Wes had joined Harm and Sister Carol for food. When he had returned home to get Harm some extra clothes, apparently, Tanya had informed him she was going to visit one of her friends, so he would need to cook for himself. He wasn’t the best cook, so he had dived at the opportunity to eat at the chapel when offered.

“Thanks,” Harm said as Sister Carol placed a steaming plate of food in front of him. 

“Not at all. Eat up, and there are more vegetables if you wish.”

Wes greedily tucked into the food, moaning with pleasure. “You’re a good cook,” he said to Sister Carol.

“Well, it is my main profession,” she smiled.

“I had no idea?” Wes said, surprised. Professions were chosen at level 10 by Amathereans.

“I used to be the main cook for our group when I spent my days as a fully fledged cleric before I decided to settle down.”

“You have never spoken about your past?” Wes said.

Sister Carol shrugged. “There isn’t much to talk about. I spent my youth chasing the dragon, as they say, as many do. Seeking fame and fortune. It was only as I became older and saw so many friends lost in battle that I stepped away.”

“What battles?” Harm asked, surprised.

“I used to work with a group out of Freealiss. We would be hired to eradicate the surrounding beasts or clans that caused issues. I was their healer, but was involved in enough skirmishes myself over time.”

Harm felt a newfound respect for Sister Carol when he heard her words. His start in life as an adventurer was a dangerous trade that few Amathereans followed. It was usually the role of legionnaires to undertake such activities, as they could heal much faster than Amathereans.

“Did you ever work with any Legionnaires?” Harm asked.

“Several. That was another reason for my leaving. They would throw themselves recklessly into combat without a care in the world. Too many died that way, and it became harder to cope with the losses.”

Harm nodded in understanding. He had lost many colleagues during his time adventuring.

“I didn’t realise that there were so many problems around Freealiss,” Wes said.

“Oh. There aren’t nearly as many as there used to be. I am going back sometime.”

Harm frowned. “You really aren’t that old.”

Sister Carol laughed. “I think you may have been misled.”

“What do you mean?”

Sister Carol reached up and removed the hood that she always wore. Harm gasped as he realised. “I am half-elven. I am much older than you may believe.”

Wes looked as startled as Harm. “I had no idea,” he stammered.

“I have never kept it a secret, but I also have never openly flaunted that I am.”

“So, how old are you?” Wes asked quizzically. “I always thought I was older than you.”

“I am one hundred and eighteen.” In half-elven years, Sister Carol was comparable to Harm; their usual lifespan could exceed two hundred years.

Harm nearly choked on his mouthful of food. “What?”

“Yes. I am one hundred and eighteen.”

Harm and Wes sat in silence for several moments as they digested this information. The only sign Sister Carol had in her appearance to be that of a half-elf was the slightly pointed shape at the tops of her ears. Her other features were no different to any other human.

Harm changed the topic. “Oh, while I was cleaning the outhouse today, I overheard a conversation between two men. It was rather strange, and it got me thinking.”

“What conversation?” Wes asked.

Harm explained what he had heard them discussing while he had been waiting to finish his work.

Sister Carol and Wes’s faces both wore scowls by the time he had finished talking. 

“If Satil was involved or knew then...” Wes said.

“Yes, but there is no evidence,” Sister Carol said.

“That was the conclusion I came to,” Harm said. “Although I want to find out more details.”

“And how would you do that?” Wes asked.

“No idea. It’s not as if Satil would ever admit any wrongdoing. We all know how much of a bastard he is.”

“What about Dasir?” Sister Carol asked.

“I have only ever met the man twice, and then never to talk to him directly,” Harm admitted. “I was thinking of speaking to Larky.”

Wes’s face dropped at Larky’s name, as did Sister Carol’s.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Harm asked, confused.

Sister Carol looked at Wes before she spoke. “Larky died a few months back, in a goblin attack from the reports.”

“What?” Harm said, sitting upright, staring wide-eyed. “How?”

“He was on his way back from Hillnot when he was attacked on the road. His wagon was robbed, and he was found with what remained. Almost everything had been taken. You know what goblins can be like.”

“Yes, but they don’t normally murder people,” Harm said. “Most of them are scared of their own shadows.”

“That’s what was reported back to the town,” Wes said.

“But Larky never hurt anyone,” Harm said in disbelief.

There was silence for several moments. “What about his store?” Harm asked.

Wes rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes before he replied. “Dasir owns it now.”

Harm stood up, tipping the chair he had been sitting on back, sending it clattering to the floor. “What did you say?” he said, leaning forward onto the table, anger flooding him.

“Calm down,” Sister Carol said.

“How can I be calm? Larky was one of my dearest friends, and now I find he has been murdered, and Dasir has taken over his business.”

“Look. This happened a few months ago now. It isn’t new news, and Dasir has been doing a grand job at the store since he took it over. I know it may be hard to hear, but I must be honest and say prices are now lower than they used to be when Larky ran it,” Wes said.

Harm scowled at Wes.

“It’s true,” Wes shrugged.

“What about his farm?”

“He still owns the dairy farm, too. His wife runs it while he runs the store.”

“So that bastard has my Florence.”

“Florence?” Sister Carol asked, confused.

“My longsword. Larky had been holding onto it for me. I know he never would have parted with it.”

“I have no idea,” Wes said.

“I need to find out. If that bastard has Florence, I want her back.”

“And how would you do that? You have no coin.”

“I will earn some,” Harm said, picking the chair up and sitting again.

“That may be easier said than done, Harm. Your reputation is still damaged after the problems you caused. You have only done two tasks so far, even to start to repair your reputation.”

“I will get her back if it’s the last thing I do.”

Silence filled the table for several minutes. Harm eventually went back to eating, his mind in turmoil. In one day, he had heard that the feed he had been using with his herd had come from Dasir, and his friend was dead. His shoulders slumped as though a weight crushed him.

Sister Carol reached over the table, placing her hand on his arm.

“Harm. I’m sorry,” she said, looking at him with pity.

Harm glanced at her before pulling his arm away. “I don’t need your pity,” he said, standing and leaving the kitchen, returning to his room.

Harm threw himself onto his mattress, pulling the blanket up tightly under his chin. He lay on his side, facing the wall, looking at the cracks in the stonework as his mind churned. The loss of his herd and family was painful enough, but now, discovering his one genuine friend in Sallew was also dead, he couldn’t fathom it. A tear ran from his eye, falling onto the rolled blanket acting as a pillow. What had become of him? His family, his livelihood, and his best friend were all lost, and if that bastard had anything to do with it, Harm would find out. 

A few hours passed, and nighttime closed in. Sister Carol and Wes had not come to check on him, and he was still lying on his mattress. His thoughts hadn’t lessened, and if anything, they had become more focused. He needed to discover what had happened. Was it a coincidence? Was it deliberate? Had his herd been poisoned? Had it been because of Dasir that his family was dead? Had Larky really been killed by goblins, or had it been staged? His cascading thoughts wouldn’t cease, and at the edges of his thoughts, his demon called. Have a drink, and you will feel better.

Harm knew drinking wasn’t the answer, and he forced the demon away. He needed to stay focused and discover the truth behind everything that had happened. But a drink will ease your suffering. The demon returned.

“I said no,” Harm hissed angrily. 

He had to do something. He couldn’t just lie there and do nothing. Harm wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in self-pity anymore and stood before leaving the room. He quietly made his way down the corridor before listening for any sound. He assumed Sister Carol had long since retired for the evening and climbed the steps to the chapel. The door creaked as he opened it, and he grimaced, pausing. There was no sound from the room that he knew was Sister Carol’s, so he continued. The side was bolted, so he slowly unbolted it before going out into the night. 

The temperature was cold, and he shivered involuntarily as he started away from the chapel, heading towards Larky’s. The streets were quiet at this time of the night, and he only noticed a couple of lanterns still burning; most would be asleep at this hour. As he reached the main thoroughfare through the town, he paused as he heard someone talking. Two of the town guard were walking the streets, swords in their scabbards, carrying a lantern on a post. Town patrols were normal at night; they monitored for goblin activity.

Harm stayed in the shadows of the building he was near as they passed and waited until they had disappeared around a corner, their light fading before he continued. He reached Larky’s store, or what used to be Larky’s. It looked no different; maybe the wood had since been retreated, but apart from that, you would never know. Cautiously, he moved around the side to the rear yard. Over the years, Harm had helped Larky unload deliveries and knew the store’s layout well. He had also been upstairs on several occasions, where Larky had lived above the store. The store itself was in darkness, and Harm climbed over the low stone wall before approaching the rear door. He reached out and tried the handle. It was locked. Cursing under his breath, he stepped back and looked at the darkened windows above; one of them was open. 

Several discarded crates were lying in the yard, and he quietly moved them to create a set of steps, giving him enough height to reach the open window. The window led into a small office that Larky had used. As he stood on his tiptoes, he stretched up and just managed to get his fingertips over the sill. Then, with great effort, he pulled himself up. If he had still had the strength and fitness of old, he could have done this task much more easily than he currently was, and his arms shook and shoulders throbbed as he shifted his elbow onto the sill, carefully climbing inside.

The room was pitch black, and he stood for a few moments to allow his eyes to adjust. It was still an office, and Harm checked over the desk where several pieces of parchment lay. He couldn’t read them in the room’s light, even after carrying them back to the window didn’t help. After repositioning them as he had found them, he went to the door, gently pulling it open. Thankfully, it was well-maintained and didn’t creak or groan, and he stepped through. It was even darker on the landing, and he waited again before he could see clearly enough to continue.

A step creaked under his weight as he descended the stairs, and he froze. He hadn’t checked the bedroom or where Larky used to sleep upstairs. There was no sound; everything was still silent, so he continued. On reaching the bottom, he immediately went to where he knew Larky had kept Florence. He pulled the drawer open and looked inside, lifting out the contents. Larky had placed Florence underneath it when Harm had left it with him on the day he traded it. She wasn’t there.

Harm wanted to scream with anger and frustration, but dared not. He rearranged the material and closed the drawer again before he checked the others. Florence was nowhere to be found. Harm was getting more disheartened as time passed and more nervous being in the store for as long as he had been. He was about to leave when he saw several weapons standing in a barrel. Florence was not among them, but there were several long swords and short swords. I deserve these. Harm thought as he took a short sword, adding it to his inventory, and picked up a dagger off a bench, tucking it into his boot, before he made his way back upstairs and climbed back out of the store.

After moving the crates back to their original location, he climbed over the wall again and disappeared into the night.