Faerunners

Woodcraft

Night never truly arrived in the Faelands, and neither did day. The forest shifted between gold hued dawn and silver twilight. It was impossible to tell what time it was let alone what day it was. The hours ticked by slowly. During the golden hours they did little. It was a strange feeling, having nothing to do. Back home, even on his days off there was at least something to do around the house or in the fields. During the silver hours that passed for night they ate and drank and talked. The Faerunners were plenty friendly but Tallis couldn't help but feel like an outsider. Setia and Valerie had the kind of bond that only came from years spent together on the road, and even though he claimed he was a new addition, Callan fit well with them. Jokes passed easily between them and silences were never awkward.

Tallis hated to admit it but he was a little jealous.

On the fifth or sixth day, Callan came to collect him. It was finally time to get on the road.

Callan was leading through a weather beaten notebook with yellowed pages and a leather cover bleached by salt and sun. Tallis liked to think in a past life it had belonged to a sea captain or an adventurer. Seeing it with Callan left him mortified, and he cringed against a rising tide of prickling,  self-conscious nervousness.

"These are quite good," said Callan. "Where did you learn?"

Tallis stood and plucked the book out of his hands. It was open to a landscape he had sketched the other day. It was no good, really. Just a doodle.

"I had to take art classes in school. They were mandatory. I'm really not any good though, not compared to everyone else."

"Your classmates must be true masters, rivals to any of the classical artists in the old world. I'm a little jealous, I must admit, I never had the opportunity to draw in school. My classes were all about writing and rhetoric and poetry. Stuffy boring subjects if you ask me."

"I thought you were a fighter." Tallis closed the book and slid it into his front pocket. "What good are those classes to someone who travels between town shooting things for a living."

"When your people trade in stories and secrets it pays to be able to speak well, and more often than not a sharp tongue ends battles faster than a sharp blade." He paused for a moment, staring off into the trees. “We’ll have to wait a while longer before heading into the city. Aragam’s health is failing and we’re running out of medicine.” He wiped away a stray smear of the green poultice slathered over his face and studied the paste left on his fingers. “It is powerful magic. Old magic, but I do not think we have enough to save him. Setia and I are leaving to find more. We may be gone a few days.”

“Take me with you,” said Tallis. A hot surge of fear and guilt roared through him. “Aragam wouldn’t have gotten hurt if not for me. This is all my fault. I should help.”

“You don’t need to if you don’t want to,” said Callan placing a hand on Tallis’ shoulder. “We all knew the risks. We all knew that any job could be our last. It’s okay to forgive yourself because something bad happened.”

A small bit of the weight lifted from Tallis’ heart. “I know. But I still want to help.”

Callan smiled. “I didn’t want to make you feel pressured into coming with us, but where we’re going, we could use the extra gun. Go get your weapons, bullets, some food for a few day's travel, and meet me back here.”

Tallis swallowed past the lump of dread sitting in his throat and ran back to camp, collecting the supplies he could from the tree cottages they’d been staying in and a wagon that Valerie had brought into camp yesterday. He had no idea where it had come from but every crate in it had ‘property of Cold Iron Detective Agency’ branded on the side. He was sure the agency was not happy, and that made him smile. The only thing they hadn’t been able to borrow or steal were fresh clothes. He’d done his best to wash his in a stream but his shirt still stank faintly of sweat and the back of it was stained red with Aragam’s blood.