[https://i.imgur.com/PVQZiJI.png]

I followed the black-robed Tender, an unfamiliar feeling bubbling inside of me. It was part anxiety, part fear, and part suspicion… but it was mostly hope. He’d said something about elevating me, and I was pretty sure he meant upgrading my Hammer card. I’d heard people talking about card upgrades, but nobody I knew in the Lows had ever seen it happen. That was a thing for rich folk.

We hurried down the bare stone hallway, passing servants and functionaries without slowing. The hall holding the trading tables came and went, but he didn’t slow. Two more turns of the hallway and my hope started to get buried under new shovelfuls of doubt. I was beginning to wonder if this friendly gaffer had lied and was taking me somewhere quiet where an accomplice could get the drop on me and steal my card. Anxiety building, I put the Hammer back in my Mind Home and summoned a Nether source. If I saw a single person skulking ahead, I’d cave in the old man’s head.

“Here we are,” he said with satisfaction, approaching a wide archway to his left. Glancing back, he saw the source over my head, took a quick look at my face, and understood immediately. He stopped, faced me, and spread his hands wide. “I’m not going to steal it,” he said gently. “That might be the life you’ve had, but by the sacred name of the Twins, I only want to help you.”

My jaw was tight and I had both a second source and my Hammer card in hand, ready to summon. I felt ever so slightly embarrassed, but I shoved the feeling down. “That sounds nice,” I said roughly. “We’ll head in and see what’s what.”

He gave a sorrowful sigh. “All right. You can go first, if you’d prefer.”

I did. I scooted past him, not letting him out of my sight as I peeked around the corner into the space where he was leading us. It was another big room, not quite the size of the Mess Hall, with people sitting at tables and in booths against the wall, a bare handful of people moving amongst them. No one was waiting to jump me.

“Artisans and Soulsmiths,” the Tender said, standing well back from me. “We’re going to upgrade your weapon.”

Feeling stupid, I let my summoned source dissolve and my card vanish back into my Mind Home. “Yeah. Right. Good.”

“There’s a man I want to introduce you to,” he said brightly, moving past me into the wide room. “I’ve known him a long time.”

I walked at his side across the space, passing several people showcasing Artisan wares on their tables. “Sorry,” I said grudgingly.

“There’s a lot to be sorry for in this world, my boy,” he said sadly, not looking at me. “A well-earned sense of caution isn’t one of them.”

He came to a halt in front of one of the stalls against the far wall. A fat man with hairy arms and a bushy beard wearing a leather apron sat on a rickety stool with his back against the wall. He was snoring.

“Brask,” the Tender said. “Brask!”

The man kept snoring.

“I want to elevate a Mythic,” the Tender said.

With a snort, the big man sat bolt upright. “Whassat? Where?”

“Hello, Brask.”

The man clapped his meaty hands with a sound like a thunderbolt. “Penkmun! You old god-botherer! What’s this about a Mythic?”

“You must have been dreaming,” the Tender said with a smile. “You know the priesthood doesn’t keep the high rarities for themselves.”

“More’s the pity,” the fellow grumbled, getting to his feet. He towered over us both, and I squelched the sudden desire to run. I’d never seen such an enormous man.

“This young man has an Uncommon that could use some attention,” the Tender said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Show him, my friend.”

“Uhh…” I said, looking back and forth between them. “I’m not sure I can afford this.”

“Well, let’s take a look, at least,” the big fellow said, stretching. “Haven’t had a body come to me in hours. Let’s humor the old fool.” He grinned through his thicket of a beard at Penkmun, waggling his eyebrows as he insulted him.

“This fool beat you the last three times in a row at tiles,” the Tender said mildly.

The big man harrumphed. “You’ll get your crown.”

“Two crowns, six clips, as I recall.”

He smashed a fist down on his own counter. “A Tender isn’t supposed to cheat, y’know!”

Penkmun smiled blandly. “And yet here we are.”

The two were obviously old friends, and it helped put me at ease. I slipped the Hateful Hammer out from behind my ear and put it on the counter in front of him.

He bent over it, the top of his belly resting on the wood. “Could use an upgrade, all right. Weapons are simple. I can handle this in two shakes. What’ve you got for me?”

My heart had risen as he talked about upgrading my card, but it clenched as his gaze skewered me. I had no idea how many shards it took to upgrade an Uncommon to Rare, but I was certain it took more than Basic shards. Holding my breath, I dug into my other pocket for my coins and the bag of shards I’d taken back from Skop, the one that had gotten me in so much trouble to begin with. “I have five silver clips and forty-one Basic shards.” I put them on the counter next to my card.

The craftsman took the pouch with a doubtful look and pulled it open, sifting through it with a finger as big as a sausage. “Basics, eh? There’s more variation in those than higher shards. A lot of these are small… the smart thing would be to take them over to the valuator for rating.”

The Tender cleared his throat and gave a small shake of the head, not looking at anybody in particular.

Brask scowled at him and grunted. “Well then, maybe we figure an average value.” He looked up at the ceiling as if calculating. “You’ve got the Basic to Common conversion, and from there to Uncommon…” He turned back to me, eyes hooded under his heavy brows. “It takes the equivalent of one full Uncommon card added to one you’re working on to elevate to Rare. What you’ve got here is about one average-rating Uncommon shard shy of what you need.”

My stomach sank down to my toes. “Oh. I see.”

He grunted again. “Now, the five clips might buy an Uncommon shard… if you found a seller that liked the look of you or had an exceptionally soft head.” He reached under the counter and brought up a solid metal box as big as my head with an iron padlock on it. “Course, I keep materials on hand, but you’re an ugly little runt, if you ask me, and I’m not exactly in my cups, am I? Not to mention that even then I don’t make a single bit off the deal. Not in the habit of working for free. I’ve got kids, plus a wife that keeps the accounts, and she makes me look like a kitten.”

“I understand,” I said, irritation growing the longer he went on.

“Getting a card to Rare isn’t a trip to the corner store, lad. You have to work for it.”

The old, familiar anger boiled up inside me. “That bag is six years of my life. I slept in the rain for those shards. I begged for bits and traded for them. I broke bones for them. I ate garbage for them.” Shame prickled at the skin of my face, and I snatched my card off the counter and held out a hand. “It’s not enough, I get that. But Twins twist me if I’m gonna stand here and listen to a lecture like I’m some lazy apprentice. Give it back.”

The craftsman swelled in offense, his face reddening, and he opened his mouth to give me a piece of his mind, my shards still clutched in his hand.

The Tender cleared his throat again and tapped a knuckle on the counter. The big man checked himself and looked to his old friend.

“Do you remember being an apprentice, Brask?” he asked quietly. “Working like a slave from sunup to past dark, sending your bits and clips to your parents, doing your damnedest to learn everything you could to form your soul card?”

The craftsman frowned and looked at the floor. “I remember a young Tender coming to have a conversation with my master, that’s what I remember.”

“None of us advances on our own,” he said, smiling. “We take what we need and we give when we can. Elevation isn’t just about card rarity, Brask. You’ve known that for a long time.”

The big man tugged on his beard and looked sulky. “Don’t need a reminder, then, do I?”

The Tender reached across the counter and patted his friend on the hand. “Of course not.”

With a gusty sigh, the craftsman nodded. “All right, boyo, give me the card and let’s do this.”

“Hold on.” My blood was still up, and my wariness spiked. I held my card up and away as if he might snatch it from me. “You said yourself you don’t work for free. Now the old man says boo and you do what he asks?” I turned on the Tender. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me? I’m not gonna spend my life in the church, and I’m not going home with you.”

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Penkmun faced me squarely, face serious. “I don’t want those things.”

I shuffled back a step. “What, then? What is this?” They were both looking at me like a dog with a broken leg, and I wanted a corner to hide in.

The Tender’s silver-flecked eyes nailed me in place. “I will not deny that my help comes with a price, young man. What I want from you… is for you to create your soul card and elevate it as far as you can. I want you to gather as many Souls as possible and do the same for them. I want you to make your Mind Home a beautiful place where they can rest in peace and serve you in love. There is the spark of Legendary in all of us, and I want you to find it. I want you to live forever as a powerful, unique, beautiful card in the everlasting hand of Fate. Do that, and my assistance will be repaid.”

“I…” My mouth worked as I searched for words and found none. Is this old bastard working some kind of scam, or does he really believe that? I prayed to the Twins just like anybody, but he was leveraging a life-long friendship for some dirty kid he’d just met. Was there really a hint of Legendary somewhere in me? If I had a soul card, could I live forever somehow? Meet the gods? I knew that Rare cards could talk and think; were they still alive in some way? If by some miracle I reached Epic would I get more of my memories back? Could that be me after I died? It was more than I had ever had time and energy to think about.

But I didn’t know that he was wrong, either.

Stuttering, I looked to the huge, burly craftsman. He shrugged sheepishly. “He does this sometimes.”

“All right,” I said weakly. “I’ll… do what I can.”

Penkmun straightened his robes. “That is all I ask. Will you give Brask your card?”

The air leaked out of me and I laid the Hammer card back on the counter, mind awhirl and emotions complicated.

The big man smiled fiercely at me as he scooped it up in his paws. “Don’t look so worried, kid. I had to make sure you were serious. And it just so happens you’re standing in front of the best Relicsmith in the city.”

“Third-best,” murmured Penkmun with a smile.

“The best Relicsmith that this bald toothpick knows,” Brask huffed. “Fortune lays a finger on any work we do, so you never know exactly how it’s going to turn out, but by Fate’s snaggly gob, you’ll be glad you came to me. Elevating a card take a steady hand and a pure heart.”

“Pure heart,” Penkmun scoffed.

“Pure enough!” the big man roared. He strode over to the oven set against the wall, throwing open the front door to reveal a bed of glowing coals inside. He pumped a set of hand-bellows, stoking the dull red into an open flame. Turning back to us, he pulled a clay frame out from beneath the counter, grabbing the Hammer card and slotting it into a space just big enough for it, and layering all of my dull, gray Basic ones evenly over the top. He pulled out his lockbox, opened it with a key from his pocket, and picked out one large silver shard, eyed it critically, put it back, and pulled out another instead, laying in the frame atop the Basic shards. He jerked his head at the Tender, and Penkmun re-locked the box for him as he worked. Then in a swift motion, Brask swept the clay frame onto a flat metal paddle and dropped it into the flaming coals.

I must have made a noise, because he turned to me with a grin. “No fear, boyo, an unbroken card won’t be harmed by a little fire. In fact, watch close and you’ll see something I bet you never have before.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and plunged his hands deep into the coals.

I did make a noise then, and the Tender patted my shoulder. “He knows what he’s doing, my boy. Card smithing takes a great many years to learn, and it holds many secrets.”

Brask was still whispering as he moved his hands about in the coals, shifting them up and over the tray holding my card. A shimmering glow like a brilliant star appeared in the midst of the orange-red heat of the forge, and the Relicsmith bowed his head, eyes closed and mouth moving, hands still working within the coals.

“The Twins at work,” Penkmun sighed, a look of peaceful wonder on his face. “Fate, guide his hands. Fortune, bring him success beyond his abilities. So be it.”

“So be it,” I whispered. The shimmer in the flames entranced me.

“Come here, boy,” the Relicsmith said. “Quick now. Over the counter.”

I scrambled to obey, my eyes still locked on the magical light growing in the forge.

“Stand here,” he said, nodding next to himself. “This is about you more than it is about me, and a good smith knows it. Take a moment. Close your eyes. Think about who you are and who you want to be. What matters to you. The Twins know you have this card, and they’re willing to make it yours as you care for it. Think about what being you really means.”

Screwing my eyes shut, I wracked my brain. What does it mean to be me? What a stupid question. I didn’t worry about things like that; I just survived. I fought. I scrimped and scrabbled for more.

I wanted. That’s what it meant to be Hull, and it wasn’t stupid at all.

I opened my eyes and nodded to him, feeling strangely at peace.

He jerked his bearded chin toward the glimmering star of power shining amid the coals where his hands were still shifting and working. “Spit.”

Leaning in close to the searing heat, I spat, suddenly worried I was going to miss and hit his arm. I didn’t. The spittle disappeared into the light with a vicious hiss.

“Back over you go, and give me just a few seconds.”

I hauled myself back over the counter, excited in a way I couldn’t ever remember being before. Penkmun the Tender beamed at me as if I’d just won a race.

“Aaaand there it is,” Brask rumbled, pulling his hands out of the fire. He held the smoking clay frame in his bare hands, and as he moved toward a full bucket in the corner he began to move faster as if the heat was starting to burn him. He dumped the frame into the water, where it hissed and steamed. He grinned at me, sweat rolling down into his beard. “What are you hoping for, boy?”

“Something that lets me win,” I said.

He snorted and reached into the bucket with a pair of tongs. The clay frame emerged dripping wet and cracked down the center. He dumped it face down on the counter and shifted the broken pieces aside, leaving the card exposed with its smoky-glass back to the sky.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to me. “You should be the one to see it first. Don’t worry, the clay holds the heat but the card will be cool.”

Reaching out eagerly, I held my palm over it, and sure enough, there was no heat. I picked it up with a prayer to the Twins in my heart and flipped it over.

[https://i.imgur.com/O61lgXZ.png]

Tears sprang to my eyes. It was perfect. It shone in a way it hadn’t before, and I loved it. If this was what being a Tender or a Relicsmith was like, maybe it wasn’t such a bad life after all.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” the Tender murmured behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Remember it, and as soon as you’re able… do it again.”

“Thank you,” I said, my throat tight.

“I work in the chantry on Gable Street near the wharf,” he said. “Come see me sometime, and we can talk more about how to create your soul card.”

I nodded, barely hearing him. I slid the new Rare card into my Mind Home, reveling in its added feeling of weight and substance inside me. I couldn’t wait to summon it and beat the ever-loving shit out of somebody.

Penkmun gave me a rueful smile as if he could read my mind. “This Relic will help you more than previously, but if you hope to keep winning, you’d be wise to secure at least one more card for your Mind Home with what you have for trade. You’ve got a fierce look; perhaps the vendors will go easier on you than they would on me. Be quick about it, though: I doubt you have more than an hour before your next match.”

I took a few steps away, stumbled to a stop and turned back to both of them, unsure of what to say.

“We know, lad,” the fat Relicsmith said, waving me toward the door. “You don’t need to say it. Go on, now. Hit hard, win big.”

When I walked around the corner they were both leaning on Brask’s counter, chatting like only the oldest and dearest of friends could. It was strange to realize that I wouldn’t mind seeing either of them again. That had never happened to me before.

My mind kicked back into gear. The kind old Tender was absolutely right: I needed a trade, and a good one. The trading tables waited for me. I’d been frightened before, but now I had a full stomach and a new Rare inside me. It was time to make a deal. I strode confidently up the corridor until I reached the Dealers’ Hall and stepped inside.

It was every bit as large as the Mess Hall and far more crowded. Tables were set up in a regular grid all through the space. It wasn’t just competitors milling about in here; there were dozens of rich-looking folk browsing the tables and talking to the card vendors. Probably the collectors with deep pockets pay an extra fee to get access to the best card libraries here. The buzz of conversation and haggling was nowhere near the level of noise I’d faced in the arena, but the feeling of wanting to run from it was nearly as strong. Steeling myself, I walked to the nearest table where a middle-aged woman with a shock of frizzy hair was in the middle of an animated negotiation with a very short, very sour-faced vendor. She had a fan of cards on the table in front of herself and one in hand. Peeking over her shoulder, I saw what she was holding.

[https://i.imgur.com/ARjvl0f.png]

“It’s the perfect synergy,” she said, shaking it. “I attack with all my little token Souls first, whittle down any bigger defenders as needed, pop this, and it buffs my Earth Elementals. Say I have two out – I could hit for 10 or 12, easy.”

The seated vendor shrugged, unimpressed. “Listen, I’ll sell it, that’s fine, but Fortune’s really got to be on your side for that play to happen. Problem is you don’t know your own deck.”

The woman had already started to reply and then stopped short. “Excuse me?”

“You’re talking like you’re playing pure control, but from what I see,” he said, sweeping a hand over the spread of cards she had displayed, “you’re more likely to be taking the beatdown side. Lots of smaller Souls and token generation. The combos you’re spinning don’t fit; they have too many pieces. You’ll never put them together.”

“I won against the Marquess deRouche with this deck,” the woman said, leaning over him aggressively.

“The Marquess is a soft-skulled inbred that can’t close her mouth all the way,” the vendor said, sounding bored. “Buy the Rockslide if you want; it’s your deck. But I’m not taking that puny Troll for it, and don’t blame me when you lose.”

I backed away as the woman’s volume increased. They weren’t going to be done any time soon. Turning around, I saw an old woman without any customers spinning a Rare on her knobbly knuckles, the stiff card flashing in and out, back and forth between her crabbed fingers as if she was making it dance on Air. She saw me looking and gave a crooked smile.

“What’s the play, kid? That’s an angry face you got. You pushin’ aggro, or do you just stink ‘em to death instead?” She cackled at her own joke.

I backed away with what I hoped was an apologetic wave. All my earlier anxiety had returned. I didn’t know what aggro meant and I’d only been able to follow maybe half of what the first pair were saying to each other. Angry face or no, if I tried to make a deal by myself, these folk would eat me alive. I needed help. I needed someone who knew the cards, who knew the game, and who wouldn’t take advantage of me.

“Shit,” I muttered.

There was only one option, and it was going to take me swallowing my pride in a way I’d never done before. Turning back toward the Mess Hall and breaking into a run, I hoped against hope I’d be able to find that snooty little noble twig Basil.