Another day of mustering the troops was coming to an end. Ymdaton’s crew was making some progress undoubtedly. As he was circling the sparring pairs, he saw many of warriors displaying more ruthlessness and determination than before. There was Viroglyad, a militiaman of some experience, cornering his opponent with vicious swings of a wooden sword. Warriors were still lacking on average though. Not because they were wanting in martial prowess. Even novices learned few tricks with a blade by now. But the traditions of non-violence towards humans still showed strong. Crewslayer saw several trainees avoiding vital areas clearly on purpose. The thing that he taught them not to do from the first day.

Ymdaton clenched his fists. A tickle passed through his muscles, urging him to knock someone from his feet, to yell in disappointment. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. The kinani warrior let the frustration leave him along the air that left his lungs. He felt his body becoming lighter, as if his fading anger had a physical weight. He opened his eyes and saw men trying their best to overcome their weaknesses.

“That’s enough for today. Everyone go home and rest, for tomorrow we begin anew,” announced he.

Crewslayer proceeded to follow his own order. He entered the city through the closest gates and headed for his lodging. After half an hour he was already standing in the hallway of the house. A middle aged maid who had her hair hidden under a headscarf met him.

“Master Dragomir wants to meet you in the dining room,” said she.

The massive hall that served for feasts had its two walls lined with mica windows. The floor was carpeted with pelt rugs. Beast heads and trinkets of expensive metals hung here and there. The room was empty, only one man sat at the head of an immense table. It was Dragomir himself, a merchant, one of most respected and wealthy men in Khladnetz. The master of the house pointed his hand at the chair beside him. Crewslayer approached and took a sit. The trader grasped a wooden jug and poured an amber liquid into the mug right in front of Ymdaton. The kinani warrior felt the distinct smell of the spirit, albeit one mixed with honey tones.

“I don’t actually want…” began he.

“Don’t you disrespect the master of the house,” interrupted Dragomir, his intonation swaying in the middle of the phrase.

With a sigh, Crewslayer drunk his portion, the merchant did the same. The air burned his mouth and throat immediately, he shook his head and almost had his eyes shedding tears. Dragomir silently pushed a dish with sliced smoked meat towards him. Ymdaton took a piece and chewed at it, feeling an instant relief.

“What? Do you islanders not have strong drinks back at home?” asked the owner of the house with a mocking smile.

“We do drink a fortified wine at our feasts. Not like this, though, this is one smashing thing. And we certainly do not drink similar beverage outside of special occasions. Only the wine diluted with water as a refreshment.”

“You are a boring bunch,” said Dragomir and filled mugs again. Crewslayer was about to protest, but then silently took a new round with the man of the house. He felt a little dizzy now.

“We are just not used to drown our problems at the bottom of the jar,” Ymdaton paused, trying to think of a smart follow-up despite his mind being sluggish at the moment, “we drown them at the bottom of the sea, in blood of our enemies.”

“Perhaps you just don’t have enough problems,” the merchant filled mugs once more, “Another round and maybe I will become just brave enough to talk about mine.”

They drank again.

“You see,” continued Dragomir, “You are a simple warrior. Your goals are similarly simple,” last two words took him several attempts to pronounce, since he began swapping syllables, “I, on the other hand has so much to control: my business, my family, my public image, my rivals. I wager that your superiors are not unknown to drinking it all away either. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not crying because it is difficult for me. After all, I achieved much. It’s just that once I turn my attention away from something, it begins to fall apart. I can’t hold everything at once, and once I trust anyone with it, he fails inevitably. I hope my son will become a trusty partner of mine. Provided he survives.”

Another round passed, Ymdaton was listening carefully, at least as carefully as his unfocused senses could manage.

“Judging by your silence I guess you thought of what I meant to say by this last saying of mine,” Dragomir cut the phrase before finishing, “Sorry, got lost, kinda. I don’t think you understood. I don’t mean will survive the forest. Everyone does it here.”

“He got seriously ill, didn’t he?” spewed Ymdaton first thing that came to his mind, “I understand now.”

“No you don’t. Take a round.”

They drank once more, chewed at the meat and were silent for some time.

“He got ill, yes. But for all my wealth, for all my reputation, for all my power I can not help him. He is afflicted by a two day disease. Every two days a severe fever strikes him with fire. Then it retreats. Then it returns in two days. It is dangerous for children, for it could leave even a healthy child simple forever. And my boy was always of weak health. I found a medician who knows how to treat it. Yet he needs a bark of a rare tree to prepare a medicine. I found a hunter who knows where the tree grows, yet it grows in the dangerous part of the forest and he refuses to head there without an escort of at least three able warriors. When I tried to recruit militia as bodyguards for him, everyone refused upon hearing the destination. The eastern groves. No one returns from there, they said. I am out of options. I fear my son will not endure for much longer.”

This time Ymdaton himself refilled the mugs.

“I will help you to acquire your potion,” said he after swallowing.

“Tell me that again tomorrow, for now I believe that mead gave you too much courage,” answered Dragomir.

“One can not have more courage than I, drunk or sober,” proclaimed Ymdaton, while standing up. He almost fell, his body failing to compensate for the sudden transition. He grabbed a chair and regained the balance, “I will go and ask my comrades to assist me now, stay here,” he turned and left the hall with unsure steps. The merchant did not find words to stop him.

Crewslayer reached his room and decided to take a sit on the bed. There he planned to rest a little before talking to his comrades. As he closed his eyes, sweet mindless serenity engulfed him.