The Weight of Honor. Morgan Rice

forward, and, with a strength he didn’t know he had, punched the man in the face, knocking him back, sending him crashing over another stall.

      Alec stood there, amazed that he had knocked down the much bigger man, while Marco stood beside him, wide-eyed, too.

      A commotion erupted in the marketplace as the man’s oafish friends began to run over, while a group of Pandesian soldiers came running over from the other side of the square. Marco looked panicked, and Alec knew they were in a precarious position.

      “This way!” Marco urged, grabbing Alec and yanking him roughly.

      As the oaf gained his feet and the Pandesians closed in, Alec and Marco ran through the streets, Alec following his friend as he navigated this city he knew so well, taking shortcuts, weaving in and out between stalls and making sharp turns down alleyways. Alec could barely keep up with all the sharp zigzags. Yet when he turned and looked over his shoulder, he saw the large group closing in and knew they had a fight on their hands they could not win.

      “Here!” Marco yelled.

      Alec watched Marco jump off the edge of the canal, and without thinking he followed him, expecting to land in water.

      He was surprised, though, not to hear a splash, and to instead find himself landing on a small stone ledge down at the bottom, one he had not detected from above. Marco, breathing hard, knocked four times on an anonymous wood door, built into the stone, beneath the street – and a second later the door opened and Alec and Marco were pulled into the blackness, the door slamming behind them. Before it did, Alec saw men running toward the edge of the canal, questioning, unable to see below as the door closed.

      Alec found himself underground, in a dark, subterranean canal, and he ran, baffled, splashing in water up to his ankles. They twisted and turned, and soon there came sunlight again.

      Alec saw they were in a large stone room, beneath the city streets, sunlight filtering in from grates high above, and he looked over in amazement to see himself surrounded by several boys their age, all with faces covered in dirt and smiling back good-naturedly. They all stopped, breathing hard, and Marco smiled and greeted his friends.

      “Marco,” they said, embracing him.

      “Jun, Saro, Bagi,” Marco replied.

      They each stepped forward and he embraced each one, grinning, these men clearly like brothers to him. They were each about their age, as tall as Marco, broad-shouldered, with tough faces and the looks of boys who had managed to survive their whole lives on the streets. They were boys who, clearly, had had to make a way for themselves.

      Marco pulled Alec forward.

      “This,” he announced, “is Alec. He is one of us now.”

      One of us. Alec liked the sound of that. It felt good to belong somewhere.

      They each clasped forearms with him, and one of them, the tallest, Bagi, shook his head and grinned.

      “So you are the one who started all that excitement?” he asked with a smile.

      Alec smiled sheepishly back.

      “The guy pushed me,” Alec said.

      The others all laughed.

      “Good enough a reason as any to risk our lives on this day,” Saro replied, sincere.

      “You’re in a city now, country boy,” Jun said sternly, unsmiling, unlike the others. “You could have got us all killed. That was stupid. Here, people don’t care – they’ll shove you – and a whole lot worse. Keep your head down and watch where you’re going. If someone bumps you, turn away or you may find a dagger in your back. You got lucky this time. This is Ur. You never know who’s crossing the street, and people here will cut you for any reason – and some, for no reason at all.”

      His newfound friends suddenly turned and headed off, deeper into the cavernous tunnels, and Alec hurried to catch up as Marco joined them. They all seemed to know this place by heart, even in the dim light, twisting and turning with ease through the underground chambers, water dripping and echoing all around them. They all had clearly grown up here. It made Alec feel inadequate, having grown up in Soli, seeing this place which was so worldly, these boys who were so street smart. They had all clearly suffered trials and hardships which Alec could never imagine. They were a rough lot, having clearly been in more than a few altercations, and above all, they appeared to be survivors.

      After turning down a series of alleys, the boys ascended a steep metal ladder, and soon Alec found himself back above ground, on the streets, in a different part of Ur, emerging into another bustling crowd. Alec spun and looked around, seeing a big town square with a copper fountain in its center, not recognizing it, barely able to keep track of all the neighborhoods of this sprawling city.

      The boys stopped before a low, squat, anonymous building made of stone, similar to all the others, with its low, slanted red-tiled roof. Bagi knocked twice and a moment later the anonymous rusted door opened. They all quickly filed inside, then it slammed closed behind them.

      Alec found himself in a dim room, lit only by the sunlight streaming in through windows high above, and he turned as he recognized the sound of hammers striking anvils, and surveyed the room with interest. He heard the hiss of a forge, saw the familiar clouds of steam, and he immediately felt at home. He did not have to look around to know he was in a forge, and that it was filled with smiths working on weapons. His heart lifted with excitement.

      A tall, thin man with a short beard, perhaps in his forties, face blackened from soot, wiped his hands on his apron and approached. He nodded at Marco’s friends with a look of respect, and they nodded back.

      “Fervil,” Marco said.

      Fervil turned and saw Marco, and his face lit up. He stepped forward and embraced him.

      “I thought you’d gone to The Flames,” he said.

      Marco grinned back.

      “Not anymore,” he replied.

      “You boys ready to work?” he added. Then he looked over at Alec. “And who do we have here?”

      “My friend,” Marco replied. “Alec. A fine smith, and eager to join our cause.”

      “Is he now?” Fervil asked skeptically.

      He surveyed Alec with harsh eyes, looking him up and down as if he were useless.

      “I doubt that,” he replied, “from the looks of him. Looks awful young to me. But we can put him to work collecting our scraps. Take this,” he said, reaching over and handing Alec a bucket full of metal scrap. “I’ll let you know if I need more from you.”

      Alec reddened, indignant. He did not know why this man had taken such a dislike to him – perhaps he was threatened. He could sense the forge grow quiet, could sense the other boys watching. In many ways, this man reminded him of his father, and that only increased Alec’s anger.

      Still, he fumed inside, no longer willing, since the death of his family, to tolerate anything he had before.

      As the others turned to walk away, Alec dropped the bucket of metal and it clanged loudly on the stone floor. The others all turned around, stunned, and the forge grew quiet, as the other boys stopped to watch the confrontation.

      “Get the hell out of my shop!” Fervil snarled.

      Alec ignored him; instead, he stepped past him, to the closest table, picked up a long sword, held it out straight, and examined it.

      “This your handiwork?” Alec asked.

      “And who are you to be asking questions of me?” Fervil demanded.

      “Is it?” Marco pressed, sticking up for his friend.

      “It is,” Fervil answered defensively.

      Alec nodded.

      “It’s junk,” he concluded.

      There came a gasp in the room.

      Fervil stood to his full height and scowled back, livid.

      “You boys can leave now,”