The weight Caj’s longsword on his back was comforting, and the pull of the short-sword at his hip was a balm to his shot nerves. He had long since become used to the feel of the blades, and they went everywhere with him, regardless of the strange looks he might accrue. It had gotten to the point where he felt like something was missing when they were not with him. They also served as an excellent mugger deterrent while walking the streets of Goldstern as he was now.

Caj had been turning over Narm’s words for several days now. He had decided that it couldn’t hurt to ask, and that he would do so on the morrow. He had the afternoon off, and was spending it contemplating on what he had decided. He strolled down the streets, nodding to guardsmen and vendors he recognized, and ignoring those he did not. He did not worry about thieves, as he used Narms inherited trick of shoving his purse down the front of his breeches. If anyone was fool enough to try robbing an armed man in the first place, the location of his purse should be discouragement enough.

If anyone tries reaching there, I hope they’re just trying to rob me. He thought wryly.

In truth, Caj did not really realize the figure that he cut, striding through town as he was. He had grown again in the past year and a half, putting himself firmly on the same height level as Narm. While he wasn’t as broad in the shoulders or chest as the old man, he was still large. He was outfitted in worn armor made of boiled leather that had been gifted to him by Bietre for his 16th name day. Between the armor and swords, he looked like he might be a travelling mercenary or some such.

So, Caj didn’t worry about thieves or unsavory characters as he walked down the street. His feet went left and right, meandering their way down broad byways and cramped alleys alike. When he had been younger Narm had forced him to memorize a map of the City of Goldstern, citing the need to be aware of where he was at all times. It was thus that when he came across an alley where a scuffle was taking place, he knew the name of the small, dirty street to be Shades Alley, and his location to be the lower docs.

Unfortunately, a mugging taking place in the lower docks was about as uncommon as a dead man in a grave. Caj normally would’ve let nature take its course, knowing that if he intervened, he would be more than likely to put the future of the victims at stake. However, just as Caj was about to walk by, he noticed something out of place. The uniform of a Goldstern Guardsman could be seen in the alley. In fact, there were two uniforms, and judging by what Caj could see, they were the cause of the problem rather than the solution. They seemed to be pushing someone around. Someone considerably smaller than them. Caj padded up the alleyway to hear what was going on so he could better judge the situation.

Caj sniffed deeply, then immediately wished he hadn’t. The stench of Shades Alley covered all else, but judging by the way the men were talking, they had recently imbibed a large amount of ale.

“Oh, c’mon little girlie,” the heavier of the two slurred, “Just give a man a kiss. C’mon girlie.” His companion was rail thin in comparison to his friend’s portly frame, and also drunken. He slurred out a half-mumbled observation.

“Isn’t she a little young Clayton?” he squinted at the girl, “Hell, I doubt she’s even started to bleed yet.” Clayton laughed uproariously, in the way only a drunken individual can.

“Oh, if she hasn’t started to bleed yet, Walter, she will soon.” He licked his lips, “I like the young ones…”

Clayton’s hands snapped out latching onto the figure before him, and yanking her into the dim light. Caj saw that it was a thin young girl, no more than seven. He thought she looked familiar but he couldn’t place her face. He had seen enough. He quickly began walking down the alley, this definitely was a situation that needed to be dealt with.

Hopefully just the presence of another person would be enough to discourage the disgusting men. As he started down the alley, doing his best not to hear the repulsive suggestions of Clayton and the sycophantic laughter of Walter, he opened his mouth to yell, but before he could, Clayton let out a shriek. Claytons right hand was spurting blood, and his thumb was now lying on the ground beside him. Caj looked at the girls face and saw a bloody grin. Walter seemed to be in shock, while Clayton was in a fury.

“You bitch!” he wailed. In a viscous movement, the fat man’s hand cracked into the girl’s head, sending her careening into a wall. Curiously, the girl didn’t cry out. Some part of Caj’s mind noted this, but he was beyond caring. All he could see was red. He flew down Shades Alley like the vengeful specter it was named for, radiating murder. He blasted past Walter and towards Clayton, sending the thin man to the ground hard.

Before entering the alley, he had made plans for the eventuality of violence. He had thought about drawing his short sword, due to the fact it would be more efficient in the tight confines of the alley than his longsword, but he had not been trained in its use in such an environment. He had therefore decided that he was better off using the techniques Narm had taught him for such a scenario.

When he reached the fat form of Clayton, he had forgotten all of this. Caj didn’t draw his sword, but not because it was part of some strategy. He didn’t draw his sword because he was so angry that he had forgotten it was there. With strength born of anger and adrenaline, he grabbed Clayton by the shoulders and hurled him into a wall. What followed was not a contest in any sense, nor was it a demonstration of grace and fluid motion. It was instead pure power and aggression given life in the form of Caj’s fists.

Caj punched Clayton in the face three times, fast and hard, breaking the man’s nose and most of his teeth. He followed his three jabs with a hook that shattered the fat man’s jaw and knocked him out cold. He stood over the fat man, breathing heavily. In his fury, however, Caj had forgotten cardinal rules of both Narm and Bietre. Their voices warred for attention in his mind, both screaming danger. Suddenly, there was a dagger at his throat.

Caj could hear Narm’s chastisement as he wrestled with the knife that was already drawing blood from his throat.

Never let your emotions control you, allow them to guide your morals, but let your rationality guide your actions.

Caj realized the Walter was a surprisingly strong man given his skinny frame, and he was slippery as an eel. Every time Caj tried to flip the man off his back, Walter would just reposition himself and stay clinging as resolutely as a barnacle to a ship. Bietre’s mocking voice entered his mind next. His words were considerably less philosophical than Narm’s, but no less true.

Lesson 5: Do not give your opponent your back.

Caj cursed himself for a fool as he stumbled about the alley, doing his utmost to ram Walter into the walls surrounding them. He finally took a page out of the little girl’s book, and bit deeply into Walter’s wrist, causing the man to flinch. Caj used the momentary distraction to throw the man off, and make space to assess his options. Walter, however, did not plan to give him time to catch his bearings, and rushed at Caj as soon as his feet were on the ground. Caj braced himself, but it proved to be unnecessary. Just before Walter reached him, a shadow descended from the roof to their right, and with a hollow thunk Walter was out cold on the ground.

Caj looked at the ‘shadow’ and saw that it was, in fact, a boy of about ten or eleven, holding a stout piece of wood carved into a smooth club. Caj was shocked to realize that he recognized the boy. Roughly a year and a half before, on Caj’s 15th name day, Narm had given the youngster and his sister a considerable sum of money for two beggar children. One of whom had been a boy with a burned face.

On the half of his head that hadn’t been scorched, the boy had blonde hair so dirty it was almost black. Caj again noted his missing left hand and melted ear. He also noted that while the boy’s right eye was a dark green, almost black, his left was gray with an undilated pupil. It looked like someone had done a number on the left side of the kid’s body. The boy stood upright, showing that he was short for his age, but with broad shoulders and a build that would one day lend itself to power. When he spoke, his accent was the brogue of the southwest.

“Are ye gonna let me to my sister, big-man, or am I gonna have to club ye also?” Caj abruptly realized why the small, blonde girl looked so familiar. She had been with the boy that day. Caj obligingly stepped aside, letting the boy pass him and go to his sister, who was now moving, but still not speaking. The young boy bent down to inspect her and after a few moments, Caj asked,

“Is she well?” the boy nodded unconcernedly.

“Oh, aye,” he said, “She’ll be fine she will, takes more than a little swat to put her down.” The girl grinned, showing her bloody teeth from biting off Clayton’s thumb, but still didn’t speak.

“Why aren’t you talking?” Caj asked the girl directly. She frowned and shook her head.

“She can’t speak, big-man” the boy answered for her, “She’s what ye’d call mute.” Caj nodded and apologized to the young woman, feeling embarrassed for bringing it up.

“Apologies miss, I didn’t realize.” She shrugged uncaringly while stumbling to the side of the alley to throw up. She likely had a bad concussion after that hit. He felt the anger stir in him. Apparently, it showed, and the boy commented, somewhat fearfully,

“Easy there big-man, fight’s over it is.” Caj just nodded once, and turned away. He walked over to the injured guardsmen and stripped them down to their skivvies, since he couldn’t be seen parading two guardsmen through the city as prisoners. He tore their clothes into strips so that they couldn’t be used to impersonate guardsmen and then threw them on the ground. He tossed to two sword belts to the boy, as he didn’t want to deal with them, and the delighted expression on the boy’s face made him smile. He quickly trussed the men up using a length of moldy rope from the back of the alley. As he was about to wake the men up to take them away, the boy spoke again.

“Wait,” he said looking troubled, “boss-lady is gonna want to know who did this big-man. What do I call ye?” Caj looked at him, somewhat nonplussed. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“My name is-” he began, but the boy cut him off.

“Not yer real name big-man, your street name. Ye know, yer calling card, or signature as boss-lady says.” Caj was surprised that the boy apparently wanted an alias. He grinned and said the first thing that came to mind.

“You can call me The Undertaker.” The boy shivered at his words, and the girl, who had stopped puking, took a few steps back.

“Ye’ve a right scary grin on ye big-man.” The boy said “Looks like a shark… hungry for blood.” Caj blinked in surprise. The boy just grinned, then boosted his sister onto one of the shorter roofs, before scrambling up after. He smiled down at Caj, genuine friendliness in his demeanor. He jerked his only remaining thumb at his sister.

“This here’s Mute, And I’m called Half-head.” He hesitated a moment then shrugged, “Me friends call me Rai though.” Rai waved once, and then he and Mute were out of sight, leaving Caj with two half-naked, unconscious, perverted members of the city guard. It looked like his afternoon would be interesting after all.