The wind blowing in from the sea was cool with the persistent advent of autumn, but the southern sun still transformed the streets into a baking oven during the middle of the day. No gentle sea breeze could completely flush it out, and it would remain that way until winter arrived. The nights were the only respite from it. Galier didn’t really mind though.

The constant cold was one of those things that he most certainly did not miss about Derranhall. At this point of the year, he would already be wearing a cloak to walk any sort of distance out of doors. Then there was the rain and the snow. He did not miss that at all.

In fact, he missed very little about that dreary place. The only times he remembered fondly were those spent at sea, away from Martim’s iron fist and his oppressive town. The sea had been his one savior, and even that was tainted by the vile things he had been commanded to do in Martim’s name.

He was headed to the shore and the closer he came, the cooler it got. A welcome change. Sunshine was all well and good, but current fashion demanded coats and long trousers that became stifling without much exertion at all. The leather bag hanging over his shoulder did not help either. The dark material soaked up the sun and left a damp spot on his jacket after a while as sweat soaked the cloth. He should have thought to bring his chariot.

Well, maybe the chariot wouldn’t have been such a good idea. The people he was looking for were not exactly fond of nobility, better to distance himself from that image, even if that meant discomfort.

Galier found Scythese exactly where he expected the young man to be. Sweaty and red from exertion and sun, sprawled on the sand of the beach with his chest heaving. A solid wooden staff stood upright in the sand where he had left it.

A few paces away, across the uneven ground of wet sand torn up by shuffling feet stood Anaxian, looking quite energetic, despite Scythese’s current state. The larger of the two men waved to Galier as he approached.

Stripped to the waist for ease of movement, and perhaps to show off what a specimen he was, Anaxian looked like quite the dangerous opponent. Sweat glistened on his dark skin, but he didn’t bear a single mark from Scythese’s staff. The smaller man already had several bruises forming.

Anaxian held his own staff, a not quite perfect match to Scythese’s, but they worked with what they had. Galier didn’t know why Scythese had become so interested in learning to fight, he was already good by the metrics of southern nobility, but he had latched onto the idea with vigor and tenacity. He was going to become the best fighter he could be, even if it killed him. Looking at the way his chest heaved while he lay on the sand, Galier thought it just might.

“Come to watch us practice?” Anaxian asked cheerily, swinging his staff up to his shoulder in a practiced motion. “Please tell me you brought something to eat, we’ve been here for hours.” He only had eyes for Galier’s bag.

“An hour.” Came Scythese’s miserable groan from where he lay on the sand. He didn’t move to stand.

Galier grinned as he swung the bag he carried over one shoulder onto the sand. He’d stopped by the Captain’s Cat before coming here and although there hadn’t been much—most of his customers came by in the evenings so there was little to be had until then—he had been able to snag a loaf of day old bread and a thick cured sausage.

“Of course I did,” He said, taking a seat next to the bag and gesturing to it with a flourish. “I wouldn't make that mistake again.”

Anaxian tore into the food ravenously. He was cagey about what it was he did, but whatever the job, he was always left hungry. And no wonder why! With a body like his, he would need far more food than the average man.

Scythese stumbled to his feet eventually, and, using his staff to lean on, came over to sit with them, grumbling and massaging his shoulder.

“If you want to take a break…” Anaxian began, through a mouthful of bread and sausage.

“No.” Scythese snapped back, staring a challenge at the larger man. Anaxian raised his hands defensively.

“All I’m saying is I could go a few rounds with the lordling, see if he’s all he’s cracked up to be.” He grinned at Galier, but Galier knew that it was no idle challenge. The way his eyes moved across Galier’s body, looking for the telltale signs of a warrior's build. He wished his coat were a little looser at that moment. At one point he would have filled it out better…

Galier shrugged uncomfortably and began to pull off his coat. He didn’t really want to fight, but Scythese desperately needed a break, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Galier wasn’t keen to damage his clothes, but the way Anaxian looked at him skeptically… It stoked the little ember of pride in Galier’s chest to a small blaze. He’d give the brawny man a little surprise.

“Alright then, I accept.” Galier said, prompting a look of surprise from the other two. At least Scythese didn’t try to protest any more. He tossed the staff to Galier with a shrug and turned so that he could watch.

Galier snatched the staff from the air, and after weighing it for a moment in his hand, gave a satisfied nod. It would do just fine. Walking out to the already disturbed section of beach, he took a neutral stance and waited for Anaxian.

Right next to the sea, the breeze was strong and far cooler. Ruffling through his silk shirt and sending chills through his already damp skin, it reminded him of Derranhall and his time spent training there. With any luck, that training would serve him well now.

Anaxian sauntered over, staff in hand, after finishing off the food Galier had brought. He stretched massive arms before falling into a stance opposite Galier with a look that said he knew the fight would be over quickly. Galier did not give him a chance to reassess.

Without the constricting coat, Galier was able to move fluidly, and he took full advantage, rushing in towards Anaxian with a straightforward attack, but veering off at the last second to land a hit on the other man’s leg.

The staff meeting flesh made a satisfying whack as Galier rushed past, then turned on his heel to look at his opponent. Anaxian was still turning, a shocked expression on his face. From behind him, Galier could hear Scythese laughing.

“Not as easy as you thought?” He shouted, then broke out laughing again at Anaxian’s annoyed grunt.

Galier shrugged and spun his staff in an unnecessarily showy move. He had never been as good at fighting as Jormand, or any Marim’s children for that matter, but he’d had the same teachers and the constant challenge of beating far stronger opponents. He knew how to use an adversary’s large size to his advantage.

Maybe he wasn’t much to look at. Maybe he wasn’t the strongest or prettiest, but he could put a blade between ribs as good as anyone else. Better, even.

Anaxian did not give him much time to think, lunging forward with his staff while Galier was still bringing his own back to guard.

He managed to block the first blow, but only just. It forced him to retreat quickly, but Anaxian did not give up. After successfully parrying a few more strikes, the larger man was able to land a hit on Galier’s stomach by batting his staff out of the way with the strength of a full grown ox.

Galier retreated, gasping for air. Maybe it had been too long since he’d practiced, but he never had time for it now. More realistically, he never made the time for it. Until very recently, it wasn’t seen as a nobleman’s place in the empire. Duels and tournaments were all well and good, but the fashion had been to watch, not participate.

Luckily, Anaxian was predictable. He took every opening Galier presented, no matter how small. Galier made another hit on the next exchange, dodging out of the way of Anaxian’s swing to hit him flush across the back. Then another after that.

He did not escape without his own fair share of bruises however. But for every one that would color his skin later, Anaxian bore two. Galier had no misconception that he was the better fighter, Anaxian was already tired and had never fought someone like him before, he wagered, but they were evenly matched. And Galier was out of practice.

They lost track of the hits after some time, and Scythese’s jeers became less heartfelt as the two of them began to breathe harder and sweat weighed down Galier’s flowing clothes. Eventually Anaxian threw down his staff, shaking his head with a look of disbelief on his face.

“That was some impressive footwork lordling,” He said, wiping sweat from his forehead with one massive hand. Galier could detect notes of resentment in the usually jovial man’s voice. He hadn’t expected Galier to be competent at all. “We’ll have to go again sometime.”

Galier couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. It fed the fire pleasantly. Anaxian clearly thought a lot of his skill, but if Galier could match him? Well, it certainly put him a rung higher than Scythese, who had been laid out on the beach so easily.

Galier threw his staff into the sand where it stayed with little effort, standing straight like the pointer of a sundial. He’d worked up quite a sweat sparring with Anaxian, and now that he’d stopped moving, his shirt stuck to his skin with the moisture. Pulling off the garment and leaving it atop his staff to dry, Galier turned to head back towards where Scythese sat.

Anaxian had joined his friend and was poking through Galier’s empty bag for any missed scrap of food. There was nothing to be found there. What was more surprising were the other people who had gathered around.

Galier had been so focused on the fight that he hadn’t heard Ana, Tyche, and Sancte approaching, all clad in simple servants’ dresses and wide straw hats to keep off the sun. They looked weary after a long day of work, but chatted pleasantly now that they were free to spend their evening as they wished.

Galier was shocked to find that it was indeed evening already. The sun was well on its way to meet with the waiting sea to the west. He really had lost track of time. It had been so long since he’d fought anyone, much less a formidable opponent. He’d become lost in the strange beauty of it. He was also parched from a complete lack of water, and hadn’t thought to bring any.

Walking back to the rest, he wished he’d just dealt with the discomfort of his sticky shirt. Beside Anaxian, who was still bare to the waist and gleaming in the evening sunlight, he hardly compared. Both Ana and Tyche were sending not-so-subtle looks towards Anaxian as he stretched to relieve taut muscles. He shot back looks of his own, clearly aware of the effect he had.

Galier knew that he shouldn’t care. He had no interest in the women, why should he care? Still, he wouldn’t have minded a few looks his way.

He picked up his discarded jacket and wrapped it about his shoulders. It was beginning to feel a little cold with the wind on his exposed skin. That was the only reason. And he definitely was not staring at Anaxian.

He did however entirely miss someone approaching him until he heard the soft sound of sandals on sand just beside him. He turned to see Sancte standing very close to him, a slightly deflated waterskin in her hands.

“I thought you might be thirsty.” She said, offering it to him.

Galier gladly accepted and uncorked the skin to take a long drink. After exercise, there was nothing more delicious than a drink of water. He tried to not let too much spill, but a goodly portion ran down his chin, down his neck and onto his chest.

“Thank you.” He said, handing the waterskin back to Sancte who nodded and slung it over her shoulder with a small smile. Galier couldn’t tell if it was for him or just her usual expression.

By far the quietest member of Scythese’s little group of friends, Sancte escaped notice more often than not. She did not seem to mind the lack of attention either, always wearing a cheerful smile and always the first to help when needed.

She lacked that severe regality the old blood valued so deeply, but in its place was a soft beauty that fit her personality well. A round face with rounder, wide brown eyes, framed by long dark hair. She did very little to stand out from the crowd, but in doing so, managed a unique look regardless. She wore the same makeup as everyone else, did her hair in the same fashions, and wore clothes of the same styles, but where others modified to stand out, she perfected the subtle things they missed.

Galier had missed them himself, often taking Sancte for granted since meeting her. She hardly ever voiced an opinion, especially on topics that actually concerned him.

“You’re welcome,” She said politely, then produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and reached up to dab the spilt water off Galier’s chest. Once satisfied, she tucked the handkerchief away and nodded at her job well done. “There. You wouldn’t want to ruin such a nice coat.” She said.

Water would not damage the coat, but Galier didn’t complain. With the others doting over Anaxian and hanging on his every breath, it felt good to have someone pay attention to him. Of course, it didn’t change what he had come there to do. Still, he allowed himself to bask in the attention for a little while, toying with Sancte’s playful smile until the others began to disperse.

Anaxian left first, taking the staves with him. He dropped Galier’s shirt on the empty bag and waved as he walked away, towards the tenements where he lived. Anaxian was usually the first to go. He always said that he needed to wake up early, but would never say why, at least not to Galier.

Then It was Tyche, whose duties required her to be somewhere early as well. She bade them all a much more formal farewell before walking in the opposite direction, towards the city center. Galier did not know where she lived, but he would be willing to wager she had nicer accommodations than Anaxian.

Eventually Ana and Scythese began to walk off too. Excusing himself abruptly and running to pick up his bag, Galier followed them, calling for them to wait. Sancte looked a little shocked at his sudden departure. He hoped she wasn’t angry.

He caught up with Ana and Scythese a little down the roadway where he slowed to catch his breath. He was still tired from his bout with Anaxian and had begun to realize that he might not be in as good of physical shape as he thought.

“If you’re not too busy,” He said to Scythese between labored breaths, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Scythese looked confused. “Alright…” He said, looking at Galier as if he had just said he intended to wear fish instead of shoes.

“Somewhere quiet.” Galier eyed the rows of buildings on either side of the street. Many shutters were drawn as the night would begin to become cold soon, but who was to say what could be heard through shutters? Galier was going to be sure no one heard what he was going to say. He most certainly did not want to have that conversation with lady Ealhold if someone else found out about their plans.

“Ana and I were going to go find some food…” Scythese began.

“Perfect, come to my inn. We can talk there.” Galier butted in. There would be plenty of food there now, the evening crowd would be starting to arrive and… That presented another, entirely different issue.

“Actually, the manor has kitchens and far fewer listening ears…”

Scythese’s lip curled in distaste at the invitation, but he didn’t voice any complaint. Ana for her part looked absolutely delighted with the idea, her eyes going wide and a smile materializing on her lips.

“Why, that sounds lovely Galier.” She said and turned to Scythese with a look that said it was already decided. They would go. Scythese just shrugged. His sullen expression did not go away.

“Perfect! It’s not too long of a walk.” Galier began to lead them down the street when a small voice sounded behind him.

“Can I come?”

It was Sancte. He had not heard her soft footsteps on the cobblestone street, which was more than a little alarming.

He felt bad for leaving her so rudely and anything he told Scythese and Ana would find its way to her eventually. Besides, she looked so lonely in the street with the massive scale of the city dwarfing her already small stature.

“Of course you can.” He said quickly, before he had the chance to talk himself out of the idea.

And so they set off down the roadway, Galier trying awkwardly to put his shirt back on while juggling his bag and coat, and the others following like goslings followed the goose while the sun set over the sea behind them.

It cast an orange light on the drab stone of Maerin, giving it a temporary colorful splendor. Like the autumn coat of an ancient tree, fleeting, but no less beautiful for its transience.

Along with encroaching night came the wind. Howling through the streets and across the tops of buildings. The wide roadways and tall buildings made it sound like the roar of some great beast, like the serpents of myth that supposedly populated the northern reaches of the sea, echoing so it came from every direction simultaneously.

Galier didn’t put much stock in myth, but he did feel called to the sea that night like the sailors from those stories. Perhaps not to his old life in Derranhall, but to the ships he had once helmed and the freedom they had brought. Perhaps he would have that freedom again, here in Maerin, if everything worked the way he planned. Perhaps.