The first thing I notice as I wake is that I can feel my arm. I can feel it perhaps by too much, as the wound throbs slightly.
"It will do that," A voice says dryly. "I didn't heal it all the way. You seemed to take the cure worse than the ill." I look through slit eyes to an older woman, broad with a kind, if smirking, face. "It's not often I get someone from Shadow's Fall here." I nod slowly as I prop myself up on my good arm. I notice boots peeking from the edge of the bed and pull them on.
"Thank you all the same, Mend." I stand from the bed and survey the Mend's tent. "It's dark."
"It's several hours past nightfall." She cocks her head to the side and eyes me. "Is it true you'll only contract to the Steward?"
"Blooded. But yes. If you know I'm from Shadow's Fall, you'll know that I cannot swear to anyone. Not even the King." I glance over myself and realize I'm wearing new clothing. A white tunic and dark leggings. I look about the tent again. "Where are my...?"
"Your weapons, three hells, your arsenal, are right here." A diminutive woman has a sack slung across her shoulder. I can see no outline of weapons on her person in the dim lantern and candlelight of the tent, but I don't doubt that she's armed somehow. "The Hook, at your service, Blade Master." A devilish grin. "Ha. Blade Master. You'll be interesting. Blackshire, right?"
"...Guerrin-Blackshire."
"Blackshire." She repeats it firmly and I shrug. Then wince. The Mend and The Hook both laugh.
"You'll have to heal up the rest of the way on your own," The Mend says simply. "Gods know I'll probably see you often enough. Blade Masters rarely have any sense."
"True enough, Mend." I keep myself from laughing. "So...The Hook comes for a Blade Master. You have me at a disadvantage."
"Highgrass. Ananda Highgrass." She's a bit shorter than me, and opens the flap of the large tent. "C'mon you. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you."
"Honest of you. I'm sorry about Highgrass." I offer up the apology earnestly. The small hamlet didn't deserve to have been turned into a crater by the mage-lords. I follow the shorter woman carrying my gear through a maze of smaller tents.
"We'll rebuild. Eventually. And of course I'm honest. They say people from Shadow's Fall can smell a lie."
"No. We can't. I can smell magic." She seems to take a moment to consider that answer.
"Is it true your folk aren't born?"
"I was. I can't speak for others." I look at the shorter woman. "You look like a Dagger."
"Daggers aren't so friendly, though, eh?" She pauses and ties her hair back. "I look a lil bit more like a Hook?" Her face does seem a bit more open, but the shadows sharper.
"Maybe. By whose order are you keeping an eye on me?"
"The Commandant's. She's concerned about what sort of trouble you'd get into before you contract in."
"I don't cause trouble. I end it...how much further to the tent we're supposed to bunk in?"
"A bit further."
"Nope. No more walking. If I'm going to tire myself out tonight, it'll be something pleasant. Give me my gear." She makes a show of heaving the sack at me. I catch it easily with my good arm, but almost lose balance. I find my bladed gauntlet wrapped in cloth, and shake it slightly, muttering. My arms start burning, but a small purse drops to the ground.
"That was magic!"
"It was low magic. Perfectly in accordance with the damned laws." I swipe up the purse and tuck the gauntlet into my belt. "Please tell me this camp has whores."
"Whores? Sure. Closer than my tent. How did you...?"
"Magic. It takes magic to halt disease and prevent children. Safe bound magic, but magic higher than low. I could smell it." I hope The Hook can't make out my face too well. The lie is plausible enough, but that sort of magic I wouldn't have been able to smell till I was on top of it. It was simply a lucky guess.
"...there's few men among them. Probably already taken, with how late it is." The statement is really more of a question if you think about it, and I laugh.
"I don't need a man. Don't worry, Highgrass. You'll find me in the morning easily enough."
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