“We’re almost there, Miss!” the driver shouted over his shoulder. “With a bit of luck we’ll beat the rain before it falls!”
Fifteen knocked twice on the carriage wall to show she heard him, then turned her attention back to that depressingly gray sky beyond the window. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly the seasons turned around here. Granted, this was from the perspective of someone who grew up with scorching days and freezing nights year-round, but she still felt the shift in weather was unusually drastic. It was extremely rare for Cherrytown’s summers to have a day that wasn’t sunny, which suited her fiery affinity quite well. Conversely, the region’s autumn season saw so much rain that the city streets were perpetually damp. Winter’s weather was a lot better in terms of sunlight, but significantly worse in every other way. In short, Fifteen had to endure about a half-year of gloom and cold before spring rolled around, which was what really bothered her.
Both the weather and her mood got worse before her ride arrived at its destination. By the time the carriage rolled up in front of the mages’ guild, it was pouring so much that Fifteen felt she might actually drown in it. At least that was how it seemed to a desert dweller who’d be lucky to see one or two light drizzles a year back home. Thankfully, it would only take her seconds to get inside the guild building. It then occurred to her that her driver had been at this downpour’s mercy for nearly ten minutes now and he’d likely be at it a while longer since he had to put away both the vehicle and the horses. She felt bad that he had to deal with that because of her, so she decided to leave a handful of silver coins on her seat as a tip before she made a dash for the entrance. Once safely inside she looked back to find that the man actually had the foresight to bring a raincoat, so he was actually just fine. Fifteen felt like asking for a refund for her pointless worries, but honestly, she was just salty that she didn’t think to bring some water-proofing of her own.
Regardless, the sorceress turned her back to the dreadful downpour and ventured deeper into the lobby. The place was a lot more packed than the last time she was here, though hardly because of the bad weather. It was a factor, sure, but the guild was usually this busy in the late afternoon. The air was abuzz with murmurs as two dozen wizards traded knowledge, compared notes, or indulged in gossip. A few of them glanced at the fresh arrival, but didn’t pay her much heed. Fifteen was never particularly close with any of them since she rarely went on joint jobs. She tried a few times after she first joined up, but various issues and disagreements kept popping up. The whole thing just seemed more trouble than it was worth. Since then she’d stuck to taking solo jobs and maintained a respectable distance from her colleagues. For the most part, her peers were happy to oblige.
“Well, well, well. Look who the cat dragged in!”
Only for the most part, unfortunately.
“… Hello, Azyra.”
The loudmouth was here as well, it would seem. At least she wasn’t walking around in her usual half-harlot, half-wrestler getup. It was still there under that dripping blue raincoat of hers, but only a fraction of the immodest outfit was visible. It would seem that as much as she liked to show off her well-built physique, even this airhead knew better than to walk around practically naked in this kind of weather.
“So what did you do this time? Get lost on the way back? Or did you decide to take some time off because you stubbed your precious little toe?”
Fifteen was already in a dour mood, so Azyra’s mocking tone and negative attitude ticked her off more than usual.
“If you must know, I was quarantined.”
“Ha! For what? Did the sickness in your head finally spread to the rest of you?”
“I was exposed to a magical disease, actually.”
“You… Wait, for real?”
Her boisterous smile wavered as her expression turned to one of doubt. Or concern. Or possibly constipation. Hard to tell with this she-gorilla.
“Indeed. Incredibly infectious, and deadly. I am lucky to be alive, but there were complications. Permanent ones.”
“Ah. I, uh, see.”
“If you understand, then get out of my way.”
Fifteen took out her newly acquired copper wand and brought its tip to the she-gorilla’s neck.
“Before I make you.”
“Wow. Who pissed in your porridge? Fine then, I had better things to do anyway.”
Azyra scoffed and brushed the whole thing off, but deep down she couldn’t help but feel strangely scared. Logically, she understood that was just an empty threat. She knew Acolyte Two-Fifteen was a stickler for rules and regulations. It was one of the main reasons the two of them were at each other’s throats so much. If either of them was going to start an actual fight it would be Azyra, but even she wouldn’t dare do so on guild grounds, let alone right smack in the middle of the lobby. Despite knowing that full well, there was something different about the Sage of the Sands today. She seemed… unusually fierce.
For her part, Fifteen was just glad the loudmouth was no longer blocking her path forward. She then questioned if she might have overreacted. In hindsight, she should have just given her the cold shoulder and walked around. Indeed, it wasn’t like her to get so confrontational so quickly, no matter how crappy she felt. It made her worry whether those complications she mentioned were to blame. Then again, if it spared her that infuriating woman’s presence, then perhaps this was a good thing. No, it definitely was. She was told a positive outlook would prove more beneficial to her condition than stressing over it, so for once she tried her best to be optimistic about her newfound… assertiveness? Yes, assertiveness. That’s definitely what that was.
For better or worse, none of the other mages in the lobby paid the confrontation much heed. Everyone in the guild knew that the Sage of the Sands and the Cloud Splitter were always at each other’s throats, so in the onlookers’ eyes nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They might’ve paid more attention if they overheard the part about the infectious disease and permanent complications, but Fifteen’s voice had been relatively quiet and was easily drowned out. This, too, was business as usual.
“Welcome back, Acolyte Two-Fifteen.”
Even the guild’s most perceptive receptionist didn’t notice anything amiss and greeted her with a smile.
“Hello, Emerick.”
“You look like hell, girl. Just how hard did that witch hunter work you?”
The sorceress tensed up at those words. So he did notice something was off.
“That bad, huh?” the man noticed.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Not like you can, right?”
“How much were you told?”
“Not much. Only that you completed whatever that job was, but had to be kept under church supervision for a while.”
He leaned in and whispered.
“That’s usually doublespeak for ‘making you work for free.’”
“Ah. Nothing like that.”
“Then what was it?”
“Does it matter?”
“You were gone for seven weeks, girl!” Emerick raised his voice a little. “I was starting to worry you abandoned us to work at one of those fancy central offices! You know those pricks love to poach all our best mages.”
“…”
“Hey, hey! Cut it out with the ‘that’s not a bad idea’ look.”
“Sorry.”
“So,” Emerick leaned in again, “where have you been? Just between you and me.”
There was much she couldn’t say about the Roderick Asylum incident. The affliction and her involvement in its treatment was fine to talk about with guild members and church officials, but she was under no circumstances to mention the cult or the dwarf to anyone. Rumors like that would only spread unrest, or so she was told. Honestly, the reason didn’t matter much to her since she’d really rather not talk about the incident in general. Especially the part where, even though a certain someone forced her hand, she used her magic to kill people. Fifteen didn’t feel particularly guilty – by all means the cultist scum deserved it – but it was still something she’d rather not think about if she could help it.
“There was… an outbreak. Something called moon fever.”
“Never heard of it. A magic disease, I take it?”
“Yes. It’s weak to fire so I was called in to help treat it. I got exposed, then cured, but there were complications, so I got quarantined for observation.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What kind of complications, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Fifteen sighed, then also leaned in. This slightly startled Emerick. The sorceress valued her personal space quite a bit, yet she put her face so close to his that their noses almost touched. Still, he held his ground and waited for her to elaborate, only for her to hold her right eye wide open with her fingers without saying anything. As per usual, she decided words were too much of a bother, though in this case, they were indeed rather unnecessary. Now that he was this close, the receptionist finally noticed. Her pupil was still the same golden hue, but her iris was now distinctly more vertical. It wasn’t there quite yet, but it was well on its way to becoming a cat’s eye.
“… I see,” he pulled back, concerned. “That’s rather unfortunate.”
“It’s actually beneficial,” Fifteen did as well.
“Really? Like, can you see in the dark now?”
“Not well, but better than before.”
“Wow. You know, that’s actually pretty cool.”
She agreed with a nod. It wasn’t the only helpful mutation, either. It was subtle and hard to measure, but she definitely felt more agile and athletic than she used to be when she still had both legs, especially when it came to acrobatics. It was a rather fortunate development, given her ongoing efforts to master the art of launching herself with precisely shaped explosions. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to practice that move in quarantine. The church people were watching her closely for signs of mental instability – among other things – so it was bad optics to go around blowing herself skyward for shits and giggles.
It had honestly been a very stressful month for both her and Bahm. Being confined to an enclosed space wasn’t great and the constant tests and non-stop observation took a mental toll on the pair. There was also the concern that should their two-way bond be deemed problematic then it would need to be severed, which was typically achieved by severing the familiar’s neck. Some might call it barbaric, but a human life was more precious than a beast’s in the eyes of the church.
Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that. As far as all those doctors and experts could tell, the disease and the mutations were unconnected. It was mere coincidence that the latter occurred while Fifteen was monitored to make sure she’d fully recovered from the former. The fact that the anti-affliction medicine somehow conferred its curse-breaking properties to her conjuration was also an unrelated matter. As it turned out, her initial hunch was correct, and it was indeed possible for potions in her system to affect her wild magic. The alchemist she spoke to said as much, though he admitted he’d never heard of that happening with Primapentin – the official name for the medicine in question – since it knocked out its recipients by design.
Back to the subject of mutation, however, it seemed clear that Fifteen’s bond with Bahm would continue to cause changes in both of them. Not just physically, but also mentally. That bout of ‘assertiveness’ earlier could have been influenced by the saber-tooth’s prideful personality seeping into the mage’s. The feline monster experienced no such symptoms, though he was showing physical mutations aside from developing his own inner fire. The dark stripes along his orange coat seemed to be mere burns at first – scars left behind from his near-fatal encounter with that black dragon – but it was now clear that this was his new natural color. His entire body was expected to adopt the same coal-like hue as Fifteen’s short and thick locks in due time. When the sorceress asked Bahm how he felt about that, he didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. He would be dead if not for their bond, so something as superficial as the color of his mane was hardly worth complaining about. Besides, it was arguably a positive change since the black would make it easier to sneak around at night.
Of course, all of that was too much of a pain to explain to Emerick, not to mention it hardly concerned him, so Fifteen decided to move things along.
“Anyway, I’m here for my reward.”
She pulled a sealed envelope from her bag. Iit had gotten a tiny bit damp from the severe downpour, but its contents were probably still legible.
“A reward, huh? First I hear of this.”
“It surprised me as well.”
Fifteen just kind of assumed the asylum thing was one of those ‘do this or else’ kind of jobs, but it turned out to be a proper commission with actual compensation. It was one more key detail that Tacitus neglected to mention, though she could overlook this one since it wouldn’t have affected the outcome of the mission. As for how much she would actually be getting, even she wasn’t sure. The incident had turned out to be significantly more complicated than originally anticipated and the people responsible were struggling to figure out exactly how much Fifteen’s efforts were worth to them. It took them so long to make that decision that it wasn’t until she was passing through the city just west of Cherrytown when she was given the letter she just handed to Emerick.
At least, that was what the sorceress was told. Normally she wouldn’t imagine that the Church of Dawn might skimp on her pay after all the trouble they put her through, but her mind was in a dark place at the moment. There was no denying there were plenty of ways for them to cheap out on her. For instance, she could easily see them deducting the cost of that preparatory shopping spree from her reward. At least she got to keep all the equipment and leftover supplies, in which case it would be as if she had bought them herself. Alternatively, they could try to use excessive property damage as an excuse to dock her pay. It was a common excuse among scummy clients, and there was no denying that Fifteen caused quite a bit of destruction during the incident. The dwarf-shaped hole she put in the ancient temple’s basement walls, for instance. Then there were genuinely legitimate complaints the church could throw at the guild regarding the Sage of the Sands’ overall performance.
The sorceress had been mulling this matter over for several days now, and the conclusion she reached was that she’d be happy with whatever that letter said so long as she got a few hundred silvers out of it. It was the standard going rate for a solo Senior Magus commission, so if she got at least that much it would mean she’d done an adequate job overall.
“Uh… Fifteen?” Emerick looked puzzled as he looked over the letter. “You sure you have the right document?”
“Is there a problem?”
“It just seems a bit… strange.”
“I promise you, it’s no different from when I received it.”
She was only given one envelope, and she never let it out of her sight. Naturally, she didn’t dare break the wax seal. Though it was tempting to find out exactly what the church thought of her, peeking inside ahead of time would probably invalidate the message’s contents and earn her a hefty fine on top.
“Right, I’m sure were careful with it. Maybe…” the receptionist looked it over again. “No, that’s definitely an archbishop’s seal. Wow. I think I need to bring it to the guild master.”
“Why?”
“I mean, just look at this!”
He held up the letter in front of Fifteen while pointing to the first paragraph, and what she saw made her question if her new eye was working right. Two thousand silver coins up front, another five hundred in equipment and potion vouchers, a promotion to Master Magus (associated title pending,) and access to one grimoire of her choice up to Complexity Rating 4. Emerick was wrong. This wasn’t strange. It was straight up ridiculous. The money alone was too much. Twenty-five hundred silver? That was basically how much the sorceress made last year. Getting a Master’s rank and an arcane tome on top of that just felt straight up suspicious. Was it a form of embezzlement? Or some other kind of scheme?
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“… I wasn’t told anything about this.”
She was questioned on a great deal of things during her quarantine period, but compensation was a topic she never brought up since she genuinely didn’t expect any until she was told to pick up that envelope on her way back. She had no idea an archbishop was involved, and it wasn’t exactly reassuring to know. Though the Ordo Mystica was officially an independent organization, everyone knew the Church of Dawn were the ones ultimately in control. It was unavoidable there’d be tension between the two groups and Fifteen would really rather not get caught up in some weird power struggle or political spitting contest if she could help it. Her ambition was to become so powerful and accomplished that history would have no choice but to remember her long after she was gone. It was a selfish dream for her own satisfaction – something she wanted to achieve with her own efforts. Even if it would advance her goals, the thought of being used as a pawn or scapegoat in the process really didn’t sit well with her.
“As I thought, there’s something fishy going on,” Emerick sighed. “I’m going to bring this to the old man right away. You should come too.”
“Right now?”
“… I’m sorry, I forgot you just came back from a long journey. You can go and rest and check in with us tomorrow.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. It was quite the lengthy trip. However, why would she be tired? It’s not like she walked the whole way. If anything, she was going a bit stir crazy from being cooped up in that room-on-wheels for so long. Even her quarantine gave her more freedom than that.
“No need. I was just wondering if it was alright to barge in without an appointment.”
“Are you kidding me? The gee-em barely does anything around here. Least he could do is help out at times like this.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
Emerick promptly led Fifteen into the back rooms. It had been a long while since the sorceress had seen the guild master, so she couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. She’d probably be more hesitant about the meeting if she hadn’t been exposed to so many scholars and officials over the past month. The experience had largely desensitized her to the whole ‘meeting the higher-ups’ thing, but knowing she’d have to stand before that man again was still a little nerve-wracking.
“By the way, you know Zeke?” the receptionist asked along the way.
“The chatty cherry farmer along the eastern highway?”
“Yes, him. You should pay him a visit when you get the chance. He’s been worried sick about you.”
“Has he?”
“Well, he didn’t say it outright, but he’s been asking the other members after you ever since he heard about you being taken away by a witch hunter.”
In hindsight, it was inevitable that quite a few wizards besides Fifteen would bump into that nosy farmer. Cherrytown only had two major roads connecting it to the rest of the world, and that guy’s orchard was situated along the eastern route that led towards the border. A lot of mages and adventurers used that road even if they were ultimately headed north or south. Fifteen hadn’t really thought about it before, but she now realized that Zeke was probably well-acquainted with many of her peers and they likely kept him abreast of goings on within the robed community. That busybody was probably worried about her since the last time she left she went west and he wasn’t able to send her off like usual, nor would the two bump into each other on her way back. That thought made her feel a bit… lonely.
“Will do.”
For now she focused her thoughts on the upcoming meeting with the guild master. So far she’d only seen him in person twice – once when she joined up, and another when she graduated from Junior Magus. Both happened within her first month in town and that was over two years ago. She didn’t think much of her sudden promotion back then since she had racked up some achievements when she was still with the Order of Ash, but this time was different. The title of Master Magus was a huge deal. If Juniors were total greenhorns and Seniors were proven veterans, then Masters were recognized as elites. Fifteen understood that she’d need to work hard for another three or four years before she was even considered for the prestigious position under normal circumstances. The guild master surely wouldn’t be happy that some archbishop was trying to meddle and force the promotion. From what the sorceress remembered of the old man, he was incredibly strict and calculating.
That mental image was reinforced the instant Fifteen and Emerick entered his office. It was an extremely orderly space with little to no luxury or extravagance. The furniture looked nice and new, but there was no jewelry, artwork, or anything else of the sort. The only thing that could be called decorations were the rows and rows of books lined up on the massive shelves on either side of the guild master’s desk. The man in charge looked the part, as well. Archmage Ozuvius Milreave was a wiry, elderly gentleman draped in a simple yet elegant wine-red robe without a single crease in it. A matching wizard’s hat of generous proportions rested upon his bald and smooth scalp. His face was adorned with a well-groomed mustache and perfectly straight beard that went down to his chest, both perfectly white from age. His eyes were a brown so dark they looked almost black, and his stern gaze never once flinched. Indeed, he remained stoic and unmoved even as Emerick explained the outlandish demands the church had made. Truly a man of unshakable character. He would surely get to the bottom of this strange scheme in no time flat.
*BANG*
At least that’s how it seemed until he suddenly slammed his head into his desk so hard that his giant hat flew off. It startled the hell out of Fifteen, yet Emerick wasn’t surprised in the slightest. If anything, he seemed rather furious.
“As I thought! It’s you again, isn’t it!?” he raised his voice.
“It’s not my fault this time! Honest!” the old man started making excuses.
“Then whose, huh?!”
“It’s all Reeves, I swear!”
“There’s no way the archbishop is to blame!”
“No, I mean it! He just sent me a letter out of nowhere, asking me if that outlandish sum was ‘good enough’ of a reward! It was so ridiculous I thought for sure it was a joke or something! So I just said something like, ‘Yeah, sure, why not promote her to Master and throw in a grimoire while you’re at it?’ It was clearly sarcasm!”
“… Did you put that in a letter?”
“Of course! What, do you expect me to go all the way to the capital for a bad joke?!”
“You fucking should have!” Emerick raised his voice again. “Sarcasm doesn’t carry over in writing, you damn goat!”
The guild master made a face of profound realization. It would seem he really didn’t think the lack of tone was an issue until now. Once that epiphany sank in, the archmage shrank back into his seat, face plastered with guilt.
“Seriously, how many times has it been now?” the unusually bossy receptionist sighed. “Don’t you think it’s about time you learned how much weight your words carry, you worthless old fart?”
“I’m trying, alright? It’s not like I asked to be guild master in the first place.”
“Umm… Excuse me?”
Since the argument seemed to be winding down, Fifteen decided to seize this chance to remind the others that she was, in fact, still there.
“I apologize, miss,” the archmage regained his earlier composure. “Though it hurts to admit it, I’m not very good at my job, so I often cause this kind of misunderstanding.”
“So what happens to the offered reward?”
“Well… I’m not too sure, to be honest. Emerick?”
The younger man sighed yet again, then skimmed through the letter in his hand once more before replying.
“The guild doesn’t have a choice. Whether we like it or not, an archbishop more or less demands you receive everything described in this letter after consulting with your gee-em.”
“Any strings attached?”
“Officially, no. Unofficially… the promotion might stir trouble with the other members. You know how jealous some of them can get.”
Azyra came to mind, but it wasn’t just her. Though all the wizards in the guild’s employ were technically colleagues, they were also competitors. There were a limited number of jobs available, and some of them had atrocious pay for the amount of time and effort required. The Sage of the Sands already had a reputation for sniping all the good commissions as soon as they were put up, which didn’t earn her any friends. Once word got around that she was promoted to Master so soon she was sure to attract a lot of negativity. That was fine, though. A bad reputation was something she more or less expected, given who she was and where she came from.
“What about the church?”
“I’ve never met Archbishop Reeves in person, so I have no idea if he’s plotting anything. What about you, old man?”
“That bastard has no delicacy whatsoever,” Archmage Milreave said with a huff. “He’s so dense he’d probably crack the floor if he fell on his head. He’s definitely the kind of guy to misinterpret a sarcastic statement.”
“What if it was intentional?” Emerick pointed out. “Rather than a misunderstanding, he or whoever’s using the archbishop as a mouthpiece might have used the old man’s words as an excuse to put the spotlight on Fifteen.”
“Come off it, lad,” the guild master rolled his eyes. “You’ve been reading too many drama novels. What would they even gain from giving so much authority and money to a promising youngster?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Hmm… Could it be related to that problem child we were forced to take in?”
“Ah… Shit.”
“What problem child?” Fifteen asked.
“A novice fire mage,” Milreave explained. “Some things happened and we kind of have to train her now.”
“Given the timing, the church probably intends to pressure you into accepting her as an apprentice.”
“I see.”
The sorceress wasn’t thrilled about this, but she knew this sort of thing came with the territory. Master-ranked mages had access to various benefits that a Senior Magus did not, one of which was both the privilege and responsibility of training an apprentice. It wasn’t mandatory per-se, but there was a heavy expectation attached, like a social contract. Whether she liked it or not, she’d eventually be saddled with some snot-nosed novice who didn’t know the difference between combustion and burning. She hated the idea because she was certain she wouldn’t make a great teacher. In fact, she was all but certain she’d suck at it.
Emerick noticed Fifteen’s hesitation and decided to reassure her.
“You don’t need to fret over the promotion thing. I’m pretty sure you can turn it down.”
“Are you sure about that?” the old man raised an eyebrow. “Going against an archbishop can spell doom for your career.”
“Actually, it’ll spell doom for your career.”
“Huh?”
“It’s your fault Fifteen’s in this situation in the first place, so it’s only right you’re the only one to lose face over it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you kidding me?! I’m already on thin ice with headquarters! You know what’ll happen if I stir up any more trouble?!”
“Yeah. A whole lot of not-my-problem.”
“Ugh…”
“I’ll do it,” Fifteen suddenly declared. “I’ll train this problem child.”
“You… you will?” the guild master seemed surprised.
“You really don’t need to force yourself on this old goat’s account,” Emerick said.
“I’m not. Rather, I insist you let me do it.”
This apprenticeship business was going to be a challenge for sure, but that was precisely why she wanted to face it head on. Becoming a Master Magus meant receiving more support from the guild, which would in turn accelerate her future growth. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. The only reason she didn’t accept it right away was because of her earlier concerns regarding schemes and politics, but she realized that Archmage Milreave had made a valid point. This came from the Church of Dawn. Whether a misunderstanding or scheme, they were clearly putting a good deal of faith in her with this generous reward, so the least she could do was respond in kind. Besides, she trusted those people wouldn’t resort to subterfuge and trickery without good reason.
“You sure?”
Ironically, the man who convinced her to take the plunge was the first to doubt her decision.
“I mean, the girl in question has a lot of baggage attached, and is rather delicate besides. She’s woefully unfit to receive an Ashwalker’s tutelage.”
Fifteen frowned under her face-wrap. That was a term she hadn’t heard in a long while. At least, not to her face. It had a derogatory meaning attached to it, and not without reason. The Order of Ash had its roots in the War of the Ancients and its founding members were directly involved in much of the devastation that the elves inflicted upon the world, including cracking apart its only moon. It was an ominous legacy that continued to cause suffering even now, centuries later. To be called an Ashwalker was to imply that she was every bit as power-hungry and destructive as the ancients, and while it was true that some of her fellow acolytes fit that awful stereotype, she hated to be lumped in with them so unilaterally.
However, the people who raised and trained Fifteen neither denied nor glorified that dark history. They kept thorough records of their past sins only to learn from their predecessors’ deeds and misdeeds. It was thanks to that ‘tainted’ knowledge that the Sage of the Sands was who she was today. Logically, she had nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t as if she or the Order of Ash were responsible for the apocalyptic actions of their predecessors from centuries ago, nor were any of them capable of inflicting such damage even if they were so inclined. That kind of power was unthinkable for mere humans to achieve on their own. That said, it was impossible for Fifteen to take pride in the fact that she stood upon the ashes of a million dead souls, hence the term’s origins.
In short, even though the sorceress intensely disliked being called an Ashwalker, she felt as though she didn’t have the right to refute the awful implications attached.
“Uh, guild master?” the receptionist spoke up. “I think you need to elaborate on that.”
“Hm? On what?”
“The Ashwalker comment. Poor Fifteen’s so tense I can practically hear her teeth grinding.”
It wasn’t easy to tell how she felt about it under all that cloth, but after working with her for so long, Emerick knew full well which topics got her blood boiling.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean any offense,” the guild master said. “It’s just that I’ve worked with a few of your fellow acolytes in my youth. Blindingly brilliant, all of them. None of them are still around. That’s my issue with you Ashwalkers. The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long, as they say.”
While she was relieved that the guild master didn’t mean anything nasty by his earlier words, that cautionary idiom kept the sorceress from releasing any of her tension.
“I’m afraid the old goat may have a point,” Emerick chimed in. “That poor girl wouldn’t last a week if you put her through the same wringer you went through.”
“Hm? My training really wasn’t all that bad.”
“Girl, didn’t you tell me you had to spend a week in the desert with just a knife and a waterskin when you were only ten years old?”
“Yes. So?”
“Bit barbaric, don’t you think?”
“It was… desert survival training. For surviving the desert. Which is very far from here.”
Obviously she’d avoid subjecting her apprentice to something so pointless. Even if she wasn’t a midlander, if she was going to stay in Cherrytown then she’d have no reason to go that far south.
“Not the point,” the receptionist pinched his nose in frustration. “Look, if you’re going to do this, just take it easy with the ‘sheltered flame doesn’t grow’ stuff, alright? Poor girl’s been through a lot.”
Ah, so that’s what they were concerned about. Certainly, the local mages’ safety-first mentality was completely unlike the high-risk, high-reward mentality that the Order of Ash instilled in all its neophytes. They did so with the intent that, once they graduated and became acolytes, their disciples would make the most of their youth while they had the chance. While modern advances in alchemy and medicine made it so most people could live until they were eighty, a wizard’s capacity for magical energy usually stopped growing around their mid-thirties. It was still possible to refine and expand one’s arsenal of spells after that point, but those improvements paled in comparison to what could be achieved in a wizard’s formative years. It was a strategy intended to produce exceptional individuals rather than mobs of mediocre mages. That Acolyte Two-Fifteen was on the cusp of becoming the youngest Master Magus in the Ordo Mystica’s history was evidence enough that the Order of Ash was onto something.
Well, it was also true that the average Ashwalker didn’t have the best life expectancy, so Emerick and the guild master were right to be worried.
“Understood. I’ll be gentle with her, so stop stalling and hand over the badge, you old goat.”
“Old g… Emerick! Look what you did!”
The guild master was clearly upset that the rude nickname had spread, but its origin didn’t bat an eye.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a disappointment she’d treat you with more respect.”
He hit the nail on the head. This was the first time the archmage and Fifteen had talked this long, and the pathetic attitude he’d displayed so far completely shattered the dignified image she previously had of him.
“There you have it. So, badge,” she insisted.
It was called a badge, but it was more of a plate or plaque no bigger than a playing card. It mainly served as proof of identity and denoted her rank within the guild. She started with a steel one before it was upgraded to copper, and the one she expected to receive as a Master Magus was solid silver. She’d eventually earn gold and then platinum if and when she got to Archmagus and Grand Magus, but at present she was focused on the silver plate.
“… Even if you ask for one, it’s not ready yet,” Milreave mumbled. “It’ll take some time to process everything since I’m just now hearing about it.”
“How long?”
“About three or four days if we rush it,” Emerick chimed in. “Might want to think about which grimoire you want in the meantime so we can get the ball rolling on that as well.”
That, at least, was something she already had the answer for. The arcane tomes in question held the secrets to pure, unaspected spells that anyone could learn regardless of elemental affinity. The list of incantations and their general effects were available to all guild members, so most mages knew which ones to aim for long before they were given permission to study them. That Fifteen was trusted with a Complexity Rating 4 grimoire was a huge deal, but also overkill. That was the realm of magic that directly altered the fabric of reality and could have dire consequences if mishandled. It was worlds apart compared to the only arcane spell she knew. Tactum, or ‘Strike,’ was a CR 1 incantation that launched an invisible bolt of force with about as much punch as a fully-drawn arrow. Though technically an offensive spell, she primarily used it to probe an unknown monster’s defenses before she went all-in with her fire. The one Fifteen planned to learn next was equally straightforward, albeit in the opposite direction.
“I wish to study the Shell grimoire.”
“… I’m surprised. I thought for sure you’d go for Teleport.”
It was understandable why Emerick would think that. Spending days and weeks on the road was a huge pain for many mages, and Fifteen hated it more than most. Being able to just blip straight to her destination was incredibly tempting, but also too much of a hurdle for her present self. Complexity Ratings were an exponential scale, and it was said that each tier was three or four times more difficult to master than the last, which often boiled down to time and effort. If learning the Tactum spell had taken Fifteen a month of casual study, she’d need over three years of constant work to master a CR 4 grimoire, and that was if there weren’t any complications. It was a tremendously lengthy undertaking for someone who wished to make the most of their youth. She might aim for it once she was old enough for her magic power to stagnate, but for the moment she deemed a CR 2 book like Ward was a much more efficient option. She could leisurely absorb the grimoire’s knowledge over the course of the upcoming fall and winter. It’d be an excellent use of her time since all the rain and snow would probably keep her indoors most days.
However, even if she could pick up arcane spells instantly, she’d still choose Ward over the guild master’s assumption. Teleportation magic was great for long-distance traversal, but it consumed a lot of power and had a lengthy, almost ritual-like invocation. It wasn’t something she could instantly pull out in the middle of a fight like that dwarf, so it wouldn’t help mitigate the truly dangerous part of her job.
“My strongest spells require me to stand in one place. Fortifying my position with a barrier would make it easier for me to annihilate my target.”
“Makes sense,” Emerick nodded. “It’s easier for me, too. Way less red tape for a CR 2. I’ll send word to the archives, they’ll set it aside for you so you can pay them a visit whenever you’re ready.”
“What about the apprentice?”
“Ah, she’s staying in the dorms, so you can start training her right away if you want to.”
“No, I mean, who is she?”
In hindsight, Fifteen probably should’ve asked this sooner, but it wasn’t as if she’d officially signed or accepted anything just yet. She could still back out of the promotion or simply refuse to make this ‘problem child’ her apprentice if she proved too much of a bother, pushy archbishop be damned. The archmage was still sulking so, as per usual, it fell to Emerick to answer her question.
“Right, about that. I was actually going to tell you earlier, but then the letter thing happened and… Anyway, you remember Lady Raela Gervais?”
“The duke’s daughter?”
“That’s the one.”
“What about her?”
The handsome receptionist tilted his head and threw her an incredulous look that seemed to say, ‘Girl, figure it out already.’
“… Oh.”