The sun was beginning to set as Assiera spun her tale of the plight of her daughter. It’s totality kindled a long forgotten joy of discovery, as well as various misgivings. He listened sitting on the porch of the small home, for the husband would not permit him in, and Efrain was not keen to cause unnecessarily trouble.
“And so, we were left here. Can you… can you help my daughter?” she finished.
Efrain leaned back, his head resting on the railing as he stared up at the sky. He was silent for a long moment as he considered the various ramifications of the girl, her scars, her curse, and the dreams.
“I’m curious,” he said, “why have you never taken her to Karkos? There’s mages, even a guild, last I was there, their ‘tolerated’ status notwithstanding.”
“I’m not exactly welcome home,” said Assiera, fidgeting with the edge of her cloak.
“You had a falling out?”
The woman nodded, and Efrain felt no need to press for the details. He had pieced together the story fairly easy from the fact that a Karkosian woman was living this far north. That, and the nature of her daughter’s ‘illness’ somehow not necessitated a visit to her home city, indicated a deep-reaching conflict that was not entirely resolved.
Efrain drummed his fingers on the wooden planks, missing the cold solidity of his throne’s armrest. This new fascination, found not a handful of days from his home, offered risk and reward in equal measure. The enigma of these scars, the disproportionate complexity of the curse, all seemed like a tailored mystery just for him.
“I see,” Efrain said slowly, “but what exactly do you expect me to do about it?”
The woman stammered and stuttered, and Efrain knew that it was the first time that she was likely considering the practical implication of her request. Not that he blamed her - in the course of half-a-day she’d had her world flipped upside down, her child unceremoniously taken, and likely was running on little-to-no sleep. But still, there was the possibility that she believed that he could take on an entire troupe of knights, and he quick to disabuse of her that notion.
“You do of course realize that even my powers are limited,” he said as he fixed the woman with his unblinking stare.
“Well…” Assiera said, failing to meet his gaze.
“Even if I can help your daughter, and I’m not sure if I can, I’d still have to navigate through knights of the church. They don’t often take kindly to people of my persuasion.”
“There must be something, something you can do. You’re not necessarily an enemy, right? You could make a deal, or, or, you could… you don’t have to fight them.”
Efrain, considering the hypothetical with great caution, finally spoke.
“While I might not have to, but it not an unrealistic possibility. In that eventuality, the odds would be stacked against me.”
Asseria was reaching, that was clear, not willing to let this last chance go.
“But- but, you… you didn’t come here with the intention of revealing your identity. Couldn’t you just not tell them you’re a mage and…”
“And what?” Efrain cut her off, “let’s examine this problem from its outcomes, shall we? If I lie, say I’m not a mage, how long can I keep the deception up? What happens when they find a mage and a liar in their midsts?”
The woman moved to speak, but Efrain put up his hand.
“And, assuming that I can sustain the illusion somehow - I don’t even know what kind of curse your daughter is under, nor whether it’s even curable. Even if it is, how long would it take? Until Muphestfelm? All the way to Angorrah?”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Every sentence seemed to be received as if it was a physical blow.
“And, in that case, what do I do then? Do I snatch her from the clutches of the church? How long until they send an army to finish what their company could not? If your daughter is just as valuable as this commander says, then I don’t doubt they would.”
The looks he was getting from Innie was withering - children where her ken, after all, but he wasn’t about to incite a war in his corner of the world. Finally, when he could take it no more, he sighed.
“Is there really nothing you can do?” said the woman, on the verge of tears.
“I make no promises. Your daughter might very well be beyond my help. Getting to her is one challenge, but even if that’s successful I don’t know if I even can ‘heal’ her.”
“I understand,” she said, “I just- I just want to see my daughter safe.”
“In my experience, there are no such guarantees in this world,” Efrain said, years of experience adding some weight to the words.
“I am well aware of that,” she said, wiping her eyes, “do you take me for a village idiot?”
“No,” Efrain chuckled, seizing his opportunity, “I took you for a everyday woman, or should I say a ‘realist’?.”
“Pythra,” she said, with a fragile laugh, “Tessen’Ta Di’geth N’awerta.”
“’The Comic Tragedy of Seaside Lilies’. Pity I missed the original run, I heard it was legendary, after the fact. Madame Pythra had quite the dazzling intellect.”
“Yes, I suppose she did. It almost sounds like you met here in person.”
“Danced with her too, just the once.”
Her laugh this time was far more solid, and with considerably drier eyes.
“I suppose then, all I can do is ask you and hope,” she said, offering her hand.
Efrain stared at the Karkosian gesture, one that implied that a bargain was being struck. Before he took it, he would have to state his own terms, or accept hers unconditionally.
It wasn’t as if Efrain didn’t pity the woman and the plight of her daughter, he wasn’t heartless, at least non-literally. But the wisdom of centuries had tempered many of his more spurious impluses.
“If I have the chance to help your daughter, I will,” he said cautiously as he took her hand.
He own clasped his forearms, an extension of the gesture that was not used outside of noble circles. It originated in the ‘serpent’s century’ where many nobles of Karkos placed poisoned daggers or pins to prick their opponent. Efrain processed the potential implications, now that he knew the woman was of a high house in Karkos.
“But that being said, I have my own duties to attend to in the valley first. Perhaps fate will conspire to bring us together.”
“Then I wish you fair fortune and winds,” she said, as she let go of his arm, and watched him walked down the path.
“So, what do we do now?” Efrain wondered aloud, “Just head south, and see if we stumble across something ugly and vicious?”
“I was going to suggest something that sounded different, but really wasn’t,” Innie said as she wanded in the meadows to his right.
“Well, in any case,” Efrain said as he turned down onto the path to the village centre, “I want another word with the alder man.”
As he approached the alderman’s home, a scent wafting over the air caught his notice. Hemlock and jassberry, with wood ash and the acrid touch of Naidacan. There was something slightly finer, perhaps a wine. With that last ingredient, it clicked.
“An old ritual,” he said as he stopped by the elderly man, a brazier smoking in front of him.
“Very old,” now seeming perfectly at home with these more mystical guests.
“From the first foundations of the valley,” said Innalysia, “an offering to the spirits.”
“Do you remember when that originated?”
“Oh, some tribes-folk to the west,” she said dismissively, “I’m sure they thought we required some sustenance from them.”
“Not that the thought isn’t appreciated,” she added quickly, upon seeing the man’s face, who relaxed upon receiving such validation.
“If I might ask,” he said, “where are you off to next?”
Efrain looked out over the darkening trees, wondering just where to start. Finding Tykhon might be a good place to start, but who knew where the horse was at this point?
“I suspect we’re going to set off south. The creatures aren’t found of climbing from what I’ve observed, and this is about as far east as you can go without running up the mountainside.”
“I see,” the man said, “may the spirits protect and guide.”
“One last thing,” Efrain said, “is there anything else you can tell me about the knights that came this way.”
“Not much,” said the alderman apologetically, “Their rough number was around one hundred, I think.”
Well, this is just going from bad to worse, Efrain thought. He hoped that thy didn’t have a priest - the last thing he needed at a potential execution was some idiot giving him a headache with a sermon.
“Asseira asked you to save her daughter didn’t she?”
“Yes,” Efrain said, seeing no point in denying it.
“I understand. I didn’t know what to do. All of a sudden I had a hundred soldiers and a pair of paladins knocking down my door, proclaiming they found their new savior. All my years didn’t prepare me for that.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Efrain said.
“I wish there was some way I could’ve helped. Aya was such a bright girl, even if her mother kept her away from the village. I’ve lost children of my own, so I have some idea.”
“Is there anything else?” Efrain said as he looked out over the trees, wondering if Tykhon would materialize if he whistled.
“Nothing that I can think of,” he said, before hesitantly continuing, “but, you said something about ‘creatures’? Should I know anything about them?”
“Probably not,” Efrain said, “though, if you do see any, I’d suggest running, or making contact with a wisp-mother. They have an understandable abhorrence of the things.”
“Oh. Well, good luck, I suppose,” the man said.
Efrain said his goodbyes, and departed back toward the graveyard. The faintest sense of cold still lingered over the stones, he thought, as he passed by the various inscriptions. There were some traces of the magic remaining, but it was quickly dissipating. Still, it offered a chilly reminder of what they were hunting.
“Innie,” he said, standing over one of the graves, the words too battered by the elements to be legible, “what are we dealing with?”
“How would I know?” she said, as she padded through the snow.
“You are older than me,” he said as he dusted off the edge of the stone.
“Not by much,” she said testily, with the air of someone irritated by the confirmation of her age.
“Right, fine. I didn’t mean to offend,” Efrain said as he looked around, “now where is that damn horse?”