There was a great bit of missing time between Gideon’s blackout and when he came back to his full faculties. As much as Taas did the best he could for his companion, he wasn’t known for being a healer, unless you count amputations and merciful executions as means to a better quality of life. In the woods, he pulled Gideon from the pool of rushing water, fought off a couple of other beasts that showed and made camp before dark. They managed to make the rest of the journey uneventful, however overly cautious they were intending to be. They arrived at their destination just short of a week.

On the near end of the village, as they approached, was the familiar appearance of a blacksmith’s forge, but there was no fire, no smoke, no metal being worked. It appeared almost abandoned, with the exception of the cottage beside it, and an older woman tending to a garden of some kind. Preferring caution, Gideon waved them ahead to the stable house where they could at least rest their mounts and get them fed. A handful of coin to the stable hand confirmed that was were the Smith lived, the forge they passed, but his whereabouts not entirely known.

“I advise caution, friend,” Gideon said to the giant as they slowly walked back to the edge of town. Taas grunted in agreement, his hand patting the blade of the axe he kept on his side.

The woman in the garden wasn’t feeble; she was pulling vegetables with care and practiced physicality. A small basket nearby was a little under half full with roots and herbs. As the two approached, she stood to greet them. “Guidance, travelers?” she asked.

“Possibly.” Gideon hesitated as he compared the upkeep of the cottage to the forge. “I’m looking for the Smith. Do you know where he might be?”

The slightest pause occurred. “My husband?” she replied. “He’s been gone for awhile, but I imagine he should be back soon.”

“Where is he, if you don’t mind my asking?” He talked with his hands, a gesture to assure her that he was unarmed and meant no harm. The same could not be said for his much more intimidating companion.

She looked at them both, and answered, “Hunting. He should be back by nightfall.”

“Huh,” Gideon said as a satisfied reply. “Just bad timing, then.”

“Just so,” she said. “You can stay a while if you want to wait for him.” Looking out of the village, the three watched the horizon as the sun had begun its descent. “Shouldn’t be long.”

“Thank you….” Gideon said appreciatively and with expectation as he looked at her again.

“Uh, Vala. My name is Vala.”

“Thank you, Vala. Please,” he gestured to the door, and she picked up her basket before going inside.

Something wasn’t right about this. Rumors about the smith talked mostly about his forge, as impressive as it was, but importantly that he was a recluse and perpetually solitary. All he had was his work. The better opportunity he had to keep any distractions away the better off he would be to focus on his work. But this was something else entirely. This was the right place, Gideon could feel that in his bones, but Vala was not who she claimed. Despite this suspicion, they followed her inside.

The more of the room Gideon took in, the more his suspicions were confirmed. Few decorations, if any, were in the room, and most looked to be of a practical purpose. An open door to another room showed an unmade single bed. As they stood in the kitchen, there was only one set of dishware and utensils, aged with perpetual use. Vala picked up cleaver and began chopping some vegetables in a tight handful.

Gideon stood a moment, watching her from across the table, while Gideon kept silent by the front doorway. “Your husband isn’t coming home. You’re the Smith.”

Vala stopped chopping, holding the cleaver down with a tight grip. and looked up at her shorter guest. “Well, enough games and pleasantries. Why are you here?” Her chopping returned with a stronger, irritated force.

“Why lie? About who you are, I mean.” His curiosity demanded an answer, his suspicions were still high.

Dropping the cleaver to the table, Vala placed both palms on the table and lowered her head a little, still keeping his gaze. “That’s not why you’re here.” Her voice was different. Though it still had the same vocal pitch and flow as before, it became cold and stern, but somehow less human than that.

It seemed enough to trust at the moment, so Gideon explained himself. “The reason I came here is because, as I understand it, you’re the only one who could help free me from their control. The Many. To help release me from this curse.”

There was a long moment of measured thought. The stew in the fireplace filled the room with distracting smells of food. Vala’s gaze never left Gideon’s.

“No, I won’t help you.” She turned to give her attention to the pot of stew in the fireplace a couple paces away, dumping the first handful of vegetables in. “Not if your intention is to abandon this calling. Even if it risks destroying all of known civilization.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t just pull a lever and save the world. There is a fight ahead. A blood cost to be paid.” Vala turned and emphatically pointed at Gideon. “By you.” She stirred the pot. “If that’s that, please leave.”

---

They left the Smith’s home as it started to rain lightly, the clouds in the sky a bright red as the setting sun fell into the horizon. Pulling his hood up over his head, he stood a moment in thought. “What to do, what to do?” he asked himself.

“Riders,” Taas said, pointing out to a contingent of black-clad figures approaching the town in a steady pace. He squinted his eyes as he watched. “Are those…horses?”

Gideon peered at the group himself. “Pure-bred. Pretty sure that’s the Ravenguard.” They’re a long way from home.

“Who?”

“Mercenaries, revolutionaries, or some such. They’re from the West. None of our business.”

Taas shifted on his feet. “So, what now?”

Gideon started pacing in the immediate space. “I don’t know. The Smith was my one chance, so far as I know.” Stopping in his feet, he stared into the middle distance in thought. “Maybe just bury me alive, lock me in a tomb, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to deal with this.” His hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want this.”

“Make camp?”

“Might as well, need to think this over and figure out what to do next.” They started walking back to the stablehouse. “I don’t like much of what she said either.”

Galloping hooves thundered louder as the black riders approached the village. Armored figures shouted for their attention, but both Gideon and Taas ignored them and kept walking to their mounts. A woman called out to Gideon by name and he froze in his tracks. Startled by the halting, Taas turned to his ally, and, in a low voice, asked, “What is it?”

He kept his mouth shut, and slowly turned back to the woman calling out to him, barely peeking one eye out from the trim of his hood. Dismounted, she approached in black and brown leathers, and a hooded cloak that she tossed back. The fair skin and dark red hair pulled on his memory, but he couldn’t place it, her two-colored eyes were strange even in the world he’d seen so far. But more than anything else, the Arcanist tattoo on the side of her head gave him the most suspicion. Even if she was just a servant, they were unquestioning in their loyalties. As she closed the distance, she slowed her pace, stopping about ten paces away. “Gideon? Is it you?”

He eyed her suspiciously.

“Gideon, it’s m–“

“How do you know that name?” he interrupted. He measured her physicality and equipment. A capable fighter, but no weapons in sight.

“Gideon,” she said, and he recoiled at the sound slightly. “Don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know you,” he said, as he eyed the soldiers over her shoulder. “And I doubt that I want to.” At this assessment, Taas turned to face her completely and growled, the steam of his breath forced from his nose as his body tensed in the light rain, his hand waiting to draw the axe on his hip.

She acknowledged the giant with open hands. Her head dropped slightly, cautious of starting any conflict. “I thought you died.”

“Many people think me dead already.”

“I thought you died twenty years ago. I watched the house burn. I called your name, but they wouldn’t let go of me. They wouldn’t let me back inside to get you.”

No. He pullled back the hood on his cloak. “Claudia?”

She looked up to meet his gaze, and smiled weakly. “Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath, “it’s me.”