Aalis had not slept well, her concerns about Judd causing her to toss and turn, wondering endlessly if she should check on him during the night then admonishing herself not to be so motherly.

“He is a grown man,” she murmured quietly to herself, “he does not need you fussing over every scraped knee and stubbed toe...”

However, it was not his physical injuries that made her restless. If she was honest, it was the hollow look in his eyes. His brown gaze, that had been rather unremarkable except for the exuberance and hope that had sparkled in them, no longer shone. It had caused her heart to ache to see how one man’s arrogance had destroyed another man’s hope.

Still…a good night’s sleep should restore some of his resolve and if they could get away from this awful fort, Judd would recover.

Aalis rolled over onto her back and played with the end of one of her dreadlocks. “Stop it,” she whispered harshly to herself, “Verne is there and will look after him. For goodness sake, Aalis, go to sleep!”

Understandably then, the sun was already up by the time Aalis woke, her body finally sinking into a deep sleep and unwilling to rise. She yawned and left the hut that she shared with some of the other young women who worked the farmland of Fort Bastil. She stumbled to the well and, drawing water from it, she splashed some on her face, willing herself to wake up.

“Aalis?”

“Verne, good morning.” She greeted. “How is Judd?”

Verne paused, his blue eyes concerned and grave. “Judd…wasn’t on his bedroll when I woke up,” Aalis’ body seized for a moment before painful prickles flooded her body as Verne added, “and I haven’t been able to find him.”

She stared at him, unable to form a single word before darting to the hut that she had put Judd to bed in the night before. His bedroll was alarmingly empty and his sword still leaned against the wall of the hut as though forgotten. Aalis’ felt panic starting to set in.

“Where…where…” She turned to see Verne behind her. “Where would he go?”

“I don’t know.” Verne admitted. “He said nothing last night…but you saw what that brute Dalain did to him.” His brow furrowed. “You don’t think he…”

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Aalis sagged slightly before forcing herself upright. “No…not Judd…surely…” She licked her lips, trying to gather her wits. “We just need to find him.”

“I’ll search the marketplace and the fort.” Verne offered, moving away to immediately start searching.

“You do not believe he would return to that place?”

Verne cringed. “It is the one structure high enough that if he chose to…”

“Enough!” Aalis said, putting her hands out to stop his words and the imagery they conjured. “Yes…go. Search. I will ask around here.”

Verne hurried off to comply and Aalis began to ask anyone she came across if they had seen Judd. For an hour she came up with blank expressions and shrugs of ignorance. She widened her search and leaned over a fence to catch the attention of a man plucking weeds from his garden.

“Excuse me!” She called. “I am looking for a young man, Judd LaMogre. He is taller than I with curly brown hair…”

“The one who took a beating from Dalain…yes I know him.”

Aalis gasped. “You…you were there yesterday when I was treating him...” The man grunted in reply. “Mr…Agress.” He didn’t even respond to this. “Have you seen him this morning?”

“I saw him.”

Aalis waited but Mr Agress didn’t offer anything else.

“Where is he?”

“How should I know?”

She ground her teeth. “You saw him!”

“I didn’t follow him.”

“Which direction did he go?” The old man gave a half hearted wave eastward. Aalis turned and frowned. “What is that way?”

“More fields then there’s the fishing community, the docks…”

“Oh no…” The blood drained from her face. “He has…gone back…to that life…Oh, no, no, no…Judd…what did that hateful man do to you?”

“Knocked some sense into the whelp if you ask me.”

Aalis turned and studied the old man, dread forming in the pit of her stomach. “You did say something to him yesterday!” He shrugged and she climbed over the fence. “What? What did you say?”

“Get off my garden!”

“What did you say to him?” She demanded, not caring one wit about his garden.

Mr Agress stood up with cracking joints that put a scarecrow’s creakiness to shame. “I told him to do himself a favour and go home.”

Aalis stared at him, astounded. “How could you?” She whispered, her anger gone. “How could you say that to him?”

“Look, if the fool wants to go out into the world and get himself killed while trying to become something he’s clearly got no right, no experience and no training to be, someone needs to be the voice of reason.”

“Your reason,” Aalis snapped with her hands on her hips, “and where you see no right, no experience and no training, I see eagerness, kindness and compassion, humility and integrity.”

“Ha!” The old man snorted. “Does that sound like any knight you have ever known?”

“Of course not,” Aalis argued, “but that is the point! Maybe this world needs less knights like Sir Alaykin who encourages thugs like Dalain who humiliates people by knocking them down eighteen times and more like Judd LaMogre who has done nothing to…” She stopped herself and stepped back. “Do you know something…I am wasting my time with you.” She spun on her heel and began to run for the shoreline, her anger with the old man dissipating with every step as her anxiety grew.