“Where do you think you’re going?”
? Grim slid to a stop just outside the eastern gate of Beastwick at the sound of the voice. He recognized it at once, even without the drunken stupor that had accentuated it on their previous meeting. He turned so quickly that his feet crossed, and he fell onto his backside. “Veyra!”
? “That’s my name,” she said with a sardonic grin. She was leaning against one of the pillars that made the archway of the gate, her arms folded. “Don’t wear it out.”
? “I’m going to Ironmarsh,” he said, scrambling to regain his feet. “I’m going to join your guild.”
? There was a few seconds’ silence between them as she looked him up and down. Then, without any hint of emotion in her eyes, she asked, “What makes you think that?”
? He’d already opened his mouth to reply, maybe to say that he’d prove himself, or that she wouldn’t regret picking him. But at her cold retort, he stumbled over his words. “You - I’m… What?”
? “You said you are joining my guild,” she replied, pushing off from the pillar and stalking closer to him. She was still just as beautiful as the night before, but now, without the alcohol, she seemed much more dangerous. “What makes you think that?”
? “You invited me,” he pointed out. “That night we met, in the inn. You told me to come find you when Compass Rose rejected me. Well, they did.”
? “And you considered that an invitation?” Something in her eyes sparked, and he suddenly had the impression that he’d made a grave mistake. “Did I actually mention the name of my guild, or say that you’d make a good fit for it? Did I explicitly invite you?”
? He couldn’t think of what to say to that. She hadn’t, of course. Her words could have indicated a desire to invite him to commiseration over drinks for all he knew. “Uhh…”
? She maintained her stoic, hard mask for several more seconds, and then it cracked slowly as she smiled. She let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, relax, boy! I’m just messing with you!”
? He felt as if an electric shock had gone through his body, leaving it weak and barely able to stay standing. Letting out a sigh of relief, he brushed off the dust he’d gotten all over him when he’d fallen. “Oh, you scared me. Haha…”
? “One thing you’ll learn about me when you join,” she said, clapping one hand onto his shoulder, “Is that there are very few things in this world that I take seriously. It’s important to keep a light spirit in life. Stops you from getting old too fast.”
? “I see,” he said, though he didn’t. “So you did invite me, then?”
? “I didn’t,” she said quickly, and that icy feeling took him over once again. “At least, not to the guild. I invited you to try out. Think of it as an interview.”
? “Oh.” He felt relief creeping tentatively into him again, but he tried his best not to relax, just in case it was another trick. “Alright, then.”
? He was fine with an interview. Every guild had an interview process, so what she’d said wasn’t that strange. Most of them were only if the delver applied to join rather than being hunted specifically, but he could adapt to the unusual aspect. “What do you have in mind?”
? “I’m going to test your skills in person,” she said, walking around him in a slow circle. “You already have some skill, I saw that in the Cathedral.”
? “You were there?” He asked, frowning and turning to follow her with his eyes. “I didn’t see you.”
? “Of course you didn’t,” she replied, and there was an acerbic touch to her tone now. “I’m level eleven, for crying out loud. If I couldn’t conceal myself from a level three whelp, I’d lose all credibility.”
? He let out a nervous laugh, assuming this was some kind of joke, but her expression betrayed neither humor nor annoyance. “I did not see your entire run, only up until the end of the first floor. You’re quick on your feet, and more importantly, your mind is agile. I saw how quickly you made decisions, and how you reacted to unexpected threats.”
? “There was an assassin type on the second floor,” he said quickly, hoping to impress the woman. “It was the type that attacked if you cleared the first floor too quickly. I’d almost forgotten about it, but I killed it before it could touch our tank.”
? A thoughtful hum was her only reply for about a minute as she continued her pacing and studying. Finally, when she’d completed three laps, she came to a halt and faced him directly. “Of course, skill and power are all good. But they are not the qualities I look for in my recruits.”
? “What qualities do you look for?”
? That slow smile spread across her face again, and the strange glint in her eyes seemed to brighten. “Just the one. Tenacity.”
? “…Tenacity?”
? “A delver can’t get anywhere important if they don’t have tenacity. Tell me, boy, what do you do if you come across a threat you haven’t planned for or expected?”
? It was an easy question, so much so that he wondered why she’d waste breath on it. “Retreat. That’s what we’re all taught.”
? “Of course, that should be your first reaction in most cases. But what if you’re badly injured, or the tunnel behind you has collapsed, or the monster is faster than you, and you know you can’t outrun it? What then?”
? Grim pursed his lips. He’d never had to think the question out that far. Each time a question like this was posed by an instructor, he had more details on the situation, and they expected a clever tactic or detailed plan for escape. The answer wasn’t always easy, but the problem was solvable. Now, however, he couldn’t think of what the woman wanted to hear.
? “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I don’t think there’s anything I could do in that situation. I’d just… die.”
? He expected her to be disappointed. On the contrary, her grin widened, and she clapped him on the shoulder again. “Good answer! However, if that’s still your answer by the end of the test, you won’t be riding to Ironmarsh with me.”
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? “Okay,” he said slowly. He wasn’t sure how, but he seemed to have passed that part of the test. “So what’s next?”
? “A practical test,” she said, her grin taking on a predatory note. “Bolton! Go fetch the horses! I’m taking this boy shopping!”
? Bolton appeared from inside the gate, a pleased smile on his face as he regarded Grim. Had he been there the entire time? He supposed he must have been so distracted with his goal of catching up to Veyra that he hadn’t kept an accurate track of his surroundings. He doubted that the man had an invisibility skill with how large was. “Shopping? What for?”
? “New knives,” she told him flatly. “If I’m going to see the full extent of your ability, you need real weapons.”
? “I… I can afford a new knife on my own,” he tried to protest, but she was already heading back into the city. “I made enough from my last delve to replace the one I lost.”
? “And do you have enough to replace both?” She asked, glancing at the one knife he still had in its scabbard. “Level two, isn’t it? And it’s on its last legs.”
? He hesitated then, not sure how she could know that. Inside its sheath as it was, the chips and ragged edge of the knife weren’t visible, nor was its level. It took careful examination to determine the level and durability of a weapon. At least, that’s what he thought.
? “Right,” she said, taking his silence as confirmation. “So, we’re going to make sure you have legitimate weapons. If you pass the test, you can treat them as an advance on your salary. If you fail, well…”
? That slow smile spread across her face again, and she didn’t finish the sentence. As he hurried to keep up with her long-legged stride, he suddenly felt that he didn’t want to hear what the end of that thought was going to be. He knew deep inside. It was the same threat that faced anyone in a dungeon. And he knew, somehow, that what she had in mind for him was in fact a dungeon.
? Which one would it be? If it was one of the dozens he’d delved in Beastwick, he was certain he could adapt to it quickly. He might even impress her by leading his party in the fastest clear possible. And he’d have new knives to take on the challenge. Level three knives! He was not the kind of orphan who rejected offers of help or free assistance from others. Living as a poor commoner in Beastwick meant using everything one could to not only survive, but thrive. And he’d use this gift well.
? “I’ll leave the specs up to you,” she told him as they drew closer to the market. “But nothing custom. I’m still not sure you’re worth the cost.”
? There was a glint of humor in her eyes at that, and he returned the grin, sure that it looked much less confident. “That’s fine. I already know which knives I want, if the smith still has them.”
? He took the lead as they made it into the markets proper, veering to the left and quickening his pace. The blacksmiths, being the noisiest of all the crafters, were usually located on the outskirts to avoid deafening the market visitors with the constant ring of hammers on anvils. He felt a little jolt of pleasure as he saw that the knives he’d been saving up for–though his income was too meager to ever entertain the idea of buying a new weapon–were still there. He almost jumped the last few meters to the smith’s stall and pointed the weapons out to Veyra, reminding himself forcefully of a child begging their parent for a sweet.
? “That one,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Err, I mean, those ones.”
? Veyra looked the knives over with a slight frown, leaning against the stall counter to get a closer look. The young woman seated behind the stall, whom Grim assumed to be the smith’s daughter, followed Veyra’s gaze and rose lightly from her stool to pull them from the wall.
? “Level three dual daggers,” she said flatly, placing them on the stall. The metal of the blades shone gently in the sunlight, and the leather wrapped around the tang to make a handle that gleamed with a fresh coat of stain. They were beautiful. “Unenchanted, but quicksilver dust was included in the metal as it was forged, so they are exceptionally light, and able to normally damage monsters that would otherwise have resistances to physical damage.”
? “Impressive,” Veyra muttered, though she sounded as if the praise pained her. “It’s unusual to see work of this quality at such a low level. And in this city.”
? The smith’s daughter gave a faint smile, then tapped a closed fist against her chest in a tired sort of way. “Yes, well, nobles aren’t really known for putting much effort into the lower tiers of delving.”
? “Ah,” Veyra said, her face clearing at once. Even her tone grew warmer. “A fellow mountain savage. Nice to see you.”
? “Not that I expected you to recognize me, Captain Tull,” the woman replied with an easy grin. “My betrothed insists that I wear the finest clothing possible. And after months away from the dirt and grime, I’m starting to look like I fit into this stinking pile of waste.”
? Veyra let out a laugh at that, and it sounded more genuine than Grim had heard until then. Any sign of stiff disapproval was gone from her body. She leaned against the stall counter again, her grin widening. “Well, tell your betrothed that I like the look of his work.”
? “Ew, Randall?” She shook her head vehemently. “Not a fuckin’ chance. That’s my idiot brother-in-law. No, my fiancé is that particular fool, over there.”
? Both Grim and Veyra followed her pointing finger to see a tall, lanky young man with shining golden hair standing behind an alchemy stall. He seemed to sense them looking at him and grinned easily. Grim had to admit–reluctantly–that he was handsome. Veyra mimicked his thought. “Damn. Not too hard on the eyes, is he? Well done.”
? The woman let out a snort. “I’ve heard the stories, Captain. You keep your teeth in your mouth, or I’ll tell your husband that you’re terrorizing innocent men again. Well, not that Erik is all that innocent.”
? The two women shared a giggle that sounded more like cackling, and finally the smith’s sister in-law glanced at Grim. “These for the boy? I’ll give ya a good deal since you’re kin. Two hundred gold.”
? Grim felt an ice-cold fist suddenly clamp over his heart at the number mentioned, having expected something in the low triple digits. “Two hundred?”
? “They are rather well-made,” the woman drawled, rolling her eyes. “If you hadn’t come with Captain Tull here, I would have charged you two hundred and forty. Randall makes good steel.”
? “Complain when you’re the one forking over the money yourself, city boy,” Veyra told him, though she was grinning. “Still. I was hoping my charm was worth more than 40 shinies. Guess you don’t swing that way, eh?”
? “I’m afraid I’d kill Erik with the exciting idea,” the woman snorted. Veyra extended her forearm, on which was a silver bracelet with several lightly glowing runic markings. The woman did the same, with the same bracelet, and they tapped the metal pieces together. “Right, you’re all set. Take good care of them, kid.”
? “Uhh, thanks,” he said, hesitantly moving forward and picking up the knives. Somehow, seeing the portable storage devices the two women carried had reminded him just how out of his depth he was. He knew that delvers above level five all got one eventually, but they were like… the markings of a real professional. You didn’t exactly need a way to easily carry a lot of coins if you didn’t have a lot of coins. “I will, I promise.”
? He slipped his belt off and tucked the worn-out dagger sheaths into his pack, then scooped up the new weapons. The smith had kindly provided a sheath for them, and he slid his belt through their loops, then slid it across his waist, fastening it tight. He’d only been without his two knives for a little over a week, but it felt right to have them back, in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thanks again. These feel great.”
? “I’m sure they do,” Veyra said. “Time to get going. Thank you for your time, and tell your brother-in-law I praised his work. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of that.”
? The lady gave them a small wave as they departed, and Grimr fell into step beside Veyra. With proper weapons at his hips, he felt more confident than ever. He was ready for whatever test she threw at him. At least, that was until he asked her what she had in mind.
? “What’s next, then?”
? “I’m going to have you run a dungeon,” she said, and he nodded, expecting just that. But her next words were not expected. “We just have to travel a ways to reach it.”
? “It’s not within the city, then?” He asked, frowning. There were plenty of choices of level-three dungeons in Beastwick. “Are we going all the way to Ironmarsh or something?”
? “Nope. We’re going to Evandross.”
