Humming a popular tune and skipping happily, Violant was on her way to the margravial stables. Today was the day she would accompany Orderic to the inspection of the marketplace. Since a plethora of all kinds of goods from all kinds of origins found its way to the market of Avallach, it was a must that the fief lord had to inspect the trade from time to time as long as matters of the other march didn’t keep him too occupied.

Violant wanted to use the chance to ride out as well. One way or another she had to take a horse because the steep path leading from the castle to the town and market at the foot of the castle hill wasn’t something to traverse by foot so easily.

“Good morning, Huw!” she greeted her horse cheerfully.

A somewhat small but nonetheless beautiful grey horse raised its head from the food trough and snorted disdainfully.

“How often do I have to tell you that my name is Huwcyn, not Huw.” the stallion protested with a dark voice. In fact he was a ceffyl dwr, a water horse. Not just anybody could call such a being her mount. Even for the margraves of Avallach who had tight connections to the otherworld it was an exception within an exception. Huwcyn owed the young Violant his life though and thus swore to repay the life debt a thousand times over. That didn’t change anything about the girl oftentimes stretching the horse’s patience dangerously thin though.

Violant for her part was overjoyed to see her trusty although grumpy companion alive and well. He had lost his life in a surprise attack while shielding her during the civil war. This time she would definitely prevent this from happening, starting from the fact that she wouldn’t be on Gervase’s side this time around.

“Whatever you say, Huw. Whatever you say.” Violant replied “Now get up. Today we’ll visit the marketplace down in town. Believe me; you don’t want to miss this.”

“Fine.” Huwcyn sighed. He was thankful for every time he was able to leave the stables. Although a water horse, he wasn’t directly dependent on the wet element. Instead he hoped for a chance to eat meat. The ceffyl dwr clearly preferred meat compared to greens but the grooms and stable boys partout wouldn’t give him any.

Shortly afterwards the horse was readily saddled but not bridled. The water horse didn’t need any bridle for his rider to tell him where to go. Simple words or tactile gestures when silence was due were enough.

Violant and Huwcyn met Orderic in the castle courtyard. The margrave was riding a white mare.

“Now let’s go.” the somewhat corpulent man ordered before they left the castle through its gates secured with a portcullis.

The marketplace of Avallach was as colorful and lively as ever. People from all places and walks of life imaginable had gotten together here to exchange money, products, goods, and ideas. The place was bustling with life, the accompanying noise correspondingly loud. Wherever people gathered to trade, any purse snatchers, swindlers, and scammers also weren’t far. Thus the feudal lord kept his eyes open for any dishonest act he might witness although the guards of the nearby garrison had the task to uphold civil order.

All important tasks aside, Violant enjoyed her time in town. The first thing she had done after her arrival was going to a food stall to buy grilled meat skewers for Huwcyn and herself. The horse thanked her for the deed since he was starved for meat.

For her outing the girl had chosen a somewhat subdued, simple but elegant dress of a pale green color. Nonetheless she was easily identified by the locals and visitors knowing the place. Her silver eyes gave away her identity very easily after all, not to speak of the typically margravial fire red hair.

As soon as the snack was finished, the girl and her mount made their way to their next destination. It was a place where women normally wouldn’t be found if it wasn’t for urgent business, not to mention noble ladies. Violant, however, was a special case. Her tomboyish nature lead her to exploring places other noble daughters of her age wouldn’t even think of approaching. The place she now went to see was even one of her favorite places in Avallach.

Somewhat aside the restless hustle and bustle of the marketplace there flowed a small but nonetheless quite wild stream, on the town-facing banks of which there stood a small but sturdy looking building. The wind coming from its direction brought the smell of glowing iron, fire, ashes and men’s sweat. Yes, the place Violant wanted to go to was a smithy.

She knew the smithy’s owner since he had arrived together with other refugees from the other march in Avallach five years ago. The margrave had allowed those fellows to settle in his territory and also had given a helping hand to them. Since then the margravial house had its own smith who knew to produce every kind of metalwork imaginable, from kitchen utensils and horseshoes over myriads of tools and military weapons up to furniture fittings and even jewelry. His normal products were objects of daily life though, in addition to weapons comissioned by the garrison and – quite often – Parcie.

Violant had no qualms entering the smithy without asking. She found its owner at the forge he heated with bellows.

“Hello Hanarr.” she greeted, a smile on her face “I’ve come to watch you working again.”

“Fine. Don’t get in my way though.” allowed the smith. Hanarr Filason was a dwarf who had opened a business in accordance with what his kind and especially he himself could do best. He couldn’t just process any kind of metal though but also glass, to give just one example. Just – you mustn’t call him a dwarf. Dwarves in general and Hanarr in particular felt that this name they were given by humans was derogatory, as it was reducing them to nothing more than their diminutive build. Calling somebody a dwarf wasn’t any better than calling somebody a midget after all. They preferred to be called underjordiske, subterraneans, a name they used for themselves owed to their subterranean dwellings and lifestyle in the other march.

Hanarr himself looked like the perfect dwarf just like people imagined them. He was a small man, not taller than a six years old child, but a sturdy and broad-shouldered fellow whose thick upper arms spoke volumes about the physically challenging work of a smith. His head nearly completely bald, he instead had a long and bushy dark grey beard covering all of his face beneath the big bulbous nose. Two small grey-blue eyes beneath two bushy eyebrows critically examined his own handiwork. The leather gloves and leather apron the dwarf wore while forging were already indescribably dirtied with ashes and metal remnants. Not that it seemed to bother the craftsman though.

Violant loved to observe how Hanarr’s skillful hands were able to transform a misshapen or unremarkable piece of iron (or any other metal for that matter) into an object filled with practicality or artistic sense nobody would have thought to be hidden in the raw material from before. It didn’t matter if the final product was a sewing needle, a spearhead or a filigree. The smith created them all with the same amount of devotion and care, and that, so Violant thought, was, in all its crudeness, an extremely beautiful sight. The hot and sticky atmosphere didn’t seem to bother the noble lady even a little bit.

“Well, I think I should return to the marketplace now.” Violant declared “Always interesting to observe your work.”

Thus she bid farewell and rode back after what appeared to be just a short moment of time. The girl had come with the purpose of inspecting the marketplace and it surely wasn’t right to shirk her own responsibilities just so she could do some visits and observations.

The closer Violant and Huwcyn came to the marketplace, the more they felt that something was wrong. The atmosphere seemed restless but it wasn’t the busy kind of restlessness normally found but rather a panicky, distraught kind of restlessness.

Additionally, the young girl could sense alarming irregularities in the flow of magic power around her. In fact her magic aptitude had significantly risen since her return in time. No matter how much of her amassed sealed magic power had been used up to make this nearly impossible feat possible, what was left of it after returning still was enough to raise the mediocre amount of magic coursing through her veins by almost six times, promptly catapulting her at the top of the magic users in the kingdom, at least concerning raw magic aptitude. Violant could count herself lucky that she was able to keep this suddenly soaring magic potential in check. It was better not to think about the disaster that would have happened if she hadn’t been able to.

The whole marketplace appeared to be in disorder. As far as the eye could see there were people fleeing heedlessly, merchants hurriedly bundling together their goods, and miscreants planning to use the confusion to enrich themselves with things that didn’t belong to them.

Violant and the ceffyl dwr had a hard time striving against the stream, but when they finally reached the epicenter of the mess, they found themselves eye to eye with an unexpected danger.