Tell No Lies, Speak No Truths

The crowd was filled with unease and restlessness.

“The House of Halgmoryn…”

“He just cut them down!”

“The Underhanded are here in Strandburgh!”

“Who is that man?”

“He’s dressed rather fancy, isn’t he?”

A deep voice, creaking like old, overloaded wooden floorboards, made the whispering onlookers flinch.

“Breno, Bellung, make the crowd move along! Yorad, Olomir, clean up this mess, take care of the lovely lady and the goods to Rinnard's. Frovis, the two of us will have a chat with the handy nobleman at the Skinners’ Hall.”

The Beadle Gommond—that seemed to be who the man giving the instructions was—was a stout giant with chubby, sagging cheeks, bushy eyebrows, a bright green cap and a finely crafted but well-worn-looking club.

“Come on, lad. And don't worry—my friends here will take good care of your steel in the meantime.” Said the man whom the beadle had called Frovis.

That wasn't the time to show off again, so I obediently followed the beadle and his knight down one of the streets leading away from the market.

“Not from Strandburgh, are you? Laylands or Continent?” Asked Frovis.

“Continent.”

“Name?”

“Inomar.”

“Huh, that sounds kind of familiar to me. Do we know an Inomar, boss?”

“Shut up, Frovis, will you?”

“Sorry, boss.”

After a while, the three of us arrived at a large building adorned with a wooden coat of arms featuring a black-and-white checkered pattern, crowned by a blue bar with three boar heads. The beadle began waddling back and forth in front of the hall.

“By Eol’s antlers, this crap is driving me up the wall, boy! My ward isn't the place for cloaks and daggers! These imbeciles should go play their little murder games in one of their shanty towns outside Strandburgh!”

“Who are those people? They mentioned someone named Halgmoryn.” I asked, feigning hesitation.

Frovis flinched at the mention of the name, just as the onlookers had done before. But Gommond didn’t. He stood still, turned to face me, a broad grin on his face, as if I had said exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I won't lie—the fact that you took out those thugs worked in my ward’s favor, but from now on, you're staying out of trouble. No snooping around about the why, no questions about the who, no digging into any names you don't know. Just forget about the whole thing—are we clear?”

“Got it. I'm not here to start any trouble.”

“Splendid! Please excuse my rude behavior, but I have to keep things in order here. Of course, I didn't drag a young man so well-dressed and quick with his sword hand all the way here just to lecture him condescendingly. I will, of course, reward you for the trouble you've gone through and for your act of bravery in the face of grave danger.”

Gommond nudged Frovis, who was standing there lost in thoughts, with his club. The ward knight bowed apologetically and quickly disappeared into the building.

“What brings you to Funa, my young friend? Maybe a masterless thane looking to prove himself, looking to enter the service of the Mareeve or another lord?”

“I'm not as young as you might think.”

“Huh? How many winters have you got under your belt? Surely less than twenty?”

“Like I said, you're underestimating me.”

“Right—but back to my question. What are you looking to find on Funa, my friend?”

“I don't know yet, but it's the homeland of my ancestors, and I'm sure that, at the very least, means something.”

The beadle looked at me with genuine surprise for the first time, and his expression darkened.

“Your homeland, huh? My good sir, it couldn’t be that the blue blood of a king’s man runs through your veins, could it?”

“My ancestors weren’t vassals of the kings of the Isles. Just a traveler who wants to get to know his homeland.”

Although I misled the beadle with my words, none of what I said was a lie.

Whatever doubts still remained, Frovis returned just in time with a leather pouch bulging with coins and handed it to Gommond, who in turn held it out to me.

Not a trace of ill-intent could be seen anymore, in the official’s puffy features. Instead, a fatherly smile spread across his face in an insincere way.

“Just a traveler?”

I accepted my reward with a sheepish smile.

“Just a traveler.”

“Don't let me regret my leniency; I may seem exceptionally kind-hearted and good-natured, but I can be a very vindictive man,” The beadle added as he turned and walked away, laughing.

“You did well, lad. Come on, let's meet up with Yo and Olo and pick up your steel.” Frovis said once the beadle was out of earshot, patting me on the shoulder.

When we arrived at a small warehouse, we waited a while for the other two knights. They arrived, pulling a cart loaded with the three bodies, laughing and joking as if all of this were an everyday occurrence.

“You're quite the swordsman. Wouldn't want to face you in a fight, laddie.” said the man whom Frovis introduced as Olo, as a compliment.

Yo, the other guy eyed me more skeptically, but handed me my sword and my dagger nonetheless.

The three men started chatting about trivial things, and I said my goodbyes in the casual way I'd picked up from them.

If I were to associate with these knights, the commonfolk would be even more hesitant with an outsider than they already were. No, I had to find friends who were less conspicuous.

And here, fate was kind to me once again. After all, I've had accumulated enough bad luck to last a dozen lifetimes.

A fleeting shadow was on my heels, slipping from corner to corner. A boy, perhaps not even of age to wield a weapon of his own. He moved quickly and nimbly, but his quickness was no match for the experience of a nobleman who had weathered years of intrigue at court.

I turned into an empty alley and from there onto another little street, completely deserted. I waited around the corner, and the stray walked right into my trap.

The boy’s arm was quickly twisted behind his back, and his body pinned defenselessly against the wall. He fought back with surprising strength, but was no match for a trained fighter.

“Who put you up to this? Those crazy knife-wielders, the beadle, or are you just a nosy little brat who doesn't know when enough is enough?”

“Wait, sir thane, please—I mean you no harm. Neither do I work for the madmen nor the mastiff. I have an offer for you that would be worth your while.”

I let go of him roughly and shoved him to the ground. He turned toward me and, looking a bit drained.

“The Mastiff?” I laughed. “A fitting name for that ugly mug who acts like he's in charge of this ward! I’m all ears, boy. You'd better not disappoint.”