Sheran was, as he’d expected, largely unchanged since the fall of Milagre. Eric could spot some signs of damage along the wall where enemies had tried to get in but had been rebuffed. The gates were manned by a strange combination of soldiers, Royal Guards, and mercenaries from the Mage’s Guild. He imagined that quite a few of the soldiers would also be mercenaries, but when the defense of the port city was so important, there really wasn’t a reason not to hire them.

He, Jerik, and Johan had no trouble gaining access, thanks to Eric’s rank within Issho-Ni. The organization was generally trusted, and its masters were allowed to access any public space without question. And in these trying times, they were even welcomed warmly, just in case they were needed. The leader of this watch’s shift in particular gave him a salute once he was identified, a tired sort of relief showing on his face.

“A pleasure to see you alive and well, Master Breeden,” the man said, clamping a fist to his breast in the traditional salute of a soldier. “We haven’t seen a member of Issho-Ni in some time.”

Eric wasn’t troubled by that statement, because he knew that the faction was being kept busy. From the outside, it may seem that they’d been dismantled or even destroyed, but their lack of public sighting was only due to the fact that they kept on the move, much like Eric himself. There was too much work to do to allow any of them to settle in one place for too long.

“You as well, Captain,” he replied, quickly glancing at the patch on the man’s uniform and identifying his rank. “Tell me, how’s the city faring?”

“We’ve fended off four separate invasion attempts, sir,” the Captain replied crisply. “Each time they were sent packing before they could get inside.”

Eric nodded his approval. “That’s good to hear. Keep up the good work. If the alarm sounds, I will rush over.”

He and the guard offered another salute, and the man stepped aside to let them into the city. Only once they were out of earshot of the men did Johan speak up. “So. What’s the real reason we’re here, Eric?”

In spite of himself, Eric felt a grin form on his face. Of course, Johan hadn’t been fooled by the simple nature of the mission he’d espoused. He glanced back at his lieutenant. “Have I ever told you you’re too nosy for your own good?”

“Not in nearly two weeks,” Johan replied easily, grinning back. “I was beginning to worry you’d forgotten.”

Eric shook his head in mock exasperation, then reached one hand into his jacket pocket, retrieving a folded paper. He’d been instructed not to read it until he reached the port city. If he was at risk of being captured or killed, he was to destroy it at once, regardless of their situation. He unfolded it now, curious as to what the Elder of Shallow Brook had wanted of him.

“Find mercenaries in Sheran, and mobilize them to Murgan, to join a surprise attack on the capital,” He read aloud. “Was that really so important to be kept secret?”

“By their nature, sneak attacks are supposed to be quiet,” Johan quipped. Eric cast him a glare, which he studiously ignored. “So. Does it say which mercenaries in particular, or are we allowed to pick?”

“It doesn’t say,” Eric replied, reading on. “Hang on, I was wrong. There’s a group with the guild here, and they don’t have anything else to do. The point of contact is someone named Falynn Shaso. Says she’s a druid, and she’ll be in a party of four.”

“And I’m assuming it doesn’t say where they can be found.”

“No. But there are only a few places that they could be,” he reasoned. “With the city this packed, if they have coin, they’ll go to one of the bathhouses.”

He glanced back at his companions for their opinion, and they nodded in agreement. It made good sense, they thought. Sheran was probably the safest place in current times, and anyone who’d been working to undo the Infernal’s grip on the nation would need rest. The bathhouses would certainly provide that. Eric had enjoyed them several times in the past. They were like hot springs in quality, and excellent for sore and tired muscles.

“Master Breeden!”

A voice was shouting from behind them, audible even above the din of the city streets. It carried an unmistakably hostile tone that put the other two on guard at once. Eric gave them a signal to relax for the time being and turned to view the person calling him. It was a broad-shouldered man, carrying a sword at his belt and a shield across his back. He looked tough and battle-wise for his age.

“Yes?” Eric said, raising one eyebrow. “What can I do for you?”

“You can return my warrior to me, that’s what you can do!” The man shouted. “I know you’re his warlord!”

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Eric blinked politely back, refusing to let himself be stirred by the man’s anger. “I assume you speak of Kieran. I defeated him in fair combat. It was all above board and correct.”

“You took advantage of the fact that he’d been possessed!” The man spat. In the face of Eric’s complete lack of anger, his only continued to grow. “I will not tolerate this slight on our family!”

“Are you related to young Kieran?” Eric asked.

“We share a bond greater than that of blood,” the man growled. “I was the one who trained him, and raised him as my own apprentice and son!”

“What does that have to do with this moment?” Eric asked. He was keenly aware of a crowd of spectators forming around them, curious to see what the disturbance was. “I’m assuming you were his previous warlord?”

“Correct!” The man said. Eric saw his hand inching closer to his scabbard, and had an inkling of what was coming next. Sure enough, the sword came clear. “I challenge you to a fight! I will reclaim him!”

Kieran might have been an excellent fighter to have at one’s side, but Eric thought this was going a bit far. He wasn’t a commodity. Johan took a half-step forward, hand dropping to the hilt of his own weapon. “Want me to take care of it, Eric?”

“No,” he replied firmly, putting one hand on Johan’s forearm to hold him. He addressed the warrior. “What is your name?”

“I am Dennis Moran,” the warrior said. “I command a troupe of six, eight once I defeat you!”

So he planned on claiming control of Eric if he won, did he? Johan bristled at the implication, but again, Eric forestalled him. Dennis was clearly a skilled combatant. But without the assistance of an Infernal to boost his battle capabilities, he didn’t pose as great of a threat. “Get back, and let me deal with this.”

“I accept your challenge. Your terms?”

“Until one of us cannot move!” The man snarled, swiveling the shield onto his left arm and tightening the straps.

Eric drew his swords with one casual flick, and quickly inspected them. “I assume that, if I win, you will accept me as your warlord, and will follow any command I give you?”

“That is the way of my people.”

“Very well,” Eric said, offering the man a smile. “I’m ready when you are.”

Dennis didn’t wait for someone to call start. After all, there was no such luxury in a real fight. He rushed towards Eric with a yell, his sword resting on the top of his shield. For all his apparent anger and haste, he maintained a balanced stride, keeping the shield in a perfect position and his body loose enough to react to any situation. Well, almost any situation, Eric thought. He couldn’t react to what he didn’t expect.

He thrust out with the sword in the last few feet, stamping his lead foot forward to deliver extra momentum. Eric intercepted the blow with ease, though he grunted in surprise at the power behind it. Then he pivoted to the side, lashing out with one high stomping kick that struck the shield. He channeled a large burst of ki into the attack as soon as he made contact. Big as Dennis was, the force of that kick knocked his shield away and spun him in place. He stumbled slightly, disoriented by the sudden change in direction.

Before Dennis could think to make another move, to attack or fall back, Eric brought his right foot down, channeling enough power in that twisting movement alone to cleave the man from shoulder to waist. Instead, he brought the pommel of his right sword down with thunderous force on the man’s helmet. The helmet might have protected him from the full crushing blow, but enough of it still got through to knock the man to his knees. Stunned and concussed, he dropped his sword and fell flat on his stomach at Eric’s feet.

The crowd let out a gasp of shock at the speed of his reaction and the casual force behind his two attacks. They’d been chained so closely together that they’d looked like one continuous, fluid movement. In a matter of seconds, the fight was over. They could tell at once that the warrior with the shield wasn’t in any shape to continue fighting. He was stirring feebly, crawling away in a vain attempt to escape the younger man.

“I believe that settles the matter,” Eric said, sheathing his swords. He didn’t bother waiting for the man’s surrender. Chances were he was too dazed to speak properly, let alone move. “Get yourself to a healer for the injury, then report back to me in a day’s time.”

He would have walked away then and there, not keen on being in the public eye, if it weren’t for one of the watchers stepping forward, head bobbing in a respectful greeting. It was an older man, perhaps in his mid to late thirties. He carried a sword and shield like Dennis, but his armor was adorned with a patch, identifying him as a former Attosian soldier, now retired.

“Can I help you?” Eric asked the man, his guard still up. Even after five years, he was still a little wary anytime he encountered an Attosian. “I won’t be entertaining any other challengers just now.”

“I do not wish to challenge you,” The man said. His voice carried the distinct guttural accent of Attos, indicating that he hadn’t been in the country that long. “My allies and I wish to speak to you, sir.”

The casual use of the ‘sir’ seemed to indicate that he wasn’t serving his previous lord anymore. Well, that had been obvious by his patch. But Eric still wasn’t certain that he could be trusted entirely. That was until another figure stepped out to stand at his side. She was a thin girl, standing perhaps a head shorter than her companion, but she had considerable magical power about her. She carried a thick staff of what he assumed was living wood, and her hair was a riot of different bright colors.

“I beg your pardon, Master Breeden,” she said, her voice a little shaky with nerves. “I was told to find you when you arrived in Sheran.”

It clicked in his head then, just who these two were. He let out a quiet sigh that they couldn’t see, and gave a discreet signal for Johan and Jerik to relax. He’d noticed that they were on guard as well. “Falynn Shaso, I presume.”

She nodded, turning the action into a respectful bow. “We’ve been instructed to await you and work for you for a time, sir.”

“I’ve received similar information,” he replied. “But let’s not discuss it in the open. I’m hungry, and there’s a good restaurant nearby where we can talk.”