Sadly, even after stopping the slimefiend, the kitchen was still in shambles, so Gideon spent most of the afternoon cleaning up while Grimsby went to work on the roof by himself, much to the skeleton’s chagrin. Lord Kelvan floated into the kitchen just as Gideon was close to finishing. He wondered if his Great-Uncle had some way of seeing everything that was happening in the castle. He always seemed to swoop in at just the right time.
“Looks much improved from earlier, Nephew,” Lord Kelvan said. “I’m glad you’re not afraid of a little elbow grease.”
“Ondine seemed pretty upset,” Gideon said while scrubbing the counter with a soapy rag. The sink was finally spotless, but the surrounding area still needed work. “I didn’t realize she used the kitchen, too.”
Kelvan chuckled. “A natural mistake. She doesn’t eat, obviously. But she uses it for her studies in alchemy. That was her position here, you know, before her demise.” The mirror floated around, rotating to check every corner as if Kelvan was looking for spots he’d missed. “So, have you spent your attribute point yet?”
“No,” Gideon said. “It’s my first one from leveling up, so I wasn’t sure where to put it. Brilliance is the obvious choice, considering my goals, but I wasn’t sure.” A free attribute point was given every five levels, considered a gift from the gods. All of Gideon’s other attributes had come from hard work and training, as much as he’d been able to manage, at least.
“The obvious choice,” Kelvan said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Indeed. A point in Brilliance will give a little more power to your spells. But will it help you train? Will it help you advance to level ten, fifteen, etc., as quickly as possible? Some might argue a point in Willpower would be better suited for you.”
“Some might argue?” Gideon said, raising an eyebrow and putting down the rag. He stretched his arms and took a seat at the kitchen table, deciding he’d better give this conversation his full attention. One of the main reasons he’d decided to accept Lord Kelvan’s offer was to learn everything he could from him. It certainly wasn’t for the non-existent pay. “That’s a bit coy. What do you think?”
“It’s a complicated question. There’s no one right answer.”
This was the first time that Kelvan had shown any hesitation. From what Gideon knew about Falconridge Academy, they recommended that students level their Brilliance up to sixteen as soon as possible before increasing any other attributes. But Gideon didn’t know why, exactly—maybe that was covered in their classes.
He’d received a letter from Yvette where she had mentioned it. That was years ago, back before they fell out of touch. He wondered what level she was now. If she’d been the one to show up here, Lord Kelvan would have no doubt been pleased to have such an accomplished niece.
“That’s strange, Uncle. I expected you to know everything,” Gideon said, teasing. “What did you spend your level five attribute point on?”
“Oh,” Lord Kelvan said, “I didn’t.” For the first time, the wizard looked almost embarrassed.
“Wait,” Gideon said. “You never spent it? You just went around with an unused attribute point?”
“Don’t look at me like that, Nephew! I suppose it was difficult to decide where to put it, so in the end, I didn’t.” He waved his hand through the air. “It hardly matters now. I am barred from advancement in my current state, and my attributes are dampened. So in the end, it made no difference.”
Gideon picked up the rag and began to scrub again, thinking it over. He hadn’t expected Kelvan to be the type to be paralyzed by indecision. “Maybe I should level Guidance. What is Guidance, anyway?”
Kelvan chuckled. “Not a lot of people can even see that. But go ahead, try to level it.”
“I don’t want to,” Gideon said. “I don’t even know what it does.”
“Just try.”
Gideon sighed, but by now, he had started to trust his Uncle, even when he said things that made no sense.
Gideon focused his mind on his unused attribute point. It felt like a glowing ember in his mana core—raw potential, still untapped.
“Guidance,” he whispered, willing the point to be expended.
But nothing happened.
“It’s an attribute that’s supposed to be invisible. You can’t level it, Gideon. The gods will level it for you—if any of them ever feel like it. It’s not good to rely on such things, though. In the end, the divine will only disappoint you. Trust me on that one.” As he said it, there was sadness in his eyes, like he was speaking from personal experience.
“Uh, Lord Kelvan, I saw I had twelve, though. Doesn’t that mean I already gained some?”
“Yes, Nephew. I noticed that, but I didn’t want to bring it up. I wouldn’t read into it too much. It is said the gods take pity on those who have suffered, in ways both great and small.”
Gideon nodded. “I see.” He tried to think of what it might have been. Perhaps the last day he saw his father, back when he was fourteen.
Did they take pity on me then? Or was it something else? Gideon shook his head. There was no use dwelling on the past. He stood up and returned to scrubbing, putting as much attention into it as possible. With a gentle push of his mana, he activated the rune by the sink—the water was clear now—and rinsed out the rag.
“Lord Kelvan?” he asked.
“Yes, lad.”
“What about at Ebonreach? You were a student there. What did they recommend spending attributes on?”
Kelvan shook his head. “There was no official recommendation. The Institute encouraged each student to find their own path. But the general wisdom at the time… Well, it wouldn’t be suitable for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kelvan turned away as if he intended to leave, then hesitated. “You’ve seen some of the paintings, by now, of me and Lady Harmony.”
Gideon set down the rag. “I have. I didn’t know her name.”
“We met when we were students. She put all her points in Fortitude. Every last one. But they weren’t enough to save her.”
“I'm sorry, Uncle. I didn't realize.”
“No need to apologize. It was a long time ago.” He began to float towards the door again as if he’d decided he’d said enough, but he paused on the way out. “You want my advice, Nephew? Attributes won’t make you smarter, funnier, kinder, or better looking—so who cares? Brilliance or Willpower, Gideon. Pick one, and don’t sweat it like I did. Just press forward. No matter what.”
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Later that afternoon, having cleaned the kitchen to the point that even Ondine approved of it, Gideon went searching for Grimsby. However, he must have taken a wrong turn because he soon found himself in the castle courtyard, face-to-face with Sir Clonk reclining on a sunbed. The last time he’d passed through here, he was pretty sure he’d been unconscious, draped over Clonk’s shoulder.
Some sickly-looking trees were at one end of the courtyard, sheltering a steaming pool of water. A natural hot spring? Gideon thought. Near the spring was a wooden shack, but it looked rotten, and the roof had partially collapsed.
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The castle wall surrounded the keep and the courtyard, with the only entrance a large set of wooden gates reinforced with steel. However, one of them had lost two of its hinges and was barely hanging on. Gideon hoped no one would try to siege them any time soon.
“I didn’t realize you sunbathed,” Gideon said.
Sir Clonk groaned, a low-pitched echo within the armor. “I was trying to sleep.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you did that.”
“I don’t,” Clonk replied. “But I was trying to. To see if I could.”
“Hey, have you seen Grimsby?”
He sat up, then pointed up past Gideon’s shoulder. “Found him.”
Gideon followed Clonk’s gleaming metal hand to where Grimsby stood on top of a dome made of glass on the far side of the castle’s East Wing.
“Thanks, I guess I’d better head on over,” Gideon said, but Clonk was snoring semi-convincingly and did not reply.
Beneath the dome were more glass windows that covered the entire eastern side of the building. Inside was a jungle filled with a cornucopia of plant life, both large and small. Unlike the dying trees in the courtyard, most were lush and green and appeared well-tended. There were some potted flowers, vines growing up one wall, and many bushes and shrubs laden with different fruits and vegetables.
“Oh, tarnation!” Grimsby screamed, and Gideon’s eyes darted to where the skeleton was tumbling down the glass dome. Gideon began to panic as Grimsby tried to grab the dome's metal frame but missed it and continued falling, his bones sliding on the glass. It would be a straight drop to the ground below if he reached the edge.
Gideon ran forward, trying to think this over. It was true that [Entomb] was meant to create a shell around someone, but if he didn’t form it all the way, couldn’t it make a hemisphere instead? He reached out with his hands and began to form the spell in front of him. He didn’t think he had enough mana to layer [Toughness] onto the spell this time. He just hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.
The earth formed into a hollow cup, but before it sealed off completely, Gideon cut off the flow of mana to the spell. Instead, he willed the earth to rise, to shoot forward as he did with [Hail of Stone]. This time, however, due to the mass of his creation, it moved slowly rather than firing away, floating gently upward like an open palm of earth.
Grimsby fell off the dome's edge and dropped ten feet, where he landed in its waiting grasp.
[ Low Mana Warning! ]
Gideon tried to lower the spell back to the earth slowly, but halfway there it felt like a knife stabbed him in the forehead, and he lost control. The earthen cradle tipped sideways and began to fall. Right before it crashed, however, Grimsby dived out and threw himself to the side, rolling in the dirt. Gideon’s spell hit the ground, crumbling into tiny fragments of stone and soil.
“Nice save, kid,” Grimsby said. “Though I guess I should clarify so we’re on the same page that I can’t die again. Not from falling, at least. You know that, right?”
Gideon laughed and slumped to the ground as he felt all the energy flow out of him. “I didn’t know what would happen,” he said. “Didn’t want to find out.”
“Don’t get me wrong. You kept me from having quite a spill. I appreciate it. I was not looking forward to having to reassemble myself. Some of my parts are hard to tell apart.”
Gideon dismissed the low mana warning, but it still felt like someone was repeatedly poking his head with a needle. “This keeps happening,” Gideon muttered to himself. “Maybe a little more fuel for the fire is what I need, after all.” He focused on his unused attribute point, then spoke, “Willpower.” He felt the energy dissolve into his spirit, strengthening it. Willpower would increase his maximum mana, which, if the past couple of days were any indication, was something he desperately needed. His headache dissipated almost immediately, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him.
Grimsby was still lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. “Damn,” he said. “I was hoping to fix the conservatory roof.” He sighed. “I didn’t realize how slippery it was.”
“I was going to ask about that,” Gideon said. “I thought we were repairing the easy stuff first.”
“We were…” Grimsby sighed. “But after the kitchen incident, I was trying to make it up to Ondine. All those plants in there are hers, you know, for alchemy ingredients. There’s a crack in the dome. It’s been getting worse over the years, and she’s been complaining it’s starting to leak when it rains.”
“Well, I don’t think wooden shingles are going to fix a glass roof,” Gideon said.
“Like I told you, bub, we don’t got no supplies, and we got no way—”
“There’s a glassworks down in the village. I saw it when I was passing through. If you give them the dimensions, they could make us some glass that would fit. Of course, we’d have to haul it up here and install it ourselves. It wouldn’t be easy, but…”
Grimsby looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I’ve been saving some gold for a rainy day. I suppose this counts. Literally.”
“I’m hoping we won’t need much money, but good idea to bring it, just in case.”
“Why? You planning to rob those yokels?” Grimsby rubbed his hands together as if relishing the thought.
“No. And I’m concerned that was your first idea.” Gideon shook his head. “I’m a Silver Rank Geomancer now.” Just saying those words made him grin. Admittedly, he hadn’t practiced any higher-rank spells yet and was still low-grade. But he wasn’t about to say that. “I think I might be able to help them out. Maybe I can get us a discount, at least.”
“Well, bub, I take back all the bad things I said about you. Let’s go tomorrow. I’d better put together my disguise.”
“Wait,” Gideon asked. “What bad things?”
But Grimsby had already dusted himself off and was strolling back to the castle with a spring in his step.
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Later that evening, Gideon found Kelvan in his lab and explained his and Grimsby’s plan. Gideon was a little surprised by how readily Kelvan approved. When he'd worked at EnviroCharm, he was used to his ideas being met with mistrust or outright disapproval. Mr. Dreadmoor had only wanted him to do precisely what he was told and nothing else.
“You’ll find I’m in favor of self-directed mini—Bah, old habits,” Kelvan said, giving a weak smile to Gideon, who was shaking his head. “But I trust you to fulfill your duties how you feel would be best, Nephew. Besides, I know Grimsby has a soft spot for Ondine.”
A paper list and a leather sack floated toward Gideon from one of the nearby tables. Gideon looked at it and realized it was a shopping list, which included many other building supplies and some alchemical ingredients. The sack was heavy with gold coins, almost as if Kelvan had already known what Gideon was planning.
“Restock the kitchen while you’re at it,” Kelvan added. “Seeing as your frail mortal body needs to eat and drink, after all.”
“Uh, thanks.” Gideon had already planned to do that, but it was good to know that Lord Kelvan understood the necessity.
“There’s another thing. I thought it would be good for you to be able to track your status. Luckily, I believe there should be an [Appraise] skill book in the castle library on the second floor of the keep. Somewhere. I apologize in advance for the lack of a rigorous filing system.”
Gideon had been positively giddy as he climbed the stairs and entered the library. Until he saw the state of it. Sadly, Lord Kelvan seemed to be a master of understatement. The library ceiling was easily twice the height of any other room in the castle beside the conservatory. A single large window looked out on the mountains behind the castle. The other walls were covered in massive shelves which creaked under the weight of every book that could possibly be shoved into them.
In the middle of the room stood mountains of books as tall as he was. They were balanced so precariously that it seemed like a gentle wind would knock them over. Apparently, Kelvan’s collection had grown too large for the library, but rather than expanding to a different room or getting more shelves, he’d stacked the books on the floor instead.
Gideon sighed. Why had he thought this would be easy?
He began to look through the books one at a time, hunting for a single tome out of thousands. Still, he supposed it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
The sun set behind the mountains as Gideon slowly searched through the library. He had tried to see if there was a portion of the library dedicated to skill books, or perhaps just to magic generally. Sadly, if there was an organization system, it was beyond his comprehension. Books on history were right next to fiction. Books on magic were right next to cookbooks and tourist guides.
He almost brushed past said tourist guide until he stopped and took another look at the cover.
“Wait a minute,” he whispered. There was a hand-drawn illustration on the back of the book, and it looked exactly like Castle Kastorus. Well, it looked like Castle Kastorus without all the damage and decay. Flipping the book over in his hands, he read the title, The Wanderer’s Guide to the Frostpeak Mountains.
The book’s binding made a cracking noise when Gideon opened the book, and dust flew everywhere. Flipping through the pages, he found another illustration within the book that looked similar to the one on the cover. However, it depicted the castle from a different angle, with the sun rising over the snow-capped mountains in the background.
Next to the illustration, the text read, “Castle Moonstone: A Breath of Paradise. This castle is one of the finest inns in the entire Frostpeak Range and, indeed, the entire Kingdom of Gleuric. Once you arrive, you’ll never want to leave!”
Gideon couldn’t help but feel the last sentence was a little ominous, considering the current state of the castle’s residents. But he kept reading. The book described the splendor of the natural hot springs, the best breakfast in the entire western side of the continent, and how the castle was a natural home base for adventurers who had come to test themselves against the treacherous dungeons of the Frostpeaks.
Reading the book, Gideon felt transported to a distant time when the castle was at its height. Back when people came here to retreat from the world, to find a haven amidst the beautiful desolation of the mountains.
The fact was, they were going to need a lot more than one or two bags of gold to fix this place. A constant stream of revenue would be required. And what better way to do so than to make the castle work for them?
Lord Kelvan had said he valued self-direction.
It was time to see if he really meant it.
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