Wakesfield and Fuath half lead, half carried Winifred down to the infirmary, stopping to get directions from a passing office worker. She had a dim smile on her face, and her feet were quite unsure, but she was mostly walking under her own power. The two either side of her were just there to help her balance. Naran and Felix followed behind, if only for lack of an immediate goal. The brought her through a set of double doors, somewhere deep in the building, and were greeted by a healer in temple robes. She exchanged a bow with Fuath, and turned to Winifred. “Mister Whitplene sent word ahead, a broken arm I believe, and she had a dose of milk tonic already, correct?” She spoke in a kind but firm voice, and led them through the room, past a row of beds either side. Most were unoccupied, though some had curtains drawn around them behind which suggestions of movement could be seen and quiet moaning could be seen. They passed the orc Uzul, spread out on as much of a bed as his frame could occupy, a dripping wet compress held against his groin. He gave a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, followed by a wince as he clamped the compress back down.

  They were lead to a bed that seemed the same as any other, and laid Winifred out. She sank into the mattress without complaint, and the healer took a look at the splint on her arm. “Looks good, splint was set proper, and I’m guessing you” her eyes turned up to look at Fuath “got started on the healing?” He nodded silently, and she stood. “Right then, shouldn’t be too long. We’ll get a rotation on once she’s come down from loopy land and she’ll be right as rain come evening. You lot can clear out then. If you’re not a patient I expect you to keep your ill humours out of my ward.” They knew better to argue, and simply told Winifred they’d come back that evening, and headed out as she gave a lazy wave from the bed. As they headed for the front desk, taking a detour back to the yard to return the gear they had borrowed for the earlier contests, they discussed plans.

  Wakesfield produced a worn sheet, a list of items he needed. He would be spending most of the day shopping then visiting the office of one of his compatriots to compare and share new notes.

  Felix pointed to the broken blade still in the holster at his hip, he needed new blades and some fitted armour. He had a few small plates he would strap to his arms and legs, but most of what he had was in desperate need of refitting, having been made for a much younger man of a wildly different build.

  Fuath intended to visit his friend that had been injured in the attack. He was not sure where he had been taken, so it would most likely take a while.

  Naran had little to gather, she had some ideas for supplies they would need based on the brief outline they had been given. Once they had collected the advances (as promised the worker at the front desk seemed to be expecting them and had them sign for small pouches filled with coin plates) they each gave her a share to split the cost of some of the small items they would all need.

  They stood in the yard, planning and discussing, and they made for the gate. It was agreed (with some trepidation on her part) that Naran would fetch Winifred later, and they would meet at the staging house they had been brought to for drinks. Wakesfield was the only one knew the city well enough to suggest alternatives, but better to choose somewhere they all knew and could find. Despite the busy morning, it was still quite early, not quite noon. With some suggestions for where to go from Wakesfield, they headed off. There were no handshakes, just nods.

  Wakesfield had spent a few hours in the small office, working with a man he knew only as Jacobs. Jacobs acted as a repository for the travelling doctors, collecting copies of new notes and handing out copies from others. There had been some interesting discoveries in the jungles near Starfall, a plant that could act as a powerful anaesthetic, though the doses needed careful testing and measuring, and Jenkins research was showing some promise on the safe removal of unhealthy organs. Nothing earth moving, but that was not the point of the movement. Wakesfield had collected findings and results of three folk cures for the common cold. Two had simply been time wasters, activities to do for the days of sickness while it passed naturally, and the herbs involved may have been actively hindering the patient’s recovery. The third showed some promise, so off it went into the journals of the other doctors for testing. Wakesfield was old, and felt it, and he knew there would be no grand revelation in his work. Those were rare as dragon’s teeth, and came with years of testing and verification before they would be accepted. But he was content with the work. He was adding pebbles to the mountain, each page he delivered would be at best a foot note once it was properly researched, but it would be his legacy. The opposite of a death by a thousand cuts, a thousand lives saved by tiny changes. He had once spent years testing bandages; thickness, material, tightness of the bindings, different adhesives. Work that would never be noted but was needed. This would be his legacy when he passed. Small, imperceptible changes that would save lives. Too many were not within easy reach of a temple for healing, home treatments, treatments that could be taught and moved around were needed.

  He chatted with Jacobs as they each wrote, feverishly copying what was not prepared already into each other’s books. The doctors were not close, not friends, not even really co-workers. They were names on notes, references seen over time, occasionally vanishing. Jacobs was a constant, a lynchpin for them to revolve around. His office was a tiny space in the poorer part of the city, cold but dry, every wall stacked with books and sheets and scrolls. Theirs was not a lucrative profession, so he was quite surprised when Wakesfield slid him a twenty dollar plate.

  “Oh my. Must have been a mighty collection of heads you took?” Jacobs was a small man, rail thin and short. He was bundled up in layers of raggedy old clothing, leaving him a pair of thick glasses perched atop a long nose, a thin-lipped mouth just above a scarf and a head bare except for some thin wisps of hair sitting on a pile of many coloured fabrics. There was disapproval in his voice, he had always thought Wakesfield funding his work with bounties went against the spirit of things. His thin fingers emerged from a pair of fingerless gloves, the tips stained black and blue with years of ink.

  “Only weevils actually” replied Wakesfield as he finished copying a page. “With no intent on my part I was recruited by the House of Heroes.”

  “Good gods, they’re still around?” Jacobs didn’t get out much, sleeping on a small cot folded under the bare table he used as a desk.

  “Apparently so” replied Wakesfield, carefully fanning the page with a hand to help dry the ink. “And still with enough funding to at least spike my interest.”

  “Well, better than your usual ghastly business I suppose, I would assume they have less of a focus on Folk.”

  Wakesfield shrugged. “Presumably. I’m due to assist with a weevil infestation in a few days, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

  Jacobs steepled his fingers and looked at Wakesfield. “Giving up the work for monster slaying? At your age?”

  Wakesfield gently closed his book. “Of course not. The work is everything. But by all accounts it will keep me funded and allow me to do some good.”

  Jacobs looked thoughtfully as Wakesfield stood, replacing his books into his satchel and moving to leave. “If you happen to die, please ensure your journals make it back here?” He reached for a bag by his heels and produced a small opaque tin, tied up with string. “Oh, almost forgot. From Thompkins, believes it will help with the pain.”

  Wakesfield took the tin, and pulled the string to examine it. There was a cream inside, a thick off-white salve. He grunted, and placed the tin inside his satchel, the string replaced. “Pass along my thanks.”

  Jacobs hopped down off his chair, and walked him to the door despite the small space. “Do take care of yourself Benjamin, it’ll be a sad day when you pass.”

  “Depends who you ask” replied Wakesfield, patting the small man on the shoulder as he left. He headed back out into the city, pushing his way into the crowded streets. He was already thinking on his next stop. He needed black powder, easy enough to get, then brass and lead. He thought of the document, about the likelihood of going down into the mine. The brief had said they would be expected to simply wait outside and deal with anything trying to escape, but he wasn’t na?ve enough to believe things wouldn’t change. He had the replacement barrel for his rifle, it would just need some careful rigging. As he approached some workshops, the smell of coal and burning metal in the air, he stopped a burly soot-stained Scalefolk. “Excuse me, would you know where could I buy some ball bearings?”

  Felix eventually found a traditional blacksmith, after much searching. He had looked into many boutiques promising artisan wares, and been shooed out of stores when it became apparent he wasn’t ordering in the dozens. Finally he had come to this one, a simple open store with a dwarf manning a forge behind the counter. The small workshop sat between a butchers and a candle maker, its entire front open to the street. The heat was intense even with the open wall. The dwarf stood as Felix entered, and Felix smiled. He gave a small wave as she approached, removing a pair of thick heavy gloves and dropping them on the counter. Felix looked around appreciatively at the wares, simple weapons, shields and armour, unadorned and laid out with prices. A stark contrast to the last boutique he had checked where they had no prices listed and every sword handle was encrusted with jewels and precious metals, items to be worn or hung on a wall. He needed tools.

  “Afternoon sir, welcome to the Heavy Anvil. Looking for anything in particular?” The dwarf woman’s raspy voice suggested a heavy smoker. She wore simple clothes, blackened and burned in patches by smoke and stray embers despite the heavy leather apron protecting her front. Felix had read that the latest fashions were leaning towards clean faces, and her face was indeed bare bar a pair of long sideburns running halfway down her chin. Her red hair had the traditional rough cut of a working dwarf, the hair grabbed and lopped short by whatever tool was handy. He had briefly tried a similar haircut, and Theresa had laughed herself silly until he had shaved it short and let it grow back out. He self-consciously rubbed his bare head as the memory slipped away.

  “Afternoon ma’am. Lookin’ for a few spare blades for this here” he produced the hilt, working the lever with a grunt to free the broken blade, which he set on the counter alongside the hilt. “Might also need a quick maintenance look over. Then, could do with a shield, and some armour pieces after.”

  She picked up the hilt, looking at it curiously. “A Hammerlock & Son? Haven’t seen one of those in a good long while” she worked the levers, watching the internal mechanism move to grip a non-existent tang. “Looks to be in good condition, maybe some internal greasing needed is all. Been out of use a while?”

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  Felix was slightly annoyed that she had been able to work the levers easier than he had. “Ye, would have been abouttt” he paused as he thought, looking up, and spoke with a hint of shock “jus’ shy of three decades…” Had it really been that long? Nowhere near long enough with her. He shook himself off as the dwarf whistled.

  “Long time, but they built these to last. Not looking to sell are you? Be a nice eye catcher for me shop.”

  He shook his head. “Fraid I’ll be needing it, s’what I’m used to.”

  She shrugged. “Fair enough. Have a few blades still sitting without hilts, pick your size and how many you need. Take five and I’ll grease it up for free.”

  He nodded, and she took him behind the counter to a store room. He picked out six altogether, 6 blades in a size felt just fine to him once he locked one into place. They haggled a little on the price as they returned the shop front, but he didn’t see a need to move much. She even through in a leather binding to hold them together at his hip, allowing him to grab them easy as he needed. Not as good as the custom pouch he had for the arena, but workable.

  As she took a bucket of some strong smelling grease and began working a few dipped fingers into the hilt, he produced a battered shield from his pack. It had been bent in the weevil attack, and the strap had snapped with age. “This is what I’m used to, got anythin’ close?”

  Once she had finished greasing, she wiped her fingers on the apron and took the shield, feeling the weight and examining the size. “Bit heavy for the size, and don’t like the finish. Should have something a bit plainer but near enough.” She walked to one of the shelves, examining a selection of shields and taking a few in her hands. “If you don’t mind me askin’, where’d you get this gear? Bit too interesting for private protection.”

  Felix smiled, and puffed out his chest. “Well you jus’ happen to be lookin’ at“ he paused, deflated, and his ears reddened at the memory of the yard worker’s mocking. “Uhhhhh, used to be over in Conquest, in m’younger days.”

  She nodded as she carried four shields back to the counter, laying them out in front of him. “That’d explain it alright. Bit old to be going back in the arena aren’t you?”

  He examined each shield, lifting them and comparing the size and weight as he answered. “Haven’t read the paper? Me and a few fought off a weevil horde on our way in, scouted by the House of Heroes. I’m famous y’know.” He looked at her proudly as he indicated the shield he had chosen, and she began adjusting and replacing straps to attach it properly to his arm.

  “Don’t get to read the paper until afternoons” she said absently. “The House still recruiting? Thought they just ran the open kitchens these days.” His reply was cut off by her tightening a fresh strap and snipping the extra length with a heavy tool produced from the apron. “What type of armour you looking for again?”

  “Let’s call it shins, one full arm, one half arm and somethin’ for the chest.”

  “Nothing for the head?”

  He shook his head. “Never wore a helmet before.”

  She muttered something, but checked his fit, and before too long had fitted his legs and arms as requested. She could only offer a half chest piece, half hiding a chuckle as she explained she’d have to take his measure and properly fit a stretcher to cover his belly, which would take a while with her orders. It was a simple plate, just a rectangle of metal sat onto a harness that he could fit over his chest, but it would do. Truth be told it reminded him of his arena gear, designed to show his body more than protect him. She had offered to take a shield and add some straps so he could wear it over his belly, but he had refused that with a silent glare.

  They finished their negotiations, and she was paid. As he thanked her and left, they shook hands on the entrance of the workshop. “Don’t get yourself killed, looks bad for me” she said as he turned to go.

  Felix gave a hearty laugh at that, and headed off with a wave. “For that, I’ll be back jus’ to show you what’s what. Get that chest ready f’r me now. Hear?” he headed off, chuckling, his new gear folded and packed away into a large cloth sack he now wore on his back. He was already thinking of the evening’s festivities.

  Fuath found Richard in the main temple in the end. He had been moved from the Inn shortly after arrival it had turned out, once they had confirmed he was not in immediate danger. He moved through the hall of healing, stepping out of the way of groups and individuals as he moved down the rows, his head darting back and forth as he checked each stone pedestal. He eventually found him, laid out on a stone naked except for a cloth to protect his modesty, a lone priest attending him.

  “Excuse me sister,” he said as he approached, the priest jumping at his voice as he showed his icon. “I came to the city with this man, how does he fare?”

  She patted her robes as she stepped off the small stool she had been on. She was human, and quite young, but her robe showed markings of seniority over him, if not authority. She bowed in return to his, and gently dabbed at some sweat on her forehead. “Better than he looks brother. He might have some numbness, some weakness in the limbs after, but he’s well out of danger.”

  Fuath muttered a short prayer of thanks, and looked over Richard. He was unconscious, but breathing easy. Scars and fresh looking wounds pockmarked his body. The weevils had been poorly armed, their blunt broken blades not managing deep wounds, but there had been many. His armour had been ruined, shredded by dozens of frenzied stabs and slashes.

  “Has he been awake at all sister?”

  “Only for a few moments, we’re keeping him under with moon milk.”

  Fuath looked at the slight smile on Richard’s lips, as the sister coughed awkwardly. “He was asking about a woman? We didn’t know who he was asking about.”

  Fuath thought for a moment, then bowed his head sadly. “Ah. He was injured trying to protect someone from weevils. He failed, she is mourned.”

  The sister made a sign and uttered a small prayer. “Were they..?” she asked.

  It took Fuath a moment to understand, his head cocked sideways before he realized her meaning. “Ah! No, no. I don’t believe they had met. He went to seek anyone needed help.”

  She smiled down at him. “May we all acquit ourselves as well when tested so.”

  Fuath nodded, and approached. “I would hold vigil with him for a while. I have but a little Word left to contribute, but I will stay with him a while.”

  She nodded, and the two priests held their hands over Richard’s body, channelling the healing magic and uttering prayers.

  Naran shouldered the sack over her shoulder, and looked up at the sky. She had spent much of the day walking the city, following directions taken from a worker inside the House. She had purchased little, but believed she had more than enough to cover their task. She ran through the list in her head again, and confirmed she had everything. She blew a breath through gritted teeth, and started back for the House. She was trying to take Felix’s simple wisdom to heart, but she did not like the uniformed woman. She had shown casual disdain and disgust in the brief time they had been together, something Naran had seen before and hated.

  The men from the company were the same when they came to the tribes lands. Even when they were not openly cruel or even impolite, they had a way to them. They radiated a sense of superiority, making it clear that Naran and her people were lesser in their eyes, as useful as they may be. She had dealt with that feeling most of her life, and she did not enjoy being forced to work with another of that mind-set.

  She cleared her mind as she walked, thinking of more pleasant if bittersweet things. She thought of her husband and child, she wondered if they were watching for her. The thought was what gave her strength. She could not defend the village by staying in the pass and fighting off their enemies. They had to truly become part of the world, be recognised proper. The House gave her hope. The old man, Whitplene, had spoken of the House as a thing besieged, fending off enemies with fame and goodwill. If nothing else, she felt he could understand her goals. Perhaps they could even assist each other. She wondered if she grew fame with the House, could she parlay that into protection for her lands and people? There was promise there, it was a thread worth pulling.

  She jingled the pouch in her pocket, now filled with a mix of different plates, the change from her purchases mixing with the plates given as advance. Such small things, yet they could change the world in an instant. She wondered how much it would take to simply purchase the land, as bizarre as the concept was to her. The land was truly owned by no one, at least that was what she had been raised to believe. But the company had bits of paper that said it was theirs, and so that was how the world worked. Tribes had land of course, hunting grounds and trails were seen as belonging to one tribe or another in the sense that it was theirs to use, but that had always been more about not taking too much than any real ownership, and the tribes had traded freely for each other’s resources. To declare the land as your own, to reshape as they had carved the mountain, change its fundamentals, that was bizarre.

  And yet, a part of her did not truly dislike it. As they had flattened the ground and widened the road, she remembered enjoying the feeling under her feet. Less stumbling on hidden edges and depressions, less testing each step with a stick to check for hidden dangers. Descending the mountain had once been a week’s long trek, dangerous and risky, but the company had carved a road that could be easily walked in a day.

  As she returned to the house, she took a deep breath before entering. Felix was right. He sounded simple, but he was quite well read. He had surprised her with his knowledge, and casually mentioned reading dozens if not hundreds of books. She had forgotten one of the basic lessons of the Speakers, and that jolly old man had reminded her of its importance. The woman, Winifred, deserved a chance. If she was truly hateful, Naran would deal with that. She had worked with people she loathed to mutual benefit before.

  Winifred looked up as the curtains surrounding her bed were parted. The broad woman, Naran, stepped in to the small space with a blank look on her face. Winifred sat up. She had been laying down, her treatment for the day finished. Her arm still ached, and she would have to return the next day to finish treatment, but the healers channelling had already made a huge difference. Her arm was still splinted and painful to move, but she could move it at least. The medicine had worn off, leaving her slightly queasy. “Oh, hello. Where are the rest?”

  Naran shifted a large sack on her shoulders. “Out taking care of their own preparations. We are meeting this evening for drinks, to get to know each other. I am here to bring you, should you wish to come.”

  Winifred looked up, and weighed her options. The four were definitely not her usual choice of companions, they set her on edge too much for that. But she had no idea who or where her usual companions were, or if she even had any. Plus it seemed like any time she had a thought against them that man’s voice in her head would crawl out of the murk of hidden memories to chastise her. Someone had spent quite some time trying to break her of that type of thought towards others, and she felt an odd mix of annoyance and shame when those echoed chastisements came.

  She stood up. She didn’t have many options, and if they were going to work together, to fight together, there had to be trust. For both sides. “Let me say something” said Winifred, unconsciously dropping into a formal standing stance, something drilled past her mind and directly into the memory of her muscles. “I said something you disagreed with…”

  She was interrupted for a moment by Naran adding “And you look at anyone unlike you with open disgust.”

  Winifred blinked “I do?” she shook her head. She knew her thoughts, her ears reddened as she realised they were that plain on her face. “Yes, I do. I will offer no excuses or explanations. But we are to work together. I want you to know you can trust me. All of you can. If we fight together, we fight as one, and I will do my best to say and do nothing to offend.” She stood at attention, and waited.

  Naran stared at Winifred silently, a little longer than comfortable. Then she smiled slightly, and muttered something that Winifred couldn’t quite make out, just catching a mention of Felix. Then she stuck out a hand towards Winifred. “This is agreeable. We need not be friends, but we shall be allies.” Winifred shook the thick callused hand, and returned the smile. They released, and Winifred turned to pick up and don her jacket. “So where are we all meeting?”

  “The same staging house we were brought to, for convenience. We have some time before the others are due, is there anything you wish to do before we go there?”

  “See Culann” Winifred responded instantly. “My dog, he was left at that same yard.” Naran smiled again, and held the curtain open for her. They left together.

  As they walked, carefully talking about their shared incidents, Naran thought. It had not actually been an apology. But there was something there. Rough edges to be broken off to be sure. She wondered how Winifred would act when her inhibitions were loosened.