“Ironite ore has said to be wanted by countries all over the world due to the magical properties they are said to contain. Those magical properties are believed to be what enables armour forged from the metal within to be so strong and dextrose.”
Jonah Viergen, Minerals and Ore’s of the lands, 260KR
The next morning after the best night’s rest I’ve had in a long time, I head to the market with Rior to gather some fresh produce for today’s broth. Bravor seemed on edge about Rior travelling alone after what happened yesterday with the Wyvern thug. I felt it only right that I escort Rior to the markets and back. Once he is back at the shelter, I will make my leave. I’ve already spent more time than I intended in this city. It is time for me to move on to the next wretched town and find a new hole to drink in.
The brightness of the morning brings with it a lack of shadows for me to hide in. I ensure my scarf remains pulled up over my nose, hiding my monstrous features from the world. But I cannot hide my yellow eyes.
To our right, a man pushes a cart with what smells like fresh bread. A pang of hunger hits me in the stomach like a blow from a mace. Not far behind him, a young girl carrying a fishing rod twice her size skips down the cobblestones with not a care in the world.
“Tell me, Rior, how far is it until we reach the markets?” I glance at the whistling young boy who escorts me as if it is he who is my guardian. An old feeling tugs at my soul. He reminds me of Laith, and the thought causes a knot of guilt to form in my stomach.
“Not far, it’s near the outer walls of Eltera. Since the Wyverns took over the city, they moved it as far away from the castle gates as possible.” Rior resumes his whistling.
“Eltera,” I think out loud as I ponder the name. How is the name so familiar?
Rior casts me a puzzled look. “Do you not recall your conversations with Bravor last night?”
“I drink to banish my memories, they are of no use to me. It matters not where I find myself, as long as –”
“Long as you can find your next drink,” Rior finishes my sentence with a smug grin as if he has me figured out already. “You know, I have been helping at the shelter as long as I can remember. You’re not the first drunkard to come stumbling in. I’ve heard your story time and time again, except normally they don’t have scales.”
A low grumble rises in my throat. “Mind your tongue, boy.” The boy is sharp, and more than happy to speak his mind. It is a trait I admire, but one that I must rein in.
“I didn’t mean any harm by it, jeez. No need to get all rumbly with me.”
Again, the boy reminds me of Laith, who was my squire for six years. Laith travelled with me across these lands as I trained him in what it means to be a knight. How to speak, how to eat, how to ride a horse, how to fight. The time spent with him gave me a purpose in life. It is only natural that a knight comes to care for his squire as if he were his own blood.
I find my mind spiralling into the void of memories. Laith was like a son to me, yet still I cast him away when I found myself drowning in shame. Bloodied and beaten at the hands of that bastard, Vireo, humiliated and dumped at the gates of Askela as if I were nothing more than shit that needed scraping from the streets.
People laughed at me, people taunted me, goaded me. Not one person offered me help or shelter in my time of need. As a Rashouyan knight, I found the shame this brought me unbearable. Unable to beat a nobleman in combat over a gambling debt I did not remember wagering. That is the curse of drink and games.
“You okay, Orjan?” Rior elbows me in the leg, and I snap back from my thoughts.
“You remind me of someone I once knew.”
As we near the market, the day breathes life into the mud-lined streets. Buildings stand in crumbled states of disrepair, and every face seems drawn with misery. There is no idle talk, no cautious laughter as townsfolk trudge to their destinations with bent heads.
“Tell me, Rior, how was it you came to be with your keepers?”
Rior casts me another puzzled look. “I have no keeper. Bravor has always looked over me, providing I help him at the shelter. I wouldn’t say he is my keeper, though.”
“Does he give you food, a roof over your head, and the clothes that you wear?”
“Well, I suppose so, but it’s Preya who provides me with food and clothes. I can come and go as I like.”
“Like a stray cat then,” I tease.
“No, not like a cat,” Rior snaps at me. “I may be young, but I am free.”
“I only jest, Rior, I mean you no ill will.” I raise my hands in mock surrender. Rior is small, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw a punch at me.
“They have shown me kindness where others wouldn’t. I’m not from Eltera, you see. Truth is, I don’t know where I am from. I was dumped at an orphanage south of the Pendaran Hills. I ran away and this city was the first place I found. I was living under the same bridge where I found you when Preya found me.”
“So they adopted you?” I ask, my lips smacking together from the dryness. Another strong smell drifts pass me, this time it is fish. It sends my stomach into a frenzy. We must be getting close to the market now.
“If you want to think of it like that, suppose they did. Wyverns had already taken over the city when I arrived. Bravor told me it was because of what happened at the witch trials. Come on, the market is up this way.”
An audible growl emits from Rior’s stomach, loud enough for him to look embarrassed by it.
“Hungry? Did you not eat before we left?”
Rior shoves his hands into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. “Well, supplies are running short these days. It’s not Preya’s fault, it’s those Wyverns. Nothing short of sluggers, them. We buy the vegetables that are left over, the vendors keep it to the side. They know we’re providing food for those who can’t afford it, so they give it to us for a fair price.”
I can’t help but wonder how these Wyverns have come to ascertain such a hold over this city. Why the people have simply allowed this astounds me.
“Where are the kingdom’s guards?”
“Holed up there.” Rior points to the circular castle that sits in the distance, atop a small keep overlooking the city. Perfectly placed for a defensive siege. “Cowards have been hiding up there ever since the witch trials. That bastard Breyton saw an opportunity and took it. Now he runs things around here and Lord Wistler has left us to rot. If people don’t do what Breyton commands, they tend to not stay alive for much longer. It’s fear that keeps this place going now, nothing else.”
I ponder this until I hear another grumble emit from Rior’s empty stomach.
“Come, boy. I find myself hungry too.” I remove my small purse from my pocket. Though the coins I earned from odd bounty work here and there have run low, I toss a silver coin to Rior. “For the food yesterday, and the bed.”
His eyes widen before he gives me a smile that threatens to split his cheeks. “Thank you.”
When we reach the hustle and bustle of the market, I spot a fruit and toss another coin to Rior. “Go get us the juiciest apples you can find. I need to take a piss. Meet me back here in a moment. I don’t want to get too familiar with these crowds.”
Rior nods with gratitude and heads off to the vendor whilst I make my way towards an alley to relieve myself of my aching. When I return, Rior is not there. After a few more minutes of waiting, I cannot help but notice a crowd gathering near the fruit vendor.
I curse. How has he managed to create a commotion in the few moments he was out of my sight? I prefer to keep from the crowds, but I have no choice but to head towards whatever the ruckus is. I am surprised by the pang of concern I feel about the boy’s wellbeing.
There is hushed silence amongst the crowd, an air of uncomfortable restraint. An odd cough escapes as they stand and gawp. Without uttering a word, I part the crowd to either side of me so I can see what is happening.
Rior is on the ground, clasping a reddened cheek as a small cloud of dust settles around him. A brute towers over him – the same man who paid a visit to the shelter the previous day. His injured arm is in a splint, but he grabs hold of Rior’s arm with his free hand and drags him to his feet as if he weighs nothing.
“You shit!” he snarls, teeth bared as he pulls Rior’s face towards his own. Rior stares back, undeterred. “My arm is fucked because of you.” He throws Rior into the fruit stand, sending the apples splaying across the dirt-ridden ground, then pulls out a dagger, ready to strike.
Gasps ring out amongst the crowd, but no one steps forward to lend Rior aid. They simply stand and watch, their lack of action making them complicit in his beating.
People grunt and groan with displeasure as I force my way through the crowd just as the man lunges forward with his blade. Shit, he is actually going to kill the boy.
I grab hold of his arm just in time and stop him in his tracks. The gasps from the crowd grow even louder as if they are shocked by my action and not by their own inaction.
“I think you will find it is I who is responsible for your arm,” I snarl.
The man turns and looks me in the eye, and I dead-stare him. He cannot see my face under my scarf, but I am growling underneath. That threatening rumble returns to my throat. His eyes widen, and before he has a chance to think of his next step, I slam my free arm into the back of his elbow. A howl of pain escapes his mouth as his arm breaks at the point of contact. Blood sprays from where a bone now protrudes from his skin. Without hesitation, I slam my fist into his face, and even when his nose explodes, I do not relent. I grip him to stop him from falling and keep him in place as I strike him again and again. My anger drives me forward with each strike until nothing remains but bloodied pulp and a lifeless man.
I toss him to the floor and offer a hand to Rior. A panicked expression is frozen into his face like a painting.
“You do not need to fear me, Rior, that man was about to end your life. He did not deserve his own.”
“You have no idea what you have done,” Rior warns. His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I know in an instant that this fight is far from over.
I turn to see half a dozen men rushing towards me, all with weapons varying from daggers, swords, maces, and axes. They intend to make an example of me.
Well, I intend to make an example of them.