My feet moved faster than my mind. I charged toward the source of the smoke, pushing aside bystanders and city guards. Their yells of surprise and anger fell on deaf ears. The only sound was my beating heart. The only feeling was the sweat lathering my back. Everything else felt numb.

I was a fool.

If I wasn't tricked by Sin's letter... If I didn't go to Elmer's shop... If I left with Cynthia when I had a chance... Cynthia! Everyone...

No. If I ran fast enough, there would be someone I could save. Something I could salvage from the burning remains of my life. I turned the corner to the mansion and stopped to take in my surroundings.

City guards and citizens formed lines, passing pails of water to throw at the fire raging at the front door. Thick black smoke poured from the upper windows.

There was no time to hesitate.

I ran to the front door, grabbed a pail out of a guard's hands and dumped the water over my body. Before the guards could grab me, I leaped through the flames.

I wrapped the coat's lapel over my face and squinted through the smoke. Most of it was rising to the second and third floors. I ran up the staircase, dodging the orange tongues of flame licking at my boot heels.

"Cynthia! Cindra!”

Don’t leave me.

“Mrs. Dulldrey!"

I still need your tough love.

The roar of the fire drowned out my voice, and the heat scorched my throat. The only answer I received was a piece of debris falling from above. I jumped forward, tucking into a roll and avoiding the burning debris. The flames sizzled as my damp coat touched the floor. I got up in a low crouch.

"Mr. Reeves! Gren!"

You’re the only friends I have left.

Nothing.

Where were they?

By this time of day, they would be in the kitchen, although Cynthia had been sleeping in ever since we got engaged.

Who do I save?

I ran for my bedroom, keeping my head low as the smoke billowed above me. A few moments later, I was close. I slipped through the room's open door.

"Cynthia?!"

The bedroom reeked of burnt hair and charcoal. My arms fell limp at my sides as tears blurred my vision.

No... NONONO!

I ran across the room, stumbling to collapse beside the corpse on the bed, charred beyond recognition.

"Cynthia..."

My voice was a quiet rasp from the heat and smoke. She was belly down, arms splayed as if reaching for something. Out of the corner of my watery eyes, something glinted on her outreached hand.

The gold ring looked as beautiful as the day I gave it to her. It wrapped around her blackened finger, untouched by the fire.

I wiped my tears on my sleeve, focusing on the ring as the world around me burned.

"Mr. Reeves, he was right. Your husband was right."

The floor below me heaved as the support beams burned to ash. The floorboards opened into a wide maw and swallowed me whole.

It was dark.

The sound of shouting, heavy boots and shifting debris surrounded me. Rough hands grabbed my arms and pulled me free of the rubble.

# # #

Am I dead?

The scratching sound of a quill on paper answered my question. A bundle of cloth was stuffed in my mouth, another strip of fabric holding it in place. I reached for my mouth only to find my hands shackled to armrests by manacles. Light flooded my vision as I opened my eyes.

Where was I?

I sat in front of a dark mahogany desk covered with stacks of paper. At the desk was an older man with greying temples and a bony face that looked carved from the same material. His pronounced nose weighed down his head as he scribbled on the paper. Behind him, a large window let in light as he worked. Two guards in black and silver livery stood on either side of the window.

"Wahs oing ah?" I asked.

"Awake, are we?"

The man did not look up from his paper. His voice was deep and resonant. I was jealous.

"Why ahm I ahgg?"

"Oh, that. A precaution. If you assure me that you will not speak High Song, I will let you speak freely. Do we have a deal?"

High Song: the revisionist's name for High Elvish. A new name to strip the language of its Elven origins.

I nodded, eyes narrowing.

He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers.

The guard on his left walked forward and untied my gag. His gloved fingers pulled out the cloth crammed in my mouth.

I spit out the loose threads on my tongue.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Who are you?”

He stopped writing mid-sentence for a moment before scribbling again.

"I am Alden Able of the Able noble house, the High Sanctifier of this Guildhall."

Ah, the Sanctifier's Guild. Great. I swivelled my head to take in my surroundings. The oppressive grey walls and dark furniture sucked the life out of the room. One piece of furniture stood out, a sofa on my left with white cushions. Splashes of faded blood stained the white upholstery.

Alden continued speaking.

"I have been called upon to administer this most unusual case. May I lay out the facts?"

I nodded again. How could he see me when he was staring down at the paper like that?

"Very well. The first fact is the mysterious fire at the affected residence. The second fact is the number of dead bodies pulled from the rubble. Most bizarre is the third fact: the property has no living owner, yet taxes continued to be paid to the crown every year."

He chose that moment to look at me, trying to gauge my face for any reaction.

My face paled.

Bodies...

"How many bodies did you find?"

"The city guard have recovered four bodies and counting."

Four bodies.

I exhaled, letting a mask of neutrality cover my face. This was not the time to show weakness. I was in a den of wolves.

Not seeing a reaction, Alden continued.

"The last owner passed away twelve years ago. A man named Carlton Briggs. Since then, no relatives have come forward to claim the property."

Well, that explained the portraits.

"I lived there for ten years."

"Indeed. If local witnesses had not confirmed that fact, you would be in the cells instead of sitting here. In all those years, did you see anything unusual?"

Images of Sin and my years of training in the Red Room flashed in my mind.

I bared my teeth.

"No."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"I see."

A faint smile spread on his lips as he slid his hand over two documents on his desk.

"Your situation presents certain challenges as well as opportunities. The Sanctifiers have been tasked with administering the sale of this property. Its’ current valuation is 10,000 gold pieces."

"10,000 gold pieces!"

My composure broke as I balked at the price. Alden's lips twitched upward at my outburst.

"Be at ease. We Sanctifiers are not without sympathy."

He slid the first document across the desk.

"This is a contract to loan you 10,000 gold pieces at our most reasonable interest rate of 5%."

"What would I want with some burned-out ash heap?"

"You must be joking. That land was one of the most envious properties in the capital."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to peer into my head.

"You really don't know and here I thought you had the look of education about you. Hmm."

He rubbed his chin, considering how to proceed.

“What do you know of quintessence?”

I shrugged.

“Our souls are made of quintessence. When we die, our souls join the spirits of the land.”

Alden’s thin lips tilted into a frown.

“A simplistic yet mostly correct understanding. Quintessence is the fifth element. When we die, the quintessence leaks from our bodies and infuses the environment—what the common folk call spirits of the land. Through our Guild’s contracts, we create a connection between your quintessence and that of the land you own. A process that will turn you into a Landbound mage."

I had heard pieces of this information over the years but never summarized this well. Alden had a gift.

"If I owned land, what kind of magical abilities would I get?”

"It depends. Quintessence is raw potential, taking on the qualities of its vessel. In people, it absorbs memory and personality. In land, it absorbs purpose and character. Quintessence resonates with the character of the land to grant magical abilities. Your land is particularly valuable because our beloved capital is so densely populated. Second only to the border with Dahlgesh, more people die here every year-"

"And more quintessence is infused into the land."

"Yes. Exactly. To add to your land's value, it's a blank slate. Anyone with sufficient resources can rebuild the land to suit any purpose."

I raised my hand to hold my chin, my wrist strained against the shackle attached to the armrest.

"Do you mind?"

Alden waved, and the guard on his right walked forward and unlocked the manacles on my wrists. For the first time, I noticed my missing throwing knife and cane.

"Where's my stuff?!"

"Precautions, my elven friend."

"Jacob. My name is Jacob."

"Hmm..."

He nodded his head. Alden's two guards looked at each other for a moment before the guard on the left handed me my throwing knife. I tucked it back into my sleeve. Alden reached behind his desk and picked up my cane, patting the length of wood in his hand.

"This is a fine item. Where did you get it?"

"From a bug."

I reached out my hand. Alden quirked an eyebrow, passing me the cane over the desk. I clenched it in both hands.

Relief washed over me.

"That loan... How much gold is that with interest?"

The corner of Alden's lips twitched.

"With monthly compounding, the total amount will be 10,512 gold pieces. We humbly request the loan be repaid a year from your date of signing."

"And what if I can’t pay you back in a year?"

"Then you will incur a penalty of five years of service."

"You mean indentured servitude."

"That… is an unpleasant word. Besides, think of the bright side, however you pay us back, you'll become a powerful mage."

I saw through his game. Alden was offering me a loan with the expectation that I couldn't pay it back. By next year, he would own me and, through me, a prime piece of real estate to serve the Sanctifier's goals. Did he think I was stupid enough to fall into such an obvious trap? Why did I want to anyway?

It was Sin. She was a mage, and I would need to become one, too, if I wanted to be-

RUTHLESS!

Cynthia's burned body flashed in my mind. I pushed down the bile rising in my throat. Chills ran through my body. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. It took everything I had to stop myself from curling into a ball on the floor.

"Do we have a deal, elf?" Alden asked.

Cynthia... Her spirit was in that land. Mr. Reeves, Mrs. Dulldrey, Gren, Cindra... everyone who couldn't keep up. This time I could carry them with me.

“It’s a deal."

Alden smirked. He opened his drawer to pull out a clear glass ink well, a thin blade and a white feather quill.

“Before we begin, do you have any living blood relatives?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“When a contract is signed in blood, it grants all direct relatives a connection to the land, splitting its’ magical potential evenly amongst your family.”

My family is dead.

“Now, I will need your blood. Enough to fill half of the ink well."

He slid the inkwell and thin blade across the table.

"No need."

I willed the dagger at the top of my cane into my left hand. I smiled as Alden's face went pale. He recovered, raising his hand to stop his guards from unsheathing their swords.

I ran the blade across the palm of my right hand and leaned over the desk to let my blood fill the inkwell.

Alden raised his chin as our eyes met.

"Excellent. Now please sit over there."

He gestured to the white sofa stained with dried blood.

"Why?"

"All will be revealed in time."

I walked to the white sofa. To Alden's amusement, I poked the stained cushions with the end of my cane before sitting.

Alden shuffled around the desk in black robes that hung loose on his thin frame. In his hands were a large wooden board, the inkwell of blood, a quill and the two contracts. He placed the board and inkwell on my lap.

"Sign this one first."

He pushed the quill and loan contract forward. It was written in High Elvish. I took some time to read it.

Alden raised his eyebrows.

"So, you are educated. Who taught you to read High Song?"

"A hawk."

Alden gave me a tight smile.

"You have interesting friends, elf."

"It's Jacob."

I signed my first name in blood, handing it back to Alden while suppressing a yawn.

He picked it up and frowned.

"We'll need a last name."

He handed the paper back.

I froze.

I didn’t have a last name. Before I could think of one, my left hand moved on its own.

Alden snatched the paper out of my hand, his lips twisting in contempt.

"Jacob Sin... I guess that will do."

I frowned at the sound of my full name.

Why did I write that?

Alden passed me the second contract, blowing on the first to let the blood dry. This contract was the legal deed to the mansion and the quintessence-infused land underneath it.

Cynthia…

As I signed the contract, a wave of exhaustion washed over my body. I tried to raise my hand only to knock over the inkwell, splashing my blood on the white cushion beside me.

My head fell against the wall, and my eyes rolled back as I slipped into unconsciousness.

Alden towered over me, a malicious smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Jacob Sin. You’re a mage."