...but the many cracks and spaces between the buildings are evidence of human construction.

Alistair’s Heart lacks the pressed together towers of the Toriyo, and the elegant webbed buildings of a Theren city.

For those of us who travel outside the greatfield, it is good to spot familiar construction such as this.

The night passed and the overcast sky with it. Streams of water petered out into broken lengths of puddles resting on uneven stones, slowly rising off of the road in the sun. Inside the inn, Gwindon arose to the sound of a crowd. He sat on the bed in his simple tabard and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. After he put on his armor, tabard, and his sword sheath, he left the room.

The space that had been empty the night before was filled with ugly men dressed for battle. They mostly wore a variety of leathers, others chainmail, and a few even had poor-man’s plate metal. Gwindon cocked an eyebrow at the aggressive bustle and tried to move around them as a shout for attention made him pause.

The innkeeper was holding both of his arms in the air, doing his best to make his voice boom in the crowded room. His display promptly settled all the ruckus in the room and everyone’s attention immediately shifted to the owner.

“I already told you bums, get outta my business unless you’re paying!” he bellowed.

“We’re here for work from the crown, just tell us if you saw her and we’ll leave you alone!” a skinny man near Gwindon retorted.

“All of you are working for the crown, huh?” His eyes narrowed on the first row, taking in their mud-splattered and crestless outfits. "Strangely enough, you all don't strike me as the military type."

An uproar went over the men at the comment and they pushed towards the bar as the barkeep leaned on it with a sigh. Gwindon moved towards the back of the mass and tapped the shoulder of one of the men. The man was wearing simple leather gear, with two daggers on either side of him.

“Who are you all looking for?”

“You don’t know? A massive bounty came through this place and everyone’s looking to collect on it.” He looked over Gwindon’s equipment and looked away. “Course it’s probably not wise if you’re gonna join in. Even if you’re wearing something like that, you’ll need a good number of men before you can fight her.”

Gwindon nodded to the man and moved for the door. He took one last look at the rabble before he shook his head and left. His eyes rose to the sky, watching a few birds fly over the cloudless expanse. A messenger boy dashed in front of him, splashing some water in his wake and drawing the Gwindon’s attention back down to the ground. Amongst the mix of earthen colored stones, he spotted a splotch of blood stuck to one closest to the road. He knelt down and felt along it before searching for similar signs. One trail led off in the direction of an alley opposite the door, marked by a larger splotch hidden in the shadow of the buildings.

He looked up and down the street before noticing another mark further north. It only took a few steps after the trace before he paused and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose in thought.

“Berkahn's breath, what am I doing...?”

Gwindon continued down the path a few steps before a splash drew his attention once more. The alley it came from was dim, but the outline was too familiar to be obscured. Icara stood with half a loaf of bread in one hand and a knife in the other. She cocked an eyebrow at the armored figure and started off towards him. Just as she did, the doors of the inn swung open and a large number of disgruntled mercenaries poured into the street.

“What’re you—?” Icara was cut off as Gwindon moved forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, hurriedly guiding her back down the alley.

“Hey!”

“Keep your voice down, dammit.”

Both of them struggled down the alleyway a few steps until they passed to the other side. Gwindon looked back and watched the armed men move down the road until she yanked his arm away. Icara dusted herself off and forced the man against the wall.

“What exactly was that for?” She demanded, one eye shining through the mess of cloth on her head.

“You drew a large crowd to the inn you know. I wasn’t aware you were so popular. Anything to do with those wounds you got last night?”

Icara lowered her head and pressed him tighter against the building. She growled in frustration and looked back up at him before stepping back.

“How many?”

“About two dozen or so. I’ve never seen that many mercenaries before in one place... I guess the news of them folding captured military forces into royal mercenaries have added weight to their numbers. Would’ve thought they’d just go back to farms in their own countries.”

“Twenty four...” She said, rubbing her chin. “Fine, I suppose I’ll have to stay lower than I thought. I’m already living in the streets like a vagrant just twiddling my thumbs and—” she caught herself and glared at him.

“Given how many people are after you, you must’ve done something wrong to someone pretty powerful. Think you can tell me what exactly you did? I’d hate to hear I gave bread to some highborn thief...” he said before narrowing his eyes on the bread in her hand.

“Well, a thief who steals more than food, at least.”

“I bought this!”

Gwindon held out one hand.

“Then pay me back for the food and drink from yesterday.”

Icara looked off to the side and took a bite of bread. She placed it in his hand and began walking up the street while she dusted crumbs off on her right leg. Gwindon squeezed the chunk of food in his hand and hurried after her, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around to face him.

“I meant money, kid.”

“Well I spent the last of my money on that bread.”

“Then why didn’t you—?!” Gwindon started to yell before catching himself and looking around for any of the mercenaries. “Fine, back to the question then. What exactly did a moocher like you do to get in so much trouble? Run away from some noble suitor’s home or something?”

She knocked his hand away, grabbed the bread and began moving down the street once more. “I survived. When you’re good at that, people take it as some unspoken challenge.”

“Do you plan on ever answering my questions directly without trying to be obnoxious?”

“Not at the moment, no. I don’t need some washed up bandit sticking close to me. Why do you even care?”

“Bandit? I’m a former knight. Not one of those mercenary drop-outs from foreign legions either, I was royally annointed with the title,” he said, keeping pace with her down the road.

“As for caring, if you don’t want to count the fact you owe me money, I’d hate to see you get chopped to pieces just for being a stubborn street-rat of a noble.”

She immediately stopped walking, causing Gwindon to collide into her back. Icara stumbled from the blow and refused to turn back towards him. Gwindon stepped forward once more and squeezed her shoulder. He pulled her around to face him with one hand raised dismissively. Instead of a defiant greeting, her halo-filled eyes were brimmed with tears and held in a deathly glare.

Icara forced him away from her and ran off down an alleyway without a word. Gwindon stood in shock for a moment until he ran an armored hand through his mess of hair.

“Berkahn preserve me, she’s just like Lilith was at her age...” he muttered to himself.

As he mentioned the name, his annoyed expression turned to stone. The lone knight turned on the spot and started walking back towards the inn with. The street had cleared of the mercenaries from before, but was filled instead with the bustle of citizens going about businesses. Gwindon watched a few of them pass, some with smiles, but all seemed to travel in pairs. A heavy sigh escaped his lips and he turned back to the alley marked with blood. He set off after Icara at a determined walking pace.

Icara meanwhile was barreling through the streets as her vision rapidly began to blur. Only when her eyes needed to be wiped did she pause momentarily. She leaned against a wall and used one of the wrappings on her head to clear her face. Her fist flew against the wall beside her; the hard lines of her jaw squeezed tight in frustration. The color had drained from her face, but a dull pink grew on her cheeks as she breathed harder. Once she had collected herself again, she found herself lost in another space between buildings. She lifted her eyes up, but a string of clothes fluttering in the wind blocked most of the sky from there. The sound of footsteps ahead drew her attention and she followed after them.

Icara didn’t bother to check around the corner as it opened into a different alley, secluded from the sight of the street. A group of men in worn, leather armor argued at the other end of the alley, positioned right at the exit into the street. She adjusted the wrappings on her face to better obscure her features and leaned on a wall, listening in as they bickered.

“I’m telling you, we ought to just head north! Even the south would be better than this wild goose chase. There’s already a shipload of other men looking for her, not to mention the crew with Lilith is here, so why are we even bothering?” One of them shouted and threw up his arms at the end.

“Because we were already here when someone said she might be hiding out. You saw how high the bounty on her is, this is the smartest thing we’ve got. We don’t even need to collect both, just help the guards get her and maybe the royals will let—” the other man paused and looked at Icara.

“Hey, who’re you?”

Icara noticed them start off towards her and a vindictive grin spread over her face. She closed her eyes tight and looked down at the ground. Both arms folded over her chest while their footsteps grew louder. Once they were close enough, she raised one hand over her head to reach for her bag. To her surprise, it was caught at the wrist before she could open it. Her eyes snapped open and open to the hand on her arm. Gwindon was standing between her and the other wall, his eyes fixed on her face with a disapproving glare. He pulled her hand down and wagged a finger in her face before winking with the eye farthest from the bounty hunters.

“What did I tell you about running off, young lady?” He turned to the men and placed a hand over his chest.

“I hope she didn’t cause you men any trouble. She’s just too excited about seeing these damp city streets again.”

The men looked amongst each other cautiously for a moment before they relaxed their posture. One of the men stepped forward and nodded to Icara. “Odd apparel she’s got there. Why’s her face wrapped up like that?” he asked as his eyes narrowed to both of them in turn.

“Terrible burns on her face. It’s all healed, but the scars tend to make her a little self-conscious” Gwindon said as Icara yanked her wrist free.

Silence passed over them as Icara folded her arms again and looked down. Her only exposed eye drifted over to their feet. All of the men were wearing plain shoes that were still wet on the edge of the soles. It was clear they’d been checking the alleys like this for her. She reached again for the bag on her back, fumbling with the latch with some fingers until one of the men clapped.

“Alright, alright. We’ve got better things to do anyway,” said the speaker.

“Come on, she’s probably heading down this way anyhow.”

They quickly departed, but Icara kept her hand just above the opening on her back. She lifted her head up as soon as they were out of sight and glared at Gwindon.

“What’re you doing? I was going to get some information out of them on the others. Are you just going to ruin my plans out of spite for that piece of false charity?”

“Will you just calm down? I came back because I wanted to apologize.Besides, there was three of them against one of you. Think you actually had a chance?” Gwindon asked back at her.

“How many do you think were there last night?”

Gwindon grabbed her wrist again and glared down at her.

“You could barely walk after that fight! Are you just intentionally trying to throw your life away?!”

“No! Why do you even care?” She growled back as she yanked her hand free and shoved him back against the wall.

He stumbled from the force of the push and felt where her hands had landed. Even with platemail on, he felt the strength in her anger. Gwindon narrowed his gaze and took a step closer. Icara crouched down with a furrowed brow, her hand finally unclasping the bag on her back as she gripped something within. Both of them stared daggers to the other until someone’s approach broke their silent duel.

“Hey... I remember you!” a jovial voice sounded.

The man before them wore loose robes that ended just above his ankles. He wore a hat that was a brilliant blue color and hung crooked to the right, covering his messy, chestnut hair. Counter to his apparel, he had a very shallow look to his body and muted pale skin. His eyes stuck out from the pale of his face, being bright blue enough to shine through their sunken sockets. He held out a slender hand from the right sleeve and gave a warm smile to Icara as he placed the left one over his chest.

“You are the violent vagabond that got blood all over my doorstep, right? I thought I recognized the sound of your yelling,” he asked, the voice taking on a rich and melodic tone.

Gwindon turned back to Icara and folded his arms. “Do you meet everyone you know being covered in horrible wounds?”

“It wasn’t my blood, as far as I can remember...” she muttered while her eyes darted to the ground.

“That makes it worse!” he said, throwing his hands up.

The man next to them chuckled briefly, politely covering his mouth with one hand as he did. Once they noticed his outburst, he coughed to hide it and turned his pleasantries to Gwindon.

“Forgive me, I do not think we have met. Are you the girl’s father?”

“No!” Both of them countered in unison.

He smiled at them and nodded his head. “Ah, that is to be expected after all. In earnest, I would like to get to know the both of you a little better. Would you bother coming with me to my shop? It’s not very far from here.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to find somewhere a little further from the town’s center to sleep tonight. If you’ll just—” Icara began to excuse herself.

“Oh? Could it have something to do with this?” From the top fold of his robes, the man extracted a piece of parchment. He unrolled it and held it up for both of them to see clearly. Icara’s face grew cold and her body straightened upright as she reached for the page. Emblazoned on it with fine calligraphy were the words “ROYAL BOUNTY: 10,000 SHEN UPON CAPTURE” at the top. Beneath the lettering was a crude drawing of a figure with a face obscured in cloth, only a slit where the eyes should be, with two halos peering out.

At the very bottom the text continued, labelling the portrait as “ICARA VALARUS (IMPOSTER)”.