It’s gonna take us a little while to prepare for departure, so we’ve all agreed on setting off in the morning. Clearwood seemed happy enough to agree to that, promising that our cargo will be safe enough in his care at the warehouse overnight. No need to go hunting for a new cart at least – he’s promised us he can provide us some quality provisions and resources without cutting into what money we’re still promised, and this includes fresh, quality mounts, which I think is particularly generous of him. There are other considerations to be made as well, of course, and it’s best to attend to that business in town while we’re so suddenly, unexpectedly flush.

I feel a little uncomfortable and unusually vulnerable with this heavy bag of platinum slung under my coat, but it doesn’t feel right handing it off on any of the others. I trust them all, even Art, sticky fingers and all, but for better or worse I’m the one who got ‘em all into this in the first place, only right I should be the one bearing the burden. Doesn’t stop me gripping Hedred on my hip tighter than I’d like.

Two hours after the event you’d think the fight never happened. By the time we got out the street was clear, the cart, the bodies, even the crater and the fire damage to the walls around it, all gone, not even any stray blood splashed on wooden boards or soaking into the gravel. That creepy albino fellow was standing just inside the doors waiting to let us out and he did it without touching anything, even had all of Yeslee’s arrows in a bundle to hand to her on the way out. I swear he’s got some seriously creepy magic going on if he managed to pull off a clean-up job that good.

Hocknar’s awake now, the townsguard’s day-shift more alert and sure-footed than their after dark brethren, while businesses are opening and the daytime smells begin to envelop us as we leave the slaughterhouse district and enter the commercial sector. We got up ungodly early and I’ll admit I’ve ravenous now I can smell sizzling gammon and sausages and frying eggs and fresh-baked bread, promising myself I’ll stuff my face as soon as we can find the time to swing by an eatery. Right now there’s more pressing business I want to get out of the way before the city gets too busy.

This far north the Tektehran Empire’s presence is less keenly felt, which is what Gael calls a paradox since it’s less than a hundred miles to the border of our occupying neighbours. By and large the Terrors have let life continue pretty much as normal in Hocknar, but then this has always been Rundao’s most prosperous city by virtue of being the capitol for the trapping and mining businesses that ply their high-risk trades in the Northern Reaches. Industry’s what this town’s all about, so keeping the various workers and employers who keep the hides, meat, ores, minerals and timber flowing south content must have been a simple choice for the Provisional Government when they first set up shop here. Further south the Tektehran military flexed their muscles in Tabaphic and Untermer and the less reasonable, tractable politicians were put against walls along with the more militant nobles, replaced with puppets and rewarded with a bullet to the back of the head. Here in Hocknar it’s always been the merchants and conglomerates who run things. To them it was just a change in management.

In the early days of the Occupation it made Hocknar something of a haven for those with a more … dissident spirit, given the Terrors didn’t think they needed to police the Northern Reaches too hard. The Rebellion was born here, in the boarding houses and bars of the Waterfront, where it’s so easy to come and go and nobody looks too close if they know what’s good for them. It was only when things got too worked up in Tabaphic and Untermer that they clamped down, and that was just until they were sure that the resistance effort had been sufficiently crushed. Which turned out not to be so thoroughly as they must have thought, because when I slunk back here with my tail between my legs I found it bloody easy to disappear again …

Since this territory can be so dangerous at the best of times, there’s a score of armourers in the commercial sector who ply a very healthy trade in weaponry year round. Murphin’s Emporium isn’t one of the most high profile by any stretch, but those who really know what they’re looking for and are willing to spend a little more for genuine quality know to come here, so they’ve never hurt for business. Personally, I just feel more comfortable dealing with someone I can genuinely trust, and that’s far easier with people I’ve actually shed blood beside.

The bell above the door jingles and it’s a welcome familiarity that instantly puts me at ease as I push through into the relative gloom of the interior. It’s still fairly early in the day business-wise so for now Art, Yeslee and myself are the only customers. Gael and Krakka continued up the main street in search of their various spell components and sundries in the mage-specialist stores nearer the docks.

Old Jakul looks up when we enter, his deeply creased brow furrowing for a moment as he squints into the light penetrating through the thick gauze curtains obscuring the windows without cutting out the illumination. There are oil-fed lanterns and a scattering of candles burning behind the long counters but in the dusty haze it doesn’t do all that much to improve vision. He pushes away from where he was leaning against the counter with some difficulty and crackling joints, grabs a rag from underneath and gives his hands a thorough wipe, clearing his throat with bronchial gusto. “Mornin’ folks, how can I help you this fine day?”

“It’s us, Jakul.”

Another squint, this one more appraising, and he grins, revealing several yellowed teeth and more than a few missing too. “Kesla luv, nice to see ya. How’s hunting been?”

“Fine, just peachy.” I stroll in easy, my eyes wandering for a moment over the racks of spears and halberds and pikes and axes and swords and blades of every kind imaginable for rending flesh and making things good and dead. The smells of well-polished wood, well-oiled steel and well-cured leather fill my nose and I feel instantly at home. Jakul can tell what I’m thinking and his grin widens a touch, giving his one good eye a distinct twinkle while it puckers the substantial webbing of scars marring the left side of his face, the other eye white in the puckered socket.

“I take it you got business as usual.”

“Well it’s also a great pleasure getting to catch up with such good old friends, but yeah, unfortunately we do.” I give the satchel a little shrug to adjust the strap’s growing bite on my shoulder, and can’t help that the money clinks away inside. Jakul’s one surviving eyebrow quirks a touch as he hears it, the smile becoming a little more calculating. Not a bit of a surprise, that.

“So you’re in fine funds, it seems.”

Can’t help grimacing a touch at that, but I’m not really concerned. Old Jakul Murphin may seem a wretched sort but he’s one of the most honest humans I know, tough as the battered boot leather he’s come to resemble and fair as a cleric of Blind Lady Mithra with those he counts as his friends. Those sin-ugly scars he carries were all won fair on some of the bloodiest battlefields the Rundao military ever saw.

“We’re doing all right. Got a job in the offing, set to take us south again, though the road’s gonna be a rough one. Gonna be needing some fresh metal, and plentiful, I reckon.” I slip off my coat enough to get to that damned strap, slip it over my head and swing the satchel up onto the counter. I give Art a particularly pointed look as I turn my back on it. It’s gonna be safe as houses there while Jakul’s around, shouldn’t be a single coin light, but this is purely for our prowler’s benefit. It’s his money as much as the rest of us, but there’s times he can’t help himself. Bakaneko and shiny things, I swear to Thorin. “Is Janna in?”

That little twitch of eyebrow again. “She is indeed. Want I should summon ‘er, or …”

“It’s fine.” I head to the trap, flip it up and push the partition aside with my knee before stepping through and moving everything back into place on the other side. “We can conduct our own business, thanks.” I turn to my companions, stood at the counter themselves now, Yeslee stone-faced while Art’s already sneaking furtive glances at the satchel. “Y’know what we’re here for, yeah?”

“Course, boss.” Art chirps, coming back to himself again. Yeslee just cocks one of her thick brows at me, saying a lot without ever moving her lips.

“Fine.” I give him one last look as punctuation, then head towards the darkened passage heading to the stockrooms and workshop in back. Jakul gives me one more pointed little brow wiggle as I pass him, still grinning away, and it’s all I can do to resist the urge to give him a shove with my shoulder as I go by. He’s got a good fifty pounds on me and most of it’s still muscle, he probably wouldn’t even feel it.

Moving into the back, that wonderful complicated mixture of smells only grows thicker, giving my memories a stir. I grew up in a training barracks with a well-stocked armoury, places like this have always felt like home to me. The hanging dust’s thicker in the air, making it difficult for my eyes to adjust, but they keep the clutter to a minimum in here so I don’t have any real trouble finding my way through. I ignore the doors on either side opening into the stores on the right and the entrance to a substantial basement on the left, instead heading all the way to the end of the hall, having to duck a little in the final stretch before coming out into a particularly spacious chamber.

When they took over this building in his youth, the Murphin family, then headed by Jakul’s aged but bullish grandfather Lor and his equally, intensely masculine sons, they tore out three whole floors at the back and instead put in a series of staircases and platforms so they could have a more expansive open plan for their industrious workshop. Three generations of the Murphin family have toiled away in here when they haven’t been fighting in Rundao’s various wars, which makes for quite a few sons given that Lor was a prodigious breeder who outlived three very fertile wives before the fourth outlived him. Today the family’s more diminished, but they’re not gone, despite the best efforts of Rundao’s foreign enemies and, more recently, the Terrors as they clamped down on the Rebellion. Murphin’s Emporium has never had to hire additional staff because there’s always been plenty of their own blood to exploit.

Emerging into the well-lit open space I’m welcomed by the clattering, whooshing and clinking of tools and raspy, guttural or husky laughter from a variety of familiar voices bandying about broad, bawdy humour. I blink for a few moments as my eyes readjust to the brightness shed through the expansive skylights replacing the roof and plentiful windows, but even here there are lamps and candles burning in order to give the workers as much light as they can get. It’s a good deal warmer here than in front too with the whole back wall of the ground floor outfitted as a massive blacksmith’s forge. As I start looking about I can see Jakul’s two eldest sons, twin brothers Larik and Tor, banging away at their anvils, their thick, bare burn-striped arms slick with sweat, tree-trunk torsos protected with aprons of tough leather as thick as their gloves. Tor sees me and grins, his own teeth a good deal healthier than his da’s, swiping his wrist across his brow without ever putting down his hammer. “Kes! Good to see ya.”

“Hey, Tor.” I descend the three shallow steps to the flagstone floor without incident, already shrugging out of my coat so I can hang it up on the only empty hook left by the doorway before I start to roast. “Keeping busy, I see.”

“Always. You been busy, then?”

I nod, smiling. “Always. Just cuz we’re under occupation don’t mean people don’t still gotta worry ‘bout things go bump in the night. The Terrors are no better at caring for the common man than our previous landlords.”

Tor winces, sucking in his breath with a tight hiss. “Oooh, best not let ma hear you talkin’ like that. Y’know she don’t wanna think about revolution any more.”

“Don’t worry, y’know I don’t stir that shit up any more. Just lookin’ for your sister.”

“Course you are.” Tor’s smile turns into a playful grin that makes him look very much like I suspect his da used to before he went off to war. “Second level.”

“Ta.” I tip him a wink and head to the well-maintained wrought-iron spiral staircase firmly bolted to the left wall. Taking a breath, I set my jaw and start climbing. It’s no vanity to say I’m in great shape, but it’s bloody hot in here, and I’m still sweating like a pig by the time I reach the topmost landing, having to scrabble a little as I fight to rip open the buckles in front in order to open up my tunic. I’m fine for unexpected combat but I’m way too layered up for this place.

“Morning, sunshine.” I look up again to find Jakul’s last living brother, Jos, wiping his hands clean with a cloth, stood behind an expansive worktable heavily laden with a variety of metallic components. I recognise some of these as pieces of armour, crossbows or other more complex constructions of warfare, dismantled for maintenance or replacement, but there are others I struggle to identify. Jos is one of the smartest men I know, and he’s far beyond just a simple armourer. The man’s a true artisan, a little wasted on this place.

Jos is what Jakul would probably look like if he’d had more luck in the wars. He served too, almost as prodigious a man-at-arms as his brother, but ultimately saw less combat, the Rundao army deeming his talents in the manufacture and maintenance of their weaponry to be too important to risk. He’s handsome in a stocky, earthy way, solid and broad-featured but with a distinctive twinkle in his eye, and while he’s sporting plenty of wrinkles he’s kept his thick, shaggy hair as well as his looks, albeit with a bumper crop of grey in it now. He’s also probably the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met.

“Nice to see you, Jos.” I tug at the neckline of my jack, but short of stripping all the way down to my shirt I doubt I’ll be able to find relief at this juncture. “I keep forgetting how bloody hot it is in here.”

“Well it’s gettin’ bastard cold out there now, so you can’t be blamed for dressin’ for it.” He moves to the rolltop desk behind him. “I’d offer you a cup o’ wine but I reckon that’d just have you sweating yourself to death. Water?”

“Gods, yes.”

Nodding, he grabs a large jug and a wooden tankard, pours generously and moves round the table to pass it to me. I’m a little over-enthusiastic in grabbing it, but I’m truly parched now, and he just smiles. “Thank you.” I pound it down in a few deep gulps and pass him back the empty cup.

“You’re here for Janna, I take it?”

I blink at that, pausing as I start to mop away at my forehead, only now realising I’m still wearing my full combat bracers. That almost has me frowning more than the question. “Uh … yeah. I am.”

His look’s inscrutable, but I wouldn’t be too surprised if he’s reading into it. Jos is almost as smart as this family can get, and they’re no dunces. “Figured as much. Your timing’s impeccable, o’ course. She just finished that job she was doin’ for you last night, actually.”

“Really?” I can’t help getting excited. “Grand. So is she …”

He nods past me, towards the partition wall dividing this platform in two. Returning the nod, I give him a friendly pat on the shoulder and head that way, gently rapping on the door and waiting for a moment. Despite all the noise from below I know it’s been heard, and I’m not left waiting for long before it opens.

Janna Murphin is quite a sight every time I see her. She’s only an inch shorter than me, but while we’re of comparable size she’s more natural curves than muscle, taking more after her ma than her da, and I’m glad of it. Heart-shaped face, full lips that look even better when she’s in a pouty mood than with a smile, bright clear grey eyes and a thick, curly mane of rich dark red curls she never ties back, always framing her face just right. I’ve never seen her wearing a dress, she spends most of her time in the workshop so it’s easier for her to don thick, baggy leather britches and a shirt like mine. I wear this stuff because in my profession it’s what I’m comfortable in, but Janna always carries it with such incredible style I’ve always suspected it’s entirely because she knows full well how good she looks.

She pauses when she sees me, a word clearly on her lips but never coming, and she steps onto her back foot, cocking her head as she looks me up and down. That gaze has me sweating all the more without any need for the heat in this place, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. No smile yet, but I know it’s coming, and it’ll be hungry.

Her hand grabs me so fast I’m totally unprepared, and I couldn’t resist if I tried as she just yanks me into her office, booting the door closed without even looking. Her kiss is as sudden as her grip, free hand grabbing the back of my neck hard and pulling me to her as she shoves her tongue into my mouth with such hunger I’m completely defenceless against it. For a few moments she’s doing all the work but once I’ve got my wits back enough I snake one arm around the small of her back and bury the other in her hair, luxuriating in those soft, silken curls as I start to use my own tongue. I don’t know how long it goes on for and I don’t care, just letting it happen as she manoeuvres me without looking until she’s got me shoved up against the hard brick of the back wall. She starts to rub up against me as her tongue probes harder, her thigh pushed up between my legs, and this just adds to the heat and urgency.

I’m starting to breath hard through my nose, gasping a little as we kiss, and I can’t help starting to moan in time to her movements. She responds to that by breaking the kiss, first nuzzling my left cheek and ear before moving down to my neck, lapping and nibbling as her right hand moves from my collar, down to my belt. A few sharp tugs and she’s got it loose enough to shove her hand where I’m sure must be wet beyond belief. Once her fingers get to work I kind of just melt away, giving up entirely as my legs go weak and she lets me drop, moving with me onto the floor without breaking contact or stride. By this point I’m just losing my mind entirely, my head lolling as my eyes roll back and all I can see is stars, all I can feel is her mouth on my throat and her fingers probing that particular spot she knows so damned well. When I come I can’t even make a sound, all that gets out is a gasping, breathless hiss and my whole world vanishes under that great crashing wave that just rolls on and on and on.

No clue how long I must lie there after she’s done, I’m just a boneless mess on the floor all folded up by the wall, breathing hard as I try to reel myself back it. Gods, it’s been a while. I didn’t realise how much I needed that, even if I had kinda been looking for it. We got business, that much is true, but I knew what would happen all the same.

Once I’ve gathered myself enough to be able to move, I start to sit up, still rubbery and weak but my strength is coming back now. Looking up I find Janna sat cross-legged on the floor next to me, casual as if she was just hanging out with an old friend, watching me with that infuriating cryptic little half-smile she’s always reserved for me.

“All right,” I croak, my voice still faltering a little bit from the sudden reset. “You can wipe that look off your face. You started it.”

“Says the idiot who got exactly what she was clearly looking for. C’mon, Kes. I’m a grown-up just like you. We worked out what this was a long time ago. No strings, just fun.”

“Friends with benefits, yes I remember full well what I agreed to. You just took me by surprise, is all.”

“That’s a big part of the fun. Spontaneity.” She grins now, and there’s something of a predator in the way her teeth flashes which makes things start tingling in me all over again. “I saw you standing there and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well congratulations, it worked a treat. You damn near broke me.” I push against the wall behind me and try to work my legs into something solid enough to take my weight. It takes a little while to gather enough strength to work my way to something resembling upright. “I nearly got killed a few hours ago. I think I needed to get something fucked outta me.”

Janna frowns as she stands up, and I envy her the ease of her movements in that moment. “So that’s what that tear in your jack was.”

“You saved my life.” I push myself into a proper standing position and manage to stay up without toppling. I start straightening my clothes out, quickly realising my belt needs to be done up again before my britches drop to my knees. “Your handiwork did, anyway. But also you.”

“It’s hardly my best work.” She moves up to me again, running her hands up the thick felt of the top layer of my jack of plate. I’m so ridiculously sensitive right now I can feel her fingers as though I wasn’t wearing anything. “But I’m thrilled it kept your reckless arse alive.”

“Hey, it was supposed to be a simple job. We weren’t expecting trouble.”

Her smile fades then, and she gives me a harder, more coldly appraising look. “You are being careful out there though, right?”

That gives me pause, and I let out an unintentionally weary sigh as I manage to step forward, reaching up with both hands and gently touching her cheeks. “Of course. I’m not a total idiot. You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

She chuckles at that, batting my hands away as she steps back. “Yeah, well just cuz we’re best friends don’t mean you’re getting a discount on that big job you gave me.”

“So you did finish it?”

“Course. I told you I could get it done in a month and I did.” She grabs a cloth from her desk and unceremoniously chucks it at me. “Now clean yourself up. Just cuz my family already knows about what we get up to when you come calling don’t mean I wanna parade the evidence right in front of ‘em.”

I give her a good stink-eye at that, but it’s in good jest. I give my face a good thorough wipe, my neck too, then check myself over. I’m sure I’m still sopping wet down there, but thankfully it doesn’t show through the leather of my britches. It takes me another minute to realise I never dropped my big belts, which means I had my weapons strapped to me the whole time. Wow. I got thoroughly fucked with my axes poking me in the back and didn’t even notice.

Dropping the cloth back on her desk, I take a moment to look over the various papers spread out over it. Designs for new weaponry, some of it pretty complex, I don’t even know what I’m looking at with half this stuff. Jos is brilliant but Janna is a proper genius with this stuff. If the Terrors ever got a look at what she’s got laid out on here, pinned up on her walls or rolled up on the shelves behind her desk, they’d steal her for the betterment of their grand military complex in a heartbeat. And half o’ this ain’t even for business, it’s just her impossibly busy mind clamouring to get this stuff out.

“You coming?” She’s waiting at the now open door, watching me with clear amusement.

“Dunno how you do it, sometimes.” I follow her out. “I’d go insane if I had all that crap stuck in my head.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short.” she replies as she leads me back to the stairs, heading down to the first-level platform. “You’re way smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah, I dunno about all that.” I pass her elder brother Luca and his truly gigantic cousin Hol a friendly nod and smile as we pass them by. Hol may look like a bit of a lumbering brute, like all his other family members all rolled together into something like an ogre, but he’s sharp as the rest of ‘em, and his gigantic hands are surprisingly dextrous, adept at some amazingly intricate work.

She gives me another pointed look as we reach the door in another partition, doesn’t say anything as she opens it up and leads me through. Inside there’s an entire rack of armoured suits hanging there, waiting to be mended or picked up or simply ready to be delivered downstairs for sale in the store, but she goes to a tall, richly-appointed dark wood cabinet in the corner of the room. Fishing her keys out of the pocket in the front pocket of her tunic, she unlocks the main door, swinging it open and stepping aside.

“Thorin … Janna, you’re … I don’t …”

Stepping up, she shushes me with two fingers to my lips, reaching up with her other hand to brush my cheek. “Just tell me, is this what you wanted?”

My legs are weak again as I step around her, unable to take my eyes off the full suit of lamellar armour hanging inside it, every one of its small lame-plates glinting subtly as they catch the lamplight and reflected sun. The colour of the enamel, the detailing in the embossed sigils, what repairs needed to be made now completely invisible even to my discerning eye … I can’t even begin to voice how I feel seeing my father’s armour returned to its original glory. I can feel the tears starting to roll down my cheeks and I don’t even try to stop them.

“I followed all your requirements to the letter, and it’s fully adjusted to your exact measurements. Going from what I had to work with your da had a good six inches on you an’ was built to match but this should fit you as snug as it did him now.”

“And that … the big tear in the … in the …”

“The wound in the back was tough, and I had to replace some of the lames to restore the integrity of the back-piece, but it’s good as new now.” I feel her hand on my shoulder, the gentlest press of reassurance. “Just please, just … tell me I did good.”

The lump in my throat’s getting big enough to choke me but I just swallow it down best I can as I spin round and take her face in my hands again. “It’s perfect.” I whisper, kissing her again and again as I repeat it. “It’s perfect. Perfect. Thank you …”