All-clad in the brown leathers of the guard's uniform, the party set out onto the cobblestone walkways. Hall looked up to the outer wall of the vast city. Even though it would take a whole day to travel from the west to the east side, the enormous walls were visible from everywhere.

As so often, he marvelled again at how such a structure could be built. Some say it was conjured by the goddess Akali, protector of the city, herself. No one knew for sure— the priesthood of Akali and the Red Brigade, who governed the City of Nemeah in her name, were not keen on preserving or sharing history amongst the people.

A good third of the city, on the southern side, was embedded in the mountain range. However, the wall still surrounded it entirely in the shape of an ellipse. It was then divided into four sectors, separated by smaller walls which stretched from the west side across the city to the east side in a slight arc.

The residential district, which they were mainly assigned to, was on the western side and counted as one of the younger areas, made apparent by the relatively smooth stonework buildings. The tenements were mostly cubicle in form and came in all different sizes. Contrary to the older districts, however, there was more space between the houses, leaving broader alleys to traverse.

For Hall, it was a still place of nostalgia. None of the buildings, cobbled streets and pathways had drastically changed over the course of his life. He remembered the mismatched sizes of the windows on the house they went by. Two square holes in the wall, one bigger than the other. With the dark wooden door between them, it always reminded him of a surprised face when he was younger. The three unbefitting, wooden steps that led from the ground to the slightly elevated door were clearly thought of as a temporary solution. But in all those years, no one had replaced them as they still served their purpose.

In all those years, the City of Nemeah had not changed.

Upon reaching the nearest market square, Bolverk decided to fan out in three groups to cover more ground and check on relevant information with the various marketers, innkeepers and smaller shop owners.

Svana all but jumped Sieg before Bolverk could react. Agnar went with Bolverk, and Eirik was left to watch over Hall.

"What exactly are we to do with the civilians here?" Hall asked as he let his eyes roam about the simple market stalls, the cosy-looking, wooden inn and various smaller catering establishments. It was a cheerful atmosphere with only the locals chatting and gossiping, and the friendly banter that accompanied their conversations.

"The people here are honest folk. We know most of them for years. Traders, bar owners or innkeepers are always in contact with a myriad of different citizens," Eirik explained. "Gossiping and listening to their patron's wailing is part of their trade. If you want to hear about any recent trouble, this is the best source of information."

In the meantime, Sieg and Svana were already at the first stall. The stocky, old man who owned it smiled broadly as he greeted them. Hall noticed with interest how easy-going the conversation seemed to flow between them. Despite his imposing appearance and reputation, Siegfried seemed to be easy to talk to for the shopkeeper. At one point, Svana bumped her hip into Sieg's, smirking teasingly and causing the old peddler to throw his head back in laughter.

When they were out of hearing range, Hall turned to Eirik with his open questions. "What was that about? With Svana and Siegfried, I mean."

Eirik snorted. "Greg, that's the old peddler, knows how Svana likes to tease Sieg and how neither of them ever committed to each other. He just likes to get his own part of the fun out of the two of them," he waved dismissively. "It's all just friendly banter in the end— nothing serious either way."

Hall tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling in his gut. He wouldn't have called it jealousy – he just met Svana after all, and they didn't really know each other. But somehow, that bright, carefree smile had still captivated him. He shoved the irrational feelings aside and focused on a different topic instead. "What about Bolverk? He did sound a lot like a father bragging about his son's accomplishments earlier. They aren't related, are they?"

"No, they are not," Eirik answered as he threw a fond glance in Bolverk' direction across the stalls between them. "Although Bolverk might very well see him like the son he'd never had. The same goes for Sieg. You know he is an orphan… and like most orphans, he grew up in the slums."

"Siegfried is an orphan? I'd never guessed," Hall admitted. "When I heard how well-trained he is with the sword, I thought he would have been the son of a guardsman or even a member of the Red Brigade."

"Far from it," Eirik chuckled. "Bolverk found him when he was a boy of fifteen years." The older guardsman regarded Hall for a moment and quickly gave in to the begging eyes of the teenager. "Well, I guess we can spare a few minutes right now. Take a seat," he said while sitting down on a crate. Hall complied, eager to hear about the circumstance a man like Siegfried came from.

††††††

Six years ago, Bolverk had an assignment near the border to the slums when a shriek of anguish caught his ear, a young girl's desperate cry for help. He spotted her behind the fence, running as fast as her short legs could carry her. Three grown men, filthy thugs, caught up to her quickly. Bolverk couldn't climb the wired fence, and they ignored his shouting. No guards are patrolling the slums, no one who would risk their hide for a kid that wasn't their own.

All the higher was their surprise when suddenly one of them cried out in pain, reaching for a spot on his back. That moment, Bolverk saw a boy running in from between the shacks, jumping the crying delinquent from behind and retrieving the rusted knife from between his shoulder blades.

Bolverk was stunned in anticipation, fear for the children and impotent fury. He thought it had to be her brother, driven to rush them by blinding anger or despair at seeing his sister assaulted. But anger can only get you so far, and a young boy, wiry as he looked, was no match for three grown men.

That was when he first witnessed the cold, righteous fury that was Siegfried. With a calculated dodge, the boy evaded a wide swing from the second man while in the same movement flashing the knife across the underside of his arm, slicing the artery.

Siegfried sidestepped the last guy, who was diving for him. He swept the man from his legs with a kick and buried the knife in the thug's chest before he hit the ground.

It was over before Bolverk could comprehend what happened. Siegfried ran off with the girl in hand.

When the intrigued guardsman went into the slums himself to search for the boy, he heard stories of a young vigilante, a defender of those who can't defend themselves in a lawless place of a cast-off people— a place where only the rule of the strong reigned. A young man, with an inexplicable sense of justice, by the name of Siegfried.

Bolverk was enamoured with the ideal Sieg represented. With the raw talent he had seen. A self-taught warrior with the fighting instinct of a veteran but in the body of a fifteen-year-old. What could he become if provided with professional guidance? He called in every favour, used every contact he had built up in his past years of duty to get Sieg out of the slums and into the guard— under his direct supervision.

††††††

Hall was gaping at Eirik after those revelations. He had heard of Siegfried's accomplishment before, about the young guardsman who was revered by the common people. That the very same person had started from below the bottom of their society— it sounded like a fairy tale to him.

"One piece of advice," Eirik continued in an ominous tone. "Never ask Bolverk directly for any details to that story, or you're in for several hours of story-telling. He won't let you off either. Believe me— I tried running the first time," he added with a wink.

Hall chuckled weakly, not entirely sure how much of that was meant as a joke. "Thanks for sharing that, Eirik, but there is one more thing I was wondering about since I first heard the name. Where does Siegfried hail from? Orphan or not, the name doesn't sound like anything I've heard before."

"I don't know either, Hall. It's part of his past in the slums, and he doesn't like talking about it, so I don't ask. He is a friend I would lay my life down for. That's all that matters. Now, enough dallying, let's get some work done!"

For the next half an hour, they mingled amongst the citizens. When they met again at the end of the market square, the easy-going atmosphere was gone. Bolverk led them into an empty side street, as to not needlessly alert others by their findings.

"Well, y'all look like it's going to be a busy day," he started with a grim look on his weathered face. "Marv' told me of a woman missing but 'twas just a customer, talking about a friend's cousin of another friend and so on. Got no name, only the general area of crafters' district."

Siegfried stepped up, a severe frown darkening his features. "Svana and I got a couple reports of the same nature. No women but at least two children, same district but no details either, and no one went to the guard. Rik'?"

Eirik crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. "We only heard of a boy, but at least we got a name. Could be one of the kids you mentioned. A farrier called Wesley is searching for his apprentice. Thought he might be hiding from work— rambled on about 'lazy youths' in Gerry's bar last night."

Bolverk nodded in appreciation. "At least we have a solid lead then. Let's find that farrier and go from there. Keep your wits about you. The flunky of a horse smith 's worth no ransom, and three people vanishing no coincidence," he added with a grave expression.

The group tensed up further at the unspoken conclusion of his analysis. Murders or kidnappings were generally rare in Nemeah. Enough food was produced in sector three, distributed by the priesthood of Akali. There was hardly any merit in such a crime, the reason either personal hatred or insanity and neither leading to such extreme measures often. Which left a more dreading option.

Hall was also quick on the uptake, a spark of anticipation hiding behind the hardened resolution on his face.

When they left the alley, Sieg leaned over to Bolverk, "You let him tag along for this, Bolverk? He's still a kid."

"Hall's one year older than you were, Siegfried. Was accepted 'cause he's got the skills, strength and endurance, passed all tests better than most men who join us. He's one of us now and can pull his weight. Don't worry about it."

That wasn't really what Sieg was concerned about. He didn't act on his thoughts, but the uneasiness stayed.