We’d eaten a hearty breakfast of bacon and bread served up by a bleary eyed Osmer who hadn’t even been to sleep. He assured me the takings were more than compensatory for a night without hitting the sack; and if they hadn’t been, the presence of the actual marshal himself for several hours would have made up for it. Patrons were awaking with groans and splitting heads. Edric was long gone, the only signs of his presence under the table a slowly drying puddle of drool in the sawdust. I thanked our gracious host for his hospitality and gave a few words of comfort to the hungover as they staggered past.

“Shall we hit the merchants before we leave?” I asked Sun as she stepped over a pair of still unconscious figures.

“It would be wise. I’ve ensured we have enough of the basics, but you’re going to get yourself butchered trying to fight my kin in that armour.”

“Hey! You’re in leathers too,” I protested.

“I’m in leather because I can fight in leather,” she explained. “Your steel armour just slows me down.”

“It’ll slow me down too,” I countered.

“It will also help to stop the inevitable blows that you will take. Until you’ve mastered the fine arts of combat, it’s safer for you.”

I didn’t really have an argument to that. And in my time playing online games as the tank, the ability to sustain incoming damage for extended periods of time was the entire point of heavy armour. I’d made my pick of a class that lent itself to that style, so why was I worried about clanking around like the Tin Man?

“Ok, fine. Where are the shops?”

“The stalls are in the square that we passed through last night. The smithy has their own shop; you can’t miss it. I’ll meet you at the stables when you’re done.”

After Sun had stepped over the fallen revellers sleeping in the gutter, I gave a final wave to Osmer and headed in the direction I vaguely remembered from the previous day. The day’s action had been wrapped up by dinnertime the night before, but now the town square was a bustling hub of trade and barter.

I passed a vast array of food tents that tried to give me their goods for free. I graciously declined, but promised I’d try their fare after we’d returned from the east. It seemed the keep was as leaky as my porch roof, with the news that we left to face down the barbarians already widely known. My natural inclination was to worry about word getting to Daulf ahead of time. Considering his forces were already well concentrated near the port, I surmised that he was already near unreachable. Let the spies do their worst, it didn’t change the quest.

“Mark!”

I spun round at the shrill cry and found Astrid already flying through the air. I caught her in a tight hug and spun her around. “Hey, you! How’s everyone been? Do you like the garrison?”

“It’s all so big!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been to town before.”

“You wait until you see the bigger castles and the great wall. They’ll knock your socks off,” I said as I lowered her to the ground.

“Mother says that we might be leaving soon now that all the food has arrived. Will you be coming with us?” she asked eagerly.

“I can’t at the moment. I’ve got to go somewhere with my friend.”

Disappointment flashed across her face which then quickly turned to fear. “Mother says that you rescued some girls from another village and had to do bad things. Are you going off to fight again?”

“I’ve got to, Astrid. It’s why I’m here.”

She slipped her small hands into mine and scowled at me. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Just come with us and stay safe.”

I knelt down to meet her face to face. “I’ll make you a promise. Once I’ve done what I need to do, I’ll come and find you, ok? You can give me some more riding lessons, how does that sound?”

“It sounds like you’re just trying to treat me like a child,” she said, pouting. “I’m not stupid.”

“Ok, that was a bit too obvious. I just wanted to stop you worrying, that’s all.”

“Well it didn’t work,” she replied, giving my hands a punishing squeeze that made me chuckle.

“Listen, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Like the way I helped you.” I stood and led her into the muddy alley between two of the homes. “I’ve got magic,” I continued, withdrawing a torch from my pack that caused her to flinch. I put it away just as quickly and her eyes widened. “You see? I’m not in danger.”

“You’re a sorcerer,” she gasped.

“Not really. I just have some special gifts. Can you maybe stop worrying now?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I think so. I mean, I’ll still worry, just because… But, I think you’ll be safe. Mostly.”

“Good girl,” I replied, giving her a final hug. “And I was serious about those lessons.”

“I’ll teach you how to jump Lady!”

“I’d like that.”

“Astrid?” came a worried cry from the rowdy square.

“I’m here, Mother!” Astrid yelled then turned back to me. “I’d better go. She’s looking for some new clothes after… well, you know.”

“Take this to help her pay for it,” I said, dropping a stack of coins into her open palm. I had no idea of the relevant value, but it would surely be enough to get her kitted out in something comfortable. “And now I need to go and find some armour.”

“Like a knight?”

I followed as she made her way back to the market. “Yeah, just like a knight. Except knights aren’t meant to be scared of their horses.”

“You won’t be once I’m done teaching you,” she said, giving me a final squeeze before running off to join her mother.

I gave Magda a cheerful wave, only to be ignored as she pulled Astrid away. It was plain that she still didn’t quite trust what I was and how I’d brought her daughter back. I tried to put myself in their shoes. This was a period akin to medieval England; with all the fears and superstitions borne of a lack of knowledge. Magical scrolls provided as loot by an interdimensional species that could traverse time and space was a few steps too far by way of an explanation. I’d be trussed and burning on a stake by lunchtime.

It hurt me to see the same mistrust of me in her eyes when she looked at her daughter. Necromancer was a word I’d heard in hushed whispers on the journey to Pitchhollow, and in a way it was true, wasn’t it? I’d gained ascendency over death, if only for the briefest of periods. Knowing that time was the only way to heal their relationship, I put it out of mind and headed for the clash of metal on metal. Even if the chimney hadn’t been spewing a cloud of smoke, the heat emanating from the back wall of the blacksmiths as I passed would’ve been enough to identify it. The stonework was stained with leeching soot from the flue. I found the frontage wide open and a young woman working the anvil with a hammer almost as big as her head.

“Help you?” she asked, wiping the streaming sweat from her eyes.

My closet chauvinist came crashing through the wardrobe doors as I stood staring at her for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“Have I grown a horn I don’t know about?” she snapped, glaring at me.

“I’m sorry. It’s just I didn’t think this was…” I stopped myself before I could dive fully into the mantle of unbridled sexist arsehole.

“Women’s work?” she demanded, pushing my sorry arse straight into the shit.

“That doesn’t sound any better with you saying it,” I mumbled. “I’m not normally a wanker.”

She twirled her hammer and went back to work on the chest plate. “Forget it. Do you think you’re the only one who has been surprised to see a woman hammering steel? What are you looking for?”

That was a great question. What was I looking for? There were all manner of display pieces hanging from chains on the opposite wall from the forge itself. Thin chainmail, thicker chainmail, plain helms, horned helms, greaves, gauntlets, everything I could remember from looting corpses in RPG games and then some. The typical paladin was bedecked with holy armour that glowed with divine light. The gear on display was exquisitely crafted, but the only glow would be from reflected torches and sunlight. Of course they wouldn’t have enchanted armour. I’d need to count on looting bosses for that.

“I’d like a full suit of armour, I guess?”

“I can start work at the end of the month. If we’re still alive, that is. I take coin up front, not that I don’t trust someone who comes into my shop and insults me, I just don’t trust anyone.”

All I’d heard was the timeframe. “A month?”

“Were you dropped on your head a lot as a child? Yes, a month. Then another six after I’ve taken your sizes.”

“Seven months?” I exclaimed.

“He can add numbers too! There’s no stopping you now, hero.”

“You know who I am?”

She wiped a damp cloth across her face only for the beads of sweat to immediately reform. “Everyone knows. All we’ve been hearing of is death for months, and then you come along looking pretty with a rescued village in tow. And then a few days later you come wandering back with a gaggle of lost girls who’d been at the mercy of a sizeable force of soldiers. I’d be surprised if Milton Dawnstar himself wasn’t reading a message from the leg of a crow about you as we speak.”

I didn’t quite know how to feel about that and it hadn’t escaped my attention that she called me pretty. When everyone around you toils in the dirt and ends up filthy, I guessed a stranger with a fresh haircut and passably clean clothes was something of note. I thought back to the enchanted ring which now adorned my finger and the way it had altered its size to fit. “Do you have a set of full plate? Is that what you’d call it?”

“Heavy armour, yes? The whole body covered?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes, but it won’t fit you. I need your sizes to hammer it to your body shape, as pretty as that is too.”

Ok, this was getting weird. Beneath the sweat and grime she was undoubtedly an attractive woman. I had a drinking buddy back in the real world who was a farrier, and it was an ongoing joke that he looked like a perpetual masturbator due to the difference in size between his right and left arms. This woman was firm bodied, without the lop-sidedness to her figure. As I continued to stare, she shifted position and tossed the hammer into her left hand before continuing her metalworking drumbeat.

“Ahh, you’re ambidextrous?”

“I’m what?” she asked, threatening me with the hammer. “Is that another insult from your land?”

“No, of course not,” I blustered. “It just means you use both hands.”

“I’ve got two hands, of course I use them both.”

“No, I mean, yes, of course you do. It just means that you don’t have a dominant hand. Like if I tried to swing the hammer with my right hand, I’d end up smashing myself to bits.”

“Seven months,” she repeated, ignoring my explanation.

“Can we start over. I’m Mark.”

“I know,” she said, looking up at me without breaking her rhythm.

“And you are?”

“Hilde. Egbert, my father, would normally be helping, but I expect he is still asleep in Osmer’s tavern thanks to you.”

I thought of all the comatose patrons, trying to figure which one might’ve been Egbert. “Is he a big man?”

Her withering look answered the question.

“Yes, anyway. Might I look at a full suit? Just in case it fits.”

“Even if it did, you haven’t been sized for your arming doublet.”

“My what?”

Hilde smacked the hammer down in frustration. “This is taking up valuable time I don’t have. There’s a war coming. I don’t have time to humour imbeciles. Just go through into the storage area and take a look. If you break it, you buy it.”

“Storage area?”

Her hammer pointed the way. I left the surly woman to her work and ducked through the door. The small frontage was backed with a long building lined with racks and medieval mannequins. I still had no idea what a doublet was, but the gleaming suits of plate were all mounted on straw men with a scrawled charcoal name on them. I assumed these were the items that had been properly sized to the future wearer. On a long table running down the centre of the room were stacks of padded clothing.

“Is that what she meant?” I mused, picking one up.

The cloth suits had a variety of tassels and fixing points hanging from them.

“Of course!” I exclaimed as the obvious revealed itself. I’d hate to imagine the chafing that would be caused from bare metal on skin. “They go under the armour!” I called.

All I got in return was a missed stroke and an annoyed sigh before the hammering recommenced. I tried my best to not take it personally. There was a war coming, and soon. It must’ve been really stressful to be working alone, knowing each piece of your work was a potential lifesaver in the coming conflict.

I found a dark grey suit and checked Hilde wasn’t watching as I stashed it in my inventory. With a thought, my light, airy shirt was gone, replaced with the padded undergarment. I’d picked one that was two sizes too large as an experiment, yet upon equipping it the fabric hugged me perfectly.

“Now for the real test,” I whispered, finding a finely crafted set of plate without an owner.

It disappeared into my pack, broken down into a list of items that made my head spin. Words like cuisse, plackart, couter, and a dozen more besides were assigned to the individual pieces. Fortunately for me, the system didn’t require a one-by-one approach and treated the entire thing as simplistically as possible; boots, legs, torso, arms, and finally the helmet. I mass selected the entire thing and the room darkened markedly as the steel wrapped around my body. I’d been expecting the weight to slow me down, but whether it was a game quirk or my increased strength, I hardly even noticed it. I tested the flexibility by crouching, twisting, turning and waving.

“How?” gasped Hilde from the door.

Uhoh! I spun round “Hi. Can I take this one?” I asked, blundering towards her.

“I leave you for a few minutes and you manage to fit your own armour?” she muttered, looking into the shadows for any accomplices.

“Erm, practice I guess?” I offered weakly.

“I might be a simple smith, but I’m not simple. Tell your friends to step out or I’ll hammer the suit flat with you still inside it,” she warned, raising the hammer.

I had no doubt she could tenderise me if she had a mind to. “There are no friends, Hilde. I’m alone. I was just after some armour.”

“Don’t test me, hero. I am in no mood for stupid games,” Hilde replied, taking a step towards me.

“Fine!” I snapped, finally tiring of her hostility. “But you’d better steady yourself.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?” she asked.

I changed my outfit back to my Cary Elwes shirt and Hilde’s hammer fell to the floor. “What is this?” she demanded.

I switched back to the armour, the individual pieces settling with a gentle clatter as they hit my body.

“Magic?” she gasped.

“Not magic, just one of my tricks. One of my secrets. Please don’t tell anyone, they already think I’m a necromantic freak.”

To my surprise, her hostility waned and she raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying the story about you bringing a girl back from the dead is a lie?”

Jesus Christ, did everyone know? “It’s only a lie that…”

“Go on,” Hilde urged as I faltered.

“I did bring her back. But it wasn’t anything evil like necromancy. It was more… lifeomancy. I’m not a bad person.”

“I never said you were. Sun seems to think very highly of you too,” she replied.

“You know Sun?”

“The six and a half foot tall, heavily tattooed barbarian woman? No, of course I don’t. She blends in with any of the mousy serving wenches.”

I laughed, deciding I liked this no-nonsense blacksmith. “How much for the armour?”

“I’ll bet most people have been fawning over you, telling you that your coin is no good.”

“Maybe,” I replied. “And in your shop?”

“Your coin is perfectly fine in here. One hundred and fifty silver for the armour. Ten for the doublet.”

I changed out of the armour and cleared a space on the table; that much money would just end up scattering across the floor if I tried to put it directly into her hands. Hilde watched me through narrowed eyes as the coins tumbled from nowhere into a neat pile. “There’s two hundred. The extra bit is to apologise for the shock.”

“I don’t need your charity,” she replied. “I’ll use it as a down payment on your next suit or weapon.” Nudging past me, Hilde swept the coins into the front pocket of her leather apron.

“Do I get a receipt?”

“A what?”

“A receipt. A bill of sale? In case I’m not happy with the purchase and want to bring it back? I don’t know if it will hold up well in battle.”

Hilde’s face flushed with anger, her fists clenched.

“I’m joking!” I laughed, backing away. “Just joking. Don’t take it to heart.”

“If I wanted a jester in my shop, I’d have chained the fool who used to come with the carnival every summer.”

“But was he as pretty as me?” I asked, making for the exit.

“After I’ve worked you over with this, yes,” she said as she picked up her discarded tool, a faint smile curling her lips. “He could juggle too.”

“Thanks, Hilde!” I ran to find Sun before the smith changed her mind and went at me with the hammer.