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The last thing Warren Phillips remembered was waking up surrounded by skulls. They floated above him, talking in a language he couldn't understand. Then one looked at him, said something complicated, and they vanished. After that, the pain started. His skin was on fire; he could feel the flesh blister and split. He vomited blood, screaming and sobbing like a newborn as his body was wracked by pain he couldn't begin to describe. He thrashed wildly against his restrains, his incoherent shrieking drowning in his throat. He tried to throw up again but his tongue had swollen, or possibly fallen off in his mouth. He was going to drown in his own vomit...

A young boy opened his eyes. He was lying naked on a bed in a dimly lit room with absolutely no idea how he had come to be there. He pushed himself to his knees, shivering with cold, and caught site of his face in the full-length mirror on the far side of the room. "Oh God..." the boy stared at the mirror, then looked down at his body, then back to the mirror. He looked about ten years old. The door to the room swung open on well-oiled hinges. Terror gripped the child and made him scramble back onto the bed, sliding into the corner to put as much distance between himself and the visitor as he could. He'd caught sight of the Kyyreni's face, and it was a face he'd hoped he'd never see again. Jasat gave the Human boy a humourless smile. "Ah, Warren, you survived. I don't know whether to be pleased or disappointed." The Noble made himself comfortable on the only chair in the room, never taking his eyes of Warren. "Do you understand what has happened to you?" Warren nodded. "I was Rejuved." "Correct; you were returned to childhood via an experimental device that has been under development for over twenty years. Almost as soon as we discovered Rejuve technology we knew that, should we ever wish to implement it, we would be dependent on your people for certain key components. Thus, we sought to remove the need for said components..." Despite himself, Warren felt a pang of curiosity regarding Jasat's answer. "You're talking about Johnston Crystals, aren't you?" Jasat confirmed the boy's suspicion with a nod. "I don't pretend to know the details, but I am assured that the new prototype is in no way reliant on external support for material acquisition. Perhaps they've found a way to grow their own crystals? It doesn't matter to me; what I'm interested in is you. The last two volunteers died when their bodies began to age, or rather 'un-age', at different rates. Messy. You, it seems, have survived the process more or less intact." "More or less?" Warren gave his new body a quick examination for any obvious flaw. Ignoring the boy's actions, Jasat continued, "I would have liked to have you executed, but the doctors insist that you be kept alive for long-term study. To that end, ownership of you has passed to me, until such time as I choose to release you." Rising from his seat again, Jasat called out and a second Kyyreni entered the room carrying a set of clothes; a thin pink shirt, a grey tunic trimmed with red, and a matching knee-length skirt. He dressed without comment, though if he could find the courage he would have complained about the lack of underwear. "There is one other matter you need to be aware of," Jasat continued when his companion had left. "The technology used to Rejuvenate you is experimental, and thus restricted. In simple terms, Warren, if you tell anyone of it you will be killed." The Noble Lord leaned in close to the trembling boy and hissed, "Believe me; I will make sure it is a slow death." With that, and now dressed to a passable degree, Warren was half-dragged out of the room and thrust toward a third figure; the Noble's bodyguard. "Ank, go find something useful for him to do. I don't care what, so long as I don't have to see him."

Something useful turned out to be scrubbing floors. After being given the necessary tools and told what to clean, Warren was left to it. Ank returned, briefly, to offer the boy some welcome additions to his wardrobe; a pair of cotton-like underpants and a cheaply made pair of shoes that were a size too big. "We don't have many others you can use." Ank explained, nodding down to his own, noticeably different feet. The work kept him busy. He'd been told to simply keep cleaning the floors of the hall, mopping back and forth down the long, wooden-floored corridor, which led to another corridor, which led to an open space that looked as though it were an entrance hall... He considered running for it, but even as the thought entered his head the door swung open, revealing a pair of female Kyyreni. They were young, as far as Warren could tell; both were naked to the waist, wearing only puffy, frilled shorts and a slapdash assortment of cheap jewellery. There was little sign of breasts, only a slight rise beneath the fur to suggest a developing bosom. They talked in hushed tones, whispering and snickering in their native tongue. To Warren, it was gibberish. They froze when they saw him. One, the eldest most likely, shot the boy a short, questioning blurt. "I don't understand." Warren answered, clutching the mop for emotional support. The two girls looked at one another and more urgent whispering followed. Without another word they slunk away down the opposite corridor. Warren watched them go before resuming his work. "You're new," said a voice from above. Warren nearly knocked his bucket over. A heavy-set Kyyreni descended the stairs, dressed all in crimson; a dyed-leather shirt; a cross-hatched skirt - no, kilt; and red leather vambraces on his arms and legs. He descended the main stairwell at a leisurely pace, casting an idle glance down the corridor the girls had used. "Was that my daughter?" "I wouldn't know." Warren answered, staring at the floor. The man shrugged. It was a complicated gesture for him, because there were so many muscles involved. He looked like a lion, and one that might regularly beat up elephants at that. "You're new." "Yes sir." 'Sir' seemed a good bet. "I... I arrived today." To his surprise, the burly man offered a hand. "You shake, yes? That is how you greet each other?" Warren nodded and accepted the shake. He knew what was coming; the brutal, crushing grip that cut off circulation to his fingers and let his skin bled white when he was released. "I'm Rehd." "Like the colour?" Warren asked, rubbing some feeling back into his ruined hand. "Indeed!" Rehd laughed. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that one! Red is a colour of the House so I thought 'I shall be Red'! I think it suits me." Warren simply nodded. He wouldn't have disagreed for all the tea in China. "Have you been bedded yet?" "What?" Warren shot the Kyyreni a panicked stare. "Bedded down; given a place to sleep." Rehd explained, adding hand gestures to get his point across. "I'm guessing not. What about food? Most of the servants are dining now, but you're still working..." The child gave a hopeless shrug. He wasn't sure how long he'd been scrubbing floors, but he wasn't willing to risk Jasat's wrath by stopping. He was hungry though; there was no doubt about that. Rehd picked up the boy's cleaning items and stored them away. Then he returned, placed a hand on Warren's shoulder, and steered the boy toward another doorway. "Come, let's see you right."

* * *

Spring had come and gone, as seasons were want to do, and now summer was unmistakably upon them. Sent outside to play, Vaahn had chosen instead to seek shelter, sitting on the front doorstep and playing with the yo-yo his son had sent in the post. Jas had gotten one as well, though he was currently having a kickabout across the road, leaving the toy temporarily forgotten. "Gods damn this heat!" The Kyyreni boy whined, thumping his head against the door and closing his eyes. He longed for winter to return, for the soothing wind and blissful rain and thick clouds that hid the sun. At the sound of a hovercar pulling up he opened an eye a fraction. What he saw caused him to give a frustrated sigh and head-butt the door again. It was Frost. It wasn't that he didn't like Frost, because he did. Penitatas tend to think positively of adults who don't spank them, and Frost had an open, easy-going attitude that made Vaahn feel like he was being spoken to, not talked down to. However, Frost was a Penitatas Parent, and that meant he would invariably have his son in tow. Sure enough, Ban appeared. The Kyyreni family seemed no more comfortable than Vaahn was; Ban was wearing nothing save for a pair of swimming trunks, and Frost was stripped to the waist. The Nightsider was panting like a dog. "Banished from the house, are we?" Frost called out as the pair approached. Vaahn wordlessly got up and made way for him. Chloe opened the door with hands still wet from dish soap. "Oh, you're early!" She paused, noticing her son, "Why aren't you playing with the others?" "Because he's dying of heatstroke and so am I." Frost had intended to sound light-hearted, but it came out as irate. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be snappish. May we come in?" "Of course," Chloe replied, all forgiven. The three of them stepped into the blissfully cool house and Frost was made comfortable in the living room. Whilst Chloe went and made tea (black with lots of honey) the boys were told they should play, quietly, in the corner.

The two Kyyreni boys sat at opposite ends of a gaming board, looking at the pieces so they didn't have to look at one another. Vaahn's parents had convinced themselves the two boys were forming a real bond, though Vaahn himself believed that Ban had merely learned, at great cost to his own backside, to shut up and keep his head down. Frost and Yuin, as far as he could tell, worked under the assumption that Ban was just having trouble adjusting to his new life, and once he burned out his rebellious streak the two boys would become firm friends. Of course, both boys had very different ideas. Vaahn had learned enough of Ban's past to dismiss him as scum of the worst kind; someone who should have been shot, stabbed or burned to death a long time ago for the good of the species. Ban, on the other hand, still harboured a burning desire for revenge against the Rejuved Noble for the injury and indignity he'd suffered. Ban flicked a counter to a new square. "Move." Vaahn quickly hopped a pair of counters in quick succession. "You see how I did that?" "Yes." The boy's Panglish was coming along, slowly but surely. The vocabulary was still limited; intuition and guesswork rather than true understanding got him through most conversations. He moved another piece. Vaahn countered, laying a trap which Ban took immediately. Two more of Ban's counters vanished, leaving the boy infuriated to the point where he very nearly went into a full-blown tantrum. He caught himself just in time, fist raised and whole body shaking with barely-restrained fury. He turned his head and saw Frost watching him sidelong, and smacked his fist into his free hand to vent some of the anger. "[I don't want to play this game anymore.]" "Fine by me." Vaahn answered, packing the pieces away. "There's chess. You know chess?" After a few puzzled seconds, Ban answered, "No." "[It's like Reknlaati, only... here, why don't I show you?]" Vaahn slipped easily back into his native tongue. Ban shrugged. "[Why not just play Reknlaati instead?]" "[Fair point,]" Vaahn conceded, placing pieces on the board. "[Okay, the King is the King, we'll use the rooks as Wardens, and Bishops as Champions...]" The game board, once set up, looked very different to a chess game. Chloe and Frost watched it play out through a series of sidelong glances and unnecessary trips to the kitchen. Playing the match took the better part of an hour, throughout which Ban was becoming visibly worked up. By the endgame both parents were watching quietly from the sidelines, both waiting for the inevitable moment when Ban would explode. "Betrayal." Vaahn announced. It was a word Ban was quickly learning. The younger boy slid his piece back to its starting point and tried again. "Betrayal." Vaahn announced again. "[What? Where from? Show me!]" Ban's gaze was drawn to the board by Vaahn's pointing fingers as the illegality of the move was demonstrated. "[Fine, I'll move here! I can do that, can't I?]" Vaahn nodded and moved a piece of his own. "Threat." With a low growl in his throat Ban moved another piece. Once more, Vaahn corrected him. "Betrayal." "[How?]" Ban snapped. "Archer on the ridge square." He had to repeat the explanation in Ruljic for the benefit of his opponent. "[Remember? These squares mark the raised ground.]" The five year old crossed his arms and scowled at the board, offended by the betrayal of the pieces. "[I don't like this game.]" "[You don't like any game where you lose.]" Vaahn offered as an alternative explanation. Once again, Ban looked as though he was ready to hit someone; teeth bared, breathing heavy, and a constant growl forcing its way up from his throat. Frost stepped in before things turned nasty, picking the boy up just as his anger was about to spill over. "Look at the time! We need to be getting you home young man!" The two shared a look, one which Chloe and Vaahn both knew well; it was the look of a father who was more than prepared to punish a Penny who stepped out of line. Given a little time to calm further, Ban gave a brief glance to his hosts. "Than'k you for hav'ng me." Whilst Vaahn packed away the board games, Chloe sat lost in idle thought. "I wonder if you were ever like that; all pent up and angry..." "You have no idea." Vaahn answered. "But don't get any ideas; Ban's nothing like me." "How do you mean?" Vaahn paused to examine one of the chess pieces thoughtfully. "I don't lose."

* * *

Yvenik felt like a city being crushed together. The streets were narrow, with old buildings that seemed to lean inwards, looming over the walkways and roadways that divided them. Warren had found himself dragged along through the streets by Rehd on some unknown errand. It was becoming a familiar occurrence; as one of the few House members fluent in Panglish, Rehd seemed to have adopted the Human child as his own. The two of them eventually stopped to rest in an open-fronted building. The entire shop front was left in shadow by an ad-hoc growth on the building's upper floors where, no more than a few years ago, someone had extended the upstairs out over the street. The opposite building had done the same, and the two had blended together. An elderly male was tending to some kind of bonsai fruit trees in a window box. The shop itself smelled of burnt plant matter. Men and women gathered here, though always at opposite ends of the premises; men to the south, women to the north, with only a single couple breaking the segregation. There were young and old alike, and all were engrossed in some kind of board game. Rehd offered to teach Warren how to play, but the boy chose to watch instead. Eventually, the Rejuve queried the partitioning of the store. "That's how it is. Men have their lives, women have theirs. They meet along the way at - [Threat] - at various intervals, but we find that it's much simpler when each is left to their own. Besides, women are distracting." "Distracting?" Rehd chuckled and moved another piece. "Give it a few years and you'll understand." A hot blush came to the boy's face. "I know about sex, Rehd. I just don't see why you'd keep men and women apart like you do. It seems wrong." The man simply shrugged. "Go ask them what they think of it then. Go on; find a woman who speaks Panglish and ask if they think women and men should mix more often." He didn't actually do it, but he did take a moment to wander and look around the store a little more. It seemed to make its money by renting gaming boards and selling smoking paraphernalia. Various blends of ground up herbs or, at least, what Warren thought were herbs were on display under a glass counter. For those who didn't like to smoke, there was always ourl; little bottles of wine that came with big jugs of water. Nobody drank it neat; they typically put about a shot's worth into a pint of water, and drank it down like ale. There was no heavy drinking taking place here, just people looking to slake a thirst or relax a little during play. He stood and watched at several tables on the male and female side. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind; aliens were not common in Yvenik, but nor were they unheard of. So long as he kept quiet, it seemed, he could move about the place as he liked.

"Warren!" The slave turned sharply at the call and hurried back to Rehd, who had acquired something to smoke and was grinning at the now empty chair opposite. "Sure you don't want to learn how to play?" "No thank you. Another time, maybe." "Alright, let's go." He puffed out an acidic-smelling cloud of grey smoke and ushered the boy back into the heaving streets. "Turn left. We're not going home just yet." Onwards they travelled, passing through densely packed terraced homes where people seemed to live out on the street, possibly because there was no room left indoors. Games of dice or cards were played on the street, supervised by old men and women, most of whom were sipping from drinking flasks. A trio of girls, none older than four years old, ran naked through the streets, laughing and shrieking and utterly lost in their own little worlds. Rehd paused to watch them with a faraway look in his eyes. "To think she used to be that small..." he shook the thought away and carried on, directing Warren past a pair of young men who were elbow-deep in the engine of a ground car and toward a small row of shops, anchored by a pub. The inside of the store wasn't just otherworldly, it was a temporal jaunt. Warren had only ever seen shops like this in historical dramas; shelf upon shelf of mismatched products, all warded off by a low counter that formed a horseshoe, closing off three sides of the store. Everything was for sale here, from food to clothes to a giant stuffed fish the size of a Great White shark. At the head of the counter, at just about his eye level, was a cheap wooden sign covered in runic script. With an evil grin Rehd translated it, "It says, 'Children who finger sweets will have their fingers cut off!' Look, but don't touch." With the boy suitably startled, Rehd turned his attention to the shopkeeper. "[Evening, Kaac. Give me a small box of qcal and some smoking paper. Oh, and what do you have in the way of gifts?]" "[Gifts for who?]" The shopkeep asked. "[If it's for your Lady, I have a very nice little jar of luxury bathing salts. Genuine Ny'ee Xer... Xru... it's Ny'ee and it's genuine!]" The bottle was held up for inspection, and one look at the wax label was enough to impress the potential buyer. A second glance took in the price tag. "[Who did you steal these off, Kaac?]" "[Not stolen; repossessed. Raider Guild went under last month and I was snapping on the heels of the butcher-crew to make sure I got everything cheap as dregs.]" Rehd glanced to some of the other stock. "[It certainly explains the stuffed fish... Alright, I'll take it. Oh, give me a little bag of honey bells for the lad.]" Coins crossed the counter and goods came back. Warren was handed a back of mint-coloured balls. They had the texture of caramel, tasted of limes and were filled with a tacky honey centre. A strange combination, and one Warren wasn't sure he liked much, but he wasn't about to insult Rehd by rejecting a gift. "Don't eat them all at once." Rehd cautioned. "Pop them somewhere safe and treat yourself to one every now and then." "I will," Warren answered. He was glad he'd been given a way out of having to eat the rest; they were sickly-sweet things, likely to make him ill if he forced down too many. They wandered in the vague direction of the House, though Rehd seemed to be in no rush. The air was crisp, as though a storm had broken, and though cold there was no wind to make the day uncomfortable. In the East the sun hung low in the sky, turning the rooftops and skyline towers the colour of burnt umber. Time had little meaning here; the perpetual sunrise never ended, leaving Warren disorientated, unable to tell just how long he'd been on the world. Only a few days, he was sure, but how could he be certain? "Rehd, can I ask you something?" Warren spoke up as they drew onto streets he recognised. The houses were spread apart here, though the tips of their rooftops still almost touched. The high masonry walls of the House's boundary line would be visible soon. "What did you want to ask?" "Well... not that I'm complaining, but why do you take such an interest in me? Everyone else seems to just ignore me." The man shrugged. "Someone has to. I guess I'm just the fatherly sort. Besides, you need someone who can understand you, at least until you learn to speak our tongue." They passed back into the House, walking past statues of gods and ancient heroes as they approached the building proper. People were drifting toward the dining hall when they stepped inside, and Warren had to mentally stop himself from hiding behind Rehd when he caught sight of Jasat, flanked by his bodyguard and another Kyyreni he didn't know. "[Ah, Rehd! I wondered where you'd gone!]" A female was approaching from the opposite direction Jasat had come from, dressed in black velvet and smelling faintly of expensive perfume. She extended a hand to Rehd when they drew closer together, and he took it respectfully. "[My Lady,]" he gently kissed her hand. "[Dining with your husband tonight?]" "[It is expected, though I would rather be keeping other company.]" There was a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with food. "[You wish for me to join you tonight?]" "[I wish for you every night, my sweet Rehd!]" The Lady gave a warm laugh and stroked the warrior's face. "[But I would never be forgiven if I kept you solely to myself.]" Rehd returned the contact, stroking the Lady's face whilst offering his gift with the other hand."[A gift, my love.]" "[You didn't have to do that,]" She replied, taking the jar and holding it loosely to her chest. "[I didn't, but I wanted to.]" "[Then I am grateful.]" She answered, granting him a gentle kiss as a reward. She turned away, falling into step beside Jasat, who took her arm and escorted her out of sight. "Who was that?" Warren asked. "Lady Helna; Noble Jasat's wife." "His wife? But the way you two-" Rehd waved away the boy's protests and shoved him gently toward the stairs. "Jasat and Helna are married, but their marriage is political. They do not love each other. That is why she bought me." "Bought? You're a slave too?" The warrior nodded. "I was visiting Tzajii, and caught the eye of the Lady Helna during the Revelry. I had no idea who she was, and treated her as I would any other woman; I asked her to dance and the next thing we knew we were in the middle of a crowd, jumping to the sound of drums." He paused his tale to laugh aloud, "Her minders were furious! They were looking for her for almost two days! I never expected to see her again, but that same year a Raid went sour and I found myself dragged back to Tzajii in chains. I was sold to a Noble House, much as you were to ours, and once more our paths crossed. When she married Jasat, she made sure I was brought with her. Officially I'm a bodyguard, but I think everyone knew the truth from the start." "And everyone's okay with that?" Warren asked, mystified. "Why wouldn't they be? Through here, lad; you've got to earn your keep, same as the rest of us."

* * *

It was six o'clock when Matt returned home, and by then Vaahn was buzzing with excitement. For him, Wednesday at six had become a very important time indeed, because his father had enrolled him on a martial arts course. It was held specifically for Rejuves, with emphasis on discipline, self-control and re-learning fine motor skills. For Vaahn, it was also an excuse to fight with people who knew how to fight back. By six-fifteen, the family hovercar had arrived at the hall. Dressed in a simple white uniform that was traditional for Human martial artists, Vaahn walked from the car with an eager spring in his step. Class didn't officially start until half past, but the extra time was used to get everything set up, and for the early birds to spar a little. Plif was waiting, eager as ever. The Jalaxian boy was two years older than Vaahn, and seemed to be unable to stay still for more than three seconds at a stretch. He gave an eager wave and the Kyyreni boy went to join him on the mats. "Aha! Was starting to think you weren't coming!" Vaahn gave the Voluntaras an easy smile. "For a while this morning I thought I wasn't. Had a visit from an unfriendly friend; I was sure it was going to end in a fight." Plif stuck his tongue out, dancing a little circle on the mat. "Come on! I want to show you how much I've been practicing!" That got another smile from Vaahn. Plif was a consummate martial arts fan; he loved every style, every form, everything. Vaahn had been teaching him Deck Fighting, which was arguably the closest thing the Kyyreni had to a martial art you could actually perform unarmed. "Alright! Here I go!" Plif launched into his attack, giving a high-pitched cry to get the adrenalin going. He gave another cry shortly after when his backside hit the mat. "Second-stance feint punch into reversed third-stance counter-grapple... pretty nice, but your footwork let you down." Plif took Vaahn's offered hand and rose back to his feet, making a face at the Penitatas. "You cheated! You said Deck Fighting didn't have any official kicks!" "Yeah, I did say that." He stuck his tongue out at the pouting Jalaxian, who returned the gesture before breaking into laughter. "Let's go again, and this time I won't be so easily beaten!"

From the sidelines, Matt watched the fight with quiet interest. He didn't know enough about martial arts to truly appreciate what he saw; how Plif flowed from the Kyyreni style to his native Gui-Kon-Tra halfway through the spar, totally wrong-footing Vaahn and putting him onto the floor. He instinctively felt the punches and kicks should not be allowed, but was quietly impressed at just how much physical co-ordination the boys, and indeed the rest of the class, seemed to display. He knew for certain no ordinary boy of six or seven could fight like Vaahn did; it took a lifetime of experience, hard-wired into memory. "Break!" Vaahn called out, snapping Matt's attention back to the skirmish. He had Plif's foot in one hand, his other arm pressed against the boy's knee, and one foot raised for a kick of his own. "Why?" the Jalaxian asked, regaining his balance when Vaahn let him go. "Because I broke your leg." Vaahn answered matter-of-factly. Pull the foot inward, a full-force blow to the extended knee, and take out the other knee with a kick. You'd go down onto the matt and straight into hospital." "If you want to argue that logic, I could easily have snapped your arm before. I think you're just tired of losing to me." He punctuated the statement with another cheeky extension of his tongue. Vaahn shrugged and taunted back, "If you want me to prove it was a leg break, just ask." "Play nice, boys!" The speaker was another Jalaxian, though he was much older, as the class Sensei should be. "Everyone, get started on your warm-up exercises and then we'll begin!" For the small audience of parents, the bulk of the class was easy watching; nothing particularly exciting happened, but that also meant nothing to worry about. Matt chatted with the fellow adults quietly as he watched the children, keeping his eye on Vaahn in particular. Quite a few 'parents' there were actually husbands, wives or even siblings, which was not all that uncommon.

Toward the end, the Sensei announced an impromptu internal tournament. Inter-club competitions, scheduled to begin next month, meant that everyone wanted to be at the top of their game to prove just what they could do. Cringing at the thought, Matt felt convinced Vaahn would take it too far. Yet the Kyyreni boy wasn't the only Rejuve with a competitive streak. A human girl two years older was Vaahn's first opponent, and within seconds of the bout starting she struck the Penny across the face with a back-hand smack, following up quickly to take the boy's feet out and put him on his side. "Can she do that?" Matt asked. "Punches and kicks are allowed, though frowned upon." Another spectator replied. Vaahn rose back to his feet, flashing a glance over at his father. Matt wondered why; was he looking for approval, or permission? Matt mouthed 'do your best', and this seemed to meet with approval. He grappled the girl quickly this time, making good use of footwork to avoid being tripped, but she was taller and had a minor weight advantage. In the end, Vaahn was put on his side again; this time by a sudden lunge and a sharp yank on his tail. He got up again with a face full of anger, rubbing the tender base of his abused appendage. "Oh come on! She can't be allowed to do that! She could have hurt him!" The Sensei seemed to share some of Matt's concerns, and approached the boy as he rose to his feet. They exchanged quiet words, and the Jalaxian departed. Again, Vaahn looked to his father. Despite his every instinct telling him it was wrong to do so, that he'd be sending the wrong message, he cupped his hands and called in broken Ruljic, "[Defeat her!]" Vaahn's face split into a feral grin; Kyyreni had the monopoly on 'feral'. This time when his opponent approached, Vaahn went headlong into the least sporting attack he could manage. He jabbed for the throat, caught her retaliatory kick, and twisted. The girl screamed, and before she could recover Vaahn dropped the limb and went for the other, landing a swift kick to the knee that put her down on all fours. Before she could rise he attacked again, getting her in an arm lock and putting her face down on the mat. "That's enough!" The Sensei called out, making the two of them break it up. "Alex, are you alright." "That really hurt!" She protested, but found little sympathy in her teacher's face. "Well, now you know why we don't encourage free-form fighting. Do you want to carry on?" The girl shook her head. Satisfied, the Jalaxian announced Vaahn the winner, then took the boy off to one side to have another 'quiet word'. Vaahn sparred with two other Rejuves before the class ended, though none so roughly as his first. When Matt watched Alex leaving with a Pain-Ease patch wrapped around both knees, he knew his son had pushed his luck too far. He had his own quiet word with the Sensei, and his mood soured even further.

Class dismissed, and Vaahn hurried to his father. "I'm on the team!" He cried, his face lit up with pride. "Jianto says I'm one of the most promising-" "That's nice, Vaahn." Matt's dismissive tone was an immediate sign for the Penny boy that he was in trouble. "Come on; let's get home so we can talk properly." Once safely in the car, Matt was able to vent his frustrations fully. "Vaahn, I am very disappointed in you! You might have seriously hurt that girl!" "Well she hurt me pretty badly too, you know!" The boy reached around and rubbed the base of his tail, wincing as his fingers made contact with the tender base. "Vaahn... if you were hurt, why didn't you say something?" Vaahn shrugged. "I'm used to people hurting me. I wasn't about to let her win because of it." "Well you can have some nano-lotion as soon as we get home to fix up your tail..." A weary sigh escaped the boy's lips. "And then I'm getting spanked, right?" "Absolutely." Matt answered firmly. "I don't want to see you hurting people like that again, do you understand?" "Yes sir." Vaahn replied, eyes fixed on the rooftops as they sped by. With autopilot in place, Matt turned his seat around so he could face his son. "Vaahn, I really am pleased you've been chosen for the team." "I'm sure you are," was the boy's sour reply. Matt decided to leave it at that.

* * *

Having spent most of the day scrubbing a bathing room large enough for half a dozen people to use at once, Warren was glad when Rehd fetched him, fed him and took him outside to have a break. The moon was visible overhead now, though low in the sky as if setting, or perhaps rising; Warren had no idea which. Men of all ages, and a few women as well, were gathering in a large circular patch of ground. Racks of weapons had been brought out, some wood, others blunted metal. Sparring partners took up weapons and began their warm-up routines. Warren was directed to a set of wooden benches and permitted to watch as Rehd went to join the younger participants. He and the bodyguard, Ank, seemed to be acting as tutors, whilst the adults just got on with their duels. It was all serious, Warren could see that; there was some joking and boastful shouts, but as time went on they slowly faded away, and after the first hour the duels were fought as though the combatants intended to kill one another. Jasat took to the field, carrying a pair of swords. He sparred with Ank several times, with the bodyguard winning most of them. Perhaps tiring of losing, Jasat tried his luck with Rehd instead, but did no better; the red-armoured warrior had an almost supernatural ability to block and counter with his broad-bladed sword, striking the Noble several times. Warren had to admit, he enjoyed seeing Jasat lose.

Then, without warning, the mood changed. Jasat departed swiftly, meeting with a group of Kyyreni who had been escorted to the training arena. They returned inside and the sparring resumed, though with less enthusiasm and many more worried glances toward the door. "There might be trouble," Rehd announced when he came over, sitting on the benches beside the Human boy. "Why? Who were they?" "Noble House Oidan," the Kyyreni growled. "Old rivals; they lost a lot of power and standing during our rise to power, and they've been biting at our heels ever since." Warren's eye was drawn back to the weapon racks. They were being carried away now, through other weapons had been drawn by a few of the assembled warriors. These swords were not wood, or blunt. "Is... are they going to attack someone?" "Ank probably will. He's the Lord's bodyguard and champion; if it comes down to blades, it'll be up to him to carry us through." Jasat returned twenty minutes later, escorting the half dozen envoys from Noble House Oidan. All but one took seats on the far benches. Their champion began to remove his armour and clothing, as did Ank, until both men were stripped of everything but their weapons. "It keeps things fair," Rehd explained. "No tricks, no hidden weapons. It also means if the duel is to blood, you can see who is bleeding." The challenger stepped up to join Ank in the ring. He carried an oddly shaped punch dagger; a half-oval shape that overlapped the edge of the user's hand. His other arm was strapped tight to a heavy wooden shield. Ank tested the balance of his long-handled Houseblade with a few lazy swings. "This is to blood, isn't it? First man to bleed loses?" Rehd shook his head. "Jasat just declared this was a fight to the death."

With a cry from the visiting Noble, the duellists clashed. The challenger slammed his shield into Ank, seeking to use his punch dagger whilst his opponent was pinned. Ank had clearly seen it coming; he gripped his sword up by the top of the blade with his left hand and kept it positioned between himself and the shield in such a way that he still had flexibility to ward off the dagger strike. As the attacker broke, Ank ducked in low, scything the man's foot out from under him he stumbled, then went over as the bodyguard put all his strength into a shoulder barge. A dagger flashed across Ank's vision, splitting flesh on his forearm as he shifted momentum, bringing his sword down hard onto his prone opponent. The blade entered through his collar and almost took his head off. The challenger managed a strangled gasp, more a sound of surprise than pain, and bled out. All the blood was rushing from Warren's face, and by the feel of it his lunch was about to come the other way. "That... he killed him so easily..." "Ank is a talented man. Bjosk's skill lies more in exploiting an opponent's inexperience than actual skill; he is - he was one of the few House Guard to use shield and fang." Rehd took a moment to prepare a roll of smoking herb. "He should have known better; Tu'ri is famous for its use of Wave Swords, and we've got three Dol'j Axemen in our ranks. He trains every day against exotic weapons!" The body of the dead man was being carried away by his kin, and house surgeons were tending to Ank. The slice to the arm had stained most of the limb with blood by the time it was bandaged up. The strange skull masks they wore terrified the Rejuve, but he couldn't explain why. "How often does this happen?" Warren asked. "You mean these Challenge duels? Not often; usually only three or four a year." "What? You mean... you mean three or four people a year die in that arena?" "More or less, yes. Are you alright? You look ill." Warren shivered. It had nothing to do with the rising chill. "That is madness! How many Challenges happen across the city each year? What about the other cities? How many people are you hacking to pieces in arenas like this every year?" Rehd fixed the boy with a long, heavy stare. "You don't understand, boy. This system, this code we live by, it was put in place to end bloodshed. Imagine what would have happened if Oidan had not sent their champion here today; they'd have resolved their dispute by force. Would you prefer that? For every man of our House, you included, to be equipped for war and to trade bullets and shells with every man of Oidan? How many would die then? Dozens certainly; perhaps hundreds, or even thousands, should the fighting spill out beyond our two Houses... and it probably would spill out, because both our Houses have a complex web of alliances that would demand other Houses become involved. The citizens would take arms as well, for one side or the other, and with an entire city slaughtering itself, our neighbouring city-states would certainly take an interest..." With a heavy sigh and a long draw of his smoke, Rehd said, "It would be Total War. We have known that kind of conflict many times in our history. I'll take you one day to see the results. I'll take you to Sul, to see the mass graves where thirty thousand men were buried. This is better, Warren; one life lost, and it is over. The world moves on, and we need never dig another charnel pit." The roll-up was finished and ground into the dirt by Rehd's boot. "Come on, let's go. There's nothing for us here now."