The Yellow Ravens

"Before the Guild, men were barbarians. Warring clans that pillaged, and expanded from the suffering of others. We showed them an honorable way, a kinder way, through trade. Our Guild gave them the gift of civilization. Without us, they would perish."

The Grand Guild by Arland Breeston

The Secret

Perched atop the high outer wall, he gazed intently at the outskirts of Breeston sprawled below. The moon hung in the sky, casting a soft glow over the countless rows of dwellings that extended far beyond the city limits.

As he stood there, the fog crept in like a damp blanket, enveloping the outer ward. His presence wasn't just a fleeting decision made on a whim; it was guided by a distant recollection that tugged at his thoughts, its memory almost slipping through the many years that haved passed.

"You're losing your wits," he mumbles.

Traveling from the dry deserts of Karn had been a journey that spanned weeks, beginning with a voyage on a cog across the channel and later transitioning to bumpy merchant wagons along the worn paths after the vessel made port.

His mind remained fixed on his destination, driving him forward despite the weariness that weighed heavily upon him as he navigated the treacherous swamplands of Levonshire along the way west.

Progressing further, he found himself relying on rafts provided by illicit poachers, eventually arriving at the clandestine village of Coates. Nestled away from the prying eyes of the Triad in the swamp, Coates served as a refuge favored by outlaws and hired swords.

Time had altered the traditions he once knew in the western lands. News reached him about the Guild's strict control over the city gates, obstructing his journey into Breeston. Desperation led him to a dubious smuggler who flashed a guild pin while in Coates, guaranteeing safe passage past the constables who had sealed off the gates from the harbor.

Endless days crept by while he languished on the smuggler's vessel, navigating sluggish bogs and winding streams until they finally emerged onto the expanse of the White River.

His patience wore thin as he was relegated to a mere laborer, perched upon bales of tortoise leaf and bundles of pelts and skins the smuggler bartered for coins at Ankirk, a isolated river town located just a day's journey east of Breeston.

Despite his protests falling on deaf ears, the smuggler remained resolute in his pursuit of silver to exchange for goods once they reached Breeston.

After the trade, the man revealed himself as a fisherman from Breeston. From that moment on, they spent endless hours navigating rivers and scouring the banks to stock the vessel with fish. Forced into grueling physical work, he tugged at heavy nets while clad in tattered clothing, following the smuggler's advice to adopt the appearance of a poor rube.

The experience was degrading; assisting the unsavory smuggler. To make matters worse, the incessant chatter of the fisherman was an annoyance. He was nosey and he liked to remind me of his name.

Tolland it was, and he had pestered on this the whole time they were on his boat, and no matter how short or rigid he was with the man, he would wait and pester further, calling out to him. Hey there, and it was fellah this and fellah that, until from exasperation, he had given Tolland a name. Vincent, and then it was Vincent this and Vincent that.

Vincent sounded good enough. It was a good name for a foreigner, not that his kind was liked here in the lands of Abingdon. His appearance to Westerners like Tolland was of annoyance. In their mutters, he was a Panhead, a derogatory word for a man from the eastern lands, so for now, this name- Vincent will do just fine until he reaches his destination.

The chilling wind picked up, pulling him back from his thougts as the dense fog crept towards the outer wards of the city. "Breeston," he murmured with disdain. The Triad city held no appeal for him. Instead of monarchs or nobles, it was governed by a powerful Guild known as the Grand Guild, a title that he found far from deserving. In his eyes, the rulers were nothing but a inbred crew of overlords, unlike the Grimm, who once presided over these lands in his youth.

The lands of the Grimm, and in their glory, they held lands as far south as Hayston, where thick woods and beautiful gardens grew between fields of wildflowers that appeared like a sea when the wind blew within it.

But those gardens were gone, replaced by crops grown for profit. Old memories and bitter ones as he sighed. "It is all gone." he whispered, and so was the Grimm if you believed the talk of the wretches that write the histories.

"A dreadful place to build a city," he muttered as his gaze spanned the outer wards. The land was useless for survival. Only rocks thrived with thick grasses bristling amongst them. The land had few trees, and those were gnarled and provided no usefulness. Why the Minoans decided to give them favor was beyond him.

He could feel the wind pick up. The brisk air interrupted his sour mood as he scowled. "Time to continue," he complained. His grunts were a scoff to compel him as he carefully descended from the top of the wall to the dirt street below, concealing his face within a black linen mask that only revealed his eyes between the cloak over his head. He wasn't in the mood for a suspicious constable to ask him any questions.

The fog sank into the pathways between the many daub and wattle dwellings as he peered about. His eyes scanned the doors in large swathes. He sought a white circle on a door, an herbalist it marked, and most needed such symbols as they lacked the skill for reading. The skill could be lucrative in a city such as this, a rarity as ailments are often rampant in such filth.

His steps were light. Amidst the hushed night, he picked up on a heated argument seeping through the walls of one hovel while in another, a baby's cries pierced the air, intermingled with its mother's soothing whispers.

The distant murmur of revelers spilled out from a nearby tavern, defying the city's curfew that were enforced inside the walls. It was said that the constables turned a blind eye to the outer wards, a rumor that now rang true as he surveyed the labyrinth of alleys branching out before him.

Approaching the center of the ward, known as Butcher's Wail for its skilled tradesmen, he entered the bustling square where vendors hawked their goods to the townsfolk. The air was heavy with the scent of decay emanating from the wagons stationed beside the sturdy stone structures enclosing the plaza, each wagon laden with lifeless animal carcasses.

Amongst scattered bodies resting on the ground, seeking refuge from the wind, he navigated through with a look of disdain upon them. His eyes narrowed in revulsion at the sight before him, momentarily distracting him from his quest until he almost overlooked the mark he was seeking.

It was a stone structure, a tradesman's house looking over the hovels that lined the many dirt paths. His eyes noticed a faint glow from the gap under the front door. The lone window was shuttered and fastened from within. He stepped close to the door's knocker, gently striking the brass handle against the plate.

"Get out and come back tomorrow!" A man's voice replied in anger as he knocked again, inquiring. "I need the healer?" he beckoned, raising his voice. The angry voice that growled back was the one he was seeking as he held a slight smile.

"You have trouble listening, vagrant? I told you to get lost, or I'm going to cut you," the voice behind the door shouted.

He grinned, knocking again to aggravate the man further until a few curses followed. The slide lock clicked from within while the man's voice grumbled out worse obscenities. The door opened with an annoyed jerk to reveal a man in his forties, his hair and whiskers full of black and grey hairs with brown sullen eyes.

The man looked up in annoyance, thinking him a beggar, but after he removed his hood to uncover his face, he softened his tone.

The healer was stunned, his eyes wide in disbelief, and the obscenities turned to a sharp stutter.

"Eivar?" he muttered. His real name as the older man found a bewildered smile.

"Can you let an old friend in, Lucius?" he asked the healer.

"I can't believe my eyes!" Lucius remarks, pulling him inside, followed by an embrace as he directs him to sit in a nearby chair.

"How long has it been, Eivar?"

"Nine years," he answered, but Lucius looked to have aged twenty. His tan skin had turned wrinkled, and he looked haggard beneath the filthy and threadbare garments he wore.

Lucius, his face still etched with unease from the disturbance, hurried over to a nearby cupboard. He carefully poured a modest amount of weak ale into a tin cup that was missing its handle. With a touch of embarrassment, he presented an apple alongside the meager offering. "I hope you'll pardon what little I have. These days, most of us make do with meals from taverns or pot shops. The city's prosperity has waned, and the Guild has turned its back on the outer wards," he explained ruefully.

Eivar's gaze wandered across the cluttered shelves adorned with an array of glass bottles and handcrafted boxes containing a jumble of herbs haphazardly stacked without any discernible order. Memories flooded back of Lucius in his youth – once a daring and astute young man, gifted in the ways of roots and plants.

He bit into the tart apple as Lucius was inquiring about his journey. It was a suspicious inquiry, and he found it peculiar as the man seemed unsettled. Maybe his time away from Karn had made Lucius skeptical. Eivar hadn't seen the man since the order placed him here in Breeston to send parchments back west. It wasn't a favored assignment. Some would consider it a punishment for a man of his talents, but the priesthood lacked Breeston men, so here Lucius was.

The priesthood was considered a cult in most distant lands. It had a sorted history in this city. Eivar knew the tales and far more than what was rumored among the commoners. The citadel provided male orphans a home, courage, and education for a sacrifice. Those orphans were made eunuchs, and giving such a cherished thing to a goddess was seen as madness by most.

The priesthood was more than a cult. It was an army, and the order took all orphans no matter the soil they were born in and made proficient soldiers of them, and the brighter pupils became gifted in herbs, as Lucius had. And through her divine grace, a few even possessed the ability to tap into the Mother's Light. A sorcery ignorant to the people here in Abingdon.

"Has Magnus sent you?" he asked in a probing way. The question caught him a bit off guard as he was deep in thought.

He pondered, still sensing the alarm from his old pupil, so Eivar nodded, but it was a lie. The man need not know his business.

"Yes, but not to pry into your affairs, dear Lucius. My task is to find my nephew. In the current situation, the order needs all swords. I am sure you have been alerted to the perils back east?"

"News from home travels slowly, and what I get is useless to my task here, but regarding Mero," Lucius grunted as he peered a bit at him. "I haven't seen him in years. The money isn't flowing anymore for him to venture here, only to the Guild's coffers."

Eivar wasn't interested in the city's affairs. He despised the Guild and thought their heads were better used on the end of a pike than governing a city. He insisted that Lucius have faith. Suggesting that Magnus will need him back in Karn in a few months. They were preparing for a campaign, and a healer like him would be essential. It was a fib, but he saw no harm in telling it.

Lucius listened, huffing in a sulking manner, ignoring his words. "This Guild has seen fit to ruin this city further, and I hear the commoners grumble that brigands are being recruited to end them."

"Yes, the smuggler who brought me here mentioned this. What did he call them? Ah, The Yellow Ravens." Eivar shrugged in ignorance as Lucius spun a tale of thieves robbing wagons and poaching boats on the rivers recently.

"They are even in the city, I heard," he added in grumbles, his mood seething toward the Guild as he rose from his chair to the window, pushing the shutters outward and looking around as Eivar sipped the bitter ale.

"Perhaps they will change things. It takes the spilling of blood to see reason, sometimes." Lucius remarked as Eivar listened, “Nothing ever changes with a mob of brigands. They are only loyal to gold.

Your place will always be in Karn, Lucius. No need to feign interest for changes here." he reminds his old friend, seeing he has become cloudy on his purpose here.

"How long are you staying for, Eivar?" Lucius interrupts him to change the subject. His question was direct, curt to Eivar as he glanced back in a puzzling look.

"I don't mean to pry. Forgive me, Eivar. I forget my manners," Lucius says, his smile returning as he gazes toward the window.

"I do have an extra cot upstairs if you need it, but you need to stay indoors and keep out of sight from the tossers. They are looking down on the Nuhrish worse than usual."

"Maybe a few days. I need a bit of rest." it was another lie.

Eivar declined the hospitality offered. "I have a room in a tenement in the Horn. Do you happen to have any idea which town Mero frequents, which are paying well for his efforts?" Eivar asked, changing the subject while Lucius paced about. The man seemed bothered at the moment.

"Lonoke is doing well these days," he complained. "If I wasn't put out to pasture here, that is where I would set up shop. I don't make much here these days. Not ever since this healer nearby with extraordinary talent appeared? How can I compete?"

Eivar had no answer to console him. His mind was on Mero, and it was for other reasons, but Lucius didn't need to know anything about that.

When he found his nephew, he had to finish his errand. The errand was a strange one to explain. They had to seek a grave. That grave had a body there that Eivar buried long ago, before the priesthood in Karn,even before the city of Breeston had a wall built. So long ago that the town the grave belonged to had been abandoned, and not a foot had walked in it in a long time.

Eivar had a secret. An old secret, and not even his nephew knew it existed, even though he was a big part of it. It compelled him to come west, telling no one from Karn of his errand. Not even his sworn men, whom he hated to leave in such a cowardly way.

He was suspicious that it possibly had been discovered. His mind could swear on this. This dark secret and it was time to act before it was unburied. The grave, the bones, and the thing that lay with it had to be moved. If it became known to certain people, what followed would evoke an evil consequence. He was sure of it, and he had made a promise to always protect it.

"You should stay with me. I could book your passage, old master. No reason to linger here," Lucius mentions, interrupting his thoughts. "There are cogs all the time heading north. It's easier than wagons. Please let me help. With me having a pin, it will save you much silver for the bloody tolls." he then suggests with a jape. "Maybe. I can come along."

Eivar glanced at him, smiling a bit. He declines his help, repeating his lie that he will stay for a few days, promising to say farewell before embarking. The decline hurt Lucius as he sighed in a complaint, but Eivar had no time to worry about bitter feelings.

He knew what he needed to do. Go back to the Horn and barter with Tolland once more. He dreaded that, but his purse was becoming light from this journey. He needed the despicable smuggler for a few days longer, and no matter how much the poacher protested, he had to take him up the Nyber River.

Lucius felt slighted by his refusal, but Eivar thanked him for what little aid he offered, and they chatted for a moment as the man paced a bit between words.

"How do you look so youthful, old master?" Lucius mentions, looking at him long then shaking his head. “The mother has blessed you far more than me."

His student had looked the part of a disheveled healer. This assignment had placed a melancholy on his friend as he glanced at him. Lucius had been away from the priesthood for so long, forgotten, that Eivar knew he lacked interest in the order now. He had been selling ointments and tonics for silver, far away from the order's disciplines, and he had lost faith.

The chat lacked any warmth. Most of it was questions from Lucius, and it was a discomfort. He stayed quiet, listening and letting his old friend ramble on for several minutes, then Eivar excused himself politely.

He didn't want to intrude on Lucius, but if it helped find Mero quicker, it would be foolish not to ask. He had no bitterness toward him. Sadly, he was a reminder of what he was leaving. Not only did Lucius grow cold of Karn, but Eivar did also. He had run his course with the priests, even the ones he loved, and it was time for him to disappear. His time in this skin was too long.

His thoughts went back to the grave while he bid Lucius farewell. The door closed behind him as the lock slid back into place. His mind was relieved that the audience was over. Eivar shifted his focus, walking briskly through the square and past several vagrants who slumbered.

He had to find Mero and tell him what urgency had befallen him. They lived amongst the mongrels long enough. It was time that they abandoned this life and created a new one, a life far away from wretched cities and misguided men. He knew that too much time had passed living amongst the priests, but he had to find the grave and honor the secret first.

"Maybe I am mad?" he whispered as he looked about while the fog began to lift from the streets. A tune hummed from his lips, and dawn was only hours away as he walked rapidly to get a moment of sleep before the sun rose.

At sunrise, he would report to the docks with the lowlife Tolland or his pin if the man protested too heavily and continue his journey north. He even felt a smile creep upon his face. He glanced back at Lucius's home feeling excited, only discovering something hanging from the shutters of his window. A bright fabric, and seeing it, he knew it could only be a signal, but to whom he wondered.

A sound disturbed his moment of optimism.

A singing sound, a chilling sound, and the sounds had echoes, echoes he knew well as he tried to twist and move to defend himself.

It was an ambush, and the sounds of crossbows sang. Eivar felt a searing pain in his right thigh and another in the back of his left arm. His armor hidden underneath had absorbed a few bolts but the blow hit hard.

Eivar fell fast from the force of them, and his mind fell into a panic. His ears heard boots running toward him as he looked about from the dirt path. The still bodies lying around the squares were no longer still; they stood, shedding their cloaks with blades drawn.

He rose fast with a blade in each hand, slashing at the mob of bodies surrounding him. Dread gripped him. He knew the numbers were too much for him. Eivar cursed aloud at the treachery that befell him, but "Why?" was the question entering his mind as he fought for his life.

Eivar clutched his blades tight and slashed, parrying a knife stabbing toward him, then like a viper, he threw a knife into a man's throat, and quickly hacked at another. His stabbing sword then bit deep into another's neck. "To die like a dog in this place," he growled in a curse.

He could feel tears welling in his eyes while armed men surrounded him with yellow sashes covering their mouths like thieves. He began screaming wildly, fiercely cutting the face behind one, and in the blink of an eye, his dagger stabbed into the neck of another.

"Cowards, the lot of you!" he yells in anger.

His wounds were mounting as they climbed over the corpses he made, and they were desperate to make one out of him. He was bleeding out, but still, he fought.

"I must live, damn it. I must live," repeating in vain, but Eivar felt white heat in his throat as a bolt from a crossbow struck him, the force dropping him. His limbs were exhausted, and his life seeped into darkness while he was looking upward at the moon overhead.

His eyes closed as he heard footsteps and many voices circling above. It was one voice he heard amongst the others. It was Lucius, and he was apologizing in an anguished tone.

"Sorry, but this was unfortunate timing for you to visit me. I can't have you here to decipher my efforts in this city. Couldn't you have stayed for one night? Why must you make me do such a miserable thing?"

"I couldn't have you linger for days here. You would have noticed my handiwork, and I have invested too much to risk an inquiry."

"This betrayal breaks my heart, but the pursuit of vengeance for the priesthood serves nothing for me as I grow old and poor."

"They have taken my man hood, but not my passion. I have desires to be wealthy and free. The Yellow Ravens have me now."

Eivar wept, he couldn’t guard his secret.

1

  The beauty of trade was infectious, a flower, but the new flower had plenty of thorns as well. In the old days, we traded good for good, bickering over what wheat was worth in salt, potatoes, or ale. 

  The Minoans changed all of that. They offered a peculiar metal for our goods. The shiny metal created a fever among us; they called it gold and silver, but we called it power. 

  Our goods shipped north as the shiny metal piled in our vaults. When our neighbors saw the new spoils, the fever infected them. They desired the shiny metal like a drunkard desired ale. It was in the Guild's control. And we became the masters of them without having to lift a sword.

  The Grand Guild by Arland Breeston

The Arrival

   The booming voice from Bitters outside the coach made Edmund pull his nose out of his book. His brother, Harwin, was looking through the narrow slit of the door to see what was happening. It sounded like a crude argument, but it was hard to know when it came to Bitters

   "What is it, brother?" Edmund nervously asked. They had been delayed by a patrol looking for brigands robbing wagons along the Triad Road. "It's obvious that we are not criminals," he replies as Harwin continues to peer outside. "Surely they see the Hayston sigil on our coach."

   "Quiet." his brother Harwin barked back. He became aggravated as the profanity from Bitter's escalated.

   Peering through the slender opening on his side, all he could discern was a rugged landscape dominated by imposing rocks and dense grass. The carriage, designed more for luxury and safety than sightseeing, shielded him from the unfolding chaos outside.

"  They're persistent in their demands for us to disembark, Edmund, his brother angrily said."It is disrespectful to make such demands of a noble coach, brother. Something is amiss. Where is my steel, Edmund?" 

   "Are you serious?" Edmund gasped out. "These are Breeston soldiers! How could we explain our actions if we traded steel with them?"

   His brother's voice spat curses, his tone laced with disdain. "This is all wrong," he muttered under his breath once more. Meanwhile, their captain, Bitters, remained entangled in a fierce argument with the group that detained them. Despite the tense situation, his brother attempted to reassure him that they held the numerical advantage over the wretched lot. However, the words felt hollow and implausible as they left his lips.

   Edmund was sure Bitters would handle this. Their coach had two crossbowmen on the rear seat, with another in the upper nest. Shaking his head at the notion, he was reaching to open his book again. Then he heard more shouting from outside. "What now?" he complained.

   "There are four men on horses headed this way," Harwin replied.

   "Are they bandits?" Edmund facetiously asked.

   His older brother shrugged as orders from Bitters began as he shouted to the patrol that delayed them. "You two in the back, get off of there and form a line. Not you, dammit, you stay in that blasted nest. They get in range; you let them have it!" the loud bark seemed to echo in the coach.

   Edmund inquired for more information, but Harwin grew coarse with him. His older brother always grew short with him when he asked questions.

   "Shut up; I can't see much either. I can only hear Bitter's mouth. He's ordering Blaine and Tim to have their crossbows cocked and ready."

   Bitter's continued to bark, demanding the patrol sergeant fulfill his duties and protect them. Edmund could hear a rough voice replying, swearing to do so and he felt a moment of ease until the sound of hooves startled him, and he could feel the rumble as they aproached.

An odd thudding noise followed. A sound he couldn't describe, putting a sense of dread in him. Harwin gasped out. "Grab your bow, brother. The two riders just murdered Tim and Blaine — they are dead!"

   "The ones behind us?" Edmund asked, startled.

   "No, you fool, the militiamen are imposters! We are in a dire situation."

   Ffff-Tttt, the twang of a crossbow sang. "I think Walter got one!" his brother shouted as the sounds of combat froze him.

   Another crashing sound came from the top of the coach. Edmund was peering through his slit again, and a mortified shock gripped him as the bottom of Walter's boots passed his view while his body crashed onto a jutting stone. His heart began beating as heavy as a smith's hammer. Steel clashed as insults between Bitters and the imposters echoed. 

   Harwin had the door near unlatched, his Kirschner sword drawn and ready to pounce. Then the wagon sped off in a rush as Harwin steadied himself in the doorway while Edmund peered out his narrow slit in confusion.

   "Close the door, brother; you can't jump out now and bust an ankle," he remarked to Harwin as he scowled back at him in annoyance, cursing aloud that the wagon could never outrun mounted riders.

   Edmund watched as his brother attempted to see what little the view of the slit offered.

   "Bitters is back there fighting the other two, but thank the gods!" Harwin's annoyance turns to jubilance.

   "What is it?" Edmund became excited, desperately hoping for some good news. 

   "The other four passed Bitters and are heading for us, so he has a chance now." His brother was aching to engage the bandits as he felt heavy dread. Edmund wished he had the same courage, but he wasn't the swordsman his brother was, not even by half. Confidence with his bow, he didn't lack. He could pick off the pursuers if he was in the coach's nest.

   The thundering hooves of the horses echoed past them, their powerful strides shaking the ground beneath their feet. Shouts and foul words filled the air, growing louder as they approached the front of the wagon. The clash of metal against metal pierced through the chaos, sending a shiver down his spine.

In the midst of grunts and agonizing screams, a sense of fear crept over him as the carriage gradually came to a halt. A heavy thud reverberated through the carriage, signaling the grim fate of their driver.

  "We have to confront them now, don't we, brother?" Edmund was in knots. Harwin was as tough as they come. Unfortunately, his skill in the practice yard was minimal. His mind was restless, and he became nauseous; he felt he was about to die.

   Harwin's eyes sparkled with anticipation, his heart pounding with exhilaration. He playfully draped himself across Edmund's lap, a mischievous grin dancing on his lips as he met Edmund's fearful gaze. "Are you daft? Instead of facing certain doom, you find amusement in this?" Edmund grumbled, perturbed by Harwin's strange eagerness for a fight.

   "These rubes think we're fat old nobles soiling themselves in here. They will open this door with dirks drawn and drag us out to bleed us." Harwin laughs aloud. "When they see me fly out of here. We will have the numbers. You follow me out and shoot the first one you see."

   Harwin had his knees pulled to his chest, his feet up in a crouch while lying still as disbelief struck Edmund. Of all the times he had seen his brother batter his fellow militia, he picked a moment today to lose his senses. Edmund clutched his bow with his hands shaking, unconvinced that he would have a chance to draw an arrow before these brigands had them taken out and gutted brutally.

  Loud noises echoed as one approached. The door had a dull thud from the bandits' momentum as he grabbed the outer latch of the door. Then came a clicking sound, and it was about to be yanked open.

His brother's swift motion propelled his feet like a coiled serpent, striking the coach door with a resounding crack against the brigand's unsuspecting face. The impact reverberated through the air, hurling the brigand's weight into his accomplice behind him, causing them to crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs and dust.

   Harwin was fast upon them, burying his Kirschner into the belly of the one who ate the door. His mouth a bloody grimace as Harwin pulled the blade out of him, quickly slashing the second man across the face. The horror shocked Edmund as the man grabbed at the gaping wound, and a shroud of blood poured through his hands as he kicked and screamed in fear.

   Two others were mounted as Harwin ran at them like a charging bull. The one who slew the driver saw his brother. He reared his mount with his eyes fixed upon Edmund as he followed his brother out the coach's doorway. With the numbers evened, he turned cravenly to flee, trying to rear his horse in a quick motion to retreat. 

   Edmund did as his brother beckoned, finding buried courage and letting his arrow fly at the fleeing rider. His arrow sailed fast as he released the string of his yew bow, striking the rider in the neck. His hand clenched around the shaft sticking from the wound as blood began gushing, covering his wrist. Panic overcame his mount, and it kicked in fear, sending the bandit bouncing out his saddle, flying off his horse, and falling head over boots to the rocky ground.

   Edmund then notched another arrow, looking to aid his brother, discovering that Harwin had dragged the last man off his mount, hacking him like a log. The man was well past dead, but his brother didn't care and kept burying his blade.

Harwin was in a rage, and after a few more hacks, his eyes began darting in many directions, looking for something else to kill. His focus became fixed on Bitters, and in foolish haste, he raced in a mad sprint to aid him, forgetting about Edmund and the wagon.

  Their captain was trading steel with the two imposters, brigands as Edmund watched. Both were unmounted as the old captain had cut their horses out from under them. Bitter's was good in a melee, but so was the other, Edmund noticed. His foe had a mace, matching Bitters blow by blow.

The other was a rube who was more annoying than lethal. The captain could knock back the rube in one hack, giving him time to clash his blade against the mace. The loud hammering of banded ash wood and iron clanged while he turned his bow upon the group, scanning to see if he had a shot.

  Edmund grunted as the fighting was too close, and he did not want to miss and hit Bitters. His brother was closing fast, but it was still a great distance, and the men had the captain swarmed. His sword slashing, he rushed the leader, pushing him back on his heels and causing him to stumble away. Then, rearing on the other lesser brigand, he pounced.

His long sword was of forged steel, clashing against his coarse blade, breaking it into pieces. Bitters then buried his sword into the man's chest, sending the point of it bulging out the back of his leathers.

   The old captain pivoted as he pulled his blade free, raising his sword to catch the incoming mace while the brigand's leader regained his footing. His efforts to evade the weapon weren't fast enough, as the mace slipped past the captain's sword, smashing into the spaulder of his armor. The blow was heavy and sent Bitters to one knee.

   Edmund, in desperation, aimed his arrow. The brigand began to swing his mace downward at Bitter's head to finish him as Edmund unleashed the shaft in a rush, but his many hours of practice paid off as it struck the man in the chest, sticking in his leathers.

It’s force diverted the mace's swing short of its target, sending the brigand backward onto his backside. Climbing back to a knee, he rose and looked Edmund's way. The shaft was still stuck, not deep enough to kill, but getting shot at again wasn't the brigand's problem anymore. His brother was now behind the kneeling Bitters.

   The man snarled and backed away, but he didn't run. He advanced with his mace, slapping steel with Harwin. His brother stood a good head over him, matching his blows fast and heavy.

Edmund observed the figure before him, noting the Breestoner's unusual height. Despite his stature, his brother was much taller and there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, overwhelmed by the raw power that Edmund's elder brother possessed.

Harwin's attacks were relentless and precise, each strike pushing the brigand further back in a desperate retreat. The metallic tang of blood filled the air as Harwin's blade found its mark, leaving a crimson trail down the man's arm.

Gasping for breath, the brigand scanned his surroundings frantically, seeking an escape route that eluded him, noticing Bitters rose wearily with sword in hand, eager for another as Harwin closed in surrounding him. Fear gripped the brigand's expression, mirroring the unease that had gripped Edmund just moments before.

  "I yield," the frightened man yelled out.

  "You aren't yielding. You grip that mace because I'm about to cut you down." Harwin yelled back.

  Bitters interrupted shrewdly, demanding his surrender.

  "We can't — he killed our men. He has to pay." his brother bit back toward the captain.

  "He killed my men! Or don't you remember why we are here?" Bitters snapped back, telling the brigand to surrender while pointing the tip of his sword toward the hard earth. The brigand quickly abided, tossing aside his mace, like Bitters ordered, glancing at Harwin, who was wroth in anger and demanding justice for their comrades.

  The old captain ignored him, turning to Edmund and waving in a motion to bring the wagon as he moved the dead driver to the other side of the bench and began leading the wagon back as Harwin and Bitters were still at a stare-down.

  "You shouldn't include this bloodshed with my little problem," Harwin added, glaring at the captain.

  The captain yelled back. "Shut your mouth or I will put you back in shackles."

   His temper made him wince and then drop to his knees. The captain grumbled, cursing his wound, dropping his sword when he rose.

   "Get the damn bodies!" Bitters growled at Harwin as he groaned. "Don't look at me stupid like that. Those horses you see grazing over there," while pointing fiercely. "Get them and pile corpses on their backs."

   "What about him?" Harwin asked, pointing to the kneeling brigand.

   "Tie him up if it bothers you," Bitters growls.

   The brigand was snickering while Harwin circled behind him; his brother glared in ire at Bitters, then their prisoner. He raised his Kirschner from behind him while Bitters looked at him sternly. Harwin slashed, sending his blade downward and striking the back of the brigand's head with the flat end. It rang hard on his half-helm, removing it and sending him falling forward as his face planted straight down into the hard earth.

    "You big lummox! You better hope he gets up with his wits! Get those bodies picked up now. I'm your captain until I dismiss you in Breeston." Bitters said in a hoarse gruff. "You keep ruffling my feathers, and I'll see you're sent to the stockade and then to the salt mines."

   Bitters then reeled on Edmund as he approached driving the coach. "You! You tie that man he crowned to one of our horses. I want to keep my eye on him. I hope you can follow orders better than your idiot brother."

   A red scowl came over the captain. Glancing at Harwin, then back at him, he unloaded onto Edmund more curt commands.

  "Tie his wrists around that horse's neck and his ankles around his fat belly. If you need to throw one over his back to keep him from falling, so be it. I want it to look like that horse is wearing a tunic when we march through those gates. There are ropes and harnesses in the strongbox. Now get to it."

   He did what Bitters said without asking. He always did; the man always frightened him. 

   While searching, he noticed the brigand had two good dirks in well-crafted scabbards. One was a good foot and a half that Edmund admired. He then pulled off the leather boots of the brigand's leader, watching as he was lying still as Harwin left him, flat on his belly like a turtle. 

   Unbuckling the soft leather straps from the man's armor, Edmund's heart raced as he glanced up cautiously, wary of any sudden movement. The battle was chaotic, gasping for breath, his fingers trembled as he worked to release the bindings.

With a final tug, the leather fell away, and Edmund lifted the man by his shoulders. As the limp body slipped out and thudded onto the ground, there was no sound of protest from the fallen brigand. Nearby, the seasoned captain nursed his injured shoulder, deep in thought and seemingly unconcerned at the moment.

   Lastly, he removed the man's purse, which contained money. He felt the weight of it in his hand, wondering who this criminal had taken it from and if they still lived. 

   Harwin was tying the horse with Tim and Blaine's corpses to the back of the wagon. His brother strode rapidly, wearing a red scowl and grumbling. He was used to his brother's temper, sulking from the scolding from Bitters.

   He watched his brother a moment more, then grabbed the brigand by his arm, hoisting the limp body onto his shoulder, he carried the unconscious brigand like a grain sack as Bitters ordered.

   Edmund placed him on the horse closest to the driver, looking back at Bitters, who nodded in approval. His body draped on the draft horse's back like a cloak, arms dangling limply with his legs hugging the horse's side. The old captain was still pondering while echoing a chorus of grunts loudly as if he were next to him. 

   He found ropes in the strongbox and tied them as Bitters wanted, careful not to discomfort the animal. His brother had two more horses tied to the wagon and was loading the driver's corpse onto one of them. Edmund attempted to help Bitters, leading him slowly as the captain winced to the wagon, gingerly nudging him up to the driver's bench.

   "Thank you, Edmund, now sit with me." the captain requested. His voice seemed weaker as he held his shoulder, finding strength while glancing back at Harwin. 

   "Hey, dummy," he yelled at him as he was attempting to climb onto the wagon. "You ain't finished. Collect the stiffs of the other vagrants. I want them all.” he barked, sending his brother off in a huff while waving his hands in all directions, turning to glare back at them, shaking his head, only to turn around and obey like a scolded child.

   "Don't worry about helping Harwin. He needs to calm his feeble mind, so walking back there to collect the dead ones will do him good." the captain chuckled with a pained smile.

   "The men over there; I shot one," Edmund mutters with guilt as he looks toward where their attackers lay.

   "And you shot that one spread out over that horse's back. If you didn't do that, I would be on one of those mounts back there." Bitters put a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease his mind. "The gods are cruel to put you through this. Harwin's crime isn't yours to pay."

   "I have been with my brother my whole life. No matter how much he annoys or insults me. I will not abandon him," Edmund replied. "I will consider this an adventure. Write about it in my journals. It could be good for me."

   "This isn't one of those books you like to read, written by a rich lord or merchant's scribe, all pretty and nice," Bitters says. "Breeston is a pure hell of its own, even when my bare feet wandered the wards." the old captain spat while peering over at Harwin.

"I spent twelve good years grooming him. He was supposed to take my bloody job! I'm too old for this rubbish. Swinging steel and climbing horses. Riding with these wagons back and forth on the Triad Road." he spat as another rant of tavern behavior followed as they watched Harwin tote two corpses across his shoulder without a look of strain. The captain calmed, then looked seriously at Edmund.

   “This bollocks will take some tie to fix.”

   Edmund listened as Bitters' complaints went on, and before he realized it, he shed tears. He and Harwin were adopted. They were refugees from Nuhr, losing their father after dying to a thief's dirk in Hayston. The decision to accompany his brother seemed easier before they departed but after the long miles and this dark day. He knew this venture would be challenging.

    "I am sorry, lad," Bitters says, understanding how hard this was on him. "I am just heartbroken."

   "I know, sir, I know the circumstances." Edmund interrupted. "I know what I am leaving, and my father is saddened and ashamed. I hated leaving him — my uncle even more. I consider you my uncle even though you rarely have anything nice to say."

   Bitters snorted into a laugh, then looked over to Harwin while he led the last of the horses this way. "Did you see how he handled that brigand? He made that man look like a tosser. I don't know if I could have beat him." 

  Edmund comforted him by assuring him that his skills were still sharp but the captain laughed, then looked seriously at him while pointing to the men who tried to kill them. 

"These criminals are a gang, calling themselves the Yellow Ravens. I've read about these louts in your uncles' letters. This man we caught will get questioned, hopefully it will lead the militia into what this is all about."

  "What gang?" Harwin asked, not privy to their conversation as he approached. "Are there more of them?"

  Bitters paid him no mind as he informed them of robberies and other ghastly rumors that have been mentioned among the travelers. “That is why I want to show them this grizzly scene. Scare them when we ride to those gates with corpses."

  "Ha, that will be a funny sight," Harwin chuckled.

   "Shut up, Harwin." Bitters sniped at him as he barked at him to doublecheck the ropes before they made their way to Breeston. 

   "Listen, Edmund, those weapons from the men. Lock them in the strongbox. The militia won't claim it; you will need to sell them to a blacksmith." the captain adds as Harwin is far enough away.

   Edmund protested but Bitters knew that his older brother would need the money, claiming that the fool went through coin like a crap through a goose. Then his mood became serious as he glared back at Edmund.

  "When you get close to the gates. They will stop the wagon. The scene will look queer to them. Show them those papers your uncle gave you. They are uneducated brutes, too dumb to come to a sensible solution. You will have to make it for them."

   "Why are you telling me this, Bitters?" Edmund was getting worried.

   "I will pass out along the way. I am sure of it. My shoulder is busted, and we are two hours away." The captain admits while groaning in agony. "I'm telling you because your brother will bollocks this. They will take me away to some healer and detain you two."

   Edmund couldn't believe what he had heard. "We had no choice," he protested.

   "I know that, lad. They only see two Panheads, no offense. The nice linens you wear won't mean a squat to them. You go talking about being a Parsons, and they will laugh then arrest you," Bitters said, interrupting him. "I don't need your brother losing his temper over that. You pull out that document, and they will see the seal. I doubt they will be able to read the damn thing. You demand to see Arlo Withers. He is the captain of the constables. Waste no time with Captain Wintergarden of the militia. He's an arrogant twit."

   "Who is?" Harwin asked, interrupting them. "We are all set. Can we go now?"

   Bitters ignored him. "The fool on that horse will lie and say a bunch of outlandish things, trying to turn their prejudice of your skin against you. You stick to what I told you. That man will iron it all out, but they will hold you until you can have an audience with him," Bitters explained while looking seriously at Edmund. "You two, don't lose your wits. Don't listen to anything you hear, and keep your mouth shut! Especially you, Harwin!"

   "I saved your old hide back there." His brother boldly mentioned, breaking his train of thought. "You aren't going to die, are you?" Harwin japed again. "You can't die. You're a sour old coot, and the gods don't care for those sorts."

  "I hope I die," Bitters replied, "so I can wash my hands of you."

2

  At first glance, Breeston is a wretched place. The lands of coarse grass and jutting stone offer no bounties. It is where the East and Southern Rivers join into the Nyber, and that is its value. 

   The wide river is the waterway to the Minoan Kingdom, and our oath with them makes the wretched place worth more than any harbor or harvest lands in the entire Triad. We mill the grain, brew the ale, and ship the bounties north. Our coffers fill while the other cities envy our glory.

   The Grand Guild by Arland Breeston

A New Life

  Bitters blacked out before the wagon turned the long bend around a high jutting rock as their wagon approached Breeston. 

   The familiar sight of lush, green prairies dotted with bustling farms was now a distant memory. In its place stretched out a vast expanse of grasslands, interspersed with towering rocks that cast long shadows over the land. The vegetation here was sparse and stunted, consisting mainly of twisted trees and scrub bushes struggling to survive in the harsh environment. The landscape was dominated by shades of grey stone, broken only by sporadic patches of coarse growth that offered little in terms of sustenance.

  He had heard rumors of farmlands located north of the city, but as he gazed out at the expansive Nyber River snaking its way past the fortified walls, it seemed as though those fertile lands were a world away.

  Breeston stood tall at the heart of the Triad, embodying unwavering adherence to guild regulations. While many locals claimed allegiance to the Triad, few truly grasped its significance. This alliance united three distinct city-states: the somber Breeston itself, Hayston, their home made up of fertile stretches of farmland, and Lonoke, a port city by the ocean.

  Within the Triad's domain, access to waterways was a privilege reserved solely for those bearing a guild pin. Grazing livestock was strictly controlled, permitted only for those sanctioned by the Guilds. The city's atmosphere was oppressive, necessitating a militia of fifteen thousand soldiers to uphold the stringent laws.

   Harwin supported Bitters as he leaned heavily on his shoulder. As they paused, Harwin's gaze wandered to the towering walls that loomed before them. The walls stood tall, crafted from neatly stacked stones that reached a staggering eighty feet in height, encircled by a curtain wall half its size. Beyond the fortifications, the outskirts revealed a stark contrast.

  The dwellings outside the protective walls were meager and unimpressive. Ahead, the gates beckoned, leading to rows of humble daub and wattle huts interspersed with sporadic stone buildings housing tradesmen or alehouses. Bitters had recounted tales of these outer wards to Harwin, describing them as impoverished slums, a description that Harwin found to be painfully accurate.

  The road snaked away from the protective wards, flanked by a low barrier of weathered rock and mortar. Wooden watchtowers loomed ahead, manned by soldiers who gaped in disbelief at the scene of their approach as they swiftly hoisted a crimson flag to signal the gatehouse for aid.

  An air of unease settled over them as riders galloped forth from the gates. Among them along the ramparts, Harwin observed the fluttering blue banners bearing a pair of white falcons, the emblem of the Guild that governed. As the riders drew near, their reception was hostile; swords were unsheathed, commanding them to kneel and touch the ground.

   His brother became vocal, asking the sergeant to allow him to give them a parchment before he could voice his displeasure. The ignorant wretch relented, and was squinting his eyes as he looked long. It was obvious. He was illiterate.

   The sergeant swiftly dispatched a messenger to seek additional instructions as they remained on their knees. Amidst the tension, Harwin started to explain their status as noble wards, but Edmund silenced him, urgently requesting assistance for Bitters. Perplexed, the sergeant admitted he was unfamiliar with what a "Bitters" was. Harwin could only offer a cryptic response - Bitters was simply who he was.

   “Bartholomew Graham is his name,” his brother answered.

   The mention of that name sent the soldiers into a frenzy. The sergeant barked orders at a fellow soldier, who swiftly dismounted and raced off with their wagon, taking poor Bitters along. The speed was such that a body tied to the back came loose, thudding onto the cobbles. Ignoring the commotion behind him, the driver steered the wagon under the looming portcullis and disappeared from view.

   As they waited, Edmund persisted in his request to the sergeant. "We seek an audience with Arlo Withers, the captain of the constables," he reiterated.

   “You mean the captain of the militia,” Harwin corrects him.

   His brother stared at him like an owl. Telling him before they arrived several times to let him speak on their behalf. Bitters said the same thing, but he was delusional from that mace blow. Neither one of them wanted his opinion.

    A billowing cloud of dust heralded the rider's swift return. He dismounted with urgency, leaning in to exchange hushed words with the sergeant. Without delay, he mounted his steed once more and galloped off into the distance. The scene unfolded as more of a jape than usefulness.

   "Respond to my inquiries," the sergeant's voice cut through the air, breaking the focus on the departing rider.

   "Whom do you address?" Harwin interjected, seeking clarification.

   "Not you. This is for him," the sergeant gestured towards Edmund, which annoyed him further.

    "I am a soldier with six years under my belt. The man you think is in charge has never slept in barracks or did a patrol," he muttered silently.

    “Can you tell me the sigil of Hayston?” the sergeant asked his brother.

    “A thresh and a shock of wheat; the colors are gold and green,” was his reply, nothing unusual since it was displayed on the coach they arrived in.

    “What are the five provinces of Hayston?”

    “Greenbriar, Whitemeadows, Fincher, Barton Fork, and Two Willows.”   

   The sergeant made a face at them like one of them had broken wind, annoyed with his younger brother, who looked like a rolling dandy when answering him. Edmund had a pompous way that annoyed most.

   The sergeant's signalled curtly for them to walk ahead, ushering them towards the towering gates where Captain Faraway Wintergarden awaited. His bald head glistened under the sun, a stark contrast to his portly frame that overlapped his breeches. He was a distant relative of a prominent Guild family as Harwin had heard from Bitters, his stare was fixed at them with a behind a bushy mustache that swallowed his chin.

   His brown eyes held a mixture of authority and arrogance, believing his position as captain of the militia warranted reverence. He peered down imperiously at them, his demeanor sour as if they were mere commoners before him.

   Harwin's eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the sight of the militia before him. The soldiers stood in a ragtag formation, their mismatched armor telling a story of scarcity and hardship. Faraway stood out with his wares that gleamed faintly in sunlight with a shortsword hung at his side.

   The others, however, wore gambesons that bore the marks of countless repairs, a patchwork quilt of fabric that offered little protection. Their weapons were equally poor; crude dirks tucked into worn belts and iron-tipped spears on crooked staffs.

  “Let me peruse that parchment, lad,” Faraway declared, his gruff tone beckoned.

  Edmund handed it over to him, and it angered Harwin as everyone had a look at this parchment but him. 

  “My subordinate informs that you ask an audience with the captain of the constables?” Faraway said, rubbing his meek chin. "I am puzzled why? This is a Guild problem."

  “Our captain, Bartholomew Graham, suggested it. We are following his last orders before he lost consciousness.” Edmund responded, adding the tale f their skirmish in embellished words to Faraway in his lordly voice while the captain glanced at his men as two of them dragged the corpse that fell from the horse earlier as he pondered in thought.

   The sergeant that escorted them grunted, then whispered something to Faraway. The captain nodded with a frown and then informed them that the head counts from the last several days have been short while staring at the militia uniform on the corpse, shaking his head in frustration. He then barked orders orders at his sergeant to send patrols and look for carrion flying ahead ignoring them for a brief moment.

   "The ground is too rocky to dig holes. They dumped our missing brothers somewhere," he tells them, annoyed at the problem that Bitters had wanted them to see.

   “What shall we do with them, sir?” The sergeant asked, glaring up at both of them.

   “Confiscate their weapons and send them to the constables. Have them open the second gate, but watch them close in case they are lying and try to run,” Faraway directed, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. “Take that prisoner to be inquired. When he is alert, he will need to be questioned. Let Arlo Withers sort their issue out, better him than me.” 

   As they were escorted away from Faraway by the militia, they were led on foot through the towering curtain wall. Bitters had mentioned to him once that the expansive area between the two walls belonged solely to the militia. The space was filled with numerous barracks, stables, and bustling taverns, all strategically placed to prevent the soldiers from venturing into the city as a wide street cut through the middle of this military domain.

   Harwin couldn't help but express his admiration to his brother, calling it a "village of its own." Even normally stoic Edmund was visibly impressed, his gaze darting back and forth. As they glanced up at the imposing height of the walls surrounding them, it felt as though the massive structures were converging above them, creating a sense of confinement and grandeur simultaneously.

   Soon they were guided by the militia past the towering second portcullis, leading them into the heart of the formidable high wall. As they passed through, they were met by a cluster of constables stationed near the entrance. As pitiful as the militia appeared, these constables were far worse in appearance and wearing scowls that lacked any welcome. Taking charge of them now was a stern-faced sergeant named Sully Nickles, his eyes sizing them up with a hint of prejudice.

   He was the typical commoner to Harwin. A mop of black hair over tan or olive skin with a fondness for mustaches and sideburns. Sully had spared them the names of his men. The lot was scrawny under undyed patched jerkins and blue breeches. 

   Along with their escorts, the commoners gathered in bunched mobs to gawk at them. They were surrounded by a sea of black hair, wearing dry, faded wares of blue and black tunics.

   The crowd stirred with hushed conversations, their voices a mix of speculation and intrigue. Whispers of their encounter on the road was spreading while thier stares bore hardship intimately, their faces weathered by poverty deeper than the furrows of a Hayston fieldhand.

   In the midst of it all, Edmund stood bewildered, his clean garments a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings. His expression mirrored his disbelief as he muttered, "This city has been abandoned by the gods."

   The constables motioned them forward and had them circled as they marched down the cobbled street built for the wagons that brought in goods for the Guild.

   The street was well maintained, wide enough to run three wagons abreast, and wedged between a rows of tenements, merchant houses, and inns butting against one another with narrow alleys spaced out beyond his sight.

   Everything built was square, with thatched roofs on top of thick timber and mortar nesting on stacked stone. Heavy wooden doors and big iron latches, Harwin noticed, as he counted many constables stationed about to dispel the citizens from disrupting any incoming traffic.

   Commoners' gazes lingered on him, their eyes widening at the sight of them. The constables mirrored the same astonishment. Harwin was no stranger to the stares that followed him upon strangers. His brother loomed over most, surpassing them by half a foot in height, while Harwin himself stood a good hand taller than his sibling.

   Their striking looks of bright hair and pale skin drew countless curious glances their way. As they strolled along, a group of children dashed beside them until they reached the entrance of an ancient wall where other constables barred their path.

   A conversation they were not invited to was had. Then Sully motioned them to follow him as he led them through the archway entrance, veering left alongside it until they were pointed into a long two-story dwelling built along the face of the wall as other constables lingered nearby.

   Through a narrow hallway they entered, passing by many doors that led into cramped barracks with bunks inside, passing lingering men off duty, saying nothing to them as Sully led them up a flight of stairs to another foyer that opened into a set of larger apartments. 

   Quarters for the sergeants, he guessed, flanking a center hallway then ended where four small, butted iron cages sat mounted along the wall. 

   The sergeant pointed straight ahead as they passed a small ensemble of other squad sergeants sitting around a large oaken table, playing a dice game. They looked up and shared a laugh as if privy to a big secret between them.

   “Will he be here soon to speak to us?” Edmund asked with a worried look. "We request an audience with your captain."

   “He will speak to you when he arrives.”

   “Shall we wait here in his quarters?” his brother inquired.

   “You will wait in there,” Sully replied, pointing to a cage. “You will be held here until the captain is briefed on your incident.”

   “This is outrageous!” Edmund remarks, raising his voice.

   “Oh, Shut your gob, Edmund,” Harwin growled, fed up with his naiveness. “He is doing what he is told. Get in there, and wait for this damn captain you are aching to see.”

   An echoing clang reverberated through the dungeon as the heavy cage door clanged shut. Edmund's fists clenched at his sides, his gaze flickering between the other sergeants with a mix of defiance. As his brother's patience waned, he nonchalantly settled onto the creaking bunk where Harwin stood, the worn wood groaning under their weight.

   “Bitters told us this, but I never imagined in a cell,” Edmund whispered in bitterness.

   "You were a fool to believe otherwise." Harwin scoffs.   

   “The parchment that Argyle gave me will acquit us,” Edmund assures him.

   “You mean that thing you have been waving to every fool since we arrived?” Harwin quipped. “Yeah, it has brought us far, brother, right into an iron cell. What will acquit us is Bitters awakening and demanding they release us.” The item was as useless as wiping paper to him.

   Edmund pulled out the parchment and handed it to him. “My pardons,” he says in spite.

   Harwin opened the parchment and studied it. The big seal of Hayston was bold in the upper right corner. He could see it was written by Argyle, not one of his scribes whose letters were more detailed.

Dear Masters,

I present to you my two wards. They had the misfortune of being orphaned at a young age, so I took it upon myself to raise them in my household. They are from the lands of Nuhr, and their father gave his life to protect mine in a heinous attempt upon me.

The lads have been educated nobly. They are humble and eager to gain a position within your grand city. Edmund is a gifted young man, proficient in numbers and balancing accounts. He has been engaged in many of our counting houses, holding many positions, and has excelled in his duties.

Harwin, the oldest, is a good soldier.

Please honor me with any aid you can offer. You will not be disappointed.

Your eternal servant,

Argyle Parsons

First Lord of Hayston

   “What a load of rubbish!” Harwin spat.

   “It is a huge favor,” Edmund protests in defense.

   “Well, considering the praise he heaped upon you. ‘Harwin is a good soldier.’” He looked up in disgust. “Is that the best he could do? Bitters could have scratched out a better recommendation! He might as well have told me to bugger off.”

   They stood in anger at one another until their tempers ended when Sully returned pushing a small cart bearing two bowls on its top. An odor permeated, reminding Harwin of his hunger. 

   The bowl contained a soup of fish bits with a lone carrot in a broth slightly darker than water. A heel of barley bread came with it. It was chewy, so he let it sit in the broth to soften it.

   “Eating this is worse than a night in the stocks. This swill is a sad tragedy,” Harwin swore as he drank the soup.

   Edmund was sipping it and bemoaning. He gagged slightly and stopped. “Sully, any word from the captain?” he asked nicely.

   Sully said nothing and stood frozen until both brothers finished their food. The dour look never left his face as he took the empty bowls from them and put them back on his cart to leave them.

   “Well, this is going well,” Edmund sighed, shaking his head. “You think he is coming? It is late. The sun has gone down.”

   “They never come this late,” Harwin answered while tossing Edmund a threadbare blanket. “The bunk is mine. You can have your choice of which piece of floor you want.”

   His brother returned a bitter glare, then walked away, circling their small cell while peering around to decide where to bunk. He took the corner far away from the chamberpot and lay down. 

   Harwin could hear his measured breaths, short torments to annoy him as he lay down on the small cot. The lack of length was uncomfortable, but soon, the stress of the wretched day weighed heavy, and he drifted asleep, arising to a different sergeant, his body stiff from being curled up on the cot.

   His yawning awoke Edmund, who grumbled in discomfort, then quickly stood from the floor when noticing a different face gazing at them. “What is your name, sir?” his brother anxiously asked.

   The constable’s reply was silence while he held the handle on his cart with a few bowls, handing one to each of them a porridge of wheat and a piece of black bacon. It looked and tasted far better than the stew while Harwin engulfed it as his brother kept pestering the sergeant.

   “Your name again, sir?”   

   “He will not answer you, finish your wretched food, so he will bring me a bowl,” a different voice barked beside them.

   Harwin glanced at the cell next to theirs, remembering it was empty last night. Looking harder at the stranger, it was the brigand they brought with them. The one he had crowned yesterday.

   “Hey, brother.” He tapped Edmund as he handed his empty bowl to the sergeant. Edmund looked over and paled.

   The brigand was slurping his porridge fast. His wounds were bandaged, and he was wearing a blue tunic that was lent to him. His feet were manacled with a narrow chain between them.

   “What you gawking at, pup? You think you were the only one seeing the captain?” the man snarled back to Edmund.

   “What is your name?” Harwin asked him as Edmund protested, remarking that this lout will be soon hanged.

   Licking his lips, the brigand smiled at Edmund. “You think you are my better, eh, youngsters? Privileged little pale skins, who think little of poor men.” The man was having fun goading his brother, his face a full grin between a thick beard as he mocked.

   “You are scum,” Edmund spat back. “You helped murder four men and nearly killed our captain. You are a robber and a coward, too.” His brother scolded with folded arms, standing straight to look down on the man.

   “I am no robber; I wasn’t interested in your gold,” the brigand answered coldly, picking at his teeth. “My men would have looted your corpse, that I admit. My wants are different.”

   “You wanted to kill us, display us so the Guild would be terrified,” Harwin said in a mocking way. “You must have licked your lips when you saw that seal on the side of our coach.”

   “This big one here understands. You fight well for a panhead. This one cower behind a bow.” A cruel smile flashed across his face as he kept goading his brother. “I go by Gaston since you asked.”

   Harwin shrugged, clearing his throat. “Our captain mentioned your lot, the Yellow Ravens. Sounds like a fitting name for a pack of common thugs.”

   Gaston grunted, then chuckled, feigning ignorance.

   “Harwin, ignore him. His insults is all he has left until his execution,” his brother interrupted.

   “This is your little brother, Harwin? If I can call you that?”

   “I do not care what you call me,” Harwin replies staring off toward the captains quarters, frowning as the door remained closed.

   “Never mind his banter, he is just trying to trick us into revealing something,” his brother smugly replied. Probably a good liar, fooling Wintergarden with deceit in some way.”

   “There is nothing to reveal, you idiot!” Harwin retorts, raising his voice in anger at Edmund. “He attacked us. Turned the coward and chose to be arrested. We have a parchment that legitimizes us. He has a ragged tunic from the militia. We have a captain that will back up that parchment. He has nothing but corpses for witnesses.”

   Gaston laughs aloud at his fiery remark, mocking them both, while he rubs his fingers through his unkempt beard. “I have heard these same accusations, this plague, your captain told you? Probably remarked that the Yellow Ravens are a bunch of thieves, rapists, and murderers. I ignore the gossip of weak men.” He breathes deeply and exhales, pointing a crooked finger at them.

   “The Yellow Ravens seek justice. The real criminals are the Guild itself and you serve them so that includes you as well. They steal in plain sight with writs and armed soldiers. 

   “So you are the liberators?” Harwin stopped him. “When they put your head in that noose, will the poor commoners shed any tears?” Harwin laughed so loud it caught the attention of their tending sergeant.

   The man glared in anger and marched forward, his cudgel raised menacingly, then he struck the iron cage with a resounding clang. Jabbing the weapon towards them, he bellowed in a voice that echoed among the stone walls.

   “If you three become heard again. I will get some men, come in there and sing you a bloody lullaby.”

   “Our apologies,” Edmund responds with his hands raised in surrender.

   The sergeant clenched his jaw, as he paused to regain composure. His comrades snickered, provoking a flash of resentment in his eyes. Edmund let out a resigned breath and shot Harwin a weary look. "Can you please hush for a moment? Those constables seem eager to beat on us."

   “I don't need a lecture from you,” Harwin angrily whispers to his brother. “Why the bollox do we have to endure this fool? Where is this bloody captain?”

   The brigand's stares in ire through the dimly lit bars, his calloused hands gripping the cold iron that divide the cramped cells. His focus is fixed on Harwin, a simmering fury evident in every line of his face. His eyes, like bottomless pits of darkness, brim with a seething malice that seems to consume everything it gazes.

   “You!” he directs his voice at Harwin.

   Edmund coils in the bunk. The fool was oblivious to the warning from the constables. His tone was sharp, and his look was menacing.

   “You think this is a big jape! You and that cocky brother of yours are in for a rude awakening if you linger here.” Gaston spat. “You best be back on the first coach to Hayston. I have friends in town, and they will be seeing you later. I will be seeing you later, just wait!”

   “Oh, you will?” Harwin laughs. “Is your execution going to be public so I can watch?”

   “The people are fed up with the Guild, and a reckoning will come to them soon!” Gaston says in a rage. “You are the ones who will be hanged, not me. When I get time with the captain, he will side with me. You will see. That captain of yours is going to die. His wound has festered and soon will be feeding the worms in Hayston.” he roared with a laugh.

   “Yeah, it's true. I saw it clearly when the militia had me last night. He was as pale as a fish’s belly! He will be a fresh corpse in the morning! You two Panheads! No one likes your kind here. They will think you are the brigands. You wait and see, you two bastards!”

   His rant was joined by a thudding noise as they heard the sound of a table being turned over in anger. The sergeant had heard enough. In haste, he was coming with seven of his mates behind him. Cudgels in their hands and brutality on their faces.

   “Well, here comes our beating, brother.” Harwin laughed as his brother sprang quickly and tried to pick it up the cot to use as a shield, but it was fastened to the floor. Noticing this, he laughed aloud, causing Edmund to shout at him.

   ”You think this is funny? Bitters told us to keep our mouths shut!” he yelled in a panic.

   “Enough! Erik, stand down at this instance!” A commanding gruff bellowed from the open door by a half-breed man with red and brown hair. His head leaned out with a determined face, looking at the pack of men, who shrank at the sight of him.

   “Yes, Captain!” Erik shouted back. Scurrying like rats, the constables went back to whence they came. His brother had lost his breath. Panic-stricken and unable to speak, he collapsed on the bunk with his eyes fixed on the floor.

   “Bring that brigand to me.” The captain then took a piercing look at Harwin. “You two raise your voices again, and I will let my boys have their fun on ya. Got it?”

   “Yes, captain,” Harwin replied with a wry smile.

   “You will get your turn next.”

   The reply received a snicker from the brigand. “Ha, guess who gets to tell their story first,” Gaston said while tittering at Harwin as Erik opened his cage, escorting the crazed thug to see the captain. The arrogant goon was winking at them as he shuffled his feet past their cell, still giggling while Erik followed him wearing a rancid glare.

   It grew quiet as they watched the door close for the brigand's inquiry. His brother's nerves were in knots.

   “Harwin, do you think Bitters was wrong?” Edmund spoke morbidly. The events had him nearly soiling his linens.

   “Bitters thought it was worth the risk to let him live,” Harwin calmly told his brother. “So, he was wrong, now you know. You were just being dutiful as always. He should have let me kill him. This would have gone much easier.”

   Edmund glared at him, astounded. “How can you be such a callous fool? We are about to be judged, Harwin. We are strangers here.”

   “That guy is a lunatic. I will wager a gold falcon that by nightfall, we will sleep in an inn,” Harwin boasted to his brother.

   “You want to wager coin? How do you expect me to answer that?” Edmund shook his head at him. “I bet you that by nightfall, I will sleep in a dungeon to be hanged later. You are the lunatic.”

   “You know what I am trying to say,” Harwin replied.

   “Just quit talking. I don’t think I can take more from you.” his brother replies, bitter while turning away from him in disgust. Harwin had seen this many times from his brother. Tempting as it was to prod him more, he decided to heed this. 

   He stood and waited, glanced over at his brother, then out of the cell, his thoughts in a fog, pondering the situation. It was a tense silence he had to admit, and they could hear the wild ranting of Gaston behind the door. Piling lies upon lies as they waited to be summoned.

   It was a long wait as an hour had passed when the door opened to Captain Withers’ quarters. Still fettered, the sergeants were bringing Gaston back to the neighboring cell. His feet shuffled, and his smile was full as he held laughed at them mockingly. 

   His brother was nervous as Harwin scoffed at the brigand. Erik then closed the cell, approaching theirs and opening it. The sergeant looked sternly at his brother, whose face was a bewildered glare.

   “The captain will see you now,” he announced.

   Guiding his brother firmly by the arm, Harwin ushered him into the room. The color drained from his face as he expected something grave. They were gestured towards seats positioned in front of the captain, who scrutinized them with the typical judgement of Westerners.

   Harwin couldn't help but notice the Nuhrish characteristics in him - his hair a striking blend of dark red and brown hues, his complexion tinged with a subtle redness, sporting a faint mustache and a fine layer of hair on his arms, features uncommon among Nuhrish men.

   He was broader in the shoulders than most. Neatly groomed with the wax the Westerners loved. His deep blue doublet had the white falcon of Breeston sewn onto his breast. Arlo was the first man he had seen who deserved to be called a soldier.

   The captain kept his eyes fixed as they were facing him. His brother regained a bit of his composure, his eyes gripped with dire suspense.

   “Which one has the parchment that Wintergarden mentioned?”

  “I had hoped to present it to you much earlier.” Edmund stutters out, bowing his head. Producing the document, it was comical as Harwin watched him.

   “I have been here long before you awoke, with little sleep. So let's keep this short,” the captain replied. “I bet you are wondering why you have been detained so long? Very well,” he said while unraveling the document and studying it.

   Arlo explained that he had spent the entire evening trying to solicit the best healer he could find for Bitters. The militia had such men, but their skill was rudimentary. A decent one would never work for the Guild's wages. He first went to Butcher’s Wail, where many gloated about a panhead who performed miracles. 

   He was rudely met by his apprentice, telling him to bugger off, never laying eyes on this man. His next two from the Horn ward were drunk and in no shape to help, and the next was worse. He had been dead for a month. 

   “We found one past midnight, a pair of sisters in the Widows Ward, rushing them back to Bitters. His highest obligation was Captain Graham’s survival.”

   “I took a short nap while you two slept and have been looking over the reports from Captain Wintergarden,” he said while shaking his head.

   Faraway gave him a stack of parchments, he told them. He had positive news. Bitters was recovering from his wounds. The fever had broken, and he stomached a bowl of broth before being given a tonic to ease his pain.

   “That is fortunate news — we are both in your debt,” Edmund replied happily. Harwin felt delighted, too, but he still had a few grievances sticking in his craw with the old man.

   "Can we depart?" Harwin asked impatiently, prompting a bewildered expression from Edmund. "He possesses the parchment and can decipher it. What more does he require?" His brother could only gawk as the captain seemed amused then gestured towards his sergeant stationed at the entrance, signaling to Erik who called out along the corridor.

   Soon, a cluster of soldiers hurried back and gazed inquisitively. With a nod from Withers, they escorted Gaston away as the brigand tried to fight which led the men to deliver a few licks with their cudgels which encouraged Gaston to cooperate.

   Meanwhile, Withers revisited the parchment's contents. A faint grin played on his lips as his hazel eyes deciphered script before him.

   “My pardon for such treatment. Captain Wintergarden saw fit to dump that refuse upon me since you requested that I handle this inquiry. May I ask why you circumvented his attention?”

   “It was Captain Graham’s request,” Edmund replied.

   “No need to be so formal,” Withers remarked. “I am surprised old Bitters even remembered my name. We only met once, and it was an unpleasant. He only grunted at me when I introduced myself.”

   He then rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Edmund. “I have to ask a silly question. Why do two wards of the richest man in Hayston come to live here? From what you have witnessed, this place is less than impressive. It makes little sense.”

   Edmund was about to answer him. Harwin knew he had a rehearsed answer. He always had one and it was probably a crafted lie.

   “Let me interrupt my brother, if I may?” as Edmund looked back in annoyance while the captain gazed upon him. He even looked surprised that Harwin could speak more than a few words.

   “My brother is about to bore you with a long-winded fib, so I would like to spare you a bunch of grief.” Harwin stood up and towered over the captain.

   “I am a fellow soldier, just like you. Once I was the second man under Bitters for the past several years. Probably got paid more than you, and that is not meant as an insult.” he remarked as Arlo smirked while his brother groaned.

   “I, in a drunken manner, did a foolish thing. This could be called a scandal, and this event has dishonored my uncle, my father, my captain, and my brother by sorting in behavior unfitting my station. I am stripped of that privilege, and exiled here until they see fit to recall me,” he responds, lying. He was exiled for good, according to Bitters.

   He received a long look from Withers, who leaned back in his chair with his feet on his table. He broke into a long laugh, shaking his head in amusement.

   “I am at a loss for words. I truly needed that chuckle, and I doubt a word of it, and your event as you call it is none of my worry.” The captain remarks in sarcasm, then turned to address Edmund. “So, lad, what about you? Are you a little deviant as well?”

   “I am just guilty of being his brother,” Edmund muttered. His brother was speechless for once as he had a look of discomfort that only his bed back in Hayston coul soothe.

   “Well, they gave you the shaft." Arlo laughed again, then apologized for the slight before continuing. "You both will be relieved that you will be in a city that is steeped with sordid behavior. I am assuming you seek to gain a position in the counting houses?” he asked Edmund.

   “It will be four weeks when the lists are opened. They work in two four-month periods, one in the autumn and one in the spring.” Withers then smiled at him mockingly. “Take your parchment to the Harbormaster, but never show it to another.” then he added with a sly grin. “He will be expecting a bribe, so get used to it. Two silver oaks will get his attention, four will get you on the list, and a falcon will get you your choice of jobs.”

   “You.” The captain looked at Harwin. “Your uncle narrowed your choices down to two.” 

   “You can get on the lists with Wintergarden, spend your days on a garron transporting prisoners to the mines, patrolling the lands for lawbreakers, and searching for this brigand problem we are plagued with.” The captain sighed, shaking his head at the parchment again as he gazed long at them. 

   “I have to give you my congratulations. You two have been the first to capture one. They have eluded Faraway’s efforts for months now.”

   “The other choice is to work for you?” Harwin asked.

   “Yes, you can get on my list.” The captain cheerfully say as he pulled out a parchment folded within his logbook, unraveling it so Harwin could see it. 

   “You would be number forty-nine. When I lose a man, I go to the first man on the list, and if he is willing, he gets the job.” he says wearing a smile that could pass for a jape. “You see, a couple of names have been scratched; I had taken the liberty of updating it, and I refuse bribes.”

   “So it can take months. How long will it take for me to gain a commission with the militia?” Harwin asked.

   “Maybe a week, or a day if you have sufficient coin. Who knows with Wintergarden and his fickle attitude? You will not get a commission unless you have some spare falcons. If you lack a bribe, you will be among the lower ranks. The pay is the same as a constable: seven silver oaks weekly.”

   It was a hit in the stomach. Harwin earned twenty-five back in Hayston. The luxury of a free roof and as much food as he could swallow. The reality was sinking in fast. He could imagine hearing his uncle laughing at him as far as Hayston. They rubbed your nose in it good this time, Harwin. he muttered to himself.

   “I’m very interested in your ability. Bitters told Faraway that you killed three men, disarming that brigand I hauled away. Is that true?” Arlo asked, his eyebrow raised as he pondered his toughness.

   “The way Gaston boasted, he was the second coming of Arturo Breeston.” The captain said with a chuckle, then quickly changed the subject back to his prospects. 

   “Wintergarden is an opportunist. He would expect that bribe because that is what this city has become, then fire you for little reason unless you bribe him to retain the position.”

   “I need money no matter the sum, and I can only hope that what silver I have can get me started,” Harwin responds, knowing sadly he had to do what Withers suggested. 

   “You are to be rewarded, both of you, I guess. Seven brigands you brought us, one that can be interrogated, which pays double. I owe you eight gold falcons,” the captain remarked with a sly smile. 

   "That can get you far here. You can live in the Horn for weeks while you decide. Your brother will be more fortunate, considering his bribe. His wages will be higher when the harvest period begins.”

“Are you sugesting I wait?” Harwin asked as the captain shrugged while studying him for a reaction.

   "I think you should choose the honorable way," Edmund suggested as he pondered. "With your abilities, surely you can rise up the ranks as a constable."

   "Perhaps.” Arlo added. “The men will have to get used to you. I know myself of the prejudices here, but you are more qualified for better things than a simple tosser. A sergeant makes double the wages of an entryman if that softens your dilemna.” 

   Arlo then changed his tone, in truth he was troubled, sharing a story of a tragedy two mornings ago. One of the outer wards was littered with multiple corpses in yellow sashes he remarked.

   "Commoners are in an uproar, and you add your story to this disturbance. The city will riot if the Guild keeps sitting on their arse, ignoring it,” Withers said while rubbing his forehead then after a long look at Harwin again he softened his demeanor.

   “You can come back in a few weeks, lad. The list will always be here,” he added with a shrug, then pointed toward his door. 

   “You are free to go, and good luck finding quarters. The tenements are likely full, but there are several inns with sufficiant quarters in the Horn. Expect a bribe of a few coppers for an audience. The accommodations lack what you are used to, but better than the outer wards.” 

   Harwin thought for a moment, then requested to be added to his parchment which made Arlo smile as he halted him, throwing him a grey tunic as Harwin had forgotten he was soiled with blood.

   Captain Withers stood to see them out. “I will send word when your name comes up. Until then, no more trouble, please?”

   They were allowed to straighten up and wash in a basin, then led out by Erik and another. A man barely over five feet named Smithers. 

   Harwin was amused by him, a talker, much more than the solemn Erik, who looked aggravated with the task of escorting them as they passed several streets. 

   Their escort did as Arlo ordered, taking them to different inns or boarding apartments as they needed a room so Wintergarden could have a place to send their things. While they walked, Smithers saw fit to add his thoughts.

   “This is a nice ward, you will see. What is your name, big fellow? You look like you could frighten a bear. Somebody told me you added your name to the lists — is that true?” On Smithers went. He had bug eyes and a scruffy beard that framed a wide grin.

   “Harwin is my name, and this is my younger brother Edmund.” His brother paid the conversation no mind.

   “Ain’t he the pole?” Smithers remarked while looking at him.

   “His arms look to be as big around as this cudgel,” Smithers said while showing it to Harwin, a whittled wagon spoke with small nails hammered in it.

   “You lack a dirk?” Harwin mentions, noticing few constables armed.

   “Not the funds for that. A dirk will run ya ten silver, and I got a wife and kid to feed.” Smithers pointed out. “I just got the position. I have not confiscated one like the others. When the boys get one, they usually sell it.”

   “You know a good place, Smithers? Erik likes to keep his thoughts to himself.” Harwin asked while noticing an bitter look upon the sergeant as he kept leading them.

   “Pay him no mind. The sergeants are told to not like folks. They don’t even talk to me, and I talk to everyone,” Smithers rambled out, and Harwin laughed as the scrawny man kept offering his advice.

   “I heard about a few around the middle of the ward," Smithers added. "Borrowing money from the bank to fix them properly, from what the boys here say. The Moosehorn is nice, I heard. Never been in it. My home with the miss is in the Bollox ward.”

   “Is that the ward you patrol?” Edmund asked, feeling curious.

   “Ah, no, lad, they care little for tossers in that ward. I change my tunic after my rounds, so I avoid a good whack on my cap.” 

   “I work in Tanner Square. I like it ‘cause it smells like home,” he adds, laughing, a joke he seemed to share with himself. “The captain forbids us to work in our native wards, says we can’t play fair with our neighbors.”

   “Maybe they will put me with you,” Harwin told him to amuse himself. The gesture put a smile on his face. He barely had a tooth to call his own.

   “I would like that. They deal with me hard in that ward. The lads take my hat — I’ve lost three hats. I will freeze come wintertime. When they see you with me, they will soil their breeches.”

   The pitiful man had Harwin laughing out loud as Erik led them to one place called the Swallow, which lacked vacancy. They traveled next to the Yellow Frog, but the second-story room the owner showed them was as foul as a stable that needed mucking. Edmund quickly declined, and when they returned to the streets, their escorts had abandoned them.

   What is it with these immoral people?” Edmund bickered, getting livid at such treatment.

   “Maybe we should have given them a copper to wait,” Harwin suggests to Edmund.

   His sarcasm only annoyed him further. “I will not get into the practice of having to bribe everyone for simple courtesies.”

   “Look around you, brother, and this is the nicer ward. I think courtesy was put in a grave around here decades ago,” Harwin replied, glancing down the busy streets. It was well past midday, and he had been starving since they had left Hayston. 

   “We need to find a place and abandon high expectations for now, brother. If we can find a bunk of decent length and lacking fleas, I can live with it until we can find better quarters.”

3

The trades of garments and butchering were so foul that the citizens grew tired of it. Arturo Breeston took control and moved them a half kilometer from the docks. Building a wall between them to hide the foul settlements from our view. 

   I am expanding upon his vision, building our Grand Wall, sending the vermin farther back, and keeping them from pandering along the roads as the yields from the south approach. The outer wards have a purpose, but not to reside within our glorious streets.

   The Grand Guild by Arland Breeston

The Outer Wards

Dearest Uncle,

    I was fortunate to find a courier who delivers parchments to Hayston. It comes with an expense of twenty silver oaks, but I felt it proper to inform you of our progress. 

    I doubt that the courier will arrive before Bitters returns. He had come by our quarters to say farewell yesterday after the healers bid him leave. I shall neglect the details of what detained him here. You will hear about this terrible experience from him.

    They hung a man who caused us grief along the Triad Road in the Old Street square. The brigand was in dreadful shape. He was believed dead at first until they lifted him by the neck. 

    He twitched with legs kicking in desperation, and then he went limp. The crowd seemed to attend out of boredom and cheered little as the City Chamberlain declared his death a good thing.

    We are both well and found quarters in the Horn ward. The inn looks dismal at first glance, but it has served us at this moment very adequately. 

    The man who runs it is named Relling, an older man who compliments us into annoyance but is kind. He fidgets and worries over us leaving. The dreadful circumstance that befell us on the roads has spread all over the wards, and our occupancy has driven onlookers that benefited him to rent out all his rooms.

    It is called The Frookuh, which I found out in amusement is a pheasant that nests on the rooftops of Breeston. The merchants lure them with the dried grass from their mattresses and keep them in coops on their roofs. 

    The females will lay an egg a day, near the size of a chicken, but the yolk is a deep, rich orange. They will fatten the male frookuh with bread crumbs and the shells from the egg and sell them to anyone to put in a pot with root vegetables and make a stew.

     The commoners here live on stews, porridge, and barley bread, along with these eggs. We are fortunate to have a small brazier with a flat iron plate on top of it in our quarters. 

    I went to Old Street and bought a copper pot. I have been boiling these eggs and frying meat on the iron as a delicacy. Unfortunately, coal is expensive, and the city tax on goods is inflated much more than home.

   The loins and legs I once enjoyed so much have been replaced by this meat, which the commoners call “leavings”, the trimmings of fat and chewy meat that the butchers leave out of a salt barrel. 

    I have missed the taste of spices. Nutmeg is three times the cost in Hayston. So we rely on small onions and wild red garlic that one of our neighbors brings from the outer wards. 

    It is a paling comparison, but it provides some flavor. Do not stress over what I have explained to you. I am a healthy weight and making my silver stretch as far as possible.

    Our misfortune on the roads and another incident are embellished in all the wards. A tragic tale in the outer ward named "Butchers Wail", a Nuhrish man was ambushed by these brigands who are called the Yellow Ravens. They chose a ruthless man that evening, and he took a score of men with him.

    Harwin still scoffs that one man killed so many, but this rumor among the commoners gets deeper into mystery. Several nights ago, his body vanished from the morgue before it could be burned. 

    The constables who guarded him could not recall much but a knock on the door. The ignorant rubes now say he is a phantom, roaming the Wail, looking for more Ravens to kill. It’s absurd on how ignorant commoners can be.

    I went to the Raines Bank to store my funds, as you recommended I should. Bitters brought our wares from the militia, and I want you to thank Bitters again for me. The fur blankets will be needed during the winter, and the heavy wool cloaks he had added will serve us well. 

    I also wanted to thank you for the Minoan iron lock, which is secure on my small chest as I write. We are grateful for the silver you bequeathed us. I added it to my holdings at the bank, but Harwin has spent much of his. Your gift of two hundred silver oaks we received will keep us fed until I start my position soon.

    The items Bitters told us to confiscate from the brigands have provided Harwin another forty silver to folly with. He has been the fool with it, and I worry for him.

    We have gained two sordid men, brothers, who live in the apartment across from us and have become companions to my misfortune. They go by Julius and Osmond Timmons, and I find them annoying. 

     Julius is a quick-witted charlatan, who desires to be a rolling dandy but lacks the silver, and the latter is a bald, bearded buffoon with a loud laugh. The two visit here every evening, and Harwin insists we eat with them in a tavern for dinner. Every day, I am goaded to linger past the walls into the outer regions of the ward. I ignore their pandering and stay near the docks as Bitters suggested.

    These taverns have ridiculous names like the Fuzzy Duck, the Yellow Toad, and Biddy Mulligans. The brothers pay for a round of horns, and Harwin buys them three back, oblivious the two are moochers and will abandon him when he runs dry of his funds.

    They often laugh at my ignorance of their barbaric customs, which center around so many horns of ale. I am surrounded by drunken hoots into my ears and outlandish lies about their life. 

    Harwin loves them dearly. He toils with Osmond at the armory, shoveling coal into the forge as he waits for an opening with the constables. I thought it was despicable when Osmond told us how the position became available. 

    The buffoon intentionally hurt the lad who held the position by dropping a large hammer on his hand, breaking it. The armorer he apprenticed for told Osmond to find his replacement. He convinced Harwin to take his place, which earned this deviant a share of his wage. 

   The other, Julius, comes by every morning after Harwin and Osmond leave to sit and watch me read. Breaking his morning fast and interrupting me with questions about Hayston. Dumb questions like, what is the life of a farmer, what food they eat, and pulls on his goatee as I explain it. Grunting to himself in thought and nibbling on barley bread. 

   The man does bring gifts though, these odd candles made from the reeds that grow around the lake that are useful. They are dipped into a black oil from a cactus growing wild on the plateau. It burns well enough, and the commoners use them because tallow candles are expensive.

   I sould keep this letter short as I have little time alone. I will write to you on another day as I expect Julius to be here any moment and lack the proper time to finish this parchment later, risking that Harwin finds this and we have another argument.

   I am always at your service,

      Edmund

   Edmund was sealing his parchment with the drippings from the candle, tying a piece of twine around it to keep it rolled tight. He had plans to drop it off with payment for the courier to deliver. 

   A gentle rap on his door made him roll his eyes in annoyance. Then it opened without his consent as Julius walked to a chair and sat beside him.

   “Where is that old book, Edmund. Did you finish it?”

   “I had finished it months ago, I was rereading it,” Edmund explained to his curious neighbor. The dandy wore a dyed black leather jerkin over a tunic with breeches the same color. Also, his boots of black were propped up on the table as he nibbled an apple while his laughing black eyes gazed at him.

   “You have problems with your memory, Edmund?”

   “No, Julius,” Edmund scoffs. “I enjoy the book. I find it fascinating to read.”

   “It must be quite a book. Do people die in it?” he asked with a mocking grin. “Is it about a randy woman with big bosoms?”

   “The name of it is the Grand Guild by Arland Breeston. He was a Chamberlain of the Guild that had the outer walls built a hundred years ago.”

   “The Grand Guild,” Julius laughed aloud then spat. “So this was the man who locked us away in here, a cruel creature.”

   “You lack my enthusiasm for history?” Edmund asked, trying to get under his skin. “Why do you live in Breeston, if you hate the Guild so much?”

   “I was born here, I know no other place.” the man explained, and Edmund finally realized as Julius frowned at him. The man had never stepped foot beyond the city. 

   Edmund then complimented his neighbor, remarking that a man of his skill could exist in any city making Julius hesitate a moment, uncertain whether he was being ridiculed or praised.

   “You are trying to aggravate me, you are being whimsical?” Julius said with a sly smile. “You know what? I think you should toss that book into the privy. That book is rubbish and full of lies.”

   “That rubbish is a treasure. Only nobles own a copy, a view of the history of Breeston.”

   “It knows nothing about Breeston! You have been nesting in this room every day, thinking a book can tell you about Breeston?” Julius laughed aloud again. “You need to leave this inn and wander the streets. A walk will educate you more than that fancy book can tell you.”

   He brushed off Julius as the simpleton then nibbled on some barley bread, telling his foolish neighbor he walked to Old Street, looking at the merchant houses, before making a trip to Raines Bank and out to the docks for a view of the water. Julius was grinning at him and giggled. His mocking tone was getting on his nerves.

   “You went to the places patrolled by the tossers.”

   Edmund ignored his slight, as he was warned by Bitters that anything beyond the Horn ward was worth avoiding, just poor wretches who lacked two coppers to rub together. 

   “Why are you still wearing your home colors? Everyone knows you are foreign, you make them eager to pickpocket you.” Julius asked him, judging the green tunic he was wearing.

   “I have no need in dressing like the rabble, so I can walk the wards.”

   “Let me mention another thing," Julius adds. "You talk like a pompous arse. Do I dress in rags?”

   Edmund shook his head no, explaining that he misunderstood him, his manner sour from the mans tone.

   “I wear the mark of Breeston. The colours of blue, black, and white. I keep this on my hip if people disrespect me.” Julius said, tapping the handle on his dirk. 

   “I walk the alleys in the outer wards, and that is how I earn my way. Your brother has figured this out. Osmond brought him a few nice blue tunics days ago, and he says you are the smart one.”

   “What else has your brother got Harwin to spend silver for?”

   “He likes my brother,” Julius said, raising his voice. “You act as if we are swindlers? You think my brother and I are ignorant of your little sneers?”

   Edmund admitted to him that he avoided men who gambled and drank too much. He remarked that he was puzzled about how a man can earn the coin they seem to spend who lacks a proper position.

   “I bet you want Osmond and me to move out?” Julius asked. “That is why you are always prickly. You think we are vagrants trying to latch onto a couple of vulnerable rubes and pretend to be their friends?”

   “You may have a point?” Edmund said to mock him. His words easily offended Julius, who became angry.

   “Who taught you to be like this? Your father? No wonder your brother hates him.”

  The remark angered him, and both rose, invoking a tense stare-down. Julius never wavered as he tapped his dirk, a veiled threat if he dared to draw steel.

   The provocation only angered Edmund further. “You have a price? If I gave you and your brother a falcon each, would that suffice?” Edmund asked him in malice, hoping his terms would send him off stomping back across the hall, but the man never moved. He instead welled with tears in an ire that almost made Edmund wince. His face became a bright red atop his black garments.

   “You want to know what I am, what I do, you tosspot?” Julius growled up at him. “Put on your leathers, get your dirk, and meet me outside if you want to find out."

   “You want me to fight you in the streets?” Edmund asked, disturbed and taken aback.

   “I want you to follow me to the wards!” Julius sneered back at him. “You will see how I make a living, unless you are too craven to go see. I tell you what, If you find it unfitting, my brother and I will leave, and you can stick your gold falcons up your pucker hole.”

   The charletan held a long angry look then he turned to leave in a mocking way for him to follow. Watching him storm out. Edmund knew he was being dared, and he found it insulting to let a man much smaller be his better, so he opened his chest and grabbed a thick, leather jerkin. 

   Disturbing thoughts crossed his mind that Julius may lead him out into the wards and kill him. He found his gambeson he wore on the ride from Hayston and tightened his jerkin over it, then strapped on his dirk. It was the dirk that belonged to the brigand Gaston, a gift from Harwin. 

   "That little scoundrel tries to knife me with that crude blade of his, he will see real steel," he mumbled as he went down to the foyer, waving off an inquiring Relling to meet Julius out front. The lout was sulking on the front step of the inn.

For a moment, Edmund considered apologizing to him but thought better of it, holding the parchment he wrote his uncle. “I need this sent if you can stand a slight delay.”

   Julius looked at him, annoyed. “Very well, I know where he is. Follow me fancypants.”

   He walked behind Julius, frowning, watching his every move. It was a fast pace for someone a head shorter than him, and in minutes, they stopped at the Yellow Frog several alleys away as Julius waited for him along the corner of the dwelling, pointing toward the door of the inn as if Edmund was too ignorant to find this courier.

   Upon entering, he took his time, hoping it would calm Julius’s temper. He had second thoughts about agreeing to come after the innkeeper pointed him along. He climbed the steps to where the courier resided as the man greeted him and had him wait while stuffing wares into a pack. The man was friendly as he took the parchment from him and placed it with his gear.

   “My travels are slow until harvest season begins. I will send word back when I return,” The courier promised as Edmund handed him silver.

   “Your name, sir?” Edmund asked him. He cared little to know it when they first met, but Edmund thought he could help him.

   “I go by Travis, Travis Crane, sir.”

   “Travis, the man that came with me. The one scowling outside when you look out your window, do you know of him?” The courier obliged and peered out at him, chuckling and shaking his head.

   “Everybody knows Julius Timmons, had several horns with him.” he laughed in amusement.

   “Can you trust him? Please be direct with me, be truthful if they are sordid,” Edmund insisted.

   “Julius is a good bloke. He and his brother are not grifters if that is what you are asking. They have skills at playing Monarchs and may relieve you of your coppers, but they are not crooks.

   “What are monarchs? I am ignorant about it.”

   “It is a dice game that every bloke gambles at in the Triad.” Travis chuckled. “You may like it, but avoid throwing dice with him.”

   Edmund thanked the courier for his honesty and departed back to the foyer, unsure of what to say to his disgruntled escort as he reunited with the dour Julius outside the entrance.

   “You took your time with Travis. Did you insult him as well?” he asked still harboring resentment from their prior argument.

Edmund could see this was starting bad, so he tried to be pleasant. “I am prepared to go see your skills,” Edmund responded in an attempt to be courteous. “My pardon for keeping you,” he said, ignoring his slight.

   Julius scoffed at him, continuing his brisk pace until he led Edmund on an inner road away from the docks and out to an archway. They were met by constables, who let them pass for a few coppers and through the city walls away from the militia, where the outer wards began. A place Bitters told him to avoid as Julius stopped and turned, startling him in his tracks. 

   “Now listen, you stay close. You notice someone grab the back of your arm. You draw steel. If someone bumps into you hard, clutch your purse, and if someone looks to be coming at you, yell at me and I shall handle it.”

   “Where are you taking me?” Edmund asked.

   “To the Bollox ward. I got to meet a friend of mine, he is holding something for me.”

   They followed the dirt paths through the shuffling crowds, past a small open plaza with a well that had a long line of lads with buckets waiting for their turn. “This way.” Julius pointed outward after they crossed a few pathways as Edmund was disoriented with the shifting of dirt streets and alleys.

   Edmund looked around at rows of daub and wattle structures on mud bricks, topped with flat, slanted roofs made of thatch with small chimneys sticking through the center of the roof. 

   The dwellings had two large timbers jutting out their front, roofed, that provided shelter from the rain at the front entrances. The doors were nicked from use, and a few of the meager cottages used curtains in their place.

   Julius briskly led him to what appeared to be a different ward, and as they approached, he noticed a main square visible to an open plaza that widened out from the dirt street. The plaza served as a trading hub for the few merchants who scratched a living there and was surrounded by a few two-story brick structures.

   Edmund looked around to many with looks of despair, people were suffering, the worst he had ever seen. He watched in shock while many lay sleeping in the dirt during the daylight lacking any ambition to move.

   “Are they ill?” Edmund asked, concerned.

   “The Mist, as many call it has put its claws in them, an evil thing that just appeared in the outer wards, turning them into layabouts,” Julius remarks, then spits on one of them. “Most of these fools will die soon.”

   Edmund found the criticism harsh only to stare in disbelief as a woman squatted near him, lifting her long, threadbare dress, and urinated in pathway. The commoners paid her no mind, but many were looking at him. 

   They knew he was foreign, and Edmund had a fear festering in his gut while looking back. "If Julius loses me in this ward, I am as good as dead," he mutters in silence as multiple eyes gawked at him.

   His grim thoughts were interrupted when Julius tugged his elbow, and leading their journey down more alleys, then up a dirt street that twisted among other alleyways that finally ended at one of the hovels. Julius then knocked and waited as a slow-witted man opened the door with a face that lacked happiness.

   “Julius, what kept you? This task has been miserable since the sun came up,” the man complained, his back bent from age as Edmund held his nose when he approached. The smell from his home was rancid, forcing Edmund to back away a few steps as Julius covered his nose with a laugh.

   “Jeter, I am sorry for my delay. Here is your coin.” he jokingly remarks as he hands the man some coppers, then tells Edmund to wait outside as the door remains open. 

   Peering into the crude house. He was curious about what Julius needed from such a pitiful sort. Edmund looked warily around him, worrying about pickpockets as Julius returned from the dwelling, pushing a one-wheeled barrow cart. 

   It suffered the same foul odor from Jeter, and then Edmund realized that was the source itself. The cart was full of dung, and he stood there feeling awkward as Julius harrowed a few lads who were gawking nearby with some coppers to push the cart and signaled Edmund to follow.

   “This is baffling,” Edmund mentioned to Julius as he ordered the lads to follow with the cart as they curse aloud about the smell.

   “You shall know soon enough.”

   “You haul off dung for coppers?” Edmund asked him curiously.

   Julius chuckles while looking at him like an imbecile. “This is from the kennels, and several men of the militia owe me, so they shovel it to swap instead of paying me in coin.”

   Edmund was too confused to ask anything further while they continued through the labyrinth of huts and alleys, and onward toward a wall that separated the wards and under another archway, passing by a constable who began laughing while Julius nodded as if he knew him.

   He then began yelling at the lads, pushing them to keep moving as they panted heavily into the square that began to permeate a rank near as foul as the cart. Edmund began to cough until he lost his breath, and Julius laughed so loud that others in the square joined him.

   "My friend, let me welcome you to Tanner Square, which is known for its garment-making," Julius replied, taking a short break. "You need not worry, this ward is safe," he chuckled to reassure him, nodding with a grin to further add, "Even pickpockets tend to avoid it, the trade is a foul craft." 

   Moments passed as Edmund recovered, nearly wretching while Julius had the lads go a little further, pushing his cart to one of the two-story stone structures on the corner of the square, dismissing them with more coppers as the two ran back to their wards. 

   A lad, noticing them, scuttled out from the building to take the cart from him as he turned to speak to Edmund, informing him the load was as good as silver. 

   “I bartered this. This cart is four oaks from what he owes me, and the tanner gives me ten." Julius explains proudly, pointing to the entrance of the establishment. “Follow me inside, but put this over your nose,” Julius said, handing Edmund a thick wool cloth. It had a pleasant, flowery fragrance that helped with the stench.

   Every window of the place was open as Edmund tried to enter, but he stopped at the doorway and turned away to only to nearly vomit among the cobbles The odor made him drop to one knee, his eyes stinging in pain while Julius was inside talking to the tanner. The situation had him retreating to the center of the square, awaiting on Julius in discomfort as some of the commoners had a good guffaw at his predicament. 

   Edmund then looked up, noticing commoners carrying tosspots, and walking into other foul places as he struggled to collect himself while wiping away tears when Julius returned. He was roaring with laughter, with the tanner in tow who got in on the jape. “Everyone sells their urine for coppers.” the man told him with a chuckle.

   “Edmund, this man here is Terrence Schultz,” Julius said while Edmund tried to gain his composure. “His father and their father have been making leathers for over a hundred years.”

   “You can tell that lad is foreign,” the rasping voice of the tanner spoke. The poor man had skinny shoulders that tapered into a pot belly. His hair was a dull yellow, and his skin was blotched as if he washed himself with urine. 

   Edmund stood, disturbed, glancing at his chest and back hair that had the color of silver poking through the holes of a ragged tunic.

   “Got barley bread freshly made, if ya want,” Terrence offered as Julius nibbled on a heel. Edmund lacked the strength to shake his head no. “I think he is getting pale, Julius, hard to tell with these Panheads.”

   “I appreciate your hospitality, you will have to forgive me. This climate is hard to bear,” Edmund coughed out, struggling with words as his nose was buried in the fragrant rag. His politeness made Terrence grin, his teeth a dull black, making him look frightful.

    Julius was amused watching him anguish, lingering and chatting with Terrence as a bent-over crone approached, carrying a chamberpot. 

   Edmund noticed it was full as Terrence greeted her with a warm smile. He took the pot and looked inside, held his nose close, and took a huge whiff.

   “A fine batch, Maggie, get my lad in there to give you a copper.” He winked his dreary eyes in a sly flirt.

   A lone top tooth the woman had, and she lacked the shame to hide it. Julius complimented her dress, a faded, long blue thing that went to her ankles with a pair of dirty feet. Edmund looked up, disgusted, as the crone looked him over in wonder.

   “That lad is a tall one, rarely seen many his height.” She was smiling at him with her hand extended.

   “Forgive Edmund, he is foreign to our customs,” Julius apologized. “You have to take her hand and kiss it, Edmund. It is good manners to kiss an elderly woman on the hand upon the first introduction.”

   “Lucky, too,” Terrence added.

   Edmund looked at the withered hand as Maggie stood there. She offered no pardon from this custom, so he bowed and kissed her hand, and imagined the contents in that tosspot had gone over the rim and spilled upon it. The crone blushed as Julius patted his backside with a devious grin.

   “We must go, I have another engagement," he announced to reprieve Edmund from more suffering. "Terrence, I will see you another time. Maggie, always a pleasure to see your charming face.”

   “You keep bringing me that treasure!” Terrence barked out as they walked away. “I will send my lad back with the cart after we shovel it good and clean.”

   Edmund was still in a slight shock as he was led back the way they came. “You are trying to murder me in a vile way,” he remarked as Julius smirked at his remarks, he was clueless on where they were headed.

   “You are being ridiculous, my friend. I love your brother too much to do such a deed, and deathly afraid of him as well,” Julius added. “Consider this a favor. Did you plan on sitting in the Frookuh? Waiting for a summons, then going back and forth from the docks to the inn?”

   "Absolutely." Edmund was quick to reply. “If you were in my position, you would avoid this filthy ward as well?”

   “This ward is where Osmond and I were raised,” Julius became offended by his comment. He paused after they crossed back into Bollox. “We could have been gong farmers like our fathers, been men used by the Guild. We chose a different path, and it plays out well.”

   “You call me a snobbish man, but you and your brother could save more coin living here,” Edmund suggested later, and his comment offended further.

   “Are you trying to shame me into guilt,” Julius says in a sharp tone, stopping him in the plaza of the ward. “Osmond and I are a year removed from looking as pitiful as these people. You think the looks of repulsion on your face since we crossed here are unnoticed?”

   Edmund sensed his temper rising and tried to twist the confrontation into a compliment. “You are determined to better yourself. I can admire that, but I remain firm in what I believe about you,” Edmund argued. “I still think you look at us as a mark. You may not be a thief, but you make your coins by exploiting a situation for an opportunity.”

   "I understand your behavior now, your lordship," Julius says with a frown as he rebukes him.

   “I am not,”

   “But you are,” Julius interrupted curtly. “You have not a title, and not a drop of noble blood in you. An orphan just like me, but more fortunate." Julius says to mock him. "Not once have we asked your brother to spend coin on us. He has been generous, and that bothers you.”

   “My brother is foolish and delusional when flattered. He would spend his last copper to keep your admiration. Will you still knock on our door when he lacks coin?” His answer pricks at Julius, his face twisted as he reared on Edmund and cursed him loudly.

   “We find your brother endearing, but we stomach you, a wanker!”

   He was livid at Edmund for belittling his brother. Julius could admit to finding his brother Osmond annoying, but his shortcomings would never be criticized. 

   He acknowledged that Osmond had the potential to earn more money working elsewhere and that his apprenticeship was not a wise decision. However, he loved and supported him, regardless of the low wage.

   “My brother wasted a privileged opportunity." Edmund considered the criticism from Julius as frivolous.

   Julius was disappointed as he glared back at Edmund. “Is he a murderer, a thief, or a criminal? Maybe I should look down my nose at you since both of you are exiled.”

   “He is a fool, not a criminal. Too arrogant to admit his mistakes, and how he has wasted his potential.”

   “That is your opinion, but sitting across from him with folded arms and a scowl is petty. No doubt that you are gifted. I can see that. You have a noble education while I can barely read.” Julius mockingly tells him. "You share the same faults as Harwin, too arrogant to admit your mistakes."

   Edmund stiffened his shoulders, almost provoked to strike him as Julius scoffs back, lacking any fear of him.

   “And that is your whole problem with him. He refuses to be a bootlicking heel like you,” Julius says to poke the insult deep. “He does what he wants, and will not grovel to your uncle or your pious father.”

   “Refrain from insuting my family,” Edmund protested.

   “When someone speaks crossly to your brother. He slaps the cross out of them, but you yield and cower, trying to pander for their approval." Julius guffaws, turning his back on him, and after a few steps, he reverses to jab the verbal knife. “If you want to keep learning what I do, then follow me. Earning your friendship is futile, you know the way back to the Horn.”

   Edmund glanced around the square, knowing he could never find his way back. He was livid at his vulnerability and cursed under his breath at losing an argument with such a vagrant as Julius.

   The man was still in sight, rapping on a door of a two-story stone structure as Edmund walked in a huff toward him. Julius heard him trudging heavily with his steps, so he turned on him rapidly with a hand on his dirk, ready to draw as he stared down Edmund.

   “I think we have cleared the air, me and you,” Edmund said to him with his hands up, trying not to offend him anymore. "The point of continuing this argument is moot."

   “You have a problem with apologizing?”

   “I do sometimes, but I am lost at where we are,” Edmund muttered, defeated and desperate to repair his situation.

   “Now the air is clear, now you need the charlatan?” Julius said as the door opened, and a joyful face greeted them. “Edmund, this is Ridley, a friend of mine.” The introduction caught Edmund in a stupor as Julius transformed back into a warm demeanor.

   “I am honored,” Ridley said under a mop of black curls, grinning wide while leaning on a carved hickory cane. “We are ready when you are, Julius. I appreciate you bringing a friend, but he is not needed.”  

   “He is working to pay off a wager to me." Julius quickly mentions, so consider this a favor.

   The man then grinned wide, alarming Edmund into thinking he had fallen into a ruse. “Please come in, sir, let me show you my meager abode.” The man was all smiles and words. Ridley was a proud braggart, a common trait of most merchants, while he embellished as they walked the modest warehouse.  

   He noticed a set of stairs along the far wall that led to a small living quarters upstairs. Julius nudged at him, grinning while putting a cudgel in the loop of his belt. He had a small log in his hand, sharpened to a point.  

   “What is it that we are doing?” Edmund asked, feeling baffled as Julius gave him the pointy stick.

   “We are going out with my cart, and selling my wares on the square,” Ridley informed him.

Edmund stood confused as Julius informed him that they will be aiding in keeping the thieves at bay from stealing, wearing a wry smile while pointing his stick at Edmund.

“And what wares are that?” Edmund asked, feeling leery holding the crudely carved cudgel.

“Apples have arrived my young friend,” Ridley boasted, pointing to his cart. A canvas covered the contents as he called out a name aloud while Edmund remained baffled. The merchant was exuberant explaining about the fresh haul arriving from Billingsley last night, and he doubted any other cart merchants were aware.

“This should be a fast job,” Julius says, slapping his hands together in approval.

“Why is this so exciting?” Edmund asked, bewildered as the merchant laughed at his ignorance, remarking that the fruit was so despised from the Guild that it escaped their tariffs.

“I get a copper for every apple, and the people get excited when the first loads arrive because it is cheap. You can boil them, cook them on a hot iron, and roast them over a fire.” Ridley kept going on about the wonder of apples.

Edmund kept looking at the point of the stick as Julius, noticing his confusion began to chuckle.

“We see a thieving hand, we poke it. We get rushed upon, we crown them with a cudgel,” Julius told him coolly as the merchant rapped his cane along the side of the cart, yelling out the name again while Edmund looked around. The commotion summoned a tall, muscled man behind a stack of empty crates that hid his presence.

“Dudley, open the door. We need to get started,” Ridley barked out at him.

The unamused brute did as he was bidden, opening the twin doors wide that made up half the side of one wall of the warehouse. He then picked up the two handles of the cart and pulled it into the square like an ox.

“Dudley is a strong one. He is tall like you but broader. Not bright though, but a hardened lad that I rely on in these dreadful times,” Ridley mentioned as they followed the cart slowly to the middle of the street.

The brute was Nuhrish like him, with long black hair with hints of brown, woven together in a tail. His eyes were the color of smoke, and he heard only one voice, never once looking his way as the merchant carried an empty crate with him until they stopped in the wards plaza. He turned it upside down to stand upon, leaning on his cane as Dudley stood mute on command.

A crowd began gathering to see what he would unveil, and with a motion of his hand, Dudley pulled back the tarp and picked up a long cudgel that was lying in with the apples.

The revealing sent the onlookers into a desperate mob. Amidst the bustling market square, Edmund stood surprised by the sight of how a simple fruit like apples could incite such fervor among the townsfolk, their eyes fixed on Ridley perched atop his stool, trading coins with a fervent speed.

"If you catch anyone trying to steal, give them a taste of this," Julius commanded sharply while pointing his stick at a few lads who were circling the front of the cart.

As chaos unfolded, Edmund froze at the frenzy surrounding him, watching in astonishment as Julius swiftly deterred a daring youth attempting to snatch an apple from the cart. Hands reached out eagerly, creating a wave of movement that crowded him, leaving barely enough room to stand amidst the flurry of transactions taking place.

Many hungry mouths were sizing him up, and then Edmund saw one rush the wagon. A boy, maybe of age ten reached quickly. Even though fear made he reluctant, he performed the task Julius ensnared him in, jabbing the lad hard in the arm as the boy spat back at him.

He poked another, then another, and hit an older man in the wrist with a cudgel, angering the man as he came at him with an object. Edmund recoiled as a rough nail, protruding from a makeshift object, pierced through his leather jerkin. His heart raced with the threat of injury, yet his padded gambeson kept him from harm. Fueled by fury, he swung his club at the assailant, striking him squarely on the head and sending him crashing to the ground in a daze.

“Now you are getting it, mate,” Julius yelled over to him with a loud laugh.

Frantically trying to keep up with the chaos around him, Edmund barely had a moment to look his way as he swiped at another thief, his attention was momentarily diverted, allowing a nimble youngster to snatch an apple and vanish into the crowd.

Dudley was by his side, and Edmund heard a man scream in fear as the brute effortlessly tossed the thief into the midst of a rowdy group, then dealt with another, a burly man by delivering a powerful blow that sent teeth scattering across the square.

Meanwhile, Ridley, the seasoned merchant was working with practiced efficiency. With one hand he distributed apples in quick succession while balancing his cane under his arm, and deftly collecting coins in with the other.

Edmund was sweating in buckets while swinging and poking furiously at thieving hands that swarmed like biting hounds. A lad would reach and steal an apple while he swatted at three others, sending them in a mad curse as he desperately kept them away.

Some of the younger thieves threw pebbles at him; one hit him in the face as a distraction while a large boy rushed the wagon. He got by Edmund, but Ridley sent him back with the handle of his cane. Onlookers laughed as he fell in a heap, holding his head while cursing at them.

The trio’s fury became unleashed in wild swings, and each blow was answered with pained yelps. Some scattered in fear as the transactions continued until Ridley was near the end of his cart.

Meanwhile, Julius swiftly dealt with two lads; a sharp jab to one's forehead made him retreat in tears, while a stiff poke to another lad's chest elicited laughter from him. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Edmund, both his mind and body yearning for respite from the relentless fervor.

Then, Ridley's voice boomed aloud, causing Dudley to release his grip on a man he had throttled. Without a word spoken, Dudley trudged back to secure the cart, effortlessly lifting it as Edmund let out a weary sigh of exhaustion, watching as the wheels slowly began to retreat from whence they came.

The square grew quiet while Ridley threw the tarp over what apples he wanted to keep, and the swarm dispersed as Julius barked aloud to disperse some that lingered. His head was soaked in sweat as he followed them, watching Julius, still anxious to fight the crowds. The man laughed hard as Edmund was exhausted like a woman in childbirth.

Ridley glanced at Edmund with a smirk, tossing him an apple. "Not bad, lad. I reckon I only had my pockets lightened a dozen times, give or take. If it weren't for you, we might've been fifty coins poorer. If you're ever in need of a job, you know where to find me," he hinted, the jingle of his pouch punctuating his offer. Edmund nodded politely as Julius disappeared into the building to finalize their business arrangement. He silently swore to himself that he would rather face the wrath of the Gods than repeat such an experience again.

Julius reappeared, his hands cradling a sack bursting with the sweet fruit, his smile turned to laughter as he motioned Edmund to follow him as he found the weary look on Edmund’s face amusing. Their path led them past the warehouse, through the twisting alleys, and back onto the cobbled streets where their journey had begun.

"I wager you've never toiled so vigorously before," Julius remarked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Have you any coin to spare?" he prodded playfully, studying Edmund's reaction with a grin.

Edmund met Julius's jest with a steely gaze, his expression was not friendly. "You take great pleasure in mocking me, only to now seek revelry and triumph?" he retorted sharply, his words punctuated by Julius's booming laughter echoing through the narrow street.

“Quit pouting, I know a girl that makes a good stew.”

“This has been a humiliation,” Edmund says in spite. "You want me to buy you a meal?"

“My pardons, Edmund, but I recall giving you a way out.”

“You told me to bugger off.” Edmund reminds him.

"We have resolved our differences. Trust me, the next stop will exceed your expectations. The stew will surpass any meal you've had since arriving, and she only asks for three coppers."

Julius offered to pay, gloating over the coppers he received for such a loathsome task and shaking the sack of apples at him. "You saw how it gets out there, now you see the value in my services.” the man laughed. “I can sell these apples for two coppers in the Horn. Not as profitable as the dung I sold to the tanner, but a few silver in my pouch in the end.”

“It is a shame that the city is crawling with thieves.”

“You are thinking about it the wrong way, Edmund,” Julius said while crossing through another arched entrance. “You should wonder why they have to steal, these kids here are likely orphans.” as Edmund listened, Julius mentioned that many fathers were sent to the mines for months and died there. The mothers then resort to disgraceful ways, often prostitution for money.

“Another man shows no interest in a kid lingering around while he is having his way. The kids are not born thieves but made into one by the rumbles in their bellies.” he sadly said.

Edmund believed that toiling in the mines was a choice, a notion his uncle had told him many times.

“So they say.” Julius laughs. “In my youth maybe, but it became easier to arrest people for this. Only criminals toil in the darkness there.”

The thought of thousands arrested baffled him as Julius added to his dark tale.

"Now, Edmund, there's a truth hidden from those old books you read," Julius disclosed, his voice tinged with a hint of anger. He leaned in, emphasizing the gravity of his words. "In this city, mouths outnumber opportunities. The scarcity of work leads to dwindling wages, pushing men to desperate measures as they watch their loved ones go hungry. These people love just like you do. You can relate to this, I hope.”

Then Julius revealed another horrible thing, informing him that when the mines need men, they alert the Chamberlain and release the militia into the outer wards. "The brutes grab anyone who looks able and arrest them. Fatten them in the dungeons, then ship them out in irons."

His words only made Edmund ask more questions, but his neighbor refused to speak further on it when they approached a small dwelling. His curiousity quelled as they were greeted by a young woman who caught Edmund’s attention.

She was fair and very polite as Julius made himself at home in her dwelling, sitting at a small square table as they entered. "This is my dear sister Lucy."

"Your sister?" Edmund asked, surprised at such a thing as she wore a lovely smile.

"He wishes." the woman remarks with as she pointed him to a chair opposite of Julius. He glanced at the humble interiors when she returned with two bowls and a heel of barley bread. He was delighted to discover it was rabbit stew, and Julius was correct. It was far better than any tavern swill.

Lucy, a petite woman with a generous figure, sat alongside the at the wooden table. Her chestnut curls cascaded gracefully down her back, framing her features. Dressed in a modest gown befitting the standards of Old Street, she exuded an air of grace and practicality while Julius leaned in to Edmund, mentioning in hushed tones that Lucy was renowned in the area for her skill as a seamstress, crafting tunics and gowns for the merchants.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, he hinted that she might have garments available in Edmund's size if he had any coin to spare. Lucy's warm voice cut through their conversation, scolding Julius playfully for his teasing and insisting that Edmund indulge in the hearty stew before them. It was full of meat, with onions and parsnips as the wonderful sight filled his nostrils with delight.

Edmund's gaze met Lucy's, finding solace in her kind eyes amidst Julius' self-centered monologue. Despite being Julius' childhood companion, Lucy bore his scrutiny with grace as he demanded a display of her work to satisfy his bragging.

Sensing Lucy's discomfort, Edmund intervened subtly, silently communicating his support. Moving towards the back of her modest dwelling, she drew aside a faded curtain revealing her humble sleeping quarters.

When she was away, in a hushed tone, Julius disclosed the tragedy that had befallen Lucy – her husband lost to a merciless fever in the depths of the mines. Compassion welled up within Edmund as Lucy emptied a worn chest onto her simple cot. Selecting an item, she hesitantly made her way back to the table which was swiftly intercepted by Julius, the garment was thrust towards Edmund for inspection, its deep blue fabric was vibrant in the dim light.

"Feel that wool, Edmund. You remember that line of people with the tosspots?" he laughed aloud. "Something about the urine from these wards that make the softest wool."

Lucy hits him on the shoulder for being rude and berates his sarcasm as Julius remarks that he is being honest. He told Edmund that Lucy crafted the tunics that Osmond brought to Harwin.

"And how much did my brother pay?" Edmund asked, figuring out this whole ruse of promising Lucy he would bring her a customer. He almost laughed, thinking of how this man had put him in this circumstance.

"Osmond retrieved some money owed to me weeks ago," Lucy spoke before Julius could answer. "I owed him two tunics, a merchant in the Horn wanted to stiff me on what was owed after he sold eight of my best dresses."

"My brother felt obligated to do something nice for Harwin, they have grown quite close shoveling that coal and banging on bronze," Julius remarked. "Very touching." A remark that made Edmund roll his eyes. The man was full of shart.

Julius noticed this and chuckled and tells Lucy about their first meeting, a tale among tales he boasts as Lucy smiles at him.

“These two Panheads come in on a fancy wagon with dead Ravens in tow, with the captain of the entire Hayston militia speaking on their behalf.” Julius describes it in an overblown manner. “The older brother, a soldier under his employ, bollocked something, and is exiled for a mysterious offense, and this one, we lack a clue of why he is here."

“I did nothing, I have never lived a day without my brother since we were found in a crib after our father died.?” Edmund tells him.

"You play a poor victim." Julius says with a chuckle. “Almost brings a tear to my eye.”

Lucy became angry with Julius and scolded him for prodding a secret that was none of his business, apologizing profusely for his rude attitude, then thanking him for visiting. She was happy to meet one of the men all the wards were talking about, adding that she felt embarrassed at what Julius had concocted.

“I was ignorant of who they were for, and Julius had given her an old brown thing and told her to match it,” Lucy says while staring coldly at Julius. “I know now, it was your tunic he took.”

"I did not, Harwin was the one who took his tunic." Julius protested and became annoyed that his ploy was revealed as he complained that Edmund needed the colors to keep him from harm, acknowledging the deception but guilty of nothing except concern for his safety.

The pair started to bicker as Lucy told Julius she found it underhanded to be hoodwinked into making things for a customer who did not know of such, then pushing him into buying it out of guilt to help her.

Lucy's silence spoke volumes as she rose to her feet, her eyes blazing with fury as she demanded Julius to depart from her abode. With a forceful push, she ushered him towards the door, her hand connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap before he could react. The sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through the room, leaving Lucy seething with anger, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

As she turned to face Edmund, ready to offer an apology for the scene that had unfolded, he interrupted her by presenting a gold falcon from his purse. The coin in her palm brought tears to Lucy's eyes as she gazed at it, a sob escaping her lips in a mixture of gratitude and relief. Through tear-filled eyes, she pleaded for forgiveness on Julius' behalf, revealing how he had helped since her husband's passing. “He can be obnoxious, but he is loyal.”.

Lucy, taken aback, tried to barter with Edmund by offering extra tunics, but he shook his head firmly. Grateful, she embraced him tightly, her cheek brushing against his as she planted a kiss on his skin. The unexpected closeness made his cheeks flush with warmth. Lost in the subtle fragrance of her hair, he reluctantly let go as she pulled away.

With a playful smile, Lucy insisted that if she managed to find another rabbit, he must return for another bowl of stew as a token of appreciation for his generosity. Unable to refuse her charm, he agreed and stayed for another serving while Julius peeked curiously through slots of the window.

As Lucy bundled up the garments and tied them securely with twine into a neat package for him to carry under his arm, he couldn't help but feel grateful towards her kindness.

Lucy smiled again, embarrassing Edmund while he tried not to glance back in admiration. She pulled him to her again for another embrace, and he requested something warmer for the upcoming winters. Julius muttered through the shutter that they had to leave, a reminder that he was lost in the wards without him as he cursed him under his breath when the embrace ended.

He gave her silver for the wool owed, and she welled tears in appreciation again as he met his escort back in the street to continue his errands.

Julius cunningly grins back at him, appreciating that he bought the tunics. "She likes you, I believe." which gets Lucy riled again as she snatches a small pail on her front stoop and chases Julius away as he laughs and dodges her wild swings.

As the pair embark from her hovel, Julius quickly approaches after Lucy returns miffed to her dwelling. When they are out of earshot. Julius nudges him by the arm. “If you need a warm body under your sheets, I could think of worse," Julius says, leading them down a back alley to turn onto another dirt path. Edmund glares back bitterly.

"You are mad at me?" he adds.

Edmund was annoyed at the remark toward Lucy, but his crude humor and scheming made him slightly laugh. He had a question, so Julius replied to ask him freely.

Edmund wanted to know if their altercation this morning was a ploy. "How much of this was planned, and how much of it was true?"

"Your brother was right, you are sharp," Julius says while pulling on his goatee.

"Let’s say that somebody told me to get you out of the inn. He said if I wounded your pride I might get you to follow me out of stubbornness. A quality you both seem to share, but I believe yours is the strongest trait between you two."

Edmund had no reply at his jape, but he wanted this journey to end. The warm stew had increased the fatigue from their task of chasing away thieves. The request halted his escort as Julius looks at him with a slight pause.

"I have one more errand," he says as Edmund sighs in annoyance.

His words had a tinge of caution to them as he followed along, and Julius said little to him as they walked, and in the silence, his thoughts go to his brother. He instantly gets angry, knowing his entire life is uprooted, thanks to Harwin, while he glances about at the squalor of the wards, his hope on this misfortune was to see if a way could be found to bring them home.

He could sacrifice comfort to save his brother from this wretched place, but he was worried about Harwin's temper in a city like this, dreading that it would get him killed or even worse, end up in the mines.

As he dwelled on the bitter thoughts, his escort gave him a lesson about the Widow’s Ward as the commoners coined it. Prostitution was prohibited, and women were taught skills to hopefully earn a living. Many sewed for merchants in Old Street, making finer goods for the wealthier. It was this ward that saved Lucy from a dire decision after losing her husband.

As for him, he said he was a bard of the wards, finding work except in Jack Dobbins, that ward was overrun with undesirables, he mentioned.

“What brings us to this ward, then?” Edmund interrupts his endless babbling, imagining what Julius could put him through now. “Where are we now?”

Julius then lowers his voice in nearly a whisper as if he is wary of being heard, informing Edmund of a great healer who cured many of the urges of the Mist. He went on about how it appeared like a fog, and not a tongue knew of how it got here.

As Edmund studied him, he had no opinion of this behavior, then Julius informed them they were now in "Butcher's Wail". Insisting they avoid the square where the savagery had happened. As far as he was concerned, it was cursed since the constables lost the body.

He stopped him suddenly as if the next place they were visiting was too peculiar for him to explain, pointing to a dwelling twice the size of others with a heavy wooden door, lacking the usual things that gave an appearnace that a person lived there. It had no frookuh coops or stools under the front canopy and no coal buckets or tosspots like the others.

“I hate to be rude, Edmund, but this is one of my most unusual friends. The healer has been sick, and I have been running errands for them since they arrived.” Julius says wearing a secretive expression.

“I check on them before I go back to my quarters,” he adds seriously, pulling his goatee. “His apprentice is a woman, the most exquisite Nuhrish woman I have ever seen.”

“Nuhrish?”

“Yes, and beautiful, but the vilest thing I have ever met, hating everybody, and that includes me.”

Edmund obeyed, positioning himself on the opposite side of the cobblestone street. A smug grin played on his lips as he observed Julius' comical attempts to deal with the formidable woman. However, as his gaze fell upon her from a distance, Edmund's amusement faded into genuine astonishment.

She stood tall and statuesque, dwarfing even Julius with her commanding presence. Her hair cascaded like spun gold beneath a cloak that hinted at hidden mysteries. The expression etched upon her face was not merely stern but a visage of pure disdain, her words lashing out at Julius like fiery whips that cut through the air for all bystanders to witness.

Julius, in contrast, appeared feeble and insignificant under her verbal assault, resembling a scolded child seeking refuge. Despite his pleading eyes, she barred him from entering the abode, her icy glare promising nothing but malice towards him.

She finished what she had to say, and had one more ghastly stare at Edmund before shutting the door hard behind her. Julius turned to come back, shrugging his shoulders once more at the odd encounter.

“Did you see what I was telling you? She is something to behold. What I would give, but she is such a brute, and she scares me.”

Edmund agreed, but even beauty had not deterred that he was ready to depart these outer wards. He was spent, and Julius could sense it, admitting the weariness of their travels. "I should apologize. I made this day fun for myself.” as he laughed a bit. “You had me riled up this morning, but it was time someone pulled the handle of that spoon in his arse."

He chuckled briefly, the jest stinging his pride. "Julius, I bear you no grudge anymore. Your skills is rather strange, yet your motives is clear," Edmund stated as Julius wondered if he was being slighted again, before bursting into laughter. "I may not grasp the meaning of that term, but its ring is regal," Julius quipped, nudging him in jest. "You are now primed to join the ranks of the honored Breestoners." Edmund joined in the laughter but silently vowed to steer clear of the tanners' trade.

They walked briskly towards the Frookuh, as twilight descended as Harwin and Osmond awaited them, bearing short words for their late arrival. The pair were giddy as his brother had spent more of his coin as they marveled at the new dirk that Harwin had acquired. His brother gifted Osmond with a Minoan-styled throwing axe, that the bearded oaf proudly flaunted.

Despite the foolish spending, Edmund chose to overlook it, deciding to prioritize meaningful things over trivial conflicts. Later that night, as they relaxed in the ambiance of the Mockingbird tavern, Osmond pointed out his sudden change in demeanor and questioned, "What wiped away his usual sour expression?"

“The charm of the wards,” Julius told his brother. “Let Edmund tell you, he has been introduced to Breeston life. This should be a good story.”

His suggestion put Edmund in an odd position. He had never been among a group and asked to tell a tale.

The trio fixed their gazes on him, their expressions a mix of eagerness and curiosity. He furrowed his brow, deliberating each word carefully, feeling the weight of the moment. With a deep breath to steady himself, he recounted the heated dispute with Julius that ignited the elaborate deception.

“It gets better,” Julius assured the group.

Edmund shared with them the story of the unpleasant odor emanating from the tannery, mentioned how unattractive Terrence was. Osmond and Harwin found it amusing, laughing loud while Julius listened, stroking his beard while lost in thought as Edmund continued to recount thier experience with the apple cart, swatting and poking at the petty thieves until one of them stabbed him.

Julius tugged on his goatee as Osmond scolded his brother for the ordeal. “You could have gotten him hurt.” the oaf barked with a chortle as Edmund was recalling their second argument, and he had a burning feeling in his stomach, a sadness that gripped him. As Edmund described the misfortune of the wards.

Amid the crowd, his gaze met a sea of eyes fixated on him. Their faces etched with the hardships they endured, reflected confusion akin to being lost as his tale expanded their misery in which he laced with a scribes vivid poetry.

As Edmund voiced his discontent about the Guild's exploitation of the townsfolk, a wave of resentment swept through the onlookers, one tear silently tracing down his pale cheek. A sudden outburst from a man behind him pierced the tension, declaring callously, "Let them perish!"

It invoked many ill responses toward the Guild. The tavern's serving maid cackled approvingly at his words, praising his tale as heartbraking, prompting the group to order another round of ale-filled horns. Yet, amidst the merriment, Edmund's facade crumbled, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably until Harwin prodded him gently, inquiring about his melancholy.

“You will never understand, brother,” Edmund tells Harwin as his brother looks back at him in confusion.

“What is bothering you, lad? It sounds like you had a wonderful day.” Osmond slapped the table with a shout. "I need another horn!" he beckoned as he followed his bark by engulfing a piece of barley bread.

“That girl brother, the miserable one. The healer is leaving.” Julius says, his words halting the candor at the table as if he is unengaged in the conversation.

“That was easy, a simple errand for a silver. A dream for a lad in the wards,” Osmond mentioned disengaged from Edmund’s prior tale. "A shame to hear that, brother."

“I think I am leaving with them.” the words were a shock to Edmund as he found the remark very alarming, halting the small talk between them. It took Osmond by surprise as he spewed ale all over the table.

“What are you babbling about, where are they going?” Osmond barks in annoyance.

“They want me to escort them back to Lonoke. I must help them.” his brother replies in a nonchalant way. “Who can they trust?”

“You lost your wits? We have never set foot out of Breeston. You tell that woman, no matter how fair she is, to bugger off.” His bald brother hit the table again to break him out of his trance. “How can you help them? You are clueless away from the city, and I got a job I have to keep. Do you know how hard it was to acquire that apprenticeship?”

“You need not go,” Julius replied coldly, wounding his brother. “They have requested me to find them trustworthy men. They are offering good coin, and we could use it.”

“What could that be, a few falcons? You have been enamoured with that pair far too long,” Osmond scoffed back at him while sipping from his horn.

“Fifty falcons a man and they cover the costs to get us there. I threw that number out there, hoping to shut her mouth.” his words made his brother silent. “I refused her many times, and she was livid with me.”

The hefty amount sent a pause among the group. “Fifty falcons, that is such a sum of money.” Harwin says while Osmond was in a shock that froze his tongue.

“The healer was so ill that I assumed they would decline. He made it known that my offer was accepted, so can I do, it obligates me to help them now, and when I tried to refuse today, even Edmund could see how angry the woman was towards me.”

“That money can buy so much,” Harwin spoke while deep in thought of what the gold could buy. "Consider me interested."

“I counted on you,” Julius answered.

“What nerve you have, putting me in such a place. Damn you for knocking on that door,” Osmond growled in a huff before Edmund could respond his thoughts.

“I am sorry, brother. If I find them four lousy men who rob them along the way, what does that say about me? They are offering me an opportunity to buy the place we hoped to earn one day.”

His words pleaing to his angry brother. “Imagine a hundred falcons, Osmond. We could buy an inn, serve our own horns, and rent out rooms. We know these streets, brother, I can find good people who will work for us.”

“I will go,” Edmund spoke suddenly, feeling a need to be accepted in the discussion.

“Hush, fool. Are you drunk on ale, little brother?”

“How much are they willing to spend?” Edmund asked.

“They told me they could cover any arrangements that needed to be made, no matter the costs.

“That makes the task simle then, we can reserve passage on a cog. I will go to the harbor and inquire tomorrow,” Edmund quickly confirmed.

“Shut up,” Harwin interrupted again. “If something happens to you, our uncle will send Bitters to kill me. Even though you are exiled, you can not risk death because of my mistake.”

Edmund shook him off. The ale had made him feel heartier. He tells Harwin he is free to do whatever he wants, adding with a courage he usually lacked.

“When you cuckolded the bride of our cousin on his wedding night, it disgraced our house, so I can make my own choices.”

“You never say that again!” the booming voice had created silence in the tavern.

Osmond looked at both. His eyes grew as big as his wooden bowl.The reveal startled Julius, who let his chin go during the dreaded mood.

“You have had enough!” Harwin shouts.

“You have no right to lecture me, brother.” Edmund knew he had crossed the line, so he tried to put up a strong look. He had promised to let his brother tell that story in his own time, but this was his time to be reckless. In his moment of courage, he slapped his brother hard, drawing blood from his mouth as Harwin scowled, but he took it as the entire tavern watched, awaiting for a thrashing that was expected from such a foolish impulse.

"Your arrogance has cost more than just you, it cost many and now you ponder to leave and strand me here." Edmund yelled back, and he felt tears, not of sadness but a harbored resent that needed to be unleashed.

“I will give you that one as a courtesy brother, but avoid pushing your luck any further this evening.” as Edmund declined to cower as he normally did at his brothers temper. They both glared at one another for a long moment as the onlookers awaited the tense staredown. Osmond tugged at Harwin by his sleeve to ease the conflict, and the gesture made his brother relent as they sat back down.

The patrons sense the tone ease, then begin their chatter again, with the occasional glances their way.

“Well, bollocks with the armory. I will go, too, I guess,” Osmond spoke from ignorance as he swallowed another heel of bread.

4

   Arland Breeston nearly sunk the Guild when he convinced them to invest in building the outer wall. The rest of the families — Wintergarden, Winston, Tedford, Childers, Burwell, Copeland, Billingsly, Venton, and Faust — thought it madness. 

   The project used every free hand; the population doubled as stray mouths flocked to Breeston during the construction, as the wages it generated created an immense circulation of money.

   Arland had died a year before it finished, so the agony of it turned over to me, his only son. My position as Chamberlain was at risk, and I needed a solution to generate funds. 

   In my frustration, I walked Old Street, and into the Horn ward, noticing it appeared overloaded by street merchants with two-wheeled carts, and everybody had free use of the river. The lands were open, and poachers thrived by offering game and fish to the pot shops that fed the commoners. 

   The idea hit me to use this wall instead of mocking it, so I ended the practice with a Writ and invented the guild pin. It was our river, and the outside lands belonged to us. Why should its bounty go without the Guild getting its cut? 

   In weeks, the pot shops disappeared, and the traffic of the carts had trickled. Every merchant, innkeeper, tailor, cobbler, fisherman, or hunter was under our yoke, paying for the privilege, adding coins to our coffers.   

   Many became jobless, and the city rioted. We faced the peril of being burned alive in our fine homes if not for the militia. Our personal army killed over four hundred rioters and hanged seven hundred more until order was restored. 

   The excess of starving bellies helped us drive down the wages, adding to our profits, but at the cost of our reputation. The Blood Writ, the commoners named it, and the Guild never looked back. 

   We sold many orphans and widows to the Minoans for indentured servitude. Then our eyes looked to the other side of the lake to build their new manses. My legacy, I’m afraid, will be divided. A hero to my noble kin and a scourge to the commoners. 

   My words - Broderick Breeston

The Tale of a Mercenary

  Harwin was looking at the cog from the pier. He liked the name of the boat, the Rachel. It sounded like a pretty girl, an honest girl. The kind of girl he lacked the pleasure to find since he left Hayston. 

   It was another stinging reminder of what he had given up when his uncle sealed his fate with this exile. He was struggling with his decision since he walked the Breeston docks that morning, thinking of Bitters and if he could see him now. All those years, I trained you to take the helm of high captain, and you shame me by becoming a mercenary. 

   The promise of gold had him eager to begin, and he would have left that night when first mentioned, but that impulse had faded, and now he felt it was out of obligation.

   Edmund had wasted little time securing passage with the harbormaster, finding a captain who eagerly took their silver for reserve. His brother took care of the tolls and squared their affairs with their innkeeper the next day. Relling was devastated, his brother had remarked, vowing to keep their room vacant until they came back to the city.

    His brother's eyes sparkled with an unexpected zeal as they prepared for their journey north. Despite Harwin's cautious words about the potential dangers ahead, his brother remained undeterred. With unwavering determination, he revealed their route - a cog ride to Billingsly followed by renting mounts for the ascent to Faust through the gap of the high hills.

   Assuring him that the path would be teeming with fellow travelers, Edmund seemed confident in their ability to blend in seamlessly among the masses. As he droned on excitedly about their upcoming adventure, Harwin couldn't shake off the lingering sting from his brother's confrontation of his secret back at the tavern. Though they had made amends, the betrayal still lingered in his heart.

   When Julius and Osmond arrived, they were riding in a cart they had rented from a friend. A muscled Nuhrish man was pulling it like an ox, with Julius at its helm. His face full of apprehension, he noticed, while Osmond walked beside them wearing a bitter scowl. He was gritting his teeth while glancing at the healer with his apprentice sitting beside him on top of a chest at the rear. Osmond went ahead of them, approaching Harwin as the cart stopped. 

   “This blasted woman is going to be a problem,” he said, and she gave orders at once as she leaped over the sideboards of the cart.

   “You there,” she pointed at Edmund; his brother had jumped quickly. “Help the fat one carry the chest.”

  “Julius, you and that lummox help the master.” Harwin learned that the “lummox” meant him.

   She was rude and demanding, yet attractive. The healer was a differant problem, he appeared ill, swallowed in his clothes.

   “I know what you are thinking. I have shown concern for his condition and she bit his head off.” Julius whispered as he passed him.

   As he glance at the healer, the man was swallowed by a long ermine fur of a mix of brown and white, too elegant for traveling, over a woolen black cloak that kept his head hidden. He was shaking as Harwin approached, pale as milk and weak, and his long hair damp with sweat. His murky green eyes sunken in his face. The man was exhausted and trying to smile, and his voice was a weary whisper. “Thank you, lads, pardon my condition, please. I look forward to your company.”

   Harwin clutched his arm tight while Julius grasped the other, supporting his weight and keeping him from losing his balance. His steps were slow when they walked up the incline to the ship.

   This apprentice was not an apprentice in his mind. She could pass for his sister perhaps, but she lacked the words and finesse to comminicate. She was a warrior if he had ever seen one, her body lean but hard. Concealing armor, he noticed, beneath a large, blue, wool cloak that covered her to the knees.

   She followed behind the healer, his legs faltering from fatigue as they set foot upon the deck, while Edmund and Osmond were struggling, their pace slow while they lugged a massive chest that was making the journey with them. The two were bent over like old crones, setting the chest on the deck with a loud thunk when the captain approached them.

   “How can I help you, my lord?” the grizzled captain asked. He was a man of forty, with stringy black hair that was unkempt, wearing a blue-dyed jerkin over grey woolens.

   The healer whispered, “Peregrine, you can call me Peregrine.” The captain was leaning in close, causing panic in the woman.

   “Stand back! If you need a name, then you call him Master Haldock,” she barked out. “What we need is a place near the aft of your ship. A corner will be fine, without disturbance by ignorant cretins.”

   The captain was unsure what to say to her venom, responding with startled welcome. “This is the Rachel, my crew is at your service. I can get them to take your chest.”

   “The chest will be taken care of,” she interrupted sharply.

   “Indeed milady, but at this moment I have not been paid. Until then, young miss, your demands will be ignored. The tolls are taken care of, but another step will not be taken until the fee accepted is paid.” His tone brought a grimace from the woman as Harwin chuckled under his breath at the exchange.

   “I thought you had this taken care of, Julius, that is why the master insisted upon you!” she berated their mate until the frail voice of Master Haldock silenced her.

   “Camille.” The woman bowed her head, embarrassed. “Julius is of no fault here. Mistreating him, I will not tolerate,” he said in a pained effort as he reached inside a sleeve in his cloak. He produced a small sack tied tightly with twine and gave it to the captain. “This should suffice.”

   The captain loosened the string, and many falcons were its contents. “Please, call me for whatever you need,” the captain said with astonishment. “My name is Rodrigo and you will have your corner, you and your men will be fed, and I can even post a few of my men to provide security.”

   The master nodded as the captain quickly dismissed himself, and as he departed, within moments the healer went limp as Harwin clutched his waist to keep him from falling. The energy spent on climbing aboard had incapacitated him.

   “Be careful with the master!” she shrieked.

   “You.” She pointed to Edmund again. “Quit gawking at me. Help that bald oaf pick up the chest.”

   They groaned as they went around them. Camille followed them in a huff, and Julius exhaled, feeling troubled.

   “This task is seems is ludicrous,” he whispered as they nudged close to Master Haldock, picking him up gingerly and following. Edmund and Osmond had found a proper corner while he took a moment to glance around at the other passengers. 

   His gaze counted eleven prisoners in fetters, escorted by eight from the militia destined for the mines, along with a few merchants looking in shock at them as another group was pointing and snickering at one another. They had the look of foragers by their wares, he guessed, or hunters since one lad had a bow.

   Camille unlocked the imposing chest, its wood resembling maple but with a rare white hue that caught Harwin's disapproving gaze. As she lifted the lid, a stack of neatly folded blankets greeted her, strategically placed atop linens to deceive any curious onlookers of the hidden weight within, Camille hesitated, exchanging sour glances with her brother and Osmond who had struggled with it earlier.

   Her attention scanned the eyes upon her as she muttered a few choice words while grabbing some of the loose woolens, then shutting the chest and placing a blanket atop the lid before turning her attention to her unconscious master.

   "Julius, assist me," she commanded briskly, guiding the man's limp form onto his side. Carefully propping his head up with a rolled-up blanket and draping him in a thick fur cloak, they arranged his legs snugly beneath the covers for warmth and comfort.

   “You stand there, lummox.” She pointed to her right. “The beanpole to the left, I want the repulsive one with the beard in the middle. Julius, you sit near me,” she said with a snarl.

   His thoughts were rancid as he watched poor Julius slide the two small traveling chests they had brought in front of where Master Haldock was resting. After a quick glare of approval, the miserable woman found an empty crate nearby and sat beside him. Camille leaned in close when she had something to say to Julius, then, hawk-like, peered over to see if one of them had moved. 

   From his vantage point, the entire harbor sprawled out before him. In the distance, the statue of Arturo Breeston, a hero from the Ankirk war, stood sentinel over the bustling port square in the distance. To his left, the ancient Guildhouse loomed with its weathered stone facade, while on the opposite side, Raines Bank gleamed in the sunlight. The aroma of malt and hops wafted from Tetford brewery behind him, where plumes of smoke billowed from its twin chimneys like ethereal guardians.

   Harwin's gaze drifted over the array of imposing barges docked in anticipation of the imminent wheat harvest to sail upriver to Minoa, knowing his brother's fervent hopes of a summons from the harbormaster upon their return would hopefully ease the tension between them since their exile.

   His was not promising news after visiting Arlo Withers before they departed. He was thirty-two spots from the top. Arlo had encouraged him to not despair. He had let go of many men recently for various reasons. Three for showing up drunk on the job, and one was stabbed and killed by his wife, while another was arrested for buggery and sent to the mines. 

   Harwin neglected to tell his brother that his funds were evaporating, having forty-two silver oaks left from what Argyle had given him. Furthermore, he spent his reward money and traded the weapons from the Ravens for work from the smith.

   His concentration broke when a boatman brought him a small keg to comfort their legs. Osmond as well, and he plopped upon it with a bored look on his face. 

   “It would be nice to sit and talk, instead of being treated like a child,” Osmond said while rubbing his beard, a habit he noticed when frustrated.

   “Can I sit beside my friend, or am I to stay here until we reach Billingsly?” Harwin asked the women who stood over the healer with a daring look for anyone to disturb him.

   Camille looked over but ignored him. This went on as he asked her again, and moments passed, then he asked again, still paying him no mind as the cog had sailed from the sight of Old Street. The ship twisted its course north and began its route up the Nyber River as Harwin glimpsed on afar at Merriweather. The village the Guild had built on the north side of the Nyber to escape the filth they called their citizens.

   It seemed like an hour had passed until his boredom was relieved when deckhands arrived with bowls. A fish stew with leeks and a hint of garlic with a warm hunk of barley bread. It was palatable, better than most pot shops, but the journey had him desiring better provisions.

   “When we get to Lonoke. I will eat a whole rack of lamb crusted in herbs,” he yelled over to Osmond who held a bored frown.

   “What is an herb? Is it like a potato?” he answered back.

   “For the sake of the gods, I want to move,” Harwin grumbled when the lad returned for his bowl. “We need the liberty to move!”

   “What could be so important? You are under our hire. Why do you refuse to listen?” Camille replied, frowning as she turned to Julius. “I thought we requested professional men. What type of mercenaries are these?”

   “I am his brother,” Osmond said in anger. “You wanted professionals, this is as professional as Breeston can furnish. If he found you real mercenaries, they would murder that man slumped over in a heap, then had taken turns buggering you.”

   “You want to try it, lout?” Camille bristled and opened her cloak, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Good steel, he noticed, with a set of leathers in banded iron rings that would fetch many a gold falcon.

   “Be quiet, Osmond,” Julius pleaded. “Can they at least sit among themselves?”

   “Please, kind miss, let them sit together. They both are impossible and they will antagonise you until we are drawing steel on one another.” his brother groveled in his lordly way.

   “Edmund is right. We have to live with them every day,” Julius begged to convince her, as she huffed a deep, resentful sigh and nodded her approval while the argument had drawn a bunch of hoots from the militia, propped on their iron-tipped spears and laughing. Even the poor lot in fetters were amused as he glanced over and smiled slyly at Camille. She met his gaze, showing no fear despite his size.

   “She cares little for men,” Osmond remarked with a laugh as they moved away along the rail to converse.

   “That thing has no love for anything, she is as friendly as a wasp.” Harwin added as they quickly used their freedom to scan the banks of the wide river.

   “Julius has a thing for her. So does your brother,” Osmond pointed out, looking over at Edmund as he looked enchanted, then said in a jape, “If she ever has a kind word for him. He might soil his linens.”

   Harwin kept looking at his brother, grinning, catching him staring at her as his eyes darted to the deck in embarrassment when he noticed them looking his way. His face turned red as both laughed at him.

   They were hours away from Breeston when they grew bored of looking at the jutted rocks of the plateau, bickering with Camille until she allowed them to play dice and let them sit in a shaded place within eyesight. The pair played monarchs for several throws until two militiamen joined them. A kid who introduced himself as Robin Bivens quickly produced some coin to gamble, one of the foragers he learned from conversation.

   Osmond was down two coppers, and he lost one when three of the deckhands sneaked over while the captain was in his quarters. Harwin rolled until he was now up a copper, then passed to Osmond. His mate boasting aloud to goad the others to bet against him. The pot swelled until he threw two crowns, winning eleven coppers as the onlookers cursed his luck.

    Harwin's weariness settled in past midday, eased only by the captain's thoughtful gesture of sending skewers of succulent goat meat accompanied by a cup of honeyed mead. Rodrigo, kept his word, and stationed three armed men as sentries near their group, a reassuring sight that put Camille at ease.

   She allowed Julius to join them, and together they gazed out over the vast barley fields stretching north of the Nyber River. The abundance of grain left the brothers in awe as they marveled at the natural beauty along the banks, a majestic crane took flight from the nearby, captivating their attention.

   Osmond entertained the group with playful antics, his laughter ringing out joyfully as they whiled away the afternoon with another turn at monarchs. Passing by a quaint village nestled along the riverbank, they observed livestock farmers tending to their sheep on a gentle hillside. Julius found the countryside peaceful as he tossed an apple core into the river, drawing attention to a turtle lazily swimming by, much to his amusement.

   Their attention wandered to their employers as the healer never moved since they departed the docks. Camille must have allowed Edmund to move closer. He was sitting a few feet away and staring at her, too timid to speak as the woman never paid him any mind. She was occupied with caring for Peregrine, wiping his forehead with cool water.

   “Will he live to pay us?” Osmond grumbled after he rejoined them to look upon the waters. “He is sweating like a mule. I fear we may get ourselves stranded with no coin.” 

   “Relax, friend Osmond. In a fortnight, we will leave Lonoke with our purses stuffed with gold,” Harwin said, encouraging him. “Then you can buy that dilapidated inn.”

   “Yeah, I have it worked out,” his mate claimed, ignoring his slight. “We can buy a three-floor skinny along the Old Wall. Live downstairs and rent eight rooms for three silvers a week. I can cook a stew while Julius finds the tenants. You should go in with us and run the door.”

   “You can cook?” Harwin laughed, finding humor in imagining it.

   “What is there to it? Some leavings and taters with good clean water,” Osmond said, then scoffed at him. “You mock me but I am trying to do you a favor. You will dread being a bloody tosser.”

   “What is this word, “tosser”, you keep mentioning? I hear it all over, what does this word mean?” Harwin asked to get under his skin.

   “It means what it means. It sounds right and I lack a better word for it.” Osmond then wagged his finger at him. “You will see no glory in it, no reason to wear those fancy arms you got.”

   “You may be right. Maybe, we should stay in Lonoke and find work there.” Harwin mentions as he ponders the thought, a thought that angers his bald friend.

   “Breeston is what we know, and why ask such a question?” Osmond said, rubbing his thick beard. “You will violate your exile and ruin any return that may present itself.

   “My exile can be anywhere. Me being sent to Breeston was so my uncle could get reports sent to him by the captain.”

   “That is selfish, Harwin,” Osmond interrupted him. “Your brother is fragile, why put him through another stressful move? I know a little more since Edmund got the gabs from horns the other night and—”

   “Not this again,” Harwin said, shaking his head to interrupt him. “You keep hinting about my cuckold story, and you can forget it The memory is painful.”

   “Painful, so you want me to tell you a painful story to help you loosen up? What is the saying? Misery loves company. My story involves Julius, which means you are getting two tragic stories.”

   Harwin never replied yes or no, but Osmond told his story nonetheless. “We are near the same age, and we are not true brothers either, but love is not just for those sharing the same blood. Growing up together, our fathers were gong farmers.”

   “Gong farmers?” he found it amusing, then chuckled.

   “Yes, a respectful position in Breeston. Paying over twice that lousy tosser job you covet,” Osmond said, unappreciative of the mock.

   “Not every bloke can make it as a gong farmer. The job has a huge risk. You stand up to your knees in shart. Julius lost his father when he was nine or ten. His mother begged mine to take him in, while she ran off and made a living off her backside,” Osmond informed him, which made Harwin snicker as Osmond smacked him on the shoulder to stop his mocks. He was serious.

   Hearing his name, Julius looked up and over at them, shrugging his shoulders, then continued talking with Edmund. Osmond then leaned in closer so he could continue his tale as if it was a secret. “We even got some tutoring. Our fathers wanted us to learn words and sums, all three of us, counting my sister.”

   “You never mentioned you had a sister,” Harwin said, surprised.

   “That is because she is a strumpet in the Jack Dobbins ward!” Osmond replied, raising his voice, then calmed back to a near whisper.

   “Our father passed away when we were sixteen. My sister ran off, and my mum was heartbroken, falling ill, and soon after was bedridden.” 

   His tale was sad, as they both were trying to find work, pushing at the mills until we both bled at the hands, then tossing sacks of flour onto the barges until both we were bent and broken, and then they worked for the ward boss in "Tanner Square", beating up people who owed him coins, until, after a long day, their mum had passed as they were working.

   Harwin felt too awkward to say words at the moment. It was a pitiful story, but Osmond was on a roll, not pausing while he unloaded his childhood to him. “Julius sang at a pub for heels of bread. He can sing, you know. I learned to toss dice from a ringer who lived in Bollox." 

   Both were determined to be known in the wards and soon found honest work, helping the merchants peddle their wares without being attacked by thieves. “We even roughed up men who stiffed the prostitutes that work the squares at night.”

   “I get what you are trying to tell me,” Harwin said as Rodrigo began barking orders aloud. Osmond stood as the ship glided towards a quaint town nestled in a bend that widened into a small harbor. The crew bustled around him, deftly lowering the sails as they prepared to dock. Large hemp ropes were flung outward as Osmond's attention was captivated, momentarily drawing him away from their conversation.

   “We can get off,” he yelled, jumping giddily as a kid. “Where are we? It should have a tavern.”

   “Quit acting the fool, you dumb bloat. We have to stay here. The master is too ill to be moved,” Camille bitterly ordered, dashing his hopes.

   “She is right. And tomorrow, we need to apply our gear since we should reach Billingsly tomorrow. You two do the first watch at dusk?” Julius adds to the sudden gloom aloud as Camille had made him boss over them.

   Harwin and Osmond exchanged irritated glances, dragging their kegs closer to inspect the quaint village. According to his brother, it was called Venton, a settlement that served as a holdfast for the resources extracted from the mines located several leagues to the north.

   The northern mountains in the distance yielded precious copper, salt, and coal that the Guild sold for trade. The storage houses, brimming with these essential commodities, seemed to outnumber the actual residences of Venton; Harwin estimated that perhaps a few hundred called this place home. It resembled a rustic timber hamlet not unlike those he used to patrol in Hayston.

   They brooded in silence as the Rachel soon docked and tied alongside the other cogs, watching as the boatsmen unloaded sacks of flour and crated goods. They shared frowns as the other passengers unboarded, carrying wares from Breeston.  

    Harwin could see that the town supported several inns along the small harbor as he heard a lute from a tavern playing faintly in the distance.

   “The whole ship has left us behind except for a few lads. Even Rodrigo has abandoned us for a night of merry,” Harwin said, then sighed.

   “Aye, but take a look at those unfortunate bastards,” Osmond remarked, watching the militia march the prisoners in their fetters as they fell out of sight from the Rachel. “I hear a week is like a month in the mines. Many come back so ill, that the customs agents take them past the bricks of Old Street, and dump them in the dirt,” His friend said, looking at the condemned lot in pity.

   As the twilight descended, Osmond reminisced about the old timers whose fathers and grandfathers toiled in the mines, sustaining the outer wards. Many would venture to work a season, enticed by generous wages despite the inherent dangers. In those times, bustling pubs and lively cart merchants adorned the squares, enabling villagers to maintain their quaint cottages.

   Soon, dusk settled in, the city constables ignited lanterns, casting a flickering glow that barely illuminated the village, distant lights from the inns twinkled invitingly. The distant sounds of lutes and singing drifted through the air, reminiscent of nights patrolling Hayston. "Do you think they're asleep?" he asked wearily to Osmond.

   “I can hear Julius snoring, but your brother not so much. The woman has her head down. Why do you ask?”

   “We were talking before we docked, and I said I get what you are trying to tell me?” Harwin said. “Your story was to console me. It was a good story, and it helped ease my mind.”

   “I still am unsure where you are going with this, I only wanted to tell my story,” Osmond muttered, which brought a snicker from him.

   Harwin's voice softened as he shared a memory with his companion. He spoke of the first time he met his new adopted mother, Rose Parsons, a beacon in his tumultuous life. Her husband, Truitt remained distant to him, never wanting two panheads, but relented to her wishes, their relationship strained further by her untimely death from the sweating sickness when he was just twelve.

   The entire town of Hayston, from the wealthiest nobles to the humblest villagers, adorned her coffin with white roses, and now likely adorning her grave today. Harwin knew that many of those roses were placed there by his uncle, who harbored a deep affection for Rose in secret.

   That tension between them never eased, so at sixteen, Harwin was placed in the militia to forge his own path away from his adopted father.

   Harwin's tale shifted as he delved into his childhood, reminiscing about the days with his adopted cousins during their lessons. Their attitude towards him was cold, and worsened after Rose's passing, branding him as a bringer of misfortune to all who cared for him. The relentless taunting forced him to mature bitterly, and soon he was towering over them at the age of thirteen, despite his eldest cousins already being several years older.

   He then vividly recounted the moment when he reached his breaking point, standing up to the hurtful jibes by confronting both of them. The onlookers of common folk found amusement in witnessing a pale boy besting the esteemed heirs of the High Lord. Osmond found humor in this turn of events and couldn't help but burst into laughter at the thought of it.

   Hawklin, the youngest among them, often reminded him of his orphaned past through cruel actions. On one occasion, Hawklin's brutal chides once angered him so that he beat him so severe that it left him in need of constant care from a healer for days. As punishment for this vicious act, Harwin was publicly displayed in the stocks. The children, fueled by boredom, would taunt and torment with pointed sticks, reveling in his suffering.

   "That was a few years ago. It was him that I cuckolded," Harwin admitted. "It was quite a wedding. Every lord who had a last name that meant something attended."

    The story made Osmond’s ears perk up as Harwin detailed his finest doublet he wore for the gathering and forced to stand away from the matrimony so the nobles would be less offended by his presence. They treated Edmund better, he remarked to Osmond, sitting him alongside the fickle lot who paid much gold to be amongst the elite. 

   Osmond was deeply engrossed, finally rewarded and wearing a grin from ear to ear. Harwin embellished how dignified the priest looked in his green, vibrant robes, recalling the loud applause when the vows were complete. Afterward, they dined. Even at the lower tables, they dined on roasted meat and fine ale." 

   Harwin's memories flooded back, vivid and raw. His uncle, in a state of intoxication, stood out in the crowd. The alliance had been a political triumph for him, sealed with a substantial dowry of five thousand falcons. Osmond's astonishment at such a sum was of disbelief and Harwin recounted how Argyle had received a far more lavish gift for his firstborn. Soon his gaze darkened as he reminisced about the pitiful display put on by Argyle's sons, who attempted to outdrink their father until they were all but senseless.

   The bitter taste of resentment lingered in Harwin's words as he revealed that his presence at the event had merely been a facade of family harmony, a token gesture devoid of genuine warmth. He spoke of an ancient Hayston dance custom where unmarried noble males encircled the newlyweds while female nobles surrounded the groom, each young noble obliged to bestow a kiss upon the cheek of the married couple as a blessing for fertility He and his brother were relieved from the dance.

   In an unexpected turn, the bride who had a bit of wine veered away from tradition, circling wide where Harwin stood. Her carefree laughter filled the air as she twirled towards him unknowingly, planting a kiss on his lips—the gesture shocked him, and he noticed a simmering animosity in the eyes of his fellow nobles at this breach of decorum.

   His cousin became enraged, swearing to have him killed one day and lie in an unmarked grave. “A little peck on the lips, and he threatens me with death,” scoffed Harwin. “You disgraced this house tonight,” he mockingly repeated the words by his father after being pulled aside. 

   Edmund's interupted the scolding with support, and the memory returned of his brother’s recent acquisition of a quaint cottage and his aspirations for Argyle to arrange him a marriage. Harwin, caught off guard by this revelation, felt a wave of remorse wash over him. "I should have expected that slap from him at the tavern, and perhaps even more for the chain of events that ensued along the roadside," he muttered ruefully.

   As he brooded a bit, he then continued his story, recalling when Hawklin eventually returned to the festivities, his demeanor still soured. The traditional bedding ceremony proceeded hastily, with Harwin discreetly placed in a distant corner while the nobles raised their glasses in toast. The earlier discord cast a shadow over the celebration, imbuing it with an air of with a taint.

   "It was a tradition that after the toast, the groom carried the bride upstairs and bed her while the celebration between the nobles carried on." Harwin felt pushed away as his uncle heeded him to check on the outer guards to ensure no vagrants were meandering the grounds. “It was a harmless way to ask me to bollocks off,” Harwin laughed annoyingly.

   “I had lingered outside for many moments, angry with how I was treated, and may have been urinating on a bush, when something hit my backside as I stewed. Glancing around, confused, I heard a voice. It was meek, so I looked upward. It was the bride, her head peering through the window of his room,” he said while looking over at his brother Edmund, who was still asleep.

   He mentioned how cute it felt at first to his mate. The lass waved at him to climb up. The tingle of feeling dishonest hit him, and he knew he should leave, but his judgment was angry, so he ignored it. His hands discovered notches in the bricks and, miraculously, climbed the wall without injury. 

   Harwin remembered the lass yanking him by the arm and pulling him inside, while his cousin was on the floor, and his feet were on the bed. 

    “Hawklin laid there snoring like Julius over there, passed out drunk before he could bed the bride. She was in her linens, her breasts barely covered. The ale was feeding my anger, and I stiffened,” he said with a sly grin.

   He paused a moment to reflect while his mate leaned in close. The moment got to him, he told Osmond. She was not timid but rather aggressive, and before he knew it, she was pulling on the strings of his breeches. He threw off his cashmere doublet. They were naked and kissing longingly. She pulled him to her as they fell into the bed, whispering in his ear to have her.

   “She was no maiden, that was for sure, and her screams echoed along the stone walls. My mind kept telling me to pull away, hop out the window, and run to my cot at the barracks before I was discovered.”

   “Hard to abandon a romp, especially mid-romping,” Osmond said in suspense, pulling his beard, imagining he was there himself as he chuckled.

   “A servant girl poked her head through the door. I guess she was curious and wanted a peek at what was making such a noise. I am sure the nobles downstairs could hear it, having a good guffaw among themselves."

   “The girl saw me and screamed. I could hear her steps descending the stairway to inform the nobles,” he said with a guilty shrug, then sighed aloud. "I was taken quickly before the father of the bride could take out a dirk and gut me."

   His friend grunts, realizing now the predicament that brought him to Breeston. "I now understand, dear Harwin. I know it was a folly, a petty judgment for all the mocking. Think of this as fortunate. You still have your life." 

   Harwin began to sob aloud. "I wish it was that easy. A hood was placed on my head, and my wrists were fettered, being led, and I could only think the worst and lacked a clue as to where I was going. A gallows, or was I having my throat slit in like an animal as I was put into a wagon.” 

   His remembered the wheels then went into motion and it was leaving the cobbles, as he was sitting in silence, feeling someone next to him. But that person never answered his pleas. “I could take death, but the silence frightened me, and it seemed like hours and I gave up asking that question: where are we going?” his words became silent as Osmond listened.

“I fell asleep for a spell and awoke to the fetters being removed from my wrists. My hood was then removed, and it was Edmund sitting there all that time."

   Harwin was shocked at his brothers boldness, and what he might have done to get him out of there at first, but he ignored my questions and banged along the wall of the coach for the driver to halt. He could hear Bitters outside halt the driver as he believed his captain risked his station as well.

   He let out a deep, weary sigh. "It wasn't the heroic rescue I had envisioned. Instead, I found myself banished. The details of what my uncle offered to hush up the disgrace and save face are best left unknown to me. The most painful part was watching Edmund bear the consequences of my punishment as part of the deal, a gesture meant to placate the disdainful nobility who had always held a grudge against us."

   “So they shafted poor Edmund because of your mistake?" Osmond shook his head at such cruelty. "Surely, after time you both will be recalled home."

   Harwin sat in solemn silence, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I wish to become a tosser, to bring about a change in even the smallest of ways," he confessed softly, his voice tinged with regret. His gaze then shifted towards his brother, a sense of guilt weighing heavily upon him. "The consequences of my foolish actions are irreversible. We are condemned to a lifetime of exile." Osmond, understanding the depth of Harwin's remorse, reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before rising from his seat. His mate offered an ending of his sad tale, approaching his slumbering brother to rouse him from sleep, Julius protesting loudly at being disturbed. "Enough of your thunderous snoring," Osmond chided sternly.

   “Did you have to shake me so?” Julius glanced up, blinking.

   “Get up and give me that blanket. I need it to put under my head.”

   “What is bloody wrong with you?” Julius asked in a sleepy, annoyed tone.

   “Nothing, just tired of hearing you sawing logs,” Osmond grumbled as he lay on the deck. 

   “Harwin,” Osmond called back as he tried to hide his tears from the others. “I am your brother, too, and the gods are cruel, but your day will come.”

   Julius nudged Edmund awake and settled onto the keg himself. "What's gotten into him now?" he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Harwin simply shrugged, laying back on his makeshift bedroll and gazing up at the night sky. Above, stars peeked through wisps of evening clouds, while a gentle breeze whispered, lulling him into a somber state.

   His thoughts drifted to memories of riding his mount alongside his comrades on their nighttime patrols. The bittersweet recollection weighed on his heart as he succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

5

Peregrine and the Shrew

    He was awakened by Edmund, startling him as he was in a deep dream. “Rodrigo has brought us something good, better than that stew.” His brother informs him while digging in his bowl.

     As the first light of dawn painted the sky, the Rachel glided away from the docks of Venton. Groggily emerging from his slumber, he observed with heavy-lidded eyes the motion of the oars propelling the ship along the tranquil river. The sail unfurled gracefully, catching a favorable breeze that filled its canvas with renewed vigor. With a gentle creaking of wood and a flutter of sails, the vessel altered its course, heading purposefully up the Nyber.

   He was breaking his fast on fried eggs with salt pork and flat unleavened bread. “He awoke,” his brother told him, pointing to the healer. “His eyes opened this morning and his condition, I have never seen such a recovery.”

   Surprised, Harwin glanced over at Peregrine. His eyes were not sunken as before but vibrant. He still looked gaunt, but his vigor had improved so vastly that Harwin thought it was a touch from the mother.

   “You found us some menacing-looking men,” the healer joked to Julius, forgetting their introduction yesterday. His mate wore a studded jerkin with a two-foot dirk to his right hip and a cudgel on his other, banded with an iron ring to crown a man hard. 

   His brother felt compelled to do the same. Harwin had the armor taken from Gaston lengthened for him days ago to fit his lean frame. It made Edmund appear formidable, propped up on his bow. 

   The stringed weapon drew many eyes. Any rube would notice it was expensive and recurved to shoot as strong as a yew longbow. Since the healer and his bitter apprentice spared no modesty, it was pointless to blend in now.

   Osmond was in the midst of gearing up when his companion's eyes flickered in his direction. The equipment before him did little to inspire confidence. Among the motley assortment, only the gleaming axe he bought him stood out as a formidable piece. His armor, a jumble of ill-fitting pieces, gave him a lopsided appearance. Three rough brass rondels were crudely affixed to the leather, unintentionally resembling misshapen breasts and a fat belly.

A worn dirk was snugly tucked into a sheath on his thigh, accompanied by a small hatchet that bore the marks of time, its surface etched with deep notches and weathered pits as though unearthed after years of burial.

   "I can see your eyes mocking me.” Osmond spat at his boots.

   “You look like a travesty,” Julius said, reprieving him. “Is that what you learned during those months at the armory?”

   “Bugger off, it takes years to work a good piece of leather.” as the two brothers bickered.

   “Worry not, brother. When we get to Lonoke, I will find you a proper set.” Harwin told him while admiring his new spaulders. He was tightening the belt of his scabbard when one of the foragers approached him.

   “Is that a Kirschner?” he asked. He was older, years over forty, Harwin thought. His head was under a wool cap, and he was wearing a brown tunic with black breeches, a laughing look in his brown eyes as he beamed at him.

   “You must know your steel,” Harwin replied awkwardly, uneasy that it was noticed.    

   “My men have been fascinated with your lot since we left Breeston. Looking at your lord in his cloak, that breed of ermine is pricey. My name is Rishard Donning, you met our lad Robin yesterday playing monarchs.”

   Camille barked from afar to turn him away as Peregrine scolded her for such harsh words. Edmund interrupted to ease tensions, suggesting the healer drink a broth to gain strength.

   “You be quiet and let me worry about that,” the woman replied bitterly.

   “He is right, thank you, lad. You must understand digestion. Camille, look into the chest and dig out that licorice. I need something sweet,” the master ordered her, smiling as he shifted his focus back on the conversation.

    Rishard remarked in a low voice while looking rattled at her. His curiousity made Harwin feel unsettled too as his questions were a tough personal.

   “What are ya? A poacher?” Osmond asked, intruding in the conversation.

   “Settle down, brother. We are not in Breeston anymore,” Julius said, calming him.

   “What the bollocks does Breeston have to do with poaching?” huffed Osmond, his remark making Harwin snort into a chuckle.

   “He looks to be a forager, brother. They dig up roots and mushrooms and sell it for coin,” Harwin explained to his mate.

   Rishard was quick to compliment him on his keen awareness of his craft as the man looked awkwardly at Osmond. His interest was peaked as he was enamored with the unusual appearance that Peregrine displayed.

  Julius smoothly stepped in, weaving a tale of being employed by the man, painting him as a merchant seeking safeguard from the unsettling whispers surrounding the Ravens that stirred unease among those journeying through the Triad. Despite his clever fib, the forager remained inquisitive.

   Rishard's gaze lingered long at the open chest, his curiosity piqued. "Your master seems to have a taste for the finer things," he remarked casually, observing as Camille rummaged through its contents.

"Why do you care?" Osmond's question cut through the air sharply, his tone betraying a hint of suspicion.

Rishard shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by his directness. "Just business I ask about. I deal in many things, often finding willing buyers like your master."

   Julius apologized for his brother, claiming he was cranky from the hard deck they slept on, distracting the forager from the menacing look from Osmond. “I will consult him in your stead, and if he shows interest, then maybe he will listen.”

   “Is he ill? He looked near his death yesterday.” Rishard asked as he kept staring at Peregrine.

   Harwin interjected, his voice laced with caution. "See that lass beside him? She's as nervous as a spooked deer. Approach her and she'll have a dagger at your throat quicker than a blink," he advised, his eyes fixed on the wary figure. Camille met his gaze with a glare that could curdle milk.

   “Perhaps it's best if I refrain from sharing my affairs,” Rishard murmured to Harwin. Peregrine, perched on the chest, inquired about the unfamiliar man. Osmond pivoted, his voice cutting through the air as he labeled the man a poacher with a penchant for unearthing roots.

Sensing the tension rising, Edmund stepped in, acknowledging the awkward situation and seeking to rectify their unsettling conversation. "You may find us peculiar, but allow me to shed light on peculiar situation," he said diplomatically.

   “The master caught a minor illness; the abrupt change in cuisine during our stay in Breeston had unsettled his delicate constitution.” Edmund draped his arm around the forager's shoulders, guiding him a few paces aside as if sharing a confidential tidbit which was a crafted lie. "I go by Leland Craig, and our employer hails from the lands of Ethelly. He dabbles in the trade of olives, in case you were curious.”

His informed the forager that he overheard his master was aiming to ease the stringent regulations for his forthcoming ventures to supply goods to Lonoke."

   “You need to acquire a cursed pin. Do you behold this minuscule chunk of bronze?” Rishard proudly displayed it. “A whole ten gold falcons I had to part with to dig around in the earth.”

“Indeed, we’ve been made aware of this peculiar custom. A hindrance for the sake of conducting business in these parts,” Edmund remarked with a remorseful tone. “During our meeting with Harland Childers; the treasurer laid out the rules, and we were compelled to offer a hefty sum to kickstart negotiations.”

“The Guild are insatiable beasts,” the forager grumbled, gesturing towards his comrades. “Do you see those lads of mine? We brave the elements. The dread of creatures lurking in the dark, not to mention bandits eyeing my wares along with my cursed pin. You're better off without them.”

“I value your honesty,” Edmund responded with a smile. “Our trade partners in Ethelly have an insatiable appetite for northern rarities. Black root, elderberry, and courish mushrooms fetch top coin. Do you come across these treasures in your hunts?”

   “May I speak with him?” inquired the forager, seeking an audience, “My lord does not entertain commoners; I handle his matters.” Edmund's replied then his voice sharpened to magnify his ruse.

“Our destination is the port ward in Lonoke, correct?” he inquired, glancing at Julius for confirmation. “Indeed, that is where I recommended accommodations for the nobleman,” Julius affirmed, playing along with the charade.

His eyes looked honest as he confirmed with the eager forager that the next six weeks, they would be stationed there, hosting clients and meeting with Darvil Simpkins, the harbormaster, promising they could discuss payment if the man could secure such items.

Grateful, the forager bowed before hastily retreating to his comrades. Osmond pulled his beard in puzzlement, “How does this tie into poaching?”

   "In the days ahead, remember to shut your mouth in crowded places," Julius chided, flashing a mischievous smile at Edmund. "Your tale was nothing short of genius, my friend. It shall be our guise until we reach Lonoke. Let us be cautious with our real identities. I shall inform Peregrine and hope Camille can comply."

   “What kind of living is made from poaching roots?” Osmond asked, still baffled.

   “Get your dice, you idiot, and play for a few more coppers.” Harwin laughed at his ignorance while the gruff oaf playfully shoved him as they chose a place closer to the center of the cog. They played monarchs alongside sacks of flour stacked in heaps, providing them shade from the sun.  

   The game attracted many newcomers who boarded from Venton who quickly lost coppers as Osmond laughed after several throws. After Harwin threw a round, two brutes who were twins and part of the foraging crew joined them. 

   “I can make a steady living on this boat. Maybe I should speak with that Rodrigo to see if he needs an extra deckhand,” Osmond rattled on, goading the others to bet more as Harwin gained the dice, getting nothing as he decided to bet less when one of the twins had his turn.

   After Osmond rolled a double crown, winning the pot to the groaning of everyone playing, the deckhands shouted aloud that they were bringing the midday meal, ending the bout. They were treated to braised turtle meat on a trencher with onions as the two engulfed it, leaving the crowd to talk alone. 

   Harwin grumbled under his breath, suspecting that the twins had been dispatched to gauge them. As he observed Rishard stealing glances in their direction, Harwin's companion remained fixated on a river carp gracefully leaping out of the water. The spectacle stirred a spark of fascination in Osmond, prompting him to nonchalantly shrug, at a loss for words, before smoothly steering the conversation towards a different topic.

   “We are young men, soon-to-be better-off young men. I was thinking about that this morning while eating. It can buy a man any pin in the city, even a merchant pin, the most expensive.”

   “You want to become a merchant?” Harwin asked. "Whatever you do, refrain from mentioning what they are paying us out loud."

   "I may not possess eloquence, Harwin," Osmond remarked wryly. "But hear me out. Running the inn seems like the easiest path for us. If you have any property that can accommodate a dockhand, there's profit to be made. Look at me, Harwin, I lack Julius' charm," Osmond's expression turned serious, then he scoffed, and remarked that he would tend to the back tasks, coaxing a naive patron into a gambling debt over dice.

He was content to sweep floors, or polish tankards – tasks easily delegated to others. “My brother has been my main support for months now; you've seen this armor – I’ll never be worth a hoot. Join us and together we could invest in a larger inn."

"You underestimate yourself.” Harwin countered. "Why seek another partner when your plan is sound?"

   His mate bemoaned, the pin and the skinny will cost them sixty falcons, they had inquired about this months ago before they ever met, not to mention the costs of returning home, leaving little left over to hire carpenters as the building will likely be ran down. “That will leave us broke until we fill the rooms.”

   “You are talking to the wrong brother. You need to talk to Edmund.”

   Osmond found the suggestion foolish, he fond Edmund’s demeanor as haughty, especially when dealing with common folk. Harwin confessed, his tone tinged with arrogance. “But you saw that incident with the forager? He had him so deep in greed that he couldn't even gather his thoughts.” as his mate pondered silently, absentmindedly running his fingers through his beard while Harwin gestured towards the group of foragers.

“Those individuals have been eyeing us, contemplating ways to relieve us of our belongings ever since they spotted Peregrine and that peculiar chest,” Harwin grumbled in frustration. “Speaking of that chest, its mere presence could fetch a fortune. The fact that it made its way into Breeston without raising suspicion continues to baffle me.”

   Osmond was staring long at the healer. His words were enlightening him to notice the chest for the first time.

   Harwin was quick to point out that Camille's demeanor resembled that of a bewildered child stumbling upon the world for the first time, her frustration manifesting in sharp outbursts as she grappled with being adrift.

The healer acted as if he was familiar with Lonoke, but it was a place foreign to him, their true origins shrouded in mystery. Harwin pondered aloud, puzzled by their recent actions in Breeston. He doubted that someone as skilled as Peregrine would squander their talents on the common folk of the city's outer wards.

With a crease forming between his brows, Osmond voiced his concerns.

"Julius claimed they never ventured beyond their dwelling, sending his brother to retrieve the gravely ill affected by that mysterious 'mist'," Osmond interjected, casting a suspicious glance at the healer. "He sent Julius on various errands, including procuring herbs and remedies from Lucius Vanderlay, a shifty apothecary notorious for his deceitful trade."

   Osmond's brow was furrowed as he struggled to connect his thoughts. "Shall we seize the opportunity? Pummel those scavengers by the wayside in this upcoming town and put an end to it?"

Harwin, though taken aback by the directness of the proposal, couldn't help but burst into laughter at his companion's audacity. "They're well aware they can't match our strength. Edmund is no fool. He planted that deception in Rishard's mind for a reason. Those men are cunning opportunists, adept at both fair dealings and trickery, so he guided them to act in greed, leading them to believe Peregrine would pay handsomely for their wares."

"Regardless, caution is warranted," Osmond interjected, fixing a stern gaze on the forager who had locked eyes with them.

   As the sun began its descent, casting a golden hue over the waters, the cog navigated towards the juncture where the Nyber River merged into the Bell, the Minoan River, the largest river in the land.

Towering structures loomed by the riverbanks, serving as toll stations for the bustling traffic.

Amidst this activity, a commotion arose among the passengers of the Rachel.

Harwin noticed the foragers gathered along the siderails as Robin, the young lad took aim at a carp leaping out of the river. His arrows flew true, some missing their mark until one finally struck its target with precision as onlookers, including a few deckhands, wagered coppers on his shooting prowess.

"Hey brother, why don't you give it a shot? You could outdo him easily," Harwin egged on his sibling as Edmund observed with skeptisism.

"Seems like a waste of good arrows to me. How are they even profiting when each arrow costs as much as their bets?" Edmund questioned pragmatically.

Julius interjected teasingly, "Lighten up Edmund! Join in on the fun for once. Let's see what you've got. Your brother claims you're quite the marksman. I'm willing to bet some coppers that you can’t hit a blooming thing."

   “I’ll make it an oak that he can hit the eye,” Harwin added to spice up the wagering.

   “I have a silver here,” Osmond said, pulling it from his purse.

   “Put your silver away, this is embarrassing,” Edmund protested

   “Look over there?” he heard a merchant shout out. “I see Billingsly. We have made good time.”

   “Edmund, please do this to break the boredom. You can spare an arrow or two,” Harwin said, goading his brother.

   “I will shoot one, but don’t get in a twist if I miss his eye.

   “You won’t hit the fish,” Osmond laughed aloud.

   The pestering finally wore down Edmund's resistance. Reluctantly, he grabbed his fancy bow and strolled a brief distance away from the group. Harwin exchanged a knowing look with Peregrine who was casually chewing on a piece of licorice, thoroughly entertained by the antics unfolding before them.

"They ought to be stationed at their posts; this is exasperating. Master, kindly settle their wages at Billingsly and bid them farewell there. We've endured more than enough of their foolishness," Camille grumbled beside him.

"Just unwind, my dear. Let them revel in their amusement, and compose yourself. Lonoke is not far off; soon enough, you won't have to endure their company any longer."

"Do you really find this absurdity amusing?" she asked irritably as he silenced her with a meaningful glance.

"Care for a wager, Peregrine?" Harwin proposed. "I'm game for a wager, but I'll place my bet on the young lad," Peregrine replied with a piqued curiousity.

"Did you hear that, lads? The master is backing me up! A coin against anyone who doubts my brother's skill to hit the eye of a carp!" he proclaimed loudly, attracting the attention of passersby.

"Why are you intent on stirring up trouble, Harwin?" Edmund interjected with a menacing glare directed at him.

"Stop complaining. You stand to lose nothing—except perhaps some pride if you miss," Harwin retorted coolly.

The challenge quickly drew a crowd. Even Rodrigo was wagering against Edmund, while many of his deckhands pooled their coppers together to join in the excitement.

   "Just look at that mountain of loot stacked against you, brother!" Harwin taunts, his mischievous smile annoyed his sibling.

"Do I really look so pitiful that no one dares bet on me?" Edmund retorts, no amusement in his tone as he sets an arrow on his bowstring. His gaze drifts to the leaping fish and he concentrates on the shifting wind, pulling back his bowstring with as a fish flew from the river.

"When will he make up his mind? We might reach Billingsly before he takes the shot," a deckhand calls out impatiently, breaking the tense silence. Anxiety gripped the onlookers; even Harwin doubts Edmund's ability to hit the eye but found amusement in his unease as no words were said, the only sound being the creaking of the ship as they await the outcome.

In a casual motion, Edmund releases his arrow. The shaft speeds towards a carp leaping twenty yards away from the river's surface, striking it mid-air. The fish spins wildly upon impact, obscuring where the arrow embedded itself. "One of you lads cast a line at it; I want that fish brought aboard," Rodrigo commands sharply.

A deckhand hurries to comply, tossing out a rope with a barbed net attached to its end. Nerves taut like bowstrings as he struggles with each failed throw, earning a string of curses with every miss. Finally, after another attempt, he manages to hook the carp and reel it onto the ship's deck.

   "By the gods, he pierced it right through the peepers. The eye is completely obliterated, what an lucky shot," exclaimed Robin Bivens in a sulking tone. "Do you have another silver coin to challenge that luck?" Harwin called out to the boy.

The young lad squared his shoulders as if ready to argue, but his smaller stature only elicited chuckles from the onlookers. "Pay him no mind. He's just a youth," interjected Rishard, stepping between them.

"I hunt rabbits and squirrels in the wilderness for our sustenance. I possess more skill than a gangly Panhead!" The boy pouted with a flushed face, retorting sharply, "His shot was pure luck."

"Who cares! You lost fair and square, so swallow your pride and leave it be. He took my coin too," Julius interrupted, tapping his dirk's hilt.

Rishard intervened, stepping between to ease the tempered words. "My apologies for his behavior." Signaling the twins to step back, Rishard grabbed a handful of the boy's dark hair and gave it a harsh tug, threatening punishment with a belt.

The boy scowled back with venom in his eyes as the twins escorted him away towards the rear of the ship. Returning with conciliatory words, the forager feared that heated tempers might lead to violence. Extending peace offerings of ale, he glanced at Peregrine who had remained silent throughout the confrontation.

"Let's not sour things especially with the city nearing," Harwin remarked. "How old is he? Fifteen?" In response, the forager disclosed that he was thirteen and had been under his care for two years now, raised like his own son. Though he smiled, there was an undertone of disdain as the twins stood behind him with icy stares fixed on their party. Retreating to their previous spots on deck, Harwin noticed they still kept a vigilant eye on him.

   They huddled close, conversing with themselves with morbid looks. Harwin had hoped the altercation would make it known to leave them be. He especially looked at the twins, who were squat goons if he had ever seen them, providing muscle for the seasoned forager to do mare than dig up roots.

   "You lads are quite the gamblers." Rodrigo's voice caught Harwin off guard as he handed over the owed coin. As they neared the harbor, Harwin inquired about a place to rest before tackling the pass. "The Oaken Barrel inn on the village outskirts should suit you well," Rodrigo suggested, casting a wary glance at the darkening skies. "A storm is brewing; be prepared for a rough journey through the pass tomorrow."

Nodding in acknowledgment, Rodrigo excused himself and attended to his crew, orchestrating their tasks as the ship docked.

Observing Peregrine's approach amidst the bustling activity, Harwin noticed the healer's curiosity about the recent altercation. "Quite an unusual display back there. I feared fists might fly," Peregrine remarked, eyeing the coins he had won. Camille interjected with a suggestion, labeling their actions as barbaric and proposing a course of dismissal in Billingsly.

Peregrine swiftly cut her off, his tone sharp. "Enough from you. You two are unlike Julius and his brother."

Harwin quickly made light of his inquiry, claiming that he and his brother were simple refugees, poor orphans who needed the work, which Peregrine seemed to doubt as the healer acknowledged Julius's efforts under his challenging request was too much of a burden, making his point known, he was concerned with his choice.

“We may not be hired swords, but we are skilled enough to handle ourselves if the need arises,” Harwin asserted confidently, looking down over the healer who met his gaze with a hint of skepticism. “A soldier, perhaps?” Peregrine inquired, intrigued. “Your candor is beyond Breeston. Tell me about your upbringing, your connection to Julius. Indulge my curiosity.”

Harwin hesitated, sensing Peregrine's astuteness. “Hayston is our home. Our current affairs in the wards are private matters.” Observing Peregrine closely, Harwin noticed the subtle exchange of glances between him and Camille.

“I warned you they were cretins,” Camille interjected sharply as Peregrine winced at her bluntness then silenced her. “You and your brother speak eloquently for a man of your standing. Unlike the bumbling bald one,” he remarked. “Your words betray a life more refined than common militia work. Are you truly just a cretin as Camille implies?” His penetrating stare made Harwin uneasy.

“I am your hired hand, but my affairs are not for public scrutiny. Are you heeding her counsel to leave us in Billingsly? Her objections have been made clear.” Harwin's declaration drew the attention of his comrades. “Maybe we should resolve this now before we move further; I am still dedicated to ensure your safe passage to Lonoke, but we can surely rid ourselves from your mouthy assistant who is nothing more than a sworn sword.” he declared firmly, meeting Peregrine’s gaze until the healer relented under his intense scrutiny.

   The healer was nearly as tall as his Edmund but was unfazed at his attempt to intimidate him. His stern face began to smile a bit, relenting his rigid tone into a slight chuckle.

   “I think the original arrangement will continue for now. Shall we have no more ill words, Camille?” he said as the rude woman grimaced but nodded.

   “Let me lighten the mood and give you lads a proper meal, with ale as a kind gesture,” Peregrine said to change the tone. “You have gotten us this far with little more than a minor quarrel.”

   “I thank you. The captain mentioned a place called the Oaken Barrel.”

   “We should avoid these places,” Camille objected.

   “I know of this place. It should suffice. I am not concerned with sitting in a tavern,” The healer said, putting up his hand to quiet her. 

   Embarking from the unassuming port, silence enveloped them as they journeyed along the main road north towards the quaint town of Billingsley. The town's foundations were hewn from the very flagstone sourced from quarries owned by the Guild, giving it a sturdy and lasting presence.

Cobblestone streets bustled with commoners concerned about their daily tasks in the lively central plaza, surrounded by a myriad of merchants' stalls and cozy taverns dotting the path.

Camille remained adamant about safeguarding the chest as Rodrigo sent some of his men to relieve his brother and Osmond from its burdensome weight. Drawing curious gazes from onlookers was inevitable; their peculiar group stood out amidst the ordinary townsfolk. Fortunately, the local constables paid them no mind.

Staying close to the sailors guiding them, they ventured further north past the plaza towards a road skirting the village's outskirts that wound into the foothills of looming mountains. As they approached an imposing inn flanked by a sizable stable akin to Biddy Mulligans', Camille proposed lodging in the stables to avoid mingling with the town's inhabitants—a suggestion met with groans by the party but ultimately agreed by Peregrine, while his mates were harboring rencour towards her and resigned to another uneasy night.
   “We can put the chests there, and pay the lad inside to look after them,” Julius suggested.
   “It goes with us!” she demanded, and Peregrine agreed as Edmund shook his head at the notion.
 “Must be full of gold, if we are perching over it like carrion,” Osmond sarcastically remarked. "It will look awkward being toted in the tavern."
 “You will do what you are told and keep your mouth shut,” Camille barked, annoyed with the protest.   

“Well, pardon us if we leave ours in there,” Edmund says calmly to the healer. “We are carrying what value we own upon us. We will catch up to you in the tavern.”

  Peregrine nodded to them his approval as Edmund and Julius broke away as the healer paid the deckhands silver for their inconvenience. “Share that with the others. We are pleased with the hospitality,” he politely said as Osmond laughed aloud.

  "Those rubes will keep it all and find the best strumpet money can buy." the remark annoyed Camille as the mood was beginning to sour already before Julius and Edmund returned to the group inside the foyer of the Oaken Barrel. 

   Upon entering the tavern, Camille insisted that the chest be placed under their dining table, the lofty chest was causing a stir among the patrons. Edmund, feeling increasingly irritated by the attention, sat flanked by his brother and Osmond at a sturdy oak table.

Peregrine generously handed the tavern maid a handful of oaks and requested their finest fare, to which she eagerly agreed, her eyes lighting up at the silver coins. Julius warned Peregrine about displaying his wealth openly, but Peregrine brushed off the concern, focusing on arranging transportation to Faust.

Julius promptly summoned the innkeeper, who boasted about his mules and garrons for their journey. Peregrine then surprised the innkeeper with three falcons as payment, leaving him flustered and speechless as he clumsily almost collided with the bewildered tavern girl delivering their drinks.
“Do you require lodging?” the innkeeper eagerly asked. “Your stables should suffice, and here’s another falcon for that,” Peregrine added, flicking another gold coin to him as the keeper scanned their group, half-expecting objections. “I will assign a boy to attend to them,” the keeper struggled to hide his exuberance. “He will be ready upon your arrival.”

“You’ve been too generous,” Julius remarked once the innkeeper had retreated. “Throwing gold around like that will draw unwanted attention and invite trouble.”

“You are overly cautious, young Julius,” Peregrine countered irritably. “Why does it concern you? It is my coin after all; should it not be spent?”

“With every gaze fixed on this chest, scattering coins recklessly will stir gossip throughout town. We’ll have to take turns keeping watch for thieves,” Julius argued.

“Have I been too liberal with you all as well?” the healer inquired. His question was met with silence, prompting Harwin to chuckle under his breath.

“Julius is simply vigilant,” Edmund interjected. “He is prudent and has your well-being at heart.”

 “You truly possess a way with words. I couldn't help but overhear the fabrication you spun for those foragers,” Peregrine remarked with piqued interest. “Quite impressive for someone of your youth to weave such a tale on the spot. That man you deceived was no easy target, being seasoned with age. How many years do you carry?” Peregrine inquired, his gaze shifting to Camille, whose expression was empty.

“I am of an age that suffices,” Edmund retorted cautiously, mindful of the healers wisdom.

“Only those of wealth dance with words as gracefully as you do. Who bestowed upon you such skills, or are you a mystery akin to your sibling?”

“I may reveal that if reciprocity is offered,” Edmund hinted, a rare smirk playing on his lips.

“You are under our service. We are entitled to these answers!” Camille interjected, prompting Julius to intervene.

“Edmund, please, let us not sow discord,” Julius implored.

“You have a point, Camille. My apologies if I caused offense. Initially, we believed our employer to be at death's door when we embarked. His sudden vigor and curiosity about us have caught us off guard,” Edmund explained as he accepted a horn from the returning tavern girl.

“Shouldn’t it strikes me as odd that this man who was near lifeless yesterday is now probing into our pasts halfway through our journey,” Edmund remarked coolly between sips. “We are not companions but mere business partners. No need for false camaraderie here. For all we know, you two are from beyond the Triad,” he added with a inquiry of his own.

“All of my life was spent on a farm in Hayston, bu you demonstrate ignorance of basic Triad courtesies. Must we also pry into your origins? Why this peculiar manner of speech?” Edmund turned his gaze back to the healer. “Our agreement is simple: we ensure your safe arrival in Lonoke in exchange for the prearranged payment.”

Julius extended an apology for them and urged for civil words just as warm loaves of bread and plump capons arrived at their table. The tension between Edmund and Peregrine simmered palpably while Julius appeared visibly unsettled by the conflict.
The tavern woman placed a fork and knife in front of each of them. Osmond's expression turned quizzical at the unfamiliar utensils. Peregrine shot Edmund a puzzled glance before letting out a small laugh to diffuse the tension.

"Let's eat and put this discussion behind us," Peregrine suggested politely. "We'll set off in the morning, then likely spend another night in Faust. Can we all agree to avoid any more arguments?"

"Yes, Master Peregrine," Julius hastily interjected on behalf of the group, his voice tinged with panic.

Harwin observed Osmond, who had become engrossed in the capon that had just been served, his face buried in the meaty bone.

"Seems like it's your first time eating without a bowl. Best not to suffocate with your head down there," Harwin joked with a laugh.

Osmond lifted his head, his beard now adorned with juices and bits of skin. He glanced around at the others as they watched him, some amused by his messy eating habits.

"He's a vile creature," Camille remarked as Osmond grinned back at them.

"Thanks for this. I could care less about what questions you throw my way," Osmond declared bluntly before returning to devouring his food.

"Please overlook his lack of manners," Julius pleaded apologetically, clearly embarrassed by Osmond's behavior.
After the standstill, they feasted quickly. Harwin observed the healer and his companion's modest meal, consisting of dried fruits, mashed turnips, and a rare treat of honey, complemented by slices of apples and pears.

Conversation was sparse, with Julius attempting light banter that received little response. As Harwin dug into his roasted bird, their awkward dinner was abruptly interrupted by Rishard's arrival. He approached them with a peace offering, urging them to let go of the conflict on the ship.

The forager boldly pulled up a stool and joined their table, engaging Peregrine in a discussion about herbs in an attempt to impress him. Peregrine listened intently without interruption, casting curious glances at Edmund. "The master has heard you out; I suggest you heed his words," Edmund retorted irritably.

"Bugger off, you parasite!" Camille interjected sharply, startling everyone present in the inn. Her threat rang out loudly and silenced the room; even the minstrel's lute fell silent in the background. "Step any closer, and you'll be missing some vital organs!" she warned as she rose from her seat, hand firmly on the hilt of her sword.

   Rishard had jumped up, taken aghast, raising his hands in a pale fear. “I am leaving, hold your steel, woman!” the man cried in fear, making a path through the tables back to his mates.

   “I think we should be going,” Julius pleaded. Fearing that the city constables may be alerted.

   "Every eye was upon them as they scrambled to leave the tavern. Harwin kept his hand on his dirk, concerned as the chest was awkwardly lumbering through the patrons, exiting the tavern doors and to the stables. Edmund and Osmond were grunting aloud, heaving that unbearable chest. He trailed the group as Julius led them as dusk began to set in. 

   A lad met them outside the stables, showing them inside and pointing to several empty stalls, recently mucked with a thick layering of fresh straw spread out.

   “My master wants no candles,” the lad told them. “I will wake you at first light and have the burros ready for your things when we load them. We should put that chest in a separate stall.”

    “That will do fine, we can sit in the dark. I will stay up, I believe I have slept enough,” Peregrine said with a worn smile. “You lads rest and I will be sure to alert you if trouble arises.”

   Julius and Edmund helped the lad with the chest, placing it in a stall and covering it in blankets, while Osmond picked a place near the rear and sat. 

  The commotion brought constables, who were met by Peregrine as he took the lead to defuse the disturbance Camille created.
Fading light seeped through the stable as Peregrine rejoined them, observing the group exchanging silent glances under the descending sun. "I've arranged for a nearby sergeant to keep watch over us," he informed them. "The innkeeper has secured our lodgings; let's conserve our words for the night."

The healer settled by the chest, checking their setup as darkness crept in and crickets hummed softly in the background. Osmond dozed off with gentle snores, while Julius sat opposite him, closing his eyes.

Across from Peregrine, Harwin and his brother occupied another stall, both shared light sleeping habits. Outside, faint voices mingled with dim light filtering through the slats from neighboring lamps, offering just enough visibility.

Camille, shedding her cloak to reveal a fatigued yet striking face, caught Harwin's attention. Despite her beauty, an air of melancholy clung to her features as she met Edmund's gaze with a mix of weariness and curiosity. "Why do you always stare at me?" she asked his brother directly.
Edmund's words cut through the air, his tone blunt as he commented on Camille's beauty being wasted on spmeone so angry. The cruelty in his brother's demeanor momentarily embarrassed Harwin, who had always been aware of his shrewd assumtions.

Camille, silent and composed never responded, but the words caught Peregrine's gaze, revealing a hint of wonder in his eyes as if he was pondering a response. Despite Harwin assuming they were possibly related, their true relationship remained a mystery to him.

The healer offered nothing but a calculative glance as Harwin closed his eyes, memories of Hayston flooded his mind. He envisioned himself on a wooden watchtower at daybreak, gazing out at the vast wheat fields with a sense of contentment that he now longed for.

The journey ahead stirred feelings of regret within him, yearning for his mother Rose's guidance to steer him clear of mistakes. His thoughts lingered on disappointment and failure before drifting into an uneasy slumber from which he abruptly awoke to find the mounts ready for departure.

Camille's urgency propelled them forward, her impatience scurrying the lads assisting them onto horses. Amidst the flurry of activity, Camille's sharp commands filled the air as she organized their departure swiftly despite their complaints about the weather.

Will, a young man at the stable door, instructed them on keeping their mounts together during their ascent up the mountain pass.

The rain added to their discomfort as they set off from the stables under the lads guidance. For Harwin, accustomed to riding palfreys since childhood, adjusting to a different mount was challenging initially but soon became second nature as he found his balance and ease in the saddle.
With his head bowed against the relentless downpour, Harwin's cloak provided some reprieve from the biting raindrops as they trudged up the winding path. The village faded into the distance, giving way to a landscape of flourishing fruit orchards and quaint meadows that eventually gave in to dense thickets of woods.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, the narrow road twisted and turned, leading them up a series of switchbacks that revealed looming hills in the distance. The rain intensified, forcing Harwin to focus solely on navigating the treacherous trail. His sodden cloak clung uncomfortably to his frame, his gaze fixed on the imposing mountain ahead while Osmond grunted with obscenities.

"Seems like your first ride!" Harwin shouted at him, guffawing at his struggle.

"First time this high without solid ground beneath me," grumbled his companion, adjusting uneasily in his saddle and clutching onto the horn for support.

Harwin followed the pack burros alongside Osmond, with Edmund trailing behind Will alongside Peregrine and Camille. Bringing up the rear were Julius and the other lad, Bryan.

"My arse is burning. This is torture," complained Osmond as they rounded yet another switchback.

"The pass is near; we must be close to reaching the foothills’ peak. It should get easier once we're on level ground," Harwin encouraged him, eyeing the winding trail through the rounded hills ahead.

The rain cascaded into a deluge as they reached a small clearing atop a high bald, exposing them to nature's wrath. Through intermittent breaks in the storm clouds, Harwin noticed hints of autumn hues painting the trees.

A picturesque scene marred by inclement weather; he glanced at his companions with worry. Edmund had ridden since age eight, but the Timmons brothers gripped their mounts tightly around their necks as they approached a swiftly flowing river swollen by heavy rains.

Pausing to assess their crossing options, Julius was seized by panic. "Bloody hell! I'll drown if this horse loses its footing."

"Just hold tight and trust your mount," Harwin reassured him.

"You'll cross if you want your share of coin," Camille chimed in firmly as Julius wrestled with fear, mustering the courage to brave the turbulent waters.
The lads who accompanied them encouraged. If they followed the lead horse, the river would be easy to negotiate, so Julius and Osmond went with Will first. 

   Harwin held his breath as they began. The pair hugged the necks tight of their horses, cursing loudly, and Julius squealed in fright with his eyes closed.

Camille berated Peregrine again for hiring such fools. He and Edmund cheered aloud and laughed after the garrons ascended from the water, completing the crossing, and the rest followed into the river.
The winding path meandered through rolling hills and valleys, gradually sloping downward. A looming shadow loomed ahead as the trees clustered closer together, offering a brief respite from the relentless downpour.

Their branches intertwined overhead, creating a canopy of greenery. Will signaled for a stop, unpacking a saddlebag filled with crisp apples, hearty barley bread, and cheese - a welcome treat as they rested their mounts.

"Miserable weather," Osmond grumbled wearily, his breaths ragged from the challenging ride. Julius looked far worse, devestated from the crossing, his spirits lifted only by Peregrine offering him soothing licorice from his pouch.

Harwin fretted over their stamina for the remainder of the journey. The rain awaited them around the next bend - the canopy parted abruptly, exposing them once more to the driving sting as they navigated sharp turns leading into a secluded valley below. Will's urgent gesture spurred them on, signaling that their destination was close at hand.

"What did he say?" Osmond panted in frustration.

"I believe he mentioned we're nearing the village," replied Harwin, squinting ahead as the forest transitioned into clusters of nut and fruit trees.

"My legs are throbbing with pain," moaned Osmond. "We've been riding for hours. I don't know how much longer I can endure."

Harwin offered words of encouragement, assuring them that they were almost there after several twists and turns amidst the dense foliage. After crossing a creaky wooden bridge and passing through a quaint hollow, the terrain leveled out and revealed the village sprawled out before them as the road widened.

Julius sank back in his saddle with relief as the rain began to ease up. Overwhelmed with emotion, he let out a triumphant cry bordering on tears at the thought of their arduous journey coming to an end.

As they approached cottages lining either side of the muddy road, surrounded by timber structures intricately crafted with notched beams and plastered walls.

The horses ahead halted near an inn while Will doubled back to ensure everything was in order with their pack mules. "Welcome to the Oriole - our final stop," he announced curtly as they dismounted one by one, shivering from exposure to the elements.

Peregrine dismounted alongside them to offer solace for their discomfort while Harwin heard a sudden thud followed by splashing sounds - Osmond had slipped out of his stirrup, falling into a puddle.

Amidst chuckles and jests exchanged between friends, Edmund rushed to help Osmond up while Harwin commended him for enduring until now despite his mishap.

Their brief laughter ending as Camille's voice interrupted their camaraderie, tasking Edmund and Julius with carrying an ornate chest inside as they were greeted at the inn's entrance.

   The innkeeper was a younger version of the one at the Oaken Barrel. “You must have important business to brave such a climb in this weather.” he remarked.

   “We need accomodation. I hope you have a bath, I am in sore need of it,” Peregrine inquired. “I need provisions provided for these men.”

   The healer led the innkeeper away to converse as Harwin helped bring in their belongings, following the chest as Osmond and his brother strained to climb the stairs. Soon, a litter of lads was sent to tend to the group. 

   They followed them, directing to a room on an upper floor near the end of the hall. They were all eager to relax. He and his brother had a room to themselves across from their mates. 

   It was better furnished and roomier than the Frookuh. The beds even had feather mattresses, with two brass bathing tubs as they looked over the quarters. More lads ran in with extra linens, followed by several more with heated water in buckets to fill the tubs.

   “I am dying to get out of these wet garments,” Harwin remarked to Edmund.

   The bath was steaming, turning his skin a pinkish hue. Both brothers sat crammed into the basin with a square soap made of lye in their hands.

   “This has been more difficult than I imagined,” Edmund told him.

   “You are eager to leave Camille so soon,” he replied, mocking him.
   “Enough with your chiding. I care little for the mystery of this pair anymore." Edmund was quick to snap back. "If the weather improves, we will be free from them in a few days. I have never been around people who were so difficult.”

   Harwin grumbled with a hair full of lather, “They have touched little food, even at the Oaken Barrel. Have you noticed otherwise?”

   “They nibbled on seeds or tree nuts, dried fruit of some kind on the cog. It could have been dates or dried figs. When I took a closer look, she barked with cruelty.” Edmund shook his head. “I am done trying to be cordial. When we get paid, then good riddance.”

   “I am famished, brother. I hope they have something similar to that capon in the tavern. I had forgotten the pleasures of palatable food.”

  "Sorry to offend. I rather remain and clear my thoughts,” Edmund replies, breathing in the steam from the water. “I will send for bread, and maybe some cheese if they have any,” 
Harwin acknowledged him with a nod, toweling off and unlocking the chest to reveal fresh clothes. He donned a pair of sturdy trousers and a crisp tunic before running a comb through his unruly locks, just as a heavy knock echoed through the room. "That's likely Osmond. His footsteps could wake the dead," he remarked, slipping into his undergarments.

The door creaked open to reveal the bearded man, now in higher spirits, dressed in new dark attire minus his pathetic armor but still armed. "I had hoped a bath would ease my aches, but only sleep can do that," Osmond grumbled, rubbing his sore backside while extracting something from under his nails with a small dagger. "Are you still soaking in there, Edmund?" he inquired with a teasing tone.

"He's taking respite from his lady," Harwin interjected on Edmund's behalf, silently relieved that his boots remained dry inside. Longing for a drink himself, Harwin fastened his belt around his waist where his own dagger hung before following Osmond out of the room and down the lengthy corridor. "Which chamber are they occupying?" he asked curiously.

"The one at the far end. Why do you inquire?" Osmond responded.

"I wish to suggest to Peregrine that we secure a wagon in addition to our mounts for the remainder of our journey," Harwin explained as they walked along. Osmond grunted in disagreement, mentioning Julius was already handling it due to some complaints that arose which required his brother's attention.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Harwin tried to reassure Osmond that the hard part was over as they descended towards the main parlor after the morning rain had subsided into a gentle drizzle outside.

The eager innkeeper hurried so they ensured Edmund received provisions. Eager to please, he even sent over ale fetched by one of the serving girls while they sat at a long table.

Soon, the pair enjoyed their second round of drinks along with some freshly baked wheat bread slathered in butter as Julius joined them wearing an expression of displeasure, venting about both the healer and Camille even more vehemently than before.

Osmond teased him about being called craven by his sweetheart after their recent river mishap."

  "It’s even worse, they are sacking us," Julius remarks angrily. “I guess we have to ride those nasty creatures again in the morning, back to Billingsley.”

  "The nerve of that Panhead!" Osmond cursed. "He still owes us something for this farce." Harwin ignored the slight to his race as he knew Camille finally got her way.

  "The two are probably annoyed with me and Edmund," Harwin says dejectedly. "It was obvious they did not care for us."

  "They say they are grateful for our assistance, but watching us struggle on garrons this morning was the last straw,” Julius mutters in disappointment to Harwin. 

  "The innkeeper is sending wagons to Lonoke for ale, and they take passengers. The constables send escorts and Peregrine thinks it best they take the offer.” 

  “He thinks forty falcons is fair, maybe we should ask for a few more,” Julius asks, shrugging his shoulders in disappointment.

  “I consider it good fortune.” Osmond says, “We can be back in Breeston much sooner.” shaking his head with a big nod. “This actually is a blessing to be done with them.”

   "Worth ten falcons to be done with them," Harwin agreed, wiping ale from his chin. “I know it hampers your hopes back home, but I will help you in any way.”
 “Well, those are my friends there,” a voice rang out from the parlor, interrupting their dour mood.

   “Bloody bollocks, no,” Julius complains. “Now I know this guy is following us.”

   Rishard wore a huge grin, wet from the journey with his mates trailing him. He seemed to have found two more to add to his party as Osmond frowned while the man kept blabbering tidings as if they were their mates.

  “I see you will be staying here, Rishard, what a coincidence,” Julius said with a smirk.

   “You must have slipped away at dawn! We arrived post-breakfast. My crew and I are drenched to the core.” The man chuckled heartily. “Have you crossed paths with the twins? Blake and Donald. Discovered these two youngsters a few seasons back while peddling yellow root and belladonna in Ankirk. They speak little, yet their loyalty is unwavering,”

The pair of identical twins stood silently behind their master, their expressions inscrutable, featuring sharp features and closely-cropped ebony locks. “We engaged in a round of dice aboard the vessel,” Harwin responded, his brow creased with fatigue.

   “Who are the other two?” Julius asked as Harwin looked them over. They were not foragers, both in leathers with dull eyes and dirks on their hips.

   “They are our mates from here. We plan on a hunt in the mountains, a lot of Redthorn bush up there. The bark can fetch decent silver. Rishard says with a sly smile while studying them.

   “Robin.” Harwin nodded to him. He was a mess under that wet mop. “Let me buy you a horn, lad,” He said to lighten his mood and oblige them a moment. Harwin hoped after a horn or two, the lot would abandon them to dry off.

   Each group sat across a long table from one another, perched between two benches so twenty men could sit together if needed. A tavern woman arrived and went back to fetch ale for them.

   “We come here sometimes. A bit pricey for modest blokes, but the beds are superb. I plan to dig up here the entire fall. The first snow makes the cooper berries bloom.” Rishard says with a smile while glancing at Harwin. 

   “The apothecaries pay a premium for it in the Triad,” the forager said as the horns arrived. “You lads staying with your master in Lonoke?”

   "Bloody no!" Osmond huffed. "We got sacked, probably from you bothering us."

 Harwin silently hoped for Osmond's discretion, knowing that his admission would prolong their stay. From the entrance, he observed other travelers on horseback passing by on the bustling street. Nearby, a group of young boys lingered, anticipating more arrivals.

"The tavern will be busy soon," Rishard remarked with a grin, finding amusement in their predicament. "No need to mourn the departure of those two; I sensed their unease from the start. So, where to next? It might be some time before another ship sets sail from Billingsley to take you back."

"Why all the questions?" Osmond retorted as he swiftly finished his drink. Harwin couldn't help but smirk at his friend's straightforwardness; indeed, Osmond had a point about his inquisitiveness.

   “Are you from Breeston?” Julius asked.

   “I grew up in the outer wards, but I never go there anymore. My head stays more under a rock than under a pillow,” he laughed. “The rich man you work for, he was a bit odd, not from here,” Rishard says, but it was more of an inquiry.

   The men alongside Rishard laughed a bit at his jape. Their conversation was shortened by a thudding sound. A group of men barged in through the parlor, pushing past the lads and up the stairs without looking for the innkeeper. “What could that be all about?” Harwin asked.

   “Those lads are in a rush,” Osmond remarked, finishing another horn. "Must be a nice piece of tail up there."
“We should head back upstairs,” Harwin urged, a flicker of unease crossing his features at the sudden intrusion. Rishard, however, was quick to dismiss his concerns. Leaning in closely, he gestured for Harwin to relax and enjoy another drink with them.

Meanwhile, Julius gasped. “Edmund,”

“He will not be bothered.” the forager said coldly, emphasizing that the men running up the stairs was not their affair, but the dispute from the boat was something he would like to discuss.

   In an impulsive fear, Harwin pulled out his dirk and buried it in the hand of the forager as he dropped his horn from the other. Rishard shrieked as he quickly pulled one of the twins by the hair and buried his head in the table. “We need to get to Edmund and save Peregrine!” he shouted. "No matter if he sacked us."

    Harwin left his dagger buried, pulling the dirk quickly from the belt of the pinned Rishard as one of his goons reached for his blade. 

   He pulled it out of his sheath, but Harwin was far quicker, burying the steel in his throat as he pulled back, reaching for the handle as he fell forward.

   Osmond swiftly unsheathed his axe, the metal singing as it sliced through the air. With a deft movement, he brought it up, the sharp edge grazing against the other twin's face, leaving a crimson trail across his eyes.

The piercing scream that followed echoed louder than poor Rishard's cries. Startled lads scattered in fear, racing out of the tavern and into the street outside. Julius stood frozen in disbelief, while Robin, gripped by terror, bolted towards the safety of the nearby inn’s entrance.

   Osmond yelled at him, stirring him from his panic as he freed his cudgel and struck the other goon in an uppercut motion hard to the chin, then smashing him across the jaw with a wild swing.

   Harwin held the the pinned twin as Osmond struck him over the head with his cudgel until he went limp. 

   His bald mate possessed a ferocity that shocked him. He began chasing the young lad Robin in a fury, throwing his axe as Harwin shouted at him to halt. At first, the throw was poor, hitting the floor behind the lad. 

   Harwin felt relieved, watching it strike the planks below. The rounded back of its head hit fiercely, bouncing off the oaken floors of the inn and spinning madly, lodging into his back as Harwin gasped in horror. Robin dropped flat on his face, convulsing in spasms as it looked grim.

   “Bollocks!” Harwin yelled as he punched Rishard across the jaw, knocking him cold with a clenched fist.

   Footsteps caught their attention from behind as the watch arrived while they were trying to reach the parlor and climb the steps to the upper floors. “Drop your blades!” they heard, turning to confront eight constables with long knives drawn.

  “What do we do, Harwin?” Julius said in a panic.

  “We yield,” Harwin told him, then pleaded to the constables. “Please, I beg you, we are being attacked. They have sent others to murder my mates upstairs; one is my brother.”

   He dropped to his knees with hands up high, his mates following suit as Osmond screamed for them to listen. 

   The blood was pooling from Robin on the floor. Others arriving off the trails were running in, staring inside, and turning away from the blood. His head was spinning, breathing in spasms with rotten thoughts.

   “Do not move!” a sergeant yelled.

   Harwin could hear loud screams from the upper floor. “My brother is dead, I know it.”

6

The Tale of a Mercenary 2

   Arlo was at the Dusky Widow along Old Street enjoying a mulled wine, breaking his fast on back bacon and boiled oats. By the window, he observed Sully Nickles' arrival for the morning briefing. Despite his unexpressive eyes, a silent grumble was always present, he despised the man, but his value in his knowledge around the wards was useful. The air between them held a tension born of indifference rather than camaraderie.

   The sergeant sat across and asked the tavern girl for an ale, admiring her as she turned to walk back to the kitchens.

   "Would you care for something to eat?" Arlo asked. The sergeant had the hopes that Arlo would be paying for it, a hope dashed as the captain quiped that his mood might improve if he had a good meal.

   The ale returned, and the sergeant sipped it slowly, remarking that he had good and bad news. Arlo paused him for a moment, swallowing a spoonful of oats as he nodded for him to begin.

  "The men are adamant about not setting foot in Jack Dobbins anymore. They claim that the brutality within is beyond our control," Sully remarks before taking a sip. "I share their sentiments."

   Arlo leans in, curiosity evident in his expression. "And how many have chosen to abandon their posts?"

   "It appears that several departed their duties last night, even before I retired," Sully responds while studying him.

   The ward had more than a dozen desertions recently and he had already taken steps to reassign the dissatisfied workers to different wards temporarily. As a precautionary measure, he also instructed for the gates to be sealed after dusk fell, isolating Jack Dobbins entirely."

   "I suggest you speak to the Chamberlain about sealing the gates for good," Sully proposed, his voice full of hatred toward the ward. "The bodies in the Mist are stacking up. We lost seven more before the louts there scared our guards away. The responsibility falls on the militia now.”

   "Dealing with the deceased is our duty." Arlo exhaled heavily, instructing the sergeant in committing to lead fifty men to remove the corpses. Sully’s tone hinted at deeper worries.

   "Is there another issue at hand?" Arlo asked as he requested for cut apples from the tavern server.
  "Well, stop shaking your head and spit it out." Arlo asked

  "The ward boss is missing. The men found two of his goons dead, and someone stabbed his cat."

   "I pity the cat." Arlo remarks. "Having the ward boss dead leaves me no choice but to report this to Vickards. I need to write a statement."

   After hinting that Sully was dismissed, the sergeant grunted, mentioning he had more to say as Arlo bit into an apple slice, motioning him to continue.

   "There is some good news." Sully smirked as he looked at his apples with a hopeful look. Arlo who was near aggravated with the man handed him one as he smiled. "The two panheads have left the city." 

   "What do you mean they left?" Arlo glared at him with a stern look.

   "They left the Frookuh, so I asked the bald innkeeper. He said they booked passage on a cog and took two with them. He mentioned they took a job as mercenaries." Sully laughed at the thought of it.

   "You need to find out more. Go to the docks and see if customs spotted them." Arlo rubbed his eyes as he had hoped for an easy day. "Now, I have to send a parchment south, and they will want answers from the Guild on their whereabouts."

   "I assumed you would say that, so I looked into it. It was easy. The departure drew many eyes."

   "Of course, those two stand out anywhere." Arlo scoffed knowing the problem that has fell into his lap.

   "Not them. The two Panheads who hired them. Do you recall the healer you tried to summon to look after that Hayston captain? It was him and that girl who ran you off. The man looked near dead under a fur, they said." Sully mentions, eating his apple, amused at the story.

   "The gods seem fit to burden me. Now, I need to send a parchment to Billingsley. You said there were four of them total, all Nuhrish?"

   "Well, and the other two?" Sully added. “But, they are not worth your time.”

   "What other two?" Arlos asks gruffly.

   "Yes, two other blokes who grifted their way out of the outer wards. The Timmons brothers." Sully enlightened him. "The pair latched onto those rich snobs after the rumors made their way around the city."

   "If those rich snobs end up corpses. We may be working a two-month stretch in the mines." Arlo says, glaring cold at Sully. "I suggest you finish your apple and dispatch couriers before the Guild is aware."
    

The Tale of a Mercenary 2

   A lad had brought food moments ago as he reached for some warm bread, enjoying it as he was starving. He had put on clean wares, combing his hair when the noise disturbed him. 

  The distant thud of footsteps reverberated through the corridor, their heavy steps signaling urgency. Edmund's heart quickened at the unusual haste of the group. As the sounds drew nearer, he discerned multiple men, their presence stirring a sense of foreboding.

   Reacting swiftly, Edmund reached for his bow, his eyes darting to his dirk. Securing the weapon at his waist, a sudden crash jolted him into action. Peering cautiously through the door of his quarters, he observed four intruders brandishing drawn blades, forcibly entering Peregrine's room.

   A surge of panic gripped him as he realized his companions were downstairs. Steeling himself, Edmund stepped out into the hallway just as the assailants barged through. Camille's defiant voice cursed their aggression, spurring Edmund to take decisive action.

  Fixating on the last intruder's exposed back, he released an arrow that found its mark in the back of his neck. The brigand lurched forward before collapsing motionless at the threshold. With no time to fire another shaft, Edmund tightened his grip on his dirk and charged forward, dread weighing heavily on him, but he found courage to face the peril.

   Dashing to the door, he could see they were battling inside. The first two had encountered Camille as she quickly cut the one in the lead, and the man fell quick. 

   The ambush was happening so fast as he advanced inside. Peregrine had turned to face the attackers, but the second man slashed down with his dirk, piercing Camille, as she wailed, clearing the path to Peregrine. Both brigands held long stabbing swords, and their momentum pushed the healer into a nearby table where the chest sat they had miserably endured with since they left Breeston. 

   Sending it flying, toppling over, and scattering garments, sacks, a long sword and to his bafflement he noticed the bones of a human being among the debris.

   The sight struck him odd, but his thoughts returned to the melee. Peregrine reached for something concealed as Edmund closed in quickly, shoving his dirk into the back of the brigand. 

  The man's agonized cry mingled with Edmund's own as he felt a gritty substance in his eyes, setting them ablaze and causing tears to well up. Blinded by the sensation, he gasped for air, mustering all his strength to lunge forward once more.

   A searing ache filled his nostrils, making him gag, and he crumpled onto the hard wooden floor. Uncontrollably, his legs thrashed and his body convulsed, muscles spasming violently, the worst of it centered in his chest.

   In the darkness, fear gripped him as he awaited the fatal blow of a blade. Yet, instead of the expected strike, only screams reverberated around him, echoing loudly in his ears with his own voice rising above all else.

   A sudden impact crushed down upon him with a resounding thud as someone collapsed on top of him, their weight silencing the cries that had filled the air. Gasping for breath, Edmund's throat constricted.

   “Edmund.” The sound was Peregrine calming him. “Please stop trying to fight and drop the dirk so I can help you.”

   He tried to speak, but his tongue felt swollen. “You will smell something odd, do not worry,” Peregrine told him, then he felt cold linen upon his eyes, the smell was rancid as he could feel Camille grasp his shoulders, trying to restrain him. "Please be calm, Edmund," she said to comfort him.

   He struggled breathe as he needed air desperately, and then a warm tingle relaxed his muscles as his body uncoiled, and then he went into the black.

   It seemed like minutes had passed as he gasped in fright as he awakened from a horrid dream. He could hear something stirring, unaware of what was around him as he cried out, realizing he couldn't speak. 

   His head throbbed, but he thanked the gods he could breathe. Trying to move his hand, he could feel his wrists in fetters. He tried to lift one leg, and then a voice caught his ears.

   “Stay still, lad, try not to be alarmed. You are in your quarters, and being detained,” 

   “Who are you, sir?” Edmund struggled to ask. His throat was raw, and his lips felt swollen. He then coughed, struggling with his words as his tongue felt foreign when he tried to talk.

   “I am Courtney Riggins, lead sergeant of the constables.”

   “The others?” he tried to ask in a pained rasp, coughing again while his ribs ached. His question garbled as he tried to gather his senses.

   “I will answer your questions, but not until you answer mine. Save your strength. There is a scribe here to record your statement when you are able,” the sergeant explained, but in moments a weariness enveloped him and he fell back into the darkness, only to reawaken still fettered but this time he had the ability to talk again, it was a struggle, but he thanked the gods that he was recovering. 

   He could not open his eyes. They felt matted shut, and pain shot through his face like a swarm of hornets stinging him endlessly. He was in the dark and needed to keep his wits.

   “Can you find the strength to answer my questions?” the voice asked. It was the same as before, this Courtney, this sergeant.

   He was exhausted, too weary for an inquiry. “I heard men running.” His words were strained, but he continued after many deep breaths. “They forced entry to attack the man who had hired us.”

   “Just focus on my questions, please.” Courtney interrupted. “I need to know about this employer, and what do you know of him? I will tell you once, do not lie. My men are gathering information from the others, so be honest."

   "Is my brother downstairs?" Edmund strained to ask, remembering the last moments before he blacked out. "Is he—”

   “Quiet. I will inform you about that later. You answer my questions. You will be detained for as long as it takes for you to answer.”

   He was thirsty, his nerves frazzled, dreading about his brother and his mates. 

   “They hired us in Breeston to accompany them to Lonoke.” His words were slow from the lingering agony he felt. “A healer, and his apprentice. That is all I know.”

   “Do you believe him? We have statements from others that he was a merchant from Ethelly. Do you have anything to say about that?”

     A merchant from Ethelly? Those bloody foragers or was it his brother or Julius repeating his lie? And the bones? 

   “I am too weary.” Edmund struggled, coughing again while he groans from the misery of his injuries.

   “Why would anyone assault him? Why does he need four armed men to escort him?” his voice went higher. He was getting anxious, Edmund thought.

   “He is wealthy.” Edmund paused, feigning a bit and thinking he should stay quiet, he was vulnerable and worried as his eyes kept burning like a venom was inside eating away at them.

   “What was he paying you and the others?”

   “Does that matter?” he was getting short of breath.

   “Answer the question!” Courtney snapped back.

   “Maybe you should ask the healer,” Edmund winced as he answered, then coughed. His throat was raw like he swallowed needles.    

   "I have seen the parchment." Courtney responds. "I have been watching over you for the past two days,” Courtney said.

   "Two days?" the loss of time had shocked him.   

   “You have been allowed treatment by this man, Peregrine. He is being detained by my captain. I will give you some personal relief. Your brother is alive.”

   Edmund's muscles ached with the weight of the day's relentless questioning, each word feeling like a heavy stone pressing down on him as Courtney's voice droned on.

   “The two commoners, are they friends of yours? Not the kind of companions two sons of a Hayston lord would associate with, if you are one.”

   "Are they alive?" Edmund began to worry as Courtney was frustrated at the pace of his replies. Edmund received a needed moment as a knock on the door intruded the questioning, reprieving him as he could hear another man walk inside.

   “Is he awake?” a voice said. “Why did you not alert the captain?"

   “I was afraid that he may pass out again. I took liberty while I had a chance.” Courtney shrewdly answered the other man.”Does the captain still have the healer?”

   “Yes, and has sent everyone away, even the scribes.” the voice answered.

   “What? That is strange. So he has finished his questioning?” Courtney asked. “Surely, the man will be sent to the courts for this violance.”

   “He told me nothing. His specific orders was to check on this man here.”

   Courtney was grumbling as Edmund heard the door close. It was quiet, and he could sense something was out of sorts as he laid in silence, his mind recalling the attack as the vision of the bones kept entering his thoughts.

   “I am told that you may never see again. You are in a messy situation, no matter your wealth, we have six deaths that need to accounted for,” Courtney bit back. 

    Edmund declined to reply to the curt response, realizing that Courtney was a man easily offended. Peregrine had somehow gained complete cooperation. The sergeant was frustrated, and Edmund wondered if the healer had used gold to influence the investigation.

    He said nothing and listened as the sergeant still lingered. “Very well.” The sergeant cleared his throat, grumbling again like he was wrestling with his thoughts. “Let’s attempt to continue this, if you want aid for your pain, then you need to answer my questions.”

    The door knocked again, disrupting the inquiry. “The captain sends you new orders.” the voice sternly informs the sergeant.

   “And what are they?” Courtney replies in a confused manner.

   “Your inquiry is finished, no further questions. I am here to collect what the scribe has written.”

   “What am I to do now?” Courtney asked. His words stammer as he sounded flabbergasted.

    “You are to return with me. That healer has requested to treat the lad here. We are to remove his fetters.”

   “We are taking orders from this bloody healer now?”

   “Those are your orders. We are to feed the other captors who came along with them. Inquire them no further and hand all statements to the captain,” the sergeant told Courtney.

   “This is ludicrous. We have men dead, three more wounded, and one of them may perish before the morning! We are refrained to ask why these men were assaulted. This I not proper procedure. I must speak with the captain!”

   “You can speak with him later. He has told me if you do not comply, then I have to arrest you at once.”

   “You have men outside with you?”

   “I do. You will remove the fetters and come with us.”

   The change of events caused Courtney to become vulgar, and both menwere shouting until other voices mingled with the argument as they informed Courtney to comply or be dismissed.

   He could hear footsteps leave in a rush, and the door slammed with a ringing echo. He listened as a conflict outside was unfolding. 

   Courtney was irate. Shouting at someone in the hallway, but Edmund could not make out the words as his head throbbed. The voices dwindled, and he must have drifted off, jolted awake by the touch of someones hand.

   “How are you, Edmund?” It was Peregrine, his voice laced with worry.

   The voice made him desperate for answers. Edmund winced from the stinging around his eyes. His thoughts raced, but he lacked the strength to talk.

   “Rest lad, we have been followed since we left Breeston. I was unaware of this,” Peregrine remarked. 

   He could feel his presence as he sat near him. “The foragers attempted to kill your brother and the others in the tavern, while these mercenaries were coming to kill me and Camille.”

   “For what?” Edmund asked, trying to muster strength.

   “Some brigands named the Yellow Ravens? I am at a loss as to why they want us dead.” Peregrine replied. “Your brother informed the constables in his query that you two were assaulted some time back by these villains?” 

   “What of Harwin? What-" 

   Peregrine interrupted. “Your brother is a brutal sort, killing a man and maiming Rishard.” 

   “The bald, stupid brute took things further. He killed a young boy with an axe.”

   “I am sorry,” Edmund says, admitting they sullied the job. “We made a bollocks of this.” He was trying to say, but it sounded like a mumble as he wanted to weep.

   “No blame lies with you, young man. Unbeknownst to you, I had already relieved your party of their escort duties prior to the ambush. It was a misjudgment on my part,” Peregrine expresses with remorse before laying a gentle hand on Edmund's arm.

   “Your valor was unmistakable, Edmund, and I deeply regret the harm that befell your eyes. In that moment, swift action was imperative to ensure our survival.” Peregrine pauses, “I had no knowledge of your presence among us." He continues somberly, "The substance that afflicted you is a concoction of two lethal poisons that I hurled at our assailants. Its effects induce blindness and fatal muscular convulsions until breathing ceases. Your resilience in the face of such peril has left me astounded.”

   “Is she-,” he winced, thinking of Camille.

   “I am fine, Edmund, my leathers absorbed the blade.” Edmund heard her voice but found it hard to believe as the blade bit deep. “I—”

   “Relax lad, The bandits are dead,” Peregrine said while patting him on the shoulder. “You need to rest and the treatment needs to be duplicated. The spasms are contained, you will ache for days, but I am sorry, Edmund. I cannot give you back your vision.”

   The weight of the news hit Edmund like a physical blow. With a surge of sorrow fueling his movements, he pushed himself upright, his hands trembling with emotion as he cast aside the rag covering his face.

   "You should have just let me go," his voice cracked with raw emotion, tears tracing fiery paths down his cheeks.

   Camille's sudden exclamation pierced the air, jolting him from his grief. "His face, Master!" she cried out in disbelief.

   "Stay calm, Edmund," the healer's voice was a one of exuberance as Edmund felt his hand touch his face, a faint scent of licorice lingering in the air.

   Peregrine's fingers traced over Edmund's damaged eyes. “They are not burned," he murmured in astonishment. "Though covered in pus and swelling, they remain unharmed underneath. Camille, fetch me a compress."

   Joy laced Camille's words as she sought answers. "What does this mean? We all saw the same thing!"

  “A touch from the mother Lupretia, What else could it mean?” Peregrine replied in excitement as he felt a linen on his face. A sharp pain shot through his eyes when it pressed against him. The wound flared with heat, and his head began to sweat profusely. “Lie down, Edmund. I have made arrangements for us to leave at first light.” the healer was stuttering as he laughed aloud. "A miracle, Camille. We have witnessed a miracle!"

   The compress had a sweet smell, and when it hit his nostrils, he was awash in a numbing haze. Peregrine held it tight over his nose as he was full of questions, but his mouth lacked the effort to make words until peace embraced him.

   An abrupt shudder startled him as Edmund awoke to feel the sun upon his face. He could hear horses clapping and men talking at distances around him. Edmund realized he was lying in the back of a wagon, experiencing a thirst unlike any he ever had. His thoughts were disoriented and trying to recall why he felt amiss.

   “Water,” he struggled to say. He tried to raise his hand, and he could feel another grab it. It was a firm grip.

   “You are stirring, thank the gods,” Harwin told him. “Let me help you up, try not to struggle.”

   He could feel his brother grab him by the shoulders, causing discomfort as he propped him up against the side rails.

   “Drink this gently,” his brother told him.

   It was water, and the taste was so welcome that he tried to engulf it, choking briefly, then coughing for moments. 

   The linen upon his eyes fell off, and the sun made his eyes squint as he tried to lift his hand to shield it.

   “Hey!” his brother shouted. “The sun is hurting his eyes!” Harwin put the linen back over his face. A voice called out to halt as the wagon stopped rolling. He could feel someone climb near where he was sitting. 

   The linen was removed, and the bright light stunned him. Hands were pressed against his face, and a blur was in front of him with a whiff of licorice intruding his nostrils. “Peregrine?”

   “Remarkable, thank you Lupretia,” the healer told him. Peregrine opened the lids on his eyes, and the pain grew sharp from the sunlight. “Can you see, lad? Can you see anything?”

   “I see a shadow and an intense light around it.”

   “His eyes are caked in yellow crust.” His brother said with concern.

   “A good thing. They should be like that for awhile, I think. Who knows? His healing is uncanny, but keep this cover on them, Harwin. Here is a salve for the pus.” 

   Peregrine sounded happy, giddy in a fascinated way. “Edmund, you keep drinking water. You have sweat more than any man I treated." he chuckles then quickly informs Harwin. “Keep him still.”

   Peregrine then left as he could hear his brother complain about him. “That man should tend to you instead of sitting next to that captain. He has kept the man close to him since we left three days ago.” Harwin then told him as he rubbed the ointment over his eyes.

   The pungence of the substance startled him. It smelled like cloves, but it felt cool on his face. His brother then applied a fresh dark linen to keep the sun from irritating him.

   Gaining strength with each gulp of water, he felt the wagon lurch forward. Just as drowsiness threatened to overtake him, Harwin prodded him gently. "Drink this, brother," he whispered, offering a steaming broth.

   "Is this Lamb?" he inquired weakly.

   "It could be. We were waiting for you to stir," Harwin replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We made a brief stop to rest the horses before you roused. There was an inn nearby, and the keeper there provided us with sustenance. You've drifted in and out of consciousness."

   "Where are we headed, brother?"

   "Our progress has been slow due to your injuries, but we're nearing Lonoke," Harwin disclosed.

   "I have countless questions swirling in my mind," Edmund confessed, his brow furrowed in confusion.

   "You'll need to keep your inquiries hushed. The captain has forbidden any discussion regarding the events at the Oriole," Harwin cautioned quietly. "An accord has been struck between them, and for now, we must abide by this silence as part of our release."

   “What about the brigands?”

   “All I know is the men that raced past us while we were being detained by Rishard are all dead.” Harwin says calmly to him. 

   “Here you are in agony, yet the healer and his wench show no effects from whatever he did to you.” his brother explained. He was about to ask a question when Harwin interrupted. “Shh. We have eyes on us. An entire squadron is watching. Peregrine is riding in a wagon up front with the captain, and our two mates are in another behind us.” Harwin was leaning his head upon his shoulder. 

   “Rishard came at us with numbers,and found two more goons to add to his pack, but we got the better of them. Osmond is a rough cut of cloth." Harwin said sternly. "The constables were rattling us hard, had us worried that a noose would be around our necks. Suddenly, the questions stopped, and we have been provided for ever since.”

    They agreed with the assumption of a bribe. “I saw queer things before I lost sight, a man stabbed a dirk deep into Camille, yet she says she is fine. Is that true?”

   “The girl you fancy seems to be well.” Harwin chuckled. “I believe her mood may have softened for you. It’s amazing how a girl can come around when you kill a man for them.”

   “Has she looked to be in discomfort?” Edmund was baffled. “I swear that is what I saw.”

   “She is on a mount if that tells you anything.”

   “I killed another man, Harwin. I am sure I stabbed another.”

   “The constables were grumbling outside our cage. You shot one in the head, and the rest was a combination of things.” Harwin informed him that one was stabbed and had a bashed skull, and another had his jaw broken. One of the tossers said the men had blood running out of their eyes. They burst like cysts,” he remarked. 

   “Their mouths still had vomit in them and turned purple with looks of agony in them as they died wretchedly.”

   Edmund mentioned Courtney as Harwin informed him that the man was dismissed, and many of there escorts are from a different squad. “Peregrine thought it was convenient to sever contact from as many who witnessed this debacle.”

   “I am so weary of this, Harwin, and I saw bones in that infernal chest, I know I did,” he mumbled as his brother calmed him into relaxing. 

   "Quit dwelling on this. We will not endure them much longer.

   As a surge of energy jolted him awake, the distinct sound of horses halting on the cobblestones filled his ears. Stirring from his slumber, he was met by the concerned voice of his brother, addressing Captain Sykes. "Are we still through, Captain?" His brother's question hung in the air as the response came with a grave warning.

   "This is where your journey ends, lads," Captain Sykes declared solemnly before suggesting they seek passage on a ship back to Breeston. With an ominous undertone, he cautioned them against returning to Faust without him there to offer protection.

   Harwin muttered a curse under his breath as a sergeant barked orders to the men nearby. Supported by his brother, he was gently guided off the wagon by Julius that he assumed was the square.

   "You're tougher than you look, my friend," Julius remarked with a hint of regret tinting his words, revealing the weight of their recent troubles on his shoulders.

   “I am sorry, Julius. My plan was a bollocks,” Edmund comforted him.

   He could hear his friend choke with grief. “This is my bollocks. I should have never agreed to this.”

  The clacking of hooves on the stone street circled them, and in moments, they faded into the distance as he heard voices within the sounds of a city. It made him happy as the screech of a seagull caught his ear.

   “Now what?” Harwin said aloud.

   “You have got us to our destination,” Peregrine says. 

   “You had us brought here under arrest. What other humiliation are you going to put us through?” Julius asked, annoyed.

   "His decisions, have kept us from harm." Edmund interrupted. "Thank the gods, we are still alive."

   “Indeed, lad. Pay them what is due, Camille,”  Edmund could hear her walk close by. A sweet lilac smell, his nose discovered as he was given a cloth sack, and he felt the weight of it. His hand touched hers, and he wanted to grab onto it. The thought was pleasant as he stood there like the craven.

   “We still get our money?” Osmond said, then laughed in a mock. 

   "Seems unsatisfied considering the outcome," Harwin says sarcastically.”How much gold did it cost to have these men to dishonor their post?”

   “Of course, dear Osmond,” Peregrine answered, ignoring the slight. “These honorable men as you call them, easily persuaded as the Guild provided little for their loyalty. That is all I will say about the matter.”

   Julius was wroth with anger as he demanded answers about the Yellow Ravens, fearing retribution. Peregrine, his voice calm yet firm, declared their business concluded and urged them to say nothing of what happened to others. His mate let out a low growl as he assumed the pair walked away. With a sense of resignation, he muttered to himself that he would miss Camille.

   Osmond, momentarily forgetting their recent ordeal, gleefully pointed out the pouch of gold they had received. “They piad us more than was arranged.” he said with a raised voice, only to be sharply reprimanded by Julius for drawing attention to them in the crowded square.

   “And what should we do old wise sage?” Osmond's retort annoyed his brother as Julius snapped back at him before turning to Harwin for guidance.

   Harwin, concerned for Edmund's well-being, instructed Julius they needed to find a place where his brother could rest and receive further treatment for his eyes.

   They led him down many streets as he lost his footing and was left prone along the cobbles, he cursed the fumbling Osmond, who had him by the hand, pulling him along in haste as he stumbled, then picked up again and taken left, then right. 

   His legs moved in many directions as he asked if they knew where they were going. Harwin paused to talk to commoners, and off he was led again. The pace was brutal as he tripped and fell again, then was pulled up by the many hands of his mates around him. The smell of the sea had hit him, and he wanted so badly to see it. “Are we near the harbor? He asked, Edmund always wanted to see the port.”

   Edmund's ears were filled with the melding of voices, signaling their presence in a busy street. Halting their steps, he voiced his uncertainty, "We must seem out of place."

   “No my friend, we have finally settled on what would suit us best.” as Edmund stumbled over a threshold, the distant melody of "The Old Mistresses Wake" drifting from within. Frowning, he inquired, "Have we stumbled into a tavern?"

   Julius reminded him firmly, "We must dine soon; night approaches." Seated on a stool, Edmund's comrades beckoned for service as the aroma of roasted meat teased his nostrils. Osmond's joy was palpable as a tankard of ale found its way into his grasp.

    Julius handed him a chunk of roasted meat, the savory aroma of spices and charred edges wafting up to his nose. Amidst the chatter of the tavern, he nibbled on bread with hint of honey and butter. His ears pleasantly fed by the sounds of a lute, filling the room with a melody. Voices rose in harmony as patrons joined in the bawdy song that reverberated through the wooden beams.

   His meal was abruptly interrupted when Edmund was grabbed and dragged upstairs by Osmond, stumbling along until they reached another level. "Come on, boy. A cozy bed awaits," Osmond gruffly informed him as he was briskly pulled through a creaking doorway, colliding against its sturdy frame.

  “You have beat him into a stupor. Are you drunk?” Julius protested.

  “And what if I am?” Osmond barked back.

   Edmund was weary standing there, listening while the two bickered. “Is there a bed in here?” he pleaded to end their quarrel.

  “I got him,” Harwin said. His brother led him by the hand to lie down. The mattress was feathered, and he sank into it exhausted.

7

    Lonoke began as a simple fishing village, relatively unknown until tin was found in the high hills outside Faust. The find quickly attracted the merchants. Tin flowed out our docks, putting silver in our coffers.

   The village became a harbor, and the fullers developed our wool into a desirable textile, selling it all over the lands of Abingdon.

   We could have been a jewel. Instead, the nobles traded our future to marry into the Guild. They took control of the mines and raised tolls to restrict trade as we remained stagnant. 

   Our yields are rationed to keep the gold from seeping into other ports, and the bloody pins keep rising to crush the dreams of our youth. As I die shortly, may the Guild perish and our city gain proper glory.

    Ballard Copeland - son of the Lion of Lonoke

Sunrise at the Sultry Madame

  Edmund's covers were cool from sweat, the moisture clinging to his skin as he lifted the dark linen from his eyes. His gaze wandered upwards, catching on a slender crack that marred the smooth plaster of the ceiling.

   The first light of dawn filtered through a nearby window, casting a soft glow over the room where he lay upon a bed adorned with linen sheets and a soft woolen coverlet. Stretching out his legs, he marveled at the comfort of the spacious bed, a stark reminder of the simple pleasures he had left behind in Hayston.

   "Do you require assistance, my friend? Your inquisitive glance hints at it," Julius remarked from his seat nearby, drinking from a bronze goblet as he smoothed paraffin into his meticulously groomed goatee and mustache.

   "I believe I was momentarily lost in a memory. It felt as though I was nestled in my own bed back in Hayston," Edmund confessed with a wistful smile playing upon his lips. Blinking away remnants of sleep, he pondered aloud, "How long has it been since my sight was taken from me? The passage of time eludes me."

   Julius looked his way after getting his facial hair to a point. “Eight agonizing days. I have been in knots, brother. Do you have the strength to sit up?” he asked Edmund.

   “I can see, brother!” Edmund pushed himself to his feet. A feeling of jubilation had struck him as Julius stood and came to him swiftly. He was still weak and nearly fell when his friend embraced him, then both came to tears.

   “This whole nightmare is a penance the gods will punish me for.” Julius placed his trembling hands on Edmund’s face, his gaze fixed on his eyes. “They are only slightly swollen, a mere hint of red in the whites. They appeared ghastly back in Faust when we set off.”

   “No need for tears, my friend,” Edmund reassured him, reaching out to offer comfort. “If you wish to show pity, guide me back to that table. My eyes are fixed on that loaf of bread alongside that brimming bowl of fruits. My stomach is hollow.”

   Julius found solace in shared laughter mingled with tears as he supported Edmund by the arm. His legs quivered with exhaustion, and a parched throat begged for relief. “I’ve sweated profusely for what feels like an eternity. I could rival a thirsty mule fresh from plowing the sun-scorched fields.”

   “You have slept off and on here for two days, you have been in and out since we arrived.” In a rush, Julius poured him a goblet. Edmund grasped it with both hands, drinking the entire contents as Julius refilled it.

   "Be mindful not to gulp it down. Take small sips and enjoy one of these juicy pears," Julius advised with a warm smile. "I'll send the boy from the hallway to fetch some hot water. Feel free to explore our abode. And all this splendor for just ten oaks a week." Without waiting for a response, Julius hurried out, calling out to the serving lads.

   Edmund surveyed their lavish quarters, a stark contrast to the humble Frookuh. Crafted furniture adorned the room, complemented by dyed linen curtains framing the windows. A gentle snore indicated his brother and Osmond were deep asleep, their clothing strewn haphazardly while Osmond lay sprawled across his bed in an unconventional manner..

   “Those two idiots had themselves a time last night.” Julius then shivered. “I should put more coal in the brazier. It is cold out there this morning. Do you want me to put a blanket around you?”

   Edmund declined while cutting into a loaf of barley bread, then gasping in joy, seeing a small bowl with butter in it.

   “We were expecting you to slumber for days,” Julius remarked, tending to the iron brazier with a hefty chunk of coal. The tang of the sea filled Edmund’s senses once more, mingling with the distant cries of gulls. “Where have we landed?” he inquired of Julius.

   “You find yourself at the Sultry Madame, where these fools returned mere hours before your awakening,” Julius explained, his voice tinged with annoyance at their rowdy return. “They sang their own praises, disrupting my peace with their nonsense.”

   Engrossed in savoring an apple, Edmund absorbed Julius’ words while blessing his luck upon discovering a small dish of honey. With a grin, he drizzled it onto a plate to accompany his bread, indulging in this unexpected feast.

   Julius then looked down at Osmond and Harwin while shaking his head. “Here I am near death in worry, and they think with their members, and are drunk on the extra gold given by Peregrine, spending it on harlots.” Julius then stopped complaining and smiled at him. “I intend on spoiling a few silver on a woman tonight. Since you seem fit, you should do yourself a favor and find one to celebrate your recovery.”

   “I am happy to nibble on this bread, thank you,” he replied while a stream of lads entered with steaming hot buckets. "If you feel obligated, you can join me for a proper meal. Then you will entertain me while I peruse the city, and then you can do what you want.”

   “If you have the strength, then I owe you that. I have been feeling cooped up like a frookuh since we left home, feeling more queer since we parted company from those wretched two.” Julius remarked as Edmund undressed and climbed into the bath.

   “Edmund, I felt compelled to visit them daily. How foolish it feels as I sit here.”

   He listened to his friend agonize over Peregrine but held no anger towards the healer as he sat in the steaming water.

   “In the midst of the woman's insults I felt this need to provide for them. The weight of guilt settled in my chest, a heavy burden that only lifted when Peregrine spoke.” Julius said as he absentmindedly tugged at his goatee, recounting the events, Edmund listened while retrieving a woolen tunic sewn by Lucy.

   Recalling the journey north, Julius grumbled about the ceaseless abuse they endured, particularly singling out the troublesome forager and the vexatious Camille.

   The memory of her ceaseless complaints and the cumbersome chest plagued him. "That bloody chest," he muttered under his breath.

   While his mate grumbled further, Edmund, focusing on buttering bread at the table, remarked wistfully, "I will miss her beauty."

   Julius let out a weary sigh. "A treacherous beauty she was," he reminisced. "Especially when you were blinded in the wagon. Her unveiled face framed by a tight braid cascading between her breasts."

   As Edmund rolled his eyes and continued with his meal, Julius shook his head in frustration looking back.

   "She was wearing a tunic that day, fitting her properly, and she looked more like a woman than ever. I grew excited, I admit, but even more when she left us behind.”

   “It shames me, Edmund,” he confessed. “When your brother plunged that dirk into Rishard's hand, I was paralyzed by the sudden eruption of violence.” Julius rose from his seat, his gaze fixed on Harwin. “His movements were fluid and precise, swiftly dispatching one foe before seizing another and slamming his head against the sturdy table. A display of remarkable skill in combat.”

   “And my brother” he sighs “The sound of that axe burying itself in the young lad... it lingers like a ghost in my mind.” Lost in recollection, Julius was jolted back to the present by Edmund's prompt to leave.

   A young attendant operated the doors leading to the stairwell, a friendly grin accompanying his gesture as he swung them open for their departure. “Does this staircase ascend to the rooftop? I am curious if there is an access point to view your splendid harbor from above,” inquired Edmund politely, seeking a vantage point to fulfill a pleasure.

   “Yes, they do, but I strongly advise you to not meander into the upper floors. The madam will find it unkind for you to enter, and you may see the rooftops differently if you know what I mean,” the lad replied sternly.

  Julius recounted their arrest as they made it to the stairwell at the end of the hallway, boasting about his older sibling, praising his composure during the ordeal that spared them. He noted how Harwin's demeanor had transformed during the inquiry, contrasting with his usual jovial self at the tavern.

   Gesturing wildly, Julius credited Harwin for preventing them from being beaten in the cell. Edmund intervened, as they made it to the rooftop, redirecting Julius's attention to the picturesque harbor view before them.

   The bay sparkled under the morning sun, adorned with dozens of grand three-masted carracks brimming with goods destined for Raines or Ethelly, Edmund imagined. Down below, wagons streamed through the bustling streets from the docks, laden with merchandise awaiting eager merchants' scrutiny.

   As he admired the scene, envisioning exotic wares from distant lands like Dietrich's vibrant fruits and Ethelly's fragrant olive oil, Julius broached a troubling question about how Peregrine and Camille avoided blindness amidst such brilliance. His questions was met with a grim response from the captain back in Faust that left him unsettled.

   Sensing Julius's distress, Edmund urged him to savor their current surroundings and release himself from tormenting thoughts. Reflecting on his own past fears and blindness inflicted by the attack, Edmund acknowledged both the hardships and unexpected assistance he had encountered. He had forgiven Peregrine even though his actions brought about such a miserable ordeal.

   In a bid to lighten the mood, Julius pointed out that Edmund’s bravery had secured them an increase of gold. Prompted by this revelation, they looked and noticed a hundred falcons the healer had given him.

   Edmund's grin widened as he pivoted to confront the enigma that had driven him on this quest. In the distance, a sinuous ridge stretched between towering peaks, shrouded in a veil of vines that camouflaged the ancient wall.

   "That is a wall? I see no stone," Julius remarked skeptically. "Buried beneath the greenery lies the walls of Grimm," Edmund explained solemnly. The structure, older than Lonoke itself, was adorned with dense clusters of kingsbirch trees that stood sentry amidst the massive boundary.

   "In the annals of the Gospels alone do they speak of it, a testament to what the Grimm civilization left behind before fading into oblivion," Edmund recounted with a tinge of reverence. "It is the realm of the first men, steeped in legend and taboo. Many have ventured into the thick woods beyond, but none have returned to share their tales."

   Julius shrugged indifferently. "You find solace in your history books; I find little interest in such matters." Edmund reflected for a moment before continuing, "During my solitude, thoughts drifted to our temple back in Hayston. In moments of darkness, prayer offered me little comforts, Julius."

   "I am acquainted with few who pray, though my knowledge of gods is scant except for profane references," Julius admitted casually. "The divine is often invoked only in curses within our folk.”

   "Perhaps the Guild boasts a temple; they are quick to proclaim divine favor in every scroll they inscribe," mused Edmund playfully. Julius chuckled at his jape and redirected his gaze to the imposing walls ahead. "I wager those stones are massive. How did they raise them so high? Were these Grimm giants?" he pondered aloud.

   "The book of Xarl claimed that both Grimm and Minoans erected these walls under the father’s guidance," Edmund shared thoughtfully. Julius quipped with irreverence, "And where do we fit into this lineage? Are we descendants of Xarl's excrement?" Their banter echoed familiar cynicism.

   "Why do these Minoans seclude themselves atop remote mountains if they claim kinship with gods?" Julius questioned skeptically. Edmund shook his head knowingly; such doubts were not uncommon among his peers – from his brother to skeptics like Bitters echoed similar sentiments, calling the stories a farce crafted by the mountain kingdom to belittle others.

   One day he had hopes of encountering Minoa's ambassador, inspired by tales regaled by his uncle about meeting him twice over his lifetime.

   "This is a beautiful city." He pointed out to the blue tint of the meadows beyond the wall. "It is a thistle that blooms until late fall."

   "Are they tasty?"

   The jape made him shake his head as Julius laughed aloud. "They craftsmen in Lonoke fine leather, and unique bows. The textiles are desired by any man with wealth. Am I boring you?"

   "Your wind has made me thirsty." Julius remarked, pulling his goatee and motioning him down the stairs back to their floor.

________________________________________________

   “I find solace in this city, Edmund. The thought of leaving fills me with regret,” Julius expressed softly. He glanced around at the crowded streets through the open shutters, a hint of longing in his eyes. “But how do we navigate our way back? That captain's threats weigh heavy on my mind. Can we trust his words?”

   Edmund leisurely sipped water from a finely crafted goblet presented by the tavern maiden. After relaying his preferences to her, he mulled over Julius's concerns. “Our journey home will entail securing passage to Dietrich, followed by a northbound carriage ride along the ancient Triad Road,” he informed him, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

   “Yet, traversing through Hayston territory poses a significant risk, especially considering our status. Our presence must remain concealed.” Edmund's tone was tinged with apprehension as he shared the grim reality. “It will be a fortnight’s journey to reach the city walls, and thereafter, we must seek an audience with Captain Wintergarden for entry into the gates.”

   The food was served just as Julius' eyes landed on a bowl brimming with golden roasted potatoes and crimson red peppers. Edmund joined him, his face a mix of eagerness and anxiety, as he settled in front of a pewter plate holding sizzling bacon and eggs cooked in rich pork fat.

   His breakfast array boasted slices of juicy oranges, chunks of sweet pineapples, and plump olives as the innkeeper returned with a freshly baked loaf of wheat bread, along with generous portions of butter and honey that they spread thickly on the warm slices.

   “I should have let you handle the ordering, Edmund. Most of these dishes are unfamiliar to me,” Julius commented, leaning closer to breathe in the tantalizing scent of the bacon. “I feel almost noble – though perhaps a modest one – but after tasting this lavish meal, the idea of going back to plain stews is intolerable. Now I see why you were so snooty when we first met.”

   Edmund was amused as he observed Julius cautiously sniffing an orange. When he gave it a gentle squeeze, citrus juice squirted out unexpectedly, surprising him as it splattered into his eyes.

   “Bollocks this infernal thing.” he swore, then engulfed it instantly. “You are enjoying yourself, me here, the complete rube. Should we get our brothers after we dine?”

   "Let's leave them to their ale-induced slumber and let curiosity gnaw at them. We'll explore the neighboring shops in search of finer goods. Surely, we can find a suitable dirk for you," Edmund suggested optimistically.

   Julius shook his head, adamant, "I won't squander my funds."

   Edmund reassured him, "Silver holds more value in this place, trust me. You'll have plenty left for your guild pin and that three-story skinny Osmond can't stop boasting about."

   "Perhaps, this new endeavor of yours will require my support. I'll teach you how to maintain accounts, handle finances, and polish your presentation skills," Edmund proposed.

   Excitement brimmed in Julius as he asked eagerly, "Are you saying you are joining us as a partner?" He couldn't contain his joy and hugged Edmund tightly.

   With a chuckle, Edmund cautioned him, pointing firmly, "Running a business is no child's play; it's tougher than wrestling with kids stealing apples."

   Leading Julius out of the tavern onto Wharf Street by the harbor, Edmund shared, "My uncle boasts about this place, the street has many travelers." He noticed many wearing the marks of Raines, white and purple, then rich yellows trimmed in red from Ethelly. "Your skinny needs to be where people walk. It is vital. The Frookuh is hidden in the rear alleys. No wonder Relling struggles."

   He was excited as he pointed to Julius while they wove through the crowds into a nearby merchant house. The place was too elegant for the local commoners as they perused the wares that were displayed. Edmund asked him to touch the rich wool made from the Lonoke goat. A fabric with the softness of cotton without the itch while showing him a cloak made from a unique hare they bred here.

   Julius tugged at his sharply pointed beard, a perplexed expression crossing his face. "This price is exorbitant for a mere tunic," he mused, holding it up to the light. "Why bring this to my attention?"

   "My uncle always emphasized the power of presentation in business. It's time to upgrade from tunics to elegant doublets," Edmund explained.

   "I refuse to part with my beloved blacks. I won't descend to the level of those swindlers on Old Street," Julius objected firmly. "Why this infatuation with your uncle? Why do you hold him in higher regard than your own father?"

   "Truitt Parsons was a man of few words, mostly grunts and nods. Cold and unyielding, unlike our vivacious mother," Edmund reminisced.

   Julius smiled in thought. "Some of his traits have seeped into you, whether you realize it or not."

   "Perhaps you're right. Our mother's passing affected us all deeply, especially Harwin who still struggles without her," Edmund sighed, memories flooding back. "I was shielded from much of the grief by my youth."

   Avoiding the memory, he glanced at Julius. "In contrast, our uncle is a natural-born merchant; every word is a compliment, and every compliment is an opportunity." With that, Edmund steered the conversation in a different direction.

   “He will always make you feel like everything you do is important, whether it is vital like increasing holds within the counting houses or mucking the stables. Every man likes to hear kind words, whether it is honesty or winded flattery, he would often tell me.”

   Julius scanned the array of tunics, their colors vibrant under the sunlight filtering through the marketplace. Before he could focus entirely on the fabrics, an enthusiastic merchant made his approach. “Ah, you are in search of quality goods! You must be merchants from afar,” he chimed in with practiced charm.

   Identifying himself as Bjorg Finney, the merchant exuded pride in his establishment. His words flowed smoothly, a well-rehearsed script that hinted at years of experience. A gleaming smile played on his lips, concealing a mocking eye as he assessed Julius and Edmund's modest attire.

   Edmund's response was cordial yet firm, expressing their desire for superior quality without exorbitant costs. Unenthused, Bjorg's gaze lingered on them before a empty smile crept onto his face. “It seems you're clad in inferior wool; perhaps a visit to the commoners' shops beyond the harbor would suit you better.”

   As their interaction stiffled, another customer entered the establishment, adorned in lavish garments. With a polite excuse, Bjorg hastened to attend to the finely dressed man, clearly a returning customer of distinction. The man's elegant doublet in rich crimson and black spoke volumes about Bjorg's interests as he swarmed the man with heaped flattery.

   “I think we are in over our coin,” Julius whispered to him. “This man believes we are paupers, and I left with little silver anyway. Shall we go now?”

   “Study this man closely. Notice his gestures? They echo your insincere flattery in the wards,” remarked Edmund. “You possess that same talent, just lacking in finer fabrics.”   

   “Are you praising me or provoking a reaction, Edmund?”   

   “I wish to demonstrate something. Control your irritation,” Edmund teased. "Soon enough, he will start kissing your arse."   

   Bjorg reappeared with indifference. “Allow me to guide you to a nearby establishment that sells humble attire. Mention my name and they will treat you like family," he suggested casually.   

   “I'm not interested. What do you have in his size?” Edmund interjected, pointing at Julius.   

   “I have plenty in his size. It's a common fit; let's not waste time here. I can outfit him suitably, but let's be realistic about what you can afford.”

   “We should bugger off, Edmund, the man believes we are rabble.”

   “I assume you accept script from Raines Bank?” Edmund asks, producing a folded parchment as the merchant nods in disbelief, his eyes growing as he glares at them. “Good, I am happy now that you can provide us with ample attention.”

   The merchant hurriedly excused himself and disappeared behind a embroidered tapestry at the far end of the room.

   Julius, puzzled by his motives, halted him, insisting there was no need for such grand gestures that might squander their recent fortune. Ignoring Julius' protests, Edmund considered it a gift and an essential lesson to be learned.

   His friend voiced concerned for his health due to his prior feverish state, as Edmund watched as Bjorg presented an array of doublets and matching breeches, encouraging Julius to try them on while providing his feedback to the attentive merchant. Choosing a deep blue doublet first, Bjorg scurried off to fetch more garments at Edmund's request.

   Upon Bjorg's return, Edmund selected a set with black breeches paired with white and grey leggings. He then picked out another ensemble: a sleek white doublet accented with black trim on the sleeves and collar. As Julius donned the outfit over a thin linen tunic, the black breeches snugly embraced his legs down to the ankles.

   Turning to Bjorg for his opinion, Edmund inquired, "How does he look in these garments?"

   “Like a little lordling. The women will perspire in vivid dreams of matrimony, and the fathers will be eager to give them away without protest.”

   “My thoughts, exactly,” Edmund replied, smiling. “Do you have a looking glass?” The merchant nodded and ran behind the curtain.

   “Are you amusing yourself, a folly to get back at me from our day in the wards?” Julius asked.

   “No, my good friend, this is needed if you plan on running a proper establishment.”

   "Not in the horn. You need to lie back in bed." Julius objected, pulling at his goatee as Bjorn produced the looking glass. It was obvious. He had never seen one.

   "This is more refined than a street puddle. Look at yourself, and tell me what you see?” Edmund asked. “Bjorg, can you see if you can put something together for me?”

   “At once, my lord.”

   “I look like a Jiminy Cockqueen in this, Edmund.” His face was filled with scorn. “I look like a rolling dandy from Old Street, and I find that street puddle remark offensive!”

   “This attire, reminiscent of Hayston’s grand events, was my choice for noble gatherings.” Edmund remarked as he displayed the elegant garments. Before Julius could respond, he interjected sharply, “Your reluctance is unnecessary, Julius.” Ignoring his protest, Edmund continued, “Harwin too wore such attire at feasts, though preferring hemp tunics and rugged leathers. Nonetheless, these garments suit you impeccably.”

   Julius scoffed, “This is preposterous.”

   “Indeed it may seem so now,” replied Edmund with a calculated grin. “Nevertheless, wear them tonight without objection. You will appreciate it in time. I insist on it,” he added wearing a sly smile. “Join the dinner wearing these and try not to soil them with ale spills. The lady you favor this evening will undoubtedly be captivated by your appearance and may even offer her true affections to enhance your company through the night.”

   "Oh, bugger off." Julius laughed a bit, pondering while looking at his reflection in admiration. "I am a handsome man, aren't I?"

   Edmund rolled his eyes as the merchant returned with garments. Bjorg was sent running at their amusement as Edmund decided on a pleated black doublet trimmed in grey with blue breeches and black leggings.

   He also was fitted with a blue one embroidered in white with black breeches and white leggings. He spied two black cloaks for him and his friend, a soft cashmere with its collar and cuffs trimmed in white rabbit fur.

   "I think we will settle on this." as Edmund requested a quill and ink from the merchant to emboss the printed script, thenrequesting their purchases be sent to the brothel. They remained in one of the new garments, choosing the blue for his mate, so he could get a feel of the softer wool.

   He guided Julius to a quaint cobbler's shop, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of leather. After browsing through an array, Edmund settled on a pair of black dyed calfskin boots for his mate, then insisted on a finely crafted belt to match the boots.

   As they left the shop, Edmund had selected a few jerkins for both of them, scribbling down another note as Julius grumbled good-naturedly.

   With a lecture, Edmund quipped about the importance of their new attire, eliciting an eye roll from Julius. The purchases were promptly dispatched to their quarters as they strolled along the cobblestone streets as their next stop was at the armory where Edmund insisted on outfitting Julius with a sturdy dirk and sheath.

   As he reached for a stabbing sword for himself, Julius raised his hands in protest, urging his friend to cease his extravagant spending. Unmoved, Edmund brushed off Julius' concerns with a declaration of faith in their partnership, considering it an investment rather than frivolous expenditure.

   While his mate protested, he was admiring the steel Edmund gifted while their path led them through the cramped streets teeming with merchants until they reached a lively square overlooking the harbor.

   The pair were esmerized by elegantly attired women whose gowns billowed gracefully around them and corsets accentuated their figures, Julius found himself captivated by their elegance and delicate fragrances that lingered in their wake. A few of these ladies even cast curious glances in their direction as Julius couldn't help but grin mischievously while tugging on his goatee.

   “Maybe we should find something for Osmond?” Edmund hinted.

   “Osmond? He would look like a boar in a gown,” Julius laughed aloud. “You must have spent many falcons. What is this printed parchment you keep giving these merchants?”

   “It’s a script from Raines Bank, a way of bringing coin without the weight,” Edmund replied, explaining that it kept merchants from being robbed. A man could take the script to any Raines Bank, and they would honor it.

   “I think we should go back to the others. They may be worried about us by now, and near time for evening horns.” He reminded Julius as his mate looked at the carracks in the harbor.

   “Tomorrow, we should take our gold and exchange them for script, just keeping enough silver for the journey.” he suggested as Julius gave him a queer look.”

   “I keep my coin on me, thank you,” Julius says. "Those wankers are scoundrels."

   Edmund shook his head at his ignorance, and he hoped to impress the logic upon them before they departed. A hunger was upon them while walking back through the sea of people.  The evening approached, and they lost track of the time as the the constables lit the street lamps, which fascinated Julius with their soft glare.

   “I was told the oil is from a large fish. Is that true?” His ignorance made him smile as a pair of young girls near their age giggled at him, overhearing his enthusiasm while their male escorts looked at them as fools.

   “We should stay, maybe I could get a proper woman here,” Julius boasted as they crossed the streets to enter the Sultry Madame.

   “You would have to give up a dowry for one of their hands,” Edmund replied, looking inside the tavern for his brother. “The fathers of those maidens guard their daughters like they do their gold.”

   “Did your father ever think of finding you one?” Julius asked, pulling his point.

   “Arrangements were being prepared before Harwin bollocked things. A fourth or fifth daughter of a lord, maybe, being a Panhead as they remind us, lacked the lustre many nobles craved.”

   “If I were trueborn, it would have established me for lands and possible contracts for the Guild. A marriage was discussed several times for Harwin to temper his aloof pursuits, as my father put it. I could go on for hours at that folly.”

   Edmund caught sight of his brother and Osmond, filling thier mouths with the delicacies of the Sultry Madame in the tavern. When Harwin spotted them, his booming laughter echoed off the walls. "What foolishness have you been up to now, Edmund?" he called out mocking him. "You resemble that ward boss from Old Street... Thad Griffin, right?"

   Osmond scratched his beard in amusement as Julius confirmed it with a resigned sigh."Edmund may have gone overboard with spending, but you should have seen how many admiring glances we received from the lovely ladies," Julius defended with a grin.

   "I'm sure you attracted some attention from the lads too," Osmond remarked dryly.

   "But we were actually considering sprucing you up for our work at the inn," Julius added optimistically.

   "You can forget about that. I prefer my blacks," Osmond retorted sharply after downing his ale. "I'll find myself some company after I eat, while you two prance around like dandies."

  Harwin chuckled at the banter. "I knew something was amiss when stranger started showing up with those burlap bags. How much did you splurge this time, Edmund?"

   "Don't lecture me on handling silver, Harwin. I'm offering tutelage to my mate, Julius," declared Edmund arrogantly. "Success demands a certain level of grandeur and confidence."

   "I appreciate your efforts, Harwin, but seeing Julius here..." Osmond shook his head disapprovingly. "What's this nonsense here, Edmund? Poor Julius will be laughed at renting rooms in the Horn looking like a peacock among crows."

   "No need to settle for mediocrity, dear Osmond. I'll secure you a place on Old Street where we can rent rooms to those fools," proclaimed Edmund confidently as he gave Julius an encouraging pat on the back.

   Before he could continue, Osmond erupted into a hearty laugh that startled their server who brought them a loaf of barley bread with butter.

   "Is he choking?" she asked concernedly at the sight of his red face amidst laughter-filled chokes.

   “The man is always this ugly after a horn or two,” Harwin replied. “You have any lamb skewers? He likes them. If you have any rabbit, I would like one of those roasted with potatoes and carrots.”

   “I think you are very ill, Edmund, please consider your odd behaivor.” Julius sat, befuddled. “It will cost us two hundred falcons to find a place in Old Street, if one is even available. To do this would require borrowing money, and it is too for risky. I got a lot of sand, but you are speaking delusionally.”

   “When we get back, I will begin looking,” Edmund boasted. “You give me a month, and if I fail to find something, then you can settle for your skinny along the Old Wall.”

   “Harwin, talk sense to him,” Julius demanded. “He has been fool with his words, and has too many falcons before you two began horns.”

   “Forgive him, the lad was near death. Let him speak boldly,” Harwin remarked with a chuckle, sipping on a horn. “His brilliance with numbers is something I will never mock. He was always the one who found the cheats in the counting houses.”

   The aroma of sizzling meat cut through their conversation. Osmond tore into a skewer with the ferocity of a beast, juices dripping down his into his beard. Julius, in contrast, approached his meal with reserved elegance, opting for a fragrant stew that he savored while leaning over his plate, mindful of not staining his new doublet.

   Edmund contentedly nibbled on a slice of warm bread slathered with creamy butter, taking small bites to appease his delicate stomach that shied away from heavy fare, barely finishing the slice as Osmond hastily wiped his greasy fingers and dashed upstairs like an eager child, Harwin swiftly followed suit, abandoning the table in pursuit of youthful escapades.

   "Are you anticipating to join the fun upstairs?" Edmund inquired of Julius. "There's no need for your vigilance anymore; I can manage on my own."

   Julius raised an eyebrow in confusion. "To retire to our chambers? I presume you have an interest in the fairer sex and are well enough for some folly."

   "I do appreciate women's company, but courtship has never been my forte," Edmund confessed.

   “Courting, you need not use such words with these women,” Julius replies as if he had lost his wits.

   Edmund laughed. “I am not being a prude.” He looked at his friend. "I have no fear of women like my brother suggests, even if he says that I am lying. You go have your jollies, while I ponder our return home, then lie down and reflect on this day.”

   “Edmund, thank you for the gifts, even though I believe the fever has your wits dulled.” He then pulled his point. “By the way, we will be late, and I shall apologize in advance for the embarrassment we will be,” his friend said with a devious smile.

   A grin appeared on his face while watching his friend stroll up the stairs to the upper rooms, and he lingered for another horn, treating himself to a sweet cake with honey drizzled atop it.

   Edmund handed a silver oak to the tavern woman, a token of gratitude for her patience. He then ascended the stairs to their quarters, the wooden beams overhead held his gaze as he felt content. Inside, he gestured for a lad to light the sconces that adorned inside, casting a warm glow across the room.

   The sweetness of the cake lingered, prompting him to quench his thirst with water from a tin pitcher nearby. As he shed his wools, clad only in his comfortable linen undergarments, a knock interrupted the tranquility.

   Assuming it was Osmond or Harwin returning for a forgotten item, he opened the door hesitantly. To his surprise, instead of familiar faces stood Camille shrouded in a grey cloak that concealed her slightly.

   Her face bore no malice as she held a mysterious object swathed in linen. A flicker of unease crept into Edmund's mind as he stood frozen, wondering if she had a dirk concealed.

   “Will you let me in?”

8

   He sat in the room on the upper floor of the Albatross. An inn often forgotten and in such disrepair that many avoid it to stay in the outer wards. His guest was Drew Vickards, who had grumbled about the rain as he removed his heavy blue cloak. He had done business with the man years ago, before he became the Chamberlain of the city. 

   "I hate to trouble you," Drew mentions, his voice tinged with weariness as he passed over a pouch with silver oaks inside. "The losses we endured will cause me to change plans." He smiled always, and his strongest attribute was his demeanor. He looked like a doting grandfather, unassuming with a balding head amd calm brown eyes, but Lucius knew better, under that soothing face was a predator who was as cunning as the come.

   "Are they still grumbling about that man from "The Wail"?" Lucius scoffs. "I made myself clear. If he would have lingered, our plan would have ended before it could begin."

   Lucius sat quietly, sipping water from a pitcher. Across the table, Vickards leaned forward attentively to pass on the urgent message delivered by his couriers from Billingsley."The healer remains unscathed.”. It was poor tidings to Lucius. "And they slaughtered the brigands." His face distressed at the loss of men. "And those foragers you hired to help," he continued bitterly, "the constables have seen fit to hang them."

   Lucius was baffled. They had the numbers. "I know the big one was tough, but you said the other was a coward. The healer was near dead when they left, surely a girl and two blokes from the outer wards are no match for seasoned brigands."

   "I know. I should have sent five more." Vickards was rubbing his eyes. "The word is the younger one is blind. Anyway, it still accomplishes our goals."

   "It would have been better if they died. I am convinced that the healer was a man from Karn. I find it no coincidence that Eivar and he appear after we spread the "Mist" through the wards."

   "It is of no matter, your priests are too far to worry on the matter here.” as the Chamberlain found a slight smile. “The results will frighten the Guild, and they will suspect themselves." Vickards then focused on him. "Are you ready to be arrested?"

   "You have to make it look convincing," Lucius says. "Try not to damage my wits, and when I am ward boss of Old Street. The smuggling will continue?"

   Vickards nodded to reassure him. "Of course, and I will be untouchable."

An uneasy introduction

   She stood before him, fidgeting slightly, mirroring his own nervousness. Words failed her when it came to starting a conversation, just as they eluded him in that moment. "Are you armed?" he finally managed to ask.

   "Of course, it's hidden beneath my cloak," she replied calmly, her tone was relaxed. "Do you truly believe I've come here to harm you? You're quite the peculiar one, Edmund." A small smile tugged at her lips, a sign of effort on her part, he noted.

   "You must know by now that any animosity I once harbored towards you is long gone," she reassured him. "But how did you discover my presence here?" Edmund inquired.

   "It may appear impolite, but the master's orders were clear," she hesitated, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "I shadowed you discreetly after we parted ways. I lingered from a distance, waiting in a nearby inn until this morning, when you and Julius strolled, then positioned myself across the tavern concealed beneath my hood as you dined with your mated. Once you departed alone, I trailed behind until you reached your quarters." Her eyes met his, holding a rare softness that captivated him. Despite her usual stern expression, her allure was undeniable.

   "You seem a touch gaunt, yet it is pleasant to witness your recovery," she remarked gently, a genuine smile gracing her lips.

   “The others will return shortly,” Edmund said, his voice tinged with disbelief as he shut the door, leaving her in the hallway. He stood there, a mix of confusion and curiosity swirling in his mind. Without hesitation, he reached for his dirk, as he was unsure of what to do. “I must decline your offer to speak,” he uttered firmly through the closed door.

   "Edmund, please believe me when I say I mean no harm. I bear a gift from the master himself, a token of gratitude for all you've endured," her words carried a genuine warmth that caught him off guard.

   “I am willing to surrender my own weapon as a gesture of trust. Would that suffice?”

   He hesitated, torn yet unable to resist stealing a glance at her. "If you vow to relinquish your blade, only then may you enter, but please do not linger," he demanded with a heavy sigh. "Swear on this."

   "I swear," she murmured softly.

   With a deep breath, Edmund pushed the door ajar and peered out at her. Camille had already removed her scabbard, revealing a simple linen gown that fell modestly to her calves, cinched at the waist with a rough hemp belt. The faint scent of honeysuckle enveloped her as her hair, a blend of blonde and brown, cascaded innocently over her shoulders in gentle waves.

   He took the dirk from her as she carried the object inside, which seemed light, passing by him as he watched cautiously. She walked to a nearby table and set it down. When she looked back, he tried to appear firm but felt intimidated.

   "My master sends his gratitude, wishing to convey his appreciation for your courage and expressing regret for the unfortunate turn of events." Her words were measured, each one carrying weight as she spoke, adding.

   "Your contributions have surpassed all expectations, and he wants you to understand the significance of maintaining secrecy of this misfortune."

   "That is unnecessary," Edmund responded graciously, his gaze shifting as she unraveled her cloak, unveiling the delicate linen beneath.

   "May I remain a while longer?" she requested politely.

   His skin became flushed as she removed the cloak and satchel from her shoulder and placed it next to the gift.

   She was thin, with long legs, and her arms looked corded from training in the practice yards. “Do you mind if I examine your eyes? The master insisted.”

   His heart raced as her fingers grazed his cheek. Entranced by the depths of her pale green eyes, he found himself rooted to the spot, holding his breath with racing thoughts. Her touch lingered to his red hair, drawing him closer until their lips met in a tentative kiss. The initial contact was hesitant, each movement awkward and uncertain. As he reciprocated, savoring the moment with closed eyes, she hesitated briefly before parting her lips from his.

   Next, their kiss deepened as their tongues intertwined, and this time her eyes closed as he exhaled. Breaking apart, he whispered her name softly into the silence that blanketed them. With a mix of uncertainty and longing lingering in the air between them, she took a step back, her gaze locked with his in a silent exchange of unspoken emotions.

   Her hemp belt fell, and she quickly lifted the dress over her head, dropping it onto the floor while approaching him. Her breath became heavy as they were leaning on each other.

   “Are the others coming, or are they staying up on the top floors for a while?” 

   He felt her warm breath tickle his ear, their embrace electric as they melted into the softness of the bed. The world around him faded as they kissed fervently, lost in each other's touch. In that intimate moment, a surreal feeling washed over him, questioning if this was all just a dream.

   Their bodies moved together with a rhythm as he entered her, hours slipping away unnoticed until exhaustion finally claimed him. When he woke, she still lay beside him, her form glowing in the dim light of dawn seeping through the window.

   With a gentle caress, Edmund roused her as his member became erect, their passion reigniting as she straddled him. Though the sconces had long extinguished their flames, the first light of morning painted her silhouette as if she emitted a glow from her flesh. Their lovemaking was primal and unspoken, each movement was a thrust and her soft moans only echoed him in encouragement.

   He longed to whisper words of love to her, but before he could utter them, the abrupt creak of his chamber door swung open.

   Lost in their lustful pursuits, Edmund had been oblivious to the raucous laughter of his companions outside.

   Startled by the intrusion, Camille jerked away with a curse, hastily gathering her belongings. Graceful as a wildcat on the hunt, she darted past Osmond's befuddled figure and down the corridor with Harwin following closely behind, sensing an impending danger. His heavy footfalls echoed drunkenly as he stumbled after her and collided clumsily with a wall.

   “Who was that? She leaped from the window, landing with ease and running down the street before I could draw a breath,” his drunken brother muttered dumbfounded as Julius looked for a candle, then drew back the curtains to let in the morning dawn.

   Edmund was getting dressed with a face as red as his hair in embarrassment as Osmond chortled loudly. "I never seen a man so battered after a romp. She must be more animal than woman. Edmund, you are even bleeding from behind your ears.”

   “You okay?” Julius asked in a slurred voice to him, wearing a gape while blinking his drunken eyes.

   “I am fine,” he answered in frustration.

   “You are a sly one.” Julius laughed aloud, disheveled in his new clothes. “Acting the prude when you had a secret romp.”

   “Did she hurt you? Poison you in some way?” Harwin asked him, looking worried, checking him up and down while grabbing a rag to tend to his many scratches amongst his back. “I thought it was a bandit at first, but she was nude under that cloak. Who was that girl?”

   “It was Camille,” Edmund answered, causing Julius to unleash a obscene word while Osmond doubled over in fits of laughter. Harwin's voice boomed, “Are you a simpleton? Allowing her entry when she serves that treacherous man?” 

   Edmund defended himself, “She brought me a gift, a token from Peregrine for my troubles.” Pointing towards the object encased in linen, he added, “She seemed harmless.”

   Julius interjected sternly, “Your judgment is clouded; this could have led to her stabbing you.”

   Flustered, Edmund admitted, “I let my guard down; she seemed genuine.” As Osmond continued to chuckle uncontrollably, the others shot him disapproving glares.

   “You done chastising his behavior? The boy is out here, just shagged, while we are stinking from ale and strumpets. We should congratulate him. Not only did he not pay, but he received a gift for his services.”

   "Why are you goading him on?" Harwin's voice thundered through the room, his eyes ablaze with frustration.

   "Just take a look at this offering and let's be over with it. I've no energy left to stand here in worry," Osmond's tone was firm, his weariness evident.

   Meanwhile, Edmund's mind was consumed by thoughts of Camille, lost in a pleasant euphoria, as Harwin scrutinized the object before him. "I must inspect it for any trace of concealed harm," he declared solemnly.

   “Yeah, because you are more qualified to drop dead than the rest of us,” Edmund replied arrogantly. “If she wanted to kill me, I would have been dead already.”

   Harwin's face contorted in frustration as he took caution in opening the linen, bracing himself for the worst. The fabric fell away to reveal a finely crafted bow nestled alongside a quiver full of arrows. His brow furrowed in confusion as he examined the unexpected weapon, then handing it over to him.

   "What happened to my old bow?" Edmund's voice held a note of concern as he surveyed the new weapon in his hands.

   "It must have been taken from you in Faust, then lost when they surrendered our weapons back to Peregrine." his brother replied solemnly. "Luckily, I managed to secure my Kirschner in our lockbox."

   Edmund's eyes widened with realization. "It was the finest one made in Dietrich, costing me well over two hundred falcons, but it pales to this splendid bow," he mused, marveling at the new treasure in his possession.

    It was of the Lonoke fashion like his old one but a few inches longer, curved backward against the grain and wrapped tightly with supple leather banding to protect the wood from moisture. To his surprise, the string made of a sturdy hair he couldn’t identify, but the bow pulled back effortlessly.

   “That bloody fiend?” he cursed as his temper flared. “Julius!” Harwin jolted him out of a drunken fog. “You knew them since they arrived; who were they?”

   “I have told you this multiple times, they were barely around, just a little over two months. The pay was too much to refuse for such a simple task from the apothecary. I made my way to the herbalist, Lucius Vanderlay, every day on their behalf,” Julius mentioned casually. "He cured numerous individuals afflicted by the 'Mist' and aided many suffering from severe fevers.”  

   “Then how did he avoid being punished for lacking a pin?” Harwin inquired.   “He never accepted any payment. He did it out of kindness,” Julius clarified.   

   “Why would someone so affluent reside in such a wretched ward? What was his hidden motive, and what did they conceal in that bulky chest?”   

   Edmund shrugged, looking back. “He never took a single coin from it. He kept it concealed within his garments,” Edmund interjected. “Whatever it may be, he wanted it shrouded in secrecy; why else surrender such a bribe to the Captain from Faust,” Edmund added, only to bring up the odd experience he witnessed before losing his vision.

   "I could have sworn I glimpsed bones fall from that chest," mused Edmund tentatively.

   Harwin, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, interjected, "Bones again? Are you sure it's not just your mind playing tricks from your earlier injuries?"

   Julius chimed in thoughtfully, "But if there are bones, whose do they belong to?"

   Annoyed by the focus on the bones, Harwin snapped, "Forget the bones! Our priority should be returning home safely rather than dwelling on such matters."

   Ignoring Harwin's outburst, Edmund persisted firmly, "I saw them," prompting Harwin to shoot him an exasperated glare and throw his hands up in frustration.

   “Look at the massive bore,” Osmond croaked, his voice strained. “Never thought I’d live to see this day. You lecture your brother for his foolishness. But who gives a bloody hoot? Let it go and retire for the night. I’m utterly sloshed and weary.” With a loud yawn, Osmond staggered over to his makeshift bed, plopping hard while tossing the covers over his head.

   “We must secure passage,” Harwin asserted as he settled down, Julius drawing the curtains shut. Despite the room falling into darkness, his brother remained sullen, muttering softly while Edmund lay motionless in his own cot. "You bastard. You shagged her in my bed!"

   Osmond's laughter boomed through the room, prompting Julius to trail after him while Harwin demanded quiet. Restless, Edmund lay awake, consumed by thoughts of Camille. Each heartbeat echoed with a melancholy realization that their paths might never converge again.

   As morning stretched lazily into midday, they gathered in the lower tavern for a belated meal. Julius animatedly recounted his encounter with a dusky Lonoke woman from the previous night, attempting to lift the lingering tension caused by Harwin's sullen demeanor.

   "I shall make inquiries about securing passage to Dietrich," Harwin declared sharply, his words dripping with disdain, prompting an exasperated eye roll from Edmund.

   "If needed, I still possess the document," Edmund offered diplomatically, hoping to ease the strained atmosphere.

   "Never bring that accursed thing up to me again! I explicitly instructed you to burn it!" Harwin snapped vehemently.

   “What is eating you, Harwin?” Julius asked as the tavern girl brought two loaves of barley bread and a dish with honey and butter. “I will miss this. This honey is so affordable here.”

   Osmond, his eyes determined, declared, "I'll inquire about the harbormaster from the tavern keeper. Let's expedite this so Harwin can unwind." Pointing at Harwin, he added, "Save me some of that honey, Julius."

   Edmund felt the urge to intervene and promptly rose to his feet. He recalled passing by the harbormaster's location with Julius the day before.

   "Let him be. He's dealing with a hangover and is irritable. The tavern is practically empty; perhaps we should have a horn to shake off the ale's effects from last night," suggested Julius. "Go ahead, I'll join you," Edmund replied wearily, tired of the squabbling.

   While they waited, Edmund scanned the tavern. A serving girl arrived with boiled eggs, potatoes sizzling in bacon fat, and a few oranges. Osmond was engrossed in conversation with a Nuhrish man at the bar as he raised his horn.

   Harwin nibbled on an orange before biting into a slice of buttered bread. "It all seems rather pointless," he grumbled dismissively.

   Edmund had reached his limit. "Enough! Once we secure passage, refrain from speaking to me until we set sail."

   "Fine! I'll drop it. Do as you please!" Both men stood facing each other with simmering anger when Osmond reappeared.

   “Look what I found at the bar.” He had the Nuhrish man along with him. “He says we can save a lot of coin if we want to follow him.”

   “Follow him where?” Harwin asked rudely. “Sorry mister, my friend can be an oaf.”

   “Harwin, I implore you to hear him out. What harm could it do?” Julius's voice carried a note of desperation, trying to mend the rift that had formed between them.

   Osmond's expression remained stern, a silent disapproval evident in his demeanor. Harwin's gaze bore into the stranger, his eyes unwelcoming as he settled back into his seat, silently conceding that his brother would persist if he protested further.

   “I sense tension here. I shall take my leave until you resolve your differences,” the newcomer interjected, perturbed by the palpable animosity at their table. Standing at equal height to Edmund, they could have fit in the same attire. His hair was a mix of auburn and gold, cropped short, and his troubled hazel eyes betrayed a hint of sorrow.

   “My apologies for our lack of introductions. I am Leland Craig, and this is my brother,” Edmund spoke up, choosing not to reveal more than necessary.

   Osmond chuckled lightly, breaking the tension in the air. “I almost forgot to introduce us properly. This is my brother, Julius, and this is, oh I forget.” as he pointed at Harwin.

   "Shut your gob," Julius replied as his brother let out a bitter gruff.

   “Sit with us, friend!” Osmond slapped the man across the back, who was studying Harwin, looking at his mass. “Never mind him, he is just homesick,” Osmond reassured him.

   “Craig?” the man said. “There are a lot of Craigs in the lands of Twin Falls.”

  Edmund replied they were refugees, thinking of another lie. “Our father died of a fever. He roamed with the nomads in the Southlands.”

   “May I inquire of your name?” Julius inquired politely. “I am Julius, and you have already met Osmond. Both of us hail from the humble wards of Breeston.”

   “I go by Mero Farnese,” he replied, casting a gaze towards Edmund. “Your attire suggests prosperity. Are you perhaps involved in trade? Merchants, perchance?”

   “We—” he was about to agree that they were when Osmond talked right over him.

   “We came up with a Nuhrish bloke, keeping the brigands from looking his way.” Harwin was full of malice as Julius sipped his horn while sighing aloud.

   “I guess you rather keep that discreet.” Mero then let out an amused chuckle, pausing a moment. “I don’t look down on mercenaries if you are worried about that. A lot are roaming around the mountains, along the small roads, and some are looking for work. Others are brigands for this Yellow Ravens I keep hearing about.”

   “And you do?” Julius asked, trying not to offend.

   “I’m a forager sometimes, and scout for hunters sometimes.”

   “We dislike foragers,” Harwin interrupted. “Buy him a horn and send him on his way.”

   “Harwin! I invited him here so we could listen to him.” Osmond was annoyed. “I want to know about this other way!”

   “Fine!” Harwin said. “My apologies, please let us know, Master Farnese.”

   “Mero is fine.” The man's frustration simmered as he spoke. "I often scavenge for scarce things in the Loreto territories. On the other side of the lands are quaint hamlets dotting the banks of the Bell River. You can secure passage from one of those villages," he suggested.

   "But Loreto is impossibe to enter by foot, surrounded by dense, impassable thickets with a berry that can be fatal in long exposures. Anyone who dares to venture through them is doomed to meet a swift demise," Edmund dismissed the man's proposal with a casual wave of his hand. "Let us make our way to the docks instead; we appreciate your aid in our dilemma but we decline."

   The forager's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You're quite knowledgeable for your age," he remarked, studying Edmund intently. "Who taught you such things? It's uncommon knowledge for most commoners in the Triad, and your manner of speaking carries a hint of nobility."

   Edmund was taken aback by the man's perceptiveness. "We don't wish to impose on you any longer, sir," he replied hesitantly.

   "No imposition at all, and I would consider it wise if you were a nobleman concealing your identity from bandits," Mero responded with a playful smile. "Let's say we all are using an alias, names are but labels, after all."

   Harwin interjected, pointing at the sword belted at Mero's side. "That blade is far too expensive for a mere forager. Your attire may blend in, but that weapon is no gardening tool," he observed keenly.

   Mero chuckled at his siblings perception. The sharp observation left Osmond scratching his beard in contemplation.

   "Ease up, he was just enjoying a drink. No need to be rude," Osmond defended Mero, his voice tinged with annoyance.

   "You seem to have an intriguing story behind you. Equally intriguing is your choice to avoid the Triad Road on your way to Breeston," Mero remarked amused, “I am not one to judge, mu intentions were in offering help for a fee.”

   "Harwin, let's keep this civil," Julius reprimanded gently before turning back to Mero with a question. "Is this alternate route you are describing safe?" The question had Harwin throwing up his hands in disagreement.

"The lands lies to the south, and is hidden amidst the worrisome thicket, but i can navigate the way through," Mero confidently stated, cradling the horn gifted to him by Osmond. "This I will offer for three falcons each. Cheaper than a ship, swifter than any other means of travel."

   Concern etched Edmund's face as he pondered their route through unfamiliar territories. "Will we face repercussions for trespassing? These lands are not under the protection of the Triad," he inquired casually, curious in what the stranger would say.

   With a reassuring smile, Mero informed them about the peaceful nature of the Loreto clans. "They are farmers, not warriors, and pose no threat. I have forged bonds with them over time, granted permission to gather rare plants exclusive to their soil. This knowledge has rendered me a gatherer instead of a fighter," he explained, casting a sly glance at Harwin before excusing himself from their company.

   As Mero mingled with the tavern keeper upon taking a seat at the bar, Julius observed their interaction closely, sensing a haste in their dilemma. “Maybe we should consider his offer,” Julius suggested while pulling on his point as he studied him.

  “If he was devious, he would have pressed us,” Osmond added. "Truly, he is letting us decide.

   “The passage will be pricey, not to mention hiring a coach for the road home.” Edmund thought it was the wisest move. "We will be on the road till mid-winter if we choose to sail.

   Harwin's jaw clenched, his frustration palpable as he sat with his arms tightly folded. "Your interest is mere curiosity. It's astonishing how quickly you've forgotten the dangers we've faced," he accused. 

   Edmund, crumbs from his meal still on his lips, declared, "Let's put it to a vote. I say we move forward." 

   "No!" Harwin interjected firmly. "I'd rather risk capture than place our trust in yet another stranger. There's no need to hurry." 

   Osmond piped up, "Well, I'm with him. I vote we seek guidance from that man. The sea unnerves me." 

   Harwin turned to Julius in exasperation, pleading silently for support. When Julius nodded in agreement with Edmund, Harwin groaned, "Julius, please don't tell me you agree with these fools! This man could be deranged. We've just escaped from two lunatics!" 

   Julius met Edmund's gaze and made his decision clear. "I'm voting to hire that man," he announced decisively.

9

   The father, Xarl, disliked Mercruxes, so he sought comfort from Lupretia's priests to fill the void. 

   One was his half-sibling, and he was eager to impress, bewitching us with the promise of learning magic, which we were well aware was forbidden, but we became drunk upon it as he became drunk for our adoration. 

   Our secret created a dark union, and the mother, ever preoccupied, was astonished when the word reached her ears.

   She tried to correct the error through penance, but when news reached Xarl, he condemned the son as an abomination. 

   Mercruxes, in his grief, came upon the smiling one, a man born in hatred.

   The partnership between them became the undoing, and the toll was the extinction of the Grimm.

   The Journal of Peregrine Haldock

Camille

  Camille's chest heaved as she raced past the travelers gates of Lonoke at dawn. Anticipating potential trouble, she had stashed her goods in a secret spot upon finishing her errand. Stripped of her dignity, she sprinted through the narrow alleys unclothed, but swiftly donned her customary attire, securing a longer blade at her side. In her rush, she abandoned her dagger, and in a fleeting moment of reflection, her mind wandered back to Edmund.

   As she journeyed towards a farm located hours to the north of the harbor city, nestled close to the ancient walls of Grimm, she pondered the unsettling task her master had assigned her. Upon reaching her destination, a farmer awaited her arrival to guide her through the way home. 

   His name was Nicodemus Gaithers, and there have been many Nicodemus Gaithers, Peregrine had informed her. He was a Grimm wearing a falsehood, and they used many to collect information about the barbarians. Every city as far as Ethelly was said to have several residing within, sending their observations back through carriers who were appointed.

   She was wearing her falsehood at the moment, growing tired of it, toiling in it for too long since Peregrine had her accompany him to that wretched city. Camille was relieved when the master told her they were leaving, even though the strain he had put upon himself in the prior days had incapacitated him.

   She was loyal to him, fostered under the care of Master Haldock from birth. He was her mentor, teaching the wonders of every plant, and even though it was frowned upon, Peregrine had her trained in military tactics until she was as good as any man of the twelve clans.

   Camille never questioned an order from her master, but this one put many of them in her mind. Feeling a surge of buried vulnerability, she couldn't shake the emotions of her encounter with Edmund. As Nicodemus guided her towards the farm's wellhouse, she clung to her Grimm beliefs for strength.

   The wooden walls enclosed them as they entered the structure. Water trickled from a natural spring, filling a polished marble trough that the farmer diligently maintained as he removed the wooden facade crafted to conceal a narrow crevice.

   He handed her an oil lamp, its flickering flame casting eerie shadows as she stepped into the yawning crevice. The narrow opening widened gradually, revealing a serpentine path that twisted and turned into the darkness.

   She crawled through the tight space for what felt like an eternity until it opened up into a tunnel carved out of solid rock, its walls reinforced with weathered timber beams.

   As Camille ventured deeper, the tunnel gave way to a natural cavern that meandered through the earth. This passageway they used for centuries, stretching beneath the imposing wall and emerging on the other side into the lands of Grimm.

   They had traversed tis way at the outset of their journey, a path forbidden and unknown to her people. Yet as her journey descended, Camille knew by evening she would be in the familiar comforts of home, and hoping that this harrowing ordeal would fade from memory like a fleeting nightmare.

   Pushing through the dense undergrowth that veiled the hidden passageway, Camille emerged to find an envoy awaiting her. The envoy, loyal to her master, presented her with an additional palfrey and assisted her in mounting it for the journey ahead.

   Her mind felt heavy from the encounter with Edmund earlier, and she was flustered after narrowly escaping his imbecilic brother. The intimacy shared with the barbarian left her feeling tainted and soiled. Before her master departed for his homeland, he meticulously coached her on the task at hand and ingrained his orders into her memory.

   Peregrine ensnared a young girl from Lonoke before he departed, using his gifts known as the "Taint," a bewitchment used to manipulate minds to his bidding to physically show her their crude ritual of copulation.

   In preparation for her task, he educated Camille on the savage ways of the barbarians and their indecent practices towards women. Despite her outward confidence, she knew deep down that this mission would be a challenge; more daunting than taking a life was the prospect of engaging intimately with these foreign men.

   Her master emphasized that her task hinged upon this clandestine errand. That evening, as she entered Edmund's chambers, she noticed a yearning gaze in his eyes – a look her master had assured was a sign of infatuation and compliance from him was simple.

   Peregrine’s words proved true as Edmund’s eager desires unfolded, he was inside her and she did as her master instructed, clutching him close and awaiting for him to lose his seed, but his stamina surpassed her expectations, causing discomfort that gradually transformed into a strange yet exhilarating sensation.

   Then, unexpectadely he began using his mouth, and she elicited a shiver so powerful that it momentarily robbed her of coherent thought, prompting involuntary cries of pleasure to escape her lips. The unfamiliar experience left her bewildered, defying any description Peregrine had offered.

   In the moments afterwards, his embrace provided solace, his body radiating warmth that seemed to complement hers perfectly. A sudden urge to delve deeper into conversation was gnawing at her, yearning to understand him better but she lacked courage.

   Feeling unnaturally vulnerable in his presence, she found herself ensnared by desire, rendering her powerless, and longing for more.

   Lost in a euphoric haze, conflicting emotions battled within her—bliss mingled with guilt as the realization dawned that she must depart before succumbing further. Despite this, she hesitated, craving the barbaric act they shared and yielding without a hestitation after he pulled her close for another moment of intimacy.

   The sudden intrusion of the lummox startled her into immediate flight. Without a second thought, she leaped out of the window, navigating a maze of narrow alleys until the worry of pursuit faded into silence. Gasping for breath, she halted in solitude, the weight of guilt settling heavily upon her. Despite accomplishing her task successfully, a wave of sorrow engulfed her, manifesting in tears that flowed freely in the secluded alleyway.

   Her mind was drifting, thinking of Edmund, the envoy accompanying her broke the somber moment with a probing question. Their journey continued on horseback through a dense forest, where ancient trees loomed tall overhead, their branches casting intricate patterns on the forest floor as they rode past chestnut, wide oaks, and beautiful silver queen trees that seemed to whisper in the wind. The envoy's curiosity about what lay beyond their realm lingered in the air.

   Although tempted to reveal the grim reality of the outside world, words failed her as regret and apprehension gripped her heart. Among young men in Grimm society, there was a pervasive intrigue about life beyond their borders, with dark tales that painted the outsiders as savages to be feared and avoided.

   The elders' warnings were simple, disobedience was fatal and venturing beyond to fulfill a wandering itch would provoke them into sending a man to make you a corpse.

   "You must have a story to tell. I hope to one day serve our people as you did." the rider commented to be courteous, but she ignored him. There was a tale, but she declined to share it with his likes. 

   Flustered men vied for her favor since she began womanhood, their attempts at subtle flirts met with indifference before turning to bitter gossip. Whispers within the temple wove sordid tales of her service to her master, sparking rumors of a romance between them.

   Contrary to the other priests who flaunted their illicit relationships, Peregrine had never made advances, she had never lain with a man until Edmund, and her thoughts seemed fixed on their encounter.

   Tears welled in her eyes as she navigated through a dense thicket in the woods, and she grew annoyed at the emotions that had taken hold of her. The rider accompanying her sensed her distress, offering aid that she declined with a flick of her hand.

   Pausing by a towering Haldock tree, she leaned against its sturdy trunk to compose herself before continuing their journey. Peregrine's cautionary words echoed in her mind, warning against the base desires of men and urging her to maintain emotional detachment.

   Struggling with conflicting feelings, she berated herself for succumbing to an act deemed necessary by her mentor. Bound by secrecy, Peregrine's enigmatic responses only fueled Camille's frustration and deepened her sense of isolation on this wretched quest.

   The land of Grimm lay secluded, its borders shielded by a dense forest that acted as a natural barrier, blocking any approach from the neighboring city-states. The trees were so tightly packed that in some areas, sunlight struggled to filter through.

   Legends passed down through generations painted the her people as cursed beings, their very existence shrouded in morbid tales. Whispers among the townsfolk spoke of them as vengeful spirits haunting the woods, mercilessly striking down any who dared to breach.

   Only their cousins, the Minoans knew they existed, and they had their own secrets they used to perceive avoidance from the mongrels that dwelled south of them, but they at least had the sand to make their presence known, even though it was through a single envoy to Breeston.

   For over a century, the Minoans had wielded their influence over the barbarians, and it fascinated her how effortlessly they had enticed these cretins with a glittering metal that they once dismissed as worthless. The barbarians hoard the nuisance, trading it eagerly for essentials like grain and ale, their thirst for the intoxicating brew was as loved as smelting iron, Peregrine would often say.

   Lost in her thoughts, time slipped away unnoticed until they arrived to their small village. A slight smile fell upon her face as she took in the sight of the wooden yurts scattered amidst lush gardens that were fed by the sun overhead, many dwelled here,a testament to her master's kindness. Peregrine, a humble figure among the Nine, the priesthood who ruled the many clans that remained, stood out for his genuine compassion, a trait that set him apart from the remaining three who often ridiculed him for what they perceived as weakness.  

   The others in the Nine rarely praised Peregrine, finding him odd as he buried himself in roots and scrolls as they coveted dominion over the low breds in their lands. 

   Vaschon, the high priest of the Grimm, was a man who coveted worship, thinking her master was lazy and mocking him with backhanded compliments when they were summoned to an audience. 

   Her master's unwavering dedication to saving the Grimm set him apart, leaving her to ponder if their rejection stemmed from his relentless efforts. The looming question lingered - would the other priests have shown the same resolve to rescue her cursed people?

   Abandoned by the gods, her tribe struggled to multiply while barbarians thrived unchecked, multiplying like rabbits in comparison. Peregrine hinted that a mere six thousand of them survived in the forest territory, with many being of low heritage as true purity resided solely within the Nine, bearers of the memories from the divine era.

   It was revealed that intermingling with barbarians was possible for their kind, yet an excess of Grimm lineage led to infertility. The tribal leaders, though scarcely deserving of the title, upheld purer bloodlines but limited in offspring to carry on their name, while the common births were scarce in purity and through them, they had the opportunities of sustaining their dwindling numbers.

   As she saw her home in the distance, she cursed the days of living among the barbarians, it was a bloody bollock to her. The foreign city was overwhelming with the many mouths that were seeking any underhanded way to earn a coin, and it nearly got them killed as they were ignorant of the customs.

   Peregrine used his gifts, “tainting” the weak minds to pass through with barely a notice, finding a dim-witted woman to buy her miserable home for thirty falcons.

   Camille's distaste for the task was bitter as she observed Peregrine closely inspecting expectant mothers, his fixation on the toxic substance known as "the mist" unsettling her to the core. His relentless pursuit of its ingredients led him to enlist the help of unreliable fools like the boastful Julius, a decision that only added to Camille's frustration.

   The whole situation weighed heavily on her mind, fueling her desire for clarity from her master. Tired of being dismissed whenever she dared to inquire, she harbored a growing resentment towards him and demanded answers nearing the residence, her impatience surged, ready to confront Peregrine about the true purpose behind this troubling assignment.

  As Camille approached the entrance, she glanced upward. It was an old, bronze Haldock tree that rose over thirty feet and was bred by the ancestors of Peregrine. The tree took centuries to grow squat with a massive trunk that expanded to a circle of over seventy meters, and when the tree matured to the desired width, they would remove the limbs, top it, and then carve chambers inside. 

   In time, it would petrify and stand like a mountain, never yielding, and its age was many centuries, before the great civil war that tore the Grimm asunder into it’s recent shadow existence. 

   The two servants, with forced smiles that barely concealed their disdain, welcomed her into the grand hall. They exchanged pleasantries through dour looks, their eyes betraying their true feelings towards her - they saw her as a haughty prude, too proud to acknowledge their presence.

   Camille felt the chill in their reception and made a mental note to address it later with the master. When she brought up the servants' behavior to him, instead of a direct scolding, he responded in his usual manner, speaking in cryptic riddles that left Camille pondering their hidden meanings long after their conversation had ended. "Respect is never earned through intimidation and fear. You have to put away the vinegar and lure them with honey."

   Angry whispers trailed behind her during the northern journey, a constant reminder of the four unruly braggarts they had foolishly enlisted. These brutes were nothing but trouble, lacking in manners and drowning their senses in spirits, except for the lone exception of Edmund who displayed a air of decency.

   Frustration gnawed at her for failing her master, her combat skills faltering when confronted by the brigands who barged into their room. Despite swiftly dispatching one attacker, she was caught off guard by the second assailant, a moment that left her feeling utterly humiliated as Peregrine swooped in to rescue her.

   The master had used his gifts more than she could remember, "tainting" over a hundred people, and his curiousity almost killed him trying to read the last thoughts of the doppelganger that perished in the square that evening, the massacre shocking her and putting grave concern on Peregrine. 

   Who was that man, and why did he mortify the master so? 

   Peregrine withheld every thought about the strange Grimm from her, and he rarely kept things from her, becoming bitter towards her when a question was asked. The murder disturbed her master, and after he slew so many that morning, the talk put fear into the wards. 

   They took a risk as they stole his body from the morgue, and if those four idiots knew they were toting bones in that chest, she wanted to forget about that. 

   When the brigands attacked them in Faust, the bones spilled out, and she wondered if Edmund saw it. Peregrine lacked concern, saying that the trauma would probably make him forget, and in hindsight, who would believe him.

  The servants guided her up to his chambers on the second level, a grand space filled with aged furnishings that were relics of bygone eras. The tapestries were faded, the carpets bore the weight of history beneath their soft fibers. Every item held a tale, each piece a memory to her master.

   There were moments when she stumbled upon him lost in memories, tears glistening in his eyes as he grappled with thoughts from his past. It was easy to overlook his priestly status amidst these vulnerable displays. Unlike other clergy who demanded reverence from Clan Chieftains, Peregrine carried his title with quiet humility.

   Camille pondered this as she watched him, recognizing it as both his strength and weakness. He eschewed the intimidation tactics favored by others like Vaschon, who wielded the sorcery that every priest of the Nine wielded to instill fear and dominance. Peregrine's reluctance to exploit his powers left him unnoticed, a figure of understated authority in a land where vanity thrived.

   At her master's bidding, she entered the study where he sat engrossed in his work, meticulously inscribing on aged parchment. To her, he was more than a mentor; he was the closest semblance of a father she had ever known. Cast aside by her true one for being born female, an unexpected birth that held no value in their lineage, she had been forsaken and left to be suffocated in her crib.

   Her brother, the male heir was bred for neccesity, she was a mistake, and despite being his twin, they had never met and sometimes she hoped that the fates could change that, hopefully he was spared the coldness of their father. It was Peregrine's compassion that spared her as he took her as an apprentice.

   One day, he would inherit the title of chief of the Whitealder Clan. Yet, to her, this custom felt hollow, serving only as a stark reminder of a bygone day when their lineage flourished. The true authority lay with Vaschon; his commands was law, rendering dissenters inconsequential.

   They clung to remnants of past glory out of desperation, holding onto fading memories as a desperate link to their former grandeur.

   “Camille, you are back.”

   His words snapped her back to the present, reminding her of the task she had completed. Lonoke and Edmund's warmth clouded her thoughts, casting a shadow of unhappiness over her. "The wait for your return has been unbearable," he confessed, a shiver running through her as she was comforted to be home.

   "I must depart again to brief the Order, but when I come back, my focus will be solely on you," he reassured her with the same gentle tone as when they had last departed for that cursed city.

   "Can you manage without me if I offer one final assistance?" she inquired, seeking his confidence in her. "My servants have everything under control, sparing you from this journey," he replied in a warm tone, his eyes regaining their intense smoldering blue hue.

   Peregrine had abandoned his guise as a simple healer, revealing his true appearnace. His hair glinted like polished copper, cascading in waves around his face. The flickering light of the sconces turned his skin into a luminous pearl, giving him an pleasant glow that uplifted all who beheld him.

   As the time for her ritual approached, Camille prepared to undergo the cleanse after sharing her final report. “I fear I burdened you during our journey,” she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

   Her master's eyes crinkled with a fond smile, radiating reassurance. “You have never been a burden. Though obstinate at times, your service has been invaluable to me,” he assured her. “You hold a special place in my heart.”

   “You mentioned that it was time that my duties were expanded.” Camille reminded him. “I am eager to begin my new duties.”

   “In recognition of your unwavering loyalty, I bestow upon you Pevensey,” he announced solemnly. “It once belonged to my cousin and captured your admiration I remember, when you were a wild lass, despite its dilapidated state.”

   Camille's heart sank at the gift. “This is too great an honor,” she murmured, struggling to mask her disappointment. His manse was where she felt secure.

   “It is time you ascend to the role of castellan, breathe life back into that ancient ruin, and restore its former glory,” he declared confidently. His unwavering belief in her abilities was appreciative, but left her unsettled with a feeling of being discarded.

   “This gesture is more than I deserve.” Camille stuttered out. "I should never leave your side."

   “What do you think you deserve, then?” Peregrine asked in curiosity. “You have earned far more than being a simple servant.”

   Disguised as a promotion, the subtle rejection pierced her heart. Questions swirled in her mind, leaving her adrift. "I demand to know the true reason for our journey to Breeston," she asserted, a mix of bravery and fury brewing within her. "I am just as content in a humble yurt as in this lavish abode, so speak." His response was firm and final, denying her once more.

   "Dismiss your attendants; this discussion is not for their ears," she insisted, struggling to maintain composure. With a nod, he signaled to the ones who had escorted her - perhaps now her replacements - to leave them for now.

   "These matters concern the temple; they are not meant for outsiders like you," he explained with a hint of condescension when they were alone.

   Anger surged through Camille, fueling her actions as she unexpectedly struck her master, halting his impending explanation. "I will not tolerate that word any longer!" Her patience worn thin, she delivered another blow that drew blood from his lip.

   Stunned by her defiance, he stared at her in disbelief. "You are relieved of your duties; depart for Pevensey and begin your new duties," he declared firmly, ending the discussion with a curt order.

   His response cut through her like a winter wind, chilling her more deeply than any blade ever could. Peregrine stood up from his desk, a stark reminder of the heavy responsibilities he bore alone. With a dismissive gesture, he hinted that her ignorance of certain matters would ensure her safety.

   Camille's anger boiled over, and she shoved him forcefully, her fist connecting with his nose and sending him crashing backward over the desk. He landed heavily on the ornate rug below, sprawled out in an undignified heap. A pained sound escaped Peregrine as she dug her boot into his side, a silent demand for answers.

   "You lead us to this squalid city, force us to dwell in a filthy ward among the unwashed masses," she accused him loudly. "Then when a fellow Grimm appears dead in a ambush, you tremble like a frightened child and neglect to explain what torments you." Her foot came down hard on his hand as she continued to vent her frustrations. "You distance yourself, hire incompetent guards who leer at me and neglect their duties."

   A swift kick to his jaw sent Peregrine's head snapping back onto the floor. "You send me back to that man who you blinded, instructing me to deceive him for your gain, scratch his back when he is deep in lust, you command, and collect his blood as he sleeps." she seethed with contempt. "And now you discard me like trash while expecting my discretion?" Each word dripped with scorn as she delivered punishing blows upon him.

   With each stomp on his prone form, Camille's rage burned brighter, fueled by betrayal and manipulation until finally standing over him as he groaned in agony that left her emotionally shattered.

    A loud, insistent pounding on the door shattered her rage-filled thoughts. The servants outside could hear the commotion, and then a metallic click signaled the entrance of several armed individuals. "Let me deal with them!" Peregrine's voice cut through the chaos from where he lay sprawled on the ground.

   Confusion clouded her mind as she struggled to comprehend his words amidst her frenzy. "What do you mean?" she demanded, still caught in the whirlwind of emotions as he pleaded for her attention.

   "Let me handle this," he demanded again, blood trickling from his mouth. The servants, their blades at the ready and uncertainty in their eyes, turned to her in bewilderment.

   "Leave us," he commanded with a mixture of authority and desperation, urging them to exit and seal the doors behind them regardless of any ensuing turmoil.

   As they hesitantly obeyed and withdrew, Peregrine slowly pushed himself up from the floor, his face a canvas of bruises and open flesh. With great effort, he managed to stand on shaky legs before addressing her with a mix of defiance and caution. "Do you want to know?" he growled at her, a warning lacing his words. "This knowledge could be your downfall."

   Spitting into a cloth as he regained some semblance of composure, he motioned towards a chair nearby, his battered form emphasizing the severity of his injuries.

   Camille extended a helping hand, guiding him to the seat where she often sat herself. Peregrine took a moment to collect himself before speaking again. "Give me a moment to let my body work," he requested wearily, acknowledging the toll as he settled into the chair with visible discomfort.

  She waited as the purity of his Grimm blood to began, knowing his wounds would not hinder him for long as his flesh would repair from the wounds she had given him within hours. 

   Peregrine rubbed his eyes, and she started weeping again uncontrollably at the ordeal of this journey.

   “Did that boy harm you? If he did, I will handle it,” Peregrine said with concern, but she shook her head softly. “I was caught off guard.” Peregrine's eyes welled up with tears as he looked at her. “I am filled with regret for what I have asked of you these past weeks,” he confessed, wiping his eyes. "But his blood is necessary."

   Camille, growing impatient, demanded to know why. Before she could finish her sentence, Peregrine hushed her, wary of eavesdroppers among them. "Sit closer," he urged, motioning for a chair beside him.

   As she complied and embraced him like a confused child, fear crept over her. “What is this emptiness I feel?” she questioned anxiously.

   Peregrine reassured her that it was just overwhelming emotions tugging at her heart. Holding her close, he acknowledged the strain he had put on her in recent days. “You were not ready to face the world beyond these walls,” he lamented. “Who could while living in this dreaded place.”

   Camille, puzzled by his words, reminded him of their proud Grimm heritage spanning generations.

  “What we have become as a civilization, it pains me deeply,” Peregrine murmured under his breath, his words barely audible. Leaning in closer to her, he posed a seemingly nonsensical question about her age, causing her brow to furrow in confusion. “You already know the answer to that,” she replied incredulously, meeting his gaze with a mix of concern and curiosity. After a pause, she stated firmly, “I am one hundred and eleven years old.”

   Peregrine shook his head, likening her age to that of Edmund if they were of the same blood. With a hint of derision in his tone, he remarked how she had been born before the walls of Breeston had encircled the once mediocre village, but in reality she was barely grown.

   Reflecting on their past enlightenment bestowed by the gods, Peregrine reiterated known history in odd ramblings, emphasizing their rapid evolution under the gods' guidance. He bemoaned of how advanced their society was in his youth, and how the primitive barbarians would have cowered compared to their achievements.

   “And look how far we have sunk.” he murmered softly, admitting that gazing at the old estates around them, are now a painful reminder of what they once was. They were tombtones to him, entwined with wild foliage that served to enhanced a look of death, Peregrine's voice quivered with sorrow.

   Admitting his emotional numbness in their current surroundings, he confessed yearning for the vibrant wildness of his youth before their civilization's decline took root. “We acted just like those savages beyond our walls, perhaps more graceful and refined, but we were frivilous and petty in our pursuits.”

   Her master scoffed in bitterness. "The stories you were told are not from the lips of Xarl." as he seethed. "He never picked up a sapling to make us into Grimm, nor from a rock did he create the Minoans, those tales as a farce from the lips of Vaschon."

   "Then what are we?" Camille sharply asked as Peregrine quieted her, leaning in to speak in whispers. 

   "The gods were enlightened, immortal, yes, but they had emotions, and they loved us like we were their children, Camille." She watched as his thoughts drifted back, and for a moment he looked peaceful, then his mood became full of melancholy.

"But they suffered from anger, pride, and envy, which contributed to the ruin of us all," Peregrine admitted, adding that we built cities and sculpted lands hundreds of leagues from here as far as Ankirk which are now remnants buried in the earth, lost as centuries passed by, and the wombs of our women became barren. 

   "It ended because we betrayed the mother and father," Camille says as she had heard it all her life. Peregrine nods wearing a smirk, then scoffs- "yeah."

   "We Grimm are in the shape we are in because we lost our original faith, and what we have now is a twisted abomination that serves in its stead."

  Peregrine's words pierced through Camille's beliefs like a dagger, unraveling the fabric of truth she had always clung to. It was as though a veil had been lifted, confusion clouded her mind as she struggled to make sense of the confessions that Peregrine delivered. In Breeston, gratitude and joy were given to him when he aided the needy, a stark contrast to the desolate emptiness that he seen here.

   The Grimm, though viral to withstand most illnesses that cripple the barbarians were a people void of ambition. Their longevity far surpassed that of any ordinary being. Camille learned from her master that she could outlive generations, enduring for over three centuries before succumbing to the natural cycle of life.

   Yet, amidst this revelation, there lingered a sense of remorse in her mentor's voice—a regret for doing such harm in a cycle of madness that seemed unending. When he noticed the barbarians dying from that poison, it gave him a mystery. A fascination and it amazed him that something was created that puzzled him. "It takes advanced knowledge to make something that potent," Peregrine told her. "A skill none in Breeston possess."

   "What matter is that our concern?"

   "There is a craft being cultivated somewhere, and somehow, they have gained knowledge that only we could develop."

  Peregrine wanted to find out who was bringing it into the city and then dispatch a man to take care of it. “I only got as far as an owner of the apothecary to which I sent Julius. “Tainting” the lad into running our errands, you knew that.” He hoped to have the lad bring him and discover much more.    

   “The killing in the ward, his death made your priorities change?” Camille was now understanding some of this. “Was he Vaschon’s doppelgänger? His ruse was much better than many.”

   “That was one of his skills. The man has complicated my life,” Peregrine cursed. "He was more than a simple doppelganger, the poor man was as old as me."

  His words shocked her. "I am confused, you are saying that a Grimm from the olden days existed outside our walls?" Camille asked. It was hard to believe. "Only the Nine had that honor."

   "I am afraid, Camille, that there is much we are unaware of." he says with a look of concern. "I was dormant, my thoughts deep in darkness. That man’s death has awakened old questions long repressed, and that is what has been bothering me." 

  Her master cursed his laziness."My gifts have become stale, only using them sparingly, Camille." he lamented. "My neglect nearly killed me, trying to read his thoughts as he was dying after we took his body." Peregrine sighed aloud. "If I had not become so placid, my gifts could have saved him, and for once I could ask these questions that haunt me and maybe he had answers, but by the god’s will, it is now a loss." her master continued. 

   Peregrine only had fragments, remnants of things when he studied the corpse. He saw visions of cult-like men, balding with brands burnt into their flesh, that disturbed him.

   “His mind was fragile, and I believe a trauma awoken memories. I have never read a mind so burdened with such disturbing images. This is a secret, never speak a word, Camille.” Peregrine had a stern look on his face. “My task is to inform Vaschon about the poison, and that I want to return to find its maker. It will allow me to further my search.”

   "A search? Camille asked, wearing a confused stare.

   "To find this man from the apothecary, he was in his visions, a disturbing coincidence." Peregrine rubbed the edge of his forehead in worry. "And there may be another, another Grimm."

   That revelation held no interest to Camille, only Edmund did. “Why do you need his blood?” she demanded to him in a whisper.

  Peregrine looked at her deeply, and she found it disturbing. “I have to find out why he has his eyes. Edmund is not like the savages, he has evolved past them, and I suspect his brother has as well. I prodded them on the journey to Lonoke, they looked beyond my words and spoke in lies.” Peregrine admitted.

   “The boy is innocent,” Camille argued, she felt inclined to defend him. “He is naïve to this.”

   “He has the bow?” Peregrine asked her. It was vital, he repeated, which baffled her further.

   “You demanded we discard it, and what way would be better?” she said, guarding her decision. The bow was unusual, Peregrine admitted, and it was imperitive that he went to the inn after he probed his mind to retrieve it. “It still has a purpose, that bow.” his words made no sense to her. "It will be safe with, Edmund."

    “You enjoyed his company?” Peregrine inquired, Camille found the question embarrassing. “You softened to him after he ran in after you with that dirk. The fool did not do it for me,” Peregrine said, finding a slight smile.

    She was not amused at his jape and sat stoically, unsure of what he was getting at. “Do you want to see him again, if I could arrange it?” Peregrine said, catching her off guard. “If I asked you to go back to Breeston, make it possible that you could keep an eye on Edmund, would you do it?”

   Camille was hesitant to answer him, trying to look away from him. “If you asked it of me.” 

    “That will be your choice," he quickly cut her meek reply off. First, she despised his proposal, but thoughts of being in his arms sent a flutter through her as she shook with the memory of lying in the warmth of his body.

   "Keep him safe, but never tell him where you come from, gather information about him, and let me know anything unusual.”

  “And what of Vaschon?” she asked.

  "Bugger him," he replies in a crude way. "If you decide to go, you will get with Vallance, and he will teach you how to be cordial, how to find and gather gossip, and hopefully teach you how to smile,” Peregrine told her bluntly. "You are going back as you are now. The lad is familiar with this falsehood.”

   “What if he finds me? They will wonder.”

   “Vallance will provide you with a lie. You have to convince them that what you say is true.”

   “He should not see me like this again. What am I to do?”

   “Hold a conversation with him, and I am not asking you to go back to him in flimsy linen to throw it off when he lets you in the door. You have to keep an eye on him.” Peregrine gave her a long look, and she felt embarrassed and wanted to turn away. 

   “You do what you want to do — that is freedom. Approach, be friendly to him, let him court you if he desires it, but you have to find a way to keep in contact.”

  “I am still deciding.” She scowled back at him.

  “Then decline,” the master replied curtly. “It would be a favor to Vallance.”

   “I do not need some boy fawning around my door, wanting to —."

   “Remember, it remains discreet; you think about it for a while, and when I return, you can give me an answer.” he interrupted.

   Camille sat, mortified, as Peregrine shut the door. She hated the word discreet.

10

   It is known by all that the father breathed life into a vine, and the Grimm rose like a bloom and began the garden of Osirus. It is not worth repeating the tale but forgotten is our cousin, the Loreton.

   The mother always adored the innocent, foolish behavior in children. She often remarked on the difficulty of seeing adolescence grow into adulthood.

   In her weakness, she sprung from a garden an instrument to amuse her. A creature that found joy in simplicity, their pursuits void of territorial honor or gaining glory.

   If the Grimm came from a vine, and we Minoans from hardened stone, then the Loreton must have come from a potato. The people were half in stature and fought over pies bitterly as we over iron.

   Fear displaced them after the mother abandoned her children, remaining hidden behind a prison of poisonous death. They weep in prayer, clinging onto fables like a child in hopes that the mother returns.

The Gospel of Xarl

Loreto

   They departed Lonoke at dawn the day before, riding in a merchant's wagon who welcomed their protection against bandits in exchange for travel. Harwin's legs were cramped in the back of the wagon next to Osmond and Julius, surrounded by a cargo of freshly harvested turnips as they left the city behind and ventured into the vast farmlands. He was against this hiring of Mero as their guide through Loreto, a land foreign to them and inhabited by a people whose roots stretched back to the era of the gods.

   The journey stretched on for hours, filled with Mero's animated conversations with Edmund, captivating him with vivid accounts of his foraging adventures seeking rare roots and herbs in this hidden land they were approaching.

   Surprisingly even Julius, usually a cynic, was drawn into Mero's storytelling like a child lulled by swaddling songs. Harwin couldn't deny that despite his initial skepticism, the wiry Nuhrish man had a gift for spinning yarns.

   As the wagon rumbled into Olcott, a quaint village according to Mero, Harwin eagerly leaped out from the back, scanning for the nearest tavern where he could get away.

   They turned in early that night. Well, he did, after two horns with a stew of lamb, turnips, and carrots, he had grown weary of listening to the dull banter between his sibling and Mero. Edmund was deep into a story about Loreto from The Gospel of Xarl when he left, and his mates wanted to hear all about it.

   It was all he could take, nothing was more hopeless in life than mixing fermented spirits with religious tales from a book he never cared for to begin with. He excused himself to his room, then drifted quickly to sleep and awoke surprised about how long he slept. “You must feel refreshed,” Osmond remarked.

   The night weighed heavily on Harwin's mood, disappointment etched into his features. "Mero proved to be more of a bore than I expected, and my brother's incessant chatter only added to the frustration," he grumbled. Osmond, perplexed by the conversation, merely shrugged in response.

   "How does he plan to navigate through this thorny barrier?" Harwin pondered aloud, his brow furrowed with concern.

   "A hedge of thorns? Sounds like a job for my axe," Osmond quipped with a grin. "I've yet to encounter a bush that could best me." Amusement danced in Osmond's eyes as he chuckled, getting up to don his tunic. Harwin followed suit, their voices blending in conversation as they readied themselves before departing the modest inn.

   While enjoying their morning meal of boiled eggs, crispy fried bread, and juicy plums, Osmond cracked open an egg wearing a grin. "I'll miss these good meals. Why does everything outside the wards seem so much better?" he mused aloud.

   Harwin, peeling his own egg, reflected, "I miss the wards, brother. I'm eager to see how high I've climbed in the lists upon return. I'm starting to feel homesick."

   Osmond chuckled between sips from his horn. "Give it a month, and reality will hit you hard. You know how I feel about you being a tosser," he teased. "That job at the door will remain open; count on me for that."

   Amusement entered Harwin's eyes as he observed Osmond’s beard swallowing the egg whole, washing it down with a gulp of ale before replying, "Do you envision us as some sort of family, each playing a absurd role in this endeavor?"

   "Indeed," Osmond replied with a grin. Their breakfast was a hasty affair, interrupted by the forager's early awakening. A sense of urgency as Osmond's brother gestured from outside the tavern window, signaling them that their guide was ready.

   Grumbling under his breath, Osmond joined his brother outside to gather their supplies. Harwin, while in Lonoke had spent some of his gold having a sturdy breastplate fastened to his armor, then bartered with a leatherworker for new bracers and greaves. His companion, now clad in snug studded leathers, proudly discarded his old pitted axe in favor of a long dirk.

   As they geared up, Mero couldn't help but jest about their imposing appearance as they set off towards a grove following a path flanked by ancient elm, oak and sycamore trees, they aimed to reach the river's edge - a mere league away from their current location. The forager assumed the lead, prompting Mero to inquire if anyone had any questions before they proceeded.

   Though his mates prostested, the forager directed them to leave behind their cumbersome chests and instead bundle their wares into sizable blankets, rolled and secured tightly on their backs with sturdy belts.

   ”Mero was quick to quell Osmond’s bickering. “When you see what will be walking through, you will understand my reasoning,”

   Harwin's eyes broaden as they approached the hedge, understanding the forager's earlier words. The thicket stood like a natural fortress, weaving through the trees, creating a living wall that imposed avoidance.

   Its branches twisted and gnarled, resembling intricate webs adorned with clusters of somber purple berries. Harwin couldn't help but notice the formidable thorns, each as long as a hobnail, protruding threateningly from the dark foliage.

   As Edmund drew nearer, a peculiar scent wafted from the leaves, marked by mysterious black blotches that added an air of menace to the already unnavigable hedge.

   “Please refrain from advancing, friend Leland. That wicked hedge is something we have to prepare for,” Mero said.

   Harwin agreed with his sibling for maintaining their aliases, even if the forager found it amusing. They stood as Mero carefully unpacked his bag, revealing an assortment of glass bottles nestled in sewn pockets within spare tunics and breeches. He extracted two wooden bowls and gestured for a stick, which Julius promptly handed to him.

   With practiced efficiency, the Nuhrish man poured different liquids into each bowl, the first concoction emitted a pungent odor reminiscent of clabbered milk. Dipping a linen rag into the mixture, he explained as he meticulously covered his forearms and face. The poultice was to ward off the many nicks from the thorns that lead to painful blisters and potential infections.

   After the application, a faint rancid scent lingered in the air as Mero produced a stack of kerchiefs. He proceeded to fill the second bowl with a watery, yellow substance exuding a delicate floral fragrance.

   Handing out soaked kerchiefs to each companion, he instructed them to tie it around their faces as protection against the lethargy-inducing berries that secreted a slow poison capable of causing confusion and eventual demise if left unchecked. As they secured the fragrant kerchiefs around their faces, Mero's grave warning echoed in their minds, recounting grim encounters with corpses who attempted to journey through the deadly passage.

   Harwin observed the forager closely, his mind racing with uncertainty. Despite his companions' trust in the thin and seemingly harmless man, Harwin couldn't shake off his doubts.

   The forager, as slender as Edmund or perhaps even more so, effortlessly slid into a crevasse within the hedge. Harwin decided to shadow him, keeping a eye on his every move. As they traversed the narrow path running parallel to the river, Harwin begrudgingly acknowledged the stranger's confidence. When they reached a fork in the path, Mero led them left, guiding them through a opening so narrow that Harwin could feel small pricks onto his open flesh in various places.

   “How did you discover this, the path and these remedies? The queerness has me baffled,” Harwin asked in curiosity.

    Mero replied in kind of a cousin that came from Nuhr with him when the king was usurped. “I was fortunate to have that wisdom handed down.” Mero then changed the subject back to their journey, remarking that he hedge may look vulnerable to the axe, but was an agony to chop. The sap from the wood inflamed the skin, and if consumed by fire, which was very difficult, the smoke would irritate your eyes until they matted with puss, inducing vomiting within hours.”

  The forager led them through a twisting path, Harwin's sense of direction quickly vanishing. Despite the maze-like surroundings, Mero navigated without hesitation. Passing by familiar landmarks, he mentioned casually that he frequented this place thrice annually.

   They veered right, then left, skirting past three jagged crevices before turning left again and ascending—or was it descending? The intertwining branches of the hedge and trees cast them into shadow, with only faint sunbeams piercing through the foliage. As the path narrowed further, they clasped hands to prevent anyone from falling behind in the tight passage.

   Harwin winced as more thorns pricked him, each sting reminiscent of a wasp's bite. Gradually, the cramped passageway widened, and Mero veered right, then after passing six clefts to the left of them, he guided them through the seventh. "How did you manage to memorize all of this?" Edmund inquired impatiently as they pressed on through the labyrinthine hedge.

   “My mentor taught each turn with a song, and it took me three years to learn,” Mero laughed. "If you see me pause, then I forgot the lyrics."

   Harwin's eyes narrowed with suspicion, his voice low and cautious. "Is this knowledge shared with others? Do the Loreto people ever venture beyond these lands?" he probed.

   Mero hesitated briefly before responding, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "I have never delved into that," he admitted with a shrug. "The Loreto are a reclusive tribe, guarding their seclusion as a fervent religion. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be the tribal elders who hold such information."

   “What will they think about you dragging four blokes into their lands?” Osmond's skepticism surfaced in a muttered question, casting doubt on their guide's intentions. Harwin couldn't help but smile at the doubt voiced by another.

   The forager chuckled heartily at Osmond's words, dispelling the tension in the air. "My dear friend," Mero began, amusement evident in his voice, "the Loreto village is not fortified like a fortress. I intend to lead us discreetly around it; they are simple folk preoccupied with their crops, not suspicious of outsiders lurking in the distant woods."

   Harwin couldn't resist a remark, seeking clarity amidst the banter. “So, you are smuggling us through?”

   Mero met his jest with laughter, acknowledging the accusation. The revelation of being 'smuggled' only fueled Harwin's suspicions as they trailed behind their guide through the dense woods until their journey led them to an open clearing where Mero suggested they take respite and tend to their wounds and refresh themselves, then adding more of the poultice before venturing further.

   “I guess there is no turning back now,” Edmund japed. “I read that these hedges are a millennium old, possibly older than the Grimm walls.”

   “You surprise me, Leland,” Mero said. “It pleases me that you have a curiosity about history. We will become fast friends on this excursion.”

    His unease grew as he observed his brother engaging in chummy conversation with the stranger. Despite Harwin's explicit instructions to treat Mero as a hired guide, his siblig seemed intent on showcasing his vast knowledge instead of maintaining caution.

   Harwin feared that the forager might take advantage of their vulnerability and abandon them, possibly even returning later to pick thier corpse if they were to succumb to the dangers lurking around them.

   As they navigated through the treacherous terrain filled with thorny obstacles, Julius' restlessness escalated. Each twist and turn in the labyrinth seemed to agitate him further, causing his breathing to become rapid and erratic. Sensing Julius' growing anxiety, Osmond placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, urging him forward with a slight nudge.

   Their journey through the treacherous terrain took a welcomed pause as they stumbled upon yet another ancient circle of stones. Exhausted, they sank down onto the mossy ground, their tired muscles grateful for the brief respite. Pulling out a few plums from the hidden pockets of their cloaks, they savored the fruit, resting sevearl moments from the arduous trek.

   Mero, ever cautious, suggested applying another layer of healing poultice to their small cuts. He then produced more of murky liquid that resembled urine, rewetting the linens covering their airways, then they continued onward, each step became heavier as they had been navigating uncomfortably for hours.

   At high noon, when the sun was directly above, Mero abruptly halted their progress. Something in the air had shifted, prompting him to slow his steps, he admitted that an odor was ahead, and soon, lying before them was not a child as it first appeared but an adult man of diminutive stature.

   Harwin was aghast at the fury the hedge could unfurrow as he gazed at the tragic figure sprawled on the ground. The man's once-pale skin now marred by angry red and purple boils, his body ravaged by scavengers.

   The gruesome sight proved too much for Julius, who doubled over retching at the morbid scene before hastily turning away, his breaths coming in rapid gasps filled with panic.

  Mero sighed. "The trail is too cramped to bring him along, his grave lies here."

   The forager asked Harwin to help him as they moved his corpse aside to continue forward, twisting as a small brook appeared. Mero forbade them to drink from it, then pointed to an opening that winded snake-like, and into a small grove of chestnut trees where Mero stooped to pray.

Bless us, Father, take this lost son.

Lead him into the light, away from the black deceiver.

Deliver him to your golden halls

And bless the loved ones he left behind

To ease the burden of their sadness.

  Edmund made it a point to whisper along, listening to his words.

  "Have you noticed a change in your brother ever since he romped with that woman? It seems the warmth between her thighs has made him unusually devout," Osmond remarked slyly to Harwin, who chuckled at the jest. "Who is this back deceiver?" Julius inquired, unaware of the meaning.

   “Mercruxes, the wicked son of Luretia and Xarl.” His brother then quoted a scripture from the Minoan gospels. "Wickedness will send his soul to the shadows, and Mercruxes is the gatekeeper, the jailer, and the torturer of lost men,” 

   Mero nodded, adding to the mood, annoying Harwin further as the thought of another as annoying as his younger sibling was making him feel nauseous. Even Osmond had a furrowed brow as he overheard them.

   Following the forager's lead, they emerged from the thick grove that encircled the wooden enclave and were met by a sprawling ridge bordered by a hedge. Walking alongside this natural barrier, they reached a meandering river. Mero directed them to a specific point where the river bent underneath the hedge and flowed through a cluster of towering hemlock trees.

   Here, he outlined their next trial - they must traverse under the hedge by wading through the frigid waters, holding their breath until they surfaced on the other side.

   Approaching the water, its icy touch sent shivers down through them. Harwin took the lead, plunging in to cautiously feel his way through. Osmond and Julius followed closely behind, forming a human chain to navigate the narrow passage beneath the hedge. Edmund stayed behind to aid Julius, who struggled with fear and battled for air underwater until Mero swiftly intervened, guiding him while nudging him forward as his companions pulled him to safety on a nearby bank.

   After this arduous task, they paused to recuperate and refuel with provisions provided by Mero - an odd square loaf crafted from dried beef, tallow, and berries, seasoned with salt and fragrant herbs. The flavors were surprisingly satisfying as they quenched their thirst from a nearby freshwater spring before resuming their journey.

   "We have reached the end," Mero declared proudly. "Though we may be slightly delayed, if we quicken our pace, we shall still reach our destination in good time." Venturing deeper into the forest, they eventually entered a sunlit meadow adorned with tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. Here, Mero shared encouraging news - just one league away stood a friendly barn where they could rest for the night before embarking on their journey at dawn once more.

   “How far must we journey to reach the opposite end?” Julius inquired, a sense of relief washing over him as they entered the expansive clearing.

   “My dear Julius, the realm of Loreto is not vast. If we maintain a swift pace, we should arrive at our destination by nightfall tomorrow,” replied Mero with a reassuring smile.

   “That is truly heartening news,” Osmond exclaimed with a spark of enthusiasm. “This overland route is proving to be much more favorable than a blasted ship.”

   “Well, I was referring to reaching the far side of the domain. Beyond lies another twisiting path through this hedge that we must traverse, and it spans two leagues farther than what we endured today, Mero clarified.

   “Bollocks! This is more than I can handle,” Julius gasped in dread.

   “I can blindfold you, will that help?” Mero asked.

   "He will recover, let's continue towards your friend," Edmund interjected, his curiosity piqued about the chance, believing it a Loreton, a race of men who had lived among the time of the gods. Walking alongside him, Julius grew increasingly uneasy. "What drives a man to endure such a harrowing journey?" he pondered, his thoughts lingering on the dead traveler they abandoned.

   "Perhaps he sought liberation. The ways of these people remain a mystery," Harwin speculated. "From Mero's tales, it seems they hold beliefs that shroud the unknown beyond this barrier."

   "It must be daunting for youth amidst such mystifying traditions," Julius remarked thoughtfully as they pushed forward through the thick grass of the sunlit meadows.

   Harwin's mind stirred at his words. Memories flooded back of the countless moments he spent gazing beyond the watchtowers of Hayston, daydreaming about distant lands he had heard in tales. The allure of the unknown whispered promises of greener pastures, enticing him to yearn for far-off places. "There's a certain allure in the forbidden," he mused softly, acknowledging the inevitable curiosity that beckons young hearts to explore what lies beyond their reach.

  “That must have been what you were thinking when you climbed up into that lass’s room and gave her the ol’ in and out,” Osmond laughed out with a boom while hearing their conversation as the others joined in at his expense, forcing Mero to turn in wonder at what they were saying.

   “I must be missing a good jape,” Mero said with a smile. “Sounds like you are a man who likes the ladies, Master Argyle." The name made him bristle. His brother found it amusing.

   “What man refrains from an ample bosom?” Osmond bluntly says. “I am missing the Sultry Madame.”

   “A fine establishment,” Mero commented.

   “I figured a pious man would avoid in a place like that,” Julius laughed aloud. “Do you read the scripture while rooting underneath the sheets?”

   The jape had them all laughing. “No need to tease our new friend,” Harwin added with a veiled word. “He may abandon us in the middle of the night. Even a man who loves the good book needs comfort other than the pages from the holy word.”

  “You guys are making sport of me,” Mero chuckled. “I never frequent those upper floors anymore. I will admit to my abstinence since I found the faith.”

   “This faith made you give up women?” Osmond asked. ”Bollocks that thought."

   “No shame in believing in the word,” Edmund scolded his bearded friend. “Our mother took us frequently when she was alive.”

   “Well!” Osmond blurted mockingly. “Which fancies you now? The warm spot for the old temple or that warm spot between that tall girls legs that got you torn up about the ears?”

   Edmund's cheeks flushed crimson, a telltale sign of his rising frustration. "That was a cheap blow. I was merely explaining the essence of faith. It strengthens one's beliefs to abstain from unsavory deeds," he retorted amidst shared laughter. His sibling's countenance soured into a bitter pout, signaling an end to the discussion as he turned to Mero, shifting the conversation towards inquiries about bows.

   Edmund's eyes locked onto the pouch slung over the stranger's shoulder, a design reminiscent of the one that covered his, delving into his curiosity, he asked if Mero’s bow was of the Lonoke fashion.

   Harwin's voice cut through the air as he mentioned the costs of Lonoke craftsmanship, remarking that it was rare for a forager to be able to afford such an item. Harwin's gaze focused as he observed the reaction from the stranger.

   Unperturbed by his scrutiny, Mero glanced back, chuckled and facing ahead to lead them further, but the slight turn allowed Harwin a glimpse under his cloak. The leather adorning him was unlike anything Harwin had encountered before - supple and appearing to be a skin of something unfamiliar, its hues mimicking shades of bark interwoven with shadows that danced like scales in the dim light.

   In contrast to his fine arms, the stranger favored simplicity. His cloak, a humble garment in dark tones, cloaked him discreetly while a modest scabbard housed his sword. Even in its modesty, the sword's hilt bore witness to expert craftsmanship, hinting that the caliber of steel underneath matched it’s value.

   Mero halted their progress, Harwin’s words lingering in the air as Edmund rebuked his coarse accusations. "Your distrust of me is blatant," Mero retorted, fixing a steady gaze on him. "Am I exploiting the vulnerability of peaceful folk who are unsettled by my presence? Indeed, I am." The forager admitted, his eyes swept over each of them with a grimace. "I am a man driven by the allure of wealth, and while my methods may be poaching to some, I am no mere rube scavenging for trivial coins." He gestured towards the forests of Loreto. "Here thrives the rarest tortoise leaf known to man, coveted for its quality that commands a high price in silver."

   Edmund interjected, voicing their distrust in a calm explanation. "Our previous employer from Breeston has left us wary, we are a bit leery."

   The forager eased his stance and let out a chuckle. "Once I guide you across, our paths diverge. I shall return to these woods to gather my bounty of leaves. If doubt clouds your minds, we can turn back now."

   Harwin silently hoped this revelation would sway them back. Despite his lingering suspicions about Mero's hidden motives, the group acquiesced with apologies.

   Mero nodded and proposed they press on. They strode through fields ripe with corn and barley awaiting harvest, catching sight of a cottage ahead where a man was chopping wood. As he noticed them approaching, he paused; waving in acknowledgment as if familiar with Mero.

  Shooing away two children who were playing near his cottage, the man gestured for them to go inside as they approached. Speaking in a foreign tongue to Mero when they approached, the man, a foot shorter than Julius, had chestnut curls and a slight stubble on his chin.

   His calm blue eyes held a glint of amusement as he animatedly conversed with Mero, his hands moving energetically. Harwin glanced at his brother and noticed the disappointment in his expression upon seeing this ancient people.

   Harwin couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the sight of pig dung on his boots and soiled garments - far from the grandeur he had expected.

   "What's all the flapping about?" Osmond grumbled.

   "I don't believe we share a common language," Julius muttered while watching the awkward conversation.

   “Oh, is that wisdom someone speaks?” Osmond answered in a mock. “Such a bright observation,” followed with a booming laugh.

   “Bugger off, you beardy, bald wanker.” His brother became brimming mad.

   “Now is not the time, you two,” Edmund said to calm them.

  “Allow me to extend my apologies,” the man interjected, switching effortlessly to their native tongue with a peculiar inflection. “Some here are familiar with your language; the strange words you use is not commonly heard in these parts. Mero mentioned that you seek passage through our lands?”

   “Indeed, sir. I am Leland Craig. Might I inquire about your name?” Edmund inquired politely. Harwin couldn't help but smirk as the Loreton glanced up at his brother and let out a hearty chuckle.

   “I go by William Bill Mullins, but you call me Two Billys.” The man smiled wide. “Mero mentioned you found Jasper. The lad has been missing for three days. We thought the hounds may have got him.”

   “Hounds?” Julius curiously asked.

   “Two Billys informed me of a recent problem they are suffering from, large packs of wolf hounds are attacking the poor folks in the village,” Mero told them.

   “They snatched a little girl last night, and some discovered her remains partially devoured. Countless have perished since your previous journey through these lands, Mero,” Two Billys recounted with fervor. “The chieftain instructed me to guide you to the village should you happen to traverse this way.” 

   “I am bound to lead these young ones through an alternative route,” Mero objected firmly. 

   “We must make for the town,” the man pressed on, his tone unwavering. “Setting up camp in the forest would leave you vulnerable to attacks as well.”

   “The chieftain holds no love for me, as you are well aware, Two Billys. I aim to smuggle these youths across discreetly; there’s no need to provoke him further,” Mero explained.

   “Medgar has fallen. The hounds claimed him four days ago,” Two Billys disclosed. “Etric now commands us, and he insisted I bring you along. We will provide shelter for the young ones, but it was his explicit order that you see him.”

   “Surely, We could postpone until you complete this audience,” Edmund declared naively, his trust evident in his words.

   Harwin was suspicious, believing it was a deception, wondering what the two were discussing for long moments before he spoke their tongue. This matter was none of their business, but he looked at his other mates, seeing in their faces that a belly full of food and a good rest fancied them.

    Two Billys was pleased with the concession, clambering onto a buckboard and gesturing at them to jump in the back. He was guiding the horses up front, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

   The path they followed was well-trodden, winding through fields marked by low walls made of the same dreadful hedge that the odd people here must have learned to craft with precision. Harwin mused that a wealthy lord must have paid handsomely for such a unique deterrent.

   Many of the cottages they passed were quaint and unassuming, each one adorned with moss-covered roofs and delicate vines framing the doorways and windows. Wisps of smoke spiraled from chimneys crafted from smooth rocks as dusk began to settle over the landscape.

   As they neared a village nestled among the fields, Harwin noticed that the crops stood unharvested, a oddity that tugged at his curiosity. Suddenly, a chilling howl carried by the wind piqued their ears, signaling an dreadful presence lurking nearby. The buckboard rolled into the heart of the village, where simple cottages huddled together amidst vast expanses of farmland.

   The villagers watched them warily as they came to a stop in a spacious plaza paved with polished river stones, encircled by sturdy timber structures. Though it resembled a marketplace fit for trade, Harwin couldn't shake off the feeling that commerce here might not involve coin but something far more shared.

   A seasoned man, accompanied by a group of elder individuals, approached them in the torch-lit plaza that shone brightly against the darkening night sky. The majority of the townsfolk had retreated indoors, following a curfew out of fear, Harwin assumed, that lingered heavily in the air.

   The weight of the situation was felt to all present. The first man, likely Etric, spoke in a foreign tongue with a boyish stature but a weathered face framed by brownish hair streaked with gray and a bushy beard. Despite his tense tone, his pale blue eyes held a glint of authority.

   Mero responded to Etric's words before being interrupted by an elder from behind, each member of the group casting sharp words and disapproving glances at them as they watched from the back of the buckboard.

   Edmund whispered his concerns, noting the unease caused by the sight of them, and they seemed repulsed that they were armed. A sudden howl pierced through the forest, prompting fearful cries and fervent gestures resembling prayers among the villagers.

   Harwin understood their intentions as they eyed Mero's ornate bow expectantly. Sensing the obvious, he turned to Edmund and remarked that they woud be staying for a few days, only to be met with his brother's gaze that shared the same disappointment.

   The village leader approached them, questioning their origins with an accent that confirmed his suspicion towards outsiders like them. Osmond peered at the frightened people, bewildered at their fair skin as it seemed to glow in the as the darkness set. The sight prompted Harwin to recall tales linking these people to beings known for their luminous complexion under moonlight.

   Etric expressed his disapproval at their intrusion and requested swift action to rid them of a looming threat posed by the hounds plaguing their community, an arrangement for payment of the frequent trespassing from the forager.

   Mero scoffed, but offered to assist in hunting down the beasts to appease Etric's fears, but he had a few terms that needed to be met. Harwin seethed at his remark as Edmund ignorantly volunteered his archery skills as a gesture of goodwill.

   Harwin felt frustration bubbling within him at Edmund's impulsiveness that might lead them into further trouble if not handled carefully.

   But he had little time to object as Julius' sudden offer to help silenced his tongue, leaving him with a defiant sneer.

   He had dark thoughts, pleading to the others while they climbed from the wagon. One of the elders rudely pointed for them to follow, and he directed them into one of the higher buildings surrounding the square. 

   He introduced himself in a strong Loreto twang as Pietro. “You don’t fit in beds, especially giant ones there,” He remarked rudely, pointing at Harwin.

   “I will send water, you wash up, bring food and water, no spirits until full moon. Those are rules,” Pietro added.

   Harwin struggled to understand what the little man was saying, but he was hungry. “What does the full moon have to do with drinking?” he asked as if he heard a jape.

   “It is a sin to drink in Loreto, only during new and full moon. Those days allowed.” his voice was brisk, with a gait in his walk. The man had a thick head of hair, his chestnut was filled with grey that hung to his brow, and the little man was focused on Harwin. “You have problem with say?” Amusing him as he peered down at the man who held his hands on his hips.

   “He hasn’t a problem,” Edmund interrupted. “He doesn’t understand what you are saying. The next full moon—”

   “I don’t give a bollocks about the moon, brother,” Harwin interupted. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to include us in their problems. These dogs are not our problem, and now our business has been set aside, should I remind you that Mero has put us in this plight as trespassers.”

   “Where did this Mero go?” Osmond asked. “He did not come with us here.”

   “What are you suggesting?” Edmund answered, unconcerned of the foragers behavior. “Harwin, I merely suggested that we help so our business can be addressed again. If the dogs are dead, then he can guide us out.”

   “Do you know what a wolfhound is?” Harwin asked.

   “You know I do, brother. What is your point?.”

   “Then tell me this, what can inflict them into attacking with such aggression? The breed is docile and used to hunt wolves, not mimic their behavior,” Harwin mentions in anger. “The dogs can run fast, and if they are in packs, then they are formidable. You should take this seriously.”

   “These people need our help,” Edmund pleaded. “I think we should have another vote.”

   Harwin just threw up his hands in disgust as the doors suddenly opened. Three women came up to his waist with buckets of steaming water.

   “Wash. Wash. Please.” Pietro said. “You have stuff on your face.”

   Harwin had forgotten they looked like a bunch of pasty cretins as he dunked his head in a basin. The water turned into a milky white, and Harwin noticed the hundreds of red bumps that marked his flesh.

   He could hear Osmond dunk his head in the bucket beside him. “Please speak reason to these two,” he asked his bald mate.

   “I care little for their problems, but I pity them, and relish to get out of here.”

   “You surely noticed their fear, but with two bows, then surely it will not take long,” Julius said with a shrug. 

   Harwin became heated with his brother. “How can you trust this Mero? He has deceived us, and now he is making us wait while striking up a better deal with this Etric. He is negotiating more coin in his purse as we sit her in confinement.”

  “He has shown concern as well, and you have been attacking his integrity since we met him,” Edmund argued. "These people have no gold to pay him. You are being ludicrous."

   As he seethed further, Edmund was washing the poultice off, still harping with a face full of muddled water. “Harwin, what other arrangements can we make? Bite your tongue, we are aware of your protests. All we can do is wait, and see how tomorrow unfolds.”

   Suddenly, Harwin smelt a savory odor as another woman pushed a cart through the doorway. He decided it was best to let his frustration be and take a peek at what was making his mouth water underneath. The woman nearly shrank to the floor when Harwin lifted the pewter tray to have a gander.

   “Sorry, miss,” he said while trying to reach out and comfort her. The woman turned and ran out the door in fright.

   “This is going well,” Osmond laughed. “These folks are a bunch of scurrying chickens.”

   “They have never seen a man his size.” Edmund then turned to him, distracted with hunger. “What is that, brother? It must be rich in spice.”

   “Roasted pork I think, stewed in root vegetables, and the bread is warm. There is butter, too.” Harwin grumbled, still annoyed that his logic was being tossed aside as fear mongering.

   Moments later, they were engorging themselves on the fragrant food like hogs as Pietro let in another woman with furs heaped in her hands. The Loreto elder had told them in his own way to sleep on the floor. Pietro had no interest in lingering, sharing a look to rid himself of providing any more hospitality and soon, heabandoned them.

   “That man is a hoot,” Julius sarcastically said while spooning meat onto a split loaf of barley bread. “You think he will come back?”

   “A curmudeon if I ever seen one,” Edmund said while nibbling on a heel. “The furs look soft though, Our comfort should be sufficient.”

   Edmund was looking around the lobby as they continued to dine, suddenly spotting a ledger, and flipping through the pages in curiousity. “I’d guess these are numbers in weight, maybe a count of their stores. I assume this is a form of social community government.”

   “Great!” Harwin grumbled. “If we kill their dogs, they will give us a piglet in payment.”

   His brother sensed the barb, taking offense to his tone. “He never mentioned doing this for money.”

   Harwin's hands deftly arranged the furs into a makeshift bed, his voice laced with conviction. "And who appears the fool now? You caught mere fragments of his words back at Two Billys; that man is a grifter," he remarked, settling down on the pile. "You were fed only what he deemed fit for your ears. The foreign tongue was rife with discussions, dear brother. These individuals are desperate, indifferent to our presence. Edmund, we are unwelcome guests in their eyes."

11

   In the year 2059, of the Minoan calendar. Ellis Breeston died in his sleep, which instantly created rumors among the commoners that he was poisoned or strangled. Nobody knows how, but the guild quickly put in Robard Breeston, his brother, who many believe was a dolt.

   His fortune ended before he say year, dying from syphilis, leaving no child behind. The last of the line of Arturo was done, and the sires of his younger brother began. In the year 2059 of the Minoan calendar, Ellis Breeston passed away in his sleep. Whispers swiftly spread among the commoners - some suggesting poison, others hinting at strangulation.

   The sudden death of Ellis led to the ascension of his brother, Robard Breeston, to head the guild. Despite doubts of his mental abilities, Robard assumed leadership only to meet a tragic end within a single cycle, succumbing to syphilis without an heir to carry on his legacy.

   With Robard's demise, the illustrious lineage of Arturo came to a close, and the torch passed onto another branch from the Breeston line. During his brief tenure, Robard never once wielded his gavel in authority as the Guild remained stagnant under Minoan scrutiny. Rumors swirled that Wladimir Trusk himself had a hand in appointing the new High Chamberlain.

   Balker Breeston was swiftly sworn in as the eighth Chamberlain following Robard's death, marking a new era for the Guild. In a gesture of goodwill, Wladimir Trusk bestowed upon the Guildmembers an exquisite Minoan sword as a symbol of their dedication.

   Roland Devers - head scribe of Cooper Breeston, the tenth High Chamberlain of the Grand Guild.    

The Hunt

   Harwin stirred from his slumber, his awakening sluggish. To him, it felt like being ensnared once more in captivity. However, this time the confinement was far from the harsh treatment they had endured under Captain Sykes back in Faust. Instead of silence under duress and nights of little sleep, they were now being indulged with hearty food, making their imprisonment much more bearable.

   He found amusement in watching Osmond eagerly devour rashers of bacon paired with a hearty bread made from sour milk, a local delicacy. His companions joined in the feast, greedily consuming fruit jellies, fried eggs, and plums. Even Edmund, usually reserved, was shamelessly overindulging.

   "I could happily spend my days here if they allow it," Osmond proclaimed between bites, crumbs nesting deep in his beard.

   Curious about their captors' way of life, Julius inquired about their activities. Edmund explained that for now, they were forced indoors by the pack of dangerous dogs. Once the danger passed, they would return to tending to their fields.

   As Julius contemplated the situation and the hospitality shown to them, he remarked that much of their labors were given to them while they sat confined in the counting house. Harwin couldn't resist reminding him. "Are you beginning to feel indebted to them for their kindness?" he quipped with a smirk. "It seems that gratitude is the only currency they possess. We haven't seen hide nor hair of this Mero, and have been told nothing."

   “Shall we seek out this Etric?” Julius inquired, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Harwin, growing increasingly frustrated by the language barrier deliberately imposed around them, replied, “Who would we even ask? We're surrounded by those who cannot comprehend our words. It's a deliberate isolation.” he grumbled as the few capable of understanding their speech seemed to be avoiding them.

   Edmund proposed a bold idea, “Let's position ourselves in the square. Surely someone will come to us then to quell the commotion we start.” The suggestion resonated with logic and they swiftly made their way outside, disregarding the protests and gestures of the woman who had held them captive. Her foreign scolds faded into mere background noise as they exited the threshold.

   The modest square unfolded before them, drawing leery gazes from the locals. Amidst the crowd, Harwin's eyes noticed four young men confined in wooden stocks. Their heads hung low, dressed only in scant tunics that did little to preserve their dignity. One of them had unfortunately soiled himself, a streak of filth from his cheek to his ankle as he watched the in amusement.

   "Looks like they've paraded these lads out this morning," Osmond remarked with a derisive snort. "They even have a guard perched on that stool."

   "I”ve been in such displays in Hayston," Harwin observed. "But here they seem to treat them slightly better. Back home, the boys would enjoy prodding you with sticks."

   "If they had this in Breeston, that stool guard would need more than just watchful eyes, he would need a dirk to keep the buggerers away." Julius added, feeling remorse for the poor lads as he tugged at his beard, shrugging. “So we wait here?”

   "What choice do we have?" Edmund interjected. "They've kept us in the dark for too long."

   Harwin quipped sarcastically, "Perhaps next they'll have us hunting dogs for a slab of roasted lamb."

   "I understand your candor," Julius chimed in as Edmund became sour at the barb, "but if aiding them means hastening our departure, then it may be worth considering."

   "I'm not lifting a finger until we're given some answers," Osmond grumbled.

   "At last, someone speaks sense," Harwin remarked dryly.

   They stood there like statues amidst the crowd's whispers and stares. Some looked upon them with curiosity while others scurried away from the disturbance until Pietro arrived breathlessly on the scene.

   “You not be here. Scaring everyone. Please go back,” the elder said with a huff.

   “Where is Mero?” Edmund asked with a huff.

   “Out for dogs.”

   “Where is the man we talked to last night? Where is Etric?” his brother demanded.

   “He busy. You need to go back.” Pietro wore a menacing stare, but that was all he could use against them.

   “You think he will keep looking meanly at us forever?” Osmond asked, laughing in a boom.

   “Until we get hungry and go back where we came,” Harwin said, with a smirk.

   The four companions faced off against the elderly Loreto leader, their standoff broken by Mero's return in a creaking buckboard steered by Two Billys. The forager proudly displayed three slain wolfhounds at the back. Harwin impatiently questioned the delay, reminding Mero of their prior engagement.

   Despite Mero's apology and explanation of the danger posed by the cunning pack if they attempted to journey away from the village, Edmund again offered his bow to expedite their journey. However, Mero insisted on thinning out the aggressive wolves alone, not risking his safety, with Two Billys silently supporting his decision with a nod. Harwin skeptically probed about financial motives, causing Mero to bristle defensively, asserting his sympathy to their terrible situation.

   As tensions rose, Osmond impatiently urged his own axe in aid, while Edmund and Harwin attempted to bargain with Mero. Reluctantly accepting Edmund’s pleads, he requested an audence with his younger sibling as the forager disclosed his strategy, claiming if they slew multiple small packs of the viscious hound, it may pacify them.

   Harwin became aggravated as Pietro stepped in to gather them back to their quarters. His protests were ignored, and in the end, it accomplished nothing except another meal — an impressive meal at that, of roasted lamb, mashed up potatoes, with mushrooms and gravy from the drippings. It was as fine a meal a lord could ask for, which made him so angry. 

   His brother rode off with Mero on the buckboard to strategize a safe way to deal with the menacing hounds, promising Harwin that they would find a solution without endangering themselves. Frustrated, Harwin expressed his doubts about their abilities for such a task, emphasizing the need for more long-range weapons. Julius, attempting to soothe him, suggested they could handle at least some of the dogs. Osmond chimed in with agreement, leading Harwin to retreat to a nearby corner in frustration while the Timmons brothers tried to reassure him. "Judging by the chilling howls we heard last night," Harwin remarked grimly, "a mere few packs won't be enough to tackle this threat."

   Osmond's senses picked up on the simmering rage emanating from his companion. "What troubles you, friend?" he inquired, noting the uncharacteristic fury in his voice. "I sense a malevolence in this place, Osmond," he confided gravely. "I know of this beast, and never have I known it to bring death upon a man. This is a matter not to be underestimated."

   His somber mood was interrupted as Edmund returned, signaling it was time to gear up. Harwin, assisting his companions, questioned their upcoming role. Edmund revealed they would be perched in the trees, ready to ambush any unsuspecting group below, while Mero and he picked off targets from afar. Though Harwin hesitated in his mind, considering a delay for better planning, the eagerness of his comrades swayed him to comply without objection.

   He instructed Julius and Osmond to stand back-to-back and stay close by his side, as soon, they found themselves at the outskirts of the fields that afternoon, guided by Two Billys driving the wagon.

   Mero shared he had been tracking since dawn and pointed out a hill with hickory trees where he had previously taken down some foes. He then mentioned another field frequented with numerous tracks visible. When Harwin probed about Mero's tracking skills, an annoyed response followed before Edmund intervened against the brewing tension.

   Mero's cryptic demeanor piqued curiosity as he hinted at suspicions about Harwin and Edmund's true identities. The banter caught Two Billys' attention, who slyly observed the exchange before urging them forward.

   The forager stared long at his brother, then smiled suspiciously. “You want me to reveal something, but I harbor a suspicion that you two are trying to hoax me as well. You are lords, I am convinced of that. Tell me your names, then I will tell you what I did before I came here.”

   Amidst the escalating tension, introductions were made as Edmund, under protest from Julius revealed their true names; however, Harwin remained uninterested in Mero's past exploits as he admitted to being a scout to a lord in Nuhr.

   Edmund inquired about the hedge, and the forager grew defensive but eventually divulged details under pressure to defuse the situation. "The way is marked, and every turn has an emblem notched into the nearest tree." as he became short, unhappy with the inquiry. "Go ahead, ask that question that has put a burden on your mind. I can see it on all your faces."

   “What are you being paid for this nuisance?” Harwin quickly barged into the inquiry.

   “A promise betweens two men with needs.” the forager admitted, then mentioned an agreement with the Loretons to gather all the leaf he needed in the future.

   Harwin bristled to his tactics as Edmund spoke to ease the quarrel as the wagon was close to it’s destination. Reflecting on Mero's cunning nature, Harwin couldn't help but think how well crafted his deceit enveloped them.

   Two Billys maneuvered the wagon to a location near the winding road amongst many trees under Mero's guidance. Harwin, with a grunt, assisted in hoisting Osmond onto a sturdy branch opposite Julius and Mero, nestled within thick branches of an ancient oak tree that split at its base, offering a dense cover of autumn leaves for concealment.

   From their vantage point, they spied on the Loreton in his wagon below. Positioned on branches across the narrow path were Edmund and Osmond. Mero earlier remarked on the vigilant hounds patrolling with skilled stealth, emphasizing their cunning nature in detecting lone intruders to take down with numbers.

   The Loreton was strategically placed near his locked box at the back of the seat of his buckboard, if spotted, he would climb inside and wait. Julius expressed disbelief at the risky ploy of using the Loreton as bait. Mero reassured them that it had proven effective earlier that day; once inside the box, he would be shielded from harm while Mero dealt with the approaching dogs.

   Anxious moments passed in silence, fueling jitteriness among the watchers perched above. Just when doubt began to cloud their minds as twilight approached, distant howls shattered the stillness folllowed by a chorus of canine sharp barks drawing nearer. Six sleek hounds emerged from a distant thicket, moving swiftly before halting to sniff cautiously at the air in unison. 

   The hounds, their fur a mix of charcoal and silver, moved with a eager grace that belied their deadly intent. As the lead dog lifted its snout to the wind, its eyes locked onto Two Billys wagon. A primal howl pierced the air, signaling the beginning of a swift attack.

   Mero's fingers tightened around his notched bow as Edmund mirrored his actions, both poised for the impending rush. The hounds closed in swiftly, their barks shifting into growls of maliscious death.

   With precision, Mero and Edmund released their arrows in unison. The twang of their bows echoed through the trees as two hounds fell lifeless to the ground. But the pack showed no signs of faltering; they leaped over the fallen with savage determination.

   Once more, the advantage of distance played out as Mero and Edmund unleashed another volley. The deadly projectiles found their marks with unfailing accuracy. Yet, to Harwin's astonishment, the remaining two hounds only grew more frenzied, their snarls reverberating of bloodlust.

   As the last pair charged towards them with primal fury, Harwin couldn't help but marvel at their aggressive pursuit. The hounds held no fear as if they were compelled to kill as if they were rabid, but Harwin sensed none in them before both were downed leaping up at the tree that held them safe from above.

   In awe of his talents, Mero praised his brothers skill, an added “That bow is no ordinary Lonoke creation; it sings with a power unlike the wood they commonly use. Let me examine it after this ordeal."

   Edmund could only agree, amazed by the ease with which his bow unleashed his arrows. Complimenting Mero in his skills as well.

   “Hey, you two, quit pulling on your wankers and listen,” Osmond interrupted with a curse.

   “A wagon!” Julius exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency. Harwin immediately scanned the surroundings for Two Billys, but the Loreton was safely tucked inside his lockbox. The distant sound of another wagon approaching made their hearts race.

   The driver of the wagon was another Loreton wearing a floppy hat, seemed oblivious to the impending danger until a chilling chorus of distant howls echoed through the air. An eerie symphony that sent shivers in them as packs of wolfhounds emerged from the thickets in the distance. Their fur flowed like waves as they sprinted towards them, a mesmerizing yet terrifying sight for Harwin. He marveled at strange connection between these wild creatures, pondering on the oddity of their normal nature.

   Turning to Edmund in disbelief, he whispered, “Have you ever witnessed anything like this before?” His brother’s face was pale with shock as he shouted loud to Mero. "This is over our heads," he muttered angrily.

   "The elders never warned me about this many hounds!" Mero shouted back as Harwin gasped knowing the fool on the approaching wagon was as good as dead. As panic set in, Osmond boomed out at the driver to seek refuge in a nearby tree. Sensing the imminent danger, the man hesitated in fear, before abandoning his wagon and diving into a thicket of shrubs for cover.

   “We must help him,” Julius insisted desperately to Mero. But Osmond intervened gravely, “If we aid him, we seal our own fate, brother. He's beyond saving.”

   With a heavy heart, Harwin watched as Mero and Edmund unleashed a flurry of arrows at the oncoming hounds while he felt paralyzed with only his blades. The relentless pack closed in rapidly as Harwin assessed over a hundred hounds advancing towards them. As Edmund's quiver ran low on arrows and desperation mounted, Harwin's gaze shifted to the stranded man struggling in vain to escape beneath the dense foliage.

   Arrows rained down upon the frenzied hounds as they lunged at the wagon and its occupant with savage intent. The ferocious beasts clawed and snarled relentlessly while Mero and Edmund downed many.

   The air resonated with gut-wrenching howls as more hounds fell under their arrows' deadly aim. In a moment of despair, Harwin knew their ammunition wouldn’t last and they would be stranded.

   Then before his grave thought could linger, a sudden crack echoed through the air followed by Osmond's dreadful fall into the midst of snarling dogs below. He knew that his own life was over if he leapt below to save his friend.

Epilogue: The Arrest   

   The hood was pulled from his head as they gathered in the parlor of the Chamberlain at the Guildhouse on Old Street. Drew Vickards, the steward, sat in his chair across the audience, looking long at the captive, whose eyes was swollen shut, his nose caked in dried blood as he struggled to breath with his mouth gagged.

   In a ornate chair, the Chamberlain remained silent, a meek presence he displayed, but that was the side that he let most commoners see. Arlo anticipated the unfolding of a darker side to him as this disturbance from the ward bosses was unannounced.

   Arlo knew the prisoner, a known grifter named Lucius Vanderlay, who peddled tonics and ointments in Butcher’s Wail. Arch Cummings, a former brigand, now Ward Boss, stood beside the captive, revealing how he had apprehended the swindler. Arch claimed to have found sacks of “mist” in chests belonging to Lucius.

   Madge, a tough elderly woman who commanded respect in her role running the "Widows Ward," demanded answers concerning this discovery. “He should face the courts justice, an arrest could quell the unrest.” Her sharp eyes fixed on the bound man as she cut through the air with her words.

   Moose Meyer, with a menacing dirk in hand, voiced his desire for swift justice while Arlo silently reprimanded him with a sour look. The atmosphere grew tense between glares with him and the Boss of Tanner’s Square as Thad Griffin arrived with news of Dillard Reese, the boss of the Horn, falling ill, signaling an unexpected turn of events.

   As discussions veered towards eliminating the prisoner, Drew expressed concerns about legality if it went to the courts. Arlo felt unease settle upon him as they were breaking laws within their own walls as Thad Griffin smirked aloud. The Ward Boss of Old Street was a mate of Drew and was quick to flaunt it in mock to the bosses of the outer wards.

   With tensions rising and loyalties questioned, Arlo knew that uncovering more names and truths was imperative for avoiding a riot amidst a city plagued by crime and corruption.

  “He is a guilty, and a Raven, and they deal in this “mist”. Arch blurts out. "The city needs a corpse to calm their nerves."

   Arlo looks away, it was flimsy proof since no connection of the Ravens had been made concerning “the mist”, only assumptions among the commoners who rarely knew a bloody thing.

   Arch, feeling the weight of Vickards' gaze, gestured towards the window of the parlor. “Beyond those walls, my men are guarding witnesses. It is evident to us gathered here that action is imperative.” he grumbled.

   “But did you remove any locks to find the evidence?” Thad asked as Drew raised an eyebrow when the ward boss complied that he broke protocol.

   Moose interjected swiftly, emphasizing that the heart of the city remained untouched by the ongoing chaos, expressing frustration at the lack of assistance from the tossers. “Who cares about the bloody locks, he was caught red handed!” then as another barb to toss Arlo’s way was the lack of capture of the brigands who murdered the boss in the Bollox Ward.

   Thad rolled his eyes in response to Moose's claims, a smirk playing on his lips, while Arlo shot Meyer a venomous look. The chamberlain let out a weary sigh as he stood up from his seat, clearly exasperated by the squabbling and disregard for procedure. “Should our actions come under scrutiny by the courts, we risk severe embarrassment, it is a common law that we needed their approval to search the chest if it secured by a lock.”

   Vickards cautioned them sternly before proposing a plan. “At daybreak, we shall discreetly transport him to the salt mines on a wagon. There, we will interrogate him rigorously. If he cooperates and provides names, he may earn certain privileges. However, if he remains obstinate, he shall waste away swinging a pick.”

   “The Guild is behind this!” Moose erupted in fury, prompting Thad Griffin to scoff.

   “Let him meet his end slowly in the salt mines; it befits what he has unleashed upon us.” Madge reluctantly assented, insisting that a corpse is a fleeting satisfaction among the rabble. "If he is truly a Raven, then surely he has connections. I concur with Vickards," she added firmly.

   “I should have dealt with him myself; I knew you would all falter,” Arch shouted indignantly as Moose nodded vigorously in agreement while pointing an accusatory finger at the Chamberlain.

   “Mind your words or you might find yourselves joining him,” Drew Vickards warned curtly as he instructed Arlo on their next course of action.

   Arlo nodded, knowing that this was far from finished, and he dreaded every day until whatever end this secret coup took them.

   Vickards smiles, and adds further to appease the bitterness of his critics. "Now we can serve two purposes, we will give the Guild, and the city a corpse. I have a nice one sitting in the dungeon to take the fall." Vickards adds. "I will give each ten falcons for your troubles and commidate your performance to the Guild and when I find out any details in our discreet inquiry, we will share the glory if it leads to further arrests."

   The despicable act soured Arlo, but he also was aware of the predicament, and they needed more than Lucius Vanderlay to please the Guild, they were beginning to believe it is one of their own behind this chicanery, and vile letters have been sent to him by Harland Childers threatening his position. 

   As Arlo dwelled on the grim reality, the Chamberlain was quick to add a warning."Oh, and if any of you let this discussion out on the streets. The next corpse the Guild sees will be all of you." Vickards says, then adjourns the meeting.