~III~

Steel, iron, brass, copper, silver, gold, and many other metals that Rohdar did not even know the names of. The shop was full of shelves and racks full of various items forged of all kinds of these metals, and all of it was especially well-crafted.

Ahead was a desk, and when Rohdar approached it, he noticed a cute little bell, most likely made of mixed metals, but it appeared to be a goldish color. He felt himself wanting to ring it, but he decided to go snooping around for the weapon section. There was a small metal shelf of daggers - none of which were what Rohdar sought. He silently asked himself why he would look for a hidden dagger on a shelf where daggers were for sale.

“Can I help you?” asked a strong voice.

Rohdar turned to see a tall, blondish man in his early 20s near the desk. “No,” he answered, “just looking.”

“I see,” the man nodded with a skeptical look on his perfectly proportioned face.

Rohdar felt jealous. He knew himself to be tall and rather nice-looking, but this blond was taller and attractive. It dawned on Rohdar that this was probably Shaid, so he asked, “are you Shaid, the owner?”

“Yes,” the blond answered, “I am.”

“These are some nice daggers,” Rohdar mentioned.

“My father made most of those.”

“Do you have any others?”

“If I did, they obviously aren’t for sale,” Shaid nearly growled, then pretended to clear his throat.

Rohdar smirked. Shaid had gotten defensive in tone when other daggers were mentioned. That was a good sign, Rohdar thought. He decided that he would do some snooping around after the shop closed that night, so he casually asked, “How long are you open?”

“Until seven,” he said.

“Alright,” Rohdar nodded, “thank you.” He swiftly left the shop and stood in the middle of the street like a fool. He looked to his right and saw a mix of wooden and stone buildings and shops. It was too foggy to read the damp signs. Ahead was a merchant’s shop and to his left began a market.

Rohdar turned right and strode towards distant noise. It was either a streetfight or an untamed bar. He was personally hoping it to be a fair streetfight, but bars were always good for gathering information.

He got closer. It was a streetfight in front of a bar. There was a small crowd shouting at tussling boys in the center, and Rohdar could make out the dark-haired stableboy getting punched in the stomach by a young man who was obviously much stronger than him.

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The brown-haired man took the boy’s head to the chin and was successfully stunned long enough for the stableboy to stagger backwards on the wet cobblestone.

The man blinked, then ruthlessly elbowed the boy in the ear with devastatingly impressive force.

The teenaged boy fell into a gritty little puddle with a weak splash.

Rohdar tapped on a man’s shoulder, “Why are they fighting?”

“The little one should learn to watch his mouth,” the man snickered.

As Rohdar pushed his way through the crowd, he watched the downed boy get kicked in the stomach and curl up. His boot, defiled with horse muck and street water, shot up and delivered a sharp kick to the man’s shin, which only angered him. The man reached down to violently grab the boy, but Rohdar stepped between them.

“Get outa my way.”

“He learned his lesson,” Rohdar said firmly, “hurting him more won’t help anyone.”

“He doesn’t learn ‘til he bleeds,” the man growled, “he won’t have any blood to remember this by. So get outa my way before I have to teach you a lesson.”

“Please just leave the boy alone,” Rohdar said, just to watch the brown-haired man’s fists tighten.

“This isn’t any of your business!” he said and threw a heavy punch at Rohdar’s face.

He dodged it and kicked the man in the jaw. Rohdar turned and bent down over the stableboy as the man fell onto the ground behind him. Rohdar brushed the straight, dark hair off of the boy’s ear, which was full of dark blood. He looked over his shoulder at the brown-haired man, who was sitting up and rubbing his jaw. “Hey,” Rohdar shouted, “you did make him bleed.”

The man scowled, “Impressive kick, soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Rohdar grumbled and shook his head, nudging the boy’s unconscious head with his thumb.

The boy moaned. His dull green eyes opened halfway for a moment before he turned his head enough to spill the blood from his ear onto his cheek and the cobblestone. He was not about to stand.

“Hey,” Rohdar said in a soft voice, “what’s your name?” He received no reply, so Rohdar scooped up the boy and began walking away from the scenario as confidently as if he knew where to go.

The boy’s hair and clothes were damp, his body skinny and long-limbed. Rohdar guessed the stableboy to be a couple inches shorter than himself and about 15 years old. He felt too light. Either his parents were poor, or he was an orphan. Perhaps he had run away if he was a fool enough to pick a fight with a strong young man from a bar.

After a few minutes Rohdar came across a shed, filled with straw and the door left open. He unclipped his copper clasp with one hand and sloppily laid his cloak down over the spiny straw, then laid the boy down on top of his cloak.

The bruises on his pale face were beginning to darken from red to black. His ear, the left as Rohdar noted, was beginning to stop bleeding.

He could not think of what else to do for the stableboy, so he closed the door enough to be out of sight, but open enough to see out of, and sat himself down in the straw between the boy and the shed’s entrance.

Rohdar was tired and hated this weather. His normally fluffy, bright brown hair was wet, dark, and falling in his eyes. His lungs stung at every cold, wet breath he took. His hands felt like ice and were beginning to shake, so he unbuckled half of the straps that held his dark leather jacket shut and tried to warm his hands on his belly.

Rohdar glanced over at the stableboy and watched his shivering breath freeze. He pulled his hands out from inside his jacket and took off his lighter cloak off his own shoulders to lay over the boy, and wrapped the edges of the one he lay on overtop of him.

It had not felt this cold when he had been moving around, Rohdar thought. He was tired and curious about the stableboy. He at least wanted his name. He wanted to ask questions. He had to ask questions. He needed to find the dagger. He had to move, but he shut his eyes.