Soul Fire Sale, chapter 8. (Patreon)

Here we are, doing the thing. This one went a little over what I expected, but it's fine. I'll have another chapter soon-ish. For now, please enjoy.

The night had been surprisingly restful; the blanket I'd been loaned was only a little scratchy, and the fire had burned merrily all night, keeping the small place almost as warm as a heated place back home. More than enough, really.

I'd expected bugs, but there were none. The place wasn't completely clean, but it was free of pests. That more than anything, was worth the price of admission. The air was hazy when illuminated by the sunlight shining through what cracks the place had, which spoke of a bad flue, but the air wasn't too bad yet. I only coughed a little before I realized where I was.

I opened a window immediately, and the sudden increase in light hit Oliver right in the face. I wasn't sorry.

Loam was looking at me. Had she been watching me the entire night? I'd given her orders to add another log to the fire every time the flames died, and to wake me if the fire grew beyond the stones there.

I'd been a little worried about the result, but we were still alive, so it worked out. Loam was curled up in a corner, one hand on her sword, facing the fire. If I were forced to guess, she was... focused? Her gaze kept switching between the fire and me. "You can stop keeping track of the fire now."

Was that relief? I could swear I saw (felt) a hint of relief there, for a second.

Oliver spoke, and what he said wasn't in english.

Which made the fact that I could understand him even more surprising. I didn't know the language thing worked on ours too, but that was a good little tidbit to know.

"You're alright. Not where you want to be, but alright."

Oliver took a breath and shuddered, taking it all in. This time, he answered in the basic language of our new and hopefully temporary home. "Right, thanks."

Then he coughed loudly and lunged for the window.

"Too much smoke," he choked out.

The old woman was already gone. "Not too much for her. That's one tough lady. Almost makes me want to fix her flue."

Oliver turned back a bit, gulping down big breaths. "Do you know how to fix her flue?"

"Not really. I'm not some do it yourselfer or doom prepper."

I knew some foresty or wilderness things, but most of those could be tracked back to the new me; the old me was as city born and bred as anyone.

"Then we should let her handle it. We have our own problems," was Oliver's ready answer.

I knew that, I got it. but it still didn't sit well with me; these people needed some kind of help, even if it wasn't the punching kind. Then again, we had our own problems.

I wish I could ask loam where our host was, but I hadn't thought to give any orders regarding the old woman, and Loam couldn't talk. At least, I thought Loam couldn't talk. I hadn't asked her directly if she could or not yet... it was just that something told me she couldn't. Some instinct.

Right, we'd left her plenty of stew, still sitting in her giant pot which was on an arm off to the side. It should be good to eat when she came back from  whatever, but it was time we were on the trail again.

I started packing up.

"How can you breathe in that stuff?"

Oliver was waving his hands around. "It's not that bad. And I'm low, you're up high hanging out the window like that."

I got everything together quickly, then made sure everything was both in my bag and still in my bag (because I hadn't made sure we couldn't be robbed, and I wouldn't put it past anyone here to take advantage) and slung it. "Follow me Loam, and be careful not to hit anyone with your sword. Unless I ask you to, that is."

I opened the door, and Oliver scrambled behind me. "No breakfast?"

"Nah, let her keep it. It's another good couple meals for her if she takes care of it, and we've got food. If not, we can always find more." I was pretty lucky on that after all. Or at least I had been last night.

Hard steps announced Oliver had caught up to me - while giving Loam a side-eye and a bit of a berth. I didn't blame him; in his position, I wouldn't trust her either.

The well was where we left it, and Oliver didn't say a word when I turned right rather than left. I filled my water skin and washed my face with my handkerchief, ignoring how much dirt came off.

How people got so dirty when they didn't actually roll around in dirt was beyond me, but I'd be figuring out how to take a bath before long.

Oliver mimicked me with the next bucket brought up, then I took over the bucket again. I drew another, looked right and left for people watching us... waited until there were none, and pulled Loam down to dump the water over her head.

Instant reaction, as she turned up to face it, all but leaning into it, her mouth working as if to drink it. For all I knew, she was drinking it, but she shouldn't need to? Clay golems did need water, but usually one just splashed it on them. Well, or submerged them.

I didn't think I needed to go that far yet. Then again, by how Loam was acting, maybe a second bucket was necessary?

No, people were watching now. I put the bucket back where I'd found it. "Follow me Loam."

We left out the front gate, waved to the guards waving at us, and took a right. Toward the source of the conflict of this world.

This was far enough. "Loam, can you talk? Like we do?"

Loam just looked at me, and worked her mouth. Those mouthings... they might have been words? I wasn't good at reading lips. "Never mind. It isn't important. Do you know what head shakes mean? Up and down for yes, side to side for no?"

Loam cocked her head, and appeared to give it some thought... then she bobbed her head up and down, once.

That was progress. "Do you need more water?"

Loam shook her head this time, left and right, once. Right.

One more thing to ask. "Do you want more water?"

Loam shook her head again, left to right, once. "Alright. Thank you."

Oliver decided to chime in: "That is creepy as hell."

Was it? I mean, I guess it could be, since Loam wasn't human. She was dangerous as all hell, but she didn't really look it, standing there in her homespun. At least not without the sword counted in. Kind of like a large animated doll...

Okay, yeah, never mind, it was creepy. My powers were horror movie creepy and lent themselves to creepy things. I'd use what I got. I remembered; I had to charge my creepy doll to get use out of her. I took the moment to do it, and Oliver stayed silent for it.

I'd have to get used to leading the way. "Come on Loam, follow me."

"What about me?" Oliver asked.

I smirked a bit, making sure he could hear it: "You already know you should be following me."

The question now was, how fast did we want to get there? How fast did we want to get to the action? I wasn't in any hurry. It was shaping up to be a nice day, with only a few storm clouds to the northern horizon.

There was no traffic the other way. No traffic coming from the hotter regions of a war-torn kingdom to safer areas. Something was up with that, and I wish I knew what it was. Or maybe I was assuming; we hadn't been on the road that long.

I found myself thinking the same thing, hours later, with the sun high in the sky and the heat beginning to bake into me.... or us, probably.

After last night, this beef jerky was only alright. I wanted more hot meals.

I knew how to cook, so that was something, but I needed something to cook with. All cooking was chemistry, after all, and all alchemy was also chemistry. I had known how to cook before, at least the basics. Here? I wonder how far I could take it. Somehow, I had a recipe for dragon wings, which was one of the clues that dragons did indeed exist here.

The key was the sauce, apparently.

Oliver was alone with his own thoughts... and from the looks of things, he was inspecting his screen in detail. After doing the same thing myself, I could recognize it in someone else.

I didn't want to interrupt all that, so I didn't. He was managing to walk, eat, and look all at once, so he was fine. Probably.

The books of adventure, both fiction and non-fiction, didn't often mention the boring parts. The part where the heroes were walking endlessly and startling at any noise, any fall of something or shift. I was only a few days in by this point, and it was already boring to me.

But should we rush headlong? Was I in any great hurry to risk my life? Should I be?

Even if I wasn't, Oliver still was. He was being compelled to; I hadn't broken his geas yet.

How could I do that? My powers, my own screen, seemed to think it would be like plucking strands of spiderweb free, one strand at a time. The spiderweb was the geas, and the strands were of course sticky and hard to grasp. As analogies went, it wasn't bad, but it meant my new abilities could do it, right now. As a very powerful spell, one of the last ones on my list.

The only thing that was stopping me was a lack of experience; what would happen if I messed it up? Well, the geas would snap back and likely kill us both. At least, that was what was being suggested to me. While it was unlikely it actually could, according to the feelings I was getting, there was still a chance of it.

My powers told me I could manage the standard backlash just fine. It was just this sort of thing that gave me a hint on how strong I really was here. The problem was, I needed more than hints.

"Oliver, let's speed up, just a bit."

Oliver snapped out of it. "Sure, why not?"

I waited while he cast his flight spell, hoping on the broom as I knew he neared the end. The broom heated up, trying to show an eagerness to be used.

We took off, and along the road, there was no need to worry about our speed. I stayed somewhat low; loam didn't need any further orders; she could keep up with our speed at a run, so the only thing we needed to worry about was hitting something in front of us.

The road stayed empty though, so that wasn't a concern. Not a single person this entire day; it was more than a little odd.

The road began to climb, leading further north and west. There hadn't been a single branch along it so far, but this rise was accompaniment by another off-track village. Unfortunately, just like the one we left this morning.

If we'd kept going at a walking pace, we'd probably have hit the place before nightfall or just at nightfall. Oliver wasn't the fastest walker. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.

The sentries had already spotted us, of course, since we were flying. I slowed, but they didn't seem nearly as impressed with me... as Loam? Right, Loam was running and managing to keep pace, which meant she was showing her speed.

Whatever they would have to get used to it. We were champions, whatever that meant. Meant to do the impossible, yadda yadda yadda.

I landed just a step behind Oliver and adjusted my stupid dress. It hadn't rode up or anything, but it was showing more leg than I was happy with, especially since my breath was frosty in the air.

This village looked to be in better shape than the last, if the wall was anything to go by. There was also a larger portion walled off, which I'd gotten a glimpse of before I'd landed - they were fields, or I'd eat my new hat. No other reason to have empty terrain like that in a human habitation, and keeping the food safe made sense in an area like this.

The gates swung wide as we got close; there were no guards on this side, but instead some came out to greet us, weapons not quite at the ready.

In response, Oliver showed off his hand art. Which earned us immediate bows, and the four men backed out of the way with a hearty and only slightly fake: "Welcome, champions!"

The sign on the side of the wall proclaimed this charming village of slated roof and log construction to be "Solace". Which I took to be an ominous sign, much like the naming of Greenland.

Apparently, these guys were going to be better sports about it than the last bunch; they seemed to have more free time, at any rate. Maybe it was Loam, drawn up behind me with her sword slung on her shoulder again, the naked steel glinting in the fading light.

It was almost enough to make one wax poetic, watching what for all intents and purposes appeared to be an amazon painted in tans and browns, the homespun doing nothing at all to hide what would have been an impressive form on any human woman.

"Might we have your names, mighty ones? For our register." One of the men asked. He was dressed slightly richer than the rest, even though his armor was the same leather the others had, and his metal helmet showed no adornment, I took him to be the leader. After all, would someone who wasn't speak up in this situation?

There was no harm in it. "You may call me Isobel, and this is Loam. She does not speak."

Oliver broke in, at just the right time to garner the attention, just as if we'd planned it. I wished we had, that would make more sense. "And my name is Oliver. If you might guide us to your chief or mayor, we'd like to have words with them."

"Of course. These two are Smile and Nev. They shall guide you to all you require."

Nev looked normal enough, but Smile had a scar that permanently turned his face into a scowl, and even without that, saying he looked like you might imagine a gangster in a cheesy fifties movie would be accurate. Just like he'd come off the street from central casting.

I let them take the lead, and lead they did, with a very respectful "Right this way, Ma'am."

Yeah, that was going to take some getting used to. At least it wasn't as bad as 'my lady.' Every time I heard that, I had to stop myself from looking around for her.

We were led down the partially cobbled and very wide main road into a square that was more of a circle; the village itself was set like the spokes of a wheel, with all the businesses and important stuff in the center. One of the important buildings seemed to be the mayor's house, and it was clear to tell that he was more a mayor than a chief or war leader.

The man in front of the building, sitting out on his own porch, was short and portly, with a ready smile on his round face that slid right off the moment he noticed us. He also had a drink on the small table beside him that I knew was alcoholic.

He stood up, the crash of his very heavy chair slapping into the wall behind it as loud as a gunshot.

In response, Oliver lifted his hand up. The man nodded enthusiastically and bowed. "Greetings, champions. It is a pleasure to see you here. My apologies, I was not informed of your imminent arrival. If I had been, I would have prepared a more fitting welcome."

"There is no need," I started, but the portly and now sweaty man yelled, his face turned back to his house. "Ameira! I need you, please."

He turned back so fast I feared whiplash, rubbing his hands together in an oily motion. "Nonsense, you are guests of the King, and so we shall treat you as such."

I smelled a rat somewhere. Something was going on here.

Ameira, at least I assumed it was her, emerged from the house. she looked to be a no-nonsense woman in her early twenties, with a bit of a frown on her face. That lasted until she saw us: "What do you want, Endo. What is so important...."

She dropped into a curtsy in an instant with wide eyes. "Champions! Greetings!"

"Ameira, please make sure the guest house is ready for our guests."

"Guest house?" Oliver asked.

The newly named Endo answered: "The guest house is a space in the square for travelers and heroes to stay. It is there, beside my own home, and empty for the moment. However, all expenses and needs you have shall be seen to during your stay."

"What is the cost for all of this?" Oliver asked. I couldn't lie; that was something I wanted to know as well.

"Cost? There is no cost. We should like you to stay as long as you like and leave with no regrets. Our humble hamlet shall do our utmost to make your stay with us a joyous one."

The man sounded like a travel agent or something.

The house he'd indicated was only slightly smaller than his and lacking the second story. However, it looked large enough for half a dozen people from here, and was sturdy in appearance, all wood logs and siding and shingles. All of it was stained, but not painted, like most of the houses here, and it looked ever so slightly out of repair. I could also spot some dust in the windows.

Ameira was already headed to it, a basket in her hand. "If it pleases you, give me but an hour. I shall ensure the proper repair of the space we are offering."

She all but ran - away from us, and away from talking to us. Which I could respect her for; I wouldn't want to deal with me either, it would be too much trouble.

Yeah, I'd definitely want away from here, especially knowing what was coming next. "So, mayor is it?"

The man nodded. "That is as good a title as any, my Lady champion."

"Right. Mayor Endo, is there anything we can do for you, in response for this generous welcome? Is there anything that troubles you?"

I had no doubt that something was troubling them. This village looked far more prosperous than the one from last night, but there were hints here and there that all was not quite right in the state of Denmark. Surely they weren't sitting on surpluses while their neighbors from only a few miles away were starving.

The man shuffled, almost kicking an invisible can away, and the hand wringing kicked into overdrive. The very picture of a man caught with a hand in the cookie jar, and his words only confirmed it: "Well, I do not wish to presume, but there is some minor issue we could use your assistance with."

Oliver beat me to the punch, with enough dry sarcasm to do me proud. "Do tell."

The man wilted further, but continued on bravely. "There are wolves about. They are not normal wolves, but shadow wolves, which are as much monster as animal. They are growing ever more bold, and for us, it has become a risk to our lives to venture beyond the gate, even in daylight. If you would, could you cull them for us? It would be considered a good deed, a part of your contracts, and the pelts and meat could fetch a high price, even split among us."

"Are these wolves more active at night?" an important question, I felt.

"They are. Shadow wolves are mainly nocturnal, which is why their current behavior is most unusual. Even a month before, we could leave unchallenged for whatever task. Now, some have even seen the wolves mere steps from the gate, and while none have been attacked yet, with them so close, it is only a matter of time."

Was he telling the truth? I felt he wasn't. I felt something else was going on here, and we weren't hearing all of it. Wolves, even monster wolves, didn't strike me as creatures wanting to hang out near fire and deal with humans. Too much trouble for the meal; the only way I could see it working out was if the wolves were starving, or being chased out of their territory by something else. I mean, I guess both could work too.

Still, something about all of this rang false, even with the cold weather and lack of meal options for carnivores.

I looked at Oliver to find him looking to me; he felt the same way. I shrugged; I was out of questions.

He didn't seem to have any either.

"Alright, we will do what we can. Do you have an idea how many there are?"

"No," the mayor replied. "We have some indication that the pack is a small one, but we don't know exactly how many. Our best trackers have found their prints further up the mountain and to the East, but that is all we know about their habitation. They could be out there, even now. It is a wonder they were not revealed to you upon your arrival; they have shown themselves to everyone else."

Well, they likely didn't have a chance; score one for flying. Well, flying and speed.

I guess I should keep my life detection spell up and offset my own clear lack of perception. I wouldn't reveal the flying directly myself, but whether I did or not, he'd know it the moment we walked off. "We likely showed up too quickly for such things."

"I see," was all he said. Then he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. In this cold.

Something was seriously wrong with the man. Something like a guilty conscience?

There wasn't really much left to say.

Oliver came up with something. "How far are these shadow wolves, would you say?"

"Somewhat more dangerous than normal wolves. Not quite so dangerous as wargs, yet more... not intelligent, yet crafty. They seem to know what you're thinking, or so the hunters tell me. I've not hunted or met any, myself. I am not much of a warrior, as you can see."

He patted his belly with a sickly grin, but I didn't think it was a joke. Or rather, it was, but it was just as much a misdirection. There was muscle under there, underneath that pasty exterior. Muscle mostly gone to fat, but there was something else there, in the man's eyes, hidden behind jolly bluff.

He'd been a warrior of some kind before; I was sure of it.

Of course, part of the knowledge I had hinted at how bad the wolves were to me; my wilderness survival, or as the system in place put it, 'forest-craft'.

The mayor was telling the truth. They were considered more troublesome than dangerous and more intelligent than normal wolves. Which meant their behavior made even less sense; they had to know that hanging out near human settlements was bound to get them the wrong kind of attention. Which meant they didnt care, that the risk was something they were prepared to take for whatever reason.

That reason couldn't be starving, or someone would have been attacked already, probably.

"How long have these wolves been coming down in the day time, and getting close?"

"Almost a week now. We tried to ask the king to leave us knights, but he rode on without so much as a pause."

Interesting, but not important. Almost a week, and no attack yet? These wolves weren't hungry. So what was the motivation here?

The smart thing to do would be to challenge them during the day and see what was what. "We shall endeavor to figure out their game tomorrow."

His eyes widened a bit before he schooled his expression; it seemed he caught both my meanings there. "As you say, my Lady. Until then, we shall do our best to entertain. Is there anything you would like to eat or drink? Amiera is gone, but my legs remain serviceable."

"Just water for now, thank you, and I will retrieve it myself. I find the water running down this mountain quite refreshing."

Before he could do more than offer a shallow bow, I was off, and of course both Oliver and Loam were hot on my heels.

The man hadn't even looked at Loam after the initial glance, and he'd been looking solely at me by the end of our conversation. If Oliver was upset at being dismissed as a follower, he didn't show it.

There was no one close to the well, and it looked as if no one intended to approach. The perfect time to hold a whispered conversation.

"So, what do you think?"

"I think he talked to someone, and was told to roll out the red carpet when he saw us. But we were early. The 'quest' we were just given feels a little false to me. Staged, for our benefit. Or someone's benefit."

Yeah, that tracked. "You're probably right. Even so, no need to turn it down. We need the money and goodwill, and a free meal for the night couldn't hurt."

The only way it could hurt is if the shadow wolves were an endangered species or something, and that seemed unlikely based on the little information I had that I had stuffed in my head. I really needed more forms of corroboration, but in this case, I felt like the mother nature of this alien world could likely take the hit for us.

The water was cool and refreshing. I made a show of turning around to show Loam how to drink from my water skin. I held it out to her... and she took it very gently with her free hand... then promptly squirted all the water in it over her face.

Well, she probably got some of it in her mouth at least. I'd count that as a win.

Not to be deterred, I took the empty water skin back and filled it again, pointedly ignoring the stifled chuckles my erstwhile companion was making through his knuckled hand.

I handed the bucket over, and Oliver almost fumbled it. Just something else to ignore. "I agree that we could use the meal... and something a bit more than water to drink. A beer would not go amiss right now, and im sure these lovely people make a mean ale or whatever; I'd rather like to try some."

"That's up to you," I countered. "But I'd rather not get poisoned or drugged right from the jump."

"You'd trust the food but not the alcohol? Seems a little shortsighted."

"No, I don't trust the food, but the choice is eat or starve. I'd just rather not give anyone more bites at that particular apple."

The Snow White reference was especially on point; I was proud of it. And Sure, I was likely very resistant or immune to all drugs and poisons, since my screen said so, but there might be something somewhere I was vulnerable to, so why take the chance? I'd have booze again... when I trusted the people making it.

Maybe that would happen here, maybe not. For now, I'd have tea, from the stash I'd been given by a maid that seemed cool and that I'd checked for poisons already.

Hm, there was a nice looking large window facing the street in the house we were taking over. I guess cottage was a better term for it. A chair in that window could see the entire street and anyone approaching, and get some nice waning sun while it was at it, for about the next hour or so. Then a person sitting there would be cast in shadow and almost impossible to see, unless back-lit by a light source in the room. Good design.

I wanted that. I wanted a hot cup of something in front of that window with my shoes kicked off, and I wanted it now. I wanted a locked door between me - between us - and this town as soon as possible.

I also wanted to try foraging again, but that seemed like the mother of all bad ideas with shadow wolves waiting right outside or near enough. I just didn't feel like a fight right now.

What I really felt like was a bath. A bath would be wonderful right about now. I'd even accept a cold shower.

I took another sip of water and waited. Everyone was looking, with some people even popping out of alleys and windows to do so, but not a single one approached.

Yeah, screw this.

"Where are you going?" Oliver asked, lunging forward to join me on my third step, but not too close of course. Neither of us were sure how Loam would take the man getting too close to me, and neither of us wanted to try that out.

I'd given loam orders not to kill him before, but I'd left it intentionally vague, and we both knew it. My trust in those from the same world as me only extended so far; Oliver seemed like a nice enough guy, but there was no sense in taking chances. There were no police here, no real law and order, and out in the wilderness, it would be all too easy to end someone. Especially in their sleep.

I wondered briefly how the others were doing - if any of those were slow on the uptake for that potential problem. How many were left. I doubted it was all of them - all of us.

The door to the place we would be using was shut but not locked. I opened it and strode right in, heading out of the small foyer, taking a left toward the window.

There was a small scuffle behind me, a slide of boots perhaps, and I turned just in time to see Loam enter next. Right, she was following me, not Oliver.

Oliver came in next, rubbing his left shoulder with his right hand and rolling the joint.

"Sorry," I called. I was, but we couldn't discuss it right there, or Oliver wouldn't be able to get past Loam's sword to get into the house.

Amiera was there, duster in hand. She'd clearly been flicking it around, judging from the haze and specks in the dying sunlight.

She quickly dipped into a curtsy, almost smacking herself with the tool. "I'm...."

I waved off the apology. "I know, we're early. I saw the window here, and it looked inviting. I thought I'd rather just brew tea here and enjoy the rest of the day. Don't mind us."

The kitchen and living area had no separating wall, and there was indeed a table in front of the door. A round table with four chairs, and just barely enough space for that number of people. Though why anyone would sit with their back to a window was beyond me.

I mean I'd done it often enough on my world, but my world was peaceful and didn't have slaves in it.

I took a few extra steps to the oven fireplace. There was a large pot there, and a smaller kettle, both of cast iron, and their handles sitting on hooks set into the stone portion of the wall. It was good there was a kettle, since I didn't want to have to struggle with that pot the entire night.

Behind me, the sounds of sweeping began, and I could hear Oliver shift.

What I hadn't heard was Loam sneaking up on me; I turned around, and she was right there, within arms reach. Leaned over just slightly, checking the pot.

At least she wasn't swinging the sword around. It seemed I'd managed to break her of that. "Loam, place your sword point down in that corner and sit down, in the seat closest to the door there."

Loam wasted no time, and she was careful; she turned but took obvious care not to brain me when she could have. I'd been ready to duck, but it proved unnecessary.

The corner I'd pointed to had been swept first, so there'd be no reason to move the sword Loam was placing there. Loam pulled out the chair with a skid, and the creak when she sat it in reminded us all that the furniture in this place was probably old and not as sturdy as it looked.

Even so, it held, which was a feat. Loam had to weigh a good five hundred pounds.

I wasn't going to go back out there and fill this kettle with water. "Oliver. Can you go back out there and fill this?"

No wait, better yet, there was a bucket here. "Or rather, fill this instead, and then we can fill the kettle."

Oliver smiled. It was a little lopsided. "Sure. What are you doing in the meantime?"

"Using the tinder here to start the fire. Would you rather get the water or play with the flint?"

Oliver gave me a more genuine smile and snagged the bucket. "Right, got it. You do that then."

I managed to hold it in until he left. With tinder this old, it was only going to take a few good strikes. The real issue would come after, with the firewood. There was a small stack here, and it was old and dry, but the stuff we got after might be wet and green.

"I'll continue cleaning," Amiera said into the void. Soon enough, the sweeping began again. Was it too cold to open a window? It was.

The small tee pee I'd set lit on the second strike, even with my inept butt in charge. A bit of breath on it, some old wood chips, and I had a flame already blackening the first log by the time Oliver got back.

I took the kettle off the hook and to the basin that counted as a sink. No matter how gentle I was, I was bound to spill some of the water, and I didn't want to deal with the mess.

Wait. I had all this mana, and I hadn't used hardly any of it today. Why shouldn't I just?

Under my direction, the water streamed from the bucket to the kettle; uphill, in the air, without a single drop splashing anywhere else. Controlling the elements was a mid-tier spell, with four different versions, and the one for water seemed to come very naturally. I'd be able to play with water for just under the next hour, so long as I didn't stress it too badly.

Useful for putting out house fires or taking baths. Yes, I could work with this.

Oliver made a show of warming his hands by the fire while I swung the kettle back and took the seat I wanted. He was the very picture of nonchalance, though I saw how his eyes were sparkling. He'd caught the spell, and knew it was beyond him.

I knew it too, of course, and that was fine. He had stuff he could do better than me as well, I was certain. In time, I'd see it. I was curious to see if anything he could do was useful in a peaceful setting. I had the feeling not much of it was.

The tea cups were dusty, but that was easy enough to deal with. Rinsing two out took seconds... and then a third, just in case. Loam might be curious, after all. She hadn't been about the stew, but thankfully, the old lady hadn't noticed one of us not eating.

The tea might be different since it was closer to water, which meant there was no real digestion necessary.  There was no chance Amiera was having tea with us; she was all but shaking in her boots right now.

The window was everything that I'd hoped it would be, and outside, the people were going about their business without a single care in the world. There was even a sort of rush on the well, with a small line.

Across the street, just slightly off to the side, there was a butcher, and he hadn't been there when we walked in. He was chopping up some carcass without any problems right now, the blood flowing down his massive and in no way overbuilt table.

This place was rich enough for meat; I wasn't sure what that corpse was, but it bore the look of something humans raised rather than something in the wild. A goat maybe? It was hard to tell with the skin off.

I was right, and I hated being right. Oliver was taking it in too. He leaned back.

Loam was watching the stove. I hadn't told her she had to, so why was that a thing? I guess it didn't matter.

I got the cups ready, and the little bundles. The little bundles were like teabags, as close as I could make them, since I didn't have a strainer and the kettles around here didn't have the little steeping cage the ones back home did. Whatever it was called. Still, some undyed fabric with some string around it should do the trick. I would have to clean them after for re-use, but I was willing.

Amiera strode back through, a broom in one hand and a truly massive dustpan in the other - and it was full. The floor hadn't looked that dirty; it was weird.

It looked clean now. Well, clean enough, I was sure if it were mopped more dirt would come up.

"Amiera, is there a bathtub?" I fought the urge to specify; either she would know what it was, or she wouldn't.

She knew. "There is, in the back, in an entire room dedicated for the purpose. I assume you would like it filled?"

"If you wouldn't mind. I'd do it myself, but your townsfolk seem rather frightened of newcomers. Or magic. Or both could also be possible, I suppose."

Oh, that was a nice smile. "Think nothing of it, my Lady. We just do not wish to offend you, the first champions to come to us in decades."

"Sorry for the trouble," this woman wasn't a maid; she was a person with her own interests and job somewhere. A job I was taking her away from, in all probability.

"It is no trouble," she replied, because that's how people always responded to such an apology. "I'm almost done here, if you were wondering. I shall be back to cook a meal for you, of course. I shall bring the water now; you will need some time to heat it."

No, I wouldn't. "That will be fine. Thanks again."

She left and shut the door behind her.

"So, what do you think?" Oliver asked.

"I think they are trying very hard. Almost like they were told to roll out the red carpet and be on their best behavior." It was either that, or they knew something. Something regarding past 'champions' that made them walk on eggshells.

Oliver nodded. "I think that's right. I think our friend the King got to them and said a quick word on his way on to his capital."

"Wouldn't surprise me."

By the time the door opened again, the water was hot. I managed to beat Amiera to the kettle and snag it. I poured carefully, and didn't leave Loam out.

She stared at it for a moment, and then switched her gaze to me.

Right, a demonstration. I blew on the tea gently, to cool it down. Then I  raised the glass carefully, making sure ot show Loam how I held it, and took a gentle sip. I managed not to burn my everything.

Then I looked to her, and she was far less gentle. One might even say she was lacking any grace. tea sprayed as she blew, but she did manage to hold the cup properly without shattering it. The sip was almost correct, and the pursing lips and cross-eyed stare were just precious. It was clear my golem was trying very hard.

Whether any tea was guzzled in this way was a question I couldn't answer.

Oliver very carefully did not laugh. That was progress from both my companions.

It was a good day.