Payten ran towards where he had last seen his master in his hands he held a jewelry box and the dead creature by his side rode Sir Rodney on his squirrel. His mind turned trying to decipher what the hells had just happened. He had gone with the flow to success, but now that the tide of good fortune had washed over him he was left confused by the encounter.

‘Rodney?” he asked, maintaining his run.

“Yes, my liege?”

“What are you?”

“I am Sir Rodney the Brave, Sworn to Sir Payten the beast slayer.”

“I mean, are all rats as smart as you?”

“No my lord, The presence of King Rhasgat has blessed his court with a greater intelligence than our more simple kin.”

That was a relief, he had killed more than his fair share of rats back on the farm, he did not need their lives resting on his conscience.

Rodney’s ears perked up, he readied his lance. “Caution my lord, I sense someone approaching.”

He drew his knife and pressed his body into a wall, “Hide.” He whispered to the little lancer, who nodded and rode into the shadows. He waited, it may have been Hark but he had taken enough risks for the day.

“Lad, come out” the deep voice of his master echoed against the mossy walls.

Thank the Gods

He ran towards his master, happy to see something he recognized.

“Where have you been, Payten. I told you to wait where I left you.” He swallowed, his master’s voice had an edge that he had never experienced before. He suddenly felt nervous, he had gotten comfortable with the man during their journey, but Hark was a necromancer how would he react to disobedience.

“And by Gods’ blood, why do you have a dead weasel?” His master’s face softened when he saw the boy, his anxiety dissipated. For better or worse he trusted Hark.

“You will never believe me, master.” Payten launched into an explanation about what had occurred in his master’s absence, he took a small amount of joy in watching Hark’s eyebrow raise fraction by fraction as he told his tale.

“I was hoping you could shed some light on what happened.” He finished.

“I can indeed, lad. But first, we must address your failure, I gave you a direct order and you disobeyed.”

His face flushed with blood, he looked down and studied the dirt on his boots.

“Look at me, Payten. I encourage you to be proactive and take calculated risks, but I warned you of patrols and monsters and told you to stay put, yet you acted recklessly and charged into an unknown situation with no forethought. That is how mages meet their end, and you have much more to learn before you die”

Hark was right, just because it worked out in his favor this time did not mean it always would.

“Your curiosity is one of your strongest traits but if not tempered with caution you will never live to see the fruits of your labor. Do you understand, lad?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good, I was worried about you. If you do it again I will make you write lines till your fingers bleed. Now that is out of the way, let us discuss your little adventure.”

“You have performed an act of thaumaturgy, in fact, one of the oldest recorded techniques. You performed a task for a spirit and in exchange received a fraction of its power.”

“So I really can talk to rats?”

“More than that, by the sounds of it you can speak to anything that could be considered a vermin.”

He felt torn, it was more power than he had before, it still felt a little … underwhelming

“Don't look so crestfallen, lad. It may lack a certain glamor, but all advantages are worth seeking out and any tool can become powerful in the hands of a master.”

Hark had a point, how could he use this to his advantage? Well something to think about on the road

“So Rhastgat was a spirit?”

“Yes, Vermin lords are well-recorded spirits that form in locations with a high concentration of rodents. If left to their own devices they can be quite ... troublesome ” Hark’s brow furrowed, “ though it is uncommon for one to appear in places with such low ambient mana.”

“Ambient mana?”

“Yes, the amount of mana leaking from the stars and the core of the earth into the environment. Compared to the rest of the world Orrea is a wasteland.”

“And what about this, the weasel?” Hark took the body from Payten’s hands.

“You found an aberrant, lad. A creature warped and twisted by mana .”

“How can something be mutated by mana?”

“You must remember the base principles of mana: it is infinitely mutable, it changes all it touches. Aberration Is caused by exposure to uncontrolled mana, caused by a spell backlash warping the caster or poisoning the ambient mana around them. This is why you must maintain focus when casting, think of mana like blood, as long as it stays in its proper place it is, for the most part, harmless, but if it drips into where it should not be it can quickly become an issue.”

Payten frowned, “why didn't you tell me, Will I end up like that?”

“Not always so monstrous, lad, some manage to live and thrive. Though do not worry as long as you are careful and do not take on more than you can handle you can avoid the worst of it. It is inevitable however, you will at one point experience warping.”

Psyten’s frown deepened, he was already different enough. He had

“Do not be glum, for the most part minor warping is beneficial and mostly nonphysical, as strange as that might sound, necromancers being able to see and speak with ghosts without a spell, fire elementalists becoming resistant to heat, that sort of thing. Remember mana is alive and wants to aid you, so it changes you to better suit its purpose, the issue is what it believes is beneficial often goes against common wisdom.”

That doesn't sound so bad, there must be a catch.

“So why not warp yourself into becoming more powerful.” he pictured himself with the scales of a dragon, the wings of a hawk.

“Many have tried, in some cultures warping is seen as a sign of wisdom and strength, the issue is major warping often influences your mind or changes your body into something alien unrecognizable to even themselves, losing their humanity and their sanity. blood mages being consumed by bloodlust, water wielders being unable to live on land. I encourage you to be very cautious, the downsides often vastly outway the benefits.”

“Not to get off topic but you mentioned being owed a life debt?” Hark asked.

“Rodney, come out.”

“Of course my liege.” The little lancer emerged from the shadows and stood between Hark and him.

“Rodney, this is my master.”

He did not move, weapon still in hand. Hark’s lip briefly twitched into a smile.

“Hello, little one. I am Hark Vier. The lad, speaks the truth, I mean neither him nor you harm.”

“You can speak to rats?”

“I once helped a dryad scare off a logging camp, in exchange I was given the gift of talking to birds and beasts.”

And I get to talk to worms and flies …

“And what about the jewelry, some of its magic.“ Payten said, puffing out his chest proud of his loot.

“I’ll look at it later, the novelty of teaching in a sewer is fast wearing off.”

Payten looked at the brown river lazily flowing by

“I agree”

***

Hark climbed up a ladder, Payten followed. Beams of moonlight filtered through the iron grate that hung above their head. Hark waited, listing for signs of life above them.

“Are you ready, lad? It’s clear.”

“Yes, I need some fresh air.”

Hark opened the grate and climbed out, “Take my hand.” he did so and was pulled up from the depths. He let the cool night’s breeze wash over him hoping it rid the stench of shit from his nose. He looked around, they had found themselves in an empty alley with only the moon illuminating the darkness. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Rodney.

“Remember little lancer, you must stay hidden.”

“Yes my lord, I shall stick to the shadows and my loyal steed to the rooftops.”

“Remember out of sight is the only place you will be safe.”

He lowered his hand allowing Rodney to dash into the shadows, Irontooth his squirrel climbed up the side of the alley and rested on an overhang.

“Enough talk, lad. We have places to be and less time than I would like.” Hark said walking towards the street. Payten followed, the hour was late and the streets mostly empty only beggars shriveling against the brisk air and hooded figures running to and fro dotted the road. He breathed a sigh of relief, he would be spared the bustle of a city for at least another night.

***

They walked further towards their destination. The buildings grew decrepit, the beggars thinner, the hooded figures stayed in the shadows watching. He drew his cloak tighter, their eyes bored into his back, his hair stood on end.

“We are being watched.” Payten hissed

“Fear not, nothing but common thieves and cutthroats keep your head held high and project strength, jackals like them hunt only the weak.”

“The only problem with that is I am the weak.”

“Stronger than you think and gaining power by the day.”

He had doubts, but he did his best to listen to his master’s words. Puffing out his chest he walked with as much swagger as he could muster. “There it is, lad. Our destination.” Hark pointed to a rundown building with bordered windows, out front was a sign swinging from a single chain.

Cherrybloom Apothecary

Hark stepped forward and knocked on the door. No response. He knocked harder.

“We’re closed, come back in the morning.” a man’s tired voice answered.

Hark slammed his fist against the door, “it is urgent”

“Fine, the doors unlocked but you're paying my after-hours charge.”

He pushed his way in, Payten joined him and was greeted with comforting warmth and the smell of spices and herbs. Bundles of plants hung from the rafter, a man with tan skin and sandy blonde hair stood behind the counter, he looked up and smiled flashing a single gold tooth.

“You’re early, why didn't you just tell me it was you instead of waking the whole house,” he said looking at Hark.

“You are your best when alert, my old friend.”

“And you're only tolerable when drunk.” He walked out towards the pair and eyed Payten. “Who do we have here?”

“I’m Kurt, this is my uncle.”

Hark's hand rested on Payten’s shoulder. “It’s okay, lad. I trust this man with my life, you can tell him the truth.”

He looked at the stranger, looking for any signs. “I’m Payten, most people call me Pate.”

“Hello Payten, I am Saybein and it is a pleasure to meet you.” he extended his hand. Payten looked at it searching for any tricks, before shaking Seybein’s hand.

“I’ll make some tea. You make yourselves at home.”

He looked around as Hark found a seat and Saybein put on a kettle. In the back of the shop,a door was cracked open, behind a pair of emerald green eyes peered out. He craned his neck trying to get a better look. Their eyes locked before they retreated back into the darkness. His hand went to his knife.

“So, old friend. Not only do you show up unannounced ahead of schedule you bring along a child. What exactly are you planning?”

“Payten has no part in our plans. I have decided it was time for me to take an apprentice. As for my early arrival, I had no choice in the matter. ”

Saybein returned his attention to him. “After all these years huh, an apprentice. I never thought I’d see the day. Hundreds of requests and deals that would make a dragon blush, what about Pate made you change your mind.”

“Let us talk more in private.”

“No, why did you choose me.” It was strange, If his master was as powerful as he claimed why would he choose some farmboy to be his legacy. What was his master planning, why had he taken him from his home? He doubted it was out of the kindness of his heart.

“Well, t least this one’s not piss terrified of you,” Saybien mumbled

“Lad, I chose you purely because I thought you have the potential to handle the burdens I will place on you. I understand you may not see it now but know I look at you not as you are but what you could be.”

“A surprisingly optimistic answer from Hark the Grim, our tea is ready, why don’t we have it in my office? Pate, you can wait here and talk with my daughter. Zolta, come here!”

The emerald eyes returned to the door before a girl around Payten’s age stepped out. She was slight, tall, and had the same tan skin as her father with freckles covering the bridge of her nose. One of her ears was rounded, the other was long and pointed. She glared at him.

“Uncle Hark.” Zolta ran and wrapped her arms around his master’s legs, her head peeked around his legs as she fixed her eyes upon him. He glared back, he was no stranger to being disliked on sight but he was different now, no longer would he hide from scorn.

“It is good to see you, Zolta. You have grown much since our last meeting.” Hark ruffled her short blonde hair.

“Hark and I have a lot to discuss, you kids get along, Okay.” With one final pat, the two headed off into the back, leaving them alone.

She glared at him eyes burning with mistrust, he met her eye and tried to project hostility.

Maybe he was being unfair, how would he react if a stranger burst into his house at such a late hour? He was far from a beacon of socialization but he should at least give Zolta a chance. Perhaps she was nicer than she looked?

He opened his mouth to speak when a horrible revelation ripped into his mind.

Have I ever even talked to a girl …

Sure there was his Aunt and Miss Marge, but they were so old they couldn't have counted. What about the soldier girl? That had ended with him stabbing her in the face, a far cry from his ideal conversation.

He tried to speak but the words died in his throat. Come on, you're a necromancer, not a sniveling schoolboy. If you can kill a goblin you can talk to a girl.

His hand shot out. “Hi, I’m Payten, but you can call me Pate.”

smooth as a summer's wind

Her nose shriveled up as she stared at his hand.

“You stink.”

He grabbed the front of his shirt and buried his nose in it. Sure he did have the faint odor of sewer clinging to him, but shouldn't that add to his appeal.? One of his cousins once told him that women loved mystery and what smacked of mystery more than a sewer?

Ah shit, he’s an idiot, isn't he?

“When was the last time you bathed?”

“Does dunking my head in a river count?”

“No”

“Uhhhh three months, I think”

“Gross.”

“Well when was the last time you bathed, miss high and mighty.”

She fliped what little hair she had over her shoulder and raised her nose in the air, “I bathe every second week, like a proper lady.”

“Chew nails, kid. You a lady, don't’ make me laugh. I’m a real knight you know, a true lady would have curtseyed and called me sir.” He puffed out his chest, true he had only been a knight for under half a day and ruled vermin, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

“Hmpf, first don't call me kid. Two I’d be seven days dead and buried before I bow to a filth goblin like you. Three if you're a knight then I’m Yaza himself.”

He glared

She glared

In the silence, he could hear the faint murmur of conservation coming from the back. Zolta’s ear twitched. A smile curled onto his face.

“Wanna see if we can hear them?”

“Yes, but only if you wipe that grin off your face.”

His smile widened.

***

Zolta took a panel off the wall exposing a crawl space.

“Here we can sneak under the floor and listen to them, just keep your distance. I don’t want your stench on me.”

He scoffed but said nothing and followed her in the dark space. His eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw Zolta press her ear up against the floorboards, he did the same. The speech above became barely audible.

“I do not know, Saybein. I have no experience with children. How do I know if I am raising him in the proper way? I fear he will make the same mistakes I did.”

He strained his ears, they were talking about him and he wanted to know what they had to say.

“You are training him to be a necromancer of terrible power, most people would say you are raising him wrong. As for the rest, Tis, the curse of the parent, my old friend. Being blessed with wisdom earned from age only to be forced to watch your child repeat the same mistakes you did. The only thing we can do is hope they turn out better than us.”

“Enough chatter, there is much business to discuss. A war is brewing, times are changing, something big will happen soon. What it is I cannot say, all I know is I feel it in my bones. Soon this place will not be safe. It is time for you to leave, come with us to the Autonomous Arcane collective.”

“Thank the wildmother’s tits, I thought you came here to give me another one of your tasks. I didn't know how much longer I could live in the cesspit. When do we leave?”

Zolta’s face went dark, her hand tightened around the support beam. *creeek*. He slapped her shoulder and put his finger to the lips.

“Forgive me, Hark. I think we may have a few rats under the floorboards, who don't know eavesdropping is very rude.”

Payten grabbed Zotla’s shoulder and pulled her towards the light, if they got out in time they could act innocent. They scrambled to the light as fast they could.

We can make it. He pushed Zolta along and finally came to the light and spiced air of the apothecary. He breathed a sigh of relief when a pair of strong hands twisted the pair's ears. He stood on his toes squirming while swatting at the hand, Zolta cried out and punched her father in the leg.

“Look I was right and they're the biggest rats I've ever seen, mean ones too,” Saybien said with a smile, unphased by the blows rained upon him.

“I swear, I turn my back for a minute and the lad gets into something he shouldn't.”

“Just like his master,” Saybein said with a laugh, releasing his hold on the ears.

“What did I say about writing lines, lad?”

“If I disobeyed you again I'd have to write them till my fingers bled.”

“Correct, where is your notebook.”

“You never told me to stay put.”

“It was implied.”

“But never stated.”

Saybein laughed, “Hark are you sure he's not your bastard.”

The pieces in his mind fell into place. If Hark was his father everything would make sense, why he came to Wheatblanket, why he took Payten with him. He grew excited, he had always dreamed of meeting his parents.

“No, I am sure that is not a possibility.”

Damm

“The hour grows late, I and the lad must find a place to stay.”

“Nonsense, I have more spare rooms then I know what to do with, you two will stay here.”

Zolta grimaced.

“Thank you. Lad, let's look at those jewels of yours then sleep.”

***

“All right, lad. Here is a paper with my value estimations. Don't try to cash in too much at once, you will draw too much scrutiny upon yourself. One more thing, do you still have the weasel’s corpse?”

Payten’s smiled clutching the paper in his hands, his head was filled with a pleasant fog.

“Yes, master. I shoved it in my bag when we left.”

“Good, let me show you something. Hand me the beast.”

He did so and his master ripped a piece of paper from his journal and pulled a pouch from his belt. On the paper, he wrote a short chant which he handed to Pate, from the pouch he pulled a fist full of white powder.

“What’s that, master?”

“Salt, an invaluable tool for any caster.” Hark began the chant, necris pooled around the corpse, he rubbed salt in the weasel's wounds and eyes. The chant finished, death mana weaved through the wounds and openings of the body holding it together.

“There lad, a ritual that will stave off the rot. Useful for saving corpses for later use. We will practice raising sometime soon. Before I forgot you can not use the name Kurt anymore, it has been exposed since you told the soldiers. From now on you are Tom and I am Victor. “

“Thank you, master. I will remember.”

“For your sake, I hope. Good night, Lad.”

Payten lay back in his bed, grabbing his notebook to record his lesson. A raping at the window startled him. He grabbed his knife and looked, he saw a small gray shape hitting the window with a nail. With a smile he walked over and undid the latch, letting Rodney enter the warmth of his bedroom.

“The area is clear, my liege.” The rat knight said with a bow

“Well done, I feel safer sleeping thanks to your vigilance.” His smile widened as the Little Lancer’s chest puffed with pride. “Here a reward.”

“No thank you, my lord. Duty is reward enough.” Still, the rat’s eyes went wide as Payten pulled a dried sausage and tossed it to him.

He returned to his notebook the sound of chewing putting him at ease. Once he had recorded the ritual he laughed and clutched the paper Hark had given him. Three hundred gold pieces worth of jewelry, more money than he had ever dreamed of. He wanted to jump up and down, with that much money he could go anywhere, do anything, all he had to do was find out how to sell it. Of particular note, was the three magical trinkets Hark had identified. A bracelet that repealed insects, a broach that blocked the rain, and most interestingly a tinder ring, which would produce a flame when powered with mana.

He studied the inscriptions etched into the sides of the objects, copying them into his notebook as best he could. Through he found himself distracted by a glinting of green light from the pile of wealth. He picked up the source, an emerald necklace. It was by far the most valuable piece of the lot, worth a hundred gold on its own. The candlelight danced and twisted through the gem, reminding him of Zolta’s eyes. His mind filled with questions, Why was one of her ears so long and pointy, was she an aberrant? He wanted to ask her but feared making her even more hostile. Maybe he should ask Hark in the morning, or work up the courage to ask her himself? Whatever the solution it wouldn't be his problem till the morning.

His eyes grew heavy, his mind wandered. So much had happened in one day, he had met so many people and learned so much.

He thought back to the ritual Hark had shown him.

“stave off the rot” The rot would still come. Decay was inevitable, it would come for all eventually. His mind returned to the sewers, the filth and decay, mold and fungus life that sprung from it. He smiled, it was comforting to know that to rot was not an end, but a beginning for what came next. He felt something in his chest, slimy and caustic. He reached for it, feeling as if he was on the edge of something. It slipped from his mind returning to wherever it came from.

He grimaced, he wanted to know, to plunge the depths of his soul and find the energy again but sleep was overwhelming him.

There would always be time tomorrow.