But with that last thought reality returned, along with its requisite tension. He sat up and looked around. Flotsam lay stretched out at the foot of Teron’s bed, splayed oat decadently in the sunlight. Teron stroked him gently, impressed with the warmth of his sun-drenched fur. The exhausted cat didn’t even stir at Teron’s touch.
The other bed in the room was empty, the blankets neatly folded at the foot. Teron remembered hearing Jeffers’ voice several times through the night and morning; seeing his bed so neat, he realized that the dedicated half-orc must be in good health. The thought brought a small smile to his lips.
Teron saw his pants and vest, cleaned and arranged nicely on a chair beside the bed. A momentary flash of shame washed over him. He checked; he was still wearing his undergarments, though that fact did little to ease his self-consciousness. He wondered who, exactly, has taken off his pants.
He inspected his injuries, little more than shallow abrasions and some light reddening from minor burns, then dressed himself. He stretched out his stiff muscles extensively until he felt fully alive again. And as he stretched the last of the stiffness and nausea out of existence, he realized that he was ravenously hungry.
The door to his room opened. “I thought I heard the upstairs floor creaking,” said Jeffers. “It is delightful to see you up and about, young man. I must also offer my most heartfelt thanks that you were able to intervene between me and the fiery creature,” he added, bowing. “I do believe that you saved my life.”
Teron snorted. “Well, that’s a switch,” he muttered.
“May I enquire as to why you remained, master?” asked Jeffers. “You could have withdrawn easily at the same time as my master.”
Teron paused. “I should ask you why you stayed,” he replied.
“I stayed because I am paid to preserve my master’s life,” said Jeffers. “Once he had made his escape from the threat, I could not extricate myself from the combat.”
“I could,” said Teron. “Extricate you, that is. I don’t know whether I saved you so much as helped me. If it had killed you, I would likely have been next.”
Jeffers smiled. “Whether you doubt your motives or not,” he said, “I appreciate the end results.” He bowed again and let himself out. “I’ll see you in the common room once you’re dressed,” he said as he closed the door.
Teron pulled on his pants and vest, then lurched downstairs, his muscles still achy from the previous night’s events. He found Praxle and Jeffers waiting in the large common room. Praxle sipped a glass of wine, while Jeffers drank a mug of tea.
“Teron!” bellowed Praxle in his tenor gnomish voice. The volume of his greeting filled the room despite his small size. He hopped from his chair and strode briskly over. “Good to see you’ve returned to the land of the living!” he said, pumping Teron’s hand.
“I’ll feel a lot more alive once I’ve had something to eat,” murmured Teron quietly.
“Of course, of course,” said Praxle. He led Teron over to the table, where Jeffers politely pulled out a chair for him. “Your young filly has kept a whole plateful of various foods ready for whenever you should make an appearance.”
“She’s not my filly,” said Teron.
“Well, you’re sure her stallion, I tell you that,” said Praxle. He climbed into his human-sized chair as Teron sat down at the table. “See?” added Praxle. “Here comes the wench now.”
Sure enough, Kelcie made an appearance, coming out the kitchen doors with two plates laden with food. Teron waited just long enough for her to get within earshot, then turned to Praxle and said, “She’s not a wench, Praxle.” The gnome let out a gasp of exasperation.
Kelcie set the plates down, two large platters filled with rolls, ham, potatoes, oatmeal, hard-boiled eggs, fruit, smoked fish, and salad, as well as a tall mug filled with weak beer. “I didn’t know what you might like to eat, so I saved you a little bit of everything,” she said.
Teron thanked her, looking up just in time to see her give Praxle a withering look of vindication. Praxle turned his head and rolled his eyes.
Praxle waited until Kelcie had gone back into the kitchen. “You need to watch your timing when you open your mouth, Teron,” he said, “Impolitic comments can cause all sorts of trouble when given at the wrong time.”
“I know,” said Teron. He found it easy to suppress a smile with a mouth full of food.
“She is a wench, and you know it,” said Praxle disparagingly. “She’s just an average human, low class at that, and certainly no mage. But I’m sure she’d be a good ride.” He leaned forward on his elbows eagerly. “So why didn’t you tell me you were a magic user?” he asked. “That’s great! How could you hold out on me like that?”
Teron shrugged, holding up one finger. He chewed the large pack of food that filled his mouth, then swallowed and said, “I don’t talk about it. I don’t much like to use it.”
Praxle rested his cheek on his fist, his eyes narrowed with rapt attention. “Fascinating, I didn’t think they taught arcane techniques in the monastery. I thought it was all chanting and such.”
“They don’t,” said Teron as he crammed another forkful of ham in his face.
“You might consider eating with greater moderation and forethought if you wish to be ready for another such fracas,” observed Jeffers gently. Teron nodded in acknowledgment.
“So if they don’t teach that in the monastery, where did you learn it?” asked Praxle.
Teron looked at Praxle blackly. “It’s just a skill, understand? I don’t want to say any more about it.”
“Just a skill? You mean you’ve always been able to do this?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about that!” snapped Teron.
Praxle held up his hands. “I understand,” he said. “I’m not trying to probe. I’m just trying to understand what it is you have here. Is that all right? I’m just trying to clarify what you mean.” He paused, and for a long moment the only noise that broke the uncomfortable silence was that of Teron chewing some nuts. “So … it’s not something you learned from a scholar or anything,” said Praxle.
Teron wagged his head side to side noncommittally. “It’s … internal. I focus my spirit’s essence. Master Keiftal worked with me on it. He helped me to concentrate enough to alter the energy when it came out. Made me practice timing and control. He said he’d never seen anything like it.”
“I’ll bet he hadn’t!” said Praxle’s. “That’s sorcery! You’re a sorcerer!”
“No, I’m not,” said Teron. He shoot his head. “It’s not even really magic, Praxle. Master Keiftal said I was discharging spiritual energy.”
Praxle snorted in disbelief. “What in Khyber do you think sorcery is, then? Riddle me that!”
Teron thought about it for a moment during a more sedate mouthful of food. “I don’t know,” he said. “I only studied magic because some of my targets might be mages. I studied what it did, not how it got there.”
“What kind of stupid approach is that?”
Teron slapped the table hard, right in front of Praxle’s nose. The gnome jumped back, startled.
“It is not stupid,” said Teron, “You’re being the fool, here. Do you have to know about prospecting, mining, smelting, or even blacksmithing to understand how to fight someone armed with a sword? No. I have been extensively trained in sensing magic, resisting magic, and counter-fighting mages of all types. Wizardry, sorcery, divine magic, even dragonmarks, they’re all the same as far as I’m concerned.”
Praxle chuckled. “Now you’re being stupid, Teron. They are all very different. You need to know the differences, because—I don’t believe it—you don’t understand the gift you have here! You! Are! A! Sorcerer!”
Teron tossed up his hands in a gesture of pointlessness. “Fine,” he said. “I’m a sorcerer. I’m also hungry. Hunger I can solve. So let me eat.”