The next morning, Victor was eating in the much more lively inn. Instead of focusing on his meal, however, he was reading and re-reading the note that had been left on his bedside table when he had woken up. ‘Greetings, wizard. You seem to have a mastery over magic few possess. Twice now I have observed you perform strange acts of magic I've never seen from other mages. Perhaps we can both find what we’re after in this little village.’ Victor was incensed at the vague menace of the note and now he was curious. He already knew that he was a master of his own form of magic, but he had several pressing concerns. What exactly had he done out of the ordinary, and who dared to sneak into his room while he was sleeping to do something as silly as leave a note? Why would the writer go out of their way to threaten him like this? Was it even a threat? These questions gnawed at him, as he looked over the dozen or so people in the dining area. He didn’t recognize any of them from last night, but he hadn’t been paying any attention to the other customers last night. Cursing himself for his lack of foresight, and just about finished with his meal, Victor waved over the Innkeep who was serving customers behind the bar this morning. The man handed out one more bowl of soup before toweling off his hands and walking over to the mage.
“Victor, right?” The innkeep smiled as he addressed Victor, “You need another bowl or something else?”
“No, I’m just wondering who I can thank for keeping my room clean. I hadn’t noticed until the morning, but you must run a tight ship,” Victor kept a close eye on the Innkeeper as he talked, intent on making sure nothing slipped his scrutiny.
The Innkeep for his part seemed oblivious to the intense stare from the mage, “Oh, certainly! Thomas does all the cleaning for the rooms, whereas Miss Resya,” He gestures at the woman currently moving about the tables and serving food and drink, ”takes care of the dining hall and helps out in the kitchen.”
Victor nodded, before continuing, “I’m surprised you could find so many literate folk out here. I would have thought they would be working for a craftsman instead.”
“Oh, no. Thomas and Pell, Miss Resya that is, aren’t literate. They’re good workers, though, and my son keeps trying to teach Thomas, much to the man’s annoyance.” The innkeep laughed at that, and Victor laughed along with him, before the Innkeeper's laugh slowly turned sour. He looked sad for a moment, before speaking up again. “Poor guy, his father left with the soldiery when they came to draft all the working age folk to man the fort nearby. He’d broken his leg a month afore, and was limping when they came through. They took darn near all the food stores too, and we haven’t heard back yet. Last wheat harvest just came in yesterday though, so at least we’ve got bread ta fill ourselves with,” The Innkeep patted the table, before smiling once more, “Well anyways, he could use some good news, so I’ll pass it along that you’re satisfied with his work. Anythin’ else you’ll be needing?”
“Just one thing,” Victor said, about to ask more about the fort, before suddenly remembering a large hole he had blasted into a stone wall not too far from here. Quickly pivoting, he asked an unrelated question, “Is there a Tannery in town?”
*****
Marcus Roldin stared at the newest batch of deerskin hide. He’d messed it up again, and was beginning to lose his temper. Kicking the wooden frame holding up the stretch of damaged leather, he cursed out.
“Damn army,” he started, “walkin’ up here like they own the place. Teresa’s barely in the age group.” The tanner looked over at a picture on the wall showing himself, his wife, and his son. Each of them looked so much younger in the painting. “If I were a day under forty I’d walk out there an’ give those sacks of shit a piece of my mind.” The old man shook his fist before sitting down on a nearby stool and letting out a long sigh. He knew he wouldn’t have really done anything, it just made him feel better to pretend he would have. The soldiers had been on edge, and were far too eager to draw steel. Looking back at the picture, he almost whispered “I hope you get home soon, b-”
A knock at the door interrupted him, and he startled out of his musings, he turned to open it. Hopefully it was a customer, so he could start working on something again.
*****
Victor knocked on the door to the tanner and leatherworker business in town. It had a very nice sign out front painted in light blue reading ‘Tannery and Leatherworks, Roldin one!’ Standing outside the small wooden structure, Victor was almost certain he’d heard someone talking inside. A moment later, the door swung open, and a rather short man stepped out. The mage nodded at the man, and noted his gray hair and slightly sagging skin.
Before Victor could speak up, the tanner spoke “Well? What’re you here fer? Need a belt? A bag? Out with it!”
Clearing his throat, Victor spoke up, “I’m looking to get a strap of sorts that I can attach to my belt. Something that will let me secure my spellbook to my side.”
“Come on in son,” The old man waved victor in and immediately turned around, letting go of the door. Victor had to quickly step forward so that it wouldn’t close in his face. Inside were a variety of tables and tools the mage was entirely unfamiliar with. Clearing his throat, Victor spoke again.
“So how much do you expect it to-”
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“Alright,” The old tanner interrupted him, “a simple strap ain’t gonna do what you need it ta. You’ll strap it down and find out halfway down the road some pickpocket filched it from ya.”
“Oh, well, um…” Victor stuttered out, before clearing his throat yet again, “What would you recomme-?”
“What you're looking fer,” The tanner had dug through one of the bookshelves on the wall, before pulling out a piece of paper and unrolling it on one of the tables, “Is a proper book harness. Look ‘ere.” Victor approached the table and saw a diagram drawn up of some kind of bag with a strap attached to it. There were various words and lines drawn up around the image, itself drawn several times in different poses, but Victor couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.
“Will this keep my spellbook from being stolen and still let me use it quickly?”
“You bet yer ass it will. My wife designed it a full seven years ago, fer another wizard who was in one of those mercenary groups. He was right pleased with it, if I recall correctly. You willing to pay for quality?”
Victor nodded, still confused as to what exactly this bag was, “Certainly, I’ll offer you five silver for the-”
“Don’t bother, I’ll make it fer one silver and a large copper.
“Well, I need it done quickly, so if you can get it done before tomorrow perhaps? I could do three and a half silver.”
The old tanner looked up at Victor, suspiciously. “Yer haggling all wrong, dumbass. Normally I set a price, an’ the other guy tries to screw me. Two silver, I’m not gonna overcharge you, but I can get it to ya by tomorrow so long as you get the blacksmith to make a few bits of it for me,” Turning to a new piece of paper, the old man scribbled something down, along with a small drawing of a rectangle with more shortened words Victor could make no sense of, “Take this to Marie, the blacksmith. She’ll get it to me, but you’re paying for the bits, deal?”
“Certainly.” Victor took the proffered piece of paper, and started digging through his bag.
“I’ll not be taking payment ‘till it’s done, neither,” The tanner held up one hand, shooing Victor away, “Now go an’ git. It’s hard to miss the blacksmith, so you’ll find yer way there.”
Nodding, Victor found himself walking out of the tannery in a bit of a daze. Once outside, he looked down and smoothed out his already flawless robes before heading towards the distant sound of metal hammering metal. People here are crazy. What kind of craftsman refuses extra pay? Looking at the people moving around the village, Victor felt another pang of guilt. He walked over to a bench on the side of the road and sat down. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small metal pin he’d worn at first with pride, and then annoyance. A small metal eagle, holding a bolt of lightning. The mark of a Warmage, the most powerful spellcaster in a legion. The work wasn’t even particularly difficult for him, it was the footsoldiers who’d been the ones who suffered during his time. Wincing again, Victor reminded himself that the civilians had undoubtedly suffered more. Before his thoughts could start spiraling, Victor pocketed the pin again and stood up. Around him the villagers continued as normal, moving around animals, food, and wood. Some were buying those, some were selling. All of them, now that he actually paid attention, were moving slowly and speaking more softly than he had ever heard in a market space. All of them seemed almost subdued, as if some unseen danger were hanging over their heads. There were no loud shouting merchants, or screaming children running through the streets. No men arguing in the street after drinking far too much. The entire village seemed as though it was practically empty, despite the bustle.
Victor walked down the street, forcing himself to pay attention to the others around him. He pulled out the note from the tanner again and studied the handwriting. Not a match, but he assumed that already. The sounds of metal hammering metal grew louder, and Victor looked for the smithy, finding it by the smoke pouring out of the chimney. Straightening himself and smoothing out the wrinkles in his battlerobe, he approached and knocked on the door. The sound of hammering metal inside paused for a moment, before there was a hissing noise and heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked open, and a heavily muscled woman towering over Victor looked down at him. She had on a long sleeved shirt and a thick apron, and Victor almost took a step back from the heat emanating from the interior of the stone house. A moment later, the neutral expression of the blacksmith turned into a glare.
“I thought I told the captain,” she began, her voice growling out, “That if you soldier types darkened my door again, I’d make sure to put you in the ground.”
Victor did stumble back this time, breaking out in a sweat entirely unrelated to the heat as the mountain of a woman took a single step down from the doorway. “I assure you, that I’ve never been here before,” he quickly spoke, holding up his palms in an attempt to placate her. Victor had no intention of starting a fight here. Thankfully for him, another much lighter voice spoke out from inside.
“Marie, what are you doing?” This new voice spoke out with such authority that the blacksmith stopped in her tracks.
“Sarah,” the large woman in front of Victor turned back towards the house, “you’re still hurt. You should stay sitting.”
“Nope. I’ll have none of that, while you’re yellin’ at potential customers.” A different woman, Victor assumed to be Sarah, stepped up to the doorway. She was noticeably shorter than the blacksmith, with far lighter skin and equally light blonde hair. The left side of her face was covered in bandages, and the mage saw a long piece of wood she was using to support her right leg. The wounds looked at least a week old in his opinion, but still clearly terrible. Clearing his throat to interrupt the loudly whispered argument the two of them were getting into, Victor spoke up.
“Ahem, I assure you I’ve never been to this village before yesterday, and I’m here on behalf of the Tanner. He’s making me a new… bag and needs these pieces.” Victor fished out the note from the tanner and forced himself to keep calm as he looked back up at the withering glare from the blacksmith. She very deliberately reached out and plucked the diagram from his hand, and looked at it. A moment later she harrumphed and looked back at him, just a bit of the anger gone from her face.
“I’ll do it for twelve silver pieces.” She ground out.
“Of course,” Victor immediately replied, “If you can get it done by tomorrow I can add-”
Interrupting him with her hand, she spoke. “I’ll get it to you by tomorrow if you swear to leave before the end of the week. This place has nothing to offer your type.”
Victor cleared his throat before replying, “Of course. I swear I'll leave by then.”
The blacksmith nodded, before turning back to who Victor assumed to be her wife, judging from the matching rings on their fingers. Instantly, her tone and posture softened. “Alright, Sarah. Let's get you back to the good chair while your leg heals up.” The door slammed shut behind her, and the oppressive heat immediately let up. Victor stared at the door a moment longer, before turning and walking away.