A blur of metal slashed past Farha's face. Continuing her pivot to the left, she risked a shallow thrust in return. A flash on her periphery and time slowed to a crawl. If she was any less focused she would have missed the returning cut. "Too slow." Mentally berating herself, she abandoned the planned thrust in lieu of diving away from the ever-nearing blade.

Turning the dive into a roll, Farha regained her feet a couple of paces from her opponent. She spit sand off to the side before locking eyes with the fully grown man standing at the other edge of the ring. He held a simple shortsword in one hand and seemed entirely too relaxed. They both wore protective leather from knee to shoulder with Farha's attire also including a set of thick gloves. She blew a few offending strands of black hair out of her eyes and tightened her grip on her sword hilt

The man nodded and Farha dashed towards him yet again; each step sinking slightly in the loose sand. Even so, she maintained her momentum and added a half twist to her strike. With all her strength behind it, the blade streaked towards the man's side but was knocked astray at the last moment. Searching for an opening, she switched to speed and began a series of quick thrusts and slashes.

To Farha's growing frustration, each blow was blocked with practiced skill or altogether redirected. Pausing for half a breath she refocused. Determination, fueled by cold rage, filled her body and sharpened her mind. The open courtyard scattered with other dueling pairs faded from her awareness. All she saw was her trainer, still standing poised and possibly a bit bored. She grit her teeth and attempted another engagement.

Each strike a bit faster, each movement tighter. Dozens of slashes and still no success. Every failure though, simply increased her focus, reaching an almost frantic state of being. A thrust at the trainer's leg was yet again knocked aside but Farha noticed a slight delay before he recovered his stance. "There it is." She thought. "Finally he shows a weakness.

One corner of her grim expression twisted upwards. Suppressing her smirk she continued several more random blows, each one weaker than the last. Feigning exhaustion, she thrust towards the leg again while holding her offhand against her side. As the strike hit, she simultaneously drew a small knife from her belt and hurled it at the trainer's head.

Sword out of position, the trainer had no choice but to throw himself to the side, away from the oncoming blade. The dagger sailed past and plowed a furrow in the sand. Eyes wide with equal parts fear and anger, the trainer regained his feet and sheathed his sword.

"Farha! Whatever were you thinking? That could have seriously injured or even killed me! That’s besides the fact that it’s an illegal strike!."

"Well, that's the stupidest rule in the entire accords. If someone can't defend their face then what's the point of a duel anyway?" She stuck her sword, blade first, into the ground. "Are we just to dance around for people's entertainment?"

"The art of dueling goes far beyond entertainment. It's an honor-"

Farha rolled her eyes. "To our family and the empire. Father has said it a hundred times. How am I supposed to hold back when I see an opening? Are we to duel with blunted weapons? Or stop and rest whenever we're out of breath? I don't understand, how am I supposed to become skilled at combat if all we're allowed to do is whack our blades together?"

Exasperation reverberated out from the trainer. "Listen, as I've told you many times before, dueling is not combat. And yes, it is closer to a dance. But one which is to show your skill and poise in front of the emperor himself. If you would actually try to follow the dueling customs you could far exceed my own skill with the blade.” He shook his head in disappointment and mumbled to himself. “If only I had the same potential at your age. I’d be the one with servants and trainers." Realizing he actually said that out loud he resumed his reprimand. "Yet you try to win each duel no matter the cost to yourself or your opponent. Think over your mistakes and we will continue tomorrow." He took a step closer, eyes cold. "Oh, and never throw a dagger at my face again."

Farha bowed stiffly, then turned and stormed off towards her dagger. A practiced flourish and it was sheathed. She stomped past the other training rings, teeth clenched. Several weapon racks laden with training equipment along with a couple of armor stands lined the edge of the courtyard. There they stood, mocking her. She stripped off her leather armor, exposing a sweat-drenched tunic, and tossed the armor on the ground near the stands. Someone else would retrieve them. Frustrated by the whole situation and still charged from the fight, she stared at her feet while nearing the courtyard exit.

"It's always the rules...where's the honor in holding yourself back?" She muttered under her breath. At the doorway, the sand transitioned to smooth flagstone, polished by use. Rushing through the familiar doorway, she collided with an unnoticed figure who was about the same height as her. The collision knocked the boy to the ground and forced Farha to be a bit more aware of her surroundings.

She sprang a step back, hand on her dagger. The boy sprawled on the floor looked up in bewilderment. His unthreatening pose was a stark contrast to his rough attire. Nevertheless, it was enough to relax her tense grip. Yet it did not spare him her ire. "Are you blind as well as poor? Watch where you step! Your mother must live in constant terror of the filth you carry about. Were you rolling in the street before deciding to obstruct passageways?"

The boy picked up a small leather bundle and shakily stood up. He mumbled some response and gave a small bow. A bit embarrassed by her overreaction, Farha softened her tone to one of diplomatic annoyance. "Ah, a messenger. Down that way you'll find the guardhouse. Someone there will take your delivery." He nodded and dashed off down the stone corridor.

"But do watch where you're going," she called after his retreating form. Taking a deep breath she tried to calm her swirling emotions. Continuing through the narrow stone passage, she made her way towards the living section of the compound. Tall walls lined the entire perimeter for safety but were much more useful as a barrier to the noisy bustle. On the interior, covered passages lined the walls but stopped several feet short of the top. They not only gave easy access to the inner rooms and gardens, but also a platform for the patrolling guards.

Unlit torches mounted in rough brackets lined one side of the passage, while the other was broken up by connecting hallways and a few storage rooms. Farha strode towards one of the latter. Checking both directions of the long passage, she slipped through the solid wooden door. Small ventilation holes near the ceiling provided barely enough light to see but it was enough to make out the contents of the small space. Various crates and bundles were stacked in a somewhat organized fashion, each containing anything from food to trade goods, while from the ceiling several cured hides were hung on hempen ropes.

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Slumping against one of the piles, Farha stretched out her aching muscles. "If only father had been a gleaner or even a soldier." She whispered to herself. "It's always honor..." She brushed the sand stuck to her feet with middling success. Sighing, she leaned back against a bundle of flax and stared out through one of the small holes along the ceiling. The corner of a cloud was barely visible against the bright sky but it did catch her attention.

Thinking back on her practice duel only worsened her mood. She replayed the entire spar in her mind agonizing over each mistake. Feelings of anger, disappointment, and helplessness built upon each other until they finally bubbled over. She punched the closest sack, thankfully only filled with rice, as hard as she could. Emotions now fully expressed, much clearer than any amount of self-rumination, she shook her hand out and stood up. It was time to stop sulking about.

Several bundles in one corner were tossed aside to reveal a light cloak wrapped around a drab set of clothing. Slipping into the slightly cleaner clothes, she tossed her training attire off to the side. A small coin pouch and her ever-present dagger were the only additions to the simple outfit.

Emerging into the passage once more, she crept towards a nearby stairway which led up to the ramparts. She took a few moments to listen for the patrolling guards at the top. The clinking of metal and creak of leather grew louder and then slowly faded away as the rounds were made. She counted the steps in her mind, waiting with tensed muscles. Keeping her silhouette low to the stone, she stepped across to the wall, making sure to maintain an even rate of speed. Calloused hands gripped the rough stone as she pulled herself up and over the crenellations. The surface of the wall was quite smooth but there were just enough gaps to jam a few toes or fingers into.

About halfway down, she dropped the remaining several feet, landing on thick grass. A quick stretch of her stiff fingers and she was gone. Shoulders slightly hunched, she was able to easily blend in with the populace going about their business. The streets were rough cobblestone in most places but any dip had a thin layer of mud or even standing water filling them. They had been the cause of many an unsuspecting tumble. The familiar buildings flowed by; clay roof tiles quickly transitioning to thatch.

Farha ignored all of it, aside from the muck, and simply moved along with the crowds. Strolling forward, she made sure to keep a steady pace. No need to tempt the urchins with a jingling coin pouch. She bypassed the market quarter and headed directly towards the outer wall surrounding the city. Its lofty height dwarfed the thin walls around her home but they were quite similar in style and material. The tantalizing third-story heights of the homes along the wall called to her spirit. One foot tried to betray her, but she forced herself to look away. She had a more pressing mission and the roofs could always be scaled tomorrow.

The street she was currently on meandered its way between buildings and stretched out beyond the gate into the surrounding meadows. Farha was surprised to see there wasn’t a line of people at the gate, but it was still early afternoon. A collection of the city watch were occupied with inspecting the two waiting carts but most were lounging about or dosing in a shadowed corner.

Turning off before the gate, Farha approached a squat building with a much higher density of alert watchmen posted outside. She strode past a short line of workers and merchants who were arranged along the front of the building. One potter looked particularly nervous, but everyone else wore the expected expression of forced boredom. The nine nearby watchmen ignored Farha but their passing gaze still strained her psyche. She settled in at the end of the line and did her best to project confidence. The passing minutes certainly tested her patience but it wasn't unbearably long before she found herself at the front.

An older man, perhaps a cooper, ducked out from the low door and squinted against the bright sunlight. He gave Farha a nod as he passed by and she stepped through under the attentive gaze of two watchmen posted at the doorway. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the contrast in lighting but at least it kept out most of the heat.

The room itself was quite bare but with touches of refinement. A bookcase with a handful of volumes carefully arranged on its bowed shelves stood off to one side next to a furled flag and its requisite pole. Scratching of a quill on parchment drew her attention to a well-crafted table set in the center with two rough chairs placed haphazardly in front. Behind the desk sat a man dressed in a higher quality uniform than the rest of the watch despite being cut in a very similar style. His hair was faintly graying but he still emanated an air of vigor, even seated. Bent over a parchment he finished a line before placing the quill back in the inkwell and inspecting the young girl standing before him.

Farha held his appraising gaze for a moment before glancing away. The captain straightened up and squared his shoulders, eyes dead.

"Welcome to the East Watch Command Post. Do you have a complaint or request?"

"Hello sir, I..." She stood taller and continued with a firmer tone. "I'd like to report a crime...sir."

"Indeed." The captain pulled out a new piece of parchment and retrieved his quill. "And what is the nature of said crime?"

"A robbery sir. I saw a messenger boy steal a few coins from one of the merchants."

"That is most serious. We can't have pickpockets running about. How long ago was this and how much was taken?"

"Well, I think it was just before midday. He took a really big coin but I'm not sure what kind. Mother always says I should listen more when she's teaching."

The captain smirked but hid it with a short cough and a quick turn to the side. Pulling open a drawer, the signature sound of clinking coins echoed in the small room. He grabbed a small handful and arrayed them on the desk in front of Farha.

"Here we have a copper, pewter, silver, and a gold piece." He lined each one up before adding a much larger version of the first three in the gaps between. "And these are Copdec, Pewtdec and Silvdec. I hope you at least know each one is ten of their kind."

Farha nodded hurriedly. "Oh yes, I'm not...well it can be hard to remember sometimes. It could have been any of these gray ones but I think it was a Pewtdec sir."

The captain simply stared, face blank. After an awkward few seconds he picked up the quill once more. "What did this boy look like, do you at least remember that?"

"He was short, about my height with dark brown hair."

Noting down the required information the captain pressed for more details. "Alright, and what about his clothing? His eye color? There are an infinite number of boys with brown or black hair running about."

Not receiving any response, the captain glanced up expectantly. Farha was gone. Likewise, the line of coins across the front of the desk now had a gap between the Pewtdec and the Silvdec. He sighed and strolled to the doorway.

"A fine job you two are doing. You let a thief in under your noses!"

The guardsmen looked around, confused. The younger one clutched his sword and scanned the room while the older one maintained his decorum. "A thief sir?"

"Was I speaking Harthaxian? A thief!" He loomed over the two waiting. They shared a glance between them, bewildered. "That young girl that was just here...well MOVE!"

They jumped and hurried to obey, calling out to other nearby members of the watch. Word spread quickly and soon dozens of the watch were jogging down nearby streets. A call rang out far to the right and the chase began in earnest. The captain stood in front of the command post surveying the ruckus with a placid stare. "Make sure she doesn't slip away!" he called after the retreating figures before turning back to his post. "Not this time.”