Reincarnation in Another World, and I Seek to Build My Own Kingdom

[ir3dx]

As soon as the castle walls appeared on the screen, Rigar pulled his chair closer to the desk and placed his fingers on the keyboard. His soldiers were waiting in front of the eastern gate, which he had failed to breach in his previous two attempts.

"I'm not attacking the gate again."

He moved his character to the hill opposite the wall, then opened the command menu. He left a small number of soldiers in front of the gate and hid the rest in the passage alongside the hills. When his men began to retreat, the defenders came out to pursue them. He kept his finger on the key until the last enemy knight had passed the bend.

"Now."

His men charged from both sides. He closed the command menu and rushed his character down the hill into the battlefield. The clash of swords rang through his headphones, and the screen filled with dust. He dodged a strike from the enemy commander, moved around him, then pressed the button twice in succession.

The commander fell. The word "Victory" appeared above the walls, and the red banners began disappearing from the map.

"Finally!"

He raised his fist, then leaned back in his chair, laughing. It had taken him two days to conquer that territory, and now it was part of his kingdom. He moved the cursor over the new lands, examining the locations of mines and villages, and began issuing construction orders before the victory music had faded.

He would repair the bridge first. As for the stone tower at the border, he would deal with the monster guarding it himself.

A long growl came from his stomach. The cursor stopped over the tower. He looked at the empty cup beside the screen, then at the clock, and tried to remember the last thing he had eaten.

"All right... The tower will still be there."

He saved his progress and took off his headphones. When he stood up, his legs felt heavy, so he stretched a little before picking up his phone and wallet and leaving.

The restaurant was close enough to reach on foot. He pushed open its glass door, and the smell of grilled meat greeted him. His hunger increased as he walked between the tables. He chose a seat beside the window and picked up the menu from the edge of the table.

The waiter arrived before he could turn the first page.

"What would you like to order?"

"The meat platter with rice, and a bottle of water, please."

"Would you like anything else?"

Rigar lifted his eyes from the picture of the dish.

"If the portion is like the picture, that'll be enough."

The waiter smiled as he took the menu.

"You won't leave hungry."

Rigar waited, turning his phone over in his hands. He opened a saved image of the game's map and zoomed in on the tower. He had lost to its guardian once before: a massive stone creature that struck the ground with both hands, leaving its back exposed for a few moments after each blow.

The food arrived, and he immediately put his phone aside. The first bite was hotter than he expected. He swallowed it with difficulty, drank some water, then resumed eating more slowly. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he found himself gathering the last grains of rice from his plate.

He paid the bill, thanked the waiter, and went out into the street.

As he walked, he rearranged the battle in his mind: he would move away when the monster raised its arms, wait for them to strike the ground, then rush behind it. Perhaps he needed a faster weapon, or perhaps he needed to stop attacking whenever a small opportunity presented itself.

He took a deep breath, then slowed his steps. There was a strange smell. He inhaled again. The smell of wet soil, green leaves, and damp wood. He glanced at the decorative flowerbeds in front of the shops, then at the dry road beneath his feet. It hadn't rained, and he hadn't seen anyone watering the plants.

He raised his head and saw the trees.

They were far away, at the end of the street, where the intersection was supposed to be. Tall trunks stood close together, with dark spaces between them and branches swaying above the cars. A car passed through one of the trunks without being obscured by it. Then the trees disappeared for a moment and returned.

Rigar stopped and rubbed his eyes.

"Am I imagining things, or has playing too much made me start seeing a forest?"

He looked at the storefront beside him, then back at the intersection. The scene was still there, faint as an image reflected on glass.

He let out a short breath and shook his head. He would go home and wash his face, and perhaps put off the tower until tomorrow.

He continued along his usual route. He was trying to make out what he was seeing, expecting it to disappear as he approached. The scent of leaves reached his throat, and he felt a chill pass over his arms. He reached into his pocket, thinking of taking out his phone to capture a picture.

And with his next step, his shoe sank into the soil.

He stopped. Beneath his foot was a layer of decomposing leaves. He slowly lifted his shoe, and a strand of mud clung to its edge.

He looked ahead. A tree trunk stood close enough for him to touch its bark. Behind it was another trunk, then tangled rows of trees stretching into the pale light filtering through the branches.

He spun around. The street had disappeared. There were no glass storefronts, no streetlights, and no restaurant he had left a short while ago. The forest stretched behind him as well.

"Where am I?" His voice came out louder than he intended. He waited, as though someone might answer from behind the trees.

"Is what I'm seeing real?"

He took two steps backward, then walked quickly in the direction he had come from. He passed a bush and pushed a branch away from his face. He should have reached the sidewalk by now. He went farther, then began to run.

He found nothing but more trees. He stopped, panting, and looked behind him. He was no longer even sure where he had entered.

He took out his phone. The screen lit up in his hand, but the signal indicator was absent. He tried to make a call and waited several long seconds before a message appeared saying the call could not be completed.

He tried again. The result was the same. He put the phone back in his pocket and wiped his palms on his trousers. His fingers were trembling.

He raised his hand and slapped his cheek. The blow stung, making him gasp and close his eyes for a moment.

"Get a hold of yourself, Rigar." He said it aloud, then swallowed.

"Try to understand what's happening first. Look around... You have to find a way."

He placed his hand on the nearest tree trunk. He felt the roughness and coldness of the bark beneath his palm. He bent slightly, examining the spaces between the trees and searching for footprints or cut branches.

He heard a cracking sound behind the bushes. He immediately raised his head. A brief rustling followed, then another from a different direction. The leaves of a bush to his right moved, and a small green face appeared between them.

Rigar remained still. The creature was much shorter than him, with a hunched back, pointed ears, and a wide mouth from which uneven teeth protruded. A dirty piece of leather hung around its waist, and it held a thick club in its hand.

A second creature emerged from behind a tree. It carried a short knife.

"Goblin...?"

The name almost sounded ridiculous when he said it. He recognized these faces from games, but now their pungent smell reached him, and he heard the knife scraping against the bark as its owner moved alongside a nearby trunk.

Two more appeared. Rigar took a step backward.

The one carrying the club let out a shrill cry and charged toward him. Rigar turned and ran.

He forced his way between the trees, pushing branches aside with his forearms and jumping over roots. He heard their footsteps behind him, light and rapid, interrupted by short sounds he couldn't understand.

He didn't dare look back.

The edge of his shirt caught on a thorn, so he pulled until it tore and continued running. The air began to burn in his chest. He tried to run faster, but the trees forced him to turn again and again, and the sounds were getting closer.

He spotted a gap between two trunks and rushed toward it. His foot caught on a protruding root. He lost his balance and struck the ground with his palms before his knee hit a stone. His arm slid across the dirt, and his mouth filled with the taste of dust.

He tried to stand, but his leg failed him. They had arrived.

The goblins spread out around him, watching as he crawled away. The one holding the club approached and struck the ground near his foot. Rigar flinched and pulled his leg toward his chest.

"Stay away!" The words came out hoarse.

His hand searched the dirt behind him and struck a stone the size of his fist. He grabbed it as the creature raised its club again.

He threw it with all his strength. The stone struck the goblin in the eye. Its head jerked backward, and it dropped the club, howling as it pressed both hands against its face.

Rigar took advantage of the opportunity and staggered to his feet. He heard movement beside him, then felt something tear through his shirt at his back.

The pain came immediately afterward; sharp and spreading, it drove him forward. He fell to his knees and reached behind him. When he brought his hand back, his fingers were covered in blood.

He kept staring at them. A drop slid between his fingers and fell onto the dirt. He felt warmth spreading beneath his shirt, and the pain increased whenever he tried to move his shoulders.

Footsteps approached him. He opened his mouth to take a breath, but his chest tightened. He tried again, but the air came in short, rapid breaths, and it wasn't enough. He bent forward, clutching the front of his shirt, and began gasping.

He couldn't stop.

His heartbeat quickened until he could hear it in his ears. His vision narrowed, and the edges of the trees began to merge. He tried to remember what he should do, how to breathe, how to stand, but one thought kept returning whenever he caught sight of the knife:

He was going to die here. No one would come.

His fingers dug into the dirt, and his entire body shook. Then he felt the heat.

It began deep in his abdomen and spread toward his chest, then surged into his shoulders and arms. His eyes widened. Something was moving inside him, flowing beneath his skin and pressing against his limbs from within.

He lifted his hand from the ground. It was trembling violently.

One of the goblins approached, raising a rusty blade. Behind it, the one injured in the eye was still howling.

The heat intensified until Rigar felt as though his chest would split open.

"Stay away..."

He tried to move backward, but his legs propelled him forward. He suddenly stood and rushed toward the nearest one, screaming. He didn't know what he was doing. He stretched his hands in front of his face as the blade descended, and his body tensed in anticipation of the blow.

Fire exploded.

Flames burst outward from around him in a violent wave, striking the goblins before the blade could reach him. Their bodies were lifted off the ground, and their weapons scattered among the trees. Red light engulfed the trunks, and the roar of the explosion drowned out the screams.

He was thrown backward and landed on his palms. His ears were ringing. He raised his head with difficulty. The nearest creature was engulfed in flames, and another thrashed beside a tree before falling still. Beyond them, the remaining two lay on the ground amid blackened leaves drifting slowly through the air.

Rigar gasped, then coughed. The air carried the smell of burning flesh.

He looked at his hands. They were covered in soot, but the skin was not burned. He moved his fingers, then looked back at the bodies.

"I...?" His voice came out weak, barely audible.

The heat in his body quickly faded, replaced by a heavy cold. He tried to lift himself, but his arms trembled. He felt the ground tilting and something warm sliding from his back toward his waist.

His shoulder struck the dirt. Between the branches, he saw a small patch of sky. He tried to keep his eyes fixed on it, but it began to fade.

Then he lost consciousness.

A short while later, the branches at the edge of the burned clearing moved. A figure wrapped in a dark cloak emerged from between them and stopped near the corpses. The tip of a boot came to rest beside a discarded knife, then stepped past it toward Rigar.

The newcomer knelt beside him and placed two fingers against the side of his neck. After waiting a moment, the figure slipped one arm behind his shoulders and the other beneath his knees, lifting him from the ground.

Rigar's hand hung down, swaying with each step, until they disappeared among the trees.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 2: A Strange Place

Reigar opened his eyes a little.

The ground shifted beneath him, drawing closer and falling away with each jolt of his body. He saw grass passing nearby and the hem of a garment swaying in front of his face. Something firm pressed against his stomach. His arms hung limply, barely responding when he tried to move them.

Someone was carrying him.

He tried to lift his head, but a dull ache spread from the back of his neck into his shoulders. A faint sound escaped his throat, swallowed by the footsteps.

"He moved…"

The words reached him distant and muffled. He wanted to ask who was speaking and where they were taking him, but his eyes closed before he could make out the face bending toward him.

He lost consciousness again.

When he woke, his body was still.

He lay staring at the ceiling. Dark wooden beams stretched between lighter planks, and a small bundle of dried herbs hung from one of them.

He blinked slowly.

This was not his bedroom ceiling.

Turning his head to the right, he saw a table with an earthenware pitcher and a cup, and a chair with a folded garment draped over its back. To his left stood a low cabinet against a pale wall. The room was quiet, though mingled voices drifted through an open window.

He pushed the blanket off his chest and sat up. A sudden wave of dizziness forced him to grip the edge of the bed. He waited for it to pass, then felt through his pockets.

His phone.

He quickly pulled it out and pressed the side button. The screen lit up, and he let out a slightly relieved breath, but then his gaze settled on the signal indicator.

No service.

He tried making a call anyway. It failed. He tried again, then stared at the screen for a moment before getting up.

Bracing himself against the wall, he approached the window.

Outside, a narrow street ran between houses with sloping roofs. Wooden beams stood out against their facades, and painted signs hung above some of the doors. A horse-drawn cart passed by. A man carrying a basket stepped aside to let it through, then resumed arguing with a woman at a vegetable stall.

Reigar looked farther down the street, searching for a car, a streetlight, even an electrical wire.

He saw none of them.

The buildings, clothes, and cart resembled pictures of medieval European towns, but the street did not look like a film set. Dirty water trickled beside the paving stones. A barefoot boy ran after the cart, and a woman shook out a cloth from a window across the street.

He gripped the windowsill.

"Where in heaven's name am I?"

The door opened behind him.

He turned quickly, then had to catch himself against the wall as the dizziness returned. A woman entered carrying a small tray and stopped when she saw him standing.

"You're awake, thank God."

She set the tray on the table and approached him.

"Easy. You don't look ready to be on your feet yet."

He looked at her, then at the open door behind her.

"Is this your house?"

"Yes. Sit down first."

She guided him to the edge of the bed and poured him some water. He took the cup in both hands and drank, only realizing how thirsty he was when it was empty.

The woman sat in the chair opposite him.

"What were you doing alone in the forest?"

He lowered the cup from his lips.

Fragments came back to him: the road outside the restaurant, the strange scent, the trees he had mistaken for a mirage. Then the forest, and what had happened there.

"I… I honestly don't know."

She frowned.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I was going home. I was walking down the street, and then… I found myself there."

She waited for him to continue. When he did not, she leaned forward slightly.

"Did you lose your way? Was anyone with you?"

"No. I was alone."

He rubbed his face, then looked up at her.

"Who are you? Where am I? I need to get back to my city. Is there a phone I can use? Or somewhere I can—"

"Calm down. One question at a time."

"How am I supposed to calm down when I don't even know where I am?"

His voice came out louder than he intended. He fell silent and looked down at the cup in his hands.

"I'm sorry… I just don't understand what's happening."

The woman remained silent for a moment, then spoke more slowly.

"You're in the city of Amraj, in the Kingdom of Dorth."

He looked up.

"The Kingdom of what?"

"Dorth."

"What country is that in?"

Confusion crossed her face.

"Dorth is the kingdom. We're on the continent of Istoza."

Reigar stared at her.

"Istoza… Dorth… Amraj…"

He repeated the names as though trying to remember where he might have heard them, then shook his head.

"I've never heard of any of those places."

She glanced at his unfamiliar clothes, then back at his face.

"What country are you from?"

He did not answer.

He was thinking about the trees that had appeared in the middle of the road. At first, he had blamed exhaustion. Then he had thought he had lost his way. Now the window overlooked a city whose very existence he could not explain.

A thought crept into his mind, making his fingers tighten around the cup.

Had he been transported to another world?

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but no sound came.

"Do you have a map?" he asked abruptly.

"A map?"

"Yes. Please, let me see it."

She studied him for a moment, then stood.

"Wait here."

When she left the room, he opened his phone again. He tried the maps app, but the screen would not show his location. He kept swiping his finger across it and trying again until he heard her footsteps returning.

Without thinking, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

The woman carried an old rolled map. She moved the pitcher aside and spread it across the table, placing the cup on one edge to keep it from curling up.

Reigar approached and bent over it.

The map was drawn in ink, with the names of cities and kingdoms scattered across it. A long mountain range stretched through its center. His eyes followed the coastlines, then moved to the landmass opposite.

Nothing looked familiar.

No Arabian Peninsula. No Red Sea. None of the continents he knew.

The woman pointed to a small spot.

"This is Amraj. And the forest where we found you is here, to the west."

He silently followed her finger.

"Is this a map of the whole world?"

"The known lands, at least. It isn't recent, but it serves its purpose."

He scanned its edges again, searching for anything that might give him a reason to object. Perhaps the map was made up. Perhaps this was some strange trick, and an explanation would eventually leave him feeling foolish.

But who would build an entire city for a trick? And how had he gotten here?

He stepped away from the table and sat on the bed.

"I really am in another world…"

"What did you say?"

He looked up at her, then shook his head.

"Nothing."

He was not ready to explain an idea he could barely believe himself.

The woman slowly rolled up the map.

"We haven't introduced ourselves. My name is Aris."

He looked at her as though he had only just remembered she was there.

"Reigar. My name is Reigar."

"Well, Reigar, where are you from? Perhaps we can find a merchant who knows your homeland."

He opened his mouth, then hesitated.

A few hours ago, the name of his country would have been a simple answer. Now he did not even know whether it would mean anything to her.

"The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia."

Aris repeated the name carefully, then frowned.

"Where is that kingdom?"

He lowered his gaze to his hands.

"I think it's… very far from here."

He waited for another question, but she merely nodded and moved the tray closer. It held bread and a bowl of soup.

"Eat now. We can talk once you've rested."

He picked up the spoon but kept staring at the food without taking a bite.

"Thank you for helping me," he said quietly.

"We couldn't very well leave you in the forest."

She stood, then turned back at the door.

"And don't try going out alone. If you feel better after eating, I'll show you around the neighborhood myself."

By the afternoon, his dizziness had eased enough for him to go out with her.

Reigar paused on the doorstep, watching the street he had seen through the window. Everything sounded louder outside, and the air smelled of bread, smoke, and damp earth. A man passed close by carrying a cage of chickens, forcing Reigar to step back and make room.

Aris turned to him.

"Stay close. These alleys all look alike when you're seeing them for the first time."

He walked slowly beside her.

She showed him the well the neighborhood used, then the road to the market. At a street corner, she pointed out a small bakery and told him its owner closed early. Then she indicated a stone tower rising above the rooftops.

"If you get lost, look for that watchtower. Our house is on the street behind it."

He tried to memorize the route, but his attention kept catching on everything around him: the coins in a customer's hand, the swords at the guards' waists, the way the vendors called out their wares.

He understood what they were saying.

He had not noticed how strange that was while speaking with Aris. Now he could hear dozens of strangers, and he understood them all. He almost asked her about the language, then stopped. He had no idea how to phrase the question without making her even more puzzled by him.

At the market, Aris handed him a small fruit she had bought from a stall.

"You look as though you've never seen a market before."

He took it and glanced around.

"I've never seen one like this."

She smiled and continued walking.

That night, Reigar lay in bed with his phone resting on his chest.

He opened an old photograph and studied the faces in it. Only a short time ago, he could have reached those people with a call. Now he did not even know whether the sky above them was the same one he had seen through Aris's window.

He typed a short message.

"I'm okay."

He pressed send.

The failure icon remained beside it.

He turned off the screen before the battery could drain and slipped the phone beneath his pillow. Then he turned toward the window. All he could see outside was part of a neighboring roof and a narrow strip of sky.

He remembered his room, the game he had left running, and the monster he had planned to defeat when he returned from the restaurant. Those thoughts felt painfully close—things that belonged to this very day, yet were now beyond his reach.

Was anyone looking for him? Had he left anything on the road that might show where he had disappeared?

He pulled the blanket up to his chest.

He had loved the idea of going to another world when it was a story he could read or a game he could close. Now he wished he could hear a car beneath the window, his phone ringing, any sound he recognized.

He closed his eyes, then opened them once more to the wooden beams.

He was still here.

He listened to the sounds of the house until they faded. As exhaustion settled over him, his thoughts began to break apart. Just before sleep took him, he reached beneath the pillow and closed his fingers around his phone.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 3: Earning Money

Reigar woke with his hand beneath the pillow.

He took out his phone and pressed the side button. The screen lit up, showing the message he had tried to send the night before, with a failed delivery symbol beside it. He stared at it until the light dimmed, then switched the phone off before draining what remained of its battery.

He sat on the edge of the bed. The pain in his neck had eased, and the room no longer spun when he moved his head. Outside, he could hear the creak of a wheel and a vendor calling out to sell bread.

He wanted to understand where he had ended up and how to get home. Staring at his phone every few minutes would tell him nothing new.

He found Aris setting a kettle on the table.

"Good morning. Is there a library nearby?"

She looked at him, then at the empty chair.

"Good morning to you, too. Sit down first."

He sat, and she pushed the plate of bread toward him.

"What do you need from the library?"

"A better map, something about the history of this land... and magic."

"You'll find it near the market square. A stone building beside the scribes' shop."

She explained the route, and he repeated the turns to help himself remember. When he stood to leave, he asked her for the directions again.

She smiled.

"Turn at the well. Don't enter the alley behind it. That will bring you back here."

"Then at least I know the way home."

He pushed open the library door and stepped into cool air that smelled of paper and leather. Shelves stretched to the far end of the hall, with tables between them whose edges had worn smooth from years of use.

An elderly man looked up from behind a desk.

"Looking for a particular book?"

"I'd like some books to start with. The history of Istoza, the fundamentals of magic, and the monsters that live near cities."

The man studied him briefly, then led him to a low shelf. Before reaching for a book, Reigar asked quietly:

"Does it cost anything to read here?"

"Reading is free. Borrowing books is not."

Reigar breathed a little easier and took three volumes.

At the table, he paused over the title of the first. The letters were different from those he knew, yet he understood the words. He ran a finger beneath the line and read it again. He had no idea how he could do that, just as he had no idea how he had understood Aris from the moment they met. Slowly, he turned the page, searching for something that might explain it.

A map of the three continents spread across two pages. He found Istoza in the southeast and traced its mountains, forests, and coasts with his finger, continuing as far as the deserts. The author described it as the most beautiful of the continents, rich in farmland and resources, but its crowded borders seemed less reassuring to Reigar than that description.

Eight great kingdoms, and beside them, a name repeated among broken borders: Kadna.

"The Fragmented Kingdom," he read under his breath.

He searched until he found Dorth, then tried to locate Amraj within it. That was where he was now—a tiny point on a map he had never seen in his life.

The history chapter began with the arrival of the Norm people on the continent's western shores, where their ships had landed in a region called the Neck. There, they had founded the kingdom of Monten Beis, bringing knowledge and weapons that changed life across a continent inhabited by primitive humans, the Druk, and other creatures.

As the book described their expansion, an illustration showed an enormous warrior facing men armed with spears and iron shields. He read the caption beneath it: one of the Druk.

He lingered over the image. What had seemed, on the previous pages, like the story of a kingdom's founding was beginning to look like the hunting of another people. He placed a paper marker at the beginning of the chapter, then turned to the book on magic. He was searching for something more closely connected to what had happened to him.

In its opening pages, he found a term that appeared repeatedly in the explanations: Wahaj.

It was the energy a mage used to perform magic. The ability to direct it, however, and the amount a body could withstand, varied from person to person.

"Like mana..." he murmured, then continued reading.

Fire, water, earth, and wind formed the foundations of elemental magic. A mage controlled and influenced an element according to their knowledge and skill. Understanding the description, however, was not enough to use it. The following pages were filled with exercises for sensing and controlling Wahaj, along with warnings against pushing the body beyond what it had been trained to endure.

He looked down at his palm and stretched his fingers beneath the table.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

He returned his hand to the book before anyone noticed.

In the contents, he found chapters on less common arts, including metal shaping, healing, and protection. Divination caught his attention. Its description was not limited to seeing the future; it also included perceiving things beyond the reach of ordinary senses and suggested the possibility of looking into other dimensions.

He pulled the book closer.

Other dimensions.

He read the passage twice, then carried the volume to the librarian.

"Is there anyone in Amraj who knows this kind of magic?"

The man looked at the passage beneath his finger.

"No one I know. Those who possess it are rare."

"Are there more books about it?"

"There are references in travelers' accounts. I can look for them, but don't expect every tale to offer a sound explanation."

Reigar thanked him and returned to his seat. He had not found a way home, but he had found something he could ask about.

Before leaving, he opened the monster guide. He passed over the large illustrations that occupied entire pages and stopped at a chapter on pests found near farms. They posed smaller threats, but they were closer to him than a dragon living on a mountain he could not even locate.

He read about burrow rats: rodents the size of cats that gnawed through wood with their fangs and ruined seed stores. Their skulls were tough, but the underside of the neck was less protected. They avoided open ground and preferred to run alongside walls.

When he looked up, the sunlight had moved to the other end of the table.

He found Aris at home around midday, carrying a small basket. He took it from her and set it on the table.

"Did you find out what you wanted?" she asked.

"Enough to realize how little I know about this place."

He told her about the books, then hesitated before asking:

"How can I earn money here?"

She looked up at him.

"So soon?"

"I'll need food, books, and somewhere to stay. I can't leave you to pay for everything."

"I haven't asked you to leave."

"I know. But..."

She was quiet for a moment, then sat down.

"You could sell things at the market. Or register at the Wayfarers' Hall."

She explained that the Hall bought slain monsters and whatever useful parts could be taken from them. It also offered jobs that people paid to have done, from escorting merchants to moving supplies and helping with everyday tasks around the city.

"And don't start by escorting a caravan to the other end of the kingdom," she added.

"Why?"

"Because this morning, you needed the directions to the library explained twice."

He opened his mouth to object, then laughed.

"That's a fair point."

The Wayfarers' Hall was much noisier than the library. A man stood arguing over the price of a hide at a side counter, while others crowded around notices posted near the entrance.

Reigar looked through the jobs. He paused at the payment offered for escorting a merchant, then saw how long the journey would take and put the notice back. There was work carrying crates, too, but that would last several days. He wanted something nearby that he could finish in a day, a way to test what he could do without straying far from Amraj.

He found a request to eliminate three burrow rats in a seed store near the eastern fields. Beneath it was a reward of twelve copper coins.

He read it a second time, then took it to the clerk.

"I'd like to register and take this job."

"Your name?"

"Reigar."

She entered it in her ledger.

"Have you fought burrow rats before?"

"No. I read about them today."

The quill stopped.

"Do you know how to use a weapon?"

Aris spoke from beside him.

"I'll train him before he goes, and I'll accompany him to keep him safe."

The clerk looked at them both, then explained the conditions: they were to deliver the carcasses through the rear inspection gate, along with confirmation from the storehouse owner. The registration fee could be deducted from his first reward, together with the cost of renting a simple sword from the Hall's storeroom.

Reigar left holding the sword away from his body, as though afraid he might stab himself.

He spent the rest of the afternoon practicing in the yard behind the house. Aris corrected his grip and the placement of his feet, having him thrust into a sack stuffed with straw, withdraw the spear, and recover his balance. Those few movements would not make him a fighter, but at least he was beginning to understand how to keep the weapon from pulling him forward.

After a few attempts, his shoulders began to ache.

"It takes less time in books."

"A book doesn't get tired," Aris said.

When his next thrust went awry, she made him try again.

They reached the fields the following morning. The storehouse owner led them to a small building beside an old irrigation channel and showed them the gnawed bottom of the door and the scattered seeds.

"I saw three of them go under the wood. I tried driving them out yesterday, and one tore the leg of my trousers."

Reigar examined the piles of planks against the wall. Gnaw marks led toward them, while on the other side lay a stretch of open ground that ended at the road.

He turned to Aris.

"They run along walls when they're frightened. We can leave them only one way out."

They used the intact planks to block the gaps, leaving a narrow passage beside the irrigation channel. Aris braced the last board while Reigar took his place at the end of the passage. Then he asked the owner to disturb the wood with his stick from the opposite side.

A rustling sound reached him, and he tightened his grip on the spear.

The first rat emerged with its head close to the dirt. It was larger than he had imagined from the drawing. Its yellow fangs appeared as it squeezed between the boards, then it rushed toward him.

Reigar thrust too soon.

The spearhead struck the ground, and the rat reached his boot before he could pull it back. He stumbled away in panic, his heel catching the edge of the channel.

"Plant your feet!"

He lowered the spear across the passage, pushing the creature back with the wooden shaft. Its fangs scraped against the wood. This time, he waited until it raised its head, then drew the spear back, turned the point toward it, and thrust beneath its neck.

The animal's body convulsed. Reigar nearly let go of the weapon, but he pressed down with both hands until it stopped moving.

He remained where he was, breathing quickly, his eyes fixed on what he had done.

"Reigar. Look at me."

He raised his face toward Aris.

"Can you keep going?"

He swallowed, then nodded.

"Wait a moment."

She did not hurry him. She kept the board steady until his hands stopped shaking.

With the second rat, he kept the spearhead low and left more distance between himself and the opening. His first thrust missed its mark, but this time he maintained his balance and killed it with the second.

The third did not enter the passage. It lunged at a gap behind the board Aris was holding and struck it with its weight. Her foot slipped in the dirt, and its head appeared beside her leg.

Reigar moved toward her.

"Stay at the opening!" she said, pressing her knee against the board.

He stopped. If he left his position, the way would be clear.

He readied the spear again and waited. The rat recoiled from the board, then charged through the open passage. Reigar met it with an angled thrust and had to push it off the weapon before it fell onto its side.

Silence settled around them, broken only by his heavy breathing.

Aris lowered the board. He went to her at once.

"Your leg?"

"A scratch from the wood."

He looked at the small tear in her sleeve, then at her dusty knee.

"I should have braced the board with a stone."

"We'll do that next time."

She said it simply, then bent to pick up the rope. Reigar moved the board out of her way before helping her.

The storehouse owner gave them a sack for the carcasses and signed the job slip after they checked the area for more rats. When they reached the Wayfarers' Hall, Reigar returned the spear, then they emptied the sack at the inspection gate. The worker checked and counted the carcasses, adding the value of the usable hides to the completed job slip.

The clerk placed the money in front of Reigar.

"Twelve for the job and three for the hides. We deduct two for registration and one for the spear rental. That leaves you twelve."

He gathered them slowly. They were small, dark coins, some with visibly worn edges. He turned one between his fingers, remembering how badly his hands had shaken only hours earlier.

Outside, he counted out six coins and placed them in Aris's hand.

"Your share."

She looked down at the money.

"I wanted to help you get started."

"And without you, I would have had to put down the spear and hold that board."

She examined the splinter caught in her sleeve, then closed her hand around the coins.

"All right. But you're carrying the shopping home."

"As long as it doesn't bite."

They bought bread, lentils, and a few vegetables. At a small cart near the market, Aris slowed in front of some honey-covered pastries.

Reigar noticed her glance and bought one.

"I was going to save the rest of my money," he said as he divided it between them, "but this seems like a reasonable investment."

She took her half.

"In what?"

"In your patience with my questions tomorrow."

She laughed, then pointed to the larger piece he had given her.

"For this much? Only two questions."

Back at the house, she insisted he sit when she saw how much trouble he had lifting his arm. She prepared the meal and left him to clean the vegetables at the table. He asked about the first money she had earned, and she told him about delivering clothes to a tailor in the market—and the bundle she had dropped in a puddle before reaching his door.

"Did he pay you?"

"After I washed them."

"Then my rats were kinder than your tailor."

"Ask your shoulders tomorrow."

While she tended the pot, he took his phone from his pocket. He did not switch it on; he only rubbed the dust from its edge with his thumb.

Aris placed a bowl in front of him and sat down.

"Thinking about your family?"

He nodded.

"I keep thinking that they don't know where I am."

He stared at the black screen.

"Even if it takes me a while to get home... I want them to know I'm all right."

She did not answer immediately. She moved the bread closer to him, then said:

"Tomorrow, we'll go back to the library and ask about the books the man mentioned."

He looked up.

"You'll get bored sitting there."

"Maybe. You can read something to me."

He looked at the food between them, then set his phone beside his plate, screen down.

"About what?"

She thought for a moment.

"A monster we can kill without having to hold up a heavy board."

Reigar laughed, and she pushed the pot toward him so he could fill his bowl. This time, he reached for it without waiting for her to invite him again.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 4: The Journey

"Relax your shoulders. You won't draw the Glow out of your body by squeezing that poor thing."

Reigar looked down at the glass orb in his hands and loosened his grip.

Aris stood opposite him in the training yard. Between them was a narrow table holding four engraved plates and a wooden box she had yet to open. Behind her, straw dummies bore the marks of countless blows, and wooden swords leaned against the fence.

"Close your eyes and try to feel the warmth I told you about."

He obeyed.

At first, all he felt was the sun on his face and the grit beneath his feet. He took a slow breath, then another, and tried to ignore the creaking of the gate.

Little by little, he sensed a faint warmth beneath his chest.

He frowned.

The more he focused on it, the clearer it became: something moving with his breath, flowing into his arms in a way he could not explain.

"I think I can feel it."

"Good. Guide a little of it toward your hands. Just a little."

He imagined the warmth spreading into his fingers.

The orb lit up.

He opened his eyes to see red spreading through the heart of the glass. Smiling, he turned to her.

"Fire?"

She did not answer.

A blue thread wove through the red, then widened until it covered half the orb. An earthy hue followed, and a pale green shimmer curled around the other colors. The glass trembled between his palms, and the plates on the table began to ring intermittently.

Aris stepped forward abruptly.

"Stop channeling it."

"I'm not—"

She caught his wrists.

"Reigar, look at me. Let the feeling settle. Don't try to hold on to it."

He let out an unsteady breath. The light dimmed a little, but it did not go out until she took the orb from his hands.

Silence fell.

He looked at the plates, then at her.

"Did I break it?"

She was staring at the orb.

"How much Glow did you channel?"

"I don't know. I only did what you told me."

She carefully set it down and opened the wooden box. From it, she took a flat stone engraved with delicate circles connected by interwoven lines.

"Put your hand here."

"Will the same thing happen?"

"That's why I'll be holding your hand this time."

Aris repeated the test three times.

Each time, she wiped the engravings with a cloth, repositioned the stone, and asked him to try again. When she finished, she sat on the edge of the table and watched him in a silence that made his smile fade.

"Aris?"

She lifted her head.

"Usually, the body has an affinity for a particular kind of magic. Some people have an aptitude for more than one, but…"

She looked at the stone in her hand.

"Every path I tested responded to you. The basic elements, the derived forms, even the rare paths."

"You mean I can learn all of them?"

"Your body has the aptitude for it, yes."

He stared at her, waiting for her to qualify that statement or tell him he had misunderstood.

She added, "And you have enough Glow to overwhelm the testing instruments. I've never seen this before."

He lowered his gaze to his palms. He clenched his fingers, then spread them, as though expecting to see something different.

Every kind of magic.

Slowly, his smile returned.

"Then I can become a spellsword."

Aris raised an eyebrow.

"That's the first thing you thought of?"

"Fighting with a sword and using magic alongside it. Isn't that possible?"

"It is. If you learn to hold a sword without cutting your leg off, and to use the Glow without passing out."

He glanced at the orb on the table.

"I thought you said I had plenty of it."

"Plenty of water won't help you if you don't know how to drink without choking."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped back and bowed to her.

Her expression changed.

"What are you doing?"

"Thanking you."

"You've already thanked me."

"I know. But you gave me a place to stay, fed me, and helped me when I knew nothing about this place."

He raised his head a little.

"And I want to ask you for another favor."

She folded her arms and waited.

"Teach me what you know about swordsmanship and magic. I'll do as you say, and I'll keep working. I won't ask you to cover my expenses."

Aris studied him, then looked at the swords leaning against the fence.

"Lift your head first."

He straightened.

She walked to the fence, chose a wooden sword, and returned to hand it to him.

He took it eagerly. She pointed at his hand.

"First lesson: your grip is wrong."

The next morning, Reigar discovered that having a rare talent did not make holding the same stance any less painful.

Aris would walk behind him and nudge his knee with the tip of her sword, lift his elbow, or move his foot back into position.

"Don't put all your weight on your front leg."

He adjusted his stance.

"Like this?"

She gave his sword a short strike. He lost his balance and had to hop a step to keep from falling.

"If you had it right, you wouldn't have moved like that."

He gave her an irritated look. She smiled.

"Again."

For the first few weeks, his training was limited to stances, footwork, cuts, and parries. She would not let him use the sweeping movements he tried to imitate, and whenever he raised his arm too far, she tapped his chest with her sword.

His magic training began with a flame no larger than the tip of his finger.

Igniting it proved easier than he expected. Keeping it the same size was another matter. Sometimes it went out at once. Other times it flared high enough to singe his eyebrows.

Aris laughed for a long time that day.

"I said a small flame."

He wiped his face with his sleeve.

"It was small at first."

He learned to release a measured amount of Glow and stop its flow when he wanted. He lifted water a little way out of a bowl, moved soil into narrow lines, and pushed dry leaves with gusts of air. Fire responded most readily, so he devoted more of his training to it without neglecting the other elements.

When he tried to rush into strengthening his body with the Glow, he ended up lying beside the fence, his leg trembling with a cramp.

Aris sat beside him and handed him some water.

"Will you listen to me now?"

He took the cup, avoiding her eyes.

"Probably."

"Reigar."

"Yes. I'll listen."

He worked, then came to the training yard, and returned each evening with dusty clothes and hands that hurt when he held a spoon. Some nights, he fell asleep over his open book before finishing the page.

Weeks passed, then months.

He became able to parry blows he could barely follow at first. He learned to retreat without tangling his legs, to keep his balance after an attack, and to stop watching only his opponent's sword.

His magic grew more precise as well. He could light firewood without burning everything around it, gather water into a cup, and raise a low earthen barrier. He also learned to strengthen his arms for brief moments, then ease the flow of Glow before straining his muscles.

Combining swordsmanship and magic remained his greatest challenge.

Whenever he focused on a spell, he left part of his body exposed, and Aris's sword found the opening.

"Your opponent won't wait for you to finish."

"I noticed."

"Then stop giving them the chance."

Five months later, Reigar stood before her in the same yard.

Aris moved first.

He parried her strike and retreated half a step. The second came toward his shoulder. He leaned away, then released a short gust of air that stirred the dust between them.

He moved to the side and thrust.

Wood struck wood.

Before he could draw his weapon back, he felt the tip of her sword settle beneath his ribs.

He froze.

She looked at him through the dust.

"Good idea."

He glanced down at the sword touching his body.

"Bad ending."

"Because you stopped to check whether your plan had worked."

She withdrew her weapon, and he stepped back, catching his breath.

"Am I ready?"

She knew what he meant. Her gaze moved to his hands, where calluses had formed at the base of his fingers, before she returned her sword to the fence.

"You've learned the basics. And you can protect yourself in some situations."

"Some?"

"If you're looking for someone who can guarantee your safety for the entire journey, you won't find them."

He nodded, his smile fading.

She added, "But I'm no longer afraid you'll hurt yourself every time you pick up a sword."

He laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

The following day, Reigar emptied his savings onto his bed.

He arranged the coins in rows, then divided them into three portions: equipment, food and lodging, and unexpected expenses along the road. He studied the first portion for a while, then moved a few coins from it to the last.

When he entered the market this time, he did not stop to stare at everything.

He began at the weapons shop.

The owner offered him a sword with an ornate hilt, but he handed it back after hearing the price. Instead, he chose a plain longsword, testing its grip and weight several times and inspecting the blade as Aris had taught him.

He bought light leather armor reinforced with metal plates at the chest and shoulders, then a pair of sturdy traveling boots and a cloak that would keep out the rain.

In a small shop selling magical tools, he paused before a dull silver ring.

"It's for lighting," the shopkeeper said. "Channel a little Glow into it, and it will light your way."

"How long does it last?"

"As long as you keep supplying it with energy."

Reigar tried it. A steady white light appeared above the stone. He covered it with his palm, then moved his hand away and smiled.

He could afford it.

He completed his purchases with a waterskin, rope, a whetstone, bandages, dried food, and a map of the nearby roads.

When he returned, Aris made him empty his pack and arrange it again.

She lifted the bandages from the bottom.

"Are you going to ask whoever attacks you to wait while you unpack your clothes?"

He took them and put them in a side pocket.

"I was going to try reasoning with him."

"Take more food. He might be less kind than I am."

On the morning of his departure, Reigar woke before she called him.

He folded the blanket, checked that his pack was fastened, then took his phone from beneath the pillow. He pressed the button, bringing to life the screen he now rarely turned on.

He studied it for a moment, then switched the device off, wrapped it in a piece of cloth, and tucked it among his clothes.

Aris was waiting by the door with a small bundle.

"Bread and some cheese. Eat them today."

He took it and placed it in his pack.

"I think I have enough food."

"And I think you'll forget to eat once you get caught up in your journey."

He did not argue.

She accompanied him to the city gate. Carts, merchants, and travelers passed beside them, while beyond the guards, the road stretched out between the fields.

Reigar stopped near the gate and adjusted his sword belt.

"I'll follow the main road to the next city. And I'll ask about the road conditions before going any farther."

"And you won't go into the forest looking for a shortcut."

He smiled.

"And I won't go into the forest."

She glanced at the buckle on his pack and tightened it one last time, though it was already secure.

He watched her fingers for a moment.

"Aris."

She looked up.

"I won't forget what you've done for me."

She opened her mouth, but he continued.

"I know you're going to say I've thanked you enough, so hear me out this time. When I arrived, I had no one here. If it hadn't been for you…"

He stopped, then gave her a small smile.

"I'll repay your kindness someday. I promise."

Her expression softened.

"Come back safely first."

He nodded, then drew a breath as though preparing for another duel.

"And when we meet again, I'm going to marry you."

She kept staring at him.

Then her face reddened.

"That's what you choose to say just as you're about to leave?"

He felt warmth rise into his own face, but he did not look away.

"If I waited any longer, I might not have had the courage to say it."

Aris clasped her hands in front of her. She glanced at the road behind him, then back at his face.

"You idiot… Take care of yourself."

Her voice faltered for a moment.

"And don't forget your promise."

His smile widened, and he let out a short, relieved laugh.

"I never will."

He stepped back and raised his hand in farewell.

She remained by the gate, watching him. He waved again before turning and setting off down the road.

He intended to travel across the continent of Istoza, to see the cities whose names he had learned from maps, and to discover what neither books nor the training yard could teach him.

But when he looked back one last time and saw Aris still standing there, his steps slowed a little, and a pang of sadness settled over him.

Yet the journey was not over. It had only just begun.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 5: The Monsters' Den

Rigar was walking alongside the fields when he came upon a crooked signpost. An arrow carved into the wood pointed north, with a name beneath it: Botsdar.

He stopped to tighten the belt holding his longsword. There, in the capital of the Kingdom of Dorth, he would look for work that would put his training to the test—and a teacher who could take his magic beyond the basics.

Eight days had passed since he left Amraj. He had slept beneath trees and in barns whose owners allowed him to stay the night. The rub of leather armor against his shoulders had become familiar, though it still left him aching by evening.

Near sunset, he spotted a cluster of low houses beyond a wooden fence.

He read the sign at the entrance.

"Bird's Nest."

I'll stay for one night, then be on my way.

But the first thing he saw was a broken gate, which a man was trying to secure with a rope. Beyond it stood houses with boarded windows, empty livestock pens, and a well where women waited with small containers. A child passed him carrying a sack. When a handful of barley spilled out, the boy dropped to his knees and began gathering the grains from the dirt.

Rigar slowed his pace.

In a house that offered lodging to travelers, a woman set a bowl of thin soup before him. The door opposite had been sealed with fresh boards, but dried blood still marked the doorway.

"What happened here?" he asked.

Her hand paused beside the bowl.

"Goblins. They come out of the forest every few days."

"Isn't there a garrison nearby?"

"We sent for help. No one came."

She sat on the edge of the bench.

"They took our grain and livestock. In the last few attacks, they took seven women, too. Our men went after them. Some came back badly wounded."

He looked down at the soup. His spoon had yet to touch it.

"Where can I find the village chief?"

He found the old man repairing an axe handle outside his house. The chief listened until Rigar had finished, then set the axe aside.

"I can help you clear out their den," Rigar said. "I'll need five people, including someone who knows the forest."

The old man studied his sword, then his young face.

"How many battles have you fought?"

Rigar hesitated.

"Not enough to promise you this will be easy. But I know how to use a sword and magic. We'll scout the place first. I won't lead your people blindly to their deaths."

He held out his palm. A small flame sprang to life above it, then shrank to the size of his fingertip and went out.

The chief continued staring at his hand.

"We have no money to pay a mage."

"Just give me some food for the road when I return."

Before nightfall, five villagers stood before him: Mike, a hunter carrying a bow; Thorn, a broad man with a shield and an axe; Basto and Minak, each armed with a spear; and Liya, a young woman gripping a short wooden staff.

"These are the people we can spare," the chief said. "The others will stay behind to guard the houses."

Rigar turned to Liya.

"What kind of magic do you use?"

"Water. I can push an enemy back or block a blow, but I can't keep it up for long."

"Stay behind Thorn. Only use your Glow when you need to."

They spent the night checking their weapons and wrapping any metal parts that might clink together as they walked. Mike drew their route through the forest in the dirt, marking the valley he had seen the goblins heading toward.

At dawn, they left without torches.

A few hours later, Mike raised his fist. Everyone crouched behind the roots of an enormous tree.

Below them lay a clearing in front of a cave in the hillside. Crates and sacks were scattered across it, and a cart stood tilted beside the rocks. Two goblins guarded the entrance while others moved around the embers of a fire.

Rigar watched for a long time. He counted twelve small goblins. Then a creature appeared behind them, so large that it had to duck to pass through the cave entrance. Iron plates secured with straps covered its chest, and it carried a thick club studded with nails.

"That's the one that broke the gate," Minak whispered.

The chief went back inside.

Rigar's throat felt dry. Nothing he had faced in training had been that large.

He gathered the others close.

"Mike, take the rock on the right. Thorn, Basto—block the passage between the cart and the wall. Minak, protect Liya."

He pointed toward the cave.

"The women may be inside, so we won't use fire against the entrance. We'll draw the goblins out. No one chases an enemy alone."

"And the big one?" Thorn asked.

Rigar tightened his grip on his sword.

"Leave him to me."

They waited until the smaller goblins had spread out and one of the guards bent over a bowl. Rigar nodded to Mike.

An arrow flew, and the guard fell beside the wall.

Rigar rushed the second before it could understand what had happened. The goblin reached for a horn hanging around its neck, but his blade struck first. The horn slipped from its fingers.

A shriek rang out near the fire.

The goblins charged, knives and short spears raised.

Three came at Rigar at once.

His body wanted to retreat straight backward, just as he had during his earliest days with Aris. Instead, he forced his foot to move sideways, putting the nearest attacker between himself and the other two.

He deflected its knife with a short sliding motion of his blade, then drove his sword into its chest and pulled it free.

The second rushed him from the left.

Rigar thrust out his palm. A burst of fire struck the creature's face, sending it stumbling backward. He followed with a blow that brought it down before it could recover its balance.

The third leaped over the body.

Its knife caught Rigar's left forearm, slicing through the skin. He drew back half a step, turned his hips, and swept his sword beneath the goblin's raised arm.

It fell at his feet.

He looked at the blood running toward his ring. He had made a mistake by watching the enemy he had already brought down.

"Rigar! On the rock!"

He ducked at Liya's cry. A stone passed through the space where his head had been, and Mike's arrow struck the goblin that had thrown it.

At the passage, Thorn caught an attack on his shield and shoved his opponent onto Basto's spear. When another tried to circle around him, he brought his axe down on it.

Minak suddenly screamed.

A blade slashed his thigh, and his leg buckled. Before a second thrust could reach him, a mass of water surged from Liya's staff and knocked the goblin sideways. It slammed into the cart, where Thorn finished it with a single blow.

Three of the smaller goblins remained, retreating between the crates.

Then the ground trembled beneath a heavy footstep.

The chief emerged, roaring so loudly that its voice echoed between the rocks. It smashed a crate with its club, sending splinters flying, then charged toward Thorn.

"Move!"

Rigar shoved Thorn by the shoulder. The club caught the edge of his shield, splitting it and throwing him to the ground.

Rigar stepped between him and the monster.

Up close, the head of the club was larger than his chest.

It rose again.

He leaped aside. The nails struck the ground, and a shard of stone hit him in the side. His breath caught, but he carried the movement through and slashed the monster's right leg.

The blade cut into its flesh without bringing it down.

The chief turned faster than he expected and swung its elbow. The blow caught his shoulder, sending him rolling across the ground.

"Rigar!" Mike shouted.

"Stay with the others!"

He rose onto one knee. The three remaining goblins were pressing his companions. If they abandoned their positions, Minak and Liya would be exposed.

The chief advanced, dragging its club.

Rigar tried to gather fire in his palm, but the flame flickered with his uneven breathing.

Aris's voice came back to him.

"Breathe out. Your shoulders are too tense."

He exhaled.

The flame narrowed and steadied.

He hurled it at the monster's face. The chief raised an arm to shield itself, and Rigar stepped beneath it, striking the straps along the side of its chest. One snapped, leaving an iron plate hanging loose.

But he was too slow to withdraw.

The club came down at an angle. He threw himself behind a rock. Its edge shattered, showering his back with fragments.

He could unleash stronger flames, but he could not be certain they would hit the chief alone. And every sweeping attack with his sword left him unable to change direction quickly enough.

He wiped the dirt from his mouth and watched the monster's feet.

Whenever it raised the club, it shifted its weight onto its right leg.

He stepped out from behind the rock.

"Over here!"

The chief charged. Rigar sent his Glow into the ground ahead of it, raising a ridge of stone beneath its foot.

The ridge shattered under its weight.

Rigar's eyes widened.

But the foot stumbled for a moment.

That was enough for him to evade the blow and move toward the exposed side. His sword cut into the wounded leg a second time, and he withdrew before the club swung back.

The chief bellowed, following him with uneven steps.

Rigar did not stop. He darted in again and cut the remaining straps, sending the plates sliding off the monster's chest. He backed away from one blow and circled around another. Whenever the distance between them widened, he sent out a short burst of flame that forced the chief to raise its arm.

Beside the cart, Basto stared at him.

"He's driving it back…"

"Watch your side!" Liya shouted.

Basto tore his gaze away and raised his spear against one of the smaller goblins.

The chief retreated until its leg struck a rock. It raised its club in both hands and let out a harsh roar.

Rigar planted his feet.

This time, he waited for the shift in weight.

When the monster's right leg bore most of its weight, he pushed his Glow into the ground beneath the edge of its foot. A small, slanted block of stone rose beneath it. The ankle twisted, and the knee buckled.

Rigar's left hand released a burst of fire in front of its eyes.

The chief squeezed its eyes shut, and its club came crashing down wide of its target.

Rigar stepped in from the side. Gripping his sword with both hands, he drove it into the chest that had lost its armor.

The monster's arms went rigid.

He pushed the blade deeper, then pulled it free and staggered back.

The chief dropped to its knees. It tried to raise its club, but its fingers loosened, and the weapon slipped from its grasp. Then it collapsed forward.

Rigar stood with his sword raised, waiting for it to move again.

It did not.

Behind him, Thorn shouted, "That's the last one!"

Rigar slowly lowered his sword. His forearm had begun to tremble. He had to rest the blade against the ground.

Mike approached, pressing a hand to his bleeding shoulder.

"You said you knew magic… You didn't say you could do that."

Rigar tried to smile.

"I wasn't sure I could, either."

They checked the clearing before entering the cave. All twelve goblins were dead, along with their chief, and their party had lost no one.

A spear had wounded Mike's shoulder. Thorn's shoulder was swollen, and a painful bruise was forming over Basto's ribs. Minak's thigh wound needed a tight bandage. Liya sat down for a while to catch her breath, having used most of her Glow.

She washed Rigar's wound with clean water, and he wrapped it in a strip of cloth. His shoulder hurt whenever he moved it, but he managed to return his sword to its sheath.

"The women," he said, getting to his feet.

His ring lit up, and they went inside.

They found sacks of grain and stolen tools first. Then they heard movement behind a wooden barrier.

When Basto pulled it aside, a woman shrank back into the darkness and raised her arms to shield her face.

Rigar stopped at the opening.

"We're from the village. We've come to take you home."

She did not answer.

Liya stepped forward and called her by name. The woman recognized her voice and burst into tears.

Five women were still alive, weakened by hunger and thirst. At the far end of the recess, beneath a tattered covering, they found the bodies of the other two.

Mike knelt before one of them. He remained silent, then took off his cloak and covered her face.

They helped the survivors drink and cut the bindings from their wrists. Basto repaired the cart's axle with what he found among the tools. They placed the two bodies and the weakest survivors on the cart, while the others walked with their rescuers' support. Most of the supplies were left behind for the villagers to collect later.

Rigar took hold of the front of the cart beside Basto, and they began the journey back.

When the gate came into view, the boy who had been gathering barley spotted them. He dropped what he was holding and ran, shouting.

People poured out of their houses.

A woman rushed toward her daughter, and the two sank to the ground beside the road, holding each other. A man lifted his wife from the cart, repeating her name as though he feared she might disappear if he fell silent.

Then those standing at the gate saw the bodies.

The cheers faded. An elderly man approached and lifted the edge of one of the cloaks. Then he sat on the ground beside the wheel.

Rigar released the cart's handle. He could find nothing to say.

The village chief stepped forward and bowed deeply.

"You came to us as a stranger and did what we could not. You brought our people back… and gave us the chance to bury those we lost."

Rigar took his arm and helped him straighten.

"Your men and Liya were with me. I couldn't have brought them back alone."

They spent the rest of the day tending the wounded and comforting the families. After Rigar had eaten, sleep overtook him before he could take off his boots.

The next morning, he was securing his belongings when the chief approached, with Liya behind him.

The old man handed him a sack of bread and provisions.

"For the road. And I have one more request."

Rigar looked up.

"Take Liya with you. She's a good mage. She'll be useful on your journey."

Rigar stopped fastening his pack.

"With me? I can't do that. I'm heading to Botsdar now, but I'll keep traveling afterward. I don't know where I'll settle."

Liya took a step forward.

"I asked him to speak to you. You won't even notice I'm there, and I won't be a burden. I can help you. Please."

"She has no family here," the chief said, "and no one who can teach her more than she already knows. She'll spend her days guarding these houses and working in the fields, no matter how much talent she has. With someone as strong as you, she may find a future worthy of her."

Rigar looked at her.

"The road won't be safe."

"I know. I was there with you yesterday."

He remembered the mass of water that had knocked the knife away from Minak. Then he remembered Aris opening her door to him, back when he had owned nothing in this world.

He remained silent for a few moments before sighing.

"All right. But don't promise I won't notice you're there. I'll need someone to watch my back."

Her smile widened.

"Then you're saying yes?"

"We're leaving shortly."

She ran off to pack. The chief watched her go before turning back to him.

"We won't forget what you've done, Rigar. You'll always be the savior of Bird's Nest."

A little later, Rigar and Liya passed through the gate. Behind them, men had begun lifting planks to repair the fence. Voices called their farewells until the distance swallowed them.

At the fork in the road, Rigar pointed to the sign.

"Botsdar is this way."

Liya adjusted her pack and fell into step beside him, heading toward the capital.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 6: The Capital
The crossroads had barely disappeared behind them when Liya turned to Rigar.

"Have you been to Botsdar before?"

"No."

She looked at the road stretching between the hills, then back at him.

"You pointed the way so confidently."

"I was pointing where the sign told me to."

She laughed and adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

"Good. I was afraid I'd have to guide you, and I've never been there either."

He kept walking beside her. His forearm ached beneath the bandage, and the farther they walked, the stiffer his shoulder became. Still, he wanted to put more distance between them and the village before stopping.

Before long, Liya slowed her pace.

"We could rest by those trees."

"We're not tired yet."

"You've been moving your bag from one shoulder to the other for a while."

He looked at her, then at his bag.

"You're very observant."

"You said you needed someone to watch your back."

He had no answer to that. He headed for the shade, and she followed, hiding a smile.

He sat on a rock beside a narrow stream and removed the bandage from his forearm to check the wound. Liya knelt by the water, filled a small bowl, and handed it to him.

"Did you learn magic in the village?" he asked as he cleaned the edges of the wound.

"There was a woman who knew some water magic. I used to help her gather herbs, and she taught me whenever she had time."

"And water was all you learned?"

She nodded.

"I'm not even as good at that as I'd like. During the fight at the lair, I was afraid I'd run out of Glow before I could help anyone."

"But you saved Minak."

She lowered her eyes to the bowl.

"I was close to him."

"Just being nearby wouldn't have saved him."

She took the bandage from his hand and began wrapping his forearm more carefully than he had managed.

After a while, she asked, "What about you? Who taught you to use a sword?"

"A woman named Aris."

He told her about the months he had spent training, and the morning he had thought he had finally mastered parrying—only for Aris to knock him flat on his back three times.

"All in one day?"

"Before breakfast."

Liya burst out laughing and pulled the bandage tight without noticing.

"Ow!"

She eased up at once.

"Sorry!"

He looked at his arm, then at her.

"I'm beginning to think you have the same teaching methods."

She laughed again and finished tying the bandage with a lighter touch.

Over two days of walking, conversation came more easily. He learned that she preferred traveling in the morning, that she was better at finding her bearings by the sun than he was, and that she hated the raisins the village women had packed with their provisions.

She learned that he could become absorbed in explaining a battle plan, then forget the pot over the fire until half its water had boiled away.

On the second evening, she pulled the pot away from the embers and looked at what remained of the soup.

"Is this another way of lightening our packs?"

He reached for the bread.

"Would you do the cooking tomorrow?"

"I was going to, even if you hadn't asked."

When he lay down beside the fire, he heard her stifle another laugh. He smiled as he tucked his bag beneath his head.

---

On the morning of the third day, the road widened, and wagons began passing them more frequently.

Fields appeared behind low stone walls, with narrow irrigation channels running between them. Men and women bent over rows of vegetables, while a boy drove two oxen pulling a plow, shouting whenever they veered toward the edge.

Beside the road, a woman sold milk from jars covered with cloth. Next to her, a man sat repairing a wheel on an overturned wagon.

Liya slowed beside an orchard stretching beyond a short wall.

"Does all this go to the capital?"

A farmer lifting a crate onto his wagon answered her.

"And just as much from the other directions. The people of Botsdar never stop eating."

He pointed north.

"If you hurry, you'll get inside before the midday rush of wagons."

Liya thanked him and returned to Rigar's side.

The farther they went, the more houses, smithies, and grain stores appeared. A caravan carrying bolts of cloth passed them, followed by mules laden with chests held in place by straps. A merchant shouted at a boy trying to catch up with his wagon. The boy ran with a piece of bread in his mouth, waving a shoe the man had left behind where he had rested.

Some of the passersby laughed, and eventually the merchant did too, once he understood why the boy was chasing him.

Rigar stopped at the crest of a gentle rise.

Ahead of him stood the walls of Botsdar.

The gray wall stretched in a long line broken by square towers flying the banners of Dorth. Soldiers moved along its upper walkway, their iron helmets flashing whenever the sunlight caught them. An arched gateway stood at its center, wide enough for two wagons side by side.

Beyond the walls rose other towers, taller and more slender. A white dome gleamed in the sunlight, and in the distance, a castle stood on a hill, surrounded by tiers of walls.

Liya raised a hand to shade her eyes.

"I knew it was big…"

She did not finish.

Rigar studied the road climbing toward the gate. Wagons, pack animals, and travelers passed through the guard posts in slow queues.

He remembered the gate at Bird's Nest, and the man holding it up with a rope.

Here, a line of soldiers stood at the entrance in metal breastplates, carrying long spears. Behind them, others inspected the wagons' cargo.

When their turn came, a guard asked where they were headed.

"The Wayfarers' Hall," Rigar said. "I'd like to register."

The guard examined his sword, then glanced at Liya's staff.

"Follow the main street to the Fountain of Spears. You'll see the Hall's emblem on the right side of the square."

He let them through.

Liya entered first, then stopped after a few steps. Rigar had to draw her gently aside by the arm before a wagon behind them could hit her.

"We've got time to look around."

But the moment he looked up, his own steps slowed too.

Buildings rose three and four stories on either side of the street, with iron balconies projecting from their facades. Fabrics and pots of plants hung from the windows. Above one entrance, a mason had carved an enormous lion's face, making the people passing below seem to walk beneath its jaws.

Shops selling bread, perfume, and cloth stretched beneath closely spaced awnings. The scent of roasting meat mingled with spices and new leather, while the cries of vendors blended with hoofbeats and the steady ring of a hammer in a nearby alley.

A man in an embroidered robe and polished shoes passed by, followed by a servant carrying his purchases. A laborer with bare forearms overtook him, a long plank on his shoulder forcing the man to duck abruptly.

Liya covered her mouth, and Rigar turned his face away so the man would not see them laughing.

In the square stood a bronze statue of a king holding a sword pointed toward the ground. His other hand rested on a shield leaning against his leg. Behind him rose the columns of a broad building, reached by steps running the length of its facade. On either side of the staircase stood stone statues of knights bearing the kingdom's banners.

Rigar raised his head to study the king's features and the folds of his robe, which seemed to ripple across the bronze.

Liya tugged his sleeve just before he stepped into a vendor's basket of figs.

She looked at him.

"We've got time to look around, don't we?"

He stepped away from the basket.

"I was making sure you remembered."

---

They found the Hall at the edge of the square, a broad stone building. Above its entrance was the emblem of a compass with a sword at its center.

A man carrying a bow taller than Liya emerged as a group in dusty clothes went inside, arguing over a bag one of them was carrying.

Rigar stopped beside the fountain.

"I'll register. Could you look for somewhere to stay? We need two rooms at a reasonable price."

"How reasonable?"

He told her what he could afford. She thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Shall we meet here?"

"In an hour. If I'm not out yet, wait for me by the door."

She turned back before leaving.

"Don't spend all the room money on registration."

"And don't book us a suite in the castle."

She glanced toward the distant hill.

"I'll ask the price first."

She left him and turned down a side street.

Inside, Rigar paused until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A large board covered with papers occupied the left wall, with wayfarers gathered in front of it, pointing at requests and discussing them. On the opposite side, a clerk weighed a small bag, then paid a man carrying a monster's horn wrapped in leather.

He approached the registration desk.

The clerk looked up.

"Name?"

"Rigar."

"Specialty?"

"I fight with a sword and use fire magic."

She wrote that down, then asked about his experience. When he told her he had helped destroy a goblin lair near Bird's Nest, her quill paused.

"Do you have a statement from the village elder?"

"I didn't think to ask for one."

"I'll make a note of it, but it won't count toward promotion without a statement. You can bring one later."

She pushed a form toward him and waited for him to sign it and pay the fee. Then she took a small copper badge and engraved his number on the back.

"This is proof of your registration. You'll start with jobs assigned to Copper rank, and every job you complete will be recorded in your file."

He turned the badge over in his palm. It was simpler than he had imagined: a piece of copper bearing the emblem he had seen above the door.

Even so, he kept looking at it as he headed outside.

At the top of the steps, he noticed a man approaching the Hall and stopped to look.

He was taller than most of the people around him, broad across the shoulders, with dark plates of armor covering his chest. An enormous sword was secured to his back, and an axe hung at his hip alongside daggers and small leather pouches. An old scar ran from his temple to the bottom of his jaw. People moved out of his way before he reached them.

Rigar stepped down while fastening the badge to his belt. Just as he shifted aside to avoid someone coming up, his shoulder struck the warrior's.

He staggered back a step, pain shooting through his wounded arm.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to."

The man stopped.

Rigar looked up at him.

The warrior lowered his gaze to Rigar's face, then examined his leather armor, sword, and copper badge. His eyes paused on Rigar's dusty boots before returning to meet his gaze.

For several minutes, he continued to study him, undisguised disdain in his eyes.

Rigar felt his fingers clench beside his belt and forced them to relax. He lifted his chin slightly and tried to ignore the faces turning toward them. The silence dragged on, and he had no desire to repeat his apology.

At last, one corner of the warrior's mouth lifted. He turned away and climbed the steps, leaving Rigar standing below.

One of the wayfarers whispered behind him.

"Deron the Storm."

Rigar turned.

"That was Deron?"

The man looked toward the entrance.

"The most famous wayfarer in Botsdar. They say he killed a dragon alone."

Rigar looked back at the doorway where the warrior had disappeared.

He did not know whether the story was true. But he remembered the size of the axe at the man's hip, and the way everyone had cleared a path for him.

---

When he returned to the desk, the clerk raised an eyebrow.

"Did you forget something?"

"I wanted to ask about the ranks."

She pointed her quill at a board behind him. Sample badges were arranged on it from bottom to top.

"There are six ranks. Copper comes first: gathering herbs, delivering messages, and other jobs nearby that carry little risk. Then Iron, for guarding short routes and fighting small monsters in teams."

Rigar followed the badges with his eyes.

"Next is Silver, for those who have proved they can handle more difficult work without constant supervision. After that comes Gold. Those wayfarers are assigned to lead parties and hunt dangerous monsters."

She raised the quill to the next badge.

"Then Platinum. They're called in when ordinary parties aren't enough—to stop a monster threatening a city, or to lead an expedition requiring exceptional strength and experience."

Only one badge remained at the top.

"And the last one?"

"Legendary. A rare rank that no single branch can award on its own. It requires a record of achievements and approval from the Hall's council."

"And Deron?"

She pointed to the top of the board.

"He holds it."

Rigar looked at the copper badge on his belt, then asked, "How do promotions work? Do you need to finish a certain number of jobs?"

"Completing jobs makes you eligible for an assessment. We consider their difficulty, the reports on your performance, and your test results. Delivering messages over and over won't qualify you to lead an expedition."

He thanked her and left.

This time, he secured his badge before going down the steps.

---

Liya was waiting by the fountain, watching a child try to retrieve a coin from the bottom with a stick.

When she saw him, she came over.

"I found a place."

Then she noticed his expression.

"Did they refuse to register you?"

He held up the badge.

"They registered me."

"Then why do you look as though you paid for the whole Hall?"

As they walked, he told her about Deron. When he mentioned the dragon, she stopped for a moment.

"Alone?"

"That's what they say."

She glanced at his forearm.

"Did he hurt you when you bumped into him?"

"My arm ached a little. I'm fine."

They walked on, but he noticed that she had chosen the side nearest the wagons, leaving him the space along the wall.

The inn stood on a quieter street behind the cloth market. A yellow lamp was painted on its sign, and beneath it, the owner stood shaking out a blanket by the door.

Rigar paid the agreed price, and they climbed a narrow wooden staircase.

Liya opened one of the rooms. Inside were a bed against the wall, a small table, and a water jug. The window overlooked the neighboring rooftops. She bent to check beneath the bed, then straightened, satisfied.

"It's clean. And the owner promised us hot food."

Rigar pressed a hand against the mattress, then sat and stretched out his legs. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a long breath.

"Excellent choice."

Liya set her bag beside the door to the next room.

"I'll go to the Hall with you tomorrow. I want to register too."

"We'll go early."

They ate downstairs. He told her about the ranks, and they discussed buying a fresh bandage and some provisions. As their weariness deepened, the conversation dwindled, and they went upstairs.

At the door to his room, Liya stopped.

"Rigar."

He turned toward her.

"Thank you for taking me with you."

He looked at her bag by the door and the staff leaning against the wall beside it.

"Who would have saved the soup if I'd left you behind?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"Good night."

"You too."

He closed the door, unbuckled his sword belt, and set it near the bed. He removed his armor slowly, taking care with his shoulder, then placed the copper badge on the table.

Outside, wagon wheels kept turning, and a vendor called out the last of his wares.

Rigar lay down and rested his arm on the blanket.

Deron's face passed through his mind, followed by the board in the Hall and the line of badges stretching from Copper to Legendary. He tried to remember some of the requests he had seen and think of one he could take tomorrow.

But the sounds of the street began to fade. His breathing steadied, and sleep claimed him before he could choose his first job.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 7: The First Job

Rigar woke to a soft knock, followed by Liya's voice through the door.

"Are you awake?"

He opened his eyes. Sunlight slipped through a gap in the curtain and fell across the copper badge on the table. He reached for it, then stopped as pain tightened in his forearm.

"I am now."

"The innkeeper says breakfast won't wait for us."

He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling his shoulder.

"Did he say that, or did you?"

"The eggs are getting cold. Finding someone to blame won't help."

Her footsteps receded, and he got up to look for his shirt.

Downstairs, he found her sitting before a split loaf and two plates. Her staff rested against the wall, and her hair was tied back. She had chosen a seat facing the stairs. As he approached, she pushed one of the plates toward him.

"I was about to charge you for guarding your breakfast."

He sat and reached for the bread.

"Save that idea until we've earned something."

He took out his remaining coins and counted them beneath the edge of the table. They had enough for their rooms and food for a few days, provided no other expenses arose. He returned the coins to their pouch before the innkeeper turned his way.

Liya was watching him.

"I'll pay my own registration fee."

"I know."

She placed a piece of bread on her plate.

"And we should choose a job I can help with."

He looked up at her.

"We'll choose it together."

She nodded and returned to her food.

---

The Hall was crowded when they arrived. A man stood near the entrance, scraping mud from his boot with the tip of a dagger, while another tried to convince a clerk that the torn ear in his hand belonged to a larger monster than she had recorded.

Rigar moved clear of the steps before looking toward the entrance. Liya noticed, but merely hid a smile.

At the registration desk, she answered the clerk's questions and paid the fee from a small pouch she had kept in her bag. When asked about her specialty, she said, "Water magic. I know something about herbs, too."

The clerk raised her quill.

"Can you treat wounds?"

"I can clean and bandage them. I can't close them with magic."

The clerk wrote down her answer, then handed her the form.

Rigar watched her sign her name. She pressed the quill a little too firmly, leaving a large bead of ink on the final letter. She waited for it to dry before carefully returning the paper.

Soon, a copper badge lay in her palm.

She turned it over and brushed her thumb across the number engraved on the back. When she looked up, she caught him watching.

"What?"

"Nothing. I did the same thing yesterday."

She fastened it to her belt, but kept touching it as they walked toward the request board.

Rigar had to wait for two men to move away from the lower section. The notices there were less crowded: carrying crates to a warehouse, finding a stray mule, gathering herbs, and delivering letters to nearby villages.

He read a request for wagon guards, then found the line specifying Iron rank.

"There's one for gathering river's ear," Liya said.

"I saw it."

"I know that plant."

He continued scanning the notices, so she found another.

"And this one is for cleaning a grain store."

He turned to her.

"River's ear sounds suitable."

"That was a quick agreement."

He pointed to the notice, and she leaned closer to read the details. Thirty undamaged leaves were required, cut with their stalks intact and carried in a well-ventilated basket. The gathering site was near the old eastern canal, and delivery was due before the Hall closed. The payment would cover both their rooms for the night, with something left for food.

Rigar lifted the notice from its nail.

At the desk, the clerk read the request number, then glanced at their badges.

"You'll be doing this together?"

They nodded.

"One payment, divided between you. Both of you will receive credit once the plants are accepted."

"Is the route safe?" Rigar asked.

"We've received no reports of danger at the gathering site. Stay on the bank marked on the map. This request does not involve entering any of the canal structures."

She opened a ledger and recorded their names, then copied out a small sketch of the route. Before they left, she tapped the bottom of the notice.

"Thirty acceptable leaves. Dried or torn ones won't count."

Liya looked at Rigar.

"Did you hear that?"

"I haven't gathered anything yet."

"I'm telling you early."

---

They bought a fresh bandage, an inexpensive basket, and some bread and cheese. At a tool shop, Rigar stopped before a coil of rope hanging from a peg.

He tested its thickness between his fingers and asked the price, then put it back.

"We might need it by the bank," Liya said.

He looked from the basket in her hand to his coin pouch.

The shopkeeper took out a shorter length of rope with an old knot near one end.

"This one's cheaper. Cut it from a wagon rope. Test it if you like."

Rigar examined the knot and pulled the rope taut between his hands. His forearm hurt. He loosened his left grip, hoping Liya had not noticed, but she was already setting down the basket.

"Let me."

She took the other end, and they pulled against each other. The knot held, and the fibers did not fray. He paid for it and secured it to his bag.

They left through the eastern gate among empty vegetable wagons. Botsdar's walls remained behind them longer than Rigar expected, until trees began to hide some of the towers. They followed a dirt road between orchards, and eventually the canal appeared on their left, running low between banks of old stone.

Liya walked nearer the water, examining the plants growing in the cracks.

"What do they use this herb for?" he asked.

"Wound dressings. The woman who taught me used it, but we couldn't find much near the village."

He glanced at his forearm.

"Then we've chosen a customer who won't run short of business."

"If you keep your bandage clean, you might leave a few leaves for someone else."

Farther along, he spotted a broad-leaved plant beneath a shrub. He bent, plucked a leaf, and held it up triumphantly.

"This one?"

Liya opened her mouth to answer, but he had already begun scratching his thumb.

She looked at his hand, then at the plant.

"No."

"It looks like the drawing."

"Turn it over."

He did. Fine hairs covered its underside.

"River's ear is smooth on both sides."

He held the leaf away from him.

"You could have started with that detail."

She took out the waterskin and poured a little water over his fingers.

"You could have asked before you picked it."

He washed his hand and wiped it on his shirt, then stopped scratching when she raised an eyebrow.

They continued walking. After a few steps, she said, "At least they won't deduct that one from our pay."

"Are you finished?"

"Yes."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Don't touch your eyes."

---

They found the landmark from the map at a narrow bridge. Three circles had been cut into its central stone. Beyond it, the canal curved along a slope, with patches of the herb growing at its edges.

Liya knelt and showed him a long, rounded leaf with pale veins running through it.

"This is it. Cut the stalk here, and leave the small ones."

He cautiously touched its surface.

"Smooth."

"You learn quickly."

He drew his knife and knelt a short distance away. His first two cuts left too little stalk. Liya set one of the leaves aside and showed him how much to leave. He tried again, then silently held out the result.

She examined it and placed it in the basket.

"That one counts."

He settled into the work. Whenever he reached for a more distant patch, the wound pulled beneath his bandage. He shifted his position and braced his elbow on his knee. He could fight goblins, yet cutting a leaf without damaging it required all this care.

The squeak of a wheel made him look up. On the road across the canal, a man pushed a cart stacked with empty crates, leaning into its weight. He gave no notice to Rigar's sword or badge. He simply waved and asked whether his cart would fit across the bridge.

Rigar stood and judged its width.

"It will, but there's a broken stone at the edge."

He helped lift one wheel over the damaged section. The man thanked him and went on, and Rigar returned to his place.

Liya had gathered a small pile of leaves.

"How many do you have?"

He counted those before him.

"Nine."

"I have twelve."

"I helped with the cart."

"I'll ask them to put that in your record."

He reached for another leaf to hide his smile, but its edge was blackened, so he let it fall back to the ground.

In the next patch, most of the leaves had curled inward, and the earth around their roots was cracked. Liya stood and walked along the canal. Rigar followed with the basket.

The water did not reach halfway up the dark stones lining the banks. A twig caught in a crack hung a hand's breadth above the surface.

"It used to be higher," he said.

Liya nodded, then pointed to a narrow irrigation channel branching toward an orchard. Only a thread of water ran through it.

A man carrying a shovel emerged from between the trees. He wiped his sweat with his sleeve when he saw them.

"If you're here for the leaves, try the other side of the bend. These are starting to dry out."

"Have they shut off the water?" Rigar asked.

"The flow's been weak since yesterday. Two workers went to the old gate this morning. I thought they'd have it running again before this ditch dried up."

He looked down at the channel and struck the mud with the tip of his shovel.

"Did you see them on the way? One carries a blue bag."

Rigar shook his head.

The man gestured toward the slope.

"I'll wait a little longer, then send my son to the overseer."

They thanked him and continued along the water. Beyond the bend, they found healthier leaves and worked in silence until they had enough. Liya spread a light cloth over the basket and tied its corners to keep the leaves from blowing away.

Rigar reached for the handle, then stopped.

Across the canal, beside steps descending behind a low wall, a blue bag lay on its side.

---

They crossed a stone walkway over the canal. At the foot of the steps stood a wooden door reinforced with iron bands. A heavy beam barred it, its ends resting in sockets in the walls. Beside it, a narrow water opening was blocked by rusty bars.

The bag was open. A cloth-wrapped loaf protruded from it, and a hammer and chisel lay nearby. A long smear of mud marked the stones of the bottom step, as though something heavy had been dragged across them.

Rigar set down the basket.

"Perhaps they're working inside."

He approached the door and called, "Is anyone there?"

Only the faint trickle of water answered from behind the bars.

He knocked with his fist and waited.

A faint sound came.

Three knocks, then silence.

He looked at Liya. She had taken her staff in both hands.

He knocked three times.

The sound came again, a little faster.

Rigar bent toward the gap between two planks.

"We can hear you! Can you speak?"

A rustle, then a man's voice, too indistinct to understand.

Rigar looked up at the beam. One end sat crookedly in its socket, with a fallen piece of masonry wedged behind it. He gripped the wood with his right hand and tried to lift it. It shifted slightly, then jammed.

"Wait," Liya said.

She was watching the water opening. A scrap of coarse cloth hung from a rusty hook above it. Beneath the bars, something pale moved and vanished.

Rigar released the beam and stepped closer. Faint red strands drifted through the shallow water, dissolving in the current.

The voice came again, clearer this time.

"Don't… open…"

Rigar went still.

He pressed his ear to the wood, trying to catch the rest. He heard ragged breathing and, farther away, something scraping against stone. Then something struck the inside of the door.

He stepped back, drawing his sword halfway from its sheath.

"The farmer's nearby," Liya said quietly. "I can get him and have someone fetch the guards."

Rigar looked up the steps, then at the jammed beam. The wood was rough and cracked, but its sockets were deep. He sheathed his sword and picked up the hammer.

"Go. I'll stay here and try to find out what happened."

She hesitated, then handed him the waterskin and moved the basket away from the steps.

"Don't lift it before I come back."

"I won't."

She hurried up the stairs. He waited until her footsteps had faded, then tapped softly on the wood.

"My companion's gone for help. Are you one of the canal workers?"

The answer came from low down, near the bottom of the door.

"Yes."

"Are you hurt?"

For a moment, there was no reply. He crouched lower, resting a hand on the damp stone.

"My leg… I can't…"

"We'll ask the guards to bring your partner, too."

Inside, the trickling water stopped for a moment, then resumed with a ripple that washed against the bars.

He heard the man gasp.

"It's here with me."

Rigar gripped the waterskin, searching for a gap through which he could pass some water.

"Your partner?"

This time, the man raised his voice as much as his breath allowed.

"My partner went out to fetch rope."

Rigar looked at the blue bag, then at the smear of mud leading toward the water opening.

A slow scrape came from behind the door, followed by a long scratch across the wood.

The man's voice drew away from the gap.

"Please… don't let it hear you."

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 8: Behind the Door

Rigar drew his hand away from the wood.

The man's last words lingered in his ears as the scratching continued on the other side of the door, slow and heavy. Then it stopped, close to where his head had been.

He stepped back until his heel touched the edge of the step.

The smell of stagnant mud drifted through the water opening, with something sharper beneath it. He held the hammer in his right hand and watched the beam.

It did not move.

He waited, trying to separate the sounds. Water trickling through the bars. The man's breathing near the floor. Intermittent scraping from deeper in the passage.

He lowered his voice.

"Can it reach you?"

The man did not answer immediately.

"There's… a barrier."

Rigar crouched without moving closer to the door.

"What kind?"

"An iron gate… in the passage. I locked it."

Rigar studied the wooden door before him. He had assumed the man and the thing he could hear were together just behind it.

"Then why can't you get out?"

The answer came after a painful gasp.

"A support beam fell on my leg."

Rigar looked up at the broken masonry above the socket holding the door's crossbar. A crack ran from its edge through the stonework, disappearing behind a dried plant.

"Who barred the door from outside?"

"Samer. Told him to secure it… and fetch rope and men."

Rigar glanced at the rope attached to his bag.

"When did he leave?"

"I don't know."

The man fell silent, then spoke more faintly.

"There was sunlight… on the steps."

A metallic crash sounded inside. A long creak followed, tightening Rigar's fingers around the hammer.

Liya returned with the farmer.

The man was breathless, carrying the same shovel. He stopped at the top of the stairs when he saw the blue bag.

"That's Samer's."

"He sent his son to the guard post," Liya said.

The farmer descended two steps and called, "Harn!"

Something shifted behind the door.

"I'm here."

"What happened?"

"Where's Samer?"

The farmer and Rigar exchanged a brief glance.

"We haven't found him yet," Rigar said.

He heard Harn draw a breath and release it shakily.

"He was going for help."

Liya laid her staff on a step and approached the water opening. She knelt to look between the bars, then rose quickly.

"The water's rising."

Rigar turned.

When they had arrived, the current had flowed beneath the lowest bar. Now it covered it and was beginning to spill onto the edge of the step.

"The channel…" Harn said from inside. "It's blocked."

The iron creaked again.

The farmer stood gripping his shovel.

"The guards won't be long."

Rigar did not answer. He was tracing the crack above the door with his eyes.

"We're going to open the outer door, Harn. How far away is the gate you locked?"

"A few steps."

"Is it still holding?"

The man was silent.

Then he said, "Hurry."

Liya moved the basket to a high ledge beside the stairs and left her staff nearby. Rigar untied the rope from his bag and passed it beneath the end of the crossbar he had managed to shift earlier.

He pulled experimentally. The rope settled around the wood.

"Take this," he told the farmer. "Lift when I say."

He picked up the chisel beside the bag and placed its tip between the fallen stone and the crossbar. He raised the hammer, but Liya laid a hand on his wrist.

"What if the rest comes down?"

He followed the chisel's position to the crack above it.

He lowered the hammer.

The stone he had meant to break was supporting others.

"Lift the good end first," the farmer said. "We might be able to pull it out at an angle."

They moved the rope to the other side. The farmer wound its ends around his hands while Rigar gripped the middle of the crossbar with his right. Liya stood beside him and worked her fingers beneath the wood.

"Now."

The beam rose a finger's breadth.

Pain seized Rigar's forearm when he tried to support it with his left hand. He let go with that hand, dropping more of its weight onto Liya's fingers.

She gasped but held on.

"Tilt it toward me!" the farmer said.

Rigar shifted his stance and pushed. Wood scraped against stone, then the undamaged end came free of its socket. The other end tipped, dislodging the stone wedged behind it. It fell near their feet.

The crossbar struck the step with a muffled thud.

Liya released it and pulled her hand against her chest.

Rigar looked at her.

"Your fingers?"

She opened and closed her hand, then shook her head.

Something slammed into the gate inside.

Rigar took hold of the door handle.

"Harn, are you directly behind it?"

"To the left."

He pulled. The accumulated water resisted him, then the door opened a forearm's width. A brown surge poured out and washed over their boots.

The man lay to the left, his back against the wall and his leg trapped beneath a wooden support that had collapsed at one end. His face was pale, and dried blood surrounded a cut on his forehead.

Behind him, a short passage led to a gate of iron bars.

At its base, a long jaw moved.

Liya stopped beside Rigar's shoulder.

Beyond the bars, a low-bodied creature crouched in the water. Dark, overlapping plates covered its back, and small, dull-yellow eyes bulged from the sides of its head. Its forelegs extended beneath its chest, their toes ending in thick claws.

Its mouth opened, revealing short teeth of uneven sizes.

It pressed its head between two bars.

One bent slightly, then shuddered as the creature pulled away.

"That doesn't belong in the canal," the farmer said behind them.

Rigar kept his eyes on it.

The gate's bolt rested in an iron loop fixed to the wall. The loop shifted whenever the creature struck the bars, shedding damp grit.

"Stay with Harn," he told Liya. "We'll lift the timber, and you pull him toward the door."

She looked at the worker's leg, then at the gate.

"I can't drag him alone."

Rigar took off his bag and placed it outside the entrance.

"We only need to raise one end. Then he can help you with his hands."

Harn was shaking his head before he finished.

"I tried… I can't feel my foot."

Liya knelt beside him and held the waterskin to his mouth.

"A small sip."

He drank, spilling some down his chin.

The farmer came inside and worked the shovel blade beneath the timber. He pressed down on the handle, lifting the wood slightly.

Harn screamed.

They stopped.

Liya peered beneath the support.

"There's a nail caught in his clothes."

She drew her knife and held the cloth away from his leg. After cutting through it with short strokes, she looked up.

"Now."

The farmer bore down on the shovel. Rigar gripped the timber and lifted with him.

The leg came free.

At that moment, the creature hurled itself against the gate.

Iron struck stone, and the loop tore partway out of the wall.

Liya pulled Harn beneath the arms. He pushed against the floor with his palms and dragged his good leg, but the injured one trailed awkwardly beside him.

Once his foot was clear, Rigar lowered the timber and reached to help them.

The bolt shifted behind him.

It did not fall. The loop came free of the wall and remained hanging from it.

The gate swung open.

"Get outside!"

Rigar pushed Harn's shoulder toward the farmer and turned, drawing his sword.

He kicked the gate.

It slammed against the front of the creature's head.

A sharp cry burst from its throat. Its body recoiled, then drove forward with enough force to throw the iron back at Rigar. He lost his footing and struck the wall with his shoulder.

He swung.

The blade skidded over a plate and hit a bar.

The impact jarred his grip.

The creature crawled through the gap, its forelegs searching for purchase on the stone. Its head rose, and its jaws snapped shut where Rigar's leg had been a moment earlier.

He retreated toward the doorway.

Harn was still crossing the threshold. The farmer bent over him, supporting his weight, while Liya held his clothes to keep him from slipping in the water.

There was no room to close the door.

The creature lunged again.

Rigar brought his sword across its path. Teeth struck the blade. Its weight drove him backward, and pain flared in his forearm when he was forced to brace the hilt with his left hand.

"Liya!"

She had left Harn to the farmer.

She raised a hand toward the water at the creature's feet.

The current surged, rising against the side of its head. There was little water, but it struck the creature's open eye and splashed into its mouth. It shook its head violently, releasing its grip on the blade.

Rigar pulled his sword free and stepped back.

The claws found purchase, and the creature turned toward him.

The water rose again, weaker this time.

The creature blinked and twisted its head away.

Beneath its jaw, a pale fold of flesh showed between the plates.

Rigar planted his foot behind the threshold and held the sword in his right hand.

When the mouth opened, he drove the blade upward.

It pierced the flesh beneath the jaw.

The creature's body surged into him. He had to release the hilt and throw himself aside. Its tail struck the fallen support, and its belly hit the stone. The sword moved with it, its hilt protruding near the throat.

It raised its head once, then dropped.

Its legs continued scraping the floor.

Rigar waited until they stopped before approaching.

He could hear his own breathing above the water.

He leaned against the wall and looked at his left hand. A red patch had appeared on the fresh bandage and was slowly spreading.

Outside the door, Liya sat on a step, very pale, with one hand braced against the stone.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded without raising her head.

Then Harn's voice came from farther up the stairs.

"Did it get out?"

"It's over," Rigar answered.

The man did not seem to hear him. He kept staring at the entrance, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond.

Liya rose slowly and approached Rigar.

"Let me see your arm."

"Harn first."

She looked at the bandage, then at the worker outside.

She took the cloth that had covered the basket and went up to him.

Rigar waited for his hand to stop trembling. Then he planted a foot beside the creature's body, gripped his sword, and pulled.

The blade came free with difficulty.

He washed it in the flowing water but did not sheath it.

Beyond the open gate, the darkness stretched farther than he could see.

The guards arrived with the farmer's son while Liya was securing Harn's leg between two pieces of wood.

The first guard approached the steps and noticed the blood on Rigar's arm.

"Is anyone else inside?"

"We don't know. The other worker is missing."

Rigar explained what had happened and pointed out the gate and the body in the passage. Two guards descended with a lantern, while a third stayed with Harn.

He asked the man's name, then asked about his partner.

"Samer," Harn answered with difficulty. "He went out before me."

The farmer's son turned to his father.

"The guard by the road found a man near the orchard channel. He was unconscious. They sent him to the healer."

Harn raised his head.

"A red-haired man?"

The boy nodded.

Harn closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall.

For some time, he said nothing.

A few minutes later, the guard returned from inside, his lantern swinging in his hand.

"We're closing this site."

"Are there more of them?" Rigar asked.

The guard looked at his companion, then at the injured worker.

"We'll send someone to inspect the channel."

He called the two men by the door and ordered them to replace the crossbar once the tools had been removed. Rigar helped with his uninjured hand.

Before the timber settled into its sockets, he caught sight of the guard raising his lantern toward the inner gate.

He was not looking at the loop that had torn loose.

He was examining another set of bars near the base of the wall, beyond the place where the creature had appeared.

Their return to Botsdar was delayed.

The guards carried Harn on a stretcher made from two poles and a blanket. The farmer accompanied him as far as the road. Before parting from them, he took Liya's uninjured hand.

"I'll tell the overseer what you did."

"Just make sure his partner gets to him," she said.

He nodded and followed the stretcher.

They walked slowly toward the city. Rigar carried the basket in his right hand, his bag hanging from his good shoulder. Liya was unusually quiet, occasionally glancing at the fingers the crossbar had reddened.

They stopped at the first well near the orchards. She washed her hands, then cleaned his wound again and wrapped it with what remained of the bandage.

She did not scold him when she saw him biting the inside of his cheek.

She only said, "Keep your hand still."

He did.

When she finished, they sat on the stone rim and ate their bread and cheese. The cheese had grown warm, and dirt from the bag had worked its way into the loaf.

Rigar brushed some off with his thumb.

"We should have chosen the grain store."

Liya looked at him.

He waited for her to swallow.

"You'd have found a way to bring it down on us."

He laughed, then pressed a hand to his forearm.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don't start. I'm not bandaging it a third time."

They reached the Hall shortly before it closed.

Liya placed the basket on the counter and stood beside Rigar while the clerk counted the leaves one by one. She set one aside, then returned it after turning it over and inspecting the stalk.

"Thirty."

Rigar opened his mouth, but a man in a gray robe emerged from the rear office carrying a folded paper.

He glanced at their badges.

"Rigar and Liya?"

They nodded.

"A report has arrived from the guards. I need to record your statements before you leave."

He led them to a side desk and asked when they had arrived, where they had found the worker, and how the creature had escaped from behind the gate. Several times, he stopped Rigar to distinguish what he had seen from what Harn had told him.

When he finished, he passed them the statement to read and sign.

"Will the rescue be recorded with the job?" Rigar asked.

"It will be added to your files once we have both workers' statements."

The man looked at the bandage, then at Liya's hand.

"Along with notes on your injuries. If you apply for an assessment later, the examiner will need the full report."

They signed and returned to the clerk.

She paid them for the leaves, then placed another sum beside it.

"From the canal administration. An immediate reward for rescuing the worker. Official credit for the incident will await the statements, as you've been told."

Rigar divided the coins and held out half to Liya.

She took them and counted them before putting them in her pouch.

"The rooms and supper," she said.

He nodded.

"And another bandage."

She looked at his arm.

"Two."

They were heading toward the door when a clerk passed them carrying a small board and three notices.

He stopped at the request board and removed a notice from the Iron section, then another from Copper. Rigar recognized the small canal sketch in the corner of one sheet.

The clerk posted a new notice in their place.

Rigar approached and read:

Survey of the Old Eastern Channel.
Silver rank and above.
Workers and all other wayfarers are prohibited from entering until the inspection is complete.

Liya stopped beside him.

"Tomorrow, we rest."

He kept looking at the first line.

He remembered the guard by the gate, holding his lantern near the floor.

"Rigar."

He turned.

She was waiting, her bag on her shoulder and her stiff fingers curled around her staff.

"Tomorrow, we rest."

This time, he nodded and walked with her toward the exit.

At the side desk, the man in the gray robe leaned over the guards' report. Rigar heard him address someone who had just arrived.

"The bars at the lower channel… are you certain they were bent inward?"

"I saw them myself," the man replied. "That's where it got in."

Rigar kept walking, but his steps slowed at the stairs.

He remembered the size of the head that had driven him against the wall, and the broad plates covering its back.

Then he remembered the narrow gaps between the bars he had glimpsed beyond the lantern's light.

That creature could not have forced them open.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 9: Cost

Rigar woke when he rolled onto his left arm.

For a moment, he did not know where he was. He caught the edge of the mattress with his good hand and listened.

A cart rattled past outside. Somewhere below, the innkeeper was arguing with a supplier over the weight of a sack.

No water. No scraping.

He eased himself upright.

His sword lay beside the bed, where he had left it within reach. In the morning light, he could see a small nick near the middle of the blade. He ran his thumb beside it, remembering the shock of striking the creature's plates.

He had not noticed the damage last night.

On the table, his share of the reward lay beneath the copper badge.

He looked at the coins for a while, then reached for his shirt.

Getting his injured arm into the sleeve took three attempts.

He was still struggling with the other sleeve when someone knocked.

"Come in."

Liya opened the door, stopped, and studied him.

"Should I come back when you've won?"

"The sleeve is twisted."

"I can see that."

She set a small bundle on the table and helped pull the fabric clear of his elbow. When she reached across him, he noticed the swelling around two of her fingers.

He caught her wrist gently.

"Your hand."

She drew it back.

"It bends."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"You didn't ask anything."

He looked at the bundle. Fresh cloth, bought before he had even left his room.

"We're seeing a healer."

"I was going to change your bandage."

"After someone looks at your fingers."

She opened her mouth, then glanced at the shirt still caught around his shoulder.

"Finish getting dressed first."

---

The innkeeper directed them to a narrow street behind the potters' market.

"Blue door, beside the woman who sells lamp oil. Go before noon. After that, you'll be waiting with every apprentice who's dropped a tool on himself."

The healer's door stood open.

Inside, shelves held jars, folded linen, and shallow wooden boxes marked in a careful hand. A man with a cloth pressed to his cheek sat near the window. Beside him, a little girl swung her legs beneath a bench while her father held one of her shoes.

Rigar and Liya took the remaining seats.

She rested her injured hand in her lap. He watched her try to loosen the knot of her coin pouch with the other.

"Give it here."

"I can manage."

He waited.

After a moment, she handed it over.

He loosened the knot and returned the pouch without looking inside.

The healer called them together.

She was a broad-faced woman with graying hair pinned firmly above her neck. She listened while Liya explained what had happened, then asked Rigar to remove his shirt.

He glanced at Liya.

She folded her arms.

"This round is yours."

The healer waited until his arm was bare, then began unwinding the bandage.

The cloth clung to the wound.

Rigar fixed his eyes on a crack in the opposite wall.

"When did you first injure this?"

"Several days ago."

"And yesterday you lifted timber, fought something, and opened it again."

He said nothing.

She glanced at the dried blood on the last layer of cloth.

"That was a statement."

Liya lowered her eyes.

The healer cleaned the wound, examined its edges, and pressed carefully around it. Rigar's fingers tightened against his knee.

"You were fortunate. It needs time to close properly."

"How much time?"

"I'll look at it again in three days. Until then, no fighting, no lifting, and no testing whether it has improved by doing either."

"I can use my right hand."

"You can. Your left shoulder and arm will still move when you stumble, brace yourself, or forget which hand you meant to use."

He remembered the creature's jaws closing around his sword.

The healer applied a dressing and wrapped the forearm.

Then she turned to Liya.

"Your turn."

Liya offered her hand.

The woman examined each finger, asking her to bend and straighten them. When she pressed near the knuckle, Liya drew a sharp breath.

"No obvious break," the healer said. "But you've bruised it badly. Spare it heavy work."

Liya nodded.

Rigar watched her with some satisfaction until she noticed.

"Don't," she said.

The healer looked between them.

"If you're both finished supervising each other, I'll tell you what the treatment costs."

The sum took a noticeable share of the reward.

Rigar counted out the coins. Liya placed her own payment beside his before he could reach for more.

Outside, he stood with the lighter pouch in his hand.

They still had enough for their rooms and food. Enough to rest for a few days, if they were careful.

He had gone to sleep thinking the reward had put them ahead.

Now he understood how quickly an injury could consume it.

Liya adjusted the strap on her shoulder.

"We can still eat."

"I know."

"And sleep indoors."

"I know."

She looked toward the potters' stalls.

"Then stop looking at the pouch as though it bit you."

He tied it shut.

---

The canal administration kept a small infirmary beside its eastern storehouse. A guard at the gate directed them across a yard stacked with replacement beams and sections of iron grating.

Rigar slowed beside one of the stacks.

The bars were thicker than he remembered.

He could still see the lantern moving across the damaged opening beneath the canal.

Liya touched his good elbow.

The attendant was waiting by the infirmary door.

Harn lay on a narrow bed near the window, his injured leg raised on folded blankets. His eyes brightened when he recognized them, and he started to sit up.

"Don't," Liya said.

He stopped halfway and settled back.

"You sound like the woman who changed my dressing."

"She probably has good reasons."

On the next bed, a red-haired man watched them.

One side of his face was swollen. A bandage wrapped his head above the ear, and both shins were covered.

Samer.

Rigar had pictured him lying unconscious beside the orchard channel. Seeing him awake brought an unexpected easing in his chest.

Harn held out his hand.

Rigar took it.

For a moment, the worker only gripped him.

Then he said, "I heard you leave."

Rigar glanced at Liya.

"When she went for the farmer?"

Harn nodded.

"I couldn't tell how many of you there were. I heard footsteps going up, and then it was quiet."

"I stayed by the door."

"I know. You spoke again."

His grip tightened briefly before he let go.

Liya set a small packet of fruit on the table between the beds.

"The innkeeper said these were good."

Harn looked at it.

"You didn't need to bring anything."

"She insisted," Rigar said.

Liya gave him a look.

"The innkeeper," he added.

Samer shifted on his bed.

"I should have reached the road."

Neither of them answered immediately.

He stared at the bandages around his legs.

"It wasn't far."

Harn turned his head toward him.

"You'd already been hit."

"I could still walk."

"And then you couldn't."

The exchange had the weary rhythm of an argument they had already had several times.

Rigar pulled a stool closer.

"What happened after you barred the door?"

Samer rubbed his thumb against the edge of his blanket.

"I ran along the bank. There's a cart shed beyond the orchard. I thought there would be rope there, and someone to help carry him."

"Did you see anything in the water?"

"A movement."

He stopped.

The yard outside rang with the sound of someone unloading timber.

Samer waited for it to fade.

"I looked back toward the gate. When I turned again, the water beside me had risen. Something struck my legs."

"The same creature?" Liya asked.

"I don't know."

He answered too quickly, then took a breath.

"I didn't see a head. Or a body. I fell against the stone edge. After that…" He touched the bandage above his ear. "I remember someone asking my name."

Rigar leaned forward, then made himself sit back.

The man had told him what he knew.

Harn reached for the cup beside his bed. Liya moved it closer.

"We were only supposed to clear the intake," he said. "Branches, mud. Whatever had slowed the flow."

"How did the creature get into your passage?" Rigar asked.

"Through the lower opening. Samer saw it first. We got back through the iron gate, but it hit the frame before I could secure the bolt."

His gaze dropped to his raised leg.

"The old support came down. Samer helped me close the gate, but he couldn't lift the timber off me."

"So you sent him outside," Liya said.

Harn nodded.

"I told him to bar the outer door in case the iron one failed."

Rigar looked at the red-haired man.

Samer was watching him now.

"The lower grating," Rigar said. "Was it damaged before yesterday?"

Samer frowned.

"Some of it."

"How long?"

"Three weeks, perhaps. I reported it when we cleared the silt."

Rigar felt Liya turn toward him.

"What kind of damage?" she asked.

"Two bars bowed inward. The mortar was cracked around one end."

"Could an animal have passed through?"

"Not through the gap I saw."

Samer held his hands apart, considered the distance, and narrowed it.

"A rat, certainly. Nothing like the thing that came at us."

"What did the overseer say?"

"That a mason would inspect it. I put a mark beside the opening and entered it in the maintenance book."

Harn looked across at him.

"I didn't know that."

"You were on the western sluice that week."

Rigar studied the space between Samer's hands.

Three weeks.

He had imagined a single violent moment beneath the canal: something forcing the bars apart and passing through.

Now he wondered whether it had returned to the same opening again and again.

Liya spoke before he could ask another question.

"Have you told the guards?"

"This morning," Samer said. "They took the book."

Rigar let out a slow breath.

There was nothing useful he could add to that.

They stayed until the attendant brought the workers' midday meal. As they rose, Harn asked for their names again.

"For my wife," he said. "She'll want to know who to thank."

Liya smiled.

"Tell her you helped. You kept moving when we pulled you."

Harn glanced at his leg.

"Not very quickly."

"Quickly enough."

At the door, Samer called them back.

He was looking at Rigar's bandage.

"I'm glad someone else came along."

Rigar nodded, uncertain what to say.

Outside, he kept thinking about the distance between the blue bag and the road.

---

They ate at a stall near the storehouse, where an old man served lentils from a pot broad enough to wash a child in.

Liya carried the bowls one at a time. Rigar moved them farther onto the table so neither would be knocked by passing customers.

For a while, they ate without speaking.

Then he said, "I tried to break the stone above the crossbar."

She looked up.

"You stopped me."

"I remember."

"If the rest had fallen—"

"It didn't."

"Because you looked."

Liya lowered her spoon.

He had meant it as thanks. From her expression, she understood that, but there was something else she wanted to say.

"What?" he asked.

"When you called my name inside…"

He waited.

"I nearly used too much."

"The water?"

She nodded.

"I could see its mouth on your sword. I wanted to throw everything at it."

He remembered the first surge, the creature wrenching its head aside.

"You hit its eye."

"I was aiming for its face. I wasn't that precise."

He looked into his bowl.

Yesterday, she had seemed certain. Her hand had risen, the water had moved, and the creature had released his blade.

He had not thought about what it had cost her to choose how much.

"The second time was weaker," she said. "I thought I'd left too little."

"It was enough."

"This time."

He raised his eyes.

She was not asking him to reassure her.

After a moment, he nodded.

"We should learn how to do it again."

"With something that doesn't have teeth."

He smiled.

"That would help."

---

At the Hall, the clerk recognized them before they reached her desk.

"The statements arrived."

She opened a ledger and checked the numbers on their badges against two entries.

"The rescue has been added to both your records. The gathering request is marked complete."

Rigar watched her turn the page.

It was strange how little space the event occupied.

A few lines for the door, the trapped man, the creature. Room left beneath them for whatever came next.

He touched the edge of the counter.

"What do I need to do before I can apply for Iron rank?"

The clerk looked at his bandage.

"Heal."

"I mean after that."

"I know."

She rested her quill across the ledger.

"You'll need more than one completed request, even with this report. An examiner will consider whether you can take on the work consistently."

"How many requests?"

"There isn't a number that guarantees promotion. Your file needs to show what you can handle."

He glanced toward the board.

More gathering. More deliveries. Jobs that would pay for food and a bed while the higher notices remained beyond his reach.

The clerk followed his gaze.

"If you want to know what you're missing, speak to Bren in the practice yard. He supervises the preliminary assessments."

"Can I take one now?"

"No."

Her eyes moved to his arm again.

"But you can watch."

Liya leaned forward.

"Does he work with magic users?"

"With anyone who expects to work in a party."

The clerk pointed toward a passage at the rear of the Hall.

"Through there. Ask before touching the equipment."

---

The practice yard was longer than Rigar expected, enclosed by high stone walls that kept most of the street noise outside.

Weapon racks stood beneath an awning. Straw targets lined one end, while white chalk marked several rectangles on the packed earth.

In the nearest one, a broad young man held a wooden sword and a round shield.

Opposite him stood an older man in a plain vest, carrying a shorter practice blade.

The younger man advanced.

His first strike came hard enough for Rigar to hear the air move. The older man turned it aside and gave ground.

Another strike followed.

Then a third.

The young man pressed forward, shield raised, driving his opponent toward the edge of the rectangle.

Rigar shifted his weight without realizing it.

The opening was there, beside the older man's shoulder. A committed thrust might force him out.

The young man saw it too.

He lunged.

The older man stepped across the line of the attack and struck the inside edge of the shield. The shield turned. The attacker tried to follow, but his feet were too close together.

A short push sent him onto one knee.

The wooden blade stopped against his neck.

"Again," the older man said.

The young man got up, breathing hard.

"I nearly had you."

"You nearly reached the wall."

A few people beneath the awning laughed. The older man looked at them, and the laughter stopped.

He returned to his position.

This time, Rigar watched their feet.

The younger man began more cautiously. Two exchanges passed without either gaining ground.

Then the older man let his sword drift outward.

The same opening.

Rigar saw the younger man's heel lift.

"Don't," he murmured.

Liya glanced at him.

The lunge came.

A moment later, the young man was outside the chalk rectangle, staring at the place where his opponent had been.

The older man lowered his weapon.

"What changed?"

The young man scowled.

"You moved sooner."

"And you told me where you were going."

He pointed his blade toward the man's rear foot.

Rigar looked down at his own.

Aris had struck that ankle more times than he cared to remember.

He could almost hear her telling him to stop reaching with his shoulders before his feet were ready.

He had thought he understood.

Beneath the awning, someone called the older man's name.

Bren turned, and Rigar approached.

"The clerk sent us."

Bren looked at their badges, then their hands.

"Sent you for what?"

"To ask about an assessment."

"When?"

"When my arm has healed."

Bren nodded.

"That's a better answer than I usually get."

He placed the wooden sword on a rack.

"Who taught you?"

"A woman named Aris."

"How long?"

Rigar told him.

Bren listened without interrupting, then asked, "Do you use anything besides the sword?"

"Fire magic."

"And you?" he asked Liya.

"Water."

"Can you both come back tomorrow?"

Rigar glanced at his arm.

"To watch?"

"To watch. You can learn something while that heals."

Bren looked toward the yard, where the young man had begun practicing his stance alone.

"Stand under the awning. Keep clear of the marked ground, and listen when I stop an exercise."

Liya adjusted her grip on her staff.

"Should I bring this?"

"Yes."

She looked at her swollen fingers.

He noticed.

"You'll be watching too. When you're ready, I'll need to see how you work together."

Rigar turned toward the chalk rectangle once more.

The young man had widened his stance. It looked less impressive than his earlier advance, slower and more deliberate.

Bren watched him make a careful step.

"Better," he said.

On their way out, Rigar paused at the edge of the yard.

Yesterday, he had stared at the Silver notice and wondered how long it would take to reach it.

Now he watched a heel settle firmly into the dirt.

"We'll be here," he said.

 

[ir3dx]

Chapter 10: Where You Stand

On their first morning in the practice yard, Bren gave them a bench.

Rigar looked at it, then at the weapon racks.

"Under the awning," Bren said. "You can move it together."

Liya took one end with her good hand.

Rigar took the other.

They carried it into the shade and sat.

For the next hour, they watched a woman with a spear repeatedly fail to keep two opponents in front of her. Whenever she drove one backward, the other approached her unguarded side. Bren stopped the exercise each time, returned them to their starting positions, and made them begin again.

Rigar thought he understood the mistake after the second attempt.

After the fifth, Bren turned toward the awning.

"What should she do?"

"Keep moving," Rigar said.

"Where?"

Rigar studied the rectangle marked on the ground.

There was room behind her, but retreating straight back would let the two opponents spread farther apart.

"To her left," he said. "Toward the one with the shorter weapon."

"Why?"

"So the other has to come around him."

Bren nodded and returned to the exercise.

Beside Rigar, Liya shifted on the bench.

"What would you have done?"

He watched the woman take a careful step to her left.

"I'd have tried to force one of them back."

"You've seen her try that."

"I know."

For the rest of the morning, he paid closer attention.

---

They returned the next day, and the day after.

At first, Rigar found the waiting harder than the walk from the inn. His arm hurt less, which made the prohibition against using it seem less reasonable. Whenever he began to forget the wound, however, some ordinary movement reminded him: reaching behind his back, lifting a water jug, catching a door before it closed.

Liya's fingers improved sooner. The swelling subsided, though she still struggled to grip her staff tightly.

Bren noticed every attempt either of them made to test an injury.

He rarely commented. He simply found them something else to watch.

On the third morning, he placed a wooden cup on the bench beside Liya and set a bucket of water at her feet.

"Fill it."

She glanced at him.

"With magic?"

"That is why I brought the bucket."

She raised her hand.

A narrow stream rose from the water and curved toward the cup. It struck the rim, splashed across the bench, and soaked Rigar's trousers.

He moved his knee aside.

Liya lowered her hand.

"The cup's small."

"It will remain that size," Bren said.

She tried again.

This time, the water reached the bottom. She stopped too late, and some spilled over the edge.

Bren emptied the cup into the bucket.

"Again."

Rigar watched her shoulders tighten.

After the sixth attempt, the stream thinned before it reached the cup.

Bren took the bucket away.

"That's enough."

"I can still—"

"I asked you to fill a cup. You're beginning to fight it."

She stared at the wet wood.

He handed her a cloth.

"Dry the bench. Watch the next exercise."

Later, when Bren was elsewhere, she said, "I could move more water than that."

"I've seen you."

"I know you have."

Rigar rubbed at the damp patch on his knee.

After a moment, she sighed.

"I thought this would be easier."

Across the yard, the woman with the spear finally kept both opponents in front of her.

Bren let the exercise continue.

---

At the healer's second examination, Rigar's wound had remained closed. She changed the dressing and told him to return once more before attempting anything strenuous.

He paid without arguing.

By then, he had begun to notice how often the people in the yard stopped themselves halfway through a movement. A foot withdrawn before it crossed the other. A sword lowered when a partner stepped into its path. A retreat begun early enough to remain a choice.

He remembered the canal differently each time he watched.

The doorway had been behind him. Harn had still been crossing it. Liya had needed room to help.

He had known all three things.

He had not kept track of them together.

When the healer finally permitted light practice, Bren gave him a wooden sword and made him walk the length of the yard.

"Keep the point steady."

Rigar reached the far wall and turned.

"Again."

He did it six times before Bren let him strike a padded post.

His forearm tired sooner than he expected.

Bren stopped him at once.

The next day, they did a little more.

Liya worked beside the water trough, directing small streams between cups placed at different distances. Sometimes Bren called a cup's position before she began. Sometimes he changed it while the water was moving.

On those attempts, more water reached the ground than the cups.

Gradually, the puddles became smaller.

---

The shared exercise came several mornings later.

Bren arranged three low hurdles across a chalk rectangle, leaving narrow passages between them. At the far end, two upright posts marked an exit.

A bucket stood near each side of the course.

A young trainee waited at the starting line with a sack of sand held against his chest. The load was not especially heavy, but it blocked his view of the ground immediately before him.

"This is Oren," Bren said. "You're taking him and his load through the yard."

Oren shifted the sack.

Bren picked up a staff with padded ends.

"I'll try to touch him with this. One clean touch, and you start again."

Rigar studied the hurdles.

"Can he run?"

"Not while he's carrying that."

"Can he put it down?"

"If you decide that helps. Both he and the sack must reach the exit."

Liya looked at the buckets.

"How much water can I use?"

"As much as you can control. Keep it below the waist."

Bren stepped outside the rectangle.

"Plan first."

Rigar moved closer to Liya and Oren.

"I'll stay in front. Liya, keep to his left. If Bren comes around me, use the water to slow his step."

She nodded.

"What signal?"

"I'll say 'now.'"

"And if I see him first?"

"Tell me."

Oren looked between them.

"Which side of the first hurdle?"

Rigar pointed.

"Right. There's more room."

They took their positions.

Bren waited until they began moving.

---

The first hurdle passed easily.

Rigar kept his sword between Bren and Oren, turning when the older man approached from the side. Liya walked close to the sack carrier, watching over his shoulder.

Bren feinted toward the opening between the next two hurdles.

Rigar stepped across it.

The staff withdrew.

He followed.

Bren gave ground, leaving space beside his shoulder.

Rigar recognized the offered opening from the sparring exercise. He did not lunge.

Instead, he advanced carefully, keeping his feet apart.

He had time to think he was doing better.

Then Bren struck his sword aside.

Rigar recovered and moved to close the distance before the staff could turn.

"Now!"

Water splashed across the ground beside him.

Bren changed direction.

Rigar tried to follow, but his boot landed in the wet patch. His foot slid just far enough to delay him.

The padded staff passed beyond his shoulder.

It touched Oren lightly in the ribs.

"Stop."

Oren lowered the sack.

Liya let the remaining water fall back into the bucket.

Rigar looked at the wet earth beneath his boot.

"You put it under me."

"You stepped into it."

"I told you to slow him."

"You called when you were both moving."

Bren rested the staff against his shoulder.

"Where was Oren?"

Rigar turned.

The trainee stood beside the second hurdle, several paces behind him.

"I was keeping Bren away," Rigar said.

"You were following me," Bren replied.

Rigar looked back at the route.

He had left the wider passage open.

Bren pointed toward the bench.

"Work out what you want to do. We'll try again after the next pair."

---

Rigar sat at one end of the bench.

Liya remained standing.

For a while, neither spoke.

In the yard, two other trainees took their places around Oren. One asked him whether he could see the hurdle. Oren shook his head, and she moved the sack lower in his arms before they started.

Liya watched them.

"You told me to warn you if I saw him first."

"Yes."

"I did."

Rigar looked up.

"When?"

"When you passed the second hurdle."

He remembered hearing her voice.

He had been concentrating on the staff.

"I thought you were telling me he was coming around."

"He was. But you kept going."

Rigar rested the wooden sword across his knees.

The pair in the yard moved slowly. Bren tested one side, then the other, making them turn around the person between them.

"I didn't hear what you said," he admitted.

Liya sat, leaving a little space between them.

"When you shouted, I thought you wanted water immediately."

"I did."

"Where?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

She looked toward the wet patch.

"I chose where his foot was going. Then you followed him."

Rigar rubbed a thumb along the wooden hilt.

"I should have stayed with Oren."

"Yes."

"And 'now' wasn't much of a signal."

"No."

He glanced at her.

"You can agree a little less quickly."

"I've been waiting."

That drew a brief smile from him, but she did not let the conversation end there.

"I can't watch his feet, your feet, and Oren's path at the same time."

Rigar turned the sword over in his hands.

"Then we divide it."

They called Oren over when his round ended.

This time, they asked where he had felt most exposed.

"When you both looked away," he said.

---

They walked the empty course before trying again.

Rigar stayed near Oren's right shoulder. Liya took the left, where she could see the passages between the hurdles.

"Short steps," she told Oren. "If I say stop, stop."

Rigar pointed to the space in front of them.

"If I need water, I'll tell you which side. If you need me to move, say my name first."

"And no chasing him," Liya said.

Rigar nodded.

They practiced the signals without Bren.

Once, Liya called for a stop because Oren's sack had shifted. Another time, Rigar asked her to hold the water when he needed to cross in front.

It felt awkward. They spoke too much, then tried to shorten everything and became unclear.

They settled on a few words they could understand without explanation.

When Bren returned, Rigar was still beside Oren.

"Ready?"

They nodded.

Bren lifted the staff.

---

He approached from Liya's side.

Rigar began to turn toward him, then stopped.

Liya had seen him.

"Stop."

Oren halted.

Rigar moved around the front of the sack while Liya stepped back, giving him room. The staff struck his wooden blade and slid away.

Bren withdrew.

Rigar let him.

They resumed.

At the first hurdle, Bren circled toward the wider opening. Rigar kept his shoulder near Oren's, forcing the older man to approach within reach of the sword.

The staff flicked high.

Rigar raised the point, but did not swing.

The lower end came toward Oren's hip.

"Back."

Oren took a short step.

The padded tip passed in front of him.

They moved again.

By the second hurdle, Rigar's good forearm had begun to ache. He loosened his grip between exchanges, as Aris had taught him, and kept the blade close.

Bren tested the same opening he had offered before.

Rigar saw it.

Beyond it, he could also see the empty space that would open beside Oren if he followed.

He stayed where he was.

Bren's expression did not change.

He shifted toward the other side.

"Rigar. Hold."

Liya's voice reached him clearly.

He stopped advancing.

A shallow wash of water spread across the narrow passage to their left.

Bren placed his forward foot, felt it slide, and shortened his step.

It cost him almost nothing.

It gave Oren enough time to clear the hurdle.

Liya lowered her hand at once.

They were close to the exit now.

Rigar could see the posts over his shoulder. Oren's breathing had grown louder, and the sack was beginning to sag in his arms.

Bren came straight at them.

The first strike drove Rigar's sword inward. The second forced him half a step aside.

He wanted to push back.

Instead, he called, "Keep going."

Oren moved behind him.

Liya guided the trainee past the nearer post.

Bren turned the staff toward the opening.

Rigar stepped across its path and caught it on the strong part of his blade, close to the hilt.

The impact shook his arm.

"Through," Liya said.

He gave ground.

The staff stopped.

Oren stood beyond both posts with the sack still in his arms.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Oren dropped the sand at his feet.

"Can I stop carrying that now?"

Bren nodded.

Liya laughed first.

Rigar lowered his sword and discovered how tightly he had been holding it.

---

Bren made them return the equipment before speaking.

Rigar wiped the wooden blade and placed it on the rack. Liya emptied the remaining water into the trough, carrying the bucket with both hands.

"You finished," Bren said.

Rigar waited.

"You also let yourselves be crowded at the last hurdle. With another attacker, you would have needed a different route."

He looked at Liya.

"You stopped the water when it had done enough. Keep doing that."

She nodded.

Then he turned to Rigar.

"You saw the opening."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you take it?"

"Oren was behind me."

Bren glanced toward the young trainee, who was rubbing his arms.

"That's an answer I can use."

He took a small slate from beneath the awning and checked something written on it.

"There's a short escort outside the western gate later this week. A wagon of tools going to an orchard storehouse. An Iron-ranked wayfarer is leading it."

Rigar straightened.

"Are we eligible?"

"As assistants under supervision. I'll recommend you both, provided your arm remains sound. The leader will have the final say."

"And afterward?"

Bren set the slate down.

"Afterward, we read the report."

Liya looked at Rigar.

He nodded before she could speak.

---

They were washing the dirt from their hands when the side gate opened.

Four wayfarers entered.

Their clothes were stained with gray silt. One carried a lantern with a cracked horn pane. Another had a bandage around his calf and leaned heavily on a companion.

Silver badges hung at their belts.

The yard quieted.

Rigar recognized the folded notice in the leading woman's hand before he saw the streak of dried mud across its heading.

The eastern channel.

Bren went to meet them.

"Anyone still out?"

"Two at the lower junction," the woman said. "The guards are relieving them."

She glanced toward the younger trainees.

"Is the records officer inside?"

Bren nodded toward the passage.

The woman started that way, then stopped when the wayfarer behind her set a cloth-wrapped object on the bench.

It landed with a weight that made the wood creak.

Rigar stepped aside to give them room.

The cloth had come loose at one corner.

Beneath it lay a curved band of dark iron, wider than his hand. One end was jagged. Near the other, a heavy fastening remained shut, its surface clogged with pale mud.

Bren bent over it.

"This was caught in the lower grating?"

"No," the woman said.

She pulled the cloth back into place.

"It was still fastened around a neck."

Rigar looked at her.

The wayfarer with the injured leg had lowered himself onto the bench. He was staring at the ground between his boots.

Bren straightened.

"Take it inside."

They carried the wrapped iron through the passage.

Liya stood beside Rigar, her hands still wet.

Neither of them followed.

Beyond the awning, Oren was dragging the sack back to its place beside the wall.

Rigar watched him for a moment, then reached for the cloth to dry his hands.

He had spent days wondering what had forced the canal bars apart.

Now he tried to imagine the hands that had closed that fastening.