Chanter 32

Tom adjusted his cravat nervously as the Mage King of Petosh, Arom, absorbed the dire warning that he had just provided. When Tom had given the news to Fenard, Fenard had insisted that Tom be in the call to warn the leader of the doomed nation himself. So he stood in front of the linked scry-mirror that connected him with a man a more than thousand miles away.

Tom was dressed in the same suit that he had worn to pitch the Adventurer’s Guild to the court of King Fenard. Arom was wearing a robe and pacing frantically.

“You’re certain?” Arom asked for the third time.

“I’m just repeating what the World Spirit told me during my vision,” Tom answered for the third time.

“We have a year before it all comes crumbling down,” Arom commented, pacing back out of the mirror’s field of view and back into it again.

“I think it’s less than that,” Tom said. “It was months ago that Alpha warned me that another nation was failing. She’s … less coherent than the World spirit. Reus was very clear that Petosh is in trouble.”

“I’ve known that all of my life,” Petosh said. “If what you are saying is true, and I have cause to believe you, then Petosh isn’t in danger. It is dying, and we have but months before the death throes begin.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Tom said. “I wish I had better news.”

“Is there nothing to be done?” Arom asked.

Tom hesitated. “I’m not certain what I can do from half the world away, Your Majesty, but I’ve no more desire to see a nation die than you do. I believe that the dungeons of your kingdom have been mismanaged for generations. I--”

“Yes, that has become increasingly obvious that the ‘ideal and standard practices’ of Core Management were faulty,” King Arom agreed. “But is there anything you can do for the Petoshian people now?”

“As I was saying, Your Majesty,” Tom continued, “I think that I can maybe help, even without leaving Welsius, if you can only get me the command cores. Reus said that what I’m doing in Welsius is helping. The greatest mistake that previous Controllers was not to provide a dungeon to go along with every Core. I don’t know exactly why or how to explain it, but Cores need a dungeon. And dungeons need delvers.”

“Is that so?” Arom asked. The Mage-King was silent for a long moment. “I’ve already sent thirty. To be honest, if things are as desperate as they seem at the moment, I see no reason to keep the rest in reserve. I shall ship them all to you as soon as arrangements can be made.”

“All of them, Your Majesty?” Tom asked, surprised. “I’m not certain that my network can handle that sort of strain, to be honest.”

“I am putting the future of Petosh in your hands, Tom Weaver,” Arom said. “You say that the situation is dire and that you can help. If you are misleading me, I’ll have no measure of recourse, but that is a risk that I must take if I am to have any chance of saving my nation.”

He paused for a moment, then continued “I will of course be passing the same laws regarding the use of dungeon materials that have been passed in Welsius. I am wondering what you wish to do with the funds? Would you be interested in founding another Adventurer’s guild in Petosh?”

“You know of that already?” Tom asked.

“I do indeed,” Arom agreed.

“I don’t have any idea how to administer the guild that I have, let alone one that’s a thousand miles away,” Tom objected.

“I’ll take care of the details,” Arom promised. “All I require is your permission to administer the funds that will be generated through your abilities.”

Tom frowned suspiciously. “I’m not so naive as to give you a blank check, Your Majesty.”

“Apologies,” Arom said. “What I mean is that I’ll put you in contact with the people and resources of Petosh who will be able to found the Petoshian Adventurer’s guild in your name. I know of several trustworthy men and women who might be willing to head such an organization. You can interview them and make the selection yourself.”

Tom’s frown deepened. “So I’m to trust you to give me a person I can trust to administer an organization in my name that will be handling a massive fortune.”

“With respect, Tom, but what else are you planning to do with the money?” Arom asked. “You do not seem like the sort of person who would simply allow it to gather dust. Either way you would be investing it somehow. This way you retain possession of the organization which will handle it, while not actually needing to travel to Petosh to do so.”

Tom chewed on his lip. “Very well. I’ll agree to interview the applicants.”

“Unfortunately we do not have very long to prepare for the collapse,” Arom said. “I wish that I had been brave enough to send more Cores to you when you first asked for them, but I was nervous to put so many such assets into the hands a foreign controller. How long does it take before your dungeons begin generating resources?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“That depends on how strong the Core is, how large the dungeon is, which resource we’re discussing, and other factors,” Tom explained.

“I see,” Arom said. “Well, I shall order the royal treasury to extend you a line of credit based on the assumption that you will pay me back once the funds from your dungeons comes in. This will allow you and whichever candidate you select to begin forming your organization immediately.”

“How long until the Cores arrive, Your Majesty?” Tom asked.

“I do not have that information at this time, Tom,” Arom admitted. “The road between Petosh and Welsius is long and fraught with danger. While I have received confirmation that the caravan carrying the Cores has passed through Loracai, I’m uncertain how long it will take them to pass through the wastes between that nation and yours.”

“I understand,” Tom said. “I will start preparing my network for when they arrive.”

Arom sighed. “It must be difficult, Tom, to have so much responsibility thrust upon your shoulders at such a young age. I encourage you to find as many people as you can to support you as you come into your abilities.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Tom said. “Fortunately I have a few who’ve been very helpful, and I’m always looking for more.”

“I must begin making arrangements to send the rest of the Command Cores to Welsius, Tom. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure to finally meet you, but the news you’ve given me would make that a lie. I do, however, thank you for thoroughly ruining my week for me. Farewell.”

Tom relaxed as the mirror stopped showing the Mage-King’s chamber and began showing his own reflection. He turned to look at King Fenard, but the sovereign simply stood impassively for another few moments.

“Why didn’t you say anything after the introduction?” Tom asked.

“It was your message to give, Tom,” Fenard said. “I would not have appreciated constant interruptions from someone who only passingly knows the situation if I were in Arom’s position. Besides, you handled yourself fine.”

“And you have no issue with me being the founder of the Petoshian Adventurer’s guild?” Tom asked.

“As long as it’s just a financial sponsorship and a symbolic mantle, I see it as advancing my own goals as well,” Fenard answered. “It’s very clear that I do not and cannot keep you to myself, Tom, although I still wish to tie you into my family. Now that your social status has been resolved as you are a Guild Founder, I believe it’s time to announce your betrothal to Rowena.”

Tom balked. “But we’ve barely gotten to know each other!”

“It will be years before the wedding, Tom,” Fenard assured him. “You’ll have plenty of time to grow closer to her. In the mean time, being engaged will resolve a great many issues that you’ve yet to see. Allow me to explain how many other members of the elite will perceive this news, and how they would have acted should you have emerged into the limelight without being betrothed.”

The lesson lasted for twenty minutes, and Tom was blushing by the end of it as he learned of many stories of young men who had been in a similar position, and the rumors of what had resulted from the attempts to get their attention.

~~~~~~~

Ubo swallowed the headache medicine, wincing at the bitter taste, as he rubbed his forehead. He understood fully now why his grandmother had been so eager to give him this responsibility. She’d seen the need for educating the new mages that were awakening before he had. And she must have also seen the pettiness and egotistical nature of the previous generation.

Wisely, Ursula had passed the buck.

And now the buck stopped with Ubo as Headmaster of the Urban School for Magic.

“It shouldn’t take too long to put together a faculty,” he grumbled, mocking his own statement mere days before. How had his grandmother kept a straight face when he’d said something so foolish?

Although time wasn’t the issue so much as resources. Every mage he’d approached over the last few days had demanded increasingly absurd, esoteric, or excessive compensation. Which he couldn’t provide at the moment.

“We can charge tuition,” He grumbled, recalling the same foolish words he’d shared when his grandmother had asked him where the funds were to come from. Because yes, of course they could charge tuition. But not until everything else was already lined up. Until the first day of school, there would be no funds except for what he could borrow.

Fortunately Ursula hadn’t completely thrown him to the wolves. She’d had the grace to secure a line of credit for the school from the royal bank. But it wasn’t enough to meet the demands of his would-be faculty.

Which brought him back to Tom Weaver.

Not that he was planning to ask the boy for a loan.

He found himself in the guesthouse in the palace where the boy was staying, his apprentice hovering a pen with the power of her mind, and a cup of caff in his hands. Tom had been very busy over the previous few days, perhaps as busy as Ubo, and it was a short wait before their schedules aligned.

They exchanged greetings, then Ubo got straight down to business.

“I’d like you to construct the campus for the Urban School of Magic,” he said bluntly.

Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Me? I build dungeons, not schools, Master Ubo.”

“Is there a difference?” the master Mage muttered rhetorically.

“One of them has monsters, and the other has students,” Tom answered.

“Is there a difference?” Ubo repeated himself.

Tom examined the mage. “Is something the matter, Master Ubo? You look like you’ve had the soul sucked out of you.”

“I feel like that too, Tom. I never realized that so many octogenarians were so petty when it came to so many things. I thought that opening this school was an opportunity to expand the prevalence of magic in our society. Everyone else sees it as a chance to rob the coffers,” Ubo said, slumping in his seat.

“Master Ubo has been screaming a lot lately,” Vella confided. “It would be scary if it wasn’t so funny.”

Ubo sighed. “Unfortunately starting a school is much more expensive than I was anticipating, Tom. I’m honestly just hoping to save a few marks. I’m not asking you to do it for free, of course, but I was hoping that it would be both faster and cheaper than building the old fashioned way.”

“I’m not interested in getting paid for what you’re asking of me,” Tom admitted. “I’d rather that you simply owe me a favor.”

“Oh?” Ubo said. He frowned, uncertain whether it was a good deal or not. “How big of a favor?”

“A school sized one.”