“You’re telling me that I should send your son to Evergreen — instead of the soldiers and mages that my cousin asked for?”

Duke Cedric could hardly believe the Blackstaff’s offer. It was as if he was saying a single mage was worth more than the troops Bountiful would send — even if that mage was his son.

“Oh, you won’t be sending Jeremy to Evergreen,” Amos smiled. “You’ll be sending the Scourge.”

The Duke could only stare at the wizard in front of him — not grasping what he was trying to say. Unlike his son, Lord Elswind was passionate, even volatile. He dressed in reds and yellows to mimic his flames while his son dressed in drab black. The two were worlds apart — yet their difference only highlighted their similarity.

“You know boys,” Amos started. “He wants to remain unknown — make his own name of sorts.”

He had long known of Jeremy’s wish for anonymity — and the Duke still had lingering doubts over Jeremy’s motive for staying in Bountiful. Was it his cousin’s way of protecting him from afar?

“So he won’t be going as your son but as the Scourge?”

“Exactly!” the Blackstaff roared in agreement. “Could you find some reason to send him there? I’ll send a message to the King and tell him the details.”

Sending him away would solve a lot of problems. Half the nobles were eager to be rid of him — even after the revelation of Lord Randson’s treachery.

“I could send him there as punishment for burning the city.”

“Wait — Jeremy burned the city?”

There was more pride in the Blackstaff’s voice than horror or even confusion — which the Duke expected.

“Just parts of it,” Cedric explained. “And he did it to save the city.”

“Hahaha, that’s my boy!”

The Duke shrugged. The boy’s motivation probably didn’t matter to the Blackstaff — all that seemed important was that he got to burn the city.

His dealings with Jeremy had already numbed him to inappropriate reactions from particular people — mostly those in the Scourge’s immediate circle.

Cedric promised himself he would not be surprised by anything involving snails, magical doorways, labeled hells, inappropriate use of healing drops, unusual farmhands, and whoever and whatever else pertaining to the Scourge.

“I can make arrangements as early as tomorrow. Messengers can send word of his assignment by noon.” Cedric frowned. “I assume you’ll want him back here after performing meritorious deeds at the citadel?”

“Eh? Jeremy would do that himself, no need to pad his deeds to make him look good.”

The Blackstaff’s confidence in his son was a given — but Cedric believed going into the battlefield was very different from planning attacks against cultists. The life of a wizard in the front lines was different from that of an adventurer.

Perhaps the father’s faith in his son was a bit overblown?

***

Min questioned Sebas’ faith in Jeremy.

She had heard of the Scourge’s exploits during her time in Bountiful — and the stories didn’t exactly paint him in a good light.

In the stories, the Scourge was more like an active player in events, not someone in the background. Playing mentor didn’t seem to match his personality — especially after seeing him deal with the farmhands.

He hardly interacted with them, and it seemed like the giant snail was the one taking care of the boys. One conversation with one of them confirmed her suspicion — the Scourge was not mentoring them one bit.

“All of you have the spark — which is strange,” Jeremy spoke to the four dozen boys and girls around him.

Min had them sit in a semi-circle for the wizard’s lecture. New here she was listening to it herself.

“See those farmhands,” he gestured towards the boys on the fields. “Just one of them has the spark — and minimal at that.”

Min could see the look of doubts on her wards’ faces. They saw Warden and the other boys perform feats of strength or move the earth with their will — how could Jeremy say they had no magic.

“That’s not magic,” Jeremy pointed at one of the boys seemingly gliding across the field, “that’s something else.”

Min was confused, same as her wards, but she tried to take Jeremy’s word for it. She knew that wizard’s avoided lying — something about diffusing the power of their words.

“Will you be testing our affinities?” one boy raised a hand.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“You mean preference?” Jeremy asked. “Magic is like a piece of chalk that you use to draw with — it’s up to you if you want to draw the sun, flowers, horses, or whatever.”

“So no affinities?”

“Like I said — chalk.” Jeremy smiled. “If you keep drawing flowers — you’ll get good at drawing them. Sometimes you get so good at drawing one thing, your other drawings look like horse shit.”

There was some laughter as the wizard paused, giving the children enough time to digest his words.

Min didn’t exactly agree with the wizard — there were some people that were good at one thing and not the other, say gardening and sewing.

She had a cousin who couldn’t grow a plant — even if it was a weed. She could stitch up a storm when making dresses, but her garden had no traces of green.

“Before we start, is everyone sure they want to learn magic?” Jeremy asked. “Working in a farm or a store is a lot safer — and you’ll probably earn more if you get really good.”

The children started talking at the same time — most of them affirming their desire to pursue magic. Min knew their parents were adventurers who met tragic ends. She was startled that they all wanted to pursue the same path.

“Fine then,” Jeremy said as he opened a small chest by his side. “Get your wands.”

The air seemed to change at the wizard’s words. Min felt it become heavier, more dreadful. It felt like her soul was being ripped from her body, and her instincts were telling her to run.

She saw the fear reflected in her kids — some were shaking, some stood frozen.

“Stop this,” Min implored. “They’re just kids.”

“Better to find out now when it’s safe — than in the heat of battle.”

Min saw the wizard frowning, as if he made a crucial mistake. He said it was safe!

“Get your wands,” she encouraged them. “Push through the fear.”

Jinea, one of the older girls, was the first to stand. She made her way to the Scourge, walking as if buffeted by invisible winds. She took the wand offered by the wizard with shaking hands.

“We have our first would-be wizard. What about the rest?”

***

“Advance!”

Captain Cicero rallied his troops for another charge against the enemy. The number of ice-cursed trolls and orcs were cut in half by the Blackstaff’s display of power, allowing the forces of Evergreen to hold back the advance of the Ice.

They captured four spires. The mages deemed them too dangerous to take into the citadel, not knowing what they did. The first tests revealed they were some sort of anchor for ancient magic that was somewhat tied to the ice.

Once constructed, the spires accumulated mana and then sent it to the ground — giving the Ice a foothold to cross into.

Cicero spat, remembering how the mages were more focused on the spires’ ability to accumulate mana — instead of the threat they posed to Evergreen.

It was all unnatural — the Ice, its monsters, and now the spires.

There was nothing in the bleak tundra to sustain life — no animals or vegetation. Something else was providing for the Ice’s creatures — something that was making them bigger and stronger.

But now, they were winning. The loss of the spires pushed back the Ice for more than two miles. The commanders allowed the people of Azenith to return to their homes and go about their duties.

Cicero thought the city was becoming a problem.

Some lordling decided to build a town beyond Evergreen’s walls, believing the threat of the Ice was long gone.

Most people believed him — including Cicero. Now, the town was a drain on their resources — requiring evacuations every time the creatures of the Ice attacked.

As things were progressing — there was no hope for the town. The lordling had long fled to his own domain, leaving his people leaderless.

Evergreen couldn’t just take them in. The citadel had limited room and the flood of people would drain their rations.

Moving the townspeople was difficult — for various reasons. The nearest city was forty miles away — too far for ordinary people to walk, and the roads were not the safest. Most of the folk living in Azenith gave up their old lives to start fresh in the new town, making them abandon their new life would be akin to making them homeless and penniless.

Cicero shook his head. The town wasn’t his problem to solve — but he just couldn’t leek away as the Ice threatened its inhabitants.

He hoped the Blackstaff would return — and soon. He promised to bring back reinforcements, and Cicero wondered what kind of troops the Blackstaff would bring back with him.

***

Prince August stared at the two items in front of him — a potion that promoted virility and some sort of lozenge that was supposed to have healing properties.

“These products came from the same city?” he asked.

“Most likely the same Alchemist, my prince.”

August stared at Ovrim, his advisor. The man was good at finding ways to increase his coffers, and the prince needed gold badly if he wanted to vie for the throne.

“Where is the merchant who plied them?”

“In one of our secluded basements, sire,” Ovrim answered. “Singing as we speak.”

“Try not to harm him too much,” August urged. “Can’t you turn him — make him work for us?”

“Compulsion magic?”

“Try bribing or threatening him first,” August scoffed. “Make his son work for one of our companies. We’ll be doing him a favor and we can always use his son as a hostage if need be.”

“Your brilliance always astounds, sire,” Ovrim bowed.

“Enough of the flattery,” August sneered. “Find out the name of this Alchemist. Make him work for us, buy him out, or have one of your men steal his secrets.”

“We will go to such extents?”

“Tsk. You don’t understand the value of these two items, Ovrim,” August sighed. “The potion alone is a godsend to the nobility. Not only does it increase virility — it also allows a shriveled old man like Lord Ursdal to sire a child.”

He holds up the red drop.

“This one is also interesting. I’ve heard word of a miraculous drop that can regenerate limbs almost instantly — though their application can be a bit suspect.”

“The Lifesaver’s™ of Bountiful? Surely the bards were just making up lewd stories for a bit of laughter.”

“No. I’ve had my men investigate the stories,” August glowered. “They confirmed it was true, but they couldn’t find the Alchemist in the city.”

“I can send Liliane to Bountiful,” Ovrim offered. “She knows her way with wizards and her bargaining skills are top-notch.”

“Liliane?”

Bargaining skills indeed. The woman was more likely to pay someone for their secrets and then kill them off or torture them if their lips were tight.

“Liliane is a good choice.”