Chapter Thirty-Four

“It’s really not as hard as you’re making it.” Micah said while Skana’s scratches on the dirt continued to vex them both. “You put two letters together and you get a different sound.” She could feel how cross he was with her, the way he stood, hands on his hips, his exasperated voice. Her hand shook hard enough that her attempts at writing in the dirt with her stick became shaky too. The letters were just ‘approximations’ of what they should be.

“How do I know what one though… this doesn’t make any sense. This makes a teh, this makes a heh, put them together and they make a ‘theh’... it’s confusing!” Skana snapped as her frustration began to boil over.

“You just said it. Don’t ask why, just know that it does.” Micah snapped back at her and looking up to the heavens as his frustration boiled over, he rubbed his forehead and groaned. “Stop overthinking it!”

He’d said that a dozen times in the last few hours too. But for all his admonitions, Skana felt sure she was making little bits of progress.

But that didn’t make her feel any better about his borderline cruelty. “Give my rope some slack! I’ve never done this before!” Skana shook with frustration while she stared up at her chosen instructor. The magic caster only looked up to the sky and said…

“Gods of man… give me strength. It’s not that hard!” His jaw set and he lowered his eyes to stare down at her. “I’ve been able to do this since I was five!”

That stung.

Deep.

Skana’s green eyes welled up as the totality of her ignorance settled on her like a boulder pinning her down. “Did your tutor teach you this way! Maybe it’s not me that’s the problem!” She barked at him and flung the stick to the ground before shooting to her feet, wiping out the progress on the ground as she did so.

“I’m trying! I’m really trying! I didn’t grow up like you, Micah! I didn’t get an expensive tutor teaching me from birth! I’ve never even held a book before in my life! I learned how to farm, hunt, cook, dance, sing, and eventually how to fight! That’s all! I’m not a scholar! I’m not a noblewoman! I’m not anything! What do you want from me?! I’m already doing the best I can!” She shouted and ranted at him and stomped a furious foot down, cracking her ‘writing stick’ in half.

Other soldiers of the Black Quivers heard the commotion and turned to look her way, but all she could do was shake with frustration and anger as the hours of his near taunting efforts at teaching her boiled over in an instant.

Micah took a step back in surprise as his erstwhile student seemed to have briefly lost her mind. The commotion was too obvious, and his comrades were looking in his direction, he glanced around, ready to tell them everything was fine, then caught sight of her furious, red face and the way she was shaking in frustration, and her question registered to him.

Micah’s tutor had been an old major domo on the verge of retirement, more a grandfather than a servant, his own son having taken over the affairs of household administration, he focused on the young of the estate. ‘Others like me…’ Micah recalled. There were a handful of others not that different from himself in one way or another, and he vaguely recalled the eldest ones leaving the estate of their father when they came of age.

‘The old man must have known…’ Micah considered, and his tutelage, while had been firm, had not been cruel. With that, the magic caster’s shoulders slumped.

Skana may have been a peasant brigand who frankly should have died back at Fortress Myen, but she wasn’t wrong now. ‘And it was Lady Jadara herself who told me to do this… am I doing it well?’ He asked himself, and could only answer himself honestly.

‘I’m not. I don’t have to like this one, but I do have to do the job I was given.’ Micah admitted and counting to ten, he breathed in and out quite slowly and then gave Skana his answer.

“No.” He acknowledged, and the effect was immediate, her mouth opened but no words came out. “No this isn’t how I was taught. I’m…” He swallowed, it galled so much that his heart skipped a beat, “I’m sorry.” He said as if the word had to be dragged from his mouth by a team of wild horses.

Skana, stunned, sat down on the mossy damp log as if she couldn’t believe his words.

“I’ll…” He ground his teeth together as he tried to form words against his will, “I’ll try to be more patient with you. I’ll try to remember that you never learned any of this… just pick up the stick again, and we’ll start again. I’ll go slower this time. I… I promise.” Micah said and as if the last word was the last weight on his shoulders, it came out far easier than the others before it.

The effect on Skana came fast, her shaking stopped, she nodded, numb and silent. “Here.” He said, when he saw that her writing implement was broken, then removed the short sword from his side and held the hilt out to her. “Write with this, and… try not to break it.” It was almost a joke, and Skana managed to make an uncertain, quivering smile up at him.

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“I’ll do my best.” She promised.

“See that you do.” He answered with a gentler tone, and instead of looming over her, he crouched down to her level and began to write with his finger, sounding out the words as he went, and breaking up the sound changes in the letter combinations as he went.

“Th-ee hungry orc eats every th-i-ng he can…” He said, and nodded encouragingly, “Now you write it.”

And with that, they started over.

Corwin sat at the opposite side of a polished table in a private room. The door was closed and locked from the inside, in front of him were his merchant apprentices. All in all, they were good lads, and well trained. They sat as he’d taught them. Backs straight, eyes forward, hands resting evenly with one another with palms up to show that they were neither hiding anything, nor holding anything. While this posture was unique to merchants, most trades had their own physical rituals for their apprentices. For metal workers it was an open palm with fingers close together and tilted at an angle to accept a hammer. For fishers it was tipping a hat used to protect them from the sun. For soldiers it was a closed fist over the heart.

And the fact that it was performed with perfect grace was a reflection on his handful of apprentices’ years of service to him personally.

“I will be blunt, this was dangerous, wasn’t it?” Corwin asked, jumping straight to the point, and the gaggle of half-bearded boys bowed their heads.

“Aye…” They mumbled, several of them trembling.

“Remember what I told you all when you came into my service?” Corwin asked it as gently as he could, but he was insistent, leaning forward to force them, even with heads bowed, to meet his eyes.

“A merchant’s life is not all coin counting and feasting. In the city you’re helpless during a siege, every thief wants to rob you. Every noble may demand a ‘loan’ from you… and then there’s the road. Many a merchant has been robbed by his own hired swords and left for dead on the highway. Or abandoned, or been overrun by brigands, or caught up in a war. There are long days of travel and little security, you have all the danger of a soldier’s life and none of the skill in protecting yourself. You remember that, don’t you, boys?” He asked, and the whole string of them gave small nods.

“Now that you’ve tasted the feast of danger that belongs only to the traveling merchant, who is ready to quit?” Corwin asked and closed his eyes as he did so. He knew they were raising their hands, at least some of them. ‘She was right.’ He thought, in the back of his mind he knew it before they even set out. But facing that reality was harder than he wanted to endure.

He opened his eyes only with great slowness, and found that it was worse than he thought. Every hand was raised but one.

Corwin’s soft eyes widened in disbelief. Two he was prepared for, even half of them, but this? Only one remaining?

“Really?” He breathed out the word like a curse, and they hung their heads in shame.

The youngest and smallest of the lot hung his head. “I’m sorry, master. I wanted to run a shop, but if this is what I have to face to do it? I-I’m sorry. I don’t want to go the rest of the way… I’ll stop here. I don’t want to risk another day on the road, traveling with people who could gut me over stew or risk another group of unpaid brigands chasing me down… I don’t want to face the terror of that night ever again!” He finished with an almost squeaking cry of fear that was closer to a shriek than a shout.

His fellows mumbled their own apologies, their excuses came as well, ‘It’s not worth my life’ or ‘I didn’t think it would really be that bad’ or ‘I’m not strong enough for trips like that…’

On Corwin’s ears they poured the sweet honey of their denials and fears, babbling like a brook that would never run out of water, drowning out each other’s words so that he could barely follow what they said.

But the overweight older merchant didn’t care, he’d long ago stopped listening.

At least until the only one to not raise his hand, spoke up. “Just say you’re cowards and be done with it.”

“Brotos…?” They almost gasped and their heads snapped to the largest of their number who sat on the far right of the table.

“What? That’s the truth. You thought money would be easy and the danger was just stories, now you see it isn’t easy and the danger is real, so now you don’t have it in you to keep it up. Why make excuses for it? Just say, ‘It turns out I’m a coward’ and be done with it already. You’re wasting our master’s time. And time is money.”

The old expression caused their heads to hang again.

For Corwin, Brotos’s words were a welcome reprieve which stiffened his will and lessened his disappointment. “You will all be fairly compensated for your work along the way. Now, one more piece of advice.” Corwin said while drawing out his little pad full of writs and began to scribble out the sums authorized to each of them.

“You’ll be tempted to gamble this. Don’t. You’ll be tempted by a fine hotel, pleasurable company, and rich meals. Be frugal. I can afford those things, I am making more money. As of right now, you are making nothing, so you cannot afford those things.” He began sliding the writs across to them one by one. “There’s enough here to buy some land, so go somewhere and start a farm. Settle down, find a good woman, and live a peaceful life growing crops. It may be harder on the back than carrying a ledger, but you’ll always be close to home, and almost always be far from danger.” Corwin watched their faces as they looked down at the writs in their hands.

Brotos leaned over a little to get a look, and whistled appreciatively.

“It’s enough to get you started, to keep you alive for a year if you’re frugal. Don’t mess it up.” Corwin said in his ‘rebukeful father’ voice that he’d used on them for years when he detected thoughts of mischief in the air.

They stood, bowed to him one last time, and said as one, “Thank you, master, for your generosity.” It wasn’t the first time they’d said it, but Corwin had no doubt it was the last time he would hear it, at least from them.

“Good luck, boys. If things go poorly, there are warehouses that need work, remember that.” Corwin promised, and they filed out to go draw their pay.

Only Brotos remained seated, and he shifted several chairs over so that he was seated in front of his master. “I’m still here, master. What are your orders?”