The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

Returning to the Baron’s estate was far more nerve-wracking than our morning journey. I wouldn’t have thought it when I woke, but with the streets packed with unnerved townspeople and the squads of the King’s mercenaries roughly keeping order, it was true. Worse, we were escorted back by a team of hard-faced men who made way for our carriage with liberal use of force. They didn’t stop at the estate gates either. They posted themselves around the mansion to protect us.

I could see the King’s thinking on this. We were currently a lightning rod for anger at the Royalist faction. We were symbolic of the King’s current political ascension through military might. Killing any of us wouldn’t halt his actions. Still, it might slow the parts of his strategy based on politics and perception versus military might.

The next two weeks were a mix of terror and boredom. Most of the time, we simply remained inside and received missives from spies, the Skill Trainers, and the King. Our information stream was consistently a day or two out of date. It was three days before we found out that Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain and Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring fled - or left, the details depended on your propaganda source - returning to the North. It wasn’t a surprise that they would return, and under the circumstances, it would have been difficult to meet again.

Nevertheless, her mother’s departure without a final goodbye was an emotional blow to Snowy all the same. There was a period of moping that I countered by challenging her to a friendly duel for training purposes. The bruises were well worth it to have the return of her smile.

The terror started in the night. We were woken from our beds to shouts of ‘Fire!’ from the surrounding city. The guards, both ours and the King’s, made short work of a couple cutthroats who dared to sneak onto the grounds during the ensuing chaos. We found out later through our spies that the fire was isolated to a single, out-of-the-way guest-house hideout of the final surviving Mage of the Guild’s Triumvirate. Which also came as a revelation. Weeks ago had been the opening salvo in the King’s war to retake his kingdom when the two noble houses burned. We had been unaware, but this had nearly decapitated the snake of the Mage Guild in that first blow. That it had remained a secret, even to us, spoke to the secrecy of all sides in the conflict.

The King wanted to avoid the other nobles from discovering how precarious their position had suddenly become. While the surviving Triumvirate Mage was likely trying to maintain his secret empire, which he now had complete control over - if he could keep it. When word broke that all three Triumvirate were dead, it threw the political house-of-cards to the wind. That one of the Mage Guild’s soul oaths precluded inducting new Mages until all three Triumvirate approved, sealed the fate of the Mages. It had likely been a method of maintaining power for the Triumvirate. Yet, now it slowed the response as the Mages jockeyed for supremacy among themselves. Their power base was nearly broken.

A few days after the burning of the last mage leader, the Baron joined us for lunch. He had not been around of late, spending most of his time working with the King. While we ate, the Baron folded himself into his chair with a smug look, not even removing his overcoat. While he waited for Marcus to deliver a fresh cut of chicken breast, he pulled a flask from his pocket only to tuck it away after a look of rebuke from Snowy.

“Well, Baron Mard is ruined. I’ll bet anything that he will flee before we have to march on him,” the Baron said, his smile nearly reaching his ears.

We gave the Baron a look of interest, but it was Abby with her mouth still full of chicken that made a sound of inquiry.

“The King declared Vindel Mard, the ‘disgraced’ third son of Baron Mard as the House’s new leader. He ‘refused’ the honor - the boy has no interest in politics despite his business head - but the rest of the House have declared for him. Funny enough, the Guild and Mage faction nobles have been scrambling to find a way to divert the King’s gaze, so have put forward their own young who have been bucking for political power. It’s all a farce. The King isn’t so foolish to see them as anything but goodwill hostages for their Houses. Nevertheless, it will allow the Houses to save some face and offer a way to pay a bribe…I mean…their back taxes to the King. Ending their financial worries,” the Baron said.

Snowy shook her head in disgust at the dishonorable behavior. Abby nodded along with the Baron as if it made perfect sense. Mason and I made eye contact while the others discussed the politics, silently accepting communicating our annoyance over the nobles’ antics.

Cutting off a small bit of his freshly delivered chicken, the Baron sampled a sip from his watered wine, then tipped his fork up in salute to Marcus while still chewing.

“Young Vindel might have publicly rejected the leadership of House Mard, but he isn’t refusing the new business,” the Baron said with a snicker.

“The King mentioned that the taxes collected has already outstripped the original loan, and he has already sent off the repayment with a band of the merc’s.”

I looked up, surprised at that bit of news. Catching the look, the Baron continued, “The King wants the news to get out. He wants no one to think they can storm the castle and recover the gold. The bulk has been spent, and the latest intake has already been earmarked for the new King’s Army. The criers will be announcing hiring and pay for soldiers shortly.”

There hadn’t been a royal army - excluding the King’s personal guards, the Kingsguard - for at least a generation. The army had always been a kingdom-wide force. Directed in part by each Baron or Duke, ostensibly for the King but in reality under the local rulers’ auspices, which made sense. After all, they were the ones financing these forces directly. They often acted as Nightwatch, soldiers, monster hunters, and caravan guards when not called to war. I had trained the Baron’s men, and I almost itched at the thought of teaching hundreds, or even thousands, of new soldiers.

The next two weeks left me uncomfortably out of sorts. I trained with Snowy, but we hadn’t decided on any particular new Skill to aim for. We tried to discover what her Skill’s hidden effects were but had no success as of yet. I spent time training Abby as a Skill Trainer, but she was focused on learning Mason’s Skills. Which I couldn’t fault her for. I was diligently documenting his training methods, after all. I received missives from my parents confirming that everything was fine where they were. My mother only had to deal with a single noble while the Baron was away, and they were looking forward to the new open work of the Skill Trainers.

The Skill Trainers sent me a large crate containing a nearly complete set of their Skill Dictionaries. I was ecstatic with the detailed lists of Skills, their uses, how they could be earned, and the minutia of their known histories. This collection would generally be prohibitive to acquire simply because of storage and the need to be ready to flee. But now I had it and could use them openly. There were a few dictionaries excluded from the list.

Despite the excluded items, the Skill Trainers made it clear that I would have access to them within their secure repository. I would have to swear a soul oath not to discuss them with others. The list of what was excluded included Skills that allowed extra-planar creatures to invade your mind and Skills to enhance plagues. I could understand their position on restricting these Skills. While I felt an unhealthy level of curiosity, I vowed that I would not investigate them until I had no other avenue of research.

By the third week, the capital had returned to a sense of normality. The commoners were back to work. Many of the Guilds were taking orders - though not without some grudging annoyance with the Skill Trainers - and the nobles were throwing galas and making financial deals among themselves again.

Shortly after the crate was delivered and I had sorted the books out and begun my obsessive research into interesting synergies for Snowy, Marcus interrupted me in the library.

“Sir, a Rang Yu is here to see you?” the butler said, his voice more cheerful than was his normal behavior.

Flustered, I stood from the pile of books still to be organized and straightened my clothes. Nodding to Marcus’, I sat behind one of the research desks, trying for a bit of physical distance to help with my emotional disquiet.

Slipping through the door, Rang Yu passed a smile my way as the butler nodded to us and left. Usually, Marcus would ask us for drink selections at this time, but I was not surprised to see him break his usual routine with Rang Yu. I would imagine that it would become almost reflexive with his kind of power to manipulate others to allow himself to come and go as he pleased.

Glancing around at the gathered books, the ancient mage precursor smiled, his mannerisms not seeming forced. But, now that I was watching for it, I could see a hint of some unnatural movements hidden below the impeccable act. That, or I was seeing what I wanted to see, or worse, what he wanted me to see. Though, that way lay madness. If he was so far ahead of me, so far into his manipulations, that I was tying myself into knots. If I couldn’t be sure if I was acting of my own accord or if he was subtly directing me. Then it was too far too subtle to detect, and I was already within his control. Truthfully, he likely didn’t need to play such games. If he wanted to move me like a puppet, he could, and I would probably never know it. Part of the point was that he needed me independent and acting for my own goals in addition to his own.

“I see that they provided the Skill Dictionaries. Good. Eventually, you will need to read their hidden tomes, just for completeness. When that time comes, I will make sure they arrive. I would prefer you not to make any soul oaths from here out. Having you unrestrained will be part of my strategy,” he said with a calm and controlled certainty in his words. To him, these things would happen. He would make them happen, and it was merely a matter of time until they happened. There was no concern or even doubt.

“Very well. I don’t know how long it will take to wade through these books, but when I do, how do I contact you?” I asked.

Perfunctorily dropping a letter onto the desk, Rang Yu moved a stack of books from one of the chairs and folded himself into the leather-covered seat.

“That should have any contact information you need,” he began.

Then a slight frown formed on his face before he continued, “I ordered my own collection of Skill research materials delivered. Seems that sometime in the last thousand years, that kingdom collapsed.”

Slowly shaking his head in mild annoyance, he said, “It will take me some time to recover my works. Mark me on this, the impermanence of things becomes more and more of a hassle as the centuries go on. At first, it is written works, then institutions, then languages, and entire peoples. They disappear in a seeming flash.”

Shaking his head again, he tapped one of the stacks of books, “any books you wish to retain, I would mark in stone and recreate every few thousand years.”

I silently boggled at the creature across from me, who seemed lost in thought. Trying to grasp the odd view of the world, struggling to see it, but knowing that if my - our - plans one day succeeded, I would adopt the same view of the long view. It didn’t make sense. The enormity of it simply passed over me without changing me in any fundamental way. But I knew that every time that the wave of contemplation passed through me that I would change in some small way. Eons of such would shift me beyond calculation. Each second, each minute, every day, was one more that would modify me to match Rang Yu. That was if I could maintain my life to the same extent. That seeming eternity would act as a filter, removing any who couldn’t keep an awareness of both the long view and the immediacy of the moment.

Drawing me out of my distraction, the young-seeming man pulled a thick block of what appeared to be steel from nowhere and gently laid it down on the desk in front of me.

Leaning forward over the metal contraption, I discovered a book formed from pressed steel and held together by a complex metal binding.

“That is the first few hundred years of my work on magic. Rewritten for your language and pressed into metal so that it lasts for a while. Most of it is horribly out of date or wrong, but I wanted you to understand my thoughts at the time and how they have developed. Shortly, in maybe a decade or two, I will have more translated and delivered,” he said as he again stood from his chair, the rest seeming to have revitalized him.

Rising from my own chair, I stepped around my desk then stopped with some distance between us.

“So? That’s it? You just deliver your work on magic and send me books every few decades?” I asked, my confusion evident.

Slowly, Rang Yu looked around the library, seeming to see something that I was missing. When his eyes met my own, they stopped, and a smile spread across his face.

“Enjoy your life. Live it. You have time - plenty of time - to develop and practice. This first bit of your life will remain with you longer than the time that follows. Do not waste it with pure research, neglecting your friends and loves. A couple of centuries lost likely means little. There is plenty of time, even while spending it with your family, to learn what you need. I can spend a few centuries working behind the scenes to make it so,” he said before he turned and left.