Isaac gnawed on his dinner. It was tough, bland, and the meager portion of meat was too salty for his taste, but it was food. More than many had, more than he had for a long time, so he was grateful to fill his belly with anything.

The sun was almost fully set now, stars beginning to appear in the cloudless sky above. A fire cast dancing shadows on the faces of two dozen mercenaries, some chatting quietly among themselves, others eating in silence like Isaac. Off in the far corner of the walled-in yard surrounding the isolated inn eleven druids huddled together in the darkness, eating their own meals, taking turns chanting while the others ate.

"Hey, northman," an Ostervallan man named Clement called out, gesturing towards one of the blond mercenaries seated across from him.

"My name is Rolf," the man replied.

"Yes, Rolf. My apologies, I've always been terrible with names." Clement replied. "The singing your Callers are always doing, why?"

"That's how they perform magic, do you not have druids in your land? Callers, as you named them?"

"We do, but they tend to do a lot less singing, more etching and painting." Clement replied. "What are they singing about? What magic are they trying to Call?"

Rolf shrugged. "I don't know. The songs use an ancient speech, I can understand a word here or there but not many."

"They are likely apologizing to the land for our intrusion," a northern woman with short blonde hair added. "I've heard them say your land is very angry."

"I can believe it," Clement replied, "I shouldn't be sweating like a pig this early in the year."

The conversation died to a low murmur again after that. Isaac continued to chew on his meal slowly. He found taking his time with rations seemed to trick his belly into thinking it was more full than it really was. He looked around at the faces surrounding the campfire and for a moment felt a sense of bewilderment. He had served the Kingdom of Wollema for two decades, defending her borders and people against raiders from the north and incursions of soldiers from the Kingdom of Osterval in the east. Yet here he was, sitting peacefully around a fire and sharing a meal with both.

The eight men and three women from the north were the hardest for Isaac to accept. The soldiers from Osterval were one thing, he was a former military man himself. Soldiers follow orders, they have no say in the decisions that kings and rulers make. He knew that the last years of the Great War saw many men in both Wollema and Osterval being conscripted under threat of death. The northfolk, however, were raiders. Assaulting coastal towns or travelling up rivers in their shallow boats, robbing defenseless people and killing anyone who resisted. Now, here he was sharing a meal with those same raiders mere hours after watching his countrymen get shot to death by Wolleman and Ostervallan gunners.

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"You seem glum," Commander Frederick said as he sat next to Isaac, offering to fill his cup.

"Sorry, Commander," Isaac replied, accepting the offer, "I was just thinking about what happened earlier."

"Ah," Frederick said as he took a drink from his own cup. "Tragic business, that. But it had to be done."

"Who were those people?" Rolf asked, overhearing the conversation. "Former soldiers turned bandit?"

"Doubtful," Frederick replied, "I don't think there's a soldier alive in all of Wollema or Osterval who hasn't seen guns in action or at least heard of them. No, they were probably just farmboys out of work and turning to robbery."

"Must have been pretty desperate to attack an armed band with nothing but clubs and hoes." Isaac said before draining the wine from his cup.

"Yes, desperate and dangerous." Frederick said, clasping Isaac's shoulder. "Every one of those bandits we killed today would have gladly robbed a farmer or merchant or lonely traveler, killing whoever stood in their way. Now, their numbers are fewer by a dozen at least and the rest have seen something new to fear, might make them rethink their choices going forward."

Isaac nodded, fidgeting with his empty cup. He knew what Frederick was saying was correct, travel had always been dangerous but in the past year since the Great War ended the danger had multiplied. The war between Wollema and Osterval would have been bad enough, pulling conscripts away from their work in huge numbers. The Siege of Green Hill alone ensured that tens of thousands of men would never return to their farms and many who did returned broken, in body or mind. The massacre of the Callers at the hands of Tarid soldiers on the western front meant there were too few to work their magic on the land, their services were required to support the war effort directly in the creation of weapons and armor rather than coaxing increased crop yields from fields. Worst of all, the Wolleman attempt to drive out the Tarid invaders by summoning a deadly heatwave came back to haunt the defenders. When the Tarid forces broke through the lines with their new weapons and steam-powered war machines they slaughtered the gathering of Callers. The magic they wielded to manipulate the weather inverted without their control, the western lands were then subjected to rain and miserable cold while everything east of the mountains suffered from heat and drought lasting several years already with no sign of abating.

"We did them a favor," the northern woman said to no one in particular. "We gave them warrior's deaths, far better than wasting away from hunger. They died with weapons in hand, something valiant for Old Thousand Eyes to write in his book."

Frederick stood up. "What's done is done, we can pity them for the hardships that drove them to banditry but we will protect ourselves and our clients. Now, we should turn in for the night. Work out among yourselves how to divide up the watch but I want no less than two on duty at any given time."

Isaac reclined on the ground. In his head he knew what the others said was true, regardless of whatever pitiful condition drove them to it the bandits were still dangerous. Whether they killed their victims directly with weapons or indirectly by leaving them with nothing, blood would still be on their hands. Isaac pushed the thoughts out of his mind and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.