A lump formed in Ted’s throat and refused to leave. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Fourteen years was a long time.

Gramok spat on the ground. “That is our glorious Divine Emperor.”

Pain grasped Ted’s heart. Divine Emperor. “Isn’t he… evil?”

“That’s one way of putting it. What the Divine Emperor wants, he takes. The Empire doesn’t bother with the wood elves much, too poor, too far away, but the rest of us? It is what it is, nothing we can do about that.”

Why? Why? Sure, he was a bastard, but evil?

Ted jumped and jerked away as a slender hand pressed against his back.

Cara’s hand.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s okay—we’ll find out what it means. We’ll deal with it. It’ll be okay.”

“Deal with it?” He brushed her off. Platitudes weren’t going to fix this.

“It’s your father, isn’t it?”

His blood boiled. He clenched his fists. “I’ll deal with it, alright. Whatever it takes. He won’t get away with it.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Ted, I get why you’re angry—”

“Angry? ANGRY?” Pressure pounded in his ears. She had no clue. She never did, about anything. “My father abandoned me to be a mass-murdering dictator on another fucking planet, but you get it. Oh, well, that’s okay then!”

Cara recoiled. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

His fists clenched and unclenched. It wasn’t her fault she’d never had to grow up. He shook his head. “I should have left you back at the village where you belonged.”

She looked up, her eyes wet. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t even muster the courage to speak. Just an animalistic growl, and she stomped off like a child.

“Gah!” Ted slammed his fist against the table. “I need some air. Don’t even think about stopping me.”

Gramok nodded, not even trying to stop him. “North gate’s closest. That way and take a right, try not to get lost. You want some backup?”

“… No.” He shoved his pack at the orc. “Be back soon.”

He left, his boots pounding loudly against the stone. Hopefully, Gramok’s directions were up to scratch. The drab gray stone everywhere was miserable enough without getting lost in it.

The fire in his chest burned hotter and hotter, itching to smash everything to pieces. When would the universe give up and find a new toy?

His fists clenched again. He had to blow something up, and now.

But not here, not surrounded by short, terrified civilians.

He frowned. When had he stopped being a civilian? Yet another thing this damned world had stolen.

An armored dwarf slouched against the gate. “Sir, it’s dangerous out there.”

Ted clenched his jaw. “Good.”

“Have you been drinking, sir?”

“If only.”

The guard looked him up and down, no doubt Identifying him. “I heard what you did, for our soldiers. Thank you.”

Ted shrugged. Healing a few dwarves wouldn’t wipe away this stain. “I’m going to blow shit up. In here or out there—pick one.”

The guard shrugged. “As you wish. Open the gate!”

***

Cara paced up and down in the tavern. The maps still weren’t here, the booze was terrible, and Ted was out there, fighting, alone again. Her fists clenched. He’d better not get himself killed again.

“Relax,” Gramok said, all smug because he’d found an orc-sized chair. “He’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know he incinerates goblins like nobody’s business.”

“When he can see them.”

Gramok shrugged. “He’ll be back when he’s back. Besides, he has his… other advantages.”

“Not. Helping.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

Her chest tightened. Pain flooded from her lungs. Different pain, at least. “Kidnapped, dragged away—"

“He’ll be fine.”

She shot a glare at him. That’s what she’d thought last time. “Gah, what’s taking them so long with those damned maps?”

“They have a lot of maps. If you ever get the chance, the archives here are incredible.”

An archive? Gramok? She tilted her head. The image refused to settle in her imagination. “I didn’t see you as the library type.”

“Books? No. Old buildings? Yeah. There’s always a story behind them, and that’s especially true for these archives.”

Cara pulled up a chair. No, too short. She glanced around. Would the tavern keeper judge? She perched herself on the edge of the table. “What’s their story?”

“It’s the Age of Heroes. Orcs and dwarves are feuding again—long story, don’t worry about the why—”

“Why?” She frowned. Was that a smirk she saw? “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

“Oh? I’m distracting you? Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

She punched him on the arm again, and his metal armor punched back again. Ow, ow, ow. “Not my fault there’s so many questions that need answering in the world!”

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“What hurt?” Her smile faltered. “Maybe. A little. Totally worth it.”

“Uh-huh. Long story short, dwarves—incorrectly—think they can waltz in and steal mining rights from whoever owns the land.”

“Any chance they could steal ours?”

“No one wants the Deep-Forest, Cara. Anyway, Tarkath gets overrun by the orc army, possibly assisted by one or two Heroes. The dwarves, though, they’re not done. They fight a daring last stand. Why? To save the city’s archives. That’s why they built this place, a vault for their lost city’s knowledge. It’s one of the biggest troves of knowledge in the world.” He waved his hand in front of her face. “Any questions, Cara…?”

“What’s taking them so long?”

***

“Enkir!”

The goblin screamed and turned to ash, rewarding Ted with another jolt of adrenaline.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

A second charged, knife drawn. Ted smirked and thrust his sword into its chest. The blade went in, but it didn’t quite kill the foul creature.

The goblin’s dagger clinked against his Armor spell, barely enough to even register.

“Ronka!”

A blast of white magic shattered the goblin’s skull. The corpse crumpled to the ground.

600 XP received!

More pitiful XP from pitiful creatures.

Had he done something wrong in a previous life? Outcast, Hero, and son of a brutal dictator. Where did it end?

He gritted his teeth. Would it ever end? Even death refused to save him.

His fists balled up. Especially Death.

Another goblin charged out of a tunnel and he tugged on his mana. “Ronka!”

The blastbolt smashed against the stonework, spraying dust into the air.

Ted sighed. He should have just gone for that drink.

He dispatched the goblin easily with a firetouch, barely even noticing the stab to his gut. Weak creatures like these really didn’t stand a chance against a prepared mage.

What was the point? It didn’t have the same rush, not when there wasn’t anything at risk. And if he ran into anything that was risky, well… that would just be stupid.

Stupid. He took a deep breath and sighed. Yeah, yeah it was.

He headed back the way he came, and went directly to the tavern. A drink sounded pretty damned good right about now.

Ignoring Cara and Gramok, he headed straight for the bar and ordered a beer. The stools were too damned short, but hey, at least dwarves liked beer.

His certainty on that fact dropped significantly when the tankard—that was normal sized, at least—was placed in front of him, and he sniffed at the deep brown brew.

Holding the handle, that inner sixth sense identified it as mushroom beer. The smell was… not encouraging.

Still, this was what they had, and he wasn’t stopping now. Ignoring the protests of his nose, he sipped it.

The taste of sour dirt filled his mouth, and he instantly regretted every choice that had led to this moment.

Slamming the tankard down on the bar, it took everything he had not to spit it out. Bloody typical. The only time he really wanted—needed—a drink, and it was this. Yet another sick joke from the world.

Cara tried to put her arm around his shoulder, but he brushed her off.

This wasn’t her problem. Better she stayed away.

“You’re not like him.”

Ted snorted. “Aren’t I?” He took another gulp of sour, earthy beer. Why the hell would anyone brew mushrooms? Not even special mushrooms at that. “How would you know?”

“You’re not him, Ted!”

“Not yet.” He hunched over his drink, aching darkness biting at his insides. Would he have turned out any differently?

“You help people. Maybe you need a push sometimes, but we all do! You’re a good person.”

“A good person.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder. He let it slide, this time.

Words rose, stumbled over the lump in his throat, and fell back into the abyss. How to make her understand?

“Yes, a good person. No matter how much you deny it.”

Ted snorted. Over a hundred years old, and still that naïve. “Even if you’re right, how long for?”

“What do you mean?”

What the hell, she wouldn’t remember, anyway. “Death gave me the choice—empathy for my enemies, or the Dispel effect. And you know what?” Pain stabbed at his chest. “I nearly picked the other way.”

Her face went blank. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Nothing.” Whatever the System was, it would pay. “Nothing at all.”

She hugged him. “I’m here for you.”

“He used to say that, too.” What if he’d meant it? “I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.”

Cara cocked her head. “Weren’t their casters fixing the main gate?”

“Yeah.” Ted shrugged. “Don’t know what good I’ll be, but I might as well check it out.”

“See? Good person.”

He stared at her for a moment. She really meant it, didn’t she?

Clearly, she didn’t know him as well as she thought. He shrugged and headed off. He had to keep moving forward, keep working, keep being useful.

The dull metallic hammering in the background got louder and louder as he neared the gate. The streets were busier here, bustling with dwarves with grim expressions, and too damned many carts and sleds, pulled by stockier—and smellier—versions of donkeys.

Those heading in the direction of the gate were laden with stone and metal, while those on the other side of the road came back empty.

So much life scurrying about, desperately trying to save itself. And for what?

Maybe they’d hold out today, tomorrow, the day after that. No matter how many dungeon spawn they slew, monsters always came back. The dwarves wouldn’t.

Ted bit his lip. Why couldn’t anyone else see what needed to be done? Defending themselves wasn’t enough. They had to attack. Eliminate the enemy, destroy the threat.

There. The main gate, or what was left of it, came into view, partially obscured by wooden scaffolding. Its upper half was almost completely destroyed—five-foot-thick stone, ripped straight off.

Whatever creature had done that had to be something terrible. No wonder so many men had been injured taking it down.

Repairs were already well under way. Dozens of dwarves with makeshift pulleys lifted blocks twice their height while those dwarven donkeys pulled in more stone on sleds. And there, by the wall, three mages were casting Repair spells on the web of cracks at the base.

Ted’s gut twisted. It couldn’t be more than a week before the dungeon spawn respawned. They were sat on a ticking time bomb. Rebuilding the gatehouse in a week would be a feat, and the original clearly wouldn’t be enough to stop whatever monsters were out there.

Yelling erupted. Hands pointed up into the air, at one of the pulleys.

The rope was fraying. About to fail.

Dwarves fled the scaffolding under the enormous stone block. If it fell—

A rush of adrenaline surged through Ted and he tugged on his mana, casting the strongest Hold/Projectile spell he had.

The stone jerked, pulling the ropes to the edge of destruction.

Ted’s chest tightened and he sealed the spell. “Firkatara!”

A white projectile flew out of his hand and hit the block. Magic shimmered over it.

“It won’t hold long!” he shouted, praying it would be enough.

The air filled with Dwarven shouting. The three mages lined up, each swirling white Force magic in their hands.

Three beams shot out, colliding with the stone block. Silence fell.

The block, levitating in the air, slid slowly to the side. Inch by inch, it cleared the scaffolding.

One of the mages shouted a single word. The block stopped.

He barked another command. The block descended, swaying slightly.

More barked orders came, quickly and confidently, the same few Dwarven words repeated and cycled.

Another mage shouted, and the block jerked downward, half-held, half-falling.

The huge block hit the ground. The earth shook, and a fine mist of dust descended from the cavern roof above.

Held air escaped Ted’s lungs. There was no damage, no injuries. A complete success.

The dwarf who’d been barking the orders turned, pulled a hammer from his belt, and tossed it at Ted’s feet.

A tingle ran down Ted’s back. An unknown cultural gesture. Great, no way that could go wrong.

Magical runes were emblazoned down the sides of the hammer. It had to be valuable. But what did it mean? A thank you? A challenge? Something else entirely?

Ted forced out a smile, hoping it would defuse the situation long enough for someone to realize he had no idea what he was doing.

The dwarf’s deadpan stare didn’t help, nor that ridiculously large beard. How was anyone meant to tell what the dwarf was thinking under all that?

And now everyone was watching. Perfect. He should have read something, anything, about dwarven culture when he’d had the chance. Open palms fiasco part two, coming right up.

Mage Zelig, son of Roland

Level: 9

Ted weighed up his options. He could return the hammer, take it, ignore it, or do something crazy. Whatever he was supposed to do probably fell under that last option, but “do something crazy” covered a lot of options. Good idea, bad plan.

The crowd kept staring. Didn’t they have better things to do?

Apparently not, and it didn’t look like anyone else was going to take the initiative. He’d have to make a choice based on what little he knew.

Ted bowed his head. “Thank you. I require no payment.”

The dwarf gave a tiny tilt of his head. The crowd fell silent, bar nervous shuffling of feet.

So, wrong answer then. Or just the wrong way of putting it?

Archeologist’s Sight shrugged. If they stood staring at each other for a few hundred years, it might think about having an answer.

Great.

Ted kneeled down and lifted the hammer off the floor. There were a few marks and scuffs, despite its quality and the magical runes upon it. Signs of repair, too. It was clearly well used, and very well looked after.

A craftsman’s tool. A family heirloom, perhaps?

“A fine hammer, and a fine gift.” Ted held it up and offered it back. “It belongs in the hands of a craftsman.”

Diplomacy skill increased 0 → 1!

Zelig grunted, advanced, and reclaimed the hammer. “Thank you, Edwin Williams. The rest of you slackers—check the lines, and back to work!”

Commotion resumed, and breathing came easily again. “I go by Ted, by the way, and you’re welcome. Anything else I can do to help?”

“Does a brugedror shit in the mine? What can you cast?”

Straight to business. Perfect. “Repair, Hold. Plus, any spells you need crafting.”

“Aye, and how much is that going to cost us?”

“Nothing.”

Zelig shook his head and laughed. “Sure, and I’ve got a myrellium pickaxe to sell you.”

“I’m here, I’m a Spellcrafter, and I want to help. That’s it.”

“No one crafts spells for free.” Zelig paused and eyed Ted up, his expression utterly inscrutable. “No hidden debts, no obligations of any kind?”

Was that really so unbelievable? “Yes! Completely free of any charge whatsoever.”

Zelig stroked his beard for a while before nodding. “Alright, then. We have two Repair spells, one minor, one big enough that only old Luther can cast it. We need something time and mana efficient.”

“Consider it done. What else?”

The mage’s eyes lit up. “With a better Telekinesis spell, we could stop relying on those blasted pulleys.”

“I don’t know that effect, yet. But, show me what you’ve got, and I’m sure I can figure something out for you.”

“Oh, now I get your game!” Zelig stiffened up and shook his head. “We have work to do.”

Heat rose in Ted’s chest. No, it wasn’t Zelig’s fault. Magic was power, something to be hoarded. And who’d risk their life crafting spells for free when they could get rich doing it?

Yeah. Who’d be dumb enough to do that?

Ted took a deep breath and put on a smile. “It’s not like that. Tell you what, let’s start with the Repair spells, then move on to any other spells I can make. If you want to stop there, we can stop there. Deal?”

Zelig’s eyes narrowed. He raised one fist in front of him, lowered the other, and smashed them together. “By the stone.”

Oratory skill increased 1 → 2!

Hopefully, that was a yes, and not a proposed method of execution.