Morrigan's Bidding

by Daniel Schinhofen

The person turned his full gaze to Sean, seeming to weigh him. “You’re not a smith,” he said evenly, “so what could you want with me?”

  “I would be honored if you would just let me watch you work for a bit, but I’m not in need of anything specifically.”

  “I would get nothing out of allowing that,” the smith said with a snort.

  “Fairly said, and true,” Sean nodded. “I wanted to watch a smith who knows their craft work, was all.”

  “Trying to sway me with a silver tongue, eh?”

  “A little flattery can open closed doors,” Sean chuckled, “it was worth a shot.”

  “Stay out of my way, and you can watch for a bit,” the smith finally said and grabbed the hammer he had been looking for.

  Stepping back, Sean leaned his head towards Fiona, “Does he have nonhuman blood?”

  “Maybe Dwarven blood,” Fiona whispered. “The Dwarves in the Quadital are the best smiths, and are all known for having a high Talent for Shaping metal.”

  “I always thought of Dwarves as bearded,” Sean whispered back as he glanced at the clean shaven, short-haired smith.

  Pulling the ingot from the fire, the smith laid it on the anvil and began to hammer the metal. When the metal cooled to a point he was unhappy with, he put it back in the forge and pumped the bellows, ignoring his audience.

  When the smith went to pull the metal from the fire again, Sean pulled up Mage Sight to see if the smith was using any Talent or magic. The faintest sheen of silvered-gold ran from the chest of the smith, down his right arm, and to the hammer. Sean nodded, watching the worst of the flaws being erased from the metal with each strike of the smith’s hammer.

  Shaking the Sight off, Sean waited until the smith paused again before clearing his throat to gain the man’s attention. “Sir, it has been a pleasure to watch a serious crafter intent on plying their trade. My thanks for allowing me to watch your work.”

  Snorting, the smith shook his head. “Not that I did anything of note, but sure. If you need anything made, make sure to come and see me.”

  “Gladly,” Sean said. “I wish you the best day.”

  As they left the smith’s shop, Fiona glanced at Sean. “Was he?”

  “Was he what?”

  “Was he using a Talent?”

  “Very weakly, but yes. I don’t think it was conscious, though; it was the faintest use of energy I’ve seen up to this point and it only happened when he was hammering.”

  “I was thinking of going to the mill, and maybe the woodworker, before going to the inn,” Fiona told him.

  “That sounds fine,” Sean said, taking Fiona’s hand again as they walked down the road.

  The sawmill was impressive, for the fact that they had an adamantine blade. The woman in charge of the mill was cool, but not cold, to Fiona. When Sean asked about the blade, the foreman explained that the Lord of Southpoint had had it delivered so that the wood could be milled faster for the city.

  Briefly using his Mage Sight, he saw that two Bonded females were a deep green when they helped guide the log to be cut onto the cutting area. The dark green hair of each gave clear clues to their nonhuman nature.

  When they were leaving, Sean asked Fiona about the two. “Were the two Bonded workers part dryad?”

  “Deeply so,” Fiona nodded. “Maybe as much as half-blooded. The sheer energy they radiated when lifting the logs was staggering. If they could harness even a tenth of that into Shaping, they wouldn’t be there.”

  “That explains it,” Sean nodded, but wondered if Talent itself couldn’t be trained in time.

  The woodworker’s shop wasn’t far from the inn. The large building’s interior exhibited almost every type of craft possible with wood. Tables, chairs, cabinets, and even bread boxes were on display.

  “Welcome…” The thin angular man trailed off as he saw Fiona. “Silvershame, what are you doing in my shop?” The question was delivered with a sneer, speaking of the hatred the man harbored towards Fiona.

  “Sean here is a guest of Darragh, Venar. When Sean expressed that he wished to visit the town, I was tasked with bringing him. He spoke of an interest in woodworking, so we ended up here.”

  “You aren’t wanted in my shop. I’ll not have it sullied by a Shamed,” Venar hissed.

  “I’ll wait outside. Please take your time, Sean,” Fiona said as she disengaged her hand and left.

  “Holding hands with Fiona Silvershame? How low you must be,” Venar sneered at Sean. “Can’t find a real woman, or even a whore, to take an interest in you?”

  Sean’s knuckles cracked, but he held to Fiona’s warning and bit back his comments. “Who knows?” he managed through clenched teeth. “I was interested in how you craft your wares.”

  “The same way Silvershame used to, before she lost much of her Talent,” Venar snickered. “Now I’m the far superior Shaper.” Raising his chin, the man seemed to preen. “What Talents or skills do you possess, if any?”

  “I’m a hunter,” Sean said as he looked around the shop. “Nothing in here is of any real use to me, but seeing how beautiful the items Fiona crafts are, I thought the person here in town could surely produce better.”

  “And as you can see, I d—” Venar began with a haughty smile.

  “Sadly,” Sean cut the man off, “I see she’s still your superior in every way. I’m sorry for taking up your time. I’ll be going now.”

  Sean walked out as Venar was still spluttering and purpling in the face, unable to form coherent words over the insult that Sean had delivered so easily. Finding Fiona standing outside looking at the sky, Sean crossed the street to her. “I’m ready to go now.”

  “So soon?” Fiona asked.

  “He doesn’t Shape half as well as you, and his attitude sucks,” Sean said as he took her hand. “Let’s see about some food, and maybe a bath, shall we?”

  Her eyes had narrowed when he started speaking, but she smiled when he asked the question. “Of course,” Fiona said and led him back to the town square.

  Neither of them noticed Venar leave his shop to stare after them with an ugly expression on his face. “You’ll pay for that,” the man hissed softly, before stepping back into his shop.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The inn’s sign proclaimed it to be the Oaklake Respite. The main room was a tavern, with a long bar along one side of the room, a handful of large casks and numerous bottles and jugs taking up the wall behind it.

  The stone floor was smooth, seemingly made of a single large block of grey granite. The room held numerous tables of various sizes, all of them crafted in the same plain style.

  Since it wasn’t yet nightfall, the room was mostly empty. A group of four rough-looking men sat in a corner, nursing their drinks in silence. Another smaller table near the large windows dominating the front of the building held two older men, who were playing a game of chance.

  A single woman, in well-made but not ostentatious clothing, sat by herself. Her eyes flickered to them as they came in. Her unblemished face creased with a frown as she saw Fiona, but went blank again as her eyes found Sean.

  Fiona had released Sean’s hand before entering the inn, and went to the tall, rotund man behind the bar. “Gosrek, we require a room for the evening, a meal, and use of the bathing room.”

  Gosrek’s lips went taut, but he nodded. “Silvershame. Never thought Darragh would send you to town. Who’s this with you?”

  “My name’s Sean MacDougal,” Sean said. “Your inn is the nicest I’ve seen, Gosrek.”

  “You’ve clearly never been to any of the Quadital’s inns, then,” Gosrek chuckled. “I do thank you for the compliment. Two rooms and such will—”

  “One room will suffice,” Fiona said quickly, placing a bronze coin on the counter.

  Brows rising, Gosrek looked from her to Sean and back. “It’s not my place to question a patron’s choice of partners. I’ll have one of mine show you to your room. Did you want food right away?”

  “No, we�
��ll wait for the normal evening meal,” Fiona said. “I would like to put my bag in the room, though.”

  “Fair enough.” Gosrek took the coin, replacing it with five large coppers and three small ones. “If you need anything else, just ask.” Having said that, he turned his head and shouted towards the open doorway next to the bar. “Matilda, customers.”

  A short blonde woman with broad shoulders came out of the back. Her hair was in long, thin braids that were gathered into a tail behind her head, except for two that trailed down her cheeks and hung to her shoulders. “Right away, master,” Matilda said as she came hurrying out of the back. Turning her attention to Sean and Fiona, she gave a small curtsy. “Follow me, please.”

  Trailing behind the maid, Sean was glad that this world didn’t seem to have the standard maid outfit his world knew—it would have looked out of place on Matilda. She wore what he had always thought of as Ren Faire garb. Her chest wasn’t overly exposed, though that would have been difficult as her chest seemed more muscle than fat. He noted that the dress went all the way to her ankles as well.

  Matilda led them up to the second floor, down a hall lined with doors. She stopped before the room with a 9 on it. “Here is your room,” Matilda said, opening the door and walking in. While Sean and Fiona trailed her into the room, she set out a pitcher and basin, along with a washcloth, on a sideboard. “If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “We will,” Fiona said, holding out a copper to the maid, who quickly accepted it. Sean noticed a single thin black band encircling her left wrist as she took the coin.

  “Have a good stay,” Matilda said, her smile a little more genuine than before.

  Sean looked around the room as Matilda left. A small table and two chairs sat in the middle of a mostly empty room. A bed that would be snug for both of them took up one corner, and a window, too small to be more than an arrow slit, provided some light.

  “Cozy,” Sean said, turning to see Fiona’s cheeks turning pink as she looked from him to the bed.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not in the least, the floor will be fine,” Sean said.

  Face scrunching up, Fiona’s eyes began filling with unshed tears. “Oh, I… see. I thought—”

  “Wait, Fiona,” Sean said, cutting her off. “It’s not what you think. You’re a wonderful person and absolutely gorgeous. I’m not saying I’m not interested, not at all. I’m just not sure if we should, so soon after having met.”

  “I see,” Fiona sniffled as the first few tears spilled from her eyes.

  Unable to watch a woman cry, Sean stepped forward and gently embraced Fiona. “I’m sorry, this is a me issue. I don’t know what might happen between us later. I just want you to know, I’m not going to be able to stay in the village. It would feel like I was taking advantage of you if I accepted your advance and then left.”

  Her hands went around him hesitantly, then clung to him like a life preserver in a winter lake. “I… I had men after me when I was younger. I was sought after for my beauty and Talent. When I earned my Shame, though, they all vanished overnight. I never once felt for any of them what I feel with you. Our energies seemed to harmonize with each other so fluidly; I thought maybe you were what my mother always talked about.”

  Holding her as she clung to him and cried, Sean rubbed her back. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Fiona Mithrilsoul,” he whispered. “I think you’re worth much more than the little I can offer.”

  “What if that’s all I want?” Fiona sniffled. “If I said I was okay with just tonight, and won’t expect anything in the morning, would you consider it, for me?”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sean nodded. “Yes.”

  She pressed herself against him a bit more firmly, and he could feel a certain tension leave her. “Thank you,” she whispered as she held him.

  He sat there just holding her, waiting for her to break the hug. The moment stretched on, and Sean became increasingly aware of her body. Shifting, he eased the hug, indicating he was ready to move away. Fiona held on a moment longer, before releasing him.

  “I’m going to head down to the taproom for a bit,” Sean said, stepping back once the hug broke.

  “Wait,” Fiona said, grabbing the small pouch she kept coins in and drawing out one of her bronze pieces. “Take this, so you can get a drink or two. You can repay me later.”

  Taking the coin, he put it into the small pouch on his waist. “Are you going to come with?”

  “No,” Fiona said, turning away as she wiped at her eyes. “I’m going to stay up here, for a bit at least.”

  “Okay,” Sean said, “but don’t stay up here too long.”

  “I won’t,” she said, a hint of happiness apparent in her voice.

  Without saying more, Sean exited the room and wondered if he’d made the right decision. He was attracted to Fiona, that wasn’t in doubt, but he had never been the kind of guy to love them and leave them. Maybe I’m overthinking things, and she’s just wanting a make-out session later, Sean mentally sighed to himself.

  Downstairs, he found a couple more people in the room. A man in fine silks was sitting with the lady from before, and a third old man had joined the other two by the window.

  “Gosrek, what drinks do you have?” Sean asked, seating himself on one of the stools at the bar.

  “Light ale, dark ale, mead, brandy, and hard cider in the kegs. If you want the fancy stuff, I’ve got that too, for a price,” Gosrek said. “Which do you prefer?”

  Sean wasn’t much for beer, but he knew he’d be fine with a darker ale. “A dark ale to start with, please,” Sean placed the bronze coin on the counter. “Can I run a tab on that?”

  Gosrek snorted, “Of course. I’m a fair man who doesn’t skimp on the change due at the end of the night.” Taking the coin, he grabbed a large stein, which he filled from the second keg. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

  The tankard was full to the top, though the ale’s head wasn’t as pronounced as Sean was used to seeing. He took a sip, and found it thicker than any drink he’d ever had, and sweeter than any beer he’d drunk. The flavor was rich malt, with hints of blackberries. Gosrek wandered down the bar to refill the steins of the four men in the corner, who’d called for another round.

  Turning around on the stool, Sean took a moment to gauge the four men better. Their clothing was thick, and looked to be made of coarse material. Each of them also wore hardened leather chest guards and had a weapon on their hip. Adventurers or guards of some kind, Sean thought.

  Matilda came out of the back and loaded the drinks on her tray. They all ignored her like she was furniture. No remarks and no touching. I didn’t expect that, Sean frowned. Why do they ignore her? Taking another sip of his beer, he tried to puzzle out the reasons for their behavior. Maybe because of her mixed blood? Or is it just more civilized than I thought it would be?

  Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the three old men at their table. They were playing a game of some kind, involving dice and a cup. Interested, he waved Gosrek over to him, “Gosrek, a round of whatever those three are drinking on me, please.”

  Raising a brow, Gosrek nodded and moved off to fill the order. As he filled the tankards, Sean stood up and waited. When the third tankard touched the bar top, Sean slipped his hand through the handles and carefully picked up all three.

  “Don’t be making a mess,” Gosrek said, but otherwise didn’t object.

  “I’ll do my best,” Sean said as he carefully crossed over to the trio. “Gentlemen, might I join your table? I’ve brought drinks.”

  The three men looked over at him speculatively. The largest of them, who still had some black coloration to his mostly grey hair spoke up, “We won’t turn down the drinks, but we’re not keen on playing with strangers.”

  “That’s fair,” Sean said as he set the tankards down. “Do you mind if I just watch for a bit?”

  “For the drinks, you can watch as long as
you want,” one of the others laughed.

  “Easy now, Gert,” the third said as he took one of the tankards, “he might just be trying to dull your already dull wits.”

  “Always so quick to insult, Jay,” Gert snorted, “but we all know it's you that has the dull wits.”

  “Don’t mind them, they’ve been like this for years,” the first man said to Sean. “That’s Jay Porter, and Gert Lowenhamn, and I’m Bill Murphy. Who might you be?”

  “Sean MacDougal,” he said, extending a hand to Bill. “A pleasure. I’m just wanting some company for a bit, and out of all the tables, yours seemed the most inviting.”

  Looking at the other two tables, Bill chuckled, “I would say so. Velin and her lackey would not welcome one of lower status than themselves. As for her guards, unless you can prove your strength, they won’t accept you.”