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After two days of riding in the back of a wagon, Kirtok arrived in a town called Mullead with the merchant caravan he was protecting. The town was situated a league away from an abandoned keep called Last Stand that had survived to this day since the fall of the Orcish Empire. The town was quiet, yet prosperous, and the merchants worked quickly to get themselves unpacked and someplace warm. Everyone worked fast so that the other half of the convoy that was headed to Marlton could get moving once again.

The wagon shifted as Doren dismounted from it, the wet slush splattering as he landed hard on the ground. The knorian secured a sword to his belt, and looked back to address Kirtok, his cloak fluttering behind him as he moved.

"How ya feeling?" Doren asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"Fine. Would've liked to have been on the job a bit earlier though," Kirtok replied with a huff.

After only a brief review of Blackguard standards as well as how the Ebonwolves ran, the minotaur was given a vest (which, predictably, did not fit) that he wore undone over his kilt and sash, a large wood axe, and a gift from Conor: a pair of old weights so that he could get back into shape. After that, they'd thrown him into a field outside town with a few of the older Wolves to get some practice and to see how fit he really was. Kirtok proved himself far more capable than the others had expected, and Conor was pleased with the result. After a few weeks, he allowed Kirtok to go out on assignment.

The first job Kirtok elected to take was to escort a merchant caravan from Swifthaven to Marlton. His priority was the protection of the people and goods that were being transported. The Kelmore province was peaceful, and Kirtok didn't expect to run into any trouble. Conor agreed that it was a good first job for the minotaur due to the low risk involved.

"A couple weeks getting some combat practice under dad and the other Wolves never hurt no one." Doren paused, then gave the minotaur his best wide-toothed grin. "'Course, ya did a number of them eh?"

"I told Conor I could fight fine."

"Yeah but it's important for ya to prove it," Doren said pointedly. "The old man ain't the kind of person to send a pup out into the world without proving he can survive outside the den."

Kirtok frowned and snorted. "I'm not his dog."

"'Course ya ain't, but the comparison works all the same," Doren said. "Ya might think it's unnecessary for a low-tier job like this but anything can happen. Especially since I'm getting off here and ya'll gonna be on ya own until ya get back from Marlton."

Kirtok nodded, choosing to remain in seated in the back of the cart. He didn't much care for the way Doren and his father fawned over him to make sure that he was okay, but he kept his mouth closed. He had no plans to bite the hands that fed him.

"Sure ya'll be fine on ya own?" Doren asked.

"For the umpteenth time, yes," Kirtok spat. "You said yourself nothing happens on these trade runs."

"Just making sure," Doren said in mock defensiveness. "I'll see ya in a few days on the trip back."

Kirtok gave a curt wave as he walked away. He didn't inquire into what job Doren had taken in the area, but he imagined it was probably middle tier, something a little more difficult or risky. The man struck him as the sort of person who sought danger.

Kirtok stayed with the wagons, his eyes scanning the crowds as they worked. Sometimes when his stern gaze would meet someone else's, they would wither beneath him and quickly look away. This made the corners of the minotaur's mouth curl, pleased that his performance as a gruff bodyguard was working.

The rest of the trip to Marlton ended up being uneventful, and after stopping to make camp for the night, they arrived in town shortly after dawn. The merchants worked quickly to set themselves up before dispersing in all directions to barter, sell, and trade. Kirtok remained with the wagons, and continued to work using his new weights. He found the noises of the bustling town irritating, and he knew he would go stir crazy if he didn't have something to focus on, like his training.

The tightly packed buildings helped to ward off the late winter winds, but even under the comfort of the covered wagon, Kirtok felt the sting of the cold. It just pushed him to work harder to keep warm. He slept in the back beneath a bundle of furs, content to avoid spending coin on a night in an inn. He didn't have a lot to begin with, and he would rather not spend the loan that Conor had given him. He was indebted to the man enough as it was.

After a couple days in Marlton, the trade caravan packed up everything and started making their way back to Mullead. Though the trip out had been comfortable, the journey back was proving far more difficult as the melting snow seeped into the ground, turning the roads to mud. As a consequence of this, the wheels of the wagons became stuck periodically and had to be pushed or lifted out.

"Hey!" one of the merchants called, beckoning Kirtok over with a wave of his hand. "Can you give us a hand?"

Grumbling, the minotaur hopped out of the wagon. When he examined what happened, he realized that the wheel was stuck in a two inch deep rut in the road. He snorted loudly to make his irritation known. What would these traders do without him around?

Once Kirtok joined them, it only took a moment to work together to pull the wagon out of the rut and get moving again. One of the traders took a seat next to him as the minotaur went back to his strength training.

"Why do the Trade Guilds bother hiring you Blackguard folk?" the scraggly man said as he adjusted his spectacles. "Nothing of note ever happens out here."

"I was hired to make sure the caravan arrives to its destination and makes a safe trip back," Kirtok huffed, glaring at the man from the corner of his eyes. "Be grateful that something hasn't happened"

"Must be nice earning a living by sitting around all day."

Kirtok set the weight down with an audible thud and met his gaze. "Is there something you wanted?" he asked, his anger beginning to boil over.

"I have no patience for free-loading mercenaries."

"Pity, I don't really give a damn." Kirtok said. He felt something scratchy in his throat, and when he swallowed, it burned. He wondered if he was getting sick. "Your masters pay for me to do a job, and I'm doing it. I could have just as easily not helped you move the cart or set up camp. Imagine if the wheel was stuck good and delayed the caravan another day. I'm sure your masters would love to hear about that."

The man opened his mouth to retort, but then stopped as he looked confused at Kirtok for a moment. The minotaur clenched his fists at his side, and blinked to clear the smoke from his eyes.

Smoke? Here? Kirtok looked around him, but no one else sitting in the wagon had lit a pipe. Where was the smoke coming from?

The merchant grumbled something as he got up, and shuffled to the front of the wagon to sit with the driver. Kirtok was grateful to be relieved of his presence.

The convoy was about an hour away from Mullead when the wagon violently lurched forward and to the side. Kirtok's head snapped to look out the front when he recognized the agonized screams of one of the horses. He pushed his way to the driver's seat and saw one of the horses laying dead on the ground while the other was thrashing wildly, trying to get free of his reins. Arrows peppered the field, and seconds later, a second volley hammered home, killing the other horse.

"Looks like you got what you asked for," Kirtok muttered to the merchant who had been pestering him.

The minotaur rushed to get off the wagon. He grabbed his wood axe out of the back as he ran for cover.

Damn, what did Conor say about a situation like this? Kirtok thought as he ducked to avoid having his skull punctured by an arrow.Remain calm. Assess the threat. Neutralize the enemy.

Kirtok waited until the next arrow volley hit the caravan, then chanced to look around. A pack of hyena-like gnolls were fighting in close quarters with several of the merchants, and seemed to be winning thanks to the support provided by the archers. Kirtok ducked down again and followed the trajectory of the arrows to find where the rest of the gnolls were hiding.

Atop a small hill on the side of the road were perched three gnolls, each armed with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. The drivers on the two remaining wagons panicked, and whipped their horses into a frenzy to escape the hail of arrows, swerving around the gnolls that blocked the road to try and get to town as quick as possible.

"Stop! Don't leave us!" shouted one man as he ran after them, only to be hit in the head by an arrow.

Someone hit him in the arm, and Kirtok whirled around, ready to strike at whoever touched him. He stayed his fist when he realized it was one of the merchants.

"Get up there and eliminate the archers," he said. "We can deal with the ones on the ground."

Kirtok looked up over the wagon and at the hill. "There is no way I can reach them before they shoot again. Don't you people have any bows?"

"We do," the man said, then looked sheepishly at him. "They were on one of the wagons that ran off."

"Pantheon damn the lot of you," Kirtok muttered. He rose after the next volley and began running.

As Kirtok charged up the hill, the gnolls directed their attention towards him as he rushed at them. The first one to shoot hit Kirtok in the shoulder with an arrow, causing pain to bloom from the point of entry. The minotaur didn't stop his charge as he pumped his arms. The adrenaline running through his body helped him focus and ignore the pain.

Kirtok had always been taught to never point his horns at another person. At that moment, it was clear to the minotaur that such rules did not function in the world outside the farm, and he forced himself to go against what he was raised to do. A few steps more, and Kirtok lowered his head to point his deadly horns at the gnoll. He struck at full speed, and he felt warm blood splatter against his scalp as the beastman shrieked with pain. Kirtok yanked his head back, goring the gnoll and shoving him aside.

Kirtok's eyes burned as he struck down the second gnoll with his axe. The first swing didn't cut all the way through his neck, but a second swing managed to slice his head off his shoulders. The minotaur allowed the momentum of his attack to carry him forward as he twisted to avoid a second arrow from the last remaining archer. He continued to follow through on his attack as he brought the axe over and down on the gnoll's skull.

With all three archer's dead, Kirtok moved to deal with his wound. Remembering what he learned about hunting safety with his father, he reached up and snapped the arrow off an inch away from the entry wound. He would need to wait until a healer could properly look at it to remove the metal tip. His thick skin made it hard for him to bleed, and he was grateful that the only thing he had to contend with was the pain instead of any blood loss.

Footsteps crunching on snow alerted Kirtok to a fourth attacker. He tried to pull the axe out of the corpse but it wouldn't budge. The minotaur side-stepped a sword slash aimed for his stomach and delivered a sweeping haymaker to the side of the beastman's head that sent him sprawling across the snow.

Two gnolls remained below on the road as they harassed the merchants. The knorians had managed to best most of them, but now those few defenders who remained were exhausted and bloodied, on the verge of collapsing. Kirtok rushed down the hill to deal with them, taking out his fifth gnoll but not without having a sword slice through his upper thigh deep enough to draw blood.

Kirtok gasped as he fell to the side, catching himself with his arm. He tried to pull himself back up but the leg would not support his weight without pain shooting up his body. The cold, wet ground seeped through his cloak as he laid there, covering the cut with his hands.

The last gnoll noticed this and took the opportunity to pounce with a cackle. He bounded over the bodies of several dead and dying knorians before landing hard atop Kirtok. The minotaur grabbed the gnoll's wrist, clutching it hard and trying to get it to drop the sword it held. Even though Kirtok was far stronger than the gnoll, he did not have the leverage to properly defend himself.

Anger boiled within him as a strange warmth washed over his body. Once again, he could see smoke filling his eyes as it seeped from his nostrils. His chest felt like it was going to explode, and the scar on his face burned.

The minotaur growled as he felt something trying to escape from his mouth. On reflex he took a deep breath and forced himself to cough. What happened next caught both him and the gnoll by surprise as a gout of flames exploded from the minotaur's mouth.

The blast caught the gnoll in the face, and the air was quickly filled by suffocated screams and the smell of burning fur. Kirtok pushed the panicked gnoll off to the side, grabbed the beastman's fallen sword, and put it out of its misery before it could turn around and try to attack him again.

Kirtok huffed as he tried to catch his breath. His mouth felt hot, like he'd finished eating the spiciest food conceived of by a living being. There were no further sounds of attack, and Kirtok sat up in the snow as he used cloth torn from the gnoll's cloak to bandage his wounds.

What just happened? Kirtok thought, confused and afraid at the same time. Did I really breath fire or was I imagining it?

He looked at the body of the gnoll to see if he had imagined it, yet the seared face staring back at him was a stark reminder of reality. Kirtok's scar began to itch as he tried to piece together exactly what happened to him the night his family's farm went up in smoke, but he came up empty. He started to wonder if perhaps the shaman was right about him being a bad omen.