A fantasy novel. If you read this and give me some sort of critique I promise to return the favor!! (5000 words)

Chapter One

"Jelven"

     It was going to be a very easy day.

Toner Selraw reached into a purse hung from the belt of a man who was obviously from a far away land and had way too much money for his own good. Less than a quarter-hour ago he had done almost exactly the same thing to a similar person, and the quarter-hour before that, and so-on. Lots of wealthy folk, not used to the high-speed life of one in a city such as Jelven, were in the city which made for easy work; even in broad daylight.

He bumped into the man, taking a fistful of money from his purse and apologizing at the same time. He almost smirked as he backed away and thought of what his mother used to tell him when he was a child: Make sure you stay in school and get a real job, or else you'll never have an easy day in your life! In the past week he had made more than some do in an entire year.

It was no problem for him as he put the money into the purse and blended into the throng of people surrounding him before the man whose money he had just taken would notice that his purse felt pretty light. He never would have dreamed that the pointless visit from the Lord of Norabel would work out so well for him.

Now he would just wait for another opportunity to come his way. Or maybe his prey.

Leaning against a yellow brick building he looked up and down the busy street in front of him and scanned the crowd as inconspicuously as possible.

The streets of Jelven were made entirely of an old brick with flowers growing in the odd patches of dirt around various buildings in town. All of those buildings were also very busy, but there wasn't enough room for him, even with his expertise, to slip through the crowded space; he would find no work over there.

Upstreet was the residential area of the city that was crowded by a bit more spread out. Many of the people living there protected their neighborhood as they would their own first-born. There was no work there, either.

So, the only option was to look downstreet. The road only continued as it did for about three hundred paces or so, and then there was a large fountain. It was one of the main attractions in that region of the city, and from there he could slip into the crowd effortlessly. That was his spot without a doubt.

All he needed now was a target. Sooner than he thought, he found him.

"That fool innkeeper acted as if he didn't know who I am!" The voice belonged to a man dressed in extravagant furs despite the warm weather, and was flailing his arms around carelessly, knocking them into surrounding patrons. He had a thick, curling mustache that was the style of rich folk several years prior, and a horrendous excuse for a wig sitting atop his head. But, best of all, a bulging wallet hung from his waist.

Toner thought it too good to be true. It was. A guard of some kind stood next to the man. He outweighed Toner twice, and was almost as much taller than him, and Toner was not a small person. The man was very dark but Toner could see an elaborate tattoo all over his bald head, face and any other exposed skin, all of which were shiny with sweat. Toner knew that the tattoo covered most of the man's body, and that meant one thing: a Skoorbian. Not just any old Skoorbian, either, but a Warrior Skoorbian. That meant that the man in fur was probably as important as he made himself out to be and doubly as rich.

While trying to maintain a calm and relaxed image he pushed himself off of the building and into the crowd. He brushed past a few people, and bumped into some others, but soon he was easily able to follow the pair. He didn't have to worry about staying back and trying to trail them, however; people didn't feel unsafe walking down a busy street in broad daylight, and they certainly didn't notice if someone was behind them.

As they reached the fountain the man was still complaining overdramatically, and Toner was almost ready to make his move. The purse was pointed appropriately towards the Skoorbian, so speed would be even more important than it usually was.

Everything seemed to slow down as Toner focused on the purse. He reached forward and grabbed down inside of the wallet. He felt money and felt filled with happy excitement. The feeling was quickly replaced by pain.

The Skoorbian had Toner by the wrist, and then twisted. Toner screamed in agony and doubled over.

The ghost of his mother was smirking at him.

                        *

Skoorbian were generally considered fierce and were not to be reckoned with. A Warrior Skoorbian were one of the strongest and most fearsome group in the world, and Toner had been caught off guard by one he had pissed off. Not a good combination to say the last.

Toner had, in his greed, momentarily let his guard down, which was his first mistake-a big one at that. Additionally, the Skoorbian was much stronger than Toner, who relied primarily on speed and what sometimes seemed like invisibility. He had chosen the life of a criminal. He had been since he was thirteen, and in the last five years he had been caught his fair share of times. But none of those times were more painful as the beating the Skoorbian was giving him.

He had made a big mistake, and was suffering because of that. Greed.

Greed was what he had been taught to avoid, and the words Ol' Cyle had said to him years ago went through Toner's mind: Never-and I mean never-go after two people unless you have two people. Three unless you have three, and so on. Nothing good can come from it, kid, and the chances are very good that you'll get your ass kicked in the process.

If only he could have remembered that two minutes ago; then he wouldn't be in the current predicament. Sweat trickled down the Skoorbian's head and fell off of his face and dropped onto Toner, who was in enough of his own sweat as it was.

"You just made the worst mistake of your life," he said, pulling his fist back. "And I'm going to make sure you won't forget it as long as you live."

Toner felt his pulse quicken. He nervously looked around for any kind of help. The wealthy man was looking down at Toner with a sick look on his face that was a mix of a sneer and a grin. A crowd had formed around the trio, and the area had grown eerily quiet. Yet no one reached down to help Toner. But why would they?

A measly thief.

He wore clothes that were never completely clean, and had pockets everywhere for his stolen goods. His boots were battered and torn, and he let his hair grow out to cover his face so he could be as unidentifiable as possible.

The Skoorbian spit at Toner, hitting him directly in the eye.

He wasn't expecting any resistance at all, and thanks to his spitting, Toner was furious.

Toner, still holding his broken right-and power-wrist, the Skoorbian swung his fist towards Toner's face. He apparently didn't think that Toner would be able to move.

He was wrong.

Toner swung out of the way, pushing his left hand against the ground and pivoting his body to the other side of the Skoorbian's. The Skoorbian missed, lost balance, and released Toner. Toner took his left elbow and smashed it against the Skoorbian's kneecap as hard as he could, and heard a gratifying pop.

A cry of pained rage came, and a gasp from the small crowd. The Skoorbian fell to the ground, but swung his arm as he did. He hit Toner's ear, knocking him back. Toner stood, blood trickling down his face, and looked towards the Skoorbian, who was pushing himself up with both hands.

"Why you..." the rich man was speaking, and then he lunged towards Toner. It was a golden opportunity for Toner.

The rich man charged forward and Toner raised his right hand in a weak attempt at a punch. The rich man dodged easily, but in doing so he shoved his own face into Toner's left-handed uppercut. A loud crack was heard, and the man instantly fell to the ground with a thump and then he was completely motionless. Toner's left hand was in pain now as well, and it was bleeding, but he could still use it.

The Skoorbian walked forward slowly, both fists raised. "You should have known better than to anger a Warrior Skoorbian." Now, the Skoorbian had the rage factor working in his favor.

The Skoorbian were feared for a reason.

He punched towards Toner's face, and Toner raised his left hand to try and block the punch. He didn't stop it or even slow it down, but he did redirect it. The punch nicked Toner's chin and was pushed away, which hurt badly, but not as much as a direct hit in the face would have.

With a grunt, the Skoorbian stomped his foot on Toner's. Toner yelped, and the Skoorbian moved close, pulled his arm back and punched with the kind of force that hardly seemed possible. Toner had no hope of moving at all, let alone blocking the strike.

A crunching noise came before anything else, but then the pain came swiftly, and in large quantities. His cheek was nothing but pain, and inside his mouth Toner felt a pool of blood with a few teeth taking a swim in it. He couldn't go down, not like this.

Toner pushed off his front leg and used the momentum to go back a few feet just as the Skoorbian swung again. He missed and Toner ducked and punched at his enemy's stomach. The shots were blocked by a forearm, and the Skoorbian pulled his arm back once more. He hit Toner again, in the same spot, and the pain was mind-numbing. He hit the ground full force, slammed his skull against it and skid a few feet. Black came from the corners of his eyes, and he saw the Skoorbian coming back for more. Toner stood shakily, preparing to fight for his life.

"In the name of King Lanrar II of Jelven I order you to stop at once!" The voice made the Skoorbian move to it and the crowd to evaporate at a remarkable speed. At least they would have a story to tell when they got home.

The crowd parted and the Skoorbian moved to let a City Guard through. She wore the uniform-a yellow and red suit with a pin of the Jelven lion insignia at her mid-stomach.

She was young, with brown hair that stopped just short of her eyebrows in the front and drifted down to the middle of her back. She was short, but muscular, and despite the thick, curved eyelashes that her eyes hid behind Toner could see that they were hard; she was tough and wasn't somebody to be taken likely.

Toner didn't recognize the guard, but he figured that he should have by her unforgettable physical attributes and demeanor. This meant only one thing: se was new; otherwise she would not have tried to step in so early in the fight-the city was in no order those days, and everybody seemed corrupt. The new, baby-faced guard looked down at her new, not-yet-scuffed and not creased boots, which now had blood on them. The scene was brutal and pretty disgusting, so Toner couldn't blame the woman for looking a touch disturbed. The Skoorbian looked as if he was still in the heat of battle, and the guard simply turned away from the Warrior and looked at the rich man. She knelt to check his pulse, and then looked up at Toner. As she did, a sick look came onto her face that she quickly tried to cover up, and that just made Toner feel worse emotionally, and it made his wounds seem more obvious, and then more painful. I'm in worse shape than I thought, Toner thought.

"What in the name of Teluka has happened here?" her voice was soft and high-pitched, which Toner would've expected based on his inferences on her age, but it was a bit surprising based on the other inferences he had made about her personality. With a bit of defiance that Toner wasn't surprised to see, she looked from one man to the other.

Toner didn't think it was physically possible to answer, and the Skoorbian was probably considering whether he should talk of kill them both. The guard didn't seem to be in too much of a rush for the answer, so for a moment they sat in total silence.

At last, the Skoorbian chose the former of his two options. "This dreadful excuse for a man was trying to steal from the good Master Wamut."

Toner tried to be charismatic and say, Oh, I'm not that dreadful, but he only ended up spitting blood all over his shirt.

"Is that so?" the guard said, standing up as she did. Whether it was intentional or not, that motion only made her seem more intimidating as she towered above him, standing like a silhouette as she blocked the sun.

"'Ut ‘e ‘it me," Toner said, his voice much more comprehensible now than he would have expected it to be.

The guard apparently understood, and did nothing for a while. The crowd was beginning to form again, although everyone stayed clear enough of the bloody scene not to be implemented or covered in blood, but close enough to hear what was going on. Finally, the guard slowly walked towards Toner, bending to pick up a tooth on the way before handing it over upon arrival.

"Although it was a little bit hard to understand this guy," the guard had a hint of mockery in her voice, but she masked that quickly when she looked into Toner's eyes from a closer distance. "I think you and I both did. Why did you decide to hit him?"

Everybody was afraid of Skoorbian, and Toner could hear the shakiness in the guard's voice, but that made him no less happy; the guard seemed to be sticking up for him.

"I already told you what he tried to do. What else do I need to do to further explain myself?"

"It would be wise to watch your tongue. I hold your future in the palm of my hands," Toner could hardly believe what was going on. The guard was being good, and honest, which was a hard thing to come by in a guard-in anyone-who lived in the city Toner called home. She hasn't been working long enough yet. She'll catch the contagious disease going around these parts soon enough.

"I could say the same thing to you," the Skoorbian said, the anger in his voice apparent and unhidden.

The guard turned slowly, her hand reaching towards the hilt of her still sheathed sword with no great speed, perhaps not to cause the Skoorbian to attack. "I don't know of customs from wherever you're from, my friend, but around here you treat authority with respect, understood?" the two stared at one another with ferocity.

Toner tried standing by pushing his bloody palms into the mass of liquid on the street and tried to quietly walk away. A few more paces and he would be able to escape...

"Hold on," the guard said, quickly turning around. "You are not going anywhere."

With a sigh, Toner stopped. He had no hope of escaping. If there was a small chance, he had already ruined it.

"You see," the Skoorbian shouted, "the worm tries to escape!"

"I am fully aware of the situation, thank you."

"Chop off my toes if you are!" That was a new and somewhat startling expression.

Toner could hardly believe his luck: A forgiving guard and a man getting himself in trouble for no reason, when he could get out of trouble if he could just keep his mouth shut.

Beyond the Skoorbian's shoulder, another City Guard was walking cautiously towards the scene. That was a man Toner easily recognized: Deloran. He was growing old, and grey was beginning to overpower the black in his hair, but that didn't make him any less of a force to be reckoned with. He was strong, seasoned, well-connected, and he hated Toner, who had slipped out of his fingers (literally) one too many times.

Deloran reached them. "Ret, is there a problem?"

The guard-Ret-turned. "Everything is under control."

"Damned if it is," the Skoorbian called out. "At least now I've got someone who knows what he's doing." He shot a fiery look at Ret, and then at Toner. "This man tried to steal from Maser Wamul's money!"

"Of course he did," Deloran said, not caring to hide the anger and dislike in his voice. "I could've figured out that much in two winks. What is your name, sir?"

"Zlen Yeismah."

"Well, Zlen-"

"Sir," Ret said, pointing towards Zlen, "we need to arrest this man."

"Really? I'd be more concerned with this little thief if I were you," he kicked Toner in the stomach, who rolled over, groaning in pain. The crowd once again began to dissipate, and a buzz louder than before filled the area as everybody busied themselves seeing nothing. "Come on. We'll take the both of them over to the Detention Center and see what Balston has to say about all this."

"What?" the Skoorbian boomed. "I did nothing but defend myself. This is-"

"You need to shut up and do as I say," Deloran said, grabbing Toner's shirt and pulling him up with force.

The Skoorbian remarkably obeyed, and Ret grabbed his hands, put them together behind his back and pushed him forwards. Deloran did the same to Toner, although with a bit more force. He raised a hand to a man in a shop and pointed to the rich man's body.

They walked on towards the Palace, which loomed overhead as always.

The ghost of Toner's mother was howling with laughter.

                        *

They walked through the streets, headed directly towards the Palace, drawing more than a few looks from the people preparing for the next day as if their home would be glanced upon by the Lord of Norabel, which Toner was convinced he would not-he never trusted rulers.

Toner felt as if he were about to fall over and die, and Ret looked at him with concern, but not enough to do something. He couldn't blame the man; Toner would've kicked a weak man already bleeding on the ground if he was in the same situation.

He tried to stand tall, and when he pushed his shoulders up and his chest out it didn't hurt all that much and it made him look much stronger and better feeling than he was. He was still surprised that he was alive, let alone walking, so it was an improvement.

Now they were in Tersow Square, the final landmark before the Palace. From the square there was a long, wide road that branched off for homes, but led in a straight line to the Palace.

More attention was beginning to come their way, as all realized that they were headed for the Palace, but more specifically the Detention Center. Even the Skoorbian was beginning to look on edge.

Idly, Toner began thinking of what his argument would be. He had tried to steal money, and then knocked out the man he had tried to steal from. But the beating he got was rough and over the top, so there might be a way that it actually worked to his advantage.

A large stone gate was outside of the Palace Grounds, and the two halves of it spread open creakily, allowing them to walk through their stride. They closed with a bang just as quickly, and the six or seven guards looking at them winced when they looked from Toner's face and then off to the Skoorbian, who was unscathed. Toner began to realize how remarkably lucky he was.

Toner turned and saw for the first time the madness going on on the Palace Grounds. There were literally hundreds of Servant going in and out of the Palace, carrying statues, banners, mops and almost everything else imaginable. Some nodded towards the guards and when they walked a quick hole opened up in the throng and was filled with twice as much speed.

He had no idea where anything was and when they entered the large wooden doors leading to the inside of the Palace Toner was reminded of how much his jaw hurt by gasping.

Like all in the Palace, the ceiling was domed, but it had a marvelous painting of a stormy day at the ocean. The floors were a hard marble, but there were so many Servants' feet all over it he could hardly tell. Large staircases were on either side of the room, and they led to more and more floors. And this was the small part of the Palace.

Deloran and Ret didn't seem to notice anything at all, but even Zlen was wide eyed. Sadly, the wonder didn't last and they were in the Detention Center in under ten minutes.

It was a large room with portraits all along the walls. There were doors all along the sides of it, and a desk was in the middle. A bald man with a large belly who was obviously short even from far away was sitting there and he looked up when they entered, taking everything in with an unreadable face. This was Balston.

The guards stopped walking a few feet in front of the desk, and for a few moments everyone looked anxiously at Balston, who seemed to be judging everyone and taking notes in the personal journal he kept locked away in his head.

"So," he said in a scruffy, ragged voice as he continued to look from one to another. "What happened?"

Ret looked at Deloran, who nodded, and Ret spoke. "I found this one," she looked at the Skoorbian, "beating this one,"s he looked at Toner. Zlen was once again fuming in rage.

Balston leaned back, his hands together. Toner felt himself tensing until the man spoke. "Why?" he asked simply. Toner was amazed at how calm Balston was.

A brief silence.

Zlen began. "He tried stealing from my mas-"

"QUIET!" Balson's voice was a roar, and it had lowered so much that it was deeper than any man's voice Toner had ever heard before. "You will speak when I tell you," he controlled his voice a bit. "Is what this," he sneered, "half-piteous wretch says true?"

Ret seemed a bit shaken up. "Um... y-yes, it is. Well, I don't know. I only showed up at the end. I'm..."

Balston quieted him instantly with a wave of his hand. "Is it?" he was looking at Toner now.

His heart beat quickened again, and he only looked at Balston. "Answer me."

Toner simply nodded in response.

Another long silence came, and Toner realized he was sweating as badly as he had been during the fight.

"Well, well..." Balston said, making Toner jump in surprise, realizing how on edge he really was. He stood, looking out the window, and then he began pacing around his desk. "I have a few questions in regard to this... quarrel. If this man," he looked at Toner, anger in his eyes, "tried stealing from the other's ‘master,' then why are they both here?" He was now standing right in front of the four of them, looking deep into each one's eyes in turn.

Zlen spoke. "That is what I have been trying to say the entire-"

Balston slapped Zlen clean across the face, and the sound echoed throughout the room. "I thought I told you to be quiet!" Zlen looked ready to strike back but was held where he was by the two guards, although Toner didn't think they'd be able to do much if Zlen really wanted to get to Balston, who went back to his seat. "I'm guessing that this man was not exactly cooperative. Am I correct?"

"Yes sir, you are," Deloran said.

"Is there anything the master can tell me?"

"Actually," Deloran said, a small, small grin appearing on his lips, "he knocked out the master."

"Who did?"

Deloran motioned towards Toner, and his heart sank. "Really... this adds an entirely new dimension to the argument, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I'd say so," Deloran said but it was obvious that it was a purely rhetorical question.

"Allow me ten minutes of deliberation. Put them in Waiting until I'm ready." Toner felt his body being pushed and soon he was thrown into a dark, stinking room that resembled the previous one in no way. There was a long wooden bench where a scrawny man sat, and Toner and Zlen sat as far away from each other as possible.

After a while, the scrawny man spoke. "What'd you two do?" he looked from one to another.

There was silence.

"'Ot inah ‘ight."

"What? Oh," he looked at Toner's mashed up face and then at Zlen. He chuckled. "Whish I coulda been there. Looks like one of the best ass whuppings the city's ever seen."

Either the scrawny man hadn't seen many fights in the city, or Toner's face must've been worse than he thought.

"Well I'm Puvv. I'm in here for trying to steal a broom. Old Balston out there said he needed to think but I think he's just gonna make me stay here awhile to teach me a lesson and then let me go," there was a brief pause that Toner was thankful for but Puvv apparently wasn't. "From the way you're talking right now it sounds like Balston hit the big one. I could hear that one from in here... Am I right?" Utter silence. "I'm not trying to start anything; just asking."

The door swung open and bright light shone in despite Balston's silhouette. "Puvv, go home. You two, get in here."

Everyone followed orders without a word and when Toner limped outside Balston was standing in front of the window, looking down. He didn't turn when he spoke. "Neither of you did particularly well, but one did worse than the other. Selraw, you're sentenced to six months. Yeismah, you have three moths."

For once Zlen didn't talk and Balston turned back to the window. "There will be no less, and possibly more if you choose to misbehave. Now, I'll call in-"

A gurgling noise came from Balston's neck that would stay etched in Toner's mind until the day he died. Blood came from it, and the head of an arrow as well. The window's glass was all over him, and he staggered back.

Toner yelled in terror, and then repeated the sound when he saw a flaming boulder coming through the window. It hit Balston and set him and most of the room on fire. Now that the window was busted open he heard the warning bell ringing.

Outside, screams were being drowned out by growls coming from the Grounds and when Toner looked he saw hundreds of half-human, half-he-didn't-know-what charging the Palace. Dogs. Half ugly dogs. They were all massive, even the smallest of them made Zlen look like a child. They all wore thick blackmail, but Toner could see brown fur underneath it. All of them had behemoth weapons that matched their bodies, and those weapons were becoming stained with blood at an alarming rate. They roared a sick sounding battle cry that was another sound that Toner would never be able to forget. When they did, large, sharp, teeth were revealed and some of the things put their teeth to use by biting at a kill. Toner thought he was going to throw up but when he bent over to do so he only dry-heaved. Zlen looked down at him as if Toner's weak stomach disappointed him and said: "Viktra."

Viktra? Viktra weren't real. They existed only in children's stories, and even in those they were something of a rarity. But, he couldn't say that whatever was outside was anything he had ever seen before. It had to be them. Toner could hardly believe his eyes.

A black arrow that was as long as the entire of Toner's body whizzed past his head and he was taken out of his trance. He turned and ran, not knowing where he was. Outside was a throng of terror, and everyone was headed towards the nearest staircase.

People shoved ad kicked and some even punched. But soon everyone was in reverse as a few in the front fell with arrows sticking out of their body. Roars of the Viktra followed.

Toner ran as fast as he could, almost slipping a few times. Up ahead he saw some jumping out of windows. They were at least five levels up. Toner ran to the banister and leaped over it, making his way down the stairs much quicker. He landed on top of a crate and his knees almost gave out but he got back up and ran. He ran left and right, dodged Servants, arrows, Viktra and swords, and soon was in a kitchen. He saw a window and ran for it and saw that he was only seven or eight feet above the ground. He jumped, rolled and stood.

Most of the Palace was in flames by then, and the city itself was faring no better. Dead bodies were everywhere, and Toner walked into the throng of chaos that was Jelven, the pain in his body suddenly reminding him that it existed and causing him to limp weakly.

So much for an easy day.