Ifan wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. The wagon behind him was now filled with supplies. Sacks of grain sat beside crates of vegetables and bundles of cloth. A few barrels had been tied down carefully so they would not roll during the trip back. Ifan stepped back and admired the work with a proud grin.

  “Not bad,” he said to himself with that grin of his.

  He placed both hands on his hips and looked over the wagon again. The children at Valefort Orphanage were going to be thrilled. Tonight’s dinner would be one of the better ones. Brother Vick stood near the depot desk, finishing the last bit of paperwork with the clerk. The man signed the ledger while the worker stamped the order sheet.

  Ifan wandered over to the wagon horse.

  “Hey there,” he said softly.

  The horse flicked its ears and turned its head toward him. Ifan reached into one of the supply sacks and pulled out a bright red apple.

  “You worked hard getting us here.”

  He held the apple out. The horse eagerly took it and began chewing with clear satisfaction. Ifan laughed quietly.

  “See? Everyone deserves a little treat.”

  Behind him, Brother Vick approached the wagon.

  “Don’t spoil the horse.”

  Ifan turned. Vick rested one arm on the wagon side.

  “If you indulge it too much, it might fall in love with another brick wall.”

  Ifan groaned loudly.

  “Hey! That was not my fault!”

  Vick raised an eyebrow.

  “If memory serves me correctly, you were the one holding the reins.”

  “If memory serves me correctly,” Ifan shot back, “the horse decided that wall was its soulmate.”

  The older man allowed himself a faint smile.“Ifan.”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop feeding the horse.”

  Ifan sighed and gave the animal one last pat on the neck. “Fine.”

  Brother Vick climbed up onto the wagon bench. Ifan stepped toward the wagon and grabbed the side rail, ready to climb up beside him.

  That was when movement caught his eye; A girl sprinted across the street nearby. She looked terrified. Two armored town mercenaries chased after her.

  Ifan blinked.

  “What?”

  The girl turned sharply and ran down a narrow alley between two buildings. The mercenaries followed. Ifan did not think. He ran on instinct.

  “Hey!” Vick shouted.

  The boy was already halfway down the street.

  “Ifan! Get back here!”

  But Ifan had disappeared around the corner. Vick cursed under his breath and jumped down from the wagon.

  “That boy…”

  He hurried after him. The alley smelled of damp stone and old wood. The girl had reached the far end where a tall fence blocked her path. She turned around. The two mercenaries stepped forward slowly.

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  “There’s nowhere left to run,” one of them said.

  The girl held two loaves of bread tightly against her chest.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she pleaded. “I bought these. Just like everyone else.”

  One of the men scoffed.

  “You expect us to believe that?”

  “I paid for them!” she insisted.

  The second mercenary stepped closer. “Strandrats like you shouldn’t even have Finte to begin with.”

  He grabbed one of the loaves.

  “Where’d you steal it from?”

  The girl struggled to hold onto it.

  “I didn’t steal anything!”

  Before the man could pull the bread away, a voice spoke from behind them.

  “Hey!”

  Both mercenaries turned. Ifan stood at the entrance of the alley. His posture was firm even though his expression still carried the same innocent openness.

  “Leave her alone,” he said.

  The mercenaries stared at him. Ifan stepped closer.

  “She said she bought the bread,” he continued. “I heard her.”

  He looked at the men with clear confusion.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  One mercenary let out a harsh laugh.

  “Is this kid stupid?”

  The other shook his head.

  “You seriously don’t know what she is?”

  Ifan glanced at the girl; her dark hair hung partly across her face, lace with a distinguishable single golden brown strand caught the sunlight faintly. Ifan looked back at the mercenaries.

  “All I see is someone being scared.” His voice stayed calm. “You’re supposed to protect people in this town.”

  The mercenary’s expression hardened.

  “Listen here, boy.” He stepped forward. “These taint-bloods are trouble. If they’re walking around with money, something’s wrong.”

  Ifan shook his head.

  “That doesn’t sound fair.”

  The mercenary reached toward the girl again. Ifan moved forward.

  “I said leave her alone.”

  The alley grew quiet. The mercenary cracked his knuckles.

  “Looks like both of you need a lesson.”

  Heavy footsteps echoed at the alley entrance. “Is there a problem here?”

  Brother Vick stepped into view. The mercenaries stiffened. Recognition crossed their faces. The older man’s reputation in Dawnstead had traveled far enough. One of the mercenaries clicked his tongue.

  “This doesn’t concern you., priest”

  Vick’s expression remained steady.

  “It does when a boy from my orphanage is involved.”

  The mercenaries exchanged a look. The first man stepped back. “Fine.”

  He glared at the girl. “You got lucky today, Strandrat.”

  Both men turned and walked out of the alley, clearly irritated. Their armor clanked softly as they disappeared around the corner. The tension in the air slowly faded. Ifan rushed to the girl immediately.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded weakly. He noticed bruises forming on her arm.

  “Hold still...”

  Ifan lifted his hand. A soft glow of water magic formed around his palm. Cool blue light flowed gently over the bruises. The swelling faded as the magic sealed the injury. The girl stared at him in surprise.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She clutched the bread tightly and hurried past them toward the street.

  “Wait!” Ifan called.

  He stepped forward.

  “We could help you. You could come to the orphanage. We have food and—”

  A hand rested firmly on his shoulder. Brother Vick stopped him.

  “Let her go.”

  Ifan looked back. “But she shouldn’t be out here alone!”

  “I know,” Vick said quietly.

  Ifan turned again. The girl had already vanished into the busy streets. He lowered his head.

  “But she might not be safe.”

  Vick’s voice carried a firmer tone.“Ifan.”

  The boy clenched his hands. Then he nodded. “…Okay.”

  They walked back toward the wagon together. Neither spoke for a while. When they climbed back onto the bench, the road out of Dawnstead stretched ahead. The wagon began moving again. The town slowly faded behind them.

  After several minutes, Ifan finally spoke. “Brother Vick.”

  “Yes?”

  “If the gods are good…” The boy looked down at his hands. “Can they forgive people like those mercenaries?”

  Vick remained silent for a moment.

  “Sister Lilou preach how the gods are all powerful...” Ifan continued, “...but why do they let people like that walk around hurting others?”

  The older man sighed quietly. “Faith doesn’t always give easy answers.”

  Ifan looked toward the road. “Do you think those men could change?”

  Vick glanced at him.

  “People are..." The older man tried to find the right words to explain to the young boy, "...complicated.”

  Ifan frowned slightly.

  “They don’t have to be.”

  The wagon rolled onward. Dawnstead had already grown small in the distance. Ifan turned in his seat and looked back toward the town. Somewhere in those streets, the girl was walking alone. He hoped she was safe. He hoped she found somewhere kind. The wind moved gently through the open fields of Zandria as the wagon continued toward Woodstock.