Autumn’s splendor was well behind them, and the snorting horses were now trudging dully through the fields of the Northern Bernts, labored by carts and wagons, stretched out behind them. Even at the edge of his land, Lord Imgrint’s mark was clearly visible on every pole and sign Cos and his company passed.

Around them, the plants and trees were withering solemnly on their half-frozen earth. They had grown and blossomed, spread and risen through the spring’s thaw, summer’s warmth, and fall’s rain. They had worked hard, and lived harder. But now, as the winter slowly clamped its maw shut upon the land, everything was tired and ready to die.

It relaxed Cos, to hear the sound of creaking wood and whipping vines, all brought to life once more by the harsh wind, lashing about with crackling frost. To know that he could simply wrap himself in thick blankets for the night, to shield against the mischievous breeze.

Now, too, he sat huddled comfortably inside a wagon, covered by a white tarp. But Cos knew that on the road, things don’t always go as you expect them. The weather could worsen, a storm could swoop in, a horse might trip and injure itself. After all, you have to be realistic about these things.

He heard the soft taps of boots as they hit the cart’s wood with light ticks. He turned himself to the right, tired eyes opened to a crack, and saw his sister sitting on the end of the cart’s planks, legs swinging at the rhythm of her humming.

Her slender body was outlined against dawn’s rosy blanket, hung across the lazy sky. Her hair was black as pitch. It was a curtain of purest midnight and it shimmered in the morning’s white sun. It had never been cut, and easily reached past her waist, treading boldly in the territory of precariousness.

Cos found himself staring at it as he listened to her gentle humming, glad it was the first thing he witnessed at day’s break. He knew to be quiet. If she sang, it was only because she did not realize it herself. If she caught herself doing it, she would abruptly stop and sink into silence which could last for quite some time.

But Cos was lucky, because all her focus was directed at a bound book, resting in her tender hands. Curious, he leaned forward, trying to see which one it was.

The cart hit a rock, and Cos’ hand slipped and caused him to fall without any sense of grace, face-first onto the hard surface of the wood. His sister turned around at the sound, and saw her brother sprawled between crates and boxes, meekly looking up at her clear-cut emerald eyes.

“Mornin’” he said sheepishly, slowly untangling himself from the mass of blankets, wrapping him in some form of cocoon. He heard her giggle softly at his antics, and became slightly ashamed. Making a fool out of yourself in front of his little sister was not the first thing on Cos’ list for that day.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked quietly while once again focusing on her precious book. The remnants of a smile still tickled the corners of her lips.

“Yes” Cos answered, now having raised himself into a seated position, leaned against the side of their family’s wagon. “What about you, Syn?”

“Good” she said, simply. Her fingers gingerly moved across the spine of her leathern book. Her eyes were glazed, completely absorbed by black letters written along yellow paper.

Books weren’t cheap, but their family were traders, and they always had a number of reading material with them on their journeys. It was mostly Syn who read them, though. Anything from handbooks and novels to history and bestiaries. She would greedily devour anything she could get her tender hands on.

“So, is it any good?” Cos asked, grabbing a piece of stale bread from one of the jute bags.

“Huh, did you say something?” Syn asked as she tore her gaze away the text. Cos frowned slightly as he tore through his food with some effort.

“The book. How is It?” He repeated, some crumbs falling down his shirt. Her eyes lit up, and they shimmered like a day of spring, drowning Cos in their green brilliance.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, shifting herself towards Cos. “It’s the story of how emperor Phallias met the Lady Of The Night and came in the possession of his blade; Endring.” Cos scoured the vast library inside his brain, holding all the fables and legends that Syn had told him about before, and those which he had found himself.

“Ah. ‘She swallowed burning coals’, right?” He guessed, remembering Rondel’s poem about the event. She nodded furiously, her hands grasping the edges of the paper.

“That’s it!” She said, loud and exited. Her eyes drifted away, as if searching for something in her mind. Cos laughed to watch her.

“No, don’t worry. I heard that story when you were too young to remember anything. The only reason I still know of it is because I found myself quite captivated by the story.” Cos admitted, downing the last piece of bread with a mouthful of water.

Syn’s smile grew warmer still, as her gaze went back to the lettering.

“To forge a weapon of that power, simply by eating one blade and spitting out another… I wonder how it feels to be that strong.” She sighed dreamfully. “Makes me think what it would take to reach that level.”

Cos remembered it quite well. The lady of the night had been described as a tall woman of young age, to have true golden hair, equally golden eyes, and two abys black horns are said to sprout from the sides of her head, warping around to form a crown. It comes as little surprise that Phallias had first mistaken her for a monster, breathtaking and terrifying as she was told to be.

“Well, she’s a god after all” Cos pointed out. “Humans, such as we are, can never achieve that pinnacle of power. To create a weapon that annihilated hundreds of wicked with a single slash, to level mountains and split the sea… We must be happy to light a single candle wick without the help of crystals.” Cos chuckled.

“I know.” Syn said soberly. “I still like to-”

“Shhh!” Cos hushed her while raising his hand. He heard fast hooves, crushing the dirt road. He stood up and carefully walked to the front of the cart, moving the flap away so he could see the up ahead. Three riders, holding the banner of lord Imgrint, were galloping towards them.

He heard his father stop the horses, pulling the merchant’s caravan to a halt. Cos looked at the guards that rode with them, and saw their hand to be placed on the hilt of their blades.

“Why are they on edge?” Syn asked, baffled. “Aren’t we on good terms with Lord Imgrint?”

“That’s right. But it wouldn’t be the first time bandits dressed themselves up to rob unsuspecting travelers.” He said restlessly, keeping his eye on the approaching men. They were now close enough for Cos to see chainmail reflecting light, and weapons hanging by their waist.

“And even if they work for Lord Imgrint, that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try swindling some extra coin from us.” Cos had known it to have happened before. His knuckles whitened at the mere memory of it.

“They wouldn’t!” Syn objected, large eyes staring unbelievingly at him. Cos swallowed, tearing his gaze away from those pools of endless green. His hand felt the grip of his dagger, placed inside his coat. The heartless metal sobered him up.

“They would.” he said scornfully. “humans will do anything if they benefit from it. If you want to remember one thing, and one thing only, then remember that. You have to be realistic about these things.” Syn loved her books and stories, and Cos loved her because of it all the more so. But it had made her biased, and naïve. It worried Cos that her gullibility might one day get her into trouble.

“State your business!” their father called out, a trace of wariness to his voice, but still polite in that tell-tale merchant tune.

The trio slowed down to a walking pace when they neared. Their weapons remained sheathed, but their expressions were hard. It boded no good news, that much Cos could tell. He felt Syn inch closer to him, her hand clutching the hem of his well-worn coat. It made him somewhat feel bad about scaring her like that, but it was for the greater good.

“There’s a thief on the run.” The first rider says, looking over the convoy nervously. “Stole some horses and –” he paused when he noticed Syn, and then stared at her with an odd look in his eyes. Cos didn’t like it one bit. Dagger half drawn.

“And?” His father pried, redirecting the man’s attention.

“And some valuables,” he continued hastily, “A cart, two horses, and a number of items loaded upon it. Two people riding. You’ve seen anything?”

“Two? Didn’t you say there was one thief?” Cos asked, skeptically. The riders briefly glanced at each other, shifting in their saddles.

“I know what I said boy. If you haven’t seen anything like that pass, then they must be on the road through Kappyln.” He turned his horse round, spurring it firmly in the sides. “Come, men, let’s go. We’ll need to catch them, as we all know what failure means.” He gave them a meaningful look.

With a last peek at Syn over his shoulder, the three riders set of, pushing their foaming horses hard. His father set his own in motion as well, when the riders were a good distance away. The guards relaxed, and so did Syn and Cos. His hand was white from gripping the blade, and as he looked at it, he realized what a fool he was.

Even with the dagger, Cos knew he couldn’t have done anything. He was only fifteen turns old, armed with nothing but a short knife against three armed, trained soldiers in service of the biggest landowner in the Northern part of Ansein. He felt stupid and powerless.

In some situations, no matter what you do, or how hard you try, you just can’t make a difference. You have to be realistic about these things.