Doriyn awoke to the sound of birds outside the window, and he opened his eyes with only the hint of a headache resulting from the activities of the night before. He was still exhausted. He splashed his face with water from the basin nearby, and bent to put on his boots, which he did not remember removing the night before. Then, thrusting his dagger into his boot and winding the serge scarf around his neck, he left the tiny room and descended the stairs. The Common room greeted him a moment later, and he saw Farko already sitting at the bar and drinking heavy beer from a clay cup.

  “Morning,” was all he grunted as Doriyn sat down next to him.

  “You start early,” Doriyn observed, signaling the woman behind the bar for a cup of his own.

  “Ending late, more like,” Farko responded. “Best way to jumpstart the recovery. And besides, it’s not that early. Not noon, but closer than not.” The man waited until the woman came over with a cup for Doryin before asking her for two of the house breakfast, a loaf of bread, and some cheese, and he laid a silver moon on the bar. The woman took it with a smile, and returned with Farko’s requests. Breakfast turned out to be a savory porridge with sausage and potatoes, and the two men ate quickly, headaches fading as they did. Doriyn drained the last of the dark beer he’d been given, and thanked Farko, who nodded and rose from his stool.

  “Plans for the day?” the man asked without interest.

  “Resupplying my bag for the journey, sharpening my weapons, you know. Typical before-travel activity I would think.” Farko smiled.

  “I have Kohol for that,” he said. “I had plans to visit some of the other taverns and see who felt like some more games, or perhaps find a quiet place to read.”

  “Aye, sounds like a decent enough day.” The two men had crossed the room, and were stepping out the door into the street. “Have you been to New Reven before?”

  “Thrice now,” Farko said. “Best town in the Valley, and the largest between Veil and Hearthead City.”

  “I’d heard good things,” Doriyn replied as he looked around at the bustling street. Along the sides of the market square he could see signs depicting an anvil, a mug, and other indicators of the vendors inside the shops. In the square itself, wagons, stalls, and movable stands were lined up, and townsfolk and merchants mingled in the spaces between. Doriyn figured that he could get everything that he needed in just this corner of the town. Farko pointed a finger across the square, and Doriyn looked past the stalls, past the impressive statue in the middle, and saw what looked to be a small convent on the other side. Farko indicated this building with another pointing gesture.

  “Your basic supplies you can get from any trader in the square, but anything special and I’ll recommend you head there. The Joyful Knight’s a second-hand shop, but they’ll have top-quality gear. Verity runs the place; she’s a good woman.”

  “Thanks for the rec,” Doriyn said. “Were you heading there?”

  “Perhaps later,” Farko answered. “I’ve an itch to scratch.” And the man went left, heading to one of the bridges that crossed the river that ran through the middle of the town. Doriyn himself headed to the right, across the square towards the Joyful Knight. His first assessment of the building had been correct: the store was indeed inside a small convent that (he assumed) was no longer used for the purpose. The heavy double-doors stood slightly open, and Doriyn entered a large and cluttered room. The piles on shelves and tables seemed to be loosely organized by type, and Doriyn wandered between cloaks on one side and hand tools on the other when he realized that someone else was there. The pretty girl behind the counter looked up from the book she was reading and gave him a warm smile. Her dark hair was tied back simply, and the wide collar of her tunic showed off some of her shoulders.

  “Welcome to the Joyful Knight; are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?” Doriyn smiled back tiredly.

  “Just passing through, and your shop came recommended. Is the place yours?” The girl laughed easily.

  “No, that would be Verity if you’re looking for the owner. She’s in the back room if you need her. I’m Charlotte.”

  “Doriyn,” he responded, taking her outstretched hand in his own. “And no, no need to bother her. As I said, just passing through.”

  “Browsing, then,” Charlotte said. “Well, I am reading just the most fascinating book myself at the moment, and you’ll find few places in New Reven that even have books, let alone some for sale.” She left the counter and prodded Doriyn over towards a shelf that was indeed lined with books of various sizes. “Culture and Chaos: a history of Korvos,” she began. “Accounts of the East…The King’s Road…oh, have you ever read The Travel Logs of Declan and Duran?” Doriyn shook his head no, looking at the leather cover of the last of these. “You must give it a try, it’s two explorers from long ago who set out to map the region, and they include so many folk stories and cultural accounts!”

  “I’m not sure it’s in the coinpurse,” Doriyn began, but Charlotte cut him off.

  “Oh we don’t charge too much for books like this…other ones perhaps, but Verity likes to spread simple books like this as far as possible. 10 moons is all for Logs if you wish.” She looked so excited and smiled so prettily that Doriyn could not say no, and he passed Charlotte the coins in exchange for the book. “You’ll enjoy it, I have no doubt! We don’t accept returns for most things, but the books can come back for a full refund as long as they’re in about the same condition. Did you want to look for anything else?”

  “As it happens, I’m in need of a cloak for the road. I regretted not having one this past journey.” Charlotte was about to answer, when another voice broke in:

  “Will you want canvas, wool, or linen?” Doriyn turned to see a severe, but not-unkind looking woman who was walking out of another room in the store. She had dark hair just starting to gray, a pale scar on her left cheek, and a small boy in tow. “I suppose it would depend on where the road takes you, stranger. Verity.” She did not extend her hand to him, but instead began taking cloaks down from pegs and off of shelves. Doriyn introduced himself and told her what little he knew of the Mt. Oren area. Verity picked out a gray canvas travel cloak, shorter than some, that was also waxed so as to better resist rain, and Doriyn happily paid her. The boy was silent the entire time, staring at Doriyn from his mother’s side, though Doriyn tried and failed to get the boy to smile.

  Verity noticed the book in Doriyn’s hand, and regarded him thoughtfully. “I’d not have taken you for a reader, mercenary. Not many people here can do so, as cosmopolitan as we may seem. Do you have a particular interest in that book? I have a duplicate of the original Log in the back if you want to see it.” Intrigued, Doriyn agreed, though he was glad he did not have to answer the woman’s question. He followed Verity into the back room, which turned out to be a small library. Charlotte followed excitedly:

  “This is one of only three real collections of books in the whole town. Some people have a few, but Verity has hundreds! Only the Imperial Agent at the headquarters across the river has anything close, and the Quil and Stein tavern has some, but this is the real collection. Actually, Verity lets travelers and researchers use the room sometimes, but only those she knows, so you’re pretty lucky to get in so quickly!” She chatted easily as Doriyn looked at the shelves of books that went all the way around the room, surrounding a large table that had several volumes lying open upon it. Verity gestured Doriyn over to one, and he looked with what he hoped was interest at the words and maps that covered the pages. The maps were hand-drawn, but detailed, and Doriyn imagined that they would be accurate measured against ones made today. Of course, New Reven would not be on these maps, and only a settlement at Old Revenhome instead of the great ruins there now. Doriyn thanked Verity for her trust, and then said as he was departing the library:

  “I’m sure in my travels I’ll come across books from time to time. I’ll keep them and bring them to you if you’re interested?” Charlotte’s face lit up, and Verity smiled, thanking him.

  “I’ll pay you, of course,” she said, “and if I get word that there’s something I’m looking for close by where you’re working, I’ll sometimes send work your way. It’s always nice to have more hands in the field to acquire things.”

  “You’d have more if you’d let me into the field,” Charlotte said, not upset, but without a trace of humor. Doriyn got the sense that this was an often-had discussion between the two of them. Verity made no response, but instead asked Doriyn if there was anything else she could help him find.

  Doriyn left the Joyful Knight with a steel dagger in addition to the book and the cloak, and Charlotte's pretty face faring him well was on his mind. His purse was a little light, so he promised himself that he would purchase only the necessary supplies the rest of the day, which he did so immediately after departing the store. This took a few hours, moving from stall to stall, and upon finishing his purchases, Doriyn intended to return to Grandma Goblin’s Place to repack his bag with the new supplies.

  He saw Aron chatting with Grandma Goblin at the bar as he made his way upstairs, and waved his greeting as Aron raised his mug in the young man’s direction. Back in his room, Doriyn laid out his weapons on the bed, each familiar, if a little worn. His infantry dagger he could forget about, as the new steel one was far better quality, and the standard issue infantry shortsword had not come out of its sheath since Doriyn had begun his journey to New Reven weeks ago, and so was still as sharp as it had been that day. The same was true of the twin javelins in their canvas wrap, but as much out of habit as professionalism, he checked their condition as well. His hatchet needed to be sharpened, which Doriyn took care of himself, and the roundshield…

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  Oh the roundshield. Its iron boss and edge were dented and scraped, and the scarred and pitted wood, once a bright green and red, was now a monotone shade of blue from a hasty and poorly-done paint job. That paint was chipping off in places, revealing the colors underneath, and Doriyn wondered if he had enough money left for a bit of tar or paint. I shouldn’t just leave it behind, he thought after considering the risk. A coat of paint would be enough for now, he reasoned, and Doriyn slung the shield behind him as he ran back to the market square. A quick trip to one of the craftsmen cost him two copper pieces if he did the job himself, and Doriyn returned to the tavern with a new coat of blue paint hiding the previous design. Good enough until he could get a new shield entirely, he thought.

  Maurice was being waited on by one of the children in the common room, and the young noble waived Doriyn over and indicated the chair across from him and asked without preamble:

  “Do you know how to play chess?” Doriyn shook his head, and Maurice seemed disappointed, but he poured Doriyn a cup of wine and pushed it across the table. “I’ve yet to meet anyone in your line of work that does, though perhaps Hélène might prove the exception.” The man’s tone was not deliberately insulting, and Doriyn did not take offense. He took the offered wine instead. He replied conversationally to Maurice:

  “I knew a man or two back in my army that knew the rules, but the rest of us played dice. Chess seems a nobles' game,” and Marice grunted.

  “It’s a simple enough ruleset to learn; you could take to it as quickly as reading if you tried.” It was Doriyn’s turn to grunt, and he rolled his eyes. Maurice looked at him askance, but spoke with grace and candor: “Did I say something offensive? If so I beg your pardon,” but Doriyn then just laughed for a moment.

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just that you're the third person today to mention reading, and it’s already as good as sent 10 moons into the gutter.” In response to the noble’s querying look, Doriyn explained what had occurred at the Joyful Knight between himself and Charlotte, ending his story with: “...and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. In that moment I all but forgot that I can’t read, and after I’d bought it I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.” Maurice gave a genuine chuckle.

  “Better men than we have been taken in by a pretty face. Besides, it’s a worthwhile endeavor, reading. Plenty of time on the road in the evenings to practice as well, once you learn your letters. But I’d rather teach you chess so as to pass the time more enjoyably myself; would that interest you?” Doriyn nodded, intrigued at the prospect of a new skill, and Maurice seemed excited. “Lovely; I’ll be sure to pack my board and pieces before I sell the rest of my possessions to your friend Charlotte later. It somewhat excites me to think that soon I’ll have nothing to my name except what’s in my backpack and this old sword: a fresh start isn’t something everyone gets.” Doriyn internally winced, and Maurice looked suddenly concerned. “That was tactlessly said; I apologize.”

  “That’s alright,” the young soldier said. “You already know what I’ve done, and you still agreed to hire me,” Maurice nodded soberly.

  “Indeed. It was in part because of what you did in the Basin that Aron wanted to take the chance on you, and I agree with him. Not many men would have the moral rectitude to disobey their superior under such circumstances." Doriyn frowned:

  "I don't know what you heard, but it wasn't just me that tried to save those Northmen families."

  "Pray tell me the details: your Uncle was sparse with his words for good reason." Doriyn began:

  "We were in midwinter, and not really campaigning, but Baron Slairat's forces would still patrol, so me and few others were out. We were a few days into the wilderness at the edge of his holding when we came across some other soldiers about to start...well, doing what soldiers do when they have the chance. They had captured a groups of transient Northmen, and had already slaughtered their men. We wanted to intervene and stop what was about to happen to their women and children, but our captain...Sir Dylaris, told us to move on. Well, about half of us obeyed, but the other half moved forward towards those other soldiers. I never did figure out who's men they were...anyway, chaos ensued, someone drew a weapon, and the fight was on. We killed a few of theirs, they killed a few of ours, and all while Dylaris was going after us with our own company. It was stupid, but he was bearing down on me, and I knocked him from his saddle. We were losing, and realized that we would certainly be killed if we stayed, so me and some others ran for it. I...hid for a while, and made my way back East towards the Gap. Ditched my helmet and company cloak, painted over my shield, and hoped that no one had reported anything that had happened. I passed myself off as a mercenary through the Basin up to Twyne, until I made it back to the Gap and to Boulder, and then it was easy to blend in with everyone else. I'd sent a message to my Uncle right after the...incident...and received his reply in Boulder. Made my way here with no time to spare, and you know the rest."

  Maurice had listened without a word until now, then he began: "So for all intents and purposes, you're a disobedient soldier who attacked his own officer before deserting." Doriyn winced again, but nodded. Maurice went on: "I approve. Wanton slaughter and rape are terrible crimes, and I am glad that some justice was done, little perhaps though it was. I am also glad that you made it back so to join us." The noble raised his cup in a toast: “to fresh starts for the both of us: may we never look back.” Doriyn raised his own cup to meet Maurice’s, and said:

  “May we never have cause to," and Maurice laughed. Doriyn continued: “I’ve been looking back over my shoulder for some time now. When I stop to think about it, I doubt anyone’s actually looking for me...Dylaris may not have known it was me in the chaos, and if he's even alive he probably thinks I'm dead in the woods along with the men sent after me...but the feeling’s there.” Maurice nodded.

  “I can’t say I know the feeling, but once we’re in Mt. Oren, I expect you’ll blend right in. I have to think that more than a few people head to the frontier because they have something to hide. Although it does occur to me now: is Doriyn actually your real name or a cover?”

  “No, it’s my real name,” Doriyn said ruefully. “I couldn’t lie about something like that well enough to even bother trying.” Maurice nodded.

  “Honest by nature; another worthy trait. I hope you understand that our venture may at some points require deception…” the man trailed off, and Doriyn waved his hand.

  “Look, I prefer truth to lies, as I imagine most men do, but I’m no stranger to getting out of trouble when I need to.”

  “And pragmatic to boot! I’m glad we found you before you commanded a higher rate.”

  “Maurice, I don’t know what I’m getting paid now,” and both young men laughed. Doriyn drained his cup, and stood from the table. “Thank you for the wine,” he said with a smile, and Maurice stood to match Doriyn. Though somewhat younger and slighter of build than the soldier, the noble was Doriyn’s own height, and he extended his hand. Doriyn took it.

  “Until tomorrow morning,” Maurice said. “What are your evening plans?” Doriyn laughed again:

  “To sleep as soon as possible: I’ve been on the road for so long, and last night was my first in a bed since…well, much longer than that.”

  “I imagine so; I am not looking forward to that part of being a mercenary. I’ll admit luxuries are something I’ve been rather used to, despite my title officially not existing.”

  “You get used to it after a few days, I promise.”

  “Still. In any case, I will likely be at the Quil and Stein or the Joyful Knight trying to find out what I can about this lost mine and about Mt. Oren. My family left when I was quite young, and I barely remember anything about it.”

  “Good fortune to you, then, and tell Charlotte hello from me should you see her.” Doriyn smiled, and left the table, heading upstairs to his room. His thoughts wandered as he walked toward the upper hall. One more night in a bed before another long road ahead. A road that would take him closer to the Frontier than he wanted under the circumstances, but surely a tiny town at the edge of the Empire would be safe for him to hide, on the very slight chance that anyone would even bother to look for him.

  As he was walking and lost in thought, Doriyn nearly ran into Kohol, and the Northman’s shoulder nearly knocked him down. The huge man looked to be on a mission, striding with purpose to the exit.

  “Hail, Kohol. Where are you off to?”

  “Some place called the River’s Edge. Farko’s there and said that there’s some sort of fighting ring close by. Feel like making some money?” Doriyn hesitated.

  “It sounds like fun, but truthfully last night was the first in weeks that I’ve slept in a proper bed, and we’re back on the road tomorrow. I should sleep…” Kohol slapped his shoulder.

  “Nonsense; you bet on me and I’ll do the work! That’s all Farko does anyhow. I saw Helen upstairs and told her: I think she’s coming.” Kohol did not say another word, and was out the door headed towards one of the bridges that led to the other side of town. Doriyn was still reluctant, and was about to head up the stairs to his room when he saw Hélène coming down.

  She wore a simple, long-sleeved dress the color of wine, and a leather bodice that set the dress off… very nicely. The smile she gave Doriyn from the top of the stairs lit her face, and he could not help but smile back.

  “Good afternoon,” Hélène said, lightly jumping the last four stairs and landing in front of Doriyn. “I’m headed to the River’s Edge to make some money: care to help out?”

  “Betting on Kohol?”

  “Something like that,” she responded, with a flash in her eyes and a smile. Doriyn looked up the stairs and thought about a pitcher of beer and his bed, and somehow the soldier’s discipline won out.

  “It’s tempting, and I wish you the best of luck, but I learned long ago that sleep is as important as armor when heading out on campaign. I’ll need every bit of rest after the journey I had getting here, what with getting back on the road tomorrow….”

  Hélène’s eyebrows went up quickly in surprise, then returned to their natural openness and brightness. Doriyn got the impression that few men turned down an invitation to anything when it came from Hélène. “A professional, then,” she said, and flashed another smile. Well, I hope that you sleep well. I’ve some sheep to fleece before I am to my own bed!” And she was out the door, feet traipsing lightly over the cobbles, raven hair tossing about her shoulders. Doriyn watched for a moment, completely enchanted, and then shook his head as if to clear it. Kull, the hobgoblin bouncer at the door, glowered at him dispassionately, and Doriyn flushed as he headed up the stairs.

  Sleep overcame the young man quickly after he packed and repacked his gear, checked and re-checked his weapons, and did all of his final preparation for the day ahead. Doriyn drained the last of the beer from the pitcher, blew out the candle on the small table, and lay back in the bed. His eyes were closed as he listened to the noise of the street outside the Tavern: laughs, chatter, hoofs on the cobbles. The same noises he’d heard as a child going to sleep. Noises that he’d not really listened to since leaving Hearthead City as as a teen. It was a comforting dull roar as he fell asleep. Though the road through the wilderness was likely to be at least a week or more, it was encouraging to think that soon, he’d again be able to call a semblance of civilization “home” instead of a tent village or frontier fort.

  If “home” was indeed to be Mt. Oren. Only time would tell.