“I never knew you had such a romantic side to ya!” Thorvald pats him on the back and laughs out a wheeze and cough after they have gotten sufficiently far away from Rose and her flowers.

  “Oh, shut up. It’s just that I haven’t met a girl like her since leaving the south.”

  “Ah! You like ‘em skinny? In the east we like women with a little more meat on their bones, you know? Fills up the hand more, eh eh!” He nudges Viper with his elbow and winks at that last bit, a playful grin painted on his face.

  “Ain’t nothing in the world could fill those huge hands of yours, Thorvald. I say Viper’s tastes are more realistic.” Rabbit joins in the laughing mood with a joke of his own.

  “Oho! You haven’t met women from my tribe! Waist as thin as a toothpick and busts as large as two barrels of wine!”

  “Gods sake man, will you shut up?” Viper gets fed up.

  “... -Ooooooh? Is Vipey here actually in love?” Thorvald mocks in a squeaky voice.

  Landyn is used to listening to the men make fun of each other. That is why he knows when to interrupt before teeth start flying. “Alright! Viper can see any woman he wants as long as we get our business done. Thorvald, Eagle Eye, Viper and Jack, go to the blacksmith’s with the sled and sell off the things we don’t need. Buy yourselves a weapon too if you need one. Rabbit and I will take Kale to a healer to see about his face then we meet up back here in front of this tavern.” He pauses and points to the tavern they are currently in front of, ‘Poacher’s bounty’.

  “Alright sir… just teasing my friend a little.” Says Thorvald, whispering the last part. He’s finally realised that Viper was probably going to punch him if Landyn hadn’t stopped him from saying any more.

  “One more thing. As usual, make sure the people know sellswords are in town.” Landyn adds. Searching for a job would likely be a simple waste of time, instead whoever needs them will come find them if they know they are in town.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Eagle Eye cheers and gets back to pulling the sled.

  —

  The mercenaries split up just as Landyn ordered. Kale puts one hand over Rabbit and the other over Landyn and they walk towards where they remembered the healer’s house to be. Kale limped because other than being hit in the face, he’d also taken a mace to the knee before that. The sword tied around his leg in place of a splint chafed with every step.

  “Landyn- Sir Landyn” He corrects himself, remembering he is the new leader after all. “I am in a bad state, but I think Jack is even worse off than me after that last battle.”

  “Hm? He only had a cut on his arm. We stitched it up well, don’t worry.”

  “Naw, it ain’t that, sir. He hasn’t said a word since the fighting stopped. He saw his own father killed in front of him, and in such a gruesome way too…” Indeed, being trampled by warhorses and then a whole army does not seem like a peaceful way to go.

  “Well, shit. He’ll get over it. What can I do?” He asks rhetorically.

  “Not whatever the fuck you did back on the mountain, that’s for sure. Beating a man when he’s like that ain’t gonna help with nothin’.”

  “...” Landyn has no answer to that. He knows he did wrong, but it isn’t Kale he needs to apologise to.

  “Landyn’s at least trying. I know for sure I wouldn’t volunteer for such a shit job. Do you want to be leader, Kale? Do you want to carry the weight?” Rabbit defends Landyn.

  “...No. That is not the point I’m making. He wants to be leader, so he should do better. Don’t you remember what Jon was like when someone became like Jack was?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Landyn speaks up, regret and realisation of his own mistakes overwhelming him. “He used to sit down next to you and say: ‘Come on. We all want you back. We’ll wait until you’re done. But you have to get up. You owe it.’”

  “No kicking? No shouting? No losing your shit? Hmmm…” Kale mocks.

  “Yeah… I see your point. You’re right. I fucked up.”

  “Well, now that you know you’re already a better leader than a minute ago. Chin up!” He says in a joking tone that still betrays his genuine feelings.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  They walk in silence the rest of the way. Thankfully, they were already pretty close, so awkwardness had no time to really settle in.

  Without pausing to knock at the door of the Healer’s Guild, they burst into the busy lobby. The sick and dying wait for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn.

  The Healer’s Guild was present in most towns on the continent, transcending borders and conflicts due to the simple virtue that none can perform their trade other than them. Sure, every village has a witchdoctor, a wisewoman or some other ‘healer’, but they are nothing but children making mud pies in front of the esteemed Healer’s Guild. They blindfold all patients before treatment and only practice their art behind closed doors, therefore none know how they can mend flesh as expertfully as they do.

  Still, they only work for coin. Restoring function is one thing, but making it look as though you were never maimed is something only high-ranking nobles can afford. The commoners and serfs would still bear nasty scars and would also have to wait for a long time until a healer made time to see them, many died in the meantime. Thus the sickly and despairing sight within the lobby.

  “Always fucking hate it here…” Kale grumbles.

  “Sorry to hear you find our establishment lacking, good sir. No one is forcing you to seek our services.” A young woman dressed in white tight-fitting robes, carrying a binder and expensive fountain pen addresses Kale before his friends can kick him in the shin to shut up.

  “Ah; No, sorry. Please-”

  “I’m his employer. I’d like to get his leg fixed. He took a mace to the knee yesterday.” Landyn interrupts. He doesn’t intend to indulge the Healer’s apprentice in her teasing.

  “Hm, sellswords, right?” She looks them up and down quickly, not allowing a response to form on their lips before she continues. “Restoring function will be four hundred crowns, restoring appearance will be another four thousand and skipping the queue will be five hundred. …The face will be at least ten thousand, if you want to get that looked at too.”

  “Ten thousand???” Kale exclaimed, realising his disfiguration is permanent. ‘No more retirement with a busty blonde I guess…’

  “...Um, yeah… We’ll just have function restored to his knee, if you don’t mind.” Landyn feels bad not being able to spare more coin to at least have him skip the line, but he must be careful with the company’s money. Even just these four hundred crowns are quite a strain on finances. A serf would have to work two years to save this much.

  “Fine. Sit down and untie that… splint? We’ll bring a wheelchair later.” She frowns at the shoddy splint made of a sword and scabbard tied on each side of the leg with dirty rags.

  “Thank you,” Kale talks to the air where the apprentice was just a moment ago. “...Don’t they take an oath not to be rude?”

  “Their oath was to do no harm. Does the mighty Kale feel harmed by a simple maiden turning a cold shoulder?” Rabbit jokes.

  —At the blacksmith’s—

  “Holy shit is that a falx?!” Thorvald exclaims as soon as he opens the heavy door to the dark smithy’s place, illuminated by embers from a forge and a few oil lamps next to weapons on display.

  The falx he is referring to is a large two-handed sword. It is as long as a man is tall and the grip is as long as a forearm allowing terrible leverage to be delivered on the unfortunate target of the attack. It is curved like a katana, but the cutting edge is on the inside of the curve. The point is sharp and can hook around shields, cutting faces and throats. They are known to even split shields in two or pierce steel helmets with the tip. A favored weapon of the barbarians of the East, feared by emperors and kings alike.

  “Indeed it is, sellsword. Judging by the tattoos you so proudly publish, this is a sword familiar to you.” The middle-aged blacksmith remarks from behind a sweat-soaked mustache which he twirls in satisfaction at finally meeting a man who appreciates his work.

  “It’s so goddamn beautiful! It’s been ages since I held a proper falx… may I?”

  “Haha! Of course, get a feel for it! It’s rare someone comes in that knows how to use one of these.” The blacksmith cheers.

  Thorvald grabs it off the wall and the men all know to give him a wide berth. He swings and the air whistles as it is cut apart by his moves, clearly the result of a lifetime of training. He smiles from ear to ear.

  “Man, how long has it been, Viper? Since my falx broke in the side of that… what’d you call it? Rhinoceroo?”

  “Rhinoceros. It’s been almost a year I’d say… The crowds of the arena still echo in my mind sometimes…” Viper gets nostalgic thinking of his home. His smile then turns into a slight frown when he remembers the cruel slave master that named him such a cringey name.

  “Haha! That red sand was a truly worthy resting place for my sword! But… I’d sure love a replacement…” His eyes turn to the blacksmith, half-pleading.

  “Hm… Say, sellsword, ever heard of the Timish tribe?” The blacksmith strokes his chin.

  “Oh? Yes, I have been in fact. We were on good terms last I heard. I was from the Huned tribe and we often traded with the Timish. Good people.”

  “Hm, since you say you helped the tribe of my wife, I shall give you a small discount. What say you a hundred crowns?” He grins.

  The men cannot believe their ears. A sword that huge, made in a peculiar style, by a blacksmith skilled enough to earn his keep in this large town… for the price of a bollock dagger???

  “Th-Thank you, sir. Thank you so much!” Thorvald shakes the man’s hand with both of his hands with great fervor. He is so thankful he is almost in tears.

  After selling off all the scrap and having a few usable weapons refurbished for later use, only a handful of coins switch hands at the end of their business. The men leave with smiles on their faces; except for Jack who still refuses to speak or show any emotions whatsoever.

  The others are starting to realise how deep Jack’s wounds truly are, but none know what to say. None have the right to say anything to him. They have also felt the pain of losing a father, but none held them as they died, none were left all alone in a strange land afterwards.

  They let him ride in the sled rather than pull it alongside them.