He’d been waiting for far too long.
Consul Halloway pushed aside a completed stack of paperwork, then retrieved a small key from his desk. There’d been so much to do. So much preparation. Death was truly an inconvenience, but things were squared away now. His material requisitions were in, the beacon was lit, his nephew and Morris were rescued and sent to meet with Red, and all matters official were signed, sealed, and stacked in the outgoing box. There was, perhaps, one other matter, but he knew his monitors would save the best images of that bard dying in his dungeon, so he needn’t see it live. It was late, no one was around; it was finally time for him to scratch his itch.
Metaphorically, that is. The itch was in his brain, and he hadn’t noticed it until recently. He only became aware of it shortly after he emerged in his cloned form. That may have been an alarming fact, but he didn’t care to examine it. He was much more interested in scratching.
His signet ring gave a dull pulse of light as he inserted the key into a small lock on a chest. Opening it, he retrieved yet more papers. By all appearances, the papers were a compiled muster of intelligence about the elven nation to the north, along with hypotheticals and orders given a variety of invasion scenarios.
He leaned back with the papers.
“Barren Entrapment,” he said.
The letters and drawings on the page marched at his words, crisscrossing and weaving in a manic fashion. Seconds later, they were rearranged into their true form.
He rarely betrayed any emotion, but a strong, satisfied smirk took over his mouth. The title of the papers read:
Theories and Uses of the Ware
He couldn’t believe he’d taken such little interest in the actual study of the Ware until now. He knew enough to perform his part in the experiments, and had agreed to it because of the power it could grant him and the favors that would be owed him, but the grand mechanisms behind it all couldn’t have bored him more. Not now, though. Now he was extremely intent on learning every aspect and nuance of the pervading magical field. He simply…needed to know. Needed to understand. Needed to write out his discoveries.
He was about to dive into the notes when there was a knock on his study door. He twitched. Returning the papers to the chest, and making sure the writing on them reverted to their old form, he closed the lid. The box locked automatically.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened and Somasim’s large frame leaned meekly into the room. “Lady Herthall to see you, sir. Urgently.” He looked at the Consul. “How are you feeling?”
Any ill effects? Deformed pieces? Strange urges? Missing morals?
Halloway didn’t know what that intrusive thought was, and ignored it. “You may both enter.”
They did so. Lady Herthall was out of her makeup, meaning this was indeed urgent. She strode up to his desk, more gray and plain than she was likely comfortable with.
“Brame, there are reports of arson at the circus.”
Halloway’s face betrayed no emotion. “Goblins?”
“We think so.”
It was far better to take an active role in research than to read.
He grinned. “Excellent.”
* * * * * * * *
“If they’re pissing off, then we have to get people out of the tent!” yelled Kevin. “Or put the fire out!”
“Fire’s too big to smother,” said Topher. “And water will only spread the oil. Our biggest danger is panic. Asphyxiation is a less immediate second.”
As if to drive the point home, the first of a throng of circus-goers surged from the burning entrance of the tent. Most of them leapt out of the flames, only to stumble and fall and get trampled by those behind them, who in turn tripped and fell, blocking the exit. There was coughing from smoke, cursing from fear, and crying from children separated from family.
Jenn ran to the chaos. “Everyone stay calm!” Her voice had no chance against the tide of wails. “We’re here to help, do not push anyone in front of you!” She tried desperately to pull the fallen up.
Kevin swore, remembering the argument they had about her taking the Thaumaturgy cantrip. It felt so long ago. “What about cutting slits in the tent?” he asked. “Or would the airflow just make it burn faster?”
“It would. Not much else to do,” said Topher, who moved to Jenn to help and make sure her terrible dexterity didn’t cause her to fall and be pummeled. Some of the people they grabbed were already limp.
Topher was probably right, but Kevin didn’t have the weight or strength stat to stand against a deluge of panicked people. There had to be something else he could do. He looked over the tent.
Nothing stood out, but then he noticed a bulge expanding out from the top of a side. He was about to say something when a sudden burst of mist popped into existence behind Jenn and Topher, evaporating as quickly as it appeared and leaving Kryx in its place.
Their eyes met. “Goblins?” he asked.
“Retreating.”
“Thank Prole. Help me cut the rope ties,” said Kryx, drawing a dagger from seemingly out of nowhere. “Linore has a Gust of Wind going, she’ll push the tent off if it’s not anchored.”
“The tent’s massive,” said Kevin. “Can Gust of Wind really—“
“She can do it.” There was a certainty and conviction in his voice that Kevin was sure could only come from a teenager. “I’m betting lives on it.”
Kevin drew his rapier. “I’ll go left, you go right.” He pointed to Topher. “Take his greatsword. Don’t get your hands burned.”
“Good idea.” They both bolted and set about their work.
Whatever rope the circus used was extraordinarily tough, thought Kevin. It was thick enough that it could stand having its outer layers burned away. Kevin had to be dead on with his aim to thrust the rapier through with enough force to sever it completely, but he managed to nail it every time. He was quite pleased when found he rounded his side of the tent faster than Kryx.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
The far side of the tent began to billow and rise. Kevin ran for the last tie.
“Wait, stop!” yelled Kryx. “We’ve done enough. We don’t want it loose and balling around.”
“She’ll have a harder time getting the tent off if they’re not all undone.”
“She’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“…If you say so.”
They ran back around the tent together. The fabric at the top strained and pressed, the bottom of the tent rattled and sputtered, violently shaking as the flames rose higher. The supports creaked. The screaming didn’t get any quieter.
Kryx’s eyes were fixed at the top. “C’mon, Linore, c’mon…”
The bulge in the top began to deflate.
“Come on!” screamed Kryx.
At once, the entire tent shuddered, the top ballooning out and ripping the bottom up and off the framework. The burning fabric flew in an arc, attached to one line, and crashed, crumpled in a heap to the side.
“Fuck yeah!” said Kevin and Kryx together.
There was a mass of coughing, gasping people. Most were falling to their knees, others were slumped on the ground. Only a few managed to stay standing.
Cutting through them all was Linore, heading straight for Kryx. “Goblins?” she asked.
“Retreating. You were great.”
Tension fell off her like a weight released. “I don’t know how to be anything else.” She leapt into his arms.
Kevin rolled his eyes. “When you have time,” he said, “a lot of people still need help.”
“Uh, right,” said Kryx.
“Of course,” added Linore.
“You two start from here, I’ll check on Topher and Jenn.”
“Hey, Kevin!” Kryx called.
Kevin didn’t stop, but he turned his head.
“Thanks for trusting me.”
Kevin allowed himself a smirk. “Thanks for not being a dick about it.”
He left the puppy love teens. Scanning the edge of the hacking horde, he smiled to see Jenn and Topher upright.
“Still breathing?” he asked.
Topher smiled. “On our own, even. Was the tent the kids’ doing?”
“With a little help. Linore cast Gust of Wind.”
“A second level spell? Gust of Wind did that?”
“Sorcerers, right? How are things here?”
Topher’s smile dropped. “Some are dead, others unconscious. We’re working on which is which.”
Kevin lowered his gaze. Before, they were just a large mass. Now, looking at each one individually, the brutality and death hit him. Here was a woman, early twenties, blonde hair charred, whose neck had been stomped on; there was a middle-aged halfling man, ribs crushed; another young woman, face down in ash. More than a few parents were holding tiny, limp bodies.
“…Bastards,” breathed Kevin.
Topher nodded. “Yeah.”
“Jenn? How can I help?”
She didn’t respond. Kevin looked over. “Jenn?”
Her eyes down, her brow furled, Jenn clutched her holy symbol. “Fellow beings,” she intoned. The ripples that symbolized Iamai pulsed with a white glow. A small breeze tousled her hair. “Through grace, I grant deliverance.”
The glow emanated outward from her. Its light gathered, thickened, and clung to more than a dozen of the bodies lying on the ground before disappearing entirely.
A few seconds passed. Then, all at once, those it had clung to started coughing and gasping, opening their eyes. A chorus of pained moans began crescendoing.
“What spell was that?” whispered Topher to Kevin.
“Not a spell. Channel Divinity. Preserve Life.”
“Handy.”
Among those affected, tearful reunions began to ring out. Some of the more present-minded ones thanked Jenn profusely.
Still, others weren’t so lucky.
“It didn’t work,” said one lady, clutching a bundle. “It’s, it’s not right! It didn’t work! She’s not…she’s not…. It didn’t work!”
Jenn stared at her. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t—I can’t do anything if they’re already—“
“Guys! Guys, we have a problem,” said Linore, moving hurriedly through the crowd with Kryx.
“I don’t like that look,” said Topher, grabbing his glaive.
She pointed into the distance. “They’re not retreating.”
* * * * * * * *
The North Wind pub was, by design, never very busy. Hawl had a unique pride in his ability to make the decor and cleanliness of the establishment just repugnant enough that someone wandering in would look at it once and say, “You know what? The rats are probably a lot more friendly across the street.”
That being said, he did also take pride in the quality of food and drink he served. Most criminals enjoyed spending their money on finer things, and Hawl made sure to provide. So, despite appearances, the North Wind was actually a good spot to spend an evening. Only a few law-abiding citizens knew this, however, but because the circus was in town and his pub was the closest to the grounds, he was expecting a bit of a rush as the opening night ended. Taking most of the trash accumulated from earlier in the day (and leaving a few choice pieces scattered around the dining area in an artful fashion), he went out the locked back way to the garbage heap.
The night sky greeted him. Off to his right, the makeshift camp the circus put up spread out far further than the moonlight would let him see. The pulsing orange glow a ways out must’ve been where the big tent was set.
Off to his left, the other new sight of the night loomed. A large beacon, clearly lit, burned at the top of an enormous tower. He thought of the funds that went into building that eyesore, and shook his head.
He knew he wasn’t alone. He was half a step outside when he realized that, just as he did last night. One doesn’t make it to his age in his circles without being fairly observant. For him, it was almost like a sixth sense, which was one of the reasons he didn’t follow that large man with his shield into an alley—he knew someone else was watching. He was right, too. That AUTC captain had been tailing him.
Regardless, Hawl made no indication he was on high alert. He heaved the trash out onto the pile, then went a few steps towards the beacon, as if to get a better look. He sauntered around a corner and waited.
A few heartbeats went by. Then, slowly, emerging from behind a pile of empty crates, a small boy crept towards the pile. He started picking at it, smelling some bits and biting into others.
Hawl relaxed. So that’s how it was. He moved into the boy’s blind spot and silently stepped towards him.
He brought a hand down on the boy’s shoulder. “What’s this, then?” he said, loudly.
The boy almost shot up to his eye level, but Hawl kept his grip on him and spun him around.
“What’s a kid like you doing out so late? And in shackles, no less.” Hawl shook the boy’s arms by grabbing the manacles he was in. “Don’t you know slavery’s illegal? Oh dear, oh dear. What will you parents say? You have parents, don’t you? Start talking.”
The boy was breathing heavily, clearly scared witless. His eyes darted around, looking for escape.
“No? No parents? What’s your name, then?”
Finding no way out, the boy looked straight at Hawl, still terrified.
“Oh? Being quiet, eh? Can you speak?”
The boy bit his lip, then nodded profusely.
“Ah, but just don’t like to talk, is that it?”
The boy nodded again.
Definitely a slave, thought Hawl. As if the shackles didn’t prove it. The young ones learn to be quiet and make sure no one thinks of them as anything more than set dressing. Hawl had heard rumors about the Fleethand circus, usually followed by a warning to never cross them.
“Well, that’s good, then. Did you know, in my line of work, it’s better not to talk too much?”
The boy looked confused. Hawl was a bit confused, himself. Getting stabbed in the neck must’ve made him soft. “You were here last night too, weren’t you?”
The boy’s eyes went wide.
“Weren’t you?”
The boy nodded, slowly.
Missing since last night, at least. No one who deals in slavery would let a slave go, so someone must’ve been looking for him. Able to avoid capture, for now.
He knelt down. “Alright, listen. Stay still. Give me your hands.” Hawl still had a set of lockpicks. His skills had been rusting for about twenty years, but he managed, with effort, to get the manacles off.
He kept hold of the boy and looked at him straight. “Listen. You like food?”
The boy just looked scared.
“Food, damn it. You like food?” Hawl must’ve been crazy.
The boy nodded.
Hawl knew it wasn’t the stabbing that made him soft. It was that tree hugger. “You like a warm bed?”
The boy nodded again.
“Good. You willing to work for food and a bed?” The elf didn’t want anything. Said she was ‘paying it forward.’ “You’ll take drinks to customers, sweep the kitchen, clean a few mugs—not the ones on display, mind you. The ones behind the bar.”
The boy just stared blankly.
She said someone had done something nice for her, and didn’t want anything in return. Told her to pay it forward. So she did the same for Hawl. What a stupid, unsustainable philosophy. Besides which, he gave away a shield to her friend.
“You do your work and I’ll get you food, a bed, and if you’re good enough, maybe—maybe—a bit of coin comes your way. Sound good?”
The boy went back to being confused, but nodded his head.
“Good. I’ve got some stuff going right now, so you can have a bit of pie first. Eat what you need, have a sleep and we’ll discuss things in the morning. Oh, and make sure you don’t mess yourself after all that garbage, ‘cause you’ll be cleaning it—Whoah!”
A large, burning light flew up in the direction of the circus, then crashed back down again. “That was crazy. Must be a part of the act. For a second there I thought that beacon thing moved.” He looked over to the beacon.
“That’s odd. You see that, kid? The fire at the beacon just turned purple. Strange, that. Now, I was serious about messing yourself, and you better figure out how to tell me your name or I’m gonna call you America, and that’s a cursed name as far as I can tell….”