I came out into the courtyard of the barracks, pocketing the writ and taking a seat on the benches. The fog had all but disappeared and the rays of sunshine provided much needed warmth and comfort.

I removed my cloak, sitting it next to me, and gazed upon the silent training yard. I exhaled and closed my eyes.

I breathed in. I breathed out.

In and out.

In and out.

Alarien was dead. There did not seem to be any tampering in the kitchens but we would need a herbalist, rather than take any chances. The body would also have to be more thoroughly searched, to find any traces of other injuries or disfigurations: a man of the chapel would have his silver for the deed.

Stranger than all, was that we could not find any sign of struggle. Not a single one. Everything was in its rightful place, except the sword and the books that Alarien rested on in death.

I breathed out and opened my eyes, rubbing at my temples. A crow of violet eyes, in a summer storm, with winds strong enough to carry a man. Perfect time for a murder but he hadn’t died that day.

Alarien was already a day dead, the scent of rotting meat intermixed with that sickly sweet was too pronounced. No, I would need to speak to Viran, the now orphaned son.

The gate to the barrack courtyard was opened, as the usual gaggle of boys came in, going to the rack of wooden shields and swords to begin their play. Their laughter tempered down as they spotted me and quietly shuffled in place, restrained from their usual fare.

I breathed out and rose from the benches, bundling my thick wool cloak and tying it to my belt, next to my sword.

I exited the courtyard and began the trek through the main street. The smattering of people began to grow into crowds as I approached the markets. Stalls had come alive on cobbled streets, as merchants began their daily haggling for fruits, spices and garments.

My stomach rumbled in misery and I stopped at a fruit stall. The uninterested young woman at the stall pointed, “10 silvers for the basket and the fruit. Willow basket. Sir.” I nodded and tabled the 10 silvers, picking up the basket of fruits, filled with at least a dozen apples and pears.

The crowd began to grow thicker as I approached the inns, while whispers and shouts had erupted under the banner of the Rake Inn. Men and women had stopped to gawk at the man yelling for attention on top of a box.

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I bit into my pear, and walked to see what the newest form of charlatan had to offer. The man, black of hair and black of wit, dressed better than most haggard vagrants selling miracle cures to fools.

“Hear me, Hear me, I am a humble servant of Grace!” He spoke in a near thunderous voice, as the crowd hushed their muttering to near silence.

“I was bed-ridden and sickly just a few summers ago. I could barely crawl and yet, here I stand, of health and prosperity by the benevolence of Grace!” The whispers began in earnest again, as many began to leave. I took another bite. The man smiled, watching those who left before continuing to espouse his creed.

“Belief is necessary and must be anointed with tribulations. We must have faith, and with faith we can overcome all!” He gestured to the crowd, with opened palms, like a preacher.

“I was but a farmer, poor and destitute, when winter struck and I was left with nothing.” I stifled a smile, his hands were soft. “But through grace, I have been given wealth and prosperity!” He paused, dragging the silence with him, as the remaining stragglers watched the charlatan put on a show.

“I can teach you the truths of Grace!” The man coiled his hand and struck with a grace imbued fist. His hand blurred but for just a second.

I blinked.

“I can teach you to heal the wounds with elixirs, prolong your life and fight as if you were 10 men!” His voice was of utter confidence and my face soured, as others paused on the cobbled streets, to watch the spectacle in renewed interest, rushing closer to him, speaking as one and dimming his voice and my view.

I rubbed my forehead as it began to pound. Not just a well-dressed charlatan then but a whittle of talent. Someone would have to deal with this, I would have to speak to Yandar tonight.

My hunger had all but evaporated, I tossed the unfinished pear into the basket and began trudging onwards, leaving behind the crowds.

The edges of the town came into sight, as the markets of silver, iron and bronze conducted their fare. The dirt-covered miners handled the ores down from the wagons, as foremen yelled to the waiting crowd and sold them to the highest bidder. Guards flanked the platform, as men yelled out their price.

I continued apace, leaving the town behind.

The grand hills loomed over the heart of the valley and the farmsteads dotting the horizon. The sun was heavy on my head, reaching its zenith, as my legs began to ache. At Least the land was flat.

Travelers on horses and carts passed me from time to time, outdoing the pace of my legs. Men, women and children from time to time struck my path, marching in sullen silence in the heat of the sun. A boy walked with his mother, whacking a stick on the dirt in some semblance of joy. His mother followed, a babe held in her hands as she begged the boy to put the stick down. The boy merely ran forward, and I chuckled at the sight and passed them by.

A gentle wind soon returned to the heart of the valley, swaying the fields of wheat, rye and oats, giving relief from the irreverent sun. I finished my pear, and dumped the seeds on Sarath’s farmstead.

I could see the forest on the hills behind the small ramshackled home of Sarath. The steep incline to the library, hovered far in the distance. The forest on the hill was swaying with the wind. I exhaled.

It was time to speak to the orphan.