Standing Alone

It was late when Kyle returned to his cottage and he nearly lost his mind. He stepped inside and saw an amount of space that was impossible. It was still a one room cottage on the outside, and yet somehow it had doubled in size for floor space.

It had gotten bigger on the inside.

Everything Kyle had owned was gone. In its place was actual furniture. A small kitchen that doubled as a space to cut up plants for what looked to be an apothecary. A fireplace three times as large. An assortment of pans, plates, bowls, bottles, and metal silverware organized in a countertop drawer and a kitchen cabinet.

A countertop and kitchen cabinet, at all.

A corner of the house completely walled off except for a door that was currently open, revealing what looked like a makeshift toilet.

And finally, the largest bed that Kyle had ever seen in his current life. With actual sheets, a wooden headboard, and pillows that didn’t look to be stuffed with months-old hay. Abagail was lying on the bed, her clothes disheveled, as she drank from a pint glass half-filled with beer.

Magic was a hell of a thing, it seemed.

“Your beer… sucks.” Abagail snapped her fingers, watching the glass refill. “It’s sooooooooo weak. I thought peasants drank nothing but beer and ale, you’re supposed to have the good stuff!”

For someone complaining about how weak the beer was, Abagail definitely was more than a little drunk. And from the way she was guzzling her refilled glass, she’d been going at it for a while.

“We have well water. It’s clean. And our ‘stuff’ is not meant to get you drunk,” said Kyle. “It’s meant to get your energy back. We don’t get a lot of food to work with, so it’s the least bad option we have.”

“Look at Mister Smart Peasant here,” hiccupped Abagail. She sniffed the air, her eyes widening. “Wuzzat?” Her eyes darted to the bread machine Kyle was holding.

Kyle put it down on the new countertop. “Bread. It’ll proof in here until morning.”

“Finally. I was going to diiiiiiiiiie if I had to eat a salad for breakfast,” Abagail groaned. She leaned up against the new headboard, grinning. She looked at Kyle carefully, before her grin grew even wider.

Kyle wasn’t sure what she had in mind. “You uh… got rid of my bed. Where’m I supposed to sleep?”

Abagail pat a spot on the bed next to her.

Office and Peasant Kyle stood to Real Kyle’s side, stunned. “Are you for real?” “Is that normal?”

When the real Kyle didn’t move, Abagail rolled her eyes and beckoned him with two fingers. Kyle felt his feet leave the ground, the air gently rolling him towards that spot Abagail had given.

When Kyle landed on the bed, Abagail immediately pulled him close. She downed the rest of her pint glass before sending it gently sailing onto the countertop.

“Um… Abagail?”

“Yes~?”

“…Is this legal?”

“Of course it is!” Abagail laughed. “I should warn you, though. I don't wear pajamas to bed.”

Kyle’s surprise could be heard for miles.

-----

Said surprise didn’t reach into the depths of the nearby forest.

In the pitch black of night were a dozen-odd tents circled around a roaring fire that reached high towards the branches of smaller trees.

The bandit leader who’d stabbed Kyle sat by that fire, a frozen arm slowly melting free perched at just the right distance away. The knife was still in that trapped hand. By him were the two string beans that had accompanied him, clutching their aching heads and knees.

A fourth bandit, this one with a salt and pepper beard, laughed. “The boss ain’t happy with you, Benny. You and the Rowans got the drop on a tapped-out witch and a peasant, and you lost?”

“Wasn’t like that,” grunted ‘Benny’ – the one freeing his arm. “Peasant had a ring of power.”

The bearded bandit laughed. “Yeah, and I’m secretly a duke. Come on.”

“I mean it! If I ever see that peasant again!” Benny brought his frozen arm down on a nearby rock, shattering the ice and finally freeing his now-shivering arm and hand. “It’ll slice his throat next time.”

Further away inside one of the tents, someone bound by rope to one of its poles could see and hear them talk about this. A peasant with a ring of power sounded fanciful. But how else could she explain that iced-over arm the bandit had shown?

“We still got the elf, though. Think we’ll get the ransom?”

“Boss hopes so. Did you see the clothes she was wearing? Family’s gotta be loaded. Or someone she knows is. And when they pay us, a lot of problems gonna start going away.”

The figure in the tent slowly worked a knife handle out from the sole of one of her shoes and got to work trying to cut at the ropes. Staying put was a good option if she’d hoped her rescuer would find her. But if there was already someone nearby with a ring?

She would take her chances, tall tale or no.

-----

The next morning was an awkward one for Kyle. He’d assumed that Abagail had been bluffing about not wearing anything to bed.

She certainly was not. He rushed out of the cottage, refusing to reenter until she was properly dressed. It caused quite a scene with a passerby.

“And now they’re gonna think I brought you home and we’re…” Back inside, Kyle was explaining the situation, trailing off and making some rather odd gestures with his fingers.

Abagail chuckled, lounging on the bed and thankfully fully dressed. “Let them. Some gossip about you landing a magic baddie’ll be fun. Of course, it doesn’t have to be gossip if lying’s a problem for you,” she teased.

“I – uh – um.” Kyle’s brain broke for a full five seconds before it rebooted. “We’ve got bigger problems. That prince at your house. He said something about a new royal forest and how he had to get rid of the peasants working the land.”

“Oh. Right.” Abagail straightened up. “That forest we fought the bandits in? Prince Demerius wants to designate it as a royal hunting ground. Entering without being on royal business or poaching would be punishable by death.”

Kyle winced. “That shortcut through the forest, it shaves off hours! The official road into town takes ages and winds through hills!”

“He’s also going to hire a bunch of mages to turn your fields into forest. It’ll double its size, and he thinks he’ll eventually get more game to hunt.”

“But that’s where my village is!” gasped Kyle. “Where would we go?”

Abagail shrugged. “Why would he care? He’s a prince. He owns the land you work. No one’s going to care.”

That was the bitter truth of being a peasant. You were the lowest of the low and at the mercy of your lord. Abagail said it herself. No one outside the village was going to care.

“Come on.” Kyle went for the door. “We’ve got to talk to the town.”

Kyle’s village was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Trunsit, which for once caught Abagail off guard. Unlike the buildings organized along streets in town, in the villages they were clustered close together. And while both had a wood framework, the walls of a peasant’s home were built with weaved sticks plastered with a mix of mud, straw, and dung – wattle and daub.

“You guys live in these things?” whispered Abagail. Blooby was floating around her hat, darting around.

“They’re sturdier than you think. Cheaper, too,” hissed Kyle.

The mayor’s house was at the center of the village, not far from the blacksmith that worked the farm tools. Mayor Francis Ryeburn had been appointed to the position ten years ago by representatives of the prince when the last mayor died. Francis was a nice enough man; he’d pooled the money together for Kyle’s birthday trip. The smile on the older man’s face when Kyle knocked on his door could warm the cockles of a cold heart.

Francis was the only peasant past the age of fifty in the village, his hair having gone white years ago. His frame was thin but still fit from years of working the fields. If there was any hope of warning the village of what was coming, it lay with him.

But to a royal, a mayor among peasants might as well have been an ant to a child’s shoe. That was the wall the conversation hit immediately. “It’s a terrible thing to do to us. But what are we to do about it?”

Kyle said it without thinking. “Fight!”

“With what?” Francis sighed.

Without a moment of hesitation, Kyle revealed the ring of power on his hand. “I was blessed by a goddess on my birthday. She gave me this ring for a reason. This must be why.”

Francis stared in shock at the ring. He was unable to deny the story, and yet – “Then maybe you’ll find a way for us to fight. Kyle, we are farmers – not fighters. Do you know how the last mayor died? He didn’t send enough food to our lord one season. The Prince came here with a dozen knights and he burned the mayor alive with a ring just like the one you’re wearing now.”

Kyle winced. That was brutal.

“If you can find a way for us to keep our land, I will hear it. But I will not put our people in that position again.” He raised an eyebrow to Abagail, and then grinned. “Now, if you’re intending to entice me with her –”

Abagail theatrically pulled Kyle close. “Not in a million years, old-timer.”

The conversation was cut short by a woman’s scream coming from the direction of the forest. Rushing outside, Kyle and Abagail could see a woman rushing out of the forest in robes of brown and purple, clutching a magic staff. And chasing behind her were a pack of wolves.