A fight over tribal colors was brewing in one corner of the bar. Two waitresses were being groped as they sought to deliver tankards of ale, while a third had resolved the same issue by denting a pewter flagon over the offender's head. There was shouting and cursing, much sloshing of booze and no small amount of weapons already drawn.

The young sword-for-hire Zael observed these proceedings leaning against the tavern wall. Even for mercenaries, these made for a sorry bunch.

He glumly surveyed the unimpressive pickings. His own band had suffered terrible losses during that last mission. While it netted them a fair sum of coin, their numbers were reduced to himself, the team leader Dagran and two others. To make matters worse, their warrior-mage Lowell suffered serious injuries from dealing with enemy sorcerers. It had been nearly a week before they were even certain he was going to make it at all. Now sporting a fierce wound on his face that would undoubtedly leave a scar, the roguish lady's man cheerily brushed it off, claiming such a mark would only enhance his good looks. Sword-maiden Syrenne had a few salty comments to add on that topic, but Zael noted how she flinched whenever Lowell stumbled, and it was obvious his continued paleness concerned her as much as any of them.

Brooding, the flaxen-haired war veteran reflected on their current situation. In order to maintain an edge in the competitive world of sellswords, it was necessary they sniff out some new recruits. This was made all the harder by Dagran's low tolerance for anyone he considered untrustworthy. Their betrayal at the hands of Zoran still rankled, and Dagran was not disposed to forgiveness under normal circumstances. Considering what he was seeing now, it might prove difficult if not impossible to locate even one candidate who could pass muster.

Speaking of the mercenary captain, Zael caught sight of him conversing with a man seated at the bar. They exchanged handshakes, and the patron went back to his drink while Dagran slipped easily through the crowd to rejoin his longtime colleague. To Zael's surprise, there was a smile on the older man's face, and a gleam in his topaz eyes which bespoke of good tidings.

"Find anyone good?"

"Maybe." The dark-haired merc had the look of a tiger sighting lone prey, and he clapped a hand on Zael's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here. I'll explain on the way."

The two men left the pub and came out into bright sunlight that still carried the smell of rain on hot cobblestones. At once they were caught up in the swell of passersby that thronged the streets of this busy burg. Their progress was smooth, as most townsfolk took note of their prominently displayed weapons and took heed to give them a wide berth as they hurried on by. Zael could appreciate the gesture but remained all too aware of some nervous glances and outright nasty glares that came with it. No matter where you went nowadays, mercenaries suffered a bad reputation. Feeling self-conscious, he sought to make as little disturbance as possible while keeping on their course.

"I caught a whiff of something interesting back there," Dagran threw over his shoulder as he strode confidently down the street, a proud wolf amongst sheep. If he bothered to notice the looks they were being given, it didn't bother him in the least. "Rumor has it there's a healer up for grabs in this town."

"A healer? For real?" Zael nearly came to a halt, making several people bump into him. He hurried to catch up. This news came as a shock. Dagran had made efforts to try and coax some magicians away from other parties in the past. Lowell joined them through his persuasive powers, it was true, but to a man they all closed ranks when it came to the healers. Things nearly got ugly on more than one occasion. No surprise there. Considering how dangerous mercenary work could be, any party that counted a healer amongst its members could thank their lucky stars. If they'd had one during that last skirmish, things might have gone very differently. And now to find there was a free agent available… this could be just the break their company needed!

"We should hurry," he insisted upon rejoining Dagran. "Once word of this spreads I'm sure every band in need will come sniffing around."

"Not to worry," his friend remarked. "From what I hear she's been about town for nearly three weeks and hasn't joined a new party. We can take our time with this one and get a good idea of how to proceed."

"Three weeks?" Zael sidestepped a puddle of something that definitely wasn't rainwater. Odd enough to learn their target was a woman. But why would such a valuable commodity be on the market for that length of time? Normally people in their line of work spared no expense when it came to recruiting a healer.

"Was her last party wiped out or something?" Zael asked. That would indicate the mage's talents were not up to par and they might want to reconsider letting her join.

"I know what you're thinking, and that's not it. She's quite skilled if the rumors are true. It seems a lot of the folks around town have benefitted as a result. No, it seems she left her last unit. Or was asked to leave, something like that. Our good fortune either way."

"Yeah." At least we can make a competitive bid. Minus the cost of treating Lowell's injuries, they still had a tidy sum set aside.

"Good thing that last job paid so well, even if it was hardly worth the cost," Dagran spoke as if reading his mind again. "The girl's in the market offering her services to anyone in need. Let's get a move on."

In no time they had reached the bustling commercial center of this busy port. It was midday, which meant the stalls were packed. Everything could be had for sale here, from food and weapons to those seeking to hire protection for caravans. Dagran spoke to a few sellers hocking their wares, and soon enough he had gleaned an idea of where to go. Their trip then took them to an area at the end of the street, where a small crowd was gathered around a table set up against a building.

"Now be sure to take this only twice a day with tea, otherwise you're asking for a stomachache."

"Thank you, miss! Thank you so much!"

Rather than joining the press, Dagran and Zael slipped off to the side and leaned against a wall to get a better view of the prospects. What they saw left them both surprised. Having expected a seasoned sort of character, tough and used to their pursuit's harsh life, they instead found themselves looking at a girl younger than either of them. She was small, dressed in soft leathers dyed shades of purple, white and green. A dagger sheathed at her belt glowed slightly from some enhancements. Long shiny black hair was tied up in a bun at the back of her head, held in place by ribbons bedecked with white feathers and a single large pale flower. Two long forelocks framed either side of her smooth features. There was an elvish quality about the young woman, with heavy-lidded eyes and a beguiling expression both reserved and thoughtful. Her dark eyes were calm, carrying no sign of the jaded outlook one would expect in a mercenary of any stripe.

Taking a cue from Dagran, Zael watched the young woman work for ten minutes. In that time, she dispensed remedies, diagnosed illnesses, offered advice and generally made her clients feel at ease. Delicate fingers took the hands of rough-hewn labormen and anxious mothers without regard of their station. Her soothing voice and air of wisdom served as well as any tincture or powder that came from those assured hands. She was like some mysterious forest sprite emerged from the bole of a tree. Zael was quick to note how her clients went away smiling and lighthearted when only moments before they had been beset by anxiety.

Admirable as this may be, what interested them more than any panacea was the display of magic put on. With commendable skill the pale pixy conjured a white healing circle around herself to treat people suffering from injuries that ranged from burns to broken bones and open wounds. After just a few seconds those afflicted with lesions and limps walked away completely cured, a spring in their step and no trace to mark their having ever been hurt to begin with.

Dagran and Zael exchanged a look, clearly impressed. Both were eager to begin negotiations. Still they waited, not wanting to interrupt the proceedings. An opening would come.

As he watched, Zael in particular couldn't help but notice how most of the townsfolk paid their benefactor in foodstuffs ranging from fresh baked bread to farm-grown eggs. A trifle odd even for peasants, considering how prosperous this place seemed to be. Still, he knew what it was like in small hamlets. Bartering for goods and services was a way of life. But they had solid coin to offer, and that must surely mean something.

At last a bell tolled from the nearby church, and as if taking this for a sign, the enchantress rose from her seat. The patients dispersed for the most part, some heading off to conduct their business while those more seriously afflicted settled around the street to wait.

In a flash Dagran and Zael had crossed the distance between them. The healer looked up at their approach.

"Pardon me, miss," the sellsword captain spoke. "My name's Dagran, and this is Zael. We're the heads of a mercenary company passing through these parts. We understand that you're currently not affiliated with any group, and thought to see if you might be convinced to throw in your lot with us."

No expression passed over the healer's face as she looked between them. Her tranquil gray eyes seemed to absorb their faces, causing Zael to shift uncomfortably while beside him Dagran maintained a relaxed smile.

Then she inclined her head. "Mirania. Pleased to meet you both." She then went about dividing various potions and foodstuffs into two separate sacks, one of which was much larger than the other. "I'm about to have lunch. Can we speak after I'm done?"

"Of course." Dagran's sharp eye was quick to perceive what might be an opening. "But since that is the case, perhaps we could treat you to a meal, and in return you might lend an ear to our proposal?"

Mirania paused. A gurgling groan came from somewhere hereabouts. Zael glanced around but could see no sign of its source. As he did, the graceful healer stood up to address them.

"I don't see why not. Shall we get going?"

"Excellent." Dagran turned to his companion. "Zael, why don't you carry that big sack? Let our guest travel light."

"Be glad to." Always willing to help, the fresh-faced mercenary hoisted up the bag brimming with edible goods. Mirania declined Dagran's offer to carry the tools of her trade, and together they went off in search of the nearest inn.

"So you see, our goal is really…"

"Are you planning to finish that bacon?"

"What? Oh, uh…" Dagran looked down at his plate then back at Mirania sitting across from him. "No, help yourself."

She did so, reaching over to spear the strips with her fork and proceed to tuck in. Dagran glanced at Zael and raised an eyebrow, who shrugged in return. He then launched back into his pitch. "It's knighthood we're aiming for; a secure, comfortable position in the service of a lord. But reaching that goal is no small task, to say nothing of getting there alive."

Mirania didn't look up from her plate as he spoke. They'd been at the inn for ten minutes, and in that time she had consumed a brace of roast quails, two rashers of bacon, three servings of fried potatoes, and two loaves of bread hollowed out and filled with chunky soup. It wasn't like she scarfed it down. The elfin girl had impeccable table manners. Apparently healing folks just made one ravenously hungry. This was rather impressive in its own right. The two men hardly had a nibble of their own orders in that time. Zael was content to let Dagran do the talking while he watched this display of appetite in full force. Where did she put it all?

"… a solid run these past few years, but we need to up our game. If we're to garner any sort of recognition, it'll have to be on the battlefield. There's always conflict brewing, what with the land dying. Farmland is becoming more precious by the day. At this rate it won't be long before the empire can't properly feed itself."

Across from them Mirania popped a last bit of roast duck into her mouth and chewed with dainty fingertips covering her lips. "I understand. It's a bad situation all around. You might say the state of the land is what brought me here to begin with."

As she spoke, her eyes drifted down to linger on Zael's virtually untouched plate. Beside him Dagran gave a gentle nudge with one elbow. Recognizing this sign, he pushed his meal forward and said a trifle loudly, "Here, Mirania, you can have mine. I'm not feeling hungry."

"Thank you, Zael." The charming enigma offered him a fond smile as she reached over to accept this offer. Surreptitiously Zael snuck a roll off Dagran's platter, who granted him this much before continuing.

"We can offer you protection and a share of the profits. If you agree, you'll be one of us. There's no top-down hierarchy in our group. We all have roles to play, but we remain as equals. Everyone has their say in what direction the party should proceed and whether a road might be too dangerous. I'll bear the safety of the group foremost in mind when I conduct negotiations with any clients. You can think of it as joining a family. Not all of us get along, but we stick together. Nothing's more important." The persuasive rogue leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with a faint smile. "Does that sound like something you'd care to be a part of?"

In the time Dagran took to finish, Mirania had already polished off her plate and attacked his own. At last she stopped. Taking a deep breath, the clear-eyed mage looked between them. Neither mercenary had a clue what she might be thinking. Except possibly whether more food might be coming.

"I believe there's good prospects to be had with you. All right. Count me in."

"I'm glad to hear it. Welcome aboard." They all stood up. Dagran went to pay their bill, and Zael moved over to stand by Mirania.

"I can't promise you it'll be easy," he said with a subdued smile. "Some of our current crew are a bit rough around the edges. Still, they've got good hearts. I'm sure you'll like them when you get to know each other."

"I look forward to it." Mirania hoisted her small bag of medicinal supplies over one shoulder. "Shall we be off then?"

"Of course. Here, let me get…" Zael hesitated, glancing behind her. "Wasn't there another sack?"

Mirania looked down at the floor, where a deflated mass of cloth lay. One pale lavender boot nudged this empty mass out of sight beneath the table. "No," she stated confidently before proceeding out the door.

Wearing a befuddled look, Zael could only follow after.

When they got back to the inn, Syrenne came rushing up to tell them Lowell had collapsed.

The spitfire redhead proved frantic. While willing and able to risk her life in battle against any number of opponents, she was beside herself at the prospect of an enemy against whom her skills were of no avail. Dagran tried to calm her and she nearly bit his head off in a rage. While he attempted to soothe her fury, Mirania wasted no time in having Zael lead her to their injured man.

Standing anxiously by the door, he watched as the mystic knelt by Lowell's bedside. The bandages around his neck were red with blood again. Mirania took them off, examined the wound, and proceeded to cast a magic circle. Syrenne and Dagran had rejoined them by this point, and for several heart-pounding seconds they could only watch.

Then Lowell's eyes drifted open. He blinked up at the ceiling before turning to spy the beautiful young maiden beside him.

"I never imagined the Angel of Death would look so lovely," he said, and gave her a wink.

In return Mirania just smiled and stood up to address his companions. "He'll be alright now. He has a strong constitution and a healthy heart. There shouldn't be–"

The rest was cut off when Syrenne shot over and wrapped her in a fierce hug. "I dunno who you are," she exclaimed with a shaky laugh, "but I know you'll never be short of a drink while I'm around, and tha'sa fact!"

Introductions proceeded apace and much ado was made over their newfound partner. Afterwards they left Lowell to get some rest. Syrenne made good on her promise and went about buying Mirania some choice beverages. Of course this included a round for herself, and in no time their boisterous comrade was leading a rousing bawdy chant amongst the other patrons. Standing atop a table and spinning merrily around, she laughed with delight and kicked up her heels in a dance. The soft-spoken healer had retired to an empty table where she looked on with a smile, clapping her hands with the rest but drinking only moderately.

About half an hour later, Zael felt a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when he turned around to see Lowell up and about. "Lowell! What are you doing out of bed?"

"This surprises you?" His ally grinned jauntily and snagged a sausage in a bun off a passing waitress' tray before taking a hearty bite. "C'mon, lad, you're talking to a champion fighter here! Nothing keeps the gallant Lowell down for long."

It was true that his wound had completely closed up so it was now only a smooth diamond of scar tissue, and the color had returned to his cheeks for the first time in a week. But Zael remained concerned. "Alright, but still, you shouldn't be up and about. Mirania said a good night's rest is essential for recovery."

"Exactly why I'm here. You don't expect me to spend the night alone in my weakened condition, do you?" Those bright blue eyes drifted over the rowdy merrymaking. "And where is the bonnie lassie who healed my broken body?"

A presentiment of danger passed up the other man's spine. "Careful, Lowell," he warned. "She only just joined up. Don't go scaring her off already."

"Wouldn't dream of it. It'll be just fine." His gaze alighted on Mirania, and giving Zael's shoulder a hearty squeeze he whispered, "So long as Syrenne doesn't find out!" He then headed off to greet her.

Those words of assurance did nothing to lessen Zael's discomfort. Taking it upon himself as co-founder of the band, he trailed at a distance behind to keep an eye on things in case they got out of hand. As such he caught the first salvo when Lowell drew up to where Mirania sat. "You know, in all the stories, the sleeping beauty is awoken with a kiss by their rescuer," he said in a teasing tone.

"Hello, Lowell." Mirania looked up at him. Almost immediately, however, her eyes drifted down to the bun he held, its thick sausage covered in fried onions and dripping with juices. "I see you're feeling better."

"All thanks to you, my darling." The words poured off his warrior-poet's tongue with the natural grace of a flowing stream. Zael couldn't help but be impressed by his dedication even in the face of near death. "So tell me, what's a lovely lady such as yourself doing in the company of riffraff like this?" He gestured out with his foot-long at the crowd.

"Do you include yourself in that assessment?" Mirania was clearly paying heed to what he said, but all her attention seemed fixated on the sausage, following its every movement with utmost intensity.

Lowell chuckled, dipping his head. He put one foot up on the bench next to her and leaned an arm on it to draw closer. "If I'm being honest, there's a part of me that responds to such debauched carrying-on's. But only a small part." His voice dropped to a husky rumble. "I'm much more interested in the softer side of entertainment, if you catch my drift." He proceeded to flash a merry wink before taking a bite of his sausage.

Or rather, he tried to. Because it was only then Lowell seemed to notice his hand was empty.

Zael stared. So did Lowell. Both weren't quite certain what just happened. But when the ice wizard looked up, it was to find Mirania chewing with fingers pressed lightly to her lips. Before he could react she swallowed and stood up.

"I'm glad to find you in such high spirits, Lowell. Would you excuse me? I believe Syrenne might need some help getting down."

"Eh? Oh, uh…" He looked at her, then back down at his hand, fingers flexing experimentally. "Yeah. Fine. I'll… see you later."

Mirania drifted off. With furrowed brow, Lowell continued to stare in puzzlement at his absent meal, mouth moving silently on questions that never quite seemed to get out.

Meanwhile, Zael was beginning to suspect there was more to their new ally than met the eye.

Zael stood on tiptoes and craned his head desperately around to see over the press. There was an arena fight going on today, which meant a lot of people out and about. He finally spied what he was looking for and shoved his way through, ignoring the bitter curses that resulted.

"Dagran!"

The handsome fighter turned his head. "Zael. What's up?"

His words were nonchalant. Anyone listening would never guess that the mercenary's strong hands were now locked around the throat of a merchant, who struggled and kicked futilely atop his stall table.

"Er…" Zael peered at the man's purple face and bulging eyes. Dagran took note and wasted no time explaining.

"This blighter tried to sell me some eggs at 230 apiece, when everyone knows the average price around town is 220." He turned back to the proceeding strangulation, eyes narrowing and lips curling in a faint snarl. "No one takes advantage of me."

Glancing nervously about, Zael noticed the other vendors and passersby were steadfastly ignoring what was taking place. Even the town guards didn't seem interested in investigating a potential murder right in their midst. He knew full well how poorly Dagran reacted to anything that smacked of betrayal. At times like this it was best not to get in his way.

"Was there something you needed, Zael?"

Dagran had flung the poor man to the ground and was now kicking him viciously in the stomach, holding on to the table for better leverage. Pots and crates rattled with every methodical blow. The whole time his expression didn't so much as flicker. *THUMP* *THUMP* *THUMP*

Recalling his reason for being here, his cohort produced a piece of vellum with writing on it. "Here."

Dagran raised an inquiring brow while never leaving off putting the boot in but took the sheet all the same. *THUMP* It proved to be a tavern meal receipt. He inspected the figures for a bit before remarking, "It's a bit steep. But with the three men we added yesterday, especially that Biggins character, that's to be expected. No need to get all worked up." He handed the receipt back before returning to his handiwork. "What's the trouble?"

*THUMP*

"You don't understand! That's not for the whole crew," Zael protested as he took it back. "It's Mirania!"

"What?" Dagran said with a laugh."You're joking!"

The look on his friend's face caused him to finally stop beating his victim. He blinked in amazement. "You're not joking." Dagran snatched the scrap of paper back and looked it over once more. He studied the sums laid out, checking to make sure there were no mistakes in calculation. The merchant on the ground groaned, and without looking he kicked him once again for emphasis, "Pipe down, you," at which the poor fellow shut up.

After having satisfied himself that there was no chicanery involved as far as mathematics went, the leader of the war band gave his partner a troubled look.

"Well… I guess we'll just have to eat it."

Zael couldn't tell if that was intended as a joke or not.

"But why me?"

"You've got the best rapport with her, that's why," Dagran slumped on a stool wearing a pained frown. "The others all joined after her, which is why they might not be perceived as having the necessary authority. Coming from me it sounds like an order, which I prefer to avoid. Lowell wouldn't be able to stop flirting with her long enough to remember why he was there, and Syrenne…" He hesitated, glancing over to where their cheerful Valkyrie was passed out drunk on a bench before looking back. "Same problem."

Zael didn't know if he wanted to know what that meant. It was true for the last three months they hadn't lost a single man in large part due to Mirania, and not for lack of dangerous assignments. Work was easy to find thanks to discontent growing fast in the empire, just as Dagran had predicted. By all rights they should be flush with cash after several successful campaigns.

Instead, they were teetering on the brink of financial ruin.

"When she's not reading, she's eating," Dagran spoke in dark terms. "When she's not eating, she's sleeping! And when she's not sleeping, she's eating again!" He clenched a quivering fist in an effort to master his exasperation, heaving a tired sigh. "Look, Zael. Just talk to her. You're good with girls. They respond to you. You're not perceived as a threat. So get over there, and ask her nicely to put a cork in it!"

Flinching at his comrade's obvious wrath, Zael managed a miserable nod. He crossed the communal area of the tavern they were currently frequenting until he stood before the target of this mission.

Zael coughed to get her attention. "Mirania? Can I… have a word?"

The girl looked up from the book she had been engrossed in. "Yes, Zael? Is dinner ready?"

"NO! That is…" Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to steel himself. Just start off easy. Don't act cross. Explain the situation and let her know we still support her no matter what. "There's something important we have to discuss, and it can't wait any longer."

"Certainly." The healer placed a ribbon between the pages of her book and set it beside her. "Please continue."

"Right. So, it's like this…" Zael's attention drifted about the taproom uncomfortably. Almost at once he locked eyes with Dagran, who frowned and made a motion urging him on. "The thing is, Mirania… you know we're thrilled to have you in the party, right?"

She smiled in response. "I've never regretted joining once, if you're wondering."

"Good. That's good. The thing is… I'm trying to say…"

"Zael, please. Take a breath and just tell me what's troubling you. I'm more than happy to help."

He did so. Perhaps her calming presence served him even for something like this. Feeling far more relaxed, he looked down at her and said simply, "Mirania, you need to stop eating so much."

She blinked. "Oh."

When nothing more came from her, he pressed on. "I'm not saying it's a problem. But… well, actually, that is what I'm saying. Your food bill is cutting into our expenses far more than anything else! If you can just learn to recognize when you're going overboard and stop, even if you don't feel quite full, that would be a huge help. I know I've never broached the subject before, so this might come off as out of the blue, but if there's a reason you feel so hungry all the time, like it's part of your magic, then I'm more than happy to help you find another way to–"

"Zael."

A sniffle stopped him cold.

"Zael, I… I can't believe you would say that to me!"

He drew back, glancing frantically about for help. "W-what?"

Mirania looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He had never seen her in such a state of distress.

"In all the time we've worked together," the healer sobbed, "have I ever once only treated you partly? Healed a wound just halfway? Stopped before you were completely well again? Have I ever done that to you, Zael?!"

"Wh… I mean…" His jaw worked up and down in desperation. "NO!"

"No! I haven't!" Mirania sniffed and wiped at her cheeks with tiny palms. "I always give it my all! I'd never do you the disservice of not! You're my teammate, Zael, and I value you too much to ever put your life in jeopardy when it was within my power to prevent it! Your safety means everything to me! Just the thought of you bleeding out on the battlefield because I neglected my duty and didn't stop until you were fully well… I simply….!" She then covered her face with her hands and began weeping softly.

"Mirania!" Zael fell to his knees and gripped her shoulders. "Please forgive me! I value you too! I never want you to feel as though you shouldn't be at your best around us! So please… eat as much as you want!"

"Thank you, Zael. You're so kind." With that Mirania picked up her book and started reading, face serene as a cloudless sky. "Let me know when it's time for supper."

"O-okay."

Feeling somewhat dazed, the young merc stood up and tottered off. A sense of profound disorientation had settled over him in the last few seconds, as though he had been hit with a Daze weapon. He shook his head and looked all about for some assistance, only to find Dagran glaring at him.

"You idiot," the spiky-haired man muttered, and stalked off in disgust.

Dagran and Zael's party made camp for the night in a fringe of cypress and elm trees not far from the latest battlefield. The fighting these last two weeks was intense. Three local barons had gone to the mat over disputed grazing rights. The empire hadn't officially interceded yet, which only served to leave the prickly vassals spoiling for a fight even more. Open warfare was all but a certainty at this point. For the time being, it had been restricted to proxy fighting, which meant mercenary bands like theirs were in high demand.

As night fell Zael moved through the camp, conversing with his fellows and offering what encouragement he could. They numbered twelve strong now. While certainly not the biggest party in play, their team had earned a reputation for smart fighting and solid results. Dagran was pleased by this, and he assured Zael the bloodshed brought them one step closer towards earning their knighthoods. The sustained fighting served another purpose. Rumors from the south spoke of skirmishes with armed Reptid bands, and there was even talk of the Gurak Empire making trouble again. So for now, they were best served by sharpening their skills in preparation for when a major conflict began.

Another unforeseen advantage of being out in the field this long: no access to markets. Which meant Mirania couldn't drain their funds. Hunting, fishing and foraging had been their only means of sustenance for a fortnight. Their mysterious healer hadn't complained once the whole time they had been out here. In fact, she seemed ably suited to surviving in the wild, another surprise. A welcome turn, considering how sparse the pickings were nowadays. The very ground under his feet looked crumbly and pale, like soil that had been over-farmed without rest. No one knew more about identifying edible plants and herbs or tracking wild animals than Mirania. She really was a bundle of quiet mystery.

Good thing, too. Lowell joked that if they couldn't find steady access to food out here, she was as liable to eat them as anything. They all had a good laugh at this.

Lately, however, Zael found himself awoken by a strange groaning sound in the night that saw him reaching for his weapon. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, but at times he caught Mirania staring at him while he was eating and licking her lips. It made him shiver.

"Little truth to that joke, eh?" Dagran had laughed when he told him about this.

Night settled in and the stars shone down. Their fires cast an orange glow over the landscape. Having seen to his satisfaction that the perimeter was secure and the men were settled, Zael went looking for Dagran and found him leaning against a tree away from the two main firepits their team had dug.

"Dagran?"

His old friend didn't respond, merely gazed intently ahead. Zael looked in the same direction. A few yards off Mirania had her own personal blaze going over which she was roasting the limbless bulk of what looked like a large boar. This she basted carefully with a homemade marinade while turning a spit. The air was filled with the aroma of savory meat. There was no question of sharing. Everyone agreed that anything Mirania caught herself she earned.

Zael tried again. "Dagran."

"Where does she put it all?" the lean fighter mused, rubbing a hand against his bearded chin. He broke out of his reverie and seemed to notice Zael. "Oh, hey. Had a chance to look around?"

"Yeah. We're good." Zael rested an arm against a young cypress and studied the dancing flames. "Sentries are up and we all know our shifts. I've got first watch." He patted the crossbow slung at his hip. "No chance we'll be taken unawares."

"Nice." Their leader grunted and pushed off from his rest. "Still, stay sharp. There's no moon tonight, and no honor among thieves, so we might be attacked before dawn. Make sure your replacements are well rested. And be sure someone's covering Mirania at all times."

Zael could appreciate his partner's caution now more than ever. "Everyone's tired, but thanks to her, we're not going to bed hungry at least. I doubt the same could be said for the other merc bands in the area."

"I know what you mean," Dagran nodded. "We really owe her. It was better fortune than I ever dreamed us running into each other."

"Despite some… unexpected hitches," Zael threw in.

They both chuckled. A ways off Mirania tucked happily into a rack of steaming ribs, blowing on them and nibbling vigorously. The co-captains watched with a measure of bemused affection.

"Have you ever seen anybody eat that much in your life?" Dagran suddenly asked.

"No," Zael admitted. "I mean, where did she even find a boar? The most we've seen was squirrels and the occasional pheasant."

"Leave it to Mirania." His partner lifted both hands to heaven in an expression of surrender and turned around. "She's got a nose for these things."

"I'll say." Zael took up step beside him. "Can you imagine what would have happened if we couldn't find any food out here? She really might eat one of us!"

They looked at one another, then back at Mirania. Both laughed again, a trifle weakly, before turning to head back to camp.

As they did, one of their men looked up from his place by the fire. "OI! Any o' you lot seen Biggins lately?"

Zael and Dagran both froze in midstep.

"BIGGINS!" the merc shouted. "Where are ya, ya FAT BASTARD?! Get'cher thick, meaty ass out here, man, we got a game going!"

As their comrade continued to shout, the two co-captains turned slowly around back to where Mirania sat. They stared at the huge headless carcass blackening on a spit, grease and juices dripping off it causing the fire to snap loudly. Despite the warmth of the evening, both had broken out in a cold sweat.

"Dagran…" Zael whispered.

"Don't say it."

"Dagran, she ate him! She ate BIGGINS!"

"Blast it, Zael, be quiet!" Dagran snarled, shaking as he hadn't since his first campaign. "Get ahold of yourself before you start a panic!"

"But she ate him!" the younger man protested, eyes wide as could be and face ashen with horror. Mirania continued to take dainty bites of meat while tossing rib bones over her shoulder, unconcerned with the uproar happening nearby. "She cooked him and ate him! Like a witch in a fairy tale!"

Unsheathing her knife, Mirania began carving more meat off the carcass. Zael felt his gorge rise at the sight.

"BIGGINS!"

"She ate him, I tell you!"

"Zael, shut UP!"

"BIGGINS! SAY SOMETHIN', MAN!"

"Quit'cher barkin'!"

Into the circle of firelight strode a hefty figure hoisting up his britches. "Can't a man take a crap in the woods in peace? Ye'll bring every fighter within a hundred leagues down on us with all yer hollerin'!" The argument continued for a while before dying down.

Meanwhile Dagran and Zael had both nearly collapsed in relief. Feeling more spent than after having gone the whole day in pitched battle, the shaky pair supported one another back to join the others. Syrenne took one look and offered them each a drink, which they accepted with such alacrity even she was taken aback. Mirania continued to happily eat her catch, seemingly unaware of what had taken place.

The young fire mage Yurick sat across the table from his potential employer with arms crossed and a frown over his face. While boasting an excellent reputation as far as mercenaries went, there was definitely something off about this band. It wasn't just the fact that over half their crew had quit on them recently and gone on to join other groups. His lone eye darted from one face to another. They were fairly tolerable, but to a man they all seemed… hungry was perhaps the best word.

"I have just one more question for you," their leader Dagran spoke in low tones.

He snapped his fingers, and Yurick jumped as a large steaming hunk of blackened deer haunch was dropped in front of him. He looked up at the fair-haired fellow they called Zael, who had a haunted look about him.

"Can you finish all this in the next two minutes?"

The spindly youth narrowed his single eye, judging the sheer amount of meat before him, then looked up and declared, "Are you trying to kill me?"

To his very real consternation, the mercenary captain's face broke out in a relieved smile. "You're hired!" he said.

Dagran stood up and left with Zael, leaving Yurick very nonplussed.

"Excuse me. Are you going to finish that?"

He looked behind him to where the pallid healer girl sat cross-legged on the bench opposite. With a shrug Yurick picked up the tray and held it out for her. "Help yourself."

"Thank you, very much."

An hour later Mirania was reading by the window when Dagran came up to join her. "What have you got there?" he asked curiously.

"Something from the local library." She held it up for his inspection, and the sellsword captain leafed through the pages, lip quirking at what he found there. "It's an ancient treatise on hypothetical causes of the land's decay. Nothing concrete. But several sources point to Lazulis Island as holding answers." Mirania couldn't hide the hope in her voice when she spoke next. "Since it's one of the options you mentioned earlier for potential clients, I was hoping this might help decide on our next course of action."

"Lazulis Island, eh?" He rubbed his chin. "There's trouble in those parts. We might head down that way as it were. Anything in here we should be concerned about?"

He handed the book back, and she opened it once more and spread it on the windowsill. "I shouldn't think so. This information is rather dated and not concerned with travelers." Mirania flipped a page, concentrating on certain drawings and arcane inscriptions. "It does refer to an ancient power that's hidden there. The translation's a bit foggy. It looks like… 'Beyonder'?"

Dagran leaned over her shoulder. "More like 'Outsider,' I think."

Mirania studied the symbols more closely. "That could be it. You're surprisingly well-versed, Dagran."

"Thanks."

The way he said that made her look up. However right then her nose registered the scent of blackberry cobbler, and immediately her head swung to focus on a cook bringing one out of the oven. In doing so, she completely missed the far hungrier look that retreated from Dagran's face swift as a spider.

Her teammate spied the source of her fixation and laughed. "Really, Mirania. Thanks. You've helped out a lot. We couldn't have made it this far without you. I'm truly glad you're with us."

"So am I." she replied without looking at him.

Dagran then went and bought her the whole cobbler. Like a true friend. Mirania knew for certain then she would never find better people than these.

FIN.