Paragon of Skills

Chapter 268

Thalric comes back to consciousness coughing.

Water in his throat. Water in his nose. Water in his hair, and in the collar of his training robes. He coughs, gasps, coughs again, and rolls onto his side.

Above him, two voices are arguing.

"That was too much water."

"It worked."

"There's water on the ceiling, Lance. There's water on the bed. There's water in the bowl I was going to eat from."

"Are you complaining about the result, or about the technique?"

"Both. I swear, since you lost weight, you also lost a part of your brain!"

"Boss, you said wake him up. He's awake."

Thalric blinks until the ceiling stops swaying.

He's exactly in the same room as before in the Sleeping Goose Inn. Two young men are over by the wooden table arguing about him as if he were a rug.

His shoulder hurts.

The pain runs from his collarbone down his arm in a perfect line, and the line ends in his fingertips, which he cannot quite feel.

He hit that guy with all his weight, at full speed, and he did not move. He had felt, in the half-second of contact, what it is like to drive a fist into a mountain.

That isn't possible.

"He's awake, by the way."

"Yes, Lance, I am aware he is awake. He's making noise."

"You want me to put him in the hallway?"

"The innkeeper just complained yesterday about the ruckus we caused."

"I mean, he's not really our responsibility," Lance says. He's not unconscious anymore. He's looking at us."

Thalric sits up too fast. The room tilts. He grabs the edge of the bed, breathes through his nose, and finds his voice.

"You," he says.

Neither of them looks at him.

Mr. Cabbage, is sitting cross-legged on the bed with a thin book in his lap. He is reading nonchalantly.

"Please, let yourself out," Mr. Cabbage says.

The thin one, Lance, has wandered toward a plate of cold meat on the table and started picking at it.

"You," Thalric tries again, louder.

Mr. Cabbage turns a page.

Lance picks up a slice of cold ham, considers it, folds it in half, and puts the entire thing in his mouth.

"I am Thalric Ashenvale of the Ashenvale family," he says. "I am the youngest Diamond-rank in three generations of Ashenmere. My family manages the iron mines, the silver mines, and the eastern reagent fields. You will not speak about me as though I am furniture. You will not leave me in your hallway. You will acknowledge me, you will apologize, and you will..."

"What's for dinner?" Lance says.

"We could take another look at the market," Mr. Cabbage turns another page and replies without even looking up.

Lance, mid-chew, looks up at the ceiling and squints, as if trying to remember whether he locked a door earlier.

"Did you hear me?" Thalric says.

"Mm," says Mr. Cabbage.

Lance swallows. He reaches for a second slice of ham. Mr. Cabbage glances at the plate without looking up from his book.

"You're going to eat the whole thing again."

"I'm hungry."

Thalric stares at the thin man — somehow still picking at the plate as if starving despite being skinny enough that Thalric could count his ribs through his shirt — and makes a small, helpless sound.

"What is wrong with you people?"

Mr. Cabbage finally looks up.

For the first time, his eyes settle on Thalric and focus.

Then Mr. Cabbage closes his book, sets it aside, and asks, in a flat practical voice:

"What do you want."

Thalric, abruptly, has no idea what he wants.

"I'm here for... Tutoring."

Mr. Cabbage looks him up and down.

"No."

He picks the book back up.

"No?"

"No. Please go away. There's a dry hallway just outside the door, and beyond that, a staircase, and beyond that, an entire city full of Tutors who will be happy to take your money. I am not one of them. Have a pleasant day."

"I haven't even told you what I want to learn."

"Doesn't matter. Not interested."

"I can pay."

"Don't need money."

"I can pay a lot."

"Don't need a lot of money either.""

Thalric grits his teeth so hard he hears one of the back ones creak. The bet. Doran and Maelin are downstairs in the common room right now, drinking and waiting for him to come down with the receipt of his shame. If he walks back to them and says the worst Tutor in Ashenmere refused me, they will laugh until next winter. They will tell the rest of the training group. The training group will tell the city.

He cannot leave without the Tutoring.

"Listen," he says, in the most reasonable tone he can summon while wet. "Just one session. Whatever you want. Name a price."

Mr. Cabbage sighs through his nose. He puts the book down again. He takes a long, slow look at Thalric — the wet robes, the family ring, the sword belt, the desperate edge in the eyes — and seems to decide something.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine. I'll Tutor you."

Thalric exhales relief so hard he almost falls over.

"But," Mr. Cabbage continues, "the price is fifty diamond coins per session, paid in full before the session begins, no refunds. You will also be responsible for bringing Lance his meals. He prefers cured meats, fresh bread, and anything sweet that comes in a wrapper. He has very particular opinions about wrappers. We'll go over them later."

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Thalric stares at him.

"Fifty diamond coins."

"Per session."

"My own master charges fifty diamond coins for an entire semester."

"Then your master is the right Tutor for you."

"You can't ask for fifty diamond coins for one session. That's my entire — that's a full year of academy fees. That's a house. That's the cost of a large house, Mr. Cabbage."

"Sounds about right."

"Are you joking? Tell me you're joking."

"I rarely joke before lunch. Lance, am I joking?"

"He's not joking."

"He says I'm not joking."

Thalric makes a noise that is not a word and is not quite a scream.

"This is robbery."

"Have a nice day, Lord Ashenvale, the door is —"

"Wait."

Mr. Cabbage waits.

Thalric closes his eyes. The bet. The bet. The bet.

He does not have fifty diamond coins on his person. He could go home and fetch more — his family is wealthy enough that fifty diamond coins would not bankrupt anyone — but going home would mean explaining what he was doing.

"I will pay fifty diamond coins in cash as long as I actually learn something," he says. "Not today. I can put up the family ring as collateral."

"I don't want jewelry."

"I can write a draft on the family ledger. The bank will honor it."

"I don't want bank drafts."

"I can —"

"I don't want anything," Mr. Cabbage says, gently. "I'm sorry. You're a perfectly reasonable fellow, you've come to a perfectly reasonable conclusion, but I don't actually want to teach you. The price was a polite way of saying no. Please take it as one and please leave my room. I will not be insulted if you do not pay for the water damage to the floor."

Thalric kneels.

He kneels on the wet floorboards in his second-best training robes in the room above the kitchen at the Sleeping Goose Inn, puts his palms flat on the wood, lowers his head until his forehead touches it, and says:

"Please. Just one session. Anything. I will bring the snacks for Mr. Lance."

The room goes very quiet.

Mr. Cabbage and Lance look at each other.

Lance, who has been mid-chew, slowly stops chewing. His eyebrows go up. He swallows. He gestures vaguely with the slice of ham.

Mr. Cabbage looks back down at Thalric.

"Stand up."

"Will you teach me?"

"Stand up and let me look at you."

Thalric stands.

Mr. Cabbage gets off the bed. He walks once around Thalric, slowly. He does not even touch him. He completes the circle, stops in front of Thalric, and tilts his head a fraction of an inch.

"How long has your left Main Femural Mana Vein been clogged."

Thalric stops breathing.

"What?"

"Your left Main Femural Mana Vein. In your left leg. How long has it been clogged.It's an easy question."

"I don't even know—"

"You do."

"How can you possibly—"

"Two months? Three?"

"Two months."

"Mm. And you haven't told your master."

"No."

"Why not?"

Thalric's mouth works for a few seconds without sound.

"Because he... my master. He doesn't... he says I'm fine. I told him about the pain once, after a sparring match, and he said I was being soft. That if I had a problem, he would have seen it."

"Mm."

"And I thought I could push through it. I have a tournament invitation in four months. The Rising Banner. If I withdraw, my family—"

"Your master is going to kill you."

Thalric stares blankly.

"Not on purpose," Mr. Cabbage says, conversationally. "I'm sure he can teach something. But he's wrong about your Mana Vein. The next time you go into a serious fight and the clog meets a serious flow of energy, your Mana Vein is going to rupture from the inside, and you are going to bleed out internally before anyone can carry you to a healer."

Thalric has gone the color of milk.

"You can fix it?"

"I can fix it."

"Will you?"

Mr. Cabbage looks at him for a long second. Then he glances over at Lance, who is no longer eating the ham. Lance gives a small nod.

Mr. Cabbage looks back at Thalric.

"One question first."

"Anything."

"You said your family manages the mines before."

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"Including the magical mine? The deep one. The one with the locked levels."

Thalric's eyes flicker. He hides it almost immediately. But Mr. Cabbage is watching for it, and Mr. Cabbage catches it.

"My uncle manages that one directly," Thalric says, carefully. "I have visited it. I am not part of its day-to-day operation."

"But you could get me in."

"I... yes. Probably. Why?"

"Don't worry about it. Yes or no. If I fix you, will you take me down to the magical mine. As your guest. As a favor."

Thalric does not understand what is happening.

"Yes," he says. "Yes. Anything."

"Good."

Mr. Cabbage rolls up his sleeves.

"Stand up straight. Take your weight off your right foot. Now lift your left leg. Yes, like that. Higher. Hold it there."

"Like a stork?"

"Like a stork."

"What is this going to—"

"Are you doubting me?"

"No. No, I'm not doubting you, I just—"

"Then start hopping."

"Hopping?"

"On your right leg. In place. Steady rhythm. Don't stop until I tell you to."

Thalric lifts his left leg, balances on his right, and begins to hop.

Lance, who has resumed eating, watches with growing interest.

"Faster," Mr. Cabbage says.

Thalric hops faster.

"Lance."

"Boss."

"Hit his left leg, please."

"How hard?"

"Close to breaking it."

"Wait, what?"

Lance ignores Thalric and quickly sets down the ham. He stands, walks over to Thalric with a loose easy gait that gives no warning at all, and kicks Thalric's lifted left leg with the side of his foot.

Thalric does not see it coming. He feels, instead, the bone of his left thigh suddenly snap sideways with a force that should have shattered it, and the snapping force runs all the way up his spine and down his left arm and out through his fingertips.

Thalric screams.

He goes down hard. The wet floor is slick. He hits his hip, his shoulder, the side of his face. His ears ring. His vision goes white.

There is a long second of pure pain, and then—

The pain stops.

All of it.

Gone.

Thalric lies on the floor, breathing.

The door bangs open.

The innkeeper stands in the doorway, red-faced, with a wooden spoon in one hand and an apron full of flour.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING IN MY ROOM."

"Just some training," says Mr. Cabbage, without looking up.

"YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE THIS INN, MR. CABBAGE."

"I'll cover the water damage."

"YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE TOMORROW MORNING."

"I'll cover that too. Have a nice afternoon. The young lord was just having a little fit. He'll be quieter now, I promise."

The innkeeper opens his mouth, looks again at Thalric, and decides this is above his pay grade. He shuts the door. His footsteps thump back down the stairs.

Thalric gets to his knees. He raises his left arm. He rotates the leg. The femur rotates without a click, without an ache, without the cold pulling sensation that has been there for two months.

"It's gone."

"For now."

"What?"

"That fixed the surface symptom. The clog itself is deeper, in a section of your mana veins network that responds to specific reagents. We're going to need to gather some ingredients before I can fix it properly. Until then, don't push your left side. Don't spar. No tournaments. If you do anything stupid, we go straight back to bleeding out internally. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Come back in a week."

"Yes."

"And bring the snacks."

"Yes."

Thalric kneels on the floor, soaking wet, with his hands flat on the wood and his forehead nearly touching it, and says, very quietly:

"Master."

Mr. Cabbage sighs.

"Don't call me that."

"Master."

"Please don't call me that."

"What do you want me to call you, Master."

Mr. Cabbage looks at the ceiling for a moment.

"Mr. Cabbage is fine," he says, finally. "Mr. Cabbage is a perfectly good name. Go home. In a week. Two o'clock. Snacks. And talk to your uncle."

Thalric, still kneeling, nods.

He leaves the room walking very carefully.

The door closes behind him.

Lance returns to the plate of ham.

"Boss."

"He's going to come back tomorrow with so many snacks."

"He's going to come back the day after tomorrow. And we have one day to figure out how to get the ingredients. boy who manages the magical mine is going to walk us into the magical mine without getting any of us killed, so I would very much appreciate it if you stopped eating my dinner and started thinking."

Lancelot picks up the last slice of ham.

He folds it.

"After this slice."

Jacob lets his head fall back against the wall.

"I am going to incinerate you."