A Sage Secret

“This doesn’t prove anything!” Broadhold shouts from the door. “I will have you—”

“I thought you might say that!” Osric cuts him off, walking back toward the old man’s body. “So I’ve prepared a demonstration of the Grand Sage’s wisdom.” He snaps his fingers.

A clanging sound comes from Randolf's direction. He drops his sword. The canvas he’s still carrying flies out of his hand and slides across the floor. Lady Veronica turns. Osric glances at the door — Broadhold has too.

Osric hastily shoves his hand into his pocket, grabs a piece of chalk, crushes it, and sprinkles it over the corpse’s chest.

“Behold!” He yells, in his sage voice.

Everyone turns back to him.

“My first demonstration wasn’t enough to convince you, no matter. Allow me to give you another piece of the Sage’s knowledge, with this vial.” He pulls a glass bottle out of his pocket. “I will show with utmost certainty that this man was killed by a Duskhan mercenary. Much like the miasma you spoke of earlier, the air in the Empire has a special dust floating in it, too small to be seen by the eye. This dust sticks only to metal blades. The blades transfer the dust to those it cuts. This liquid will bubble only if it touches that dust.”

“What are you talking about, boy?” Broadhold asks.

“Just observe.” Osric pops the cork, and pours the yellow liquid over the corpse.

It immediately starts to bubble and fizzle.

Lady Veronica stares at the bubbling corpse, eyes wide. “What is this magic liquid? How can it bubble like this?”

“That I cannot tell you... It’s a sage secret."

Osric clears his throat, "So, what do you say, Broadhold, Lady Veronica?”

“Well, if what you say is true, then this is proof. The civilians were slain by the mercenaries.”

“She said it, Broadhold. I won the bet. Hand her over,” Osric demands.

“What kind of trickery is this? Where did those bubbles come from?” Broadhold rushes over and examines the corpse.

“You lost the bet. Just hand her over," Osric demands.

“I won’t lose to a child twice,” Broadhold says, his voice calm and deeper now.

He beckons to his slaves. One walks in dragging Elayne’s mother by the slave collar. She’s still silent — with dead eyes, obediently being dragged.

“Do it.”

The slave raises the knife to her neck.

“We will be heading to Lord Silveren’s estate immediately, where you will turn yourselves in and hand the girl over to me,” Broadhold demands.

“Come on, you’re an adult — don’t do this,” Osric says.

He raises the palm of his hand at Broadhold.

“Didn’t my father take down your mercenary? Do you really want to do this?”

“Don’t underestimate trained battle slaves, boy. I’ve got four more outside, ready to attack at a moment’s notice.”

“And don’t underestimate my magic. You saw what it can do. One spell and I can burn this whole place down. That blade slices her neck — you go up in flames.”

“I won’t let you say a single word of that incantation.” Broadhold’s voice lowers, it tapers off into a growl.

“If anyone walks through that door, my father attacks. He can buy me more than enough time to chant.”

Osric's eyes quickly flick to Randolf beside him, sword already drawn. Their eyes meet only for a second. That's all I needed to see, were on the same page.

Osric hears a rustling from behind. He glances. Elayne stirs on Cinder’s back. Her head snaps up.

“Mama!” she screams, her head flicking around the room.

Her eyes settle on her mother. Eyebrows angling, her lips curl up. Her fangs glint in the sunlight from the window.

“Don’t touch Mama!” she screams.

She sinks her fangs into Cinder’s back. She jolts in pain, dropping Elayne. She scrambles to her feet, rushing toward her mother.

Now’s not the time for this! Osric thinks, wrapping an arm around her as she passes him.

“What are you going to do once you get over there? Is he just going to drop his knife? Let me handle this," he pleads.

“Let go!” Her elbow smashes into his forehead.

He’s elbowed again, then again.

What am I doing — just use the collar, he realizes during a third elbow.

“Elayne, I order you — stand down!”

Her body is engulfed in purple light. She crumples, grunting in pain.

“Hah!” Broadhold laughs. “You said slave collars were horrible, did you not? Yet you use them the same as anybody.”

“Yeah, I did. What about it?”

“Nothing. I’m just realizing you’re like me. You act as though you believe what you say.”

“I’m nothing like you, you bastard!” Osric points his hand back at him.

Cinder comes in and scoops Elayne off the floor, leaving Osric and Randolf side by side, staring down Broadhold and his slave.

Osric’s eyes are glued to the knife at her throat. Sweat rolls into his eye — his stare doesn’t waver.

“You don’t have to do this over one slave!” Lady Veronica cries out.

The silent tension is only broken for a moment — her plea goes unanswered.

The stalemate drags on. Minutes feel like hours as Osric stands there, arm at the ready, the incantation on the tip of his tongue.

Eventually, Broadhold breathes out a heavy sigh. “Let her go. We’re leaving.” He trudges to the door, his slave follows.

The room falls silent for a moment. Elayne’s mother falls to her knees with a thud, clutching her heart.

“Mama!”

Elayne breaks free of Cinder’s arms, rushing to her mother.

“Elayne! My sweet!”

She opens her arms, embracing Elayne as she jumps into them.

“Let’s get out of here,” Osric says, glancing up at Randolf.

They take a step toward the mother-and-daughter embrace.

Elayne wails, tightly gripping her mother.

“Mama! I missed — you,” her cry broken up by sniffling.

“I missed you too, dear,” her mother replies, tears welling in her own eyes.

Elayne’s tears, mix with snot and rolls onto her mother’s shoulder, soaking into her rag of a shirt. Osric stops next to them, watching the waterworks.

Broadhold’s head pops in through the doorway. He clears his throat. Everyone turns, except the mother and daughter.

“I hereby relinquish ownership!” He points his hand at Elayne’s mother.

Her slave collar flickers purple for a brief moment. Elayne’s wailing stops, and she pushes herself away, startled.

“What did you do?” Elayne yells at Broadhold.

He turns and walks away without a word. He and his slaves set off down the sidewalk.

“Is that how you surrender a slave?” Osric asks.

“Yes,” Cinder answers, rubbing her shoulder. “Now you need to activate ownership of her.”

“Do I?” Osric asks, concerned.

“Yes!” Cinder exclaims. “If you do not take ownership, someone else could.”

“Ah, well if you put it that way.” Osric raises his thumb to his mouth. I put my blood on the circle, right?

“Correct.” Cinder nods.

Osric bites down on his thumb, drawing blood. He holds it over Elayne’s mother’s collar.

Elayne springs forward, grabbing Osric’s bleeding hand. “Don’t hurt my Mama!” she shouts.

“It’s alright, dear.” Her mother rubs her back. “Only the activation is painful.”

“It won’t hurt?” Elayne asks.

“No.”

Elayne backs off.

Her mother leans her head forward. Osric tilts his hand. Blood rolls off his thumb onto the magic circle on the back of the collar, it flashes purple.

“That’s it?” Osric asks.

Cinder nods.

“Alright, let’s go home.” Osric strides out the door.