Weeks had past since Redven had visited Morhiem and Gunther in Amerossa. The tranquility of farm life was one of the many reasons that contributed to declining the offer from Morhiem. But not everything was a plus when it came to farm life. Redven had managed to frustrate some of the other farmers with his success. He didn’t know just who or how much, but all was made known at the local fair. Many of the farmers would bring their animals and produce to the fair, showing off and trading happened in equal portions. Some would bring their baked goods to share and sell, often goading their competition with old favourites that were difficult to replicate. They even had a competition for certain animal and produce categories. Redven wasn’t entering in any of them, preferring to enjoy the day with his family, but some of the farmers took the opportunity to pester him about his previous yield.

  “Here he is, the wizard himself,” shouted an unruly man Redven didn’t recognise. Likely a cousin of some farmer, he thought.

  “What special seeds did you get from the city this time? The King give you these ones or did you buy them from a witch?” said Grey John, stepping out from behind the man who started the hollering.

  Redven walked on, attempting to ignore the men, but deep inside he wished he could smash his head against theirs and push his memories of long hot days in the field straight into their empty heads. His grip tightened around Azura’s hand, but she was quick to calm him, she placed her hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright dear, their envy is nothing to get upset about,” she said softly.

  The rest of their day was spent tasting the food on offer and petting the animals that turned up for the show. The best event the fair had to offer was the talent show. These weren’t your ordinary talent show acts, like fire breathing or sword swallowing as is common in Amerossa. In this talent show, the farmers would perform an act with their chosen partner which had to be one of their farm animals. Redven had trouble discerning his favourite this year, a difficulty he shared with Kairam. They were both certain it was between the woman and her rooster who sung a duet in perfect harmony or the man who performed magic tricks with his prize winning cow, completed with sawing her in half and selling her off in burlap sacks, only to have her reappear alive and well, the sacks filled with her dung as an added comedic ruse.

  Leaving the fair proved more difficult than expected. The day had gone well, but some had not been able to leave their judgements at home. Grey John and several of the other farmers who were affected by Redven’s success had decided to share their minds with him, their day of drinking reinforcing their confidence. The men waited a little way down the road from the fair, on the way to Redven’s farm. He saw them huddled further down the road and asked Azura to keep Kairam close and to go back to the fair should he look like he is in trouble. She nodded and lessened her stride, holding Kairam tight to her. As Redven approached the men, the abuse came.

  “You come here with not a single drop of farming blood and you cheat us out of our livelihood!” yelled Grey John, opening the floodgates for the others.

  “My family has been farmin’ ‘ere for nine generations! The city was a pile o’dust when my great pappy built his legacy! And here you come along, puttin’ me and me fam’ly in dire straits!” said a man from behind Grey John, his voice unfamiliar to Redven.

  “We ought to teach you a lesson, for messin’ with our lives you city scum!” said Grey John, seemingly leading the charge. He took a step back and came in hard with a slow haymaker, a strike dodged easily by Redven, but the kick that came from behind Grey John wasn’t something Redven saw telegraphed, copping the bottom of the man’s boot to the leg. Losing his balance, two of the farmers jumped on him and held him by his arms so the others could deliver the lesson.

  Redven used their steady hold on his arms to prop his legs up and kick Grey John in the face, sending the drunk farmer stumbling backwards several lengths, his rear end meeting the dirt road hard. The two remaining farmers came at him simultaneously with vicious punches to his torso. Redven was stronger than the men holding him, jerking to the left to pull his right arm and the farmer attached to it straight into the blow from his comrade. The captor of his right arm dropped to the ground like the burlap sack from the magician’s show. His offender reeled back in shock that he’d downed his own friend. Redven took the opportunity to remove the grip that held his left arm, striking the farmer in the throat with a swift elbow, enough to cause choking without injury.

  The uninjured remainder came with great anger, furious that he had dared to fight back. Dodging left then right, Redven danced around them like the drunks they were, seeing every move as it was broadcast so obviously. The long wind up for the over-reaching hook, the swing back before the kick, Redven saw it all. Though he never thought to reason with the men, it would have done no more than anger them further. As Redven knew all too well, men who seek blood often find it, and he would be the one to give it to them. A quick jab to the throat and an elbow to the temple for the other. The fight was over. Grey John muttered something from behind his hand as he tried to hold the blood inside his head, but it was lost on Redven. All he could hear was the wind blowing through the trees and his heart beating a thousand times a second.

  Azura rushed over with Kairam, grabbed Redven by the shoulders and assessed him, grabbing his face and rotating his head to look for cuts. The full moon providing ample lighting, but it wasn’t necessary. Redven was fine. In fact, he felt more than fine. He felt alive. The adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he walked home with his little family, his hand trembling in Azura’s. Kairam began to speak, hoping to praise his father but quickly he was hushed by his mother, not wanting to condone the behaviour until he was old enough to understand. For now, it was enough that he saw his father defend himself. A quality she was thankful for and afraid of. Not for her own safety, but for his. Redven’s demeanor was brighter now than it had been all day, which worried his wife.

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  That night he didn’t join her in going to bed. Instead, he sat on a barrel outside the front of their house and stared at the sky, thinking back to previous conflicts when the sky looked down with the same impartial beauty. The dark expanse filled with distant stars and moons was always a welcome site at the end of a day of battle. He thought about the job offer he turned down and remembered back to the fight. He knew how to kill them. He threw every strike with intent to wound or disarm, but the decisions came moments before he acted, a decision that could have easily been to wound permanently or to kill. A punch to the throat will stop a drunk man who has fought more pigs than he has men, but then to kick him in the throat as he bends over to search for air, that is where Redven held himself short. Maybe he could handle that job without endangering his family? Or maybe he just got lucky? What if he had taken the job thinking he could handle it only to realise he couldn’t? The excitement of the night had run its course and with a long yawn he found himself ready for bed.

  The next day one of the men visited the farm. Redven stood in the back of the nearest field, close enough to see the man approach from a far distance. Redven walked with purpose towards his house, pitchfork in hand. His stride was long and determined, but the man turned to him and raised both hands to eye level. When he came into earshot, the man called out to Redven,

  “I’m sorry friend, last night was a poor way to go about it.”

  Redven continued his march towards the visiting farmer, slamming the pitchfork into a dirt mound. He came within reaching distance of the man, close enough to see his brow crease as he approached.

  “What’s your name?” asked Redven, looking for only two words from the man’s mouth.

  “Caine Sommersby,” replied the man, bringing his hands together in front of him as if to fix his belt with both hands, “But my friends call me Sommers.”

  “Well Sommers, how about you come inside for a drink and some food,” Redven said with a stern look on his face.

  “I’d rather not eat your food, but I’d love to come inside”

  “Should I make you eat it?” said Redven, a cheeky smirk creeping from his mouth. Sommers smiled awkwardly and followed Redven inside.

  Redven walked to the kitchen and grabbed a plate with cheese and bread on it before pouring himself and Sommers some water. He quickly downed his own cup and poured another, thirsty from the morning of work.

  “You’ve a lovely home,” said Sommers, an awkward attempt at small talk in the house of the man who he recently had made an enemy of.

  “But did I earn this house or did I steal it?” Redven said with a bitterness lingering in his words. He had allowed the man into his house to give him the opportunity to explain himself, but he would not forget what had happened last night and would not let being attacked in the presence of his family go by too easily.

  “Well… I suspect that the sweat on your brow is like that of any who earns his keep, wouldn’t you say?” Sommers said, still awkwardly testing the waters.

  “As I said before, last night was not a shining moment of mine and I’m sure the others would feel the same. I’ve come to — ”

  “And where are they?” interjected Redven.

  “Well, I don’t feel the drink in the morning like some men and my head only hurts when I touch the bruise, mayhaps they are still recovering from their wounded egos?”

  “Hmmh.”

  Redven sat at the small table opposite Sommers and handed him a plate of food and his water. The two drank in unison, Sommers moving momentarily behind Redven as if to copy him.

  “What they do is not my concern I’m afraid. When I woke this morning I realised that what I’d done was not something I want to hear of my son doing should he become frustrated by life,” said Sommers as a genuine look of remorse took hold of his face.

  “And what would you want of your son?” asked Redven.

  “I’d want him think for himself and to talk to a man before hitting him”

  “I don’t remember you hitting anyone,” said Redven, quick to retort the point, not allowing any quarter.

  “I hit the ground” laughed Sommers

  Sommers and Redven spoke for longer than it took to apologise, sharing stories of things they did as children and what it’s like seeing their sons do the same. As the sun rose higher, bringing the workable day closer to its end, Sommers took his leave so that he too could work the fields. Redven welcomed an enemy and said farewell to the closest thing to a friend that he’d made since he moved out of the city. That afternoon a rider arrived at the farm with a message from Morhiem, hoping for Redvent to meet him in the city again. Persistent, Redven thought. Morhiem was like a mule when it came to getting what he wanted. He was a fierce warrior and a brilliant strategist, which put him two steps ahead of much of his competition. He was a man who could play the long game before the game was started, the kind of man who only truly competed with time. And time was exactly what Redven needed.

  Azura’s response was support to the letter, but Redven could see the worry in her eyes. She was concerned about the farmers who hadn’t come to apologise, the ones who may very well still hold a grudge. A grudge made worse by a resounding defeat. She quickly dismissed the idea and encouraged Redven to make the journey, but asked if he could return as soon as he could, not wanting him to miss Kairam’s first day at school. They were sending him a little earlier than usual, his curious and keen intellect was motivation enough. They thought that the sooner he started school, the sooner he could finish and choose his own path. Unlike his parents, he would be given the choice of all that was on offer. His mother learned to work the loom from her mother, as she did from hers. His father worked as an assistant to a blacksmith before being forcibly recruited by the Amerossan army, both cases being literal trials by fire. He grew up as an orphan, but he always made the most of what he had. Kairam would never have to starve or worry about the roof over his head, his parents would make sure of that.