Orphan At The Edge Of The World - 235 The Fool 40

He thought, “Oh, no. I am NOT going to play guard for your nap and risk being locked out of town for the night. I mean, I don’t really know if its that kind of town but I’m not going to take chances.”

He stood up and turned to the road before hesitating. Turning back to the sleeping minstrel, he figured a job started was worth finishing and knelt down to scan Owen with spirit sight. What he saw wasn’t horrifying but it was disturbing. Twenty minutes later and slightly fatigued, Orison washed his hands of the lyrical burden both literally and metaphorically.

Making his way back to the road, the sound of Owen struggling to put cleaned and mended shoes on clean and healed feet while trying to catch up made the young mage instinctually pick up the pace. Realizing how childish and ridiculous that was, he returned to his normal road eating pace. A compromise with himself that he’d earned the right to be cruel if need be helped.

“I get it. You’re a lady who doesn’t take well to praise and flattery but at least allow a man to express his gratitude before fleeing,” Owen said with a fawning expression.

“You’re welcome. Show your appreciation by keeping nausea inducing attempts to hit on me in check because you only have one strike left and I’m not interested,” the young mage said.

The minstrel looked slightly confused for a moment but he wasn’t so clueless that he couldn’t tease out the meaning behind a turn of phrase he hadn’t heard before.

“As a purely academic exercise, what kind of man does interest you?” Owen said, fraying Orison’s last nerve.

He was tempted to say ‘none’ or ‘one with a v*gina’. But until he knew more about the prickly world around him, bold and direct statements that could be trouble drawing would have to wait.

Instead, the young mage said, “Well, we could start off with one that never needed a venereal disease cured by me, much less two. The infestation of little hitchhikers could be played off as innocent misfortune but coupled with the other… I think not. Watch where you march your little soldier in the future. Some wars aren’t worth winning.”

After a few seconds of scandalized embarrassment, Owen recovered with comical outrage. “Rogue! Brigand! What mischief did you work upon my defenseless form while I slept? You bruise my pure and virtuous heart!”

Once the town was in sight, it was neither imposing nor charming. Taking advantage of the local abundance of stone, generations had constructed a six to eight foot wall around a ‘V’ shaped hill and its shallow valley. In the distance, a squat and modest castle fortress overlooked the place and there were signs that it was quite possibly a minor trader’s hub of some kind.

The picture that Jarvis’ minimalist explanations painted in Orison’s mind was a bit more grim but it seemed like a rather orderly place built on the bones of a large military encampment. Its original purpose was nothing more than a protected agricultural area for the personal larder of some minor noble. That time had came and went but there were still some sizable grain fields to one side.

“Is that a brewery over there, Owen?” the young mage asked.

The minstrel nodded and said, “This was once known as the village of three inns. For some time up to the War of the Grand Companies, it was a fairly popular hub of commerce. For the last couple of decades it had fallen to the shoulders of a retired mercenary group once known as ‘The Red’ to convert the old famine reserve fields to a fairly successful brewery.

“With unrest stirring in the south and west, eastern trade has picked up momentum again. The Red Brick Inn was renovated and a few sell swords are starting to congregate there in look of employment from traders either wanting to fish in troubled waters or those looking to distance themselves from it. That’s my destination as well.

“It’s a rough place. But for a minstrel in need of a fresh start, coppers can pile up fast in a tip hat there. The key to success is knowing when enough drink has flowed for generosity and when enough has flowed for quarrels.

“Wish me luck. I found my previous patron of two years in such a place. Pity she tired of me but a woman of means is entitled to her caprice.”

Orison held back a chuckle and said with false severity, “Wow, I just asked if that was a brewery.”

Owen smiled cheekily and said, “Allow me to flex my most honed skill for you, at least. Well, not THE most honed skill but until you’re interested in the other…”

The young mage muttered under his breath, “I don’t know if I can last a month if this is the sh*t I’m going to have to put up with the whole time.”

Pretending to ignore the minstrel, Orison paid the two copper entrance tax after declaring reason for visit and was surprised at how little trouble he was given until he turned to see that Owen wasn’t faring as well. It seemed that the troubles of his new form did come with a few perks after all. However, it almost seemed like a mistake to head to the Red Brick Inn after all that the young mage heard. Sadly, it was the only place where a decent ‘map’ could be seen and the better of two options for negotiating group travel with a long roving trader.

He might have escaped some deep problems by temporarily taking on the form he wore but Orison wasn’t an idiot. A young woman of any make and model traveling alone was looking for pain and tragedy in such a world. A group of rough men forced to be civil by employment and the reputation it required to get it seemed better than dodging people as much as possible and risking all the other unknown threats lurking on the open road by himself.

With some reservations and a belly full of nerves, Orison made his way to the Red Brick Inn. The leering, predatory looks of men mixed with the hateful ones of the women beside and around them was almost enough to induce a panic attack as he made his way. By the time he’d reached the heavy and well worn oak door of the rust colored establishment, he had a newfound empathy for the plight of the ‘fair’.

“No wonder pretty girls tend to have extreme personalities. Can you say ‘defense mechanisms’? I knew you could,” Orison muttered as he gathered his resolve to enter.

Not but seconds after entering and approaching the barkeeper, Orison could notice ‘buddies’ pointing at him and trying to whip themselves up or taunt others to approach. Two such people needed no encouragement and were already making their way over.

In as strong and confident a voice as he could manage, Orison said, “Jarvis said he would reserve a room for me. Is that done? Is anything needed from me?”

The older, burly man behind the bar was subconsciously checking out the young mage’s assets but the look on his face was only mild curiosity. “Depends, young lady. What’s your name and profession?”

“Orison. I’m a healer by trade,” the young mage declared.

The man chuckled a deep baritone. “Healer’s apprentice, you mean?”

Orison frowned. “Take it as you like. I’m not particularly looking for a work reference. I AM looking to book on with any caravans heading due east. As a customer, mind. I’d prefer to stay at leisure for the moment but I’ll step up for emergencies.”

After warning off the two who seemed primed to interrupt their exchange with narrowed eyes, the burly older man said, “If you’ve a touch of the gift, be prepared to perform free demonstrations of your skills where you rove if you want to avoid trouble. It’s an inescapable truth that healers settle somewhere quickly to stave off the leeching of their wealth and supplies.

“Are you in need of them? Supplies, that is. My wife is a passing wise woman of the mundane variety herself.”

Orison’s instant interest seemed to pass some kind of test for the man. Either that or he was a decent but opportunistic businessman.

Leading the young mage through the back, much to the disappointment of the main room, the barkeep said, “I’ll let my wife do the talking as I’ve never understood the scales she uses to measure the cost of her simples. I’ll send a server to fetch you when Jarvis arrives or when your room is ready. It might take up to a week to find a suitable caravan but as long as your coin is good and don’t go out of your way to find problems, we’ll do what we can to keep the common ones from finding you.”

Orison let out a smile of relief and said, “I’d appreciate that.”

“Not nearly as much as I’d appreciate you staying out of the main room an hour before sunset til sunrise,” the burly man said.

The first evening was spent pouring over an extensive herb garden and swapping knowledge of basic remedies with the man’s wife while trying not to be fleeced. Erring on the side of generous caution, Orison ended up paying a little too much but figured the satisfied friendliness of the barkeeper’s wife was worth it.

A night spent resting and meditating followed into a late morning spent ‘proving’ skills as a few of the local militia came in to pressure some free service from the ‘pretty healer’s apprentice’. The first of which set the bar for later ones under the approving eyes of the barkeep.

“I have an issue for you to look at,” the gate guardsman from the previous day said.

Looking up from his breakfast, the young mage said, “Have a seat there and show me, then.”

With a leer, the man said, “Shouldn’t an examination be done in privacy, like in your room?”

“Do you have a problem in need of privacy, such as a torn a**hole or sores on your private parts from intimate misdeeds? I only consider things that are DEEPLY shameful to YOU, as needing privacy. Is your problem deeply shameful?” the young mage explained with mock sympathy while everyone in the main room looked between them.

Red faced, the guard shook his head emphatically and pulled his boot off. Once the healing was done and advice given, the guard wandered off with a cheated expression despite not giving so much as a copper. Another followed not too long after with similar results.

When a third showed up, enameled deputy crest glinting on his chest and with obvious ill intent in his eyes, the last part of Orison’s speech made the man waver. Ultimately, the man insisted on privacy. He quickly found out that trying to force some free ‘extra service’ on top of the free healing with no witnesses was the worst decision of his life.

Once he was able, the man left screaming all kinds of threats while holding back tears. Orison set a saltwater filled jar with a necrotized glob of flesh inside it on the counter and had the barkeep’s wife verify that removing it had saved the man’s life. When the militia sheriff came with a few guards later, Orison was completely truthful from ugly beginning to horrifying end.

He ended with, “I have no words for the utter shame of a representative of law attempting to use his authority to tarnish me, whether it was my virtue or professional reputation, but this was not caused by me and removing it saved his life. It may also serve to save a few maidens from his abuse.

“The cause of it’s withering was a curse of some age. He still has a functional remaining one. If he wanted me to use good pain relief medicine while I removed it, he shouldn’t have tried to extort and abuse ME. He’s a mostly functioning, living and hopefully wiser man now. That’s more than most of my skill would have left him with.”

The sheriff sighed under all the judging eyes. He wanted to defend his man and was probably guilty of several misdeeds himself. The problem was that he relied on maintaining a certain amount of credibility or he’d end up like his predecessors, shanked in a ditch. The mayor who ran the town was no noble and mercenary coin had kept it from collapse for decades. And for the time being, that group seemed to be sheltering the young woman before him.

The sheriff attempted to throw some doubt on Orison as a last effort spite move. “It’s your word versus his. There are no witnesses and you are an outsider who might gain pleasure from ruining men for all we know. What’s to say this curse was not one placed by yourself or that any man present is safe from becoming your victim?”

Orison gave a saintly smile and said, “I tried to insist on being allowed a witness which he audibly denied me as he all but shoved me into my room. The world is filled with uncertainty but he was the one who created such a blind situation to take advantage, not me. In any event, that’s three free services.

“Since the Barkeep’s wife is a main staple of healing in this community and I’m sheltering under their roof, she’ll set the charge at a half commission. I won’t turn away those in need but I won’t steal bread out of my host’s mouth… Have a blessed day, Sheriff.”

The man bristled and said, “In any event, a member of the local militia was injured. I’ll leave the Sisterhood to determine who was innocent and guilty after you come with us to file a statement.”

Orison laughed in a musical voice that grated in his own ears but had a strange affect on those around him. “If I have to fight my way free of this place and trade my freedom for justice from the Sisterhood over the pitiful imagined cunning of a local insect like you, expect no peace for the rest of your very short life.”

With a hand on his sword, the man said, “Is that a threat, witch?”

A handful of sewing needles that had subtly been floating around Orison’s vicinity started glowing a dull orange and radiating heat, bringing them to the attention of the sheriff.

“No, sir. It’s a f***ing promise.” the young mage said with a saintly smile.

The man twitched forward in preparation of a swift sword move to find his sight switching between two dull orange points hovering close enough to his eyes that they immediately began stinging and watering. Instinctively flinching backwards into one of his accompanying men only to find the orange points still fixed eerily close, he lost his nerve and left.

Despite the innkeeper’s assurance that everything would be fine for the two days needed for a secured caravan’s departure, Orison made some additional preparations before retreating to the room that evening. As Owen belted out sappy diatribes below, he focused on absorbing his understandings into ability at glacier speed. For a moment, he wondered what had happened to Jarvis but didn’t feel as if they were close enough for extending concern into questions.

Late that night, smelling of beer and carnal deeds, the minstrel sneaked into Orison’s room and re-locked the door behind him, sliding two pins back into his small pack. The young mage came out of trance and stared at the man that was getting undressed at breakneck speeds until he got snagged up by the knots in his trouser laces.

“What the hell are you doing?” the young mage said darkly.

Owen put a finger up to his lips and whispered, “I’ve been here all night, okay?”

Getting up, Orison walked over to where the minstrel was making his way to the other side of the bed to climb in.

“Let me help you with that,” the young mage said, to Owen’s delighted surprise, as Orison reached for what looked like the knotted pants laces.

The minstrel got an altogether different kind of surprise as he was hip tossed out the second story window onto a set of hay bails below, pelted with the rest of his clothes afterward. Moments later, the door to the room was nearly ripped off its hinges as an angry mountain of a man came barging in only to be stopped by a small but intense burning sensation prickling his throat.

“Back out of my room and RESPECTFULLY explain this intrusion before I decide to murder you in self defense!” Orison spat, patience gone.