“Sam, what’s this?”

Sera retrieved the flyer from the college off his desk and held it up. “Are you thinking of joining the Mage’s College?”

He shook his head at once. “No. That just came with the latest news from the capital. I read it, but I don’t think I’m going to try.”

“Shame,” she said, bringing the flyer back over to the table. “I think you’d make a pretty good mage.”

“I do too,” James put in, leaning over to read the flyer. “You’re already like a mage, kind of. You spent most of your time reading.”

“You’ve never tried to learn magic?” Sera said. She phrased it as a question, but she knew him too well. When Samuel shook his head, she let out a sigh. “What’s the harm in it? You’d get to travel like you always wanted. Plus, I’m sure the capital is exciting, the way those drunk fools always go on about it.”

Samuel knew she was referring to the many men who propositioned her at the inn when they visited. He ignored that part if only to stop his envy from making him think clearly. “I don’t have the chance, Sera. The forest is too dangerous lately. I’d be caught by brigands.”

Her face fell slightly as she realized the truth of it. “Oh. Because it says your travel would be paid for. I just thought it was a good opportunity.”

Samuel gave a slight shrug of agreement, and they fell into an awkward silence until James said, “Why don’t you talk to one of the soldiers?”

“Soldiers?” Sera asked, turning to him. “What soldiers are you talking about?”

“Oh right, you wouldn’t know. Shortly after you left this morning, a caravan of soldiers came to the village.”

“They’re probably recruiting for the army,” Samuel offered, taking a sip of his wine. “They were here nearly two years ago, doing the same.”

James shook his head. “That’s what I thought at first, but they don’t wear the castle on their armor. They’re mercenaries, guarding some old warrior with a hawk on his shirt.”

As a blacksmith, James and his father were often sought out by armed men and women seeking new equipment or repairs. They were quite familiar with military men, so they’d recognize sellswords. Sera frowned thoughtfully. “Is he a noble?”

“He must be,” James replied with a shrug. “The men didn’t know the full details of their trip, but they told me that they were looking for someone in the village. I don’t know what house has a hawk, though.”

There were many noble houses that lived in the capital, and they almost never made it as far southeast as the village of Harlest. Samuel had only met one or two in his life, though in reality, he dealt with the nobility’s stewards, who handled all the shopping and interaction so that their lord or lady didn’t have to meet with commoners. He perked up at the thought of a visiting noble. Maybe the man would need a new chart for the countryside.

“Personally, I think they’re looking for a criminal,” James continued. “The man in charge looked like a tough sort. And that foreigner came just a few days ago.”

Sera looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe. He said he came from Klimek Bay up north, but I’m not sure I believe him. Why wouldn’t he go west through the forest instead of south to Harlest?”

“Who are you two talking about?” Samuel pulled his mind away from thoughts of the food he could get for this month off of the map sale he might make. “There’s a foreigner in the village?”

Sera nodded confirmation. “He’s staying at the inn right now. A warrior of some kind. Said he came from a nation to the southeast. The one in that story you told me about the other day, Sam.”

“Nihon-Ja,”

“Yes, that’s the one. I can’t remember his name, but he said he’s just passing through. Been here a few days already. He’s nice enough, but he doesn’t like talking about himself, and he always seems angry.”

Samuel remembered the story. A visiting minstrel had told the epic tale of a pair of young brothers born into nobility in Nihon-Ja. Samuel always liked hearing new stories, and he’d particularly enjoyed that one. Supposedly, the two boys had barely survived an attempt on their lives by a power-hungry warlord and fought to save their homeland from an evil tyrant.

“That reminds me,” he said, “I still have to put all those notes in order.”

“Of course you’d hear about a potentially dangerous stranger and only think about your stories,” James said, laughing. Even Sera smiled at him, though she accompanied it with her usual eye roll. “But the men might let you travel with them. You have enough coin saved up, right?”

“Possibly,” Samuel said slowly. He didn’t want to commit to an answer. Not out of any fear that he couldn’t achieve his dream, but because he didn’t want to potentially disappoint Sera by admitting he was sorely tempted to ask for more details. “They might not want to take a stranger with them.”

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“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” James countered. “They’ll still be there in the morning when you visit. I think I heard their boss talking to Thomas. Said his name was Arthur.”

“I’ll think about it,” Samuel said evasively. He glanced at Sera to gauge her reaction. To his surprise, she looked highly interested in the topic. “Could be worth a try.”

The lowest sun was starting to dip below the horizon now, leaving its less bright brother to shine alone. They’d been so busy eating and talking that neither of them realized how late it had gotten. James got up with a long stretch. “Well, I’d better get back. Dad promised me to the farmers to help with the harvest tomorrow.”

“Oh, I should go too,” Sera said. “Thomas doesn’t have any help for the dinner rush tonight.”

They each gave Samuel a farewell hug, and Sera gave him another light kiss. “See you tomorrow at the inn, Sam.”

“Come by and visit me too,” James said from the front door, holding it open for Sera. “Rest well, bookworm.”

Samuel waved them out the door, then set to cleaning up with a small sigh. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been thinking about the College a lot. He’d known about the school before the flyer had come, and he knew he’d like to learn magic if he could. He’d even tried to create fire in his hand or move the wind a few times but without luck. He did want to learn magic, nearly as much as he wanted to travel. But he also couldn’t ignore the realities of his life, and how difficult and rare it was to achieve anything more than the simple life that he seemed trapped in.

He took off the dark blue robe and climbed back into his bed, his mind still full of the possibilities the day had brought him. Maybe he would take James’ advice, at least to talk to the leader of the convoy of armed men that had visited. Even if they were only after a bounty, there was no reason they wouldn’t take a little extra money to bring him to the capital, right?

----------------------------------------

He wasn’t sure when he’d finally managed to fall asleep, or even if he had. His thoughts of finally leaving the village and setting out on a new adventure might very well have transitioned smoothly into his dreams. He was only aware of waking once more on that stiff, uncomfortable bed as a knock sounded on his front door. It was very different from when Sera had visited the previous day; sharp and loud, crashing against his ears like a war drum.

He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes, wondering what that noise was that had woken him. Then the knock came again, and he hurriedly got out of bed, yanking his robe on. He made his way to the main room of the house, grumbling at the third knock, and wrenched the door open. “What is it?”

Standing on the other side of his door, his fist raised to knock a fourth time, was a man in a dark blue tunic. His uniform was very clean and crisp, but it was at odds with the rugged, scarred appearance of his face. He had white hair stiff enough to match his bearing, and a jagged scar over one eye that was only partially hidden by a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles he wore. His facial hair was sharply trimmed, and he had a surly expression that hinted at a hard life.

The man lowered his hand and cleared his throat. It was only then that Samuel noticed the emblem stitched over the heart of his tunic. It was a silver hawk, depicted in mid-flight. “Good morning, young man. I am Arthur Moran.”

“I know,” Samuel interrupted him. “My friends told me about you. Said you came to Harlest last night. You’re looking for someone?”

Obviously, the man was surprised by how much Samuel already knew. He gave a short, curt nod. “Indeed I am, by the order of my lord.”

“Well, I don’t get to the village that often,” Samuel explained. He tried his best to sound polite, but he was irked at being awoken so early, and so sharply. “I don’t know half the people that live there, so I doubt I can help you find whoever you’re looking for. I’m just a mapmaker.”

For some reason, his remark seemed to amuse the man. The corner of his mouth lifted in what was almost a smile, and he said, “Oh, I have a feeling you know who I’m looking for. You’re Samuel, aren’t you? Samuel Bragg?”

Now it was Samuels’ turn to be surprised. He wasn’t thrown by the fact that Arthur knew his name. It was common enough for people in the village to direct visitors his way if they needed maps, paper, or ink. “Yes, I’m Samuel Bragg. Did you need a new chart, or perhaps some paper? You won’t find higher quality anywhere between here and the capital.”

“Ah, no, thank you.” The man came to a position of stiff attention. “Please allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Arthur Moran. I am, or rather was, steward to the late Lord George Bragg, of the noble Bragg house in Milagre.”

George Bragg. Samuel almost froze solid at the mention of the name. Of course he knew it. That was the name of the bard who had visited the village of Milagre nearly twenty-three years ago, the man who met a simple woman working in the tavern, who would eventually bear his child before he left. That was the name of his father. Samuel would have slammed the door in Arthur’s face if it weren’t for the decency his mother had taught him early in life.

“I see,” he said, his face and voice both deadpan. “I have no interest in hearing anything about that man if it please you.”

Then something in what Arthur had said caught in his mind, stopping him in the middle of closing the door. “Wait. Did you say the ‘late’ Lord George Bragg? I didn’t know he was a Lord. He’s dead?”

“Yes,” Arthur said simply, a faint expression of sorrow on his face. “Lord Bragg passed just under a month ago.”

“Ah,” Samuel said, hoping he didn’t sound too dismissive. “Well, you have my condolences on the death of your master. Now please forgive me, but I have work to do.”

It was a bold-faced lie, but he had no desire to continue speaking with the man. Before he could close the door, however, Arthur put one foot over the threshold, stopping the movement. “I am here at my Lord’s order, to fulfill the only rule in his last will and testament.”

That stopped Samuel in his tracks. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. Was he going to be asked to go to the capital and pretend to weep over the man’s grave with the other children he’d sired in his travels around the country? “I can’t imagine his will would have much to do with me.”

“That is where you are quite mistaken, sir,” Arthur said firmly. He kept his foot where it was, and pulled a rolled piece of parchment from a pouch at his waist. Extending it, he said, “Your father has named you heir to his estate and all his belongings. I am charged with bringing you to your new home, so that you may claim your birthright.”