We make the journey, the sellswords marching alongside the wagon
William sits in the back beside Hamza, silently mourning his friend. While Luna and are seated beside Calder, who keeps mostly to himself, his voice subdued as the miles pass, still shaken by the slaughter he narrowly survived.
By the third day, Ravencroft appears on the horizon, its stone walls rising above the frostbitten treetops. Calder perks up, his mood visibly lifted. He speaks for the first time in hours, voice dry but light. "Ravencroft... at last. It will be good... to sleep within its walls." As we approach, the guards at the gate glance up, eyes narrowing before recognizing Calder. With a wave and brief exchange, they step aside, letting us through.
The wagon rolls to a halt near the merchant square. Calder dismounts, issuing brief orders to his men to prepare the goods for warehousing. Then, quietly, he walks around to join us.
William climbs down from the wagon’s rear, Hamza’s body still bundled in the blanket. Despite the cold, a faint odor clings to the fabric, the smell of decay slowly built over the past couple days. As William lowers the body onto the snow with care, Calder flinches slightly, but says nothing.
He looks up to the three of us, his face awash with gratitude. "Thank you, for journeying with me. I've slept sounder, for your presence." He bows slight, before raising his head. "And of course, I have not forgotten what I said. I have a reward, for each of you."
He steps up into the back of his wagon, rummages for a moment among the secured crates, and returns with three carefully wrapped bundles. He lays them out on the edge of the wagon bed, using the flat wooden rail like a table.
He unwraps the first: a shortbow of rich, polished yew, its surface gleaming with a fine lacquer. The string looks taut and freshly spun. He hands it to William. “This bow’s yew. Fine grain, supple, powerful. Made by a talented fletcher just south of Heldren.”
William studies it for a moment, runs his fingers along the curve, then slings it alongside his weathered hunting bow without a word. He gives a short bow, but says nothing, his eyes drifting back to Hamza.
To Luna, he presents what appears to be an ornate, slightly oversized hair ornament, slender and elegant, with intricate filigree worked into the silver surface and a polished jet stone set into the head.
Luna frowns, looking at it skeptically.
“It’s a hairpin,” Calder explains, “I bought it from a trader of the east.” He presses his thumb against the base, and with a click, a thin, gleaming blade slides out from within the shaft. “A woman can never be too safe.”
Luna raises her eyebrows slightly, then takes the pin and inspects it with cautious interest, sliding the blade in and ou. “Clever,” she murmurs with a slight smile, before looking back up to the man. “Thank you.”
Finally, he turns to me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And you... the big warrior. I heard how you faced their leader. Saved many of my men's lives. You're a hero, at least to us.” He eyes the spear strapped to my back. “Your weapon’s served you well, no doubt. But every hero should carry a sword, even if only as a sidearm.”
As he pulls away the cloth of the final bundle, the polished metal of a fine arming sword catches the light. “Steel,” he says, offering it to me hilt-first. “Not that cheap iron. Freshly forged.”
I draw it slowly. Clean lines, no rust, no notches. A blade fit for a soldier. Zaenith taught me the basics of how to wield one, though I'm more experienced with a club. Even so... the weapon feels good in my hand.
“Thank you,” I say, still admiring the weapon.
He shakes his head. “It’s the least I owe, for what the three of you did.”
He gives us one last smile and climbs into the wagon bed, offering a final wave. "Safe roads, my friends. I hope we meet again." His sellswords pass us in silence, each nodding respectfully.
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William steps forward as they go. “I’ll see to Hamza.”
I glance at the blood staining his leg. “I can help, if you like-”
He shakes his head. “No. Better I do it alone.”
He lifts Hamza’s wrapped body onto his shoulder, grunting from the weight and his own wounds. Limping away through the thinning snow, he doesn't look back.
I wonder if he blames me... for what befell him.
It was me after all, that recruited the two of them for this...
My fault....
I shake my head, pushing the thought aside.
Well, it doesn't matter now…
Luna meets my gaze. "We should see the mayor. Make sure the rider I sent got the news to him."
"Yes. You're right. Let's go."
We walk the streets, and find the town unusually alive with movement. Men carry bundles of gear across muddy lanes, carts creak under the weight of packed supplies, and smiths hammer with urgent rhythm in their forges. At every corner, conversations hush as we pass, eyes flicking toward the weapons slung at our sides. Youths with practice spears spar in alleyways, while older men drag barrels toward the central square.
We arrive at Edwin’s manor and push open the gate. The bell chimes once, clear and sharp. Gandre steps out to meet us, clad in full plate armor that gleams even in the winter light. He greets us both. “Seven. Lady Luna.”
He ushers us inside and within, Edwin and Daniel await, both clad in full suits of plate, polished to a mirror sheen, their tabards freshly laundered, bearing the crest of Ravencroft. Edwin rises and offers a warm greeting, nodding to Luna. “I received your rider. The message arrived just yesterday.” He gestures toward the seats set before the hearth. “I've rallied the militia, four hundred men stand ready, in addition to my guardsman. At first light, we march.”
Still, a line of tension furrows his brow. “But Fort Gaellin... the direction you gave were... sparse. I'm relieved you’ve come in time, to guide us there.”
I meet his eyes. “One of Edric's lieutenants, Yurik, is dead.”
The room falls silent as I recount the tale. Edwin and Gandre’s eyes widen when I tell them I killed Yurik myself. They glance to Luna for confirmation, and she gives a curt nod. Gandre claps me firmly on the back. “Impressive,” he says. “Yurik was a tough bastard.”
Edwin nods, his expression sharpening. “Fine work. You'll be rewarded.” He glances down at a parchment on the table, brows furrowing. “This changes things. Fifty fewer to face and Yurik dead....”
He looks back up. “How many remain, do you think?”
“Halric had around eighty,” I say. “Bran, about fifty. But he went off to recruit a few outlaws bands he knew of. So he'll likely have more when he returns. He left before us, so he might already be back.”
Gandre grunts. “Doubt he found more than another fifty."
Edwin nods thoughtfully. "Altogether, at worst, we face two hundred men. That’s more than two to one in our favor." He glances toward his scribbled notes. "Favorable odds. A good thing too, we haven’t the time to muster more men from the surrounding villages. Word of Yurik’s death will reach Edric eventually. We must move swiftly."
He looks up. "What’s the condition of their fort?"
I shrug. "Poor. But the gate seems strong enough."
Gandre strokes his beard. "We can fell a tree, shape it into a ram. But we’ll lose men breaking it down."
Edwin gives a dark smile. “Zaenith has unfortunately refused to join us. But she did provide us some aid that might help in this matter.”
So she’s not coming… probably for the best.
I don’t know what Two would do if she appeared.
Edwin rubs his temples, deep in thought. "We’ll discuss that later. The more pressing issue is Edric and his lieutenants. Losing Yurik was a blow, yes, but those three remain. Each will be heavily armed and armored and they’re seasoned killers. Halric especially... I've never bested him in combat. Not once." He glances toward Gandre. "Only you’ve ever come close."
Daniel straightens, voice confident. "Gandre and I will deal with the lieutenants, and Edric too, if he shows himself."
Edwin shakes his head, expression hardening. "No. Edric is mine. I’ll face him myself."
Daniel's eyes widen as he protests. "You can't, Father. You can't risk yourself like that!"
Edwin waves him off with a curt motion. “I can, and I will. It’s my duty to see justice done, with my own hands. Edric won’t show until the battle is thick. He’ll stay back, watching, waiting. I’ll be ready.”
Then he turns to Gandre, face grim, voice hesitant. “Halric... will fall to you.”
Gandre exhales deeply, eyes closed. He opens them and says, “Of course, my lord.”
Edwin clasps his shoulder firmly, giving it a grateful shake. He turns to Daniel next, his tone sharpening. “If you see Bran, engage him, but carefully. He’s a dirty fucker. Never take your eyes off him.”
Daniel nods, expression tense. "Yes father. I won't fail you."
Resting his hands on the table, Edwin lets out a deep sigh. “Don’t try to take either of them alone. The numbers favor us, overwhelm them. Stab them in the backs if you can. As long as those motherless bastards die.”
Daniel looks away, jaw tight. Gandre gives a slow, solemn nod.
At last, Edwin turns to me. “We’ll need your guidance to reach the fort,” he says, “but I’d have you fight alongside us as well. The man who felled Yurik... that’s a warrior I want at my side.”
I nod, glancing briefly toward Luna.
“Excellent, we’re glad to have you” Edwin says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Get some rest for now. Tomorrow, we march to battle.”
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