They had tried everything. Every breathing exercise, every visualization technique, and every mantra that Evelyn knew, they had tried. She’d even tried sneaking up behind him and startling him into his revelation. None of it had worked.

Kalin’s chain held an empty book at his side, blank and featureless. No secret words of knowledge had passed from dragon to tome to mage, and no vines or other signs of life had materialized, no matter how much he focused and prayed and questioned. At the moment his dragon should have stepped forward, the book had simply shaken slightly like it was straining with some effort, then with a thump it had fallen still.

Something had happened during the Ceremony, because his magic had changed. It just hadn't become exactly the kind of magic dragon-mages were known for. To put it simply, he'd gotten weaker: the most he’d managed to do after a month of trying had been to project a simple [Energy Thrust] from his fist. Briefly.

Before the Ceremony, he'd been able to go a whole round of sparring with Thyren using nothing but magical attacks. They were basic and unspecialized, but he'd been considered one of the stronger fighters in the group of students.

But no matter how many times Kalin checked his status in the first page of his tome, it showed the same thing.

Name: Kalin Bowden

Class: Novice

Wisdom: 10

Strength: 10

Agility: 10

Perception: 10

Skills: Basic Magic - allows the user to cast simple spells, wards, and cantrips after sufficient knowledge of their structure and practice of their working.

Nothing had changed in his skills, classic, or skill selection.

So they’d sent him off, after a month of questions and awkwardness and trying to figure things out. Normally new clerics would partner with an experienced mage of the same or similar aspect, but...

Most [Dragon-Mages] actually knew the dragon they were partnered to. Kalin...was something of an exception. The truth was, no one was quite why or how his magic had changed without his class changing as well. Dragons chose partners based on aptitude and fit, but other than combat training, Kalin's his main duty at the abbey outpost had been working with the blacksmith and carpenter making minor repairs to broken tools, and he'd spent his free time listening to stories from the adventurers who stopped in for aid.

Prioress Evelyn assured him that the Order had once been composed entirely of regular people, no dragons or magic at all. That the reason people with the class of [Dragon-Mage] were also known as Clerics was because they had originally been a separate class altogether, one simply focused on helping out however they could. When he'd asked how long ago it had been since they'd trained and sent out anyone to work alone and without magic, she had reluctantly admitted coming across that particular fact in a book called 'An Ancient History of the Order.'

Dragon or no, there was work to be done, and sitting around was doing nothing but driving him mad. So by the end of the month, he had begged to go. And, finally, they'd let him. They had sent him to Krinth.

***

Kalin leaned his chipped and gnarled staff against the dark oak of the tavern table. He slid into the booth quietly, holding the great leather tome with one hand so the chain that fixed it around his neck wouldn’t clank. Patrons drifted back and forth from the main room and the smaller one where he sat. A pleasant fire burned in a hearth nearby, casting orange light and pleasant flickering shadows around the room and into the wooden rafter frame above.

Before he had even pulled down the hood of his robe, a member of the inn’s staff stood before the table, listing daily specials and drinks on tap. Kalin mumbled for the [Waiter] to bring whatever he’d recommend. Suddenly aware of the not-so-heavy pouch of silver coins the Order had sent him off with, he tried to amend his order to “the scraps you save for hounds, and a water,” but the man was already gone, his brown-clad form moving with a steady grace around laughing groups of friends and flirting strangers.

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Probably for the best. Like most towns in Alathea, Krinth didn’t have much in the way of infrastructure, and without a fresh stream nearby it probably wasn’t worth the risk of drinking plain water.

Though it housed no more than a few hundred full-time residents, Krinth was a hub for land trade in Alathea, and had the wealth to show for it. The tavern-inn stood a full three stories hall, made of strong wood and good stone, and the inside walls were decorated with artifacts and mementos. Many of them, Kalin was sure, came from places far enough away that he had never even heard of them. He had always been interested in far away places, and had even gone as far as to apply to the Royal University, where he’d dreamed of becoming a [High Scholar] of language.

But sometimes dreams change when things fall apart, and that particular dream of his hadn’t survived the wiping out of his home village by a horde of undead. Kalin had joined the Order hoping to learn combat magic and fight, but, well…

He nodded as his ale was delivered, and focused on the warm, slightly nutty taste. It felt good, chasing the last chill from his bones, and the last lingering thoughts of dead dreams from his mind.

It had been two months since the Ceremony, and no sign of a dragon.

The inn was efficiently run, and not long after dropping off a mug of fine dark ale, the waiter returned with a steaming plate of food. Kalin felt his mouth water at the smell of garlic and butter, but he forced himself to get his pitch out of the way first, afraid he’d lose his nerve if he waited.

“Thank you,” he said politely. As he dug around in his pouch for the right coins, he spoke. “If you, ah, need help with anything, please let me know. I’m a cleric of the Order, you see.”

He passed off the coins, feeling absurdly like he was paying the man for the privilege of offering to do a favor or two.

Tucking away the coins with a practiced motion, the man’s face grew excited. As a [Waiter], talking to patrons of the establishment could help level his class, especially if he could improve their enjoyment or offer useful information.

“A cleric, eh? Thank the stars. Two days ago, a tunnel in the mine collapsed. There’s been a crew working at it since, but…well, they’re not sure they’ll make it in time, to be honest.”

Kalin swallowed. He had trained for how to handle dangerous or life-threatening situations, though he hadn’t expected one quite so soon. Still, it was what he was here for. He had wanted to be a soldier, he reminded himself. A cave-in would be no problem. He nodded, and started to rise from the booth.

“Point the way, and I’ll go now.”

The waiter looked him up and down, then gently pushed him back into his seat.

“Finish yer meal,” he said. “Ye look like rotten shite.”

Kalin reevaluated whether or not he’d pen a quick note of good review on the board outside the inn. He usually left a few kind words of thanks, but…

“I mean, ye won’t do anybody any good if you can barely stand up.” The man raised his eyebrows, and Kalin eventually relaxed back into his seat. The waiter was right, he knew. The monks and nuns were always going on about taking care of yourself before picking up other people’s burdens.

“Besides,” the waiter continued, “they’ve been down there a full two days already, what’s another fifteen minutes?”

Kalin wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t say anything, instead asking, “And other than the mine emergency, anything I can do?”

“Hmm. What kind of dragon do you work with? We have a good amount of work at the forge that could be sped along by a fire mage, and there’s always healing to be done if you’ve a life affinity.” He looked questioningly at Kalin, who just shook his head.

In a disappointed-but-not-surprised kind of way, the waiter listed a few of the minor things that might be done around town, and Kalin took out the book at his side, placing it on the table without removing it from its chain. As the waiter spoke, Kalin wrote with a small ink pen he’d been given as a gift, a long time ago. He could just ink the words with magic, as all clerics learned to do, but it tended to unsettle people when you stared them in the eye taking notes. And besides, he liked the feel of writing with the pen. The gentle scratch of the quill and smooth flow of ink onto the page went a little ways toward easing his mind.

When he had finished listing the minor ailments of the town, the man’s brows narrowed. “Say, where’s your dragon? Thought you lot couldn’t stand to be apart your creatures. All those stories of mages dying rather than be forced apart ’n all that.”

Kalin had wondered when that question would come. He cleared his throat.

“She’s in the room,” he said calmly. “Not a fan of company.” He looked significantly around at the tavern, but there was a lull in the flow of people and conversation right then, and the man gave him a suddenly doubtful look.

“Well,” he said slowly, “if you’ve got your seal and staff I won’t tell ye not to go down there, but they’ve got plenty of mess on their hands already, so don’t make it any worse.” With that he was gone, and Kalin nursed his ale.

When the food arrived, Kalin tucked in with a fervor, hungry from days on the road walking the twenty miles or so from the Order’s outpost in Brill where he’d been trained.

The potatoes had been roasted golden and lightly mashed with skin-on and flaked with salt, and they came in a huge bowl. He dug in eagerly, and in a few minutes his belly was full. Simple fare, but well-made and satisfying, just to his taste. Draining his ale, he latched the leather strap on his book, picked up his staff, and left a small tip on the table, wincing at the expense but unwilling not to show some little kindness.

Belly full, he opened the tavern door, wrapping his robe tight against the cold air. His task was simple now; all he had to do was figure out how on earth he was going to use the trickle of magic at his command to free a group of miners trapped by a thousand pounds of stone.