It had been weeks - or months? Colm was unsure how long he’d been living on the streets of this city called Drorin. He’d learned that the city was called Drorin from the other street beggars who occasionally shared a word or two with him.

In this same way, he also knew Drorin was the capital of the kingdom. The other street-rats mostly kept to themselves, and so Colm did as well. He couldn’t complain. Despite having to beg and scavenge for food, he was eating better than he had in years, and he luxuriated in the ability to take naps, drink clean water from the fountain, and not endure daily torture.

The pain of those years was all that he could remember. He didn’t know what his life had been prior to the torture. His memories had been burned away in the fires of hurt that the slimy, fat, toothless man had put him through every waking moment. Images of the various metal hooks, prongs, and knives that had poked, prodded, and torn him still flashed through his mind daily.

He'd learned the basics of pickpocketing since the last turn of the moon and had an actual coin in his pocket today. He was proud that he'd been able to acquire the skill through watching the other street-rats when they didnt think anyone was looking.

Most of the city buildings were a combination of old weathered stone and dark woods. A few buildings stood out in their use of lighter colored woods, which served as navigational reminders for Colm when he was trying to outrun guards or bullies. There were signs on many of the buildings and street corners, but he couldn't read. The symbols looked familiar to him when he looked up at them, as if he was about to remember them but couldn't grasp the knowledge before it slipped away each time.

The winding streets and lack of any real orgnaization to them led Colm to believe the city hand been built and rebuilt over the years, sprawling out further following paths its original builders had created before realizing it would become so large. Stairs and steep streets were common as the city clung to the large hill that its capital castle sat atop.

Today, with the coin in his pocket, he would purchase bread from the baker at the far end of the market, opposite a rare and unobstructed view of the castle.

Colm shuddered and put that last thought from his mind. He did his best to ignore the castle on the hill that overlooked the city. He didn’t know why, but it unnerved him to see it.

Weaving through the crowd, he noticed a group of foreigners leading a covered wagon to the butcher’s shop on the corner. There were four of them total, and only upon a second look did he realize that one of them - the redhead - was a woman.

She was dressed like a man with course woven pants and a leather vest, which was a bit silly, but it got his attention and so Colm followed them, curious to see who they were. Entertainment was another luxury he didn’t remember having experienced before he started his life as a street urchin, and watching silly and interesting people was an enjoyable way to pass the time. Besides, foreigners often make for easy marks. Or so he’d heard the other street-rats say.

Only one of the four was dressed in familiar clothing - standard grey trousers and the studded leather tunic common among the hunters from the guild that provided the butcher with deer and elk each week. This man was larger than any guild member he’d seen and carried an enormous axe on his back. Equally enormous were the bones thrown up over one shoulder as he approached a craftsman’s stall next door to the butcher.

The red-headed woman - or girl? He couldn’t quite make out her age - approached the butcher while the man with the shield slung over his shoulder and another foppish-looking man carried a slab of meat that looked to require their combined strength up to the butcher’s counter.

That meant the one with the bones was alone at the next stall.

Colm maneuvered himself through the crowd and snuck up behind the behemoth of a man. Moving the way he’d been shown by the other urchins, he pulled the man’s coin purse from his belt.

It worked!

He fought to keep the smile from his face and turned quickly to blend back into the crowd when a vice closed over his wrist.

He knew the vice well and stood paralyzed, waiting for the pain that was to come - the crack as the iron tightened to the bone.

This grip however, while tight, was made of flesh and simply held him fast. He turned to look, and saw the large man staring back at him with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

The man’s face was covered in faded scars, hinting at years of fighting. As they looked at each other, Colm thought he saw the man’s jaw slacken slightly and eyebrows raise in alarm, but the moment passed in the blink of an eye and then the amusement was back on his face.

He picked Colm up by the wrist, lifting him off the ground with his immense strength in the process. Turning to his party, he said simply: “Thief.”

They turned and eyed him up and down, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Getting a bit slow, aren’t you, to let a wee rat like that get the better of you?” said the slim, dandy of a man with the thin mustache. The style of his doublet was very trendy among the upper class in Drorin.

“We shall duel.” The man said, still holding Colm. He moved his arm to hold Colm out in front of him, eye to eye. “If I best you, I shall buy you a full dinner at the tavern, and you will dine with us, but I will keep my purse.”

Colm gulped but refused to let fear show on his face. How bad could it be? He knew pain. “What if I win?”

The large man threw back his head and laughed. He could hear the foppish one behind him snicker. The woman made a sound of annoyance and rolled her eyes but stopped short of interfering.

“If you win,” the brute said, bringing his laughter under control “I will take you from these streets. I will clothe you and train you to be a Direman. Or you may keep the coinpurse. Your choice.”

What’s a Direman? Colm considered how long the coins in that purse would keep him fed.

“I don’t think that is-” the other male voice behind Colm started to say, before being cut off by an unreadable look from the man who held him. “As you wish,” the voice said with a sigh, resigned.

The large man smiled and set Colm down. Glancing around, Colm could see that a crowd had formed around them, and there were no gaps through which he could flee.

“Choose a weapon!” the man said and raised his hands to indicate his fellow hunters.

Colm looked at them each in turn. The redheaded woman had a bow on her back and a short sword at her waist. She raised an eyebrow as he looked at her.

The foppish man had a rapier hanging from either side of his belt. Colm didn’t think a thin blade like that would be much help against the towering brute.

Colm’s eyes landed on the longsword held by the man with the shield. Something must have shown on Colm’s face, because the man sighed again and drew his sword, offering it hilt-first to Colm.

Colm accepted it, and its weight caused his arms to drop slightly. The man began taking the shield off his back.

“No, I don’t want that. Just the sword.” It was all he could do to lift the blade with both hands. There was no way he’d be able to hold a shield at the same time.

The two men and the woman stepped back, merging with the rest of the crowd, and the only people left in the center were Colm and the massive man from whom he’d tried to steal.

“My name is Colm” he said, thinking it sounded rather adult and honorable to introduce himself for the duel. His was a common name here in Drorin, but he thought he saw a twitch in the other’s eye, though his face betrayed nothing else.

“I’m Brash,” he said simply. “Now we fight!”

Colm let out a shout and rushed, not wanting to give his opponent time to reach for the axe and without any idea what else to do.

Brash quickly sidestepped his swing and, sticking his leg out at an angle, caught Colm’s feet and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Colm landed hard and skidded, barely keeping his grip on the sword, but quickly scrambled back to his feet. He heard laughter from the crowd. Just another beggar, not a life worth worrying about. Look at the hunter making a fool of him, putting him in his place. Yes, hilarious!

Colm narrowed his eyes and charged Brash. He raised his sword high, as though he would attempt another overhead arch like the one he’d just failed to deliver, but at the last second he spun, presenting his back to his opponent for an instant - a risk he decided was worth it in the heat of the moment - and brought the sword down in a horizontal slash.

Brash dodged backward, seemingly surprised by Colm’s trick, and the tip of his sword cut into Brash’s forearm, drawing blood. Red. A color Colm knew well.

“Enough, lad,” Brash said with a laugh. “You’ve drawn first blood. You have bested me this day.”

The crowd began to disperse, perhaps disappointed that the thief hadn’t been beaten and no longer interested in simple conversation.

Colm kept his sword raised and stared at the man, catching his breath. “I’ll take that coin purse, then.”

“Aye, it’s yours. Why don’t you come with us, though? Earn a living as a Direman. There’s more money where this came from,” Brash said as he tossed the coin purse to Colm.

The man with the shield approached Colm calmly and held out his hand.

He wants his sword back, you dimwit. Colm handed him the sword, hilt first as it had been handed to him.

“Brash, we can hardly afford to-” The foppish man’s voice was cut short by another look from Brash. He raised his hands in defeat, and he and the redheaded woman turned back to the butcher to finish their haggling.

“Young Colm, my name is Durnst,” said the other man as he took back and sheathed the longsword once more. After a glance at Brash, he spoke again in a resigned voice. “Per your agreement with Brash, you may return the coin purse and join us as his apprentice, if you so desire. It’s not often we take on another to join us, but Brash rarely demands anything. It is a very dangerous life, and the choice is yours to make. Personally, I would use that money there to buy yourself an apprenticeship here in Drorin, or perhaps to buy your way into a position as pageboy to the castle.”

Colm felt suddenly cold and focused his attention everywhere but at the castle on the hill. No, he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t ever go there.

“What does a Direman do? I can tell you’re not part of the hunters guild here,” Colm asked.

“No, we certainly are not. There are hunters, and then there are hunters.”

Colm could hear the difference in the emphasis he gave the second title.

“The hunters in your city’s guild provide meat to the butchers by hunting down boar, elk, rabbits, and the like. They also provide pelts for leather working. Diremen go after far more dangerous prey. Have you ever heard of a dire beast?”

Colm shook his head.

“History later, Cap’n,” Brash said, clapping Colm on the shoulder. “Let me get the lad clothed and find a proper weapon down at the smythe before we sup. There will be plenty of time for learning on the road.”

Durnst nodded.

“What say ye, lad? Be my apprentice, learn the ways of the Direman, and make some money?”

Colm decided he liked the giant man Brash, and smiled. “Why not?” he said jovially. “There’s nothing for me in this city anyhow.”

He thought he saw Brash’s eyes sadden for a moment, but the man grinned at him and started off toward the smythe.

Colm saw the redhead turn, and he could swear he heard her mutter, “You let him win, old man,” but Brash ignored her accusation as he passed, waving for Colm to catch up. Colm followed.

As he walked, he felt happy. This group seemed very serious. They would benefit from his attitude and humor to lighten the mood. He’d resolved, weeks ago - or was it months? - to be happy at all times, as nothing could be as bad as it once was. Any moment outside that chamber of pain and horror was a moment worth relishing.

He jogged, hurrying to catch up to Brash, and wondering what kinds of weapons they would consider down at the smythe.