Love and Bounty

Chapter Twenty: Lessons Learned

Hrolf had gone on some crazy missions during his life, but delving into those ruinous sewers was something else.

Everything ached.

From his jaw to his heels and everywhere in between, even the slightest movement prompted his muscles to squirm with hot and piercing agony beneath his skin. All of his wounds were gone, and though a yellowed bruise remained where Kotag's hammer fell upon his chest, Hrolf was otherwise unblemished. But the healing didn't ease the fatigue.

The torchlight along the chasm walls briefly overwhelmed his retinas as he stepped into the greater Grotto. Ever since he returned with the others, he'd been resting and doing the bare minimum for himself. Even training—which he knew he should be doing—was too arduous and painful to bear. Hrolf hated this helplessness; he hated his inability to move with his usual finesse and haste, but he would be fine in a few days. He'd been through worse than this.

Not that a stamina potion or two wasn't welcome, of course. It was a shame he only had the little cheap bottles.

There was much he needed to do once he fully recovered. Gunnar's invitation still hung in the air like the morning mist over Lake Ilinalta, but through the haze, another desire shone through like radiant dawn and pale blue skies.

Hrolf had not seen or heard from Deeja once since their return. From Iscraah, he gathered that she rested constantly, but her report was not from her own observations. It came directly from the mouth of Jaree-Ra—a careless mouth that rattled on and put many men in danger. Several Blackbloods were killed during the descent into those twisted tunnels, and the five who led the journey nearly followed suit. Well, except for Captain Hargar, but Hrolf hadn't seen him around at all.

Only a short while earlier, a Blackblood that Hrolf didn't recognize informed him of Jaree-Ra's summons. He was sparse with the details, but Hrolf managed to gather that it was related to the sewer mission. Were Jaree-Ra not responsible for fattening Hrolf's coinpurse, he would have made next to no effort to arrive in a timely manner.

...but as much as he wanted to believe in his ability to defy an unjust leader, the reality was different.

There were greater stakes than money now. Hrolf befriended Sharai, Iscraah, possibly Gunnar, and Deeja. He couldn't afford to make himself look bad, even when things were tough, and he knew he was capable of doing good work. All he needed to do was keep it up... which was easier said than done.

He couldn't leave. Not without setting things straight. Not without fixing his mistakes.

The guards outside Jaree-Ra's planning room aboard the salvaged ship-dwelling parted ways as Hrolf entered. Around the long table, Jaree-Ra, Deeja, Sharai, and Iscraah stood, all turning to him as he nudged the door shut behind him. He failed to stifle a wince.

"So... we're going over the spoils?" Hrolf asked.

Deeja's brow creased at the sight of him. She grasped a slender, green bottle on the table by its neck.

"You look like shit," Iscraah chirped.

Sharai snorted as she continued to pour over one of the singed spell tomes on the table.

Every rib in Hrolf's chest quivered as he sighed deeply. He regretted it the very next moment. "You flatter me," he grumbled.

"I'm glad you got my summons," Jaree-Ra said. "How are you holding up?"

Truth be told, Hrolf could hardly stand. He leaned against the door nonchalantly and gave his best smile. "I'm surviving."

Everyone saw right through him. Especially Deeja. Her brow furrowed as she made her way around the table, bottle in hand, her tail flicking to and fro like a serpent lying in wait. In just half a dozen determined strides, she was right in front of him.