ak's Bend was not his favorite town. Frankly, it was freezing cold and his thin frame shivered under his thick cloak. Gos had chosen to wear the close fitting armor made for him in Vabbi, a decision he was regretting since the leather was thin and fine and the layers connected by silk did nothing to keep the wind out. Next to him, Demen was whistling tunelessly through a broken front tooth. Gos noted with irritation that the huge old hammer warrior was still in his shirtsleeves, his thickly muscled arms a healthy ruddy red.

"Cold, little Gos?" Demen said, having observed him rubbing his hands over their tiny peat fire. He was now cold enough that it was tempting to return to their tent and wrap himself in all the blankets until Demen spotted the dolyak trader.

"Yes." Gos restrained himself from insulting Demen, the warrior meant well, but being called little Gos on a constant basis grated on his pride. Then again, Demen never meant it as an insult, he simply marveled that his companion could be lifted as lightly as his hammer. The warrior could rest his elbows on his shoulders, so little was a true observation. Gos decided he was simply cold, tired and hungry, no need to lash out at Demen "Where's the trader?"

“He should've been up here," Demen said, "he said he'd be in Yak's Bend today."

"How well do you know this guy?"

"Talked to him in Ascalon, seemed a decent sort."

"But from a guild?"

"Aye."

Gos frowned, he did not like guilds, other than his own. Many of them tended to be cesspits of humanity, gangs of bandits and charlatans that swindled and bullied. He prodded at the stingy fire and groaned when the last yellow tongue of flame sputtered and went out in the damp wind. A thick, choking smoke rose from the peat.

"At times like these I wish we could afford a sigil then we wouldn’t need yaks. I'm going back to the tent. I'm cold."

“Aye, wish it t’were so,” Demen rumbled, nodding sagely.

Gos slinked back to the low yak felt tent. Inside, he gathered the blankets and rolled them around himself. He sighed in contentment as some sensation crept back into his arms and legs. Outside, he could hear Demen's deep voice rise in song, slightly off key, but letting him know all was well. It had been a long walk from the guild through rough territory held by the charr and other foul beasts. It was good to rest within the safe stockade walls of Yak's Bend.

Gos curled up and let a half dozen thoughts roam through his skull. The first thought, one that warmed him more than any blanket, was Tasha's pregnancy. Though being a father had never occurred to him in the past, he was now overjoyed at the thought that their loft would have a child to bring laughter. He had wanted to stay at the guild, to hover protectively around his wife, but after another long cramped winter, she had shooed him out of the loft, irritated at his constant fidgeting. He had to admit that winter's constant battles with the charr had made him eager to travel. He was happiest with something to do, but this early in springtime, it was not yet time for planting, so days at the guild had been a waiting game for the soil to thaw, for the first shoots and the roads to open. He dozed, a smile on his lips as he thought of Tasha and the child and fell asleep embracing his pack, imagining she was nearby.

"GOS!"

He was stiff, the cold of Yak's Bend had seeped into the tent. He shuddered as Demen shook his shoulder roughly, tossing him against the cloth of the tent. He knew the warrior did not mean it, but he was light, hardly a weight worth noticing from the point of view of the big man. He stretched and took a breath of the air, taking in the odor of roasted pork and oatmeal pudding. He sat up quickly, his stomach rumbled voraciously when Demen shoved a wooden platter into his hands. He ate with his fingers for a few minutes before pausing.

"Thanks Demen."

"Figured ye were hungry...this cold is hard on ye...sorry." Demen's teeth flashed in a wide grin, "I alus like how ye eat...ye can slam it back."

Gos could not respond with his mouth blissfully full of food. He finished the plate with hardly a breath between bites, belched and stretched expansively. Demen chuckled appreciatively.

"Trader is here...the yaks are outside the gate, we should go have a look."

Gos nodded, opened his pack to retrieve his daggers and other equipment. After he felt armed, Gos followed Demen out of the tent and across the open yard of the settlement. There was a stout man with jolly red cheeks waiting for them. His brilliant violet cloak flickered at his back, bearing a rampant golden lion.

"Ho there, Demen!" The man said, smiling widely as he saw them. Gos felt instantly ill at ease, for the man's eyes did not match the joviality of his smile. There was something disingenuous about him but perhaps it was nothing more than the usual act of a used dolyak salesman. "You brought the money?"

"Yes." Demen replied, "I need two...an' no funny business, I know my kine...was grown up with red Krytan cattle, herded them as a boy."

"I think you will be pleased...I brought these up from a winter pasture near Deldrimor Bowl. They've grazed well."

Again, the smile and the dull hardness of his eyes. Gos shivered, but followed Demen to the gate, walking along the well worn road towards a plume of smoke that indicated a camp out of sight of the town. There were a half dozen dolyak tethered to the spruce trees and Demen instantly picked up his pace and started looking at the animals with a serious eye.

"Are they all for sale?"

"Aye, take your pick. I need to talk to my friend. He'll know the ages and prices and so on, I am but a humble merchant."

Gos noticed a wand at his belt when the wind lifted his cloak. A slight odor of brimstone and ash followed him from the clearing. Demen seemed oblivious, already muttering sweet nothings to an attractive piebald dolyak.

"Demen, I don't trust this guy."

"Goslet, he's a merchant. There's always a bit of trickery with them."

"Don't call me Goslet!"

"Truth is, you don't trust much, you let me do the deal and we can go."

"That man is an elementalist...he has a wand...."

"Gos, he's a full member of a guild, of course he is Chosen. Little I care...we need these dolyak. You don't have to like the people," Demen's voice seemed a bit strained and Gos sighed loudly, feeling like the warrior discounted his wariness. He was further irritated that Demen had not apologized for the demeaning name and simply continued talking.

"Am I your equal Demen or am I just an amusing child? You keep belittling me...and you need to stop,” he said abruptly, meaning it to surprise Demen, but the warrior merely turned and regarded him, then laughed aloud. Gos tensed, feeling oddly ashamed and angry at the same time. He could not figure out why Demen was so amused and completely unapologetic.

"You are a man and I respect you," Demen laughed again, "of course I feel protective of ye...but I feel protective of everyone. Do ye have so little respect for yerself that a name given in affection is an insult?"

"I'm going to be a father."

"I'm glad for ye," Demen beamed at him, "If that makes ye a man, then ye know I butcher yer name out of love, not mockery. Yer a fierce one, an' make no mistake, I know ye can hold yer own, but ye are also my friend. Don't let a silly name come between us."

Gos nodded, feeling suddenly foolish at his outburst. Though Demen gave the impression of an amiable oaf, the older man was patient and wise. He was about to apologize when he noticed the merchant returning with a half dozen others, among them a pair of Norn whose tattooed skin gleamed with bear fat.

"Well, look at them uglies," Demen breathed so that only Gos could hear. "Ye know...you are right that I should listen...I'm not liking this."

"Ho! Demen, I've brought my friends...if you can just drop your purses on the ground, and any other valuables, we'll let you walk," the merchant said. His eyes had a cheery glint now that the trap was sprung. Gos cursed under his breath.

"I thought you said there would be a hunt," One of the Norn grumbled, "the little one looks like a rabbit fit for stew...the big one is worn out like me brother's knickers."

"Hey!" the other Norn growled.

"Think we can run?" Gos whispered.

"You can run...you know I am not much of a runner," Demen said with a low moan, for it was true enough that Demen was fit, but his old knees were not good for much in the way of sprinting. He was slow on his feet and the Norn at the very least would easily capture him.

"We can't go home without dolyak."

"I don't want to go home as a ghost," Demen grumbled as he unknotted his purse string and tossed it to the earth. "the gods spit on us...all this year...spit piddling down like rain ."

"Hurry up," the merchant snapped, "your weapons as well."

"What are you going to do with a pair of cheap steel daggers?" Gos demanded as he added his purse to the stack, "have a heart! You can have our money, but let us go armed."

"Ah, a fierce one. Shout little rabbit!" one of the Norn snickered, "Come bite my ankles!"

"Fah, he can just barely reach your toes!" the other Norn taunted.

"Do as I say," the merchant snapped, "your life depends on it...do anything tricky and me and my boys will stretch your skin for a drumhead."

Gos felt suddenly queasy at this imagery. There was true malice behind the words and he sensed that the merchant would have no problem flaying a victim. Reluctantly, he unbuckled his dagger belt and added it to their money and Demen's hammer.

"Now, I suggest running. The brothers prefer their prey to run."

The pair of them started to walk away. Perhaps they thought the merchant was joking, but when the two gigantic figures stepped forward, Demen breathed a small curse and they started running.

"Gos...yer up for a run?"

"Always."

"I'm gonna run ahead of ye, right? Ye stay here and then just zip away at the last minute...while they are playing with ye, I'll try to get our stuff back. I need a few minutes though. Make it good."

"There's five people besides the Norn."

"Ye worry about the Norn, I'll worry ‘bout the rest of 'em."

Gos stopped and let Demen continue running out of sight. He waited until he could almost smell the two Norn as they burst between the trees, their huge clubs brandished and ready to flatten anyone stupid enough to come close to them.

“Some days I really wish I had taken up a career as a shoe maker.”

He stuck his tongue out at them and blew a raspberry before summoning the shadows and zipping away. When they seemed slow on the uptake, he raised his voice.

"Hey, lard butts! Can't catch me!"

"Stay still, little bunny!"

Their huge steel studded boots tore through the brush and Gos stayed for a moment, making sure they could see him flee. He did feel like a rabbit, small and squishable, his heart pounding and breath coming in small gasps, for the Norn were moving far faster than his magic could outpace. He then realized that they were using a warrior's might to charge forward. He shook his head and leapt to the trunk of a tree, using the spines in his boots and gloves to scale the spruce like a squirrel. He did not look down as he climbed to the smallest limb that would support his weight. The two Norn stopped and gazed up at him. They guffawed merrily before one took the form of a bear and started to climb.

"Falling is a nasty way to die. Can you fly?" the bearish Norn taunted as he approached. Gos moved with agility along his bough, reaching out his senses to the Norn waiting at the bottom of the tree. He could shadow step out, though he did not want to get close to either of the Norn. He climbed towards the trunk as the Norn used his weight to make the crown of the tree sway to and fro, a ponderous motion at first that gathered velocity with each swing of the vast ursine body. Around him, boughs shivered and cracked, the very apex of the spruce broke away and fell past his shoulders. He hugged the narrow trunk with a fresh breeze blowing in his face. The Norn growled, roaring his annoyance that his quarry was not dislodged, so he crawled upwards and Gos drew back his foot. There was a reason an assassin had spines and blades on his armor, not so much defense as offense. The Norn reached up to grab at him and Gos spun nimbly around the trunk, kicking viciously with all the power he had. His spiked toes rammed through an eye socket and the creature tried to grab his ankle, but Gos was still moving, using his impetus to swing around lightly, landing his foot in the Norn's belly before leaping to a branch above and pouncing down again to grind his boot spikes through the Norn's paw. The creature gave a howl of agony as it bled profusely while dangling by one paw while windmilling his rear legs to gain a purchase on the trunk.

"Call me a rabbit...I resent that." Gos hissed, sliding down for another attack. He was a sparkle of ruby among the boughs, a flash and a strike across the hamstring , he climbed over the Norn's shoulder and kicked the back of the beastly warrior's hand. The Norn slid beneath him and caught himself at the last moment. Gos stared into the Norn's remaining eye imperiously before jumping down and bounding off his skull. The weight of this attack was all that was needed. The bough gave way and the Norn tumbled backwards in a tumult of shattered wood. Gos landed lightly on a branch and observed his handiwork; the Norn, restored to his humanoid form, did not move. A slow trickle of blood stained the earth. The Norn's brother stared up at him, his mouth working stupidly.

"Come up here and I will show you I can do it twice," Gos bellowed, "I don't need daggers to kill anyone dumb enough to face me alone."

"You killed my brother! A blood oath upon you!"

"I spit on your oath. You are a bandit!" Gos shouted from his perch, "your honor is a wallow's piss marking."

"I'll hunt you...come down!"

Gos snorted derisively. "I don't think you want me to come down. I'll kill you."

"Big words from a little man! You tricked my brother! You cheated!"

"How did I cheat? I have no weapons! You expected a rabbit and woke a dragon."

The Norn's head turned suddenly and Gos followed his gaze back towards the bandit guild's camp. A column of black smoke suffused with a hail of fiery stones rose over the forest. The storm of flame flowed over the forest, scorching the trees and obscuring the blue sky. Demen would be behind this, most likely. The Norn took one last look at his brother and started towards the scene of chaos. The moment he was out of sight, Gos scrambled down the tree and followed at a safe distance. He hoped Demen was unharmed, and worried for the old warrior and his inability to flee properly. As he approached the scene, he saw a pitched battle, squat forms were streaming through the encampment. It took a moment, but Gos finally identified them as dwarves, the belligerent xenophobic Stone Summit.

"Demen!" he shouted as he ran around the perimeter of the battle. He did not want to be seen, but he was worried sick about his friend. "Demen!"

"Over here!" Demen shouted finally, well away from the battle, "Come on! Let's get outta here."

He sprinted towards the voice, thankful to see the broad shouldered warrior alive. They did not greet each other, but moved quickly towards Yak's Bend and the safety of the stockade. Gasping for breath, they clambered back to their little tent and the now cold peat fire. Demen tossed Gos his dagger belt, but his expression was grim. Gos met his gaze questioningly.

"Aye, they tossed out yer belt, but the leader ran off with the money when the Stone Summit followed me in."

"Your hammer?"

"'T'was a good hammer...one of the human warriors kept it. Hope the head cracks. Those low life scum."

They went to bed with miserable thoughts and sorrow. In the morning, they stoked the fire and cooked the thin rations that remained. The fact of their penury and lack of anything to show for the journey weighed on both of them. The merchant had gotten away with fourteen platinum. Most of it had belonged to Gos, but everyone in the guild had given something to help. He sighed heavily.

"Demen...this is bad."

"Aye."

"I hate to say this, and Grenth take me for my unjust thoughts...but I think we have to steal," Gos shook his head, "I never thought I'd consider being a yak rustler."

"Gos...now what did Dale say about stealing?"

"She isn't here...and we are responsible for the dolyak. Our guild needs them," Gos sighed, "I love Dale, just like you do, but sometimes rules are a hindrance."

"Like now," Demen leaned back against a wind polished boulder, "I get you. We'll have a look around Yak's Bend today and I'll point out the best pair of dolyak here. Then it will be a matter of logistics."

"What is the punishment for rustling in these parts?" Gos asked, certain he already knew the answer, considering how precarious life could be in the mountains.

"Oh death. The dwarves like to tie stones to yer feet and put ye through a fishing hole in a frozen lake. They don't like people taking their dolyaks."

"I see. We could... I guess go kill some Stone Summit and take bounty?"

"That could take days, Gos. We'd need to hire some henchmen...and between us and them...not much profit in it. No, I think we can arrange a raid. We just need to be smart."

"Demen, you're talking about us."

The warrior laughed, a great gusty roar that was both joyous and nervous. "Aye, well. We've both lived this long, eh?"

“I’ll do some scouting before it gets dark,” Gos said grimly.

Everything about the journey seemed cursed so far. He thought this as he appeared near one of the large dolyak pens at the far end of the stockade. He wended his way past the smithy and a barricade of dolyak drawn wagons. There was a fine white pavilion among a few spruce trees that had not been there earlier that day.

He drew closer, leaving the comforting shadows to gaze upon the strange emblem emblazoned upon a field of burgundy and white.

“You there, state your business!”

Gos nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the harsh voice. There was a warrior standing between him and the entrance to the pale tent. The man’s heavy plate gleamed with a pale frosting of white cloisonné and he wore a cloak to match the banner. His gauntleted fist rested over the hilt of a sword that had snicked loose in its scabbard.

“I am but a traveler seeking my fortune. I shall not tarry,” he said evenly, knowing that if he spoke cleanly he might not be judged a beggar even if he felt like one.

“You are Canthan,” the warrior rumbled, “and judging by your gear, an assassin. You seek your fortune? Are you for hire?”

Gos stared at the man for a moment, realizing he must look stupid. But he needed money and right now the only thing he had to barter were his skills with a blade.

“My daggers are available for a price.”

“Then you serve no master?”

“Only coin,” Gos said grimly, reading from the cruel smile on the man’s visor shadowed visage that these were the words he wished to hear.

“Come, Justicar Chamon is looking for one such as you. I am certain we can negotiate a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Gos nodded grimly and followed the warrior into the pavilion amid a flutter of heavy cloth. The sweet odor of beeswax candles reminded him of the great old lords’ houses of Echovald. It was the smell of a wealthy household and Gos felt a smile quirk his lips. He could almost count the money in his hand. He nodded his head as he approached a man in ornate plate armor flanked by three more clad in the armor of the first man. Gos wondered if the strange emblem upon the burgundy field belonged to a guild guild, though he was used to guilds being less uniform and more rag tag like his own. It seemed to him that he had stumbled upon some quasi-military company, or perhaps the extension of some far off imperial government.

“Who is this?” said the apparent leader of this small detachment.

“I was told you had need of daggers and stealth.”

“And speed?” the man asked coldly, his pale eyes seething with judgment as he surveyed Gos’ dirty form.

“I fly with Lyssa’s speed and cunning.”

“Yes, of course. You are from Cantha? Do you know anything about Lion’s Arch or Kryta? Do you concern yourself with politics?”

Gos shook his head.

“No, I have not been there and I have no care for it.”

“Good, I need an objective eye on to find and spy upon the caravan of a criminal guild. They are at the north end of Griffon’s Mouth, the only train coming this early in season so you cannot mistake them. My ranger…he proved a little contrary and is unable continue the job. All I require is that you note how many and of what type of Chosen travel with the train, and if possible, their cargo. Once you have obtained this information, fly back to us so that we can prepare an ambush.”

He already sensed that the Justicar was the sort who abused authority, who likely punished disobedience with death. It was best that he did not know why he was spying. It would make it easier to weasel out of a bad situation should he be noticed. It was a simple job and he should not complicate things with emotions and judgments. At least it was not a contract to kill someone.

“I don’t see a problem. You’ll find that I do not cause trouble, and I am good to my word. Now there is only the matter of a price.”

“Return with news and I will give you ten bars of platinum. If we successfully apprehend these villains, I will give you five more.”

Gos tried to appear unmoved by the hefty sum. He nodded.

“I am satisfied with that offer.”

“Good. Open the chest, you’ll find clothing there. You may have that kit and the rations it contains. And carry this emblem upon your person so that no harm comes to you from my people,” Chamon nudged a strange golden badge toward him on the campaign table before gesturing toward a battered chest against the pavilion’s billowing wall. Gos took the badge and went to the chest. After rooting around inside of it for several minutes, he claimed a sheepskin tunic, probably designed for a woman with its cinched hips and flower embroidery at the throat, and a pair of thick wool pants with similar decorations. Over the trousers, he laced on a pair of leather gaiters that would make running in wet snow and thawing underbrush easier. He fished out a pale cloak so that he could move more stealthily through the snowy landscape. Lastly he picked up the heavy pack, gratified that it appeared to contain the items he would need to survive the long mountain nights.

He nodded to the Justicar before leaving and moved lightly through the camp, satisfied when the guards did not even shift at their posts as he passed. He slipped into Demen's tent and knelt beside the guttering fire amid the warrior's low gusting snores. He took a stick and wrote a message in the ashes

“Found job. Buy dolyak on return. Gos.”

He put a few pale rocks around the message to accentuate it, hoping that Demen would be observant enough. He did not want to awaken the old warrior. He had a feeling Demen would not be happy with the arrangement and he could ill afford to have the enormous noisy warrior trailing him on a spy mission. He departed swiftly, seeking the gate of Yak’s Bend as evening shadows swathed the mountain vale.