The Wayward Witch Chronicles

Cold. So often, it was cold when he dreamed. Had it always been that way?

There’d been a night, somewhere far away and across the Winterseas, that had been so frigid. They’d traveled through the day, and at night, dug a small shelter into the side of a snowdrift, with just a bit of blanket stretched over the entryway to trap in the heat.

It was the second night since they’d started the journey, and his companion wasn’t acting her normal self.

“Lass, what’re ye writin’?” he asked, as gently as he could. The agitated Mani shook her head. “Lass, is somethin’ wrong?”

“N… no.” The shake in her voice was at odds with her usual calm cheer. Despite the heat of the small pile of glowing-hot rocks, warmed thanks to her witchery, he was certain he could see her shivering. Her charcoal pen scrabbled endlessly in her journal, as though frantic to expunge a heavy load from her mind.

Something caught her attention, and she startled with a gasp, looking up and outwards as if through the packed snow walls of their shelter. “Lím?” ´she murmured, distressed. Her white squirrel familiar clung tightly to her shoulder, fur raising on his back. “... Wait here, Pip. I need to check on something.”

“Hol’ on Norui, ye cannae go off on yer own,” he protested, and she paused. With a frighteningly serious look on her face, she turned to him.

“If we get separated, go east. There’s a river there, the Fangeyrd. Follow it south, and I’ll meet you along the way– or else, it will take you right to Southpoint.”

Clutching her journal close to her chest, Norui lifted the cloth at the door and rushed out.

Grabbing up his backpack, he called after her– “Wait, lass, I’m comin’ with ye!”

West’s sleep fragmented more and more easily these days. That was the burden of surviving, he supposed; light sleep and troubled dreams.

Movement from the floor above, or the door closing to the outside; sounds like these broke him from his dreams more than once. Still, he slept for hours before the clangs of pots in the kitchen announced the start of the inn’s day.

Stretching enormously and straightening out a crick in his back, West pulled himself together and out of bed. The little cot hadn't been the comfortable bed he'd pined for from the road, but it was still better than his bedroll on hard ground. Whatever the disturbances in the night, it was the best sleep he'd had in days.

It wasn’t long after, while West was yawning over milk, eggs, bread and butter, that a door slammed upstairs. Roman, dressed in all but his chain shirt, rushed down the stairs, clutching a scrap of paper. He noted at once a heavy cloak missing from the rack near the door. “Did Barros–” He cut himself off, modulating his angered tone to mere annoyance. He caught West’s gaze and frowned. “Investigator. Did you talk with Barros this morning?”

“This morning? Nae,” West said, forking a bite of egg. Whatever was on that note Roman clutched, it didn’t mention last night’s talk, or Roman wouldn’t have come down asking if they’d spoken this morning. If Barros didn’t see fit to mention it, neither did West.

The swordsman looked ready to spit. "Barros left. Dead of night, just packed up and took off." Roman shook the paper in his hand. "Says here he's rethought our partnership. Now why do you think he'd be rethinking it, when we're just this close to the goal?"

"Likely, the man doesnae sees profit in gettin' himself dead," West said, not bothering to cushion his words with a smile. "Ye'd be best off if ye followed suit."

Roman worked his jaw. The noble’s knuckles whitened with the force of his grip on Barros’s resignation letter. Then, with a steady breath, his demeanor relaxed. Roman tucked the note away. “Well, as it happens, Barros leaving has put us in a lurch. We’ve already sunk most of our purse into getting here, and Vera’s on contract and expecting a return. We’re obligated to see this through.” He spread his hands helplessly. “That being the case, Investigator, I’m forced to reconsider your offer from yesterday.”

West set down his fork. “Ah, well, lad, yer sure about that? Ye figure ye can work with me after all?” Roman's brows clouded over. West held his hands up to ward away the glare. “Jes’ kiddin’, nae call fer that sort o’ look! Kill a gorgon, ye could with that.”

“Hm.” Roman inhaled again, and the annoyance creasing his brow fading. “Well, let’s talk terms then, shall we?”

“Terms?” West echoed. Vera drifted down the stairs, drawn by noise or breakfast or a sixth sense, and unsubtly eavesdropped from the landing.

“Of course.” Roman pulled a scroll from his belt pouch. “As I think I’ve mentioned, we maintain our group very professionally. If you’re going to be joining us, we should discuss a contract.” Vera’s curiosity paled into dismay.

“Hol’ on there, laddie.” West straightened. “I’m nae joinin’ anythin’, so let’s nae be wastin’ time with papers. I’m actin’ on the Bureau’s authority, and I’ll nae make any promises I cannae be keepin’.”

“I understand, Investigator, and I intend any contract between our parties to reflect that. But as we are pursuing different goals in this expedition, wouldn’t you deem it worthwhile that we clarify our intentions and agree on how to pursue them?” Unrolling the paper on the table, Roman motioned for the Investigator to inspect it.

West pushed his plate to one side with a sigh. “Ye cannae let this be easy, can ye?” he asked, taking the paper.

The contract seemed to be a mishmash of fill-in-the-blanks boilerplate intended for signing on any stray mercenary that the party might pick up. It wasn’t especially long, but West found himself re-reading tricky wordings. By the time he finished, Vera had drawn closer to the table, eyeing the Investigator with increasing petulance. “... So, the long and short of it is, ye want me standin’ with ye in a fight, yer expectin’ to take home any valuables we might find–”

“Any legal ones, of course,” Roman interjected smoothly, “minus a fair amount for any supplies you might use for the benefit of the party–”

“Benefit o’ the 'party' nae includin’ meself, since ye have me down as a free agent–”

“Oh? I must have overlooked that, allow me to fix it–”

West sighed, pushing down a rise of annoyance. “Nae, laddie. As ye put it, I’m just lookin’ to ‘clarify our intentions’.” West rolled up the contract, unsigned, and returned it to Roman. “Seein’ as there’s nary the slightest benefit fer me here, I’ll nae be signin’. But as I’ve told ye, I’m goin’ fer just the one reason, which is to take a peek around and see if there’s anythin’ amiss that'd require my attention. Short o’ that, I’m happy to lend yer group a hand and nae expect anythin’ in return.”

“If that’s all true anyway, why not formalize it?”

“Among other reasons? Simply put, my mission trumps whatever flimsy authority that contract would give ye.” West shrugged, picking up his fork again. “I can put me name on it, but if push comes to shove, I’ll do as I do. It’s better to know where we both stand than to pretend a bit o’ paper can change it, aye?”

Roman's face flashed darkly, but he schooled himself back to stoicism. "As you wish it, then." The swordsman made a gracious show of tucking the contract back into his pouch.

Vera pursed her lips sourly. "Bad idea, sir," she said. She took command of a bench on the far end from West, glowering. "Oughta remind you, my contract says–”

"I know what your contract says, Vera, and I will see that it is taken care of," Roman said.

"I've got veto power," the scholar threatened, hunching. "The second-year clause. Can't take someone on without my say-so."

"Well, technically, the Investigator isn't signing on to our party–”

"Still have veto.”

"– and the contract also says that we can't proceed without a third, unless both you and I agree. With that in mind, are you going to permit the Investigator to accompany us, off-the-record, or are we going to escalate to a potential dissolution?" Roman waited steadily while Vera fussed and frowned, and finally harrumphed and nodded. "There we are, then. Investigator, meet us by the west road in an hour, and we'll be on our way. We should reach the site with hours to spare before sundown. Come on, Vera, we’ve got supplies to gather. We’ll take breakfast on the road."

West watched them leave, rubbing at the back of his head. "This is gonna get feckin' ridiculous," he muttered to his plate, his appetite vanished. The lack of welcome into the party was bad enough, but worse was that the pair showed no concern with the danger they were facing. That overconfidence could kill them. They needed someone with a cool head to keep them in check, and without Barros around, West could easily see what role he’d be playing among them.

West just hoped he wasn't signing on for more than he could handle.