“See a harvest, eight by eight,

  Do not tarry, do not wait,

  Run, good soldier, for your life,

  Or join the wheat beneath the scythe.”

  – Children’s Nursery Rhyme

  ***

  We’d decided not to tell Dad the rank of my talent, but most of the details could be safely hidden under the guise of Elite. After all, with the notable exception of bartenders, elite talents were rare enough that nobody really knew what they could do.

  What he needed to know was sobering enough, without the revelation that I would need to lie about my talent for the rest of my life, and he’d taken the news with stoic apprehension.

  He never questioned me once, and I loved him for that quiet confidence. I’d crafted his need that night, and his bond craft turned out to be a scythe that had a very worrisome effect.

  Carbon War Scythe

  Effect 1: When wielding this scythe, the farming skill is improved by thirty percent.

  Effect 2: When wielding this scythe, harvest-related talents have no targeting limitations.

  Harvest talents weren’t all that common. Just like Haddy with tailoring, someone who developed a talent for farming or harvesting crops had to have spent a solid portion of their life devoted to the task.

  Dad’s original talent hadn’t been so specific. He’d been granted a common talent that he’d managed to upgrade by becoming a farmer and devoting himself to it.

  The first effect excited him. The second terrified us all. He did thank me, but even so, he buried the scythe in the shed and prayed he’d never need it. I did too, but I didn’t think we’d be so lucky.

  He spent the next few days, eyeing me oddly, glancing between Mom’s newfound fascination with fire spells and the scythe, just a tad warily.

  I gained thirteen free points from my dad’s highest talent, which was, predictably, farming, but again decided to save them. Otherwise, things… sort of went back to normal.

  For three days, we quietly went about crafting as many pouches of troll spray as we could stand to make. I personally handed them out to half the town. While hardly anyone thanked me for them, at least they had them. We had no way to verify the claims my talent was making. All we could do was prepare as best we could, hoping that I wasn’t crying wolf.

  The sun was setting, three days after my nameday, and I was where I always was: in the bar telling a story. It was a repeat, and nothing I hadn’t told a thousand times before, but people still asked to hear about the boy and his dragon. I was just beginning to describe the first sight of black scales when a man slammed open the door to the bar with a loud bang.

  “Who is the mayor here?” he shouted, silencing me as he surveyed the room.

  “Typically don’t see the Mayor till around two. He’s usually helping out, especially with Harvest comin’. What’s all the fuss?” Lupkep asked from his perpetual seat behind the bar.

  “There’s been a Rift Break! War Trolls are on the loose!” he shouted, his words filling the entire bar with this panic.

  The man was native to the lake area. His accent and clothes almost guaranteed that. He was short, with brown hair and brown eyes. He waddled, bowlegged, as he approached the counter. He’d been riding all day. Had he come all the way from Mitoras?

  “Calm down, calm down!” Lupkep placated. “We already had a troll attack. Mera there can tell you all about it if you–!”

  “Everyone heard about Mera!” he interrupted. “This is new, man. Here! Straight from General Neogon on the front lines! This arrived in Lindolen just yesterday!”

  Wait, everyone heard about me? All the way from Lindolen? That stupid song! When I got my hands on him, I was going to wring Reid’s Dad’s neck!

  A crowd began to form around the frantic man as he pulled out a crumpled missive and began to smooth it out on the bar.

  “Hrmmm?” Lupkep said as he bent over the bar to read. “All the way from Lindolen? How hard have you been riding, man?”

  The man relaxed a tad. “Hard enough that I could really use a drink.”

  I followed the crowd down off my makeshift stage, as curious as any of them about what one of the generals might’ve said.

  It took a minute for me to get through the throng of people that had surrounded Lupkep, but I didn’t have to see the whole note to realize what I was seeing and freeze with horror.

  Mom had been reluctant to say what she’d done to spread word about a potential attack. They didn’t have a term for it in this small town, but plausible deniability was her excuse.

  She needn’t have bothered. Her plan was suddenly laid bare before me in the neat script that I’d seen so many times on ledgers and notes. Letters. Of course, the woman with nearly two hundred points in the skill would write. It wasn’t as if there was anyone truly capable of calling her out for forgery nearby. If the general himself ever saw the missive, there would be hell to pay, but otherwise, who could say it wasn’t him? It certainly looked fancy enough to come from a general.

  I couldn’t be certain the note wasn’t from the general, but I would’ve bet the whole gold Mom had given me on it.

  To all Residents of Tacuria,

  Treat the messengers well, as they may not tarry long.

  My people, we face a grave threat.

  A Rift Break has broken through our lines.

  War Trolls and Goblins will follow swiftly behind this message.

  Ready yourselves as best you can. Aid is coming.

  May the Heavens watch over us all.

  —General Mathias Neogon

  ‘Oh god, Mom is going to get us killed.’ I thought, horrified.

  Still, the letter had a royal seal stamped on the top that looked legitimate. No one in this town really knew what that would look like. If I didn’t recognize Mom’s handwriting, I would’ve believed it entirely.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But to forge a warning from one of the generals… that was…

  I wanted to say unwise, but perhaps she knew something I didn’t. We’d have to survive the threat if we wanted to live to see the consequences of Mom’s actions.

  There was only one sensible direction war trolls and goblins could come from, and to get to us, they’d almost have to go through either Potato Gully or Mitoras, to the west and east, respectively. We lived on the northern side of the lake. For us to be attacked by a large force of War Trolls and goblins, it was almost guaranteed that one of those two towns would be attacked first.

  “Alright, alright!” came a boisterous shout, that I would’ve recognized anywhere. It wasn’t often Dobretin Mayor raised his voice but when he did, he could project with the best of them. He was mayor for good reason, and had been for several years now.

  The people bustling around the bar calmed at his presence. Dobretin was a big man who didn’t actually have a specific trade. Mayor felt like a misnomer to me, because what he did, and what Mayors from Earth did in April’s memory, was drastically different.

  Dobretin normally acted as a sort of gopher, helper, friend, and mediator when the situation called for it. One day, he might be harvesting with Dad, the next, hunting with Korlotom, and then that very afternoon, cooking with Edra Pub. He was… respected by the common people, and well known to them. His closest friends called him Bret. I personally called him Oppa and it annoyed him when anyone used his full title.

  We did so relentlessly.

  I was hard pressed to remember a time when I’d even seen a Mayor as April, let alone known one.

  The Count of Monte Cristo was one of his favorite stories. He pretended the sword fights in the end were his favorite parts, but what truly interested him was the reunification of Edmund and Mercedes.

  A path formed through the crowd as he approached the bar and read the letter quickly.

  He nodded to himself.

  “Well. That’s not good,” he murmured.

  “We must flee!” Shouted Nemmikel. “We should go to Denarla! We’ll be safe there!”

  “Flee? It’s harvest man! Run now, and we’ll starve come winter!” someone else barked.

  “How old is this news, goodman?” Dobretin asked, his words cutting through the crowd, muting them so they could hear his soft but solid words.

  “Less than two days. Received it in Lindolen in the dead of night, and I set off for Mitoras by first light yesterday,” he replied as he guzzled down a mug of water.

  “Hmm,” Dobretin murmured.

  I took a moment to focus on his need bubble. Surprisingly high requirements, Dobretin needed paper, ink, and ether dust. Perhaps I didn’t know him quite as well as I’d thought.

  Thus far, the requirements of my need bubbles had been arbitrary. Dad’s scythe, if made by hand, would’ve needed more materials than the talent craft had required. Sebinet Smith, by contrast, needed so much metal that I suspected I could build a skyscraper with it. I barely knew the man.

  Effect 2: The closer the bond, the fewer supplies you need to craft the item.

  My talent’s second effect seemed pretty straightforward. The amount of materials I needed for a bond craft didn’t correlate to the actual physical requirements needed to build something at all. It was only how close my relationship with them was. So… if I got to know more about Dobretin, did that mean the requirements of his need would lessen?

  What an arbitrary ass talent. I wasn’t complaining, though.

  I grinned as I looked over my newest skill.

  Fire Magic: 1

  I still had a decent thirteen free points based on the three bond crafts I’d accomplished so far, and realized with no small amount of horror that I might truly not be able to hide the rank of my talent. I'd only used it three times. I had always been a bit of a social butterfly when the benefits weren’t even tangible. Now, I had an active reason to learn everything I could about everyone.

  I had decided to bank the skill points for a future date, but dropping them all into Fire Magic right now seemed like it would be so much fun.

  “We will not flee. This is our home, and Mejoener is right. A fight is on our hands but the miles between us and the rift are long, and the towns between us are not undefended. Mitoras has its own strong hunters and veterans. If we leave our fields now, we will surely regret it in the winter,” he said.

  His words sobered me. Here I was, daydreaming about being a fire mage when real lives were at stake. Heavens, I hoped I was right.

  All around him, there were nods. Even Nemmikel was convinced, though he still looked spooked.

  “We should have expected something like this after Mera’s encounter, but it seems we’ve been given time to prepare. We must thank Atrinaska for her quick thinking with the pepper spray she and her daughter have invented. It has proven prophetic,” he said.

  The residents of the bar turned to me, and I beamed. “The key takeaway, here, is that I am awesome!”

  The crowd laughed. Dobretin grinned a little.

  “My friends, I am proposing what I believe to be the best course of action. We will form patrols, day and night. Three men together, per patrol, and each will carry with them one of Elmerina’s spray pouches. Those in distant homes must be informed, and if possible, brought to the town until the threat has passed. We must prepare ration bags and travel gear in case flight becomes necessary,” he said, his voice carrying with a somber tone. “We also must form a perimeter around the entirety of Pemolar’s Hill, to be guarded at all times, most heavily on the East. There… are no guarantees that this is the right course of action, my friends. But I believe it to be the best course.”

  “What… what can we defend ourselves with?” Uraleka asked as she lifted her head from reading the note.

  “If you have swords rusting beneath your beds, it's time to get them out. I’ll get the hunters to craft bows, spears, and knives. Every blade will be useful in the days to come. If you’re nursing a hidden martial or magical skill, it might be a good time to drop your free points into it. We’ve also been blessed with a new weapon recently. Those with no martial talents will be given pepper spray. I will personally buy as much of your stock as I can afford if you have more, Mera.”

  I shook my head. “No way. I’m not asking for payment when lives are on the line. We’ve been making clay balls that can be thrown and break on impact. Very effective if you hit them in the eyes, and I think they can be fired with slingshots. We’ve got dozens of them. They… they might help.”

  His eyes narrowed, rather than softened. “Your mother might see it differently.”

  “She won’t,” I replied, certainly. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if someone is hurt because they couldn’t afford to pay me for a little clay and peppers.”

  I meant it too. Sure, I wanted to make a profit off of the pepper bullets, but I loved these people. I… loved them dearly.

  If mom did get mad, then… well, I wouldn’t make her any more cool shit!

  That response, somehow, didn’t reassure him. He frowned even more. What… what had I done? Still, after a moment’s inspection, he nodded.

  “Very well,” he replied. “Thank you, Elmerina Farmer.”

  He dipped his head a little, and even my social skills weren’t enough to prevent a blush.

  “N-no problem,” I replied.

  Nobody was in the mood for a story anymore, and the pub cleared out quickly. All of the residents rushed off to let their families know about the imminent danger, leaving the bar mostly empty, save for the resting messenger, Lupkep, and his wife.

  “So… what’s your name?” I asked, sitting down at the bar next to the messenger as Lupkep laid a plate of food in front of him.

  “Mera,” a voice interrupted before he could answer, and I jumped as Dobretin stepped back into the bar.

  “Uh… Mayor?” I asked.

  His eyes were narrowed.

  “Walk with me a moment?” he asked.

  I gulped, frightened for some reason. Dobretin had always been a good friend of both my parents and me. Hell, I remembered him babysitting me as a kid once or twice.

  I had no reason to fear him.

  “S-sure,” I said, as I hopped off the barstool. Before I left, I turned back to the weary messenger. “That name? Before I go?”

  He grinned a little. “The song did say you were an outgoing lass. It’s Petanec. Friends call me Pete.“

  “Nice to meet you, Pete,” I said with a grin.

  A need bubble formed over his head as I turned and followed the mayor out the door.

  Till Next!

  MB