Interstitial
The first blow seemed vicious, delivered as it was – using a two-handed grip, whirling, Wyn set her blade swinging in a blurred arc from behind her right shoulder toward Ji’tun’s scalp. The sharp clang of metal on metal indicated that, again, Ji’tun had turned it. But this time, the vicious blow wasn’t the end of the sequence. Pivoting neatly away, Wyn leaned for just a moment on the blades, then whipped it away, spinning and ducking his thrust, to deliver a stinging blow with the flat of the blade to her master’s hip.
“Aie-ah!” she shouted as it struck. Then, fairly purring with satisfaction, she sat and laid her blade over her knees.
Ji’tun couldn’t have looked more surprised if she had turned into a mist and drifted out the window. “Good,” he stammered, joining his student on the mats. “Very good. Well. You did learn a few things on that ranging, eh?”
“Yep,” she answered. “I learned that I better get good at this.”
*-*-*
“Hidden Valley Ranch? What kind of name is that?” Xanthus Grubb was affordable, true, but he was also vain, and his voice had a whining timbre when confronted by anything unknown. Eladkot wondered how long he could put up with the half-elf. Ah well, he thought. Guess it’s just a price I pay for learning.
“The actual name is khalak ak-ludum, of course,” was all he said, though. Not a trace of irritation showed in his voice. Eladkot had learned from worse teachers than this Grubb. He’d get what he needed. “The translation is the best I could do. The name is archaic Dwarvish, and it’s not a mode anyone I talked to at Grey College was familiar with.”
“Hmph. With you it’s always Grey College this and Grey College that. And now you want my help. Well.”
Again with the jealousy, Eladkot thought, his face carefully neutral. Doesn’t this guy care about learning at all? Again, though, he bided his time. Silence has opened more mouths than any enchantment. And I learned that at Grey College, you pinhead, he thought.
“Well,” Grubb said, after a lengthy silence. “I suppose maybe you’d better talk to Embek then.”
*-*-*
Meanwhile, Foop was working off a tempestuous hangover with a traditional gnomish remedy – vicious haggling. This Falthur’s Curios came highly recommended, but that didn’t mean he had to lay down and die. Just because they had some flunky write prices on little cards didn’t mean a thing.
“20 silver for two of these foxleaf?” he asked, his voice and face simulating shocked incredulity. “Are you serious? Do you get that many tourists here?”
The half-elven proprietor took a moment to look down his nose at Foop from his vantage point behind the counter. “Of course, a neophyte like yourself knows nothing of quality merchandise,” he said finally, holding out his hand to take back the jar of foxleaf. “It runs counter to your understanding of the world to actually pay your way. 20 silver is a bargain for this freshness.”
“A bargain?! I can’t even smell the griso in this! I’ll give you eight.”
“Eight?” the proprietor said, getting into the spirit of the thing. He stood up and began to mime rending his clothing, saying, “Why not take this tunic? Just take it! You want everything for nothing, here! Take my clothes! Now pay 18 or get out. You know nothing.”
“18? Why, my master Nesta would have …”
“I’m sorry. Nesta? Did you say Nesta?”
“Yes, he was my …” Foop trailed off as the proprietor passed him, stalking toward the door. The man pulled the door shut, shot the bolt, and closed the neat white shutters over the front window.
“So you’re in the trade,” the proprietor said.
“Yes,” Foop answered, a bit uneasy.
“Falthur,” the man said, extending his hand. “A friend of Nesta’s is a friend of mine. How is the old fella?”
“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you …” An hour later, Foop left. His packs were bulging with alchemical supplies, and more importantly, Falthur had told him who might know the mark he had found in his master’s wagon.
“Talk to Embek,” he said. “He knows all that sort of stuff. He’s really old, but still sharp as a thorn. And he’s a good old guy.”
*-*-*
It was odd for Wyn’s aunt Sassalyn to ask her over on short notice. Dinner would be nice, but it would have been nice to sit a bit after working with Ji’tun. Ah well. Wyn sponged herself clean, then dressed simply. Despite the short notice, she was glad of the opportunity to talk to her favorite aunt. Sassalyn always had good advice, and Wyn wasn’t sure what to make of her first ranging.
Sassalyn was quiet, though, through the appetizer of spring water and small, tart apples. Almost withdrawn. I’ll leave her to her thoughts, Wyn thought. Maybe she just wanted company. All in good time. That advice became more difficult to heed, though, as the main course of butter-cooked mushrooms came and went, and the dessert of sweet beans in summerwine sat, half-eaten, before her. Wyn could not remember ever having such an uncomfortable evening with her aunt Sassalyn. This was like eating with Her Grace Aunt Yolande.
Wyn’s silent frustration was broken by her aunt’s self-conscious throat-clearing. “Wyn,” she began, seeming not to know how to proceed. Oh dear, what could this be? Wyn wondered. “It’s … you met some people out there, didn’t you? Some people. Not elves.”
“I … we rescued some people from some orcs.”
“There was a human with them? And a dwarf?”
“Well, yes, I suppose there was. What’s this about, Aunt Sassalyn? Have you … have you seen something?” Sassalyn’s skill as a diviner of truth and futurity was known, but she seldom mentioned it to Wyn.
“Yes. Yes I have,” her aunt answered. “And loathe as I am to give you advice, I must say this: You must seek those people out and cleave to them. Find your destiny with them, wherever it takes you. I have seen … it is most important that you do this. For all of us.”
“Sassalyn … I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Please, Wyn, trust me. I don’t give this advice lightly. And I don’t think that you asking every question that is even now rushing through your head is a good idea.
“There’s something delicate about this. Something I don’t understand. I feel as if I’m clinging to a tiny, new-budded leaf, on a thin, willowy branch; and there is a wind, gentle now, but still the harbinger of a great storm. And so I tell you what I must, and ask you to hear me, and I should say no more. Just keeping ahold of this leaf is occupying all my time. And the storm is coming.
“Be well, Wyn. Remember I love you. Go now, child. Seek them out. Offer them your skills. They need them. Stay in touch.”
“Auntie, I …”
“Wyn, for the love I bear for you – go.”
Wyn went.
*-*-*
Wyn’s arrival at their dinner was a surprise, as neither Eladkot nor Tankar had seen the elf-girl since their slave-refugee caravan arrived in the capital. Now, here she was, without armor, gliding in and making herself at home. She just came in, sat down with the barest nod of greeting, and listened as Foop told how he had not only hoodwinked Falthur into ludicrous prices, but done it so smoothly that the alchemist now thought of him as a friend. After that, she seemed to assume that she was part of their plans.
And so, somehow, Eladkot’s visit to the home of the renowned sage Embek was encumbered not only by the presence of a suspicious, prying dwarf, but also a talkative gnome and a reserved, heavily armed elf-girl.
After, nothing was the same.
