"The Captain?" Fritz repeated dispassionately. "I think not. I will not be delayed nor take such a detour."

The lieutenant and his men behind him could barely contain the smirks spurred by his refusal. The joy they derived from their thinly veiled coercion was barely any better than that of the gang bosses and their thugs. Seemingly, only the uniform and a layer of grime separated them.

"It's on the way," the lieutenant attempted to assuage. "And it won't take more than a minute."

"A minute is more than I have to spare on the likes of your Captain," Fritz proclaimed.

"You will indulge us, Lord, willingly or no," Mercer said, the facade of geniality falling away.

"It is by the King's order that I appear before him," Fritz argued.

"You will, once the Captain is done with you," the lieutenant replied darkly. He was obviously not used to being challenged, nor his orders questioned, and he was labouring under the idea that any impolite or violent action would be forgiven.

"This will not do," Fritz stated. "This attempt to restrict me is absolutely unlawful, and I will have each of your heads if you continue to press this matter."

"Look, boy. We're the lawmen, you're a soon to be disgraced noble and a thief to boot. You're coming with us no matter what you claim, or if you pretend at being a lord," Mercer ground out. "The only thing you get to decide is if you go on your own two feet or if you'll need to be carried."

Fritz glared down at the man, then noticed that the guardsmen's hands had started inching toward their bludgeons. He could also feel the mounting tension of his team behind him, their anger brewing like a storm. Each side assessed the other, watching for weakness or the throwing of the first strike.

If it were even odds, he might have taken the fight, but seeing as it was three to one, he didn't fancy his chances at making it out unscathed. That, and a brawl with the drizzlers wouldn't bode well for anyone embroiled within it. Not only would it exhaust Fritz himself, but his team could suffer more than injuries as repercussions. There was the 'law' to think about. He couldn't have them crossing the Storm Guard and painting a target on their backs for the rest of their lives.

Fritz signed behind his back for his team to back down. From the rustling and frustrated huffs, he could tell they were displeased.

"Fine," Fritz said. "Let's be off then."

"Oh, just like that?" the lieutenant asked, his disappointment evident.

Fritz allowed a pointed smile and motioned for the man to lead the way.

With a grumble and a wave to his men, Mercer did.

Following in their slow, stiff wake, Fritz and his team filed out of the house. As they walked, they were surrounded on all sides by the drizzlers, their group attracting darkly curious stares from the commonfolk of the Upper Ring. Obviously, they thought them captive criminals.

They were marched toward the arena at a dreadfully unhurried pace. If Fritz didn't already know that it was the case that he was being purposefully delayed, he would have deduced the scheme right then and there. Still, he was glad that the lieutenant didn't gloat, at least out loud, or attempt to deprive him of his weapons and Treasures. He would be prepared when his own previously laid plans came to fruition.

Minutes passed, and each one brought on a new weight of worry. Creeping doubt slithered into Fritz's gut, and he started to fear that perhaps he had been wrong about a certain person's quality of character and just how much they could be trusted.

The group slowed further. It was almost unbearable, but he soothed his raw nerve by clenching Quicksilver's pommel and running his thumb over the metal disc in his pocket.

"Lieutenant Mercer!" A woman called out.

Fritz had never been so happy to hear a drizzler's voice and had to stifle his smile and hide his relief.

"Sergeant Louisa?" Mercer asked. He frowned suspiciously, and she met his gaze coldly, striding before him with her own squad at her back.

"What are you playing at, Lieutenant?" she challenged. "What is with this overmanned escort. Are these folk deadly murderers or foul rapists? If not, I do not see the need for such a spectacle."

"That's not your concern, Sergeant," he growled. "This matter is between the Lord and the Captain."

"The Lord? Lord Hightide? Is he not meant to be at the arena by now?" Louisa asked, feigning ignorance as to Fritz's presence. She did a passable job, though not good enough that her falsehood escaped the lieutenant's notice.

"We were making our way there before you intercepted us. Now stand aside, Sergeant," Mercer said, pushing his way past her.

"I will accompany you," she stated, turning, then striding at his side.

The lieutenant glowered, but didn't object. Though he had a superior rank, it seemed that he didn't want to argue with the Sergeant, nor order her away.

Fritz wondered why. Perhaps she was a shining ship, sailing on a rising tide, and he couldn't afford to offend her? Or could it be that she was of noble blood? A bastard with some sway with their powerful parent?

Fritz dispelled these thoughts, focusing again on their crawling advance. He could see the high arched walls of the arena in the distance, though they didn't seem to be getting much closer.

Again, worry assailed Fritz; his brother was likely already there. What if Elliot was forced to fight in his stead? What if Elliot was murdered? All because Fritz couldn't give up on his birthright and pass it down to his brother. All because he was impatient. He could have waited those years, just eleven months and two years until the next Tolling.

He could have kept his brother safe.

But he hadn't.

Fritz glanced nervously at the pale, elegant stone of the arena, then at the Sergeant and the rest of the drizzlers. The trudging approach was almost unbearable.

After another minute of tense walking, Louisa finally spoke up, "Surely we should be marching swifter, and isn't this the wrong way? This is a twisting route, we should take that road there it will be far quicker."

She pointed down a bustling street.

"What do you care? Aren't you meant to be on patrol?" Mercer accused, scowling.

"This man is due to be duelling before the King!" Louisa shouted. "I will not have His Majesty wait because you wish to be lazy."

"Sergeant, I am the commanding officer here. If I wanted your opinion, then I would have sought your counsel," he said with an edge of frustration, then he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell me your potential promotion has gone to your head. If you're found to be in dereliction of your duties, you might just be pulled from the Climb. I've heard it's quite prestigious, that chance may never come again. Leave this be and I'll put in a word with the Captain."

"Oh, is this by the Captain's order?" Louisa asked almost sweetly.

"That's right," the lieutenant hedged, put off by the sudden change in tone. Then he coughed and said more certainly, "So better do as he says."

"Are you suggesting I should heed the Captain's will over the King's?" she asked sharply.

The idiot drizzler nearly tripped over his own boots as he also tripped over some excuse, "Of course not. But we serve the Captain and the Court, we don't serve the King himself."

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As the man was distracted, Louisa gave the signal.

---

The lieutenant had been having a good day. He had been specially assigned a task by the Captain, and promised a hefty reward from him and his 'benefactors'. Almost thirty gold triads for only an hour or two of 'protection' and a slight detour to the Guardhouse's dungeon. Just to give the idiot lord a bit of a scare, set him straight and get a little revenge for the Captain's daughter while he was at it.

Mercer wondered if giving the lordling a few broken bones would delight the woman. Maybe that would be enough to catch her eye. While she wasn't the prettiest of flowers, she did have a powerful father, and in time, once the man retired, who else but his daughter's eventual husband and his already loyal lieutenant would be next in line for the position.

Yeah, it was all looking good alright. Or had been until that meddling Sergeant interrupted.

The 'lord' had accepted their generous offer to escort him to the arena and had spoken barely a word, nor made any move to escape. The lieutenant and his men were wary, keening a keen eye on the lot of them lest the flee, but apart from the initial grumbling there was no dissent.

It was all looking so easy.

Now, though, the new favourite, Louisa, had come to steal all his recognition. Or so he had thought.

He had been wrong.

She was playing some other game, circumventing the Captain and vying for the King's favour. Looking for a position in the Scale Guard, no doubt. He had tried to dissuade her from this foolish path, of course, but she wasn't content.

Greedy and stupid.

She had accused him of treason, or choosing the Captain over the King, which amounted to the same thing. He had to hide his fury and his fear, keep up the stoic stance of the Storm Guard.

"Of course not. But we serve the Captain and the Court, we don't serve the King himself," he explained, keeping calm. "The Captain only has a few questions, then Lord Hightide can-"

Mist sprang up around him, filling his vision. He spun on his captives, only to find he could barely see them through the haze of white. Their shadowed forms fled in all directions, and he cursed.

"Seize them! Don't let them escape!" Mercer ordered over the startled shouts of his men. "Lanterns on!"

There was the sound of scuffles, and the lieutenant reached for his Wand of Great Gusting. It was useful when dealing with criminals who used mist or smoke, which were common enough powers for those types to have. And so he kept it to hand, just for such occasions.

The fog was blown away in moments. He searched for the lord, then his vision was blinded by a bright flash.

Once he could open his eyes again, the mist was back.

He cursed the bastard creating the clouds. Each time he cast the Great Gust, it would cost three whole triads, which was almost a week's wages. He activated it anyway. It was better that than losing the lordling and earning the anger of the Captain.

The mist was swept away, and to his dismay, he could see a few of his men lying on the ground, unconscious or attempting to stumble to their feet. There was no sign of the Lord.

Louisa and her squad, and his own men had accidentally struck at each other in the chaos.

"There he is! Defend him!" A loud, rough voice bellowed. It was one of the Lord's servants.

Mercer looked to where the man was pointing. And saw the pale face of Lord Hightide. The coward turned, then fled.

The lieutenant let loose a roar, used his Tidal Surge and charged after the man, barrelling past the servant in a wave of water.

He couldn't let Hightide escape, not so soon.

The lord was as slippery as an eel. If the lieutenant had any doubt about the rumours of thievery, they were laid to rest as he pursued. The lordling had definitely been a scoundrel of one type or another, a pickpocket or a burglar, judging from the sheer audacity and his acumen at escaping.

Still, Mercer himself was experienced at catching such thieves, and he wouldn't be fooled by any of his cat tricks or sudden turns. He activated his Boots of Bounding, allowing him to leap after the lord with great speed. With that, and his Surge, there would be no way the boy could outrun him. Catching up, quickly, barely more than a minute later, he was finally in range for his Bind. He cast it at the man's running back, which caused him to tumble and fall.

"Caught you!"

Drawing his bludgeon, Mercer leapt, landing on the man's wobbling spine knee first, then he swung his weapon without mercy. It collided with the back of the Lord's head with a splash and a spray. Then the lord's whole body fell away in a curtain of water and was gone, washed away into the gutter, just like the rain.

The lieutenant stared blankly at the ground, then yelled.

"Bastard!"

---

Fritz activated his necklace of mist beads and suddenly they were engulfed in a white cloud.

The drizzlers started shouting, and Fritz's Climbing team scrambled in all directions, breaking the encirclement while he cloaked himself in dusk. He followed Bert's bulky form as the brute sped ahead, knocking down one of the Storm Guard. Fritz leapt over the fallen man, then darted into an alcove. Mana lanterns were lit, and after some yelled commands, a gust of wind blew away the mist.

Fritz hid silently, then used the Circle of Potent Reflections, targeting a deep puddle on the other side of the street. The water churned and slowly rose, twisting into a fine replica of himself. Its translucent nature and the faint rippling of the copy's surface gave it away as a false image, but in the chaos and clamour, he hoped that those tells wouldn't be too noticeable. He used the Mist Bead again, shrouding the area again in salty fog.

There, he directed his simulacrum to wait until it was seen, then to run. He felt a thrum of acknowledgement from the Treasure, then he began to sneak away.

The mist was blown away again, and Bert's voice called out loud and strong, "There he is! Defend him!"

He was, of course, pointing at the water-illusion of Fritz. It was just as he had instructed him to while they walked. There had been plenty of time to signal a plan.

The drizzlers leapt into pursuit, hindered by both his team and Louisa and her squad. Abilities flew, most of them being harmless, or ones to confine, such as Flashes of light from Lauren's staff or the binding Ability of the Storm Guard. The false Fritz turned on its heels and fled, and the real one slipped from shadow to shadow, leaving the rest to his team.

Once he was sure that he'd left behind anyone who could catch him, Fritz began to sprint through the streets. He wasn't sure how long his simulacrum would hold out, but as long as it wasn't struck by anything too powerful, it should be fine. He had found the time to test it a couple of days ago, and had summarised that it could take a few weak blows or one moderately strong one before returning to its original piddly puddly state.

It also had some offence, even if it was a little feeble, being able to cut a man with its replicated Quicksilver or hold someone down for a few moments before it was overpowered. It was quite a useful Ability. It was too bad that it was so expensive.

After three minutes, he felt the disc hum in his hand. That was the sign that the false Fritz had been caught. He chuckled, imagining the drizzler's faces when his seemingly solid form slipped right through their fingers.

Fritz didn't have time to truly enjoy the image he had conjured in his mind, he had finally found his way to the outskirts of the arena. There were Storm Guard stationed at the entrances, and he didn't know if they all had the same orders to delay him. He erred on the side of caution, watching and waiting, searching for another way in.

While he did so, he heard various pieces of gossip and learned of the general mood of excitement that surrounded his upcoming duels.

"The King is here," one man said to another.

"So I heard. Meant to be some nobles fighting," the other replied.

"Do you know why?"

"Can't says I do, but the rumour is that they are both after the hand of the princess."

"Hah! Fat chance of that. There's the Empire Prince as well. The King would be a fool not to choose him for a son-in-law."

"The King is no fool, but he don't want to be entangled with the Empire either."

"Why's that?"

"That's how it always starts," he said, then lowered his voice. "The coup that is."

"The coup?"

"Shhh," he hissed. "I heard it from a woman from one of those Fire Spires that have been brought into the Empire. It starts all sweet, marriages and gifts, then it turns sour. Spies, assassinations, legionnaires snuck into the city all secret like. Then they kill the King or Queen and take the Spires for themselves."

"She sure knows a lot."

"Aye, and she likes to talk when she has had a drink or two in her. Not all of it true, mind you, so don't think this is knowledge straight from the mouth of Ton'var."

Fritz frowned as he listened. He had heard such things about the Empire before; what frustrated him was the mention of the princess's hand in marriage.

What if Sylvia heard these rumours?

He shook his head. That wouldn't matter, she wouldn't believe them. And even if she did, well, it wasn't true in the first place, he'd be able to convince her of his innocence.

While he shook off his, honestly, foolish thoughts, Fritz spied a familiar face.

Mr. Worth looked worried, and he was accompanied by the staunch and stiff Quinn Cold, who was in his armour and was scanning the crowds.

After a pulse of his Awareness, and finding it was safe enough, Fritz approached the two, swiftly striding right up to them.

"Oh, good! You're here!" Mr. Worth cried. "Thank goodness, you're right on time."

"Lord Hightide, you're playing with peril," Quinn stated. "Any later and your brother would have had to do his duty as your second."

"I was delayed. By the Storm Guard," Fritz said meaningfully.

"I see," Quinn said apologetically. "I was afraid it would be so, but we were forbidden to interfere."

"Forbidden?"

The Scale Guard simply shook his head, indicating he wouldn't speak on the subject.

"Right, enough, Lord Hightide, we must get you into the arena," Mr. Worth stated.

Fritz nodded, and they set off at a trot.

As they walked, Mr. Worth began to speak.

"As you know, I've been prying into the affairs of the Captain's daughter. I have discovered her place and manner of employment and have heard some truly vile things about her behaviours. Those who will speak of her say she is a cruel woman who delights in the torture of those at her mercy, though they do so in hushed tones. They fear her, and the protection her father affords her allows her to act with impunity, so long as she has some reasonable excuse. Truly, I'm surprised she's able to continue at the royal house of healing with such an awful reputation."

"The royal house of healing?" Fritz asked, appalled at the notion.

Mr. Worth nodded. "That's right. Terrible, isn't it? But she has a Healing Ability, one to mend broken bones, I hear. And those are invaluable, even when attached to a villain."

"Were you able to collect any evidence or testimony?" Fritz asked, though he was only half listening.

Mr. Worth was about to speak when they were intercepted by the drizzlers at a side entrance. Fortunately, their new escort was one of the Scale Guard and he sent the two craven curs scurrying with only a freezing glare and a warning hand on his Treasure blade's grip.

"Hurry," Quinn Cold said, picking up the pace. "I have a bad feeling."

Fritz agreed. There was a definite fear building in his chest, and the arena had just started roaring with cheers, then laughter. He passed through the gates, then into the duellist's corridors. The noise and jeers grew louder, and Fritz felt that wrongness more keenly. He began to sprint, leaving his advocate and escort in his wake.

He arrived at an iron gate guarded by two drizzlers who were peering through the bars and chuckling with grim mirth. They startled as he slid to a stop behind them.

They cursed him, but Fritz had no attention to spare them. Through the gaps, he could see into the arena, he could see its grey bricked floor and the splatters of blood. And there, stood upon it, was his brother, Elliot.

They had started early, the bastards.

Elliot swayed, one of his arms hung limp, bleeding from a terrible gash that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. In his left hand, his 'off' hand, he held his rapier steady. He glared at his opponent and prepared to face another assault.

Lloyd Whiteship approached lazily, then slashed. Elliot only just managed to parry the blow, which, considering the difference in Attributes, Techniques and Abilities, was a great feat unto itself.

Unfortunately, the merfolk noble was merely playing with the boy. He had no shame, no remorse, and he smirked the whole time. Lloyd reversed the cut, it was too swift for Elliot to follow, and the sharp white blade sliced a long line over his chest.

Red bloomed over Elliot's shirt, then over Fritz's vision.

"I'll kill him."

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