Despite days going by without incident, the expedition was still on edge. The forward scouts ranged further out than when their journey had begun, in bigger groups, whereas the rear guard remained close on their tail. The only crew that strayed from their bunks when off duty were delvers trained in combat or officers. Shifts had become longer and larger, and the drakes moved faster than they usually did.

And yet, nothing came to face them. The tunnels of the Ways were still and dead, the air stale and unmoving.

It got to the point where Talia began to think that the anticipation would do more damage than any beast could. The stress of remaining on high alert for such extended periods did things to the sapient brain. Already, two delvers, their nerves worn to the snapping point, had been temporarily relieved of duty and told to visit Lazarus.

The thought of it reminded Talia that she was due for her second session with him in a few days, which left her feeling conflicted.

Currently, she sat on one of the stools in the command wagon, effecting minor repairs to the map table. The complex artefact was old, ancient enough to be considered an antique by any standard, passed down from caravan to caravan. The loss of one was dire enough that nearly every case resulted in a recovery mission from the Delver’s Guild, in which case the artefact was the main priority, with lost personnel and other material goods counting as secondary.

Talia cleared the deeply encrusted dust from the artefact’s channels, carefully soldering new silverite wiring where the original etching had grown brittle and snapped. The fact that silverite had cracked from age rather than any other cause was enough to tell her just how old this artefact was.

Talia replaced the mithril covering and brought up her arcano-torch to seal it in place. The arcanist nearly jumped out of her skin when Calisto’s voice whispered over her shoulder.

“May I have a moment of your time after you’re done with that?” the chronicler asked.

Talia jolted and almost burned herself with the lit torch.

“Dagoth’s forked tongue you scared me!” she said.

The austere woman cocked an eyebrow, but mirth sparkled in her aquamarine irises.

“Did you not hear me come in? I clicked my entry.”

A blush rose to Talia’s cheeks, and she shook her head sheepishly.

“I uh— get pretty focused when I’m working.”

“I see. Well, I’ll be in the delvemaster’s office when you’re done, if you don’t mind me imposing on you.”

Talia bobbed her head accommodatingly.

“Yea sure, I was just about to power it back up, I’ll be there in a second.”

The chronicler walked off without a word, just a curt nod. The curtain to Torval’s office drew open and closed with a snick.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so…taciturn.

The young woman went about unblocking the artefact’s mana capacitors, a habit she’d picked up quickly in Reggie’s workshop. Working on a live artefact that was any larger than a finger was just asking for unforeseen consequences. As such, it was a mistake most arcanists only made once—if they survived said consequences to begin with.

She didn’t dwell on what Calisto might want from her. Talia devoted her entire focus to her craft, anything less was…dangerous, to say the least.

I’ll find out soon enough. Now, that should be it, unblock this channel anndd—presto.

The map table hummed to life, runes along its edge glowing in a painter’s palette of colours before going quiescent. The projection was free of the stuttering flickers that had plagued it before her fix.

Talia frowned as, from the corner of her eye, unfamiliar purple characters flickered in her vision for a brief moment. The display of the tunnels around them faded, replaced with a large cavern, filled with stalagnate columns, on the far end of which stood a familiar metal door that spanned over half of the wall.

Shock ran through her as she recognized the area from her dreams. She tapped at the map table’s controls, commanding the artefact to pan out.

It didn’t respond.

The young woman’s frown deepened, and she crouched down to inspect the runework underneath the control panel.

There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing she could see anyway.

As she stood up, she felt a pang of concern hit her.

The map had returned to normal. It now displayed the caravan’s brisk pace through the Ways, and the general topography around them.

What? I could have sworn…

Snick

“Arcanist? Is everything all right?” Calisto called.

“Huh—oh yes, I mean— I thought I… never mind,” Talia muttered.

She stowed away her tools, sticking them back in her tool belt, the bulky contraption just a tad too big for her tiny frame. Turning to the chronicler, she flashed a forced smile.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“All done, and good as new!”

The stern woman’s impassive expression didn’t even twitch. Calisto swept the curtain to Torval’s office open in an implied invitation, before disappearing inside.

Talia took one last look at the ancient artefact and shook her head, sweeping it from her mind into the rapidly growing pile simply labelled ‘later’, and followed the chronicler into the cramped room.

----------------------------------------

“I’d like you to use your telepathy to keep an eye on morale,” Calisto said.

Huh?

Talia froze as a dozen conflicting thoughts assaulted her from all corners of her mind. The intrepid mage had been largely ignoring the huge moral and ethical quandary that her new affinity presented, and then in came the chronicler, throwing the issue right in her face. It was sudden enough that it caught her off guard.

Realizing that her fellow officer was waiting expectantly for an answer, Talia scrambled to stall.

“How did you know?” she choked out.

The chronicler cocked her head. Combined with her severe facial expression deficit, it made her look almost predatory—well, not predatory, but calculating, like a goddess that had stumbled on a particularly offensive bug.

“Lazarus recommended it as a valid precaution, given our current…predicament. Did you think I was unaware? You must know that, as Torval’s second, I am privy to nearly all of what occurs on our journey, surely.”

Talia didn’t know why she was hurt by that. Was it so surprising that two-thirds of those privy to her secret had spread the knowledge around? She was a newcomer to the expedition’s dynamic. A useful newcomer, definitely, but also a potentially dangerous one. Of course Torval would let his second in command in on the secret, and Lazarus would know that, having worked for the delvemaster for at least a decade, maybe more.

Doesn’t change the fact that they betrayed my confidence…does it? Even if they did, why does that hurt so much? They both acted in a perfectly logical manner.

Talia recognized then that she had probably made a few assumptions about her travelling companions. She’d ascribed to them an abstract ideal of ‘friendship’ that only existed in her mind, one not based in reality.

Tuning back into the conversation, Talia decided to ask the question that she felt she should have already resolved herself.

I’m not shunting the problem on someone else, no sir, I’m just…asking for her take.

“You don’t see a moral or ethical issue with me rooting around in people’s heads?”

The chronicler cocked her head the other way, her focus soft. Even with her senselocks up, Talia felt the woman’s mind churn like a well-oiled machine as it worked through the quandary.

“I don’t see what the ethical issue would be. There are no specific rules around telepathy and though morality is a different story, the current circumstance with the environment of the officer contingent and the stress that the crew are being subjected to warrants…supervision,” Calisto declared.

“Alright, maybe ethics was the wrong question, but morally, surely there’s a conflict there. You’re asking me to monitor people’s thoughts for gods’ sakes,” Talia pressed.

“I am. So that we might be prepared for any…concerns that might arise from poor morale.”

“That’s…it feels wrong. I don’t know.”

Is it though? What’s the difference between my use of empathy to navigate yesterday’s conversation and using it to monitor morale? I mean sure, I stopped. Eventually.

Talia shifted uncomfortably on her seat as Calisto’s sharp blue eyes bored into hers.

But until I got overwhelmed, I was perfectly happy to eavesdrop on their feelings, with them none the wiser.

Talia was torn. On one hand, the atmosphere of the expedition had seemed downright seditious when Torval had announced the news of the Migration. What if she caught whiff of someone who needed help and support before the strain broke them? What if her monitoring gave the officers advanced warning of when someone was at their limits? The psion might be able to prevent a disaster—or gods forbid, a mutiny—before it even happened.

On the other hand, Talia’s time at first haven had endeared her to the very people Calisto was asking her to surveil in the most intrusive way possible. She had danced with them, drunk with them, and trained with them. They had welcomed her with open arms. She had been lauded, applauded and saluted. They called her Wyrmslayer, Talia the Unbowed. Some even idolized her in a way Talia wasn’t sure she was comfortable with.

To slip her threads into their minds and spy on them? Not in a drunken haze, mid manifestation, but intentionally, with ulterior motives?

It felt wrong.

And yet, Talia couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of her head whispering that maybe it was the right thing to do considering their circumstances.

Calisto sat patiently, waiting for the young woman to parse the philosophical question that had been forced on her. The chronicler’s posture made it clear that she expected an answer now but would still allow Talia the time to decide.

Talia sighed heavily, still unsure, but having arrived at a tentative conclusion.

“I’ll do it, but I won’t read their thoughts. Their surface emotions and general mental state are as far as I’m willing to go,” she answered firmly.

“That’s your line?” Calisto asked.

Her tone held no judgment, only genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, I think so. Unless there’s a clear and pressing reason to, I don’t want to be muddling around people’s thoughts.”

The chronicler raised a slim eyebrow.

“Seems a somewhat slippery slope, if you’ve already baked in an exception. If you want to stick to principles, I recommend that you pick a firm stance, and hold yourself to it.”

The scholar had a point, but Talia needed to let the issue percolate a little before she decided on a firm set of rules. For now, her resolution was enough.

Seeing that the conversation was coming to an end, Calisto stood and opened the curtain in clear dismissal.

“I don’t expect daily reports. But keep Lazarus or I informed. Any drastic shifts in morale, or particular individuals in need of support. If it fits your burgeoning ‘code’, you might consider spreading a soothing aura around the caravan. Nothing intrusive, just a sense of calm for others to latch on to,” the chronicler added.

Talia frowned as she stood up.

“I’m not sure I—”

“Think on it. Historically, before the mage-madness, it was one of the roles of psion legionnaires. To bolster morale and curb fear.”

I never knew that. Huh. History class may have been worth more than I gave it credit for…

If anything, the knowledge gave Talia something to consider. As if she didn’t already have enough on her plate. Running the conversation over in her head, Talia’s thoughts latched onto something the chronicler had mentioned in passing.

The young woman stopped in the doorway of the office, turning on her heels.

“What did you mean when you mentioned the ‘environment of the officer contingent’?” Talia asked.

Calisto’s forehead rose fractionally in what might be surprise or disapproval.

“Copperpike’s little stunt, whether it was his intent or not, revealed to those…unaware of our true purpose here that there was something to hide. In effect, he forced Torval to sow division amongst the officers. Those who have been kept in the dark were kept that way for good reason, but that makes no difference to them,” the impassive woman explained.

Talia considered her words briefly before smacking herself for not realizing it.

“So basically, one side of the officer’s council is suspicious of the other now is that it?”

Calisto nodded lightly.

“Exactly. Well, not exactly, but that’s the essence of it.”

The two fell into a pensive silence.

“Do you think he made the right choice?” Talia asked.

The chronicler hummed and plucked at a stray thread on the curtain. Then she gazed off towards the map table, and the seven stools arrayed around it.

“Not my place to say, I don’t think,” she answered, gracing Talia with a meaningful stare.

The arcanist held the older woman’s scrutiny for a while, before bobbing her head in understanding.