Split the Party

by Drew Hayes

  “Rouse.” The final word left Grumph’s lips as a whisper, the only piece of the spell that actually made sense to him. He felt the spell form, then burst through the air as it found no target for its energizing gifts. All three of the mages staring at him seemed to perk up and stiffen, no doubt taking in a bit of the spell’s effects, but it was only the elf who rose to his feet, staring at Grumph in disbelief and wonder.

  “That was not a beginner’s spell. We have mages far above your skill level who would struggle to cast it, yet your form was flawless. How have you managed to master a spell clearly so far above your experience?”

  “My friends were being attacked. They needed help. We were going to die, so I made it work.” Grumph agreed with Thistle’s philosophy on lying: it was far better to merely tell selective truths. Not only did it allow one to keep a story straight, but it was a way around any spells or wards that watched for those who crossed the threshold into falsehood.

  “Forced growth through immediate peril.” The human woman seemed interested for the first time since Grumph had walked in the door. “Not unheard of, but pretty damn far from common. Let’s step back a moment, though. You said you were a wizard?”

  Grumph nodded, wary of what question might come next.

  “So that means you had to have someone show you the spell first, written out in a scroll or book. Where did you get that spell in the first place?”

  “In a book from another wizard.”

  “Was this other wizard your teacher, the one who showed you how to work magic in the first place?” Ferdy asked.

  “No. He was dead, though not by my hand. I took the book and read.”

  If Grumph’s spell had shocked them, this announcement nearly knocked the committee over dead. Ferdy’s eyes bulged like Grumph had socked him in the gut, and the elf’s features grew tightly pinched. Even the woman seemed stunned, and Grumph suspected she’d only been paying half attention throughout his interview.

  “Grumph, I didn’t feel this needed spelling out, but it is a serious offense to lie to the committee during your request for membership into the mages’ guild,” said the elf, at last. “Knowing that, would you like to . . . rephrase . . . your claims?”

  “I do not.” Grumph met the man’s skeptical eyes with no fear. Every word he’d uttered so far had been honest, if perhaps not as in-depth as they could have been. He had no backpedaling to do, and even if that weren’t the case, he’d still have held firm. Retreating here would lose him all chance at victory, of that he had no doubt.

  “So, you are claiming to have found a spell book, and with no instruction or tutelage from any other wizard, taught yourself to cast the spells you’ve shown us merely through study?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  The elf looked at Ferdy, who was still wearing a face of shock even as he shook his head. This raised one of the elf’s eyebrows as he looked back to Grumph. No longer was his face merely pinched, though; it had begun to relax, and curiosity was twinkling in the still-glowing irises of his eyes.

  “Either you are telling the truth, or you’ve found a way to compromise our wards. Whichever is correct, they would both provide reason enough for you to find a place at the mages’ guild. You probably don’t realize this, but self-taught wizards are extremely rare. Most need to be shown, physically instructed, to master the art of even the most basic of spells. As overseer of the Apprentice Committee, I, Talcia the sorcerer, hereby approve your petition for trial membership.”

  “What is a ‘trial’ membership?” Grumph had an uneasy feeling as Fritz’s words echoed in his mind, cautioning him that mages were not prone to doing things quickly.

  “We allow you access to the guild, to the teachers and books that all full members get, and you use those to improve your skills,” Ferdy explained. “When you feel you’re ready, you can undergo the trials to gain full membership, which grants you all the rights and privileges of the mage’s council.”

  “I see.” Grumph turned the situation over in his head, carefully considering the options laid out before him. “Privileges . . . like the right to ask for help?”

  “It would depend on the circumstance, but we do look out for our own,” Talcia assured him.

  “Briarwillow has a magic plague caused by an artifact. Whole town has vanished in the night. Friends are trapped there, and the paladin sensed great evil. That kind of help?”

  Talcia tapped his hands against the stone before him, clearly weighing Grumph’s words. Nearly a full minute passed before he responded, and when he did, his words were measured and careful.

  “In that situation, with a great mystery to solve and the chance at scooping up a powerful artifact, I would likely authorize the use of two to four fellow mages for one of our full members. This is, of course, all dealing in hypotheticals, since it will be months—”

  “I’m ready,” Grumph interrupted. “Let me take the trials.”

  By this point, he’d so worn the three out in terms of surprises that they were scarcely able to manage more than a slight stirring at his declaration. Talcia seemed more cross than bothered; he’d obviously anticipated something like this when he gave his answer.

  “You can’t just jump from apprenticeship into the trials,” Ferdy protested.

  “Is there a time limit?” Grumph asked.

  “Well . . . yes, but it just says you have three years from your apprenticeship to undergo the trials. And that’s because most mages spend as long as possible preparing for them. No one ever wants to do them early,” Ferdy admitted.

  “I do. Please.” Grumph met the eyes of each of his judges one by one, hoping they could see, and would care about, the sincerity in his request. “Unless you will lend aid to a trial member.”

  “We would not,” Talcia replied immediately. “What you’ve described is a dangerous situation. Either the expedition would be led by a member of the guild or paid for properly, which I doubt you can afford. However, I will not allow you to step right into the trials. That would be a waste of potential, especially since your last spell channeled out all of your mana. Tell me, Grumph the wizard, did you know that’s why it drains you? You’re literally turning the mana you’ve gathered into physical energy for those you aid. Were you aware of that?”

  “No.” Grumph refused to look away; he and Talcia stared at one another like punches were about to be thrown.

  “I thought not. Such are the limitations of self-education. That said, I do not have it in my power to stop a trial member from undergoing the trials, so let me make you a deal. Your friends are in Briarwillow, which is three days’ ride from here, yes?”

  Grumph nodded, he was too familiar with the journey for his tastes by this point.

  “Then I want you to spend two of those days preparing for the trials. Let yourself learn and be taught by what we can offer. On the third day, you may attempt the ordeal itself. Should you prevail, I will personally see to it that you are sent back there by magic, saving you the trip.”

  “How much do you think he’s going to learn in a couple of days?” Ferdy asked.

  “I have no idea,” Talcia admitted. “But I also do not know how he taught himself to cast, and to manage such a difficult spell at that. With a few days, he might just surprise us. And, if nothing else, it will prove to be entertaining. You know how the mages love a good show. What do you say, trial guild-member Grumph?”

  “If I make it, I get help.” The offer of transport was nice, but useless if he wasn’t bringing mages back with him. Talcia seemed smart, which made him dangerous until Grumph had a better sense of the heart that lived below the cunning brain.

  “Agreed. Your expedition is authorized on the condition you pass the trials,” Talcia replied.

  There it was. Everything they’d hoped for. Everything they needed. Everything his friends were counting on him to provide. And all that stood between Grumph and his goal was a single ordeal. Granted, an ordeal that real spell casters spent years studying and preparing for
, but it was still a lone obstacle. One last problem to solve and they could get back to the others. Even if Grumph died undergoing the trials, he would do so without regret. After all his years alone, he again had people he loved enough to risk his life for. This was what it meant to have a party.

  This was what it meant to have a family.

  “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  Fritz looked up from her fourth slice of pie, not noticing Gabrielle gaping in wonderment over where this slender woman could possibly be stuffing all the food, and nodded to a cluster of robed people who were coming through one of the many doors in the cafeteria.

  “That might be something. They’re chittering like mice over there.”

  “Do mages requesting membership make that much of a stir?”

  Fritz grabbed a napkin and wiped away a trace of cinnamon-coated apple from her mouth. “Normally? No; we get them fairly regularly. Half-orcs, on the other hands, are quite the rarity. To my knowledge, there have only been a handful of them in the guild’s history.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about this place for not being a mage yourself.” Gabrielle’s tone wasn’t accusatory, not exactly, but there was certainly a barb buried in her seemingly innocent words.

  “Actually, I am a mage—a sorceress, to be specific—just not a very good one. And of course I know all about it: information is just another form of currency to the right folks. Now, do you want to sit around here asking me obvious questions, or shall we go cozy up to that group and see what they know about Grumph?”

  “Doesn’t seem like that will be necessary,” Gabrielle replied, pointing to another one of the doors that had just opened. If she had drawn stares with her red armor and fierce expression, Grumph had the entire room’s rapt attention strictly on him. He seemed to pay them no heed, however, merely walking briskly through the tables, Ferdy at his side, on a direct path for Gabrielle and Fritz.

  “How’d it go?” Fritz asked, leaning back in her chair.

  “Your traveling companion made quite the impression,” Ferdy informed her. “Not only was he accepted as a trial member, but he’s requested to undergo the trials to become a full member in a mere two days’ time.”

  A long whistle escaped Fritz’s lips as she stared at Grumph, while Gabrielle felt a rush of panic and energy not unlike what she experienced pre-battle. “That sounds dangerous. Why do you want to take some test?”

  “If I win, we get what we need.” Grumph saw no point in adding more to it than that. The facts were laid out quite simply: this was the best path forward, so it was the one he would take. Danger was irrelevant, so long as it only applied to him.

  “The longer I hang around you two, the more fun you turn out to be,” Fritz chuckled. “Taking on the trials with only a couple of days to study, that’s a gutsy move. Especially since there’s no complete win for you in it.”

  “Wait, he can’t beat whatever these trials are?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Oh, he can pass them, theoretically,” Fritz explained. “But I mean there’s no real win for him here. If he fails the trials, he’ll end up seriously hurt, possibly dead. On the other hand, if he passes the trials with only a couple of days to train under his belt, every mage in here with any sort of ego is going to hate him for showing them up, and mages collect ego like dragons collect gold.”

  “We worry later,” Grumph said, angling toward the food. “First we eat. Then I train.”

  “Like I said, more and more fun with each passing day.”

  Chapter 19

  Timuscor flipped over the rotted out barrels, revealing a small chest. Once upon a time, he’d have hoped to find gold, or gems, or even a magical trinket when he discovered such prizes. Now, he gritted his teeth and said a silent prayer to no god in particular that he would find only a single type of treasure contained within: books.

  In the basement of yet another home, digging about through a family’s collection of memories and antiques, books were all that Timuscor searched for. As tiring as it was to scour the town for something that seemed so meaningless, every trip back to Thistle made Timuscor feel shamed at even considering a complaint. All he had to do was find the things. Thistle was devouring them, reading each at least once, but likely far more times than that. Timuscor had always imagined that a paladin’s duties were simple, straightforward tasks: fight the monsters, protect the innocents, save the villages. Watching Thistle, Timuscor had begun to realize that what it meant to be a paladin, more than anything else, was devotion.

  Not just to a god, though that certainly seemed a necessary trait, but also to the jobs they were given, the problems they were expected to solve. Paladins couldn’t walk away if a task was too big. They were stalwart, committed. Even if the job was beyond their strength. Even if it wore them down and began to tear them apart. Thistle wasn’t sleeping well, if at all. Neither Timuscor nor Eric knew how much longer he could keep up this pace of study. If all went well, which seemed unlikely by this point, the others would be back in a few days. Perhaps they would bring some news or information that would let Thistle put his mind to rest. As for Timuscor and Eric, all they could do was keep the search going, hoping to find whatever book Thistle was searching for.

  Using the butt of his hilt, Timuscor smashed open the paltry lock and popped the chest open. A few gold coins, two rings, a locket, and a diary. Timuscor took only the coins and the book, as the owners likely wouldn’t be making any purchases from beyond the grave; touching the jewelry, clearly stored here with love and intent, felt too much like grave-robbing. He shut the chest closed once more, stuffing the goods in his bag.

  Maybe this would be the book that set Thistle free. It wasn’t likely, but hope was important, especially in times like these. Timuscor didn’t know if he could do it, were he in Thistle’s shoes. His was a mind built for battle and combat; poring over countless words would have been a living hell for him. Deep down, Timuscor suspected that were he to become a paladin—as he’d always dreamed—he would have found his own way to come at the problem. Not necessarily better or worse than Thistle’s, just one that played to his individual strengths. The longer he observed the gnome and his toiling, the more certain Timuscor became that each paladin had to find their own way to serve. It was all meaningless conjecture, though, at the end of the day.

  Much as he might dream of holding the same mantle as Thistle, it seemed none of the gods were offering.

  * * *

  “Given how little time you have to work with, we’re going to have to get you a tutor.” Fritz yanked the key out of her satchel and held it to one of the many doors leading out of the cafeteria. She twisted the knob to reveal what looked like the entrance to a stately manor. Ushering Grumph and Gabrielle through, Fritz immediately shut the door behind them. “And not just one of the mages everyone uses. You can’t get a half-assed education. Not if you want to have a shot at making it through the trials.”

  “Can you tell us what those ‘trials’ actually entail, please?” Gabrielle noted the size of the room Fritz had taken them to, as well as the corridors and large staircase, and then pushed such observations out of her mind. Grumph’s well-being was far more important than the strange workings of the guild’s doors. “Maybe if we have an idea of what he’s in store for, it will help Grumph better prepare.”

  “The trials are actually very straightforward,” Fritz replied. She headed for a sizable chair and nearly fell into it, sending a small could of dust into the air as she landed. Her hands spread as she motioned for them to take seats as well.

  “Grumph will have to prove he has skill, power, and determination: what the guild considers the three greatest traits for any mage to possess. How they test that tends to vary, as using the same trial for everyone would let applicants tailor their studying to passing that ordeal, rather than preparing for whatever might come at them. I’ve seen them set up elaborate dungeons, create magical puzzles, even summon dangerous beasts. They’ve got at least a hundred diffe
rent trials that I’ve seen used, and people are constantly coming up with new ones.”

  “Guess that means knowing what we’re facing is out,” Gabrielle muttered as she sank into one of the chairs.

  “Well, yes, but in a way, Grumph might have utilized one of the better strategies I’ve seen a wizard take,” Fritz added. “One of the biggest problems with the trials is the fear. As you spend your years studying, you see others go through their ordeals, and each time, you find something that you’re underprepared for. Mages end up spreading themselves too thin, trying to have the perfect spell for every situation instead of getting a few flexible ones down pat and learning to adapt their thinking. Grumph doesn’t have the option of overthinking or getting in his head. In a way, that makes jumping right in sort of brilliant.”

  “Thanks,” Grumph rumbled.

  “Of course, most mages also use that time to build up their spell catalog and mana reserves, which means you’re going into this thing with a severe handicap,” Fritz tacked on. “That part is significantly less brilliant.”

  “Let’s get back to how he might stand a chance,” Gabrielle suggested. “You mentioned something about getting him a tutor?”

  “Right, that. While I might be useless with a spell book, I do have a few folks around here that owe me some favors. If I can get one of the more experienced wizards to teach Grumph, he might just be able to master a few new tricks before the trials.”

  “How many tricks?” Grumph remained standing, forcing down the urge to pace. Now that the immediacy of the moment had passed, he was stuck in the looming shadow of the task before him. If he let the fear, or even the reality, of what he was facing into his mind, there would be no driving it out. His only hope was to focus on strategy, thinking about what he could do rather than what he might be facing.

  “That depends on you,” Fritz said. “Given that you puzzled through your book without any help at all, it’s obvious you’ve got a pretty keen mind. Still, spells get harder the more powerful they are, and the first casting is always the toughest. If you were to work constantly, with minimal sleep or distractions, and we got you a hell of a tutor, you might be able to learn two new spells. Maybe three, if they weren’t too difficult.”