Andoran's Legacy

by M. Gregg Roe

  “All of it?” she asked. It was a huge sum. She and Draymund owned nearly half of Novox.

  “All of it,” he confirmed. “Much of it would involve the transferral of real estate holdings so that they would wholly belong to the two of you instead of Novox.”

  Almera looked the question at her husband, and he nodded once. The only real surprise was that it had taken Celebern so long to get around to making the offer. But maybe Tia had something to do with that.

  “Subject to reviewing the specific details,” she said, “we agree.” They were going to have to hire some people to advise them.

  Celebern smiled slyly. “I will have the paperwork sent over tomorrow.”

  On the way home, Almera found herself thinking about it. They would soon be the owners of houses, apartment buildings, warehouses, and even some businesses that Novox secretly owned. Some of it they would sell off, and some they would continue to rent or lease. And she knew exactly who to ask for advice: Tabitha’s parents.

  18

  ‡ Mentors ‡

  It was a medium-sized classroom, seven yards square with two large windows opposite the single door. In the exact center stood Grasapa, knees slightly flexed, back straight, and her expression flat. She was the Shorinken ideal—calm, controlled, and alert. Audrey’s previous two private lessons had combined reviews of her skills with serious sparring that left her both bruised and exhausted. Grasapa was well over twice Audrey’s age, but the woman never wasted a motion. The sheer difference in skill between the two of them was intimidating, but that only strengthened Audrey’s resolve to improve.

  Grasapa closed her eyes and said, “Try to sneak up on me.”

  Audrey had heard rumors of this kind of thing, people said to be able to fight without using their vision. Grasapa would now be concentrating on her other senses, particularly her hearing. And with the door and windows closed, Audrey couldn't rely on outside noise to mask her movements.

  Slowly and with great care, Audrey began to move forward and to the right. Her feet were bare, and the wood plank floor was solid. She was also mindful of her unbleached linen uniform, lest rustling cloth betray her. She was halfway to her selected target point when Grasapa turned to face her and said, “Apricot,” with her eyes still closed.

  “My shampoo,” breathed Audrey as she relaxed. “You smelled me.”

  Grasapa opened her eyes and nodded. “It is not just hearing. There may be too much noise in the environment. But someone’s odor may give them away, especially those that do not bathe regularly. There is also the skin to sense with. Rapid motion creates air currents that can be felt.”

  Audrey hadn’t thought of that either. “Should I try again?”

  “No. That was just to make a point. And you will always be able to fight better when you can see your surroundings. The goal is to hone your other senses and integrate them into your awareness. It needs to become something that is automatic.”

  That sounded daunting, but also useful. In combat situations, any advantage was welcome.

  “And now I will attempt to sneak up on you.”

  Grasapa moved gracefully to just in front of the door. Audrey went to the center of the room, put her back to the windows, and then closed her eyes. She already felt nervous.

  “You are too tense,” came Grasapa’s level voice. “Slow your breathing. Calm your mind. Be passive but receptive.”

  Audrey obeyed, visualizing a peaceful image and relaxing her muscles. There were occasional noises from outside the room that were difficult to ignore, but she did her best. Grasapa was almost certainly moving up on her by now, but Audrey couldn’t sense a thing. Suddenly she felt something on her back and whirled around, resisting the urge to open her eyes.

  “Very good. My shadow blocked a portion of the sunlight falling upon your back. You may open your eyes.”

  Grasapa was just over a yard away, easily close enough to have launched an attack. Audrey was under no illusion that the woman had made a mistake. It had been deliberate, a test. Audrey had passed, but it was disconcerting that Grasapa had managed to get behind her.

  “We will continue to practice this,” said Grasapa, moving her hands behind her back. “But you must also practice on your own. It must become as natural as breathing. It must become part of you.”

  Grasapa suddenly lashed out with her left leg, but Audrey wasn’t fooled, nimbly moving just far enough to avoid the snap kick before assuming a combat stance. She was proud that she had spotted the slight weight shift that preceded the attack.

  The rest of the lesson alternated sparring with Slow Form and other relaxation exercises. Audrey was in such bad shape afterward that she hobbled to the nearest temple, made a donation, and then asked for healing.

  Bethany just wouldn’t let it go. And it didn’t seem to matter to her that nothing could be done about it now. She was insistent that she should have been the one that Fern transferred her powers to, that she would have survived because she was younger. At first he had responded patiently, trying to persuade her that she was wrong. Then it progressed to arguments (which had upset Fern badly). Now he simply ignored her.

  Birchbark was well aware that Bethany had coveted Fern’s abilities. It was the loss of the opportunity to gain them that was the source of her bitterness. For Bethany, those abilities would have meant freedom from what she viewed as a prison.

  After one night alone in the keep, Bethany had moved into what had been Jethro’s room. All of Kaleena’s books and writings had been transferred there, and Bethany spent much of her free time perusing them. It was all she had of the woman that had been her mentor.

  “Clothes,” said Birchbark, glancing up when Bethany entered the sitting room. She scowled and reversed course, soon returning wearing a knee-length, plain gray shift.

  “Fern says she doesn’t mind,” complained Bethany as she seated herself. “And the ogres don’t care. It’s too warm now to wear clothing.”

  “You keep saying that you want to eventually live in a city. Everyone there wears clothing.”

  “But why?” she asked, tugging at her garment. “I can understand wearing clothing when it’s cold, or wearing something to keep the rain off. But when it’s warm like this, it makes no sense.”

  He put aside the book he had been looking through, a treatise on different types of minerals. “The ogres all wear clothing. Most civilized creatures do. Don’t you want to be civilized?”

  “Yes, but I still don’t understand.”

  Birchbark thought about how to explain it. “Clothing has other purposes. It can function as a uniform, or as a symbol of status. Most importantly, people use clothing to cover their genitalia. Displaying them to someone else is an intimate act, often a prelude to sexual intercourse.”

  Bethany sighed deeply, something she did frequently. “I guess that makes sense. What are my duties today?”

  He usually told her to just help Fern, but he decided to give her a treat. “I’m going to visit the ruins of a village east of here. Would you like to come along?”

  “Yes! Thank you, Birchbark.” Her skin began turning yellow with happiness.

  “You will need to wear boots. And we will want to take along some food and drink.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” She sprang to her feet and dashed off in the direction of the kitchen.

  “That was kind of you,” came Fern’s gentle voice.

  He looked left to where she was standing just inside the hallway. “It will give you a break from her,” he said as he stood. “What are your plans today?”

  “Sewing lessons.” She gestured at the light green dress that she was wearing, one he thought she looked beautiful in. “I can still hardly believe that my former self made this. It fits most excellently.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be long until you can do just as well, dear.”

  “My hands do seem to remember the motions, but that does not help with other aspects.” She broke into a smile. “But just as being around you an
d in this house, there is a feeling of rightness about it. It pleases me.” She stepped forward and gave him a gentle kiss. “And now I must be off. I shall see you two at dinner.”

  After seeing her out, Birchbark went to equip himself. He strapped on his scimitar and also picked up the EarthStaff. They were unlikely to encounter anything hostile, but you never knew. Years spent as an adventurer had taught him to always be prepared for anything.

  Bethany was still wearing her shift, but she had put on leather boots that had once belonged to an ogre child. Slung over her left shoulder was a leather satchel he assumed held their lunch.

  Tritown was technically within the Plain of Winds, but there were many stands of trees, some quite substantial. The trees gradually thinned out as they headed south and east. The low grass offered relatively little resistance. Bethany simply followed quietly, and every time he glanced back she was smiling.

  It took them nearly three hours to reach what had once been the village of Faral. The cloud cover had increased as they traveled, but he knew that it was unlikely to rain. As a druid, he was finely attuned to the weather.

  “What happened here?” asked Bethany, staring at what was left of the village—piles of stones that had once been chimneys or the foundations of buildings.

  “Something terrible.” He quickly explained how creatures summoned from another plane of existence had laid waste to the village, but he spared her the more disturbing details.

  “What happened to the creatures?” she asked, glancing around nervously.

  “The magical staff that summoned them was destroyed. That sent them back to where they came from. They can’t return.” The summoner had been punished, but not sufficiently in his opinion.

  “Why do you come here?” Her skin had reverted to pale blue.

  “To pay my respects, and to keep the memory alive. Good people lived here. Their deaths were unjust.”

  Bethany gave him an odd look. “And now you are going to bring up what happened to Farmerton?”

  He hadn’t planned that at all. “That wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened here. And I know that your faction of the Guild wasn’t responsible.”

  Bethany rubbed her neck as she looked out. “I never experienced the Guild the way that Kaleena did when she was younger. Back then they were wise enough not to pick fights against powerful people.” She emphasized her point by glancing at the EarthStaff, which he was currently leaning on as if it were a mere walking stick.

  Birchbark still harbored feelings of guilt for his role in the destruction of Bethany’s people. That had been primarily Fern’s doing, or more properly FernPlus—the moniker he had given his wife after she acquired some of Josara’s abilities and memories. He simply had been unable to refuse her.

  “Someone should make this into a village again,” she declared, making a sweeping gesture. “It’s a nice location, complete with a large stream.”

  That was his feeling as well. They discussed it while eating lunch in a clear area between the remnants of two houses. Persuading humans to move to a remote area where they would then have to work hard to build dwellings was probably impossible.

  “If there were more of my people,” said Bethany, as she wrapped up the uneaten food, “then we could live here. It would be a normal life. We wouldn’t be hiding and secretly trying to control other people.”

  He decided that it was time. “Bethany, there is something I need to tell you. I never told the original Fern, but I spared one of your people’s underground dwellings. It seemed to be for raising young guildlings.”

  For a long moment, she simply stared at him in amazement as her skin shaded toward pink. Then she frowned. “I’m not sure if they would have been able to survive, but it’s possible. We were always prepared for the possibility of cave-ins.”

  Birchbark was relieved to hear that. He had feared that he had simply doomed them to a slow death from starvation.

  “If they survived,” she continued, “they might have moved to a different location, but it will still be underground. I don’t know how I would find them.” She sighed happily. “Just knowing I might not be the last of us gives me hope. Thank you.”

  Birchbark thought it over as they began to head back, retracing their route. “Later this year I’ll return to Zardis and try to locate them.” He would do it secretly, employing earth elementals to search.

  “Thank you, Birchbark. If you find them, then we will rebuild Faral and make it our own.”

  “You should give it a new name,” he said seriously. “And probably come up with a better name for yourselves.” It needed to be one that didn’t reveal their origins.

  “I never liked guildlings,” she confessed, even flashing him one of her odd smiles. “I’ll try to come up with something better.”

  They spent the next mile tossing ideas back and forth. Her people were an artificial melding of several species, so he suggested meldites. Bethany preferred amalgams, a word that he had to admit was both accurate and had a nice sound.

  As Tritown came into sight, Bethany motioned toward it. “I need to get ready, just in case. To live aboveground, we need to learn about how to build houses and grow crops. And then how to mill grain and weave cloth. I need to learn all kinds of things.” She gazed at him intently with her large cat eyes. “Can I ask the ogres to start teaching me?”

  It was much better than her constantly asking the two of them what she should be doing. “Yes and spend as much time as you like.”

  Bethany nodded the normal way. “I would also like for you to teach me about the different kinds of plants. And about any animals we might have to worry about. Maybe I should learn about weapons too, just in case.”

  During dinner, Bethany was like a completely different person. Instead of sitting sullenly and barely saying a word, she kept asking them questions. Fern was amused, and Birchbark wondered just how many years it was going to take Bethany to learn everything on her ever-expanding list.

  Still woozy from the drugged food they had given it, the piglet staggered away. Rosalind might be tiny, but her smile was huge as she literally jumped for joy. “I did it!” she exclaimed. “I healed it!”

  Siljan carefully picked up the piglet, then walked over and placed it in the pen with the others. Pigs made for good test subjects when learning to cast healing magic. And if you messed up and killed one, so what? Pork and ham were tasty.

  Properly casting Recovery had been Rosalind’s first real stumbling block as far as learning magic was concerned. And her all-too-vocal frustration had been driving all of them crazy. All three of them had tried working with her, but it was ultimately Siljan’s responsibility.

  Rosalind held out her left hand, palm upward. “Cut me,” she said, her eyes pleading.

  Siljan drew her dagger with her right hand, but then hesitated. It was always easier to heal oneself than another, but Rosalind hadn’t even been able to do that. There were still stains on the floor of her room from when she had cut herself so badly she had nearly bled to death before Isadora responded to her screams.

  Rosalind shook her hand and scowled childishly. Siljan took hold of Rosalind’s hand and drew the blade across with just enough pressure to slice through the skin. Blood welled out of the long cut as Rosalind closed her eyes and her expression went slack.

  “Recovery!”

  Siljan let go as she felt the magical surge. She sheathed her dagger and then carefully observed Rosalind’s outstretched palm. After a moment, the bleeding began to slow, soon stopping completely. Then the blood began to retreat into the wound, leaving no trace on the pale skin. Stunned, Siljan continued watching as the wound rapidly closed and then faded away as if it had never been. Rosalind was beaming happily when she opened her eyes.

  “How did you make the blood go back in?” demanded Siljan. She had never seen that before.

  Rosalind shrugged. “I just told it too. I don’t think it would work if it were …” She waved her left arm.

  “Spraying eve
rywhere?” suggested Siljan. “Gushing out?”

  “Or already dried up. You can’t do that?” she asked, frowning childishly.

  “I’ve never tried.” But now she had to learn. And so would Alessandra and Isadora. They couldn’t let their acolyte upstage them.

  “What now?” asked Rosalind, back to smiling.

  Siljan glanced around as she thought about it. The clouds were continuing to clear, and the light breeze was pleasantly warm. “Let’s walk over to the river. Then you can try healing me.”

  “Can we take along some food? I’m hungry.”

  Rosalind always seemed to be hungry. “Sure. Go fix us something.” She laughed as Rosalind took off running. The young woman didn’t lack for energy.

  Soon the two of them were following the path that led up to a bluff that provided a beautiful view of the river. With most of the trees still leafless, the view would be even more impressive. Halfway up, they each shed their light cloaks, and Siljan carried them while Rosalind continued to carry the small basket she had packed. Rosalind was breathing hard by the time they reached their destination, but Siljan simply felt invigorated.

  Using their cloaks as cushions, they sat on a broad stone area and ate in silence. The spot was one of Siljan’s favorites, suitable for contemplation, picnics, or even a tryst if you were in a daring mood. When they were through eating, Siljan gestured, and they both stood up and walked several paces until they were close to the drop down to the river.

  Rosalind looked worried, not returning Siljan’s smile. With a practiced motion, Siljan drew her dagger and then slammed the pommel down so hard on the top of her left hand that she could both feel and hear bones crack. It was painful, but nowhere near as painful as some of the wounds she had sustained while adventuring. There was also the knowledge that she could easily use her own magic to heal the injury.

  With the color draining from her face, Rosalind tried to speak, but nothing came out.