“If you think that killing that bobcat warrants more stripes, don’t forget that you relied heavily on your magics to do so.” Sighing, he fished a badge out from one of his pockets and tossed it at the boy. “For now, you’re a higher practitioner of the adept stratum. Happy?”
“But I’m at least a peak practitioner. I know fourth-tier techniques!”
Tramon wanted to shake his head, but held off. Alistar’s current badge was only that of a third-tier apprentice, and he was complaining about being promoted an entire stratum?
“You’re never satisfied, are you?”
“Ah, my apologies, Master. I’ve shown you an unpleasant side of me.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Your manners have no place here, boy. Especially when they’re half-hearted.” Walking over to the crate of whiskey, Tramon pried it open with a sturdy finger and then fished a small, mahogany box out of the hay within. “Here,” he said, handing it to Alistar. “I had to go all way to Valay to get it. You should be grateful to the cold, else it would’ve long since decayed.”
The box had a magical seal on it that prevented any leakage of the aura within. Thanking him, Alistar opened the box and nearly dropped it, his eyes wide with a grim sort of astonishment. Within the box was a severed hand, the fingers of which were adorned with many rings.
“Do you know whose that was?”
“This…this is…Uncle Antoine’s…”
Tramon let out a loud laugh. “Not anymore, it isn’t.”
It had been quite difficult to retrieve, but only because he’d had to pick a moment when the shrewd duke was alone, in this case while he had been bathing. To his credit, Antoine hadn’t so much as flinched when his hand had suddenly fallen from his arm, and he’d even prepared to level his own castle in an attempt to return the favour. Unfortunately, his dear concubine had walked in at that moment, and in order to preserve her life the man had reluctantly backed down. Tramon wouldn’t have killed her, of course, but Antoine had had no way of knowing that.
Just like his father, he thought with disgust, as the duke had taken on a secret lover that hadn’t been made public. Thankfully, Tramon had been in possession of a special charm that had enabled him to escape the keen senses of the kingdom’s eldest prince.
“But Master, won’t you get in trouble? He’s the duke of Vern!”
“And hated and suspected by his father for all sorts of things. Prideful as he might be, he knows what’ll happen if he tries to pursue this any further.” Resting a hand on Alistar’s shoulder, he said in a satisfied voice, “From now on, you won’t have to worry about your dear old uncle trying to cause you any more trouble. This way, you can go about your training as usual.”
“I still don’t understand why he tried to kill me.”
“Apparently, your uncles have had so many bastards that the king is at his wits end with them. Any more, and they’ll face punishment from their father.”
“So that’s why Uncle Daniel was…” Shaking his head, the boy said with uncertainty, “Are you sure it will be okay?”
“If I say it’s fine, it’s fine.”
“Okay…” Standing, Alistar gave him a polite bow. “Thank you, Master. I appreciate you looking out for me.”
Tramon threw two golden lucets on the table. “I’m keeping the other four. After all, the one who killed the bobcat we brought back was me.”
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Alistar collected the coins with a smile, though Tramon waved off a second expression of thanks and then took out two cups, pouring two portions of fire whiskey in each. Sliding the one with the lesser amount across the table, he said, “Drink this. It’ll warm you up.”
His disciple complied after a moment’s hesitation, sputtering as soon as he took his first sip. “This is terrible. How did you ever make a habit of drinking this?”
“That you think the finest whiskey on the continent is terrible only proves that you’re still a kid.”
“Aren’t I, though?”
“Just drink your spirits and stop talking.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tramon got the sense that Alistar had never been drunk before, for a short while later once he’d finished the small amount of sips that had been allotted to him, the boy found himself enjoying a fit of giggles as he made a game out of lighting the surrounding candles and then snuffing out their flames. Such a thing was so annoying that Tramon put an end to it within less than a minute, at which point Alistar placed an elbow on the table and leaned into his hand, sighing like an old man that had lived a life full of regrets.
“Master, have you ever been in love?”
It was impossible to miss the hints of anxiety and sadness in both his expression and tone.
“Where's this coming from?”
Frowning, Alistar admitted, “I think I love one of my friends, but she’s being sent off to the arcannia in Valay in a couple of years. Not only that, but…her father is forcing her to wed a man around your age. I really don’t want that to happen.”
Hearing yet another reason to hate the noble classes, Tramon spat on the ground. While it wasn’t uncommon for young maidens to be wed to older members of the aristocracy, it was always a contemptible affair. He himself had been a victim of such things, though in his case his wife had eventually embraced the change with open arms after being showered in untold luxuries that he had never been able to provide for her.
“You shouldn’t do that, Master.”
Alistar stumbled from his chair, retrieved a rag and then wiped up the spit. Afterwards, he threw it into the laundry bin and then returned to his seat with a wistful exhalation.
Knowing all too well how formidable an adversary the ways of the heart could be, Tramon had a rare moment of softness. “You’re not sure what to do about it, huh?”
“I don’t want to be apart from her. I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn’t think it would be like this.”
“What do you mean, eventually?”
“Ah, you know, this and that…” Hiccuping, Alistar said, “What do I do, Master?”
“I wish I could help you, but when it comes to things like this there’s no right answer.”
“But she’s so unhappy. I don’t want that.”
It was hard to think that the earnest young lad in front of him had just single-handedly killed such a dangerous animal as a dark-maned bobcat.
“If it were me, I’d just become strong enough to take her away somewhere. But I suppose that’s a bit too unrealistic, isn’t it?”
Alistar seemed as if he’d just heard the most logical bit of advice in his lifetime. “As expected of Master,” he mumbled, honey-brown head drooping from fatigue. “If I can just become strong enough, then maybe I won’t have to worry so much about Lessa. Or Kaila…or Anne…”
Watching the boy slip into a peaceful slumber, Tramon was at a loss for words. A moment later, he stood up and carried Alistar over to his bed, laying him down gently before he walked over to the fireplace and added another log. So it wasn’t just one girl that had the lad worrying.
“You Silverkins, I swear…”
Glancing at the blanket that the boy had folded several times over in order to fashion a makeshift sleeping mat, Tramon walked over, picked it up and carried it to the fire. Extending his arm, he paused for a moment, an ugly feeling settling in his stomach as he was hit by a million memories from what seemed like another lifetime.
Even after all these years, he still couldn’t do it.
Stowing the blanket away in the container that it had sat in for the past several decades, he returned to the table and poured himself another drink, this one more generous than the last. If even he, the greatest swordsman in the kingdom, was still affected by such feelings, it was completely understandable that a boy like Alistar was deeply troubled by his situation.
“Don’t be like your master,” he mumbled, raising his cup in Alistar’s direction in a silent toast. “This world doesn’t need another miserable old man like me.”
If only he still had that childish optimism, he thought. If a youth like Alistar could still look to the future with shining eyes after all he had been through, then what was Tramon’s excuse? Thinking this, he realized that even though he was old enough to sport a beard the colour of pepper, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t learn a thing or two from the young ones.
Marissa…I hope you’re doing well.
As he had done many nights before, Tramon fell asleep at his dining table in the midst of a heavy wave of drunkenness. Though he was troubled by the same old melancholy, these days he didn’t feel so alone.