6.25 (1/2)

I am dreaming. Dreaming of a small child following me with wide eyes. Her fur is forest brown and she sniffs as she pads along behind me. She makes no sounds, but she trusts me. As I descend into the crevasse and reach for her, she trusts me. As the Goblin takes my fingers, she clings to me. Even later, I think, she trusted me.

Me, the one who brought doom to her tribe. Who awakened the Necromancer’s wrath. If you trace my path, you can see the bodies of everyone I’ve ever met. The Horns of Hammerad. Periss and her soldiers. The Stone Spears tribe. Brunkr. Ulrien. Zel Shivertail. They meet me and die.

Even Ivolethe.

But Mrsha? I left her behind. I left behind.

I ran away. I left her and ran. I should have never met her.

I shouldn’t have ever taken Teriarch’s request.

I should never have come here.

I should never have been—

And then I wake up. I sit up in bed and clutch at the sheets. I smell sawdust. I can hear someone thumping around beneath me, hear a voice, a crash of wood. For a second I want to curl up. Or jump up and hit something.

Then I feel the wind on my face. I see a tiny figurine, carved of ice, sitting by my bed on the dresser. I reach for it and feel it. Cold and painful. And I remember.

I’ve felt this way before. So I take a deep breath. Once, twice. You’ve been here before. Calm down. In this moment I hate myself. I hate everything and everyone, except perhaps Mrsha. But I hate and I despair and I know I’m feeling this way.

It’s happened before. And because I can remember it, because I can learn, I won’t make the same mistakes again.

Or at least, I’ll try.

—-

It took a few minutes for Ryoka Griffin to come back into her own head. A few minutes before the bleak, utter weight in her stomach evaporated enough for her to recede. Then she sighed, let go of the icy figurine she’d picked up, and looked around.

“It’s going to be a bad day.”

The young woman sat up in her bed, tossing some of the thick, itchy sheets off her. It was dark. Nighttime, in fact. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, but Ryoka could tell that while the sky was lightening, it was still far from dawn.

“Bad dreams.”

That was all she said. But it wasn’t just a bad dream. She felt it on her, that heavy, apathetic and wretched feeling. It was already a bad day. Sometimes they came about. Days when she wanted to do nothing more than distract herself. Watch the most mind-numbing show. Steal a drink. Punch something.

Go for a run. And on these days, she would run like fire, until everything hurt. But you couldn’t outrun your own head. So today, Ryoka just sat up. She listened to the thumping and banging from below and realized those sounds weren’t in her head. So she got up, grabbed her belt and the pouches and trotted towards the door as she tied them around her waist.

Slowly, carefully, the Asian girl opened the door to her room, creaking it open bit by bit. Her hand was on one of the alchemist weapons at her belt. She was listening, but the crashing about seemed to still be coming from downstairs, so Ryoka put one foot out the door. The hallway’s doors were closed. Dark shadows filled the corridor. Ryoka glanced towards the steps leaning downstairs. She hesitated. Memory pricked her tired mind. And then someone spoke.

“Don’t go downstairs.”

Ryoka jerked back, heart pounding in her chest. There was someone in the hallway! The dark shape resolved itself—not into an [Assassin], but a very real, and very familiar shadow in the doorway opposite hers.

“Alber?”

He nodded. The [Fist Fighter] was similarly undressed and his bare chest was pale in the moonlight. His pants were long, ragged. And he was lowered, as if ready for a fight. He glanced up at her, and then nodded to the stairwell. The young man’s voice was low.

“He’s at it again. Drunk.”

Ryoka took a second to process that. Then the pieces fit, along with the memory. She whispered back.

“Madain?”

Alber nodded. Ryoka relaxed. But only a tiny bit. Alber held still as she tilted her head. Both of them listened to another crash and a slurred, raging voice. At last, Alber indicated the stairs with a tilt of the head.

“If he comes up the stairs, I’ll shout.”

The Runner girl hesitated, and then nodded.

“Thanks.”

She retreated back into her room and closed the door. But now Ryoka was tense. It wasn’t thieves or a fight. But it was dangerous. She imagined the huge man, Mad Madain, the adventurer-turned-innkeeper overturning tables. She could hear him swearing, and then a muffled shout. The words were indistinct, but they made Ryoka’s heart jump in alarm. She was tensed, imagining what would happen if she or Alber had to stop the man.

Time ticked by, agonizingly slow, and then flashing by in a blink. Eventually the violence below subsided. Ryoka lay in her bed, too awake to go back to sleep. She yawned as she relaxed a bit, but knew her sleep wouldn’t come back so easily. Ryoka lay back, staring at the ceiling and felt amiably miserable for a while.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but it was a half-sleep, a dozing, waking, not-at-all sleep that passed by the hours until morning, but left her feeling tired and groggy. Ryoka Griffin got up, dressed herself, and walked out her door, all the while feeling empty, tired, and quietly, desperately sad underneath it all. That was how she started her day.

It was a good thing she was used to it.

—-

Alber got up after a few hours had passed since the last sounds from the inn’s common room had died out. He hadn’t slept since then. There was no point, since you couldn’t tell when the Madman’s tantrums would last. Or how dangerous they would get. He’d kept his word and stood sentry at the door until the worst had seemed to pass. But you never knew.

The [Fist Fighter] was a young man. His name was Alber. And that was more information than most people needed to know about him. He earned a living by taking fights. If people knocked him down, they earned money. If he stayed up or knocked them down, he earned money. Alber loved the simplicity of it.

Silver for normal folk, gold for adventurers and experts. That was how he did it. He could pull in good money beating passing travellers or the local toughs who thought they could win because they had a Skill or two, and the adventurers and other sorts kept him honest. They were the challenge. Sometimes Alber beat even Gold-rank adventurers who relied too much on their artifacts and walked away with a full purse. Other times he woke up on the ground with a broken nose, or ribs.

It hurt. Sometimes it was agonizing. But it was what he knew and he liked it. It was his life. That was why anything that intruded on that cycle was unwelcome, especially the Madman. Alber had faced the inn’s owner once. That was enough. The Madman, or Mad Madain, or just ‘Madain’ if you wanted his real name, deserved Alber’s nickname. He was crazy. But he was strong. Alber could have taken him down if the man were drunk enough. But it wasn’t a fight the young man would have relished.

Alber scowled as he opened the door. It was early, he was tired, cold, and hungry. But there would be no food after the Madman’s fits of rage so Alber would have to find food elsewhere. As for the cold, he’d pick somewhere in the sun to ply his trade. He exited his room, the leather gloves slung carefully over one shoulder and found that the Braggart was leaving her room at almost the exact same time. She turned and blinked at him as she locked her door.

“Morning.”

The Braggart smiled. She looked as weary as Alber, but she was smiling. She’d begun greeting him every morning. Alber almost resented that, but he ducked his head.

“Morning.”

She nodded and down the stairs they went. The Braggart was dressed unlike the times she’d come to her door, half-naked. She had a fit figure and was tall, unlike most of the girls Alber had ever met. More like an adventurer than a Runner, really, although she fit both bills. He remembered the sight of her half-naked form in the night and was glad she was walking in front. She did look strong. Maybe she could throw a punch.

But she was still the Braggart. Alber knew her real name was Ryoka Something, but he didn’t bother with names when nicknames served. He didn’t stay long enough anywhere to bother remembering, and for this girl, Braggart fitted. She was arrogant. He had thought of her as just the Drathian before, but he vividly recalled the one conversation they’d had in full a week ago when she’d claimed to know more of fist fighting than he did. Hence the name change.

Still, she was better company than the Madman, if only because she was usually quiet. Speaking of which…Alber paused as he descended the stairs with the Braggart and entered the common room.

It was destroyed. Alber had seen bar fights, tavern brawls, and participated in a few himself, although he didn’t drink that much. But he was still impressed; the Madman had smashed enough chairs, tables, and ceramics all by himself to leave only a fraction of the room intact. And—Alber’s stomach clenched—he was still there.

Unfortunately, the Madman hadn’t slumped off to his room to pass out there, or even fallen asleep in the kitchen. He was still awake. The huge, bear of a man was sitting at one of the good tables, staring blankly ahead. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard and tunic stained. He didn’t look like he was ready for more fighting, but you never knew. Alber watched him for a second, and then noticed that the Madman was sitting next to someone.

A slight, shorter girl. She had black hair, very pale skin, and was dressed in a number of layers in dark clothing. She even had a hat on, inside, and if she could have huddled more into her clothes, Alber thought she would have. Cougher was eating from a bowl of stew, the exact twin of the bowl Alber had eaten for dinner last night. Gristle and fat stew, heavy on the meat and spice and little else. The Madman’s specialty dish.

“Fierre.”

Braggart greeted the slight girl after a quick glance at the Madman. He jerked as Cougher put down her spoon. Her bowl was nearly empty. The Madman looked up.

“You two. Where’s my rent?”

Both Runner and [Fist Fighter] blinked. After a second, Alber grimaced and dug at his belt. So that was the score today, was it? The Madman had done so much damage he needed more coin. Or he wanted a drink.

“Here.”

He placed a silver coin and two bronze ones on the table in front of the Madman. The City Runner fumbled for her purse and did likewise. The Madman glared at Alber and the Braggart. He swiped the coins from the table.

“Bad night?”

The Braggart looked at the Madman, and Alber could have sworn her tone was sympathetic. Which was stupid; the Madman didn’t want or deserve sympathy. Sure enough, he spat as he glared at her.

“Mind your own business, Wind Runner.”

Ah, that was the other name for her. Alber felt the wind blow on his tunic from an open window. Wind Runner. It was true. He’d taken to closing the shutters each night because the wind did blow harder when she was around. The Braggart looked undeterred by the Madman’s comment.

“Just asking. Hey, is there breakfast…?”

The Madman twisted to stare at Cougher. She put down her bowl quietly. The little click of wood on wood made his eyes bulge and he snarled.

“No. Get out. All of you!”

They did. Quickly too; the Madman looked ready for more smashing. Alber left the inn, mentally calculating how many days he’d prepaid in advance. If the Madman asked again…was it really worth staying at his inn? Well, the rent was dirt-cheap, the food was free when it was available, and the Madman didn’t turn his nose up when Alber walked in beat up or bloody. He did laugh, but Alber could ignore that.

Just a waste of a man. The [Fist Fighter] sighed and began walking down the street. He’d get something hot, and then find a place to knock down a few hung over drunks in honor of the Madman keeping him up. And then? Hopefully there would be new faces coming into Reizmelt he could make money off of. Otherwise, it would be those who hadn’t tried themselves against him. Another week or two and he’d have to travel south to find more business.

And that was all Alber thought on his day. He walked out of the inn and saw the Braggart stop in the street. Her feet were, of course, bare, and the wind swirled around her as she brushed at her hair with her right hand. Alber noticed her two missing fingers and wondered how she’d lost them again. But it wasn’t his business so he’d never have asked. The one thing he liked about the inn, about the Madman’s domain was that no one bothered anyone here. Except for good mornings. And—

“Ryoka. How’d you sleep last night?”

“Pretty good. Except for the crashing about. After that, things took a turn for the worse. How’d you get your bowl of soup without Madain killing you?”

The Cougher smiled. Alber paused as he took his gloves off his shoulder and pretended to check them.

“I’ve known him for a while. You do look tired. Want to get something to eat? I know a spot that’s open.”

“Sounds good. Unless you need to be at work?”

“Not me. And I could use something else to eat.”

“Lead on, then. Hey, how often does he do that…?”

The two strolled off down the street. Alber turned his head to follow them for a second, frowning. That was the sixth day in a row they’d shared a meal together.

“When did they become friends?”

The [Fist Fighter] unconsciously flexed his hands, shaking his head. Girls. What could they possibly have in common? Then he trotted off to get some food. They had nothing to do with him, after all. He had a job to do.

He liked it.

—-

Fierre the Vampire noticed Alber going as she led Ryoka down the street. The Human girl was yawning. Fierre was not. She’d gotten six hours of sleep and that was all she needed. By contrast, Ryoka looked as weary as Fierre had ever seen her.

Granted, she had only known Ryoka for a few weeks, and only seriously watched her this last one, but it was a noticeable difference. Normally Ryoka’s heart would be pounding faster as she warmed up for the morning. Now, her pulse was slow. Sedentary. Fierre could see the City Runner also had messy hair.

“You didn’t get any sleep at all, did you?”

“Some. Like I said, it was a bad night. Not just because of Madain.”

Fierre nodded.

“Was that the first time you’ve seen that?”

“Hm? No. I saw it once before. He does that every other week, then?”

Fierre cast her gaze upwards towards the brim of her hat. She tugged it a bit lower with a cloth-wrapped hand. The sun’s rays were yet weak, but they still felt unpleasant on her skin.

“Nearabouts. Sometimes he has a dry spell, but he always has a fit like this at least once a month. He’ll go around smashing things, fighting with his friends—if they haven’t left already by that point—and cursing until he passes out.”

Ryoka frowned. She shifted her feet, stepping lightly on the cold paving stones in the morning. Fierre glanced about the street; she saw a woman fifteen feet away, rubbing her fingers together and blowing on them with the spring chill. Fierre could see a little embroidered flower on the gloves the woman took out as clear as if she were standing right next to the woman.

Ryoka groaned as someone threw open their shutters above them. Both Fierre and Ryoka stepped back fast; the chamber pot emptied over the side and Ryoka cursed up at the window.

“Use the toilet! That’s why you have sewers!”

The man in the window stared down. About to hurl down an insult, he paused when he recognized Ryoka.

“Up yours, Wind Runner!”

“Don’t make me blow that in your face!”

Ryoka glared. The man snorted, realized she was serious, and closed his windows hurriedly. Ryoka sighed. She skirted the splash on the road as Fierre hurried around her. The Vampire wished Ryoka had made good on her threat; she could smell blood in the piss and stool very clearly. Being hungry and disgusted wasn’t a fun feeling.

“And his neighbors don’t stop him?”

“What?”

Fierre glanced at Ryoka and then remembered their conversation. The Vampire opened her mouth, realized her canines were showing, began to cover her mouth, and then relaxed. She gave Ryoka a toothy grin instead and saw the young woman’s eyes lock onto her teeth.

“How? They complain of course, but the City Watch isn’t interested in trying to stop him. Sometimes they slap a fine on Madain, but he’s generally ignored.”

“Poor neighbors. Well, I know how he feels.”

“Who? Madain? Turn left here. There’s a [Baker] down this street.”

“Good choice. Does she do anything with vegetables? I need something green after eating another meat stew. I know you’re fine, but I need plants.”

Fierre grinned again, then covered her mouth when she noticed a [Laborer] exiting his house, his jerkin twisted.

“She does a very nice spinach-and-cheese puffed pasty. And I eat plenty of green things, thanks.”

“Frogs?”

Ryoka grunted as Fierre leaned over and shoved her lightly. The push was light, but Fierre had used her full strength, so Ryoka skipped a few steps before she caught her balance. She looked over at Fierre with raised eyebrows. The Vampire smiled, a thrill rushing through her stomach.

“Don’t insult me. I told you once.”

“So noted. Sorry. I am in a bad mood. It’s one of those days, you know?”

Fierre eyed Ryoka. She didn’t know. Moreover, she’d expected Ryoka to bite back as it were. Embarrassed now, she pointed.

“This is the shop. Miss Helma?”

The [Baker] had an open front to her shop, a window and a counter from which delicious aromas wafted forth. Ryoka eyed a basket of breads and instantly dug for her purse. Helma, whom Fierre knew from her [Laborer] job, came to the window at once.

“Fierre? And who’s your friend?”

“This is Ryoka Griffin, Miss Helma. The Wind Runner. We’re both here because Madain’s had one of his nights.”

Fierre spoke more carefully to the [Baker], keeping her lips closed and not showing her teeth where possible. Helma, a woman with a surprisingly sultry voice given her age, propped her hands on her hips. Dusty; she was baking, Fierre could tell from the heat emanating from the inside.

“That man is trouble. I’ve told you again and again, Fierre. You should find somewhere else to sleep! I’d take you in myself if I didn’t have children running about and my husband wasn’t coming in at odd hours. And—the Wind Runner? So you’re the young lady my children can’t stop talking about!”

Ryoka ducked her head, smiling ruefully.

“Hello, Miss. I’m nothing special. I just have a way with the wind.”

Helma laughed pleasantly.

“Could you conjure me a breeze, then? It’s hot in here, never mind the spring day. I dread the summer. But what can I do for you two? I have some pies, tarts, fresh bread, and if you wait, I’ll fill one with some fruit paste. That’s a treat my children love.”

Ryoka looked longingly at the breads on display.

“I heard you had spinach and cheese pasties.”

“Of course! Fresh! How many would you like?”

The tarts were still hot, and pleasingly plump. Ryoka bought six and one meat pasty. Fierre was less hungry and bought some cheesy bread, which she liked. The two walked down the street, holding their hot food while Ryoka offered Fierre two of her vegetarian pasties for a bite of Fierre’s bread. The hot food filled their stomachs and before long, both were smiling.

“That’s better. Hey, Fierre. How bad does Madain get? Alber was suggesting he might come up the stairs and start taking swings at us. Should I be sleeping with one eye open?”

The City Runner let the wind pick up the crumbs she was dropping. A breeze was now blowing down the street, a nice cool one that passed right by Helma’s shop, Fierre noticed. The Vampire smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Sometimes he does. But it never bothers me. Madain likes me, I think. And if you need help, I can handle him.”

It was a boast, but Ryoka didn’t give one of her snippy replies this time. She just smiled, bit into her meat pastry, and nodded.

“That would be welcome. Madain looks like he could snap Alber in half like a twig, barehanded or not. And I’ve seen him throw his axes. Myself, I think I’ll just jump out the window if he comes up the stairs. I think it’s not all his fault, though.”

Fierre paused. She looked at Ryoka quizzically.

“How do you mean? If you mean his friends—they’re not his friends. They only drink with him because he’s good for free alcohol. Once he starts talking about his team and the old days, they get lost fast.”

The young woman grimaced.

“I get that. What I mean is—I think he and I are a bit the same. I feel like we’re kindred spirits. We have good days and bad days, Fierre. Neither of us can help it. Some days it rains and pours, even if the sun’s shining. Sorry, I don’t know how to say it. It’s…a type of sickness. Only it’s all in the head.”

Now Fierre did pause in her tracks. She looked hard at Ryoka and sniffed. Sometimes you could smell if someone had been drinking, or—or anything. Her mother was really good; she could even tell if someone was using something like Smilingsand on an animal. Or other tricks to make them look better at fairs. But Ryoka smelled normal. Fierre’s eyes didn’t tell her the Runner looked any different. Disturbed, Fierre shrugged.

“Madain? He just drinks a lot. And you seem normal to me.”

The crooked smile Ryoka gave her was different. Not like the quick and brilliant grin she’d give at a comment that Fierre had learned to spot, or the relaxed grin of satisfaction. Or the not-a-smile she was so good at. This one was tired. But somehow, it also reminded Fierre of her father’s smile. Ryoka shook her head.

“I have a bad temper. And some days are tough. Don’t think too much into it, Fierre. I know my problems. I feel bad for Madain, that’s all. No one ever told him it’s not all his fault. But you’re right; the drinking probably does a lot of the work even on a good day.”

“Is that what this is? A bad day?”

“Oh yes. And I’m being careful today. So I’m warning you in advance, Fierre. If I’m snappish or lash out—”

“You’re anything but. Actually, you’re disturbingly calm.”

Again, Ryoka smiled and it was bitter.

“I’m trying to not do what I normally do. Believe me, if you gave me a gold coin, I’d go back there and try and kick Madain through his own privy door.”

Fierre thought about reaching for her belt, but the joke was childish. And suddenly, Ryoka felt a lot older. In truth, Fierre was the older one by a number of years. But…the Vampire cleared her throat and averted her gaze, embarrassed.

“I’m not bragging. I could actually take him down if I had to. Especially if he’s drunk. I think.”

“I know you can.”

Fierre felt her cheeks turn red. The heat wasn’t much, but given her cold body, it felt like a hot spot. She turned her head so Ryoka wouldn’t see.

She was so strange. Even more than Fierre’s normal friends had been growing up. Not only had she found Fierre out, she hadn’t flinched even when her mother had used her Gaze on her, and she had all those weird Skills that Fierre had never heard about. And she wasn’t afraid of Fierre for who she was. That was the strangest part of all. And the most welcome.

Sometimes she was combative, or challenging. But at other times, times like now, Fierre would say something that was a boast, and Ryoka would just nod. And when she looked at Fierre, the Vampire thought that Ryoka believed every word she was saying. And she still wasn’t afraid of Fierre, or filled with envy.

It made Fierre too much at ease around Ryoka. She had to remember the girl was a stranger. Her parents, Bamer, they’d all warned her to stay wary. Stay wary. Fierre bit her lip and changed the subject.

“About those people you wanted me to find…I haven’t gotten any leads. I told you it would take a while, especially with Magnolia Reinhart. And there are waves around her.”

“Oh?”

“Politics. A lot of people want information, so I’m trying not to let them know I want different information than the stuff they’re after.”

“Ah. Well, you have time.”

“I’m still looking. Don’t worry. It just takes a while for information. Uh…will you be doing deliveries? I’m going to spend an hour or two at my brokering job, but then I’m helping lay down a foundation by midday. So…”

Fierre hesitated. More people on the streets. She could smell them; feel the blood pulsing through their veins. Normally it didn’t bother her, but she was feeling more Vampirish than usual. Probably because of all the nighttime exertions. She’d have to have more of the goat’s blood for a midday snack.

“Do you—do you want to go for a run tonight? I’m free. We could race north again. Or you could show me more of those fighting moves.”

Ryoka’s lips quirked up.

“And you can throw me through a tree?”

“That was an accident. Really.”

“You’re too strong. And it would be fun to run. But—”

Ryoka studied the sky, and then shook her head.

“Not today, sorry Fierre. I think I’ll have a short night of it.”

“Bad day?”

“Exactly. Tomorrow should be good, though. Hey, I’ll see you later, alright? I probably won’t stop by to have my letters opened, though. If I’m not there in thirty minutes, there’s your answer.”

“Alright. Uh—get better soon?”

The City Runner nodded. She took off, jogging down the street while Fierre turned to go to the place where she conducted her information brokering. She paused to stare at Ryoka as she left. Exactly what did she mean? Sickness in the head? Fierre shook her own head, but she watched Ryoka as she left.

She was an enigma. But she knew who Fierre was and she didn’t flinch, even when Fierre gave Ryoka her best smile. And to the Vampire girl, that was as attractive, as fascinating as the sweetest blood. Fierre licked her lips. And then she disappeared into the shadows. She was already getting a tan.

—-

You’d never have guessed Ryoka was having a bad day. Well, this time. Before, Ryoka distinctly recalled telling Ceria to go to hell and picking fights with Minotaurs while trying to push Yvlon’s face in. Or just being unpleasant to be around. Had she punched Erin in the face?

Probably. So this time she watched herself as she entered the Runner’s Guild. Ryoka was bracing herself, because she knew she had more talking to do in this guild than in Celum’s guild, where Garia and Fals had been the only people to speak to her. But, strangely, the instant someone called out her name, Ryoka didn’t feel the instant surge of visceral resentment she normally did.

“Miss Ryoka! Good morning!”

Ryoka turned. A familiar face was at the counter. The [Receptionist] leaned over and smiled. Ryoka smiled back.

“Good morning, Alime. Anyone ask for me? Any emergency calls?”

It was the question she always asked. Alime shook her head.

“No, and no, sorry to say, Miss Ryoka. No one’s requested you by name, and no one’s in need of an emergency Runner. You’re first on my list, aside from the Couriers.”

“Well, that’s fine today.”

It wasn’t as if Ryoka wanted to be the first on call or she enjoyed those emergency runs. It happened more than you thought; someone needed an antidote from a high-level [Alchemist], there was a need for a lightning-fast delivery of gold, or perhaps a spice for a banquet, or…well, some emergencies weren’t really all that. But sometimes adventuring teams got into trouble. And Ryoka had cemented her reputation as the first person to call after the Pithfire Hounds had gotten into trouble.

It had changed a lot around the guild, actually. Some of the Runners waiting for their delivery turned in their seats. A few called out; Ryoka waved a hand. She was walking over to the requests board when another City Runner, dark skinned, short, perhaps even Dwarfish, caught her. He was chewing a lip nervously.

“Griffin. I’ve got a favor to ask. Let me take the delivery to Blaiseford. They’re asking for the fastest runner in the Guild, but I’m plenty fast and I need the coin. Call it a favor?”

He looked pleadingly at her. Ryoka blinked. Normally the rule was the fastest Runner usually got the contract. One of those rules she’d taken advantage of in Celum. Let’s see. What would she have said back then? ‘My contract, get lost?’ Sounded about right.

This time Ryoka forced a smile. And it wasn’t forced after a second.

“No problem. Todel, right?”

He nodded, relieved. Ryoka shook her head.

“I’m not looking for a big run just now. And Blaiseford? I did that a week ago. Miserable. Those damn swamps…”

That was all she had, but Todel grinned.

“They are disgusting. And those bugs—gah! But I know a quick route through that usually isn’t submerged even when it rains.”

“Really? Show me that and you can take all the big runs today.”

He grinned.

“Deal. Thanks!”

He trotted off, looking relieved. Ryoka walked over to the board, smiling a bit. She came back after a moment to the desk where Alime was working.

“Hey, Alime…”

“No deliveries suit you?”

Alime looked surprised. Ryoka shook her head.

“I’m not in the mood for a long run, or a big one. Can you tell me what quiet deliveries you have? Ones that don’t take me into [Bandit] territory or near monsters.”

This time Alime blinked. Quiet requests were common; it meant Ryoka wanted a safe, quick run that wouldn’t put her in danger so long as she stayed on the main roads and nothing unexpected happened.

“Of course. I have a few. I just never thought I’d hear you ask for it.”

“I’m low-energy today. What’ve you got?”

“Hm…let me plot you a route. How long do you want to run?”

“Uh—six hours? I could do an eight-hour circuit, actually. So long as I can take a break or slow down.”

“I think I can fit you into…”

Alime’s eyes flickered as she ran down a list of entries on the parchment in front of her. Ryoka had no idea how [Receptionists] like Selys did their job, but Alime actually earned her pay. She was plotting a route of deliveries such that Ryoka could earn money and do a loop ending at Reizmelt.

It wasn’t always easy, but the [Receptionists] at the Runner’s Guilds were expected to do just that when asked, as well as memorize all the latest updates on the condition of roads, monsters, things to watch out for…Ryoka had known none of this before now, because she’d never talked to a [Receptionist] other than to collect her delivery or get paid.

“Ah. Okay, I have you doing a bulk-letter delivery to the village of Nonsfru, passing by a farm with a small package for the [Farmer] there, and then you’re heading down a main road, doing two deliveries in the town of Ingli, before you pass by a hut—here—and come back this way. They’ll have a bulk-letter delivery reserved for you as you pass through Enam. Given your speed, it should take you six hours or eight if you’re stopping for longer breaks.”

“That’s perfect.”

Alime nodded. Then she frowned.

“Although…the pay for all the deliveries is low, Ryoka. These are all safe and non-priority. So unless someone’s tipping well, which I doubt, you’ll probably earn…six silver coins and eight bronze for the lot.”

She hesitated. That wasn’t a lot. Especially compared to what Ryoka could earn for the faster, harder jobs. A few bronze coins could buy you a small snack, and ten of them, a silver coin, was a decent amount of money, but enough for a pretty good meal anywhere you went. But six silver coins was low, especially for Ryoka. Even Street Runners could earn more than that pretty easily.

To Alime’s surprise, Ryoka didn’t blink twice at the quoted price.

“Suits me. I just want to run. What am I carrying?”

“Well, here’s the letters we have. Hence the low pay to Nonsfru. And here is a little package. The [Farmer] you want lives at a farm down the road from the village. The farm’s name isn’t listed, but if you take the south road and run for three miles…”

Ryoka Griffin listened to the directions, memorizing them, asking a question about any dangers on the road—a [Highwayman] spotted three days back, bears, nothing dangerous—and then she left, with the deliveries tucked away in her bag of holding. Quick and efficient. She didn’t need to fumble with a pack like the Runners without bags of holding, and she didn’t need a map. Alime sighed as she leaned over to her coworker.

“She was so silent when she first came in. I believed all those tales about her getting other Runners injured and stealing jobs. Now? I’m glad she’s about.”

Her coworker, a teenager who was learning the ropes, looked up.

“Do you know why she left Celum, Alime? It’s far from there. And I never heard of a hotshot City Runner who controlled the wind. The kids only started calling her that after she came here.”

Alime nodded, frowning mildly.

“I wonder. She’s not a Courier, but I wouldn’t mind challenging some of the other Runner’s Guilds for better deliveries. She can handle them. And that means more coin and traffic flow through our guild.”

“Don’t we get all the same deliveries depending on who’s closest? We’re all Runner’s Guilds.”

The other [Receptionist] looked puzzled. Alime sighed.

“Not at all. Think about it. Each Guild needs to deliver everything it has, promptly and quickly. Things like bulk letter deliveries can wait a few days. Even a week! But quick deliveries, and priority ones need to be done when they’re promised. So what happens if a Guild doesn’t have enough good City Runners to meet the demand, especially high-priority deliveries? Emergencies?”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Bigger cities and bigger Guilds sometimes take contracts from further away because they always have enough Runners. Sometimes we lose contracts to Invrisil. Which means they get more funding and we don’t. So you’d better hope our Wind Runner sticks around.”

“Right. Good thing she’s not like the rumors.”

Alime nodded absently. She stared at the door Ryoka had left through, as another mud-splattered Runner walked in, carrying a chicken in a cage and looking very put out.

“Yes. But I did ask Celum’s Guild for a little dossier on her. And she’s different from what they said. She wasn’t when she first came here. But she is now.”

“How so?”

“Well—she hasn’t buried our guild in snow, for one.”

“…Do you mean, with a shovel or something?”

—-

Nonsfru was a village notable only for the name. And even then, it wasn’t exactly the strangest of names. It was a place you could miss if you sneezed twice while on the run. And it looked ordinary.

Perhaps—perhaps it had an [Emperor] living in one of the houses. Or the small mine that sustained the village was in fact host to a legion of Crelers just waiting to be unleashed by a careless pickaxe. Or all the villagers were werewolves. All these things could be true, but they probably weren’t.

And the farm three miles south of the village was a farm. It had one main corn field and a smaller, secondary field for a number of crops. But the main thing was corn. Somehow, despite the spring, one harvest was already in bloom. It was definitely a Skill, although the effect was limited, because the field wasn’t that big.

A combine harvester could roll down the entire field in less than a minute. On the other hand, you could probably feed all of Nonsfru with the corn from the field for a good while. And the corn was already ready to be eaten!

And such corn. The corn stalks were sixteen feet high, giants of their kind, and the corn was thick and heavy and the kernels looked like how you imagined gold looked, not like what it actually was. The green husks were practically begging to be pulled off to expose the prize. Which was coincidentally what had attracted a flock of crows at the moment Ryoka Griffin rang the bell at the fence and waited.

No one came out of the farmhouse just past the field, but the bell had scared off the crows. Ryoka eyed them and the lush field of corn as she waited by the gate. It was a big flock, to feast on an equally ripe field. And the corn!

It was an optical illusion that made the corn seem smaller. The field was actually on a gradient, so the corn looked shorter until you got close. But from above it was a target and the one scarecrow perched on the small hillock overlooking the field wasn’t scaring the crows off. The straw figure stood on the ground in front of the pole as the birds circled lower, lower—

And then up again, cawing in alarm as Ryoka rang the bell again. She waited, but there was no response and the crows began circling down. They were very wary, and so was Ryoka. But she had to do a delivery, so she hopped over the gate and ran up to the farmhouse.

“Excuse the intrusion! City Runner! Anyone home? I have a delivery for [Farmer] Lupp!”

Ryoka called out loudly as she approached the farmhouse. She knocked on the front door, tried the back, tried the front again, and then decided the barn was worth a shot. A single cow gave her a long stare as Ryoka approached the open barn doors. She stared back.

“Well, he’s nearby. You don’t leave a door open, right?”

She eyed the cow, who seemed perfectly content to eat hay rather than the lush grass outside. It wasn’t even tethered. The farmer was definitely close by. Had he gone for a stroll?

No. And he was very close. But Ryoka hadn’t spotted him. The Runner ran past him twice as she checked the farmhouse, the barn, and then the road again. Only when she noticed the way the scarecrow wasn’t standing upright did the figure transform from an object into a person. And then she saw him, standing in the field, watching the crows.

“Hey th—”

Ryoka broke off, because the scarecrow imitator was giving her a glare as the crows circled lower and lower. He didn’t move so much as a muscle. And as Ryoka stopped, the crows decided there was no threat and finally descended for their corn field feast. And as the first one alighted on a corn stalk, the scarecrow lifted the shortbow he was holding.

Ryoka heard a flitting sound, then a squawk and a thump. One of the bodies dropped from the sky and the other birds took wing at once, cawing in panic. The archer waved his bow and hand and shouted at them, harrying the crows off his fields. They fled, so fast that Ryoka saw several feathers float down as they took wing. She approached slowly; the [Farmer] still had his bow and he was giving her a long look.

“City Runner, are you? Where’s your seal?”

“Here, sir.”

Carefully, Ryoka dug at her belt and pulled out her seal of identification. The [Farmer] relaxed when she showed it to him. He nodded.

“Let me grab that bird and put this away. Be one second.”

He trotted off, bird in hand. Ryoka saw him disappear into the farmhouse and waited. Half a minute later, the [Farmer] came back.

“You’re Mister Lupp, am I right?”

“That’s me. Lupp. And here’s my farm. Sorry I didn’t call out to you earlier. Didn’t want to spook the birds. Took them long enough to come down.”

The [Farmer] trudged back towards his field. Ryoka walked after him, noting the man’s tanned skin, worn face—he had enough crow’s feet of his own, and he looked as weathered as his field. No overalls for him; he was dressed like a scarecrow, ragged, with bits of straw hanging out of his costume to complete the effect.

“Nice trick with the birds. Was it necessary, though?”

Lupp grunted. He stopped by his field and Ryoka saw him bend over. He dragged out the real scarecrow and propped it up; it was dressed exactly like Lupp, with a big hat to hide the head.

“Have to put the fear of death into them. Or else what’s the point of scarecrows? It doesn’t matter if I hit one anyways; just shooting will scare them off for a day. But they’ll be back. They always come back.”

He sighed. Ryoka reached out as he tried to hang it up. With a grunt, Lupp tossed the scarecrow onto the perch and secured it with some rope.

“Thanks. It’s first harvest what with my Skill and all. Plants started blooming before the frost had even melted off the ground. Hardy, my plants. And they grow fast. Have my work cut out taking them all in and replanting by the end of the week.”

“I see that.”

Ryoka eyed the massive corn stalks appreciatively. She had to crane her neck to stare up at the ones towering above her.

“This is an impressive field. But it’s your only one?”

“That’s right. I’m a one-man farm. I supply Nonsfru with corn, and some of the local [Traders]. You saw the village on the way here?”

He didn’t seem in a hurry for Ryoka’s package. And she wasn’t in a hurry to give it to him. She nodded.

“I passed by. But the village has several farms. I saw two, and they’ve got corn growing too. Not ripe, but—I’ve heard that a single farm can feed a city. If you don’t mind me asking, how can you make a living? I’m sure there’s stiff competition. Wouldn’t the big farms drive down prices everywhere?”

Lupp glanced at Ryoka in surprise. She shrugged.

“Sorry. Just a question I have. I’ll be on my way if you’re busy. I do have your delivery.”

She held it up. Lupp blinked at it.

“Ah, no, no. It’s no problem. I’m just surprised a young city girl like you’s asking. Not many folk your age think about how we survive. And to your question—sure, some of us have the Skills to feed a town, or even a city ourselves. But think of it. How many hands need to work on a farm as large as the ones you’re imagining? And aside from the effort of seeding, weeding, and watering say three dozen fields of different crops, fencing it off, plowing it, and so on, what happens when you put that many good plants together?”

Ryoka blinked. Then she cast her eyes towards the sky.

“Animals. Of course.”

The [Farmer] grinned, exposing a missing tooth, but very white teeth.

“And monsters. You think smart crows is bad? Try giant moles. Hungry Mossbears. Corusdeer herds that can burn down any wooden fence—and your house! Farming isn’t easy, even if you’re close to a city. Half of farming is being able to take care of the land you have. Protect it. Time was, a Level 20 [Farmhand] wasn’t worth half as much as a Level 12 [Warrior] willing to stay up with a sword at nights.”

“Really?”

“Oh, not my farm. Well, not often. But pass down a more populated road? Bah. I still have to watch out some nights for hungry travelers passing down my road. Good thing I have a Skill and sleep lightly. Still, idiots run when I shoot an arrow. Monsters don’t.”

“What eats corn?”

“What doesn’t eat corn?”

Ryoka thought for a second. Lupp nodded.

“And we’re growers. You think we have it bad? Try owning lots of livestock around areas with Griffins. You’ll watch the skies every day of your life. Everything likes a good steak. Trolls, [Bandits], damned Goblins…”

He waved a hand in disgust. Ryoka nodded without commenting on the Goblin thing. She didn’t know what she was doing. But she’d been chatty all day. And this was the first [Farmer] besides Wailant she’d talked to. And he seemed bored. She’d jogged all the way here. She was still tired.

“Me, I don’t do big fields. Small ones that grow and harvest multiple times a season, there’s the real beauty. Easy to guard, easy to plant. Best high-quality crops in the area. No magic dust in the soil, no spells. Just a Skill, fertile ground, and hard work. I have a bit of a name around here. People like my corn, and the [Traders]’d give me more coin if I didn’t sell just to the villagers. But I always keep some aside and they take what they can get. There’s always a want, even if the larders are full in the harvests. Say, where’re you from?”

“Reizmelt.”

He whistled.

“Isn’t that eighteen miles north of here? Bit of a run, even for a City Runner.”

She smiled. The wind blew and Lupp and Ryoka watched it rustle the field of corn. The swaying stalks were mesmerizing.

“I took it slow.”

“Still, it’s a long run. Here. Try my corn yourself and you can tell I’m not all talk and no stalk. Go on.”

Lupp reached up and plucked the nearest piece of corn from the stalk. Ryoka was about to refuse as politely as she could. And then she caught herself.

“Thanks.”

The corn was heavier than she was used to. A bigger yield, and when she pulled off the husk, she blinked down at the corn. It was huge. And it would have driven every genetic food scientist to tears if they saw it. This was a unit of corn. So, mindful of Lupp’s stare, Ryoka raised it to her mouth, and took a bite.

The field was very silent. The cow wandered out as Lupp and Ryoka stood on the edge of his field. Ryoka made very little sound as she chewed and Lupp just waited. After a few seconds, Ryoka turned the cob and worked her way down it. She chewed, swallowed, bit again, and repeated the cycle. Then she looked up.

“This is delicious.”

The [Farmer] laughed, and his voice crackled like footsteps rustling through hay.

“Good, right? Before I tasted the real thing, I imagined this was what gold tasted like. Well, they’re my golden fields. I may not have as much as the huge farmers, but I sell my crops to folk I know and they love it. What I keep from the animals, that is. Go on, finish it.”

Ryoka did just that. The corn wasn’t nearly as sweet as some of the stuff she’d had, but it was much more savory, and so good that she didn’t mind eating it raw. With that said, if you grilled it, added a bit of butter and salt? But she ate the entire cob there and then, never mind her breakfast already in her stomach.

“Go on and toss it. Helli’ll eat it.”

Lupp indicated his sole cow. Ryoka tossed it and the cow stared at her before turning her head and nibbling delicately on a piece of grass. Lupp laughed, and Ryoka smiled.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Your corn’s the best I’ve ever had and that’s no lie.”

“Ah, thank you, Miss. That’s what a [Farmer] wants to hear after leveling up all his life.”

The man looked proud. Then he noticed the package Ryoka had set aside.

“That mine, is it?”

“Oh. Yes. It’s a delivery from Reizmelt. The sender is uh…”

“Kamine? She’s my daughter.”

Ryoka nodded. She handed the small, carefully wrapped little package to Lupp. The old man took it and Ryoka saw his wrinkles return. The laugh lines deepened, and his face sagged. For a moment.

“Ah. She’s good about sending packages on the regular. Every month at least.”

He looked happy to have it. But also sad. He hesitated, glanced at Ryoka, and opened it up. Ryoka blinked. The package had been small, hand-sized. It was, in fact, a whittler’s knife, a small knife with a short blade. It had a bit of cork protecting the head from cutting through the wrapping. Lupp looked at it.

“Nice bit of steel. I wrote to her that my old knife’d grown too dull. Hope she didn’t spend too much on it. This—looks good. Level 20 [Blacksmith], at least.”

He ran his hand down the whorled wood handle. Ryoka saw him stare at the handle, and then glance, just once, back at the farmhouse. She wondered what had happened to Kamine’s mother. And she knew she would never, ever ask.

Lupp cleared his throat after a second.

“I have a seal. Let me find it.”

He trudged back up to the farmhouse. And he held the whittler’s knife very carefully as he went in. Ryoka waited for a few minutes this time, before Lupp came back out.

“Sorry, sorry. I kept the place more organized when my wife was…around.”

He held out a dusty seal to Ryoka. One that identified his location as Nonsfru, the equivalent of a stamp. Only, Runners received them. Ryoka took the wooden token and tucked it into her belt.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I wish I could give you a tip. I would, but—”

For the first time in the conversation, anxiety stole over Lupp’s face. He flushed and Ryoka instantly held up a hand.

“No need for a tip, really. This isn’t a hard run. And the corn was good enough for any tip.”

“Still, you came all this way—”

“On a circuit. You weren’t the only delivery, believe me. And I’m not in a hurry. Today’s an off-day, for me.”

Lupp relaxed a bit as Ryoka gave him a reassuring smile.

“Eighteen miles is an off-day?”

“For me, it is. But I’m not working hard.”

“Oh. Injury? Or just tired?”

He peered at her bare feet and then stared for the first time.

“What’s happened to your shoes, girl?”

“I run barefoot.”

“You’ll step on a nail! Or have them torn up by rocks.”

“My feet are tough. And if you’ve got nails lying around, I’d watch your feet, boots or not.”

Lupp blinked, and then he conceded with another laugh. He shook his head.

“Eighteen miles. So what’s kept you from your real running, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He glanced at Ryoka. And she hesitated.

Here was the point where she could give him an easy reply, like she was tired, or resting, or even mention the Pithfire Hound’s rescue as an excuse. Anything would work; some answers would prolong the conversation. But only one was the wrong answer as she knew it. But that answer was the most honest. So she gave it, with a shrug. Something about Lupp made her want to be straight with him. And she so seldom was. So she was honest.

“It’s just a bad day. You know? I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. And I guess it’s following me around. My [Innkeeper] had the same moment. Last night he was tearing up the common room. Me? I just wanted to roll under my bed and stay there. You ever have days like that?”

She waited, her heart beating a touch faster. Fierre had just given her a blank look. But Lupp didn’t. The man blinked at her. And then he glanced around.

“Days when you wake up and the shadows are long? When there’s crows in the fields, but you can’t find the heart to chase them? I know those days.”

Something in Ryoka’s chest eased. And not just because Lupp didn’t look at her as if she was mad. Because, suddenly, they were looking at each other. With far more understanding than two strangers had any right to. All because of an honest moment. Lupp beckoned Ryoka over to a seat on his porch.

“You too?”

He gave her another smile.