“So you never met your aunt then?” asked the young employee with sleek blond hair named Frank as he led them through a broad alleyway lined with richly decorated houses.

“Yeah, I mean uncle did send us an invitation, but father said the road was too hectic or something. He said it would be dangerous to travel.” Arban nodded. “Excuses I say.”

“No, that’s not it,” Frank said. With a flourish of his hands he explained, “that time when the master got married, the defeated rebel forces went into hiding wherever they could. They were looting and pillaging the unprotected villages and roads up until the queen sent out her armies to quell them. So you can say the roads really were dangerous.”

Arban said in a careless voice, “How hard can defeating a few rebels be? Just feed them to the crocodiles. Just like we did on the road here.”

“What do you mean? What did you do on the road?” Frank asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just sent some ban- OUCH!” Arban cried out as Erhan suddenly stepped on his foot. “Hey, watch it old man! If I stumbled you’d also fall on the stone and break to pieces.”

“We are here,” Frank said, stopping in front of the spacious front garden of a big two-storied gothic style house. A thin, wiry old man worked in the garden, with a pair of long garden scissors. His bald pate shone like a bronze mirror in the sun.

“Old Gaffey!” Frank hollered at him. As the man looked up from his gardening, Frank pointed at Arban and said, “Inform the mistress Gaffey, it’s the master’s nephew. He’s come from the town.”

“Oh! The nephew of the master!” the man sprang up so fast, Erhan thought his spine might break. “I- I’m going to inform the sir.” He made for the door of the house.

“Wait, Gaffey,” Frank stopped him. “Come and open the gate first. Do you want to keep us outside?”

“Oh, yes yes, open the door!” he bobbed his head as he turned around and hurried to them. He took out a key from his pocket and opened the arching iron gates in front of them.

“Not the best security in the world. It’s a wonder uncle’s not been robbed yet.” Arban commented.

Frank hmphed. “Who dares to rob anyone in the queen’s city?”

“Oh, really?” Arban raised an eyebrow at him. “Why lock the gates then?”

Frank stepped through the gates before them, inviting them inside “well, we usually don’t. But recently there’s been a lot of unsavoury folks wondering about the city,” he said as he led them through the gravelled aisle towards the door. “So a little caution doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I said,” he said as he turned his head towards the old man Gaffey, “terrible security. At least try to confirm whether he was telling the truth or not.”

The old man glared at Frank. “Boy! Were you lying to me?”

Frank simply said, “No, I’m not,” He gave Arban an annoyed glance. He leaned in and said under his breath, “ don’t tease him like that. Old Gaffey’s a little slow in the head. Got hit by a falling building during one of the older wars.”

Erhan had remained silent this entire time, trying to save as much energy as possible. However, now he stared at the old gardener. He didn’t think he’d meet an acquaintance here.

Gaffey Seabolt used to be a resident of the chaotic city of Trovan, or Valar as it’s called now. Hw used to be a local gang leader who managed a few taverns, brothels and gambling dens. He had had some conflict with Erhan when he arrived in this city; although he later helped Erhan track down the criminal. He used to be such a tall, healthy fellow full of cunning tricks. But now he was ‘a little slow in the head’. How times change.

Frank pulled a rope hanging at the side of the polished oaken door, raising chimes of bells somewhere inside the house. After a while, a patter of footsteps came from behind the door, a small square opening on the door slid open and the face of a young girl stared at them from it. Light freckles on both cheeks of her oval face and brown eyes gave her a homely beauty.

Seeing Frank, she frowned. “Don’t you work at the shop? Frank, right? Why are you here?” her eyes turned as she glanced over Erhan and Arban. “Who are they?” she asked.

Frank bowed, “greetings, lady Mila. he is Sir Morgan’s nephew,” he said, gesturing at Arban. Then he looked at Erhan. “And he is… I don’t really know.”

“Nephew?” Mila let go of the lookout and swung the door open. She gave Arban an inquisitive stare. “Are you Arban? Arban from Garola whose word can set a man afire?”

Arban looked at the girl the same age as him in silence, then he turned to Erhan and said, “I’m disappointed in my uncle. I was expecting my aunt to be a little bit older.”

The girl blushed. “I- I’m not your aunt!” she said in a flurried voice. “I mean, I am your aunt, but- but I’m not—”

Arban raised both his hands and stopped her. “I don’t get it. Are you or are you not?”

Mila took a deep breath to calm down. “I am your aunt, but I’m not married to your uncle. I am your aunt’s sister and Morgan is my brother in law,” she said in one breath.

“Oh, so you’re my aunt in law?”

“Yes.”

Frank went back to shop and Mila led both of them inside. They stepped on the soft velvety yellow fur rug and walked through the tapestried corridor. “You’re lucky you arrived today. Morgan’s also at home now. You look like him you know? The same blue eyes, the same red hair.” she measured Arban up and down. “Just too skinny,” she said with a self-important tone, trying to act like the aunt she is. “But you need to fatten up, or soon you won’t be able to lift your hammer. Don’t worry, since you’re here, we’ll fatten you up good.”

Arban frowned. What ‘fatten up’, is he a pig? No, he refused to even think that way. So he tried to veer he talk in a different direction. “Doesn’t uncle work at the palace at this time.”

“Yeah, he does. But Rose has a fever, so he took a leave for a few days.”

“Rose?” Arban tilted his head in question. “It that my aunt?”

Mila shook her head. “No, you dimwit,” she said with a chuckle. “She’s your uncle’s daughter. Your cousin. She is three years old now. My sister’s name is Arva. Arva Branslow.”

“How am I a dimwit?” Arban said in a disgruntled voice. “Uncle’s not gone home even once in all these years. How am I supposed to know who’s who?” he complained.

“Ok, I get it,” Mila said. She looked at Erhan leaning walking his slow measured steps while leaning on his stuff. He shouldn’t be Arban’s father. He doesn’t have the same features. But the man looked like he didn’t have a drop of blood inside him. Is he also some relative of theirs? Mila leaned towards Arban and asked in a low voice, “Why don’t you introduce him?”

“See? Who’s the dimwit now? You don’t even know him,” Arban puffed his chest out. “He is grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” Mila’s feet stopped in amazement. “Y- you! What nonsense are you speaking? Isn’t your grandfather dead?”

Arban shook his head in pretend disappointment. “A girl with no manners.” he looked at the roof with a forlorn expression. “You should say ‘he has passed on’.”

Mila speechlessly stared at Arban’s back. She understood now what Morgan meant when he said those words. But the real guy can even set a girl like her afire.

“Ahem!” Erhan intervened, drawing Mila’s attention. Does the boy have something against talking straightforwardly? He sighed and said, “I am acquainted with his grandfather. His father asked me to bring him to the capital.”

“Oh, so that’s what’s going on!” Mila nodded her head in understanding. “Them I thank you in place of Morgan and Arva Mr…?

“Erhan Raiser.”

“Mr Erhan,” Mila nodded, she gestured towards the spiralling wooden stairs. “Come, they are upstairs.” she gave Arban a mischievous glance. “What say we give them a surprise?”

“Arban? When did you arrive in the city?” Erhan opened his eyes from where he was resting on the sofa and looked at the owner of the deep baritone voice. He’d known Arban’s father and his uncle were twins and had to admit the resemblance was quite close, except, the man in front of him was half a head taller and had less fat on his body. But he still had the same broad shoulders and muscular arms, and the same rectangular face and light copper skin.

He stood at the door of the study with a plump old man wearing a green long robe and round hat, who smelled of medicines. He raised his brows in surprise as he looked at Arban. A smile slowly spread through his lips as he came and wrapped his arms around the boy in a tight hug. “So this is the surprise Mila was talking about,” he said. “A pleasant one indeed.”

Craning his neck from over Morgan’s shoulder, Arban spoke with some difficulty, “I wanted to say ‘I missed you’, but what is your grudge against me, uncle?”

“Grudge?” Morgan released Arban from his hug but still held his shoulder as he gave his nephew a bemused look. “What are you talking about? I don’t have any grudge against you.”

“Then why were you trying to crush me to death?” Arban frowned.

“You naughty brat,” Morgan smacked Arban’s head. He sighed, “It’s good to see you. Wait until I escort the doctor out, then we’ll talk.”

“Oh yeah, my cousin. How is she?

“She has a mild fever,” Morgan said, “nothing to worry about. You can go to meet her later. And your aunt too. Just wait here a bit.” he nodded to the old doctor, walking with him towards the door at the opposite side of the study.

As he was passing by the sofa against the wall which Erhan sat on, he turned to look at him. Remembering what Mila had said about escorting Arban, he bowed his head towards Erhan in apology. “Please wait here, I’ll soon be with—” his voice stopped as noticed a black scabbard stick out of the corner of the man’s cloak. The golden leaf and vine design gave him a sense of familiarity. “Is that…” He looked up at Erhan. “May I see your sword for a while?”

Erhan sighed and nodded. Peace and quiet really did hate him. He unclasped the weapon from his belt and handed it over to Morgan. Morgan’s eyes shrank as he took the sword in his hand. He gently touched the scabbard, his eyes full of nostalgia. With a sudden move, he straightened the weapon and grasped the hilt. Half the blade came out of its sheath, its silver-grey body gleamed in the ambience of the room. “Markreath!” Morgan breathed.

Erhan chuckled. Yeah, trouble loves him.

Morgan glared at him without speaking, then he turned and looked towards the approaching Arban. “Why is this sword in the hands of that man.” his voice was calm, but his dark expression like brewing thunderclouds gave away the storm raging within.

Arban gave a nonchalant shrug. “Because it’s his sword, I guess.”

Morgan frowned. “What do you—”

“Excuse me Sir Bladesmaker, but would this take long? I’m a busy man you see.” the plump doctor’s thick voice put a stop to the brewing tension.

Morgan inhaled, calming himself and turned towards Erhan. “Wait here,” he threw out these words as he turned and exited the door with the doctor.

Erhan turned and gave Arban a curious look. “That uncle of yours is quite rude.”

Arban nodded. “Yeah, I think so too. And I think he wants to rob the sword.”

“But I think you’re ruder,” Erhan said. “So are you going to go and explain the matter to your uncle?”

“That seems like such a pain. It’s your sword, you should be doing it,” he grumbled as he walked out of the door to find his uncle.

Morgan could hardly believe it. The man drinking tea in front of him was the Erhan Raiser. He was thirty-five himself, and Erhan looked only a year or two older than him. He looked so frail too, yet this frail man had once saved his father. And by what Arban told him, his nephew too. When Arban told him of the battle on river Russet, Morgan really had been scared. He nearly lost his nephew. He bowed once again. “I truly apologize for acting so rude before. And thank you once again for saving Arban.”

Erhan put down the teacup on the table in front of the sofa. “As I said, since the matter’s past, let it go.”

“But still, are you sure you don't want to see the doctor? Forgive me for saying this, but you look like a corpse.”

Erhan gave a slight laugh. “No, as long as I recover some strength, I should be ok.”

“As you wish,” said Morgan as he nodded gravely. “But are you truly interested in the quest? If so, I can help you with preparations.” he stood up. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to share our humble home. If you need anything, just ask.”

Erhan shook his head. He took out a crown from his money bag and said, “I do thank you for your kind intentions, but I’d insist on paying for the meals at least.” The food needed for him to recover was going to be quite expensive.

Erhan sat cross-legged on the soft grass under an apple tree. He had recovered somewhat in these two weeks and His skin had lost much of its pallor. He looked down at his left hand. The ridiculous pillar of bandage around it was gone. Even though he had refused, Morgan still insisted on calling the doctor and rebandaging it. But he’d still have to wait at least two weeks more before he could recover it. Before then he’d have to bear living like a decrepit old man, or as Arban had taken to calling him, grandfather.

He breathed in the chilly morning air inside Morgan’s garden and filled his lungs with the fresh scent of vegetation for one last time. As he propped himself up with his staff, a supple woman wearing a white gown holding a wicker basket exited the house from a side door. Her blond hair was tied above her head with a towel, and water droplets shone on the dark olive skin of her arm. She was Arva, Morgan’s wife. She smiled and nodded towards Erhan. “How are you feeling today, Sir Erhan?” she asked as she walked towards the flower plants.

“I am feeling quite well.” Erhan smiled back. “I think I’ll take a stroll through the city today.”

“I see. Since Arban would help his uncle with his work today, I’ll inform Mila to accompany you,” she said.

Erhan shook his head and said, “Oh no, there is no need to bother her. I’ll be ok on my own.”

“No, I insist. You’re still far from recovery. Our mind would be at ease if you take her with you.”

Erhan sighed and didn’t say anything more. Since he was living in their home, he had to compromise somewhat. But he should go check out an inn soon. He had recovered enough to live alone now.

Even though the day was just beginning, the streets of the city were full of patrolling soldiers. There were more of them than when Erhan entered the city. It was hardly a surprise. The crime rate in the city had increased due to the influx of strangers. After all, no matter how many security measures the city patrol took, people willing to do harm would always find a way. Some robberies, murders and kidnappings, especially of young women had made the people restless recently. Even Morgan had to hire some guards for both his home and shop. They were strong trustworthy people from the palace itself, so security was not an issue for them. Some signs of riots were already forming due to the situation and as there were still three whole months before the quest, it would only get worse. What was the queen thinking?

As Erhan walked past a five men patrol they started giving him cautious looks, but they soon stopped paying attention to him. Erhan couldn’t blame them. He looked as weak as a kitten. But even in such a condition, he had enough confidence to knock the five of them out.

“And I know this shop where they sell this really sweet cake.” Mila continued her monologue about sweet shops that she had unfortunately broached a while ago. “There's cream and honey all over it, and it tastes like nothing you’ve ever eaten. Let’s go try it once,” she said with all the excitement of a child talking about sweet food.

Although her words rarely registered in Erhan’s mind he still smiled at her. The girl had been quite noisy and enthusiastic this whole journey, asking him many questions and telling him many trivial anecdotes of her daily life. Although she was a bit disappointed at not being able to see any ‘hocus pocus’ from Erhan, that didn't daunt her at all. She had even made Erhan promise to show her some spiritcasting when he had recovered. If it was anyone else Erhan might feel more than a bit annoyed, but playful face brought another face to his mind. A face he would never see again. He had some plans to do some necessary stuff like buying a good horse or some herbs to make some medicine for faster recovery, but now he was being swept away in the whimsy of a little girl, going whichever way she took him.

As Mila wanted, they turned towards another road, heading for the sweet shop. But before they could take another step, a familiar voice entered Erhan’s ears. It was almost indistinct in the noise of the street. But a sense of urgency in the voice drew Erhan’s eyes to where it came from.

Becker! The one-eyed knight, along with another knight, Rick and a bunch of patrolmen were walking down the road. Sena must have arrived in the city. Erhan had no intention of tangling with them right now so he wanted to turn around and head elsewhere. But the expression of the two gave him pause.

The knights conversed amongst themselves as they walked, worry and frustration clear on their faces. Something must have happened. And if Erhan’s intuition was right, it was something big. Should he try to find out? Erhan stood looking at the approaching knights for a while.

“What happened uncle Erhan?” Mila asked, noticing his expression.

“Just some acquaintances,” Erhan said. “I’ll go meet them I think.”

Erhan decided to talk to them, at least, to know what was the matter. Sena was Arya’s granddaughter after all. He walked towards the knights along with Mila but noticing their approach, two of the patrolmen accompanying the knights advanced, blocking them. The roads were dangerous nowadays, and no matter how weak Erhan looked, he did have a sword hanging from his waist. After what happened last night, the patrolmen couldn’t put the people of Moras house in any other danger.

Their movement drew Becker’s attention. A pale, anaemic looking man with a bandaged left arm and a little girl. Beggars perhaps? He had more pressing things to worry about. “Have we left someplace unsearched?” he asked rick.

Rick sighed. “Only the sewers. But from what the locals said, it’s a labyrinth down there.”

“They must’ve taken her through there then,” Becker said, pressing his fingers against his temples. He had had no rest since last night, and that’s after they arrived in the city after a long and exhausting journey. His only remaining eye had a dark bag beneath it. “It seems we have to ask the cleaners.”

Rick blew out a breath, “yeah, although I don’t really want to talk to them or even approach them…”

Becker gave him an annoyed glare. Unlike most of the knights, his beginning was more humble. He never understood the dislike they had for the people in lower positions. At least Sena wasn’t like that. The Moras house did regular charity work in the temple of Brigsar, feeding beggars and stuff. Speaking of beggars, did that bandaged beggar seem a little familiar? He looked up and glanced at the man, who was looking at them with peculiar eyes. He didn’t pay any attention at all to the blocking patrolmen, neither did he attempt to talk to them or move aside. That wasn’t the demeanour of a beggar. And that face! Becker stopped walking. Where had he seen it?

“Do you recognize that man?” Becker asked Rick who looked down at the streets, a frown casting deep ravines of wrinkles on his forehead.

“Who?” he asked, glancing at the direction of Becker’s eyes. His steps also came to a halt. “Isn’t that…” the memory of their journey from Rovert, the mining town resurfacing in his mind. “That’s Sir Erhan I think. But he looks different. Was he injured.”

“Oh yes! Sir Erhan,” Becker’s eyes widened he looked at Rick, seeing the same excitement in his eyes too.

They both rushed ahead pushing aside the blocking patrolmen and bowed their heads. “Sir Erhan,” they said in the same voice.

“Don’t do that,” Erhan said, gesturing them to rise. The patrolmen, surprised by the act of these proud knights, were giving him weird stares. That’s more attention than he wished for right now. “You two seem worried about something?”

“Th- that’s right,” Becker said. Desperation crept into his voice as he bowed again, “Sir. Erhan, please help us find Sena!”