Author's Note:

In honour of my brilliant co-author's birthday, Mootheman, I am re-starting this saga! I thoroughly apologize for a full year's hiatus, alas school is brutal on both time and energy. In any case, I hope that chapter 13 satiates our loyal readers and followers thirst for thrilling adventures!

"I'm sure an alley full of beggars is not the first place we should be looking." Jon had been grumbling a lot lately, and with good reason too.

Jules bent down, inspecting each and every downtrodden face. He always ignored the men - at least the obvious ones. "Believe me, it is. Someone here owes me a life debt, and she might be of help," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to head back to the tavern," Jon proposed. "I bet some idiot has already seen all of the recruitment posters you plastered all around." Walls, windows, doors, animals, even men who've had a bit too much to drink - nothing escaped Jules' glue brush.

The King of Thieves turned and stared Jon in the eye. "They can wait," his voice was resolute and so he resumed his inspections.

"Ahh. Here she is!"

She was a drunk, to be kind. Nevermind that. She was one hopeless drunk amongst a dozen others, in a dank, secluded alley that stunk of piss and something much more unpleasant. She was a filthy, hopeless drunk who wasn't even too far above Jon's age.

"Her? Really?"

"Yes, really," Jules enthused. "Jon, meet Christina, Christina, meet Jon," he said, as he forced Jon to shake her grimy and gritty hand.

Jon cringed at the sight of it. Only the gods knew where it had been. Fortunately for him, Christina was more interested in her bottle, leaning back to take a swig. Her lips curled in a sneer as only droplets of the cheap liquor touched them.

"Now, Christina here has some use to us, given that she is of Templar origins. As surprising as that may be considering her current status as a living corpse."

"A what?" Now that Jules mentioned it, her calloused palms spoke for themselves. But that still begged the question:

"Isn't Aaliana the last real Templar?" Jon whispered, in a little disbelief.

No reply. Jules had… disappeared.

He'd been abandoned in the vomit-reeking side road that was so generously called an alleyway. Christina rose, standing slightly shorter than Jon, who wasn't the tallest of men to begin with. Yet he felt the overwhelming need to take more than just a few steps back.

The glass bottle shattered under her grip, the pieces clattering on the floor. Her hardened and calloused palms remained unscathed.

Inching backward, Jon blanched as his back pressed on the cool, brick wall. He ever so slowly slid his had towards the pommel of his blade. She took one slow and staggering step towards him. Then another. Her fingers were splayed out and twitching as if ready to promise a slow, painful, end. Her dazed look had all but melted away, and in its place was a steely murderous glare that was focused on the prince.

Prince Jon had seen many a murderous glare, but none had ever had the effect of making him quake in his boots. With as much bravado as Jon could muster up, he swept away his ragged cloak and as he began to unsheathe his blade, he took an exaggerated swaggering step forward.

Suddenly, both of them lurched back as a hand shot out of the darkness and grasped her shoulder. "Now now Christina, if you kill my friend, we'll have problems that won't be able to be fixed by a wise word and some magic." It was Jules. Yet it wasn't. Any sign of the easygoing thief was gone. Just a cold, ruthless warning.

"If you kill Jon, you'll owe me two life debts… and a very long and unpleasant talk with his loved ones."

Something like fear registered through her drunken rage. She cringed, too shocked to fight back. Jon felt himself relax and he shifted his jagged cloak back into position to re-create the façade of a poor traveling man.

Christina stumbled into her former sitting position, legs tucked to her chest, and began to sulk.

"You'll have to forgive Christina. She's been through some hard times," Jules said to Jon.

"Those pompous bastards made me go on an impossible mission: retrieve the Kindle of Fire. I could have died in the Citadel, yet Jules saved my ass, and now I'm here..."

"You've been to the Citadel," said Jon to no one in particular.

"Lost my job, my title. I'm nothing..."

Jules wagged a finger at him. "I've only been there for a few minutes. But Christina here, has studied the place for weeks."

"And now I owe my life to a thief. The gods be damned, biggest thief of them all..." she wailed.

"You didn't think it was a good idea to tell me this?" Jon turned on Jules - a bit more than ticked off. The Prince was no longer quaking in fear but instead he was quaking in anger.

"How could the gods be so cruel!?"

An infuriating shrug, from the second most infuriating person in this alleyway.

"Never reveal everything you know."

"But still. We're working together on this. Why keep it from me?"

"It wouldn't have made much of a difference..."

"Why have you forsaken me?" Christina screamed to the sky, in absolute agony.

"Will you shut up?" Jon was rewarded with a moment of silence.

"Thank…"

"BAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"As I was saying I, it wouldn't have made much of a difference whether I told you then or now," Jules cut in" "Besides, how else would I know where the Citadel is?"

For the life of him, Jon couldn't find a flaw in what he was saying. It was spotty, yes, but it was practical.

"And I swear, she's much better than this when she's sober," Jules added.

"I have no choice, don't I?"

"You can always go alone."

Only the alley, the farms, the fields, the forests and hills; the Morgs, that vast mountain range, bordering Aericanus and anything that could and would go wrong lay between him and the heart of the Citadel.

Jon sighed. "Alright. Hoist her up in three… two … one." The two just managed to get the flailing and wailing ex-Templar on their shoulders. The moment they took on some of her weight, their shoulders visibly sagged with the immense weight, much like carrying a sack of potatoes. Albeit a sack of potatoes that was reeking of cheap alcohol and thrashing about.

This was going to be a long walk back to the inn.

...

"I have to go now, " were his last words before cutting Jon off.

Jeremiah wondered if those would be his last words to either of his brothers.