The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

My every effort to find out what the Baron wanted was a failure. This wasn’t much of a surprise. I had intentionally avoided the royals and high nobles. It had been unlikely they would want my services, and I wasn’t eager to work with them. While I was desperately fumbling about trying to find out more information, the Baron repeatedly sent the Master Clerk of the High Chancellor, trying to get me to meet with him. After two weeks, my attempts to avoid the Baron’s ‘requests’ had reached a breaking point.

Master Clerk Bridlewood slowly entered my alchemy shop. His movements had been strained as of late. It had been upsetting to see him walking back and forth from the noble and business district. The older man was just not in shape for that amount of exercise. Bridlewood trundled along with his cane and had earned his silver for all the back-and-forth walking. His countenance this time said that his walking was done. With a heavy air, he gently placed a wooden scroll case, capped with two steel ends, on my counter.

“This is it, my boy, I don’t think he will take no for an answer here. He gave me that and said to deliver your response,” Bridlewood said while he leaned heavily on his cane.

In truth, I had expected the Master Clerk to break down and hand over my information to the Baron within the first few days. I had hired him with the expectation of him being an intermediary. I had expected only clients between that of a low noble to an up-and-coming merchant, his importance in the business of the city offered him some protection from the political maneuvers from that level of conflict. I never expected him to hold out against the Baron that he had resisted at all was oddly endearing and slightly concerning. If I didn’t understand his motivations, I couldn’t manipulate his actions.

Putting aside Master Bridlewood’s seemingly endless resistance to manipulation, I picked up the scroll case and unscrewed the cap. Thumping the side, I spilled free the contents. To my surprise, the scroll case contained a silk roll mounted on two wooden end stops. This was the kind of thing that royal decrees would be written on and then presented to the royal court. Unrolling it, I stared in utter confusion at what I had.

It was a magical oath contract, signed by both Baron Verstrom and someone named ‘Snow-in-Blood.’

It outlined an agreement to protect the identity and business of Joshua Still. This was a combination of my worst fears and a relief all at the same time. Both signers would seal the contract, and the spell would enforce it. This was where my relief came from.

The contract was all but magically complete. It covered, through a bunch of clauses, keeping my business secret, who I was secret, protecting and refusing to offer me harm, and a host of other provisions. It was a promise that I was safe to visit the Baron and hear out his job offer.

On the other hand, it listed my real name: Joshua Still. Which was not the name the Master Clerk knew. Nor the name which most in town knew and not the name of my fake master. It wasn't even the name that I had subtly passed on to the Master Clerk in case he dug deeper into my ‘master.’ No, it was with my real, magical contract enforceable name. The one I was born with.

If I signed the contract with a dab of my blood, it would protect me through the agreement.

But I would also have to visit the Baron and hear him out to fulfill my part of the contract. Until I signed the deal, we found ourselves in an odd kind of limbo. Unsigned, the Baron, and ‘Snow-in-Blood,’ were unconstrained by any magic. But, once I signed it, they would be compelled to protect my interests, right up until it was clear that I wasn’t trying to fulfill my part of the contract. No one would risk the potential backlash of violating the agreement before it was signed, the horror stories of these magical contracts and usurping them was well known.

While I stood and stared fixedly at the contract, Bridlewood watched me silently. Eventually, he coughed and leaned forward onto his cane, drawing me out of my internal debate.

Rubbing his hand across his face, looking older than I had seen him before, the Master Clerk said, “So son, what will it be? I don’t know what’s in that scroll case there, but I can guess. The Baron isn’t a patient man, and his last message made it clear that he wouldn’t be put off any further.”

Biting my lip for a second, all my mannerisms and carefully hidden acting thrown away as I weighed the possibilities. I could feel the teeth of the trap locking around me. It felt like I was trapped and had to push through rather than try to avoid it. I was caught already, had probably been before the Clerk had sent his first message, but now I could sense it. Random flailing would not free me from its jaws. I needed to flee or accept the job. No other option made sense.

“One moment Master Clerk Bridlewood, I will sign this, and then you can pass a message to the Baron. I will appear at his pleasure,” I said as I sharpened my quill with a small knife.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I was delivered here in the Baron’s personal carriage. While under guard. I’m fairly certain that you will have an escort to the castle,” the Clerk said with a sick and uncomfortable smile.

Yes, the trap was sprung. I didn’t need to be a mind mage to know a guard would be stationed at the rear of the building.

Pricking my finger with my quill knife, I dipped the tip of the writing implement into the blood and signed my name, the process taking three dippings. I had never considered it before, but using blood for writing is a rather annoying and challenging process. I could imagine how frustrating it must be for a royal having to do this regularly when signing a magical contract. Usually, these contracts are of a more uncomplicated sort, used only to indicate a violation. But, the one I held compelled its signers to action or inaction as required. The cost of this magical contract’s paper and spell would cost as much as my shop and house together.

While I shook the paper to dry, the blood soaking into the silk with strange ease, I slipped a few items into my sleeves. All I could grab that was close was a small vial of liquid irritant. I was always outfitted with my usual gear. A small knife, a single pick, and tension wrench for locks, a couple of coins slipped into the belt loop and a single ampule of weak regeneration. None of it would help me against the Baron if he wanted my head, but knowing I had my standard supplies on me helped to calm my nerves, as little as they might assist me.

“Very well then Master Clerk Bridlewood, let’s not keep our lord and master waiting then. Let us be to it then,” I said as I gestured him toward the door.

After locking the shop, I turned to the waiting carriage and climbed aboard as Bridlewood started his walk up the hill. I had expected him to join me in the carriage, but I hadn’t expected a guard to be waiting in the carriage. The man was gigantic. Even sitting, he handily filled the other side of the transport from me. Not that they were fat, far from it, from what I could see behind the thick leather armor, half-plate cuirass, and visored helm. The outfit was deeply disturbing since that was a significant amount of armor for a guard to wear simply to deliver an alchemist apprentice. Even a known skill trainer wouldn’t deserve this kind of armed guard. This gear was more akin to what would be worn while at war.

“Good evening,” I said, trying to get a sense of the giant guard who sat across from me.

Silent staring was the only response, the guard watching me through the closed visor with their sword laying across their lap.

I tried not to be blatant about inspecting my guard, but the closed carriage left me little else to focus on. The man was huge, his biceps nearly as large around as my thigh, so large were they that they strained the leather jacket worn under the metal chest protector. Even sitting, the guard towered over me. I jerked in surprise when the carriage stopped for a moment to pick up the second guard from my shops back alley. My movement did not go unnoticed, as the guard shifted as if to attack or defend but then calmed when they noticed I had only been surprised. As if I was insane enough to fling myself against this giant and well-trained warrior.

Sitting in silence, we rode through the streets to the castle. Once we arrived, the carriage stopped for us to disembark. The driver and second guard continued with the transport, but the large guard gestured me forward as they unfolded themselves from the carriage to follow. To my surprise, the guard was even taller than I expected. I was relatively tall. My upbringing included good food and constant training. My father was a larger man, tall and broad. Which was fitting for a skill trainer who focused on the many arts of war and weaponry. Mother was shorter than either of us but still taller than your average woman. This guard would have easily dwarfed my father. I had heard no rumors of a giant guard, and that lack left me even more unsettled.

Directing me through the castle through the servant ways, the guard continually gestured me forward, maintaining their silent menace. Finally, I was gestured into a room near the back of the castle. A small wooden table in the center of the room held a plate with bread. A mellow fire crackled in the fireplace where I could smell the scent of warmed alcohol. Behind a sturdy oak desk, the Baron, a man almost as large as the guard, waited. The Baron was the quintessential example of a low noble who rose through military might. The story was that he saved the King in a skirmish and was raised to a higher station. Darker rumors say that the Baron acted against his own family’s plot against the King, and that was why he was raised into the high nobility.

“Good. Sit,” the Baron said as he gestured to the table with a gently glowing copy of the contract I still carried.

While the Baron locked away the contract in his desk, the guard locked the door then followed me to the table. The large guard took the chair nearest to the entrance as I sat across from the chimney, which left the chair nearest the desk for the Baron. Rising and moving to the fire, the Baron dipped a ladle into the steaming wine and served out three portions, handing the cups to the guard and me. I had not expected the Baron to serve me from his own hand, the action a statement as much as meeting in private was. I sipped politely at the wine but quickly placed it before me on the table. I noticed that the guard ignored the wine, their visor remaining focused on me the entire time. The bared blade again lay within their lap as it had the carriage, casually pointing towards me.

The Baron was grey-haired with a grey beard, but his eyes were still a clear shining blue, and the teeth he flashed were still whole and wholesome.

“Now, I promised your parents that I would find a way to challenge you as a kind of graduation test, but I’ve no time for games. If I could find your damn father, I would ask him for this work, but I can’t, so you will have to do,” The Baron said as he levered his muscular frame into his chair.

While I tried to gather my thoughts, I reached again for my wine and sipped, the cloves a gentle counterpoint to the other spices and the bite of the alcohol. I could see how things came together. The old foreigner who spoke in a horrible accent just happened to find his way to my new home to act as a cover? The alchemy shop just so happened to be available for my family to purchase? The Master Clerk just so happened to be both corruptible and unwilling to sell out the person bribing him?

By the time my cup left my lips in that first sip, I was convinced, this had my mother’s dainty hands all over it. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. They were always eager for me to test myself in the real world, but backup and a safety net was still helpful. Tipping my cup slightly on edge with one finger, I gently rocked it as I turned an eye up to the silently watching Baron.

Letting the cup rock back upright, I asked the Baron, “My father wouldn’t happen to have served in your army, perchance?”

Bursting out into laughter, the Baron turned to the silently watching guard, “See? I told you he would figure it out quickly enough. No son of Mark Still would be stupid, let alone a son of Jezi!”

I couldn’t contain myself at that and exclaimed, “Jezi?”

Chuckling, the Baron gulped down his wine, then gave a light burp and continued, “Yeah, Jezi. Jezebella never liked it when I called her that. Ha! Dumped a load of starching powder in my short-clothes while I was on campaign once, never called her that to her face again,” the Baron said before he stood and refilled his cup at the fire.

No one used my mother’s full name. To me, she had always been just mother, but even the trainers she hired for me called her Bella.

The chair strained under the Baron's bulk as he returned to his seat and sipped his wine while looking into the past, smacking his lips at the flavor he placed the cup back on the table.

Seeming to bring himself back under control, the Baron’s smile faded, and he turned serious, “Well then, enough of that. We have business here.”

Nodding slightly, I remained silent and waited.

Looking down for a moment, the Baron turned to the guard, then looked down again, his face moving through a mix of emotions before he raised his head. I was surprised to see sadness, anger, and embarrassment, flash across his face. Before he raised his head to look me in the eye, he had shoved everything back behind a self-mocking smile.

“Nearly nineteen years ago now, the King went to parlay with the Northmen,” the Baron began as his eyes drifted into the distance for a moment.

“We spent a month in that frozen hell trying to get the bastards to agree not to raid us for a few summers at least. While the moot was going on, I met a woman there. Alnanza was the shaman to the Blood Snow tribe. She was strong and oh so beautiful - and she knocked me on my ass when I propositioned her that second night,” the Baron said with a wistful smile.

When the Baron began his tale, the guard shifted slightly, but they said nothing. Given the nature of the magical contract, I had to assume that this guard was ‘Snow-in-Blood.’ There was no other way the Baron would be able to tell me his business in front of them unless they were the other signer. Given the name and the name of the shaman’s tribe, I could guess where this was going.

Seeing my glance at the guard, the Baron nodded, “Yes, my illegitimate child. But the Northmen don’t care about legitimacy, they care about parentage, and her mother is a shaman. It isn’t like the magic we use, but it’s magic all the same. They refused to teach her! They trained her with a sword, with an ax, and shield, but they refused her the magic in her blood. All because she is my child. Her mother sent her to me, but the Mages won’t even hear of training someone with Northmen blood. She has been refused twice over.”

The Baron was red-faced, his anger clear, his voice only raised slightly, but I could see the violence that hid behind his control. Seeming to realize he was near yelling, the older man sipped sullenly from his wine then stared into his cup.

Facing the guard, I watched as she removed her visored helm to show a surprisingly pretty face beneath. Large though she was, her face was pleasing and smooth of skin, with bright blue eyes matching her father’s. Staring me down, she seemed to dare me to comment before she ignored my look and turned back at her father.

“No. I won’t deny her. She is mine, and if I had known of her, I would have claimed her to all. I intend to do just that at the winter court,” the Baron said as he met his daughter’s eyes then gave his lopsided smile. She said nothing, but for a moment, there was a flicker of a smile across her lips before the Baron turned back to me.

“Unknown to me, she lived with her mother and trained as a warrior. When her magic rose, and she channeled it into her combat, the tribe forced her out. Her mother kept them from killing her, but that was all she could do. For the Northmen, only a shaman is allowed to wield magic, and none of mixed-blood may be a shaman,” the Baron said.

“So, will you train my Snow-in-Blood, my little Alexis, to use her magic? If you help me spit in the eye of the Northmen and the Mage’s guild both, I’ll make you rich and put you officially under my protection,” the Baron said, then fell silent.

Both were staring at me as I considered the pressure of their looks weighing on me. I should have said no. I should have fled the moment the Master Clerk had mentioned the Baron. I was teetering on the edge of making a decision that I could sense would be a tragic mistake. She had magic, and it was expressed in some kind of combat skill. This was a dream for every skill trainer. A bridge between the skills we understood and the magic we could never seem to study.

“Please, it is my heritage.”

Her plea was soft, her voice surprisingly feminine for such a large and muscular body, her words smooth with the rolling gate of the Northmen tongue. But, it was the anger in her eyes that convinced me. It was the look of someone who had been controlled by circumstances and was pleading with me to help them act as they would. I knew that look, and I couldn’t turn away from it. I could feel the trap snap shut with a single glance into those blue eyes.

“Yes,” I said, before emptying my wine.