Dellan never thought he would get used to the violence of it all. The smell of burning bodies and buildings, the acrid fume of evaporating blood mixed with the dry taste of shattered stone splintered wood. Looking over the scene before him he was nonetheless mildly surprised at his lack of shock and revulsion. If anything he felt more of the latter over his lack of the former, which would have to satisfy his ethical quandary for now.

A few seconds later it had. That was quick.

Crawling through the mud was the object of his frustrations, the cause of his pain. An ominous man covered in tattoos loomed out of dusty haze to seize him by the neck and drag the helpless victim to kneel before Dellan. The movement forced a hideous cough, splattering blood down the shredded remains of his shirt. He looked up through the one functioning eye he had left to take in the image of his destroyer. “The monsters we create.”

Part One: Promise

only those that accept their lack of control can ever hope to achieve it

Dellan didn’t bounce. He wasn’t sure if it would have hurt less or more if he bounced, or if a lack of bouncing upon slamming into the ground at the bottom of a stairwell was a bad sign. All things considered he surmised the result was fairly similar regardless of the presence or absence of bouncing. It hurt like a bitch. The young man skidded along the polished wooden floors using his face as a primary means of support, overall a poor replacement for bouncing, amongst a hail of books, spare paper and pencils. Rather than immediately get up Dellan decided to remain as he found himself at the arrest of his slide. Face firmly ground into the floor and behind arched sharply to the ceiling in as undignified a position as possible. It seemed a necessary thing for him to endure this a little while longer and learn everything that he could from the experience.

The first lesson would be that the third step from the top on this particular staircase was slightly loose. A new development as this was not the first time Dellan had descended these stairs at an unseemly velocity. The second lesson was a slightly more positive one as the lack of searing pain suggested that his bones had held up under the strain of the fall. Considering the fall was carried out over two stories worth of stairs made this no mean feat. Calcium intake was therefore sufficient. Lessons learned, Dellan folded himself into a sitting position and started gathering his things. The shoulder slung bag given to him by his adoptive father Marco had been generous enough to land beside him, so back into their prison his possessions went. A smattering of blank paper he had scrounged from the library and classes, nine and a half pencils given to him by a friend upon his acceptance into the Kincade Academy. Veritas’ Power and Liberty on loan for the seventeenth time from the campus library and Marco’s heavily dog-eared copy of Chainmail Mind  by Connelly, a twentieth birthday present from its (now previous) owner.

“Break anything this time?” came a feminine voice from the corridor beside him. Dellan turned, groaning slightly and shifting his weight to help his recently traumatised neck take in the source of the sound. But he knew who it was already. That voice was unmistakable. Amatil brushed a lock of auburn hair from her eyes as she surveyed the crash scene and Dellan’s gradual clean up process.

“Oh. Not just yet.” replied the young man as he tried to stand, wincing as pulled muscles and newly bruised areas bitched at him about the effort. The result was a slightly pathetic whimper escaping him.

Amatil’s perfectly green eyes widened slightly as the sight. “You seem more... dilapidated than usual.”

“Averno Stratos.”1 Dellan quoted the Academy’s motto, placing his bag back onto his shoulder and suddenly losing balance. Amatil slid gracefully into place and steadied him, with a startled “Oh shit.” muttered under her breath.

“You should go to the infirmary.” she said, taking a quick step back after making sure he was ok.

“Professional opinion?” another wince with the effort of talking.

“Second year medicine is still more medicine than you know. If ever I want to know how to interrogate a criminal or declare war I’ll come knocking on your door.” green eyes flashed under accidentally perfect tousled hair.

“Give it time.” Dellan warned, the clock on the wall behind his wonderful conversation partner catching his eye. “Balls.” he mumbled, noticing that he was now more than late for his lecture. “I’ve got to.” he said importantly before sprinting out of the stairwell and across the courtyard before realising he had probably left Amatil with the impression he had called her Balls. Dellan was already halfway across the yard when his body decided to inform him how absolutely freezing the winter air was, along with how painful it was for him to move at all let alone so quickly. Dellan gritted his teeth and pressed on, letting out a discordant improvised melody to distract himself from the pain, as was his habit. A minor coating of frost from the night before remained on the pavement below, hung in the air and gave a dignified stubble of ice to the crenelated walls of the Academy that betrayed its feudal origins. In more troubled times it was not uncommon for the staff and student body to man the walls against invaders that hoped to destroy or steal the knowledge of Kincade’s disciples. Dellan’s fellowship and faculty were the proud, and dwindling, remnant of that time. When enemies were at the gates, the Dean of Warfare was given absolute power over the Academy for the duration of the defense with his or her students generally fulfilling leadership roles amongst the student body. Given the improbability of the Academy coming under siege any time soon and the lack of interest Dellan had in leading anything, that nightmare was comfortably beyond his future.

However, the minimal odds of Dellan having to champion the freedom of scholarly pursuit in mortal contest upon the walls did not excuse him from his Strategy and Counters lecture. Especially since the lecturer made a point of checking for his attendance ever since he made a rather vocal defense of the concept ’Better late than never’. Skidding into the hallway, the welcome site of students malingering about the lecture theater’s door merited a rapid deceleration before anybody important noticed his panicked sprint. “Monroe is late?” he inquired with prepared nonchalance, forcing his body to move with a painful ease.

“Mmm.” affirmed Jason Vale, a second year student that always seemed out of place amongst the generally ragged and odd-looking student body of the Warfare faculty, seeming to come straight out of a propaganda poster or fantasy story. He always managed to have a perfect degree of pitch black stubble to match his close cropped hair, a pair of permanently apathetic brown eyes gazing out above everyone else to something interesting in the distance. Probably more truth in that than farce, as pushing seven feet Vale was by far the tallest person Dellan had ever met. If ever something was about to happen Jason saw it half an hour before anybody else. He was also one of Dellan’s closest friends on campus. “Hello.” Vale commented as he stared at the noticeboard on the wall with his neck stooped ever so slightly to accommodate for his height.

“Anything interesting up there?” asked the shorter of the pair.

“Not particularly. Any reason worth mentioning that you’re late again?”

“I fell down the Alberton stairwell.” Alberton doubled as the name of the dormitory that Dellan called home, along with the student House that those within belonged to. There were three Houses at Kincade; Alberton, Flint and Elise. All were named after prestigious alumni of the school, and served to create community and competition amongst students.

“All the way down?” the revelation sparked a rare moment of emotion from Vale, as a mixture of surprise, concern and respect flowed through his voice and across his face.

A sudden resurgence of pain from Dellan’s joints assured him that this was indeed the case. “Ahuh. Be careful of the third step down, its loose.”

“How?”

“Erosion I’d think.”

“No, how loose? Like, wiggly tooth loose or Christine Hayerdahl loose?” Christine was a female arts student with a notorious reputation for her lustful appetites. Vale’s characteristic disregard for social niceties shone proudly in his complete lack of hesitation in employing such a simile.

Dellan plied his traumatised memory for the exact amount of panic he felt at the loss of purchase on the third floor, whilst poorly containing the urge to laugh at Vale’s comparison. “Christine.”

“I’ll fix it after class then.” Vale jotted down a reminder on the notepad held against his leather-bound folder. Although the Academy had maintenance staff, they were infamous for their lack of haste in responding to student reports. Each year group of students had members that were skilled with their hands and Vale was one of them. The silent agreement amongst students was that everyone would chip in and pay these skilled among them to fix problems and make improvements in the dormitories, then band together to hide such changes from the groundskeepers.

“It’s not like Monroe to be late. Not this late anyway.” Dellan changed the topic after a few moments of patient silence.

“Mmm.” Vale repeated, although whether or not he was replying or just making a noise in response to outward stimuli was hard to tell. He was back to staring at something nobody could see. Wanda, a short, dark haired, hyper-active member of the class who tended to speak faster the longer she was allowed to spun about and grabbed Dellan by his shirt excitedly. Given his tendency to attract the socially deformed, it was not surprising that she was also a close friend of Dellan’s.

“I heard that another place got rolled in town, same as the last two in the valley, but this time they killed a guy do you think Monroe is down there helping the investigators do you think he would if they asked why wouldn’t he take me with him? I’m very good in my classes and I always figure outproblems-” she took a deep breath “-fasterthanthetherdentshesaidsoimselfndheouldn’tlie outthingthat-” Dellan gently clamped his hand over her mouth and waited until she realised what he’d done. “I did it again didn’t I?”

“Its ok.” Dellan said comfortingly. “You lasted longer than usual.” Wanda seemed to shiver slightly before letting out a short squeak and shaking her hands by the wrists either side of her face for a second.

“Ok.” she exhaled expansively. "Get my shit together.” unfortunately, her shit would have to remain in a disarray as Professor Monroe burst into the hallway through the double-doors  directly across from them. Wanda lifted a full meter off the ground and landed with another squeak as she gathered her things off the floor. Monroe swept past them all with a look of profound concern and interest, muttering his apologies to each of them as he passed yet not making eye contact or pausing in anyway. As the students, numbering seventeen in total, filed in behind him the sound of chalk on board already rang throughout the room as Monroe began creating the basis for the day’s lesson.

“What can any of you tell me about-Wanda!” he barked suddenly as the tiny woman tripped on a step and dropped her books again. “Get your shit together-about the reasons for the fall of the Valorous Empire.” he continued after the brief but all too common interruption. A moment’s silence entered the room as everyone waited for someone else to make the first move. Once again, in accordance with a routine that everyone in the room was familiar with, Dellan muttered a vile oath under his breath and started the conversation.

“The Valorous Empire, Vaz Hote Fe Sto, Kull Rega Hoter Lon Paz*.” a chuckle rippled across the room, even Monroe managed a tight smile. “The Empire’s beginnings remain a mystery as does the reasons for it’s fall, but we know how it fell. The people turned savage, despite centuries, some say millennia, of cultural development on the principles of civility, peace and the rule of law. They destroyed their cities, burned their libraries and continued to war and kill amongst themselves for decades. In the span of sixty years all that was left of their civilisation was what we have now. Some vague ruins and parts of their road network.”

“What the overly clever Mr Forge just did was avoid a trick question. Of course we don’t have insight as to the reasons for the Chaos War, only knowledge of the war itself. Why would I ask such a question so far from our subject?” asked Monroe of the class. “We study crime and the workings of the law, why would I want to know about ancient history?” another tense silence ensued, only this time Dellan felt no need to break it. He’d done his job, they were on their own. A younger student in the front row tentatively raised a hand. Monroe scowled at him. “Just spit it out.”

“Because if even the Valorous were capable of falling apart, then we are too.” the end of the sentence slowly inclined in pitch as the young man struggled to maintain any conviction in his opinion under the professor’s steely gaze.

“...and therefore?” Monroe motioned with one hand for the student to continue his line of thought.

“...therefore... it is necessary for Lawkeepers to remain vigilant even in the most docile of neighbourhoods against the possibility of-”

“Yes.” Monroe interrupted, much to the student’s relief as he sagged back into his chair. “Always remain vigilant. Today we will cover the primary tenets of on-the-street policing and what you need to look for in a crowd...”

The remainder of the lecture passed by without notable incident. Wanda even managed to hold off on a relapse of her unique brand of absurdly audible hiccups* until the final moments of the lesson. As the rest of the day was given to the students to do as they would, many retired to the dorms to sort out any notes they had taken and carry out independent projects. Dellan and Wanda figured a good use of their time was to annoy Vale while he carried out repairs to the staircase under the guise of running interference against the Academy’s caretakers. “Do you think Monroe gave us the day because of the murder in town?” Wanda asked suddenly, dropping out of the middle of a sentence to do so.

“Perhaps. He left in an awful hurry.” Dellan said as he idly leafed through Chainmail Mind.

“I think it was the storekeeper that fought back, or maybe the other robberies were a front to cover up an intentional murder in this store, or that the storekeeper was an inside man andgotreedynd-manded-arger-hareof-the-ofits-” her veritable vomit of words was brought to a half by Dellan sharply snapping his fingers in front of her eyes, prompting another squeak.

“None of us know anything about the particulars. You don’t know who the victim is, or if the robberies were connected, or if there was even a murder in the first place. It’s all rumour.” Vale pointed out as he stood and stretched with his hands on his hips. He tentatively placed pressure on the step with his foot. The stair remained intact after this cursory test, so he lifted himself up on it and smiled when the step held up under pressure. “Done.”

“Maybe we could go into town and see what the locals are saying.” Dellan suggested, closing his book and looking his friends. “No assessments due for weeks, no classes for days.”

Vale fixed Dellan with an inquisitive look. “...and I happen to be friendly with Xavier Cole.” the exaggerated innocence Dellan and Wanda exuded regarding the local Lawkeeper consultant seemed only to annoy him further. “That’s where this was going, right? You want me to get you on Cole’s good side so you can meddle.”

Wanda hiccuped. “We don’t meddle.”

“You meddle to excess.” Vale retorted, picking up his tools and putting them away. 

Dellan tapped his fingers on the book’s hard leather cover. “I’m not hearing a no...” 

Vale replaced the tools in their hiding place, a small forgotten remnant of a crawlspace in the hall, then regarded the two with all the attention the man could muster. “Fine. But you need to let me handle Cole. You two just shutup and play with your toes or something. If Monroe gets wind of us poking about, much less the Lawkeeper-Captain, then we’re beyond fucked.” Vale’s capitulation brought a weak cheer from Dellan and a louder series of hiccups from Wanda who tripped and stumbled down the hall to fetch a coat from her room. In a slightly more composed fashion, Dellan returned his book to his room and also retrieved a coat that reached down to his knees. This by far was one of his more treasured possessions as the Academy was placed in a climate that snowed ten months of the year and rained the other two. A quality coat such as this was worth its weight in gold, hence why he’d never dreamed of owning one. He’d annotated a third year student’s bibliographies for a year to get it, but the mental exertion was worth avoiding the expense of buying one himself.

Waiting at the courtyard exit for Wanda and Vale, Dellan stomped his feet in an attempt to build some warmth about himself. He was not to be alone for long however. An unmistakeable laugh echoed through the air, prompting him to look back into the courtyard and see Amatil walking his way with a group of what he assumed were fellow medical students. He recognised a few, not by name but he was certain they had met before, but an immediate source of annoyance was the tall, striking fellow with whom Amatil walked hand in hand. “Dellan, good to see you again.” she said, the sun rising in her smile and bringing Dellan all the warmth he needed.

“Oh just fine.” he replied in a higher pitched tone than he intended whilst instantly realising she hadn’t asked but deciding to carry on anyway.

Amatil leaned in a little closer and squinted at him. “You’re getting a lovely bruise surfacing on your forehead.”

Dellan grimaced as the sullen pain he had been managing to ignore all day blossomed anew. “Why thankyou. I was thinking of naming it Stephen.” it was a cheap laugh, but succeeded in producing a polite response from the crowd. Except for Tall-And-Irritating, all he did was look down his nose with a mixture of contempt and boredom. It became apparent rather quickly that Dellan’s presence annoyed the man, so he did the only polite thing he could. Quickly pulling off one of his almost fingerless gloves, he straightened his back and extended a hand. “Dellan Forge, War & Law.”

The hand was not met with another. “Kleinman. Medicine.” was the short reply. A pregnant pause ensued as Dellan stood there his hand extended and Kleinman ignored him. This pause appeared to have every intention of dragging on but luckily Wanda turned up to induce labour and deliver a bouncing baby icebreaker.

“Fucking stitch-queers!” she hollered, lobbing a snowball into the back of Kleinman’s head. A larger, more precise strike came from Vale who clearly considered the situation worthy of escalation. The ball of ice slammed into another member of the group with enough force to knock her onto her knees. More out of a sense of solidarity than out of any real conviction to the cause, Dellan kicked up snow as hard as he could and dove behind a bench. The combination of rapid suppression fire from Wanda* and Vale’s incredible aim provoked a full retreat by Amatil and her friends. They ran with an even mix of screams and laughter back into the medical faculty building to the tune of Wanda’s cries of victory. Dellan stood and brushed himself off as his two comrades in arms approached, Vale seemed happy enough with the battle’s outcome and Wanda was struggling to get her bloodlust under control.

“You need to get your shit together, Wanda.” Dellan said for the seven hundredth time. “The Medician Gala was six months ago.”

“They deserve nothing less than ruthless extermination.” she said with unnerving conviction, managing to appear threatening despite the oversized, fur-trimmed coat she was in danger of disappearing into.

“They had no means of knowing that you’d react so badly to strawberry schnapps.” Vale noted in a non-committal fashion.

“You didn’t even know.” Dellan agreed.

“I reject your premise, they know everything and must die.” came the unrelenting response as Wanda struck out towards the town below. “Even if it were in my heart to forgive them, and it is not, they are altogether too good looking and charismatic.”

“Unwholesomely so.” Dellan placated the tiny ball of hatred that stormed about in front of him attempting to control a violent surge of hiccups. Wanda’s hatred, although fuelled by her abnormal passion for the subject, was not entirely unique or even uncommon. There was a very real sense of class warfare in the Academy which pitted the student bodies of the medical and economics faculties against everyone else. The former pair tended to attract the sons and daughters of nobility and successful merchants, whilst the other faculties were favoured by those of lesser means. Part of this came from the expectations of successful parents, but mostly from of the high tuition rates medicine and economics demanded of it’s students. Whilst those not as well off may have preferred to study in these faculties, their financial situation prohibited it despite any aptitude they may possess. The result was a mostly harmless and generally good natured conflict between the relative rich and poor. Every now and then there was an outlier, the exception to the ’mostly harmless’ rule, and Wanda was out and proud.

“Damn straight.” she agreed, vigorously gnawing on a carrot she produced from the infinite confines of her jacket. As always Vale followed silently, gazing at the sky, needing for nothing but his thoughts.

Below Kincade Academy rested the town of Wyddrnost, a relatively new town to the region having been established a mere one hundred and fifty years ago to accommodate the families of Kincade students and staff. Where there are people there are needs and wants, so merchants moved in and farms sprung up as families relocated for their children. Soon enough there existed a town no longer entirely focused on the school, but a community in it’s own right. One of the benefits of living near a centre of higher learning was access to knowledge, and as such the town was extremely well planned and elegantly built. Constructed around a river that flowed down from the Everfrost,* Wyddrnost was constructed on a series of tiers as the mountains slowly levelled out into a large, fertile valley far below. Two wide paved streets reached from top to bottom on either side of the river, making it possible to get from the Academy to the valley in no more than an hour at a steady run. The structures of Wyddrnost featured weathered black and grey stone with dark oak panelling and beams. Steeply angled roofs constructed of pale slate helped to shed the ever-present snow, with large oak trees at the top of every corner sheltering intersections from being snowed under. It was not uncommon to find outdoor dining areas built up under these trees, as residents and students alike found them to be altogether pleasant areas to spend their free time. This attracted activists, musicians and other performing types to these areas, as an audience with little else to do was almost guaranteed. The frequency of these areas gave the small town an almost electric atmosphere, the sounds of music and impassioned speech coalescing into an overflowing symphony of life. As their brief journey into town approached the halfway point, Wanda casually discarded the remains of her carrot and eyed Dellan inquisitively. “So. You going to say anything about that business?”

“I’m sorry?” the question took Dellan slightly off guard.

“You know what I’m talking about. The genetically refined specimen with an unwholesomely charming voice. The one Amatil was joined to at the hip.”

“Oh. You noticed that.”

“I didn’t launch that attack out of patriotism. You looked to be a tight spot and figured you needed an extraction team.” Wanda had now produced a small steel flask from somewhere and punctuated her point by taking a stiff swig of whatever hard liquor was inside. The presence of strong alcohol explained her lack of uncontrollable verbal acceleration.

“I thought your insults were a little forced.” Dellan admitted, observing the storm that was rolling ponderously across Valley Powell below.

“You need to do something with how you feel about her.” Wanda said, sighing happily as she screwed the lid back on her flask and returned it to whence it came. “I don’t understand you at all sometimes Mr Forge. Either jump off the cliff and hope she jumps with you or go find someone else to tumble off a cliff with.”

Dellan laughed openly to cover his surprise at Wanda’s insight. Although it was not the first time the diminutive woman had displayed an unerring aptitude for discerning the motives and feelings of those about her, it was easy to forget that she possessed the ability at all. Her erratic behaviour and panoply of anxiety driven neuroses often gave the impression of an equally dishevelled mind. But to those who knew her well, namely the two men in her company and a friend from home she often spoke of, it was clear that beneath the exterior turmoil rested an astute and sometimes worryingly intelligent mind.

“I’ll talk to my brother about it but your advice leaves out the scenario wherein I jump and she simply stands upon the cliff and wonders what I was thinking in the first place.” Dellan pointed out.

“That’s ok. I’ve covered the ground beneath with cushions and fat people. You’ll land well enough.” it was this particular sentence that made Dellan collapse into a hopeless, self perpetuating laughter. It was good enough without context to provoke Vale into a similar state as he returned his attention to the conversation just in time to hear it. As was usually the case with the trio, the laughter of two spread to the third with little trouble and the three friends entered Wyddrnost in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. They eventually reached the Anarchist, a public house favoured by students of the social sciences and military faculties and the occasional medical student who wanted to feel superior. The proprietor of the Anarchist was a Kincade alumni by the name of Horace Keyn who liked the university life so much he’d decided to stay. Using the substantial funds he had amassed through less that reputable trading practices in the Kalandi Stocks he established the Anarchist, becoming and continuing to be an endless source of wisdom, advice and support for his future fellow alumni. The Anarchist, whilst living up to its name in the post-exam season, provided a home away from home, cheap food and a place for students to gather away from the scrutiny of professors and student behavioural codes. What Horace had succeeded in doing, much to the grudging respect of some of the sterner Academy professors, was build a flourishing student community and vibrant arena for debate. Horace himself was usually the loudest voice among them. Due to their overwhelmingly loyal custom, the three friends had their own booth on permanent reservation. As Dellan and Wanda made for the booth, Vale stopped before crossing the Anarchist’s threshold.

“I’ll go find Cole.” he said shortly. “Be less like you two by the time I come back with him.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you speak.” came the lofty reply as Wanda hung her coat by the door and swanned across to their regular booth. Having briefly checked with Wanda to see what she’d like, Dellan made his way to the bar. Given the time of day it didn’t take long for Horace to suddenly appear in front of him with no discernible genesis, a particularly unsettling talent he had. A man in his early forties, Horace was a compact yet tough looking man with an immaculately shaved head and short blonde beard trimmed to perfection. It was difficult for Dellan to recall a time when Horace didn’t look exactly as he wanted to.

“Forge, Dellan.” he stated as though his customer required reminding. “The regulars?”

“If you please.” Dellan dropped a pair of copper colts on the bench. “Hear much about that robbery down Valley ways?”

“Indeed I have. What with it being the third one this month one could be forgiven for using the word ’shit’ to describe where this town is headed to.” Horace replied as he placed two glasses on the bar, one small one less so, and started pouring the ordered drinks.

“I assume Alexei has picked up this one as well? The poor bastard always gets the hard ones.” Alexei was a long time Lawkeeper of Wyddrnost and mentor of Dellan’s.

“You mean he always asks for the hard ones. He’s been spending far too much time with that nutball Cole.” Wanda’s beer was being poured with a practiced hand and an eye for perfection.

“Has he now?” it seemed appropriate that Cole would be working with Alexei once more, given the commonality in their approach to and perspectives on investigation. That being one which diverged significantly from the mainstream Lawkeeper conventions.

“Indeed. They’re in here almost every day talking about the robberies. Cole’s convinced, and appears to have Alexei similarly so, that the robberies are more than they appear.” two full glasses now awaited collection on the bar with endless patience.

“Is that so.” Dellan muttered through clenched teeth, as was his habit when his mind latched on to an idea.

“Mmhmm.” Horace nodded, putting away the the scotch bottle and sliding the two glasses forward. “Can’t say much else about what they think it is. I’ve pieced together this much from a dozen conversations, but they’re pretty secretive.”

“Cheers.” Dellan nodded his thanks as the barkeep moved on to serve a group of new arrivals. The journey back to the booth was one spent trying to control the overflow of questions that threatened to blow Dellan’s mind out both sides of his head. Although he only had a passing knowledge of the previous two robberies his natural instinct to find answers drove him to find commonalities. Wanda and Dellan sat in their corner for some time as they awaited Vale’s return and the imminent arrival of Inspector Alexei. Luckily they had their time-honoured hobby of making insulting appraisals of Anarchist customers as they arrived to amuse them.

The Lawkeepers were the de facto transnational police force of Valintus, the continent upon which most of the known world resided. Originating from a large group of vigilantes, the Lawkeepers seemed to appear out of nowhere so gradual was their inception. At first the governments of Valintus’ nations were wary of the group, but time proved their dedication to the rule of law, and as such they were endorsed by the Eastern nations and granted an annual stipend to support their activities. The Lawkeepers provided a distinct advantage over nation-based constabularies, as criminals could not flee to neighbouring states. Although there was no centralised hierarchy for the Lawkeepers, the Inspector-General of Stollini was often deferred to by the other Inspectors-General due to it being the oldest office and the origin of the Lawkeepers as an institution. Every year the Inspectors-General of the Valintus nations would meet in Lordsfall, the capitol of the Stollini Republic, and debate the amendment of current laws and the introduction of new ones. Almost anybody could be a Lawkeeper so long as they proved themselves to be of sufficient ethical integrity, as the institution maintained its vigilante routes and recruited directly from the willing and able rather than subscribe to social conventions and impose filters on their recruits. No matter where you were born or to whom, it was possible to rise to the highest levels of the Lawkeepers so long as you proved yourself capable. They were the only true meritocracy in the world.

Inspector Alexei Sokolov was a respected member of the Lawkeepers, both within the organisation and in the community he served. This was achieved by balancing the needs of the community with the rules and regulations of the Lawkeepers, letting smaller offences slide in order to catch the greater criminal and such. Alexei was also known to engage less than reputable types like career criminals and amateur non-professionals such as Dellan, Vale and Wanda should he not be able to close a case on his own. Although his superiors could not officially condone his behaviour they turned a blind eye as his offences were discreet and delivered results. The primary cause for his most recent run of success was the man known as Xavier Cole, a private investigator of considerable knowledge and skill. A maverick in his own right and not given to personal transparency, rumours regarding his history swirled about him like spiders caught in a drain. Some said he was once a Lawkeeper who was expelled after his unorthodox tactics caused the death of an Inspector-General, or that he used magic runes to see into the minds of people he met. None of it could be confirmed, but then Cole never seemed all that interested in giving answers anyway.

Vale, Cole and Alexei wandered into the Anarchist a solid hour later. Alexei was in the midst of an animated argument with Cole and insofar as Dellan could tell it was about informing the students of their theory regarding the robberies. Vale drifted towards the bar for a drink, from the look on his face he desperately needed it, whilst the Lawkeeper and the consultant made their way to the booth. Cole seemed to be appropriately mollified but Dellan figured he had simply given up on the idea of arguing with Alexei seeing as it was going to happen with his permission or not. Taking Vale’s instructions to heart Dellan and Wanda attempted to tidy themselves up and maintain a degree of decorum in as uncharacteristic a manner as possible. Standing as tall as Vale’s shoulder, although next to Vale anybody looked short, Alexei was above average in height. His black Lawkeeper’s duster swirled about as he gracefully weaved between the tables, the silver clasps on the chest, wrists and collar glinting in the light of the Anarchist’s fireplace. His unkempt iron grey hair was cut short, with an all encompassing beard of similar colour appearing to devour the bottom half of his face. A deep pair of soft brown eyes belied a compassionate soul and were the only contrast to an otherwise hard lined face that had seen too much and probably done too much as well.

Cole was about as different a person could be to his friend and fellow investigator. He was immaculately groomed with blonde shoulder length hair slicked back behind his ears. A pair of bright hazel eyes shone out from an unblemished face, his every mannerism was concious and designed to be charming with each of them practiced to the point of perfection. He wore an exquisitely tailored suit of navy blue, a spotless white shirt under a similarly clean vest, pants and coat. Overall an immaculately designed costume that many were deceived by, Dellan was sure. Wanda appeared to be one of them, her usual skill for perception deserting her in favour of a lust induced, alcohol enhanced bout of hiccups and giggling.

Dellan stood and shook Alexei’s extended hand. “Inspector.” he greeted respectfully.

“Mr Forge, a pleasure to be working with you once again.” the Lawkeeper said in as genuine a voice as could be heard. “That is your intention is it not?”

“It’s on the cards.” Dellan replied, relieved that he would not have to figure out a way to invite himself in. Cole shook his hand also, albeit with a slightly pained expression, before sliding into the booth to sit opposite a transfixed Wanda. Her almost predatory smile did not go unnoticed by Cole, but so far as Dellan could tell he was not bothered by it. Alexei sat in the remaining spot, that opposite Dellan, and pulled a leather-bound folder from a satchel he had brought with him. He placed it on the table between them and pushed it towards his younger associate.

“In here are the reports surrounding the previous two robberies that we were investigating when the third heist occurred last night.” he explained. Dellan opened the folder and started leafing through the reports, noticing they also included a complete set of detailed crime scene sketches. Vale silently materialised at the head of the table with a chair, sitting as one of the Anarchist’s waitstaff delivered a trio of drinks for the new arrivals. “The first was in Valley Powell on a way-station for Kalandi patrols. They went to a great deal of trouble to make it look like they were attempting to hit the pay wagon as it came through, but-”

“-the job reeked of planning and professionalism. They incapacitated the guards and had keys to the doors, gone in under two minutes.” Cole interjected, his smooth baritone almost hypnotic in it’s rhythm. Although the urbane Geldish accent was almost perfect in every way there was something underneath it that eluded Dellan’s grasp, which made him even more suspicious of the man. “Anybody with that kind of attention to detail doesn’t forget that the pay wagon comes through on the second Monday of the month, not the third. Upon closer inspection, at my insistence,” he looked meaningfully at Alexei. “we found that amongst the wreck of the building they left behind the fire was intensely concentrated in the records room. I theorised that they were after something in those records.” the two carried on this manner for some time, explaining the nature of the second robbery as being equally innocent at first glance but intriguingly complex upon closer inspection.

The second job was carried out at a the border crossing into Kalandia, where the same crew carried out a similar plan. The attack was for all intents and purposes a botched attempt at grabbing that month’s military wages and outreach assistance funds from the Kalandi leadership. However, as Cole had stated above, the attackers made special effort to ensure the border station’s files were completely incinerated during the fighting. As all of this was explained to the three students, Dellan kept up with the narrative in the file he had been presented with. The second job had sketches of the destroyed border station offices and statements from the defenders that the bandits had firebombed the office despite the fact that no defenders were fighting from there. Another statement from the guard captain asserted that the bandits’ effort to put themselves in a position to carry out said arson had cost them several men with nothing to show for it.

“The theory holds water.” Vale noted after the explanation of the second attack was done. “But I don’t see how you can stretch it to suit what happened last night. The Kalandi have no presence in Wyddrnost.”

Cole fixed Vale with a despairing gaze. “Really? How low are admissions standards to Kincade these days?” the comment managed to get a raised eyebrow out of Vale but little else. That seemed to annoy Cole more than anything else could have. “The Hotel Sanza is a front for Kalandi intelligence. The recently deceased proprietor, a one Andrei Zorinski, was the local contact for Kalandi operatives.”

“How did you figure tha-” Dellan began to ask before being interrupted by Alexei.

“Don’t fucking encourage him!” snapped the Inspector, but to no avail as Cole swelled with self-satisfaction and began to explain how he deduced Zorinski’s true identity. It was a combination of educated guess work and deduction based on Zorinski’s habits, personality and the contents of his pockets. Even his clothing and the way he cut his hair seemed to be important, but for the life of him Dellan could not figure out what data supported which conclusion. It was like being asked to describe the painting and given only the frame for reference. The painting that Cole described was very different the one Dellan remembered seeing.

“That’s all very neat and pretty.” Dellan noted as Cole’s litany of deductive reasoning came to an end. “But I met Zorinski several times and all of this feels a bit forced.” On the few occasions that Marco had the free time to visit Dellan at the Academy he had stayed at the Hotel Sanza. As such Dellan had met and spoken with Zorinski on multiple occasions, the idea that he was a spy let alone a master spy was difficult to process.

Alexei smiled easily at Dellan and leaned across the table to sort through the file he had handed Dellan. “I said the same thing, then we found...” a moment passed while he searched the for the desired page. “...this.” he pulled out a telegram and placed it on the table. It was a missive from the Kalandi Chief of Intelligence directing him to start making inquiries with regards to the supposed pay wagon raids.

Dellan scanned the telegram for key phrases and words, a trick he had learned during his time as a student to cut down on time spent reading useless information. The message addressed Zorinski as ’Exile’ and commanded him to see if there was anything more to the raids than some violent but inept banditry. Knowing that Vale had a greater understanding of intelligence organisations, he locked eyes with him and held up the telegram as a silent question to his friend. Vale nodded imperceptibly and took the telegram. “So you think this proves your theory?”

Alexei shrugged. “Sure as hell doesn’t disprove it.” seeing Dellan’s frown he leaned in on the table and fixed him with a stare. “You have doubts?”

“Not really. Just not sure where all this is going.” this was a complete and utter lie, and both Sokolov and Dellan knew it, but the charade needed to be played out.

Alexei reached into his coat pocket and pulled out three small silver badges that he spaced evenly about the table in front of them. “What I offer is legitimacy. No more sneaky investigations, you work as official provisional constables. I’ll have a talk with Professor Monroe and get you academic credit for it, the whole deal.”

Vale spared a moment of his time to look up from his minute examination of the telegram. “Why?”

The question took both Alexei and Cole by surprise. “Sorry?” asked the latter.

“Why do you want us? There are fully trained Lawkeepers you could use, professionals and the like but you offer to hire us. Why?” Vale’s quiet voice was for the moment the only sound in the world, another unique talent of his.

Alexei considered the question for a few moments before answering. “I need a fresh approach, I need people that haven’t had ways of thinking drilled into their heads yet. I need you to follow the facts wherever they lead you without worrying about justifying your activity to an oversight officer.”

“You need free agents.” Wanda spoke her first words of the conversation, but her eyes didn’t leave Cole’s.

Alexei looked at Wanda as though he had just realised she was present whilst Cole attempted to place a little more distance between himself and the small woman. “Why yes, I believe that is precisely what I need. I can’t get any of the other Lawkeepers to buy what I’m selling, let alone spend time and credibility on the issue. Whereas you lot-”

“-have nothing but time and no credibility to lose.” Cole finished bluntly, smoothing his hair in an almost neurotic manner. “That and we have leave town. We have some contacts in Steddengrad that may be able to help and we need someone to keep an eye on things around here.”

“Surely your colleagues wouldn’t mind doing so little as that.” Dellan commented, his respect for Lawkeeper solidarity somewhat tarnished after hearing about his mentor’s troubles.

“I’m not sure I can trust everyone in the Wyddrnost command.” Alexei spoke in a hushed tone, despite his check for eavesdroppers coming up clean. His caution was entirely understandable as was his reluctance to say such a thing from the outset, for to question the integrity of a Lawkeeper let alone that of the organisation itself was unthinkable. In their two hundred and fifty year history not a single Lawkeeper was ever accused of corruption. So far was the concept from reality that even the most deranged and self-assured criminal wouldn’t think it wise to bribe a constable, let alone a ranking officer. That a man so experienced and cautious as Alexei was considering the possibility of corruption amongst his colleagues seriously enough to seek outside help was disturbing to say the least.

Looking from one friend to the other, Dellan failed to read any clear sign from them as to their opinion on Alexei’s offer. “I haven’t an answer for you yet.”

Whilst the lack of decision visibly annoyed Cole, Alexei merely nodded appreciatively. “All I can ask is that you think it over.” he stood and pulled his coat on. Cole followed suit, more out of a need to escape Wanda’s predations than anything else. He actually seemed to be breathing easier. “We leave for Steddengrad tomorrow morning with the mail caravan. If my suspicions are true we may be some time there but if this case has a personality it’s one with a penchant for the unexpected.”

“Winter?” Vale asked with characteristic shortness.

Cole nodded. “The passes will be snowed under before long. Better to spend a productive winter in Steddengrad than sit about speculating for three months.”

“As such you will have plenty of time to think it through.” Alexei concluded, and with a curt nod he and his deliberately mysterious friend exited the Anarchist.

A small silence followed, during which Dellan stared at the deputy badges lying on the table in front of him. “Opinions?” he asked.

“I will have him till it falls off.” Wanda promised with a debauched grin spreading across her face.

Vale finished his drink. “Charming, is what that is.”

(The footnotes don’t seem to be translating over very well. I have no suggestions for how to make it easier.)