Maude and Larida continued to teach me about culture, etiquette, and how not to offend merchants with bartering—of all things. During our stops, the Troll schooled me on how to use my hand axes and I helped with the nightly cooking.
“Papers please” a man covered in armor says from the port in the carriage door. Maude passes a sealed scroll through. “I have to check the manifest and match it to this scroll. Please open the carriage door.”
It’s not locked, so the man is being more than professional. Before Maude can get the latch, our Human guard opens the door from the outside.
“Five. There’s a discrepancy Ma’am. This allows an Escort bearing this letter, a driver, a female Troll and a Guard. Not two Trolls.” Maude is about to talk, as is Larida, when the man in armor holding the door barges in.
“I understand your confusion. I am merely a guide for the trail. You see the marches don’t always have the best roads, and I was hired to ensure they found their way here and back. The guard there is to protect the lady troll from humans that attempt to interfere with her diplomatic mission.”
All of us look at the otherwise silent man.
“If this resolves your discrepancy, I will take my leave.”
The man holding the letter closes his eyes for a moment. “The race nor gender of the Guard was mentioned, so I am forced to take this at face value.” He hands the opened letter back to Maude. “You will need this at the upper checkpoint, though I suggest that one of you sit up front with the driver to avoid additional confusion.”
I mouth thank you to our ‘Guide’ as the checkpoint guard turns away. He nods, shuts the door and walks away.
Once we get through the gate, the driver knocks on the cabin thrice, signaling something. Larida climbs out, snags the letter and shuts the door before the carriage rolls on. The carriage stops and the door opens once more before we arrive at the ducal estate.
While estate is a fine word, Palace and grounds are two that are better fitting of this particular property. The building must have fifty rooms, and I’ll be a pigmy elephant if the building I saw behind the service entrance wasn’t a boarding house for ‘the help’.
We stop again, but this time, a fancily dressed older man is holding the door and gesturing for us to exit. Maude exits first and I follow, taking the hand offered by Larida.
“Why do I feel like this honor is for me, and not Maude.” I ask my ‘Guard’
“Because you are not stupid and have eyes. You are being treated as a land-owning Noble, which according to the system message is appropriate.”
Noooooo. I forgot about that message.
“I take it that the two people at the side of the entrance are the Duchess and their eldest son?”
“Mm, though second son. Their eldest son is already married to some fourth princess of the Empire of Man.”
We walk until we are sword length from the pair to greet us. I bend slightly at the waist and lower my head, while Larida bows more deeply. The young lord matches Larida and the Duchess offers us a small curtsey.
“My apologies Lady Zhantsa, my husband the Duke is attending your Patron presently. This is my second son Charles.
“I am grateful for the greeting and the opportunity to experience your hospitality, Duchess. Well met, young Lord, perhaps we will see each other again.”
I see a hint of mirth in the woman’s eyes, but her features are well schooled. A servant opens the entry doors and the Duchess leads us through, with Charles attending my left side opposite Larida.
“Charles and our head man will show you your quarters. I must inform my husband of your arrival.”
I doubt the man needs to be informed of the cause of the ruckus at his home, but I have been told this is the way of things so that important people can move about the house and organize things without being seen working. What a ridiculous notion.
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Two flights of stairs and a walk down a long hallway to a pair of massive doors, we stop and are met by a made and a man dressed like a butler. They pay their respects to our arrival, deeply enough to make me uncomfortable, and Charles proceeds to introduce them as Liam and Mary.
“Should you need to arrange for services external to the estate, such as a carriage, a tailor, or what have you, Liam is your man. Mary will serve as your chamber maid and your liaison for house services such as laundry or meals.”
We all wait in silence for something to happen, when Larida glares at me, telling me they are waiting on me.
“Thank you Lord Rivayne, though we are not accustomed to being waited on, and a chamber maid will not be necessary.” I get a look from Charles, as though he is about to insist. “Nor will she be welcome. If my Patron insists otherwise, I will of course cede to her judgement.”
Appreciate the offer, but insinuate cultural differences without saying you don’t want humans in your room all the time or don’t think they’re safe.
“I see. Then both will be responsive to your requests from the hallway. If that is all?”
“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.” As soon as he turns I open the door and slide behind it waiting only a moment for Larida to follow before I shut and latch the door.
“Ugh, can you imagine having a whole person just waiting, in this room, for us to ask for something? No thank you.” I whisper scream at my roommate as I walk to survey my accommodations.
“I feel the same. You are not wrong in that we are not waited on. Even Shamans merely have assistants that help them work more and faster, not work instead. Acolytes are different, I suppose. Servants of faith to the Lord of the Sky do much of cultivating the faith of the populace in the High Shaman’s stead.”
The room is a series of three rooms: The sitting room, the bedroom, and the servant’s quarters. The furnishings are lavish and the bed is large enough to hold a scandalous number of people with a spacious bathroom attached. Oddly, no windows are featured in the bedroom, though large windows take up the entire wall of the sitting room. That’s an oddity I may have to ask over.
“it seems that your Patron is impatient to meet you. She is coming down as we speak.”
“Oh, no! Am I dressed well enough? What do I say? What do I do? How do I greet her?”
She chuckles, “Forgive her eccentricity. Other than that, I don’t think she cares.”
Before I can ask for clarification, the doors to our suite burst open, admitting a large woman, perhaps two and a half meters tall, light blue skin and short tusks. A look of desperation has her eyes wide and mouth half open, her mulberry locks swishing, in search of something.
When her eyes lock on, I can tell she recognizes me—a thought I do not share. “My prayers have come true.” She turns to shut the doors and takes two quick strides toward me before I step back at her proximity. I see that my reaction broke that tenuous hope, causing her to collapse to her knees and begin to cry.
“I’m sorry, my Patron, for whatever I did. I just, you are very impressive, and a bit intimidating.”
“Did you hear that, Larida? She was scared of me.” She continues sobbing and Larida walks to place a hand on her massive shoulder.
“I’m sorry if I am supposed to know you. I honestly don’t remember anything before I woke in the woods outside of Marcrest.”
The woman looks to me, then locks eyes with Larida. “It appears to be genuine. I have some questions about her technical acumen in the face of her amnesia, but she remembers nothing of her heritage.”
“Ah. I may have a secret I owe you that can explain that.” Both of them snap their heads to me, each looking serious as though the weight of the world hangs on my explanation. “I’m a Traveler. I did not expect to arrive looking like someone anyone living would know, but as soon as I was told that I had a patron sending money for my wellbeing, I wondered if that was exactly what happened.”
“A Traveler? Yet you have not been destructive or overly ambitious. Before you ask, I sent spies. The only way I know to verify a Traveler is to kill them and await their return. But I could not bear to do that. I would like to verify who you were. If this is a mere representation, or a new being inhabiting an established vessel.”
“I, I would like to know that too. What do I do?”
A small ceramic dish appears in her hand, telling me at once that this is a Shaman, at least according to Larida’s stories. “A few drops of blood in the dish will do.”
I nip the edge of my finger on my tusk and squeeze blood to spatter on the smooth plate. The large woman immediately begins to chant, silver whisps and radiant shimmers encircle the dish before scooping up the blood and surging into the large Shaman’s glowing eyes.
She gasps and shudders for minutes before she slumps backwards and begins crying anew. My feet move of their own accord and I find myself resting a hand on her shoulder as well as Larida.
“Are you okay? What did you see? Eek!” I squeak as she pulls me into an enveloping hug.
“I saw my daughter. Her adventure, her capture, her escape and her last moments of consciousness. Then I saw her running with energy and fear from a wolf that mauled her before she defeated them. I see the moments in the Human town leading up to the moment you bled on the dish before me. Was it you that ran from the wolf?”
“It was. I’m very sorry for your daughter.”
“Where as I am glad she is returned to me. Regardless of your mind, you are a Troll of my blood, and I would call you daughter.”
Tears burn in my eyes, as a feeling of loss, hope, and a forgotten want are pulled up from the depths of my soul. “What?” I ask through the sobs.
“I would name you Spirehawk and claim you as kin. Would that be okay?”
This woman, after not knowing what happened to her daughter for years, after then seeing the live she lived and the years I lived in her stead, would still welcome me? Just like that? Is this what family is supposed to do? I continue expressing how overwhelming this is with fat, ugly tears.
My hope and want claw higher and I hold onto this rock of a woman more fiercely until both emotions claw their way out of my mouth in an exhausted whisper some untold minutes later.
“I would like that very much.”