He talks to Fenj, who is more hostile than Anuð but tries to come to an agreement with him to make Bastard lend him some of his flames so that they may help cure some of the Dwarvs of a disease called Weasel flu, which has no known way to get rid of it other than to burn the people after they die. He only needs to light a branch that the Wyrwoman has enchanted to never burn down, and she will do the rest, as they do not trust him to help save their people. He then says that Bastard and Davey may then stay until they get to Medhaven. Bastard asks who Davey is, and he nods to the girl, who says its her given name
Fenj appraised him warily, not taking his eyes off of him even when Bastard sat, who had only then noticed that the wagon was filled with children's toys and maps. An odd mix for an old man who lived in a mountain, he thought. Fenj looked around with him, and Bastard saw he was missing his left eye. "Was that the wyrm. Your scars- I mean." He asked, already knowing the answer.
"Ach. Anuð talks too much, he runs his mouth to any stranger he meets. It was the wyrm, yes. It got me on my way home. It wasn't full size by then, hence why I am still here." He spat angrily, and then doubled over, coughing and wheezing. Perhaps it had nicked his lung. Fenj reached for water and drank greedily, sighing in relief when it was emptied. "No matter. I did not call you here for your pity. The Wyrm took more than our home, boy. It continues to haunt us, many miles after we have left it behind. A few days after we brought down the exits, one of us became beset with illness. He was covered in a rash and he could leave his bed only to vomit. After merely 2 days, he went mad. Threw himself from a mountain pass. We sent men down to fetch and bury him in the custom of our people, but they became sick too with same symptoms. The same happened. Eventually we resorted to burning the bodies." At this he shook his head and Bastard saw a tear run down his face. "This slowed it down, but the disease carried on and it still ravages us. The diseased cart lies at the rear of the line, hence why you see no sick men. Eventually," he spoke quietly, "My son fell ill. He... he is gone too. He went sooner than the rest, which i am thankful for." And finally, Bastard knew why he had been called. The mad flu. Carried by reptiles. The first man must have been bitten by the wyrm and then transferred it to the others, starting a chain of death and disease. No known cure. Normally. The last outbreak had resulted in over 300 deaths in Ardorf before it was halted. The only way to get rid of mad flu was burning, but this resulted in death, so was not an oft taken approach. When the pressure amounted to too much, a mage would be called upon from a noble house, one who could direct the flame, targeting only the flu whilst preserving the man. Expensive. Fenj wanted him to cure his people.
Bastard, all things considered, could not have felt worse. He had been saved by these townsfolk, given finery beyond anything he had ever owned, and had thanked them by terrifying a young girl to the point of unconsciousness. And now this. He would have given anything to help, but... "Fenj. I know what you want. I would cure them if I could, honest," and he lit his right hand ablaze, his eyes turning a deep amber orange, the same shade as his flame that flickered in the shade of the wagon, "but this is the limit of my control. Any more and it billows out of my power, I would only hurt them if I tried to, what's it called, boil out the disease? Truly, I am sorry." He snapped his hand shut, feeling the heat subside and only now noticing that it hurt, and the tips of his fingers seemed a shade darker than before. The girl, who had been eagerly staring at the flame with a hunger in her eyes, sat back, bored once more. She had been trying to conjure forth flame anytime she found herself alone but had only managed a few sparks, much to her dismay. She didn't understand how she couldn't get a clean, even flame yet, despite all her attempts, and was quite considering giving up on fire entirely in place of the secondary name.
Fenj, on the other hand, wracked out a dark, humourless chuckle. He coughed once more, but still did not stop laughing, louder and louder, even when Bastard thought he was able to see the outline of his lung moving against the thin layer of flesh he still had. "Y-you? You thought I'd let you operate on my people? You waltz into here, burn my oldest friends daughter, lie to us, and you thought we'd trust you?" Finally he stopped laughing, and wiped a line of bloody pink spittle from his lip. "Your name does you no justice boy, you are a foul thing, and I do not trust things. Did you not think I don't know what a liar sounds like? I don't know where you encountered this 'Davey', nor do I care, but you did not save her from Willumers, that I know. No, that is unimportant, all we need you to do is to light a single branch. After that I will have you leave, and never return, or rest assured I will have you tied to a Hangmans tree and no one would think lesser of me for it." He glared at the pair who were sat silently in shock and guilt, stewing in the unhappy knowledge that not only was he right, he was justified. What a pain it is to know you are the evil party, even madmen have the light of self-belief and the glory of knowing they are correct in everything they do. This is the reward they have wrought from insanity, they no longer feel the agony of unjust actions and evil behaviours, though it could be that the reward is the disease in itself, a sword with a dagger as a hilt.
This seemed to hurt the girl, no - Davey was her name, or at least the name she'd given, who was looking down at her feet and Bastard thought he heard a sniffle. She was still a child, he supposed, though a strange one, like him, with a strange name - one for a boy. What a mystery, a girl dressed as a boy with a boys name, like a witch of the old tales. Long ago, this would have been an effective way to avoid kidnapping on the road, but anyone who had seen the Willumers smuggling camps would know there were just as many boys as young girls in their cages.
Bastard looked at Fenj, who looked back with a slowly dying fury that was replaced with abject misery that Bastard could see would not end until the dying flickers of life left his eyes, and prayed to Illum above that he never understood what the broken Dwarv felt. He couldn't have agreed more with what Fenj was saying, however. Mages were the antithesis of all things holy and good, as was known in the scriptures that had been read to him every day in that tiny Ardorf cell when he was a boy, until they may as well have been inscribed upon his brain; 'And when the Lord smote the Betrayer down, the one known as Flame World-Illuminator, unto the uncleanliness of soil and salt and smoke, he howled as a feral hound howls, for he knew what it was to lose Their blessing, and truly be alone from all that makes all. From the Betrayer's howls erupted sin, that melts itself into golden metals, and corrupts all' . Priest Mikal had been a great lover of his own voice, which had apparently what had gotten him the post at such a remote town as Ardorf. Had he been insulted by this, no one had known it, as he had quickly busied himself attempting to fill the town with religious fervour and insisting all called him 'Bishop', even when buying tobacco from Mulders Medicines. Despite everything, it seemed to have worked as within only a few months, numbers in the Church had risen considerably to numbers not seen since before the war, and a few even held out holy hands when he walked by, a gesture rarely seen in a town as miserably poor as Ardorf. He was well liked despite his shortcomings, Bastard supposed, though given the guilty verdict he had given him and the verbal lashings of daily scripture, Bastard could not find it in himself to be fond of the man and his especially tall hat. None of the whorehouse girls had liked him either, too much warbling about unholy professions, he'd heard.