The Inn Keeper had hurriedly left before I could speak with him and tell him not to bother acting on Wilmette’s whims with regards to me. I considered chasing after the innkeeper, but figured what was the worse that could happen? I would have to say no thank you to some middle-aged women, and that would be the end of it.

About a half an hour later I discovered how very wrong about my assumptions I could be. The owner of the place where I was staying returned with what I imagine were two pimps. Big men in their late twenties and early thirties.

One of the two flesh-peddlers went upstairs with a group of women between the ages of 16 and 30 or what I expected them to offer me.

Instead, the proprietor came over led his associate to me and trailing behind him were eight girls between six and twelve years old. I guess they must have figured I was young I must want something similar.

The pimp said. “DO YOU SPEAK MAGRITH?” Every word he said he spoke twice as loudly as he should have and half as fast. As if he was trying to make up for my presumed lack of linguistic skills by overpowering me with his words. He turned to the Innkeeper, “you never know with these savages.”

Looking at me again, “IF THESE AREN’T RIGHT, I CAN GET DIFFERENT ONES. IF YOU WANT YOUR MOMMY, BOY, I GOT MOMMIES A PLENTY. I GOT WILD ONES TOO IF YOU WANT TO TAME ONE. OR IF YOU WANT TO BE TAMED.”

When I didn’t reply, the pimp turned to the Innkeeper, “This is hopeless, he’s too stupid to know what his pecker does besides that it feels good when he sticks it in the holes of trees. Let’s just split the coin and call it a day. Nobody cares if this retard gets laid.”

I looked at the man whose establishment I would be staying at for the next three weeks and said flawlessly, my aristocratic accent in spoken Magrith coming to the forefront, “I will need to speak with you later. Right now, this man and I have some business to discuss outside of your fine lodging.”

It felt nice to be speaking the language of my second birth again. Not as nice as it would have been to speak English, but a close second.

I stood and neither looking to the side or the back walked out of the door.

“I’m sorry if I offended. Willem just spoke of your guardian having gold and an atrocious foreign provincial accent. Why don’t we just call it even and begin again.”

I said nothing just turned round the corner into an alley way. Then I turned around.

“You realize that I not some pissant nobleman, whatever you might think I don’t fight duels, I let other people fight for me.”

“Cliisa, Bruxton” Two massive figures appeared out of the darkness of the streets and quickly flanked the whoremonger. The first was a Woman who was only 5 and a half feet tall, but she was covered in burn marks and scars, and much broader that her hight would tell. The other was a man much who was easily seven feet.

Both of them looked like what I once would have imagined an ogre would look like, that is if I didn’t know already that I would someday discover that all ogres looked like monkeys. Both bruisers carried clubs.

“I will have you know that this will hurt me more than it will hurt you.” The pimp said. “Killing a customer is bad for business. At least you are from out of town.”

“I’m going to enjoy hurting you,” I said.

“Kill him!” yelled the pimp, but I was already moving.

Dodging under an upswing club, I used just a touch of my knack and hit the woman with an empty-handed jab in the throat using just about as much physical force as Mike Tyson would have struck in his prime. It broke her trachea, and she collapsed onto the stone of the alleyway.

The other body guard lunged at me with his club. He projected his swing, telegraphed every movement. I didn’t need anything extra to get out the way. If I’d had some sort of bladed weapon, I could have ended it right there and then. Unfortunately, he was too tall, and I could not reach up to his neck to break it.

Instead, I waited for five more seconds to pass, then again only using a tiny fraction of my stored power, shattered both his knees. As he fell to the ground, I kicked him in the head unconscious.

I turned to the pimp who was standing looking at his two body-guards, obviously the veterans of hundreds of street fights, who had just been nullified by an eleven-year-old in 7 seconds.

I said, “I think I’m going to start by hitting you over and over again. When I get bored of that, I think I will skin you alive. Don’t worry about losing consciousness. I’m a decent healer. I can keep you aware while I work you over.”

“I have money.” He said.

“I don’t care.”

“Just tell me what I did to offend you.”

“It was the girls.”

“They weren’t good enough? You’re fucking crazy man. Guy wants to kill me because some bitches aren’t pretty enough. Fucking Crazy.”

Sighing, I said. “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand anyway. And it doesn’t matter. I can’t change this fucking place, so I might as well work some aggression out on you.”

And then I began to do what I promised and hit him over and over. First I broke his legs, then his arms, then the bones in his chest. Then when he was about to lose consciousness, I healed the superficial wounds on his body, gave him a burst of energy and began hitting him again.

After a couple of minutes, I hear one of the bodyguards crawl away. And then a few minutes later I heard the words “HALT” behind me.

I stopped punching the pimp and let him drop to the ground.

The guards said “Drop any weapons you are holding. Put your hands on your head. Spread your legs. Don’t make any sudden movements.”

Without turning, I said, “I am Elm of House Lysturgus and the Clan Naato, Son of Lord Harrion Wolverine Oak Knight General of the Inquisitors and Lady Margrith Dryad Spiritnettle of the third branch of the Royal Family, let me turn around.”

And without waiting, I turned. There were six guards. I reached into my money supply and pulled out twelve gold coins and handed them to the guards.

“Feel free to take blood to verify my identity. This man and I were having a discussion. It will be over soon. I won’t leave a mess.”

I pricked my finger and offered it to the lead guard who collected a drop on a special piece of paper he carried. Sealing the paper with my essence away for a blood mage to examine later, he said. “Yes my Lord.” And took the coins.

His guards were about to leave when he stopped and turned back to me. “My Lord, how were you planning to dispose of the body.”

I thought about it for a bit. “I’d been planning to tie it down with stones and dump it into the moat. Why?”

The lead guard nodded. “A good plan your lordship. Of course, that still leaves you carrying a body through the streets and trying to slip past the guards at the gate. For another couple gold, the lads and I would be more than happy to dump him in the charnel pile behind the tannery.”

I thought about it, then nodded and handed them six more gold. “I was going to skin him alive, but I find myself tiring of this. Can I borrow a knife.” A guard handed me one. I reached down to the bloody mass that was once a man, still conscious, still aware, unable even to regret what he had no concept of doing wrong, only capable of feeling pain and cut the poor pimp’s throat.

Before the guards left with the two remaining bodies, their leader stopped and turned to me. "Do you mind if I ask why? I understand if it is your business or personal, but he was just a businessman going providing a useful service. And he his service was quite popular with the wealthy and nobility."

I thought about it for a bit. "I don't know. It was pointless. Catharsis I guess."

The guard thought about that for a while. "I understand. Sometimes we all need to blow off a little steam. You will have problems because of this. Blowback. This man worked for powerful men."

Back in the Inn the Innkeeper looked at me with eyes filled with fear.

I said, “It should be obvious by now that I don’t need sexual companionship. If, you would like to earn those coins you took, find me a tutor. I am sick of speaking Cretin like an inbred pig fornicator. Bring me another beer then leave me alone for the rest of the evening.”

I then walked over to the children who were also looking at me with eyes filled with fear. God knows what they thought I would do to them now.

Opening my thinning money belt, I handed each of the eight girls one of my few remaining gold coins that I’d found while exploring the dungeon after Wilmette left. I’d planned on buying a book. Fuck you, Wilmette.

“Go. Learn a trade. Find an apprenticeship. Pay some parents to love you. Take fighting lessons. Invest in shipping. Put it all on red. Use it as your dowry. I don’t care. Just do something different than you are doing right now, and don’t go back to the people who use and mistreat you. I doubt life will give you a chance after this. But then I don’t have a right to make assumptions like that.”

I sounded like one of those asshole crusaders who wanted to save all the fallen women because he or she was terrified of their sexuality. I was sick of this whole thing, and I knew the minute I sat down again, nothing would change. They would have the money I gave them taken from them the minute they left this building. But the thing was, during this singular quantum moment in existence, I felt good, like I could hold onto some form of a me that was rapidly slipping away.

That night I got drunk. Very drunk. Very very drunk. I don’t know if I slept in the right room, but somehow I made it upstairs.

I came down the stairs trying to be quiet, but my head was ringing, and I was having trouble thinking. “Bring me food. And boil some water for tea.” I managed to croak.

The innkeeper’s wife said in a hushed and frightened voice. There is an Inquisitor waiting for you in the private Room. Lord Er Peregrine Mahogany himself requests you join him. We were just about to go up and wake you."

“Which room?” I said. I should have expected this. After last night it would have been unavoidable.

She led me to a small private room off to the side and announced my entry. Well, announce was a bit of an overstatement. “Elm is here my Lord.”

“Great, Great. Send him in.”

I walked in. “Lord Er Peregrin Mahogany, than you for this courtesy. Forgive my slow wits this morning but your visit was unexpected and I am afraid I drank a bit too much last night and am still suffering ill effects.”

“My boy, think nothing of it. I can have the lovely woman outside call for a healing mage if you would like.” He said.

I am an utter moron, I quickly worked out the runes for curing a hangover and cast them on myself. “I was even of slower wits than I thought. That should have been obvious, but I feel so much better. Thank you for being so circumspect with providing your wisdom. My last mentor would never have been so delicate.”

“You are a healer then,” Lord Er said.

“Among other things,” I replied.

He nodded, “It is a useful skill. About this mentor you mentioned, is this what you are doing in our fair city. Your father sent a missive to me three days ago indicating you would be passing through, and he gave me a letter to pass along. Your father is a good friend, especially for a commanding officer, but I am still at a loss about what you are doing out here so far away from… well… to be blunt, actual civilization.“

Lord Er pushed a letter across the table to me, and I slid it over slightly to the right of where my right hand was resting. I would read it later.

“You are partially correct. I have just finished training with my Mentor Wilmette Bear Trillium in the wilderness for the last year. We came into your town for my naming ceremony, and undoubtedly my father has a better idea of what I will be doing next and even when and where I will be going.”

Lord Er looked startled, then flustered, “Excuse me, did you say Wilmette? For a Year. And you survived. Well, this explains quite a bit.”

“Why?” I asked with curiosity.

“If it is the Wilmette I am acquainted with, and with my knowledge of your father, I can hardly doubt that it to be anybody else. His training is well known as being brutal. Sometimes groups of promising Inquisitors are sent out into the wilderness with him for two or three months to learn tracking, survivalism, and combat techniques. I was in one of those groups. There were 25 of us. Five of the some of the best inquisitors in a decade could not survive the combat training. Three he took a disliking too for some reason and killed outright. And another six died in a dungeon exploration we participated in.”

“You claim you spent a year with the man. I do not doubt you. But I have heard that his long-term training sessions are even more difficult. That Wilmette is more prone to simply kill the trainee on a whim than he would someone training with a group. Someone I trust has mentioned figures as low as a one person in five surviving. And usually those people are much older and longer trained than you.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “He is upstairs with some women if you want to interrupt his orgy to talk. I have a brother and sister in the capital, and my Father has told me often enough that I am not even the spare, so I would imagine he was just making some sort of gambit or another. I have no claim to understanding his mind.”

“Do you mind, if I excuse myself?” Lord Er said. “If what you say is true, it will make your stay easier. There are already people who lost money due to your actions last night planning violence against you. Dear Quartering, Wilmette. It might help you if I were to point out to certain parties that any retaliatory violence direct towards will undoubtedly be met with overwhelming force in return, and given who your parents are I’m not sure the political price would be worth it. Especially over a bunch of nobodies.”

“I would appreciate your help clearing up this misunderstanding,” I said.

“Then, Dear Elm, I thank you for the time we spent together and the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I now have the onerous task of interrupting an old acquaintance in the midst of coitus.”

“The pleasure Lord Er has been entirely mine, though I do not envy you the task that lays before you. Wilmette whose vocabulary, while limited is colorful, and who can be grumpy.”

“Grumpy” Lord Er said. Then laughed. “Grumpy. I will have to remember that.”

“Good Luck,” I said.

After he’d left the room, I leaned back into the chair and contemplated my father’s letter. Technically I didn’t have to open it. Though I had been bandying his name around more than I’d ever done before these last two days.

In the end, opening the envelope was a lot like pulling out clumps of hair. After a quick yank it hurts for a while, and then you forget about it.

Besides my Father seemed to be having me scried. He knew where I was and where I was going well enough to send me a letter even before I got there.

I opened the letter.

Elm,

Your training with Wilmette is now over. Congratulations on surviving. You surprised your mother and I. Well done. You might not even be the spare but at least you aren’t as unworthy as you once were.

I do not know what skills you picked up, which directions your talents lie, though I am sure the order will be able to make good use of them.

You are probably wondering where you are headed next. There is a little war being fought on the border of Tenar. I will arrange for something for you there. I will let Knight Captain Er Peregrin Mahogany know where you are to be posted and to pass it along.

Stay where you are right now. Before you left I gave Wilmette permission to chose your Maturing name. The time is coming up quickly. I suggest you do not go speak to the naming order during the solstice festival because it will be chaos.

Your mother has been reading a book and is in one of her moods. One of the creature called an anteater. She has told me to pass a message along to Wilmette that Anteater would be a good choice for you.

My suggestion is that as you tend to be unwelcome and underfoot you ask Wilmette to choose something that reflects this. A zebra mussel, or some sort of parasite.

Your mother also reminds you that you are entitled to a magic, celestial or spiritual animal name due to your link to the throne in her lineage. In my opinion these names are more trouble than they are worth. Both your brother and sister have are named after legendary creatures and they have become merely courtiers in the capital. Political animals, rather than people of direct action. By not claiming your bloodline you can claim anonymity.

Lastly, it is unlikely that your time in the Wilderness has left you with sufficient funds to see you in the custom of our house, our name, and our clan. To that end, I have left some money on deposit in your name and in your blood at the State national bank of the Empire. I believe they have a branch in the city you are currently residing.

Don’t make me regret you,

Harrion Wolverine Oak

Your Father.