[https://i.imgur.com/KRKCEqI.jpg]

> The arrow broke and the fletching bounced about the floor. The arrow struck the floor and shattered, exploding with a loud popping sound. A bright light that flashed and made shadows of the pelt thief and the guards. The horses riled. They brought their legs up and struck the mounts by which they were tied to, reeling and tugging back and forth until the wooden post holding them to the feed ripped out. Horses scattered. The guards rubbed their eyes and blinded, put their hands forward and felt for their environment, like children learning to walk. Some of them grabbed the horses. But the horses fought back and pulled away, taking bits of the stall with them.

>   I squinted my eyes at the character, then took out a little eye piece from my pocket and inspected him.

>   “Don’t move.” I said. Walking out.

>   “What fuckin’ makes you think we can move?” Klep shouted.

>   My ears rung, so I presumed it was worse for the thief.

>   I stepped down, brushing people who looked in the direction of the loud flash. A line of people eating little baguettes, or taking crusty pieces off their loafs. I stepped through the crowd. Walked towards the scene and looked for the thief.

>   He had short brown hair. His left eye was a little droopy, he had a missing front tooth. And - as I approached the mess of a stall - I saw him rubbing his eyes. He was with two other guards, each trying to help the other. He looked up, the pelts scattered about the floor. He dropped them immediately and scrambled and ran through the crowd. I stepped up and inspected the floor.

>   I turned to the guards, still dazzled.

>   “These are property of the Crows.” I said.

>   “What the fuck?” One of them looked up, blinking wild.

>   “Vicentius Volarus was stolen from, these belong to him.” I said.

>   “I don’t care!” He said. “Shit, I’m blind. Who the fuck are you anyway?”

>   “Virgil.” I said. “These are to be given to King Xanthus. Do you understand?”

>   “King- The king. Why-” He stopped. The other guard stood him up and pointed towards the patch on my shoulder.

>   They mumbled something and looked back at the crowd, to the man running through it and out towards the desert. Chasing after a horse already gone. The guards looked down back at the pelts and nodded their heads.

>   “Catch him.” One of them said. “I guess. Yes. Catch them.”

>   He was gone. And I had no faith in the local authorities. So I walked through and the crowd opened up to me. The boy was halfway into the desert, past a thin line of greenery where the water still fed life.

>   I narrowed and leaned and jetted forward. The wind almost breaking as I cut through and whizzed past everyone. The women jumped and grabbed their head shrouds as I blew it past them. I ran. Fast. Catching up to him in a matter of moments. The sand driving behind him in a loud smoke screen. The thief looked back to me, only once eyes wide as I approached.

>   I shifted my weight, raised my leg and kicked him square in the back of his spine. He gasped an fell and rolled. Sand covered him, sticking to his mouth where blood crept down the edge of his lips.

>   “What were you thinking, rat?” I asked.

>   I looked down at him. He was a new one, I remembered the face. Perhaps having joined us a little over two months ago? And to have done this already in such a short time.

>

> This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

>

>   I knelt. He crawled and stood, his short sword in front of him, and rattling in place.

>   “Who are you are?”

>   “Mel.” He gasped. “Mel Ashford.”

>   I took out my blade.

>   “Your life may be forfeit if you fight.” I raised my second knife. “Are you sure you’d like to continue.”

>   He gulped. A crowd had grown behind us, women with their raised cloaks with sand up to their knees. Men holding their hands. Knights with swords out.

>   The boy did not answer, looking little more than a stray. His thin eyes shot glares between me and the crowd and the desert. Each look becoming more desperate than the last.

> His knees buckled and he twitched. I readied.

>   “Wait. Wait. Wait.”

>   I turned.

>   Sven stared, dragging his blade with him and limping on one leg.

> The guards caught on and stopped him.

>   “Let him speak.” I said.

>   Sven looked up, a knee on his back.

>   “It was my idea.” He said. “Spare the boy, please.”

>   “Sven. I’ve got hi-”

>   “Shut the fuck up, Mel.” He said. “You don’t even know you’ve lost already. You stupid, stupid boy.”

>   “And you, his stupid mentor.” I said. “Put down your weapons, child. Vicentius will judge the three of you.”

>   “We’re already dead.” Mel said. “Might as well fight, right?”

>   “Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t rob yourself of mercy, child.”

>   “Fuck mercy.” Mel said. “Fuck Vicentius. And fuck you Sven, coward.”

>   He ran forward. Blade coming down for a slash.

>   I side stepped. Grabbed his wrist. And flipped him straight into the ground, his head landing first and rattling his whole body. His sword spun in the air and interred itself into the sand. Mel raised his head, weak-like, and blew out a mouthful of sand.

>   “Please.” Sven said. My knife was pointed at the back of the boys’ head.

>   I shook my own and sheathed my weapons and struck the child with the side of my fist. His head popped and he fell unconscious onto the bed of sand. I lifted him and put him over my shoulder and walked over.

>   “How the fuck did you get through the rope?” I asked. Sven looked up.

>   “Stole a small blade from the stockroom.”

>   I sighed.

>   “Guess I slipped.” I rubbed my nose bridge.

>   All around us the crowd had grown, a mumbling amongst them all as they looked at the scene. The guards had started to come and rounded the people up, shepherding them far and about. What a show. What an embarrassment. To see dozens of wide-eyes, to hear whispers and to say nothing of it all. I sucked in my lips and breathed heavy.

>   Fatigue hit me. Restlessness, a headache and a numbing sensation across my body. I hadn’t slept in what felt like days. Hadn’t felt anything but the weight across my shoulders and the pain, like a bump, driving up my spine. A congestion in my nape.

> Stress. I supposed. Justified stress.

>   “You didn’t set the other one free, did you?” I asked.

>   “No.” Sven looked back down. The guards got their feet and knees off him.

>   “Good.” I said. “There may be hope for all of you yet.”

>   Maybe.