Attempting to win the bird god’s favour results in a rather awkward moment when talking to their ‘children’. I’m feeding a variety of finches or other such bright small things, and they have begun accepting tasks from me. Nothing complicated, just watching areas, or carrying messages. Stuff like that. Naturally I ask if there’s anything troubling them that I could help with, to accelerate winning their god’s favour, and they say…

“Oh yes, maimed giver,” (they view the inability to fly as a disability), “lately there has been many cats around who have been eating us and causing us great fear. If you could get rid of them I’m certain our god would be very pleased.”

I repress a sigh at my efforts being blocked by my own actions. Though I sense an opportunity to work it to my advantage by arbitrating a peace agreement between them. The terms are simple. I tell each cat that I won’t feed any of them that the birds tell me has attacked one of them.

There is great and piteous meowing all through the night, but a few days later one of the little birds tells me the cats have been leaving them alone, and it’s even better than before they started gathering. At that moment I feel their god’s favour and accept the boon with a gesture.

I hardly feel the decreased mass, but the boost to the vision is remarkable. I’m able to see the texture on leaves half a block away. Also, insects. Lots of insects are now visible which would have otherwise blurred into the distance, but it’s not that distracting. Besides, the view from the roof at sunrise and set is even more spectacular now.

The training room Alan promised is a large, and very expensive magic item. All the walls are inscribed with illusory magic, allowing a sufficiently skilled operator to create any image they want, which can interact with the people inside. Alan said it’s for amusement, though it must have had training in mind when it was crafted as the walls are heavily reinforced and self-repairing. Though when we test it against the heavy crossbow it shoots clean through the reinforced stone wall, then a mundane, before finally poking out the other side of a thick tree outside.

“Couldn’t you just reinforce the wall some? Maybe add material like an iron sheet?” I say, after the several minutes of panic as we check for accidentally murdered passersby has passed.

“An iron sheet? Across the whole wall? Do you have any idea how thick it would have to be?” says Alan.

“…Maybe a foot?”

“Yeah, no, you’ll just have to make do training with the light crossbow.”

“I did want to try shooting through obstacles using divinations though.”

“…That’s scary. Can you cast your guidance spell through a divination too?”

I blink. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe. More reason to experiment.”

He sighs. “Fine. I have a country estate. It’ll be easier to construct a safe range if we have more space. We can go there for a while to practice. There’s also a bigger library there if you want to take anything when we come back.”

“That does sound good, though I remind you I have to continue personally feeding the cats to maintain the boon.”

“Then take some with you. I’m certain they’ll enjoy roving the grounds.”

“…Is the bath as good as here?”

“Yes.” I nod in agreement. “Good. I’ll need to make a few arrangements, after that we can leave in a few days. We can’t stay there for long, only a week, but a change in scenery should be good. Get away from the dirty city.”

The city is cleaner than any country residence I’ve been to, but I guess the Arkothans have a higher standard of cleanliness than us.

The training with the light crossbow goes much more smoothly. The room creates an illusion of a target and tells me what score I get when I shoot it.

I also experiment with different ways to reload, which helps build muscles. The only way I manage to load it without the automatic aid is setting up the magic lever and pressing it with my foot, but that requires me to be stationary for too long and is finicky. If I want to reload on the move then the best way is to grab it like a bow and do a quick pull, which gets it about halfway, then I let the magic do the rest. With that method I get it down to about 25 seconds.

Once I manage to consistently hit the target, I have it move back and forth, slowly at first then quickly. When I can hit it about a quarter of the time at higher speeds I start having it move erratically, up and down, stopping suddenly.

I immediately get frustrated with this latter approach as I realize it’s not simulating anything. Physical targets obey physical laws, and so can’t just suddenly move in a different direction with no prior indication or acceleration.

With that in mind I have it move in a semi-random way that I think simulates how a knight, or squire, would move if they were charging me– bouncing off walls while trying to dodge. I have Alan take a look to get the details right.

It’s very hard to hit, and so I end up waiting for the last moment as it’s on its final approach to shoot. Alan sees this and says it’s no good. While I might get the knight, it likely won’t kill them so they can still get me. So, we add dodging to the training. Having a shot count only if I get a certain distance away from the target when it reaches where I shot from.

When it’s time to have our rural retreat I’ve gotten to about 15% accuracy with this method. I also train with the guidance spell helping, since sudden and fast movement is one way of defeating it. It’s helpful to note flaws in the spell, but I quickly find myself almost always hitting and so stop that method.

The rural estate is… pleasant, in a way. There’s a forested stream that runs through the estate which Alan suggests I explore as part of his relaxation campaign, but it doesn’t do anything for me. About an hour into it I’m scratching uncontrollably. Really he should have known it wouldn’t have worked given how much time I’ve spent in woods running for my life.

Instead, I focus the time here training the heavy crossbow and going through the larger library.

The world does not allow me to target objects I can’t see via divination, but the prohibition feels the same as any other spell I know is possible but haven’t learned yet– it’s negotiable. The strategy is simple. First I learn to hit targets at a distance without aid from the guidance spell. I start at a quarter of a mile and keep shooting until I can hit the target more often than not.

Stolen novel; please report.

The target in this case being a piece of enchanted self-repairing plate armour Alan lends me for the purpose. It’s durable enough that at the distances I’m shooting, for it to stop the bolt from penetrating out the other side and completely burying itself in the hill directly behind it. Of course I have to hit it for that to work, and so I spend a lot of the first day directing servants to dig out lost bolts.

On the second day I’ve grown confident enough to reliably hit the target and have the servants erect a wooden screen, behind which they move the target several feet in either direction after each shot. To acquire the target, I chant a simple divination for the silver rod which I attached to the crossbow like a bayonet to flash hot whenever it’s pointing at it– having different sections go hot as I narrow it down. It doesn’t aim for me though, so I end up burying several bolts as I figure out how to adjust the shot.

I spend the rest of the time at the country estate focusing on learning the adjustment to the spell, at the expense of time devoted to every lesson but law and etiquette. It’s a considerable workout as I want to get as many shots in as possible and so frantically use the winch to speed loading, while also wearing the strength enhancing gambeson.

On the fifth day the world finally finds it a reasonable adjustment and allows me to cast the spell through the divination. Of course it did. After all, I can do it without the spell now, so it would be silly if I couldn’t do it with it.

“Congratulations. I think that’ll be very effective on the test.” Alan says when I tell him the news.

It’s a funny feeling, since no one has congratulated me for learning a new spell since Gebal and the rest of the cell all died. Still, it’s pleasant for my effort to be acknowledged. “Thanks.” I say, trying to let my emotion get through. “I’m more or less through here. I can’t really imagine needing more practice on the far range now and I’ve gathered all the books and seeds I want to take back.”

“You don’t like it here?”

I shrug. “It’s fine, but it doesn’t have an illusion room like the town house, and I think I enjoy the view of the city better. Or at least I feel more apart and a part of the world from the roof there during my crepuscular magic sessions. The nascent or diminishing bustle of the city doesn’t have a good counterpart here.”

“Ah, well if there’s something you’re enjoying more there I guess we can go back. I have some business to attend to in town anyways.”

“Even though the enjoyment is part of my training?”

He shrugs. “Just because I think you need something you enjoy for its own sake doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy beneficial things too. We’ll leave tomorrow after your dawn training session… Have you found anything to paint while here?”

“…I guess I’ve been busy with the crossbow training… I spent a good portion of my life being very stressed in rural environments. It’s not really something I find inspiring.”

He nods. “That’s fine. No one can make you be inspired. Why don’t you try painting the sunrise from the roof when we get back?”

“…I suppose it might be an interesting method to incorporate into my spell training.” I say.

He sighs, but I smile to let him know I’ll at least do a little painting without tying it into training. Though I know I’ll regret letting it into the prime spell learning time.

There are letters waiting for me when we get back.

Most are innocuous pleasantries from various people I was introduced to at the party. Two are from the man and woman I talked with about the cannibalism in Caethlon. The man says he looked into the incident I mentioned and formally apologizes for publicly doubting me, promising that he would write letters to the others present to inform them of his error of judgement.

I don’t know if I like, or dislike, the stuffiness. The rigidly forcing oneself to publicly face up to one’s own mistakes. But I think he’ll make a good contact, so I write back accepting his apology and add his name to my list.

The woman, who initially asked about the cannibalism and signs her name as Marylleen, wants to know if I know of any other interesting stories about Caethlon. She says she shared what I told her with all her friends, and they were all scandalized at the news of Arkothan soldiers behaving so dishonourably.

There’s something unnerving about the zest in which she writes about what I told her. How she adds disturbing details that, while likely not inaccurate, are not among those I provided. Like that the cannibal cookpots were smelly, or the practiced ease of the soldiers’ butchery skills. Completely made up, but not implausible. I get the feeling telling her more might be dangerous.

Good. Her mouth might be the best weapon I have at my disposal right now. All I’ll have to do is feed her a few interesting anecdotes and she’ll spread scandal after scandal like a sickness through high society. A discontent sown amongst the prestigious youths over how things were handled turning them traitor against their better interests. It probably won’t be a true moral outrage, just the thrill of a scandal, but I suspect that will make little difference.

I eagerly write back telling her of the time we tricked an imperial century into wiping out an entire village, which we used as propaganda. Of course, we had been using the village as a base of operations, but had left without a trace before they attacked. As such the century was severely punished for the violence taken against a civilian settlement. Naturally I write back as a neutral observer and not one who helped cause the bloodshed.

Finally, are the letters from the three gamblers: Talia, Greg, and Mae. Mae’s is just pleasantries which I write back to exchange. Both Greg and the Viscount invite me to ‘friendly games.’ Saying how much they were impressed with how I quickly learned the game and I was clearly the type of person they want playing with them. Greg mentions wanting a chance to win his money back.

I’m sorely tempted. I want to go despite knowing the Viscount was going easy on me to lure me in, and that Greg’s game will be crammed with his friends and cronies who will all gang up on me. The thrill of loss, or the satisfaction of an improbable victory– both good. But there’s more. I know their goals are more sinister than just taking my money. They intend to force me into a corner, and I’ve always found corners to be delightful places to let myself be forced into.

If Alan will not help me sate my ever increasing itching, then maybe I can find a better source in these shady new ‘friends’ who are so eager to take from me. It’s funny to think how little idea they have about who and what they’re inviting.

…But I hesitate. Alan disapproves: of the gambling and Anar. We didn’t come to a specific agreement to either, but he has been adhering to the agreed upon schedule while being very accommodating to my suddenly changing training requirements. Sigh. I guess it would feel like betraying him to accept the invitations, to seek out situations where I know my hand will be forced, at least for now. Especially since he gave up so much money to get me away from them, for some reason.

So, I write them back, regretfully informing them that I am here for the exam and am focusing on studying for that. As such I can’t afford the pleasant distraction of a game with them but to please invite me again after the exam is over.

I take all the letters I’ve written and show them to Alan for his approval– by which I mean to make sure they don’t breach etiquette.

He sighs. “I suppose this will be a good teaching opportunity.” He says as he goes through them. “Lots to work on to avoid insulting everyone.”

I feel a bit disappointed at this response but don’t say anything and just silently sit down to receive his wisdom.

He glances at me, and looks back at the letters I sent to the gamblers. “I am glad you chose not to go to the games.” He says after a little bit.

I instantly smile despite myself, then force myself back to a neutral expression. “Oh, well, you know. I really don’t have the time for it.”

“Yeah, I know.” He says with a comforting smile before getting into the corrections.

After we send them we get back to the training rhythm we had before the party, with the addition of a half hour spent painting, and occasionally answering correspondences. Marylleen in particular is an avid writer who eagerly soaks up all the stories of the insurgency I tell her. Alan disapproves but relents when I insist that it’s the safest way I can think of to build support here.

I never get my painting up to the level to be worth submitting, but I do produce a picture of the rising sun over the city that induces some small emotion in me. There’s pride at the creation, but also just something in the image that I don’t feel even when looking at the real thing. It’s like hope, but more trite.

With the routine in place the remaining time slips away, and the exam day arrives.