Chapter 14

An elegant mahogany carriage with a white window sill and trim greeted us outside the Alaster Manor. After going up and down the stairs several times now to the lower terraces, it was a welcome sight.

My shoulders tensed as I caught a glimpse inside the window. It would be Myria. Turbulent bubbles of emotions swirled in my gut. I was both grateful and terrified to be accompanying her on this journey. The last time I saw her she was in the royal hall with that air of sad longing.

I was also glad the Archmagus was accompanying us so it wouldn’t be too awkward, until I realized that Magnus opted to sit at the front of the carriage next to the driver. That meant the only open spot was either right next to or across from Myria.

I took what I thought was the safer option and sat across from her. She tried to pretend she was looking at something outside the window. Her pretty ash blonde waves and silvery eyes glittered in the light of the interlocking suns. I fidgeted my thumbs and looked at the leather seam of the bench I was sitting on.

Our carriage soundlessly rolled down a smooth arch to the terrace below, then through the bustling gate of Vivenheim out into the countryside. The roiling Mantrapper was to our right with fields of y-shaped, waving blue grains to our left.

I was surprised when Myria spoke first.

“What, by the Celestial, is your aim, ward of House Alaster?” Her eyes pierced me like silver daggers. Her tone was like music on a whetstone, and it wasn’t lost on me that she was very careful to avoid using my title.

“Well, um.. We’re going to try and stop that tear in the mana, right? The one that’s causing all the flooding in Tabasco?”

“It is Tabaskil, and that is not what I mean. Answer me plainly. From whence did you come, and what is your purpose in claiming nobility? And even yet as now you show your ignorance; you know not even the name of our neighboring city. How does one who knows so little gain such influence with the Arch- with the king?” The tiniest blush popped up and faded with the slip at the end of her sentence. I thought I’d save her the embarrassment and pretend not to notice.

I shifted my eyes away from her. I wanted to tell her some of the truth, but she already didn’t trust me. If I said something like “I’m from another world and happen to have the same name as House Alaster” I’m pretty sure I’d be branded a lunatic and thrown into the Mantrapper. I had to try to give her something honest but veiled.

“I’m..Well, I never wanted to claim to be nobility. I guess I just needed to survive and so…here I am.”

It sounded really dumb, but I didn’t know what else I could say. I could tell by the look she was giving me out of the corner of my eye that I was still under scrutiny, but it was, how do I describe it? Softer. Like scissors that got duller after cutting cardboard for a while. She went back to looking out the window.

As we continued North, the Mantrapper doubled in width and slowed to a gentler pace. By gentler I mean it could still happily drown me if I carelessly fell in, but it wasn’t that gnashy, foaming-at-the-mouth kind of violent.

In contrast, the sky ahead of us loomed dark and ominous. It began to rain sideways and Myria quickly shut both the windows. Soon we passed rows and rows of tents on both sides. Many dark-skinned faces labored with wooden buckets and bundles of clothing and wore grimaces and tired eyes.

“Is this because of the flooding?” I asked as I saw a family of ten in a circle around a campfire. They had soggy clothes draped over sticks to barely pass for a tent.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Myria bit her lip and didn’t say anything, but her eyes gave the smallest shiver.

Suddenly, the cart bucked.

“Wooah, steady.”

I couldn’t see what was happening through the side windows, so I opened the door a crack and peered around it.

A thin man with a wide straw hat was struggling with the weight of what looked like a cart on wooden skis. In the especially muddy terrain the skis were wedging themselves deeper into the mud.

“Come on then!” hollered the driver.

Another passerby went to help the man, but they made little progress. A guard from the small, stone gate ahead of us started huffing and walked towards them with balled fists in leather gloves.

Without thinking, I was already outside the wagon, the heavy rain pricking my skin. At first I tried to help push, but the slippery mud kept traction away. Barely conscious of what I was doing, I snorted and felt the tang of strawberry lemonade. Within seconds I was plowing through the mud with six powerful legs. My tusks hooked under the cart to give me a steady grip. I stamped a hoof and I felt the ground yield to my will and stiffen to a consistency like brick.

Kalculus wasn’t kidding about the weakness to water. I squealed despite myself at the rain which suddenly felt heavier, like I was being shot with metal BBs. In a moment the cart was safely on the other side, and I relaxed my heavy breathing as I felt the change overtake me.

I was very aware that I was being stared at, and in a panic I rushed to cover myself with my hands, but heaved a sigh of relief when I felt my tunic, still form fitting without a scratch on it. I was super grateful for these new robes.

The guard that was about to roughly deal with the struggling man stammered a quick apology then saluted, and walked back to his post along the cream stone wall with slumped shoulders.

But now a lot of people were staring, presumably because of my magic. But the thin man didn’t miss a beat and grabbed my hand with both of his, shaking heartily.

“Thaink yas stranger, I ‘ud a bean a whupped a good’un if ya ne’er show.”

“Just glad I could help.” I said.

“Taimes a bun hard, an’ Wyvergath ‘un nae been pleased.” He bent lower as if bestowing some secret “They say it’s the magic.” He pointed towards the heart of the storm.

“Wyvergath? What’s that?” I asked.

The Archmagus called out. “Young Lord Alaster, take your leave.” His voice was somewhat pleasant, but strained.

I turned to leave, but the lean man clapped a gloved hand to my shoulder.

“Wyvergath un’ resolute Spurut o’ Iridesca. Ee’s in distress. Can yus do somepin?

His eyes were filled with hope. I sighed.

“I can’t make any promises but I..I’ll see what I can do.”

I caught the Archmagus narrowing his eyes ever so briefly. The lean man bowed, then returned to his cart. I walked back to the carriage.

As I approached the door I heard:

“Boy.”

The Archmagus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That was foolish to fatigue yourself with sand when we still have the waves to deal with.”

Something felt wrong about that. I helped a vulnerable man and was being criticized for it. I guess I understood what he was saying; I needed to save my strength for whatever was in the middle of that storm. But still..

A glimmer of blonde in the carriage window caught my attention. I saw the top of Myria’s head pop back into the carriage. I guessed she overheard that.

I stepped back inside and realized that I was soaked to the bone. Myria was back to pretending there was something interesting outside the window. I wanted to know her thoughts.

“Myria,” I was starting to say. She jolted up and looked me in the eye. She went a little pale. “Do you think just now I did..something wrong?”

Should I have cared about her approval? Definitely not. Did I care about her approval, even though I was 99% sure I did the right thing? Definitely yes.

“I..er”,..Myria looked away and started biting her nails. She spoke quieter than I’d ever heard her speak and she couldn’t meet my eyes. “It’s not dignified, or, traditional that is..for a nobleman to assist a serf with his troubles, and, well, we do need all our strength for what is to come.” The words definitely hurt a bit, but there was something comforting about how they lacked conviction.