by Drew Hayes
“Two or three new spells. Doesn’t seem like a lot,” Gabrielle noted.
“It’s not. Most mages know around thirty or so when they undertake the trials,” Fritz agreed. “But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. Before anything else, I need to see if I can find someone willing to train you.” She hefted herself out of the chair and headed for the door, golden key already in hand.
“Gabrielle, you’re going to stay here per guild regulations. Grumph, as a trial member, you can go to the cafeteria or the library; just say where you’re heading when you hold the doorknob. Feel free to explore around; I rarely spend any time in my quarters, anyway.”
“Wait, this is where you live?” Gabrielle turned about, admiring with new appreciation the sprawling area they were sitting in. She’d assumed Fritz’s quarters would be a room with a cot, and perhaps a window. They were in the front room of what was clearly a large estate.
“Nah, this is where I stay when I have to visit the guild.” Fritz smirked, clearly enjoying Gabrielle’s shock, and gave the barbarian an exaggerated wink. “Remember what I said earlier: all people really care about is who’s making them their money.”
With that, she swung open the door—briefly revealing a stone room with a torch burning off to the side—and vanished as it swung shut behind her. Just like that, Gabrielle and Grumph were alone for the first time since they’d run into the strange peddler and stuck in a mansion-sized room somewhere in the magical halls of the mages’ guild.
“When this is all over,” Gabrielle said, still eyeing the surroundings with awe, “I might seriously have to consider a career change. Think Fritz needs an apprentice trader?”
* * *
When Dejy took a seat at the Table of Mages, he’d expected many things. Respect, certainly, along with a fair bump in access to the treasury, plus the duty of using his tremendous power to handle the more problematic situations that vexed the guild. After all, the Table was as close to a ruling body as mages could handle, and those on it were expected to be equal parts powerful and devoted to their fellow spell casters. Dejy had expected a great many of the things he dealt with frequently, but one had taken him completely by surprise:
Dejy hadn’t counted on the amount of paperwork members of the Table had to endure.
Expedition forms, demands for financing, incident reports, and a seemingly endless string of mages requesting judgment from the Table on who was at fault in some petty feud. As an archmage, Dejy knew no fewer than a dozen potent spells to summon fire, and staring at the stack of parchment on his desk, it took every bit of self-restraint not to call upon them.
He ran his fingers through the thick, dark hair that adorned his head. Most members of the Table were either elven, and therefore looked ageless, or human, and wrinkled as forgotten grapes. Dejy was considered a prodigy, having made it to his station within the guild by the age of thirty—no small feat for a human. Of course, there were also whispers of backroom deals and secret alliances that accounted for his seat, but he paid no mind to those. Dejy, as well as those who had attempted to test their strength against him, knew he had more than enough power to back up his status. Some days, he wished one of the upstarts would actually give it a try. Anything to get a break from the monotony of paperwork.
Across his massive office, which was nearly choked with all manner of knick-knacks and decorations, his door slowly opened without as much as a knock. Dejy made sure an annoyed, sour expression rested on his face as the figure stepped through the now open door, though inside, he was actually delighted by the visit. Few people had the gall to walk in on him without proper formality, and the one he knew would be coming was a pleasant distraction. Still, appearances mattered, so he scowled at the elven woman as she shut the door behind her.
“Fritz.” It was a greeting, accusation, and statement all rolled into one. His elven guest gave a polite nod that in no way took away from her mischievous smirk and crossed the room until she was nearly at his desk. The trip was a quick one, though, in the process, she nearly took a tumble over a half-rusted set of armor and a stuffed, formerly possessed dragon toy.
“Dejy, you really need to clean this place up once in a while.”
“They’re all subjects of study.” There was no thought or fumbling for his excuse as Dejy defended his lifestyle; the words came automatically. Given that he had this fight at least once a week with some member of the guild, it was more habit than discussion for him. “At least, they would be, if I ever had any time to myself.”
“Poor Dejy, so talented and powerful that he got his wish of taking a seat at the Table, only to learn it came with actual responsibilities.” Fritz giggled, a demure sound she’d never have allowed most of the other mages to hear, and pressed a hand to one of the many stacks of paper on Dejy’s desk.
“Did you think it would be nothing but uncovering great ruins, studying ancient magic, and getting decadently drunk on the private reserve wine?”
“Maybe not all that stuff, but a little more would be nice,” Dejy grumbled. “You know, running that errand for you was the first time I’d left my quarters in nearly a week? I have assistants bringing me food, and they never seem to remember what my favorites are.”
Fritz smiled, all too aware that purposely bungling menial tasks was a tried and true way to avoid having to do more of them. Rather than point that out, however, she turned the topic toward more productive means. “If you ran the errand, I take it you got my message? I had to send it in a bit of a hurry.”
Dejy rolled his eyes, a motion that was almost sublime in its practiced perfection, honed from years of dealing with bureaucratic nonsense. “No, it didn’t make it through, that’s why there just happened to be an admission committee assembled when you brought some stray wizard to our door. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Oh Dejy, you know I couldn’t get a thing done without you . . . which is actually part of why I’m here. Tell me, did you bother to keep tabs on how the admission went?”
With an audible thump, Dejy slapped his hand on the hefty stack of papers resting in the bin marked “Completed.” Big as it was, it was dwarfed by the other, presumably uncompleted heaps of documents still scattered about the desk. “Does it look like I had time to watch some rookie mage petition for membership?”
“I thought you might have heard something. After all, it’s not every day we get a half-orc inside these halls.” Fritz’s smile didn’t deepen as she watched surprise ripple across Dejy’s face, though she failed to keep the humor from dancing in her eyes.
“A half-orc?” Dejy leaned forward, inadvertently smudging the document he’d been working on when Fritz walked in. “Where in the kingdoms did you find a half-orc that thought he could be a mage?”
“Thought nothing,” Fritz corrected. “Grumph was granted trial membership by the committee, and he’s ready to start training for the trials. Though, to be honest, he could use a tutor.”
Dejy sat back in his chair, studying his elven intruder carefully. What she was asking would no doubt cause a great drain on the little free time he had. Tutoring a wizard, especially a new one, was a time-consuming task, one he would have ordinarily refused outright. But training a half-orc . . . that was something different. Only a handful of the guild’s mages weren’t gnomes, human, elf, or half-elf, and the majority of those were dwarves. Half-orcs were in the guild’s history books, but with incredible rarity. Magic often tended to be a defense for those who are physically weak, and as such, the powerful half-orcs rarely had the need to develop skills for it. The chance to teach one, to see what they were capable of, would appeal to any mage. Curiosity, as much as power, defined what led one down the path of magic.
“I might be able to fit something in. Perhaps sessions once a month . . . no, every two weeks. They won’t be tremendously long, but I feel confident I can help shape his training even with so little time.”
“That would be great and all, but there’s one problem: Grumph is only training
for two days, and then he’s taking the trials. So we’d pretty much need you around to teach him as much as you can before then.”
A soft choking sound escaped the back of Dejy’s throat as he reeled at that revelation, eyes bulging like Fritz had socked him in his stomach. “Two days? You found a half-orc wizard that managed to qualify for the trials, and he wasn’t willing to wait more than two days?”
“There are some external time constraints. Friends in need, that sort of thing,” Fritz replied, unfazed by his reaction. “I’ll explain it all once you decide you’re on board, but I need to know if you’re willing to help. With only two days to train in, he needs an archmage, a wizard of incredible knowledge and power. Naturally, you were the first one who came to mind.”
“My ego is a mighty beast, but not even I am foolish enough to believe I can teach someone all they need to know in a mere pair of days,” Dejy protested.
“Then don’t teach him everything, just enough to get by.” Fritz lifted a stack of documents from the desk, fanning them out before her and letting them scatter like leaves in the wind. “He and his companion are interesting and might surprise you. Besides, won’t it be more fun than sitting in here, scribbling on these pages?”
“Even if I wanted to neglect my duties, we both know it’s impossible. There’s work to be done here, and it doesn’t halt just because you need a favor.”
“Fair enough. Let’s not call it a favor; let’s call it a trade.” Fritz slapped her hand on the desk and scooped up one of Dejy’s spare quills. “You go train the half-orc, and I’ll cover for you on the paperwork. All you’ll need to do is scratch out a few signatures so they’re official; I can handle everything else.”
Dejy rubbed his thumb against his cheek, considering the proposition. “You have to do all of it: enough to buy me a solid week off. And that’s a week on top of the days I spend training your friend. Think you can manage that?”
“Please, some of us have enough practice to plow through this stuff faster than an attack from a gelatinous blob. You worry about helping Grumph pass; I’ll tend to your precious paperwork.”
“If you can pull that off, then we’ve got a deal,” Dejy agreed. “Give me an hour to get things in order and to pop by the cafeteria for a proper meal, and I’ll be at your quarters to pick up the apprentice.”
Fritz nodded, turning back toward the door. Before she had her key fully raised, Dejy called to her, and for the first time, his voice was absent of the purposefully affected authoritative tone.
“Do you really think he’ll be able to pull it off? I mean . . . two days.”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Fritz admitted. “He’s self-taught, which means there are many basics for him to learn, and the spells he knows already are fairly limited in use. Grumph is determined, though, and that counts for a lot, especially in the trials. At the end of the day, I’d say he has a shot. The guy’s got talent, if nothing else. And you know that when I see talent in someone, I expect great things from them.”
Fritz scanned Dejy’s office—his vast, impressive office that he had been given as part of his promotion to the Table—and smiled. For a moment, time seemed to slip, and Dejy no longer felt like he was the prodigy mage talking to a simple trader. Instead, he was just a stupid farm boy standing in the middle of a dusty road, catching his first sight of the elven woman walking through their town. Her robes were splendid white with golden trim. Even if he hadn’t known what that signified at the time, Dejy could tell, even as a child, that it meant she was important. From atop her steed, the woman scanned the crowd, a look of polite boredom on her face . . . until she saw Dejy. Then, and only then, did the elven woman grace them with a smile, one that was meant just for him.
“Tell Grumph to be ready. If I’m going to train him, I’m going to see to it that he passes those trials.”
Chapter 20
“Knock knock.”
Russell looked up from the books spread across his bed to see Cheri standing in the doorway of his room, a glass of what he could only hope was iced tea in hand.
“You’re supposed to actually knock, not just use the words.”
“Pretty sure that only applies if the door is closed,” Cheri countered. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that Tim texted you; he’s stuck in traffic, so he’ll be late for the game tonight.”
“You’re definitely not supposed to be snooping around on my phone.”
“Well then, don’t leave it in the living room where you know your nosy big sis can notice it.” Cheri took a long sip from her glass, clearly scanning the array of documents and hand-scribbled pages on Russell’s desk. “Soooo . . . whacha doing?”
“Preparing.”
“Yeah, you’re running a module, which means most of the stuff you need is already done. Plus, we both know you don’t wait until the last minute to prep for game. Come on, you’re not me. Thus, I am forced to ask once more: whacha dooooooooing?”
Russell gritted his teeth as she stretched the last word, moving it in the sing-songy harmony she knew annoyed him. Tempted as he was to kick her out of the room or threaten to kill Chalara out of spite, part of him was also grateful she’d broached the topic. There was something he’d wanted to talk with her about, share with her, ever since she came back from college; he’d just never found a way to work it gracefully into a conversation. Plus, he worried she might think he was crazy, which would only match the suspicions he was beginning to carry about himself.
“Cheri, you’ve played Spells, Swords, & Stealth for longer than anyone else I know. Has anything . . . weird . . . ever happened during one of your games?”
“Are you kidding? Only all the fucking time. I remember one time, we were in the middle of slaying a nest of elder worms when one of those little shits grabs my barbarian in its mouth and swallows me whole. Now I’ve got her hacking through a giant, acid-filled stomach, when what should I come across but—”
“No, not . . .” Russell sighed, putting his hand on the module book. Next to it were handwritten copies of each section, scrawled out over and over again in several notebooks worth of paper. “Not in the game. During it. Like, things started happening here, in the real world, that were hard to explain.”
“We once got a free pizza delivered by mistake, but something tells me that’s not what you mean.” Cheri stepped fully into the room, setting her tea down on Russell’s dresser. “Why? Did something happen to you?”
“Yes. I mean, maybe. One thing, definitely, but there might be more to it. Look, do you remember Tim telling us about the time his die broke during our last session?”
“Given how freely he busts that story out, yeah, it’s familiar.”
“Well, weird as that was, there are probably a lot of explanations for it,” Russell admitted. “Tricks of the light, some unstable gunk getting accidently put in the die when it was made, a prank by one of the others that no one has owned up to yet . . . there are lots of rational ways to explain it away. But there was more to it that just the die. During that game, when we were playing the module—and this is where I’m going to lose you, but—I swear to God it seemed like the book was changing.”
“Changing how, exactly?” Cheri was looking at him not with worry, or terror, or concern as he’d been so afraid she would. Instead, it was curiosity that filled her eyes, and Russell suddenly remembered why there had been a time when he looked up to his older sister like she walked on water.
“I, um, I thought you’d be a bit harder to convince,” Russell said.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’m wholly buying what you’re selling, but you’re not really the type to go this far for a silly joke.” Cheri gestured to the piles of handwritten pages, turning a few over to prove her point. “Plus, you’re a terrible liar, just overall. And, come on. If I wasn’t at least a little open to, if not hopeful for, the idea of the magical and unexpected, why would I keep playing these games?”
Russell nodded and picked up his older book,
the first module they’d run that took place in the kingdom of Solium. In it were maps, encounters, quests, and magic all spread across a powerful, if perhaps not completely good, kingdom. And near the end, at the spot where several quest lines converged, lay a dungeon holding a mysterious artifact that several teams fought to reach first.
Eight teams, to be exact, which Russell knew was one more than there had been the first time he read it. This time would be different, though. This time, he was keeping records.
This time, there would be proof.
* * *
“Magic is everywhere.” Dejy stood in front of Grumph, who had only his spell book, a quill, and a stack of parchment to write on. Dejy, on the other hand, was surrounded by stacks of books, dozens of scrolls, and a glowing rectangle pinned up on the stone wall behind him. No one else was in the room, or allowed in for that matter; Dejy had personally requisitioned a solitary space in the library for the next two days. On the far wall of their room was a pair of small doors, one leading to a room for handling the necessaries, and another with a pair of beds to catch brief sleep in. Aside from Fritz bringing them food, the two were on complete lockdown. There were to be no distractions: only training.
“Now, that’s all well and good in a philosophical way, a nice view to have on the world, but when I say magic is everywhere, I’m not talking about it in an abstract sense. Magic literally flows through everything in our world. You, me, the books, the table, even something as ineffable as the sunshine. All of it is connected to the stream of magic circulating about, pumping through our world like blood through a heart.”
Grumph nodded, but said nothing. This concept was far from unheard of; the basics of everyone being connected by magic were essentially common knowledge. Of course, that was like saying the fact that sunlight made one warm was also common knowledge: being aware of it and understanding how it worked are two very different levels of awareness.