Jack woke up with a yawn the next day and no Cornelia in sight, though there was a single piece of stationary folded, with the words. "Thank you for your grace and kindness. When next I inhale the scents of my mother's garden, I will think of you. Yours faithfully, Cornelia." With a heart and lipstick kiss in the far right corner.
Jack couldn't help smiling, oddly flattered by the letter that he quickly squirreled away in his soul pouch, before finally pulling out the letter Samuel had handed him as cover when he had played at being a messenger boy the day before.
And the moment he cracked open the seal and read the contents within, he realized just how perilous a game he was playing.
Because it seemed that Stormy's ultimate mission hadn't been to put down a den of Shadow Wolves plaguing the countryside, but to make contact with the town of Loamsville and investigate any suspicious activity, including putting down any perceived threats to the Crown with extreme prejudice.
My Dear Lord C.H., esteemed patron of our Duke's Royal Rifle Regiment. It is with greatest regret that I must inform you of the demise of one Captain Lindon. Your handpicked Squire will be missed, as he provided much needed moral and discipline to a platoon too often adversely influenced by the distinct lack of professionalism and decorum of one Undercaptain Stormy Sing, who our superiors deem a necessary evil, and tolerate for the sake of our rifles alone. Still, it has been suggested by more than one dissatisfied party that Captain Lindon's demise can be directly attributed to her sloth and lack of focus on the battlefield, as the captain and multiple others died on her watch, against what amounted to no more than a pack of wolves, which, I am given to understand, is well within the powers of any witch to subdue.
The casualties would have been far greater had third platoon not successfully acquired a young draftee by the name of Jack... last name unknown. This individual is in possession of a remarkable talent for healing, and rescued no less than three mortally wounded soldiers from certain death and two others from career ending injuries. This individual is clearly common-born, with no known Academy or Guild affiliations, and thus, per military protocol, as a citizen of Greycliff, with no prior military record, may now be considered a resource of the army and thus, the Council.
It goes without saying that none would be better suited to assume possession of this rare find than yourself, Lord C.H., and steps are being taken to assure that this is done with all haste.
Our only regret is that the Late Captain Lindon's platoon was unable to fulfill its original mission of ascertaining the fate of the Town of Loamsville and rescuing any citizens who might be in distress, most notably one Eric Rothson, whose fate is still unknown.
Your servant in all things, L.G.
"The hell with that," Jack muttered to himself, forcing his now trembling hands to still as he refolded that letter, forced to accept just how perilous his situation had been at that camp, and he could only hope that Stormy and the others were well aware of a certain lord's involvement. And if he had any doubts as to who CH stood for, the interest in Loamsville, most especially the well-being of a certain young psychopath who had nearly slaughtered an entire town, had removed all doubt. Lord Hecklebart was definitely involved. As to who L.G. was... Jack hadn't the foggiest idea.
As for Jack himself... he swallowed the bile crawling up his throat, for a heartbeat feeling the walls close in on him as he broke out in a cold sweat.
Before taking a deep breath, and remembering where he was. Silver Wand Inn. Across the street from a delve hidden under a magnificent college of magic that just might hold the key to changing his life in wonderful, miraculous ways. That might just help him forge his own class, and if nothing else, hyper-accelerate his skill progression. Because spell mastery was the one form of power he was able to pursue at the moment and had done so with vigor, regardless of his lack of class. Perhaps even aided because of it, as his earned experience, or potency, had nowhere else to go.
He basked in the warm light coming in from his room's stained glass window panes and smiled, the air already rich with the scents of sunshine and roses, a quick peak out his window showing the Arcane Academy's towering hedges to wondrous effect, absolutely covered with a glorious profusion of rose blossoms of every color of the rainbow.
His racing thoughts calmed to devising a clear path forward, already knowing what his next moves had to be. There were a few questions he had for the staff downstairs, and if he was at all lucky, salvation might be closer than he had any right to expect.
He made his way downstairs after quickly freshening up, pleased to find that in addition to a brass chamber pot, there was a yellow door at the end of the hallway on each floor that actually housed a pair of bronze commodes separated by a finely inlaid hardwood divider, the lid of each commode also made of well polished hardwood which Jack thought a blessing, smiling at the obvious proof, along with the hospital style sink that allowed for running water with a paddle easily flipped by an elbow, and bars of tallow and ash, to say nothing of the pair of cotton hand towels hung beside the sink, that the original twice-born founders had indeed left their mark with at least a few technological innovations so practical that any culture would have incorporated and kept them, no matter how many centuries or, for all Jack knew, millenia, had passed since the original forging of this realm. Save for the use of bronze and hardwood instead of chrome and porcelain, along with an elegance and charm one would never find in a typical 20th century establishment, it could have passed for a fancy bathroom in any hotel he had ever been to, a lifetime ago.
"Too bad they don't have showers," Jack thought to himself as he freshened up, glancing at his image in the glass mirror provided. He couldn't help smiling. For all that he saw the same face he always had, maybe his expressive blue eyes had a bit more of a twinkle than he remembered, more like sapphires than the grey blue he once remembered. But he was still beyond flattered to find that not one but several women only a few years older than himself seemed to find him interesting enough to tease, sleep beside, or completely ravish.
He winced at his own flushed cheeks, wondering how Stormy was at that moment, and praying she and her men were safe.
He swallowed, shaking his lingering regrets away.
If he had stayed, he would have been trapped. And if that letter was any indication, he would have been treated as a commodity in truth, under the power of a certain corrupt lord now firmly on his kill list. Along with a certain diabolical rune master who thought Jack's birthplace was fair game. But before Jack could entertain more than dark fantasies he did his best to suppress, before he could ever be in a position to help Stormy, their unit, or live life by his own code, he needed to get stronger.
Strong enough to be a force in his own right, a piece on the board of fate, and the farthest thing from a pawn easily manipulated, or removed.
It was with those thoughts firmly in mind that he headed downstairs, eager to take the next step in securing his place in a delving group willing to take on the city dungeon and finding or forging a class worthy of all he had given up, ascending along a path of power he could truly call his own.
Yet when he emerged from the narrow hallway leading from the stairs to the dining area, he heard a voice that froze him where he stood, ice shivering down his spine as malice-laden words coated in smarmy politeness caressed his ears.
"Lady Sigrid, how good it is to see you up so bright early this morning. Ready to glimpse the newest batch of dreamers and fools eager to race headlong to their deaths on the morrow? ha ha."
"Lord Hecklebart. Blowing in like winter's first snow. What a predictable delight it is to see you in the blood moon's wake."
"Of course! Blood for Shadow, and Silver for Gold! I love seeing base fools spinning tales of all their sad little hopes and dreams, taking advantage of Guild custom for food and shelter, just days before hurrying off to their doom." He chuckled coldly. "Less trash and riffraff to trouble our fair city and the true jewels of the duchy, the young ladies and lords getting ready for the next glorious chapter in their lives, attending our city's wondrous Arcane Academy, and embracing the true art. The only art of significance."
"And how is your oldest doing, Lord Hecklebart? Morlin is his name, yes?"
The man guffawed gutturally. "Being a charming rapscallion, just like his father! Put one fool aping his betters in the college rightly in his place, just the other night! Word to the wise, my dear. Be careful of who supplies your ham!" He then roared with laughter at his own joke.
Lady Sigrid's voice turned frigid. Jack could just imagine the frosty glitter to her gaze. "Magical duels involving more than a pinch of pain are forbidden outside college grounds. And that most definitely includes transmutations. For there are no masters to assure to a child's safety out here."
"A trifling piffle. Morlin assured me that Lady Greenwood's gaggle had things well in hand by the time he left for livelier pastures. And speaking of livelier pastures, I don't suppose any of your..."
"Don't even say it, Lord Hecklebart. This is not that sort of establishment, and my girls are to be treated with respect. Did you perchance miss the sun blazing in the east when first you rose, my lord? The workday has just begun. What they do on their off-hours is their own business, and I won't judge the folly of girls too easily seduced by material charms. But should you think for a single moment—"
"Calm yourself, woman. I merely wanted service from a lass not so long in the tooth as yourself. But so long as you're here... I'll have a flagon of your best brandy, five cheese tarts, and a sweet-glazed roast fowl."
"Of course, Lord Hecklebart."
"And yes, a plate of those delightful fried potato wedges! With a bowl of bubbling soft-cheese and chopped sausage links to go with." He chuckled good-naturedly. "Truly, you are a woman of means, Lady Sigrid. For all your inn's flaws, your chef is a wizard in the kitchen!"
"Of course he is. Academy trained. I will return with your order shortly."
Hecklebart cleared his throat, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried perfectly down the corridor where a shivering Jack stood as still as he could. "Before you go, Lady Sigrid, there is a matter that concerns us both."
"Really? And what in the world could that possibly be?"
"It has to do with a new recruit who dared to flee the duke's forces without serving his time or being properly discharged. A war crime that would normally cost him lashes and a branding, if not his head! Fortunately for the one I'm looking for, he has skills that High Command deems worthy of preserving, thus he need merely serve his time, and he can avoid all corporal punishment. Though he will be collard, of course, for his own good."
"And why are you telling me this, Lord Hecklebart?"
The man snorted. "Because you and I both know that you have contacts in all sorts of interesting places. And if this boy is successfully recovered with your assistance... you might just earn yourself a full gold crown."
Jack froze where he stood, heart roaring in his ears so loudly it was a miracle he could hear what was being said.
It took a singular act of will not to bolt right then and there, images of a foolish, frightened hares fleeing from a shaking bush only to run right into netting and end up in the family stew pot flashing across his mind's eye.
Much to his heartfelt relief, all Lady Sigrid did was chuckle. "You're offering me gold to find a boy? Why the hell would the army be interested in a boy in any case?"
"Not just a boy, a healer!" the man hissed. "And one not yet affiliated with the Guild! He's not an adventurer, and if fortuna is on my side, he never will be!" the man chuckled softly. "Captain Lindon's rifle regiment stumbled upon him by chance while hunting vermin in the woods, and that damned witch mage of his couldn't even keep the men safe! We lost good soldiers that day, including Lindon himself. But at least that boy was able to bring most of them back from injuries I'm assured should have seen the men crippled and discharged, if not outright dead. And they were riflemen! Worth a handful of any other class of trooper. All of them are now right as rain. Save for being addled in their heads."
Lord Hecklebart gave a derisive snort. "The fools claim not to even remember his name. They can't even agree on what he looks like! Ebony skin with dark curly hair and a lion's physique. A red-headed elf wearing a magical hauberk of silver and dream. A handsome young lord with golden locks of hair, emerald green eyes, and a voice that could seduce any girl who hears him. Ha! As if he were a legendary hero who came to their rescue. It's only by chance that my man overheard one of the nurses talking about a boy named Jack. So that's all we have to go on."
Mistress Sigrid broke out in brittle laughter. "Wait, are you actually saying your rifle regiment came across a boy who managed to heal their wounded from the brink of death, and instead of a thank you, or a pound of silver, your idea of a reward is to put a slave collar around his neck and declare him the property of the High Council?"
A sudden tense silence filled the air, the lord's voice turning hard and cold. "Did anyone named Jack show up on your doorstep last night, Sigrid?"
Jack broke out in a cold sweat, tasting peril just a heartbeat away. Before swallowing his fear and replacing it with something hard and bitter. Clenching his fists tight, ready to do whatever it took to survive. Because before he'd allow that monster to put a collar around his neck... he'd wash the whole damned inn in fire and blood.
Even if it killed him. Even if he could all but swear he heard fate's mocking laughter, for Jack daring to think he could ever prosper on a path where death was forever. Because if the Path of Peril led to anything but folly, why hadn't he encountered half a dozen high level movers and shakers by now? Why were the only adventurers he had met in person almost as new to this path as he was?
Then he shook his head, recalling the several tables-worth of adventurers he had seen, radiating power a plenty. But they came across as exactly what they were. Well-to-do Delvers wearing shiny, perhaps magical armor who looked well-off and content. But not impossibly rich, not as if they were lords of the land.
And his racing thoughts did nothing to comfort him as the tension grew so thick Jack could cut it with a knife.
Jack could hear Lady Sigrid's sigh. "No, Hecklebart. I know of no one named Jack. Certainly no boy claiming that name came through my door last night, healer or otherwise."
Hecklebart sighed and tutted. "Your heart's too soft, woman. You know as well as I that war is coming. Whether months or just weeks from now, it's only a matter of time. After Delver's Guild, in their infinite arrogance, pulled out of our duchy when we need them the most, when we did nothing more than insist that adventurers accept their place as valued conscripts during times of war, we cannot afford to allow any more of our resources to be snatched up by those bastards!"
"And that's why you're really here," Lady Sigrid hissed. "To snatch up any young fool who actually manages to survive their first delve under the academy."
"Of course!" Hecklebart said with a chortle. "For then they will have proven themselves a cut above the desperate gutter trash plaguing this city. And, much to my amusement, though a handful or two have managed to flee the Delve as little more than broken wretches covered in suppurating tumors they thought to hide from me, not a single fool has managed to ascend since I started my watch last year!"
Jack was sickened by the way Hecklebart chuckled so warmly. "Oh don't look at me like that, Sigrid. The common slop here isn't worth the free bread and beer you feed them! Not a single highborn among them. But should anyone actually manage to ascend..."
"Guild edicts are in full effect, the moment they survive their first delve. The duke himself agreed." Lady Sigrid said, her voice hard as ice.
"Of course! Of course. Once they've ascended as adventurers, it's their choice to go or stay. Then it's Uncle Hecklebart with a purse full of gold, ready to make them an offer they can't refuse!"
Lady Sigrid's icy silence said all that needed saying.
"Well, what are you waiting for, woman? Now bring me my meal! And a silver talon if you bring it in time for me to watch all the ugly ducklings gather together into groups of frightened fools, actually thinking to form parties that will be proof against their own unmitigated folly!" The last was said with ugly laughter, before his voice turned cold as a killer's blade. "Remember, Sigrid. A gold crown if you find me that boy Jack. And you won't like what happens if you dare hold out on me."
The threat in those words had Jack clenching his fists, and only a few seconds later, Jack was lurching back with a hiss with the sudden appearance of a tight-faced Lady Sigrid, eyes flashing with barely suppressed hate, turning the corner.
Only to do a blink and a double-take when she grabbed his arm with surprisingly strong grip, leading him back down the corridor, past the stairs and doors leading to a kitchen from which Jack smelled the headiest fragrances imaginable and could have sworn he caught the scent of magic in the air. Magic that tasted of cheese cake, creme-stuffed pastries slathered in caramel sauce, strawberry shortbread, and wonder.
But all he felt at that moment was ice cold dread.
He sensed no malice, just a bit of desperation. The only reason why he held back at all as they took a final turn and Jack found himself before a bolted steel door leading down a flight of stairs winding further than the circle of light emitted by the dancing faerie Lady Sigrid summoned with a whisper.
"Whatever you do, don't tell me your name, boy." She chuckled softly. "At least now I understand why you deliberately left that out when you came knocking on my door." Hard eyes gazed into his own as she led him down the stairs. "Is it true you can sing a man's wounds closed?"
Jack flashed a cold smile. "Is it true Lord Hecklebart and this council want to collar and enslave anyone stupid enough to reveal any unusual gift at all?"
She chuckled bitterly at that. "I'm sure they'll do it all legal and proper like, declaring that citizens of the duchy are honor-bound to serve their betters for a duration that will always be extended for as long as there is war or even the threat of war, and it is only chance and indulgence that allows the insignificant to escape that duty. If your blood is noble, or the Guild or Academy have already claimed you, that is different. But for most common folk? Justice is best found in the low courts, far away from the lords that rule this city."
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Jack frowned. "For some reason, I thought better of this city. The gardens, the night market, the academy radiating such brilliant potential that it paints the sky with the promise of eternal wonder. It's too beautiful to think it so corrupt."
This earned him a strange look, but all she said was, "Things weren't always this way. But after the High Council was stupid enough to alienate the Guild entire, and the duke blind with desperation until it was far too late, we ended up where we now are." She sighed. "Somehow, it only consolidated the power of the bastards that set us on this path in the first place. These are desperate times we now live in. You can feel the tension beneath even the friendliest smiles. And I fear, for you, life has just become a sight more perilous than most need fear, even if war does break out."
Jack frowned, saying nothing as they continued down the winding stairs, ending at last in a vast root cellar full of boxed items, grain sacks, and smoked goods in a room that was definitely on the chilly side, Jack thought, more than a bit curious as to their ultimate destination before his hostess seemed to all but disappear, for all that his infravision made it clear that she had just ducked behind a series of storage shelves. And sure enough, it opened into yet another tunnel, this one appearing far older than the staircase, and better made as well, constructed of smooth arched granite, and Jack felt the faintest chill of wonder when he recognized the dwarven runes carved into the reinforced bracing of the tunnel they strode within.
She frowned, gazing at him curiously. "Something catch your interest?"
Jack grinned and shrugged. "I was surprised to see a rune I recognized, down here."
"Really? Show me?"
So he did, quickly explaining the nature of the dwarven rune for Resilience.
The woman beside him tilted her head. "Quite the knowledgeable one, aren't you?"
Jack shrugged. "About a few things, perhaps."
"And yet I note you haven't asked for single detail in regards to our destination. Aren't you the least bit curious as to where we're going?"
Jack stopped, turning to face her, really looking at the woman with the piercing emerald gaze, handsome features of a once strikingly beautiful woman only just past her prime whose body still held the grace of a gymnast, if the way she flowed down the steps or gripped his shoulder was any indication.
He said nothing, for all that he could taste the slightest tingle of something in the air. Only smiling into eyes that seemed more alive with peril and possibility than they ever had in the inn above.
She sighed and shook her head. "For all you know, I'm leading you to your own execution."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
She frowned consideringly. "Tell me, Jack. Do you feel any undue pressure, or mad itch infecting you? Is there any uncomfortable tingling in your limbs, or perhaps a tightness in your chest? Anything at all?"
To that Jack grinned. For all he felt was the delicious tingle of magic in the air, of darkest possibility, caressing his frame. Just the tiniest spark of what he had felt, daring madness with his friends. He tilted his head and smiled. "I recall you saying when first I arrived, that Guild Edicts are now in full effect."
She dipped her head. "That is correct."
"But the Guild has, what... abandoned Greycliff Duchy?"
She sighed. "Not entirely. Though officially they have left, this inn and the adjoining buildings... hell, even the entranceway to the dungeon itself, are all considered Guild territory."
"Which Lord Hecklebart, for all his bluster..."
Her eyes twinkled as she nodded. "Steps carefully around me, at least within my sanctum." Her gaze hardened. "But until you can prove yourself a Delver proper, worthy of the Guild's shelter, you're in peril the moment he, or his lackeys acting as a press gang, look your way. Or the way of any nubile young boy or girl who fits that bastard of a lord's... 'requirements.'" She flashed a bleak smile. "The good news is, if you actually manage to retrieve an artifact only found in Delves, or simply earn a witness to vouchsafe that you entered the dungeon proper and came back alive, that's all you need to instantly transcend the corrupt council's games... at least as far as being press-ganged is concerned. Because even if no adventurer residing in this city is officially a member of the guild... Guild rules still apply."
Jack blinked at this. "But how is that allowed? Why is that allowed?"
She flashed a bleak smile. "Actually, it's by ducal decree. This way, any adventurer with love in their hearts for their home city can enjoy the benefits normally associated with the Guild, including security and stability, with no need to worry about usurious taxes or unexpected obligations, without actually being in the Guild."
Jack nodded, suddenly understanding. "So that's why the adventurers still here choose to stay. But if that's the case, then why the hell is that asshole of a lord determined to put a slave collar around my... this Jack's neck?"
She flashed a bitter smile. "Think it through, lad."
Jack furrowed his brow, before it all clicked. Of course the duke would do all he could to entice those with the seeds of power or greatness locked within their souls to stay with the sweetest honey they could offer. But for those powerless few blessed only with potential, why wouldn't a corrupt council try to collar and enslave them before they could claim the mantel of Delver, if the opportunity presented itself? Enticement or enslavement. Two very different tools with one objective in mind. Securing as much power and independence as the duchy could, with the resources available to it.
"Because a helpless healer with no experience delving is an easy tool to manipulate. No need to fear him, or expend efforts trying to entice him, when you can just slap a collar on his neck and call it mandatory military service."
"Precisely. Especially if they have no proof that they have ever successfully delved. Only then would the Council would think twice before claiming them as property."
Jack nodded. "And if certain lords have even more nefarious design for their chosen slaves, using the council's weight as pretext alone..."
This earned him a hard glare. "Watch your words, lad. Even here, lest you get in the habit of uttering things aloud that you never should." She flashed a humorless smile. "No matter how right you happen to be, with the most corrupt lords dispensing low justice of the ugliest sort."
Jack winced, then dipped his head. "You're right. I should know better." He smiled brightly. "So, let me ask the expected question. Where the hell is it, exactly, that you're taking me?"
She chuckled at that. "Where you most need be, child. Far away from here." Her gaze hardened, as did Jack's. "Don't give me that look, child. I'm doing you a greater favor than you can possibly fathom, and I am trusting you with secrets that must never go beyond the pair of us."
Jack nodded solemnly, instantly deferential, already having sensed just a flicker of her carefully suppressed power.
Struck by a sudden flash of a strikingly beautiful woman, possessing the kind of etherial beauty that would have had kings launch ships, once upon a time, filling the air with an apocalyptic doom of ice and snow.
An entire army frozen to ice.
Thousands upon thousands of desperate eyes gazing in frozen horror upon the mistress of their destruction, before being swallowed up by the arctic winds howling through that once lush and fertile plain... and then they were no more. And the woman left sobbing upon a field of ice and snow was a maiden cherishing the sweet caress of youth no longer, but a middle-aged sorceress who had paid a terrible price for the powers she had dared to embrace.
Even as countless thousands of soldiers became no more than the final lonely howls of an ancient northern wind, fearlessly collecting its due.
Jack's heart skipped a beat, and he feared she could sense what he had seen in her gaze.
He quickly bowed his head, pretending deference alone had caused him to miss a step.
Her sidelong smirk made it clear she'd play along, but she was no fool.
But all she said after abruptly stopping was, "Continue along this passage. And for the sake of all that's peaceful and kind, don't take any right turns." She flashed a curious smile, presenting him with a golden key.
He blinked, clasping it almost deferentially between his hands.
"Once you reach the end of this tunnel, you'll see a gate of glass. You need but use the key to turn the lock, and the way to a peaceful life is before you."
She smiled at his furrowed brow. "Past the gate the tunnel rapidly ascends to a small wooden door that is itself the underground storehouse for feed for the messenger horses in the stable above." She gently squeezed his hand. "That key will also unlock a small dust-covered chest you'll find in the corner. Within you'll discover a messenger's tabard an a purse with a letter of passage that will allow you to cross any border, and no guard will dare stand in your way."
Jack blinked, feeling a sudden chill tingle down his spine under her sapphire gaze. What he wanted to do was offer his most profuse thanks. But what his treacherous tongue instead said was: "What could possibly make guards tip their caps to me a hundred miles from here?"
She chuckled softly. "You'll be wearing the tabard and carrying a letter of the Guild. No guard of any city save this one would dare give you a moment's trouble. The letter of passage marks you as a messenger of the Guild." She then handed him a velum envelope smelling of jasmine. "This is the message you will be carrying. You may take it to the capital of either Velheim to the North, or Erovering to the South. Both nations are in good standing with the Guild. But ask the city guard of either location where the nearest Guildhall is, and you may start your life as an honored and protected messenger of the Guild."
Jack was struck speechless by the generosity of her gift. He didn't hesitate to drop to one knee and lower his head. "My lady... all I can say is, thank you. You have my gratitude, and my family's as well."
She chuckled softly at that. "I will remember that." Her gaze hardened. "The choices you make at this point are entirely your own, and it is you who will suffer the bitter or the sweet because of them."
She gave his arm a final squeeze before turning around and heading back. "For your sake, I hope you choose well."
Jack was momentarily speechless, struck with a dozen questions he wanted to ask. Needed to ask. About the dungeon. And most importantly, about the Arcane Academy and the secrets it held.
Secrets he was desperate to claim for himself.
"Lady Sigrid?"
Jack frowned back at the corridor already seeming to twist and warp, covered in shadows and flickering auroras, surprised to see one particular shadow freeze, then slowly turn around. Jack blinked, rubbing his eyes, wondering why they were stinging as he gazed at a perfectly straight corridor and a bemused looking hostess once more.
"Yes, Jack?"
Jack swallowed, all but wilting under the weight of her gaze, for all that her face showed naught but the gentlest of smiles. "The Arcane Academy. How... how does one enter it?"
She tilted her head, her gaze one of bemused disbelief. "Are you truly such a fool as to dare the academy without name or title, in a city filled with desperate players who would eagerly use you as their pawn?"
Jack forced himself to nod. Because there was no way he could put into words the awe and wonder he had felt, seeing a handful of well-to-do youth living what seemed perfect lives, gently guiding magical forces that should be utterly beyond them, channeled into the power of memory and dream. The world's memory of so many miracles that had happened before.
And for just a moment, gazing upon them, he had forgotten himself. Forgotten that he was the road-weary youth of a lost village taking his first steps in the big city. For just a moment, he had gazed at the pair of duelists with the same bemused smile as the others, thinking eagerly on all he would study and accomplish the next semester when he was within the academy walls once more, where the magic flared so brilliantly, so brightly, and one truly was just a step away from a world of impossible wonder. A place where life itself was a dream, and one that any wizard could shape to their will.
Before he had shivered and blinked it all away, himself once more, and that flight of fancy, flashes of a dreams that had once been his, countless lifetimes ago, had faded to the immediate urgency of rescuing a panicked young man transformed into a pig by magic that was as much dream as it was real, but real enough to consume life as no more than a dream, before the poor squealing boy was slaughtered for feed.
And how odd it was, the way Mistress Sigrid's eyes widened.
As if she had just taken a peak at the storm of haunting visions and ephemeral memories plaguing Jack like a lost love... flickers of a fading dream of faerie. As close as he would ever come.
She shook her head, flashing a sad smile. "You'd be a fool to take any path but the one straight ahead. Because it will be weeks before the next semester even starts. Weeks before there's any chance of you somehow finessing a scholarship and slipping free of your enemy's noose. And those are weeks you really don't have. Not as you are now, anyway."
And before Jack could think of a response, her faerie light suddenly flickered and dimmed. And all was shadows and gloom.
"Lady Sigrid?" But he knew there was no point in calling out.
She was long gone.
If she had been there at all.
Jack frowned and turned back around, feeling oddly disoriented and dizzy, before everything snapped back into focus.
He gave a soft chuckle, wondering why he had been worried about the darkness and gloom. He could see perfectly well with his infravision. And as for Magesight... it chilled him, just how well he could see, with the arcane glow permeating absolutely everything.
Because it had only been under the auspices of the innkeeper's magical little ball of flickering candlelight, he realized, that he had been limited to what anyone might see in a twenty feet radius.
But now? He flashed an almost feral smile, summoning forth Blood Shield and Crimson Armor with a singular act of will, and a certain happy little wind sprite now happily blowing a protective swirling gust of wind around him as well, his razor sharp and nearly indestructible blade once more in hand.
Now, he could see just fine.
His mind raced with the implications of all he had seen, all he had sensed, the newly discovered mapping function of his internal interface revealing additional secrets as well.
Secrets that sent chills racing down his spine, and made it clear that Lady Sigrid was far more than she had seemed, of which Jack already had no doubt, and that she had trusted Jack to be as well.
Because he wasn't walking along a tunnel burrowed under the city.
Not exactly.
Even now, he was stepping in directions at right angles to all known points of a mundane compass, stepping quietly within realms of Shadow and Dream.
But just on the outskirts, he realized, as he forged a new internal map overlaying the one for the city of Greyspeak above. And though space and time were definitely kinked, as Jack could tell from the erratic way his blinking presence, indeed the tunnel as a whole, seemed to bunch up or stretch out as they progressed relative to the city proper, it lay but lightly over reality.
Such that when Jack spotted the branch to his right that Lady Sigrid had warned him about, he immediately sensed where it would lead.
He stopped in his tracks, taking a deep breath as he gazed down the ancient limestone passageway, protected by a translucent gate that could be crystal or glass, sensing the choice now before him.
He could continue down the main tunnel, and he knew without a doubt that he would find himself galloping across the high road in a Guild messengers tabard, exulting in the freedom of the wide open skies and a life that would see him forever free of conflicts and petty internecine struggles, particularly if he chose to embrace the life of a messenger in truth. An eternal messenger that would never age, would eventually find his class, and could savor all the sights and beauty of the magnificent world, slowly learning to access and make use of hidden nodes that would allow him to travel hundreds of leagues in the blink of an eye.
He shivered at the possibility of it, somehow tasting the truth of it. Almost like he had once lived such a life before.
Or he could present himself before any Guildhead, and embrace the life of an adventurer within the magical land of Erovering, which he somehow just knew was filled with arcane wonders and shadowy perils and would be an adventurer's paradise, with no gunpowder lasting a heartbeat before erupting, no matter how powerful the witch seeking to ward its instant assimilation within the rich sea of mana that marked that territory might be.
And if he wanted a land to call home that revered Delvers above all others, that just might be Velheim. For all that most soldiers were armed with rifles and few adventurers wanted to feel so humbled, no land was more in need of Delvers to secure the rifts of shadow that could so easily send the technologically blossoming cities into catastrophic failure with surges of chaotic magic, with so few heroes willing to live in those areas.
Meaning that any Delver who dared to call Velheim his home would be both honored and revered, and so long as they were law-abiding, could probably enjoy a life filled with prestige and luxury, even if their magical powers and abilities outside of the magic saturated pustules of Shadow would be modest compared to the magics they could access anywhere else.
He grinned at the thought of living the life of a steampunk delver in Velheim, a celebrated hero making use of gunpowder and gadgets he sensed combined the perils and possibilities of exothermic reactions, electricity, and magic in one chaotic, glorious whole. And though he dare not give into any megalomaniac fantasies in that nation, where a hundred snipers could align to take any adventurer down, it didn't matter, so long as he was law abiding. Because expert military snipers would want his autograph along with everyone else, should he and those like him manage to save their capital city from perils that bullets were worthless against.
And wouldn't it be nice to embrace creature comforts that might be far closer to the life he had once lived than he otherwise dared hope? Having to accept his own limitations was a small price to pay, if it meant access to jakuzzis and luxury apartments and all the comforts of the life he had left behind, maybe with his smiling face on the cover of whatever passed for their newspapers or magazines.
He smirked at the thought before shaking the daydream away.
Then he took a deep breath as he seriously considered both possibilities, recalling the various tomes history, geography, and politics he recalled reading in the family library under his father's solemn guidance bringing to life the true significance of the life choices before him. And a part of him had to laugh at how frustrated he had been, not that long ago, when his father forbade him sharing what he had learned about Velheim and Erovering and the lifestyles of their adventurers with anyone.
And though his parents had been happy to further augment his knowledge with what he now realized had been anecdotes from their own colorful pasts, it was only now, with his original life shining so brightly in his mind, that he could truly appreciate the comforts Velheim's wealthy no doubt took completely for granted.
"But why can't I share all the wonders of our nearest neighbors, Father?" he recalled asking more than once.
"Because there are some things no farm boy is expected to know. Insights and wisdom that ill-fit your present role, or the role you will take if you do indeed marry the girl you're now courting, and settle down in our house, making it your own."
He had flushed at that, he remembered, but didn't deny that such had very much been his dream.
"Do you really think it will be different for me, Father?"
His father just shrugged and smiled. "Your mother and I had this very conversation with your sisters, countless times before. Each of them so certain they would settle down as weavers, just like your mother, marrying the boy who had caught their fancy during the autumn festivals."
Words that had always made Jack blush, for all that his older sisters, forever looking the same age as they had on their 18th birthday, had moved out decades ago. "But they didn't. They all left and came back, didn't they?"
His father had only nodded. "They were struck with an unexpected choice."
Jack recalled being quite frustrated when his father refused to say anything further. Now he could only shake his head, realizing, and not for the first time, that his parents had prepared him for what was to come far better than he had realized at the time.
Even if he was still determined to play the fool.
Refusing the promise of high adventure in Erovering, or technological marvels and a celebrity's glory in Velheim.
Because before him now, to his right, was a crystal gate that Jack was almost certain led to either a dungeon, or perhaps the very delve the Arcane Academy served as the caretakers of.
And if that were the case...
If that were the case, he just might find the key that would allow him to stay.
To stay and make use of what was rumored to be a stable dungeon with at least one portal that was perfect for beginning Delvers, according to Stormy, while staying out of the clutches of a certain corrupt noble. At least until he could find a way, somehow, to earn admittance into the Arcane Academy itself, and uncover the secrets to the wondrous magic he had caught such fantastic glimpses of the night before, as he sought the perfect class to call his own.
Heart racing, he made his choice.
Sheathing his sword, he withdrew the golden key and placed it within the lock before him.
And somehow he wasn't surprised at all to find, for all that it was the wrong gate and specifically what Lady Sigrid had advised him not to do... that the key turned effortlessly and the gate opened before him.
Jack felt a sudden surge of elation. But if his hunch was truly correct... he'd best take one extra step to make sure Lady Sigrid's kindness never came back to haunt her. So he closed the gate and with a furtive look all around, dared to lie down on the mist covered stone floor. The sudden roiling motion sickness he felt was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, as a sudden wave of dizziness near overwhelmed him. Then he dared to close his eyes in the closest place to purgatory he had ever been in. For long moments, the key he squeezed desperately tight was his only anchor as he fought the sense of flying free of the living realm in directions unimaginable, before finally lurching back to his feet and at last passing through the gate.
Eager to waste no more time than he already had, he pause only long enouhto lock the gate now behind him before making his way through the mist-shrouded grey stone corridor now before him, hungry to see what secrets it held.
It was then that he heard the screams.