Volsten took a swing and smiled as the blade cut air.

Ensgar grunted. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to lose an arm.”

He sat on a small wooden stool next to his bellows. For once, he wasn’t hammering the life out of something.

“I’m a bit too experienced for that. The time for me to lose something important to a sword was a decade ago.” Volsten took another swing. Holding this sword was the happiest he’d been since returning to this damned city.

“Not you. Me.” Ensgar said. “I’ve got enough trouble with all the work. Having one less arm would lose me lotsa’ people.”

“You’ve experience with longswords and what not. You know very well how to avoid one.” Volsten sheathed the blade, delighted to find that it slid without an issue into its predecessor’s home. Not surprising. Ensgar made no mistakes.

“If I was your age, I reckon. But I’m old, boy. I haven’t played with a sword since before you were born, assuming I got your age right. Even then, no one can always avoid a blade, otherwise there would be no dead knights.”

“A fine point,” Volsten said. He touched his stomach, right where the bandit woman had driven her own, relieved when there was no warm slick feeling to greet him.

“I know it is,” Ensgar laughed. “A lotta knights use to come here. Old, haggard bastards, that smell like war itself. Friends, you could say. Haven’t seen the lot of ‘em in years, and I bet my forge they’re buried somewhere. The lucky ones, that is.”

Volsten leaned against a wall, arms crossed. “Well, you now have me. And I’m in no hurry to die.”

“Aye, I like your coin well enough.” It was hard to see Ensgar in the dimness of the forge, but Volsten imagined a smile on his bearded face. “But you don’t need to be in a hurry. All of those folks had families. You think they’d want to leave ‘em?”

He had answer for that, but he knew Ensgar wouldn't like it. “Ah, afraid I’ll perish? Have we grown that close over the years?”

Another laugh. “I’m not too worried about you. You’re a bastard, but a smart one. I wouldn’t be surprised if you and Melridge outlived me.”

“Melridge,” Volsten scoffed. “Lovely woman.”

“So you know each other?”

“Hardly. I’ve met her once, and that was the last time I was here. It’s a wonder that she didn’t try to kill me with how she looked.”

“Ha! Nothing like those other noble tarts, is she?”

“Not a good first impression, Ensgar.”

“Just a rough day for the lady. You’re a knight, you know the feeling of not having a blade by your hip.”

“I do, but my empty sheath has never caused me to stare down the nearest person.”

“I don’t know. Think she might just be a braver knight, then.”

Volsten blew air between his teeth. “We all know the measurement of a knight’s bravery is how often they try to intimidate others.”

“It’s a joke, boy.” Ensgar shook his head. “She’s a passionate woman, that’s all. If you talked to her, I’m sure you’d like her just fine.”

Volsten had his doubts about that. The academy attracted many women like Melridge, and every last one annoyed him. “I’ve no interest in that,” he said. “There are far too many women without the awful attitude.”

“Suit yourself, boy, but I would have killed for a woman like Alexandria when I was your age.”

“Some of us must settle, that’s true,” Volsten chuckled. “But for some of us…”

*

Maren brushed against him. “Tonight’s strange, isn’t it?” she said.

“In what way?” Volsten asked. It was a typical Tregarian night, as far as he knew. Wisps of mist drifted through the cool air. The moon was blue. He couldn’t see the strangeness with it at all.

“I don’t know,” Maren said. Unlike Atusa, her heels didn’t threaten to pierce the sidewalk, so their slow walk through Honor was quiet. “It’s the way the moon looks. See it? It feels closer tonight.” She pointed towards the giant blue sphere.

Volsten squinted. It looked very much the same. “I’m hardly a moon gazer. If it was closer, I wouldn’t know.”

“You don’t have to stare at it every night to know that.” She brushed against him once more, and Volsten turned to look at her. They passed under one of the intermittent alchemical lights and, briefly, her blue dress came to life with sparkling ferocity.

Volsten was surprised at how pretty she had become. She didn’t much resemble the little girl she once was. Not that Volsten had a strong remembrance of that girl in the first place, since it was deemed necessary at the time to shoo him away to the upper floors when company came. He could only catch small glimpses of Maren then, and from what little he could recall, there was no difference between her and the hundreds of other little noble girls that came and went.

“I believe you,” he said as they approached the next streetlight. “But I don’t see why it matters. Think it’ll come crashing down, Lady Birith?”

“I don’t think Inera would let that happen, so no.”

“What if she decides she’s done with the lot of us? Bringing the moon down would be a bit dramatic, but perhaps our goddess has a flare for it.”

Maren giggled. “Most people would never think about her like that.”

“I’m surprised that she hasn’t already, if I’m to be honest with you.”

Maren’s eyes asked a question, as if she had no idea what he meant. The naivety was grating, but not unexpected. How many times had this noble girl left Honor, much less Tregar? An occasional trip to the Church in Ancient, maybe, but no more than that.

“You know,” she said. “I’ve always wondered. What’s it like, exactly?”

“What’s what like?”

“Knighthood.”

He let the words drift with the night mists. Such a strange question for a young lady to ask. “It’s, well…it’s nice, I suppose.”

“That’s it?” Maren asked, deflated.

Volsten clasped his hands behind him as they exited another light. He had no idea where the Birith’s manor was in relation to Blue Street, but they had to be getting close.

“I don’t know how else to say it,” he said. “You use your blade, and people are thankful for it.”

“I know there’s more to it than that.”

“How would you know? Did I mistake a dame for a waitress?”

For whatever reason, those words brightened her face. “No, sadly, but my brother is a knight.”

“And he goes on and on about chivalry and Artheon’s Code, I take it?”

“A little,” she giggled. “I could probably recite some of the words, if you’d let me.”

Volsten could hear the droning of dozens of school-age boys, chanting in unison. He shuddered at the remembrance. “You seem like an honest woman. I’ll take your word for it.”

“No one else does, so I thank you.” Maren touched his arm, then pulled it towards the road. “It’s just over here.”

The manor was, in a word, Tregarian. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Longer than tall, with a tiled roof of dark grey and walls only a shade lighter. Around it, like most other houses, was a pointed fence of blackened metal. To someone unfamiliar with the city, Volsten could imagine how ominous this would look, with the Tower rising far behind it.

Xyra would be scared to death of this place, he thought with a certain amount of contempt.

Their trip across the blue-paved road was leisurely. People were rare at this late hour, horses and carriages much more so. Even the guards were long reduced to a few men of angry countenance. For all that it mattered, they were alone in Honor.

Maren pulled him to the gate. She slipped a blue heel from her foot and reached inside, where she pulled from it a key. After a few moments of concentration, the gate opened with the sound that all metal makes and they stepped into a well-maintained courtyard. In the center was a stone fountain, with water sprouting in streams from its center. Instead of grass, like Vora’s, this courtyard was covered in stone. The only greenery left were bushes that lined the manor’s front, their long line broken in the middle by steps that led to the door.

It was all very boring. He’d become too accustomed to the wildness of Vora’s home. Compared to that, this stuck out like a severed thumb.

“I’d like to thank you for walking me home,” Maren said. “I don’t think many women get the chance to have late night walks with a knight.”

“You’d be surprised, Lady Birith. We’re quite common these days.”

“Is that so?” Maren’s smile was telling. “Well, I have my doubts that any of them are as pleasant to look at as you.” They’d made it to the steps, where Maren bounded them upwards with surprising energy.

“Why, thank you,” Volsten bowed as they came to the door. “Such a compliment from House Birith’s fairest maiden will be warmth enough for many nights.”

Maren, already closer than she needed to be, turned to face him. Had she been taller, their lips would have been mere inches from touching. As it were she looked up at him, dull brown hair swaying in the faint wind. He didn’t know why, but these moments always brought him to the brink of laughter. One could see the machinery of the mind at work here, as every noblewoman weighed the consequences of their actions. Do they indulge, and risk secrets escaping their bedchamber? Or do they abstain, and wonder if they would ever get the opportunity again?

A false choice, by his judgement, but one these women seemed intent on making. And far be it from him to deny them that.

“I’d like to think that my house is asleep,” Maren said. “They always are when I return, and our walk has taken us past even that hour.”

They never choose anything else. “I’m curious as to why that would matter to me. I’ve done my knightly duty.”

“Even a knight can face danger on these streets, so late at night.” Maren’s hands were on his sides, and Volsten thought it a little presumptuous. ‘No’ was unfathomable to these women.

Luckily for Maren, he had no intention of denial beyond his game. He motioned to his sword.

Maren’s eyes lowered. “But why use it? You could…come inside. Stay until morning and be safely on your way.”

He feigned consideration. “You make much sense, my lady. A shame that I would have to sleep on the floor.”

“Mother and father would kill me if they knew I let a knight sleep anywhere but in a bed. You can have mine.”

“But where will you sleep?”

“In my bed,” she said with poorly-hid amusement.

“An offer of hospitality I can’t refuse, else I would be rude. I will take you up on this, Lady Maren.”

Maren lingered on him for a moment before facing the door. Another heel came off, and out came yet another key. This time she was quick, unlocking the door in a single turn. She pushed it open, softly, slowly, stopping at every creak of fine noble wood.

Eventually she stepped into the darkened interior, quiet as her heels would allow her to be, and whispered for him to follow.

Volsten did, and was immediately floored by the pungent smell of…something. Whatever it was sent a signal to his entire body. Something wasn’t quite right here.

“Goddess, Maren,” Volsten coughed. “Is it always so foul-smelling in here?”

“Of course not! I don’t-“ Maren squealed as she slipped. Volsten nearly followed, but steadied himself in the dark against the door.

“Why is the floor so wet!” Maren said. “And where’s the light? They know that I’m late most nights, yet the house is this dark!”

As Maren righted herself, Volsten’s feeling worsened. Through the crack of the door, moonlight shone. He couldn’t quite make it out, but there was something spilled out across the floor, running near enough to the light to see.

I know what this is. I know the smell. But it’s stronger, still…

“Oh, this house smells awful!” she whispered harshly. “What did they waste?”

Volsten listened as Maren moved about in the dark, in what he assumed was a hunt for light.

It didn’t take long for her to find what she sought. Light washed over him from his left. It must have been one of a set, because, although its light was strong, it didn’t reach the far darkness that hung over the stairs, nor did it completely rid the room itself of dark.

But it was enough.

Maren gasped.

This was what he smelled. Blood. Blood, with precious few spots where one could see wooden floor. Blood, pooling at the bottom of the steps. He’d never seen so much before.

“By the goddess…” he said. He looked at his feet; there, too, was red.

He looked to Maren. The woman stared at her bloodied hands in disbelief. Her fall had soaked her in it.

Soaked her in what was likely the blood of her family.

“What…” she croaked. “What…”

Volsten knew not what to say. His stomach was having a time dealing with the smell before, but now that he knew, the struggle was tenfold. There was more than blood here. Death was never accompanied by only blood. Things happened when people died, things that sagas of old knights conveniently left out.

Another light came on. Volsten didn’t hear Maren move.

He did hear the screech, sorrowed and full.

There were…bodies, strewn across the floor. Volsten hesitated to call them that as his mind revolted. Mounds of torn flesh. Entrails spilling from opened stomachs, jaws ripped from their places, gashes and chunks of what were once people…missing. Gone. Unrecognizable.

He swallowed. What in Inera’s name have I stumbled upon?

By the light, Maren fell to her knees in blood. She wretched, adding bile to the blood that already flooded around her.

“We…we should tell someone, Maren. There’s been a…break-in.” He knew he spoke to no one.

Yet, something answered. Not with words, but with a rumbling of the floor, and a growl that was unlike any animal. Maren heard it too. She smeared a red streak across her mouth as she wiped away vomit and looked to where the sound came from.

From a dark archway came a figure of immense size. So large was it that it had to dip low to not break through the top of the arch itself. A top that Volsten couldn’t hope to touch, even if he leapt.

A demon? The archway was quite a bit from them, and still reveled in dimness. He could only tell that something was there, but not what. Every step, it became clearer. And every step was felt.

Inera’s ass! Maw dripping with blood as it ripped flesh from an arm, eyes fierce and green, wings so large that a beat would send him to Khebia. His horns were large black things, that jutted forward then curled back over his head.

A dragon, deep in the heart of Tregar, with two more bodies to tear asunder.