Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  When he finished, showing how it was all measured, the grizzled older man waved at the hanging supply of gut.

  “You do it now.”

  It was harder to manage than the man had made it look. The steps weren’t hard to follow, being only six of them. Those were committed to memory already, since he’d taken pains to do that for everything he’d been learning in the last days. Twisting the gut properly was hard for him and took nearly four times longer than the man who had shown him how to do it. When he was finished, there was just a head shake.

  “Acceptable. From now on, every bow you make comes with five strings. I want you to have at least two builds taking place at all times. More might be needed of you. In that case, you’ll like on as to have to come work here full time. The castle guard is the last to go in times of war, as are our walking bow and horse contingent. That means our shops here are expected to do ten times the work in times of need. Get to shaping the new war bow, as soon as you have yours finished. You’ll want to cure it for at least four days and treat it with oil twice.” Almost as if he were angry, the man walked away.

  Stomping as he did it.

  The words meant he was scurrying for the rest of the afternoon, working until the men left for the evening meal. It was only the three of them working that day. By timing things right, Anders was able to run and make exactly one proper bow string in the time it took the fletching glue to warm. Then he made ten arrows, pushing himself to do well even as he tried to put speed into it. A lot of what was needed would be in getting a good pattern down. That and keeping things close at hand so that he didn’t have to waste time redoing half his work.

  By the time he was finished he’d gotten through most of the first shaping on the new bow, which had to be heavier, since it was for a man, not a boy like him. Also, three bow strings past the first one and forty arrows. Thinking about it, feeling tired and sore, he rolled his eyes.

  If he’d made as many mistakes as the day before, then he was going to need to have twenty more, just to prevent a solid beating. His fingers were sore, from working with the gut string. Raw feeling, though not bleeding or cracked. Tender, was probably the word for it.

  Anders wanted to quit for the day, if not refuse to come in again at all.

  Farad wanted to quit as well. The difference was that one of them understood that the bowyer and fletcher were correct. They might need everyone to be up to the task soon. Even the lazy castle boy. So, he stayed, even after night fell. Then, since he didn't have a lamp there, Anders took one of the arrow staves and tried to make a light.

  The effort required several attempts, then the use of a vice in the arrow shop in order to hold the stave upright. The bright glow was a lot better than a lamp, at least in the fine details he was working on. He had to run between the rooms in order to finish it all, holding to his string making pattern, even while his fingers ached from it.

  He found his bed later than he had been, if not truly that far into darkness. The trip back was done in the dark, since carrying around a magic glowing stick was a good way to end up with a real arrow in his chest. No one stopped him as he went inside, though more than one guard called to him by name.

  His sleep was a bit troubled that night. Mainly due to being uncomfortable. A thing he hid from by sitting in the halls of memory, going over what he’d learned and what had happened early in the day. That and everything in the magical hall that he was building inside his mind. That included the spells he’d used that day. They were simple enough things, though some of them might be useful over time.

  It was the light from his open and uncovered window that woke him. Anders had to roll out of bed, feeling sore enough that he limped a bit. When that harm had taken place, he couldn’t tell. It might have been the fighting, as he jarred himself around, trying to avoid flying missiles and gouts of flame. Just as likely it was from standing all day, working in the shops to a later hour.

  Trying to be a good student, he bathed himself in a bucket of water, then used magic to both clean the dirt from his clothing and change the color. This time he managed a nice blue for both the trousers and his tunic. It wasn’t too dark, making him seem festive enough. The appearance of the fabric didn’t change, staying as Depak Sona had left it the day before, seeming like silk. It felt that way too, so was probably a permanent alteration.

  Limping a bit he made his way to the Ambassadorial hall. The guard on it smiled at him, saw the limping and nodded.

  “Shouldn’t you be walking like that on the other side of this journey?”

  The words were joking, though Anders the boy didn’t understand the meaning. That part rang out clearly. Farad the man had that one down, from tales, though it wasn’t a thing he’d partaken in himself in life.

  “Not with these people. They all seem very cultured and kind. Pass that around? Otherwise the servants will never do their part here, which could be taken as being rude to our visitors.”

  Rather than cuff him in the head, there was a nod from the man.

  “I hear that, clear. I’ll pass the word. It’s true, or are you just being diplomatic?”

  Anders screwed his face up a bit then.

  “So far it truly seems to be the case. No one has anything to worry with in regards to Depak Sona, for certain. I’ll meet with the other new people as I can. Some of them don’t speak Istlan. The tutor of the Princess and her friends, Duma Clarissa Sett speaks it well. She’s also their magic user. An Illusionist, I think? That’s pretty harmless. No one should be afraid to approach her either, I don’t think. Like I said, I’ll check on that. I come to you with what I find out?”

  The man nodded, his face pleased enough.

  “Sounds good, Brolly. You should get to your day now. I heard tell that you’re in for a lot of work soon.”

  The words nearly got him to complain. He had been working. Into soreness even. Not a single moment had been spent at ease since he’d gotten from his sick bed. Except that wasn’t true. He’d gotten to sleep every night and was feeling better now. Not perfectly so. A thing that would take some weeks or even months after nearly dying. Light work like making arrows and strings, or even planning bows wasn’t too much for him to take.

  Nodding, he walked away, wondering if he was supposed to bow, having stopped to speak to the man. That was probably correct. Thankfully the man didn’t call him on it right then. It was something new to learn, that his previous life hadn’t taught him at all.

  Depak Sona opened the door for him, before he could knock. The man looked rested, as if the previous day hadn’t been a hardship or worry for him at all.

  “Ah! Anders. I’d feared that the day we had before this one had put you off magic. I see you come, ready to begin your day? You didn’t come in the afternoon. You are unharmed?”

  Anders bowed, using the first courtly bow, and held it until it was returned.

  “Forgive me! I was put to making arrows and bows, so lost track of the day. I was promised a beating if I couldn’t more than double the number of arrows, good ones that were brought in, so I had to stay late. I did make a magical light on a stick for that, if that counts as practice?”

  There was a considering look from the Magician, followed by a smile.

  “It does. Each time you find a task, from this point to years later, you should use magic for it first, if it is within your abilities. Crafting arrows and bows are not at this point. Lights, moving water and waste, cleaning yourself and your things, or even this or other rooms, that will be done using your new training. On the good side, it will be faster. Please, see to your duties here? Then we must be away to the early meal. Both of us were invited to attend King Matheus and his Queen.”

  There was a formal sound to that sort of request. Still, it was for a meal, probably much like the day before. Not a formal calling to the high court or anything of that nature. There would be very little, to no, reason for that kind of thing as far as Anders could tell. It was a large honor to be asked to the first meal, sin
ce almost no one seemed to be, on most days.

  Nodding he started to hurry through his tasks.

  “I need to see to the Modroc that came as well, to ensure that at least someone is looking in on them.”

  That seemed to be correct, at least to the thinking of Depak Sona. The man didn’t get in his way, merely making suggestions as he moved from task to task, casting spells as quickly as he could think them up. About half of them worked the first time. A few needed to become more complicated, with conditions being set on how things were to get done.

  “Most of the work there is done by your own mind. If you use a similar spell often, and wish to do something new or slightly different, then you need to go over in words what you wish done. Also, don’t forget to clean up after the spell work. If providing water from the air warms the room, then cool it as well.”

  That one took him six tries to construct. The hard part was actually in not making the room so cold that the occupants would die from it.

  “Que-ar-li-fen ot un bah.” Again, he sort of felt like shouting the words instead of muttering them. It worked this time however, the air cooling fast but only for the space of one single moment.

  That left the place cool enough, without putting a frost on the stone walls. Again. On the good side he’d learned how to also warm a place, using a similar spell.

  The trickiest part was still putting the inner sense of movement into place for each syllable. Also, it was clear that some of his magical words were stronger than the others already. That part, should, he was certain, become more uniform with practice.

  Anders knew the day was early still but knocked gently on the chamber doors of all the Modroc there. They had five doors now, each marked with a small silver plate that had a star on it. Three of the doors didn’t answer at all. Duma Clarissa Sett was already awake for the day and had one of the younger ladies in with her. Also dressed for the day.

  When the door opened he bowed.

  The Duma did it back, in a proper curtsy. Eltha Tennet followed along, a bit clumsily. She blushed about it, even if it was only him standing there.

  “Good morning! I’ve come to see to your room, if that isn’t troublesome? I’ll try to send the servants for the other rooms. They’re…” He debated not explaining to Eltha, since she might not speak the language there yet. That probably wasn’t the case. She’d traveled to that land with her teacher, who did speak the correct tongue. It had probably been their main entertainment, if not a thing learned for years already. “Some of the servants here fear new magics. I’ve been putting about that you’re all most charming and that you’re not harmful in the magics you can do. If you secretly are… Well, then hide that, clearly.”

  Duma Sett smothered a laugh as her student in magic went very still. Finally, the girl spoke, her accent a trifle heavy.

  “You saved me.”

  That was probably true. If nothing else his yelling and pushing people with magic let her run away.

  Not knowing what to say, he simply bowed toward her. She was probably close to be in her second decade of life, if not there yet. Older than the Princess that had come to marry Prince Erold.

  “My pleasure, of course, Miss.” This time the curtsy was smoother. Then the women stood there.

  Doing nothing.

  “I’ll see to the rooms?” No one called for him to leave so he got to the task, largely repeating what he’d done for Depak Sona.

  The only difference was that this time he managed most of it without having to do it twice. The room ended up a little too cool, which took some fixing. That was it, however. When that was done, Eltha smiled at him.

  “Seek, these people do, to impress us with your powers?” She turned to her teacher and spoke in her own language. It truly was similar to Ethrite, Anders had to admit. Enough so that he could make himself understood in it, with only a little practice.

  “Is this one ridden, or an ancient, hiding his form as a child? I’ve seen men of ten times his years who would fail to do all of these tasks. To set him as a mere servant to us…”

  The Duma went slightly wide at the eyes, answering curtly.

  “How would I know? The others with us spoke of him as the food tester and possibly head servant here. That is the same clothing from yesterday, only cleaned and with a new color. There is magic all over it and it is not illusion. We need to watch him. Closely. Bed him, if he will allow it. Befriend him if not. Normally I wouldn’t sell your virtue like this, being below your station. We cannot risk giving offense, so we must not send Sandra to the task.”

  Bowing again, he went low.

  “Will you be eating in your rooms? I can have a meal sent up.” At least he thought that might work. If they weren’t supposed to go to the early meal with the King and his family.

  That seemed unlikely, since they hadn’t been presented to the court yet. That would probably happen that night and only for the Princess and perhaps the highest noble or two with her. Unless one of them was the Ambassador. If that was the case he needed to find out about that and get the man, or woman, their own room.

  A real servant as well.

  Duma Sett smiled at him.

  “It would be good to dine here, if that is not trouble? A few of the others are feeling a bit frightened after the happening yesterday. Do you know if we are prisoners?”

  Those words nearly made him blink.

  “I’m not really certain. Would you like me to ask after that for you? I’m really just the room boy and only for now. Though I might end up being your personal servant for the stay, Duma Sett. If so, please feel free to contact me. Can you do so using magic?” They might not be able to, though Eltha nodded, her smile looking rather fetching. A thing she was doing on purpose, having just been told to get him into bed. The very idea was thrilling, wrong and chilling at the same time. Regardless, he needed to avoid that, even if Anders was interested in the woman. She was too old for him, after all.

  “We can. Would it be a thing to have of your hair, for that? We will swear not to use it for more than contacting you.” She looked at her Duma, who nodded, somberly.

  Grimacing a bit, he reached up and pulled out several strands of his hair. Then passed it over to Eltha, who took it carefully. Not as if it were disgusting to her, which was nice to see. It was placed in a small box made of carved bone, which was placed in a fold of her dress in the front.

  “No fair making me look like a ghost or a dog. At least without asking first.”

  That was taken as a joke, thankfully.

  As he left, Eltha moved with him into the hallway, going one door over, pounding on it hard.

  “It is Eltha and the head servant. Time to awaken for the day. Come to the door or we will break it down and then you’ll not be fed the morning meal!” She was loud about it and called out in her own language.

  The guard there started to bring his spear up, moving to point it at her. Anders shook his head which got him to stop. That or the smile on his face did.

  The grumpy seeming man that came had a brown beard and nicely tanned skin. It was clear that he wasn’t ready for the day at all.

  “What is it, girl? Have these savages decided that we need to be put to death? Not that I would blame them for it. Our first meeting was less than desired.” The man looked at her first, then focused on Anders, looking down to do so. The man was very tall, after all. Easily as large as anyone in the castle.

  Bowing, he waited. The man nodded at him, not doing anything of note back.

  “Hello. You be tiny magics?” The words were thick, slow and clearly the best the fellow could do at the moment.

  Standing, he nodded.

  “That’s close. Anders Brolly.” He touched his own chest, to show what an Anders was.

  The man copied him.

  “Natan Smitt.”

  He bowed again, this time the man trying to copy him. It wasn’t well done, except that Anders wouldn’t have managed as well even a week before. That probably meant it was a
good enough starting point.

  Glancing at Eltha, and then looking down the hallway, where a real servant stood, he smiled, then waved the boy over. Not that he was a child. The fellow was taller, older and more muscular than Anders was by enough to make him the near equal in age to Eltha, most likely.

  Daren was seventeen. The only question was how old the foreign girl was.

  “Well met, Daren. Would it be possible to have the morning meal brought to these good people’s rooms directly? This lady is Eltha Tennet, and this gentleman is Natan Smitt. If you need something, a translation or what have you, please go to Eltha? I think she’s in charge of such things.”

  The girl translated for Natan, who laughed and nodded.

  She got him to move out of the way, so that Anders could impress the men inside with his cleaning abilities. They seemed quiet about it rather than openly in awe of the fact that the full chamber pot was being emptied already. It took less time to tidy things, using magic for it. About ten minutes per room. Eltha pounded, yelled and simply barged into the last space, waving for him to follow along.

  Calling out as she did it.

  “There is a boy coming in, so make sure you come out with clothing on, Sandra. You should stay hidden, Princess. You don’t have-” From the look on her face when the two ladies came out of the sleeping room, still in loose bed clothing, the rest of her statement was likely something about her not having her disguise on.

  Anders simply bowed, to them both, then again to the one he didn’t recognize.

  “Princess Sweyn? I’m Anders Brolly. Here to clean the room for you. Breakfast is being brought up. Is there anything you need?”

  The girl glared at him, her cute face dimpling at the cheeks a moment later. Then she spoke in decent Istlan.