Further training in magic had to wait, for Quincey was still first and foremost the Messenger-at-Arms, and only after that anything resembling a mage. Thus he found himself in Cassian’s study, where he received his orders for the day and, for the first time, was given a mission that would take him beyond the walls of the royal city.

His destination was Castravelle, a market town a few hours away on horseback. If he set out early in the morning and all went according to plan, he was to report again at the king’s table by evening.

Whispers had reached the citadel that the city watch in Castravelle was lining their purses with bribes from smugglers. Since these rumors had reached the king’s own ears, they could no longer be dismissed. His right hand was charged with unearthing the illicit trades taking place and delivering the decrees for the Commander’s dismissal, for the man could not remain in his station while the investigation was underway.

It did not sound like a one-day mission to Quincey, yet Cassian insisted upon it. The knight therefore departed early in the morning to reach the place as soon as possible, and since he had not announced his arrival, he relied upon the element of surprise.

Even from a distance he could see the walls that surrounded the town and the gate toward which he rode. Merchants and travelers passed through it, while the guards inspected every wagon and every rider, collecting tolls as they did so.

Every wagon carrying goods for sale was required to pay a fee according to the type of cargo, and the records of this were written in a ledger that the knight would have to examine carefully. First, however, he had another task.

The gate was one of the noisiest places in Castravelle. Those who did not visit market towns often believed that the greatest chaos and clamor could be found in the very center of trade, yet that was not the truth.

Teamsters cursed, cattle lowed, horses neighed, and coins clinked... from every side, a different din rose to join the fray. Moreover, the day seemed particularly lively, for a long queue had formed before the gate.

In other circumstances, Quincey might have claimed precedence and pressed Astrum to the front, but in his current guise, he waited his turn with patience. He wore a traveling cloak that concealed his silver plate and, most importantly, the insignia of his high office.

As he did not expect combat, and had already spent several hours upon Astrum, he did not wear full armor, but only a polished steel breastplate to protect his most vulnerable place, shoulder guards with the sigil of Valerion engraved upon the right, and forearm guards known as vambraces, worn by all who practiced the art of the sword.

Beneath the visible metal pieces that protected him at first glance, he wore a thick, dark blue padded tunic to soften blows and prevent the metal from rubbing against his skin. Of course, he also wore riding boots and a belt at which hung his sword and dagger.

His appearance was not meant to herald danger, but to show he was an envoy of the king. For the moment, however, he was but a common rider in the eyes of the watch.

At first glance, Quincey saw nothing suspicious. The guards inspected the wagons, recorded important details, and placed the money into an iron chest. Nothing yet cried corruption nor confirmed the rumors that had reached the royal court.

The knight finally reached the guard, who held a roll of parchment in his hands.

“Name and purpose of visit, sir. If you are a merchant, you must present your manifest and proof of origin,” the young man said without so much as lifting his gaze. Anyone might have stood before him—even a spy from Nivemare—and he would have been none the wiser.

Quincey made a mental note that this was one of the matters he would later have to address, then cleared his throat to draw the guard’s full attention.

“Quincey. I am here to see Commander Brud. I bear a message for him from the capital,” he replied once their eyes met.

For someone who had seemed inattentive to who passed through the gate, the young man now surprised the knight with his severity.

“Quincey? No house name? And a message for the Commander? Do you possess a pass bearing the local magistrate’s seal, or is your name upon the list of expected guests? Commander Brud receives no one this morning unless it concerns an urgent matter of the Guild,” he rattled off in a swift breath, his look making plain what he thought of such vague information.

His reaction might have had two causes. Either he truly had no wish to waste time with someone who only pretended importance without possessing it, or the news of a messenger from the capital had unsettled him, as he knew there was something in Castravelle they wished to keep hidden.

The Messenger-at-Arms therefore decided to conceal his identity a little longer and invented a message that would give the guard a proper reason to let him pass through the gate directly to the commander, while at the same time not perceiving him as a threat.

“It concerns a preliminary audit of military supplies. The Citadel has authorized new quotas for fodder and gear destined for the southern garrisons. Brud is to sign the receipt protocols before midday; otherwise, the convoy from the capital shall turn back, and Castravelle will face the winter without supplies. Do you wish to be the one to explain to him why his men will have nothing to eat?” His tone made it clear that refusal was not an option.

Fortunately, the young guard understood as well and finally let the knight pass, though he warned him to go straight to the bastion and not linger in the market, as noon would soon arrive along with the greatest rush, in which it would be difficult to move through the crowds on horseback.

Brud, as the commander of the guard, was located in the bastion that rose at the end of the main street, impossible to miss. Before heading there, however, Quincey decided to spend a little more time in the streets and see for himself what Castravelle had become in the present.

The streets were narrow and, at this hour, even more crowded. The town was divided into districts according to the crafts practiced there or the goods sold at the various stalls. Most merchants had their workshops on the ground floor of their homes, while living with their families upstairs.

Though Castravelle was not vast in numbers, the incessant tide of trade made it feel far more populous. These traders also highlighted the stark divide between those who had inherited their fortunes and those who earned their bread through honest toil.

Men in costly coats brushed past children in tattered rags—urchins from whom one had to guard their coin-purse. It was a sad sight, but there was nothing to be done. Not now, when Valerion had greater problems.

Quincey reached the square, which formed a wide paved space surrounded by the houses of the wealthiest townsfolk. The buildings here were tall and narrow, with wooden frames and overhanging upper floors, and it was clear at first glance that their inhabitants belonged to the upper class. Though they did not match the houses of the Upper City, they came close.

The rhythm of hooves against the cobblestones echoed amidst the clatter of hammers and the hiss of steam.

The knight saw nothing suspicious and would almost have changed his direction again if he had not suddenly felt the familiar burning in his abdomen. It was not strong yet, but he already knew what it meant.