Frigun Harrow winced with every breath he took. The visual injuries had finally disappeared, but those within his body still remained from Tay’s sword. It seemed that even with all the—admittedly poor—healing potions and items he could get, getting impaled a dozen times was a pain to fix.

Since his run in with the Tay and the Red Cross Guild, he had been on the move. It seemed that the moment Harrow got to a place thought to be safe, new reports from his men would tell him that “suspicious” individuals were spotted around the premises’. And so, under intense pain, he would be forced to move to yet another safehouse.

That in itself was an issue as even Frigun Harrow, feared crime lord of Finick’s Bay, only had so many holes to hide in. Presently, Harrow was being moved to a small Inn on the opposite side of the city to the tower. He gritted his teeth at every bump and July as the carriage rolled over the cobble streets.

Bella, his portalist, sat on the other side of the small cabin. She was, currently, Harrow's most useful subordinate. She had a useful ability within her water magic that allowed for almost instantaneous transportation. It was an incredibly rare power, and one, all those years ago, that Harrow made sure not to lose.

Her skin was a smooth black, and her dark hair was poofy, almost like a cloud. She had a professional air to her in almost every moment he saw her.

“How’s your pain, Sir?” She asked as she looked at his hand tightly gripping his leg. Harrow shrugged. “Could be worse. Could be dead.” He said optimistically. She stared for a moment more, and then shook her head.

“Why did you let him do that to you?” She asked. Although he surmised it wasn't actually a question he was meant to answer. Didn’t stop him though. “I didn’t let him.” He retorted. “It just happened. Do you really think me foolish enough to let someone stab me this many times?” Bella looked at him unconvinced.

“What?” He asked defensively. She rolled her eyes. “You’re very protective of him, Sir.”

“Too protective.” She added. Harrow locked his pained eyes to hers, looking for her meaning. He turned away when he saw it, closing his eyes and resting against the soft seats of the carriage.

“I owe it to the boy.” He said softly.

Harrow sat down softly in a padded rocking chair, trying his best to not disturb the various healing bandages wrapped around his body. The Inn that had been chosen as his refuge was called ‘Beggars Relief’ and was quite cozy.

Harrow had been given a room on the top floor in the best room they had available. He tried to drift into sleep, but his mind kept going places he wished it wouldn’t. Namely, it forced him to face the fact that all of what was happening to him was partly his own fault.

He had slacked off when it came to Tay, and he had allowed him to have more free rain than what was probably responsible. He suspected that he could have stopped the events of that evening from happening if he had simply kept a close eye on the boy; if he had kept him away from the Guild.

He wondered also about what would have happened if he had kept Tay from his realization for just a few more years. Though he doubted that the wounds the boy carried with him about his parents would ever have gone away. At most, they would simply lie dormant, waiting for the chance to bring back terrible memories.

Harrow rolled in the chair, trying to find a position that he could get a few moments sleep with.

“Isn’t this a treat.”

Harrow jumped from his chair, magic rapidly forming around his hand. The pain emanating from his body was immense, but it went relatively unnoticed behind the sudden, unfamiliar voice. A man, almost at Harrow’s own height and with a single horn that resembled his own, stood in the corner of his room. He wore heavy armor and wielded a broadsword. Just beside him he saw the outline of a tall and slender woman. As the candle light of the room flicker, the woman’s features were slowly revealed.

Stolen novel; please report.

She wore black. Her mix of leather and steel armor, her loose and comfortable battle robes, and even the hilt of her pollsword were all pitch black. He noticed too that both her hair and eyes were absent of color. No! He realized. Her eye’s were a deep amethyst. Sweat began to form on his brow and back, and he released the magic he was grasping onto. He suspected that it would only server to worsen the situation.

“Frigun Harrow?” The man asked. The crime lord nodded. “I assume you know the name ‘Tay Mallor?’” He asked. Harrow’s heart stopped. What did they want with the boy? Then he realized who the woman was. “Alexander Bouma and…” He swallowed. “Raya Finick.” A smirk went across his face as the intruders’ expressions darkened.

“Here to kill me?” He asked with the driest of humor. “Seems to be the thing to do around here.”

“Stop avoiding the question.” Raya warned. Harrow scrawled darkly. “Yes, of course I know him. What does it matter to the Baron’s filthy?” He spat. A twisted smile touched Alexander lips.

He let his sword hang in his grip, slowly and easily swinging It side to side. “Tay told me a rather interesting story. It involved you, in fact.” He pointed at the injured man. Harrow took a weary step backwards. “How did you find me?” He asked. Alexander's smile widened. “It’s like you said, we’re the Baron’s filth.” He mocked.

“Now, if the story that my dear friend told me is true, which I suspect it to mostly be, then you, Frigun Harrow, murdered his parents.” Harrow felt a chill run down his spine. He didn’t speak. Alexander noticed the change in him and pressed the advantage.

“Because of you,” He said as he began pacing the small, yet comfortable, room. “He’s joined the wholly untrustworthy company of Henry Carval.” He weaved his head as if thinking. “Now, my thought for as how to fix this is quite simple: Kill you.”

Harrow lept back, drawing every trace of mana he could to his legs. But he was far too late. The tip of Alexander Boumas Broadsword was at his throat. He could feel what felt like impossibly thin threads working themselves around his arms and legs. He was trapped.

But oddly enough, the final movement to end his life didn’t come. “Are you going to do it or not?” He demanded. Alexander looked at him with the slightest hint of curiosity. “You see, I was planning on doing just that.” The pressure on his neck lessened, though only slightly.

“But then I started to think. You see, there's one too many things that didn’t make sense. Firstly, and in truth, the one that can be explained the easiest, was what proof Henry had that you started the fire. But as I said, that can be explained by an unfaithful subordinate of yours. But what really intrigues me is why someone such as yourself would take the care of the boy whose parents you’ve just killed, into your own charge…” He mused.

“The reason you killed the family was simple enough; you had some sort of grudge against them, you hated them for some sort of wrong.” Harrow’s face twitched with something, but Alexander didn’t catch it.

“But from all the research we’ve done on you, you aren’t the type of person to care and train someone. Especially someone like him.” He tilted his head as if he was trying to make it all make sense.

“Why do I need a reason?” He grinned. “It was simply to watch him suffer.” The grin turned sadistic, but his eyes remained focused on Alexander’s. “I knew he would one day learn the truth, and so I decided to make that day as painful as possible. And what better way than to have him work for the man who would be the source of his sparrow!” He proclaimed.

It was Alexander’s turn to smile again. “I doubt that.” His voice was calm. “You’re not where you are by holding grudges against and tormenting a child. In fact, I’d bet that’s the exact reason you have no opposition. They were the ones like that, not you.”

Harrow’s face was hard, impossible to read. But Alexander got a sense of certainty from it. “I don’t think you killed Farson and Evelyn Mallor, and in fact I believe that you know what happened to them.” And with that, Harrow winced. That was enough for Alexander.

He pulled back his sword, sheeting it easily. “I’d advise you to run for the time being. Although I’m not exactly sure where else you can go…” He looked out of the window displaying the solid wall of Finick’s bay.

“But I’m sure you can figure it out.” He smirked.

“Are you sure about this?” Raya asked as her and Alexander walked along second street, far away from the Inn they had only just been in. Alexander did not turn to look at his team Sergeant. “No, but I’m praying, and that’s got to mean something.” He chuckled half-heartedly.

“Raya,” He turned towards the beautiful black-haired woman. “I need you to look into anyone who might be connected to Tay’s past. Alive or dead. We need as many leads as possible.” Raya nodded, though she still looked to be uncertain. They started to walk again, though both’s minds were racing.

“I hope you're right about this.”

“I have to be.”