Doriyn found his room with little trouble. It was a small one, and contained nothing more than a bed, a small table, and a stand with a basin and pitcher. His weapons were lying on the bed, and his roundshield rested on the floor, placed there by some orderly. Doriyn set his pack on the bed next to his sword, and began to search for some more comfortable clothes amid the other gear the bag held. Finding some, he removed his jacket, mailshirt, and travelworn clothes, and replaced them with a linen shirt, dark wool trousers, and a sleeveless leather jerkin. He had only one pair of boots, so he put those back on, belted on his dagger, and knotted a smallish green serge scarf loosely around his neck. Lastly, Doriyn washed his face and arms, tidied his space as automatically as if he was back with his old company, and left.

  Kohol was already back in the meeting room, filling up his tankard again. He looked little different: a rough shirt and trousers, heavy boots, and a large studded belt at least twice as wide as Doriyn’s own. Now, however, rings glittered on his thick fingers, and leather cuffs engraved with gold and jade were strapped to each forearm. The giant’s face split into a grin: “So, you’ll join us?”

  “I will. I still have some questions, but their answers will not affect my decision.” Doriyn sat down with his own mug as Ash moved silently into the room behind him. She looked the same as before, the veil before her eyes still obscuring her face. She, too, sat in the place she’d sat before, and raised her cup to the two men before her. Not far behind her were Aron and Farko, the former wearing a dark leather jacket with a hood thrown back, and the latter in clothes similar to Doriyn’s own with the addition of a wine-red surcoat. They were chatting amiably, and sat down with the rest of the company. Aron raised his mug towards Kohol:

  “Farko was just telling me about a job you and he were on a few years ago in Sigil, and the barfight where the two of you took on 7 men. Impressive.” Kohol smiled at the man’s words, but replied:

  “Sigil’s prisons afterwards were just as impressive. I think I’d rather lose the fight next time than spend any more time in the Warren. 2 days was enough.” Farko frowned.

  “It wasn’t all that bad to my memory,” he said, sitting down across from his companion, and pouring himself a cup of liquor. “Sigil’s Warren isn’t even the worst prison in the North.”

  “It sounds like you speak from experience,” Ash murmured quietly, and Farko’s sharp eyes turned to her.

  “And if I do?”

  “Plenty of reasons for a man to go to prison for doing something wrong, some for doing something right, and some more for doing nothing at all,” Ash responded in a measured tone. “I think for you it was simply because you got caught.” Farko looked straight through her veil, and Doriyn made himself ready to intervene, but the blonde haired man just laughed humorlessly, and took a drink from his cup.

  “I know something of you also, Ash,” Farko said dryly, emphasizing what Doriyn assumed was not her real name. “We’ve walked in the same shadows, you and I…” Ash broke into his thought:

  “So we share a sense of professionalism,” she spoke, unhurriedly. “Let’s not tarnish that virtue by excluding the other members of our company from the conversation.” Farko’s eyes sparked fiercely, but then returned to their natural state, and he nodded. Aron, too, nodded his approval.

  “Thank you for talking that out; I hope to see any other such sparks dampened with as much ease.” The man leaned back in his chair and turned to look at the door as it swung open a last time, revealing Maurice and Hélène.

  Maurice had changed out of his finery, and instead wore a new-looking but common tunic and trousers. New also were the high boots, vambraces, jerkin, and heavy belt that the noble now wore. Still, he held himself with a grace and nobility that were unmistakable, and he gravitated to wine, which he poured into a large cup before pulling out a chair for Hélène.

  Hélène…Doriyn looked away in case she caught him looking at her. Gone was the armor, travel cape, and stains from the road. Instead, the young woman wore loose, green velvet trousers trimmed with gold, and a matching wrap top. Hélène’s face was bright and well-washed, her unbound hair cascaded about her shoulders, and her slippered feet made no noise on the floor. She took the proffered seat at the table, and poured herself a tall cup of the same mixture as before as she smiled at the company.

  “I see we’ve all returned with the same decision. I am pleased to share the road with you all!” The woman raised her cup, and Aron, Maurice, Kohol, and Doriyn did the same in response. Ash and Farko lifted theirs a little less enthusiastically, but lifted them all the same, and the the 7 vessels touched above the table: the universal custom of camaraderie and companionship. The company sat down, and Hélène began speaking again. “I have heard of you, Aron: a mercenary of some renown, yes?” Farko snorted, and Kohol laughed aloud at her words, but Aron looked a little uncomfortable. Hélène looked around in almost theatrical bewilderment. “What have I said?” Farko jerked a thumb in Aron’s direction.

  “Anyone who lives long enough in the business, they’ll have heard of him,” the man said. “Led mercs in the pay of the Red Duke after the War, then for the Alliance afterward.” Farko looked over to Doriyn, and addressed him. “You’ll have come through Boulder to get here from the Fringe? Right, so you’ll have heard of the insurrection there?” Doriyn had: an ugly business that ended with more than a few dwarves strung up for their crimes. It was all anyone in Boulder could talk about with newcomers, and most folk there had nothing but praise for the mercenaries who had brought the rebels to justice. Doriyn turned to Aron.

  “That was you?” Aron nodded and said tonelessly:

  “Aye, me and some others, including a couple of friends from the War. We all lost our taste for Alliance contract work after that business.” His voice did not shake as he continued: “Marshallah and Carcer went east past the Fringe after that, but I came home, and that’s where Maurice found me to pitch this idea.” Aron smiled at the young man, who returned it warmly and with the wine goblet raised in the older man’s direction.

  “Indeed it was, and it was fortunate that you decided that running with Independents was better for your soul at the same time I needed a leader for this outfit.” Farko nodded silently, and Kohol spoke up.

  “Wilheim did not mention that you’d be a part when he pitched the idea to us,” the big man said, and Ash nodded agreement, and said:

  “Have you three met before this meeting?” The question the woman asked was innocent enough, but Doriyn was sure that Ash said nothing without intent. Aron shook his head, and said:

  “No, Maurice is the only one of this company I knew personally, though of course I’d heard of you two,” he gestured at Farko and Kohol. “The rest of you I’d not heard of, but Wilheim has his network.” Ash seemed satisfied, and resumed sipping her coffee. Hélène spoke laughingly again:

  “Casias’ network is large indeed. I take it that he and the two of you,” she pointed to Aron and Maurice, “picked us out as possibilities after weighing your needs?” Maurice nodded.

  “That was essentially it. I’d gone to Wilheim because I only knew Aron in the business, and between them, we narrowed it down to you all. Wilehim knew everyone in some way, so really you were all his recommendations.” Farko barked a laugh.

  “Us I understand,” he said, patting Kohol’s shoulder and pointing out Ash, Aron, and Hélène. “But I don’t get why he,” and his eyes flicked to Doriyn, “is sitting here.” Kohol seemed about to tell Farko to stop talking, but Doriyn’s eyes flashed and he responded immediately.

  “It’s Doriyn if you’ve already forgotten.” Doriyn did not wait for a response, but turned to Aron and Maurice. “But truthfully I’m actually in agreement with Farko; I’m not certain I understand why I’m here as opposed to…someone with more experience, I suppose?” Aron nodded understanding, and was about to speak, but Maurice beat him to it.

  “Casias actually brought your name up after he said he received a letter from your uncle,” the young man began, and Doriyn inwardly groaned as he heard Farko snort again, and all but felt Ash roll her eyes behind her veil. Why’d I bring it up, he asked himself. Maurice had not stopped. “He seemed to think that your background and character were exactly what we were looking for, and we agreed. Your uncle told Wilheim the story of how you left the army…” Aron cut Maurice off with a hand laid on the man’s arm.

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  “Which is Doriyn’s story to share, not ours,” Aron spoke in a low voice. Maurice looked surprised; it was not likely he was used to being silenced, but he caught himself, and looked Doriyn right in the eye.

  “Aron is right, of course: I apologize. I intended only to illustrate why you were asked to be here along with the rest of this esteemed company.” As Ash seemed to relax, Doriyn nodded his acknowledgement, and responded:

  “No harm done, and your intention was a fair one,” the young man tried to sound gracious. “I just hope that my lack of any actual mercenary experience won’t be too much of a hindrance to your goals. I’ll certainly pick it up fast enough if it’s anything like an Army.” Hélène laughed her musical laugh, and put an arm around Doriyn’s shoulders.

  “Worry not,” she said. “I too have no experience as a mercenary, so we shall learn together, you and I!” Doriyn flushed a little, and Kohol laughed a booming laugh.

  “Just be professional, tough, and resourceful and you’ll make it just fine,” the huge man said happily. “The rest takes care of itself: good money, strong drink, and pretty women is the life of a good Independent, when it’s not empty pockets, growling bellies, and sweaty men!” Ash actually laughed at that, joined by the rest of the company a moment later.

  They all continued to drink, and with his immediate feud forgotten, Farko pulled a small leather bag from a pouch on his belt. He poured a set of gaming dice onto the table. Doriyn leaned forward with interest while pulling out his own set. Doriyn’s dice did not match one another. Collected over several years from shops, traders, and loot, no two were the same, but he did have a full set of 10. Farko’s on the other hand looked as though they could have belonged to the Emperor. Black as coal yet shining, 10 perfectly shaped dice with markings inlaid in gold winked enticingly in the firelight. Hélène bent down to look at them, exclaiming at their beauty, and even Ash looked intrigued.

  “Now where did you steal those from,” she asked with a lilt of humor in her voice, and Farko laughed his unamused laugh.

  “For once not stolen,” he said. “A gift.” Doriyn admired them for a moment more, and then set his own down on the table.

  “I doubt our games were too different in the army,” he said to Farko, and tossed a copper star into the center of the table. “Cheat? Dead Dice?” and Farko smiled at him.

  “I prefer Cheat myself,” he said as Kohol groaned.

  “He likes Cheat because he always wins,” the man complained, but he, too, was reaching into a pouch for gaming dice. Kohol’s dice were also a matched set, cut and scrimshawed from bone, with red markings inked into the intricate carvings. Maurice watched with interest.

  “Had I known that dice games were so common, I would have picked some up for myself. Alas, I shall have to do so tomorrow.” Ash turned to him:

  “I’ve a set or two at my shop if you want to come by. They’re not as fancy as some,” she said, eyeing the obsidian set in front of Farko, “but better than others. In the meantime, you can borrow mine. I prefer to watch anyhow.” Ash handed Maurice a small velvet bag, which he emptied to show a set of wooden dice with a curious grain and sheen. Maurice thanked her, and sat down, putting a second star onto the table. Hélène’s own ivory dice soon joined the other four sets on the table, and the 5 companions all turned to look at Aron, who smiled.

  “I try not to gamble with people I’m supposed to be in charge of,” he laughed reluctantly, and Farko jeered.

  “That’s soldier shit and you know it; come on, I’ll even buy you in.” Aron looked at the dice and the table, looked as though he was about to sit down, and then shook his head.

  “Soldier shit maybe, but that doesn't make it untrue. Perhaps some other time.” Hélène laughed, and said:

  “Perhaps just embarrassed to show his dice,” and everyone, including Aron, laughed.

  “I should be the one embarrassed by his dice,” Doriyn continued in good humor, gesturing to his own mismatched set, and Hélène again put her hand on Doriyn’s chest.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Your dice are perfectly fine,” and Farko rolled his eyes. Before Doriyn could respond, Farko threw a coin of his own into the center, and rapped a die on the table.

  “Shall we begin?” He asked in a tone that suggested barely concealed anticipation. Kohol and Hélène both added a coin to the table, and nodded along with Doriyn, while Aron poured another drink and went to sit by Ash. Maurice raised a hand.

  “Ah…how does one play Cheat?” Doriyn was about to explain when Farko cut him off and began to explain the process and rules. After three interruptions from Doriyn debating a rule, a few questions from Maurice, several groans and “get on with it”s from Kohol, all while Hélène and Aron looked intensely amused, they were ready to play the game. The rounds went by as swiftly as the drinking vessels were emptied.

  Kohol was the first to lose his dice, which he did with good humor and a lazy laugh that was the only tell that he’d probably drunk several gallons of beer by this time. “I don’t ever win playing with Farko anyhow,” he said. “I’m just being efficient,” and the company laughed. Maurice picked up the concept of the game quickly, but lost just as quickly:

  “You’re a bit easy to read is all,” Doriyn told him kindly. “You’ll get better with practice. It wasn’t kind of us to start you with Cheat anyhow,” he continued, and Maurice smiled wanly.

  “A whole new world opens before me: I must embrace even the losses with equanimity.” He bowed gracefully, and returned his borrowed dice to Ash. Hélène smiled at him as he left the table to refill his cup, and then turned the last of that smile to Doriyn and Farko.

  “Do you find me harder to read?” She asked with a hint of an edge in her voice, and Farko chuckled. But Doriyn responded to her first, smiling boldly back at her:

  “You’re near impossible to read, but you’ve had trouble calling the odds all game, and that’s why you’re going to be out next.” Hélène’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and a smile and a small blush graced her face.

  “Goodness, harsh words,” she said with genuine laugh, but her eyes did not leave his, and a new sparkle seemed to shine there when she looked at him. That sparkle remained even after Doriyn’s words proved true, and Hélène gathered her dice into her hand. “A prophet,” she said musically, and graciously accepted defeat, brushing her hand over Doriyn’s shoulders as she swept by him in a flutter of velvet. Farko remained, and Doriyn tried to concentrate for the next few rounds of play.

  Suddenly, Hélène was at his shoulder again, pouring him another cup of the mixture she had offered him at their first meeting, and leaning over the table as she did so. Doriyn saw across from him as Farko’s eyes went from his dice to Hélène, and lingered there. Doriyn himself did not have the view that Farko had, but he could smell her scented soap, and feel the warmth of her body, strong with the alcohol they’d all been consuming. Doriyn forced his mind back to the dice in front of him, but Farko had less luck. His concentration broken, the man’s next call was a poor one, and Doriyn won the round to laughter from the company. Even Farko had to laugh, but his tone was serious a moment later:

  “That was not kind,” he said to Hélène, trying not to laugh. The woman made no effort to hide her delight, and replied:

  “You didn’t need to look; that was all your decision!” And Farko had to agree, though he still said that the round was unfairly lost due to “a couple of unavoidable distractions.” Doriyn thought the episode was intensely funny, though he was glad that it was not the winning round that was decided by Hélène. But still he thought about the moments when she had stood so close to him. The game, he said to himself.

  As it was, Farko did end up winning the game of Cheat anyway, but Doriyn proved a formidable opponent, and when the coins left Farko’s hand and entered his purse, the second thing the man did was offer his hand to Doriyn. “Well played,” he said sincerely, and Doriyn responded in kind.

  The night ended some hours later, after story-swapping and games began to pale in comparison to sleep, and Ash and Aron rose and stated that they were going to retire. Doriyn wondered for a moment if they were going to leave together, but Ash was gone in an instant, while Aron lingered to farewell each member.

  “Spend tomorrow wisely,” he counseled. “We leave the following morning.” Heads nodded in assent, and Farko elbowed Doriyn as he turned to leave.

  “Buy you breakfast tomorrow? I seem to have come into some money.” Doriyn gratefully accepted, and turned to leave himself. Hélène accosted him as he did so, brushing against his arm.

  “Goodnight, friend. It was lovely getting to know you better over the course of the evening. Perhaps we shall run into one another tomorrow, but certainly I shall see you the following day!” Her lilting tone was so…alluring, and he could smell her soap again as he tried to come up with a reply.

  “I look forward to it,” was all he could think of to say. “Goodnight, Hélène.” So it was that the companions’ first night together concluded, and it would be long before another night of such cheer was had among them. Doriyn returned to his room, lit a candle, and shut the door before falling into bed in his clothes. He was all but overcome from the long road to New Reven, and the amount of alcohol he had consumed once he’d got there did not help. His last thoughts were of Hélène, and then he fell asleep.