The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

After thirty minutes, it was clear to the Baron that I was restraining my new apprentice more than trying to gouge him deeper. She was too focused on her anger and pain, directing them at the first outlet she was offered, to even notice that I kept turning away her bargains. I had sent my message, ruffled the Baron’s feathers, and gained a sizable bit of wealth, I had no need to enrage the man who could at any time openly have me ordered killed. Life was cheap and the Baron still held the command of life and death in his lands. Sure, the King would recall him if he slaughtered his peasants en masse, but putting a city to the sword wasn’t unheard of, let alone ending one annoying Skill Trainer. Given the current climate of the kingdom, he might even gain from the deal. Life was cheap, and that had been the deciding factor with accepting Abigail as my new apprentice.

I would see how well she handled her new role, responsibilities, and difficulties. If she became too much of a problem, then I knew a corpse wagoner who would be fine with an extra body to haul away to the farms. I would even do the difficult work of dismantling it for him. She might think that Noble’s Bane was an effective weapon, but it only disrupted Skills: it wasn’t lethal in itself.

Despite the potential dangers, I was eager to see my new apprentice’s skill in action. Founts were rare since they required careful exposure to poison to produce a resistance and then after many generations, their line had the potential to develop the skill. This was rumored to be a common enough change within the high noble lines, [Poison Resistance] being worth the cost to develop a specialized trainer.

The Baron slammed his fist on the table at the latest request and exclaimed, “No! Damn your eyes woman! I will have the first rights to purchase or I will not protect you! I can’t have you selling your bloody poison to my rivals! No!”

Reaching out, I calmly tapped one finger on the table. I turned to face Abigail while the Baron calmed himself with another cup of his wine. The man’s size was helping him deal with the volume of alcohol. His expanding waistline said that he spent years of rest in his palace instead of sitting a saddle on campaign, and that practice was helping him deal with multiple cups. Still, his temper was growing shorter and his face was slowly becoming flushed in both anger and drink, a dangerous combination for Abigail.

“The Baron is a decent sort, friend to my family. But he is still a high noble, raised by the king’s hand himself, he will not allow you to sell to others. Your particular poison has reached a near-mythical status, beyond its actual danger, so will fetch both a high price and danger. Letting the Baron purchase and sell it will provide protection from multiple directions, ease shipping, and raise the price. This is as much a service to you as him trying to control you,” I said while the Baron grumbled under his breath. The older man was a bit of a sore loser.

Hiding behind her long hair, my apprentice grit her teeth before she spoke, “Fine.”

“So, we are agreed then? No more than five standard ampules per year may be required though more may be requested, price negotiable with multiple offers but not to be less than forty gold, and you have first right of refusal but must purchase upon refusal to others.”

The Baron looked to be literally chewing on the deal, his grey beard with more streaks of white than I remembered from my first visit, the mass of hair moving as he stared at his now filled cup.

“Agreed. I’ll have a contract written up and delivered within a day or so. It might be longer. It’s suddenly harder to purchase mage imbued equipment in my territory,” the Baron said while giving me a dirty look.

I shrugged off the rebuke without a flinch. I had my own problems and couldn’t care less about the Baron’s difficulties. He knew such pressure would be brought to bear when he decided to support me openly, more, he knew the problems he would have when naming me a low noble since he was the fourth son of low nobility raised to the head of his own House. He was a risen high noble in a House with only one other member, raised to the position by a king not in favor with the nobility, suddenly with an heir, and with rich lands. Somehow, I thought he had worse things to deal with than the price of magical parchment.

While Abigail returned to sulking behind her long hair, her eyes barely peeking through the strands, I turned to my parents. Below the table, I let my hand gently grasp Snowy’s. The return grip was surprisingly gentle for such a powerful woman, her thumb running over the back of my hand while I tried to seem unfazed. By the look in my mother’s eyes, I doubt she had missed my movement, though my father was staring stoically at my apprentice. I knew that look. He was sizing her up for her potential as a trainer, as a recruit, but the look was intense and unwavering and so unsettling to the young woman, her eyes quickly shifting away. Laughably, she ignored my mother even after the obvious evidence that she was as much a threat. Snowy squeezed my hand then released, the message that we should talk later coming across clear even while I kept my attention on my mother.

“So, mother, father, what brings you to the Barony?” I asked sardonically.

My mother smiled her usual grin, sarcasm being her favorite flavor of conversation, a preference I shared with her.

“Oh you know, someone wanted to hire a weapons trainer. They had a daughter they wanted to train with a magical weapon skill, their usual Skill Trainer was off on some mission - that the idiot sent them on no less - so we got the message and decided to see what was going on. The usual. Yourself?” she asked, her voice cheerful with a biting undertone. Yet another person deciding to cut into the Baron. Luckily for him, she was only using words.

“Ah, so you are planning to steal my work are you?” I asked, the question not serious in the slightest, though Snowy shifted beside me at my words.

“I would prefer to continue my training with Joshua,” Snowy said, her rolling Northmen accent suddenly thicker than I had heard from her before.

I tried not to flinch as everyone in the room seemed to smile at the obvious interest in Snowy’s voice, even Abigail and my father seemed to catch it. I had assumed Abigail was too lost to anger at the world, but the smile said otherwise. It was the first positive sign I had seen from the woman.

“Well, on that note, I would beg your leave, My Lord. I have a new apprentice I must clothe and outfit before the end of the day,” I said while rising then bowing at his grumpy half-sloshed hand wave.

Turning to Snowy, I bowed again and let [Acting] that I had been holding tight, free, the sudden smile blooming on my face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, if you are free, at our usual training hour. Alexis,” I said, her name sounding odd to my ears.

I was never sure which side of the woman I would see whenever we talked. Would it be the shy, almost maiden-like, blushing girl or the strong and fearless warrior, capable and commanding?

This time it was the maiden, her cheeks shifting to a reddish tint before she simply nodded to me before turning back to her still drinking father. I would wager that words would be had between the two once the rest of us were gone.

Gesturing Abigail to follow, I started through the halls. My usual guard detail of Sir Wincome joined me as we walked, the sudden appearance of the frightening knight unnerving my new apprentice though she tried to hide it with clenched fists. It was a short walk from the Baron’s study to the footbridge of the fortress, but Abigail didn’t speak through our entire walk. Given my recent wagon rides of late, I wanted a bit of exercise so we skipped the carriages and began to walk down the hill through the richer noble district. We stuck to the main way, avoiding the manors and rich homes, and instead eyed the expensive shops. I almost passed the tailor’s shop, but adjusted my direction and stepped across the street when it cleared to slip into the well-lit store. My two shadows followed on my heels.

“Welcome. Be with you in just a moment!” the man said from the back wall of his working area.

This shop was built in the style of a showroom, a waist-high table splitting the room in two and the back area partitioned off for private fittings. The walls had only a few samples of equipment, most in a woman’s style though a few bits of men’s clothing adorned the room as well.

“Now, what can I…,” the man said then drifted off at the sight of us.

I was not well appointed, obviously just recently from the road. This could be excused as he had likely seen plenty of people who arrive and then purchase rich clothing before their final destination in the city. A first impression was important and selling it was his profession after all. That being said, I had no obvious markings showing my lineage, no equipment that would scream my actual wealth, and what little I did have seemed to be common equipment for travel and defense. Abigail was likely worse. She showed clear signs of a Skilled lineage which would seem to suggest nobility and wealth, but her clothing was plain, even more so than myself, and oversized. She also stood one step behind me while I took the lead.

Then there was the obvious elite guard, one of the Baron’s men, standing at our back and somehow conveying both threat and indifference.

“Good day, Sir. Ma'am,” he said before nodding low without speaking to Sir Wincome.

It took a moment, with eyes snapping between us, but I could see when he realized who I was. Then, an odd look came across his face his teeth barring in a feral grin.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the Skill Trainer the Guilds are annoyed over would you?” the man said, his voice shifting from his smooth merchant voice and into a snappier accent. I knew this style of speech, it was a low born form. The words left me tilting my head at the incongruous source.

I said, “I am,” while reaching out to shake the suddenly eager man’s hand. His grin as we shook was unsettling.

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret. All of us Masters of trades have been warned that we shouldn’t sell to you. You have been blacklisted and we should report your movements,” he said with an impish grin as his thumbs tucked into the belt that held back his generous gut.

“Yes, the same Guild that refused to provide me access to the more expensive training. The Masters that wouldn’t even talk to me. The Guild that has forced me out of every city until I was at the edge of the Kingdom. That Guild wants me to cut my own pocket and refuse to sell to you,” he continued, as his smile faded away.

“So, what is it you need?” he asked as he moved toward his racks.

Sir Wincome scoffed at this exchange and leaned back against the wall of the shop, shaking his head.

“Making friends and enemies everywhere you go, don’t you?” Sir Wincome said.

All I could do was laugh at that while gesturing my apprentice toward the eager merchant.