Orvall navigated the evenly cobbled streets of the High Quarter, which hadn’t changed since he’d last been there nearly two decades ago. Nobles in carriages drawn by all manner of exotic beasts blitzed about at unsafe speeds that were only acceptable due to the low amounts of foot traffic, mostly servants of one house or another out on errands or on their way back from the Market Quarter.
On either side of the old healer, opulent compounds sprawled across the limited real estate of the deepmount, clustered like gold encrusted sprouts of asterophora parasitica. It disgusted him, reminding him of the reason it had been so easy to leave. Everything in the High Quarter revolved around political grandstanding and wealth, from the architecture to the businesses down to the people. Meanwhile, the Low Quarter was overrun by gangs and the warreners starved in their caves.
It disgusted him.
And yet, to affect the changes he wanted, Orvall would need to play the game. It seemed his parents, old gods rest their souls, had been right.
Taking a right past the Ursul Clanhold, Orvall turned onto Magister’s Boulevard. Carriages zipped past the large street, a flurry of runners flanking them on sidewalks alongside a bevy of servants and busy household staff. Squads of watchmen patrolled and stood on street corners, well-dressed and well-equipped. At the far end of the boulevard, the towering structure of the Council Hall loomed over the assortment of luxury businesses and the odd walled estate.
It was towards one of these estates that Orvall was headed, dressed in the finery from his youth, which he’d scrounged up from the bottom of a closet. The expensive clothing scratched and tugged irritatingly; it made him feel uncomfortable just wearing it. Sadly, dressing for the part was an unfortunate reality of the High Quarter, which would in itself see many more doors opened to him than if he were dressed more comfortably.
No matter, a little discomfort was worth the price at his age. Talia’s caravan had left just yesterday morning, and he’d closed shop the very next day. With his daughter safely out of the city, it was time to reintroduce himself to the politics of Karzgorad. Hopefully, when she returned in a year, it would be to a city well on the path to change.
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“I’m afraid Magister Evincrest is extremely busy, sir. I can see if we can pencil you in for a meeting one week from now if you’d like, but you’d have better luck bringing your concerns to your local councillor, to be passed up the chain appropriately,” the prim young elf said.
“Aye, I know she be busy,” Orvall replied, “if ye’d jus’ let her know tha’ Orvall Angrim be ‘ere ter speak with her, I’m sure it’ll get sorted. We’ve known each other fer longer than most humans live.”
The secretary smiled in insincere apology, shaking her head.
“If that’s the case, then perhaps a letter may be the better option, sir. Unfortunately, the lady has asked not to be disturbed by anyone without a prior appointment. I’m afraid that even for a member of Clan Angrim, I must ask that you respect the constraints on the magister’s time.”
Orvall fought the urge to growl.
Luckily, at that moment, the door to Evincrest’s office sprung open, revealing the magister herself, mid conversation with a broad-shouldered, handsome human man with chestnut hair and a square jaw, wearing a plain but well fitted clothes, gold embroidered on black, with a pair of expensive heeled boots to match.
“…understand your concern, Elidé, but in this case, the people will simply have to tighten their belts. Perhaps the reality of the situation will go over better if we spread news that the rogue mage has destroyed farms on the periphery, cutting into food supplies,” he was saying as he stepped out of the elf’s office.
Evincrest’s voice came out as a rasping croak.
“That is unacceptable, Magister Kayn. Spreading false propaganda will cause needless fear on top of the already burgeoning panic. Especially when I know many of the noble families hold fully stocked larders that, if opened to the public, would prevent the need for rationing measures altogether. You may tell Councillor Erghast that my vote will remain firm,” she replied.
Magister Kayn scoffed, running a hand through his close-cropped hair and grimacing.
“Please, Elidé, be reasonable, you can’t possibly expect—”
“I can, and I do, magister. If Erghast was desperate enough to send you here on his behalf, then all the more reason for me to remain firm in my assessment. Anything else you have to say may be discussed at the next conclave before the assembled magisters.”
“You can’t be serious. You’re just going to stonewall me? Councillor Erghast—”
“May set up an appointment with me at his convenience to argue his case, instead of sending a magister, who quite frankly should know better, to do it for him. Now if that is all, it appears I have another guest. Arella will show you to the door. Good day, Magister Kayn.”
The human seemed to notice for the first time that he had an audience, shooting Orvall a small glare; he swallowed whatever retort he would have otherwise made.
“As you say, magister. I will see you at the conclave,” he said instead.
The blond secretary stood to lead the young magister out, giving Orvall a look of warning. The dwarf returned only a pleasant smile and waited for her to leave with Magister Kayn, who had passed him by without even a second glance.
When they disappeared around the corner of the hall, he cleared his throat loudly to get Evincrest’s attention; she was staring after the retreating form of Magister Kayn with a complicated look on her face.
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The ancient elf’s eyes widened when she caught sight him, looking him up and down incredulously.
“Orvall? What are you doing here?” she asked, “is something the matter?”
“I ‘ad a thought that might interes’ ye, an’ seein’ as yer so busy lately, I thought I’d come to ye personally,” he said.
“I don’t know if I should be curious or concerned, that you deemed something important enough to come back to the High Quarter.”
“Yer damn right. Now, why dun we have a seat in yer office, an’ ye can pour me some ‘o’ tha’ whiskey ah know ye keep in yer desk fer special occasions, ‘afore I change me mind an’ head back down ter run me clinic.”
Calculations ran through the elven magister’s grey eyes and the beginnings of a frown began slipping onto her face. She pushed the door open, letting them both into the austerely appointed room, a desk, a couch, a few chairs, and four huge stone bookshelves running from wall to wall, filled with tomes of all kinds.
Evincrest poured them out two fingers each from a half-bottle she pulled from the bottom drawer of her desk. The ancient magister fingered a small rune set in the desktop. The air in the room seemed to still and the few sounds that come from the street below vanished.
“What are we toasting to?” she asked.
Orvall swirled the glass around, sniffing the spirit appreciatively before raising it to Elidé.
“Ter breaking the stalemate in the conclave, ‘n’ setting things right,” he said.
The elf froze for a split second, her frown melting away into a slight smile.
“You mean to say…” she rasped.
“Aye, with Talia out rompin’ about the Deep Ways, I figure it be pas’ time I returned ter Clan Angrim officially. On a related note, I hear mah cousin Rokir ‘as set ‘imself against ye. Ye’ll be glad ter know then that I turned a hundred ninety-one jus’ las’ month. If memory serves, then by rights, the Clan’s magister seat belongs to the eldest.”
Evincrest sipped at her whiskey, her smile stretching into a feral grin.
“Odd how the math works out there. Didn’t your uncle pass into the stone just last year?”
Orvall matched her grin as he downed his own glass and then leaned forward in his seat.
“Exactly. Why don’t ye fill me in on wha’s goin’ on. I ‘ave some time ‘afore the Clan Elders meet. I reckon we won’t be ‘aving much time ter discuss like this afterward.”
“Certainly, my friend, though I must admit you have me curious as to what motivated this move,” she said, rummaging around the papers on her desk.
“Crime seems ter be on the rise ‘o’ late,” he replied, “made me start thinkin’ ‘bout how I could do me own part ter help our fine city.”
“Ah, so this is about the Bleeders, then,” she rasped.
“Aye, the scum be part ‘o’ the reason,” Orvall growled.
Elidé nodded contemplatively.
“If they’ve seen fit to send you to help me, well, I suppose it’s only fair if we repay them, isn’t it?”
Orvall’s smirk grew predatory.
“Aye, ye’ve captured me thoughts exactly.”
With luck, by the time his daughter returned, the scum who had cornered her in that fateful alley would be wiped from the streets, one way or another. Then, with the majority that Orvall’s induction into the Magesterium would give Evincrest’s bloc, they would be set to affect greater change on the city.
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The oppressive silence that beat down on the caravan was a tangible thing. It filtered through every crack and crevice of Talia’s mind until she felt it coalesce in her lungs like thick phlegm. The rushing of her own blood through her veins mixed with the deafening sound of quiet breaths in her ears like the beating of drums. The whisper of the enchanted wagon wheels beneath it all was a soft susurrus of wind compared to the tense, awful quiet of the sapients walking along a tight corridor of the Deep Ways.
The young mage sat at on the front of wagon two, next to Chronicler Calisto and the affable Julian. The driver’s face and neck were coated in black paint, while the two officers wore cloaks with obscuring enchantments on the hood that rendered their faces into smooth pools of pitch, impenetrable even to Talia’s darkvision. All three sat silent, clickers clutched behind their teeth.
Apparently, the night eye pills she’d been issued with her kit were supposed to allow the delvers to see even through the obscuring enchantments, something she hadn’t known about the relatively common pills. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take them. When she’d tried one, hoping to be able to see her fellow delvers’ faces, her vision had only gotten worse, the tunnels and wagons shifting into amorphous blobs of grey and black that had given her a headache.
Whatever was in them disagreed with her, clearly.
Not that Talia minded. The talent her Gift had accorded her was a godsend. She didn’t know what the other delvers saw, but she couldn’t imagine it matched up with the crisp if somewhat dim view of her surroundings that her talent afforded. Not being able to see others’ faces outside of the wagons and mess table was a small price to pay in her opinion.
The young mage was startled out of her thoughts by a loud series of clicks. Rustling, loud as rock on rock after the days of plodding silence, rang out ahead. Talia recognized a few of the clicks, the one for ‘blockage’ and ‘all stop’ but most of the contextual clicks held no meaning for her, despite Calisto’s excellent teaching.
Unfortunately, the silence meant Talia couldn’t just ask what was going on. She wasn’t yet confident enough in her clicker skills to be able to direct the sound accurately in more than broad directions, not mention she lacked the requisite knowledge to hold an entire conversation like some of the veterans seemed to be able to do.
As the caravan came to a halt, she sat back in her seat. Chronicler Calisto clicked out a few quick calls.
Well, I guess we just wait until the forward scouts report back.
They didn’t wait for long. She had barely finished the thought that a series of calls that she did recognize rang out. Calisto had made sure of that.
‘Weapons out’ and ‘ambush’ was transmitted to those at the front of the line and repeated backwards. The sound of blades being unsheathed, and of rapid repositioning echoed out loudly in the dampening silence.
Delvers formed a line with wagon one in the center. The clinking sound of the tunnel drake being quickly unharnessed rang in Talia’s ears. Rapid footsteps from the forward scouts sounded out ahead of the wagon train.
The expedition tensed. It felt like everyone was holding their breaths.
Clicker calls rang out from the center of the train, probably Darkclaw handing out orders.
Barely a week in, and already we’re being ambushed. And I even avoided running! I don’t think I’ve even gone past a slow walk in the two weeks since I made my promise. So why do the gods hate me?
Talia never got around to formulating an answer to her own question, as the forms of the scouts crashed into the line of delvers, slipping behind them in a practiced maneuver and drawing short recurve bows fashioned out of some kind of beast horn.
The young mage drew her sword and laid it carefully across her lap, but otherwise let the crew do their jobs. Her job was to help repair any damage that occurred after the fight. If she ended up having to actually use her sword, it would mean something had gone terribly wrong.
Calisto gave her a reassuring nod as the gibbering cries of goblins reached their ears, the screeches cracking against Talia’s eardrums.
At least it’s not something more deadly.
Then the ambushers came into view. There were at least three score of the ugly creatures, led by a trio of oafish hobgoblins.
Calisto froze, then leaped off the wagon, sprinting towards wagon one. Julian clambered onto the roof, untying the tunnel drake’s beaststrap before he did so.
Shit. That’s a lot of goblins.
Frantic clicker calls repeated along the tunnel as the first sounds of combat rang out.