Bound by Truth

by Ian Rodgers

  It was a decent location, with room to maneuver the wide transports and space to show off the merchandise for potential buyers. It was a prime spot, given the crowding problem Creidor faced. This much open land was saved for important, well-established merchants. Dora was secretly proud that her ‘family’ was so well regarded in that manner.

  Scarrot turned to the gnome and human. “Help Holt set up the stalls and see if you can unload some of the slaves.”

  As the two moved off to obey, the orc faced the young halfblood. “Ildora, accompany me to pay Reed a visit.”

  “M-me?” Dora squeaked.

  “Yes. You. He’s an aging man, and a competent Healer like yourself will brighten his mood. Maybe even enough to give us a discount,” Scarrot said with a chuckle.

  “Alright. Should I leave Starspot with the Menagerie?”

  “Of course. Do you honestly expect to be able to ride through those cramped streets?” the orc asked, amusedly gesturing towards the narrow paths between the buildings. People walked shoulder to shoulder among stalls and booths set up here and there, further reducing the available space. It would take a determined man to try and push a horse through that mess.

  With a wince, Dora led Starspot over to the makeshift stables the Menagerie had erected before dismounting and entrusting the mare to Uldo who gave a brief nod as he took the reins.

  “Lead on, sir,” Dora said, mustering up the energy to sass her boss despite the butterflies in her belly.

  He snorted in annoyance but walked off into the frontier town’s depths, the minty half-orc following behind.

  “So how long have you known this Reed fellow?”

  “Since Holt and I were brats like yourself. We met after our escape from that place, and even though there was no reason to, he helped us. We owe him for that. Still, even I know he’s a cruel man who only keeps Holt and I around because we are useful.”

  Scarrot sighed. “We might not be slaves, but we’re still shackled in a variety of ways.”

  The two walked deeper into Creidor, shouldering their way through the throng. Sometimes they were pushed back, but Scarrot’s bulk was more than enough to discourage any further retaliation.

  After what seemed like forever to Dora, but was really closer to fifteen minutes, the green-hued pair made it to the center of the town. Before them was a three-story manor with a pair of warehouses attached on either side. The house looked dour, with few exterior decorations. Wind and dust made such things trivial.

  The base of the town’s mayor was surrounded on all sides by much larger and taller buildings, giving it a meek appearance. But for Creidor’s residents, this was a mark of status. Reed did not need to build up. He could have a single mansion all to himself, and not need to share it.

  Outside the doors a pair of guards stood aside when they spotted Scarrot approaching.

  “Welcome,” they intoned, tensing slightly when they spotted Dora.

  “Welcome. The woman behind me is my Healer. I thought Reed might appreciate some real medical help,” Scarrot explained on Dora’s behalf. She nodded quickly as the guards peered at her, before their stance relaxed.

  “Come in. Reed is waiting for you in the solarium.”

  “How did he know we were coming?” Dora whispered, leaning over to the taller orc.

  “An informant probably saw me enter the walls. A lot of people are in his pocket, serving as his eyes and ears. He knows what goes on with uncanny accuracy,” Scarrot replied without concern.

  Inside the mansion Dora couldn’t help but stare in awe at the lavish interior. All the wealth that wasn’t used on the outside of the building filled the halls, floors, and walls. Decorative urns, vases full of exotic flowers, paintings and statues created by masters… it was all on display, showing the power of the homeowner.

  Scarrot walked through the hallways without even blinking. He paid no heed to the ostentatious display as if it didn’t exist.

  He led Dora to a room at the back of the mansion. Three of the walls were more window than anything else, letting in the sun. Rather than a solarium, it looked more like a greenhouse thanks to all the lush greenery growing in rows of pots.

  Three chairs were set around a plain wooden table in the middle of the room. In the one of seats a wrinkled, white haired man sat, dressed in silk pajamas and sipping at a cup of tea. Two more cups were sitting in front of the two empty chairs, and Scarrot plopped down without hesitation in one of the open spots.

  “I hope you don’t mind mint tea, my dear,” the elderly man called out to Dora.

  “That’s fine,” she said, sitting down in the last chair.

  “Must be an orc thing. I’ve never had it until Scarrot brought me the recipe. And the ingredients,” the withered human said, before holding out a hand.

  “I am Reed, mayor of Creidor.”

  “Dora, the Healer for the Yellowmoon Menagerie,” the green-skinned maiden revealed, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

  Dora finally had a chance to get a closer look at the man everyone had told her to be wary of.

  To be honest she didn’t see it. Reed was old, dressed in pajamas despite it being closer to noon, and generally frail looking. He had liver spots along his hands and the hair atop his head was thinning rapidly.

  Reed’s expression lit up when he heard Dora’s introduction.

  “A Healer, you say? We don’t have many of those down here. Most people with magic are bandits or slaves, and generally weak and unsuited for the precision required for healing people.”

  “Well, I was trained by a Healer, but I was never certified as one,” Dora admitted. “And I have not prayed to Cynthia with sincerity or passion in a long time.”

  “That is more than can be said for the quacks whom I tend to work with. Plenty of doctors, since anyone can sew a wound shut or set a bone, but sadly I find myself relying on people who muddle through the spells more often than not. Perhaps you might be so kind to perform a treatment for me, later?”

  “After you tell me what’s so important that you called me here,” Scarrot cut in. “I brought the Sphinx in, by the way. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

  “Very well, straight to business,” Reed sighed, taking a sip of his tea.

  “I have been approached by a very rich and powerful man who wanted me to obtain three things for him. An artifact, a person, and a monster. I have the first two, but not the final requested object. I need you to capture it for me, and then bring it and the other two items to the commissioner’s location.”

  “I don’t particularly like being used as a delivery service,” Scarrot grunted, pouring himself a generous helping of aromatic tea.

  “He’s paying more than three times the amount for each item to be in pristine condition as well as their speedy delivery. I think you can swallow your pride for that,” Reed said.

  Scarrot raised his eyebrows at that. “What does this man want, and where does he want it?”

  “A golden mole,” Reed revealed, setting his cup down with a clink.

  “That’s a tall order. Unless you have a way for me to traverse into the Elemental Plane of Earth that particular magical creature will be hard to get,” Scarrot claimed.

  “Pardon me, but what’s a golden mole?” Dora interrupted.

  “A very large mole that digs extremely fast and can move through solid stone as if it were water,” Scarrot explained to her.

  “They live deep below the surface, and more often than not appear in Gaeum, the Elemental Plane of Earth. Luring one out without stepping into the Aether would mean we’d have to go to a place with dwarves, or into the Aldani Gorge to fetch one.”

  “Well, we’re right outside the Gorge, so this doesn’t seem like a difficult problem to solve,” Dora began, but the caravan leader held up a palm to silence her.

  “They like darkness and the depths of stone. We’d have to travel deep into the Gorge to even hope of finding one, and the creatures out there are not kind to intruders,” S
carrot pointed out. “Plus, rumors of Undead popping up down there have been appearing all over the Cracked Land. It’s dangerous to just waltz in.”

  “The buyer is offering two thousand gold coins for a healthy adult golden mole,” Reed piped up. “I’m willing to give you all that profit if you take this commission, as well as a percentage of the other two items’ cost as a fee for their delivery.”

  “Two thousand?!” Dora exclaimed. Even Scarrot’s stoic mask broke at that number.

  “He really wants one, then,” he said dryly after reasserting his neutral expression. “Who in the Hells is he?”

  “Our mutual patron,” Reed said cryptically. Scarrot’s eyes widened and a guttural snarl escaped his throat. Dora leaned back in fear as bloodlust poured off the orc.

  “You want me to return to that place?” the orc spat.

  Reed remained unfazed, merely taking another drink.

  “You’d have to go there sooner or later. It’s been five years, Scar. Time to renew your oaths to your master.”

  Silence hung over the solarium like a thundercloud, with about as much promise of fury as a storm might bring.

  Dora swallowed nervously and looked back and forth from man to orc, not sure about what was happening.

  “You will provide any supplies I need to capture the golden mole,” Scarrot finally ground out through clenched teeth. “And you will give my Quartermaster a discount on rations and goods we’ll need for the trip.”

  The tension in the air crackled and faded. It was still there, lingering like a cloud, but would not erupt into something worse now.

  “Done and done. And I’ll even buy that Megalith Snail you have for a hundred gold,” Reed said, clapping his hands.

  “Two hundred.”

  “One fifty, and I’ll throw in a refurbishment of the cage it was in. Redo the enchantments and everything.”

  “Deal. Send your men to pick them up later in the day. I’ll be heading out with the crew tomorrow to fetch the golden mole.”

  The two men leaned forward and grasped each other’s wrists in agreement, nodding their heads once before releasing. The deal was struck, and Reed rang a bell, summoning a servant to bring him the contracts of purchase.

  All the while, Dora sat in her seat, paralyzed. The world of business was frightening, and she almost could understand why Reed was feared and respected.

  She then sent a glance at her cup and lamented the fact she hadn’t had a chance to try any of the tea. And it had smelled so good!

  Chapter 5: Into the stone

  “Do you feel, that, Dora? The mana flowing through you?”

  “I do, mama.”

  In the faint, flickering light of a handful of candles, a young Dora sat at the dinner table staring intently at her hands. A faint green sheen a few shades darker than her own skin color had covered them for a brief moment before dying away.

  Across from her, the off-duty Healer was smiling proudly at her daughter’s progress.

  “The key to a proper healing spell is a smooth, even transference of mana through your body and that of the target,” the young mother explained, taking her daughter’s green fists into her own. Even as a child, the half-orc’s hands were large, almost the same size as her mother’s. Though, it was true that Healer Irene had never been anything other than petite in the first place.

  “Try it again. Let the mana circulate as it wants, only doing the bare minimum to control it.”

  Dora scrunched up her face in concentration, and drew upon the well of power dwelling deep in her soul. In seconds, a faint green light splashed across the surface of the table. It wobbled, but held, the half-orc’s face beaming in delight.

  Four seconds passed before the magic began to fade, though, and Dora panicked, pushing more mana into her hands. The sudden influx caused the luminosity to increase, but it sputtered and died almost instantly afterwards.

  The young green child pouted, looking up at her mother in disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it, mama.”

  “That’s alright, sweetie. You did an amazing job after only a few sessions of learning about mana!”

  “Hey, mama, can you tell me more about being a Healer?” Dora leaned over, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

  “Well, why not. As a reward that sounds fine,” Healer Irene agreed. Clapping her hands eagerly, Dora hopped up from her own seat and scrambled over to where her mother sat, plopping herself down in her lap.

  “Being a Healer is a hard, messy, yet rewarding experience,” Irene began. “It is the power to heal, to soothe and mend physical and mental wounds. Prospective Healers are trained to love life in all its forms, to embrace diversity as a natural part of the world, and to do our utmost to help anyone we can. We live by these tenets as passed down by Lady Cynthia herself, patron of Healers and goddess of Light and Mercy.”

  “She’s the lady with the bird, right?” Dora prompted, pointing to the golden dove sewn into her mother’s uniform. Irene nodded.

  “She is. Wife of the Knight-God, and mother to Selika, Kardale, and Nia. And guide to humanity. She watches over us, and to those who pray fervently to her, she will bless them with spells for healing and protection.”

  “Then why do I have to study magic if she can just give us the spells we need?” Dora asked, confused.

  “Though she loves us, Lady Cynthia knows we cannot always rely on higher powers for our answers. We have to find our own path at times in order to grow. When in need she bestows gifts upon her followers, but only if they are just, and can use what she offers,” the young Healer revealed.

  “Even if Lady Cynthia were to give me the spells Grand Heal or Mend Serious Injury, both of which are Level Five, if I could not properly cast them I would be unable to use them regardless. Divine Spells, those given to us by the gods, can only be used if we could cast them ourselves without their help.”

  “So, if I want spells, I have to know how to make them in the first place,” Dora mused, earning herself a proud pat on the head.

  “Exactly!”

  “Why is it so hard, though? I can use Cantrips and I see other people in town use spells, but they don’t have as much trouble as I do,” Dora complained, glaring at her hands.

  “Because healing is delicate. It requires care and precision. Mana, the raw energy for a spell, comes from the soul. But no two souls are the same. If I tried to just push my mana and spell into another person, even if I was trying to heal them they’d just be hurt from the crude application,” the trained woman taught, the child listening closely.

  “A Healer has to know the body and how it works to ensure that everything is properly fixed. They must know how to gently administer the spell to prevent further damage. And lastly, they must care about the person they are treating. Magic responds to emotions, and Healing spells more than any other. Even a single bad thought about the patient can cause complications to their recovery. You must never use Healing magic in anger or fear, Dora. Understood?”

  “Yes, mama,” Dora promised, bobbing her head up and down rapidly. An uncomfortable thought came to her mind.

  “But mama, what if someone can laugh at someone else’s pain? When the boys in town make fun of me, people laugh with them. Could they be Healers too, because they think they are right about me being a monster?”

  Irene held her daughter tight, conveying as much love and concern as she could through the simple contact. Dora melted into the hug, returning the affection fivefold.

  After a minute Irene spoke, but whether it was to herself or to her daughter, neither of them were sure.

  “Sometimes, there are people who find true joy in suffering. Delight in sorrow. Peace in pain. Such individuals make the most terrible Healers, because they can heal and hurt without ever batting an eye or feeling a tinge of guilt either way. They embrace the agony of themselves and others and wear it proudly. Never become like that. Don’t ever let yourself be swallowed by that, Dora.”

  “I prom
ise, mama.”

  .

  Alone in her tent, Dora woke up. She lay still for a while, listening to Creidor rise with the sun.

  The Yellowmoon Menagerie was parked close to the lee of the frontier town’s wall, meaning there was little chance for the rising sun to fall on her tent and wake her. Nor was the town so loud this early that its hum of activity had been the one to draw her from her dreams.

  She turned over, hoping to grab a few more moments of blissful sleep before her day had to begin, but froze as she felt something on her pillow.

  Damp stains pressed against her cheek, and she grunted in self-loathing as she realized her own tears had woken her. She pushed herself up and grumbled to herself.

  “Damn dreams… stupid… why’d they have to be so vivid this time?” the half-orc muttered angrily.

  “The one dream I have about mom that I can actually remember properly in months and it’s something sappy. Damn it all.”

  She pulled on her work clothes, made sure her crossbow was oiled and working right, and rubbed the tear marks from her face with a hastily cast Summon Water Cantrip.

  A sigh of contentment escaped Dora as the cool water splashed onto her face. It was nice to be able to cast that spell again. Since outside of the jungle portion of the Dreadlands the air was dry and hot, gathering water with the simple spell was futile.

  Out in the open wastes, you’d be lucky to conjure up enough water to fill a cup. In towns though, or places with lots of people and buildings which could hide pockets of moisture, it was easier to get liquids to work with.

  “At least the dream wasn’t a nightmare this time,” Dora sighed, walking out of her tent.

  “Still seeing that wannabe runaway splattering all over the ground?”

  Dora let out a shrill ‘Eeep!’ of fright and spun around, throwing a wild punch to her left.

  Reesh caught the attack easily, eyebrow raised.

  “If I’d known you were this jittery when you woke up I’d never have volunteered to come get you.”

  The half-orc frowned at his words before brightening up.

  “Oh, is boss getting ready to go to the Gorge soon?”