The Poison

Happy New Year! I must admit, this is my favorite time of year. A time to reflect on the old year and decide on the new. I renew my resolution. I am required to try it. I am not required to like it. Life is meant to be lived and I will take opportunities as they come!
On with the story. Remember, you haven't seen the poison yet. (that sentence tickles my brain. I asked you to forget the poison...) To the rescue!
************
This feels right, Martin thought as he and the small rescue team ran through the thief way. That constant itch to help faded the moment Gillian agreed to let him go out. Martin felt relieved. This was what he was trained to do.

Glen ran beside him, his uncovered eyes scanning the tunnel with distrust. Not that Martin blamed the thief. His cousin was among the captured. “Martin,” Glen panted. “Are you sure they’ll be at the mansion?”

“Meriss wants to talk to Gillian,” Martin answered, pausing at an intersection before signaling them down one. “He and the prisoners will be in a place where we can find them. Now, be quiet. We’re getting close to the entrance.” The thief fell silent and continued to run with his eyes now forward. He frowned.

“Martin?” he said uneasily. “Is that the tunnel entrance?”

The spy frowned at the thief before straining his eyes to see what the matter was. “Trenton. Go ahead and see what’s there.” The older man nodded and dashed ahead of them. He reached where the entrance was.

“This isn’t good!” he called out. “It’s blocked!”

Blocked? Martin wondered. He and the others soon arrived and saw that the tunnel was indeed blocked. Rubble of stone, shelves, and broken bottles. The others started to argue as Martin ignored them and approached the trap door.

“Now what?” Trenton asked. “This would have been the best way to get in.” Martin picked a piece of glass from the rubble, sniffing at it. The glass was still sticky with wine.

“We could use one of the other tunnels in another building,” Waite suggested.

Is that blasting powder I smell?

“So they can see us coming?” Skidmore snapped. “Those Seacats will catch us the moment we come out.” Martin leaned closer to the trap door, noticing the scorch marks of an explosion.

“I don’t see you coming up with a plan,” Glen growled.

“This isn’t the work of Seacats,” Martin suddenly announced, stepping back and gazing up at the blocked entrance.

“Does it matter?” Trenton asked.

“For me it does.” This was Tracker’s work. The Seacats wouldn’t have touched the wine cellar; Gillian had been clear that the creatures steered clear of alcohol. And the blatant destruction of the cellar was done by someone who liked to cause personal pain.

“Besides,” Martin went on, shrugging. “This tunnel’s been blocked for a while. I’m guessing it’s been blocked since they took over the Stand.”

“So how does that help us?” Waite asked, folding his arms.

“It doesn’t,” he answered truthfully. “It makes my job harder. But enough of this. Waite is right. We need to use another tunnel to get inside. Glen, are there any more trap doors into the mansion?”

The thief shook his head. “Just the one. Lord Cantry is on the constant search for our tunnels. We’re always having to build a new one for the one he’s patched up.” Martin rolled his eyes. The one time the lord took energy to stop the thieves caused them problems.

“We’ll wait for night fall,” Martin concluded. “These suits work better in the dark. In the meantime, I’ll like for us to spy on the Seacats. Let’s see if we can’t find out where they’ve locked up our team.” The rescue team nodded in agreement.

“Alright,” Martin went on. “Everyone break up into pairs. To avoid getting spotted by the Seacats, enter the buildings surrounding the mansion. Do not leave the buildings. Use your spyglasses to look into the building.”

“What if our people aren’t near any windows?” Waite asked. “That way they wouldn’t be able to escape.”

“They are most likely in the basement,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. “But we can still rule out the upper levels. Besides we need to know their strengths.”

“Wow,” Glen said, impressed. “There’s a lot more to spying than I thought.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “And it’s not glamorous either. Break into pairs. We’ll meet later tonight in the mansion across the street.”
*********
The afternoon of spying on the enemy revealed that the prisoners were somewhere without windows. The others seemed discouraged by the news, but Martin ignored the setback. They needed a plan. They gathered together in the mansion Martin designated earlier. The faint buzzing of the others arguments didn’t reach his ears as he stared out at the mansion. His eyes lingered on the garden gate he jumped over two months before. The metal gate had been taken away.

“I know a way in,” he finally said. Behind him, the arguments came to an abrupt stop.

“What do you mean?” Glen asked; he had been the most frustrated of the lot.

The spy nodded down at the missing gate. “We’ll sneak through the gardens and enter the kitchen. The kitchen is central most part of the house. We get in there, split into two different groups, and search the house until we find our men.”

“But we’re likely to get caught!” Phillis protested. Martin smirked, though they could not see it behind his mask. “That’s why you’re here with us, Phillis. You need to create a distraction for us.”
**********
They had taken away Jathiers. Tyler and the others sat in their makeshift cell, huddled in a corner while they awaited their fate. The Seacats had taken the precaution to tie their hands and feet together; the Seacats took pleasure in the activity. Tyler tried to give the others words of encouragement, but felt that his words were hollow.

His speeches didn’t help him either.

His shoulders still ached from when the feline attacked him. Tyler shivered. Over the last two months, he had heard stories of what happens to a sailor if he got caught by a feline Seacat. The details had made him blush and cringe.

This is not what I wanted for a vacation. Tyler wondered if his superiors knew he was trapped at the Stand. They must. There had been several Aeternan war ships that arrived to try to take the Stand back, but the Venter mages kept some sort of shield over them. No one could enter. Or leave.

Screaming filled the room, a wrenching sound of despair and pain. Jumping, he glanced up where the sound was coming from.

“That sounds like Jathiers,” Brown whispered, shivering. The others muttered that the voice was the same. “What are they doing to him?”

Tyler glanced up to the ceiling again. “I don’t know,” he whispered, pulling his legs close to his chest, wishing his arms weren’t tied behind his back. “But it doesn’t sound good.” What have we gotten ourselves into?

“Oh, come on,” purred a soft voice. “All I want to do is play with him.” Tyler’s breath caught in his throat. It was the feline from before! He glanced around himself, looking for something to free himself with. The others pulled back, fear and pity in their eyes. They knew what was coming for him.

“You heard Meriss, Carice,” the tomcat said, stiffening as the feline approached. “You’re not to play with them in that way.”

Carice rolled her eyes, coming into the view of the prisoners. Tugging on her tight vest, she looked her fellow Seacat over through her long lashes. “Meriss is dealing with some trouble outside. Besides, orders can be changed.”

“Not that I’ve heard.” The tomcat smacked his spear on the feline’s middle. “Now, get going.”

“You’ll pay for that!” Carice yowled, springing on the tomcat. Tyler and the others froze as the two tumbled out of view. The sound of their fight was nothing like he had heard before. Instead of cries of pain, it was of pure pleasure.

These Seacats aren’t normal!

“I hope the tomcat wins,” he wished aloud. “I don’t want to deal with her.” The rest of the team laughed weakly with him.

“Ah, ha!” Carice jumped back into view, smiling at him. Pushing the makeshift barred door aside, she slinked into the room, already unbuttoning her tight vest. Tyler tried to scoot away from her, but his back hit the wall. He shivered uncontrollably as he gazed fearfully up at the feline “Come on, sailor,” she purred as took hold of his hair and yanked him to his feet. Tyler shivered as she ran a sharp nail down his face and neck. “Let’s go play.”

I’m doomed!

“Hey, Seacat!” a new voice called. “Try playing with me!”

Frowning, the feline turned around to see who challenged her. Splat! A slime ball landed on her face. Yowling, she let go of him and scratched at her face. Tyler stumbled back then looked at the door. He laughed with relief at the sight.

Five men dressed in the stealth suits stood in the doorway. A rescue team! The front most rescuer pulled a knife out of his belt and threw it. Tyler yelped as it buried itself between his feet. Shocked, he pulled his legs apart. The man had cut his bonds with a throw from that distance?

“Come on!” one said, dashing to them and cutting their bonds. “Let’s go!” They didn’t need any more prompting. Jumping to their feet, the prisoners ran to the other rescuers. Behind them, the feline managed to pull enough slime off her angry face. She shook with anger.

“That wasn’t nice,” she sneered, pulling a short blade from her belt. “Come fight me, human! You’ll pay for that!”

The rescuer with the good aim took up the challenge. Ripping two knives from his belt, he charged the Seacat. Tyler felt his jaw drop as the human fought the feline. Never had he seen any human move like that! He dodged every swing the Seacat threw at him, ducked in close to injury her, and moved fast enough to get away again.

“Say,” Brown said, watching transfixed like the rest of them. “Isn’t that Martin?”

“It is.” Tyler finally placed the voice. Spinning, he grabbed his cousin.

“Glen,” he sobbed. “Thank you for coming!”

“We’re not out of danger yet,” Glen said, prying himself free. “Hey! Let’s go!” he yelled into the room at the spy.

The spy didn’t say anything in reply. Instead, he grabbed another slime ball out of his belt pouch and smashed it up into the feline’s face. The Seacat screamed again, dropping her blade.

“Let’s go!” Martin said, spinning to join them. The Seacat behind him screamed again. Reaching out, she somehow managed to grab the back of the spy’s mask and pull it off. Martin scowled and knocked the feline down with a kick. She landed with a thump and looked up at him amazed.

“You’re the one we’re looking for,” she said, amazed. “The one with no reflection.” Tyler frowned. What did that mean?

Martin gritted his teeth and yanked his mask from the feline’s stunned fingers. He put it on as he joined them.

“Well?” the spy snapped. “Let’s go!” He started running down the hall to the stairs. Seacats lined the halls; all of them too busy trying to get the slime balls off their faces to pay any attention to their escaping prisoners.

“But…” Glen said as he caught up with the spy, pointing back to the room. “What did that Seacat mean back there?”

“A question we’ll have to answer later,” Martin snapped. “We need to get out before the rest of the Seacats come back.”

“They took someone!” Brown suddenly cried. “They have Jathiers somewhere on the main floor. They were torturing him!”

Martin paused at the bottom of the steps. “Alright,” he said, turning to Glen. “Get everyone back to the fort. I’ll go after Jathiers and try to catch up with you.”

“But, Martin!” Glen protested. “If it’s you they’re after…”

“I can get away,” the spy snapped. “Now, get going! I’ll be fine.” Before anyone could offer up anymore arguments, the spy dashed up the steps, taking them two at a time. Tyler exchanged glances with his cousin.

“Are we going to let him do that?”

“What choice do we have?” Glen asked, sighing. He started up the stairs. “Let’s get out of here.” He paused and turned back, and Tyler had the impression that his cousin was smiling. “Unless you want to stay and play with that feline.”

Tyler sprinted up the steps past his grinning cousin. “Not a chance!”
***************
Martin had to get away from the others. Especially after they heard what that feline had said. Turning a corner and leaning against the wall, he tried to catch his breath. The suits keep them from seeing me, he realized, his hard breathing calming down. But they know I’m here. He knew he should have escaped with Glen and the others, but he didn’t think he could deal with their questions right now.

Hopefully they won’t tell anyone, he thought, taking a look at his surroundings. The last thing he needed was for Gillian and the rest of the council to learn it was him the Seacats were after. No one else at the fort knew of what the Venterians wanted; the decision was made to protect whoever it was.

I can’t deal with this now. Martin gritted his teeth. The Seacats still had a prisoner; he had to rescue him. One of them said that the captured, Jatheirs, was somewhere on the main floor. He didn’t believe it. From what they observed of the mansion that afternoon, there was very little activity on the main floor. Most of the Seacats were on the upper level.

Carefully searching the main floor anyway, Martin considered his options. The distraction Phillis created, a rather large explosive that had taken out the stables behind the mansion, would have been investigated by the Seacats by now. They were most likely done searching for the long-gone saboteurs and were coming back. It was only a matter of time before realized their prisoners had escaped and would begin searching for the rescuers. He didn’t have time to search the mansion.

They said Jatheirs was being tortured, Martin thought, pausing at the stairs and glancing up to the floor above. I just have to follow his screams. He had heard screaming earlier, though he had hoped it wasn’t one of their men. About to take a careful step up, Martin froze. He hadn’t heard any screams since the rescue. In truth, he hadn’t heard anything since he ordered the team to leave him there.

“What is going on?” he asked softly.

“Yowl!”

Martin jumped at the sudden laughter. “That’s a great trick that Tracker brought us,” the tomcat’s voice drifted down, his tone still humored. “I wonder what it’ll cost us to get the secret of it.”

“He won’t sell it,” a feline snapped. The tomcat’s voice hissed; Martin assumed the feline had scratched the other Seacat. “We don’t have anything they want, except for our eyes to see that man they want. And we haven’t even been able to catch him! I don’t think Tracker will sell it.”

Sell what? Martin wondered, retreating back down the hall in case the Seacats came down. He glanced briefly to the stairs. Jatheirs was upstairs and he needed to find him quickly.

They can only see magic, he thought. Maybe they won’t notice me feel for emotions. He wasn’t sure it that was the answer he needed, but it was the only one he had. Besides, the mages already knew they had trapped him in the city; using his abilities for a short time wouldn’t reveal his position. Right? Taking a deep breath, Martin let down his barriers and sent his power out to search for Aeternans.

Then it hit him.

The vision was of a soldier, fighting in a battle along side his fellow Aeternans. “I have to keep fighting,” he breathed as he thrust his sword into the belly of a man in a Venter uniform. “I promised to protect them!” The man thought about his aging father, his sickly sister, his young wife, and his newborn daughter. He fought for them, he fought for their freedom! He was brought back to the heat of battle when he realized his sword wouldn’t come out of the soldier he had just killed. Yanking hard, he tried to free his sword. Someone screamed before him. Looking up, he realized it was too late as another Venter soldier brought his sword down on him. He screamed as the blade took off his hand, separating him from his stuck sword. He fell back, cradling his bleeding stump. Through his tears, he watched horrified as the Venter soldier was about to kill him in the same way he killed the other soldier. Suddenly an arrow appeared in the enemy’s chest and he fell without another cry. The Aeternan soldier began to sob. How could he protect them now…?

Martin gasped as he was finally released from the vivid memory. Stumbling back, he had to bring his own hand up to assure himself it was still there. He felt the sword take his hand. He felt that man’s pain.

“What was that?” the feline’s voice hissed from above.

“I don’t know,” the tomcat replied. There was a creak of wood. “Let’s go see.”

Martin snapped back to the present, aware of the danger he had just found himself in. “Great,” he muttered, dashing away from the stairs. His eyes quickly searched the hall. There were several doors, but he didn’t dare take any. He couldn’t waste a moment to test a door to find it locked.

He quickly came to an adjoining hall. Glancing back at the stairs, the Seacats had reached the bottom. Time to disappear! Taking out a smoke bomb, he threw it at the floor, the plume immediately obscuring him from view. The Seacats hissed angrily.

“Come on out,” the tomcat growled. “There’s no way out of there, human.”

Martin ignored the command and ran down the other hall. If he remembered the floor plan correctly, there was a servants’ stairs down this way. Hoping there were no Seacats in his way, he broke through the smoke cloud and saw the stairs he knew were there. Behind him, he could hear the Seacats coughing as they tried to search through the smoke.

Knowing he bought himself a bit more time, he ran up the stairs two steps at a time. Sometime during the vision, he was able to sense exactly where the missing man was. What was with that vision? he wondered, quickly checking the second floor before heading up to the third. The visions were never like that. Before, the flashes never lasted long, never had been specific to one person’s thoughts, and never involved pain. They had always been harmless and unmeaningful. And as much as Martin wanted to deny it, the visions were another clue. He had seen into the mind of another Aeternan. Something only Santers were rumored to do.

I can’t think about this now! he snapped at himself. He arrived at the third floor, where Jatheirs was being held. His duty was to rescue the poor man, not worry about his powers. His magical sense pointed him to the next hall over. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously snuck to the other hall. He peered around the corner and found the hall empty. The Seacats were still busy with the smoke bomb he set off below.

At least something is working with me, he thought, moving silently and quickly to a door farther down the hall. Martin tried to open it but found it locked. Snorting softly, he knelt, taking out his lock picks, and make quick work of the lock. The satisfying click was moments later and he slid into the room, closing the door behind him. He waited a moment, listening for any noise outside. He couldn’t explain why he knew Jatheirs was the only one in the room. Deciding there was no one following he turned around and froze.

Jatheirs whimpered in his sleep, tossing and turning on a thread worn cot with no blankets to cover him. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his suit seemed drenched. It seemed as if the man was suffering from a nightmare. But that wasn’t what made Martin freeze.

His left hand was missing.

Martin’s own left wrist tingled uncomfortably. He rubbed absently at it as he knelt beside Jatheirs’ side. “Jatheirs?” he asked softly, gently shaking a shivering shoulder. “Wake up.”

“No,” he sobbed. “How can I protect them?”

Martin shivered. That was the same question in his vision. “Jatheirs,” he whispered more urgently. “You need to wake up. Come on. We need to go.”

“I need to protect them,” he kept muttering, his closed eyes searching for something in his dreams. “I promised to protect them.”

He won’t wake up, Martin realized, frowning. Why? He glanced around the room, looking for a clue as to what was wrong with Jatheirs. The Seacats had called it a trick that Tracker had brought. Knowing the Tracker as he did, Martin knew it was some new form of torture. But what kind of torture?

His gaze settled on the box beside him. A small vile the length of his palm lay on its side, the wood cork keeping a fine blue powder inside it. Martin picked it up, holding it up to the hanging lantern. Frowning, he opened it and carefully whiffed it. There was no scent.

A new poison? It wasn’t a poison he recognized and he knew most of them. Replacing the cork firmly, he tucked the vile in his belt. He would let the Healers at the fort deal with it. At the moment, he had to get Jatheirs out. Hefting the man to a sitting position, Martin hauled the sleeping man to his feet.

“Alright,” he grunted, adjusting his hold on the man and dragging him across the room. “I hope you’ll forgive me later, but right now I need to get you downstairs.” In a mansion this fine, Cantry would have dumbwaiters. They were above the kitchen and the room seemed like a seating room for waiting guests. At least, the fine broken furniture gave him that impression.

It took a minute to get Jatheirs into the dumbwaiter, and Martin had little doubt that he would be sore once he woke up, but the spy managed to get him in and closed the door. He lowered the dumbwaiter enough for him to climb on top of the box and close the door into the room. Feeling around in the dark, he grabbed the ropes and started to pull it down to the kitchen. Noting the light of the second floor door, they slowly came to the kitchen. Once there, he let the box be lowered more than the door so he could put his ear to the wall. There wasn’t any sound.

Opening the door, he found the kitchen as silent as he had always found it. He jumped out and pulled the box back up. He struggled to get the sleeping man out again, but he managed to get him back on his feet.

“Sir?” he muttered, his eyes opening briefly. “What’s going on?”

“I’m rescuing you,” Martin answered, trying to pull him forward. “But you need to help me. I need you to walk.” Jatheirs didn’t respond. Glancing at the man, Martin realized he slipped back into sleep. He sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Looking back up, he saw it was full dark now. He had no idea if the Seacats would be outside searching for them or inside searching. Not that he had much of a choice. The tunnel entrance in the mansion had been destroyed. The only way to get to the thieves way was by another building.

There’s no helping it, he thought, stumbling outside and grabbing a few smoke bombs out of his belt. If they spot them, the Seacats would suffer the consequences. He managed to get them through the garden gate when the alarm was sounded.

“Prisoner escape!”

Suddenly three Seacats appeared in the street. They hissed angrily. Martin watched them warily, knowing the closer they got, the more potent the smoke would be.

“Come on, human,” one sneered. “Play with us.”

“Not happening!” Martin threw the smoke bombs at the ground. The Seacats howled and dropped to the ground. Knowing he didn’t get another chance, Martin dragged Jatheirs to the mansion he and the others used earlier. The tunnel entrance was in the stables and Martin was forced to shove the man down.

“Sorry,” he apologized for the third time, picking the man up as he jumped down into the thief way. This man was going to have more sores and burses because of him than what the Seacats had done. Moving to a larger tunnel, Martin threw more smoke bombs to cover the entrance to keep the Seacats from following. Jathiers’ head kept bobbing in and out of consciousness the entire time.

Martin dragged the man down the tunnels. The unsteady man stumbled, taking the spy with him. Martin grunted as he fell. Breathing deeply, he got back on his feet and tried to get Jathiers’ on his. “Come on,” Martin said, pulling him forward. “We’re getting there. Just stay with me.” It was going to be a difficult journey back to the fort.
***********
“What do you mean?” Tracker demanded to know, focusing his wrath on the feline. “You saw the young man?!”

The black Seacat licked her wounded arms. “Yes, I saw him,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “But not good enough. I had slime in my eyes at the time, but I know my magic. He had no reflection.”

Tracker wanted to rip his knives out and slit the feline’s throat. Instead, he grabbed his hair and tugged madly until it felt like he was going to rip his hair out with his scalp.

“Things are falling apart,” he growled. Not only did they loose the prisoners and their threat over them, but one of the rescuers had gotten away with some Nightmare Dust. No doubt he would have given it to the proper authorities; it was only a matter of time before the Aeternans worked out an antidote. He whipped around to Meriss. The leader Seacat had been leaning against the door frame of the cell, his tail twitching irritably. No doubt he also wished to punish the feline for her actions.

“I’ve wasted two months here,” he growled, slowly approaching the Seacat. “My time here is up. Terk wants me back; he wants to know how well the Dust worked. I am disappointed in how you’ve dealt with this mess.”

“Don’t blame me!” Meriss snapped, his tail whipping back and forth. “It’s those stinking Aeternans and their murdering commander!”

Tracker snapped. Ripping out a concealed knife, he flung it at the feline licking her wounds. She gasped as it buried in her chest. Looking down as crimson blood blossoming, she emitted one cry of pain before falling over. Dead. A fate she deserved before she even tried to try for the Aeternan.

“That’s what’s going to happen to you if you don’t find that young man in the next month when Trek arrives to ask why you failed.”

Meriss hissed, hunching as the Venter spy stalked out of the room. He had no time for failure. By morning, he would be riding out of the Stand and to Trek’s army to report the miserable results of working with Seacats.
********
There were people waiting for them at the tunnel entrance. Healers immediately took Jathiers and gave Martin a quick examination. The spy didn’t complain as they checked for wounds or broken bones. He just sat down on the nearest chair and let them do their examination. For some reason, Gillian and the rescue team waited for the healer’s diagnostic.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see them waiting, he thought, the healer checking his eyes with a light. Without him, they wouldn’t have managed to free the prisoners. And Gillian didn’t want me going out anyway. Martin just couldn’t stand sitting around anymore, especially with that tugging on his mind from the people.

“He’s alright,” the healer announced, receiving a collective sigh of relief from the crowd. “He’s just a bit tired. Best if he gets to bed and get a good night sleep.”

“Great idea,” Martin muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. “I’ll get right on that.”

“I’ll escort him to his bed,” Glen offered.

“Me too,” Tyler said, joining his cousin as they both stepped forward. Gillian nodded.

“Very well,” the prison commander said. “Get our hero to bed.” He paused and gazed down at him with calculating eyes. Martin wanted to cringe. Did someone already tell Gillian that he was the man with no reflection? “Good night, Martin,” he went on. “We’ll talk when you’re rested.”

Martin cringed at that. Apparently someone had talked. At least the commander was willing to wait for him to get some rest before grilling him about what it meant. The cousins took either side of him and helped him to his feet. Staggering, they stumbled away.
**********
Meriss watched as Tracker’s lone boat was given passage through the magic barrier. The Seacat didn’t know what was worse. Being trapped in the city or out of it. Perhaps being trapped inside. At least outside the city they could pillage any city that wasn’t protected.

“Stinking Venterians,” Meriss muttered, briskly walking away. They should have never formed an alliance with Venter. At the beginning, it was very promising. Loot the same city Gillian had sworn to protect and also get a chance to kill the commander. And all the Venterians wanted was one man who somehow lost his reflection.

Now it had been two months, and as Meriss guessed, no one was happy with it. Not the Aeternans trapped in the prison fort. Not the Venter mages who kept saying they had other things to do. And certainly not the Seacats. We weren’t made for land. The sea was calling to them.

Meriss was giving serious consideration of ending the treaty with the mages. It had been fun while it lasted, but these humans were proving to be more bothersome than toys. The leader Seacat once again thought of how easily Tracker had killed Carice. Yes, the feline had defiled his will, but that was nothing new for felines. Meriss growled deep in his throat. Carice had been one of his best fighters. Now she was gone merely because Tracker was annoyed with her basic nature.

He made up his mind. We have to break the alliance. They had loot enough from the city and left enough damage to annoy the Stands’ citizens. Let the mages try to find that young man. Meriss purred at the thought. No doubt the moment they left, the young man would flee the Stand and leave the mages searching for nothing.

“Meriss!”

The leader Seacat blinked as his name was called. Looking up from his musings, he saw Flyer approaching at a fast pace. He frowned; what reason did the tan tomcat have for smiling? Tracker had just killed his lover earlier. “What?” he snapped.

Flyer grinned, showing of his pointed teeth. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

“Who?” Meriss didn’t want to talk to anyone else this night; he was more likely to kill them if they brought more bad news.

“Someone from the fort,” Flyer laughed. “He says he’s had enough of our stay.”

“Well, so are we.”

“Ah,” Flyer purred. “But this man has information we need to get the mages off our back.”

It wasn’t often his ears twitched, and it made his ears itch, but it was because this news caught his attention. “What sort of information?”

“He can tell us who the reflection-less man is.”

Meriss grinned, his ears twitching excitedly. A new plan was forming. There was a way out of this mess.
*************
Ah, the end is approaching. I hope everyone enjoyed this. Until next week!

The Stand's Defenders

Merry Christmas! I hope everyone is enjoying whatever they are doing this holiday season. Here's my present to all. More of the story!
************
Willy the Horrid watched from the shadows as the volunteers were instructed by their talented teachers. Yates and his men were effective in their methods, which wasn’t surprising since they taught new prison guard trainees for a living. But despite their best methods to keep them focused, the men were fascinated with their “Ghost” teacher.

Now that the thief knew that the young spy actually grew up at Loman, a more notorious thief nest than the Stand, he could see the effects of street living had on the young man. An awareness at the world around him, the mistrust of everyone surrounding him, the relaxed stance from which he could pounce out of at a moments notice. And the way he fought! Each movement counted, quick and sharp, he conserved as much energy as possible as he showed the men that the trick was using the opponents’ strengths against them. Even his thieves, born and breed in the Stand on the wrong side of the law, were learning from the spy.

And the lie about being a Ghost was a good one. Very good. Martin’s supposed reputation as a Ghost and along with his skills being what they were at his young age would keep most people from talking to him too much. They would keep aloof of him and he of them.

But Willy wasn’t that much in awe. Oh, he could admire the spy’s skill and admit that he would never win a physical fight with the young man, but there were more than one way to fight a man.

Willy kept thinking back to when he touched on the sore subject he accidentally came upon the night before. Martin hated something about himself. Perhaps I can use that to my advantage. Yes, the thief lord’s focus at the moment was about saving the Stand. However, it did not mean that he couldn’t search for weapons against the talented spy when the time came when they would be on opposite sides again. And he was looking forward to that day.

But that day was still a distant unknown date. The focus now was on reclaiming the Stand and the day’s training session was over. Martin walked away, predictably alone, in a direction different from everyone else. Curious what the young spy was up to, Willy decided to follow. He kept close enough to hear the spy mumble under his breath, but wasn’t close enough to hear what.

“Martin!” Gillian shouted after the young man. Willy scowled and shrunk into the shadows to watch. Of course the prison commander would prove to be a hindrance, even if he didn’t realize what he was hindering. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“About what?” Martin asked, strolling over to a water barrel. He splashed water on his face and wiped it off with the towel that was lying on the rim. “I wasn’t about to tell them the truth and I picked the best lie that would fit my skills.”

Gillian snorted. “But a Ghost, Martin? How do you even know that no one is currently using that number?”

“It’s Fred’s number,” Martin answered, tossing the towel back. “He isn’t using it and he hasn’t given it to anyone. I’m safe with it.”

Willy was surprised to see the commander’s face darken. “You used Chief’s number? I know that Chief is the closest thing you have to a father but… Heithery, Martin! He’s the Ghost General for a reason! And there’s a reason he hasn’t given his number out.”

Wow, Willy thought, actually surprised. It seemed that the young spy had friends in high places. The thief tucked the information away for later. This kid was proving to be more interesting than he imagined.

“Fred isn’t going to mind me borrowing it,” Martin said calmly, almost smiling. “I’m here under his command. Might as well be a Ghost to avoid questions of my past.”

“That’s not the problem here,” Gillian snapped. “You are going to get a reputation from this. And there is going to be talk when you don’t go out with any of the teams. What is Chief going to do when he realizes that there’s another eighty-one walking around? And that it’s you who’s been taking on that reputation?”

“He’s going to laugh.”

Another surprising moment. Gillian seemed speechless. Willy had to suppress a chuckle at the absurd look on the commander’s face. It was a mix of being slapped and realizing that he deserved it. Martin smirked and turned away.

“That’s not the point!” Gillian said, catching up with the young man. “Martin, once you’re called a Ghost, there’s no turning back from the reputation!”

Martin stopped and glared at the commander. Even Willy had to flinch at the look the young man gave his superior, and he wasn’t even under the stern gaze! Gillian took a step back, looking worried.

“I already have a reputation,” he pointed out. “Thieves already hate me. At least with this lie, no one is going to ask too personal questions about me. And that’s the reason I am here, Gillian. Everyone will talk of the Ghost who is living at the Stand, not the spy who happens to be on the top of a list of men who are possibly…”

“Commander Gillian!”

Willy quietly cursed the young runner who came up to the commander. Who are possibly what? The conversation was truly revealing. The young man from Loman had high connections and was possibly… something else.

“What is it?” the prison commander asked, sighing as the young boy found them. The child breathed hard, bent over with his hands on his knees as he struggled to keep up right.

“Sir,” he huffed out. “Captain Duntsan wants to inform you that the prison guards are starting to bring in animals from the Stand.”

“Thank you, boy,” Gillian said, giving the child a small coin and relieved smile. “I’ll go meet him. Go on, you’re job is done.” The boy took the coin and ran again. Willy smirked. All Stand’s boys acted out of breath when reporting to officers, but ran the moment they could get away. They learn so well.

“Brining animals in?” Martin asked, frowning. “Where are we going to put them?”

“There are more rooms beneath the fort,” Gillian explained. “People will start moving down there. But merchants were starting to complain that their livestock shouldn’t be left in the hands of Seacats. I tried to explain to them that Seacats have no interest in land animals, but they insisted.”

Willy decided it was time to join the commander and spy. “Of course they insisted,” he proclaimed, earning himself glares from both men. “Out there, their stocks are unaccounted for. Even with all the thieves cooped up here with them, merchants would feel safer with their livelihood where they can keep track of it.”

“Not that I can blame them,” Martin muttered, narrowing his eyes. Willy could tell that the young spy was wondering just how much he had heard of their conversation. He winked at the spy, which only intensified his scowl.

“Well?” he asked, twirling his cane around then tucking it under his arm. “Shall we go and watch the mob try reclaiming what is theirs before anyone else does? It will probably be the high point of my day.”

“High point of his day?” he overheard Martin mutter to Gillian. “He really does enjoy watching other people get angry, doesn’t he?”

Not true, Willy thought, whistling as the two followed him to the thief entrance into the fort. I enjoy watching others squirm. And I look forward to the day I make you squirm, Martin.
********
Lord Keith Cantry, Baron of Evan’s Stand, could not believe his eyes. It was as if a pearl had been thrown in among pebbles. To most people, it would have just been any other shiny rock found along the beach. But not here, where merchants and thieves alike could spot a gem in murky water. And among the sudden flood of noisy, smelly, and dull colored animals, there was an amazing gem.

“An elven horse,” a nearby merchant whistled, his eyes wide with awe and greed. “Who has an elven horse?”

It wasn’t the most beautiful elven horse; most elves would have called it a work horse compared to what their heroes rode, but there was no mistake by the way it mingled among the other horses, it was obviously more intelligent. It was a duller gray in color, and had been breed for speed and endurance rather than for show. But still. An elven horse!

“Who owns it?” another person asked; judging by the smell the one-eyed man had, he was a thief. “Don’t those types of horses only answer to one master?”

“Indeed,” Cantry found himself answering, still in awe of the rare horse stringed up with the others. “Someone in the fort. It wouldn’t have come if its master wasn’t here.”

“It’s a good thing that elven horses know their masters,” Captain Duntsan sighed, while he and Corporal Benkly gathered all the merchants’ ownership papers to determine who had what. “Otherwise we’d have half the Stand trying to claim it.”

“We could have used the docking registers,” Benkly pointed out, organizing the papers faster than the second in command. “Someone would have recorded the horse and its owner’s docking.”

Cantry sighed, disappointed by the well organized prison workers. He would have dearly loved to have such a fine horse among his stables. The elven horse ignored the commotion it caused, eating at the bit of hay provided for it. Once the shock of its presence faded from the minds of everyone present, the merchants set out to reclaim what animals were theirs.

“What a fabulous sight,” chuckled an oily voice behind him. “Greed in its glory. By the Seven Founders. I love Aeterna.”

Cantry turned around and scowled at the approaching thief. “If you love Aeterna so much, you would leave its treasures to the rightful owners!”

Willy snorted. “Aeterna belongs to all. I’m just trying to distribute the shares equally, Soft Bottom.” Cantry flushed at the insult. The thieves had taken to calling him that since he was a child, when he insisted that he rode his pony with a pillow on the saddle. Growing up hadn’t helped either, when it was obvious that Gillian had the real power in the Stand.

“Someday I’ll catch you distributing the shares equally,” Gillian growled, arriving along side the young spy from the night before. “And then you won’t think Aeterna is quite so grand.”

Willy snorted again. “All you’ll do is lock me up, feed me three times a day, and let me sleep as long as I want. I look forward to when I can retire to your facilities.”

“If you think prison life is like that,” Gillian said, grinning wickedly, “then you’re going to be in for a surprise when I do catch you.” The thief actually paused and thought of it for a moment, a hint of worry on his fat face.

The young spy ignored the threats the commander and thief exchanged as he approached the fenced arena where the animals were being kept confined. He stood on the bottom rung and leaned against the tall fence, watching the madness of humans chasing animals.

“Don’t worry about Suit’s horse,” Gillian said, smiling almost fondly at the spy. “I’m sure we’ll get it back.”

“I didn’t borrow a horse,” Martin said softly. “Chief gave me one.”

Gillian paused, raising an eyebrow. “Chief gave you one?” He then shrugged. “It was about time you had your own steed. Where is it?”

Martin didn’t answer immediately. Taking a deep breath, he brought his hand to his mouth and whistled. Loudly. Everyone surrounding him covered their ears and glared at the young man.

The elven horse raised its head and trotted over to the spy. It stretched its neck over the fence and rested its head beside the youth. Martin scratched under the horse’s chin, offering an apple from his other hand. The elven horse ate it quickly.

The glares from before turned into looks of shock. Cantry felt his jaw drop. Martin was the horse’s owner?

“Wow,” Gillian said, the only one to not be stunned into silence. “Chief thinks highly of you, giving you a prize like that.”

“He said I deserved it,” Martin answered quietly, stroking the horse’s neck, his eyes distant. Then he smiled, focusing again on the gray steed.

“I don’t know if you know what sort of prize you’ve got there,” Cantry blurted out, knocking everyone from their surprise. “Do you realize what breed your horse is?”

“Elven,” the young man answered, looking at the lord without raising his head. The effect seemed as if the spy was glaring at him. “To be honest, I was surprised Chief was able to get a horse away from them. Even one the elves considered ugly.”

“Chief does have some influence in this world,” Gillian pointed out. Cantry frowned. Who was this Chief they kept talking about?

“That’s what he said!” Martin laughed, jumping down off the fence. The horse whined as he walked away. The young man shook his head and patted the horse’s nose. “I’ll be back, Rowan. Behave.”

The horse seemed to understand the command and trotted back to the hay it had been eating earlier. Gillian shook his head as the youth joined him. “Martin,” he said, “will you ever stop amazing me? First you tell others that you’re a Ghost, you proceed to whip our volunteers into humility, and now this.”

Martin paused briefly, glancing back at the fenced area. “I don’t know,” he whispered, his expression thoughtful. “I keep surprising myself.”
***********
The first team went out after two days of training. They were mostly the elite from the volunteers. The best thieves, spies, military, and even a few citizens who learned faster than the others. Martin watched from the shadows as Gillian gave them the customary motivational speech before they left on their missions. Not that they needed to reminded of what they were to do. The last two nights were hard as evidence of the Seacats’ terror formed plums of smoke rising above the roof tops. The uproar the citizens had motivated these elite to step up and ask to be sent out.

I should be with them, Martin thought. The team gave a definite shout at whatever Gillian had asked them. The commander repeated the question and they shouted louder. Although he had blocked himself from the emotions, Martin knew they were willing, even the known thieves were ready to defend their homes.

“Well,” said a voice from behind, “you look worried.”

Martin turned his head to the side to see council member Chad South approach him. As he had suspected during the first meeting, the citizen was an accomplished craftsman, a furniture maker. South stopped beside him, frowning.

“Don’t you ever jump when people come up behind you?” Martin just shrugged, too used to the question to actually answer it. South sighed, then focused his attention on the team as they left through the well guarded entrance of the thief-way. “You’re worried about them?”

“Of course I am,” Martin answered quietly. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know why,” South said, rubbing his thick graying beard. “Maybe because you are a spy. From what I know of spies, they tend to be loners.”

“Just because I’m a ‘loner’ doesn’t mean I can’t care for others.”

“Point.” South sighed, looking older and worn. In the meetings, he seemed to be the leader among the citizens and would often speak out whatever was on his mind. His stubborn attitude and sharp tongue did not endure him well with the other council members. But now, he seemed just as tired as the others felt. “Perhaps,” he went on as the gate was closed with a thud, “I just don’t know enough spies to make any assumptions on them.”

Martin snorted. “Spies aren’t supposed to be known. The only reason you know me is because Gillian needed a contract with the rest of the Stand’s spies.” Not exactly the truth, but that was what he had told the council members when they started asking why he was no longer allowed to go out of the fort. It was for the best if they only had one contact among the spies.

“Yes,” South said slowly. “But somehow…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I am a simple man, young Martin. Your world of deception and plots seems very complicated.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Yes, his life was very complicated. And the last few months had complicated it even more so. It seemed that each time he turned around, there was something else. His growing powers, his missing reflection, the list, being made the Alex then order to keep a low profile. His world was spinning around and he felt as if he were loosing control.

“There’s that worried look again,” South noted. “Something the council needs to worry about that you haven’t told us about yet?”

“If it were,” he answered quickly, “then I would have already told you.” No, his worry came from something else.

There was a new feeling inside him. Not the emotions, he had stopped experimenting with that power since he realized the Venter mages might have been able to detect him. No, this was different. The closest Martin could find to describe the new feeling was a pull on the back of his mind, constant and unwavering. At first, Martin had dismissed it as nothing, but over the last day, it had gotten stronger. This pull was urging him to action. Action against the Seacats.

He didn’t know why he knew what the pulling wanted him to do. He just already knew what the pulling was urging him to do. Is this… another clue? Martin sighed deeply. When his glove was first discovered, he wanted evidence to prove that he wasn’t the prince. But the evidence was pointing in the other direction.

“Don’t mind him, South,” Gillian said, interrupting Martin’s thoughts. The commander had spotted them and joined their conversation. “He has a lot to worry about lately.” Martin gave the prison commander a glare. To his credit, Gillian barely flinched.

“Excuse me,” Martin said, bowing stiffly to the two men. “I have a class to teach.” Turning on his heels, he left them, muttering under his breath. Gillian had some nerve. He knew how badly Martin wanted to go out there. And the urge to act was demanding.

Great, Martin thought. Another worry on the growing pile.
********
Chad South frowned, watching as the spy gave his bitter excuse and left them. From what he had observed of the spy, there were very few things that fazed him. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked the commander.

Gillian sighed. “He wants to be out there, fighting with everyone else. But I told him he has to stay here and teach instead.” The prison commander shook his head. “Martin does not taking inactivity very well.”

That, South found, was an understatement. If the young spy wasn’t in their meetings, promising that he would have the Stand’s spies look into their questions, or teaching hand to hand combat, he could be found helping in the distribution center, in the weapons forge, working with carpenters build temporary living places for the people, and any place else that someone needed an extra hand. If South wasn’t a hard worker himself, he would have called Martin a busy-body.

“He really loves Aeterna,” he asked softly. “Doesn’t he?”

“He does,” Gillian agreed, rubbing his limp mustache. “I can understand why as well.” There was a story behind that short sentence, and although South would have like to hear it, the commander’s face was blank. No story was coming. “Perhaps that’s why he’s mad at me,” the prison commander went on, staring off in the direction the young spy had left. “I’m not letting him do what he thinks he should to help.”

“Why don’t you?” South asked, truly interested. “If he’s as good as you say he is, then he should be out there.”

Gillian chuckled softly. “No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “If my suspicions are correct, then he needs to stay here.” Without explaining the cryptic answer, the commander left South to struggle through the word play his simple mind just couldn’t understand.
***********
Martin was there when the team returned and the next one leave. He judged from their smiling faces that they had managed to keep the Seacats from destroying another home. He shared their short celebration before returning to the students who were waiting for him to teach them. As he was returning to the courtyard to his awaiting class, Tollant stopped him.

“Hey, Martin,” the older spy grumbled, “I have a question about your requisition.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” Although he had placed a requisition for supplies, it was a lie. It was simply an excuse for the two of them to exchange information.

Tollant shuffled through papers then gave it to him. Martin quickly read the note, not paying much attention to the question the other spy asked. It was written in code and the news wasn’t much, just reports on the petty thefts the thieves kept themselves occupied with. Not that he expected any interesting news until the spies out in the patrol started gathering more information about the Seacats.

“As you can see,” Tollant was saying, tapping the paper. “I just cannot meet that demand without outside supplies. In future, would you mind keeping your requests for supplies limited to what we have here?”

“Alright,” Martin sighed, giving Tollant his report back. “I’ll write up something new later and give it to you.” The Listener nodded and left.

When the next team came back, Martin was there again at the gate. It was close to evening when they returned and their expressions were less cheerful than the team before. Martin didn’t need to open himself to their emotions to feel their disappointment.

The pattern was soon set and the days bled into each other Each day, Martin would get up, send off a team, teach, receive and send off teams, teach, help where he was needed, send off teams, welcome back the teams, exchange notes with Tollant, report to the council, see to the teams, then late at night, finally collapse into a bed. Although the monotony of the routine tugged at him, the days formed weeks more quickly than he felt it should have. All too soon, two months passed by.

Martin stood on one of the battlements on the two month marking of the Seacats’ invasion, looking over Evan’s Stand in the early morning light and seeking refuge from what his life had turned into. A cold winter wind whipped through his coat. Shivering, he pulled the coat closer, wishing he wasn’t trapped inside this fort.

It’s been two months, he kept thinking, barely noticing the guards making their patrols behind him. Two months spent teaching citizens how to fist fight when he should have been out there fighting with them. Two months of a guilty conscious. Aeterna had saved him, why wasn’t he allowed to help it now?

The spy gritted his teeth as another freezing wind blew through him. He hadn’t really spoken with Gillian since the order of remaining at the prison fort. Tyler had expressed the commander’s worry, but Martin refused to answer. Yes, he still attended the meeting with the war council, but he never once stopped to talk with the prison commander.

I don’t even know why I’m attending those meetings anyway, he thought bitterly. He no longer went out on spying missions. Instead, he got to report to the council what Tollant had his spies gather on the Seacats. The news was always the same. No Venter soldiers helping the Seacats with their invasion. The spies couldn’t get into Meriss’s stronghold to find the answers to the council’s questions. And it grated on his nerves that he wasn’t the one seeking new information. Maybe this is how Suit feels as well.

“Here you are,” a voice came from behind. “Gosh, Martin, you’ve got a certain way of disappearing on people.”

Martin turned his head to see Glen walking up the steps. The thief and his cousin had recovered from their wounds in a matter of weeks. They no longer helped him teach those lessons but went out to watch the Seacats. Glen had just come back from one such mission. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of the stealth suit.

“I take you caught the Seacats on time,” Martin acknowledged, nodding out over the city. There was no smoke rising in the morning light.

“That we did,” Glen laughed, slapping the spy on the back. “We’re getting better at catching them.” Martin gave a weak smile. Yes, the first couple of weeks they didn’t save many homes. “So,” the thief went on, “have you talked with Gillian yet?”

Martin stiffened. Why were they pushing him? “About what?” he snapped. “He’s not going to change his mind.” He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away. The thief fell into step with him.

“You never know,” Glen pointed out. “I can see what confinement is doing to you. I don’t know why Gillian is keeping you locked up here for, but he must see how it’s making a grouch out of you.”

It was an accurate statement. Martin couldn’t stand not helping. It was his duty to put his life in danger to save others. He was trained to deal with the responsibility. Not only that, that urgent sense of fighting had gotten stronger the longer he stayed in the fort. Martin shivered again, though not for the cold.

“You need to talk to Gillian,” Glen repeated, more firmly then before. “For your own sanity, if for nothing else.”

“I won’t,” Martin said, sighing. “He has orders from Suit.” Although Glen and Tyler had speculated what the orders from Suit were about, neither of them understood what the real problem was. No one in the fort knew about the list.

“Hey, listen,” Glen said, frowning. He stopped and cocked his head to the side. “Martin? Do you hear that?”

Martin paused to listen. He frowned. It almost sounded like screaming…

BANG!

The wind blast came over the wall, showering the wall guards and them in dust. Coughing, Martin charged up the steps again and up to the battlement. Waving the dust from his face, he looked out over the city, his eyes widening. The path leading up to the fort had been blasted, revealing the thief-way underneath. Several Seacats and humans stood on the other side of the gaping hole. The humans were forced on their knees. They were wearing stealth suits.

“Hey, wall-dwellers,” a brown Seacat yelled up at them. Meriss. “I’ve got a little message for that commander of yours. I’ve got one of your teams. If you don’t want them to die by this time in two sunrises, he’ll come talk with us about a trade off. And if he keeps ignoring my messages, I’ll keep capturing your clever teams to meet the same fate!”

The Seacats laughed as they pulled the struggling humans away. Martin spun on the spot and ran for the commander’s office, ignoring Glen yelling insults at the Seacats below. No time for grudges now. They needed a plan, and fast!
**************
Tracker itched with the want to kill the prisoners. However, Meriss had promised to keep them alive for two days. Silently, the Venter spy wished the commander wouldn’t answer to the Seacat’s demand.

The Aeternan prisoners sat huddled in one of the basement rooms of the mansion. The door had been removed and replaced with the broken iron gate from the garden, with three Seacats on guard at all times. Tracker leaned against the wall as Meriss began to interrogate the prisoners. One thing he could really admire about the Seacats were how they applied the art of pain on others.

Meriss snapped his barbed whip over the head of the cringing Aeternans. “Now, then,” he purred, whipping this time at their feet, “tell me. How many soldiers does your prison have? Fifteen hundred? Two thousand?”

“It’s none of your business!” snapped one of the braver men. He was a younger man, taller than most with green eyes and dark hair. “We won’t say anything! And we won’t bow to you! Commander Gillian will beat you!”

Poor youth, Tracker thought with a chuckle. He had just mentioned the wrong person.

One of the black felines yowled and leapt on the poor soul, digging her nails into his shoulders while she kneed him where it counted. The youth screamed out and tried to fight the Seacat off. Her only response was another hit.

“Carice,” Meriss snapped, cracking his whip for good measure. “Don’t hurt him too much. He might have answers for us.”

“I’m only playing with him,” she purred in a dark tone, looking down at the young man’s paling face. “Besides, he’s not bad looking… Perhaps I can get the information out of him another way?” Tracker recognized the signs of a feline coming into heat.

Poor youth, he thought again as Meriss ordered the feline to go back with the others. I don’t want to be you when she’s in full heat. The disappointed feline slinked out of the room, hungrily gazing at the captured Aeternans. The young man she had pined somehow managed to get on his hands and knees. He crawled to the others and sat down with a groan.

“Meriss,” Tracker said, gesturing for the Seacat to come. Meriss frowned as he approached.

“What is it?” he hissed. “These are my prisoners. I get to play with them.”

Tracker rolled his eyes. At times it was easy to forget that these creatures weren’t human. “You do have time with these men. How about a new form of torture? One that is sure to leaving them wishing for us to stop their pain?”

This caught the Seacat’s attention. “What do you have in mind?”

Reaching into his inner vest pocket, he pulled out a small glass tube with blue powder. The Seacat took it from his offering hand. He sniffed the bottle with the cork on.

“What is this?”

Tracker allowed himself a slow smile.

“It’s called Nightmare Dust.”
************
Gillian was picking out the men who would go out on the rescue mission. They were the best among them, and honest the lot. He picked Glen the thief to lead it; the young man had been the first to volunteer. Not that the commander could blame him. His cousin was among the captured. Satisfied with the group picked out, he started mentally preparing the speech he was going to give them before they went out.

“I’m going.”

The sound of the deep voice made him frown. It was the first two words he’s heard from the young spy in months. Turning around, he saw Martin, dressed in the stealth uniform and a belt full of weapons.

“We’ve been over this,” Gillian said firmly. “You’re not going out of this fort.”

“I’m needed on this mission and you know it,” Martin snapped, squaring his shoulders.

“There are other spies just as good,” Gillian started to point out when Martin started to smirk. He paused. What trick did the Alex have up his sleeve?

“I failed to mention something in my first report,” the spy casually said, folding his arms. “The Venter spy. It’s Tracker.”

Gillian froze. Of course he knew the Alex’s rival in the spying world and he knew just how dangerous this current one was. “Martin,” he said in a low tone, “why didn’t you tell us we’re dealing with that murder?”

“Because he wasn’t going to interfere,” the spy replied, matching the low tone. “Because it wasn’t important for any of you to know. And because many would have chickened out if they knew he was here.” Gillian gritted his teeth; he couldn’t argue with that point.

“Then all the more reason for you to stay here,” he snapped. Taking the young spy by the arm, he pulled him away so the others wouldn’t hear. “The orders from Suit were clear. You’re not to get in danger because…”

“I’m in a fort surrounded by enemies and Seacats,” Martin snapped back. “I’m already in danger.”

“But at least you’re not throwing yourself into their hands!” Gillian wanted to pull at the hair on his head. Why was the spy being so stubborn? “Martin, I know you hate hearing that you need to be careful, but if you are…”

“What if I’m not?” he cut in. Leaning forward, he continued in a whisper. “You know the odds, they aren’t in my favor. Yes, the missing pieces of my past fit in with what could have happened… But, Gillian, what if it’s just that? My past is just missing pieces and there is no connection? Everyone is too busy thinking about saving us now, but what about when we’re not the prince? I can’t live in safety because of a possibility. I have to go out.”

The rebuttal Gillian had died on his tongue. There was something in the young spy’s voice. Not just an argument, but… authority? Suit always claimed that Martin would one day become an impressive leader one day. Truthfully, Gillian always thought the Spy Master was just blowing a horn. But looking at the determined young man standing before him, he knew that Suit was right.

“Alright,” he sighed. This was not an argument he was going to win. “You’ll lead.” Martin nodded sharply, as if it was the answer he had been expecting all along. He joined the rescue team and told them the change in plans. Gillian stayed by the wall, watching as the young spy gave the motivation speech for him.

It would be ironic if Martin were the prince, he thought for what seemed the hundredth time since he read that letter two months earlier. Yet, as he watched the spy take command, the commander started to have a nagging feeling that the irony was real.
************
A longer post than normal, but I don't think anyone minds. Besides, I'm trying to get as much editting done as possible before I go back to school. And as an fyi, the other day I discovered that Amazon is holding a "Breakthrough Novel" contest. The entries must be sent in sometime between late January and early Feburary. The grand prize: a book deal. I'm thinking of entering. I'll get more details out if I do end up sending my novel in. Until then, Merry Christmas!!!

Becoming Eighty-One

Finals are over! Hurray! Time to celebrate with more story! Now, if you've been following the story, I want you to forget about the Mesa adventure. That's right. Just forget that it ever happened. I'm taking it out of the storyline. You've just meet Tracker, you've never heard of the poison yet either, Sona's overprotective cousin didn't come meddeling in her relationships. None of it happened. Got that? When I get time, I'll rewrite why Martin got transfered to Evan's Stand. But for now, just imagen that Commander Gillian asked Cheif with help getting spies back under his command, and the fight between Cheif and Suit resulted in the orders for Martin to go to the Stand. That's all cleared up? Yes? Good. On with the story!
***********
It as after midnight when the meeting was finally called to end. Martin bid everyone goodnight and left before any of them could pull him aside and grill him more. Groaning and rubbing the small of his back, he went back to the armory where he had picked up his stealth suit. Once he was changed back into his normal clothes, he went in search of a place to sleep again where he wouldn’t be stepped on. His previous pillar had been taken.

He stopped in his tracks. Where’s Glen and Tyler? It had been the night before since he last saw them. They were injured in the attack and were sent back to have their wounds treated. How could have I forget them? Spinning around, he went in search of the healing wards.

Because of Commander Gillian’s swift evacuation there weren’t many injured during the attack. Although the regular prison healing ward was filled, they needed to set up only one temporary ward to take in the refugees. Martin figured he could find his friends there, since like Willy, they did not take confinement well.

The temporary healing ward was found in the main courtyard, a large white tent with people coming and going out of it. There were five different people checking those coming and going. Martin approached one who didn’t look too busy. Asking after Glen and Tyler, the clerk looked through a chart, muttering the names as he went down the list with a finger.

“Ah,” he said, looking up from his papers. “Isle four, bed numbers four twenty three and four twenty five.”

Martin thanked the clerk and went inside. Gillian is a very organized man, he thought, impressed with the set up. There were five different isles of cots, each labeled with a clearly marked number. Finding isle four, he went down the row, keeping an eye to his left where it was marked with all the odd numbers. He frowned as he got to their beds. Why was there a separation curtain for them? Pulling the cloth aside barely enough to peek inside, he saw why. They already had a visitor.

“Commander Gillian,” he said, entering the confined space without asking permission to enter. The three men just shook their heads, though smiling. Glen and Tyler looked better than when he last saw them, though both had bandages covering their arms.

“I was just visiting,” Gillian answered before Martin could ask why he was there. “I promised their fathers that I would look after them.”

“Bah!” Glen said, trying to throw his sling trapped arm up into the air. “I don’t need looking after!”

Tyler from the other bed raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you? The healers thought you would faint from blood loss.” He turned to grin at the spy. “Gillian took up our only chair, but you’re more than welcome to sit on Glen’s bed.”

“Thanks for offering my bed,” Glen grumbled as Martin sat. “So, we hear you’ve been a busy spy while we’ve been lounging around.”

Martin almost smiled. “Someone has to. We can’t all be injured.”

This got a laugh out of the men. Gillian was still chuckling after it subsided. “Well, Martin,” the commander said, leaning on one of the arm rests. “These men have been telling me that you’ve been bothered by something. You want to get it out?”

Martin glared at the two grinning cousins. Of course they would tell Gillian; the commander was technically his superior. “No,” he answered bluntly. “We have to worry about the Stand first.”

Gillian leaned back in his chair, stroking his limp mustache. “We can’t do much until tomorrow morning when we get a final count of who’s going to be helping us. We have a bit of time.” He shifted in his seat. “Tell me, does it have to do with that list you made?” The cousins shared confused looks.

Martin flinched. Apparently the commander hadn’t told them what list. Perhaps it was best that way. “Yes.”

The prison commander sighed, rubbing his left temple. “Do you believe you should be on that list?”

Martin looked down at his hands. He hadn’t come here to be interrogated! “Can’t we talk about something else?”

“No, Martin,” Gillian said firmly. “It’s important.”

The spy glared at the commander. Why was he pushing him? “Truthfully?” he asked, receiving a commanding nod. “Then, yes,” he dragged out. “There are enough facts to fit.” Glen and Tyler still looked confused, sharing looks with each other, and questioning glances at them. Martin hoped the commander would have enough sense to let the matter drop and say nothing more.

Gillian leaned farther back in his chair, rocking it onto its back two legs. “This is serious, Martin,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have let you gone out tonight.”

“Sir!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You don’t mean that!” Martin shook with frustration and anger. How could this be happening to him? “I’ve worked hard for the last eight years to get this job, and now everyone wants to take it away from me! Just because I got on a list! Please don’t tell me you’re the same!”

The commander watched his reaction with a calm expression. “I’m afraid I’m going to tell you that I am the same,” he said sadly. “I know you’ve worked hard to get where you are, but it doesn’t change the facts, Martin. You’re on that list for a reason. You have to be more careful.”

Martin threw his hands up, grunting as he spun in a circle. What was with people telling him what to do lately? I’m just like Willy, he thought bitterly. Confinement made him itch as well.

“What’s this list you two keep talking about?” Glen finally asked. “I mean, you two came to visit us and you’re doing all the talking about things we humble men don’t understand.”

“Glen,” Tyler hissed. “It’s not really our place.” Martin silently thanked the sailor for coming to his defense. “Besides, this might not be the place to say anything. What with the healers and patients who can hear us.”

“This might not be the right place,” Gillian agreed, sighing. He glanced at the spy. “Sit back down, Martin. This is going to be for your own good.”

“My own good?” Martin snapped as he sat back down. “Every time someone finds out about that list and that my name is right on the top of it, they start treating me like I’m something that needs to be protected.”

“Martin,” the commander said sternly. “If you are… what you’ve claimed you may be, we need to think of your safety now.”

“You’re expecting him to sit tight?” Glen asked, sitting up in his bed. “Commander, with all respect, you’ve known him longer than me. Telling him to stay put is like trying to tell the winds to stop blowing.”

“It’s like I said,” the spy grumbled, thankful Glen had come to his defense as well. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Now you’re expecting me to not work hard and sit tight.”

“A difficult challenge for you,” Gillian agreed, an idea sparking in his eyes. “That’s why I have a job in mind for you, and also our mutual injured friends here. We do need to train some people on how to fight, and you’re one of the best fist fighters I know.”

“Great,” Martin grumbled, slouching. “Instead of doing what I’ve been trained, you want me to teach others just enough so they can pretend to do what I should be doing?” He was the one trained to confront dangers, not the citizens he vowed to protect.

The three men frowned at him. “Getting bitter?” Gillian asked, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not normally like this…”

“Oh, that’s just because I hide it well,” he pointed out. “But I do have a limit on how much people can push me. And I’ve been pushed too much about being safe because of a possibility.”

The commander exchanged looks with the cousins, then sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Martin. But Suit’s order was very clear. You need to stay safe.”

Martin turned away, angry with them and himself. Why did this have to happen? I just can’t be the prince, he kept thinking. Despite all the evidence heaping against him, he wanted it to be a big mistake. And then, perhaps, he could return to his job.

Or perhaps I can keep my job. Martin glanced up to meet Gillian’s concerned eyes. The commander flinched slightly and forced himself to look away. That was often people’s reactions when they saw his determination. “I’ll stay put,” Martin said, grinning. “But I get to ask for something in return.”
****************
Sam Tollant was overseeing the distribution of supplies to the other various distribution centers that Gillian had ordered to serve the trapped people. Shouting orders over the heads of the underlings, he made sure that the right people had the right things. The prison commander thought he was the best for the job. Tollant didn’t mind the job; the regulation of such an endeavor was always soothing to him. But it also gave him an excuse to talk to a lot of people, both from high and low class. Even the thieves would come to him, trying to bribe some sort of supply out of him. Tollant allowed a smirk; it wasn’t often that he smiled. His true job had its dangers and he rather be known for a harden man used to years of hard work.

I wonder what Gillian has in mind, he thought, and not for the first time that day. With this sudden invasion, he had expected the prison commander to keep him in close contact and use the spies under his command. But he had nothing. The commander had only told him to take charge of handing out supplies as they were needed. They had no idea how long this siege was going to last, best not squander what they had in a few months when it could last for years under careful watch.

However, he did have that other job, under Suit’s command. He was the Stand’s own spy master. Nothing could be done in the city without his knowing about it. This silence from his normal contact with Gillian made him nervous.

“You there!” he shouted over the crowd, pointing to an older man who was taking one box too many. “Put one of those boxes back! That’s right! You! I’ll charge you much more than whatever bribe you’ve accepted! Don’t think I won’t!” The man almost paled as he quickly followed the order. Tollant snorted. As a spy, he knew that nothing could escape his notice. Another reason Gillian wanted him in this position.

Then why isn’t that man contacting me?

“It’s amazing what happens to people when disaster strikes.”

Tollant frowned. Turning around, he saw a young man leaning against one of the larger crates, observing the work. He was unremarkable in almost every way, someone you won’t notice even if they walked right in front of you. But something about the way he held himself and watched others made Tollant pause. This young man more than what he seemed to be.

“Some people step up and try to help others,” he went on in a deep, bored voice, “and yet others show the darker side of their personalities.”

“You’re not helping here,” Tollant pointed out. “Either start working or leave.”

“Ah, yes,” the youth sighed, leaning more on the crate. “I’ve come to work. Though not the type that most find respectable.”

Tollant frowned. That statement could mean a number of things. He quickly dismissed the idea of an assassin; none of the thieves knew the spy master that watched them. They merely called him Listener, a title that he lived up to. In civilian life, he was a dock master, doing the same work as now.

“Then it all depends on your definition of respectable.” If it was a word game the kid wanted, he was going to be in for a surprise. Tollant had been playing them since he was younger than the youth bothering him.

“My definition is flexible,” he shrugged. He glanced away to stare Tollant in the eyes. Strong hazel eyes with a fire Tollant had only seen in a very few people. Important people. This youth was more than he let others believe.

“Who are you?” he asked. The best way out of a word war was to be blunt. The young man half smiled.

“Your superior.”

Tollant snorted. “Right. How? You’re what? Half my age?”

The young man ignored the jibe at his age. “Gillian didn’t call you up to the council of defense,” the young man reported. Tollant suppressed a shiver. How had he known? “It was for a reason,” he went on, idly waving his hand as if the fact was unimportant. “The thieves don’t know the Listener; it should remain that way.”

Only training kept Tollant from smacking the smirk off the youth’s face and demanding how he knew. The young man’s smile widened as he watched the silent struggle.

“You were never told about me,” he went on. “Suit has always been overprotective of his apprentices. Even when he’s no longer training them.”

One of our spies, Tollant thought, regarding the kid again with new eyes. Yes, he could see the training in him now. However, the part about being Suit’s apprentice he wasn’t quite ready to believe. “Describe Suit.”

The kid shrugged again. “A prideful old man.” Tollant nodded. That was Suit. “Do you believe me now?”

Tollant scratched his beard. “We’re on the same page, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m surprised I wasn’t told you were in the city. Especially after Suit took a fourth of my underlings. I expected that he would tell me of even a new one I could use.”

The young spy snorted. “No one was supposed to know I’m here. Gillian was informed for security reasons. The moment he heard rumors of me being here he was supposed to get me out.” He sighed deeply. “However, the Seacats have messed that plan up. Now I’m stuck here playing teacher.”

Tollant nodded, feeling sorry for the kid. Suit had two other apprentices years before, back when he was still living at the Tree. Suit did have an eye for spies who didn’t take resting very well.

“You’re to take my command over?” Tollant asked, unsure of this young man’s plans for him.

“By the Seven Founders, no,” he chuckled. “You’re good at your job and know the network better than anyone else. No, I just need you to report to me so I can report to the council. They already know I’m a spy, even the thieves on the council. Best if they only know me, right?”

Tollant nodded slowly. It was better that way. “I don’t know how good my reports are going to be. We’re stuck here.”

The young spy sighed. “Not for much longer. The current plan, as I understand it, is that teams will be trained and sent out to irritate the Seacats. My job,” he went on bitterly, “is to help train them.” Tollant suddenly had a desire to have been there when the young man was told about his new position. Suit did not pick lay-abouts as his apprentices.

“And let me guess,” Tollant added quickly, “you’d like some of my best spies mingled about the teams. I’ll point them out to you so that you can place them where you want.”

The spy nodded his head. “That is appreciated. I only need twenty-six of the spies, since it was decided this morning that there will only be twenty-six teams at the beginning.” Tollant shared the young spy’s frown.

“Why twenty-six?”

“Apparently one team for each hour to patrol the city, with two extra just in case. If trouble comes up, they’d send a signal and the rest of the teams would go help.”

“That doesn’t seem enough to me to protect our Stand.”

“There will be more teams,” the spy promised him. “This is just starting out.” He sighed. “I should let you get back to your work. I’ll come later to discuss more about what our plans should be.”

Tollant glanced back at the workers, mildly surprised to see that everyone had the correct order. No one tired to sneak something from under his nose. He glanced back at the young man, his face almost troubled. He shook it before Tollant could ask.

“What name are you under?” he asked. “I’ll need to know.”

The young man looked at him again, the same determination in his very presence. “I’m called Martin.”
************
It was disturbing. Martin left the distribution center walking more confidentially than he felt. Oh, getting Tollant to work with him hadn’t worried him. Even their conversation was more relaxing than anything he had to deal with the council. No, it was what had happened there in the center, something Tollant probably noted but did not comment.

No one tried to steal more supplies. Martin wasn’t sure if it was because of his powers or if they knew Tollant’s wrath would be great if he learned about the stealing, but they had kept in line while they talked. Tollant’s reputation was well known for never allowing bribes to take what rightfully belonged to other people. On the other hand, he did have powers that he could barely control.

Just another question thrown in with the others left unanswered. It made Martin nervous by having so many unanswered questions hanging over his head, with no true way to find the answers. However, he wasn’t going to tell anyone about the evidence piling against him to figure out his magic.

I’m going to go mad if I keep thinking like this. Martin walked through the halls of the stone prison, thinking of another problem, though one he knew he could deal with.

Tracker. The top spy in Venter and Martin’s rival. He had clashed against the Venter spy in the past, and he had a voice that still sent shivers through Martin’s spine. The first he heard that voice was on his first mission. A man who spoke with a soft confidence, using a tone of knowing just how dangerous he was. There had only been three other occasions Martin had heard that same quiet voice. The night before was the first time he had seen the Venter spy’s face.

But back then, he didn’t understand fully just why Tracker used that tone. Martin didn’t fear Terk; the general was a mad man with cold logic, and though he was unpredictable, people have been known to escape with their lives. Tracker was completely different.

In the spying world, Aeterna’s Alex and Venter’s Tracker were considered equals, though the Tracker tended to be more violent. Martin knew a bit about this current Tracker. The man was ruthless in getting the job done; the trail of blood that followed him was years long. And once the job was done, whoever was considered extra baggage was killed. No second thoughts, no hesitation, and no time to beg for life.

Martin knew he should have told Gillian the truth about the spy talking with the Seacats, but he held the information back. It was for their own good. The rumors of the Tracker rivaled that of the Alex. They would never get volunteers to go out if they even thought that the Venter spy was out there, waiting for them to walk into his trap.

Though, Martin did have a feeling that Tracker was going to try keeping a low profile while here. His duty was to catch a man with no reflection and scaring him away with a reputation wasn’t going to help him. One thing the Tracker did not anticipate was that the man he was looking for had a reputation to match his own and would not bow to fear.

Who would have thought that we’d be in the same seaport? It was actually a funny thought to him. Martin allowed himself a small smile. So, Tracker was going to try and hunt him down? Finally, a challenge worthy of his skills.
************
The first lesson was scheduled after the final bell for lunch sounded over the prison. Martin glanced up to the grey clouds over the courtyard where the recruits mingled and waited for instructions. Commander Gillian mingled among them, reassuring them of things they asked. Martin suspected some of them voiced concerns about the Seacats beyond the stone walls of the prison. Some had already calmed down enough from the attack to being questioning if they were safe in a fort that housed criminals.

Glancing over to the cells where prisoners were kept, Martin had to admit he admired how Gillian was dealing with them. The prisoners didn’t know what was happening outside of their cells. The guards had been ordered that no one beside prison staff could enter those prison cell halls. Some had gone mad already with their confinement; they wouldn’t care anyway. But the others, the murders, rapists, thieves, and traitors, they weren’t told. To them, the life as a prisoner under Gillian’s command was the same. Same food, same guards, same routine. The only difference they might find was the lack of visitors.

Not that many visited them anyway.

Gillian walked over to him. Martin had been waiting by a raised stage for the announcement to be made. Yates, the weapons master, and his apprentice Phillis also waited for the prison commander to join them.

“Well?” he asked, jerking his head slightly to the men gathered behind him. “What do you think of our crop?”

“It’s not the cream,” Yates grumbled. “But they’ll do.” Gillian gave him an appreciated nod. He then glanced at the young spy. Martin didn’t share the glance, keeping his eyes out for the twenty-six Tollant had pointed out to him. Though he already identified them, he wanted to keep an eye on them.

“Well?” Gillian asked. “You know who you need to pick?” Martin nodded absently for a reply. The prison commander sighed. “Are you going to talk to me again?” Martin treated him to his most annoying shrug. He was still miffed that he had been ordered to just train and not help out in the field. He might be the Alex and had a duty to perform here, but he could still hold a grudge.

Gillian sighed again. “Oh, well. Right, then. Let’s get this over with.” He took the three steps onto the raised stage, Master Yates and Phillis following after him. Martin hesitated before also stepping up. Attention made him nervous, a gift of his childhood and his training as a spy.

Something moved in the corner of his eyes, away from the crowd that shuffled as Gillian greeted them in a loud voice. Glancing behind the stage, he saw Willy lounging in the shadows, a smirk on his face as he meet his gaze. Annoying thief. It had been agreed that there had to be a spy and a thief on every team. Willy was just there to make sure the pact was kept. But he did seem to enjoy watching Martin squirm as he took his place beside Phillis.

If he had his way, Martin wouldn’t have been on the stand, but among the other arms teachers Yates had organized to teach this group of volunteers. But Gillian had insisted that he stand up here. His place was actually more important than that of a simple instructor.

The commander spent the next half hour in speech, encouraging them in their decision, relating their proud heritage, and the reason they fought against the Seacats. It was an impressive speech, but Martin only half listened. He only had a short time before Gillian introduced him to these men, and he knew he had to have a better story for his skills other than being a street urchin turned spy.

“You will all be trained by the best,” Gillian said loudly, though not shouting, just enough to be heard. “Master Yates and his men will oversee your weapon training.” He paused in his speech, barely glancing back to him. “And to train you in sabotage and fist fighting is the young man behind me with the dark hair. His name is Martin Stevens.” Martin wasn’t sure why he picked that particular last name. It was close enough to Santer that it made him nervous.

“That kid?” someone in the crowd shouted out, barking a laugh. “He looks barely old enough to put a razor to his face!” There were several laughs that followed the comment. Gillian’s expression darkened and was about to command silence when Martin stepped up beside the prison commander.

“Then challenge me,” he said loud enough for them to hear. “Pick the strongest among you and we’ll fight.” The laughs in the crowd grew louder as they elbowed each other in jest. Martin kept his face expressionless; they didn’t know how dangerous he really was.

“Martin?” Gillian asked, whispering so the crowd couldn’t hear. Someone moved through the crowd to take up Martin’s challenge. “Do you think this is wise?”

“You already have me in the spotlight,” he said softly. “Anything I might train them in won’t matter if I don’t gain their respect now.” Without waiting for the commander’s reply, he jumped down from the stage and waited for the challenger to emerge from the crowd.

The man must have been the largest of the volunteers. He cricked his head from side to side, producing a loud crack that Martin wanted to flinch. The spy took a moment to assess his opponent; judging by the bulging muscles of his frame, the thick neck that placed under his square jaw, the lack of hair on his face, and the burn marks on his tanned arms, the man was a blacksmith.

He must be twice my weight. Not that it bothered him; on the streets, size was a disadvantage.

“I am Derek,” he boomed, pulling the shirt off his chest, revealing more hair than on top of his head. “I’ll challenge you, Runt.”

Martin inclined his head slightly, the thought never entering his mind to take his shirt off. “Then prepare well, Derek. I’m not to be underestimated. Attack me.” It was a simple command and the blacksmith frowned for a moment before charging forward.

Lowering his center of gravity, Martin watched as the man barreled at him. Derek yelled as he reached his hands out to grab him. At the last moment, Martin stepped to the side, letting the surprised blacksmith keep running. Derek tried to stop but Martin locked his arms together and slammed his elbows into the man’s thick neck. Derek fell to the ground with a grunt.

“First rule,” Martin said, addressing the shocked on-lookers, “is to use a man’s strength against him. He may be twice my size, but I am quicker. Bigger does not mean better!”

“Fine then,” Derek snapped, throwing an arm out to knock his feet from under him. Martin fell to the ground, rolling as he hit. Derek tried to climb up to his feet but the spy beat him to it. Jumping into a crouch, Martin lunged for the man’s middle, tackling him back to the ground. Before Derek could even try reaching around to grab him, the spy dug his knee into the middle of the man’s back and pulled his arms up behind him. Derek struggled to break free of the hold.

“The idea of fist fighting is not brute strength,” Martin announced, pleased by the shocked faces of his audience. Even Gillian, Yates, and Phillis had the same surprised look. “It is to use your own different strengths, whatever they may be, against the weakness of your enemy.” He tugged on Derek’s struggling arms. “Give up?”

“You win,” Derek consented. Martin released his hold. The blacksmith rose with a respectful smile. “Never would have thought I’d see a day when someone would knock me down.” He bowed his head slightly. “I am looking forward to your instructions.” Martin returned the head nod.

“How did you learn to fight like that?” someone asked. The others of the crowd whispered the same question among themselves.

It’s time for my lie. He hoped they would believe it. “I am a Ghost,” he lied. “The training for our special group is rather… unique.” The crowd whispered excitedly. Ghosts were very rare, especially alone. Martin knew that he had basically placed himself in the ranks of heroes in their minds. The deeds of Ghosts, both past and present, were sung about in taverns all around Aeterna. Martin knew he should have been bothered that he put into their minds that he was among those special warriors, but for some reason, there was no guilt. Instead, it seemed as if he was more relaxed with their thinking.

Glancing briefly up at those on the stage, he could see the shock on their faces. Gillian and Yates knew he was a spy, the commander knew he was the Alex, another legendary Aeternan figure. But they weren’t expecting such a grand lie to cover his tracks. Anyone with the right knowledge could prove Martin’s claim to the Ghosts false.

“Which Ghost are you?” Derek asked, his face eager with excitement. “What’s the number you go under?”

Martin froze. He had forgotten. Ghosts did not go through the harsh training with their names. They were assigned numbers. The point of it was to teach the future Ghosts that they were not to be concerned with who they were, but what they must do. “Names shouldn’t matter,” Chief had told him. “It’s the deeds that define the man. Not the name.”

The spy thought quickly. There were a great many numbers he could pick from, but the Ghosts had a tendency to reuse those numbers whenever a Ghost either retired or became too famous with their deeds that they had to go by their names. This was the right knowledge that could prove him a fraud.

Then he remembered Chief again. As head general of the Ghosts, Chief reserved the right to give his number to anyone he wished. Last Martin knew, the Ghost General hadn’t given it to anyone yet.

“Eighty-one,” he answered, faking a smile for the benefit of those who watched. The crowd muttered excitedly among themselves and Martin felt his smile fall into a frown. Now he had two reputations to live up to.
************
Ah, a nice set up for the plot in the third part of this story (currently known as Aeterna's Heir). But just to keep everyone informed, there are about four, maybe five, posts left on the Rebellious Spy before I begin Secret's Captive. (We'll see what revisions will add to this end).

Now, a request. If you even look at this site and get to this bottom paragraph, let me know. Post a comment, inform me on facebook. Not picky. And I'm not picky when you tell me (even if it's been a month after this post first came up). That would be great for my curious head. Thanks! Enjoy the journey!

Back Up and Running

Welcome back! Whew, November was certianly a busy month. I can't believe that I've finished NaNoWriMo at all with all that happened. But you're probably not interested in the details. I hear cries "Get on with the story already!" And so you will have it! Review: Seacats have taken over Evan's Stand and Martin is out trying to find the answers. This is what he found...
******
“These Aeternans,” purred a voice. “They really liked spices. How can they not enjoy the flavors of natural food?”

“All human liked spiced foods of one sort of another,” a feminine voice answered. “Found anything for our guest yet? Meriss wants to please him.”

“I don’t know why we need to please him,” the first voice whined. “We’re the ones doing all the hard work.

“We also get to have the Stand when they get what they want,” the feline snapped. “We find one human and we get to do whatever we want here. Now, have you found anything?”

“I’ve found some sort of cooked meat.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

Martin waited until he heard a door closed. Pushing his door open, he saw the lit kitchen. Three different stoves and ovens lined one wall, unfinished stew still in the pots sat on the cold burners. Several working tables filled the rest of the room. Careful of the hanging pots, pans, and other cooking utensils, he made his way to another door on the opposite side of the kitchen where he assumed the Seacats had left. He listened again for the Seacats on the other side. Their retreating footsteps sounded as if they were climbing stairs, if the creaking was any judge.

Slowly opening the door, the spy peeked into the main servant hall. Good, he thought, slipping into the hall. No Seacats. He had suspected that there were going to be a lot more of the mystical creatures roaming the mansion. Where could they be?

No use wondering about it. He had a job. They needed to know what the Seacat’s new ally wanted. Martin briefly considered going on with his plan of searching the mansion by the floor, then glanced up where he knew the two Seacats had disappeared to. He didn’t want to spend any more time in this mansion then he had to. He went for the stairs, paused at the bottom and listened for the Seacats from the kitchen. He heard the one grumble and the other snap. There was a knock on the door, then a yowl. The grumbling continued until a door slammed shut.

Martin took a careful step up and paused again, listening for anything. Satisfied nothing had, he crept up the stairs, careful to not make the stairs creak like the Seacats had. The minutes dragged by as he ascended before he finally made the top. Now, he wondered, looking down the hall and the several doors that lined it. Where are they? The Seacats hadn’t bothered posting any guards. Martin rolled his eyes. He had to find them the hard way.

Stepping close to each door, he listened for anything inside. The house seemed deprived of any life. Frowning, as he reached the end of the hall, he wondered if there was another hall somewhere when he finally heard voices.

“It cannot be helped,” a masculine voice purred. “That prison commander is a smart one. He’s got most of the Stand held up in his prison fort.”

“We did not form this alliance so you can just give up,” growled another voice. Martin froze. It was Tracker!

How did he get here? Martin scowled. Last he knew, the Venter Spy was leashed to Terk’s side. Tracker was defiantly a crimp in his plans. Glancing around the hall, he opened the door next to the room. He was not going to be found outside the hall when his rival came out.

The room he entered seemed to have been a waiting chamber, though all the furniture was broken and lay scattered around the room. Martin stepped lightly through the debris until he reached the wall with the other room. He looked down the length of it and spotted an air vent near the ceiling to his right. Glancing around the destroyed room again, he picked out a foot rest, quietly moved the broken chair out of the way and replaced it with the foot rest. Testing his weight on it, he decided it was strong enough to hold him, then stepped up. The vent was closed. Glaring, he slowly pushed the tiny lever up to open it.

Finally open, he stood on his toes to look inside the room. It was brightly lit with two large fires burning on either side of the room. It seemed that anything that the Seacats found most precious was stuffed into the room in large piles. Several Seacats lounged among the plunder, admiring whatever trinket they played with. But Martin’s attention was focused on the center of the room. The Seacats tried to fashion a throne made completely of gold, though they had used a wooden chair as the frame. A tomcat sat on the throne, with one leg resting on one side of the chair and his opposite arm leaning against the other. He idly sipped from the gold goblet with jewels set inside it. Martin recognized this Seacat. He was the same one who had pointed at him before they were rescued. Taking a good look at the lounging tomcat, he noticed that the Seacat wasn’t completely brown. He had darker stripes decorating his sleek body.

“And I’m telling you,” the tomcat went on, carelessly waving his hand, “the commander is a smart one. We won’t be getting inside that fort any time soon.”

Tracker stiffened at the response. Martin gazed down at his rival, surprised to see him in actual light. In many ways, the Venter spy was similar to him. His dark hair had been cut short, average build and height, dressed in unremarkable clothes. But he held himself differently. He somehow managed to pull of a mocking posture and the sneer on his lips seemed permanent. But it was his voice that terrified people. His tone promised death and the softness was on the verge on carrying out that promise.

“I’m afraid I cannot accept that answer,” Tracker snapped, folding his arms carefully, as if avoiding something under his clothes. So, the Tracker is carrying knives. “We cannot wait for you to take over the fort. We need that man, Meriss.”

The tomcat snorted. “You want us to find a man with no reflection? I’ve told you before. We found him, but that annoying commander whisked him away. The one you and your mages want is in that fort. Perhaps you should try to find him there. I’m sure with all your spying skills you can get in.” Tracker growled, his face darkening at the jab. Meriss grinned wickedly, purring again.

“You got us Seacat to search for this man because we can see magic you humans can’t,” he continued to purr. “Though, how anyone can loose their refection is a funny mystery to me.

“However, the facts remain. Your man is in that fort under guard by one of the most ruthless fighters we Seacats know. It took four of our packs to finally create enough magic to banish him from the sea. We’ve got to be careful trying to take that prison fort.”

Why do you want me? Martin wanted to know, resisting the urge to grate his teeth.

“Alright,” Tracker finally relented, though his tone seeped with hate. “How long do you need to take the fort?”

“It will take at least all winter. Perhaps all spring as well.”

“All winter?!” Tracker blew up, waving his arms around. “We don’t have that time! We need that man!”

“Why?” Meriss asked, voicing Martin’s own question. “What does this reflection-less man have that you and those powerful mages are willing to kill for?”

Tracker gritted his teeth, his anger shaking his form. He took a few moments of deep breath to get his temper back. “Because,” he said through clenched teeth, “that man is more powerful and dangerous than any that will live in the next four hundred years. He needs to be brought to heel.”

Wait! What? What do you mean by more powerful and dangerous than anyone in the next four hundred years? Martin wanted the Venter spy to continue when the Seacat’s laugh cut the spy short.

“Surely that wisp of a young man can’t be that powerful,” Meriss chuckled, wiping away an imaginary tear. “And before you ask, no, I did not get a good look at him, but he was on the small side compared with the lord’s guards. But I really don’t care. We get to raid the Stand while we search for your man. Are you willing to wait for us to take the fort?”

Martin scowled, wanting to hit something. What made him so powerful that Terk wanted to bring to heel? He wondered if it was his ability to read other’s emotions, then dismissed the idea. Plenty of mages had similar powers. What else could have set him apart?

Tracker huffed. “I have no choice. You know how to fight Commander Gillian. Do you need any assistance from us? Magic perhaps?”

Meriss’s face darkened. Leaping from the throne, he tired to grab the Venter spy, but Tracker was faster. Whipping a short blade out, the spy held the sharp edge against the Seacat’s exposed chest. Meriss gazed down at the steel, narrowing his dark eyes in distaste. Snorting, he backed off.

“We don’t want your impure magic help,” he growled deep in his throat. “Besides, there is only one reason why we agreed to this alliance. You’ve given us a chance to kill Gillian again. He’s killed many of our packs. Revenge will be ours. We will take the fort in our own way. Understand? Stay out of it. We’ll get that man with no reflection for you, like you asked, but Gillian is in the way. He’s ours.”

Martin expected another insult from Tracker, but the Venter spy gave the Seacat a slow smirk. “I can respect that,” Tracker said in a tone that was almost pleased. “Revenge is best when done with your own hands. Very well. We’ll wait. But I have to be gone before winter’s out. If you catch that man after I leave, give him to the mages. They’ll know what to do.”

Meriss nodded and returned to his makeshift throne. He plopped down and waved a feline over with another gold cup. “We’ll start by destroying some homes. The citizens won’t like that, they’ll put pressure on the commander. He’ll have to act.”

Yes, Martin thought, planting his feet back down. Gillian will act. But now they knew the Seacats plans. His three questions were answered. The Seacats were allied with Venter and their pet mages. The Seacats were planning to destroy the homes of the citizens without the aid of the mages. And they were after a man with no reflection. They’re after me. Martin shivered. His life was complicated enough.

Time to leave. Martin stepped off the foot rest onto a cleared space of floor. He crept through the mess to the door. Pausing at the door to listen for sounds outside, he decided it was safe enough to leave. He slowly opened the door.

“What’s this?” Martin was yanked from the room and thrown to the floor. The air escaped his lungs as a Seacat jumped on his chest. It was an orange feline who gazed down at his masked face. “A spy?” she asked, reaching down and stroking down his face, her nails almost cutting through the fabric. “And what might a spy be doing here?”

Martin gritted his teeth. Any moment now those in the room will hear this. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed one of the slime balls Gillian had supplied him with. “I’m here to get information,” he informed the feline. “And you’re in my way!” He smashed the ball in the Seacat’s face. She howled and jumped off him, scratching at her face.

“Spy!” she yowled, banging on the door where Meriss and Tracker were. “There’s a spy!”

Martin ran from there, not waiting for them to see him. Jumping down the steps, he heard crashes from the floor above. I don’t have time to reach the basement! Changing his escape plan, he made for the kitchen where he knew there was an exit outside the mansion. Before he reached it, a Seacat flew over his head and landed in front of him. This brown tomcat carried a mace.

“Come on, spy,” he sneered, chucking the spiked metal ball at him. Martin jumped to the side, barely missing it. “Play with me.”

“What’s with you Seacats and playing?” Martin growled, ripping knives out and going in close. The Seacat tried to dodge his swift blades, but screamed out as his knives found flesh. The tomcat slinked to the side, holding his mace warily before him. Martin didn’t waste time fighting as the sounds of other Seacats came down the steps. He pulled out a smoke bomb and threw it on the ground, sending the white plume out and obscuring him from sight. The Seacats coughed and cursed as the smoke spread. Martin entered the kitchen and dashed through it to the exit. He threw the door open and ran outside.

“It’s only a human!” he heard Meriss howl. “Get him!” Martin glanced back. Several Seacats had escaped the smoke cloud and was running for him.

Great.

Martin was quickly approaching the broken garden gate. The iron wrought gate was lying on its side, hanging on only one hinge. The spy forced his legs to go faster as he ran towards it. At the last moment he leapt over the gate, his foot catching one of the bars. He fell hard on the cobble stone street. Shaking the fall out of him, he got back on his feet and ran.

“Come back, spy!” a feline purred as she landed gracefully on the gate he just jumped. “We’ll have a fun time playing.”

Martin frantically searched for an escape. He could not get caught! There! One of the buildings across the fast approaching intersection was one he recognized. He had helped Gillian rescue refugees from the Seacats there. He glanced back at the Seacats gaining on him. He needed to disappear. Skidding to a stop in the middle of the intersection, he faced the charging enemy. The Seacats slowed their pace, warily approaching him.

“Come on back,” the same orange feline purred. She thumbed her short sword, a slow grin appearing on her cat-like face. Martin slowly reached for more smoke bombs. “We’ll have a lot of fun playing.”

“Not going to happen!” Martin threw a fist full of bombs to the ground. Immediately, the rotten egg smoke filled the intersection. The Seacats screamed and tried to outrun the growing smoke cloud. Martin dashed to the building with the trap door. He thanked the Seven Founders as the smoke enveloped the closest entrance. Finding the trap door behind one of the paintings, he slipped into the underground thief-way. Just to ensure no one followed him, he pulled out another smoke bomb and filled the tunnel with the plume.

Let’s see them try to follow me down here! Martin thought as he ran through the tunnels. He had to report to Gillian about the answers no one wanted to hear.
*********
Tracker watched from an upper window with Meriss as the spy tried to outrun the Seacats. Sniffing the air, he could detect the lingering scent of the smoke bomb used down in the kitchen. Meriss had to threaten four Seacats to go air out the rotten egg smell from the mansion. Even then, it had taken a few scratches.

“Who do you think it is?” Meriss asked. Tracker didn’t answer. He didn’t know all the Aeternan spies, though he could tell this one was a professional. Perhaps one of the more experienced spies, judging by how well the spy managed to escape capture for this long.

He blinked in surprise as another plume of white smoke rose up not far from the mansion.

“Oh, great,” Meriss sneered, covering his sensitive nose with a cloth. “How much smell can that spy carry?”

“Judging by how large this cloud is…” Tracker gazed at it for a moment. “More then enough to get away.” It was likely at this point that the spy had escaped into the thief-way and was headed back to the prison fort. It irritated Tracker that the spy got away, that source of vast information now gone. What was the current strength of the prison fort? Who was running the show? Lord Cantry? Commander Gillian? An elected citizen? How could they enter the fort using those underground ways? But more importantly: How much had he heard?

“You might want to reconsider your plan of destroying the Stand’s homes,” he suggested. “He’s probably heard that part of our conversation. Gillian…”

“Can’t think of a way to stop us anyway if he knew,” Meriss snapped, turning away from the window. The Seacat’s shoulders shook, his tail twitching, and Tracker had the feeling that if he had fur on his back, it would have been standing up. “How can they stop us if they don’t know where we are going to strike?”

Tracker didn’t answer. The Stand was a known thief nest. There was a spy on every other corner and two thieves for every corner. No doubt the thieves were cooperating with the citizens to get their precious Stand back. In the prison fort there were probably enough eyes to watch the city from the walls and those secret tunnels. Gillian would know.

“Excuse me,” he suddenly said, heading for the door. “I’ve got things to do.”

Meriss frowned slightly, his dark slit eyes narrowing. “I thought we had things to discuss.”

Tracker glanced back over his shoulder at the Seacat. He admired and hated these creatures. They cared for riches and took pleasure in torture. But they did have a tendency to get distracted.

“Those tunnels are a liability to us,” he answered. “I’ve got to find them.” Without waiting for an answer, he left the leading Seacat, resisting the urge to hurt the creature for asking such a stupid question. He would have killed Meriss if the Seacat wasn’t useful.

Alright, Tracker wondered, peeking into the room where the feline said she caught the spy, what do I know about this spy? Where might he have come from? The room was a mess of broken furniture and shattered glass, complements of the Seacats’ love for plunder. There was nothing useful here; anyone could have stepped through the debris and stand on a stool to listen through the air vent. However, Tracker glanced down the hall, the only place the spy could have come from. The Seacats loved the night air; they would have caught him outside.

The tunnels’ entrance is somewhere in this house. The easiest access would be the basement and the most likely place for the spy to slip inside unnoticed. The Seacats had already pillaged what they wanted from the mansion’s lowest level. Figuring he had a long search before him, Tracker started for the basement.

The basement was dark and void of life, thanks to the Seacats sharing their cousins tastes in vermin. Tracker went room by room, searching corners for secret latches, pausing every foot to feel any draft. He started getting impatient when he arrived to the art room.

Like all the other rooms in the mansion, it was a mess, but it wasn’t destroyed by Seacats. No, this was his doing. Tracker narrowed his eyes as his gaze swept around the ruined works of sculptures, paintings, and other precious pieces. He could have been an artist; his parents had paid good money for him to learn the proper techniques. But every art competition he entered, he would always find himself second place behind another young artist, Pablo Hans.

Tracker narrowed his eyes as he remembered his childhood rival. He hated being second place. And even when he had died when they were just teens, Pablo still haunted him from beyond the grave. Although no one could prove that he had something to do with Pablo’s death, many suspected it. The accusations got worse as the years went on, so much to the point no one would buy his works of art. The last critical blow came when his own parents suggested he give up his dream.

It was then when Tracker’s love of art turned to love of destruction. First, his parent’s mansion and then his own art. What should have been the ugliest moment of his life, Tracker found another emotion; he enjoyed watching his world go up in flames. He was freeing himself from false dreams and came to realize that the only true joy in life could only be found in destroying other’s dreams. That was when his predecessor found him and offered him a job where he could hurt others. It had been fifteen years since he killed his predecessor and took the title Tracker for himself.

Giving a short, but satisfied laugh, he turned away from false beauty to search for the only true beauty there was. That tunnel entrance had to be destroyed.

He came to the wine cellar. Immediately, he knew the tunnel was found here. Any wine lover, such as Lord Cantry, would have kept this room chilled. The air was too warm for proper wines. Taking a torch from outside, he lit it and explored the wine collection. Most of the wines and barrels had been kept untouched and a thick layer of dust settled on the bottles. He was starting to wonder if the Seacats had accidentally left the door open when he saw one rack of wines uneven with the others. Crouching down, Tracker saw the cleared dust trail the spy had left from crawling under the shelf.

So this is the tunnel, he thought, getting on his belly and reaching for the back wall. It swung open at his push. He grinned. Found it. Getting back on his feet, he brushed the dust from his shirt and left the room. Out in the hall he searched his pockets until his hands found what would work perfectly to get rid of the problem of this tunnel.

Tracker toyed with the bomb for a moment before lighting the fuse. Casually tossing it inside the wine cellar, he closed the door and waited.

BANG!

The door shook at the explosion. He counted to ten before opening it again. A slow grin appeared on his thin lips. The wine cellar now matched the rest of the mansion; a destroyed mess. Shelves lay in pieces, barrels blown apart, wine and ale dripped from everything, and shards of glass covered everything. The tunnel at the back of the room was obscured by what remained of shelves, with sharp glass threatening anyone who touched it. It would be a long time before anyone came through that entrance.

Tracker laughed, leaving the basement. Lord Cantry was a fool for collecting wine. The only joy in life is causing others pain.
***********
He had been running for the last half hour with no Seacats on his trail. Martin started to slow down his pace, checking for any signs of ambush. He was fairly certain there were none, but he kept wary. Until he was back at the fort, he wasn’t going to relax.

Even at the fort I can’t relax, he realized. No doubt Willy the Horrid had mentioned in passing to the other thieves that he was a spy. Martin wanted to sigh. Several thieves wanted him dead; this would only strengthen their resolve. This meant no more missions at Evan’s Stand for him. Not that Suit would assign him to petty work at the Stand anyway. He was the Alex now. There were better jobs for him.

Martin paused at an intersection, checking his surroundings again. This was not the time to be thinking about what he had lost. Besides, since the enemy was after him, he had bigger problems to worry about.

What power was Tracker referring to? And why am I so dangerous because of it? Martin gritted his teeth. There were so many questions and not nearly enough answers.

I’ll have to worry about getting my answers later, he thought, pushing the matter aside. His priority was the safety of the Stand and its people. His personal matters had to wait. That was how it was.

He was about a half mile from the prison fort’s entrance when a soft click caused him to stop. Cocking his head to the side, he heard the distinct sound of a rock falling on stone. I always knew when others were around me. Spinning around, he brought his arm up in time to stop the cane from bashing the back of his head.

Willy grinned at his quick reflexes. “Well, young spy,” he said, snapping his cane back into his waiting hand. “What did you learn?”

“I’ll report that to the council,” Martin replied, glaring. “What are you doing out?”

“Me?” Willy asked innocently, grinning impishly. “Is there something wrong with needing to get out of that prison? I am a thief after all. Confined spaces make me itch.” Martin snorted. Typical of the thief to think of a way to escape the fort for his own purposes.

“You think I’m lying,” the fat thief stated.

“I have no reason to trust you.”

Willy shrugged. “Got me there.” He pointed his cane in the direction of the fort. “Shall we be getting back? I’m sure they will want to hear what you found out.”

Martin gave the thief a mocking bow. “After you.”

The thief lord narrowed his eyes, tapping his cane in his hands. “Let’s walk side by side. I don’t trust you either.”

“Fine.”

The spy and thief began the last stretch to the fort. Martin made sure he had Willy in his sight while they walked. Willy also kept an eye on him. It made the going slow. The silence and tension was thick between them.

“I didn’t tell the others,” Willy suddenly said. The spy blinked.

“Didn’t tell who what?”

“The other thieving lords that you’re a spy,” the fat man said, a small smile forming. “Don’t get me wrong, Martin. I hate you and your profession. You’re just like us thieves, only legalized and with better health benefits. But I do love this nation.”

Martin snorted. “You steal from your nation.”

“I don’t see how that matters,” Willy snorted. “I’d steal from my own mother if she were still alive, but I’d love her anyways. I doubt you’ve ever set foot outside of Aeterna. Probably never known any world other than your perfect parents’ home. You don’t know what the world is really like. Here, they’ll lock you up and take possession of all your things if you break the law. Out there, they’ll do that, but torture you and leave you for dead. It’s humane here in Aeterna. Yes, I might be on the illegal things of life, but at least I’ll be treated like a human if I get caught. And for that reason, I will do what I must to protect Aeterna.”

The speech grated on Martin; the nerve of this man to lecture him about patriotism. And what was worse, he could relate to the thief. “I don’t know what it is like out there?” he growled. He stopped and jabbed a finger at the fat man. “I grew up at Loman, you idiot! Not as some spoiled Aeternan firstborn! I have fought for stale bread! I have stolen to survive!” The fat thief blinked, taking an uncertain step back. Martin paused, took a deep breath and then another.

“Aeterna has given me life,” he said more calmly. “I would have been dead if I hadn’t been brought here. So don’t lecture me about why I should fight to protect this nation.” He began walking again, without waiting for the thief to catch up.

Annoying thief! He shook with anger. How could have Willy thought that he was privileged? Martin felt tears of frustration threaten to fall. He closed his eyes tight. He was never privileged. How could have a prince ever lived like that?

How could I be the prince? He thought, letting out a quiet sob. How can I when I’ve never known what it’s like to be accepted? Opening his eyes, he found the entrance to the fort, the guards shifting uneasily as he walked up. Sighing, he pulled the mask from his face. The soldiers relaxed and ordered the door open. Martin clenched his jaw, refusing his emotions to take control.

Aeterna has given me life. I will fight to protect Aeterna!

Setting his resolve and putting his troubled thoughts aside, he entered the fort, ready to give the report the council needed to hear.
*********
Willy felt as if someone had struck him in the face. Watching as the spy entered the fort, he tried to figure out what had just happened. He had always thought the spies of Aeterna were stuffy do-gooders who liked the thrill of stealing legally. This Martin had been no different. The spy had looked down on thieves even as he stole from them.

Grew up in Loman? he wondered as he approached the gate. He nodded to the guards and began his way to the council room where the spy was going to give out his report. Once been a thief? Is that why he hates himself?

Willy knew he had hit a nerve when he began talking about fighting for Aeterna, he just hadn’t been expecting such a strong reaction. Spy Martin was good; personal attacks and death threats couldn’t faze the young man. But this time was different. The nerve he had hit was something Martin hated about himself.

So, what does he hate about himself? Willy suspected it was his past as a thief, but the thief lord had a nagging feeling that there was something more.

Willy shook his head. Why was he wondering about the spy and his personal matters? They were at war with the Seacats; no doubt the spy’s report will give spark to a defense plan.

I’ll explore the spy’s matter later, he thought as he ambled among the refugees.

Aeterna had to come first.
*************
They had to wait for Willy to show up before he could give his report. Martin sat back in his chair as the other war council members poured drinks and had small talk. He didn’t want to join them, nor did they try to include him. Martin hadn’t bothered changing out of the stealth suit. Perhaps that’s why they’re uneasy around me. Before, they knew he was a good spy but had ignored him. Now, dressed as he was in the muted cloth with a belt of bombs and weapons buckled around his waist, it gave them a physical reminder of just how dangerous he really was.

“Sorry to keep everyone waiting,” Willy announced, striding right in without waiting for the permission to enter. “Well, then. Shall we all get started?”

Gillian nodded, his face hardening as he agreed. Martin almost smiled. The commander couldn’t stand the thief; they had been rivals since he took command of the prison fort seven years before. Chairs scuffed and settled as the council took their seats. Commander Gillian turned to him.

“Well, Martin?” he asked. “What did you find out?”

“First and foremost,” he said, watching the council hang onto his words. “The ally of the Seacats is none other than Venter and their mages.”

The council exploded. Martin blinked as everyone started talking at once. Carl Sievers had stood, sending his chair toppling backwards. A million different questions were directed at him, though Martin couldn’t tell what was being asked.

“Quiet!” Gillian barked. The room slowly settled; Sievers retrieved his chair and sat down, though his expression was dark. “Now,” the commander said, turning back to him. “Go on.”

“I heard a conversation between one of the Venter spies and the Seacat’s leader Meriss. The only thing the Venter mages provided was breaking the magic barrier; they will not get involved with the battles here.” There was an audible collective sigh of relief around the table. Even Willy seemed relieved. Martin wanted to grimace. Now came the part of the report he didn’t want to give.

“As to what the Venterians are doing here,” he said in an even tone, “they’re after a man with no reflection.”

As he suspected, no one blew up at the news. Most of them shared confused looks. “A man with no reflection?” Corporal Benkly asked, frowning. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yes,” Martin said firmly. “A man with no reflection. Now, I do not understand how anyone can loose their reflection, nor did they name who they were talking about. But that is why the Venterians are here.” He paused then went on before anyone could ask that stupid question. “And no, I did not hear wrong.”

Captain Duntsan leaned back in his chair, sighing. “I’ve heard stories of people loosing their reflections, but I always thought they were myths…”

“I thought Seacats were myths,” Martin pointed out. “The reason the Venterians allied themselves with the Seacats is because they can see magic we cannot. The mages and spies couldn’t find him, but the Seacats can.”

“A man with no reflection,” Paul Eck muttered, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps they were using a code…”

“Unlikely,” Gillian sighed. “Seacats only use nonverbal signals. Codes annoy them.”

“Placing the abnormality aside,” Willy cleared his throat, “but how about knowing why the mages want a man who has trouble shaving.”

Martin cringed inwardly. He wanted to know himself. “He has something they want,” he said in the same dull even tone. Best if they didn’t know how much the news bothered him. “I’m not sure what. The spy didn’t answer Meriss when he asked the same question.”

“Do you know anything about this man?” Chad South asked.

“The Seacats say they saw him coming into this fort,” Martin replied.

“Great,” Dustan grumbled, slumping down in his chair. “We have practically all the Stand cooped up here. He could be anywhere.”

“Though,” Gillian added softly, “we can probably assume this man lives here. Why else would they attack the Stand with creatures who can see him?”

Martin adverted his gaze from the others as they talked. Why had they attacked? Very few people knew he was at the Stand, he hadn’t been there for more than a week now. What gave him away so quickly? Was it because I was experimenting with my powers? He suppressed a shiver. Had he brought this attack down on them?

“Spy,” Carl Sievers said loudly over the debate, killing the side conversations and gaining Martin’s attention. “Now that we know that the Venter mages will not fight and what they are after, how are the Seacats going to attack?”

Martin let out a slow breath. This was news none of the citizens wanted to hear. “They plan to draw us out by burning your homes.”

“WHAT!”

The three citizens leapt to their feet, their chairs banging on the floor. Their focused their rage not at him, but surprisingly at Gillian.

“Well, Commander,” Eck sneered, “how are you planning to save our homes? Hum?”

“Yes, Commander,” South agreed, slamming his hands on the table and leaning forward. “How are you going to save our homes?” Martin was suddenly glad he wasn’t sitting in the commander’s place.

Gillian had closed his eyes and was taking deep breaths. For a moment, everyone waited for him to respond. Opening his eyes, he meet the eyes of everyone at the table. “We need to work together,” he finally answered. “We have spies, we have thieves, and we have concerned citizens. We also have the tunnels. The Seacats cannot patrol both the streets above and the thief-way. There are not enough of them. It’s simple. We send people out to watch the Seacats. We’ll produce more suits like what Martin is wearing to protect them as much as we can.”

“So you’re asking us to endanger our lives?” Lord Cantry snapped. “How far do you think that proposition will go?”

“Far enough,” Martin answered quietly. They returned their attention back to him, though he didn’t care if they heard him or not. “Don’t underestimate the average Aeternan,” he went on softly. “They just want to return to their quiet lives, but that does not mean they won’t rise to the call of defending their homes and lives.” He looked up and met Willy’s curious eyes. “It makes even thieves, nobles, soldiers, and citizens join together to save what’s most important to them.”

No one spoke. Martin leaned back in his chair, sighing. Why had he opened his mouth?

“You’re right,” Sievers said, breaking the silence. A small smile emerged from his stony expression. “We’ll rise to the call.”

Gillian blinked, surprised. Turning to him, Martin could see the wonder, and question, in the commander’s expression. How did you motivate them? The commander wouldn’t know he had the same question.
***********
Well, there you have it. The Seacats have allied themselves with Venter, and their goal is to capture Martin. We get some background info on Tracker (it was quite surprising to me, and I was writing it). We have Willy the Horrid who's going to do whatever he can to save the Stand (wasn't expecting that one either). And poor, poor Martin gets a clue on the real reason he was kidnapped. Ah, it's good to be back. Until next week (and the end of finals!) enjoy the journey!