Two hours later and Tramon’s tree was missing a noticeable amount of branches, with a large pile of discarded detritus having accumulated at its base. These were the leaves and smaller twigs that Alistar had torn from the branches that he had picked from the tree, all of which had already been snapped into smaller sticks that in turn ended up being broken against the log that Alistar was so painstakingly attempting to cut.
I’m getting close, he thought as he lay on the grass in an exhausted sprawl. Tramon had only told him to sever the log in two, but he hadn’t specified that the deed had to be done with a single swing. Like this, Alistar had adopted the strategy of whittling away at the wood from all sides, and now had the log looking like a partially-eaten apple with the core exposed from all angles. The only thing that held it together at this point was a wrist-wide bridge of wood, though by now he had expended too much energy and could barely stand on his feet.
He needed food, he realized, if he wanted any hope of leaving here at a reasonable time. But where could he find some? He hadn’t brought any money with him today, so he couldn’t sneak off to the market. Sure, some of the people there might happily gift him some for free, but he wasn’t like Anice in that he didn’t feel comfortable accepting free things from people that he knew had far less than he did. His time in Crystellum had taught him to truly cherish even the smallest scraps of food, and now that he was a member of the count’s household and living a lavish lifestyle on the family estate, how could he ask one of the vendors for a handout in good conscience?
Hearing the voices that were drifting over from the training grounds where the other apprentices were taught by the collegia’s instructors, Alistar had an idea. The other students were supplied with free meals at least twice a day, since many of them lived in the institute’s dormitories, so there was a good chance that he might be able to receive some food from them in the event that there was any left over after everyone else had enjoyed their meals. He was also an apprentice of the collegia, at least technically, so he doubted that it would be much of a problem.
Looking down at his appearance, he thought better of wearing his dirty, sweat-stricken tunic and decided to cast it aside. It wasn’t uncommon to see the other apprentices practicing without their shirts or tunics, so he wouldn’t stick out among said crowd.
Glancing back at his master’s house where the man himself remained passed out at his dinner table, Alistar took the opportunity to tiptoe away from the small home and then rush down one of the many cobbled pathways that wound its way throughout the collegia’s grounds. He stopped at one of the fountains in the area to will some of the water within to rise up into the air in front of him, enjoying several mouthfuls before allowing the rest to fall back into the main body with a light splash.
He arrived at the training grounds a short while later, a bit nervous to see that the students were in the middle of a lecture, all of them sitting cross-legged nearby to the practice dummies of sack-cloth and straw. Luckily, their teacher was just finishing up with his speech.
A minute or so after Alistar arrived, the middle-aged, pepper-haired instructor directed his pupils to practice the basic stances of the apprentice stratum’s first tier, which many of them set about doing with light, unenthusiastic groans. The older students were all paired off and began to spar with one another on the other end of the practice grounds, leaving their master standing off to the side as he watched the young ones work.
Alistar chose this moment to hurry over to the white-robed man, who glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Can I help you with something, boy?”
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“Hello, sir. My name is Alistar Silverkin, apprenticed to Sword Master Tramon Lawson. How do you do?”
“No need for those manners here,” said the man, waving him off as he considered him with unfettered curiosity. “You’re that bastard of Caedmon’s, then?” The man spoke quite loudly, which drew the attention of his apprentices. The older ones continued sparring as if they hadn’t heard anything, but the younger ones couldn’t help but lower their wooden swords and look over from their practice dummies amidst a whirlwind of whispers.
Alistar shook his head. “I’m his nephew. I don’t know who my father is.”
“A bastard Silverkin all the same,” smiled the man, who seemed to think the thought a funny one. “A tale as old as time. So, Alistar, what can I do for you?”
“Well, the thing is…” He didn’t want to make his master look bad, since normally he would have just asked Tramon for something to eat, though he had long since learned that waking the man from his drunken slumber would only make his future lessons more difficult. This being the case, he said, “Master’s away from home at the moment, but I decided to come by for practice anyway. I’ve been training for a while now and I’m quite hungry, so I was wondering if there’s anything left over from lunch that you wouldn’t mind giving me? If that’s okay, of course.”
“Nothing that’s cooked, unfortunately.” The man scratched his blocky nose in an absentminded manner, but suddenly squinted down at Alistar as if he were seeing him for the first time. “You’re in pretty good shape for a kid, huh? What’s old Tramon have you doing these days?”
“Today I’ve been practicing how to cut things with my swordsman’s aura, but it’s terribly exhausting. That’s why I was hoping to find some food, since I’m not allow to—since I decided not to leave here until I manage to cut a log in half with a stick.”
The man let out a sarcastic laugh. “Okay, okay. I get it, you’re hungry. I’ll see what I can find for you, so no need to make up all these excuses.”
The instructor left Alistar standing in the midst of the practice grounds with a confused frown. Did the man think that he was lying? Alistar was anything but a liar, and it rubbed him the wrong way to hear someone imply that he was one even if he had just embellished the truth in order to preserve his master’s face. It was annoying enough having to ignore the whispers and stares of the other kids around him, since many people had heard of the young boy that had been taken in by the count, but hardly any had seen him.
“Here,” said the instructor, who returned a minute later with a pair of raw, dirt-covered potatoes. “You’ll have to cook them yourself, but I’m assuming Tramon has a fireplace at his house so just place them in the embers and let them sit for a while. That’s how we cook them here, anyhow.”
“Thank you!” said Alistar, bowing gratefully. “Could I bother you for some water to clean them? Mr…?”
“Call me Mr. Ashel, and sorry boy, but what water we’ve got here is only for drinking. There’re plenty of fountains around, so I’m sure you’ll find one.”
Alistar was terribly hungry, his limbs so tired from all of his previous practice that his knees threatened to buckle at any minute. “That’s okay, Mr. Ashel. I’ll cook them here. I…I’m so tired after trying to cut that blasted log that I’m afraid I won’t make it back to the fountain.”
“Take a seat on one of the benches there in the shade then,” said Mr. Ashel, who snapped at his students to return to their practice swings. “I don’t recommend eating them raw, but it’s your choice.”
Alistar thanked the man once again before he found a seat at one of the many benches that had been arranged beneath an outcropping of white stone that protruded from a nearby wall, one of many artistic overhangs that were common throughout the collegia’s grounds. This was where the other apprentices usually enjoyed their meals, which made him a bit envious that they were all able to practice as a group and to enjoy lunch in one another’s company. Tramon was usually sleeping around midday, so Alistar tended to have lunch alone more often than not whenever the man forbade him from leaving.
“Okay,” he muttered, placing one potato at his side and then holding the other out in his left hand. “Let’s wash these first.”
Unlike his physical stamina, his magical stamina was seemingly endless. Drained as he was, it wasn’t taxing in the least for him to summon enough water to clean both of the potatoes of any excess dirt and grime. Once he’d done so, he picked up a little twig by his foot and covered it in a tiny layer of swordsman’s aura, just enough to create a little point at the tip. He used this to poke holes in both of the potatoes as Madeline had taught him to, after which he placed the second one back at his side.