Gase looked at the nut he held in his hand. It was bright yellow. Hard, with grooves that looked like wrinkles.

“You know,” Enmon said as he ate one himself. “One of the fruit stalls in the eastern district used to sell these. Damned expensive as well.”

They were sitting around a fire, along with Aesmin and Hadi, waiting for the water in the pot to boil. They only managed to find two of the roots today, far less than yesterday. Many more people were foraging in small groups for anything edible as they walked. Word quickly got around about the root plant. They were eventually forced to move further and further away from the path in their search.

They were lucky to come across another plant that Aesmin recognised. Strange-looking things that grew in a pool of water. The long stalks were topped with oval-shaped bulbs. He was once more glad that Aesmin had joined them as he would never have thought to try one himself.

She had shown that the bulb consisted of a thin membrane holding a bluish sap. After cutting them open and dumping out the liquid, the yellow nuts could be found in the centre.

Gase’s hand shook slightly as he brought it to his mouth. Hunger had become a constant companion in the past few days. He bit into the nut, and it broke with a satisfying crunch. The dried sap on its surface tasted sour, but the thing itself was sweet. It was gone all too quickly.

Having divided the nuts four ways, they each had only received a handful. Still, it was better than some of the others had it.

Tensions were high as hunger took its toll. People snapped at each other for nothing. More than a few fights had broken out over food, some ending in blood and broken bones. Thankfully, there had not been any deaths since the first. He suspected it was partly due to a few of the guards that still tried to keep some semblance of order, and partly because most people weren’t quite desperate enough.

No deaths that he could see at least. They had spread out quite far, with many people falling behind. Even now there were still people trailing into the camp, who could tell if there were a few missing?

Gase turned at the sound of shouting. When the sounds didn’t quiet down, he stood up and looked over the camp. Near the carriages of the nobles, a large group of people stood. Blocking their way were a few of the Blackguard. He couldn’t hear what was being said but, judging from the threatening posture of the knights, he could tell it wasn’t anything pleasant.

“What do you think that is all about?” Enmon asked. Gase saw the man had also risen and was standing next to him, looking at the growing mob.

“I’ll go and see,” Gase said. “You guys stay here with the food.”

Gase made his way towards the crowd, the voices becoming more distinct the closer he got.

“… sits in their gilded fucking boxes the entire day, stuffing their faces while we starve to death!”

Shouts of agreement rang out. There were already more than a hundred people in the crowd, with more joining as people came to see what was going on.

Gase kept to the side, a bit away from the crowd, as he moved forward. He was surprised when he looked down and saw that Hadi had followed him, mute as always but staring ahead with interest. Gase placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered them closer.

“Back down! I’ll not warn you again!”

As he got a good look at the front, Gase saw that the remaining Blackguard had also joined the rest. All fourteen of them were now forming a line between the mob and the carriages. Some others were also now starting to join them. Men and women wearing matching colours of whichever noble they served.

In front of the mob stood a few men and women. One of the men was gripping onto a shortsword. His appearance was haggard, and his face was red as he shouted.

“You’d like nothing more than to kill us, wouldn’t you, you bastard? Just like the people you murdered in the city!”

Once again, a few shouts followed the man’s words. Louder this time.

“For how long have we worked in the fields to feed the city?” The man continued, turning to the crowd. “Now, when we are dying of hunger, the people we fed won’t even share a meal!”

The man pointed at a large carcass behind the Blackguard, where a few people were staring back wide-eyed. Retainers of some noble perhaps. The carcass might have been a deer of some sort though Gase couldn’t be sure as it was already skinned and partially cut up.

“You think one buck is enough to feed all of you?” One of the knights asked mockingly.

“What about the d’yari?” Another voice from the crowd shouted.

“Yes!” The leader of the crowd seized upon the suggestion. “A single d’yar would feed a hundred of us! The citylord and his knights alone have a score of them. You ride all day because you are to lazy to walk. Is the spared effort worth more than our lives?”

By now the crowd had grown to three times its original size. One of the knights, a man with an embossed red pouldron on his shoulder and a crested helm, drew his sword. The rest of the knights followed, the action causing many in the crowd to retreat a step or two.

“Back down!” The knight leader said in the commanding voice of someone used to being obeyed. “This is not up for discussion. Return to your places.”

“Our places? Our places fell with the city! You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You’re right at home swinging your sword into the necks of innocents!”

More cries joined his, merging into an unintelligible clamour as the Blackguard pointed their weapons at the crowd. The noise grew as the door to one of the carriages opened and revealed a man in black clothing, edged with gold. He had an immaculately trimmed beard, and his hair was tied back behind his shoulders. The man stepped out and was followed by a woman holding onto a rod of gold.

The man raised his arms and spoke, but whatever he said was lost to the shouts of the crowd who by now was nearing half a thousand by Gase’s estimation. The man was trying again when he was interrupted by a rock flying out of the crowd. The rock flew straight at him and, for a moment, it seemed as though it would hit before the rod in the woman’s hands lit up. The incoming stone bounced off of seemingly nothing and landed in front of the black-clad man with a thud. He looked at the rock in astonishment.

A moment later, the woman behind him snapped her fingers. The sound was like a thunderclap as it raged through the area. Those in the crowd staggered, and a few of the nearest fell down. Gase, standing a bit away, felt the force like a shove to the chest. He tightened his grip of Hadi’s shoulder to keep the boy upright. Even the Blackguard were hit, though they seemed prepared for it. The only ones unaffected were the woman and the man.

“This is over,” The woman said. Her voice, though not raised, was nevertheless far louder than it should have been, drowning out the ringing in Gase’s ears. “Disperse.”

“You forget yourself, Caytha,” came a voice from the crowd, one similarly enhanced. The crowd parted, and a man stepped forward. Gase recognised his red robes as those he saw in one of Y’rid’s memories. The high priest of Tella’nash, a man he had seen only a few times before. He had left an impression on Y’rid though, being the only mage he had met. Unlike his memories, the red robes of the high priest were stained, and his boots were covered in dirt. At his back, two more priests followed.

“The Lord of Magic chose us so that we could help the people, not so that we can impress our power down onto them.”

“A strange way they have of asking for help,” the woman replied. “Hurling stones at those they seek it from.”

The high priest gave a disapproving glance at the crowd. “Now is the time to stand together. Not to turn on each other. Tell me, my people, has a single beast attacked us since we left the city? In His grace, the Magus has protected us from them. Woe befall us, should we prove ourselves unworthy of such benevolence.”

The ageing priest turned back to the front, looking at the black-clad man. “Citylord, Riversedge may no longer stand, but you are still the leader of these people. Surely you will not leave them to their fate.”

The citylord looked behind him at the many nobles who had left the carriages to watch the commotion. Some with worry and others with outrage. It was a strange divide that formed.

Some of the cityguard and a few hunters had joined the crowd and priests. At the same time, Gase could see a few among the guards of the nobles’ as well.

Many more kept out of the way; hunters and commoners who stood to the side, guards who seemed torn and mercenaries who were weighing the possibility of a job.

“It is not my place to decide their fate,” The citylord said. “Is it not Tella’nash’s will that decides the fate of men?”

“He gives us the means to make our own choices,” growled one of the other two priests. The high priest held up a hand to stop him.

“It is all right, brother. The citylord has made his choice. As we all must.”

With that, the high priest turned and walked away, followed by the other two priests. Many of the other people followed. Some hesitated but were driven off by a few threats from the knights and nobles’ guards. Though Gase suspected the mage standing behind them influenced that decision.

Gase and Hadi made their way back to the others, finding Enmon waiting for them.

“What does it look like,” he asked.

“Nothing good,” Gase said, shaking his head. He told Enmon and Aesmin what he saw once they were sitting by the fire.

“I wouldn’t say no to a piece of one of those d’yari,” Enmon said after a while, staring into the flames.

Gase looked at the pot of boiling water on the fire, where the two roots they could find were busy softening up.

The meal was bland when it was finally ready.

Gase stood in rigour. His right shoulder and leg were forward, the pommel of his sword at his hip, the blade pointing towards Holin’s chest. Pushing off with his back leg, he sprung forward, thrusting towards Holin.

The hunter raised his own sword from guile, the blade moving to intercept the thrust. Gase pulled back as soon as the swords touched, bringing the hilt to the side of his head in zeal, before spinning the blade into a cut from under.

Holin sidestepped the cut and stuck out. His sword slashed towards Gase’s hands, twisting just before reaching to rap him painfully on the knuckles.

“Son of a bitch!” Gase exclaimed, retreating while shaking the hand that got hit. He had lost count of how many times he had been hit this morning.

Holin raised an eyebrow. “A bit on edge today, are we?”

Gase took a moment to calm down as the pain faded into a dull throb. “The lack of proper food must be getting to me. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s somewhat of a food shortage going on. Hell, yesterday, a mob almost took on the citylord’s guard and a mage.”

“Sparring on an empty stomach if good practice for keeping your wits about you in a fight,” Holin said with a shrug. Then he smiled as if hearing a joke. “I heard about that commotion though, they say the priest stopped it?”

Gase nodded and relayed what he had seen.

“The beast’s don’t attack us because of Tella’nash’s protection?” Holin asked with a chuckle. “Well, there you have it. We best stop all this training right now. Just learn a few prayers. Much more effective.”

He raised his sword and gestured for Gase to attack.

“I take it you are not a follower?” Gase asked and advanced, his sword at his side, pointing back in the ward guard. He slowly closed the distance between them, looking for an opening he knew he wouldn’t find.

“No Thalsman is. Pisses the priesthood right off considering we’re supposedly blessed.”

Gase took another step and swung upwards in a cut, that Holin knocked out of the way. Gase swung the sword around briefly bringing it over his shoulder in wrath before striking down. Before he could get near, a boot to the chest sent him stumbling back.

“Step back if you’re too close. Gain a bit of distance. All that extra reach with a sword doesn’t matter if you’re close enough to your opponent for a dagger.”

“Are all the members of your Order partial-mages then?” Gase asked when he had regained his breath. He had been wondering about that for a while now. He had seen a few guardsmen that were and, from memories of Y’rid, knew a person could become a partial instead of being born as such. That didn’t mean partials were common though.

“Yes,” answered Holin. He dropped the point of his blade, pointing down in front of him in guile. It seemed to be his favourite stance. Gase took a step to his right, and Holin did the same as they began circling each other.

“How? Do you recruit partials from other cities? Is that why they don’t like you?”

He could see how that could be the case. The priests had offered Y’rid and any of the other street urchins a place if they could earn Tella’nash’s blessing. If The Order was snapping up all of the talented ones, it might lead to resentment.

“Oh no,” Holin said. “Part of what makes a person a Thalsman also turns them into a partial. That’s the crux of the matter. To the priests of Tella’nash, we either somehow steal the power their god gives out, or he blesses us, and we spit in his face by not acknowledging it.”

Gase paused. “Which is it?”

Holin laughed. “Why does it have to be either?”

Gase took the opportunity to thrust at Holin’s chest. The man seemed to flow out of the way while cutting upwards. Gase jumped back and barely avoided getting hit on the hand again. Worst of all was that he knew the man was much faster. He was slowing himself down so Gase could keep up.

“Is that what allows you to move like you do? Some kind of speed magic?”

“Speed magic?” Holin asked with a grin. “No, that is all me. Some of its simple training, some a bit more. Being a partial-mage only does two things. It allows you to heal quicker; wounds that would usually take a cycle to heal takes days instead. The stronger you get, the quicker you recover. And the second thing is obvious, of course; it allows you to use inscriptions.”

“Inscriptions. Those are the symbols on your sword, right?” Gase asked. “The hunter that saved me also had them. His sword went through one of those khatri’s flesh like it wasn’t even there.”

Holin’s face twisted in displeasure. “An abomination, what was done to that sword.”

“How do you mean?”

“The runes on his weapon causes it to shiver. Very slightly and very, very quickly. It cuts through most things, but it weakens the blade every time it does so. Adler has gone through five such swords since I met him. Even carries a spare nearby. Always uses his sword as little as possible, going for the kill as soon as he can.” – He shook his head – “No sense of sport, that one.”

“Well… it works.”

“Yes it works, but all it’ll take is for the blade to break at the wrong time, without anyone to back him up. And even if it doesn’t; that’s no excuse for fucking up a good sword. And the cost… benefits of being from one of the founding families I guess.”

“What about your sword?” Gase asked, sensing he might have hit on a sore spot.

Holin glanced down at his sword and smiled. “Bloodletter. She is a beauty, isn’t she? Come here. Closer, she won’t bite, however much she might want to.”

Gase hesitantly stepped closer, and Holin seized his wrist. He pulled it to him before holding up the longsword next to the forearm. Gase watched with trepidation as the runes began to glow.

Suddenly he felt the most uncomfortable sensation in his arm. It felt like ants crawling beneath his skin. As he watched, the skin on the side away from the sword began to pale. At the same time, the side nearest to it turned red. The discomfort grew to pain as veins on the red side of his arm began to bulge. He yanked his arm out of the hunter’s grasp.

Holin chuckled, the glow of the runes dying out. Gase stepped back and rubbed his arm. One side felt warm while the other felt numb.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked, opening and closing his fingers.

“The runes on my sword pulls at the blood of anything close enough that isn’t me. All I need to do is give a small cut, and she’ll pull the blood right out of the veins. This is how a sword inscription should be. It is not an axe, with which you can hack through a beast’s skull. It is a nimble weapon and should be used as such.”

Gase looked at his arm. One of the small cuts Holin had given him yesterday had opened up again due to the demonstration. “I don’t think I’m comfortable sparring if you use that sword.”

Holin scoffed.

“Aren’t you damaging your sword if your parrying mine?” Gase asked.

“Maybe,” Holin conceded. “But swords have a personality. Its weight, shape, balance, the feel of the grip… all these things create the weapon. What’s the point in training with something else if you’re not going to use it when the time comes?

I’ll admit, using sharp swords is not ideal. I actually have a replica of Bloodletter back at the Order that I use. Everything is the same except that it is blunt. And doesn’t have the inscription, of course. But I don’t have it here now do I?”

Holin held up his blade in front of him and ran a finger along the edge, feeling for any nicks. Gase’s own had a few by now. Holin assured him they were easily fixable with a whetstone, though he had failed to supply one.

“What’s the point of training if your sword can’t cut properly when the time comes because you messed up the edge?” Gase asked. “Besides, I’m only learning the basics now, right?”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’d rather be alive,” Gase said. He pulled up the bottom of his shirt to mop off some of the sweat on his face.

“What is that?”

Something in the hunter’s voice made Gase freeze. All of his usual mirth was gone, replaced by something cold and emotionless. Gase looked up and saw the man staring unblinkingly at his chest.

“What is… what?” Gase asked cautiously.

Holin pointed with his sword. “That.”

Gase looked down. He saw nothing of note, a few bruises of yesterday and a few small lines of dried blood where shallow cuts had been. “That’s because of you?”

“Not that. That,” Holin said and extended the tip of his sword to rest against a spot on his chest. The blade was held steady, without a single hint of a waver.

Gase looked down and saw a small black spot. He frowned, remembering the twelve pinpricks across the side of his chest.

Are they… bigger?

Certainly not by much, but it seemed that way to him. Still tiny though. Honestly, he wondered how Holin had even noticed.

“Some kind of insect bite, I think. Saw the spots yesterday.”

A thought struck him, and his head snapped up to look at Holin. “Is it something you know. Some venomous thing?”

“…No.”

“Oh... well that’s a relief,” Gase said and stepped back from the sword pointing at him, letting his shirt drop back down. “Then why…?”

Holin didn’t answer. For a moment, he still stared at the shirt as though he could see through it. Then he looked up, and the intensity of his gaze evaporating away like mist before the sun.

“Probably nothing,” he said with a smile. “We’ll continue tomorrow. I think we’re about to set off anyway and you look like you could use the rest.”

Gase watched as he turned and walked away.

That was strange.

He shook his head, already having classified the man as such in his head. Not much stranger than usual, if he were honest.

He sheathed his sword to a grumbling stomach and made his way back, hoping that they would find a bit more to eat today.