As it turned out, the man who’d approached Grimsby was named Simeon, who happened to be Aurora’s husband. Simeon was a bearded man with black hair and gray eyes who was almost as wide as he was tall. His overalls were covered with dirt on the knees as if he’d been hard at work, and he shook Gideon’s hand with a pleasant yet firm strength.
After exchanging pleasantries, Simeon and Aurora insisted the trio join them at their small brick house behind the glassworks. It was a cottage-style home next to a coop and a small vegetable patch. As they entered, Gideon could hear the chickens clucking. An orange tabby cat was sitting by the window, meowing at them. Simeon walked over to scratch their ears, then headed into the kitchen. Aurora gestured for them to sit at the table and took a seat herself.
“So, you’re fixing up the old castle?” Simeon called from the kitchen. “Quite the task.”
“That's true,” Gideon said, taking one of the wooden chairs. “But I think it will be worth it in the end.” Grimsby sat beside him while Clonk walked over to the window to look at the cat, who hissed and jumped away, following Simeon.
“You bet,” Simeon said. “You know, there used to be a lot of traffic to and from the castle, and along that pass through the Frostpeaks. But it’s dried up over the years. It was better for our village back when more people were passing through.” He grabbed a pan from a rack above the stove. “Do you want some eggs, Gideon? Maybe some hash browns?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Gideon said.
“You can take it out of the money we owe to the Rattlebandit,” Aurora said with a smile. “Simeon has told that story to me since we were young. But honestly, part of me wasn’t sure if I believed it.”
“You think I would lie for your amusement, my dear?” Simeon shouted from the kitchen, then added, much more quietly, “Because I would.” He loaded some wood into the stove, then used a magic tinderbox to shoot a glowing ember, starting the fire.
“I can’t wait to tell Ondine your new moniker, Rattlebandit,” Gideon said, turning towards the skeleton with a grin.
Grimsby shook his head. He’d removed his sun hat and placed it on the table, but the comically long beard still hung from his bony face. “I doubt she’ll be impressed. My name is Grimsby, by the way,” he said, turning towards Simeon. “Though Rattlebandit does have a nice ring to it. Makes me sound like a dashing rogue.”
“Truly, a legend,” Aurora said dryly. “Listen, I would still be careful around the village. Some of our neighbors might be alarmed if they see you without warning. And some of the villagers do follow Celestra. But I’ll start to mention it to some of the more open-minded folks around Emberly.”
“I think they’ll warm up to the idea,” Simeon said, “if it gets them some extra business. These have been some lean years out here in the hinterlands. More and more, people are moving to the city for opportunity.”
Gideon nodded. His family had done the same when he’d been a kid. It was an all too familiar story. Not that the cities didn’t have their own problems, as he’d discovered. He supposed he must have been one of the few who had gone the opposite direction, returning to the countryside. Not that it had ever been his plan.
Clonk followed the cat to the kitchen and whispered in a soothing, echoing voice, “I mean you no harm, my friend.”
Simeon cracked the eggs into the pan, and they began to sizzle. He chuckled as the cat ran between his legs and hid behind them. “I wouldn’t take it personally. I’m afraid Lady Dumpling doesn’t like strangers.”
“Ah, I understand,” Clonk said. “It is best for a Lady to be discerning in whose company she keeps.”
“I’m afraid we didn’t catch your name,” Aurora said to the suit of armor. “I don’t want to be rude.”
“Ah,” Clonk said. “I’m afraid I do not remember it.”
“We call him Sir Clonk,” Grimsby added. “Because he was a knight, and he, you know, clonks.”
Aurora and Simeon exchanged a look as if unsure whether to laugh or be horrified.
Well, that explains it, Gideon thought. Now he felt a little bad for calling him that. Not that he had any alternatives.
“It is as good a name as any other,” Sir Clonk said, shrugging. Giving up on the cat, who was hissing at him fearfully from behind Simeon, Clonk walked back to the kitchen table. Rather than sit on one of the wooden chairs, which looked far too small for him anyway, he leaned against the brick wall and crossed his arms.
“So, what’s your plan for the castle?” Aurora asked. “After you fix it up?”
Gideon hadn’t technically mentioned this to anyone yet. He’d wanted to show the old tourist guide to Kelvan first and ask his opinion. But he supposed this was as good a time as any to see what his two fellow minions thought. “I was thinking we might be able to turn it into a bed and breakfast.”
“Who'd want to stay in a dusty old haunted castle?” Grimsby said, incredulous.
“I was thinking we would make it less dusty,” Gideon said. “As for the haunted part, some might find that fun?”
“I’d stay at the Rattlebandit Inn,” Simeon added as he brought their plates of breakfast to the table. “Why not?”
Gideon looked down at the eggs and hash browns, his stomach rumbling. After a moment, he dug in, mixing some of the hash into the yolk and taking a large bite. The flavor was rich and savory.
Grimsby cackled and nodded. “I like this idea much better if it’s going to be called the Rattlebandit Inn.”
“Funny, I had the opposite reaction,” Clonk said. “Also, I fear this venture would involve me having to do work.”
Grimsby shook his head, the beard swinging over the table. “You lazy pile of scrap. What do we even pay you for?”
“No one pays me anything,” Clonk said gravely.
“Me neither,” Gideon muttered, then turned to Simeon. “This is delicious. Thank you, again, for everything.” He paused for a moment, running his hand through his hair awkwardly. “I don’t suppose you’d sell us some more?” He couldn’t help but want to take back a dozen more of these eggs to put in the castle kitchen’s timebox.
Simeon smiled. “I’m flattered, but I’m afraid we mostly just have enough for ourselves and the occasional guest. We're not farmers. Aurora has her glassworks, and I travel to the nearby towns, trading goods. But I know others around the village who would happily sell you whatever you need. I could make some introductions.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“That would be great,” Gideon said. “Besides food, we could use more building supplies. Lumber, maybe some clay tiles. And some wool for bedding? I mentioned this to Aurora, but I’d be happy to offer my services as a geomancer in exchange.”
Simeon’s eyes sparkled. “You know, now that you mention it, I think there’s something you could help us with. A little pest problem.”
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Later that afternoon, Gideon crouched in a field on the other side of town and placed his hands against the earth, praying for a miracle to Elysion, Lyraen, or whoever might be listening.
The field was pockmarked with dozens of holes, and the soil was a sickly gray. All around him, tomato plants were withering or dead. Sir Clonk stood next to him while Grimsby waited by their cart on the road. Nearby, a group of farmers had gathered to witness the extermination.
If there was one.
Unfortunately, Simeon had promised to show them what “Emberly’s new resident geomancer” could do. Gideon had cringed at those words, but it was too late now. They’d avoided mentioning Grimsby or Clonk’s true natures, instead introducing the pair as trusted associates of Gideon, the up-and-coming mage.
Beneath him, deep within the earth, Gideon could hear the sound of movement. A Blight Tunneler was slowly working its way through the field, absorbing the nutrients from the soil and devouring the roots of any plants it encountered.
Simeon and Aurora had been instrumental in securing the items on their shopping list from various villagers throughout Emberly. Though Gideon had paid for the goods with Kelvan's money, he knew he’d received a deep discount.
Now he wished to repay some of that kindness if he could. But by the time Gideon had realized what they needed, he had been far too embarrassed to admit the task at hand required a spell he had never been able to cast before, even though he’d practiced it hundreds of times.
The spell was [Quake].
Admittedly, his ability to control earth mana had markedly improved since reaching Silver rank. He had even planned to practice this particular spell next. But he had hoped to have less of an audience and much less pressure when he did.
With a sigh, Gideon tried to focus on the task at hand. He tentatively pushed mana into his hands and projected it into the soil. As Kelvan had explained, [Quake] was fundamentally different than [Hail of Stone] or [Entomb] in that it involved manipulating earth that already existed rather than forming new material.
Projecting his willpower onto something he’d created himself was one thing. Doing it on the ground beneath his feet was another matter entirely.
Thankfully, not much control was required. Unlike the spell [Shape Earth], which had been right after [Quake] in his geomancy book, he didn't need to manipulate the earth precisely. He just needed to shake it as hard as he could. Hopefully, enough to force the vermin beneath them to emerge.
Gideon felt his mana seep into the ground in a large area around him. It wormed its way deeper, almost like the roots of the dying plants. He thought of the plants, about how he was doing this for their sake as much as the farmers standing behind him.
He willed his mana to grip the soil and then forced it to shake. “Quake!” he commanded. There was a faint rumbling, a tremor that passed through the earth, and he felt his mana dissipate from the exertion. The rumbling subsided almost as soon as it had begun.
“Is that it?” Clonk asked after a moment. “I was expecting more, somehow.”
Gideon heard some murmurs from the farmers behind them. “So was I,” he said. “I burned through the mana I weaved into the earth too quickly. It’s difficult to cover this large of an area.” He sighed and dropped his voice to a low whisper so that only Clonk could hear. “I’ve never actually cast this spell before.”
Now that he thought about it, that was the best attempt he’d ever had. When he'd lived in Prospera, none of his efforts had been half as successful. But he could still hear the noise of the Blight Tunneler below, the way it munched at the dirt. It had already returned to its endless devouring.
“It would be great if Lord Kelvan were here so you could ask him for advice,” Clonk said. With a groan of metal, he sat on the ground next to Gideon. “Thankfully, you have me instead. Here’s a suggestion. We tell those farmers to eat grass, roll the cart up the mountain, and never come back here again. The castle is nice, Gideon. Perfect, even. I don’t know why we ever left.”
Gideon sighed. “These people did us a big favor. I wish I could help them in return. I tried, but it just wasn’t enough. I think I’ve got enough mana to do that three more times. But three times nothing is still nothing, you know?”
“Maybe you’re doing too much.” Clonk flopped backward, looking up at the sky. “Try doing less. I used to do a lot more, you know. I don’t remember much about living, but I remember I was always doing something. Always doing everything. Now I do as little as possible.” He pointed up at the sun. “You know what will take your mind off your disappointing failure? Let’s do some stargazing. It’s straightforward during the day. That one is Elysion.”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that.” He made a fist and pounded the dirt in annoyance, searching his mind for any knowledge that might help him. “Wait! You’re right.” Try doing less. The words echoed through his mind. He shook his head and laughed. Suddenly, it all became clear to him.
“Of course I’m right,” Clonk said. “But you haven’t looked up yet. To stargaze, Gideon, you have to look at the star.”
“I shouldn’t stare directly at the sun, Clonk. But that’s not what I meant. Try doing less. That’s what you said.”
Gideon placed his hands on the earth and once again let his mana flow outward, weaving into the energy that naturally flowed within all living things, including the planet. His problem, he supposed, was that he’d let his mana burn everywhere, all at once. It was inefficient.
He didn’t need to shake the entire area. What he needed was a more localized spell. One that would disturb the Blight Tunneler and lead it toward the surface. He’d never exercised that much control over his mana before. He’d always burned all of it equally. But in theory, it was possible. And with the additional control he’d gained from ranking up, maybe it could be done.
Gideon smiled. This was what had drawn him to magic in the first place. The feeling that there was always more to learn and that every situation was an opportunity to improve himself and his skills. Not only that but to increase his mastery over reality and nature itself in the process.
There was something about magic that was addictive and satisfying to him in a way nothing else was. He had lost that feeling of discovery somewhere along the line, perhaps after the ten-thousandth [Toughness] charm.
He took a deep breath, and instead of casting the spell senselessly, he listened to the earth. He felt for the location where it was being consumed. The energy there had a different texture than the rest of the soil. There was a sadness to it, he thought—a spiritual despair. As the feeling washed over him, he realized he recognized it. He had felt like this often back in Prospera.
He let most of his mana remain passive and focused all his attention on a small area around the malignancy. Then he reached out there, holding the rest of his mana still.
“Quake!” he commanded.
As he did so, he continued to listen with the rest of his mana, feeling the earth’s reaction as the Blight Tunneler ran from the rumbling of the world, moving from one tunnel to the next. As it did, Gideon shifted his attention, following the monster with the [Quake] as it climbed through tunnel after tunnel. Though his mana was spread throughout the area, only a tiny amount was active at any moment. It felt much easier for his spirit to sustain.
The Blight Tunneler kept running, and Gideon began to anticipate its movements, triggering the [Quake] where it was headed, cutting off its escape routes one at a time. Ultimately, the only path left was the one that led directly to the surface.
The creature emerged from a hole directly in front of them, a small furry quadruped with long, black claws and pale, silver hair. It had a head like a gopher, though with glowing green eyes, and looked almost cute.
At least it did, until it opened its mouth and multiple tentacles unfurled. Each one had a small mouth on the end filled with serrated teeth.
Gideon withdrew his mana from the ground with one hand, letting it flow back into his spirit as he prepared to cast a [Hail of Stone] at the creature.
But it wasn't necessary. Clonk quickly dived forward, grabbing the Blight Tunneler’s neck with one gauntlet. The creature shrieked, its tentacle-mouths snarling and snapping against Clonk’s armor. But they weren’t strong enough to penetrate the metal. With a sickening crunch, he snapped the creature’s neck, and it went limp in his hand.
From the edge of the field, the farmers began to cheer.
“So, my advice helped?” Clonk asked tentatively as he turned back towards Gideon. He raised the corpse of the Blight Tunneler in the air. The farmers walked over to admire the kill, with Simeon in the lead. “I feel accomplished. A little too accomplished. I’m not sure I like it.”
“Your advice helped,” Gideon said with a smile. “I did less. But in the end, I did more.”
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