Gifted

Sitting on the edge of one of the common room tables, I played witness, with childlike glee, to absolute bedlam. Gramps and mother had not been remotely prepared for the changes that the orcish slave raids were playing on our normally quiet pass through the Horndales.

The common room was positively bursting with two merchant caravans, their guards, two teams of adventurers, and a party of four men whose jobs I did not know, all paying customers with small silver coins vanishing into Mum’s skirt.

My mother rushed past me in a swish of light blue cotton fabric, her dress flaring about her like it had grown wings. In her pale hands she carried four plates which despite her speed didn’t look even slightly precarious. While my mother wasn’t at risk, the men she was serving certainly were.

“Where’re the drinks, love?” belched one of the fat pricks. Clearly, I did not like the guy, and it wasn’t just because he looked like a slightly wrinkled, bald dick.

His three companions were no better. They were all quite brawny, ranging in height from Gramps down to half a hand taller than a dwarf. Their skin was weathered, one and all, which made me wonder why, despite the difference in appearance, they all looked so similar. It was probably because I hated them already, I decided.

“They won’t be long,” replied my mother as she laid out the four plates of steaming meat, avoiding the hand that strayed where it shouldn’t. I was absolutely furious witnessing the brazenness of these clods and debated heading to the kitchen to find a knife.

As my mother moved towards the bar to pour drinks for the men, Gramps finally made his appearance. My guess? The old man had just been waiting for an excuse, as he was watching over Mum every bit as closely as I was.

“Gentlemen,” Cornelius said in greeting.

“Ain’t no gentle men here, right fellas?” Senior Dickhead guffawed .

The other three laughed, slapping the table, right up until grandpa put his hands on senior dickhead’s shoulders. The way the bald man tensed up was priceless. I don’t know why he did, as he looked far younger and stronger than grandpa, but for some reason he suddenly had the look of a deer caught in a trap.

“You and your friends are from Ajinar?”

Gramps’ voice was smooth and calm, the four men freezing while the other tables paused to watch.

“We are. What’s it to ya?” mumbled one of the buffoons.

“Then, you probably won’t know me by reputation, but let me give you a little advice. If you ever try and lay a hand on my daughter again, I’ll set you on fire until there’s nothing left of you but a grease stain on my floor. Now, do we have an understanding?”

I finally saw what had Senior Dickhead so worried, as the shoulders of his dirty black shirt smoked under grandpa’s hands.

“We understand. Right, boys? Didn’t mean nothin by it. Just weren’t expectin’...”

“It would be wise if you didn’t finish that sentence,” interrupted the old man.

“Right…right. Won’t happen again!”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Grandpa finally let the idiot go just in time for Mum to swoop in with four wooden mugs filled with what looked like ale. That seemed to be the signal for the rest of the room to return to their own conversations as the buzz of words and gossip once more filled the air.

Gramps walked past me and whispered, “Keep an eye out?”

I nodded with a smile and went back to people watching, while keeping an eagle eye on the assholes. It made me feel good to afflict them with my… wariness of birds. I wasn’t afraid of them! Definitely not!

Listening in on their conversation let me learn why they were dirtying up our mountains. They were prospectors, and with the issues to the east, had decided to see if they could uncover a new mine. I could read between the lines though. One of the merchants had mentioned a possible conscription to deal with the orcish slave raids. These men were as much looking for a new mine as they were avoiding conscription. Given their size and strength, they probably would’ve been some of the first conscripted if the nobility of Ajinar decided to go down that path.

Then, the prospectors moved onto discussing their plans. Apparently, they intended to set up a home and small warehouse nearby. And by nearby I meant across from the outpost, right next door to the Kellins. It made a very, very annoying sort of sense. If they were mining in the area, they would want to be able to sell what they found. Doing it through the Kellins’ trading post would mean they didn’t need to wait around hoping to catch a merchant caravan. Instead, they could be off at their mine for days and just drop by to store their haul.

On top of that, it made it awfully easy to purchase supplies. I hated that it made sense as the last thing I wanted to see were these idiots’ faces. Not after the way they treated my mum. Gramps might’ve been fine with a little warning, but I was willing to acknowledge that I was a bit more vindictive. An attempt had been made, and even if no more followed, that was still cause for a punishment in my eyes.

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A plan started to formulate.

These… men were miners. What sort of Attributes and Skills would miners have? Probably Strength and Endurance-related Attributes. Skills for finding ore or gems? Maybe ones that reduced the wear and tear on their equipment? Or boosts? I wasn’t sure to be honest. I didn’t really know just how esoteric Skills could get. Either way, I very much doubted they had anything like Perception or another Awareness-related Attribute.

As for me? I had a very real need to work on my Path of Infiltration. It was a match made in heaven.

Of course, they didn’t have a house. Yet. If they were anything like the Millers, they would have something up in a day. Come to think of it, I didn’t think they were. So, two days then. Two days for me to plan what to do, and by do, I meant their punishment.

As though it had been fated, Magatha chose that moment to walk into the outpost. As always, she looked quite a bit like a ray of sunshine. Beautiful, even if she was outshone by my mother. Magatha’s golden hair was tied up in a bun and she took a glance at my mother as she served a room of over twenty guests, basically our maximum capacity, on her own. The prospectors didn’t miss Mags’ entrance and eyed her up like a piece of meat, taking in her brown woolen dress and wolf fur coat. The sneer on her lips silenced the words no doubt forming on their tongues as she swept towards Gramps’ office with her satchel still strung over her shoulder.

I hopped off my little perch, trusting Mum to yell if she needed anything, and followed after Magatha.

“Cornelius, I’m here to drop off Bastian’s Scar Rejuvenation Potion,” said the Hedge Witch as soon as she was through the door. While she flirted endlessly with my mother, she was always businesslike with Gramps.

As per usual, the old man pulled out a fiery red aether coin from his desk and handed it over for the potion. Magatha pressed her finger down on the coin and slid it back towards Gramps.

“Can you make me thirty more vials? I’m preparing a few new drafts to sell to some merchants.”

“Sure, Magatha. Give me two days though.”

I watched as Magatha smiled agreeably and turned to leave, sparing me a quick glance before she headed for the door. I followed again, seeing my chance to ask the question burning on my tongue.

“Magatha!”

The Hedge Witch spun, looking down at me. “What is it, Bastian? I’m in a hurry.”

I pursed my lips. “If I wanted to make somebody really itchy…what should I sprinkle on their clothes?”

“Your mum?” Magatha asked, her eyes narrowing.

I shook my head vigorously with childlike horror written on my face.

I’d never do something like that to mum! What do you take me for? I griped mentally.

“Your grandpa?” Magatha pressed, her green eyes looking confused.

I shook my head again and let my eyes drift over towards the direction of the common room.

Magatha followed my gaze and then her green eyes lit up matching the mischief in my own.

“I see. Are they leaving today?”

“Nope! They’re prospectors. They said they’re going to build a house next to the Kellins and live up here!”

Magatha stood up straighter and tapped her lips in thought. “In that case… I’ll bring you something to help when I return in two days. This will be our little secret, right?”

I grinned my agreement and gave a quick nod. It was only after Magatha had left that I realised I may have made a mistake. I wanted to make those assholes as uncomfortable as they had made my mum. Magatha was a Hedge Witch though, so just how much further might she take it? And it wasn’t like I had any way to verify that whatever she gave me would do what she said it would. I might need to test whatever she delivered first, but how?

I was still pondering the question when sword practice started. Etta was across from me with George between us. Ever since we had started having regular practise, Etta had taken to wearing her braided hair up and around the top of her head like a crown. Or a bird’s nest. The latter usually after we were done sparring. Today she was in homespun leathers made of the fur of a black bear which I knew Hurin had taken down a few weeks ago at the tail end of winter.

George was similarly garbed, though the fur only covered his shoulders, wrists, and boots while the rest was more wool from Griselda’s farm. I liked George as a teacher, mostly because at some point during the winter he had decided that while his daughter was progressing on the Path of Swordplay, I had an actual talent for the blade. Because of that, he would often set Etta to practising forms while he would have me complete the form a few times before starting to go through variations of the movements.

It was all dumbed down of course. As talented as I might appear, I was still a four year old. But the extra time and effort were showing in my development and I had begun to find that I actually loved working with a sword.

“What is the name of this movement?” George asked me as he demonstrated a small step forward into a diagonal downwards cut.

“Wolf’s Paw,” I stated.

“Good. Show me.”

I repeated the movement a few times to the best of my ability. Each time, George still found faults with my movement and pointed them out. Six tries later he finally nodded in approval. That didn’t mean my movement through the form was flawless, just that it was good enough to continue.

“Now Wolf’s Paw into Stalking Prey and then finish with Warden’s Lunge.”

I did as asked, making a small step forward, cutting down diagonally, then circling while lowering my centre of gravity, before completing a fast short sidestep in the opposite direction and lunging with the tip of my wooden sword at an imaginary enemy.

“Good. Good. That was almost perfect. Your steps were a little too wide in Stalking Prey. Remember, short steps and low to the ground. The only people who should be caught in the air are those who can already fly. And I don’t know anyone who can fly, do you?”

“Nope, Mr. Miller!”

“Alright, practice that sequence a few more times. I am going to work with Etta on a defensive set. Then we can do some sparring, alright?”

I grinned from ear to ear and nodded. You would’ve thought that letting a four year old and five year old swing at each other with solid pieces of wood was a terrible parenting idea. Well, I would have. Apparently though, it was totally fine if it was a part of ‘training’.

So, with a smile on my face, I repeated the forms George had set for me, while looking forward to both some sparring as well as finding out what kind of concoction Magatha cooked up. I just hoped it wouldn’t kill them. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to keep it a secret after all.