New Reven’s North gate rose before Doryin’s eyes out of the morning mist, and he quickened his stride. He was not late, but he was not as early as he would have wanted to be, and he had not seen any of the others breakfasting at Grandma Goblins as he left. That worried the young man somewhat: were they already all present at the gate and waiting on him to depart? He’d wolfed down the bread and cheese on his way out of the Place, and his pace made the roundshield bounce painfully against his back. Approaching the gate, he could see two small donkey wagons and a hooded figure waiting as early morning traffic moved in and out of the city. Doriyn approached and nervously waved a hand at the man.

  He need not have worried: Aron waved at him with a smile from under his red poncho and hood, and no one else among their company was present. The priest gestured for Doriyn to come over.

  “Well met, young man: on time as expected.”

  “Good morning, Aron. Will Wilheim be seeing us off today?”

  “Doubtful: he’s likely to have left town already to return to Hearthead City. He left your advance, though.” He held out a leather pouch to Doriyn, who took it questioningly.

  “Advance? I haven’t done anything yet.” Aron laughed at Doriyn’s words.

  “That’s sort of the point of an advance. Any reputable Coordinator offers them to their mercenaries: it’s a way to demonstrate commitment ahead of time, and Wilheim has one of the best reputations to uphold.” So it seemed: the pouch contained coins that came to 15 suns, which was about as much money as Doriyn had ever held at one time. He blinked, and slipped the far smaller sum from his current money bag to the much nicer new pouch. Aron smiled, though not unkindly at the sight. “Don’t spend it all: that’s meant to get you by until the next payout, which depends largely on our success.”

  Doriyn opened his mouth to answer, but was preempted by the arrival out of the mist of some other members of their company. Farko and Kohol seemed in good spirits, though the larger of the two sported an ugly looking bruise around one eye, and a small cut under the other. Kohol answered the unspoken question without preamble “a small price to pay for what was gained,” and Farko grinned in response. Aron merely shrugged, and handed the two men their own advances. Farko tucked his pouch inside the dark hooded jacket he wore over a similarly dark leather-shelled gambeson, and laid an unstrung warbow securely on one of the carts. Kohol tied his own money bag onto the wide leather belt Doriyn had seen the first night at the inn, and declined to part with either the longsword he wore on his back or the long-hafted bearded axe he carried as though it was a walking stick.

  Hélène followed the two men closely, dressed once again in her light armor and travel cape, and leading a palfrey with bulging saddlebags. Her eyes danced when she saw the proffered coins, and they lit again when they passed over Doriyn. “It’s a shame you couldn’t join us last night, my friend,” she said, walking over to stand by Farko and Kohol. “We all three made a decent wage down by the docks, and another companion could have helped us make a good deal more, and all would have been more fun.” Doriyn tried to smile confidently in response, and was glad he did not have to answer (or ask a question about what exactly their plot had been), as Ash and Maurice approached in turn, and Aron tossed Hélène her money.

  Maurice looked the same as he had the day before in his new common attire, but today wore also a mailshirt that hung to his thighs and his own expensive fur-lined cloak. Farko wandered over to Doriyn and whispered in the young man’s ear: “a moon says he takes the mail off before noon.” Doriyn stifled a grin and replied: “2 moons says before midmorning,” and Farko nodded ascent to the wager.

  Ash had merely added the finest heavy crossbow Doriyn had ever seen to her generally drab attire and veil, and he looked at it admiringly. Seeming to sense his attention, Ash unslung it from her shoulders, and passed it over to him without a word. The dark wood was stained almost black, and the metal that made the graceful arms was dark as well, though it possessed a luster that seemed almost to come from within. The smooth ratcheting lever system spoke quietly of precision instruments, and every etched or carved detail suggested master craftsmen at every level of design and construction. In all, it was a truly magnificent weapon worthy of gracing the armory of the Emperor. And here it was, in the possession of a shopkeeper. Doriyn handed the crossbow back to Ash without a word, suddenly chilled, and she smiled at him, slinging the killing machine back on her shoulder on a strap of braided leather.

  Aron passed Ash her advance, and spoke to the company: “and with that, I believe we’re ready to depart. I won’t babysit you, make you march, or police your behavior unless you make me, but I will say that I’ve left room in the carts for your gear if you like. Switchel is in the keg in the first cart, and it’s full, so go ahead and fill your vessels. I’d like to make it halfway to Grayston by nightfall, but there’s no real cause to rush.” Doriyn’s leather bottle was already filled with water, so he held off on the switchel, but Maurice approached him from the side and asked him what the liquid was that had Kohol, Farko, Hélène, and Ash dumping their water and refilling their own skins and bottles from the indicated keg.

  “Switchel,” Doriyn explained to him, was a mixture of beer, water, vinegar, salt, honey, and any number of other elements added either for taste or nutrition. “It’s mainly used for long marches or heavy labor to make sure the men involved don’t pass out from thirst or exhaustion. You can generally tell the quality of a fighting unit by the quality of its switchel, or so we always said, but there’s also no ‘right’ way to make it. I suppose it's…vaguely alcohol, but you almost can’t tell because of how watered down it is. I’ll drink it all day and can’t feel anything. It’s a pretty common peasant mixture.”

  “I suppose that is why I’ve not heard of it,” Maurice replied. “We would mix water and wine if we needed refreshing. This switchel sounds vile, but if this is part of my new life…” he shrugged. “I’ll try it after I consume my current mixture.”

  With no further ado, Aron stepped into the seat of the frontmost cart and took the reins. The donkey made no complaints and started forward at the man’s touch, followed by the other cart which was being driven by Ash. Doriyn laid his shield, pack, and javelins in the cart as it pulled away, leaving him armed with only the infantry shortsword and the new dagger as he walked beside the donkey. Hélène came to walk next to him, leading her horse, which Doriyn now saw was also laden with a couple of large sacks tied to the saddlehorn.

  “You carry a great deal of baggage for one person,” he said in what he hoped was a pleasant tone, and Hélène replied with mock offense and a broad smile.

  “I’m a professional too,” she said, echoing her own words to Doriyn the previous evening, “and a professional always has the right tools.” The young woman pulled her hair back at her shapely neck and tied it behind her with a turquoise ribbon. “And besides, if Mt. Oren is to be my home for some time, I thought it best to bring my amenities.” Doriyn gestured to his own pack.

  “That’s all I own in this world. I’ve not needed hardly anything personal since I joined an army right after I left home, and I guess I…haven’t really had a home since.” He laughed a little: “It’s pretty hard to acquire things when you don’t really have a place to put anything.”

  “Where was home, Doriyn?” Hélène’s voice was soft and curious as they took their first steps onto the road,, and Doriyn’s heart, while not exactly skipping a beat, definitely jumped momentarily when she said his name aloud.

  “I’m from Hearthead City. My father worked on boats for hire, and worked his way up to bosun before I left, and I mostly helped him once I was old enough. It was a good upbringing.”

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  “When did you leave?”

  “I was…17 I think? Maybe older. I got bored, mostly. We would sometimes take soldiers, mercenaries, Slayers, or hirelings and such to islands off the coast or just across the bay or river, and they’d be bounty hunting, or looking for something special or magical, or seeking a beast that was hurting folk. They always seemed to me to be doing something exciting, and we’d be a part of that story until they stepped off the boat. Then they’d go on, and we’d return to our normal little lives. My father didn’t like the idea of my going off and joining the Slayers or a mercenary company, so I left the capital and joined up with an army that was going past the Gap to fight on the frontier. The Fringe was having trouble at the time with Goblin tribes and Northmen both, and it’s pretty large territory, so we did a lot of walking and a lot of fighting.”

  “Were you on campaign year round?”

  “No, we billeted at various forts in the region, sometimes for months at a time and nearly always over-winter. The Northmen fight well enough in the snow and the cold, and when orcs and goblins decide to fight they fight no matter the season, but we preferred to keep warm when possible.”

  Hélène nodded understandingly. “I, too, prefer to stay warm. I hail from roundabout Veil, and the climate there agrees with me far more than your North.” Doriyn laughed again at her words:

  “Oh this isn’t all that far North, Hélène.” He said her name with gladness, and was not certain why. “There’s far more land North of here than there is between Hearthead City and Veil, and believe me, it gets colder every step of the way.”

  “Then I am glad we go no farther than Mt. Oren. On that…do you know anything more of the town than I?”

  “No, I don’t. Old mining town with no mine, no reason to ‘pass through…’ probably nothing more than the infrastructure needed to keep the hangers-on alive and a little busy, perhaps a few thousand people.”

  “Very different from where we hail, then.”

  “I should say so.” The two walked in silence for a period, and Doriyn struggled to find something interesting to say. He failed, and instead he listened to Hélène begin whistling an upbeat folk song that Doriyn did not know. Farko from the other side of the wagon joined in, and Aaron, too, hummed along in a pleasant baritone.

  The group mingled as they willed over the course of a few hours, sometimes chatting, usually walking in silence. Used to long miles without rest, Doriyn walked easily, unburdened by pack and kit, certain that the roads so close to the capital would be well policed. He was not wrong: 5 times the group was passed going both directions by a member of the newly-formed Imperial Scouts. These men and women wore dark red cloaks and hoods, and rode mounts bred for endurance, but they carried with their light equipment the full weight of Imperial authority. They were unlikely to be accosted by anything approaching sentience.

  Twice that same day, the group was passed going the opposite direction by a member of the Slayer’s Guild. Doriyn could tell their allegiance, as could almost anyone, by the distinctive leather jackets cut from the exotic hides of the monsters that they hunted for a living. Doriyn had once considered joining them as a teen, but had decided against the life as one that had the probability of being far too short, albeit glamorous.

  They saw other men and women in groups, still close enough to New Reven that “crowds” might be a better term, so it was not until the end of their first day on the road that there was a stretch of peace and quiet as the sun was setting. Kohol breathed a loud sigh of relief that completely broke the silence: “at last, some time alone.” Ash nodded agreement, and in the setting sun, removed her veil. The woman’s eyes were almost violet, and had an intensity that took Doriyn aback for a moment. She smiled at his reaction, and moved ahead, saying nothing. Hélène spoke, towards the front of their little column:

  “Are we to find lodging in a roadside inn of some kind, or camp beside the road?” Aron responded:

  “I’ve no wish to oversee every aspect of this trip, but there is an inn ahead in another mile or so. I was going to stop there, but sleep under the wagon to save myself some coin.” Kohol and Farko raised their voices in agreement, Farko for saving money, and Kohol for the inn.

  That inn they found shortly, already quite full with patrons, which they shouldered past trying to get to the barkeep for drinks to wash the dust from their throats, and rooms for those who wished. Ales in hand, the company mingled in the common room, or went to sit outside. Doriyn sat on a bench in the evening air with Ash and Maurice, and the young lord said aloud:

  “Why the veil?” Ash looked at him intently, perhaps amused by the directness of his question, and said after a moment:

  “My eyes are rather sensitive to light, and a dark veil helps me to cope during the day. At night I can see better than most, which is a trade-off I’m happy to make.” Maurice leaned in, interested.

  “Fascinating. Do you find such a trait helpful in your line of work?” Ash stared at him again.

  “My line of work? I’m a shopkeeper,” and Maurice laughed at that.

  “No other shopkeeper I’ve met can see in the dark and also carries the finest crossbow that I’ve ever seen. I’ve been paying attention, and I suspect your skillset might be more towards the nefarious that Hélène’s. We’re all in this together, Ash: speak up!” Doriyn was amazed at the young lord’s brashness, and he expected Ash to stand and leave, but she stayed put. Her voice was even and without tension when she said:

  “Alright then, know this. There are few more dangerous places to be between dusk and dawn than about 400 paces from me in any direction, and Wilheim has paid good money in the past for that reality. I agreed to come on this venture to broaden the supply for my store, and because I’ve been promised a good payday. My skillset is my own to use, but it’s at your disposal for the time being. The rest I will choose to share if I wish in the future, perhaps after we spend more time in one another’s company.” She smiled at Maurice, and sipped fragrant coffee from a wooden cup.

  Maurice turned a little red, and said that he hoped that he had not offended her with his questions. Ash returned that she was not, and that he would have known if she had been. Doriyn caught sight of Aron observing the conversation, and then the man strode onto the porch. Ash and Maurice stopped short.

  “No need to cease in my presence,” Aron said lightly. “I’m simply off to bed. Anyone care to watch the wagon for a while before they wake me?” Doriyn volunteered, and as the experienced campaigner made his bed in the grass and lay down, the young man sat on top of the gear with his sword across his knees. He sat in the darkness, catching snippets of the conversation between Ash and Maurice against the din inside the Inn. He sat for some time, thinking of his new companions, and musing at how little he really knew of them all. Pieces and shreds of the tapestry that they were. Perhaps that was all they had of him as well. Perhaps that would change in the days and weeks to come.

  Ash came in a while to spell his watch, and Doriyn climbed down gratefully. Maurice had already gone to bed when Doriyn came inside the inn for a final drink, but Farko, Kohol, and Hélène were still very much awake. Hélène sat in the corner at a table with the mercenary pair on either side of her, all grinning madly as she won a hand of cards against some of the other patrons. Seeing Doriyn she waved excitedly at him, and he smiled back. It was a vision he would remember for some time: the way the firelight played in her dark hair, the radiant smile and excited eyes, the groans of the men taken in by her charm and skill. Doriyn found his room and laid down, not even bothering to undress, and his last thoughts were, again, of Hélène.