A thin morning fog surrounded the two as daybreak arrived. Ash pulled himself from his trance, stretched, and stomped out the remains of the fire, scattering the ashes, erasing any trace of his passing. Better safe than sorry.

He gave the man a gentle poke in the shoulder. His eyes shot open, a spiderweb of broken capillaries giving the whites of his eyes a dull purple color.

“Morning, sunshine.” he said sleepily, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Feeling delirious?” Ash replied, mostly seriously.

“Oh, rack off.” the man grumbled, disentangling himself from the bedroll. He staggered to his feet, stretching, as Ash reattached the bedroll to his pack. They shared a quick breakfast of dried fruit and smoked sausage in silence.

“There’s a city, half a day’s walk from here.” Ash said, shrugging the pack onto his shoulders. “With luck, we’ll make it before nightfall.”

“Why’d we need luck?” the man said, stifling a yawn.

“You’re slow.”

He put his hand on his hip.

“You don’t know that.” he said, indignant. Ash looked him up and down and didn’t say a word.

“Let’s get moving.”

Ash started down the dirt road, marked by overgrown ruts from the last time a cart had come through, his quarterstaff punching divots in the soft soil with each step. He considered for a moment, then held it out to the man behind him.

“Here. Might help. Might not. Give it a try.”

The man weighed it in his hand, a difficult feat considering it towered above him, each end dotted with heavy steel studs.

“Feels like I could bash someone’s head in with this. If I could swing it.”

“Indeed.”

They marched on in silence. Even though Ash slowed his pace, the man was breathing heavily, but not flagging. They stopped for a time to share a quick, silent lunch near midday, washing down the dried fruits and dryer jerky with a waterskin they passed back and forth. The sun hung low in the sky as the ringed walls of Ironwood came into view over the horizon. The landscape was rough and rocky, with mineshafts and farms clinging to life wherever they could. The fieldhands watched them; Ash could sense the Worldwalker behind him fidgeting under their gaze. A strange tension and the scent of freshly plowed fields hung in the air.

“What can I expect?”

Ash considered this for a moment.

“Did your world have nonhumans? Elves, dwarves, that sort of thing?”

“Only in stories.”

The Hunter let out a huff.

“Try not to stare.”

A short, barking laugh.

“No promises. I’ll do my best.”

Ash’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“We’ll go in through the southeast gate. Have a friend in the nonhuman district.”

“A friend? You? I would not have guessed.”

Ash scoffed. He reached into his coat and withdrew the Worldwalker’s spectacles, handing them over without a word. There was a moment of silence.

“I thought I’d lost these.”

“Bend ‘em into shape and put ‘em on. They’ll hide your eyes.”

The man gave a start.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“Bloodshot. From the rift. Singles you out.”

He looked down at them, then gently tweaked the wire frame into something approximating its proper shape.

“Wouldn’t want that.” he said, putting them on.

A group of bored-looking guardsmen stood outside the gates, dressed in red gambesons and ill-fitting helmets, leaning tiredly on their spears. Seeing Ash, they stood a little straighter, the Sergeant-At-Arms picking a clipboard off a wooden crate. One of the soldiers tapped his forehead in a casual salute, fingers touching and coming apart.

“Name and reason for entry.” he said, clearly wanting to be somewhere else, doing something else.

“Hunter Ash. Class 188. Roki Keep. Seeking contracts”

The man looked at the Worldwalker; Ash gave him a nudge.

“Yes. Um. Amir Isan. I’m a scholar, acting as an observer.”

The sergeant looked at the pair with suspicion.

“That so.” he said, slowly.

Silence stretched out, like a man on the rack. The Worldwalker, or perhaps Amir, opened his mouth to speak, silenced by a nudge to the ribs delivered none-to-gently by the Hunter.

“There’s a toll to pay.” the guard finally said. “Trader’s Brass. Each.”

“That so.”

Another pause.

The Worldwalker looked up at Ash.

“You’re the money man.”

Finally, Ash reached into his coat and withdrew two thin, small, dull yellow coins, square with rounded edges. He dropped them into the man’s waiting palm.

“Thank you kindly, Good Hunter.” The man said without a trace of sincerity. There was no response, just the gentle slap of their shoes against the mud as they entered the city.

Ash looked at his companion.

“Amir Isan?”

The man looked up and smiled.

“Not really. Figured an alias would be best.”

Ash knocked him gently in the shoulder.

“You’ve got some sense. Good to see.”

The man smiled.

“It’s Raj, by the way. Or Rajab. Whichever. That’s my real name.”

Ash nodded as they walked through the city gates.

“Remember, don’t stare.”

Raj nodded mutely, eyes fixed on the sky. Above the towers of the central keep, a pair of low dragons lifted into the sky, laden with valuable cargo and their riders.

“Failed step one.”

“Sorry.”

Ash didn’t answer as they entered a bustling street and the two were enveloped in a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds, creatures of all types vying for position in the crowd. The road was made of rusty red dirt, spotted here and there with rough, uneven cobblestones. The buildings were slapdash, whitewashed or not painted at all, and there were beggars on nearly every corner. The Hunter looked back at Raj.

“Keep up.”

They made their way through the throng, down a quiet side street, coming to a narrow two story building, whitewashed with a thatched roof. A wooden sign, marked with the figure of a glass jar, hung from it’s facade; the large paned window showed rows of shelves behind locked cabinets, each lined with sealed glass bottles, contents unknown. Ash pushed the door open, ducking under the doorframe, a quiet chime echoing through the store. Raj looked both ways at the empty street, then followed him in.

They stood alone in the empty shop.

“Anybody home?” Raj asked, looking up at Ash.

“In the back.”

Raj looked at the door in the back of the store, then back at Ash.

“Something about those modifications you were talking about?”

“Something like that.”

Sure enough, a slightly heavyset middle-aged man came rushing out of the back, a thin veneer of sweat covering his large forehead. Seeing Ash, his face lit up, clumsily vaulting over the counter to wrap him in a bear hug that the Hunter didn’t reciprocate.

“It’s so good to see you again, friend.” the man said, gently patting Ash’s arm. Ash said nothing, but his lips lifted, ever so slightly, into something approximating a smile. Raj, lacking anything else to do, took off his glasses.

“And it’s lovely to meet you as-ah-as well.” the man said, faltering slightly, before extending his arm.

“Raj. You, uh, know Ash?” he replied, slightly taken aback.

“Indeed, Worldwalker. I am Alro, shopkeep and proprietor of this fine establishment. Have you been here long?”

Raj stared, finally getting a good look at what he now realized was not a man. He was short, maybe five foot, a trait that became comically apparent next to Ash’s monstrous frame. The arm that clasped Raj’s own was thick, stocky, and covered entirely in thick brown hair, disappearing into the sleeve of a deep green doublet. The skin underneath, although tanned, was still quite pale, and large copper eyes with abnormally large pupils looked at him, behind round spectacles, over a smile surrounded by a thick, but closely trimmed, beard.

“Ah. Evidently not.”

“Oh, uh, sorry, I-”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Alro said, clapping him gently on the shoulders. “How are you holding up, hmm?”

“I’m going to keep everything bottled up right here.” Raj replied, tapping his sternum. Alro let out a short, barking, laugh. He turned to Ash.

“Any plans? Staying long?”

Ash removed his pack, withdrew a padded leather-covered box, and handed it to him.

“Old Maria’s Meatary still around?”

“Indeed it is.” he turned to Raj. “Still got summoning sickness over there?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“How long has it been? How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Legs sore.” He looked up at Ash. “That’s probably from the walk though.”

“Yes, yes. Anything else?”

Raj considered this for a while.

“Minor headache. Hungry. Starving, really. Eyes still feel...strange. Puffy, almost. Itchy, kind of all over.”

“Been about a day.” Ash interjected. Alro looked at him.

“Best bring him with you.”

“As planned.”

Raj looked to one, then the other.

“I don’t follow.”

“We’re getting food. Stay close.” Ash said, turning to leave. Raj hesitated, then followed him.

Ash’s boots thudded on the cobblestone steps. The Hunter’s legs were long, his pace quick, and Raj was forced to jog to keep up.

“If, um, I may...what exactly is Alro?”

“Medicine man.”

“I figured, but I meant more, uh…”

“Ah. Half-Dwarf.”

Raj considered this.

“How common are, uh...people like him? People like you? I’ve seen a few, but…”

Ash stopped.

“Not the one to ask. Too familiar.”

He turned.

“Eyes open. Mind open. Don’t be too trusting. Adapt as you can.”

“That’s good advice.” Raj said, nodding.

“All I’ve got.”

They came to a wide, low building, roof sprouting chimneys like crooked teeth. A faint, but friendly tune emanated from inside, along with the smell of roasted meat. Ash pushed the door open, and Raj followed him. The air was hot; inside a number of hulking fingers sat at the bar, hunched over great plates of steaming food. In the corner, a tired-looking man played a lute with skill, if not with feeling. Ash sat on a crude wooden stool next to a reptilian figure even taller than him, pointed, draconic mouth biting into a roast the size of a loaf of bread, backward facing horns. Raj took a seat, Ash to his left, a muscular humanoid with grey skin and two short tusks protruding from his lower jaw. The bar was not built with normal humans in mind; sitting down, it came up to Raj’s sternum. A human woman in her mid-thirties, head covered by a bandana, came from the back room with a steaming plate that she laid before the figure sitting next to Raj, a dozen breaded medallions floating atop a creamy sauce that smelled of mushrooms. She pulled out a rag that had been tucked into her belt, wiped her hands with it, and turned to Ash.

“Well then. Long time no see.” she said jovial, leaning her forearms on the bar. “What’ll be?”

“Usual.” Ash replied. “Dumpling platter for him.”

“The more things change.” she said, jamming the rag roughly back into place. She turned to Raj. “Nice to meet you, darling. Comin’ right up.” With that, she vanished back into the kitchen, plucking the coins from Ash’s outstreached hand.

There was a moment of silence, the pair sitting between the two diners. Soon enough, Maria returned with two large platters.

“Wolf’s platter for you.” she said, serving Ash a plate of pan-fried meats covered with melted cheese, flanked by four slices of flatbread. “And the dumplings for you.”

“Thank you kindly.” He said, looking at the selection in front of him. Some were fried, some steamed, all in different shapes, although some held a passing resemblance to foodstuffs from his world. In the center of the plate was a shallow bowl filled with a thick gravy.

“Ah, don’t mention it.” she said, wiping her brow. “Seems like you need it.”

With that, she disappeared back into the kitchen. Raj grabbed a dumpling, ravenous, and shoved it into his mouth, as Ash plucked a fork from a cup on the bar and speared a piece of meat.

“Don’t eat too fast.” he said.

“Get ripped, I’m starving.” Raj shot back, mouth full, savoring his first bite. He tasted sauteed onions and greasy sausage and the smoky kick of paprika. “Damn, that’s good.”

Ash shrugged, spearing another piece and shoveling it into his mouth. “Suit yourself.”

Raj grabbed another dumpling, steamed dough pillowy soft and sticky in his fingers. He chewed, tasting spiced chicken, then swallowed. He looked at the platter and was struck by the realization that he could not physically eat them all. Still, he was hungry, and he grabbed another, a fried pillow filled with red peppers and ground beef.

“You know,” he said, hesitating, “I’m not supposed to eat pork.”

“Those steamed ones.” Ash said, pointing. “And those ones over there.”

“Thanks. Not sure if it matters, though.” He looked over at Ash. “Like you said.”

Ash shrugged.

“Eat now. Crisis of faith later.”

Raj laughed.

“Practical.” he said, grabbing another steamed chicken bun and popping it into his mouth.

Ash shrugged, as was his nature, taking another bite.

Raj hesitated, then reached for a half-moon-shaped dumpling filled with mutton. He chewed, swallowed heavily, then rested his forearm on the table. Ash saw him look at Ash’s now-empty plate, then to the dozen or so dumplings remaining on his own plate.

“Finished?” Ash asked.

“Yup.”

In one fluid motion, Ash withdrew a leather pouch from his belt and emptied the contents of Raj’s plate into it.

“For later. Let’s go.”

They walked back to Alro’s store in silence. When they arrived, Ash handed Raj the pouch with his leftovers and kept on walking.

“Got errands. Talk to Alro.”

Raj stood there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth like a distressed fish. Finally, grumbling, he entered the store.

TO BE CONTINUED