Guild Mage: Apprentice

"Get over here, Livy!" the old woman called. "Something could fall on your head."

"I think it’s over now," Liv told her. She dropped her books in her usual dinner place. "And Master Grenfell said that I should tell you and Mama that we need to make extra food today."

"They’ll be calling in the culling team," Gretta said. "And that means guests. Class cancelled for the day?"

Liv nodded. "We were learning something interesting, too." She almost said that she could hold more mana than Master Grenfell, but her mother had always told her that no one likes a bragger. Not that Liv had ever had any reason to brag, before.

"Well, go down in the cold cellar and tell your mother it’s done shaking," the old cook said, crawling out from under the table. "Then we can make a plan."

Liv used her crutch to hobble over to the cellar stairs, and called down: "Mama, it’s done! Master Grenfell says we need to cook a lot of food!"

Her mother appeared at the bottom of the steps. "It looks like a slaughterhouse down here," Mama said. "A side of beef nearly crushed me. You’re alright, dove?"

"We were safe up in Master Grenfell’s chambers," Liv assured her, and moved out of the way so that her mother could emerge into the kitchen.

"So, Maggie," Gretta began. "Most of the knights, you figure?"

"Count on all twenty of em," Mama agreed, crossing to the cutting counter and opening the old recipe book. "Better to have more than not enough. Master Forester and Auntie Rhea."

"He’ll bring his daughter, too," Gretta pointed out. "No wife to watch her."

"The family upstairs, plus downstairs, and of course the castle guards." Mama said. "Figure the sheriff and the mayor, as well. How many is that all together, Livy?"

"Fifty-six," Liv answered, after making sure that she hadn’t forgotten anyone.

"You’re on full cooking duty with us today," Mama said. "Get a cauldron boiling with water to make brine, and then start measuring out the thyme and sage for it. Get the salt from Coral Bay, while you’re at it. Gretta, go round up those footmen to carry meat up from the cellar for us. Everyone is going to have to pitch in."

It was the first time that Liv found herself treated like a cook, and not a scullion. The kitchen became a buzzing hive of activity, and anyone who stood in the wrong place was liable to be knocked over, burnt or scalded. She was fortunate that her broken ankle meant she couldn’t carry much, and so while others moved around, Liv got the tasks that kept her in one place. She cleaned the potatoes, and stirred the batter for the cornbread.

During harvest season, the slaughtered cattle and swine had been hung in the smoke-house to preserve meat for the winter; now, Tom and Edward were set to carrying enough from the cold cellar to provide for a feast. The smoked pork was put in a simmering pot of beans and sauce, to be pulled by hand when it was nice and tender. Gretta started a pot of sauce for the brisket, beginning by cooking down tomatoes, and then adding honey, apple cider vinegar, mustard, peppers, and a mix of other spices. She tasted it with a spoon from time to time, humming in satisfaction. Liv was gratified to see the cornbread coming out just like it always had, even though she’d been the one to mix the batter this time, and not Mama.

The biggest difference from a regular day, however, was that it simply didn’t end. When a dish was done, they sent the pot off to be scoured. Liv wasn’t certain who’d been stuck with that duty, but suspected it might be Sophie. And once the pot was back, they made more. At some point, Archibald took the footmen with him, and all three of them were bringing dishes up to the great hall to serve. With her mother and Gretta, Liv fell into the mad rush of it all, focused only on each task in front of her until it was done.

She had no idea what bell it was when the first footman put his hand on her shoulder; she hadn’t paid any attention to the chimes from the kitchen horologe since the eruption began.

"You’re wanted upstairs, Liv," Archibald told her.

"For what?" Liv blinked, but didn’t stop pouring melted butter across the top of a second tray of brined fingerling potatoes. Or was it the third?

"Baron Summerset has called for you," he told her. "You’re to come up immediately."

Was she in trouble? Liv had avoided being in the same place as the baron since the day the sheriff and the mayor had come for her. She doubted it, however. The eruption was much more important than anything she’d ever done. Liv grabbed her crutch from the floor under the table, and used it to help her stand. "These potatoes are done," she told Archibald. "They can go up."

With an elegant ease born of years of service, the first footman balanced the platter on one hand, and even held the doors for her on their way up to the great hall. The double doors, replaced since she’d broken the last set, were already standing open, held in place by wooden wedges against the floor. The hall itself was more full than Liv had ever seen it before, with all six of the low tables crammed with men sitting elbow to elbow, eating, drinking, and arguing.

"With me," Archibald reminded her, and Liv followed him up the center aisle to the high table. "Miss Brodbeck," he announced. "As requested. And another serving of the potatoes you liked, Lady Julianne."

"There is no need for this," Master Grenfell remarked, from his place at Baron Summerset’s left side. Next to him sat the mayor, and then Master Forester and his daughter. On the baron’s right, his wife had her head together with an older woman that Liv didn’t recognize, and just past her was Master Cushing, the Chirurgeon, and then the sheriff.

"The laws of the kingdom are clear," Baron Henry said. "And we shall follow them. When a culling is needed, all members of the mage guild within three days’ ride shall present themselves to the local lord for service. Your student is, as you all demonstrated, an apprentice of the guild. She must be here, and for once, her place is at the high table. That is tradition, that mages are feasted in honor of their sacrifices."

"Come sit next to Emma, Liv," Kale Forester called. Liv felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her - not just at the high table, but all of the knights from the surrounding countryside, all across the valley, who sat at the low tables, as well. As quick as she could, Liv rounded the end of the table and sat next to the little girl she’d played dolls with in the Lower Banks. Why did everyone sit on only one side of the high table, facing the rest of the hall? There was no one to hide behind.

"Liv!" Emma exclaimed, and gave her a hug. "You have to come visit us again." Liv wrapped an arm around the girl and squeezed her back.

"How about next market day?" she suggested.

"You’re not seriously going to send the girl into the shoals, are you?" Lady Julianne asked her husband. A trencher was set in front of Liv - she was surprised to find the new footman, Edward, at her shoulder, pouring a goblet of watered wine.

"The law dictates that service shall be rendered," Baron Henry said. "But the nature of the service is left to the lord of the territory, who has responsibility for containing the rift. No, I will not take an untrained girl into the shoals," he said. "She would be more of a danger to us than a help. Liv Brodbeck, your task is this," he said, addressing her directly.

Liv froze under the baron’s gaze, her hand on the fork sticking out of a platter of brisket.

"My wife is with child," the baron said. "If she were not, she would come to the culling with us. As it is, Lady Julianne shall remain here to hold Castle Whitehill and command the knights we leave behind. Every eruption, a small number of beasts make their way to the town, and must be dealt with. Apprentice Brodbeck, you are hereby assigned, as a member of the mages’ guild, to protect my wife."

"Of course, m’lord," Liv managed to gasp out.

"Now that that charade has been played out," the mayor said. "Who will be on the culling team, and who will remain behind to protect the town?"

"I will lead," Baron Henry said. "Kazamir, Rhea, and Kale will come with me."

"Only four?" Sheriff Porter asked. "That is not a full culling party."

"We will bring eight knights to guard our camp and supplies," the baron said. "But they will not go into the shoals with us. If we had more people with words, I wouldn’t even bring you, Master Forester."

"You’d be a fool not to, m’lord," the hunter said. "I’ve killed more mana-beasts than you have." Ignoring the mayor’s glare, he took another spoonfull of beans and pulled pork, slopping it onto his plate.

"Master Cushing, you will remain here to care for my wife," Baron Henry continued, ignoring Forester’s impertinence.

"Would it not be better for me to go, and Rhea of Fairford to remain behind?" Aldo Cushing spoke up. "You may need the enchantments of the chirurgeon’s guild, and a midwife should be more than adequate to birth a child."

"I’m pleased you think I’m adequate," the woman Liv had not recognized spoke up, glaring at Cushing.

"You’re too old now, Aldo," Henry said. "Even five years ago I would have taken you, but you won’t be able to keep up. Give her a couple of your wands."

"Those enchantments are licensed to the Order of Chirurgeons alone," Cushing replied. "If I gave any to her, I would be thrown out of the guild."

"Then do your part, and see my wife safely delivered of an heir," Baron Henry shot back. "I expect to come back and find both her and my son healthy. Mistress Rhea will keep us alive."

"I have charms enough to do that," Rhea of Fairford said. "And I know how to set a bone or stitch a wound well enough. The college saw to that."

"I sometimes forget you finished a year at Coral Bay," Master Kazamir commented.

Liv, in the meantime, had filled her plate and was eating as quietly as she could, trying not to draw anyone’s notice back to her. This was all very interesting, but she felt completely out of place in her dirty apron, fresh from the kitchen. Emma must have thought something of the same thing, for the little girl was occupied smooshing potatoes on her plate, rather than causing trouble.

"I’d like to leave my daughter here while we’re gone," Master Forester said, and Liv felt Emma stiffen at her side. "My sister-in-law is fine for a short hunting trip, but I can’t ask her to take Emma on for this."

"Of course," Lady Julianne said. "We will take good care of her here. She can stay with me."

"I want to stay with Liv," Emma broke in. "How long will you be gone, Papa?"

"Depends," Forester said. "Last time around it was maybe a week. Before you were born."

"As long as it takes the flood of mana to recede," Master Grenfell said, "and the wave of maddened beasts to slacken. There was one eruption under the old baron that lasted ten days. The guild has records of major rifts lasting a fortnight or more, but Bald Peak is nothing like those. And then, of course, in Varuna there are places like Godsgrave, which is essentially under a constant state of eruption-"

"That is not relevant to us today," Baron Henry broke in. Liv couldn’t blame him; she’d been there while the mage went off on a tangent during their lessons. He could go for hours once he got the bit in his mouth, but it was always interesting. She especially liked to see the sour look on Mirabel Cooper’s face when it happened. It occurred to Liv that the two older girls would probably be furious that she was at the high table for this conversation, while they’d obviously been left home.

"If we are not back in twelve days, send word to Duke Thomas," Henry told his wife.

"I won’t stop with Thomas," Lady Julianne said. "I’ll send word to Father and Uncle Caspian, as well."

"That may be a bit extreme," the baron said. "In any event, we leave in the morning. The rest of the knights will remain here to reinforce the town. Sheriff Porter, you will assist my wife. In the event she is incapacitated, you will take command until I return. Is everyone clear?"

"And if the sheriff is killed or wounded?" Mayor Cooper asked. Baron Henry simply looked at him in silence for a long moment, and Liv could swear the man wilted like a flower in the heat of early harvest season. "So that there can be no confusion about the chain of command," he stammered.

"The oldest surviving knight," the baron said. "Now let us enjoy the rest of this meal before we must throw ourselves into the shoals."

To Liv’s surprise, no one told her to leave now that the planning was done. She’d had little enough to do with it all in the first place, but the baron was a stickler for the law as written, and she supposed that included her right to remain until dessert.

The final course was a surprise. Mama and Gretta must have been cooking it while she was eating up here, after Liv had left the kitchen. Fresh-baked apple and oat betty was brought up in dish after dish by the three footmen, beginning with the high table. The baron and Lady Julianne were served first, but there was still plenty to go around by the time it reached Liv and Emma, and her mouth watered when it came time for her turn.

Steaming layers of rolled oats and apple preserves from the harvest, baked with cinnamon from Lendh ka Dakruim and drizzled with butter, were scooped onto her plate, and then Emma’s. With matching grins, they each dug into the messy, wonderful treats.

By the time they were done, people had started to slip away from the feast. Liv noticed the mayor was gone, for one, and Master Cushing, as well. At the lower tables, the knights and the guardsmen who were not on duty were drinking, getting louder as the hours passed. Lady Julianne rose from her seat, which meant that everyone at the high table stood, as well, and when that had been noticed, everyone in the entire hall.

"I believe it is time for me to turn in for the night," the baron’s wife said, loud enough for her voice to carry.

"Good evening," Baron Henry told her. "Get a full night’s sleep."

With a smile for the hall, Julianne made her way around the table toward Liv and Emma. Rhea, the midwife, followed her. "Why don’t you two girls come with us up to my sitting room for a moment." Her voice was softer now, so that it was swallowed up by the noise of the feast resuming below.

"Yes, m’lady," Liv said, reaching under the table for her crutch and then rising.

"I want to stay with Papa," Emma whined.

"It’s late," Master Forester told her. "I need to speak more with the baron. Lady Julianne will see you put to bed. Perhaps Miss Liv will join you for a story."

"If you like," Liv told the younger girl. "We might also be able to find one of the cats."

"Alright then," Emma said. "If there will be cats." She permitted Liv to take her hand, and the two girls followed Lady Julianne to her chambers. By the time they’d arrived, Emma was already yawning, and Liv suspected that she was not used to staying awake so late in the evening. Liv saw that a cot had been brought into the sitting room and made up with sheets and a wool blanket, and into this Emma was deposited.

"Now that she’s asleep," Lady Julianne said, lowering herself into a cushioned chair, "we can speak."

"I don’t really understand what I can do to help," Liv said, honestly. "I can hardly use magic at all, m’lady."

"I know that," Julianne admitted. "But I also think you have a good heart, Liv. And with my husband going off to cull the rift, I have very few people here that I can trust."

Liv frowned. "But you’re the baron’s wife, m’lady," she said. "Won’t everyone do what you say?"

"If only it were that simple," Lady Julianne said. "I have enemies, dear girl. Here, and elsewhere in the kingdom."

"She doesn’t know who you are, does she?" Rhea, the midwife, asked. "Girl, this is the king’s daughter."