After only half an hour of flying, my body is screaming in protest. The leather harness digs into my armpits despite generous padding, and the buckles scrape across my ribcage. I’m having trouble breathing. I should be enjoying the view as we pass from the farmland of Silaraon with its occasional pockets of trees, to foothills and heavy forests, but instead I’m worried because I can’t feel my fingertips anymore. They’ve gone numb from the pressure of the harness against my shoulders and arms, and a weird tingling radiates down my arms.
“I need a break,” I manage to gasp, fighting against the dizziness to form a full sentence. It’s hard to hear anything over the rushing wind at this velocity. My ears are ringing with the never-ending sound. Only a constant application of controlled [Heat Manipulation] is keeping my skin from freezing thanks to the high altitude and incredible rate of travel.
The officer must hear me anyway; he descends in a fast, looping spiral, skimming over tops of trees. We narrowly avoid colliding with twisted branches, flitting above the trees like a hummingbird until he darts down into an opening between the lush, silvery-green leaves.
I squint through the hazy goggles at the surrounding forest as we approach the ground at nerve wracking speeds, but I don’t see anything familiar. We’re already well past the area I’ve explored with Tem, and I don’t recognize any of the natural landmarks this far out.
We touch down heavily, and the officer staggers a bit, probably not used to flying with another person as cargo. He takes several extra steps before he regains his balance. He unclips my harness and promptly flops down onto the ground with a heavy grunt.
“Flying is a younger man’s game,” he grumbles, peeling back his goggles and helmet to reveal steel-gray hair. Now that I’m not overcome with shock at his sudden appearance, I take a closer look at his face. His tight curls are cropped close to his skull in military fashion, and to my surprise, his wrinkled skin marks him as closer to retirement age than the prime of life. His darker hues remind me of Tem’s face, and I wonder if he’s a relative—most Silaraon natives are mahogany- or olive-skinned.
That’s where the similarities between Tem and this officer end, however. The flier is stocky and broad, with a wider nose and far heavier cheekbones compared with Tem, and I scratch my short beard in contemplation. Wouldn’t a lighter frame make flying easier? But then I remember that carrying me along didn’t seem to burden the wing constructs, so physique and size probably doesn’t matter much. The two men are structured differently, although if I could squint then they might look like they’re from the same lineage. Perhaps they’re distant cousins.
I gingerly stretch my arms, massaging the fingers to regain feeling. I take care to avoid the tender areas under my armpits where the harness rubbed my skin raw while still working blood back into my shoulders, chest, and fingers.
“How did you expect to make it all the way to the capital?” I ask, my eyes scanning the forest clearing for threats and escape routes. Tem would be proud of my paranoia.
“Oh, I didn’t,” the officer admits. He shrugs and gives me a wide, friendly smile. “I can question you anywhere. It’s just best to keep up appearances.”
“So carrying me off like that was just a show for my friends?”
He winks, then digs a biscuit out of his bag and chomps down in satisfaction, leaning back against a log and looking suddenly like a [Vacationer] enjoying recreational pursuits.
I snort. “Don’t you think lying to me is a poor way to start off our interactions if you’re supposed to discern the truth?”
He stops mid-bite, lowers the biscuit to his lap, and turns to regard me more fully. “Who says the truth has anything to do with our current predicament?”
I sink down to the grass next to him, my legs too wobbly to hold me at the moment. I wasn’t the one powering the flying constructs, but I feel wrung out anyway. “Aren’t you an Inquisitor?” I ask, squinting at his uniform as though I could understand the insignia. The bright sunlight reflects off his gleaming metal pauldrons, and I have trouble making out any of the distinguishing features of his armor.
“Of course I’m an [Inquisitor], Nuri. What’s that got to do with it?” He resumes eating his biscuit, looking entirely unconcerned—like this truly is just a picnic in the park.
“You said you had to question me. I assume that means you want to know everything that happened between me and Tem?”
“Correct,” the [Inquisitor] booms. He tugs at the straps on his wrists, then yanks off his armored gloves. He holds out a massive hand toward me with another wide grin. “The name is Casella, by the way. A pleasure to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same, I reply wryly, “but I’m not sure that would be truthful given the circumstances. I’d rather be with my friends right now, not staring down the threat of torture and interrogation.” Nonetheless, I clasp his offered hand. It only seems polite.
“Is that what people think we do?” he says, chuckling and shaking his head as though I’ve told the best joke he’s heard all day. “Relax! I don’t bite.”
“That’s what people with unfriendly dogs like to say,” I mutter, but he ignores me.
“Now, I’ll ask some questions, I’ll write up a report that probably lets you off the hook, and then I’ll close the file and hope my superiors leave you alone. There’s no point dragging some kid from the frontier into the mess that passes for Capital politics.”
“Forgive my skepticism,” I say, shifting from the grass to a nearby log. I stretch out my legs with a soft groan. “Somehow, I doubt that’s all there is to your plan.”
“Truly, you wound me!” Casella replies. “You’re also pretty sharp; you’re right to be wary, but not because I mean you harm. My partner is still back in Silaraon keeping watch on your friends to see how they react to your sudden disappearance. I’ve found that guilty people tend to rush to cover up things when they think we’re not watching. Why should I work hard when they’ll do my job for me?”
I chuckle. “So you do want to discover the truth. Why all the nonchalance earlier?”
“Of course I want to find out the truth, but that’s just me. I’m here on orders, obviously, and what my commanding officers decide to do with the information that I report may or may not have anything to do with the truth. Now, do you want a snack first, or are you ready to spin a yarn about your adventure in the Rift?”
“Not much to tell that I didn’t already report to the Silaraon city guards,” I say slowly, my mind racing as I try to figure out how much to include. After Ezio’s warning, there’s no way that I’m telling him about the PPP, not to mention Tem’s bizarre [Accord] with the Wraith as we tried to make our way out of the labyrinth.
Casella levels a stern glare at me, and suddenly he looks less like a friendly uncle and more like an officer in the royal army “Humor me, Nuri. It will go better for you if you do—and for your friends.”
I bound to my feet, pulling on my [Heat Manipulation] to drop the temperature in the area to bone-chilling territory. The siphoned-off heat gathers in my right hand until the air shimmers and warps from the energy build up. “If you harm a single one of my friends, then I swear I’ll burn you alive.”
Casella just chuckles and leans back against the fallen tree trunk. “Lad, I would never have made it to my position if I weren’t durable enough to handle an artisan who hasn’t even hit his first threshold yet.”
Despite my [Heat Manipulation], my cheeks burn in shame at his casual dismissal of my threat rating. I don’t lower my hand, however, although the amount of mana I’m funneling into the Skill means that I’ll have to find a target for it soon, or become more adept at deconstructing the potentially lethal spell and reclaiming my unused mana.
“Spec into an [Assassin] Class and give it twenty years,” Casella continues, pulling his glove back on and rubbing his hands together as frost creeps across his armor, “and maybe I’ll feel a threat. Until then, you might as well try being amicable and having a proper conversation. We’re all adults here.”
“You call threatening me a proper conversation?” I snap. I cut off the active mana to my Skill, but I maintain a firm grip on the trembling ball of compressed fire in front of me. It’s the closest thing to an offensive display I’ve ever managed, and I think it may even impress a low level [Fire Mage].
“I’m not making threats. I promise you that. I’m simply trying to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation if you lie to me or leave something out,” Casella insists. “I have no intention of making your life more difficult, but I do need to get to the bottom of what’s going on out here. Help me out so that I can recall my colleague before he has to take action.”
“How is that not a threat?” I point out, starting to sweat from maintaining the fiery orb. “I noticed you didn’t try to reassure me that my friends won’t be harmed. You make it sound like the [Inquisitors] don’t deserve a shady reputation, but you’re not doing much to improve your standing in my eyes.”
Casella sighs wearily. “That’s because I can’t ever guarantee anything absolutely. I have no idea what he’s going to do back there, other than respond appropriately to the situations he finds himself in. Assuming your friends aren’t dumb enough to try to kill him, then they should be just fine. But if they make a scene, or if you don’t give me the full story, and someone up the chain of command sees fit to come all the way out here, then you’ll wish that you were talking with someone as reasonable as I am. Understand?”
I clench my jaw, still not happy with Casella, but his explanation makes a certain sense to me. I let my [Heat Manipulation] go, flinging the excess build up of energy into a pile of sticks and broken brush around the fallen tree Casella’s leaning on. The dry timber burst into flame.
“Well, that’s the campfire sorted,” Casella says cheerfully. He graces me with another of his wide, toothy smiles, and it seems genuine enough that I smile back.
“You said everything will be fine as long as my friends aren’t dumb. Well, that’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
“I’m sure they’re saying the same about you,” Casella chuffs. “No wonder Tem turned out the way he did. Everyone from these parts seems to be crazy. Do you all have some sort of collective death wish?”
“No, I just don’t like being pushed around and threatened. No Silaraon citizen does. Tem’s the same way, I’ll wager.”
“Aye, he always was,” Casella confirms. He scoots closer to the fire, extending his hands and melting off the thin coat of rime that built up when I sucked away the heat.
“I haven’t done anything wrong. And neither has Tem,” I insist, meeting his eyes.
“You’re likely correct, or at least half right,” Casella says. He frowns. “You know what the problem is with getting halfway to the truth? Well, it’s still halfway a lie. Something happened in that labyrinth. Something is threatening the stability of the realm. If it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Tem, well then, it’s the most suspicious timing I’ve ever heard of in my entire career. And, a bit of friendly advice for you, Nuri, I didn’t make it this far in my career because I’m easily duped. If something looks suspicious, it usually is.”
I nod slowly, understanding where he’s coming from, but still hesitant to let slip details of our labyrinth escape that may come back to haunt me. “Why should I tell you anything? You’ve already labeled Tem a traitor. Whatever I do or don’t say from here on out probably won’t make any difference. You’ve made up your mind about Tem, and you’ve very likely made up your mind about me, too. Might as well just get on with whatever you’re going to do.”
“Nuri, that’s a fine speech,” Casella says mildly. “Believe it or not, I’m not a judge, jury, and executioner. I don’t know what you think I do, but my job is to uncover the truth. I find the facts and I report them up the chain. Now, as I mentioned earlier, I’m not naive enough to think that the [Inquisitors] are infallible. Somewhere above my pay grade, someone might well use this information for nefarious ends. Human nature is what it is.”
“That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve said all afternoon,” I say.
“Look, I get it. You don’t trust us. You think we’re manipulative or murderous. And we are, sometimes. I expect some level of corruption; it’s just how the world works. That doesn’t mean that it has to be me who succumbs to the temptations of power, though. It also doesn’t mean that my actions are meaningless. If nine out of ten—or more—of my operations get to the heart of the matter and make the world a better place, am I to blame for the malpractice of someone else in my order for the one thing that gets twisted? Nah, I don’t think so. I keep things simple and straightforward. You understand me?”
“Then why go through the [Cloak and Dagger] routine?” I demand. “What’s the point of all this if you claim that you’re just going to let me go. Let’s just skip to that part. Surely you have more important things to do than scaring a bunch of young men and women in a tiny city on the edge of the borderlands.”
“I don’t decide what’s important, I just follow what my commanding officer tells me to do,” Casella says. “She ordered me to come talk to you. My partner has orders to scout out the town. That’s what I’m doing, and if people talk about my work, then I’ll sound like I showed up in great pomp and put the fear of the abyss into you.” He winks, and I find myself grinning back.
“You’re irritatingly likable,” I grumble, and he bursts into a deep belly laugh.
“Thank you, Nuri. I like to think so, too. That said, we do have to have a conversation about the Rift and about Tem. I’m trying to be reasonable about it, believe it or not. We did the song and dance for anyone who might have been watching, but now that we’re out of sight, we can talk normally here, man to man. How does that sound?”
“That I can do,” I finally allow, seeing no way around it.
Casella nods. He digs around in his satchel and withdraws a cylinder of finely etched metal that’s as long as my hand and tapers to a spike on one end. He stabs the spike into the ground and thumbs an activation rune on the top. A shimmering blue beam of mana, faintly visible to the naked eye, but akin to a bonfire in my [Lesser Manasight], pulses out at regular intervals like a beacon in the sky.
“There. My partner will know that we’re in progress, and he’ll make his way to us when his job is done in town.”
“What’s the range on that?” I ask, intrigued despite myself by the artifact. Ever since Ezio started opening my mind to the wonders of combining magic and technology, I’ve been intrigued to learn more. I wonder what I can craft in the future if I learn more mana control as well as how the world works. What can I imbue? Most tools I’ve seen use a metal construction, since metal seems more conductive to mana, but I’ll bet I can achieve similar results with glass, specifically if I put in small metal filaments to prove the mana flow.
“Not sure, Nuri,” Casella admits cheerfully. “I make a point to never read the technical specs; those documents are as dry and boring as an old piece of rawhide left in the sun. Pretty sure it can reach from here to well past Silaraon, though.” He furrows his brow and tugs on his earlobe, as though thinking it over. “Maybe we could signal to the border of Naftali if we don’t encounter any interference.”
I whistle long and low. “How are you able to boost the range like that? It’s far beyond any Skill I’ve heard of. How do you cut through the interference of other mana aspects? Is it a hybrid Skill, or an inscribed enchantment? And what about your partner? Does he have a Skill to pick up on it from this kind of range? What sort of sensitivity does he have to external mana? And—”
Casella holds up a hand to stop me, his eyes growing wider by the second. “Whoa there, Nuri. You’re talking to the wrong person! I see why Tem liked you, though. He always did have a keen mind, although he usually leaves the fiddly bits to [Scholars] and [Researchers]. But that does make me curious about you.”
Mana shimmers across his eyes for a heartbeat, a dizzying array of aspected threads in a pattern too complex for me to follow. “Huh. You’re neither an [Artificer] nor a [Scientist], despite asking questions just like they might. How is it that you’re still an [Assistant] and haven’t passed your first Threshold? You seem like a bright young man.”
I inch closer to the fire, warming my hands by the cheery yellow and red flames as I think about how to answer his question. It’s not particularly cold out, but there’s something comforting about natural warmth. I don’t feel like using my [Heat Manipulation] anymore, not since Casella’s brows creased the instant I channeled. He’s an affable man, but if he senses a threat, he could snuff me out faster than I can pinch a candle.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Truth be told, it’s not a very flattering picture. I was just wandering, lost in my own mind after my parents died, and instead of putting in work to increase my Skill—well, I just floundered for a while. I wanted life to come a little easier; I felt like I was owed something after going through the pain and frustration of losing my family. It wasn’t until I started taking responsibility for myself and actually putting in work that I earned a second Skill a few months back.”
Casella’s eyes glimmer with Mana again, and he tilts his big head to the side, his bushy hite eyebrows raised. “And yet you have three Skills now. If you earned another one already, then your Potential is full to brimming over. You’re liable to hit your next Threshold any moment at this rate! Any ideas what you’ll do when you have the potency to claim your next Class?”
My jaw slackens, and I catch myself just staring at Casella. I wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing the first time, but now that I’ve seen it again, I’m absolutely certain that he can peer right down into my inner world. “How did you do that? Is that one of your Class Skills? And is that something only [Inquisitors] can learn how to do, or could I gain this ability if I rank up my [Lesser Manasight]?”
Casella strokes his square chin. “Depends. I can’t always see the exact names of Skills and Classes. Usually, it depends on the difference in levels. Since you haven’t gone through your first Threshold, though, I can read you like an open book! You still have [Lesser Manasight], so any potential upgrade is a long way off. Until you find a way to tier that up and potentially add a supporting Skill or combine it and form an Aggregate, then you won’t be able to [Appraise] someone else’s private information. I don’t think we’ll have enough time together for me to teach you how it works—nor do I think my superior officers will appreciate it very much if I disseminate proprietary intel. I’ve probably said too much already.”
I nod, completely understanding the delicate position I’ve put him in with my questions. He could have simply ignored me, but he’s clearly working to build rapport. “How soon until I can get back to my friends?” I ask, changing tactics in hopes that we can get this all over with soon.
I like Casella, but I still don’t trust him. If anything, I’m even more on edge now after I’ve witnessed his openness than I was when I expected a proper [Inquisitor] like in the stories. Idly, I wonder if I’m a sucker for falling for his ploy, but it’s better I talk with him than with a true zealot who’s already decided that Tem and I are guilty.
“Give it a few days at the very least. I can’t bring you back too soon, or else no one will believe that I was thorough. I don’t want charges of favoritism—it’s already bad enough that I know Tem from back in the day.”
I scrunch up my nose as I give him a sideways look. “So why did they send you then?”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. “I was the only one nearby, so my little squad was assigned the job. Had they vetted me a little bit more rigorously, which to be fair would require that they go back more than two decades, then they probably would have noticed that I’m quite friendly with their newly announced traitor.”
“If you know Tem so well, then why go through this charade? You know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt innocent people.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Casella replies slowly, and his face clouds over with doubt for the first time since I’ve met him. “He’ll do whatever he thinks is necessary to complete missions he believes in, Nuri. He’s a friend, or was, and he’s shown good judgment in the past, but he’s also as ruthless and practical as anyone I’ve ever known. I don’t think he’s a traitor, but I do find it likely he was forced to make tough decisions.”
I swallow hard, remembering our desperate fights, the heart-pounding run through the dark in the maze-like labyrinth, and coming face to face with an enemy that I thought lived only in fairy tales. The terrifying visage of the Captain looms above me suddenly in my mind, and I shudder involuntarily.
“Why don’t you tell me about what you saw?” Casella prompts gently. When I don’t reply, he sighs, shaking his head sadly. “We don’t have to rough it the whole time, you know. You could accompany me back to the barracks if you’d like. I’m not trying to make you miserable. The sooner you talk, the sooner this is all over.”
I shake my head, start to speak, and then think better of it. He quirks an eyebrow, and I groan. “Fine, we’ll go with the honest reply. Tempting offer, but I’d rather not surround myself with more minders. If I have to get away, you’re already a tough task to escape. I don’t trust any of you. At all.”
“Wise,” he says, winking. “But I’m serious, Nuri. You can’t hold out forever. If you don’t talk with me, they’ll send someone else. I’m the closest thing to a sympathetic ear you’re going to get.”
“If I don’t have a choice, then maybe the barracks are better after all. At least it will be comfortable. And I assume you’ll feed me?” I tease.
Casella rumbles with amusement. “Considering you were picnicking next to the arena and had training weapons with you, I would have thought you were made of sterner stuff. How exactly did you survive in a Rift if you can’t even camp outside for a couple days?”
“I respond well to pressure, I guess.” We share a knowing chuckle; we’ve both seen our share of tough times. “That doesn’t mean I look for pressuring situations. I like to be comfortable as much as the next man.”
“Fair enough. I can’t fault a man for not wanting to sleep on the hard ground or shiver through cold nights without a blanket.”
“Cold isn’t an issue,” I insist, wrapping myself in a layer of warmth with an extremely slow and cautious application of [Heat Manipulation]. Casella tenses for a moment, his hand drifting toward his weapon, then visibility forces himself to relax at my gentle, obviously non-threatening Skill activation.
“Handy little Skill,” he remarks, gesturing toward me with his chin. “I’m glad to see that you’re using that outside of the studio. You wouldn’t believe how many [Artisans] I’ve met who stagnate because they think their Class and their Skills are only useful in a specific context. Tem probably told you this, but if you push yourself to use your abilities in unorthodox ways and at all times, then they’ll grow like nothing else. It’s just like exercise: if you want to get strong, then you have to put in the time. The best way to rank them up is to train them incessantly. You’re on the cusp of taking the next step, Nuri. Keep grinding.”
I clamp my jaw shut before I cave in to his demands. I’m dangerously close to giving in and telling him everything. There’s something about Casella that makes me want to like and trust him, and I surreptitiously activate my [Lesser Manasight] and begin scanning myself to see if I’m under the influence of a Skill that lowers my guard or engenders false loyalty.
Nothing shows up, but he’s already mentioned that level and threshold disparity is often enough to overcome an otherwise functional Skill. Or to enhance its effects, if used against a target far weaker than yourself, I think to myself cynically. For all I know, he’s playing me like a flute, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Now,” Casella says, standing abruptly and producing two blunted blades from out of nowhere—he must have a storage skill just like Tem. “Let’s see if your training is worth anything. If we’re going to spend the next few days together, then we might as well put you through your paces to see what you’re made of.”
=+=
That night, I stretch out in the dirt. no longer caring about the hard ground. What are creature comforts to the battered and bruised? I’m too exhausted to even think about asking for dinner. I groan softly. I thought Ember was bad, but Casella’s on a wholly different level, pressing me mercilessly with his weapon and never letting me get sloppy with my guard. Every opening he exploits with a sharp smack. He’s an expert at using the rest of his body in conjunction with his blades, trapping my limbs, kicking me in the chest, unloading surprise hip throws, or smashing his elbows to my face. One time he head-butted me so hard we had to stop and wipe up the blood pouring down my forehead before I could see again.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me,” I mutter into the dirt.
“You did well, Nuri. If you ever wanted to join us, you could make a career among the [Inquisitors]. I’m always on the lookout for talent.”
“No thanks. I’m a glass maker, not a military man.”
“You’re curious, wary of authority, and unafraid of a fight you can’t win. That combination doesn’t work so well among the enlisted men, but it’s perfect for what we do,” Casella replies with a soft chuckle. That’s one of the things I like about him. He’s always friendly, always sounds amused—something about it stirs deeply-repressed memories of my father, a man of warmth and joy and indomitable spirit.
“Not interested,” I insist, but I can’t deny that some part of me craves an enthusiastic teacher. I appreciate everything Ember’s done for me, but she’s training me grudgingly.
“Eat up, boy,” Casella rumbles, nudging me gently in the ribs with his boot. “Your body’s got to rebuild strength. You’re on the verge of your next threshold; don’t go starving yourself and delaying your advancement. You put in good work today and I’ll not have it go to waste.”
A small voice in the back of my mind warns that this is all a trick, and he’s probably put a truth serum in the food, but I snort and push it aside. The delta of power between us is so great that he doesn’t need to resort to tricks if he wants to force information from me.
I roll over with a groan and gratefully accept the offered jerky and hardtack he hands me. It’s tough chewing, and I worry for a bit that I’m going to chip a tooth or strain my jaw muscles, but the food fills me with unexpected warmth and a burst of energy. Whatever this stuff is, it’s more than simple soldiers’ fare. I sense my mana regeneration boosted significantly, and new energy seeps into my muscles.
“This is incredible!” I say, speaking around a mouthful of the tough food.
Casella chuckles at my wide-eyed wonderment. “What, did you think I was going to leave you in such a pitiful state? I still have questions for you. Don’t even think about sleeping yet, Nuri. We’ve had our fun. Now, I need to take down your full report.”
My chewing slows down, and I glance around for a distraction, but his tone brooks no objection. I take my time finishing the food, trying to compose my thoughts. I’d always intended to give him the runaround, but I’m no longer as antagonistic as I was. I swallow my last bite and turn to face him. “So, that’s the plan, then? Build some personal connections, knock me around a bit, teach me a few things and dangle even more details just out of reach, and flatter me about my paltry Skills until I go ahead and spill the entire story about Tem?”
“Yes,” he says bluntly, not even trying to hide his trickery.
“I’m sorry to say it seems to be working,” I reply bitterly, embarrassed at how easily he’s managed to sway me. But I simply don’t see the point of resisting any longer.
“I’m not your enemy. Nuri,” Casella says softly.
Somehow, I find myself believing Casella. Even if this is all an elaborate ruse just to get me to talk, I can’t deny its effectiveness. Against my better judgment, I begin to recount the tale of how we encountered the Shadow Jaguars, fought the wraiths, and found the Rift. He leans forward, his eyes shining in excitement—or maybe that’s just the reflection of the campfire?—as I tell him about fending off the monsters inside the Rift, describe the way Tem taught me how to survive, and explain how he saved my life time and again.
My voice chokes up as I tell Casella about entering the labyrinth and stumbling through the cloying darkness. His cheek twitches as I talk about fighting the wraiths and finding the control room, and I can almost imagine him drawing his weapon right then and there to leap into battle on our behalf. Suppressing a flash of guilt, I leave out the details about the PPP, unwilling to open that particular box of chaos and questions. I do break down, though, and tell him about the concussive charges that Tem set off, wincing as I realize that it probably served as the nail in the coffin of the case against him.
Casella simply nods, apparently unsurprised by my final, explosive revelation. “Trading instability in order to delay an Incursion. It’s not ideal, but it’s probably worth it. He’s bought time for us to mount a proper defense. He’s always been a crafty old fox. I’ll put it in the best terms I can in my report. If I have my way, we’ll march out a legion to stymie those void buggers. That’s a double edged sword, though. Hmm.” He trails off, lost in thought.
“May I ask a question?” I venture, When Casella nods, I take a deep breath and forge on ahead. “What’s going on with Tem? Why is he so persecuted for seemingly no reason? Is it legitimate? He seems like a good man to me. But first he got kicked out of his squad, and now he’s facing treason charges. Why?”
Casella scowls, and a dark nimbus of oppressive power swirls around his head. It’s so reminiscent of Ember that I’m convinced it’s a shared Skill—perhaps something unique to the royal army. Now there’s a destructive Skill I’d love to pick up!
Casella shakes his big, square head. His gravelly voice comes out more strained than usual. “Tem cares not one whit for politics, and that’s his undoing. He cares about the country. He cares about his friends. He cares about the army. I can’t imagine a single scenario in which he would take actions against country or creed for any malicious reason. But he’s bullheaded and won’t listen to reason; he refuses to play political games, and people resent him for it.”
I snort. “So he’s just so pure-hearted that the world isn’t good enough for him? I’m not sure that I buy that.”
“Ha! No, that’s not it, either. He just cares about getting things done. As I said he doesn’t give one whit about politics—and that’s a double-edged sword. It means he doesn’t get involved in plots and schemes, but it also means he doesn’t care who he ticks off. He’s famously, ah, single-minded in the pursuit of getting a job done. Sometimes that rubs people the wrong way.”
“I thought diplomacy was a necessary skill for a [Scout]. Tem’s done infiltration missions before in other countries. How does he do that without the ability to talk to people? It seems like a job requirement, to some extent, to know how to play politics.”
“That’s different, Nuri.”
“How! It all sounds the same to me,” I insist.
“No. That’s just a game in service of the mission. When it comes to his real life, to his friends and his interactions, Tem doesn’t play around like that.”
“So, what’s his actual crime?” I say, pushing for answers.
Casella shrugs. “He’s been caught in the fallout between rival factions. My money is on the Thaumaturge Compact. They want him gone because he’s dangerous. It’s his fault, in a way; he hates their petty games, so he plays up his reputation in order to be more respected in the Capital. Nothing gets you out of boring dinner parties like your hosts fearing for their lives. But I think it backfired on him.”
“Oh? He’s too big of a threat?” I guess.
Casella nods, confirming the suspicions I’ve harbored for a while. “Consider: if you’re a [Mage], and you want the [King]’s ear, wouldn’t you want to remove the biggest threat against [Mages] in the entire country? Tem has a well-earned reputation for being a [Mage]-killer.”
“They already exiled him. Isn’t that good enough?” I protest.
“Exile may have been enough,” Casella says slowly, “at least, until he started meddling with Rifts again. That’s a step too far.”
“Again?” I echo, my interest piqued. “He mentioned that he’s been inside Rifts many times, but I’m not sure what you mean by meddling, unless he has some sort of history of causing problems that I’m not aware of—and I’ve read his biography a couple times.”
“Misdirection,” Casella says, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Even so, I spent an intense few days bonding with him while fighting for our lives in the Rift and escaping the labyrinth. He . . . he sacrificed himself so that I could go free. I’m not going to speak ill of the dead.”
“Not dead,” Casella says instantly. “No one survives like Tem Cytekin.”
“I hope you’re right.” I pick at a tuft of grass with my fingers absentmindedly, looking for a way to change the subject. Talking about Tem makes me sad, and there’s nothing that hurts like hope. If I don’t get my expectations up, then they can’t hurt me later.
I lick my lips and cough to clear my throat. “You don’t seem very good at your job, you know. This is the worst interrogation I’ve ever sat through.”
Casella just laughs. “What can I say? I’m just a kindly old man. But with respect, I’m extremely good at my job. I got my answers. And you will not escape, so you might as well get some rest. We’ll get some sleep and meet up with my teammate, Mbukhe, once we’re up tomorrow. Don’t try to run off or play the hero.”
I nod slowly, unsure what else to say. I find myself liking Casella even if he represents to me something of a terrifying unknown. I can’t exactly call him an enemy, but even after telling him as much as I have, it’s hard to trust him. I’ve always considered myself a loyal, generally-patriotic young man, although I don’t burn with nationalistic fervor, but [Inquisitors] have a reputation for a reason.
We stare at the campfire until it dies down to embers. Casella banks it for the night and tosses me a spare blanket. I finally speak up again just before sleep. “This isn’t how I thought it would go. I’d prepared myself to travel to the Capital, to take in the sights, and to make some heroic stand defending Tem to a jury of his peers. Instead I’m curled up next to a campfire talking with an old man who could be a friendly grandfather!”
“Watch yourself, lad. I’m not that old!” Casella protests, but like everything else he does, even his warnings are tinged in mirth.
“I don’t know what the right answer is to anything anymore. You’re not what I expected. I still want to get back to my friends. We have to keep training and become stronger if we’re going to find Tem and keep people safe from the Incursions. I just want everyone to be all right. Is that so much to ask?”
“It’s a good place to start. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m behind on my beauty rest.” With that pronouncement, Casella rolls over and soon starts snoring, apparently unconcerned about sleeping in the middle of the wilderness, potentially surrounded by wild beasts. He sleeps as easily as a baby curled up in her father’s arms, a mental image that makes me smile. He leaves me alone with my thoughts, and I soon join him in slumber.
=+=
The next morning, Casella’s teammate rejoins us. Mbukhe is wiry and unremarkable; every one of his features are as average and normal as I can imagine. My eyes seem to slide past him, and it gives me a headache to focus on him long enough to actually get a good look. When I finally do, I almost pass out from dizziness.
“Good perception,” he says, nodding slightly in acknowledgement. They’re the only words he’s said to me the entire morning.
“Nothing suspicious among his friends?” Casella asks.
Mbukhe shakes his head, suddenly visible without the extra effort. A cloaking Skill? “They’re clean. As expected, we’re chasing dead ends.”
“He must like you, Nuri,” Casella says. “Not many people get to see Mbukhe in the flesh like this. You’ve impressed him with your effort.”
“I’m honored,” I say. Flattery is almost always a safe choice among strangers.
“Not a very truthful man, this one,” Mbukhe says, chuckling drily. He fades back into an uneasy obscurity. Oops. Turns out that flattery wasn’t the right choice for once.
“So a waste of time?” Casella says, pressing on with his questioning, a piece of paper in his hands. He’s writing with a condensed mana pen, just like Tem, I note with interest.
“Not exactly,” Mbukhe says, drifting into my sight. He fishes out a bit of hardtack from Casella’s travel pack and crunches down, replenishing his resources. “The [Merchant] from Naftali? He’s good. Quiet. I saw him snooping around at Nuri’s house, but he seemed spooked by something and left before I could observe properly—almost lost me twice on his way back to his inn. Worth watching.”
“Wait, do you mean Padouk?” I ask, a frisson of shock shooting through me.
“You have many other [Merchant] friends?” Mbukhe asks, sounding amused. He tears off another chunk from his hardtack, chewing with determination.
I frown, scratching at my beard. “He’s from Naftali? That’s news to me.”
Casella claps a big hand on my shoulder. “When you return, keep an eye on that one, Nuri. Padouk, you said? Naftali has been posturing lately, and Padouk sounds like an agent to me. He’s more than a simple [Merchant] if the esteemed tracker Mbukhe had difficulty tailing him. Stay on guard, my friend. Something’s up, and if Naftali is involved, then it likely means trouble.”
I shrug and offer a resigned smile. “What else is new? Trouble is just another day of the week at this point.”
Casella and Mbukhe exchange a worried glance. It’s quick, but it makes me sit up and take note. If the pair of formidable [Inquisitors] are concerned, then what chance do I have of surviving what’s to come? I shrink down in my seat, gnawing on my own piece of hardtack, and pull my blanket closer around me. It’s not cold, but I’m shivering anyway. I hope that my friends will be all right without me.