Dist stood in awe at what they had just witnessed, but quickly regained his bearings. The guards on the ground shouted for the portcullis to be raised, and he helped Nerris to his feet. "What should we do?" he asked.

     "An assassin," Nerris said. "He must have been trying for Aledine's brother. Let's get him!"

      Without waiting for a reply, Nerris took off for the gate. Dist and Jhareth followed almost out of habit. Dist was aware they did not have any weapons, but Nerris and his pitchfork would be no match for the albino by themselves. The portcullis was raised just enough for them to duck under it without slowing and they emerged on the path which led down to the city.

       The albino was about a hundred feet ahead of them, but they closed the distance fast. They had spent the past month running laps and doing other exercises around Gauntlet's bailey every single morning. Dist had always been predisposed to carry a little extra weight on his body, but he had worked as hard as anyone to please the instructors. This man was not going to outrun him.

       They reached the bottom of the hill well ahead of Lord Feigh's men, just in time to see the assassin cross the road and veer into an alley. He threw bins, crates and other objects in their path to try and trip them up, but it was no use against three cadets who had been also been doing dexterity drills since term started.

      As they wound through back alleys, Dist found himself pulling ahead of his friends, surprisingly. He edged closer and closer to the assassin with every step and finally reached out a hand, grabbing him by the shoulder. The albino spun and slapped Dist's hand away before running off again without losing much speed. Dist caught a faint whiff of something spicy before the albino disappeared around a corner. Dist slowed and came to a stop, holding his stinging hand.

      Nerris and Jhareth began to slow as they came upon him, but Dist shook his head. "Keep after him!"

      After giving him a concerned glance, they ran on. Dist looked down at the back of his hand and saw a drop of blood below his middle knuckle. He thought he had felt the assassin prick him with something, but such a small wound shouldn't sting as much as it did. He took a step forward and lost all sense of balance. His head spun, and everything in the alley seemed to double in his eyes.

      He took another step and the world turned upside down. Dist realized he was lying on his side staring up at the lightening sky. The pain in his hand was spreading, hurting worse than before and his vision blurred. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain.

3. An Unlikely Helper

      When Dist awakened, he did not know where he was or how he got there. He was lying on a straw mattress, his head resting on a pillow and a down filled blanket covering him. Instead of open sky, a wooden ceiling loomed above him. A blown out candle stood atop a table next to his bed, and the sun shone in through a nearby window. Something wet rested on his forehead.

       "Oh, you're awake!" said a startled voice. A female voice. Dist turned his head and saw a young girl sitting on a stool to his left. She smiled at him, her tawny hair shining in the sunlight.

       Dist cleared his throat, trying to ignore the pain in his right hand. With his left, he reached toward his forehead. "How did I--"

       "Here let me." The girl removed the wet rag from his face and dropped into the bowl on her lap. "I found you out in the alley. I thought you were drunk at first, but when I tried to rouse you, I felt a fever. It was all I could do to get you inside."

       Dist blinked. "All by yourself?"

       "You drifted in and out," she said. "You tried speaking, but only gibberish came out. You had to lean on me all the way up the stairs. It wasn't easy."

        Dist put his hand to his forehead. He did feel a little warm. He tried sitting up, but his head spun again and he quickly lay back down. "Thank you, um--"

       "Fayla," the girl said.

       "Thank you, Fayla. What time is it?"

       "Just a few hours past sunrise."

        Dist groaned. "Owen is going to kill me. I'm late for the morning drills." Summoning all the strength he could, he began to swing his body around.

       "You mustn't!" Fayla grabbed him by the shoulders, and he didn't even have the strength to resist her. Dist plopped back down and his right hand struck the wooden bed frame. Pain laced through him, and he cried out.

        Dist worked his hand out from under the covers and looked at it. There was a purple discoloration where the albino assassin had pricked him. Worse, it was beginning to spread to the rest of his hand. Dist slammed his head back into the pillow and swore.

        "What... what is it?" Fayla asked, examining his hand.

       "I've been poisoned," Dist said.

       "Do you two even realize what danger you were in?" Instructor Owen fumed.

        Jhareth cast Nerris a questioning look. The question was a trap, he knew. If they said no, they were in for a lecture about stupidity. If they said yes, they would be lectured on their arrogance. Nerris gave him a similar stare, not knowing what to say either.

       They sat in the office of Owen's father, the headmaster. He had not yet arrived, but the younger Owen couldn't resist starting without him. In the month they had been at Gauntlet, Jhareth had never seen him so flustered or angry.

       The door opened, and the headmaster entered. He shared a name with his son, Owen, and it sometimes got confusing if they weren't referred to by their titles. At those times, they were normally referred to as Elder Owen and Younger Owen. They shared more than their name: the same hooked nose, thin mouth and disapproving glare aimed in his direction.

       "Father," Younger Owen said.

       Elder Owen nodded at his son and took his seat behind the great oaken desk which dominated the room. He was a bear of a man, not sharing his son's finer build, and his blond hair was beginning to go white.

       "Lord Feigh says his mean found no trace of the albino," he said. "From the descriptions given, it has to be the assassin Poyenas. He specializes in political murder, and is responsible for the death of Lord Temmas Slope last year. The royal court of Dellain issued a bounty on him worth thirty golden marks."

       A flicker of greedy interest must have shown on Jhareth's face, because Younger Owen sent a brand new glare in his direction. "Don't even think about it, Jhareth. You were extremely lucky to even gaze upon him and live. A man like that won't make that mistake again."

       Elder Owen's gaze turned to Jhareth. "You and Tarias were supposed to muck out the castle stables by yourselves. Why were your friends helping you?"

      "I'm sorry, Headmaster," Nerris said. "It was Dist's and my idea. We were just thinking--"

      "Trust me, thinking has not been your strong suit today," Younger Owen shot back. "You three are not in Lord Feigh's service. You should have let the assassin go, let the guards to their job and stayed back in case they needed to question you further. And where in Clystam's holy name is Dist?"

       Jhareth tore his eyes away in frustration. "We don't know. He told us to keep going, but we lost the assassin. When we came back to where we left him, he was gone."

       "So you not only exercised ill judgment in running after a man who could kill you with the flick of his wrist, you also abandoned a comrade." Elder Owen shook his head. "After the way Instructor Rhodias vouched for you, we had hoped you had some potential. I opened the school to noble and commoner alike because I am of the belief that a man's worth brought out by his spirit, rather than his birth. But perhaps I misjudged you. Is this behavior what we can expect, or are you going to act as Gauntlet cadets?"

       "We'll try our best to--" Nerris said.

      "Vague commitment breeds excuse for future failure," the headmaster said. "Now answer my question again."

       "It won't happen again," Nerris said.

       "But we will not act as cadets of Gauntlet either," Jhareth said. "We don't have to. We are cadets of Gauntlet."

       "You are boys not yet two months into your first year," Younger Owen said. "We will see what you are by your actions henceforth."

       Headmaster Owen nodded. "There will be punishments once we find Dist. I haven't the foggiest idea what could be more demeaning than cleaning up horse dung, but I'm sure we can find--"

       "Headmaster, if Dist is out there, we should be looking for him," Nerris said.

       "The instructors and I will look for Dist," Elder Owen said. "You two have done enough for one day."

       Nerris looked at his feet. "We deserve your rebukes, Headmaster. But Dist is like a brother to us. When he stopped running, we realized something was wrong. If something happens to him, I could never forgive myself for leaving him behind." Nerris looked into the headmaster's eyes. "If vague commitments are excuses for future failures, that may be, but no man can promise success. He must be allowed to fix his failures, however. If you told it true when you speak of the potential you saw in us, let us help."

       The Owens looked at Jhareth, and he nodded. "We can't walk away. Not while we can still move forward."

       The headmaster considered their words for a moment, and stood. "Very well. Search as you see fit, as long as you are in your tower by the first year curfew."

       Nerris and Jhareth both let out a breath. "Thank you, Headmaster," Jhareth said. "We won't let you down."

       Younger Owen gave them a despairing look. "And the next time you see someone vault off a castle wall and skewer an armored man before even touching ground, just run like hell. Or you won't be around to fail again."

       Jhareth and Nerris left the headmaster's office, intending to go back to the city and resume their search. First year curfew was at eight bells, so they still had most of the day. They had looked for their friend for an hour, but when the sun came up Nerris suggested they go back to Gauntlet to report what had happened. Jhareth thought maybe Dist was searching for them as well, but didn't know why they hadn't run into each other. Maybe he would visit the contacts he had made when he first came to Orrigo and ask if they knew anything. Not much got past the city's underbelly of thieves, forgers and smugglers.

       Nerris pulled him out of the way as several older boys came barreling down the corridor, fourth or fifth years by the look of them. They soon disappeared around the corner, and Jhareth grinned. "I thought we were done for."

       "They were just practicing for their timed obstacle run," Nerris said. Every cadet with a Conbat Intensive schedule had to make three timed runs of Gauntlet's obstacle course, which could take any route through the school, whether through corridors, climbing walls or even between rooftops.

        "I meant in there." Jhareth gestured to the headmaster's office. "Those were some pretty words you said."

        "Thanks," Nerris said. "Once we're back in the city, I'm of a mind to visit the alley where we left Dist again. If we can find some clue of his passing, maybe we can track what direction he went and--"

        Nerris cut himself short as he looked farther up the corridor and stopped in his tracks. Jhareth followed his gaze. The girl who walked toward them was a head turner in a place like Gauntlet, where the females were usually as common-clothed and dirt-smudged as the male cadets. Aledine Feigh, however, was not. She was powdered, pristine and wearing a colorful blue dress with a frilled collar. Nerris began to blush, and Jhareth rolled his eyes.

       Aledine smiled when she spotted them, showing her dimples. "Nerris!" she said. "Jhareth, it's good to see you again." She curtsied to them briefly, allowing for the basket she carried. "I stopped by your tower, but only found your friend Jodeth, who directed me to the headmaster's office. He said you three practically live up here."

       "Milady," Nerris said. "Jodeth wasn't far off. What brings you to Gauntlet?"

       Aledine sighed. "Nerris, haven't you gotten past that? You weren't miladying me when we were fleeing the castle."

       Nerris shook his head. "I apologize. You're a welcome sight, Aledine. I have missed you."

       "You didn't sneak out again, did you?" Jhareth asked. "Haven't you heard there is an assassin on the loose?"

       "My guards are outside," Aledine said. "My brother wouldn't let me come here with any less than an entire platoon. So tiresome." She handed Nerris the basket. "This is for you."

        Jhareth rubbed at his face, trying not to say anything. Nerris and Aledine were doe-eyed for each other, but both knew it couldn't lead anywhere. She was a noble, and would be betrothed to some lord or his heir one day soon. Yet here she was, bringing him gifts. Why were they even bothering with this charade?

        Nerris took the basket and lifted the cloth cover inside. The basket was filled with pastries, tarts and other sweets. "Are these from the castle?" he asked.

       "Yes," Aledine said. "I remember how much you liked the baked pears in particular, so there are quite a few buried in there. From what I hear about Gauntlet, they don't exactly splurge for first rate cooks."

        Nerris laughed. "That's true. I'm so full of beans I'm liable to sprout any day now. Thank you, Aledine. This is very nice."

       Jhareth cleared his throat. "Yes, very generous, Aledine, but we have important things to do."

       "Yes, of course." Aledine curtsied to them, and there was an uncomfortable silence as she and Nerris fought the urge to embrace. They knew their places in life, even if they didn't want to admit it. "I'll come and see you... well, see you all whenever I get the chance," Aledine promised. "Perhaps we can meet during the Festival of the Saint tomorrow. I would much like to share another dance." With one last smile, she departed, blonde curls bobbing as she walked.

       "Jhareth, why don't you like Aledine?" Nerris asked when she had gone. "She came all the way here to bring us this gift. It's not exactly an easy trek from the city."

       "I'm sure she has a well-groomed horse to do most of the work," Jhareth said. "She came here to see you, not us. She barely even looked at me." He stretched his limbs. "She's just another spoiled noble. Her brother's not so bad, though." In truth, he disliked Aledine because he didn't want to see his friend's heart broken, but he would be damned if he would ever admit that to Nerris.

       "You should give her a chance," Nerris said. "After all, she was able to talk us out of a dungeon cell."

       "Whatever," Jhareth said. "Can we get back to the matter at hand? Romance can wait until after we find Dist."

4. The Oldest Profession

       Dist slipped in and out of consciousness as his fever worsened. Fayla did her best to soothe his forehead with cold water, but he knew he was dead in just a few short hours unless he acted fast. He steeled himself with the will to move and sat up.

      "Dist, please don't," Fayla said. "You need to rest."

       "I need to find an apothecary's shop," Dist said. "That assassin stuck me with a poison known as daggergrim. The fever and purple skin point right to it. It will slowly paralyze me and eventually my heart will stop. My father is an apothecary, made sure I knew the trade. If I can just get the ingredients for an antidote--"

       "Let me get them," Fayla said, squeezing his hand.

       "You wouldn't know what to look for. Can you write?"

       "No, but there is nothing wrong with my memory."

       Dist lay down. "All right. I'll need dried rogsbane leaves, thistle stalks and garlic powder."  

       Fayla nodded. "It seems simple enough."

       "I'll be even weaker by the time you return," Dist said. "I'll have to give you direction in preparing the antidote--"

       The door at the end of the room opened, and another girl a few years older than Fayla entered. "Afternoon, Fayla," she said, stopping when she noticed Dist. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were with a customer."

       "Um..." Fayla replied, glancing at Dist. "Is there something you wanted, Elys?"

       "I was just wondering if I could borrow some hair dye to match my red dress. I have a regular who fancies rutting with noblewomen."

       "Of course." Fayla opened a drawer on her bedside table, and rifled through a number of small vials. She handed one to her friend.

       "Thank you," Elys said. "So sorry to disturb you, good master." She inclined her head to Dist and departed, closing the door behind her.

       Dist regarded Fayla in silence for a moment. "You're a whore."

      "Yes," Fayla said. "Is something the matter?"

      "How can that be?" Dist asked. "You're no older than I am, and I've only seen thirteen springs."

      "Some men like the fantasy of unspoiled girls," Fayla said. "I'm not old enough by law to work in a brothel, so I set up shop here with Elys."

      "That's outrageous!" Dist said. "No girl your age should be plying the streets. How could your parents allow this, Fayla?"

      "My parents died when I was very little," Fayla said. "I was an orphan until Elys took me in. I don't understand what your issue is. I make enough coin to get by, and streetwalking is a job older than time itself."

       Dist had always imagined whores painted up like dolls to hide their homely looks, but he never expected to find a regular, pretty girl like Fayla to be one of them. Is that why she had helped him? In the hopes that she could use him to make a few extra coppers? "Your job has no place in the realms of decency. Go find the ingredients. The antidote will weaken me, but not before giving me a few hours of strength. I'll be out of your way soon, and you can have your bed back for business matters."

       Fayla frowned at him. "Fine, Dist. Have it your way." She grabbed her cloak off of a chair and left the room in a huff.

      A spasm of pain wracked Dist's arm. He closed his eyes and grimaced, waiting it out. He shouldn't have been so rude to Fayla, he knew. Many would have left him lying in the alley to die, or robbed him before continuing on their way. Then again, if she had left him alone, maybe Nerris and Jhareth would have come back and found him, and he wouldn't be in this unfamiliar place arguing ethics with a whore.

© Copyright 2026 Nicholas Andrews. All rights reserved.