Grandmother Imelda backed Jak up against the cabinet beside the fireplace, keeping the sturdy table between them and the five other foreigners now forcing their way into the front room.

His gran calmly surveyed the invaders, seemingly unafraid. If anything she seemed puzzled.

"What were you thinking Rakkesh?" She wondered aloud."Sending soldiers to do a sorcerer's job."

She drew herself up, standing taller than Jak had ever seen her. Seeming to shed decades in the process, she scoffed at the six men crowding in. After a second glance at the dagger, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Is that what I think it is?" His gran pointed right back at the intruder's waving weapon. "I've been scrying half a century for that very dagger and you dare my forest to deliver me it?"

"That is as priceless as the artefact itself," she threw her head back and laughed.

As she did, her right wrist sizzled with white energy. Suddenly the dagger darted through the air above their table and into her outstretched left hand. Jak's gran examined it, caressing the runes inscribed in the hilt excitedly. Giggling almost girlishly, she nudged Jak. "Finally, Jak your inheritance is at hand."

The lead scout, snarled at the loss of the dagger, shaking his tingling fingers while drawing his curved sword with his other hand. He dashed around the table to slash at Jak's gran. But she spun to face him, squeezing her still fizzing fingers into a fist. With a cry he crumpled at the waist and sank to his knees. A second later, his midriff pulsed once then soundlessly imploded leaving a smoking cavity where his belly had been. Jak could see the recurring patterns of their rug through his seared torso. His brain was similarly blown apart. Who was this woman? No hedgewitch, that's for sure. Were those many Fae Witch rumours true?

The remaining Sarkians were staring, equally slack-jawed. His gran glared daggers back at the invaders, waved again and another soldiers torso was cored. The seared meat stench made Jak retch, but spurred the remaining soldiers into motion, jolting Jak into action too. He snatched a long log from the fireplace and swung it into a charging soldier's kneecap with a solid thud. The resultant scream broke the spell of silence that had befallen the room. One of the now galvanised soldiers grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. Jak stomped on the toes of his boot, earning a hiss of pain but the soldier squeezed even harder in response.

"Release him," his gran demanded imperiously. She began to chant and bring her hands up. The air began to crackle, but in a flash, their leader leapt over the smouldering corpses, his curved sword stabbing at Jak. His gran released her spell and stepped in front of her grandson, hands held out to ward the attacker away. "Noooo!"

The Sarkian's reach was longer and his momentum slammed his sword into her chest halfway to its hilt. The world stopped, his gran's face frozen in fury and surprise. Shadows swirled around the room, daylight flickered beyond the skylight above, then time stopped and she simply dropped, empty to the floor. Jak shrieked in animal rage, rammed the soldier behind him backwards into the mantelpiece. Then wrenching his way out of his captor's grasp, he threw himself onto his elbows beside his grandmother and took her trembling hands in his.

"Don't worry Gran, we can fix this, I'll get healing balm from--."

"Jak," His gran gasped airlessly. "Not this time. No time. Not for me... Your time Jak...This is yours." Her trembling fingers pressed a small stone, unseen into his hand. "This is for you... Only you!"

He furtively palmed the jewel into his jerkin pocket, then lunged for the dagger on the floor in front of him. But a heavy hand clasped his shoulder, dragging him flailing to his feet. A second hand joined the first, spinning him around they shoved him hard against the tall cabinet, setting him aside. Before he could attack anyone. Or tell his dying Gran that he loved her.

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Before Jak could try anything else, the leader plucked the dagger up and drove it deep into his gran's heart. She spasmed once and was still, though bubbling crimson continued blossoming out through her white blouse. Emotionlessly the leader dug the dagger out, wiping the blade clean - both sides with a twist of the wrist - on the blouse before calmly handing it hilt first over his shoulder to the soldier standing behind him.

"Shariff, hold this," he said evenly. "You're our scout now."

The leader appeared so detached that Jak couldn't connect his own feelings to what he'd just witnessed. It felt like a dream. Any second Gran would shake him awake... Then the truth flooded over him, the horror of his emotions so overwhelming...

Jak wailed, but before he could move a sword curved against his throat, collecting the tears streaming down his face. Tears of quashed rage not sadness. Those would fall later.

"Shall we kill him now, captain?" the one called Shariff asked - in Perugian.

"Wait until we have the sapphire," the leader replied. Captain, Jak corrected himself. Gran's killer was their captain.

Jak fumed, his frustrated fingers clenching and unclenching. They'd murdered his gran and didn't even care if he knew he was next. He needed a plan right now or he'd be a ghost too.

He wracked his brain but his mind only whirred in grief stricken circles. By the time he regained his senses he saw the remaining soldiers had sheathed their swords and were ransacking the cottage. The two with bows had hung them, still strung, on a hook near the door - obviously not planning on being long, or they’d have released the tension on the strings. The tension in the room was reaching its peak too. Something had to give and give pretty soon.

The assassins' newly-appointed scout looked decidedly lost, turning to and fro, waving the dagger in random directions, before finally pointing it directly at Jak.

"There," he announced firmly. "Right there."

Jak's heart stopped. They were looking for a sapphire. He had just been handed a small stone that could well be a jewel. He gulped. He hadn't seen it yet, but if it was a jewel... The sapphire they sought... He was dead.

"Move boy," the captain ordered. Jak gratefully edged away around the table towards the fireplace as two soldiers and the scout rifled through the cabinet that had been behind him. Thankfully they ignored him, intent on tipping drawers onto the cabin floor and sifting through their contents. He kept his eyes down and his hands behind his back, groping about blindly until they settled on the handle of their axe leaning against the fireplace.

Stealthily Jak shuffled further along until his own bow was at his feet. He hated to do the next bit but it had to be done. He slid his right boot under the bowstring, lifting it slightly off the ground and then slid his left boot under the bow proper at the top where it was weakest and brought his right foot down next to it. It bent for a bit, then broke with a loud crack. All eyes turned toward him. "What?" he growled sulkily. "It's an old cottage; it creaks sometimes".

Appeased or simply disinterested, four sets of eyes resumed their fruitless search. Jak knew he only had seconds before they realised their dagger had been seeking him and the sapphire he was sure he'd just pocketed. He gulped again, grabbed the axe and charged the dumpy guard they'd left leaning against the door. He swung unnaturally left to right, but the guard pulled in his gut and jumped back. Jak missed by a full foot, hitting the wall where the Sarkian bows were hung. And where he'd been aiming all along. Thankfully they splintered upon first impact.

Satisfied, Jak turned and swung back again, the much more natural right to left, at the reluctantly advancing searchers. The dopey guard, instead of skewering him from behind, opened the door wider and ducked outside to give himself breathing room. With an involuntary yelp, Jak released the axe and sent it spinning erratically towards the three remaining soldiers. Each took desperate evasive action, throwing themselves either onto the floor or to the side.

Relief at having earned a momentary respite almost overcame him, but now was not the time for resting on his laurels. Jak lowered his shoulder and barged directly into the half open door rather than through the vacant gap. As predicted, the dimwit on the other side had hold of the handle. He was plainly about to peer around the door to ascertain the upshot of the fracas. Consequently the door smashed into his face, stunning him, spraining his wrist, bloodying his nose and knocking him arse over tit. Then Jak was outside. Free as a bird. About to become a distant memory. A blurry one at that, barely able to be glimpsed in the mind's eye, let alone the dappled shade of Grey Grove.

Forgotten in the middle of the floor the glow in the blinking dagger began to slowly shift and shrink...