by Eric Ugland
He grimaced, but gave me a curt nod.
I did some quick introductions, and passed off the all the the responsibility of the passed out Essie to Lee. He was not amused.
Then I headed over to where Nikolai was holding the chains of the warmage and glaring at me.
“Okay,” I said. “Hit me with it.”
“Hit you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Nikolai hauled back and punched me across the face. I was stunned, and just stared at him. It’s not like it really hurt — it was just surprising.
“Not exactly what I meant,” I said.
“What are you thinking with this?” Nikolai snapped, shaking the chains at my face.
“This?” I replied. “Dude is a human.”
“Dude is a warmage.”
The warmage rolled his eyes.
“I am not even sure how it is that you managed to find yourself in possession of one. Do you realize the danger you have brought upon us?”
“No, clearly not. Despite what you may think, I’m not actively trying to fuck us over.
“And yet you do it so well.”
I reached over and unbuckled the warmage’s mask, then ripped it over his head.
Nikolai took a step back and had his hands up immediately.
“He’s a human being,” I said.
“I am a WarMancer,” came the warmage’s response, somewhat undercutting my attempt to humanize him.
“Dude, what the fuck?” I asked. “Do you want to stay wrapped up in chains?”
“The chains are there for a reason,” Nikolai said.
“What reason is that?” I asked.
“Your safety,” the warmage replied with a glint in his eye.
I took a deep breath, and let it out real slow because I was starting to feel a bit over all this nonsense. I was continually out of my depth because there was so much about this new world I had no idea about.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s all take a step back, and—”
The warmage whispered something quickly, and I saw these glowing runes zoom out and wrap around my head. It was super bright for a second, and then nothing.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked.
“You will unchain me now,” the WarMage said. “And you will free me from your contract.”
“Fuck you,” I said, and I popped him in the kisser with a jab.
His eyes went wide as his nose started to bleed, and then he fell over.
I looked at Nikolai, who had his eyebrows arched in that picture perfect I-told-you-so look.
“Warmage are those who have studied offensive spells and magic,” Nikolai said. “They exist almost exclusively to cause damage. To kill. Most also have certain levels of charm and command. They are dangerous. High level, they can kill great swaths of people, and there are not many ways to stand up to them. More than anything, it is rare to find a mage who has studied such destructive magic that did not lose some measure of control over themselves. They are unpredictable and often lose any moral compass they might once have had. The exposure to that much raw power effects humans poorly. That is one reason magic is so tightly controlled in Glaton.”
“So he’s a loose cannon,” I said.
“A cannon?”
“Right. He’s an indiscriminate killer.”
“Likely,” Nikolai said.
“I am not,” came the warmage’s warbling reply from the ground. He struggled a little, trying to come to sitting, and, instead, just settled for laying on the ground. “I was merely showing the danger that most think is possible. And all that nonsense about warmages is just that: nonsense.”
I helped the dude to his feet, and used my sleeve to clean some of the blood of his face.
“Thank you,” he said. “Those of us who train in fighting through magic are labeled as unstable because there were those in the past who chose to use their magics for evil. But those with swords have chosen the path of the tyrant, yet swordsmen are not thrown in chains.”
“You did not try to charm him?” Nikolai said.
“Yes, I did, but I could have cast a fireball, or—”
“Guys,” I said, hands out, “let’s both agree that it’s possible to kill a lot of creatures with magic or metal.”
“I am not a lunatic looking to wreak havoc and cause death. I have a gift with magic, and I chose to focus on protecting my country and those in my country.”
“Seems legit to me,” I said.
Nikolai’s face took on a grim look. It was immediately clear he wasn’t buying it.
“There are reasons these men and women are kept in chains—” Nikolai started.
“Fear, mistrust, and bigotry,” shouted the warmage in reply.
“Your kind has been behind the worst atrocities this empire has faced—”
“Yet I have not.”
Silence between the two men. I wasn’t sure if I should interject something. I felt like we should give the dude the chance, but it seemed like I didn’t have a real say since I didn’t know the full scope of the history. It made no sense to keep people chained up because of what they might be able to do.
“And if you worry about my powers,” the warmage said, “I used my strongest charm spell on the duke, and he shrugged it off with no problem. If I misbehave, he may kill me.”
“You must join his hirð,” Nikolai said. “Then we will allow you to walk free, without chains.”
“Now wait a minute,” I said.
“Hush,” Nikolai snapped, keeping focused on the warmage.
“It’s my—”
Nikolai snapped his gaze to me and I shut up.
“And if I choose not to?” the warmage asked.
“Then we will escort you back to Osterstadt,” Nikolai said. “And we return you to the guild from whence you came.”
“The Magic Circle,” I said.
“Whatever it may call itself,” Nikolai replied.
Another tense stand-off.
The warmage nodded. “A life in chains either way.”
“Lord Coggeshall is not a typical man,” Nikolai said. “He will not abuse you in the way you imagine. He is kind, almost stupidly so. Clearly, as he has been willing to trust you when no one else would.”
“I’m right here,” I said. “You can ask questions of me.”
“Would you force me to kill for you?” he asked.
“You mean, like in war?”
“No, I mean, in peace. I do not want to be your means of execution.”
“Buddy, I’m drowning in ways to kill people. And, if I do my job correctly, I’d really prefer to tone down the whole killing everyone thing.”
The warmage nodded once. “I will join you with but one proviso.”
“What?” I asked.
“I would prefer to be known as WarMancer.”
I gave the man a bit of a smile. Just like that, I had a WarMancer in my hirð.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The WarMancer was a 28-year-old human male named Tarryn Flynn. I know because that’s how he introduced himself to me.
“I am a 28-year-old human male, and my name is Tarryn Flynn.”
He seemed unsure of how to move himself without the chains on, and his arms and legs had marks around them from years with manacles around them.
Nikolai seemed a little more at ease with Tarryn now that he was part of the hirð. I took a quick peek at his character sheet, and he had some decent stats.
Tarryn Flynn
Lvl 19 WarMancer
Statistics
HP: 269
STAM: 229
MP: 596
Attributes
Strength: 11
Agility: 12
Dexterity: 12
Constitution: 13
Wisdom: 18
Intelligence: 29
Charisma: 12
Luck: 11
Nikolai and WarMancer walked back over to the camp together, talking about spells and combat.
Lee and Nathalie
were heading back towards the city. I ran after them.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Picking up the wagons and supplies I’d managed to purchase already,” Lee said. “I did get a little done while you were in the dungeon. Just not everything you wanted.”
And they were gone.
I was trying to process my feelings of forcing Flynn to join my hirð — it felt wrong, somehow. I’d literally just forced him to tie his life to mine. I suppose, in a sense, it might be worth it because as long as I was around, he wasn’t going to be chained up. But I agreed with him in that sense that it was like a trade of physical chains for metaphysical ones. Was I wrong in what I’d done? Or what I’d let Nikolai do in my stead?
Ragnar and Skeld came tromping up in front of a large colorful wagon behind them being pulled by two creatures that seemed like a predator version of a yak. Big snout, lots of teeth, long hair, curled horns, and taloned feet that gripped the ground with ease.
I shot off my identification spell their way.
Gravlux
Lvl 9 Beast
Something new every day.
Skeld stopped off where I stood, while Ragnar guided the wagon up towards the camp site.
As it passed, I got a look at the person driving the wagon, my first glimpse of a battenti.
A small creature, somewhere between two and three feet tall, he seemed a bit like a cross between a fox and a bear, in miniature. He had very large pointy ears that stuck almost straight up. A bit like a fennec. A large, drooping mustache swooped off the end of a squared-off muzzle filled with sharper teeth than I’d anticipated. A lithe pipe stuck out between his teeth, sweet smelling smoke curling up and over, drifting behind him. He saw me watching him, and he gave a slight wave.
“The battenti?” I asked.
“Indeed,” Skeld replied.
“Any issues?”
“None.”
“Are they ready to roll?”
“Yes.”
“And they have some skills?”
“Oh yes,” came a melodic voice to my left. “That we do.”
I looked over to see the little guy with the pipe standing very near me, looking out over the city of Osterstadt as if he’d been there with us the whole time.
“My clan is full of skills and I believe we will prove to be very useful citizens of your new lands.”
I looked down at him. He looked up at me and he smiled.
“Lanfrank of the clan Nightdelver.”
“Lanfrank, I’m Montana Coggeshall—”
“You are the duke,” he said, nodding. “I know.”
“Why’d you want to leave Osterstadt so badly?”
“We were never quite welcome there,” he said, looking over at his clan setting up their wagon.
It wasn’t a huge wagon, but with their small size, they managed to squeeze two stories out of it. From the look of it, the second level mainly held beds, and the first was devoted to all the other comforts of home. They popped up little windows to let in some extra light, and, I suppose, give additional headroom. A large balcony folded out from the main level, something along the lines of a porch where one older looking battenti pulled out a small rocking chair and sat down, gazing over everyone with a contented sort of a smile.
“I admit,’ Lanfrank continued, “that we might not be your first choice for tasks like cutting down trees or constructing edifices, but we are able to do a great many things you tall folk forget to think about.”
“I am very glad to have you along,” I said, giving a slight bow of my head, “and I am honored you believe I am able to protect you.”
“Quite sure we can protect ourselves,” Lanfrank countered, “but you may feel honored all the same.”
He gave me a pat on my leg, and then moseyed back to his wagon.
“Interesting chap,” I said to Skeld.
“I would like to think so,” Lanfrank called over his shoulder. He blew a smoke ring straight up in the air, and it seemed to follow him like a halo.
Skeld just threw me a smile.
Emeline walked over to me, a smile on her face.
“Any trouble getting the books?” she asked.
“The books—” I started to ask for clarification, but the reality came rushing back and smacked me upside the metaphorical head. “The books.”
“You forgot?!?” she snapped.
“No,” I lied, “not really. Just, I had other things to do and I’m going back to get them right now, okay?”
She put her hands on her hips. I gave her a big smile and a little wave and started back down the hill towards the city.
“Fucking books,” I mumbled.
“I can still hear you,” Emeline shouted.
“Go do something useful,” I retorted, wishing I could put some points in a skill for good comebacks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The guards stopped me at the gate.
Two human men stood there with the smug smiles of middle-school bullies.
“You have business in Osterstadt?” the taller one asked.
“Just a quick visit to a cemetery,” I said. “I am but a humble traveller and merely seek to kneel before the graves of my ancestors and beseech their blessing.”
The taller one smirked at the shorter guard, but the shorter guard seemed to have some reaction to the words.
“Well,” the short one said, “go on with you then.”
“Wait,” the tall one whispered, “what about—”
The short one shushed the tall one, and looked back out across the fields in front of Osterstadt. “Go on in,” he repeated to me.
“Thank you,” I said, and started walking.
“He could have paid an entry fee,” the taller guard said, trying to whisper but missing the mark.
“He is just a country bumpkin looking to do something nice,” I heard the shorter guard say. “No need to fleece coin from him.”
I moved through the crowds as quickly as I could, trying to slip out of sight of the guards. I had no reason to think they were watching me or following me, but I didn’t want to increase the odds. After a few blocks, I pulled out my new fantastic map, and did some pinching and squeezing and moving around until I was pretty sure I knew where I was, and then I rotated the map around me, trying to find the oldest cemetery in the city. Which was somewhat challenging considering that didn’t happen to be the name of any of the graveyards. Another problem with the map, not everything was named. There were some places I assumed might be temples of churches, some of which had titles, but others were just large buildings that seemed to be the anchor points for city squares. While the map certainly had some use, a ton of use, it was not approaching Google Maps quite yet. So, I turned off the main thoroughfare and looked for the one place I knew where I could get information: a bar.
Five minutes of walking down streets, and I found a small square with a variety of shops around it. In the middle, there was a statue of a man with a spear in one hand and a monster’s head in the other. Pigeons and other birds clamored to sit all over the statue, their poop covering the carved head in a grotesque approximation of blood. Charming. I looked at the various signs, and tried to guess the establishments. This close to the outer wall, the places were nice enough and, in my estimation at least, catered to a crowd made up of visiting merchants. There were plenty of places to stay, but little in the way of homey vibes. Also, a distinct lack of tradesmen. No blacksmiths or the like anywhere nearby. There was one sign that made me chuckle: The Randy Badger, which had a badger being, well, randy.
I walked across the square, and pushed the door open.
The Randy Badger was empty.
I looked back outside. It was only late afternoon, the sun was still up in the sky. I guess it made sense in these pre-lightbulb times, workers would take all the daylight they could to do what they did.
A man came rushing out from the back to stand behind the bar.
“Coming in?” the man asked.
“Yes I am,” I said, and took the last few steps until I could lean against the bar.
“What can I get for you?” he asked with a wide smile under a magnificent mustache. It was big and black and had a glorious curl to either end.
“Ale and a bit of information, my good man.” I flipped a gold coin on the bar.
Like with most barmen I knew, that gold coin barely bounced before it disappeared.
“Ale I can get,” he said with a smile, “not so sure about the information.”
“Oh?”
“Well, depends on what you seek.”
“I’m looking for the oldest graveyard in Osterstadt.”
“Ah. For that I might be able to help you.” He pulled a wooden mug from behind the bar and filled it with ale, then slid it in front of me. “Just a moment.”
Then he walked off, disappearing into the back.
I sipped the ale.
It was fine. Warm, so that was disappointing, but in terms of flavor, it was nutty and robust, more than tasty enough to make up for the temperature.
I could hear people talking in the back. Then the bartender came out again, this time followed by a woman. She had dark hair pulled into a bun, and the sort of face that always seemed to be smiling.
“The wife has a question to ask,” the bartender said, “before—“
“The wife?” she asked, looking at her husband with a raised eyebrow. “I am ‘the wife’ now?”
“My wife?”
“Whose wife would I be, cooking in the back of our bar?”
The bartender gave his head a shake and took a big step back, knowing the when it was time to ease the foot out of his mouth.
“Are you Duke Coggeshall?” the wife asked.
I paused then smiled. “I mean, if you can keep it quiet, yeah. I am.”
The bartender was shocked, and then looked back and forth between myself and his wife.
“Uh, my lord,” the barkeep said, dropping into a bow of sorts with his head coming close to the bar-top.