Nerves bundled in Talia’s stomach like a tight knot of wriggling worms. Saying goodbye to her adoptive father had been hard. Orvall had maintained a confident and collected façade throughout the whole morning. Nonetheless, he had double, and then triple checked that she had everything, that she remembered where to go, who to speak to and a whole host of other minor and not so minor details.
Luckily, they had been interrupted by the arrival of a sick young girl and her mother, and so Orvall and Talia had settled for a tight hug, a pat on the back, and a tense, worried smile.
She looked down at the envelope between her fingers as she walked down the slowly waking streets of the Mid Quarter in her dark armor and knapsack, the heavy scale cloak tied above her bedroll and her mother’s sword belted on her left side next to her gas mask.
Magister Evincrest hadn’t been able to return with the promised books the previous night. Instead, she had sent a runner to deliver three blank-covered tomes, which the young mage had slipped into the bottom of her bag in between bundles of spare clothes along with Orvall’s old bestiary. The delivery boy had also handed her a wax sealed letter and a folded note, the later of which addressed her in flowing, elegant script:
Talia,
I apologize for being unable to visit in person, certain rapidly evolving events require my presence here in the High Quarter. Young Martin should have given you the three books in his possession, along with a sealed letter of introduction. The books are what we discussed when we last spoke and should help with learning the basics. The letter of introduction is for Delvemaster Arrick Torval. He can be trusted. I will leave it up to you whether or not you inform him of your condition. Keep in mind that while delvers are, as a whole, a pragmatic group, there is no guarantee that they will all be as accepting as Arrick and I are. Consider carefully when and if you should reveal yourself.
If, contrary to what I expect, you decide to remain in Karzgorad, I wish you the best of luck and regret that I may not be able to help as much I wish to. Even magisters face constraints in the face of societal change, and I am not at the point where I am able to aid anyone in your position openly. Even the daughter of old friends.
If you have decided to leave, you will find Arrick at the Wayfarer’s Promise in the Low Quarter tomorrow morning. You can’t miss it, it’s the last tavern before the entrance to the Deep Ways, right next to the Delver’s Guild. Do remember not to dally, the expedition will leave whether you are present or not.
Either way, fare well in your endeavours, and remember to keep that curious streak alive, it will serve you in good stead, no matter what you do and where you end up.
With intention,
Elidé Evincrest, Magister of Karzgorad.
P.S. I pay Martin generously, don’t let him fleece you out of more coin.
The homes and businesses became ever so subtly more run down as she crossed over into the beginning of the low quarter. Glass windows were replaced by cheap drearwood shutters, and the occasional dyed cloth. More people lethargically roamed the streets, their clothes as worn as their tired faces.
Talia hung a right, avoiding alleys as she cut across rundown housing blocks toward Magister’s Boulevard, Karzgorad’s main artery. The crowds grew denser and more varied, and market stalls dotted the edges of the large thoroughfare. The arcano-sun directly above cast short shadows across the wide-open boulevard.
Pushing her way through the crowd, one hand on her coinpurse, the young mage took in the last moments she would have in Karzgorad for at least a year, maybe more. The smells, the colours, the people. Even as it cut through the Low Quarter, the boulevard always smelled of copper pennies and fresh bread. Business between sapients of all shapes and sizes bustled at all hours.
From the large beastkin in black delver’s attire haggling with a gnome over the price of an arcano-trinket, to the family of dwarves making their way into a general goods store, nearly every group in Karzgorad was represented on Magister’s Boulevard. Talia even spotted a young-looking elf, dressed in fine robes, and accompanied by bodyguards, making his way up the deepmount’s gentle slope.
She looked back and up, fixing the image of Gorad’s peak in her mind. The top of the subterranean mountain was enrobed in beautiful three to four story building carved into the stone, themselves dwarfed by the titanic edifice of the Council Chambers, which seemed to reach out and grasp at the warm glow of the arcano-sun high above.
It was beautiful, but when she turned back to head down the slope, the cracks in Karzgorad’s alluring façade became all the more apparent. She began to notice the beggars huddling in secluded alleyways and the general downtrodden air of the Low quarter’s simple constructions. Packs of mage-hunters roved about the boulevard in groups of threes and fours, stopping passersby with pointed questions.
Talia accelerated the pace with renewed vigor, thankfully avoiding notice from the hunters.
I must look like just another delver to them.
Her mother’s armor, along her new hair eyes and scar masked her better than any cloak could. She got to the outskirts of the Low Quarter in record time, this time taking care to avoid Bleeder territory—denoted by the rough red graffiti in the shape of what could generously be called a tear drop. Pep slid its way into her step as she made it to where Magister’s Boulevard merged into the Deep Ways. The Low Quarter sloughed off into The Warrens to her left and fell into Lake Wyrr and the farmlands beyond to her right.
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Talia could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen a drearwood building. Even then, most had been small sheds behind larger buildings, and one had been a temporary scaffold while the builders had waited for a shipment of cut stone. So, in reality, the Wayfarer’s Rest was the first completely wooden building she had ever seen. It sat huddled up against the side of the large stone walls of the Delver’s Guild compound, with its back to a small open space speckled with ranged targets and practice dummies, where even now, a smattering of black-clothed delvers honed their skills individually or in pairs.
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The tavern was a squat, one story, one-roomed building with a wooden roof that sloped left. The planks of the walls were surprisingly long and straight for drearwood. That was to say, planks over two metres were not warped and twisted into uselessness as they tended to with the gnarled wood.
After pausing for a moment to examine the odd structure, she shrugged and stepped through the rickety double doors, trying her best to inject confidence into her gait.
The atmosphere inside was smokey and subdued. All but two tables sat empty.
Well, two and a half, I guess.
A few orange lightstones supplied additional illumination to the stale-beer smelling space. Along the back wall, a series of glass windows looked out onto the training field behind the building.
A pair scaly beastkin with curved horns sat in a corner by the full length bar that took up the entire right wall, discussing something animatedly in hushed tones over a pair of mugs. By the windows, a tall human man with long brown hair tied into a neat topknot and a well-trimmed beard nursed a beer while looking over a stack of papers. In the center of the room, a gnome lay splayed out under a table, snoring softly.
“Welcome to the Wayfarer’s Rest, take a seat wherever you’d like,” called the young, dwarven barmaid from where she was in the middle of swapping out some kegs.
Talia swaggered over and leaned on the sticky granite bar top.
“No drink, just looking for a man by the name of Arrick Torval. Was told I’d find him here,” she said without preamble.
The barmaid didn’t skip a beat, calling out to the man sitting alone by the window.
“Arrick, got a young miss here to see ya!”
The comatose gnome snorted and stirred briefly at the loud noise, but didn’t wake, rolling over with a snort. Light snores whistled out from beneath the table once more.
“Thanks,” said Talia, pushing off the bar and heading over to the well-groomed man in his mid-thirties who had pulled his gaze from his papers and seemed to size her up as she approached.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
The young mage registered that he had the smooth cadence of those raised in the Low Quarter who had learned to mask their patois, adopting the more formal speech of nobles and rich merchants.
“A mutual friend implied you just might, yes,” she said, handing him Evincrest’s letter.
His hazel eyes widened a fraction as he examined the seal. He broke it with a belt knife and tugged the page filled with familiar flowing script out of the envelope.
“Have a seat,” he said, eyes flickering across the page.
Talia sat patiently and watched his facial expressions. He was carefully impassive, his surprise only betrayed by an ever so slightly raised eyebrow.
Note to self, don’t play cards with Arrick.
When finished, he skimmed the letter one more time before slotting it back into its envelope and slipping it into his vest.
“Give me a moment to think.”
Arrick sank his fingers in his short beard, flicking through the stack of papers on the table, taking a few notes on a separate notebook in crisp, penciled letters. Having found what he was looking for, he set papers aside and flipped to a new page of his notebook. Talia watched him write her name at the top. Finally, he looked up, giving her his full attention. What he said next caught her off guard.
“How does she do it?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand,” Talia replied, somewhat flustered.
“You fit perfectly. Even before Arcanist Ikkel ended up at the healer’s, we had a spare bunk, enough supplies to add you in without rethinking logistics, a spare set of kit, everything. But there’s no way our friend the magister could have known that.”
Talia stayed silent, at a loss.
“Then there’s the fact that our arcanist went and blew himself up last night, busted his face so badly he can barely breathe, let alone go on an expedition, which, let me tell you, would have increased our casualties and severely hampered our haul. Hard to delve in Karzurkul without a good arcanist telling you what to watch out for. And now, like a seraph from the gods themselves, here you are, barely six months away from making full-fledged arcanist yourself.”
He shook his head.
“Again, something Evincrest couldn’t have accounted for. I just found out this morning myself. Hence the question of how she knew you would be a perfect fit.”
“Er—I uh, I’m not sure really,” Talia replied, “Elidé never mentioned that you might not have room, just sent me a note yesterday saying to come here and give you that letter. The way she spoke about it, it was a done deal. If I’m not welcome—”
The delvemaster made scribble a note in his booklet and interrupted the young woman.
“You as dangerous as you look?” he asked, startling her.
Huh, guess I hadn’t considered what I looked like with armor and weapons. Not to mention the scar. It looks like a month-old wound now.
Talia considered lying for a split second but decided to stick to the truth.
“Not really. I’m passable with a sword or an axe, but I have no real combat experience.”
He eyed her scarred cheek sceptically, eyebrow raised fractionally.
The explanation for that, unfortunately, necessitated a small lie.
“Work accident,” Talia explained curtly.
Less detail, less chance of getting caught out later.
Arrick grunted, looking down and making another note.
“At least you’re honest. I’ll have our battlemaster put you through your paces when we stop.”
He looked up at her again.
“Any idea why the good magister suggests I take you on as a full arcanist when you haven’t even passed your qualification test?”
She did?
“I’m a very good arcanist. Though I’m sure how Magister Evincrest knows that. I was basically doing real arcanist’s work already. The only thing holding me back was the minimum apprenticeship length. My master says the Hall of Arcanistry is finicky about that,” Talia said without withholding her pride at the accomplishment.
The delvemaster simply nodded, making another note and moving on.
“She mentioned you have healing experience?”
“Some. The simple stuff, easy breaks, a little poultice making, bandaging, splints and the like. My da’s a healer in the Mid Quarter, but I never took to it. Got a better head for numbers and machinery than bodies and people.”
Another note in the book.
“Anything else you feel I should know?” Arrick asked.
Elidé did say he could be trusted but…I don’t know him well enough yet. Later. I’ll tell him when he can’t just kick me to the curb for being more trouble than I’m worth.
“Nothing that should have an impact on the expedition,” she answered.
He appeared to have something to say to that but in the end, he just patted his coat where the letter of introduction lay and nodded, staring at his notes. When he came to a decision, he snapped it closed, finished his beer in one long swig, and stood.
“You’re in.”
Talia stood with him, almost bursting with excitement.
Stay cool, Tals.
“Just like that?” Talia asked.
“Yep. Just like that. Evincrest’s letter got you in the door and your skillset and attitude got you the rest of the way. Though the fact that you’re exactly what I need right now did no small amount of work. All you had to do was not give me a reason to reject you.”
I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it.
Arrick gathered up his papers and stuck them carefully in his satchel.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the crew and then we’ll discuss your share of the take with the other officers. We leave in two hours.”
Talia almost stumbled in her haste to follow him. The man’s gait forced her to almost run.
“Wait, other officers? How am I an officer already? I joined up just now.”
He shrugged.
“On a technicality, yes. Follow me, I’ll explain on the way. We still have to get you registered with the Delver’s Guild.”
Holy shit this guy moves fast, but who cares?!? I’m in!
A sobering thought struck her.
Now I just have to survive the trip.