After acquiring the deed to Martín’s manse, they returned to Verona by the Via Positano. A Whitecloak guard apprehended them, demanding to see papers of residency. He was quite thoroughly puzzled when they actually produced them.

It was late now, and the city’s festivities were winding down.

They crossed the length of the city, passing various landmarks. The Boboli Gardens, the Musea d’Ortiva art gallery, the Forum. Again, they crossed the Charles Bridge where animated statues (again) heckled them.

The entire time Nico had been mired in his thoughts, while Leo and Tomasso raved about their windfall fortune in acquiring this Quest.

“You are too quiet, Nico,” Leo eventually said. “What vexes you brother?”

“The client,” Nico said. “He is an oily man, with more silver than scruple. I dislike him and distrust him.”

“As do I,” Tomasso replied, “but it is sometimes the nature of our business to accept coin from odious men.”

“It is one matter to plumb ancient ruins. To infiltrate a secret government research facility is another matter entirely. We are treading on a dragon’s tail.”

“It’s only a problem if we rouse the dragon,” said Leo.

“And if we rouse the dragon — Empress Isabella will not settle for stamping out our lives. She will stamp out the guild, and the lives of everyone we love. She is nothing if not ruthless. We will all be sent to the Oculus.”

“A risk I’m willing to take,” Leo said.

“You may be. I’m not.”

***

The Pathfinders Guild was located on Spellslingers Alley in Petra’s Hill. The street name was widely considered an unfortunate misnomer. While there were many mage guilds in Verona, there were none on Spellslingers Alley, save an Alchemist guild — and alchemists weren’t truly mages, per se, though they didn’t like to hear it.

Compared to many other guilds in Verona — which tended toward ostentation — the Pathfinders guildhouse was outwardly unassuming. It resembled a particularly large, four-story inn, built of thick timber logs and painted in the guild’s blue and white colors. A sign with the guild crest stood out front, creaking in the light wind.

The guild’s Common Room was empty.

“Find Lucius,” Tomasso told Leo. “He ought to be in his office or the library. I want to see if we have any information about this so-called Ilhen’s Seventh in our vaults.”

“Right. Sure. Where will you be?”

“In my office. I need to examine this contract. Go every line, every jot and tittle.” With a small wave he excused himself and repaired to his office.

Leo turned to Gianna. “Head to the dojo. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment, Lee.” She smiled brightly and headed off.

Leo didn’t know what to say to Nico. He understand Nico’s perspective, even if he didn’t quite agree with it. He gave Nico an awkward smile, patted him on the back, and went off in search of Lucius.

Both Nico and Leo were members of Pathfinders’ Rare & Esoteric Artifact Recovery subdivison. Lucius Ferrera was head of the guild’s Intelligence & Espionage subdivision, whose core mandate was to uncover intelligence useful to the guild’s operations (such as adventuring leads). They also hired out clandestine mercenary spies to wealthy clients.

Leo was dearly fond of adventuring, and he was immensely grateful to ply his trade as an adventurer with Pathfinders. But despite all that… who doesn’t want more? Ambition is a constant flame; desire is something only ever to be chased, never to be grasped.

What Leo wanted above all was to be a spy. He wanted Lucius’ role in Pathfinders. He wanted to wine and dine the movers and shakers of the world. There was something irresistibly romantic and glamorous about espionage work, about going undercover, about attending lavish parties with the Duke’s inner courtiers…

Lucius knew about Leo’s ambition, and found it at turns both amusing and aggravating. Leo chafed under his mockery.

Lucius was in his office, as Tomasso predicted. He was tall and slender, with silver hair and bright green eyes, and possessed of a sly and silky demeanor.

“Ah Leo,” he said in his soft, debonair voice. “You look healthy and intact. How was your little adventure?”

“Well, I won a house. But before that I nearly got clobbered to mincemeat. There was an escape room in Martín’s resting room.”

“Oh?”

“That important little tidbit wasn't in your intelligence report.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “You know how these things are…”

“No. I don’t.”

“Right. You don't. Why don’t you leave the intelligence to me, Leo? And I'll leave you to play with your swords and pretend at heroism while you rob aristocrats and slay innocent beasts. Now could you be a doll and fetch me a cup of tea?”

“I'm not your manservant, Lucius. I came here to fetch you. Tomasso wants you in his office. He needs intelligence about Ilhen’s Seventh.”

“Very well, Leo,” he said, smirking. “I'll show myself out. Toodles.” Instead of waving, he made a ‘go away’ gesture.

Gripping the door handle so hard he was surprised it didn’t break off, Leo slammed the door and went to the dojo to meet Gianna.

***

Meanwhile, Nico sat alone in the empty Common Room, reading Principles of Illusion Magic by Phineas Hofstadter. Nico had been recently entertaining notions of gaining an attunement in Illusion magic, a goal which would require him to travel to faraway Nordia and enter the Illusion attunement spire. It was really just a side goal, a purpose he could fix his talents to. Gaining an attunement made you a mage, and adventurers with attunements were in high demand.

But now his eyes moved over the words of the textbook, not quite comprehending them. His mind was on the Quest, on his decision not to take it.

He wondered if he was perhaps unjustified. He’d had two reasons for making his decision.

First, he did not trust the client. Adventuring was dangerous work, and a bad client was liable to get a man killed.

Second, trespassing on the Floating Library of Azkaya was a fool’s errand. It was an enchanted library, owned and administered by Empress Isabella and her Privy Court. And while the Empress could be magnanimous and kind to her law-abiding subjects, she was viciously cruel vindictive to those who broke the peace.

Third, entering an Ilhen deathtrap was — naturally — a death sentence.

Honestly, any one of those reasons was sufficient cause to decline the job. But Leo seldom turned down a job. To him, the greater the peril, the greater the draw. And Tomasso… something strange had come over Tomasso recently. He seemed to be ever-anxious, even moreso than usual, and when discussing financial matters he opted increasingly for frugality.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Nico worried at a loose thread on his robes, idly wondering where his other colleagues presently were, the many members of the guild. Adventurers were work-hard, play-hard types. Doubtless they were filling the alehouses and whorehouses, dicing dens and winesinks — whatever their preferred vice.

Such vices held no appeal to Nico. If he could be anywhere, he would be at the Musea d’Ortiva, the public art gallery near the city’s harbor. Nico had spent many days in the museum, had practically memorized its contents, but he never tired of it. Art was his chief love in life — his first and one of his few. He indulged every medium: theater, portraiture, sculpture. But painting was his favorite.

As a young orphan on the isle of Manarola, he had somehow secured employment at a slum-hole atelier, where he painted forgeries of Godel, Prezi, Rosco, and other great artists — sometimes creating exact likenesses of their work, other times creating plausible derivatives. It was a sweatshop — long hours of meticulous work, yet Nico loved it. Periodically, the shop owner, an anxious Vedic named Dante, would take them to the Musea to study the masters.

Then one day the shop was raided by the Black Cabal, and he was forced to seek new employment. Soon thereafter he fell in with an acting troupe, traveling across the many isles of the Myriad.

But there was little money in art, and less in theater. Their impresario was seized by creditors, and Nico was stranded in Verona, jobless and destitute. For a time he lived like a vagrant, begging for scraps, pickpocketing passersby. He shambled across the isle, begging for employment, but none would have him. Until he met Tomasso. Tomasso took a chance on him when no one else would, and gave him a stable career as an adventurer — a career in which he flourished.

For this he was forever indebted to Tomasso. Some men were moved by riches or glory or women. Nico's motives were much simpler: never again did he want to feel the sting of poverty, the pain of starvation.

He had never before turned down a job, never even considered it. It saddened to him to do so now. But he still felt he had made the right decision.

***

In the rear of the guildhall was the dojo, where novices and veterans alike honed their martial arts.

There were a multitude of fighting guilds in Verona, from bare-knuckle brawling to fencing, spellslinging to jousting. Each had its own dojo, but none were as glorious as Pathfinder’s dojo. Tomasso had spared no expense on it, supplying an armory with weapons that ranged from the mundane to the esoteric, such as morningstars, longswords, and warhammers. He had also hired a dedicated summoner named Darius, a skilled practitioner of the arcane arts who could summon all manner of beasts and foes.

When they entered the dojo, the alchemical globe was sputtering, casting a flickering red pall on the room. A book lay on the sparring mat. Leo stooped to pick it up. Clever Charms & Cantrips for the Cunning Conjurer.

“This one of yours?” Leo asked Gianna.

“Darius lent it to me.”

Leo flung the book to the corner of the room. “You read too much. This shit will rot your brain.”

“Says who?”

“Me. I am full of ancient wisdom.”

“Yeah, you're full of it all right…” she muttered. “Has there been any word about Darius?”

Darius had gone missing precisely eight days ago. He was not the only one. A novice and a local barkeep had also mysteriously disappeared, as had a number of orphan boys from the slums.

“No word,” Leo said. “None that I’m privy to, anyhow.” Lucius may know, he thought bitterly. Lucius was arguably the most well-informed citizen in all of Verona.

Leo strode to the weapons rack at the rear of the room. He owned precisely three swords, each of which he treasured deeply, each which bore a name.

The first was Wraith, a falchion so heavily fortified with runes and charms, potions and enchantments that it was a wonder that it kept its edge. Magic could strengthen a blade, but it could also make it more brittle. Wraith was strong, dependable, and had never failed him.

Then there was Ice, the trusty saber he used for dirty work. If he did not wish to sully Wraith while culling a goblin horde, he opted for Ice.

Finally there was Whisper, a longsword he had unearthed in a demigod's arctic mausoleum. It was a blade that could be wielded by no man; rather, the blade wielded the man. When it wished to be used, it would keen. The blade would turn a bright sapphire and vibrate in its scabbard. When Leo drew it, he was like a man possessed. When the blade was keening, it could cut through any substance — even stone or steel.

Leo liked to keep all three blades equipped while on jobs, but Tomasso forbade him from doing so when they met with clients. He said it looked “stupid.”

Leo selected a pair of wooden training swords and tossed one to Gianna.

“Nytios says the mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone.”

“Nytios?”

“He’s a Sage. From Severo.”

“Well, books aren’t entirely useless. A book can be used to test the edge of a blade —“ Leo mimed slashing a book. “Its pages can be used to wipe one's arse. Cantrips, however… cantrips are utterly ineffectual.”

The alchemical globe above was still sputtering. Leo poked at it.

“Bastard thing. Keeps going out.”

“If only there was a light source that didn't rely on fickle alchemy. Something that could be summoned on command.”

Gianna's sarcasm went over Leo's head.

“Huh?” he said.

“Magic, dummy.” Again she invoked her Illumination cantrip, producing a teal-hued orb of light.

“Tell you what,” Gianna said, tossing away her training sword. “For this duel, how about I get to use magic, and you can use Wraith.”

Leo smiled. Whisper might be his favorite blade, but she was a harsh mistress; Wraith, on the other hand, was like an extension of his body. He was one with it. “Sounds fair to me.”

They took their positions on opposite ends of the sparring mat.

“Ready?” said Leo. “Do your worst.”

“With pleasure.”

Immediately Gianna cast a spell scroll she’d hidden up her sleeve. It was one Leo was unfamiliar with. A dozen copies of Gianna appeared, fanning out, encircling him.

“Gimmicky,” Leo said, trying to deduce which one the real Gianna.

“But it works.”

“There’s no honor in tricks.”

“There’s honor in victory.”

One of the copies came at him then. He deftly parried her blade, and as their swords crossed, the copy dissipated into mist.

Another pair took him from the rear. The first he dodged, the second quite nearly landed a blow to his pelvis. He parried the attempt, and repositioned himself to gain a better vantage of his many opponents. It was then that he noticed that his opponents had dwindled in number. Where before there had been a dozen, now there were but five. Gianna’s spell was failing.

“You have a nice cut, lass.”

“Cutlass?” she gave him a confused look. “Poinsettia is a rapier… Oh, a stupid pun.”

There were two things Leo adored: wordplay and swordplay. Especially wordplay about swordplay.

“I knew you would sword it all out eventually.”

“Puns are the lowest form of wit,” Gianna said.

“Alas, I cannot help myself. I have a rapier wit.”

She laughed at that, and two more copies faded to mist, perhaps due to her distraction. Of the remaining three, one was unlike the other. Only one had a shadow.

An able swordsman, it took Leo but three strokes of his blade to defeat her, tapping the flat of Wraith against Gianna’s leg.

Despite her defeat, Gianna grinned broadly.

“Almost,” she said, panting slightly. “I almost had you. If only I had an attunement… my spells would be much stronger.”

“Hmm. If you had any option, which attunement would you seek?”

“Alchemy. Or maybe Illusion or Runes. I want to study at Skyborn.”

Skyborn was one of the Three Great Magic Academies. Only the most promising applicants were accepted, and students typically capstoned their first year by entering an attunement spire — which might be a tomb or a dungeon or an actual spire. If the student survived the ordeal, and completed its challenges, they were rewarded with an attunement, giving them the ability to cast magical spells, which were much stronger than cantrips.

“Skyborn is notoriously selective. You’d have to be truly exceptional.”

“Then I'll be exceptional.”

“You don’t lack for confidence, do you?.”

“She takes after you,” said Nico, who had suddenly appeared unbeknownst to Leo. He was leaning against the door frame, smirking.

“Hi, Nico,” said Gianna. “Did you see my Hoodwink spell?”

“I did. Impressive.” He winked at her, and then gestured to Leo. “Come Leo, Tomasso wishes to speak with us.”

***

Tomasso’s office was on the second story of the guildhouse, a perfectly square room filled with many oddments and knickknacks. Tomasso had a great fondness for botany, and his office was filled with exotic plants, including a Snapping Beetletrap and a species of Arkimidean ivy that covered much of one wall.

As they took their seats, Tomasso looked grave.

“I’ve r-reviewed the contract,” he said, voice faltering. He tended to stutter when nervous (except when meeting clients, ironically). “Be-before you make your d-decision—”

“I’ve made my decision,” said Nico flatly.

“Be-before you do. I have something I need to t-tell you.”

“What?” said Leo.

“There is no delicate way to put this…”

“Then put it indelicately.”

“The guild… the guild is on the brink of insolvency.”