“Not quite,” Basilard replied. “Done yet?”
“Not quite,” Eric shot back. He hated when Basilard did that.
Minutes later, snores were heard from his general direction.
And so Eric passed the morning with his team; the fighter beating the dust out of a rug, the healer unhappily washing clothes, the sergeant napping and, himself, the mage, also scrubbing clothes. It wasn't what he imagined himself doing after college . . . he glanced at the old-fashioned clothing he was wearing, then at the magic staff lying at his side. It definitely wasn't what he imagined himself doing after college. Despite the warm day, he shivered.
Termination from a job was nothing new to him, but being fired from a mercenary guild meant more than lost income. If he were a blacksmith and wasn't good enough, then he'd find another job, but he was a mercenary and if a mercenary isn't good enough in a life-or-death fight . . . He gulped and scrubbed with renewed intensity.
Around midday, their clients handed Basilard the fee. “Thank you for your hard work.”
Basilard accepted it. “Our pleasure.”
The painter family lived in the Brown Town of Clay and Creation where artisans lived and worked. Instead of the bang of hammers and occasional fight, there was only the steady hum of pottery wheels and market chatter. Eric couldn't tell what the buildings were made of because every one of them was covered in clay or paint or whatever the occupant's trade happened to be. It reminded him of dogs marking their territory and he laughed . . .until he remembered that they could very well be dogs.
Basilard handed Mia the fee he received and she sorted the coins. “Anything eventful happen?”
“No, just another day with laundry,” Basilard said with a shake of his head. How would he know? He was asleep the whole time . . . “Is there another job for us?”
Mia hummed a catchy tune as she selected a window and scrolled. “Nope,” she chirped. “All active requests have been accepted by other teams.”
“Good,” Basilard said. “Novices, to the training hall.”
“Won't Aaloon want a report?” Nolien asked.
Basilard waved in dismissal. “He can wait for this one. Let's go.”
Eric didn't think he could train all of them; a battle mage, a healer, and a swordgirl, but Basilard was a master of all three arts; just like everyone else in Squad Five. The Senior told them to wait at the Training Hall while he made a stop at the Squad Two Lounge.
The Training Hall was the lowest level of the guild and the only accessible by a twisting flight of stairs. Eric suspected the designer to be a sadist. Wooden training dummies and weights stacked by degree lay at the borders. Archery targets and big sacks of sand hung from the ceiling. Runes were carved wherever one looked. The Training Hall gave mages and warriors a safe place to practice new abilities. If something went wrong, no one else would get hurt.
Basilard returned with a wooden box. On the front were latches with runes carved into them. He put it on the ground and said, “Nolien, inside this cooler is a dead bird. Your task is to find out why he died and propose a spell that could have saved him. When you're done, we'll practice minor healing.”
Nolien nodded and picked up the box. However, he showed his reluctance in the way he dragged his feet and heaved it to a corner. Eric knew he wanted to work on living subjects-do real healing-but Basilard insisted he practice on dead things. Nolien chaffed at the restraints.
Next, their mentor pointed to a training dummy. It was similar in shape and material to the others, but specialized with runes. They made three circles surrounding Tiza's name.
“Tiza, this training dummy is a special order just for you; you and your limitless energy. The longer you fight it, the harder and faster it's going to hit. If you feel it's too much, just step back and it'll shut down.” Tiza's eyes brightened and Eric sighed. Tiza the Adrenaline Junkie, as he and Nolien called her, would love to fight a dummy that could fight back. “When you're done warming up, we'll spar.” Tiza nodded eagerly. Basilard turned to Eric and waved him toward the targets at the back of the room.
“All right, Eric, today you will learn elemental magecraft.”
“We've been busy, haven't we, Daylra?”
“Yeah, jousts are good for business.”
Eric read all about them at the library. They used to be solely for the nobility's sport and training, but over time, the rules were changed so anyone could participate. More joined and thus more were training. They were so focused on the prize that they didn't notice others making money off their efforts. While a jouster could win such grand prizes as fair lady's hand, tracts of land, or cold hard cash, a jouster's assistant was guaranteed payment regardless if their jouster won or lost.
It was also a good opportunity for horses to show off, or for blacksmiths and artists to show their wares. All these people worked on their craft and didn't have time for things like their laundry. The more Eric read, the more it reminded him of competitions back on Threa; businesses sponsored athletes in exchange for endorsements.
Basilard glanced over at Tiza, who was already having a blast fighting the training dummy. Her stance was firm and she struck with precision. “Jousts are also the biggest gathering of eligible bachelors all year,” he said over the sound of steel hitting wood. “A great opportunity for girls to get a husband.”
Tiza's stance changed and she started hacking. It responded in kind and hit faster, making her speed up and it responded until Tiza had to jump away to catch her breath.
“Anyway.” Basilard fidgeted once. “Let's start your lesson.”
“You don't just picture fire or water.” Basilard held out his hands, palm up, and mana bolts appeared. “Create the bolt, then imagine it changing into the element you wish.” The one in his right turned red and gave off heat until it burst into full flame. The one in his left became even bluer and swirled and suddenly it was water. “It's a two-step process.”
Eric closed his eyes and looked within himself. Gently drawing mana out, he let it flow through his arms, into his staff, and concentrate at the end.
“Crimson fire, grant my desire! Fireball!” A spark appeared at the head of the staff, but snuffed out immediately. Eric felt a weight in his heart. Abyss take it! Why does this always happen!? He turned towards his teacher and saw him with a hand to his chin. Basilard told him to try the water spell.
Eric shrugged off the dark feeling. “Infinite sea, grant your power to me! Waterball!” A sphere of mist gathered. He focused harder and chanted the spell a second time. The mist grew thicker and eventually condensed into water. He fired it and knocked the target over.
“Eric, have you ever tried the fire spell without your staff?”
“Nolien said lesser mages couldn't do magic without them.”
“It's not impossible; only harder because lesser mages require the boost the staff provides.” Basilard chuckled. “Apparently it's the opposite for you.”
Eric felt like his insides were shriveling up. “What's wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” Basilard said warmly. “The problem is with the staff. It must have been made from a tree that was suffering drought; it won't allow fire spells because of its fear. Try again.”
Eric reslung his staff and recited the fire spell once more. A spark appeared in his cupped palms.
“Fan it with your mind,” Basilard said. “It's like blowing a balloon.”
Introduction to Magecraft was more poetic: “Imagine the air going directly into the spark; expanding it; transforming it into true fire.” He felt something blaze into life. Floating in his hands was a small ball of fire. The weight in his heart vanished; melted by the fire he could suddenly create at will. He smiled at the little flame.
“It goes without saying that you have to be careful with this kind of magic.”
Don't play with fire . . .Eric's smile turned into a smirk . . . I'm not playing, I'm training. With that thought, he threw the fireball at another target and it burst into flames.
“It was, after all, The Trickster himself that taught sapients the original fire magic. 'Grant my desire'; all the desires of pre-historic humans could be fulfilled with fire. It banished the darkness, warded off monsters, cooked meat, defeated enemies.”
Eric spawned a second one. The fire didn't burn him, but the thought of someone throwing it at him was a scary one. “He wanted to see what would happen.”
“More or less. He's the type that will give you a disease and its cure at the same time.”
Eric cast a second spell in his free hand. Like his mentor before him, he held both fire and water. “Why are you telling me all this, Daylra?”
“The Trickster has taken an interest in you. I thought you'd like to know something about him.”
The muttering of “Laughing Medicine” drew their attention to Nolien. He was examining a light construct of the bird's body and moving parts as if it were a smart phone. Basilard assigned Eric twenty repetitions of each spell and checked on the healer. Eric wasn't a med student in college, so he didn't understand the solution. Then he heard a shout and saw Tiza had been disarmed by the dummy and she was shouting foul words at it. Eric knew many from his big brother, but the variety of Tiza's rant impressed him nonetheless.
By the time, the sun traveled to the west Eric could make a sizable ball of water or fire given a minute to concentrate, Nolien could fix moderate injuries in the same time span, and Tiza could fight the dummy for half an hour before it disabled or disarmed her. On their own, they lasted about five seconds before Basilard “killed” them. As a team, they could last fifteen seconds.
Basilard sheathed his sword. “We have a lot of work to do, team. I expect you all back here after dinner for unity drills. Dismissed.”
Tiza returned to her personal dummy. She ignored both of them when she could. Nolien shouted for a chess opponent and Culmus answered. The two had some prior history and Nolien spent most of their free time together. Neither would explain that history despite Eric's persistence. Eric himself went home. School was long since over and his friends were divided amongst their own homes so he had nothing else to do. He opened the door out of the room and bumped into someone.
Aio pulled him up. “Hey, Roomy!”
“Oh, hey, Aio. I haven't seen you in a while.”
Aio shrugged. “Oh, you know how it is. Joust, busy with missions, that sort of thing.”
“Do you wanna play--”
“Listen carefully, Roomy. I have information you might want to hear.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. One of Basilard's general lessons was never to turn down free information, especially from fellow guild members. “I'm listening.”
“If I were to be at the Joust, particularly close to the royal box, I'd keep an eye on the princess.”
“Sure . . .how come?”
Aio was already backing away. “I've said too much already, Roomy, really I have. Gotta go!”
The albino dashed up the stairs with Eric in pursuit. He slipped into a room and slammed the door shut behind him. Eric reached for the knob, when it turned on its own. The person who walked out did not smile with the harmless mischief of Aio, but the maniacal glee of a certain captain.
“Otherworlder, how nice of you to drop by,” Hasina said. Eric avoided eye contact and backed away, slowly. “I'm supposed to be answering a house call, but . . .” She advanced with a predator's caution. “I can spare a minute if you want to talk.“
“Oh n-n-no . . .th-thaat's all right, C-captain. I w-wouldn't want to k-keep you . . .“
Hasina pinned him to the wall and loomed over him. “I insist.” Her eyes lit up in excitement and her staff responded. I'm gonna die a lab rat!
“Captain!” Hasina groaned and Eric sighed. “What are you doing here!?”
Hasina spun around and with an air of innocence. “Oh . . .Lieutenant . . .I was just . . .ah . . .” Eric edged away from the mad healer. “ . . .giving the Otherworlder chiropractic therapy.” Her arm shot out and snared the escaping Eric. “Isn't that right, Otherworlder?” Eric didn't want to agree, but was too scared to contradict his tormentor, so he said nothing. The grip on his arm tightened painfully.
“Captain, let go. You're hurting him. Besides, you have a job to do.” Hasina reluctantly released her prey and Eric rubbed his arm to restore circulation.
“Next time,” she said under her breath.
“What was that, Captain?” Jemas asked.
“Text rhyme!” Hasina said. “Text rhyme, text rhyme, riddle riddle rhyme!” Jemas rubbed his forehead. Eric had seen that same posture countless times on Esoil; he felt sorry for them both.
The odd couple left and Eric sighed once more; he escaped the examining table. When he finally opened the door, he found nothing. Well, if he's that determined to avoid me. He had other friends to—the thought stopped him cold and he smiled. I have other friends . . .
The next day, the Joust began and the city was alive with activity. Given the nature of the city, it could have been metaphorical, literal or both. Eric was too tired to care.
The mage hadn't slept well because of all the pounding, scraping, and thumping on the bridge above his house. He tossed and turned for hours before sleep came. When he awoke, his alarm clock declared, “You're late!” In a panic, he jumped out of bed and tripped over all the junk on the floor. On reflex, he rolled with the fall, got to his feet, and ran out.
He was the last one to arrive. Even Tiza beat him, but she looked even more dead on her feet than he did. It wasn't the first time he was glad his roof was a bridge and not a forge. Mia handed her a cup of coffee. She blushed and awkwardly accepted it.
“An unusual amount of the castle's regular guard is competing in this year's tournament so they're a little short handed.” She reached above her head and pulled the mission bill out of thin air. This no longer surprised Eric, but where she pulled it from did. Two days earlier, she pulled it out of her own mouth, and before that, his belly. “They want someone to fill in the gaps.”
“Then why are they hiring us?” Basilard asked. “I'm better than ten of their soldiers, of course-”
“Of course.” Mia agreed.
“But my team is made of new novices,” Basilard continued. “Hiring them is like shouting they're short handed.”
“Yes, that's what I told them, but they insisted,” Mia said. She put a finger to her chin and tilted her head slightly. “I think they don't expect any trouble and a novice team is cheaper.”
“Cannon fodder. They want us to buy them time if something does happen.”
Mia nodded and her ponytails bopped. I don't wanna be cannon fodder! “But the messenger said Kasile was the one to suggest your team, so who knows?” She shrugged. Eric blushed as he remembered the beautiful princess. Suddenly, being cannon fodder didn't seem so bad.
Basilard turned to his students. “What do you think, team? Do you want to go to the Joust and stand around all day?” Nolien and Tiza looked uncertain, but Eric saw no reason to hesitate.
“We're getting paid to do nothing? Sounds great.”
A large grin broke out on Basilard's scarred face and he gave Eric's shoulder a playful punch. “That's the spirit! I was gonna go anyway, but now I'll have company.”
“I thought you didn't like royal events,” Nolien said.
“I don't, but Culmus is competing and I'm going to support him.”
“Why?” Tiza asked, all too amused. “Does he need a lance ‘cause his sword isn't big enough?”
Eric chuckled, then swiftly covered his mouth when Basilard scowled.
“Stop making fun of him. He's my nephew and I won't stand for it.”
Nolien blinked. “He's really your nephew?”
“In an obscure and round-about way.” Basilard said, “Didn't Tsilaer talk about the guild family?”
“Yes . . . but I thought that was some silly gimmick.”
“Nope!” Mia said. “Basilard's my uncle, which makes Culmus my obscure and round-about cousin. You know R
aki, right? She's my big sister. Leader Ridley and Captain Hasina are sisters too. Old Man Aaloon is the great great great grandfather of many of us, including me! Esoli and Kae too, they're distant cousins, and they're related to Retis whose related to Captain Giji, whose related to Alf—”
“That's enough,” Basilard said, “There you have it, Nolien; the six stages of separation.”
The healer could only stare. “That's a convoluted family tree . . .”
They were walking, of course.
Almost everyone did; most vehicles transported merchandise, not passengers. Roalt just wasn't big enough to make cars a practical industry. Some rode horses and Eric, just for fun, guessed at their relationship. A human boy passed them on a pony and by the way the boy held on by hugging the horse's neck without even a saddle, they were probably best friends. Then there was a man who carried reins in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other.
You'd think that would be illegal in this world. Eric saw a similarly-equipped boy ridding behind the man; a familiar boy with silver hair. . . ..Norej . . .from the noble Darwoss family. Annala said they lost power a long time ago, but apparently, they still have enough to feed their egos.
There were other mounts in the crowd besides horses; lizards as big as his hand rode on the shoulders and head of a human wearing a yellow jacket. A bull marched by with birds on his back. There were people climbing onto a large turtle. At that, Eric shook his head. They won't get there by nightfall, let alone the Joust. Then the turtle rose above the crowd and floated at a slow and steady pace. I stand corrected.
If Eric had any lingering doubts about the similarities between Ataidar jousts and Threan sports, they were vanquished as soon as he arrived at the stadium. There were people everywhere flooding in and some had coats of arms painted on their faces. A section of land was reserved for vehicles and there were poles in the ground that asked for coins.
Team Four walked past a cart with people gathered at the back. A jar standing on the edge spouted a small flame beneath an attached metal grill sizzling slaps of meat. Everyone had a bottle in their hand, paw, claw, etc and more at their feet. Tailgating . . . they probably don't call it that though.
A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) Page 15