Penitent

Michael smiled at the dwarf as he stepped into his workshop. There was something eminently entertaining about those that he'd met so far. Admittedly that amounted to Dugan and a few dwarves he'd healed back in Stad, but he really appreciated how well they took to grumpiness. They seemed to be naturals at scowling, even when gold and good news was in their future. He'd healed one dwarf's broken tooth and the first thing she'd said was, 'don't expect me to smile at you to show it off'.

"Things are only going to get busier for you I'm afraid. My expedition was only the first one to return, and we were the smallest of the groups."

The dwarf rubbed a blackened hand across his face. "Lords below, I came here to live an easy life of fixing wives' pots and pans and the occasional guardsman's spear."

Michael shrugged. "I guess you'll just have to suffer busy with pockets weighed down heavily with fat stacks of coin."

The dwarf snorted. "I guess there's that." He held out his hand. "Gurndan."

Michael took the hand and gave it a firm shake. His own hand wasn't small, but it felt like a child's squeezed in the dwarf's tremendous grip.

"Michael."

"Alright Michael. Whip it all out and let's take a look at what yer packing."

Clara giggled at that and the dwarf sent her a surly wink.

Michael took his pack and started to place each piece of his armor down. The dwarf would take a look at each piece, muttering as he did so before moving onto the next. When he got to the swords he frowned and actually spat on the flame of his forge.

"What in all that comes up from the ground is this?" he asked, holding up the thick sword that had been forged for him by the blacksmith back in that Svict village they'd cleared the yeti rift from. Even with his ministrations the previous evening it was blackened and brittled.

"I have the ability to summon powerful energies into my sword from the divine. I had a blacksmith forge that sword thicker, but it seems like it's starting to wear down too."

"It was already ugly, and you shat on the poor thing on top of it." He shook his head. "Did you ever consider that maybe a sword wasn't the best thing for you to be doing this with?"

"Uh, well, most of my training was with a blade."

"Yes, yes, you're from Stent, that's written all over this steel even with the many many patch jobs it's all seen before." He shook his head. "I'll never understand humans' obsession with swords. Based on the chips and bends in the rest of this I'm guessing you've got quite the list of Titles and Deeds as well?"

"I do."

"And you never considered something more durable? I mean, there's a few metals that can make a durable enough sword to withstand a heavily titled warrior, and even a few titled blades that are unbreakable, but you know what else is hard to break?"

"What?" asked Michael.

"A thick fucking metal rod with an even thicker top end."

"A mace?"

"Aye, a mace!" said the dwarf practically tossing the heavy sword back onto the counter it had been on. "It may not look as pretty as a someone with long golden locks like yours might prefer, but it won't break and it can wreck the fuck out of anything if you hit with it hard enough."

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"Do you… have a mace available?"

"No! But now you've got my damned blood up, and that pretty little thing you brought with you is not helping in that regard either. Leave all of your shit and I'll fix it all up. I'll use the metal from this abomination," he held the heavy bladed sword as if it was a diseased thing, "to forge you a mace."

"And how much is that going to run me?" asked Michael with a raised eyebrow.

"How much is your safety and surety worth to you?"

"I'm not sure, but how about we put a firm price on it before I come back here to realize that I owe you my firstborn."

The dwarf scoffed. "Odd phrase for a taker to use."

Michael winced, that stung a little. "Let's just settle on a price."

They went back and forth for a while until Michael made sure that he was only getting moderately fleeced rather than gruesomely. Luckily he wasn't hurting for coin with the signing bonus he'd gotten from Gemini, and he'd been told by the twins there'd be a bonus for successfully closed rifts. He'd been hoping to save a fair amount of coin in case he ever decided to travel to Old Hume. He didn't really want to have to be an indentured servant if he went there, and he'd been told the fee for a taker was around one hundred gold. If he did travel there he wanted to be able to do so freely to help as much as he could. Given the lack of competence he'd seen when it came to putting him to work in Stent, he expected that if he went to Old Hume at this point they'd make him serve people tea.

He shook his head. He'd really pushed a lot of obvious things out of his mind when he was in Stent. His guilt and the trauma of it all had made it so much easier to narrow his focus. He didn't regret the good he did, but he shouldn't have been as blind as he had been. He was lucky to have had good friends on his side. Well, them and the gods.

"You really wear all of your thoughts on your face don't you?" asked Clara looking at him with an eyebrow raised as they walked back through Southwind back to camp.

He chuckled. "It's a bad habit. My wife would say I have an 'honest' face. My kids would always know when I was going to tell them yes or no to things before I even said it."

She smiled. "At least you wear a helmet on the battlefield. Otherwise you'd be telegraphing your next move from a mile away."

"Well, I suppose that's the second most important reason to wear it."

They made their way back to camp and Michael saw Suraj talking to another merc in front of the old farmhouse. Suraj was the de-facto leader until Lys or the twins got back and he was nodding grimly as the man spoke to him. Michael could tell that the man was exhausted and covered in dirt, grime, and even a fair amount of blood.

Michael went over to him right away and placed a hand on him, making him jump, though he settled when he realized he was being healed. Michael focused on a shallow, but painful wound on his chest as well as fixing the ligaments in his knees that seemed to have been stretched in such a way that might have become permanently damaging.

"Michael," said Suraj acknowledging him. "Lys and the twins are almost back. They've both got a lot of wounded. I have some of the others readying a clean space in the house to act as an infirmary, but-"

"There won't be a need for an infirmary," said Michael, finishing the healing of the messenger and letting the glow of his hand dim. "How far are they?"

"Still maybe a full day out," said the merc Michael hadn't met yet.

"They're just further down the road?" he asked.

The merc nodded. "Yes. Straight shot. They actually met up there just a day ago."

"Then I'll be going out to meet them."

Suraj smiled. "Okay Hollywood. Let me assign a few people to go with you just in case. I notice that you left with two swords buckled to your waist and came back with only a dagger, so I'd guess the blacksmith has your kit?"

Michael nodded.

"You're too valuable to go undefended."

He gritted his teeth a bit. He'd be able to reach them very quickly if he moved alone, but he could understand the caution. He was one of the only diviners they had, and their best healer, as he'd just made clear when they were fighting at the rift.

"Don't worry, I'll have Syl and Vryse go with you. I don't think elves would slow you down much do you?"

Michael shook his head, grateful that Suraj was so keen.

He gathered a few of his things, and let Pyotr know where he was going. He insisted on joining him, and together they and their two elven guards started moving quickly south on the road. Michael worried for all of those that might be hurt, but he felt particular concern for Davi, Marcus, and Ollie. He whispered a short prayer to Seras to guard them and keep them safe as he was running down the road, grateful that his speed wasn't impeded by heavy armor so he could reach them as quickly as possible.