Orphan At The Edge Of The World - 236 The Fool 41

“I threw him out when he tried to come in here and I don’t care enough to get involved. Good Night,” Orison said.

“If he’s not in here, you won’t mind me taking a look,” the hatchet faced gorilla of a man said.

Orison laughed in monotone. “Not only do I mind, I’ll kill you if you step past that door frame. One attempted r*pe a day is my tolerance limit.”

The man blinked owlishly at the young mage and said, “The bard tried to have his way with you?”

Orison shook his head and said, “One of the Sheriff’s deputies did. He left my room half a man for the effort.”

The guy shivered and said, “You’re the ‘Briar Rose Butcher’ they were talking about earlier!?”

The man swallowed dryly and broke out into a cold sweat as he apologized for the door and promised to pay for it. He wished her a good sleep and backed slowly away before making a thumping retreat once he was out of sight.

A few seconds later a wheezing Owen popped his head up at the window and said, “Nice bit of quick thinking to elbow the air out of me so I wouldn’t scream.”

The young mage closed and locked the shutter. After mending the door back into place, he locked that as well. Then, he finished with a magical version on both. Done with that, Orison returned to meditative trance until breakfast.

In the early hours of the morning, a light knock on the door preceded, “Mam, there’s a man in dire need of more healing than the missus can provide. Can you take a look and see if there’s any hope?”

Sighing, the young mage undid the magic and mundane locks, heading downstairs to a private backroom of the inn used for treatments. Despite slowly bleeding out with stab wounds, the young man refused to be undressed.

After using a touch of spirit sight, the young mage ushered everyone else out of the room after getting a gasping agreement from the patient to waive a right to witness. “I don’t care whats underneath these leathers. Do you want to live?”

On the verge of tears, the young man mouthed agreement barely above a whisper. Orison got to work. At first he had thought that it was a woman in disguise but the bindings around the chest and extra padding in certain places were designed to hide a much more dangerous secret. He was a full blooded elf.

On the verge of unconsciousness, the young elven man weakly nodded, having too little blood to flush from a shame his face showed fairly clearly anyway.

Orison peeked out to say to the innkeeper, “Sheee..er, he needs more attention and some observation. Can I get some help to move… him to my room?”

The man and his wife had a sudden dawning epiphany over the young mercenary’s strange behavior despite facing death. With little fuss, they got the man squared away on a padded folding cot within Orison’s room. Several hours, a decent rest and a midday meal ordered to the room and the young man was recovered enough to put his mended leather armor back on as he observed the meditating young mage with respectful wariness.

Pale lavender eyes looked everywhere but directly at Orison as a rich tenor voice that would make Owen jealous said, “I owe you a debt, human. I’ve heard tell of surprising kindness hiding within the hoards of corrupt and greedy but it is my first time experiencing such for anything other than your own.”

Orison snorted. “Light a candle, cast a shadow. Those who put the light behind them, see little of it but much of their own shadow. Those who put the light before them, see much of it but remain unaware of the shadow they cast. Carry light to the side and slightly above you, if what you desire is the greatest truth your light can illuminate.”

The elven man became lost in thought. The young mage doubted it was the cryptic words he’d just spoken.

He thought, “In the process of healing him, all else was healed… including his measures to disguise himself. The power of mending seems to be slipping itself into my healing along with the darker, destructive touches present in the curative magics. Using law requires a great deal more focus to keep from unwanted things mixing in.

“It’s fine for now but I need to start working on control instead of expansion. I’m going to have problems with cost and added effects that could cause more harm than good if I don’t. Who knows how bad elemental mages could have it, starting off. At least I’m working from a cluster of mostly beneficial stuff.”

Getting the elf’s attention, he said, “My healing’s undone some of your disguise work. Don’t mutilate yourself again. After I’ve recovered some of my reserve, I’ll work out a better temporary solution.”

The elven man said, “Too many know ways to counter illusion and see through artifice. To accomplish my goals, I need to pass under the awareness of such people.”

Orison said, “Can this goal keep until nightfall? How likely is the incident that almost killed you to track you back here?”

The man said, “Night is my ally for the most part. Two of the few mercies found among mercenaries are their dislike and distrust of authority and curiosity outside of their own. That, and sharing information for free. My admission of being robbed is a shameful thing among us and few would dig deeper. Even if my assailant’s corpse is found, the chances of it being traced back here are small and evidence linking me to it weaker still.”

He stopped talking to measure Orison’s reaction to the disclosure of his killing of a human.

The young mage said, “Alright, then I have a chance to make some things before you take a knife to yourself and start destroying my hard work?”

The elven man smiled weakly and said “A gladly given one.”

Outside of a few minor interruptions, by the time evening came rolling around, Orison was finished with his fun experiments. A set of full body thermal underwear that held a temperature comfort enchantment was handed to the elf.

He said, “Slight contour changes and feature distortions are added in with an emphasis on minimalism and comfort. The enchantment is a very minor one that’s probably not that uncommon or overly expensive. The best part is that it obscures more without raising suspicion than any disguise enchantment.

“Assuming that it doesn’t take extensive damage, the enchantment will last a couple of months and makes its full body nature self explanatory to those who can see it magically. I assume you’re rushing your attempts at a rescue for the eastbound caravan? I’ll be on it myself. I don’t like borrowing trouble but I’ll help if I can. Good luck saving ‘them’ from wherever ‘they’ are.”

The man looked at Orison in alarm. “How do you-”

“You lost a lot of blood and was delirious for awhile,” the young mage said.

Seeing the elven man’s eyes grow soft as he stepped towards the young mage, Orison said, “Don’t… You’re not the only one under a disguise. Let’s save ourselves both some embarrassment later.”

Startled, the young elven man nodded jerkily. To save the poor guy from further distress, the young mage stepped out of the room so he could change into his new undergarments. When Orison stepped back in a few minutes later, the elf was gone.

After dinner, as he had the night before, Orison packed everything but a few sewing needles into the storage device and put it into his space. He was feeling a little more drowsy than usual but extensive healing took a lot out of him. Under the fuzzy headed feeling, it had slipped his mind that he had reverted to needing only four hours of trance unless he was wiped.

When a strangely stifling feeling settled over him, his soul became aware that something was wrong and began fighting it. A cold sensation clamped around his wrists and ankles. Four clicks that sounded like they came from the other side of a canyon echoes through his ears.

A weak and clumsy intent wandered into his mind, searching for his spiritual seat. When the intent found it, the invader attempted to follow along the bridge to his soul. A desolate gravity grabbed hold of it and cleanly dragged it and everything the intent was connected to down into stygian depths without so much as a ripple produced.

After that, a cold sensation settled down on his head and his soul felt partially displaced. From a great distance, a pressure and slight pain followed by an agony of burning nerves screamed down a spine from the back of a neck he could only abjectly recognize as belonging to him. A soft peace and comfort descended once that was done.

His soul, reaching for aid, found a distant beacon calling. Orison appeared inside a circle being controlled by a coal colored elf. It was only a sending of his spiritual self but it had substance provided by magic and astral stuff.

“You responded! I have tried for days and had all but given up hope,” the red eyed elf said.

Feeling fuzzy and disoriented, the young mage said, “Are you the deep elf that Stefen mentioned?”

The man smiled widely and agreed. “Before I become too exhausted, would you be my patron?”

Orison shrugged and said, “I don’t know how much I can spare to make it worth your while but sure…”

The deep elf said, “Oh, don’t forget your offering! It’s some of the amazing mead that Cray found in his magic shelter. It’s the reason why I have done this and I have meant to repay the saving grace of your light!”

“Saving grace of my light!? Hey, I’m not looking to follow some dead end path of godhood or anything,” the young mage said, a little off put by the fanatic light glinting in the red eyes of the deep elf.

“Never mind that, your grace. Please, your offering, take it before you fade. I’m off to join them soon,” the slightly crazed and drunken elf said.

The young mage looked down to see the large, covered bowl. Seeing how tired the elf looked, Orison felt bad. Within his spiritual state, he could feel the goodwill of the man and took his ‘offering’, giving a cheers before drinking it. The nearly electric charge of potency ran through him and down the connection to his physical anchor as he winked out of the circle.

Coming to with a start, the young mage was back in a heavily suppressed and pained body. Dull metal bands bound his limbs and head. The overflowing essence threatened to burst out and then threatened to be swallowed into the fathomless depths ‘within’ which would have left him dull and trapped once more. Before the seemingly bottomless cracks running through the foundation of his ruined soul tower could claim it, he pushed to ghost out of his restraints.

The form he currently wore buckled and shuddered before partially phasing out. The strangely weighty essence began repairing the extensive damage to Orison’s lifespan and reset the form he wore. Before he could take advantage to switch back to his prime pattern, the ‘real’ Orison, the dark ruin within the very center of his soul core claimed the potent ‘Gany-mead’ essence.

“Should I be thankful it didn’t completely swallow me up again? No matter. As soon as my instability is settled, I’m going to revert back from this ‘damsel in distress’ poster child. I can’t stand holding this form anymore but I’m not going to screw myself up to do it,” he muttered to himself.

Realizing his nakedness, he activated the suit to see it slowly form like molasses around him as the small bit of the potent essence it managed to snag was rebuilding it. “Somebody tried to rip the damn thing clean out of me without knowing how it works. Fortunately, enough memory cells broke off in my spine that it could rebuild from. I sure do hope they enjoyed the decomposing trash they collected. I have to give that company credit for one thing. They sure know how to protect the secrets of an asset.”

The young mage took a look around. Aside from dull metal manacles dangling from the end of thick chains, there wasn’t much else within his cell. His wasn’t the only one, however. Most of them were empty but he saw a familiar face in one that wasn’t. After noticing that the locking mechanism of his cell was made out of the same magic insulated material as the manacles, he burned a third of his newly filled tank to ghost through the thick bars of his cell and through the ones in front of the cell holding Jarvis.

After removing his cold iron restraints, energy started circulating through his body like a flood that had been held back. To be on the safe side, the young mage hit him with a heal targeting the dangerous blood clots forming in his extremities and fed him the other half of his second to last special ration bar. Whatever heritage the man possessed, it made amazingly efficient use of the body bolstering side of the bar’s multiple essences.

“What new trickery is this?” Jarvis said as he looked at Orison with wary eyes.

Orison laughed before the sound of his own voice stole his brief spurt of amusement. “The kind where you still think you’re in the sh*t but you’re actually already on the other side. Is there anyone here that absolutely MUST be saved for reasons more important than sentimentality?”

Jarvis said. “All of them.”

The young mage sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that… Do you know how to pick locks? They’re all made of the most nonreactive material I’ve ever seen. It looks like metal but…”

Jarvis nodded. “I can. The picks need to be-”

Orison whipped out two upholstery needles and heated one up til he could easily bend the last quarter inch. He jammed the first one into the thread hole of the second and handed them over with what he thought was a stiletto or a letter opener. Dustin’s sister wasn’t there to ask.

The older adventurer looked at the rigged needles dubiously and palmed them before he took the stiletto and and palm hammered it into the lock a few times with ear grating screeches. While Orison ‘mended’ the wall stones of Jarvis’ cell out, the man repeated the process on two other cells. All of that came to a halt when there was a sound of a rusty hinged door opening in the distance. The young mage rushed over to Jarvis with a rapier and a gambeson.

Seeing the man giving him a strange look while putting the quilted jacket on, barely able to fasten the buckles til it was mended to fit, Orison said, “Pink and green camouflage is, uh, manly. Beats taking glancing blows on bare skin… This isn’t a romance novel cover fight scene.”

Taking position by the inner door, Jarvis grunted. “At least they let me keep my pants. Where did these abominations come from?���

The young mage said, “Friend’s cousin. She was into archery and fencing. She probably just liked the way they looked or something.”

Barely above a whisper, the older adventurer said, “Don’t blame me if this toothpick breaks.”

Whoever was walking up to the inner door, stopped. Orison backed up and started slapping his thigh. “No… please don’t. Doooon’t. Please don’t-stop. Do-it-to-me. Stop. Noooo.”

The man behind the door gave a nasty chuckle as he was opening the door. “I didn’t know you got down here before me, sir. Sounds like you broke her. She’s starting to enj-”

The man’s words were cut off as the practice sword Jarvis was holding managed to puncture up through his nostril. The older adventurer immediately started stripping the man and changing out gear. While he was doing that, the young mage grabbed the key ring and started unlocking everything he could.

“Quick thinking… I hope I never have to hear that again,” Jarvis said, shaking off cold chills.

The young mage nodded absentmindedly. He had his hands full dealing with the quiet chaos of freeing, rousing and motley equipping five people. Three elven females, one elven male and one human male were organized as best as possible while Orison worked on opening a hole through the dungeon wall.

“What are we going to do once we’re out?” Orison said.

“Run,” Jarvis replied grimly.

With as much snark as he could muster, the young mage said, “Best… Plan… EVER!”

One of the female elves, feeling bolder in the pink and green gambeson with a slightly bent practice sword in her hands said, “My uncle is nearby. He said he had a way for us to escape the town.”

With a hole finally opened, they slunk through the pre-dawn light.