(Path of the Dragon Mage: Exiled) 23. The Village (Patreon)

Corvus stared at the Bag of Holding in his hand,  considering it carefully. When he touched it, he had access to the bag's  inventory screen. Currently, it showed he had eleven copper coins,  which was part of the loot he'd received from helping destroy the ratkin  swarm.

Yet, when he shook the bag, no coins clinked.

Corvus shoved his pillow—which was both flatter and harder than the  down feather pillows at the palace— into the bag. The moment he removed  his hand, the pillow disappeared within the bag and reappeared in his  inventory.

The bag was only slightly heavier. That was to be expected. The  pillow was light and the bag's description said it reduced the weight of  objects by ten percent.

No, what was most interesting was that the bag itself did not expand.  When he opened it and peered within, the bag was shadowed as if empty.  Although he could no longer fold the bag in half, there was no bulge to  indicate a large pillow had been shoved within it.

Corvus reached in. As he did, he selected the pillow from the  inventory. It seemed that his hand sank much further inside the bag than  it should have. Grabbing the pillow, he yanked it out and examined it  for any changes.

Nothing he could see.

Next, he reached for an apple he'd hurriedly snapped off a low branch  of a tree just outside the door. Either it was not the correct season  for apples to be harvested, or this variety was not supposed to be  eaten. When he'd tried with another one the other day, the little fruit  had been hard as a rock and terribly sour.

No matter. It would do for his experiment.

The small green apple still had a bit of the branch attached to it  with a single green leaf sticking out. Corvus plunged the apple into his  Bag of Holding. He withdrew his hand, counted to ten, and then grabbed  the apple back out.

Holding his breath, he lifted the apple to his eyes to study for any  damage. There were no signs of wilting, not even to the single green  leaf.

Corvus pressed his lips together, thinking. Then he forced himself to  take a bite of the fruit—scraping off a sliver that tasted just as bad  as he had remembered. The inside was green and wet. Definitely not ripe.

He stuck it into the bag—noting that the item description now read  "bitten crab apple"— waited to the count of ten, and then pulled it out.

No hints of age, drying out, or that the apple had been in any way harmed while in the weird space magic of the bag.

He turned the apple to show it off to the dragon egg.

"What do you think?"

The egg, of course, made no reply.

"I can leave you behind here while I go to the village," Corvus  continued. "But it feels like a bad idea. You'd be all alone. Solt  doesn't employ any guards or even a servant for his estate. Anyone could  break in—you would just be in your nest under my bed."

He had left the egg behind before, during his nighttime trips to the  lake. Back in the palace, there had been entire days when he'd been  obsessed with completing a research project for his tutors and hadn't  looked at the egg once.
Now, leaving the egg behind here in this  country estate made his stomach twist up inside. He couldn't put his  finger on why, exactly, either. What was he to do?

"I don't have anywhere else to hide you. If it was night, I could  find a place in the brush. But I don't want to leave you to the mercy of  animals—even if you do have a hard shell," he admitted.

Corvus took the egg between his hands. As usual, he felt a little pulse of heat from within the shell.

"I could take you with me," he continued. "That way whatever we face  there, it will be together. I think being inside the bag will be safe  for you... I just don’t know how to explain how I acquired a bag made of  ratkin hide."

Lowering the egg, he frowned at the Bag of Holding. It wasn't obvious  that it was ratkin hide. At least, not to his inexperienced eye, but he  did not know a lot about leather worked items. If Solt asked, he  supposed he could claim he brought the bag with him. Solt had never  searched through his things, and—

"Boy!" Solt called from outside. "Hurry up!"

Shortly after Solt announced they would be going to the village,  Corvus had run into the house, claiming the need to change out of his  sweaty shirt. Now, he had run out of time for experimentation.

"Just a moment!" he yelled back and turned to the egg.

"I'll put you in there for a short time," he promised. "Do your best to tell me if you don't like it—if it hurts."

He carefully slid the egg into the bag.

Again, there was no bulge in the bag. Although it was heavier with  the addition of the dragon egg, it certainly wasn't as heavy as when  he'd carried it in his hands.

The inventory said: 1 Unhatched Royal Dragon egg.

Corvus made himself count to ten, then took the egg out. The coppery gold shell seemed normal. Neither too hot or too cold.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Again, he felt a warm pulse against his fingers.

Corvus smiled. "Okay, then you're coming with me."

As hesitant as he was to stick an unhatched dragon into an inventory list, the thought of leaving it behind was worse.

He stuck the egg inside the bag again, this time folding the leather  top over. He had already changed his shirt to a larger linen tunic left  behind by one of Solt's previous apprentices. It was so large he had to  roll up the sleeves to keep them from flopping over his hands.

Swiftly, he unbuttoned it, slung the Bag of Holding around his neck  and one arm, and settled it across his back. Then he rebuttoned the  shirt and shrugged on a jerkin. It, too, was a little large. But it  covered the Bag of Holding quite neatly.

"Boy!" Solt yelled again. His voice sounded closer as if he were striding to the building.

"I'm coming!" Corvus yelled and darted out. The Bag of Holding lay snug across his back.

He did have to shift around a little to make sure he was not  squishing the bag when he climbed into Merry-Rose's saddle. Aside from  correcting his seat once, Solt seemed to be none-the-wiser.

As they rode down the main road that led to Duckwater Village, Corvus  asked, "Why do you want me to come along? I thought you wanted me to  stay out of sight of the village guards?"

"A boy your age ought to be thrilled to go to the village," Solt  grunted. "It's not good to be shut up for too long. Makes you strange."

Gwen had called him strange, too. Maybe that was the reason she  hadn't come to see him since the ratkin swarm. Well, it wasn't like he  could not be himself.

"I'm not strange," he decided, straightening. "I'm educated."

Solt eyed him. "Then put your education to use. There will be a few ground rules you must learn before we enter the village."

"Yes, yes," he sighed. "I'm not to tell anyone I was a prince. And I'm to call you master, or Master Solt."

Solt nodded. "And I will call you Tomas Wright."

Corvus stiffened. "Wright?" he repeated in dismay. "Surely, you don't mean of the Cartwright house?"

Solt fixed him with a jaundiced eye. "And what exactly is wrong with the Cartwrights?"

For one, they were new money. They had only been recently ennobled  within the last two generations, given the care and upkeep of the  Kingdom's roads and allowed to collect taxes from major intersections  between villages. It was said they bred like rabbits—that Lord  Cartwright had more sons and daughters than roads for them to manage.  Most of the older houses laughed at any Cartwrights who tried to act  like their betters at court from behind their hands.

The expression on Solt's face warned Corvus from speaking any of this aloud.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he didn't know what house Solt hailed from.

"Technically," Corvus said, switching to another argument, "I am half Shield. It… wouldn't be proper."

"You want nothing to do with the Shields," Solt said in a remarkably  steady tone. "They're nearly as petty and ambitious as the Royals. The  moment they can't use you, they'll throw you away. What do you think you  have to offer them, hmm?"

His rune magic, for one thing. Lord Shield was his grandfather on his  mother's side. Would he give Corvus shelter if he proved he was a  hedge-witch?

Taking Corvus' silence as an answer, Solt continued, "You are seeking  a better life than living off a disputed title of ex-prince. One of  honor and service to the kingdom on the battlefield."

Corvus felt a stab of shame. While Solt was training him to be a  soldier, Corvus's attention was on learning magic. Though Corvus had no  argument with fighting for the good of the kingdom. Surely, a  hedge-witch would be useful in the borderlands.

"What's your name?" Solt asked.

Corvus scowled. "Couldn't my fake name be of the main house at least? A full Cartwright?"

"Many secondary branches rise to power above the parent line," Solt  said. "The Mongers over the Fishmongers. Shield over Shieldwall's."

"The Shieldwalls died out centuries ago!"

Solt shrugged. "What's your name?"

"Tomas…" Sigh "…Wright."

It was true that some of the distant years in the kingdom were marked  only by the rise and fall of branch houses. The last few centuries had  been remarkably stable for the nobles. Likely due to the war.

Thinking about the noble house of Shield reminded him that his mother  was likely with her family now. Didn't Sunli say she would be retiring  to one of the estates? The Shield house had several, of course, all with  expensive vineyards attached. As he had never traveled outside of the  palace before his exile, he hadn't visited. Vesper spoke well of them.  Especially when she was frustrated with Cipher.

He hoped wherever she was right now, she was happy.

Then he remembered he had promised to write her. It seemed his days were filled—it had slipped his mind.
Well,  he did not wish to tell her where he was, but he could at least let her  know he was alive and learning to be of service to the kingdom. That  should please her.

If she ever finds out I'm training as a common soldier, she will  think of several schemes for me to be of service to the Shield house  instead, he thought, smiling slightly to himself. That will entertain her for a while.

Best she never find out. At least, not until he wanted her to.

* * *

The thick, man-high sagebrush on either side of the road obscured Duckwater Village until they were nearly on top of it.

Corvus' first sighting of the village was its outer gate. Two-story  high wooden walls barred the road and encircled the village proper.  Helmeted men and women stood at equal distance along the walls. Most,  however, were not watching the road but faced in the opposite direction.

"Why are they looking to the west?" he asked, then caught himself. Of  course, all villages were required by order of the King to set a watch  to the border. But… "Surely, we're too far away to see the western  mountains?"

Solt snorted. "Not to the Long-Eyes."

"The... what?"

"Those who were born with superior eyesight. They're said to be able  to see across the kingdom, if they get high enough." He nodded up to the  tall wall. "Someone with Long-Eyes could pick out a signal fire in the  western mountains in all but the thickest fog."

Corvus followed his gaze back up to the wall guards, awed. "They all  have superior sight?" He had Night Vision as a special attribute so it  was not out of the question... if they had access to the Paths.

Perhaps he was not alone. But how could he ask without giving himself away?

Solt shook his head. "Perhaps one in every village has Long-Eyes. A  good thing, too. They can see across the land but are all but blind up  close."

This reminded him of his ambidextrous special attribute. He received  extra dexterity and the boost with two-handed skills in exchange for the  penalty to one-handed skills. It seemed there was a balance.

"Now," Solt continued, "if perhaps one in a thousand has Long-Eyes, why would a Captain put so many men up there?"

"To... help them up and down the wall?" Corvus asked and saw from the  look on Solt's face that this was not the answer. He glanced up at the  guards and their crisp, identical uniforms. "So an outside enemy cannot  point to who the individual is. Take out the Long-Eyes and there is no  one to say when the signal fires have been lit to warn of an incursion.  So most of the guards look to the west, to hide the real Long-Eyes."

"Very good," Solt agreed. "Of course the guards and the village as a  whole usually know who the Long-Eyes are. It's hard to keep a secret in a  town. But a good captain will have standing orders for all guards to  gaze to the west when there's nothing better to do."

Corvus nodded and they continued on. The main gate to the village was  open. Cart traffic, riders on horses, and people carrying baskets on  foot flowed in and out. More guards were stationed by the entrance. They  seemed to be at ease, laughing and talking with one another and the  villagers who were doing business.

Beyond them lay the actual village.

Thatched roof houses were built right up against large stone  structures that must have been the village's original buildings with no  room to spare. It seemed every inch within the walls was used, leaving  only room for narrow roads. Tents, tables, rugs filled with items were  laid out right up to the boundaries of the main street. Venders called  to every passerby within sight.

Children chased live chickens, dodging in and out between people and  horses. A hundred conversations flowed past Corvus's ears. Smells, too.  Sewer, cooking meat, spices that tickled his nose, fresh herbs, and a  hundred others he'd never scented before.

Solt and his horse pulled ahead confidently. Corvus set Merry-Rose to  follow. His head constantly swiveled back and forth. He had seen more  people at the King's official galas, but never such a range—and never in  such a small space.

The other side of the town was thankfully less populated. This was  where the official stables were located within the village walls.

Corvus frowned at the looming timber, noting no exit on this side of  the village. "Master Solt, why do they not put a gate here?"

"Ha. The merchant guilds would put a stop to that. They want you to walk past and see their wares coming and going."

Corvus frowned. It seemed rather unsafe. What if there was a fire? Or  a ratkin swarm? How would the people evacuate if there was only one  gate? Dismounting Merry-Rose, he looked back down the road the way they  came while Solt paid for the horse's basic stabling for the afternoon.

Solt's hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump.

"Now Tomas, listen to your master."

Tomas. He sighed inwardly at the name but turned to receive his  orders. Perhaps Solt planned to take him shopping for suitable weapons.  Maybe even a shield—

Roughly, Solt grabbed his hand and shoved a small pile of ten coppers in his palm.

"Now, you have ten coppers to one silver. Ten silvers to one gold.  Ten gold to one platinum. The rest you don't need to know about, seeing  as you'll likely never see it."

"I know how money works," Corvus told him, offended. His tutors had taught his numbers well.

Solt looked at him. "But have you ever handled any of it?"

Corvus looked down.

"That's what I thought. Now, you're to get us our supplies. Do you need a sack, or will that fancy bag under your jerkin work?"

He stopped himself just short of reaching for the Bag of Holding. "Um..."

"Turn it around, keep it to your front at all times. There are  pickpockets here," Solt continued, not noticing or not caring about his  mini-heart attack. "Now, ten coppers should be enough to buy at least  three days of supplies and a little lunch or a trinket for yourself."

Solt was having him purchase their supplies? "Me, sir?"

"Yes, you. It'll be good for you to get out among people for once.  I'll meet you back here when the sun reaches the Western Wall. Finally,  if you get into any fights, be sure that you win them."

"I wouldn't—"

"What are you dawdling for? Go. Have fun. Be a young man for once," he grumbled.

Without waiting for Corvus to reply, he turned to stalk down a shadowed side-street that was lined with red lanterns.
Corvus  watched him go. Then, cautiously, he repositioned the Bag of Holding to  his front and slipped the ten coppers in where it joined with the rest.  He now had twenty-one in his inventory.

Taking a breath to brace himself, he headed back down the road to the main marketplace of the village.