Another Stupid Trilogy

by Bill Ricardi

  Rick explained, “These sorts of minor items are made by apprentices who are getting into the crafting magics. In this case, a minotaur likely apprenticing to an elf lord or some such thing. We can sell it for you if you like. After commission you might see thirty gold, maybe more.”

  I shook my head, “Oh no, I’m keeping this. It’s amazing!”

  They both laughed a little at my enthusiasm. “It is amazing. I’ve seen a skillet like this, but never a pot. Even though it’s minor magic, it still saves a lot of work. I’m glad you like it.” said Will.

  Rick rose as I finished my tea. “Come on, I’ll help you to unpack, and then let’s get you to the Temple of Vinara. I see some seepage coming from those bandages, it might not be wise to wait for the morning. It’s a short walk, and they have services up until midnight. Our pastor will fix you up.”

  As it turned out, broken ribs were considered a minor healing feat that one of the apprentices could take care of. The suggested donation for the service was ten gold, but only five gold pieces for parishioners, which Will and Rick were. I paid the five gold gladly, and the two humans attended confession as I was worked on.

  By the time the brown cassocked young priest was done, my ribs felt much better. Still sore, but moving around and breathing didn’t hurt nearly as much, and I didn’t have to worry about them healing badly. The apprentice priest even re-bandaged my remaining wounds afterwards for no additional charge. It would be clear to the young cleric what my race was after seeing the flesh of my injured shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Rick and Will are waiting outside. Walk in grace.” the young man murmured after he was finished.

  As I was walking out of the temple, the bishop placed a gentle hand on my good shoulder. He was an older man dressed in crimson robes, wearing spectacles and a mitre. He murmured, softly, “They’re good kids, those two. To bring you in here under the blanket of their membership… that means they think of you as family. I’m glad you have each other.”

  Those kind, informative words had an immediate impact on me. I’m sure that the older human could see the tears falling to the floor, sourced from eyes hidden deep in the hood of my cloak. All I could manage, in a gruff tone, was to reply, “I’m glad too. G’night padre.”

  My human friends didn’t say a word as I joined them for the walk home. They saw I was emotional, perhaps they thought I had a religious experience. Perhaps, in my own way, I did.

  It was the storeroom for me once again, quite the comfort after rainy days and night on the road. As I performed my nightly rituals, I went over my finances in my head. After turning in the contract, I would have forty gold. Twenty five of that was set aside for five weeks of supplies and lodging near the docks, which would take me right up to Will and Rick’s next expedition. A couple of gold to replace some material components and travel rations. One gold to cover the ink I’ve been using here, the least I could do since I was being taught how to cast the Read Magic cantrip in the morning. I would have Rick and Will sell the tomahawks as well, keeping the proceeds to help cover my temporary room and board.

  That left 12 gold. 9 for myself, 3 for Shaman.

  Well, it was a start.

  Chapter 8

  My little apartment was right on the waterfront. I had asked Rick if that increased the rental price, but he assured me that it actually brought the weekly rent down! Apparently the nearby fish processing warehouse bothered some tenants. I honestly took very little notice of the smell; it was still better than the fetid rotting of the swamp back home.

  I had a view of the ships coming in. Fishing vessels of all sizes regularly visited the docks, of course. But all manner of shipping and pleasure boats made their way through the harbor as well. When I wasn’t deep in study or resting, I would absently count the sails or the oars used to drive these naval beasts through the relatively calm waters close to shore. Oftentimes a ship would come in with incredible battle scars. These would sometimes come in the form of broken planks and burnt sails, in the case of piracy. Other times, a ship with a broken mast would limp in, having barely won an encounter with nature itself. Just about every one of them had losses of some sort. And yet, every one of them was beautiful.

  Resting and recovering was the plan, at least for my first two weeks back in town. Not only did I need to recover bodily, I needed to recover mentally. The pain took me out of my normal routine. Only in the second week could I really build my mind back up to full potential. Rick and Will were instrumental in helping me to find the road back to full health. Their companionship, their tutelage, and even their cooking contributed to my being made whole.

  When I wasn’t with my new friends, I was building a foundation in the mystical arts. I wanted to be ready to attend the Arcane University should they accept my application. However there were things that children with magical aptitude learned in their early years. These things… theory, history, ritual… these were gaps in my magical foundation. In order to fill these gaps, I needed books.

  But the books I would need were not the same books one would give a human or elven apprentice. I was versed in a different breed of magic. My magic juggled the permanent resources of power and memory with the spendable resource of raw intellect. Humans and elves did not need to worry about their intelligence draining away, nor did their allies nor did their kin. So some of the books that I needed would have to focus on the era when the orcish curse was first weaved. There might even be tomes that tell of the times before the curse, when orc mages walked the land freely and practiced some of the most advanced magic on Panos.

  These books could get expensive, even though they didn’t contain a single spell. From what Will and Rick told me, they were not in high demand. But in some ways that could be more expensive: Getting these obscure texts shipped or transcribed had a significant price tag. Some of them were even in Orcish, and human scribes who spoke and wrote the language were specialists. Again, not cheap.

  We would be leaving on our expedition in the second week of Mid Fall, and I really wanted to place the most important transcription and purchase orders prior to leaving. Luckily, Will had a couple of tasks in mind that would allow me to pay for my small library. A young lord, quite magically advanced for his age, was interested in the Augmented Intelligence spell. However the human lad wished to learn from the person who created the spell. His family was willing to pay for the privilege, and my share would cover almost two thirds of the fees that I would need to pay for my new library.

  I had conditions, and if the family didn’t agree to all of them, I wouldn’t take the job. There was to be no outside observation. My identity was not to be researched or divulged once discovered. The spell was not to be shared with others without a representative of The Magic Shop screening their suitability. And a Bonding Curse would be cast by Rick upon the student to assure that the terms were kept.

  I thought that the family would reject those terms outright, or perhaps come back with a counter offer that I would likely refuse.

  Instead, they simply agreed.

  And so I found myself in the small walled garden behind the shop, sitting in an old-but-sturdy wooden chair, waiting for my first student outside of the couple hours spent on tutoring Levitation.

  I wore no hood, no gloves, nothing to hide the weathered green skin that I would normally obfuscate. If the boy wanted to know where this spell came from, he would find out. Besides, with the Bonding Curse in place, he wouldn’t be telling anyone about my true origins.

  The young man strode into the garden with the bearing of a confident lord. But his stride broke noticeably upon regarding my visage. Fine. Let him look, let it sink in. To his credit, the teenager may have slowed but he didn’t stop. He took the chair opposite me, gaze never leaving my face. “You are the creator of the spell, sir?” the raven haired lad asked, quietly.

  “I am. Though I’m not a ‘sir’ by any measure. You can call me Sorch.” I offered a hand to shake.

  When the noble son took my hand, I wa
s amused by the contrast. His hand was small and pale, like soft ivory. Mine was calloused, pitted, the color of moss. We shook and then I leaned back in my seat to regard my young charge. “You’re young lord Leeson yes, aged sixteen? And attending the youth Academy?”

  He nodded quickly. Easy questions were just what he needed right now. “Yes si… Sorch. I should be going into the full University program in a year, if I pass the entry criteria.”

  I raised a brow. The young man squirmed a little in his seat as I regarded him. “What’s that, two years early? You must be hell on your teachers.”

  That actually made him smile a bit. “So I’m told, though I do try to remain respectful at all times.”

  I nodded. “I’m certain that’s true Leeson. Well, for the next week at least, I want you to speak your mind. We need to be efficient about this, so there’s no room for lizard crap. Agreed?”

  He blinked a couple of times at the phrase ‘lizard crap’, probably more used to the bovine reference. But eventually his little head was nodding. “Yes, agreed, of course. I’ll provide the kind of feedback that will be helpful in the learning process.”

  I snorted. “You’re family is in politics, I can tell. It’s that careful wording, erring on the side of kindness, but also just slightly… generic. There’s no need for that. I can tell you have questions, ask them plainly. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  I had barely finished my sentence, and the young man was already leaning forward and blurting out, “When did you get transformed into an orc? Was it a magical duel?”

  I laughed, the sound echoing back at the both of us in the tight confines of the garden. “I was transformed into an orc at birth. Right. I guess it’s story time.”

  In fact, the entirety of that first session was Leeson asking questions about orcs. But in a constructive way that I had to applaud. Much like I needed to understand the framework of human and elven magic, the young lord wanted to know about how magic worked amongst the orcs. And of course he particularly wanted to know about my experiences and history. All of it was recorded as a preamble in his spellbook. That was clever, since personal notes were not forbidden by the terms of the agreement, so long as he didn’t intentionally show them to others.

  I had to admit, it felt good. It felt good to be able to speak about my time and my trials without censoring myself. My student would be bound by the terms of the agreement, but even if he wasn’t, I would have told him these things. He was polite and inquisitive and projected an aura of trustworthiness. The young lord had insisted on learning from the spell’s creator, but likely hadn’t dreamed that the learning would be of such an alien nature. Leeson was more than happy to spend the session reviewing the magical ways of the Jeywafa clan and my own path towards enlightenment.

  We talked through our light lunch of bread, walnuts, and cheese. By the time I had caught him up to the modern day, the sun was starting to set behind the garden wall. He had already added several pages of background to his spellbook. It was possibly the most complete account of modern orc sorcery written in Common. “That’s all for today. Tomorrow we’ll get into the material component of silver and why it was chosen. I’ll perform the first casting, and we’ll start to break down the words and the gestures as well.”

  Leeson sprinkled some fine sand on the fresh ink, then blew off the excess. He started to pack up his study materials. “Thank you Sorch. When I came here today I thought… well, I never thought it would be anything like this!” He sounded pleased. This was probably the most exciting thing that his education had ever exposed him to.

  I tilted my head. “You know what? Neither did I. Not sure what I expected to be honest. But this wasn’t painful at all.”

  The young lord laughed at that. “I think you’d make a great teacher, if you chose to pursue it full time.” He paused and then amended his statement. “Well, in the right group. With open minded students.”

  I snorted, and then waved him off. “Good night young man.”

  Will and Rick were eager to hear about how the first session went. After I assured them that there would be no angry noble family demanding a refund, we sat down to dinner. They insisted that it was the least they could do to earn their share of the commission. I agreed, and proceeded to make half of a roasted chicken disappear.

  The next day, I found myself cutting my morning studies short. I was eager to get back to tutoring. So much so that I showed up at The Magic Shop half an hour early. Unsurprisingly, so had my young charge. I put a big gloved hand on his shoulder, and wordlessly led him into the back garden.

  Once I had shucked my cloak and gloves, and once Leeson had set up his writing paraphernalia, we began. We started by discussing silver as a component. After talking about elemental rarity and the value of a sacrifice within the realm of magic, we discussed progression.

  I explained, “Frankly, using silver was just easier. I was basing a spell upon another spell. What was I hoping to accomplish? I wanted a larger effect. So the material component could, in theory, be a more valuable or more rare version of the original.”

  Leeson nodded, slowly. “But wasn’t there a risk of simply… going too big? A risk of burning the candle too brightly?”

  I considered how to phrase my methodology in the Common tongue. Finally I settled on a plumbing metaphor. “There would be, yes, if I had kept the entirety of the first spell’s framework. Imagine that the first spell used the structure of a moonshine distillery.”

  I paused to make sure that he understood the context. From his slightly guilty look, I knew that he had.

  I continued, “The pipes used to heat the liquids and carry the steam are small, narrow. Good enough for that purpose, but not for a more grand task. I replaced that structure with that of, to use a real world example, a hand pump for a well. The effort to produce a result is greater, because more volume needs to be moved and larger pipes are being used. But the result itself is also greater. And that’s what I did with the spell. I retooled the framework, upgraded it so that it could handle the volume of power and the greater sacrifice of silver over copper.”

  The noble lad nodded, scribbling furiously in his spellbook.

  I took out a bit of silver. “This is the minimum amount of silver that you need. This piece was part of a set of coins that I had a blacksmith heat up and fracture as he was waiting for his forge to reach iron handling temperature. Even if it cost me a few silver for his time, the process doubled my supply, adding weeks to my regular routine. Always use the minimum when possible. Waste not, want not.”

  The black haired teen chuckled a bit. “You don’t have to convince me. My father tracks ever piece of copper. Not that he isn’t generous mind you. And clearly he’ll pay top gold for services that he thinks are worthwhile, such as your own. But the concept of ‘waste’ is something he doesn’t abide by.”

  I smiled and nodded. I had learned not to show as many teeth when I smiled around Leeson, as a more toothy grin seemed to turn him a shade paler than he was already. “Good. Well, you understand the component, now let me show you the spell itself. We’ll go through each part individually in the next few days, so just pay attention to the whole process right now.”

  He set aside his writing materials. If he leaned forward with any more enthusiasm, he would fall right out of his chair.

  Casting the spell was second nature to me now. It was like breathing. I hardly felt the silver slip from this plane of existence into the next. I did feel the mental rush, followed by the lesser mental drain. Oh how I envied Leeson in some ways. He would never feel the drain, not until the spell was over. The Augmentation would work even better for him than it did for me, the mage who created it.

  I opened my eyes to see those brown eyes peering back at me. He said, “For a moment, it was as if you were in your own world.”

  I nodded. “For a moment, I was.”

  We discussed some of the linguistic differences between my ‘brand’ of magic and what the lad was used to. I as
sured him that it wouldn’t be difficult, and that Will and Rick had mastered the spell using traditional incantation methods.

  I did have a racially specific footnote for the young man, “After seeing my human friends cast the spell, I should note that it makes those of the smaller races quite tired. As you know, the copper version of the spell is a physical drain, like recovering after running a short sprint. My version of the spell hits you like you’ve been running for a couple of miles. For someone with orcish constitution, that isn’t much of a problem. But Rick and Will needed an extended sit down after the casting. I wouldn’t attempt it if you’re already tired or physically exerted.”

  There was a knock on the door leading into the walled garden. “Ah, right. As a surprise, your mother apparently sent some less humble fare for lunch. Something called ‘brisket’ I believe?”

  That’s when I discovered that I loved brisket.

  As I cleaned my plate with a piece of soft bread, the teenager asked, “Now that you’ve been here, and seen more of the world, and tried these new things… would you ever go back to your home?”

  The answer was out of my lips before I could even think about the ramifications. “No.”

  I paused, then clarified, “No I wouldn’t go back in any permanent way. I have a dear friend there by the name of Shaman, and I miss him. I do plan to go back and see him. I do plan to improve the life of my clan however I can. But that life isn’t one that I can go back to.”

  The lad nodded. I finished my bread and started to stack plates and cups as the young human finished his meal. All the while, I reflected on the force and certainty of my initial answer. That ‘no’ was guttural, instinctive. I didn’t even know that I felt that strongly until the young man asked.

  Technical drills took up the rest of the second day and the entire third day of Leeson’s tutoring. Finger positions, rote memorization of the incantation, copying the spell into his book. The young lord was a technical genius, and in some ways I improved my own technique while adapting the spell to his particular methods.