Ch 19: Aftermath

SOLOMON MORROW, FOURTH SON OF UTHER MORROW, ATTACKED IN OWN ESTATE!

• Etling Gazette

They’d shrunk the forest. He could feel it. Every soul-tree felled was a cut against him, against his essence. He didn’t know if they were aware of the pain it caused him or if it was merely thoughtless cruelty. He scratched at his face, clumps of thick black hair coming away with each movement of fingers through fur. One of the small elflings pushed herself harder against him for warmth. There were so few left in the forest now.

…

Solomon awoke, wondering for a moment why the soft fabric above him on his canopied bed wasn’t leaves and starry sky. He blinked, his mind righting itself. The mana transference spell had listed a number of side effects, and they were worse the stronger the creature the mana was taken from. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take long deep breaths. He felt terrible. He was covered in bruises, one of his teeth ached, he was feverish, and his mind felt as if it was cluttered with thick cobwebs.

He was in his own bed. That was a good sign. As was the fact that he’d woken up at all. He still felt strained from the ritual, but it seemed he’d been unconscious for the worst of it. He could feel the mana whirling inside of him and all around him. It seemed so large that he couldn’t even feel its edges.

He slowly and carefully pushed himself up, clenching his teeth as his body protested. He was wearing fresh clothes and had been bathed at some point. There was a small bell on his bedside table that hadn’t been there before. He rang it and placed it back down carefully. Only a few moments later, Melissa entered the room. She was wearing her hair tied back neatly and her plain black suit.

“Glad to see you’re awake, lord,” she said as she bowed and entered the room.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked.

“Barnabus and Claire needed to rest for a few days, but they’re up and walking again. No one else was too hurt.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” he asked.

“Four days. We had a physician here, but he said you were ill, not injured. You’ve been hot as a stove. We’ve been giving you some potions he made. He asked us to call him when you awoke and also mentioned you’ll likely need to have a cracked tooth extracted.”

“Our attackers?”

“Dead. Every single one. Four of them were burnt, and there was a fire in the hall we had to put out.”

Solomon nodded, the sparks he’d cast must’ve spread to the corpses and lit them on fire. That was lucky. One he’d simply stabbed, that was something he could explain. The others he’d need to lie about. There was no way they’d believe he had physically overpowered those men.

“The Mayor?” he asked.

“He’s fled the town. No one knows where he went, but the Etling garrison is here and searching. They wanted to speak with you as well. I already provided the letter of evidence you’d prepared to them directly.”

Marcus had attacked before the letter had even been sent? That was interesting.

“Have the doctor brought here and tell whoever the Etling Garrison commander here is that I am available to meet. Have a meeting prepared with Third Watchman Vantus as well. Let everyone know that they’ll be receiving double wages next month. Barnabus and Claire will be receiving triple.” He began to push himself to the side of the bed. Melissa held out her hands as if to stop him, but pulled them back. “Before all that though, I think I’ll need your help getting dressed. And I’ll need whoever’s working in Claire’s place to make me a plate of eggs and a cup of coffee.”

She nodded and retrieved his clothes, helping him to get everything on until he was in most of a rich purple suit with a few small golden embellishments. It wasn’t his mourning suit, but that was tailored too tightly anyway and had likely been damaged. Once he was dressed he sent Melissa away to summon the doctor and the garrison.

After she was gone he sat back on the bed and breathed heavily, his mind was swimming in mana, making it difficult to focus on anything as he felt it flow, and twitch, and roil. He remembered the walking stick and looked to see if it had been placed back with the statue.

It was, and it still glowed in his vision, as did the statue that held it.

He stared at both objects for some time, and the glow he’d seen seemed to fade. He frowned. There was nothing in what he read that indicated that those with mana could sense it elsewhere. Given what else it covered it would’ve been a tremendous oversight to not include it. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of the ritual itself? Something unique to those who didn’t have mana, then did? If so, it was possible the effect was temporary.

He forced himself back to his feet, walking carefully toward the walking stick. He took it in his hand, and found himself better able to feel the currents of the mana inside of him. He braced himself with it, and made his way to his desk, grunting a bit as he settled into his seat. He placed the walking stick on the desk, keeping his hand on it, and closed his eyes.

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

With the additional focus it provided, he was able to better sense the turbulent tides of mana inside of him. It was churning all around him, with waves crashing against what Mana was held within him. Even that was shifting in and out so rapidly that he couldn’t tell how much he had access to, or how much his body would normally be able to absorb from outside of himself. That was crucial information to have if he was to pursue magecraft. He would certainly have an advantage over most mages in terms of overall mana, but how much he could hold within himself, and how quickly that amount could be restored, were the bottlenecks he’d need to work with and around. Hopefully, as his body adjusted, he’d get a clearer picture. It was already calmer than it had been when he first completed the ritual.

He grabbed a candle at the edge of his desk and made a fist before opening it with a flourish and pointing two fingers at the wick.

“Spark,” he muttered.

A very small trickle of sparks emanated from his fingers, barely lighting the candle. He frowned and adjusted his hand to have his palm tilted forward and facing him, then he flipped his hand so his palm was facing outward.

“Gust,” he muttered.

This time a massive wind exploded from his palm, blowing out the candle and scattering papers across his desk. He’d thought he’d limited his mana enough for the cast, but he’d suddenly gotten an additional burst as his mana was being expended. He looked at the scattered pages, pushing himself upward so he could pick them up before his breakfast arrived. He was sweating from making the effort when Felicity entered with his food.

She approached slowly, as if wary, but Solomon didn’t rush her. She carefully placed down his food and his coffee.

“Thank you,” he said, as he began to scoop sugar into his coffee.

She curtsied and left, keeping her eyes down.

He was only able to eat with one side of his mouth due to his cracked tooth, but even with the sharp pain it caused he was too ravenous to be slowed by much, and when the plate was cleared he rang his bell for more. By the time he’d finished his second plate he was starting to feel a bit better. He would likely need weeks to be fully himself though.