"Mom, before I start, I need to ask you something. As best you can recall, how long were we at the manor before you came home to the smithy shed being blown up?" Orison looked at his mother intently.

Droya smoothed a clawed hand down the back of her head and replied, "Three weeks plus or minus two days depending on what counts. Why?"

Orison said, "Don't tell anyone that. We were at the manor for almost two years by other people's understanding. Whatever the cultist was doing it warped the pa.s.sage of time around the manor. It probably won't be a big deal if someone found out but it would invite a lot of questions."

Droya sat down as if someone had punched her in the gut and said, "Originally I was going to leave the house a couple of days earlier but bagged that deer in the back yard. Would I have been kept from coming back or something?"

Orison speculated, "I think if there was enough reason to come to the manor or leave, the person would just be affected by the time difference. Judging by the lack of visitors or messages during that time, I would guess that there were other effects of the ritual as well but there's no way of knowing for sure."

Droya rested her head in her hands and m.u.f.fled out, "Two years. He's been gone for two years. For me, it's been a couple of weeks but everyone else has..."

Orison rubbed her back and said, "Grief, much like time, is subjective. Some people never get over losing someone while some are able to move on with their lives in days. Some of that has to do with depth of feeling but people are put together differently. Mom, you do you. If anyone wants to run their gob at you for too little this or too much that on things that are none of their business, I'll give them another helping of what I gave that legate."

Droya huffed like she was pus.h.i.+ng the bad feelings out of her chest by force of will, stood up and said, "I can take care of my own fights, little cub. The last thing I want is you picking them. I like the calm you that plans and follows through, I'm starting to worry that hot head streak you have is going to get wider than your better side can handle."

A deeper part of Orison felt hurt that the feelings which prompted his outbursts came from genuine care and she seemed to disdain them. The foremost part understood that Droya didn't hate his concern on her behalf but feared it would cause him to be hurt in a more physical way. Sharing that, the sharp pain in his heart lowered to a dull echo of it's former intensity. As much as he just wanted to forget it and move on, there was a small thorn of jealousy that now lied between one of his sides to the other and that was dangerous.

Orison looked at Droya and said, "Well I'm going to be unreasonable for a moment, so bear with me. Because I care about you, if someone gets belligerent with you, I'm going to get mad. If they try to hurt you, I reserve the right to hurt them. My feelings, all of them, are me. There is no better or worse half, there's just me.

"Of all the things I concede as you're right because you are my mother, this is the one I won't. Either accept or reject the whole thing. Like or dislike the things I do or say as you see fit. Guide me as you see fit but don't ever judge me in parts. It hurts me a lot worse than you can imagine."

For a moment, Droya ears flattened in embarra.s.sed anger but looking at Orison's vulnerable eyes, she deflated and said, "I don't want you throwing yourself into danger. I realize there has been more than once... I was supposed to protect you. Defending us from that ugliness was supposed to be my job.

"Your job was supposed to be playing and getting into mischief every once and awhile. You would do a few ch.o.r.es. I'd set some things for you to study, help you find what you were good at and get you ready for your future... Somewhere along the way it all got twisted up. You're so driven and self-sufficient that sometimes I don't really feel like I'm that useful or even needed. I think my broken expectations and pride got the best of me.

"I'm glad you care enough to get angry for me but I'm scared you're going to get hurt. I'm worried about what that anger could turn into. Would you beat up a man just because he flirted with me? One day, when I'm ready to move on, would that anger turn on me?... I want to be your mother but I'll want other things too. Will that make you hate me?"

Orison sat down on the bed across from her and said, " Of course not. I'm lucky to have a mom like you and I know some day that there will be a man whose lucky to have a woman like you. I have no desire to h.o.a.rd all your time, love and affection for myself... Okay, maybe a little bit but I'll get over it. I want you to be happy too."

Droya let out a relieved breath and said, "Bauldur would be proud of you. I mean about how mature and considerate you are. I honestly don't know how he feels about the idea of his wife, well, moving on. It's not something we've ever talked about."

Gears ground to a halt in Orison's brain as he said, "Who?"

Droya looked at Orison peculiarly. "Your father. The man who...Why do you looked so surprised?"

Orison quickly buried the complex feelings he was experiencing before they showed on his perplexed face.

He chuckled lamely and said, "Ah, I just didn't hear his name often since almost everyone just calls him hero or Dragonblood... What do you know about father? I mean the early stuff, before he was a hero."

Droya said, "I don't think there are that many people who know much about it. He wasn't exactly a talker. I do know that he was born in Fall Creek because of the marriage and adoption paperwork. He'd just turn thirty-nine, if he was still... I mean fourty? Fourty-one?"

Orison said, "Let's not think much about the timey wimey stuff. As far as you know, does he have any living family?"

Droya shook her head and said, "Not close ones, he's an orphan too. I think that's why he was alright with adopting rather than trying to have children of his own. We should visit his parents' tomb sometime. I'm sure House Rettr wouldn't give us any trouble, if only to live up to their name. They sure didn't hesitate to claim the rights to house your father's memorial there... I still don't understand why no one stepped forward to care for him. They claim he was wild and ran away at thirteen but I don't buy it."

Orison thought to himself, "The more I find out the more things don't line up with what I expect. How much of this is higher power overwrite and how much of it is conflict between real world and the story of the game. The hero's actions and my character's actions are too lined up to be coincidence but too far apart to say they are one and the same either.

"Under any other circ.u.mstance I'd have thrown up my hands and declared I had no more f***s to give. My field of f***s is now barren. If I pursue, I get answers and possible advantages but might have a head-on collision with reality laws and die. If I don't, things are easier but theoretical manipulators can screw with me and I might fall into a reality law trap and die... Middle ground I guess. Take what I can get for now and bide my time."

Switching to safer topics, the two chatted for a bit but Orison couldn't recall much of the conversation because he had fallen to sleep in the middle of it.

***

Fearing that Orison would get his days and nights mixed up and not wanting him to miss an opportunity, Droya woke him up an hour before midday. Bleary eyed, Orison slipped his boots on that Droya had kindly removed so he wouldn't dirty up the bed. Looking around to locate the the source of a person's polite coughs, he finally caught sight of a robed man. After the extra second his foggy mind needed to make the connection, Orison realized he was looking at the Whiteriver court mage, Gerrald.

Orison wiped the sleep from his eyes and supressed a yawn, gesturing for the mage to have a seat as he said, "I apologize for greeting you under such circ.u.mstances. I'm afraid my journey to and arrival at Whiteriver was eventful. The bulk of which seems to have caught up with me today."

With a look of dramatic surprise, Gerrald said, "Oh? I just thought you were a typical spoiled and self indulgent ten year old... I jest but that look of righteous indignation... It will be a wondrous day if Journeyman Mage Therridel manages to rework the Transcribe model to capture portraits as he said it can. No more of a delightful Master's test has been approved, in my humble opinion."

Thoughtlessly, Orison opined in his half awake state, "It would likely be a breeze as long as he realizes that these spells are too rigidly cla.s.sified. Like the abyss, is Transcribe an illusion spell. It's a novice mystic's art meditation exercise translated to a physical medium with a mixed evocation model..." Backpedaling, Orison added lamely, " I-I mean maybe. Mysticism isn't related to magic at all, hahaha."

Gerrald laughed and said, "I'm no longer the stodgy academic mage I once was. I know where the connections are. Apparently you do too but if you value your autonomy, I'd suggest you keep it to yourself. On the surface, at least, novices are discouraged to pursue mysticism as it has often led to tragedy. Drug addiction, mind and spirit damage are a few examples. Dismissal of it does lead to the step between journeyman and master being a difficult one but overcoming that difficulty through dry a.n.a.lysis rather than shamanistic or theocratic approaches is what sets them apart from said shamans and priests."

Giving a brief nod of appreciation to Gerrald's open-mindedness Orison tentatively added, "Given that, I'm sure there's a way for academic mages to couch the next logical step of Transcribe to an Apprentice spell capable of doing a simpler version of what Journeyman Therridel is attempting to accomplish. The making of such a spell would greatly a.s.sist with cartography and the creation of more accurate literature for alchemists and non-mage medical pract.i.tioners. That's not even counting how it would completely remove the need for an enchanter's workbench for novice and apprentice grade scrolls, for even the shakiest of hands."

Gerrald sighed and said, "It has existed I'm sure. Care to guess what happened to it? Don't bother. An entire line of master and apprentice lineage wasted away due to the allure of easily accrued money through scroll creation, destroying their growth potential one roll of vellum at a time."

As Orison pretended to absorb the horror of such an easily created tragedy, he thought to himself, "Maybe for others. I could really use that d.a.m.n spell though."

As a reb.u.t.tal, Orison said, "What Therridel is doing would create the same scenario for journeyman mages, would it not?"

Gerrald nodded and said, "Indeed but if a mage hasn't learned enough discipline to forgo easy gains for more substantial ones by the time they are a journeyman, earning mastery of a school was likely a fanciful dream. In turn, all the benefits you mentioned before will still become available, if a great deal more costly. And instead of trading youth with a potentially bright future for it, we eliminate undisciplined journeymen whose road of attainment was drawing to a close anyway.

"As delightful as this is- I mean that sincerely. Intellectual discourse isn't what brought me here today. Firstly, thank you for an opportunity to fleece Centerland coffers. Facilitating missives earned me quite the addition to my personal materials budget. Secondly, I brought this tool here. Yes, I know a gem encrusted rod isn't impressive aside to an impoverished person but believe me. It is quite valuable.

"In essence, I have been requested to test your apt.i.tude by both the Centerland Empire and the academy at Fort Frost. You can take this as seriously or whimsical as you like but the test is simple. You merely need to don the s.h.i.+ft I will provide, free of all jewelry or additional apparel, then pour as much magic as you can into the tool within a ten count. Afterwards, I will turn over this egg timer and you will release your magic into the tool until the egg timer runs out of sand."

Curious about how he stacked up and unafraid of private actions since he was thrust so thoroughly into the limelight, Orison took the test very seriously. The two additional tests done by one of Gerrald's personal spells and another from a scroll, however, had Orison nervous.

Affecting dramatic sorrow, Orison asked, "What's the prognosis? Am I going to live?"

With some complex emotion in his eyes, lending a false air to his jovial laugh, Gerrald said, "A reserves magnitude of 2.52 and a channel magnitude of 1.16 puts you well above average but not exceptional... If you were a talent of fifteen to twenty with cla.s.sical training, that is. In layman's terms, the average for all talents throughout Amoril created the one and one base as of about seventy years ago.

"The lowest talent for consideration to an academy is minimum RM .5 with at least a CM of 1.05 or a minimum of CM .95 with at least an RM of 1.5. That standard has to be achieved before the prospective student is over the age of twenty. To be considered for scholars.h.i.+p, the lowest range at fifteen is RM 2.0/CM 1.2 and RM 2.2/CM 1.18 with a variance depending on age. Twelve is the youngest one can apply with an adjustment of RM -.6/CM -.3... For giggles, at twenty you get a variance of RM +.8/Cm +.4

"Lots of math just to let you know that as long as you don't damage your magic reserves and channels or somehow manage to overdraft your spiritual essence greater than you can recover in a year and a half, you can apply for scholars.h.i.+p. That's if you're lazy as a slaughter pig. With actual effort, it wouldn't be impossible for an archmage to accept you as a disciple but let me warn you, that's a mixed blessing at best."

Orison frowned and said, "All of that and I haven't heard a word of academic achievement or scholarly talent being a consideration for a 'scholar'-s.h.i.+p.

Gerrald's eyes narrowed at Orison and said, "That's what you need to stay. Few who meet the standard seem to have that problem beyond those who wish to continue past year six, dual discipline journeyman. More often than not, the dropouts are from the lower end of the paid enrollment pool... No offense but that's a rich objection from someone who's, at the very least, recently taken an eternium crystal empowered elixer. I wouldn't even be surprised if you told me your father found a Delver ruin with a working baptism chamber considering how attuned and untangled your channels are."

Completely poleaxed, Orison could only say, "What?"

Looking at the boy with wistful envy, Gerrald tapped Orison's forehead and said, "Ocular luminosity is a dead giveaway. Once in a great while, a high or 'gold' elf might awaken a natural eye glow but there hasn't been a Highlander awaken that in nearly 200 years and he was an archmage. Behind the scenes, I'd not be surprised if those cases were from taking a different kind of eternium crystal based elixir centered around prolonging life, one time too many.

"You don't look keen on admitting it but that's fine. The academies don't really care how you reach the requirements. If you had the resources that's part of your good fortune. I would suggest you not take any more, though. They'll affect your mental health. Besides, if you build up a resistance to them now, you won't be able to use them to prolong your life later."

Gerrald got up to leave but he didn't get far before Orison said, "Wait... Cure Poison, Cure Disease and a battle conjuration at apprentice or higher. The conjuration is a must but I'll accept 500 gold in replacement for cure poison model and a thousand for Cure Disease."

Gerrald turned around with a half amused and half skeptical look on his face as he said, "Is it possible my warning came too late?"

Orison had weighed the risk in his head. The man already thought he might possibly have eternium crystal in one form or another and even wildly guessed at a possibility Orison may have a faint chance of knowing the location of a priceless piece of equipment but asked no questions.

Orison pulled out the eternium shard that was about a third the size of either of the other two, the one Droya found on the dead Ashlander.

Upon seeing the shard, Gerrald's pupils shrunk. As he reached for it, Orison willed it back in to his storage. A spell model appeared around the mage's eyes and after looking around the room and Orison in detail, he sighed and sat back down.