Connall slowly turned a large pepper in his hands as he watched the men by the wall. Pater Barthis was standing just below the spot where he had last seen the sorcerer. The adventurers, as he now liked to call them, were drawing a diagram in the dirt, explaining how the new walls would keep intruders out, without endangering anyone who might need to escape, should there be a fire or some other danger within the walls. The pater listened with a serious face, then nodded and waved a hand before leaving the garden.
The pater had been unsure whether to trust these men at first, and he had never been known to waste the fraternary’s coin on unnecessary things. He had told them, truthfully, that neither this, nor any of the other local fraternaries or town sanctums in the area, had ever been victim to any kind of attack, and that he fully trusted the local land-owners to keep any would-be bandits under watch. But Frater Avrid had brought up the subject of the Witches’ Herbs, and mentioned that several handfuls had gone missing again, and Pater Barthis had been forced to reconsider his decision. He had acknowledged that it was his duty as pater of this fraternary to keep those dangerous items out of the hands of those who would misuse them, and so he had reluctantly agreed that the garden walls, at least, should be reinforced. Then he had haggled with the men until a reasonable price was agreed upon, so that the fraternary’s coffers wouldn’t be depleted over-much.
Connall still had mixed feelings about these adventurers. On one hand, he really liked them. The night before, he had stayed up late in the travelers’ hostel listening to their stories. They had all been on such amazing adventures, fighting all kinds of monsters and villains. One even told a tale about a band of evil sorcerers that he had fought. One of the sorcerers, the man had said, had been a beautiful woman, more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen before. The man described eyes so green they seemed to glow in the moonlight, skin so pale and smooth, and a face that was so strangely mesmerizing that he’d swear she wasn’t human. Connall didn’t say anything, but he thought he knew the kind of face that the adventurer was trying to describe. He remembered the sorcerer boy, with his glowing pale blue eyes and his not-quite-human beauty. The adventurer said that the other sorcerers hadn’t looked like that, but that they had all grouped around her to defend her. He said that she must have been their leader, like a queen or a princess or something, because the evil sorcerers had all died trying to protect her. He said that once the others were all gone, she had tried to trick him, pretending to surrender, but that he had not been fooled. He said that he "gave her what she deserved, if you catch my meaning, and then I did my duty as a man of faith."
Sorcerer stories always ended that way. The hero always killed the evil sorcerer. Connall wondered if it really did always happen that way, or if sometimes the sorcerers won. He wondered if, somewhere out there, the sorcerer boy was listening to someone tell a story about a good sorcerer who killed an evil adventurer.
Connall blinked and looked around again, then put the pepper into his basket. How many was that now? Three? And how many of these peppers had Frater Willis asked for? He thought it had been something like eight. He searched one of the tall stalks until he found another large, ripe sweet pepper. He sniffed at it and made a face. Connall hated these things. He had once tried picking the smallest peppers he could find, so that there would be less of them in the food, but after the first few times, Frater Willis had caught on to his trick. Now, if the peppers weren’t big enough, the frater would send him out for more and would put twice as many in the food, making sure that Connall got more than his share of the disgusting things. And so, here he was, making certain he picked the eight biggest peppers in the whole patch.
Connall started as the first hammering began. The men had promised that the new fortifications would be done in two days. He knew now that he would probably never see that sorcerer boy again. Not after these walls were done. He wished he could tell them that not all the sorcerers that came in were bad . . . that some of them were good people, too. But then he’d have to tell his own secret, and if these adventurers decided to hunt down that boy . . . . No. He couldn’t let that happen. He would just keep quiet and hope that the nice sorcerer boy would be careful. Maybe, if Connall were really lucky, he might still see that boy again someday.
When he had finally finished picking the peppers that Frater Willis had requested, Connall was free to go. Frater Avrid, worried that a mischievous boy might cause trouble for the men working on the wall, had given him the day off from his usual chores in the garden. He wandered idly around the fraternary grounds, kicking stones and poking bugs and watching birds as he went, until finally he flopped down on the ground just inside the Travelers’ Gate.
He wondered what it would be like to be one of those adventurers. To ride a horse and carry a sword, or maybe an axe. Dayne, the big man, had been telling him all about axes, and why they’re more useful than swords. "A real man’s weapon," he had called it. Connall imagined himself traveling from town to town, seeing all the exotic places he’d heard about, maybe even crossing the sea in a big boat. There might be sea monsters, if he took a boat, and he could save the other passengers with his mighty sword (or axe). He could go to the East and maybe slay a dragon. He could fight bandits and other villains, maybe even an evil sorcerer. But he would have to make sure the sorcerer was truly evil first, of course. He could rescue some damsels, which, Frater Nicken had explained, was just another word for girls. But he liked the word damsel better than girl, because it sounded more heroic to save a damsel, and girls were stupid, anyway. But he wouldn’t just help girls. He would rescue other people, too. Old people and children and babies, and maybe even grown men, if they weren’t strong enough to save themselves. And maybe one day people would tell stories about him, like the heroes that people told stories about in the hostel.
He lay back on the soft clover that blanketed most of the fraternary grounds, daydreaming about what it would be like, wishing that this band of adventurers would take him with them when they left, so that he could experience that thrilling way of life.
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