Chapter Sixty-Seven point Seven: Eilsweth Hospitality

  The woman with silver hair, dressed in a grey-and-white maid’s outfit, led the stout merchant through the west wing of the manor’s ground floor. Behind them was the dire wolf, trailing in a casual, almost noble lope as its stoic gaze darted through the novel surroundings. Portraits, vases, jewellery and busts were on full display around them.

  Selriph, in his pudgy, arcane guise, bent down and patted back slightly, picking up a strand of matted grey fur. Then turned back to the maid, who was looking on with curiosity.

  “I sincerely apologise for the inconvenience my oversized canine friend here has brought,” as he gestured back to the faint trail of silver-grey fur Emmet had left from the entrance hall of the manor.

  Then he turned back. “I’ll handle the cleanup after Emmett; just provide me with a broom,” he said, holding out his hand.

  The grey-haired human maid shook her head as she held her hand in front of her. “Please, you are Lady Eilsweth’s honoured guest. I would receive endless reprimands if I didn’t carry out my duties.”

  “I see, then allow me to express my regret that I have caused this inconvenience.” As Selriph scratched his head in embarrassment, looking at the dire wolf, who stared blankly back at him.

  The maid turned her head, her expression a picture of curiosity at Selriph’s words. “Your exotic companion is also welcome here. I can only hope Asyra can locate something that can act as a comfortable bed for your friend,” she said, smiling down at the dire wolf.

  “Don’t lose sleep over it; he is perfectly comfortable on the floor,” as the three continued walking, eventually arriving at a wooden door decorated with intricate brass and silver designs.

  The maid then opened the door, ushering the wolf and the pudgy merchant in. There, the smell hit his face. The room was filled with the aroma of herbal concoctions and fragrant bottles near the bed, along with the gentle scent of wood smoke and ash from the dormant hearth. A small table positioned near the porch offered a view of the garden, darkened by the night.

  Selriph set his belongings down near the bed as the maid approached the fireplace, revealing live embers hidden under the ash, coaxing them into flames as she added chopped wood.

  “Thank you…. Uhm,” as Selriph approached the maid, his words caught as he realised he didn’t have a name to call her by.

  “Paryn, pleased to serve someone of your humble stature,” she smiled back at merchant Jorin, or rather, the disguised runaway mage. Placing her palms over the slowly building flames before moving towards the wardrobe.

  “Make yourself comfortable and feel free to wash up. Lady Eilsweth states she will provide a proper meal come tomorrow morning, where she will present your coin.” As the maid gestured, she pulled out a set of towels and a fresh set of long-sleeved clothes, placing them on the bed.

  “Your supper will come in due time. Please make yourself comfortable.” Emmett tracked her with a motionless expression and a slightly wagging tail as she bowed and exited.

  Selriph turned to look at the fresh towel and clothes presented to him, the fabric having a soft, almost silklike texture. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

  Pacing towards the adjacent room, he saw a welcome sight: the glint of metal pipes and the dark curves of two valve-like faucets, hovering over a carved granite bathtub.

  The piping system, which was undoubtedly providing water, was probably at a temperature that was far warmer than the cold winds of the wilderness he had become familiar with, considering the relative opulence he was now experiencing.

  The first taste of a life long forgotten since leaving the cursed city of Caer Eldralis, and one that he had full access to, and likely the last until he made his final play for the border.

  I’d better take this opportunity to clean up…

  Selriph turned back to Emmett, who had settled comfortably by the now roaring hearth.

  “Call out when the kind maid returns, friend,” as Selriph gestured in florid patterns across his body with his hands, blue streams peeling off from his face and body as the belly receded, the fat in his face left him as he returned to bear the physique, stature, and face of the runaway mage.

  As he turned the valve of the faucet, warm and welcoming water began to flow out, and he proceeded to shovel the liquid over his body, a sensation reminiscent of a warm embrace he hadn’t experienced in many years. Each healthy helping of soapy liquid washed down the tapestry of scars that ran from the base of his neck to his knees; some were years old. The recent wounds were a reminder of many near-death encounters in the three months since he escaped the Templar compound.

  Events that he was keen to avoid repeating.

  Yet somehow he found himself here, on yet another tangent that he’d never planned for—one orchestrated by the pleas of the girl with the sight, now reunited with her mother.

  He’d long held a worry that Lady Eilsweth would be less than welcoming to him if his experience in his previous life as the heir to the Darth family was indicative and anything resembling the truth.

  Yet she had been nothing but welcoming, showing a genuine concern for Leian, even seeming forthcoming in providing the coin he’d ask for—what enticed him into these walls in the first place.

  Now, he just had to maintain the hidden nature of his fugitive status until breakfast tomorrow, where the gold was to be presented for his troubles. In fact, his insistence on Emmett’s presence in the room—rather than with Nightwind in the estate’s stables—was a result of that: he needed someone to accompany him at night, when his arcane disguise wasn’t being channelled.

  In all likelihood, his privacy would be respected. However, he didn’t want his carefully concealed flight to be undone by an untimely intrusion from one of the estate’s servants. Their faces no doubt flabbergasted upon seeing a thin-framed youth where Jorin the Merchant should stand, one bearing the visage of a face still plastered on bounty boards—even if it wasn’t front and centre.

  However, as he scratched the itch on his back that formed as he continued tending to himself, it reflected the same thing gnawing at his mind: the less-than-welcoming butler.

  Reggel had barely concealed his doubts about Jorin’s arrival with Leian. After all, why not turn the girl over to the guard and have them present her to Lady Eilsweth—a course of action only informed by the fact that the authorities were the ones who ordered the abduction in the first place.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Of course, the butler wasn’t privy to that consideration; instead, from his viewpoint, a merchant showed up hours after sunset with a black steed, and claimed their trusty dire wolf had killed the trained band of mercenaries and the theurgist that bested the clearly sword-trained butler and whoever guarded the treasured lady.

  With that premise, he was right to be wary, but the feeling was mutual—driven by the first utterance he witnessed from the butler:

  “Lady Leian… how are you…”

  Selriph could not shake his initial reaction to the odd choice of words. His lack of concern and confrontational attitude was further juxtaposed by the worry that the two maids expressed in their frantic tending to Leian or her mother’s tearful reaction upon witnessing the daughter she thought lost.

  Adding to that, his knowledge of the theurgist, who might not have even been present during the coordinated abduction they executed?

  That was enough cause for suspicion, at least in the youth’s wary mind.

  Selriph exited the granite tub, wrapping the smooth, textured beige towel around himself and shaking both water and distracting thoughts from his mind.

  No… I must be overthinking this—even if I am right, this isn’t my business. I should make myself scarce and avoid entangling myself further…

  Selriph buried his face in the towel, exhaling into its thick fabric.

  Just relax… he is probably just a concerned butler. Nothing more.

  Then he put on a fresh set of well-woven silk garments, a light texture that felt both foreign and nostalgic to wear.

  The shirt was very much oversized for his true frame, giving a baggy, almost draped fit over his upper body, and the trousers could not perch around his waist, requiring him to manually hold up the lower garments.

  Right… of course…

  With a quick flicker, arcane energy welled near his abdomen as the conjured body came once more, now able to provide a perch for the bands of the well-woven garments.

  With that, he stepped out to sit by the hearth to dry off the remaining moisture in his hair before the next taste of nobility arrived; the supper courtesy of House Eilsweth’s hospitality.

  Selriph, lost in thought, gazed at the patchwork map before him, the crackling of the hearth a constant rhythm beside him, anchoring him in his deep contemplation.

  Just get the coin, and then tomorrow we will move into an inn. Then we sell our supplies and gather what information and supplies we can for the crossing.

  Selriph began scribing what he would need: a fresh invisibility potion and a healing potion. Ideally, he would then stalk the streets and taverns for rumours, anything that could get him in touch with an organisation or individual that could assist him in crossing the border—if such a thing existed.

  Otherwise, there was really only one option left: he’d have to excavate a path under the border, with nothing but a shovel if he needed to. All he needed was a detailed local map to find an appropriate place to do so—something that was within the bounds of reason.

  And perhaps in that time, he’d finally overcome the haunting block that rendered his terramancy inert?

  Knock Knock Knock

  Selriph jolted as he spun to face the door, with Paryn’s maid’s voice filtering through.

  “Merchant Jorin? May I enter? Your supper is ready,” the voice said, in formal hospitality yet also coloured in genuine welcome, despite being muffled by the door.

  The youth hastily gestured with his left hand over his person as the arcane tendrils wrapped around his head, a sensation of static touching his skin and scalp. He feels a soft, pillowy, almost bouncy sensation in his cheeks and neck as the mirror in the corner shows his hair turning from its natural black to the brown of his mercantile alter ego. Meanwhile, his other hand quickly pocketed the leather-bound tome into his satchel, which lay at his side.

  With a final glance in the mirror that lay on the bedside desk, Selriph, or rather, Jorin, called out.

  “Yes, you may enter.”

  Click

  The door parted from the walls as it revealed the silver-haired woman once more, this time holding a large tray, holding not one, but two plates of food.

  The smell immediately hit his nostrils from the steaming pile of food on the left, the distinct smell of reduced alcohol and something stewed and gamey—Venison or lamb perhaps, yet almost with a slightly nutty after note, a curious scent but not entirely out of place.

  Emmett trailed the food’s path of travel to the table near the porch, and the maid placed it down.

  She then took the other plate, a large bone, likely the rib of whatever beast made up this culinary experience, and placed it at the foot of the floor, well away from its intended recipient.

  “You shouldn’t have—Emmett could just take my portion; he always does,” as Selriph paced over to the food.

  The maid let out a chuckle as he lifted up the tray, turning towards the door. “Sir Reggel was insistent that the beast have a fair share—lest he see fit to roam the fine walls of this estate in search of sustenance.”

  The butler did? That’s… unexpected.

  Selriph looked at the dire wolf, which had finally risen from its perch and was beginning to make its way to the food, the maid meandering away from the hulking beast, tension wrought slightly in her form.

  “That is a prudent consideration on his part; send my … regards to him.”

  “I shall relay that now. Please enjoy your meal and feel free to retire for the night at your leisure,” she said, gesturing with an open hand toward the food cart just outside the door.

  With that, the maid closed the door behind her, leaving nothing but the sound of the crackling hearth and the rustle of the wind and leaves from the porch.

  Well… might as well indulge in the meal…

  As Selriph paced towards the meal, an additional sound added to the soft backdrop of the room.

  The sound of sniffing from Emmett’s flared nostrils as it brought its snout near the steaming hot, healthy helping of meat provided just for it.

  “Don’t make a mess, friend; let’s not trouble the good lady.”

  Emmett, however, didn’t look up and acknowledge Selriph’s words; instead, he stared at the meat — somehow exhibiting a level of civil restraint or perhaps even table manners—if the wolf could even comprehend such a concept.

  Strange… normally, he pounces on the meal at the first opportunity he gets. No matter…

  Selriph sat down in the ornate metal chair, the cold metal stinging through the silken fabric along the backrest.

  He spooned up the generous helping of the stew mixed with a pile of mashed root vegetables, his stomach growled with anticipation at not only the first taste of food since the last inn he lived in, but also the long-forgotten taste of noble cooking.

  But just as that inevitable culinary ecstasy was about to hit the craving buds of his tongue, he felt something against his shin.

  Emmett’s snout, accompanied by a low growl.

  Selriph’s face tilted in curiosity as he stared at the dire wolf, the low rumble from the wolf hitting his chest.

  “What’s got into you, friend…? Don’t tell me you want my portion!” Selriph’s voice rose in a mix of sarcasm and genuine inquiry.

  The dire wolf answered the only way it could: without words, placing its nose close to the meat and giving a series of quick, audible sniffs, trailing along the entire length of the portion for him.

  “The smell…? Is there a problem with your food?”

  Emmett stared back, its gaze unreadable, yet its persistence suggested something urgent, something of import.

  What is he trying to say…?

  Once more, the dire wolf brought its head down to the food, smelling it and then looked back up at its human companion, now with a paw on the plate, as if gesturing for Selriph to examine it .

  Selriph placed the spoon back down as he got up from the chair, bending down to Emmett’s share as he took in the smell.

  The meat smelled fine on its own; there wasn’t any hint of acidic rot that would have given the dire wolf pause.

  But there was a scent that wasn’t meant to be there for a portion intended for a wolf.

  The same nutty smell that coloured itself in the aromatic ensemble of Selriph’s portion.

  That’s odd… why go to the lengths to season Emmett’s share…? The woodsman did say that Emmett gets a bad reaction to… wintermint, was it?

  Selriph traced across the meat and back to Emmett, whose low growl suddenly took on a different meaning—the cogs in Selriph’s mind began to turn.

  Wait, this…!

  A memory flashed in his mind—a visit to the apothecary after a particularly harrowing ‘training session’ from Thorne and his fellows. The smell suddenly stuck out in his memory, one that was commonly administered as a sedative to the grievously wounded, for those requiring painful intervention for their injuries or those in dire need of rest to recuperate.

  “No… it can’t be. Is that what you are saying?” Selriph’s words were directed at the dire wolf, who stared back, fangs now bared, not in hostility but shared anger that was boiling in both of them.

  That damnable butler…!

  Selriph’s eyes darted to the meal and the room’s surroundings before landing on the fireplace, as the nascent action to react to his unwelcome development took shape in his mind.

  Then he let out a weary sigh.

  “Looks like we aren’t going to be eating or sleeping tonight, friend,” as he rose and picked up both plates, carrying them towards the hearth, intent on safely disposing of their would-be poison.

  *stomach rumbles*