“Do you plan to use that,” the taller of the two figures asked, laughter bubbling in this voice as he looked to the blade she was holding, “or can I come closer?”
Simone twisted up her lips, recognizing voice before the man. “You’ve not been in these parts for a while now, Kaern. What brings you back?”
Kaern shrugged, nodding to the slip of the girl he was helping. “This one found me in the Dreaming. Decided not to leave her there.”
Simone glanced at the girl for the first time, her face registering her surprise. Kaern wasn’t the sort to take an interest in someone, not even a pretty little thing like this. If she’d been prancing around the Dreaming, however, Simone suppose that might just explain it.
The large woman glanced down at her plow and decided that was about as much as she was going to get done this day. She slid the naked blade back into the sheath and nodded back over her shoulder. “Well, come on then. You both look like you’ve been through the wrong side of a war. Not that you ever look anything different, Kaern. I’ll fix you something better to eat than you been getting on the trail, and you can tell me the whole story.”
*****
Elan hissed as her wound was cleaned in brusque fashion, not roughly but with quick, sure motions.
“Nasty business, brigands,” Simone clucked as she worked. “And you’re a lucky one. A good blade would have ended you… Hell, a quarter-decent hammer would have done you in pretty quick too. Need to watch yourself better, lassie.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Kaern asked from where he was sipping a cup of water in the corner, a smirk on his face.
“I thought you said that this…shirt was almost indestructible?” Elan asked, confused.
Simone laughed. “Sure enough it is, against the kind of cold-fired crap you see most people with these days. Good blades are rare, but they’ll cut this like butter. Don’t put any trust in that old fart’s tales of the old days. If he knew half of what he thinks he knew, he’d be a rich man.”
“Hey!” Kaern objected, almost laughing. “I know a lot more than half of what I think I know… Wait, that didn’t come out right.”
Simone just snorted, chuckling as she finished up cleaning and treating Elan’s wound. She examined the shirt for a moment and then tossed it back to the slip of a girl.
“It’s close enough to what he said, so wear it,” she advised, “but don’t get too comfortable with the idea of it protecting you. Would have been easier to sew up a clean cut than what that did to you, lass. You’d have a nasty scar there, if not for the old kit you brought along.”
Elan’s eyes fell on the silvery device Kaern had shown her to use, thinking about what it had done for the scars on her wrists and ankles.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling the shirt back over her head.
“You’ll live, no need to thank me.” Simone cleaned her hands and looked over to where the gruff-looking Kaern was sitting. “I can’t imagine she alone brought you back this way.”
Kaern shook his head. “No, I’d likely have been back here within the moon anyway.”
“Is that so? And why would that be?”
“War,” Kaern said simply.
Simone grimaced, but nodded. “I’ll call in the others.”
*****
Venadrin looked over the defenses of the community ahead of him, not particularly happy with what he was seeing.
It went without saying that they would have reasonable defenses, of course. It was the last free human settlement within the Master’s territory. For them to have held out this long would have required some sort of substantial defense.
What he was looking at, however, was a trifecta.
Impressive natural defenses, the cliffs would make it a nightmare to maneuver significant forces into the battlefield. There were too many choke points, and the line of sight was practically forever for their purposes. The natural plateau would be a hard nut to crack, there was no question of that.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only thing working in the defenders’ favor; there were skilled sentries. He’d been able to spot three, but only with the help of the enhanced senses and other creepy abilities of his more otherworldly contingent, and he was quite certain that there were more than that out there. They’d all have to be located and neutralized before a significant force could be marched on the community. Otherwise the battle would be a bloodbath, and most of the blood would likely be demonic.
They’d still win, of course—the community simply wasn’t large enough to hold off the Master for long—but the less blood risked on his side, the more likely Venadrin could expect to walk away with his own body fluid where it was supposed to be.
The final part of the problems he was going to have to deal with was that the community had clearly put a lot of work into the defenses beyond the natural strengths. There were hidden towers he could make out, what looked like small forts that probably held equipment and weapon caches, and from where he was standing it was clear that the top of the plateau was a fortified nightmare.
There’s only one thing to it, then, he sighed, handing off some of his equipment to his second.
“Where are you going?” the squat, particularly ugly, beast grumbled at him.
“Up there,” Venadrin said, nodding to the plateau. “Put together a bag with odds and ends, the sort of things a scavenger would bring to sell. I need to see it from the inside.”
*****
Patrol was a mind-numbing tedium, but a necessary one.
Every day was much the same, and that routine was a killer on a sentry’s alertness. Keeping yourself alert was the art and substance of a good sentry, because trouble wasn’t going to announce itself, as a general rule.
Being surprised was anathema to a guard, yet it seemed to happen all too often.
“Excuse me.”
Seren nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning to glare at the man who had walked up so close announcing himself. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“I’m just a scavenger, boss,” the man said with his head down. “Looking to trade.”
Seren looked the cloaked figure over, then nodded to the sack slung over his shoulder. “Open it up.”
“Right, boss.”
The sack thunked to the ground, unrolling to reveal a myriad of trinkets and mostly useless junk. Seren’s eyes fell on a few ingots mixed in with the rest.
“Is that iron?” he asked softly.
“Pure, as close as you can get, at least.” The scavenger nodded eagerly.
Pure iron was a rarity. As a useful material for making weapons against the demons, it was largely secured within the fortress of the lords, held under guard against those who would turn the metal against them. It was a hotly traded commodity, and even a few ingots would be worth letting the scavenger in. Hell, if he tried anything, they’d just “fine” him the iron before kicking his arse out.
“Where did you get that?”
The filthy and disheveled man looked around, then down, and around again before answering.
“Dug it up myself, boss. I know a place.”
Forget fining him if he has a mine, Seren supposed.
Iron wasn’t impossible to find, but there was never enough for weapons. Mostly they had old scrap, including steel and other metals. Steel worked almost as well, but it was harder to work than iron, so most smiths preferred to start with the base. Quality weapons would always be in demand, and the best quality against demons started with cold-forged iron.
Seren glanced it over and guessed that there might be enough there to make a dagger or two, which would be enough to buy the scavenger supplies for a couple weeks at least. With the rest of the things in the sack, he supposed the man had a decent haul.
“Alright,” Seren said, “you can go in.”