“Oh, we really have to congratulate you for your accomplishments. To think you would achieve so much during your first mission.”

“What?” I didn’t understand the situation.

I sat in the guards’ barrack, an instructor in front of me, and he... complimented me? Wasn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t he scream, or curse, or belittle me? I had lost most of our troops and failed the mission. But he was pleased? Did he daydream during my report?

“Uhm... about my troop size?” I started another attempt. “We lost so many and...”

“Oh, don’t worry, don’t worry. We understand your fear. Losing so many of your men sounds devastating, but your troop was only half-full before. So we took that into consideration and assessed your effort accordingly.”

“Then... I won’t lose my position?”

“Demotion? Why would you think something boorish like that?” The instructor laughed, his giant belly trembling. “Your men even killed four Leprechauns. That’s a magnificent achievement. Nobody expected such results.”

“But.”

“Come on, you worry too much. I said it’ll be fine. So relax.” He stood, gave me a pat on the back, and only left a new order behind. “Wait for the other troops to return. Afterwards, we’ll allot the reserve troops. And you’ll command a full troop in no time. Just relax in the barracks and await new orders.”

And that was it. No shame, no criticism, not even sorrow. Only lively praise and free time from an instructor I had never seen before. No sword maiden and no Master Bernier, not even a message. Just a dispensable instructor.

Confused, I left the barracks and wandered through Gladford.

They told me to cheer up, but I couldn’t forget yesterday’s scenes. How mothers and fathers came to retrieve their dead sons. Silent. Crestfallen. They didn’t say a word to me. No accusations, no fit of rage. They received the remains, often not more than lacerated flesh, and left. Screams and insults would have been easier.

A surreal scene, reminding me of Uno and his mother. That small, child-sized, grave. The end for most soldiers. Not a heroic song, but cold, wet soil. Forgotten by the world, by everyone but their families. And this would have been my fate if the Púca had attacked once more. Although nobody would come and retrieve my remains.

I sighed. A million thoughts filled my head, rotating, colliding, thumping against the back side of my eyes. But there was nobody to talk to. Drew slept all day, curing the aftereffects. Although he didn’t understand such discussions, anyway. And Fabien’s place was empty. No outspread linen, no promoting merchant, only an empty stretch of land. Gone without a word.

And there was nobody else.

I knew the sword maiden, but she didn’t know me. So there was no way I could dump my thoughts into her lap. In these streets, between those crooked houses, I was a nobody. And nobody would listen to me.

So I continued my errantry. No goal or destination, only one foot in front of the other, one step after another.

I wandered through the fields, watching the farmers nursing the crops. They pulled out weeds, repaired fences, dug ditches. They jested, laughed, and swore together. And I stood at the side, keeping an eye on them from afar. It was a simple life, with straightforward questions and obvious goals. But also a more fulfilling life. Less self-doubt and an achievement after each day of work.

I laughed at my thoughts and left. Everybody knew the story of the farmer who dreamed to become a hero. But who had heard the story of the hero who wanted to become a farmer? No bard would sing such a song.

Hence I followed my whims and went here and there. Checked the traps inside the forest, bathed my feet in the icy river water, drank some rotten wine, and balanced on the crumbling stone walls. Witnesses of an ambitious time, forgotten during the endless daily grind.

Only a handful of short sections remained, decayed and overgrown with moss. And the rest? Probably re-used for the few stone houses. A frontier city that felt like a neglected village in the back-county. The founders’ and settlers’ dream had become tainted by an unpleasant coat.

I followed the old walls and arrived on a secluded hill, ruins of an old tower scattered all around. Piles of stones and rotting beams. And Fabien sat on one such beam, a bird cage in front of him, talking with the macaw inside. Its feathers now dull and hackly, only an empty hull of its former self.

“So you were here,” I greeted the merchant. “No wonder I couldn’t find you at your old place.”

“Hmm?” Fabien glanced at me. “Is there a rule that forces a merchant into work?”

“That’s not what I meant.” I sat down on a pile of stones. “I just... wanted someone to talk to. To take my mind of things.” I gestured towards the cage. “So that was today’s work?”

“No. Wouldn’t close my stall for such a stupid thing,” he answered. “A lot of patrons this morning, too many for my liking. Therefore, I fled.”

“A merchant running away from money?”

“Sorrowful money. They all bought linen. Decorations, dresses, cheap jewelry. Everything needed for a nice funeral.” He sighed, patting the macaw’s head. “A lot of them these days. Too many for me.”

I kept silent. What else could I do? After all, my failure was the reason. So I sat there and watched a merchant playing with a bird. Maybe the bird wasn’t the only lonely one? Such thought sprang to my mind. Did a merchant who traveled months through the wilderness have any significant other?

And so we spent our time in silence, waiting for the sun to sink behind the roofs. A man watching another man watching a bird. A weird trio of loneliness. And weirdly consoling.

“You wanted to talk,” Fabien asked. “Bewildered by your success?”

“How?”

“It’s written on your face.” He laughed. “That’s the face of a man who needs absolution. The face of someone who expected punishment and didn’t get it. So did they praise you? Promised future glory?”

“Yes. They treated it as an achievement. Even though I failed.”

“But did you fail? Or what was the meaning of your mission? That’s the question you should ask. Not if they should assess it as a failure. But whether this was a failure to them. You spotted the leprechauns. And you even killed some. Why wouldn’t this be a success?”

“Because we never made it to Haithabu. And we lost so many men.”

“That’s true for us. But for them?” He pulled a piece of linen out of his pocket. “If you bought this handkerchief for a bronze coin, would that be expensive?”

“No.”

“Then if you got it for a gold coin would you be disappointed?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s all there is to it.” He smiled at me. Not a cheerful one, but a subdued and sad one. “So your achievement, spotting and killing the leprechauns. Was the price appropriate?”

“No! We paid too much.”

“But what was the price?”

“Five soldiers, two merchants, and two bodyguards.”

“No that wasn’t the price.”

“But!”

“The price they paid was much lower,” Fabien explained. “Five useless men. And four men who started the journey for a preposterous little sum of coins. They got all they want... for a small pouch of coins. A handkerchief for a single bronze coin.”

“But people died! Their recruits died!”

“Yes. Recruits died. Not soldiers or guards. But recruits gained with words instead of money.” He laughed in self-mockery. “I would drink for a week if I ever complete a deal this unbalanced.”

I didn’t respond. This was too cold a view. As if a human life wasn’t worth anything.

“Didn’t I tell you,” Fabien asked. “Everything is about money. If you ever visit Haithabu, you’ll understand. There are people selling everything under the sun if you pay the right price. Noble jewelry, rare animals, old texts, beautiful women, and knowledge. Everything can be bought with money. There are wise men speaking the tongue of the elves, studying the dwarfs’ architecture, and stealing the spirits’ legacy.”

“Everything can be bought for the right price.” He continued. “A few coins to learn the leprechauns’ language and even peace would be attainable. But that peace comes at a cost so much higher than a few worthless recruits and merchants. So instead we pay with blood.”

“But...” I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “The sword maiden’s speech was different. This is to save humans, not to sacrifice them in exchange for a few coins. She wouldn’t support this plan.”

“Ah! Her speech was splendid. And she might have meant it. A glorious army to save humankind. But!” He sighed and returned his attention to the macaw. “She is just a girl. And she doesn’t own the coins. Other people decide what to spend. Or on what. And to them, blood might be more expendable than metal.”

“Then.” I looked at the merchant, his body language telling me that this heavy talk was over. “What should I do?”

“I don’t know. Buy a useless bird.” Fabien laughed, patting the macaw’s head. “Or at least become strong enough to decide for yourself which price you want to pay.”