Melinda was suprised the witch king of the south let her sell magic. No one hassled a vassal while Sinrall was alive and fighting demons and throwing fire across the sky. He was nothing much before the wars, a quiet man. Now Melissa was on the wrong side of a war and needed to leave town before the soldiers started pissing into the wells and taxing her performaces.

Something about magic burns out your brain really easily so most people don't care for it. You have to read a lot of books and do a lot before you can avoid mind aches. Not unlike temperture shock from frozen liquor, mind aches were the worst because they're part of the healing. That's why Melinda was famous: no magical bruises and no mind aches. Bad people do poor magic.

"Not that I'm judging." She spoke into her empty store. The siege would break before dusk and she needed to hide her money. She spent most of it because it wasn't going to be worth much when people start asking where you got a blood-gold coin. "As if I make the damn things." Bad people have really useful money because it isn't money otherwise. A fact that caused two wars.

Magic isn't that great if you know the rules for surviving it, number one on that list is to work slowly. Melinda moved slowly to make perfectly smooth clay tiles. Her tiles were elegant and had a sheen impossible to find in raw clay. Clay is formed out of really old plants and not magical in the slightest way until Melinda started this shop. Then she started earning blood-gold in exchange for shiny dirt. "I never thought I'd make a store for myself." She caught her breath.

Customers come in no matter the season, war or peace, grief or joy. They might ask about their plans and goals as if they would be succeed the more people they told. It actually did help, but not as a self motivator. A promise resolves itself as a lie or truth without any magical help. She could find new goals for them in the clay, old memories and unplanned futures. A rare fortune.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Melinda would take her payment and break the tablet with the customer. She used strings and actual carvings for the cheaper fortunes but those were fake. True fortunes split themselves in very predicatable ways but she'd never be an oracle. Those ladies are literally insane but she doubted it was the same magic anyways. Melinda's magic was like painting of a person, showing who they are and making a damn good guess about their futures. Those tablets took two days to make and Sinrall made it a point to break two tablets every time he wandered into her shop. They kept changing and he'd laugh at her. Hurr durr Yep I'm in charge now Linda.

"What kind of fortune teller can't repeat their tricks Mel? The very best I'm sure." He didn't burden her with his issues because she didn't let him and he learned to read the clay himself. She knew about the cities he burned and the new landscapes his mages use to break their enemies. Climbing hills was very demoralizing to both footsoldiers and oracles, apparently both suffered from nausea under the circumstances. The Witch King of the South was not kind to his enemies but kindness wasn't the goal when you were defending your thrones. Kind doesn't kill.

"BLAH! I was making good money! I don't have headaches and I have shoes!" She was goofing around a little bit but clay is not meant for shoes. It's less comfortable than magical fire or even a hammock. Melinda's shoes were important because she wasn't a soldier, a worker, or slave. She worked in comfort when she could and had shoes for the rest of the running. Just like every other person in a normal city she wasn't a threat to an army, unlike the rumors. Unlike Sinrall.

Every oracle began screaming in fear. All they felt was his curse. The oracles had lost their sight exactly as Sinrall finished with his life. He stood above his city and reached out to his friends.

Melinda looked down his fortune as Sinrall died two hours earlier than she had expected.

The southern army broke into a frightful roar as their king's body became a monster. A dragon.

She fell to the ground as the clay grew hot and seared a pattern into her tablecloth. All of the magic she'd given the Witch King was returned too soon to save Sinrall from the army. Melinda would have a wonderful fantasy before dawn, dreaming of the fool, before waking up to a siege boulder and some hot water. The Southern Seer wasn't a name that had a name, just an idea.