It was in Glendorn Township, just south of Aeunland and the last forest Barony before the great meadow that surrounded the city, that they happened upon an impromptu auction.

  A group kitted out in locally tanned tiered beast leathers reinforced with pieces of plate or hamata here and there stood out on a stage in front of the local Adventures guild. A building that was half tavern, half fortification and encompassed the entire bottom floor of a tree tower. A place for the local unaligned warriors to meet, party and equally importantly, act as a buffer between any invading beasts and the residential floors above.

  The narrow arrow-slitted windows shone with blue core light that shone as bright or brighter than the diffused afternoon sun. Threads of a jaunty melody plaid out on woodland pipes and an accompanying harp while the familiar scents of fennar graced the air.

  The adventurer held up a glistening spear, its shaft a solid black that was no wood Ethan knew. The large man flicked his wrist, making the gleaming blade at the end of an 8-foot shaft whoom as it cut through the very air. That was not the gleam from the surrounding lights. Enchanted then. Rare, though it wasn’t a very bright gleam. Firmly in the Tier 1 class he’d judge, and thus incapable of charging the truly exaggerated prices such pieces could command. Those with the money to pay such prices would be tier 2 or 3 already, and in need of stronger, more durable base materials to make use of their stats, even if they lacked the same enchantment.

  Still a fine weapon. And expensive enough if you could find a younger noble son, favored squire or perhaps an adventurer stuck at the tip of the first tier.

  And indeed, it was getting some significant interest as several men stepped forward for a closer look. One equipped with bow, spear and a grace in even his casual movements that spoke of exactly that peak. A Ranger possibly. Or a Jagari. The upgrade to the civilian hunter class wasn’t technically military. But it tread the line finer than most.

  To his right was what had to be a traveling merchant fit out in chain-reinforced hardened leather and a few plates backed by a half dozen men even more heavily equipped. With the rift escapees and carnivorous beasts of the forest, even merchants had to be half a soldier in these parts. And lead more that were considerably more than half. Spears and bows were common, and saex’s too, among that lot, though only a young lord had what Ethan would call a full sword belted to his waist. Though he was young for the spatha he bore. 16 at best, Ethan judged.

  He was a good-looking kid, spared the pimples and overstretched look of many his age. Well-muscled with the look of one who’d been training for several years already. Likely a nice, uncommon class already in the first tier. That wasn’t bad at his age, even if he was only a small way into it.

  He was also raving drunk. Unsteady on his feet and all set to make a fool out of himself. Ethan hid a sigh. That was trouble and no mistake. He began to turn away, having no interest in getting caught in it.

  Only to be stopped by the unmoving pressure on his elbow. Ermina stood with him, arm in arm with four knights behind them and Blake to his right. They were taking a brief break. Taking advantage of Andrew to watch the camp while they found a bit of wine, food and song. Trouble, despite Guile’s preferences, was not on the list.

  And yet here they were, he glanced down at Ermina with an eyebrow raised. She spoke easily, full volume, though he’d learned that meant little with her skills. No one beyond arm’s length would hear her.

  “You have to stop this. As a noble, you can’t let him embarrass the class.”

  He bit back on a groan. That put a different spin on things. He considered it for a moment, then reluctantly pated her hand gently, removed it from his arm and stepped onto the stage with an easy grace that hid exactly how much ground it covered.

  Though perhaps not quickly enough.

  “Let’see whacha got derrr.” The noble brat slurred, stumbling forward to take the weapon from unresisting hands. Nervous hands, with horror just beginning to assert itself.

  The boy flicked the spear through a clumsy bit of form. Good muscle memory making the blade dance appropriately, but without paying attention to his surroundings. A damn good thing the men around weren’t fools. They’d backed up, and fast.

  Some right off the wooden stage, already moving quickly to disappear into the chuckling crowd. It was one thing to be a distant witness, quite another to be a part of such a farce.

  “S’good weapon.” The boy muttered, turning away from the man and stumbling towards the stairs. “See if da likes it…” He muttered, quiet enough that if Ethan hadn’t moved to within arm's reach, he’d not have heard it.

  He’d prefer a different method, but the boy was nearly at the stairs. There was no more time. If he stepped off of them without paying it would be theft by the local noble from the adventuring guild on their premises in broad view of the public.

  He deftly reached over and grabbed the spear above the boy's hand, testicles drawing up into him at the image of what even a tier 1 could do with an enchanted spear at this range.

  If he’d had his wits about him.

  But he didn’t and Ethan easily grabbed it, twisting expertly to break the boy's grip and moving the spear away from him. “It does look good, Lordling.” His voice loud and cheerful for the crowd's benefit.

  He spun it lightly, stepping away from the now confused boy. Then balanced it across a single finger before tossing it upward and regrasping it easily. “Sir Conner” He tossed the weapon to the knight, making its heavy length seem no more than a willow switch. Conner was there, of course, he hadn’t needed to even look. Already but a man distance behind him and with one hand tucked into his belt right beside his gladius.

  His free hand caught the weapon easily, lightly hefting it and giving it a professional once over. “No bad, No bad at tall. Tier 1 armor piercing.” Ethans eyebrow shot up. That put it well above normal price. It didn’t have to hold out long if it could punch right through an expensive set of armor. “Decent materials, top o’ da first tier an put togeder right. Yous could do much worse.” He shrugged, “Bit fragile wit no durability in da enchantment. Half to treat er right.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Ethan nodded, deftly intercepting the boy's reaching hand to grasp his forearm in the traditional greeting form. “Good eyes young lord, but not good enough for your Father to be interested.”

  The boy began to open his mouth again, but froze, like a rabbit in front of a wolf as the two gave him the look. The kind of look that men learn on the battlefield after shedding more blood than they can count. It was death, and blood and warning. And it reached the boy through even the amphorae of booze.

  It froze him long enough for a liveried bodyguard to emerge from the crowd, embarrassed but trying to hide it and lead the shocked youth away with a few empty words about a summons.

  Ethan turned back to the spear's owners and hid a sigh. They wore what they had with pride. But what they had wasn’t just leather and a few bits of chain. It was bandages and scars aplenty. Seven of them stood on the stage, but only 4 were what he’d call hale and hearty.

  Even seven was a bit short of what he’d expect from rift runners. Either they were very good, which he doubted from the cheap gear, they had others off shopping or resting or they’d lost a few in the rift. He hoped for their sake it was the second and not the third.

  Still, he glanced around and his men and Ermina now, were the only others on the stage. Even the crowds were beginning to back off nervously. That wasn’t something you wanted to witness. Or rather, it wasn’t something you wanted it remembered you’d witnessed. And buying the spear at this point? People would remember that.

  Ethan hid a sigh. “What do you think Sir Conner, 100 silver?”

  He considered, then spat to the side. “110 wid dat enchantment. Go right through equal tiered plate.” Ethan nodded and pulled a purse from his belt. A gold drachma and ten silvers made their way free. The Band’s funds to buy food. He’d have to head back for more, but needs must. He casually dumped them into shell-shocked hands.

  “110 it is. Now come! I’ll buy you a drink and you can tell me how you came to own this beauty.” And hopefully make sure they could keep the coins.

  With an easy slap to the shoulder, stats carefully restrained, he quickly ushered them from the stage and over to an open-sided tent to the side of the Adventure’s guild opening. “Sir Guile, the wine if you please.” He glanced at the wounded adventurers and appended. “Maybe a few mugs of woundwort ale.”

  Soon enough, they were seated on benches beneath the canopy, surrounding a cheerful blazing brazier to chase off the evening's light chill. Ethan raised his chalice high, “To valor in the dark places of this world and beyond.”

  They quickly aped him, though one mug of woundwort ale barely reached shoulder height, and that with a grimace of pain.

  “To comin ‘ome!” the leader offered. “dank yous for dat, Your Lordship.”

  Ethan waved it off. “And your name, Master Adventurer?”

  “Ah, Gareth Lord. And no master here. Gareth da Lucky I is. Dough it does no feel loike it today.”

  Ethan could relate. Good or bad luck from this event… well, they’d have to see.

  “And is this your entire company? Brave of you to challenge even a minor rift with seven.”

  “Ah, no Your Lordship. We’uns has 9. But sum as are laid up wit da cutters.”

  Ethan nodded and leaned back, catching Conner's eye, before looking back at the nervous man. Conner nodded and scooted his chair forward loudly, drawing all eyes.

  “Sos you took 9 to a minute and won. Dat’s sometin. Ambitious loike.” His accent grew even stronger than usual and Ermina looked away with a well-hidden grimace.

  “More loike desperate, one of the younger adventurers muttered, then blushed beneath the sudden attention.”

  “He’s no wrong.” Gareth offered with an awkward chuckle. The Baron ‘e closes anything close all quick like. Makes for a safe town, a safe travel, but no work for we’uns. Hadn’t had a paying job in a month loike. Sos when Finn Sharp-Eye here says he found a rift, well we’uns took da chance. And no one died!” He offered quickly.

  “Yet.” The youngster muttered again, if quieter this time and with considerable bitterness.

  Garrett looked at him sadly. “Tis no sure thing, Lad. Have a bit of hope.”

  Conner interjected, interrupting the maudlin moment, “Tell we’uns about it. A story, man! And makes it a good one!” he pushed, his wise old eyes twinkling.

  Ethan hid a grin as Ermina, despite her complaints about overly common speech, leaned into his shoulder, becoming more and more engrossed in the colorful and highly exaggerated retelling of the assault.

  “A day and a half north it is, your lordships. And filled with gobos and wargs it was. Why we-“

  Ethan tried to hold back at first, but soon enough was laughing along with the rest at the man's bald-faced lies and cartoonish pantomiming. Only the young adventurer, Jorik if he heard right, abstained. Looking worriedly to the back every now and then.

  Still, a few cups of wine later the story came to a close. To laughter and applause. And not just from their party either. Many a surrounding bench had been pulled up to enjoy it with them.

  Ethan shook his head. “If you ever want to retire from rifting, you have the makings of a storyteller Gareth The Lucky. That was quite the tall tale.”

  “Ah, I’d no mean to lie-“

  Ethan waved off his sudden nervousness. “You were asked to make the tale entertaining and you did so, no need to apologize.”

  “Now,” he lowered his voice for a moment, then as he saw a light distortion in the air around him grinned at Ermina and raised it again. “You’ve given me a bit of entertainment and a bit of what it's like to take on the smaller rifts. Let me give you a bit of advice in return.”

  “Leave town.”

  “You aren’t at fault, but you are going to be a reminder to someone of what almost happened.”

  Gareth hesitated, then sighed. “Yous right o’ course Your Lordship. But we’uns can’t.” He pointed to Jorik “His brudder is laid up and as close to seeing Kirons face as may be. Can’t travel and I’ll no leave ‘im behind.” Nods from around the table had Jorik's face turning a bit red, and ducking it down.

  Ethan approved. But that didn’t mean he’d leave it there. He had advantages they didn’t. “Let me introduce you to my brother, then. Magister Blake of the Imperial College.”

  Blake, having been leaning back sipping at a hip flask, neither trusting the water nor willing to suffer the heckling that inevitably occurred when he ordered tea at a taberna, looked up abruptly. “Oh, you remember me now?” He offered with a twinkle before looking over at the adventurers.

  “Did you pull any core’s out of that rift?”

  “Ah, that is, -“ Gareth stuttered. Eyes wide as dinner plates at a real life Magister. They had to have a few soul-focused classes about, what with the way houses grew into trees and hedges formed exactly where they wanted. But that was a far cry from an imperial-trained war Magister.

  Blake waited calmly, a small smile encouraging the man to settle down.

  “Ah, yes! A minor from the rift boss, Sir Magister!”

  “No sir, Gareth, I’m not a knight. Magister is the correct term, but bear that no mind. Not like you will have the opportunity to use it often, hmm? But follow us back to camp, and bring your other wounded with you. With that core I can heal the worst of it. I should charge you 10 silver drachma apiece along with the core but…”

  Ethan and the rest of them quickly parroted along with his rather predictable brother. “I’m feeling generous today.”

  They laughed at his affronted look. For all the airs and fancy talking he did. Blake had a soft heart.

  To much of one at times, Ethan sighed.

  Still, it wasn’t long before they were back at the camp with green light beginning to shine from inside the medical tent.

  Green light inside, but in the flickering firelight that suddenly seemed a good bit less cheerful then usual, something else waited.

  A knight in plate and tabard, helm under his arm. He saluted fist to chest, steadily looking Ethan in the eye for a moment, then ducking his head. “My master welcomes you with all hospitality to his keep and town. He begs that you grant him an audience. Alone.”

  Ermina gasped softly, her eyes going round. That was not a summons; it was an entreaty.

  Ethan gave her a quick glance, eyebrow raised. Was it worth it?

  She smiled unapologetically and nodded.

  Haaa, they would see. And soon.

  It was time to pay the reckoning.

  ___