Chương 150: Trial By Fire: Four

Pip wiped his forearm across his brow and glared at the lanky stranger who'd just been dumped on him like a sack of unsorted produce. Why'd chef have to stick me with this one? He bent to gather a fresh bundle of carrots from the floor crate, working through his irritation. Lunch rush is half-done and now I gotta babysit. Just look at him! Soft hands and fancy armor, standing there like he's never been in a kitchen before.

The lanky one stood near the prep station Pip had cleared for him, taking in the kitchen with eyes that roved a little too keenly for a friend-of-the-family freeloader. He was tall enough to need to duck under the low hanging pot rack, and the black leather he wore looked too well-fitted to be costume. But Pip had seen plenty of pretenders in his three years here. Appearances didn't make a man.

"Is there a place for this?" the stranger asked, gesturing to the armor and weapons he bore. Pip grunted and pointed with his chin toward an empty locker by the back wall.

"Stow it in one a them cubbies. I'll grab you a knife." He turned away and dug through a drawer of spare tools. When he came back with a serviceable knife, the stranger was stripping out of his equipment and setting it aside. The gear was nicer than Pip had given it credit for, and looked like it had seen use. Alright, so maybe he actually does fight. Doesn't mean he can dice an onion. When the stranger had gotten down to his plain linen shirt and pants he crouched over his pack, shuffling through it thoughtfully.

He came up with a folded leather roll, untied the thong, and produced a knife. Pip did a double take. It was a chef's knife, and a proper one at that. The blade was as long as Pip's forearm, polished to a mirror sheen with a faint vein of darker metal running down the spine. Even from across the prep station the quality was unmistakable. Someone had known what they were doing. Pip looked down at the battered old knife he'd selected for the man.

"Oh. Uh." He set the spare knife on the counter.

"Right. You brought your own. Good." He shoved down a fresh wave of irritation and pointed his chin at the mountain of root vegetables piled in a wicker crate beside the station, giving an order.

"Dice them. Chef likes a half-inch on the carrots and quarter-inch on the onions. An don't cry in the prep, newbie. Take it outside if you gotta." He turned away, already mentally writing off the next ten minutes.

"I'll be back to clean up your mess." He made it three steps before the sound started. One slow, clean thunk of steel through carrot into wood. Then another. Then a third, slightly faster, starting to ramp up into a continuous rolling clatter, so uniform that for a second Pip thought the man must be tapping his knife on the counter like a buffoon. He turned. The stranger's right hand was a rapid blur over the cutting board.

The knife rocked in a precise motion that never lifted more than a couple inches from the wood, and beneath it, neat orange cubes flowed off the heel of the blade in a stream. His left hand fed the blade with barely a pause. Carrot in. Cubes out. Pip could only gape. The first dozen were done before he caught himself staring. The cubes that piled on the board were nearly identical, as if someone had stamped them out of a mold. The man wasn't even looking at the blade.

He tracked the cubes as they accumulated, sweeping them aside into a growing mound with the flat while barely slowing his speed. Then the stranger emptied his hands and lifted his arms off the board and into the air, duplicating a series of quick, elaborate gestures with both sets of fingers. Lines of blue-white light followed the motions, sketching a web of glowing symbols in the air. The glyphs flared for a bare second, dissolving before Pip could even really appreciate them.

In their place, two new hands took shape from the fading light. Pip blinked. Huh? Two hands made of nothing were now working in concert along with those of flesh and bone. One reached into the crate and picked up the next carrot, feeding it to the stranger's physical hand. The other hovered next to the knife and with a delicate sweeping motion, cleared the growing pile of orange cubes into the nearby pile. The stranger never paused his bladework after that. That's… that's magic!

That's actual magic, working at my prep station and doing my job better than I ever could! He looked up along the stranger's body to his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, while the linen of his shirt was darkening at the collar. But his breathing stayed steady. He was the picture of untroubled calm, looking almost meditative. A few minutes passed before the stranger glanced up from his board. He did a scan of the kitchen, taking in the hot line and the prep stations and the pile of orders pinned along the pass.

Then he turned to Pip.

"Hey, could you grab me a sack of turnips from the pantry? Whatever's freshest." His voice was calm and conversational, as if he were just another prep cook and not some arcane demon who had made Pip's entire skillset obsolete in under five minutes.

"Y-Yeah." Pip's register came out higher than usual.

"Yeah, yes, I can. Sure." He bolted. The pantry was thirty feet down the back corridor, and he covered the distance in something close to a sprint. He came back with a hemp sack heavy enough to need both arms and set it down on the station with a grunt. The stranger had already swept the diced root vegetables into a series of waiting bins, leaving the board clear. He thanked Pip, untied the sack, and pulled out the first turnip, returning to his knife work.

I have never been so happy to fetch a turnip in my life, Pip thought distantly. He'd barely caught his breath when Mareth bellowed across the kitchen.

"WHO'S ON TURNIPS? I needed those chopped yesterday!" The sous chef was already headed towards the prep stations, broad shoulders parting the crew as he stalked toward the back line. Mareth had a face built for shouting, square and red, and right now it was the color of a ripe plum. The stranger didn't even bother to look up.

"I've got em, chef. Take what you need." Mareth pivoted toward the prep station with murder in his eyes and made it within a stride before he stopped. He stared at the rapidly growing pile of perfectly sliced turnip, then at the spectral hands dancing around the man while he worked. The sous chef chewed on something behind his teeth while he frowned.

"Hmph," Mareth grunted, scooping a pile onto an empty dish.

"Good work, newbie. Keep at it." He started to turn.

"What's next after these, sir?" the magic man asked, still not looking up. Mareth half-turned back, already rattling off a list.

"Two heads of red cabbage shredded fine, a brick of soft cheese crumbled, a bowl of starshroom caps halved, and mince the lunar ginger. At least a couple ounces of it." The stranger nodded. The knife never broke tempo.

"Skin on or peeled?" Mareth paused, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Skin on or peeled?"

"For the lunar ginger. Skin on preserves the photosensitive enzymes, which gives you that brighter floral note in the finish. Peeled mellows it out, making it more earthy. Depends on what the dish calls for." The chef stared at him, open mouthed, as his face got darker.

"O-Of course I know that! I just can't believe you knew that! It's going into a cream sauce, so we don't want it too pungent."

"Peeled it is." Mareth lingered for a second longer, his red face doing complicated things. Then he turned and walked away without another word. Pip could only stare at the friend of the Hearthsong's with one thought in his mind. Just who is this guy? The kitchen receded, and the world narrowed to the board, the blade, and the next vegetable. Cal let his breathing settle deeper. [Meditation] wasn't only useful for refilling spiritual energy.

Held lightly, like this, it kept his heartbeat steady and his body relaxed. The two air hands he'd cast required a constant low draw of Mana, and he'd found that a touch of meditation helped with multitasking. His Grubby v Grubby "rock, paper, scissors" sessions were paying dividends. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The lunar ginger was already on the board, neon purple flesh exposed where his thumb had worked the skin off in strips.

He set the knife and rocked it through the root in fine, even passes. It reminded him of working in the kitchens at Deadfall, back in the beginning of all this. He'd loved that work. The simple satisfaction of standing over a cutting board for hours and contributing to something that made people happy. He had been a manager for twenty years on Earth, and managers didn't make things. They convened meetings about making things. They wrote reports about the meetings about making things.

Here he was mincing a pile of ginger for a sauce that he knew would light up someone's palate, and that was enough. Man, I'd forgotten how much I missed this.

[Your proficiency with Chopping (E) has increased to Adept] [Your proficiency with Duplicate Casting (E) has increased to Practiced] [Your proficiency with Dicing (E) has increased to Practiced] [Your proficiency with Slicing (E) has increased to Practiced] [Your proficiency with Peeling (E) has increased to Practiced] The lunch rush finally slowed around the second hour past midday. Cal felt it in the kitchen before he saw it.

The way the orders thinned at the pass, with the line cooks straightening up and stretching. Junior chefs walking instead of running. He let his Spells dissipate and set down his knife, wiping the blade on a clean cloth and surveying the prep station before a heavy hand landed between his shoulder blades with enough force to drive the breath out of him. He rocked forward a half-step in spite of knowing it was coming, catching his weight.

[Your proficiency with Sphere of Perception (E) has increased to Adept]"Valorn!" Borin said exuberantly. The old elf came around to face him, bushy brows lifted in something that looked an awful lot like delight.

"Where in the deep green abyss did Cassia find you?"

"Uhh… I sort of stumbled into the job back home, sir."

"Stumbled in, he says." Borin shook his head.

"I've had cooks I trained for ten years who couldn't keep that pace through a rush. You move that knife like you were born with one."

"It's just practice, sir."

"Don't 'sir' me, lad. It's Borin. And you proved that heroic name of yours today, let me tell you." He clapped Cal on the shoulder again, more gently this time.

"I've got a station with your name on it. You say the word and the spot's yours." What's with everyone trying to recruit me all the sudden? It's almost as bad as LinkedIn spammers.

"That's generous of you, Borin, but I'm going to have to pass." Borin studied him for a long moment, the appraising look from earlier returning briefly. Then he broke into a grin.

"Good lad! A man oughta know what he stands for." He waved a hand toward the back of the kitchen.

"Clean up your station and get washed, then find your room. Sashi's preparing the family table. You eat with us tonight." The private dining room sat behind a set of carved double doors on the third floor. The noise of the inn fell away, audible through the floor but no longer pressing on the ears. The room itself was small and welcoming, paneled in polished cherry wood. A long table set for five waited beneath a string of runelamps suspended from the ceiling.

Cal had cleaned up and changed out of his sweat-stained shirt in the kitchen before coming up, although he still felt the heat of the kitchen clinging to him as he sat. Borin had taken the seat at the head, Sashi on his right, Christoph on his left. Corinne was in the chair next to her great-uncle and gestured towards the seat across from her with a grin.

"Master Valorn." Sashi reached over and laid a small hand on his forearm once he sat down.

"We have not had the chance to thank you properly. Corinne is our only granddaughter, you know. What you did on that road… well. It is quite remarkable. I've not heard of a Sovereign Aspirant until today, but it seems the title is well earned in your case."

"Mistress Hearthsong, I—""Call me Sashi."

"Sashi. She is my best friend. I would never let any harm come to her, nor to anyone traveling with me if I can help it."

"Yes." Her eyes crinkled.

"That, I suspect, is rather the point." Borin rumbled out from the head of the table.

"House Hearthsong is in your debt, lad. That's not a phrase we use lightly." Christoph also inclined his head from across the table.

"Uh, thanks, but there's really no need for all that. I was just happy to help."

"Ha! Modesty is a rare thing from one of your talents. So be it. Let's eat!" The acknowledgments concluded, and with them, the formal feeling drained out of the room as people uncovered dishes and started to plate food family style. Sashi turned her bright, mischievous eyes on her granddaughter and began to smile.

"Corinne, dear."

"Yes, Grandmuhmah?" Corinne said carefully.

"You didn't tell us your friend was so very capable." She squeezed Cal's forearm one more time for emphasis.

"And handsome, too. Such a strong jaw. How long have you been keeping him a secret from us, exactly?" Corinne flushed beet red.

"Grandma!"

"What? It's a perfectly reasonable question. Your mother's letters mentioned a boy from the village, but they were quite sparse on the details."

"Mom did wha —""Cassia is a wonderful daughter-in-law but she has the descriptive prose of a tax ledger." Sashi turned the smile on Cal.

"You'll forgive an old woman her curiosity. We see Corinne so rarely." Cal kept his expression diplomatically amused, especially at the woman calling herself "old." Granny Sashi barely looked to be in her forties.

"Corinne is a very dear friend, Miss Sashi." Sashi looked between them with poorly suppressed delight.

"Just a friend, hmm? We'll see."" Grandma."

"I'm only saying." Christoph cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention before Sashi could embarrass Corinne further.

"While we are gathered, there is a matter of business I'd like to put before the table." Sashi sighed theatrically and gestured at him to go on.

"Cal and I have discussed a venture during our travels," Christoph said, settling his hands in his lap.

"He has designed a novel means of conveyance. A wheeled chair of considerable ingenuity that I believe holds substantial business potential. I intend to undertake the preliminary market research while Corinne completes her family visits. If the numbers bear out, House Hearthsong's manufactory contacts would serve nicely as a starting point." Borin grunted approval.

"A wheeled chair? For the lame?"

"For anyone who needs one," Cal interjected.

"A friend of ours suffered a… spinal injury… and Deadfall doesn't have a healer capable of fixing it. Finding one is the primary reason I'm here. Aside from looking out for Corinne, of course." He tossed her a wink that made her groan, and Sashi giggle. Borin nodded slowly.

"Christoph knows his trade. If he says the numbers'll work, the numbers'll work. You have my support."

"Mine as well," Sashi added. Christoph inclined his head.

"I'll begin inquiries on the morrow." The talk moved naturally to the days ahead.

"You'll stay as long as you like, of course," Sashi said to Cal.

"Enjoying a top floor suite with our compliments. No! No, I see what you're thinking. I'll not hear talk of payment, absolutely none of it. Your equipment has already been sent up."

"That's… incredibly generous. Thank you very much."

"Nonsense. It's the least we can do. Now, Corinne dear. Aunt Marin expects you tomorrow at half past dawn for tea, and then your cousins want you for the afternoon. Your great-aunt Hessa is hosting supper. The day after, the tour of the Mirathra inn properties begins, which will take the better part of three days. After that it's through the rune gate and—" Corinne's eyes had begun to glaze over.

"Grandma, I love you, but please write it down."

"It already is child."" Oh. Good. Thanks." Corinne turned to Cal, brightening.

"Hey, you should come with me! Aunt Marin's tea is the worst but the cousins are fun, and the tour of the inns will be amazing, you'd love—""Cor." He said it gently.

"I can't." She slowed and studied his face. He could see that she'd known this was coming. The energetic invitation had been more reflex than expectation.

"I have two things I need to start on right away," he continued, addressing the table now.

"Captain Hatch, who commands the Legion in Deadfall, gave me a sealed letter of introduction to the Legion Commander here. I need to deliver it. And I have a friend named Mira, the girl who was injured and that I made the wheelchair for. I need to find a healer in this city who can fix her spine." The table went quiet for a moment.

"Both of those," Sashi said carefully, "are not small tasks."

"What do you mean?"

"The Legion Commander's office turns away petitioners every day, if you can even get access to the fort. Perhaps with the captain's seal… but gaining the woman's direct ear often requires the right introduction or the right favor owed."

"And the healer market," Borin added, "is the worst nest of charlatans in the city. For every true gifted soul there's a hundred frauds in silk robes demanding gold for a session. You'd have to know who to ask."

"We know who to ask," Sashi said simply.

"On both counts." Corinne leaned forward.

"Cal, please. Let them help. Mira—" She faltered for a second, then steadied her voice.

"I want to help find someone for Mira too." Cal looked at her and her grandparents and considered the kind offer, but he'd just gotten to his first real city on Veraxus. Having the safety net was nice and honestly helped him make the decision not to ask for help, knowing he could circle back if he needed to. But he wanted to experience the culture here on his own and see how far he could get.

He knew he'd be visiting a lot more cities than just Mirathra along this journey, and he needed to experience how one navigated this world.

"I appreciate it, I really do. But I need to find out which doors open easily and which ones don't. If I walk through them all on Hearthsong's name, I won't learn my own way around the city." Christoph regarded him with smiling approval, completely unsurprised, while Borin raised his brows.

"And if I hit a dead end," Cal added, "I can always come back and ask for that help. Right?"

"Stubborn." Borin grinned.

"Wise, too. A bad combination for whoever crosses you."

"Thanks, I think."

"Mm. Well. Eat something, lad. The food won't eat itself." Later, much later, Cal climbed the stairs to the fifth floor with a full belly and the particular ache of a long day in his shoulders. His suite occupied the building's eastern corner. With the door closed behind him and the inn's noise reduced to a distant murmur through the walls, he allowed himself a slow look around. A four-post bed, lots of furniture, and Mycari rugs on the walls and across the floor made it feel like he was back home in the Virethane.

A glass door stood at the southern wall. He crossed to it and stepped through onto a small private balcony. Skin still flushed from Sashi's roast and the wine at dinner, he relished the breeze that crossed the city sliding over his face and arms, lifting the residual heat right out of him. He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing it in. When he opened them, he saw Mirathra in all its splendor.

The city lay spread before him, the yellow-tiled roofs beginning to shade orange as Aurum descended below the horizon. The distant clatter and call and laughter of the city rose up in a tumult, reminding him that multitudes of people called it home. And at the center of it all, dominating everything, stood the rune gate. It seemed even larger now that he was squared up with the northern opening.

From his balcony he could see much more, the colossal black arch rising up to create a threshold between two places that stood at the city's heart. Through the arch, the world was different. The sky on the other side had already passed into true night. It was a novel sight when impending dusk became midnight inside the voidstone arches. Where Mirathra's reddening air gave way to the blue-black of a sky already studded with stars. And against that sky, the mountains. Kar'angor.

The dwarven city was carved into the spine of the range, and from here it looked like a constellation that had decided to settle on a mountainside. Thousands of pinprick lights climbed the dark stone in tiered ridges, terraces, and switchback paths. Runelights and forge fires. The windows of stone halls hewn into a peak so distant it should have been impossible to see. Cal rested his hands on the iron railing and stood there a long while, looking through the gate in wonder.