Arellian handed her sword and javelins over to one of the village gate guards.

  A scarred young man that was actually shorter than her.

  She thanked her helmet for hiding her smile.

  That wasn’t mature of her, so she chastised herself silently as she handed over her poleaxe.

  “Be careful with that, it’s heavier than it looks.”

  The guard looked skeptical until she let go.

  He had to take a step back to brace himself as the poleaxe butt thudded into the wooden floor.

  “Thou shalt lift with thy legs,” her grandfather intoned.

  Oh no! she thought. He’s going to talk in his weird olden times way.

  It took three wiry gate guards to carry his hammer into the nearby guardhouse.

  Her weapons was only about 20 kilograms, so her guard managed it once he got over the surprise and lifted with proper form.

  “Village master, we shall discuss what the wise and mighty Witch of the Woods doth offer. Meanwhile, mayhaps, there be deeds round yon village for my young squire’s strength? She doth have the strength of body to lift trees, carry baskets of yon produce and such. She shan’t, however, do battle without mine permission.”

  Her grandfather triggered her inner cringe to never before scaled heights.

  “Stop it!” she hissed through the comms.

  “No. I’ve been waiting years for this opportunity,” he said primly.

  The headman grunted.

  “Yeah, I think we have things she can help out with, Ser Bakunawa. If that’s alright with you Witchknight Minokawa?”

  She stood straighter and nodded.

  See, he knows what respect is about, she thought.

  Sure, it had everything to do with her whole thing, from strange armor to impossibly heavy weapon to everything she had done so far.

  The headman whistled.

  A boy pushed through the gathered crowd of short, thin, blue-skinned people.

  He only came up to about her belly button and she guessed he was probably close to her in age.

  “Rhinor, take our guest to our brewmaster.” He turned to her. “She is the highest leveled person in the seven villages up the Delac River.”

  She took the implied warning.

  So, he placed her under the watch of a person he hoped was high-leveled enough to fight her if it became necessary?

  He pointed to a handful of armed men and women.

  Guards or militia?

  They all kind of blended together.

  Every man, woman and child were armed and ready to fend off monster attacks.

  These ones had crude armor of padded cloth with a few wooden plates instead of iron or steel.

  It appeared that the latter were reserved for their weapons.

  “Escort our guest. Show her all of our hospitality,” the headman ordered. “And keep your mouths shut.” He turned to her grandfather. “I hope you understand. While, I am grateful for the gifts. I’m not ready to extend trust until I’m certain that you aren’t here to bring ruin to our village and people.”

  “Thy concerns are most valid… most.”

  Oh, Hecate!

  She cringed.

  She couldn’t listen to her grandfather anymore. Had to get away before she literally died of embarrassment.

  Rhinor gaped up at her.

  “Please, take me to your brewmaster,” she said.

  The woman’s brewery was the largest, best defended structure in the entire village.

  Iron-shod walls. Shooting emplacements. Offensive and defensive enchantments. Armed guards.

  It resembled a miniature fortress.

  The woman herself wasn’t quite what Arellian expected.

  When she thought of a brewer she pictured a large man with a bushy beard and fat belly… or a troll, who, ironically was also blue-ish.

  “Uh huh.” The brewmaster regarded Rhinor like a teacher does an unruly student. “I suppose you did do the job the headman gave you. And that flinty bastard didn’t pay you, did he?”

  Rhinor pouted.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Listen, boy. Grandfather or not, he shouldn’t be treating you like a bound. We done away with that years ago.” She sighed. “Here.” She flicked her fingers in the air as if she was selecting something on a holographic interface.

  “Don’t tell your grandfather. He’ll just make you hand it over to him for ‘banking’.”

  The brewmaster turned to the guards next.

  “Alright, best go do something useful, like standing the walls.”

  “No can do, ma’am. Headman’s orders. We’re to keep an eye on the, uh, guest,” the lead guard said.

  “You all think you can do anything if she decides to be a bad guest?” She turned to Arellian. “Witchknight Minokawa, right? Strange combination that.”

  “Yes… and you are?”

  The brewmaster snorted.

  “You can call me ‘Brewmaster’. I figure it’s as real as ‘Minokawa’ is for you.”

  “Fair.”

  “Well, I’m supposed to put you to work then. Come on inside.” Brewmaster beckoned, leading her into the brewery.

  The entrance was a long hallway with obvious murder holes in the ceiling and the walls.

  Arellian scanned and found the hidden ones.

  Hot oil and fire via spell gems and one pot of burning oil kept perpetually simmering by an enchantment.

  “I heard that Bakunawa knight say you’re a strong one.” Brewmaster pointed at a large stone atop her bar. “Heard everything, so you don’t have to give that nice speech of yours again. And before you ask, I ain’t much interested in no Witch of the Woods.”

  “There’s nothing you want for yourself?”

  “Not if I have to join up with no witch that I know nothing about. And I’m not thinking getting to know her or you is going to change that. It’s too easy to lie and too hard to see to the truth. Was that way before the spires. Even worse now.”

  “We will provide superior truth-detection gems. If you prefer to have someone you trust cast the spell then we can provide it via that method. A basic one is in the beginner spellbook I already gave to your headman.”

  “Nah, I’m good with my Honestea Brew.”

  “Then, I’ll submit to drinking that.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Brewmaster regarded her through narrowed eyes of icy blue.

  Violet lips pursed, then split into a smile as white as snow.

  “Spoken like someone without anything to hide…” she smirked, “or someone that can lie through my brew. Whether through Skill, spell or class, there are those strong enough to deceive. Take yourself for example, witchknight, you called yourself. I didn’t hear the class. If that isn’t it, then what is it? And why are you hiding it along with hiding your face. Hard to trust a woman that hides her face.”

  “I come from a faraway land.

  “That sounds like the truth, but— you know, I think I’ll have you drink my brew.”

  “Only if it doesn’t have alcohol.”

  Not that Arellian would’ve been affected through her superhuman constitution.

  It was more the fact that she was twelve and she wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol.

  “I’ve taken a vow.”

  “You sound like some knights I’ve known over my long years.” Brewmaster shrugged. “That’s not a problem. I control every aspect of my brewing.” She went behind the bar and poured a mug full of the Honestea Brew out of a clearly labeled barrel.

  Arellian didn’t pay attention in witch tea class, but she was fairly certain one didn’t put tea in beer barrels.

  She accepted the mug and extended the drinking straw from her helmet with a cybernetic thought.

  “Well… that’s fancy,” Brewmaster remarked.

  “You might find my appearance unsettling.”

  The Brewmaster shrugged.

  “Can’t imagine seeing worse than I’ve already had since the spires destroyed our world.”

  Arellian sipped.

  Cold and refreshing.

  Sweet with a little fizz.

  Something like honey and lemon.

  Maybe?

  “This is tea?”

  “What you don’t have tea in your faraway land?”

  Her armor analyzed as she sipped and pronounced it free of alcohol.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Main ingredients are mint, lemon, honey and suncatcher sap.”

  Ah!

  She had heard years of stories from others who had traveled to other worlds and she had always found it amazing to learn that many things on Earth could also be found out in the spires worlds. And, thanks to the Universal Translation System, such things were immediately recognizable.

  From context she guessed the suncatcher was a tree without a direct Earthian analogue.

  This information wasn’t in Vamria’s report.

  She pumped a mental fist at being able to put her name to an addendum.

  “Well, what do you think of my brew?”

  “It’s good!” she replied honestly.

  “Eh, a little too sweet for my tastes, but the young ones love it.”

  “Do the, uh, young ones of your village drink often?”

  Brewmaster laughed.

  “That vow of yours offended? Gonna challenge me? Take me to task like a knight?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah they drink a lot. We all do. Have to supplement our food and save what we catch or harvest for lean times.”

  “But, I saw your gardens. And your fishermen brought in a large haul.”

  “All that could go away tonight. You know spawn zones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we’re surrounded by them. Monsters always come and wreck our gardens. We fight them off, but the costs…” Brewmaster shook her head. “We lose things. People, stockpiles… our will. My brews are the only thing we can count on to always be here, but I’m not at the level where I can replace everything with them.”

  “Power Ale?” Arelle read the scrawl on one of the barrels.

  “Provides an all around boost to everything. It’s small, only about two to three percent from what we can tell.” Brewmaster pointed at the other barrels. “You get a bigger boost from singles. You can mix and match maybe two or three total at lesser gains, but after that diminishing returns makes the Power Ale a better choice.”

  “Then, would you say that you’re the key to Riverdel’s survival?”

  “Why? Planning to take me out?”

  “No.”

  The tall, for a local, woman nodded.

  The wrinkles around her eyes were more pronounced with how pinched her expression was.

  The scars stood out as pale, jagged lines in the dark blue.

  They made her look older than she was according to Vamria’s report.

  Brewmaster relaxed a fraction.

  Arellian couldn’t tell if the Honestea Brew was actually working on her.

  The armor’s analysis didn’t give her anything other than its molecular composition.

  It wasn’t equipped to detect any Skill-created effects and interactions.

  “What you said earlier,” Brewmaster began. “You meant it all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have hidden goals?”

  “Define ‘hidden’?”

  “That you have other goals you didn’t speak.”

  Did she?

  No.

  She decided that, at the moment, she didn’t have any ulterior motives in regards to Riverdel and its people.

  She said as much.

  “This witch? She got any designs on us?”

  “Yes.”

  Brewmaster’s entire body tightened.

  “That is to say, her designs are what I’ve already mentioned.”

  “Specifically?”

  “Bakunawa is discussing that with your headman.”

  “I’d hear it from you.”

  “Well, it’s what I already said. Gifts freely given to improve your living situation. Gifts of deeds by myself and Bakunawa to do the same. I believe we will help you with your spawn zones unless your headman refuses that aid.”

  She didn’t add that those spawn zones were getting cleared back into encounter challenges regardless.

  “And for those willing to brave the journey to the Witch of the Woods’ abode? Perhaps, the greatest gift of all.”

  “Which is?”

  “The ability to improve your living situation yourself. We aren’t here to rule or control. We are here to get you started on the path to the strength you’ll need to fight back against those from this and other worlds that are here to rule and control.”

  “You experienced that in your faraway lands?”

  “My people have.”

  Brewmaster raised a brow.

  “Are you satisfied with my answers? I’ve spoken truth as my heart and mind know it to be. As a guest I observe the proper rites. If lies have slithered from my tongue then may I pay the price tenfold.”

  “I suppose, but people have fooled me before.” Brewmaster sighed. “You’re a witch and a knight. But not a witch or a knight. Don’t really know what to make of that. If you’ve been lying then I figure there ain’t much I can do anyways, so might as well put you to work before you cut me down.”

  Arellian finished the sweet, fizzy tea.

  “We would never violate the ways of hospitality. As a witch… witchknight, it goes against everything I stand for.”

  “It must be different where you come from because here, witches ain’t ever done anything good. And knights? You might be lucky and run into one of the handful that’ll live up to their words, but the rest… not much better than bandits in fancy armor.”

  “With the Witch of the Woods’ tutelage you will gain the strength to protect yourselves from those kinds of people. And monsters, you’ll also be able to protect yourself from those. I mean, much better than you’re doing now. Not that you’re doing a bad job.”

  Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed.

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough to be sent from my faraway homeland.”

  “As you say.” Brewmaster beckoned. “You say you’re strong. Follow me. I’ve got a still that needs cleaning. I need four strong lads to lift it. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes.”

  Easily!

  “Then I need to haul firewood and then do the deliveries. If I can replace four with you then I can put my crew on other jobs. If we work hard today, then I might be able to let them take it easy for a couple of days.”

  “Do you work everyday?”

  “Half day on Trellas, but I give them a day when they burn out. It’s a constant struggle of rotating people in and out from other jobs around the village. Too many things to do for everyone, but not enough people. It’s been worse the last few years since the monarch,” she spat, “instituted the tithe.”

  “The tithe…”

  Arellian knew from Vamria’s report, but for the sake of conversation spoke in a way that could be taken for a statement and a question in case the Honestea Brew was still in effect.

  “I tell you what. I’m tempted to ask you and that witch to do something about him, but I just don’t know if you’d be replacing a bad man with worse witch.” Brewmaster sighed. “He’s been taking our children. Not all of them. Just the most promising ones. Three out of every ten. Next year Rhinor will be eligible. And he makes an edict that every woman of child-bearing age must bear one child every few years without regard to the heart’s desire.”

  “I’m surprised he doesn’t just make you all move to his city.”

  “Know a lot already, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Brewmaster snorted.

  “Wouldn’t be good agents of a mysterious all-knowing witch if you didn’t, I suppose. He don’t make us move because he takes some of what we catch and grow. And Riverdel is the last remaining inhabited village, town or city in the south. Past us is just the swamp and valley exit. He wants us as a staging ground to defend against the people from outside. Not that we’ve had much word of them. I figure they’re in much the same dire straits. Trader traffic died out when the spires appeared.”

  “I hear many reasons for you to consider the Witch of the Woods’ gifts.”

  “Not if it costs us our souls.”

  “It won’t.”