Gifted

“Me?” I asked stupidly.

“Baron Joss was just speaking with me about how dutifully you practice,” Gramps explained. “As well as asking if you were going to compete in the festival tournament.”

Gramps’ tone didn’t betray what answer he wanted me to give as he stood a step behind the Baron. Joss was dressed formally in a black doublet and pants, though I thought I heard the jingle of chainmail beneath his clothes. His blond beard was cut square and ended only a little below his chin. On his hip hung the same sword he’d worn when I first met him almost two years ago, the worn leather grip of the blade proof that the Baron was a man accustomed to fighting.

“What do you say, young Bastian? Would you like to compete with the other Unclassed boys and girls?” Joss asked, looking down at me even if he was a little shorter and stouter than Gramps. “You’re a little younger than most of the children who have put down their mark to compete, but from what I have heard, you have a decent chance of taking the victory despite that.”

“Umm, I think I might be a bit too small, my Lord,” I said, hoping my excuse would get me off the hook — it didn’t.

“Nonsense. I suspect only a few of my own soldiers’ children might be up to the task of challenging you. I certainly hope to see you put your mark down before the festival. It would be a treat to show the people of Hornpeak what some of their best are capable of, and I have promised to have a custom weapon forged for the victor.”

Joss turned to Cornelius as though the matter with me was settled. “I look forward to hearing the Adventurer’s Society response to my request, Factor Hawthorn. As well as seeing your grandson’s efforts at the festival. Good day to you.”

The Baron paused to nod to my mother on his way out with a ‘Miss Penelope’ thrown in for good measure. I muttered a ‘My Lord’ and ducked my head, which I figured was what I was supposed to do. He didn’t bother acknowledging Nazim, which left me feeling annoyed. Maybe there was bad blood between the Duchy of Landrin and the wolfkin of southern Ajinar, but even if there was, it still struck me as rude.

The moment the Baron was gone, I looked between Mum and Gramps. “Do I have to compete?”

“Only if you want to, Sweetheart,” Mum answered.

Gramps grumbled something under his breath before he added his opinion to the mix. “He can’t make you, and I doubt he would do anything to cross the Adventurer’s Society. If he’s annoyed at us, he may use his influence to turn some of the town against us. I don’t think it’s worth worrying about though. On the other hand, if you did compete, and win against the older children, it might help convince my sister Agnes that you’re worth investing in.”

When he saw the look of consternation on my face, he added, “We don’t need to decide now. It’s still almost two weeks till the festival. Just something for us to discuss.”

I spent my entire lesson with Mum distracted as a threeway battle took place in my mind. The war in my head between the sneaky little shit, the pride-filled brat, and future Bastian in some made-up uniform for Songleaf Academy was epic with no clear victor. I had almost no desire to put my skills with the sword on display, yet the prideful part of me wanted to prove that I was the best. The last voice was the most seductive, promising future growth for a sacrifice now.

I had no idea which way I would fall on the topic, and my distraction was so obvious that Nazim took me out to my obstacle course for the afternoon. We spent it practising swordplay while balancing between beams and holding onto ropes. I ate dirt, more than once, but the different ways of practising the sword were making me gain steps in my Path of Swordplay even faster than usual.

The next week and a bit passed in a blur. The woodworker, Kappu, delivered as promised, telling me to return after I had the silver inlay added so he could add a finish to the wooden pipe. Martin added the silver to Gramps gift for me, melting down a couple of my small coins for the work and refusing any payment. I ignored his generosity and hid my remaining few pieces of silver in different pockets of his clothes to find later. Nazim noticed but said nothing.

Grandma Lucille completed Mum’s dress a few days before the festival, and even I — with the fashion sense of a blind goat — could tell that it was amazing. The blue spider silk, which I had since learned came from the Echoing Depths Dungeon, had been woven into a gown fit for a noblewoman. The lower half of the dress was pleated while the upper half had a loose bodice which should hang on Mum’s shoulders. The neckline was up high, chaste, just as Grandma Lucille had promised, with sleeves that came all the way down to the wrists and were embroidered with white flowers.

Just looking at it, I knew I had underpaid significantly, but when I had stammered out how I would get some more silver to pay for the dress, Grandma Lucille had simply pinched my cheek gently and called me a ‘good boy’ while refusing my offer. Then she had sent me on my way with a demand to make sure I gave it to my Mother before the evening of the festival so she could wear it. I had readily agreed.

The entire time I had continued to worry over the problem of whether or not to compete. Nazim had taken this as an excuse to push me even harder than usual — which I had thought impossible. The wolfkin had claimed that, when he was done with me, I would be too tired to worry. He’d been right. Every night, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The extra work had shown in my Path development with the Path of Swordplay completing a week earlier than I had expected.

You have advanced the Tier of your Path! Path of Swordplay X (10000/10000)

Reward: +2 Unallocated Stats, Unlocked: Path of Swords

Child Warrior Bonus: +1 Unallocated

The Unallocated Stats went into Gifted, but I did wonder if, at some point, I would need to consider putting them elsewhere. While every point in Gifted increased the speed of my progress on my Paths, they didn’t actually make me stronger, faster, better at magic, or anything like that. It was worth considering, but I decided to put it off making a decision till Gifted got to two-hundred.

The Path of Swords was an Advanced Path, and I debated slotting it into the now empty place in my Active Paths. What stopped me was that, after asking Gramps about it, he told me that it wouldn’t help me unlock the Path of Weapon Mastery. Instead, at Nazim’s urging — and because it suited my fighting style — I accepted lessons and unlocked the Path of the Claw. For now, we were just going to strap some metal or something else to my hand to get used to the weight, but in the future, if I continued to use it, we would have a metal glove fashioned for me tipped with sharp claws. Nazim teased me a little about it, calling me the pup pretender. Still, the lessons were going to be good. Plus with a new weapon Path I expected to earn some quick and easy Stats.

While my Shadow Magic Path was going up slower, it was still going up.

You have advanced the Tier of your Path! Path of Shadow Magic III (62/50)

Reward: +1 Aether

I hadn’t yet moved onto any new spells, still focused on mastering the nightvision spell. The notification felt good, but my lack of speed and skill was hampering me. Thankfully, the effort I was putting in was also progressing my Paths of Aethersensitivity, Aether Manipulation, and Obscuring Shadow. None had reached the next tier yet, but I was still confident I would manage them long before Songleaf.

With only two days to go before the festival, and my name not yet added to the list, I knocked on the door of Gramps’ office. Nazim wasn’t with me. He rarely hung around when I was inside the outpost with Gramps of late. Plus, he had seemed bothered by something, muttering about a scent that he kept catching whiffs of. I wondered if it was the same thing I was feeling when I sensed the fluttering cold feeling passing nearby. It had appeared more than once and I had mentioned it to Gramps — he didn’t know either but told me he would keep an eye out for anything strange.

Gramps called out for me to enter. As per usual, he was sitting at his desk writing — his only way to work on the teaching aspect of his Advanced Class Path besides training Etta and I.

“Something wrong, Bastian?” he asked.

“Will Grandaunt Agnes really care if I win the tournament?” I blurted out.

Gramps carefully set down his quill. “Will that alone be enough to sway her? No, it won’t. But it’ll likely be something she factors in when she has you assessed. I think there is a very good chance she agrees to pay for your attendance at Songleaf without it. But, it won’t hurt your chances with her to have that victory to your name, especially at your age. The tournament itself would be a little provincial for her. Beating eleven year olds while you’re still seven though is not nothing. If you’re worried about Baron Joss trying to get you to become one of his soldiers though, you can probably ignore that fear. A new Baron isn’t about to cross the Adventurer’s Society, especially when he is applying to have the next few Rifts that appear assigned to him rather than one of the Guilds.”

I nodded seriously, finally coming to a decision. I wanted to attend Songleaf like a fish craved the ocean. Getting the best possible instruction on the continent was too much of a boon to pass up.

“Gramps, can you take me to sign up for the tournament?”

Of course, Gramps readily agreed — I just wish the official set up at the gates to the Baron’s Keep didn’t look so smug as I pressed my fingerprint into the ink and down onto the page next to my name for the Unclassed Tournament.

As we returned to the outpost, and with only two days to go till the festival, I needed to start thinking about what weapon I was going to wield in the tournament.

***

Murin picked his way down the mountainside towards the hidden grotto where the House Arman forces waited. The foxkin had visited Hornpeak four times over the course of a year, using his illusions to hide himself and get close enough to Henrietta Arman to assess her progress. When he had delivered his reports to the Matriarch, she had seemed pleased enough to reward him with an elixir of stalking panther essence. Seeing his Illusion Affinity advance by two points had been wonderful.

But, just like everything in Clan Kagemi, the reward had come with a hidden hook. Murin was to come with his Matriarch to deliver the news to House Arman. He had hoped it was just so he could witness how the Matriarch dealt with the noble Counts — and in part it had. But when the representative of House Arman had heard about how talented with aether young Henrietta appeared to be, they had made an additional request to go along with the Matriarch’s demand of higher payment. That request was why Murin was back in Hornpeak.

They had wanted a guide familiar with the area. Murin had been all too happy to assist at the time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. More than once, the wolfkin who appeared to live at the Adventurer’s Society outpost had almost caught him despite Murin using his Scent Suppression Skill. Then, there was the cold feeling of dread like something was looking over his shoulder even as he walked the town under the cover of an illusion to make him appear like a human.

Something else was going on, and Murin didn’t like working against unknowns.

Finally, he picked his way into the grotto. Eight members of House Arman waited around a small cooking fire.

“What news?” asked Bartley Arman. The young man leading the Arman contingent was of noble blood, and Murin thought it showed. In his early twenties with a svelte build made for speed and a shiny rapier hanging at his belt, he cut a fine figure even seated on a rock in the middle of nowhere.

“The festival begins in two days as planned. Your quarry is still there with no signs of leaving.”

“Excellent. In two nights then,” replied Bartley.

“What about George?” one of the soldiers asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle my cousin,” replied the young noble, his hand caressing his rapier.