Talia slept fitfully, unable to get the screams out of her head, or the scent of cooking meat out of her nose. In between bouts of light slumber, her thoughts and reveries were plagued by the crackle of flames overlaid with tinny screeching in her ears, a language she didn’t understand, but that sounded eerily familiar. Almost like she should have known it.

When it wasn’t that, it was the faces of the dead. The elderly matron who’d been in charge of the mess hall and cookpot—her suspicious glares offset by a motherly instinct to give the crew big second helpings of stew, even when they didn’t ask for it. Kind Julian, the quiet driver whose bench she’d shared on wagon two for the first few weeks of the journey. A pair of dwarves, one of whom had held the toast for the dead in first haven, the same that had given her the title of Wyrmslayer.

I never learned his name. I never learned most of their names, actually.

Talia gave up on sleep and got out of bed—ignoring Menace’s dramatic mewling—and headed to the washroom to splash her face with some water and get started on her day—if the morbid thoughts swirling about her head would let her.

In a way, not knowing most of the crew’s names was a good thing. Hard to fall into mourning and grief when the people around you are nameless. Hard to feel anything at all, really, when death is so omnipresent, so ubiquitous. Before the expedition, she hadn’t given the concept much thought. Death existed, sure. Happened all the time, especially with her father being a healer. But it wasn’t a reality—more of a nebulous force. A fact of life that took some before their time, and others far later than it should’ve.

On a delve—at least, on this delve—death was one face out of six on a loaded die. Until now, she’d been lucky in that the bad rolls had only ever affected those she knew in passing. Faces she’d seen before; perhaps a few whom she’d shared a kind word with; comrades she’d fought beside; strangers all, nonetheless. Even the boy who’d turned Aberrant had been nameless to her, though she’d since learned that his name was Evrett, and promised herself to never forget it.

It was only when Dhustrun trudged into the officer’s bunk wagon, a rucksack on his shoulder and his eyes puffed red, that Talia realized that death didn’t discriminate. It didn’t pick and choose. It just happened. A rather obvious conclusion, but one she hadn’t really considered before.

Talia, on her way back from the water closet, didn’t put two and two together until the dwarf began rearranging his things, storing them away in the bunk drawers still full of the quartermaster’s belongings.

Hanmul’s nephew fumbled a stack of papers, inadvertently spreading them all over the hallway, and Talia unthinkingly bent to help him pick them up.

“Thanks,” Dhustrun mumbled.

“Don’t mention it,” Talia replied.

The pair cleaned up in silence for a while as realization dawned on Talia.

“Er—Dhustrun, right?” she asked.

The arcanist received a curt nod in response. She hesitated on her next words, searching for a good way to confirm her suspicions without appearing…tactless. As usual, her mouth betrayed her intent, spitting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Uh—where’s Hanmul? Is he sick or—”

To his credit, the dwarf didn’t snap or glare, he just shook his head sadly.

“’E were in wagen six—when it—when it ah—” he whispered, the words choking in his throat, “Awh feck. He’s dead, y’understand? Burnt up then ‘et like Old Mama Sylvia en th’ rest.”

Though she’d hardly known him—indeed, she doubted they’d ever shared so much as a kind word—the confirmation still hit Talia like a truck. She’d noticed that he’d been absent from his bunk since they’d crossed the bridge, but that, in itself, wasn’t unusual. Most of the crew—officers included—followed a rotating schedule that meant that while half the caravan was sleeping, the other half was awake. She’d just assumed…

Nothing. I didn’t assume anything, because I didn’t even notice he was gone. And last night was so…gruesome that I didn’t bother trying to identify who exactly was dying. I just…blocked it out.

Stuffed in a box, like the rest of the bad emotions.

“What? How—I mean wouldn’t he—why was he—” she stuttered, trailing off.

Dhustrun shrugged, shuffling through his uncle’s papers.

“Somethin’ about gettin’ the cooks ter dry up a batch o’ mushroom or some other nonsense. Routine shite,” he answered with a simmer in his voice.

Talia sagged a little. She and the quartermaster hadn’t ever really gotten along. He’d had some kind of problem with her that he’d never brought up. Now he never would.

“I’m sorry. Your uncle he—” Talia started, before being cut off.

The grieving dwarf jerkily wiped away at his face.

“Don’ be. I know the two ‘o ye’s ne’er got along. ‘E mumbled en griped ‘bout ye fer a solid day when ye’ showed up,” Dhustrun barked, laughing sardonically, “Me uncle were a controllin’ prick wit’ a chip on ‘is shoulder. All fire en bile in ‘im. ‘E were ne’er satisfied, and we were ne’er good ‘nough. Right crooked too if’n ye catch my meanin’.”

Talia’s eyebrows rose into her scalp.

“Sure, we didn’t see eye to eye, but I’m sure he’d have—”

Dhustrun barked out a dry laugh.

“Oh nay, arcanist, ye’ve misunderstood. Me uncle hated ye, wit’ a fury. Mayhap he did’nah show it, but ter him, ye were the representation of everythin’ tha’ did ‘im wrong in ‘is sorry life. En why wouldn’t ‘e?” he asked, clearly not expecting an answer, “There ‘e is, an exile, workin’ a delver’s job ‘cause it be ‘is only recourse, when this slip of a human foundling comes up ter him, all ready fer adventure, bearin’ th’ name o’ the oldest clan in Karzgorad. Meanin’ no disrespec’ Lady Arcanist, but ye were ne’er gonna get ter ‘im. Not in a thousand centuries.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Talia frowned, leaning back on her heels.

“What in the world does my family name have to do with anything? My father’s an exile, too. If Copperpike had just talked to me, I’m sure we could have come to terms eventually. Mutual respect, at least,” she answered.

Now it was Dhustrun’s turn to be surprised; he scrutinized her, his eyes narrowed.

“Ye dinna need ter be lyin’ te me, arcanist. I couldn’ah give two shites what me uncle thought. If’n yer father be an exile then he’d be stripped ‘o his name en given a clanless one,” Dhustrun accused.

Talia threw up her hands.

“Look I don’t know how it works, but the only time I’ve seen any of my da’s clan was during a funeral. Otherwise, he never speaks of them or to them, only says they’ve done him wrong somehow.”

The suspicion slipped from the dwarf’s face, but he raised an eyebrow.

“If’n ye speak the truth, then yer da’s an exception, no’ th’ rule. My guess? ‘E either had some serious clout or whatever ‘e did didn’ah warrant a full ban. Most clan exiles are chased out of all clan affairs, blacklisted in mos’ businesses too. Uncle Hanmul got shunned fer skimmin’ a bit too much off th’ top o’ Clan Navgar’s coffers, catch my drift?” Dhustrun said, snorting derisively, “Used ter be the clan treasurer, en it comes with the position more oft’ then not. Only, ye ain’t s’posed ter filch so much ye get caught. Say what ye want about Hanmul Copperpike, but when it came ter coin, restraint weren’t exactly ‘is watchword.”

Dhustrun laughed bitterly, remembering something she wasn’t privy to. Talia decided to divert the conversation away from the deceased quartermaster. Something about speaking ill of a dead man didn’t sit right with her, no matter how his nephew felt, or said dead man’s thoughts about her.

“Well, either way, whether he liked me or not, I’m sorry he’s gone—no one deserves what he got,” she said, “No matter what they’ve done in the past.”

The new quartermaster looked like he might scoff, but instead, he just sighed.

“Aye, ye’ve got the right of it. Me uncle may’ve been a crook en a bastard, but…ach,” he grumbled, wiping away a stray tear, “Family’s family, in the end. Me mum’ll be sorry ter hear it, believe you me. As for me? Once this expedition be o’er, I’ll be quittin’ en findin’ meself a nice cozy nook ter spend a dozen years in peace.”

Talia bobbed her head, embers stirring in her chest that she’d thought long gone and buried. Ever since she’d gotten her powers, her dead parents had been brought to mind far too often for her liking—better for their memory to rest.

“Sounds about right,” she uttered, standing and brushing off her knees, “You ever need anything, you let me know. If anyone can sympathize with being suddenly thrown into an officer’s role, it’s me.”

Dhustrun stuffed away the stack of papers back where they belonged and gave her a thankful nod.

“I’ll remember tha’. I should be fine though. The crew know me well. Hell, most of ‘em came ter me over me uncle! Comes with having a cooler temper, I guess.”

His chuckle had a hollow quality to it, and though he’d been cavalier about the whole thing, Talia couldn’t help but think that the cynicism was a front—a pretty convincing one—but still a façade.

Not quite sure what to say more, Talia walked back over to her bunk, sticking out a psionic tendril to ensure that Menace was out of sight when she pulled open the curtain. She stopped short when the dwarf called out a final question.

“Oy, ye’ve got me curious. Yer da’, would I know ‘im?”

Talia looked back and shrugged.

“Don’t really know. Like I said, he doesn’t talk much about his past. His name is Orvall Angrim, if that means anything to you,” she replied.

When Dhustrun laughed, it was a full-bellied thing, like she’d just told him the world’s funniest joke. Talia frowned, turning fully to glare at the dwarf.

“What’s so funny about that?”

Dhustrun hiccoughed between bursts of laughter.

“Oh, I didn’a mean no offence, so dun’ take it tha’ way. It’s just—haha—me uncle woulda’ hated ye no matter what, dun’ get me wrong, but if’n ye’d told him ‘bout yer da’? Ahahaha! He’s probably rolling over in the stone as we speak,” he said.

Talia’s eyes narrowed.

“And why’s that?”

The quartermaster shook his head.

“Yer da’s not clanless, not really. ‘E’s some kinda Legion hero. I dunno the details, but rumour is when ‘e got back from service, ‘e ‘ad a fallin’ out wit’ his elders. If me mum’s ter be believed, ‘e exiled ‘imself! Were a big fuss in the High Quarter for nigh on a year. Knowin’ who yer da’ was woulda’ been a straight slap in th’ face ter me uncle, stone preserve ‘im.”

Talia’s mouth opened and closed a few times, her mind awhirl. Then a weariness came over her. With uncharacteristic restraint, she reigned in her curiosity.

Ugh, I don’t have the time or the brainpower for this. If Orvall wanted me to know, then he’d have told me. Problems and questions for another day, Tals. For another day.

Talia shrugged, content to let Dhustrun cheer himself up however he wanted. Clearly, the dwarf’s relationship with his uncle was a complex one, so she decided that perhaps it was best to stay out of it.

“I’m sorry about your uncle, Dhustrun,” she said, “Have a good rest.”

The laughter petered out, and the hollow chuckle returned. The dwarf went back to his things, muffling a sniffle.

“Aye, and to ye as well, arcanist.”

----------------------------------------

As she settled in for a bit of cycling, Talia turned the thought of Hanmul’s death in her head over. First, she wondered if Torval would call an officer’s meeting. Not only had they lost their quartermaster, but they’d lost the mess wagon as well. Feeding the crew had just gotten a lot harder, and though the supply wagon carried much of their dry goods, the mess had also contained a good portion of their foodstuffs.

Probably just wants to get us to Karzurkul as fast as possible. Besides, what is there to say really? We lost another nine souls and a whole wagon. End of story. For them at least.

Talia then wondered if she should feel especially bad about Copperpike’s death. Clearly, their differences had gone much deeper than the arcanist realized—to an irreparable degree, if Dhustrun was to be believed. She felt bad about all the casualties they’d sustained so far, sure, but in an abstract way that most sapients would understand.

Hanmul felt different. Or at least, she thought it should. The officers were the people in the expedition she’d spent the most time with, barring Osra. But instead of any specific grief, she just felt a numb kind of sadness. The kind she’d experienced when she’d visited the Low Quarter hospice with her father— a sort of piteous sympathy. Or was it empathy?

Talia heaved a sigh and cleared her mind. Just like with the questions Dhustrun had brought up about her father, she had neither the will nor the time to delve into something so…pointless. Time was a precious commodity, and it was better spent ensuring that when disaster struck next, she would be ready to alleviate the burden on the group.

If I’d been a little stronger, a little faster, better prepared…

She snorted.

Pretending to herself that she could’ve done anything to save wagon six was self-delusion of the highest order. Then she thought back to Zaric’s grand working back in the gallery.

Or maybe not. If I cycle enough… One day I’ll be powerful enough to stop things like that from happening.

Hopefully without ending up bedridden.

Talia cleared her mind and sank into her cycling exercise, tossing Menace a treat from the barebones supply of jerky. They had another day and a half—if everything went well—before they got to the Dead City. Who knew what they could expect when they got there.

Better be ready for anything.