I walk out of the inn into the afternoon sunlight.

"Alms, mister." Says a child’s voice.

I turn to look at them and feel an instant welling of pity. They are missing an eye and part of their arm while also being thin to the bone and their hair caked with mud. Their rags offer them some protection from the weather.

"Of course." I respond and pass over twenty bronze coins to their open palm.

"Thanks." They say with a practised smile revealing broken teeth and bleeding gums.

"The client." Declares Jerrick.

"Hello." Says the child.

"Greetings."

How to do this?

The innkeepers have broken no laws. Slaves have no rights but to be used according to their master’s wishes. Making it public will run them into hiding from stigma and if they have a mage capable of doing permanent bindings then a ritual for body transformation is within their means.

Up North things might be different they could be punished without death. Even down South death could be arranged within the law.

"I understand now."

"Understand what?" asks the child.

"They must die, their allies must be uninterested in seeking revenge and we have to ensure the safety of all the slaves. That is the mission if we are to live and sleep well at night."

"Yes." Affirms Jerrick.

"You will help?" asks the child.

I bend down and look in their one eye. "Yes."

They smile widely in response.

"Do you have a plan on what you are going to do after?"

"Same as before but I get to keep all the coin."

What did I expect? At least they are human and live free in the city. What occupation can you do with one arm? Who will take the child as an apprentice? Maybe a philosopher if the child is given some learning? Philosophers mostly talk the child only needs a tongue. How do you become a philosopher?

"So, wait to nightfall?" asks Jerrick. "And get Gareth on board?"

"We need more information from your friends." I say to the child. "And for Gareth, I have a different task for him."

Protecting the girls.

"You could talk to old man Bey." Responds to the child. "Don’t trust the rest they will sell us out quick as a dart." He says while twirling a dart a small missile of rusted iron.

"We will. Can you take us to him?" asks Jerrick.

"For a price."

I toss the child a silver coin. "I will be back shortly." I say to the child then add "Jerrick." I say to him and I walk away looking for Gareth.

He is in the backyard, empty at the moment, wide enough to fit a carriage. A vacant patch of dirt is fenced off from the neighbouring building.

It is odd to watch someone practice sword fighting by themselves. His form is beautiful his movements flowing as he practices a routine he has done for a decade. A thousand times. Yet like trying to practise riding with no horse it looks strange. It is very different from sword training and alien to battle.

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"I wonder if I should take up the spear again?" I ask myself aloud.

"You should? It would do you good. I haven’t seen you excited in a long time."

I smile.

He is not wrong. Yet, when I left wars, so I left the spear behind.

"Can you stay here for the day? Keep an eye on the girls." I ask.

"Sure, but why?" he replies stopping the sword form and turning round to me, sweat drips from his brow the stench odorous from his body.

"I’ve got a job, dangerous if things go wrong."

"Of course."

There is a pause, and he adds.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to join?" he says his eyes narrowing in concern.

"I’m not, but I think we should make sure the girls are safe. They are in no condition yet to fend for themselves."

"As you say. We seem to have come full circle." He responds.

"It’s different."

"I understand but I also know that killing is always the same."

I have no response, for I don’t know how to deny it with a momentary hesitation I add.

"Keep safe."

"Stay alive." He answers.

I nod and walk away. My footfalls are heavy and rapid on the dirt as my thoughts circle. I doubt. Jerrick and the Child are talking as I return.

"Follow me." Says the Child upon seeing me.

I nod and follow behind them.

We come to a dingy alleyway half shrouded in shadow. Old Man Bey glares at us as we approach his face set in a permanent scowl his wrinkles like rocky crags. His dirt-encrusted; silver-grey hair dangles the tips reaching past his broad shoulders. Worn-down rags cover his body with his legs cutting off at his stump before where the knee would be. Both legs are resting on a wooden crate his two timber crutches lie at his side.

"Child, made new friends I see." He rumbles in a thick accent common to the south.

"They’re Magi."

"Sure." He scoffs.

Jerrick forms a ball of bright blue mana the size of a pig’s head floating off his open palm.

"Sorry, sir meant no offence." He mumbles.

"None taken." Jerrick answers with a shit-eating grin.

"We’re looking for Titar and his men." Declares the Child.

"Stirring up trouble, don’t be surprised when it comes back to bite you." Old Man Bey mutters turning away to lie on his side his shoulders tightening and rising to his ears.

"No one else will do it, well I’ll put my skin in the game. They got to go." The child responds. "Come on, please."

"What do I care. Titar has got a meeting. A few will act as guards and he will return to his warehouse during the night hours. The rest will be butchering one of the new slaves."

"Butchering?" I ask the hair standing up at the back of my neck.

What have I gotten myself into?

"Yes, to prepare the flesh before it goes to Grecis. What else are they going to do? There are no wars here. Butchery is where the action is. Helps pay for the ale and whores." Explains Old Man Bey.

"Where is this warehouse?" I ask.

"It is by the market of them. The Child knows where. You will be outnumbered."

I stare back.

"Not that I think that will be an issue for a Mage."

"No, it will not." Replies Jerrick.

"How many total? What experience do they have?" I enquire.

"Thirteen, then Titar and Grecis. That couple is a nasty piece of work." He clears his throat. "The usual urban dregs, a few barfights, a knife in the back. Two of them Titar keeps close. They are mercenaries with crossbows. They are your real threat."

"Indeed. I once saw a vain mage get skewered by a bolt years back."

"Well, if that is all." He says bluntly.

"Of course." I respond and I toss him a few coins walking away.

Jerrick and the Child follow.

"That was useful, I didn’t know to ask those questions. You are experienced." Jerrick says to me with a sidelong glance.

"Now you know." I reply back with a small smile then I say to Child. "Lead on."

"Follow me." They reply frowning their eyes wide and glazing over but on my command, they start off with a skip.

I stride behind the Child my step short, and the pace slow to match the small legs of the young one.

We walk out of the street, cross over the main road to the exit then make our way through an empty alleyway before leaping over a fence. We arrive at a road with a few warehouses.

We stop in front of a seemingly innocuous building.

I shiver as another spring shower passes through as we look on from across the street.

The warehouse is one of many in the area that is used to store goods that come from the road. The warehouse is a stone building in a rectangular shape in a line with a tiled roof it stretches back tens of feet.

My gaze is drawn to the entrance to the group of butchers circling a bipedal figure. It looks like a young female with long hair. I run towards them. She breaks away pushing through them. Then one of them bashes the side of her head with a spiked club.

She falls limp.

A pool of blood spills out of her head, and a small chunk of flesh sticks to the spike of the club. He laughs with a scowl.

I let out a breath and the world slows down.

But, I recall the danger I am in and my thoughts accelerate.

Another dead slave. What words can express this feeling? The only difference between the murder and the countless dead preceding her is that I saw it with my own eyes.

I squeeze my hands into a tight fist my knuckles turning white from the strain.