The First Penitatas
Chapter 34 – Lessons To Be Learned

Skal approached the town gates of Bogenhafen with a sword and pistol drawn. The sun was low in the sky, but there was still more than enough light to see by – the market town should have still have been bustling, yet the road and fields outside the walls were like a graveyard. Market stalls stood empty with their goods left unattended, or scattered across the roads by the wind. He crept closer to the gate and spied a guard stood in the shadow of the gatehouse. The guard was a human, dressed in the white and red of Reikland, and as Skal inched nearer he saw the city's crest upon the man's chestplate. Peering into the dark, Skal spotted a thin streak of brown staining the collar of his uniform, and with a few steps more he spied the bolt pinning the guard to the wall by his throat.
He sensed movement to his left, turned, and dropped to one knee. His pistol swung up to find a rat-like creature lunging toward him, its mouth opened wide to reveal rows of crooked, broken teeth. He fired a shot and blew the aberration backwards, sending its rusting spear clattering to the ground. “Ambush!” Skal barked, “re-group and make ready!”
The loud roar of a musket echoed off the gate. More of the rat-things were swarming down the streets from the north and south. Haal had fired upon one of them but his shot went wide. Kas drew his bow and skewered the rat through the eye. The creature fell without a sound, only for five more to swarm over its corpse. “Into the city, both of you!” Skal cried. He didn't wait to check if they were following, but ran through the gates and turned toward the inner stairwell leading to the top of the gatehouse. If he could drop the portcullis, they could stop the rat-men assault!
He burst into the gate room, but before his eyes could adjust to the gloom a throwing star embedded itself in his leather jerkin. He raised his flintlock pistol to fire, realising too late he hadn't stopped to reload after last firing the primitve weapon. The rat-thing pounced, flinging another star as it vaulted across the space and swung a crude claw-like weapon in a wide, throat-cutting swipe. He hurled the pistol to distract the monster and sidestepped, bringing his sword up to catch the creature in the gut as it fell. There was a wet schlop as his Dwarf-forged blade bit deep into the rat's flesh. Skal kicked the corpse off his blade and grabbed the release lever with his free hand. “Kas! Haal! Are you inside?”
“We are!” Kas shouted back, “drop the gate already!”
The mechanism gave way with a loud thud, and the whole room shook as several tons of iron portcullis slammed down. Bits of the winch mechanism came away with a cacophonous crash. Now the portcullis was down, it wasn't coming up again.
He descended the stairs as Kas and Haal dispatched the few rat-things that had managed to get inside before the gate was sealed. Two had been skewered by the spiked portcullis as it fell, and a dozen more leered through the barrier with hateful red eyes. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Our injuries are minor,” Haal answered. “What are we supposed to do now?”
Skal turned westward, gazing up the main road toward the town square. There was no sign of any rat-men. There was no sign of anyone at all. “There's only one thing we can do,” Skal said with false confidence. “We have to find the Jolly Halfling and pray that Gunther Flameblade is in there.”

“Who or what is a 'Gunther Flameblade'?” Kadan asked as he ascended the stairs into the attic. The four rejuves were sat around a low table with an assortment of miniature warriors and monsters scattered in front of them. A crude approximation of an ancient castle wall had been assembled out of cardboard and placed in the middle of their table. Sam sat at the head of the table with a cardboard screen and an assortment of books arrayed around her.
Skal met his father's arrival with a joyful smile. “He's a Fire Wizard, he's going to help us investigate why merchant caravans have been going missing in the area.”
“Only we know why it's happening – giant, intelligent vermin have taken over the town and killed everyone!” Kas added enthusiastically.
Kadan gave a pessimist's laugh. “Sounds a bit too close to real life for my liking. Enjoying yourself, Haal?”
Unlike his colleagues, the Corrector-Captain appeared embarrassed at being caught engaging in role-play. “It is... surprisingly engaging, Guildmaster.”
“It must be, given that you and Kas were supposed to start work twenty minutes ago.” Kadan's revelation was met by a look of gut-wrenching horror by Haal. The medicalos jumped from his seat, stammering as he struggled to form an excuse, but Kadan waved him into silence. “That wasn't me scolding you, Haal. I'm honestly glad to see you having fun for once.”
“There's still no excuse for tardiness,” Haal muttered.
Kadan shook his head in despair. “I can put a reprimand on your record if it'd make you feel better, but I'm fine with just letting you start work whenever you feel up to it.”
“I... I appreciate that, Guildmaster,” the Corrector-Captain answered timidly.
“Okay, now that's sorted,” he turned to Skal and added, “I want you to come with me today.”
“But why?” Skal replied, his childishness surfacing.
“Because I said so. Come on, get yourself ready. In fact, Sam can come along as well.”
The two penitatas set about putting their game away, both of them pining to return to play. Trips out with Kadan were often boring, amounting to nothing more than wandering around and listening to him talk with people. They had been taken to the Iron Gaol, to the war-ruined landing fields, and to far too many meetings. Alas, slaves were a symbol of power and prestige, and so their fate was sealed.

Kadan's duties took the trio to Merchants. This district had suffered during the Terror, but nowhere near the extent of Vices or Wrongside. Several buildings remained boarded up, and others now acted as charity vendors to give food or medicine to the needy, but life was carrying on much as it had before. Their destination was the jarring exception to this. An open-air market and adjacent lots had been converted into a refugee camp, with an eight foot high chain-link fence running the entire perimeter. Kyyreni guards patrolled the camp, dressed in alabaster uniforms and with silver decorations on their weapons. “The Kaahl Free Company. Fucking parade soldiers!” Kadan sneered at the sight of them.
Just inside the camp's boundary was an admin building, and within was the office of the company commander. He was a Dawnsider in his mid-thirties, blessed with an excessive mane that hung wide across his shoulders, all but smothered his ears and ran down the sides of his muzzle in finger-length mutton chops. His eyes were deep blue and had an oddly glassy quality to them, but they focused immediately upon Kadan as he led his Penny charges inside. “Ah, welcome! To what do I owe this visit, Guildmaster?”
“I'm looking for the representative of House Kaahl,” Kadan answered, maintaining a careful poker-face to hide his inner thoughts on the man's appearance.
The commander nodded and rose from his seat. “Lord Ulf himself is making a tour of the camp today. Please come with me, I shall locate him for you.” Before he departed, the commander retrieved his weapon from its wall-mount: an over-under boarding gun with wooden stock and ornate silver-and-gold detailing. Kadan felt a pang of disgust as the man broke the gun and confirmed the barrels were empty – not because of his attention to safety, but the fact that his weapon was so archaic. He added a red leather bandolier to his ensemble, slung the gun over his shoulder and waved toward the door.
“These Aspatrians must be a violent lot if you need to be so heavily armed,” Kadan commented, making little effort to hide his sarcastic intent.
The Commander's reply was cold and serious. “My men have shot dead three rioters this week alone, Guildmaster. One of them had a home-made incendiary grenade – I'll show you the burn mark on the street if you like.”
The statement gave Kadan pause. “Why are people trying to kill Aspatrians?”
“Because they are angry, or stupid, or both. That's not to say the refugees are all saints mind; we've had no end of thefts, skirmishes-” the commander paused and looked eastward. “-even a few rapists.”
Kadan and the rejuves followed his gaze. A pair of Aspatrian males swung by their necks from market lamps at the end of the row. Signs attached to the bodies announced their crimes in Ruljic and Aspatrian scripts. Skal and Sam turned away immediately, but Kadan studied the bodies with cold disconnection. “Why not arrest them and hand them over to us?”
“Camp discipline is our prerogative, by the decree of the House Lord of Kaahl. Come, this way.”
The commander led them away from the hanging and into the township of tents. They were octagonal in design, with one face designed to open. Pathways of rubber matting wound through the tents, with signage erected to inform people where to find latrines, bathing facilities, food, medical and security. All signs were dual-language. From every tent they passed the fox-like muzzles of Aspatrians turned to watch them, usually with some mix of fear or impotent anger.
The commander brought them to a food kitchen. The serving staff were a mix of Kyyreni and Aspatrians, the latter being unusually healthy looking compared to most of their peers. The rest ran a gamut of conditions from merely tired to starved and wasting. “How many of them are there?” Skal dared to ask, looking at the snaking line of hungry aliens waiting for their rations.
“Nine hundred in this camp, with others held elsewhere,” the commander replied. His ears perked up as he caught the faint hint of a voice. Turning, he spied a Kyyreni on the other side of the dining area and raised a paw respectfully to gain his attention. Moments later, a pug-faced young Dawnsider in a tight-fitting crimson tunic came hurrying over. “Guildmaster, allow me introduce you to Ulf son of Osmat, Lord of Kaahl.”
“Oh, no introductions are necessary!” the Lord replied, beaming ear to ear as he examined Kadan, then his two penitatas. “After all, who doesn't know of the heroic Guildmaster Kadan?”
Kadan accepted the compliment with a faint smile and replied carefully, “Thank you, Lord. However, I confess to knowing little of you.”
“The curse of not being a City Lord, I suppose,” Ulf replied pleasantly. “No offence meant, but I rather think it's better not to be known by a man such as you, eh? As I see it, if you can avoid having to deal with Doctors, Arbitrators or Enforcers then you're doing something right!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Kadan replied. The subtle undertones of his reply suggested he was already tired of the Country Lord.
While the adults talked, Skal and Sam both found their attention wandering. As was a common problem with aliens, Skal found himself struggling to tell them apart – all Aspatrians were primarily orange, and while there were little details to pick them out, they ultimately blurred together as his eyes moved from one face to another. The most common variations were the 'monochrome' Aspatrians, who were all-over orange, and the 'white bellies', who had pale fur that began at the nose and typically covered their jaws, chests and likely more besides. In so many ways they were similar to Kyyreni. Of course, no Kyyreni would confuse an Aspatrian for one of their own, and doubtless the same was true in reverse, but they were nowhere near as alien as Ny'ee, or Humans, or Drakonians. If someone had told Skal that Aspatrians and Kyyreni shared a common ancestor, he might have believed them.
The hardest part was telling males from females, as both sexes appeared to share identical markings. “Doesn't that get confusing?” Skal asked himself, before sheepishly glancing towards Sam. He recalled how they first met in an Enforcers cell, and how he had assumed she was a boy due to her blonde fur colour. Now he felt foolish for that mistake, and yet the Aspatrians around him had him thoroughly fooled all the same.
The rejuve's ears pricked at a sound he never thought to hear in such a soul-crushing place; laughter. Skal turned to see three Aspatrian children – approximately six to eight years old to his inexpert eye – chasing each other up and down the dining tables. They shouted and squealed in a snappish foreign tongue, and occasionally earned and angry bark from one of the adults who they bumped into, or who simply took issue with their youthful exuberance as they chased one another in the most simple, most universal of games. The sight left him with a subtle gnawing in his stomach, for it felt a lifetime since he had engaged in tag or playful wrestling.
A shrill whistle made the boy refocus on his father. Kadan shot him a warning glare and said “keep up,” as the Lord of Kaahl set off to give some form of impromptu tour. With his Pennys back in line the Guildmaster addressed the Lord, “if your lands are all out in the country, why have you been placed in charge of a camp inside of the City?”
Lord Ulf did not so much smile at the question as grimace, “you can blame my daughter for that. I sent young Caera off to study at the King's Academy on the Homeworld. I had hoped that she would learn the intricacies of Urokon's courtly life, or perhaps even catch the eye of some young princeling. Instead, she came home with a head full of grand ideas. After the Terror, she chewed my ear off over the moral duties we had towards these Aspatrians, bemoaned how they were enslaved, starved, tortured and then dumped on 'some distant alien soil'. That's what I get for letting her roam the stars I suppose. Have you been off-world much, Guildmaster?”
“Never,” Kadan answered with forced neutrality. “I've been as far as the orbital ports, and even then rarely.”
“My father sent me away when I was nine. He sent me to Everywhere. The system 'Everywhere', of course, the one about six or seven light years away. Do you know it?”
“Vaguely,” the Guildmaster answered on autopilot. He glanced down toward Skal, and Ulf followed his eye. The boy had made a subtle intake of breath that suggested he desperately wanted permission to speak. “Let me guess, you know all about Everywhere?”
“I... I know it's a red dwarf star, and that a pair of star miners operate there. Also, there's a refuelling platform that's been around since before Taviksaad was colonised.”
“That's right, and it's an utterly alien place!” the Lord of Kaahl continued, “They have their own unique culture there, and their language has become so laden with slang and colloquialisms that they are borderline unintelligible! It's the most base and vulgar ruljic with a bunch of Chaldakri mixed in. Utterly bizarre! Educational though.”

The rambling story had bought the Lord time to escort them to the far edge of the refugee camp. A pair of porta-cabins acted as mobile office and living space, guarded by men of House Kaahl. Kadan tensed as he saw people gathered outside of the camp; members of his Guild along with other worthies, all of whom had clearly been told Kadan was touring and now awaited an opportunity for a meeting. Ulf caught the low growl rumbling from Kadan's throat and chuckled at the sound. “Ah, there is pleasure in the suffering of others. By which I mean that I take some comfort in knowing I am not the only man who feels harangued in every waking moment.”
The Guildmaster turned back to the camp and studied the tent settlement. “Skal? What did you think of the place?”
“Miserable,” the boy replied. “A lot of them look hurt and sick.”
“We are doing our best, I assure you,” Ulf responded, his tone showing no displeasure at his facility being picked apart by a child.
“Do you have some long-term plan for them?” Kadan asked.
There, Ulf was forced to pause, and ultimately answered with a sad shake of the head. “We can't deport them. Aspatria is so far from here that it would be a logistical nightmare, and that's if they wanted to go back at all! As strange as it sounds, many don't want to. They don't want to be here either, they just want to be... somewhere else.”
As Skal half-listened to the adults, he caught the eye of a Dawnsider female in a high-vis jacket. She looked his way and paused, eyes widening in surprise. She knelt down to speak to the nearest Aspatrian and pointed towards Skal, speaking to them as she did so. The Aspatrians joined her in staring, and Skal felt his heart skip as he realised what they must be saying – he'd been recognised!The trio approached him as others began to notice, and he heard the female say the word 'hero'. The Penny boy felt as though he might float away, such was the giddy lightness in his chest.
“Eskal?” Kadan's voice brought Skal slamming back to reality. The boy turned toward the fence behind him and, sure enough, a small delegation from House Vaskal was heading for the nearest gate. Eskal was with them, thin, pale and moving stiffly. With him was Ylari clutching her cub, a pair of guards and, of course, Hafn Tavik.
The Penny boy could only stand and watch in silence as the newest arrivals joined them. Lord Ulf clapped his paws together in excitement as Eskal and Ylari eased into comfortable speaking distance. “Well this is an honour and no mistake! The hero of Vices, slayer of Haakyr! You must tell of that battle!”
Anger boiled through Skal's flesh as he watched Eskal raise a paw to wave away the praise. “Your words are kind, but in truth I recall little of the duel. He dealt me a near-fatal blow and I passed out. I suppose I must have wounded him in kind.”
Skal's mouth opened to scream, but anguish strangled the sound before it could escape. It had been bad enough that random strangers didn't know the truth, but to hear Eskal lie and dismiss Skal's role in saving him was a knife to the boy's heart. He turned his back to hide the tears, yet they did not go unnoticed. Sam's comforting arm closed around his shoulders. “You okay?” she asked softly.
“I want to go home,” Skal mumbled as he shook his head.
“Hey guys!” Hafn's voice carried over the low chatter of adults. The boy bounced over to Skal and Sam, clad in expensive clothes of green and black. Teal pins on his collar marked the rejuve as the heir of the Tavik line. “I didn't know you'd be here!”
“Likewise,” Skal grunted.
“So, you two excited to go back to school tomorrow?” Hafn continued, seemingly oblivious to Skal's dour mood.
“What? The school's open again?” Skal glanced over to Kadan, who had apparently heard the question by the way his ear twitched.
He excused himself from his own discussion and addressed his adopted son. “I... I didn't think to check. I've had so much else on my mind,” he said weakly.
With a smile, Ylari stepped in to offer aid. “I am pleased to tell you both Skal and Sam are still enrolled. If it would help, I could arrange for them to be collected?”
The young woman's words cleared a burden from Kadan's shoulders, restoring some life and energy to the Enforcer. “That would be a great help, my Lady,” he answered with a soft purr and a thankful smile.
The clarification left Hafn hopping giddily on the spot. The boy seemed unaware of the disapproving scowls his childishness drew from his fellow nobles. “I can't wait! It's going to be great to have us all together again!”
Skal gave only a non-committal grunt in response. The adults were starting to move again, and much to his annoyance Hafn fell into step beside him. Hafn had been preened and groomed, his fur carefully sculpted to maximise his youthful looks and radiate strength and health. Skal's nose detected the faintest hints of dye, a hunch supported by careful study of the boy's blond fur. It was a bolder gold than Skal recalled, making Hafn appear a little older than he was. Was that your idea? Skal wondered privately.
The young Tavik rambled about his new life in House Vaskal, but Skal paid little heed. In fact, he was doing such a good job of shutting out the world that he barely registered the shouting from outside of the camp. A female voice, distorted by a megaphone rang through the air. “Justice for our people!”
Kadan reacted to the shout instantly. His left paw closed around Sam's forearm and flung the Penny girl backward with such force both footpaws left the ground. She cannoned into Skal and they both sprawled onto the ground. In the same motion, Kadan's right paw closed on the grip of his pistol and ripped it free of its leather holster. By the time it was clear and aimed, the Guildmaster had placed himself between the shouter and the two rejuves.
Hafn gave a yelp of pain as he was slammed to the floor next to Skal. Eskal lay on top of him, shielding and pinning the boy with his body. The sudden action had clearly caused the man considerable pain, judging by the clenched-teeth grimace writ across his muzzle.
Cries rang out across the camp – sharp, precise orders to deploy, assess the threat and, if required, eliminate it. Militia and House soldiery alike headed for the gates, advancing swiftly toward the source of the shouting that continued its brazen chant. Skal wriggled out from under Sam, who clung tight as he tried to stand. The terror in her eyes begged him to stay put, but despite his pounding heart he wanted to know what was happening. He slipped from Sam's grasp and ignored Eskal's orders to stay down, shadowed his father as Kadan advanced to the camp's fence and peered out from the concealment of a tent's corner.
The commotion seemed to come from four Kyyreni, none more than twenty years old. Three were females – almost certainly Dawnsiders – and the fourth was unmistakably a Dawnsider male. One of the females had a megaphone and a determination to use it. “Justice for our people! Our people demand a voice!” Members of the Kaahl Free Company approached with weapons raised, and though Skal couldn't hear what they said it was easy enough to guess. Three of the group lowered themselves to the ground, paws raised in surrender. The fourth was defiant, switching from her scripted chant to an improvised tirade against injustice.
Skal's innards tightened. “No! Don't be stupid!” he begged. He'd seen enough in his life to know the female was playing a dangerous, and likely fatal game.
One of the soldiers made a grab for her. She slipped backward, escaping his grip, and flailed the megaphone at the guard. A single gunshot rang out, loud as thunder, and the protestor flew backward. Fresh cries of fear and alarm rose up all around, causing bystanders to bolt and Aspatrians in the camp to flee from their tents.
A paw grabbed Skal by the scruff of the neck and flung him back towards Sam, Hafn, and Eskal. The latter was on his knees, red-faced and breathless. Hafn was trying to appear brave, but was obviously shaken. Sam was pale and shivering; urine soaked her shorts and thighs. “We are leaving.” Kadan snarled as he holstered his pistol. The distinctive tang of propellant lingered in the air around him.
“We'll call in transport,” Eskal managed between deep breaths. “What were they shouting about?”
Kadan glanced back toward the small protest. The militia were restraining the survivors and performing triage on the shot female. Skal watched as his father's jaw twitched and eyes narrowed, fighting to appear calm and stoic. The Guildmaster took a long, deep breath, cleared his throat loudly and shook himself before speaking with forced anger. “Who cares? Fucking idiots should have known better than to stir shit up.” With his emotional mask set in place, he helped Sam to her feet, tugged Skal into line beside him, and steered both rejuves back to the far entrance of the camp.

The Pennys were put to bed early that night, but Skal found sleep to be elusive. Unwelcome, intrusive thoughts cluttered his mind; the ghosts of sights and sounds and scents created an inner cacophony that he could push away by sheer will alone. The harsh crack of Kadan's pistol and the tinnitus ring that followed was deafening, but his mind's eye span the memories into nightmarish amalgamations. The female reeling backwards bled into the blood-crazed face of Haakyr, lunging for the kill. The smell of death and slaughter made him gag as though he were back at the Battle of Vices. He flung his eyes open and scanned the room, desperate for something to calm his mind with. Haal slept soundly in the bed opposite, while Sam shifted and mumbled by his side.
Convinced he'd never get back to sleep, Skal swung his footpaws out from under the sheet and wriggled free of Sam's grip. The idle background noise of the building hid the gentle patter of his foot pads against the carpet, and despite the very public use of the building he felt only a flicker of anxiety at being nude. He inched along towards the nearest upward stair, intent on finding a distraction in the play room.
His covert journey took him to the ajar doorway to the family room – a general space Kadan had allotted himself to have a semblance of normalcy. It had a sofa, exercise equipment, a wall-mounted screen for broadcasts, and even a cramped little dining space in one corner for when he didn't want to use the shared kitchens. The screen was on, its glow the only light in the darkened room. Skal peered through the crack in the door and saw his adoptive father rummaging through his personal drinks cabinet. He straightened up with a three-pint bottle of clear spirit in hand, the kind with a cheap cap that never fit back on once taken off. He broke the cheap metal cap and flung it away, letting it ping off the wall and come to rest out of sight. It was then he turned towards the door, causing Skal to jump back in fright. “I know you're there, so you might as well come in,” Kadan called out in a tone that was surprisingly calm.
The Kyyreni boy sheepishly obeyed, ears flat and tail tucked between his legs. His chin lifted in a subconscious display of submission, which Kadan failed to notice. The Guildmaster lowered himself into the sofa and poured a hefty measure of distil into a glass that was far too expensive to deserve such an insult. Skal only briefly wondered where it had come from as Kadan called out to him again, more sternly this time. “Get over here!”
Skal scurried over. The boy wrung his paws as he reached the seat, only for Kadan to tap the cushion next to him with the bottle. The Guildmaster's eyes were fixed on the screen. “Your timing is good. Eskal's going to be on any minute. Have a seat, I think you'll want to see this.”
The boy did as he was told while his father downed the glass and refilled it. The City's evening news, hosted by a middle-aged Dawnsider female, focused primarily on warnings of impending colonisation efforts that involved 'controlled reentry of ice fragments' on the southern continent. Then, after over-explaining the aforementioned event, likely to avoid any panic, the subject finally changed.
“Now we have a follow-up report on an unsettling incident at the Aspatrian resettlement camp this morning. I am joined by a representative of House Vaskal, and hero of the Battle of Vices: Eskal son of Brahlt. Good evening, Eskal.”
The camera panned back to reveal Eskal sat in a guest chair. A great amount of effort had gone into making him appear much stronger and healthier than he did in person, and he wore luxurious silks of green and black with the House Vaskal crest displayed prominently throughout. “Good evening,” he answered with a slight nod.
“Now, as we have reported, four agitators staged an unscheduled protest outside of the camp earlier today. Please, in your own words, could you describe what happened?”
Eskal gave another, sombre nod before speaking. “Of course. The agitators began their demonstration shortly after the House Vaskal delegation arrived. Guildmaster Kadan of the Enforcers was already touring the facility on a separate inspection of his own. When they began shouting the local militia approached them.”
The host quickly added her own input, “We have been told they were shouting hostile slogans. Were these agitators connected to the Blighted Cult?”
“There is currently no evidence of that,” Eskal answered calmly, as if he had known the interruption was coming. “However, their primary cry of 'justice for our people' could have been mistaken as a rallying cry for the Blighted, who have used similar rhetoric.”
“And is it true you were injured while defending the young Hafn Tavik?”
Eskal gave a humble chuckle, “when the cry of alarm came I did as I was trained and placed myself between young Hafn and any potential threat. In my haste I may have opened an old wound, but I was not directly attacked.”
“A wound you earned during your courageous efforts against the Blighted Cult during the Siege of Vices?” the female pressed, obvious in her desire to paint Eskal a hero with every word.
“Yes, that is where I suffered my injuries,” he confirmed.
“I see. I only asked because we heard from on-the-ground sources there was a physical altercation.”
“There was indeed an altercation,” Eskal agreed. “The primary suspect – whose name I shall withhold at the request of the Enforcers, so as not to jeopardise their investigations – the suspect resisted arrest and attempted to bludgeon one of the militiamen with a megaphone. I am told he received only superficial injuries, as she was disabled soon after.”
“Was the suspect killed during her attack?”
“No, she was rushed to the nearest medical facility and rejuvenated. She is currently being held pending the investigation. Her colleagues were released, as it was deemed they were not a threat to themselves or others.”
The host accepted Eskal's explanation with a nod. “Many thanks for your time, Eskal, and of course for your heroism in defence of Taviksaad. I'm sure we will all sleep a little easier knowing these agitators were merely misguided youths, not dangerous conspirators. But if someone does feel they have been subject to 'injustice'-” the female put a distinctly distasteful inflection upon the word “-what would be the proper course of action?”
Eskal paused to consider the question for a few seconds. “I believe the best thing to do would be to use proper channels. Speak to your community representatives, or House representatives. We are all haunted by the events of the Terror, and now is not the time for rash provocation. Be calm, be considerate, and be patient. I understand that it may take some time for disputes to be resolved via official means, but there are still a great many in need of aid. Taviksaad must work together through these trying days.”
“An excellent sentiment to end this segment. Thank you again for your time.”

Kadan switched the channel over to a commercial channel, mostly because it had no sound. He turned away from the charts of sales figures and looked at Skal directly. “The woman lived. She might regret her actions, but she's alive. Does that help you sleep?”
“She'll be a Penny, won't she?” Skal asked.
“Obviously. Does that bother you?”
The boy glanced down guiltily. “It... it does a bit. I don't know if she really did anything wrong.”
With a huff, Kadan threw back another mouthful of his foul spirit. Then he paused, sloshing the remnants around in the glass and studied how the liquid moved. “That's the shit side of life, Skal. If she'd pulled that little stunt yesterday or tomorrow she'd probably have gotten away with it. Odds are good she'd have wound up in our cells with a black eye and we'd have left her in a pillory to remind her not to be so damn stupid. Wrong place, wrong time.”
“That's not fair,” Skal mumbled. To the boy's surprise, Kadan wafted the glass of distil under his nose. Skal blanched at the sharp, chemical stink of it.
“Have a swig if you want. Might help you sleep,” Kadan prompted.
After an anxious pause the boy accepted the glass. The spirit was as vile as he'd expected, burning his throat and making him gag. His head began to buzz almost immediately, though it was more likely due to pain response than alcohol entering his system. Kadan took the glass off him and said, “I think you should have figured out by now that life isn't fair. We have to play the cards we're dealt. It's easy now to look back and realise that girl was just a stupid child with a big mouth and a tiny brain, but what if she wasn't? What if she was the kind of mad bitch who'd tear a man's throat out, or charge at us in a bomb vest? If you fuck up by going too hard, you have to live with that. If you fuck up by going too soft, you die. Gods, I've lost count of how many times I've seen the Shepherd, waiting for his chance to guide my soul away...”
Kadan's final words made Skal look up. The boys studied his father as he drank, and realised there was regret there. He cleared his throat nervously. “Dad? I... I know you were just trying to protect Sam and me. I'm thankful for that. I wish that girl hadn't been hurt, but I don't blame you for what you did. I'd... I'd like to think I'd have done the same if I thought you were in danger.”
The glass hovered close to Kadan's lips. He met Skal's eye and smiled in a way he rarely did. “That means a lot, son,” he answered. The glass was returned to the table, its contents untouched. “Do you want to share my bed? I can't imagine it's easy to get any rest in Sam's.”
“I'd like that,” Skal replied with a subtle wag of the tail.

The next morning saw the Pennys rushed through their routines, with Sam still wolfing down a reheated breakfast cake as she was bullied out of the building. Familiar faces greeted them – the soft, wolfish muzzle of Lady Ylari smiled at them from the passenger door as they climbed inside the grav-car. Hafn Tavik was with her, the little blond boy vibrated with excitement at the sight of them. “I've been told the new school building is amazing!” he declared.
Skal's brow furrowed as the car lifted up. “Don't you get your own tutors now, being nobility?”
The boy turned shy for a moment. “I do, but I missed you guys. I still feel like an outsider in House Vaskal; I've made all of one friend, and I hardly ever get to spend time with her. At least this way I can see you and Ros a few times a week.” The confession made Skal's simmering anger fade a little, enough at least to give him a pang of regret at how much he had resented Hafn's new life.
Udum's new school was, as Hafn had put it, amazing. It was a tall and narrow building, a floor higher than its neighbours, with steep slopes of sea-green roof tiles making it appear like an ornate fungus. Knot-work was carved into the stone pillars and and arches of the building's front, which overlooked the street. Opposite the school was the coin-hold of the Banker's Guild, and the Palace Common proper was just a few metres further down the road. Foundational stones flanking the steps to the main doors told Skal the building had once been the holding of none other than House Tavik itself, while bronze plaques indicated it had belonged to House Daahl, then the Doctor's Guild. The newest plaques, one affixed to each of the double doors, proudly announced the building to be Udum's Educational Academy. Silver crests of House Vaskal and the Gambler's Guild indicated who was sponsoring the academy.
Inside, the evidence of its shifting allegiance was obvious. Mundane floor laminates and plastic internal walls divided what had once been a grand entryway into multiple rooms. On the upper floor, where no changes had been necessary, lacquered wooden wall panels of a style popular among the nobility had survived, creating the impression that two distinct buildings had been crushed together.
Ylari led her trio of rejuves upstairs to classroom one, and Skal found himself oddly glad to see the familiar figure stood proudly at the head of the class: Udum, dressed in a midnight blue suit with his favourite shades covering his eyes. The Nightsider gave a broad smile as the four entered and gave a gentle wave towards the horseshoe of desks, arrayed as they had been in the previous building. The sole difference were the occupants, though by accident or design the empty seats were all next to Ros. Hafn sat to his friend's right, and Sam to the left, with Skal to the left of her and next to an unfamiliar Nightsider female who looked too old to be a Penitatas. A quick sweep of the room revealed Alif and Lyy on the far side of the horseshoe as before, with the children between them and Skal made up of unfamiliar faces.
“Welcome, students new and old!” Udum announced with a joyous spring in his step. “It warms my heart to see you all here, and yet I feel but the merest pang of regret; for students now absent, and for how I shall not be solely tasked with teaching. Fret not, however, for you could not be in finer hands. My lady?”
With a deferential bow, Udum made space for Ylari, who had just the faintest hint of anxiety in her features as she addressed the students. “Good morning, students. For those who are not aware, I am Ylari of House Vaskal, and I shall be assisting in your education. Since we have a mixture of fresh starts and returning students, why don't we introduce ourselves? Alif, would you like to begin?”
The orange-furred boy did as he was asked, albeit with a little shyness. Lyy followed suit, giving her name, approximate post-rejuve age and announcing she too was a penitatas. The Daysider boy next to her was a medicalos, a construction worker who had been crushed in a freak accident. To his right was another medicalos, who had been a female in her late twenties prior to the Terror. She was a member of the Gambler's Guild according to the crests upon her shirt. The other four rejuves, all around ten years old, were voluntaras.
Skal and his colleagues finished the introduction. The boy felt a glimmer of pride at being recognised by the Dawnsider voluntaras, who also knew of Sam due to her prosthetics. Ros was just another Penny. Then it was Hafn's turn.
“My name is Hafn Tavik, I'm about seven years old adjusted, and I'm also a member of House Vaskal.” Skal noticed how Lyy especially became highly attentive at the introduction.
“I want to assure you all that young Hafn will get no special treatment from me,” Ylari said, speaking in a tone that was firm but not unkind. “Now that we all know one another a little better, we can begin your education.”
The morning was mostly spent introducing the new rejuves to what Udum's school aspired to teach, and how it would be done. 'Proper morals and manners of behaviour' was the short version. Ylari rounded off her initial lesson with basic literacy and numeracy tests, which were as boring and frustrating as last time. When the class was finally excused, it seemed half the class were in a race to be the first to the door – not to escape, but to guarantee a chance to see Hafn Tavik.
Lyy won the charge. The girl threw her arms around Hafn's neck as the boy stepped into the hall, an act so brazen that the lurking, battle-scarred bodyguard in the hall grabbed the Kyyreni girl by the scruff of the neck and pulled her away. Lyy briefly squirmed in his grip until Hafn hastily begged she be put down. “I'm really sorry about Dokkr, he's overprotective of my sometimes,” Hafn said bashfully.
Lyy brushed off the incident with a shrug and a smile. “It's fine, really. I was just so glad to find out you were safe! With all that happened in Vices, and then you were taken away from the Sinking Light, and Ros said you were in House Vaskal now but I thought he was just trying to cover up for something awful happening...” the Daysider girl trailed off, her happy mask briefly slipping as the beginnings of a tear formed in her eye. “I really thought you were gone.”
The pair's conversation was briefly interrupted by Ylari, who gave them a stern look and told them, “you two should head downstairs to get your lunch.”
The class wound their way toward the back of the building, to a rather cramped dining area on the ground floor. Trays of food were passed through a serving window from the kitchen for each child that approached, and it only took a few to fill the room with a warm, meaty steam that made stomachs rumble in anticipation. It was offal soup. A few of the rejuves muttered at the choice of meal, Lyy included, as it was a meal associated with poverty. Skal had no such airs and graces; the boy attacked the dark, thick soup with relish.
Across the table, Lyy sat beside Hafn and watched him as she idly stirred her soup. She waited until he caught her staring and asked, “What's life like in House Vaskal? Oh, I'm sorry, you're probably sick of being asked that!”
“No, it's fine!” Hafn insisted quickly. “I don't really have a lot to tell if I'm honest. Mostly I study, or get taken to events just to be seen there. It's not all that exciting.”
Lyy's paw caressed the noble boy's forearm. “I'm sure you're just being modest. You're a member of the First House, descended from the founder of this planet! I bet you're practically running that place already!”
“Oh come on!” Skal snarled, causing the whole table to focus on him.
“Is something wrong, Skal?” Lyy asked pointedly.
Skal bared his shark-like teeth and growled, “everyone can see what you're doing, Lyy! You didn't want anything to do with Hafn before, but now he's someone important and you're practically spreading your legs for him!”
An awkward silence spread across the table, through which both Hafn and Lyy cast furious stares at Skal. “Jealousy is an ugly thing,” Lyy said at last, her voice dripping with passive-aggression.
A low growl echoed from the boy's throat, but he stopped when Sam placed a paw upon his forearm. “Let it go,” she whispered. Bitterly, Skal accepted the advice and returned to his food, though he made sure to eat quickly enough that he could leave without Hafn and Lyy.
Unlike the previous school, the new site had a yard where the students could spend their breaks. The property's origins as a noble homestead were clear to see in the yard; a ring of pale-white stone occupied the centre, and though it had been filled with concrete upper faces of the stones still showed clearly. Somewhat to Skal's surprise, Udum had installed a sand pit and rope-swing against the far wall, which a pair of voluntaras were studying as their newfound childishness struggled with their desire to appear mature.
Skal's ears pricked at the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. He glanced back, expecting to see a teacher, but instead found Hafn's bodyguard stalking him. The fierce, war-scarred Kyyreni bared his teeth at Skal and growled, “is that how the Enforcers teach you to resolve your disputes?”
“What do you mean?” Skal asked cautiously.
Dokkr cracked the knuckles on his organic paw. “You have a grievance with Hafn Tavik, but all you do is spit words at him, and all it took to make you run away was a barbed reply from a whore.”
Skal felt a flicker of anger at the guard's words, but there was little a six-year-old could do against a fully grown veteran. “Hafn's a noble, I'm a common slave. I'm supposed to respect him, aren't I?” Skal asked.
Dokkr snorted at the boy's words. “In your place, I wouldn't have slunk away like a girl; I'd have beaten the shit out of Hafn, reminded him of his true place in the world. But I guess some of us are born to fight, and others to lick the feet of better men.”
Skal let out as fierce a growl as a child his age could manage, not that it impressed Dokkr in the slightest. The bodyguard glanced back toward the school building as Hafn made his way out with Lyy clinging to his arm like a trophy. “You are stood in a ring of honour. Act like it.”
Something inside of Skal snapped. The boy lunged forward as Hafn approached, catching the noble boy flat-footed. Lyy barked in surprise and jumped away as Skal cannoned into the older rejuve and forced him to the floor, but the sheer momentum of his charge caused him to over-balance. Hafn, more by chance than intent curled his legs as he fell and kicked Skal up and over his head. The two boys scrabbled back to their feet, but Skal was the quicker; he lunged again, grabbing Hafn's wrist before the boy could form a punch and flinging him off-balance.
“Are you fighting or dancing?” Dokkr mocked as the two rejuves tumbled past. Skal took the hint and punched, glancing Hafn's muzzle and gaining even more initiative to close in and pound the noble boy's kidneys.
But Hafn was done being a punching bag. With an animalistic snarl he brought a left-hook round into Skal's face, landing square on the boy's right thermal-pad and stunning him. A right punch followed, but on instinct Skal snapped at the closing blow. His teeth found purchase in Hafn's forearm and sank into the fine silk of the boy's shirt. Hafn Tavik yowled in pain, and when he found himself unable to shake Skal off he slammed a thumb into the boy's eye.
As Skal let up his bite and retreated, Hafn lashed out with a blow that caught him in the throat, followed by a wild kick that cracked against Skal's knee and knocked him down. The boy failed to deflect Hafn's follow-up kick and was sent sprawling. Pain thumped up his right side, but adrenalin dulled the ache as he rolled, bounced up and lunged again. The sudden counter-attack caught Hafn completely flat-footed, and once more the noble was barrelled to the ground. This time, Skal kept on top of him.
What followed was a mad flurry of punches, scratches and bites as both boys laid into each other as best they could, with Skal having the obvious advantage. Hafn's nails left deep red marks down both his arms and frayed his shirt, but the penitatas repaid the damage three-fold. He slugged Hafn's face repeatedly until the boy was forced to raise his arms and protect himself, then he simply kept punching. Skal's fists were still flailing when Dokkr finally grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away, seemingly without effort. “That's enough!” the bodyguard snapped. “The fight is over, take your win.”
Skal was dropped back onto his footpaws, and Dokkr let him go once satisfied the Penny wouldn't lunge again. As he stood panting the rapid beating of his heart carried signals to his brain that rage had blocked out, and he looked at his limbs to find thin ribbons of blood droplets forming where Hafn's nails had ripped his skin. His right eye throbbed, with each pulse becoming hotter and sharper until Skal's snarl of anger became a grimace of pain. Perhaps seeing his distress, Dokkr took a firm hold of Skal's muzzle and told him, “open that eye, if you can.” He studied Skal's face briefly. “A little bloodshot, but no sign of damage. Tough it out.”
Satisfied Skal wasn't harmed, Dokkr at last turned his attentions to Hafn Tavik, who remained curled up on the floor where Skal had left him. With a huff of disapproval, Dokkr knelt down and dragged Hafn to his feet. “I expected more from you, sire Tavik.”
Crying from pain and humiliation as any seven-year-old in his position would, Hafn snapped back at his bodyguard, “You're supposed to protect me!”
The outburst clearly earned him no approval, as Dokkr's muzzle hardened into a snarl. “I am not your champion, sire Tavik. You will have to fight your own battles one day, and not all of your enemies will fight fair. This is the last fight you ever lose, do you understand me?”
Dokkr's forcefulness left Hafn stunned. The bodyguard looked to Skal and, to the boy's surprised, gave him a smile. “You are Kadan's son after all. Learn to harness that ferocity, and you will go far in life.”
The comment filled Skal with a warm sense of pride. The feeling was short-lived, however, as he soon caught sight of Udum's furious glare. “Young Skal, you will come with me this instant,” Udum ordered in a cold, calm voice that was far worse than any angered shouting. Tail firmly between his legs, Skal obeyed with every eye in the school fixed upon him.

Udum's new office was exactly what Skal imagined it to be; a shrine to his twin loves of tradition and discipline. Copies of the ancient books from which he drew his knowledge filled his shelves, framed passages of old-world wisdom or paintings of great Kyyreni hung on those walls not dedicated to holding bookshelves or, more distressingly, implements of punishment. Skal's knees trembled at the memory of the sting delivered by switch, cane and paddle.
With a screech of rubber on laminate, Udum dragged his chair round to the front of his desk and sat upon it. The Nightsider fixed Skal with a cold glare that made the boy's jaw tremble. “Do you plan to keep me waiting for it?”
“F-for what?” Skal stammered as he tried and failed to appear brave.
“Why, for the compelling an innovative excuse that you most assuredly believe justifies your bout of pugilism, of course! I'm positively restless with anticipation!”
“I... I wasn't going to fight Hafn at all, but Dokkr told me to!” Skal blurted out. “He wanted me to fight!”
“How glad I am to learn you hold the wishes of some adults in high regard. Tell me, however did Dokkr, a man you surely never laid eyes on before today, win over this unshakable loyalty of yours where my many months of care could not?”
Skal lowered his head, tears rolling down his muzzle as he spluttered out a feeble excuse. “It's not fair! Hafn doesn't deserve what he has! I just... I just wanted to hurt him because nobody else cares that it's not right!”
Udum gave the Penny boy time to ride the latest wave of emotions before speaking again. The Nightsider's tone was softer now, all hint of mockery gone. “I believe I understand, Skal, and I agree completely.” The confession made Skal look up in surprise. “Hafn Tavik is scarcely worthy of any man's respect, and his rare instances of effort and willingness to learn are overshadowed by his general apathy to life. As he is now, he is a lazy wretch who is unworthy of the bloodline he has won by luck of birth.”
“You... you mean that?” Skal asked, uplifted by the revelation that he was no longer alone in his views.
“Every word,” Udum confirmed with a slow nod. “Now, you are a more clever boy than Hafn, so I wonder if you can determine for yourself why you are wrong in your views.”
“B-because I was fighting, and I broke your rules,” Skal answered. He saw immediately that this was the wrong answer by the disappointed look in Udum's eye.
“I am a teacher, Skal. It it not my place to judge, nor to presume myself worthy of the duties Hafn's newfound station will one day thrust upon him. My place is to guide the young sire to knowledge, to fill his mind with the wisdom of the past, and offer unto him the experience that comes with age. The blacksmith forges the blade, yet never wields it – so too might I forge a leader, yet lead no-one myself. Do you understand, Skal?”
“I think so.”
“Then enunciate your understanding,” Udum replied with a tone that promised painful correction should be be disappointed.
Skal gulped down his rising anxiety in the face of the Nightsider's glare. “I... I can't change anything by beating Hafn up. But he used to be my friend... he used to look up to me, and if I'd... if I hadn't...” it became difficult to continue as more tears bubbled up.
“Come here, child,” Udum urged, his tone soft and fatherly. “I see you have embraced the truth of this lesson in your heart; Hafn will be shaped by his friends as much as his teachers.” the Nightsider lifted Skal onto his lap and held him kindly. “Friendships can be mended, if one has the will to do so. You are a headstrong boy, which will serve you well when you have the discipline to control your emotions.”
Skal was allowed to cry out his pain for a few minutes. Once better settled, Udum planted him back on his footpaws. “I hope you have abandoned any doubt as to my loyalty to you, Skal. I care deeply for your well-being, and that of all my students. Now, we must deal with your recklessness.”
Udum let the announcement sink in before continuing. “Remove your shorts and lie over my lap,” he instructed, and Skal complied.
“I do this not out of anger, but necessity,” Udum said as he adjusted Skal's position. “I do this because pain is a teacher, and you must learn your place in the world. You know the rules I have set for you to follow, and you chose to ignore them. Know that, in so doing, you chose to suffer this.”
With his final words given, Udum brought his paw down hard upon Skal's exposed backside. The sharp smack made the boy jump, more from the sound of it than the sting. The second strike, which came after a measured pause, left the Penny boy with gritted teeth to brace against tearing up.
The third smack seemed to take an eternity to arrive. Udum was drawing the punishment out, letting each smack's sting fade a little before the next arrived. He certainly wasn't holding back on the force, with each blow leaving Skal huffing through the sting as it slowly cooled, but there was also an unwelcome irregularity to his pacing; sometimes Skal would brace himself for a smack that never seemed to come, only to be struck the moment he relaxed. Other times he would suddenly be given two or three smacks in rapid succession, causing him to squirm and whimper in shock.
There was more than pain to deal with, however; it was rare indeed for Skal to be spanked by hand, with some form of paddle, rod or other implement being favoured. It was a common enough belief that Kyyreni fur gave padding against corporal punishment, and so a little extra force was needed to overcome it. The feeling of a paw on his rear made the spanking far more personal and more shameful.
Another smack found its mark, sending another surge of unwelcome heat through Skal's well-warmed rear. The boy let out a yelp as his whole body twitched, tears trickling down his muzzle as the pain of his near ritualised punishment overcome his resistances. “P-please st-op!” he whimpered, but neither his pleas nor squirming did anything to help his situation. Udum simply pressed his black-furred paw mor firmly against Skal's back, keeping him fixed tightly to the teacher's lap as the other paw worked his reddened rear.
“We are far from done, young man,” Udum said in an indifferent tone. His spanking paw halted as he spoke, instead providing a gentle massage to Skal's throbbing backside. “You must learn patience, and that cannot be taught through swift discipline.”
Though Udum's touch was soft, it brought its own miseries; not only did Skal's rear tingle and itch at the touch after a long spanking, but his body and mind reacted in their own unwelcome ways. This care, this tenderness was not meant to be part of a punishment! The boy realised his loins agreed, and the revelation came to him when he felt a tickle of fabric against the tip of his shaft. The sensation made Skal jump more than any spank had. “No!” the boy blurted out frantically, “I'm really sorry! I learned my lesson, I promise I did!”
The Nightsider gave a dismissive huff, “a promise I have heard made many times, and many times it has been broken! You must be reminded of your place in the world, little boy; you are not some great man, you are a meek child!”
“N-no, please!” Skal cried as he tried desperately to escape from Udum's grip. His squirming only made his situation worse, for the rubbing of Udum's pant leg against his crotch made his shameful boyhood swell.
To Skal's relief, Udum finally removed his paw from Skal's backside. The boy lay as still as he could, trembling in shame at what had happened to him. The other paw kept Skal pinned firmly to Udum's lap, however. “Children crave discipline,” Udum lectured. “I will give you what you crave, Skal. I will provide you with the discipline your mind and body needs..”
Once more Udum's paw slapped Skal's well-warmed cheeks, and the boy let out a shameless sob of distress. The swats came faster and harder than before, working their burn deep into Skal's abused backside, but it was his own shame that caused the bulk of his tears. It quickly left him broken and defeated, bawling over Udum's lap and hanging limp in the hope his unwanted excitement would be beaten out of him as part of the punishment.
When it was finally over, Udum ran a paw through the fur of Skal's head and said to him gently, “it seems you have accepted your punishment at last. Now, kindly go stand in the corner.”
Skal obeyed, slipping off the teacher's knee in such a way as to keep his crotch out of sight. A pink tip still poked clear of his sheath, and while hardly full arousal it wasn't something he wanted to display to others. Left to stand and whimper in the corner, Skal was relieved that his boyhood calmed itself by the time he was told to put his clothes back on. The presence of a female Enforcer was its own concern. “I think it is best you return home,” Udum explained. “Perhaps when you return tomorrow you will be a better frame of mind to receive an education.”
Skal allowed himself to be led away to the waiting car. He didn't make any kind of chat with the unfamiliar woman, partly because he was sulking, but also because of the uncomfortable aura she put out. It was an unease common to females who had 'donned the black' to make up for the losses of the Guild.

The car did not return him home, but instead to the Hall of Corrections. Skal was told to go to the captain's office upon arrival, an order he was expected to obey without an escort – a simple thing, but one that helped improve his mood. Upon reaching the office the sound of animated chatting from within put him further at ease, but that pleasant feeling sank like an iron ball when he opened the door to see Kadan sat casually on the edge of the desk, a glass of red liquid in his paw. Immediately, the Guildmaster fixed Skal with an impatient glare. “Come in and sit down,” he ordered before turning back to Bast. “So what are we drinking, exactly?”
“Local-made ourl,” Bast replied, filling his own glass from a crystal jug. “The berries are specially cultivated to survive out in one of our innumerable wastelands. The resulting beverage is a little weaker than most, with earthy tones and a hint of bitterness.”
Kadan snorted at Bast's attempt at culture and knocked back most of the glass. He scrunched his face and snarled at the glass as if it had insulted him. “What did I do to you to deserve a drink like this?”
“You ruined your taste-buds with all that cheap shit you drink!” Bast chuckled while sipping from his own glass. “A man of your station ought to be able to appreciate the finer things in life.”
“Yeah, I was told something like that at the wake,” Kadan rattled his glass for a refill, and unlike the first time he tried sipping instead of chugging. It tasted slightly less terrible on the second go. “Now that Skal's here I wanted to ask you something: did you get into a lot of fights at school?”
The question make Skal flinch, but Bast didn't seem to notice. “Quite a few. I think it was encouraged, to be honest. I had old... Gods, what was his name? Big Nightsider with a mane so long it-”
“-covered his man-tits!” Kadan and Bast said together, with both exploding into laughter.
“Jadat, his name was,” Kadan added, “Guy never took care of himself, but he'd put his time in on the line so the higher-ups let him go all slovenly.”
“We're the higher-ups now, Kadan,” Bast toasted their respective ranks. “But yeah, Jadat never did much to discourage his class from settling every dispute with our fists and teeth. He'd step in and break us up, but nobody ever got caned for it. Nah, the cane he reserved for when I fell asleep in class on account of tiring myself out in the girl's dorm!”
“Do you think he was right to turn a blind eye like that?” Kadan pressed, with a lingering smile on his muzzle.
The captain's eye flicked from Kadan to Skal. “That would depend on what the fight was over.”
“I-” Skal began, but paused to consider his answer more carefully. “I wasn't going to fight him but Dokkr, Hafn's bodyguard insisted. He wanted me to beat Hafn up.”
“Nobles have to learn to fight, I guess,” Bast said.
Kadan, however, was less convinced. He didn't look at Skal, but simply topped up his glass and asked the room in general, “you must have had some reason other than that for being mad at Hafn.”
“Well, Lyy didn't help. Hafn's had a crush on her for ages, but he pissed her off and she ignored him until finding out he's nobility. She was sat there pretending to care about whatever he was talking about, telling him how smart and brave he was... and it was like I was the only one who could see what she was doing!”
Bast gave an amused snort, “Come on, Kadan! Falling for a gold-digger? That right there is grounds to kick shit out of someone if ever I heard it!”
Kadan finally looked at his adopted son. “Did you win?” he asked.
“I... yeah, I won.”
The Guildmaster smiled. “Good. I don't ever want to hear you lost a fight, you hear me?”
“So... I'm not in trouble?” Skal asked hopefully.
Kadan began to drink again, sipping long and slow from his glass until Bast let out a frustrated cry and barked, “oh stop dragging it out, you evil bastard! Forgive the boy!”
The demand made Kadan snort into his drink. He downed the last of the alcohol and set the glass on the desk. “We should be getting home. Let's do this again soon, Bast. Maybe somewhere a little nicer?”
“My office is plenty nice!” Bast protested. “If you're looking to treat me, there's a good place in Upmarket that sells excellent ourl, or a few in Merchants if you'd like to stay closer to home.”
Kadan shook his head in dismay, “fine, I'll put up with your awful drinks wherever you like. Be in touch soon, that's an order. Skal? Let's go.”

Kadan led Skal out of the Hall and onto the narrow streets that formed this sliver of the City between the districts proper. The Guildmaster seemed to take in the sights, panning his eyes along the looming walls to the north-east  and allowing his gaze to follow them to the City Dome and the yawning entrance way beyond. The entrance itself was hidden from view by the scattering of tall, narrow buildings that occupied this slice of the City. Then he turned south, taking in the steady flow of traffic. He watched the ground-cars rolling north-west towards the inner districts, or peeling off north for Vices, or south-west for Outer Tenements. When he finally spoke it was in the strained tone of a man working hard to hold back his anger. “I am trying hard not to be pissed off with you, Skal. Do you understand why?”
“Yes sir,” Skal whimpered, fearful that another thrashing might soon follow.
“Your actions reflect on me, and the Guild as a whole. Picking a fight on the first day back at Udum's new school, and with the new heir of the fucking Tavik line? How stupid-” Kadan stopped himself, catching the rage before it could boil over. “That was not smart,” he offered in a slightly cooled tone.
“I... I'm sorry,” the boy replied timidly.
“Don't apologise unless you mean it! You're sorry you got your arse tanned, not that you were fighting!” Kadan gave a grunt of frustration and rubbed at his forehead. “I don't want you to be sorry, Skal, I want you to be better. The whole point of this 'Penitatas' system is that childhood makes you malleable, like heated metal in the forge. That's what the Humans and Drakonians and all the rest think at least. From now on, I want you to think before swinging your fists, understand? You should... think what I would do, and not do that.”
“I tried, I really did! I walked away and I was going to leave it alone, but Dokkr goaded me and it was like... like I just couldn't think straight any more!”
A low grunt answered him. “Yeah, I know all about that. Then the red mist fades and you have to deal with whatever fucking mess you just made for yourself. Only in your case, your options are sod and all. You cannot punch your way out of your problems, Skal. Gods alone know how I've managed it for this long, but it'll get you nowhere. Don't try it again.”
Skal accepted the final chastisement with a nod, and fell in beside Kadan as they walked together in silence back for home. As was typical, there were plenty of visitors to the Office when they got there. Kadan saw two in particular and muttered under his breath, “the fucking PRC.”
The comment made Skal glance over as two females caught sight of Kadan and began to approach. One was a monochrome Kyyreni Nightsider – grey-furred in a grey suit. Beside her was a soft-scaled reptile, a Karrian. The alien was sea-green with a shock of white hair, and wore a purple outfit tailored in an unfamiliar fashion. The Nightsider was deferential from the very beginning, adopting a submissive posture as she approached. The Karrian was more difficult to read, but clearly more assertive. “Guildmaster Kadan? I'm Leren Talle and this is Arnyr daughter of Ilr-”
“Hold that thought,”Kadan said sharply. He then turned to Skal and said, “you should go inside. Go upstairs and play, or read, or whatever you want. Just behave, alright?”
“Okay!” Skal answered, perhaps a little too quickly. He had expected a further thrashing, and it seemed he was getting away unscathed – that was a turnout he was certainly not going to challenge!

By evening meal, the unhappy events of the day were all but forgotten. He recounted the events leading up to the fight to Kas and Haal as the rejuves ate together, gaining total support from Kas, who echoed Bast's opinion that Hafn deserved a beating, and mild criticism from Corrector-Captain Haal. Even that was welcome after a fashion, for Haal was careful to make it clear he was speaking in an unofficial capacity. Watching the stiff old man slowly become less stringent and more childish was amusing in and of itself.
Hoping to make Skal's day end on a high note, Sam proposed a gaming session before bed, to which Kas and Haal both accepted. The Pennys headed up first, with their medicalos playmates promising to head up soon after. Sam got out her books and notes and cardboard screen to hide behind, while Skal got the dice, miniatures and character sheets. Then he opened his own notes and ran a pencil over the scratched runic lettering, reminding himself of what his character – Morgan Van Hal, Witch Hunter of the Empire – had been doing up until now.
The creak of stairs made Skal's ear twitch. He turned to see Kas and Haal arrive together, but he knew immediately they were being escorted. Kadan emerged, and the giddiness died immediately. “Please no,” Skal whimpered softly as his adoptive father approached their gaming table.
Kadan looked at Skal's timid expression and frowned. “What's wrong with you?”
“I... I thought you were going to spank me,” Skal confessed.
“I'm putting that off until tomorrow,” the Guildmaster answered. He walked around the table and fetched a stool that was tucked under the slope of the roof, carrying it over to where he could see the events of the game. “I wanted to see what all the fuss is about. This game of yours must be something special if even Haal wants to play it.”
Skal grinned with relief, while Kas chuckled at Haal's embarrassment. Sam got the adventure underway, and Kadan watched quietly as the four played out the daring adventures through a dark fantasy town. He asked occasional questions, and with encouragement rolled a few dice on his son's behalf, but mostly he seemed happy to watch as Skal, Kas and Haal sought out a fantasy wizard, searching ruins and fighting the monsters they found along the way.
After fighting through a sewer and finally locating the wizard they had been seeking, Kadan guessed they may have reached a good stopping point and asked Sam “can you wrap it up here? It's bedtime.”
The Pennys got the message. Last minute notes were made and the game put away for next time. “Sam, stay behind,” Kadan said as the books were returned to their proper place. The girl gave Skal an unhappy glance, for both had a good idea what that likely meant for her. The other three rejuves left the play room, but Skal dared to linger on the stairs. He wanted to be there to comfort Sam when her punishment was over.
Yet as his ears pricked to focus on the sound of movement and of furniture being shifted, he caught no hint of discipline. He braved punishment by creeping up a few steps more, poking the tips of his ears up to listen. He heard the floor groan as Kadan moved over to the bookcase. On the edge of Skal's hearing, Kadan said, “Is this just something you four do for a laugh, or is there more to it? It is something Skal's passionate about, like his starships?”
The boy couldn't hear Sam's reply. Kadan moved closer to him, making the eavesdropping Penny duck just in case. He risked raising his head again and caught Kadan's voice again. “I was thinking it'd be nice to have something to share. Sometimes it feels like the only thing we do together is me tanning his arse. How do you think he'd feel about me joining your game?”
Skal's heart gave a flutter. It was true that his feelings towards Kadan, his adoptive father, were complicated to say the least. He longed for a parent, and sometimes Kadan was that. Yet he was also a source of pain and misery all too often. This... this felt special. Something that could be a pure, unsoiled piece of their relationship.
The boy slinked away as quickly as he dared, careful to step on only the most solid bits of floor so the boards wouldn't squeal on him. He made for Kadan's bedroom rather than Sam's, arguing to himself that if were really getting spanked, Kadan would want her sleeping alone. He was perched on the bed in anticipation when his father poked his head in, wearing an expression of someone who was not best pleased. “Oh, you're in here.”
Skal hesitated, losing a little of his cheeriness. “Shouldn't I be?”
“No, it's fine. I'll try not to wake you when you turn in.”
“Dad?” Skal called out, knowing it was important to exploit his espionage. “Thanks for sitting in on our game. I like being able to share stuff with you.”
Kadan smiled. “Yeah, I know. I still don't know a damn thing about starships though, except that big one's actually a mining platform.”
A little giggle escaped Skal's throat. It felt wonderful to know he'd imparted some of his beloved lore onto his father. “Actually, I was just wondering if you'd like to play with us sometime? Sam can translate the books for you and we can all teach you how the game works.”
The Enforcer folded his arms as his brow furrowed in suspicion. “I had a feeling you were listening in.” the comment made Skal anxious, but his fears were calmed as his father's expression softened and his tail gave a subtle flick. “I'd be happy to.”
He wandered over and ruffled Skal's head-fur. It was a little rough, but the boy wasn't going to protest affection. “Now get to bed!” Kadan ordered, pulling the covers aside while Skal shed his clothes. Once the boy was tucked in, his father gave him another, more gentle pat on the head.
Once the light was out, it took Skal a while to actually fall asleep; his mind raced with the work of inventing characters his father to play as, and imagining the adventures they might share.

Epilogue: Iron Gaol

It had been an especially day at the Iron Gaol. Kyr's work detail was assigned to a quarry on the western edge of the yard, with no buildings to offer shielding from the wind. It built up over hundreds of miles, whipping up dust and grit as it came, then hammered into the prison complex like a vengeful spirit. Whenever a dust cloud blew in the rejuves had to turn their backs to the gale and cover their eyes, but two hours in Van caught a face full of fine stone dust and dropped as if shot. Hjoldn had him sent to medical to get his eyes washed out and ordered the rest back to their barracks.
“The winds are getting worse every year!” Elik moaned. The sand clinging to her fur had given her grey highlights. “It's got to be the terraforming, right?”
“I overheard a pair of guards talking about an ice drop,” Sel added. “It makes sense though; you heat up the planet, thicken the atmosphere, hit the ground with mega-tonnes of ice, it's all bound to do freaky things to the weather.”
Kyr smiled at a memory brought forth by the discussion. “My mentor in the Doctor's Guild said that rain used to be a social event. People would go out of the City dome and have picnics in the wasteland just to witness the marvel of water falling from the sky.”
Sel laughed at the tale, “Gods, no wonder people think this planet is backward!”
By the time Kyr had got a turn at washing himself in the sink, Van had been brought back to the group. He came with lunch. Meal times had become something to look forward to in Iron Gaol of late, for reasons beyond sheer hunger; you never knew what would be wheeled out of the food trolley. Today it was a block of red cheese with a butt of green wax to hold it by. Kyr took his meal and, since his paws were clean, broke off a chunk to find a lump of jerked meat within. Workman's cheese – a hardy, long lasting meal traditionally enjoyed by labouring men since before the days of space flight.
“Hey, doctor, I have a question,” Rhyd piped up as he finished gnawing off the corner of his own cheese. “We lose the ability to digest dairy when we're adults, right? It causes gas, cramps, the runs and all that nasty stuff. So why is it we can eat cheese?”
“It's a specific kind of sugar that causes the gastric distress, and traditional cheese production either removes the sugars or breaks them down during production,” Kyr answered with confidence.
“Really? It's that simple?”
Kyr smiled at Rhyd's scepticism. “We've been making cheese since before we discovered electricity! It wouldn't have been around that long if it was complicated!”
“Alright, smart-arse! You can get down off that high horse now!” Rhyd shot back playfully. The Daysider raised a piece of cheese as if to throw it, but a moment's clarity as he arched his arm made him reconsider, and he quickly shoved the offending projectile in his mouth.

Halfway through the meal, Hjoldn returned. The sight of the Watchman made Rhyd turn pale with guilt, but it was quickly apparent another boy was the focus of his attention. “Go to cot twelve, the nearest empty bed on the left,” he ordered to the rejuve who shuffled in behind him. The boy was a Kyyreni, to no-one's surprise, and a Dawnsider at that. He carried his worldly possessions in his arms – the spare clothes, the wash bag, the cutlery, cup and sanitary products. The entire detail watched in silence as Hjoldn made their new bunkmate stow his possessions and write his name and number on the board at the foot of the bed. The one unexpected aspect of the routine was when Hjoldn handed the boy a block of cheese. “You arrived just in time to eat. There'll be no working until the wind dies down. Your fellow convicts will explain the rules to you, I'm sure. Just remember, I like the lazy life: don't make me work, and I won't make you suffer.”
They all waited until Hjoldn was gone before addressing the new boy, and as Kyr's bed was closest he was the unofficial ambassador. “The name's Kyr, what's yours?”
“Yul,” the boy answered in a sheepish tone.
“Isn't that a girl's name?” Sel chimed in, but Yul had turned her attention back to Kyr.
“Wait, you said your name was Kyr? As in Kyr son of Ozra?”
“That's right?” Kyr replied, “Do I know you?”
Yul became sheepish at the question. “I suppose you won't remember me. I attended a few Populous meetings, including the one where you read your essay – 'The Virtues of the Republic'.”
“I see,” Kyr answered, somewhat stunned by her revelation. “Does this mean they've come after all of us? Will all of our colleagues be joining us?”
Yul shrugged, “I don't know about that. They took you and six or seven others, mostly senior members. I was shot when protesting for your freedom, woke up a little boy and was thrown into a cell as soon as I came round. That was two days ago.”
Sel gave an impressed whistle from the other side of the room. “Swift justice indeed!” her comment earned a furious scowl from Kyr.
“This is not a joking matter! This is unacceptable!”
“What are you going to do, write to the Corrector-Captain and demand the new boy is set free?” Rhyd's question was sarcastic, but the look it drew from Kyr was deadly serious.
“I think I will, Rhyd,” the former doctor said. “Yul? I need you to tell me everything that happened. I need the truth, and I need to know every detail if I am to persuade the Enforcers to take up our cause.”