JP Koenig
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Chapter 23 - Huntress
🕑 Added 2025-03-22 00:00:11 +0000 UTC"The unwilling can find no escape from change's relentless grasp."
- Thane’s Edda
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Taliesin stepped outside of the manor into the crisp, pre-dawn light. He was tired from an exhaustive, all-night session of experimenting with his spellforms and planning. He was pleased with his progress - given a few more nights, and he’d have a few more spells re-discovered, and more of this new system of casting mapped out. Given a few months, Taliesin suspected he’d have enough of the new spellform system structured that he’d be able to reconstruct all the spells he’d lost when the Celestial Grimoire burned.
The untold years that Taliesin had spent in the endless Void had taught him how to see aether, and in particular the myriad complex shapes it took when a spell commanded it. These forms were multi-dimensional and interconnected, and he had re-constructed all the spells he knew from memory. The old spells had been created by trial and error over centuries by people who couldn’t see what they were doing - they had painted blind and expected fine art. Taliesin had stripped away unnecessary pieces that wasted aether, streamlined the flows of aether as the spellforms were built, and sculpted perfect shapes where amateur spells had been before.
Yet despite this, his knowledge was incomplete. He didn’t know exactly what each shape did, or why changing them created different effects. By his own estimation, Taliesin understood most of the shapes he knew from the spells he’d re-created. Yet there were assuredly more spellforms to discover and understand. He could even foresee a time when he’d be able to construct spell effects on the fly, without a proper spell at all. Once he knew enough pieces, he would transcend the limits of formal spells, and cast with the primal nature of magic itself.
But for now, he could most definitely foresee a hearty breakfast and a long nap. A few hours in the early afternoon would suffice to work on the wards, and he could go back to his studies. The spellforms on the Empyreal Staff were deepening, and only needed aether to be fed in periodically to reinforce the work he’d already accomplished. Until the Staff reached full resonance, it would be foolish to try and expand its power further. Instead, he was hoping to experiment with the small piece of crucible steel he’d been given. He wanted to see if he could recreate the manasteel he’d used to build the Gate between worlds.
With manasteel in hand, the possibilities were endless.
Taliesin spotted Aina seated on a log next to the manor. The top surface of the log was well-worn, and whatever its original reason for being pushed next to the building, it had clearly become a popular bench. She had her legs pulled to her chest with her cloak wrapped around them to ward off the cold. Her head and shoulders were slumped, giving her a defeated air.
He sat down beside her and she visibly wilted, as if waiting for the hammer to fall. Instead, he began to talk quietly.
“When I was a child, my mother despaired of me ever learning anything properly. My family was of middling wealth, so was able to afford to pay for tutelage with private tutors - provided they found a few families to chip in and send their children as well - so that I could learn to be a merchant.
“Being a rather wild boy, I’d run off with my friends at the first opportunity. I’d escape the tutors, or flee the house after breakfast. My father would punish me when I skipped too often, and I’d settle down for awhile again, before the cycle would start anew. It wasn’t until I was sent to a new tutor at the age of 15 that I began to truly learn. The tutor was a renowned wizard who advised a Duke. One of the pupils was his beautiful daughter, Ganieda. She adored learning and could read all day if allowed to. As I grew to love Ganieda, I would study with her just so that we could spend time together.
“That was how I discovered my own passion for learning. I realized that I’d not fled the tutors to avoid gaining knowledge. To the contrary - I had a deep-seated love of discovery and the unknown. Week after week of repetitive grammar and rhetoric instruction gave me no chance to seek out new things to experience. But Ganieda showed me there were entire worlds of knowledge to be found in books, and I delighted in it. I had a natural talent for grasping abstract concepts that I’d never known. Her father agreed to teach me magic despite my meager talent, purely based on my ability to understand it.”
Aina had gone from sullen and defeated to quietly listening over the few minutes it took for Taliesin to recount his tale. “What happened with Ganieda?”
Taliesin gave a wistful smile that briefly gave a glimpse of the age in his soul. “We wed, and had a son. They were killed a few years later. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it someday.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Taliesin waved it off. “It’s been a very, very long time now. They are distant memories that I cherish, but life is for the living. One must move on.”
“I didn’t mean to disappoint everyone yesterday,” signed Aina after a long pause.
“I shared my admittedly boring story because I do understand the impulsiveness of youth. I did not change my wild ways because of my father’s punishments. Rather, because of the patience of the Merlin, and the genuine passion of Ganieda. You are very young yet, and have been through great hardships. You’ve not earned my ire.”
Aina’s eyes glistened for a moment before she looked away.
“So, I’ve told you about me. Would you like to tell me about your life in your village?”
After a few, slow signs. Aina began to talk. She spoke of the small house she’d shared with her mother. She talked about the standoffish villagers, of the beauty Aina found in the woods, and the quiet life she had lived. But most of all, she spoke of the unwavering love her mother had given her. She didn’t say it in so many words, but it was laced through every anecdote, every time she mentioned her mother, or even referenced her. Taliesin felt for her loss, and listened attentively.
Finally, the words ran out. The sun was well risen, and the yard was filling with people going about their daily tasks. Other than a few odd looks, the two were left alone. They sat together in a comfortable silence, before Aina finally broke it.
“It’s an Earth Forging.” Taliesin looked at her oddly for the sudden segue, so she continued. “My second Forging is an Earth Forging. That’s what gave me the active ability to turn invisible.”
Taliesin gave her a reassuring smile. “Thanks for explaining the source of your ability. Hey, I’m getting hungry. I’d like to eat something and go take a nap. You want to run in and get us a table to sit at? I’ll be right there.”
Aina nodded and darted inside with the boundlessness of youth.
“You can come out now,” said Taliesin.
Runolf stepped from around the corner. “Are you sure? Ya let her off pretty easy.”
“She’s not one of your warriors, Runolf, and she never will be.”
“What’re ya thinking of doing with her?” he asked.
“A scout perhaps? A spy, if she’s willing. Who knows? Her talents aren’t meant for the battle lines. Give her some freedom. She saw something that drew her away.”
“You reckon she didn’t wind up in that ditch on accident, yeah?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I think. I’d like to see how she handles it.”
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Aina was confused. She’d expected anger. She’d expected a lecture. She’d even feared being cast out. Having a nice talk with the Stormlord, then enjoying a leisurely breakfast with him while they chatted about random nonsense and trivial gossip was the last thing she could have anticipated. To her surprise, Lord Taliesin was far kinder than she had any right to expect out of someone so powerful. It was almost… paternal. Aina shrugged that feeling off swiftly, but couldn’t help thinking that he was pretty okay for an old man, even if she wasn’t quite ready to share her feud with Samuel.
And he was definitely old - he needed a nap and it was barely morning.
“Aina, we’ve got a bit before Lord Taliesin wants to work his magic on the town walls. Can you pick up some supplies in town?” asked Runolf after Taliesin headed towards his rooms.
“I can,” she signed cautiously. Runolf had needed to back her up even though she’d wandered away, but he didn’t even scold her. “Will I need a wagon?”
“Nah, it’s just a few odds and ends. ” Runolf handed her a bag of coins rattled off a short list of minor items. He turned to walk away, then turned back. “Hey, you know folks in town, yeah?”
Aina nodded cautiously. “Some.”
“If you hear anything from them, you let Lord Taliesin know. Maybe pass a coin or two if the info is useful.”
“What does he want to know?”
“Oh, nothing important. Just rumors, whispers, gossip. What folks are saying about the Stormlord, about the sheriff, or the Jarl. Just, you know, anything.”
Aina shrugged. That wasn’t hard. People talked around her all the time. They forgot that just because she couldn’t speak, it didn’t mean she couldn’t hear. Besides, she wanted to catch up with Hjorvarth. The old hunter probably thought she was dead. He was her best chance at an easy way to find that murdering thief, Samuel, aside from blind luck.
Aina made her way through town, and the mood was grim. The festive decorations felt out of place, and even the odd energy that seemed to come from the winter solstice couldn’t compete with the funeral-like pallor that had come over the shops. Her errands took her all over the shopping district. A spool of twine here, a measure of salt there. A handful of shank nails, a small length of cheap fabric. Her small bag filled up with odd tidbits, and in the process, she managed to find herself in every major part of the market.
At the smithy, Aina made her purchase from an apprentice with the help of a lot of finger pointing and exaggerated hand motions. When the poor boy finally understood her, she stood quietly and listened as the smith and two militia men discussed an order for extra spears to be delivered to a warehouse at the edge of the market.
“Not for the militia armory?” asked the smith.
The two men exchanged glances and then shook their heads. The smith shrugged and named a figure. Aina got her nails and left.
Most of her errands turned up rumors. The baker’s daughter was betrothed. A landlord had died and his son sold off the estate to pay gambling debts. But all around that, people were talking about the murder in hushed tones, and many were commenting about how angry the Windrime Clan was. No one seemed to think the Jarl had a hand in it, if only because he was young and handsome and far too innocent to do such a heinous thing. Rumors about the mysterious Stormlord, however… speculation was rampant.
“I’m just sayin’, nothin’ like this happened before the archmage showed up,” said the talkative weaver as Aina handed over a few pennies for the thin length of fabric. Aina could only nod in acknowledgement.
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Hjorvarth’s house was unchanged in the weeks since she’d last been here. The pig she had sold him was rooting around in a small pen in the back garden, the stiff hairs that coated its back thick enough to ward off the worst of the cold. A few children played in the street, oblivious to the mood of the town. The building was old and worn, but seemed sturdy enough. Certainly, it was better than most of its neighbors in this part of town. Even the crowding from refugees was less apparent here, if only because the residents here were crammed together even before they arrived.
“Ha! You’re alive! Ain, I heard you died of the plague that took your poor mama!” exclaimed Hjorvarth with a wide grin that looked out of place on his grizzled old face.
“Still alive. Got sick, didn’t kill me.”
“I can see that! Come in, come in. Have some tea.” Hjorvarth stood aside. “Don’t mind the little ones, I’m watching my grandchildren for my son and his wife.”
The small room was cramped, with a tiny loft up in the rafters and another door at the back that led to a second room. Two small children were playing on the floor with carved wooden toys, and a comforting fire was in the hearth. A large bundle of bedding lay rolled up in the corner, while the bench along the wall was covered in blankets. Two short stools were before the fire.
Hjorvarth took down two mugs from the mantle and pulled a kettle from the fire. He poured out tea into each and handed a cup to Aina. The warmth of the hot beverage permeated her gloves and warmed her cold fingers. He sat down with a groan, his stool close enough to the wall that he was able to use it as a backrest.
“So what happened, kid? I’m guessing you were sick when we were supposed to head back out. Where’d you wind up?”
“I’m staying at the Jarl’s manor.”
Hjorvarth laughed. When she didn’t give her own silent version of a laugh as well, he stopped. “Wait, really?”
Aina gave a nod. “It all started when that bastard thrall, Samuel, robbed me of those marks you paid for the pig…”
After Aina finished recounting her tale, Hjorvarth cursed then said, “You’ve either got cursed by the Norns or have the luck of the gods, and for the life of me, I can’t tell which one you got. I’m guessing you’re not looking for a new hunting trip seeing as we’re all packed in for the winter.”
“I’m looking for Samuel. He stole from me and threw me in a ditch. Not to mention, he probably took the rest of my mother’s morning-gift. I had some nice clothes that I planned to sell.”
“Yeah, that’s a debt come calling if I ever heard it. Blood or money?”
“Blood.” Aina’s face was hard and brooked no argument.
“Well, good news is, weregild won’t be much for a former thrall.”
“He bought his freedom?”
“Yeah, Bors offered him a wage to stay on over the winter, but Samuel had an offer down at the docks. Bors took in another refugee family to take over the cooking and housework. Not sure where Samuel is, exactly. But you have another problem. Galti got taken off the gate and put down at the docks. The sergeant was sick of him ragging on about refugees.”
“Galti isn’t a problem,” signed Aina. “The Stormlord’s men made it clear to Galti that I was one of theirs.”
“I’m leanin’ more towards the luck of the gods,” said Hjorvarth. “I can ask around, see if we can pin down Samuel’s location for you.”
“If you hear anything else interesting, let me know. There are some coins in it, if you catch wind of something useful.”
“Hmm, well, can’t say I ever thought I’d be tradin’ in rumors. Can’t argue with money though. Seeing as you’re staying with the Jarl, that mean your new boss supports the Jarl, too?”
“They are allies,” confirmed Aina.
“Well, boy, it appears we’ll be hunting together again after all. Just different prey this time.”
Aina was pleased with herself as she trekked back towards the Jarl’s manor. She’d learned a few rumors, and made some progress with finding the former thrall who’d nearly killed her. She wound her way through the narrow streets and back onto the main thoroughfare. Then she spotted one of the sheriff’s men.
A jolt of fear ran through her, before she realized the man wasn’t looking her direction at all. In fact, it looked like he was hiding behind a building and staring towards the Jarl’s manor. Aina ducked into an alley and activated her <Stealth>. The divine magic of her Forgings swallowed her, and she faded out of view.
With the ability active, Aina couldn’t move swiftly without ending the effect. The slower she moved, the longer she could hold it, so using <Stealth> was always a balancing act between careful Motion and the stillness of Earth. If she sat perfectly still, as while hunting, Aina could be hidden for hours. Should she dart forward to attack, however, she’d be instantly visible.
But that didn’t mean she was stuck in one place. Her natural grace and nimbleness made it simple for her to scale the building next to her. Once on the roof, she tiptoed along the edge. She caught sight of the sheriff’s man once again. Across the street in another alley, she saw three militia, and behind a cart selling food was another of the sheriff’s tax men. They were laying in wait for someone, and there was only one person they could be waiting for that was supposed to walk through town today.
Lord Taliesin.
Comments
андрей ткач
Thanks for the chapter!
