The Rogue turned to him, his face momentarily worried before replying in an earnest voice, “Kidu, mate, there’s more to it. It’s more than just being strong or respecting womenfolk. I’ve seen women adventurers—rare, I might add—that can chew rocks, and they themselves have bigger stones than most men. Something’s just off about her… something I can’t put one of my grubby fingers on.”
Kidu frowned at this and looked like he was about to give a reply before I decided to end their discussion on Cordelia’s trustworthiness. Perhaps I could also give the Rogue some purpose at the same time, to get him out of his brooding state. The man went on like a woman sometimes, and cried like one, too. It unsettled me when a man could so readily lose control and unabashedly break down in tears in public.
“Elwin, if Kidu can welcome you back into our company with open arms, do you not think that Cordelia at least deserves to be treated with an open mind? She might be as dangerous as you say, or odd, but the gods have led her to me. It would be churlish to reject their gifts outright. At the very least, we can give the woman the benefit of the doubt. And if you doubt her so much, I am sure that you will keep an eye on her for me, won’t you?” I countered with a hesitant smile.
“If you say so, Gil, mate,” Elwin answered flatly.
Luckily, there was no more discussion as we soon found the caravan master in front of his wagon, inspecting some crates filled with the accouterments of war. It took me a few moments to realize that it was loot that the Ravens had gathered after our last encounter.
“Ah, there you are,” greeted the long-faced man. I was thinking that perhaps Laes would grow on me, but he was still as ugly as the day I had first met him. His eyes rose a little in surprise when he caught sight of the new sword at my hip, before he gave out a long-drawn sigh.
He cast another glance at me as he leafed through the worn ledger, shaking his head in exasperation. “So,” he continued, “it is true that Ubaid no longer has a taste to hold steel. I always knew it to be true, but Khalam, in his foolishness, would have it no other way. Fathers and their expectations. Now, then, if you could look over these items here and, as agreed, you may take what you need.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something, before reaching into the folds of his clothes and throwing a small cloth purse at me, “And this is your share of the monies collected from the recently-departed. Again, I must thank you for aid in our defense, regardless that you have been the primary cause of it,” he finished, with just the tiniest shade of irritation lacing his voice.
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“No, caravan master, we are much obliged to you, and your generosity,” I replied, as courteously as I could, which resulted in a small nod of acknowledgement.
We took the time then to go over the loot. For the Rogue, we chose a thick linen gambeson with boiled leather plates, along with an assortment of knives and a no-nonsense shortsword. The armor was of little interest to Kidu, but a powerful composite horseman’s bow drew his eye, along with a few well-made arrows.
For myself, the armor before me was a treasure trove and I selected a heavy steel plate harness that I judged to be close to my size. Ignoring the reddish stains, I opted for a linen and chainmail gambeson to complement the harness. To complete my panoply of war, I picked a new helm, fashioned in the likeness of a snarling, wolf-like creature. The visor of my new sallet was the tooth-filled maw of the beast, and it looked both intimidating and stylish.
Some of the pieces, like the vambraces, sabatons, and gambeson, would need a little adjustment. However, Laes assured me that it could be done by the caravan’s mobile smithy. However, I would have to wait until we stopped for the Weeping. Seeing the state of my garments, the caravan master recommended that I hand my robes over to one of the women for repairs. This, he assured me, would only cost a silver, which he could deduct from my wages if I so wished.
Alongside my new armor, I chose a wooden kite shield with what looked like a monstrous horse’s head design at its center. The boss and rim of the shield were made from solid iron or steel. The shield could be strapped on my forearm for ease of use, or gripped behind the center for more advanced deflection techniques.
Once the necessary fittings had been made, I would be turned into a veritable walking tank, all but invincible to the majority of blows. I promised myself that I would spend as much time as possible in the accouterments of war so that my armor would feel like a second skin.
“I would not presume but… deep in the Wastes, wearing such armor may well be… cumbersome. The days are as hot as an oven and the nights equally as cold. Much like my last wife… ha!” commented Laes, ending his weak joke, which drew nothing from me save for a weak smile.
“Indeed, but until such a time these will do me just fine, Master Laes,” I responded a little laconically.
“Of course, as you wish. Though I hope that the rest of the journey will be without issue, I pray that your sword arm remains strong for whatever trials lie ahead,” the caravan master intoned seriously. He quickly jotted something down in his ledger, his quill dancing swiftly across the parchment before ending with a flourish. “I will have one of the boys deliver your things later, I hear you have Ankhset wishing to see you next. Best not to keep that old witch waiting,” he finished, dismissing us as he continued to inventory the remaining items.