“So I’ve been saying to my boys,” the chuckling voice droned as he began walking forward while the so-called boys spread out around their targeted pair. “That if I saw that fucking human Shayjol kept mentioning, I’d have to gut him.”

Mason sighed and reached for his staff, then hesitated and put his hand on his sword instead. “Well, I’m that fucking human. Do you follow through with your threats or were you just sharing an amusing anecdote?” He had come outside without his glamour on because he was too focused on Faynel. It was good to know for sure why Faynel had been so insistent he use it.

Faynel was smiling though. Her grandmother made her insecure, but fighting she knew. If these cretins were worth something, they’d be in the defense force or the roving bands. But instead, they were poorly dressed and carrying crude weapons in a dark section of the city.

But her smile had more to do with Mason’s lazy way of addressing them. If he wasn’t scared, they stood a good chance of coming out of this alright.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re outnumbered, and I’m certain that girl by your side doesn’t want to get into trouble over you. Shayjol said you were a barely competent fighter, but judging by how little mana you have, I’m not sure you’ll even be that much to handle.” He spat, and addressed Faynel directly, “That means scram, girl. If you keep your mouth shut, we won’t hurt anyone but your little pet.”

Did they really not recognize her? “Who are you thugs, anyways?”

There were six of them, and they fanned out reasonably, but they looked young and scrawny. Weren’t the Marran’s doing anything to train their citizens? Mason had just assumed… but judging by the makeshift slings and clubs that most of them seemed to be armed with, it was unlikely.

Of course, the chuckling boy had a long knife that wouldn’t qualify as a short sword even if he was Mason’s size.

“We’re peacekeepers. My dad was friends with Mowrytal. He was a good guy, did a lot for my family back when we first got brought to this shit-hole. And you,” he pointed at Mason, “are the asshole who killed him. I don’t care how you fooled the council or if you’ve got a whole army coming. You’re gonna die.”

There was no point in defending himself, “Well it’s nice to see that street trash is the same in every world. You guys have no clue what’s going on and you’re still going to take it out on someone you don’t even know. But there’s really no point in us fighting here. Just go away.”

Faynel hazarded a glance at Mason and was impressed by what she saw. He was standing tall, even in the face of six armed boys taller than him. After all he’d been through that day with the salve and her grandmother, she expected him to be a mess.

Maybe she didn’t understand her grandmother, but she did know what the old woman would do in this situation. She stepped forward, partially blocking Mason, “You should listen to him. This isn’t a fight you can win.”

“Fucking bitch, go die!” shouted one of the sling-wielding boys on the right side. He already had a rock prepared, and flung it at high velocity right at her.

In moments, the street descended into chaos. Both Mason and Faynel had their weapons drawn and lunged at the boys, and the rock had clattered against a building ineffectually. The quarters were too close for an attack like that to have any value without the element of surprise.

Mason made it to the boy first, punching him in the gut with his unarmed hand, and Faynel was behind the group. None of the boys had expected the fight to start with anything other than their leader attacking, and though they moved to action they were slow to do it.

A club swept wildly toward Faynel and she just ducked under it, stabbing the boy in the hand and making it fall to the ground. Her foot came up in a kick and he fell away under its pressure as she pivoted to deal with another boy who was winding a swing.

Mason was having more trouble with a club-wielder, dodging left and right with the footwork but uncertain about how to get past its reach. The boy wielding it was faster than he had any right to be- not as fast as Faynel, but with a much heavier weapon.

The chuckling boy engaged then, and began trying to stab at Mason while the clubber kept him off balance. If his knife had been any longer, Mason may have lost blood but…

A second clubber came up to Mason and swung at him from behind. Mason quickly regretted his haste in attacking earlier. He was boxed in, and he was being pushed toward the walls of the street. If he pulled out his staff he could probably get a couple hits in without worrying about killing someone with his blade, but an instinct told him that using those dangerous spells would only bring more notoriety on his head.

As he dodged, he thought about his force rune. If he could cast Indiscriminate Force he could find space to maneuver in, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy for a spell. He felt dizzy as he tried against his better judgment, and then felt a club catch his side. He gasped at the shock of it, and doubled over even as he fell.

Another blow was falling down toward him, and he rolled just barely in time to get out of its way. He saw the other clubber collapse, presumably due to Faynel’s influence, but while he was distracted by that the chuckler stood up over him, brandishing his knife. Mason moved to swipe at the boy’s leg but felt the sharp, searing agony of steel in his side.

His mind reeled. Being stabbed was… different. Learning magic, getting cut up and scratched by beasts, suspended in the air by a strange force, plunged into the memories of other people, overwhelmed by the strength of an old woman’s aura… each of those things had a place in his fantasy version of the world.

But this was crude. It was a street brawl. He felt hot blood pouring from his side, and the surprised gasps of his attacker. It was like getting mugged. What had he been thinking challenging six armed thugs in the streets? What made him think he’d win?

Bodies flew over him as something magical happened. He heard shouts, and saw people run back and forth. Mostly he felt the pain in his side. He should have gotten up, at least to defend himself if not to keep fighting. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t find himself. His hand was on his wound, but he didn’t remember moving it.

And he didn’t know how to make himself move in any other way.

Was he paralyzed? Maybe he was dying. That would suit. He’d done nothing useful in this world so far, and would die before really getting a chance. He was cold, and he knew that was something that came from bloodloss. Was Faynel okay?

Maybe this would be when he unlocked some kind of new power. That’s how it worked in stories. But he already had powers. He could have used his staff. But he didn’t. He was afraid of causing a fuss. Afraid of using his power. Well, now he wouldn’t have a chance to do so.

At some point his hand fell from his wound into a wet puddle of his blood. He heard shouting, but it was hollow behind the ringing in his ears. His vision had gone a while back, but it had already been poor in the nighttime. Maybe that was why he moved so sloppily.

Something warm touched his face, and there were more shouts.

Then someone poured dirt down his throat and he coughed and spluttered through it. He still felt too weak to move, but he tried to shake it away. It was wet. Muddy. What an awful way to die.

Leornal sat at the edge of Mason’s bed and read from his crystal book. Faynel had fallen asleep long ago, and Leornal really felt that he was missing an opportunity to embarrass her, but he could let that go. Two things had really stood out about Mason. Well, three.

He drew in trouble like a beast to a mana stone, that was certain. Crime was relatively low in The Trials. There was petty thievery, and of course something akin to all out war against the more savage races, but to be mugged and almost killed in an alleyway? That was something special.

The second thing he knew, was that the boy had an uncanny knack for getting people to help him for almost no damned reason at all. Leornal was honest with himself though, he knew that was a fairly personal complaint he had against the boy.

He was an archer, not a rescue specialist. So why had he gone after him when they got separated in the hive? And more to the point, why had he wasted a perfectly fine evening with Councilwoman Leenel to watch her daughter fuss over the boy’s health?

The third thing might explain the second, if he was willing to admit it outright, which he wasn’t. But the boy, the Demon, Mason- he was impressive. He seemed to lack fear to the point of it being a handicap. To hear it from Faynel, he had charged the six of them even before she moved, and almost handled himself well. Almost.

But that’s what health potions were for, and it was lucky that Faynel carried one. By the time Leornal had gotten to them to help, his wounds looked hardly as bad as hers, though the pool of blood was unmistakable.

The old woman was furious, too. Apparently she had taken the two of them on as a pet project, and she didn’t like that they had been attacked so close to her temple. Well, what could she expect? If the woman weren’t the only thing keeping the city of New Marra alive with mana she’d have hell to pay for even considering giving that kind of power to a human.

Old Lady Sorynel. The only one of the great Source Masters to make it into the Trials. One of the last few alive to his knowledge. Not that he had paid much attention to that sort of thing back in his accounting days.

He didn’t like her much. She liked to play games with the people around her, and she hardly played fair. And he knew she didn’t like him much either, but that was because he had made the same mistake as just about everyone he knew and traded the pure, chaotic source magic for the security of spell runes.

But it wasn’t like he was going to follow in Mowrytal’s footsteps. That hadn’t turned out well for him at all. He grunted then as he realized. Both of them somehow ended up helping that human boy. But at least Leornal was alive to experience the real pleasures in life. Pleasures such as the ones Leenel would likely provide after she heard how he had helped her daughter.

He glanced at the girl then, slumped from her chain onto Mason’s bed, head resting against his arm. Vaguely uncomfortable to see her looking like that, especially as he thought about Leenel, he stood and walked from the room, bringing his book with him.

The archer tried to get back into his story, but he was troubled. Most of the city was talking about Mason, and half, if not more than half, of the council considered him a risk. If he hadn’t so publically asked to join Torysen’s Roving Band, he likely would have been shipped off to the Biord’s city by now, even though Sorynel wanted to work with him directly.

To attack him in the streets was foolish, but it said a lot about the state of the city’s thoughts toward Mason. Leornal would have expected something more subtle as a first strike against him. And now that it was known that he could be almost killed by mere ruffians… things didn’t bode well for Mason’s safety.