Acclayne Book 1: The Game Begins

That son of his really was a piece of work; must have gotten it from his mother's side. Giflyn stroked his moustache as he thought – it had been a habit of his for as long as he could remember. He had shaved it clean off once; he was lost without it. At any rate it would definitely be the last time that he left Flyn Jr in charge of the stall. He'd left him alone for all of five minutes and had come back to find him being taken for a ride by a minor. A girl no less! Sometimes he wondered if the boy had any sense at all. He'd had an important appointment this afternoon – one that he couldn't afford to miss, and he couldn't even count on his own son to hold the fort. He was a complete liability; and he told him so. On more than one occasion. Luckily he was able to call in a favour from a friend and so could attend his appointment. That was where he was right now. He had been at least ten minutes late, but fortunately for him he had arrived first and so would still have the upper-hand in this exchange. He had been chasing this piece for a very long time and he'd be damned if he wasn't finally getting his hands on it today. He smiled and rubbed his moustache with glee.

He settled into his stool and ordered himself a second pint. His client was not renown for their good time keeping and so he made himself comfortable – or rather as comfortable as one could be in such surroundings. They'd agreed to meet in The Bloody Rose; an aptly if not subtly named public house seated within Vallaylii's Assassin Quarter. Giflyn knew it well and had done business with most of the people at one time or another. He wasn't a murderer; he merely supplied the weapons. It was the customer's choice as to what they did with them; but he knew enough not to ask questions. It was one thing he prided himself on, his discretion. He certainly didn't pride himself on his fool of a son!That boy would ruin him, he was certain. Should've sent him off to join the guards when he had had the chance, but no, Beltheda couldn't bare to see her only son shipped off for military training and so, much to his annoyance, he'd had to let him stay. He'll run the stall, she'd said, give us more time together, she'd said. Pah! He was working twice as hard now to fix the boy's mistakes. His knuckles whitened as he subconsciously tightened his grip on the pint glass.

“Careful now, any tighter and you'll break it.” A small gloved hand was rested on his large meaty one. He jerked it away, startled, and almost knocked over his pint. The gloved hand caught the glass before even a drop was lost.

“AYE! You startled me!”

“I can see that; were you not expecting me Giflyn?” His client sat down beside him. She was covered in a long blue-black hooded cloak; he recognised it as being a kind of assassin's uniform, apart from the small golden bear that was stitched at the nape of the neck. He hadn't seen that before. He craned his neck to look at it more closely but the design was partially obscured by her hood. “To business then.” Her voice was soft but firm, She pulled down her hood and turned to face him, her dark hair was pulled back away from her face. He'd forgotten how lovely she was – a perfect porcelain doll: massive dark brown eyes, almost black; sweet pouting lips and beautifully pale skin with an ever so slightly pink tint in her cheeks. He found himself wondering if it was only her cheeks that blossomed in that divine colour...

“I have something that you want.” He felt his cheeks burn; she spoke as if she had heard his thoughts.

“Y-You do?” He hoped she could not hear his desire in his voice; she would be certain to use it against him.

“Is this not what you've been looking for?” She slid a folded cloth towards him across the bar.

“Oh?” He picked it up as delicately as he could with his large fingers. On closer examination he determined that the fabric was silk; black with gold threading. Rare for these parts. Beneath the folds he could feel something flat and hard. It couldn't be.

Slowly and with great reverence he unfolded the fabric until, sat on the bar, in front of him was a throwing star. A throwing star the likes of which he never thought he'd actually get to see; let alone hold. The weapon was paper thin yet entirely rigid; made from some metallic compound that he was unfamiliar with. This fact did not surprise him; knowing the star's origins as he did. The five pointed weapon was truly a work of art – the five points symbolising the five women who wielded the weapon. The surface was covered in an intricate design which appeared to be etched into the metal and picked out in the thinnest of gold. He lifted it to have a closer look; mindful to keep it rested atop the silk fabric so that he didn't cut himself on any of the razor sharp blades. He pushed his finger through the small hole in the centre, letting the silk fall over his finger and cover his hand so he could better examine the edges. There was not so much as a nick in any of the blades. It was perfect.

“Well well well...” Giflyn's mind was now entirely at the task at hand. “May I ask where you managed to acquire such a unique specimen?”

“You may ask, but you will not get an answer.” He glanced at her before turning his attention back to the throwing star; a wide smile spread across his face. She was as secretive as always. “I take it you are pleased then?”

“My Lady, pleased is not the word.”

“Good, as I'm sure you can appreciate that I went to great pains to get this to you; and I'm sure you've heard the stories...” He nodded in response but did not look at her; “...I may very well be cursed for stealing a Dolakian blade. Though I have probably been cursed for a great many years.”

“As much as I respect the Dark Assassins I do not believe all of the stories are true.”

“Then you are a bigger fool than I had first thought.” With lightening quick speed she took the star back from him and, quite impossibly in the one move, folded it neatly back up in the silk cloth.

“Lady Cholden...”

“Hush!” A few of the other patrons turned to look their way briefly before returning to their drinks, “In case you have forgotten; there is a substantial price on my head.”

“Forgive me. What do you want for the star?”

She glanced around the room and instinctively he did the same; though he had no idea who they were looking for. She composed herself and in a lowered voice said;

“I need you to take me to Oakley's tomb.”

“Ah, you know as well as I that she's not buried there.”

“That's as maybe, but I have reason to believe that something of hers is.” In spite of himself he laughed openly at her – aware that she could kill him where he sat if she so wished.

“You can't possibly mean...”

“I do, and as you clearly know of what I am referring to then there is no need to speak further of it here.” She lifted her hood back over her head and stood.

“I will provide you with a means to get in.” Giflyn rubbed his moustache in thought; it was wet where the remains of his pint clung to the edges. “After that it is up to you to find what you want, though I doubt you'll find it. I've searched for it myself for many years, as you can imagine it would make an excellent addition to my collection...” She cut him off; uninterested in his collectors drivel;

“Entrance is all I require.”

He stood up beside her, she barely reached his shoulder. “And what of the star?”

“You shall have what you want,” she turned her gaze up at him and he felt the fire within him stirring once again, “when I have what I want.”

***

Juney perused the dimly lit room at a leisurely pace. Giflyn had accumulated quite a collection since she had last paid him a visit. He was wise to keep such a vast array of illegal weaponry away from his home. If the authorities were to catch him then to say that they would not be lenient would be an understatement.

She loved doing business with Giflyn; he understood her needs completely. The fact that he left her alone to examine his collection was proof of this. She felt at home among the swords and crossbows. More so than she had ever felt; even with her family. Her family had used her as a tool, an artefact, predestined for certain tasks. Not unlike the items around her. No, not like them at all. She had respect for this weaponry, even love. Every time she wielded one it was like a gift. The power of The Mother bestowed upon her. Life and death in her hands. She had not commanded such respect from her family.

She picked up a silver longsword, turning it over delicately to examine it. The craftsmanship was remarkable; intricate patterns were etched delicately into the blade, extending a few inches above the handle. From West Kabel no doubt.

Giflyn was busying himself at the other end of the room, packing small weapons into a bag: he knew what she'd need. That's why she always came back.

“You must have had a job getting your hands on this.” It was a statement rather than a question. He glanced at her over his shoulder, panic crossed his face only momentarily but it was long enough for her to see it; though she could sense it off him anyway. She toyed with him; “How much?”

“I-Uh...” he turned away, “...not for sale.”

She smiled to herself, “Sorry? I think I may have misheard you, only I could have sworn that I heard you say it wasn't for sale.” She ran her gloved fingers along the length of the blade, the leather drew a satisfying ring from the sword. Giflyn pretended not to hear her. “Surely you do not mean to refuse me such a magnificent work of art? Such a thing cannot possibly remain locked away, you are robbing it of it's purpose...”

He turned to her now, she knew she had struck a nerve. Giflyn was the only person that she had met who appreciated fine weaponry as much as she. To suggest that he was not showing the blade the respect it deserved was akin to slapping him in the face.

“I assure you my Lady, that any price I put on the blade you would deem too much.” He smiled but remained uneasy- he was trying to call her bluff.

“I think not.” She paused, allowing his panic to mount. “Though I am sure you are aware that I have killed for less,” she flexed her hand around the hilt of the sword, “and the only thing that would make this sword more glorious would be its spilling of fresh blood.” She did not remove her eyes from the blade but in her peripherals saw him edging away from her and into the desk behind him. His hand grasping for a weapon. She smiled, it had been a good many weeks since she'd seen a proper battle; most of her jobs called for a clean, discreet kill, and as much as she hungered for it she had more important things to be getting on with. She placed the sword back in it's holder.

“Ah Giflyn, I despair of you. Can't you take a joke?” She smiled at him and though he had stopped searching for a weapon he remained uneasy. He knew her well enough to trade with her but he also knew her well enough not to take any threat she made lightly. She enjoyed her line of work far too much; he recalled that she had referred to it as a 'calling' on more than one occasion over the years. “Besides, you know full well that it's just not my style. I need something more... subtle.” She lifted her hands and shrugged, a picture of nonchalantness. “Restraints of the job, you know that.”

He visibly relaxed. “In that case,” he composed himself, “I have just the thing.” He turned again and searched a little before crossing the room and handing her a five bladed dagger. The blades themselves were thin and made of a shiny black metal while the long handle was made of a dark wood. “As they say; I saw it and I thought of you.” Juney took it from him gingerly and instinctively held the handle width-ways across the top of her right palm. Her fingers curled around the wood, one between each blade. She had not held one of these in a long time, yet still it felt natural to do so.

“A dagger of Dolak? Hmm...” she smiled; genuinely pleased as she weighed it in her hand. Her arm felt complete.

“And for you a fair price.” He smiled in return; he knew she would not be able to refuse this gem. He had been saving it specifically for her. Along with the satchel of throwing daggers and other various weapons she'd come for, he'd be making a handsome amount- regardless of whether or not he finally got his hands on the star. He still longed for it, no doubt about that, but if he pushed his luck with her he knew that he could lose his money and maybe even his life. He had a family to think about, and even though she had traded with him for years he knew that, to her, he was expendable. His family was his priority at the end of the day, even that fool son of his. That was where they differed.

“You know that money is no object.” She tossed him a heavy bag. He didn't even see her pull it from her cloak. The coins clinked together as he caught it. “I dare say that will cover it. May I ask where you managed to get this from?”

“You may ask, but you will not get an answer.” He smiled.

“Touché.”