Dago spent two days in a boarded-up alleyway, scrounging for food. He got stronger each day, wandering around in search of food. He hadn’t yet needed the brass sword he kept at his waist, but it provided comfort when he slept with it clutched in his hands. Over the course of those days, he only slept six hours, in two stints of three. He’d always been able to wake himself on command; it wasn’t incredibly accurate, but in a warzone like Elpan, it was likely the difference between life and death.
Three times, he hid from people, hobbling down an alleyway on his crutches or laying in the bushes where they grew near sewer entrances or citizen’s gardens. Though he frequently saw people in the windows, no one offered him shelter.
It was a risky game. If he stepped on the Crimson Highway without enough strength to bear whatever trials those bandits gave him, he was dead. If he waited for his strength too long, in the bleak recesses of Elpan, he was dead.
Two days after the captain of that blasted ship left him here, he walked along the outer wall of the city and whistled the tune of The Roadside Wizard. It was a popular ballad from the royal taverns of High Raena, where bards and poets competed for Ribbons of Revelry from the Joyous King.
“Ah… High Raena on the River,” Dago muttered, wistfully. I’d give my broken leg to see High Raena right now…
A few dogs fighting over a chop of unknown meat scampered away at the sound of his voice, and Dago fell silent. In the distance, human voices and animal ones resounded off the low clouds, a much different choir than the youthful voices of the Joyous King’s Court.
He saw a flickering shadow ahead, the shape of a man, cast by firelight against the bloodied city wall. There was a group of bodies around a toppled carriage nearby, and when the movement of the shadow crossed it, Dago lost sight of the sighting. Without a word, he stopped his feet, turned his crutches the left, and hobbled into the nearest alley. He stayed there, leaning against the cold grey bricks of a residential house. There was no sound, inside or out, save Dago’s breathing.
And then, a small group of people were running at him. He dropped his crutches, and drew his sword.
Then he realized they were not hostiles. Two women were in the front, one carrying a child with a cloth across its mouth. Three men were behind, wearing rags, tattered coats, and one missing his shoes. They didn’t spot Dago until they were almost upon him, and one of the men stumbled forward, past his women, with a steak knife drawn.
“Whoa,” said Dago. “I mean you no harm.”
“We are pursued,” the man whispered. Dago couldn’t tell from the quality of his clothes whether he was a poor man or a wealthy one. Course, there were no such distinctions left in Elpan. Not for now.
“Can you protect us?” one of the women asked.
Dago shrugged. “Hardly,” he said, and grabbed one of his crutches.
Then their pursuers arrived, close to ten men, armed with swords, daggers, and poles. “Who’s this?” asked one of them, aggressively approaching with a blade pointed.
“No one,” Dago said, lowering his own blade.
The group of citizens cried, “Help us!” and ran. They brushed past Dago, almost toppling him, and scurried down the alleyway, wherever it might lead. He took a few steps back as they passed, but once they were gone, he knew there was no way he was catching up.
“What’s this all about?” asked the leader of the approaching gang. He grinned, though he was missing two teeth on either side of his front two.
Dago clenched his teeth, than forced a smile of his own. “I’ve got no fight with you and yours, friend.”
“But you’ve got a sword. And crutches!” the man said, chuckling. “What’s with that? How’d you manage to survive here, with, what a sprain or a break? Bet that sword ain’t even yours, you cripple.”
“I took it off a guard I killed,” Dago lied.
A couple of the others chuckled but the man in charge walked closer to Dago and his smile faded. Dago tensed as the man drew closer, raising his sword, but the criminal raised his hands openly, his knife hanging from a loop he had tied around his wrist. “I’m not going to hurt you, man. You want food? We could help you out.”
“What?” Dago asked. “Why?”
“You have a skill to survive,” the man said. “That’s enough for our group. What’s your name, friend?”
“Dago,” he told them. “Yours?”
“Parsetrin,” the man replied. “But called me Par.”
“Par,” Dago said. He started to sheath his sword, still wary, until Par raised a finger.
“Keep your sword out, Dago. You’ve got to earn your keep.”
Dago shrugged, and grabbed only one of his crutches. “Alright, how?” He heard a cry behind him, and turned to see two more men coming, with three prisoners in rope bindings. One of the citizens that had ran past Dago earlier was there, and the two women that had been with that group.
Par greeted the newcomers by name, two more of his gang warriors, and then he looked at Dago. “You want in, you kill the man.”
Par’s men shoved the man down, while dragging the women away. The one who had been carrying a child was mute and dumbstruck, while the other began to weep at the sight of her friend or lover shoved to his knees before the gang of killers.
“What sort of test is this?” Dago asked, with a raised an eyebrow.
Par smiled again, the chilling grin he had started with. “Just want to see if you told the truth about killing a guard.”
“By making me a kill a tied up beggar?”
Par chuckled, and shrugged.
In a fluid movement, Dago lunged forward and rammed his sword blade through the prisoner’s ribs. His survival in Elpan had become a lot simpler: entertain Par, live; disappoint, die.