
	Tales of Orkney
	by Bomur37

	The Conversation


"What bothers you, girl?" asked the thief.

	Most of the party were asleep in their blankets; the thief stood watch by the fire, and the magician sat opposite for reasons of her own.  The breeze from the east had died, the skies had cleared into a starry night, a fair end to an unpleasant day.

	The battle that afternoon had been won, but not without cost.  Tanrienrial the Ranger had fallen to an axe-blow to the skull, and although Werri the Monk still lived, few of the party expected him to survive for long.  At least he was sleeping.  The thief thought he might be better off if he slept more permanently, but she kept such thoughts to herself.  The trek to the nearest shrine would not be easy as it would mean crossing difficult terrain, where roving packs of beasts and men were eager to fall on already wounded prey.

	"What bothers you, girl?" asked the thief.  "Something does – it's etched on your face like a rune.  You can talk, if you're of a mind to – I'll listen."

	The young magician was startled out of her dark thoughts.  In the quiet of the night, the thief's voice sounded abnormally loud.

	"It's nothing," she said softly.

	The thief shook her head.  "Suit yourself."  She was sure the girl would talk eventually, just as interrogated prisoners talked eventually – the main difference being that as the magician was a comrade, the thief would not use her knife for encouragement. Besides, she liked the girl, and was in any case inclined to help her if she could, for reasons of her own.  Also, it had to be admitted, sometimes the knife was unnecessary, as some well-placed words could do the job just as well.  The thief had learned early on to use all the tools at her disposal.

	The magician studied the older woman before her.  She wore a studded leather jerkin that left her arms bare – the tightly muscled arms and legs were lithe, as if designed for speed rather than strength.  A number of scars, some large, some small, told of experience hard won, and an indomitable will to survive.

	The thief was not pretty, not had ever been, if the magician was any judge.  The dark hair cut short, the deliberately masculine clothing, even her peculiar way of moving, spoke of a woman who gave only perfunctory acknowledgement of her gender, then carried on with whatever business she was set on.

	"Where did you get that?" asked the magician, noticing one particularly ugly scar on the thief's thigh.  "It looks new. I didn't think you were touched at all in the battle today."

	"It's an old friend," answered the thief easily. "Aches a bit in wet weather.  Got it from a Paladin down south.  Nice little fight, that one."

	"You fought a Paladin?  I thought they were on our side."

	"Maybe, but I was on my side at the time."

"Did you kill him?"

	"He was making a good job of dying when I left."

	The magician looked profoundly miserable.  "Before today, I've never killed another person.  A mad beast or two, or evil things, but not people.  Not a person who lived and talked and smiled and laughed.  Now there are those who lie dead on the field because I raised my hand against them."

	"But you saved lives – our lives – in the doing of it," the thief argued.  Of all the things that might have been troubling the young woman, she had not expected this.  "Besides, are you really telling me that you have grown in power without killing before?"

	"Not a person, no.  Before I joined this party, I worked for another… they had a Pyromancer who was gifted, to say the least, and would kill whenever the opportunity arose.  I was useful in other ways – creating light, giving protection, summoning wolves, that sort of thing – so it was never important, maybe not even noticed."

	"Until today." said the thief.  The Lightning Strike that the young magician had summoned during the battle was particularly deadly to so many wearing chain mail, and so accurately placed that none from her own party were touched by it.  It had slain seven of their foes outright, and so damaged the remainder that they were little trouble to eliminate.

	But another was dead upon that field, and perhaps by morning yet one more might join him. Furthermore, the thief knew that a trek lay ahead that would be fraught with such danger that the party could ill afford a spell caster that was reluctant to kill.

	"Until today," echoed the magician.  "My first spell was to entangle their limbs, which worked somewhat, but didn't slow them down as much as I had hoped.	 Tanrienrial and Werri fell before I could complete the lightning incantation."  She sighed bitterly.  "It's a complicated spell."

	"Then tell me this," said the thief. "If you had cast the lightning spell first, would we still have a Ranger?"

	The magician was clearly distressed by the thought, but forced herself to consider it.  "The advantage of the entanglement spell is that it's quickly cast and easily too, but the lightning…  I'm sorry, but I don't know if would have saved them, had I done it first."

	The thief considered, then nodded slowly.  "From what I understand of your art, that sounds about right.  And if anyone else asks you, tell them what you just told me.  Just that last part, mind you, not this other stuff about not killing.  Especially after today, none of them would take kindly to those sorts of notions, let me tell you now.  Let's keep that quiet, like, just between the two of us."

	"That's more than fair," said the young woman, smiling for the first time that day.

	The thief looked away.  "One more thing, though… from now on, there's dangerous road to cover.  If I tell you to kill, you kill… no more holding back.  It's their lives or ours, and I'd prefer to keep breathing, out of habit if nothing else.  Agreed?"

	The magician looked into the thief's eyes.  "Agreed.  I swear.  I won't gamble with the lives of the party."

	"Girl, we all gamble with the lives of the party, just as much as we gamble with our own lives.  We just depend on each to do their job, is all.  That includes you."

	"All right."

	The thief looked around.  The camp was still quiet, and only the usual night sounds came from the nearby grove of trees.  "Tell me," she said after a pause,  "what got you into this life?  A temple, I can see you there, or even working with a scribe… but out in the wild?  Are you sure this is the life you want?"

	"No, I'm not sure.  But the temple is the wrong place for my art, and while I could work at the guild as a scribe, the learning there is so slow… only out here, and down in the dungeons, do I practise my art as it is supposed to be practised.  And I'm not the sort to be a farmwife."

	Even the thief had to smile at that.  "Neither one of us, girl."

	The magician looked at the older woman carefully.  "So what about you?  What made you decide on this life?"

	The thief looked into the young woman's eyes for some time before answering.  "That's a tale for another night, I think.  It's late, and you young ones need your rest.  Go get your blankets and get some sleep."

	The young magician looked disappointed, but did as she had been bid.

	Another time, thought the thief.  And even then, only parts of the story, for she would never tell anyone the whole of it, not even the one person who maybe deserved to hear it.

	Nothing had ever been easy.  Her mother had died in childbirth, as women did, and her father had been a thief, and raised her to be the same.  Sometimes she wondered if her father would have preferred a son.  The skills were quickly learned, first the running, then the picking pockets, then the dagger, the bow, the sword.  At fourteen she cut down the man who had killed her father, and made some tidy profit, too.  Such talent did not long go unnoticed in the adventurer's hall.

	It seemed as if her life had been one fight after another, never staying in one place for long.

	Except once.  There had been a task she had undertaken for some minor lord, who afterwards had sheltered her for a just over a year.  He had a particular way of talking that she remembered, though she had not thought of him for many years.  A learned man, he was kind-hearted enough to look after those who did him service.  She would have stayed there, as he certainly asked her to, but instead she left with him the one thing she had come to value.

	 Although she had thought of seeking him out again in the years that followed, her travels led her far afield, with new treasures to be won.  In time, she forgot his face, though never quite his voice.
And his particular way of talking.  It was something she recognised, even in another.

	But these days, life was harder than ever, and even wily thieves such as she could not afford to be alone while foes wandered around in packs.  A band of adventurers could stand up to most ordinary opponents, and even up against the evil that was said to lurk the land.
	
	It was certainly not the best time for a young magician to start on the road that could so easily lead down to the pits of hell, especially not one squeamish about taking a life.

	The thief sighed. She had to admit that despite her initial misgivings, the girl was rather good at magic, maybe the best she had seen as such an age. Nevertheless, she would have to keep her eye on the girl; the magic-using lot were usually at the back of a fight, where they could cast spells from safety.  She could be covered from enemy fire, and any that wanted to get to the magician would have to cut their way past the thief first, which suited her purposes rather nicely. 
	
	After all, a mother should look after her daughter.
