“There’s an art to every job, my boy,” the man reasoned as he set his massive arm on the surface elbow-first and rested his chin on his palm. “Some people have the skills but not the knowledge, you know?”
“My mother says something similar,” the youngster responded and swirled the liquid in his cup. “She usually says, ‘There is a difference between doing something and doing it well, and only those smart enough will know the difference.”
“Smart woman,” the innkeeper declared with a loud laugh. He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “At the risk of sounding like one of those idiot innkeepers you’ve run into, I must admit I am curious as to how you came this way on your own—if you don’t mind me prying.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem.” The boy fumbled beside his chair and lifted a dark-brown satchel that he dug through quickly. He brought a map out—mostly white but some areas darker than others—that suggested both use and age. “I won’t bore you with all the details, but I’m heading to the bay town on the coast—Fairwind.”
“All the way from Monleans?” The man didn’t hide his understandable shock as that was almost three hundred miles away. “Whatever for, boy? You must have been making this trek for weeks!”
“Only about nine days, actually,” he said and unrolled the map on the table. “My father had business in Warpaw. I traveled there with him and left a couple of days after.” He traced his finger over the parchment to show his companion his route. “Went through Tuffles, then Leyoville, then Filo.” He pointed to the village he was now in—Bluebell. “Before I arrived here at your inn.”
“Truly now?” The innkeeper stroked his red beard. “Still, even starting in Warpaw, that’s some distance to travel on foot.”
“I got some rides from other travelers,” he explained and glanced at a candle on the side of the table. “But I’m also a fairly fast walker.” With a small smile, he pointed to the candle, pressed his thumb and middle finger together, and snapped them, and the wick lit itself.
“Ah, a little Magi, I see.” His companion nodded. “My eldest daughter and son have something of a knack for that, although the most they use it for is getting the brooms to clean things themselves and anything else they can do to get out of doing their chores.”
The boy's eyes lit up. “Does that mean you practice the Mana arts too?”
A noise that was a mixture between a grunt and a light laugh from his large companion made the boy grin. “Hardly, and no more than the average man. I use some of my Mana to help with heavy lifting.” He stretched his already large arm and flexed. It increased slightly in size and a white light shimmered very briefly under the skin. “Nothing much more than that. They get it from their mother mainly. She doesn’t use it much herself but there is a reason she can run the kitchen almost on her lonesome. Many of the dishes take care of themselves.”
“So, you can use Vis, then?” A waitress arrived with his second breakfast. He thanked her quickly before he tucked into the meal with enthusiasm.
“Vis?” the Innkeeper asked before he nodded. “Right, that’s the term for Mana enhancement—less wordy, though. I can but barely. Me forgetting the word should tell you how little mind I pay to it.”
“It’s not a problem,” the boy assured him. “In all honesty, I only practiced it as much as I did thanks to my mother. Her mother used to teach at one of the academies and she taught me. And I can only use Mana in practical ways—the disciplines and all that. I can’t do many of the fancy stuff like cantrips. Lighting that candle is basically my only trick.”
“You didn’t go to the academy yourself?” the innkeeper asked.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and shook his head. “No, my parents tutored me—well, my mother mostly. I learned a few things on my own as well.” He finished a piece of toast and leaned back “Thanks for the meal.”
The innkeeper looked down and his eyes almost bulged. The plate was clean, and he realized the youngster had eaten it all in a little over a minute. He could eat like a likan.
“Hey, Devol!” a young voice called. The boy and innkeeper turned to see a young red-haired girl run toward them, followed by a boy with brown hair and another young girl with red hair. They dragged chairs closer and gathered around the table. “Hey, Devol, do you think you can play with us today? We’ll have our chores done by noon.”
Devol ran his hands through his long auburn hair. “Sorry, I’ll be gone by then.”
“Oh, boo.” The girl in the pink dress sighed and her father darted her a disapproving look.
“If I come back, we can play then, okay?” he promised, and although the children nodded, they still pouted to reveal their disappointment.
“You should probably get those chores finished instead of spending your time sulking,” their father said sternly. “Help your mother in the kitchen and tell her I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, Father,” the children replied in unison, stood quickly, and raced away. Devol waved at them as they left.
“You have spirited kids,” he noted as they disappeared behind a door that led to the kitchen.
“Aye.” The innkeeper nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose before he smiled affectionately. “They can try my sanity sometimes but they fill my heart.”
Devol laughed and bumped the sword that leaned on his chair, which fell with a thud. He picked it up and placed it on the side of the table. The innkeeper studied it with
