Morwyn groaned in pain under the firm yet gentle touch of a soft hand. Her body ached from head to toe but the cool, damp cloth pressed against her forehead brought some reprieve from the pounding headache that kept her from returning to the bliss of unconsciousness. A jolt of agony shot through her midsection as she tried to take a deep breath. The blurry figure beside her leaned down as Morwyn fought through the pain to open her eyes.
“Anna...” she whispered, her throat dry as a bone.
“Hush now, save your strength.” The figure slowly pressed a clay mug to her lips. Morwyn tried to drink from it but recoiled from the bitter taste of the fragrant liquid. She sputtered and coughed, causing her head and stomach to throb even worse, but with several short, ragged breaths was able to settle down once more.
“Anna, I need water...”
The indistinct figure paused for a moment before exchanging the mug for a canteen. They patiently held it to Morwyn's mouth as she drank. She was only able to take small sips at first but once the cold water spread its icy tendrils down her throat, she forced herself into a sitting position with great effort and drank deeply.
“Careful, that's enough. Now for your medicine.”
After choking down the thick concoction, Morwyn rubbed her eyes with both hands to clear the crust and tears of pain from them. Her left was wrapped firmly in a linen cloth and twinged as she did so, though the ache paled in comparison to her head and back and stomach. She blinked several times before looked around to get her bearings and was confused to find herself in a tent instead of her sister's cabin. The tent was dimly lit by two small oil lanterns and several open chests and boxes lay scattered about on rugs and furs around her.
“Is Anna someone close to you?” A short figure sat on a child-sized cot beside her and dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth once more. Not a child, she realized, but a halfling. One of the younger ones, a healer. Morwyn fought through her dizziness to remember the healer's name, and how she'd ended up in the halfling's tent. Fragmented memories came in flashes- she recalled being carried in someone's arms, being loaded into the back of a wagon while wracked by pain, shouting and frantic motion... and then nothing.
“One of... my sisters. I thought she was here. Thought I was there, I mean. With her.”
The halfling beside her chuckled warmly and placed a small hand on Morwyn's cheek.
“The wounded often think of family in trying times,” she murmured softly. “I've no way to prove it, but I believe it helps the body to heal.”
A silence fell between them for a moment, heavy, but not a tense one. The halfling stood from her cot and walked over to an open chest with racks of small bottles in neat compartments. She rubbed her chin for a moment before selecting two of the vials and returning to Morwyn's side.
“How long was I out?”
“A day and a half or so. Good news is that I believe the worst has passed for you. Bad news is that you have to drink these.” She carefully placed the vials in Morwyn's cupped palms. Morwyn removed the corks and downed them one after the other and was pleasantly surprised to feel a tingling warmth spread through her body, soothing but not entirely numbing the pain. She breathed a bit easier and sat up straighter before a vile aftertaste nearly made her gag. She sputtered for a moment then wiped her mouth on the back of her un-bandaged hand.
“I suppose I owe you my life... Thank you...?”
“Hazel,” the halfling replied with a beaming smile, her green eyes twinkling. “Hazel Willowbend, at your service. And I believe you owe Gildur your life. It was his armor that kept your insides... well, on the inside. I simply mended what would've healed on its own, but much more quickly.” Morwyn stretched her arms and her back carefully, marveling at how much the debilitating pain from moments before had faded.
“Well thank you very much for that, Hazel,” she chuckled, flexing her hands and touching the a fresh scar on her left temple experimentally. Though a dull ache lingered, it was manageable. A moment later her face fell and her brow furrowed. “And what of the others? Are they...”
“They're alive,” Hazel reassured her quickly with a frantic wave of her hands. “And well, for the most part. Argoth is as good as new, nothing seems to keep that man down. Eronir is resting but should be on his feet in no time. And yes, Lady Trux is alive thanks to you, for the time being anyway. If the blasted dwarvish medicine they're giving her doesn't do her in! Can you believe they won't let me treat her? Barbaric, what they do to the sick and injured, I tell you! I would love to know how you saved her life, by the way. When you're better of course. My potions are strong, but they're infused with magic, not cast like a spell. I was always curious...”
Morwyn breathed a sigh of relief as the other woman chatted on and let her shoulders relax slightly. If the others were alright, she could afford to worry about herself for a moment. She lifted the linens under which she lay in order to inspect her body. There was a fresh pink scar across her stomach, shallow and only a few inches long, surrounded by a massive bruise. She probed it gently with a few fingers and flinched; though the pain was dulled, it wasn't completely gone.
“Everything as it should be?” Hazel asked with a wink before handing Morwyn a bundle of fresh clothing. “Kidding, of course. Nothing was too out of place when they brought you to me, you were quite fortunate. Here, get dressed and go to the cooks. Eat as much as you can manage. Those herbs won't sit well otherwise.”
Morwyn rose from beneath the covers and turned away awkwardly from Hazel as she slipped into a set of linen undergarments and stockings. She was certain that the healer had seen many in such a state, herself most recently, but it still felt uncomfortable to be bare in front of another. Hazel turned on her heel with a laugh and went to the front of the tent to retrieve Morwyn's boots.
“Heroic and modest. It's a wonder you haven't got yourself a husband!”
Morwyn hoped the dim lighting of the tent concealed her blush and declined to respond, focusing on the fastenings of her new trousers. They were of a similar material and color to her own but were held up with a series of buttons rather than a drawstring, which stymied her for a moment.
“Um... Hazel? Would you mind...”
The healer turned around and shook her head with a smile. She clucked her tongue and sighed, then showed Morwyn how to button the trousers and lace the calves.
“It's an elvish design. They seem to make everything more complicated than it has to be, in my opinion. Couldn't find any trousers that would fit you amongst the humans. You're quite a bit taller than most of their women, and I doubt their dresses are to your liking.”
“On that you are quite correct,” Morwyn laughed, then winced as she struggled to slip the tunic over her head. It was a pale blue and was softer than she expected, sleeveless, and fell just above the knee. When she slipped on her boots and looked up to scout for her other belongings, Hazel held up her belt. It was cleaned of blood and freshly oiled, as were her dagger and waist pouch. She tightened it around her waist as Hazel walked her to the entrance of her tent. She grabbed Morwyn's hand as she made to leave and slipped another vial into her palm, a knot of worry furrowing her brow. Morwyn gently slipped the elixir into her pouch.
“For the pain, should it be unbearable when it returns. Your armor, sword, and other belongings are at Gildur's wagon for repairs and safekeeping. You come right back to me if there are any complications, alright?”
Morwyn smiled down at the healer as she swept her long hair back over her shoulders, wishing she had something on hand to tie off a braid.
“No need to worry, I'll come to you straight away if I need to. I certainly won't be going to the dwarves for medicine after what you've told me.” Hazel beamed and held the tent flap open for her as she stepped out into the cool night air that smelled faintly of sea salt.
“Straight to the cooks, you hear!”
It took Morwyn a moment to orient herself to the new encampment. She didn't know how long the caravan had traveled after the battle at the bridge but it had to have been at least a full day. She didn't recognize any of the landmarks around and the sea and mountains seemed much closer to either side of the road. Faint lights twinkled in the distance to the east which had to be the last town before the Narrows. The last fragile piece of civilization before the frontier on the other side. She spotted Rennock and Argoth in the midst of what looked to be an intense discussion as they leaned against the side of a wagon not far away. Both men straightened up and walked towards her as they saw her approach.
“Glad to see you on your feet, Morwyn,” Argoth growled with a smile. For the first time since they met she saw him without his dented, scratched up, blackened steel armor. Instead he wore a fine black tunic with gold trim. It didn't look as out of place on him as she'd expected.
“Not 'new blood' anymore?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Of course not,” he confirmed with a laugh. “You've stood by my side in battle and lived.”
“That you have,” Rennock cut in. “And by doing so have spared us a great deal of trouble. I do not wish to reflect on what might have happened if those men beset the caravan. We have not encountered such a force of brigands in our travels thus far. You have my gratitude. Such loyalty can be hard to come by, Miss Shrike.”
“How do you know I didn't do it for the money?” Morwyn teased with a smile that faded into a grimace as she gestured them toward the central fire and the smell of hot food. Her stomach growled loudly. “Or perhaps the food?”
“No one fights like that for money,” Argoth replied, his face grim.
“We all fought hard,” Morwyn countered.
“Of course we did. Yet none of us for gold or glory.”
“Though perhaps Argoth really does do it for the food,” Rennock suggested in a neutral tone. There was a moment of silence before the two men began to chuckle, though Morwyn wasn't entirely sure it was a joke. As they approached the cooks she excused herself.
“Grab a bowl for me if you would, gentlemen?”
“Is everything alright?” Rennock asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I haven't pissed in two days.”
She nearly ran to the edge of the camp as Argoth's roar of laughter echoed behind her.
***
After finishing her food, Morwyn settled deeper into her camp chair and leaned back with a deep sigh of contentment. Argoth was tucking into his third bowl while Rennock was eyeing the cauldron as if considering seconds. The camp didn't have the same cheer as it had several nights ago. Folks went about their business rather quietly but were not necessarily morose. A sense of grim purpose lay over the caravan like a heavy blanket. Morwyn realized that they must've passed through the grisly aftermath of the battle in order to cross the river. The thought piqued her curiosity on what exactly had taken place in the days since. Rennock perked up and turned to her just as she began to speak and she wondered if he'd been listening in to her thoughts.
“Is there anything to be done about the bridge?” she asked, toying with the hem of her new tunic as she did so. “The missing garrison, I mean. Someone aught to inform the Southlanders.”
“We found the slain soldiers when we cleaned up the mess,” Argoth grumbled. “They were thrown in the stables and buried in hay. We laid 'em out proper in the barracks before pilin' and burnin' the bodies of the cutthroats.”
Rennock withdrew a long pipe and pouch of tobacco as he considered his reply. He lit it with a snap of his fingers and stared contemplatively into the fire as he puffed for a moment.
“A family left the caravan when they saw what had happened,” he murmured. “I cannot blame them. They were worried for the safety of their children on the road ahead. I sent a message with them to deliver to Thoren. He will know what to do.”
“You know Thoren?” Morwyn asked, her curiosity rising. “The barman, from the inn at Millcrest?”
“The very same. He is a good man, Thoren. We have been friends for many years. In fact, he is the one who told me about you,” Rennock answered. Morwyn frowned and turned to face the old man more directly.
“He told you about me? To what end?”
Argoth suddenly found his mug of ale to be immensely intriguing. Morwyn realized she had been bristling and tried to relax her posture. She was more curious than anything and wasn't angry... yet. She found herself hoping she didn't have cause to be. Rennock laced his fingers together on his lap before speaking once again.
“Thoren is one of several friends across the continent that assist me and my kin in the search for those who might be willing to make the journey east. He sent a message to me several days before we were due to arrive at Millcrest and told me that he had a good feeling about you. Detailed your circumstances, what you had done for the people there, and so on. I trust his instincts. He is the one who recommended Argoth so many years ago, after all.”
The orc shifted in his seat, now enthralled with adjusting his eye patch. Morwyn swore she could see the tips of his ears darken in the flickering firelight. It was odd to think the old veteran had once sat where she now did. She cleaned dirt from beneath her fingernails as she digested the information.
“It was no accident that we met, then. You'd planned to offer me the job and hoped that I might accept? What if I hadn't?”
Rennock laughed, his warm smile and the twinkle in his eye returning.
“No, young lady, I planned to get a measure of you. I was quite satisfied with what I saw, so I offered you the job knowing that you would accept. Your curiosity is an asset indeed. Pardon the boast, but I am quite excellent at reading people. It is my duty, after all.”
A slew of emotions spiraled through Morwyn at once. She was confused, wary, curious... and strangely proud. She'd always thought that no one looked at her twice and that most saw her as just another wandering sell-sword in search of the next job. To think that Thoren had been impressed with her enough to recommend her to Rennock, and that she'd played right into their expectations to the letter, was both flattering and frightening. She wondered how much agency she truly had in this arrangement.
“Seems an awful lot of effort to go through just to hire a mercenary,” she said quietly. Both Rennock and Argoth regarded her for a moment, sharing a knowing glance. Argoth cleared his throat.
“We weren't hirin' a mercenary,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a dangerous creak. “We were looking for a companion. One who would stick it out to the end. The folks in this caravan can leave if the goin' gets too tough for 'em, the guards cannot. I don't mean by contract either- we're what keeps it from fallin' apart. That requires dedication beyond the gold. Which we now know you've got.”
“Which I knew from the start,” Rennock said as he blew a smoke ring in Argoth's face. The orc chuckled and pulled out his smokes, lighting two and handing one to Morwyn. This time when he did so she could see that when he pulled them from the silver tin, two more popped into place where they'd been. Morwyn raised an eyebrow.
“Perks of the job,” Argoth explained with a grin. “Helps to know a mighty wizard.”
Morwyn giggled as Rennock, quite out of character for a wise old man, elbowed Argoth in the ribs. She gingerly accepted the smoke from Argoth and savored the flavor as she took a deep draw. Her injured hand twinged, but she ignored it and focused on watching the camp settle down after dinner.
“You're right. About not fighting for gold,” she said, tucking her hair behind one ear. She saw Eronir limp into the firelight followed by a gaggle of children pestering him for war stories. When the elf noticed her, he raised a hand in greeting and smiled warmly. She hadn't known his face was capable of doing so and had to hide her surprise. She nodded and returned the wave with a small smile of her own. “I've already grown fond of this group of misfits. They are so kind, and have such joy to share. I want these people to be well. To make it to the end of this journey, damn the gold, though I can't say how I've come to feel this way.”
“I can tell you why.” Argoth passed Rennock a large flask. The old man's face screwed up in disgust and he passed it on to Morwyn, who hesitantly accepted. The liquor within burned her nostrils when she unscrewed the cap and her eyes began to water. She took an experimental swig and sputtered as the harsh drink caught in her throat.
“Why's that?” she asked between coughs. Argoth stifled a laugh and took the flask back before she hurt herself with the contents. He took a drink himself, grunting after he swallowed.
“This world ain't too kind to the likes of you and me,” he began, tucking his thumbs into his sash. “Always on the road, searchin' for somethin'. Never quite findin' it, never quite knowin' what it is we're lookin' for. It was like that for me 'til Rennock took me on. He showed me somethin' worth fightin' for besides just stayin' alive.” A wistful look overcame him as he stared up at the stars.
“You mean his kin to the east?” Morwyn leaned closer, her interest piqued.
“In a way, but more than that. The very idea of it. The people I've met, the places I've seen. I've taken this journey, what do you reckon old man, twenty times now?” Rennock nodded, but held his silence as he continued to watch them.
“You've been doing this for twenty years?” Morwyn asked, her eyes wide. “How is this caravan not known far and wide?” Rennock shot Argoth a look of warning and the orc shook his head at her last question. More secrets, even in the midst of opening up, but Morwyn was too enthralled to press.
“I said twenty trips. We only make the journey every few years.”
Morwyn tilted her head in amazement.
“How old are you, Argoth?”
He shrugged.
“Don't rightly know anymore.”
“Well, how long do orcs tend to live?”
“A lot shorter than I have.”
Morwyn shook her head. The more the man shared with her, the more of a mystery he became.
“So why do you do it? What set you on this path?”
Argoth turned to face her now, his brutal features taking on an earnest sincerity.
“The journey that brings us together, the trials that we overcome, the welcome at the end for those that make it... I've never seen anythin' like it. The sense of community, acceptance. No matter who you are, no matter where you come from, you're one of them. One of us. Valued. Worth somethin'.”
Morwyn felt a small flutter in her chest at the words. It felt foreign, unfamiliar. She wasn't quite sure what to call it.
“So you've dedicated your life to that community. To bringing more people into the fold.”
He nodded solemnly.
“When you find somethin' worth holdin' on to, you fight like hell to protect it.”
He let the words hang in the air for a long moment, then he chuckled deeply.
“That, and this old man won't let me retire!”
Rennock smiled in return, but his eye held a twinge of sorrow.
“We cannot afford to let you, Argoth. You have proven yourself too useful and must now reap the consequences of your expertise.” The three of them laughed and Morwyn held up her mug of cider to the other men in a toast.
“To the boss. May he never retire.”
“Aye, I'll drink to that!” came a ragged cheer from behind. The three of them turned to see Lady Trux, bandaged and leaning heavily against Gildur the smith, enter the circle of firelight between the wagons.