The Dark Lord of Crafting

Tapping my way out of the coffin and harvesting the materials that had dropped on top of it had been easier than trying to move things around would have been, and we ascended a slope of loose logs and planks to survey the damage.

My shelter was gone. Well, the pieces were there, but what remained was akin to the aftermath of a particularly ambitious game of Jenga. The troll had been thorough to the point of stomping its way through every inch of my garden. My worktable was in shards, the tools that had been left out were broken, and my backpack had been ripped apart, its contents scattered. The only thing to survive was the furnace, and that had been knocked over onto its side. There was no telling where Esmelda’s horse had run off to.

“It’s all gone,” she said, her gaze falling on the garden. “All your work.”

“It wasn’t that much work,” I said. “I’ll do some cleanup, throw together a stone box to keep my stuff in, and work from there.”

The sun was still low in the sky, and there were long shadows where monsters might have sheltered, but it looked like we were alone.

“Sir Otto will come soon,” she said. “Do you think we can find the book?”

If I wanted to be able to hold a conversation in Lillant, I needed her collection of folk tales, but it was lost somewhere in the rubble. I didn’t necessarily need to talk to the knights myself, and if they only spoke Sprache, then I wouldn’t be able to regardless. But if Esmelda needed to say things to me in their presence, then it would be important that she didn’t do so in the language of the Dark Lord. That was certain to get their hackles up.

“It was by the table in that corner,” I said, gesturing down into the now exposed basement. At least the stone barrier that hid Bill was still intact, though the troll had destroyed the other cells in its rampage. We climbed back down, and Esmelda searched while I harvested the materials that were in the way. Most of the logs were in fair enough condition that they could be picked back up as coins, but the planks that had been broken became [Wood Fragments] instead. Those could probably be recombined into full planks when I got around to it, or else they would make good kindling.

“Oh,” Esmelda said, her face dropping when she pulled roughly half of her book from the rubble. “It ruined this too.”

“What a troll,” I said. Some of the pages were still attached to the spine, while others were hanging loosely. I cleared a space, and we both sat down as I went about harvesting the words from the first few pages.

She watched me, but there wasn’t much to see. My powers were a lot of things, but they weren’t visually interesting.

"Tifhimni issa?" She said. Do you understand me now?

“I do,” I said, in what I hoped was perfect Lillant. Esmelda’s gaze was intent, and she followed up with a series of increasingly complex phrases, which I was largely able to follow. If she spoke too quickly, it was hard for me to keep up, and there were some words and constructions that I hadn’t learned because they hadn’t been in the text I’d absorbed, but I was officially conversant.

“Do you mind if I finish the book?” I asked.

“You may as well,” she said. “You told me how it worked, but it’s different to see it happen in front of me.”

“It’s pretty silly,” I said, “but here we are.” We were both still using Lillant, there was no reason for me to speak English anymore unless we ran into someone from Dargoth. I spent the next half hour turning all of the pages at my disposal into blank parchment, and she busied herself shifting material into piles and picking up coins as she found them.

“What is this?” She asked, discovering one of the stone medallions. “Is it something you carved?”

“It’s the more advanced version of the coins,” I said. “Holds more resources.”

The medallion was a significant find. The other materials were easier to replace, and until I found another boulder to harvest, or took a trip to the mountains, I needed to recover as much of my supply as I could. All my future shelters were going to have to be crafted from rock. But one medallion would do for now.

“I don’t want them to find us here,” I said. “We should head back toward town.”

Esmelda looked around. “This would be hard to explain,” she agreed. All I had were my leathers, my knife, my sword, and the few resources we’d been able to scrounge, but we got on our way soon after she gave me the medallion.

“I’m worried about Fuzzu,” she said.

“Who?”

“My horse. She must have been terrified all night.”

“I’m sure she’s okay,” I said. Unless she had been bitten by a shambler, or the phantoms had decided to target her, but there was no need to bring up those possibilities. We were walking at a subdued pace, it had been a long night, and we were both worn out by the ordeal. As it turned out, Fuzzu was fine. We saw the horse having a drink a mile further downstream, and Esmelda livened immediately.

She whistled, and the animal looked up from the water, regarding us placidly. She ran ahead of me to meet the beast and wrapped her arms around its large head.

“Fuzzu!” The animal was unharmed. No bite wounds, and when she climbed into its saddle, it seemed pleased to have her. I breathed a sigh of relief, and we continued our journey to Erihseht in brighter spirits. As she rode, she put her hair up behind her head and fixed it in place with the silver comb she seemed to always have with her.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“It was my mother’s,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, lamely, “that’s nice.”

She glanced down at me. “You don’t have to be uncomfortable, I don’t mind talking about her.”

“Do you have a lot of things that were hers?”

“Not many. Father kept everything, but most of it was packed away. She always wore this, it’s one of my strongest memories of her. And I like having it. It helped me feel connected when other things faded.”

“What did she do, I mean, apart from being your mom? Were your parents together a long time before they had you?” Boffin looked old, and given that Esmelda was apparently at least in her thirties and still looked as young as she did, that suggested he had been around for a while. It made me wonder why he didn’t have any other children, or if lillits were like Tolkien’s elves, and rarely had kids. In that context, “long-lived” could mean a lot of things. Did lillits live to be a hundred and fifty, or a thousand?

“They were,” she said. The air was warm, and walking alongside her, listening to the hushed sound of the river, made me feel like day and night in Plana were two entirely different worlds, like the monster attack had never happened.

“My father was a merchant before he was the mayor. My mother was a seamstress, she and Brenys built their business together—oh. I suppose I didn’t introduce you properly before. Brenys is my aunt. That’s part of why I wanted her to meet you.”

My mind flashed to the older woman and her velvet hat. I hadn’t noticed a resemblance, but from our short interaction, she had certainly seemed both confident and independent, which were qualities Esmelda had in abundance.

“I owe her some clothes,” I said.

Esmelda’s mouth quirked. “I think she will understand the delay.”

We didn’t run into Lord Godwod’s men on the way, and when we arrived at Erihseht, things appeared quiet. A few people were out in the fields, or tending animals, but the street was empty. Their open market was only active on certain days of the week, so the stands we passed on the way to the church were empty, though the signs of the local traders still advertised their wares.

“They haven’t left yet,” Esmelda said, looking to the inn. It was a quaint, two-story building that put me in the mind of a rustic bed and breakfast. Stalls for horses had been constructed beside it, not a full stable, and all of them were occupied.

She had wanted to get Tipple on board with the plan before we dealt with the knights, and it appeared we would have the opportunity to do so. When we arrived at the church, it was already busy. A young man with a mop of curly brown hair and freckles was rushing out the door as we arrived and nearly ran into us.

“Esmelda!” He looked from her to me and his mouth dropped open. “You! Um, hello.”

“Hello,” I replied, “what’s your name?”

“Quentin Darfur,” he said, taken off-guard, “do you, um, I didn’t know you spoke Lillant.”

“I’m figuring it out,” I said.

“Hi Quentin,” Esmelda said. “Is the Pastor in?”

“He is,” the young man looked nervous, though it was hard to tell if it was because he was talking to Esmelda or because of me. His cheeks reddened. “Tipple was getting people together to talk about, um,” he glanced up at me, “well, to talk about you.”

It was the day the Pastor had asked me to come. Hard to say if that was convenient or not at this point. “I was going to um, tell people,” he said.

“That’s perfect,” Esmelda said, “we appreciate your help.”

Quentin nodded and excused himself, and we headed inside. Tipple was talking to a group of lillits in the pews when we entered, and he gave us a merry wave. His belly bounced as he rushed over to greet us.

“It’s good that you’re here,” he said. “You need to know, men from Henterfell arrived yesterday. They were asking about you.”

“I know,” I said, “Esmelda came to see me.”

Tipple’s eyebrows shot up. “Before the sun rose?”

“Yesterday,” Esmelda said. “Can we speak privately?” The eyes of the other lillits were all focused on us, men and women I had never seen before.

“Just a moment,” Tipple called to eavesdroppers, and we accompanied him into his office. The table was clear, but we didn’t sit. He rounded on us.

“What happened?”

Esmelda quickly summarized the events of the previous night, and the color drained from Tipple’s face when she brought up the troll.

“We want you to formalize our union,” she finished. “Sir Otto needs to see Will as a member of our community, and this is the simplest way to do that.”

“That is,” Tipple searched for words, “a decisive measure. Does Boffin have any idea what you are planning?”

“I haven’t spoken to him,” Esmelda said, “but this is my choice.”

Tipple broke into a wide grin. “I’m not sure if I want to be present for that conversation.” He slapped me on the arm, “You’re in for a hard time, young man. But I’m happy to help. I’ll join you in speaking to Godwod’s men.” He took one of our hands in each of his and cleared his throat, his expression becoming solemn.

“Shall we begin?”

I looked at Esmelda, and she nodded. Tipple jumped right into it.

“We gather under the gracious gaze of our goddess to unite these two souls in sacred matrimony. This union, though forged of necessity, is not just a shield against worldly perils but a testament to the strength found in community and tradition.”

He looked at me.

“Will, do you take Esmelda as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

This had gotten heavy fast, but it wasn’t as if I was going to back off now.

“I do,” I said.

The pastor faced Esmelda. “And Esmelda, do you take Will as your lawfully wedded husband, to love and honor, in joy and sorrow, for all the days of your life?”

Esmelda’s cheeks colored. Whatever she might have imagined her wedding would have been like, this could not have been it.

“I do.”

Tipple nodded and placed our hands together. Esmelda’s felt small and warm in mine. “Under the watchful eyes of Mizu, and with the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. May your union be as constant as the river, as enduring as the sea. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

We both hesitated. Esmelda looked up at me, her gray eyes lovely and wide. I did want to kiss her, but I felt like it would have come across as forced and weird. Whatever our relationship was, it needed to develop naturally, or as naturally as it could under the circumstances.

Tipple cleared his throat again. “Not entirely necessary. The vows are enough.” He patted my arm. “Let no man or lord sever what has been joined today under the divine witness of Mizu. Go forth in love and unity.”

“Is that it?” I said. “Are we married?”

Esmelda looked like she’d just lost track of where she was. “I suppose we are.”

“Just a moment,” Tipple turned from us to rifle through his bookshelf, and shortly produced a piece of paper, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. “Let us not forget the legalities. Both of you may sign here.”

It was a simple document, a short paragraph stating that we were agreeing to marriage, with spaces left blank for additional vows and terms. The phrasing was drier and more bureaucratic than I’d been expecting, but I was glad there would be a record of some kind in case Godwod had something to say about all of this.

Esmelda signed first. Her family name was Vella. I’d never asked. I just wrote Will. My family was in another world.

“And the witness,” Tipple said, making his mark at the bottom of the parchment. “Let us inform the community.”

The lillits in the worship hall were thoroughly baffled by this turn of events, but they congratulated us all the same. Esmelda knew all of them by name, though I didn’t remember a single introduction. All I could think about was the fact that I had just married a woman I’d known for a week.

“I don’t know when Sir Otto plans to set out,” Tipple said after the last round of handshakes. “But we should speak to them before they do. Do you want to see Boffin first?”

It would certainly help to have the mayor backing us up, but I doubted he was going to be enthusiastic about doing so. Esmelda frowned, likely considering how that conversation would go. Hey Dad, remember that guy you said I should stay away from? We’re married now, let’s go stand up to Lord Godwod’s men on his behalf.

We were saved from having to give an answer when the door of the church was thrown open, and a group of rough-looking men showed themselves in. Their leader had black hair and a thick beard. He was wearing a surcoat over his armor, gold and blue, which depicted an eagle rising over a battlement. He looked like he’d recently stepped in something unpleasant.

"Was ist los?" He demanded.

Tipple stepped forward to get between us, but it was Esmelda who answered. She gave a long statement in what I assumed was Sprache, and the man’s face darkened further. His response was clipped and angry, and Tipple jumped in, speaking calmly with his hands held up in a gesture of peace, which earned him another hot reply. The other men spread out around the entrance. They all carried swords, and though no weapons had been drawn, it looked like they were ready to do so at any moment. Esmelda looked worried.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“That’s Sir Otto,” she said. “He says they know who you are, and that you are to be taken back to Henterfell as a suspected sorcerer.”

“What? Boffin never wrote anything about what I could do, did he?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t. I’m sure he didn’t.”

The debate between Tipple and the knight grew more heated, and the lillits gathered around behind us. There was some anger there, but most of them looked afraid, and none of them tried to interrupt. Otto came forward and addressed me directly.

"Kommen sie mit uns!” His expression was hard, and his hand lingered over the hilt of his sword. My own was at my hip, but I didn’t reach for it.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

The man’s brow furrowed, and Tipple and Esmelda spoke over each other to further explain. My guess was that our being married was irrelevant if I was being accused of a high crime. But Tipple was waving the freshly signed parchment anyway.

Sir Otto placed a hand on the pastor’s shoulder and shoved him out of the way. He was more than a foot taller, and in much better shape, Tipple tripped and went down hard. Heat rose in my belly, and my jaw clenched. Esmelda shouted something, and I grabbed her arm before she could step up to confront the knight. The last thing I wanted was to see him treat her the same way.

“Let me go with them,” I said. “I don’t want any of you to get hurt. I’ll figure something out.”

Sir Otto paused, watching us for further signs of resistance. He repeated the same phrase as before in a lower tone but froze when a loud voice called out from the entrance.

"Gruss, Sir Otto!”

The men from Henterfell turned as one. Gastard’s broad shoulders filled the entrance, and he had to lower his head to pass under the doorframe. Nothing was threatening in his manner, but he carried himself with absolute confidence, giving no sign that the sight of so many armed men troubled him in the slightest.

Otto’s demeanor changed completely. He addressed Gastard in what I took to be a respectful tone, and they carried on a brief conversation while the rest of us watched in silence. Otto seemed to be getting flustered, but Gastard continued talking in a tone that suggested they were discussing the weather.

“What are they saying?” I whispered to Esmelda, and she shushed me. Tipple had since regained his composure and came to stand at my other side.

Gastard walked through the line of men to stand face to face with Otto and said something in a low voice. The other knight shrugged, and his response sounded resigned. He moved around Gastard to stand with his men.

Gastard switched to Lillant, addressing Esmelda. “They have orders to bring Will back to Lord Godwod for interrogation. Fortunately, Otto is no true knight, and he has agreed to pretend they never found you. He wants a bribe.”

“How much?” I asked, and Gastard was briefly taken aback. “You speak Lillant now?”

“It’s one of my blessings. Long story. How much money does this guy want?” I had a sum total of zero dollars to my name, and in fact, had no idea how currency worked in this world at all. At least this was a step in the right direction. Working out a deal was far preferable to whatever would have come of me being forcibly escorted into Henterfell, or having all Godwod’s men be killed by monsters on the way there, which was the most likely outcome.

“Five pounds,” Gastard said, his tone conveying his disdain for the mercenary demand.

“What?” Esmelda’s voice raised an entire octave. “That’s ridiculous. Even my father doesn’t have that kind of money on hand.”

“How much is it?” I said.

“It depends on your station.” Gastard said dryly, “Enough for a peasant to purchase a cottage and start a life, or for a lord to buy a trinket for his favorite mistress.”

“What about a sword?” I said. Anything I could make, I could make a lot of, so the cost to me wasn’t prohibitive. “You’ve seen mine, how valuable would it be?”

Gastard became thoughtful. “If he recognizes it for what it is, I would say it could be worth far more than the silver he asked for. There is no open sale of Dargothian steel.”

“You can’t give him that,” Esmelda said. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Do you know anyone else who might lend us the money?” I would rather give the man a sword than put myself in debt, but I would go along with a loan if that made Esmelda more comfortable.

She bit her lower lip. “Dongle would have that amount. But he left Erihseht a few days ago for business in Henterfell. I don’t think Quentin would be able to give it to us. I could ask him, though.”

There was no reason to put that nervous young man in that kind of position. From my one impression of Dongle, he might well have been willing to give me the money, but I wanted to end this encounter as quickly as possible. Sir Otto didn’t seem like the kind of gentleman who would be interested in walking around Erihseht with us while we tried to beg for his bribe.

The men tensed as they watched me draw my sword and offer it to Gastard. “See what he says,” I told him, and the knight nodded.

Gastard brought the blade to Sir Otto, whose face registered shock as soon as he had a good look at it. The exchange that followed was brief, and Otto cast a suspicious glance at me before taking the sword, giving a short command to his men, and walking out with them.

Everyone seemed to let out their breath at the same time.

“Thank you,” I said to Gastard. “That was going to be a mess.”

He nodded. “I returned to Erihseht last night, and when I saw that Otto was here, I had planned on following them to your home when they left. But it seems you had already arrived.”

“It is truly a day for blessings,” Tipple said. “First, a wedding, and then, Lord Godwod’s men were sent away without bloodshed.”

“A wedding?” Gastard looked around. “Who was married?”

Esmelda blushed.

“Uh,” I said, “we are.”

Gastard gave me a long look. He didn’t say anything, but I felt like words were written across his face, and those words would have been, “Seriously, bro?”