Night falls early here in the Northern Reaches. If we travelled only when the sun was still out we wouldn’t get anywhere really, so once dusk begins we just keep on going, Kesla breaking out the torches so Gael can light them with a quick casting. This gives the horses and the ones without nightvision another few hours as we ride into the deepening gloom of the forest. Yeslee abandons her horse and forges ahead on foot once the light starts to leave the sky, and we catch odd glimpses of her ahead, mostly beyond the torchlight now, but she can almost see better in the dark than during the day. The fir bolg are one of the sentient races that remain closest to nature, so she’s in her element right now.

By the time the sun’s gone and the sky’s turning black, the trees are starting the thin out as the ground grows more rocky, then we finally break out of the trees and the Hunter’s Pass looms around us. We’ve traversed a few minor passes and ridges and smaller valleys since leaving Hocknar’s province, but this is where the mountain wilderness truly begins, marking the end of civilisation until we’ve cleared the range. From here on ain’t no law but nature’s, so we gotta keep our wits about us.

Kesla calls a halt to our journey for the night, so Wenrich wheels the cart off the road at the edge of the treeline and we picket the horses for the night, Yeslee taking several minutes to whisper reassurances to them so they hopefully won’t wander. The torches are stuck into the ground around the perimeter of the camp and the night-blind members of the party start prepping beds and begin lighting a fire while me and Yeslee go out and gather more firewood within the trees.

It’s peaceful out here tonight. With winter coming in much of the birdlife have flown south for warmer climes, while some of the mammals are preparing burrows and feeding up fat reserves for hibernation. Up here where the range dominates the land we’re seeing less animal life in general, so Yeslee shot us a fat stag in one of the lower valleys. We might not see much more fresh meat before we reach the lowlands on the far side.

Once we’ve found enough dried twigs and fallen branches we tie up a few decent sized bundles with rope ready to head back. I don’t reckon Yeslee’s said more than two words to us since we left the city, and it occurs to me now that she seems uncharacteristically serious. I can’t let it pass without comment. “Okay there, Yes?”

She pauses mid-knot and looks up at me. Her eyes seem to glint flatly in the low-light, but that’s mostly just a trick of my nightvision. It’s still pretty spooky though, seeing her look at me like that. “Neither here nor there. I do well enough under the circumstances.”

“Well that’s a fancy way o’ saying nothing at all.” I sigh, give the knot I’ve just fastened a few little yanks to test it and, satisfied, start lashing the other end of the bundle. “You ain’t too happy ‘bout this job, are you?”

“It’s a job, same as any other we’ve taken.”

“Maybe, ‘cept we’re goin’ up against folk who fully intend to try an’ kill us to steal what we’re transporting.”

“Like I said, it’s the same as any other job we’re taken. We don’t face anything that’s not likely to kill us all if we let it.” She tosses the finished bundle aside and leans back on her haunches, regarding me for several moments while I finish up my own work. “Maybe it’s a little different. I can’t say I’m too comfortable about what we’re carrying.”

“Yeah, well that’s why we’re earning the big coins now. This is a good thing for us. We pull it off, maybe we can move onto bigger things in future.”

Yeslee actually barks out a little laugh at that, and while it’s a bitter sound there seems to be some humour to it. It’s an interesting image too – Yeslee smiles so rarely that it’s always a very rewarding surprise when she does. “”You just like shiny things, Art.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a cat. We go a little gaga for that stuff.”

She looks me over for another few moments, then grabs her two bundles and swings them up onto her shoulders. “C’mon. I’m hungry.” She starts back to camp, walking with sure-footing without needing to look, and I scramble to gather up my loads and follow.

By the time we return the fire’s burning away happily, Krakka feeding branches and dried leaves into it while Wenrich moves a cooking pot of stew over it. Driver 8’s settled down just inside the treeline, still and watchful, and I know he’ll likely stay like that for the night. Kesla’s got the deer hung from the nearest tree, already cleaned and skinned, working with a practiced ease that speaks of years of experience. As we emerge from the treeline she steps away from her work, watching as we set the firewood into the back of the cart, then tosses something to me as I turn back. I catch the blood-slick knife by the handle without even needing to think about it, already realising she wants me to take over.

“Pack up half the meat for Gael to do that freeze spell on, we can cook it as we go. The rest’s for curing. Okay?” Hands now free, she takes one of the waterskins and splashes some on her hands, starts washing the blood from her hands.

“Sure thing, boss.”

As I head to the hanging carcass, Kesla finishes cleaning her hands, then grabs a rag and wipes them dry, then tosses it into the fire before going to her packs and rummaging a little. Pulling something out the big duffle she heads over to Gael, who’s finished prepping her camp-bed for the night and now settling down. They’re already picking through their satchels, and I know they’re set on pulling out one of their spellbooks to do some reading, like they do any time they got a spare minute.

Kesla doesn’t give them a chance, dropping that something in their lap as she stands over them. The sword I remember her buying yesterday at the Emporium, a well-made longsword with a hand-and-a-half hilt and broad sprung steel blade, not too heavy but enough to do real damage in a fight. Gael frowns at it for several moments before picking it up, looking it over before gingerly drawing it from its simple but stylish leather sheath. Like most Murphin weaponry it doesn’t look particularly spectacular but it’s real high quality.

“What’s this?”

“Most folk call it a sword.” Kesla nudges their toe with her own, then cocks her thumb over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

Gael frowns up at her as she collects her bastard sword and starts to move off round the other side of the fire, into the open ground beyond. They look down at the sword again, and their frown grows. Reckon they’re working out what I already concluded, and after a moment they breathe a heavy sigh, putting the sword down at their side before pushing themselves upright again. They shrug out their robe, down to travelling leathers and shirt now, and take a few moments to stretch, obviously getting with the program now. Finally they pick the sword up again, leaving the scabbard on their bedding as they move to join Kesla.

“Are you serious about this?”

“You said you learned how to use a sword back in the Academy. Ain’t like I gotta drill you from scratch, just wanna know what I got to work with.”

I almost put the knife down mid-carve as Gael frowns again, taking several steps back while they test the sword’s heft and balance in their right hand, trying a few practice swings as they start to circle. Kesla simply takes the time to strap her sword-belt back on, not even bothering to draw her weapon as she lets herself get flanked.

To Gael’s credit, the attack’s pretty deft when it comes, they whip in fast from behind and aims a sharp thrust at the small of Kesla’s back, only to hit thin air as the blade’s deftly sidestepped. She’s big but she can really move when she needs to, genuinely seeming to dance round Gael as they do a decent job of righting themselves, already spinning around as Hefdred’s finally drawn. That move is genuinely scary to watch, so savage swift I almost don’t catch the motion as Kesla clears the scabbard and swings a brutal cut in one beautifully lethal action. Gael barely catches it in time and the ring of steel on steel is so loud it echoes from the unseen peaks looming around us for several moments.

Gael stumbles back, rattled by the strength of the blow they barely parried, and Kesla just waits, patient with her sword held high, cocked and ready, in both hands. She looks so damn calm right now. Gael pants a little as they sidestep round her, fighting hard to regain their composure, adjusting their grip as they go. Their whole arm must be a little numb from the harsh vibrations after that impact, but they’re holding up well so far. Hell, they did well enough not getting damn near cut in half the moment she draw the sword – I seen her kill hardened fighters with that single move in the past.

Kesla doesn’t move, she just waits for Gael to make their move. I’ve cut away a whole flank of meat and cut it into two pieces, wrapping each in a square of waxed packing paper, before the tension finally breaks their patience. Gael makes a sharp, swift lunge to the left as they close and then feint right, but their follow-up just ain’t fast enough, a wheeling hack that Kesla turns away without even needing to try. She responds quickly, jumping after them with a flurry of deft slices that Gael barely deflects as they’re forced back across the ground, scuffing up lots of dirt as they have to work just as hard to keep firm footing under them.

Every single move Kesla makes is ruthlessly efficient, no energy wasted as she exerts the bare minimum of effort to hound her opponent across their sparring ground, and not a single moment when she gives her intentions away. Gods know I’m watching for those subtle, tell-tale hints in her shoulders, hips, even just watching her eyes. Nothing’s given away. Kesla’s a closed book that’s been locked with one fiendishly secure latch.

In comparison I can read every move Gael’s gonna make well ahead of time. They’ve clearly had training, they know what they’re doing, know what the weapon they’re holding is capable of, and they’re at least good enough to respond well enough to keep from getting killed on the spot. Against an opponent as skilled as Kesla, on the other hand, they might as well be calling out each attack before they make it. Watching this it’s frustratingly clear that, while Gael understands the theory and has enough basic muscle memory to handle a practice bout, they’re far from accomplished with a sword.

In a real fight against a serious opponent who’s genuinely trying to kill them, I doubt they’d last a whole minute.

By the time I finish stripping the deer of its meat, half wrapped and stacked to one side while the rest’s piled on a square of paper beside it, Gael is slowing, breathing hard while their attacks become wilder, weaker, more desperate. After Kesla parries another clumsy slash and shoves them off they stumble away, almost going down and wheeling about on fatigue-drunk legs as they struggle to stay upright. Once they’re balanced enough they wait, doubled-over and gasping with the effort of gulping down their breath, visibly winded now.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. C’mon.” Kesla sheathes Hefdred again and heads back to the camp, leaving Gael behind.

For several moments they just watch her, slowly straightening up as the sword drops, dangling limp at their side in a hand that’s probably locked so tight round the hilt they couldn’t pry their fingers open if they tried. Those last few parries in particular likely rattled their bones so hard their whole right arm’s completely numb from the jarring. Slowly they get their breathing back under some semblance of control, and while their first steps are clumsy and unsteady they make it back without falling over. Finally they drop onto their bedroll and sit there like a lump, dazed with the sword still clamped in their hand. They’re bathed in sweat, their dark hair plastered across their face and round their ears, still panting, eyes finally starting to refocus.

Kesla unstraps the sword and wraps it up in the belt before setting it down with the rest of her gear, then picks something out of her duffel. A small satchel, nice soft leather, workmanlike but good quality. She carries it to Gael, and instead of dumping it in her lap she gently sets it down in front of them, then takes a step back before crouching. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Gael keeps sucking in air, breathing slowing and finally evening out, while their eyes are locked on Kesla’s. I look over at Wenrich for a moment, and he’s watching with great interest. Reckon he’s been glued to the whole thing, same as the rest of us. His expression’s unreadable, but I can’t see any concern there. Given he’s s’posed to be their good friend I’m surprised he didn’t raise any objection to this.

It’s been a little while coming, this little incident. Gael’s an exceptional mage, one of the best I ever seen, they can do shit Krakka could only dream of pulling off an’ he’s got a whole god on his side. But when magic fails and it comes to a straight up hand-to-hand fight, they kinda come up short. Oh, they can look after themselves well enough – that staff’s one of their main spellcasting tools, they say it’s not actually magic itself, they just use it to focus, but I’ve also seen ‘em put down pretty big guys using it proper effective like a quarterstaff. That ain’t always enough, though, and Krakka’s had to heal ‘em up more than once because they wound up on the wrong end of a particularly fast blade.

They had a confrontation about that maybe a month ago, Kesla said she wasn’t comfortable with Gael not being a proper fighter on top of their magic, that they needed to know how to fight. Like, really fight. Like most Silver Order mages, they got taught enough to get by before they went out in the world, but experience has taught the rest of us that a lot of mages get so good with their magic they reckon they don’t need anything else to protect them. They’re not like Krakka, he’s different. Clerics might be out here spreading the word of their gods, but they’re fighters when you get right down to it. They can handle themselves. Not like a druid, or a wizard. They think magic’s all they need, then they discover the truth on the end of a sharp sword.

Reckon Gael’s got the message now, clear enough. They watch Kesla close, a lot of conflicting emotions going across their face as they calm down, before finally drawing in a smooth, deep breath and looking down at the sword in their hand. Shaking, their fingers slowly start to prise themselves open, and they finally let the hilt roll into their free hand. Then they start shaking the right vigorously, clearly trying to work out the numb stiffness. “That was a shitty way to prove a point, Kes.”

“Maybe.” Kesla’s still so calm. I don’t know how she does it sometimes. “But it had to be made. Now you know what you can do, and you know we got a long way to go.”

“Not much to work with, is it?” Gael clenches their fist a few times, and it seems like they’re over the worst of it now. “You think you’ve got enough time?”

“We’re gonna work at it. Every night, like that clockwork stuff you told us about. You’ll get there. Ain’t such a bad start, truth be told. Saw da start with way worse’n you and e’ still got decent results pretty quick. You just gotta trust me, an’ be willing to work at it.”

“Okay.” Gael extends their hand, and it’s not shaking any more. After a moment’s consideration, Kesla takes it, gives it a shake. She stands up as she lets go.

“That’s for you too.” She prods the new satchel with her toe. “You clean the blade, sharpen it, oil it. Every time, after you train, or after you fight. No excuses.”

“Now?” Gael picks the satchel up and drops it into their lap, lifting the flap to rummage inside.

Kesla moves back round to the other side of the fire and her own bedroll, finally drops on it, cross-legged and casual. You’d never know she’d just exerted herself bare minutes ago. “No, right now we eat. Take care o’ yourself first, then your gear. That’s how it works.”

Gael nods slow, and there’s a little smile touching their lips now. Reckon they finally got it after all. I wonder if maybe I should try and show ‘em a few tricks too. Sometimes it comes down to a knife fight. That can be a real tough skillset to master.

“How’s that meat coming along, Art?” It takes me a moment to realise she’s watching me close now, and I can’t help giving a start. She smiles a touch seeing it, damn her.

“Ready, boss. What about the rest o’ the body?”

She turns to Yeslee, who’s just been sat there since we came back, watching everything with unreadable eyes. “Let Yes handle it. You know all the tricks for the rest of the body, right? That’s your way, no part of the animal wasted.”

Yeslee catches my eye for a moment, then nods. “Sure thing, boss. I can render that carcass down to nothing in the morning.” She tosses a waterskin to me as I come back to the camp, adding: “Best wash up before we eat, just to be safe.”

Setting Kesla’s knife down at her side, I give a grateful nod before dropping onto the end of my bedroll and starting to give my own paws and wrists a good rinse.

“Are we all done, then?” Wenrich asks after a few moments, picking up one of the bowls as he gives the stew a good stir. “Because I think this is ready. I would imagine all that exertion has made you very hungry. Gods know I am, and I was just watching it.”

Once we’re all settled down and the food’s been passed out, the mood seems to ease and everyone starts to relax. Wenrich can cook as well as he brews tea, it seems – the stew’s rich and tasty, the fresh scraps of venison nicely softened, while he’s added some herbs and spices to the mix I’m having trouble identifying, but they’re definitely enhancing the overall flavour. Even Yeslee seems impressed with it – she’s never been one to compliment anyone’s cooking, but she makes several appreciative grunts as she works her way through her bowlful.

“You set a fine table, Master Clearwood.” Kesla allows after she’s swallowed her last mouthful, setting her well-licked spoon aside and tearing off a chunk of bread so she can mop up the remains of the sauce in the bowl.

“Thank you, Mistress Shoon. I learned long ago that even when things are at their worst, nothing can lift one’s spirits like a good meal. To this day I’ve always tried to prepare every meal as if it could be my last.”

“They taught you this in the Academy, then?” She casts a quick glance at Gael as she says it, but they’re currently engrossed in scraping up a nice big spoonful. I don’t reckon it’s a pointed look anyway – Krakka’s always been our resident cook, and he’s got some talent of his own so there’s never been any need for anyone else to take over. Even so, now I can’t help wondering if this kinda training comes as standard at the Academy too.

“Not really, at least not beyond basic survival skills. No, most of our experience with cauldrons and mixtures and the like in the Order is in preparing potions and compounds, not making a decent meal. I mostly taught myself to cook.” Following Kesla’s example, he takes one of the fresh-baked loaves we packed with the rest of the supplies and tears off a modest hank for himself to start mopping. “I suppose you can only endure so much of the mediocre cookery of other mages on the road for so long before you find it necessary to educate yourself on how to do it right. Being talented turned out to simply be a pleasant surprise.”

“What about Gael?” I blurt it out without thinking, I can’t help it. They start blushing immediately.

Wenrich simply smiles. “Well Darion Clearwood and I were good friends at the Academy, and we’ve stayed that way since. He always laid a fine table whenever we’ve had occasion to travel together. I’ll admit I’ve never sampled his child’s cooking but I would imagine they’ve inherited that same talent in much the same way as with everything else.”

Gael coughs for a moment, but thankfully they don’t start choking. Even so, their blush is growing, those normally pale, creamy cheeks growing positively rosy. It’s adorable like always. “No, no … I’m okay. Truth be told I’ve never had cause to evaluate myself on that score. I always just cooked to feed myself, I never thought too much about making it taste good.” They take the loaf Wenrich started and tear off a big handful, then pull off a smaller piece of that to start cleaning their own bowl. “Krakka’s better than I am, I’m sure of it.”

Our cleric’s watching her closely now, and I’m sure I can see a hint of incredulity in that face. He doesn’t say anything in response, though.

“I dunno, maybe we should try you out sometime.” Kesla pops another piece of bread into her mouth after finishing with her bowl. She smiles as she chews thoughtfully, watching Gael as they cough again, still just discomfited by the train of the conversation. Once she’s swallowed she uncorks her waterskin again, takes a swallow and gives her mouth a good swill, then pours a little in the bowl to wash it out.

“We’re being watched, you know.” Yeslee says it so matter of fact, still finishing up her own bowl, clearly wanting to savour such a genuinely great meal, that it takes a few moments for the actual substance of her statement to sink in. Once it does I almost start, but a single raised finger from Kesla settles me quick enough.

“I’m not even remotely surprised.” Still that damnable calm.

Driver 8 rises with the slow certainty, surprisingly quiet for his size, and makes a slow turn so he can observe our surroundings. “Yeslee is correct. There are three individuals thirty yards downhill, in the trees. They are observing us.” He speaks in that same even, understated tone, but his voice really does carry, there’s no doubt they hear him well enough.

Unsurprisingly a crackling noise rises from somewhere in the woods we came through, somewhat panicked, and a short burst of bickering voices. I can’t make anything out – I got real good hearing but they’re a ways off and their voices are hushed, but there’s definitely three of them. More crackling and rustling of undergrowth follows, growing more distant as they clearly make a hasty retreat. I try not to laugh.

“It’s them.” Kesla gives her bowl a little wipe with her cloth and wraps it up along with her spoon, replacing it in her pack with due care and consideration, still acting as though she’s perfectly ignorant of what we’re discussing. “Same folk as at the bridge. Same folk we fought yesterday, or ‘least related in their work. Reckon they been shadowing us all this way.”

“Should we be worried about this?” I ask after a moment, trying hard to follow her example as I wash my own bowl, even though my paws are itching like mad now. Adrenaline ain’t pumping yet, but it definitely wants to. “We’re pretty exposed.”

“They backed off at the bridge, doubt they’ll try anything tonight, or in the morning. Reckon these ones are just keepin’ an eye on us. They’ll keep their distance when we move, they won’t attack.”

“How can you be sure?” Gael asks, another morsel of bread held halfway to her mouth, forgotten now.

Kesla nods toward Driver 8, who’s settled back into his original position again, though he’s clearly observing our conversation now. “Big Man’s got ‘em rattled. They dunno what to make of ‘im. Reckon all their plans so far ain’t taken a massive golem into account, so they gotta rethink their strategy. Might be he’s bought us a few days’ unmolested travel.”

“Then what?” I finish wiping my own bowl, start to wrap it up. Then I remember I’ve forgotten my spoon, have to scrabble about a moment to find it.

“They hit us hard, an’ they’ll be sneaky as they can about it.” She smiles, but it’s a bitter one. “Now I’m starting to think it might actually have been a smarter move trying the river after all.”

The silence that follows is a good deal less comfortable than what we usually enjoy after a good meal. Finally Kesla sighs as she closes up her pack and stands up, grabbing her sword as she rises. She’s holding a little satchel in her free hand, similar to the one she gave Gael with the sword. “Yeah. Well we can’t do anything about it right now, so no sense dwelling on what’s to come. Finish up, then do whatever else you need to. Get some sleep. I’ll stay up watch for a while with Big Man. Art, I’ll wake you up when it’s time for your watch, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss.” I watch her head off across the camp, then beyond. Finally she stops by a boulder at the side of the track leading to the pass, sets bag and sword down on it, and perches on the edge. Starts rummaging around, preparing to start sharpening her sword. I turn to Yeslee, who’s also watching her thoughtfully. “You reckon I should stay up with ‘er? Y’know, just in case?”

“Kesla knows what she’s talking about, Art. Get some sleep, it’s what I’m going to do.” She spoons up one last mouthful and gets to chewing, smiling a little as she savours it. “Long way to travel in the morning.”

I look back at Kesla as she holds the sword out in front of her, one-handed, looking down the length of the blade, inspecting one side, then the other, idly turning her whetstone over and over in her left. It’s like she doesn’t have a care in the world beyond working out a few little nicks and dents in those wicked edges of steel. Gods, I wish I could be like that.