Iron Blooded

The southern Kadian sun beat down on my back as I crossed the rubble-strewn square of Ceris.

In the weeks since the siege, the patrons of the city have worked tirelessly to repair their city. Though the outer walls are mostly intact, the fire damage within the outer city was extensive. It had taken days for Magus Ferris to put out all of the fires, and now the burned-out husks of houses and shops stood out stark against the blue sky.

Two men carrying thick wooden beams exited an alleyway, and I stepped aside to allow them to pass. One of them looked up as they passed, his sweat-stained brow rising in surprise.

“Ser William,” he said, dipping his head. His fellow glanced around, and when he saw me his back straightened beneath his heavy load.

“Are you really him?” he asked, coming to a halt. Unsure of how to respond I could only nod. The man beamed.

“God King bless you Ser William. Thank you for your service. If it wasn’t for you and the Lord’s Blackthorne and Dacon, we might have lost the city.”

I watched as the two men disappeared around the corner. Suddenly I was aware of the scrutiny of others. Those gathered in the square had turned to look. Whispers passed through the crowd like a tide. From a nearby upstairs window, a young boy leaned over the balcony and pointed a finger at me.

“Is that him mumma?” he asked. His mother appeared in the window behind him.

“That is him,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Ser William of Blackbriar. They say he’s a commoner just like us.”

Across the square were a few outlying merchant buildings that had survived the fire. My eyes scanned the signs, searching for the shop I was looking for. The Armory shop stood at the end of the row, its tall windows gleaming in the sun. Through those windows I could see a display of weapons, armor pieces, and shields on racks, and even more along the walls. A woman and man stood in the center of the shop, speaking with a man behind the counter.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with grey is his beard. His hands were loose at his sides, and his shoulders had the slump of a man defeated.

“Please sir, we just need a few more weeks. With the process of rebuilding the smithy has had an influx of requests for horseshoes, nails, and work tools. Then there is the surplus of regulation arms and armor that the city guard needs to replace those that are damaged and lost. We only ask that you allow us the time to- “

“You’ve had more than enough time!” snapped the man behind the counter. He was bald and his mustache wriggled on his lip as he curled it in disdain.

“The state of the city is not an excuse for shipments to be late. Late orders mean less coin at the end of the month. At times like these, I can’t afford to take a dip in profits.”

The broad-shoulder man, a smith by my guess, twisted his hat in his hand.

“I do understand that,” he said, glancing to the woman beside him. She wore a thick leather apron and a worried expression, but as he looked to her she rested a hand on his arm.

“However the reality is that we simply don’t have the time. The Lord Governor- well, his office anyway, requests these orders be filled pronto. They aren’t even paying full price which means that times are lean and we have no choice but to take on additional work to make ends meet. If our shop was fully stocked we might be able to rush the orders, but with my wife and I?” he shook his head.

“Then there is the matter of quality.”

The shop owner narrowed his eyes and sniffed disapprovingly.

“Late work means late fees,” he said. “Don’t expect me to pay more than half price on goods that aren’t delivered on time.”

“Half price?” the woman clutched her husband's arm tighter.

“Sir I understand your frustration, but please understand we are doing all we can. These days we work into the night and sleep very little. With two little ones at home… well these are hard times.”

“Your hard times are none of my concern,” sneered the shop owner. “Either you deliver the goods on time, or you get half price. The rules are the rules.”

For the first time, he seemed to notice my presence. His eyes narrowed further as he scrutinized me. I’d had time to rest and visit the bathhouse to have my blood-stained clothes laundered. My hair was still wet and swept back off my forehead. When his gaze came to rest on the black and gold cloak clasped around my shoulders his face smoothed.

“Ah,” he said. “ a gentleman..” his eyes glazed as he checked my stats, then widened in surprise.

“A Knight.” He smiled warmly, turning away from the smith and his wife who still looked defeated. “Welcome into my shop, where we sell the best arms and armor in Ceris. I can assure you my inventory is quite stocked if you care to have a look Ser…”

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Ser William,” I said cooly, not bothering to smile. The smith and his wife gaped around at me, and even the shop owner seemed taken aback.

“Ser William… William of Blackbriar?”

“The same.”

The shop owner was practically rubbing his hands together. I stepped forward, coming to stand beside the Smith and his wife. The man was comforting his wife, his brow furrowed with worry.

“It’s alright Bella,” he murmured, rubbing his wife's shoulder. “We’ll make it work. We have to.”

“Pardon us Ser William, we’ll be out of your way in a moment.”

The couple turned away but I held out a gloved hand.

“Wait,” I said. “What’s your name?”

The Smith turned back, looking confused.

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“Uh Rodric Ser, if it please you.”

“You don’t have to call me ser. My name is Will.”

I stuck out my hand and after a moment, the smith took it in his own. The strength of his handshake made me smile. This was a man who worked hard for his living, and it showed in the muscles on his arms and the callouses on his hands.

I glanced from the smith to the weapons on the wall. The shop owners smile widened.

“Is there anything that catches your eye Ser Knight? I’d be happy to-“

“Are these pieces yours?” I asked, purposely interrupting the shop owner as I gestured to a set of armor along the wall. Etched into the metal high on the shoulder was the letter R. Rodric’s brows rose.

“Yes Se- er that is, yes Will. These pieces were all sets forged and tempered by my wife and I. The steel is locally sourced, and the leather comes from hunters and tanners in Niidhelm.”

I nodded, looking it over thoughtfully.

“It’s impressive work.”

“Thank you,” The Smith seemed to swell with pride and his wife chuckled. “Now he’ll get to tell all of his friends that a Knight complimented his work. He’ll have a swollen head for weeks.”

The shop owner cleared his throat.

“Ser William, sorry to interrupt but I had a piece in the back that you might be interested in. A coat of mail from the Southerland.”

“No,” I said, turning my cold gaze back on him. “I don’t think I am.”

The shop owner flushed a bit, his eyes dropping.

“I.. if there is something I’ve done to offend you please let me know. I’m certain we could work something out.”

“Work something out?” I turned to face him and kept my expression frozen. “These good people came to you with the hope that you would do just that, and you turned them away to pad your own pockets. Tell me, are you one of those men who gains to profit in a crisis? If so, you aren’t the type that I or any of mind would associate with.”

The shop owner's flush deepened and he stuttered.

“I… I was only protecting my business.”

“No, you were protecting your bottom line. Every other shop in the city has contributed In some way to the rebuilding of the city. Merchants supply donations and coins, workers like Rodric take on extra work, the guilds and unions supply laborers and help front the cost of materials. Tell me, what are you doing to aid your city?”

His silence was answer enough. I turned away.

“Rodric,” I said as I headed for the door. “If you have a moment I’d like to make you and your wife an offer.”

***

“Well, it certainly was a bold move.” Illiana, Markus’s wife sat in the common tent of the 3rd auxiliary, her quill poised over parchment. Beside her Giller leaned against the desk, watching as she jotted down a new set of figures.

I did up the ties to my gambeson as she worked. The new fabric was a little stiff, but it had been worth it for the price and quality. I glanced at Illiana.

“The question is if you think it’s worth it.”

She bit at a nail, smearing a bit of ink on her chin. I had given her the role of quartermaster for my new company, and the new mother had more than risen to the challenge. Her mind for math was shrewd, and her numbers were always precise. With the guiding hand of Gills, I had come to see her as an asset.

“Yes,” she said after only a moment of hesitation. “The upfront cost of supplies and materials is substantial. But the overall gain is significant enough that I would deem the investment worthy. Having a smith that works for and with the company and provides priority armor at a reasonable cost? That adds up quickly.”

Gills grunted his agreement.

“Not many companies in the army have their own smithy. Hell, some of the nobility can’t even claim as much. It’s a smart move, but you and your men might have to live lean for the first few months.”

I nodded, belting Ironfang over my new gambeson.

“That was to be expected. We’re a new company, after all. And after the cost of supplies to sustain ourselves, we’re likely to be broke, even after collecting trophies after the battle.”

“Not exactly broke.” Illiana tapped her quill against the page, swearing under her breath when she blotted the ink. “We have enough for basic supply and arms and armor. Then there is a separate fund set aside for medical supplies, boots, and..” her eyes drifted over the page. “Brothels?” she frowned.

Kato snorted from his chair and she turned to glare at him. I rolled my eyes. The two of them were like oil and water, and Kato seemed to have a particular knack for pissing her off.

“You can cross that off the list,” I said. “What men choose to do with their own coin is their business, but I won’t have debauchery in the company budget.”

“Why, you absolute saint,” said Kato with fake admiration. “Next you’ll go all devout and join the Inquisition.”

I ignored him, flexing my arm my arm and making the leather of my new bracers creak as I tested them. I couldn’t deny the quality of the leather and steel. These arms and armor were a grade above common. Rodric was a skilled smith, and knowing that he might have the potential to craft and forge higher-level items made him a strong asset.

If I was going to make my company strong, we would need better training and higher quality gear. Then there was the matter of my own training.

The murmur of voices outside made me glance up. Moments later the guard posted outside lifted the tent flap, and Draxus strode in. He had shaved his head and grown out the beginnings of a beard. Dressed in his new armor he looked very much the part of a warrior as he strode towards me.

“I just had word from the scouts,” he said in a way of greeting. “Hade and his company have just returned. It’s the talk of the camp.”

Relief flooded me, and I nodded.

“Took them long enough. I was worried when they failed to meet us at the crossroads. Did he give any explanation as to why?”

Draxus strode past me, snatching up a goblet and pouring himself a drink.

“At first it seemed that he was directing the men to avoid any ork stragglers on the plains. Those that broke off from the main force would have been a threat to a few dozen men wandering alone. But then as he tells it there were.. complications.”

He took a swig of wine and I exchanged a look with Kato, who raised the eyebrow over his one remaining eye.

Draxus sighed, slapping down the goblet and smacking his lips.

“Please, do help yourself,” I grumbled as he poured himself another. Wine was expensive and hard to come by in the events after the siege but judging by my friend's reaction he needed it more than me.

“It’s the Witch,” he said finally, drawing the attention of everyone in the tent. “She was spotted traveling north days after the city fell.”

A thrill of something shot through me, followed by a flash of uncertainty. The woman that the Inquisition had called a witch was far from innocent – that much was clear by the scene of carnage surrounding the iron cage that the Inquisition had kept her in. Then again, I couldn’t be sure of the circumstances of her capture. One thing was certain- she was an otherworlder, and if that was the case we had more in common than I would have liked.

I brought up my Quest screen, staring at the text as I took in this information. I was meant to hunt her.. but did hunting mean killing?

“How can he be sure it was her?” I asked into the ensuing silence. Draxus grimaced.

“On the account of the carnage left in her wake. Five dead, in total. It’s occult magic, no doubt about it. Then there is the fact that several towns folk recalled seeing a woman of her description fleeing the town the same night of the deaths.”

I watched his throat bob as he downed the second goblet.

“Something bothering you?”

The warrior grunted.

“I’m loathed to do the inquisitions dirty work for them,” he said. “But if she really is a witch carving a path of destruction, then in the absence of an Inquisitor they’ll send the Kadian army after her.”

He was right, and if I wanted more information about the only otherworlder I’d ever encountered then I’d have to act quickly.

“Where is the Lady Inquisitor?” asked Kato, sitting up more in his seat. His white shirt was open, baring his chest to the world. “Did Blackthorne finally scare her away?”

“Lord Blackthorne,” growled Draxus, shooting his friend a look. “And as I understand it she left to report to the Archon. And for us that could be either very good or very bad.”

It was my turn to grimace. Draxus’s dislike of the Inquisition was a sentiment I shared. Both the Lady Inquisitor and the Darkblades had been a thorn in my side, and I knew better than to trust them. Though my relationship with the Inquisition as strained, My stunt against the mind mage in Ceris had only furthered the rift between us. Did she know what I was?

I blinked, trying to dispel the memory of that strange place deep within my mind. That dark water and the reflection within…

A knock at the tent pole made me glance up for a second time. The guard of the 3rd auxiliary stuck his head in.

“Ser William,” he said. “A messenger was sent for you. Lord Blackthorne requests your presence in the war tent.”

I snatched up my borrowed short sword and slid the naked blade into my belt. Draxus toasted me with the empty goblet.

“Good luck,” he said. “And try not to make too many political waves, mmm? We have enough on our hands.”

I smiled.

“No promises.”