Chapter One: Generosity

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay one more day?”

Kilvic shook his head. “I have to go today, grandmother,” he replied with a shy smile. “Any more delays and I’ll be late.”

Jenis shot him a reprimanding look. “Grandmother?”

            “Grandma,” Kilvic corrected, his smile becoming a slight tease. All his life his grandmother had insisted he call her ‘grandma’ rather than ‘grandmother’. According to her, the names mattered because while one made her feel like a grandmother, the other made her feel like an old woman. And she hated feeling old. Also, one was a formality that was found choking noble families. And she would not be formal with her family.

“If you must,” his grandmother agreed with reluctance after a short moment, then turned to peer into the house behind her. “What of your mother and grandpa, have you said your goodbyes?”

Kilvic didn’t see the point to it. They were not like his grandmother. They were fully aware of his departure. A goodbye would be an emotional display, thus, a waste of everybody’s time. With nothing but the clothes on his back and the pouch of coins hidden within his shirt, all communications with his mother and grandfather were done.

“I’ve already said my goodbyes,” he assured her, taking a step away from the entrance and retreating farther from the house.

“Would you like me to send you an escort?” Lady Jenis was raising her voice now as the gap between them increased. “Maybe I could send Ariadne with you!”

“That won’t be necessary, grandma,” he shouted back, pace quickening slowly. “I’ll write you when I’ve settled in.”

Giving her no chance to continue, he turned and bolted with what he hoped would seem like enough enthusiasm to arrive at his destination, and not too much that it would seem he simply wanted to leave her. His grandmother, unlike the rest of his family members, was inclined to an excessive display of emotions. If emotions were colors, he often thought, hers would be enough to paint each wall and room of the grey castle a different color with enough left to paint the world.

Last night his mother had asked the same question of him: would he like an escort for his journey? Obviously, he would not. However, where his grandmother had offered the best outworld tracker in the palace, his mother had offered Jarax, an outworlder who had accompanied him on most of his lessons, involving learning the lay of their small kingdom. From mountains to forests to lakes, Jarax had been with him when Ariadne had shown them where their borders ended and where all others began.

With three separate letters hidden within his shirt with his family seal, his duty was to make his way past the confines of mount Trenon, through the out-forest… Trepid forests, he corrected himself—using its title all other kingdoms knew it as—gain a wagon to take him to the port where he would then find himself a ship leaving for the kingdom of Zeldric. Wherever the port would be located, he would then navigate his way to the Academy.

It almost felt like a lesson at the hands of both Ariadne and Veniza, head of human relations study. The real challenge would begin when he reached the port. Navigating the mountain and forest was something he had done more times than he could count… Well, if he actually put his mind to it he was fairly certain he could find a figure. But that was not important.

His mind returned to all his lessons as he made his way through the mountain pass no one outside of the kingdom had knowledge of. If he went over the mountain, it would take him at least half a day to come down on the other side. Half a day was time he didn’t have to spare.

            For a mountain covered in nothing but dry rocks, the pass was opposing in its humidity. The grass beneath his feet bowed easily as he trod upon them, releasing no sound as would be inevitable if they were dry and lacking of water. The rocks on both sides of him dripped with water from a source somewhere hidden within the mountain. It was something of a wonder the mountain had any source of liquid save the currently dried up lake of molten lava settled at the bottom of the volcanic end, south of the castle. It took him roughly two ways to four of an hour before he was disgorged on the other end, and onto the outskirts of the mountain.

The trepid forest would be a different experience than the mountain. Kilvic turned his gaze skyward gauging the time and how much of it he had before his trip would begin to complicate itself. The morning was still dark, however, the sky was beginning to take on a hue of blue that heralded the coming of the break of dawn. He gave himself short of another hour before the day would break. Which meant he had less than two before Tivletet would make his way passed the forest and towards the port. His intention was to hitch a ride in the man’s carriage. There was no certainty the aging peddler would allow him without charge, but it was certainly a possibility. From what he knew, the man was one of those people his grandmother often referred to as a ‘good person’.

The trepid forest was home to petty outworlders… low demons, he amended his thoughts. Low demons like the fire serpent and the broken backed armadillo which seemed more like a cross between an armadillo and a cat were scattered all over the place. However, his lessons had taught him that it was rare for a greater demon like the hump backed necrophilous, a demon as tall as two men, known to walk on its feet, to be found here. The creature wasn’t an intelligent one, but its threat existed in its behavior after its death. This was when the creature charged any and everything that stood taller than its foot. The action was a simple sign of either cruelty or paranoia, because after death the creature had no need for food, yet it feasted on every victim crushed beneath its tantrums.

Despite it all, it was an easy creature to steer clear of. All a person had to do was look out for its tracks which were more than easy to spot.

Kilvic made his way through the forest, bypassing trees older than his grandfather. Some of these trees were harmless. Still, there were others that housed demons. Most people believed such trees to be possessed, but he knew better. Demons didn’t possess these trees, even if there were demons known to possess trees. These ones were different from most, though. The simple reason being that unless under the influence of an intelligent demon, and when he thought of intelligent he didn’t mean as intelligent as dogs or cats, he meant intelligent as humans, demons like Derias who was an actual demon and not just an outworlder, trees older than a century, as these, could not be possessed.

He stepped around a tree dry enough to be mistaken for already withering, making sure not to touch it and disturb the fire serpent hidden somewhere within its trunk. He spared the tree a brief glance as he passed it before continuing on its path. The truth was, if he thought to spot the serpent’s hiding place, he was fairly certain he would find it.

The light overhead turned a brighter blue, and a tinge of orange began to creep from its edges, spilling into the sky, tainting it in the inevitable glow of the sun. Either he had spent too long in the forest or he had miscalculated his time. If Jarax was here, he wouldn’t have heard the last of either.

Not wanting to miss Tivltet, he fell into a sprint, keeping a conscious eye out for necrophilous tracks. He burst out of the forest with time to spare and made his way for the merchant roads that bridged the two nearest kingdoms a great distance from the forest, cutting through villages on both sides. It was this path the merchants took when peddling their goods. At some point, perhaps ten miles north, the road forked. And if he continued on the original path which was unmistakable, he would eventually arrive at the kingdom Liines.

But the fork was what he sought. Tivltet would take it, riding for another hour to arrive at the port.

He arrived at the side of the road just in time, and it was a few moments before he caught sight of the mangled form of the two mares that served to pull Tivltet’s carriage. It wasn’t that they were treated terribly, or that the merchant did not have enough to care for them, they were simply too old to continue the task of pulling the carriage their master had them charged with for nearly two decades.

From the little he had surmised from studying the man for the past three years, Trivltet was a man too engrossed in the dogma of loyalty and a penchant to avoid change, if he could. And for all his good will, both mares suffered for it.

Kilvic waved a frantic hand as the carriage arrived. He knew the moment the mares noticed him. Like most of their demon kind which were only used by the military forces in each kingdom, their attention was shown in the direction of their ears.

It was a while before Tivltet, who sat at the front of his carriage with reins in hand, took notice of him. Kilvic made eye contact with the mares who seemed to regard him as if contemplating how much of a threat he would be before the peddler pulled them to a stop.

“Good morning, sir,” Kilvic greeted in an imitation of his grandmother’s accent.

“Morning, boy. Is you lost?” Tivltet asked, his gaze casually sweeping around, taking stock of his surroundings.

Kilvic approved of the man’s behavior and ability to hide his suspicion. The action itself displayed a caution while keeping up enough courtesy as not to be accusing. He was a good man, but not a stupid one as most good men tended to be in the stories. The child in need of help was one of the ploys best used by bandits to waylay unsuspecting victims. That, and the fallen tree blocking the road. Two of the many ways to require their prey slowed their transport enough to be attacked. Ariadne never saw the point to it. She always said if she were the one, she’d simply attack the carriage in transit. To her grave displeasure, Kilvic had scoffed at the time. Seeing as she was a demon with high hunting skills, it wasn’t a wonder if she could pull it off with relative ease; It was a certainty.

“Yes, sir,” Kilvic answered the old man when his gaze returned to him. “I wish to make my way to the port but seem to have missed the turn.”

“Coming from Liines, you sure have, boy.” Tivltet scratched he mangled beard. “Missed it by ten miles you’s did. Why don’t you’s hop in the back lets me give you a ride? You sees, the ports is where I’m going.”

With a simple nod Kilvic made his way to the back of the carriage without objection. As a child his grandmother had taught him the types of generosity people displayed. Of them all, only three were truly worth noting; non-negotiable generosity, negotiable generosity and false generosity.

There were rules governing each kind. However, the trick was in recognizing them. Each one fell under the law of courtesy. The first demanded no response, save if he would rather have none of it at all. The second was the kind Lady Jenis claimed was commonly used amongst friends. An offer would be made and it would be left to him to know if to ask for more or less. The final, she said, was mostly used between nobles. According to her, it was the worst kind of generosity. An offer would be made solely because courtesy demanded it, it would then fall to him to take up the role of rejecting it in terms she taught him to be considered polite.

Seeing as he required Tivltet’s generosity, he ignored the possibility of its nature.

Inside the carriage was surprisingly spacious, given its size. Stacked upon each other lay the contents of Trivltet’s trade. Packed on one side were edible contents, a few of which Kilvic wasn’t proud to say he did not recognize. Bread sticks the kinds of which he’d never seen and. from the smell, never tasted, laid in packages beside sacks of grains and what he was certain from the smell of the carriage was meat of some variation. His mother had once told him that the other kingdoms had animals domesticated for the purpose of serving as food. It was something he’d found rather strange at the time. Every meat he’d ever eaten had been hunted down by one of their hunters. Only when he’d reached the age of thirteen had he been required to be present at each hunt. At fourteen he hunted his own.

On the other side of the carriage were commodities of less sustenance purposes. The vials of potions clinked against each other as the carriage began to sway in response to the mares’ movement. Only after scanning the assortment, which were of sufficient quality, did his eyes settle on the girl who sat farthest from the entrance.

She was a young girl with golden hair that reminded him of the color of the afternoon sun. And while the only light within the carriage was borrowed from the morning sun that had already crawled its way into the sky, Kilvic could tell her skin was tan from exertion under everyday sun, like his.

Taking casual steps towards her, his movement matching the sway of the carriage to keep him balanced on his feet, he sat beside her, adopting the silence he’d met.

After a while, the girl spoke. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Treline.”

Though a part of him considered the possibility of her inclination to introduce herself stemming from one of the many demands of courtesy his grandmother was much obliged to teach him, Kilvic wasn’t certain how best to respond. Gratitude for having been giving the knowledge of her name didn’t seem acceptable, because even if she was not aware, he’d known her name for the past two years. Just as he’d known her grandfather’s.

But unlike Tivltet, he knew very little of her, considering she only stepped out of the carriage when they arrived at the market.

So all things considered, Kilvic cocked his head to the side in contemplation as his gaze focused on hers. Blue eyes, he noted. He’d known a few things about her physical appearance, but this was new knowledge. He smiled.

“Kilvic,” he replied gracefully.

Treline looked away, her attention taken by the vials stacked in front of her so forcefully that Kilvic wondered if there were some new and exquisite products amongst them he hadn’t noticed when he’d arrived.

“You’re from Liines,” the girl said, not bothering to look at him.

“Yes,” he answered, even though it hadn’t been a question. The clothes he wore was popular within the kingdom. But if the girl had been observant enough, then she would’ve guessed with slightly greater accuracy that he was from Zeldric. His physical appearance leaned more towards the kingdom than towards Liines. Still, he didn’t blame her, there were similarities in the dressing of both kingdoms, and Liines was the closer of the two.

A piece of cloth hanging from one side of the carriage covering a part of the sticks of bread held the insignia of the kingdom of Verizholt. The well-crafted drawing of the eight legged arachnia of the outwor… eatherworld, he amended. The creature was famous for the textile strength and flexibility of its webs and feared for its unreasonable size as compared to the arachnids native to the world. Craftsmen over the years had tried and failed to weave the webs into something wearable for the sake of protection in times of war. Worsening the blow of such failures was the fact that summoning these creatures was rare, and finding mages capable of controlling them outside the kingdom of Verizholt was even rarer. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the only way to gain its web was when the creature spun it of its own accord.

Kilvic motioned at the banner. “Verizholt,” he said.

Telvine nodded. “But we don’t live there. Not anymore. But the law requires we carry the banner of the kingdom we gained our merchant license wherever we go in other to do business.”

It was Kilvic’s turn to nod. He knew of it. Even the people his mother tended to do business with were required to carry something to mark their origin. Without such identifiers, the queen of the Grey castle would see to it that they didn’t leave wherever they met. Considered, she never did business with them. She had Croxvelle for that.

They sat in relative silence after that. When the carriage swayed to the side, marking their arrival at the forked road rather abruptly, he found his gaze settling on the nape of Telvine’s neck. The spots there seemed like simple rashes so close together it was almost impossible to determine the space between them. It was a common illness amongst mages; those who didn’t practice properly. He’d carried them for no less than a month at some point before his mother had started teaching him properly.

            As the carriage slowed to a stop and the mild voices of other traders caressed the atmosphere, Kilvic turned to the girl and addressed her with a single word: “Maltrax.”

            The girl who seemed too old to be suffering from the illness instinctively reached for the nape of her neck and covered it with her hand. The rash was known to show on children between the ages of eight to ten. From what he’d learned it was rare to find a child of thirteen with it. Which told him a few things. Either she didn’t have access to any good Mages and Mage doctors, or she was a late bloomer. There are certain things a gentleman should never ask a girl, his grandmother’s words rose in his mind. How old she is and how much she weighs stand at the top of these.

            Somehow, he had a feeling asking if she was a late bloomer would be a question specific to the girl he would soon leave meant to remain unasked. So instead, he asked, “Would you be joining any of the Academies when you come of age?”

            The girl gave a timid shake of her head and mumbled a response he didn’t hear. Her answer was more obvious than the rash on her neck. There was one thing he’d done with the members of his family a few times, first for practice, and, eventually, for no considerable reason. So he felt no harm in seeing its effect on other people.

Rising to his feet, he offered Telvine his hand. There was only a mild hesitation as she considered his action in confusion before placing her hand in his. Apparently, it was considered a common gesture in most kingdoms but none of his mother’s subjects were inclined to it. A handshake, was what his mother said it was. His grip remained for a slightly longer time than was considered comfortable and the warmth grew within it before he ended the handshake. “You should join the Academy in your Kingdom next year,” he told her as he turned to leave. “I’ve heard being a mage can be fun.”

There was a word used by only his grandmother in castle Grey. Belief. It was when a person convinced oneself that something could be achievable, regardless of the impossibility of it. He wondered if the girl would be capable of it as he walked up to the front of the carriage to bid Tivltet farewell. Maybe the girl understood it, maybe not, because he really didn’t. After all, within the castle, it was one of those things referred to as his grandmother’s word.

“Where’s you be going to on the ship, child?” the merchant asked before Kilvic could offer his goodbye.

“Zeldric,” he answered.

“Meeting family over there?”

Kilvic studied the man briefly. Clearly, he knew more than the girl in the carriage but could he recognize the resemblance? Was it a deductive skill or had luck merely smiled on his guess in some way? Kilvic shook his head, discarding the thought. The man was too old, and he doubted his eyesight did him very much good. To discern his physical appearance heralded from Zeldric was too high an expectation of him.

Tivltet must have mistaken it for an answer because he added, “If not family, then what’s a boy like yous be going there for?”

“I’m to be joining the Academy.”

The merchant did well to hide his amusement. The plans he began to concoct in that moment weren’t hidden so effectively, though. “Telvi!” he called out to his granddaughter in the weak strength only the practiced old could.

“Yes, pa!”

Her soft voice was a vast contrast to the man’s. Where he’s had been gravelly, hers was smooth and timid.

A moment later the girl rounded the corner to meet them.

“This here young man is trying to be returning to his home kingdom Zeldric.” His words gave the girl a pause, and Kilvic caught the realization settle on her as she recognized her wrong assumption of his heritage deciding not to correct the man’s inaccuracy that had already been established. “So’s,” Tivltet continued, “I thinks yous should take him to go see old Tut so he can be helping the boy’s to be getting there.” His attention returned to kilvic, “I hear the water’s been calm recently. I gives you a week before you arrive.” To his granddaughter he added with a little too much enthusiasm. “He’s be going to the academy. A young mage, this one.”

            Telvine offered her grandfather a shy smile before turning and heading towards the market. “Tut’s this way,” she told Kilvic over her shoulder.

If the old merchant had noticed how the girl’s smile didn’t touch her eyes, Kilvic wasn’t sure. But somehow the feeling that this wasn’t the first time such mention of a mage had occurred between the both of them refused to elude him.