Besides selling his meager goods, the shopkeeper was in charge of the rations that were free for the Kleesold Guardians and any that volunteered at the post.
She hadn’t been sure how her added supplies would be handled the first time she’d tried it, assuming that there was a careful inventory for the distribution, but the traveling merchant had just divided up what she’d brought into the rations for the townsfolk, for the town’s supply, and for the Kleesold’s stores. No questions were asked, so she kept on bringing anything extra she could forage and make every month. Hopefully, she’d be able to get more soon with the weather warming.
“Morning,” the fighter said. His voice was deep and slightly rough, but he reached for a couple of pies. “Just these, and something for a healing compress?”
The shopkeeper frowned. “All we can spare are a few general teas and ointments for rashes and upset stomachs, that sort of thing.”
The man nodded and reached into his bag to pay. Iryana forced herself to look away. She hoped he wasn’t seriously injured, though surely he wouldn’t have made the trip if he were. There were a few herbs and medicines one could make from gathering in the valley, although options were still limited so soon after winter. But depending on what supplies the settlement had sent, the Dovaki post wouldn’t have anything better until the ban on harvesting beyond the wall was lifted.
Ifit was ever lifted.
When the caravan from the duchess’s main towns arrived, those that were volunteering for a turn at the border posts arrived with it, and when it left, those that had finished their turn would head back. It was considered honorable up in the safety of the duchess’s settlement to have spent a few seasons helping at the border.
With any luck, this man was metal-forged and would stay for a while. The Kleesolds could certainly use the help. Maybe he’d even put down roots, like some thankfully did.
Everyone in the Dovaki post was a member of the clan, a volunteer from the settlement, or in one of their families. A few of the volunteers had been there since they established the post over a decade ago, like the blacksmith and a few of the herders.
A muffled shriek had Iryana’s head whipping around to see a few cousins and some other village kids racing from the main house through the market. One little girl must have stumbled on something, her body crouched where she had caught herself, one hand outstretched, reaching for a patchwork doll that was arcing through the air.
The fighter she had been watching lunged forward to snatch the doll before it could tumble into the mud. Iryana watched him wince, noticing a slight limp to his gait that wasn’t there before as he walked over to give the doll back. The little girl beamed at him and took off again, the doll clutched to her chest.
Had something happened on his journey here? How was he going to help her family while injured?
Iryana wrung her hands together, energy building in her limbs. She sighed and looked around, making sure no one was paying attention, and headed toward the man.
He had walked to the edge of the market, pulling the woolen knapsack off his shoulder to stow away his purchases. His attention appeared to be aimed at the wall, though. He didn’t notice her approaching behind him, too absorbed by whatever thoughts were tumbling around in his head.
Iryana slipped her hand under the cloth hiding the contents of her basket, and pulled out a bundle of cut plants with loose balls of yellow-green flowers and long,thin leaves. They'd been a pain to get a hold of this time of year. It was the best she could offer him without inspecting the wound herself, and that just wasn’t an option.
She held the bundle out, looking down at the ground, though his broad back was to her. “Take the leaves, not the flowers—that part’s important—rip them up as much as you can, use rocks to crush them if you can get them clean enough, and then bundle them up in a bit of fabric and boil it. When it’s cool enough to touch, use it as a poultice on your wound.”
He turned, and she watched as his hand hesitantly reached for the plant.
Iryana looked up. He was tall. The man, only a couple of years older than her, was frowning like he didn’t understand a word coming out of her mouth. His eyes were so light blue that they were almost gray, half-lidded with an almost sleepy look to them. But somehow his gaze was still sharp and thorough as he took her in.
Confusion swarmed her. She had seen him before. Somewhere.
But where?
He wasn’t the type of man one would overlook. His shoulders were broad, his body likely corded with muscle beneath his clothes. He looked a class above the other volunteer fighters, like a man whose entire life was based on his strength and ability to fight. He was nearly as big as her Uncle Dinhal. Perhaps he had volunteered at the post before?
“Are you a forged healer?” he asked cautiously.
“No,” she answered absently, still trying to place him. “Just know how to make a poultice.”
“Well, thank you.” The words sounded unpracticed on his tongue, but he took the bundle from her.
Then it hit her as she looked at his hand, the powerful shape triggering a memory.
A dark night, just a sliver of moonlight to reveal the two men standing behind the main house. Iryana had slid back out of sight, not wanting to be seen. But she saw them.
Her eldest cousin Tonhald glared at the man with the tired blue eyes, a smear of blood on his cheek. And that man had Tonhald’s shirt bunched in his fist, hiswords an undecipherable growl. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the man’s fist, pushing harder into her cousin’s throat.
Tonhald begged him, shaking hands held up for mercy.
Iryana stumbled backwards, shaking away the past, her confused gaze now tightened into a violent glare.
It had been years since she’d seen him around their post. She’d thought he had been assigned elsewhere, been promoted, or perhaps just ripped apart by dakii. She hadn’t much cared which.
