Chapter 07 - The mission

As Avia followed Oon through the village streets, she couldn't help but reflect on her role as a mentor. Disciplining apprentices was part of demonstrating her capability as a master. Though Putt was not her first apprentice—she had trained four others—her experience hadn't always spelled success. The first apprentice was a lesson in her own youthful idealism and inexperience; the girl simply hadn't been right for the warrior's path, though it had taken Avia too long to admit it. The subsequent apprentices had been more suitable, but the memory of her first failure lingered, a poignant reminder of her past limitations. Now, there was Putt, an unlikely candidate under normal circumstances, chosen more out of necessity than suitability.
As they ascended the stairs to a grand, almost ostentatious house, Avia pushed aside her doubts about Putt's future. Training him was her responsibility, and the only skill she had to offer him was that of a warrior. She couldn't afford to ponder what he might become if not a warrior; she had to give him the time and training he needed.
Inside the house, Oon led Avia into a smaller room, away from the bustling servants that indicated a well-staffed household. Over a steaming mug of spiced drink, Oon disclosed the mission details.
"The transport is of a prisoner," Oon explained as she handed Avia the hot beverage, the aroma of spices mingling with the steam.
"Who, why, and where?" Avia prompted for the essential details.
"Her name is Hockheba. The viceroy has found her guilty of treason and theft. He wants her transported to Posita to receive her punishment."
It was a straightforward assignment, Avia thought. Posita was familiar to her, a place where, last she knew, public fights were still a form of entertainment. Some things didn't change much.
"Is she violent?"
"No."
"Who else will be in the party?" Avia asked, already considering the dynamics of the journey, especially with Putt in tow.
"I'll be accompanying you, along with two of the viceroy's guards," Oon detailed. "The paths here are narrow, suited only for foot travel. No carriages or riding animals can navigate them."
Avia nodded; she had anticipated as much given the mountainous terrain. Walking suited her better than riding; she'd never favored horses or carriages.
"No servants or other entourage?" Avia inquired, preferring readiness over niceties.
"For whom?" Oon responded, her lips twitching into what might pass for a smile. "No. I can take care of myself."
"I'll be in charge of the prisoner and the transport," Avia asserted, sizing up Oon and wondering how she'd handle not being in command.
"Of course," Oon agreed without hesitation.
They settled on the payment and finalized their arrangements. They would depart at dawn, setting out on a journey that was as much about navigating physical pathways as it was about testing Avia's leadership and Putt's potential.


Avia returned to the Inn to find their room vacant. The innkeeper informed her that Putt had courteously requested him to relay a message to her that he was visiting the blacksmith. After receiving the same directions provided to Putt, she followed them and located him two levels up in the village, engrossed in observing a blacksmith at work. Avia briefly wondered if the residents beneath the smithy were ever disturbed by the noise overhead. It was, after all, an unusual arrangement in the village.
Putt was captivated by the sight of the blacksmith's hammer striking the glowing metal on the anvil, shaping it into a tool. He startled when he noticed Avia standing beside him. Together, they watched the smith's powerful blows in silence for a while.
"You said grandpa was a smith," Putt remarked after a pause.
It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her husband, Inkus, who had passed away before Putt was born. She hadn't thought of him as a grandfather.
"He was," she replied.
"Did he make swords?"
"No, he was an outstanding blacksmith, a credit to his craft, but he never mastered the art of sword-making."
"So, your swords are not made by grandpa?"
"Not even my knife." Avia explained that while it would have been sentimental to carry a weapon forged by Inkus, her needs required a blade fashioned for hunting and combat, which were beyond his expertise. "Those who make weapons are rare. It takes years to learn from a master. And while it's not as glamorous, there's always a demand for a toolmaker, which is much safer."
Avia reflected on the clientèle that typically seek weapons, often lords who may have their own sword-smiths. Inkus's customers had never posed a threat, making his profession relatively safe, a stark contrast to the perils Avia faced on her missions. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that their daughter had chosen a farmer's life, seeking the safety that her childhood home had provided away from her mother's dangerous exploits.
"So, what happens if you go as an apprentice and you never learn to make a proper sword?" Putt asked.
"The master's responsibility is to release you from your apprenticeship if you can't master the craft, to pursue another path."
"How will anyone know I can't make swords? What if I claim I can?"
Avia rolled up her sleeve, revealing a branded circle of pale skin with a distinct pattern on her arm—an old mark of her qualification as a warrior.
"Some professions protect their standards through such marks. Warriors and sword-makers alike. This shows that my training was complete and reputable. No one can falsely claim to be a warrior without risking our reputation."
"That’s a burn mark! Did it hurt?" Putt asked, his face paling as he turned from the forge's warmth.
"Of course it hurt!" Avia responded more sharply than intended. "Imagine pressing that hot metal against your skin. But as a warrior, enduring pain is part of what we take pride in."
Realizing her tone had been too harsh, she softened, giving Putt a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"You've only been an apprentice for a few days, Putt. There’s a long way to go before you earn your brand. By the time you get there, you'll be prepared to handle it."


On their way back to the inn, Avia stopped at a tanner to trade the deer hide for a piece of soft leather, enough to make leggings for Putt, she estimated. With the leather in hand, she visited a recommended tailor nearby. The tailor, excessively courteous and seemingly in awe of her, accepted far too modest a price for his work. He took measurements of Putt’s legs and did a preliminary fitting with a scrap of cloth, quickly returning with the leather pieces cut to size.
Putt made a puzzled face as the tailor tested the fit. The pieces weren’t full pants but rather additions to be worn over his existing trousers—a compromise, but the best her current finances allowed. After thanking and paying the tailor, Avia took the leather pieces.
"But they're not finished," Putt protested as they left.
"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Avia responded. "There’s no time. I’ll finish them during the journey."
As long as the pieces were cut, Avia was confident she could assemble them herself. Crafting by hand was something she found soothing during the evenings, and it allowed her to tailor the final aesthetics without having to convey her vision to someone else.
The leggings were a temporary fix for Putt's now-too-short pants, providing necessary coverage with the leather. Avia contemplated how quickly he might outgrow them, wondering if the individual leg pieces might last him longer than traditional pants. Her own attire had lasted for long now. A few pieces still remained from when she got her brand. But as an adult, her size remained constant, unlike Putt’s rapidly changing one. She hadn’t fully appreciated the financial implications of bringing Putt along—his needs would have to be met with what little she could provide. With the payment from the upcoming mission, she reassured herself, she would be able to afford proper clothes for him.