“We’ve barely begun, knight,” Ophiel said under his breath. “All of you, to me!”

The young men and women looked to each other however, instead of responding immediately. Wild distress manifested in Ophiel’s bloodshot eyes.

“Fine!” He said. “I’ll deal with you myself!”

Edeard closed the distance in the blink of an eye and thrust his fist into the young man’s stomach. Ophiel fell to the ground, retching, gasping for air. Then he fell silent, but his chest rose ever so subtly.

“Help these people back on their feet and go home,” Edeard announced. “Do this and I will forget your faces.”

That motivated them to work. While the ropes were untied and the prisoners brought back upright, Edeard pulled out the sketch to double check. He held out a hand to Alanei. She grabbed it uncertainly and pulled herself to her feet.

“Go home,” Edeard said. “Your father’s looking for you.”

“How do you know my father?” She asked warily.

“He threatened me to go look for you and bring you home.”

Alanei cursed. Her father had threatened a lawman to do his bidding. What did that mean once this was all over?

As if reading her thoughts, Edeard said, “Don’t worry about it. This city will return to normal soon.” He held out a hand, catching the sleet in his palm.

“But… my father did something incredibly illegal.”

“I’m quitting my post after I return to palace,” Edeard said.

“I’m going with you,” Alanei said. “I need to speak to the Lord Mayor and Lord Jace. I want to be a part of the process. So this doesn’t happen again.”

“I’ll help,” Ayden said, stepping forward.

Edeard squinted.

“Who are you?”

“I uh- I’m a thief, one of the first recruits into this thing. I know how the real enemies, the ones who brought in those weapons, got inside our city. I can help patch up these holes in our security.”

“Not out of the goodness of your heart, no doubt,” Edeard said.

“In exchange for amnesty. For my… earlier pursuits.”

“Of course.”

“Look mister knight, I just needed money for my family. My sister already works too much.”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Ayden.”

Edeard’s brow flicked up.

“Small city,” he said. “I’ll let you all come with me. But I can’t promise I can protect you if these men I heard of are still he—” His ears perked. Somewhere by the canals there was fighting. He broke off into a run.

--

Jorge had heard a shrill scream somewhere near the canals that ran through the city. An oddly familiar cry. He sprinted towards it and found two family faces. June’s tiny, struggling form slung over a man his size. The same bandit leader he had fought near the Heldrazi Forest. The same person he had lost quite handily against.

He did not hesitate to jump down to the docks to confront them however. The leader turned towards him in surprise.

“Funny how we meet the same people in such different places,” he remarked.

“Let her go,” Jorge said.

“He speaks. You were quite taciturn when we first met. Listen, friend. This doesn’t concern you. Go back t—”

Jorge walked over to the boats and began swinging his axe. Wood splintered. Water poured through the holes. The boats began to sink. There were more behind the men, however, but now they had less options. The men looked more impressed than shocked.

“You’re not afraid I’d hurt your friend?” The leader said.

“She’s more dangerous than all of us,” Jorge said.

“Not right now, she isn’t.”

“It’s the lantern!” June screamed. “Get the—” A hand grabbed her throat, squeezing tight. She coughed and sputtered.

“Hey! Stop it!” Jorge shouted. He ran forward, but didn’t make it more than four steps before the men formed a blockade between him and their leader. He took on the first enemy with an animalistic roar, smashing his axe through the man’s guard with ease. The foe fell away to the right. A blade thrust from the left. Jorge tilted his body so the edge ricocheted off the scales of his cloak. He countered with a thrust to the attacker’s stomach with the top of his axe, pushing him into the river. The others stormed him, all trying to get around to his back, but Jorge wouldn’t let them. He swung wide and dispatched anyone who made it too far to this side. More men splashed into the water. Others fell against the basin wall, their heads swinging back and making a pop sound against the brick.

“Everyone stop,” the leader said. He tossed June to one of his men to carry. They quickly gagged her and began to board the boat.

“No!” Jorge shouted.

“Round two.” The leader charged.

Jorge only knew how to use his strength. His swings were strong, precise, but they were predictable. His opponent redirected each swing with ease, leading each strike away with the tip of his bastard sword. The boat was taking off; Jorge was about to lose June. Frustrated, angry, Jorge threw himself at the man after another miss. His shoulder threw the man into an unsteady few steps back. A moment of instability. He raised his axe overhead and swung down with all his weight.

Steel flashed, twirling in an instant in the leader’s hand. It happened too fast for Jorge to react to. The man had flipped his sword, holding onto the edge with both of his hands. As Jorge’s swing cut through the air, the leader swung the pommel of his sword onto the flat of the axe. While momentum carried Jorge forward, the leader stepped to the side, stopping inches away from Jorge. He could count the scratches and scars on the man’s face. The man smiled, his grip on his sword tensed, aiming up between Jorge’s ribs.

Jorge cried out, stumbling back. His axe was left embedded on the ground. He checked his chest. The wound wasn’t deep. But it should have been. The thrust had been aimed at his heart. He looked up and saw his opponent disarmed as well and similarly confused. Another combatant descended onto the canal port in front of him, dressed in official Ralagastii attire.

“I certainly hope I helped the right side in this dispute,” Edeard said. He nodded at the leader. “You there, what are you doing with that priestess?”

“You have no employer anymore, knight. Best go your own way. Our work is long finished.”

“Sure. Let the girl go.” Edeard brandished his rapier. A Spell licked the edge in sharp, blue waves.

Jorge walked forward cautiously. He raised a hand, retreated, then finally decided to shove the knight’s pauldron. Edeard shot him an annoyed glance.

“What are you doing? Pick up your weapon!” He said.

Jorge looked him up and down, mouth slightly ajar. Edeard squinted.

“Is your head on right?” He asked. “Pick up your axe!”

“Eddy?” Jorge said. He switched to English. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Edeard forgot his stance, his rapier lowered.

“Jorge…? Why are you not fat?”

“That’s your first thought?!”

“Are you real? Are you actually here right now?”

“You’re employed?”

“You look so weird without a protruding belly. I can actually see your cheek bones too what the hell?”

The leader picked up his sword and sheathed it.

“Looks like I’m interrupting something,” he said. “My men are going to leave without me so—”

Jorge broke his axe free from the ground and raised it. Edeard returned to his stance, refreshing his Spell.

“We need to save the girl,” Jorge said. He could still see the boat. They had time, so long as they dispatched this man quickly enough. “She’s a friend.”

“Right,” Edeard said. “On three. Together. One…”