Reyn woke to discover that her body had filed several formal complaints about yesterday's activities. The rat bites had already faded to pink marks that would be gone by tomorrow, and the deeper scratches had knitted into thin lines that barely warranted notice. Bormecian healing, a combination of training, meditation, herbs and potions reserved for Barbarians, was efficient if uncomfortable. It felt like her muscles were rearranging themselves while she slept, which, she supposed, they probably were.

  "Ah, you're up," Marta said, appearing in the doorway with something leather draped over one arm. "Thought you might need these, seeing as yours had an unfortunate encounter with giant teeth."

  She held up a pair of leather pants that seemed to have been designed by someone who had heard of the concept of restraint but chose to ignore it entirely. The pants themselves were practical enough, but they featured an ambitious number of belts. Belts around the waist, naturally. Belts around each thigh. Decorative belts that served no apparent purpose beyond making the wearer jingle slightly when walking.

  "That's... a lot of belts," Reyn said. It was surprisingly close to Bormecian fashion, only multiplied.

  "Inspired by you Bormecians, according to the tailor," Marta said with a perfectly straight face. "Very popular with adventurers. All those loops and buckles for hanging things from."

  Reyn examined them more closely. They were well-made, the leather soft and properly treated. The belts, while excessive, were actually positioned where equipment could be attached. Form following function, even if form had perhaps gotten a bit carried away in the process.

  "How much?" she asked.

  "On the house," Marta said. "Least I can do for someone who cleared out the Temple's cellar. Besides, can't have you wandering around Westkeep with your leg hanging out. City watch gets nervous about that sort of thing. Public decency and all."

  Reyn didn't notice the Innkeeper eyeing the rest of her outfit with the look of a disapproving grandmother who didn't hide her thoughts.

  The pants fit surprisingly well, snug in a way that suggested either lucky coincidence or Marta's uncanny ability to size people by sight. The belts took some adjusting, but Reyn found that once she stopped thinking about them, they actually distributed weight quite nicely.

  "Going out?" Marta asked as Reyn buckled Good Deeds across her back.

  "Need to walk off the stiffness," Reyn said as she stretched her arms above her head until something popped. Using Rage, even controlled as she had yesterday, always left her feeling like she'd been stretched and compressed at the same time. Movement helped.

  According to some of the Elders, moving helped against just about anything. Sick? Move. Hurt? Move. Tired? Move. Dying? Well... You should've moved.

  ---

  Westkeep in the morning was a different creature than the evening port she'd first encountered. The air carried wood smoke from breakfast fires, mixing with the ever-present salt tang and the earthy sweetness of fresh bread from the bakers' quarter. Merchants were already setting up their stalls, their voices creating a low hum of commerce that would build to a roar by midday.

  Reyn walked without a goal, letting her feet find their own path through the winding streets. A flower seller thrust purple blooms at her that smelled like cinnamon and old leather. A knife sharpener worked his wheel, sending sparks dancing across worn cobblestones. Two children chased a chicken that had definite opinions about becoming someone's dinner.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The city watch maintained a visible presence, guards in mismatched armor standing at major intersections with the universal expression of people who wished they were still in bed. One nodded at Reyn, his eyes lingering on Good Deeds before moving on.

  After a while, Reyn found herself in a small square dominated by an ambitious fountain that had clearly seen better decades. The water that should have been spurting majestically from a three-headed dolphin instead dribbled apologetically from what might have been a fish if you squinted. Local pigeons had claimed it as their personal parliament, conducting important pigeon business with much cooing and wing-flapping.

  An old woman sat on the fountain's edge, tossing crumbs to the birds. She looked up as Reyn approached, eyes sharp despite her age.

  "You're the Bormecian," she said.

  Reyn nodded, sitting on the fountain edge at a respectful distance. The stone was cool through her new leather pants. "I'm a Bormecian, if that's what you mean."

  "You Barbarians have become a rare sight lately," the woman continued. "My grandson works at the Temple. Said you fought giant rats for them. With poison darts."

  "They needed their supplies," Reyn said with a shrug. "And my friends needed help."

  The old woman smiled, an expression containing equal parts gratitude and sadness. "In my days we used to handle our own problems, you know. Sometimes your kind came along and helped. Now we wait for outsiders to save us, and there's far fewer willing to reach a hand out these days." She stood, joints creaking audibly. "Still, grateful's grateful. Thank you."

  She shuffled away before Reyn could respond, leaving her alone with the pigeons and her thoughts.

  The drowsiness from yesterday's exertion hadn't quite left. Using Rage was like borrowing energy from tomorrow, and tomorrow always collected its debts. She should head back, maybe sleep properly instead of dozing in public squares. But the morning air was pleasant, and the fountain's pathetic burbling was oddly soothing.

  A commotion from the main street broke her reverie. Raised voices, the particular tone that suggested official business being conducted with unnecessary volume. Reyn stood, hand checking Good Deeds' position.

  Three city watchmen had surrounded a young man near the inn. He couldn't have been older than twenty, with hair that couldn't decide if it wanted to be blue or red and ended up saying "yes," shifting between colors like oil on water. His eyes were wide with the panic of someone who'd just realized that explaining would only make things worse.

  "Give it up," the lead guardsman said with the tired patience of someone who'd had this conversation before.

  "I didn't do anything!" The young man's voice cracked slightly.

  "Three fires in two days," the guard continued. "Every time with you near the scene. That's a pattern, if you ask me."

  "They weren't my fault! The first one, I was trying to help..."

  "And the second?"

  "That was... an accident."

  "And the third?"

  The young man's mouth opened and closed like the fountain's defective fish.

  "If you're truly innocent," the guard said, taking a step forward as he feigned a friendly smile and failed, "you can come with us and plead your case to the magistrate. Peaceful-like."

  "Please," the young man said, backing away. "You don't understand. When I get nervous..."

  The guards advanced with the coordinated movement of people who'd done this dance before. The young man raised his hands, whether in surrender or warning wasn't clear.

  "Stay back!" he screamed. Something in his voice changed, though Reyn couldn't say what exactly. "Please, just stay back!"

  They didn't.

  What happened next occurred with the sudden inevitability of a pot boiling over. It was like a dark blue stormcloud suddenly got sucked into the young man's body, and lightning erupted from him; not in controlled bolts but in a spreading web of electricity that caught all three guards at the same time. The air filled with the sharp smell of ozone and burned leather. The guards collapsed, smoke rising from their armor.

  Reyn moved before conscious thought caught up with action. The boy stood frozen, staring at the fallen guards with horror that suggested this wasn't what he'd wanted, and that this wasn't the first time.

  "Stay calm," she said, approaching with her hands visible and empty. "I'll help you figure this out."

  She reached for his shoulder, intending to ground him, to provide the stability that might prevent another outburst.

  He spun at her touch, eyes wild, a cloud of electric storm within them. "No," he said, and the word carried weight beyond sound.

  A sound like the world's largest drum being struck deep underground rolled through the air, a bass note so low it was felt more than heard. The cobblestones beneath her feet rippled like water. Orange light erupted from the ground, forming intricate patterns that hurt to look at directly. The ground ceased to exist. Reyn had just a moment to think that this was turning inconvenient before gravity remembered its job and pulled her down into nothing just as she opened her mouth to say "Crap."

  The word never left her lips. The last thing she heard was shouting. Then she was falling through light and color and the peculiar sensation of reality deciding to take a brief holiday.