Chp 7

Hamblin's gates are not exciting. Quinn worked his ass off for years trying to get the gate guard's cush position after years as a merc. Now, he rested his arms across his beer belly and watched the clouds. A shout carried to the front of the line and brought him back to reality. Most days, he could watch the clouds and drink the nights away.

Rarely was there cause for there to be an officer at the gate. That is rare unless there was a large group like the caravan in front of him. Quinn glanced at the guards trying to get a headcount. The entire group was on the guard captain's blacklist for some early morning drinks. Amateurs. Any competent person would have set a watch to wake everyone else up.

This was usually a good gig as the shifts only took a part of the day, and after a few years, nobody cared what you did in your off time. He was one of the two sergeants on shift, and they were both veterans, true blood slackers with no reason to care other than their drinking money.

Quinn spat to the side, seeing one of the newbies step on a tail. Occasionally they did have to unsheath their blades and earn their keep. It seemed like this morning was going to be one of those days. This caravan was returning from Karth, and corralling them for the entrance fee was taxing their patience. But they weren't what was putting everyone on edge.

That was the Sanmey boys. Officer Riley chewed his fingernail next to him. A bit shorter than average and inexperienced to boot. Thanks, Turner, Quinn muttered under his breath, cursing the guard captain. It wasn't fair to blame him for the caravan showing up, but why was he getting punished too?

Officer Riley put down the paper he was reading and looked up, "Are you sure that is the smith family? I cannot see what would drive them to look like that."

"Bandits. Goblins. Maybe they got lost," Quinn replied. "Definitely them, though. Antel's the biggest man in the city. He's at the armory pretty often." Officer Riley glared at Quinn expectantly. "...Sir?"

The petty Officer nodded, and Quinn bit back a groan. It's the guard, not the army. Not that you would make it there. Riley walked off and Quinn went back to pretending to stare at the clouds, waiting for the inevitable. Adventurers were always trouble. It only got worse if they became good at their jobs.

* * * * *

Riley knew he was good at his job. He tried to focus on the ledger in front of him. There was so much to do to get these civilians through the gate. And his two sergeants just kept cloud watching. At least Sergeant Tomas would remember to address him correctly. His legs were really getting a workout, walking up and down the caravan line checking on the various goods the caravan lead was telling him about. He knew his regulations and stopped the city guards and caravan guards from fighting over what to report. He was good at his job.

A few more hours and he'd sit down and get a nice cold drink. Maybe the girl from this morning would like him better when he wasn't wearing leather? Shuffling his papers, he sat at the desk set by the gate and began processing the documents. Could it wait? Sure but then he would have to do it later and-

Shouting carried over the sound of the livestock. He groaned. This would be so much easier if it wasn't for them.

A giant of a man and his two sons stood with him. Riley knew he was glaring, but they were arguing loud enough to hear them wagons away. And they tried to cut the line! Sanmey? I've never seen them at the city balls. They are common at best.

He really should have arrested them. Sergeant Quinn doesn't seem to really understand who is who anyway. They look more like bandits than the worst off in the walls. But Riley was a focused man. He would get the caravan through and deal with the rabble after.

The Sanmeys' shouting got louder and the crowd quieter. It seemed like the whole line was listening. When it got loud enough to make out the words, Riley's vast well of mercy and concentration went out the window. A ripping sound caught his attention; his pen ripped through his paper. If my guards don't stop it, I will.

* * * * *

"I would have been fine! If you were not seen, we could have ambushed them!" Jackson said, grabbing his brother's arm and trying to twist it behind his back. Oblivious to the effect his words were having on the people around them.

Daryl just shoved his older brother away. "Oh well, forgive me for not spending my days rolling around in the dirt as you do. We can see who came out of it better!" Daryl snapped and poked at his brother's bandaged shoulder.

Jackson's yell was less about pain and more anger, "Stop that! You nearly got brained by that first goblin and were shaking in your boots before I stepped in. If it was not for me stepping in front of you, you would be the one wearing rags!"

"That's not saying much at this point," the traveler behind them quipped. He and his travel companions were all standing a more than reasonable distance back, wrinkling their noses. "You should go dunk yourselves in the river."

All three men knew they were disgusting, but there was little they could do about it. Their hair was grimy and unkempt. Their clothes were stained with dark splotches. They were forced to rip up Jackson's spare shirt to use as bandages for his burns. Antel knew his wife would be appalled, but the two of them were in worse straits in their adventuring days. A bit of hygiene and life would be peachy.

Hygiene and food, that is. Then life would be great.

Antel forced his boys to at least try washing in the lake before they left. While they could get most of the blood out of their clothes, road dust had a way of trapping in smells you didn't want to be associated with. Two days of travel marinated the sweat and black gore. The result was eye-watering. Sure didn't help that the goblins stole their packs while they were fishing all day. Hunting them down reminded him of his early days with his wife. Granted, he'd never had the soap eaten out of his pack. He added yet one more reason to hate goblins.

The Sanmey boys were used to the stares, towering over everyone their age. While he still had a few feet on his sons, they were already the size of adult humans and growing beside. Serabelle thought they would both be as tall as Antel, even with her shorter family lineage. He hoped so.

All three men carried a fishing rod with the tips turned into nasty spearheads. Antel was proud of that, actually. Using metal thread for fish was a trick he picked up a long time ago. It was fortunate that he brought that along to use his metal magic to form a spear tip out of it was easy enough and effective for his two sons. Again he promised the Goddess to try to find a way to awaken them. Jackson's 16th birthday was coming up, but he would be awakened through the Guild anyways.

It was Daryl that Antel really had to worry about. Seeing him literally rip the arms off the goblin shaman that fried Jackson's blindside was eye-opening. Those muscles aren't for show. But without magic or true love for smithing, Daryl would not have a future at the forge. He eyed his boys, remembering his wife's words to see them for who they are. Pride filled his chest. They'd be alright.

Their family, much less strangers, would believe they were more akin to bandits than guys trying to go fishing. The obvious physical differences just furthered irritated the situation. Assumptions were bound to run wild. Logically it made sense. But logic went out the door when they got to the lake and realized they didn't have half the supplies they thought they had.

Antel was getting frustrated with the people around them and knew his boys were outright angry. But, like a good family, they didn't take out their frustration on others instead venting on each other.

The group behind them took their silence as encouragement. Way to kick while we're down. "Do you need directions? I'm sure the guard would be happy to show you. If you need help getting in, I think we can spare the time."

Antel looked at the men behind them and just shook his head sadly. He spread his arms out to the sides, "I tried the river, but goblin stench is only removed with soap. After weeks of travel, we were forced to eat ours. Each step praying we would find food around the next bend in the road. Surely you could spare yours?" He made sure to flex his arms and let loose a ball of mana. Normal people could kind of feel mana. It acted like an aura when released. The rude man would feel like Antel just stepped into his personal space.

The heckler involuntarily stepped back into his group. He said something to them laughed too loudly. Antel nodded at them and turned back to his sons, who were staring at him, "Neither of you would have survived alone. That brute of a hobgoblin outclassed both of you put together!"

He blinked as he felt both of his sons turning their ire onto him. Belatedly he remembered their first night traveling. Take one second to piss, and suddenly it's his fault that their tent burned down. Sheesh, let it go. The stars are good for your skin.

* * * * *

Sergeant Quinn felt like he already did his good deed of the day. His momma would be proud. Waving down Officer Riley really saved the man a lot of headaches. He didn't try to imagine the work if they should arrest them.

The squirrelly Officer sat at a desk trying to focus on what the caravan's ledger was saying but kept glancing down the wagons. The young man's iron grip on his pen made deeper and deeper scratches on the paper, and it was only a matter of time until the pen punched through. Riley stood up and slammed both hands on the table. The merchant tried to catch the ink well, but Riley's eyes were locked on the Sanmeys.

The Quinn wriggled his eyebrows at his buddy and mouthed, "Watch this." He followed his officer down the caravan.

The entire line grew quiet seeing them walk by. All trying to avoid the trouble about to befall the stinking men. The only people who hadn't caught onto the terse atmosphere were the instigators, rolling around in the dirt like children. Officer Riley stalked up to the three of them, ready to rip them a new one. He faltered when the three didn't stop talking or even notice his approach.

Quinn smirked to himself as the man tried coughing a couple times. That failed, and he said-then yelled, "Excuse me!" Antel was pressed into the ground on his stomach. It took both his sons holding his arms and sitting on him to keep him down. Their packs and fishing pole-spears haphazardly tossed around them. Quinn eyed the fishing gear. For hooking then stabbing? Smart.

"What are you doing?" Riley screamed. Quinn held back a snigger. The Officer meant it to sound commanding, like the guard captain catching new recruits playing grab-ass, but Riley just sounded whiny. Not a good look.

Jackson and Daryl let go of Antel's arms and stood up. Antel just sat up, rubbing his shoulder. Even sitting down, the man nearly came up to Riley's chest. The younger one was the first to speak after Jackson shoved him, "Hey… We're just resolving some family stuff. Is it our turn to go in? Sure is taking a while."

Jackson punched him, "Officer, we killed some goblins and we were reviewing strategies for taking down hobgoblins. Father here is obviously the hob. I am Jackson Sanmey. This is my brother Daryl and our father, Smith Antel Sanmey." He gestured at the man sitting behind them. Quinn winced at seeing one side of their father's face coated in the dirt and rubble stuck in his beard. Not the best impression for clean-shaven Officer Riley with his custom boots and weekly haircuts.

It certainly won't help that Riley somehow doesn't recognize the name Sanmey. Only Quinn's word that they were smiths kept Riley from arresting them when they walked up. Quinn knew how he seemed to the spic and span officer. In fact, he'd recognize that it was a stretch for a "smithing family" to brawl in the middle of a street. What smith would look like this?

Quinn knew the Sanmeys were once a name in Merch. For them to fall to street tussles… well, it felt good to see that they didn't all act high and mighty. In another life, maybe I will end up a crafter. A cloud passed over the sun, and he realized he was zoning off again.

"...Your manner does not represent the civilized men inside these walls. Where are your papers of identification proving you live here? If you do not have them, we will search you and hold your weapons and belongings until you return with the appropriate paperwork. Right now, you will leave the line and stand off to the side until we are done processing everyone else," Riley was saying.

Quinn cursed. He was sure that Riley was already patting his own back. The officer turned to him, "This will solve the problem of people getting distracted by them and force them to respect the regulations put forth by the city. Additionally, if they are actually members of the Sanmey Smithing family, they wouldn't want to disgrace their name now that they have publicly acknowledged it." Riley turned around and began signaling to Quinn's squad to pull them off the road.

Quinn prayed he wouldn't join Riley on the altar Captain Turner would sacrifice Riley on.

"Nah."

Boots and leather froze in motion. The word held no magic that Quinn knew, and there would be no trace of mana in it. The Sanmey's iron will made itself known and informed everyone on how things would proceed. As one, the guards just turned to their officer, who stopped with his back turned to them all.

When Quinn told the story later, he said, "Riley tried to walk away all cool but ended up looking the kid who tried to grope an ass and found a mooseknuckle instead."

Officer Riley plastered a grin on his face as he turned around, "What was that?"

The big man had a smile too, but he looked like a wolf. "I said 'Nah.' It is slang for 'no,'" the big man explained as though talking to a child. "No, I am not going to wait for these fine folk to pass us and let you play your little power game. When did you even begin searching through a citizen's belongings? My sons and I are going home. Want our stuff? Sure. There are goblin ears enough to rival your paycheck. Not a bribe. Just cannot go home with it. My little daughter is waiting."

Officer Riley watched the man stand up, and his eyes followed him up, seeming to just be realizing how tall the Sanmey are. Antel stood almost a meter taller than the average man. Antel tossed his pack and fishing rod on the ground in front of him. His two sons followed suit. Riley spluttered but put a hand on his sword hilt, "I am Officer Riley, and I command you-"

"Nope. You can't. You're a city guard," Antel interrupted. "I dare you to try drawing your sword on a citizen. Much less, on me." With that, he began walking towards the gate. Quinn grimaced. So it has come to this. Quinn wondered if the man walking toward them was a bandit. He could play the part of a bandit lord well. Idly he watched Riley take a defensive stance. Dumbass.

Riley tried to lunge and draw his sword and in one motion. Even as he stepped, Quinn saw something was wrong. The man's sword never cleared his scabbard. The officer just ended up stumbling and fumbling with his scabbard like a rookie. Quinn's time as a merc told him that the sword was stuck fast in the sheath. A shadow passed over the officer, and Quinn drew his sword partway, ready to step in.

The officer looked up to see the giant passing him. He flinched but Antel walked by without striking him. As if he wasn't even a threat.

The man's two sons both followed, seemingly carefree. The younger ones at least gave an apologetic smile. Quinn watched Riley's brain smoke and hoped this would be the end. It caught up before Riley's bandits made it to the gate. "Do not let them through! Arrest them!"

Sergeant Quinn sighed but jogged up to the men.

Jackson recognised Quinn as he spent a number of days doing Guild training going back and forth through the wall. He waved, "Sergeant Quinn, how is it going?"

"Not bad, Jackson! Though I do have orders to not let you through the gate. Fancy a wager? A duel against Sergeant Tomas there?" the older guard pointed to the other sergeant on duty. Tomas glared at Quinn.

"Sure!" the boy quipped. "Guild rules or first blood?"

Quinn led them off the road to the grass. "Guild rules. Tomas, hope you don't mind me throwing you under the wagon."

The other man waved him down, "I was getting bored anyway. Seems like today was fated for some excitement."

"Right? This was supposed to be a relaxing day." Quinn complained, glimpsing Riley, who was fiddling with a necklace. "Here is the wager: if you can beat Sergeant Tomas here, we have to let you in. He is stronger than me, and I doubt Officer Riley is going to get his sword unstuck if magic was involved. It might have to be fast because Riley just activated the emergency call and Captain Turner will be here soon. Truly this is all a ploy to get you out of my hair and into his."

Antel blew out his cheeks. "Whatever. Turner owes me. The guard owes me and my family."

Riley finally made it over with a full squad standing behind him. "You there! Sanmey! What did you do to my sword!"

The big man just shushed him. "Hold on, I am watching the fight. Jackson, are you sure you do not want a weapon?" Shushed him! Quinn would be drinking tonight for sure.

"I accepted the duel without one, so using one would be wrong. Even if Tomas there would let me," Jackson nodded to his opponent, who shook his head and flourished his blade.

Quinn made eye contact with the two of them and began, "If you win, you walk; if you lose, we take you in for investigation. The duel begins… Three, two, one… Go!"

He smiled as Tomas did not hesitate to rush the younger man. With a sword and shield, there was little an unarmed opponent should be able to do. Quinn saw that Riley watched the giant, waiting to see if he would do any more magic and cheat for his son. Thus, he almost missed seeing Tomas slash his very real and very lethal blade at Jackson's neck. Quinn blanched. Killing the giant's son was not an excellent way to keep his evening plans.

Jackson dropped below the blade at the last second. Nearly parallel to the ground, Jackson's hand snaked out and punched the guard's sword arm at the elbow before he could recover. Tomas stepped back, trying to create space. He dropped into the high shield with his sword peaking around the right side.

A robust defensive posture should have allowed the guard to safely counterattack while staying fully protected. But Jackson didn't let him get the space he needed to utilize the reach of his sword. The Sanmey boy was like a mosquito sticking to the guard's shield side and constantly shoulder-checking or kicking it. It made it seem Tomas's blade was out of position for the whole fight. Solid and fast for his age. Quinn guessed the boy to be nearly an adult, maybe 15 or 16. No older, though if the scrap of fur on his face was any indication.

He wasn't sure who he wanted to win the bout and hoped that Turner would show up before it finished. The duel gave both sides immunity to hitting each other, citizens or not. But it didn't look good for guards to beat civilians. Then again, Jackson was keeping up despite not having a weapon.

Tomas couldn't find a rhythm, but when he did, the duel would be over. Jackson's speed was surprising, but nothing he couldn't counter with the reach in his blade. A slip or missed hit on the shield would be the end of the duel for the boy. On the other hand, Tomas had protection to rely on if he made a mistake or wanted to play things slowly.

So why did Quinn feel like Jackson was holding back? He was smiling the same as when he came in the gates every morning after the Guild's training run.

Tomas began to push forward again, using his sword to chop at Jackson's legs. While the city would pay for the boy's healing, Tomas was really not holding back with his swings. He glanced at Antel next to him, willing the sweat on his brow to dissipate in the breeze. To his shock, the man was grinning widely.

The giant must have seen his look and answered an upspoken question, "I made that word. Actually, I make most of the swords the guard uses. With your officer's, I fused the blade to the sheath. You will need to file the proper paperwork with the armory to requisition a new one. It is a good fight, though. Your sergeant needs to work on his footwork."

"His footwork?" Quinn asked. Tomas's footwork was high-grade. He took deliberate steps and was light on his feet as far as Quinn could tell.

"Nah. It would be good but watch Jackson's when he blocks. That is what Jackson is waiting for. My wife taught him that."

Quinn didn't see what he meant. Then Jackson seemed to speed up again. He punched into Tomas's shield then rolled with it to avoid Tomas's swing. Jackson lunged backward and a bit of space formed for the first time between the combatants. Tomas pushed forward into it, thinking it an opening. Jackson laughed and kicked out with a foot like lightning. It cracked against the hardwood shield and the shield crashed into Tomas' knee. The man went down in a clatter of leather and steel.

Jackson seemed to melt on top of Tomas. A brief struggle and Tomas was disarmed and within moments, he was sleeping in a chokehold.

"That's enough!" Quinn barked out, chuckling despite himself. He spared a glance for Riley, but the man was looking at the gate forlornly. "Jackson Sanmey is the winner."

Antel clapped him on the shoulder, "Come visit the smithy if you want something nice for a discount."

Quinn walked them to the gate and settled in to wait for the Captain to arrive. The whole fight took less than five minutes, so they'd be here soon. A rookie dropped off the packs by his feet, and Tomas sat down next to him a minute later. The sweat pouring off him.

"You're all sweaty," Quinn stated.

"Kid's good. You knew that?"

"Adventuring guild runs every day."

"Goddes' blight you, Quinn. Warn me next time. Thought he was just a smithing apprentice."

"So why did you go for his throat?"

"Saw his eyes when I ran at him."

"What did you see?"

They turned when boots on pavement drew their attention inside the walls. Captain Turner was arriving. "Shit. He brought everyone. I am screwed."

"No, we have your back. Riley played stupid games and will get his reward."

"Thanks," Quinn said gruffly.

The first squads to arrive were sent out to "secure a perimeter," and Quinn directed them toward Riley. He shrugged when they asked what happened. The squad leaders frowned at him but walked off all the same.

A few minutes went by before Tomas spoke, "I looked in his eyes and saw him standing over me. Like no matter what I did, I would not touch him." Quinn didn't know what to say to that.

"Some people are just built different," he managed, feeling stupid as he said it.

Tomas just nodded as if it made sense and they watched the caravan slowly become outnumbered by the guards milling about. Quinn noticed Tomas stand quickly. He followed Tomas's example and snapped to attention, saluting Captain Turner as he approached.

"You," he pointed to Quinn, "get me Officer Riley. You, tell me why you have grass stains on your breastplate and your hair is a mess. Is there a reason you are sweating in the shade?"

Quinn jogged off with a crisp, "Yes, sir!" He ran a bit faster than usual, happy he was not in the line of fire. When he returned, he wasn't all that surprised to see nearly a hundred goblin ears laying on the ground in front of the Sanmeys' empty packs. Captain Turner was frowning, but somehow it seemed like a smile.

Riley was on his knees with a vacant expression. He clutched his precious papers to his chest for whatever comfort they could give him. They wouldn't save him from Turner's wrath.