Later that afternoon, after breakfast and a wash, he went to visit his only real friend in the city, Cole. The burly son of the blacksmith Jeon. He had once played with Cole as a child, running through the streets and making entirely too much noise, but those days had ended five years to the day after James had found him in the ruins of a Simerian raiding camp, left behind by the fleeing Simerians, and adopted him.

It seemed almost as if this timing was conspired among fathers, as the same day, Cole began learning the blacksmiths trade. He had started small, unable to wield a hammer or work metal at his age and strength, Cole nevertheless lifted bags of anthracite coal, carried them to his father's forge, and worked the bellows for him as he hammered away at whatever he was making at the time. Cole kept the shop clean, fetched tools and more often than not, made mistakes, but just four years later his hard work under his father paid off, as he already wielded a small hammer, and was occasionally allowed to make small, useful pieces such as door handles and nails, horse bits and even stirrups. Cole worked hard, but still had time during the hottest part of the day to himself, when the forge fire was allowed to calm and he was given a few hours to rest.

Syrus did not think that Cole was allowed the same level of autonomy as he was, but that was to be expected, one could practice sword swings or shoot a bow by himself, but who would trust a young boy such as he with a fire that burned so hot? With metal that, if handled improperly, could start a fire or heavily burn any unfortunate enough to come in contact with it? Syrus shook his head. No, Cole was not as free as he was, but this seemed to suit him perfectly, and indeed, by the way he spoke of it, he enjoyed the work, the knowledge and skill that came with it.

He picked up his pace, eager to tell Cole of his upcoming adventure, explained to him in full around the table last night. I’m going all the way to King’s Cross! He thought to himself, momentarily too excited to pay attention to the bustling street around him. A door opened abruptly, a man storming out, and Syrus was knocked off balance as it slammed into him, the man’s weight behind it. He fell on his butt, but quickly scrambled backwards and then onto his feet. The man had stopped just outside of the door, fists clenched, he was breathing hard, skin mottled a slight red, not in exertion but in anger, which he quickly aimed at the newest addition to his troubles, Syrus. “Out of the way you blighted kid!” he yelled, taking a step towards Syrus and cuffing him across the face, Syrus saw the blow coming, and moved his head the opposite direction of the blow in order to soften the impact, it was still surprisingly painful, but he did not attempt to do anything else except skamper back. He could not beat a full grown man yet, not unarmed, and would not, anyways. Such a small thing was not worth fighting over. Instead he apologized, bowing his head and backing away. “I’m sorry sir, I’ll pay more attention to where I’m going.” The man still looked angry, face flushed and fists clenched, but whatever caused his initial displeasure, it wasn’t Syrus, and he took a deep huffing breath before looking over his shoulder into the house, slamming the door behind him, turning, and storming off, mumbling something under his breath about “that twisted Simerian boy.” Syrus was currently in a street that entered a large square with shops all around the outskirts, it was one of the main markets for the keep due to its easy accessibility, and Cole’s father lived only a few houses down from this entrance. He looked up to see Cole grinning at him from the bench inside the smithy, and he smiled back, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands as if to say “well, what did you expect?” Cole laughed out loud at this, and his father looked up from the metal he was measuring. Seeing Syrus approach, he grunted and jerked his head towards the square, “go on then” he said to Cole, “you’re not to leave the square and I want you back here in two hours, pick up lunch for me as well, I’ve got to finish this order for Sergeant Hanson and I won’t have time to go out myself.” He tossed Cole a few drams from the coin purse on his waist, and Syrus noticed there was one more than required, enough for both of them to share a meal. He smiled and nodded his thanks at Jeon before hurrying away with Cole.

Soon they sat on a public bench, eating small meat pies from a nearby stall and wiping hot juices from their chins, enjoying the temporary reprieve from the world, but it was not long before Cole filled the silence. “Did you see that guy? I thought he was going to take a swing at you! I wonder what he was so upset about.” Syrus shook his head and shrugged, “not my business” he replied, juggling his meat pie from hand to hand to prevent his fingers from burning. “I’m glad he didn’t but there’s bigger news than that!” he started, but Cole interrupted him excitedly “I know! I heard James and my da’ discussing it when he came to get your knives! A month and half long expedition! And to King’s Cross!” Syrus raised a finger to his mouth and looked around, as if to check and make sure that no one was listening. “It’s not some great secret, but don’t go shouting it out in the whole square! James says that if news reaches any less reputable people, it will make it easier for them to target us.” Cole looked suitably chastened, but soon perked up again “and you’ve got your own weapons now!” he stopped and inspected Syrus suddenly. “Where are they, anyways?” Syrus shrugged and opened his coat for inspection, showing that nothing was underneath save for his simple, tan button up. “James says I’m to keep them at home until we leave, ‘no twisted reason for a child to have these in a town like this.’” He parroted in a moderately accurate imitation of James’s gruff voice. Cole looked crestfallen at this, and scratched his head as he said with a small grin “I was hoping no one would buy those throwing knives you know, just to mess around with” Syrus laughed at this, not at his friend but at himself, and shook his head, “I almost wish he hadn’t! I know I won’t always be able to use my bow, but those knives are way harder to use than they look! Two whole hours I spent this morning before I had them stuck in anything” Cole nodded sagely at this, raising a finger as if preparing to give a lecture and spoke with a wise intonation in his voice. “you have to know the spin on throwing knives, and count the steppes from your target when you practice, figure out how many times they spin in the air at each distance, and you can figure out what distance you need to be at when you throw for them to stick, then it’s a matter of practice to improve your aim, and skill to make them stick at different ranges” he stopped and gave a comical grin “or so my da’ says.” Syrus nodded at this, rubbing his chin and storing this knowledge for later. They finished their meal and soon set off to explore the market, which they each knew by heart anyways, while they talked of the coming trip. Soon their time limit was at its end, and Cole set off to buy his mother and father lunch, while Syrus went home to continue his studies with his adopted mother, who had started on teaching him the finer points of writing and reading. Sybil ran one of the only schools for children in Jeim, so she taught many other kids during the middle of the day.

The days passed by in what seemed like a blur. He soon felt an innate kinship with his fighting knives, while only slowly improving with his throwing knives, now able to stick many of them into their respective targets each time he threw. With his daily training complete, it was time for him to prepare for the journey to come.

Syrus carefully packed two extra pairs of trousers and button up shirts into his new travel pack, as well as a whet stone, oil, flint and steel, some small rope and twine, and some spare socks to go with his boots. This, along with spare dried foods and a large canteen of water, wasn’t much to carry alongside his bow, quiver, and weapons, but he couldn’t carry a full travel sack for long distances even now. Thankfully he wouldn’t need to carry them for long anyways, as they had the carts to carry extra supplies. The next day, he and James had a hearty breakfast, kissed Sybil goodbye, and set off through the town to wait for the caravan.

Stolen story; please report.

Upon arrival they were soon greeted by a surprise visitor, who stood out even in the early morning darkness. Baron Jeim was a man of average height and build, a slightly bulging stomach was forming under a long mustache flecked with grey. The man wore brightly colored reds, tall boots, and a flash of purple on his shoulder, which Syrus soon made out to be a small cape-like ornament, bearing his crest stitched in gold. His steward was with him, as well as two of the guards, evidently on the morning shift, but they kept a respectful distance as James and Syrus approached.

He nodded to James and even gave a polite hello to Syrus, who set down his travel bag and bowed, along with a salute from James, which was the furthest Baron Jeim required in the way of pleasantries. “My lord, everything is ready on our end for departure.” Syrus had met Baron Jeim before, and knew that James met with him often while overseeing the guard. Jeim nodded, “I’ve sanctioned this whole thing because I know the good it has the potential to bring us, both in trade and in tax revenue, but I almost wish Davus hadn’t convinced me to send you along with him. Bandits always come with spring, or so it seems.” The words Jeim used made it seem like he was regretting his decision, but the way he said them made it sound like he was confident anyway. Baron Jeim had weighed the risks, and personally, Syrus thought the potential loss of his father was worth the potential gain in trade to the man. Baron Jeim was not greedy, as evidenced by the nearly austere state of the keep, but he was a little devious. He made sound decisions and though it was true that James might have been the best soldier he had, other men could lead a guard of only five hundred men. Besides, James’s second in command was a capable man. James nodded at this. “Nelson will be in charge while I’m gone, and the loss of one old man won’t set back the guard too much. This is a good opportunity to test his leadership while I’m away.” Jeim laughed at this, “old man? You’re hardly older than me!” Though it was true that James had much more gray than Jeim in his hair, short as it was, a testament to a hard life. “Nevertheless, I’m glad Davus has someone who really knows what he’s doing out there” Jeim said with a touch more solumnety. James nodded again, and received a sealed envelope from Jeim. “My greetings to Count Arthur, please give this to his steward when your duties permit.” James nodded his assent, before producing an oiled leather pouch from his cloak and putting the letter away. “I’d give it to Davus, but I trust you not to read it a bit more than he.” Jeim said with a somewhat mischievous grin, and then he left, as quickly as he came. Syrus found he rather liked him.

Soon the carts arrived, pulled by a modicum of horses, browns and grays, that Syrus suspected had been hired from nearby farms rather than bought outright by Davus. There were four carts in all, three of which were loaded down by barrels of dye, lashed tightly to prevent spillage, and a fourth carrying provisions and water, with room for gear to be stowed as well as a strong box. Each cart had benches attached to the sides, and seemed well equipped for travel. Davus had put a lot of thought into this, it seemed. The dye was a new export, as James had explained to him, they were made by crushing shellfish and combining the powdery remains with other chemicals, and purple dye would be produced. It was a technique new to the area, and for all Syrus knew, the world. Davus had made it all happen up to this point, buying shellfish down the Laskin River and having it crushed in his own facility. Syrus respected the resourcefulness of the man, and his willingness to take risks in order to achieve his goals. He also suspected that purple dye would sell extremely well to those who could afford it, as it was a color seldom seen in the clothing of today.

They set about loading their gear and the rest of the provisions, introduced themselves to the drivers, Davus, and the six other guards, all of whom seemed to be the sort more used to guarding a bar than a caravan. An hour later, when the sun had fully risen to greet them, they were ready to set off. Syrus noticed now what he hadn’t before, since the sun had risen he was able to recognize the features of the man who had cuffed him four days before amongst the six others Davus had hired to guard them. The man seemed not to notice him, but Syrus resolved to keep an eye on him anyways.

Davus had greeted him with a boy at his side, who seemed to be the same age as Syrus, if not several inches shorter, as most boys were. He had introduced himself as Blake Shellford, Davus’s son, and Syrus had a sneaking suspicion that Davus hoped that having another boy with him would keep Blake occupied, though he seemed not to be much of a troublemaker anyways. “No, the first cart will be the dye followed by the provisions, then the rest of the dye” he heard James arguing with the driver up front, “the dye up front because if we lose the cart to any road hazards, it’s only loss of money we have to worry about, and the first cart will be the one targeted if we are attacked! The provisions and money need to be second, where Davus can keep an eye on them and the guards can get to their gear quickly if need be. And if we lose the provisions, we’ll have much more to worry about than just money!” The cart driver seemed ready to argue until a shout came from Davus “Kelsin! You lot will take his advice and thank him for it too! And that goes for everyone here as well, if you have any blighted problems, take them up with me!” that seemed to settle any issues that might arise, and apart from that, their departure went off without a hitch, something that Davus seemed very pleased about.

The caravan moved at a steady pace, slightly faster than a walk, and soon left the city, Small as it was, by way of the northern road. The city itself had real stone walls of course, but they were in a state of disrepair, or perhaps incomplete would be a more accurate word, as the city was not old enough for completed walls to be crumbling. Even so, Syrus had often heard James and Sybil speak of the city’s lack of a proper boundary, the money required to finish them had purportedly run dry, and so the bricklayers and stonemasons had simply stopped showing up. This left the walls nearly half as tall as they should be, still topping the houses that crowded right up to the stone itself, but only just. This meant that there was no real landmark to signal the end of the city, they were just suddenly not surrounded by houses anymore.

The road was well packed earth, hardened by the ever plodding feet of travelers to and from the nearest town, Halstop, and large enough for travelers on foot to pass by them with ease, though not so much for carts heading the opposite direction. Fortunately there were few of these, mostly just farmers heading into Jeim for access to its market or taverns, and they politely made way at the sight of James, armed and armored with a chainmail vest, hardened leather bracers and greaves, and a steel half helmet. He rode a horse from one of Baron Jeims own stock, his heraldry branded proudly on it’s flank for all to see, and had his sword belted to his side. His bow and quiver of arrows, Feathertree and otherwise, laid across his saddle. He looked both intimidating and reassuring, and Syrus made sure to surreptitiously check his own holsters, hidden under the travel cloak the Davus had assigned him, to make sure his fighting knives were snug and the throwing knives were properly placed. His own bow, too weak to kill a man and proper only for small game, was unstrung and wrapped in oilcloth among the provisions. The other guards each had a leather vest, a sword, and a shield, which Syrus soon surmised were not their own, but instead purchased by Davus, probably a good investment if this trading expedition were to pan out. It was obvious by the awkward way they seemed to carry them as they walked. Scabbards bumping into their shins, constant adjustments to their belts made it clear as Janston ale to one who knew to look for it. These men were new to swords, had likely never held a shield, and were unlikely to be entirely trustworthy in a fight.

Only one other man had a bow, he was a bit more “rough” looking than the others, with a less than well-groomed beard and long, brown hair. He appeared to be in his twenties, and introduced himself to James as he walked beside his horse, Syrus caught the words and heard him call himself Markus, listening as James introduced himself in turn. It seems Markus was an extra hire, he explained, having overheard Davus as he offered a job to another, he had offered his services as a guard as well. While he had no experience thumping heads in bars, he was skilled with a bow and could track game better than most. Being a fourth son with no farm of his own, he had been considering joining the guard before learning of this perfect opportunity to see more of the world, and leapt at the chance. The news of another man skilled with a bow seemed to cheer James up, and he reached down to clap him on the shoulder before resuming his scan of the horizon. The man seemed somewhat in awe of the armored figure riding next to him, and Syrus saw that the simple clap on the shoulder seemed to somehow affect him, he smiled widely afterward and fell back into formation, like that small gesture from such an imposing figure had validated his decision to join us on our journey. Syrus stored this observation away, one day he knew he would find it useful.