Apprentice: Book One of The History of Lorelan Grey

Chapter One: Turnips, Palaces, and Straw Hats

Cover idea by @tragicallyinlove.

As a result, this chapter is dedicated to this wattpadder. Just in case the heart button thing didn't work.

Also, thank you to:

@NemoThePenguin

@AvaD499

Find these people to find awesome.

~

No matter what Aunt Marn said, the turnips looked funny. Turnips were supposed to be purple and round and fat, but the lump Marn was currently hacking away at was wrinkled and skinny and a sickly shade of green. Lorelan didn't feel like getting his head chopped off, so he silently put the onions in front of her, carefully avoiding the swishing knife.

"Go deliver that bag of flour to the baker's," Marn barked. "And hurry it up. Lunch will be ready soon."

"Yes, Aunt Marn." Lorelan hoisted the white sack over his shoulder with a grunt and left through the door beside the shop.

Lorelan lived with his aunt in the capital of Lydian, a sprawling city called Arenli. His parents had passed away many years ago while situated in a small village, during a time when it had a sudden and brief stroke of a plague. At least that was what his aunt had told him. Sometimes he liked to imagine his parents doing something rather more exciting, like fighting a dragon or saving a village from a swamp beast.

Lorelan didn't remember them; he had been sent over for a visit to the old bat herself as a baby, because of a bad rash. Marn had a bit of experience with herbs and the like. A few days after he had been dropped off, his aunt had gotten a late letter from Lorelan's parents, explaining their situation. The only nice thing she had ever said to him was when she told him: "They loved you, you know."

Lorelan glanced up at the sky. Thanks, you two. He pulled the sack up more securely and jumped down the steps.

The bakery, thank god, wasn't that far away. Lorelan shouldered his way through the thick wooden door into the shop, appreciating the symphony of warm smells coming from the oven in the back. He dumped the sack into the waiting arms of Salvander Voskin, a huge, burly man with a thick black mustache. Salvander's muscles bulged as he lifted the flour easily and threw it into a corner of his shop, then turned and grinned down at Lorelan, white teeth contrasting with his dark brown skin. "Greetings, string bean."

"Truly," Lorelan sighed. "You shame every bully I've ever met."

Salvander chuckled. "D'you know what I saw this morning? I saw Marn tying up about fifty sacks from her field."

Lorelan grabbed a slice of bread from Sal's cutting board and stuffed it in his mouth. It was still warm and soft, the crust making a wonderful crunching sound as he bit down. "So?"

"And she woke up Max."

Lorelan stopped chewing. "No."

"Oh yes," Sal said thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think that ox should've been born a mule. Stubbornest thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"What do you think it means?"

"Dunno," Sal grinned. "But I think you might be in for something interesting."

He tossed a few silver coins into Lorelan's palm. Lorelan widened his eyes in a pitiful sort of way, and the baker grunted, fishing around in the pocket of his apron and lobbing an extra coin at the boy's face. "Stealing from us honest folk..." he muttered.

"Thanks, Sal," Lorelan said, grinning and tucking the coin into his pocket. Salvander was one of the only people around in a three mile radius that Lorelan dubbed to be 'okay', as long as you didn't get in the way of his baking. He was especially touchy when you caught him in one of his cake episodes.