Vash glanced over his shoulder. As he trailed behind Corwin, the towering edifice of Graystone Prison faded away in the distance. The knot in his stomach hadn’t released until they had passed beneath the Wailing Gate. The prison’s infamous entrance was the last glimpse of freedom for condemned men before execution. Rumor was that hardened men, nobles, knights, warriors, had broken down sobbing when those doors slammed closed behind them. Which was how the “Wailing Gate” got its name.

Corwin weaved through the pedestrian traffic in the square outside the gate. He led them towards the northwest districts of the city, away from Vash’s familiar haunts in the marshes and slums on the east side of the river.

I wonder how long it would take for him to notice I wasn’t following him. Vash mused, slowing his pace and falling back. First one stride, then two.

“Hurry up, Vash.” Corwin said, not even turning to look at him. “Jabez doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Scowling, Vash sped up to join Corwin. As he got closer, Vash felt a thrumming in his Core, like it was tuning in to a similar vibration.

Detect Mana. Vash thought. An old trick used by the Talented to keep track of one another in a group, or lock onto a target in combat. There were ways around it. Vash didn’t want Corwin to know all of his tricks yet. Let him get comfortable, then I can make a break for it.

“Where are we headed?” Vash asked, affecting a nonchalant attitude.

“We’re meeting my Master up in Traveler’s Row.” Corwin said, sidestepping a pile of horse dung. “We have rooms at an inn by the Wayfarer’s Gate.”

“That’s a bit on the nose.”

“The Glory Road starts at the Wayfarer’s Gate.” Corwin said, pleasantly. "It makes sense for us Wayfarers to lodge there. Besides, Traveler’s Row has Guild rates and our cash flow situation has been…light, lately.”

Vash snorted derisively.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Vash said, scanning the road ahead. They were traveling up the Street of Blades, a row of blacksmiths, weapons makers, and armorers. Most of the criminal underworld of Sathsholm patronized these shops. A prime spot to loiter and observe arrivals from work gangs or prison barges. Knowing when the Ducal Guard had released a rival was very important information, and could be worth some decent coin. Vash spotted a few young boys clustered by the public fountain. As he and Corwin passed, the boys suddenly took to their feet and darted off in various directions.

Now the entire city knows I’m off the chopping block. Vash thought.

“Nothing? Really?” Corwin said, looking down at Vash. “Nothing you have to say?”

You really want to know, big man? All right. Vash shrugged. “Just that it’s my luck to not only get drafted into your Guild, but I’m also drafted into an adventuring group who is apparently bad at adventuring.”

“We’re not bad,” Corwin said, defensively. “We’re just more interested in saving lives than collecting coin for it.”

“In my book, that means you’re bad at it,” Vash said, glancing at alleyways and rooftops. I doubt if anyone is waiting for me out here, but it never hurts to be cautious.

Corwin was silent, eyes ahead on the street, carefully weaving past other pedestrians and detritus in the road. Vash got the feeling that he had offended the big man. Strangely, he felt bad about that. Corwin had been a friend once, and in his own mixed up way, was trying to be again.

“So,” Vash said, changing the subject, “who’s this Master of yours? Also, I’m not big on the term ‘master’, so I won’t be calling him that.”

“Jabez Ironbiter,” Corwin said, “he brought me into the Guild back when—well, back when I was a Vagabond. He’s a good guy, so be nice.”

“Ironbiter?” Vash asked. “Sounds dwarfish.”

“Maybe because he’s a dwarf.”

Vash made a face. “Elves and dwarves don’t get along.”

“Good thing you’re not really an elf, right?”

“Watch it, mal’sodla.” Vash growled, tamping down a flash of anger.

“Whoa!” Corwin held up his hands, surprised. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You never used to claim your elvish side.”

“Things change in two years.” Vash said, voice tight. “I learned to embrace certain parts of myself.”

Corwin nodded, but didn’t press any further.

Old, reliable Corwin. Vash thought. There to be a friendly ear, but he never dug any deeper. Never wanted to get involved in someone else’s business. There were more than a few times that Vash could have used someone getting involved. Those days were long past, though.

“What does ‘mall sod-ya’ mean?” Corwin asked, brows furrowed.

“Mal’sodla.” Vash corrected. “It’s Vanan, high elvish, it means ‘bad blood’.”

“You speak elvish now?”

“Some. Probably about as well as you speak Old Malconian.” Vash shrugged.

“Probably better. That language died with the old empire for a reason.” Corwin said, making a disgusted face. “The nominative case shall always remain a mystery to me.”

Silence fell over them as they crossed the western canal. Small boats passed underneath the bridge, ferrying goods and people to the Riverside district a few blocks away. The streets were becoming more crowded as they neared Traveler’s Row. People and carts were moving either towards the gates or towards the river. Sathsholm served as a crossroads for trade with the southern kingdoms, both the Great River Obrun and the smaller Summerwine river flowed past the city. The buildings were a hodge-podge of old stone construction and more recent wooden structures built out into the deltas and marshes between the rivers. Sathsholm sprawled over the northern bank of Lake Marallon, a body of water more like an inland sea than a lake. The lake provided water transport to the southern kingdom of Patria and the high elven kingdom of Vanan Esain. Bustling trade and travelers seeking their fortune filled the city. The districts of Traveler’s Row, Riverside, and Reedport catered to these temporary residents. Traveler’s Row, however, was more dedicated to those who fought monsters and raided dungeons for a living. It was rowdier, crowded with mercenaries, hedge-wizards, and rangers of all sorts. The shops sold weapons and armor, dungeon delving gear, travel supplies, and all the other bits and bobs needed by those who proclaimed themselves “adventurers”.

Vash hated to admit that he had spent a lot of time in Traveler’s Row, frequenting taverns and eavesdropping on the adventures of the men and women who braved the infamous “Glory Road”. He had considered, more than once, asking to join one of those groups and setting off to find adventure. But he always went back home.

He had obligations.

Oaths to fulfill.

Duties I have to get back to. Vash thought.

They finally turned off the High Street and into Traveler’s Row. The Row was only a few blocks in size, a clustering of buildings running along one long street from the western canal to the Wayfarer’s Gate. The small gate had only a token guard force, none of which were bothering to check the business of the travel-worn folk that passed by them.

Shadows were lengthening, and the sun began to dip beyond city walls, early evening, but the party seemed in full-swing in the various taverns, gaming halls, and other entertainment venues. Vash remembered Iona telling him that if Traveler’s Row ever goes quiet, then you knew something was terribly wrong in the city. Adventurers, most of them with Talents, all spending what coin they had before heading back out into the wilderness.

The early spring evening was cool and devoid of the humidity that would plague the city in the sweltering summer months. Adventurers lounged at outdoor tables and in beer-gardens. Vash spotted various diverse groups sharing tables, pairings that would be unheard of in the more stratified parts of the city. Humans mixed with elves, the latter watching their raucous companions with detached puzzlement. Halflings flitted from group to group, making conversation, sharing songs or sampling dishes with their companions. There were a few groups of dwarves, though they kept to themselves, watching the rest of the world with disapproval from beneath their heavy leather hoods.

Vash was so busy people-watching that he almost ran into Corwin when he stopped in front of a small inn set back slightly from the Row. There were no outdoor tables or fancy decorations, just a simple sign proclaiming it the Wandering Wayfarer with a small Wayfarer crest carved into one corner. Corwin pointed out the device. “That means the owner has Guild ties. We get discounted rates and can turn in bounties anywhere that has that crest.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Fascinating.” Vash said, unimpressed by the shabby exterior. The inn was far enough off the main road that the two larger establishments overshadowed it on either side. Vash had been to the other two taverns, they had gambling and bards. The Wandering Wayfarer, on the other hand, was silent and closed off. The only way to tell that it wasn’t abandoned was by the glow of firelight in the windows.

Corwin sighed. “Come on.”

The interior was small and dimly lit. Vash couldn’t really tell if it was worse than the outside or the same. At least it looked clean and well-kept. A short L-shaped bar functioned both for serving drinks and for checking in guests for the rooms upstairs. The narrow flight of stairs to the left of the front door ran right behind the bar and looked like they could barely hold a single guest at a time. A cluster of tables formed a loose half-circle around a good-sized hearth. The small fire warded off the chill of the evening, but was not large enough to make the room uncomfortable if the tables filled up.

Though that’s not likely. Vash thought, taking in the evening’s customers. A pair of older human men sat near the fire eating bowls of some sort of soup. Three women spoke quietly, with a halfling in one corner. They glanced up when he and Corwin entered, then returned quickly to their business.

The only other patron was a stocky dwarf seated at a table removed from the others. Vash suspected that the dwarf was middle-aged, as such things might be measured by his people, which would put him somewhere between one-hundred fifty and two-hundred. Gray was touching the dwarf’s auburn beard, and he had deep frown lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. He was leafing through a battered book and nursing a pint of something dark with a frothy head. The dwarf looked up when the door opened and gave Corwin a nod of recognition before giving Vash a once-over. His face settled into a deep frown of discomfort, then waved them both over.

“You took your time.” The dwarf grumbled, still watching Vash carefully. “I thought you were planning on being back by mid-afternoon.”

“There were some issues at the prison.” Corwin said, taking a seat to the dwarf’s right. “An Inquisitor wanted to throw his weight around.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

Corwin shook his head. “We’ll be on the road in a day or so. Once we’re out of the city, I doubt there’s much they can do.”

The dwarf grunted, half acknowledgment and half irritation. Then he turned his sharp gray eyes on Vash’s face. “So this is your elf friend?”

“Part-elf.” Vash corrected.

Giving Vash a sour look, the dwarf shut his book and kicked out the chair on his other side. “Boy, you’re going to find that very few folk outside of the gods-damned knife-ears themselves are going to care if you're full elf, half elf, or one-tenth on your mother’s side. You got the ears, you’re an elf. The sooner you accept that, the easier life is going to get out there.”

Oh, this is going to be fun. Vash thought, bitterly. He kept his mouth shut, though, and took the offered seat.

The dwarf took a swig from his mug, ale dribbling out of the corners of his mouth and dampening his beard. Lowering the mug, he wiped the foam from his mustache with his sleeve. Vash noted the cuff was frayed and faded from long wear, with stains from leather and sweat. Faded scars on the backs of the dwarf’s hands and across his knuckles were easy to see.

A fighter, Vash mused. Hard up for coin since that’s an old tunic. But he must be a pretty good fighter, since those scars are all old, nothing too recent. Iona had taught him to ‘read’ opponents over many long nights at taverns all over the city. A fighter with old scars meant that he had learned from them and gotten better.

“Well, it doesn’t do us any good to sit here and give each other the stink-eye all night.” The dwarf grumbled. “You can call me Jabez. I’m Corwin’s teacher and sponsor in the Wayfarers.”

“He called you his master.” Vash said, glancing at Corwin.

“That’s my title,” Jabez said, “I’m a fifth-rank Master, I think. I haven’t looked at the rankings in a while. I’m not big on the formalities.”

“Good, I wasn’t going to call you master.”

“Jabez will do fine.” The dwarf said, lifting his mug again. “And what do I call you, other than elf boy?”

“I’m Vash.”

Jabez paused and cocked his head. “That’s an unusual one. Your mother just named you ‘son’.”

“What’s that?” Corwin asked, confused.

“The word ‘vash’ means ‘son’, in Vanan.” Vash explained, then turned to Jabez. “No, my full name is Liellovash.”

Jabez nearly choked on his ale. He coughed and spluttered for a minute, blinking in surprise.

Yeah, it’s real funny. Vash thought, waiting for the inevitable.

“That’s…very unusual.” Jabez said when he finished coughing.

“Why?” Corwin asked. “What’s it mean?”

“Loosely translated, it means ‘son of a bitch’.” Vash said, giving Corwin a sharp look.

“Oh.” Corwin said, surprised.

“I’m not going to ask —” Jabez said, waving off Vash’s dark look.

“My mother didn’t know much elvish.” Vash cut in. “The last words my father said to her before he left were Liellovash. She thought it was an elvish farewell, and it sounded nice.”

“I see,” Jabez said. “I’ll just stick to Vash, if it’s all the same.”

Vash shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

Corwin was looking more and more uncomfortable. Not going the way you thought, big guy? Vash thought. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You can let me run off to the Eth Mitaan, assuage your guilt and let me get back to my life.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get down to business.” Jabez said, pushing away his mug and flipping through the pages of the battered book in front of him on the table.

“According to the guard, you ran with a group of criminals that all possessed Talents. Is that correct?”

“We weren’t criminals.” Vash countered.

Jabez looked up, giving Vash a blank look. “No?”

“We helped the part-elves in Ragpicker’s Hollow.” Vash said. “We protected them, provided food, clothes, medicine — “

“Killed rival gangs who impinged on your territory?” Jabez replied. “Smuggled Therium salts and redleaf through the Riverside docks?”

“We had to get money somehow.” Vash said, bitterly. “And those rival gangs would have killed our people, made things even worse in the Hollow.”

“You also ran loan operations through various front businesses.” Jabez said, looking down at a sheet of notes that he had used as a placeholder in his book. “I’m sure your people gave generous terms and were very understanding about repayment options.”

Vash remained silent. That part of the business had always rubbed him the wrong way. Byar said that it was necessary, a source of funds, to fight their oppressors. Vash thought it was merely taking advantage of people who had nowhere else to go.

“We’ll come back to that another time, I suppose,” Jabez said. “But your group had Talents, and they taught you, right?”

“They did.” Vash admitted.

“So, what did they teach you?” Jabez asked. “There're different skills needed for an adventurer than for…whatever you were.”

Vash bit back a retort. “They taught me a variety of skills I might need. Enhance Ability was first, mostly focusing on speed and accuracy. Detect Mana to locate targets and work with the team. Shadowmeld to hide from enemies.”

“How dark do you need it for that one to work?” Jabez asked, taking out a nub of a pencil and scribbling some notes on his scrap of paper.

“Twilight is good, full dark is better.” Vash said he felt strange admitting to the abilities the Eth Mitaan taught him, but proud as well. He had worked hard to gain those Talents. “Sneak Attack and Waylay on the combat side of things.”

“Yeah? What rank were those?” Jabez asked, continuing to make notes.

“I don’t know how the Wayfarers do their rankings.” Vash said. “But I had progressed to the third level on both.”

“Iron Rank 3.” Jabez noted. “Decent for an apprentice.”

Vash wanted to contest the ‘apprentice’ part, but he didn’t want to admit to some of his other abilities, the ones that he knew were unusual or looked on with suspicion.

“Anything else?” Jabez asked, looking up.

Vash shook his head. “Just developing my Core and mana capacity.”

Jabez frowned, looking down at the sheet in front of him. “For a criminal gang operating on the outskirts, this is a good start. For a Wayfarer it’s all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Corwin asked, looking concerned.

“His focus is on combat.” Jabez said. “Apprentice Wayfarers focus more on delver’s Talents: Detect Traps, Lockpick, Waysight, Move Silently, Mindmap, those sorts of things. Getting to Iron Rank 3 in Sneak Attack is great for taking out a group of goblins, but you and I can do that more efficiently with our Talents. What we need is someone who can guide us through a dungeon while avoiding traps. Someone who can move past enemies unseen and get into a better position. A few ranger Talents wouldn’t go amiss either.”

“He can learn those, though.” Corwin said, trying to reassure Vash. “Right?”

“I’m not a rogue.” Jabez shrugged. “We’d have to get him seen by a Master Delver at the Lodge to find out if he has any chance of learning the more subtle Talents.”

Corwin tried to hide his wince, but Vash noticed. “What’s the problem?”

“There’s an extra cost associated with consulting one of the Lodge Masters, besides the price of your membership,” Jabez said, closing his book. “And I’m sure Corwin mentioned that we’re low on funds.”

“Cost?” Vash inquired in as neutral a voice as he could manage. “No one mentioned a cost to all this.”

Corwin started speak, likely to make some sort awkward apology, but Jabez cut him off. “There’s a registration fee of 3,500 gold to the Wayfarers, a 1,500 gold application fee to the Delver’s League, partially refundable upon reaching Journeyman rank, five-hundred gold for a Wayfarer amulet, seven-hundred fifty for Guild affiliate membership, and five-hundred to the widows and orphans fund.”

“Almost seven-thousand gold to join your little club?” Vash asked incredulously.

“That’s not counting training fees from Lodge Masters,” Jabez said, impassively. “I can teach you a lot about basic adventuring, but Delver talents are beyond me. The one here in Sathsholm will probably charge between two-fifty and three-hundred for an evaluation.”

“No wonder you people are always broke.” Vash muttered. “There’s no way I can afford that much, considering I just got out of prison. Judging by your choice of lodgings, I’m guessing you can’t either.”

“Don’t panic.” Corwin said in a placating tone. “I thought it was impossible when Jabez told me the first time, too. The Guild works on credit. You just owe a larger portion of any quest rewards or bounties to the Guild until your debt is repaid.”

“How long does that take?”

“A while.” Jabez said. “Work hard and you can discharge your debt by the time you’re a Journeyman. That is, if you earn your ranks.”

“Who decides if I earn my ranks?” Vash asked, suspicious.

“I do.” Jabez said, voice carefully neutral.

“I see,” Vash said. He couldn’t help but see the reluctance and irritation in Jabez’s eyes. He doesn’t want this, he definitely doesn’t want me. “This was an amazing idea, Corwin. I’m sure the Inquisitors can have me back in my cell by morning. They’ll probably even keep their deposit on the headsman.”

“Come on, Vash.” Corwin protested. “You haven’t even given it a chance — “

“What chance?” Vash countered. “He doesn’t want me. Doesn’t know how to train me. Even if I make it, I won’t have the money to advance. So, tell me Corwin, what chance do I have?”

“Enough of that.” Jabez snapped. “When Corwin came to me with this fool idea, I thought he was daft. I don’t know you. I heard of your friends. The Eth Mitaan? Never anything good. What you did in Ragpicker’s Hollow is the first selfless thing I heard about those butchers. Also, Corwin feels he owes you a chance. So, I’m willing to give you one,” Jabez said, his face like stone and eyes flinty. “I will tell you this, though. If we’re wrong, and you turn out to be what they say you are. The Inquisitors won’t have to worry. I’ll end you myself. Understand?”

A statement like that would normally have earned a snide remark from Vash. There was something in Jabez’s eyes that told him that this was no idle threat. The older dwarf had the same look that Byar had when sending them out to do some bloody work. A thrum of mana from the dwarf’s Core told Vash not to push his luck. Vash dropped his eyes.

Jabez let out a long breath. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of our system. When was the last time you ate?”