Chapter 64 — What It Cost
Halvard woke two days later, groggy and sore but coherent, the healer summoned from the nearest settlement having arrived just past midnight to properly mend what Cass’s exhausted reserves hadn’t been able to fully address.
"Three cracked ribs," the healer, an older woman named Perrin, told the assembled party once her work concluded. "Could have been considerably worse. He’ll need a week at minimum before any strenuous activity, longer before he’s back to full capacity."
"Understood," Arlen said, relief settling through him properly for the first time since the fight had ended. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"Tobias paid well for the urgency," Perrin said, packing her supplies with brisk efficiency. "Man’s grateful enough for what you did out there that he’d probably have paid double if I’d asked."
Halvard, propped up on the modest camp cot Tobias had arranged for him, managed a tired but genuine smile as Arlen and the others gathered near his bedside. "Heard the short version already. Sounds like I missed the interesting part."
"You didn’t miss much worth envying," Wren said. "Nearly lost the whole fight after you went down."
"But you didn’t," Halvard said. "That’s the part that matters."
They spent the following two days at the timber camp while Halvard’s condition stabilized enough for careful travel, and Arlen found himself, in the quieter hours between checking on his recovering companion, falling back into the familiar rhythm that had carried him through every difficult stretch of this life so far — cooking properly, cataloguing what the day offered, finding small, grounding comfort in ordinary routine even after everything the fight had cost them.
Tobias insisted on providing supplies from the camp’s own stores, grateful beyond simple politeness now that the northeastern section of forest had been cleared for logging once more, and Arlen made good use of the offering, preparing meals for the whole party with the same careful attention he always gave the work.
"This is considerably better than camp rations," Cass admitted, working through a proper stew Arlen had prepared using fresh game and the timber camp’s own modest stock of vegetables. "You could probably charge for this, if you ever tired of adventuring."
"Not planning on tiring of it anytime soon," Arlen said. "But I’ll take the compliment."
Wren, sitting nearby with her own bowl, studied him with the same open curiosity she’d shown since the fight’s aftermath. "You handle a crisis well. Cooking, fighting, keeping your head when things go bad. Where’d you learn all that, growing up?"
"Slums of Greyhaven," Arlen said simply. "You learn to handle a crisis fast, when the alternative is not eating that week."
Something in Wren’s expression softened at that, genuine respect replacing simple curiosity. "That explains a fair amount, actually."
They finalized the reward with Tobias on their final morning at the camp, the consortium’s gratitude proving as generous as promised — the full 80 silver paid without hesitation, along with an additional 20 silver bonus Tobias insisted on adding given Halvard’s injury and the genuine danger the party had faced on the consortium’s behalf.
"Preferred contract status too," Tobias reminded them, shaking each of their hands in turn. "Anytime this camp needs guild work again, you’ll be the first ones we call, and at better rates than standard postings."
"Appreciated," Halvard said, still moving carefully but well enough now for the journey home. "Hope we don’t need to test that arrangement again anytime soon."
The walk back toward Greyhaven took the better part of two days, slower than their outward journey given Halvard’s recovering condition, but the mood carried a different quality than the tense anticipation of their approach — relief, mostly, tempered by the sobering knowledge of how close the engagement had actually come to ending badly.
Arlen found himself, on the second evening of their return journey, sitting apart from the others for a while, his journal open on his knees, working through everything the past several days had taught him.
Twenty-five silver each, once split — better than the goblin camp, and earned through a fight that nearly cost us Halvard entirely. I keep turning that over. We won. But winning by this narrow a margin isn’t the same as being properly prepared. I need to think harder about what I actually needed in that moment, and whether four abilities and two named techniques are genuinely enough for the kind of work I’ve been seeking out.
Cass’s fire made the difference, in the end, more than anything I contributed directly. I’ve been so focused on my own private growth these past months — testing new abilities, refining Garrett’s techniques — that I think I’ve undervalued exactly how much a properly coordinated party matters. Halvard, Wren, and Cass each brought something I couldn’t have replicated alone, and the fight only turned once we started actually working together rather than each fighting our own separate battle against the same target.
I want to remember that going forward. Strength matters. But strength without proper coordination very nearly got someone killed today.
He closed the journal as the fire crackled low, and found Wren settling beside him a short while later, her own evening meal finished, expression thoughtful in the firelight.
"You’ve been quiet since we started back," she observed.
"Thinking about how close that actually was," Arlen admitted. "Halvard could have died. Any of us could have."
"Could have," Wren agreed. "Didn’t, though. That’s worth remembering too, alongside whatever lesson you’re busy extracting from it."
Arlen managed a small, tired smile at that. "Fair point."
"For what it’s worth," Wren continued, "I’ve been on jobs that went considerably worse with considerably less reason. You kept your head. Called the right shots, mostly. That elemental technique of yours turned the fight when nothing else was working. I’d take that outcome over plenty of ’safer’ quests I’ve survived through pure luck instead."
Arlen absorbed that, finding genuine comfort in her blunt, practical assessment. "Thank you. For saying that, and for everything today, honestly."
"We’re a party," Wren said simply. "That’s what parties do for each other."
They made camp fully as darkness settled properly over the forest, and Arlen found himself, despite the day’s exhaustion and the lingering weight of how narrowly the fight had gone, genuinely grateful for the people he’d assembled for this particular job — Halvard’s steady competence, Wren’s sharp practicality, Cass’s quiet but decisive power when the moment demanded it.
They reached Greyhaven by the following evening, Halvard moving under his own power now though still favoring his healing ribs carefully, and the guild hall’s familiar warmth greeted them with the same comfortable, grounding normalcy Arlen had come to rely on after every difficult expedition.
He wrote one final entry that night, back in his own room, the events of the past week finally settling into proper perspective.
One hundred silver total, split between the four of us. Halvard recovering, expected to be back on his feet fully within the week. The timber camp’s northeastern section reopened, and a standing arrangement for future work if the consortium needs it.
More than the coin, though, I think what I’m taking from this job is a clearer understanding of my own limits. Four abilities, two named techniques, months of genuine training — and it still nearly wasn’t enough, without Wren’s aim and Cass’s fire filling in exactly what I couldn’t provide alone.
I think that’s the real lesson here. Not that I need to grow stronger in isolation, the way I’ve been quietly pursuing these past months, but that genuine strength includes knowing when to lean on the people around me, rather than assuming my own growing toolkit should be enough on its own.
I’ll remember that, going forward. Whatever comes next, I don’t intend to face it alone if I can help it.
He closed the journal, the guild hall’s evening noise settling comfortably around him once more, and allowed himself, finally, the quiet, hard-earned rest that came after surviving something considerably more dangerous than he’d properly anticipated.