“Pig shit!” one screamed as Rayan smashed his forehead into the man’s face. Blood exploded from his broken nose. The other two punched and kicked with the wild recklessness of those who fought only in bars and workplace scuffles. Blows struck the paladin’s sides, but he could ignore them. No fight would go perfectly. All that mattered was that his foes suffered far worse. Rayan shifted his feet, braced his legs so he had a firm foundation, and then struck again. That he took a punch to the cheek was irrelevant. A facial bruise meant little compared to a kidney strike that nearly crippled his foe.

Back out, reassessing, his hands coming up to defend both his sides. Back in, arms carrying strength many knuckle-ring fighters would envy. Ribs shuddered beneath his blows. Pained whimpers escaped grimaced mouths. Rayan could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but his mind remained calm, almost placid. These three meant nothing to him, less than nothing, and he feared not a single blow they could make. He was a paladin of Lycaena. It would take far, far more than three thugs to bring him low.

Not that they’d have the chance. The commotion had finally summoned a patrol of imperial soldiers from the opposite side of the market, and they came running with their weapons drawn.

“Enough!” the lead soldier screamed. “I said enough!”

The three backed away, and they looked more than happy for an excuse to cancel the fight. Rayan remained perfectly still, carefully watching lest any make one last cowardly attempt. None did, and once the imperial soldiers arrived, they acted as if they’d not been in a fight at all.

“You come just in time,” Rayan said. “Those three sought to beat us bloody.”

The soldiers merely glared. They barely spoke any Thanese, Rayan realized, and it seemed none had one of the word-laces the paragons and magistrates wore that translated speech with imperial magic. The lengthy stare at the crossed-woman, and the crumpled wig, seemed to spell out what had happened well enough for them to understand.

“Go home all. Home. Now.”

“And what of them?” Rayan asked, pointing to the three brutes.

“They problem,” the lead soldier said in stuttering Thanese. He gestured to the crossed-woman. “He problem. Fair is fair.”

And then he walked away.

Rayan bit his tongue to hold back his retort. The crossed and twice-born were not explicitly outlawed, although Thorda warned that was coming with the inevitable introduction of what he called the Joining Laws. The Uplifted Church, however, made it abundantly clear their opinion on such “sinful deviances.” Rayan knelt beside the crossed-woman to help her to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “The Uplifted Church’s influence has sunken deep into the cruel-hearted.”