Marek skimmed titles in his head, delighted at how convenient the ring was. With a bit of focus, he could browse its contents mentally and select what he needed. What will help me today? he asked, knowing he and Mags were in the midst of a crisis and hoping to improve their odds. Unique Paths to Power? No, that sounds fascinating, but I’ll save it for later. Classes of Our Ancestors: The Enduring Unique Classes of the Six… Damn, if it isn’t tempting. No, he thought firmly, that isn’t going to help me at the moment either. Given the circumstances, Marek made his decision a minute later.

With a thought, he summoned Northern Woodcraft: Terrain, Flora, and Fauna. It was a thin volume with a plain and ratty cover. He opened the book and found a crude map on the first page. It took him a while to decipher until he spotted the dashed line separating Ardea from Shirgrim. The map all but ignored political geography and focused on the mountains themselves, which make sense given its title. They were traveling by road, and he most certainly wasn’t going to be the one hunting for the group, so Marek skipped ahead to the section labeled Flora.

In moments, Marek was lost in the descriptions of notable plants in the area. He knew many, since Mags had taught him a few things in the past. It didn’t take long for him to learn of several new species of herbs and berries he might find in northern Ardea. Each description was followed by a sketched image, which reminded him of the shopping list he’d been given by Tilda. Marek was about to turn the page when something triggered in his memory.

“Hey, I’ve seen you, haven’t I?” he asked, pressing his finger on the sketch of an herb called Dilly’s Chalice. “Just over… there!”

He ran across the clearing and found a patch of weed, all producing tiny orange flowers. The blossoms were shaped like fluted cups. Marek reread the description and smiled. “These can be used to make a poultice… increases the flow of mana in and around the wound… speeds up recovery and slows the effects of some poison,” he read aloud, skimming the information at a fast clip. “Apply to open wounds. Ten blossoms for every five pounds of body weight. Mash into a pulp, then combine with water and clay. Substitute clay with crushed charcoal if not available… and that’s it!”

Marek had been a scholar ever since he’d learned his letters at the age of four. He loved reading for the sake of reading. Yet he was far from Rauld’s cellar, and his health was improving, if slower than he’d have preferred. So for once, Marek set the book aside. Storing it in his ring, he threw himself at the task of harvesting the herb. He was careful only to take the flowers, for the stems were useless, apparently. In five minutes, he’d gathered what he guessed could treat a man of his size and weight. He wanted to harvest more, but his imagination was running loose. Tucking the herb away in a spare pouch on his pack, Marek folded his legs and closed his eyes.

He reviewed the information he’d taken in as well as the image of the patch of Dilly’s Chalice he’d been harvesting from. Then he drummed up a query. How many children could I treat with the blossoms in that patch?

Intuit failed to respond. He shook his head, knowing his error immediately. Given that each child weighs sixty pounds, and each has a cut six inches long, how many of the children could I treat with all the blossoms in that patch?

The images that filled Marek’s mind were interesting. A line of children standing in a row, seventeen in total, all bearing a cut across their bellies. Eerily, his imagination apparently struggled with individuality, for each of his conjured patients wore the exact same pair of brown trousers, the same white tunic, and had the same blurry patch of gray instead of a face.

He was about to release his Skill and try to imagine another query, one that might spawn a result that didn’t creep him out, when a burst of warm power bled out from his Core. It rippled up his torso and down his legs, along the length of his arms, and ended with tingling fingers and toes. Marek threw back his head and laughed in delight. “Another level up! Damn, I wish Mirrin could have seen this!” He chuckled again, this time at the irony of cursing the man and wishing he were here in such a short span of time.

Marek wanted to get up and dance around the camp site, but he held his celebration in check for the time being. He’d made enough of a racket this morning already. And besides, Marek wouldn’t be able to choose his next Skill without the assistance of a Master Sigilist. “Doubt I’ll find one anywhere on this journey. I’ll bet there’s a Class Master in Swiftwall… It would cost me, but there’s always an academy in the bigger cities.”

In addition to unlocking a Class, one could also evolve that Class or unlock a secondary. Class Master was an example of the latter. Rare but so useful that many attempted the transition, it required a Scholar to reach Level 41 and then display proficiency in at least five other Classes. Doing so would unlock the secondary Class. Class Master was reserved for non-combat Classes, Master of Arms for physical combat Classes, and Master of Magic for the casting disciplines. Marek had once dreamed of completing the achievement himself, yet now the goal lacked the luster it once held.

“Wait,” he said, the hint of a smile touching his lips. “Do I still need help with this? Empath’s Gaze lets me see and interact with the system directly. I wonder…” Marek closed his eyes and guided his will. After a few failed attempts, he found the right phrase. View Class Progression. Success came to him in the form of a message—one with a different tone than those prior.

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***

Congratulations! Apprentice Sigilist has been promoted to Novice Sigilist!

Current Rank: Level 10

Skills: Intuit (Miscellaneous Skills Tree)

Available Skill Slots: 1

Available Class Skills: Imbue, Diffuse, Minor Elevation

Available Miscellaneous Skills: ?

***

Marek read the message several times over, disbelief only barely quashed by a burgeoning excitement. I know what Imbue does, at least in theory, and Mirrin told me that Diffuse was a specialty Skill Sigilists learned to remove enchantments without ruining the host object… Minor Elevation? I’ve seen Mirrin use Elevation. Probably just a lesser version of that Skill.

Always seeking more information, Marek guided Empath’s Gaze as he’d previously done for Spirit Body.

***

Minor Elevation: Improve a work of sigilcraft by a small degree. Skill only applicable on items altered with Imbue, Brand, and Engrave.

***

Marek possessed few enchanted items. All had been gifts from Mirrin; the last, he’d received the day before he left. Dismissing his Ability, Marek tugged on his belt to see the two sigils branded on the inside of the leather. Roughly translated, the sigils read Endure Force. It was a broad-spectrum enchantment that essentially made his belt nearly indestructible. Cuts and wear and tear from friction were negated. He’d need to hack at the thing with a sword to overcome the simple yet effective enchantment.

His cloak was modified as well, more effectively keeping out wind and rain. Marek’s belt knife dulled at such a slow pace he’d only had to sharpen it once. None of the enchantments he had with him added up to much, but they were precious nonetheless. Not only were their small benefits welcome, but as Mirrin had suggested, Marek could sell the items in case he needed additional coin.

“Wouldn’t take me long to run through the lot of them,” Marek said, rubbing the oiled leather belt methodically. “Mags probably has a couple items herself. I’d still end up with nothing to use Minor Elevate on in a week or so… and I can’t level a Skill without practice.”

Diffuse was an even more impractical choice. Only a Sigilist with access to an active workshop needed it, and even then, most considered it a luxury.

Marek brushed aside the desire to know what else he might gain from the Common Skills Tree. He’d end up having to wait for a master again.

Why am I stalling? I’ve wanted this for years! Marek fell into a meditative state. Learn Class Skill Imbue. His reward was immediate. No trials were needed to perfect the wording. Instead, another wave of heat flushed out from his Core. This time, the sensation burned a little, and it settled in his hands. He felt the knowledge a moment later, instinctually grasping how to perform the Skill. He knew it would take practice to master, but Marek was a quick study by all accounts. Besides, he’d rehearsed thousands of times, practicing with the basic Sigilist tools, so that one day he could quickly advance with Imbue when he unlocked it.

Marek’s eyes shot open, and he ran to Lydia’s side. He tugged out the walking staff he’d tied to his pack and sifted through the Archivist’s Ring until he found the box of tools his uncle had given him.

Minutes later, Marek knelt near the remains of their campfire. He’d excavated a few coals and rekindled a small blaze. He waited for the sigils to heat sufficiently, all the while trying desperately to calm his nerves. In the end, he accepted the fact that his hands would tremble if they pleased.

Finally, the sigil brands were ready. Included in the set of gravers were files, three small hammers of various sizes, and a branding kit. Imbue wasn’t a technique-specific Skill like Engrave or Brand; he could use several methods and still achieve the same outcome. The catch was that Imbue only granted a temporary enchantment. Eventually, it would wear off, and the host object could rarely be enchanted again.

Marek withdrew one of the sigil brands from the fire with a pair of tongs. Carefully, he fixed the sigil into the brand encasement. He could fit up to four sigils in the tool, though he dared not attempt a project so complex. After dropping the second sigil twice, he succeeded in placing it too in its given slot. Then he tightened both sides of the vise, locking the sigils in place.

Lifting the brand encasement by its handle, he found a flat patch of wood along the side of his staff. Then he pressed the hot metal against it. The sigils hissed as they cooled. Trails of smoke rose as the brand set it, and Marek quickly drew on his mana. He whispered the command word and guided the Skill with intent. “Imbue.”

Marek sighed when nothing happened. Thankfully, the failed attempt didn’t use any mana, so he could always try again. “Probably waited too long,” he said, removing the sigils and placing them back in the coals. Unsurprisingly, he failed a second and a third time.

Such was the way with newly acquired Skills. Marek didn’t even waste his breath on a curse. He merely repeated the process diligently. In fact, he expected a fourth failure, so when a hum filled the air and the twin sigils burned into the butt of the staff glowed faintly, he nearly dropped his handiwork.

“I did it!” he said, standing so quickly that he had to bend his knees when a spell of light-headedness overtook him. Marek chuckled in delight, clutching the staff and trying to see if he noticed its effect in any way.

He shrugged and looked at his work again, studying the symbols. One was the sigil Fortitude, the other Bearer. A laughably basic enchantment, he knew it would likely make a huge difference in the end. If the staff helped him walk even a quarter-mile more each day, Marek would take it.

“Amazing,” he said under his breath, mind whirring with possibilities. “Wonder how long it’ll hold. Hopefully a few weeks at least… I wonder, would Mags like a staff? Or would she rather me try to enchant her bow or quiver?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the woman in question said, eliciting a piercing yelp from Marek. “I don’t find you even slightly enchanting.”