It was a foggy morning, typical for the March, when Pike arrived at the gates of Balmung. He would have preferred to enter the city at night, but now it was law that the gates were to remain firmly closed at night. Pike had only recently ceased trying to convince the gatekeepers to allow him inside after curfew, yet it seemed one of the few laws that none were willing to break, perhaps not even for the Emperor himself, let alone for a masterless wanderer carrying human heads at his belt.

Pike did not recognise the bearded old officers guarding the gate, but they took one look at him and waved him in regardless. Pike’s reputation evidently preceded him. He passed through the gate-tunnel, beneath the watchful gaze of stone gargoyles, leering at him from within their carven niches. When he emerged on the other side, the view of the city opened up to him, in all of its imperial glory.

Smog choked the streets, obscuring the sight of the shadowy figures emerging from their dens to begin another day. Squat buildings of stark grey stone and brick huddled close together as though for warmth. Pike instinctively repressed his sense of smell against the city’s rancour. Taking little notice of who or what he passed, Pike made his way up the wide street, ignoring the sights and sounds as though they were but illusions in a dream. Perhaps the citizens stared at him, seeing his sword or his scars, or perhaps they averted their gaze out of fear. Pike did not know. What care did he have for the gutter-filth the Empire called its children?

Sitting atop a hill, the old governor’s palace loomed before him. Once an Imperial barracks, now the feasting hall for kings and their retainers. Pike navigated his way up the street and to the palace’s wide gates. There he was haltedbuy a warrior, clad from head to foot in dark steel armour. His face obscured entirely a helmet adorned with a bronze mask shaped like a grimacing demon. His sword at his hip, his hand resting purposefully on its pommel.

“Halt. What is your business here brother?” the warrior said in a muffled voice.

Pike scowled. He had no liking for such barbarian champions, especially when they dressed like imperial stage-actors.

“I’m here for my pay.” Pike held forth the darkly stained sack in his hand. “Six outlaws, along with their ring-leader, Garth of Gorinium.”

The warrior seemed to tense up, though no expression could be gleamed from beneath the mask. He took the sack from Pike’s hand and looked inside. “A head-hunter then… And you expect payment for each one?”

“No, I just didn’t want to seperate Garth from his friends.” The warrior only stared blankly at Pike. “Of course I bloody expect to be paid for each, that was the damned offer. Or perhaps you’re new to this post and don’t know how all this works? Things are a little different up here in the March.” Pike had picked up a foreign accent in the man’s speech, suspecting he was some desperate southerner looking to make money in the frontier life.

If the southerner took any insult, he did not show it. “I’m sure you are correct, but from the neck up, an outlaw looks much like anybody else. How can we trust that you’re not trying to make some extra silver with the heads of some poor tradesmen?”

Pike’s hand instinctively went to his own sword. “Am I mistaken, or did someone die and make you the lord? Unless you’re the one paying me, I don’t care what you think.”

The southerner’s hands clenched into fists, but he did not rise to the bait. He turned his head and whistled, waving over a servant-girl who hurried over. The man handed over the sack to the girl and spoke softly in some tribal tongue. The girl nodded and scurried away. The southerner turned back to Pike.

“This might take a while, I suggest you enter and take a seat in the waiting room.”

“I prefer to stand.” Pike said, crossing his arms.

The two remained standing at the front gate, eyeing each-other in cold silence. It was not very long before another burly palace retainer emerged and spoke to the southerner, nervously eyeing Pike.

“The governor is satisfied with your… catch,” said the southerner. “Come, you may discuss the matter of your payment with him personally.”

Pike rolled his eyes. That probably meant the governor would try and negotiate for less pay. Pike allowed the southerner to lead him to the hall, the grounds between overrun with servants and dogs. They entered the hall, its rafters choked with lingering smoke. At the far end of the hall sat the governor, an ageing greybeard who probably had more titles than he had teeth in his skull; King of the Thanes, Duke of the March, Champion of the Empire. In truth, Pike saw him as little more than one of many local warlords whose loyalty to the Empire was bought in gold.

If the old man had sought to barter a lower payment, then he quickly forgot that idea beneath Pike’s cold gaze. Before long, the money had been counted up, supervised by young imperial wearing the black garb of an accountant. In the meantime, the king had insisted that he and Pike share some fine wine and gossip.

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“So that’s it for the infamous Garth of Gorinium?” the old man said with a forced, gapped-toothed smile. “It’s almost unbelievable. The way the stories told it, hunting that man was like catching smoke with your bare hands.”

“He was a professional, I’ll give him that,” Pike said, refilling his wine-glass. “But a little too confident. He attacked a band of Hundings and made off with all the gold they were carrying, leaving the carnage on the road for all to see. It was much easier to track the bastard after finding that.”

“Curse his name, a single death was better than he deserved. But I don’t suppose you found any clue on where he stashed all that loot of his?”

Pike shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. Its easier to hunt outlaws than treasure. Might be they drank and whored all that Hunding gold before I found them. Brigands like Garth’s lot are all the same like that.”

“Well the villain is dead now, thank the gods. And for that I can’t repay you enough.”

“No… you can’t.”

“Well… for the moment you have cleared up all the local bandit trouble, though I dare say that shouldn’t last for very long, what with things the way they are. But I would be more than happy to host you here before then. A man of you’re skill, I would be more than happy to take you into my retinue. How does a position of command sound to you?”

"A tempting offer, but I think I'll pass…"

"Please here what I have to say before you make your decision, Maste Pike. As far as I can tell, you are the finest warrior to be found anywhere. My people need a warrior like you, the Empire needs you. If you have a price, you have but to name it. Gold, titles, lands, it all can be yours! I have unwed daughters, you could be as my one of my own sons…"

"Yes, yes. And while you're there, perhaps you could make me Emperor, and fly into the heavens and fetch some stars to wear on my brow. I've heard it all before, m'lord. Unlike you Imperial dogs, I cannot be so easily bought."

The aged king had nothing to say to that. He only sat there in dejected silence as Pike took his leave. The head-hunter made sure to snatch up the bag of silver that was his payment from the hands of the waiting accountant. No guards barred his way as Pike strode out of the palace, no noise was uttered by any one, not even the dogs.

Yet as Pike passed through the palace’s gate and turned to enter into the streets beyond, he was accosted by a muffled voice:

“You there, brother! I would have a word with you!”

Pike halted, looking over his shoulder at the masked southerner standing there. Pike sighed in annoyance. “You talking to me, friend?” he said with a twist of lip.

“That was an exceedingly generous offer you had from my lord back there. Would it be so hard to show a little gratitude?”

The southerner lifted his helm from its head, showing the shoulder length hair favoured by men of the Imperial military elite. He was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a simple looking face and broad chin. A southerner for sure, perhaps one of those rich cavalrymen who had horses and fancy armour passed down to them by their fathers. If Pike thought he hated this man, he was certain of it now.

“Is that so?” Pike replied sardonically. “You getting all huffy because I turned down servitude to a dying man who serves a dying Empire? He didn’t seem to object.”

“You’re a right bastard you are.” The armoured man took a step forward with arms crossed and brows furrowed. “You had best walk straight back into that hall and offer my lord an apology for your thoughtless outburst. That is, of course, if you want to stay welcome in my city.”

Pike scoffed. “Keep your welcome. The place smells like piss anyway.”

“You really are no better than an outlaw yourself! By the gods, what I wouldn’t give right now to give you a good scar to remember this insult.”

Pike smiled, letting the bag of silver slip from his hand. “What, you looking for a duel then? Because I’m not paying the debt to have you stitched back together.”

“Its a duel then! First blood or to the death. Take your pick.” The southerner said, drawing his sword.

Pike shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to me, I can just settle for showing how much of a foolish peacock you really are.”

“Enough words! If you meet your ancestors today, tell them it was Erasmus Gracchus whom sent you!”

“Tell yours that I told you so.”

Erasmus struck first, attacking with all the skill and confidence of a man trained since childhood. Pike gave ground, turning aside the strike with ease. He had fended off that move more times than he cared to remember. Pike pressed the attack, putting Erasmus on the defensive, but the head-hunter was faster, his sword darting past Erasmus’ guard. Pike halted his blow, just as Erasmus involuntarily jerked back to avoid the sword tip before his eyes. He stumbled, caught his footing, and jerked his sword back up into guard. He was already panting heavily.

Pike couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t push yourself too hard. It’s first blood, remember.”

Erasmus shook with anger. “Save your own breath. I could do this all day.”

“Well I have better things to do.” Pike struck, his first blow nearly sending Erasmus’ own sword flying from his hand. Before Erasmus could fully recover, Pike struck again, and again, toying with Erasmus as the southerner tried desperately to strike back. In a fit of berserk rage, Erasmus tried to rush forward, ignoring the threat of his foe’s weapon. He swung his sword in a heavy yet clumsy arc. Pike once more deflected the blow, and Erasmus’ grip failed him, his sword tumbling from his hand. The armoured man took a step back, but Pike’s blade was hovering at his throat in an instant.

Erasmus glowered at the head-hunter defiantly, panted heavily through clenched teeth. Pike scowled back. “A scar to remember the insult…”

There was a flash of red morning light upon steel, and before Erasmus knew it, blood was gushing from a deep cut beneath his left eye. He grunted with pain and stumbled back, falling into a kneel as his hands flew up to his wounded face.

Pike paid little attention to the wounded man before him, wiping away the little blood that clung to his sword with a gloved finger. Without another word, he turned his back on the warrior and walked away, a bag of silver coins clinking in his hand, while Erasmus glared at his back with the one eye not covered by his blood-stained hands.

Pike made his way through the city streets and to the stables, where his shaggy work-horse had been kept while he was hunting the outlaws in the forest. He paid his tab at the inn, gathered up his few belongings and saddled the horse. It was only an hour after the break of dawn when he led his horse away from the city, and into the wilderness beyond.