by Jaxon Reed
“But you are to be a battlemaiden. You will be a master of every style, including ones no one has ever seen before. And you do not have time to start as a three-year-old. You must use your magic. You must focus all your energies on the development of your abilities.
“Now, focus on my feet as I go through the moves once again. This time, use your magic to follow me.”
SHE CLIMBED up the stairs before lunch, tired and winded but satisfied. The facsimile was correct. Using magic, she quickly mastered the complicated footwork of the new fighting style. After lunch, they were to begin swordplay.
She made her way to the kitchen and found Cookie.
“Hello, dearie! Today we’ll learn how to fish!”
The facsimile led her out the kitchen’s side door and through a lightly wooded area to a stream flowing alongside the castle.
“Where’d this stream come from?”
“Don’t question the magic, dearie, just go with it.”
Cookie took a hatchet out of an apron pocket and cut off two thin branches from a nearby tree. She pulled some gutline out of another pocket, and showed Mita how to tie a length to the branch so it would not come loose easily. Then she pulled out a couple of hooks and attached them to the end of each line.
“You should always have some fishing hooks with you when you’re out in the wild, dearie. In a pinch you can fashion your own out of bone or small pieces of metal, but it’s really better to be prepared and have the hooks ready. Oh, and line too. Now, let’s find some crickets!”
Cookie walked through the grass and grabbed a cricket hopping out of her way. Mita did the same. Cookie showed her how to spear the cricket on the hook.
“Now, fish like to feed in the smooth water. They look up and see what meals the current brings them. You want to plop your bug in the rough water, where the fish can’t see your trick. They look for predators along the bank, too, so best to just stay out of view from their spot.
“If you do it successfully, the bug will travel from the rough water to the smooth. The fish will be fooled and swim up to gulp down the meal. That’s when you tug the line and set the hook in their mouth. Then pull sharply and the fish comes flying out of the water!”
Cookie demonstrated, whipping the cricket on the end of her line in a couple of quick circles in the air above her head, then plopping it down in a rough part of the water. The current carried the cricket over to still water in a bend of the stream. They watched as a large trout swam toward the surface and swallowed the cricket.
Cookie jerked slightly, then tugged on the line, and the trout flew out of the air to flop on the grass near them.
“Just like that! Your turn, dearie.”
Mita nodded, and swung the line above her head, then awkwardly plunked her cricket down in rough water. It rushed to the smooth pool in the bend, but no fish came up to bite.
“That’s alright, dearie. Try it again. Swing it above your head to dry the cricket off a bit.”
Mita swung it above her head and tried again with no results.
After the fifth futile effort, Mita grew annoyed. And hungry.
“It’s alright, dearie. Try again.”
Mita ignored Cookie, and reached out with her magic toward the smooth water in the bend of the stream. She felt two fish hiding down near the bottom. She held out her hand, palm up, and made two quick beckoning motions. Both fish flew out of the stream and landed on the grass near her feet.
“Well, yes, I suppose that’ll work, too. At least now you can teach those who aren’t as magically powerful as you how to fish. Come along, dearie, I’ll show you how to prepare these for eating.”
“START AT THE TAIL, and cut up toward the gills. Remove all the organs. Yes, that’s good. Be sure and remove the crap inside, too. Tastes nasty. Now, you can just leave the head there if you like, you shan’t be eating the head or gills. Some people feel guilty having the eyes stare at them, though, so you can chop off the head if you want. Very good.
“Now, they taste quite good prepared in bacon grease on an iron skillet over the campfire. No salt or anything. Nothing quite like the taste of fresh trout!”
Later Mita sat back with a full belly, and found herself agreeing with Cookie’s statement. The trout was very good, and a welcome change from the usual meat she had been eating.
She stretched in her seat then stood and brought her plate to the sink where it promptly disappeared. She headed back downstairs to the gymnasium.
True to his word, Artereo’s facsimile began teaching her the swordplay for his private style of fighting.
He brought her over to the weapons rack, and pointed out each type of sword in turn.
“Most fighters believe the bigger the blade, the better the damage, and that is true in some respects. But, bigger is not always better in combat. You know the story of the Quick Coral Fleet?”
Mita nodded. Many years ago, the Coral Kingdom and the Ageless Isles were at war, in a battle for supremacy of the seas. The Ageless Isles had invested in huge and powerful warships. The Coral Kingdom opted for smaller, more maneuverable craft. In the largest navel battle ever recorded, the quick boats from the mainland easily outmaneuvered the lumbering warships, sinking most of them. Ever since, the Ageless Isles were part of the Coral Kingdom.
“Now as you can see, I am not a large man. One of the first things I had to learn in sword fighting was how to better opponents much bigger than myself. In swordplay, speed and agility trump size, just as the Quick Coral Fleet bested the massive warships of the Ageless Isles.
“So, when choosing a weapon you should pick a light but lethal blade. Let your opponents choose broadswords or longswords, or even pikes and lances. You will choose light and lethal. And that, combined with a battlemaiden’s magic, will make you virtually undefeatable on the field.”
He walked to the end of the rack. Mita followed. He picked up the last sword and handed it to her, hilt first.
“This is a sword of my own design. You will note it has a blade three paces in length, and about a finger and a half wide. It is slightly curved and perfectly balanced. The hilt is wrapped in black leather, and can be held by one hand or two as needed. It is very light, especially compared to a broadsword, but it is razor sharp, unbreakable, and quite deadly. It can easily cut through anything. Wood, iron, stone.”
Mita examined the sword closely. It seemed lightly mottled, with a random pattern that looked like water had left ripple marks down the length of the blade.
“What type of metal is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“The metal is dwarven-forged. Their smiths are far better at this sort of thing than humans. They call it ‘folded’ metal, and no human can approach creating the same quality of blades. They don’t trade much with us, so dwarven weapons remain rare. Ones made to our specifications even more so. You’ll find some daggers like this, but rarely swords. Most dwarven weapons are designed for them, not us, so longer blades like this are rare.
“Speaking of length, you can use your magic to make the blade longer or shorter as needed. But I think you’ll find the original length to be perfect for your size. I’m of shorter height too, and I never changed it.”
Artereo picked up another sword from the rack. He held it up straight, in front of his face in a sparring salute.
“Shall we begin?”
CHAPTER 8
“I’m telling you, Kirt, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Kirt yawned. This marked the second day since the crossroads, and Stin had spent most of the first one continuing to talk about their encounter with the caravan drivers. But mostly, he had spent the time talking. And talking.
“They should have been hanging on the edge of their seats! They should have been hurrying to offer us food, even gold! And what did they do? They laughed! Can you believe that? I’ve never had anyone laugh at my stories before.”
Kirt turned and gave the thief a doubtful glance.
“It’s true! That’s my ma
gic. You haven’t matured yet, and you haven’t fully expressed your magic yet. You don’t know how these things work.”
Kirt said nothing, looking forward down the road, his hands light on the reins as the old horse plodded on. He seemed to be studiously ignoring Stin.
“Look, everybody has the ability to work magic, right? Most can only work a little here or there, like Cook or the caravan drivers. People typically fill the roles best suited for them in life. If they can’t perform much magic at all, they drift toward the more laborious professions. On the other hand, some of the more gifted people at manipulating magic go on to serve their kings and queens, perhaps as a court mage. Others go into acting, or singing, or painting. They usually combine their natural talents with their magical ones.
“Of course, the most powerful of all go on to become wizards. But there can only be twelve wizards at any given time. The positions open rarely, and then there are usually only one or two candidates.
“So I’m just like other people, right? I combine my natural talents with my magic for what I do best. And what I do best is talking people out of their money and possessions. And if that doesn’t work, I find other ways to take it. I’m very good at my job, you see.”
The boy shot him another skeptical look, then turned his attention back to the road. Stin missed this one, though, because he was lost in thought.
“Normally, the men would have been awestruck by my story, and they would have offered me a purse of silver along with half their finest provisions just for the opportunity to keep the ‘tasty stone.’”
Kirt nodded his head toward the back of the wagon, filled with bags of food.
“Things worked out alright, I think.”
“Yes, the simpleton cook believed my story. But none of the other men did. I just don’t understand it.”
The old horse marched onward. They had seen few fellow travelers since leaving the crossroads.
Kirt ventured a question, in part to change the subject and in part out of curiousity.
“Where are we going, anyway?”
“I don’t know. This is the fastest route out of the Ruby Kingdom, though, straight into the Hidden Woods. It also has the benefit, for us, of being the least guarded route.”
“Why is that?”
“People consider the Hidden Woods to be magical and mysterious. Few wish to travel through there. Consequently, King Delek doesn’t bother to pay the road leading to it much mind. On the other hand, ruffians and vagabonds, those seeking to escape their pursuers, wanderers, cutthroats, cutpurses, and other such sojourners happily take the route through the Hidden Woods.
“And of course the occasional respectable traveler may seek a shortcut to other kingdoms this way.”
“So, where are we going once we get through the Hidden Woods?”
“I don’t know. I understand Emerald is ruled by some nasty old fellow nowadays. Thieves can make a good living in lands ruled by thugs. Maybe we’ll go there and see what opportunities await.
“Stick with me, boy. I’ll tell you everything you need to know about being a thief. You’ll never have to dig through a midden heap again if you learn how to liberate coins from others.”
“Seems like a good way to end up in a dungeon.”
Stin nodded, judiciously.
“Dungeons aren’t all bad. You can meet some interesting people there. You can learn some things, too. I picked my first lock in the dungeon beneath Coral Palace when I was about your age. An old crook named Syphon taught me how. I shared a cell with him for a few months after getting nabbed by the city guards for stealing apples.”
Kirt jerked his head up at this comment. He narrowed his eyes, and he studied Stin intently for a moment.
“You were like me?”
“A street urchin? No. Well, perhaps. I didn’t stay on the streets long, though. I figured out how to take things and get away with it. The few times I did get caught, I learned from the experience and never made the same mistakes again. After a while, my powers grew and I began getting caught less and less.
“I learned that when you accumulate a certain amount of gold, the guards and everybody else don’t look at you as a common thief anymore. You become somebody more than that. You become like them.”
Kirt snorted.
“What?”
“I can’t believe all guards and nobles and merchants are crooked.”
“Well, no, I suppose not. What I mean is, when you have a certain amount of wealth, or at least carry yourself as if you do, they can’t tell by looking if you are a crook or not. The guards in any given city are searching for riff-raff and troublemakers. If you walk through the gates and streets dressed as a member of the nobility, they don’t give you a second look.
“‘Garments signal status.’ An old tailor friend of mine told me that. And he’s right. People judge you by the clothes you wear, and the way you comport yourself in front of them.”
“So you walk around as a nobleman in order to steal from them?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘steal.’”
“It’s stealing.”
“The point is, yes, if you want to be treated with respect at all strata of society, then you need to at least appear to be near the top.”
“So how do you make people think that you are a noble? Where did you learn to behave like one if you grew up on the streets?”
“I learned early on that if you wish to be perceived as a gentleman, you must act like one. Even if you aren’t dressed like one, if you act like it, you can convince others that you are one.”
“How do you ‘act’ like one?”
“The most important thing is to be comfortable in whatever situation you find yourself. Look around a campfire on the road. Who’s comfortable there? The caravan drivers, their guards, pilgrims on their way to Hightower. Who’s not? Perhaps lower level priests, or merchants traveling alone.
“Look around at an inn. Who’s comfortable eating there? Those who can pay, obviously. On occasion you see some poor soul in an inn who shouldn’t be there. They’ll act like they shouldn’t be there, too.
“Now look at a social luncheon in a duchess’s townhome, or a dinner party at a baron’s summer estate, or a royal feast held at a castle. All the nobility present are perfectly at ease. Truth be told, if they find themselves at a crossroad’s campfire or some village inn, they’re at ease in those places as well.
“A gentleman is at home wherever he finds himself, from the highest social event down to the lowest. The mark of a gentleman is being comfortable in all situations. If you wish to portray yourself as one, that’s how you’ll act. If you can pull that off, you are as close to being an actual gentleman as anyone.”
“And your magic helps.”
“Yes. Normally, my magic helps me out. Especially when telling a tale to convince others. It didn’t with the ‘tasty stone.’ Usually a deception like that works perfectly. The best deceptions convince everyone to buy into them and actively participate. And deceptions that seem to reward everyone are often the most successful.”
Stin finally lapsed into silence, and they talked little until lunch. After the horse had some oats and they ate some jerky Cook had provided, they resumed plodding down the road. The strips of dried beef were tough and chewy, but they tasted good and eased their hunger.
Stin began talking again after lunch.
“Let me share some of life’s secrets with you, boy. You’re fortunate to have a teacher like me. I learned most of my wisdom the hard way. All you have to do is listen.”
Kirt rolled his eyes, but Stin did not notice. Instead he was looking at a bird, flying off in the distance far above them.
“Do not trust birds. Wizards use them as eyes and ears.”
A few moments passed, and Stin spoke again.
“When you help others fulfill their goals, you are most likely to fulfill your own, even if your goal is to liberate coins from others.”
This continued for a couple of hours. Stin would
stay silent a few minutes, thinking, then make a grand pronouncement. Kirt winced each time, and found himself dreading the next one. Each length of silence would build to a crescendo followed by an eloquent statement.
Kirt sank down into the driver’s seat in misery, but could not bring himself to make the older man stop. Despite the torment, he felt the day was far better than roaming the streets of Ruby City, trying to survive.
He found solace in the fact they were slowly approaching a line of trees in the distance. The road seemed to cut through them, piercing into the heart of the forest. Kirt studied the trees intently, having never seen a true forest before. The woods seemed dark and mysterious.
They passed a boundary marker near the forest’s edge, a large stone with “Ruby” carved on the face.
“At last! I think we can relax, Kirt. Little chance of those guards and their broadsheets coming this far.”
“Shall we camp here for the night?”
“No, let’s go inside the woods and out of sight of this marker.”
Kirt nodded and let the horse continue forward, but he felt nervous about the forest, now looming ahead and looking foreboding up close.
The horse did not seem to mind, and kept plodding away. Soon they were surrounded by large trees and approaching a bend in the road.
“If you don’t want to be remembered when visiting an alehouse, then tip the usual amount. Large tippers and non-tippers are both remembered by servants. But those who add what gratuity they should to the bill are often appreciated, yet soon forgotten.”
As they rounded the bend, Kirt pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a halt. On the road before them, a man and a woman faced three armed men. All five turned to look at them as they came around the curve.
Kirt noted the man and the woman seemed young, maybe twenty. They were the same height and build, same light brown hair, and they wore clothing befitting traveling merchants. He noted they were both very attractive.
