The Wizard of Elsewhere

1.15 - Playing For Trinkets

"I offer up the wand of a witch who's hat was as old as time. She was young as love, and cold as rime. The witch's eyes held blades within, and on her words did my head spin."

— Wizard Barnibus Jefferson Montgomery Barnwinkle

* * *

"I offer yee the wand of a witch that never was. Th —"

"A Stick?!" Leinan interrupted without thinking and thankfully managed to do it without flinching. Victory apparently had a numbing effect on anxiety. "What am I supposed to do with a stick?!"

The Forerunner glared at her with slitted eyes. "Doubt not my offering!" She hissed. "Thee knowest not what thee speaks. I offer yee a tool grander than —"

"It looks like a stick to me." Leinan hedged belligerently.

Leinan had more than one reason for rudeness.

Despite still reeling from her victory, Leinan's mind was racing, and she was absolutely, completely, and uncomfortably certain that she did not at all want The Forerunner to explain exactly what that thin rod she was holding actually was.

The reason was simple. Leinan had been to market and she was more than familiar with the concept of bartering. You exchanged value for value, and this game was similar. Leinan was certain that if The Forerunner actually managed to tell her what that stick was, it would come out that Leinan was woefully and inadequately poor. And, she couldn't be poor! Not now.

Leinan didn't think anything she had on her right now would compete. So she did the only thing she could do.

She attacked. Again.

And The Forerunner pouted unhappily.

"For a pretty stick...?" Leinan tapped her lips thoughtfully, and only belatedly realized she was mimicking The Forerunner.

'Shadows', Leinan thought. 'What did she have that could compete with a even a pretty stick?' It wasn't like she had prepared for this. She had just left the village with her cloak, her knife — first knife — a basket which she'd long since dropped, and the twins in tow. Leinan didn't even have her coin pouch!

And something told her she shouldn't try to trade back her new knife that had joined her Un-Forged Blade at her belt.

Despite herself, Leinan studied the stick that The Forerunner was brandishing before her, still very careful to not meet her eyes.

It was a pale stick, about as long as her forearm from the tip of her longest finger all the way to her elbow. It was smooth and rounded, expertly cut and polished so that wood gleamed almost wetly in the fire light.

Against her will, Leinan was reminded of the game pieces and their oddly perfect contours, and a traitorous part of her mind wondered whether she had anything that she could offer comparable to even such a stick!

'No,' Leinan thought. 'Perspective. Attack.' She narrowed her eyes.

The wood was pale, Leinan noticed again. Paler than any wood she had ever seen. Except one, Leinan thought with an ugly sneer. This stick was made of the same wood the switch had been.

And that was all that was required to devalue the stick in her mind.

And then Keimen, who had been watching, silently as always, rummaged in her own small pouch — Keimen had a pouch — and pulled out a hand carved whistle and handed it silently to Leinan.