Immediately after the meeting, Ehran had directed Eric to go on a patrol. He also handed over a simple brown tunic, with a wolf’s head stitched onto the back and arms in white thread. It was an official apprentice’s cloth, and while Eric had been expecting to receive one eventually, the action came as a slight shock to him. Nevertheless, he accepted it gratefully, feeling the light but comfortable fabric between his fingers.

“I had it made custom for you,” Ehran explained. “It will fit over your body comfortably, and your armor can be worn over it without difficulty.”

Eric had hurriedly stripped his armor off, then donned the tunic. It fit perfectly, conforming to his body even more closely than his own clothes. It was a bit awkward until he adjusted his undershirt, and then he replaced the armor. Ehran was right, he thought. It fit just right to allow armor to sit snugly. He nodded his gratitude and buckled the belt and its swords around his waist.

“Will I be patrolling with you?” He asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

“No,” Ehran replied, confirming his thought. “You will be placed with a random squad of the Queensguard, and assist with their patrols. We suspect that the citizens may be restless, so make sure to keep your eyes peeled.”

Eric nodded his understanding but didn’t say anything. He hoped that his face didn’t display the concern and misgiving that he was feeling. The last thing he wanted was for Ehran to think that he wasn’t capable of the mission he’d been set. Ehran seemed not to notice his hesitation, however, as he was busy conversing with other members around him. Each of the masters had split up to give the instructions, passed down to them by Calemviir.

The Captian of Issho-Ni himself had departed for the palace, to speak with the Queen about potential measures they could explore. It was the one thing required of him in order to keep his jurisdiction. He had to inform the Queen of every measure he took, and freely trade information that he gathered. All information from the meeting that she didn’t already know would likely be shared today. Eric pushed the random assortment of thoughts aside and made his way out of the dojo. Ehran had already told him what to do, and he knew that he was expected to move off at once, not wait around.

He made it to the Queens’ Guard Barracks in just under ten minutes, where he found several dozen small squads already being formed. There were tunics and robes of Issho-Ni dispersed among the crowd, about one for every squad. There were four men to a squad, he could see. He crossed the green grass and approached the first group he could find without a member of Issho-Ni present.

“From Issho-Ni, are you?” One man said. He was wearing a Sergeant’s badge on his boiled leather breastplate, marking him as the man in charge. “You know what’s required of you?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Eric replied crisply. “I’m to join you on patrols, and to keep an eye out for trouble.”

“Just stick with us and don’t get under our feet,” the sergeant said dryly. “This ain’t the type of work that’s for an apprentice. But if you listen, you might just avoid mucking it up for us.”

This tone surprised Enri, who had expected at least a little more respect. They were working professionals, after all, and circumstances made them temporary comrades. So why was he so dismissive of Eric’s presence? Was it because he was a fighter without a strict oath of loyalty to the man? Or was the Sergeant displeased by having someone as fresh-faces as him to look out for? Well, thought Eric with a hidden scoff, he was a spectacularly ignorant man if he thought him incapable.

He made no reply to the rude comment, appearing to tighten a strap on his bracers that needed no tightening. The Sergeant, waiting for a similar reply, snorted derisively and gestured for his men to rise. “Right boys. Let’s get a move on. We’ll start in the residential district, as it’s the closest.”

The other three Queensguard, in their grey and blue tunics, hefted their equipment off the ground and donned it. Two wore swords, one had a spear, and the sergeant himself had a heavy hammer dangling on his waist, within easy reach. All beside the spearman had medium-sized shields. They followed their sergeant, and Eric tagged along behind, silently wishing that he’d chosen another group to support.

They made a beeline for the Residential District, as the sergeant had said, making their way down Queen’s Road and making short, looping trips into the side roads and alleys that lined it. Their progress was slow, but it was thorough. Citizens all around them clearly noticed the effort, the clear attention they were putting into their search for potential miscreants. Eric couldn’t tell if they were relieved or unnerved by the increased presence of the Queen's Guard.

Unsurprisingly, they found no evidence of criminal activity, whether petty or serious. This was clearly due, in part, to the sheer number of the Queen's Guard. No criminal would be keen to wander the streets and take part in obviously illegal activities. The entire city of Milagre was on edge after the events in the Temple District. While they might not know exactly what had transpired, there was still a great sense of unease that settled over the city. This, of course, was why Calemviir and the other masters had deemed more patrols necessary.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

True to his words, the Sergeant of the squad Eric had selected said nothing to him. If he was addressed at all, it was part of the group that he gave orders to. The other three men made no comment on this cold treatment, merely moving when and where directed. To them, this was just another day on the job. For Eric, it was a step out of the ordinary, but he tried his best to keep up, anticipating what the sergeant had in mind.

It wasn’t until the lunch hour that they started encountering trouble. The middle of the day, when trading was at its highest, often created a few spots of trouble, but today it was a little different. With the tension that was sweeping through the city, quite a few people were choosing to stay inside their homes. Those that did not were harried, nervous, and prone to arguments. Each of these arguments had to be settled before they turned into fights, and it was the job of the Queen’s Guard, along with their Issho-Ni companions, to settle them.

Eric had just finished shooing away an angry-looking farmer, who’d taken issue with the price of a tool. The man cursed both Eric and the merchant but made no attempt to escalate it further. Eric watched him pacing angrily away with a sigh of relief, oblivious to the thanks of the merchant. Turning away at the sound of another shout, he raced back through the crowd. Someone was yelling at the entrance to the Market District, and a large crowd had already gathered to witness.

Eric struggled through the crowd to see what was going on. At first, nobody wanted to move for him, but as more and more spotted the insignia on his tunic and the fact that he was armed, they made what little room they could to let him pass. Some refused to budge even then, but Eric simply shoved past, ignoring the grumbles and complaints at his action. Finally, he burst through the crowd and saw who had been doing the shouting.

There were nine figures gathered at the entrance to the district. Four of them were clearly priests, but even they wore elaborate armor. Heavy golden pauldrons swept off their shoulders, and the sleeves of their robes were home to many light golden plates of metal. This, along with the high-quality fabric that made up their clothing, seemed to mark them as high-ranking officials. The only issue was that Eric couldn’t recognize any of the liveries that were on them.

A simple gold fist was superimposed on their red robes and tunics, holding a sword at an angle. It was the same way that leaders raised their swords to inspire their foes. It didn’t belong to any of the military organizations or divine entities that were celebrated in Milagre, Eric knew. Maybe they represented some foreign interest and were encountering trouble with the rather spirited city.

One of the priests, clearly the leader based on the more intricate embroidery his robe featured, was standing in front and facing a clearly angry citizen of Milagre. A baker, judging by the flour-stained apron he wore, was shouting at the top of his voice, his face no more than a few inches away. Behind him were another half dozen townsfolk, all making loud noises of agreement to whatever the baker was saying. The head priest’s face was calm and arrogant, making no reply to the angry group’s remarks.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, directing his question at the half dozen citizens who were shouting at the robed men. “Why are you disrupting the peace of the city?”

The leader of the tiny mob stopped his shouting to look around, wondering who had interrupted him. At first, seeing only the young face, his face was stretched in a sneer. Then, as Eric drew himself up and placed one hand on the hilt of his longer blade, he made out the insignia of Issho-Ni and the clear ready stance that he held. No wise citizen provoked armed men if they could help it, but this man was clearly furious enough to consider the cost truly worth it.

“These invaders!” he spat at Eric, pointing with one knobbly finger at the head priest, nearly poking him as he did so. “They come to Milagre, and demand that we worship a fake god!”

Eric raised his eyebrows. The men certainly matched what he expected of servants of a god. He turned to face the head priest now, who was regarding him with the same smooth, arrogant face. “Well? Is this true? Are you causing trouble for these people?”

“I am High Priest Norman Berran,” the man said smoothly as if he were being introduced in court. “I am the devoted servant of Attos Berran, God of War.”

The words sent a shock down Eric’s spine, and he felt as though a large, icy rock had slipped into his stomach. He immediately turned his body to face the priest, gripping the hilt of his weapon. The last follower of Attos he’d met had tried to kill him, so he wasn’t taking any chances. More angry muttering came from the small group of townsfolk behind him, and even from the crowd that had gathered to watch.

“Like I said!” The baker shouted beside him. “He wants to bring a false god into Milagre! You won’t fool us! That bastard of a King is a mortal man. He’s no god!”

Eric glanced quickly around him, searching for a sign of the Queen’s Guard, or even one of the robes of Issho-Ni. He couldn’t make any out from the crowd. Obviously the townsfolk wouldn’t know that Attos had recently killed a divine and taken his power. They still thought of Attos as the invading king who had nearly conquered Zaban. Of course, now that he was a god in his own right, he was bound to have followers who shared his divine power, but Eric hadn’t expected any priests to show up this soon.

“What do you say, member of Issho-Ni?” the High Priest was saying now. “Will you honor the ancient law of Milagre, which states that all gods not breaking a Divine Law are to be allowed space and worship?”