She reached for her knife; mine met her eye. What a throw! If only she'd live to remember it. She yelped, fell over and is writhing on the snow. This is so satisfying. Her neck fits nicely in my hands. Squeeze, she's putting up a good fight. It's over. That sounded like a groan. The man is still alive. I'll stomp his face. Now that is a piece of art. He isn't moving anymore. The face is blood-splattered, nose broken and many teeth have found themselves at the back of his throat. Aiming for the nose and mouth minimizes screaming. My first kills, I wasn't bad. Baphomet torment their souls.

What good-looking leather, like the stuff they use to make light armour. Their clothing must be quite valuable; I might get a fair amount of coin if I trade it with the right person. First, I have to recover my knife from that woman's eye. The eyeball came with it. I can't leave the blade looking like this; a few wipes on the snow will clean it. A crimson patch is growing beneath the man's body. Time is short. Somebody could turn up at any moment. I mustn't be seen here. I'll search the pockets first. Seventeen gold and twelve silver between them. Voices, I'll have to abandon the spoils. Whoever takes their clothes is in for a bit of luck.

***

Stavta’s gates at last. It's quite dark now. Those bandits made me run a little late. Their clothes would have been a nice prize to make the encounter worth something. I could have also taken their weapons but their deaths would have looked like murder. I made the right decision to leave them there. The guards, as usual, are not standing to attention like the ones stationed in Ishtragrad; they're not paying attention to anything outside of their conversation either. I should clear my throat. The guards flicked their heads in my direction; they're pushing the gate open while whispering to each other. Their armour isn't as flashy as the soldiers; weapons are also unremarkable, broad swords and shields.

Stavta was a strange sight when I first got here, still strange now. All the buildings appear to be squashed together, creates an impression of overpopulation. People are standing all over, discussing a variety of topics. Some are talking about business; others are indulging in Myostosel gossip. The Sivr'alnadir tournament has most tongues wagging tonight, most popular topic last night too.

The tournament was announced over a month ago. It should be old news but people are still going on as if they just heard about it. Who am I to judge? I think about it a lot too. Queen Raeesah declared the tournament will be taking place within the year.

"I still don't understand why she announced it already!" I've been thinking what he's thinking. "The tournament isn't due for another three years!"

"Who cares why it's early. I'm travelling to Auvatica to see it and maybe I'll bet on the right warrior this time!" That's the spirit. This man knows overthinking everything drains the fun out of life. It is perplexing. There's nothing to gain from holding the Sivr'alnadir early. If Queen Raeesah wins, she'll remain Queen for a further five years, at the cost of cutting her current term short by three. A loss will see her surrender the throne to the victor. That's my understanding but maybe I don't know enough about Auvatican ways.

All this excitement about the tournament, it felt just like this two years ago when the last tournament was held. I wanted to go so badly, if only I'd been allowed. This isn't the right alley. Back then, I wished I was born somewhere rules weren't so sacred. I'd give anything to be back home now. Father got to see the tournament. He described it as the greatest martial arts spectacle he'd ever seen.

With Ishtragrad's organised districts, one would think Stavta would have some form of town planning. It's hard to tell which buildings are businesses and which are homes, some are both. Everywhere looks the same to me, sooty. The mines lie beyond the southern gate so the sootiness can't be helped. The buildings are getting smaller, a sign I'm moving in the right direction. There's more Patulzak about and the pollution is almost tangible in the air, I'm very close now.

Did I take another wrong turn? No, this is the right alley. That drunken Patulzak woman sitting with her back to the opposite wall is a guarantee. I'll knock on the door. The woman stirred. No response from the house. I'll knock harder.

"Who is it?!"

"Me!" That should be a sufficient answer.

The door swung open, almost got door-slapped. "Rakesh, sorry for the wait." Siv's stiff look isn't fitting of someone extending an apology. "You're late. Dinner is already on the table. We've been waiting for you." It's nice being in Siv's company, despite the frequent scoldings. Being taller than a girl my age is doing heaps of good for my self-confidence.

Siv is standing aside. I should get inside before I freeze to death. She closed the door and it's as if winter has vanished. It's so warm in here. I don't know if there's anything special about that hearth but it does a good job of warming the entire room. That figure of a miner on the mantelpiece, is it there to show visitors they are proud of being miners? Coat is on the rack. Even though the Patulzak are as tall as a young human teenager, mine still isn't the largest coat.

"I'll be at the table shortly. Thank you and sorry for being late." The passage on the right leads to my room. Siv is going through the doorway opposite the front door. The passage is dim, oil lamps are burning low. Second door on the right, I'll close the door behind me. Drop down; it should be under the bed if nobody interfered with it. My coarse, inexpensive bag, it did a great job protecting its contents from the elements.

Clothing items are directly beneath the draw string, they don't look to be disturbed. My yuktras are all neatly folded as I left them. Swords, bow, quiver, knives, everything is here. I'm unarmed now, can't have them noticing a knife on my person. I should also put the extra money away, I have a feeling the rent will go up if Knut had to find out about it. Taking off my moustache is going to sting. That's better, no more itching for today. The sticky side is up. Good, I'll put my bag away now.

I'm a thirteen-year-old human again instead of an adult Patulzak. Is it wise to be this forthwith to my hosts? Why am I thinking about that again? It's better they know from me instead of finding out for themselves somehow. Imagine they decide to go through my stuff while I'm away. The long, black robes will be a giveaway that I am from Vishaar and the weapons will probably have me reported to the authorities.