 
# Without Magic

Tye Tivillus

Published by Tye Tivillus at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Tye Tivillus

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# Chapter 1: The Gutter

Coated in a second skin of perspiration, Bo slithered quickly through the crowded marketplace. The lithe teenager earned more than one distrustful glance as he brushed past burly strangers, and snaked his way hurriedly towards a dark, narrow alleyway, out of the crush. The air was thick with the acrid smoke rising from a number of food stalls, each sporting their own spitted animal carcass on slowly turning rotisseries. Hawkers clamoured for attention, and potential customers shoved and elbowed each other in the constant struggle for space.

Bo squatted a short distance into the alleyway, his breathing ragged and a vein anxiously throbbing in his neck as he strained to listen for pursuit. He sheltered the stolen bread in his lap, guiltily glancing around him to make sure he was alone. The dark skinned teen couldn't hear any angry cries or heavy pounding footsteps, but his muscles remained tense, as though he was on the edge of flight. Truth be told, he hadn't been chased, and no one had seen his crime, but this was Bo's first theft, and not only did he fear being caught, he felt his guilt was obvious to all who looked at him, like a vivid tattoo on his face. He half expected to be snatched up by the calloused hand of an angry stall owner the moment he stepped out of cover.

Just beyond the entrance to the alleyway the market carried on, oblivious to the boy's wrong doing. There were so many stalls and carts that they had spilled out from the main marketplace and into the cobbled streets beyond. Only those who had not come early enough, or didn't earn enough coin to bribe the guards were forced into the mucky streets of the lower city. There would be no protection from vandals and thieves for them, and many of them were forced to do their own guarding – usually with a large knife or whipstick.

The markets were usually busy, but once a month, when the slave traders auctioned off their wares, the marketplace became an ant nest of activity, with special spices and foreign goods from sea traders making their way into the large town. Most of Middlefortress did not like to remember that they dealt in human lives, although almost every house of the upper city had at least one slave. The Gutter, as the lower city was cheerfully nicknamed, thrived on the slave trade – it brought business to the badly cobbled streets, and unwanted children could always be sold for a tidy sum, perhaps enough to survive a winter.

Although the slave arena was one that was generally full of resigned misery, most of the denizens of The Gutter considered market time a good opportunity to gape and gawp at those less fortunate than themselves. Bo himself had just been to see the auction of this month's prized curiosities; a small group of strange children from the desert, with feline features, furry, pointed ears, and long sleek cat tails, that had been auctioned off, apparently having been found roaming wild in their natural habitat. They made strange mewling noises as they were sold, and there had been much speculation as to whether they were talking in a foreign tongue, or merely making noises like a dumb beast. Other than the occasional curiosity such as cat people, the slave market was always colourful, at the least, with constant trading well into the night. Many of the slaves were kept according to colouration, separating pure breeds of one nationality from the others, and from the 'mongrels'. It always reminded Bo of the stalls that sold geese, chicken, and quail, with the young separated from the older, egg-ready fowl, and the different breeds all clearly marked.

More importantly for Bo, however, it was a place (the only place in The Gutter) that was constantly attended by guards – so that if he ever found himself in danger, he could scamper over to the slave markets where violence and unrest were not tolerated. If asked, Bo would say he felt bad for the slaves, but in truth it was only in the way that everyone did – thanking the gods that it wasn't them, whenever they remembered there was the chance it might have been. Otherwise the monthly markets were a fact of life, and not even the most unpleasant aspect of The Gutter.

Bo's large hands tore away a small chunk of bread, and absent mindedly he began to crumble it between his fingers. It was stale, and that was being kind about it – to be more honest it was like a brick, and often people joked that they could build houses out of the stuff. Like as not, however, it was a common fare. The teen sighed and stood, more to relieve his now aching calf muscles, than to make ready to leave cover. Tomorrow he would be 16, and legally a man. It meant he would be free to drink, gamble, and indulge in other similarly dubious activities. Of course the people of the lower city were free to indulge in these things from whatever age it was that they were let to play on the streets. It was called The Gutter for a good reason – physically it circled the upper city, like a moat circles a castle, forming the lowest point of Middlefortress, and the first, expendable, line of defence should the city come under attack. More importantly, however, the bad elements of society always trickled down from the upper city into the squalid little streets. Most of the inhabitants were mean, miserly folk who had been taught to look out only for themselves, and gladly did so.

From somewhere just beyond the alleyway there was the shout Bo had been waiting for, crying 'thief, thief!' The thin teen froze, he knew that he wouldn't be hidden, standing just inside the entrance to the alleyway, and he shrank back into the shadows, swiftly moving the bread behind his back. A man's grizzled face ducked into view. It was someone that Bo vaguely recognised, but didn't know the name of. The man glanced at Bo, who appeared only as a silhouette in the dark.

'Hey you, step into the light, kid.' Quivering slightly, the teen did as he was told, although all his senses told him to flee – to try and climb the sheer brick walls around him. As soon as the man saw who he was talking to, his face softened in disappointment. 'Oh it's you. Well have you seen a little girl, this tall, red short hair and freckles? Little bitch stole my lunch. I'll have her fingers, you see if I don't.' Numbly Bo shook his head. With a sigh, the grizzled man continued his search. Clearly Bo had been recognised. He was well enough known around The Gutter for the fact that he had never been involved in any thieving activities in his youth, or at least he had never been caught at it. He was also a reliable messenger, and one of the only children that could read or write. This made some folk suspicious and other folk amused, but either way everyone who mattered in his small world seemed to know his face and the reputation that went with it.

Bo wasn't stupid, for all that he never stole – he'd been raised on the streets like everyone else, and his fingers were as fleet as any other child who lived to see his age. The only difference was that he had met up with a mage early on in life. There weren't many mages in The Gutter. Although magic, like literacy, could be taught to anyone, it was also like literacy in that those of the upper city wanted to keep it to themselves. Anyone who was trained as a mage - in anything more than the lowest ranks of the profession - were given jobs in the upper city in an attempt to keep them out of The Gutter, and to preserve the esoteric knowledge of the art. They weren't paid awfully well, and there were never many chances for promotion, but it was a decent enough way to live, and it kept a person from having to deal with the scum of the lower city. Any mages that came to rest in The Gutter were either too inept to be of any real use, fraudsters who were quickly caught and punished, bad sorts who had criminal dealings, or reclusive hermits who were there of their own, possibly dubious business.

The mage Bo had run into as a child was very old, and very stern. Although he lived in a hovel, barely a hole in the ground, he had insisted on manners, the like of which were only for those of a noble station. Everyone said he had fried his brain long ago with magics, and it was true enough that he never performed any magic while Bo had been there to see him. Never the less, Bo had taken a liking to the old man, because he was forever telling stories about his glory days, especially when Bo brought him food, or strong drink. Bo's family indulged their son, because they hoped the old man would teach him magic, and then they would be (as the lad's father said) swimming in gold, silver and jewels. The self professed mage had tried very hard to teach Bo, but after a while they both had to admit that the dark skinned boy had no natural talent, and indeed no talent at all. The old man had groused, saying that the boy had to be trying to be obtuse, to be so dismal a failure. Disgraced and dismayed, Bo had quickly given up, and instead listened to nothing but stories of chivalry and honour, filling his head with dreams of adventure and a wholesome, meaningful life outside The Gutter. As soon as he was old enough, he planned to set out on his journey, leaving his family behind, and hoping for a better future, and maybe a damsel in distress or two. It was something that he often dreamed about, that sometimes even managed to dispel the gloom of the lower city for a few precious minutes.

His family claimed their son's mind had been warped by the old man, because he would not steal, and he spoke of things such as loyalty to friends and family. To be fair to them, Bo's parents had more practical experience of the streets between them than any palace scholar had experience of hot dinners, and had a number of reasonable arguments for why Bo should not embrace chivalry quite so firmly. Without being able to betray his family and friends at a moments notice, and without expecting such betrayal, it was almost certain that Bo would never survive the harsh reality of the world he lived in (and more importantly that he would never earn the family any money). They suspected that the child they had put so much effort and money into feeding and keeping alive was lost to them, and would flee as soon as he was of an age where he could start paying back what he owed. Bo, however, had continued his talks with the old mage, learning more about the finer attributes of mankind, of philosophy, and a few precious letters (enough to read and write short notes of unreliable quality). Teaching Bo his letters though was a crime even more diabolical than teaching the boy manners, though, claimed Bo's father. It would give the boy high ideas about himself and his position in life, and encourage the boy to move away from home, where he had duties to his family to fulfil. More recently the teen had heard his parents discussing the possibility of killing the mage before the old coot could do any more damage to their son's potential earning power. The two had been deliberately loud to make sure he'd heard them, Bo was sure. It was this that had prompted Bo to commit his first real act of thievery.

A few of Bo's brothers and sisters appeared at the entrance to the alleyway. They were younger than him – the youngest four, who all seemed to work well as a gang, much to their parents delight. They were laughing fit to burst, with eyes that streamed tears.

'That watcha stole Bo? Here we thought ye'd actually snag sommat useful.' Bo grabbed his brother's head and shoved the loaf of bread into his flapping mouth,

'Why doncha shut yer big fat mouth Rob?' He grumbled. His pride had been stained – not only had he committed a crime, but it wasn't even one worth cowering over, and his siblings had seen it all. Despite his scorn, Rob took a bite out of the bread and gave it to the smallest of the bunch, before hurrying to catch up with his oldest brother.

'Imma sorry Bo. It's gotta be hard when yer like to a gradpa and yeh haven't even stole a crumb. There's some as say yer a worthless layabout but I tells em right about about it agin.' He smiled roguishly, showing off a number of missing teeth. Bo couldn't determine if it was because his brother was loosing baby teeth or because he'd been in too many fights already. It might have been both. Bo knew his family thought him a dolt, but he could spot the insincerity a mile off. He sighed, Rob wouldn't leave him be until he'd given his two cents worth.

'Ok waddya want. I baint some dumb ass to stand by while ye swipe the hair of my tail, so spit out whatever puke you got swillen around in that head of yours.' Rob put on a hurt expression, trying to soften his brother up.

'Don't go stonnin the messanger, like. Ma an da wanna see you, said it was something 'bout yer birthday tommorah.' Rob's countenance showed nothing but innocence. He was a good actor. Bo didn't know what he'd done now but he'd wager a pot of gold that it wasn't something good. He looked around at his other siblings. They were all at least a foot shorter than him and they were all wearing curiously blank expressions. One of his sisters piped up,

'Can we has yer bed when they flog yez te --' hurriedly she was kicked and let out squeak of pain. Turning on his heel Bo stalked down the street towards his house. Whatever was the matter, it would be best to have it over and done with.

The house was large but not any larger than the neighbours, or their neighbours; it was just the floor above a small shop that sold herbs and balms. As he passed the shop, the mistress there gave him a long silent look and turned away. Bo frowned – she had never been cold like that before, he'd even run errands for her at times. Leaving that as a mystery for later, the small teen climbed the rickety stairs to his home, and quietly opened the door. Despite his apparent nonchalance, Bo's neck prickled. Before he could say anything, a heavily armoured hand reached out of the door and dragged him inside. Bo's immediate thoughts were that he'd been caught stealing, and now he was going to have his hand chopped off and his parents forced to pay a fine. Panic bubbled up in his stomach and he tried to pull away from the grasp that held him so firmly, looking up fearfully into the eyes of some old, haggard guard.

'12 copper and 2 silver at the least!' he heard his father growl. Swallowing his fear, Bo turned to look at his parents as the rest of his siblings crept in, eager to see the show, even if it meant a beating later from their mother.

'Fer this skinny lad?' Asked the man, still holding Bo. He shook the teen by his bony shoulder as if to declare him fragile.

'Hah! if you'd see the way he eats yeh would know that wasnnae cos he's starvin-' the husband kicked his wife to silence her, and she realised her mistake. 'Not that he has ter eat so much, we just spoil 'im, right boy?' She addressed her question to Bo, but the guards weren't interested. Bo had gone numb as he quickly realised what was going on. They were selling him to slave traders.

'Wait, but tomorrow I'm 16! Yeh can't sell me, I'm right near the being a man.' His father strode over and slapped his son across the face.

'Shut up yeh ungrateful welp, I kin sell yeh all I want till the clock strikes midnight, as whats the law says, and you know et, so shut yer yap and make sure they find ye good enou ter pay the money me an yer ma put inter yeh.' Turning back to business and leaving his son in shocked dismay, the man quickly settled for 2 copper and 2 silver, which was more than double the going price for a boy of Bo's age and build. Bo tried to argue, saying that he would easily find a job and pay back the money his parents had spent on him over the years, but it was clear they had already decided he was unreliable. One of the guards clapped a hand over Bo's mouth to stifle the yelling, causing his younger siblings to giggle mischievously at the show. Seeing that he was getting nowhere, the teen quickly sank into a horrified stupor. His parents had often threatened to sell him, but he'd never thought them serious.

Bo struggled to snap out of his frozen horror; he only needed to escape until midnight, when he would be an adult and his father could not legitimately sell him. Moving quickly, he kicked back at his captor, sliding his foot down their shin to tread on the arch of their foot. It did next to nothing, with Bo being light and bare footed, while the guard was heavily armoured. The teen continued his escape attempt, wriggling and squirming out of the shirt that was clasped tightly in his captor's hand, but the other guard was at this time alerted, and together they subdued their charge.

'Well, he certainly has some kick to him!' grunted one of the men, in good humour as he tied Bo's hands behind his back with a length of leather cord. Bo was gasping for breath by the time he was hauled back to his feet, having been thumped in the stomach several times during the struggle. The deal was carried out quickly, as Bo's parents were keen to pocket the coin before the boy could break free from his bonds, and the slavers were keen to move their charge down to the cart they'd parked nearby, from which there was no escaping. The guards cheerfully clapped a meaty hand over the teen's mouth once again, and picked him up bodily to take him downstairs. It was difficult, because Bo struggled at every step of the way, catching at doorways with his feet and legs, and generally making a nuisance of himself. He caught a glance of the woman shopkeeper who worked below his house watching and shaking her head as he was dragged away.

He was thrown unceremoniously into the back of a cart, and the doors were slammed and locked before he could get to his feet. The guards were not well pleased with the performance, and he could hear them discussing whether they should go back and ask for some sort of a refund. Bo spat on the dusty floor of the cart. He hoped they took every coin in his family's possession for what had been done to him. He was barely able to believe that his parents had sold him the day before his birthday. All of his dreams of a better life, and of adventuring abroad were quickly shattered, as he sat in the small, dark, cramped cart feeling confused, and betrayed.

# Chapter 2: A New Life

Bo spent a long time in the back of the cart. It was dim, and someone at some time had pissed on the floor, leaving it damp and smelly. Twice they stopped to take on new passengers. One or two of the other children were crying, mostly silently, while the rest huddled sullenly. Bo thought he recognised one or two faces from the market streets, but there were so many children around that soon one face melded into the next. Much like the regular people found in The Gutter, those around Bo were a mixture of many different races. Here was a white child, probably a native of the city, there was a child with skin and hair as black as coal, most likely from across the seas. Many, like Bo, were different shades in between white and black – mongrels, as they were called. Bo himself was darker than most when it came to skin tone, but it meant little where he lived.

One of the girls looked grimly cheerful. She caught and held Bo's green gaze with her own. Her hair was dark, and her skin was an olive brown. She had no special features to speak of. Still mute with anger, and horror, all Bo did was to stare at her until she finally spoke up.

'Don't glare at me, I'm not the one as took you.'

'Where are we going?' asked another boy shrilly. He was one of the ones who'd been quietly sobbing. The girl snapped an answer at him, clearly irritated by his lack of a backbone.

'We're going to the castle, in the upper city. Be glad it's not the slavers market, 'cos you wouldn't last long, blubbing like that.' When asked how she knew so much, the girl smiled smugly, explaining that she was already 17 and had sold herself into slavery. After that, no one wanted to speak to her. It was clear she was the only person who was there by choice. Everyone else who spoke identified themselves as being within the ages of 14 and 16. It was odd to see such a collection of older children, and odder still that they had been bought directly by the castle. Usually it bought slaves from the markets, like everyone else. The most common slaves purchased were young ones from the age of 5 to 8, when they could still be trained and moulded for the life of a slave. Any younger and it was a chore bringing them up, any older and it was likely that they would attempt to escape, and would never fully take to the position, becoming easily depressed and on occasion suicidal. Never-the-less, older slaves had their uses, Bo reminded himself with a shudder. They could be turned into eunuchs and prostitutes, or served as some instant muscle if there was need of low ranking guards, gladiators, or stable hands. Being bought by the crown, however, was a mystery; surely they wouldn't be after eunuchs, which were kept by the temples and houses of pleasure in most cases, while prostitutes were more usually bought by private wealthy folk. Bo didn't think many of the children in the cart would survive as entertainment brawlers, as they (like him) had almost zero muscle bulk. In all he could hardly imagine a reason for the castle to be quite so desperate that they would need to buy their slaves directly from the townsfolk.

After the last slave had been gathered, it took a total of two hours hunched in dark, close quarters with a group of strangers, to get to the castle. The cart rumbled over a lowered drawbridge, to the accompaniment of bellows from the guards. Bo had been half dozing, having drifted off staring at the wall from two inches away. After another half hour of stopping and starting, with the anxiety levels of the prisoners rising slowly, there was a crack of daylight let in from the doors. Most of the teens had to shield their eyes from the glare, after being cooped up in the dark, and one after another they were hauled out into a yard. Blinking sheepishly in the sunlight, they were met by a large burly looking man. He sported a monocle, and a long thin stick that he flexed between two hands, as though desperately wishing to whip someone with it. He had a marvellous moustache that he seemed to have taken great pride in, as it was firmly waxed into position, without even one stray hair sprouting from it, almost as if the entire thing had been drawn on.

Bo was trying to blink away the dots in his vision and stretch his aching shoulders. His hands were still firmly fixed behind his back, as were a number of other teens. They were ushered into a single group, labelled 'troublemakers'.

'Alright my little scumbuckets!' bellowed the man with the monocle, 'Doncha move unless ordered to, or my men will play target practice with yer bodies, and I tell you now that they don't need the practice.' A handful of guards grinned ghoulishly at one another, each holding a strung bow in one hand, and an arrow in the other with the sort of casual stance achieved only by those who are well practised in their discipline. 'Yer a part of the castle now, so we gotta getcher fitted out proper, like. Yeh'll be given slave collars, courtesy of the crown, and a set of clothes, watcha WILL wear fer two days and then change from the clean laundry bucket, 'cept in special cases. None of you lot have been taught what to do and what not ter do in front of royalty and the like, so none of yer will be allowed into the main castle, and you will be punished if we find you there. Can't have yer pissing in the corner and whatnot, it'd make the ladies die of fright ter see you common roachers.' Again the guards shared grins, until the man with the monocle turned to face them. They quickly wiped the smirks from their faces, once again 'all business'.

The monocled man, later introduced as 'Master Sir' to the new slaves, watched as small groups were taken to be stripped, washed, shaved, showered in anti-flea and lice powder, and then clothed in simple servant garb. Each part of the process was set up in an area that was off to the side of the castle's main courtyard, near a servant entrance. The ground felt rough and rocky to Bo's unshod feet, and he was mortified to see more than one idle servant or slave spectating with a group of friends as The Gutter children were initiated into service.

Bo and the other troublemakers were to go through the ordeal first, and they were escorted by a number of bowmen who seemed eager to test their skills on a moving target.

'I reckon the little un's gunna run first. Give yer a sliver if 'e does, and three ronzies on the little lady.' Shuddering with apprehension at the thought of what would happen should he run, Bo shuffled miserably towards the hoses. The gravel underfoot grated at his feet and the sun shone dimly overhead, hardly strong enough to warm his back. Reaching a hastily built wooden platform, two of the guards set about cutting the clothes from each new slave, and tossing them on a nearby bonfire. Bo remained stoically silent as the large powerful hand of a guard clapped down on his shoulder, holding him steady while his clothes were destroyed. The chill Autumn air quickly brought up goosebumps on Bo's exposed flesh and the teen slumped even more as he was led onto the wooden stage with three or four others. It was already wet underfoot, and dangerously slippery in places. The cart Bo and his group had come in on was the last of the day, and it was clear there had been quite a stream of incoming slaves that had gone before them. Bo turned to face the front as he was ordered, only to be blasted with high power water. One of the other smaller boys slipped and fell. He wasn't able to get up again without assistance. The water used to wash down the slaves was cold, causing Bo to gasp and receive a mouthful of the stuff. As Bo choked and spluttered, momentarily distracted from the terrible cold, he noticed that the water was being blasted from a hose, powered by a mage. To him this seemed an excessively wasteful use of magic, and it was something of a shock that the castle could spare a mage simply to wash down a couple of urchins.

Somehow there were a number of servant girls who had managed to get the job of roughly scrubbing all new initiatives, and they tittered and giggled no end to see all of the naked boys. One or two of the troublemakers were keeping up a false bravado that Bo envied. One even winked at the girls who were scrubbing him down, making them blush and titter even more. Bo would have liked to hide his dignity, as he did not wish to be quite so intimate with the many strangers who were gawping and gaping at the spectacle, but he, and the rest of the troublemakers, remained bound throughout the ordeal as a form of protection to those who had to deal with them. The teen tried not to look at the crowd that had formed, favouring keeping his eyes on his own two feet. Unlike many of those around him, Bo did not particularly like to have girls washing him down, and he wished more than ever that he had his hands free to do the job himself. The teen was sure this sort of thing was banned by the laws of chivalry, but there was little he could do or say to prevent it.

As soon as they were scrubbed red raw, the small group was shoved from the stage. As they exited, trying not to slip or fall with the forced march over the wet wood, a sackful of anti-flea powder was dumped on them haphazardly. The white, floury powder clung to the slave's wet bodies, stinging at their eyes and any exposed wounds. If the slave had been unfortunate enough to have their mouth open at the time, they would have also discovered that it tasted extremely bitter. Bo coughed, trying not to inhale any of the stuff, and blinking furiously as his eyes watered from the sting. Stumbling the rest of the way down from the stage, he noted that his skin looked ghostly and pale, and that with an even coat of white, it was difficult to tell one person from another.

Bo had never felt so humiliated in all his life. Having taken care of himself in private since he was three or four, he considered washing, and dressing and all other aspects of life to be something that should not be carried out under the eyes of others. Said others, however, were not so ashamed, having lived wilder lives. The girl who had sold herself and was apparently 17, showed no shame at all, stripping off and coldly eyeing the boys that gawked at her rudely from the ranks of those waiting to be cleansed. Bo, however, had no time to watch what other people were doing, as he was quickly grabbed by a barber, like a sheep by a shearer.

'Aright kid, stay still wouldja?' grumbled the man, brandishing a wicked looking blade. Bo did as he was told, not wanting to have anything other than his hair cut off. Although he'd had short hair already, the teen was still sad to have it shaved off. The whole process took little over five minutes, as the barber seemed to scrape the blade across Bo's scalp with a reckless, inhuman speed, leaving him with ragged uneven stubble. Bo watched as his light blonde hair fell in wet clumps to the ground, to be swept away by young apprentices, who were doing their best not to stare at those unfortunates around them. The barber's talent was measured in the number of nicks and scratches Bo accumulated, versus the speed with which he was shaved. In all he felt that a better barber could have been found in a crazed monk, but he wasn't about to say this out loud and risk losing an ear. The teen's muscles were starting to complain by the time he was released, and his head and shoulders itched horribly, both from the cut hair that had not been swept away, and from the flea powder. Bo groaned with impatience, wishing his hands were free to brush the offending detritus away, and to run them over his newly shaved head. Instead, the bowmen, who seemed to have quickly grown bored of the whole event, guarded those who had been washed, powdered and shaved with a level of dissatisfied disinterest that occasionally extended to smacking the nearest urchin around the head for looking at them the wrong way.

After the troublemakers had all been through the first three steps, they were quickly escorted to the last station. Here they were provided with clothes. Bo sighed with relief as the soggy leather bindings were finally cut away from his wrists, freeing his hands. The guards seemed more attentive than ever, even to the point of readying their bows. Bo hardly dared to scratch his neck and shoulders, but the itch had grown to a point where he could no longer restrain himself, and the teen quickly brushed away the offending hairs before donning his new uniform. Thankfully the guards did not seem to care particularly, and Bo was free to satisfy his itches with a relief that was almost akin to religious revelation.

The clothes provided for the new slaves were a simple affair, consisting of a pair of undyed under shorts, three quarter length pants of a thicker weave material, and a sleeveless shirt. Women were also supplied with a breast-bracer. For shoes the slaves were given simple wrap around affairs, made of a single piece of very stiff leather that were bound to the foot with cloth. The clothes were rough and itchy, and many of them were pre-loved to the point of consisting more of patches than of the original cloth. The pants and shirt were not well tailored, having as much grace and style on the underfed street urchins as a sack, but Bo was not going to complain as he was simply glad to have something with which to hide his body from curious onlookers. The clothes felt loose and airy on him, but Bo had no time to appraise his new apparel as he, and the other troublemakers, were swiftly herded to what looked like a smithing forge. One by one they went in, and came out with a brass collar.

Inside the forge room was hot, and despite the cold water from earlier, and the Autumn chill, Bo could feel the prickle of sweat all over his body as he was lead toward the flames. His nose was pinched by the sharp scent of metal and coal, while his ears picked out a harsh scraping noise as the smith prepared something in the gloom. The smith was well muscled, but younger than Bo had expected, and clean shaven. The teen was forced to kneel on the ground, which was covered in old hay. His head was placed next to an anvil, and a collar loosely fitted around his neck. The collar was a simple circuit, uncomfortably warm on Bo's bare neck but not burning hot. Lightly the smithy tapped at it with some tool that Bo couldn't see, and the boy's ears rang with each blow. Finally the man muttered a few words of magic over the metal, and it glowed a bright white, before quickly cooling. While he affixed Bo's collar, the man never said a word, and his face remained unreadable, at least at the times when Bo could see it.

'Caw this is a terrible job ter be doin on such a nice day, yer reckon?' grumbled the guard, prompted into conversation with the smith through boredom. The smith never looked up from his work, and did not respond. Undeterred the guard continued to chatter, leaning on a post idly while he speculated on how the new slaves would fare. 'This un's pretty quiet, innee?' the guard said finally, nudging Bo with his foot. There was clear disappointment in his tone. 'I thought he'd be more interestin', bein' one of them troublemakers 'n' all.'

'I wish you'd follow his example and shut up,' growled the smith. With that he hauled Bo to his feet and handed him over, ready for the next urchin.

After the collar, the slaves had one last indignity to endure before they were fully indoctrinated. A large X was to be tattooed into each slave's right hand. Should they ever escape, the collar might be easy enough to get off, but the tattoo would not be. Anyone who saw it would know that they were a runaway from the castle, and they would be hunted by those keen to get the reward for a returned slave. Bo had to bite his lower lip to keep from verbalising his pain. Initially he'd been unable to hold his hand still, so it had been held there for him until the pain from the tattoo made his hand throb, ache and sting all at the same time. When his hand had felt like an unwieldy club that wasn't strictly a part of his body, he'd been able to hold it there himself. Despite the occasional uncontrolled jerk or twitch the X had come out clear and straight. It looked raised and unhappy, and there was a small amount of blood coming from it. A healer mage stood nearby, for smoothing over the new tattoos and making sure each new slave would be ready for work the next day. As each new tattoo was brought before them they would pass a hand over it while muttering a few words. The tattooed appendage would come away healed, with a bright, clear black X on it. Bo's hand was snatched up by the bored healer, who passed their fingers lightly over the wound, muttering in a mechanical way, as though it had become more of a meaningless chant than a spell. Nothing happened to quench the pain, and Bo looked down to see the spell hadn't worked at all. He looked back up questioningly at the healer who was as confused as Bo. Having never been healed by magic before Bo didn't know what to expect, but he was fairly certain something had gone wrong. The mage tried two more times, but as the trouble was causing a delay, and slaves with tattoos to be healed were starting to get held up, Bo was taken aside, and his hand was hurriedly wrapped with bandages instead of healed properly.

Although he had done little that day, Bo was sore, depressed, and tired, as though he had spent his time running about on courier work. He felt like a sheep being pushed around by overly aggressive dogs. Most of the flea powder had rubbed off by the end of the process. The boy found himself yawning and sagging with a group of his peers, back next to the cart where it had all begun. The cart smelled awful and Bo subtly tried to sidle away from it. He couldn't help but wonder if that was how he'd smelled earlier in the day. The thoughts were quickly pushed from his head as Master Sir strode into view, chest jutting out and puffed up like a pigeon in search of a mate.

'Ah look how pretty you all are!' he exclaimed. He grinned toothily and his monocle flashed. It must have been made of real glass. Bo briefly wondered if Master Sir even needed it for his vision, or whether it was purely cosmetic. As if hearing this, the man turned to look at Bo. The teen tried not to squirm uncomfortably under the man's gaze, as Master Sir frowned. For a moment it looked like he was going to come over, but in the end he just muttered something, turning away and taking off his monocle to polish it. 'Now, I want you to observe your pretty new necklaces. These have the magics in them! So if you do something as what you aren't allowed ter do, you better watch out. Tell yer what, I always say a demonstration works better than words, don't I lads?' His archers grinned, but it wasn't the kind of amused grin they'd had earlier. 'First we need a volunteer!' the man's gaze swept over the small group. Bo shuddered, hoping whatever was happening, it wouldn't happen to him. He glanced up, accidentally meeting Master Sir's eyes just as the old coot was looking at him, and quickly glanced down again.

'You!' bellowed the man. Bo looked up quickly again, heart in mouth. Master Sir's finger quivered, pointing in the direction of a scrawny boy to the front of the group. Bo let out a shaky sigh of relief.

The boy, even smaller in stature than Bo with a stick thin body and almost unnaturally large eyes, stepped forward. He looked like a ghoul with his shaved head, or a skeleton. There were streaks in the powder coating his face where tears had trickled down his bird-like features.

'One of the unbreakable laws for slaves here is not to strike anyone who is not of the same rank or below. That means you pisspots are on the bottom of the ladder. Striking anyone without a brass collar will incur a punishment, as will any other misdemeanour.' He turned to the boy standing in front of him and snarled. 'Now, I want you to strike me.'

'S-strike you?' The boy asked incredulously. Master Sir cuffed him around the head.

'Don't forget to speak my name when you address me.' The Master gestured to his face, which was grinning fiercely. 'Go on boy, strike me.' Bo frowned. Master Sir clearly enjoyed bullying the youth, who looked so small and scrawny that he'd barely be able to reach up to Master's face, let alone punch the fellow. With a shocking turn of speed the boy straightened up and sent a punch flying toward Master Sir's face. No one had imagined the scrawny boy would be able to move so fast, and although there was little muscle behind the blow, anyone could see that he knew his way around a punch. Master Sir flinched, hastily straightening up and rocking back on his heels, even though the punch never even had a chance at connecting. Before the fist could reach Master Sir's face, the boy cried out, stumbling back and falling to the ground. He clutched at his collar with both hands, trying to tear it from his neck. Master Sir nudged the stricken boy with a foot casually. It was clear he was displeased that the boy had made him flinch in front of the gathered audience of his own men, and the castle servants. He scowled at the rest of the new slaves as if daring them to voice an opinion. 'As you lot can see - set off the collar, and for you brassers it keeps going until someone like me, or another person of my rank or higher turns it off again.' He looked back at the boy who was thrashing and heaving on the ground. After a moment that stretched out altogether too long, Master Sir muttered something and the boy stopped moving. He was still trembling slightly, but all attention was once again on the man with the monocle. 'Alright ladies, let's move out. You'll sleep in your new quarters tonight, and before sunrise you'll be split into pairs. Each pair will be assigned to a silver collar slave, who will show you the ropes. My men here will show you the way.' With that Master Sir left, striding back to the castle, while his goons were lumped with the job of shepherding 25 new slaves to their quarters.

# Chapter 3: Trouble in the Weapon Storehouse

The quarters were little more than a closed room with a privy bucket in the corner. The goons didn't even bother sorting males from the females, instead they opted to shove everyone into the same spare room. Despite the cramped nature of the area, it was at least clean, with fresh reeds on the floor and thin, well used mattresses for each person. Bo was used to sharing a room with his siblings, sleeping close enough to be able to count their lice, and so he wasn't perturbed by the arrangements. The mattresses nearly covered the entire floor, making it difficult to move about the room without standing on someone else's bed. As soon as they were locked in, the new slaves visibly relaxed. Some scrambled to get themselves beds that were next to a wall, or in a corner, and more than one fight broke out over who would sleep where. Bo's hand still ached and throbbed from his still fresh tattoo, and glumly he resigned himself to a mattress somewhere in the middle of the room. Despite the fact that many went early to bed, being tired and having little else to do, Bo lay on his mattress unable to achieve sleep. To distract himself from the pain in his hand, the teen thought about all the things he'd meant to do with his life, and all the things he'd wanted to do later on. He already missed his mage friend and it was starting to feel as though his life was over before it had even had a chance to begin. Silently he fingered the brass collar. He already hated it, but he could feel no catch or lever or lock to pick. With a sigh, Bo sat up just to stretch himself and started to unwrap his bandages. Near the flesh they were crusted with ichor and he didn't want to peel them from his skin, as it might damage his hand further. Peering curiously at the parts of the wound that he could see, Bo didn't notice that the girl-who-was-17 was also still awake. Rather unsurprisingly she had secured herself a bed by the wall and was resting against the cold stone, and was clearly also having trouble sleeping.

'What's your name?' she asked curiously. Her voice was little more than a whisper but it carried clearly over the light snores of their peers. Bo swiveled to glare at her, and briefly considered advising her to mind her own business, but in the dim light, and given that this was likely to be someone in a similar predicament to his own, Bo reluctantly responded,

'Bo Gart, son of Tin Can. Yours?' The girl eyed him for a moment,

'Allie Ais.' Allie didn't bother mentioning her lineage, which was generally considered bad manners in The Gutter, where there was no such thing as a family name. She didn't seem to care about manners, however, launching into a new line of questioning, 'What happened to your hand?' Bo scowled at the impudent girl, though the darkness hid the expression from it's intended target.

'None of your business,' he snapped. For a second the girl just stared in his direction before lying back down on her mattress without responding. Bo felt a stab of guilt, but she was an irritation. Why had she sold herself? More importantly why was she so damn happy about having done it? It rubbed at him the wrong way to think someone had willingly given away their freedom, even though he knew many in The Gutter would leap at a chance for reliable food and bedding. Grumbling to himself quietly the boy wrapped up his wound again, and tried to get to sleep.

Early next morning, even before daybreak, the slaves were abruptly awoken. They were roughly divided into groups of two and each group was given to a mentor slave with a silver collar. These silver collars were to take care of them, and teach them what to do and what not to do, in theory. In practice the silver collared slaves sported ill-disguised sneers of contempt for the newbie brassers. Bo watched was the ever irritating Allie was partnered up with another girl. The silver collared slave that they were assigned to was a thick set girl with ruddy skin and hair like muddy straw. Bo was quickly distracted however, when he was teamed up with a another brasser who looked to be a strange fellow. The boy was tall and lanky, with a dozy looking expression that indicated he was of a sub par intelligence. Despite this, the light of mischief gleamed in his eye whenever it caught the light in a particular way, suggesting that despite his appearance the lad might make interesting company. His name was Johan. They were handed off to their silver collared guide, a boy called Will with hair as white as snow, and skin to match. His eyes were an icy pale blue that nearly blended in with the whites of his eyes, making the black pupil within extremely obvious. He would have looked frighteningly evil with his strange clear eyes had he not been grinning in an open, and friendly manner. The silver collar around Will's neck looked good on him, and he seemed to wear it more like an old, familiar necklace than a shameful burden. Bo and Johan tentatively approached the grinning boy, and he offered a hand for them to shake, introducing himself in a friendly tone. His grip was strong, but not crushingly so, making him seem welcoming and reliable to Bo rather than an overwhelming bully.

'Aright. My name's Will O Wisp and I'll be your guide. Got any questions? Cus I am ready an' raring to answer 'em' Bo smiled shyly, shaking his head,

'I'm Bo, and uh, I don't have any questions yet.' Johan introduced himself to Will as well, and seemed to instantly like the white haired slave, although instantly liking Will was not difficult. Unlike many of the Silvers, the boy did not stick his nose in the air, nor put on airs and graces in front of the brassers. If anything he seemed to readily accept them as equals.

'Whatchit you two. You is shakin the hand of the devil 'isself there.' warned one of the other silvers. Will stuck out his pale pink tongue at the other slave.

'Shove off Thom, I'm innocent of any mischief, cos I've never bin caught at it. Incidentally, I hear the wine at tonights feast is going te be of an extra special variety. Very well aged indeed.' Thom shook his head, managing to look both exasperated and amused, but before he could ask any further details, Will had whisked Bo and Johan away to start their day of learning.

They left the room that the brassers had been sleeping in, with a speed that indicated Will was not at all interested in sticking around in such depressing quarters, and moved further down into the main slave compound. The entire compound was made of a muddy brick that looked unfinished at best. The straw underfoot was also often mouldy, and smelled rather suspicious in some places. As they made it to the more well used quarters, however, things seemed slightly more cheerful. A few slaves moved between rooms with a laundry cart, while others were busy replacing the straw in the quarters themselves. Will showed Bo and Johan where they would be staying from now on – a room with 4 other male slaves. Although none were there at that time, Bo could tell that there would be a tolerable amount of personal space for everyone when it was a full room. All of the bedrolls were neatly stacked in a corner, as they were not in use, making the room seem somewhat homely, like those that lived in it cared for it. It was only that the door locked from the outside that betrayed the feeling of being in a dormitory for a special school. Will smiled,

'I decided that I'd be kippin in the same quarters as you lot, keep my eyes on you.' Bo looked nervously at the eyes in question and Will's grin widened as if sensing the other teen's discomfit.

'Don' worry I won't magic you. Not like some of these mule ends.' Will's voice took on a warning tone. 'You stay well clear of the silvers fer now. We silvers have a lot of people lookin' down their noses at us, so lots of silvers like to have summun to look down on as well, an you brassers are the only ones lower on the ladder.'

For the first half of the day, Will took the time to explain that Silver collar slaves usually got to do serving work, or kitchen work, and a number of other interesting jobs, while Brassers main tasks were cleaning rooms (including the slave quarters), polishing boots, taking out the trash, mucking the stables, and doing the dishes, or the laundry. Occasionally they saw another groups of three that were going through a similar introduction, but they never mingled for long, as Will seemed genuinely enthusiastic about showing his new friends everything they could want to know about slave life. Not only did he show them the kitchens, and where all the cleaning equipment was kept, he also showed them things such as various weeds that grew between the stones that could be eaten, if they were feeling hungry between meals, or good places to hide if they were being searched for. He even showed them a small fresh water pond that was fed by an underground water system. It was cool and clear and had fish in it. The entire area was enclosed by the trees of the castle's royal gardens, making it very private indeed.

'If you have a lady friend worth botherin about, this is the place ter take em, right? But make sure no one is a'ready here first!' Will laughed, explaining a story about the day he hadn't checked to make sure the spot was free, and the ensuing mix up that had seen him lose a girlfriend and kiss a toad (which hand't turned into a princess afterwards, much to Will's irritation). They didn't spend too long in the gardens, however, as Will warned that on a working day it was usually bad form to spend time so far from the castle, and so they began to wander back, taking note of interesting things on the way.

The castle was built of large grey stones, all roughly the size of a two horse cart. In many parts lichen grew on the outside wall, while on the inside the stones were polished smooth. The walls were largely unadorned giving the castle a bleak appearance that sapped at Bo's spirits. He was used to the ever colourful Gutter atmosphere where every wall had its own carvings and colours, whether legitimate or graffitied. Johan, however, seemed a little overawed at the castle, his gaze widening and flitting wildly from one place to another. Will merely laughed, and explained with obvious pride that many visitors were thus taken by the grandeur.

Here and there slaves swept the halls, their work illuminated by the many braziers that hung overhead. Once Bo even saw a person lighting the braziers with magic, and making sure they were working. Will explained that such a job was given only to one of the most trusted slaves, and sure enough the man doing the work sported no collar but a golden bangle on his right arm. That was his only marking; unlike Will, Bo and Johan, he did not have an X tattooed into him, and if he went outside the castle on an errand he could easily be mistaken for a free man.

Will spoke wistfully of the upper levels of the castle, describing windows that allowed air and light into the building, and of small balconies. He even mentioned that The Queen, Damini, insisted upon keeping flowers around the place that made everything smell nice, and gave a natural splash of colour to the otherwise featureless halls. Most of the lower level, however was devoted to kitchens, and other serving quarters, and the guided tour took over an hour, even without Will showing them as many hidey holes and secret tunnels as he'd found over the years (enough to make Bo wonder if the castle wasn't made out of a piece of cheese).

The last place they visited was the laundry, and Bo found it a cramped, airless. and depressing. It was hot and steamy and after just a few minutes there his head started to spin. The stairway up and down to the laundry was exceedingly narrow, and Bo had to catch himself more than once as his light headedness nearly tipped him over the edge and into one of the vats of bubbling water. Exiting as quickly as they were able, the trio emerged into fresh air, and Bo sat on the ground taking in deep cooling breaths. Will seemed too preoccupied to joke about the vapours of the laundry, however. He was busily searching around in one pocket and then the next. Surprised to see that the white haired slave had pockets, Bo looked at his own pants to discover that he did not have pockets. Will must have noticed him, and with a laugh the boy explained that brassers weren't trusted with pockets, because they might use them for stealing or smuggling bad things into the castle. On saying this, Will pulled out a mouse from his clothing.

'I found him down in the washroom. If he'd a been caught down there they woulda boiled --' The gruesome sentence was interrupted by a shout. Will spun to face an oncoming group of silver collars, discretely shoving the mouse into Johan's large, knobbly hands. The leader of the group walked up to Will and pushed the teen hard in the middle of his chest. Will was forced to take a step back, but even so he retained a blithe expression on his countenance, as though meeting with an old friend. Each of the silver collars facing him were of a burlier stock, and they reeked of the unmistakable scent of horses and leather, indicating their place of work.

'What's this we hear about you looking at my girl?' growled the leader. He was dark skinned (although not as dark as Bo) with black hair and soft brown eyes. Going by appearance, one might have been forgiven for thinking him a gentle sort, but his actions undermined any such impression that he might make on Bo or Johan. Will pretended to think about the question for a second or two, rubbing at his stubble thoughtfully and watching the other slaves out of the corner of one eye.

'I really wouldn't know Aaron. Sorry! Was I supposed to keep my eyes on her?' Will smiled sweetly as Aaron gave him a further shove.

'Don't mess around wi' me Will. The others might put up with it but I'll dig those pretty little eyes of yours right out an feed em to the crows if you bin near my girl.' Will sighed in distaste. Although he was outnumbered, the only thing stopping him from getting into a scrap was the thought of his new brass collared friends getting beaten up on his account. Will had explained to Bo and Johan already that he tended to get into fights – he had even perfected a number of spells to assist him, but they, being brassers, would have to try to stay out of trouble. If they came up against a silver collar the best thing to do would be to run away.

'Tell me Aaron' Will said, changing the subject, 'Where are your brassers? I heard you got hobbled with a pair like everyone else?' Aaron growled.

'They were crampin' me style yeah? Told em ter go polish swords, din' I. Anyhow it's none of your business, just cos I aint cozy with mine- OY Where are you goin? Runnin' away are ya?' Will had grabbed Bo and Johan by their shirts and had started sprinting in the direction of the weapon practice yards. He turned slightly, calling back to Aaron, the anger in his voice was clear.

'You idiot, you should know brassers can't grab weapons without settin' their collars off!'

Will, Bo, and Johan ran for the area where the practice weapons were kept. Although Bo could have run faster than Will, he didn't know where he was going, or what he was supposed to be doing, and so he was forced to stay behind his guide. The weapons were all stored in a building that was separate to the main castle, stables and the slaves' quarters. The building itself was prefaced by a large open square where there was already an impressive group of would-be soldiers going through drills. The instructor was a short portly man with a bushy black beard, and beady blue eyes overshadowed by thick bushy brows. His naturally pale skin was tanned from working outside and looked as rough as leather hide. The thick, bushy, anchor shaped beard was not well trimmed, and seemed to indicate that the person behind it was a wild, homeless man. It was only the clean, military style training uniform that the man wore that reassured Bo that the instructor was meant to be inside the castle walls. Bo would have estimated the man to be 50-60, as there were quite a few strands of grey threaded through his otherwise black beard. The instructor barked orders at his fighters in an almost impenetrable foreign accent, and the fighters hurried to obey them. In the man's hand was a whipstick - something that made Bo immediately wary of him. Only bullies and people who enjoyed causing pain, like Master Sir, tended to use those. The man frowned furiously at one of his fighters, cracking the whipstick down on their offending hand, which was gripping the practice sword incorrectly. The swoosh and crack made almost everyone in the immediate area wince and check their hand holds discretely.

Will seemed driven by some inner urgency, however, and rather than skirting around the terrible figure, he raced up to the instructor showing no sign of hesitation, despite the threat of a solid caning. Bo and Johan weren't quite so bold as to wish to approach the intimidating man, but Will was pulling them along behind him whether they wanted to come or not. The instructor growled at Will to show that he knew the slave was there, while keeping his beady eyes on the trainee fighters.

'Excuse me Alexander Sir, Aar- er one of the silver collars said he sent brassers over here to shine some of the swords.'

Alexander seemed to consider this for a moment, his expression of irritation remained unchanged. With one stubby fingered hand, he waved over another man who was standing at the sidelines. The man quickly jogged over, clearly ready for whatever may be asked of him. He wore the uniform of a guard, and carried a sword at his hip. Stooping slightly to listen to a few murmured instructions, the guard nodded a few times to show that he understood, before saluting Alexander with a clip of the heel and a tug of his collar. He then turned back to the practice session, taking Alexander's place at its head, while Alexander started off toward the weapon storehouse at a brisk trot. Despite his girth the man could move surprisingly quickly, and had a gait that suggested he could keep up the run for hours at a time. Looking grim, but unhurried, Alexander opened the doors to the warehouse and stepped inside.

Inside was dry and a little too warm for comfort. Will let go of Bo and Johan, warning them not to touch the weapons. Bo noted that this was going to be difficult, because the walls were lined with them, and there were weapons in racks up and down the length of the building.

'Will why can't we touch the weapons? What's going on?' Whispered Bo anxiously. Will turned to face his charges, his eerie light blue eyes peered at them sharply,

'Remember this well – don't pick up weapons, or your collar will be set off.'

'Zplit up, yez? Geev shout eef find.' Alexander ordered, interrupting. He had a heavy accent that made it difficult for Bo to immediately comprehend what he was saying. Will nodded soberly, more serious than he'd been all day. He warned Johan and Bo once again not to touch the weapons before flitting away into the gloom. Bo looked at Johan apprehensively.

'Let's start upstairs.' He suggested. There was no question about him and Johan splitting up, as neither of them knew the place well enough, and being entirely new to this world they found comforting unity in their shared ignorance of its ways. Johan nodded silently and they began to move carefully through the weapon stacks to get to the staircase.

The whole building smelled of oil, metal and leather. The floor was coated with clean dry straw, and the newer weapon racks gave off the slight scent of pine. Bo thought he could get used to that smell, as it was warm and clean, but he had more pressing matters at the forefront of his mind. When Will had said their collars would go off, Bo could only assume he was referring to what had happened with the boy who had tried to punch Master Sir the previous day. He shuddered at the thought, moving still further from the weapon racks and sucking his belly in to reduce his already thin girth. He didn't want that kind of thing to happen to him.

Despite not wanting to be anywhere near the weapons that were displayed, Bo couldn't help admiring some of them. While most of the equipment was very basic, one or two items looked almost as though they had fallen out of a story book, and Bo ached to hold them for just a short while, and to feel their weight in his palm. The looming threat of his collar going off, however, was more than enough to dissuade him from touching anything in the Aladdin's cave of weaponry. Johan and Bo moved silently, and it was obvious to anyone who was familiar with The Gutter that they had lived there for a long time - with key emphasis on the word 'lived'. Each footstep was silent, and they moved with surprising speed, pausing only every now and then to check the intersections as they crossed them, almost as if worried about being caught by some unnamed foe.

Despite the light feet of the boys, the stairs creaked and groaned pleasantly as Bo and Johan climbed them, and the area grew ever darker as they moved above the light sources. The upper level was more like a balcony, from which the entire lower level could be observed, rather than a full level unto itself, and here the heat was even more pronounced than down below. Leaning over the wooden rail, Bo could see Alexander as a fat blob of darkness, quickly and efficiently searching the ground floor. Will was more difficult to make out, and Bo didn't have the time to be dawdling. Turning, the teen thought he heard heavy breathing amongst the otherwise dusty silence of the weapon racks. A thin film of sweat was already forming on the boy's brow. Gesturing at Johan to follow him, Bo hurried closer, trying to remain quiet so he could track the noise. Quickly he found a boy with a brass collar, lying on his side, splayed in an unnatural position. The boy's chest was heaving as he laboured to breathe in and out. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and a thin line of drool flowed from his mouth. Bo hissed in horror, wondering how long the boy had been this way. Hurriedly, Johan called out,

'Up here!' Nearby there was a small dagger that had been flung from the teens grasp when he had been flailing about. Clearly he'd taken Aaron seriously about polishing the weapons, and had chosen a small dagger to start with. Bo could see that it was going to take a while for Will and Alexander to get to the stairs, as they were each on opposite sides of the warehouse. They could either exit one of the doors and walk around the building to enter in the main door again, or thread their way back through the racks of weapons. Either option would take quite some time.

'Come on, let's get him downstairs, it'll be faster that way.' Suggested Bo, thinking it would be best to meet the others halfway. Johan nodded his agreement, and together they hauled the stricken slave to his feet.

The teen started mumbling and rolling his head slightly. Worried about the condition of the fellow, Bo and Johan hauled him back toward the stairs. He was surprisingly heavy, and smelled of a mixture of sweat and the lingering odour of the flea powder from the day before. Slowly the mumbling grew louder, and the boy's eyes rolled back down to glare at Johan and Bo in an unfocused way. He soon began to struggle in their grasp, twitching and twisting, crying out piteously for them to stop hurting him. Bo grit his teeth, trying to keep control over the troublesome load when the brasser managed to free one of his feet, kicking Bo in the chest and sending the teen stumbling backwards. Bo quickly found himself rammed up against the wooden railing. With a fearful yelp he was violently shoved over the edge. Bo's stomach lurched sickeningly as he scrabbled to gain a handhold. He managed to grasp the lowest point of the railing with both hands, but his injured right hand gave a stab of pain, draining the strength of his fingers and making it useless to hold his weight. Gasping, Bo dangled by his left hand, slowly losing the battle against gravity. At this time Alexander had already made it to the stairs, and was rushing to help restrain the stricken slave. Will, however, watched with horror from the bottom of the staircase as Bo's grip on the balcony slipped further and further.

Unable to support himself any longer, Bo fell the twelve feet onto a weapon rack below. The wooden rack smashed easily under his weight, and the horizontally stored weapons did little to help ease his fall. Later, Bo would thank his lucky stars that the weapons had not been stored pointing upwards, but he had little time then to think anything beyond 'pissbucket'. The teen groaned as pain shot through his back, encompassing his rib cage and spreading until his whole body ached. His breath had been driven from him. Far above Alexander finally managed to calm the other slave, taking them into a bear-hug. He muttered a few words, and the collar was deactivated. The slave boy slumped in Alexander's arms, unconscious with the relief from his torment. Bo didn't move from where he had landed, at first he was sure he had broken his back or something of the sort. Anxiously Alexander peered over the balcony, shouting,

'Not move! I veel be down, do not make move, yez?' Bo didn't respond, feeling too stiff and sore to even nod, while Alexander gently placed his armful of slave on the floor and hurried down the stairs. Feeling foolish, Bo shoved some of the debris from his body as Will and Alexander approached. Johan had stayed up with the other slave in case the teen came back to consciousness, but he too was busily gawping at Bo from above to be paying any attention to his closer peer. As soon as Will saw what Bo was doing, he froze with horror, before hurrying over and calling out for the brasser to stop. Bo frowned. He wasn't so badly injured that he couldn't move, so he wasn't sure what Will was shouting about. Looking down at his right hand, Bo grimaced as he realised what he was brushing aside with it – a number of weapons had fallen across his chest. The teen expected his collar to go off at any second, and closed his eyes tightly in anticipation of the ensuing pain. After a second it became clear that nothing was going to happen, so Bo opened his eyes again and glanced at the weapons around him in confusion. Most of them were short swords, blunted for practice, but still heavy enough to break the bones of the unwary in sparring matches. Bo yanked his hand away, looking up at Will, who was simply glad nothing untoward had happened. Will grabbed Bo by his good hand and lifted the teen to his feet. Huffing with relief, Bo coloured with embarrassment, looking back at the mess he had created. He glanced back up to see Alexander giving him an odd look, almost as though the weapon master was considering attacking him there and then.

'I'm sorry about breaking the rack, Mister Alexander, Sir.' wheezed Bo honestly, fearing that the man would take instant retribution. He felt a spark of dread at the thought of causing such damage when he was only on his second day at the castle. Alexander was still giving him an odd look, but he did not rush forward and beat Bo with his whipstick, nor bellow abuse at the young slave. Eventually mastering his anger, the weapon master seemed to come to a conclusion.

'Iz okay. Ve take your friend to quvarterz now, he iz not so good.' Bo let out a sigh of relief, glad that the portly, bearded man wasn't going to make a fuss. The teen winced as his back gave a sharp reminder that it would probably be badly bruised the next day, and reached around himself to knead at it gingerly. Picking his path through the weapons and debris with care, Bo followed Will and Alexander back up to the second level of the building. The unfortunate unnamed brasser had not yet awoken. Will took the slave's feet, while Johan had his head and shoulders. Bo was about to help when Alexander grabbed his right hand and held it up for inspection. The man's grasp was like a vice, and his hands were covered in thick scars, probably from blade work and fighting. Bo restrained himself from yanking the appendage away, as he instinctively wanted to.

'Vhat iz wrong vith hand?' demanded Alexander with a slight hint of accusation to his tone. His blue eyes glittering dangerously in the half light.

'My uh, tattoo didn't heal yet. The mage said he was too tired, I think. Mister Alexander, sir' Bo said nervously, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't want to get in trouble for something that was beyond his capacity to control. Alexander held Bo's gaze for a few seconds as though trying to discern if the boy was lying, before letting out a dissatisfied hurrumph. Dropping the hand, the instructor turned away, although his body language suggested that he would soon discover the truth of the matter. Breathing a sigh of relief Bo scrambled to assist Will and Johan. The three of them carried their charge out of the building, incurring many a curious glance from the people who were still training. Alexander's sharp eyes quickly saw what was going on, and he stomped off to discipline his fighters with a few quick switches from his whipstick without so much as a goodbye or good luck to the slaves.

Bo couldn't help looking back at the strange portly man, as he stumbled under the weight of the unconscious slave. He was unable to make up his mind on how to feel about the whole situation.

'Alexander's the weapon master, he's okay' grinned Will, seeing where Bo's gaze was lingering, 'he's just a little set in his ways. Rumour is he's getting too old but no one has the gall to tell him so.' Will chuckled, thinking of Alexander's reaction should he ever be told such a thing.

It was something of a struggle to get the unconscious teen to the slave quarters. Once there, Will bade Bo and Johan to stay with the brasser, and jogged away to get a healer. The teen was just coming to his senses when the healer arrived, along with Master Sir.

'What in the hell is going on here? I hear you have gone off task, and have been interrupting the Weapon Master with your tom-foolery. Just who do you think you are?' Will attempted to explain matters, but Master Sir would have none of it. He insisted that Will, and by extension, Bo and Johan, were in the wrong. 'It'll be washing up after lunch by yourselves, and you better think yourselves lucky, ye good for nothing horse droppings, that I don't have yer flogged in the main square fer inhibiting the work of Mistah Alexander.'

'Don't you lead these brassers astray Will.' Master Sir added over his shoulder, fixing the white haired slave with a steely glare. 'Everyone knows about your wickedness, and if this kind of trouble continues then you've a brass collar to look forward to yourself.' Will scowled fiercely but didn't say anything to defend himself. It would have fallen on deaf ears in any case. Master Sir took the time to find out who the unfortunate brasser belonged to, making sure he heard it from Will's mouth alone, before heading off with a brisk, clipped pace, his monocle glinting in the light. As he left, the man had a smug grin plastered to his face that even his well waxed moustache couldn't hide. Bo didn't like the expression, it looked too much like Master Sir had just won something.

Seeing there was no more that they could do, the intrepid trio slowly made their way to what Will called the 'lunch hall'. He explained that if they were to be washing up, then they should have lunch before anyone else, so that they could wash up as the dirty plates came in, rather than waiting until the end when the stacks of dirty dishes would be so high as to be unmanageable. He sounded well practiced at the chore. For this reason the guided tour was cut short. Will was clearly a bit of a dab hand at the exercise, and well known with the kitchen staff. Several older looking slaves were making the lunch. It was some kind of gruel or soup that looked about as appetising as slugs in mud. Each slave was handed a metal plate with the gruel in it, and being hungry as they were Bo and Johan even deigned to try a first mouthful of the stuff. Bo spluttered, only just managing to keep his mouthful down, instead of throwing it back up again. It was one of the worst tasting foods he'd ever had – and he had lived in The Gutter where food was a very malleable term that could be used to describe even technically inedible objects. Will and Johan, on the other hand, seemed unable to scoff it down fast enough.

'It tastes much better than it looks, Doesn't it Bo?' Johan asked happily around a mouthful of the stuff. Bo looked down at the sludgy content of his bowl, and had to agree that it did taste better than it looked, although that really wasn't difficult.

'Are you sure this is edible?' He asked Will despondently, prodding the mess with his spoon. Will eyed Bo from his own place at the otherwise empty table, speaking with his mouth full.

'It's ver' healthy. Cooks say 'm magic words over it an whatnot ter make it taste good as well, otherwise you'd rather starve than eat it.' Bo's face fell. So far his day wasn't working out. More and more he cursed his luck at having been sold by his family. 'Still it's not fer everyone' said Will somewhat kindly, clapping Bo on the back, 'you'll get used to it.'

With eyes watering, Bo held his breath and ate as much of his lunch as he could (nearly all of it). It was bitter, and slid down his throat in a very unpleasant way. Afterward, Will and Johan helped clean out the leftovers, grinning ghoulishly at the sick expression on Bo's face as he watched them, and deliberately remarking upon the exquisite flavours that graced their tongues like a couple of educated nobles at a restaurant.

'Reckon this has a subtle flavour of chunky vomit and the delightful texture of river mud, eh Johan?' began Will, grinning as Bo turned green.

'I think maybe it's more like twenny year ol' undies that have never been washed,' disagreed Johan, sitting up straight and sipping a grey lump from his spoon with his pinky raised daintily. The image was ruined somewhat when he slurped the lump down inexpertly, leaving a sludgy trail on his chin. Eventually the ordeal of lunch was over. The trio collected their plates and wandered around to the back of the kitchen. The cooks grinned and winked at Will, sometimes calling out to him asking what he'd done this time. Will would always shrug his shoulders and give them wide innocent eyes,

'That hurts lads, you know I'm completely -' he'd start, and they would always finish the sentence for him-

'Innocent!' Then they would roar with laughter. Will didn't seem overly worried about being in trouble. He revealed, as they fetched hot water for a large tub, that Master Sir had been threatening to make him a brasser every week for the last three years, but it wasn't within his power.

'I bin serving at the castle since I was three. Been a brasser up till I hit eight and now I'm a silver see? I do a good job of it too, no matter what them others seem to think. Some folk don't like me, but my eyes get attention from the guests, and the regulars and whatnot. It means everyone would notice if I was knocked down to brass again, and they'd want to know who authorised it – so Master Sir can shove it up his monocle, he knows he can't do anything about it. Worse he can do is dole out punishments.' Bo wondered if he should mention how happy Master Sir had seemed when he had finished talking to Will, but decided against it – Will seemed to know what he was doing after all.

Well into the afternoon they were stuck washing up dishes. Bo had been given the task of drying dishes and taking them back to a huge storage closet. Will kindly claimed that sticking an injured hand in scummy water would only make it worse, and then it would have to be chopped off or something else that was equally horrible. Will and Johan came away with horribly wrinkly hands, and the water was a disgusting greyish brown by the end of lunch, despite Bo being sent for fresh water at least twice. Bo noticed that Will managed to clean the lunch platters quickly and efficiently, going through twice as many of the battered metal bowls as Johan, and stacking clean plates faster then Bo could dry them all. As a kindness, the kitchen staff used the plates that were cleaned and dried, rather than taking more of the bowls out of the cupboards, to reduce the number of times Bo would have to pack away dishes.

While the three worked, gossip and laughter drifted in from the kitchen. Despite the chill of the late Autumn air, it was always warm beside the large stoves, and Bo enjoyed joking and talking with Will and Johan. Will happily listened to the tales Bo told of adventure as the teen repeated the stories that had so enchanted him when he was a child. Stories about feasts, and nobles and monsters. Will liked to hear about the fighting and the monsters the best, and Bo was happy to oblige, although Will quickly began to admonish Bo for his vulgar Gutter speech, and would often interrupt to correct him.

'You have to speak nice for the nobles, Bo, or you'll never make it ter silver, see?' It was the first time Bo had spent so long with people of his own age, and he started to relax more and enjoy himself, forgetting that he wore a metal collar and that the only monsters he was likely to fight looked a lot like dirty dishes, while his weapon would be a scrubbing brush. Despite his grim prospects, however, when Bo looked back on the moment later on, he was greatly comforted by the thought that not all his life would be a miserable drudgery as he had expected.

# Chapter 4: Polishing Swords

After the washing up, Will had given Bo and Johan leave to do as they wished, as long as they got back to their beds before the doors were locked at sundown. Bo promised that he would be able to make his way back by the allotted time and Johan said something about finding a girl he'd been eyeing off. Slyly, the other brasser asked if Bo had someone he also wanted to go and visit, but the teen had to admit that he hadn't seen any girls that interested him. Instead, Bo slipped away, heading back to the training grounds. He was tired of the steam from the dish washing and was more than happy to be out in the cool afternoon air.

The square in front of the armoury was deserted, as everyone had finished fighting for the day and were doing other things. Bo was a little disappointed to miss the display but with a wistful sigh he imagined the noble knights must be learning to read and write, or to perform magic (if real life was anything like his favourite stories). The teen cautiously wandered over to a fence that ran a part of the way around the training field. It was wooden and sturdy, but he could tell it was quite old from the nicks, cuts, and dents in it, and the toughened sun bleached wood. Leaning on the fence, and plucking idly at a large splinter of wood, Bo wondered about the weapon rack earlier that day. He wanted to know why his collar hadn't gone off when he was brushing the weapons away. He was sure he couldn't have avoided touching them with his bared skin. In the end the curious teen decided it was because he hadn't actually picked any of them up - after all, Will had said that it was only if a brasser picked up a weapon that they were in trouble. Bo's fingers went to his collar, prodding at it tentatively. The surface felt grainy under his touch, rather than smooth, as though it had been deliberately roughened to make it dull.

'Not prod at collar too much, yez? Not vant it to... choke' Bo jumped in surprise, letting out an undignified yelp. Alexander was standing within arms reach, and Bo hadn't even heard the man approach. The teen was rendered mute by a sudden twisting anxiety as Alexander seemed to loom beside him. Was he not supposed to be here alone? Was he going to be in trouble? Alexander, however seemed to be waiting for a reply, his bushy eyebrows were drawn into a frown, shading his beady blue eyes. In one hand he was holding a heavy looking piece of timber, and in the other a leather bag.

'Y-yes. I mean no. Mister, Sir, Alexander.' Bo quickly looked at the ground. No one had told him how to address people, and he was well aware that he should be giving titles to those in stations of power. Alexander grunted impatiently, shifting his grip on the wooden beam. Alexander's arms were thick with muscles despite the fact that his stomach jutted out a good way from his body. His legs, in comparison seemed smaller and less impressive than the rest of him.

'Vhy you not vorkink? You haff nothing to do?' Bo glanced up anxiously. He wished to fidget, but something about Alexander demanded that he should stand still.

'Will said that we had nothing left to do.' The teen answered truthfully. Alexander's frown deepened.

'Then you find something, yez. Not sit around lookink at ground. I find you something. Come follow.' With that, the weapons master trudged heavily back to the storehouse, carrying his bag and his wood. Uncertainly, Bo jogged after him, finding, again, that the portly man moved with a surprisingly quick pace.

The store room was still quite dim, with dry air, and long beams of light intruding into it from the setting sun. Bo paused to smell the scent of metal, oil and leather. It was very agreeable. The scent of pine, or wood was much stronger than before. Following Alexander, Bo noticed that many of the racks had been pushed aside to create an open space at the centre of the lower floor. In this space there were two small wooden crates, and resting on those crates there were a number of wooden planks. The planks had already been cut up roughly, and a number of chunks had been chiselled out all along the length of them. Quickly Bo realised that this was a new weapon rack in the making. To the right there was a neatly piled stack of practice blades, waiting for their new accommodation. Alexander set down the wood he was carrying carefully, and then lowered the bag, which clinked gently like a nobleman's purse. The man straightened with a grunt. He turned to glare at Bo who was standing awkwardly wondering what to do.

'Polish swords. Iz cloth over there, iz swords over there.' Alexander commanded, pointing first to a rag with a tin of polish and then to the stack of swords. Bo froze in horror, wondering if he should plead with Alexander. It was clear that Alexander knew what he was asking of Bo, leading the brasser to wonder if the weapon master was being deliberately cruel.

'I zay do thiz, so no trouble vith collar for you. I am allow to do zis.'

The man explained in broken speech, seeing Bo's distress and rightly guessing the cause of it. Anxiously, Bo slunk over to the rag and pot of polish. He'd polished things before and he knew how it was supposed to work, so there was no trouble there. Next he moved over to the pile of swords. He could feel Alexander's beady eyes on his back, although when he glanced over his shoulder the man was rearranging the wooden planks and pulling large nails out of the bag he had brought in. Carefully, Bo reached out to touch the handle of a sword. It was bound in leather that was starting to wear thin. As nothing happened the teen grew more bold and picked up the weapon. Nothing happened. Breathing a sigh of relief Bo sat gratefully on a nearby stool and began to polish. He and Alexander worked in silence for a while, as the sun sank lower and lower outside, and the shadows grew longer. At about the time the magic light globes flickered on overhead, Alexander began to speak again. He was covered in sweat, and even though Bo wasn't doing anything nearly as strenuous as hammering and sawing, so was he. The heat inside the armoury was intense, and it did not matter whether a person was sitting still or doing work – they would be sweating almost as soon as they entered. Luckily though, the air was quick to cool as night time came around.

'Zo you are new.' Alexander said, in between the pounding of his hammer. Bo didn't reply, feeling that it was a statement rather than a question. He still wasn't easy around Alexander, and he suspected he never would be. 'Vhat iz age. How old?'

'Fiftee-er sixteen.' Answered Bo awkwardly, over the sounds of construction. Alexander paused and gave him a curious look. 'I forgot it was my birthday today,' the teen mumbled miserably, having been forced to recall the unfairness of his situation. There was a careful silence from the weapons master, as they both got back to work.

Concentrating on the polishing work to help keep his mind occupied, Bo was surprised when Alexander's thick hand clamped down on his shoulder. In fright Bo fumbled the sword we was polishing and it fell with a dull clang onto the ground. The teen's arms ached from polishing, and he was glad that it looked like he could stop.

'Iz good work' Alexander said, picking up one of the polished blades. He looked amused, although the only way to tell was the wrinkles around his eyes that indicated he was smirking into his beard. 'Iz ztill many to go, but nearly time for zlave quarter to lockink.' Alexander pointed outside at the night, as if to help explain what he was talking about. It took Bo a second or two to realise that he was being dismissed and told to go back to his rooms. The teen leapt to his feet, suddenly worried that he might get locked out of his room. He had completely forgotten that he would be locked out if he waited for too long. No doubt that would be trouble, and he didn't want more trouble on top of everything else that had happened that day. Before he could dash away, Alexander propelled Bo towards the crates where he'd been working. The rack was complete, and Bo tried to remember when he'd heard the hammering stop. It looked very rough, and certainly wasn't the work of a master carpenter, but it was no better or worse than any of the other racks.

'Vait for leetle second.' Demanded Alexander walking away. Bo anxiously waited, hoping Alexander wouldn't take too long. He needn't have worried, however, as the weapon master was back moments later with what looked to be a first aid kit. It stood to reason that there might be one, so close to the field where fighters were trained – in case of minor wounds. Alexander held out one scarred hand, waiting for Bo to give up his bandaged appendage. The teen did so apprehensively and Alexander carefully unwrapped the wound. He was firm about removing the bandage carefully and slowly from the skin, joking that Bo wouldn't want his tattoo ruined. Bo held his tongue, not saying that he couldn't care less if the tattoo was wrecked. Once the wound was revealed, Alexander whistled through his teeth. Looking at his hand, Bo could see why. The entire back of his hand had a deep red tint, and shone dully in the light of the lanterns overhead. Alexander got a cloth and gently wiped the area clean with some water. Bo flinched at the touch. It was just as painful as it had been yesterday. Seeing that the wound had not been well cared for, Alexander dug out a cream from the first aid bag. He explained that it was full of herbs that were used specifically to keep wounds clean and to fight infection. It hadn't been used for a long time, as many of his fighters these days knew enough magic to heal their smaller wounds themselves, almost as soon as they got them. Bo worried that the cream would sting, as he had known other such remedies to do (such as vinegar or alcohol) but it was cool, and soothed the pain to a small degree. Alexander applied it surprisingly gently, his expression unchanging. Next he grabbed a few clean bandages, making a pad with a small length that he placed over the tattoo, and using the longer bandage to wrap the limb firmly, but not tightly. It was a much better job than the mage had done the previous day.

'Keep out of vater, also, make sure iz not left in open air, yez?' Bo nodded mutely, wondering why anyone would go to such bother for a slave. He hadn't thought of Alexander as being a nice person, but on further consideration, the man had also personally taken care of looking for the stricken brasser earlier that day. It was difficult to reconcile the man he saw now with the bawling weapon master with a whipstick that he had first encountered. It seemed Will was right in what he had said earlier about Alexander being 'okay'.

'Thank you, my hand is feeling much better.' Bo felt thanks were in order. No doubt if it was one of his heroic tales they would be required at this point, and he did not want to lose his sense of chivalry, despite being a slave. Alexander grinned wolfishly, his teeth appearing to be extra white in contrast to his bushy black beard.

'Not vant hand to fall off – how vould you polish veapons if only one hand?' Bo scowled, it looked like he wasn't free of polishing blades just yet. He wondered if he should revise his thoughts about Alexander being kind. The weapon master chuckled to himself at Bo's expression. 'Come back ven have more free time, yez? I not vant to see sittink, lookink at ground.'

'Yes sir,' mumbled Bo. His bright green eyes looked away from the grinning weapon master to his newly bandaged hand, and he flexed it to make sure the movement wasn't overly restricted, wincing as the pain flared up again. Alexander turned on his heel and began neatly packing up the items he had taken out of the first aid box, which Bo took as a dismissal. Before Alexander could go giving him more chores to do, Bo scampered away, slipping out the doors and hurrying back toward the slave quarters, worried that he might be locked out if he dallied any longer.

The entire castle looked different at night. Bo could see light shining from the windows high above, and the courtyard below was cast in a deep shadow. The night air quickly cooled Bo's sweat soaked clothes, making him shiver slightly at the chill. It certainly didn't help that he had no hair on his head to help keep in the warmth. Self consciously the teen ran a hand over his naked scalp. He'd never had all his hair cut off before and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling, even if it did prove he was free of lice and fleas. There was a rough shout from just up ahead, and Bo froze. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Small prickles of fear ran down his back as figures emerged from the shadows in the courtyard, although it was only when they were quite close that he could see it was Aaron and his cronies from earlier. They didn't look pleased at all. Some of them sported dark bruises as though they he'd been knocked down a flight of stairs.

'Oi you. We wanna have a word with Will, where is he?' Bo looked at the the large group which was already spreading out before him to keep him from fleeing. Back in The Gutter there would have been ample opportunity to flee down the maze of alleyways, but here Bo was caught out in the open. The teen still thought he might be able to outrun them if he could slip past, but where would he run to, and would he get lost or locked out if he was forced to hide? In either case, he could see they meant Will no good. Bo clenched his teeth determinedly; he wouldn't rat out his friend even if he did know where the pale-eyed slave was.

'Sorry, I don't know where he is. He said-' The main aggressor stepped up to Bo, treading on one of the teen's feet so he couldn't step back and shoving him hard in the chest. Bo promptly fell to the ground, landing heavily.

Lemme ask again. See I saw how cozy you all was. Lemme ask, where is Will, and you'll just tell me insteada trying to be his chum. You only known him one day, right? Well Master Sir gave us all a good speakin' to about that matter today about my brassers. He told me that Will ratted us all out, so we all got the hides flayed off our backs.' Bo spat angrily at Aaron.

'I reckon you deserved everythin' you got, yer lard arsed, slack jawed, know nothing!' The larger teen leaned down and picked up Bo with one hand, holding tight to the brasser's shirt so that he couldn't escape. Bo wanted badly to hit back at the older slave, but his hand was stayed by the thought of setting off his collar.

'Go on then. I seen that look. You wanna hit me? why doncha?' taunted Aaron with a knowing smirk. He clearly felt very safe with his silver collar firmly around his throat. Bo looked over the other teens shoulder trying to restrain his anger.

'Tell yer what, seeing as you don't know where Will is right now, how aboucha take him a message for me?' One of the other boys chuckled humourlessly. Aaron sank a fist into Bo's gut, keeping a firm grasp of the teen to ensure that he wouldn't escape. The brasser was winded from the first blow, but despite the pain he squirmed weakly, trying to wriggle out of his shirt to flee. Aaron threw a punch that caught Bo across his cheek and nearly knocked him senseless, as he was unable to roll with the punch and mitigate the damage with Aaron holding him so firmly. Slumping in Aaron's grasp, and still gasping for breath, Bo didn't have the strength to fight back, even if his collar had permitted him to. Aaron let him go and the smaller teen fell to his knees coughing painfully, raising his good arm weakly to shield against the kicks that Aaron started aiming at him. It was uncertain how long the beating was meant to go on, but at that point there was a commotion overhead and the blows stopped raining down. Groggily Bo looked up, feeling his cheek swelling already from the punch. Alexander had appeared like some kind of nightmare from the darkness. The enraged weapon master slapped Aaron across the face with his whipstick, growling contemptuously,

'Not hittink people who cannot fight back, yez?' The hypocrisy was clear even to Bo – Aaron wouldn't be able to hit back at Alexander without setting off his own collar. The silver collared slave's eyes sparkled with barely restrained fury as a fresh red stripe appeared across his face. His eyes started watering with the sting, but he was forced to respond to Alexander.

'Sorry, Sir.' He spat. Alexander dismissed the group, eyeing them angrily. The older man looked more serious than Bo had seen him before, with the shadows falling across his face, making his expression menacing. The small teen could only imagine the horror of being faced with a serious, sword wielding Alexander, and thanked whoever was in the realm of the gods that was looking after him that he hadn't irritated the portly man earlier that day. Bo picked himself up shakily before he could be helped up, not wanting to seem weak. Alexander waited until the other slaves were out of sight before he turned to Bo, handing him a small leather pouch.

'You leave before I geev you birthday gift, zo I come find you. Iz lucky, but next time vill not be lucky. Make sure not runnink into them again.' Alexander warned. Bo looked down at the pouch in his hands. He wasn't sure that he was meant to own things, as a slave, but if Alexander had given it to him, he wasn't going to refuse.

'Come, ve go to your room. I vant to zpeak to Jayne, zlave mazter, zo I vill go vith you.'

Bo had never gotten a birthday gift before, so he didn't quite know what to do with it. Was he supposed to save it and open it in private? Or was he supposed to open it now? As if sensing his thoughts Alexander smiled toothily at him,

'You can open gift now, or you vait for Vinter?' Bo looked up at the man questioningly, privately wondering if it really was a joke. The weapons master chuckled,

'You open now. Iz okay, I am makink joke yez?' Bo remained blank face, but began to examine the leather pouch so that Alexander wouldn't see that he had been more confused than amused. There was a thin drawstring that was tied in a loose knot to keep the bag closed. Unpicking the knot as he walked, Bo carefully opened the pouch and looked inside. There was the tin of cream Alexander had used on his hand, along a few rolls of fresh bandages. The teen pulled out the small tin of cream, feeling its weight. It was nearly full. Surely good medicine like that had to be worth a lot and he was half tempted to keep it for selling when- if he won free of his slavery.

'Thank you, sir, mister Alexander.' Alexander waved off the thank you with one pudgy hand.

'Iz fine. Call me Zir, not thiz zir, meester Alexander. Iz too silly. Make sure to put cream on tattoo every day. Iz good for makink it heal quvickly, so you can get back to vork.' Alexander continued looking where he was going. He didn't bother adding that it was more usual to give some kind of a weapon to a young man to acknowledge that the recipient had become an adult, knowing that in Bo's case the teen wouldn't be allowed to keep such a gift. Alexander cleared his throat gruffly. He felt that he must be getting old and senile, to be fond already of the slave, but there were many such people that Alexander was fond of. What did it matter if he grew fond of them over a month, or a week, or even a day? He already knew he would have to watch Bo carefully, but perhaps by good luck Bo was the kind of person he would already happily watch over, even if he hadn't felt it was a part of his duty to the castle.

Walking through the slave quarters, Bo was assaulted by the smell. It wasn't as bad as the streets he had walked for most of his life, but it wasn't as pleasant as the armoury. Alexander's expression didn't change, and Bo had to wonder if the older man's nose was actually working or not. Getting to his room, Bo reached out to pull the door open when someone yanked it open from the inside and stepped out, knocking right into Bo. With a whispered gasp of surprise Will leapt back silently, as Bo was nearly bowled over by the unexpected encounter.

'Bo! I told you to get back before lockup! We-' Will's eyes glimmered in the half-light as he observed Alexander standing a safe distance away. The white haired boy froze, an anxious grin plastered over his face.

'Hey there, Mister Alexander! We – I was just about to go out searching for Bo. I was just a bit worried that he hadn't come back yet.' Will was using a very quiet voice, trying not to attract trouble. Alexander snorted in disbelief at the boy's story. He pointed at Bo,

'This iz Bo? Iz okay now, Bo iz back you can go back to bed, yez?' Will looked like he wanted to argue, but there was something about the way Alexander had said 'yez' that made it clear that the weapon master knew Will was breaking all the rules. Will paused, his eyes pleading with Alexander for leniency, but the weapon master remained unmoved. Will bowed deeply.

'Of course, Mister Alexander, Sir. Thank you for bringing him back safe and sound.' Bo was quickly dragged into the room before he had a chance to thank Alexander, and the door was quietly closed. There was the distinct 'click' as it was locked from the outside, and Will grumbled about bad timing. He turned to Bo, nothing more than a shadow in the dark room.

'Why weren't you back on time? I thought you promised? And why were you walking with Mister Alexander? Did you get into trouble?' Bo explained what had happened, although his words were somewhat muffled by a swollen cheek. Will clucked disapprovingly.

'I underestimated Master Sir. He has some real balls, beating up Aaron and lumping me with the blame. He can't personally beat me up just because he doesn't like me, but they certainly can.' Will seemed to shrug off the thought as something he would have to deal with later before turning back to Bo with a grin that was visible even in the darkness,

'We were just headed out for a stroll. There's a party in the upper castle. You aren't strictly allowed to go, bein a brasser an all, but would you like to come see something special?' Bo paused in thought. He felt tired after the busy day, and many parts of him ached painfully, but something about Will's tone of voice promised one last excitement, and the teen couldn't readily chicken out in front of his new friend.

'What is it?' He asked curiously. Will chuckled in the dark.

'You'll have to wait and find out Bo.'

# Chapter 5: Banquets and Pranks

Will waited, holding out a hand for shush. After a moment there was an impatient snort from Alexander, and heavy footsteps as he wandered away to find Master Sir. Quickly Will threaded a long piece of wire into the keyhole in the door, clasping the loose end tightly in both hands. He whispered a few words of magic, twisting his hands into strange positions and gesturing carefully at the door. As he worked he explained to Bo what was happening,

'The locks are made so that if you try to use magic on em then they melt and yer stuck in 'till someone breaks the door down.' He grunted slightly, twisting the metal wire and breaking off the chatter for a manoeuvre that needed some extra concentration. 'But there's no problem if I just magic the wire, see? It aint magicin' the lock, I'm magicin' the tool what I'm using on the lock. It's a small thing but it makes all the difference.' With one last twist the lock clicked sharply, and the door wobbled on its hinges, indicating that it was open. Stowing the wire quickly around his wrist, like a particularly cheap bangle, Will held his finger to his lips, and he, Bo and Johan, along with one or two other boys crept from the room, closing and locking the door behind them. Bo, however was still reeling from what he'd seen Will do – it was one of the first pieces of true magic he'd ever seen performed in his life.

'You know magic?' Whispered Bo incredulously. No one on the streets had known how to do something as complex as using a wire to pick a lock. Will grinned cheekily, explaining that there was a lot you could learn if you lived at the castle all your life. Bo had to agree, feeling somewhat jealous of the white haired boy's skills. There was one other thing that was bothering the teen. He whispered to Will,

'Alexander said he was gonna talk to Jayne, is that Master Sir's real name?' Will looked back with wide eyes.

'Yeah, that's Master Sir's real name. It's a girl's name, is why he likes being called Master Sir. Not many people know but I heard summun talking to him using his real name once when I was sneakin-er... Doing some cleaning inside a cupboard, real quiet like.' Bo wondered what Alexander was going to talk to Master Sir about. The weapon master had said there would be no trouble over the rack that Bo broke, but now Bo worried the story would come to Master Sir's attention and he would get into trouble. To get his mind off the worry, he asked Will what they were doing again. Will grinned, seeming to be bursting with excitement to the point where he was no longer able to casually instruct Bo to 'wait and see'.

'Okay, get this right, some folks came over from the Great Desert. You know? The place where all the magic comes from.' Bo nodded thoughtful. From his talks with the mage, he knew that the Great Desert shared a border with his kingdom - Redland, and that lots of mages lived and worked there. If the mage's stories were to be believed, then they had giant tomes of magic that contained unparalleled wisdom, and that each generation of magicians were devoted to working out new and ever more potent spells to add to them. It was a centre of learning. The mage had claimed that they lived on the back of a giant tortoise that was free to roam the desert, and that the tortoise contained a source of powerful magic that could be drawn on in times of crisis. Thinking back to his friend, Bo felt a sudden pang of homesickness, but there was no time to dwell on it, as Will continued his speech. 'Well, the advisors to The King says they been eyeing off our land and that they are workin on spells what can kill everyone in the city, right? So he says we have to all go to war with them, but \--'

'War?' Interrupted Bo, aghast. He'd heard no such thing back on the streets. All his life he had thought rumours filtered through the city and ended up in The Gutter, the same as everything else, but it seems this one was either only just starting to get out, or it had been well contained. Will gave him an odd look,

'Yeah, are you deaf? Everyone's been talking about this war for ages. Why do you think there were so many people in the fighting ground today?' Bo shrugged, forgetting that Will couldn't see him in the dark. How was he supposed to know the fighting lesson had been unusual? He wasn't privy to things that went on in the castle. Will sighed, 'well yeah anyway, so there's been this war that everyone has been worried about, although I guess not everyone exactly. Uh anyway The Great Desert sent a peace group out. That is a bunch of boring brown-nosers who talk a lot about a whole lot of rubbish, and they hope that if they talk enough there won't be a war. Everyone has to be real nice to em even tho they smell funny and they don't have proper manners or nothin.' Bo nodded, wishing Will would get to the point. They reached a wall hanging that Will pulled aside to reveal a passageway inside the thick stone walls. There was a dark narrow stairway just beyond. Before they entered the passageway, Will turned. He folded his fingers over one another, before quickly moving to steeple them and then performed a quick string of gestures that Bo could not quite catch in the half light. Muttering a few words that made no sense to Bo, Will looked back up again and winked, 'just a little magic to make sure our feet are silent.' With these words, he padded into the darkness, making no noise that Bo could make out. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, Bo allowed himself to follow in Will's wake, too caught up in what was going on to turn back now. Ignoring his discomfit, Bo listened as Will continued. 'They are all having a welcoming banquet, even though the mooks have been here a whole week. It was 'cos The King was out hunting or something, and he only just got back. Anyway - turn left – I decided to give my own little welcoming gift to the desert people. Okay stop.' Will had directed them through a short maze of corridors that Bo felt certain he would never be able to remember come morning. The white haired teen seemed to know his way well, even in the dark. Bo wondered why Will had bothered silencing their footsteps if he was going to insist on whispering. The dark skinned teen also noticed that despite the silver collar's claim, his own feet were slapping just as noisily as ever on the stone floor. Luckily, he had learned through long and sometimes painful experience the virtue of silence, and in his time in The Gutter had gotten quite good at walking silently. Small slits of light shone through into the hall where Will had called for the group to stop, and every boy pressed an eye to them.

In the room beyond, a long table was set with a rich fare. There were so many foods that Bo had only heard about, he could feel his mouth watering. It certainly didn't help that he had missed his dinner in order to polish weapons for Alexander. Closest to him there were plump roasted ducks, and well cooked lamb that had fat literally dribbling from it. There were plates of crackling, and small pastry coated dumplings. Further down Bo could see fiery looking salads that contained all sorts of fruits that were red, yellow, and orange, artistically displayed in their bowls. There were sauces of all textures and colours set along the table, plates of spices for garnishing dishes, and large jugs of wine. The eating had already started, but only just. Everyone was still busy piling their plates high with food. How they could stand to wait until such an hour for dinner, Bo could only guess. He could easily spot the foreigners. They were wearing strange, bright clothes. Some were in blue, while others sported red, or purple. Most of them were wearing a horrible dirty orange colour. If Bo had been made to guess, he would have said they were colour coded, but he had no idea what the colours signified. Their clothes of choice consisted of a strange one piece set, that looked like trousers joined onto a long sleeved shirt. Often the men had a belt that broke up the ensemble and helped to give their bodies some shape, rather than looking like they were wearing sacks, while the women's clothes were distinctly better fitting, having been tailored to suit the shapes of their bodies. In total there were about twenty of the desert people, and they sat well dispersed amongst a gathering of over thirty of King Samuel's people. There was one man that stood out above the rest of them. He presided over the table, perched high in an expensive chair right at the end. He wore rich robes trimmed with expensive fur, and sported a large number of rings and necklaces. His body build, however, showed that he was unused to sitting down for long periods of time, as he was built on the muscular side. Bo gasped as he realised he was spying on The King himself. Will clapped a hand over Bo's mouth, frowning angrily. He hissed,

'Shut up you ninny, there are over ten grand mages in that room, and any one of them could find us if they thought to look. We'd be deader than a rat in a bin of water if they hear us.'

Bo shut his mouth. It was too dry to make any further sound anyhow. He was suddenly wishing that he was back in his room, sound asleep on his bed roll. Silently the slaves pressed their eyes to the holes once more. Bo watched proceedings with a horrified fascination, wondering what kind of mischief Will had gotten him into. 'Watch when the wine is handed out' breathed Will. Bo had to strain to hear him. 'I switched the wine, that was supposed to go to the desert dwellers with vinegar.'

As if on cue, Bo watched as The King ordered one of the serving girls to pour wine for the guests. The girls did so, handing the first glass to a man in blue clothes. On closer inspection Bo realised the man was much younger than he'd expected. He looked no more than one or two years older than Bo himself. He had rich black hair, that was parted neatly on one side. His face was a little long, with a strong nose and intelligent brown eyes. His skin was very tanned, but Bo suspected it was from spending a long time in the sun, rather than a natural complexion. He was also a good handspan taller than anyone else sitting at the table, although he stooped his shoulders as if ashamed of that fact. With surprisingly nimble hands he grasped the cup he was given and took a long sip of the 'wine' that was inside it. For a moment Bo thought he would spray the vinegar all over the table, so surprised was his expression. The teen watched as the man in blue struggled to swallow the vinegar rather than spitting it out. Impatient for a response, The King asked what the man thought, and the man bought himself some time by dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. When he was done his expression was smoothed over, and any trace of disgust was removed.

'I was very... surprised... by the taste. You have an interesting local selection here.' he said diplomatically, unobtrusively sliding the glass away from himself as he spoke. Will hurried away and Bo could hear him cackling with amusement even though he had managed to go some distance down the corridors before losing control of himself.

After that, the small group hurried back to their room. Bo was almost dead on his feet and he groaned when he remembered that slaves were woken up before dawn. He imagined that would give him only about four hours of sleep. Will unlocked the door, and then locked it again using his magic. Had he been less sleepy, Bo might have marvelled that his friend had never been caught out at his little trick, but it was late, and Bo'd had a busy day. Almost as soon as his head hit the bedroll he was asleep. His dreams were filled with strange things that were only half recognised; here the interior of a trailer, there the hot forge where he'd had the collar put on him. The last image burned into his memory as he struggled awake was of the boy he'd found in the upper levels of the weapon storehouse, with his eyes rolled back, chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

The next day came all too quickly. Barely awake, Bo rolled out of bed, and Will briefly spent time admiring the swollen cheek that he'd been unable to appreciate in the dark of night. In the cold pre-dawn light it looked much worse than it was. Grumbling incoherently Bo hurriedly redressed his hand. It looked much better than it had yesterday, and was starting to hurt less as well, although the skin around it was still an alarming shade of dark red. As soon as the bedrolls were stacked, there was a click and the lock opened up to show one of Master Sir's bowmen, leering at the slaves nastily. Without saying anything he moved on, wishing to get his duties over and done with so he could run back to bed for an extra five minutes. Bo, Will, and Johan headed out into the corridor, toward the refectory. The brassers were barely awake, but Will seemed as bright and sprightly as always, calling out to friends he could see across the hall, and making jokes with other slaves who were similarly wide awake. Someone bumped into Bo's arm and he glanced over to see Allie. She did a double take, her eyes clearly on his bruise.

'Wow what happened to you yesterday?' she asked, as though it was any of her business. Wearily, Bo explained that he'd taken a few punches from some silver collars. 'I'll bet it was Aaron and his group,' decided the girl. It wasn't a question, and Bo's expression was enough to confirm her suspicions. 'He was hanging around the girl who was supposed to be showing me the ropes yesterday. She said something about Will and Aaron slapped her down where she stood before hurrying away in a huff. She spent the rest of the day moaning and whining about Aaron to me, so don't worry - I know all about him and his bully boys.' Allie pursed her lips disapprovingly. Bo shrugged, not sure why she insisted on talking to him. It wasn't like they were friends. Huffing at Bo's lack of response, the girl flounced away, looking for better company. The teen shook has head, as Will slapped him on the back.

'She looks like a handful!' he said gleefully. Bo rolled his eyes, as Will asked what the girl's name was.

'Allie. Anyway I don't really know her, okay? She's just a busybody.' Will whistled at Bo through his teeth, and nudged him with an elbow, teasingly suggesting that Bo was head over heels smitten with the girl. The jokes continued all the way to the breakfast hall, and all through breakfast as well (another helping of bitter gruel). Bo was glad when something else distracted Will. One of the cooks handed Will an extra plate.

'what's this, seconds? Have I bin a good boy already today?' grinned Will. The cook cuffed Will across the head playfully.

'Donchu eat that Will, I want you to deliver it to that brasser what's laid up in the infirmary. You wouldn't want it anyway, no magic'd food is allowed in there, so it tastes like puke.' Will didn't stop grinning, but he became more serious. Bo thought that puke would be a better taste than the food he'd consumed so far, but he wasn't about to say that in front of the cooks, just in case they took him at his word, and tried to improve his meals with a bit of vomit as thanks for the critique. While most of the slaves were still hungrily slurping down their gruel, Bo, Johan, and Will went to visit the brasser they had rescued yesterday.

The infirmary was only a short walk away from the eating hall. It was much cleaner than the rest of the slave quarters. So clean in fact that Bo felt like a grubby farm animal that had wandered into a temple. There was a quiet chatter amongst the healers, but apart from that there was silence. Bo fell in behind Will, using him as something akin to a human shield. He didn't want to be questioned by any of the mages, who all seemed to be quite tall and held themselves away from the slaves as though the three boys were trespassing vagabonds. Will spoke to one of the nearest healers, who was wearing undyed cotton robes.

''Scuse me, we came to give this food to the brasser what's in here,' said Will, holding out the still steaming substance. The healer gave the gruel a sniff, before wrinkling her nose. Bo could only agree, it wasn't something to whet the appetite.

'As thoughtful as that is of you, he isn't with us any more.' Will cultivated a look of polite confusion, and the healer sighed at his apparent stupidity. 'He was taken away, I don't know where to. Master Sir took him last night, saying there was a better place for him to be.' She sniffed disdainfully, 'I don't see what place could be better, we have very high standards here.' Will looked worried, but he smoothed the healer's ruffled feathers by saying that the infirmary was indeed very high quality, and that Master Sir wouldn't know a healer from a chicken, for all that he boasted about his wealth of knowledge and high upbringing. The white haired slave took the gruel back to the cooks, explaining the situation. They seemed as confused as Will had been, but simply accepted matters without thinking to enquire any deeper into them.

That day, Will, Bo and Johan were to sweep out the lower levels of the castle. They weren't alone in the task, as there were two more groups assigned to the task, giving a total of nine slaves. Even with nine people working on sweeping, it took well past the lunch break to finish the task. By the time Bo was finished he could swear that he had a much better idea of how the lower levels were laid out, and would probably be able to navigate them by himself in the future. Will had been highly skilled with the broom, although he claimed not to have used one since his days as a brasser. He soon finished his own portion of the work and slipped out, after assuring Bo and Johan that he would be back, and making sure they knew what they were doing. The day passed without much happening. Even though Bo had completely finished, Will was still missing, and there was no one to tell him what to do. Stashing the broom back where he had taken it from, Bo wandered over to the weapon storehouse. Like yesterday, the area was abandoned. Cautiously, Bo crept inside, wondering if he was allowed to do so without an invitation from the weapon master. Like the day before he breathed the unique odour of the place in, enjoying its comforting bouquet. Alexander was already inside, checking to make sure everything had been stored in its proper place. He gave Bo a curt nod, and Bo walked directly over to the pile of swords he had been shining yesterday. He paused and turned to look at Alexander. It took a while for the weapon master to see that Bo was hesitating over his task, and with an irritated sigh, he rightly guessed that the boy was waiting for permission to touch the weapons.

'Can polish swordz now. Go.'

Bo spent several hours polishing the weapons, working through his mealtime for the second day in a row. Wiping the sweat away, Bo felt some satisfaction in seeing that he had finally managed to polish his way through the entire pile of weapons that had been laid before him. Alexander came over as the sun was setting, and gave almost every weapon a thorough check, often nodding his head in approval. Bo's arms ached once again from the work, but every time Alexander approved of his work, he felt it was worth the effort.

'Iz good. Zo good, you come back tomorrow, and whenever you haff time. Iz lots of veapons, alvays needink polish.' The fat instructor gestured at the warehouse in general and Bo's eyes widened in horror. He wanted the entire warehouse polished? Alexander grinned, 'Iz good. I don't like to polish, and you do good job. No need for me to polish any more, yez?' With that he dismissed Bo, who was both surprised and irritated. The teen wondered if he had just been suckered into doing hard work that was supposed to be done by Alexander himself. He was missing his meals to polish, when he could be enjoying his free time exploring the castle. Grinding his teeth in irritation, the brasser couldn't think of anything to say to Alexander. Why pick on him? Was it just because he'd broken the rack or was it some other reason? Bo's apparent irritation only seemed to heighten Alexander's amusement, and so the teen quickly left before the weapons master could start laughing at him outright.

Bo reached the courtyard at a quick trot, keeping a wary eye out for Aaron and his crew. He didn't want to get caught out a second time if he could help it. Unlike the day before, the sun still peeked over the horizon, shedding light on the courtyard. There were still shadows to hide in, but they were fewer and far between. Bo decided to travel around the perimeter of the courtyard, sticking to the shadows himself in an attempt to avoid trouble. Trouble, however seemed to cling to Bo like a flea to a mongrel. He could hear raised voices coming from nearby. One was clearly Master Sir's while the other was the deep tones of an unknown man. They were standing directly in between Bo and the slave quarters, making it difficult to impossible for him to sneak past them without being seen. Even if he could have crept past, however, Bo was transfixed by curiosity.

'I tell you, it's inhumane!' said the desert mage in a raised voice. His brown eyes were wide with outrage. Master Sir was leering at him, in one hand he clutched the slender arm of a serving girl with a silver collar.

'You may not have slaves where you're from, but here it's perfectly acceptable. You should get off your high horse and take a look around you. These slaves are better off than those who live in poverty in The Gutter,' retorted Master Sir in a smug, condescending way. He was clearly pleased that the other man had lost his temper. The mage seemed to fume at this, and his voice became louder still. His tone of outrage was clear and he was stepping closer and closer to Master Sir as he spoke, looming over the shorter man.

'How dare you ask someone to give up their freedom and then have the gall to say they were better off!' Master Sir didn't back down, clearly unafraid. It took Bo a moment to realise that it was because he had three of his boys standing at his back, hiding in the shadows. The teen felt a lump form in his throat. He worried that if the foreign diplomat did not give up the fight that he would soon be skewered by three arrows and dumped in the woods somewhere in a shallow grave. The man in blue seemed ignorant of the threat posed by Master Sir, however, and was trying to argue with the man rationally. 'Fine!' he declared after a moment, when it became apparent that Master Sir would not be swayed. For a moment or two the tall desert man fumbled with a pouch. Master Sir went stiff and the bowmen standing in the shadows all went for their weapons, worried that the foreigner was going to cast a spell or bring out a weapon. Instead he threw four silver coins at the feet of Master Sir. The Master simply looked at the coins scornfully, although Bo felt the man was greedily waiting for a chance to snatch at them. 'You only understand money, am I right? Well I want to buy this girl's freedom.' The girl in question started to sob bitterly, much to the shock of the large desert man.

'Please sir, I like it here. I get food and a roof over my head. I get medical attention when I need it. I know sometimes I have te do things what other folk wouldn't want te do themselves, but I don't- I can't. Please, I don't want to be free.' The man in blue reeled back as though he'd been slapped in the face. Bo bit his tongue, wishing that he'd been there instead of the girl. He wouldn't have turned down his freedom, but then, she'd probably been brought up as a slave. He could understand her not wishing to leave the life she knew well, especially if she'd made it all the way to a silver collar. Master Sir grabbed up the coins before the man in blue could take them back, a smug smile plastered to his face.

'pleasure doin' business with you, Sir. As you can see though, this girl here is happy with her station. You can pretend you bought her the freewill to choose to be a slave, if you like.' The tall mage's jaw clenched in anger. He couldn't rightly force the girl out of slavery, but he didn't like the fact that she was so happy with her life. Bo could see that it went against the man's every ideal. Master Sir could see it as well, and he leered in victory. 'Any time you feel like wasting your coin again, be sure to see me about it.' With that he turned and dragged the girl after him. She stumbled before breaking into an awkward forced trot as he lead her away. The mage scowled. He looked like he wanted to chase Master Sir, but in the end he simply turned on his heel and walked back to the castle with long strides.

The rest of Bo's trip back to his quarters was uneventful. He met Johan and Will in their room. All of the boys were gathered around Will, who was telling them of his latest exploits, which largely consisted of hiding a mouse in one of the noble girl's huge dresses, and waiting in hiding. He described in great detail how she had shrieked, ripping the garment from her body, and how she had looked in her underclothes for the tiny creature, afraid that it would bite her. Bo shook his head, uninterested in the graphic detail that Will was etching out for the other boys of the woman, as though he was a lovestruck poet. Instead the dark skinned teen made use of the fading light to changing the bandages on his hand. Eventually Will finished his tale and came over to have a look at Bo's awkward work. Tutting at what he saw, Will took over the bandaging, doing almost as good a job as Alexander. As he worked, he eyed the tin of cream.

'That's pretty expensive stuff you got there.' Bo looked up at him, surprised, and Will grinned at his friends confusion. 'Them as fight a lot get wounded a lot, and they tend to build up a resistance ter healin' magics. This kinda cream is special made, where all of the herbs what go in it are magic'd to make em super potent, but the cream itself isn't magic. You remember what I said about the lock last night?' Bo nodded, 'Well it's like that. It's magic, but it aint, if you catch my drift.' Bo hurriedly explained that Alexander had given it to him, which caused Will to raise an eyebrow, but the white haired slave asked no more questions. It was then Bo remembered about the incident that happened in the courtyard, and he relayed it to Will, vaguely aware that everyone else in the room was keeping a curious ear open as well. Bo omitted his own opinion of the matter, however, and he was glad he did. As soon as he finished his tale Will frowned angrily and spat on the ground, 'Huh, they think they're so much better 'n the likes of us. What do they know about it? Isn't life better as a slave in the castle than a corpse in The Gutter? They shouldn't prod their nose where it don't belong.' A few of the others nodded in agreement, and Bo remained silent about his desire to be the one the desert mage had chosen to free, sensing that it would win him no favours with his new friends. It was true that he was fed, clothed, and cared for, but he was also expected to work without pay, and he'd heard what some of the other slaves were forced to do. Not to mention the collar that sat around his throat every day. Will may be used to being treated like a dog, even a prize hunting dog, but Bo felt cheated, like his own life had been snatched away from him. That night he got to sleep very quickly and had no dreams. He felt better in the morning than he had the previous day, but he was still not good company.

Once again the girl came and talked to him, chattering away about trivial gossip. Bo yawned, not interested in the news about what this slave girl or that slave girl had done yesterday (or not done, in most cases). Eventually he interrupted her, remembering something he'd been wondering about

'Have you heard about the war?' The girl looked confused, so Bo elaborated quickly, explaining what he could remember of the news Will had told him. The girl went thoughtfully quiet, and they were split up before the conversation could continue. Breakfast was the same as it had been yesterday and Bo ate only half of the gruel. He knew he would regret it when he got hungry later, but he couldn't possibly force down any more of it. As a matter of fact the entire day went very much like yesterday, although it was much less eventful. It seemed that the excitement of the first few days was over, and soon enough an entire week had passed. Bo got to try his hand at washing, sweeping, mucking out the animals, mopping, and a number of other menial tasks. He learned the names of everyone he shared a room with, and sometimes he saw them around the place and called out greetings, feeling quietly pleased every time he received a cheerful hello in return. Will often finished his work very quickly, and would duck off without saying where he was going. Usually he would boast about his practical jokes later that night but once or twice he simply smiled and refused to say what he had been up to, claiming a real man doesn't kiss and tell. Every spare moment Bo had, on the other hand, was spent polishing weapons for Alexander, and he had become a lot more comfortable with handling them, as it was proved time and again that Alexander's word was good enough to keep his collar from going off. By the end of the week Alexander asked to see his hand, which was no longer painful, and the weapons master declared it healed, telling Bo that he was allowed to take off the bandage. It was a relief to the teen not to have to tend to his hand all the time, but all the same, he didn't like seeing the black X inked onto his skin. When he worked it often caught in his peripheral vision and he would be reminded of his status. Little by little, Bo's blonde hair also began to grow back. It was his only defining feature, as there were very few dark skinned people with blonde hair, and it was commonly thought to be a genetic trait that was dying out. Although he'd never really thought that much of his hair, he realised that with new hair growing the new slaves were suddenly starting to look like individual people again. The shaving had been more dehumanising than the teen had realised, and he was glad to finally have some fuzz back on his head.

Every morning Bo would have brief conversations with Allie. He had wondered why she insisted on speaking to him at first, given his less than enthusiastic response, until he realised that many of the other new brassers shunned her, and the silver collar guide she'd been lumped with was a self-concerned condescending type. It seemed as though Allie had no other friends to talk to. Bo didn't think he would have been able to cope with being taken in as a slave and not having any friends with which to talk to and learn from. He briefly tried to imagine what would have happened if he'd been given to Aaron or someone like that and couldn't help shuddering in distaste. After that realisation Bo decided to talk to the girl as often as he could, even if he saw her out and about and they were both rushed off their feet, he would have a few kind words for her. For her part, Allie seemed to soften, but was much the same as ever in other respects – just as haughty, and proud as she had always been. Will joked more than once that she must be Bo's sweetheart for him to pay her so much attention, but in truth Bo had no interest in courting her. He quickly learned however that putting up with the teasing made it end much faster than if he protested against it. The morning talks took on more significance near the end of the week, when the girl started to tell Bo about various tidbits she had heard in the women's quarters about the war. She revealed that one serving girl who had been at a few of the peace talks said that they were not going well. The desert dwellers talked and talked and talked, but they never seemed to listen, and while no one wanted to speak ill of the King, he hadn't seemed interested in peace talks either, almost as if he wished for a war to start. To Bo, this was bad news. He knew that should a proper war break out it would be the people in The Gutter who suffered first. Even though his family had betrayed them, he had an almost habitual worry for their well-being that no amount of resentment could quell. He also feared for his mage friend for the first time in days, wondering who was taking care of the old man, and what would happen if a war broke out. He was eventually forced to admit that there was nothing he could do, and tried to put the thoughts out of his mind through concentrating on his day to day activities.

On the last day of the week, Will explained that those slaves that were not rostered on for cooking, serving, or 'entertaining' were given a half day off. Unfortunately for him, he was rostered to serve for the nobles. He explained that Master Sir always made sure he was rostered on for something at the week's end – it was the only petty revenge he could manage. None of the kitchen staff would have him, due to his notoriety as a prankster, and he was not fit for entertainment, mostly due to his eyes scaring people too much, which left him only one job. He didn't even bother asking any more whether he was serving on the halfday off, he could safely assume he was. Sure enough as lunch was called the slaves were free to go back to their rooms, or to chat with each other, and to visit the castle library or farm or other such trivial pleasures. Bo, although he felt hungry, did not relish the idea another lunch of bitter gruel. He could also hear that there were people training in the practice yards, and he was curious to see what the fighters did that made the swords and weapons so cursed dirty that they needed polishing all the time. Bidding farewell to Will and Johan, Bo jogged toward the weapon storehouse and practice grounds, opting to avoid lunch completely. Will called after him telling him not to get too ambitious with his girl on the first date, and to make sure the spot was clear, assuming his friend was headed to the small pond that he'd been shown on his first day. Bo merely stuck out his tongue at Will, shouting back that he hoped Will enjoyed his serving duties. When he thought about it, however, Bo realised he hadn't seen Allie that morning before breakfast. It felt worrying but he didn't know where he could ask after her, not to mention that he would never live down the teasing if Will found out he'd asked to see her.

Bo found himself too late to see what was going on in the practice yard. Everyone was very sweaty, having been working out in the sun, and they were all drinking water from flasks. A few of them drank half and poured the rest over their heads to cool themselves down. Many were in the process of leaving. They were all required to place their weapons neatly on a tarpaulin, which Alexander gathered up as the last few trickled out. He heaved the large sack over one shoulder and trudged inside with it. Bo recognised the bundle all too well, it was often what his pile of weapons to polish looked like. Sure enough when he covertly followed Alexander into the store room the man set it down next to the polishing cloth. The weapons master then threw a loaf of bread over his shoulder which would have hit Bo on the head if the boy had not caught it.

'Vhy here? Iz lunch time, yez?' Bo enjoyed talking to Alexander, if only because he wasn't treated like a slave, rather than a human. Alexander was often grumpy, however, and was as likely to grunt or growl responses as say anything intelligible.

'I'm not hungry.' Bo lied, swiftly devouring the bread he'd been given. Alexander turned to say something, and raised an eyebrow, seeing Bo licking crumbs off his face. The teen tried to look as honest as he could manage.

'Bread tazte better vith cheeze and pickle.' Advised Alexander, tucking into his own lunch which seemed to contain both cheese and pickles. Bo's mouth watered at the thought of real food. He missed the heavily salted meat he had eaten on good days while on the streets and even the rotting vegetables, and the stiff as wood breads.

'What is a pickle?' Bo tried innocently. He knew very well what a pickle was, and Alexander snorted in disbelief.

'Vould geef you pickle, but you are not hungry, yez?' Bo's face fell and his stomach gurgled noisily, not above ratting out the teen as a liar if there was food involved. Alexander laughed as Bo grasped his stomach in an attempt to stop it from making incriminating noises. Eventually he allowed Bo a pickle, of which he seemed to have a ceramic jar at the ready. 'Not eat kitchen pickles, they are no good. My picklez, they are the bezt. You try, and then you agree.' Bo sat cross legged on the ground before devouring the pickle, savouring the flavour of the unexpected treat. He'd not been extremely fond of pickles previously but it was so much better than gruel, he felt he could eat the entire pot of them. Licking his fingers carefully, he agreed most readily that Alexander's pickles were the best he'd ever tasted. The weapons master flashed a grin, displaying his unusually white teeth once more, clearly well pleased with himself. Once the impromptu lunch was finished, Alexander threw Bo a short staff. It was about 3 feet long, and although the small teen looked at it quizzically there was no explanation. It was made of a rough wood, and Bo didn't think that he could polish it, even if Alexander wanted him to. At just that moment, there was a crackle and creak as the large door to the warehouse opened and a young man walked in. He seemed unaware of Alexander and Bo watching him, and looked around furtively, before cupping one hand to his mouth and bellowing out,

'Mister Alexander?!' Alexander mumbled something under his breath. Before the boy could shout out again, Alexander waved to catch his attention. The teen trotted over to the weapon master apprehensively. He was of average height, which meant he was taller than both Bo and Alexander by about a half a hand. His skin was tanned, but despite the tan it was still moderately pale, indicating that his natural skin colour would have been about as white as Will's was. Although he wore a light shirt with suspenders, and heavily patched training pants, Bo could see he was incredibly hairy. The boy's shoulders were rounded in a slump, giving his posture a curved shape. His arms were unusually long, and unlike many of the young fighters, he had relatively long hair that occasionally fell across his eyes. Rather than well defined muscles, his body was also thicker set than many Bo had seen. Most importantly however, he had no collar around his neck. 'You said I should come back at week's end?' asked the boy. He sounded anxious, and rightly so. Alexander was giving him an intense frown.

'Yez. You not very good at fighting. Vill need extra training. Found boy who iz zame level as you. Iz Bo.' Alexander pointed one meaty finger in Bo's direction, turning to Bo he gestured in the other teen's direction, 'iz Ruben. You vill help him learn how to fight like proper.' With that being said he gave Ruben a stick of a similar length and heft to Bo's. Bo opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't allowed to fight someone above his station, and Alexander gave his a glare, 'I say iz okay, iz okay, yez? Like polishing. Do good job.' Ruben looked uncertain about what was going on, but he seemed too afraid of Alexander to protest, and too easy going to worry too much once he was distracted with work. Alexander took them both through a number of basics, including a stretch and warm up, a basic stance, and a few basic swings. The wooden stick could be swung to attack a target at any point around the person, and Alexander demonstrated this with alarming force, giving both Bo and Ruben a few bruises that he said would help them remember the lesson. He made sure they kept a light footing, and a steady stance, always ready to correct them with his whipstick. Bo felt that he understood why Alexander's fighters were so wary of the portly weapon master. At the end of the lesson, the sun was sinking on the horizon. Bo was drenched in sweat, as was Ruben. It was very hot in the armoury but Alexander insisted that this was a private lesson and should not be spoken of among other people, making secrecy important. For the last task Ruben and Bo were told to spar. The winner was the last one standing. Bo looked at Alexander to see if he was serious. He wasn't smiling at least, and he impatiently gestured for the two to get to it. Ruben looked more worried than Bo did, his anxiety causing his fighting stance and grip to go wonky. Although Alexander was quick to correct him Ruben was clearly worried. Bo steadied himself, trying to remember everything he'd learned over the course of the lesson. His muscles were tired, and he could feel some of them shuddering when he rested his weight on them.

Shuffling forward awkwardly Bo swung at Ruben with one of the practised blows. Ruben quickly jumped backwards, and Bo followed him, still trying to keep a fighting stance as he was going. Although he had fought with sticks on the street, and felt that the stance was slightly unnatural, he did not want to be corrected by Alexander. The result of this dedication to the basics was clearly very amusing to Alexander, who was trying to mute his chuckles unsuccessfully. Bo frowned angrily at the noise. He swung at Ruben again, and Ruben backed away. This continued until Ruben had backed all the way into a wall. Growling with irritation, Bo swung again. Having nowhere to go, Ruben whimpered, and blocked instinctively. It wasn't one of the well practised blocks, nor was his stance the correct stance. Bo followed up with another strike at Ruben's side, managing to hit the other teen, but also being hit in the arm when Ruben flailed his own stick fearfully. Alexander called them both back to the centre, and told them to start again. Ruben was clearly ready this time, and he went on a wild attack. Bo tried to block as he'd been taught, rather than instinctually, and incurred many a bruise on hands, shoulders, and arms for it. Finally one of Ruben's mad swings managed to catch him in the head, and Bo was floored. He felt slightly dizzy, but Ruben picked him up somewhat apologetically and they both walked back to Alexander to get a drink. After some water, Bo felt a lot better. Alexander crossed his arms, and had his bushy eyebrows lowered thoughtfully.

'Ruben, you not try hard for proper stance, and proper hits. You need to remember these, not vild thrashing like fish out of vater. Bo you try too hard. Need to be flexible. Iz much work left, yez?' Alexander commanded that they both come back for training every week end, and showed them exercises that he expected them to complete every day, explaining that it would make them stronger. Bo handed his stick back to Alexander and groaned when he realised that there was still the polishing to do. The tired teen began to walk to the large pile of dirty practice swords, but Alexander motioned for him to stop. 'I polish tonight. Go before door iz locked.' Bo and Ruben left the armoury together. Neither said much, and they parted ways before getting to the courtyard, with Ruben going toward the castle, and Bo returning to the slave quarters. He arrived just before lock up to find that Will was complaining bitterly about the desert folk again. The silver collar slave claimed that they were the grumpiest lot he'd ever had to serve, and that they each took dinner in their own rooms.

"I swear they all been looking at me kinda funny, and one of the guys gave me a pat on my backside. I really hope he doesn't get any ideas, because Master Sir has been hoping to foist me off on entertainment for months." The boy pulled a face, and Bo had to laugh at Will's antics. The worst thing, Will continued, was that he was on serving duties for the rest of the next week as well, and was already planning ways he could keep himself amused. Bo really hoped his friend didn't do anything too drastic - they were supposed to be on friendly terms with these desert people after all, and the white haired boy might get in real trouble if he sabotaged peace talks for the sake of a few pranks.

# Chapter 6: A bit of Elbow Grease

The next day Bo woke up a half hour earlier than usual, feeling stiff. It wasn't until he saw the bruises that he recalled what had happened to make him so sore. Getting up slowly, the teen tried to use his spare time to run through the exercises that Alexander had demanded he do daily. Will woke up halfway through these and laughed at the amusing callisthenics, causing Bo to become so embarrassed that he promptly gave up exercising for the day. On the way to breakfast, the dark skinned teen eagerly looked over the heads of the other slaves, wondering where Allie was, but she never appeared. Bo wished he'd thought to find out her schedule so that he could ask what had happened to her, but as he hadn't, he could only spend the day wondering where she'd gotten to. Will accosted Bo over breakfast about his fresh batch of bruises, demanding to know if Aaron had beaten him up again, but Bo hurriedly assured his friend that no such altercation had arisen, and that he had been caught in the kitchen eating an apple by an enraged cook. He went into some detail, describing how she had chased him around with a broom, and ultimately caught him a ringer across the head. This caused Will no end of amusement, but he was sympathetic, advising Bo that on the slaves' holiday the cooks were always more wary, and that if he thought to plunder food from the kitchen that it was best done while on cleaning duty there. Bo had mumbled his thanks for the advice into his gruel, wishing he had bread or pickles instead.

The day progressed much like any other day. Bo had duties in the laundry that dragged out longer than they should, due to the day being rainy. His hatred of the laundry only grew, and with it a dislike for the women who worked there. They were mostly large, ham handed people who saw the slaves as little more than animals, and were well pleased to work the brassers right through lunch time without pause. One woman in particular, not as old as the rest of them, and a lot more energetic, took a particular dislike to Bo. She just didn't seem to like the look of him, and as soon as she was able, the young woman took it upon herself to criticise his every effort. Many of the other slaves shifted away from Bo, in case the ill-favour rubbed off on them, leaving the teen alone to face the wrath of the washerwoman. A lot of muddied clothes came in for washing, and many of them were too delicate to be done all at once, requiring special care. By the time Bo made it to the armoury the sun was already setting. Alexander raised an eyebrow but said nothing of the late hour, and Bo got to work polishing weapons. Unfortunately he barely managed to get through half the pile before he was forced to return to the slave area, or be locked out.

The next day was much the same, as Bo had been moved to the weekly rosters, now that he had been given an introduction to each of his duties, which meant that he was facing a week of laundry duty. What made it worse was that Johan had a week of mucking out animal pens, so they couldn't even talk and joke over their work. Bo was quickly shifted nearer to the gaggle of washerwomen, so that he could be criticised while they remained seated in a more comfortable position. As the teen washed and scraped and beat the clothes, he listened to their conversation, as they were a good source of gossip if nothing else. It was only when the older women started to chat and giggle about Alexander like lovestruck maids that Bo stopped trying to hear what they had to say. After that he had tried his very best to ignore the raucous conversation as it was too horrible to imagine any of them and the weapons master spending time together. Surely they were too old for such shenanigans? He asked himself, but he didn't really want to find out the answer.

There were a number of other slaves, all of them brassers, that were also working in the laundry. Bo could tell which ones had come in at the same time as him, because their hair was only just starting to grow back, like his own. At around lunchtime on the second day, the washerwomen seemed to forget about Bo, and the teen hastily made his escape, slipping away to a far corner of the laundry where he could talk to his fellows and work without being forced to clean and re-clean the same garments over and over again until they were just right. He quickly got to know his fellows by sight, and one or two of them by name. Again the slaves were worked hard, going without lunch, and continuing at full pace well into the afternoon. By the time it was over Bo was too hungry and it was too late to visit the armoury. He felt unreasonable guilt creeping over him at not going to do polishing, but then he was too weary to pick up his feet properly as he walked. He joined his latest friends and acquaintances in the mess hall for dinner, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall sitting at a table or even finishing a whole serving of the gruel. Shuffling back to his quarters, trying to hold back the yawns that threatened to crack his jaw, Bo briefly took note that Will and Johan were still away. He had no energy to ponder on this, however, and Bo practically fell into his bed as soon as he'd set it on the ground, sinking into a heavy slumber.

The next morning Bo woke half an hour early again, but with an irritated groan he rolled over and went back to sleep. He was roused a second time by Will gently shaking him.

'Wow they're really working you hard this week? Mister Alexander was wondering where you had gotten to, but don't worry, I told him you've been busy at the laundry.' Will laughed at Bo's half drowsy, half confused expression. 'Alexander complained that he should be allowed a slave to polish weapons if those laundry women had them for helping with clothes, but he knows you have to do what you're told' Bo continued to stare at his friend groggily. He wondered why Alexander had been talking to Will in the first place, but his white haired friend didn't seem inclined to explain without prompting.

'What?' Bo asked dumbly. Will stuck out his pale tongue cheekily,

'You think I didn't wonder where you were running off to every day? I'm supposed to take care of you.' The silver collared slave was disgustingly talkative for such an early hour. Still chatting away he hauled Bo up to his feet and helped him stow his bedroll. The dark skinned teen was still extremely tired, but his stomach reminded him that it was time to do some eating. He couldn't remember walking to the refectory, but Will assured him he looked dead on his feet (as many of the new brassers did) and it had involved much yawning and grumbling. Again Bo didn't even taste his gruel, which was more a blessing than anything. Idly, he wondered if it was because he was getting used to the fare, or if it was merely because he was extremely hungry. It was only after he'd cleaned out his bowl that he thought to look for Allie. Glancing around at the large body of slaves who were still eating, he couldn't see her. It wouldn't have been difficult, however, to lose one face among hundreds and Bo cursed himself for not remembering her on the walk from the slave quarters. His gut churned uncomfortably, either from worry about his not-really-a-friend, or from eating his horrible breakfast too fast. As he got up, however, Bo saw the silver collar girl who Allie had been assigned to. He hurried over to her.

'Excuse me!' The girl gave him a disgusted look, of the kind that Bo employed only for his gruel. Without waiting for her to tell him to 'shove off', the teen continued, 'I was wondering what happened to that girl brasser what you were showing the ropes?' The silver collar girl sneered,

'I don't know! Why should I care?'

'It's just - she's sort of gone missing, and I wondered if you knew where she was?' asked Bo, ignoring the looks he was getting from those sitting nearby. He could feel a blush rising in his face at the unwelcome attention, but his curiosity and a sense of duty prevented him from fleeing before he could dig up as much information as possible.

'Slaves go missing often enough. Sometimes they catches the eye of one of the nobles. sometimes they kill themselves. Although I doubt she would have caught anyone's eye, unless they were very desperate.' She looked at Bo pointedly. Feeling that he was going to get nothing helpful from the girl Bo smiled sourly,

'Well thanks anyway.' he said courteously before fleeing. He was so anxious to leave the dining hall that he almost forgot to hand in his empty bowl.

At the laundry it was just as busy as the day before. Bo despaired of both having lunch, and being able to visit the armoury again, although he couldn't help being amused that Alexander was complaining after only one day of having to do the polishing himself. Just after the long mournful horn call for lunch time, the weapon master himself appeared, weaving his way through the large washing barrels and the ever glowing stoves that were used to heat water at all times of the day. He carried on his back two burlap sacks and was greeted a little too warmly by one of the washing women.

'Ho Mister Alexander!' she called, smoothing her skirts and getting up to greet him. 'You got the training clothes here fer us? You know we don't mind going out an' pickin' them up ourselves. You surely got better things ter do than ter visit us washing hags.' The woman's croaky voice was as strong as her wooden spoon, and just as often used on the slaves under her command. Every ear in the vicinity was therefore attuned to listening for her, and every word she spoke rang as clear as day in Bo's ears, despite him being quite a distance away. The washing woman grinned wickedly as Alexander set down the bags and leaned casually against the nearest tub. He had his back to Bo, and didn't speak loudly enough for the boy to hear him, so the teen's curiosity had to go unsated (although considering what he had heard from the washing women, the teen could not decide if this was a good or bad thing). A moment later the washer woman bawled out that the slaves should leave for lunch. There was a flurry of activity as the slaves gratefully fled the laundry, before she could change her mind. Bo looked back over his shoulder just before he was caught in the rush for the dining hall, in time to see the washerwoman leaning on her elbows and showing off large amounts of cleavage. The sight was almost enough to turn him off his lunch, and he hoped Alexander would be able to escape as well. Bo had to wonder if if the weapon master would be able to fight his way out of the laundry if it came down to it, or whether the washerwoman's strong arms would win out.

'Thank you for your brave sacrifice Mister Alexander! We will never forget yoooouuuuu!' howled one of the older female brassers, sending many into a fit of giggles as the slaves hurried at a dangerous pace up the stairs. The washerwoman glared up at the departing brassers, but couldn't single out the individual who had slighted her. As the group exited, and trudged through the mud toward the dining hall, Bo caught snippets of conversation coming from other new brassers like himself.

'The work load wouldn't be so bad, but Jameth didn't show up today! When I get my hands on him!' the voice faded as the speaker turned away. Bo's first thoughts were of Allie, but he told himself it was nothing more than coincidence.

Lunch was a quick affair, as the laundry group came into the mess hall after almost everyone else had left. The group managed to finish their lunches in good time, and quickly headed back to the laundry, despite many a grumble. By the time they arrived Alexander was gone and the washerwomen were back to their grumpy selves.

'They've eaten him' claimed one teen miserably. Bo doubted this was true, but couldn't help glancing at the women to see if they looked any more bloated than usual. The rest of the day progressed at a slow and arduous pace, finishing well after the sun had started to set. Despite the late hour, Bo hurried over to the armoury, determined to get some work done, and hoping Will would be able to let him in if he got locked out.

Strangely Alexander wasn't there when Bo quietly pushed open the heavy wooden doors and entered the familiar area. It was unusually cool, but still afforded greater warmth than outside. It also had a layer of fresh hay on the floor, giving it the smell of a clean barn. In the regular place there was a pile of weapons and the polishing equipment. Half had already been polished and half had not. Not thinking clearly through a haze of tiredness, Bo wandered over and began to polish. It was only on his second or third weapon that he realised, with a thrill of horror, that Alexander hadn't first given his permission. The teen froze up, but nothing had happened so far, and it didn't feel like anything was going to happen. Settling down again, feeling understandably confused, Bo decided that it must be because Alexander had given permission once, but he'd never revoked his permission. Surely that was dangerous, to allow Bo to handle the weapons and never to revoke that permission? What if he picked up a weapon with intent to injure. Would his collar kick in then? The teen continued to muse on his new found freedom while polishing. He didn't get as much done as he would have liked before being forced to stumble tiredly back to the slave quarters, simply because if he did not leave he would have fallen asleep where he sat. He didn't see Alexander at all during that time.

Bo arrived back at the room at the same time as Will who seemed to be in an unusually bad mood.

'I can't wait until those damn curst desert mages go back to their own city, which is so clearly better than ours in every way.' he grumbled. 'They haven't stopped complaining about the weather since the first cloud drifted overhead. They claim the food is making them uneasy in the stomach, and that the peace talks are an outrageous farce. What's worse is that they cut into my time. My time! With all this useless chitter chatter.' Will scowled. 'Next time one of 'em starts yapping in my ear I swear I'm gonna tell 'em where ter shove that great city of theirs.' Bo was too tired to laugh at Will's outrage at being forced to work a full day.

'wouldn't it be great to hear about distant places?' murmured Bo, thinking of the wonderful stories the desert people must have of their home town. Will gave him a scathing look but said little in return. As everyone else was already drifting off to sleep, they put down their bedrolls as quietly as possible.

'Hey Will, have you heard of slaves going missing?' whispered Bo. The expression on Will's face was inscrutable, and half hidden in shadows. He didn't answer immediately, leaving the room silent but for the rain pattering down on the roof. Will spoke slowly,

'What – like ever? Sometimes slaves go -'

'No I mean recently' interrupted Bo impatiently. He struggled against sleep, listening for Will's response, but the other teen remained silent. After a moment Bo realised Will was asleep. 'Will!' He hissed in irritation, prodding the other teen with his foot. Will flopped onto his back, but didn't stir. Bo felt a stab of anxiety. Surely no one could fall so deeply asleep that quickly. There was a 'click' from the door as the lock was opened and Bo froze, trying to sink unobtrusively into a more natural 'sleeping' position.

'Just get the one nearest the door' said a bored voice, 'it hardly matters which one. Scrub away the grime and you'll find they're all much the same.' There was a grunt and the sounds of a bedroll shifting around. To his ever lasting shame, Bo stayed silent and unmoving, wishing that the unknown intruders would simply go away. He didn't try to see them, or follow them, and when they were gone, and the door had once again been locked, he stayed on his bedroll, heart in his throat for a good fifteen minutes before daring to move. Sitting up slowly and carefully, he scanned the room. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he quickly saw that someone was missing. Bo turned to Will, trying to shake his friend awake, but Will was unreachable. Getting up quietly, Bo carefully stepped over everyone, making his way to the door. He tried to open it but it was locked as tight as it always was. He could see no way to open it, and he couldn't use magic like Will. In desperation, Bo tried to wake up the closest slave, but like Will they were sound asleep. In the end Bo was forced to admit defeat. He walked back over to his bedroll, intending to think about what on earth could be going on, but in the end his eyelids drooped, and the teen quickly fell asleep.

# Chapter 7: Meeting Magic Head-On

The next morning Will shook him awake again. Bo cracked his eyes open sleepily.

'Bo wake up, Johan's gone missing!' The teen's mind quickly reminded him what had happened last night and Bo leapt off his bed roll as though he'd been bitten by ants, suddenly very much awake. Although it was well before breakfast, all of the slaves were awake, and talking anxiously amongst themselves. Bo drew Will to one side, telling him what had happened last night, and relating things he had heard that indicated other slaves were going missing. Will appeared thoughtful. 'Bo, don't talk to anyone about this okay? Let me just find out more about it first.' Uneasily Bo promised that he would say nothing. To keep himself occupied he performed the exercises Alexander had told him to do, going over them again and again until the door was unlocked, and the spooked slaves could flee their room.

Chatter over breakfast was minimal, especially because Johan was missing, and Will was flitting from table to table, talking with a large number of people. Bo could hear frightened conversations about ghosts stealing slaves away furtively hissed by young slaves that looked like they hadn't slept for days. At the laundry Bo worked silently, not engaging in the lively conversations around him. The rain had stopped, although clouds still hung threateningly in the sky. Rumours were going around that The King had postponed peace talks to go on another hunt, and that the delegates from the desert were furious. The upshot of The King leaving, however, was that many of his nobles had gone with him, making the load of dirty clothes easier to manage. They still worked through lunch, but everyone was finished well before any other group of slaves, and they were quickly let off. Some returned to their quarters while others went in search of food. Bo hurried to the armoury. He had started to worry that Alexander might have disappeared like the slaves. There were still fighters practising in the courtyard, and to Bo's immense relief, Alexander was leading them with his usual enthusiasm. The dark skinned teen slipped into the armoury and began polishing. After a good hour or so, Alexander came in with a few extra weapons in need of some sparkles. The weapon master spent some time sharpening a few of the more serious weapons, and straightening practice blades that had been warped too far out of shape by the vigorous sparring matches between fighters earlier that day, for all that they were blunted.

'Bo. Haff you heard people go missink?' Alexander asked, almost casually. Bo froze. Will had said not to talk about it to anyone. He was glad he wasn't facing the weapons master or Alexander would surely have been able to read the answer in Bo's face.

'I ah – No Sir.'

'Iz lie. Get better at lying,' grunted Alexander dismissively. Bo bit his lip anxiously. After a moment or two Alexander continued, 'Iz good you are quviet about thiz, but not lie to me. You get good information, you tell me, yez?' Bo mumbled an apology, and the work continued without further conversation.

Bo finished his polishing while the sun was still setting. Finding himself with free time, something that hadn't occurred since his first day, he hurried away from Alexander before the weapons master could think of a way to fill it. More than anything, Bo wanted to spend some time finding out more about the mysterious abductors, even though both Will and Alexander had advised him to stay quiet. He had a horrible fear creeping over him that Allie was already numbered among the missing, and he desperately wanted to know one way or another. As if sensing his intention there was a shout as Bo crossed the courtyard.

'Oi Bo!' Bo glanced around to see Will waving him over. With a sigh, the dark skinned teen trotted over to his friend. Will grabbed his arm and pulled him into the nearest doorway. 'Bo please could you take over serving for me tonight? Please?' Bo started to protest, but Will had his begging expression on. It was hard to say no to that face. 'You know those mages are driving me crazy! An I promised someone I'd go see em sometime this week at that spot we discussed once or twice. Yeh can't leave a lady hanging you know?' Bo sighed heavily. He could practically see his free time vanishing like smoke in a net. Will took this as a 'yes' patting Bo heartily on his shoulder. 'Thanks! I owe you one!' The white haired slave practically skipped away, before Bo could change his mind.

'Wait Will!' called Bo suddenly remembering that brassers weren't allowed upstairs. Will either couldn't hear him or refused to listen. Either way, he left Bo to trudge uncertainly to the kitchens.

The kitchens were warm and bright, as the magic globes had already turned on for the evening. It was filled with an array of silver collar slaves, and one or two of the gold bangled slaves. Bo tried not to stare too much at the latter, although he couldn't help peering curiously in their direction every now and then. Everyone preparing food wore white clothes. Bo recognised the clothes with a hint of reproach - often they came into the laundry spattered with food stains that were very difficult to remove. Before he could get too far into the kitchen a silver collar slave stopped him, giving him a look up and down. They had blonde hair, like Bo, but a much lighter skin tone. They were also a girl. This girl's hair was very frizzy and it was held back tightly by a band. Over the top of her head she wore a net. Her hazel eyes met Bo's green ones, and her full lips pursed in mild disapproval.

'You're here to replace Will?' before Bo could answer the girl rolled her eyes and shoved a white apron into Bo's arms. 'put it on, you have plates to take upstairs. Don't worry you won't get into trouble this time, but if you see Master Sir, you should probably run and hide.' she grinned evilly and Bo swallowed, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. He fumbled the apron, as the girl instructed him about how to use the food trolley, and where to find the rooms of the desert mages. The directions were complex and Bo had to mutter them under his breath in an attempt to remember them.

The trolley with the meals on it had one wheel that never seemed to go in the right direction, making it uncontrollable, and a pain to push, but it was better than running back and forth from the kitchens with food. Bo had no doubt that Will would have been scooting up and down the halls at breakneck speeds when he was serving. No doubt the white haired slave had mastered the contrary trolleys and could ride them like steeds to his destination, mowing down those who happened to get in his way. Bo on the other hand struggled to get it half a pace without the trolley becoming entangled in a floor rug, ensnared by a door frame, or almost magnetically attracted to a wall. He had to admit, however, that he was excited about seeing the desert mages up close, and hoped they were just as talkative as Will had claimed. If he was going to lose his free time, he may as well make the most of it.

The first room he came to contained a woman. He knocked as he had been told to, and the door was quickly opened to reveal a dark skinned woman who was a good five or ten years older than Bo, but she wore her age well. She was taller than the boy by half a hand, and her hair was short and wavy. Bo could smell cinnamon and another unidentifiable spicy scents wafting on the air. The woman smiled kindly at Bo, thanking him in a rich voice for the delivery. Bo stammered something in reply, something incoherent. Whatever he'd been expecting after all of Will's complaints, this was not it.

'Also I have one of my friends in here. She is from the room two doors down. Would you mind if she took her meal in here?' The woman lingered over the word 'friend' as though it had been diplomatically chosen over a number of other synonyms. Bo blinked.

'O-of course M'am.' he stuttered, not sure how to address the woman. She grinned at the teen widely, displaying a large number of white, squarish teeth, and holding out an unusually strong looking right hand. Bo wasn't quite sure what to do with it, and the woman laughed at his confusion.

'You clasp my hand with yours and we shake. It is a greeting where I am from.' Bo nervously held out his right hand, and she clasped it in a firm grip, giving it a few shakes up and down.

'Stop tormenting the poor boy Arty.' called a more feminine voice from inside the room. Bo quickly extracted his hand from the woman's and turned back to his cart which was making the most of Bo's distraction, trying to make a quick escape. With a yelp of dismay he lunged after the contrary contraption before it could gather too much speed. Arty disappeared into the room and came back to take the second platter from Bo. Thanking him again, she bowed courteously before closing the door.

Bo wondered what Will's trouble was. Clearly not all of the desert mages were as he painted them to be. Feeling less anxious, Bo came to the second door. He knocked lightly as he had been told and waited for the order to come in. After a moment or two he knocked again, but still there was no reply. In cases like this he had been instructed to leave the food in the person's room for when they returned. If they were asleep, he was not to wake them. Glaring at the trolly as if to warn it to stay put, Bo cautiously opened the door. He hadn't gotten to see the inside of Arty's room, but it was probably much the same as this one, he suspected.

There was a large impressive bed in one corner, a personal hearth and a number of magic lighting globes that didn't shine too brightly, meaning that the soft warm light was well dispersed throughout the room. On the floor there was a large rug that was woven with a number of muted hues. Near the door there was a table that was covered in papers. Uncertainly Bo moved closer to it. He was either going to have to place the food on the bed, or move some of the papers to make room for the food. As he moved closer to the hearth, he could see the occupant of the room had fallen asleep in one of the large lounge chairs. It was the black haired man who had swallowed a mouthful of vinegar due to Will, and who had lost four silver coins to Master Sir. He had clearly fallen asleep over some reading, as in his lap there sat a heavy looking tome. The man's head was tilted back at an awkward angle and his mouth hung slightly open. His breathing was deep and regular, indicating that he had been asleep for some time. Carefully, Bo moved some of the papers aside with one hand while the other balanced the plate of food. The plates on the tray rattled as he moved. He tried to keep the platter steady but it was impossible to do so with one hand. There was a mumble as the sleeper was disturbed.

'Ah sorry s--' Bo began anxiously, realising he'd accidentally woken up the man. Before he could finish his sentence, the man's eyes flew open and there was a rush of wind in the small room. Papers flew everywhere, and the large rug that was on the floor threw itself at Bo. The fire in the hearth flared to life, fed by a sudden rush of oxygen, and the rug slammed into the unfortunate brasser, driving him backward and into the wall. There was a crash as the platter he'd been holding so precariously was knocked out of his hand, and the food spilled all over the floor. The teen's head cracked against the stones and he was knocked senseless.

'He was looking through my papers, and he didn't set off the alarm I had set on the door!' said a voice. It was male, and angry. Bo groaned. He tried to reach for his head which ached horribly but found his limbs to be leaden and beyond his immediate control. Strong hands pulled him into a sitting position. When he opened his eyes, things were confusing. He didn't immediately recall what he'd been doing or where he was, but there was a familiar face staring at him in a concerned way.

'Are you okay boy?' Bo groaned again,

'I think I'm gonna puke.' he answered honestly, although the words came out too mumbled to be coherent. He could feel saliva gathering swiftly in his mouth that tasted metalic, a sure indication that he was about to throw up. Looking away from the face the teen slumped sideways and retched. Having had no lunch, however, there was little other than bile that came up. He remembered distinctly thinking that the bile did actually taste a lot like breakfast had, but the thought was only one of many unrelated ones to run through his mind. A hand cupped itself around his face bringing his head up again. A light was shone in his eyes, leaving bright spots.

'Did you have to be so harsh?' demanded Arty angrily. Bo spat to get the taste of bile out of his mouth, before tucking his head between his knees. Although it was still aching, and he felt dizzy, he had regained some control of his limbs and voice.

'M sorry I woke you up sir.' he mumbled. It seemed that no one had heard him as the male mage was still arguing with Arty, while a red haired woman was doing something by the hearth.

Looking at the room started making Bo feel sick again so he resumed his former position, which seemed to help. Tentatively he explored the lump on his head with his fingers. There was some wetness – possibly blood, but it had almost dried. Someone pried his hand away from the wound.

'Don't touch it. Here drink this.' The drink was warm – not too hot to sip but too hot to drink quickly. It had been prepared by a red haired woman. As Bo took a sip obediently from the cup she added, 'it isn't spelled, so it might be a little bitter.' Bo laughed. For some reason he couldn't seem to stop himself. It seemed so funny that the woman was concerned about her brew being bitter when all he ever seemed to eat was as bitter and unpalatable as vomit. The drink itself was bitter with the smallest scent of mint to it, but in a moderately pleasant way. It also helped wash away the taste of the bile. Bo could feel it clearing his head. If nothing else his laughter was enough to stop the argument going on between the other two people. Arty turned her back on the black haired mage and knelt to look at Bo.

'Are you okay boy? What is your name?'

'Bo Gart, Miss.' The woman dead panned, but it was clear that Bo wasn't lying.

'That's an interesting, er, name. Did your parents have a sense of humour?'

'No Miss, everyone has a name like that where I come from.' Bo took a deep breath to stretch his cramped lungs, before going into detail about the naming customs of The Gutter. In truth it had all started with a popular myth, where the trickster god stole the wealth of the Father god, but he had been caught by the god of war \- Strife. Strife had asked the trickster god his name, and as a joke the trickster replied 'No Body'. Strife took him to the Father of all gods, claiming No Body had stolen the treasure. Of course he was laughed at and cast out of the throne room. Strife was so angry at the trick that had been played that he cursed all of those who worshipped the trickster god, saying their money would be stolen from them until they paid back the gods for the theft of the great treasure. Thus, everyone who worships the trickster god No Body were forced to take on a joke name of their own so that Strife would not be able to find them.

After Bo had finished the explanation, his mug was also dry, and he was helped to his feet. He eyed the rug that was lying in a pile nearby distrustfully.

'Should we call someone to take you to the infirmary?' Asked the red haired woman. Bo's eyes opened wide,

'Please don't! I'm not supposed to be up here, I was just covering fer my mate W- uh... for my friend.'

'I see,' said Arty, pursing her lips and standing up. She glared at the man who was managing to both look sheepish and defiant, 'I'm afraid you caught Erasmus here by surprise. I'm sorry about your head, but it looks like you'll be alright.'

'It's me who should be apologising.' said Bo solemnly, feeling guilty that the desert people were treating him so well when he had messed everything up. He turned to the man called Erasmus. 'I'm sorry I woke you up Mister Erasmus. I know it's against the rules' Bo bowed stiffly to the man who said nothing. He had his arms crossed over his chest. Before Bo could leave, Erasmus stuck out one tanned hand in his direction. Despite Erasmus' youth the hand was calloused like that of a worker. Being now briefed on this custom, Bo responded in kind, grasping the man's hand firmly with his own. They shook hands,

'We got off to a bad start. I'm Erasmus – Just Erasmus. I thought you had come to steal my papers, not to serve me dinner, I'm sorry I overreacted.' Bo looked at the table to see that the papers were packed away, and that Erasmus' dinner stood unharmed on the wooden surface. The teen gaped in surprise, causing Erasmus to grin widely despite the situation. 'I fixed it up with magic. Terribly convenient isn't it?' Arty sighed, shunting Bo out of the room,

'Get out boy before he talks your ear off bragging about just how he magicked his dinner back into the plates.' Bo allowed himself to be ushered out of the room by the two women. He looked at his cart – it was empty – before turning a questioning gaze on Arty and her partner. The red haired one was grinning,

'I delivered the rest while you were out cold.' She explained. Bo thanked her, hurrying back with his cart the way he'd come. It was much easier to handle without the burden of so much food. He worried about how long he'd been unconscious for, especially when he reached the kitchen to find that the fires were low and there were very few people in attendance. Quietly, Bo put the trolley back where he had found it, sneaking out before he could get caught and punished.

Hurrying back to the compound, the teen was distressed to find the doors locked. No doubt when the door was opened in the morning, and they saw he was missing, he would be hunted down and beaten for staying out at night. The teen had little time to get worked up about this, however, as there was the scuffling sound of footsteps, and Bo shrank back into the shadows of a nearby doorway. A group of people shrouded in darkness walked steadily past. The light of the moon illuminated the halls very dimly, but it was enough that Bo could see one of them carried a human sized sack over one shoulder. Swallowing his apprehension, the boy started to trail them. Bo knew what he was doing was stupid, and foolhardy, but he was locked out of his own room, and he felt bad about letting Johan be taken without a fight. They wove through the slave compound, apparently happy with just one abductee. After a few turns, they reached the entrance to the compound. The light was much stronger there and Bo could see them more clearly. He recognised none of them. The one who was carrying the slave was large and thickset. His lower jaw protruded further than his upper jaw and he had thick heavy brows that cast his eyes into shadow, giving him an eternal expression of moronic anger. One of the others was a woman with skin that was darker even than Bo's. The light that shone from the moon reflected in her eyes, which shone an unnatural yellow-gold hue. Her hair was cut short like a warrior's and lithe muscles showed clearly in the halflight as she moved, graceful as a cat. The last of the group was shorter than the other two, and was hidden inside a dark green cloak. He handed the woman a bag that clinked invitingly.

'Don't forget Jayne's payment. We wouldn't want to disrespect our honourable business partners now, would we?' The woman said nothing, but ran off without making so much as a sound. Without waiting for her to return, the cloaked man and the giant with the sack turned and headed in the direction of the castle. Bo began to creep after them, his curiosity practically brimming over. He followed them into the castle, which was better lit than the courtyard and slave quarters, sticking to the shadows. The group looked about them guiltily before pulling aside a hanging rug, and entering a secret passage beyond. The teen was about to follow them when a hand clamped down over his mouth. Struggling furiously, he was dragged backwards and into a doorway, where yet another strong hand grabbed his arms pinning them to his side and ceasing his movement. From beyond the doorway there was a light whisper of fabric as the woman, who was left to catch up, appeared. She glanced about suspiciously, and Bo froze as her eyes roved over him. Apparently satisfied, she cautiously followed the other two through the wall hanging. If Bo had still been following the group, he would have certainly been seen by the woman, and he doubted she would have given him a smile and a hand shake.

'Vhat you do outzide room. Iz lockup time, yez?'

Bo's muscles relaxed as soon as he heard Alexander's voice. When Alexander was sure that there would be no trouble he released the teen, and Bo turned, surprised to see the wildly bearded man.

'I got locked out, so I was going to follow 'em, 'cause last night they took summun from my room.' whispered Bo. Alexander looked like he wished he had brought his whipstick with which to cane the teen. Instead he slapped him across the face with an open palm.

'Iz not game. Eef these find you followink, they vill kill you, stupid boy,' growled Alexander. 'Now I haff loose zis trail. Muzt let them takink anosser child tomorrow.' He sounded angry. Without further hesitation, he grabbed Bo by the ear and led him back to the slave compound. Reaching the correct room, he rifled about in his pant pocket, before pulling out a simple looking key. It fitted into the lock, easily opening the door. The irate weapons master practically hurled Bo back into the room, closing the door behind the teen and locking it. Glumly Bo slunk his way over to a bedroll, feeling guilty at having earned Alexander's ire. With thoughts of desert mages, and Alexander, and strange midnight prowlers, it was difficult for the teen to get to sleep.

# Chapter 8: Training and Discovery

The next day the clouds had all but vanished from the sky, and the sun shone down, making it a bright and refreshing day after the rain. Bo had been shaken awake by Will, who had wanted to ask what had happened the last night to his dark skinned friend. Bo explained, telling the story while they walked to the refectory, and continuing while choking down as much breakfast as he could. Will had been angry to hear of the misunderstanding with Erasmus, as though he took it as a personal affront that the foreigners suspected anyone at the castle of trying to spy or sabotage them. The white haired teen swiftly gave his word that he would spit in each and every meal he was forced to deliver to Erasmus from now on. Before Bo could argue, Will patted him companionably on the back and hurried off to talk to another group of friends that were waving him over.

The rest of the working day was much the same as always. Bo felt like he was starting to get the hang of the washing lark, although it played hell with his arms and back, making him wish he had a skerrick of magic with which to soothe his aches. At the end of the day he felt like his arms might fall off. His head ached a little as it had when he'd been forcefully propelled into the wall, and he was just about asleep on his feet. Never-the-less, he didn't want to seem ungrateful or churlish to Alexander (especially after last night), and so he was all but forced to visit the armoury, as was his usual practice. Outside the armoury a familiar figure squatted in the dirt. Bo wandered closer, quickly discovering that the familiar figure belonged to Ruben. Ruben was completely oblivious to all that was happening around him. By the teen's side there were a number of tools and wires that were sitting on a leather bag. In the dirt before Ruben, was a small mechanical bird. Bo had never seen anything like it before. Each little feather glistened in the dying sunlight, reflecting the red and orange of the sunset. It was a thing of real beauty. The bird was obviously mechanical, but at the same time the detail that had gone into it was breathtaking. As Bo watched, it opened and closed its mouth as though warbling, cocked its head to one side realistically and then to the other, it hopped around, happily pecking at the dirt. The whole thing was no bigger than a sparrow.

Bo squatted down in front of Ruben, who was keeping the bird from hopping too far way by gently nudging at it with a hand when it strayed. He was observing the creation so keenly that he completely failed to notice Bo's presence.

'Hey Ruben, what is that?' Bo asked curiously. Ruben squawked in surprise and overbalanced, falling on his bum. The bird in turn raised its head as if in alarm, glaring at Bo with empty metal eye sockets for the briefest of moments before also falling over. One wing flapped frantically, along with the opposite leg, while the head was curled tightly in to the body, and the leg that was not flailing stuck rigidly out and away from the body. Ruben quickly got to his feet and muttered something over his creation, and the wonderful mechanical bird fell dead, going into a settled pose. The hairy teen looked up at Bo sheepishly,

'The flying mode doesn't work quite properly yet.' He explained, clearly embarrassed, 'It keeps thinking its foot is a wing and its head is a foot.'

'You mean you made this?' Asked Bo incredulously. The other teen allowed himself a proud smile, and Bo got the feeling it wasn't an expression that often got to cross his face.

'Yep - doesn't it look like a real bird and all? I wanted it to be able to fly by now, but it is much harder than I thought it would be. Mice are so much easier to animate.' Before Bo could ask any further questions, there was a shout as Alexander poked his head out of the armoury. He was clearly impatient for Bo to get to work. Bo hurried to his polishing duties while Ruben packed up his materials, tools and bird with a slow exaggerated care.

Once inside the armoury, however, Bo was given a stick and not, as he had expected, a cleaning rag. Ruben entered a moment or two afterward and was likewise given a stick.

'Once a week, not enough. Now iz trainink every day.' barked Alexander. The man seemed very short on temper that day. Bo and Ruben both had trouble remembering everything they had been taught in the previous lesson, and Alexander handed out many more whacks with his whipstick than he had before. By the end of the lesson, not only did Bo's arms and back ache from the washing he had done, but his sides, legs and arms all sported minor bruises from the harsh training instruction that the weapons master employed. It was cold compensation to know that Ruben was just as bad as he was when it came to fighting. While the two teens settled into some drills, Alexander sat and polished weapons, placing those that needed extra attention in a separate pile, and keeping one beady blue eye on his students at all times. It was a relief for Bo to know that he wouldn't have to do that work on top of everything else, but he had to say that he preferred polishing and gaining Alexander's approval, than being taught by the gruff old man and earning nothing but a whack across the back - if he was lucky. At the end of the lesson, there was another round of sparring. Ruben tried his best to keep to the moves and style he had been shown by Alexander, and Bo tried to loosen up a little, but neither of the two managed to satisfy Alexander, who merely grumbled that it was obvious they had not been doing their exercises every day.

After the sun had set both Bo and Ruben wearily trudged back toward the courtyard in a companionable silence. Alexander had only begrudgingly let them out, extracting promises that they would come back the next day and make sure to do their exercises. Will was waiting at the opposite side of the courtyard, with his arms folded across his chest. As Ruben peeled off toward the castle Bo waved goodbye but the other teen seemed too preoccupied to notice, intent on his own thoughts. With a shrug Bo wandered back to Will, and they walked toward the slave compound.

'What are you doing chatting to Useless? Has Alexander got him doin the old spit 'n' polish as well?' Bo frowned,

'You mean Ruben?'

'Yeah, but everyone up at the castle calls him Useless.' Explained Will offhandedly. 'His grandfather was a knight or something. I don't know the full story but I heard he was in the same troop as Alexander, even. He died on campaign. Useless' dad left afore Useless was born and his mum died when he was given birth, so he's been sort of brought up by the entire castle. The library mages, the home troops, and o' course the slaves. He hasn't followed in his grandfather's footsteps though, couldn't fight 'is way out of a mud puddle. He's not a bad sort I suppose.' Will paused as they entered their room, realising Bo had let him speak instead of answering his initial question. The white haired teen turned, hands on hips, blocking Bo from entering the room, 'so what were you two doing, getting all buddy buddy?'

'What are you, jealous?' joked Bo. Will didn't rise to his joke, determined to pluck the answers from Bo. 'Okay, okay, Ruben was getting private lessons from Alexander, and I was there too. I felt kinda sorry for him getting all whacked around like that so I thought I'd walk with him.' It wasn't exactly a lie, but something told Bo that he shouldn't be letting on that he was learning how to use a weapon, not even a stick. Will gave his friend a look up and down, taking note of the blossoming bruises, but tactfully he didn't peruse the subject and the two of them got an early night, for once.

The next day Bo discovered Ruben in the same place as before. He looked just as absorbed with his little bird as he had yesterday. Wandering over Bo sat with the other teen thinking about what Will had told him. For all that Ruben was called Useless and had no real family, the boy seemed happy in a blithe, untroubled sort of way. Not only that but he wasn't useless! Bo had never seen such interesting things as the metal bird.

'Hey Ruben,' he began. Ruben squawked and fell on his bum again, having been unaware that he was being watched.

'Don't sneak up on me like that!' he breathed, picking himself up.

'Sorry. I was just wondering where you learned this magic?' Ruben blinked at Bo as if no one had ever asked that before.

'In the library, but mostly I made it up myself I guess.' He said, without ceremony. Bo blinked at him wondering how someone called Useless could make up such interesting spells.

'Did you say you could animate a mouse yesterday?' Ruben's eyes lit up with the opportunity to talk about his prowess to someone who saw it as more than the creation of overly expensive toys.

'I already have!' he exclaimed eagerly, forgetting his bird in his enthusiasm, which started to wander away. Ruben told Bo of the mouse he had created. He claimed he had kept it in a small cage at one point but that he hadn't done anything with it – his interest in the mouse had disappeared as soon as he'd finished creating it, and he'd moved onto something more difficult -the bird.

'Could you bring the mouse next time so I can see it?' Ruben looked like he'd not thought of something as simple as showing the creation to someone else. He scratched his head thoughtfully,

'Sure no problem.' That was when Alexander came out with his whipstick, tired of waiting for the two teens to get to the armoury. Ruben ran, covering his head with one hand, trying to scoop up his bird with the other, while Alexander chased him with the whipstick, giving him the occasional slap as encouragement to hurry up.

The rest of the day was taken up with training, and Bo could feel his body screaming at him by the end of it, telling him he needed at least an entire day of sleep, if not more. As was the case the day before Will was waiting for him, and Ruben peeled away, heading in the direction of the castle. This time however, the other teen remembered to turn and wave at Bo, although he looked mildly confused as if he'd forgotten why he was doing such a thing.

Ruben forgot to bring the mouse the next day, but on the day of the week's end he remembered. It was a small thing, being the size of an actual mouse. Ruben kept it in a wooden cage that would have been far too small for a real animal and was little more than a box. The teen set the mouse down in Bo's hand, and Bo had stared at it in awe as it mimed cleaning its whiskers and chattering its teeth. Encouraged by Ruben he set the mouse down on the ground and it scurried furiously about until Ruben muttered a few words. It returned right to his hand, climbing onto it without hesitation.

'I don't know what to do with it really.' explained Ruben, sharing some of his lunch with Bo. Bo, for his part was trying not to eat too greedily, but Ruben didn't notice, too intent on talking about his animations to realise that Bo managed to consume a majority of the food.

'I know someone who would have a good use for it!' grinned Bo, thinking of the mischief Will would get up to if he had a mouse that would do his bidding. Ruben gave Bo a quizzical look,

'Oh, do you want it? I was thinking I might break it apart and get the gold out so I can use it again, but if you want you can have it.' Bo stared at Ruben, who was waiting patiently on an answer.

'But, I mean, yes of course! But wasn't it difficult to make? I mean you could sell it for a lot couldn't you – especially if there's gold in it?' Ruben scratched his nose and shrugged. He had an almost unidentifiable expression on his face that was well hidden behind sheepishness.

'Well gold is the best metal for conducting magic, so you don't need that much of it for something like this, and anyway, it wasn't that hard to make,' he boasted, his chest swelling with pride. 'I don't mind if you take it, but here, let me write a list of commands and stuff.' Hurriedly Ruben dug out a scrap of paper and began to write on it laboriously. His tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration, and each letter was given a lot of thought before being committed to paper. At times Ruben pushed so hard on the paper he made holes with his knife sharpened pencil, but eventually it was done. The strange teen gave it a glance over before letting out a sigh of satisfaction. He folded up the paper and tucked it into the mouse box, along with the mouse, which had gone back to a passive mode. With a casual air he handed over the box to Bo, who took it almost reverently.

'Thanks Ruben!' grinned Bo, still enchanted by the small mechanical mouse. Ruben had by that time, however, quite lost interest in proceedings, and was staring at the remainder of his lunch, wondering where it had all gone.

That night Will was not back by the time the doors were supposed to be locked, and rather impatiently, Bo waited up for his friend. He stifled a yawn, playing with the mouse, which was running from one of his hands, over his shoulder to his other hand, and back again while he waited. Bo had not let anyone see the mouse, afraid that it might be taken from him before he could show Will. About an hour after hour after lockup, there was a metallic whisper from the door. The sound of metal against metal was barely audible, but Bo had been waiting for it. He froze, while the mouse continued to scurry about over his shoulders. Quietly, Bo collected the precious mechanical animal in his hand. A moment later the door swung silently open, and a shadow crept in. It was Will. He quickly locked the door up again before finding his empty bedroll and sitting down on it.

'Will!' whispered Bo excitedly. Will jumped as though he wasn't expecting anyone else to be awake, before turning to look vaguely in Bo's direction.

'Look Will, have a look at this!' Bo's bedroll was right next to Will's and he leaned over, holding out the mouse for inspection. It was very dark, and he was sure Will would appreciate the thing more in the light of day, but he was too excited to let it wait.

'A mouse? Bo don't bring mice into the room, they'll gnaw our toes while we sleep' warned Will. He was trying to sound his usual friendly self but his voice was shaky, and Bo picked up on it at once. Stowing the mouse back in its box, he promised himself that he would show Will in the morning.

'What happened? How come you weren't back for lockup?' Will shifted uncomfortably and for a moment Bo thought he wasn't going to reply.

'I heard an argument between Master Sir an' some stranger. They didn't know I was listening, but they were arguin' about the price of something. I think it had something to do with the slaves that go missing. Master Sir was saying all about how he wasn't getting enough gold. I don't know, I think they heard me, but I had to hide until they left, 'cause I reckon if they knew I heard em I'd get in big trouble I reckon.' There was a silence that stretched on far too long, and Bo realised that Will had finished talking. Bo shook his head, although he knew in the dark Will wouldn't be able to see. The teen placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder,

'I have sommat ter cheer you up Will. Wake me up early tomorrow and I'll show you something that you'll never believe.'

The next morning, Will woke Bo a good hour before it was time to have breakfast. They spoke in hushed whispers so as to not rouse anyone of their sleeping room mates, and Bo was glad to see his friend seemed to have recovered.

'But that's- that's amazing! You say Usel-er Ruben made this?' Will stared in wonder at the mouse in his hand. It was doing the routine where it cleaned its ears. Bo had handed it over, along with the carefully written command list. It had been his first time seeing Will without words for the situation.

'Pretty amazing, right? And he's making a bird now too.' Bo didn't know why, but he felt that he wanted Will to approve of Ruben, and to understand that he wasn't just useless like everyone said he was. It would make no difference to Ruben, who lived in his own world, but it was something that was an irritation to Bo. Will had always seemed so knowledgeable and kind, that it felt wrong that he dismissed Ruben along with everyone else.

'I never woulda guessed he had it in him,' murmured Will, transfixed by the mouse. 'He just gave this to you?' Bo nodded, feeling pleased at Will's awe. Will simply shook his head in astonishment.

'I said I knew someone who might have a use for it, and he just gave it to me, like it was an interesting pebble or something.' Will turned to look hopefully at Bo, his white eyes wide and pleading in the half-light of dawn. Bo laughed, 'yeah I meant you. Could you think of anything to do with it?' he asked innocently, purposefully ignoring the devious grin that had broken out on Will's face.

'Oh I have one or two ideas.'

The next few days were a blur to Bo. The week ended and a new week began – he had been put on sweeping duty, meaning that he often got to speak to Will during the day, where Will would avidly discus what he and Nibble (the mechanical mouse) had been getting up to. It sounded like they were getting on quite well. Another boon of sweeping was that it usually ended quite early. He heard here and there that one brasser or another had gone missing but it was always discussed in hushed whispers between frightened slaves. Bo enjoyed sweeping the most out of every job he had tried in his first week, because it gave him the opportunity to snoop around the lower levels of the castle, and to see interesting things that he might otherwise have missed. At one point, while he was sweeping in a fairly quiet and secluded area, Bo saw one of the desert people. He was dressed all in orange, and was walking beside another man dressed all in blue that Bo was almost certain was Erasmus. They were too far away to make out many details, but as Bo watched them turning a corner, the man in orange grabbed the hand of his companion, drawing it up to his mouth and kissing it. Bo raised an eyebrow. For the rest of the day he continued to think back on the unexpected gesture, wondering if it was a desert custom, or if the two men were lovers. In The Gutter, men who loved other men, if they were found out, were often beaten, and would not be accepted for jobs. It made Bo curious, wondering if other places had different beliefs about such matters. Bo, however, stayed well away from any desert folk he encountered, despite his curiosity, in case they were as jumpy as Erasmus had been.

After the first day, Alexander quickly realised that Bo had more time on his hands, and promptly filled it with extra training, along with Ruben. Bo slowly started to find that he was getting better than Ruben when it came to fighting. While Ruben still flailed wildly, Bo was able to block most, if not all blows, and occasionally to return them in a more controlled manner. He had once even earned a nod from the gruff weapon master. Oddly enough the nod had made the last two weeks of training hell worth every drop of blood and sweat that had been shed, making Bo want to work harder to earn more nods. At the very least Alexander became comfortable enough to leave Bo and Ruben to their drills for short periods of time. He would occasionally duck out to work on weapons, or any number of other miscellaneous unexplained expeditions.

Late in the afternoon, one weekday, when Alexander had ducked out, there was the sound of approaching feet. Bo and Ruben had never heard Alexander approach so noisily before, and rightly assumed it was someone else. Although Ruben continued his drills, Bo had the common sense to drop the stick he was holding, suddenly anxious that he might get in trouble. The large doors to the armoury burst open loudly, revealing Master Sir and a group of three of his 'lads'. The noise made even Ruben stop his work, distracting him from the long chain of movements that he was supposed to be going through.

'You, Useless.' Bellowed Master Sir. He hadn't yet seen Bo. 'Where is Alexander, I want to have a word with him. I heard one of the slaves has been here every afternoon! No one told me of this!' As quietly as he could Bo began to creep back, trying to find a place to hide. It was too late however, and Master Sir, who had been advancing on Ruben quickly saw his companion. 'You!' he barked accusingly. His pace quickened as Bo stopped inching backwards. Master Sir stopped only when he was towering over Bo. 'Have you been slinking off here to avoid work? Tell me now boy, because I already know that this is the case.'

'I-I - I don't but I finish before--' stuttered Bo, his stomach coiling and uncoiling with anxiety. He knew there was probably nothing he could say to get himself out of trouble. He couldn't admit that Alexander had been letting him polish weapons or learn how to fight, as it might get Alexander in trouble. In either case he was interrupted by a backhanded slap from Master Sir.

'I can tell you were trying to lie to me boy. Maybe I should beat you now and save us the trouble of listening to your lies?' Bo resisted raising his hand to his face. Master Sir had several expensive rings on his fingers which had bitten into the flesh of Bo's cheek. The teen looked down at the ground. 'Look at me when I speak to you!' hissed Master Sir, lashing out again. He was clearly not in control of his temper. Off to the side, Ruben looked confused. The lumbering boy tried placidly to speak up in Bo's defence but was cut off mid-sentence and told to leave. With a shrug Ruben did as he was told, still looking mildly confused. Bo was sent sprawling by a well aimed blow, and a foot crashed down onto his chest, to hold him down. The pressure being exerted felt like it was going to crush his ribs. Struggling for breath the teen blinked up at Master Sir who was leering at him, not even bothering to level his accusations any longer. He seemed to be in a foul temper, and Bo had just been unlucky to cross his path. The main thought running through Bo's head was that he would have been able to avoid those blows. Master Sir had a sloppy technique and a weak stance that would be ineffective in battle. With a sadistic sneer, the slave master raised his boot a little way, intending to bring it crashing down on Bo when a shadow was cast over proceedings. A large portly shadow.

'Eef vish to zpeak to me, zpeak.' commanded Alexander angrily. Bo blinked to see Ruben standing behind Alexander, and Alexander with his hand on Master Sir's shoulder. Uncertain of what he should do, Bo stayed where he was, still trying to catch his breath. Master Sir looked extremely put out,

'This slave here has been coming to the armoury every day to slack off! He's my responsibility so I-'

'Iz not slack. Iz vork for me. I tell him, come here every day, yez. I am allowed to haff slave do vork, yez? This iz slave I truzt to do good job.' Master Sir was momentarily at a loss for words. He stammered slightly, before remembering that Alexander was only his equal. Feeling that his pride had been hurt by the sudden turn of events, Master Sir argued for some time, but Alexander remained unruffled. After a lengthy debate, it became obvious that the slave master was trying to demand a bribe to let the whole matter slide. Alexander growled, losing his patience with the greedy man, grabbing Master Sir by the very frilly front of his shirt and pulled him in close, whispering something in the other man's ear. The colour drained from Master Sir's face, and he pulled back, not even bothering to haughtily readjust his coat front.

'You don't know what you're dealing with!' he hissed angrily, eyes narrowed nearly to slits. Without further word, Master Sir turned on his heel and practically fled. The weapon master continued to watch until Jayne was completely out of sight, before turning back to his pupils.

'You get up now, Bo. I zay do drill, but come back and find lying down on job. Iz not good.' Bo, who couldn't tell if the weapons instructor was joking or not, hastily got to his feet, wincing slightly as he bent to retrieve his stick. He and Ruben were allowed to finish early, and the regular sparring session was called off.

After that day Bo heard no further comments from Master Sir, in fact everything seemed to go quiet. It was said that The King would be returning in four days to resume the peace talks, and that he would find the desert mages less agreeable in demeanour than previous, having made them wait on him for so long. No one walked idly any more, as if they all had places to go and things to do, and everyone seemed to be in a terrible mood. Even some of the silver collars were questioning the wisdom of their King in treating his guests so offhandedly, and gossiping about the unease in the air. In all it felt like the calm before the storm, and Bo could feel the levels of anxiety in the slaves' quarters rising. Alexander was more ruthless than ever in his training, and Bo could tell Ruben was getting more and more distracted, sometimes to the point where the other teen would stop what he was doing to stare off into space thoughtfully until a whack from Alexander's whipstick brought him back to earth.

'It's strange' he said to Bo one day, after training, 'but people don't call me Useless anymore - not as much anyway. Do you feel like there is something bad going to happen?' The two statements were entirely unrelated, which was often what a conversation with Ruben was like, but to hear his thoughts mirrored by someone who was so monumentally unobservant was a worry to Bo. He was of the opinion that if Ruben had noticed something as subtle as the miasma enshrouding the castle, then everyone must have.

In the end it was the day that The King came back from the hunt that everything went bad. Bo woke early with the smell of burning in his nostrils. He quickly woke Will, who unlocked the door, not bothered that they might all get into great trouble, but worrying only that the slave compound was on fire and that they may all burn to death. As soon as they exited the compound however, they could see the smoke was coming from elsewhere. Venturing out cautiously, Will, Bo, and the rest of the room were the first to see that the armoury had been reduced to a blackened frame, and a rain of ashes. Bo swallowed nervously, but he and Will were forced to hurry back to their room. Will barely managed to lock the door in time, but those who unlocked the slave rooms were clearly preoccupied, and didn't notice the guilty looks that flashed from slave to slave.

The days work seemed without end, but Bo worked through lunch, getting his work done faster than usual, although more sloppily as well. There was plenty of ash to dispose of, as it had drifted on the wind, and had been trekked into the castle by numerous busy feet. Finally free to do as he would with the last few hours of the day, Bo hurried to the site of the fire. He wasn't the only one, and the boy quickly found that there was quite a group. Many were whispering that Alexander had been missing all day while others claimed the fire could only have been caused by magic, as the armoury had many protection spells on it. Ruben was nowhere to be found. A light hand on his shoulder caught Bo's attention, and he turned to see Will looking down at him with an odd expression.

'I'm sorry Bo, about Alexander. I know you liked him an' all.' Bo shook his head in disbelief, unable to ask what Will was talking about for fear that he already knew. 'Did you know? He was supposed to be in the armoury all night. They say the fire started real quick and there was no way he coulda got out.' Bo pulled away from Will, too shocked to feel sadness or fear or any other appropriate response. He knew that later, after the loss had sunk in, he would be upset, but for the time being he couldn't come to terms with the idea that such a strong, and vibrant man had gone down in something as mundane as a fire. The dark teen turned back to looking at the burned out armoury, and caught a glimpse of Master Sir and a group of his 'lads' picking over the ashes. Conclusions fell into place, and Bo's gaze hardened. No doubt it was Master Sir who had been responsible. Somehow it had to be him. He'd threatened Alexander, hadn't he? The slave master turned, his monocle glinting in the half light of the afternoon, and Bo fancied that the man was grinning evilly.

The teen turned and fled. He hadn't consciously thought through what he would do, but his legs already knew where he wanted to go. He sprinted into the castle. For a time Will followed him, but ultimately his white haired friend gave up, assuming that Bo needed time alone, for grief letting. Numbly Bo rushed up the stairs to the forbidden second floor. It was the guest rooms he was headed for, sure that if anyone would help him, or listen to his story, it would be the desert mages, and maybe they could even do something about it. There were shouts from a few people he rushed by, but Bo was too busy trying to remember where Arty and Erasmus were housed. His feet slapped on the hard stone floors, and the noise echoed slightly down hallways, as Bo was not making even the slightest attempt at subtlety. It was near impossible to navigate the place, however, as it looked so different in the light of day. He had no time to notice the sweet smelling flowers that made the place so pretty, nor the outraged expressions of various people as he hurried recklessly through otherwise subdued corridors. As he ran, Bo thought about how kind Alexander had been, in his own way, when Bo had first arrived, and the small nods of approval he sometimes awarded when Bo or Ruben did something particularly well. He thought about how there was no one at all that he knew who was like Alexander, and mourned the loss of someone he might have counted as a friend, if not a mentor.

Stopping to gasp for breath and find his bearings, Bo was seized by a pair of rough hands. Reacting according to his training he ducked and twisted, slipping out of the grasp and coming to face his attacker. It was an enraged looking silver collar slave, who had a friend behind her,

'You aren't allowed up here! You done made the guests mad! – Hey come back!' Bo hadn't waited to hear the rest of the accusations. If he didn't find Erasmus or Arty sooner rather than later then he'd be caught and taken back downstairs, and kept under lock and key. He wouldn't get another chance to ask for help once he was caught, because they would keep an extra special eye on him. Ducking and dodging down corridors and up stairs, Bo was hotly pursued by the silver collar slaves. He had somehow made it onto the third floor, and even the silver collars were looking like they didn't know if they were allowed in the area. The rugs were suddenly of much higher quality still than in the guest quarters, and everything looked, felt, and smelled much richer – not that Bo noticed as he was rushing by. Suddenly a flicker of blue caught his eye, and Bo quickly spun, ducking under a punch from one of the silver collars and scrambling breathlessly into a semi-hidden alcove.

'Erasmus!' he bellowed, turning the corner. He saw that he'd been right, as Erasmus turned, looking extremely startled. The tall blue-clad man froze as Bo raced toward him, two silver collars clumsily in pursuit. Bo practically threw himself at Erasmus, grabbing the man by his collar and pulling him off balance,

'Please, I need help! There's someone that--' the rest of his sentence was cut off as the other slaves dived on their prey. All three of the slaves were panting like dogs after a hunt.

'There's no one up here what'll help you out now, numb skull!' growled the girl slave, grabbing Bo's collar and smacking his head to into the floor. The teen's nose crunched into the rock and Bo let out a muffled groan of agony. Ignoring the pain blossoming from his face, Bo struggled to look up at Erasmus, still trying to plead with the mage,

'Don't you know who I am?' he cried desperately, sure that if he could make the foreigner remember that they had met that he would be more easily persuaded to help. Erasmus still seemed to be frozen in shock, or even fear. Bo was quickly muffled, but he locked gazes with the mage, trying for the pleading eyes that Will so often used. It was to no avail; the tall magician didn't so much as blink while Bo was being taken away.

# Chapter 9: A New Life, Again

Bo lay on his stomach. His back was a latticework of bruises, welts and cuts. Like any brasser who ventured into the second level of the castle he had incurred a lashing. Usually it was only four or five strikes for a slave's first misdemeanor, but Bo had been given something closer to twenty. He wasn't sure of the exact number, as he'd lost count all too quickly. He groaned, not from the pain in his back, but the horror at remembering the worst part of the lashing. It had been when he was brought before Master Sir, and he'd seen the cruel smile etched onto the man's face when he recognised who he was dealing with. Master Sir had seen to the punishment personally after that. Although the lashing had stopped, that smile promised that there would be worse things to come in the future – after all, it wasn't like Bo had the same protection Will did. When they had finished the lashing Bo wasn't sure he'd been fully cognisant. He certainly hadn't been able to stand unaided, and had been dragged bodily back to his room, and locked in. It felt as though he'd been lying there for hours.

It was difficult to breathe while lying on his stomach, but the other options were worse. The teen didn't think he would be able to move for some time, and so he was left to his own devices, burying his face into his bedroll with the shame of being publicly punished and the anxiety of what was to come now that he had been caught and was seen as a trouble maker. The fiery pain that emanated from his back didn't help at all. Every time he moved, even if it was just to shift into a more comfortable position, it flared up, leaving him clenching his teeth.

Eventually the other slaves started filtering back in. They were sympathetic, whispering amongst themselves, but ultimately no one said anything to Bo, and they seemed to be keeping their distance. Feeling worse than he had for the last few hours, the dark skinned teen struggled to sit himself up. He didn't want to be lying face down while there were other people to witness his pain. Bitting his lip, Bo pushed himself up and froze with the sudden agony. He waited for it to die down, arms quivering with the strain of supporting himself. Slowly he began to get himself into a sitting position. The going was slow, and eventually someone came over and helped, gently pulling him back, and holding him steady while the teen shifted his legs into a more convenient position. Looking around Bo realised it was Will.

'What the hell did you think you were doing?' Demanded Will. He sounded more concerned than angry. Bo looked down at his knees. He couldn't answer in front of the other boys who were in the room.

'You know that fire didn't start by accident.' He mumbled. Will sighed, sitting back and rubbing his face with his hands.

'Well I'm not gonna tell you off. If you di'n't learn yer lesson from them lashes you never will,' he grumbled. 'Whatever you done to make an enemy of Master Sir though, I wouldn't like to hear. I thought he hated me, but holy hell, when I saw the look on his face while you was being beaten...' Will shuddered. 'I'd stay out of his way if I was you. You know they'll still expect you ter work tomorrow, right?' Bo groaned at that news. He didn't think he'd be fit to work for another week, let alone tomorrow. Will patted the teen's shoulder sympathetically, before urging him to lie back down. 'don' worry I'll see to it you get some quiet easy work ter do.'

The night was long, and Bo got little sleep. Silently he let himself be overcome with grief at all that had happened that day. Alexander was gone, and so was the armoury, a place that he had thought of as a safe haven, without even realising it. Erasmus and the other mages were no help, and could not be called upon. Ruben was gone, and had probably already forgotten he had a friend. Master Sir was an enemy. In the space of one day it felt like everything Bo had enjoyed about his life, or anything he'd hoped for had been taken away or proven to be false. He hadn't even realised that he'd been relying on Alexander to do all the hard work – finding out who was kidnapping slaves, and doing something about it for starters. Who was going to save the slaves that had been kidnapped now? Glumly he churned these thoughts over and over in his mind, unable to reach a solid conclusion. He could rely on no one, and as a slave there was nothing he could do.

Matters were no better by the time morning came around either. As Will had predicted, Bo was expected to work like everyone else, but the White eyed boy had manage to swap duties with Bo so that he only had sweeping to do. It took him almost all of breakfast time to get to his feet, never mind walking. Slowly he made his way to the first level of the castle. He could feel the eyes of everyone settled on him, and could see some people pointing him out to their friends. With a sigh, Bo attempted to focus on getting to the brooms, and getting down to some serious sweeping. He could feel his shirt was stuck to his back in places, and was almost certain that it would be because he had opened up his wounds by shuffling about, even if he did move with the speed of a one legged turtle.

Choosing a secluded area, Bo spent his time sweeping where no one would look at him. It was peaceful and he was able to go at his own pace, which was damnably slow. Although he was extremely hungry, the thought of facing the refectory was too much, and the teen decided to work through his lunch hour. Near the end of the day Will found his friend, and told him it was time to head back to their rooms. Tactfully he didn't mention that the back of Bo's shirt was a mess, and he glared at anyone who was staring as they slowly shuffled back to the slave compound. The Will tried to chat about things that had happened during the day and what he and Nibble had been up to, to distract Bo from his gloom. To an extent it worked, and as they entered the slave compound, Will remembered something slightly more interesting than the girls he had seen that day, and the girls he planned to see tomorrow.

'Oh yeah. Master Sir and one of the desert mages was in the lunch hall today. They didn't come too far in, but they were all lookin about and whatnot.' Bo clenched his jaw at the mention of Master Sir, and Will, sensing that his friend was not happy with the topic of conversation, fell silent.

Back at the room, Will began to ease Bo down onto his bedroll. It was about time for the doors to be locked up. As Bo finally found a comfortable position sitting on his bed, he heard the familiar sounds of approaching boots, an indication that the room was about to be locked. Unfortunately it was not a faceless lackey that appeared in the doorway, but Master Sir. Will hauled Bo to his feet, and the teen bit his lip, trying not to shout out in pain at the sudden movement. Master Sir glanced about the room but did not deign to enter. Instead he pointed a stick at Bo.

'You. Come here.' Bo tried not to shudder in apprehension, fearing that Will would feel it, as his white eyed friend was the one holding him up. Will began to assist Bo in walking to the door, but Master Sir growled, 'Just him, not you boy.' Will paused, and for a moment Bo thought he would ignore the order, but carefully Will let go of his arm. 'Come on, we don't have all day. You won't like what happens if I have to fetch you out.' Bo shambled as quickly as he could. Reaching the doorway he was surprised to see Erasmus. Erasmus looked like a bug had crawled up his nose, such was the disgust that he clearly felt at being inside the slave compound. Master Sir grabbed Bo's shoulder firmly, causing the boy to grunt with pain, and dragged him out of the room. 'Are you sure this is the one you wanted?' asked the slave master, his hand still clamped on Bo's shoulder.

'Yes.' Erasmus said shortly. Master Sir seemed irritated.

'This one is trouble, you know? If I hand him over and then he escapes - Why don't you choose one that is in better shape?' Master Sir sounded suspicious, but at the prospect of having his request denied, Erasmus' mouth turned down petulantly at the corners. He rummaged around in his pocket, bringing out a gold coin.

'Don't worry, I'll keep him under control. You don't often find someone with that mixture of hair and complexion – besides he made me stumble yesterday and I want to pay him back for making me look the fool.' Master Sir smiled. Money and petty revenge were things he could understand. He snatched up the money and shoved Bo in Erasmus' direction. The small teen stumbled into Erasmus, who grabbed him, stopping him from sprawling to the ground.

'You got paid for, special-like boy, so don't you be disappointing this gentleman guest of the castle.' Sneered Master Sir. Erasmus took Bo by the shoulder of his shirt and half dragged half walked him back toward the castle.

'Wait, I-' protested Bo, but was quickly quietened by a slap to the head. Erasmus was colder than Bo remembered, and the teen fell silent, struggling to keep up with the mage's long legged walk. There were more than a few stares as Bo was lead through the castle, but finally they arrived at Erasmus' room. The mage pushed Bo inside, following him in and carefully locking the door behind them. With a sigh he leaned on the door. 'Why do you want me?' Asked Bo suspiciously. He was standing in the middle of the room.

'Get on the bed, and take off your shirt.' Commanded Erasmus. Bo bit his lip, not moving from where he stood.

'Uh, I – I'm not into- uh you know... ' He stuttered, trying to be as polite as he could while remaining firm that he didn't want to be any kind of entertainment. Erasmus glared at him,

'Oh please, don't flatter yourself. You're not my type. Take off your shirt at least, even if you aren't going to get on the bed.'

Feeling somewhat reassured, and oddly slighted, Bo did as he was told. It hurt to raise his arms over his head, and Erasmus helped him peel the cloth from his back. The mage winced at Bo's wound, glad that the teen couldn't see his expression. Lightly he ran his fingers over the welts, muttering under his breath. After a moment or two he stood back, looking perplexed.

'Wait here, I'll go and get a cream and some bandages,' he grumbled. Bo waited awkwardly until Erasmus returned. With the same surprisingly gentle touch the man applied a soothing gel to Bo's wounds, explaining briefly that it had magically reinforced herbs. It was so similar to what Alexander had given him on the first day that Bo had to bite back the bitter thoughts that threatened to choke him. He closed his eyes tightly trying to push Alexander from his mind. 'How long have you been immune to magic?' Erasmus asked, his tone deceptively casual, but managing to break through Bo's gloom.

'Huh?' asked Bo, confused, feeling a flare of anxiety.

'You saw right through my invisibility spell the other day, didn't you?' Erasmus' tone grew somewhat accusatory. Bo turned, wincing at the pain, to look at the foreign mage.

'When were you invisible?' Bo asked, confused. Erasmus looked at Bo calmly.

'I'm invisible right now, actually.'

'Erasmus is the best at magic invisibility' agreed a new voice. Bo slowly turned to look to look in the direction of a wall hanging. Arty was standing there, hands on hips as though she hadn't just been hiding. 'I had to see this with my own eyes,' she grinned, 'or rather, to not see it. I can't see Erasmus right now.'

'You're pulling a joke on me!' accused Bo, growing irritated. He could see plainly that Erasmus was not invisible. 'I may be a slave but I'm not an idiot!' he exclaimed. He knew that magic was something you could learn like reading, and saying 'you are immune to reading' made just as much sense. No doubt they were trying to pull the wool over his eyes. Erasmus patiently finished his work, making Bo hold his arms up so that bandages could be wrapped around the wound. When he was finished, the mage sat Bo on the edge of the bed.

'I'll try to prove what I say to you is not a joke. Give me the name of an animal, but whisper it to me so that Arty can't hear.' Feeling stupid, Bo leaned in and whispered 'mouse'. Erasmus nodded and held out one hand. He muttered a few words over it, and nothing seemed to happen. Arty, who was standing at the other side of the room grinned,

'You said mouse right? Erasmus just made a little image of a mouse in his hand, but I bet you can't see it, can you?' Bo peered at Erasmus' hand but it was true, he couldn't see any magical image.

'You could still have made your hearing very good.' Grumbled Bo. Erasmus smiled,

'Yes she could have, or I could have made an image that only Arty could see, or we could have little hand signals to speak to each other, but that is not the case. Look I'm sure if you think back over your life you could think of a number of things that make more sense, knowing that you are immune to magic.'

'What do you even mean immune to magic? That doesn't make sense! Why do you even want me to be here, when you wouldn't help me yesterday?' Erasmus sighed, wandering over to the table. Grabbing a bun and a drink of water, he handed them to Bo, who didn't question the food and immediately began to consume it. Rubbing his face with his hand wearily, Erasmus leaned against the table so that he was facing Bo.

'Okay, well let's see. Immune to magic – it means that any magic that someone tries to use on you doesn't work. You can't see, hear, touch, taste, or smell anything that is made entirely by magic – no don't speak, I'm explaining things.' Bo, who had been about to interrupt, instead shoved the bread into his mouth for another bite. Erasmus continued quickly, clearly on a roll. 'If something is infused with magic, then you can sense the non-magical bits. When we first met, you remember I was surprised? It was because I had set a magical alarm over my door, and when you came in it should have gone off, waking me up and telling me there was someone in my room.' He glanced at Arty before continuing. 'When you found me yesterday I was looking around' Erasmus admitted reluctantly, 'I'm not allowed on the third level, you see, so I was cloaked in invisibility, and I couldn't answer you for fear of giving myself away. I would have tried to find you sooner if I'd known you were going to be so thoroughly punished. I'm sorry.' Bo plucked at the bandages on his chest. Too much had happened all at once for him to make heads or tails of it. What was he supposed to care if he was immune to magic or not? Why had Erasmus come and got him – to help? What was he expected to do now? Would he still have to turn up for his duties tomorrow? Most importantly, was there any more food to be eaten? Erasmus waited silently for Bo to gather his thoughts.

'Is there more food?' the teen finally asked. With a chuckle, Arty left and came back with a plate full of meat and vegetables. Bo's eyes practically leapt out of his head, and his mouth began to water so that he thought he would be able to fill a lake with saliva. The plate was set in front of Bo, and despite feeling awkward about being watched, he scoffed as much as he could as quickly as he could. The food was better even than pickles, he thought to himself. The teen's face dropped as he thought of pickles, and Alexander. No doubt the pickles hadn't survived the fire either. For some reason the thought of the pickles perishing along with their creator was enough to bring the situation home to Bo, and he felt a stab of sadness. Placing the plate down, the teen sighed. He was tired but there were questions that needed answers.

'Why am I here? What am I supposed to do now?' Erasmus frowned.

'You're the one that asked me for help. I just bought you out of that awful prison. Theoretically you are supposed to do,' he waved his hand around vaguely, his distaste reassuringly obvious, 'whatever I want you to, and before you ask, what I want you to do is talk to me about this in the morning. I want you to get some sleep and to heal your back. After breakfast you can explain what you need help with.' Arty gave Bo a tea that she said would help with pain, and send him to sleep. He sniffed it cautiously, but after a long day and the lack of sleep the night before, he was ready to take any help he could get. He drank the lot, before shuffling tiredly over to the large armchair and curling up in it to fall soundly asleep. Arty shook her head, clearly amused by the fast reaction of the drink.

'You always were a sucker for the lookers weren't you Erasmus?' Erasmus blushed furiously before pushing the cackling Arty from his room, grumbling something about lecherous women, and ethical duty. Finally left in peace, the unusually tall man covered Bo with a blanket, before retiring to bed with a book, finding that his usual study chair was occupied.

# Chapter 10: Recovery

The next morning Bo woke up at the usual pre-dawn hour. His back cramped up as soon as he tried to uncoil himself from his sleeping posture, and the teen bit his lip. After remembering where he was and the events of last night he slowly, and quietly struggled his way into a sitting position. Glancing over at the bed, he could see that Erasmus was still asleep. Surely it was very trusting of Erasmus to sleep when Bo could easily harm him, but then the collar should be enough to ensure that the slave was on his best behaviour. Bo's fingers flitted to the metal circlet, and he was struck by a realisation. His collar would use magic when it went off - that was how it worked, which meant that if he really was immune to magic that he would never be effected. The dark skinned teen slapped his palm to his forehead in irritation, realising that be like that.'Alexander had probably already figured this out from the start, when he allowed Bo to polish the weapons. The teen wondered what else the old man had known - clearly something that had gotten him killed and the armoury burned to ashes. Bo hoped that he hadn't unwittingly revealed himself to anyone else, although he didn't even know what the significance would be or why anyone would care about his condition.

Feeling troubled, and hungry, he began a hunt for food. He found a platter of fruit that had been placed on the floor to make room for papers on the table. It hadn't been touched since. Happily, Bo sat down next to it and tucked into the many dainty items within. There were nuts of all shapes and sizes, along with round deep purple fruits that had a tangy, sweet flavour that Bo loved, and small red fruits that fit easily into his mouth. Those were sweeter still than the purple ones.

'Do you ever stop eating?' groaned Erasmus. His bleary-eyed face peered irritably at Bo, half hidden by the table as the desert mage stooped to discover his charge once again stuffing their face. Bo glared at the mage, swallowing a mouthful of three different types of fruit that he had bitten into at once,

'You weren't eating it! You put it on the floor,' he accused. Erasmus sighed and straightened, disappearing from view as another person entered the room.

'Don't worry about it, Erasmus just doesn't like waking up early. I'm surprised he's conscious at this hour!' chuckled Arty, her rich honeyed tones intruding upon the scene unexpectedly.

'I'm not conscious!' groaned Erasmus pitifully, 'Why are there so many people talking and walking and eating in my room at this godawful hour of the morning!?' he growled.

'Oh go back to bed if you're going to be like that,' tutted a new voice. Erasmus sighed heavily and sulkily moved to the armchair, turning it away from the rest of the room, grumbling that they were all far too wakeful, far too early. A warm, sweet scent of something freshly cooked wafted in Bo's direction, and the teen's mouth (although it was still full of tangy fruit pulp) began to water at the thought of something more substantial. On being lured out he discovered that the red haired woman he had seen once before was holding a bowl of sludge for him. Unlike the sludge that he'd seen at the slave quarters, however, it looked tasty, with a lumpy texture and a white and gold colour; not at all like slugs in street muck. Cautiously Bo poked a finger into it before licking off a dollop of the food. It was hot and sweet, as expected, but other than that far blander than the fruit he'd been scarfing down all morning. 'It's good for you, called porridge. It usually tastes quite bland, but Arty said that you are immune to magic, so I spiced it up with sugar, milk, honey, and cinnamon rather than spells,' the woman smiled cheerily, and Bo found himself smiling back. Clearly this woman was also to be trusted.

'This is Hayes. We're both warriors, so we usually get up with the sun, to practice and exercise. We thought you might be on a similar schedule, and thought perhaps you might want some breakfast, as Erasmus is often asleep until well after most people have started their work,' Arty explained. There was an irritated mumble from Erasmus' chair but nothing more.

'I do exercises too, sometimes. What are your exercises like?' asked Bo curiously, accepting the warm ceramic bowl from Hayes' hands, hoping he could eat and exercise at the same time. Arty, however, insisted that he finish his breakfast and only then she would show him the morning exercises.

The next two hours were spent in cheerful company. Hayes and Arty flowed through their movements as easily as water flows from a cup into a bowl. Bo tried to copy them but more often than not ended up overbalancing and causing great amusement to the two women warriors. Hayes insisted that Bo not do too much – while he had pain relief from the herbs she had put in his breakfast, it was bad for him to open up his wounds unnecessarily. Arty backed her up, so Bo was forced to sit out on the most strenuous looking callisthenics. They also went through a series of what they called 'dances' that they said were to practice a hand to hand combat technique. From what little Bo knew of techniques, he could see that they were much better warriors than even those who practised every day out in the square in front of the armoury. Remembering such things only left him feeling despondent however, so for the last half hour of the exercises, Bo went and looked out of the window at the area below, wishing that not quite so many things reminded him of Alexander and the tangle of mystery he had left behind him.

After Arty and Hayes were finished, and had taken to towelling the sweat off themselves and combing out their hair, Erasmus invited them all to sit around his table. With a casual gesture the papers piled themselves neatly on one side. Bo scowled jealously – if he could do magic he'd never have to use a broom to sweep up again, he'd just flick his hand and everything would be done. Erasmus looked like he was still asleep. In his hand he held a steaming drink that smelled strongly. The mage seemed to notice Bo looking at it curiously.

'It's bitter,' he said bluntly, and Bo pulled a face to convey his disgust. If he could help it he'd never consume anything bitter ever again. This at least brought a smirk to Erasmus' face. 'So tell us. What do you need help with so desperately that you would encroach upon the territory of your malevolent masters?' Bo looked at Arty who translated. Fidgeting, the dark skinned teen unfolded the story. It was hesitant, and there was much backtracking for points that he forgot to explain at the right time, but eventually he had everything out in the open – the disappearances, the mysterious gang in the night, and the fire at the armoury. By the end Bo was staring fixedly at the table, not game to meet the eyes of those around him in case he saw scorn, disapproval, or disbelief.

Erasmus sat back in his chair, and Arty whistled between her teeth.

'Sounds like something suspicious is going on around here. I guess we were right.' Bo looked up questioningly, catching glances that were passing between Erasmus, Hayes and Arty. None of them seemed to be talking outright. Feeling a little left out, the teen went back to looking at the table. After half a minute of silence Arty and Hayes stood. 'Well, you take care of him Erasmus. He's your stray so you get to keep him fed, watered and groomed.' Hayes handed over a small bundle. It was an undyed cloth wrapped around five paper triangles. The paper had been folded expertly to keep in some powder. Hayes claimed that they were pain killers, to be mixed with tea, and taken when needed, but only one at a time. She warned that they would also make Bo drowsy – an unfortunate side effect, but unavoidable due to the limited herbs she had access to. As soon as the women left the room, Erasmus gestured toward the bed.

'I should change your bandages.'

The process took a long time. The bandages had to be unwrapped, and removed from the wound (which looked much better today, Bo was told) before more gel was applied. Bo felt a little anxious about going near the bed, as he still saw it as something that did not belong to him, so for a long while he remained standing, until he finally got tired of it, and Erasmus began grumbling that applying the cream was too difficult at that angle. Lying on the bed like he was supposed to Bo felt how comfortable the mattress was, and felt like he could get used to such things, although it did little to sate his frustrations. He grumbled into the sheets about Erasmus taking forever to apply the gel, not happy with being treated like a cripple. Halfway through there was a knock at the door.

'You wait there.' murmured Erasmus, getting up and wiping his hands on a rag before answering, so as not to smear any of the gel on the door handle.

'I gotcha breakfast mister, where do you want it?' Erasmus spluttered as the slave impetuously pushed past him. The voice was familiar to Bo who struggled to rise. Hurriedly Erasmus took the platter from Will who was looking from Bo then back to Erasmus with an accusatory expression. Erasmus frowned angrily at the unspoken implication, but said nothing. He placed the hot platter on his desk – over the top of several papers, in his haste to get it out of his hands. Finally Bo managed to sit up. He saw Erasmus trying to shepherd Will out and Will approaching determinedly, ducking under the lanky mage's grasp.

'Thank you, but it's about time you left. Don't you have other rooms to deliver to?' Growled Erasmus, still unable to grasp the quicksilver slave.

'I just came to make sure my mate Bo was alright. He still belongs to the castle you know, so we gotta make sure there's no permanent damage, like.' Bo suspected there was no such rule, but with Will it was impossible to tell if the teen was lying. Erasmus clearly didn't believe him, finally managing to grab the boy's shoulder.

'Don't worry I'm treating him gently.' the lanky mage retorted. Bo's face grew long with horror as he could see the long list of misunderstandings piling up before him.

'Wait, please that's my mate Will. Could I just talk to him for a bit? It'll be faster than trying to throw him out, I swear.' Erasmus' frown deepened in irritation but he released Will's shoulder. The pale eyed lad brushed himself off, sniffing disdainfully at Erasmus before walking to Bo's seat on the bed.

'Huh, I see he thinks it's okay to manhandle slaves!' huffed Will, just loud enough for Erasmus to hear. In turn the lanky mage audibly ground his teeth in frustration, his fists clenched firmly by his sides. Ignoring Erasmus' obvious agitation, Will proceeded to ask if Bo was being treated well enough, and Bo spent some time explaining that Erasmus had been treating his wounds, and that was all. Will wasn't entirely convinced, but was placated enough to leave the two in peace. 'I will be back, I'm on serving duty,' he promised (or perhaps it was a threat) before leaving with a bow.

Erasmus got back to his job and Bo remained sitting cross legged on the bed.

'Well he's,' Erasmus struggled to find a diplomatic word that still sufficiently described his feelings, 'indomitable.' Bo didn't know what that meant exactly, and Erasmus quickly remembered to explain himself. 'Energetic, impossible to subdue,' he elaborated. Bo laughed – it was a good description of Will. Although the teen was feeling more at home now, small talk was still awkward.

'Are there many people immune to magic?' Erasmus didn't take long to respond, he sounded quite enthusiastic.

'I read a few history books, wait to answer your question – No. Many don't believe they- er you- I mean immunity to magic exists. There are rumours about a group of assassins that dates back hundreds and hundreds of years, where members are selected specifically because they are immune to magic, but of course if it is a group it is the most well hidden one in all of the world. I was interested and so I read about it for my history classes, but there are only fantastical claims, and sceptical reports on the lack of accuracy in those claims. There have also been a number of noted historical figures who have claimed to be immune to magic, but have been found to be lying when they were assassinated or more usually accidentally killed or injured by people testing their claims. The most interesting of these people would have to be the self proclaimed King of the desert, who was in fact a very clever magician...'

Erasmus carried on talking for a very long time. Bo was happy to sit and listen as the voluble man continued in his dry, learned tones. Finally overcome by curiosity, the teen interrupted what had become a lecture on a breed of nocturnal lizard that was thought to be immune to magic, asking what Erasmus was doing outside of his own kingdom. This did quieten the man, who fell silent for a moment.

'Well, I'm supposed to be here to talk about peace with your King, but he isn't that interested. Why I am here specifically? I was nominated because my teachers thought being sent out into the 'practical' world would be good for me. I think they are jealous because I have already added two notes to the tomes of magic, while most people never even add so much as a footnote.' Bo remained silent. 'As you can see I brought a lot of my studies with me,' added Erasmus, gesturing at his papers and cooling, untouched breakfast. As soon as he remembered his breakfast, the mage swore in a tongue Bo didn't recognise, before hurriedly removing the platter from his papers and taking it over to the bed. He ate some bits and pieces and handed the rest to Bo, who managed to eat most of the remainder. Seeing that the teen had not scoffed everything, Erasmus let out a snort, 'so you do eventually stop eating?' Bo frowned,

'You wouldn't joke about eating if you had to eat the slave food.' he said reproachfully, 'Will said they spell it to taste nice, but to me it tastes worse than puke.' Erasmus sighed, moving to sit at his table.

'I'm sorry, I was only joking around with you. It's good you have a healthy appetite!' Bo settled down, placated. He had nothing to keep him occupied, and with the pain numbed he was starting to get restless. Erasmus cleared his throat, and fidgeted slightly with his papers, although he had already rifled through them enough times now.

'Uh Bo, could I ask you a favour?' Bo frowned, but Erasmus was giving him the pleading eyes that the teen had thought only Will knew how to use.

'What is it?' he asked, sighing and hoping it wasn't to listen to another half hour of talking, as much as he enjoyed hearing the interesting tid bits of information that Erasmus came up with.

'Well, I... can I study you?' Erasmus blurted out after some hesitation. Bo frowned, more than a little worried about what Erasmus meant. 'It's just that this is a once in a lifetime, no a once in a hundred lifetimes opportunity! No one has ever clearly documented a case of immunity to magic, so it's very interesting,' the mage continued, wide eyed with honest curiosity.

'Well, How would you study me?' the teen asked cautiously, 'you wouldn't have to cut me open or anything, right?'

'Of course not! I'd like to know more about your background- your family, and if you noticed anything strange before now. I would also like to try casting some magic on you and a few other, similar tests? I promise none of them will hurt, and I won't do anything you aren't comfortable with.' Erasmus was practically pleading.

'I – I guess so.' acceded Bo. Erasmus grinned, and hurriedly grabbed up some papers and a pen.

The rest of the day was spent talking. Bo and Erasmus retired to sit in front of the hearth with hot cups of what the mage called cocoa. Bo explained his life in The Gutter as best he could, describing the fact that hardly anyone knew how to spell or read very well, and that magic was something that could only be dreamed of. Erasmus wrote everything he was told in a shorthand so that he might make a better copy of it later. The teen described his mage friend and failed attempts at learning magic. He started with his earliest memory, as dictated by Erasmus, and worked all the way up to the untimely selling into slavery. Thankfully the mage didn't say anything untoward about this as Bo worried he might. Bo had worried that the comfortable conversation (and the supply of cocoa) might be cut short.

In return Bo coaxed the lanky man into describing his own life. Erasmus didn't cover much of his younger life or family, focusing instead on his later childhood. He apparently lived in the largest centre of learning in the entire great desert. He had grown up among tomes, and magic, and had been able to read and write fluently since he was two years old. He was often considered something of a prodigy, especially considering his mastery of magic at the tender age of 18, only a year ago. Instead of pursuing a more glamorous role in council as a mage (he was one of the first men offered the role in 50 years), he had decided on a dry and dusty academic role that had him buried up to his eyeballs in books most days - at least that's how Bo interpreted what he was told. His old rival, however, had gone for a council position, and despite the fact that she outranked Erasmus quite a lot, she was endlessly jealous of Erasmus' academic successes - at least that's how Erasmus told it. She'd arranged for Erasmus to be sent out and about on the peace talks, knowing that they could go on for well over half a year, which meant Erasmus was going to have a long hard time keeping up with his studies.

Halfway through the conversation, however, Bo's back had started hurting, and after a painkiller, Erasmus' talking had sent him to sleep. When he woke up Will had already been by with lunch, and he and Erasmus resumed their discussion over the cold meats. Erasmus had a very hard time imagining someone who couldn't use magic. He tried to teach Bo the simplest of spells (to crumple a piece of paper into a ball), and although the boy did everything correctly to cast it, there was no reaction; the paper remained completely flat. The mage could do nothing but shake his head in disbelief, and fell into a contemplative silence. Late in the afternoon they were once again joined by Arty and Hayes who were full of jokes. They tried to show Bo how to juggle, and Erasmus had scoffed greatly when the boy proved clumsy and untrained. When given the juggling balls himself, Erasmus threw them about so skilfully that Bo suspected he was using magic. The lanky man even incorporated a few pieces of fruit, impressing Arty and Hayes with his so called 'hidden depths'. Later in the evening Will burst through the door bearing dinner, perhaps hoping to catch them by surprise. Arty suggested he could stay and eat, but Will declined the offer, only taking the time to make sure Bo was happy and safe before going back to his tasks.

'So he's pretty protective of you, is he your partner?' asked Arty with only curiosity colouring her tone. Bo choked on a piece of meat before hurrying to correct her,

'No of course not! No one...' Bo trailed off, thinking about the two desert men he'd seen, and wondering if he was being offensive to Erasmus. 'I mean uh, not to be rude or anything but it's not usual here to have two- of the same. You know? Besides Will likes women, lots of women.'

'What if he didn't' grinned Arty cheekily. Bo blushed heavily, shaking his head at what would be a serious accusation in The Gutter. His sense of self preservation kicked in taking immediate control of his vocal cords.

'Have you been drinking something? I wouldn't go out with another man!' the teen blurted, more forcefully than his earlier tactful approach. He missed Hayes' quick glance at Erasmus, who was pretending to read, instead of listening to the conversation. The two women joked and explained that in the great desert it was perfectly fine to partner up with whoever you liked, trying to ease the tension. Bo wasn't sure how he felt about that, thinking that it must be a strange place indeed. The teasing and joking continued late into the night until Erasmus huffily chased the women out of his room, claiming that Bo needed his bandages changed and that everyone needed sleep – especially if they were going to insist on waking him up so early again tomorrow. He quickly changed Bo's bandages, reapplying the gel and handing the boy a tea laced with painkillers.

'You can sleep on the bed – I'll take the chair tonight. I have some reading to catch up on, and you will heal better if you are lying down properly and not all curled up.' Erasmus didn't take no for an answer, seating himself heavily in the chair and pulling open a thick book. He had a pen and paper by his side to take down notes, and an expression that suggested he was truly dead to the world. With a tired shrug, Bo sank into the warm and comfy bed, relishing the softness, and falling asleep swiftly.

# Chapter 11: Libraries and Mysteries

The next morning Bo woke early again. Reluctantly he slipped from the warmth of the bed, padding over to peer at Erasmus, who had fallen asleep in the chair. He looked much like he had the first time Bo had seen him, and the teen wondered how long Erasmus had stayed up studying. There was a large pile of notes next to him. Bo took some time to do a few easy stretches, finding that his back wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but that it did seem slightly stiff.

Soon enough Hayes and Arty called in with breakfast again. It was much the same as the day before. He claimed that his back was doing much better, and after having this confirmed by Hayes, he was allowed to join in for all of the exercises that morning. When they were finished Bo found that he was sweating, despite the cool of the morning. Erasmus was sitting in the arm chair watching proceedings somewhat sleepily. He yawned, unfolding from his sitting position carefully, to avoid upsetting his work, and joined the group as Will came in with the official breakfast. Arty and Hayes forced Erasmus to eat all of his share, keeping a close eye on him in case he tried any funny business. Despite this he managed to sneak several bits and pieces to Bo who ate them indiscreetly, blowing the mage's cover and getting him into trouble with the women.

'I was thinking we should teach Bo to draw.' Erasmus said, between mouthfuls. 'It would be interesting to know what he sees- whether his immunity to magic makes a difference to colours, or to other things we take for granted.' There was much conversation on the topic of what Bo might be able to see or not see, including discussion of ancient magical facades that remained from times long gone, ones that covered castles and rock formations to makes them beautiful to the eyes. Occasionally a castle would crumble away leaving only the ghostly facade behind (Erasmus explained this, typically going off topic to speak of interesting things).

'I hear The King has gone out on a hunt again.' Arty mentioned casually, interrupting Erasmus mid-sentence. Erasmus swore and pounded the table heavily with a fist.

'Will we never be allowed to go? Can't we claim the talks were a failure and leave? They will fail anyway if this keeps up, we'll just be saving ourselves months and months wasted in this castle,' the lanky mage complained. Hayes patted Erasmus' shoulder sympathetically, clearly aware that the man was keen to get home to his books.

'I don't mind if you stay a while' muttered Bo, fiddling with the tablecloth. Hearing Erasmus' enthusiasm to leave had hurt more than the teen had expected it to, after all they had only known each other for a day, at the best. He felt that if Erasmus, Arty and Hayes were to leave, then he would be left with only Will for company, as a slave for the rest of his life. 'I'd miss you if you went,' Bo added, still determinedly looking at the lacy edge of the tablecloth.

'Well you could come with us Bo! I was thinking about it last night – there really is no way they could stop you. Your collar will never work as a tool of punishment, so we should be able to remove it, and then they wouldn't be able to track you down.' Bo froze, realising that what Erasmus said was true. He wouldn't have to be a slave all his life, he would be able to escape – and as Will had said, they didn't have slaves in the desert, so no one would be able to tell what the tattoo on his hand meant. The boy was staggered by the sheer audacity of the thought of running away. It was simple, and yet he had never considered it.

Bo looked up to see all three of the mages were looking closely at him. Arty was neutral, Erasmus seemed excited and enthusiastic, and Hayes seemed nervous, but all three of them were looking at him like he had a choice in it.

'I would like to,' he whispered, almost to himself, hardly daring to allow the hope to grow. Now that he knew the collar could come off, he was once again aware of how uncomfortable it was. More than ever he wanted to be rid of it. Erasmus broke out into a lunatic grin. He picked Bo up bodily and gave him a bear hug that had the teen shouting to be let down. Although Erasmus did so quickly enough Bo could still feel where the older man's arms had been around him. He tried to hide his rising blush but there was no way to do so subtly. He reassured himself it was to do with excitement at the prospect of freedom and adventure. Luckily Arty and Hayes were the only ones who noticed, as Erasmus was busy telling Bo about all the things they could see and do in the desert, but they were mercifully silent about it. Soon conversation changed to the slaves that had been kidnapped in the night.

'Hayes and I had a bit of a look around - we searched the area where you lost those people Bo. We didn't see any large groups of slaves. Nor do we know of any area large enough to keep the slaves without notice, at least not humanely. ' They shared a look with Erasmus as if to say that they were sure humanity didn't come into the equation. 'We'll be on the lookout but we seem to have reached a dead end.'

'Maybe if there are still slaves being taken, we could wait for the people again tonight and follow them?' suggested Bo.

'They sound dangerous. Maybe you should leave Hayes and me to the following. We'll tell you what we learn tomorrow.' With quick goodbyes the two women left. Erasmus offered to change Bo's bandages.

'I think you could start wearing a shirt again – so we could go out and about today if you like?' Erasmus said after seeing the teen's back. Bo was pleased at the idea of not being shut into a room all day again although he worried about what might happen if he was recognised. He shivered, distracted from his thoughts, as Erasmus ran his fingers over the nearly healed wounds. The mage made a questioning sound.

'You have cold fingers,' explained Bo. Erasmus' fingers felt like they were made out of ice. Erasmus mumbled something. Bo was just about to ask him to repeat himself when the teen realised it had been a spell – Erasmus' fingers were now warm.

'I warmed my hands up.' explained Erasmus unnecessarily, 'even though I used magic, I used it on myself – the heat is real, not magical, so you should be able to feel it?' Bo sighed – Erasmus was already starting to ask questions about magic again. It seemed that even though they were going to go out, it would be impossible to distract the mage. When the bandages were changed, Erasmus handed Bo's shirt back, explaining that he'd cleaned it via magic. It felt softer and much less scratchy – it also seemed to be a shade brighter than Bo thought he'd ever seen a slave's shirt – as though it was freshly made, rather than several years old and well used. The patches and mends in it had also disappeared, leaving seamless cloth in its wake. Bo frowned at Erasmus who looked very smug. 'It's better now isn't it?' he asked, obviously very sure about his handiwork. 'If you take your pants off I could do the same for them. They look like they could use a wash.'

'I think I'll keep those on, thanks all the same,' said Bo hurriedly, pulling the shirt on without the need for assistance.

'Then perhaps we could stop by the wash house and get you cleaned up- and given clean clothes. No offence but you smell like the slave compound and I've had enough of it.' Bo grumbled but the wash house was the first place they visited.

The wash houses were very close to the laundry – they shared the same set of fire warmed water. This was Bo's first time to visit one, and he was almost overwhelmed by the number of people, and the gushing steam. In The Gutter there had been no bath houses, nor indeed the idea that regular washing was particularly good for you – some thought it made you weak, or washed away any protections or luck that you had managed to accumulate. If a person got particularly bad muck on them, they'd wash it out in the fountains – where mothers washed their children, should they need a clean. Certainly no one showed off their naked bodies in The Gutter – unless they had no clothes, or were mad, of course. It was just an invitation to be taken advantage of – after all, there weren't many places on a naked body that could be concealing weapons. In the bath house, however, everyone wore little more than a towel around their waist, and when they entered the waters they didn't even wear that. Bo wasn't overly worried, especially seeing that everyone else acted as though it was perfectly normal, but it was entirely unexpected. He had never thought that important nobles would strip down and sit around with each other in a bath. Even when he thought it in his head it sounded silly. Weren't they afraid of assassins? The more he looked, however, the more he realised that it was only young nobles, and those who were fighters, rather than courtiers. The teen supposed the more dignified or important nobles must have their own baths – it made much more sense to him that way. Erasmus was quick to disrobe, easily coiling a towel around his waist before handing his clothes to a slave boy.

'Arty did say I should come and take a look at the bath house. I can't really see why, it looks like a regular bath house to me.' The mage frowned, adding 'I prefer bathing in private.' Bo didn't comment, instead he got changed, wrapping a towel firmly around his waist. Having a collar on earned him a few strange looks, as slaves weren't common in the bath houses, and the marks on his back earned him even more attention, but everything went smoothly enough. He and Erasmus spent some time soaking in the hot water until Bo felt like his limbs had turned to jelly, and the skin on his fingers was all wrinkly. He also spent some time scrubbing himself with soap and a stiff sponge-like thing called a luffa. The soap was satisfyingly sudsy, creating lots and lots of bubbles and making Bo feel very clean indeed. He didn't talk much, instead listening to the talk that went on around him about fights, and love interests, and all sorts of gossip from around the castle. It was almost like listening to the stories his old mage friend used to tell him, only with fewer monsters. Eventually he got into a water fight with Erasmus that disturbed a few other people. Some laughed and joined in while others gave disproving looks. Erasmus cheated horribly, using magic to create small spheres of water (which he called 'water bombs') that he hurled at Bo and whoever else had joined in, and they would dive out of the way, returning fire as best they could. Eventually though things quietened down when the fighters had to leave to get ready for afternoon classes, and suddenly the disapproving glares far outnumbered those who were happy to muck around with the slave and the foreigner.

After a nice long soak, the teen felt surprisingly relaxed. His back felt less stiff, and he had nice clean clothes to wear. Erasmus had been thoughtful enough to bring a tub of the gel, and after the bath he reapplied it. Bo had been oblivious to his own stink before, but now that he was clean he could smell the subtle odour of spice coming from the gel, that was both pleasant and unusually mouth watering – so much so that he wondered what the gel would taste like if he were to eat it.

'Tomorrow you won't need the gel, or the bandages any more,' Erasmus commented, ruffling Bo's short fuzzy hair. 'I don't know how you could stand to wait so long for something to heal, it'd be so inconvenient! Not to mention scars. There won't be any magicking those away.' Bo scowled at the mage, who seemed intent on putting his foot in his mouth, and continued talking about the things Bo wouldn't be able to do that were everyday conveniences for 'most people'.

'Are there more bath houses in the desert?' asked Bo thoughtfully. His mind had turned to what he would be able to do when he had run away. He had enjoyed the bath house, and hoped he could attend more of them in the future, preferably with Erasmus and more water fights. Erasmus smiled, diverted from his contemplation of life without magic by the opportunity to explain the delights and attractions of his home town. The small teen couldn't help but to be excited. He felt like he was going to embark on a grand adventure, of the sort that had been discussed at length with his old mage friend. He asked Erasmus if there would be monsters to slay and maybe damsels in distress to save. Erasmus seemed less sure on those points than he had on the possibility of there being baths in the future, but he did say that anything was possible.

Walking the corridors, they decided to visit the library. Erasmus was very keen to see what books there were on magic, as his own study material was running low. He explained that because of the friction between this kingdom and the desert kingdom there was no free sharing of knowledge, so to be allowed access to the library was a big thing in his eyes, and he wanted to read as much as he could before he went home again.

The doors of the library were thick and heavy, and they looked like they would be able to hold off an army for a week, given half the chance. It was almost as if the librarians expected to be laid siege to. The large heavy doors were held open, and on either side of them there was a guard stationed, presumably to make sure no one tried to steal any of the books. Inside was even more impressive than the doors would suggest. The floor was coated in a thick plush, wall to wall carpet that absorbed noise like a sponge absorbs water. It was the first time Bo had seen such extravagance, and that was just the carpet. The walls reached higher than the tallest trees, and had book shelves carved into them. The books covered the walls, all the way up to the ceiling, and there were brass sliding ladders that people were using to get to the upper shelves. The middle of the room was riddled with more shelves, all made from a rich hard wood, that loomed, acting like walls of a great maze. Bo thought it would be easy to become lost in their depths. The atmosphere of the library was one of silent contemplation. Everyone moved at a slow walk, and with the weight of ancient knowledge pressing down it felt to Bo almost as though he was deep underwater. On occasion the teen found himself holding his breath, and had to remind himself to let air in and out of his lungs. The air in question was thick with the scent of wood polish, dust, and ink. It was one that would be instantly recognisable to anyone who had smelled it even once.

The short teen stood in the doorway gawking at the foreign landscape of the library. It seemed so cool and dry, and everyone was too busy minding their own business to give him strange looks. Erasmus smiled, tugging his charge into the cavernous room. They walked down the aisles of books, and although they were moving at a moderate pace, the outrageous size of the library made it seem as though they were crawling along as slow as ants. Erasmus pointed out this tome or that slim paperback as they went, giving a running commentary on what he could see. Occasionally they would come across someone who was sitting on the comfortable carpet, too absorbed in their reading to find a place at one of the research tables. Once there was a rattle, and Erasmus and Bo had been forced to leap aside as one of the brass ladders whizzed by. It was fitted to a track that ran along the bookshelves, and appeared to be moving of its own accord. Finally they reached a central area. It was lit warmly by a star-scape of magical glowing spheres – an oasis of research tables in a sea of bookshelves, filled with people making notes. To one side there was a small group of five people being led by a librarian. The librarian was explaining the ladder system, but they were all talking in hushed voices and all that Bo could catch was an indistinct murmur.

The small teen was extremely impressed by everything he saw, but Erasmus looked as though he was finally somewhere that he felt at home. His strides had become more confident, and his posture had eased – it was clear that he drew comfort from the multitude of books and the atmosphere around him.

'Can I help you?' queried a small man. There was nothing especially impressive about him, but he radiated a quiet satisfaction and an honest enthusiasm for assisting people. He smiled gently as Erasmus asked where the books on the history of magic were. The man took some time to explain that books on the history of magic were in the magic section, in the subsection of history. Erasmus commented that this seemed an odd way to organise things, explaining that in his favourite library in his home town the history of magic was organised into the history section, in the subsection of magic. The small librarian quickly realised that Erasmus was from the desert, and the two broke into an excited conversation comparing the library cataloguing system there with this particular library. It was a little bit too boring for Bo to take in any of the details. Eventually the small man showed them the ladder system – a state of the art magic, he said, showing Erasmus with a hint of smugness, knowing that this library was the first and only library to have it so far. He explained that if a patron wished to search the library for a book, they need only ask the ladder with either the author name or book title, and the ladder would take them to the appropriate section. If a book was being used, or was no longer a part of the library it would direct them to seek assistance with a librarian or suggest something with similar content. Much to the librarian's pleasure, Erasmus was suitably impressed. Assured that the newest guests were able to see themselves around, the librarian left to speak quietly to another group of patrons.

Erasmus grinned at Bo and the two walked over to the ladders at a controlled pace. They could both easily fit on the one ladder, as the ladder was very tall. Erasmus climbed onto it first, and Bo stood on the bottom rung, holding firmly to the sides.

'I'm looking for Adamson, Hector' announced Erasmus, he turned to Bo, about to explain that Hector Adamson was a famous historian for magic, and that if they had anyone's works they should have his. Unfortunately the ladder took off with a jolt that Erasmus hadn't been expecting, and the mage was nearly shaken from his perch. With a surprised yelp he shut his mouth and concentrated on staying on the ladder. The ladder quickly piled on the speed, and Bo wasn't certain that he liked how difficult it was to hang on. After the initial surprise, however, Erasmus didn't look at all ruffled – it was almost like he was standing on an immobile platform. 'I like the relative speed dampening,' he said calmly, his voice carrying as though there wasn't wind whipping past. Looking down at Bo, Erasmus could see that the boy was clinging to the ladder for dear life. 'Oh yeah, right, magic and all that...'

The ladder clattered speedily along the tracks, gears turning busily at the bottom and at the top. Books whizzed by so fast that it was impossible to pick out a single title in the blur. With the cool dry air rushing past, and the dimness of the library it was almost like flying through twisting caverns. At one point the ladder flew off one bookshelf, slid across a groove in the floor, and reattached to another shelf without loosing any speed. Bo was starting to wonder if the ladder would ever stop when there was a thump. The dark skinned teen peered up past Erasmus to see someone had boarded their ladder while it was still moving.

'What the devil!' exclaimed Erasmus, taken by surprise. It was a young person of indeterminate gender. The youth smiled cockily, showing off a number of missing teeth. They had short, wild red hair, and tanned skin. Without a word the youth flung themselves at the opposing shelves. Bo spun to watch over his shoulder – just before the person hit the wall of books, another ladder came racing toward them, this one was empty. They landed on it and where whipped away in the opposite direction to Bo and Erasmus.

As the contraption neared the desired destination, it slowed, coming to a gradual stop. Bo sighed, and stepped shakily to the ground. He thought that any longer and he would have surely fallen off the ladder.

'Who on earth do you think that was? You know, the person who jumped onto our ladder?' Erasmus shrugged. It had been unusual but he was easily distracted by the books he could see. He quickly ascended the ladder to get something on one of the upper levels, leaving Bo sitting at the bottom wondering who the red haired youth had been.

After Erasmus collected as many books as he could carry, he and Bo caught the ladder back to the centre of the stacks, where the desks were. Climbing down, Bo quickly recognised a brown haired researcher. Instead of papers on his desk, Ruben had covered the old worn wood with metal scraps. He was focused on constructing something small out of gold. Bo hurried over to his friend, leaving Erasmus to trail him in a puzzled way.

'Ruben!' Bo whispered as loudly as he could, not wanting to break the reverent silence of the area. Ruben looked up with unfocused eyes, blinked twice, and then realised who was standing in front of him. A slow smile crept over the teen's face and he put down his work. Bo took a chair from nearby and sat at Ruben's desk.

'Heyya Bo. I don't see you around much any more?' Ruben said, clearly somewhat bemused by the happy coincidence. Bo shook his head at Ruben's absent-mindedness.

'Because we don't do training anymore, remember?' A look of realisation stamped itself on Ruben's long face.

'Oh right, yeah, I remember now. Oh damn! I hope Alexander isn't angry that I missed training.' Bo swallowed his smile, wondering how to tell the placid Ruben what had happened. He suspected the other teen knew about Alexander being dead but had merely forgotten.

'I don't think he minds, somehow. So! What are you making, is it still the bird?' Bo quickly changed the subject, pointing at Ruben's work – there was no reason to remind his friend about the unhappy truth. Ruben was easily distracted, blithely proclaiming that he had finished the bird yesterday (or perhaps the day before). He was now working on making an insect, where the challenge was to make something very small, but fully functioning. He explained that it would be mostly made out of gold, to help fit in more magic function. Erasmus drew close, clearly fascinated. He had a number of questions for Ruben that went right over Bo's head, and the dark skinned teen listened in, surprised as the somewhat dopey Ruben burst out into a speech about technical aspects of his work that Bo thought even Erasmus would have trouble understanding. 'You should show Erasmus the bird tomorrow!' exclaimed Bo happily. He liked the idea of talking to Ruben again, and he was keen to see the finished bird. Seeing two people who appreciated his work had Ruben blushing with pride and he readily agreed to come to Erasmus' room after breakfast tomorrow to show off his bird. Bo got Erasmus to write his room number for Ruben, as the teen was sure his friend would forget if he didn't have it with him. Erasmus eventually begged leave to get through his large pile of reading, and Bo chose to stay with Ruben, who was slowly and carefully compiling his insect.

Ruben had a golden wire so fine it was like a thread, and was having trouble grasping it with his delicate pliers. 'Can I help?' Bo asked. Ruben shrugged and handed over the pliers. With a steady hand, Bo grabbed the wire on his first try, and Ruben directed him to carefully thread it through a complicated network of other similar wires. Happy with Bo's work Ruben simply continued to direct him in what to do, and in the couple of hours that they were in the library together, Bo managed to weave in eight gold wires, which Ruben said had to be some kind of record. By the end though Bo was starting to get as bad as Ruben with grasping the wires, and he suggested they both take a brief rest. Ruben looked like he had never even considered the idea before, and wasn't entirely pleased with it. Never the less, he sat back with a sigh, massaging his eyes. It was a strain, even when he wasn't the one doing the threading. 'Do you know of a red haired child that plays about on the ladders?' asked Bo curiously. Ruben gave him a blank look before shaking his head, and Bo sighed, it had been a long shot at best to think Ruben might have noticed something about the outside world.

'Red haired?' came a feminine voice. Bo turned to see another librarian. Like the small man this woman had a studious air, but her hair was wild and pink, and her nose had a piercing. Her appearance, however, was the only loud thing about her. Bo nodded, straining to her her whispered words. 'There is a rumour that a small girl lives wild in the shelves. Some leave out food for her, and whether it's a very elaborate joke, or if there really is a child, the food is always gone an hour or two later. No one sees it go though.' Bo smiled and thanked the woman who nodded cheerily before moving on to do something else. Turning back to discuss the strange occurrence with Ruben he found the other boy was already deeply concentrated on his work again. Bo blinked, before deciding to check up on Erasmus, who had taken the nearest available desk.

Erasmus looked up and smiled as Bo approached, putting down a slim book.

'There was more information than I was expecting – I thought I would just try looking up immunity to magic.'

'Did you find out anything new?' asked Bo, suddenly interested. Erasmus shook his head, saying that he'd learned more about the right places to look for information – an author he'd never read before.

'Do you want to see if we can find the author?' Asked Erasmus cheerfully, clearly having no intention to leave the library in the near future. Looking back at Ruben, Bo quickly accepted the ladder ride. It would be more interesting than sitting around next to Ruben or minding Erasmus' desk. The two started walking toward the ladders, when Bo gasped loudly, incurring the silent wrath of a nearby researcher.

'That's Allie, the one who was stolen!' exclaimed Bo in a whisper, pointing at a girl. Her hair was much longer than it should have been, but Bo could not fail to recognise the features of her face, and the expression of irritation on her features. She wore no collar around her neck, strangely. Allie looked over and caught Bo pointing at her. Casually, she stepped onto a ladder, which was conveniently at hand, and almost immediately it took off. Erasmus and Bo raced to the ladders, not taking heed of the stir they were causing. Erasmus leapt onto the ladder and Bo grabbed onto the lower rungs. Quickly Erasmus used manual instructions to send their ladder hurtling after the girl in the hopes of catching up with her.

Initially there was no sign of the girl but Bo soon saw a flicker of motion up ahead as she swung into a new aisle.

'Right!' he shouted quickly, and Erasmus followed his lead, shouting for the ladder to go right. It spun away from the shelf, across a track in the ground, and onto a new set of shelves. The girl was ahead, now visible. 'If you draw close enough I could try grabbing her ladder and climbing across,' suggested Bo. Quickly the girl went into a number of twists and turns. It was difficult to keep up, and at one point Erasmus took a wrong turn, and they almost lost her. A few tense shelves later, however, they caught up again, hard on Allie's heels. The wind whistled past as the ladders zoomed along the shelves like demented bugs would zoom around a source of light. Eventually the girl seemed to grow tired of the game. Reaching out she trailed her fingers along the track, which melted at her touch.

'Shi-' Erasmus managed before their high speed ladder chase came to an abrupt end. The ladder hit the section of malformed track and was flung violently from the side of the shelf, sending ladder and occupants of said ladder flying down the long corridor in an ungainly sprawl. Bo smacked hard into the opposite self, before tumbling to a painful stop. He breathed heavily for a moment or two as the pain of the crash set in. Picking himself up he scanned for Erasmus who was lying prone on the ground nearby. The lanky mage groaned before sitting himself up. Despite the relative speed dampening spell he'd landed awkwardly on his arm and it was clearly broken. Erasmus' face was white. Hurriedly, Bo grabbed the man under his arms, helping him sit properly. 'I think it's broken,' he mumbled, both trying to cradle the injured limb and not to let anything touch it. Bo worried Erasmus was going to throw up – he looked extremely dazed.

'Do you have a spell to get rid of the pain?' frowned Bo anxiously. Erasmus simply groaned and tucked his head between his knees. Bo checked to see if anything else was injured, but apart from his arm Erasmus was well. After a few minutes Erasmus started to mumble to himself. It took him three tries to get the spell right, but when he did there was a crunch as his arm straightened out. The mage shouted in pain, but his arm had been fixed. Sweating, the lanky mage quickly became limp with relief.

'Thought a spell for pain relief and a spell for fixing would be too difficult in a short span of time. Went with the most important,' grunted Erasmus by way of explanation. Then he did throw up. It took another ten minutes for someone to find them – it was the red haired youth on a ladder of their own. It was travelling unusually slowly. Finally it came to a stop by Erasmus and Bo. The mage was breathing easier and had devised a quick spell to get rid of the mess he'd made. All the time, though, he was muttering something about not being able to believe that the girl had done magic without any preparations, but Bo could not make the mage repeat himself, nor speak clearly on the subject.

'Get him on the ladder' instructed the youth. She grabbed one arm while Bo grabbed another, and they piled Erasmus onto the bottom of the ladder. The mage held on, and together they took the ladder back to the desks. It moved very slowly, which Bo was pleased about. He didn't think he'd be able to stand on one of those fast moving ladders for some time without fear they would come off the track. He glanced curiously at the youth, and they locked gazes with him, grinning. 'You're tricky. Can't track you, only he's noisy enough,' the girl pointed at Erasmus. Bo frowned but said nothing. 'I will fix the tracks, as long as you tell no one anything more about me,' the youth raised a finger to her lips and 'shhh'd' at Bo to help make her point. Just before they got in sight of the desks, the red haired child jumped from the ladder, waving goodbye and jogged back in the direction they'd come from. Erasmus had been put out of his studying mood, and the duo quickly left the library after making a few last minute notes so that the mage could pick up where he left off.

They walked back to Erasmus' room, not quickly but directly, and without taking time for detours and other distractions. The lanky mage seemed unusually quiet, walking without lecturing Bo on obscure points to do with magic, or history. The two quickly found themselves close to their destination. From somewhere up ahead came an urgent shout. Bo couldn't help the thrill of fear that shot through him, even though the cry could easily have been one of ecstatic joy. There was a clanking, and strangely enough, the sound of galloping hooves. Erasmus pulled Bo flat against the wall, and just in time. Skidding around the corner came a strange old man on what looked like a horse. A closer examination showed that it was an empty suit of armour designed to be worn by a horse, sometimes known as barding, rather than a living breathing animal. It had clearly been animated through magic, although not exceedingly well, as occasionally the parts readjusted themselves in odd, unnatural ways. The man was also dressed in a suit of armour, minus the helmet. The armour itself was abnormally shiny, catching any and every stray beam of light and sending it glittering around the room. More often than not a gleam would pierce the eyes of any onlooker, rendering them temporarily blinded.

'Tally Ho!' shouted the man energetically, bringing his phantom steed to a halt. Without warning the body of the horse did a barrel roll, flipping the energetic oldster upside down. He fell out of his seat and onto his unprotected head. Having dumped its rider, the body of the horse rotated until it was the right way up again. With a shocked expression, Erasmus hurried to help the old man to his feet, but as he laid a hand on the man's shoulder he was flung away by a hurried gesture from the wild-eyed knight. 'Don't come near me fiend! I- wait. You're not a wild stag are you?' With large, pale blue eyes the man peered down his somewhat crooked, beaky nose. His hair was grey and his skin was pale, as though he spent little to no time out in the sunlight. 'Are you a washerwoman?' he asked curiously, closing one eye and glaring at Erasmus with the other as though trying to get the mage in focus.

'Not exactly, but I have been known to do my own laundry,' said Erasmus. He was surprisingly calm. Bo on the other hand was shocked at finding such an odd character in the castle. He'd never heard anything about an eccentric old knight on what looked to be a ghostly steed. The teen was calmed, however, by the fact that Erasmus was not showing any signs of fear or trepidation.

'Well that's okay then,' mumbled the old man. Erasmus tried once more to help him up, and the old man accepted the aid. 'Just because you helped me up washerwoman, does not mean that I shall marry you,' cautioned the man, 'but we can be on first name terms now. You must call me Lance, and I shall call you wench.' Erasmus frowned but Lance didn't seem to notice. Lance licked the tip of his fingers and smoothed down his bushy eyebrows, before fluffing out the messy mane of hair on his head. 'I must look my best at all times you know? Being the king's mage is an awful lot of work, and people expect a professional appearance.' Erasmus nodded non-committally, and Bo started to wonder when they would be free to leave the madman's presence. He rubbed tiredly at spots of light that were dancing across his eyes, due in part to the absurdly shiny armour worn by Lance and his steed. 'Well be off with you wench don't you have work to do!' Erasmus and Bo thankfully turned to leave, but as quick as a flash, the old knight and self proclaimed king's mage stood in front of them. 'Where do you think you're going? Guilty conscience eh? Well I have my eye on you! I have my EEEIIIII!' the man shrieked as he tried to get back on his horse, only to have the armour part before him, leaving him once again dumped on the ground. Erasmus and Bo edged away, and once they had reached a safe distance increased their pace until they had put several corridors between themselves and Lance.

'Phew, we were warned that the King's mage was a tad eccentric, but that was ridiculous! Wench indeed, humph!' grumbled Erasmus. Bo goggled in disbelief.

'You mean that actually is the king's mage? But – shouldn't it be someone a little more, um...'

'Sane? You would think so,' said Erasmus dryly. 'Never the less, Bo, that man has considerable power, couldn't you feel – oh no, probably not. It's an aura that one gets when they have been working with powerful magic for a long time, a sort of tangible accumulation of experience and knowledge. I've read about some of the things he's done, and despite his current state, he was quite amazing in his prime. Either way he grew ill some years ago, and hasn't been quite the sane- er I mean same, ever since.'

The two quickly made their way back to Erasmus' room, without meeting any more ladder jumping children, mysteriously missing slaves, or insane old mages. Will had left lunch on the table, and although Erasmus claimed that he wasn't hungry, Bo's stomach was rumbling as soon as he smelled the delicious morsels, and he tucked in to the meal with gluttonous abandon. He was unable to eat everything, and after some time decided to take a nap on the bed. He had a lot to think about, but with the excitement of the day and a full belly, the teen quickly dropped into a pleasant doze.

# Chapter 12: Arguments and Action

The night dragged on, as Bo and Erasmus waited tensely. Neither said that they were wondering how Arty and Hayes were faring, but it was clear to see they each had a lot on their mind. Eventually Erasmus removed Bo's bandages, and declared that his wounds were all closed, if not healed. Pulling on his shirt, Bo fell asleep in bed while Erasmus stayed up to do some studying.

The next morning, Bo woke earlier than usual. Erasmus was still sitting in the chair, but unlike the day before he was still awake, studiously writing notes and squinting seriously at the page before him.

'Erasmus?' Bo asked quietly, not wishing to break the serious study. It took a moment, but the mage eventually looked up at Bo. He blinked slowly, and then yawned and stretched.

'What time is it?' asked Erasmus, rubbing at his eyes.

'Uh, just before dawn. Did you stay up studying all night?' Erasmus nodded, saying he had, and yawned again. The lanky mage was yawning so much that soon Bo also found himself yawning, much to the teen's irritation. 'Go to bed if you're so tired!' exclaimed Bo the third time he was forced to yawn just by looking at how sleepy Erasmus was.

'I was worried, so I couldn't sleep last night,' the mage explained, grimacing. He had dark bags under his eyes that gave his face a somewhat wasted look. Bo decided to boil some tea for himself and Erasmus, and the two talked unnecessarily quietly about what they thought had been going on with their friends.

Just before dawn there was a light knock on the door. Erasmus jumped up to open it.

'My my, you're awake early' came a familiar honeyed voice. Arty and Hayes seemed tired, but nothing worse than that. Before Erasmus could speak, Hayes held up her hand to indicate the need for silence. She grabbed a pen, drawing a symbol on the palm of her hand with ink, and muttering a few words. Slowly the ink disappeared, as though it was being evaporated. After she had finished the woman spoke up normally.

'I spelled the room so that no one can listen in, at least not magically.' The other three nodded to show they understood, and Arty took over the explanation of events.

'We went down to the slave compound last night, and we almost didn't see them. You're not going to believe this, but they were leading a group of five slaves. They were all under some kind of spell, like they were sleep walking, but it was unnatural. We followed them as far as we could, but when they entered the secret passageways between the walls. There must have been a strong misdirection spell, because we were lost for half the night. For a few hours we thought we'd be lost in there forever. It was an amazingly powerful spell.'

'No one saw you though?' asked Erasmus thoughtfully. At the mention of sleepwalking slaves he had gone a tad pale, but he rallied well enough. Hayes shook her head.

'Whatever they are hiding, it's something more than a handful of slaves.' Erasmus seemed to agree. He cast a glance at Bo and the warrior women seemed to take the hint. They nodded their approval.

'Bo - Arty, Hayes and I are not here as a regular part of the peace talks. I have already told you I'm no politician, and Arty and Hayes are both warriors. The thing is, a great ancient artefact was stolen from the desert. We have studied it for centuries, but... The only thing anyone can figure out is that it has an ancient powerful spell on it, and that it is not made of any known or replicable material, one that exudes great power. Huge volumes have been written on exactly what we don't know about this – uh hrm, yes, but that's not the point.' Erasmus cleared his throat and rubbed his leg ruefully where it had been kicked by Arty.

'Anyway someone stole it. I mean no one really expected it to be stolen, it's next to useless, but here we are, on the brink of war, with no idea why your King is so keen on invading our lands, and an ancient mysterious artefact goes missing, you see?' Continued Arty, clearly irritated. 'So on the off chance that it was stolen by your King or his people, we got tacked onto the end of the peace talks and have been given orders to,' she paused furtively, 'look around a little bit. Make sure nothing suspicious is going on. Hayes and I have magic, but nothing as powerful or in depth as Erasmus, so we're the brawn here, and he's the brain. It's top secret, and I hope you understand that we are only telling you this because we trust you to keep it to yourself – not even the other members of our party know of it.' The two warriors were giving Bo a piercing gaze, and the teen considered what they were telling him. The information they were trusting him with suggested that they were confident that he would rather betray his King and his birth country than them, with their strange magic and desert ways. Never-the-less it was true. They were already more of a family to him, and more deserving of his trust and respect than anyone else. With a serious expression, the teen nodded,

'I already threw my lot in with yours when I said I would like to go with you when you leave. An escaped slave is as good as dead and- it's more than that. I trust you, so I want you to trust me too.' This seemed to be enough to appease the other three. Bo continued thoughtfully 'Seeing as I am immune to magic, wouldn't I be able to find my way through the secret passages with no trouble?'

'They aren't unguarded Bo. Also there is a barricade that might need magic to shift, if we can't find a way around. You might be able to lead a group through, but I don't know if you could get through the passages by yourself,' said Arty. She sounded hopeful but Erasmus grasped Bo's shoulder, pulling the boy back.

'It's incredibly dangerous! Wasn't Alexander's warning enough for you? You might be killed for your folly!' Arty and Erasmus began to argue. On one hand Bo might be able to lead them to the source of the mystery, on the other it would be undoubtedly dangerous for the teen.

'Am I free to make my own decisions?' Interrupted Bo firmly. He looked Erasmus hard in the eyes, and the mage struggled to think of anything that could combat Bo's question. Eventually Erasmus breathed out through his nose, still irritated.

'Yes you're free to make your own stupid choices, I won't force you to stay where you won't die a horrible death,' the mage huffed childishly before turning and walking back to his chair. The lanky man slumped into the comfy chair sulkily. It was a rather hollow victory, as Bo didn't like being on Erasmus' bad side, but he did want to help. Anxiously he turned to Arty who merely raised one questioning eyebrow.

'When are we going to do this?'

Before the conversation could continue, there was a gentle knock on the door. Everyone in the room stiffened anxiously, before Hayes finally opened the door. On the threshold of the room stood Ruben, who merely looked up at Hayes like she was the first woman he had ever noticed.

'S-Sorry I thought this was Erasmus' room' the teen stuttered. Hayes smiled kindly, and stepped back to reveal that Erasmus, Bo and Arty were with her.

'It is, I was merely visiting him.'

'Oh that's ok!' said Ruben, clearly relaxing now that he knew he was in the right place. The blithe mage wandered happily into the room with no further prompting and set a small cheap wire cage down on the table. Inside it was the little mechanical bird that he'd been constructing when he and Bo still did training together.

'I'm not sure Erasmus will want a bird on his papers' cautioned Arty, but Erasmus had already leapt up and waved her away.

'It's fine Arty, don't you have exercises to do or something?'

'I will be back tonight to talk with you and Bo, even if you chase me away now,' grumbled Arty, but she and Hayes took their leave as it became clear that Ruben and Erasmus were deep in conversation. Erasmus admired the illusion spell that cloaked the small bird, and complimented Ruben on his fine work at animating it. Bo was more interested in the actual bird than the talk about the magic involved in its creation. The little thing cocked its head one way and then another, and fluttered from its perch and onto the bars of the cage, which must have been much sturdier than it looked, because it didn't rock unsteadily at the weight being thrown around inside it.

'Amazing' breathed Erasmus. Ruben took the bird out of the cage, and whispered some instructions so that it landed on Erasmus' shoulder. Bo could see that Ruben was pleased with the reaction to his bird, as Erasmus laughed at the creation's antics, and held out a finger for it to jump onto. Gently the lanky mage petted the bird with on finger. 'It even feels feathery!' he exclaimed, impressed. The bird seemed to enjoy the attention as much as Ruben did. 'I've never seen such fine work before, how could you have woven the right spells for this with so little gold? I thought only a study of the great tomes must reveal such knowledge and skill as you've put into this, and it would have to be a life long study!' Ruben shrugged.

'I make it so it works, I guess?' Erasmus merely shook his head in jealousy. 'I'm not good with magic unless it's in metal, or stone, or earth, but weaving magic and metal is something that is sorta easy for me,' the boy added anxiously, in case Erasmus was planning to quiz him on other spells he may have performed. 'That reminds me,' Ruben turned a curious gaze on Bo, 'those wires you helped me with – what did you do to them?' Bo frowned, shaking his head he explained that he'd done nothing except what Ruben had told him to do. Ruben scratched his head, 'well whatever it was I can't put any magic in 'em now. I tested the thing today, and it's only the wires you put in that don't work. I melted 'em down, and redrew them, and they came good, but it was bloody strange, I tell you.' Bo laughed anxiously,

'I couldn't tell you! I suppose it is a mystery!' Ruben seemed to accept this, mostly because Erasmus started asking more questions about the bird and the easily distracted teen was keen to answer them.

At around midday Ruben finally left, claiming he still had work to do. He left the bird in Erasmus' possession with a list of commands, written in a sturdy hand. Bo spent the rest of the day practising his exercises, more out of habit than anything, while Erasmus spent it reading, examining the bird, trying out the commands, and trying to talk Bo out of helping with the investigation. Sometime in the early afternoon, Hayes and Arty came back.

'Let's have an early dinner, we're going to need it to keep our strength up.' announced Arty. Erasmus looked as though he wanted to continue arguing, but swallowing hard he stood and turned away from the group.

'I'm coming too. I can't leave Bo to just you two. You might need a proper mage with you anyway.' Arty shook her head.

'No, risking one of you is enough. I'll make sure he doesn't get too scratched up for you.' Erasmus however wasn't in the mood to jest.

'You promise that no harm will come to him?'

'I can't promise that, but you know I'll take care of him Erasmus.' The lanky mage didn't seem satisfied with his friend's answer, but with Bo willing to take the risk, and Arty arguing that it was important, Erasmus couldn't very well force them to comply with his wishes.

As soon as the sun was setting, Arty, and Hayes outfitted Bo in a spare jumpsuit. The collar was pulled up to hide his collar, while the sleeves had to be rolled up twice so that they would fit. The cloth was a dark blue, apparently one of Erasmus' spares. The warriors explained that it would help him go unseen at night time. Stealing out into the corridor, the trio walked unhurriedly along the stone walkways. Afternoon sun slid pleasantly over the rocks of the walls and floor, giving them an orange hue, while the scent of the flowers that were strategically placed around the castle made the air sweet and heavy.

'We will wait in the corridors. If tonight is like last night they are bringing in many slaves at a time. It will be easier to go unnoticed if we don't have to follow them all the way from the compound.' Casually glancing around, Hayes watched to make sure no one was nearby, and the three slipped behind a wall hanging that lead to the secret passageways. Quietly they waited. There was no speaking while they were hiding. Outside there was often the lazy slap of feet on stone as people passed by, occasionally accompanied by giggles or chatter. Bo had never realised hiding out and putting his life in danger would be quite so horrifyingly dull. The only thing he was likely to die of was ennui. Using their time economically, Arty tied a length of cord from Hayes to herself, and from herself to Bo to keep them together when the time came to traverse the maze-like secret passages. Finally the teen dropped off into a light doze, resting his back against the surprisingly cool wall. The next thing Bo knew, Arty had clapped a hand around his mouth and was shaking him awake. The teen quickly froze, as he heard an approaching group of people. The sounds came closer and closer until finally they stopped. Bo breathed as quietly as he could, but the sounds of his own body filled his ears, making him all too worried that he would get everyone found out.

After a long tense wait filled with the furtive rustling of cloth as the sleeping slaves were lead past the wall hanging, the group was gone. Arty whispered in Bo's ear,

'Just follow them. Stay on track but don't get seen. If it comes to a fight stay behind Hayes and me, Erasmus will kill us if anything happens to you.' The woman flashed a grin at Bo in the dark that said she found the whole situation very amusing. Slightly uncertain, and with his heart in his mouth, Bo peered out, suddenly aware that two seasoned warriors, and at least a handful of slaves were relying on him to follow a group of people snatchers, while staying unnoticed. He was suddenly assailed by doubts. What if he wasn't immune to magic after all? What if they found him out -that yellow eyed woman might be acting as the vanguard again. He waited for a moment or two, almost paralysed by the sudden responsibility, but recalling the labyrinth of secret passages, he didn't want to let the slave party get too far ahead. Seeing no one waiting to pick off unwanted guests, Bo crept forward cautiously, his mouth dry.

The passageways were damp, and every tiny noise seemed amplified. other than the occasional glow of light, often coming from an unexpected exit from the passageways, there's was only darkness. The further Bo lead onwards, the longer it got between exits, until they stopped altogether. If they were detected, and there was a chase, Bo had lead them too far to easily escape the passages. He hoped they would not be forced to flee. The tunnels were often very narrow, and sometimes even Bo could not avoid brushing up against the damp stone walls. He shuddered as a fat drop of water slithered from his hair, behind his ear, and down his neck, before brushing it away impatiently. In most cases they sloped downwards, and Bo got the impression that he was winding further and further into the ground, like an erratic cork screw. The air grew fridgid as the group progressed. Bo tried to stop his teeth from chattering, as he strained to hear the group of stolen slaves. Luckily the sleep walkers were shambling slowly, otherwise Bo would have had no hope keeping up. As it was, he felt as though he was slipping further and further behind, and he feared he might soon lose his quarry after all, only to be lost in the dark, pressing passageways somewhere under the castle. His immunity to magic seemed to be proving itself time and again as Arty and Hayse would begin to wander purposefully in the wrong direction, and Bo was forced to pull them back into line via the life-line.

Finally after a good ten fifteen minutes of occasionally slow, occasionally fast, gut wrenching shuffle through the dark passages, there bloomed a soft light up ahead. The walls and floor shook slightly as a heavy stone door was slid open, and Bo saw (to his alarm) that he had almost caught up to the group ahead. Stiffling a gasp, and trying to be as furtive as he could, the teen took a step backwards, and then another, pushing at Arty and Hayse to get them out of the way. One of the hooded kidnappers reached out to shepherd a sleep walker into the doorway, but paused as though sensing that they were being followed. The figure glanced over their shoulder with an unhurried, accusatory stare. Bo froze hoping he had crept back far enough that he was hidden in the gloom. His pulse raced in his throat as the hooded person peered suspiciously into the shadowy corridor behind them, but finally they turned back to their task without comment, having already become more accustomed to seeing in the light. Bo dared not even let out a sigh of relief, instead shuffling further back to get more space between himself and the group ahead. He watched as the tail end of the group disappeared through the door, and the stone began to grind its way back into place. Having no idea what was beyond the door, Bo didn't want to press on, but if he didn't hurry then he could lose the opportunity to find out what was going on. Steeling himself, the teen hurried down the corridor, near having to drag Arty and Hayes who were trying to go in the opposite direction. Struggling to the door, Bo could see that it was unguarded. Clearly whoever was down there trusted the potency of the misdirection spells to keep intruders at bay. The door looked as though once it closed, it would be staying closed. It was made of a thick rock and must have been moved by magic. It was out or in. There would be no half measures. Bo scrunched up his face, hoping he wasn't making a stupid decision, and pulled himself through the slowly closing portal, taking the warrior women with him. As soon as they stood inside the door they stopped trying to go the wrong way – the thrall was lifted.

The group found themselves on a balcony that overlooked a large open area. The balcony was not well lit, and the three explorers hugged the shadows. They must have managed to travel down and under the castle while following the slaves. Arty let out a low whistle, confident that they would not be heard. A long winding set of stairs led down from the balcony to the ground where there were a number of cages to either side of the expansive room. In those cages were a few bedraggled looking slaves, half mad with fear, and obviously not well kept. All of them wore brass collars, and all of them appeared to be of about the age of 16. Bo recognised a few of his fellows there, as they sported the short cut hair that he did, but there were other brassers there as well. The group of five slaves were all lead into one of these cages, and it was shut and locked. In the middle of the room there was an altar lit by a number of large braziers that belched an acrid black smoke. It was at the to of a hill, made out of stone stairs that were shallow enough to make the elevated platform look more like the peak of a natural incline. The floor around the altar was home to many boxes of non-uniform shape and size, like a warehouse for imported goods.

Bo's breath caught in his throat. Looking down at the altar he saw a monster of epic proportions. It was at least three times the size of a regular human. It had a bulbous head that gleamed with hundreds of thousands of beady eyes, while its mouth was a long tube-like construction that curled and uncurled as the creature breathed its laboured breaths. From the creature's head there sprouted a crown of horns that were jagged and broken, and tentacles that seemed more incorporeal than was really useful, that stretched, wavered and curled in an endless wave-like motion, covering a large portion of the upper stairs. Bo's gut clenched with horror looking down at the abomination. He'd never seen a real live monster before, and he had to say it wasn't at all what he had expected. Arty and Hayes, on the other hand, seemed unphased.

'Look Art!' whispered Hayes excitedly, pointing at the monster, 'there's the artefact.' Bo paled. They had come to get the monster back? Surely anyone in their right mind would be more than happy to have such a horror stolen? Arty looked grim. With nimble fingers she untied the length of rope holding the three together.

'Stay out of trouble Bo, Hayes, let's get down there and see if we can find out anything more. We may not get another chance like this.' Hayes nodded. The two of them seemed to share a mental connection, moving swiftly and silently together without the need for conversation to know what the other was about to do. It just went to show that they had been together for a long time. Arty didn't have to say that they were going to have to take it upon themselves to steal back the artefact or destroy it, but Hayes understood that they were under the obligation to do anything to prevent misuse of the mysterious magical object.

'Wait!' whispered Bo urgently. He had the notion that Hayes and Arty had no idea what they were getting into. Unfortunately they had already slunk off. Heart in mouth Bo peered down at the activities below. More than anything he was looking for a way out of the area, now that he had been shut in, but there didn't seem to be any. There were a number of holes in the ceiling where the black smoke from the braziers coiled and collected, but they were too far to reach, and Bo didn't fancy being smoked to death. Looking closer at the floor down below, Bo noticed the there were gutters carved into the floor near the prison area. The Gutters lead to grates that probably lead to the castle's sewer system. Bo recalled Will once told him an amusing story about being forced to escape through a drop down toilet to avoid a beating for one of his more daring pranks - he had been 'in deep shit' as the saying goes. Bo took the lifeline that had been discarded, and began to slowly creep down the stairs. He kept an anxious eye out for anyone watching him. Fortunately all attention was focused upon a small group of hooded people that approached the altar. Bo paused in shock as one by one they peeled back the hoods to reveal themselves. They were all slaves that had been stolen. With a quick search Bo quickly saw that Allie was among them. Her neck was free of her collar, but around her wrist was a golden bangle. It was the same with the others as well. Looking closer Bo thought he recognised one of them as Johan, but with the dim light and the bad angle, it was difficult to tell. Bo had backed up until he was hugging the wall. Shaken but not deterred, he began inching his way around the room. The walls were coated in a strange black grime that must have accumulated from the smoke coming from the braziers. It was much more pronounced around the ceiling than anywhere else, and it rubbed off all too easily on Bo's clothes.

Bo froze as the monster shifted its great head to direct most of its eyes toward the group in front of it.

'I am ready!' it boomed. It's voice was audible, and it seemed to shake the very walls with rumbling bass tones. Bo shrank into the shadows, not keen on moving until he was sure he wouldn't be seen. He felt as though any one of those little eyes might turn on him and alert the whole. The group before the beast bowed low, pausing a moment, before executing a controlled rush toward the cages of slaves. The hoods flew back as the figures jogged towards their goal, ducking, swerving, and dodging crates. Occasionally they would jump over the crates, rather than going around them. Finally they arrived at the cages, and leant against the bars, snapping and growling at those held within. They seemed like hunting dogs on leashes, keen to go about their tasks, only barely restrained from leaping to savage the nearby slaves.

One hapless slave boy was selected. His arm was snatched up, and he was dragged kicking and screaming from the cage, eyes rolling with fear. He was pulled laboriously back through the crated area, up the stone incline to the altar, and to the waiting beast. The poor teen was shaking as though he had been caught outside in a snowstorm. Snot ran from his nose and tears from his eyes as he pleaded in a broken voice to be spared whatever fate was to await him. As Bo watched, frozen in place, the great monster leaned forward, and placed the wide end of its probiscus on the slave's chest, before wrapping it around his body. Although the man was terrified, he seemed curiously unaware of the tendril that was slowly spreading up his chest and across his arms. At the very last second, however, as the tendrils crept into his ears and threatened to consume his face, the slave's eyes widened, and he started screaming again. His voice rang out, with a new shrill edge of panic, cutting off only as the blackness covered his face. There was a visible pulse from the creature that seemed to distort reality, and the slave shuddered and stiffened in the monster's grasp. One of the eyes on the great monster flashed white, but when the light dissipated, the eye was gone. The beast slid back ponderously, retracting its proboscis, and leaving his victim slumped, but still standing. For a moment all was calm, until the man straightened his back. There was a new aura of calm power about him. With his bare hands he reached up to the collar at his throat. His fingers sank into the brass as though it was made of butter, and with a quick jerk, he wrenched the metal apart. The hulking person that Bo had seen taking slaves from the compound stepped forward, holding out a golden bangle. This was slipped over the man's arm. As soon as it was past his hand, the bangle readjusted itself to an appropriate size – small enough that it would not come off, and large enough that it would not be restrictive. Raising his arms high in the air, the man called out in a strangely hoarse voice,

'I am called Naberius! I am free, and will assist you, as you wish. Although my power may be small in this vessel, and my body subject to the savage nature of mortal life, you have saved me from imprisonment and I will serve you as best I can.' For a second there seemed to be a three headed raven perched on the shoulders of the ex-slave, with its claws dug deep into his flesh.

Naberius' voice was hoarse and dreadful, scraping like sandpaper against the ears of those who heard it. Soon however the image faded, and the slave was lead away by the group that had presented him to the beast. They accepted him into their ranks. The hooded ones disappeared into an alcove underneath the stairs that Bo was standing on. It was almost invisible in the shadows that surrounded it. Bo breathed a small sigh of relief as the room became emptier, and silent but for the horrified moans of the slaves left behind in the cages. After a pause, to make sure no one would return, Bo continued to creep toward the grate. He could only hope that when he reached it, he would be strong enough to open it. The teen looked around carefully for any sign of Hayes, or Arty, but they were too well hidden for him to make out in the gloom.

The staircase down was long, narrow and irregular. It was a wonder that the sleepwalking slaves had made it down safely. Along the wall there were grooves and bricked up windows in the wall, indicating that the area had been repurposed. Bo froze as the smack of foot on stone approached him, ducking into a shallow bricked off window, and pressed himself desperately into the available shadow, worrying that he'd been seen. After a moment, however, it became obvious that it was just the odd acoustics of the chamber that brought the sound of footsteps to him. The three fiends he had seen, who had stolen slaves from the compound the night Bo was locked out were slowly approaching the altar. They stopped a good five meters from it, outside the range of the monster. The dark skinned woman stepped forward, cloaked in her hooded apparel.

'I believe we were followed here. The Founder forbade me from conveying this information until after the nightly ritual.' Her voice was unexpectedly light and feminine. For a moment the monster said nothing. Impatiently the woman turned to the cloaked man. 'Well? What does he say, Founder?'

'Don't be so impatient!' growled the cloaked man, clearly irritated. In the light, Bo realised that his back was severely hunched. Before he could admonish his fellow further, however, the shadowy beast replied.

'These are your problems! Use the demons if you must. We are not concerned with your troubles.' Bo shrank, hearing the voice of the monster was unnerving, and he didn't like the way the floor trembled.

'The Great One says that this is our fault. It is brought about due to your lack of vigilance Tracer. In his benevolence, however, The Great One proclaims that you may make use of the chosen converts.' announced the Founder gravely. Tracer sighed angrily,

'Well clearly Spellborn's precautionary misdirection magic is to blame, it isn't my fault!' The third figure who had been hulking quietly at the back of the group shifted uncomfortably but did not say a word. 'Anyway, the converts are supposed to serve us so I don't see why it is such a boon,' Tracer grumbled. An argument quickly broke out among the three. Taking advantage of their distraction Bo scurried toward the grate. He didn't feel that listening to any more of their talk would aid him, as he couldn't understand most of the terms they were using. A few of the slaves saw him as he slipped towards them, and reached through the bars, whispering pleas for assistance.

'Please save us! We'll be as good as dead if you leave us. Those chosen ones are husks with demons inside! They suck the human outta yer.' One man stared passionately out at Bo, his eyes dark, and his expression desperate. The small teen paused, taking in the slaves that stared after him, as though he was their last hope. There was no way he could help the slaves, they were surely beyond his abilities to free. Bo shrugged in a silent apology, feeling his gut clench at the thought of leaving so many people to what was probably a terrifying fate.

'What can I do? I can't pick magic locks,' he whispered. The slaves burst into restrained motion, excitedly pointing toward the wall behind the cages, and standing aside to let Bo see through the bars. On the wall he could just make out a metal bracket and several keys on a thin chain. Bo's stomach twisted at the thought of staying any longer than he had to, but all the stories he'd been told while he lived in The Gutter instructed him to help other people who were in need, despite any danger to himself. Bo thought of what Erasmus would do, and knew his friend would at least try to help the slaves that were pleading for their lives. Taking a deep breath, the teen crept forward toward the keys. He had to pass between two cages to get to the wall.

'Wait! I see an intruder!' Bo froze. He whipped around fearfully to see Tracer, both hands wielding long daggers. She wasn't looking in his direction however, she was looking in the direction of Hayes and Arty, who had been midway to sneaking toward the alcove under the stairs. Realising that the game was up, Hayes gestured casually with one hand, on which she had already drawn a complicated symbol. The symbol vanished, and the heavy braziers around the altar toppled violently to the ground, splattering the burning sludge in every direction. Hayes already had a brush in hand, and with a practised flourish she drew a rough symbol that ran the length of her arm. The two warrior women quickly jumped, using Hayes' magic to propel themselves towards the door at the top of the stairs, and using up the ink spell. Mid-air, and quite a long way up, Hayes was caught by a thick vine that burst unexpectedly from the wall, showering the ground below with debris before violently slamming her into the wall. Far below, Spellborn was gesturing emphatically, controlling the movement of the vine as it flung the two warrior women down. Arty, once released, fell gracefully, but Hayes was limp, having taken the brunt of the blow, and landed heavily on the stones below. Using the fight as cover, Bo hurried over to the key. The chain holding it to the wall was pathetically thin, and the teen could only imagine that some form of spell had been used to make the keys more secure. Luckily whoever had thought to magic the chain, hadn't bothered to do the same for the bracket it was attached to. A few strong tugs were enough to wrench both chain and key from the crumbling mortar of the wall. Bo hurried back to the cages and shoved the keys between the bars.

At that moment, the gold banded 'chosen ones' began to swarm out of the alcove opening some distance away. At first they concentrated only on restraining an angry Arty, and a swiftly recovering Hayes, but soon the slaves managed to open the cage doors and were attempting to escape in any way that they could. A number of those who had friends in other cages were also taking the time to thrust the keys into the waiting grasp of their fellows. Bo looked longingly at the sewage grate, but knew that he couldn't leave Hayes and Arty behind. There was an angry shout from across the room as the demons realised their slaves were winning free, and half of them hurried away from Hayes and Arty to deal with the break out. Feeling vulnerable in the open, Bo ducked his head, pushing through the swarming group of slaves to get to the cover of some nearby packing boxes.

Despite not being able to match Hayes and Arty in skill, the 'chosen ones' were frighteningly powerful, and it looked like the two warriors would soon be overwhelmed. Bo could easily believe each of the former slaves was housing a demon when he witnessed their furious strength. Of the demons that walked among the fleeing slaves, some hit out with fists while others used sticks, trying to beat the slaves into submission. For a few of the slaves this worked, and they cowered pathetically on the floor. For many, however, it only served to enrage them, and at least one demon was buried in a group of biting, kicking and screaming slaves. Some of the other slaves lay about on the ground, not in supplication, but already dead or dying.

'Be careful with the slaves!' commanded a familiar, feminine voice. It was too close for comfort, and Bo turned to see Tracer approaching his hiding place. A number of slaves had been working a section of the grate loose a short distance away, and together they had already managed to wrench one small section from the floor. Some, in their panic, were trying to squeeze themselves down the small hole. A few of the scrawnier slaves even made it through, finally dropping into the stinking darkness below with cries of terrified triumph. Two of the demons pushed through the rabble, tearing them away from the escape route and flinging them away. They slithered down the hole, hunting any slave who had managed to win free, while a third took a guard position over the hole, blocking it off. Bo growled in irritation, moving further into the shadows and away from Tracer. He glanced toward the staircase which was packed with a scrum of slaves and demons battling for control. The chosen ones were far superior in strength, and more often than not slaves would go flying over the edge of the staircase or balcony with terrified screams of dismay. All of the possible exits seemed to be blocked.

The heat of the room increased as the flames oozed slowly from the tumbled braziers and across the floor on a carpet of oily sludge. Bo gave up looking for a way out. Instead he threw caution to the wind and dashed toward his two friends, bent double to make the most of the available cover. They were still fighting valiantly, but one of Arty's arms hung limply by her side, while Hayes was trying to fend off three overly powerful foes at once. Hayes and Arty spun, dodged, and weaved, using their experience and precision to keep them out of harms way, while the chosen ones attacked with uncontrolled violence, attempting to cause crippling damage with each blow. Bo saw, even as he ran to help them, that Hayes was being overwhelmed, and finally one of the demons managed a glancing blow to her knee. The warrior buckled, and almost at once it looked like the two women would be overpowered. The two huddled together, attempting to prepare a joint spell, but it looked as though they had left it too late as three of the largest demons loomed over them. Thoughtless now of the consequences of his actions, Bo leapt forwards, closing the remaining ground without the benefit of cover. He scooped up a globule of the burning tar-like substance at his feet and threw it at Hayse and Arty's attackers, aiming for heads and faces. They were not expecting a volley from behind and more than one went down screaming, clutching at a hunk of burning flesh. The muck was hotter than Bo had expected – it was not at all like when a showman 'magician' had poured alcohol over Bo's hand and lit it on fire without hurting him; it was more like Bo had thrust his hand into a pile of burning embers. The teen shouted in dismay, shaking his hand to get rid of the flames and the gunk, but the goop was as sticky as honey. He had given the desert mages enough time to finish casting, and with a final, powerful and desperate spell they blew the demons away from them. Chosen ones flew left right and center, propelled away from the warriors by an invisible force. Bo remained unaffected by the magical blast, but was forced to duck and cover his head to keep clear of flying debris. Arty leapt over a fallen demon and grabbed Bo by the scruff of his collar. Bo gagged as he was wrenched into the air, clutching at his collar as he was tugged upwards.

As Arty leapt for the door, dragging Bo with her, his eyes met those of the beast as it swelled and wavered in an agitated manner. There seemed to be a pause in time as they each regarded the other, before the creature let out a command, its voice was uncharacteristically tight, screeching like a piece of metal being wrenched apart.

'Get that boy! I want him, he's mine! My body!' Simultaneously around the chamber the demons stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the monster that commanded them. It was clear that they too were aware of it's presence. Before they could figure out which boy the enraged elder was talking about, Arty and Hayes, with Bo in tow, had already landed at the top of the stairs. Hayes whipped out her paint brush, drawing a mark directly onto the door she muttered a spell. Ink flowed from the brush like water from a fountain, an ever lasting supply that burst readily from the tip, spattering.across the rock. The rock shattered into pieces as though hit by a large explosion, unable to stand under the onslaught of Hayes' magic. The three hurried away, even as the chosen ones gathered their wits about them and came sprinting after the boy that was so sought after. Stumbling after the two women, Bo was horrified to see Hayes go one way, and Arty another as they were both hit by the misdirection spell. In indecision he paused, wondering who he should follow, and whether he should try to get them back together. He had no time, however, as the howled screams of excitement coming from the chosen ones echoed down the passageway. In desperation he simply chose the same passageway as Hayes, and ran down it. Hayes, however, was long gone, and the passageways twisted and turned deviously, some almost completely enshrouded in darkness, and others doubling back on themselves. Bo ran heedlessly down corridors, bouncing off walls when he came to corners, tripping over loose stones and occasionally veering off course and crashing into the walls in disorientation. Although he was on the look out for his friends, he was on his own, with a pack of demons hot on his trail. Their crazed shouts echoed wildly through the corridors and alleyways, making it seem as though they were everywhere at once. Bo bounced off something living in the darkness, colliding with it and tumbling to the ground. It snatched blindly at him, tearing the leg of his pants and gouging into his leg. With a gasping cry, Bo kicked out, scrambling away to continue his flight.

Breathing in gasps Bo ran as quickly as his feet would carry him, trying to remember which way to go, but not daring to pause at each intersection to see if his guesses were correct. The creature was still close behind him. In desperation, Bo ducked around a corner, waiting for the demon to rush past his hiding spot, foiled by the darkness. As quietly as he could, Bo turned back the way he had come, taking a few corners at random until he had put some space between himself and his pursuer. Even with the newly regained breathing room, Bo was certain he would be caught in a matter of moments. What did the monster-artefact want him for? His body – did that mean it wanted to convert him into a husk of himself - a body for a demon to inhabit? Hardly able to run any further for lack of oxygen Bo stopped. He wasn't going to be taken down while running away. If he could get the time to catch his breath he would try to fight off the chosen ones, although he knew he would have no chance against them. His body felt light and powerful, but fragile as adrenalin, pain, fear, and exhaustion, ran through his limbs. The teen turned and fell into a fighting stance. His burned hand remained loosely curled, as he was unable and unwilling to clench it into a fist. The skin felt tight, and the burn was already weeping. Bo couldn't prevent his body from shaking as he waited. Taking deep breaths and willing himself to calm, Bo bit his lip, frowning into the darkness as the demons drew closer. Their footsteps echoed ominously, so loud that he was sure they must be right on top of him by now. At the last second, just as his pushers footsteps had become undeniably clearer, the teen suddenly wished he had simply continued running. He was about to turn and flee again when, without warning, something clutched at his shoulder and he was dragged sideways into a passageway that was so narrow he hadn't even noticed it in the darkness. There was a rumble as a rock slid across the covering and the small crack he found himself in was pitched into complete darkness. Bo struggled against his captor, until he heard the footsteps of the chosen ones running in the corridor outside. The teen froze, remaining as silent as possible, and thanking his lucky stars that whoever had grabbed him also had the good sense to stay quiet. Soon enough those running by outside had moved on. He was safe for now. Thankful for his narrow escape the teen drooped in his captor's grasp as his rush of adrenalin gave way, leaving him weak. The person who had dragged him into the alcove sat him down, and dropped down next to him. Bo didn't bother attacking – quite apart from being too tired, he was hoping that whoever had saved him from the demons was a friend. They too were panting, but it was controlled, unlike Bo's wheezing for breath. In a familiar voice the other person grumbled

'I tell you not come here! Vhy you no lizzen?'

# Chapter 13: Reunited

Alexander and Bo sat silently for a long time. At first Bo had many questions he wanted to ask – what had happened on the night of the fire? Where had Alexander been since then? But Alexander demanded silence. In the silence the brasser sat and his thoughts stewed. He felt illogically upset that Alexander had allowed him to believe his mentor dead, and the more he thought this, the more agitated and annoyed he became. Soon, however, the burn on his hand took up most of his attention - that and his fatigue. After an almost unbearably long wait, Alexander cautiously moved the stone that blocked the entryway. He leaned out of the doorway and peered into the darkness beyond in both directions. All commotion had died down a long time ago, and now the corridors were as silent and cold as a long forgotten catacomb. Alexander moved abominably slowly through the corridors. Sometimes they were so narrow that the portly weapons master had to squeeze through sideways, his rather large belly scraping quietly against the damp stone walls. He was taking extra care, however, to make sure they were not followed or spotted.

Eventually they came to a well lit room. Bo could see no obvious method of defence for it, nor even a lock on the door, but it was unlikely that Alexander had stayed hidden for so long without at least a cloaking spell. There was a simple bedroll on the ground, a chamberpot in the corner furthest from the door, and a few barrels that sat next to the door. At the foot of the bedroll there was a sturdy looking chest. Against the wall nearest the bedroll leaned an impressively large and well loved two handed battle axe that gleamed dimly in the light. Around the roof there hovered a number of globes that gave off light and heat, keeping the room at a more tolerable temperature than the outside corridors. Alexander sat down heavily on the chest, and proved just how sturdy it was as it took his weight without complaint. Bo followed Alexander's lead, sitting on the floor and resting his back against the barrels by the door. He cradled his burned hand in his lap, and was finally able to give it some attention. The palm of his hand was burned raw, and in places small beads of a yellowish, not-quite-clear liquid had formed. Despite the severity of the burn, however, the wound hurt only vaguely, so that the gentle ache seemed to seep halfway up the teen's arm. With a grunt of surprise Alexander got up again and grabbed the hand in question.

'Vhy not say anythink? Iz silly to leave,' he growled. Bo resisted complaining that it was Alexander who had demanded silence. The weapons master sighed and dug out a number of first aid items from the chest, including the gel that Bo was becoming quite familiar with. Alexander sat Bo on the chest and proceeded to treat the burn.

'You knew that I was immune to magic, didn't you?' Bo asked finally. It was a suspicion that had been burning in his mind since he found out about his peculiar birth defect. Alexander snorted humourlessly.

'Yez. Vhen first meet, I think – here is ass-as-sin. Collar not vork, and iz ztrange age for slave, yez? I know old stories about ze killers who not touch by magic. Not believe, but ztill remember,' Alexander tapped his head knowingly. 'But you fight like leetle gurl. No keeping self safe. I vatch, and I convince that no ass-as-sin. Iz confusing, but I accept. All strange things are happenink in vorld.' The man shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work. Bo thought about this quietly. It made enough sense, so he accepted it, simply glad Alexander hadn't immediately acted on his first assumptions that Bo was an assassin and cut him into little pieces.

'Is this where you have been living since the armoury burned down?' Bo asked after a sufficiently long lull in conversation. Alexander grunted but didn't reply immediately.

'Not vish to sayink ztory two timez. Vait until talk to all group.' After Bo's hand was treated, Alexander got him to stand up, and packed the supplies away in the chest. 'Muzt being careful now. Iz people come after you, so ztay hidden, yez?' Bo agreed half-heartedly. He wouldn't have been so reluctant half an hour ago to hide himself, but the immediate danger had passed and the edge of his fear had dulled. He didn't want to be taken captive and sent before the artefact monster, but he hated the idea that he was to be hidden away. Alexander dug a long cloak out of his trunk, handing it to Bo who quickly slipped it on. The cloak covered Bo completely, although it was a little large, and dragged along the ground as well, making it important for the boy to take care not to let it trip him up. Satisfied with the disguise, the former weapon master nodded thoughtfully, before leading the way out of the door.

With a still sore, but treated hand, Bo followed Alexander, who moved more quickly through the passageways than he had when they were escaping the chosen ones, clearly confident that Bo was rested enough to keep up. Soon they emerged from a wall covering not far from where Erasmus' room was. Alexander had obviously acquainted himself with the secret passageways in and about the castle. Somehow Bo wasn't surprised that the weapons master had used his time this way, and wouldn't be surprised if Alexander had also been training non-stop in his battle exercises. Alexander lead the way to Erasmus' door, and the teen didn't ask how he knew which one it was. From inside there came the sound of arguing.

'You said you'd look after him!' shouted Erasmus, despair clear in his tone. Alexander knocked heavily on the door, cutting off further conversation. There was a momentary pause before the door was opened a crack by Erasmus, who peered out with one suspicious eye. What he saw was an angry, bushy bearded, fat man, who had a no nonsense glare to his beady blue eyes and overhanging bushy eyebrows. At an uncharacteristic loss for words, it was clear the usually voluble man was expecting someone, or something else. Taking advantage of this, Alexander pushed his way inside. The rude intrusion quickly galvanised Erasmus' mouth, and the outraged scholar proceeded to let forth a verbal volley of reproof that could have stripped bone from flesh. Despite the cries of protest Alexander continued to barrel his way forcefully into the room, and Bo followed quietly in his wake. Erasmus was too busy trying to repel the unstoppable weapon master with an equally unstoppable flow of talking to see Bo immediately. When the boy had finally managed to gain entry to the room, and was standing in the middle of the rug, he pulled back his hood. Erasmus turned, exasperated and defeated, and caught sight of his younger friend. The desert mage gasped in surprise, before grabbing the teen up in an embrace. 'Bo! Hayes and Arty said they had lost you! Who is this man? Another friend of yours?' Erasmus' somewhat over enthusiastic hug was restricting Bo's breathing and he squirmed uncomfortably until he was released. The verbose mage blushed, muttering apologies for his exuberance, while Bo took the time to explain that Alexander had saved him rather at the last second.

After everyone had settled somewhat, Erasmus, Arty and Hayes explained that a number of 'castle guards' had come and investigated their rooms, but that none of the so called guards had been equipped with the appropriate armour, or indication of their ranks, making her suspicious that they were above-ground allies of the demons. Luckily the two warrior women had gotten back to their rooms in advance of the search, and thus had some merit to their story that they had been in their room all night. They assumed the search had been an effort to discover Bo, but the guards hadn't been forthcoming in what they were looking for.

Alexander then explained that he had been investigating the problem for some time. He had tried following the slave takers, only to fall prey to the same misdirection spells as Hayes and Arty. Suspecting Jayne (Master Sir) was in on the operation, he had accused Master Sir on the day that the slave master accosted Bo in the armoury, only to have his suspicions confirmed by the reaction he received. That night he had grilled Master Sir, but the man had been unwilling or unable to speak out against his business partners. Alexander didn't credit him with the guts to stay quiet while under pressure so he quickly realised Jayne must have been under a spell to keep him quiet. In any case word of the weapon master's investigations must have spread quickly, as Alexander soon received a call from an unwelcome visitor – a badly trained assassin. Realising that if this assassin was bested, then more would be sent, Alexander had killed his foe, saved a few barrels of pickles and a trunk of important goods, and faked his own death by setting the armoury on fire. Since then he had been living in the secret passages, trying to work on a way to break the misdirection spells to further investigate the mystery. The weapons master grumbled that he might have been able to break the spells if they were in his own native tongue, but that it was difficult to counteract the spells that were all in another language, even with a long time to study them. He hadn't wanted to leave the castle, feeling that the safety of his King might be in jeopardy, and so instead was working under cover. Finally it was Arty and Hayes' turn to talk about what they had seen. Alexander stayed quiet, his arms folded across his chest. He would occasionally snort in disbelief or amusement at some of the points in the tale, but he did not interrupt. Erasmus had clearly already heard the report and paid more attention to Alexander than to the story, keeping a distrustful eye on the weapon master. Bo was surprised to hear the warriors' history of what had occurred. They described the conversion of the slave with no mention of monsters, or eyes, or anything as descriptive as mentioning how horrible the artefact looked. It only served to prove to him that it had been cloaked by magic.

'To be honest I don't know how they could have suddenly realised Bo was of any interest, or even if he was. It was sort of uncanny how one moment we were going relatively unnoticed, and the next every damn one of them was coming after us,' finished Arty, giving Bo a confused glance. Bo cleared his throat. He wanted to ask if perhaps he had been seeing things differently, as he was almost certain that no one else had recognised the artefact for what it truly was. He didn't, however, want to appear foolish in front of Alexander, and the desert mages by presuming to know things that they did not, only to be proved wrong later. Erasmus turned a quizzical gaze on Bo, hearing the small cough and assuming the teen had something to say. Embarrassed, Bo spoke about what he had experienced. At first the desert mages seemed shocked by the revelation that the ancient artefact was actually a monster of some sort, and then they were fascinated - at least Erasmus was fascinated. Arty and Hayes, once over their surprise, merely accepted the fact. Erasmus pestered Bo to draw a picture of the creature as best he could and despite protests forced a piece of paper and an ink pen into Bo's hands. Being no great artist the picture was less than perfect. The teen also drew in a human for a size comparison.

'This makes no sense! Surely someone would have noticed over all those hundreds of years?' murmured Erasmus, staring at the hastily scrawled picture as though it could give him answers. Absently he wandered over to his books. Picking out a hefty tome, the mage began to flick through the pages, absorbed in his own world of research.

'I am knowink thiz name of new chosen one. Naberius. He iz demon, yez? Sealed away lonk time ago, but eef leetle boy and gurl is bad, Naberius coming and eating them in their bed, yez? Not much eating of children, but many bad boy and gurl, make me think Naberius iz joke.' Growled Alexander through his beard. Arty frowned.

'Maybe so, but he seemed real enough tonight.' talk devolved into a guessing game until Erasmus finally piped up.

'I couldn't find anything on this,' he said, as he waved the poorly drawn picture around, 'that might suggest anyone was aware it was a monster of sorts. I do, however, know a little about Naberius. It is said he was to be sealed away, but there was a footnote in the book stating that there was also a legend about him being eaten by a more powerful, unnamed demon, in an attempt to gain enough power to destroy humanity.' There was silence for a while as everyone digested this information. The easy conclusion to draw was that Naberius had been eaten by the artefact. Whether that was the correct conclusion was something else entirely. 'I only say this,' Erasmus anxiously added, 'because you are all the kinds of people I trust not to overreact, or work on assumptions and hastily drawn conclusions. History is not solid fact, you know. There is a lot of hearsay and the actual existence of demons is highly disputed, especially with the new reclassification of the animal and dragon hierarchy, because you see demons-' The lanky mage yelped as Arty gave him a friendly kick to remind him not to ramble.

'Well whatever they are doing with the artefact – the issue remains that it was stolen. They have no right to be using it at all,' Arty said firmly. Alexander got up and started walking casually toward the door, arms still crossed and a look of irritation rapidly spreading across his ruddy features. He yanked the wooden portal open, and Will, who had been leaning up against the keyhole was quickly dragged into the room. He grinned sheepishly,

'Hey Mister Alexander! It's good to see you aren't dead.' Alexander cuffed the boy around the back of the head

'Ztupid boy. Getting caught and you being in big trouble. Make trouble for everyone vith prying nose.' growled the weapons master. Erasmus glared, boggle eyed at the intruder that even he had not been aware of, despite his cautionary spells.

'You! What do you think you're doing?' Will grinned cheekily, clearly not at all daunted when faced with a room full of powerful mages, skilled warriors, and one grumpy old weapons master, who were all glaring daggers at him.

'I heard there was trouble in my castle, and trouble without Will is like a group of men without any women – not very productive.' Alexander slapped Will up the side of the head for his impudence while Erasmus frowned, grumbling that what Will had said didn't even make sense. The white eyed boy paused his absurdities, rubbing ruefully at the spot Alexander kept hitting. 'Look you be careful with this head. You don't want to slap out all my thoughts before I even get the chance to say them, right?' Alexander hit Will in the head again, for good measure.

'Eef haff thoughts, say them, not babble on vith nonsense, yez?' Will moved away from Alexander and closer to Bo, grinning and winking at his friend.

'Well you have a bunch of people looking for Bo, right? Well they're looking for a slave. Just give him a new look. Get rid of the collar, maybe dye his hair.' Alexander frowned angrily,

'Iz not get rid of collar. Bo belonk to King now. Iz paid for vith King's money.'

'Listen here, I had to pay much more than The King did to secure Bo's services,' Erasmus burst out, finally satisfying his natural dislike of Alexander with a valid confrontation. 'If you ask me, Bo's mine now, and I say he can go without a collar. It isn't doing anything anyway.' Alexander and Erasmus continued arguing passionately for some time over the matter. Erasmus claimed that he'd paid for Bo fair and upfront, and that it wasn't his fault if the man he'd paid the money to was dishonestly robbing the King. Alexander was of the opinion that Erasmus had just done a poor deal on a rental. Neither could convince the other side of the legitimacy of their argument, and it looked like the whole thing was going to end in a fight. Bo was surprised to hear Alexander's views on the matter. The man had been so kind to him, but clearly he thought that Bo should accept his lot. It was a mind set that Bo just couldn't agree with and one that it seemed Alexander wasn't about to change.

'Look,' interrupted Will, 'even if he is the King's property – if he gets caught then won't he get stolen anyway? Getting his collar off would be a good way of protecting the King's property, doncha think?' The white haired boy grinned, knowing he had a good argument. Alexander frowned, not liking where the conversation was headed. Arty and Hayes finally joined in, throwing their weight on the 'no collar' side, until finally Alexander had no one but Bo to look at for back up. Feeling bad about disappointing Alexander, the teen looked at his feet.

'I think no collar would be best.' He didn't want to see Alexander's expression, and so continued to look at the ground as though fixated. Erasmus let out a smug 'see?' placing a hand on Bo's shoulder that the teen had to try hard not to shrug off. Alexander flung his hands up into the air,

'Fine, eef you vish to take off collar, do it vithout help, but I not ztop you. I go before anyvun elz come in here. Iz dangerous, yez?' with that Alexander turned and left, clearly in a bad mood. No one made to follow him. Soon enough Bo was given some tea, and Will begged leave to get some 'beauty sleep.' Arty and Hayes made him promise not to breathe a word of what he knew to anyone, and the white haired teen had winked roguishly, claiming his lips were sealed. This did not seem to allay the warriors' anxiety but neither Bo nor Erasmus would let them cast spells on Will to keep him silent on the matter.

'If what you saw is correct Bo, and I don't doubt you at all, then something terrible is going on. I know Alexander thinks that this has nothing to do with the King, but we're on the brink of war with this kingdom, so it seems unlikely to be a coincidence that they have stolen an ancient artefact and are doing I-don't-know-what with it. Reviving demons perhaps? I really haven't a clue. Hopefully we can find out more when the peace talks start up again – but we'll have to be careful.' There was more discussion and speculation, but finally Arty and Hayes left, saying that they would be back tomorrow in order to help remove Bo's collar.

The rest of the night passed quickly for Bo, who fell asleep at the table due to the tea he'd been given for his hand, even though the thought of getting his collar off tomorrow should have kept him awake all night with excitement. He barely even woke when Erasmus hauled him onto the bed. Although he slept in late, the rest of the day passed horribly slowly. Every time there were footsteps in the corridor, Bo was forced to hide until they passed, fearing that another search party might come through and find him. Erasmus spent some of the time dying Bo's hair black with some sort of herbal product that Hayes and Arty had given him. It smelled bad, like overcooked cabbage, but Bo had to endure it, and came out with a head full of dark brown hair. Erasmus used magic to clear up the smell and with a certain amount of distaste, incinerated the muddy mess of dye product as though it were the contents of a chamberpot. As dusk spread across the sky, Arty and Hayes arrived, just as casually as they always did. When Bo finally came out of hiding they playfully teased him about his new hair colour until it was time to sneak out. Bo wore a scarf to cover his collar, and Erasmus insisted on coming with them, much to Arty's dismay (she asked several times if Erasmus would be able to go so long without speaking). The small group moved quickly through the corridors, avoiding areas with a lot of traffic and sticking to the shadows where possible. Once or twice they turned and hurried in a new direction when they could see a pair of guards on casual patrol, not wishing to chance an encounter.

By the time they reached the forge, no one was walking around outside, and many of the lights had been put out, leaving Middlefortress castle like a gloomy ghost town. One or two of the windows showed dim lights, but there was no sound of movement from within. Swiftly, Arty cast a spell on the building called the 'Hand of Glory' spell. It required her to set a few candles burning outside the house, but she explained to Bo in a whisper that it was a standard military spell. Everyone in the desert military was trained in a few standard spells in three categories, communications, espionage and counter-espionage, and battle.

'I've never been very good with spells though,' Arty admitted, lighting a candle with a match, which she snubbed out in the dirt. 'I make up for it with fighting skill, you see? Now this spell will keep those inside the building asleep until the candles are blown out, or it should if I have done it right.' Arty grinned devilishly. 'There are better ways to do it of course, but there wasn't the time to use them.' Erasmus looked like he wanted to start talking about the topic of better spells, but he quickly remembered that he was sulking childishly, and not speaking, to prove to Arty once and for all that he could keep his mouth shut if the situation called for it. The warrior woman grinned, seeing her friend's irritation at his self enforced silence.

'Of course I'm sure Erasmus knows plenty of good spells for this kind of thing, right Erasmus?' she paused, still grinning ghoulishly while Erasmus merely glared at her. Pretending she was waiting for a reply, the warrior woman cocked her head to one side, feigning confusion, 'no? Well I guess he doesn't then. That's a surprise – I thought he was supposed to be a magic prodigy.' Bo couldn't help chuckling as Erasmus struggled not to rise to her bait, making muffled noises of irritation, but ultimately managing to hold his tongue. The glare he was giving Arty, however, suggested that she would be in trouble as soon as they returned to a place safe enough to speak freely.

A few terse words here and there in the main forge area from Arty and Hayes quickly had the fires burning hot. It was a delicate procedure. Not having the keywords for the collar, there was nothing they could do to it via magic, so they were required to manually remove it, which still required them to break a number of spells designed to protect the collar from damage. Suddenly Bo was glad Erasmus had insisted on coming, as the mage managed to break these spells in two minutes, rather smugly doing so without uttering a single word, although a sheen of sweat on his forehead suggested it had been a difficult task. Despite Arty's care, Bo managed to gain a few burns – none as severe as the one on his hand from the previous night. It was due to the worry for Bo's safety that the procedure took so long, but the brass was surprisingly easy to melt. Finally, after a couple of hours, and with the candles outside burning dangerously low, the collar came off. The miasma of tense anxiety lifted, as Bo felt his naked neck. It was good to be free. He grinned widely at Erasmus, Arty, and Hayes, who mirrored the expression, both Hayes and Erasmus gave him powerful hugs, sharing Bo's euphoria at being free, but it was clear that Arty already wished to leave. After cleaning up and setting the forge to rights, the small group headed back to Erasmus' room where they celebrated with good food, and wine that Erasmus had smuggled in. Bo had never drunk quite so much and ended up very tipsy. To a greater or lesser extent so did Arty and Hayes. Erasmus, it seemed, couldn't hold his drink, and after the second glass he was completely incoherent, babbling about various magical methods to make a soup out of good will, boiling water, and a nail (much to everyone else's amusement). It was good to relax among a set of friends, especially after the past two nights of stress, and the frivolity seemed to suggest to Bo that the bulk of his worries were over. Surely now that he had friends, and freedom he would have no trouble accomplishing his goals for adventure. Eventually everyone retired to bed as the soporific effect of the alcohol came into play. Bo took the bed, as was customary, only to be surprised as Erasmus flopped down beside him, thankfully still fully dressed.

'I'm tired g'niiiight,' mumbled Erasmus into the pillow. Bo's mind churned, but in the end he didn't feel like sleeping in an armchair, and fell asleep with his good hand curled around the back of his bare neck.

The next morning Bo woke groggily to a thunderous banging on the door. He sat up in bed sleepily rubbing at his eyes, and was shocked when the door crashed open. It even managed to rouse Erasmus who glared sleepily at the cause of the disturbance, still mildly intoxicated. A broad shouldered fighter stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hand was on the sword at his hip.

'I uh- I was ordered to search this room for a runaway slave.' He said, quickly moving his eyes up to stare at the opposing wall. There was a pause as Erasmus thought about what the man had said.

'Try not to be too noisy while you're at it' grumbled the mage, looping his arm around Bo's shoulders and pulling the teen back down into bed and under the covers. 'I don't think he's going to search the bed,' whispered Erasmus, grinning slyly, although still half asleep. Bo frowned feeling that the mage was enjoying the situation far too much, but he was unable to complain of it until the guard had gone. For his part the guard was very thorough, although he avoided the bed somewhat fastidiously keeping his gaze away from what he presumed was the couple inhabiting it. Once he was done, and with a quick apology, the man left hurriedly, closing the door after him. Bo leapt out of bed as though he'd been sitting on hot coals. He was about to say something when Arty and Hayes entered, complaining loudly at the early wake up. They waved at Bo, clearly relieved that he hadn't been caught. Erasmus remained in bed, and Bo suspected the man had fallen asleep again, possibly even while the guard had still been in the room, which was not at all reassuring. The teen joined Arty and Hayes in breakfast and some morning exercises, trying not to yawn too often while he was still waking up. Everything felt fresh and new without his collar on, and Bo couldn't help but smile every time a cool breeze brushed past his throat.

# Chapter 14: Meetings and Reunions

After the morning's exercise Erasmus was woken up and the four helped themselves to a hearty breakfast. Erasmus spoke quietly to the warriors about what they should do with the information they'd uncovered so far. While they didn't want to start a war through openly accusing Redland of stealing and misusing their ancient relic, they were almost certain that the volatile kingdom would start a war anyway.

'Either way, we should report in with what we know.' mumbled Arty through a mouthful of fruit.

'Do you need any assistance with the spells?' Erasmus asked casually, reminding them smugly of his good work the night before. Arty and Hayes assured the mage that they would be alright by themselves, but that it would take them a day to set up everything they needed.

'We'll take Bo with us when we go, though. The high council will want him to report his findings by himself, you know what they are like with relative truths.' Hayes rolled her eyes. Bo's ears pricked as he heard himself mentioned.

'Wait what? I'm going to have to talk to who now?' Erasmus steepled his fingers in thought.

'No one Bo. I don't think you would be able to use communication spells – the people on the other end wouldn't be able to see or hear you.' Arty cursed as she realised the mage was correct. 'He's just going to have to write his report then, and we'll send it via lettermage. It's slower, and more dangerous, but it's the only way.'

The rest of the morning was spent trying to draw a more accurate image of the monster, and in having Erasmus transcribe Bo's story about the night he accompanied Hayes and Arty into the underground caverns. It wasn't ideal, but Erasmus had seen the letter Bo had started to write and was appalled by both the handwriting and the level of illiteracy displayed. He had at that point vowed to teach Bo his letters – but first they had a report to write. At lunch time Erasmus' hand was starting to cramp, mostly because he insisted on putting down every little detail that Bo could think of, and the story now spanned several pages. Seeing that he needed a rest, Erasmus called for a lunch break, some time after Will had already delivered some choice cold meats. Glad to wet his throat, which was sore from talking, Bo accepted, eagerly sitting down as he realised just how hungry he was.

Over lunch, while Arty and Hayes were out, a desert person that Bo had never seen before entered the room. It was a man with a wide face and a strong nose that had been broken at least once. His eyes, however were slightly too small and set slightly too close together for him to be considered classically handsome, making his face seem more blockish than it actually was. The man wore his hair long, tied back into a plait that reached down between his shoulders. His jumpsuit was the dirty orange that Bo disliked, and his skin was heavily tanned. Although he did not wear the red of a warrior, the man was considerably well built. Bo felt that he looked familiar, but it was only when he walked up to stand beside Erasmus that Bo realised it was the man he had glimpsed one day while sweeping. The teen lowered his eyes, suddenly wondering if this man was Erasmus' sweetheart or some such - it would certainly fit the scene he had witnessed. The man gave Bo an arrogant sneer, before turning to speak directly to Erasmus, instantly making a bad impression on the teen.

'Can we have a private talk? I don't need any child listening in. The walls have ears, you know Erasmus?' Slowly and carefully Erasmus put down the mouthful of food he'd been intending to consume. His gaze was rather frosty.

'You can talk in front of Bo. He is 'one of us.' Bo, this is Takeshi. He's in charge of the peace negotiations, and he thinks he's very important.' Takeshi spluttered angrily at Erasmus,

'I am very important! Don't get above your station! You shouldn't even be--' Takeshi stopped himself before he could rage any further. Erasmus' smile told Bo he'd been baiting the other man, hoping for just such a reaction. 'Look here Erasmus. There are negotiations tonight and that is all I will say unless we are alone.' Takeshi's gaze slipped sideways to linger on Bo. Bo felt rather uncomfortable being the subject of such ill-concealed irritation. He wondered what on earth he could have done to deserve it.

'Well you'd better be off th-' began Erasmus. He was quickly interrupted as Bo stood up to leave.

'I'll go. It was nice to meet you, Takeshi.' The teen bowed politely before heading for the door. He wasn't going to have Erasmus miss out on important information because the mage was too stubborn to comply with Takeshi's demands, and he didn't wish to cause friction between Erasmus and his partner.

'Wait!' yelped Erasmus in surprise, half leaping up to grab Bo's arm. The lanky mage froze, realising he had lost his cool in front of the orange clad man. 'You should take your lunch with you, we could be a while,' he finished lamely, settling back into his chair with a resigned expression. Feeling very out of the loop Bo grabbed his plate and left the room as quickly as he could without appearing to be in a hurry.

The teen quickly finished his lunch, and was sitting glumly against the stone wall when Arty and Hayes arrived. They frowned,

'What are you doing outside the room Bo?' asked Hayes. She was carrying two candles in a metal bucket, while Arty had a basket of fruit clasped under one arm.

'Um, someone called Takeshi--' began the teen, but was interrupted by Arty who muttered something that sounded a lot like a curse, and without knocking she flung Erasmus' door open. Bo followed as the warriors stormed the room,

'Hey Erasmus we – oh Takeshi, what a surprise!' said Arty, her voice laden with false enthusiasm. Erasmus was leaning against the wall near the door, frowning furiously, while Takeshi was standing over him, uncomfortably close, with his hand planted on Eramus' shoulder in what would never have been mistaken as a friendly gesture. Takeshi was startled but maintained his cool, while Erasmus gave Arty a relieved expression.

'He was just going, actually,' Erasmus explained quickly, before the orange clad mage could ask Arty and Hayes to go away. Stepping back, Takeshi leered in what he must have considered an appropriately friendly way, and pushed his way past Bo to get out of the room. Erasmus straightened his collar, which had become askew, rolling his shoulders to gently work out some of the tension in them. 'Takeshi is always so friendly,' he muttered to himself. Arty sighed and shoved the basket of fruit into Erasmus' arms,

'Stupid. Just tell him to go away next time.' Erasmus pointed at Bo, childishly accusing the teen of leaving him alone to face the perils of politics, but Arty was already lecturing Erasmus on proper conduct.

'I'm going to be registering a complaint about Takeshi as soon as we get in contact with the council!' she growled angrily. Erasmus went red,

'I'd rather you didn't bring it to their notice' he managed, his voice sounding slightly strained, but his plea went largely unheard over Arty still grumbling about Takeshi, largely questioning his swift advancement through the ranks.

'You know he was only placed in charge so that the equity comity for male rights would be pleased,' murmured Hayes, looking almost as irritated as Arty. Bo found himself strangely indignant at the thought of Takeshi's actions towards Erasmus, now that he was more aware of the situation, but he put it down to the rude and abrupt manner of the man. Eventually everyone settled down. Bo and Erasmus sat and listened while Hayes and Arty talked about the trials they'd been through to secure the bucket and candles, which included wrestling with a stubborn donkey, and seducing a bored butcher. Eventually Bo decided to ask something that had been bothering him.

'Why do you use candles and stuff and Erasmus doesn't have to? When you do magic I mean.' Erasmus made a scoffing sound while Arty groaned.

'Erasmus is very talented,' explained Hayes cheerfully. 'He knows a lot of spells and he studies very hard. It is like the difference between writing a book and telling a story. Most people need paper and pencils to write a good story, but some people are clever enough to just tell a story without first getting it written and planned on paper.' Bo glanced at Erasmus who looked almost unbearably smug.

'And doesn't he know how good he is,' groaned Arty, who quickly changed the subject before Erasmus could start praising himself too much. 'So Bo, we'll need you to come with us tomorrow when we go to report.' The conversation quickly picked up, with Erasmus arguing that it would be too dangerous for Bo to go wandering around the kingdom, and the like, but in the end it was decided. The rest of the day after lunch was spent writing up the end of the letter to be posted.

That night Bo sat in the bed. Erasmus did not seem interested in studying as he usually did. He had been sitting staring at the same page for longer than usual, and the pen that he used for writing notes was lying out of reach.

'Um, we can both sleep in the bed again tonight?' suggested Bo. He felt awkward saying it, but he didn't feel like Erasmus should be forced to sleep in the armchair merely because he tended toward a more nocturnal sleeping pattern. Erasmus took a long time to respond, eventually turning and smiling at the teen absently,

'That's kind Bo, but I have a lot of studying to do...' the mage trailed off before returning to his book. Bo was relieved when his friend leaned over and picked up his pen. Settling into the comfortable warmth of the covers, however, Bo found that sleep was elusive.

'Erasmus – why not complain about that Takeshi guy?' The teen had been thinking about it a lot. He wasn't sure why it occupied so much of his interest, but his curiosity burned bright, along with a kind of restrained anger. He wanted to understand why Erasmus, who seemed so capable, would put up with being bothered by a nasty person like Takeshi. Erasmus sighed heavily and didn't answer immediately, worrying Bo that he might have asked about something too personal, but eventually the mage spoke up,

'He's a pain, but he's also the leader of the peace negotiations. I have to listen to his orders because otherwise I could get into a lot of trouble. It isn't worth it, just to complain, after all, he hasn't done anything exactly, he's just very friendly.' The stalk legged man paused uncertainly, before adding, 'normally at home I would deal with his sort easily, but it is a little different at the moment. I wouldn't want any of my acquaintances in the council to know that I couldn't manage one man being a little too forward.' Bo considered what Erasmus said, but found it did nothing to smother his irritation. He did not have to wonder too hard why peace negotiations were not going well if Takeshi was in charge of them – the man was clearly an arse. Turning over in bed Bo made no reply and tried to get to sleep. Instead he was bothered by thoughts of the desert peoples' strange customs. He felt indignant at Takeshi for his behaviour, but uncomfortable with the relationship it implied, until he wished he could ignore it and pretend it didn't exist.

Early in the morning Bo stirred. It was (in fact) earlier than usual, despite the teen's tiredness. Groggily his eyes opened, already accustomed to the dark. With a start, Bo quickly realised there was a grizzled bearded face staring down at him from roughly three inches away. He nearly jumped out of the bed with surprise, only calming down when he saw that the person who had been leaning over him had been Alexander. Bo glared at the ex-weapon master thinking that waking up to Alexander staring intently down at you was the stuff of nightmares.

'You zleep-in lonk time, yez?' said Alexander, unable to completely erase the amusement from his voice. Bo looked at the window – outside there wasn't even a hint of dawn. Movement off to the side of the bed quickly drew Bo's attention, as Ruben peered out from behind Alexander's considerable girth, glumly waving greetings to Bo. 'I realize I haff not been trainink az much az ushe-ual. I make decide to train every day to keep spirits up and fightink!' Alexander growled cheerfully. Bo groaned, seeing that Alexander meant to train him in fighting even if it meant waking up at a ridiculously early hour. Before they began however, Alexander checked up on Bo's burned hand which had healed remarkably quickly. The palm was smooth and silvery in colour, but other than the obviously fresh scar it looked entirely healed and Alexander gave it his nod of approval.

The teen was soon ushered out of bed, and he, Ruben, and Alexander began warming up. They trained well into the morning, only stopping when Arty and Hayes rushed in, hearing enthusiastic activity and fearing the worst. Soon enough the two women got down to their own warm-ups and the group of people training grew from three to five, taking up almost all of Erasmus' floorspace. By the time they had gotten to pushing the table out of the way, Erasmus had woken from his place by the hearth, and angrily told them that tomorrow they would have to go and train in a different room. Working up a sweat, the group continued to work until Will came in with breakfast. The white haired slave quickly left again, muttering something about having to bring up an extra few servings to make sure everyone was well fed. Bo suspected, however, that his friend was merely hoping not to get caught up in the morning's activities. The exercises left Bo invigorated, but he knew that the next day he would have more than a few sore muscles. Ruben looked more awake than he usually did as well, although as soon as he was free he left to talk to Erasmus about his latest projects and to check up on the bird. Alexander took a roll from the breakfast platter that Arty and Hayes had brought with them, buttered it thickly and with a grin disappeared out the door, promising only that he would be back again tomorrow.

As soon as Ruben left for the library, and the rest of the participants had towelled the sweat off themselves and cleaned up just a little, Erasmus handed Bo the sealed envelope containing the letter they had written the previous day. The paper was thick, and the flap was sealed by a long line of some sort of black gum. Bo prodded it uncertainly only to discover that it was harder, and stiffer than he expected.

'I have to attend peace negotiations – orders are orders. So I can't come with you. Arty and Hayes will look after you this time I'm sure, so don't go off on your own.' The lanky mage also gave Bo a pair of fingerless gloves to hide his slave tattoo, and silver palm. Bo was surprised at how concerned Erasmus seemed to be, but Arty and Hayes were quick to remind Erasmus that they were on a tight schedule.

'Don't drink too much at negotiations, you know you can't hold it!' called Arty cheerfully as Erasmus waved the group off from his doorway.

Soon enough the small group left the castle gates. It was Bo's first time viewing the upper city and he was interested to see how it differed from his expectations. He had thought the streets were lined with gold and the fountains vomited forth rainbows, like the magnificent stories told by those lucky enough to visit the area. He was very disappointed to find that the cobbles were regular stone and the houses (while made of more permanent materials than Gutter houses) were nothing fancy, and were usually coated in a layer of grime. There were one or two fountains, but much like those of the lower city they were being used for cleaning, and did not look particularly appealing. The streets were wider, cleaner, and better attended by guards, however, making Bo slightly nervous that he might be recognised – but everyone seemed much too complacent for a disturbance to be kicked up that early in the morning. Looking around himself Bo was surprised to see that there was no obvious thievery going on, and that there were no beggars, elderly, or ill people clogging up the walking paths. A number of temples that shone with cleanliness lined a distant road, which was strange in itself, as TheGutter had no temples itself. Despite Bo's interest Arty and Hayes insisted they had no time to look at them. A quick glance though did not reveal anything dedicated to No Body. There were no packs of half wild dogs roaming the streets, no slave markets in plain sight, and no crumbling houses. On some buildings there were stone gargoyles that moved and stretched their wings, while all around the city people were rushing around trying to get ready for the day, even though the morning was growing very late indeed. Bo watched with a small amount of jealousy as a group of children, all wearing a uniform, were led about by a teacher. He had heard about schools and had wished to attend one, at one stage of his life. His parents had laughed, and pointed out that The Gutter had no schools. Arty and Hayes gazed about with interest but made no comment on the city at large, having already seen it. They were diverted for a few seconds by the odours of a street of food vendors, and bought tasty honeyed meats from one of them for a morning tea, sharing the snack with Bo, who ate his too fast and burned his mouth. This didn't stop him, however, from licking the melting honey from his fingers and requesting that they come back past the same vendor on the way home.

Slowly but surely as they neared The Gutter, going downhill all the way. The houses of the upper city shrank and withered. The streets grew narrower as the houses became more densely packed in order to accommodate the maximum number of people before the walls. Here the happy noises of everyday life were often replaced by the scream and cry of infants, and the shriek of frustrated mothers. Every now and then a dog would bark somewhere in the distance, and there were not as many people on the streets. The smoke that came from the accumulated houses was slightly thicker and blacker than the rest of the upper city, making the entire area seem slightly dirtier, on the whole.

Finally the group of three reached an impassible wall. It was made of thick, heavy white stones that were stained with the black of ages and had mould growing in the cracks. The top was crenelated, and halfway up the 20 foot height, there were slits from which arrows could be fired. The heavy wooden gate was well guarded, although most of the guards were concentrated on The Gutter side of the structure. It was obviously designed more to keep out the unsavoury element than to keep others in. Bo, Arty and Hayes took their place in the short line to enter The Gutter. Most of the other people lining up had a distinctly unsavoury element to them, and were probably bound on dubious business. Going out, the trio were all to be given a magical mark on their hand, in order to be allowed back in without trouble. There was a minor hiccup, as Bo stretched out his hand to recieve the stamp and they found that it wouldn't take. Before Bo could be denied entry, Hayes asked if she could have two marks - one for her and one for Bo. Although they weren't fond of the idea, the guards were forced to leave a second mark on Hayes' hand to show that she could bring one other back with her, as they were under strict orders that the desert notables should have the best possible service.

It was strange to be back in The Gutter. With the well dressed women beside him, Bo knew that they would be prime targets for pickpockets, beggars, and anyone and everyone with something to flog. It was busy as always, and more prominently than the upper city, The Gutter stank of human waste. Bo could barely believe that after such a short time away, he was already so unfamiliar with his own home. He could hardly stand the smell, and the horrifying standards of living made him cringe with embarrassment, wishing his friends could not see the poverty stricken conditions from which he had originated.

'Are you alright?' asked Hayes, laying a gentle hand on the teen's shoulder. Bo clutched tightly at his envelope. Looking down at his feet he muttered that he was fine, and moved closer to the warrior women. The last thing he wanted was for someone here to recognise him. Arty quietly revealed that they had decided to perform this communique in The Gutter, as there was relatively little magical interference, and because it would be more difficult to be spied upon magically without their knowing. The downside, however, was that it was dangerously exposed. Anyone with a keen eye for magic would realise that a line of communication had been set up and it might attract unwanted attention from the castle.

'We will just have to hope that most of the more powerful mages are busy in the peace talks,' murmured Arty, breaking into a conversation with Hayes about whether there would be sufficient distraction at the negotiations. They made it sound like the peace talks were respectful occasions, where everyone sat quietly and tried to listen to one another, but Bo was forced to wonder how austere the talks were if The King wasn't interested, Takeshi was in charge of representing the Great Desert, and Lance the insane mage was a part of proceedings. It sounded more like a recipe for disaster.

Soon the group came to a dingy pub situated near the slave market. Just the smell of that place and the knowledge that it was so close by made Bo feel physically ill, and he was keen to hurry into the pub to block out the unwanted feelings that arose. Like most pubs it had a number of rooms that were available for hire in the upper levels of the building. Hayes quickly haggled with, and paid the inn-keeper, an angry and suspicious looking man with a red face. The three trooped silently up to a small dirty room. It was locked only by a cheap and flimsy latch. Muttering curses under her breath Arty reinforced it with her magic to make the area more secure, plucking a few strands of her hair from her fringe and tying them roughly around the heavy iron handle of the door. Bo had to wonder if curses were a part of the magic that Arty used, or if it didn't matter if they were interspersed with it, because he had noticed she seemed to include them in her spells a lot. The teen made a mental note to enquire about this when the atmosphere was not quite so tense.

Arty and Hayes set up the bucket and candles, pouring water into the bucket, and setting it on a roughly drawn chalk circle. The candles were lit by each woman at precisely the same time, and the warriors murmured something under their breath that Bo could not quite make out. There was a gentle ping from the bucket, as though a crystal bell had been struck once, and the water turned a dark inky black.

'Now we wait!' said Hayes, rubbing her hands together. She shared out a flask of soothing tea, seeing that Bo still looked a little shaken. The kindly mage quickly realised what was the most likely cause of the trouble and murmured a few reassurances that they wouldn't be getting any closer to the slave market than they were already.

'Arty? Hayes? This is Robin, High chairwoman of of the middle council. What do you have to report?' A face had appeared. It was a surprisingly young woman. She had platinum hair drawn back tightly into a bun, with two black pins holding it in place, and was clearly aiming for a 'no nonsense' look, but Bo could see that she had several piercings in her eyebrow, ears and nose that gave her a more fiercely rebellious appearance.

'Chairwoman, we have a number of things to discuss. This could take a while,' said Arty, speaking as candidly as she would with her friends, leaning over the bucket to better see who she was talking to. Robin frowned but nodded,

'Well I'm in a comfortable chair so you may as well get on with it. I have a scribe with me so that you won't have to repeat yourself.' For the next half hour Arty carefully described the situation. Robin was surprised to hear that the peace talks were not going well, as reports from Takeshi all claimed that they were going very well. At the mention of Takeshi, Bo couldn't help but frowning his disapproval. Arty spoke of finding Bo, a boy who was immune to magic, and of freeing him from slavery without official consent. She was completely blunt and honest with Robin, more so than Bo could have predicted, but the Chairwoman took everything in her stride and did not interrupt. It took half an hour to outline everything that had happened, and when Arty was finished, Robin asked Hayes if she had anything to add. Hayes said that she had not. 'And this boy,' the woman peered uncertainly at the notes, having forgotten Bo's name. 'Ah yes - Bo. Do you have him with you?' Hayes ushered Bo over to the bucket and he swallowed nervously, wondering what would happen. Robin's sharp blue eyes almost looked as though they could see him, but after a moment or two she sat back, disappointed. 'It's no use, I can see there is some sort of distortion, but I cannot see you there, Bo. We will contact the nearest lettermage with your location, and I apologise for anything you've had to go through on behalf of The Islands of the Great Desert.'

'That's -' Bo went to reply before remembering that he couldn't be heard. He turned to Arty. 'Could you tell, errrm Missus Robin that Erasmus and you and Hayes have saved me, and that anything I have endured is nothing compared to what my life would have been if I hadn't been freed?' A smile broke out on Arty's face, and she nodded, relaying the information to her superior. Robin nodded courteously,

'I'm glad to hear that you feel that way.' Soon the two women recommenced their conversation, and Arty was told that for the moment the top priority was staying safe, and not jeopardising the peace treaty in any way. It was a delicate matter to be taken up by higher ranked councillors, who would give more precise orders as soon as they could – but until then the investigation was to be stalled, and Bo was to be kept hidden, lest his freedom should spark friction that might derail efforts toward peace. Arty tried to argue her point but Robin was firm.

'I must officially order you to stall the investigation, Arty, in the interests of peace. I know you are a very capable Head of Forces, and I trust your judgement, but I can't allow you to be seen to jeopardise this agreement with Redland.' Robin nodded to someone and dismissed them, before turning back to Arty and adding, 'unofficially of course, I trust you to do your best under the circumstances, and I will support your actions should they be called into question later. Please try to avoid such actions – if at all possible. I will talk to you when you get back home. Please wait for the lettermage at your current location. Also – I look forward to meeting Bo!' A pleasant grin broke out on the chairwoman's face, making her seem much less formidable. Arty, Hayes and Robin made their goodbyes, and the connection was quickly terminated. The two warriors snuffed out their candles, and used the now translucent water to wash away the marks they had drawn on the floor – with Bo's assistance.

'Now we wait!' said Hayes cheerfully, as she scrubbed at a particularly insistent mark, making Bo smile weakly.

Wait they did. It was a surprisingly short wait, however. Soon there was a light knock on the door. Hayes prepared a mug of water, and Arty opened the door cautiously, allowing a strange looking person to enter. At first Bo thought it was a human sized bird, and the boy leapt to his feet in surprise. After a laugh at Bo's expense however, the man (for it was a man) lifted up what appeared to be a large brown beak. It turned out to be a hood with in-built bulbous lenses as the eyes. Beneath the hood was a young, unkempt human face. The tanned man grinned devilishly, the scruff on his chin bespoke of days on the road, and his short light brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat.

'Can't use magic in the city see? So I had to run here from the city gates! Fooo! That's a workout to remember.' The man was loud, and clearly pretty pleased with himself. He graciously accepted the water, practically inhaling the liquid.

'Are you the lettermage?' asked Bo, curiously eyeing off the strange cloak worn by the man. It drooped over his hands when at rest, giving him the appearance of having wings.

'Am I? Kid, I am the greatest lettermage the desert lands have to offer. You can call me Pare' boasted the man, no hint of modesty coloured his tone. Arty snorted in disbelief, shaking her head,

'How many times have I heard that?' she asked. The man acted as though the warrior had physically wounded him with her words.

'Look, say what yer like, right, but I got the air-delivery suit and everything – so you know I gotta be top class. Us delivery slaves don't have many of these left, you know. They only go to the best,' he complained, plying his argument to all who would listen. Bo was a little shocked to hear that the man was a slave, but Hayes quickly told Bo that Erik was being over-dramatic. He was just a regular worker. 'Regular worker my tail-feathers,' grumbled the lettermage, 'I hardly get paid enough for a crust of bread. Ahhh such a hard life!' With a level of curiosity not befitting a delivery boy, Erik received Bo's letter. 'Cor mate, you have a pretty big package there, and no before you ask I'm talking about the letter.' Erik winked rougishly at Bo before lifting the letter to his ear and shaking it violently to see if he could hear anything rattle around inside. He then proceeded to feel it with his hands as though trying to work out what was inside. 'Tch, this really is only a letter, hey? I was hoping it would be something more exciting!'

'Don't treat it roughly!' huffed Bo angrily, trying to snatch the letter away, 'I thought you were supposed to deliver letters, not feel them up!' Erik laughed loudly, and kept the letter out of Bo's reach.

'Letter don't belong to you no more kid – it's mine until I deliver it to the rightful recipient, so- NYA NYA,' Erik blew a raspberry, but at the same time he did stop fondling the letter, packing it into a messenger bag that hung at his hip. Despite the fact that he'd just run across town to receive the envelope, the lettermage was soon on his way again, and Arty, Hayes and Bo walked back downstairs, heading out of the door and back towards the upper city, carefully ignoring the odd looks given them by the regular patrons. Bo's worries that Erik was unreliable quickly washed away as he was distracted with a sweet that Arty bought for him for just that reason. Hayes was hugely amused that the ploy worked so easily.

They dallied a little here and there, taking in the sights once they got back to the upper town. Bo revelled in the food stalls, and his companions were quick to realise that what Bo saw was different to what they saw – there was a layer of magic over the upper city that cloaked it in a kind of elvish thrall, making it seem beautiful to even the most cynical and world weary eyes. Bo paused, entranced by a performer. He was making doves appear out of seemingly nowhere, and then disappear again. At first Hayes and Arty seemed disinterested.

'Those magicians are such frauds,' murmured Arty, but seeing Bo's interest they walked closer.

'You see he is supposed to be doing those tricks without the aid of actual magic' explained Hayes quietly, 'but usually they just try to use sneaky spells. Once you know how they do the magic without detection you just get disappointed' she added. The man winked at Bo, seeing that the boy was easily impressed. Bo grinned back at him – whatever the man was doing, it looked amazing to the teen, and he had to be dragged away from the performance. The last thing they visited was the bolt hole. It was a famous road that cut through The Gutter, and the upper city, hidden away behind high walls. It lead directly to the castle from the outside, but in times of war it could be blocked off by over a dozen heavy iron gates. It could only ever be used by The King and chosen members of his ambulant court, so that they didn't have to look upon the lower classes when entering and exiting Middlefortress. The tour was cut short, however, as the town clock chimed, and Hayes anxiously noted that Erasmus would have been waiting for them for some time now and was probably worried, so with no small amount of regret, the trio headed back toward the castle. Going back was a lot more tiring than the earlier downhill walk, as it was all uphill, with steep sloped stone stairs that were almost more difficult to traverse than an unadorned incline.

Bursting into Erasmus' room in good cheer, they were slow to see that Erasmus himself was lying prone, entangled in covers of his bed. The top half of his jumpsuit had been partially peeled away to reveal a sturdily built torso and strong shoulders. The mage seemed to be heavily intoxicated, and he tried to get up onto one elbow to greet his friends, but he looked very dizzy. His eyelids were heavy, and the large mage was forced to squint at his companions.

Bo frowned, his eyes moving from the bed to the other person standing beside the bed – Takeshi. Arty and Hayes hurried over to Erasmus, chuckling that they had warned him about drinking too much. They ignored Takeshi completely, who was frozen, as though caught in the act of something, and a horrible suspicion struck up in Bo's mind. The teen walked straight over to the orange clad desert man, his eyes glinting with rage. Holding fast as though he wouldn't be seen if he stayed still, Takeshi watched with narrowed eyes as Bo approached, although, the anger in the teen's face was almost enough to drive Takeshi back physically.

As soon as Bo reached the man, he let fly with a powerful punch to Takeshi's lower jaw, sending the mage sprawling to the floor, clutching at his lower jaw and howling with pain. Arty and Hayes were quick to back Bo up, hurrying over to see what he was doing. With a piteous groan Takeshi became visible. Hayes grabbed Arty's shoulder to stop her partner from doing anything she would regret later. Restricted from pummelling Takeshi, Arty spat on the ground.

'I might have known you'd be here!' she growled. 'Get out!' Takeshi, cowed by the self-righteous rage emanating from the group of three, did not bother arguing back. His furious gaze was centred mostly around Bo, as he slunk out of the door and away to his own rooms. Making sure the door was firmly closed Hayes set to making a sobering drink for Erasmus, while Bo and Arty checked to make sure an overindulgence in alcohol was the most of the man's worries.

Once he had come back to a more cognisant state Erasmus admitted that the wine had been good, and the servers were all too keen to keep everyone's glass topped up. He hadn't realised how tipsy he was until he'd stood up at the end of the lunch. Takeshi had offered to take him back to his room, and knowing he'd not be able to get back himself, Erasmus had accepted.

'He left, though, as soon as he brought me back. I remember,' added Erasmus. He claimed he'd been tired – too tired to strip off completely, and had simply decided to go to sleep when the trio had come back from their walk.

'Takeshi is such a slug,' grumbled Hayes, as she handed Erasmus another drink of tea, 'if he wasn't here to harass Erasmus, because it sounds like he had plenty of opportunity, I wonder what he was in here for?' Bo played idly with his food as he listened in. He was glad that Erasmus was safe, but something about Takeshi bothered him more than it should. Uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, Erasmus began to question Hayes and Arty about the talk they'd had with the council chairwoman. He was very upset to hear that they were expected to sit back and do nothing until given further orders,

'What about those slaves that are still in danger?' he argued angrily, standing up and striding around the room in frustration. 'Those orders could take months, you know the council never moves quickly!'

'They still believe Takeshi when he says the peace talks are going well, they wouldn't want to jeopardise that now,' murmured Hayes. 'It is unlikely that they will extend their permission for us to do anything at the current time.' Despite Erasmus' pleas and arguments, the warriors refused to go against their orders. Eventually, in bad spirit, Hayes and Arty left for their own room, leaving Bo with an irate Erasmus. The tall mage muttered that he was going to do some study to take his mind off things, turning and moving to the armchair. Bo sighed, unable to decide what he would do. Usually Erasmus proved to be good company, but at the present time he was too sulky to talk to.

'Damn that man!' cursed Erasmus. In a kind of controlled panic, the mage was roughly sorting through his books and papers. 'He's taken my damn notes, it must have been him!' With a heavy sigh Erasmus flopped into his armchair. 'Honestly what could he want from them? Takeshi has no head for magic, he can't possibly understand my notes!' Unable to do anything to stop Erasmus from fretting and ranting, Bo fell into bed, feeling tired from his early morning wake up calls. He hoped that Erasmus would be in a better mood the next morning.

# Chapter 15: Note-Worthy Notes

The next morning started like any other; with a round of stretches and training, and then because they had finished early, with some sparring. Bo felt very self conscious sparring in front of Arty, Hayes and Alexander, but the weapons master had demanded that he and Ruben fight. Bo found that he felt more sure of his movements, and managed to get a number of controlled hits in. He marvelled at his own improvement as he managed to block and dodge some of Ruben's wilder attacks. Alexander even seemed impressed, giving a curt nod at the end of the fight to indicate as much. After Ruben and Bo settled back comfortably, Arty gave Alexander a wide grin.

'How would you feel about a friendly match? Hand to hand,' she asked boldly. Alexander raised one bushy eyebrow at the suggestion, but walked to the middle of the room, ready for the fight. Bo watched as the portly man fell into a casual stance, centring his balance with a practised ease and with both hands held up in a loose guard. Arty on the other hand took an odd stance on one foot, holding herself in a stiff pose. It didn't look entirely comfortable to Bo, but he'd seen how flexible Arty was and was not fooled into thinking she needed to expend much effort in maintaining her unusual footing.

Like flowing silk, Arty moved swiftly. Her motions were almost like that of a dancer at first, with both hands and legs moving gracefully through well practiced stances. Bo was startled at the deceptive speed of the action, and as the warrior's whole body was in motion, the inexperienced teen was unable to tell where the attack would come from. Arty's hands flashed wide, and she seemed to come close to hitting Alexander on more than one occasion, but the weapons master stood, unworried by the display. When Arty finally unleashed her attack – a roundhouse kick to the head – Alexander seemed to be expecting it. He stepped back only just enough that the kick went whistling past his beard, and then with surprising speed, stepped forward and landed an open handed blow on Arty's unguarded side. Quickly the two combatants parted. Arty looked mildly surprised, and Alexander's expression hadn't changed at all.

'Fought a lot with desert people, have you?' asked the woman warrior mirthlessly. Alexander seemed to be too absorbed by the fight to answer, but eventually he growled out a reluctant 'yes.' There was a strange tense atmosphere as the two squared off. Alexander seemed unwilling or unable to initiate combat, and so Arty approached again. She was more direct in her attacks now, aiming to land several less powerful blows at high speeds. The desert warrior used all of her body to accomplish this task, lashing out with her hands, stepping out of range and transferring her movement into a kick. Alexander for his part seemed content with dodging and blocking. He was preternaturally accurate with his judgement, staying just out of range for most attacks, and at times appearing not to have moved at all. Some of Arty's attacks were too fast to dodge in such a manner and the older fighter was forced to block them. As soon as he saw an opening, Alexander struck with a speed that was not hinted at by his casual stance and soft movements beforehand. Arty was ready, however, and managed to avoid being hit, but not to return the blow. Neither party managed to land many hits, and in the end they were forced to concede that it was a draw. Alexander broke into a smile as the fight was broken up, and the atmosphere of tension dissipated.

'You fight good, yez? Iz good practice for me.' In good humour the group broke up, with Alexander heading back to his quarters, Ruben to the library, and the remaining three to Erasmus' room for breakfast.

'There's another lunch today,' announced Erasmus over his plate of fruit. 'Takeshi wants everyone to attend this time. He says it looks bad if there are a few of us missing- not that it will stop some people from bunking off.' Erasmus glared at Arty and Hayes, who he still wasn't on particularly good terms with.

'Let me come too!' demanded Bo suddenly. He put down his food and glared boldly at Erasmus, sure that the mage would refuse his request. Bo had been feeling more and more like he was out of the loop, and that he wasn't able to do anything constructive with his time. He didn't want Erasmus falling prey to Takeshi again, and wasn't looking forward to spending his time by himself. Erasmus paused. He looked like he was torn on the decision, and his eyes flickered towards Arty as if seeking a silent approval. Arty stiffened slightly before letting out a sigh.

'This is so dangerous, you have no idea,' she grumbled. Bo turned his green gaze toward her, pleading with his eyes, trying to emulate Will's sad puppy expression. The warrior quickly gave in. 'I suppose if I don't agree to this you'll just follow us anyway. Maybe I should just tie you to the bed so that you can't.' Bo's eyes widened, as he worried that Arty would follow through on the threat, but the woman just laughed at him, reassuring the teen that she had been joking.

'Hm, you may have a point there Arty, maybe we should tie him to the bed?' Erasmus suggested mildly, taking a sip of his drink to hide the wolfish grin on his face. Bo turned his glare on his friend, who was trying not to laugh at the outrage the teen's face betrayed, but it was a losing battle and soon Erasmus was spluttering as the coffee went down the wrong way. Vengefully, Bo stole the last of Erasmus' strawberries as retribution while the mage was too busy choking on his drink with laughter to do anything about it, and the breakfast quickly dissolved into a back and forth of banter and stolen fruit, as bad feelings were eased, and Erasmus was put back into a good humour. Although he wouldn't say anything, he was glad to have company for lunch.

Soon enough it was time to go. Erasmus had spent most of the morning carefully taking in a jumpsuit of his so that it would fit Bo perfectly. He also changed the colour to the same dirty orange worn by Takeshi.

'It's the diplomatic colour, so you won't stand out too much,' explained Erasmus. Bo wanted to have blue like Erasmus or the same colour as Arty and Hayes, but Erasmus quickly informed him that those colours had to be earned, either by training in the army, or by academic achievement. Feeling uncomfortable with wearing the same colour as Takeshi, Bo initially refused to wear the jumpsuit, but after being told he could either wear it and go, or not wear it and not go, the teen reluctantly changed. Like his slave uniform, Erasmus had made the cloth very comfortable and clean. With a belt around his waist, even Bo could see that the jumpsuit looked good on him, and the orange colour suited his darker skin much better than it went with Takeshi's lighter skin tone. Thus placated, he grumblingly accepted the garments.

Bo swallowed his anxieties as he and Erasmus were joined by a larger group of desert mages in the hallways. Most of the mages were unknown to Bo, and Takeshi kept to the far edge of the group, speaking to someone Bo had never met before. Nevertheless, he was certain he could feel Takeshi's glare drilling into his back. Erasmus seemed much more at ease than his younger companion, introducing the boy to too many people to remember all of the names for, although Bo tried his best. He wasn't expected to make small talk, as everyone had more pressing matters on their minds, and technical details of the peace negotiations went right over the teen's head. What he did notice was that most of the desert people were women, which seemed strange. As soon as the group had gathered, they were escorted by a number of gold bangled slaves to a waiting area. Bo tried to keep his distance from the slaves, worried that they may be on the lookout for him. He anxiously tugged at his fingerless gloves, giving them a discrete check to make sure they were still covering his tattoo, and scar. He knew that there was very little chance that they would slip off, but it was better to be safe than sorry. As soon as the group was deemed to be large enough (there were still quite a few absentees, much to Takeshi's obvious irritation) the desert people walked in a casual procession towards the dining area, where talks were to be conducted. They were forced to wait outside a large set of double doors for a short period of time, until their attendance was confirmed by the official inside. During this time, Erasmus was busy speaking to one of his companions, and Bo took the opportunity to gaze at the double doors. They were built of a sturdy wood, with a number of battle scenes engraved onto them, and painted with such a sure hand that it was almost impossible for Bo to restrain himself from running his fingers over the figures. The pictures reminded him of the stories that the old mage had told him in his youth, and he fancied he could even see some familiar scenes.

Soon enough the group was ushered into a large dinning area. Bo recognised it as the same one that he had spied on what seemed forever ago, and made a mental note not to have any wine, lest Will should have seen fit to replace it with vinegar. As before the room was a large rectangular area, with a long table running along the center. Now that he was closer, Bo could see that the table was made of thick hardwood that was polished so that the redish-gold grain looked like fire that had been caught in glass. Each chair was wooden, richly upholstered with soft leather, and there were already a great many papers, pens, blotters, and inkwells residing on the table, ready for a day of tedious work. High above were a number of chandeliers with the magic glowing orbs shedding light on everything below – enough to read and work by, but not too harsh. Dotted around the table there were a few chairs that were left unfilled, as a number of diplomats from both sides had failed to attend. Bo sat next to Erasmus, receiving a dirty look from both Takeshi, and the diplomat who had been supposed to take that particular seat. Feeling out of place, the the teen was about to jump up again when Erasmus grasped his arm, keeping him sitting.

'Don't worry there are plenty of empty seats for her. It won't do her any harm to sit somewhere new for today!' The quiet murmur of conversation was soon interrupted by a ripple of silence, emanating from one end of the room, and spreading out until all talk had been stifled.

'Stand for the entrance of King Samuel the Ninth, Master of The Castle of Middlefortress, and ruler of Redland! Defender of Justice, Duke of New-Sanae, Master of Fortunes, Keeper of --' proclaimed a herald shrilly, giving a surprised look as he was abruptly cut off by an impatient tap on his shoulder by the most glorious, many titled monarch himself. With an indignant 'hmph!' the herald stood to attention, and blew a few short notes on a trumpet that hung by his side. As one the lunch party stood, and a thickset man properly entered the room, stepping out from the doorway so that the gathered assembly might have a better view of him. It was almost too far away for Bo to properly make out the details of the heavy jewellery that the man wore. On each finger there was a ring of gold, silver, or some other colour. Many of them had large stones set in them. Around the man's neck there were three or four thick golden chains. His clothes, although thick and made of silk, were exquisitely tailored to show off the king's broad shoulders and beefy build, making him appear two times larger than the average person. With a smile that crept over his face and quickly off again, The King rumbled something low and official sounding, and sat down on his chair. Everyone else raised their voice in a clear 'Your Majesty!' before lowering themselves into their seats. Bo was glad that Erasmus' hand was resting on his shoulder to give him the cues to stand and sit. He'd be terribly embarrassed to be the last person still standing up. The King didn't so much as look at the desert people, instead leaning back on his chair and kicking his feet up onto the table (boots and all) he closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. Bo glanced at Erasmus and saw the mage's jaw clenching and unclenching in silent fury. He was clearly unhappy at being treated this way when there was supposed to be a peace agreement being made.

For a good five or ten minutes the party sat silently. Most eyes were on The King who appeared to have dozed off. Bo's eyes glanced across, wondering if he could see the spyhole in the wall. It took him a moment to find it, but when he did the teen was surprised to see an eye peering back at him. Realising they had been spotted, the person in question quickly withdrew. Bo's eyes were wide with surprise, and he turned to whisper what he had seen to Erasmus, but at that moment The King sat up abruptly, opening his eyes and gracing the guests with a wide smile that was more genuine than the last he spoke in a deep rumbling bass,

'Okay let's do this thing! The sooner we do the talking, the sooner we get to the food. What do you say, eh fellas?' Bo's mouth dropped open at the informal tone used by his monarch. Here was the person who was supposed to be making sure the country was run well and was sworn to uphold the interests of his people to the best of his abilities. Under the table Erasmus clenched his fists before sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes to the group. The blue clad mage let out a small sigh as he tried to relax and get his mind on the task before him. Bo's eyes skimmed the room anxiously but no one seemed to have noticed Erasmus' behaviour, and indeed many seemed to have moved to private conversations. Only Takeshi, who was seated nearest The King of all the desert dwellers, was engaging in serious conversation with people from Bo's country. Pieces of paper were handed around the table at a furious rate. Erasmus received a piece of paper himself, and with a large frown stamped across his features, he wrote something on it, and sent it back, explaining as he did so that the minister for magical defence was asking his opinion on a number of conditions that had been introduced to the peace agreement only that morning.

'I had to advise him not to accept them!' whispered Erasmus, clearly mortified, 'It would mean that (essentially) your armies have free access to our lands without retaliation from us, and can camp there without informing us about it first, even bring in weapons if they so wished! Surely they know we couldn't accept that – so it must be a stalling tactic. I just don't see why they would want to drag these talks out for so long.' Erasmus turned back in time to receive another note, which seemed to require a very lengthy reply, leaving Bo to amuse himself. For the most part, he sat back and watched goings on. A lot of the talk he could hear went right over his head, but he could easily read the body language of everyone who was attending. Most of the desert mages seemed angry, while the courtiers were bored. The King was stamping things with a royal seal without even looking at them first, and occasionally sighing deeply and scratching a brief reply to people on small notes that were quickly sent out via message running servants. More than ever, Bo wanted to slip out and see if he could find whoever had been spying on proceedings, even though (in the end) it would probably only be Will. Restlessly Bo fidgeted in his seat, wishing that he could do more. He had known it would be boring but he had not realised exactly how boring, nor indeed how difficult it would be to escape once he was actually in the room. The teen had thought he would be fighting off Takeshi with one hand, and listening to insane debates between The King and the desert people, not sitting idly by while everyone passed notes around to each other about things he didn't understand. Another disappointment was that Lance, the insane mage, was among the absentees, apparently having shucked off his responsibilities to go fishing for trout in the bathhouse, and causing untold damage to a number of occupants who he insisted must be bears, before attempting to wrestle them to the ground (this was reported shortly after the meeting commenced, with The King forced to order some of his slaves to escort the elderly mage to his quarters if they could). After a good half hour of sitting around trying not to make anyone upset, Bo sighed loudly and leaned forward on his hands, wishing he'd stayed behind after-all. Moments later there came a subtle tap on his shoulder. Thinking Erasmus had something to say Bo turned to his companion, only to have a note hurriedly thrust into his face by someone from behind. Curious as to what could possibly be written to him, Bo opened up the letter.

'If you are bored then you are free to leave. I would understand completely, even if others would not.'

Very slowly Bo read what was in front of him. He got a little caught up with the word 'completely' but after a moment or two he understood. Wondering who could have sent him the message, the teen glanced up and looked around the table, trying to see if anyone was looking at him. The only person looking in his direction was Takeshi, who was glaring fiercely. Bo doubted Takeshi would 'understand his boredom completely' and so he was forced to admit that he didn't know who had sent the note. In the background the messenger did small jogging motions on the spot, until he caught himself at it and tried to stand still. It was very distracting.

'If you want to go to the toilet, just go?' suggested Bo kindly. The man glared at him, and spoke in a clipped voice.

'I am waiting, sir, for a reply to hand back to your correspondent.' Bo blanked, not realising he would be expected to write. Hurriedly, he borrowed a pen and some paper from Erasmus while the mage was busy talking at someone, and slowly and carefully penned a note back, writing almost as slowly as Ruben in order to make his letters legible.

'I MVST BEE HERE TO MAKE SHVRE MY FREND DOES NOT GET DRVNK AGAYN.'

Bo stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth to enhance his concentration, as he pressed the pen heavily against the parchment and considered each letter individually. The messenger by his shoulder fidgeted restlessly, impatient to take the reply back. Eventually Bo handed over the note somewhat reluctantly, not knowing if it was appropriate or not, but before he could change his mind the messenger snatched the piece of paper and hurried away into the general bustle of other messengers. Bo quickly lost sight of them. After a very short time, the messenger was back with a new note. It read:

'It must be a good friend of yours for you to sit through so much talking. I am here for the lunch as well.'

Bo grinned at the note. Whoever it was, they were in the same boat as him. Feeling at ease, the teen wrote another reply, and soon enough he had fallen into a conversation with whoever it was. Bo still tried to see if anyone was looking his way, but it was only ever Takeshi, who did not have a companionable expression on his face. In fact, the more Bo looked at Takeshi, the angrier the man seemed to get, until at one point Bo thought that if the man's expression became any more enraged that there would be steam pouring from his mouth, nose and ears in jets.

If Erasmus noticed that Bo was suddenly enjoying himself a lot more, he didn't say anything – nor did he remark on his missing pen and paper, as he had at least three sets of spare pens, and more paper than he could use in a full night of study. Another note arrived, shoved into Bo's face just as rudely as the first, and every subsequent note.

'Is your friend the one sitting next to you who is doing all of the talking?'

'YES. HE LYKES THE SOVND OF HIS OVVN VOYCE. THEES TALKS AR GETTING NOTHING DUN.'

Bo hid this note from Erasmus as he wrote it, paranoid that the mage would look over the teen's shoulder and know that Bo was making fun of him. The note that came back expressed a similar distaste for proceedings, that reflected Bo's own floccinaucinihilipilification of the peace negotiations.

'I think it is because too many people like the sound of their own voice. There is too much talking and not enough thinking.'

'MAY BEE THERE IS TO MVCH TALKING & NOT EENVFF LVNCHING.'

Suggested Bo, his stomach growling as he handed the note over to the messenger, who by this time had given up hoping that the teen would write quickly. A moment later there was a shout of laughter from somewhere up the table. Most people who were nearby paused mid-conversation to wonder at what could have amused The King quite so much, but before anyone could enquire the man stood in his place and hushed all talk.

'We're having lunch early. These negotiations are over for the day.' Just as abruptly, The King sat down again and handed the remaining pile of paperwork to one of his slaves. Bo stared at the King, a horrible conclusion forming in his head. Had he been having a very frank discussion with the King? King Samuel turned and winked at Bo, so quickly the teen might have missed it, were he not staring at his monarch with horror. It seemed to confirm his worst fears.

'Bother!' the boy hissed under his breath. Erasmus turned to frown at the teen,

'What's wrong?' Bo shook his head, unwilling to say that he'd just been telling The King that the peace talks weren't getting anything done, and that they might as well have lunch. Erasmus patted Bo's arm reassuringly, 'well as long as you keep a low profile – you wouldn't want anyone to recognise you, so don't draw attention to yourself, okay?' Bo nodded numbly. Glancing over at Takeshi, he noted that the man was still glaring daggers at him.

Sooner than Bo had thought possible, lunch was served. Bo kept his head down and his gaze averted from the slaves who brought it in, worried that one of them might recognise him. The slaves, however, were far too busy with serving their King and his guests to go looking deeply into the face of every person there, and they were all silver collars who would probably have had minimal contact with the lower brass collars. There were platters of meats, both hot, cold, sweet and savoury. The aromas of the fresh cooked flesh wafted invitingly over the table, and even those who were slightly put out about having to cease discussion so soon were happy to pile their plates high with the food. There were salads and side dishes, soups and breads, and everything was fresh from the kitchen, made with only the finest the pantry had to offer. Despite his guilt at having been communicating with the King, Bo grinned widely, selecting a small piece of everything and anything that was passed by him. His plate included a number of roasted nuts dipped in honey, fried vegetables, a cold noodle salad that had a surprisingly tangy flavour, two small pieces of steak (one heavily marinated), a poached egg, some fish with a white sauce that tasted of garlic, and a wild herb salad that was garnished only with ingredients that could be found 'out in the wild.' He would have taken more but Erasmus gave him the look that said 'you're being greedy.' Pouting slightly, but not wishing to make a scene in front of all the important people, and the King, Bo quickly stopped taking from the platters that went by. Instead he merely gazed longingly at them, until Erasmus sighed in defeat. The last item that Bo snagged for his plate was a pickle, which he had cultivated a fondness for.

After that the teen set about consuming the food he had picked out, working away at it doggedly – determined to eat it all. Erasmus, who had taken far less, ate at a more respectable pace, leaving time between mouthfuls to talk to Bo and the other people he knew. Takeshi's glare never left Bo, and it was somewhat disconcerting to see it whenever he looked up from his meal. By about the halfway point, Bo was starting to feel full, and by the end he thought he'd probably have to roll back to his room as he was so very stuffed. Sitting back in his seat, the teen patted his stomach with satisfaction, beaming at Erasmus as if to say 'see I fit it all in.' For his part the older mage simply looked amused despite his horror at Bo's enormous appetite. It was then that the slaves brought in an after lunch, sweets course. Bo made a whining noise in the back of his throat at the sight of so much tasty food that he knew he wouldn't be able to even sample. Erasmus laughed, seeing the difficult position his friend was in, before accepting a large bowl full of raspberry cheesecake and cream, which he ate with delicate relish.

'You could have told me there would be dessert!' grumbled Bo sadly, watching as trays of strange and wonderful treats passed him by. Erasmus merely shook his head.

'Perhaps next time you should not eat until you are quite so full?' Bo merely groaned at this comment and forced down a small chocolate. After an almost unbearably long time the table was cleared, and it was time to leave. The King stood, to the usual pomp and ceremony, and was the first out of the doors, while his courtiers and guests trailed behind. Thankfully Erasmus had been careful not to drink too much this time, and when everyone was allowed to leave, he had no trouble walking himself to the door.

'Ah I just need to have a quick chat with one of my fellow mages, it's nothing very interesting, so could you wait here? I'll be back in a few short seconds!' Erasmus practically dived on another person clad in blue who did not seem to want to stop to talk (if anything she looked like she was trying to escape), forcing Erasmus to keep up if he wished to speak. Soon enough the two had disappeared down the corridor, leaving Bo at the entryway to the dining area. He sighed heavily, starting to wish he hadn't eaten quite so much when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. With a start he tried to turn but the hand held him tight, and dragged him back into the dining hall where no one else would see what was going on.

'Mind telling me what you were saying to King Samuel?' growled a familiar voice. Bo scowled.

'It's none of your business Takeshi! Let go of me! Erasmus will be back soon.' Takeshi's grip tightened painfully, as the man hissed his anger.

'Why does Erasmus like you so much? What makes you so special that The King answers your messages?' Bo grabbed at Takeshi's hand, and kicked backwards as Alexander had shown him before twisting the captured appendage in a painful hand-lock. Having pried Takeshi loose he sent the man stumbling backwards with gentle nudge to the hand he was holding. With a few muttered words, Takeshi untied a loosely knotted string around his wrist, and with magically boosted strength he came back at Bo, slamming the teen against the wall and holding him around the throat. Takeshi's breath was tainted by the smell of wine as he leaned in close to whisper, 'everything was going fine until you came along. I tried to find out what Erasmus sees in you, but his journal is full of stupid magic notes, so maybe I should just find out for myself why he likes you so much?' Bo struggled, unable to protest with Takeshi's strong grip closing off his airway. Not even sure what the threat was supposed to mean, the teen feared the worst, when the doors of the hallway blasted open. They crashed noisily against the walls, having been kicked in by what looked suspiciously like a horse.

'Tally HOOOOOOOOOOO!' howled the rider, waving their arms about energetically. Shocked at the intrusion, Takeshi froze up. Bo squinted, nearly blinded by the flashes of light reflecting from the highly polished armour that cavorted some distance away. With more wild shouts, the rider of the horse rode right over the table, heedless of the damage he was causing, before scooping Takeshi up by the scruff of his clothes. Frightened by being handled in such a way, Takeshi lost his grip on Bo as he was hoisted high into the air. Even with his magical strength, the desert man was unable to free himself, and looked almost like a worm squirming on a fishing hook. When Bo managed to wipe the spots out of his vision, and catch his breath, he found a confused looking Sir Lance Fair peering into Takeshi's face from a mere centimetre away.

'You,' he began, giving a short pause for emphasis, 'are a flea. Now go find a dog's backside to kiss, hop it!' With that he released the desert mage who began to hop up and down on one leg. Looking frightened and more than a little angry, Takeshi was forced to literally hop away – Bo presumed it was due to a spell cast by Sir Lance Fair, although the elderly mage had used no stimulus, just like Erasmus. The mad mage turned his gaze on Bo, and the teen was startled to see just how pale the man's eyes were, and was strongly reminded of Will for a few seconds. With a grin, Lance spun about on his saddle until he was facing the wrong way.

'I'm on a horse,' he announced proudly. Bo had nothing to say to that, and wasn't given the opportunity to respond in any case. Lance leaned over backwards until he was eye to eye with Bo. 'Why are you so special? Why are you so special? Why are you so special?' Bo swallowed, wondering why everyone was asking him this all of a sudden.

'I'm not – really,' he replied, respectful of Lance's power and station. There was a momentary gleam in Lance's eye, and an inscrutable expression passed over his face.

'That is the CORRECT answer! You aren't special. Never have been, never will be!' abruptly Lance's jubilation fell from his countenance and he addressed Bo in grave tones. 'Stay away from magic – it'll drive you insane boy-o, and I should know! All of my friends are insane. All that power isn't good for you. If you can mould the truth how do you know what is really true any more? If I weren't such a well grounded person that kind of thing might have driven me crazy. How do I know I didn't just dream you up one day?' Lance paused, frowning. It seemed like he was more talking to himself now than anyone else. His eyes had drooped as he mumbled to himself, but suddenly they snapped open as he came back to life. 'THERE HAS BEEN A MISTAKE!' he cried, before sitting back up in his saddle and riding the horse out of the room, abruptly cutting off the conversation. Bo winced as the elderly mage banged his head on the door frame on his way out. 'Stay safffeeeeeee!' Lance called over his shoulder, the clatter of his ghostly steed's hooves were the only sign of the mage by the time Bo exited the dining hall. Luckily Erasmus had come back by that time and was looking anxious.

'I saw Lance riding around here – we should get back to my room before he accosts us. Are you okay? You look like you've had the wits frightened out of you,' asked Erasmus, clearly concerned. The teen shook his head, promising to explain all when they got back to their rooms.

# Chapter 16: An Unexpected Invitation

In the end Bo couldn't remember the exact words of Takeshi, nor of Lance, but he conveyed the gist of the events as best he could. He also reluctantly admitted that he had been unwittingly speaking with the King. Erasmus rubbed tiredly at his eyes, unable to immediately take in just how much difficulty Bo had caused in a single afternoon. Bo waited anxiously for Erasmus to say something – probably to admonish him for drawing unwanted attention to himself. Before the desert mage could even compose himself enough to speak, there came a polite rapping on the room's heavy wooden door. Giving Bo a look that warned the teen that the conversation wasn't over, Erasmus opened the door to admit a court messenger. With little pomp, a heavy red envelope was handed over. It was immediately obvious to anyone familiar with Middlefortress that this was from The King himself – only royalty was allowed to use the faded red paper created from silk cabbages, a small plant unique to Redland, and a symbol of its wealth and majesty.

Erasmus gave the messenger a tip, although they bowed politely and explained that they were to wait until a reply had been written, so that it could be taken back directly. Feeling annoyed, Erasmus insisted that Bo open his own note, and so the teen did. He was greeted by a very familiar style of handwriting,

'It is only now that I realise I do not know your name, although you probably know mine by now. This is terribly rude, and must be rectified immediately – so I insist that you join me tonight for dinner. You may bring your talkative friend if you like, and I will send you some clothes to wear, which you may keep later on. I enjoyed talking to you over lunch, and I hope talking over dinner will be a lot faster and easier.

-King Samuel

P.S please forgive me for having a servant follow you to your rooms, I merely wished to know where you were staying.'

On hearing what the letter contained Erasmus could only shake his head in dismay. Clearly The King was awaiting a reply, but he had hardly given Bo the opportunity to refuse. Eyebrows raised with anxiety the teen turned to his more knowledgeable companion. On seeing how much trouble his friend had unwittingly blundered into, Erasmus couldn't help feeling sorry for Bo, and with a sigh he found the teen a fresh piece of paper and a working pen.

'I will come with you – just to keep you from getting into any more trouble, if that is even possible!' huffed Erasmus, trying not to smile at the obvious relief on Bo's face. Privately Erasmus worried that The King was well aware of the strange goings on in the dungeons of his own castle, and that he was a part of the mysterious cult group that was currently looking for Bo – but then why go to all the trouble of inviting the boy to dinner when Bo could easily have been snatched away as soon as he was recognised? 'Perhaps we will get the chance to do some detective work Bo – find out if The King knows what is going on right under his nose,' Erasmus muttered thoughtfully.

'THANK YOO FOR THE INVITASHUN TO DINER. I VVIL BRING MY FREND. HE IS CALLED ERASMVS.

YVRS SINSEERLY

FASMA TODY'

At the last second, Bo realised that signing his own name would probably be rather foolish, and being unable to come up with a good alias quickly had signed the name of his former friend from The Gutter – the magician who had told him so many stories and who had attempted at one point to train him in the ways of magic. Erasmus winced at the horrible spelling but couldn't fix it because he was sure that The King would expect this level of literacy by now, if he had indeed been conversing with Bo for a good portion of the day. The desert mage was forced to look away as Bo handed the message back to the messenger for quick delivery, lest he lose control of himself and snatch it away to correct the errors in it.

The messenger, who had grown irritable with waiting for the response (although he hid it relatively well) was quickly away, leaving Bo and Erasmus sitting in their room to await the arrival of the promised clothes. Erasmus sighed heavily – there was no point in chastising Bo now. The harm was done, and the dark skinned teen hadn't meant to cause so much trouble – all he'd done was reply to a friendly note that had been sent to him. In reality it was Erasmus' fault for agreeing to let him come to the meeting in the first place.

'Takeshi would kill me when he finds out about this.' the lanky mage groaned into his hands, realising that sooner or later he would have to tell Takeshi what had been going on. Preferably he would tell the man when they were leaving for home.

In a little under twenty minutes a group of five people bustled in with cloth, thread, pins, measuring tapes, and half finished clothes. Three of the five were women while the remaining two were men, and the whole group seemed to be part of the small percentage of paid servants in the castle, as none of them sported a collar or bangle.

'I am Jean Necroix, court tailor, and the best you will find in all of Redlands. These women are here to help with measuring, and this lad here is my apprentice. Right, please strip down to your shorts.' Jean looked to be no nonsense and immediately started his work, ordering the much younger Sivan around, asking the young man to match colours and fabric styles for the clothes to be. The two looked so similar to Bo that he could only assume they were related, perhaps as father and son. Jean looked Bo and Erasmus up and down critically, unravelling a ropey tape measure from around his neck. Bo was reluctant to part with the comfort of his clothes, but seeing Erasmus was complying, he had little choice but to go along with it. The dark skinned teen felt worse than naked as he was scrutinised by multiple people, all of them whispering and taking notes. Turning to see what was happening to Erasmus, Bo noticed that Erasmus was grinning widely at him, largely ignoring the people clustered about him. Bo blushed furiously, wondering what his friend was thinking to give him such a roguish smile, and modestly covered the front of his shorts with his still gloved hands.

'You know,' called Erasmus cheekily, seeing the effect he had on his younger companion, 'I have changed my mind about those early morning training sessions – you've built up some very nice muscles. I should join in and do the same.'

'Oh I know you Erasmus – you just want to be there when Alexander takes off his shirt,' retorted Bo, and was rewarded by a sudden horrified expression from Erasmus at the contemplation of such a sight.

'Maybe I'll just sleep in after all, I'm not sure my mental fortitude is ready for a shirtless Alexander.'

Bo and Erasmus' measurements were quickly and efficiently taken, and a special cloth mage adjusted the clothes more to size. What had previously been a deep red cloth was changed to a blue for Erasmus – with a gradient from deep azure to almost black the further down his body the gaze wandered. Bo's were changed to a pale creamy colour that complimented his skin tone well, with a light orangy-yellow trim. Much to Erasmus' disappointment the two were then required to put on their new clothes so that the mages might better see how well they fitted. There was a long hour of tweaking the clothes – letting parts of them in, and other parts of them out. Bo winced in discomfit as he was manhandled with a cold kind of disinterest, like a manikin or clothes horse. Both the mage and the former slave were made to sit down, stand up, and stretch to make sure that the clothes would not impede their movement, as well as looking good in any position.

In the end, after the gaggle of seamstresses had left, Erasmus stood, his long shapely legs accentuated by a pair of well fitting pants. Bo couldn't help admiring Erasmus' figure, which was complimented by his suit. His torso had been clothed in a long sleeved, tailed jacket with a half mantle that made his shoulders more noticeable, over a stiff vest, and a soft long sleeved shirt. Bo's new outfit consisted of coarse-weave baggy pants that tucked into knee high boots, and were affixed with a light leather belt with a silver buckle. Over this was a long cloak that reached to Bo's knees at his back, but cut away at the front. Instead of long sleeves like Erasmus' jacket, Bo's cloak was topped with an asymmetrical mantle, made of some foreign leather, that covered his left shoulder, while leaving his right shoulder unclothed, presumably so that he would be able to use his sword arm more freely. Under his cloak Bo wore a long sleeved shirt that was both soft and tough, of a light tan colour that the teen instantly took a liking for. Both Erasmus and Bo were equipped with a short sword. The swords were blunt, simple affairs, but from handling the practice swords in the armoury, Bo knew them to be well made and perfectly balanced. The swords had a sun symbol engraved at their base, with a small turtle embossed in black in the middle (Erasmus later explained that it was the symbol of his home town). It had been explained (briefly and between fittings) that tradition dictated that The King allowed his foes to enter his presence armed, as a sign that he does not fear them – although in the current day and age it had become more a symbol that The King trusted those in question. It was considered a very ill omen if a person was denied their weapons while in the presence of the King, and usually no one in the upper city would trade with them or have anything to do with them until they were once again a trusted member of court. Although it was a tradition and most people only brought fake, pretty weaponry with them to court these days, it was a great honour to be given a sword by the King. It was a display of trust that was usually only extended to citizens of Redland.

Soon enough the time came and Erasmus and Bo were escorted to a lively, yet refined dining hall. Here there were no dogs scrambling after scraps, or ill-cleaned tables and tiles. This dining hall was meant for those of the highest station. It was slightly larger than the dining hall that Bo and Erasmus had been in earlier, being made to accommodate more people. The tables were placed in a horse-shoe formation, and each table fitted roughly ten people. At the end of the horse shoe and on a slightly elevated platform was the King's table which seated only the King, The Queen and three or four other officials. Bo looked around at the other guests and marvelled at the fine array of colour and style. He had thought himself fine when he'd caught sight of himself in a mirror, but in the hall of people, his was one of the most practical outfits. Many had gone for amazing over practical when it came to clothes. Some people had giant billowing silken scarves that trailed through the air like a liquid snake behind them (clearly infused with some sort of magic), and many women had impossibly large chests that jutted in front of them such a distance that Bo thought they would be unable to see their dinners. Some people were impossibly thin around the middle, through some contortion, either magical or natural, of their clothes, while others sported cosmetic animal ears and tails, or in some cases – giant wings that battered at other guests and serving staff. A few of the courtiers had weird and wonderful masks that looked too heavy to stay stuck on the face naturally, and others had gravity defying hair styles. One man in particular had a long black cape that seemed to drift and billow dramatically without a breeze, with tendrils that waved like delicate tentacles from the bottom of the fabric and a black mist that followed him wherever he walked, along with a palpable miasma that chilled those nearby. Looking around, it was like a garden of exotic flowers that had been planted haphazardly together without care for aesthetics or logic. Each courtier was very well aware of their particular assets, and although they chattered it was more a struggle to gain recognition for their outfits, and to discretely make sure everything was still in its proper place. To this end, large mirrors had been placed around the hall, and it was not uncommon to see a courtier or two turning around to glance in a mirror and preen. It also made the hall feel larger, and fuller than it really was. The range of weaponry was also exquisite beyond the limits of practicality. Bo spotted a giant hacksaw strapped to somebody's back, while other people casually held heavy looking crossbows. One woman had a glimmering white bow that could be seen only as a silhouette without any shading, and left bright spots on the vision. One tough looking man had a pair of gloves on that almost doubled the size of his hands, and appeared to be made of rock. Each knuckle was adorned with a metal spike, and he looked (unlike most people) like he would know how to use his weapon of choice.

'This is why cosmetic magicians get paid so well,' muttered Erasmus. He sounded a mixture of shocked, appalled, and grudgingly appreciative of those he saw around him. Bo quickly lost his fear of sticking out like a sore thumb – yes he did stick out, as someone with such uninteresting and moderate clothes, but no one was interested in anyone but themselves, making it as easy to go unnoticed as it would be if Bo had been invisible. Idly the teen fingered the pommel of his sword, wondering what he was supposed to be doing. He and Erasmus slowly made their way to a table to be seated, all the while commenting on the amazing and crazy sights around them. On the way they accepted two items that were questionably edible (they may have been just for looking at) – but tasted fantastic. They also accepted a small vial from a waiter who explained it as being the scent of the desert after storms, when it was rich with plant-life. Erasmus was sceptical, and the description of the scent seemed a little whimsical, but Bo had to admit that it was nice enough, although it made him sneeze.

It took a good hour to get everyone seated. Some were more difficult to accommodate than others, and many people changed their seat more than once. Bo and Erasmus waited patiently, stomachs growling almost as much as some of the animal featured people (who were fond of rolling their r's and adding in 'purr' or 'nya' wherever they could). The food was just as rich and exciting as the courtiers, and despite his large lunch, Bo couldn't help himself in grabbing a piece of almost anything that was passed under his nose, until his plate was almost piled high with rare and exquisite delicacies. Erasmus could not bring himself to admonish Bo, and so restrained himself from commenting on the ever growing pile of edibles.

Soon enough The King was announced, and all of the courtiers clapped politely, standing to greet their King and his Queen as they entered and took their places. Both were dressed more sensibly than their courtiers, with The King wearing his usual arrangement (that Bo had thought so tacky and overdone when in the peace talks) and The Queen wearing a stark white dress with silver trimmings that flowed about her body like water, shimmering and iridescent in a way that seemed to indicate that the material was incredibly delicate. The whole piece had an internal glow that softened the features of the woman wearing it, and made her appear almost ethereal. The Queen was tall, with willowy limbs, and a skin tone that was darker than Bo's. Her eyes were as yellow as a daisy and her lips were full and dark. A slight smile graced her countenance, and there were a number of fresh flowers tucked into her hair. Around her neck was a thin gold choker chain with a startlingly white stone embedded in it. It was like a hole had been punched in the world. It wasn't shiny, it was simply white. Bo gaped - not at the appearance of his Queen, but because he recognised her immediately - it was Tracer, from the trio of slave snatchers. Mistaking Bo's surprise, Erasmus leaned down and murmured,

'That's whitestone!' clearly shocked. Bo was completely nonplussed, his mind still suffering from the shock of his discovery. Erasmus quickly realised his young friend had no idea what he was talking about. 'It is one of the most rare and expensive of all items. Completely useless when it comes to magic or anything else, but cherished for its absolute whiteness. It isn't actually a stone – it is hardened sap from a whitestone tree \- very difficult to harvest and those who do not take the proper precautions can die if they inhale the vapours of the sap. Usually the stones are only a quarter the size of a tooth at most – to get something that big a whole plantation must have been drained. I've never even seen a whitestone before – I wish I could get a better look!' Bo cut across his friend, his mouth finally galvanising,

'Erasmus The Queen is one of the kidnappers! I'm sure of it! Maybe The King is involved in all this, and we've walked right into a trap?' Erasmus' eyes narrowed, as he examined The Queen.

'Don't jump to conclusions just yet, but let's not draw attention to ourselves either. We will get out of here as soon as possible to warn Hayse and Arty about what is going on.'

The eating of the food was interspersed with entertainment – from a flute playing magician who wove their spells with music, to a troupe of acrobats who boasted the use of no magic in their performance, and who displayed amazing skills. Despite the fear of being discovered, Bo's mouth hung open for most of the entertainment, which was lucky because he had a lot of food to shovel into it. Erasmus managed to maintain better decorum than his less worldly friend, but had to admit that it was something that he would never forget for as long as he lived. There was no way to subtly exit from the hall, for as soon as The King and Queen had arrived, the doors were closed and guarded. Even if Bo and Erasmus had requested leave of the hall they would have to pass by an area where they would be easily visible to The King and Queen. As the night was winding down, a group of people were called into the hall who were even more under-dressed than Bo was. They were clearly hunters and trappers – both grizzled and clothed in many and varying hides. By the leader's side was a medium sized hunting dog, although as they entered, everyone near to the door gasped and drew back. Bo frowned slightly – that wasn't a polite way to treat people, even hunters and trappers had dignity. The men approached The King and Queen, stopping short and bowing hurriedly.

'We have come to offer a hunt unlike any other, Your Majesty. We have found a baby wyvern, near as yer can get ter mature without bein' a terror of the skies. We offer you guides to find and slay the beast – a hunt like none other what you done been on.' The King stood, smiling unhurriedly.

'Wyvern you say? I have heard that you are the greatest beast trackers in this – or any other kingdom, and I would love to consider your offer. Please find yourselves accommodation in my castle, and we will speak again tomorrow after I have had some time to consider.' Erasmus hissed through his teeth, leaning back in his chair as the group of hunters left.

'Another delay to the peace talks no doubt,' grumbled the mage eyeing off the hunters' backs. 'I can't believe they had a chimera – they must be good.'

'A what? I thought a chimera was all bits of other animals?' asked Bo, clearly confused. Erasmus gave him an odd expression.

'It is – why what did you see?' Bo explained that they had only had a dog with them, and Erasmus whistled, impressed with the audacity of the men to try and fob off a regular dog as a chimera in the King's own dining hall. More impressive still was that they had succeeded for the most part. 'It would have been difficult to hide the magical aura of the illusion spell. On the other hand, there is already so much of an aura coming from the cosmetic magic of the courtiers, maybe they were banking on their own illusions going unnoticed?' Silently Erasmus made note of this.

Soon after the hunters made their exits the dinner was called to a close. With everyone else, Bo and Erasmus stood to leave, but were ushered in a completely different direction by a servant who claimed that The King and Queen wished to have dessert with their special guests. Bo held his stomach anxiously, not certain he could fit any more in even if he wanted to (and he surely would want to after seeing the desserts on offer) but greater was the sudden fear that he was about to be hauled down to the under-castle and turned into a lifeless husk. He shared a worried glance with Erasmus, but they both knew there was no avoiding The King and Queen if they really wanted an audience. The two were escorted to a smaller room, and one that was relatively cosy. It had more of a 'study' feel than a 'dinning hall' feel, and it was only Erasmus, Bo and the King, as long as no one was counting slaves and servants. Bo began to relax a little, seeing that there was no great abundance of guards. Large comfy chairs were arranged around a roaring fire, and the smell of leather-bound books pervaded the area, as shelf upon shelf of a private library stood behind the chairs. The ceiling was domed, and looking up it was possible to see the night sky in vivid detail, with complicated charting lines lying over the top of the stars. Erasmus tried not to show how desperately interested in examining the books he was, but was largely unsuccessful.

The King stood to greet his guests, a large grin on his face, and a small glass of port in his hand.

'Please sit down! I apologise if I have gotten you into any trouble with your superiors at all,' The King said, his voice rumbling impressively in his chest. Somewhat uncomfortable with the situation, both Erasmus and Bo found themselves a seat, and were given their own glasses of port. 'I truly am sorry, but I enjoyed talking to you over the lunch, Phasma. So few people are honest with me – I hope you will forgive my trickery?' Bo smiled shyly, still waiting to be grabbed at any second by a demon.

'Of course. I guess it must be pretty difficult if no one tells you what they are thinking.' He murmured truthfully. The King nodded, still smiling,

'I hope you will continue to be so honest – actually I was wondering what you thought of those hunters? They come from a family that by all rights should hate our kingdom and yet they seem quite eager to please. Do you think they were being genuine?' Bo explained that he had seen through their trick, candid despite the danger he found himself in (although he claimed that this was due to his abilities in magic rather than anything else) and The King was both surprised and pleased to find out the truth. He rubbed his hands together,

'well I have a surprise or two for them in return – thank you for the warning Phasma!' The King abruptly stood and welcomed the last member of the party – The Queen. She was even more impressive close up than she had been in the dining hall. Erasmus and Bo, untutored in correct behaviour also stood up, bowing deeply. The Queen laughed at their gesture of respect, amused by the formality.

'No one is judging us in here – don't worry about all that nonsense!' she admonished, instead shaking Bo and Erasmus by the hand as a greeting in the traditional Desert manner. Everyone quickly sat down again and got comfortable. The Queen, if she recognised Bo, hid it well. She continued, 'Phasma – that's an unusual name around here. I knew a Phasma Todea once, but I am sure you couldn't be the same person?' Bo paled. He hadn't even considered that his mage friend might once have been known at the castle. The Queen's bright yellow eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence as she passed her gaze over Bo. The teen swallowed a small mouthful of port hastily before breaking into a nervous smile.

'It's a very common name – in the er, desert.' The Queen nodded as though a great understanding had been reached, and casually asked if Phasma had met Lance, the King's mage, listening carefully to Bo's reply.

'Yes I have, just this afternoon in fact – he was a little uh, strange I suppose, but he seems alright. He was very nice to me, and I was honoured to meet such a great magician!' Bo took another sip of port, finding his throat somewhat dry. The Queen nodded thoughtfully, before sighing lightly and leaning against her husband in a loving gesture that Bo hadn't even thought possible in the upper echelons of society. The King wrapped an arm around her in an almost unconscious reaction. Soon enough the conversation kicked off. For an hour or more the small group chatted of this and that in a pleasantly rambling way which meant that a wide variety of interesting topics were covered. Bo and Erasmus, although initially wary, had been put off guard by the friendly demeanour of The King and Queen. Ersamus was even granted the opportunity to examine the necklace The Queen wore. She had no qualms about taking it off so that he could see the whitestone more clearly, and in fact she was rather insistent that Erasmus should have the opportunity to touch the stone. The King also suggested that Erasmus might take the time tomorrow to look around the private library, as there would be no peace talks that day, and he promised that there would be books Erasmus had only ever heard about before. Almost drooling with anticipation, the desert mage had gratefully accepted the kind offer, and quickly turned the conversation toward his favoured scholars, proving that The King and Queen were also quite well read themselves as they kept up their side of the conversation admirably.

Eventually Bo and Erasmus were excused because they could no longer hide their yawns and Bo had almost fallen asleep while Erasmus explained something in technical detail. The King asked if they required assistance in getting back to their rooms, but the duo respectfully declined, pleased to finally be able to slip away. With fond farewells they walked wearily back to the guest quarters. Bo, who was feeling a little tipsy, leaned against Erasmus arm, using it as a support. Back at their room, Erasmus shook his head, carefully removing his beautiful clothes. Bo quickly turned away to give his friend some privacy while he changed, hoping that Erasmus would do the same for him. The teen rested his head against the wall, still feeling vaguely dizzy with all of the alcohol he had consumed that night.

'That was all well and good Bo – I think we got away with it – but you need to be more careful! Someone is going to find out who you really are if you draw so much attention to yourself,' admonished Erasmus. 'We have to get you out of here before that can happen, especially if that Tracer woman is on to us.'

'And who exactly is Bo?' growled a familiar voice. Bo whipped around in surprise to find Takeshi standing at the table with folded arms and a smug expression on his face.

# Chapter 17: Turning Points and Sticking Points

'I always knew he wasn't one of us, but I honestly did not think Erasmus would have been so foolish' raged Takeshi. Erasmus had tried to hide the fact that Bo was the slave that had 'run off' but that had been extensively searched for by the guards, but Takeshi had threatened to have truth spells used – which would require dragging more of the desert mages into the situation. This had forced Erasmus to admit that Bo was indeed a former slave who had been illegally liberated, and was assisting with an official investigation – one that Takeshi had not even been aware was being conducted. Takeshi had been both horrified and gleeful to find out such a breach of secrecy had occurred, although his irritation at being out of the loop was undisguised. Thankfully Erasmus managed to hide the fact that Bo was immune to magic, knowing that Takeshi would use everything he could learn against the duo. Erasmus also managed to make it sound as though Hayes and Arty had no idea that Bo was an illegally freed slave. 'He should be handed over as a show of good faith!' grinned Takeshi, taking more pleasure in the situation than he should have.

'Your Council Woman person already knows I am here though! She said she was looking forward to meeting me,' blurted Bo, desperate not to be sent back to the slave quarters. Takeshi's smile faltered as he turned to face the source of his irritation.

'Don't you think you've caused enough trouble? For Erasmus? For me? For the entire peace negotiation?' gloated the man, looming over Bo and leering unpleasantly. Bo closed his mouth, wishing Arty and Hayes were there to back him up. As it was Takeshi had banned anyone for entering or leaving the room, using his official status as leader of the peace party to enforce the orders. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, speaking his thoughts aloud as though they were just occurring to him, rather than having been already thought out.

'This is difficult. I can't leave him with you, obviously! Who brings a wanted fugitive to peace negotiations with The King? But I can't dispose of him until I know what The Chairwoman wishes, I suppose. That could take several days though.'

'I could cast a spell right here and now if you like?' offered Erasmus. Takeshi glared at him for cutting in,

'That would be too suspicious – why would we be casting a powerful spell here when it is so difficult for our mages to do anything within the castle walls? You know very well that the magic is thin this far from any sources, and that any great spells are sure to be noticed immediately when they suck it all up. No it will have to wait until a lettermage can deliver a letter to the lower council for recommendation to the higher council to commune with us, and then for another letter to be sent back with a time and date.' Erasmus leapt from his seat,

'That will take too long! What are you planning on doing with Bo until then?' Takeshi smiled sickeningly, placing a heavy hand on Bo's shoulder.

'I'll take care of him. I have a place where no one will ever find him.' Bo's blood ran cold at the thought of being at Takeshi's mercy.

'You can't just keep him cooped up!' argued Erasmus heatedly, but Takeshi was not impressed,

'I can do what I like, Erasmus – or have you forgotten who is in charge here? You're just lucky I don't turn him in and be done with it. Now – I am going to take the slave and you are hereby forbidden to contact the Council yourself – it would draw too much attention, and cause too much suspicion. We need everything to go smoothly for the peace talks – and if too much attention is drawn I may be forced to give your boy back to the slave masters, despite what the Council says.'

Erasmus ground his teeth with fury but was unable to reply. It was either do as Takeshi wished, or have Bo handed straight to those who were after him. Sensing that he had won for the moment, Takeshi tightened his grip on Bo and pulled the stunned teen out of the room, wordlessly marching him down the hall. Bo struggled as soon as he was out in the corridor, nearly breaking free of Takeshi, planning to run to Alexander.

'Run away and I'll make trouble for Erasmus – I don't think the guards would be pleased to find out he was hiding you, do you?' hissed the desert man. Bo growled but said nothing, realising that there was nothing he could do without getting Erasmus in trouble. Takeshi seemed to derive pleasure from his victory, grasping Bo painfully by the nape of his neck.

Finally they arrived at Takeshi's room. It was much grander than Erasmus' if only because the furnishings were not liberally coated with papers filled with research notes. In one corner stood a tall black wardrobe. It loomed ominously in the corner, as though it was just waiting for someone to step inside so that it could eat them.

'You probably can't see it yourself – but I have a very special wardrobe. I managed to purchase it for a steal from the auctioned possessions of a mage who had unfortunately passed on. It answers only to me – only I can make it appear, and I only I can make it disappear. Don't worry you'll be perfectly safe inside. No one will be able to see, hear, smell, or find you, with or without magic. Not even Erasmus would be able to break the spells on this little collector's piece. I hope you aren't afraid of the dark.' With the last disingenuous wish for Bo's peace of mind, Takeshi pushed the boy into the gaping doorway of the cupboard, closing and locking it behind him. Bo pushed against the door, trying to get it to open again, but it was as he suspected – the door would only be opened with a key and from the outside.

Sighing heavily Bo sank to the floor of the cupboard, as far as he was able. It was slightly too small to accommodate him lying down, making it difficult to fall asleep despite the late hour and the soporific effect of the alcohol. He could hear muffled sounds of movement in Takeshi's room, and was vaguely comforted to know that the outside world hadn't vanished completely, but the shock of the situation was wearing off and the fear and anger at his treatment was becoming clearer.

'TAKESHI! YOU'RE A STUPID SELFISH SPITEFUL RAT TURD!' shouted Bo at the top of his lungs, listening to hear if there was a reply. He knew that no one could hear him, but it made him feel slightly better for having said it. Bo tried not to think about how long he would be in the cupboard, or when Takeshi was going to feed him (if ever). The more he sat and thought, the more worried and anxious he became. What if Takeshi was relying on some sort of magic to keep Bo alive, and wasn't planning to check up on the boy? To quell the rising tide of panic, Bo ran his fingers blindly over the corners and edges of the cupboard's interior, hoping to find some weakness, or some place where light might be let in. As the minutes ticked by the teen began to realise that there was no way out. Not even light could reach him, and he no longer knew if he was facing the front of the cupboard or the back. The air in the cupboard was warming up with Bo's activity and he started to wonder if oxygen could get in or out, or if he was going to suffocate in the dark. This did nothing to subdue his panic, and feeling that he was about to expire if fresh oxygen did not enter the cupboard, Bo began to beat on the doors, hoping to catch Takeshi's attention. 'Takeshi open the cupboard! There's no air in here!' Bo paused, listening at the door for any sign that he had been heard, but there weren't even the usual muffled sounds of movement. 'Please Takeshi, I just want to breathe!' Bo beat on the cupboard more violently, but to no avail. Eventually when his hands ached deeply from the activity and Bo could no longer stop his eyelids from drooping the teen sank into an uncomfortable half-crouch and tried to occupy his thoughts. Slowly, and despite his fears, Bo was affected by the dark, and the late hour. If he was in Erasmus' room he would be waking up in a scant five hours for training and his body was telling him it was way past time for bed. Slowly, still trying desperately to think of a way out of his predicament, the teen fell asleep.

Bo woke some hours later, uncomfortably contorted so that he lay on the cupboard floor, more or less. Although he couldn't tell in the darkness, he thought that it must be just before dawn. For a second or two he suspected that he had woken up at that time out of habit, and was about to go to sleep again when he heard a muffled yell of indignation from the room beyond. Anxiously, Bo untangled himself, which was surprisingly difficult, as one of his arms had gone to sleep, and the rest of his body was sluggish and unresponsive. He pressed his ear to the cupboard, trying to hear what was going on. Circling the walls, he tried to find the place with the best vantage for listening in on the outside world. There was another muffled shout, but this time Bo could tell it was from Takeshi. There were also crashes and noises of breaking glass. Bo leapt back from the wall he was facing when something knocked heavily against it, panicking that there must be someone trying to break in. There was another loud crash and the cupboard trembled violently. Keeping his weight centred, Bo was the only thing that prevented the large item of furniture from toppling onto its side. The teen held his breath anxiously but no further bumps or knocks were inflicted upon the cupboard, although it did rattle occasionally from whatever activity was going on outside. Bo wondered if perhaps the noise was, in fact, a rescue party. He considered the fact that it might be the castle guards, still looking for him, but decided quickly that it was best to get out of the cupboard, and sort out whatever else he came across as he came across it. Believing himself to be facing the cupboard doors, Bo recommenced attempting to muscle them open, awakening the pain in his hands from the last bout of enthusiastic cupboard bashing. Again it was to no avail, and eventually the noises from inside the room died down to an eerie silence.

Alone in the dark, with nothing to hear but his own breathing, and with hands that felt like he'd skinned and bruised his knuckles, Bo waited. He gently felt the quickly swelling lumps that his knuckles had become, wincing at the stinging sensation, and the ache. He did not know what had happened but his mind quickly supplied a number of horror scenarios, the worst of which being a night assassin sent to kill Takeshi, meaning that Bo would never be found by anyone ever again. Breathing deeply through his nose, Bo tried to calm himself but he was unable to. In a state of uncontrolled panic the teen rocked on his heels, unable to find something to steady his thoughts with. This was interspersed with shouting and continuing to bash on the wood of the cupboard, heedless of any damage he may be doing to himself. Bo could only hope that Erasmus would come and find him – that his friend had more power than Takeshi gave him credit, and would be able to find the cupboard and get it open. What seemed like hours later, there came a soft scrabbling noise. Unlike most of the previous noises in the room, it sounded very clear.

'Hello!?' called Bo loudly. The scrabbling stopped. 'No! Please come back!' the teen shouted desperately, beating at the cupboard. Without warning there was the sound of heavier thumps that rocked the cupboard to its base. Bo was just starting to wonder if perhaps he had been hasty in attracting the attention of whatever was outside when his world tipped over. Bo fell on his side heavily, when there was a heavy thunk. Bo looked up as the cupboard screeched around him and rocked violently. Suddenly there was a glimmer of light.

'Ztayink back from hole, Bo, yez?' Bo was glad that he did as he was told when there was another thunk, and a large, gleaming axehead bit into the wood, halting only inches away from Bo's face. Bo closed his eyes and curled up into a tight ball, away from the growing hole. In a few brief minutes, however, the gap was large enough for the lithe teen to squeeze through. Thankfully the predawn light was dim, and took little getting used to, although Bo blinked and rubbed at his eyes. When he could see, the former slave was horrified at the state of Takeshi's room. It was completely trashed, with all of the man's belongings thrown to the floor and trodden on. Despite this, all that currently mattered to the teen was that he was now free of the cupboard. Bo was momentarily overwhelmed with relief. Shakily he looked around to find Alexander staring at him, still holding the formidable looking double handed axe that Bo had seen in his hidden room. By his side was Ruben, who grinned shyly and waved. 'You think you are gettink out of mornink trainink so easy?' Alexander joked, hauling the still shocked Bo into a crushing and entirely unexpected, one armed bear hug. Bo scrambled to get free, not wishing to offend his saviour, but also not wishing to be pressed quite so close to Alexander's armpits, which had already worked up a fine sweat from the morning's activities. 'Bo, ve take lonk time to find you! Muzt leef quickly - iz beeg search to find you.' Checking to make sure they were unobserved, Alexander hastily lead the way to a secret entrance into the walls that was hidden behind a hanging rug.

Quickly the portly weapon master navigated the secret passages, turning here and there without hesitation. Soon Bo's head was spinning with all the turns that had been taken, and about ten minutes later he arrived in Alexander's hidden quarters. Bo sat wearily down on the floor, and Alexander quickly glanced over the teens hands. Bo noted that they looked as bad as they felt. Dried blood caked his knuckles. 'I look at hands because they alvays are needink bandages!' joked Alexander, moving to his trunk to obtain a few of said bandages. In a grimmer tone, he continued, 'Erazmuz haz been taken to jail. Zo haz ze varrior vomen and every dezert mage.' Alexander didn't mince his words, and it took a moment or two for Bo to take in what the weapon master had said.

'But why?' asked the teen, forgetting about the state of his hands. Alexander glanced at Ruben and nodded. Long explanations were difficult when he had such a strong accent and it would probably be quicker if Ruben could remember the details.

'Uh- Well the um...'

'The Queen claims one of the desert mages (probably Erasmus) stole her precious whitestone necklace,' came a new voice. Before Bo could blink Alexander had the newcomer pinned to the wall by his throat. The portly weapon master had moved faster than Bo had believed possible. Alexander loosened his grip slightly upon finding the intruder was Will. 'I followed you. Came to make sure Bo was okay after all this,' Will choked out. Reluctantly Alexander let the white haired teen go, ushering him into the room with the rest of the slowly growing group. Will massaged his neck tenderly, nodding to Bo by way of greeting. 'Anyway there was a search. The whitestone was found in Erasmus' room, and as a result all of the desert people have been taken in for questioning, probably to be charged as a whole.'

'That's ridiculous!' growled Bo angrily, as Alexander gave him the first aid equipment. 'Erasmus would never steal such a thing. He's not even interested in whitestone 'cause it has no 'natural magical properties!'' Will frowned at Bo, shaking his head.

'I don't think it's really about the jewels, Bo. They know they are missing a desert mage – that's you by the way – and The Queen and King are furious. They reckon you were tipped off somehow. In any case I reckon you'd be interested to hear where they bin keeping the desert people.' Will paused, waiting to make sure everyone was listening carefully before lowering his voice slightly. 'They took em into the secret tunnels what lead to that underground place you bin talking about. I looked around a little bit durin' the day and I'd bet my bootlaces that's where they're being held. If I had bootlaces 'course.' Bo cursed quietly under his breath. He had been worried about himself, but now the news that Erasmus might be in danger set off a panic many times worse than he'd felt while cooped up in the cupboard.

'What exactly is going on?' asked Ruben uncertainly. He looked slightly bemused, and almost like he didn't really want to know. Bo sighed, and explained the whole story, from him being immune to magic, to Takeshi locking him into a cupboard. Ruben nodded thoughtfully, 'I suppose that would explain things, and I suppose that artefact is one of the three artefacts of demons. Gosh that's not good.' Bo looked sharply up at his blithe mage friend.

'Artefacts of demons?' he asked. Ruben blinked slowly, eventually realising that not everyone knew what he was talking about.

'Oh, well I was reading about using magic with naturally occurring ores – in the library – when I came across a passage about three rocks of the demons. It said that at first the world was shared by demons and humans, but that the demons were immortal. The humans wanted to harvest the immortality and power of the demons so they created artefacts that could trap the soul of a demon inside, and from there those demon souls could be transferred to a human body. Unfortunately they didn't realise that the human would then be as good as dead, with their own soul consumed in the process, giving the demon control of the body. There were cases of people fighting back, and having a split personality until the two sides ended up destroying each other, but that was only rare cases. Luckily though, in a mortal body it is possible to kill a demon by cutting off its head or otherwise wounding it fatally with sword or by magic. Problem is that demons aren't like humans; we harness the excess magic that is floating around in the air, but demons create their own magic. A demon soul would be like a never ending power supply of magic, to a human mage – but of course, still being concious, the demons were less than willing. Anyway the people realised their error and powerful magicians destroyed one of the three rocks, killing all of the demons that had been trapped in it. A super mage with lots of ability managed to hunt down and kill the humans who had been infected with a demon before they could get more people to be infected with other demons, because they were intent on releasing as many of their kin as possible, before finding a way to return their immortality and enslave the remainder of humanity, uh... then it warned that one of the stones was in the desert and the other one was deep in the sea, and that they should never ever be reactivated. I guess it's a good thing the first stone was destroyed and all, even though it is a clue to ancient powerful magic that isn't recorded, even in the magical tomes of the desert. I figured it was a creation myth about why the demons from old folk tales don't exist any more, but I suppose your description of the artefact kind of makes me think it might be true...' Ruben trailed off, realising that everyone was paying very careful attention to his rambling. The teen shrugged, suddenly self conscious, as Alexander, Bo, and Will digested the information.

'Zo ve muzt deztroy artefact, might be end of humanity,' Alexander said bluntly. He'd heard enough to confirm his beliefs that whatever was going on in the abandoned dungeons was bad and needed stopping before it could consume the entire kingdom. He had been uncertain before, knowing that there was a possibility that The Queen was involved made things difficult, but Alexander privately hoped it was a case of mistaken identity; surely the real Queen would never endanger her subjects.

'We also need to save Erasmus, and the rest of the desert people,' added Bo quietly, but firmly. There was no way he was going to let his new friends fall prey to a giant artefact-demon-thing. The only trouble was that the group only numbered three teenagers and an old man. Bo looked to Alexander, hoping that the more experienced campaigner would have a plan.

'Ve only safe-ink them from ztrange thingz happenink in dungeon. They muzt go on proper trial about ze white-ztone yez? Vill be properly cleared up – no mis-under-ztandink, no var, yez?' Alexander didn't bother waiting for Bo to agree or disagree before continuing, 'Now, ve not know who set up desert people to getink into trouble. Might be somevun same people from artefact – might not. Muzt be careful,' the rotund man paused to stroke his wiry black beard thoughtfully. 'Ve need Bo to lead vay to artefact. Ruben, are you able to be breakink artefact?' Ruben looked up, startled at having been addressed again so soon.

'Uh yeah I might be able to. Magic's not something I know off by heart it's just something I sort of... feel when I get next to the material.' Alexander nodded. Ruben would be their best bet, but assuming that the teen was unable to complete the task, and the group was somehow killed or captured, word would have to be sent to an outside party. 'Okay. I make note to zend to desert people. I tell them vhat haz happened, because they be not knowink. Zen if we fail, they vill be ready.' It irked Alexander to rely on people from outside Middlefortress, but the weapon master did not know who he could trust with the information on his own side. Quickly a note was made, and Alexander carried it to a lettermage himself – one that he knew would do the right thing. While he was gone, Bo, Ruben and Will sat tensely in the small room. Bo applied the bandages and cream to his own battered hands, wincing occasionally, but ultimately finding that the cream soothed them almost instantly. Will was almost certainly being missed at the slave compound, and the teen was fingering his collar nervously, hoping it wouldn't go off while Alexander was not around to set it to rights.

'Do you mind if I look at it?' asked Ruben curiously. Will shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but not succeeding entirely.

'Just don't set it off, yeah?' he asked. Ruben had already laid his fingers over the silver circle. His eyes were closed and a small frown of concentration was stamped across his face.

'Ah – I see. If I just do this --' Will yelped, his hands flying to his neck. After a moment or two nothing further happened.

'What did you do?' asked Will incredulously.

'I just broke the restraining spells. It can't be set off any more, or rather it can, technically, but the spells are sort of confused. So if you set it off then it will think that it was already set off and won't set itself off again. That's what that little buzz was just before.' Will managed a confused 'huh' and Ruben apologised for being bad at explaining himself. Before any further attempts at explanation could be made, Alexander was back.

've get rezt now. Tonight iz time to free captives. Iz not good idea to rush in. This they might suspect, yez?' Bo was force to reluctantly agree with Alexander's appraisal of the situation, and made himself as comfortable as he could. Weary after his strange and taxing night, Bo swiftly drifted off to sleep despite his worries for Erasmus, and the thin straw-on-stone bedding. The teen's dreams were not peaceful, and at some time during the day he woke in a cold sweat from unnamed horrors. Everyone else seemed to be sleeping, or at least lying on their backs silently. Rubbing his eyes Bo sat up. He felt refreshed and wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for some time. Sitting quietly his thoughts very quickly returned to Erasmus, Arty and Hayes, as he wondered if they were okay or if they had already been given to the artefact.

'It is hard to sleep during the day, isn't it?' commented Will, who had clearly been alerted to Bo's wakefulness by the teen's constant shifting. Bo did not reply, feeling slightly beyond words at that point.

'I miss Erasmus a lot,' admitted Bo, although it was an understatement. The teen hadn't even realised how much he really did miss his friend until he voiced it. He had often heard that people didn't know what they had until it was gone but he had thought it a silly saying. He realised the small truth then, when he wished he could have Erasmus' constant cheerful chatter to buoy his flagging spirits. Somewhere in his gut Bo felt horribly sick at the thought of Erasmus being injured or killed, and he wanted to tear through walls and anything else that got in his way to get his friend back again. Bo didn't feel like he would be able to tell this to Will though, not certain that he could find the appropriate words, nor that if he did his white haired friend would understand the feelings. Will sat up on his stone mattress and gazed sympathetically at Bo.

'When we get to rescuing him, I'm sure Erasmus will be glad to see you too.' Bo shifted on his bed, not entirely comforted and too awake to fall asleep again.

'Iz remind me of time,' Bo glanced at Alexander who was still lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. 'I haff friend once, called Chekhov, who get taken hostage. Vas not good - he vaz very zkilled vith ze ranged veaponz, ezpecially gun. They send uz his finger as proof that they haff heem - vaz hiz trigger finger. Zo ven ve get heem back ve choppink off all their fingerz, and and ve say 'eef you can fire gun vith no fingers, ve not kill you!'' Alexander laughed heartily at what was apparently a joke. 'Zey cried so much! It vas very funny to see zem trying to fire gun vith foot. Ve all laugh so much ve let zem to run avay.' It took some while for Alexander's mirth to die down after his story, and in the meantime Bo and Will shared horrified looks with each other. 'Eef all people are vake up, ve haff varm up, yez?' Alexander, who had been lying fully clothed on top of his own bed, swung his legs over the edge and got up. Will, Bo and Ruben (who had also been awake, but had been too busy toying with one of his latest creations to hear the horrible and not very reassuring anecdote) were set to clearing the area in readiness for some sparring. This was a dismally quick task, as Alexander seemed a little light on worldly possessions, having only a stash of weapons, and a number of barrels filled with pickles. Once the area was ready, Alexander chose Will and Bo, asking the two to spar. Ruben was happy to continue his own activities for the moment, and Alexander was keen to find out how well Will handled himself in a fight.

Bo took up a ready stance, facing Will who was not in any kind of stance at all, and was looking more than a little amused by the whole situation. Cautiously Bo approached Will, keeping his guard up as he went. Will moved away from Bo, keeping a good distance between them as he watched his friend's movements. Realising he would have to be more active in pursuing his target, Bo moved forwards quickly, ducking low to perform a sweeping kick in an effort to knock Will's legs out from under him. Will jumped over the kick, and responded by booting Bo in the face. Although the blow didn't have much force to it, Bo was so shocked he fell onto his rear. Quickly he scrambled back to his feet. Once again the two circled, and Will, who was still sizing up his opponent, wasn't likely to make the first move. Bo went in with a number of punches. Although Will did not seem to know what was coming, he was able to react fast enough to block or dodge most of the blows, and when a punch did connect it was only ever a glancing blow. Quickly Will found Bo's rhythm, and he blocked one punch, before ducking under the next and turning to elbow Bo in the back of the head. Bo's head jerked forwards, and he was left flinching just long enough for Will to kick the backs of his knees and cause the teen to topple forwards. Taking his advantage as far as he could, Will stood on the back of Bo's calf to keep the less experienced opponent down - a surprisingly painful tactic. Bo twisted his upper body violently, escaping from Will and throwing the white haired slave off balance. Before Will could bring his foot back to the ground Bo lunged forward, leaping from the ground and up, pushing Will to keep him off balance before delivering a punch that smacked soundly into Will's lower jaw. Will stumbled back, clearly surprised and Bo followed him. Somehow it was different to when he had been fighting Ruben - those fights had moved so slowly that Bo had been able to spend his time thinking about his movements and considering his tactics. With Will, Bo had quickly thrown such thoughts out of the window, and started to rely on instinct, and the techniques that had already been committed to his muscle memory. Almost without realising what he was doing, Bo used Will's flinch as an opportunity to take down the teen, and by the time Alexander had broken up the battle, Bo found himself sitting astride Will, having punched the silver collar slave in the nose. It was Alexander's almost too firm grip on his shoulder that brought Bo back to earth.

'I'm sorry Will!' cried Bo. Will grinned, holding his nose to prevent it from bleeding,

'You got a nice strong right there - don' think I wanna be onna recievin' en' of it no more though!' Will laughed the incident off, saying Bo needed to release his frustrations elsewhere, jesting that Bo needed to find himself a woman. Ruben was paired with Will, when Will had fixed his nose with magic, and then Ruben was paired with Bo. Not wanting a repeat of the last battle Bo was more defensive, only lashing out with an attack when he did not think it would do too much damage, and never committing his full strength to any of his movements. After some further sparring, they were given a few exercises to complete, and Alexander joined them for these. Somehow the familiar movements helped to ease Bo's mind and make him relaxed. He had almost managed to completely forget the predicament he, and his friends were in by the time Alexander abruptly halted proceedings, claiming that it was time for food, drink and to kick off the raid.

Bo wore plain clothes, rather than his expensive outfit that the King's tailors had supplied, while Will had only his slave clothes, and Ruben was wearing another pair of slave clothes that Alexander had 'found' for him (Bo suspected the women in the washing rooms would find some of their clean laundry mysteriously missing). All three teens were offered leather armour. Bo accepted, wanting as much protection as he could, while Ruben and Will rejected the offer, instead opting to strengthen their clothes against physical attack with magic, although it would be a drain on their concentration. Alexander was also wearing well fitted leather armour, of the kind favoured by guards of the inner castle. The weapon master looked fierce enough without armour, in Bo's opinion \- with armour he was downright frightening, although it could have something to do with the honed battle axes that he sported - one hung from his hip, and the other, larger axe, was strapped across his back. Bo was given a sword, which upon handling he recognised to be the sword The King had provided him with - sharpened of course. He looked up at Alexander, surprised, only to receive a stern glare.

'This svord rep-re-zent your kingdom now, yez? You fight under leetle turtle symbol. Not use my veaponz anymore.' Alexander gave Ruben a three foot long staff, that had both ends capped with metal. He also provided the teen with a goodly sized dagger and a belt with holster to strap it to. Will was equipped with a half-staff and dagger as well, as the slave expressed a preference for such weapons.

Feeling anxious, both about the danger he was putting himself in, and the fact that if he did not go something awful might happen to Erasmus, Bo nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot while Alexander gave them all one last check down. He seemed to accept that they were as good as they were going to get.

'Ve are goink now. Iz important - main goal iz to dez-troy ztone, yez? Muzt not let demons out of ztone, or not only this kingdom iz being deztroy. Bo - ve need you to find vay there, but not need you to get capture. Ve not know vhy you are vanted, zo ve not let zem get you in case iz somsink bad, yez? HOKAY! Ruben and I – ve make fight-distraction. Vill and Bo, you free ze desert warriors, and zey vill help uz. Zen ve go after ze rock. Ruben - you vill be destroyink rock. Eef ve are all alive after zis, zen ve vill drink ztrong zpiritz, and eat many pickles!' Alexander nodded, a white, toothy grin flashing from within his beard. Ruben looked taken aback. He had not considered that he might have the most important role in the group. In a way he was pleased to know he wasn't expected to do battle with humans that were possibly infused with demons, but in another way he was not keen to be the centre of attention in such a conflict. Alexander, however, had already moved on - it hadn't been a suggestion or a request, it was an order that he expected to be followed. When Ruben weighed up the odds, he had to admit that Alexander was far scarier than a stone full of demons, and so he would do as he was told.

Alexander moved down the dark, sometimes narrow passages agonisingly slowly. He checked at each intersection to make sure there was no one waiting to launch a surprise attack, and occasionally caused the party to double back on their trail to keep from being followed. Bo was almost certain they had wasted more than an hour in the dark, and every second spent not freeing Erasmus was a second that he might be killed, or worse, given to the demon stone. Finally they reached the beginning of the section that could only be navigated by Bo. He was about to do so, when Alexander held up a hand and shook his head. He pushed the teens back, and unsheathed his axe silently, melding with the shadows until even Bo, who knew where he was, could not see him. There came the sound of heavy footsteps, and Bo's heart leapt to life in his chest, beating fast and hard, and urging Bo to action. As the guards rounded the corner, Alexander swiftly and silently attacked. The first guard had lost his head before he even knew he was under attack, and the second was swiftly winded with the butt of Alexander's axe before the finishing blow, which carved into his torso. It took that one slightly longer to go out, but he had not managed to sound the alarm. Alexander quickly dragged the bodies out of sight. He searched them, finding that each man had been in possession of a leather necklace. The necklaces bore small stone tablets and, it turned out, allowed the guards to walk through the tunnels without becoming lost and confused. Ruben nodded thoughtfully,

'It would take too much concentration to maintain a counter spell, I guessed they must have magic infused trinkets to get rid of the effects of the passageway.' Alexander put on one of the necklaces himself, and gave one to Will, assuming he would be stronger and more of a difficulty than Ruben to lead in the correct direction. Ruben was then grabbed by Alexander and Will, and Bo lead the way through the passages, doing his best to remember which way to go.

They continued to creep along at the speed of a snail. Sometimes they were forced to hide from a group of cowled guards on patrol. Bo could feel his breath catching in his throat at the thought of being caught by the sinister looking guards, but each time they were passed over. The group walked silently although if not for Alexander's alertness, they would have been easily discovered, many times over. Bo took several wrong turns, but after a half hour of scrabbling around in the dark, he finally found himself facing a familiar heavy stone door. Ruben had been struggling for the last several meters, furiously attempting to go in the opposite direct to the main group. He wasn't overly powerful but he had been wearyingly persistent until Alexander slapped him about the face. After that, the teen had simply closed his eyes and let himself be dragged along, claiming the magical misdirection was making him feel nauseous. Now however, faced with the heavy stone door, and not intent on getting anywhere, Ruben let out a small gasp of surprise.

'That – that's the same magic they use in the library – for moving the ladders!' Will and Alexander moved Ruben closer to the door and the teen seemed to completely forget where he was. Any trace of fear or excitement had been wiped from his features in favour of curiosity. Struggling, Ruben wrestled his arm from Will, before placing one hand on the rock. His eyes stared off vacantly into the distance, unblinking as he thought long and hard, and tested the stone with his magic.

'Make it quvick, Ruben,' growled Alexander. He looked behind him, before motioning that Bo should hold Ruben's second arm. Bo did so, taking over from the weapon master, who carefully unsheathed the axe at his hip. Ruben wouldn't be rushed however, and it was almost as if he hadn't even heard Alexander. Bo placed his spare hand on the hilt of his sword, as whisper soft footsteps became audible even to him. He looked to Will who was grimly grasping his wooden staff, when Ruben mumbled something. Bo was about to ask the teen to repeat himself, when the stone door slowly and haltingly slid open a small way, thankfully making little to no noise. Hurriedly the party slipped inside before Ruben closed the door again, looking absurdly pleased with himself.

# Chapter 18: The Battle Begins

Inside, the dungeons had not changed other than the mess from the last fight being spotlessly cleaned away. Looking down from the balcony, Bo could see the artefact as it truly was; a heaving, seething monstrous mass of black oozy substance with a million eyes and a long misshapen proboscis.

It sat, or rather oozed over the altar on which it had been placed, dribbling grotesquely onto the floor where the dark substance pooled and swirled like vapours from boiling water. Bo shuddered at the roving eyes, ducking his head back and turning to the group. Alexander had already taken in the surrounding area and was frowning more deeply than usual, his bushy eyebrows casting his beady blue eyes into shadow.

'Desert people not in cagez. Ve not know vere they are.' Bo glanced down at the cages, visible off to one side of the altar, and pushed to the far edge of the large cavern. He was forced to agree with Alexander, as there was no one in there dressed in the red of the warriors, the blue of the mages, or the horrid orange of the politicians. Bo scanned the group of prisoners for Erasmus, who would have stood out merely because of his impressive height, but could not make out any who looked like his friend. Will shrugged,

'My information is good. I'm certain they got brought down here, so there must be another way we can go.' Bo felt a stab of fear in his gut as he contemplated the possibility that Erasmus had already been infested with a demon. The teen grit his teeth, trying not to dwell on the possibility, and to remain positive. Ruben seemed to have lost interest in his surroundings, and was fiddling with a small something in his hands.

'This can find him!' offered Ruben shyly, thrusting his hand forward into the group suddenly as though it had taken a lot of courage to do so. Bo, Alexander and Will leaned in to look at the object – it was a miniature golden bee. 'I ah, was trying to make the small animals, remember Bo? Well this is it. It hasn't had much of a test run but I think it could find Erasmus – so I programmed it to do that.' Gently Bo removed the bee from Ruben's hand, and the tiny golden insect wandered over the silvery palm of his hand until it stood poised on the brink of his fingertip. 'It wants you to go in that direction.' muttered Ruben bashfully. Bo grinned as the little insect fluttered its wings impatiently.

'Ruben – you're a genius, do you know that?' A huge smile stole over Ruben's face as he scuffed his shoes against the ground modestly.

'Maybe you should say that after you find Erasmus?' Ruben suggested, but it was clear that he was very pleased with himself. Alexander cleared his throat to cut off the congratulations before the group could waste too much more time.

'Hokay, zen Vill, Bo go find desert mages, get zem to be helpink vith ze attack. Ruben, ve create diztraction and try to get to artefact, yez?' Alexander waited for everyone to give their consent, however reluctant it may be, to show that they understood the plan. Nodding slightly, and taking one last look at each face, Alexander grabbed Ruben's shoulder, moving towards the head of the staircase. Ruben paused, and pulled out a mechanical mouse, explaining something to Alexander. Bo strained to hear what was said but could not. There was some agreement and the mouse was released. It ran slowly down to the ground floor, darting into the centre of the room it sat up cautiously, delicate ears twitching for a second or two before it suddenly and violently exploded with more force than Bo had thought possible for such a tiny object. There were shrieks of horror from the slaves who were caged nearby, and Ruben and Alexander took the opportunity to rush down to them, Ruben carefully navigating the stairs while Alexander leapt down two or three steps at a time, his weapon already at hand. With only his fist, Alexander grabbed the cage doors, and hauled them right off their hinges, breaking the locks as he went. Ruben, who arrived moments later, darted into the cages and began to fiddle with the slave collars to ensure that none of the slaves could be controlled that way, while the portly weapon master turned to face an oncoming stream of alarmed demons. His face was grim, but mulishly determined.

High above the mess, Will and Bo waited for the best time to slip in unnoticed. Below them people in brown cloaks flowed from the small alcove door like a stream of rats, some of them leaping and scrambling over others in their eagerness to attack the intruders that were causing such a fuss. There were grunts of pain, screams of anger, and shrieks of vicious joy as they surged forward in an uncontrolled and highly undignified rush. They almost seemed like animals, unable to control themselves, and Bo grimaced at the thought of fighting them. Without any warning, the rush slowed almost to a complete stop. Looking closer, it took Bo a second or two to realise that the horde had sunk into the stone floor. Ruben had stopped his magic with the slave collars, already having finished, and on Alexander's request had performed a large spell. The teen straightened, removing his palms from the floor and dusting off his hands. The stone floor was now more like a thick stew, bogging down the cowled attackers to their knees before hardening and catching them in Ruben's trap. They struggled energetically as Alexander began to wade among them, lopping off heads like a gardener might prune weeds, without allowing them the time to get back to their feet for a more honourable battle.

'Come on, now's our chance!' whispered Will, grabbing Bo by his shoulder and dragging his friend down the stairs. Bo stumbled, but quickly regained his footing, following Will, rather than being pulled along. As he raced down he looked over the railing, keeping an eye on the battle. A number of chosen ones who had been climbing on top of their peers had escaped the quicksand stones. They were now converging on Alexander in a bid to keep him occupied while their brethren freed themselves from the rock, and Alexander in turn was fending them off with his one handed axe. Ruben was intent on freeing as many of the prisoners as possible, opening the remaining cages and helping out with defusing collars. Many of the freed slaves were variously attempting to flee the area, or joining in the battle, rallying to Alexander to form a small fighting group that might be able to hold off the cowled people. Some brought crates, and chairs, along with other miscellaneous items that were strewn haphazardly around the slave area, taking them up as both impromptu defence, and weaponry.

Reaching the ground floor, Bo caught a glance of a familiar woman – it was the assassin Queen 'Tracer.' With a gasp of horror, Bo reacted quickly, pulling Will behind one of the columns that was supporting the stairs. As they watched from their hiding place the woman leapt an impossible distance, using one of her own people as a springboard she continued her jump over the regular fighters and into the midst of Alexander's group, quickly causing the untrained slaves to scatter with fear. Alexander grunted with exertion as he unleashed an immediate attack on the woman, rather than pausing in surprise at her abrupt appearance. In one smooth motion he had released the axe on his back, rolling it over his shoulder to gain quick momentum. If she was surprised by the attack, The Queen hid it well. She leapt back slightly, showing off a short sword that was clasped firmly in one hand. With a speed unparalleled by the other fighters, Alexander and the woman exchanged blows, Alexander made up for the slightly slower speed of his weapons by using minimal movements, both attacking and defending in the same motion. Slowly but surely this was driving the assassin woman back, until with a blood curdling battle-cry, one of his heavy axes smashed through her sword, severing it and rendering it useless for battle. The woman jerked back in surprise and the cowl fell away from her face. Alexander froze with horrified surprise as he realised his opponent really was The Queen. The dark skinned, yellow eyed beauty took quick advantage of Alexander's momentary distraction, plunging the stub of her sword into the man's chest. The weapon master was not fast enough to stop her, roughly using his elbow to knock the slimmer opponent aside and send her stumbling. With a grunt of pain, he clutched at the handle protruding from his chest, but did not remove it. It was clear that Alexander was now at a disadvantage, but more than that he seemed less sure of himself, momentarily thrown by the identity of his opponent. Bo knew that the weapon master was intensely loyal to Middlefortress, and wondered whether Alexander would be able to make the killing blow on his rightful ruler. Luckily Alexander was spared the decision when both sides, seeing him injured and the assassin disarmed, rallied to their respective leaders, cutting off the personal battle there.

Unable to spend all his time watching the battle, Bo held up the small golden bee to his face. The bee was still sitting patiently on his finger, pointing directly to the alcove of the chosen ones. With a nod to Will, the former slave jogged cautiously into the small doorway from which the chosen ones had been streaming not moments before. Inside there was an empty hallway. Down the hallway was door upon door upon door, and they all lead to small cramped rooms with enough beds for six people, but hardly room enough to live comfortably. Some seem freshly occupied, while others showed signs of long use. One had a long tally scratched deeply into the wall, presumably to count the days of habitation. There was the staccato slapping of foot on stone floor that made Bo and Will hesitate, drawing back into the shadows. Quickly the large man Bo also recognised as Spellborn jogged down the hall and out of the door to join the battle. He had his eyes trained on his destination and did not notice the two intruders in the shadows. Will scrunched up his nose.

'He reeks of bad magic, does that one.' Bo shrugged, unable to sympathise with Will's senses that he did not share. Quickly, the two ran in the direction that the hulking figure had come from. The further in they went the worse the area smelled. Furthermore, it was noticeably colder, and slime was growing in the cracks between the rocks. Gently Bo prodded the slime (much to Will's disgust) and found that it was wet. Hurrying onwards, spurred by the bee's excited buzzing, the two quickly began to hear murmurs and the occasional shout. As Bo was running through a narrow passage, with Will hard on his heels, the teen heard something that made him come to a screeching halt. Will smacked into Bo and the two nearly went sprawling.

'Bo! Hello? ANYONE!?' the teen looked about him, confused. He could see no door, but it sounded as though Erasmus had called out from right beside him. Glancing down at the bee, Bo sighed in irritation. It was running in little circles on his palm, fluttering its wings so enthusiastically it was nearly taking off. Seeing what the bee was doing, Will made one or two simple gestures with his hands before he began to run them over the stone walls. Bo leaned down to assist Will with his one free hand but the white haired teen shook his head

'I'm feeling for magic.' With a shrug, Bo stood back and let Will work. Finally the silver collar slave's face lit up, and he pushed at one of the blocks. Almost unwillingly it moved inwards, as though it wasn't made to be doing such a thing, but as soon as it had been depressed an entire inch into the wall, there was a low grinding sound, and a secret passageway opened smoothly. With barely a glance between them, and leaving behind the last echoing cries of the fight, Will and Bo slipped into the dark.

After a moment or two their eyes grew used to the gloom, and Bo could see the passageway was lined with more doors. Each door sported a small barred window, and to each window a number of anxious faces were pressed. Suddenly fingers were pushed through one of the windows, and made a mangled attempt to wave at Bo.

'Bo! Over here, it's me Erasmus!' Quickly, Bo and Will hurried over. Will uncoiled some wire from its place around his wrist, and he inserted it into the door. He muttered words, making increasingly complex hand symbols as he worked. Although Will worked at a cool demeanour, his hands were shaking so much that he had a lot of trouble with the finer parts of the spell, and had to start again at one point. Several anxious moments later there was a soft click as the door sprang open. Erasmus slammed into Bo bodily, attempting an enthusiastic hug but only managing to crush the younger teen against the stone wall by the door. Over the last few hours he'd been worrying almost endlessly about Bo, wondering if he had been caught and converted, or if he had escaped and was safe. Although Bo was overjoyed to find his friend intact there were other more important things going on.

'Uhg! Erasmus get off me, this is no time -' Will nodded and moved on to the next door while Bo explained what was happening. 'We found out that the artefact might be some stone where demons have been hidden away for years and years.' Erasmus frowned, opening his mouth to interrupt with a long lecture about the reality of demons, and the fact that they were thought only to act as symbols and metaphors in ancient stories, or at the worst as out and out entertainment. Bo clamped his hand over Erasmus' mouth. 'No just listen – you can talk when we get out of here. We need to be quick. There is a battle outside. Alexander and Ruben are trying to get to the stone to detroy it-'

'It's a priceless artefact!' came a muffled but outraged shriek from Erasmus, who was unable to control himself.

'It's a priceless artefact that is going to bring death and destruction to the world as we know it!' countered Bo. Erasmus looked like he wanted to argue, but Bo continued his explanation before Erasmus could fit a word in. 'So now there is a big battle and people are dying and we need to destroy the stone. You—uAH' Bo was grabbed by a strong hand and thrown back into the stone wall behind him. The teen's head hit the rocks and he fell onto his rump, momentarily stunned.

Standing over Bo was a triumphant looking brown-cowled person. Hazily Bo scrambled to his feet and the woman laughed. On one wrist she wore a golden bangle that glinted in what little light made its way into the secret rooms.

'We knew you'd come here. I was hiding in one of the rooms – weren't expecting that, were you? I think I may have frightened your poor friend to death as well,' she crooned. Bo glanced at the door the woman gestured towards to see Will sprawled flat on his back some way down the corridor. He wasn't moving and a large portion of his semi-luminous white hair was stained a dark red. Erasmus stepped forward to attack, but with a casual gesture the woman sent him flying back into his cell. There was a thud and then not a lot more. Bo grabbed his sword, drawing it and slashing at the woman's midriff with one smooth move, like Alexander had shown him. The woman took a step back and Bo followed, thrusting the sword at her chest. Instead of backing away again, the woman caught the blade in her hand. Bo wrenched his weapon first one way and then the other, but her grip was firm. To his horror her blood began to dribble out of her clenched hand to run down her arm. She sighed heavily,

'Curses, I had forgotten these mortal shells were so fragile.' With that she squeezed the blade. With agonising slowness the blade crumpled in her grasp, but so too did her bones crackle, and blood spurted ever more vigorously from her damaged hand. Bo winced at the sight, unable to maintain his grip on the weapon he backed away from the monstrosity as she casually discarded the now warped blade and advanced on her foe. Bo couldn't look at her ruined hand, as it made him want to throw up and he needed to keep his head. With a roar, the woman launched herself forward, throwing a punch at Bo's head that surely would have shattered his skull had he not ducked out of the way. Instead she hit the wall behind him, crumbling one of the blocks, and breaking a number of her bones in the process. Bo could hear them snapping audibly with the force she was putting into each attack. Bo tried to duck behind her but she caught him by the shoulder with her uninjured hand and slammed him back into place against the wall. Having her opponent pinned, the woman threw another punch to pummel Bo's chest. The teen brought his arms up trying to deflect the blow but it still hit him in the ribs on his left side and the boy gasped in pain. She released her grip and Bo stumbled away from the dangerous opponent, trying to get some distance. The woman's cowl had slipped back, and Bo could see she had become so furious that her eyes had rolled back in her head, and the white orbs were red with blood that had flown into them.

In a rage the woman shrieked, punching the wall several times in her uncontrolled anger, further damaging her hands. From behind the woman, Erasmus launched yet another attack. His wrists were shackled together, and Erasmus looped the shackles around the woman's neck, pulling them tight in an attempt to either stall her or throttle her. With a choked off chuckle that chilled Bo's blood, the woman stomped down on Erasmus' foot. The desert mage howled in pain, and Bo was willing to bet his toes were broken. Beside Bo was his sword. It was crumpled in the middle and covered in gore, but it still had a sharp end. While Erasmus and the woman were otherwise occupied, Bo grabbed his weapon. Standing, the teen swiftly lunged forward, plunging the sword into his opponents chest, before applying as much weight as he could, dragging the blade down the woman's midsection to create a massive wound, from which no regular person could recover. Feeling ill he dropped the weapon and stumbled away as the woman slumped in Erasmus' grasp. The desert mage dropped her and moved back to the wall, clearly almost as shaken as Bo was.

For a good long minute there was silence as everyone collected themselves. Erasmus shuffled over to Will, gently resting a hand on the teen's head.

'Bo. He's still alive, he just got a bad knock to the head. We have to get these shackles off me. Go to that woman, she should have some keys.' Bo mutely picked himself up. He knew he should feel worse about killing someone, and in a way he was sorry, but without the proper time to process what he'd done, he was unable to comprehend the whole mess and its consequences at that second. Unfeelingly Bo roughly removed a large key chain from the woman's belt. Quickly he hurried back to Erasmus, realising that he had been moving sluggishly in his shock after the battle, but knowing that he was needed elsewhere. As soon as the shackles were off, Erasmus leaned over Will, murmuring a few words, and gently holding his hand over the white haired teen's head. Slowly Will's eyes opened. After a moment he grinned and spoke up.

'Looks like everything's okay. Is it lunch time now?' Erasmus asked Will a few basic questions, such as his name, which the slave was able to answer. As Bo freed the remaining captives with the aid of the keys, Will remembered where they were and what they were doing. Erasmus stood, a little shaky after his part in the gory fight, and the subsequent healing magic. He was supported by Will who looked as fit and healthy as a lettermage. They were both looking to Bo, who nodded to himself.

'Everyone! Please pay attention! Outside is a battle for life and death, not only for your own lives, but for the lives of everyone you know! The artefact that has been stolen from the desert has been activated and it is letting demons into this world in the guise of humans. We must fight the brown-cowled people and destroy the stone. If you must flee, then flee, but if you stand and fight, make sure you do it well!' Bo called. There was a general murmur from the crowded desert people, but thankfully they quickly started to move out, confused but willing to listen. Most of them had no idea what was going on.

'Bo! I thought that was your voice!' cheered Arty, clamping a hand on Bo's shoulder. Bo flinched at the gesture, reminded of his battle only moments ago. Noticing the state of his clothes, Arty retracted her hand, wiping it on her shirt. 'Can we have the keys? All of the mages are magic-locked to prevent them from escaping via spells.' Bo handed over the keys, and Arty carefully freed Hayes before leaving to unshackle the other mages of the group. Hayes stayed behind, healing those that needed it. With a groan Bo clutched his ribs – they still ached abominably but there was little he could do about it. Everyone needed to get out and help with the battle. Even as they were speaking, Alexander and Ruben might be overwhelmed. That thought alone was almost enough to set Bo running back the way he'd come to help, despite the hurt in his torso. As soon as everyone was free and ready, the group set off at a jog. Arty, Hayes, and another two warriors helped to coordinate the group so that it was an orderly escape out of the tunnels, rather than a mad rush. Erasmus, Will and Bo were in the lead, as they remembered the way out but Bo was finding it difficult to keep up the pace, as drawing in breath hurt, making it difficult to get in as much air as he needed. He was encouraged, however, as the sounds of battle up ahead grew louder and louder, and as if in response the teen found his steps becoming faster and longer. As soon as the main group spilled from the small door, one half went in the direction of the exit, lead by someone Bo didn't recognise. He wondered briefly if Takeshi was in that group, but did not have the energy to spend on searching out the orange-clad man.

In front of the group who had decided to stay and fight, they could see that the battle was mostly taking place in the middle of the hall. Alexander's army had slowly but surely dwindled, and corpses lay scattered on the ground. Many of the chosen ones who had been initially trapped by Ruben had been killed, but a few had managed to free themselves through one means or another. Ruben, Alexander, and their followers had been prevented from reaching the stone, and were surrounded on all sides by opponents. They had used a number of crates and other miscellaneous furniture to create a kind of barricade that they could use for limited shelter. Alexander himself was still fighting with half a sword sprouting from his chest, but it was obvious that his movements were pained, and they were slower than usual. Everyone was drenched in blood and sweat, and the flickering light from the braziers made the scene seem more hellish than it was already. As Bo watched, momentarily stunned at the carnage, one of the freed slaves screamed shrilly as his own clothes rose up to choke at him. As though someone had let out a battle-cry, the group of desert people who had chosen to stay and fight broke into a charge for the battle

'Fight our way to the main group!' called Arty, her voice carrying over the roar of battle. Bo realised then that he still had his bloody, ruined sword in his hand – but it was his only weapon, and so he carried it with him despite its uselessness. One of the brown-cowled people turned in surprise to face the new threat. He shouted something that sounded arcane at Bo, but when the boy's bones did not sprout thorns to pierce his body, the confused, demon-infested person let out a shriek of fear. Bo stabbed it in the gut, wrenching his sword up and out before the creature could try something more effective, taking it down for the count. All around him the chosen ones were turning their attention to the desert people.

'REINFORCEMENTS!' bellowed Alexander, his voice rumbling over the battle like thunder. There was a hearty cheer from the slave army, who suddenly redoubled their efforts, attempting to meet up with the desert people.

Between the renewed attack of the slaves, and that of the desert people, the confused demons were driven back, and the two groups swiftly met up. Ruben had found himself a spear, and was wielding it with an enthusiasm that didn't really make up for his lack of talent or skill. Luckily Alexander was keeping an eye on the teen, and Ruben had made a great many allies in the slave ranks with his skill at fixing the collars so that they did not work. This meant many of the slaves were more than happy to protect him where his lack of battle prowess got him into danger. More than anything else, however, Ruben was providing as much magical assistance as he could. He looked almost completely drained, and Bo watched as he quickly kneeled over the man who was being attacked by his clothing. Ruben grabbed the clothes, managing to tame them so that they were behaving themselves, but it took a good thirty seconds, by which time the man's shirt had almost succeeded in strangling the unfortunate slave. Erasmus moved in and gently took Ruben back to a safer spot in the middle of the group, while a number of other desert mages spread themselves throughout the ranks of slaves, taking up the role of magical defence and attack.

Hayes and Arty hurried to Alexander, and while Arty took over his battling, Hayes unceremoniously pulled the sword out of his chest. Alexander grunted, clenching his hands around his axes as blood spurted from the wound in a renewed flow.

'Come on, that hurt?' scoffed Arty heartily as she defended against a spear wielder. She had picked up a lithe one handed sword from one of the fallen demons, and was using it with the ease of an expert to fight off her foes, and to deal the occasional debilitating blow. The metal seemed to flicker in her hands as she moved from one stance through another, flowing with the battle. Alexander chuckled grimly,

'No – not hurt. I juzt remember I leave lunch at home.' Arty also let out a sympathetic grunt for the weapon master's predicament as she cleaved one man from shoulder to navel. He stumbled back and another swiftly took his place. Hayes merely shook her head with irritation at the antics of Arty and Alexander, setting her concentration on healing Alexander's chest. Having no inks with her, Hayes was forced to use the blood that had seeped from Alexander's wound to draw hasty symbols on the front of his leather chest-plate. The symbols lifted only very slowly as she wove her spell, and it looked like some of them refused to dissipate entirely.

'This is... difficult. Have you been healed often?' Alexander did not respond immediately, but Hayes felt she already knew the answer. She continued her efforts, but she was only able to stop the bleeding. 'This wound is deep and you are too resistant to healing for me to close it up here and now. You will need bed rest.' Alexander nodded.

'Vill rezt vhen dead, yez? Iz feelink good az new. You are good healer.' With that Alexander used his great two handed axe to pull himself up, and launched himself back into battle, shedding his weariness like a cumbersome great-coat.

Soon the battle opened up. What had once been a tight knit group was expanding as the demons were driven back. The army of slaves, desert people, and others were slowly but surely making their way toward the altar where the artefact was seated. Most of the demons had regrouped to block the way to the altar, finally having realised what was going on. They created a scrum, with both groups facing off against one another, each trying to push the other back. Bo fought near Will, with Ruben backing them up with magic. They had convinced him to give up the spear in favour of being solely devoted to their magical defence, mostly so that he didn't feel the need to put himself in danger, but also partly so he would stop accidentally hitting them in the head with the spear shaft. Bo had discarded his sword for another that he'd picked up from the battleground. It wasn't as good as his last, but it also wasn't crumpled beyond use or clotted with gore. Bo attacked and parried as best as he could. It was like when he and Will had been sparring, and the action had gone too fast for him to actively process through his conscious mind. Instead he felt as though he was entirely detached from reality, as he hacked and sliced and waded through the gore of battle. He could feel his limbs tiring as they pushed forward. Occasionally someone would land a blow on him, but he couldn't feel the damage, and he would keep going. Will seemed to be much the same, and the two did not speak to each other as they moved, trying to keep themselves alive, for the most part, against a tireless, physically superior horde of enemies. Ruben cried out as a slave nearby went down, attacked by a horde of stone insects. The teen hurried to help the downed slave. Before Bo could turn to help, a large blot loomed in his peripheral vision. Without warning a huge fist smacked into his head, sending him tumbling into Will. Bo snapped back to reality, broken out of his dazed fighting. Standing over him, massaging his knuckles, was none other than Spellborn. He was about twice the size of an average man, and his arms were almost as thick as Bo's entire body. His jutting lower jaw was a dead giveaway, however, and the the brown cloak he wore looked as though it was splitting at the seams.

'You! Bin tryin ter magic ya but it won't take. What's the deal?' The man seemed almost affronted. Bo gasped, picking himself up even as he felt his jaw swelling and throbbing with pain. The chosen ones who had been fighting nearby quickly backed away from the situation and turned their attention elsewhere, leaving Spellborn on his own. Will muttered something darkly about the man's stench, while moving through rapid hand symbols. The air around Spellborn rippled as the white haired teen's magic closed in around his large opponent. With a grunt of surprise, the man lowered his brow, and grunted with exersion, planting his foot on the ground and punching out at Will. Although the blow did not physically connect, Will groaned, crumpling to his knees and dropping his weapon. Will clenched his fist, twisting it violently before thrusting it towards Spellborn. The evil magician was picked up into the air and slammed bodily into the ground. Bo launched himself at the downed giant, but received a kick to the torso as Spellborn quickly recovered. The hefty mage flipped to his feet with an agility Bo had not suspected and followed his kick through with another, sending Bo flying. Will continued to make hand gestures, his face draining of what little colour it had as he continued, and his hands becoming slower and slower in their motions, as though he was pushing them through clay. Dirt rose up around Spellborn forming a large upright coffin. slowly the lid was forcing itself closed, but Spellborn was desperately trying to muscle it open. Before it could close up entirely, Spellborn's arms burst through the lid, dispelling it with his own magic. Will gasped, dripping with sweat, but Spellborn was not looking too well himself. His face had taken on a grim expression, and he drooped slightly, giving him a hunch. Deliberately he pulled back one sleeve of his cowl, exposing a large tattoo. To Bo it looked like gibberish, but the man quickly slapped at the tattoo with one of his hands, before holding it out at Will. Faster than Will could dodge, thorny vines grew up from the ground, shattering the stone tiles, and grasping their prey tightly. Will cried out as he was lifted from the ground by the crushing tendrils. The white haired boy's hands were yanked apart, making it impossible for him to use magic, while Spellborn strode wearily toward him, clearly thinking himself the victor. The giant mage raised one of his over-large hands, directing the vines to wrap around Will's neck. Collecting himself once more, Bo rushed at the giant, managing to get in a cut or two, and to break the man's concentration. With a roar Spellborn turned, kicking out at Bo, who dodged, trying to buy Will some time. The white haired slave struggled, yanking his right hand from the vines but having deep scratches scored into his skin from the thorns. Hurriedly he performed a few brief hand symbols, and the vines burst into flame, popping and sizzling as they burned. Spellborn paused in his attack. With a look of intense pain crossing his face, he roared and staggered back, beating at his body as though trying to put out a fire. Bo took the opportunity to lunge forward, sinking his sword into the mage's torso. The man did not seem phased. Instead, blinded by pain, he grabbed Bo by his sword hand, and lifted the teen into the air. Bo tried to pull his arm free but to no avail. Almost like a baby with a rag doll, the large man dashed Bo onto the ground, before picking the boy up again. Bo grunted in pain, having his breath pummelled from his body he was momentarily stunned. Quickly Will used his opponent's distraction to shout a spell over the din of battle, using his most complicated symbols and gestures in quick succession. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, and Spellborn's grip tightened marginally around Bo's arm. The teen assumed Will must have failed, but then the giant staggered, and fell. Spellborn's grip faltered and Bo dropped heavily, scrambling to his feet to continue the battle. Bo looked at his sword, which was still sticking out of the giant's chest, realising what Will had done. The blade had sprouted sharp thin metal spikes that had lanced straight through Spellborn's internal organs, killing the man outright. Gasping for breath as though he'd run a marathon, Will sank slowly to sit on the ground. He was bleeding from numerous places, and Bo could tell just from looking that his friend was almost entirely spent. Despite his own aches and pains, which took the opportunity to make themselves known, Bo turned back to battle before weariness could overcome him. Alexander's army had almost managed to make it to the altar, and had pushed back the other forces while he and Will had been busy. Seeing that Ruben was just finishing his destruction of the golem insects, Bo grabbed his friend by the shoulder. He first made sure Will was being attended to before pushing nearer to the front of the scrum, and dragging Ruben along with him, aiming for where Alexander and Arty cutting down any who dared oppose them, forming a point that was slicing through the weaker parts of the demons' defensive formation. Alexander was clearly starting to wear out, and had discarded his largest axe, as one of his arms was temporarily out of action, no matter how good a job Hayes had done with healing him.

Alexander puffed with each swing of his axe, clearly not at his best. Arty had fallen into silence, knowing that nothing she could say would make the old weapon master hold back or take a break - after all if she had been in his position she would have been exactly the same. As they fought there came a sharp battle cry that cut through the monotony of other sounds. Alexander shifted almost imperceptibly, making himself ready without losing any ground or falling into a completely defensive stance. Dropping in from above, The Queen landed before Arty and Alexander. She was holding two knives in her hands that were each roughly a foot long, and gleamed as though they were as hungry for battle as their owner.

'I command you to stop battling this instant, weapon master!' she demanded, ducking in to slash at Arty. Arty parried, confused as to what the woman was talking about. Alexander on the other hand remained grimly determined.

'Vould not zay thiz if you vere Queen. This iz best for kingdom, muzt deztroy ztone.' The woman growled angrily as she nimbly avoided Arty's retaliatory strikes, weaving her way past the other woman's guards to slash at her hands. Arty hissed as her knuckles were rapped with the sharp edge of the dagger and pulled back into a more defensive position with hot blood trickling down her hands. Alexander struck out with his axe, but The Queen quickly skipped out of the way.

'Then if you won't stop fighting, at least have the courtesy to die!' growled the woman, and with that she flung one of her daggers at Alexander' head with the speed of a striking snake. The weapon master reacted as fast as he could, bringing his hand up to shield himself. The blade buried itself into Alexander's palm, easily sliding straight through his hand, but coming to a halt before it could pierce his eye. The stocky man said nothing, and gave no other indication of pain, hurriedly dropping his hand to his side so he had an unimpeded view of battle. Arty stepped forward to attack while her opponent was down by one dagger, taking the yellow eyed woman by surprise. The Queen yowled as Arty left a deep wound in her upper left arm, and moved back towards her fighters. One of the brown-cowled fighters placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, and the wound healed instantly. Having completed this task, the fighter knelt to the ground, plunging their hand into the dirt they pulled out a sword, formed perfectly from rock. The sword shone for a moment before becoming solid metal with a regular grip. Gratefully The Queen accepted this new weapon, as the person in the cloak pulled back their cowl in order to better see what they were doing. The white wispy hair that was tied back into a short ineffective pony tail, along with the long, beaky nose and pale skin was enough to let even a desert warrior know who they were up against, even if they couldn't feel the aura of power that surrounded him.

'Lance.' growled Alexander bluntly. Without further pause for thought the weapon master dived forward with his axe, but Lance cast a spell that sent Alexander flying back through the front ranks of the slave army and further into a stack of crates that collapsed around him. The Queen darted forward, her new weapon at the ready, and engaged Arty in battle, rendering the warrior unable to stop Lance, who was striding boldly straight into the slave ranks. Bo, seeing what was coming, shrank back, letting go of Ruben. He hurried to where Alexander had landed, pulling crates away in the hopes of extricating the weapon master. Erasmus, who was nearby quickly flew to his friend, standing in between Lance and Bo. Lance frowned and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, but Erasmus stood as strong as a rock while fey breezes swept over him, tearing his cowl to shreds and sending it flying away. The older mage smiled disingenuously, unaffected.

'You're not too bad, for a whelp.' Erasmus said nothing, but Bo knew that the desert mage was casting a spell of his own. For a moment neither Lance nor Erasmus moved a muscle. Sweat broke out on Erasmus' face, and Lance took a step back, and then another, as though he was being pushed physically. Bo noticed that the white haired mage was no longer standing on the ground, but was floating above it by two or three inches. Below him the rocks bubbled like boiling liquid, before tendrils oozed out into the air, trying and failing to grasp the older mage. Lance retaliated, coming to a halt, and even managing to take a step forward. With an inhuman roar, of the kind that sounded like tortured metal, Lance made a wide armed gesture. With a sudden groan, Erasmus fell to his knees, all of the animation left his body and he fell to the stone tiles and lay unmoving. Smirking triumphantly, Lance drifted back to earth, striding over the battlefield towards Bo like he was in no real hurry. Without his bright armour, Bo could see that Lance's body was spindly and thin, almost to an unnatural degree.

'I don't see why the master wants you of all people, nor why people seem so desperate to throw their lives away for you' the man's voice was cold and devoid of any charming eccentricity that he may once have had. 'You are pretty pathetic. Can't fight, don't know magic. Oh I have been watching you. I think I am a much better choice. See how powerful I am? I may old, but look at my strength!' He slammed Bo vindictively into a crate with a punch that moved too fast to dodge. Lance had clearly enhanced his body with magic to give him the same preternatural advantages of the demon possessed people. 'And once I have the demon inside me it won't matter. I will be technically immortal anyway.' Lance continued. He grabbed Bo around the throat with one hand as the boy struggled to rise. The old mage straightened up and peered intently at his prey, as though daring Bo to speak out. The teen had managed to slip a few fingers inside the stranglehold, but he found loosening Lance's grip to be impossible.

'But I thought you were insane?' choked Bo. Lance laughed, dropping the boy and giving him a solid kick. By this time a number of other slaves had decided to gang up on the powerful mage, lead by a determined looking Ruben, but almost without glancing up Lance blasted them away, toppling them like trees in a cyclone. One flew into a brazier, knocking it over and spilling fire into the frenzied fighting.

'Work with magic long enough and you will always become insane, remember? There is no right and wrong answer any more. How do you know what is sane when you can make two plus two equal the scent of yellow? I'm only sane because I realise how insane I actually am. You wouldn't understand that though would you, being too incredibly dull.' Again Lance viciously kicked Bo who was attempting to scramble away. The teen could see a sword lying amidst the rubble nearby. It had spilled out of one of the upended crates and Bo had been making his way towards it. Sliding slightly closer to the sword from the kick, the teen clutched at his abused ribs as Lance leaned down. 'This little spell is one I cooked up especially for you. You will die, but only after excruciating agony – or so I am lead to believe by my test subjects. You should have stayed safe like I told you to, rather than getting noticed by The Queen, and spoiling my plans. I know the master wants you alive, but battles are brutal and people die in them. Why should you be special?' With that Lance reached down, his spindly, long fingered hand covering Bo's face as he muttered a long string of words. All around the battle raged, and the fire grew, slowly inching along the ground towards the crates that were at the heart of the slave's fighting group. Bo reached out and snatched at the sword, finally close enough, and brought it down on Lance's shoulder while the old mage was still wondering why his spell hadn't worked. Lance howled leaping back and away from Bo. He stretched out one hand towards the teen, and everything behind and around Bo was blasted backwards forcefully, punching a huge hole in both of the slave and demon armies. Bo grinned tiredly, realising Lance hadn't figured out his secret yet.

'You think you are powerful? You haven't even realised yet that I have more powerful magic than you will ever have,' boasted the teen, pulling himself up and lunging forwards to slice at Lance with his sword. The mage barely managed to dodge, pausing to try another spell which tore the skeleton out of a nearby slave. They didn't even manage a scream. Bo attacked again, and slashed open a wound on Lance's arm. 'Have you figured out how to get around my shields yet?' taunted the teen, continuing his attack, and slowly driving Lance back towards the fire.

'This is impossible!' howled Lance, trying yet another spell that lifted the tiles around Bo into the air and turned them to dust. Bo thrust his blade toward the elderly mage, before following through with a powerful downward slash, managing to hit Lance with both attacks. Desperately the mage was scrambling for new spells, trying one after another. Finally he was backed up to the spilled fire, panting and sweating with the energy he had expended trying to prove his powers against the former slave. 'What kind of trickery is this? You aren't trained in magic! You're just a stupid illiterate guttersnipe!' Bo didn't reply, denying Lance the satisfaction of understanding. He lunged forward grimly, tackling Lance and driving his sword into the man's chest. Lance landed in the burning sludge that had spilled from the brazier and shrieked, bucking with the pain of the flames at his back, and scrambling at his attacker, trying to get Bo off. The teen held on grimly, not wishing to be thrown into the fire himself. Sweat coated his body, and Lance's still powerful fingers clawed frantically at his flesh, but in a moment it was over. Lance shuddered and fell still, the burning lake of sludge still surrounding him, and his death going largely unnoticed to those in battle around him. Bo scrambled back to safe land, shivering uncontrollably. He didn't look back at the body, not wanting to see the results of what he had done. Instead, Bo headed towards Ruben, focusing on what he had yet to do. It was time to end the fight and destroy the artefact.

# Chapter 19: Traitors, Death, and Desperation

Arty staggered back. The sword that Lance had given The Queen seemed to enhance the woman's natural fighting ability, making her stronger and faster than she normally would be. Arty swung her weapon, trying to keep up with her foe, but it was almost impossible, and the desert warrior was forced into an entirely defensive stance to avoid being hacked to bits. What really annoyed her more than anything else was the fact that The Queen knew she had the upper hand, and was toying with Arty rather than finishing her off directly. The warrior woman grunted as The Queen's blade scored a wound across her shoulder. Soon Arty was forced back into a pile of crates. She had almost nowhere to go, and The Queen continued to whittle away at the desert warrior in a sadistic rage. Arty cried out as her sword hand was struck hard. With blood running down her arm making the handle of her sword too slick for a weakened hand to grasp, the warrior was forced to drop her weapon. Never one to give up, however, Arty scrambled to her feet and took up an unarmed stance.

'Hah! Give it up already. Why don't you beg on your knees for a little bit and I will make your death as quick as I can?' Arty did not respond, instead hitting out with her bloodied knuckles. The Queen laughed at the attempted attack, skipping back before twirling in to smash the pommel of her sword into Arty's head. The red clothed warrior stumbled, but managed to remain upright. With a snarl The Queen kicked her opponent in the chest, knocking Arty back against the crates again. Swiftly The Queen raised her sword and plunged it toward her enemy's chest. Arty was unable to get out of the way in time, and the desert warrior faced her foe unblinkingly, ready for the shock of pain that would run through her breast. At that moment, the magic that Lance had used to kept the sword formed ran out, and the sword crumbled to dust, starting from the tip but working its way up the weapon faster than The Queen could use it to stab. Arty did not waste her chance, kicking at The Queen to drive the woman back before leaping back to her feet and pursuing the fight. Bodily Arty launched herself at The Queen before her foe could recover, delivering blow after blow that set the assassin stumbling. The Queen fought back, relying on the wounds Arty had already sustained to weaken her opponent. Striking at the open wounds, The Queen managed to force Arty into a retreat until the two were fighting in the middle of Alexander's army. With a shout, The Queen landed a high kick, causing her opponent to stumble and trip over the debris that littered the ground. Wasting no time she pounced, wrapping her hands around Arty's throat applying pressure. Arty kicked her opponent in the gut but The Queen held tight, choking off the desert warrior's breath. Arty could feel her tired limbs deadening and giving up the fight for survival, no matter how much she willed them to move. Spots danced wildly across Arty's vision, but behind The Queen, she could just make out a figure rising from the crates like a ghost from the grave. Shucking off the broken timber and miscellaneous items that had been stored in the boxes, Alexander took in the scene before him. He had passed out for a few minutes after Lance's attack, but had been brought around by the acrid tang of smoke, as the crates caught that surrounded him caught alight. This had given him enough motivation to wrestle his tired body from the wooden debris, and he had quickly found his feet. Alexander still had a knife sticking through his hand, although he had dropped his axe. His beady blue eyes gleamed with the light of the fire that was burning brightly around the battlefield. The air shivered with heat, but Alexander's gaze was on the battle between his Queen and the desert warrior that he'd met only weeks before. Without pause, Alexander tore the long bladed dagger from his hand, and stabbed it deeply into The Queen's back.

Arty's view suddenly began to clear, as The Queen's grip slackened, and her eyes widened in surprise. The desert warrior kicked her foe away, gasping and massaging her neck as the assassin stumbled backwards. With a groan of pain The Queen toppled backwards, but Alexander was there to catch her, and he gently lowered his ruler to the ground. The weapon master's hand was bleeding profusely, and Arty quickly deduced what had happened.

'I geev knife back, yez?' Alexander muttered grimly. 'You muzt make Ruben keel arte-fact- my hand iz not good. Cannot fight vell enough to protect.' Arty nodded curtly, understanding that everyone had their limits in a battle, and Alexander had just passed his. The tired weapon master sat heavily next to his Queen as she lay, unable to move, and slowly dying. Not wishing to intrude, Arty left them to search for Ruben amidst the confusion of battle. The slaves were clearly starting to tire as the fight wore on. The desert mages were pale and had a number of wounds. Some lay dead, their corpses intermingled with those of regular fighters, slaves and politicians. Many of the demons had been dispatched but those who were still left could sense that the battle was shifting in their favour - especially after the strong point made up of Arty and Alexander had been taken out. Slowly the slaves were being forced back and away from the altar, as the demons drew strength from the hope that they would win if they pressed forward.

Bo and Ruben stumbled blindly through the carnage. The smoke stung at their eyes and it felt like the sounds of battle would never cease. Bo stumbled over a body. Looking down he discovered that it was a mage. For a moment his throat closed, until he realised it was not Erasmus. A quick search of the nearby debris, however, revealed that Erasmus was still lying where he had fallen in the battle with Lance. Hurriedly the teen knelt next to his friend, turning the mage onto his back and checking his vitals. There was no physical sign of damage, but Bo could only imagine what had been going on when the desert mage had been fighting Lance. Erasmus was alive, but he seemed weak, and Bo closed his eyes with worry. He didn't know if he could continue to fight any longer, but he knew that the battle wasn't yet over. Hayes joined the two. She was looking a little the worse for wear, having been both fighting like a warrior and healing like a mage, her stamina would have impressed Bo if he'd been in the right mind to appreciate it. The kindly woman gave Bo a flask of something,

'Here have this. It's just some tea. I used magic to make it more potent, but it should clear your head and your throat.' Bo hadn't realised quite how thirsty he was until he had been handed a drink but he was certainly grateful for the rehydration as fat drops of sweat slithered down his back and sides. Feeling much better, he handed the flask back and Hayes smiled, tapping the inscription on the side of the bottle and muttering under her breath.

'Doesn't take too much effort to refill this one!' she exclaimed, but Bo noticed that she was looking more worn down than ever. Gently Hayes splashed some of the fresh water into Erasmus' face to wake him up. The mage jolted awake, gasping and spluttering as though he had been running without stop for the last five minutes. His eyes were terribly bloodshot and he didn't seem to be looking at anything in front of him. Erasmus struggled desperately to rise, shouting out to be released immediately. Bo and Hayes held him down to prevent him from rushing blindly out into the danger of battle, fearing he had lost his mind. The mage bucked and kicked, but slowly he began to settle down. Blinking slowly, his intellectual brown eyes came into focus on his friends' concerned faces.

'Erasmus, are you okay?' asked Bo cautiously. The mage croaked out something through dry lips, and Hayes offered him the flask, which she had to refill two or three times before Erasmus was sated. As soon as he was able to speak, the lanky mage began to babble, his voice strained with agitation.

'Books- on fire. So many. I tried to save them but The Pied Piper was there. His music- I couldn't break free. I can still hear it Bo-' Once again Erasmus struggled to rise, heaving and bucking in his attempt to get free.

'Erasmus stop! He's- he's gone,' pleaded Bo. The teen didn't know who the pied piper was, but he'd not seen any pipers during the battle. Erasmus gave his companion a sharp look that wasn't entirely friendly.

'What did you do?' taken aback by the sudden mood swing from frightened to aggressive, Bo simply stared at Erasmus, wondering if perhaps his friend had suffered some kind of damage after all. Before Bo could think of a reply Ruben limped back towards them, accompanied by Arty. There was a deep wound on the teen's left leg that Bo hadn't even noticed before now.

'Hayes. Please see to the boy. We need him fighting fit.' Arty allowed Ruben to fall next to Erasmus. The desert mage fell silent and still, his eyes staring heatedly at Bo in a silent accusation as attention drifted to the state of Ruben's leg. Bo shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure what he had done to earn Erasmus' ire, and afraid that there was something deeply wrong with his friend's mind.

Hayes claimed Ruben had been easy to heal, as it was almost the first time he'd ever needed such a large spell cast on him. Arty merely nodded her approval, more concentrated on the task at hand.

'We need to get to the artefact, but the battle has turned and there is a ring of defenders around it now.'

'You looking for someone to blow a hole in the enemy's ranks?' Bo looked around to find Will had managed to find his way back to the group. 'Come on you weren't going in without me were ya? I got my beauty sleep an' all, see don't I look fresh as a flower?' Bo gave his friend a long stare. Will was stooped with fatigue and covered in minor cuts and bruises, along with the occasional larger wound. His skin was pale and sweaty, and his hair was matted with a mixture of perspiration and blood.

'Only a flower that's been hacked at by a mad gardener,' Bo said bluntly. A tired grin forced its way onto Will's face.

'Blasting our way in is good. Let's go with that?' suggested Ruben. Uncharacteristically he was the only one focused on the matter at hand and Bo quickly focused back on what they had to do. He looked over the burning battlefield at the monster that loomed ominously. Despite the flames that surrounded it, the monster's body remained as black as pitch, slowly shifting as its galaxy of eyes swirled and moved, watching the battle eagerly. Bo realised with a shudder that the largest eye was staring directly at him. Cold crept up and down Bo's spine as the horror of approaching the monster hit him full force. It was waiting for him, and he was going to walk directly into its grasp. Unable to tear his gaze from the creature, Bo trembled as it flexed and undulated. Hayes decided that she would join the group, and nothing Arty could say would stop her.

'I'm coming too,' said Bo grimly, surprising himself with the clarity and strength of his voice. He knew that he had to help slay the beast, or all of the battle would be for nothing. Arty let out a sigh of frustration, but Bo shook his head, 'I am the only one who can see what it really looks like, aren't I? So what if you need to know what it's doing?' reluctantly Arty was forced to agree. Hayes had cast a spell of sleep over Erasmus, and they left him in the care of Alexander, seeing that the lanky mage was in no fit mental state to follow them into the thick of battle.

It was tough going, pushing their way through the army of slaves and desert people. Occasionally they would draw the interest of a demon, which had to be fought off as they continued to push toward their destination.

'Block your ears!' shouted Will. Bo used small strips of cloth that he cut from the bandages around his hands to plug up his ears. Will, in the meantime, slammed his fists together before moving through several intricate hand signals. As he continued he moved faster and faster, a look of intense concentration on his face, until finally his spell was ready. With one last murmured word, the white haired teen stomped, his foot landing with the sound of thunder. A crack quickly spread from the toe of his boot to the altar. It was small and barely noticeable, until it let forth a horrible noise, like the screeching of nails on a chalkboard. Bo had thought the thunder loud, and had instinctively crouched, but the noise afterwards was enough to make his teeth ache, and a powerful headache to blossom in his skull. It was so loud that several of the nearest people reeled back with their ears bleeding, making Bo glad he'd been warned to block his. Everyone around the crack was forced to cover their ears, and many even shut their eyes, unable to block out the noise. Will panted, and dropped to one knee, nearly worn out by his endeavour. Bo quickly scooped up his friend and with the rest of the small group they hurried toward the altar, stumbling from the noise despite the fact that they had been forewarned. They moved as fast as they could, breaking through the ranks of confused and distracted enemies and making straight for the monster on the altar.

Bo swallowed his anxieties as the largest eye slowly moved down the body until it was level with his head. Likewise, the closer the group got, the more eyes that were attracted to them, until almost every eye on the beast was directed at Bo and his friends. Reaching the altar, Arty and Hayes hung back to hold off the tide of demons, while Bo, Will, and Ruben approached the artefact. Bo paused, uncertain as to how to get to the artefact, but Ruben wandered into the very body of the beast, apparently unconcerned, and Bo had to remind himself that only he could see the truth. The giant eye hovered right in front of him now, as if daring him to enter, and the black body swelled and churned like the ocean in a storm. Hearing a shout from Ruben, Bo forced himself to move forward, taking Will with him. It was a shock as the gaseous darkness of the beast's body enveloped him. Almost immediately his body cooled and the sweat on his skin turned cold. The teen was suddenly aware of his clothes clinging to his body unpleasantly. Ruben was nowhere to be seen, and Bo worried his friend may have already somehow been consumed. Steam puffed from Bo's mouth with every breath he took and the sounds of battle died away entirely. He looked up in amazement as eyes swirled around the group silently in a confusing cyclone. Unable to move in a straight line due to the confusion, Bo stumbled and the eyes descended on him.

'Stop! Go away!' On Bo's shout, the eyes fled like startled birds, but he could tell they were still somewhere close by, waiting, watching. Suddenly, up ahead, Ruben came into view. He seemed impossibly distant, as though space had been extended and reality warped within the monster. Although Bo knew it must be the honest truth, he could hardly believe that what was set before his eyes was not an illusion caused by magic. In front of Ruben there stood a large rock that was laced with gold veins that throbbed gently, partially covered by a semi-transparent skin of rock. On the face of the rock there was a symbol stamped in a deep black ink, with mysterious indecipherable writing scrawled in a surprisingly hurried hand, as though the maker had been in dire danger as they wrote. Black tendrils encircled Ruben, holding the boy in place.

'I don't seem to be able to move. I don't know if it is magic though? What's happening guys?' With a shout of worry, Bo dropped Will and grabbed the dagger from Ruben's belt, using it to hack at the tendrils. Like a gelatinous slime, they severed easily, letting forth a small moan as they disappeared. 'uh, thanks Bo. I think.' Ruben turned back to the rock, and with a frown he placed his hands on it. His fingers actually sank into the rock skin until they came into contact with the gold seams, almost as though the stone was made of liquid.

'This is difficult,' was all he said, before lapsing into silence. Suddenly the eyes were back, and whirling around Bo faster than ever. Something grabbed at Bo's left hand and the teen struggled to free himself from the shapeless black mass, again cutting at it with the knife. This time there was no helping himself, and the ooze sucked up the knife, like glue, rather than parting easily at the touch of the blade. Desperately, Bo tugged at his weapon, but the ooze was creeping up and over his arm, slowly moving towards his head and chest. He struggled to move away from it, but found his feet rooted to the spot. Looking down the teen was horrified to find that the black had attacked him there too.

'Will! Help me!' He shouted fearfully. The giant eye loomed out of the darkness, joining the swirling maelstrom of the beast as Bo was ever so slowly enveloped by the cold blackness. Slowly a mouth formed in front of Bo.

'You are difficult to consume, boy without magic.' Bo struggled furiously. Managing to rip one of his feet free, he tugged violently at the other restraints. Will was uncertainly helping him, trying to pull him away from whatever was holding him, but the white haired slave was unable see what was wrong and was proving useless.

'Why do you want to consume me then?' asked Bo desperately. The formless mass surrounding his hands started to grow fingers as it crept up his forearm that stroked and pried as they pulled ever closer to his face and head.

'Magic is what put me here. If I take over your body then magic can never touch me again. I will be strong and fast and wise, and no one will ever catch me again! Don't worry Boy, your death will only be brief.' Panic welled in Bo's chest as he struggled. He could see that a similar black substance had started to crawl up Ruben's legs, even as the teen was working on destroying the stone. It was moving alarmingly quickly.

'Got it. Now, where's that knife?' muttered Ruben, patting at his belt.

'Will give Ruben a knife!' screamed Bo. Confused, Will let go of Bo, and grabbed his own dagger from his belt. A vine of black shot out, piercing Will's hand, and forcing him to drop the knife. Will cried out in pain, but with his free hand he stooped and grabbed the dagger as quickly as he could, practically hurling himself at Ruben, who accepted the weapon, even as Will was tugged back by his wounded hand and slammed into the floor. Fumbling slightly, Ruben lined up the blade, and then slammed it down into the rock, causing tiny tremors in the ground that made all of Bo's hair stand on end.

The darkness had almost reached Ruben's armpits as a large crack formed in the artefact, and Ruben forced the blade of the dagger further into it, grunting with exertion. From every direction a terrible screeching cry ripped forth, and the eyes whirled, pelting themselves against Will, Bo and Ruben in an attempt to blast them away. Ruben shouted wordlessly, holding onto the knife for all he was worth against the hail of eyes and the darkness that had almost completely consumed him.

With a crackle of electricity, the crack deepened and tendrils of darkness plucked desperately at Ruben's hands, trying to loosen his grip. Ruben grunted, almost losing his grasp on the dagger, as tiny invisible barbs pried at him. Bo struggled as the gelatinous darkness finally enveloped his head, its cold fingers creeping across his face and down his throat, clogging up his breathing. The teen tried to scream as his vision was blacked out and all senses were stolen from him. Seeing Ruben in trouble, Will tore his hand free of the tendril, and returned to his friend's side, hurriedly grasping the dagger in both of his hands and adding his weight, pushing it further into the rock.

With a resounding CRACK the rock split right down the middle. Ruben was finally pulled down by the beast, landing face first on the ground, but it was too late – the damage had been done. Bright light spilled forth from the rock and Will stumbled back, trying to shield his eyes. The light was so bright that it shone through his skin, and flesh, leaving shadows on his body where his bones were for a brief second, before growing brighter still until all that Will could see was a burning whiteness.

The beast screeched in pain as it too was blasted by the light, and burned from within. As the dark body dissipated, the coolness evaporated and soon the clamour and heat of battle seeped back into Bo's numbed consciousness. The teen slumped to the ground, panting heavily as his lungs gratefully filled themselves. Slowly he opened his eyes, wincing as he was visually assaulted once more by the carnage of desperate battle. Cautiously, he checked his body, before looking up to his friends and letting out a bark of relieved laughter – he was still himself.

He saw Ruben slowly picking himself up from the ground looking as confused and bewildered as ever. Will, however, had fallen to his knees and was pressing his hands firmly against his face, even though the brightness eminating from the artefact had completely died out. When Bo helped him up, the silver collared slave refused to remove his hands from his face, stumbling blindly against his friends as they led him away from the altar.

All around the demons realised that the fight was over for them, and began to flee. A few were taken down as they ran, but many managed to escape, either through the chimney in the ceiling, the grate that lead to the sewers, or the secret passages in the castle walls. Soon enough all that could be heard was the moan of the injured, and the crackle of flames as they consumed all that they came into contact with. Bo murmured to Will.

'You okay?' His voice was scratchy, but concern still clearly coloured his tone. Will shook his head heavily, hands still firmly in place. Confused Bo pulled at Will's arm, trying to see what Will was covering up. Reluctantly, Will peeled his hands away, allowing them to drop to his sides.

'I can't see' Will whispered. Bo nearly recoiled at Will's eyes. They had been pale before but now there was no sign of any pupil there at all. It was as though the light from the artefact had seared Will's sight away.

'Don't worry. I am sure we can get you to a healer.' Shakily Will nodded, accepting Bo and Ruben's assistance. They were met by Arty and Hayes who had sustained a number of nasty looking wounds, but who were clearly still trying their best to keep up a positive outlook. Hayes quickly healed Will's bleeding hand, not commenting on the teen's eyes, although Bo caught her flashing Arty a worried look. The small group walked unsteadily back down to find Erasmus sitting with Alexander and The Queen. Erasmus was looking much more alert, although he now sported a steadily blooming black eye. On seeing Bo the lanky mage went red and scrambled to his feet, taking his friend in a tight embrace. Bo winced as his ribs complained, but was oddly glad that Erasmus wasn't angry at him.

'I'm sorry Bo! I just wasn't thinking right. Alexander er... knocked some sense into me.' Bo laughed tiredly. His ribs felt terrible, along with the rest of his body, but he couldn't stop himself until he'd run out of breath. It felt good to be enclosed in Erasmus' embrace, even through the sweat and the smell of blood. Finally Erasmus let him go, and Bo turned to Alexander.

'We destroyed it.' Alexander nodded, gesturing to The Queen.

'She tell me. Demon ztone not known to King, but ve vill be gettink in trouble for killink Quveen yez? All desert people muzt flee Kingdom. Tonight. Iz no trial, iz juzt execution.' Slowly the smile slipped from Bo's face. 'She vas keeping secret. Hopink to haff demon geev her power. Iz foolish. Power come from zelf.' With a tired sigh, Alexander got to his feet. Despite his wounds, the weapon master picked up The Queen's body gently.

'I vill take back and put Quveen in throne room. Then I find you at stables. Ve leave before sun rise.' With that Alexander walked away, carrying the dead Queen over the battlefield. The ground was torn by magic. Here and there people had been turned to stone, and the floor had been become a grey liquid in some places. Huge holes in the ground had appeared, and plants were growing all over the place. People lay dead and dying on the ground, and fire was greedily making its way across the cavern, stemming from the altar as though it was the blood of the broken stone.

'We need to get everyone who is alive out of here.' murmured Arty, slipping away to begin the hard work of cleaning up.

It took several hours to gather those who were still alive. Not many of the slaves had survived, and there was more than one person that needed to be carried. In total, including Bo, Ruben, Erasmus, Will, Hayes, and Arty, the group of survivors totalled 24. Slowly they ascended the stairs and entered the passageways beyond the cavern. The misleading spell had been broken, and the group made their way slowly and carefully through the tunnels. Will, who had often claimed to be able to navigate the tunnels blindfolded, proved to be as good as his word. Despite not being able to see, he managed to guide the group to an exit that came out near the stables. Slave and desert people alike hurried to the large building, to be greeted by those who had fled the battle. Many people did not wish to speak to those who had not stayed to fight, thinking them cowards, but there were others who understood that not everyone had strong enough spirit to endure battle. The magicians who had not seen battle were fresh and eager to heal those who were in need, and by the time Alexander came back, everyone was able to stand on their own two feet. He nodded grimly, refusing to let any of the healers near him.

'Ve take horses and carts. Get out of city as King's hunters. Hurry, ve get out before dawn.' As everyone scrambled to get themselves transport, Bo asked Alexander,

'We? Are you coming with us?' the weapon master gave the former slave an odd look.

'I am dead man in kingdom – die in veapon ztore-house fire, remember? I vill come and talk to council at desert. Iz important news to speak, that Queen tell me before she die. I haff to varn.' Without explaining himself further Alexander moved off to help direct people. Bo looked to Erasmus who was frowning, but shrugged.

'I didn't hear anything. It must have been before I woke up.' Bo rubbed his face, feeling tired now that the action had died down. Taking his friend under one arm, Erasmus lead Bo to a horse pulled trailer that was quickly filling up with people. There was much shuffling aside as Erasmus' bulk was accommodated, and Bo was squeezed in beside him.

# Chapter 20: Fleeing the City

Alexander was on his own rather large, black and white horse. He had thrown a heavy cloak over himself to hide his wounds and armour, and was moving among those still hurrying to find a place. Will and Ruben had been given seats in the same cart as Bo and Erasmus, and two mages were crowded around the white haired slave, carefully examining him. At one point, Bo thought he spotted Takeshi on one of the horses, but the figure disappeared into the crowd before the teen could be certain. In the last few hours of night, the convoy was ready. Alexander was worried about the size of it, but there was no time to break it up into smaller groups. He ordered those on horses to find their own way out of the Kingdom, instructing them to meet him at the large gates that provided an entry and exit point from The Gutter to the eastern river of Middlefortress. Those on horses slipped away in groups of two or three before dispersing. Soon there were only two cart loads of people, along with the horses that were hitched to them, and one or two people on horses. Alexander nodded and the caravan pulled out in tense silence, moving at an unhurried pace.

'Well I came in on a cart, and it looks like I'll be leaving on one too' joked Bo quietly, more to break the silence than anything else. He shifted, feeling uncomfortably wedged into the group of people.

'Hopefully we will be leaving. I have been asked to cloak these carts with magic to make the guards think we are hauling hunting equipment, but I am sure the guards will have spells to disperse illusions and the like. If they are at all suspicious then we could be in for some trouble.' Erasmus sounded more worried than Bo liked and the teen closed his mouth, keeping quiet.

Soon the cart reached the palace gates. The guards looked awake, but not particularly alert. All eyes in the cart were focused intently on them, willing them not to become suspicious and perform a thorough search of the party. Bo shuddered, reminded of the eyes of the beast, and Erasmus drew Bo close, holding him still so that he wouldn't give the game away, even though the mage was shaking with exertion as well.

'What's all this lot?' asked one of the guards sharply. Alexander shrugged,

'Iz huntink gear. King vant to go on large huntink trip – ze peace talks seem to be on hold zo he feel the need for relax, yez?' The guard paused slightly, and for a second Bo thought that he would demand a closer look, but in the end he just waved the cart on, nodding his approval. As the cart started to move away however, there was a gasp from the guards, and Erasmus slumped, having lost consciousness.

'Alexander!' shouted Bo, but the weapon master had already realised the game was up. With two powerful blows he quickly laid out the guards, and got off his horse to tie them up.

'Iz okay, ve need to get out by dawn anyvay. Dawn iz change of guard.' Bo nodded and quickly turned to check on Erasmus, who had been brought back to consciousness by some of the surrounding mages. The stalk legged man looked groggy, and Bo worried that he was still mentally injured from battle.

'Are you okay Erasmus?'

'I'm sorry, Bo – I just. I haven't been the same since Lance. You killed him didn't you?' Erasmus' hand tightened painfully on Bo's shoulder until the teen confirmed that Lance was dead. With a heavy sigh Erasmus leaned back, too tired to support himself. Feeling shaken, Bo pulled Erasmus up so he wasn't crushing anyone else in the cart.

'You're just tired, and spent. You'll be better once we get some rest,' reassured the teen, hoping that the same could be said of him. Every breath caused his ribs to shriek in pain, and his muscles were starting to berate him for his abuse of them. Even just holding Erasmus up caused his arms to tremble, and he knew he would be haunted by images of the battle.

'Is everything okay?' came a familiar voice. Will and Ruben were sitting at the opposite end of the cart, and people shifted reluctantly to let them move next to Bo and Erasmus. As soon as they were settled, Alexander reappeared and the cart set off at a modest pace through the more expensive suburbs of the Kingdom. The horse's snorts and footsteps echoed in the empty streets. Unseen a shadow flitted over the rooftops nearby. Alexander glanced up once or twice, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, but was unable to see if they were being followed.

'Hey! Will how are your eyes?' asked Bo anxiously. Will shrugged, his shock white hair drooped messily over his face.

'The healers say that I won't be getting my sight back. I guess it was a bit of a shock at first, but in the end I told them I couldn't see a problem with it - being blind and all.' The teen chuckled at his own joke. 'Anyway, I'm still alive, aren't I? When I get some rest I'll work on a spell to help me get around the place. It'll be fine.' Bo nodded thoughtfully, before realising Will wouldn't be able to see the gesture.

'Uh yeah. Sure. I suppose I was kinda lucky I had my face covered.' Bo shuddered again. He didn't think he'd ever be able to think back on the beast without feeling horrified at the memories, as though merely recalling them could bring the monster back into existence. He couldn't help but wonder if the heroes in his stories had ever felt the same after besting a particularly dangerous foe.

'And I was lucky I got stuck face down by whatever it was, otherwise I might have been blind too,' murmured Ruben, before becoming suddenly distracted by a new thought. 'Hey Bo, do you still have that bee?' Bo looked at Ruben blankly, not sure what his friend was talking about, and wondering if he'd lost his senses. After a second or two he realised Ruben was talking about his mechanical bee.

'Uhhh no, sorry Ruben. I think it got crushed when I was being beaten up by a demon.' Ruben nodded understandingly, although he continued to idly talk about how difficult it had been to make the bee in the first place. Alexander halted the carts, stalling any further conversation. Quickly he covered everyone in a thick horse blanket, murmuring that they were getting to a busy area now, and that silence was necessary – they could no longer rely on Erasmus keeping everyone hidden, so they were going to have to do things the old fashioned way. In the silence and warmth of the blanket, despite the danger, and the pain from his body, Bo found himself nodding off, only jolted awake occasionally by the rattle of the cart.

When he awoke fully, the blanket had been removed, and instead of warm stagnant air, a chill wind blew across his face. High above the night sky was making way for the sun in a brilliant display of rich blues, reds and yellows. The cart was no longer in the city, but a few miles beyond it, and had been run into a shallow ditch some distance from the road. Erasmus was awake, and holding Bo patiently, although he, Bo, Ruben, and Will were the only ones left in the cart. Alexander sat on his horse looking back at the city silently as the sun rose above the stone walls. Sitting up, Bo rubbed at his eyes. There were a few people nearby who were getting ready for a long journey. Someone had been smart enough to pack a few crates of food onto one of the carts (although judging from the fact that one of the items was a barrel of pickles, Bo felt certain he knew who had done the packing), and now it was being shared out amongst the survivors. Many of those who had set out on horses had rejoined the group, and Bo could make out both Arty and Hayes in the group of people on the ground. Hayes offered Alexander a steaming cup of tea,

'You've developed quite the resistance to healing magic. I can only assume you've already had many large scale spells performed on you. In any case, the tea should soothe your pains -which I know you don't have- and replenish your energy without sending you to sleep.' Alexander accepted the drink without comment. While he had not allowed any of the other mages near him, he grudgingly allowed Hayes to fuss over him.

Quiet at first, but with growing intensity, a low mournful bell tolled over the Kingdom, rolling through the dawn mist to reach even the ears of the slaves and desert people. Alexander sighed and turned back to them, giving them all a stern look.

'Zey are knowink ze Queen iz dead. From now, ve are runnink. Eef ve are caught ve are kilt. Anyvun who vant to try luck on own may go – the rest of uz, ve must get to dezert kingdom, yez?' There was a general murmur of ascent as people realised there was still a long way to go before they were safe. Even though the news was dire, and war between Redland and the Great Desert seemed inevitable, Bo couldn't help a small smile of pleasure that stole over his face. He had won free of the oppressive castle of Middlefortress, of Lance, and of a demon artefact. He was now heading off on a new and exciting adventure with a group of good friends, just as he had always wished. Bo didn't know what had become of the demon Allie, and nor was he certain of what had befallen Takeshi, but he got the feeling that only time would tell.

###

About the series:

This series is a work in progress. I hope you enjoyed this book enough to wait for book 2, where Bo, Erasmus, and the rest of the group will journey to Erasmus' home in the desert, with the winds of war hot on their tails.

If you enjoyed the art, please visit my Tumblr account, where I will periodically upload pictures, both from the book itself, and ones that didn't quite make it in. I also have a twitter account where I will occasionally announce news on the progress of my writing. Thank you for reading!

Tumblr: http://tyetivillus.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/TyeTivillus
