Despite recent events, Wesherby still operates under a relative sense of normalcy. Any damage caused by the gnoll attack had largely been contained to the northeastern portion of the village, leaving most of the town’s establishments to conduct business as usual. The market stalls have been filled by local farmers selling their crop and patrons steadily enter the Grassy Knoll.
Repair efforts are already underway, headed by local craftsmen like Lamont and by members of the watch. A force of volunteers had also come forth to offer their services as laborers. Others, meanwhile, opened their homes to those now without. Unlike the dynamic found in a larger city, the citizens of Wesherby look out for one another, with each doing their part to return things to how they should be.
This resilience would normally make Michael proud to be a member of the village, but today it rubs him in the wrong way.
His already sour mood is worsened when he passes by the general store on his way back to Aunt Marie’s. The doors of the business are open to the public as though nothing had happened, like its proprietor hadn’t sacrificed himself the night before to protect Wesherby from the threat of invasion. While the store may be a vital part of the town’s economy that doesn’t excuse it in his eyes. Whichever of Captain Adams’ staff had chosen to work today deserved a tongue lashing at the very least.
Michael trudges past the building without looking inside to see who had opened the shop. It didn’t really matter anyway. The youth is aware of the mood he finds himself in but that isn’t making it any easier to control it.
Inviting him to join the Order of Dawn, as if he would have any interest in that. Sir Gurren could have asked him to be his personal squire and Michael still would have given him the same answer. Anything to do with Daichi needed to stay away from him. Those fools could follow her but he wanted no part in their delusions.
The notion of learning how to better wield a blade was appealing, that much he had to admit. Perhaps he could convince a wandering adventurer to teach him a few tricks while they were in town. Or maybe he should set out for Fort Tallin and volunteer? Military work certainly pays better than the watch, and it would give Michael the opportunity to serve Arcturia while helping others, both noble pursuits.
A gentle pinging draws Michael from his introspection.
Nearby a man of short stature is hammering away on a piece of iron, shaping it against an anvil before thrusting it back into the billowing flames of his furnace.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
Fergus looks up from his work, squinting into the sunlight as he is forced to look up at the significantly taller man.
“Na time tae rest,” he answers. “Village wilnae rebuild itself.”
Michael unconsciously raises a brow.
“Weren’t you burned?”
“Ha!”
The hammer strikes against the golden metal fresh from the forge, showering the dwarf in sparks. Several nestle into his beard, though he seems unafraid of the potential consequences.
“Worked n’ a forge a’mah life, ye think a bit o’ fire wull kill me? M’ah dwarf fer Muardin’s sake!”
It is hard for Michael not to smile at Fergus’ undamaged pride. Dwarves were a proud race like any other, and their skill with a hammer and a resistance to heat were some of their favorite boasts. Any dwarf could walk into a workshop and make a finer weapon than the best human craftsman, or at least that’s what they believed.
Steam and sizzling fill the air as the piece Fergus had been working on is quenched in a barrel of collected rainwater. It is quickly thrown back into the fire to keep the metal from cooling too much and cracking.
The dwarf turns to Michael while waiting for his current project to heat.
“Shouldn’t ye be n’ bed? Ah hear ye git it worse then me.”
Rolling his shoulder, Michael grunts at the resistance his body puts up. He doesn’t waver, however. The determination in his eyes remains strong. Like the shorter man, he should be recovering but refuses.
“Weel, if ye'r goin’t tae staun thare 'n' gawk, ye may as weel hulp.”
Fergus nods his head to the side. Following with his eyes Michael sees a spare apron hung over a nearby anvil. Having nothing better to occupy his time with the young man acquiesces, taking the large piece of tanned leather and sliding it over his neck before tying it off behind his back.
“Git th’ tongs.”
Doing as instructed, Michael retrieves the steel implements and makes for the furnace. The heat is miserable beside the roaring fire, but the conversation has gone on long enough for the piece Fergus had been working on to once again glow white-hot.
Michael withdraws the crook and moves it to the anvil.
“Hol it steady.”
The first swing nearly knocks the heated metal from the anvil, resulting in a curse from the craftsman as it is bent.
“Ah sae steady, lad!”
Doubling his grip on the tongs, Michael gives a curt nod to Fergus that he may continue.
This time the forged material shifts only ever so slightly, but the dwarf seems satisfied. He raises the hammer above his head for another full swing, taking several before reaching for his chisel.
“Ye know lad,” he says as he works, “ye shuid nae blame yersel' fur whit happened.”
Michael huffs, letting out a deep sigh as beads of sweat roll down his brow.
“Who says…” he begins just as scalding water jumps from the quenching barrel and nearly catches the exposed skin of Michael’s arm, but he narrowly avoids it while managing to not drop the piece.
“Who says I am?”
“Tis a’ower yer face.”
Fergus places a hand on Michael’s arm, preventing him from moving the hook back to the anvil for further work.
“Ah know th' captain wis special tae ye. Ye'r frustrated, upset.”
Looking the shorter man in the eye Michael finds something he hadn’t expected: remorse.
“Any o' us cuid hae died. He'd be glad 'twas him, crazy bastard. Them military types ‘er lways willing tae sacrifice themsleves fur ithers.”
Fergus takes the tongs from Michael and offers the hammer in its place. Then he withdraws another ingot from the forge and moves it to the anvil.
After a moment Michael senses what he is to do and raises the hammer before pounding the heated steel with all his might. It deforms slightly, clearly still needing some work before being flattened into something usable. One thing is certain though, hitting something felt good.
Michael imagines it is the head of a gnoll on the anvil as he takes another swing. The miserable creature’s skull is pounded into dust. Then it’s the cackling shaman with its spells. It was what had trapped Captain Adams and guaranteed the man wouldn’t escape from his demise. Chunks of marrow fly in all directions as the canine’s cranium is pulverized.
Anger and hatred continue to well up inside the young man as he raises the hammer again and again, only to bring it down on the gnolls who had attacked his home. Finally the pack lord appears on the block.
Unknown to him the hammer glows a brilliant gold. Fergus quirks an eyebrow but says nothing, allowing the youth to continue driving the hammer downwards. Michael screams when it hits the pack lord’s jawbone. The next swing pops its eye from the socket, like the wound he inflicted last night. After three more blows nothing remains but a bloody pulp.
Still not finished, the young man raises the hammer only for something to grab him by the arm.
“Easy lad, easy. That’s enough.”
Michael’s breathing slows and the shaking in his hands grows steadier. After blinking he notices the completely flattened sheet of steel where the pack lord’s head had been.
“Ah think ye git im,” Fergus says, looking pleased with the plate of worked metal. “Feel better?”
Taking a deep breath, Michael releases it slowly and nods.
“Yeah, thanks Fergus.”
“Anytime lad,” the dwarf answers, giving a curt nod of his own before turning his back to the guardsman. “Noo run alang wi' ye. A've git wirk tae dae.”
For a moment Michael considers staying at the smithy to help Fergus, but he quickly realizes that the dwarf is faster on his own than he had been with Michael’s assistance.
Now that his anger has subsided there seems to be only one place left for Michael to go. He hangs the apron on its hook and excuses himself, then makes for the west gate. There’s a hillside overlooking Wesherby that he needs to visit.
* * *
Outside of the village on a beaten path branching off the main road, the young man makes his ascent up the gentle incline leading to Wesherby’s cemetery. The site is officially maintained by the church, but with no religious presence it is somewhere Michael doesn’t feel the need to avoid.
It’s always quiet out here. Only the breeze makes a sound, as well as a startled rabbit that breaks for its hole after seeing the approaching figure.
For a village the size of Wesherby, the space is surprisingly large. Nearly every citizen of recent generations is buried here, and it is one such grave that Michael has come to visit.
“Hello, mother,” he says to the slab of stone bearing the name “Diene Whitaker."
There is no response, but being near the memorial brings a sense of peace to the youth just the same.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t make it yesterday. Some things… happened.”
Unable to stop the frown from forming on his lips, he continues speaking.
“I know you’d have been worried when I joined the watch, but I always felt like it was the right thing to do. Now I’m sure of it.
“Gnolls attacked the village. They burned the stable and the northeast corridor. Several people were killed before I arrived.”
A crack appears in the wall Michael had erected around his emotions. He squats to his knees in the grass and hangs his head.
“I… I can’t help but think it’s partially my fault. If I hadn’t gotten back late from lunch then I would have been there. Maybe they’d still be alive.”
Sunlight reflects off the hilt of the sword hanging from Michael’s hip and shines into his eye. Seeing the weapon reminds him of how it had felt to draw it against a real opponent for the first time.
“One of the gnolls saw me and Ashe when we got there. I told her to run and ran at it as a distraction. I think… I think I was scared, but I can’t really remember. The only thing I know is that when it was over the gnoll was on top of me and I couldn’t move. Blood stained my shirt and I didn’t know if it was mine or the gnoll’s.”
Michael shifts his weight from one foot to the other and looks at the name on the stone.
“When Captain Adams asked for volunteers to go after those that had been taken, I was the first one. I hope you’d be proud of that. The thought of those monsters taking our people and doing something to them, I couldn’t bear it. Not after what happened to you.
“We saved them…” Michael chokes up a bit, struggling to continue the story. “We saved them, but more died trying to bring them back than we actually rescued. The captain…”
Hot tears stream down the young man’s cheeks. The captain had been one of his greatest role models and his loss stung deeper than any other.
“Captain Adams didn’t make it. I think he knew that he wouldn’t. Something about the way he acted the entire time.”
Unconsciously, Michael balls his fists in rage.
“But I got the one who did it. It was the one responsible for the attack in the first place, a pack lord. I crushed its jaw, popped out its eye, cut off its head!”
His fist slams into his open palm, creating a clapping noise that rings forth before it is quickly replaced by the breeze.
Michael sighs and takes a deep breath as the momentary fit passes.
“Something happened. You would have been over the moon if you’d seen it. I… I wielded the power of the Goddess. Ashe said that I looked like a paladin from the Order of Dawn.”
A feeling of intense conflict emerges within Michael. Diene would have most definitely been elated by the revelation of his newfound power. He, however, feels quite differently.
“I don’t really know how it happened. I didn’t call out to her or beg for salvation. I just knew that the monster before me was evil and deserved to die.
“Sir Gurren, the High General one, arrived in time to see it. He healed my wounds and brought me, Ashe, and the other survivors back to Wesherby.”
Now comes the part of the story that makes the young man more uncomfortable than any other. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up even thinking about the dream, or whatever it was, that he’d had last night.
“Daichi spoke to me, mother. Or something claiming to be her did. She looked… she looked like you.”
Sniffles escape from Michael as he wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve. The tears that had become scarce resurge as the waterworks are made anew.
“I thought it was you. That made me so happy. I thought we were together again.”
The whisper becomes a snarl.
“But it was her, lying like she always has. The Goddess pretended to be you to make me talk to her. Get me to let my guard down.
“She called me her champion. As if I would ever serve her. Daichi is nothing but a liar who abandons her followers when they need her most. If I did put my faith in her, she'd end up letting me die just like you!”
Michael gasps and covers his mouth. Insulting the memory of his mother, even if he felt as strongly about Daichi as he does, is unacceptable.
“Mother, please forgive me. I didn’t mean it.”
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Several moments pass as he tries to find the words to say.
“I know you’d want me to walk in her light, but I just can’t. Not after what she allowed to happen. Someday I’ll make things right, I promise.”
Slowly his hand snakes its way under his shirt to grip the rosary. It had been his mother’s, the only proof that she was once a nun after being excommunicated from the church and kicked out of her cloister. It is also the only remaining artifact of Diene’s that Michael has.
“Thanks for listening, mother,” Michael says, standing and reaching into a pouch on his belt. He withdraws a dawn flower that had been carefully wrapped in a handkerchief to preserve it.
With great care he places the vibrant red bloom on the headstone. For a moment the breeze seems to die down and the world becomes still.
Michael takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, ending the meeting with the same phrase that he always has before turning to walk away.
“I’ll come back soon. I love you.”
* * *
The midafternoon sun burns brightly in the azure sky when Michael makes his return through the west gate. He stops momentarily to exchange pleasantries with the watchmen on duty, then continues into the village. Having not eaten, the young man heads for home in hopes that Aunt Marie has saved him some of whatever she had prepared. If not, he could always go to the Grassy Knoll and order something for a handful of copper.
When Michael enters the cottage he is surprised to find Lamont still sitting at the table. He had left before Michael awoke in the morning and it is now at least an hour past his usual time for taking lunch. Something must have been keeping him since Augden is nowhere in sight.
“I don’t know that I’m entirely comfortable with the notion.”
Michael hears Lamont’s voice as he makes his way down the hall.
Aunt Marie is the next to speak, her tone similarly aghast.
“Dear, it’s just so far.”
A slight creaking noise draws the attention of the room’s inhabitants when the newcomer steps on a loose floorboard.
“Michael!” Aunt Marie’s previous timber of astonishment fades upon seeing her nephew.
“I was worried something happened to you. You shouldn’t wander off by yourself when you’re hurt. Ashe said she looked for you but couldn’t find you anywhere.”
When the brown-haired woman finally stops to take a breath Michael is given the opportunity to reply.
“I’m sorry. I just needed to talk to someone.”
Ashe and her father nod solemnly. It is no secret that Michael visits the grave of his late mother on a regular basis, and wanting to do so after the events of yesterday is more than understandable.
Looking to change the subject, Aunt Marie quickly unseats herself and makes for the counter where a plate containing a mixture of cornmeal and ham has been left.
“Have you eaten?”
“No ma’am,” Michael replies, shaking his head. The beads of sweat from working in the forge with Fergus have since dried and matted the young man’s hair to his scalp in a mess.
Aunt Marie deposits the slice of swine infused cornbread on the table before returning to her chair.
Michael begins to eat while the conversation returns to where it had left off before his arrival.
“I will be perfectly fine,” Ashe states, crossing her arms in disapproval. “There will never be another chance like this again for me. Studying in a city under a real wizard, who knows what they could teach me?”
“Sageit is a real wizard,” Lamont corrects his daughter.
Ashe huffs.
“I know he is dad, and he’s taught me so much. But we’re talking about a court wizard. Lady Ireesa is one of the most powerful spellcasters in the entire kingdom and she wants me to join the consortium.
“Imagine what life would be like! I could make more gold in a day working in Nfarion or Rhar than we do in an entire month. If I sent that coin home you and mom would never have to work again.”
Aunt Marie lays a hand on her child’s where it rests on the table. She offers a gentle smile, showing her pride that Ashe’s concern for her family is at the forefront of the young girl’s mind.
“It’s very nice for you to think of us, but won’t it be hard? And won’t you miss us?”
Sensing that she is beginning to make headway, the young spellcaster turns up the charm. She cups her mother’s hand and peers into her eyes.
“I will. I’ll miss you all so very much. I can write every week and once I learn enough I can even send you messages with my spells. Someday I could even use them to come see you or bring you to visit me.”
Lamont resituates himself in his chair. The man’s uncertainty is painted across his expression by the downturned corners of the man’s lips.
“I have no doubt you could learn from them,” he states matter-of-factly. Though, a moment of hesitation while he runs his tongue over his lower lip implies that isn’t all he wishes to say.
“Who’s going to look after you while you’re away? The fact remains that you are my daughter and I don’t want you going out into the world all by yourself.”
Ashe bites her lip in consideration. The point her father makes is fair. Alone, anyone from a small village like Wesherby could easily be tricked, taken advantage of, or worse by those who inhabit the rest of the world. She has never traveled further than Mitford for a relative’s marriage, and even that was years ago.
Being a woman made the potential risks even greater. Not that Ashe couldn’t protect herself, as recent events certainly proved she could, but attracting additional unwanted attention was likely to bring her nothing but grief.
Suddenly Ashe’s emerald eyes open wide and she takes a sharp breath.
“Michael will come with me!”
Cornbread is spewed over the table as the volunteer chokes on his meal. He pounds on his chest with an open palm to clear the airways.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Aunt Marie agrees while wearing a large grin.
Raising his hand in protest, Michael is unable to speak before Lamont voices his opinion.
“Hmm,” the man strokes his moustache thoughtfully. “The two of you have always been together since you were children. And yesterday proved that you are capable of looking out for one another.”
With her victory so close at hand, Ashe continues to push. Protruding her lower lip and tilting her head forward to look up at the young man seated next to her at the table, she asks, “You’ll come with me, won’t you big brother?”
Michael exhales, forcing the air out through his nostrils.
Leaving Wesherby would allow him to seek the training he desired. It could also allow him to escape from some of the more painful memories of the area around Wesherby. The largest downside would be saying goodbye to Aunt Marie, Lamont, and Aug.
Then there was his mother. Visiting her grave would be impossible were he not in the surrounding area. Surely he would return on occasion though, and when he did it would undoubtedly be his first stop.
“We’re going to Nfarion?”
Ashe lights up, her lips curling into a smile while her tongue protrudes from between her teeth.
“Yes!” she declares. “That’s where the closest Magus Consortium hall is.”
“It will take weeks, maybe even a month,” Michael warns her. “Are you sure you can handle walking hundreds of miles?”
The young woman takes offense at the questioning of her physical fitness and puts her hands on her hips to show it.
“I used to play outside with you all day and never get tired.”
“Yeah, and then you started spending it all inside a stuffy library,” her brother counters.
A laugh from Lamont and the giggles of Aunt Marie draw the two siblings from their quarrel.
“The fastest of friends, like always.”
“So we can go?” Ashe asks, her eyes starry and full of wonder.
Aunt Marie looks at her husband, who in turn smacks his lips.
“Give yourselves a few days to recover from your wounds and gather the necessary provisions, and then, I think yes.”
Cheers of delight echo throughout the cottage as Ashe jumps from her chair to hug her mother and father.
“Thank you! Thank you! You won’t regret this, I swear. I’ll make you both so proud of me.”
Lamont strokes the back of his daughter’s head.
“We already are sweetheart, we already are.”
* * *
Sir Gurren and Lady Ireesa departed from Wesherby the night following the attack. They were to return to Fort Tallin and marshal the army for an expedition into the Yipping Hills. If the gnolls had grown bold or desperate enough to venture out of their secluded highlands then the possibility of more incidents couldn’t be ignored, and the monsters must be dealt with accordingly.
Hosting such celebrated warriors had made the citizens of Wesherby feel more comfortable in the aftermath of the attack. Their leaving could have brought about a decrease in morale, but the promises of ending the gnoll threat left the villagers hopeful that this tragic event would be nothing more than a one off occurrence.
Michael and Ashe didn’t receive another chance to meet with the paladin and wizard before their departure. A letter was left for Michael at the Grassy Knoll, however. Sealed with melted wax and bearing the crest of House Loggins it was clear who had penned the note.
At first Michael had taken the letter and considered tossing it into the fire. The contents were sure to be nothing but drivel about the teachings of the Goddess and how a fine young man like him would make for an excellent paladin.
He refrains, however. To do so would be showing an incredible amount of undue disrespect to the man who was responsible for saving his life. At the very least Michael was resolved to read the letter and consider whatever Sir Gurren had to say in good faith.
To the esteemed Michael Whitaker,
It is my fear that I have left you with a poor taste regarding the Order of Dawn, my fellow paladins, and the Church of the Dawn Flower as a whole. We are not zealots who impose our beliefs onto others.
My life has been in service to Arcturia and the blessed lady. The giving of oneself to protect and serve others is a noble cause no matter the motivation. I was drawn to the light but it was the desire to protect that brought me to the Arcturian military before I joined the Order.
In you I saw many things that reminded me of my younger self. Please, do not allow your distaste for the church to prevent you from acting upon the natural desire to help others I believe you to possess. Be not afraid to take the leap.
You are a brave young man, Mr. Whitaker, and I am certain word of your accomplishments will reach me even in the months and years to come.
If I may ever be of service to you, you may call upon me.
May the goddess Daichi keep you,
Gurren Loggins
Michael slowly exhales and places the letter on the bed beside him.
Despite mentioning the Goddess and church several times throughout the message, Sir Gurren had not once invited him to join the Order of Dawn or berated his lack of faith. He instead praised the young man’s ability to act with the interests of others at heart. Perhaps Michael had been too quick to judge him as just another mindless follower of Daichi’s who spouted nothing but her church’s teachings.
Something else worth recalling from the missive was his pledge in the final line. While not quite the same as what Ashe had received from Lady Ireesa, it could be seen as an endorsement of Michael in the right context. It would certainly make joining the Arcturian army easier if that were to be in his future.
The letter and Sir Gurren’s handling of the entire situation leaves Michael with a deep respect for the man. He may be a paladin of Daichi’s but his actions while saving Michael and Ashe were noble. Then he had gone out of his way to make an apology for upsetting Michael, perhaps even an unnecessary one, after the youth had reacted quite brashly. Every story that had been told about him was accurate; Sir Gurren truly was an honorable man.
A gentle knocking at the door stirs the young man from his thoughts.
“Michael,” the voice of his younger sister calls. “Are you ready to go? The shops we need to visit should be open by now.”
After placing the letter back into the envelope and setting it beneath his pillow to ensure it wouldn’t wander off, Michael answers the door.
“I’m ready. Shall we?”
Ashe nods and leads him down the stairs and out of the cottage. In her hands she carries a drawstring pouch with all of the coin she has saved. Michael has a similar bag hung from his hip, though it is larger and laden with more than hers.
As a wizard Ashe has been forced to spend her money on spellcasting reagents, parchment, ink, quills, and other necessities for the practice of magic. Michael’s only expenses were for repairs to his gear and any meals not provided by his aunt. He also willingly paid a small sum each month in secret to Lamont for living in his home, which Aunt Marie wasn’t allowed to know about.
The general store is the first stop on the shopping trip.
“Mr. Whitaker, Miss Malachite, what can I do for you?” Johnathan, the clerk, asks.
It is somewhat painful for Michael to have entered the establishment and not found Captain Adams behind the counter, ready with a quick-witted comment or amusing joke. Likewise, Ashe is accustomed to being called “Missy Malachite” when she walks through the door.
“We’re here to pick up a few things,” Michael answers.
Johnathan opens the ledger and uncaps a nearby bottle of ink.
“Will these be for you or Master Lamont?”
“We’re buying today, no need to put it on my father’s tab,” Ashe says, already pacing to the right side of the store and eyeing the merchandise.
Michael leaves her to it and engages Johnathan in conversation about the items he knows won’t be stored in the front.
“We’ll need a tent, two bedrolls, and a lantern. Throw in a tinderbox too.”
The clerk makes notes on a piece of parchment, beginning to rack up the tally for what is going to shape up as an expensive purchase.
“Going on a trip, are we?”
“Mitford, maybe a little farther.”
There is little reason to reveal the true destination Michael and Ashe are setting out for so he chooses to keep the information discreet.
Meanwhile, Ashe has found the object she was looking for. A haversack hangs from a peg on the wall that would easily carry her things. She takes it down and slips the strap over her shoulder. After a small adjustment it fits snugly and she nods in content.
Stepping beside her, Michael reaches for a large backpack.
“Won’t that be heavy?” his younger sibling inquires.
The watchman shrugs.
“Someone has to carry everything that won’t fit in your little bag.”
Ashe huffs, drawing a chuckle from her companion.
Behind them a great clattering echoes from one end of the store to the other. Johnathan has returned from the back with the packaged tent and bedrolls in addition to a small set of cooking utensils.
“I took the liberty of grabbing a travel set,” he states, laying out the cookware.
In total the set consists of a pot, a frying pan, two forks, a pair of knives, and an equal number of spoons plus the same count of plates and shallow bowls. Everything is made of cast iron to be durable and capable of withstanding the elements.
“Ah, you’ve found packs for yourselves as well!”
The merchant happily marks them on his growing list.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Ashe says, looking at him with a sidelong glance.
As with any good merchant, Johnathan is ready with a clever reply. Captain Adams would be proud.
“It isn’t every day that I get to outfit someone for an adventure such as this. I’m just as excited by the possibilities as you are.”
Michael knows from experience with the shop’s former owner that the items he and Ashe are purchasing are often very slow moving. Seeing any of them walk out the door would be a great relief to the seller.
“Alright, John, what’s this going to cost us?”
The faint scratching of the quill is interrupted by Ashe when she speaks.
“I would like two bottles of ink, a roll of parchment, and a small dagger as well please.”
“Hmm, yes, of course,” Johnathan murmurs to himself.
A moment later he draws an emphatic straight line across the bottom of the paper and declares, “Twenty gold and five silver.”
Annoyance chips at the young man’s mind at how expensive this was proving to be.
“Take off a bottle of ink and add some rope instead.”
“Excuse me–” Ashe begins to protest but Michael is having none of it.
“That bottle is three gold pieces. One will get you by for at least a month if not more. We haven’t even been to the market yet.”
The objection she had been ready to make fizzles as Ashe realizes the wisdom in her elder sibling’s decision.
“Make that eighteen gold and seven silver,” Johnathan states.
Fishing into his coin purse, Michael withdraws fifteen gold. He places the coins on the counter. It is approximately one third of everything he has but the young man knows that Ashe couldn’t even afford the full tab if she wanted to.
Somewhat embarrassed, Ashe takes the remaining balance from her pouch and finalizes the sale.
Several minutes later the pair exit the establishment with their new gear.
“Thank you… for paying,” Ashe says quietly. She hadn’t realized how truly draining it would be on their finances to embark on a journey such as this.
Michael ruffles his kid sister’s hair and smiles at her annoyed reaction.
“Don’t worry about it. You can pay for the food we buy from the market.”
* * *
The market is full of life when the two arrive a short while later after dropping the heavier items they had purchased back at the cottage. Sweltering heat radiates from the midday sun hanging high above, making for a miserable day in the open air bazaar. Each stall has a piece of canvas draped over the wooden framework to protect the sellers from the scorching rays, but those perusing the merchandise are left to fend for themselves.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Ashe asks, eyeing the selection of produce laid out by one of the local farmers.
Michael takes one of the potatoes and begins inspecting it for eyes.
“Anything that won’t spoil in a week or more. Mitford is several days on foot and we can stock up on more before we leave there.”
Ashe nods.
“We’ll be buying food in every town we come across, won’t we?”
“Yep,” Michael agrees. “Might have to scavenge or hunt on some of the longer legs of the trip, but for the most part we can get by on rations.”
The plan Michael laid out is to purchase basic provisions that would consist of salted meats, bread, cheese, and dried fruits or vegetables. Fresh produce would taste better but wouldn’t last as long while also being more pricey than the dehydrated variants.
So far the bread has been purchased and is currently being carried in a canvas knapsack. The order for salted pork and sausages would be filled by the end of the afternoon. All that remains is the fruits and vegetables.
While Ashe and Michael are moving between stalls the young woman closes her hand around his wrist and stops. Her eyes are screwed shut as though she is intently focusing on something.
“Ashe?”
“Just a second,” she replies without breaking from the trancelike state. Thirty or so seconds later she opens her eyes and releases him.
“Sageit wants me to come see him. Could you handle this?”
Michael has heard of this “sending” magic before, where two individuals could speak over vast distances, but never witnessed it firsthand.
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” he replies.
Ashe reaches into her coin pouch and pulls out one of her three remaining gold pieces. “This will be enough, won’t it?”
“More than enough,” Michael says, taking the coin. The young man senses that the conversation between teacher and student could take a while so he gives her a reassuring smile. “Go see Sageit, I’ll meet you back home once I’ve gotten everything.”
Ashe quickly excuses herself and rushes off to her master’s side, leaving Michael to finish the shopping.
He picks up a pound each of dates, prunes, and raisins. Together they should account for the needed fruit while also indulging Ashe’s sweet tooth. Along with them comes a bag containing several apples, a handful of carrots, and some beets. The apples will be kept as a surprise for Ashe when she grows tired of the dried fruit.
Once he has everything Michael returns to the butcher to collect the pork and sausages, then heads to the Grassy Knoll.
* * *
It doesn't take long for Ashe to reach Sageit's home from the market. The older wizard lives near the center of the village only several streets away from the church. His home is simple by most accounts, looking identical to those surrounding it, though being close to the middle of town does mean that it is on the larger side.
Being the village wizard affords Sageit a greater income than almost anyone else in Wesherby. His skills are always in demand, and with Ashe as his apprentice the number of jobs that he could take on simultaneously had grown significantly. She makes only a fraction of the fees for her services, however, as the majority is directed to her master for reimbursement of reagents she uses and for tutoring her.
Ashe has just reached out to knock on the door when it opens on its own. She steps over the threshold without concern and continues into the dwelling. If Sageit knew she was coming then he would often disable the alarm spell that has been constructed to permanently protect his door.
“Sageit!” Ashe calls out.
Her voice echoes in the home but the greying man is nowhere to be seen in the small foyer. Knowing instinctively that her master is likely in his study on the second floor, Ashe ascends the stairs. The wooden steps creak under her, giving away her presence, but since the door had been left open there was little doubt Sageit knew she had arrived.
“It is good to see you, my student,” a shrill voice says from the far corner of the room.
Sageit had converted the entire second floor of the house into his study and magical workshop. On the east wall are a series of bookshelves containing the literature Ashe had read cover to cover numerous times on the proper incantations and gestures for different spells, the histories of magic and the continent of Mont, and the differing schools that spells fell into. The western side of the room contains a slanted desk with a wizard slumped over it and several rugs beside a bay window. A large open space has been left in the center of the chamber to allow for the casting of ritual magic, which was currently an arcane glyph surrounded by candles and various curios.
A feeling of nervousness begins to creep over Ashe as she waits for the man. She had told him yesterday that she intended to leave Wesherby to join the Magus Consortium and study under a new teacher, and his reaction had been mild. As the first new student Sageit had taken on in twenty years she feels somewhat guilty for leaving him.
“You wanted to see me?”
The soft sound of parchment on parchment emanates from the area around the desk and Sageit stands. Robes flowing, the wizard makes his way across the room to where Ashe has planted herself beside the staircase.
“I wanted to give you this, my dear.”
From within the folds of his robes Sageit produces a bound leather tome. The cover has intricate carvings that look like the rolling hills of Wesherby, with a small green gemstone set in the middle.
Ashe sucks in a deep breath and slowly reaches out to grasp the book, her spellbook.
“It is imperative that every wizard carry a spellbook with her when traveling,” Sageit says with an enormous grin. “Lest she forget something important.”
The young woman begins to flip through the pages and finds that a number are already filled. Sageit has transcribed every spell he taught her into the tome and left little notes in the margins about his personal techniques or adjustments to the typical method of casting.
“I… I don’t know what to say…”
Sageit places his left hand on Ashe’s shoulder and points to her with his right.
“You say, ‘I will make you proud, master’.”
Tears begin to form in the eyes of the apprentice as she is overwhelmed by the kindness her teacher has shown.
“But I’m leaving you,” she chokes.
Still smiling, but with a noticeable crack in his voice, Sageit comforts her.
“You were always going to leave me, my prized pupil. Just as the caterpillar turns into a butterfly it is time for you to spread your wings and take flight. Show the world what the student of Sageit, the astounding wizard of Wesherby, can accomplish!”
Suddenly Ashe lunges forward and wraps the older man in a hug. He is nearly taken down by the unexpected show of affection but after righting himself he pats the girl on the back with a smile.
“You are getting snot on my robes you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Ashe cries, rubbing her head from side to side and further spreading the gunk across the linens.
Sageit sighs and waits for his disciple to gather herself. With a snap of his fingers the robes are made fresh, cleaned instantly by magic.
“You will do great things, Ashe. I shall watch with great interest to see how much you accomplish.”
He turns her around to face the stairs.
“Now go. You have a big day tomorrow and I need to begin conducting my search for another student.”
Ashe chuckles, taking one step down before turning back to look at her former master.
“Replacing me already?”
“I shall never be able to replace you, my dear,” Sageit replies wistfully. The man’s eyes have misted over and his lips are pressed together in an awkward smile. “But I shall have to try.”
* * *
When Michael arrives at the Grassy Knoll after splitting up from Ashe, he makes his way through the crowd of the dinner rush and sets the goods from the day down in a secluded corner. He gets right to preparing rations from the many foodstuffs. The task takes him several hours, though it’s made faster by Aunt Marie coming over to help him during her breaks from serving customers.
When all is said and done there is enough to last the pair for fourteen days of eating healthily, which could be stretched to three or three and a half weeks in a bind. If not, they could happily eat the extra in Mitford and save a bit of coin before needing to stock up again.
After the meals have been packaged they are placed neatly in one of Michael’s bags before he carries them back to the cottage, alongside the other purchases from the market.
Ashe returns home just as Michael is preparing for bed. The siblings bid one another good night and settle in for some much needed rest in their respective rooms. It will be their last opportunity to sleep in a proper bed for a time and they both intend to make the most of it.