Dussacks and Dragons: A Freifechter's Guide To Another World

[Jonan Boske]

February 23, 1571.

Dietrich would have liked to open the shutters overlooking the lake. It had made for a stark beauty when they had arrived at the castle nearly a fortnight ago. Its vast, frozen surface was indistinguishable from the land that rose gently from it, covered in snow as it was. That unending white blanket extended nearly as far as the eye could see, the distant treeline a snowcapped, dull smudge against the horizon. Even now, he could hear the ice creak and moan around the island where Schwerin Castle sat.

Alas, they must keep in what heat they could. A few paces from where Dietrich stood lay the Fechtmeister of Johann Albrecht, Duke of Mecklenburg, swaddled against the cold in a four-post bed while he wheezed and coughed in fits. He was also Dietrich's instructor, master, and friend. The man had suddenly taken ill on the road and had only gotten worse as they came to the castle. Now his pallor resembled that of the tallow candles that barely lit the room.

Sighing to himself, Dietrich listened to his friend die while the servants and courtiers of Duke Albrecht hustled about the corridors beyond their room. Albrecht lived in utter opulence, surrounded by some of the greatest talents in the Empire, yet, somehow...

There came a slight tapping on the heavy oak door to their quarters. Dietrich made his way to let the visitor in. He had a fair idea who it would be. As he opened the door, the light from the hall nearly blinded him, and he was greeted by the silhouette of the court's Chancellor, Heinrich Husanus. The bespectacled man was wearing a rich gown of fine brown wool, lined with sable.

"Goodman Stahl, how is our friend, Meister Meyer?" The Chancellor seemed pensive, clearly hoping for a miracle.

"There is no change since your last visit, Herr Kanzler." Dietrich was in no mood for platitudes. By now it was clear this was only going to end one way.

Husanus, to his credit, seemed genuinely distraught at the sudden decline of their new master of arms. "I have had words with Duke Albrecht. It is utterly shameful how unprepared we were in light of this tragedy. A court physician should have been a priority."

The Chancellor drew a couple of neatly folded papers sealed with wax from his coat. "I've reviewed Meister Meyer's will as well as the Vormundschaft. They bear the Duke's crest. I continue to pray he will have no need of them."

Reaching forward, Dietrich took the papers. He remembered helping Joachim sign them just the day before. The man had been as spry as a stripling, eagle-eyed and vigorous even through the weeks-long journey from Straßburg. Yesterday, he could barely see in front of him; Dietrich had to guide his hand while a priest and a notary witnessed, sheepishly.

"Oh, and another matter." Husanus pulled a heavy purse from somewhere else in his voluminous attire. He handed it to Dietrich, clasping his hand warmly as he took the purse. "For the manuscript. I know you presented it as a gift, but the Duke was most pleased with the work. I confess, I have reviewed it myself and was quite taken by it, though I myself am useless with a blade."

He was referring to Joachim's magnum opus, the Gründtliche Beschreibung der Kunst des Fechtens. The work was indeed beautiful, a masterpiece even, and a vast repository of the martial skills Joachim had pioneered. The Duke must have been impressed indeed to go against the Marxbrüder and their charter in order to appoint him Fechtmeister. It was the same work, however, that had put Joachim into massive debt.

Dietrich accepted the coin with a gracious nod. It was a nice gesture, though a drop in the bucket next to the thirteen hundred crowns owed for the book's printing.

"Well, I... I'll see myself out. Let me know if there is anything we can do to... make our friend more comfortable." The Chancellor gave a gentle bow before leaving quietly.

It seemed their conversation had roused Joachim from his rest. Dietrich turned at the sound of his phlegmatic sputtering.

"Dietrich... Dietrich, are you there?" The Fechtmeister looked sightlessly around the room for his apprentice.

"I am, Meister. What can I do for you?" Dietrich spun on his heel, stepping briskly toward the bed. He regarded its occupant grimly. "I am right here, my friend." Dietrich grasped Joachim's palsied hand as he noted the blue tinge of his lips. It wouldn't be long now...

"Thank you... for being here with me... What a mess I made of things... And yet, I know I would do just the same again were I given the chance. What a fool of a master you have." The anguish in the man's lungs matched that of the lake ice beneath the window, straining and cracking in the cold of night.

It was a conversation they had already shared, but Dietrich nodded along. He doubted Joachim remembered. The mind that had meticulously broken fencing down into its universal principles and given it to the common man was now spiraling in on itself.

"Dietrich, I must make a request... Apollonia..." Dietrich leaned in to hear the dying man's final plea. It never came. The light in his feverish eyes was gone. He stared open-mouthed at the curtains above him, the difficult rise and fall of his barrel chest now still. Dietrich lowered his head, crossing himself even as he held onto Joachim's hand with his own.

Dietrich stood by his master's bedside long enough for the candles to gutter. Apollonia... With Joachim now gone, his thoughts must turn to her. The Freifechter's death meant his debts now landed squarely on his wife's shoulders. Dietrich would need to get back to Straßburg to deliver the papers, as well as this final bit of coin and whatever effects he could carry.

It was going to be a long ride back to Straßburg.

---

Pulling down his tellerbarrett against the glare, Dietrich took in the vista of the lake one last time. Castle Schwerin stood impossibly on the frozen surface, the dull red of its bricks contrasting with the dead, pale winter sky. The wind was unusually calm, allowing him to hear the ice sing and wail as it contracted under the sun.

He had declined to stay any longer at Schwerin. Husanus had hinted that Joachim's most talented apprentice might take up his appointment. That would mean staying at the castle, though, and he had yet to receive an audience with the Duke. Perhaps Albrecht was embarrassed to face him in the wake of his friend's passing. Dietrich told the Chancellor that they knew where to find him. For now, he must make for Straßburg and inform Joachim's widow of her new situation.

He patted his master's zelter on the neck, the beast waiting patiently under him, its breath visible in the cold. Dietrich had sold his own nag, in part to avoid having to lead a spare horse, but mainly to add some silver to what he had gotten from the Chancellor. Dietrich checked the fat purse of coin on his hip. It would not be enough to cover Apollonia's debts, not by far, but it might keep the debt collectors satisfied for a time until the guild could sort out a solution.

He turned his mount around and trotted on. Soon they would be on their way through the Lewitz forest. He hated the notion of traveling alone through the boggy woodland. Even though the winter had been terrible, it had not prevented banditry along the road. If anything, it had made it worse. The snow made for poor riding, and with fewer on the roads, those who must travel stood out against the white of winter. The desperate and greedy used the muffled landscape to their advantage, and twice already on the journey to Schwerin, Joachim and his apprentice had had to defend themselves with steel against roving bands of Gartenknechte.

While the lake had held a quiet beauty, he could not say the same for the Lewitz. The road wound through dark stands of pine, moldering logs, and frozen bogs. It was death, cold and stark, with naked beech trees reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands.

He checked his gear for the eleventh time as he made his way through the decrepit forest. He had his steel dussack at his side, a fine piece with a heart-shaped shell to protect the hand, in addition to quillons wrought into a knuckle-bow. It was made of good German steel, though not as ornate as some.

His longsword was lashed to the saddle, vertically, behind his left leg. The grip was spindle-shaped, terminating in a flared, spiraled steel pommel. The cross-guard consisted of twisted quillons and a double ring guard on either side with a finger guard. The blade was long and sharp, terminating in a lethal tip; the ricasso was flared into the winged "Schilt" that Meyer himself had extolled. Both blades Dietrich had made himself, with all his skill as a cutler.

Man and beast continued on the trail for hours, the only sound the clinking of his coin purse and the chiming of his tack and gear. They sounded like dull bells in the otherwise silent wood. Dinner bells, if he wasn't careful, for the avaricious "wolves" that no doubt lay in wait somewhere along the road. A lone man of some means was the perfect prey. Dietrich was already regretting his choice to leave the castle, but Apollonia was waiting back in Straßburg. She had yet to hear that she was now a widow twice over and that there would be no further wage from the court of Albrecht. The coin on Dietrich's hip weighed especially heavy. He would be glad to hand the full weight of it over to her as soon as he was home.

The shadows lengthened as daylight faded. He would need to find shelter, and find it quickly. Fortunately, there was a decent Krug situated a day's ride from the castle. The hostel's location was no accident, and they tended to keep the place tidy and well stocked in consideration of the gentry who on occasion had to make use of it. Come to think of it, it was at this very way station that he and Joachim had made merry over the end of a long and miserable journey and the coin Joachim would receive for his court appointment. It had been the last day he had seen him hale and in good spirits.

Feeling sore from a long day in the saddle, he pulled his heavy wool cloak tighter around him in a futile effort to keep out the evening chill. He allowed his thoughts to drift from his grief to hot stew and spiced warm wine. It would be a fine thing to cast off his worries for a time and let the wenches dote on him. They tended not to mind his company. Even now he heard Joachim in his ear: "Isn't it about time you settled down, mein Schüler?" But Dietrich had never found the time between his role as a Freifechter and his work as an apprentice of the Messerschmiede.

Lost in his thoughts and the chill, he was oblivious while rounding a bend in the road, nearly riding his mount into a fallen tree. He looked up in alarm only to hear the mechanical snap of a crossbow being released. The bolt hit his horse in the flank, causing it to rear. Tumbling from his mount, Dietrich fell heavily in the dense powder that had collected on the road. The zelter bolted into the freezing bog, crashing through the ice and mud, terrified and wounded. Dietrich didn't have the time to spare on the poor animal. He bounded back to his feet, gloved hand drawing the dussack that was already half out of its sheath. He heard the winding of a crossbow in the brush while men in the worn livery of veteran Landsknechte stepped out of hiding. They had planned their ambush well, and Dietrich had ridden right into it.

"Christ's blood! Götz! Did you have to shoot the horse?" a mercenary with a guisarme yelled at the trees.

"So I missed, it's dark out. The next one won't," replied the shrubs where Dietrich heard the crossbow winding.

There were four of them, with a mix of polearms and long blades, not counting the talking bush. One in particular stood out from the others. He did not wear the garish raiment of the Landsknechte but a brigandine covered in dark velvet, a finely crafted long blade in his grip. Dietrich's eyes locked onto the insignia on the breast of his armor. It proudly bore the Winged Lion of Saint Mark. This was no random act of banditry; they were here for him!

"Why bandy with these wastrels, Marxbruder? We are law-abiding men of God, are we not? We have our steel. We can settle things between us without a crowd." Dietrich's mind was racing even as he got into his stance. How had they known he would be alone on the road?

"Settle things we shall, Freifechter, but you make one mistake. YOU are the one who broke the Emperor's mandate by teaching the art of fencing! It must have slipped the Duke's mind that only the Marxbrüder hold such license. I am merely here to put things to rights!"

"Let's just kill him and be do—" one of the mercenaries quipped, but Dietrich's sudden dash surprised him. Enough talk. He made straight for the scoundrel with the badge of Saint Mark.

Just as he sprinted toward the Marxbruder, he heard the snap of the crossbow a second time. It proved Götz a liar as the bolt missed him, piercing one of the Landsknechte who stepped in to intercede. The brigand dropped his polearm as Dietrich ran past, not sparing him a second glance.

The Marxbruder thrust at Dietrich to fend him off. Dietrich had his dussack up in an arc over his head; he parried the thrust nimbly, bringing his point down to intercept. With his gloved off hand he reached for his opponent's blade, but sensing the trap, his foe pulled his sword back. The second he did, Dietrich snapped his weapon around in a Zwerchhau, a mere flick of the wrist that brought the heavy dussack around toward his foe's head.

The man tried to duck Dietrich's assault, but his footing was poor. He failed to clear the blade as it knocked off his tellerbarrett, slamming into the top of his skull. At first, Dietrich thought he had felled him by the look of the blood running down his face, but underneath the hat was the dull sheen of a now-dented Hirnhaube, a concealed iron skullcap.

Dietrich advanced on the Marxbruder as much to deny him reprieve as to put space between himself and the remaining two men-at-arms rushing him from behind. As his wounded enemy stumbled back from the blow, the Freifechter drove his point down again from Ochs, though instead of aiming for the fencer directly he went for his wrists, wedging the tip into the triangle of the man's arms where he clung to his weapon. Swinging wide with his stance, Dietrich pivoted on his lead foot, bringing his left leg around and turning himself to face the Landsknechte while he levered with the heavy blade of his dussack, popping the sword from the Marxbruder's grip. He finished with a quick, lateral backhanded slash across the man's throat, dropping him for good.

"Can't say I'll miss the fucker. Bleeding poisoner," said the closer of the two, leveling his pole-axe at Dietrich.

"Shut it, Ruprecht! Now who's going to pay us? Nothing personal, Freifechter, but you'll have to make up for it. And Götz! Can you land a single fucking shot? You hit Veit!" The bandit motioned to their fallen comrade with his long blade.

"It's not my day. Right, 'fraid we can't just let you leave after seeing us." The man named Götz left the bushes, a short but stocky brigand, Katzbalger in hand.

Dietrich held out the dussack against them as he steadily knelt to retrieve the Marxbruder's fallen longsword. Taking it in hand, he let the dussack drop into the snow. Bringing the blade up with both hands, he raised it alongside his face in the Ochs position, pointing at his foes with the short edge.

The three assailants spread out as they inched toward the swordsman. Dietrich did his best to calm his nerves, taking their measure as they advanced. The man with the polearm was just in range with his weapon when Dietrich launched his attack. He wheeled his sword from Ochs into a high Oberhau, a strike from above, but the motion left him open for just a moment. Trusting in his reach, the pole wielder thrust at Dietrich's midsection, but the man had never been Dietrich's target. The Freifechter brought his blade down with all the force he could muster directly onto the pole weapon, driving the man's thrust into the snow. Before the bandit could bring his weapon back, Dietrich stomped it out of his hands before falling back to defend against a rush from Götz's Katzbalger, bringing his point to bear and forcing the inept shooter to arrest his charge.

As Götz backed off, the third man came in for the attack. Dietrich intercepted his cut with one of his own, slinging his blade and connecting hard with his foe's weapon before wheeling it around and striking from the other side with a sidestep. His second blow shattered the man's guard as Dietrich pushed his sword aside and finished with a slice in a perfect Schleudern, taking him clean across the torso. Dietrich's new weapon bit deep as the man collapsed, wheezing from his chest wound and grasping where he'd been struck. The polearm brigand had barely cleared his sidesword from its scabbard when Dietrich spun his blade around and skewered him through the throat with a short-edge thrust. The man fell back, gurgling, and crumpled to the ground with the others.

One left. It's time for you, Götz. Dietrich spun around to face the final outlaw, sword raised, when a sudden flash of light blinded him. It was accompanied by the sound of a thunderclap as Dietrich felt himself struck square in the chest. He looked down at the spreading warmth that dyed his woolen doublet a deep arterial red before looking to Götz. The Landsknecht's hands trembled on the grip of a wheellock pistol, one he must have had concealed. The bandit stumbled back, not yet trusting the shot had done its work, while Dietrich collapsed to his knees.

He regarded the man, speaking through his bloodied lips. "Well, Götz, you did it in the end. You fucking coward." Dietrich let himself fall backward, looking into the darkening sky. Suddenly it was difficult to hear what was going on around him. Someone grabbed at his waist; he was being looted, but he couldn't raise his arms. Snow began to fall, shining like silver flakes in the dim moonlight. They alighted on him, but he couldn't feel their cold touch.

"Wunderbar!" A familiar voice reached out to him, waking him as if from a dream. Dietrich sat up, or at least thought he did. The pain of his wound was gone. Looking down, he saw that his doublet was whole again; the stain of his life's blood had completely disappeared. Still, below him he could see himself, or at least what had been him, lying in the snow. That Dietrich stared sightlessly into the night sky, the silver flakes collecting on him until he started to resemble a mound in the landscape. He was not alone; he lay surrounded by his slain, four other man-like shapes now lying peacefully under a blanket of white.

The voice came again. "Wunderbar! Ritterlicher!"

Dietrich turned slowly to see none other than his old master. Joachim Meyer no longer resembled the corpse Dietrich had left back at Schwerin Castle. Instead, he stood as his old self again, in the attire of a respected Bürger. If it weren't for the slight sheen that enveloped him, Dietrich would have thought he had been raised from the dead.

"I don't feel all that chivalrous. It would seem I have failed. And on behalf of a woman twice widowed, no less."

"Do not fret over Apollonia, mein Schüler. The Messerschmiede guild is run by God-fearing men. They will sort things out for her. But first, I must thank you for avenging me."

Meyer's student looked at him quizzically. "Avenge? What do you mean?"

The ghost of Joachim sighed, dropping his broad shoulders. "Not even a Fechtmeister can beat poison. Wolfsbane. That rat had it rendered into wax and put it in my boots the night we stayed at the Krug. They wanted me to suffer."

Dietrich's eyes widened at the sudden realization. His mentor had been murdered.

"Cowards, the lot of them! They knew they couldn't best you with steel, so they killed you with the Devil's craft." Dietrich raged above the white mound of his own corpse.

"It is dealt with, Dietrich. By your own hand, no less; justice has been served. At this moment I am more concerned about you."

"Me? I'm dead. What more do I have to be concerned about?" Did his mentor know something about where Dietrich was headed?

"A young man dies with many regrets, mein Schüler. I saw what you did for me, for my wife. Why did you not take the position the Duke held out to you? It would have been better for you by far." His instructor crossed an arm, putting his other hand to his chin thoughtfully.

"Unfinished business, I suppose. Someone had to bring back the news. Also the coin. I suppose it was all for naught in the end. I also didn't care all that much for Albrecht, if I'm honest."

"Unfinished business? Then I was correct in my assumption. What is it that drove you to such lengths?"

Dietrich thought about the short life he had lived. He was a Freifechter, through and through. "Simple, really. I wanted to see our art in every guild hall, from Marseille to Lauenburg. Beyond that... I guess I never considered."

"It is just as well, young Dietrich. I have interceded on your behalf. Otherwise, you would come to resent even Heaven itself."

"What are you talking about, Joachim? What else is there?" But all he got was a knowing smile as the light around his old instructor brightened until it washed away all else.

 

[Jonan Boske]

For a long while, all Dietrich knew was that impenetrable white. Like the snow over Lake Schwerin, it blotted out the physical world, defying his senses as he drifted along to who knew where. It was warm, gentle. He forgot the freezing cold of the Lewitz as he let himself float along on an invisible current. He had the sense he was moving, though there was no point of reference whatsoever to confirm it. Finally, off in the distance, Dietrich observed a pinprick on what he would call the horizon for lack of a better word. The pinprick grew as he felt himself rushing toward it, picking up speed as whatever current he was on carried him in earnest. He was being hurled toward some terminal point as the void grew into a whirling dark vortex, drinking the light as he tumbled toward it. He tumbled over the edge...

Dietrich was churning in freefall, accompanied by the snapping of wood as he felt himself buffeted on all sides. Landing with a thud, he lay where he fell, letting his eyes adjust to his new surroundings. As things came into focus, he looked up through impossibly tall pines and their shattered branches, up toward the sky. The sterility of winter was gone, replaced by the scent of pine resin and mycelial decay. The Freifechter sat up, appraising himself. His clothes were pristine, save for some brand-new blotches, presumably from his tumble to the forest floor. He held up his gloved hands in front of him, wiggling his fingers. He seemed whole again, his passage through the spirit realm already fading like a half-remembered dream. As he stood shakily, he noted something in the mulch in front of him. He recognized the glint of steel immediately as he pulled his dussack from the dirt. It was sheathed in its scabbard, the stamped leather printed with the subtle diamonds Dietrich remembered applying himself. As he drew the steel, he noted it was free from the blood of the Marxbruder. Apparently, Saint Mark had not held that final violent act against him.

Adjusting his tellerbarrett, Dietrich looked further for any of his other belongings, but could find none. His saddle, his storage bags, the arms belonging to Joachim that had been bundled in oilcloth, and finally, his own longsword: it was all gone, along with the coin intended for Apollonia. He tied the swordbelt of his dussack around him. At least he had this bit of steel.

He turned about, taking in the primeval forest he found himself in. It seemed familiar for the most part, only at a scale he still couldn't quite fathom. The pines ascended forever, to the point that he had to strain his eyes to see their waving tips through the canopy. Moldering logs the width of a horse cart stood out of the mulch and dirt, impossibly huge next to moss-covered boulders. The wood was verdant with ferns and lichens, with patches of wildflowers here and there where they could find sunlight. He noted large Hexenringe of overlarge, incandescently glowing mushrooms that he could not identify. It all felt like a dream, were it not for the ground under his feet and the weight of his sword at his side. He still struggled to believe all of this was real. Was he unfit for the Gates of Saint Peter after all? At least this did not seem to be hell, or at least any such place the Pfarrer was fond of describing.

He shook off his spiritual musings. He had immediate concerns to address. Chief among them was water, then food. His water skins had not made the strange journey with him, nor had the hardtack he had packed to get him to Straßburg. He would need to find a source of clean water and then see to what he could eat in this place. He eyed the strange mushrooms dubiously; he had no idea what was edible. Hopefully he could catch some small game, a hare maybe, or, if Christ willed it, a fish from a stream.

He set off in a direction that took him downhill. With any luck, it would take him to water. As he began to trek through the dense brush, he felt something in the pocket of his Pumphosen. Reaching into the deep recesses of the pouch stitched into his trousers, he found a flat, folded piece of cheap paper that rubbed against his leg. Drawing it out, he examined it, tracing the title printed on it with his gloved fingers. In large block print, the script on the little chapbook read "Melusine." He snickered as he stuffed the Volksbuch back where he had found it.

He had purchased the little storybook on his way to Schwerin, in one of the many markets along the way. It was a small heresy, the tale of a man in love with a cursed woman who every Saturday turned into a snake from the waist down. Perhaps this was his punishment from on high, to be cast into his own tragic fairy tale? He clearly remembered packing it in his saddlebags, away from the eyes of his master.

As he ambled through the ferns and rugged terrain, he noted something else. This wood was remarkably quiet. Even around the heavily populated lands of Straßburg, the woods had been alive with the sounds of nature as the birds and rodents made polite conversation with one another. It only got this quiet when—

Dietrich nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden, distant sound of snapping branches. Something was charging through the woods, the destruction approaching alarmingly fast. From the sound, it seemed to be heading straight for him. The Freifechter paused for only a moment, hand on the grip of his dussack as he looked around the wood. Spotting a tall outcropping of stone, he kicked off a nearby stump before grabbing the ledge and pulling himself up the boulder. Whatever was out there, he had little hope of outrunning it. He watched whole trees get displaced, thrown aside or smashed to pieces, as a massive bundle of brown fur charged through the dense wood toward Dietrich's little stone fort.

From his vantage on the rock, Dietrich tried to identify what was crashing through the woods. It was panting, its pelt flecked with foam: a massive boar careening blindly through the forest, its monstrous tusks like those of Hanno, the Pope's own elephant of old! It was not alone; something else crashed through the wood after it.

Just as the boar was about to reach Dietrich's rock, a monstrous shape burst through the greenery, overtaking the first beast. A huge brown bear, the like of which Dietrich had never seen, grabbed the boar from behind, growling loudly as it mauled its squealing prey. The swordsman stood in stunned immobility on his perch as the bear announced its triumph over the slain boar with a guttural bellow that shook the very trees.

Dietrich's pulse was hammering in his temples as he thought about what he could do. Thankfully, the monster had a feast before it; he could probably sneak away while it was eating its well-earned meal. Just as Dietrich was about to clamber off his rock, he heard something crashing through the canopy of pines!

It came down so fast that at first he couldn't make out what was attacking. He thought it must be a giant eagle as it slashed at the bear with beak and talons, before the bear hurled it off into a large pine. Crashing into the tree hard enough to strip it of its bark, the interloper righted itself like a cat. Indeed, it had the muscular body of a lion that transitioned into the talons and beak of a great eagle. Dietrich was staring at a griffon! The very same beast that was proudly emblazoned on the heraldry of Rostock now stood alive before him in flesh and feather!

Mind racing, Dietrich thought about what he should do as the two monstrosities circled each other. If he moved a muscle, he might distract them from their fight and give one or the other an easy meal. For now, though, it seemed they had a genuine hatred for one another as they sought to assert their claim on this patch of forest. Dietrich silently hoped for the bear to be the victor. It would have plenty to eat, and bears couldn't fly.

The two came together again with a crash, transforming into a ball of fur, feathers, claws, and talons. They rolled through the forest, leaving a trail of carnage, their shrieks and roars reverberating through the trees as small creatures looked on from their dens with bated breath. Dietrich joined them as he waited to see who would rise victorious. In the end, it was the griffon that took the field, rearing up triumphantly as it cawed over the fallen bear, talons and beak painted crimson from their battle.

The Freifechter was stealthily climbing down from his rock when he felt the griffon's golden eagle eyes lock onto him. He clung stupidly to the boulder as the beast regarded him. The look was one of disbelief, and if Dietrich had to guess its meaning, it would roughly translate to, "What is this pathetic pink thing, and what is it doing in my forest?"

Dietrich let himself fall the rest of the way to the ground, drawing his dussack as the griffon cautiously lumbered toward him. He was already looking for a place to funnel the creature through the trees as he inched away from it. Maybe he could limit its mobility and score some cheap strikes against it. It wasn't the most chivalrous tactic, but with no spear or halberd, he was ill-equipped for such a creature.

Both would-be combatants were startled by the snapping of a twig in the foliage. Christ above, what now? Dietrich thought as a war cry sounded from the brush. It was a man, though a man in the same manner the boar had been a boar and the bear had been a bear. He stood a head taller than Dietrich, who was by no means small, covered in an iron cuirass and carrying a gigantic metal shield on his thick, scarred arm. The warrior charged at the griffon like a noble chevalier, heedless of all danger as he swung a massive cleaver-like blade at the beast. The griffon lunged at him, only to be struck heavily with the large shield and driven back impossibly by the warrior.

The armored warrior shouted over his shoulder to someone behind him in a language Dietrich could not guess. Stepping out from the dense wood into the clearing freshly made by the previous brawl was perhaps the most stunning woman Dietrich had ever seen. She smoothed down her traveler's blouse over her leathers, pushing brown tresses, damp with the sweat of travel, from her eyes as she coolly regarded her companion's struggle with the griffon. As he bellowed to her between blows, she seemed to register his request, calmly waving an intricate pattern with her hands. As she continued her graceful gesturing, the air in front of her seemed to shimmer and come alive. Suddenly, the shimmering sparked into a conflagration. With a sharp gesture, she directed the flame, casting it like the shot of a Balester. The griffon screamed as the bolt of flame struck its flank, singeing it severely. It reared back from the damage, allowing the iron warrior to gain ground. He charged the beast, striking it in the throat with his massive blade. With a deep, gargling groan, the beast fell, a thrashing heap of blood and burning feathers.

With the beast dead, the warrior stooped down, dropping his ponderous weapon in favor of a dagger. He dug into the creature with practiced precision before coming up with a gleaming, bloody stone.

As Dietrich stood, mouth agape, his mind struggled to categorize what he had just witnessed. He clutched futilely at his dussack as the duo turned to regard him. It would seem they had known of his presence all along. The iron warrior strode toward him, a warm smile on his face, marred only by the tusks that protruded from his lower jaw. Dietrich hadn't seen it until now, but the man had an unnatural green pallor, barely noticeable until he was up close, though he seemed hale and vigorous. The woman mirrored her companion's good nature as she approached. For all Dietrich knew, they were devil worshipers, such was their power. But in the face of the lady's grace and beauty, he found himself doffing his tellerbarrett and giving a courtly bow, even as he clumsily held his forgotten dussack in his hand.

The pair prattled on at him unintelligibly. He could guess what they asked, but even if he had known their tongue, there was no way he could impart how he had come to such an accursed forest. He smiled foolishly as he quietly sheathed his blade. He gestured his ignorance to them before speaking, just so they could hear his strange German. He was certain they would be deaf to its meaning, and he was right. They looked at him, astonished at his strange words. The lady made a wave of her hands and spoke in a silky incantation as Dietrich leaned away from her. He waited for her to destroy him with infernal flames as the air shimmered as it had done before, but none came. Whatever effect she had tried to create had fizzled. She blew a brown strand from her face, dismayed at the spell's failure. The green man gave a shrug but kept his friendly demeanor. He waved at Dietrich to follow them as the pair made their way back the way they had come. Dietrich followed sheepishly. He now knew what a night alone in these woods meant and did not enjoy the thought of it. Whatever this pair were, they had saved his life once already, even at the risk of their own. For now, he would reserve judgment.

The pair seemed to weave their way effortlessly through the wood as Dietrich struggled to keep up. He wondered how they could maintain such a gait after such a rigorous battle. Well, the green man at least had fought one. The woman, though, seemed to set the pace, as the green man was content to let her take the lead. Occasionally she would stop, wave her hands in a particular direction, then gesture where they were to go. The tusked warrior appeared to trust her implicitly. Dietrich had no choice but to struggle after them as they traveled what had to have been a solid Wegstunde.

Finally, they came to a small clearing in the wood. It already had the makings of a camp that apparently belonged to the pair. Dietrich noted one tent... and one bedroll, and sheepishly looked away from the pair. The lady had noted Dietrich's glance with a smirk. Apparently, the tusked warrior was this woman's Melusine. As Dietrich looked about, he noted the green man emptying a flask of yellow liquid around their camp. He could guess the purpose, given the creatures that roamed these woods, and the thin ring of the acrid substance somehow gave Dietrich comfort.

The green man ambled off into the darkening wood, leaving Dietrich alone with the woman for a moment. He awkwardly sat on one of the two stumps set around the firepit, across from hers. She stacked some kindling in the firepit before igniting it with a word, then turned her gaze to Dietrich. She waved in the air once again and gave the same incantation he had heard earlier, or at least something close to it. This time, the shimmering seemed to hold as she fixed her concentration. After a moment, she began to motion toward Dietrich, trailing the back of her fingers along her throat. "Speak," seemed to be the message.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he trailed off nervously. She smiled at him and motioned for him to continue. It seemed the subject matter wasn't important; he merely needed to speak. "I suppose I should introduce myself. Mein Name ist Dietrich. Dee-trick," he said, motioning to himself. The woman nodded with comprehension. She indicated herself. "Agyn."

"A-gin," Dietrich repeated, pointing to her as she nodded with her perfect smile. The lumbering frame of the tusked warrior appeared from the trees, which were now dark with the onset of night. He carried a log on his shoulder and set it down by the firepit before taking a seat on it. The woman pointed to him. "Tal."

"Tal," Dietrich affirmed as the green man gave him a toothy grin. Dietrich had to admit, he liked Tal. The cursed man had acted like a most noble knight, throwing himself at a griffon for the sake of another. Dietrich had thought about it all the way back to the camp. This pair had knowingly saved him, whatever their reason for being in this wood.

The woman repeated her gesture for Dietrich to speak. "I am not much of a talker... Truth be told, I had considered myself to be quite the swordsman. Until I saw noble Tal strike down a griffon." Dietrich sighed. He had no way to convey to them how he had come to be here. He didn't understand it himself. Now, stranded in a strange land, beholden to strangers, Dietrich felt unusually insecure.

The woman tilted her head as she regarded him. She seemed to have an idea as her face lit up. Turning behind her, she began rummaging through a pack until she pried loose a thin leather-bound book. She fanned the pages in front of Dietrich knowingly, indicating the characters. He looked at them, confused. He had never seen such script. Nevertheless, Dietrich prided himself on his ability to read and in fact enjoyed the activity. Though literacy was on the rise in Germany, it was not yet for everyone, and the ability to read was considered prestigious.

Dietrich reached into his pocket, an act that made the lady raise an eyebrow. He extracted the Volksbuch of Melusine, unfolding the chapbook to show its woodblock-printed panels and illustrations. Her eyes widened at the storybook, and she gestured for Dietrich to hand it to her. He handed her the coarse paper, which she took greedily. The green man's face seemed to say, "Oh, here we go." He shook his tusked head with a quiet laugh.

Agyn pointed to an illustration, one of the half-snake representations of Melusine. She pointed to the womanly half.

"That is the Lady Melusine. This story is hers." Dietrich wasn't sure why he was explaining to a woman who couldn't understand a word he said. Agyn seemed to listen, though, as she moved her finger to the serpent half. "The Lady Melusine was cursed. Every Saturday, her lower half would become that of a serpent." Dietrich gave an awkward glance to Tal as he explained Melusine's fate. He continued for a space before Agyn held up her hand to motion for silence. She didn't even look at Dietrich as her gaze drank in the tale of the Volksbuch. Tal laughed knowingly, shaking his head at Dietrich in the everyman's language of "Women, right?"

Dietrich wasn't at all offended, only confused, as Agyn seemed to go from panel to panel with comprehension. As she did, the shimmering light of her spell seemed to shift and flutter, almost as if something invisible were reading over her shoulder. For a while, the trio sat silently in the glow of the firelight. Tal gently set a log down to feed the fire, sending sparks up into the night. He then passed a skin to Dietrich, who accepted it graciously with a nod. He had had nothing to drink and was now suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. The water was cool and refreshing, even if slightly tinged with the taste of leather. Dietrich watched as Tal set about standing skewers of small game around the fire, three for each of them. The Freifechter, if he ever called himself such again, was feeling increasingly in their debt.

Finally, Agyn broke the silence. "Oh, poor Melusine." She looked up with fresh tears brimming in her dark eyes. Dietrich's jaw dropped. High German, unmistakably.

"Was it a good tale?" asked Tal.

"Yes, though it is sad. I wasn't prepared for such. Thank you, Dietrich, for sharing this." She made to hand the script back to him.

"Ah, did you enjoy it, truly?" Dietrich's words came out faster than his mind could parse them.

"I did. I confess, I love sad tales."

Dietrich refused the script. "I have read it more than once already. Why don't you keep it, Lady Agyn? I am already in your debt as it is and have nothing else to offer."

"Lady Agyn, what a charmer. Why don't you refer to me thus, Tal?" She fluttered her eyes at the warrior bashfully.

"Oh now, see what you've done?" The iron-clad warrior winked at Dietrich in mock exasperation.

The thin meat on the skewers was ready, and Tal distributed them to the trio. Dietrich took his with thanks.

"Hare again," Agyn sighed as she took her skewer, eyeing the meat dubiously.

"You do not care for Hasen, Lady Agyn?" Dietrich asked as he gnawed tentatively on his skewer. A bit gamey, but good enough on an empty stomach.

"She thinks they are sweet. She doesn't like eating them," Tal added on her behalf. She wrinkled her nose at the skewer before taking a bite stoically.

"Then we shall have to thank Sir Hare for his contribution. It is what a pair of adventurers need to stay hale and hearty." Dietrich smiled at the lady's sacrifice. His notion that this duo was in some way in league with the Devil was fading fast.

"I have been meaning to ask, how... how are we even speaking right now?" Dietrich thought it might be a good time to tiptoe into the subject of Agyn's power.

"Translation magic? Is this really the first time you have seen such?" Agyn seemed genuinely surprised.

"It is the first time I have seen many such things today, such as a griffon, or a bear the size of a house, or... a woman throwing fire like a crossbow bolt." Dietrich looked meaningfully toward her.

Agyn and Tal looked to each other, then back to Dietrich. "You really aren't from around here, are you?" Tal weighed in.

"I confess, I am not," he admitted. "To be frank, I am not even sure where 'here' is," the Freifechter continued.

"Well, to your first question, I have to admit this is the first time I've heard your tongue. It was a surprise for me when my magic couldn't translate it. It means the spell had not heard it before either. So don't worry about owing us anything. If I take this back to the Guild of Mages and can add a new language to their lexicon, you will have more than paid us back. In fact, we might just owe you, to be fair." Apparently, it was her turn to be a bit awkward. It seemed she might have intended to keep quiet about the worth of Dietrich's linguistics.

Tal gave her a knowing look that maybe she should keep quiet, but Dietrich waved it off. He felt relieved just to be of some use. "You owe me nothing, Mîn frouwe. Had it not been for Tal and yourself, I would be griffon fodder. I will make my coin as I have always done, as an apprentice cutler, if I am able."

"Cutler? What is this? You mean you craft weapons?" Now it was Tal's turn to be interested.

"Ah, yes, though not quite at the level of my old instructor. I was just about to take the examination to become a master myself." Dietrich drew his dussack and handed it grip-first to Tal. It was tiny compared to the giant's own blade, and the grip barely fit in his palm.

"A curious blade, a bit dainty for my tastes. But I can tell this is fine steel, like the nobles carry! I confess, if I could hold a proper sword of such metal, I would be the envy of the Guild!" Tal held the weapon appraisingly as he tested the edge. His words seemed to be more than a polite gesture as he examined every aspect of the dussack.

"Eh, might I see your own blade, sir?" Dietrich asked cautiously.

Tal smirked at him. "Certainly, if you can lift it. Though it is nothing special. It's intended for orcs, so, uh. Well, you'll see." Tal took a moment to fetch his "sword," though Dietrich had trouble calling it such. When Tal stuck it into the earth, blade first, in front of Dietrich, the Freifechter could barely lift it. Inches thick, the pig iron showed the telltale marks of having been poured and cast.

The cutler nearly fell backward as he strained beneath its weight. "Christ above, this thing is easily forty Pfund!" Tal took the weapon, more bludgeon than blade, from Dietrich before he hurt himself.

As Dietrich recovered himself, shaken more by handling such a heresy of weapon craft than by its actual weight, he turned to his new green companion. "Mein Freund, I am fully confident that with proper tools at my disposal, I could craft you a weapon to your liking. You will never have to resort to such an abomination ever again."

Suddenly there was a fire in Tal's golden eyes. "What tools?"

"Dear, don't you think we are taking—" Agyn attempted to cut in.

Tal cut Agyn off with an outstretched palm. Men were talking, and about blades, no less. It was now Tal's turn to be in his own little world.

Dietrich laughed at the couple's duality. "I can make most of them myself, mein Freund. But we will need iron. Lots of iron. Clay. And your brawn." The tusked warrior snorted in satisfaction; none of this seemed a problem to him.

 

[Jonan Boske]

Morning came with the gentle buzzing of insects and the cawing of strange birds. Dietrich finally roused from his slumber. It would seem that dying was a rather exhausting endeavor. Crawling from the lone tent, he cast his gaze around camp. The couple must have risen early, and for the moment he found himself alone.

Dietrich pulled on his boots and strapped on the belt with his dussack. Looking about the forest in the morning light, he had to admit it held a certain charm, if one could get past its monstrous denizens. Dietrich did not have long to muse as the lumbering Tal strode back to camp. He appeared to have a few fish on some twine dangling from his grip.

"It would appear you have had some good fortune, mein Freund," Dietrich greeted the "orc," as Tal called himself, with a grin, gesturing at the warrior's catch.

Tal chuckled good-naturedly. "In more ways than one. I must thank you for your tale of, what was it, Melusine?" The orc raised a bushy eyebrow at Dietrich knowingly.

It took the cutler a moment to realize what Tal was getting at as he recalled the night's end. The pair had offered him their tent, though he had refused profusely. Agyn had looked not to Dietrich, but to her lover. "We don't mind, it's a fine night to be under the stars, isn't it?" In the end, they had taken a spare bedroll away from camp and left Dietrich to their only shelter.

Realization suddenly dawned on the good Christian as he blushed from ear to ear. "Ah, of course..." But Tal was already on to the task of setting up the fish over the fire. He cursed as he struggled with some flint to do what Agyn had done with a syllable.

"Where is the fair lady?" Dietrich wondered out loud as he watched the poor orc struggle.

"Ah, the 'fair lady' is putting herself together by the stream. You know how it is; can't look frumpy while wandering through a monster-infested forest."

Dietrich chuckled. "Some things are the same everywhere, I suppose. Speaking of which, where are we?" They had gotten onto the subject of swords last they spoke, and Dietrich had forgotten the most crucial matters at hand.

"You are now in the Chyrdilis, the great wood that spans the edge of the White Valley, or the Tetrikhevi as we call it, all the way to the Rkenys Qendi, the mountains we might have to visit if you want your iron. All of it is part of the Kingdom of Egrys."

Dietrich nodded, though it meant little to him, other than he knew for sure now that he was a very long way from home. "And what is this Egrys like, if I might ask?"

"Like everywhere, I suppose," Tal responded without looking up from his fish. "The nobles are in charge of everything, squeezing the low-people for all they're worth. Their influence stops at The Guild. They can't mess with us too much or they risk having to hunt for themselves."

"And what is this Guild you keep mentioning, if you don't mind me asking? Are they craftsmen?" Dietrich had to wonder at what trade Tal might be a part of.

"Oh, The Guild? That's just how we refer to the Guild of Adventurers. In truth, there are many Guilds, like Agyn's Guild of Mages, as well as the trades. But when you hear, 'The Guild,' they are talking about folk like me. The Guild gives work to the brave and desperate. If you can swing a sword, you can harvest cores. That's what brought me and Agyn out here. Whatever we harvest gets exchanged for coin."

"You mean that stone you pulled from the Griffon?" Dietrich's mind went back to the aftermath of Tal's battle with the monstrosity.

"That's right. Those are cores. Is it really your first time seeing one?" Tal gave Dietrich a quizzical glance while the Freifechter shrugged. "At any rate, cores are used in almost everything. But they're not all the same. The core of a griffon is valuable. That will go straight back to the capital, so it can be made into some blue-blooded snot's cuirass." It didn't seem that Tal agreed with the class distinction.

Given Dietrich's feud with the Marxbrüder, he could hardly disagree. It sounded like the very same monopolies that Joachim and Dietrich had opposed in Straßburg. He chuckled to himself. Even in death, he could not get away from the Fuggers.

Before Dietrich could pester the orc further, a fresh and lively Agyn bounded into camp. "Are the fish not ready yet, Tal?"

"Curses, woman. I lack your gift. Could you be a dear and get this started? It would seem I'm only good for catching them."

He let the mage take over as she ignited the firepit with a touch. Before long, the smell of roasting fish filled the camp. The trio were in fine spirits as they ate their breakfast off their skewers. Dietrich was content to let the pair banter between themselves. He let his thoughts drift to the things he would need to craft Tal his weapon, and maybe a piece for his lady. He noted she carried a dagger at her side. He must do something to repay their kindness toward him, though he would have to rely on them further just for the tools...

They packed up camp and left their clearing behind. Apparently, they were headed back to a settlement known as Davashavi, perched on the edge of the Chyrdilis. Tal led from here, humming as they made their way through the great wood. They finally came to a road, little more than a cart path through the forest, though by the overgrowth and occasional debris, it looked seldom traveled.

Tal grunted with disgust as he stepped over a fallen log. "Shameful," he huffed. "Behind us is the way to Rkintsikhe, a settlement on the Rkenys Qendi. It's a mining town, part of the lands given to the Duke of the Khevi. The folk there have been petitioning for the Duke to patrol the roads. They've been having trouble paying their tax as it's not safe to travel."

"Why would the Duke neglect such a matter? It's clearly in his interest to secure the income of such a holding." Dietrich could not understand neglecting such a vital resource. From everything he had learned so far, the ore they must gather was clearly a precious commodity.

Agyn chimed in, "The Duke is young, his father only having passed recently. Right now, his estate is being managed by his chancellor—"

"Who is a Sakar spy..." spat the orc.

"...That's what is rumored," Agyn continued. "The Qendi is a fairly recent acquisition for Egrys. It would seem the Ishkuzi intend to win back by subterfuge what they couldn't hold with arms. I doubt the petitions ever reached the Duke even as his people seethe under the burden of the tax."

"And yet the King does nothing? Surely, he must know if you do?" The whole situation befuddled the German craftsman.

Agyn sighed as Tal explained, "You would think, but no one has even seen His Majesty of late. Rumors abound around our good King Mdzinare, but there is little known. At least by us."

Before Dietrich could ask further, Tal held up a massive fist. Agyn immediately came to a stop, as did Dietrich, taking the cue. The pair scanned the trees along the road, looking to each other wordlessly. Agyn gestured as she had done the day before, the light shimmering by her hands.

"Tal, what is the matter?" whispered the Freifechter.

"Too quiet," the giant responded.

Agyn waved her hands forward as the shimmering rippled out into the woods, like a pebble breaking water. She had hardly done so when her face tensed.

"They are all around us!" She didn't bother to drop her voice as figures stepped out from behind the trees along the road.

Dietrich drew his dussack without thinking; there were at least a dozen surrounding them. They wore rough leathers and wielded crude metal weapons—short blades and falchions.

A trio at the front pointed short spears at Tal, clearly mindful of his cleaver as he hoisted his shield in front of him.

One of the spear-wielding bandits addressed the orc, "Drop your weapons an—"

The bandit nearly parted in two as Tal's response came crashing down in the form of forty pfund of pig-iron. Nearly the instant his blade struck, a searing stream of flame launched from Agyn, enveloping two unfortunate brigands on their flank. The highwaymen faltered as they watched a quarter of their men go down in an instant, two of them screaming in hellfire, but recovered as what appeared to be their leader charged at Tal.

The brute nearly matched him for size and wielded a shining steel longsword. As the man swiped at Tal, the blade bit into the orc's shield, shearing off a corner of it. The orc fell back, trying to fend off the swordsman without exposing his brittle cleaver to his opponent's weapon. The rest of the bandits tried to pincer Agyn, clearly seeing her as the greatest threat. As one rushed her, sprinting over his smoldering fallen comrades, Agyn flung him back with some unseen force, shattering him against a tree. It left her back exposed as a pair came in from the opposite side.

Dietrich rushed them in the boar stance, dussack at his side by his hip as he closed the distance. The first thug had just enough time to face him before Dietrich thrust toward his face, slicing his cheek before the man could push his blade away with his heavy falchion. Dietrich flicked his blade around with a thwart strike, dropping his foe with a blow to the side of his head.

Agyn, to her credit, was aware of her position. She spun on her heel to face the remaining bandit, dagger in hand as he rushed her. She stepped under his blow, striking with the dagger as his momentum carried him into the mage. The pair went down in a heap as Tal was being pushed back between the swordsman and the two remaining spearmen, who scored cowardly hits as the orc was occupied with the leader.

Three rushed from behind, peeling Dietrich's attention away from the faltering orc. He needed to end this quickly. He triangle-stepped around to the flank, facing one of the bandits on the end and forcing them into a line. As the closest thug advanced, Dietrich lunged quickly, thrusting with the short edge from a high arc. His foe, having seen him just kill a man, fell back, trying to push the thrust aside, only for Dietrich to spin the dussack in a circle, striking from the very same angle. The sword cracked the man's skull, and he fell like a sack of gravel.

Already forgetting his first victim, Dietrich whirled his dussack around from the overhead strike to a backhanded slash as he lunged over the fallen man into the second brigand's cut. He caught the extreme edge of his foe's blade on his knuckle-bow even as the sharp curve of his dussack found the man's throat.

The third man turned and ran before the second hit the ground. Dietrich didn't like having someone at his back if the brigand regrouped, but he couldn't afford to chase him. He turned to the fight just in time to see the swordsman's shining blade cleave through Tal's "sword," the hunk of iron exploding into shards where their weapons collided.

The brigand charged Tal, seizing the opportunity with an overhead cut. The orc couldn't fall back, so he charged forward, terminating the blow early with his shield but taking jabs from the spearmen in the process. As one of the spearmen went for the orc's throat, a gust of flame engulfed him. He dropped his spear as he ran screaming into the woods. Agyn, still trapped under the brigand she had slain with her dagger, held her hand out a second time, nearly blind from a cut in her scalp that dyed her face crimson. The air shimmered for a moment, and then nothing. Whatever fueled her eldritch power had been spent.

The remaining spearman turned to face Dietrich, checking his approach with a thrust to the face. As the spear came hurtling toward him, Dietrich noticed something. Wasn't it moving awfully slowly? As he watched the tip slide past him, he had to wonder. He had barely kept up with his new friends as they had trekked all day through the woods. Now, after fighting a pitched battle with a dozen marauders, he felt better than he had all morning.

The Freifechter grabbed the haft of the bandit's weapon, pulling it back as he squatted low, giving his dussack full reach as he swiped at his opponent's legs. He scored a hit across the spearman's thigh. As the leg buckled, Dietrich lunged, dispatching him with a follow-up strike across his throat before letting the spear drop.

Tal was trying to stay close to the brigand with the long blade, jamming his strikes with his shield. The swordsman finally had enough, striking Tal with the pommel and pushing him back. He followed up with a powerful overhead slash, hewing the orc's shield in half and knocking him to the ground. Before he could advance on the fallen orc, he was forced to defend himself from a flurry of blows from Dietrich's dussack. Their clashing blades sent sparks flying as the Freifechter pushed him back on his heels.

The bandit's blade was heavy, and so were his strikes, but Dietrich never seemed to be there when his blows fell. The Freifechter would step to the side, check the incoming blade so lightly the brigand could hardly know it happened, before returning a stinging slash. The brigand leader was increasingly frantic; he couldn't strike the Freifechter, he didn't know how.

"You flouncing jester! One strike, it's all I need!" The brigand screamed at the man under the wide-brimmed hat.

As he brought down his sword in another desperate overhand strike, Dietrich stepped into it, bringing his back foot forward as he supported his dussack with the off-hand, holding his blade over him like a crescent moon. He let the heavy steel of his foe slide off his blade before wheeling it around for a strike. He could have ended it there, but struck his foe on the wrists as opposed to his neck. The dussack bit deep.

The heavy steel sword slid from the man's grasp as he stumbled back from Dietrich. "No, no! Stay back!"

Dietrich waltzed up to the fallen blade. It was heavy in his hand as he picked it up from the dirt. "Mein Freund, you dropped this!" He advanced on the cutthroat, holding the sword out to him by the blade. "Go ahead, take it," the sword master insisted.

The brigand dropped to his knees, dangling his hands in front of him uselessly. Dietrich tossed the long blade in front of him.

"Pick it up," said the sword master.

"No, no, please."

"Coward," spat the Freifechter.

"I'm sorry, please." The bandit began to sob.

"Jackal."

"Don't, I beg you."

"HUNDSFOTT!" Dietrich brought the pommel of his dussack down on the brigand's skull, striking him to the ground. He stood over his fallen foe long enough to see his chest rise. He was curious as to why this band was waiting in the brush, whether it was random banditry or something more sinister. He turned on his foot and sprinted back to his friends.

As he turned back, he found Agyn fussing over a grinning Tal. She was trying to force-feed him the contents of a red vial while he chuckled like a madman, heedless of the numerous wounds he'd endured on his arms and legs.

"Look at you, warrior! And here you had me convinced you were next to useless!" The fire in the orc's eyes bordered on feverish, which they might actually be, seeing the dark blood that ran from him in rivulets.

"Could you help me, Dietrich? He needs to drink this." Agyn's usually pristine face was slick with blood that soaked the fresh bandage she had wrapped around the crown of her head.

Dietrich was about to question what substance he would be forcing on his friend, but one look at Agyn's puffy face, the tears that had cut their way through the crimson mask, and he thought better of it. No one cared more for Tal than Agyn.

The Freifechter knelt beside the fallen orc, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Du bist ein wahrer Ritter, mein Freund. Now drink this, or your lady will worry."

Seeing how it was now two against one, the orc relented and let Agyn pour the contents into his tusked mouth. He smacked his lips like a cat tasting something foul. "Gah, you never get used to it, do you?"

For a moment, Dietrich didn't notice any change in his friend. Then, suddenly, the flow of blood lessened, then stopped completely. Tal looked exhausted. "Did you kill him?"

"The brigand with the sword still breathes."

"Ah, well. He might be worth something either way, if we drag his hide into town. With a blade like that, he must have been a high-ranking adventurer."

Agyn's eyes flashed with anger as she looked at the crumpled form of the bandit leader. It was clear how she thought they should handle things. "For all we know, he answers to the Sakar. Turn him in, and he'll be back on the street by the morrow."

"Maybe, but that's information too. We can hand him over to the Guild. Fuck the Guard. I don't think that brigand is going to fancy another go at Dietrich here anytime soon, whatever happens." The orc laughed as his eyelids grew heavier.

"I just have one question, Dietrich," Tal said as his eyes closed.

"And what is that, mein Freund?"

"What... does Hundsfott mean...?"

"Really, Dietrich, such language." The wounded Agyn afforded herself a sidelong look at the Freifechter.

Dietrich doffed his hat as his cheeks colored. "Mist! My apologies, Mîn frouwe! Curse my tongue!"

Agyn laughed in earnest at Dietrich's embarrassment as she cradled the sleeping orc in her lap.

 

[Jonan Boske]

"Meine Freundin, please, be at ease." Dietrich had for some time been trying to get Agyn to be still. She had been fussing all evening over Tal, bandaging his many wounds as he slumbered in their tent. Other than washing her face, she had taken no time to see to her own injury, the bandage around her head red and crusted.

Dietrich had already gotten a fire going, though with great difficulty. Now he understood Tal's troubles with his flint and steel, if you could call it steel. The "steel" looked like casehardened iron, its pitted striking edge worn and soft, barely able to throw a spark. In the end he had managed it, but now he must convince a frantic Agyn to let him see her wound before the Starrkrampf set in.

"Herzliebe Schwester! Please, rest awhile. You have done all you can for unseren Ritter. Let me see under your bandage, meine Freundin, or it will fester!" Agyn dropped her shoulders, still not taking her eyes off the sleeping giant. She relented in the end, letting Dietrich direct her softly to a stump by the fire.

Peeling back the bandage, Dietrich sighed with relief. She had taken a good blow, though the wound was comparatively small in spite of how it bled. "Do you have any spirits on hand? We will need to clean it."

Agyn rummaged in the satchel at her side. She handed him a vial of red liquid identical to what she had used on Tal. "Don't use it all; it's expensive. You just need a bit on a clean cloth. Here it is." She handed him a fresh bandage from her kit before staring off into the fire.

Dietrich did as instructed, tipping the vial against the fresh linen. "All right, it's bound to sting, Mîn frouwe." Agyn simply shrugged, fixated on the embers. This wasn't her first time. As he applied the cloth to her wound, the substance boiled and foamed on contact with the ruptured flesh. Miraculously, the wound began to close into an angry red line, while Agyn didn't so much as flinch. Dietrich tried to bind it with a fresh bandage, but Agyn refused.

"This much is fine. I'll be all right, Dietrich." As she took the vial back from him, she looked him in the eye for the first time in a while. "Thank you, Dietrich. For everything."

"What do you mean, Mîn frouwe? I have done no great thing."

"Please," she laughed, brushing off his self-deprecation. "If it hadn't been for you..." She turned back to the fire. It would seem this last battle had rattled her some. Dietrich was about to respond when a thin voice drifted over the crackling of the fire.

"Oi, please... Someone..."

Agyn went rigid at the sound of their whimpering captive. He had been trussed to a tree and left to dangle there before they made camp. Dietrich had bandaged the man's wrists to keep him alive, but no more. Now his whining spoiled the otherwise calm night.

Agyn slammed the cloth and vial back into Dietrich's hands. "Here, use this on him, just as you did for me. No need to be gentle." She didn't so much as look in the brigand's direction.

"Are you sure, Agyn?" Dietrich took the kit from her, slightly flustered.

"Yes. Please. It should shut him up, considering what you did to him. And if I hear his voice much more—" The good lady suddenly held a flame in her upturned hand.

"Ah, yes, I'll see to him, then." Dietrich backed away slowly from the irritable mage as the firelight reflected in her eyes.

Making his way to the wounded swordsman, he inspected the deep wounds under his bandages. As he did, the brigand eyed him apprehensively, apparently too afraid to speak lest he invite further abuse. Dietrich had struck him well. Before seeing what the substance in his hand could do, he would have thought this thug would never hold a blade again.

Wetting the bandage anew, he applied it to the man's wounds as before, watching the same foaming reaction as the lacerations knitted themselves shut. It was apparent that some damage remained; it would likely leave a vicious set of scars. The brigand remained speechless, though he seemed otherwise relieved to have been tended to.

"You should thank our merciful lady, dog. I, for one, would have left you a cripple." Dietrich eyed the thug, who nodded graciously.

"Yes, thank you. Thank the lady..." But the man's eyes began to droop as he sagged against his restraints. It was the same reaction Tal had had. Dietrich had thought it was due to his wounds, but it would seem the tonic was to blame. As he turned back to Agyn, he caught her in a wide yawn as she stretched out her tired limbs.

"I'm sorry, Dietrich, but could I ask you to stand watch?" She looked at him pleadingly as the weight of their day and the effects of the tonic took their toll on her.

"Of course, Lady Agyn. Get some rest. I can look after things here." She was already on her way to the tent, dragging her slight frame along as if it were made of lead.

Dietrich took his seat on the stump before reaching for where he had leaned the bandit's weapon. The sword gleamed in the firelight like glass, its mirror-like surface reflecting Dietrich's tired face. He inspected the blade. It was about the length of a longsword, though almost comically dense. The cutler reckoned he could have made two longswords, with material to spare, from what had likely gone into this monster. The ricasso was thick to the point of being square. The blade was wide, more like the swords of past centuries if you thought of it in terms of German craftsmanship. The spine of the blade was dense, with no fullering. It lacked the Schilt of modern German blades. Otherwise it was a longsword; the hilt, pommel, and quillons were about what you would expect, though simple.

The main difference was the stiffness. There was no flex at all. No doubt this was why the blade was so dense. Whoever crafted it clearly intended it to smash everything it came against, and if it failed to do so... well, it would likely shatter itself. That was unlikely, though. The steel was impressively tough, and when he tapped it against a log, it bit into the wood with the faintest bit of pressure. It was entirely unsuited for German fencing...

As Dietrich drew his dussack to compare, he winced at the few notches now scored in it, fresh from his duel with the bandit. They had been honorably attained, but he had no way to grind them out. He would have to be careful if he ever came against such steel again.

He sheathed his blade before reseating himself, turning his back to the fire. It wouldn't do to blind himself if he was being trusted with the watch. There was at least one vagabond still at large who might think to free his leader.

Dietrich looked up through trees that seemed to dance in the campfire's flickering light. The sky above was laced with unfamiliar stars, while forest owls and other creatures hooted and howled to each other. It was bound to be a long night. In his head, he began counting out the list of things he would need for Tal's new blade.

---

Morning was just on the rise, a subtle brightening of the dark as the tits and crossbills joined the chorus of early risers. The thrushes had helped Dietrich stay awake through the long hour before dawn, until the forest came alive with the staccato of woodpeckers hammering away at the trees and the sharp caws of forest jays.

Dietrich was fighting off sleep, his chin dropping to his collar, when a light touch registered on his shoulder. It was Agyn, looking much better than she had the previous night. The wound on her head had already lost its angry red puffiness, the line nearly invisible as she smiled at him.

"Morning, warrior. Why don't you get some sleep while I set up breakfast? Tal still sleeps. It will be a while before we can get on the road."

The Freifechter nodded graciously as he stiffly got up from his stump. It would seem Agyn had already prepared a bedroll for him. He must have nodded off while she set it up. He limped his way toward it as he felt his blood find its way back to his legs. Before long, he knew nothing at all, until someone finally jostled him.

The morning had long passed, and Dietrich held a hand up against the bright noonday sun that shone down through the trees. A massive green hulk stood over him, silhouetted by the glare. "You gonna sleep there all day, 'mein Freund'? Or can we finally get back on the road?" the orc chastised him ironically through his toothy grin.

Tal helped him to his feet. "There's some smoked fish by the fire for you. Get some grub. I can pack the rest."

Tal moved stiffly as he bent down to roll up the bedrolls. Dietrich opened his mouth to argue with him but thought better of it. The warrior was not one to be coddled, at least not by him. Dietrich wandered to the firepit, where Agyn handed him a skin of water and some grilled fish on some leaves.

Taking a seat, he wordlessly nodded his thanks and bit into the hot fish. It was lightly seasoned and delicious, and he wolfed it down. He hadn't realized how spent he'd been from the previous day's skirmish. He glanced at their captive, still bound to the tree. The thug avoided his eyes, staring off into the wood, his last bit of hope apparently gone.

With his meal concluded, the band set off at last, winding their way back to the road. Tal took up the rear, wearing the bandit's longsword at his side. He seemed to be in an excellent mood as he gripped the hilt of his new weapon. Agyn once again took the lead so she could chant whatever spell she used to scout the way ahead. Dietrich was in charge of their new friend, bound with his arms behind his back. The Freifechter would encourage him along with the point of his dussack if need be as they made their way toward Davashavi.

The pines of the forest soon gave way to alders and willows, the wood thinning as they made their way downhill toward the valley floor. He could just make out tracts of farmland beyond the forest, cut through by a narrow river. Trails of smoke rose slowly in the distance as Dietrich began to make out the settlement's squat palisade walls. He could hear the rhythmic pounding of metal coming from inside the palisade. His eyes brightened. So they have a trip hammer, he thought to himself.

A while later, they approached the gate to the village. A bored-looking guard in a blue tabard emblazoned with a winged hound stood by a rough portcullis of heavy timbers and a raised iron grid. Dietrich noted the metalwork. It appeared relatively new.

The man snapped to attention as he fixed his eyes on the trio and their bound prisoner.

"Tal! What is the meaning of this?" The man appraised the troop through his iron sallet, his hand tight on his spear.

"Brigands on the road. We left close to a dozen of them dead, about a half-day's trek toward Rkintsikhe," the orc said nonchalantly.

"Mzeva's tits! A dozen? And you left them there?"

"We had to, sir. Truth be told, we barely made it out with our lives. Can we entrust the guard to make an investigation?" Agyn chimed in. There was the hint of an accusation as she raised her eyebrow at the man under the sallet.

"Eh—of course. We'll have to arrange a patrol before their carcasses start to stink. I'll let the captain know. Can't have them attracting griffons to the road. But before that, who is this?" The man indicated Dietrich with his gloved hand.

Tal and Agyn looked at each other before turning to regard their new friend. Before they could speak, the Freifechter stepped forward, doffing his hat and giving the guard a courtly bow.

"Mein Name ist Dietrich, sir. Apprentice cutler and fencer under my master Meyer. I was traveling through your lands when I chanced upon a griffon." Dietrich smiled widely. "Had it not been for Lady Agyn and Ritter Tal, I would have been meat for the forest. They have been so gracious as to lead me back to ein Land der Höflichkeit."

The guard blinked through his helmet at the stranger. "What? Tal, do you vouch for this madman?"

The orc laughed from his belly, slapping Dietrich on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah, he talks funny, but you should see him with a blade. He took out half the brigands on his own, including this sad sack." The bandit swordsman flinched as Tal jerked his thumb his way. "Truth be told, we'd probably not be standing here if it weren't for him." The orc sniffed dismissively at his own claim, uncomfortable saying it out loud.

The guard looked from the towering orc to the oddly dressed "madman" and finally to the skulking brigand. Agyn gave him a silent, exasperated nod.

"Fine, then, he can come in. But if he causes trouble, it's on you, Tal. The Guild will hear of it." The guard stepped back and let the group pass, never taking his eyes off Dietrich as he went by.

"You have nothing to worry about, Byku." The sturdy orc spoke low as he shouldered his way past the guard.

As they made their way into the settlement, Dietrich could finally get a closer look at the local construction. It honestly appeared rather familiar to the Freifechter, with timber and daub structures built skillfully around the village square. They were joined with familiar mortise and tenon, their steep thatched roofs sloped to shed the heavy winter snows. Dietrich wondered at the plaster finish of the homes, done in vibrant blues and greens. Tal had made the place sound like some poor hamlet, but every home was finished like a lord's.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Agyn had noticed his gaze. "The pigments come from ground monster shell. Normally you would only see work like this in the capital. But the forest provides."

Before Dietrich could respond, something else grabbed his attention: the steady scream of a grindstone kissing metal.

"Is that a forge I hear?" The Freifechter turned to the sound emanating from across the enclosure.

"That's bound to be old Kova. Probably polishing some blades for the Guild. We can visit later. For now, we need to see about our 'friend' here and make a report on the road. I trust the guard here about as much as a blind mouser."

Tal led the trio to what was apparently their Guildhall. The building wasn't hard to pick out. Sitting between two taverns, it was entirely of timber and shingle construction. The utilitarian shack lacked any of the vibrant plaster of its neighbors, and while the timber looked sappy and fresh, Dietrich noted that it was already showing signs of heavy use. The threshold was worn smooth, the doorframe scarred and gouged by the careless passage of scabbards and heavy weapons.

As they made their way inside, Dietrich noticed the guild sign, protruding from the building like a nose on a face. At first the Freifechter thought he had caught a glimpse of the holy cross on the Zunftschild's heraldry, but on closer inspection, he saw it was a longsword painted on the carved wood, driven into the earth and standing upright. A large beast's skull was depicted impaled on it, with gems studded in the sockets. Charming, he thought to himself dryly.

Inside, it looked more like a magistrate's office than a gathering place for mercenaries. The room had just enough space for some squat tables and chairs and a front counter. The wall by the door was mounted with a peg rack, presumably for holding weapons. In the center of the room stood a large log pillar that bore the weight of the shack's roof, and in front of it was a weighted barrel stand that even now held a few polearms. The place was lit by heavy iron lamps on pulley chains so their height could be adjusted. The heavy scent of the mugwort and dried pine hanging from the rafters almost masked the scent of death that lingered in the close space. Dietrich could make out the tang of blood and offal that clung tenaciously to the air.

A tired clerk stood behind the counter, poring over some parchment that he would occasionally mark with an incongruously lavish brass stylus. He wore a pair of riveted spectacles on his aquiline nose and didn't so much as look up as the party entered his domain.

"Please use the wash basin before you approach the counter. I'll be with you in but a moment." He spoke with a refined cadence, his timbre lower than his slight frame would suggest. He gestured absentmindedly to the basin that stood by the counter, a stained cloth hanging from a peg on its side. The basin's contents were streaked with faint pink lines, the wood flecked brownish red with residue. Dietrich eyed it dubiously, a stark reminder of Tal and Agyn's bloody trade.

"Come now, Zura. Is that any way to greet tired travelers? We even brought you a gift!" Tal's booming voice sounded even louder in the small space as he shoved their captive forward. The brigand stumbled into the counter and nearly lost his feet.

"Tal! I see you are well. And how are you, Agyn? You have someone new with you, I see." The man looked up, startled at the sound of Tal's voice, looking from the pair to Dietrich as his mind caught up with their intrusion. He eyed the Freifechter appraisingly. For the moment, he seemed to disregard their captive entirely. Apparently, bounty hunting was hardly uncommon here.

"We picked up a new member on the road. He's skilled, Zura. Though..." Tal leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. "Look, he's not from around here. He's having trouble remembering where he's from; blow to the head, see. Me and Agyn are looking after him while he sorts things out. You mind getting him a pass so the guards don't hassle us?" Tal slid a few heavy silver coins across the counter toward Zura, but the clerk pushed them back.

"Such... fees won't be necessary. If you like, I can establish the proper credentials. The Guild looks after its own, yes? But for you two to take on another member, he must be quite skilled." The clerk looked Dietrich up and down a second time. The Freifechter was beginning to feel rather awkward, like a gelding being looked in the teeth before purchase.

"And where did you say he was from again?" Zura asked Tal. Dietrich got the feeling it was best to let the orc answer for him.

"How about Tsivtsqali?" the orc pondered out loud.

"Hmmmm..." The clerk waved his hand as if uncertain. "A bit close, do you think? How about Zemo?"

"Works for me."

"Right. And what was the gentleman's name?" the clerk asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mein Name ist Dietrich, sir," replied Dietrich, stepping up to the counter. "Freifechter and cutler, I—"

"Dee-trick, right," the clerk cut him off, presumably scribbling the name down for reference. "From Zemo. I'll have the pass ready before the morrow. The less I know, the better. But you had best get him some local garb... He looks nothing like a man from the Qendi."

"We shall. Thanks again, Zura," Agyn chimed in.

"None necessary. You are two of our most outstanding members. To be frank, you could rely on us more from time to time. Now, what about our other guest? You didn't need to bring all of him; his head would have sufficed." The clerk's stern gaze shifted to the brigand, who nearly hit his knees as the color drained from him.

"Seriously, Tal. You have an annoying habit of bringing in live vermin. I pray your forbearance doesn't come back to bite you someday."

"Ah, well," the orc chuckled nervously. "He's Dietrich's claim in the end. It was he who bested him. By the by, the man carried this." Tal placed the long blade on the counter gently.

"Well, well. That's a fine piece." Zura appraised the glass-like steel before turning away from the group to peruse the flyers posted on the wall behind him. A few of them had impressive portraits scratched on them, with large official script underneath.

"None of these seem to match your man. Let me check in back. We received some new missives just today from the capital."

A moment later, Zura returned with some new flyers. He pulled one up in particular, holding it up so he could compare the likeness with the groveling brigand.

"Vakho, the Wolf. Seems a remarkable likeness. Wanted in the capital for theft and murder, among other things. Says here he carries a noble's blade. The reward for the sword is more than that for the man."

Vakho tensed at the sound of his name. "It's not me, I swear! You've got the wrong—"

A spark of lightning arced from Zura's fingertips, striking the Wolf. The man fell to the stained wooden floor, twitching in an electrically induced seizure.

"See what I have to put up with now? Tal, I'm doing this for you lot. I'm a clerk, not a jailer."

More like a Nachrichter, Dietrich mused. This was the second time he had witnessed a power like Agyn's. He shuddered. How many passersby could casually shock a man to his knees in this place?

"So what now?" Tal asked.

"My advice? Keep the blade. The materials alone are worth more than the bounty. Your man here is worth fifty silver. Everything he carried is yours by right. If they want the sword back, or its value, they can take it out of his hide. I'll have Malk and Tornike escort him to the capital. They were headed that way already, and the Crown will reimburse them for transporting a fugitive. Is that all for today?"

Agyn stepped up to the counter, giving the clerk a winning smile. "Thank you, Zura. For everything."

"The Guild looks after its own, my dear. I'll have the pass ready this evening, along with the coin. Why don't you stop back by after you get yourselves a warm ale?"

"The Brazen Boar it is!" Tal announced to the group as the clerk turned back to his parchment.

Agyn didn't argue. "Yes, the Boar. I could use a warm cider."

"Cider, you say?" Dietrich perked up.

---

The Boar, as the locals called it, was one of the two taverns next to the Guild Office. It sat across from its rival, The Blind Bear. The Bear's sign took the form of an ill-stuffed, moth-eaten bear's head with wooden plugs for eyes. Dietrich cringed at the shoddy piece in passing. Apparently, if you asked the Bear's proprietor, they had a healthy rivalry going with their neighbor, The Boar. The foot traffic said otherwise, as patrons made their way to and from the Boar's warm light at the onset of evening and completely ignored The Bear. If you asked The Boar's proprietor about the Bear, they thought you meant an actual bear, not a tavern, because the establishment across the way simply did not exist. At least, not as a rival.

The Brazen Boar was a lovely building that radiated care and attention. Immediately upon approach, Dietrich noted the warm light that poured from the interior through expensive glass windows built into the two-story construction. The establishment was surrounded by well-kept potted plants hosting a dizzying array of flowers that Dietrich could not identify, as well as trellis gardens that supported vines and climbing flowers that crawled up the corners of the building. The lower floor was stone, though it was smaller than the upper floor, which was built from wattle and daub. Stone arches supported the upper floor where it overhung the first, forming a kind of colonnade that made for covered outdoor seating. A number of patrons were merrily enjoying the mild evening, drinking from tankards while their tables were illuminated by rushlights that burned with strangely colored flame.

As they made their way to the entrance, Dietrich noted the tavern's Nasenschild. On it, a sleeping boar was comically portrayed after eating what appeared to be fermented apples. The tusks of the boar were actual boar ivory, mounted into the sign in a way that made them pop out at the viewer. It made Dietrich smile as he passed under it into the warm glow of the tavern.

The interior was just as impressive as the exterior. In the center of the establishment was a full kitchen, separated from the patrons by nothing but the trusses from which the kitchen utensils and herbs hung. It had cutting boards, cupboards, and two separate open hearths worked by the staff. On one end of the kitchen was an oversized fireplace with a massive chimney that rose all the way up and out through the soaring, vaulted ceiling. The fireplace was open toward the kitchen, where the cook could use its flame for roasting, and open on the opposite side to the patrons, who basked in the warm glow while they watched the staff work.

Mounted prominently on the chimney was a boar spear, its haft dark with age, but its blade still polished bright.

The upper floor was all timber, with heavy wooden trusses overhead. It made for an impressive dining space and mezzanine. Adventurers leaned on the railing, calling out to friends and rivals on the lower floor while they waited for food and drinks. It was warm, cozy, and boisterous.

As soon as the trio entered the tavern, they were greeted by the proprietress. The plump woman was wrestling with a chimney crane as she strained to get a steaming cauldron of stew off one of the hearths, beads of sweat gluing her hair to her face. Sensing newcomers, she turned to the door, hands never leaving the crane.

"Agyn! Tal! You brought a friend? Find a seat anywhere."

Tal led them to the upper mezzanine, as packed as the first floor. They found a free alcove tucked away in a corner.

Dietrich took a seat where he could watch the bustle around the tavern. He saw a number of folk who rivaled Tal when it came to strangeness. Pointed ears, furry ears, a tail or two; frames that went from short to enormous. If this had been the tale of Melusine, then it was Raymondin who was the odd one. He doffed his tellerbarrett and coif.

It would seem the local color found him as interesting as he found them. He felt eyes on him and turned to see a lady observing him from a few tables over while she drank with her friends. She wore a simple linen dress that complemented her figure, but when their eyes met, he was visibly startled. Her eyes were elliptical and gold-green, like a cat's. Just as he recovered, he noticed the velvet triangles that protruded from her voluminous dark hair. They twitched inquisitively as she laughed at how flustered he was.

"Agyn, who is your friend?" the golden-eyed lady called out.

"Oh boy." Tal ducked into his here we go again expression.

Agyn sighed audibly. "I'll go talk to her. She won't stop 'til I do."

"Probably better that way. Just keep in mind whatever you tell her is the same as telling the whole tavern." Tal chuckled. "At least this will keep us from having to have the same conversation again and again."

Agyn put on a friendly smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she made her way to the cat lady's table.

"And who is that, just now?" Dietrich looked anxiously to Tal. The way the woman looked at him reminded him of the griffon encounter.

"Ah, that's Tyka. Don't mind her; she's the town gossip and provocateur. Her and Agyn go way back."

"They are friends?" The Lady Agyn's demeanor did not suggest this. "Your lady looked like she was about to be the first on the ladder."

"The first... what?" Tal was visibly confused.

"The first to take the walls, storm the castle—" Dietrich clarified.

Tal slapped the table as laughter pealed from him, loud enough to shake the windows. "That sounds about right. Well, if you asked either of them, they would say they are friends. What that actually means, I suppose only they know."

Just then, one of the barmaids approached. She resembled the woman at the hearth, only younger by half, and showed the same diligent demeanor.

"What will you have, good sirs? Will Agyn be having her usual?"

"Right, three ciders and stew for the lady. What do you have turnin'?" Tal declared for the table.

"Hunters brought in a boar yesterday. Been braised in cider 'til now. Should warn the lady, it's in the stew."

"Agyn doesn't like boar?" Dietrich inquired.

"She prefers no meat at all, but she isn't too picky about boar. Mostly she avoids sweet things; you know, hares, lamb, veal. That sort of thing."

"Does she want it or no?" the little barmaid asked, growing impatient.

"Yeah, she'll be fine. Three ciders, the stew, and boar on some trenchers, if you don't mind."

The maid nodded courteously and hurried back to the stairs.

"Braised in cider. Oh, I've waited for this." Tal's eyes had a fire in them again.

Tal turned toward his lover and watched as she pantomimed animatedly to the cat-eyed lady and her company.

"Looks like they are talking about you." Tal grinned, all teeth and tusks.

"How can you tell?" the Freifechter asked, turning to the other table.

Agyn held her hands over her head, miming a war cry as she did a rather impressive rendition of the thwart strike. All eyes at her table shifted toward the fencer, and he snapped back to Tal.

"Oh," he managed.

"I can't say I wasn't impressed myself. I've never seen a man fight like that. Not even the blue-bloods, with all their supposed tradition." The orc leaned in.

"It was nothing. You will see. I'll show you." Dietrich blushed, refusing to look at the other table again.

Agyn returned a few moments later, sliding onto the wooden bench beside Tal with a weary sigh. She rubbed her temples as the orc put his massive arm around her.

"Well?" Tal asked, his grin widening in his amusement.

"You, Master Dietrich," Agyn said, pointing a slender finger at the Freifechter, "are now a disenfranchised noble from the distant and deeply mysterious land of Zemo. You are traveling in secret to hide from assassins."

Dietrich stared at the mage, jaw open.

"Look, it keeps anyone from asking any real questions. You never did say where you were actually from, Dietrich. What am I supposed to tell them?" Agyn eyed the man dubiously.

"At the risk of prying, I must confess, I am curious how you ended up in the Chyrdilis." The orc was unusually serious.

"Ah, well, you see..." But Dietrich was cut off by the return of the little barmaid, balancing a comically overburdened wooden tray that should have toppled her. She set down three steaming mugs of spiced cider, followed by their respective meals and a basket of warm barley bread with butter, before continuing her rounds with the remaining dishes.

For the moment, Dietrich was spared from giving an explanation as the party dug into their feast.

The meal was exquisite: thick slabs of fatty braised boar topped with grilled onions and juniper. Though Tal had called it a trencher, it had come on a plate.

"Oh, sweet Mzeva," Tal groaned happily, tearing off a chunk of bread and using it to soak up some of the gravy.

Dietrich crossed himself before following his lead. The bread was warm, not crusty, fresh from whatever oven it had come from.

"Wunderbar! This is just baked," the Freifechter exclaimed.

"The Boar has an arrangement with the bakers. They turn out loaves night and day here. The adventurers pay good coin for it. The valley produces some of the best barley in the kingdom, so it's a point of pride for the locals," Agyn explained.

Next up was the boar. Dietrich pulled his utensils from his belt pouch, unrolling the leather to reveal his eating knife and spoon. He sliced off a delicate piece of the juicy meat before spearing it and putting it in his mouth. The cider braise had eradicated any gaminess from the boar, leaving only a sweet and savory richness in a morsel so tender it nearly fell off his knife. He washed it down with some cider. It was still steaming hot, with spices that reminded him of cinnamon and clove. A piece of fruit he could not identify floated in his mug, adding a sweet, citrusy note. Soon he felt the cider's effect as the soreness from their adventure melted away.

For a while, the trio put away any thoughts of out-of-place swordsmen, trail bandits, and gossipy cat-women as they enjoyed their meal. Occasionally the barmaid would make her way back to their table with fresh mugs. Much too soon, the plates and bowl were empty, the basket holding nothing but crumbs. Dietrich leaned back in his seat, full and satisfied.

"Meine Freunde, you are going to need a wheelbarrow to get me out of here." The heavy meal was already inducing sleep, and Dietrich felt his chin fall involuntarily to his doublet.

"Not so fast, Dietrich." The orc was smiling, but his eyes were piercing. "You still haven't told us where you are from."

"Ah, right," said the fencer, studying the bottom of his empty mug. He tottered in his chair as he tried to explain. "It is not that I intend to deceive you. I simply do not understand the matter myself. Have you heard of the Holy Roman Empire? Teutschland? Straßburg? The gracious Emperor Maximilian the Second, God grant him life?"

The pair shook their heads as they tried to think of any such places.

"I thought not. If I told you the full account, you would take me for a liar for sure." Dietrich looked up into the high rafters of The Boar as he tried to find a way to explain.

"I died," he said flatly. "Shot... Then I woke up here."

"Shot? With an arrow?" Agyn looked at Dietrich, horrified. Tal looked like stone, his expression nigh unreadable.

"Heh, I would have respected it more if he had. It would have at least taken some skill." The fencer's jaw tightened, the rage suddenly naked on his face, and he brought his fist down on the table, causing the stoneware to jump. "No, the Hosenscheißer used a Faustrohr, a puffer. The work of an assassin."

"What is a Faust-or what?" Tal looked confused.

"A coward's weapon. A work of the infernal one. It uses a metal pipe and powder to throw a ball of lead. No armor can defend against it. A man can train in the martial disciplines his whole life and be cut down by a dirt-covered peasant who has held the thing for half an hour."

Agyn let herself chuckle in spite of the gravity of the conversation. "Careful, Dietrich. You're starting to sound like a noble."

Tal's demeanor relaxed a bit. Whether the fencer was telling the truth or just plain mad, it was clear that Dietrich at least believed what he said.

"And then you were in the Chyrdilis? Just like that?"

"It would seem so, Ritter Tal." Dietrich regretted bringing up the Landsknecht pistoleer. It left a sour note on an otherwise lovely evening.

The barmaid came back one final time. "Will that be all, folks?" the little maid inquired. The Boar had been steadily thinning out as the hearths were allowed to die down.

"Yes, thank you, Ninka. I believe we're done here," Agyn said for the party.

"Everyfing comes to nine vertsi." Dietrich had no idea what that amounted to, but it sounded steep.

Tal began rummaging through the satchel on his belt. Something dawned on him, and he went from his satchel to the travel pack he had placed under the table. Pulling out the now-gleaming stone he had carved out of the griffon, he let it fall heavily to the table with a thud.

"We forgot to turn in the core..." The orc stared at the stone, shamefaced, as Agyn thumped her forehead. They had forgotten about it in all their dealings at the Guild Office.

"I'd gladly take that if you like, though good luck with change," laughed the maid.

"The Guildhall is closed by now. I'm sorry, Ninka. Can we settle in the morning?" Agyn looked to the girl pleadingly.

"It's fine. I'll put it on Tal's tally. Come by once you turn in your rock." Ninka didn't seem very troubled. "Now get out of here. It's time for honest folk to sleep."

 

[Jonan Boske]

It was well into daylight when Dietrich finally awoke to the sound of the trip hammer ringing dully from across the palisade. Rubbing his eyes, he turned in the sturdy cot he had claimed the night before. The cot was one in a row of others like it, mostly empty, as the other adventurers who shared the barracks were already off to breakfast or on their way to the wood for a hunt. Dietrich sat up groggily in his linen Hemd. The effects of the cider were clearly magic as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his limbs. All the pent-up tension of the trip to Schwerin and his subsequent battles in the Lewitz and in the wild woods of the Chyrdilis had left him. He felt like a new man.

He hadn't been able to get a good look at his new surroundings in the dark of night. Light now flooded the space, let in through the dormer shutters built between the rafters of the high shed ceiling. He watched as a guildee swept old strewing out the rough postern door, cut out for utility and late-night trips to the latrine. The whole building seemed to be constructed of timber and, like the Guildhall, showed signs of being new and heavily used.

Dietrich set about putting on his attire, which he had left draped over the end of his cot the night before. He had been too tired to spot the communal dresser opposite his cot in the dark. Having donned his trousers and doublet and shod his feet, he reached for his dussack before remembering he had turned it in at the counter to gain entry into the guild compound. He left the barracks through the door to the main hall that made up the majority of the lodge.

Agyn and Tal were already waiting for him, bantering at a table overlooked by the stuffed remains of a massive griffon, a beast that must have been nearly twice the size of the one Tal had felled in the Chyrdilis. It was posed rearing up on its hind talons, beak agape in the heat of battle, its glass-cut eyes staring sightlessly up into the timber rafters that supported the vaulted roof. The griffon divided the long hall, while two enormous hearths stood at the center of either end of the building. They were open on two sides, with tables and chairs stationed around them and cords of firewood piled up next to each. The walls of the hall and the chimneys were lined with trophies from hunts, as well as painted renditions of glorious battles with great beasts. It made for an impressive hunting lodge.

"By Mzeva, he lives! You sleep longer than a bear in winter, friend," Tal chided playfully.

"We had better get to the Guild Office. I hate owing Ninka money. If we don't turn the core in straightaway, assassins from Zemo will be the least of our troubles." Agyn gave Dietrich a conspiratorial wink.

The trio left the hall through two large timber doors out into the courtyard. Archers practiced at their targets, while other adventurers sparred in the square with wooden blades as onlookers critiqued and heckled. Dietrich tried to observe their skill in passing. The pair in the ring traded blows through grunts and curses, each seeking to knock the other into the dirt. As they locked blades, they struggled in a contest of strength, feet sliding in the mud as they tried to keep their balance.

"Do you have any masters-at-arms? Trainers for these whelps?" Dietrich inquired.

"Eh, not really; not for swords, at least. There are more than a few retired city guards in the ranks. They can show a man how to hold a spear proper. Archery is big here, considering the forest. They have regular shooting contests. Swords, though, are for the nobility. It is unlawful for a peasant to carry a blade, or to be taught swordplay, in Egrys."

Dietrich stopped in his tracks. "Truly? And for what reason?"

As they carried on to the gate that separated the adventurers from the rest of Davashavi, Tal explained.

"They claim all sorts of things. Mainly they say it keeps the peace, or they'll say it's necessary for reasons of scarcity. You can make a dozen spearheads with the same material a single blade would need. It's all bunk, though. The real reason is class. A commoner with a sword makes the nobles blush."

"So how do we get away with it? I've seen your guildmates carry blades."

"Guild privilege. Technically, we are a noble house. To get around restrictions that would impede our hunting, the King established the Guild under someone's bastard, giving the whole thing noble status as his holding. By tradition, the Guild leader adopts skilled adventurers as his 'line,' and when he passes, one of them becomes the new 'lord.' Since we are all his retainers, there are no restrictions on our carrying knightly weapons. The nobles love it!" Dietrich had to laugh at Tal's Schadenfreude toward the highborn of Egrys.

"Christ, they wield their blades like oars." Dietrich winced as he watched the pair continue to flail at each other.

"Most of the time, if you see a hunter with a sword, it's just for show. No one goes after griffons with a blade."

They reached the kiosk at the gate of the compound, where a tired attendant was reading a chapbook not unlike the Volksbuch Dietrich had given to Agyn.

"Morning, Vargran. Could we get our gear?" Tal interrupted the irritable orc at the counter, who set his book down with a dramatic "harrumph" before going into the storage locker. Dietrich leaned over the counter with Agyn to inspect the book as the mage's persistent spell morphed the letters on the cover into something Dietrich could read.

"Lord Kelby's Midnight Joust with the Virtuous Maid Who Wasn't," Dietrich read aloud as Agyn gave him an impish smile.

Vargran came out a moment later with Dietrich's dussack and Tal's new longsword, handing them over before turning his Volksbuch face down with a scowl at the prying pair. The trio hustled away from the glaring attendant, giggling at his expense.

A bit later they made it to the Guild Office, where there was already a line going out the door. "I knew I should have drug you out of bed." Tal glared at Dietrich in mock disgust.

"Apologies, Ritter Tal. I am usually an early riser."

"Pay him no mind, Dietrich. I'm always having to get him up in the morning," confessed Agyn.

"And you do it so well," quipped the orc with a grin, and Agyn punched his thick arm.

"Agyn! Fine morning!" A bright voice chimed behind them, and the trio turned to see who it was.

Agyn's face brightened immediately at the sight of the woman addressing her.

"Sorena!" Agyn rushed to hug the slender young woman. She was garbed in a green aketon, well suited for blending into the forest, though her impressively long red braid stood out in contrast. She wore a field quiver on her belt full of arrows fletched with two different kinds of feathers. A long, thick leather bracer, tired and worn, was tied on her left arm, which carried a longbow slip, a sleeve of greased canvas that held her unstrung weapon.

The young woman returned the hug, though a bit more stiffly.

"I heard you just got back from the woods. Tyka said you were set upon."

"By a dozen," confirmed Tal. "It was bad. Still, we lived to tell about it, and it ended up being lucrative." He patted the new steel sword at his hip.

"And this here? He's the man who took down the Wolf?" Sorena pointed out Dietrich, who had been failing not to stand out. He tipped his tellerbarrett to the lady with a smile but said nothing. By now he was tired of introducing himself and had a feeling he'd be doing it a lot from now on.

"You knew about the brigand? His bounty slip just got here yesterday," Tal remarked, surprised that their catch was perhaps more infamous than he realized.

"I've just come back from the capital. The Wolf was all they were talking about. He killed some noble brat and took his blade. Been on the run for months," Sorena confirmed.

"Shit, that's all we need." Tal put his huge palm over the pommel as if to hide it. He suddenly seemed less excited about the new blade.

"Will it be a problem?" Dietrich asked, given the new information.

"By rights the blade is ours. Well, yours, specifically. The problem is the nobles don't always care." Agyn explained.

"So this steel is a problem, then. Mayhap it is time I got to work. Remember my promise?" Dietrich looked meaningfully at Tal.

"I do. What are you thinking?" the orc replied.

"That after our business here is concluded, we should pay Master Kova a visit. Maybe we can convince him to let me use his forge."

"That's going to take quite a lot. Kova is a good man, but I can't see him letting anyone use his tools," Agyn chimed in.

"I can't either. Kova is as stubborn as they come. But did I hear right? You are a smith, sir?" Apparently the subject interested Sorena as well.

"Where I'm from, I was about to take the test for master. Though what you lot call smithing seems to be very different from what I know." Dietrich put his hand to his chin, deep in thought.

"At any rate, I must speak with this man. There are many things I would like to ask," Dietrich continued.

"Soon as we finish up here and hit The Boar. It'll help if we bring the man some ale," Tal agreed.

Sorena bade the trio farewell as she went on her hunt, but not before agreeing to meet them at The Boar that evening. A while later, it was the party's turn at the counter. Tal and Agyn finally turned in the griffon's core, and Zura counted out the reward for both it and the bounty on Vakho the Wolf. A pile of heavy silver coins sat stacked on the counter.

"It comes to one hundred vertsi. Or it would, before the tax and Dietrich's dues for enrollment. I should point out that the two of you have dues approaching. Would you like to take care of them now?"

"Fine..." Tal and Agyn agreed in concert, shoulders slumped as Zura swept away nearly half the pile.

"Come now, sixty silver pieces is nothing to sneer at. It will go a long way at the haberdasher's." Zura eyed Dietrich's garments, unchanged since yesterday, while the Freifechter awkwardly held onto his wide-brimmed hat. Zura scooped the lot into a small pine box before sealing it with a lid. He pushed it across the counter to the trio.

"And with that business now concluded, let's get you your credentials. It will take just a moment; I have the type set and ready."

With that, Zura pulled a heavy-looking contraption out from under the counter. With an uncharacteristic grunt, he heaved it onto the heavy oak surface in front of him. It looked like a tiny metal printing press. Zura next retrieved a long, thin metal rectangle from a stack of the same. Inserting the metal sheet into the device, he first spun it around to face the Freifechter.

"Please confirm that all is correct."

At first the type was illegible, until Agyn's spell corrected it. It read "Deetryk of Zemo." Before the Freifechter could correct it, Tal interjected. "Looks perfect."

"Right," said Zura, turning the device back around and leaning on its arm with his full weight. The arm dropped with a snap as the rectangle was pressed and bisected by the device in a clean, jagged line down the middle. Zura took the two halves from the machine and presented them to Dietrich on the counter.

The two halves bore duplicate information: Deetryk of Zemo, Hunters' Guild, Branch Davashavi. Overseer Zura of Mepistsyk. Each was also pressed with the Guild heraldry, the sword with the beast's skull.

"This is your Guild card. You get one half; we keep the other. Look here." Zura put two fingers down, one on each card, and applied some of his power. The grain of the steel lit up, just like wootz steel, if wootz steel glowed. The grain of the two sides matched perfectly.

"That's how you know it's authentic. Here is your half." Zura pushed the left half toward Dietrich.

"Hold on to it. This material is expensive. A bandit would kill you for less." Zura locked eyes with Dietrich solemnly. He was dead serious. The Freifechter nodded his understanding as he took the card.

"You can punch it if you like. Some like to wear it on a chain. Just don't mar the jagged edge. That bit's important."

Dietrich held the card in his fingers appraisingly. It was a clever system, nigh impervious to forgery. He smiled. He was now part of the club.

"Thank you, Master Zura. I shall take good care of it."

"See that you do."

And with that, their business at the Guildhall was concluded.

 

[Jonan Boske]

"You there! Stop where you are!"

Dietrich and company had just left the Guild Office, and immediately the Freifechter knew something was wrong. A half-dozen men in a noble house's livery were harassing the traffic to and from The Boar. Tal had pinched Dietrich's doublet, ready to pull him and Agyn away, when the leader of the band spotted them. He strode their way like a peacock, commanding them to stop.

"I am Malkhaz of House Myngrel. I demand you present yourselves for inspection! You are suspected of handling stolen goods." The man wore an expensive-looking tabard of blue and silver stripes over mail. He twirled his meticulously waxed mustache absentmindedly, nose in the air as he covered the ground between himself and the trio. His men dropped their inquiries and followed Malkhaz, fanning out in a chevron behind him.

Agyn pulled on Tal's arm. "Jadopari," she whispered to the orc.

"What does that mean?" Dietrich asked the pair under his breath.

"Look at their arms. They have magic shields." Tal spoke low and serious. Sure enough, every man behind Malkhaz had a blackened metal buckler on his arm, inset with gems.

"By what authority are you detaining us, jester?" Tal growled at the approaching bravo. "House Mongrel's lands are far from here, and the Guild is its own house."

"Stay your tongue, beast! You think your troupe of orphans and whoresons is equal to the lords of the land?" The man's eyes went to the sword at Tal's side even as he put his hand on the pommel of his own. "And there it is! You did not even think to hide it! By order of Lord Myngrel, I command you to return our stolen property!"

A crowd was gathering around them. Adventurers of all kinds glared at the unwelcome troupe, hands on their weapons. Malkhaz's men looked about nervously, but the bravo was undeterred, or oblivious.

"We have stolen nothing. We retrieved the blade from a brigand; of that, I'm sure you are well aware. If you wish to have it back, simply pay us the bounty that was promised, and we can part ways," Dietrich offered.

"We should pay you for what is rightfully ours?! Who is this cur? You acquire a single steel blade and suddenly you think you're an army!" Malkhaz freed his sword from its scabbard. It had the same smooth finish as the blade on Tal's hip. He settled into some kind of fighting stance. It looked similar to vom Tag, if you were drunk.

"Bauerntritte," Dietrich muttered under his breath as he closed the distance between himself and the braggart.

"Be it the orc, or any one of you! I dare you! Does even a single one of you know how to wield a bl—"

Dietrich advanced on the bravo without even drawing his dussack. Malkhaz reeled back in shock, drawing his weapon up overhead. He brought it down with every intention of splitting the Freifechter in two, but Dietrich was already too close.

He grabbed the man's pommel and the span of grip between Malkhaz's hands while stepping off-line. Dietrich pulled down over his shoulder, twisting sharply away from the bravo and popping the blade out of his grip.

The Myngreli stumbled back with empty hands. His men went for their blades but froze as they watched the crowd press in. Adventurers had been pouring into the square from every corner of Davashavi, bows nocked, axes and spears in hand. Tal stepped forward, hand on his pommel, looming like a mountain. If blood was to be spilled, there was no mystery as to whose it was going to be.

Dietrich turned to Tal and spoke glibly. "Now we have two swords."

The orc suppressed his laugh, his huge palm to his face. "You have a penchant for trouble, my friend. Best give him back his toothpick before we start some real trouble."

Dietrich shrugged as he tossed back the weapon. It landed unceremoniously in the mud, to the horror of Malkhaz. The man scrambled for his sword, visibly apoplectic.

"You dare raise your hand to a retainer?" he snarled as he hurriedly wiped the muck from his blade, scraping it off the fine leather that bound the grip.

"You wanted a duel, didn't you? You drew steel. From where I'm standing, he was just keeping the peace," Tal retorted.

"The King will hear of this! An orc with a sword—who ever heard of such a thing!"

"I would hate for this to be a problem. You know it's a long way back to Myngrel from here. It's a good thing the Guild keeps the roads clear, is it not? Otherwise, who knows? A man could simply vanish along the way, and then the King would never get to hear your whimpering. Such a service we render to the kingdom, and yet we still go unappreciated." The orc tsked, shaking his head dolefully.

Malkhaz narrowed his eyes at Tal. "You would dare..."

"Dare what? I'm merely stating the truth of it. The roads are dangerous. It's our blood and sweat that makes them less so. You blue-bloods are so quick to forget, walled up in your fortresses as you are. But one foot outside these walls, and who knows what's bound to happen."

The bravo turned to the mob that had gathered, finally realizing the situation he and his troop were in. They surrounded the men in their liveries, brandishing anything you could think of, from the more traditional axe and spear to the pitchfork, grain flail, and billhook. There was even a frying pan or two. Zura stood quietly amongst the crowd, a small sword on his hip.

"Fine, then. We have come all this way for nothing. Do not think this is over—"

"It's over," Tal cut the man off emphatically. "Every hunter here knows of you by now. Make trouble for any one of us, and you pick a fight with all of us. Understand? We are the Guild. We are everywhere. Besides, you didn't come here for old Lord Menstrual. You came for the coin, didn't you? You arrived awful quick. Thought you could get ahead of the bounty notice? Well, too bad. We got it first."

Tal crossed his Herculean arms as he stared the man down. It was Malkhaz who looked away first.

"You should thank us. Those bandits would have had you outnumbered two to one, and Vakho at least managed to trade a blow or two with my friend here. You lot would have been cut to ribbons. Get lost, and count your good fortune. The frontier is too harsh a place for you."

Though Dietrich had been the first to humiliate the man, he silently hoped Tal would cut it short. Malkhaz was seething. If he could not forget his anger, this would surely become a problem.

Malkhaz sheathed his blade, staring at the dirt, unwilling to acknowledge the trio. "We leave! I won't waste another minute in this dung heap!" With that, he led his men toward the gates, shouldering through the crowd. They allowed him to leave, all parties visibly relieved at the departure.

"Mzeva's beard, Dietrich. That was beautiful," Tal said of the Freifechter's disarm.

"I am more impressed that your goddess has a beard," retorted Dietrich.

"Only the dwarves believe so, but it's a saying," Agyn offered, finally smiling again now that Lord Myngrel's men had left.

---

The throng of townsfolk and adventurers had been reluctant to celebrate too loudly, lest they be heard by Malkhaz and his troop. Still, Dietrich's shoulders were getting sore from being clapped by amused hunters who playfully ribbed the trio as they made their way to the tavern. By the time they got to The Boar, little Ninka was already waiting for them at the door, wearing a concerned expression.

"What's all vis fuss about? I've never seen nuffin' like it. Not since Sorena brought in her last stag." The tiny barmaid lisped at the party, eyes still wide as the crowd dispersed. A good number of them looked to be heading to The Boar.

"Oh, shite. Mah! We gonna need anovver cask rolled out! Firsty hunters comin' our way!" she yelled through the door to the hearth, where her mother was checking her stew.

The proprietress didn't miss a beat. "Right. Kuji! Bagra! To the cellars! Everyone, to your quarters!" The staff seemed used to this as they manned the hearths, the plump woman directing them like the captain of a ship.

Ninka cocked her head at the trio, clearly wanting an explanation, but sighed at the approaching mass of hunters. "Right, find yourselves a table. Bevver have coin dis time." Tal and Agyn dropped their heads in mock shame as they made their way past the little barmaid, her tiny hands balled on her hips. Dietrich followed them to their old table on the mezzanine.

"Mzeva, Dietrich. You really stirred up the hive." As they took their seats, the throng had just begun to pour through the large double doors of the tavern.

Dietrich thought back to Malkhaz's face right before he had turned to leave. "Do you think this will be a problem? I've never seen a man so angry."

"Oh, almost certainly," grinned the orc. "It would have been worse if we had given in, though. The privilege of the Guild means nothing if we can't back it up. The moment we cave to those jackals, our house means nothing, and they know it. You did the best thing possible. Had it come to blood, there'd have been real trouble."

Agyn studied the wood grain of the table pensively.

"What's wrong, love?" Tal noted her quiet.

"I just can't shake the feeling that maybe that's why they were here. Suppose Lord Myngrel did send those jesters. He'd hardly be out anything if we slew the lot, but it would be the perfect excuse for an injunction."

"All the better that we sent them off without a wound, other than to their pride. Like I said, best possible outcome." Tal's huge green fingers found his lover's neck as he tried to work the worry out of her.

"You concern yourself too much, Agyn. Bad things happen. You can't worry about all the what-ifs. It's not your job to carry the world on your shoulders."

The mage sighed, giving in to her partner's kneading. "I just know their game, Tal. It's exactly the sort of thing they would do. And that moron was exactly the sort of pawn they would use."

Their musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ninka. She hadn't even bothered to ask their order as she put out some cool cellar ale in front of the party, along with a basket of warm bread.

"Food's on. How dosh some hash an' po'age sound? We got it on the griddle for ya."

"Ninka! What is this? We haven't even paid you yet!" Agyn's cheeks colored at the fare, still embarrassed about the night before.

"No need. Tyka and the rest got ya covered. Your tab's square." Before Tal or Agyn could object, Ninka scurried off to handle the influx of patrons brought in by the morning's disruption. Down on the first floor, a cheeky cat-eared woman tipped a mug to them with a wink of one of her golden eyes, already surrounded by patrons as she no doubt embellished the morning's confrontation. It seemed the town was in a mood to celebrate.

"That damned cat." Agyn failed to suppress a smile as she waved to her "friend."

"Is it really such a matter? Things must be truly sore between you and the highborn," Dietrich mused out loud. Even as he said it, he reminded himself of the machinations of the knights of the German lands. Was it even so different? They often resorted to taxes beyond their authority, if not outright robbery and extortion, to make up for their losses as their power waned. The burghers of Straßburg thought of them as thugs, not nobles.

Tal laughed. "It doesn't take much to get people excited on the frontier. We rarely get a chance to stick it to those smug bastards. Good a reason as any to tip one back." He beamed, clearly proud of his new friend.

The food came soon, as Ninka lugged a heavy tray to their table. Using an oven mitt, she set down two steaming-hot cast-iron skillets laden with thick-cut lardons of smoked boar belly, fried to a crisp with chopped turnips, garlic, and barley groats that soaked up the boar's fat. The whole thing was topped with a couple of large eggs, cracked over the griddle to run over the dish and cook in the residual heat, and lightly seasoned with salt and some kind of pepper.

Dietrich crossed himself as he stared at the steaming feast. Tal was already digging in, flinching and blowing through his tusks. "Careful, still hot!" he warned, going for his tankard of black pine ale.

Agyn's pottage had been poured into a trencher of dry barley bread, hollowed out to contain the porridge-like stew. It was made from oats and laden with peas and carrots. The velvety stew was spotted with eyes of fat from having been enriched with marrow. The mage sighed contentedly as she dipped some fresh barley bread from the basket into the stew, her earlier concern melted away for the moment.

"Diese Schenke ist ein wahres Kleinod. I've never eaten so well in all my life, meine Freunde," Dietrich mused between bites of egg and fried boar.

Once again, the trio was forced into silence as they worked through The Boar's brilliant fare. Dietrich tried to ignore it as a patron here and there pointed his way. Occasionally they would reenact the defeated Malkhaz's face with great exaggeration, rubbing mock tears from their eyes. The Freifechter began to feel deeply unsettled by his own actions. If it had caused this much of a stir, then Tal must be right to assume this would not be the end of the matter.

Ninka came by for the final pass to collect their skillets and tankards.

"Are you sure we don't owe you anything, Ninka?" Agyn kept inquiring, clearly uncomfortable with so much charity.

"I finally gotsa word from Tyka. Dose bastards had been pokin' 'round all morning, harassin' Ma and our folk. I only wish I coulda been there to see it myself." Ninka punched the air with her free hand as she balanced the usual load piled high on her tray.

"You owe nuffin'. But I'd watch myself if I were you lot. His kind dun' give up easy." She drew a little thumb across her throat, eyes dead serious. With that, she scurried away to the next task.

Tal leaned back in his chair with a satisfied groan, sated to the point of lethargy. "A fine meal, but now what?"

"Weren't you two going to pay Kova a visit?" Agyn reminded him.

"Us two? You're not coming with?" Tal sniffed with feigned misery.

"I had better go see Tyka and thank her for the meal, and see just what rubbish she's been spreading around." Agyn seemed far more receptive than the last time she had to handle affairs with the cat-lady. "I'll meet up with you later. We've got plans here with Sorena tonight, remember?"

"Right, right. Give that meddler my thanks while you're at it." Tal stood heavily as Agyn bounded off to greet her friend and nemesis.

"Well, mein Freund. How about we finally go see old man Kova?" The orc stretched, arching his back.

Dietrich perked up, excited at the chance to finally get to work. He stood up from his chair, ignoring the golden stare that fixed on him from the floor below.

"Yes, let's." His eyes burned with an orc's passion as he thought of what they'd need to forge a worthy blade for his green friend.

 

[Jonan Boske]

"Just how did you do that, anyway? When you took that bastard's blade?" Tal and Dietrich ambled through the square toward the resonant pounding of the trip hammer.

"Ah, that boneless eel? Ha, he practically handed it to me. The art is Ringen am Schwert. I doubt someone as strong as you would really need it. You could have plucked that blade away like a straw doll from a babe."

"Just the same, I would know the trick," the orc insisted.

"It has to do with structure and leverage. Der Hebel. It's the same as prying a nail from wo—" But Tal just looked at Dietrich, concerned.

The orc spoke: "მოიცა, ეგ რა იყო?"

The pair looked at each other, then back to the tavern. They needed Agyn.

Returning to The Boar, they could see Agyn from the entryway, speaking glibly to Tyka and her crew of admirers. Tyka could see them too, or more precisely, Dietrich. He swallowed nervously as she hooded her eyes toward him. In spite of the obvious flirtation, he felt more like a mouse than a suitor.

"She seems a most complicated woman." The Freifechter suddenly felt awkward and clumsy as they approached the table.

"Who, Tyka? Yeah, that's one way to put it," Tal responded, apparently able to understand Dietrich again now that they were in range of Agyn's magic.

As they reached the table, Tal began to tug on Agyn's blouse, but the mage waved him off. "Just a second, I'm in the middle of a story."

Agyn gestured wildly with her arms, forming a pretend pair of massive jaws as she demonstrated for the rapt crowd.

"Here he's just slain an entire pack of Kaji-hounds, blood pouring from everywhere, and I have to sit on him and hold his nose just to get him to down some of the red. He looks at me like I'm the monster!"

The adventurers howled with laughter as Agyn continued, a stoic, implacable Tal just behind her. "Dear? Could we—" Tal tried to interject.

"Hush! I'm getting to the good part. And then—"

Tyka gave the helpless pair a knowing smile as her friend carried on heedlessly. Minutes later, the story was still going. Tal and Dietrich found themselves back at the door, wondering what they should do.

"Looks like it is going to be a while, mein Freund."

The orc looked paler than usual. Agyn was gesturing, climbing an imaginary surface like a thief.

"So this orc, three Kantari in weight, is scaling the wall to my balcony. I'm waving at him frantically to hide. Father's at the door. And theeen, crash! A brick comes loose in the mortar, and he falls flat on my father's prized hedges. Flattened, in the shape of a great green imbecile!" The laughter echoed in the rafters as a few at the table afforded the orc sideways glances.

Tal had had enough. He tugged at Dietrich's doublet and pulled him to a table under the outdoor colonnade. They took a seat before testing the range of Agyn's magic.

"Can you hear me, little man?" Tal jibed at Dietrich. The fencer laughed, sensing the wound to Tal's pride from his lover's recollections.

"So, the orc on the wall." Dietrich pointed an accusing finger at Tal.

"Yeah, it was me. She's right, too; I was a complete idiot." Tal looked off at nothing in particular, reminiscing about their early romance.

"See, Agyn was once nobility. House Tsereteli." He seemed a bit dejected. "That was before she met me. She gave it up, all of it, so we could be together."

So that's how it was. Dietrich began piecing events together, and suddenly much of Agyn's bearing took on new meaning. She had seemed much more polished than the common rabble.

That seemed to be all Tal intended to say, or else he just didn't know how to continue.

"You don't think she regrets it, do you?" Dietrich asked point-blank.

"Oh, I'm sure I've made her regret many things." The orc laughed. "Being with me? Maybe. I've wondered sometimes, but I fear asking. Like if I don't look at it, then it is not there." Now Tal studied the grain in the table, as if his future were recorded somewhere in the wood.

"I've seen the way she looks at you. In the woods, and when she was feeding you that tincture." Dietrich recalled Agyn's face, slick with blood and tears. "You think she would rather be somewhere else? Not a chance." The Freifechter said it, and believed it.

"Ha, I suppose not. Still, that was a bit rough." He was still dwelling on Agyn's roast.

"It happens when two people spend every waking hour together, I imagine." Dietrich pushed back his tellerbarrett. He thought back to his master's final days. Their relationship had obviously been different; nevertheless, between fencing, Dietrich's apprenticeship, and their travels, there had been plenty of time to test each other's nerves.

"I think you're right. She could probably use some time away. It is usually just the two of us. Fine. Well? We have a forge to commandeer. Let's get some ale for the geezer. I'll be your spokesman as best I can."

Dietrich shrugged; it was worth a shot.

---

It wasn't long before orc and man stood before Kova's workshop, a heavy keg weighing down Tal's shoulder. The workshop was massive, constructed from heavy mortared fieldstone and roofed in slate. The cacophonous pounding of the trip hammer nearly drowned out the roaring forge within, as well as the river beyond the palisade that had been sluiced to power the hammer. Tal and Dietrich looked at each other. Maybe it didn't even matter that they couldn't understand each other. The large barn-style doors were pinned open, and a wall of heat radiated out from them, carrying the overwhelming scent of charcoal and burning metal. As they approached the opening, the distinct scents of sweat, tallow, and damp river reeds joined the disturbing potpourri.

Dietrich led the way, unbothered by the stench. Passing through the double doors, he turned the corner and went through a stone arch into the forge. It was dark as a cave, lit only by the heat of the forge and a few open shutters used for a draft. Tal was right behind him with the cask.

Kova, as it turned out, was a fellow orc, bowed from decades hunched over an anvil. His grey-green skin was faded, as if the ash of the forge had somehow baked into it. He wasn't as huge as Tal, but he was by no means small. His most prominent feature was his missing tusk, shorn off at the lips. It complemented the scars and burns that covered his hands and arms, souvenirs of a lifetime at the forge. He looked up only briefly at the interlopers as he concentrated on his work, allowing the trip hammer to shape the iron one earthshaking strike at a time.

Doffing his tellerbarrett, as much to avoid heatstroke as to be polite, Dietrich took his time admiring the orc's setup. A full log of oak, bound in iron to keep it from splitting, served as the axle and protruded through the stonework of the wall. Dietrich knew a waterwheel outside powered it. The turning of the axle caused the tallow-covered cams protruding from it to catch on the tail of the hammer's pivot, levering the massive iron head up before the cam slipped off, letting the hammer drop. It collided with the white-hot piece on the anvil in a satisfying shower of sparks and black scale, crushing it section by section into the desired shape as Kova meticulously guided it with his tongs.

The forge itself was built into the back wall, a waist-high bed of coals made from stacked firebrick under riveted plates of iron that served as a chimney hood. Another axle, fitted with staggered dual cams, worked the rocker arms that currently pumped one of two enormous bellows, made from whole ox hides, that fed the forge air. Dietrich suspected one of the levers up in the rafters would allow the smith to run both at once if he needed extreme heat.

Near the forge was a stone stall holding the ready supply of charcoal, an oft-used shovel standing out of it. The rest of the forge was taken up by a workbench; tools, hammers, and files of many kinds; vises; and a quench barrel filled with filthy water, soot and scale floating on top. It was an impressive workspace, as fine as anything Dietrich knew back in Straßburg.

Kova eyed the glowing piece, grunting loudly in satisfaction as he pulled it out from under the apparatus, letting the hammer smack down on the anvil with a deafening clang. With one hand he pulled a lever hanging from the rafters, causing a sluice gate to slam shut. With a groan, the axles of the bellows and trip hammer slowed and then stopped. He took the metal in his tongs and buried it in the charcoal of the forge before resting his tongs across the edge of the firebox.

Dietrich could still hear the trip hammer ringing in his ears as the old orc finally regarded his visitors. Nostrils flared, arms crossed in irritation as he leaned on his workbench, he finally let his eyes find the cask Tal held in offering. A slow smile grew on his face, revealing the break of his missing tusk and a row of yellowed teeth. He chuckled, a low rasp not unlike the wheezing of the bellows, before he rattled something off at Tal.

The other orc seemed relieved their gift was well received as he set the cask down heavily on the workbench. Kova took the cask in one sturdy arm and pulled up a trapdoor in the floorboards with the other, revealing the rushing water of the flume below as light flooded the forge. He dropped the keg into a rusty iron cradle meant for storing such things in the chill flow. He let the trapdoor drop back into place, darkening the room once again. The two began an exchange that the Freifechter couldn't follow.

The conversation carried on for a while as Dietrich waited patiently. Finally, Tal gestured for Dietrich's weapon, indicating where it was sheathed at his hip. Kova eyed it intensely as Dietrich offered it to the smith, grip first. Kova took it in a burly hand so large it struggled to fit under the shell guard. He examined it extensively, his eyes stopping momentarily on the vicious notches that Vakho's blade had scored in it, causing Dietrich to wince.

He swung it a few times, feeling the balance, and it seemed to Dietrich the orc had a good instinct for the blade's function as he kept the dussack's momentum going. Finally, Kova took the weapon over to his open anvil. Reaching for a small ball-peen hammer, he gave Dietrich a knowing glance. The Freifechter nodded his assent, and the old smith laid the blade out on the anvil, still holding the grip. He gave it a sharp tap with the hammer, and the dussack rang long and loud in the close space of the forge. The orc chose a different spot on the blade and repeated the process, letting the sword sing a second time. He nodded, satisfied.

Now it was Tal's turn. He drew the blade they had gotten from Vakho and handed it to Kova. The orc shrugged as he examined it. He had seen many like it. He held the blade against the notches in Dietrich's dussack, chuckling gravely again. Dietrich sighed, shaking his head in lamentation.

Kova returned the blades to their owners, then began a back-and-forth with Tal that Dietrich couldn't follow. It was stifling hot, sweat already seeping into his clothes.

He loosened his doublet before pulling it over his head, leaving himself in his Hemd. Hanging his garment on a peg probably meant for a smith's apron, the Freifechter let his eyes wander around the shop while the pair carried on. His eyes settled on the iron fire rake leaning by the forge. Well, he might as well be useful.

He strode to the forge, causing Kova to stop midsentence. Eyes narrowing, the orc was about to protest when Dietrich reached for the fire rake. With a practiced flick, Dietrich drove the hook of the rake into the base of the coals. He twisted and pulled, lifting out a fist-sized chunk of glassy clinker. He tossed the glowing slag into an ash bucket he had seen nearby, where it landed with a hiss.

Kova stared at Dietrich like a basilisk but remained still as Dietrich flipped the rake over and, using the spine, pushed fresh charcoal over the core. With the forge's airflow unobstructed and the charcoal banked, its glow intensified. Dietrich returned the rake to its place before finding Kova's stiff-bristled brush by the anvil. He began sweeping off the flakes of black scale from the last session, leaving the anvil clean and ready for work.

Crossing the room in a couple of strides, the old orc checked his fire, the basilisk glare softening just a little as he turned to his anvil. He seemed to be pondering something as his eyes settled on Dietrich's calloused hands. After a long, anxious moment, he nodded, having come to a decision.

The old smith gestured toward Dietrich and pointed to a heavy sledgehammer. Calm and ready, Dietrich took up the hammer and joined him at the forge. First the orc grabbed something from the workbench and held it out to Dietrich. He wasn't handing it to him; he was showing it. It was the head of a long boar spear, with an impressive pair of lugs welded on at the end of the socket. The weapon hadn't been ground down yet, but Dietrich got the idea. He nodded his understanding to Kova.

Tossing the spearhead back onto the workbench, the smith reached for his tongs and fished his piece of iron out of the forge. Long, flat, and narrow from its time under the trip hammer, the piece had cooled a bit from white-hot to a bright orangish yellow. With his free hand, Kova fished a steel wedge from a pocket in his apron. He set the shank of the wedge down into a corresponding hole carved in his anvil. Dietrich raised an eyebrow. He hadn't noticed the hole in the dark of the forge. How clever! It was much simpler than how they did it in Straßburg.

The orc drew another pair of tongs from his workbench and carefully held the iron billet on the wedge, about a third of the way from the end. He nodded at Dietrich. Tal watched intently as the German smith brought the sledge down and split the billet on the wedge with a clean strike. Kova set the short piece on the anvil before placing the longer piece back on the wedge. This time Dietrich's strike bisected it cleanly, leaving Kova with three nearly equal-sized pieces of iron. Kova returned two of the pieces to the forge before turning his attention to the last. Holding it on the anvil with a single pair of tongs, he tapped the end of it. Dietrich struck precisely, sparks flying where Kova had indicated.

Realizing he had a willing hand who could follow instruction, Kova reached for a second lever and gave it a pull. Somewhere outside, another sluice slammed shut, though nothing inside the forge seemed to change. He pushed the original lever up, letting the main sluice slide open. Soon the bellows of the forge were pumping again, though the mighty trip hammer remained silent.

From there, things went fast. Kova would indicate the strikes, turning the piece periodically while Dietrich hammered away. First they took one of the pieces and drew it out even longer and thinner. Kova then placed it on the wedge still mounted on the anvil so Dietrich could split it into halves again. Once that was done, Kova placed the two halves in the forge, away from the hot center.

The other two pieces followed the same pattern. They would flare one end, flattening it out into a fan shape. Then Kova grabbed a swage from his workbench, a half-round piece of iron with a square bottom. He replaced the wedge with it, sliding the square neatly into the anvil's mounting. It, too, was a perfect fit. The old smith would hold the piece in place with his tongs while Dietrich hammered the fan-shaped end over the swage. Steadily they curled the fan into a cone. It would serve nicely as the spear's socket.

For the lugs, they would take a piece, draw it out, and then fuller it down the middle to give it an hourglass cross-section.

If a piece grew too cold, they just switched it out for the next and let the bellows do their work. Kova seemed to know when a piece was ready with an almost preternatural instinct, pulling each one out as it reached a yellowish orange so it could be worked anew. Before long, they had two roughed-out spearheads and the two pieces for the lugs.

Tal stood in the corner, mesmerized as the two experts shaped the metal. For a while, other than the roar of the forge, the bellows, and the rhythmic ping of the hammer, there was total silence. Eventually the action lulled. The pieces were ready for welding, and the two smiths had worked up a sweat. Tal rattled off something in their coarse tongue, and the old smith nodded, wiping his brow with a sooty rag before pointing to the arched open door of the forge. He called something after Tal as the warrior's massive frame hunched under the doorway.

While the warrior was away, Kova once again opened the trapdoor. Reaching down into the flume with a pair of tongs, he caught the cask by its rim with an iron grip and pulled it gingerly from the water. He then waited for Tal, who soon returned bearing a couple of tankards and a clay mug.

All three were grinning like fools as Kova turned the cask over. Using an old ball-peen hammer, he smashed the bung into the cask, releasing the smell of yeast, roasted malt, and pine needles into the forge with a spray of foam. Tipping the cask, the smith poured messily into the three cups before handing one each to his guests.

They raised their cups and cheered.

"Prost!"

"გაუმარჯოს!"

They drank mostly in silence, with a word or two here and there between the two orcs amid satisfied growls as the three enjoyed the chilled beverage. Tal finally set his tankard down, wiping the froth from his chin before directing a few words to Kova. The smith waved at Tal, and the warrior gave a slight bow to Dietrich before he turned to leave. Dietrich looked after him, unsure of what he should do, until Kova nodded back toward the forge with a raised eyebrow. Right, back to work.

Dietrich once again took up the fire rake, pulled the clinker, and banked the fresh charcoal high around the core as Kova shoveled it in. Then the orc worked the levers once more, bringing both bellows to life. The forge roared, its glow intensifying until the core resembled a miniature sun. Using his tongs, Kova drove one of the spearheads into the near-liquid white heat at the center and held it there until it glowed a bright orange. It was time for the weld.

Pulling the piece from the forge, Kova grabbed a handful of powder from a jar and dusted the socket with it. This must be the flux. It looked like fine flour, though Dietrich knew it was likely some form of ground shell or the like. The substance boiled on the socket, forming a glass-like layer over the piece. Now Kova could heat it to welding temperature without burning it.

Returning it to the forge, he kept the socket near the core of the blaze. While the bellows did their work, Kova replaced the swage on the anvil with a mandrel, a cone-shaped piece of iron with a square shank that, once again, fit the hole perfectly. The orc retrieved the piece from the core of the forge, the socket now glowing a brilliant white.

Placing the socket over the mandrel, Kova finally gave Dietrich the nod. The cutler hammered precisely, each blow ejecting flux from the seam and sealing the gap shut. Before long, it was as if the seam had never existed, the cone of the socket joined to itself in one continuous piece of metal.

Without a pause, Kova returned the piece to the forge, just far enough in to keep it hot. He took one of the bars for the lugs and pushed it deep into the blaze, fishing it out once it reached a bright orange. He took both the spearhead and the lug and, with a few taps, bent the lug in a U around the narrow waist where the socket met the rest of the spearhead. Bending the lug further until it protruded like wings from the spearhead, he scooped some more flux and dusted the joint liberally before returning the glazed piece to the core of the forge.

Soon the mass was glowing that same liquid white, and Kova retrieved it and brought it to the anvil. Slapping it down, neither smith wasted any time as they fell into a rhythm. Kova gave Dietrich a barked command—the words didn't matter. Dietrich brought the hammer down, each punishing strike spitting blistering-hot flux across the anvil. Kova would roll the piece while Dietrich struck, fusing the cross of the lug into the socket until it was one solid, indestructible piece of iron.

The orc finally held up a hand, and Dietrich lowered his hammer. Inspecting the piece, Kova smiled around his single tusk, satisfied with the work, as Dietrich leaned on the hammer. They both dripped with the sweat of their labor.

"Fine work, I must admit," the orc muttered.

"I'm glad to hear it," Dietrich replied.

The pair froze.

"He speaks!" exclaimed the orc, his yellow eyes widening.

Dietrich sighed. "That means Agyn and Tal must be close. It is her... ability that allows us to speak." Dietrich was still unused to such things. He bristled slightly at the thought of arcane power being his only means to communicate.

"Well, then, let me thank you. What was your name again?" The orc squinted at the cutler.

"Dietrich, sir. And might I add, you have a magnificent forge at your disposal."

The old orc laughed like disturbed gravel. "I'm no sir, but I agree. This forge is my pride. And you're welcome to it anytime. We don't have enough talent like yours out here."

Dietrich laughed. "Anytime?"

"Within reason, so long as you help out like today every now and again." The old orc grinned. It was a good deal for both of them.

"So, how'd it go? Seems Dietrich didn't burn the place down while I was away." Tal had returned, ducking his head under the arch nervously.

"The young man is a fine smith. He made up for the distraction you brought, Tal." The old orc furrowed his brow at his fellow orc in mock exasperation. "Thanks again for the ale, though. Give The Boar my regards."

"Anytime, old man. We'll be waiting outside." Tal retreated, disappearing from the doorway after a slight bow to his aged brethren.

Dietrich noticed the sky outside the shutters of the forge had already begun to darken.

"How long were we at it? And we still have another piece and the quench!"

"I do, boy." Kova was the only one here who could call Dietrich "boy." The cutler did his best to suppress a smile. The old orc had sounded just like Joachim for a moment.

"You've done enough. I can finish the rest. Go grab an ale. You earned it."

Reluctantly, Dietrich gathered his garments and left the orc to his work, the hammering resuming before he made it back out the barn doors.

 

[Jonan Boske]

The evening breeze was most welcome as Dietrich left the forge. Tal and Agyn were waiting by a low stone fence, Agyn kicking her legs against it.

"How did it go?" Tal asked.

"Well, I suppose. I think I just became his apprentice."

"That's good, right? You must have impressed him!" Tal exclaimed.

"Eh, yes. I suppose so." Dietrich didn't want to correct his friend, but it was something of a demotion for someone who had been about to test for his master's rank.

"To The Boar, then?" Tal asked.

"Ugh! Not like that, you don't. You two reek like the tanners. To the river, or a basin, which is it?"

"Oh, come now, it's just a night at the tavern. Wha—" But Tal took one look at Agyn's face and recanted.

"Right, to the river! The sooner we're done, the sooner we can eat." Tal marched toward the postern gate, Dietrich in tow.

"I'll meet you at the tavern." Agyn turned on her boot and left the pair a second time.

"Before the Lady's... miracle wears off. What is her sudden fixation with our hygiene?" inquired Dietrich.

"We're meeting somebody. Think about it," the orc added with forced nonchalance.

Dietrich had to think for a second about whom he meant before recalling the waifish archer. The cutler's eyes flattened as he looked at the orc suspiciously.

"Hey, it wasn't my idea. The... Ladies. As you say. They can't help it." The orc looked simultaneously amused and embarrassed.

"And I thought Joachim was a busybody." But Tal couldn't comprehend him.

"ეგ რა იყო?"

They made it to the postern gate. The two massive oaken doors stood open and unguarded. Dietrich had to wonder what kind of captain failed to guard the postern, but he guessed they were probably more concerned about whatever might come through the forest.

The pair made their way out the gate and turned up along the palisade wall. As they walked, Dietrich could hear the echo grow from Kova's forge. The old orc was still at work.

Tal led them to a quiet part of the river, which, on the whole, was narrow, deep, and fast-moving. The immediate area here had been widened, with a little man-made jetty of piled stones and wood that served to help people with their laundry.

"It's bound to be freezing," Dietrich moaned as he set his doublet on a rock, took off his swordbelt, and laid his weapon down.

Approaching the water, he began to wonder what he should do about his Hemd. It was now covered in ash marks and soaked in sweat. As he turned to see how Tal was faring, the orc was already behind him, looking down with a wicked grin.

"What are you doing, Mei—"

A massive green paw pushed Dietrich square in the chest and sent him tumbling into the river. The Freifechter flailed in the shallows for a bit before staggering to his feet, sputtering water.

"Why? Bad orc! Unritterlîch!" He shook his fist at the mountain of green. Tal was already down to his trousers, laughing at his sodden friend.

"ძალიან დაიგვიანე," the orc stated bluntly.

"What was that?" Dietrich flew at his betrayer and tried to hook under his leg to throw the beast in the manner of Ringen am Schwert. Dietrich lowered himself so he'd be under his opponent, grabbing under the thigh and then driving upward, pushing off at the shoulder to break his base. But the orc... The orc was immovable.

Tal simply pushed him back with one hand, breaking his grip with ease. Dietrich sighed, looking at his feet, dripping wet in the chill air. He grabbed his things but carried them rather than wearing them. He couldn't get his belt and sheath wet. He glared at the orc dubiously as Tal took his turn in the river.

---

Agyn was waiting for the pair under the colonnade. As Dietrich and Tal presented themselves, the mage took one look at the soaked fencer and slapped her forehead.

"Tal... Why?"

"You wanted him clean, he's clean." The orc smiled his toothy smile. "He was tiptoeing around the water like a cat on a fence. Someone had to get him moving."

"You great. Green. Moron. Please tell me he has something else to wear?"

Dietrich held his tellerbarrett in front of him sheepishly. "Perhaps tonight is not the time for... making acquaintances."

Agyn looked away, flustered. "What do you mean? Tal, don't you have something he can wear?"

"If you cut it in half and punched a hole in it. Maybe, back at the barracks?"

"Arrrgh! Fiiiine..." But it wasn't fine.

---

A while later, Dietrich and Tal had returned to The Boar. The fencer, however, was not excited to be there. He looked like a child wearing a tent. The neck hole of Tal's shirt was large enough that Dietrich's shoulders wanted to slip through. The hem came down to his knees. The sleeves he could manage. Bind them at the cuff, let the cloth blouse over, and any Landsknecht in the Empire would have called it fashion. There were others who wore their shirts this way at the tavern. Unfortunately, they were all women. If I pray hard enough, maybe the ground will open up and swallow me.

It did not. Instead, the fencer hid behind Tal's massive frame to the best of his ability as they searched The Boar for Agyn. People regarded him as they came in, but no one was wasting their time on one oddly dressed foreigner. By now, Dietrich was aware of some of the tavern's regulars, though he didn't see many at the moment. Tyka and her court were away; Ninka wasn't there to greet them. The proprietress was holding down the fort. Some of her regular staff weren't at their posts, but neither were a good many of the patrons.

Where is everybody?

In the end, it was Agyn who found them.

"She's not here!" The mage was frantic.

"Hold on, what's going on?" Tal asked.

"Sorena! No one has seen her."

"Maybe she decided to make camp?" Tal offered.

"No way. She would never, not if people were expecting her."

"Is that why nobody is here? Are they out searching?" Dietrich looked around the mezzanine. He had never seen it so empty.

"Some are searching around town, some went to the forest. You didn't see her in the Guild Quarter?" Agyn looked hopeful, even though she likely knew the answer.

Dietrich and Tal shook their heads.

About then, a few patrons started pouring in, along with Ninka. She wore a frown; her little brow was furrowed.

"Ninka, has anyone seen her?" Agyn asked, but the girl shook her head.

"No one's seen her. Not 'round town. Still ovvers in the woods." Ninka had never looked more like a child; she was on the verge of tears.

"It happens like vis, sometimes..." She wasn't speaking to the trio, but to herself.

Dietrich looked to Tal, then to Agyn. No one knew what to say. Agyn rushed forward and put her arms around the girl while Ninka pretended she wasn't crying on Agyn's blouse.

"Should we go searching too?" Dietrich knew what sort of creatures roamed the Deep Wood. He did not like the odds of a lone hunter who might be injured or lost.

Tal was the gruff voice of reason. "We wouldn't be able to find our noses out there. If we go searching at this hour, the next party will be looking for us. I say we go at first light. It's our best chance."

"Eile mit Weile. I suppose you are right."

Agyn barely nodded. She looked down at Ninka. "Would you like your big sister to stay over tonight?"

Ninka nodded without looking up, one little hand clinging to the woman's trousers.

"Tal?" She looked to the warrior.

"Right, I get it. Me and Dietrich will meet you here before dawn. Try to get some rest."

Agyn mouthed thank you to Tal as he and Dietrich went to leave.

---

The next morning found the team assembled in front of The Boar. The sun hadn't risen yet, and they moved by the pre-dawn light. Tal and Dietrich arrived to find Agyn already waiting for them under the colonnade with some other hunters. She yawned as she addressed them.

"Did you get any sleep?" From the looks of her, she hadn't.

Tal and Dietrich shook their heads. It had been a long night for the party, waiting for daybreak.

Other hunters were gathering as well. Dietrich noticed a few familiar faces, Tyka's tavern companions in particular. They checked their weapons and armor around a table under the colonnade.

It seemed they had a new member, a slight figure with a hooded cloak over their head. As Dietrich regarded them, he caught a flash of yellow-gold from under the hood. The figure waved at him briefly before sheathing their dagger. He finally noticed the tail disturbing her cloak as she approached him.

She wore what looked like dark leather riding pants and a brown aketon, as well as a pair of hand-axes at her belt in addition to the dagger. The axes looked useful for hand-to-hand combat as well as throwing, like a francisca.

"Tyka! Y-you are an adventurer?" Dietrich tried not to stutter as recognition finally dawned.

"Sometimes," she responded succinctly. She walked past the fencer to Tal.

"There are other hunters about. Some decided to make camp, I'm told. I think they mostly went up the road toward Rkintsikhe."

"Hmmm, how many are out there?" the orc asked pensively.

"Half the Guild. More will join later. There are more than a few bands coming back today who haven't heard yet. Ninka should fill them in." She paused, thinking. "We'll head up the river and into the wood from the north. I know some of Sorena's haunts out that way."

"Sounds good. We'll head the other direction, down the road and in from the south. She last took a stag. There is some good meadowland that way, just beyond the treeline."

"Damn her. Why didn't she tell anyone where she was going?" Agyn lamented.

"Hunter's secret. She doesn't want anyone to find her covert, assuming she came across some new game sites," Tyka explained.

"That fool. Like that matters more than getting swallowed by the Chyrdilis."

"Come now, dear," Tal interjected. "That won't get us anywhere. You can give her an earful once we find her."

---

Under different circumstances, the sunrise might have been beautiful. The valley floor lay bathed in a cool, blue light. A quiet layer of fog covered the fields as the alpenglow tinged the Rkenys Qendi a pale, rosy hue. The sun was just beginning to show itself, coming over the eastern ridge.

No one was looking at it as they scanned the road and treeline about an hour's march from Davashavi. The fog wasn't helping.

They continued on for a stretch until Tal spotted something in the ditch along the road. "Look! What's that?"

Agyn rushed to the lone figure but stopped dead once she got close enough to see. It was a man in the blue and silver livery of House Myngrel. Tal strode past her, sliding down into the ditch. He knelt by the figure as Agyn and Dietrich approached. Tal flipped the man over effortlessly. The body was stiff, staring sightlessly into the fog.

"He's cold. Look here." Tal indicated a broken-off shaft in the man's thigh that trailed red down his trousers. Tal pulled a knife from his belt and dug the shaft out. The bloody tip was a broad head of flattened iron.

"They must have ambushed her."

Dietrich stepped closer to the dead soldier.

"How can you tell?" Dietrich asked reluctantly.

"Sorena carries two kinds of arrow. This is for hunting." He held up the broadhead. "They must have caught her tracking something."

Tal pointed with the arrow to the flattened grass leading up to the man. It was flecked with blood.

"He crawled. From over there." Tal pointed to a break in the trees in line with the trampled grass.

The party left the dead man and followed the bloody trail he had left. The treeline was unremarkable where they approached it. Tal pointed out some broken branches that might have been the man stumbling through on his way to the road. They carried on. Through the wood and close to a clearing, they saw a second crumpled shape. He was still clutching his sword and buckler. When they got close enough, Tal bent down and drew out what had killed him. Another broken shaft. Tal didn't have to cut it out this time; the narrow steel needle slid out through the man's mail and tabard with ease.

Tal held up the arrow. "Now she knows she's in a fight. She switched to bodkins."

They found a third man in the clearing, face down in the grass. Another bodkin kill. A fourth was found just past the second treeline. He looked to have died running for the meadow.

"You'd think they would have run sooner. She'd already killed half their number," Dietrich posited.

As they got closer, they realized that wasn't the case.

"Not her kill. Look at his neck." Tal pointed out the damage. The man's eyes were bulging from his face, his neck bent at such an unnatural angle that he looked toward the sky though his body lay face down in the mulch. Dietrich crossed himself without realizing it.

"A beast. Took him from behind and nearly decapitated him," Tal offered.

"What manner of creature does this?" Dietrich thought back to the griffon, but he couldn't see a beak doing this kind of damage. The flesh looked rent. Something with fangs.

"Unfortunately, that's not an exclusive list. Avazatk'e?" Tal guessed.

Agyn turned her head away from the corpse, scanning the trees. "It would need to have been pretty large. They're ambush predators. Sticking their noses into a fight between armed men isn't their style."

They left the man where he lay and continued following the trail of blood and broken boughs. Something large had chased him through the wood; that much was clear. Stepping over a log, Tal spotted a pair of legs protruding from a boscage. Agyn and Dietrich followed him as he approached the body. It looked as though the man might have crawled there to hide.

Tal pulled back the shrubs. The man was lying on his stomach, arms folded under him. Tal unceremoniously pulled him from the brush by his boot before flipping him over. To the party's horror, the corpse groaned, still holding in his guts, eyes shut against the pain.

"Christ, it is Malkhaz!" Dietrich crossed himself for the second time that day. Malkhaz wheezed laboriously, his tabard and mail rent to pieces under his arms. Blood was everywhere. His pallor was nearly as white as the men they had found along the way.

"He doesn't have long," Tal quipped quietly to his companions.

Agyn wasted no time. She charged at the dying man, hand on her dagger. "Where is Sorena? The hunter you were chasing! Where is she?!"

The bravo tilted his head slightly toward Agyn as he wheezed through his bloody teeth, his eyes turning in their sockets to fix her with a glare. There was nothing but contempt in them. He remained silent.

Dietrich stepped up to Malkhaz's ragged form. "Why do this? You attacked a lone woman. Why?"

"You sot!" Malkhaz spat, red flecks spraying from his lips. "This happened... because of you." He paused to catch his breath. "All we wanted... was that damned sword... Was it worth it, whoreson?"

He did not continue. His rasping came to an end as his arms slackened.

"Scheiße!" Dietrich pulled off his tellerbarrett, crushing it in his hands before throwing it into the dirt.

"Mzeva's arse. We still don't know where Sorena is," Tal muttered.

"She might not be far. Let's look around," Agyn offered, already searching the area.

"Stay where I can see you. Whatever did this has killed two armed men already," Tal insisted.

The three of them fanned out, patrolling the trees.

It was Dietrich who came upon something first: a stray strand of green thread, tangled on a branch. "He! Hieher!"

The other two came running, Tal crashing through the brush with Agyn not far behind. They examined the thread the fencer held up between finger and thumb.

"That's her color! Her gambeson!" Agyn shouted. Not far from the thread were the signs of pursuit: broken branches and clawed-up earth.

They followed the trail, Agyn pushing ahead. Dietrich noticed something on some leaves in passing. Blood. The fencer was about to say something when a green hand came over his face. The orc shook his head: no.

Tal called to Agyn, "Let me take the lead." His tone brooked no argument as he passed her by.

The trail was not hard to follow. Whatever pursued Sorena was as big as an ox, and she had used that against it. Deep gouges over deadfall, brush trampled flat; she had taken the beast through the worst ground she could find, where she could pass and it could not.

Here and there they found the broken shaft of an arrow.

Finally, they came to a small clearing. In the center of it stood a tall rock. They saw it through the boughs first, and as they got closer, they could make out someone sprawled on top of it.

Agyn sprinted ahead.

"Wait!" Tal yelled, rushing after her. Dietrich brought up the rear as the three dashed to the formation.

Sorena must have heard their approach. She raised herself groggily from the stone, still clutching her bow.

"Sorena!" Agyn was almost to the rock when the red-haired archer began frantically waving them away.

"No! Stay back! It's still around!"

Dietrich noted long scratches that nearly reached the top of the boulder, and Sorena's remaining arrows strewn around the base of the rock, mostly trampled and broken. She had a large piece of cloth bound around her leg that might once have been a shirt. It was slick with blood.

Tal and Agyn attempted to help Sorena down. It took a bit of coaxing before they convinced her to come off her rock. She looked exhausted, possibly delirious, as she practically slid off into Tal's arms, dropping her bow at the stone's base. The orc sat her down against the rock while Agyn pushed a skin of water at her. Sorena took it and drank long enough that water spilled down her chin.

Agyn pulled out her remaining vial of red tincture, but Sorena pushed it away.

"No, I can't sleep. We need to leave. It will be back." Sorena's hair was stuck to her face and her gambeson was torn, though other than her leg she had no apparent wounds.

"What will be back? What attacked you?" Even as Tal asked it, the party heard a low, rumbling growl from the treeline. The three companions slowly turned away from Sorena to look behind them as the archer's eyes went wide.

A dark shape moved through the trees, big as a horse, only leaner, on legs that looked too long for its mass. Dietrich felt the thing's growl more than he heard it. It did not so much stalk through the brush as over it as it haunted the treeline.

"That's no Kaji-hound. What is that thing?" Tal muttered.

"I don't know," Agyn admitted. "It looked like a giant..."

Hound. Vaulting over a fallen tree as tall as a man, the creature landed in the clearing, muscles rippling under its close fur.

Compact and muscular, with a deep, narrow chest that sloped elegantly to its hindquarters, the beast was clearly built for speed. It lowered its wedge-like head as it crept toward the party, fixing on them with eyes both dark and intelligent. Its shape was familiar, even if its size made it a monster. Dietrich had seen many like it, boar hounds that the huntsmen of Straßburg kept, though the largest of them would have been a tenth of this creature's size.

The creature threw back its head, unleashing an ear-shattering howl that forced the party to cover their ears. Dietrich stumbled, head in hands, as the creature launched for him, the earth trembling under the beast's heavy paws. He barely had time to draw his dussack before the beast dove on him while the party watched helplessly.

The Freifechter brought the dussack up toward the hound's face to fend off the giant maw as the beast pinned him to the ground with its front paw. He heard the cracking through his body, not his ears, as the wind was driven out of him. The pain was blinding. He tried to cut at the beast that stood on him, but his blade was gone.

Through blurred vision, Dietrich could see Tal's shape charge the monster as it leapt off him to avoid the orc's sword. Flames erupted overhead, and Dietrich could smell scorched fur, accompanied by a wounded howl. It wasn't enough to bring down the hound, though. Agyn struggled to hit the beast and not her lover as the creature pranced about, shaking its head violently. Dietrich saw a glint in the hound's wide-open maw and realized where he had lost his blade: the creature was trying to shake loose the dussack wedged upright between its jaws, propping them open.

With a shake of its giant head, the hound spat the dussack from its mouth as it circled around the orc. Realizing he was in the beast's path, Dietrich tried to rise to avoid being trampled, but the white-hot pain of whatever had happened in his chest prevented him. He could barely draw breath. Tal tried to cut the beast off and force it in another direction, but only succeeded in exposing Agyn, and the hound suddenly charged her, seizing the opening. Dietrich watched in horror as Agyn, eyes wide, realized her fire wouldn't come in time.

A white streak flew past the mage's head, over her shoulder, close enough to whip her hair. The streak buried itself in the hound's face mid-charge, blinding it and causing its jaws to miss their mark. Instead, the creature bowled Agyn over before careening into the stone, slamming into it hard enough to make the ground shake.

With the shaft of one of Sorena's arrows buried in its eye, the hound thrashed around wildly in a rage, kicking up dirt and grass while Agyn curled into a ball underneath it. With a defiant howl, it dashed off into the forest, away from the party, crashing through the foliage and snapping small trees in its flight. The sound of its rage gradually receded into the distance.

Sorena slumped against the stone, sliding to the ground, still clutching her bow. Agyn uncurled and rose unsteadily to her feet.

"Dietrich!" Agyn pointed to the fallen man as Tal ran to his side.

The fencer choked and coughed. The pain where the beast had stomped on him burned across one side of his chest. He couldn't speak.

"I'm giving him the potion. I'm sorry, Sorena." Agyn took out the last of her tincture.

"It's all right. I need to be able to lean on you anyway. Besides, I had my own."

Dietrich could feel Tal's massive hand holding his head back as Agyn trickled something into his mouth. He nearly retched. It smelled something like rotten eggs and tasted of sulfur. Soon he felt a warmth spread through him, erasing the pain in his chest as his eyelids grew heavy.

 

[Jonan Boske]

For a time, Dietrich thought he was back in Castle Schwerin, cold and cloistered in the dark in a bed not unlike the one his master had died in. If it hadn't been for the agony that accompanied it, he might have thought the cracking and moaning he heard was the ice of the lake. Figures moved about him, hazy like smoke. He felt their poking and prodding, and something else, as his ribs rearranged themselves under some unknown force.

Dietrich struggled to focus. One figure leaned against the wall, in sharp relief from the others.

"Joachim?" Dietrich muttered as his old master tipped his hat to him.

"გაიღვიძა, წითელი მიეცით." A voice cut through the haze, authoritative and sharp. Someone poured a few drops into Dietrich's open mouth, causing him to sputter painfully. He closed his eyes, feeling the room fall away. Now he was in a bright light, drifting as he had when he first came to Egrys. As the light receded, he realized it was just a shutter being opened.

"Let's give him some fresh air," one shape said to another. One was slender with a mop of brown on top, the other looming and green. He closed his eyes against the glare before they could realize he was awake.

"How does he fare?" the green mountain asked.

"Collapsed lung, broken ribs. The surgeon seems to think things went well. Said it will take some time, but there was no lasting harm."

"Better not be, for a whole 'sun.' At least maybe Dietrich will be able to tell us when it's about to rain now."

"Hush, you brigand!" The slender one laughed. "You paced like Ninka through the whole operation. Don't act like you weren't worried."

"Fine. I admit, I might be a bit attached. I've always wanted a pet human."

"You!" For the sake of his ribs, Dietrich suppressed his laugh as the tiny woman assaulted the orc.

He sank back into his bed as the pair's voices faded.

When he opened his eyes again, the pair was gone. The light was too. Nighttime? He could hardly see anything in the dark aside from a pair of golden orbs that watched him. A silhouette framed them, topped with dark triangles.

The shadow asked him something in a tongue that wasn't Egrysan. It was like a river through a canyon, the flow of the words parting around sharp, stone-like consonants that clustered together. He shook his head. The shadow laughed, the golden eyes fixed on him playfully. He felt a warm hand on his forehead as the orbs drew closer.

It whispered something that sounded like a prayer, or poetry, in that same primeval tongue. He listened for a time until sleep took him again.

Morning came. At least, he thought so. Maybe it was the afternoon. The light coming through the shutters of his room was tinged with the glow of one or the other. Dietrich had no way to know. From the timber walls, he guessed he was back in the adventurers' quarters. Had they moved him? He could swear the room was different.

He slowly drew in a deep breath. It ached, but nothing like what he had felt before. It would seem he really was on the mend. A light tapping came at the door.

"Come in," Dietrich said, or tried to. The rasp in his voice surprised him.

The door opened slowly, and a rather timid Sorena limped inside.

"გაიღვიძე! ოჰ, ალბათ ვერ მიგებ."

The flame-haired adventurer looked far better than she had the last time Dietrich had seen her. She wore a blouse that didn't quite fit instead of her gambeson.

Sorena stood sheepishly at a safe distance from the bed, then bowed to the fencer.

"გმადლობ," she said solemnly.

"Ah, don't mention it." Dietrich waved it away. He could see she felt responsible for his condition. He did his best to shrug it off before wincing from the effort.

"წავალ, ტალს და აგინს ვეტყვი, რომ გაიღვიძე." The archer's face nearly matched the hue of her hair as she scurried from the room as fast as she could limp.

"Ade?" Dietrich waved at the still-open door. He was beginning to suspect there was a reason Sorena spent so much time in the woods.

He listened to the heavy boots of adventurers in the halls through the open door as he watched the golden sunlight crawl up the wall. Finally, he lifted his blanket with one hand and attempted to see what had become of him. He was wearing a clean linen shirt he did not recognize. Pulling up the hem, he could see what seemed to be stitches below his ribs.

He did not have to wait long for Tal and Agyn to appear. Dietrich heard the heavy footfall of an orc and pulled his blanket back over himself, hiding the wound. Tal burst through the open door with a wider grin than usual, mage in tow.

"He lives! About time you woke up. Any longer and I would've pawned your boots."

"Tal!" The mage leveled a look at him like daggers.

"What? It's not like they'd fit me. Besides, you were the one flouncing around in that silly hat of his."

"Wha—" Agyn's mouth hung open at the orc's betrayal. "I—I was curious, was all. At any rate, that's no way to greet someone who's been bedridden!"

"How long was I out?" Dietrich asked warily.

"Two weeks!" Tal offered cheerfully.

"Sche—" Dietrich caught himself mid-profanity, while Agyn's eyes danced.

"Mist," Dietrich finished. "I want to know something. How much is a 'sun'?"

Agyn smacked Tal's arm in irritation. "I told you, you were being loud. Don't worry about it, Dietrich. You were out there helping us."

"It's two mtvari, or one hundred and twenty vertsi," the orc stated flatly. "No point in hiding it, love. He would figure it out sooner or later."

"I'll make it up to you. As soon as I'm able." Dietrich had a vague vision of his final moments in the Lewitz, hands scrabbling at his waist for a widow's coin.

"No, you won't, Dietrich. You will get your rest, and when you are feeling up to it, we'll see about some light jobs. No dangerous contracts. Do you hear me, Tal?"

"We should talk about that. Truly. There isn't any safe work. Not with that monster around. Zura won't even let us leave the palisade unless there are at least four of us. And we are three."

"Tal, can you let the man rest? We can worry about that another time."

"Is the beast still around? Do you know what it is?"

The mage looked at Dietrich pensively. "There have been sightings. Something prowls the Chyrdilis. No more attacks, though, unless you count some mangled deer carcasses. Out of an abundance of caution, all must report their departure and may only leave in groups. As to what it is? The word being tossed around is 'Kursha.'"

It meant nothing to Dietrich.

Agyn did her best to explain. "You saw the winged hound on the guards' livery here? It's called a Kursha. They are so rare that most here, including myself, thought they were myth."

"That monster had no wings, though. It looked like an ordinary hound. Just bigger," Dietrich wondered out loud.

"Right? Like I said, myth. But apparently not entirely. There is nothing else we know of even close to it, so for now, it's a Kursha."

"And what does a Kursha do?" Dietrich inquired.

The mage continued. "You know that better than anyone, Dietrich. Though the legend has them tied to the ducal family here in the valley. Supposedly, at one time, they kept the beasts as hunting dogs."

Dietrich nearly spat. "You're kidding. Impossible."

Agyn shrugged. "That's what we all thought. Until... well..." She turned her head away from Dietrich.

"I am fine, Agyn. Thank you both for looking after me."

"You've done as much for us, Dietrich. We should go, Tal."

"We'll let 'em know at The Boar that you're awake. They've been asking about you." He waved as the pair exited, Tal pulling the door shut behind them.

The door had hardly shut when Dietrich heard some banter just beyond it. It popped open yet again, and Tyka glided into the room.

"Shouldn't we let him res—" Agyn attempted to intervene from the hall, but Tyka simply closed the door on her before taking the chair next to Dietrich's bed.

"I'll just be a moment, Dietrich of Zemo." She wore a fetching blouse and a pair of riding pants, not unlike Agyn's, though hers had been modified for her tail, which wandered as if it had a mind of its own.

"And what is this about?" Dietrich asked. He felt his pulse in his throat as Tyka leaned in close to him, golden eyes inches from his face.

"You are not from Zemo. That's all."

"Ahem! How do you know that?"

"Because that is what I was speaking to you the night before last. You had no idea what I was saying," she said in her sultry voice.

"Ah, right. Of course, you speak it." Well, that didn't take long.

"I speak many languages, but I've only ever heard you speak the one. And I've never heard the like of it."

"Is that so, gnädige Frau?" The fencer swallowed nervously. He thought he could hear Tal's heavy footsteps receding down the hall outside, Agyn no doubt with him.

"ბოლოს და ბოლოს." The cat had a mischievous look in her golden eyes, the slits of her pupils suddenly expanding.

"აი, რაღაც მოგიტანე!" She got up from her chair and, without a shred of shame or hesitation, laid herself down beside Dietrich, snuggling up to him.

"Ah! Lady Tyka!" Dietrich was more than a bit put off. It wasn't that he was a complete stranger to the fairer sex. But he was used to doing the pursuing... followed by a shameful visit to the Pfarrer. He felt his pulse in his temples as Tyka made herself comfortable.

"აბა, აბა. ამას შეხედე." Tyka reached back and pulled out something she had hidden. It looked to be a small book. She opened it and held it up for Dietrich to see, propping it on his chest with one small hand. On the first page was an illustration of an ordinary house cat and under it, in Egrysan, a single word.

Tyka pointed to the feline on the page and the letters before purring it out loud: "Ka-ta."

It was a children's book. For learning to read...

Dietrich slowly turned to her face, inches from his. He gave her as irritated a look as he could manage. She laughed musically, ignoring his frustration as she turned the page. On the next was the cat's nemesis, the dog. The happy beast carried a bone in its mouth as it trotted along.

Tyka once again pointed to the picture. "Dzah-ghlee," she said, nice and slow so Dietrich could repeat it.

"Zahg-legy." He gave in to her, in spite of his frustration.

"DZAH-GHLEE," she repeated, more forcefully.

Dietrich sighed, more than a bit mollified by the warmth next to him.

"Dzah-glee." He gave it his full effort.

Next, Tyka's slender finger drifted to the bone in the dog's mouth.

"DEE-TRICK," she said.

Dietrich shoved her off his bed in spite of the pain. Tyka rolled on the floor, tears of laughter pouring down her face.

"I bet you waited two weeks to get me with that one. Mangy cat!" He tried to throw his pillow at her but flinched instead as the effort reminded him of his injuries.

Tyka got up, throwing her arms around the fencer's neck. She kissed him full on the lips, like someone who was used to doing it. Her full lips parted, biting playfully at his with her canines.

Pulling back, she looked deeply into his eyes.

Dietrich blinked, totally disarmed, and stammered, "What... what was that for?" He wasn't sure why he asked, since she couldn't understand him.

"Sorena," Tyka answered. She pushed off the bed and got up to leave. She looked back coyly as she waved goodbye, leaving the man flustered and alone. The picture book still lay on his bed.

 

[Jonan Boske]

"Keep the blade moving, one-two-three-four. Remember your footwork. Christ, bauerntritte. Lower your stance!" Dietrich leaned on the fence of the training square as he instructed Tal. It was a slate-grey day, though it had yet to rain. Perfect for training.

"I am a peasant," Tal quipped as he moved laterally, foot to foot, striking in sequence at the board they had nailed up in the corner of the ring. On it was Meyer's square, with alternating numbers in Egrysan script that marked the sequence.

"You are not a peasant. You are a Freifechter! Starting today."

Tal stumbled on his feet, glancing at his teacher.

"Back at it! The first sequence. One-two-three-four..."

Tal continued the drill, chaining strikes from alternating sides as he stepped back and forth over a line Dietrich had drawn in the dirt.

Agyn leaned against the fence with her back turned, a book in hand. Sorena watched the training not far from her with rapt attention.

"He fights like a noble, Agyn. I would think you would have more interest," Sorena remarked.

"I've seen it before," the mage responded, not looking up from her book.

The group had assembled in order to cement their new party. With Sorena joining, they now had the required force to take on work in the forest, but with the archer and the fencer still on the mend, they had some time on their hands. It was Tal's idea to devote it to training.

Other adventurers were starting to gather around, some even leaning on the fence opposite Dietrich. A few began heckling, but Dietrich yelled over them.

"That is enough, mein Freund. We are done for today." Not bad, though we'll have to go over footwork again, Dietrich thought.

"Heh, an orc with a sword. Might as well give a broom to a pig." One of the watchers was a rather robust man, especially around his middle. He carried a wooden training sword identical to Tal's. Dietrich found the man's words ironic given his countenance. The upturned nose in particular.

"Shall we hand you a broom, then, Lord Teimuraz?" Agyn folded her book closed, finally turning to the square.

"I'd like to hear you say that from inside the square," Tal growled.

The man flinched as Tal rolled his prodigious shoulders. "Like I'd trade blows with a peasant."

"Freifechter," the orc corrected him.

"Mzeva." Agyn looked to the sky, clearly begging whoever resided there for patience. Sorena giggled behind her calloused fingers.

"But perhaps the 'gentleman' here would care to spar. I hear you are a noble from another land?" The pig raised an eyebrow at Dietrich.

"No, no, no. Dietrich, no! You are just out of your sickbed." The fencer was already on his way to the rack of practice swords when Agyn interjected.

Dietrich slumped his shoulders, turning back.

"A pity," sniffed the lord. "Tell me, Agyn. Do your father's hedges still bear the mark of this cretin? He must be so proud of you, trading your name to roll in the hay with some beast."

Tal's body froze like granite, his grin tightening into the look of a gargoyle as he eyed the bastard Teimuraz.

"On second thought, kick his arse." Agyn's brow tensed like the Rkenys Qendi.

The fencer took his piece from the rack of wooden swords, hiding a grin.

"It is all right, mein Schüler. Take a rest. I will demonstrate some of what you just drilled." Dietrich vaulted over the fence. His vision flashed white with pain, but he did his best not to let it show as he strode to his corner of the square. Tal stepped out over the fence without taking his glare off Teimuraz.

Teimuraz, for his part, tried to look dignified as he threw one leg over the rail like he was mounting a horse. He dropped to the other side heavily, nearly buckling at the knees, before he took up a stance opposite Dietrich. It reminded the Freifechter of Malkhaz, sword held up high, like vom Tag. It would seem the pig had some training. His structure was sound, with his healthy weight maintained on his forward foot.

"Are you ready, Dietrich of Zemo? Let us see this swordplay from over the mountain." Teimuraz sounded almost friendly now that he thought he was speaking with the peerage.

"It is true, this land must be more civilized than where I am from. Had you said that to Tal in Teutschland, you would now be dueling with steel, and few would think less of him if he killed you. Are you ready, dog's cunt? I do not intend to be gentle." The noble's face blanched as Dietrich sprang forward in vom Tag, in spite of the pain that shot from his ribs up to his shoulders. He mirrored his opponent, his weapon held close to his face.

The two fencers cut at each other, their wooden blades meeting with a loud clack.

"One," Dietrich announced.

Dietrich twisted his hips, lifting his blade as his opponent pulled back.

"Two." The Freifechter crossed his wrists, his weapon cutting around that of Teimuraz with his short edge, a strike known as a Krumphau in Meyer's school. The pig panicked; in two strikes, Dietrich was already fully inside his guard.

Teimuraz tried to push the angled cut away, only to open up his other side. Dietrich sprang his trap. Stepping off to the left, he drew his blade around in a swift circle. The swing cracked Teimuraz square in the forehead, dropping the heavy man to the dirt. He did not get up.

"Three."

Dietrich stood over the man long enough to make sure he still breathed, before turning and walking stiffly to the fence. He tried to lean his blade nonchalantly against the rail but instead let it drop as he grabbed the railing to hold himself up.

"Goodman Tal. Could I ask your assistance?" Dietrich used the Egrysan honorific while he did his best not to show his agony.

"Good orc," Tal corrected him as the grinning apprentice helped him over the rail one leg at a time.

"I'm sorry, Dietrich. And thank you." Agyn's brow had gone from iron ledge to concerned mother as remorse for her request set in.

"Do not mention it. Such an insult should not go unanswered."

Teimuraz's companions were already trying to hoist him out of the square. "Oi, that's unsportsmanlike. He'd better live."

Dietrich turned back painfully and leveled his gaze at them. "Tell him when he wakes that if he calls my friend a beast again, he had better bring steel. You understand? I'll kill him."

Sorena and Agyn started to drag the fencer away. "Let's go, Dietrich, this way. Time for an ale."

Tal looked back with his tusked smile, giving a sweeping bow to the unconscious "noble" and company before catching up to his companions.

---

The public house was low and dark, with a haze of smoke settling near the sagging ceiling, remnants from a hearth that didn't draw properly. Rough patrons threw daggers and makeshift darts at a circle etched into the plaster. The taxidermy matched the bear outside, with creatures fixed in various states of degradation. Above the party hung a roe deer, except whoever mounted it had chosen the wrong end. Its hindquarters jutted stiffly from the wall, displayed for all the world to see. The place smelled of stale beer, sweat, and tallow.

Two weeks out of work, and Dietrich's bill with the surgeon had left the party destitute. So while The Boar was superior in every other way, The Bear had one redeeming quality. It was cheap.

At least no one had seen them come in.

Just then, a squelching sound came as a tiny hand rubbed away some of the muck that hazed the cracked window from the outside. Agyn and Sorena tried to sink under the table, while three Kantari of orc and the wounded fencer were unable to hide. Tal and Dietrich looked away, shamefaced, as Ninka pressed her nose up to the glass. The look said it all. Traitors.

And then she was gone.

Soon, the proprietor himself was at their table, a mad-looking dwarf with an unkempt beard and a stained tunic. "What'll it be, loves? What will it be?" His gaze lingered on each party member in turn, sparing no one. Sorena and Agyn started to sink under the table a second time, leaving it to the men.

"Uh, right. Ale, I guess. And whatever's in the pot." Tal stepped up for the party.

"Right away! Right. A. Way!" The dwarf scurried off through the dirty sheet that separated the kitchen from the main hall.

"Dwarves, huh?" Dietrich was admiring a rather ornate painting that seemed almost out of place in the establishment. It showed a voluptuous figure barely wrapped in thin silks as she was carried in a gilded palanquin with open blinds. The lady sported a rather magnificent beard.

"Not all dwarves... This one is... special." Agyn tried to be diplomatic.

Soon, the proprietor was back, carrying a tray precariously and spilling some of the swill as he set chipped tankards in front of his guests. Next came a stew and some bread. The stew was grey, with indeterminate chunks floating within it. The bread was the same bread The Boar served, except that it had been baked yesterday. Or the day before.

"What is this?" Tal inquired of the proprietor as he spooned a piece of grey... something from his stew.

"Meat," said the dwarf as he turned to the kitchen, whistling happily as he went.

"Never again," said Agyn, before testing the bread with her teeth.

"Agreed," the others said in unison.

"We need some work, and soon. Dietrich, how are your ribs?" Tal asked. Agyn shot the orc a look, while Sorena dropped her head.

"It is all right. We should have a plan. I am feeling well enough. I could always see if Kova has something for me to do. I need to see him anyway; I left my dussack with him for sharpening. But that leaves you lot stranded."

"I bet it's nice to have a trade," Sorena added cheerfully.

"Unfortunately, the four-hunter rule has made it hard for other adventurers. There is not a lot of work in town with so many looking," Agyn mused aloud.

"I could check with Zura. Sometimes he has 'special' tasks. And you could always ask Tyka. She knows everything going on," Tal offered.

Dietrich stiffened at the mention of Tyka.

"Something wrong, Dietrich?" Of course Agyn would notice.

"Nothing." The fencer tried to hide behind his mug as he took a sip.

"Gah, I take that back. This is wrong. Very." He slammed the tankard down, splashing the watery ale onto the table.

"Well, this swill is at least as dangerous as the Chyrdilis. I say we take what we can get. I'm sorry, friend, but can you come with us? Even if you just watch the rear, it satisfies Zura." Agyn looked down, defeated, as Tal spoke.

"Anything to avoid another round of this," Dietrich agreed.

"Settled, then. Let's plan for tomorrow at first light."

---

"Turn... Turn... Enough. Heat." Kova gave Dietrich simple commands between hammer strikes as the cutler did his best to hold an orange-hot piece of iron on the anvil with his tongs. On his previous visit, Kova had insisted on teaching Dietrich some smithing terms; now they were putting them to work.

The orc's new "apprentice" winced, hissing through his teeth as he hauled the piece to the forge and buried it in the coals. He swore he could feel Kova's eyes on him, but when he turned back, the old orc was clearing the scale from the anvil with a brush.

Dietrich pulled the next bit of iron from the forge, a piece destined to be another boar spear. Nearly half the Guild wanted one now, including the Freifechter. Kova had agreed that if Dietrich helped him forge a dozen, the fencer could claim the last for himself. Given how rare good equipment was on the frontier, it seemed a good deal to make.

Hauling the white-hot billet to the anvil, the pair fell into a rhythm, Kova's strikes ringing through the village.

"Dzala!" the orc shouted as a strike nearly tore the iron from Dietrich's tongs.

"Dz—Dzah-glee?" Dietrich stuttered the word for dog, realizing too late what the smith had really said. Harder. Hold tighter. He tried to shake the memory of a certain golden-eyed woman from his mind. He needed to concentrate. Dietrich regripped the iron and gave Kova a nod. The old orc smirked at him knowingly before striking once more.

A while later, another couple of spearheads had been lugged and socketed. Dietrich wiped the sweat from his brow while Kova checked their work. The old smith gave his approval in the form of a grunt.

"მოიცა," the smith said, placing the work back on the anvil and stepping out of the forge. He returned soon after, holding a weapon.

He handed Dietrich the familiar shape of his dussack in its scabbard. Dietrich drew the blade and inspected the edge. The notches from his fight with Vakho were nearly gone, buffed out by Kova's grindstone. Dietrich nodded his approval as he sheathed it. Before he could give his thanks and leave, the orc stepped out again. What now?

The orc returned a second time, holding a polearm upright. He handed it to Dietrich.

"მკვდარს ვერ გადავუხდი."

It was a boar spear. Simple, but well crafted and polished, with a razor-sharp edge to its broad, tapered blade. Dietrich shook his head, sighing in exasperation. Kova must have had it hafted just for him.

"I do not know what to say. I will be back tomorrow. After the hunt. I owe you."

The old orc shrugged, uncomprehending, before waving Dietrich out. He leaned on the double doors of his forge as he watched the man leave with his weapons, smiling with his broken tusk.

 

[Jonan Boske]

The morning sun had yet to breach the eastern ridge as the party headed to the Guild Office. On their way, they passed a large group of hunters assembled by the well in the town square.

"Mornin', Tal," said a squat man, no taller than Dietrich's chest. He addressed the orc from under an iron helmet, a short spear resting across his broad shoulders. His beard was nearly as long as he was tall.

"Morning, Otar. Quite the party you have there. You intend to go out with so many?" the orc inquired.

"Not hunting. We make for the capital. In two weeks we've hardly taken a core to split between us. We'll check around and see how the other grounds are farin'." The dwarf spat into the dirt.

"I've heard it's been rough. Good fortune to you, friend," Tal said somberly, extending a green paw.

The dwarf took it amicably. "And to you. Glad to see Sorena's with you. You be good now, you hear, lass?" The dwarf wagged his finger at the archer while she nodded sheepishly, making her way past.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it, am I?" Sorena muttered, her eyes at her feet.

"People care about you, Sorena. You have to admit, you were testing your luck." Agyn didn't let her off.

The door of the Guild Office had light leaking from underneath. Tal pushed it open to reveal Zura already manning his post.

"Ah, there you are. And Sorena. Excellent. Are you heading to the wood?" Zura asked.

The clerk seemed anxious. He had a stack of reports on his counter as he leaned over them.

"We are planning on it. Anything we should know?" Tal asked bluntly.

"Right... Right. As you know, we've been struggling. I'll cut to it, then. The Guild could use your help."

Agyn raised a brow. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's not, I assure you. We've had no further attacks, but the woods are empty. We haven't been productive. I've sent word to Maradtsikhe, but honestly, I didn't know what to tell them." The clerk leveled his gaze at them over his spectacles.

"We need more information. Any kind of evidence. If you go out today, I would temper my expectations. Instead of trying for cores, I would have you scout. The Guild will pay for any information you find. Kills, tracks, scat. Anything. If we can verify it, we'll pay you. Ultimately, we need to know where this thing is coming from. Oh, and if you come across the bastard, do not engage it if it can at all be avoided. I've already sent word to the Duke. Hopefully, he'll send a retinue to help us deal with this thing."

"The Duke! Right. The same one who left it to us to clear the roads. I wouldn't count too much on him getting off his arse. Likely, he'll never hear of it." Tal scowled at the clerk.

"I think this time will be different. He stands to lose much through inaction, and I sent the proper emissary. She has her ways of... bypassing bureaucracy." Zura pushed up his spectacles.

Agyn rolled her eyes. "Tyka," she stated with a smirk.

"Is that disapproval I hear?" Zura asked.

"No, no. I would have done the same," the mage clarified.

"Good. With any luck, we will get a response. Just remember what I said. No death or glory. Look for sign, return. That's an official directive."

"Can I just ask," Sorena chimed in, "your rule of four, how did you arrive at that number?" Sorena was beginning to suspect that her joining Agyn's party was no accident.

"What would have happened if you had been only three when you faced the beast?" Zura shot back without hesitation.

Tal looked down at his knuckles as he leaned on the counter. "We would have lost somebody for certain."

"There you go. Anything else?"

The party shook their heads.

"Come back alive. You hear? That's an order."

---

As the party left the office, they caught the wafting scent of barley bread baking on the wind. As if on cue, a little figure waltzed by, carrying a cloth-covered bundle, her nose held in the air as she passed them.

"Ninka, wait!" Agyn called after her.

"Hmph!" the girl snorted as she scurried on to The Boar, its ground floor glowing dimly as the staff prepared for the day.

"Whose idea was it to try The Bear, anyway?" Tal inquired.

"Yours," the party accused him, each with a finger.

Tal slumped his large shoulders. "Right. Bad call."

---

Not long after, the four of them found themselves on the road toward Rkintsikhe. The morning light was just breaking into the forest, but no birdcall accompanied it. The party kept their eyes on the trees, looking for shapes that weren't there as they continued on into the dimly lit woodland. Dietrich recalled their fight on this very road and the quiet that had preceded it. Now the whole forest was like this: the rustling of the boughs the only sound on the breeze.

"What is our plan should we encounter this... Kursha?" Dietrich asked as he used his spear as a walking stick. Thankfully, his ribs were feeling better than they had after his bout with Teimuraz.

"You stay in the back. If it tries to flank us, you can fend it off with that pig-sticker of yours. I'll take the front. It didn't seem too keen to scrap with me," the orc added proudly.

"Sorena and I will watch the wood. Remember what Zura said. We're just scouting."

"Yeah, yeah. Like that thing will just run away if we ask it nicely. Nice shot, by the by." Tal nodded to their new addition as she gripped her bow, white-knuckled.

"I got lucky. I was aiming for it dead center. I almost hit Agyn."

"You likely saved my life, Sorena. We have had a number of close calls recently. No more, though. We need to get our act together. If we are to do this, we should be smart about it." Agyn's face was like stone. Tal looked away, chastened.

"Let's cut in from here." Tal noted a well-used game trail that diverted from the main road. He turned onto it while the party followed wordlessly.

The next hour or so was spent in silence as the troop cautiously walked the trail. A small creek wandered alongside the dirt path, its babbling the only sound competing with the rustling trees. Every now and then, one of the party would stop to listen, the others halting with them as they questioned every perceived disturbance in the susurrant forest.

"Do you smell that?" Sorena held her nose as the hike continued.

"I do," Dietrich agreed. The sickly sweet scent of death was on the wind. It seemed to be coming from upstream. As they marched toward it, the stream changed, green with algae and coated in an oily white froth. Flies swarmed in growing intensity.

"Oof, that reeks!" Agyn covered her face with a handkerchief.

Soon they saw the outline of what had defiled the stream. Its head was twisted to the side, beak agape, its eyes frozen in terror. The corpse of the griffon was bloated and foul, covered in mycelial white as the forest did its work, gradually breaking the creature down.

"You think this counts as sign?" Tal asked rhetorically. He walked around the broken creature to its belly. "Juvenile. The kill was clean. It didn't even bother to feed, either."

"Was it defending its territory?" Agyn asked.

"Who knows?" Tal said, bending down with his knife. He hacked into the putrid mess, releasing a cloud of vile gas from the creature's gut. "Bleh! Goddess, that's awful. But look what I found!" Tal held up the creature's core, just freed from the cadaver.

"Lovely... Just wash up before you pack that thing away, please," Agyn said, muffled behind her cloth.

"It's been here a while. It's a wonder no one else has come upon it," Sorena thought aloud.

"Lucky for us, I guess. What do you think? Shall we carry on?" Tal asked.

Agyn balked. "This satisfies the request. We could return, band together with some other hunters. If it's defending its territory, maybe it's close. We'll need numbers to scour the area."

"And split the reward? That does little for our purse. I do not fancy another round of swill at the place that shall not be named," Tal suggested.

"I think we have greater concerns than bad ale and rancid stew. I have hardly recovered from our first encounter with this mongrel. Perhaps we should do as Agyn suggests?" Sorena gave Dietrich a nod, clearly in support of heading back.

Tal lowered his head with a shake, outvoted.

"Suppose this will have to do. Let's at least check the area. See where the tracks lead. From the looks of it, the kill happened up there. The griffon slid down into the stream after the fact," the orc said.

Tal clambered up into the brush while the party followed. There was surprisingly little evidence: some gouges, and then a hollow where the beast must have overtaken its prey. Reddish-brown flecks spotted the leaves, but there had been no great outpouring of blood.

"This wasn't a fight. The griffon was fleeing. It took it from behind and snapped its neck. Then just... left it," Sorena remarked, squatting down as she read the disturbed foliage.

"Are we sure this is our quarry?" Dietrich asked.

"A griffon doesn't run from a bear. Or just about anything else. I can't think of what else it might be. Look here." Sorena pointed to a deep impression in the mud, a single print pressed deep, nearly hidden by the brush. Five large pads had pressed down into the mulch, four up front with claw marks and one large pad behind. Tal held his palm over it; even the orc's spread fingers barely covered the print.

"That is no bear," Tal remarked.

"We turn back. Now," Agyn insisted. "This is a problem for the whole Guild."

Tal reluctantly got to his feet and let Agyn lead the party back to the path by the stream. Just as they passed the corpse of the griffon, something crashed in the distant trees. Everyone froze.

"Did you hear that?" Sorena whispered.

"How could you not?" Dietrich replied.

They scanned the woods. Nothing. The forest remained as silent as it had been all day.

"I'll take the lead," Tal said quietly as he passed Agyn by. She started to say something, then thought better of it and let the orc lead them back to the main road.

"Should I say that I have the feeling we are being watched?" asked Dietrich.

"You just did, and if I'm honest, that's how it's been the whole time," whispered Sorena. "I've never seen the forest like this."

They made it safely to the main road, picking up their pace on the way back to the village.

"Well, then. We're practically home, and with a free core! You think Ninka will forgive us?" Tal was smiling now that they were on the broad path.

Agyn laughed. "The look on her face when she caught us at The Bear. I am taking that to the grave."

As they rounded a bend in the road, something made them stop dead in their tracks. It lay across the open dirt in a heap of fur. For a while, the party just stared. Sorena was the first to move, followed by Dietrich, who brandished his spear, keeping a watchful eye on the treeline. It was the corpse of a giant boar, like the one he had witnessed on his first day in the Chyrdilis. Blood pooled beneath its head, running from its mouth and neck.

Sorena felt through the beast's pelt. "Throat's torn out. It's still warm. This just happened." She turned to the party, eyes wide.

Everyone scanned the trees, backs to each other. It was a long while before anyone dared to move or say anything.

"If it's out there, it's out there. We need to move," Tal growled.

"You're right. If we act like prey, we are prey." Sorena stood up as tall as she could make herself and put one faltering foot in front of the other, then continued her stride as best she could. The party fell in line.

They traveled in silence, listening to a forest that was suddenly hostile. Every creak, every rustle, every twig that snapped underfoot hastened their step as they willed themselves not to run. It wasn't long before they saw the familiar shape of the palisade ahead and the guards at their post. Tal broke into a jog as the party followed, finally reaching the gate.

"What is it, Tal? What've you seen?" the guard demanded.

"Let no one leave. You understand? Keep everyone in," Tal ordered the guard with all the authority he could muster.

"Are there any parties out besides us?" Agyn asked the guards.

The two on post looked at each other and back. "Not that we've seen, but we just got here."

"Who was here before you?" asked Sorena.

"Gela and Shota. Why?"

Sorena broke from the party in the direction of the barracks. "I'll see if they saw anyone else. You had better see Zura."

Tal nodded to the archer.

"There is a mangled boar about a half hour's walk up the road to Rkintsikhe. I would recommend you take my word on that." And with that, Tal left the guards, walking with purpose to the Guild Office. Dietrich and Agyn jogged after him.

Tal nearly threw the door off its hinges as he barreled into the room, startling Zura behind the counter. Agyn and Dietrich came in after, standing gravely behind the orc.

"I take it you have news? Where is Sorena?" Zura set down some parchment and glanced at the empty space beside them.

"She's fine, but we have news." Tal related their trek through the woods, describing in detail the kill by the stream and the boar. He was just getting to the end when one of the gate guards came crashing through the door of the office.

"What is it?" Zura demanded as the guard caught his breath.

"Tal..." the guard wheezed. "You said... it was a half hour's walk, right?"

The orc nodded.

"Me and the boys set out... just to take a look. We weren't even to the first bend, and we saw it. Stone's throw from the gates. Something dragged it all the way to the village."

Zura's face was flint. "Tal, listen to me."

The orc turned back to him while the party looked on, ashen-faced.

"None of you are to leave Davashavi, for any reason. You understand? You four will remain within the palisade. This is an order."

"But how are we going to eat? We're hunters, Zura! Just us?" Tal looked at the clerk in disbelief. Agyn, for her part, seemed relieved.

Zura strode around the counter until he was right in front of the orc. He put a hand on his shoulder like a friend. "Thank you for taking on the assignment. We'll take over from here." He handed Tal a long piece of metal, split down the middle with a jagged line.

"Hand this to Lela at The Boar. Your expenses are on me." Zura smiled at the orc, giving him a clap on the shoulder.

"Zura... It's not just the coin..." Tal looked at him, deflated.

"I know, Tal. I know." But Zura walked past him to the guard.

"Did you bring the carcass in? I want to see it," Zura said to the man wearing the winged hound.

"Right. Should be in the square by now; we went for a cart."

"Where everyone can see, eh? Fine, take me to it." Zura shook his head as he left the party standing there.

Tal strode to a chair and threw himself into it, his weight straining it to the point of breaking.

Agyn came up behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders, while Dietrich looked away.

"It's not right. Why is he singling us out?" Tal asked the pillar that held the room up.

"He's looking out for us, Tal. He's been here longer than anyone. He knows what he's doing." Agyn tried to assuage the orc.

Tal shook his head. "It's not right..."

 

[Jonan Boske]

"Tag! No, swing it. Zornhau! Not still. Yes, Pflug now. Ochs. Alber. Again." It had been a week since the party was grounded, and Agyn had been helping Dietrich with his Egrysan. He still used German words to convey the stances and strikes to Tal and Sorena, as well as a number of adventurers who had asked to join in at the training yard. They did their best to chain strikes in between each guard, swinging their wooden practice swords and taking up the new stance with a step.

They would cut up with the short edge from Alber into Tag with a forward step. Forward again with a Zornhau, and then they would fall back into Pflug with their hilts by their hips. From Pflug they mimicked a parry into Ochs, striking with a short-edge thrust and stepping back into Alber.

As they stepped forward into the Zornhau from Tag, Dietrich noted how Tal hurled the blade, as opposed to Sorena's better control. She found her way to the restrained Pflug quickly, while Dietrich wasn't sure there would be anything left of the man foolish enough to parry the orc's strike. Tal had difficulty finding his way to the next guard from his overextended position.

Dietrich approached his first pupil. "Like this, by hip. Hold back. Too much swing, eh? Foot hits ground, blade strikes, as one."

Dietrich once again demonstrated the transition with a controlled overhead strike. His shortened passing step followed the blade as he drew the cut in to end by his side. Tal grunted his irritation, though he did his best to mimic his instructor. Reining in wasn't Tal's strong suit, which meant Dietrich was all the stricter about enforcing it.

"Sometimes, your foe, not care he die. Must mind das Nach. The after." The fencer demonstrated a quick cut with an immediate backstep, sword raised to cover an imaginary blow.

"თუ so you say," Tal muttered as he repeated the transition with a much more restrained cadence. At least for Tal. Sorena giggled at the green giant's frustration.

"And you." Dietrich pointed at the redhead accusingly. She gulped, eyes wide as she clutched her practice weapon.

"Your control, excellent. Problem still." Dietrich suddenly brought his wooden blade down toward the archer, who immediately brought hers up in a backstep. She caught his blow with a clack. Dietrich continued to chain his strikes, driving Sorena back.

"You leave das Vor to me! Already decided." Dietrich struck crooked into her guard, beating her practice sword away before bringing his to her throat.

"You not defend only, just take longer to die." He held her gaze with all seriousness.

"Step here, I show you. Everyone! Watch. Strike from cover. Attack, defend. One blow. Sorena, Oberhau. On me."

Sorena swung her practice sword at him overhand, practically with her eyes closed. Dietrich already had his blade up in a thumb grip. He twisted his wrists, snapping his "sword" around horizontally, catching Sorena's weapon on his guard while the tip of his own found her throat, stopping just short.

"Attack, defend. Same time. Perfect! Unless you fight orc. Then step off-line, void, and strike!"

"What არის that?" Tal asked.

"Called Zwerchhau. Master's strike. When done, you will have all them."

A shimmering presence flickered in the air, and suddenly everyone was speaking German. Not long after, Agyn came walking briskly through the training yard.

As Dietrich turned to greet her, he saw Teimuraz's friends, the ones who had pulled the bastard from the square, glaring at the fencer and his new students from across the yard. They leaned against the palisade wall, arms crossed.

"They do not seem happy with me," Dietrich remarked to the mage.

"They'll get over it," Agyn said without even giving them a glance.

At the sound of his lover's voice, Tal lowered his sword, sweat beading on his brow.

"Did you find anything in the records?" he asked Agyn.

"Concerning the Kursha? No. Our hound doesn't show up anywhere in the local bestiary. Zura warned me I wouldn't find anything. He seemed to mind me poking around."

"Huh, that's... Why wouldn't he want us to check the archive?" Tal asked with unusual concern.

"My guess? Because this isn't the first time this has happened. Only last time, it wasn't a hound. Remember the griffon? The one stuffed in the hall?" Agyn fixed the party with a stern gaze.

"Old Babua? Of course. What does it have to do with this?" Tal asked, confused.

"Same events, different beast. There was a record low in cores recovered. Bad news, because it happened in the middle of a war. The forest was dead, so they sent more hunters. Only the hunters became the hunted. Fifteen were killed. Then it all went back to normal once Erekle Onearm brought down Babua," Agyn continued.

"They don't mention that in the stories. Where did you read that?" Sorena asked.

"Not in any one place, but if you piece together the reports and the casualties, you see the pattern. Forest goes quiet, no cores, hunter casualties, then everything is fine once the hall gets a new doorstop."

"Who is Erekle Onearm?" Dietrich asked.

"A hunter long passed. A legend. He killed Old Babua, and as his name implies, he had one arm," Tal informed the fencer.

"It's what kept him from military service. As it turned out, it paid off well for Egrys. They needed steel as desperately as they needed men, and someone had to keep the cores coming," Agyn added.

"At any rate, time for some grub. Didn't you say Kova was going to meet us?" Tal gave Dietrich a look.

"There are some things I would like to discuss with him, and it would help to have Agyn's miracle present," Dietrich answered the orc.

"My miracle." Agyn batted her eyes at Tal. The orc rolled his eyes while shaking his tusks.

"You must stop raising the bar, my friend." The orc jabbed Dietrich in the ribs playfully.

"Agh! Careful, it's still a bit raw." Dietrich put his hand over where the stitching had been, just the day before.

"How does it feel?" asked Sorena, not quite looking her instructor in the eye.

"A bit better every day. So long as a certain brute leaves me alone." Dietrich glared at Tal with mock scorn.

"But in all seriousness, thank you again for seeing to my care," the fencer quickly added.

"Don't let him off. Brute was right," Agyn said, even as she walked up and put her arms around her lover.

"So, the Boar, then?" Tal asked.

"Yes. If Ninka lets us in," Agyn replied.

---

The Boar was quieter than Dietrich had ever seen it. Half the tables sat empty. Lela wasn't at her usual post, and one of the staff was working the one hearth while the other was left cold.

Ninka stood at the foot of the stairs with an empty tray. She saw them come in. For a moment, Dietrich thought she might say something. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched up to the mezzanine without a word.

Tal winced. "Well. That's fair."

Kova was already waiting at a table, tankard in hand. He raised it to them as they sat, which was as close to a greeting as the old orc ever came.

In the end, it was Lela who came to serve them.

"Crawling back after samplin' our 'competitors,' eh?" the proprietress teased.

The party couldn't meet the woman's gaze, though there was no malice in it.

"We regret it, truly," Agyn offered, while the rest nodded silently.

"How is Ninka? She seems... not herself," Sorena added.

"Don't take it personal. A lot of hunters have left with the grounds in a state. Times like this, she misses Gocha, you know?" At the mention of the name, Kova buried his tusks in his tankard. He did not look up.

"Who is Gocha?" asked Dietrich.

Tal shot Dietrich a look while Sorena hid her mouth behind her hand.

Agyn sighed before explaining. "You couldn't know. Gocha was Ninka's father. A hunter."

"And wh—oh..." It dawned on Dietrich just as he began to ask.

"It's all right, dear. It happened some time ago. But Ninka can be rather attached to our patrons."

"And we had to go and check out that other place..." Tal muttered, staring at the table.

"When all the hunters are leaving," Agyn finished.

Agyn got up. "I'll go talk to her. Don't worry, I won't go far," she said as she left the table. Tal nodded.

"Well, then, let's not worry ourselves," Lela said. "We still have some game in the pot and a cellar full of ale. What will it be?"

"Anything, so long as it isn't grey and moving by itself," growled Tal.

"Pottage it is, and some brown ale," Lela said with a laugh. She left the table, and for a while, it remained silent.

"I remember crafting that weapon," Kova said with a sigh, finally speaking.

"The spear?" Tal's eyes drifted to where the weapon hung on the chimney.

Kova nodded. "Fine bit of work. Was missing when they found Gocha. The hunters got it back."

"Was his weapon left stuck in some beast?" Dietrich wondered aloud.

"Nay. Was men that killed Gocha. Hunters caught them trying to flee the wood. They had his spear." Kova dipped back into his tankard.

"And what happened to them?" Dietrich asked.

"What do you think? Their kind get left to the griffons. Nature's undertaker," Kova replied between swigs.

Dietrich recalled Zura's annoyance when they presented Vakho. So that's how it is on the frontier.

"Any road, you didn't call me here just to talk about the 'good ol' days,' did you?" Kova chuckled at his own dark joke.

Dietrich looked the orc dead in the eye. "You are right. I asked you here to discuss work, since we have the time. I promised my friend here a sword. I intend to keep that promise."

Tal sat up straight at the mention of a new weapon.

"Heh, I had forgot about that, if I'm honest. But I wouldn't say no." His eyes held that gleam again.

"Hmm? What kind of sword? One like that saber on your hip?" Kova inquired.

"Not quite, though I would like to make it from the same material. I have noticed what you call steel is quite different from what I know."

"The people's steel..." Kova let the words hang.

Tal and Sorena looked at each other, confused.

"What do you mean by the people's steel?" Dietrich asked.

Kova leaned in, his voice lowering. "That's an old smith's term for your metal. Though I'd say your piece is better craft than I've ever seen. When it comes to the old steel, at any rate."

"So there is steel like this in Egrys?" Dietrich pressed.

"Used to be, all steel was like yours. Then coresteel came along and everything changed. This was long enough ago that hardly anyone remembers it," Kova explained.

"Why do you call it the people's steel?" Sorena cut in.

"Was a time when both were used. Coresteel is harder, sharper—" Kova answered.

"And more brittle. You have to leave it thicker or it will shatter," Dietrich finished for him.

Kova smirked, unoffended by the intrusion. "Good eye; you're right. The old steel had its advantages. But the nobles and hunters needed something that could pierce monster scale. Or armor. From that point of view, coresteel was superior. So the gentry used coresteel, while the rest of us had to make do. That's where the term 'people's steel' came from. It was vulgar. For the masses."

"And then you simply stopped using the old metal?" Dietrich couldn't believe they would just stop producing regular steel.

"No, there was pressure. The nobles saw a means to restrict arms to the common folk, and they used the greed of the trades guilds and the Church to do it. The burghers got exclusive rights to produce coresteel, while the Church of Mzeva declared the art of making the old stuff to be necromancy—"

"Schwarzkunst?! Making honest steel?" Dietrich nearly choked on the word Agyn's magic had rendered in his ears. The black art.

"Yeah, you know, baking iron with horse hooves and leather and the like. The old steel became taboo, if not outright illegal. You were ostracized for crafting it. No good Mzevian would touch the stuff." Kova took a final draw from his tankard before setting it down.

"I cannot help noting the hypocrisy," Sorena chimed in. "Using animal bits is the dark arts, but the core of a monster is fine? By that reckoning, fletching with goose feathers is witchcraft."

"They would have put it differently back then. But you're right. It had nothing to do with the will from on high. It was all about control and profit," Kova conceded.

Dietrich recalled how the Church at home had once tried to ban the crossbow, a weapon that let a common man fell a knight. The ban had been ignored, and the crossbow had carried on regardless. In Egrys, it seemed, a similar ban had worked. Uneasily, he had to admit the overreach was alarming. By denying the people steel, the upper classes held a near monopoly on force. Yet to permit everything would mean accepting weapons like the one that had killed him.

"Does this at all change your plans?" asked Kova.

"Not in the slightest. I, for one, do not recognize your church. As a good Christian, I am no doubt a heretic in these lands already. I will not bow to any corrupt body that stands on the backs of decent men," Dietrich said without hesitation.

Tal and Sorena looked around, wide-eyed with alarm.

"A what?" gasped Tal.

"Not so loud, Dietrich!" Sorena chastised him.

"Why? What would happen to me if they knew I worship another and carry a heretical weapon?" Dietrich asked, though he looked little concerned.

"Not much, officially. The meddling of the Church brought much suffering to the people during the wars. Their influence is not at all what it was, and the last few kings greatly restricted them," Kova replied. "Still, I wouldn't go around with a trumpet announcing yourself as such. Mzeva is still popular, even if the Church is not. The real problem is the smiths' guild. If you hurt their monopoly on steel, they'll come for you, any way they can."

They were interrupted by the sudden presence of Agyn, who carried a tray laden with food. Ninka was beside her with another, though she couldn't meet the party's eyes. The two went about serving the table, after which Agyn took her seat by Tal. The little maid stood by, looking at the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said in a quiet voice.

"No, no! We are at fault, Ninka," Sorena interjected.

"It was our mistake. Well, mine," admitted Tal, rolling his eyes at himself.

"It's just that... everyone leaves..." She was doing her best not to cry.

"Now, now." Agyn pulled the maid close.

"We aren't going anywhere," Sorena was quick to say.

"We can't. Zura's orders. 'Fraid you're stuck with us," Tal added.

"Promise you won't go over vere again," Ninka sniffled.

"We promise," the table said in unison. It was the easiest oath any of them had ever made.

 

[Jonan Boske]

The two smiths appraised their work. The firebox of the hearth now had additional firebricks stacked all the way up to the hood of the forge. The new, incomplete wall was still open at the front, awaiting more bricks to complete the chimney. On the workbench behind them sat a pile of iron bars, newly welded together the day before from scrap iron and broken weapons. Beside them sat a stack of freshly made, unfired bricks.

"We are going to need more bricks," Kova said.

"And charcoal." Dietrich nodded to the half-empty stall by the hearth. "Let us see how the others are faring."

Kova and Dietrich made their way to the postern gate. It was currently manned by a pair of rather bored-looking guards, leaning on their spears. They barely nodded to the smiths, keeping their eyes fixed on the treeline of the woods just beyond the fields on the other side of the river. Technically, the party was forbidden from leaving the palisade, but so long as they stayed within sight of the walls, the guards didn't make a fuss.

Before they rounded the bend, Dietrich could hear the smashing of clay pots and the laughter of women. There they found Tal, sledge in hand, reducing old pot shards to powder. Agyn and Sorena, locked arm in arm, performed some stomping kind of jig with their pants rolled up to their knees. They trod the river clay in a shallow pit under their bare feet while the trio worked to the same rhythm, Tal whistling tunelessly while the women sang a song neither knew all the words to.

Catching sight of Kova and Dietrich, Tal leaned on his sledge, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"How come I have to do the hard part?" the orc grumbled.

"Because you have big, strong muscles," teased Sorena.

"Are you saying you'd like to dance with me?" Agyn held an open hand out playfully to Tal.

Tal looked at the pair in the pit, then to the smiths. With a sigh, he picked up his sledge and brought it down on a broken vessel, reducing it to sand.

Agyn and Sorena resumed their jig, laughing more than it warranted, while Kova stepped up to make sure they were actually getting anything done.

"You sifted it, yes? It needs to be pur—"

Just as he was about to lecture the mage and archer on the purity needed for firebricks, a horn sounded, echoing through the valley.

Sorena stopped mid-stomp, her foot hanging in the air as she held onto Agyn.

"That was no hunting horn," the archer said.

Tal dropped his sledge while the girls scrambled from the clay pit. The party raced to the postern gate, where the guards were craning their necks to see into the square.

"What's happening?" Tal asked the closest of the two.

"Sounds like someone's paying the village a visit," the guard said cheerfully.

"'Bout fuckin' time," said his fellow guard.

The party left the guards at the postern gate, nearly running toward the main gate. Across the square, they could see a horse and rider, a single man-at-arms in blue livery bearing a winged hound. The tabard was pristine, draped over fine mail. The rider scanned the village from under his shining sallet while giving instructions to the guards at their post. Zura could be seen striding purposefully to the gate from his office.

The clerk caught sight of the party, slowing to a stop as he waited for them to approach.

"Zura! Is it the Duke? Has he finally come?" Tal asked.

"He has." The clerk's gaze traveled to Tal's stained and dusty shirt and the girls' bare, muddy feet. "And the first sight to greet him will be the Guild's finest. What were you lot doing? Wrestling pigs in a sty?"

"We were making bricks," Sorena offered helpfully.

"Of course you were." Zura shook his head. "There's no time to change. Stand behind me and try to... I don't know, look professional."

The horn sounded again, nearer now. The outrider wheeled his horse aside to clear the road as a crowd began to gather in the square. Hunters drifted from the Guild compound. Lela stood in her apron at the door of the Boar, Ninka peering from behind her skirts.

The banners came first, blue silk snapping in the wind, each bearing the winged silver hound. Behind them marched a column of men-at-arms in the same livery, two by two. It was hard to count from the main gate, but from their polearms and banners, there had to be at least thirty men-at-arms. Their weapons and armor set them apart from the piecemeal gear of the Hunters' Guild.

That is a great many men for one hound.

In the middle of the column rode a young man on a grey horse. He sat easily in his saddle, the wind tousling his chestnut curls as he studied the fields and palisade walls. Though he wore no helmet, his armor was impressive.

"That's the Duke?" Sorena covered her mouth. She looked down at her dirty feet and inched her way behind Tal.

"Well, well. He's handsome, isn't he?" Agyn nudged the blushing archer playfully with her elbow.

Tal, for his part, muttered something under his breath, eyes flat and brooding, but Dietrich couldn't make it out.

Beside the Duke rode an older man in sober black, lean and tall, with a silver chain of office across his chest. He did not look pleased.

And just behind the Duke, on a smaller horse, rode Tyka. She wore a traveling cloak with the hood thrown back, and her golden eyes swept the crowd until they found Dietrich. They lingered on him a moment, and on the clay drying on his sleeves. She smirked, then looked away.

The procession finally reached the gates. As they fanned through, the tail of the column came into view. It was the huntsmen, and with them a pack of the Duke's hounds, long-legged and lean, their leashes jingling as they trotted through the gate. Dietrich shuddered at the memory of their gargantuan counterpart.

And then, suddenly, they stopped.

The dogs went quiet. Every head turned the same way, back toward the forest beyond the wall, ears flat, hackles raised. Not one of them barked. A single mutt gave a keening whimper. The huntsmen tugged at the leashes, cursing under their breath, but the hounds would not move until the gate was closed behind them.

Sorena's hand found Agyn's sleeve. Neither said a word.

With the gate closed, one of the riders dismounted. Dietrich recognized him as the outrider who had first reached the village. The man loomed a head taller than the other guards and had a long scar that ran across his face and both lips. He called out in a clear, brassy voice, the kind that carried well over a battlefield.

"Make way for His Grace, Archil Amiranidze, Eristavi of the Khevi, Lord of Davashavi and Rkintsikhe and all the lands and settlements of the Tetrikhevi..."

Duke Archil dismounted with the grace of someone born in the saddle. He didn't even look back as one of his men took the reins of his horse. He put a gauntleted hand on his herald's shoulder.

"They get the idea, Levan," he said, cutting off the crier.

Now that he was close, Dietrich could make out the details of the young man's armor. He wore a full steel harness with carved pauldrons that looked like hounds baring their fangs. The hounds were of blackened steel, their eyes and fangs gilded in silver. They appeared to bite down on the armor's rerebraces. He had no tabard, putting the metalwork of his cuirass on display, its etching glinting in contrast to the dark metal around it. At his hip was an arming sword with a matching hound-carved pommel.

Work like that might cost as much as the whole damn village, Dietrich thought to himself, shaking his head in grudging appreciation.

"Where is this Zura I've been hearing about?" the Duke said, addressing the crowd.

The bespectacled clerk walked with purpose to the Duke, stopping at a respectful distance, outside the reach of a weapon. He bowed at the waist, one arm tucked across his middle.

"Here I am, Your Grace. Thank you for answering our call for aid in such a timely fashion," Zura said, without a drop of irony.

"Timely! I'd hate to see what 'late' looked like," Tal muttered under his breath. "Ow!" The guards turned just too late to see Agyn elbow Tal in the ribs.

"We can talk about it over some ale. I'm famished, and I hear good things about the tavern here. Go fetch your people, the ones who have seen the beast. I want to hear it all straight from them." The Duke was already walking past the bowing Zura, through the crowd and toward the taverns. In the distance, Ninka was jumping up and down behind her mother.

His guard ran to catch up.

"Your Grace, you should not outpace your escort," Levan said sternly as he pushed through the crowd.

The Duke waved him off but came to a stop between the two taverns.

"I knew of only one. What was it called again?" the Duke wondered aloud.

"Mzeva!" Zura cursed, hurrying past the party to rescue the Duke. "You lot had better get cleaned up. Quick, now! I have to see to Duke Archil before he poisons himself."

---

A greatly mismatched trio of adventurers found themselves under the judging gaze of Old Babua in the Guild Lodge. Agyn, for her part, would not have looked out of place at the court of Mecklenburg. She wore a fine gown, tied at the waist with a sash of gilded linen. Her hair was done up and held in place with lace embroidered to look like flowers. Her gaze, though, matched the glass-eyed griffon's as she gave Dietrich and Tal a going-over.

"Dietrich, leave the hat. You need to look like you belong here. We really need to get you some new attire," she said, eyeing the tears in his doublet.

"And Tal... Could you at least try? We are going before nobility!" She looked to her lover beseechingly.

The orc looked away from her at nothing, arms crossed on his broad chest. He had a new shirt on, but otherwise he was the typical Tal, dressed and ready for a day in the woods.

"Won't this do? Why do we need to play dress-up for some brat who won't even remember our names?" Tal grumbled.

"You're not doing this for the Duke; you're doing it for me," Agyn said pleadingly.

There was a pause between them. Dietrich stood, hat in hand, wondering which of the pair would break first. It was the orc.

"Fine, fine. And I am doing this for you, so we are clear." Tal trudged back to his bunk.

Before Agyn could fuss over Dietrich any further, they were interrupted by a rather frantic archer. Sorena presented herself to Agyn in a dirt-stained pair of hunting trousers and her slightly too baggy linen shirt. She stood stiffly at attention like a soldier, but her eyes were wet, as if she were about to cry.

She looked beseechingly to Agyn.

"Help," was all she could say.

The mage covered her mouth, hiding her laughter. Her gaze softened to one of pity.

"I have some clothes that might fit you. Come, dear. Let's see what we can do." The mage gave the fencer a parting look, shaking her head in resignation as the two women left him under the griffon. He stood there until the shimmer of Agyn's magic departed.

He turned to take a seat by one of the hearths and nearly ran into a lithe, dark-haired figure topped with pointed velvet triangles. He had not even heard her approach.

Dietrich jumped back as if he'd nearly stepped on a viper. Tyka looked up at him accusingly through her golden eyes.

"Bauerntritte. Ist das nicht das Wort?" she said, with only the faintest Egrysan accent.

Dietrich stood there like a fool. Agyn had left, and so had her spell.

"Have you forgotten your own language while speaking ours? Or am I so pretty you're at a loss for words?" Tyka continued, batting her eyes at the fencer.

Her speech was flawless, though tinged with the crispness of Egrysan. She rolled her r's like an Italian.

"Oh dear, it seems I've paralyzed his brain! Is anyone even home in there?" Tyka peered into Dietrich's eyes, a hand shading her brow like a lighthouse keeper scanning the sea.

It had been a long time since he had heard his own tongue from anyone but a ghost.

"Wha—How?" Dietrich stammered. Was she a mage as well?

Tyka sighed, rolling her eyes. "It was so dreadfully boring at the castle. But I had gone prepared. I had Agyn give me a copy of her golem's memory. I've been practicing 'Teutsch' in between audiences." She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Golem? You mean her miracle?" Dietrich was struggling to keep up.

"Yes, that shimmer of light. Some think it a spell, but it is more of a construct, actually. Many mages have one. It took some doing, but I finally got her to give up its learning to me. How convenient it must be to be a mage." She sniffed, pouting at her apparent lack of magic.

"But how? You were gone mere weeks!" Never mind how she had managed to copy High German; how she had mastered his tongue in so short a time was beyond him.

"We won't get far if I have to keep explaining things. I speak 'Hochteutsch' now. That's all you need to know for the moment. I have things I need to tell you and not much time to tell them. No one else here can understand it. That's why I took the time to learn your tongue."

"It would seem you have put a great deal of effort into this. Fine. Let me hear what would make you go to such lengths." The how of what he was hearing would have to wait.

"By now, you must have heard the rumors about the Duke's court, yes? About the chancellor?" Tyka raised an eyebrow at Dietrich.

"Tal and Agyn seem convinced he is a traitor. That he is ruining the land as much as he can, sowing unrest," Dietrich said.

"He is not a traitor, because he was never for us. He is indeed a spy. And so are a great many of those with him here today," Tyka confessed.

"Among the Duke's own guard?! And he does not know this?" Dietrich startled at her words.

"The chancellor has been preparing for years, bringing in his own people. Even I can't be certain who is loyal to whom. And that is why I need you, Dietrich." She stepped in close, much too close. Her eyes were unusually serious.

"Why me?" His throat felt suddenly dry.

"Because you are an unknown quantity here. Because you can fight like a noble. Soon, we will hunt the hound, but I need you to forget all that. Stay close to the Duke. He must live." She smelled of violets. Dietrich wanted to take a step back, or maybe forward, but he did not.

"You are certain we will be there on this hunt?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I'm certain of it. I've already talked to Zura. We need you, all of you. No doubt the chancellor will act when we are in the woods. I need you to be ready." Up close, her eyes looked like gems, reflecting the Lodge's dim light like a pair of large citrines.

"That is a lot to ask of a stranger. You would have us put our lives on the line for this Duke? I am to ignore my own friends to save him?" Dietrich wasn't sure on whose behalf she was asking this of him.

"For the sake of this valley, and the people in it. We need him. And I wouldn't ask you to do this for nothing. Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked coyly, putting a hand to his chest.

"You wouldn't happen to have a spare doublet?" he asked, looking at the frays and tatters his garment had developed over his time in Egrys.

Tyka laughed musically. "Ha! As a matter of fact, I do, though I rather doubt it will fit you. Not enough room in the shoulders." She gave him a wink as she turned from him, just in time to pass Tal as he strode up to the fencer. The orc gave her a curious nod as she waved to him.

"ხელს ხომ არ გიშლით?" the orc asked Dietrich, who responded in his broken Egrysan.

"No, you not interrupt," Dietrich said. "She just leaving."

The orc now wore a high-collared vest of charcoal grey with cream vertical slashes. It contrasted well with his fine linen trousers, which tucked into his boots. The orc had braided his dark tresses. He held his chin high, tusks in the air, mockingly arrogant.

"Do I look Richterlikt?" the suave orc asked in what German he could recall.

"Ritterlich," Dietrich corrected. "Yes. Most ritterlich."

 

[Jonan Boske]

By the time they reached the Boar, it had been transformed. Two of the Duke's men stood at the door, polearms crossed over the entrance. Inside, Lela could be seen commanding her staff like an admiral, both hearths roaring as they hadn't in weeks, while Ninka ran trays up the stairs with a speed that seemed preternatural.

The Duke himself sat at the end of a long table overlooking the floor below from the mezzanine. He had apparently found time to get out of his armor, and was wearing a smart, blue-grey aketon. With him were Zura, Levan, and the chancellor. Archil was the first to notice them at the door, waving them in from his seat.

Agyn led the way, her gown swishing confidently as she made her way past two more guards at the stairs. Their gaze followed her briefly before locking onto Tal, his jealous glare chastening them instantly. Sorena followed the orc, walking stiffly in her new dress.

The mage had worked one of her miracles on the archer. Sorena's hair was done up similarly to Agyn's, held in place by a coral pin. The dress was a fine cream linen, embroidered at the collar and bound tight with a brown sash lined with sable. She wore an emerald pendant around her neck that matched her eyes. Agyn had clearly dressed her friend to take the spotlight, but nothing was helping Sorena navigate in her unfamiliar attire. The woman who walked with an effortless grace in the forest was tripping in her new chopines. Dietrich wasn't sure why she needed them, tall as she was.

That left the fencer the lone ragamuffin of the troupe, and no one had spared him so much as a glance as he brought up the rear. He hadn't had occasion to meet many of the gentry in his former life. That had mostly been Joachim's affair. Still, when the party presented themselves, he felt he did a fair job of the courtly bow, while Sorena only stayed on her feet by locking arms with Agyn as the ladies curtsied. Tal's bow was hardly more than a nod, with his arm crossed at his midsection. Whatever the case, Archil seemed genuinely glad to see them, his face lighting up as the adventurers presented themselves.

"So this is the party that faced the beast?" he asked Zura. Up until their approach, he and Zura had been talking animatedly while a bored Levan distracted himself with a tankard. The chancellor eyed them like an old crow, assessing them with a look that revealed little but disdain.

"It is indeed. Come, sit. We have much to go over," Zura said, motioning them to the table. It was clear that the Duke had little patience for ceremony. He let the party render their accounts of the creature. Tal told most of it with a touch of bombast. While he carefully omitted the encounter with Malkhaz and his men, he highlighted Sorena's heroic shot at the meadow and the eerie scene of the slain boar in the road. The archer's cheeks colored at the Duke's sudden attention as he inquired about her skill.

"Truly?! You hit it in the eye in the midst of its charge?" Archil beamed at her while she looked anywhere but at him. Her hands, calloused from years of archery, found their way to her necklace, playing with it idly. Agyn elbowed her sharply, bringing her back to attention.

"Ow—Ye—Yes, Your Grace. By the grace of Mzeva, the shot landed as it did." She couldn't quite meet his eye as she gave her rendition of the fight.

Soon a tankard was placed in front of Dietrich by a giddy Ninka. She could barely contain herself as she flitted around the table like an overexcited bee, making her rounds in record time. Dietrich was glad for the ale. He buried his face in his tankard as Sorena described the wounded beast's retreat. He didn't much care for the story, as he had lain wounded through most of it. His friends had nearly lost life and limb to save him that day, a memory that still shamed him.

As he gazed around the tavern, he locked onto a pair of citrines that met his eyes from the lower level. Tyka was playing dice with some of Archil's men, and one of the soldiers was cursing his luck. It would seem she had just relieved him of the burden of his purse. She winked at the Freifechter while she took the doleful guard's coin, and Dietrich found himself wishing for an instant that he was at her table instead. The thought surprised him, coming unbidden.

"Enough about the beast for now. I would know who I am talking to," the Duke said suddenly, bringing Dietrich back to the present. "Tal and Agyn, was it? I confess, I have heard your story already, such as it is told at court."

The pair were visibly flustered, the orc's shade of green lightening nearly to white while Agyn looked for a second like she wanted to vanish. The Duke stood up from his seat. He looked stern for a moment before bowing to the pair formally.

"I do not mean to bring up a scandal, but I find these sorts of things are best handled directly, since we are to work together. It might surprise you to know that your tale has struck a chord with the noble youth around the capital, though it makes the old blood blush. Lady Agyn, you will be afforded every honor of your former station on my lands. And of course, so will Tal, as your champion."

Dietrich thought he could see the pair clutching hands under the table even as they were stunned silent. Across the table, the chancellor's jaw tightened, finally settling into a smirk.

The Duke reclaimed his seat. "But that leaves you two, our daring archer and our silent friend here. What of you?" he said, turning to Dietrich.

"Me?! I'm just a local hunter. Been around Davashavi most my life..." muttered Sorena as she shifted uneasily. The Duke seemed amused, his eyes hardly leaving her, even as he addressed Dietrich.

"And you, sir? I've been told you have come to some trouble in your homeland. Deetrick, was it? From Zemo?" The Duke turned from Sorena at last, giving the fencer a steady gaze. Both Levan and the chancellor seemed to perk up at the mention of him. Dietrich could feel two golden eyes boring holes through him without even looking below.

"Ah, Your Grace. I must admit that my story is... a contrivance."

Tal, Agyn, Zura, and a particularly irate cat from below all locked onto Dietrich at once. Levan gripped his eating knife tightly, while the chancellor, for once, looked fully engaged.

"The truth of the matter is, I stumbled into your lands without knowing how I had gotten here, or even where here was. The full story, if I told you, I doubt you would believe. What I can tell you is that Tal and Agyn have saved my life twice now, once from a griffon and again from the hound. I have endeavored ever since to repay their kindness, and that of your subjects."

The Duke was stunned for a moment before collecting himself. "And you just... You realize, even as I do now, that your friends here have gone to great lengths to mislead me?" He looked irritated as he scanned the table of abashed faces.

"They have only endeavored to look after a lost lamb of Chr— Of one who has nothing and found himself in need. They gave me a place to belong and a roof over my head, and have allowed me to work my trade honestly. I am terrible at lies, Your Grace, and no doubt you would have realized that I am no more from Zemo than yourself."

The Duke raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What trade?"

Dietrich got out of his seat, a move that had the guards and Levan reaching for their weapons. He knelt, bowing before the Duke.

"I am a cutler, a crafter of weapons, and at your service, Your Grace."