Misunderstanding

Annan's life returned to its quiet routine.

Tasia's condition had stabilized before it became irreversible, and an income of five or six silver coins a week let Annan focus on learning without worrying about money—or selling his looks again—

"You can say that all you want. You're not taking off that costume."

Faster rejected Annan's request to take off his theatrical costume without a second thought.

The women's enthusiasm and cheers were noisy, but Annan's daily embarrassment gave Faster reason to stand firm. Never underestimate a warrior's resolve.

And never underestimate a miser.

Annan couldn't argue. He still owed Soluman Copperbeard fifty silver coins. But when a woman roughly Aunt Susan's size took a mug from him and stroked his arm, he felt a twinge of regret.

He should have kept squeezing that rotten foreman. He should have owed Soluman Copperbeard seventy silver coins instead of paying her twenty back so soon.

Being a Mage Apprentice could bring all sorts of privileges and status. Annan might have had to worry about his swelling purse then, but at least he wouldn't have had to sell his looks for a few dozen silver coins.

In the cellar, Soluman Copperbeard knocked off Tasia's shackles with her forging hammer. Dwarves weren't suited to delicate work outside smithing and brewing, so Annan cleaned and bandaged Tasia's wounds.

Faster tossed him a medical kit containing bandages and potions to stop bleeding and reduce inflammation.

As Annan cleaned the festering wounds, Tasia's Minotaur endurance kept her silent. Her ability to recover meant she would heal in a few days.

"Tasia has Minotaur blood. Could she become a Sorcerer?"

Annan's rough understanding of Sorcerers was that Bloodline Sorcerers belonged to one race but wielded the power in the blood of another. He had asked the wrong people, though. No one there could answer him.

They then discussed where Tasia should go. Soluman Copperbeard suggested she stay at the tavern; she could use help in the cellar.

Tasia hadn't decided yet, so Annan accepted on her behalf for the time being. Tasia needed time to rest, and time to get used to being in control of her own life.

Knock, knock, knock—

The cellar door opened, and Martin called down from above:

"Cousin! I can't keep up!"

"I'm coming!"

Annan called back, gave Tasia a few parting instructions, and went upstairs.

Warmth and noise washed over him. The women shrieked at his return.

The bard was especially excited tonight. He even grabbed his Lute and sang about Law Breaks the Sky:

"Sean crossed Wutan City and came to the Monster Mountains. He crossed the Monster Mountains and came to Roland Academy—"

The simple, cheerful melody flowed through the bustling tavern.

Annan had no idea what the bard was so happy about. Mr. Fast, who had also come upstairs, supplied the answer:

"He advanced."

From his reading, Annan knew that bards were a support profession. They couldn't learn combat techniques or spells like combat professions could. Like priests, they worshiped their own gods and grew stronger by spreading stories. They could perform tricks and divine arts, usually to inspire others or grant them strength.

"Can he use divine arts now?"

"Only tricks."

Annan spent the next while pestering the bard to show him one, but the bard refused, saying, "I haven't learned how to cast one yet."

Late that night, the tavern closed.

Annan didn't leave immediately. He went down to the cellar to check on Tasia first.

Only a few hours had passed, so there was no visible change. Tasia was helping Soluman Copperbeard move barrels.

"Minotaur blood runs through your veins. You need to be as tough as a Minotaur."

Soluman Copperbeard followed Tasia as she carried a barrel, sounding like a drill instructor. She even greeted Annan, which was a first.

She had never done that before.

The female dwarf was about to say something when Faster came down the stairs. "Aren't you heading home?"

"I came to check on Tasia."

Annan examined her wounds. They hadn't worsened, so he said goodbye and headed home with Martin.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Soluman Copperbeard asked, puzzled that Faster had interrupted her. "I'm sure he isn't like those hidebound nobles."

"What good would telling him do? Invite a boy we know nothing about to join an organization that's long gone?"

Faster stood at the edge of the oil lamp's glow, his face lost in shadow. "I know you see a promising child in him, but it's over... The cause we believed in no longer exists."

Soluman Copperbeard muttered unhappily, "Maybe he's already figured it out."

The next morning, Martin's ten-copper bonus and ten coppers from Annan's wages bought them a hearty breakfast. Annan took some freshly baked soft bread to the Library.

Before long, the old man whose clothes never had a wrinkle appeared on the street right on time, leaning on his cane.

"Taken care of?"

"Taken care of."

Annan took the key and opened the door. He noticed Mr. Victor staring at the fragrant bag of bread.

"Mr. Victor, would you like some?"

Victor walked past him without a word.

Annan paid it no mind. He set the bread on the table, opened the windows to air out the library, and began cleaning.

Few people came to the library in the morning. Annan ate his breakfast during the lull, washed his hands, and dried them with a handkerchief. Only after making sure not a trace of grease remained did he pick up Mages to the Left, Warlocks to the Right and turn to the bookmarked page.

Tap, tap, thump—

Annan looked up. Mr. Victor was rapping a bookshelf with his cane.

"Did you wash your hands properly?"

"I did." Annan held up his palms.

Victor then pointed his cane at the dust motes drifting in the sunlight.

"You didn't clean up all this dust."

"Uh..."

The stubborn old man was even less reasonable than usual today. Annan ventured, "Should I ask Aunt Susan to make extra bread tomorrow...?"

Mr. Victor didn't come back to give him any more "trouble" after that.

With the old man placated, Annan went on with his carefree day.

"You seem to be in a good mood."

Little Winchester had come by today too.

"Mm." Annan was eager to share his happiness. "I helped someone who needed it."

That gentle, sunny smile made Little Winchester pause. She began to wonder whether she had been too prejudiced against Annan.

She was a woman of action—that much was clear from how she had kept coming to the Library every day despite failing to get the librarian job. So that afternoon, after the Library closed, Little Winchester took a carriage to the tavern.

The noise and smell of alcohol made her uncomfortable. What made her frown deeply, though, was the sight of Annan in his gaudy clothes, greeting the women with practiced ease.

"Little Winchester?" Annan spotted the young woman by the door and looked surprised. "What are you doing here?"

She stared hard at Annan and repeated the warning she had given him at the tavern that day. "Aunt Margery may have been fooled by you, but I haven't... I will never let Aunt Margery bring you into the Winchester family."

Screech—

The Lute cut off with a grating note.

Clatter—

An empty mug slipped from the Elite Warrior's grasp and fell to the floor.