The Great Marches was an inhospitable region. Outside specific areas controlled by the various orc clans, a safe passage was hard to come by. Roaming bands of gnolls could be encountered throughout the land, though they were most numerous on the southern steppes. The mountains of the central region and the forests to the north were inhabited by all manner of creatures, from giant mountain trolls to small yet vicious and fierce kobolds. The clans themselves often waged war over territory, and at least once a decade, the goblins would gather into a great horde, believing that as the most numerous of peoples, they should rule the entire land. However, where there were two goblins, there were three opinions, so these gatherings never evolved into any lasting arrangements and, sooner or later, they would fall prey to nearby clans. Suffice it to say, trade from the outside reached here on a limited basis, and the stronghold of Wolf Rock was no different.

  It was very early in the evening, and the summer wind brought a bit of coolness. Gra’sha stood by a temporary stall set up by a merchant caravan. The main transaction, between the chieftain and the caravan master, had already taken place. The wagons were loaded with the hides, antlers, and tusks of animals and beasts. However, before they moved on, it was customary for them to offer what the chieftain hadn't bought to the other inhabitants for a few days. This was the last day before they were to set off. A man from the eastern lands, in the broken tongue of the Marches, was praising his fabrics with exotic-looking patterns, his sturdy steel tools, and other goods popular among orcs that they hadn't yet sold.

  Her attention was drawn to a massive, round steel shield with a decorative rim in a pattern resembling a stone wall. She took it off a hook on a post and held it in her hands. It was heavily tarnished by the tooth of time, and the leather straps needed replacing, but that was a minor detail. The girl perceived spiritual energy within it, but unlike in living beings, this energy was stagnant, motionless, and trapped inside the object. She had only seen something similar in a few items in the stronghold, and never from this close. She wanted it.

  "Good eye. Dwarven. Give good price. Two ounce silver!" he said, articulating slowly and clearly, holding up two fingers.

  Gra’sha had no idea how much an ounce of silver was, nor if she had understood him correctly. She pressed the only silver coin she had into his hand with the words, "This is a large coin, worth many clan tokens. Is it enough?"

  The man examined the coin closely, then held out his hand and said, "One more."

  "I don't have another one. This is a big coin. You said you'd give me a good price," she said, frowning.

  "Not enough," he replied, placing the coin back on the stall's counter.

  She let out a quiet groan of disappointment and wondered if she had anything to barter, but nothing that might interest such a merchant came to her mind. As she was searching her own pockets and bag, the caravan master approached them. A sun-scorched, weathered man of middle age, dressed in a simple outfit of expensive fabrics that fit him perfectly. He exchanged a few words with his employee and then turned to the girl.

  "The young lady's coin weighs one ounce of silver. You would need another one just like it to purchase this item. I apologize if my employee was not clear enough. He is still learning your tongue," he told her politely, with an accent, but quite correctly.

  "I don't have any more silver," she replied, resigned, and holding the shield by its rim with one hand, she casually handed it to the older merchant.

  Sha’dru, appearing from nowhere, was suddenly beside them. She took the shield and, holding it with both hands under her bust, began to explain something to the men in their own language. For the past two weeks, they had seen each other almost daily and talked a lot, but Gra’sha had no idea that the woman knew the language of the people from the east. So she watched them, not understanding a word of their debate. Apparently, the men resisted her arguments for some time, but then she pointed to her own and Gra’sha's bracelets, and finally, they seemed to agree on something.

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  They stepped aside, and the woman began to explain the details to her. "They've lost many caravan guards. It's a three-day journey to the next settlement, two of which are practically through no-man's-land. I convinced them that we are trained warriors. You'll get the shield, and I'll get an ounce of silver if they don't lose any of their wagons before they reach Riverbend. We'll leave them there and come back here."

  "But, you know, what if there's an expedition in the meantime?" Gra’sha asked, a bit uncertainly, scratching the back of her head.

  Sha’dru sighed briefly, then began to explain in a patient tone, "Listen, I understand it hasn't been easy for you, and for all these past years, you've worked diligently on clan assignments for whatever tokens the works overseer offered, and spent the rest of your time training to get into the chieftain's warband. Ah-ah-ah," she silenced Gra’sha, who was already starting to protest, "and it was a good plan, a worthy ambition, and I admire how far you've come this way. But our stronghold is not a prison. You already have a permanent place in the volunteer corps, and you won't miss anything important if you go with me for a few days to earn some real silver and gain more experience."

  The woman handed the shield to the girl and added, "They agreed to let you take it in advance. We leave tomorrow morning from the main gate. Deal?" She looked at her as if she believed that Gra’sha was not only ready for this but that it would be good and beneficial for her. Like the gaze of an older sister she never had. She couldn't refuse her when she looked at her like that.

  "Deal," she replied, taking the shield from her.

  They walked a few steps back to the traders. Sha’dru explained that they agreed to the terms, and they parted with a handshake.

  "Bring that to my place. I see how you're looking at that tarnish," the woman said in a kind tone, at which Gra’sha's eyes lit up with joy for a moment. This was the most expensive thing she had ever bought, and she intended to get it in order now.

  Sha’dru's house wasn't large, but for one person, it was more than enough space. The sloping roof on the left side rested against the wall of the main room, through whose two wide shutters, southern light poured in. On the right, it reached almost to the ground. There were two smaller rooms there: a storage room and a bedroom, looking from the front. The main room had a hearth with a stone-lined chimney, something not everyone in the stronghold could boast of. Many people had open hearths.

  They sat together in the large room. Gra’sha knew where the tools were, so without asking, she set about scrubbing off the tarnish and then polishing. Meanwhile, Sha’dru prepared them a compote with cold spring water and cut and finished a new leather strap. They mounted the old buckle on it; it was still good. She drank her cup in one gulp and left the girl alone, saying she had something to take care of. Gra’sha, absorbed in her work, mumbled something incomprehensible in acknowledgment.

  When the woman returned home, the young warrior proudly showed her the gleaming shield. It looked as if it had just been put up for sale by a blacksmith's shop. "Good work, it looks grand now," she praised her, then pulled a package from her bag. "I have rations here for the trip there and back for both of us. I'll also bring the sleeping gear, but pack your own blanket."

  "Sure, thanks. See you in the morning at the gate!" she replied. They nodded to each other warmly, and Gra’sha returned to her room in the common barracks. She put the new shield under her bed, where she also kept her bow, and for the first time in a long while, she thought that having a place of her own wouldn't be such a frivolous thing.

  That night, she had restless dreams of a fight, during which she took blow after blow on her new shield, and it held together, even though each successive blow was stronger than the last. Despite this, she felt it was about to shatter like the wooden one that had failed her in her first battle. Just when she was sure that the next strike would tear the steel of the new shield apart, she woke up, slightly dazed. Fortunately, by the time she had finished a quick morning bath and eaten breakfast, the memory of the dream and its accompanying anxiety had faded in the glow of the morning.