Chapter 17: Poor misguided soul

Chapter 17: Poor misguided soul

Alyssra locked eyes with me. "What is this...?" she queried.

"Usual payment for a job well done," I replied, my gaze shifting to the lifeless body. "You have done good"

But my sentence was interrupted as Alyssra Volade, in a sudden outburst, sent the tray of money flying. She rose, hand instinctively moving towards her weapon. Drevolan followed suit, an ominous growl escaping him. I feigned innocent surprise while my adrenaline surged with a volatile mixture of rage and dread, a sensation typically preceding violence.

Alyssra halted Drevolan with a raised hand. A hint of a smile graced her lips as she gave me a slight nod. She resumed her seat, casting a look at Drevolan, who reluctantly sat down, his glare at me saying, "You're testing my patience." Meanwhile, the servant was diligently collecting the scattered gold onto the tray. His efforts seemed painstakingly slow, and I found myself hoping he'd manage to pocket some.

"All right, Vorgan. Your point is made. Can we now focus on our business at hand?" Alyssra proposed.

Business. Of course.

Clearing my throat, I responded, "You initiated this business discussion. Looking to purchase a noble title in Vorgan? I can facilitate that. Or perhaps you're interested in buying into"

"Enough," Drevolan interrupted. Updated from novelb(i)n.c(o)m

I admit, I have a threshold, beyond which my anger overpowers my sense of self-preservation. "Enough is right, Dragonlord. You've meddled with my work, killed my associate, deceived and threatened me. Now you fancy a business talk? Fine. Speak your mind." I reclined in my chair, crossing my legs and folding my arms.

They exchanged meaningful looks. Whether it was telepathy or merely non-verbal cues, I couldn't decipher. In the meantime, I helped myself to more of the liqueur. The servant finished gathering the money and attempted to present it to Alyssra again, but her glare made him rethink. With a resigned grimace, he placed it on a nearby table.

Alyssra, turning to me, confessed, "I'm at a loss for words. We presumed you'd be relieved that we took care of this man, saving you the trouble"

Drevolan scoffed. I conceded, "Fine, I acknowledge your clever tactics." I fell quiet. They seemed to anticipate further words from me. What more was there to say? My anger hadn't fully abated, making my jaw tense. However, my survival hinged on cooperation. If they required my assistance, they were unlikely to harm me abruptly. I exhaled deeply and suggested, "Let's talk business then. You've alluded to a potential deal. Enlighten me."

"Yes." She shot Drevolan an inscrutable look before turning back to me. "We have a task we'd like you to undertake."

I waited.

She stated, "This is going to require a fair bit of context."

* * * *

Throughout my tenth year, my favorite place was my grandfather's. My father's growing displeasure with this was apparent, but it didn't deter me. Vost-pa, my grandfather, reveled in my fascination with Sorcerer arts. He guided me to sketch things I could only envision through his thoughts, and he showed me his homeland through his recollections. I can still recall the sensation of witnessing a crystal blue sky, fluffy white clouds, and a sun so bright that I couldn't gaze at it directly, even within his memories. The vibrant stars, the mountains, and the rivers are all vivid in my mind.

To divert my attention, my father appointed a Wizard as my tutor. He was a sneering young Chimerix whom I detested, and the feeling was mutual. However, he taught me, and I learned. I shudder to think what this must have cost my father. It was intriguing, and I did gain some knowledge, but I resented it and didn't exert myself fully. I believe I actively tried not to enjoy it. However, the bond I shared with my grandfather was more satisfying than creating shimmering lights in my hand.

This pattern went on for a considerable perioduntil my father's demise. My grandfather had begun instructing me in fencing, adopting the Terran rapier style. When my father discovered this, he arranged for an Imperion sword instructor to teach me their forward-facing sword and dagger technique. The plan backfired as I lacked the strength to wield even the practice sword of the Imperions.

Ironically, I believe if my father had openly asked Vost-pa to stop, he would have complied. But my father never did; he just glowered and occasionally grumbled. He was so firm in his belief that everything Imperion was superior to anything Terran, he assumed I would naturally share this conviction.

Poor misguided soul.

* * * *