"Fragments - The Broken Bonds" - Chapter 7 - The Marketplace of Jurom

"Stop thief!! The cry rang through Paris' ears. His thoughts were interrupted by the squawk of chickens and stalls overturning.

"So this is the marketplace. It seems we have arrived, Darklight. He gave a slight grin, seeing some trouble ahead. "¦and not a minute too soon.

Up ahead, near a meat shop, a boy was being held at the collar by a huge, muscular man. The former would be about thirteen summers of age, skinny and wore tattered rags. The other peddlers and merchants looked upon them in a circle as Paris forced himself through the crowd.

"Steal from me, won't you boy?! The butcher growled. His balding head glistened against the morning light. One hand held a sharp butcher's knife that seemed like it could cleave a whole cow in two with one blow. "Maybe you thieves won't do it again once I chop off your arms and hang them up my shop as an example.

The man raised the knife as the boy struggled and cringed from the coming blade. The blade fell with great force, straight for the latter's right arm. The crowd gave a gasp, and everything seemed suspended in a fraction of time.

"Enough of that, kind sir. Paris' voice broke the deafening silence. The butcher's wrist slammed into the soldier's palm, catching the blade a few inches away from the target. "I believe we can come to an arrangement here¦I shall pay for what he stole.

"And who might you be? The butcher growled, his blackening teeth showing. His hand held the thief with a choking grip, and Paris could almost feel the boy's breath fall short. "Obviously, you are a stranger meddling with other people's business.

"I am Paris Ironheart of the Lion Knights. Paris immediately replied, stopping himself a bit too late upon realizing he was no longer. "Well¦used to be, at least. I pray, let the boy go. He is turning blue already.

"I don't bloody care if he dies. Thieves are best killed when young. They turn out to be bandits or assassins when they grow up. The butcher replied, his grip withstanding. "And meddlers are best taught their lessons!

Paris gasped as the butcher's knife made for his face, ducking just in time to avoid getting a very deep scar on his pristine looks. "Now sir, I seek not trouble with you. I simply wish you to grant me custody of the boy. He protested, trying his best to avoid the blows.

"You blasted dog! Die! The butcher's rage flared, letting the boy loose and lunging at Paris. He was almost twice the knight's size and would easily overpower him in close combat.

"You have sealed your choice, sir. Paris sighed, making a side step, letting the butcher miss by a hand's breadth before plunging his elbow right on the man's neck. The butcher spun in midair, crashing into one of the stalls.

Paris did not even have a mind to draw his sword as the butcher came at him again. He simply caught the latter's weapon with his left, flung it aside and planted his right fist onto the man's face. He could hear cheekbones break, almost relishing the sensation.

The young thief slipped from the crowd, quickly making for a dash to safety, but Paris was faster, catching the boy's collar. "Not so fast, boy¦I believe we have an appointment with the town marshal. Paris said with a slight grin on his face. The boy did not even try to resist, seeing the butcher bleeding unconscious on the ground.
Suddenly, chargers could be heard from a distance. The crowd immediately dispersed, returning to their business. "Over here, sir knight. The boy tugged at Paris. "Come with me or you will surely be arrested for disturbing the peace. Surely you do not wish to spend a night in the hellknight army dungeons.

"Great. Now a thief is helping me escape the law. What's next, I go and assassinate the king? Paris groaned. Being a fugitive was simply not in his choices of life paths. Following the boy, they crisscrossed the marketplace.

"It is an option. The boy replied, making a quick turn in a narrow alley. "My name is Artus. What is yours?

"Paris. Paris Ironheart. He answered in between breaths. The boy moved so fast he had a hard time keeping up. The streets had some well shadowed areas that were dark even in broad daylight and it seemed Artus had a lot of experience in using them.

"You are a resident of Jurom? Paris asked. "I heard this is an excellent place to be if one is interested in becoming good at your chosen profession.

"True. Artus answered. His steps slowed down a bit, having gone a long way off the main streets. "But believe me or not, it was hardly a choice. I was not originally from this place. I come from Tiber, of Asphenaz rule.

"The holy land? Paris asked in surprise. He had been to Tiber once or twice during an escort routine for the high priest Clarion Elderblood. The high priest had the great temple of Ansha built in the chosen city under the rule of a certain Prince Lander long before Asphenaz had established its lion army. The paladins defended the land then, and Clarion tutored them all in the arts of light. It was then that the inofrii first appeared in the kingdoms of the west, and the human realms were in constant war against the undead hordes. Eventually, Asphenaz managed to combine all human kingdoms of the west under one king, Jethro¦all except Jurom.

When the prince of Tiber mysteriously disappeared in battle, Troy Eisenhart, a highlord of Asphenaz was given command of Tiber's throne. Paris' anger rose again upon recalling Troy's name. He had unconsciously sworn to one day personally kill the serpent of the lion army and feed his bones to the inofrii.

"You have been there, Paris? Artus asked, with no tone of respect whatsoever for the man's rank or age. "Recently it had not been too holy.

"Indeed. Paris replied. "But it is better than life here. Why did you leave? Elder Clarion still maintains some control over the kingdom because of the temple. Surely life in Tiber in exchange for life as a petty thief in a land of corruption is a bad choice.
Artus quickly clenched a medallion of some sort and tucked it within his shirt, then turned to face Paris with a sharp look in his eyes. "Call it what you may, but at least the people of Jurom are no servants of Gaul hiding under a holy guise.

Paris' brow met. "What did you mean by that? Who are you referring to? Surely not Clarion, he is a holy man, devoted to the service of the Lady Ansha.

"Clarion is. The highlord isn't. Artus snorted before turning and starting to walk towards an alley so narrow only one man can pass through at a time, walking sideways. "Tainted with the blood of Gaul he is, by the power of his precious Black Sword.

"Black Sword? Paris' curiosity began to rise. "Where did you come to learn all of this? I have heard of rumors but I have not actually seen such a blade.

"He keeps it locked up beside the throne of Tiber at castle Crystallion. Not even the high priest is allowed into the throne room the last days I was there. Artus replied, emerging at the other side and watching amused as Paris struggled to get himself through the narrow passageway.

"I find the story not too comforting. But supposing it is true, why has everyone kept silent? Paris asked again, losing himself in the conversation that he didn't even realize where he was going.

"The highlord is a man to be feared. Troy is a man of great influence to the imperial throne. Believe me sir, it is true. I was there. I saw the sword with my own two eyes, and it reeked with the blackness of Gaul.

"You were there? Paris snapped, finally making it to the other side. Since when did thieves roam freely in the throne room of castle Crystallion?

"It's a long story. Artus replied, making a gesture towards his back. "Welcome to the thieves' guild, my present home, and family.

Paris held his breath at the sight. Along the sides of the structures were hooded men. Some hung by the windows like vampire bats staring at some prey and some skulked by the corners sharpening knives like wolves preparing for a hunt.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness, revealing a hooded man in loose black clothing and approached them. "Young Artus is back so soon? You were supposed to get captured by the hellknights. And who do you bring to the fold? The man asked, staring at Paris from head to foot. "Too muscular to be a thief, too tall to be an assassin, he won't do with us very well, son.

Artus held back a chuckle. "The butcher had other plans than surrender me to the authorities. Sorry, the jailbreak will have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe then I can find a vegetable vendor who would be so kind as to deliver me into the hellknight dungeons.

Paris was shocked. He had never dealt with rogues like this before. He used to hunt them and throw them into iron cells, not talk, negotiate or share milk and cookies with them. Obviously the scenario at the marketplace earlier was staged for one bigger scheme.

"Oh by the way, this is Paris. Artus said, pointing at the former knight. "He comes from Asphenaz rule, I believe. He saved me from the butcher. Paris, this is Eliard, thievesmaster of Jurom.

The whole crowd burst in laughter. Paris felt far too uncomfortable with his situation. "Since when did you need saving? Eliard asked, still in a fit. "This child gets more and more clever these days with his practical jokes. All right, bind him.

Ten others jumped Paris from behind. In a flash he was pinned down and gagged. "Oh no, wait! Artus shouted, half laughing. "It isn't a joke. I was hoping he can get sanctuary with us for a while. He is a fugitive now, I believe.

"A fugitive¦? Eliard raised one brow, removing his hood and stroking his goatee. "Perhaps we can get someone into the hellknight dungeons after all.

"Hrrrmphh!! Paris struggled. But he could not even move with all the hands holding him down, much less protest with his mouth stuffed with too much greasy cloth it was becoming hard to breathe.

"Oh. Maybe you're right. Artus replied, looking at Paris with a quick wink of reassurance. "So¦no breakfast for him?

"Breakfast is served free in the dungeons. Eliard jested. "But if your friend agrees to a deal, then we will accommodate him into our supplies. There is after all, honor among thieves.

"He agrees. Artus answered, removing the ball of cloth stuck in Paris' mouth. "Don't you? He asked, making another assuring expression on his face.

"Before I answer that, may I ask what this is all about? Paris replied, catching his breath and shaking off the hands all over him.

Eliard walked back and forth, as if pouring over a speech. "You see Paris, it is a regular routine for the guild to break our comrades out of the dungeons once the number of captives reaches five. Surprisingly, the hellknight standards had become so low that we have done it in the past years with only a few casualties. All we ask of you now is to get captured and deliver a message to one of our men inside.

"Get captured? Paris growled at the sheer thought of it. He was a knight. He was not about to spend his time inside some dungeon¦.again.

"Oh do not worry about it. Eliard said, making signals to the others who returned carrying food and wine. "We will break you out with the others anyway. You usually do not get tortured until the second day. Come and eat, it may help you think straighter, considering a death with a poison dirk is not much of an option.

The crowd around them snickered again, and Paris had to hold his temper at the threat, seeing it was not impossible to have someone fling a dart at him right where he was standing. "All right¦perhaps I can oblige you. He nodded, sitting down on a makeshift chair made out of a wine barrel while the thievesmaster gestured him to eat. "When am I to do it?

"You worry yourself too much, Paris. Eliard replied. "Once you have finished eating, you can safely go out the way you came. Rest assured, the hellknights will catch up with you. Take this letter with you and give it to the first person in the dungeons who asks you for some wine.

Paris could not believe it all. Even as he wolfed down the sweet meats and red wine, he still could not comprehend how an honorable soldier of the lion army could end up working with a bunch of thieves from Jurom in one day's time. It was however, a good meal and he had not any for quite some time now. His stomach felt a lot grateful afterwards and he began to inch back across the narrow path after receiving a sealed letter from Eliard.