Allan paused.
In his right hand was a coin purse. It belonged to an older man standing a few paces away. It had been stolen from the man.
A more accurate statement of the facts was that the man had given it to a young man. That young man had put a knife to the man’s back and demanded his coins. Allan had landed behind the young man, after following him for a few blocks.
Allan didn’t have time to challenge the thief. He came at Allan with his knife. Allan brushed the knife back with the leather gauntlet on his right arm. He used a wind spell to blow the thief into the nearest building wall. The attack didn’t deter the thief. Allan again brushed aside the knife, then struck the thief’s upper chest with his fist. That stopped him. Allan struck the thief in his gut, and used the wind spell again. The thief was sprawled on the street, gasping for air.
In the struggle the thief had dropped the coin purse. Allan picked it up. As he did, the older man said, “Thank you.”
Allan looked at the owner of the purse. The man was of average height with a stout build. His shirt was white and clean. His leggings were dark, as were his boots. His boots and shirt appeared to be new. He had a gold ring on his right ring finger, and two silver rings on the fingers of his left hand. It was the rings and clean clothes that gave Allan pause. Clearly the man was wealthy.
A thought came to him: Would the loss of these coins be so bad to him?
“I don’t know if I should give you these back.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it.
The older man’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “You’re a thief, too?”
“No.” Allan’s mind raced. “What I mean is, did you earn these?”
“What?”
Remembering that his leather helmet covered the top half of his face, Allan took a confident step towards the man. “There’s men in this city that can afford the loss of a few coins. Are you one of them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My grandfather built our brewery. My father ran it well, and now I do the same. I work hard to earn a living.”
“And you pay the men you hire well?”
“As well as I can.”
Allan tossed the purse to the other man. “Here.”
The man caught the purse. “Thank you?”
Allan shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Instead, give a coin or two to a poor fellow on the street.”
The man waved at the thief. “Who? Him?”
Allan knew the young man who had tried to steal the purse. He couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered his face. He had brown eyes, and two scars on his left cheek. He’d lost his father in the same plague that had killed Allan’s parents.
The boy was bitter about the loss, and bitter that it had left him struggling on the streets. That bitterness made him violent at times. Allan and his sister had saw the boy get his scars by taking on a bigger young man over half a loaf of bread, while they and several other youths were hiding out in an abandoned house. The boy got scarred, but the young man was killed.
It would have been just another scene, except that his sister told him not to take the wrong lesson from the fight. “Stealing is always bad,” she had said.
“Why?”
“One, it’s against the law. You steal from the wrong man, and he’ll send the guards after you.”
“How do you know who the wrong man is?”
“That’s it, Allan. You won’t. Two, stealing leads to other troubles. I’ll bet that bigger boy stole that bread. So the guards didn’t get him. That younger boy did.”
“What if he’d shared the bread?”
“That might have kept him alive, but that’s not a reason to steal. Think about it. First you steal from someone who has a full purse. Then you get a little desperate, and you steal from someone with a half-full purse. Then you get really desperate, and you steal from someone with a nearly empty purse. You steal once, and it’s easy to steal again.”
Allan hadn’t learned much of morality from their parents, so he relied on his sister. Back then he wasn’t sure if what she was saying was true. Over time he realized that she was right. They survived as long as they did in part because they had morals and standards.
That was why Allan had followed the young man when he had spotted him. He knew the young man was desperate, and angry, and would do anything to stay alive. That was why he interrupted the theft of the coins.
Allan pointed at the young man, still lying stunned on the street. “Help him?” he asked the older man. “No. But remember him. Being poor made him desperate. Being poor made him angry. If you’d have tried to fight him, you’d be dead.”
“Do you know him?”
“I’ve known young men like him.”
“If you know he’s trouble, why should I help him?”
“You don’t have to help him. You should help who you can. Save those you can from turning into men like him. When you don’t, you create thieves like him.”
The older man shook his head. “Who are you?”
“The man who saved you, and the man who’s asking you to save others.”
Allan didn’t think he had anything more to say. He also heard noise coming up from behind him. He took out his flying rod, tapped it, and soared into the sky above the city. Feeling tired, he decided to head back to the castle.
***
His outing the previous night weighed on Allan’s mind as he fixed his breakfast. He was surprised at what he’d said, but also not surprised by it. Thinking about it, what he’d said and what he’d done had felt right then, and still felt right the morning after.
It’s one thing to keep a man from being robbed, he mused. Saving him didn’t feel right without asking him if he needed to be saved. It didn’t feel right unless he knew about the scarred young man.
Allan had been returning to Elderwood Ford, every week, for a few months now. He had gotten better at fighting; last night’s adventure had proven that. He’d done a little good here and there, but it hadn’t felt like he’d accomplished all that much.
Until last night. Until I said what I had to say.
Allan looked around the ruin that had become his home. What I said wasn’t just what my sister had taught me. It’s also what Damien had written, in his history of magic. You have to use your power to help people, or they get resentful of it. I guess it’s the same for money, too. If you don’t use it to help people, you create boys like that thief. Boys, men, who would kill for half a loaf of bread.
Allan could see contradictions in his actions the previous night. It was obvious that using his power to cast spells, as well as his increasing skill at fighting, could protect people like the older man from becoming victims of criminals. It was equally obvious that doing so was right and just.
Yet it was as obvious that the scarred youth wasn’t evil, but desperate to stay alive. No one helped him in his time of need, thus he felt no obligation to help anyone else. He had no trouble stealing, even killing, because that lack of help severed any connections had to strangers. If they had something he wanted, be it gold coins or a scrap of meat, he’d try to take without a second thought.
That’s what my sister warned me about, after we saw him get his scars. You head down that path, and you don’t see people. You see things, and people just get in the way.
That’s also what Damien wrote about. Many of those old mages didn’t care about who they hurt when they rose to power, or picked a fight, or decided they wanted to live well. They used magic to get what they wanted. They saw things, and brushed the people away.
That left Allan with a question. Now that I understand that, what do I do about it?
The obvious answer was to continue doing what he was doing. He should return to Elderwood Ford and make it a better place.
I can’t return as myself. I might still be wanted. If someone saw me, they’d know what I did. Then I might have to use my magic out in the open to save myself.
Allan caught sight of his leather helmet and face-mask. If I kept wearing that, no one would see most of my face. I’m older, and my voice is different from when it was when I fled. I’m taller, and getting stronger. As long as I wear that, no one would recognize me.
I couldn’t do much during the day. Well, I could, but I’d need spells to disguise my hair and eyes. Maybe some other clothes, too. If I kept to the streets, and avoided the guards, I might be able to move around somewhat during the day.
Doing what? I can’t just fight crime. I have to fight for justice. I have to defend people like my sister and me against those who harm us, be it criminals or the rich men who use their wealth and power to get their way.
He looked at the mask again. Would anyone notice what I was doing? Should they?
He sat up straight. Yes, they should. That merchant needed to know why he was being robbed. Maybe me telling him why will make him give a little more to those who don’t have anything. They can’t just know that someone is standing up for them; the need to know that they can stand up for themselves, too.
That was something else Damien wrote. People rallied around mages when mages helped the people. When mages only helped themselves, no one helped them. He was sure that’s what led to their downfall, once the magus diminished.
He took a deep breath. Fine. Who should they notice? Not Allan the poor young man. Certainly not Allan the mage.
What was it I thought before? Defend people.
Yes! The Defender.
He nodded. Well, it’s something. Now, how to I go about being this Defender?
I can’t go back and try to stop every crime. I could never do that.
Memories of life on the streets of the city flooded into his mind. While some crime was carried out by individuals, other actions were directed. There were groups of youth organized into bands of thieves. There was the “dark brothel” someone warned them about, where women were taken into prostitution against their will. There was “Conner's Crew,” a group who forced some of the shops by the river to pay to keep them safe.
There are men giving orders to some of the criminals in Elderwood Ford.
He sucked in a breath. That also means that the guards aren’t always allowed to act against all the crime that happens. If they did, the men giving the orders would lose money. That means there must be some reason why the guards don’t do more.
He let out a breath. That must be the reason for my actions. I have to find out who those men are, who are protecting them, and see to it that they are dealt with. I can’t stop all crime, but maybe I can stop men from gaining power and profit from crime.