They were swiftly approaching the town of Willik, which would have taken them another day by foot but was merely a handful of hours by dragonne. The sell-sword had to at least go through the motions of waking up and acting surprised and astonished at Theo’s victory over his four-armed pursuer. While he did that, he took hold of the pommel of his sword, waiting for the ghosts to arrive.
“You have escaped the apes,” said the Aristocrat.
“You almost didn’t,” said the Cavalier.
“Didn’t we say jump often enough?” asked the Balladeer.
“You need to see a healer,” said the Apothecary.
Vanderjack, at the rear of the dragonne’s back, listened to the ghosts harangue him for a few minutes. The Cook hovered there among them, not saying anything, but the sellsword was admittedly glad to hear their heckling voices.
“… which is why you cannot ignore us,” the Philosopher was saying.
“You know,” Vanderjack said, under his breath. “I’ve missed this. I’m sure I’ll be sick of it again soon, but I’ve missed it.”
The Sword Chorus responded with more comments and opinions. Vanderjack focused on the Cook. He said, “Etharion?”
“Vanderjack,” the Cook responded.
“I, uh.”
“Now probably isn’t the time,” said the Balladeer.
“Right,” said the sellsword. “Probably not. But we have things to, uh, discuss.”
“I’ll be around,” the Cook said. “I have some questions for you too. You see, I’m not-”
“Later,” said the Aristocrat, cutting Etharion off. “They are descending.”
Vanderjack looked over the side of the dragonne, who was apparently conversing with Theodenes and Gredchen while Vanderjack spoke with the Sword Chorus. He wondered if he’d been overheard talking with the unseen ghosts. “We’re there?” he asked loudly.
Gredchen looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re awake. Were you talking in your sleep?”
Vanderjack shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Weak comeback,” chided the Balladeer.
Vanderjack added, “Or maybe my unconscious self provides me with more enlightening conversation than you and the gnome.” He winked at her, letting go of the sword’s pommel.
Gredchen colored and said, “Fine. Be like that. Yes, we’re here.”
Vanderjack stretched then winced as pain shot through his chest. “Theo. Tell … Star to put us down outside Willik, about a half mile. If this town’s under the thumb of that ogre shaman, he’s going to have a lot of ogre friends with him, and we don’t want to just land in the middle of that.”
The gnome stroked his short, pointed beard briefly then nodded. “A wise choice of action,” he said. “Rare as that is.”
Vanderjack rolled his eyes and turned back to Gredchen. “Has your employer had dealings with this Skerish character before?”
She shook her head. “An ogre? Unlikely. Willik is fully within the territory claimed by Highlord Karelas and overseen by Rivven Cairn. They wouldn’t allow it.”
“If he’s a shaman, what power do they have over him? I would have thought he’d be claiming independence to do the work of the Dark Queen or somebody like that.”
“I heard that Rivven Cairn opened up Willik for him,” she said. “Before she arrived in Nordmaar a decade ago, Willik was a spice merchant’s town on the King’s Road to the west. I suppose she thought he’d make a good governor.”
Vanderjack frowned. “Cairn’s the one in charge of Captain Annaud’s little faction, isn’t she?”
Gredchen nodded. “Yes. She occasionally visits Lord Glayward to remind him where he is, put him in his place. The baron is far too proud to let that worry him.”
It dawned on Vanderjack that Annaud’s group may have had survivors, and they would be telling the highmaster all kinds of things about him. “It might be a mistake for me to go into Willik,” he said.
“Who said that you were going to go in?” Gredchen said with a smile, which came off more like a grimace. “No offense, Vanderjack, but you’re one of the most recognizable mercenaries in the region.”
“You might say that. But on the other hand I’m really in need of a healer, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Gredchen paused while Star dropped below the trees, tucking his wings in and landing with barely a thump on a dense mat of vegetation some distance away from a crop of carved boulders. She slid off the dragonne’s back and continued. “Listen, I know you’re hurt, but you’re under contract with the baron. I’m his agent, and the reason I’m along with you is because I need to make sure his wishes are being carried out. Best if you stay behind and rest up.
“So I’m going in myself and you’re staying here. You’ve been in military service long enough to be able to do your own field dressing, haven’t you? We can bring healing tools and supplies back with us.”
Vanderjack pointed at Theodenes the gnome, who was talking quietly with his new friend. Star’s voice was deep and resonant, and at the moment the strange creature was speaking in a language Vanderjack had never managed to pick up-the language of dragons. “What about Theo?”
“He can come with me.”
“So I’m staying here alone in the jungle?” Gredchen smiled again. “You won’t be lonely. Star’s here!”
Vanderjack exhaled. “I think I’ll try to sleep my injuries off,” he said and started looking around the clearing for a likely spot to sit.
“So we’re to visit the town?” Theodenes asked, coming over. “Star has agreed to stay with us for the time being.”
“Star can stay with Vanderjack,” Gredchen told the gnome. “They can get acquainted.”
Theodenes stiffened slightly. Vanderjack noticed, and shook his head. “What now?”
“The last time I gave a feline companion of mine named Star over to your safekeeping, I never saw her alive again.”
Vanderjack indicated the dragonne. “Does he look like a saber-toothed kitten to you?”
Theodenes jabbed a finger in the sellsword’s direction and said, “Just watch yourself.”
“Watch myself,” muttered Vanderjack, turning away.
After sorting through their rucksacks, pouches, and pockets, Theodenes and Gredchen set off for Willik. Vanderjack found a place against a banyan, with a bedroll for support, and drew Lifecleaver from its scabbard. He laid the weapon across his knees and watched as the Sword Chorus appeared around him.
“Wise of you to remain here,” said the Philosopher.
“You’ll need some agaric, the root of the summer-foster plant, and some weak tarbean tea,” said the Apothecary.
“What for?” Vanderjack asked, making a face. “Scouring out the inside of a cast-iron pot?”
“A simple healing salve,” said the Hunter.
“Any mercenary should know that,” said the Cavalier.
“Not this one,” said Vanderjack. “Besides, I have you lot around to remind me.”
“I think that’s the root of your problems,” said the Cook, stepping forward. Etharion somehow looked less spectral and indistinct than the other seven ghosts. He appeared much as he had in life, although as a ghost he was bleached of all color and partly transparent.
“Hmm?” Vanderjack rose and began poking about in the edges of the jungle clearing for the herbs and ingredients the Apothecary was directing him to find.
“Look how much trouble you were getting in when the Sword Chorus wasn’t here to help you.”
The sellsword turned back to the Cook’s ghost. “I’m always in trouble. It has nothing to do with you and your ghostly friends.”
The Cook shrugged. “Have you ever thought about whether you’re becoming too dependent on them?”
“It may be dependence, but it could just be good advice,” countered the Aristocrat.
“Indeed. Advice taken well is a boon,” said the Conjuror.
“But nobody should be this reliant-” began the Cook, but mysterious looks from the other ghosts cut him off.