Upon reaching the nearest market square, Bolverk decided to fan out in three groups to cover more ground and check on relevant information with the various marketers, innkeepers and smaller shop owners.

Svana all but jumped Sieg before Bolverk could react. Agnar went with Bolverk, and Eirik was left to watch over Hall.

"What exactly are we to do with the civilians here?" Hall asked as he let his eyes roam about the simple market stalls, the cosy-looking wooden inn and various smaller catering establishments. It was a cheerful atmosphere with only the locals chatting and gossiping and the friendly banter accompanying their conversations.

"The people here are honest folk. We have known most of them for years. Traders, bar owners or innkeepers are always in contact with a myriad of different citizens," Eirik explained. "Gossiping and listening to their patron's wailing is part of their trade. If you want to hear about any recent trouble, this is the best source of information."

In the meantime, Sieg and Svana were already at the first stall. The stocky, old man who owned it smiled broadly as he greeted them. Hall noticed with interest how easy-going the conversation seemed to flow between them. Despite his imposing appearance and reputation, Siegfried seemed to be easy to talk to for the shopkeeper. At one point, Svana bumped her hip into Sieg's, smirking teasingly and causing the old peddler to throw his head back in laughter.

Hall turned to Eirik with his open questions when they were out of hearing range. "What was that about? With Svana and Siegfried, I mean."

Eirik snorted. "Greg, that's the old peddler, knows how Svana likes to tease Sieg and how neither of them ever committed to each other. He just likes to get his own part of the fun out of the two of them," he waved dismissively. "It's all just friendly banter in the end— nothing serious either way."

Hall tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling in his gut. He wouldn't have called it jealousy – he just met Svana after all, and they didn't really know each other. But somehow, that bright, carefree smile still captivated him. He shoved the irrational feelings aside and focused on a different topic instead. "What about Bolverk? He did sound a lot like a father bragging about his son's accomplishments earlier. They aren't related, are they?"

"No, they are not," Eirik answered as he threw a fond glance in Bolverk's direction across the stalls between them. "Although Bolverk might very well see him like the son he'd never had. The same goes for Sieg. You know he is an orphan… and like most orphans, he grew up in the slums."

"Siegfried is an orphan? I'd never guessed," Hall admitted. "When I heard how well-trained he is with the sword, I thought he would have been the son of a guardsman or even a member of the Red Brigade."

"Far from it," Eirik chuckled. "Bolverk found him when he was a boy of fifteen years." The older guardsman regarded Hall for a moment and quickly gave in to the begging eyes of the teenager. "Well, I guess we can spare a few minutes right now. Take a seat," he said while sitting down on a crate. Hall complied, eager to hear about the circumstance a man like Siegfried came from.

††††††

Six years ago, Bolverk had an assignment near the border to the slums when a shriek of anguish caught his ear, a young girl's desperate cry for help. He ran up the stairs to the wall that separated the slums from his district. And there he spotted the lass, running as fast as her short legs could carry her. Three grown men, filthy thugs, caught up to her quickly. The wall was too high for Bolverk to jump down, and they ignored his shouting. No guards are patrolling the slums, no one who would risk their hide for a kid that wasn't their own.

All the higher was their surprise when one of them cried out in pain, reaching for a spot on his back. That moment, Bolverk saw a boy running in from between the shacks, jumping the crying delinquent from behind, retrieving the rusted knife from between his shoulder blades.

Bolverk was stunned in anticipation, fear for the children and impotent fury. He thought it had to be her brother, driven to rush them by blinding anger or despair at seeing his sister assaulted. But anger can only get you so far, and a young boy, wiry as he looked, was no match for three grown men.

That was when he first witnessed the cold, righteous fury that was Siegfried. With a calculated dodge, the boy evaded a wide swing from the second man while in the same movement flashing the knife across the underside of his arm, slicing the artery.

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Siegfried sidestepped the last guy, who was diving for him. He swept the man from his legs with a kick and buried the knife in the thug's chest before he hit the ground.

It was over before Bolverk could comprehend what happened. Siegfried ran off with the girl in hand.

When the intrigued guardsman went into the slums himself to search for the boy, he heard stories of a young vigilante, a defender of those who can't defend themselves in a lawless place of a cast-off people—a place where the rule of the strong reigned. A young man with an inexplicable sense of justice.

Bolverk was enamoured with the ideal Sieg represented. With the raw talent he had seen. A self-taught warrior with the fighting instinct of a veteran but in the body of a fifteen-year-old. What could he become if provided with professional guidance? He called in every favour, used every contact he had built up in his past years of duty to get Sieg out of the slums and into the Guard under his direct supervision.

†††Hall†††

Hall was gaping at Eirik after those revelations. He had heard of Siegfried's accomplishment before, about the young guardsman who was revered by the common people. That the very same person had started from below the bottom of their society— it sounded like a fairy tale to him.

"One piece of advice," Eirik continued in an ominous tone. "Never ask Bolverk directly for any details to that story, or you're in for several hours of story-telling. He won't let you off either. Believe me — I tried running the first time," he added with a wink.

Hall chuckled weakly, not entirely sure how much of that was meant as a joke.

For the next half an hour, they mingled amongst the citizens. When they met again at the end of the market square, the easy-going atmosphere was gone. Bolverk led them into an empty side street to not needlessly alert others by their findings.

"Well, y'all look like it's going to be a busy day," he started with a grim look on his weathered face. "Marv' told me of a woman missing but 'twas just a customer, talking about a friend's cousin of another friend and so on. Got no name, only the general area of crafters district."

Siegfried stepped up, a severe frown darkening his features. "Svana and I got a couple reports of the same nature. No women but at least two children, same district but no details either, and no one went to the Guard. Rik?"

Eirik crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. "We only heard of a boy, but at least we got a connection. Could be one of the kids you mentioned. A farrier is searching for his apprentice — thought he might be hiding from work, rambled on about 'lazy youths' in Grog's bar last night."

Bolverk nicked in appreciation. "At least we have a solid lead then. Let's find that farrier and go from there. Keep your wits about you. The flunky of a horse smith's worth no ransom, and three people vanishing no coincidence," he added gravely.

The group tensed up further at the unspoken conclusion of his analysis. Murders or kidnappings were generally rare in Nemeah. Enough food was produced in sector three, distributed by the priesthood of Akali. There was hardly any merit in such a crime, the reason either personal hatred or insanity and neither leading to such extreme measures often. Which left a more dreading option.

Hall was also quick on the uptake but hid the spark of anticipation behind the hardened resolution on his face.

The crafter's district was a fair distance away, and the shadows lengthened with each street they passed. Not long until the sun would vanish behind the towering cliffside to the west of the city.

The sound of hammer and anvil guided them on the last part of their late stroll. In the gloom of dusk, the open smithy looked like a small portal to the fiery hells. The farrier was the only one still working, and the hot coal of the smith's hearth glowed an ominous dirty yellow through the thick smoke.

The farrier was a gruff man, but the sheer presence of Siegfried and Bolverk seemed to compel cooperation. He believed that his apprentice ran away with the other girl that was 'missing'. He'd seen them on occasion, and her mother was living near.

Equipped with new information and a direction, Bolverk led them through the cobbled stone streets until he stopped before a small side alley. He stood with his arms akimbo in a wordless request for their attention.

"Now, that'll be less than fun," Bolverk grunted as he peeked into the alley. "It's dark already, and we don't want to hunt a murderer or worse in their own territory. Still, as it could be a changeling, we can't delay trying to get information on it. We try to get a lead from that lady and be off to the next guardhouse. We can follow up on that tomorrow, or if we get evidence that it's a changeling, inform the Red Brigade right away and be off for good."

Hall bristled on the inside, hearing those words. Inform the Red Brigade and leave if it's a changeling? People would die in the time it took for an enforcer to arrive. People like his brother and father. Siegfried had slain a changeling alone, and they were a team of six now!

When Bolverk squinted at him, Hall forced himself to relax his muscles again. Losing his calm wouldn't do him any good. He had known that guardsmen weren't supposed to actually engage a changeling, but it was still a letdown. No matter – he would wait patiently for his chance.

The cold, worn stone walls of the buildings loomed too far over them for any moonlight to touch the narrow dirt path. Bolverk lit their only oil lantern, which glimmered unsteadily through the denigrated glass pane and let shadows jump randomly around them. Every corner was filled with crates, doorways, more alleys and other opportunities for someone (or something) to get the jump on them.

At least Svana seemed to be as nervous as Hall was, judging from her stiff posture.

The only sound accompanying them was their own steps and the occasional splat when someone stepped in a puddle. In the gloomy, swaying light of the lantern, Eirik's stoic face was lit and shadowed again as if his features were constantly transforming, and Hall's imagination caused a bead of sweat to run down his forehead.

He didn't know them all that well. He wouldn't be able to tell if one of them acted just a bit different than usual. If one of them wasn't who he claimed to be.