Chương 38: A Gift

Joel joined in the cheers and applause of the feast's guests, all watching his friends take a knee in front of the baron.

"All of Wardenhal bow their heads to you." Baron Valgruv held his outstretched arms from the high table to the three Freewalkers.

"You have restored the lifeblood of this barony and maintained the distinguished reputation of your adventuring ways. We shall honor your service as Freewalkers." The baron clapped his hands and a servant appeared from the surrounding crowd, carrying a small chest on a pillow. Three other servants followed behind, each with a polished saddle in hand.

"Payment as promised," he said, motioning to the ornate chest as the servant opened it. Several stacks of silver coins gleamed from within.

"Furthermore, so that it may never be said that I, or the people of Wardenhal, are ever ungrateful, I offer you the choice of any steed within my stables." Al bowed his head further as saddles were handed to each of them.

"You honor us with your gift, my lord." Walking down with a smile, Baron Valgruv took Al by the shoulders and helped him stand.

"May our heroes' feet never become weary upon the road ever again. Now let's continue the feast in good che—""If I may, brother." A silken voice cut through the fading applause. Galagrin's hand, adorned with glittering rings, grasped a goblet as he made his way around the table. Drunkenness may have explained his belabored pace, but Joel didn't notice a particular flush upon the knight's face. Galagrin finally came shoulder to shoulder with the baron, nearly as tall as him.

A suppressed scowl flashed across Baron Valgruv's face before a straining smile replaced it.

"Of course. It's been so long, speak freely in my hall." Galagrin gazed across the great hall, as if he was memorizing all in attendance. He took a long moment before speaking, taking a deep breath like a preacher starting a solemn sermon.

"A deserving gift to worthy heroes. Our father would have done the same. A great man who always rewarded the commendable." A hum of approval rippled through the crowd.

"Like my beloved brother, I would follow his gracious example." With a wave of his hand, he summoned Lester, the elderly steward, who was carrying a sage cloth. Resting upon the folded fabric, an ornate pin — two silver loops with an oval emerald set upon the overlap — lay gleaming. Galagrin raised his glass.

"I would like to honor all worthy heroes, even the lowest of us." Then he turned towards Joel. Sweat puddled on Joel's brow as everyone's stares whipped his way. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Al had informed him that the baron would only call for the three of them, something Joel appreciated. He had his fill of attention already, and he was sick of getting beet red. Like right now. He had a mind to go and throttle this damned noble. Luckily, even in his tipsy state, he knew that wasn't a good idea.

Someone amongst the servants let out a hoot of appreciation and, like a broken dam, the great hall erupted in cheers. A shove from some drunk jackass made him stumble forward. His half-hearted step backwards was rebuffed by more congratulatory back pats. More shouts of approval followed along with the strum of a bard's harp. All of it made him flush further. He shot a glance to Al, who was kneeling frontmost. By the look on his face, the handsome Freewalker appeared quite surprised himself.

Al recovered quickly and gave a small tilt of his head, motioning him to come forward. Joel approached and gulped, tasting the lingering alcohol. He regretted drinking so much; every step wobbled as he went. After what felt like the longest dozen steps he'd ever taken, he finally arrived in front of Galagrin and stood there, trying his best to not sway too much. Placing his hands on his hips, he attempted to discreetly steady himself as he kept his eyes glued to the stone floor. That'd help, right?

A faint gasp went up somewhere. A wave of mutterings followed. Joel looked around, trying to see what all the commotion was. Everyone was staring his way again, or perhaps they were looking at Galagrin, so he turned back to the nobleman. Galagrin had an amused look upon his scarred face. A raised brow and a slight smile. Something about his crooked nose made his smile appear venomous, like someone on the verge of an outburst.

Still smiling, the nobleman took the bundle of fabric from Lester and flourished it upon Joel's shoulders. The cloak matched his frame perfectly, the end of it reaching past the middle of his calves. Embroidered in a silver gray, the cloak's hood hung off his shoulders. Its emerald cloakpin, fastened by Galagrin, shimmered at his collar. Joel felt his world spin as Galagrin turned him around, presenting him to the cheering crowd.

"A shining mantle, to serve as a reminder that any and all can be a hero." Galagrin finally let go of Joel's shoulders, raising his glass high.

"Now let's fucking feast!" A roar of cheers matched the toast, and the great hall filled with music, noise, and dance. All of the attention, in spite of Joel's best efforts, was building a gratifying elation in his gut. With a sweeping look, he saw that everyone, in his drunken approximation, was having a grand time. All except the baron, who was staring daggers at Joel. The glare was sharp enough to almost make Joel step back. Alis came to his rescue, linking her arms to his.

She dragged him to the others, into a small dancing circle. More wine made him forget his worries and unleashed his horrible dance moves. The night spun away, the hours drowning away in good cheer. Joel lay back in his chair, the music finally dying into a mellow melody that seemed to keep the fading festivities alive. Alis was still dancing with one of the taller troubadours, wine spilling from her swinging cup.

Meanwhile, Al appeared to be entangled arm-wrestling one of the baron's men, a modest crowd gathering around. Siv was nowhere to be seen, though Joel did remember seeing him speaking to one of the prettier servants. Thinking better than to take another drink, he dragged himself to his feet to find his friend. He carefully trudged through those that still had the energy to feast. Wine splashed upon the floor, and he narrowly sidestepped the spill, tugging his cloak away.

It would've been poor form to stain the fine reward so soon, best be careful. He brushed the fabric, only to discover that he'd already blotted the cloak — a splatter of muted brown found inside. He clicked his tongue at himself. So much for being careful. A hand tapped his shoulder.

"Goodman Joel." He turned to face Lester, the baron's spindly steward. The elderly man gave a dry smile that wrinkled his face further, his posture bent forward.

"Something wrong?" Joel asked. Lester shook his head.

"No, no. Nothing of the sort. Baron Valgruv wishes to speak to you." Joel turned to the high table, but the baron's seat was empty. In fact, the entire table had been vacated, with neither Galagrin nor Ysobelle to be seen. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"In private," Lester said, gesturing to him to follow.

"My lord waits in his study." Through the great hall, and back out to the outer corridors, the two of them were joined by a flanking set of guards. For a brief moment, Joel worried that they were here to apprehend him, remembering the way the baron had glared at him. Yet none of the guards seemed on edge; one of them even smelled like he'd partaken in some drinking himself. A tad unprofessional, but Joel never begrudged a working man a bit of fun. The group of them went up one of the spiraling stairwells.

Stairs were not his friend, not at this moment. Embarrassing as it was, a guard behind him had to steady him from nearly stumbling. It was amazing how quickly embarrassment sobers someone up. They passed his room's floor, going all the way to the uppermost floor. The hallway was quiet, looming portraits of ancient Valgruvs watching them as they walked. They came across two knights guarding a wooden door. One of them held out a hand, stopping them. The eye slit of the knight's visor glowed with a humming light.

Everyone stood there in awkward silence. Joel didn't have to be a magical prodigy to tell that he'd just been scanned with magic. Perhaps they were checking him for weapons, or his own magical spells. It didn't matter, Joel had neither on him. Only when the light faded did the knight motioned him through. No one else followed as he entered. The baron's hulking frame seemed to crowd the small study. Sitting in a cushioned chair near the fireplace, the noble was fixated on the flickering hearth.

He sloshed the jeweled goblet in his hand back and forth, as if moving to some unheard music. A window allowed moonlight to cover the large writing desk that sat in the opposite corner. The study was less lavish than the rest of the keep, no massive portraits or gleaming statues. All in all, it was a cozy, mundane room.

"Don't just stand there," Baron Valgruv said, waving him over.

"Humor an old man and step over into the firelight." Weird. Joel tip-toed closer so he came into the baron's view, allowing the fireplace's light to sweep over him. The baron peered at him with a tenderness that seemed impossible to such a mountain of a man. Up close, he appeared so old; his short beard hid his wrinkles and sallow skin, and a cloudiness hung within his irises. A fond smile creased the nobleman's face.

"The cloak fits you well," he said.

"Oh, thank you, my lord." Joel gave a passing glance down at himself. Shuffling his feet, he did his best to hide any stains. Didn't want to seem that irresponsible. Lord Valgruv continued to stare at Joel like he was searching for something lost. Honestly, it was a little uncomfortable and Joel had to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.

"In whatever you do, it will serve you well." The lord rose to his feet, wobbling and placing down his goblet. He clasped Joel's shoulders with both hands.

"Yes, it fits you perfectly." The old man was choking back tears. For some reason, the cloak felt heavier. Unsure what to do, Joel placed his own hand on the lord's shoulder, which seemed to snap Baron Valgruv out of his reverie. After another excruciating pause, the baron finally returned to his seat.

"That cloak was crafted by some of the most skilled elven masters." He took a sip from his glass, hiding a sniffle.

"You've been wearing it since my brother gave it to you?" Joel nodded.

"Then it'll likely work." Lord Valgruv pointed towards the chair opposite of him.

"Focus there and press the gem at your cloak pin." Could it be…? Joel did as told. The cloak billowed over his shoulder, as if pulling him into its embrace. For a moment Joel worried that fabric was going to smother him, but the covering never tightened. He felt his stomach plummet with a sudden lurch. His body was dropping, then floating, through empty space. And then he wasn't. Joel found himself seated perfectly in the chair across from the baron. He tapped himself to make sure he was fine.

He stopped at the cloak. A magic item? He was about to check his screen until Lord Valgruv spoke.

"A Slipstep cloak. It blinks you a certain distance away. You'll only be able to do so once a day, after every dawn, if I'm not mistaken."

"It must be invaluable," Joel replied, running his hand across the cloak pin. He looked up at the lord.

"You appear very familiar with it, my lord."

"It was my son's." The words made Joel freeze.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't know." Joel sat up straight and reached for the clasp of the cloak.

"You can have it back." The weary man raised a hand to stop him.

"A gift cannot be ungiven." He smiled, though it didn't reach his misty eyes.

"Meret would've admonished me for holding onto something so precious, something that could save a life." He returned his gaze to the flames, sipping wine.

"My youngest was the meekest of my brave sons. A bookish boy by nature, all that coddling from his mother." A bittersweet sigh escaped his lips.

"She never really forgave me. Oh, she never cursed me, spat at me, though I wish she had. In the end, we both misunderstood Meret. Timid, quiet, maybe even feeble. But our boy was also brave and dutiful." His voice cracked.

"I'll treasure it," Joel replied, unsure if the baron's words were really meant for him. Lord Valgruv grunted what sounded like a thankful noise.

"My brother was right about one thing," he said, the strength returning to his voice.

"I should've rewarded your service as well. I've already ensured that one of my mares will be provided for you."

"That's unnecessary. The cloak is more than enough."

"Consider that my brother's gift." Joel really didn't want any gifts from Galagrin, but thought better than to refuse the baron again.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say, so he sat there in silence, the quiet only interrupted by the fire's crackles. The baron took another healthy gulp from his goblet, studied Joel's frame, and then waved a dismissive hand. Not needing to be told twice, Joel promptly got up, bowed, and resisted the urge to sprint as he headed for the door. Squeezing between the two formidable knights, he gave each of them a smile, unsure if they even could see it.

He stepped down the stairs, using the torchlight to look at the green cloak as he went. With a nearby window's moonlight, he paused to look at it properly. The sage garment was beautiful; the finely threaded velvet was silky soft against his touch. A rusty discoloration, the cloak's only true blemish, ran across the inside — something Joel now recognized as a much older stain. He was glad the baron hadn't seen that. Calling up his [Inventory], he scanned the screen to see if it accounted for his cloak.

He wanted to see if he'd be provided with more precise information. There it was. [Slipstep Cloak]. He tapped onto the item, opening an adjacent screen. — [Slipstep Cloak] [You may use the [Shunt] spell by pressing upon the cloak pin's gem.] [Uses: 0/1] [Uses refresh upon sunrise.] — Baron Valgruv was right about the cloak's magic refreshing at dawn. It was a clarification that he appreciated, something notably absent from his class features. Every sunrise wasn't that hard to keep track of either.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The night was slipping away and carried his urge to continue feasting along with it. He tapped on the [Shunt] spell. — [Shunt] [You may teleport yourself to any unoccupied space you see within 30 feet.] — Just like he'd guessed, the cloak had been enchanted with a short distance teleportation spell. This type of spell wasn't usually available until level 3 or 5, depending upon your chosen class. A daily use of it for free?

The perfect magic item to get him out of any future pinch he found himself in. He really should've refused the baron's reward. The cloak had to have been priceless. Stifling a yawn, he swiped away the screen. All of the excitement of the day was beginning to wear on him. He continued down the coiling staircase, but stopped at a lower window that hovered high above the courtyard. At the far end of its lawns, Galagrin's ostentatious jewelry glimmered from torchlight.

The mercenary knight seemed animated, no, it was better described as agitated. Surrounding hedges hid whoever he seemed to be arguing with, they were clearly no servants or other lessers. There was none of the man's usual disdain, only a strained exasperation. He hoped it was Ysobelle, or even Lannwald, giving the man hell. Another yawn rose, and he was too tired to resist it. Rubbing his eyes, Joel turned to head to his room. Sleep was calling him and he meant to answer it.