Orphan at the Edge of the World - Chapter 16

Chapter 16: 16




"Do you want to test my integrity that much, Orison Cantrip?" Gerrald said grumpily.

Orison smiled and said, "Not at all. You've heard what I want. How close can you fill it?"

Gerrald said, "Aren't you asking a bit much of what that little chip is worth."

Orison smiled wider and said, "My mother was raised the daughter of a merchant. I could get her to work it out so it's fair but I'd rather be discreet about this. In all honesty, the real value of these things is usually more based off the need of the moment as they don't actually have a fixed value. The post script in 'The Magic Crystal Wars' placed the last auction around fifty years ago, for a piece not much larger than the one I showed you. It sold for over 7000 go-"

Gerrald waved his hand and said dryly, "Enough. You're well read, woohoo. The Cure Poison I can get. I happen to have a summon wol-"

Orison interrupted, "Don't even finish that. I said apprentice or better. That part is seriously not negotiable."

Gerrald said, "You're insane if you think any mage is going to sell a war spell of any kind to a minor aside from a hedge witch or a cultist and good luck with that."

Orison gritted his teeth in annoyance and said, "Then let me ask you this. What are the chances of The Empire sending my mother and I to play glorified postal workers in a contested zone?"

Gerrald's brows furrowed then sighed and said, "More of a certainty than a chance. For whatever reason, even though the legate took some liberties with your paperwork, that was not one of them. Alright, I see your point but you already have an Ashlander grimoire I assume. Using a Raise Dead spell might be a bad idea here but it's common practice for dark elves. Why allow myself to be put under scrutiny if you go sideways with a war spell I gave you."

Orison reined in his impatience and explained, "First off. We don't talk about this deal after it's done. That benefits both of us. Secondly, It's also common knowledge that I killed a cultist. So if I end up with a spell I have to explain because it's controlled or even contraband, I have a ready made excuse. Lastly, an apprentice or better battle conjuration spell model is the only way you are getting that shard. If I don't feel like getting it, you could torture me, control my mind with magic or even rip my soul out and order me to hand it over and I could still refuse you. That's not a boast."

Gerrald smiled bitterly and said, "I don't doubt you believe it but I'm... not going to go there. Earth or Fire Golem. Fire Golem is classic but overlaps with things you likely already have access to. Earth Golem is non-standard and heavily dependent on where it's summoned in ability and usefulness but it makes for a lot better bodyguard and has better general utility. Best of all, if it gets traced back to me, I only get a slap on the wrist and a fine instead of possible loss of my court mage post."

Orison said dryly, "Earth it is...And the rest?"

Gerrald looked ready to banter then deflated and said, "Earth Golem, Cure Poison and 520 gold. Literally the best I can do shy of committing a crime unless you want to shake me down for silver and copper too. Leave an old man some dignity."

Orison snorted and said, "I'll consider the money you're pretending not to have as a security deposit against that fine you spoke of and the rest as leaving you some dignity. Gods, I'm not cut out to be a merchant. I would be murdering a peer within a month if I had to do this for a living."

The old court mage dashed out as if he was afraid Orison would change his mind or add more conditions. Less than it took to let out a stabilizing breath, Droya came into the room clucking her tongue.

Orison looked at her with pleading eyes and said, "I know, mom. I didn't even get half of what I could have value wise but he needed to get something out of it too. I don't think he'll be allowed to keep it. Call me paranoid but I think the Archmage in Fort Frost was watching us. Call me optimistic but he might be friendly."

Droya shook her head and said, "Sweetling, I don't think you made that bad of a deal. Well, you did but considering the difficulties between what you wanted and what you were selling, getting around the grounds of one-fifth it's worth without future problems is roses in my book... You started a little low and caved too quickly on the gold. The mage's pattern was too obvious in my eyes and you fought him to true compromise on your spells but he held double on his wealth. Alright, little cub. I can tell I'm losing you... So, what are your plans on the gold?"

Orison said, "200 to Thorrinson, 150 to you, seventy to me and fifty to Gan."

Droya smiled and said, "Gan's joining our house and you have no pressing needs for that gold while we're cooling heels. If time allows, and I think it will, lend your's and Gan's portion to me. On second thought, let him have twenty for now. He needs better equipment and I think he wanted to go somewhere if he had enough time."

Orison said, "Okay, but while you're sniffing after easy turnover I have a list of herbs and seeds that'll be cheap here and ridiculous on Mortal Winds... for my alchemy."

The excited Droya deflated a little and said, "And for a moment I thought our thoughts were aligned. How's this? I won't limit your access to the stock in any way but the less you use, the greater amount of the profit goes to your private fund. By the way, how are you justifying the 200 gold to Thorrinson?"

Orison said, "Starter funds for his future school."

Later on, after Orison was done stuffing his face extravagantly for the second time that day, Gerrald made his exchange with no fuss but looking for all the world as if he was suffering from the worst case of buyer's remorse. As soon as the gold was placed before Orison, Droya heaved it up, slowly raised it and lowered it a couple of times before nodding her head at Orison. With a bitter smile, Orison watched Droya leave as quickly as Gerrald had earlier. As Gan walked past, pulling a small handcart, he looked towards Orison with a face that mirrored the boy's own.

"Don't look at me like that. You're the one who let Droya talk you into hitching your future prospects with ours. Still, if she didn't I might have. An accomplished scout not attached to a house. No immediate family. Add in a debt of gratitude and some emotional blackmail I 'd never actually use unless you turned on me and you're pretty much the perfect subordinate recruit for a new noble," Orison thought to himself.

Since Droya took it upon herself to handle Thorrinson's delivery, Orison decided to spend the rest of the day organizing his magic knowledge and known spells into his own grimoire. He had been absorbing new spell models at such a fast pace that his foundational understanding of them was crude and in some cases, no different from the spoon fed apprentices he had no desire to become.

Over the next two days, aside from some missives and lesser court officials which Droya handled, Orison continued consolidating his previous magical acquisitions. Worried over his increased appetite, he set aside some time in the mornings and evenings to continue with Morrel's training regime. Gan attempted to follow through imitation but quickly returned to his own familiar one with the exception of a morning run. A run Orison planned to keep Gan in charge of because he was a good pacer.

On their fourth morning at the inn, Volta swung by to let the mother and son know that she had finished her accounting and to invite them to temple for a midday memorial service. Thinking it in poor taste not to attend when invited by the organizer in person, they dressed in their best and attended with Gan in tow. Orison was glad he or his mother weren't called to speak but was surprised that when Gan was called, he was bluntly honest in his thought's and feelings towards the two dead men. Some of which sounded only shy of hostile but there was only a silent appreciation for his words, sometimes even a murmur of agreement here and there.

The small ceremony had reminded him just how much the Northland people appreciated honesty and sincerity over beautiful lies. It also gave him a chance to understand better the unique way Find Objective had translated to this world. Letting his magic slowly evaporate into the spreading field of this additional sense, he could feel a subtle but strong blanket of misty power.

Unlike the alien energy he knew, it was peacefully at rest with a tang of promised violence to whatever would break that peace. It radiated the emotion of a grizzled veteran of war returning to the warm feelings of hearth and kin, relishing the glow of love and belonging before the horn of his lord would call him to war once more. Turning to the faceless warrior statue in the back that represented all who sat at the feasting hall within the land of souls, Orison drew the symbol of a hammer over his heart. Still facing the statue he thought of the two men who had died to the Ashlanders and their dead puppets, offered a silent thanks giving and bowed minutely to the statue. At that moment, two motes of force carrying Orison's signature drifted from him and entered the statue. The misty blanket within the temple seemed to exclude him a little less after that.

Solemn and contemplative, the three returned to the boisterous inn. Upon spotting Droya, a server informed her that a courier from the keep had stopped by. Reading the letter, they were informed that the inheritance issue was settled and the inn's account with Whiteriver keep was closed, leaving them to fend for themselves as they waited for an acting Centerland legate to arrive from a fort four days travel away. As Droya took stock of the liquidated funds that she could pick up as early as the next day, Orison told her about the introduction letter his brother had given him to keep her from spending coin on the inn. They could obviously afford it but Orison was keen on checking out the Whiteriver home so he could compare it and it's retainer to what he knew about the game.

Droya said wryly, "There's no real reason to impose. I figured you liked being chore-less and having food available at whim rather than having to adjust your schedule to meal times."

Orison retorted, "Would you have me make a bad impression on my brother by completely dismissing his hospitality?Besides, mom, I figured you would like to save a few coins since you pinch coppers any other time."

Droya purred, "You're not too old for me to swat your tail for being cheeky, little cub. What about Gan?"

Shifting from foot to foot nervously over to the side, Gan meekly chimed in, "I have the remaining coin from outfitting. I was thinking of renting a horse and making the trip I spoke of before. I'd be back in three days, if that's alright?"

Droya hemmed and hawed for a moment before agreeing to both requests.

Standing in front of Venito's house, Droya paused for a moment before turning to Orison and said, "I sorely dislike standing on someone's doorstep like a stray. It's not too late to ret-"

Droya was interrupted by the opening of the door, revealing a lean and mature woman whose visage preserved a touch of youthful vigor. Orison's first thought was that the game did not give this woman justice. Standing in a loose lace shirt and leggings, Lyra looked like a thirty-something Michelle Pfeiffer cast as a Valkyrie.

Returning his jaw to the upright position, Orison handed Venito's letter to Lyra with the reverence of a starstruck fan asking for an autograph.

She winked at Lyra offhandedly and said, "Real gentleman, this one. Kept eye contact the whole time while he was drooling. Want to trade wards by any chance?"

Droya ruffled Orison's head affectionately and said, "Not a chance."

After breaking open and skimming the letter for two seconds, Lyra snorted at something she read in the contents then invited them to come in.

"Just got back from the mercenary guild hall here in town. Bought myself the right to use their facilities. I can't even imagine what I'd look like after two years of sedentary life as a glorified house sitter without it... Well make yourselves at home. Let me give you the short but sweet tour," Lyra said before she whisked them through the quaint two story townhouse.

When she was done, she turned to them and offered, "If it suits you, the boy can use the guest room I had converted from the old alchemy room. If you don't mind, Droya, I'd prefer we shared the master bedroom bed instead of following the letter to the tee. That way if Arentus shows up one night, out of the blue as he is want to, he won't try to use the excuse of no free beds to try and crawl into mine.

"I swear, he's far too fond of new lumps on his head. I've never considered hanging up my sword and shield as I have this last month. One of these days, he's going to catch me drunk and lonely enough that I'm going to wake up with a b*****d in my belly if I'm not careful."

Orison thought to himself, "Thanks for resisting the urge to cover my ears, mom. I'm already embarrassed enough."

As the day dragged on into evening, two things became readily apparent about Lyra. As much as she badmouthed Venito, somehow the teenager had managed to charm her in his own irascible way. She was also nearly bored to insanity. That suited Orison just fine as Droya found herself pulled, pushed and cajoled into and out of nearly every place in Whiteriver worth being while he was left to study and review in peace.

Over supper, delivered by arrangement from the inn, Droya showed some concern over Orison's sudden dramatic increase in appetite. Lyra suggested that he was just hitting a 'growth season' and to make sure he wasn't to sedentary. After Droya explained that Orison didn't even take off time for training while on the road, much less laze about, Lyra's curiosity was peaked.

"Lift that prissy robe up and let me see your bread basket. I don't believe that a kid can be that self disciplined," Lyra slurred out, three mugs in.

Orison looked to Droya for back up but she was looking into her own cup. Droya speak for 'not my problem'. Giving some payback for ignoring her plea earlier in the day was the likely motive.

Red faced, Orison said, "I, uh, it's been hot these last few days so I don't have much on underneath."

Lyra narrowed her eyes and said, "Listen. There isn't anything you have that I haven't seen less than, equal to or more of than you got. You afraid you turned into a dumpling?"

Ears on fire, Orison lifted his robes keenly aware of a stare he couldn't see and thought, "What kind of humiliation play is this?"

Lyra chuckled and said, "Now why would you take a grease pencil to such pretty skin... Droya, these boys will pull all kinds of stunts to get out of pro-"

At the moment Orison felt a slender calloused hand slap his stomach, Lyra's voice just on the other side of the robe he was covering his face with, cut off. An astonished laugh was accompanied by a ticklish inspection which would have been somewhat exciting under other circumstances but felt more like 'bad touch' when paired with the earlier induced embarrassment.

To end the groping and cover the exaggerated negative feelings, Orison jumped away dramatically and comically covered himself after dropping the hem of his robe, then said, "Desist, unprincipled rogue!" Humorous falsetto cracking under real duress.

Making her way back to her chair, Lyra said, "Wouldn't have believed it except I saw it with my own eyes. Subtle signs of heart warrior training. Could have been a younger version of my grandfather with your face covered up. Who did you train under?"

Droya, finally moved to some pity answered for him with, "Morrel, our steward, came from the vale."

Lyra nodded, "Must have moved him well to have him offer your boy that training."

Droya smiled and said, "Orison freed him indirectly. He spent hours tapping holes in his face too."

Lyra looked at Orison and said, "Your hand that steady? What was his evaluation of your work?"

Orison mumbled more than said, "Passably well."

Lyra slapped her thigh and said, "Freed him and restored his honor, so to speak. That would do it. I always wanted a piece to honor my grandfather."

Orison nodded thoughtfully, "Then at the base of the spine for roots of the blood then. Did you inherit the skin of his clan mark or have a drawing of it?"

Conversation rolled into evening and the day officially ended with a single two hour session where Orison solemnly gave Lyra a tribal 'tramp stamp'.

Sadly, the next day did not go how Orison thought it would as Lyra dragged him off to compare training notes. Droya had a merchant introduction date, escorted by Volta and her husband, as the culprit behind Lyra's change of boredom breaking buddy. Both mother and son barely got their worth out of the day before a summer storm had everyone home early. Lyra broke out a rare vintage, gently coaxing Droya deeper into a cup and secretly slipping some to Orison till all three of them were feeling more cheer than common sense. The last thing Orison remembered clearly was singing an alto version of 'Dig', more to his subconscious self than anyone else. For a reason Orison couldn't understand at the time, Droya started crying and turned into a hugging monster. Luckily, Lyra helped him out by replacing him as he slunk off to bed.