Volition Chapter 8: The Wider World (Patreon)

As requested I shall add the fic name in the title from now on.

Only minor rewordings upon the previous chap.

Big ole' praise to our local purveyor of nonsense for some light beta reading.

Alaric

The young priest was as always stuck neck deep in his herb garden, weeding it with the diligence of a well… monk.

Seeing as he resumed humming his usual prayers I cleared my throat, making him jump a little as he looked up at me.

“Father Samuel.”

“Alaric.” He said a bit slowly, his gaze focused on my eyes. “I see the rumors were not exaggerating.”

“I have rumors about me already?” I smirked a bit.

“Only some.” He shakes his head with a small, exasperated smile. “Don’t get a big head now.”

I made an expression that perfectly stated: ‘Who, me?’

He chuckled. “It is a shame. I was hoping to call you Brother one day, but it seems the Lord has chosen a different path for you.”

“No foul witches allowed in the cloth, is it?”

He blinks and frowns. “There is no true proscription against it… I think? Though I doubt it matters in any case. The King’s decree is absolute.”

“Yes, I got that impression from our liege.” I nodded along.

He waved at me to take a seat at a nearby bench and returned to his work while still talking to me. “And I suspect you still have questions.”

“Obviously.” I chuckle. “Most of them about what I should expect as a wizard, from the people, the church, and the nobility.”

“A prudent question.” The priest hums briefly before explaining: “The people tend to follow their righteous shepherds in most things, this one is among them.”

He finishes weeding and stands up. “The nobility is likely to treat you as anything from a peer to a respectable burgher depending on your power, so long as you maintain proper respect for their station, and my brothers…”

“They will be suspicious of you on principle. Many enemies of Christendom make liberal use of magic, and that has set a precedent in their minds.” He tells me seriously before quickly adding: “They will also be duty bound not to act on those suspicions without proof.”

“Enemies of Christendom?” I ask curiously.

“Pagan Northmen and Horselords.” He shakes his head with a mixture of genuine disgust and pity. “The noble people of the Rus are all but conquered by the Great Empire of the east, and our own people still battle the Northmen to this day, though blessedly not as much as our ancestors did when they were conquered by the heathen hordes.”

“The south is also pressured by the misguided Saracens.” He adds after a brief pause. “But after the blessed King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem crushed their mightiest warlords, they have lost much power and influence and have not recovered it in the century that followed.”

“That is… I cannot even begin to imagine it.” I lied as naturally as I breathed.

‘So, we have Vikings in the 14th century still somehow being able to compete and resist christianization, the Yuan Dinasty/Golden Horde is still going strong, and the Leper King somehow managed to defeat Saladin.’

We well and truly weren’t in Kansas anymore.

Shaking my head a bit I moved on. “You mentioned something about your lay brothers as well.”

“I have.” He smiles. “In the year of our lord 1000, when the skies broke, the Vicar of Christ received a commandment from on high and declared that all prosecution of mages is to cease so that they may aid in defending the Lord’s flock.”

“When the skies broke?” I repeated incredulously.

“I am unsure if that one is literal or a turn of phrase.” He offers an apologetic shrug. “It is a matter of much debate, but what isn’t is the fact Pope Sylvester II truly did receive a sacred commandment and had written into a Papal Bull. You would do well to have a copy transcribed when you are able, it contains many rules by which mages are judged.”

“Definitely something to add to the list.” I quickly nod in agreement. ‘Even if parchment costs a kidney and a half these days.’

“Back to those Northmen though, how come I’ve not heard about them yet?”

Father Samuel laughs. “Come now, Alaric. We are in western Mercia, unless another heathen army lands on our shores we are far more likely to face a few Welsh outlaws. Put it out of your mind.”

I huffed. “Well, that’s a relief.” Getting enthralled by a bunch of raiders was not what I considered a fun future.

Samuel and I kept chatting for a while longer and then I helped him out with some cleaning before legging it home. I could see in the dark without potions now but that didn’t mean the hag would take that as a valid excuse.

I cleaned my boots and went in, quickly placing the things she ordered fetched and only pausing as I realized the crone had said absolutely nothing since I’d entered.

Looking up at her I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I’ve read that-“ She catches herself. “His letter.”

“…And?” I ask slowly.

She closes her eyes briefly as if battling with something before opening them with an annoyed huff. “He is taking his brat to London for a tournament at the end of the month; he wants you to go with him so you can fetch all the trinkets your school demands.”

Doing my best not to show the excitement I felt at the prospect, I said; “That is… generous of him. I guess you don’t want me to go through?”

 She scowls. “No, I do not.” And sighs. “But this isn’t about what I want. You are growing fast, boy. And I’m not going to ruin that just because I’m feeling petty.”

“Awww.” I smiled teasingly. “Give us a hug you big softie.”

“Away with ye!” She barks but doesn’t stop me, slowly accepting the hug and even returning it before muttering. “Fie. Fie! Just don’t make it a habit.”

I was tempted to laugh my ass off for a good long while after I stepped away, and by her challenging look she knew it too, and I wasn’t that suicidal just yet.

“Since you will be travelling.” She says after we have a quick meal. “I will be teaching you another formula.”

“A potion of stamina?” I asked eagerly.

She blinks. “That’s- not a terrible idea actually but no.” She waves it away. “I will be teaching you how to brew barkskin.”

Eyes eager and voice hungry I leaned in. “Do tell.”

-

Three entire weeks passed much like the previous one, in study, training, and more study.

I went into learning barkskin accepting that it would be a long term project but by all that is holy or otherwise the process was somehow even worse than the bone mending formula, and I very nearly failed to manage it before it was time to leave.

Sabitha would have probably given me a stock no matter what, but it was a matter of pride I used my own, and that small obsession allowed me to manage it at the last possible second.

The crone was actually annoyed by this, muttering about me making it all look too easy, even if it definitely didn’t feel that way.

Summoning light thankfully proved far more reliable even if it left me utterly exhausted after each practice session. My persistence paid off and with each passing day the light I could summon grew in size and intensity.

I could light my own room up for a few seconds before tapping out now, and each time I did it felt just as amazing as the first.

Further practice at knocking myself out would have to wait though, as it was finally time for me to leave the village of Little Haywick, and truly step into this familiar but not world.

Saying my goodbyes, I tossed on my woolen cloak, put on my new solid quality boots, packed my supplies into my backpack, and tied my unstrung bowstaff to a walking stick, and I set off for castle Greyham.

-

“The Road goes ever on and on,” I sang the old song as I walked up the packed dirt road, passing by a scant few traders and travelers “Down from the door where it began-“

The rest had long since faded from memory but I kept humming the melody with equal enthusiasm, over and over again until I reached the end of the road, and looked up to see…

A small walled stone keep looming over a packed village that looked to house about three hundred people. At least it seemed relatively clean and orderly.

I passed through the evening crowds, the trek to the castle having taken my tiny legs most of the waking day, and drew only a bit of attention as I tapped my walking stick on my way to the castle itself.

“Who goes there?” A man unfamiliar to me from the forest and no doubt boiling in his chainmail and padding squinted down at me through sweat covered eyes, he was leaning against the gatehouse and held a pristine looking billhook in the nook of his arms.

“Alaric of Little Haywick.” I pulled my hood back and introduced myself, making the man tense and stand up straighter despite my eyes looking perfectly normal at the moment.

I pulled out my letter and offered it to him. “Here at Sir Alfred’s invitation.”

He stood still for a long second before slowly taking the piece of parchment and looking it over for all of half a second. “Seal looks good. You can go on inside.”

Taking the letter back, I held back the urge to ask why he didn’t bother reading the whole thing. The man at arms was probably mostly illiterate to begin with and he did let me in already.

“Well, well, well.” A familiar voice called from my left as I entered the spacious if small courtyard. “Who do I spy with my little eye?”

“Huntsmaster.” I nodded at him. “How is your hand?”

He blinks in surprise before quickly shrugging the question off. “I’ll recover soon enough, little wizard. Don’t you worry.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” I smile lightly. “Is Sir Alfred in?”

“No.” Fredrik the Master of the Hunt, shakes his head. “He went to settle a dispute over in Brookridge this noon. He will be back in the morning, and we will set out as soon as he refreshes himself.”

“You are coming with us?” I asked.

“The King himself is hosting a grand tourney to test his knights.” The hunter smiles excitedly. “And I’ve some betting to do!”

“That does sound like it would be fun.” I look around the courtyard for a moment. “Anything I can help out with?”

“Kind of you to ask, but there is no need.” He shakes his head. “You are free to rest, or if you wish you can join young Sir in his sword practice.” He pauses. “Actually, do you know how to ride a horse?”

“No?” I frowned. “Why would I?”

“True.” He chuckles. “Might be smart to ask for some lessons while you can. We’ll have a good cart with us, so you won’t have to walk, but it’s still a poor sign to not know how to ride, especially in the company of nobility.”

“I’ll be sure to ask?” I waved my hand about. “Who exactly?”

He outright laughs now. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

We stepped through a narrow internal gate into another part of the courtyard just in time to see Charles de Petty get kicked into the dirt by a grizzled old man lacking his left arm.

“Again you overextend, young Charles.” The man I presumed was the Master at Arms chides in a surprisingly gentle tone. “You are of no use in battle if you lose your footing just to hit a little bit harder.”

Charles jumps back up to his feet with practiced ease and raises his practice sword. “Again, William.”

The old man smiles and goes to do just that when he notices us. “It seems we have guests, young Sir.”

“It’s you!” The kid exclaims with far too much excitement.

Dipping my head I addressed him as was proper. “Young Sir.”

He crosses his arms and pouts.

I catch the armsmaster’s eye take on a small glint as he watches the interaction and he clears his throat. “Here to join the training, wizard?”

Unsurprised by the fact he knew who I was I shrugged. “Why not? Might as well see just how bad I am.”

“That’s the spirit.” The older man grins and waves me over.

Time for bruises.