Chief Breckston was a tall, forbidding hulk of a man, a stern father figure to a townsfolk he had saved countless times. He was said to have once single-handedly torn the throat out of a rampaging bull bower, the semi-rare cattle beasts used in these lands for their meat and milk as well as, occasionally, to draw heavy carts. These animals were notoriously contrary and easily aroused to anger, dangerous to their handlers and anyone else should they break free of their halters. This had been the case even before the Wasting, Tala had heard, and things had only gotten worse. Facing down one of the beasts caught in a rage was suicidal at best.

He was technically the mayor but, having been leader of the town for well over a decade, the townspeople and anyone who knew him called him ‘the chief.’[1]

“Panax we have,” said Breckston, taking a huge bite from the leg of meat in his hand, followed by a gulp of wine. “Nitre we cannot provide. Our stores are limited; you will have to find it elsewhere.”

They were eating with Breckston in what had once been a tavern and was now the centre of power in this region. It spoke a lot to the chief’s character that he had early on moved his headquarters from the town hall to this place, appropriating the floor above for his own living space.

“How much can you give us?” Rakthi asked, matching him drink for drink.[2] Tala was drinking the stuff far more slowly. She wasn’t sure what it had been made from.

“Panax? However much you need. We came into a good deal of the stuff recently.”

“And in return? We brought the froes and timber scribes you requested.”

“Requested in exchange for the last set of goods,” replied Breckston.

“And you know we will bring whatever you ask on our next visit,” said Tala, cutting in. Her patience was wearing thin.

Breckston smiled towards her, hands raised in mock terror, meat still held in one hand.

“I do, I do, have no fear. Very well,” he said, serious now. “We need bow saws. The walls weaken as fast as we can build them; I swear the wood itself is working against us, it rots so fast. Bow saws and weapons.”

“Weapons?” asked Tala, surprised. It was an unusual request.

“We have few decent bows left. Bowstrings snap eventually, and our bower beasts are too precious to slaughter only for their sinews. Our swords are blunt and our axes crumble. The damp gets everywhere and we don’t have enough people to care for them properly, not when they are hungry.”

“What is wrong with your food stores?” asked Hurstrom.

Tala was always impressed by the man’s ability to seem oblivious as to what was going on around him until something caught his attention. Before he spoke you would have thought the only thing on his mind was wolfing down as much of the food prepared for them as possible.

“Nekoma, green-fly, you name it. It’s getting harder and harder to keep them out of the sheds,” the chief answered.

“Fine, it’s a deal. Now, tell us where you got the panax from.”

Karal, silent until this moment, leant over his licked-clean plate and stared unblinkingly at Breckston.

“Might I ask why you need to know?” replied the chief, returning the stare with one of his own.

The air in the room became thick, a blanket of heavy tension that stifled sound. Karal did not break his stare.

“Very well,” said Breckston eventually, eyes flicking over to Tala for a second before returning to Karal.

He knows, Tala thought.

Breckston knew there was leaf in his town, but he was waiting for her group to deal with it.

Better outsiders take the heat for destroying the leaf than him.

She almost respected his thinking, but she could not spend long contemplating his actions. Now she had to worry. If Breckston was hesitant to deal with the providers, they were definitely going to be trouble.

“They started coming here several months ago, stopping here for a few days before returning to wherever they come from. They bring carts full of herbs and foods I didn’t know still existed, crops you can no longer raise in the soil around here. They trade for anything; tools, crafts, precious gems…”

Breckston laughed at the last one. The first things to lose their value in the Wasting had been useless materials such as crystals and jewels.

“How strong are they? What kind of weapons do they have?” demanded Karal, eager to get to the core of the matter.

Breckston laughed even harder than before.

“No, no, you misunderstand. They don’t carry many weapons at all, in fact I’m surprised they can survive the journey here. A lot of them don’t. You don’t have anything to fear from them, I can assure you. The other way around, more likely. You’ll see when you meet them,” he replied.

“We can meet them? Are they here?” asked Rakthi.

“Not yet, but they’re due in the next few days. They visit here every couple of months or thereabouts.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Somewhere to the north. We don’t know exactly where, but they always visit the villages north of here before us.”

“Sun’s khaf,[3]” swore Karal, bolting to his feet. “We don’t wait for them; we go meet them.”

Rakthi was about to protest when Tala placed a cautionary hand on her shoulder.

“No, Karal may have a point,” said Tala. “We’re planning on travelling northwards anyway, and it will be better to find these people whilst they still have goods to trade.”

And whilst we are away from the city and any addicts that might lose their minds when we try to take the leaf away, she thought.

Rakthi nodded in understanding.

“Ok, so that’s the plan. Chief Breckston, thank you,” said Tala as she stood. “We will set out tomorrow at sunrise, once we have loaded the cart and got some rest. Thank you for the hospitality, and information.”

Tala bowed slightly in thanks, and Breckston struggled against the alcohol to climb to his feet. He returned the bow, swaying slightly.

Tala made her way out. The others, she knew, would likely stay and drink heavily, but they were experienced enough to know that from here on out the topic of conversation would be light-hearted and casual. Hopefully Rial would realise that too, and if not someone would tell him. The ability to relax and forget your stress was just as important as a wound crossbow.

These were words for the others of her group, though. Tala was going to walk the town walls, inspecting them and ensuring their strength. You could never be too sure.

[1] It was the custom of those Tala knew to debate whether it would be better to fight the chief or some unlikely group of savage creatures; Tala had him on the same level as a grakar and two tranm.

[2] One thing that was never in short supply in this world was an alcoholic drink. There was always someone who found a way to brew something, no matter how bitter or foul the final beverage may be.

[3] Tala noticed the confused look on Rial’s face and wondered why.