“Please, Gaston, you know I’ll get you the coin, I always do.”

With a sign, the barkeep refilled Luthene’s tankard. “Fine, but this is the last one.” Pausing a moment, he passed her a slice of bread as well. “Find work, or I’ll have you scrubbing the floor to pay for your meals from now on.”

Luthene had to force herself to chew slowly. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and her stomach was now as empty as her purse. The barkeep’s charity only went so far, and she knew she’d have to find work soon, or else pawn the only item of value she had left: her sword.

The year since the Godslayer War had not been kind to Luthene. Well, for her it was a year; others said it had been five, ten, even twenty years since Timedeath, but for some it had happened only yesterday. Something had gone terribly wrong that day, and it had been her last fighting in that damn war. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a good career move. There were some who disliked Luthene for fighting in the war, and her role in Timedeath. Others didn’t like that she’d abandoned Randal; no one liked an unreliable mercenary. She’d found a bit of work, mostly escorting trade goods or serving as a personal guard, but none of it paid very well, and it was always temporary. Slowly, she had started to sell some of her equipment, though she never got what the items were worth. Times were hard, and if she had to give up her sword, it would be the end of her mercenary career. Unless something came along soon, she might not have a choice.

Adeluna had changed drastically since Timedeath. When she’d left Randal to return home, William V was King. Now there was a Queen, Qendresa I, William’s niece. The story was that the crown had been hers to begin with, and he had been a regent and a usurper. Luthene didn’t remember any of it; Timedeath had that effect on people. The city had grown, too, but at least the tavern had been in the same place. The tavern was where she usually spent her evenings since returning to the city. Adeluna was home, though it hardly felt that way since the war. The best thing, Luthene thought, would be a job that might get her out of the city, out of the whole damn kingdom, and keep her away for a while. As much as she liked the tavern, Gaston wasn’t much for company, and she had no ties to the city anymore. The Adeluna she knew was gone, as were the people she used to know. It was time to move on.

“Well alright you miserable bastards, I’ll swear it, but these right are bloody robbery.  I might as well take to actual robbery, rather than letting you lot have all the fun.  Not a year ago, I was owed twice this!”
 
The men around him sighed and shook their heads.  It was not the same as when they had marched for the Conclave, with the promise of plunder and lands from the defeated.  Now there was only the prospect of small wars and little plunder, so the Company could not give more than what it would take to feed, clothe, and arm their men until a proper war started or they decided to raid some rich, peace-loving province and strip it of everything from crowns to cooking spits.  Galin grimaced as he placed his hands over the carved statue of the Maker and swore his oath.  It was not fair, he thought.  The War in the Valley should have left him rich in silver and reputation, a great man in his own time. Some of the men he had served with in the Valley campaign had left with their plunder as well.  Luckily for them, they had been able to make something of their time outside the Company.  Galin had not been that lucky.
 
When he returned to the Highlands, he was welcomed back as something not unlike a conquering hero and for a while, things had been good.  He bought a small bit of land and a herd, hoping to make a living from the hills as his family had done for generations.  His reputation, however, made that impossible.  Whenever he went into the vill to buy supplies or sell some of his stock, he would, without fail, find himself the target of some puffed up man’s attempt to show he was bigger, better, stronger, smarter, or whatever it was they wanted to prove.  Most days he took it in stride, laughing off the attempts to draw steel against him until everyone ended up best friends over a few pints.  Then three weeks back, one man, already drunk as a lord, decided to press the issue.  He wanted to kill the man that bathed in the New Order’s blood in the Valley and struck down the Archmage, blade to blade.  The trouble was, those were the stories, the songs of bards and poets, and not the truth of the war.  But that never seemed to matter once the swords were sheathed again.
 
Everyone there said that Galin had been right, that the other man had drawn steel and swung first, but it did not matter when the man’s brother was chief over the lands where Galin herded his cattle.  Within a week, his entire stock had been slaughtered or sold and his croft torched. Rather than wait and see what the chief had in mind once he had taken everything else from him, Galin beat a hasty retreat south to Adeluna with a caravan through the Sarchu.  Once in town, he sought out the men he had served with in the war, looking to regain his position and pay.  The position they could offer, but, as the company’s quartermaster spent the last half hour making abundantly clear, the rate for a warrior who had nothing but his weapons was not nearly as high when the world was not about to end and the Conclave was not footing the bill.  But work was work, the Highlander supposed, and they even graciously paid him the three months back wages he was owed from the Valley, minus sundries, equipment costs, and every other charge they could imagine.  Still, it was coin in his purse and it meant he could have a drink.
 
Things had changed since the war, William was gone, as was the King’s Arms where the Company used to drink.  It was a shame, he thought, as he walked past where it used to stand.  In its place was some sort of trinket and bauble shop, which confused him further.  Replacing a tavern with a haberdashery smacked of madness.  Before he could delve deeper into the madness, though, he saw a creaking wood sign with a mermaid and a pint caddycorner to where the King’s Arms had stood.  “At least they haven’t changed overmuch,” he muttered and stepped across the cobbles and into the tavern.  He heaved himself onto a bench and waved over one of the slatterns.  After a muffled curse at the price of a pint, he grudgingly counted out the coppers, newly minted in the Queen’s image, and leaned on his elbows as he surveyed the place.  Fancier than he was used to by a fair chalk, he thought, and empty for this time of the day.  Just a few drunks that seemed to come with the kegs and bottles whenever a bar was built, and a blonde woman at the far side of the room.  Something about her seemed familiar but he could not place it until she lifted her head to speak to the barman.
 

Luthene.  The last time he saw her, it was the war.  They had been on different sides then, though, and his hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his long knife.  It took a moment to regain perspective and his fingers slowly uncurled from around the knife’s handle.  The war was over.  It took a lot with it, the war, and he was determined not to let it take him too.  It was the past and it would have to remain so.  And so when then slattern flounced back over and gave him his pint, he counted out a few more coppers into her palm.  “For the blonde over there.  Tell her… tell her it’s good to see her outside the Valley.  She’ll understand.”

At first, Luthene was confused when the barmaid brought her another drink. Then the woman pointed at the man who had paid for it, and Luthene froze. Galin. She hadn’t seen him since the war, since… well, she hadn’t seen him personally, in the valley, but she’d heard things. His company had been hit hard, attacking her own forces while the main Conclave troops retreated. They’d lose their leader, and Galin had been the one to take command in his stead. What had he been doing since the war, she wondered? How long had it been since the war? Long enough that he didn’t see her as an enemy, yes, but long enough to forgive? She didn’t know.

Taking the drink, she moved over to the bench beside him— but not too close, just in case she’d been wrong. Luthene saw he wore a knife; she was unarmed.

“It’s good to see you, too, Galin,” she said. She thought back to their last conversation before the valley. There had been a woman, a fiancée, what was her name? The drink had a way of dulling her memory. “How is Asmodeia?” she added when she remembered. “It’s been about a year for me. Came back home and found the place… wasn’t how I left it, anyway.” She took a long drink. “But what about you? How long has it been? What have you been doing?”

Luthene purposely didn’t want to say too much about how she’d spent her year. There wasn’t much to say. A year lived, more lost, and nothing of consequence had really happened. She wasn’t upset about it, not anymore, though initially learning that time had moved on without her had been hard to take in. It was for many people who, like her, had lost a large amount of time. Luthene had spent a week or so upset and drunk, but then she had decided that she needed to face the new reality and move on with her life, rather than waste time mourning the lost years. It probably helped that she’d lost a good amount of money in drinking, and couldn’t afford to keep going in such a way. Surely Galin had fared better, if he could afford to buy her a pint, especially after the war.

Well there's a name I have not heard in ages, it seems like."

Galin sighed and stared into the ale in front of him.  His thoughts were in turmoil and it pained him.  Screwing up his face into a semblance of friendly calm, he looked back at Luthene.  "Well, you see, the whole situation with Time?  It put a bit of trouble in the way of a bard's ending to the tale.  When Time died… well… war changes things and after Time, she and I did not see eye to eye and she headed south while I went back North."  He spoke in a flat monotone, still smarting from the rejection all these months later.  A man, he knew, was judged by his reputation and her leaving him was more than a personal blow.  It struck at his honor and that strike bit deeper than any blade and healed slower as well.

"I spent the last year trying to live as my folk always have, running a herd and some crops in one of the valleys among my people.  It was a simple enough life and after the campaign I relished it.  But it seems that the Maker still has plans for me beyond my home.  I had thought the war would be enough, but more is demanded.  Fickle bugger," he said, with no little venom, and took a long pull of his ale.  The Maker, the deity of the Highland peoples, was a strange one.  While the south saw men raised as gods only to fall again, the Highland men had their Maker, a great god who had once walked the valleys and hills of the North with his people.  His companions, all mortal men, fought and ate and drank with him while he walked the lands and, when he returned to his great hall beyond the clouds, they followed.  Now those that lived in the North worshiped the Maker with prayer and sacrifice, hoping that his power did not wane the longer he remained in his hall, the hall where all the faithful would feast after their death.  Galin touched the symbol of the Maker inscribed on the hilt of his dagger and offered a prayer that, no matter the Maker's plans, that Galin would serve them and gain honor and repute to honor his god.

"What it boils down to, I expect, is that bards are turds from the Abyss, making me into some great warlord, clad in mail and glory after the Valley.  I only did what had to be done when an arrow killed our leader.  The men needed guidance and I was too terrified to think of anything but pushing on.  At least then our shields were to our front.  But the way they sing of it in the North, I was some giant among men, laying about with a sword that could reap all the wheat in Adeluna in a single stroke.  It got men puffed up, thinking to pad their reputation by killing the great warlord of the Sarchu.  One of them died, the relative of a chief, and suddenly I was no hero but an outlaw.  So here I am, sworn again to the Company where I served in the War.  At least it gives me some coin, and, if the Maker is kind, a chance for some plunder."  He looked at his hand speculatively, the hand he had lain on the Maker's image to swear the oath, half expecting to see a brand there.  It felt as painful, to swear an oath and bind himself again after he had finally become free after the War, but there was nothing else he could do.

"And you, Luthene?  I do not see your swords or armor.  Have you given up your warrior's ways for a life of peace now that the madness has subsided?"

It seemed that the days following the war had not been kind to either of them. She was out of work and out of coin, and he'd lost his fiancee, and then his livelihood. The way he told it, it sounded as if he'd lost his faith as well, or at least some of it.

Faith. Luthene wasn't really sure where she stood on that front. She had joined with the Godslayer because she didn't believe that those who called themselves gods were, in fact, gods. When one of them was struck down, she thought herself vindicated. After witnessing the fallout of that event, however, she wondered if perhaps there was something to their claim. Certainly they were more powerful than the countless others who had died in that war.

"I'm sorry," Luthene said when Galin finished his tale. What more could she say? Some of his woes were her fault, after all. Perhaps she wasn't the one to wield the mace, but she was Randal's right hand. It might have been one of the men under her command who loosed the arrow that killed the head of Galin's company; her troops did their share of the killing that day. Then, the day of 'that whole situation with Time', Luthene had been there. Maybe if she hadn't been, Galin would be married by now, living in his homeland, with his crops and herd. Maybe.

It was hard not to laugh a little when Galin asked if she'd given up her ways. "My sword is locked away safe, and my armour…" Her voice dropped. "Gone. I suppose I have taken to a life of peace, but not by choice. Seems there's little demand for a mercenary who leaves before the fight is done, and less demand for a mercenary whose actions brought about Timedeath. It's hard to be a warrior with no work and no armour, but I'm not sure what else there is for me to do. I suppose I'm a bit lost these days, but then again, who isn't?"

"No need to be sorry.  It is just the way of things, the way of the Maker.  The Maker is simply that.  He made us and we live to…"  Galin chuckled and shook his head.  "The holy men would say we live to praise and serve him, but I rather think we are here to amuse him.  Always seemed like a bit of a capricious bugger in the stories, a warrior and a bard at once, traveling about with his warband, drinking and fighting and screwing.  Inspires less reverence and more… Hell, I don't even know.  So I serve him by amusing him with my life.  He was a warrior, so he has a soft spot for idiots with a blade in their hand and battle rage in their hearts."

Galin sighed and took another long pull, some of the ale dripping down his stubble-covered chin.  He cuffed it away with his sleeve and pursed his lips in thought.  It did worry him some, having given his oath again.  Oaths were a sacred thing, even to as distant a god as the Maker.  A man's life was a series of oaths, some made out of duty, some out of desire, but all were shackles on a man's freedom.  He needed the coin, and had given the Company another year and a day of his life as their oathman.  Even as it galled him, Galin started to smile as the first whisperings of an idea came to him.

"So you've got your sword, at least.  That's something.  Otherwise you would have to try and kill them with your books and that would just take far too long."  He punched her in the shoulder and laughed at his own joke, a laugh that came easily to the Northman.  "So your time in the Valley's not been a help in finding work, but you've got a blade.  Seems to me, I might have the answer.  The company I served with in the Valley is looking for warriors and they took me back just this morning.  Maybe if you give your oath as well, but hide your name, we might be able to get you back in coin so you don't have to sit about in taverns waiting for strange men to buy you drinks, eh?  What do you say?"

As Galin went on about the will of his god, Luthene was reminded why she had gone to war in the first place, to fight against these so-called gods. It had made sense at the time, to bring down such capricious beings and free the people from their tyranny. That was why she had asked Galin to join her, before the valley, before everything went so wrong. Probably for the best that Galin had turned down her offer. He may have ended up worse off. However noble Luthene's original intentions had been, they'd made the world a worse place for it.

He punched her shoulder and made her an offer, and as Luthene laughed with him, she felt a bit relieved. Had the tension really past so quickly? Or was it the drink? Either way, things had taken a turn for the better.

"If I had to wait for strange men in taverns to buy me a drink, I'd die of thirst!" she replied, raising her mug to him as if to toast him, then taking a drink. "You think they'd take a lass?" she added, trying to mimic Galin's Northern speech, albeit unsuccessfully. "I'll need to come up with a name to use. Hmm."

As Luthene thought, she saw one of the barmaids eyeing Galin. Well, fair enough, he was easy to look at, but then the woman approached them, and set another mug of ale in front of him, getting a little too close to him as she did so. "On the house," she said. It didn't escape Luthene's notice that there was only one mug.

Picking up her own drink again, she drained it— never one to waste perfectly good ale— and stood. "I'll leave you two and head off to bed. We can meet in the morning, and I'll sign on with the company.

---

Luthene was up early the next morning, first polishing her blade, then wearing a groove in the tavern floor pacing, waiting for Galin. She tried not to think about why he wasn't there, but of course she was the one who had neglected to set a time before she left him the night before.

When Galin arrived, she was eager to go, letting Galin lead her to the stone hall the company kept in Adeluna. It was built in the Highland style, she noticed. How much harder would it be for her, a southern woman, to join them? Hopefully Galin speaking for her would be enough. "I'll let you make the introductions," she whispered before they went inside. "Tell them my name is Alyson, and then make up the rest, I'll go along. But nothing dishonourable!"

"I doubt that you'd be thirsty long, so quiet yourself, eh?  I bought you one, didn't I, and you tried to get me killed."

Galin winked at her a moment and smiled.  She was being unfair to herself, though that did seem like the sort of thing he would expect from her.  At least in a fight she was sure of herself, though, and that was what counted.  "And if you ever try to sound like one of use Northfolk again, I'll take back the offer.  You sounded like a goose with wind."  He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble there and idly wondered if he ought to grow the beard out properly like the rest of the men in the company.  "And they usually would not, no.  But I would vouch for you and that should carry enough weight.  Now, you've got to remember, it's a soldier's camp full of Northmen and we won't be changing because a lady's present, so be sure you are in for the whole way, yeah?"

Galin looked up when he sensed someone moving closer and smiled at the barmaid.  "Did you order…" he began, speaking to Luthene, but the barmaid cleared it up with her comment seconds later.  Galin winked at her as well, tipping the tankard toward her in thanks.  "Much appreciated, though I don't know what I did to deserve it.  Just means I am now obliged to get you one back when the taverner lets you rest a moment, eh?  Be sure and let me know, always like to honor my debts."  Next to him, he heard Luthene's tankard hit the table, empty and before he could order her another, she left, saying they would meet in the morning.  Shrugging, he waved as she left, then took a long pull of the ale.  "Women," he muttered, then looked back at the barmaid.  Not all of them, it seemed, were so complicated, he thought as she made her way over with a tankard of her own.


______________________________________________________________________________________

Easing himself out of the bed, Galin looked around the room for his boots.  He had gotten drunk as a lord the night before and things were a bit unclear as he tried to focus on the unfamiliar room.  Padding softly in bare feet, he found his trews and tunic near the door, crumbled by his boots, and his belt was draped over a clothes chest at the foot of the bed.  Dressing in the half dark, he made to leave, then remembered that his coin purse.  It was the jingling of the coin that gave him away as he tried to make a quiet escape, so as the barmaid of the night before began to stir, he beat a hasty retreat out the door, down the stairs, and out through the kitchen of the tavern so he could pilfer a fresh roll on his way.

Happily munching on his ill-gotten breakfast, he noticed Luthene irritably pacing out the tavern's door, looking up and down the street.  Then he looked up, his head still heavy from the night's drinking, and saw how high the sun was.  He was late.  Very late.  "Oi, Luthene, this way, would you?  The lads have set up on an old lord's estate just past the walls."  Still munching his roll, he set off at a quick pace, seeking to put some distance between himself and the tavern.  When they arrived at the hall, men were pulling down old reed thatch and replacing it, one of the onerous works that went into maintaining a hall.  "All right, I'll make the introductions, but remember, you're looking to be a damned warrior.  Dishonor can be a good tool, Alyson."  Chuckling, he pushed open the doors and nodded to the men inside, now gathered around the fire to discuss matters with their captain.

"Oi, lads, look about.  I've got us a new recruit.  Alyson of Egjora, a product of their academy there.  Got booted for… what was it again… ahh, right, for humping the swordmaster.  Something about needing to really learn how to work the two handers.  And no, he's not just a very pretty man.  She's a proper her and a good hand with a sword.  Nearly took my arm in a fight once, and she's looking for work.  I can give my word that she's as good as any man here.  And she'll prove it, blade on blade."

Luthene knew it was a risk letting Galin come up with a story for her, and one she now regretted taking. The part about nearly taking his arm off, that was a good, favourable lie, but the other? Kicked out of the academy for sleeping with her superior? How dare he! And she couldn't even let her fury show, lest it betray her. She was good, but she'd have to show herself to be better than the lot of them, else she feared there would be no end to the unfavourable advances she'd have to fight off. She'd have to yell at him about it later; this wasn't time.

One of the men stepped forward. "As good as any man here, eh?" He drew his steel, a spatha, and reached for a shield. Luthene drew her own blade, a simpler broadsword; it was a good enough weapon, though it had been a while since it had seen a quality whetstone. She chose a buckler, and hoped it would be enough; while her opponent wore a leather cuirass, all she had was her tunic. Perhaps this wasn't going to be a fight to the death, but she was nervous all the same. She needed this, and if she failed their test, even Galin's word might not be enough to get her in.

"Any rules?" Luthene— no, Alyson— asked as other men stepped back to give the pair room.

Four spears appeared, and were used to mark the corners of a square. "Leave the square, you lose," her challenger replied. "Otherwise, fight to first blood."

She stepped into the square, then nodded to indicate she accepted and was ready. First, they circled each other, feinting occasionally, and Luthene sized up the man. He was larger than her, and probably stronger, but she was used to that. Still, it meant that trying to push him out of the square wasn't a viable strategy. His reach was longer, too. Not an insurmountable problem, but it meant she would have to be fast to close the distance between them without getting cut herself.

The first strike was his; she caught it on her buckler, and she tried to knick his arm as he withdrew, unsuccessfully. The blow was powerful, moreso than she expected, and nearly knocked her off balance. When he struck again, she stepped away, and she countered by holding her shield between her body and his blade, and lashing at him with her own weapon; he blocked with his own shield, and she withdrew before he could get his spatha over her buckler for another strike.

As they fought, some of the men were exchanging coins, betting on the outcome. She couldn't tell who they favoured. By her own estimation, she and her opponent were somewhat evenly matched. That wasn't good for her. She wanted a victory, but also one that looked decisive. Tossing her shield aside, she switched to a two-handed grip. The sword had been made for a man's grip, and with her smaller hands, she was able to make it work, but only just. The next time he struck, she parried, and the force of the blow wasn't as jarring. Another attack, and ducked under his blade, striking out as she did so. He brought his shield down to block, but she brought her blade low, slicing at his calves just above his boots. The resulting cut wasn't deep, but it bled.

"Seems she really does know how to work the two-handers," her opponent said with a smirk when he saw the wound. "Can she handle a bigger sword, though?"

"Hand me one, and I'll show you what I actually cut off that time Galin thought I was aiming for his arm," Luthene replied. She didn't typically use such crude language, but she'd spent enough time around soldiers and mercenaries to be familiar with it. "Now, you got a contract for me, or what?"

As the men set the spears in place for the traditional challenge, Galin watched the man take up his arms.  He was the captain of the warband, a great fighter with a reputation to match, but Galin had always thought he was too confident.  At some point confidence can breed carelessness.  Though in this case, he had every right to be confident.  He had trained every day with the men and fought in combats since the War.  Luthene, it seemed like, was a little less conditioned.  Galin trusted her though.  She had a good head on her shoulders and as long as the captain did not sweep it off with his blade, she would do well.  Just before she stepped into the square, he walked over, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her square on the lips.  "Good luck, and don't make me look bad," he called as he pushed her into the fray.

The fight, as he expected, went well and as it ended, he held out his hand for the coin of the men that bet against her.  It was good to make money from fighting, and better when you did not have to do the actual bladework, he thought with a chuckle as he tipped the coins into his pouch.  "Now captain, let's be kind to the lady, before she tells everyone you got beat by a girl.  Albeit one that is good with her hands on a sword."  He winked and the captain laughed, taking Luthene's threat in stride.  He had not become a leader of warriors by being easily cowed.

"Aye, you can have your place with us.  We can sort the details after we've eaten tonight.  For now, we've got to get you into quarters.  Any volunteers to give Alyson a place in their hut?"  Hands shot up throughout the hall and low chuckles seemed to rebound off the walls.  Galin gave Luthene a wink and stepped next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

"Sorry lads, I know you've all got your swords out and ready, but she's spoken for.  It'll be my hut.  Now sod off, the lot of you."  His pronouncement was met with a chorus of good-natured grumbling and curses spat in his direction and he just waved them off.  Still pulling her close, he walked out of the hall to the cluster of huts where the men lived when they were not serving in the hall itself.  His was a small affair, a single room with a heath at its center and a low thatched roof.  As he pulled the leather hanging aside that served as a door, he let her walk in first while he spoke, almost to himself.  "It's a cozy one, this.  Walls are stout, the roof's not got a leak…"  He trailed off and grinned once she was squarely in the hut.  "Oh, and one more thing," he said, sticking his head into the hut after her, "there's just the one bed!"