Mordalayn and the Bully

This is from my novel THE CATASTROPHE OF THE EMERALD QUEEN. Aimed at readers aged 10+ it's a magical fantasy set in another world. While not specifically Kravvy, this chapter has anti-bullying themes and shows that sometimes the only thing that can stop a bully is an even bigger bully.

Recently I've wondered if the outcome would have been different if Maria had done Junior Krav. But then I'd have had to find another way to show just HOW much Mordalayn hates bullies.

Artwork by Paul Rose.

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Chapter 14

As they began to bed down for the night Stone spied that Blautin hadn’t put his flute in his backpack. He made a snatch for it and Blautin span round. 

“Give it back,” the younger boy snapped angrily as the older child grinned and held on to the flute, dangling it out of reach of the frantic swipes of its owner. 

“Come and get it,” Stone said, jumping up and dancing around. The others barely took notice but then Blautin stood still and started to cry.  

Stone didn’t stop and instead started to laugh. “Hey, what are you? A little…” 

“ENOUGH!” 

Everyone jumped and looked at Mordalayn who was sitting opposite the two boys across the fire. There was a horrible silence and Stone stared at the warrior, embarrassed and scared. Blautin stopped crying and wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his sleeve. 

“Give it to him,” Mordalayn growled.

 “I was just messing…” Stone began but was interrupted.

 “You are a bully and bullies are despicable,” Mordalayn said with limitless menace. Everyone was looking at him. Challandra was scared, knowing the Caracalic’s reputation. Leppard glanced from Mordalayn to the boys and then back. Stone handed the flute back to Blautin and then sat down, his cheeks burning with shame. He hugged his knees and looked away. 

After a long pause Mordalayn spoke again. This time more softly.

 “Bullying is vile. Would you have liked it if he’d taken something you loved?” 

Stone shook his head mutely. Blautin sat down, putting his prized flute in its silk cloth and wrapping it carefully before putting it in his pack. He sniffed the last of his tears away and looked at Mordalayn, at the same time frightened and reassured. 

The Caracalic had everyone’s attention and he spoke calmly and quietly, the only other sound in the forest the crackling of the fire.

 “To make someone weaker than you a victim only for your own pleasure is beyond vileness.” He glanced around slowly at everyone as he said this. No one could meet his eyes, even Bue and Leppard lowered their gazes. 

“Recently I saw this.” 

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Mordalayn had been shadowing Jared for four days in Warwick. The spell he’d placed on Queen Sophie would prevent their enemies from finding her now. However, she was still vulnerable and as long as Jared was trackable they could, if they could get to him before she came out of her death sleep, use him to find her. Mordalayn had followed him and his parents this night to a house where a woman holding a baby had answered the door. The house was in an area that Mordalayn had not explored before. He looked around. The sun was going down and he glanced at his wrist band. The crystal was still a murky shade of green. He needed to eat. He’d smelled food about quarter of a mile east from here and decided to break off to find rations. Drawing his hood over his face and pulling his robes tight around him, he leapt from the roof he was on to the adjoining one and then shimmied down the drain pipe to a path between two houses. Behind them was some coarse ground and he vaulted the fence and ran along the edge of the copse of trees, keeping to the shadows. Shortly he came to a junction and turned right keeping his back to the walls. Leaping up again he climbed silently and fluidly to the roof of a detached house and ran soundlessly across the tiles to the peak. He knew the stores here would certainly have bins out the back for disposing of unwanted food that he could forage for. He was about to move along the roof when he looked down and something caught his eye.

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“Oooh sissy dolly,” Aiden snapped at Maria nastily.

 Maria was scared. She’d gone to the shops to buy some milk for her mother and Aiden was there. She didn’t like Aiden. He was older, bigger and bullied her and the other small kids at every chance he got. The shops were only round the corner, she could see the front garden of her house from here. She hoped someone would help her but there was no one around.

 Aiden grinned at her, his smile not even remotely reassuring and held out his hand. 

“Give it to me and let me look at it.”

 Maria gripped the doll even tighter and shook her head. She knew that if she gave it to him, even for a second, she’d never see it again or he’d break it. 

Aiden moved forward, backing her up against the wall and looked both ways in case any adults were around or that nosey Community Support Officer who occasionally wandered round the estate.

 “Let me hold it for a second and I’ll let you have it back,” he said. 

Maria was on the verge of tears and didn’t want Aiden to see her crying. “Let me go Aiden,” she pleaded. “My mummy will be wondering where I am.”

 “Best give me the doll then you stupid cow,” he said trying to snatch it from her. 

Maria bolted and ran and Aiden followed her laughing. “Go on run little cow!” he whooped, easily catching her up in about three steps. 

Maria screeched as Aiden tripped her up, pushing her down on the paved slabs outside the shops. She skidded and fell, the milk carton going flying and bursting open.

 Aiden reached down and grabbed her doll in his grubby hands. She screamed as he tore it free from her grip and shook it in front of her triumphantly. 

“See what happens when you don’t do what you’re told?!!” he shouted at her.

 Maria had skimmed her knees as she fell and she started to cry. Aiden grinned and grabbed the head of her doll and pulled hard.

 “No!” Maria screamed at him as the head came free with a pop. Aiden laughed and dropped it on the floor and put his filthy trainer on it, stamping up and down on the plastic body and twisting his foot. 

Maria bawled loudly, looking on helplessly as Aiden ruined her toy. The doll was a present from her nana, who had died last year, and it was her favourite. Giving the doll one last twist with his foot Aiden turned around and walked off laughing.

 Staggering to her feet Maria looked around and ran wailing into her home, shouting for her mother.

 Aiden walked down the alley between Maria’s house and the precinct of shops. Whistling a happy tune with his hands in his tracksuit bottoms he failed to notice the cold, furious eyes that watched him silently from a rooftop across the square.

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When Aiden got home his mother was in front of the huge plasma screen TV in their lounge. She turned as he came in, her half smoked cigarette clutched in her fingers. “Get yourself some dinner, there’s microwave corned beef hash in the freezer.”

 “Whatever!” Aiden said disinterestedly and slunk off upstairs, leaving his mother in a cloud of smoke watching television.

 He went up to his room and opened the door with the sign, “Aiden’s Den. Keep Out or be Dead,” on it with a black skull and crossbones. 

He switched on the TV in his room and turned on his games console. He fell back onto his bed and picked up the control pad while a war game started to load. As the game began he became engrossed in the action, not noticing the squeak on the stairs that meant someone was coming up. 

As his door opened he hit “pause” on the pad and cursed loudly. “Mum! I told you to knock when you….” then looked up and his voice trailed off abruptly.  

Mordalayn stood glaring at him in the doorway. His rage at what he’d seen the boy do to the little girl was barely controlled as he silently closed the door. 

Aiden stammered. “What, wh..who are YOU?” 

Mordalayn moved forward and stood towering over him silent and terrifying, his hood thrown back to reveal his face. Aiden gulped, the game controller forgotten in his hands, his eyes flicking over the huge sword on the stranger’s back and the figure’s cat face, whiskers bristling angrily. Glancing around the room Mordalayn saw the chaos of a young boy’s bedroom with old sweet wrappers and magazines on the floor amongst old clothes. He looked around slowly and his eyes finally rested on Aiden.

 “The necklace you’re wearing. Give it to me,” he said flatly.

 Aiden’s hand went up to the chunky, gold necklace he wore. It was a present from his father for his tenth birthday. “What? No way. Get lost!” 

He scrambled to his feet and made for the door but Mordalayn grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, clamping his gloved hand over Aiden’s mouth to stifle the boy’s yell of fear. He tugged hard at the necklace which snapped free with a jerk, two of the links clattering to the floor and Aiden yelped. 

Casually placing the chain into a pocket of his robe Mordalayn tossed Aiden back against a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room. As he reached for the door handle Aiden found his voice.

 “Don’t take that. Please! My dad gave me that.” He started to cry. 

Mordalayn paused for a second then turned. He glared at Aiden and his green eyes narrowed. “You laughed at that little girl’s tears today,” he said slowly. “Remember how this feels.” Then he opened the door and closed it behind him. He lithely crept down the stairs and walked past the lounge doorway, Aiden’s mother was still engrossed in her TV show and never noticed as Mordalayn made for the open kitchen door and vanished into the back garden.

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Maria’s mother Sylvia kissed her forehead as she slept, heartbroken about what had happened. She’d disinfected Maria’s grazed knees and cuddled her while she cried herself to sleep. “That boy Aiden is utterly vile” she thought, but the police either couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything about his behaviour. Each time they either failed to return her calls or simply sent that useless community support officer round to deal with it. The officer had tried to visit Aiden’s home to discuss the matter with his mother but she had simply screamed at her to go away. The only advice the police were willing to give now was “tell Maria to keep away from him.” 

She stroked Maria’s hair and pulled a stray lock away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Sighing, she stood and pulled the door half closed, the landing light casting a subdued beam into the room. Taking one last look at her sleeping daughter she went downstairs into the kitchen. 

Making for the rubbish bin Sylvia pulled the white bin liner free and checking there were no holes in the bag she tied the yellow string tightly at the top and opened the kitchen door. She walked the ten or so yards to the large wheelie bins on her driveway and opening the nearest one she tossed the bag inside. Before she could close it a thick voice spoke quietly. “Don’t be frightened but please don’t turn around.”

 Sylvia jumped with fear. “What do you want?” she stammered. “I haven’t got any money on me.” 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the voice replied. “I just want to give you something.” Sylvia twitched her head but there was only a shadow behind her, the low light on the driveway was not enough to see by. She closed the dustbin lid and rested her hands on it. After a pause the voice continued. 

“The boy who hurt your daughter today will never do that again. He is sorry and he wants you to have this to make up for his actions.”  

Sylvia glanced to her right as a paper bag was placed on the lid of the wheelie bin next to her. The gloved hand withdrew and after a long silence she slowly turned round. The driveway was empty. Breathing out heavily she placed one hand on the wall to steady herself. Then she delicately picked up the bag and walked into the kitchen to see what was inside.

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Next morning Maria came downstairs for breakfast bleary eyed and grumpy. She was still upset and was surprised to see her mother making pancakes at the cooker, singing softly to herself. As Maria came in she smiled broadly.

“Hello my little angel” Sylvia said, wiping her hands on a tea towel, hugging Maria then kissing her cheek.  

“What’s the special occasion mummy?” Maria asked, looking confused and taking her seat at the breakfast table. They only usually had pancakes on special days like Shrove Tuesday or sometimes on a Sunday.  

“Well my sweet, today is a special day because your grandmother has bought you a new doll.” 

Maria thought about this and even though she was only 7 she wasn’t stupid. “Mummy, how can nana buy me a doll?”

 Sylvia smiled again, barely able to contain herself. “Look in the bag darling,” she said, nodding to the white paper packet on the table. 

Creasing her face in confusion Maria leaned over the table and took hold of the packet. She placed it in her lap and opened it. Reaching inside she pulled out the contents and gasped.

 Inside was her doll, but different. It had golden, curly hair down to its waist. which shone in the morning light from the window.

 “Oh mummy, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, holding it up and smiling. Sylvia put her arms around Maria and laughed. “Yes my dear, it’s lovely,” She saw her daughter’s face light up with joy and wondered who had been the one who’d put things right.

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“So, remember when you tease or bully someone else you cause them pain that can usually not be taken back.” 

Stone, who’d taken the flute, bowed his head in shame and after another long silence Leppard said, “I think we all need to try and get some sleep now. We have an early start in the morning.” 

The boys began silently arranging their packs as pillows. No one spoke and no one would look directly at Mordalayn in case they met his steel gaze.

The Salvation of Josie

This is a chapter from my book THE SUNDER OF THE OCTAGON, the sequel to THE CATASTROPHE OF THE EMERALD QUEEN.

Both are magical fantasy novels aimed primarily at young adults, with anti-bullying themes. 

The sequence below was inspired by the murder of Sophie Lancaster. The character of Josie is an alternate version of Sophie...but in this case there were otherwordly saviours on hand to save her.

The fighting that ensues was inspired by Krav Maga, especially the way the heroes don't announce themselves until they have to, with the first "baddy" getting ambushed rather than faced in the open.

It's set in Jephson Gardens, a beautiful park in the centre of Royal Leamington Spa, where I live. It's actually locked at night, but please forgive my artistic licence.

The artwork is by the ever tremendous Paul Rose.

Enjoy!

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Excerpt from the The Sunder of the Octagon.

Out now.

Josie’s feet thudded across the wet grass as the rain poured down. Her breath was raw in her throat. The yells followed behind her. The gang had stopped her at the Jephson Gardens park entrance. She’d seen them before but stayed away. Tonight they were drunk and they had wanted to chat. She’d tried to be nice, her heat hammering in her chest and at first they’d been polite. She’d even given them a couple of cigarettes. Then as she walked away she heard one of them say, “Let’s get the freak!” Josie had run then, knowing that this would happen and praying she could make it to the main road through the park in time.

It was around 3am and no one was around to help her. There were seven or eight of them. She didn’t stand a chance. As she ran past the closed café she saw the lights in the distance, outside the old pump rooms. The rain was heavy but she ran faster, her old leather boots limiting movement and her long braided hair soaking wet.

Suddenly she skidded and tumbled forward on the wet tarmac. Josie fell hard, the wind rushing from her lungs and then they were around her, snarling.

“Well, well! Looks like we caught the freak!”

“Shouldn’t go out looking like that, you’re a disgrace.”

Josie looked up, tears burning her eyes as they stood around her. “Please, just leave me alone,” she said weakly, holding out one hand, the black nail varnish chipped on the first two fingers where she’d fallen. They laughed at her.

She looked up to their ugly, hateful faces. The circle around her got smaller. She could smell the beer on their breath.

“Shouldn’t be here,” one said raising his fist.

“Not in our park,” said another.

“Weirdo!”

“Mosher!”

“FREAK!”

She put her hands over her face and tried to curl up away from their hate and their beer and their violence, wishing she was anywhere but here. “Please!” she said again in a whisper.

As they moved in laughing and one drew back his foot to kick her he was suddenly yanked backwards, vanishing into the darkness of the bushes. The others looked around in shock. “What the hell…?” The circle broke, the teenage thugs looked around wildly. The lad emerged again, trying to get free from something that was holding him.

“Help me!” he screamed as he was yanked back briefly and then he seemed to fly from the bushes and sail over their heads, screaming in fear before landing with a splash in the ornamental lake in the middle of the park.

As the lads looked around, Josie took her hands from her face and looked to where a huge figure emerged dripping wet, his face hidden in the shadows of a hooded robe. Next to him was a smaller person, also hooded.

The leaves on the trees rustled in the wind but then there was silence except for the steady rain.

The taller figure then spoke slowly. A deep voice that was edged with menace. “You would attack a woman? What manner of animals are you?”

The boys simply stared, dumbstruck at this change in fortune. They glanced to their friend in the lake, splashing and yelling for help, then back to the newcomers.

The nearest lad overcame his fear and sneered back at them. “Think you’re hard do you? No one messes with the Bury Boys!” He clicked a knife open, the blade shining wetly in the artificial lights.

His friends regained their bravado for a moment and sniggered. One said, “Go on Steve, show them!”

Steve moved in smiling and the hooded figures separated. The other lads came at them, fists flying in wild, erratic curves. As Steve swung his flick knife the tall man blurred into motion, trapping his arm and throwing Steve over his shoulder and onto the ground with a crunch. Steve yelled and dropped the blade. He staggered to his feet but with a shove he was thrown sprawling onto the tarmac again. Two others tried to jump the man from behind but his hand darted out, faster than a snake and caught one by the throat. The lad’s eyes bulged as he was pulled off the ground, his legs spinning. As the other attempted to punch the hooded attacker, he kicked out without even looking over his shoulder. His foot caught the lad in the chest, who flew back gasping, hitting the metal fence. He span backwards over it and landed with a sopping thud in the wet earth.

Josie sat up, watching spellbound at the fight before her. Even though there were so many of the thugs, they were posing no threat to her saviours. She saw it as if in slow motion, time blurring as the two strangers punched, blocked and kicked out at the gang, effortlessly beating them back.

The smaller figure was facing three at once. He darted about on the balls of his feet, never letting himself get between them but keeping them to one side all the time. He struck out at the nearest, catching him in the head, then kicking him hard in the guts and the lad fell. The other two came to their senses and turned and ran, their trainers splashing on the wet ground. The hooded figure extended his right arm and with a click, a block of what appeared to be smooth wood and bright metal suddenly appeared from his sleeve into his open palm. As Josie watched mesmerised, the block changed shape. Warping, twisting and clicking into alignment. A tiny crossbow, merged with his gloved hand. He reached to his belt and slid a bolt into the firing groove of the weapon. Dropping to one knee he whispered a strange few words and the bolt glowed.

“No way,” he said quietly as he glared at the retreating figures. The arrow’s wicked point dripped as he paused to aim.

His partner whirled. “BUE! NO!!!”

The arm wavered; the figure cursed then lowered his aim a fraction. He triggered the weapon and the bolt sang out. As it flew it separated, with a flash of golden light, into two arrows and with an almost simultaneous thud, landed in the backsides of the two runners. They sprawled forward, screaming in pain as they rolled around.

Steve had managed to crawl towards his knife but as he turned holding it and tried to stand, the tall man simply kicked him in the hand. The knife span into the dark shadows and Steve shrieked, clutching his ruined fingers.

Josie looked around, the rain was heavy and it blurred her vision as the huge figure turned. He stood over her, green eyes glowing like fires in the depths of his hood. Gently he reached down and after a pause she took his hand. Helping her to her feet he asked, “Are you hurt Miss?”

She looked at him, then at Steve and then to the screaming lads on the ground 30 metres away, still trying to pull the arrows out. She looked further across to the lake and the lad who had been thrown there was splashing to the shore, yelling in fright and clearly having trouble.

For the first time she saw the huge sword, sheathed on the figure’s back, the hilt shaped like a kneeling woman with her hands clasped in prayer. His friend returned to them, his crossbow hidden once more.

She looked from one to the other and then slowly said, “No, I’m fine. Thank you."

The taller figure spoke again. “Come. Let us escort you to the gates.”

As they walked either side of her in silence, the rain dripping off their clothes she felt she was dreaming. She wanted to ask them who they were but couldn’t. Her voice was stuck in her throat. They were slowly scanning the area ahead and around as they walked. They passed the ornamental flower beds and she saw the fountain to her right. When they reached the gates the shorter figure spoke. “There you are young Miss, you’ll be safe now. Don’t worry about them; they won’t bother you or anyone else like that again.”

She looked at them, silhouetted in the light from the main road opposite the library and finally asked, “Who are you?”

The same one chuckled and said, “Friends. Now, please go Miss. You’ll catch a fever in this rain.”

She walked over the road to the libray. As she turned they were gone, just the entrance to Jephson Gardens standing open in the pouring rain.

As she walked away up the road the taller figure turned to the other and said, “We need to find Our Lady.”

The other chuckled and replied. “Couldn’t she have put the portal nearer to where she lives?”

Multiple Attackers in a Magical Fantasy Novel

This is a scene from my latest book THE SUNDER OF THE OCTAGON, a magical fantasy adventure aimed at older children.

This scene was inspired by the idea of "What would happen if a guy who was trained to fight in a very Kravvy way was magically turned into a geriatric...BUT then magically regained his youth and turned on his multiple attackers."

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 An hour later Jeroth sat in the chair in his small room while Calson sat on the floor, cross legged, happily brushing away at the left boot. Jeroth looked down at his gnarled, calloused feet and winced. Glancing across at the boy he snapped, “No, no. Brush in one direction only, towards the toes. You got it now?”

Calson squinted at the boot and held it up then smiled. “Think so…”

“Good, when you’ve done that there’s…”

Before he could finish there was a mighty bang and the door crashed open. Three huge men stood in the doorway. Calson jumped with fear and leapt to his feet. Jeroth stared at them in disbelief.

“There he is, the little runt!” one of the men growled. Calson looked terrified.

“You shouldn’t steal from your betters boy!” another snarled as they pounded into the room, their huge feet making the walls shake.

Calson ran behind Jeroth and gibbered “I didn’t do nothing like. Wasn’t me.”

“Don’t lie you little wretch!” the second man said. They were all hugely powerful men and they ignored Jeroth as they advanced on the cowering, frightened boy.

Jeroth stood, his anger raised more by them ignoring him than their unwanted presence. “What do you want?”

The men stopped for a moment, looked at each other and then laughed.

“Ohh, ho. Silly old fool” the first man said sneering. “Don’t be a stupid old man, just get out the way.”

Jeroth stared at them. There was a time when he could have put all three of these men down in seconds, in a fair or unfair fight. He felt his anger rise again. Calson stood behind him, clearly terrified.

“Just go and leave us, you have no right to be here!” Jeroth shouted, his voice cracking. He brought his walking stick up and caught the middle man in the crotch with it. The man yelped and his eyes crossed as he sagged to his knees.

“Right, that’s it!” the first man snarled and drew a dagger. Before Jeroth could react the man plunged it into his chest. He grinned as the blade went through Jeroth’s jerkin.

“Gave you your chance old fool!” he hissed. Jeroth glared at him as he started to fall forwards, his hand fumbling weakly for the handle of the blade.

As the thug went to pull the knife free Jeroth’s face lit up with a blinding glow, the rays spreading rapidly down his body.

“Gods Theub, never seen your blade do THAT before!” the first thug said blinking in shock. Jeroth collapsed on the floor, his whole body shining brightly as the men looked down.

“Oh well, stranger things…and all that” Theub said and turned back to Calson. “Now look what mischief you’ve caused. You’ll pay dearly for this!”

The man on his knees struggled upright, drawing in breath in big gasps. Jeroth’s body continued to shine. “Weird” the man said shaking his head. “Get the brat outside.”

Calson squealed as Theub grabbed him by the ear and pulled him upright. As the man turned to the door a heavy hand descended on his shoulder. He turned to find a stranger glaring at him. Bearded, over six feet tall and heavily built. Theub’s dagger was sticking out from his chest.

The man looked down at the knife and with his other hand pulled it free. “Tsk, tsk” he said tossing the blade away. “We won’t be needing that now.” Before Theub could react the man punched him in the face. He flew back across the room. Calson stared in confusion at the newcomer. “Wait outside boy!” he barked. “This is not for your eyes!”

As Calson shot out the door and down the steps he heard the man laugh loudly.

“Right! Who wants to go first?” CRASH!

“No sorry, sorry…it was a mistake!” SMASH!”

“It's naughty to tell lies!!” THUD! CRASH!

“PLEASE…we’re sorry! Aahhh! No, no….!” SMASH!

“Just you two left now, tell you what I’ll fight with my hands behind my back!” THUD! CRASH! SPLINTER!

“Ha! Haa! Never said I wouldn’t use my head and feet though did I?” CRASH!

“Ugh! Stop please, we’re sorry!”

“Not as much as you’re going to be!!!” THUD! SPLINTER! CRASH!

Calson stared at the window as the noise continued. Suddenly the glass shattered and Theub came hurtling out and landed on his back in the street. He groaned and moved weakly, cuts and bruises on his face.

The bearded man came down the steps, holding his newly polished boots and whistling.

“Ahhh, that feels better!” he said pulling on his right boot and then kicking the prone figure as hard as he could. Theub groaned again. “Just what I needed,” he smiled happily, pulling on his other boot and then turning to Calson who flinched in fear.

“It’s alright boy, it’s me” he said. He held out his hands and Calson moved towards him. Jeroth quickly took him under the armpits, swung him up in the air laughing before putting him down again.

Calson stammered, “But what, what happened to you?” he asked, totally confused.

“You appear to be an ‘innocent’ as hard as that is to believe,” Jeroth replied, winking. He reached down and felt into the groaning man’s pockets, grunting with satisfaction as he found a thick leather purse. He opened it and emptied gold coins into his palm. “Time for a steak, a fine wine and clothes that fit. Maybe even to ride a horse again.” Calson stared on in amazement.

Jeroth kicked Theub again and walked off. He turned to Calson. “Well, come on lad, you saved me. You get to come too!” Calson fell in step behind him.

Jeroth began singing his favourite song. It was a song about a blackbird and a milkmaid. Life was good again. Now the Emerald Queen’s spell had been reversed.

Krav Maga in Children's Magical Fantasy Novel

I have written a children's book called The Catastrophe of the Emerald Queen which is magical fantasy for readers aged 10+.

The novel has major anti-bullying themes and I'm currently working on the sequel called The Sunder of the Octagon. 

With the permission of Expert 3 Krav Maga Global instructor Jacek Walczak I've based one character's physical appearance on him (simple reason, Jacek looks scary). I did the Bus't Up seminar with Jacek last year.

The guy in the novel is called Alaskadie, an elite warrior of a hidden order called the Octagon Sentinels. In this scene he's being threatened by a baddy while minding his own business in a tavern. Reason he looks bored is he knows that the other man (and the 4 other guys just off page that are with him) are absolutely no threat and he can take them all down without effort.

Once the book is out, Jacek gets a free, signed copy.