an access grate a few hundred spans from the burning bridge. He expertly slid a small piece of wire into the rusty old lock, turning it slowly while applying a slight upward pressure until the familiar click notified him of success. He lifted the grate up just enough to allow his slight form to squirm in, ignoring the grit and dirt sliming its way onto his freshly laundered tunic and canvas leggings.

        He followed the old drainage pipe in pitch black, knowing the way by heart and dodging the occasional well known pothole in the small culvert. He continued on, counting his steps and making a turn here and there, rushing past the intermittent overhead drains. It was his favorite game, pretending he was a spy infiltrating the castle. Obviously he had to sprint past the grates as he mustn't be discovered for fear of being tried for espionage. Finally he arrived, panting and smiling at his favorite hideaway. It was a dilapidated cubbyhole caused by a millennium of water eroding away the wall. The entryway was barely two farthings in height and he had to bend double to enter it as always. He preferred it this way, assuming that any counter intelligence agents searching for him would be too tall to see the hidden entryway. Within was his treasure house. The room itself was not large, perhaps three spans in length and half that in width, above him was a small drainage grate that allowed a modicum of light to enter. Thankfully it was usually shadowed by nearby buildings and as such allowed for a tolerably low light environment for his sensitive eyes to view his wealth with. He carelessly tossed the package and receipt to the side and surveyed his glorious pile.

        It was magnificently illuminated by the eerie glow reflected off the bluish black stone of the obsidian walls. He gazed upon his hoard with pride as the soft purplish light glinted beautifully on the pile. It had started as a hobby, borrowing this and that because he liked the way it looked. Then he started “borrowing” just for the fun of it rather than a desire to posses an item. It was the thrill of taking it, the excitement of planning his infiltration and the rush of adrenaline as he actually did the deed. The immense satisfaction of escaping unscathed and placing said item within his hoard deep beneath the city, well, a few spans under it anyway. It was not long before he was caught of course. Those first few beatings were extremely valuable learning experiences however. He was now much more cautious, always planning each heist to the letter, practicing escape routes and considering possible predicaments that could arise during the execution of said task.

        He took a last longing look at his heap of bobbles and assorted rubbish and found his way back to the streets again. He emerged under the southern bridge, shielding his eyes from the blinding light cast by the noonday sun. The reflection off the massive brass monstrosity certainly didn't help. Everyone thought the damned thing so pretty, so well made and beautiful. To him it was an eyesore, quite literally, he could only stand looking at it in moonlight as normal sunlight just burned his eyes when it reflected off the thing. With his head down he ran beneath the bridge, eyes firmly pointed earthward sprinted up to a spot just past the bridge where the canal wall was slightly lower and cracked in a few plays, presumably a result of the river freezing in the winter and thawing in the spring. At least thats what his father told him when he asked how the walls might crack.

        With unnatural grace he nimbly vaulted two spans and placed his foot in the familiar crack, using it as a spring board to launch him the remaining span over the canal wall and into the street. He landed with his usual poise, slipping slightly and rolling forward, only just barely catching himself before getting mauled by a large coach. His spectacular leap was heralded by the usual curses and angry mutterings rather than the applause it truly deserved. He understood they were simply too uncultured to appreciate his amazing abilities is all. He quickly darted into a nearby alleyway, escaping the heavy noonday sun into the succor of the shadows.

        He began his freedom by testing his willpower, he hated that damned bridge, but he loved the other side. On the eastern side of the burning bridge lay his favorite market of all, the weapons market. Conveniently located adjacent to the smithing quarter, every possible instrument of destruction could be found here. Jax didn't actually have any money, but his window shopping was quite well known in the area. The merchants tolerated him so long as he didn't touch anything. He had learned the hard way once, weapons were sharp. He spent hours pouring over the scimitars, rapiers, and even saw a few of the rarer katana's from the deep south. The knives interested him far more, he preferred the ceremonial ones though. They were so much prettier. Most of the weapons here weren't for show however. This was the real weapons market. The type of gold hilted gem studded trinkets that nobles bought weren't really sold here. This was a place of business, not luxury. They sold death and they knew it. Jax felt strangely at home here. He had even considered working with weapons as a trade, but he knew it was the one place his father wouldn't allow him to go. His family was unreasonably pacifistic and his father especially had a hatred of weapons of all sorts that ran deeper than any attribute associated with his father he could think of.

        Jax wondered if his father's hatred of weapons had something to do with his fascination with them. He had learned that anything forbidden seemed irresistibly interesting to him. As a result he was never quite sure whether he loved something, or simply loved the idea of it. The allure of the forbidden his mother called it when he tried to explain his logic to her once. She had simply said that he would eventually learn that things were forbidden for a reason and it was usually a good one. He certainly understood the sharp aspect of weapons being dangerous, but if they had told him they were so sharp he wouldn't have touched them. Well, he probably wouldn't have anyway, he conceded with a self-effacing shrug.

        He meandered into the more exotic knives and examined the katars absentmindedly. They seemed more pie cutters than weapons to him and didn't really hold his interest very long, not that much did. He had long since accepted his ephemeral shifts in thought as something he couldn't change or anticipate. Now the Sa'Lan, that was a weapon. Supposedly, the legendary spies of Qu'Lat used them for high profile assassinations. At least thats what the sword smith's apprentice next door had told him. He had been his first real friend and a true treasure until he told his little sister a story about an assassination with a Qu'Lat in it. His father generally ignored the fairy tales he spun for his five year old sister, but this one suddenly had his full attention at the mention of a Qu'Lat. He had promptly beaten him without reason before asking him where he had heard of a Sa'Lan or Qu'Lat. When he had told them about the new boy next door he was instantly forbidden from ever speaking to him again.

        Normally he would have completely ignored it and continued to see the boy, but his father had spoken to the neighbors and told them that Jax had the pox and that they shouldn't let their son near him if they knew what was best for themselves. Obviously they had just fallen off the turnip cart or they would have known Valerians were completely immune to disease so long as they honored the pact. Unfortunately for Jax they thought the pact was only a superstition and that magic was imaginary. Obviously they hadn't been in Valenoch very long. Most people lived their entire lives in the city without seeing any magic, those unlucky enough to bring enough attention to warrant magic being used generally regretted it. Especially since most magic the common folk saw was when some poor fool broke a law and magic was used in their apprehension and generally involved a great deal of kicking, screaming, and wailing followed by a rather profound silence. As such there really wasn't much crime in the city.

        Remembering the sword smith and his young son had a rather depressing sobering effect on Jax. He decided he needed a boost to his morale. Naturally he sauntered over to the food market to smell the sweets. He meandered down fleet street allowing his overly keen sense of smell to be put to use in a more useful way than avoiding fishmongers. The smell of fresh baked pies reached his nose first, quickly followed by various breads. He played one of his favorite games as he wandered through the alleys surrounding fleet street. Jax tried to separate the smells from each other. He could tell at least three different breads at first, rye, wheat, and sourdough were the strongest by far. There was another he couldn't quite recognize until he thought for a moment. Ah, it was the holy month of the southerners bizarre religion. He recalled his mother teaching him about the various religious of the south and that many would bake “friendship bread” to give to their neighbors during the month of Avri. He had never tasted it, but it certainly had a distinctive scent. He imaged it would be sweet and salty at the same time. Although he could be mixing up the scents, he wasn't entirely sure at the moment. He wondered if there was a job for someone with a really good sniffer. He could definitely do that job, so long as he got to eat what he sniffed after that is.

        At last he picked out the scent he loved most of all, pie. Rhubarb, apple, raspberry, strawberry, even a hint of marionberry reached him. Fruit was exorbitantly expensive in Valenoch unfortunately and as such he could never actually afford pie. On special occasions his mother would splurge and bake one, much to the rage of his father and chagrin of Jax. She always said, “Beorg, life is meant to be lived, not mourned.” To which his father would silently and sullenly eat his slice, grumbling and muttering vehemently. Jax simply assumed his father didn't like pie. The idea was difficult to accept at first, but so was the idea that anyone could win an argument with his father. It had taken him a good five of his twelve years to understand that his mother always won against his father. She just didn't celebrate or admit victory, instead she quietly persuaded him rather than brow beating her points. Jax decided that he really needed to ask her how she did that. Maybe it could be of use the next time he got in trouble.

        Speaking of trouble, he stopped dead as he caught the scent of the best of the best. Honey, chocolate, raspberry, strawberry, and something creamy caught the undivided attention of all his sniffing faculties. He accepted at that particular moment that his life would not be complete without the consumption of whatever that was. He pondered the wiseness of this particular decision for a spare two or three seconds and began sauntering like a king down fleet street towards the tantalizing treat. With careful precision he identified his objective and made a preliminary pass of the vendor. It was a difficult shop, set into the building with a small stall outside the bakery and trays filled with steaming delight waiting for him. It appeared they were preparing a delivery as something with so many delicacies couldn't be for sale on the street. Most chance passers by could afford something like that. Someone must be celebrating something special today. Jax decided he would celebrate with them.

        He continued walking past the shop and found a nearby alley, looping back through the back streets until he found a good vantage point to view his prospective celebratory feast. A fantastic distraction arrived in the form of a young princeling and his entourage sauntering past examining the various treats. The baker allowed greed to overcome prudence and rushed out to greet the prospective customer professing the glory of his baked goods. Jax took that particular opportunity to dash forward and snatch his steaming prize. He then deftly disappeared into the alley amidst cries of surprise from the army of retainers flanking the princeling. This was closely followed by the angry shouts of the baker. Jax pondered possibly improving his technique for next time, as snatch and grab seemed awfully crude. He was definitely effective though!

        He spent the next five minutes putting as much distance as possible between himself and fleet street. After five minutes of dashing down this alley and that he decided any pursuit was dealt with and sat upon a nearby rain barrel to enjoy the goodness of his savory treat.

        His victory was short lived however. He finished his meal and began his journey back to his hideaway to commence his much delayed delivery. Unfortunately the moment he entered the main road a heavily mailed black fist descended upon his shoulder and unceremoniously half dragged him to his fathers shop. His brother looked up from his sweeping only long enough to shake his head. His father simply hung his head in shame and asked, “what has he done now?”

        “Nothing too serious, pie filching, I took care of it.” Said his mailed captor.

        “Oh, um, thank you for your discretion guardsmen.” Said Beorg with obvious shock, clearly searching for words.

        “Sergeant.” He replied curtly whilst promptly discarding Jax into his fathers custody and leaving as abruptly as he had come.

        “Flame and fury, by the gods boy, what in the Raven's name have you done?” His father said with astonishment screaming in his voice. Jax was too stunned to respond, it was the first time he had ever heard his father curse and the shock was a bit too much for him at the moment.

        “First you don't make your delivery, then I find out you took the wrong package and an extremely expensive one at that! Then a RavenGuard drags you home and says he caught you filching pies! Why in the seven spheres a RavenGuard is catching petty thieves I don't know, but then to find out he is a sergeant! And he took care of it?! Sky and star burn me now boy! What could you have possibly done to warrant the attention of THEM! Even worse, what could you have possibly done after so that he not only DOESN'T punish you, he instead walks you up to my door and says he took care of it. BELAEL! What did you promise him? What could you possibly give him?” His father said, changing between creative curses that even Jax had never heard and berating him intermittently.

        Jax stuttered, trying desperately to comprehend what his father was saying, remember those fantastic curses, and fabricate a suitable lie to explain this most colossal of predicaments that he had somehow found himself in. He spared a moment to ponder what was in that package that was not only wrong, but expensive also. His response was never allowed to come as the moment he began to speak his stutter was cut off by a low grating voice that didn't even remotely sound like his father.

        “No, I don't care, I need to close up here. Go home. I will deal with you tonight.”

        For the first time in a very long time, Jax was genuinely frightened. His father had not yelled, shouted or screamed in his general direction. Instead he had cursed. He had cursed! The incredibility of it still hadn't sunk in. His moral mountain of a father had cursed! What on earth could stealing a pie have to do with the RavenGuard? They were supposed to be Valmora's personal guard. Then again they were also supposed to be ten feet tall and shatter stone with a glare. His captor had seemed normal enough, from what he could see as he was dragged home. His armor had been fantastic though! He wished he could have a better look at it. It shimmered so wonderfully, not the eye wrenching shimmering of the citadel or the blinding pain of the burning bridge. No, this was poetry in motion, it seemed to caress the light rather than bend it or break it. The air shimmered around it, as if the light was melting in its presence. He looked up from his musing to see his approaching house and his thoughts were wrenched back towards the problem at hand.

        It was a big one this time. Beorg had been calm, calm was bad, calm meant bad things. He hadn't raised his voice, he hadn't vented, his father was like a steam machine, if it didn't vent it would explode. He preferred venting by far, he would handle him the ladle the moment he arrived tonight. He would line up various inexpensive objects for Beorg to throw so that he wouldn't be angry after breaking something expensive at Jax's expense. This calmness was unnerving and he didn't like it. He was really craving some yelling and screaming now, yes, Beorg would come home and yell and scream and everything would be fine.

        “What are you doing home so early?” Jax's mother's soft voice startled him and he jumped at the sound.

        “I, um, I well, I was just a little ..” Jax stuttered searching for words.

        “Again Jax? Why can't you just mind him? Is it so difficult? To carry a parcel or sweep a shop? Does he really ask such terrible things from you? I have seen children forced into far worse work. Would you like to work in the mines? Would you like to clean chimneys? There are far worse things in this world and many people who would gladly take your life from you to make a few coins. Thousands of children would gladly take your place and do all he asks of you and more in exchange for a full belly. Oh you silly spoiled child, I pray you never realize how evil and cruel the world truly is. If you only knew how lucky you are.” His mother was in full blown nag mode and he knew it. He resolved to bear it rather than attempt his usual escape. Luckily his sacrifice was short lived as his mothers rant was cut short by a miniature whirlwind of energy screaming into Jax with the exuberance only a five year old possesses.

        “Jax!” She squealed with delight, tackling him with a limitless display of enthusiasm.

        His mother simply grumbled, “just like his father” and returned to her sweeping. Jax was soon coaxed into a fantastical account of his days adventures. Teia's breath hung on his every word as he recounted all the trials and tribulations of his day with a few minor embellishments added here and there solely for the benefit of theatricality. Utterly spellbound she asked her usual torrent of questions to which he gladly fabricated fantastical explanations of gremlins, goblins and the occasional appearance of an ogre or two in the city streets which he was promptly compelled to vanquish. The story soon digressed into tales of dragons and daemons. His mother seemed indifferent until dragons were mentioned at which point she seemed to take an interest. Just as quickly she scoffed, “enough, stop filling her head with nonsense.” She said it half heartedly, almost with a sense of longing.

        “Aw, mum, jax tells the best stories! He was just telling me bout how he road a dragon through Qu'Lat to rescue the fire witch princess from the evil RavenGuard!” Teia Rambled in a single breath, preparing for another expostulation of the virtue of Jax's story telling prowess.

        “He is also the best at getting in trouble!” She replied, cutting off her excitable daughter.

        Jax gave his mother a roguish grin, bowing dramatically and thanking her profusely.         “Oh mum, I don't know if I'm the best. I mean, I am good and all, but the best? Surely someone is better than me! I do strive to achieve greatness, but I think I have a lot of practice ahead of me before I am the best!” he replied, giving his sister an exaggerated wink.

        His mother threw her hands up in mock exasperation and crushed him and his sister an a monstrous hug that forced a mouse like squeak from Jax. Jax and his sister struggled unsuccessfully to escape until she finally released them, quickly turning away with a sniffle and wiping a tear away.

        It was at that precise moment that Beorg entered the house like a thunderhead and uttered a single word in an icy calm voice, “Bed.” Jax wordlessly went to the children's shared room and resigned himself to starving to death in glorious martyrdom. His death was narrowly prevented by his mothers timely intervention in the form of a loaf of bread smuggled to him during his fathers nightly extended exodus to the latrine.

        With a full belly Jax slipped into an uneasy and restless sleep filled with vengeful dragons and angry daemons. Strangely featured in all of them however was his mother. She always appeared at the last possible moment, flaming hair splayed behind her and massive wings of fire illuminating her as she banished his tormentors time and again.