PACTS AND PROMISES
It had been seven days on the road to High Tower when they first glimpsed the looming palisades of its walls. The sun was rising in the East and it made the ornamented domes and roofs shine like silver. Makoa had walked nearly two hundred miles in full combat armor, stopping only when the senseless villain decided to start a surprise dual with his ridiculous cane sword.
One moment he would be walking with his head down, thinking on his family that he left in Blackrock, and the next he was exchanging blows with a wild eccentric who loved to fight as much as he liked to stare at beautiful women. Multiple times he had been knocked to the ground wearing his training plate, which for some reason was twenty pounds heavier than his actual armor. This would require that he defend from prone until he had been bludgeoned sufficiently with the hollow cane end of the cane sword.
Now, as they walked the few remaining miles to High Tower, Makoa wanted nothing more than to collapse into a warm bed, free of his armor, that had rubbed his entire body raw, and his infernal grieves, that had no doubt worn holes into the joints of his toes.
At the crest of a steep hill, the Sage waited patiently, staring off into the middle distance as though he were a sculpture of some sort. His sunhat was canted towards the dawn and his cloak billowed about him. He took the time to light his pipe and take a good drag before he addressed the beleaguered half-orc.
"Almost there Boy," he said cheerfully "I've been cheering for you this whole time. Just gotta take things one step at a time."
Makoa did not answer for his lungs could not take in enough oxygen to do so and make it up the hill. Ten meters, nine, eight, he thought to himself. At last he let himself collapse and lay on his belly, the plate grinding and clanking together in mockery as he did. The sun beat down on his furrowed brow and he exhaled causing a fresh billow of loose green grass to jet from his mouth.
"Don't get to comfortable bastard," The Sage began with a laugh. "Look on to the completion of your journey before ever resting your feet."
That ridiculous cane of his pointed towards the towering city and Makoa followed it. There between them and the city were many such sloping hills that he must scale, all of them impassable save over the narrow-cobbled road that they had been following.
Perhaps the sage expected this to defeat him, and Makoa felt it in his heart, that it nearly did. But instead, the sight of the city, that city of his youth where he was not welcome, where he was not a citizen to be accepted; somehow the prospect of finally being able to walk beside those denizens forced his spirit back into the clouds.
With effort and no lack of what the Sage called hysterics, Makoa made it back to his unsteady feet and began the descent.
It was nearly noon by the time he and the Sage rested at the main gate of High Tower. Makoa stood swaying and silent, sweat dripped from every pore in his skin. Three guards wearing plated steel armor with blue plumage watched them as they passed. The young half-orc nodded his head at them slightly and one of the guards, faceless behind his visor made the motion with two fingers on his right hand that he would be watching him.
The beauty and enormity of High Tower Stretched out before them in the form of sounds and smells and the sight of lavish buildings and bustling streets. They had entered through the main gate and so they were greeted at first by the displays of young squires and men at arms fighting with dulled blades. Makoa watched these men intently, gauging their skill against his own. They wore all kinds of armor and wielded an assortment of weaponry that Makoa had never known existed.
Around a tall and seemingly impregnable fort there were men in matching sets of armor, running about with purpose, talking amongst themselves about a fight they were about to enter. Makoa guessed that these men were part of the city's brigade.
Once they passed the fort, there opened up a vast financial district. Men wore lavish clothes of red and yellow and blue, and women the likes of which he had never seen wore dresses and kept their hair in buns or pigtails. There were things that he had not known existed, buildings such as banks and courthouses and theatres. These things were crowded with the softer sort of creatures that his father and his uncles had told him of.
"This isn't your world orcling," declared the Sage. "Don't bother trying to understand it."
The sage walked them farther into the city, where there were more of their kind about, the common folk. They stopped at a well-to-do inn named the Pointed Hound. Here the Sage purchased them a room for the night. Makoa was grateful that there was some confirmation they would finally be ceasing his mad death march.
After a stoic nod from the innkeeper, Makoa plodded upstairs to drop off his mobile prison. There were two beds in the room, and two night stands. A footlocker rested beneath each and there were two wide-set windows where the bustle of the Inner Quarter could be seen.
"You have the rest of the day to yourself Orc," the Sage said humorously. "Go and chase one of those young Half-Elf women about why don't you."
"I'm not terribly interested in any one type of woman," Makoa replied letting the heavy chest piece to his armor fall to the bed.
"Before you set off to slay the proverbial dragon, here,"
The Sage tossed him a rough coin purse from the other side of the room.
"Go buy yourself a proper sword, something suitable to your wild, hacking, finesse-less nature."
With that the Sage lowered the brim of his sunhat and passed out on his bed almost as if by command.
Makoa changed into what he had brought along from Black Rock, but he soon realized that his traditional garb was not going to suffice him any longer as a traveling half-orc adventurer. He donned his steel toed boots over a fresh pair of his woolen socks, tucking his cargo pants into them instinctively. With a last look at the resting Sage, he grabbed the coin purse and set out.
At the landing to the winding staircase, in a darkened corner he counted the contents of the purse. His eyes widened as he touched each platinum coin and dropped it to the table beneath him. All in all, he had 175 gold pieces. He tucked them silently into the crotch of his cargo pants between his underwear and the crotch pouch he had fashioned so as not to be robbed.
It was not long before the noon-high sun was beating down on him once again. This time however he felt light and agile, without the encumbrance of his training plate. He walked amongst the common folk, mostly human and smiled at them cordially. A child would stop and stare and then wave awestruck at him as Makoa would make them a funny face.
He had made it to the city market before he knew it, walking with a mixture of non-hume denizens now. Dwarves were once again underfoot and he found the notion to be comforting, these of course were his people. The steady hammering of smith-work reached his trained ears and he headed left at one of the first few intersections he encountered.
"Hey, green-skin." Came a familiar tone of voice. "Watch your giant flat-feet okay?"
Makoa looked down slightly and saw a dwarf standing in his way. He was wearing an ornate breastplate, a winged helm was in his right hand, and slung over his back was a great two-headed axe.
"I will brother; you have nothing to fear from me." Makoa replied cheerful.
The dwarf stared in amazement as Makoa nodded warmly and stepped around him with ease.
"Wait!" cried the dwarf.
The sound of hurried steps reached Makoa's ears and he stopped.
"I know you Orc." Shouted the great dwarf for all the crowd to hear. "I know who and what you are!"
"Oh really?" asked the young orc with excitement. "Do you know my uncle Baldor? Or my father Erdin?"
Again, the dwarf stood in silent bewilderment, the look Makoa could not place but he knew that it was not a good sign. He felt a need to explain further.
"They always travel together the four of them. My father is Erdin of Hammer Peak, he has auburn hair and bright blue eyes, he's of a height with you actually, and he has a voice like cracking stone."
The dwarf was speechless, his trembled in his fine armor and his helm came clattering to the ground at what Makoa noted as realization.
"You…" stumbled the warrior dwarf. "You are Erdin's boy?"
"I am indeed Brother. And who are you?"
"I? I am Haudil of High Tower. Knight of the small-folk here in the Inner Quarter." He said proudly.
Makoa nodded and offered his calloused right hand in friendship. As was the dwarven way, he did not bow, or stoop to the dwarf's stature out of assumed kindness. He offered the hand free of acknowledging that there was a difference between them. With what appeared to be tears in the young dwarf's eyes, he took the hand mightily and smile up at Makoa.
After a moment of respectful silence Makoa realized that they were being watched. A crowd of dwarves and men and a few full-blooded elves had formed about them. Makoa smiled nervously, waving his left hand above his head as though addressing a procession of adoring fans.
"This is my brother Makoa of Black Rock." Came Haudil from his side now. "He is to be treated as such."
With that Haudil beckoned that he follow, and Makoa went after him.
"So, what brings you to High Tower this day?" Haudil asked walking at what Makoa figured to be his brisk pace.
"I am here with a man called the Sage to resupply before we head to a town called Iverstead." Makoa said plain.
"Ah, to the point I see." Haudil entered a building that Makoa had not taken heed to assess before he did and followed suit.
It was a tavern, with dwarves filling it to the brim with laughter and spilt ale. As Makoa ducked through the door, the laughter and music stopped, but he could not notice for he was so consumed with the sight of so many of his kinsmen at play.
"What are you destructive lot looking at? Can't you see he's my kin?" Haudil called out making the room shake with the boom of his voice.
The music began to play slowly and talking recommenced as Makoa and Haudil took their seats at two stools near the far end of the bar.
"Barkeep! Two ales for me and the big fella!" he bellowed over the growing din of the crowd.
The barkeep, a dwarf close to middle age stopped for a moment and then nodded his ascent.
"So Makoa," Haudil began. "What is it that forced you from your father and his folk? It's not oft that you see a lone half-orc wandering about High Tower, especially one with the name of fellow dwarves on his tongue."
"My apologies brother, but before I say more may I ask how you know of my family?"
"You may indeed."
Two large pints of ale came sliding down from the other end of the bar and Haudil caught them with a skill that could only be acquired through performing the task a great many of times. He offered one up to Makoa one and tilted it to his lips. It was at this moment that Makoa realized he had not taken the time to observe the dwarf's features aside from his immaculate armor.
The dwarf was smooth skinned and young looking; he could be no more than thirty or so years old. His beard was black and plated with what appeared to be ivory, and his eyes were a steely green that reminded him of his father's. The skin of his face was sun kissed, and his odor was not that of soot and coal but rather oil and dirt.
"I knew your father as a great dwarf warrior, back when he was my father's shield brother." Haudil said after a long pull from his mug. "He used to visit our home with your uncles before and after a campaign and they spoke of their deeds often."
Makoa was confused.
"My father told me that he was a miner, that he always had been. How is it that you now tell me that he was some kind of great warrior?"
"It's the truth Brother. Your father was a great warrior, and a great leader. He fought in the Orc homelands and drove them back into the ocean and across the sea. We dwarves have little land as you know, and we are now forced to work at the leisure of men and elves. Your father and mine helped to secure what little it is that we have."
It was too much to digest, and Makoa felt that Haudil sensed this. The dwarf patted Makoa's left hand with his gauntleted right firmly and took another swig.
"It doesn't matter now Makoa. All of those stories can be told at another time. Just know, that your father was my father's shield brother, and that makes me yours. Now tell me, who is this Sage?"
The young orc-kin told Haudil of his travel from Black Rock, the forced march, his parting with his family, and the many skirmishes he endured from his mentor along the road. By then he was in his cups a fair bit, which was to say he had possibly finished another pint. The dwarf was easily of his senses and he laughed along at the parts Makoa knew he would. Dwarves had a rough sense of humor.
The sun was showing half past five when they made it out into the street again. Haudil took him to a smith where Makoa was talked into buying a large and cumbersome blade he had never seen before. Haudil told him that it was a falchion, orc in design but forged by a dwarf, which made it clearly the superior of all weaponry.
Makoa parted with eighty gold pieces for the thing and a sheath to keep it in. Haudil kept him company as he did so and talked about the greatness of their kind. He even spent a few kind words upon Makoa's lineage speaking of the fierceness of orc warriors and the dedication of their women to their children.
Next it was to a tailor, where Makoa was sized and fitted for under armor, mostly leather padding and cotton silks. That cost him ten gold coins. He purchased a pair of steel plated boots that fit him well, costing him another ten gold coins.
"You look decent Brother, more and more like an adventure and much less like a wet eared former miner." Haudil said cheerfully through a bite of lamb leg.
They were walking now on the main road, with Makoa towering over most of the denizens here, for this was dwarf residence.
"One last place and I will deem you fit to be my shield brother."
Haudil led the way back out of dwarf quarter and into a darker part of the market. Here the buildings were close together and only a few narrow alleyways allowed movement of a thinning crowd. There was so little room that Haudil would go ahead and block off anyone coming down the alleys so Makoa could walk through.
His plated boots clattered softly as they fell onto the cobblestone walkways. The falchion was strapped to his back in its large sheath and took up the entirety of his frame. The handle was above his head by an inch and the blade's tip touched just above his knees.
Just before dusk the pair made it to an armorer deeper within the market area. The sound of a hammer and folding steel caught Makoa's ear some ways before the shop was in sight. Haudil walked around the front of a stone building and found the owner at his trade.
A large half-orc stood before Makoa, almost a head taller than he, wearing a crimson apron and black cargo pants. The half-orc's tusks were larger and more defined than Makoa's, his ears were pointed like the orcs of stories that his family had told, and his brow was more square, his jaw more pronounced.
He tilted his head slightly at the sight of Makoa and then stood straight over his current project.
"You bring me one of my kind Haudil. I pray you don't think me to be empathetic with his man-orc."
"Not at all Davor. But I do know you to be the finest smith for his kind."
"Pleasantries are not your forte young dwarf, and yet I find myself softened by them." Davor sighed. "Tell me boy-orc, what do you wish to accomplish with that weapon and my armor?"
Makoa almost stammered in response. "I wish to do good."
The half-orc moved from around his table and stood before him, towering in height over Makoa.
"What are good and evil, boy-orc? Is it as plain as light and darkness?" Davor smelled the air before Makoa and snorted loudly. "You are not a half-orc boy. You are more of a quarter orc with a forgiving genetic take."
"I did not bring my shield brother here to be insulted or dissected by your cynicism." Haudil declared plainly.
Davor sighed again and relaxed his menacing stance.
"What is your name boy-orc?"
"My name is Makoa of Black Rock. Son of Erdin of Hammer Peak." Makoa said with a burning pride.
"A strong name for a common orcling. Strong at least for an orc raised by dwarves. However impractical the notion." Davor said returning to his table.
He returned with a measuring tape and went to his work. When all of his measurements were taken he logged them down into a book and brought out steel ingots. Leather strips were brought down as well and the forge was lit.
"Do you wish for payment?" Makoa asked warily.
Davor turned his head, the light of the fire caught the strong features of his greyish face.
"Tomorrow boy-orc. Perhaps around this time." Davor growled.
Makoa and Haudil turned to leave but that voice reached to them from the furnace.
"And boy," he called. "Never offer payment before a service is done."
The rest of the night, Haudil spent plying Makoa's worries with ale and songs, and it wasn't long before the young orckin had forgotten his sole brethren by blood. It was a quarter to midnight by the time Haudil walked a drunken Makoa home with the help of three of his band. The barkeep took him to his room at the behest of the most famous dwarf in High Tower and a silver coin.
Before he knew it Makoa was out for the night across from the sleeping Sage, still laying where he had left him.
Dawn came and went and it was hours after before Makoa woke from his drunken slumber. His body had metabolized the ale well and he awoke without a hangover. The Sage was absent by then. Makoa donned his new clothing and made for the Pointed Hound where he found Haudil sipping from a water skin responsibly.
"Good morning Brother." Makoa greeted taking water from his own pouch and drinking it greedily.
"Aye, good morning indeed." Haudil replied. "The Gray Maidens have arrived from across the Bay of Tears. They are a lively bunch, and downright handsome women if I do say so myself."
"Gray Maidens?" Makoa asked confused. "What do you mean?"
The dwarf sighed and stood from his stool.
"Come on Brother, must I show you everything of value in this world?" Haudil led the way out of the tavern and back out of Inner Quarter.
Makoa moved along gracefully, dodging the now smiling children of the more affluent neighborhoods. It was a decent walk before they reached the main gate, Haudil had stopped twice to refill his water skin at a public water point.
A procession was just entering the city; trumpets had been sounding for a block or so but now Makoa could see what the occasion was. A large ornate carriage rolled down the main thoroughfare pulled by eight large black draft horses. Before it rode knights clad in crimson red capes and plumage and smooth and lithe looking steel armor. Their steeds were pure as snow and their visors made them look as birds of prey.
"Don't you see Brother?" Haudil asked from below the front of the crowd. "Those knights, are women!"
Makoa took another look with his naive and unobservant eyes. And indeed they were. Their breast plates made room for their womanly features and the metal skirting they wore was wide and sweeping. He sighed a sigh that he thought to be foreign to his own mouth and force it shut with effort.
The lead knight dismounted with haste and skill, almost as fast as Makoa was able to observe and action and moved before the crowd. The throng of onlookers backed away as the Knight drew out a long bastard sword and gestured that they make room. Makoa backed away with effort.
All at once trumpets blew and drums beet and the crowd was kneeling with Haudil pulling Makoa to the ground with all of his weight.
"Bow Brother," he said with his own head bent. "She is the queen."
Makoa made as the others hurriedly and stared at the worn cobbles. Sounds reached his ears, breathing, the clattering of hoofs, and the sound of those heavily steeled boots upon the ground. Moments passed and the crowd became restless before the trumpets released them from their fealty. Makoa looked up just in time to see one of the Gray Maidens remover her helm, and all at once Makoa understood his Shield Brother's meaning.
Her hair was black as night and her eyes were amber. Beneath the visor her skin had turned a pale white and her hair flowed down to her middle back. Haudil again had to rouse him from his stupor.
"Hey Brother, she's far beyond the reach of mere mortals such as you. Best to forget she's a woman and just see her as a goddess of sorts." He laughed airily and led him along the way back to Inner Quarter.
Noon rested over them and Makoa took his leave to find the Sage. He asked around for a short while until he found his mentor in a tavern farther North of the Quarter, sipping on bourbon and talking to a complete stranger. Makoa politely interjected before he sat down with them.
"Makoa the Orc, meet Alistaine the Bold." The Sage said between a drag of his pipe.
"Pleased to meet you." Makoa said shaking the man's hand and gaining the measure of him.
Alistaine was at once foreign and familiar to Makoa. He had the look of a scholar of magic, with long robes and a pointed had that framed him a wizard. His features were kindly and wrinkled and he had a beard that touched down to his chest of salt and pepper hair. Sea grey eyes were set into his kindly face and the whiskers of his mustache completely covered his mouth.
"Good day to you, young warrior." Alistaine said with an accent that denoted proper birth. "Your mentor was just talking of your exploits along the road. I pray that you suffer no more ridiculous trials at this man's behest."
"It is my duty kind Sir." Makoa sighed. "My father Erdin has given me over to this Sage of sorts for training."
"I dare say that sounds to be a dwarvish name." Alistaine exclaimed excitedly.
The wizard started to shuffle through his tan robes into pockets that Makoa did not at first realize existed. After a short exploration he withdrew a leather notebook and a bottle of ink and set them upon the table. There was a short pause and then the wizard looked up as though he had remembered something.
"My goodness. I am aware of your occupation and your recent history and yet have shared nothing of myself."
"Oh, there is no need Sir Alistaine, the boy is…."
"Shush shush shush shush shush… Nonsense. This young man is a member of our discussion and is entitled to know the quality of the company he keeps." He waved off the Sage to Makoa's amusement and then turned to him.
"My name is Alistaine of Scarborough. It is a town inside of Bright Keep. I once was a renowned wizard in these parts but have given up that lifestyle to be a scholar at the local Mage's College. With it being summer and all of the younger mages having gone back to their homes for much deserved rest, I am traveling the hold in pursuit of magical knowledge."
"That is extraordinary Sir Alistaine," Makoa replied. "I have never known a wizard before."
"Ah, we are few in number my boy, hardly any young lad wishes to wield a tome over a sword. I happened upon magic as a boy." Alistaine explained, nostalgia drawing his gaze from Makoa to the middle distance between them.
"But that is a story for another time Lad." He said coming back to his senses.
He touched back upon his notebook and withdrew a quill.
"Now then, if you would be so kind to tell me, where do you call home?"
The quill scratched a blank page in his book and drew black ink upon its surface.
Alistaine spent the afternoon documenting Makoa's childhood in his notebook, asking questions only when Makoa became lost in his own story. After a time, the Sage excused himself and asked Makoa to meet him back at the room the next morning so they may prepare their provisions for their journey to Iverstead.
The Scholar was tedious and precise and yet patient and genuine. With every new fact Makoa recounted to him Alistaine shared a bit of his own life and Makoa found that he enjoyed his company very much.
Around supper time they broke their reflections and enjoyed beef stew with large hunks of potatoes and fresh carrots. It was explained that Alistaine would be following their tracks to Iverstead the next day for he had heard their library had a vast assortment of knowledge on the arcane arts.
Makoa and his new friend parted after their meal and shook hands vigorously. With that, he started off back towards the Inner Quarter to meet Davor and pay for his new armor. The streets were dark when he made it to the shop and the larger orc was resting his feet upon his furnace.
"Good evening." Makoa greeted from afar.
"That has yet to be seen." Davor replied sitting up.
Without a word he trudged into his shop for a moment and returned carrying a large wooden crate without a lid. He placed it down upon his workbench and sighed quietly.
"Half-helm made for an orckin," he said pulling out a rounded helm with a three slotted drop visor. "All of the pieces are made of thrice folded steel and silver."
The helm was large and had slight holes for hearing. It rippled wonderfully in the light of the orc's forge.
"Shoulder plates, with leather chest plate and metal shirting. You pull the things on like you would a tunic and slip your arms through. All of these plates are sewn with leather padding on the inside, so you won't chafe like I saw in your last shit set of armor."
Makoa listened to the things clatter softly on the table and walked up to the bench.
"Gut guard, it's a leather belt that you clip in the back and tighten in front. The metal work is the same as all the others. Next you have front and back thigh guards and shin plates."
He pulled all of these out and showed them to the young half-orc with a slight sense of pride. The younger orc stared in amazement and then a sense of dread came over him. He did not have enough to pay for all of this, and yet he wanted it all so badly. With hesitation he went on to say as much.
"I knew you would not be able to when I made it boy-orc." He growled lowly. "That purse of yours was too light last night."
Makoa looked on in shame.
"It's yours." Sighed Davor. "With no cost in coin."
He looked up at the towering smith confusedly.
"What do you want for it then?"
"Bring me the head of the first evil thing you slay." He said plainly and returned to his forge.
The next day he woke with the Sage and donned his armor with excitement. It took him awhile to figure out how it all went together. He had spent the night looking at the half helm on his night stand and working over the words of his kin. As he was putting on his boots and shin guards he wondered what the orc had meant.
"Makoa," came the Sage's voice. "Grab your pack and let's be off. I've waited on your fashion show long enough."
They spent the morning working their way through the market buying provisions for their journey. Makoa ended up carrying the majority of the weight and found it to be much easier without the terrible shit-armor that he was forced to make his march in. They bought jerky and water and a sack of large potatoes for their food.
Makoa had already brought a fair amount of gear and needed very little. His purchases were done quickly and the Sage shortly thereafter. They returned to the inn and packed their things in their sacks accordingly. Once they were complete the Sage went to find Alistaine the Bold and Makoa ran off to find his Shield Brother.
Like clockwork, he was at the Pointed Hound, his beard deep in a bowl of the fresh chowder of the day.
"Good afternoon Brother." Makoa greeted as he sat beside him.
"Good afternoon." He replied stuffing his mouth full of muscles and hunks of potatoes. "I take it you fancy your new armor then."
"I do indeed." Makoa stood to show off his stature.
"Aye, a proper warrior now. Not some soot covered miner."
"Thanks to your."
"Oh, I daresay you would have found your way without me. Although with much less style and charm."
They shared a laugh and Makoa ordered a bowl of chowder from the barkeep. Makoa told him of the conversation that he had had with Alistaine the Bold and of the promise he had made to Davor. His older brother took it in well and chewed his food deliberately as if to display his intent listening nature.
"Sounds like something the orc would say now that I think of it." He reflected after a large spoonful of chowder. "He was always a cryptic one, even before he set up his shop here in the Quarter. Working with dwarves that hardly know any better will do that to a half-orc. Davor proved himself more civil than even the most civil of us."
"How long have you known him?" Makoa asked.
"Known him is a stretch, I would say I knew of him." He slurped the broth of his chowder from a new bowl and wiped his whiskers. "Davor was brought here against his will actually by the city guard, accused him of being some intelligent war chief they found out in the foothills. I can't rightly tell you who he would have been leading. Orcs stay away from the plains and stick to the underground or mountains."
"Why did they detain him then? If he wasn't a threat?"
The dwarf sighed and shook his head faintly.
"I'm sure that your father told you, but half-orcs aren't necessarily the most kindly taken towards people. Even out here in what the humes like to call civilization. I regret to say that even I am not trusting of a half-orc when I first meet them. If you don't remember two days ago."
"Ah, I hardly noticed." Makoa said through a grin.
"Anyway, Davor was jailed for a week or so, tortured for information on more of his kind and where they were hiding. Finally, the people here rioted on the city prison and demanded he be released on principle. Not much that the guard could have done then."
A silence formed between them and Makoa let it linger as he thought on the orc who had gifted him on principle. Makoa had never known that side of humanity, he had never known that side of his father's people. Slowly he settled back down into reality and cleared his throat.
"Did you riot with them Brother?"
Haudil lowered his spoon into his bowl and looked up at Makoa with an apologetic look.
"I'll never not riot again."
The two parted with kind words and a pitcher of ale for the road. Haudil was to be part of a vanguard of dwarvish knights riding to West Watch, a fort a day's ride from Iverstead. They swore to see each other at the Pointed Hound in a two weeks' time and embraced warmly.
As Makoa lay down in the warm bed of the inn for the last time he wished that he could have rode out with his Shield Brother.