Chapter 4: Chalea

The Scattered Flower, Varenwald’s only inn and tavern, faced directly into the town square. Sunset was already fading into twilight by the time Tavin reached it. The inn was alive with warmth and light, but quiet. He approached the entrance, and could smell the aroma of a thick stew coming from inside.

His stomach growled. Tavin reached into his pocket and fished out the coins from his day’s work. He should save them, he could get food cheaper in the day markets. He had to make every precious coin stretch as far as he could, but when his stomach growled again, he decided to go inside.

It was warm inside. The inn’s large hearth had a roaring fire, with three different pots strung across its breadth. Some older men were sitting around a circular table, chatting over ale. A few other residents were in small groups as well, eating and drinking, some playing games, punctuated by an occasional small laugh. The smell of stew that had drawn in him mixed with pipe smoke. Despite being about as busy as he had seen it many times, there was a general atmosphere that kept everyone a little quieter than they normally would be.

There, sitting by themselves at the tavern’s central, half-circle bar was Chalea, a Mage of the Empire, and her apprentice. Tavin had hoped for a chance exactly like this.

No one bothered them—either most of the townsfolk had calmed down about their presence, or were too intimidated. Tavin, however, both wanted to speak with Chalea, and couldn’t draw his eyes away from the young woman. They sat speaking to each other quietly, finishing their meal. His hunger forgotten, Tavin went over and cleared his throat.

"...Excuse me."

The two turned and looked at him.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Chalea’s look withered.

"You were in the crowd today, when we first arrived," the young woman said. Her voice was clear and curious. Tavin’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes locked onto his, and he nearly froze.

"It’s not my tavern," Chalea said, gesturing vaguely with her spoon and causing Tavin to remember himself. She returned to her nearly finished stew. "Sit wherever you please."

Tavin took the offered seat and ran his hand through his hair. This was his chance. He had no plan to tell anyone he was Bloodsold, but maybe if he spoke to a real Mage of the Empire, he could get an idea of what to do next. After that, he wasn’t sure. But the first thing to do was to say something.

"That was quite a crowd you gathered," he said. "I’m Tavin."

"Are you now? Wonderful," Chalea said in a dreary tone. Then, she seemed to reexamine herself, and sighed. "I’m Chalea."

"Valina." Said the apprentice with a smile. Tavin felt his cheeks go hot. She reached past Chalea and extended her hand. "Today wasn’t too bad, but we do attract attention sometimes."

"Nice to meet you both." Tavin said, shaking Valina’s hand. It was warm and soft; he almost forgot to let go. "I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you. Er—both of you."

"You and half the town," Valina laughed, and something about it made Tavin smile. It seemed like everything she did, he found endearing. "Ask away, but we won’t answer about our mission."

"I heard—it’s a big secret, I get that. But what I want to know is: What’s it like to work for the Empire? Especially as a Bloodsold?" He only meant to ask Chalea, but had somehow made the question out to both of them.

"Oh? Considering signing up?" Chalea said with a wry smirk.

"Maybe," Tavin replied. "But what’s it like being on the road? Using the powers of the Ten? I’ve heard so many stories."

Chalea put down her spoon and turned in her chair, looking him up and down. She rested an elbow on the bar. She had a strange air about her that demanded your attention when she wanted it. Tavin noticed a ring on her right hand’s little finger, a sky blue gemstone embedded in it.

"It isn’t easy," she said. "It’s not just using magic to solve all your problems. It’s dangerous. It drains you. The Empire has its demands for the good of the realm and can’t always send the best person for the job, which means a lot of thinking on your feet; it takes resolve. Are you sure you have that?" Tavin heard the skepticism in her last sentence.

"I can take care of myself," he said, a little defensively. He met her hawk-like eyes with his most determined glare. "And I do a lot of different work around town already; I’m used to improvising and learning as I go."

"That’s impressive," Valina said. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Four years." He said, "Since I was fourteen."

"It’s a lot of long hours—time away from home. It’s a lonely life." Chalea said.

"I live on my own, anyway."

"You have to deal with some pretty dark stuff."

"I can handle it."

Chalea raised an eyebrow at him.

"You’re some kind of eager about this, aren’t you?" she asked.

Tavin drew in on himself for a moment, and gathered his thoughts.

"I’m tired of people looking down on me," he said. "I want to be remembered for something."

"And what might that something be?"

"Anything!"

Tavin brought his gaze back up to meet Chalea’s eyes, expecting a rebuke, but their harshness had faded. Instead she looked at him with an unanticipated softness. Tavin was taken aback, but only took a moment to recognize it—pity. Again.

"There’s a lot of ways to do that without selling your blood to a god, kid," she said. "Bloodsold can do things beyond the ordinary, true, but we’re still human. You end up being pulled in a dozen different directions at once: demands of your god, demands of the pact, demands of the state, the needs of your loved ones. In the end, we sacrifice our lives in more ways than one for this power. In the end, you have to make impossible choices."

Something about her words stirred something in Tavin, and he followed his instinct.

"Take me with you." It just came out.

"Not happening."

Valina peeked around from behind her teacher to look at Tavin.

"Why not?" he asked. Something about the decisive finality in her voice bothered him. He had to at least find out why. He pushed on. "After you finish whatever secret mission you’re on."

Valina looked back at her teacher, curious what her answer would be. The old woman remained quiet, as if giving him one final assessment. Valina leaned over and whispered something in her ear. The mage listened carefully, then shook her head.

"No," Chalea said sternly. "I don’t take in strays, kid. And it’s clear to me you don’t know what it takes to be Bloodsold. You *aren’t* ready."

He was tired of being looked down on. Tired of being pitied. Hadn’t he already done the hardest part? What did she know about how ready he was?

"I’m *already* Bloodsold!"

It came out louder than he meant it; it was almost a shout. The tavern went quiet, except for the scrape of chairs as they turned to see what was going on. It only took an instant for the hardness in Chalea’s hawk-like eyes to return. She stared him down with such intensity that it took all he had not to shy away. The silence dragged on for a long moment before a low murmur of whispers crept across the room.

"You idiot," Chalea said. "You absolute fool. You should have just kept your mouth shut."

Valina stared at him, her eyes wide. She grabbed Chalea by the elbow, but let go as the woman stood. Tavin’s skin went cold as Chalea’s presence grew intense. She was barely taller than he was, but suddenly seemed to tower over him. He recoiled as she poked him in the chest.

"You want to come with me so bad? Fine, I accept. I *have* to accept, and *you* have to come with me, whether you or I like it or not. Rogue Bloodsold are against the laws of the Empire. If you run, you *will* be hunted down, and most likely killed. Understood?"

Tavin nodded his head. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

"Good. Meet me in the square tomorrow, at daybreak. I’ll figure out what to do with you then. For now, I’m going to bed."

Tavin stood frozen as Chalea stormed off, her apprentice sheepishly following. Valina kept glancing back at Tavin, then back to her teacher. Before long they disappeared up the stairs, and the ice in Tavin’s veins began to thaw, thoughts racing through his head.

What had he gotten himself into?