With the belt in place, Emlyn steps back to assess him and nods. “Yes, you’ll do,” Emlyn smiles, “Atres, what do you think?”
Smiling, Atres nods, “He looks like a proper young man. A bit of a trim to his hair and that should do it.”
“I’ll have to take him to Milvara and get him something made for attending all the balls,” Emlyn sighs with a grin, “which I’m certain he’ll promptly outgrow. If he’s anything like my little brothers at that age, it always seemed like we were replacing something for them every week."
“These are the nicest clothes I’ve ever had,” Kluper says quietly.
“I’m glad you like them,” Emlyn nods, “Let me show you how to pin your cloak.”
With Kluper dressed in everyday clothes, Emlyn arranges to have the rest of his belongings delivered to the inn. Emlyn stops at Milvara’s shop to take Kluper’s measurements and then heads to Horvath’s shop to pick up the items she had commissioned.
The shop bell tinkles, and Astridir looks up, “Hello, there. Let me just get your things.”
“Never mind that,” Emlyn grins, “How did things go with Gramin?”
“I don’t think he liked me much,” Astridir grimaces, “I might have been a bit too clear about just how much I liked him. I haven’t heard a peep from him since.”
“I’ve known Gramin since I could walk,” Emlyn says, “Can I give you some advice?”
“Yes, please,” Astridir nods.
“I think he knows you like him. I think if you give him the chance, he’ll like you. Blame whatever it was on the wine, and then let it go. Just be the funny, spunky person you are here in the store. The rest will work itself out,” Emlyn shrugs, “as it was meant to be.”
“Hmm,” Astridir says, “I think if he asks me out again, I’ll try that.”
“Good,” Emlyn grins, “As it happens, I need something else made.”
Sketching quickly, Emlyn depicts a dragon rampant in front of a sun whose rays are sword blades. At the top, a slight arch hangs from an acorn, suspending the pin.
“A page’s pin?” Astridir asks.
Nodding toward Kluper, Emlyn agrees, “Yes, it seems I have one now.”
“That’s very old-fashioned,” Astridir says. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“He’s got no one else, and the orphanage put him out,” Emlyn shrugs. “When we found the older boys beating him and stealing his food, what was I to do? Leave him to starve? That’s a cruel death, and not one I’d subject a rat to, much less a child.”
“When was this?” Astridir asks.
“Last night,” Emlyn replies. “He looks a lot better now that I’ve had a go at healing him. We’ve gotten a couple of good meals into him, a good bath, and some clothes.”
“That orphanage is a miserable place,” Astridir says, “Any time a dwarven child fetches up there, one of the clans here in Harito makes it a point to go claim them. We might not even know which clan the child belongs to, but there’s a rotation for the unknown ones. Lots of Taigs aren’t so fond of non-dwarves, or we’d go take all of them, even the human ones.”
“That’s going to be something I pay a visit to eventually,” Emlyn grumbles, “As a former orphan myself, all that hits a bit close to home. Thank the Goddess I didn’t end up there myself.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Astridir assures her, “They put them out at the age of thirteen. Younger if they’re not fully human, like your page.”
“He’s six,” Emlyn says flatly. Shaking her head, Astridir goes to take her drawing to Horvath to get a price and pick up the other items.
“I have your hair rings and the other things,” Astridir says, placing the bag on the counter, “I hope that you like them. Do you have someone to help you with your hair?”
“Not yet,” Emlyn says, “Thank the gods the uniform’s not ready yet. I tried on the test one made from muslin. That coat is almost like a corset on me. I fear it’s going to prove nearly irresistible to some of the men who see it once it’s rendered in leather. I’ve already decided to attend a couple of Argonath’s staff meetings wearing it just so that the less well-behaved staff will force me into punching a few of them in front of him. Maybe then he’ll start to understand. I’ve already taken the precaution of having Milvara modify it so that it won’t hamper me in a fight.”
“Men often don’t understand what a trial they can be,” Astridir shrugs, “I think it’s because they don’t think like that, so it doesn’t occur to them that other men do. There’s a certain kind of man who doesn’t think much of putting his hands where they don’t belong. They see something they like, and they get quite… intrusive. Lots of the so-called upper crust are the worst about it. We have a couple of customers who come in here, and I make Da wait on them while I hide in the storeroom doing inventory. I’m not some cut of meat at the butcher shop to be slapped or pinched or groped.”
“I know what they’re like,” Emlyn nods, “It was before I came here, but my superior officer’s bodyguards attacked me on his orders. I think that perhaps you’re right. Atres and Argonath don’t understand the scope of the problem because they’ve never experienced it, and I don’t think they’d ever do anything like that themselves.”
Laughing, Astridir shrugs, “I doubt any woman would refuse to allow Atres to touch them if he batted those golden eyes at them. Argonath probably wouldn’t get too many refusals, either. He’d probably get a few less, if he did something a bit different with that hair of his.
“I think I’m going to ask Milvara to make a second coat so I can have the mages spell the first one,” Emlyn explains, “I think a spell to reveal where all that coat gets touched by someone other than me ought to do the trick.”
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
“I call them the bumpers,” Astridir commiserates, “The ones who bump into you or brush past you just so they can make a quick grope.”
“How much for the new pin?” Emlyn asks.
“Da says ten ducats,” Astridir grins, “That’s just enough to cover the cost of the silver and the mold. He likes what you’re doing for the boy.”
“I don’t know how well he’ll take to Cymry ways,” Emlyn shrugs, “but it’s better than whatever puts him in the street to fend for himself. I’ll see if the Temple smiths can make him some wooden weapons.”
“You mean to teach him to fight then?” Astridir asks.
“I mean to teach him to be able to defend himself so that no one ever beats him like that again,” Emlyn replies.
“If you’re looking for someone to do the war braids, I might know someone,” Astridir says. “She’s dwarven, but I’d be surprised if she’s not familiar with Cymry war braids.”
“That would be appreciated,” Emlyn says.
Astridir scribbles out a name and address for her, tearing it from her book and handing it to Emlyn. “See if she can’t help you out once that coat is done,” Astridir says.
In the cavern below the bank in Harito, the door creaks open, and Otrin looks around. “Good, they cleaned up.”
He steps out, followed closely by Gendini, Dergit, and Henga. Gendini’s armor is no ceremonial relic, no feast day exhibition. It’s darkened steel, ornate but a bit battered. The sigil of Umir is on her chest, ringed by runes, some now chipped from hard wear. Faint traces of gold inlay still linger along the edges, catching light like forgotten glimmers of her youth. Her pauldrons are oversized and rough-etched, fashioned from old forge-iron and dinged from repelling everything from raiders to trolls. Her gauntlets are thick, reinforced with layered ridges of steel and black leather, hands made for war and labor alike. Across her back is strapped a heavy axe, its haft worn smooth by decades of use, and at her belt hangs a smaller, battered ironwood-handled axe, carved with oath-marks and wrapped in a scaly lizard skin.
Henga steps through behind Gendini. Steel pauldron plates curve over her shoulders, each engraved with the Clan Rune Axe sigil. The cuirass, slightly oversized, has some fresh scuffs and a polished gleam along the edges where she’d been training and fighting. Across her back rests a battle axe nearly as long as she is tall, dwarven-forged, and double-headed, not unlike her father’s. A few artificer’s runes gleam on the head and haft.
Dergit follows closely on Henga’s heels. His pauldrons gleam with fresh polish, trimmed in bronze and etched with the Clan Rune Axe sigil, still new enough to lack the dents of war, but heavy all the same. His breastplate is forged of blackened steel, embossed with Umir’s sigil. The armor bulks his frame, though his shoulders were already strong from mining and hauling stone. Dergit’s brown hair is cropped short to keep it from getting caught in his gorget. His hair is a bit tousled, and he’s eager to meet his new sister. Just edging up on manhood, the faintest hint of stubble sneaks along the edge of his jaw.
Three of the four are dressed for battle since it’s easier to wear dwarven gear than lug it around.
“Let’s get to the inn and find Girlie,” Gendini says. “Ugh! I’m going to have a hard time not saying her name.”
Grinning, Henga nods. “I know. It’s not going to be easy for me, either. I want to meet Atres.”
“I want to meet my new sister,” Dergit grins.
The group heads out through the bank, but this time, the bank manager ushers them out quickly into a waiting carriage, and they’re soon at the inn.
As soon as they step inside, Kethas looks out and laughs. “Oiy! Come to try to invade my inn again?”
Laughing, Otrin shrugs. “You ever wear dwarven armor? It’s a lot easier to wear than it is to carry. We’ll get a room for my son Dergit and go change. We figured it was best to bring the gear in case we end up going against whatever thing this is that Girlie’s facing.”
“Is she here?” Gendini asks.
“No,” Loket replies. “She went to go take the boy shopping and get him clothes.”
“What boy?” Otrin asks.
“Vorlig picked up a stray,” Gramin explains and launches into the story of Kluper.
“If he’s an orphan too, she’ll want to keep him,” Gendini says. “It might be a balm for her to have someone to care for, like she did her younger siblings.”
“She called him her page,” Kethas adds helpfully, “so I think she does mean to keep him. Not anywhere else for him to go. His parents dumped him at the orphanage because he’s a half-breed. The orphanage dumped him as soon as they figured out that he wasn’t fully human. It’s either leave him in the streets to starve or take him in. The gnomish community won’t take him because he’s a half-breed.”
Otrin looks at Gendini and chuckles, “I know that look. It seems we’ve got a son, not just a daughter, to help raise.”
“Grandchild, more like,” Kethas shrugs, “I had to burn his clothes. Filthy, buggy things. We had him dressed in an old pillowcase that I turned into a makeshift tunic. He snuck into bed with her last night because something scared him, so I think he sees her at least as his protector, if not his mother.
“She’d protect him,” Otrin nods, “Seems like this boy’s got some sense of people, even as young as you say he is.”
“After finding her family as she found them,” Henga shrugs, “Those boys are lucky to still be breathing. I hope they realize just how lucky they are.”
“I’m not so sure I’d call them lucky. She’ll either go visit Abato or send word to him to make sure those guards locked those miscreants up,” Kethas says, “She didn’t trust the guards to do their jobs.”
“She thought that they’d walk them around the corner and cut them loose,” Loket nods, “They were lazy enough and not really interested until she mentioned Dranor and Armeniel.”
“Who’s that?” Otrin asks.
“The duke’s heir and the king’s heir,” Gramin grins, “She’s apparently on a first-name basis with most every power player in town.”
“Tell me what you think of Atres,” Henga says, “I’m quite curious.”
“The more time I spend around him,” Loket shrugs, “The more I like him. He’s smart, pays attention, asks good questions, and seems to be after Girlie for all the right reasons. All that jewelry scared him because he was afraid that she’d pick someone else. He’s not afraid to say he doesn’t know something, and he’s willing to listen and be guided by others who do until he learns. These dragon-blooded men train from the time they’re small to fight to get a mate. If he has to fight to keep her, he will. He doesn’t give a rock shard about anything other than her. She’s apparently been checking his motives, and they seem to be to her liking.”
“What’s he like?” Henga asks, “What caught Girlie’s eye?”
“Aside from those golden eyes,” Kethas shrugs, “and looks that are the envy of just about every man breathing, he’s kind and decent. He’s been extremely patient with her. They balance each other out in ways I wouldn’t have predicted. He’s been dealt a bad hand. That was probably because he is so good-looking. I think his looks are why Rikissa tried to use magic to force him to bond with her.”
“I take it that this Rikissa is Armeniel’s sister,” Otrin says, “I suppose that explains a few things.”
Kethas nods.
“I need to talk to the three of you,” Loket says, “Bank business, so if the rest of you will excuse us, we’ll just head upstairs for a bit.”
Otrin, frowning, heads upstairs, following Loket along with Gramin and Vorlig.
Shutting the door to the room, Loket says, “I think I know what’s wrong with Girlie, and I think she needs to spend a few nights in the vault wearing the Amulet of Runes.”
Otrin’s eyes go wide for a moment as he considers this. “Hmmm, you might be right. She eats a lot, never puts on weight, and only gets stronger ever so slowly.”
“She said she’d been resurrected so many times that they should have been counting because it’s bound to be some record. They spent months standing over her, chanting healing spells without being able to feed her. The magic didn’t have anything to work on, so it started consuming her to fix her,” Loket explains. “At least that’s my theory, and to get her out of that cycle, I think she needs something that will regenerate her.”
“Assuming you’re correct, and I think you are,” Otrin says, “What do you propose we do?”
“I propose we get a cot and a chamber pot placed in the vault, and we take turns spending the night with her there so she can sleep wearing it,” Loket shrugs, “until she starts filling out again. Umir’s Beard! You should see how thin she is. She’s been wearing a double gambeson with chain mail in between. It wasn’t until she took it off that I realized just how frail she looks.”
“Frail is right up there with words like adorable, shy, and enchanting that I never expected to hear someone say about Girlie,” Gramin adds, “but it’s true. She’s a sliver of herself. I tried to start some conditioning with her and had to stop.
Want to binge the future? > I have months of backlog for Order of the Storm Crow waiting for you. Get 50+ chapters ahead of Royal Road today!
Plot Points of Note:
-
The New Page: Emlyn has acquired a "page" in the form of Kluper, a half-gnome boy tossed out of an orphanage for not being human enough. She’s already making "agreements" that involve no stealing and plenty of schooling.
-
The Pillowcase Protocol: When you don't have clothes for a rescued street urchin, a modified pillowcase apparently passes for high fashion in a pinch.
-
Gramin’s Woes: Poor Clan Father Gramin is having a rough time with the ladies. One was too "proper," one was too "wild" (toes under the table, oh my!), and one liked the drink a bit too much.
-
Bedtime Stories: The lad is so spooked he sneaks into Emlyn’s bed in the middle of the night for safety. It seems the "Lioness" has a soft spot for strays.
Atres Watch:
Rating: 4/5 Stone Tankards
Tall Obstacle (Atres) is actually being useful for once. He volunteered for "boy stuff" like moving the sleeping lad to a new room and managed to plant a kiss on the Ambassador’s forehead without getting his head bitten off. He’s still an obstacle to my charm, but I suppose he has a decent heart.
-
One Copper: For the pillowcase that sacrificed itself for Kluper's dignity.
-
One Silver: To help Gramin find a lady who doesn't use her feet as conversation starters.
-
One Gold: To buy me a pint so I can forget being called "slag-for-brains" in front of the whole tavern.
the Discord via this invite link.