Bonding Activities

A pony. That's what Bilius spent his money on. On what was the most exciting day of his life so far, Blake and Taylor rode together on the mansion's horse to a nearby farm where a surprisingly young breeder sold them a good-natured animal and all the necessary tack. By the time they got home, the pony's name was Ted.

Taylor used a mild form of training magic on Ted, just enough to establish some empathy between them. He was naturally a friendly beast and happy to follow or carry him everywhere. If Taylor was outside, Ted was nearby. Gradually, he taught Ted to handle enhancement magic.

"One day," he promised the pony, "we're going to ride far and go on many adventures."

People had a few ways to send messages in Gordia. There was regular mail service every day, all the way across the empire. A letter took over a week to get from one end to the other, but it was affordable because of Gordia's rail system. Animal tamers used their beasts to carry messages and parcels. For instant messages, there were specialized magic devices that were expensive and required mana to run.

For messages over short distances to someone who didn't own a magic device, the most popular tool was the origami bird. It was a praxis, made from mana-sensitive paper and inscribed with a spell to use minor wind magic for locomotion and divination to find the recipient.

Taylor was bemused to see the white shape beating its wings against the blue sky and then plummeting toward him as soon as it was near. He had read about the birds but had never seen one. Who would write to him? He snatched the paper from the air before it could crash into him.

The unfolded message was written in Curator Jane's hand.

A wild boar is loose in the orchards. I'm assembling hunters now. There are four children on the East road, probably near the nut grove. Search for them, and bring them home if you can. Avoid confrontations.

As it was a sparring day, Taylor showed the message to Kistur.

"This is our chance!" Kister seemed too enthused.

"Chance to what?"

"Save someone and kill a dangerous animal! C'mon! It'll be an adventure we can have together! We'll show them what we can do!"

"Blake!" Taylor called, and the man's head appeared out in the far garden.

"Saddle all three horses. You're coming with us!"

"What do we need him for?"

"Four children plus the two of us don't fit onto two horses." He started appending his response to Jane on the same paper.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Keeping my superior informed. What do they teach you at the garrison?"

"They teach us how to kill stuff, which we won't get to do if you don't hurry up. Someone else will get it first!"

"Go saddle horses while I finish this."

Kistur ran off to help prepare the horses while Taylor wrote.

Message received at the mansion. Departing now with Blake and Kistur.

He filled the paper with magic until it folded up and flew away.

The mansion's horse was so accustomed to going to town and back, Blake had to work to convince it to leave the road. But once they were well off the beaten path, all the horses were glad to canter overland, along the narrow canals that fed the nearby fields. Houses clustered where multiple fields met, forming hamlets where families could live near each other and their farms. These little groupings were often populated entirely by extended families. But today was a market day, and nearly everyone was in town. Nobody could look at the same faces forever, and market days drew nearly everyone into town.

The nut grove was conspicuous for its evenly-spaced trees, ancient gnarly trunks whose first branches were only five feet from the ground. They stuck to the road, watching between the lines of trees for any signs of people.

Kistur was the first to hear them and called out, then followed their answering voices. Taylor and his pony were a few paces behind, with Blake taking up the rear.

They found their group of four: three little kids even younger than Taylor, in the company of a girl Kistur's age. They had no idea there was danger nearby.

"The curator sent us to get you," Kistur said with his fullest attempt at authority. "There's a wild boar nearby. We have to get you back to town."

"Why's he here?" The lead girl pointed rudely at Taylor in his mask.

"He's with me today. Mount up. We're getting you out of here."

Blake helped one child up into the saddle with Kistur, and he could take one himself. That left two more. Taylor jumped down and offered Ted to the older girl.

"Take the last kid and go. Please." He held the stirrup for her, but she wouldn't mount. "Ted's a good pony. He'll take good care of you."

"What will you do?"

"I'll run behind."

She looked doubtful.

"Don't worry about Bilius. He can outrun horses." The authority in Kistur's voice got the girl mounted, and Taylor handed the child up to her.

The riders headed to town at a trot, the fastest pace the children could handle without endangering them. They were halfway through the grove when they heard the boar, crashing around among the trees. Something had upset the beast, but it didn't just squeal about it. This one roared.

"The rest of you, go!"

"You aren't going to fight it, are you Young Master?"

"Yeah! No fighting without me!"

"I'm not doing anything to it if I don't have to. If it tries to follow you, I'll distract it. Just come back with those hunters soon, okay?"

The horses were only too happy to get out of the grove, while Taylor padded carefully toward the crashing noises. He layered his best physical enhancements over himself, but as soon as he got a look at what he was up against, he didn't think they would be enough. She was a monster of a boar, far taller than he was at the shoulder, covered in tawny fur with tinges of pink on her snout and tail, and pink, beady eyes.

She was ravaging one of the younger trees like it was made of twigs. First, she rammed it with her head to shake loose as many black, fleshy nodules as possible, then snuffled them up off the ground and crunched their flesh and shells with powerful grinding teeth. To her, the hard inner nut was crisp like crackers. When she couldn't find any more nuts on the ground she stood up on her hind legs, braced herself against the trunk with her front hooves, and tore the lower branches off with her teeth. She was soon enraged there weren't more nuts, and proceeded to take down the entire tree. First, she tried head-butting it. When that didn't work to her satisfaction, she kicked at it with front hooves as hard and sharp as hatchets. The tree was down within a couple of minutes, and she stripped every nut she could find from its branches.

Then she started again, on another tree. Only this time, she didn't bother with pulling down branches. She went straight for the trunk with her hatchety hooves, grunting with wild expectations over all the black, squishy fruit she would find.

It took over ten years for a tree like that to bear fruit, and Pinky the Wild Boar could tear down half the grove before the hunters arrived. The tree fell, and Pinky did something new. She grasped one of the larger limbs in her jaws and shook the downed plant for all it was worth, scattering the nut-fruit everywhere. Then she raced around her fallen enemy, sucking up her prizes as fast as she could.

Soon, she was eyeing a third tree. But she had wandered away from the fifty-year trees and into the three-hundred-year trees, old specimens hardened by fire and winter. Taylor felt like he should do something besides watch. He shaped a good amount of mana into a nearly invisible bolt of stunning intent, whispering the spell's words as he worked. He shot it at Pinky broadside, and hit her directly where the heart-lung group should be.

She jumped with all four feet off the ground and turned in mid-air to face him when she landed. He'd failed to hurt her in any meaningful way. But he did have her attention.

Far too late, Taylor realized he should have climbed a tree, or set snares, or done absolutely anything besides stand in the open, defenseless, while attacking a huge, omnivorous animal he'd only read about.

When the Mi'iri 'borrowed' lifeforms from Earth and introduced them to other worlds, they mixed in liberal amounts of mutagens to create variety and help the plants and animals adapt to their new home. In the case of Pinky's ancestors, those mutations resulted in a broader head than the original stock, to accommodate a larger brain which, if Pinky were a fair example, was mostly filled with indignation and malice. To protect this evolved brain of hate, her ancestors developed thicker skulls. There would be no getting anything violent into her brain, not with Taylor's current arsenal.

Pinky roared again, and the scent of fermenting nuts washed over Taylor from a hundred feet away. His first instinct was the same as when he met Kistur: he Flared her. His flash-bang skill was quicker now, and much more powerful. Pinky forgot what she was doing for a moment. She shook her armored head, roared again, and stamped her feet with hungry impatience. She had caught sight of a tasty morsel, something better than summer nuts, and she was going to open up his belly to get at all the good parts just as soon as she could see him.

Taylor took the moment to run sideways so he could flank her. Her head and vitals were too well-protected, and her eyes were too small to hit reliably. He would have to try something else. He Flared her again, keeping the spell tight around her head to maximize its effect. While she was blinded, he sent a strong stunner at her spine, right above her hind legs. The bolt of energy was directly on target, and disappeared into the boar's body.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Pinky's rear legs buckled, and Taylor grinned. He had her.

But Pinky had other feelings about the matter. She knew where he was now. Rage spilled from her ugly pink eyes, as she pulled herself forward with her front legs, faster and faster, gaining speed until she was coming at him as fast as a man could run.

That was when Taylor regretted not learning more attack magic. He'd been so focused on his basic skills and discovering the breadth of what the world's magic had to offer that he hadn't assembled a proper repertoire. He Flared the menacing pig again and ran for his life. She was so close he could feel the shock of his spell against his back, shaking the leaves around him in visible waves, and his ears started ringing. If he died, he'd try to remember this for next time. He ran with his enhanced speed through the falling deadwood and other tree-matter.

Once he had some distance, he pulled out the only other attack spell he knew.

"Opposing winds rise and fall, assailed by currents of cross intents. Blow the cyclone funnel down until it touches ground!"

Pinky flew, if one could call her involuntary floating, spinning, somersaulting, squealing adventure flying. She was built to live with her hatchet hooves firmly on the ground, and she was much put out by this terrifying change in her world. No matter how much she roared, she kept rising until the spell had run its course.

"Sorry, Pinky." Taylor dropped her. Gravity did as gravity does, and the unfortunate accelerated toward the earth, faster and faster, her final squeal ascending in Doppler scale, until she hit the earth and bounced.

Partly paralyzed and wholly confused, she decided the forage near Mourne was not so tasty after all, and she would surely have better luck elsewhere, preferably in a forest without magicians. She shook off her confusion and began the long process of hauling her bruised body back the way she came, front legs pulling while her back legs dragged behind her.

And that was when Kistur made his big entrance. He had found a long spear somewhere and charged her with it. Gordian knights didn't charge into battle with lances anymore — it was considered old-fashioned in the face of ranged praxes and other government-issued weaponry — but the young soldier did a credible re-enactment. He came at her from behind and drove his spear into her belly, angled forward to slip under the large plates protecting her vitals.

She bounded once, to get away from him, taking the spear with her, then stumbled and rolled in the grove, shaking mature trees like they were saplings, until she finally laid down. She died with a long, disappointed groan.

"Did you see that? I got her perfectly!"

"Yeah, dashingly done." Taylor sat amid the wild fermenting mash, holding his legs together so they'd stop shaking. "Where did you get the spear?"

"Took it off a hunter who was on the way here. Kids are safe, monster is dead, we win!"

Taylor felt a little sorry for Pinky and all she'd been through that day, only to be killed after giving up. But, better her than any of the villagers.

Several of the nearby trees were damaged, but not severely. The foragers would have a box somewhere close, with string and other supplies for managing the trees. He could splint the damaged branches now, to ensure they'd heal. He'd leave anything that had to be pruned to the experts: they would probably graft new branches in their place.

Kistur, jubilant in his victory, rode back to tell the hunters to hurry. There was a giant boar to clean. He returned with a crowd, Taylor's pony in tow, and the hunters started work on the monstrous pig.

Taylor stuck around a while to fix branches and promote their healing with a little magic. It would take a long time to clean an animal that large, and he wanted to watch. About an hour later, the looks the hunters gave him turned ugly. His mask was in place, so he wasn't sure what the problem was.

"What's the legate's son doing here?" complained one.

"Don't mind him," Kistur said magnanimously. "He's never seen this before, have you Bilius? Anyway, he helped kill it. He flushed her out at the perfect angle."

The longer he stayed, the darker their looks became, in spite of Kistur's assurances. He led his pony away and checked the saddle, preparing to leave.

"Hey," said Kistur, approaching him, "I'm sorry about all that. They're giving me all the credit for killing the boar."

"Well, killing it was all you. I just convinced her to run away."

"I reminded them to send some meat up to the house. The legate is supposed to get a share of big hunts."

"Thanks. I'll let Cook know it's coming."

The hunters cut a strip of heart meat for Kistur to eat, a ritual celebration of a worthy hunt. They were waving it around, beckoning the young soldier back to them.

One slice. For Kistur.

"You should go before they blame me for keeping you away."

"Yeah, they would, too. I'm resistant now, but your curse is pretty awful. You should go before there's trouble." He walked toward his new admirers but turned back. "Good hunt today!"

Taylor took the road through the orchard, then overland to his home, with Blake silently pacing him. In the distance, he could see a pack of townsfolk coming to see the monster boar they'd heard about and congratulate the hunter who killed it. A few of them pointed at the legate's masked son, only to have their neighbors reprimand them and pull their arms down. He might be dangerous. They did not wave and were happy to give him the wide berth they always had.

And why shouldn't they? It wasn't like those people had anything other than rumors to go on. It might be possible to change the way they felt about him with good deeds and limited exposure. But he'd have to work at it, and he couldn't be sure of success.

The question was, did he want to?

Jane arrived on their next lesson day with a stack of recipe cards for wild boar and bundles of herbs to go with the large quantity of meat in Cook's freezer. With Taylor around, they could keep it frozen for a year, but that didn't help Cook turn it into good dishes. Boar was tough and had a strong smell. Taylor had loads of ideas but was reluctant to demonstrate any of that knowledge. He didn't spend enough time in the kitchen to claim to have learned anything through watching. And, whipping up a pressure cooker couldn't be explained away with the two activities he was most known for: reading and practice.

So, he made sure to thank the curator for her unexpected gift. He assumed it could only have come from her. Kistur was friendly enough these days, but he wasn't a considerate person. It couldn't have come from the villagers because they preferred not to think of him at all.

Their lesson was a short one that day, a review of Mourne's finances for the previous quarter. The town was in fair shape, and as long as the harvest came in as expected they shouldn't have any problems stocking what they needed for the winter. Meanwhile, the legate's household funds continued to grow. Father had been away at Grisham's Wall for ten years, earning a new domain. In all that time, he lived on his salary and barely touched the income from Mourne. The house had been maintained, if barely, while his accounts steadily swelled. Three servants and a child were a paltry crew for such a house.

"This is a lot of money to leave sitting around, doing nothing. Didn't Father leave investment instructions?"

"The legate's chief concern is Mourne. He doesn't want his money ending up in the pockets of outsiders."

"So if he was going to invest in a business idea, he'd want it to be here." Taylor rifled through his usual stock of easy business ideas. Gordia already had good soap, confectionaries, pasta, decent metallurgy, antibiotics, and public sanitation. Its industries were powered by water, animals, and copious low-quality mana stones harvested from magic beasts on the frontier. Taylor didn't have much to add without revolutionizing the entire world. If he wanted new ideas, he'd have to spend more time around actual people. And that was dangerous.

"Before you do something outrageous, perhaps you should consider freshening up the mansion?" She looked around the room judgementally. "It was out of date before the legate was born."

"If you can get Father's approval to spend the money, I'm sure Blake can tell you what needs to be done around here."

"Oh no, don't foist your work onto other people. It's my job to get permission from your father. He shouldn't complain if I promise the money will be spent locally. It's your job to fix the house. We should hear back from him in about a month. If he agrees, I'll introduce you to some useful people from the town. The renovation is your responsibility." Her look of satisfaction was unbearable. Had his curse kicked in on the curator with full force, pushing her to invent new, unwanted responsibilities just to dump them on him?

"There is another matter we need to talk about. Did you know that I have a class? It's not one of the glorious ones, just Scholar. Before your father was a legate, I traveled with your parents for several years, exploring past the frontier."

"I heard about your class. I didn't know the rest." Jane had known his mother. That was unsettling, for some reason Taylor couldn't put his finger on.

"I learned many interesting things in those years. One of them was how to read a battle scene. Kistur may have struck the killing blow, but he only showed up at the last second. By that time, the animal was trying to get away. You used powerful wind magic to lame her. Then, you tried to cover it up by repairing the branches. With life-aligned magic."

"I wasn't covering anything up! I just wanted to repair some of the damage I caused. They're food trees, so I fixed what I could."

"It's important you answer me honestly right now." Taylor was shocked by the invisible pressure of Curator Jane's will crashing into him. He was sweating under his mask. "How many magic affinities do you possess?"

Taylor wanted to lie, to prevaricate just a little, let her think he was talented but not too talented. It had worked so far, and he'd been able to vastly undersell what he was capable of. He tried to say wind, life, and earth, the three affinities she already knew about, but the words wouldn't come. The harder he tried, the more her ability squeezed the air out of him. Her Scholar class must include a skill to sniff out liars. Or she had been advanced to a leadership class.

"It's all just magic to me," he wheezed out, "I'm pretty sure affinities are a myth." Jane released him, and Taylor collapsed back into his seat, gasping for air. His hands were shaking.

"What spells do you know? Don't try to lie to me again."

"Body enhancements, several healing spells, minor fire and water, all kinds of shaping. Preservation, which we both know is necromancy. The typical utility spells. Enough divination to find things. Light spells and force spells. So far, I can engrave any spell I can use. I can make devices, but I haven't tried anything complicated. Any spell I can use, I can do silently if I practice."

"What attack spells do you know?"

"I have Cyclone, which you know about, and a pretty good Stunning Bolt. That's it. Honest. Learning spells hasn't been my focus. I've been using up my mana every day with shaping and enhancement spells so I can grow my control and capacity. As long as I'm strong enough, I should be able to use anything."

Jane looked away from him and sighed with dismay. Taylor refused to feel responsible for whatever plight she found herself in. It served her right for pulling out a truth-telling ability. If she didn't want to know things, she shouldn't have asked.

"I'm sorry to resort to these measures, but I need to know these things and you're too secretive. I wish you had told me your talents were so extensive." She sighed again, looking at something only she could see. "All the townships around Midway will be short-handed for patrols when the garrison deploys, so I want you up to speed by then. As the acting legate, I can't let you sit idle."

"You're conscripting me? You remember how young I am, right? And we just established my complete lack of attack magic."

"Your age is an advantage: the army can't take you away from me. And nobody is forcing you. You are free to decline and remain bottled up in this house and your two little hills. Forever. Or, you can accept the job and roam the countryside as a part of your work. The pay is good, and the bonuses are potentially great. And, you'll have the town's permission to practice attack magic."

Jane smiled. She had the perfect sticks and carrots for Bilius d'Mourne. Victory was hers, and she knew it. "There's a place your mother used to practice, upstream from the quarry. Look for the sheer rock face with long gouges and burns all over it. Nobody will bother you there. Considering what you've accomplished in several months, I expect to be impressed. You should keep up your sparing matches with Kistur, while you can. I can't authorize a combat praxis, but I can have the town lend you a basic sword. As a backup and a symbol of our confidence. Your primary weapon will be your magic."

"Can I get a mithril one? A sword is a lot more useful if I can cast spells on it."

She looked down her nose at him. "Mithril is very expensive and definitely not basic." Something in her seemed to soften just a little. Maybe she felt guilty about earlier. "But I'll see if we can find one with a little mithril in the steel. Very, very little mithril." She pinched her fingers together to demonstrate just how little.

"I promise, even a tiny bit of mithril will make it a lot better!" Then, Taylor had an idea. Or, the start of one. "You said you couldn't authorize a combat praxis. What if I made a praxis for something that wasn't combat? Would that be legal?"

"As long as it's for personal use and has no lethal effects, it should be fine. But you should focus on survival gear. If your attack magic is as good as your enhancements, you'll be more than a match for anything around here. But the elements can still kill you."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.