Origins: A Deepwoods Book - a Collection of Deepwoods Short Stories (Deepwoods Series 0)

by Honor Raconteur

  He’d realized at some point that losing the hand meant getting him free of the dark guilds. But it wasn’t until she said it that he understood their paths would never have crossed if he’d not lost his hand. Struck by this thought, he looked down at the clean bandage covering his stump.

  Was fate cruel to him, or kind?

  ӜӜӜ

  Siobhan got an extra room just for him, one with a larger bed that he could stretch out on. In spite of this comfort, he found he couldn’t sleep. He was in the best situation he had been in in seven years, so he should have dropped off immediately, but his mind spun and wouldn’t let him rest.

  Restless, edgy, he threw back the covers and slipped his new boots back on before stealing out of the room and to the one next door. With a careful motion, he turned the handle and eased the door open soundlessly. Then he just stopped in the doorway and stared at the woman sleeping so peacefully. Moonlight came in through the window and highlighted her hair, her cheeks, making her look even more vulnerable than she had in the daylight. Watching her, a long forgotten instinct surged within him, clamoring at the back of the mind.

  Protect.

  He shoved that protective instinct aside and focused on more practical thoughts. What was truly bothering him was that she had assumed his family would pay her back for expenses. That was clear from the conversation over dinner. And she was likely right, but he was not a man that went along for a free ride. Yes, that was what set ill with him. He wouldn’t just hang about waiting to answer whatever questions she had. The other two men weren’t unskilled at fighting, but they were certainly inferior to him. He’d talk her into buying him a sword and shield before leaving, and then he’d work off what she had paid out for him. That was the best way.

  Satisfied, he turned and retreated back to his own room as quietly as he had come.

  ӜӜӜ

  “A sword and shield?” Siobhan repeated in surprise over breakfast the next morning.

  “You don’t have an enforcer in this guild,” which is suicide, he wanted to add. “And it doesn’t sit well with me for you to just support me until we get to my home. So, buy me a sword and shield and I’ll work as your enforcer until we get to Reske.”

  Siobhan gestured to his injured arm with her fork. “Can you fight with your arm like that?”

  Erik gave her quite the look for that question.

  She held up a hand in surrender, eyes laughing. “Fine, fine, it was a stupid question. A sword and shield, eh? Well, I admit it would be nice to have a designated enforcer in the guild, even if for a short spell. Beirly, Grae, what do you think?”

  Grae clearly thought that putting weapons into the hands of a former dark guildsman was madness and a sure method to get stabbed in the back. Beirly seemed more impartial to this and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Don’t see why not. Reckon it would help, as the caravan is bigger than we first planned on. But how you’re going to hold a shield with that arm, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Oh?” Siobhan arched a brow at him, challengingly. “And here I thought a fix-it man like yourself could figure out how to modify a shield so he could hold it.”

  Beirly rolled his eyes. “Yes, guildmaster, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Thank you, dearling.” Satisfied, she turned back to Erik. “We’ll go shopping after this. I warn you, my purse is a bit sparse at the moment. If we don’t find something at a good price here, we might wait until we reach Goldschmidt and shop again there. I can access guild funds and give us a better price range to work in.”

  “If that’s the case, let’s just wait until we’re back at your guild hall.”

  “That we’ll do, then.”

  They finished breakfast in silence, amiable on Beirly and Siobhan’s part, and in nervous tension on Grae’s. The man was truly not comfortable in Erik’s presence. But he was used to such a reaction and tried not to let it bother him much.

  Grae escaped upstairs first with the excuse of packing his bag, and they all did likewise. Siobhan surprised him by following him straight up and inside. He stopped dead in the middle of the room and gave her a look askance.

  “We have to reapply your poultice and put new bandages on, remember?” she responded as if he had asked the question aloud.

  Oh, right. It wouldn’t be something he could do with just one hand.

  Erik sat on the edge of the bed and waited as she dug out clean bandages, the jar of medicine, and a towel from the washbasin. She sat directly across from him, one leg tucked up under the other, and spread the towel across her lap. Then she took his arm and with gentle fingers undid the bandage.

  He was amazed by the change his arm had undergone in just one night. It no longer looked an angry red but a shade of healthier pink, and the swelling had gone down considerably. Siobhan let out a pleased hum, a slight smile on her face. “Well, the man knows his trade, I give him that. Let’s see, he said clean it with this first…” following Vidal’s instructions, she cleaned the wound with a noxious substance that stung like a swarm of bees, then reapplied the poultice, which soothed his skin again. In neat, deft movements, she rewrapped the arm with a clean bandage.

  “Don’t worry about Grae,” she counseled as she worked, never looking up. “He’s not really afraid of you. He’s just nervous. He’s always like this when he has to work with strangers. It’s why I couldn’t let him go out alone to make a living as a Pathmaker—he needs someone as a business partner.”

  Was that all it was? Erik somehow doubted that, but was willing to pretend he believed her. “Alright.”

  “When we get to Goldschmidt, I’ll get you a guild crest of your own. You’ll need it to cross the Bridges with.” Finished, she tied a firm square knot and only then met his eyes. “And why aren’t you asking me more questions?”

  Because I’m scared of the answers was the exact thing he could not say out loud. “You’ve told me everything I really need to know.”

  Siobhan huffed out a breath. “Not likely. But alright, you’ll ask when you want to, I suppose. Pack up, let’s go to Goldschmidt.”

  Chapter Three

  The trip to Goldschmidt was short and uneventful. Grae apparently had a few dedicated paths already built, in spite of being in business only a short while, and one of them went from Goldschmidt to Converse. Erik had traveled by path before a few times, and found that Grae’s was…different. Somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the difference was, just that it seemed like Grae had better control over the path. Going by path had always made him nervous before, but this time he didn’t feel nearly as anxious.

  Goldschmidt was one of the larger cities he’d seen before, but not the largest. He took it in from stem to stern, noting the placement of guards up on the walls and by the gates, the amount of traffic on the road, and the general feel of the place. It seemed like a good city, especially for business.

  Erik had worked as an enforcer a time or two before in his previous guild, so he knew what to do. As they went through the gates, he kept his eyes peeled for trouble, and stayed a step back from everyone so that he could keep watch on the three. But nothing troublesome happened and they went straight to their guildhall without him needing to do anything. Which was just as well, considering he was still weaponless.

  The Hall surprised him. It was much larger than he thought it would be, a full two stories tall, and seemed very soundly constructed of wood and stone. The inside had a large, raftered ceiling, plenty of tables and chairs strewn about, and a staircase leading to the upstairs.

  Siobhan paused just inside the doorway and said to him, “Beirly, Grae, and I are all on the second story, on the right side of the hallway. You can choose any room on the left side or in the attic. Up to you.”

  “Fine.” He’d take the first room on the left, then. If danger came up to them, he wanted to be able to react quickly.

  “Come see me when you’re done unpacking,” Beirly instructed, nodding toward the back of the main room. “I have a work
shop back there. I think it’d be easier to make you up a new hand than try to modify a shield.”

  A new hand? How in mercy would he pull that off?

  Siobhan didn’t seem to doubt this and actually clapped. “Oh, you thought of a way? Good. Be careful not to make his wound worse though. It’s just now healing properly.”

  Beirly waved this concern off. “Won’t be able to do much today except take measurements anyway, draft out a few ideas. It’ll be a good week before I can try anything.”

  “Good.” Pleased, she bounded up the stairs, calling back over her shoulder, “Wolfinsky, after you’re done with Beirly, we’re going shopping!”

  Snorting, Beirly muttered under his breath, “She’s like a child with a new toy.” Shaking his head, he also went up the stairs, bag thrown over his shoulder.

  Following their example, he went up as well, and took the room that would be ‘his,’ at least for a short while. It was simply furnished with chest, bed, and washstand. It was clean, if a little musty with disuse. He put his gear away without dwelling on the place too much and went back down.

  Beirly beat him to the workshop and was already at a table, sketching things out with sure strokes on a large piece of blank paper. This room seemed more lived in than any other part of the hall. There were wood shavings on the floor, tools hanging off the walls and strewn across a roughhewn table, with another, smaller table to the side that had stacks of leather scraps on it. The scent of wood and leather mixed pleasantly in the air, and he smiled unconsciously at the smell.

  “Come, sit,” Beirly invited, pushing a stool out with his foot.

  Erik took it, tilting his head sideways to look at the drawing as he did. It looked like a hand, with joints and everything. “Is that your idea?”

  “Thought hit me as we were on the path that I can make a moving hand, with joints and such, and then make it so that it can lock into place so you can hold onto things.” Tapping the pencil to the drawing, he added, “I’ll make it of wood first. Cheaper that way, easier to work out the mistakes. If this works, I’ll make you another of metal.”

  He felt overwhelmed by the generosity he was receiving in this guild. Even Grae, who didn’t know how to be comfortable around him, wouldn’t even say a harsh word to him. How had he been so blessed to be picked up by these people?

  “You’re too generous,” he said huskily.

  “Naw, it’s a fun challenge.” Beirly belied his words by giving Erik a clap on the shoulder in a gesture of comradeship. “Now, give me your good arm. I need to know how long to make your wood one so they match.”

  Erik cooperated as Beirly took measurements of his arm in every possible direction. He measured both arms, actually, so that he knew precisely what lengths to make everything. Done, Beirly shooed him out, and he went back to the front door to meet Siobhan.

  She sat at a table near the front door, clearly waiting on him. “Done? Good. Let’s go.” Standing, she led the way out and waited for him to fall into step beside her before saying, “I’ve been thinking of where to go, but I don’t really know your preference in weapons. What do you like?”

  “A broadsword,” he admitted frankly. “But they’re pricey. A long dagger will do.”

  “Broadsword?” Siobhan gave him a quick head-to-toe study. “Yes, with your size, that’d be the best weapon.”

  The look on her face was one he’d seen before—on his mother’s—when she set her mind to have something. Hoping to derail her, he tried again, “But they’re hideously expensive. It’s too much.”

  “Deepwoods is actually a guild under Blackstone, the ruling guild of this city,” she explained. “I’m allotted a certain amount every year to pay for weapons, housing, and the like, as long as I meet their financial milestones. Which, so far, we’ve exceeded. It’s part of the reason why I wanted to form a guild in this city. Anyway, up to this point we haven’t used any of the allowance I have for weapons. So, if we want to get a broadsword for you, we can do it for free. We just have a narrow selection, as only a few swordsmiths are directly connected to Blackstone.”

  While all of this sounded reasonable, what did she plan to do for the next enforcer she brought into the guild? Pay for his weapons herself? He had no room to ask the question, or argue, as she dragged him abruptly into a smithy.

  It was a prosperous place, he could tell that at first glance, as every style of weapon imaginable donned the walls or were leaning up in barrels. The price of the metal alone in this single room would be enough to feed a large family for a year.

  A long counter split the room in half and divided the smithy from the shop area. Siobhan stopped in front of it and aimed a charming smile at the middle-aged man standing behind it. “Good master, I’m in the need of a broadsword and a shield.”

  The master gave her a dubious look. “You are or he is?”

  “He is, to be precise.”

  “Left or right han—” the man cut himself off as he took in Erik’s missing hand. “Left handed, obviously.”

  As if this hadn’t occurred to her before, Siobhan asked curiously, “Wolfinsky, were you naturally right or left handed before that happened?”

  “Right,” he answered calmly. “But my sword master taught us how to fight with both hands.”

  “That was good fortune for you.”

  Truly. If not, he would have to train with his left hand from the ground up, and that could take years.

  The sword smith eyed his new customer with a speculative gaze. “I have a Wynngaardian broadsword if that’ll be of interest?”

  “You do?” Erik responded wistfully. He hadn’t held one since he was taken from his home seven years ago.

  “Aye, took it in on trade last week. Mighty fine sword, but no one here knows how to use it properly. Not to mention it’s too long for most men here. We don’t get many your size.” This last part was said dryly. Coming around the counter, he lifted up a section so he could walk to their side and take a broadsword off the wall.

  Erik balanced the sheath on his bad arm as he drew the sword free with the other hand. Even before it cleared the scabbard, he could tell this was a fine weapon. The balance was perfect, the metal gleamed with blue steel, and the hilt had been recently rewrapped with brown leather.

  Siobhan read his expression easily and said to the master, “We’ll take it.”

  The master chuckled. “Yes, it’s clear he wants it. I don’t have a shield large enough for a man his size, but I can make one up within a week. That soon enough?”

  “That’ll be fine.” Siobhan pulled out her guild crest and flipped it open so he could see it. “My allotment from Blackstone should cover about one hundred and twenty kors. How much will that cover?”

  “For the sword and shield? All of it, I think. It’ll leave you about five kors left over. That alright by you?”

  “Perfectly fine,” she assured him.

  Erik started adding up all that she had spent on him in his head and balked at the figure. “Wait, Siobhan, this really is too much to spend on me considering I won’t stay with you long—”

  “Oh, just take it, will you?” she responded in exasperation. “If I don’t use it in the next three months, I lose it.”

  Really? Well, if that was the case…. He eyed the sword longingly. “I’ll work it off. Promise.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she responded cheerfully.

  They stayed long enough for Erik to describe what he needed for the shield, the master to take some measurements, and for them to adjust the sword so that it hung correctly on his right hip. But once that was settled, they left the shop, satisfied.

  “What now?” he asked her.

  “Food,” she answered, already heading the opposite way of what they had come. “There’s nothing in the Hall to eat, since we just came back. Wolfinsky, can you cook?”

  “A few things.”

  “Praise all mercy. You don’t want Grae cooking, so that usually means it’s either me or Beirly. One more cook in
the place will be a welcome thing. In that case, pick up what ingredients you need. You’re on duty tonight.” She flashed him a half-teasing smile.

  Cooking a meal for her seemed a small thing to do so he inclined his head, agreeable.

  Slowing her pace, she tilted her head to look up at him. “What I call you is bothering me.” Siobhan looked at him with narrowed eyes, using one finger to poke at her lips. “Wolfinsky seems so….distant.”

  He went abruptly still, watching her with rising hope in his chest. “So what do you want to call me?”

  “I think ‘Wolf’ would be better.”

  Wolf? “Not Erik?”

  “Oh, it’s a fine name, don’t mistake me. I just like to call people by nickname. Besides, you growl just like one when you’re hungry or angry. Wolf fits you fine.”

  He couldn’t remember anyone calling him by a nickname. Strangely enough, he liked it. “Wolf, is it?” He tested the idea out and liked the taste of it. “Alright. I’ll answer by it.”

  “Good.” She beamed at him, beyond pleased. “Wolf it is.”

  ӜӜӜ

  Erik was used to fighting and working for long hours before getting any sleep. For the past three days, the most strenuous thing he had done was shop. It left him feeling restless with too much pent up energy. Even though it was late in the evening, and everyone else had already retired for the night, he couldn’t do the same. The bed was comfortable enough—it was his own demons that wouldn’t let him rest.

  Irritated with himself, he slung the covers off, and moved with silent feet out of his room. He first checked on Siobhan and found her deep asleep in her own bed. Satisfied she was fine, he moved to the stairs with the half-formed notion of a late night snack.

  “—still think Siobhan is crazy for taking him on?” Beirly’s voice asked. Even though it was muted, it was still understandable.

  Erik stopped dead on the stairs, staying in the shadows and just out of sight of the main room. Who was Beirly talking to? Grae?

  “Yes,” Grae said firmly. His voice wasn’t quite as loud as Beirly’s and Wolf had to strain more to hear him.