by IGMS
"How much did he charge you?"
"Twelve sovereigns!" The man spat on the ground. "Can you believe that? Twelve! Five would have been a high price! But I can't refuse if I value my life, for he has two of the heaviest and hairiest bodyguards I've ever seen."
Aris grunted. "I remember them. He probably spends half his tolls keeping them fed." A thought occurred to him and he pondered it for a time, scratching at his long nose. "Master merchant, I wonder whether this man is the cause of the decline in my trade of recent times. Perhaps the reputation of his increasing tolls keeps people away."
The peddler interjected, "Well, I certainly swore to myself I would never again travel this road. But then I spent the night in Gammerstedt --" He pointed west along the highway and patted his pocket with a conspiratorial wink. "A most undersupplied town for the goods that I sell. And," he added with a gesture of respect, "there I heard about your . . . expertise."
Aris made a gesture of humility. "So you're telling me that you want to return to this region often? And you would be encouraged to do so should a certain tax collector meet with tragedy? Then you've come to the right man. And although I'm aware you carry much coin from your dealings in Gammerstedt, I won't rob you of it the way the taxman would. Solving your problem may well solve mine. I'll offer you the death of not just the tax collector but his two pets, so that nothing may prevent you from traveling freely upon your return journey. A triple death like this might ordinarily cost you upwards of twenty-five sovereigns. I'll craft it for just six."
The peddler looked suddenly shrewd, bargaining instincts kicking in. "But if you benefit from this, you can do it of your own accord. Why should I pay?"
Aris made a slashing gesture with one finger. "My magick precludes me from killing people at my own whim. I may place protective spells over myself and my belongings. I may craft deaths at the behest of others. But I may not kill people willy nilly. You'll need to pay."
"Still. Six seems high for something you benefit from, since it brings you more trade."
"Master merchant. I'm saving you another six upon your return journey. Besides," Aris smiled, "the more people bargain, the more my price goes up."
The merchant bowed to Aris' wisdom and paid him the fee. Aris crafted a death spell by placing three slivers of wood on top of a sovereign and blowing them off onto the road. He explained to the suitably fascinated peddler that within the week, the tax collector and his men would die by trees or the limbs of trees falling on them.
"How does that work?" the peddler asked.
Aris made a frustrated sound. Not another one. "It matters not; it simply works. Go on your way and return after one week and your travel will be free when you pass toward Amramak."
The peddler nodded his thanks and climbed aboard his horse. "You should thank the young girl who spoke highly of you outside the Gammerstedt inn."
"Girl. What girl?"
Aris' frown deepened as the peddler described the girl who had slept in his haystack. She sends me business now? Well, at least my great kindness did not go unrewarded. Perhaps I should be compassionate more often.
The peddler left to make more trade in Gammerstedt, and Aris put his money in the house before chopping more firewood. He felt good that the tax collector would be gone soon and hoped the news of it would bring more customers his way.
Hm. It will. Until a new taxman takes his place. That sent a little rain upon his picnic. Well, at least in the interim my prospects have improved. He oiled his axehead and went inside for supper.
Not three days later, a young couple arrived in a rickety cart. They paid Aris three sovereigns to give the woman's sick father a merciful passing in the night. At midday the day after, an old man riding an emaciated donkey paid Aris to craft a fatal illness for his son's bullying employer. Late that same afternoon, three foreign noblemen rode up to his house and happily parted with thirty sovereigns to remove their wealthy father from the world. All these customers came from the west and all told him that a skinny girl with greasy blonde locks had engaged them in conversation and talked them into seeking a solution from the deathsmith.
News of him usually spread by past customers whispering his name and location when others complained to them of an unfaithful spouse or oppressive officials. But no one had ever gone about willfully spreading the news of the deathsmith as if it were the message of a new god.
On the fourth day after the trio of noblemen had visited, Aris was inside the house when he heard hooves. Poking his head out the door, he saw it was the peddler on his way home from Gammerstedt. On the back of his horse sat the girl. Aris frowned. She waved brightly. He nodded politely to the peddler and shut the door.
Moments later, her voice came from outside. "I found the woman whose husband you enchanted. He died. Before sunset of the day following your spell, a lone wolf came out of the forest and killed him while he cleaned his boots."
There came a soft and persistent knocking at his door, in tempo with the receding hoofbeats of the peddler's horse. She called out again, "You won't open to one who sent you trade? Surely I'm due something for my efforts."
Aris mumbled profanities to himself but found himself unlatching the door.
The two considered one another for a moment before Aris spoke, pointing to where bread and roasted onions and a half-eaten pigeon lay upon the table. "There. Eat your fill. Don't touch anything else in the house or you may find yourself dead. I'm not in a mood for carting away bodies, no matter how thin."
The girl smiled and skipped past him. She ate hungrily from his leftovers and watched him as he puttered aimlessly about his home, completely forgetful of what he had been doing before she had arrived.
Eventually, he asked simply, "Why?"
She swallowed. "Why did I sing your praises to the people of Gammerstedt, to each and every unhappy face I saw? I will not tell you. You refused to answer my questions; I refuse to answer yours."
"Childish."
Her eyes glittered beneath the fringe of lank hair. "In that case, so are you."
"Hmph. Have a care, girl. You know what I'm capable of."
She laughed.
He scowled. "Very well, you've eaten. Be off."
"Oh, I will be. I'll happily go and promote your services loudly in the villages and towns to the east. I've heard there's no longer a tax collector to inhibit people's travel this way, and they need to be reminded of the amazing mage who lives here. But I think it fair that I'm equipped with traveling money to aid me in my efforts."
Aris refused, making loud grumbling noises. Over the next few hours the girl dodged all of his attempts to send her away, although she did agree to move to the haystack when it grew dark. In the morning, he found her hard at work gathering wild potatoes and apples from the fields and woods nearby. She divided them equally with him before she chopped wood in the afternoon. While Aris serviced another customer who came from the west -- a man who acknowledged the girl with a terse nod -- she watered his horse and filled in a mouse hole in the side wall of the house. Once more, Aris felt obliged to offer her supper. Once more, she slept outside in the hay.
At one point during the night, Aris awoke and wondered if she were cold, then turned his shoulder to the idea. Pulling his woolen blanket about his neck, he returned to a thick slumber until dawn.
When he arose, noises outside turned out to be the girl scrubbing his trestle down. He waited until she had finished, then poured all of the coppers he had collected over the past month into her palm and told her to head east and advertise him well.
The girl looked momentarily disappointed; perhaps she'd thought he would offer her a permanent home here. He snorted at the idea. She slid the coppers into a hidden pocket inside her tunic and held out her other hand. He frowned at her.
"Food," she said. "You don't think I'd make it beyond Amramak on an empty stomach, do you?"
"You made it here on one," he said. But he went into the house and returned with a small bag containing smoked fish,
bread, and two of the apples she had collected. "Goodbye, girl," he said sternly.
"Goodbye, master mage. I shall send you many more customers and return here for Winter to collect my commission."
Though he made his expression as discouraging as possible, he suspected he wouldn't refuse her if she returned. The girl still evoked memories of that injured blue-jay tinged with pity -- but then she also reminded him of the cat which had stalked it.
No, if she were to return, there was only one reason to continue their association.
She made him money.
The sun set earlier with each passing week, the rains increasing in frequency and fervency. Despite the inclement weather, people began arriving at his trestle more and more often. Soon he was seeing two or three people a day.
She returned in the seventh week after her departure, when the first of the Winter snows lay fresh on the ground. She was a passenger amidst a group of disreputable-looking horsemen. Aris knew them instantly for bandits, surprised they hadn't harmed her.
In fact, she looked healthier than usual.
"Told them I was your apprentice," she whispered, sidling up to him. That certainly explained the extra plumpness in her cheeks. Presumably that black lie had made the bandits too afraid to hurt her, and more inclined to feed her.
They poured a pile of silver and gold onto Aris' table, then asked how many deaths and what kind it would buy. He had not seen so much money in one pile since the time the King purchased his compliance. He plucked the amulet from around his neck and kissed it, thanking the silver wisps for their generosity.
"Good sirs, you have purchased yourself horrendous deaths for up to six people."
"We had hoped for seven," the leader of the band grated from between thick lips.
Aris shrugged. "I'll throw in one for free," he said.
The men slapped each others' backs, then leaned in close to hear what he would say.
Aris rubbed his hands together and considered his trinkets -- objects! Objects, not trinkets! Damn that girl!
"Who are the targets?" he asked.
"Rivals," was all the bandit leader would say.
More bandits? Well. Perhaps a violent end for violent men, then.
Aris began humming to himself as he set about devising a way to remove more troublesome miscreants from the world.
Without him knowing quite how she did it, the girl wormed her way into his home for the Winter.
Once, while a raging blizzard forced their internment, she talked for an entire day about growing up without a father in the mountains to the north of the King's City; about how being born out of wedlock branded her as cursed in the hill culture; about how she had left her hag of a mother upon turning fourteen and had begun exploring the towns of the lowlands and the alleys of the King's City before heading west on her current adventure.
When it came time for her to prepare their evening meal and still she nattered on, Aris could no longer keep a lid on his temper. Her incessant babblings reminded him of the noisome scuttling of the mice about the rafters and he told her so.
"Then you talk," she demanded.
"I don't want to talk," he snapped back. "This is the trouble with women and the reason I live alone. Words are tools, to be utilized sparingly and with purposeful intention. Not to be worn away to worthlessness by constant use."
"I wondered about you and women." She laid two wooden bowls on the table and began to pour broth into them.
"And what does that mean?"
"Nothing. Just that you have no wife here and obviously no mistress in the towns nearby. I wondered if you might be . . . you know, a eunuch."
Aris banged his fist against the wall. "A eunuch! The effrontery! Wretched girl! I will have you know I had several mistresses in my younger years. I merely find in my middle age that I have no more need for such distractions."
The girl shrugged, replaced the broth on the potbelly stove and took her place at the table, sitting on the short log she'd dragged inside for her own use. "And I am certain you regret having a mere woman here to cook for you."
Aris made a dismissive sound with his front teeth and bottom lip. He sat in his high-backed chair and blew on his spoon, muttering, "You're not a woman, only a girl."
"And that bothers me as well. You always call me Girl. Not once have you asked me my name."
He sipped and replied, "Because it's of no interest to me. I would have thought that obvious."
She scowled, picked up her bowl, swiveled on her log, and ate the rest of her meal with her back turned.
The next morning the sky cleared and the two set about clearing snow from around the house. They didn't speak for the entire day, falling into the rhythm of work until evening. Once again the girl cooked a broth and ate it with her back to him before retiring early to her bed in the alcove by the stove.
Aris happily spent a quiet evening reading an old spell book he'd purchased many Summers earlier. He couldn't practice any of the enchantments in it, but sometimes reading other people's magick helped him understand the whisperings of his amulet more clearly.
In the morning, he awoke to find her standing above him holding out a piece of hardbread. He snatched it away and held it to his chest.
"You are a mean and evil man," she said.
Something about her caused him a pang of fear. The way she narrowed her eyes perhaps, or the broad carving knife in her left hand.
He reasoned away his instinctive response. She can't kill you.
"None can kill you by blade, by poison, by any form of violence," the wisps had told him. She would die if she tried it and he wouldn't have to lift a finger. The amulet hummed against his breastbone reassuringly.
He forced himself to sit up, spine creaking just a little. "Me? Evil?" He forced a chuckle. "Because I kill people for a living?"
She took the slightest of steps back, more to keep his face in easy sight than to make room for him. "No. Because you don't care for any creature but yourself."
"Not true," he said, tearing off a morsel of the bread with his teeth. "I care for my horse and goat."
"No person, then!" she growled. "And you only care for the beasts because they're of use to you."
"And your point is?" He stood and rubbed sleep from one eye.
She whirled, stomped to her sitting-log, flopped onto it. "No point. Just a realization. I thought . . ." Some emotion stopped the words in her throat and she bit into her own bread to cover it. "I thought we might be friends," she finished softly after a time.
Aris refrained from laughing. They still had weeks of forced proximity before Spring came and he could shoo her away to chase up more business. And there was no profit in provoking her.
"We're not friends," he said. "You're correct. I care for no one. I'm happy that way. Or was, until you showed up to question me incessantly."
"And you've answered none of my questions, though I've known you for months."
"Your questions are pointless. You want to know how my magick works. Only a fool casually reveals the secrets of his art."
"You could hire me as your apprentice," she said. When he looked at her, she raised her voice and added, "You won't be here forever, you know. Who will continue your art after you're gone?"
"Oh, so you seek to depose me --"
"I didn't say that!"
"Then to succeed me at least."
"And what is wrong with that? Most grown men, civilized and uncivilized, have a care for who and what they leave behind. Farmers and ironsmiths and cobblers, all teach their craft to a younger person or two. They hope they'll be well-thought of once they're gone, perhaps even to earn a place in a pleasant afterlife."
"Enough of this. I have no interest in teaching anyone anything. My craft is mine. It was given to me by the gods, not passed down from my father."
"Who was your father then?"
He waggled a finger. "Another question."
She nibbled her bread thoughtfully. "I already know how your magick wo
rks. I know all about enchanted amulets like the one you keep beneath your tunic, about how they whisper spells and secrets to their owners. No god bestowed your gift; I bet it was the silver wisps. I bet that's their charm you wear."
Aris jerked with such shock that his bread flew up into the air. "How do you know about them?"
"I spent last Winter in the rafters at the College of Mages. I learned no spells, not having any natural talent of my own. But I gained a lot of information, some of which I've been able to trade for food and money, some of which is simply interesting to an active mind like mine. I learned about enchanted trees and their fruit, about the crafting of sorcerer's staffs, and about the collection of dragon's tears. I learned about silver wisps and golden wisps, how they scatter charms throughout the world, bestowing magick upon the talentless people who find them, though no one knows why. Oh, and the golden ones are better than the silver," she added with a wink and a mocking look. "I also heard gossip about an unethical mage who lived out west and called himself the deathsmith. I thought that interesting enough to take a trip here."
"So I am a curiosity?" Aris dusted off his bread, then threw it against the door. "The silver wisps did visit me and the amulet is indeed a relic of their power, you clever girl. But before you think yourself too clever, and before you think to steal it, remember this: it's mine and none may take it from me while I live. And none may kill me."
"I assure you, the thought never entered my head." She stood and affected a curtsy, then set about cleaning away mouse droppings and checking the traps for their bodies.
They didn't speak for ten days after that. Then one fine midday, when the weather was unseasonably clear and the sun had melted some of the snow from the road, Aris made a decision.
He pulled on his boots, placed some items in a bag, and handed it to her. "Dried meat and silver coins," he said and threw on his coat. "I'm taking you to Amramak."
She frowned at him, looking inside the bag at the food and money. "You're feeling guilty for dismissing me? Recompensing me for the inconvenience?"