Trembles filled the ground as the golem took its first massive step.

The crowds around him joined in fleeing. He debated whether he would be better served by staying with the crowd, but decided against it. Yes, isolating himself made him an easier target. But crowds could conceal an assassin also. Everyone would be too close to each other, and a small blade could end even a powerful person should it pierce correctly.

So he broke from the crowds, and started cutting through a tight, dark alleyway. But before he could even begin to plan to hide, he realized his plan was futile. The Citadel wasn’t for him, however, and the alleyway broadened into a proper lane, then a wide street, and the golem, towering and shaking the very earth with each step.

The Servant Branch allowed no cover to hide, only scurry, run, or die.

Oh. He heard someone else’s proclamation over the Law of Fae.

Their sway was massive, their grasp over the suggested reality firm.

High Fae.

The first true assassination attempt. Loud, bold, and brash.

There was a huge hurtling whistling, and Daniel stopped short and scrambled to the side, as a huge boulder smashed against where Daniel had been. Daniel almost lost his footing as the force of the boulder shook the very ground, cutting sparks of shards grazing him as the wave of sound thundered.

Daniel didn’t even care if he bled at this point.

What could stop a golem? Another, larger stronger golem was often the answer. But Daniel had no golems at all. Golems worked when using magical and elemental attacks failed, brute strength where the twisty spidery assaults were rendered moot and useless.

Daniel watched as the Citadel coiled itself according to the desires of the powerful. Behind him thundered the golem, growing taller with every step.

The Servant Branch allowed no cover to hide, only scurry, run, or die. Repeated the will of the oppressing High Fae Lord.

Golems. The unthinking, unmovable constructs used when subtly failed, where magic was useless, and only the bold, strong, unyielding power of the earth, of force in motion. Elswith had seen them before.

His first battle. His first campaign. The unaccomplished Lordling Heirling trying to establish his place, just fourteen years old. He had been bold, because he had known that unless he was bold and accomplished, he would be removed. He had been arrogant, too, unknowingly, but he had assumed that all the training, all the resources, all the training, would be enough to carry him to good results.

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Fourteen year old Elswith had joined a campaign with his Circle, a campaign where they were to be on the wings and aid with clean-up. It had been an easy position.

The Castalas faction had been in control of that campaign, and they had grown impatient with the debuting Red Circle’s lack of efficiency striking down the remaining dread creatures. So they had released their creation,

And as Elswith had watched that carnage, holding a sword in his numb hand, arm numb, shoulder numb, armor covered in the grim blackness of the dread creature’s icor, the sheer massacre of it had turned his stomach. It was not as simple as cutting down the dread creatures. The Castalas faction’s golems destroyed the creatures; it had been terrible, brutal, merciless, and unnecessarily violent and bloody.

And the golems were blind. They did not attack ‘allies’ but any innocent creature, such as nearby wildlife such as deer and antalions, unable to flee the field of combat due to the magical barrier that the Fae had cast to contain the manifesting dread creatures, had not been spared.

And that was how he had shamed his Faction and standing as Heirling of the Red Sword, not only was he too slow to complete the job and then the Castalas faction had to deploy their expensive golems, he had lost his stomach.

Now, there was a golem behind him. Five years had come and gone. Elswith had gone from a lackluster Heirling, to the near pinnacle of popularity and favor, to now a main pawn in a very important Game. And yet, the fear in his stomach coiled.

The Servant Branch allowed no cover to hide, only scurry, run, or die. Echoed a third and final time. Threes were powerful to the Fae. With this, whatever High Fae that was acting against Daniel had established it their will that Daniel could not avoid this challenge. If they lost, they would lose Prestige. If Daniel lost, he would lose his life and the Game.

The bindings buzzed and shivered, the Game was alive. The High Fae, who had been unable to peer in the Grant Stable, were no doubt watching all of the unfolding events. A particular binding, around his ankle, burned coldly. At least Daniel knew which binding belonged the Castalas faction.

Through the darkening night, the Servant Branch fled, the thundering golem behind him. Whenever he began to outpace it, a huge projectile was hurtled in the way. He could not run ahead, but should he slow, he was to be trampled.

How was this assassination attempt fair? Even a Lordling would struggle to handle such a thing. Especially Elswith, with his Lightning affinity that the Earth based golems ignored. Even after the Dungeon, and the bookkeeping work agreement, and winning against the terrible trio, Servant Branch had a flickering flame of a match compared to the raw furnace of power that Lordling Elswith had possessed.

As the Citadel continued to enlarge pathways and foot trails into large roadways, Daniel was relieved that at least there were no innocent fae wandering around. Or not so innocent Fae.

Why wasn’t Jasper Dunlap, the ungrateful and spite Glasbin fae, wandering around. They were partners, weren’t they? That meant the golem may even confuse them, because the Law of Fae considered paired servants the same…

There was one other way to destroy a golem.

Well, there were many other ways: enough water, enough explosive fire magic, enough plant magic…Even enough lightning could destroy one, eventually.

But there was another way that did not rely on the Servant Branch’s own power.

And he spied it with his grey blue eyes, looming ahead and beyond the broaden roads.