I’ll have that there sword.” The old man pointed his crooked finger at the sword at Raimund’s side, Valkyr. “I think that a fair trade.” The old man’s hands were charred from the red oven behind him. Rows of fresh bread filled his small stand that didn’t even have a cover. Raimund was intoxicated by the smell.

  The knight couldn’t help but laugh. In Viguran; his kingdom of birth, Gerot-Staller; and everywhere else he’d been, coins were used. The stallions in Rowan, the scales in Viguran. Not here. Not when a tourney wasn’t taking place and foreigners from all across the continent came to the city for glory. “I only want a piece of bread.” He couldn’t help but smile at the old man. He tried. He rubbed the red stone on his sword’s hilt.

  “I know where you come from.” The crooked finger pointed to the black cliffs above the city. The castle built atop to watch over Gereduss to the east and the vast ocean to the west. “I’ve seen you come down the steps. You have many and more swords for me to have one. Prepare myself to defend our people if needed.”

  “How about,” Raimund set his hand on the wooden counter, the smells of fire and baking bread filling his nose, “you bring up half your daily bread to the palace, and I give you a few swords.”

  The old man crunched his back. “A bit too old for that, I am.” He rubbed his balding head, sweat from the fire making it glisten in the rising sun. “You know I used to live in the castle, a little over a decade ago I did, when the kingdom broke.” Raimund knew all too well that the castle was once overrun with commoners. The lord killed. His home opened for those who had nothing. Until Devro came in and took it for himself.

  The castle loomed over the city perched on its cliff, its towers clawing into the orange and pink sky. The old man continued, “It was a nice home for me and my family before the crown took it back. Are you enjoying it?” Raimund nodded even though the old man was looking at the cliff. “Surely I can find someone, perhaps my youngest grandson, Adale, who will carry the bread for me.” He ripped off a piece of the round, dark bread. “Have it.” He motioned to a man in ragged clothing, his long beard shaggy, with a gaunt face. “Give the rest to that man if you wish.” Raimund nodded his thanks and went to the vagrant. He stunk of piss and mead.

  “For your trouble.” He gave the rest of the bread to him. The vagrant clasped his hands together and said a few prayers of thanks.

  Strange place, but every year I get more and more used to it. He crunched the bread as he walked around the market square. Peddlers from across the Gorthair Marches came to Gereduss once a month to sell their wares, and this time it was just after the tourney had left. All the excitement drained from the city. Now, a relaxing market took its place. The sun hadn’t fully come up from beyond the horizon, so it wasn’t as busy as it would soon get. A large shade tree grew in the center, providing relief in the late summer heat. A few vagrants slept under it. Some children were playing in a puddle, their parents laughing at the splashes.

  Sir Mar was talking to a whore who peddled her wares the same as the rest. The bags under Mar’s eyes were wide. They drooped as he kept himself from sleep. His hair hadn’t been combed in days, and his beard was a patchy map on his face. Yet the girl still smiled at him.

  They were laughing from a joke Mar told when Raimund came up from behind. “Will she take bread as payment?”

  “His humor is all I need.” The girl said.

  Mar’s still bruised face turned red. “I’ll give more than jokes as payment.” Raimund grabbed the knight’s arm.

  “Not today.” He said to the woman. “My friend here just spent two days at a brothel near the docks. He needs time to rest.”

  “Not true.” Mar started.

  Raimund said, “but it is.” The girl smiled before turning to another man to talk business. Raimund gave Mar a bit of bread. “Don’t you think you should be back at the castle? Devro’s been wondering where you are.”

  “That doesn’t work on me. He isn’t a small child anymore.” Mar said as he huffed onto a stone bench.

  Some men were bartering or trading labor by the well near the great shade tree. Raimund imagined all the men who had nothing to do today or any day. “What if you went to train some men to fight?” He said to Mar. “The Gorthair are always preparing for the Bruthaki to attack again, they would love to have you.”

  Mar laughed his eyes open. “How will the king of Viguran feel if I am training the enemies of his cousin? Devro and Bertin would both denounce me.” He cocked his head. “Though, Hurvir would go mad if he found out, and it’s always fun to see him angry.”

  Raimund lay a hand on his friend’s back. “Before you make a decision, you need rest. Climb the stairs, get a litter if you need it, but go to the castle and sleep. Fucking whores at night and drinking the day away won’t anger Hurvir.”

  “And what do you have planned today?”

  “Just to enjoy the city. It’s market time.” Sir Mar patted Raimund’s knee as he stood from the bench and went off in the direction of the castle, whether he got there or not Raimund would find out later, but he yelled out, “and make sure you bathe. You smell worse than the fisheries in the summer sun.”

  There were more markets popping up around Gereduss as the morning went on. Vendors along the street, tents under the statue of King Artin, whose head was a slightly different color than the rest of his body from being knocked off a decade ago. He walked the long road, what they called the ‘street of oppression’, from the statue to the chancellery, the temple of the Gorthair close by with its smashed windows and missing gems and stones from when all of Rowan went up in flames. The grounds near the chancellery were also set up as a market. It was a new building. Built with stone and granite instead of the brick used in the rest of the city.

  He traded a few rings he found in his room for cheese and crackers. The diamond necklace got him barrels of wine to be carried up the steps of the castle. People watched him from the shadows of the brick buildings as he went about. Feeling their daggers or cracking knuckles. They don’t know who I am. No one in all of Rowan knows who I am. But they acted like it. Like they knew he was a knight protecting the Prince of Viguran, who knew the Prince of Rowan, the son of the man who reconquered them. He shook his head. I’m only seeing things.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The tourney grounds were empty. The rings for fighting, arenas for jousting, stands to buy cheeses and wine from all across Adedor had vanished as if overnight. Just patches of dead grass and the occasional tree lingered. His black hair covered his eyes as the wind blew over the desolate place. Nothing would move in. Not until the next tourney. The cliff guided him home. If he got lost within the cramped houses and shops that lined the maze of streets, he just had to look down an empty alley to the castle hugging those black cliffs.

  He heard a scream. A woman. It came from behind, and he turned with his hand on his hilt and fingers on the jewel. There was another. The same woman, and laughter this time. He stalked down the streets. Some people were poking their heads from their doors and windows. Ladies frozen as they hung clothes to dry, men stopping their carts and searching. Even the dogs barked. Raimund couldn’t hear anything from the city when he was in the castle, but a woman’s scream didn’t seem normal. The people of Gereduss didn’t scream. They went to their neighbors for help. Bread, jewels for travel, protection against thieves. In only a few short weeks the entirety of the city, those who wished to partake, would meet in the chancellery and discuss plans for the future. They called it la durnid. They never screamed.

  As he made his way down the cobbled streets, another scream pierced the air, causing his body to jolt. Found you. He turned to an alley and three men were ripping the clothes off a lady, laughing and pushing her down. “Help.” She cried when she saw Raimund. The men turned to him. One was bald, the other a chiseled chin, the last with a long beard to his stomach. They all eyed Valkyr at the same time. Daggers sheathed at two of their belts, the bald one with a sword.

  “We don’ wan no trouble.” The bearded man said. “Not with you.” He whipped out his dagger and twirled it in his hands. “Lila here owes us a few gold pieces.”

  “So go bout your day.” The bald man said; fingering his sword hilt.

  “Why don’t you ask politely instead of beating the poor girl?” Raimund kept his hands up, not wanting to fight and make a scene. He could feel eyes on his back. People wanting to watch. A few with clubs. Hopefully those aren’t for me.

  “We’ve given her months,” the bald man answered, “but we were promised by Meret’s third day this month that we would get it.” He held out his palms. “Do ya see any gold in our hands? Do you David?” He asked the chiseled man who shook his head with a grin.

  “Let the girl alone.” An old man called from behind. “Lila’s a sweet girl, I’ve known her all my life. We can figure this out without violence.” A wooden club hung at his side.

  “Little Olli is that you?” A woman from behind yelled. The man with the long beard stiffened. “Don’t make me bring your name up at la durnid. Ya wouldn’t want to be sent into the marches for beating this here poor girl.”

  The three men spoke to one another quietly. Raimund heard, “We’ll try again some other time.” He massaged the hilt. The bald man grabbed Lila by the arm and threw her over toward Raimund. She bunched up her torn clothes and ran to the woman behind him. “Why don’ you get going.” Olli said. “No more trouble from us.”

  The crowd behind began to disperse. Some grumbling they didn’t get to use their weapons. The old man and the woman helped Lila away, dabbing at the blood on her face. Raimund turned to leave wondering how long Lila had until they tried to beat her again.

  His head jerked forward, his neck popping, and his eyes blurring. He stumbled into a wall. Barely could he see his fingers in front of his face. He had been punched in the back of his head, and the three moved closer, surrounding him. “Ya messed with our money.” The man named David said. “No ones messes with us.”

  Raimund unsheathed his sword but he was already knocked to the ground, daggers drawn, and the bald man had his sword. Valkyr dropped a few feet away. The metal echoing in the alley. They kicked at his ribs, his chest, his legs, his groin. He cried curses as he protected his head. He could feel his fingers itching for power. They wanted to burn but his sword wasn’t in his hand, the stone on the hilt not near him. He could feel the energy whipping at his hands. Wanting to go in. Too dangerous. He thought before David began to punch at his head. Raimund could taste blood.

  He kicked at Olli and heard the man fall over as his knee buckled. He rolled to the side causing the punches to hit the street below. Valkyr was within reach. He stretched his fingers as far as he could, the bald man brought his sword up. “Shoulda left us alone.”

  Raimund touched Valkyr. The stone glowed bright red. His fingers turning a light red, like he had waved them over candlelight.

  A stream of fire erupted from his other hand, there was a quick scream as the bald man dropped his sword and burned to death. Olli was crawling to his feet and limping away as fast as he could, David was already running.

  Raimund stood, wiping away blood, panting. His body ached. But he was much more alive than the smoking body beneath him. It had been so long since Raimund had to kill anyone. So much for a peaceful life. The sides of the buildings had been charred, embers floating in the sky. In the street was the old man with the wooden club. Mouth agape. Please tell me I don’t have to kill you too.

  The old man pointed down the alley, past where Olli was limping into a run. “You best get. Wouldn’t want anyone else to see what you caused.” Raimund nodded his thanks and left as quick as he could, he could hear people start to gather again and gasp at the body as he turned the corner. The castle rose above the houses. Calling him. He sheathed Valkyr and watched as his fingers went back to normal. A small stream of smoke rose from behind. The castle wasn’t only home. It was safety.

  The daken rubbed ointment on him, Raimund squirmed but had no choice but to allow it.

  The young Prince Devro, only fourteen and always hotheaded, shook his head. “We should go down there and find the men who did this.” He pounded a fist on the table. Probably not as loud as he hoped. “You said one’s name was Olli. The other David. Surely we can track him down.”

  “Thank you.” Raimund said to Gilroy, the daken, as he cleaned up his supplies. He looked at his chest and stomach. Much better than before. His gashes were stitched closed and the blood wiped away. His body still hurt, but whatever ointment was used seemed to have relaxed him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still alive, the girl is still alive. There’s nothing to be done.”

  Mar, who stumbled in a few minutes ago, said to Devro, “Besides, I doubt the Gorthair would look kindly on a few knights of Rowan and Viguran searching through their streets and bashing in heads. Do you want a riot? For the castle to burn?”

  Devro’s shoulders dropped. “You’re right.”

  A knight of Rowan opened the door. “There is a rider here for you, Devro.” The prince followed out the door, his head low. The daken soon followed leaving Mar and Raimund alone in his bedchamber. He slipped a coat over his bruises, and opened the curtains to let in the sun. Waves crashed below. Mar sat on Raimund’s bed, a brow raised. “What?” Raimund asked.

  Mar had a knowing look, and Raimund knew what the knight was about to say. “I heard some rumblings among the guards. Apparently there was a body found in an alleyway, completely burned and blackened like a cooked chicken. You wouldn’t happen to know why?”

  Raimund looked over the expanse of the sea below. Dolphins small gray dots as they jumped out of the water, boats gliding across like cutting through butter. “No one saw.”

  “They never do, do they?” Mar looked at the paintings on the walls showing the conquest of King Artin over the Gorthair people, ripped and shredded by the common folk years ago. “You need to be more careful. Just because the Gorthair claim to love everyone doesn’t mean éithrio are included.”

  Raimund paused, knowing the éithrio—mages like him—were never to be trusted. “This hasn’t happened in years. It’s more dangerous for us to be here because of Devro and Bertin’s visits, not because of me.” Mar only nodded before the door banged open. The prince was out of breath and swung around a piece of parchment.

  “It’s from the King’s Council, my uncle, my father.” His smile was brighter than the noon sun. “I’ve been invited, as have my protectors, back to Vigur to celebrate my father’s feast.” Mar and Raimund made eye contact. “We’re to go to Udello and meet with Gofrei who will escort us the rest of the way.” Mar gave a quick smile. Raimund looked back over the ocean. If this palace was safety, Vigur certainly wasn’t.