Eldren shuffled toward the stool under the watchful gaze of the gray cloaks that had escorted him out of the dungeons. He sat down. At a slight nod from The High Imperator, the guards unshackled his hands. Eldren rubbed his wrists. It seemed, despite thinking he was witch-kind, the Imperator was unafraid that Eldren might use magic against him. He didn’t have time to ponder the implications of that as the High Imperator addressed him.

“Now, where to begin.” High Imperator Uther smiled, clasping his hands to create a bridge and resting his chin on them. His slicked-back snowy hair glimmered in the candlelight and his sky-blue eyes sharply pierced Eldren’s own. Even though he was seemingly quite old—at least in his sixties—it occurred to Eldren that there were no wrinkles on his face.

“Where is the crystal ball that was assigned to Ardos Valenforth?” The Imperator waited for an answer.

“What?” Eldren hadn’t expected to be asked about the annoying crystal ball that showcased his HP and quests.

“Where. Is. The crystal ball. That was assigned. To. Your. Predecessor?” the Imperator repeated his question, harshly punctuating the sentence as if Eldren hadn’t understood English.

“I don’t know,” Eldren replied. It was the most honest answer. It had been in the pocket of the robe he had discarded in his attempt to flee the council chambers.

The High Imperator sighed.

“Mr. Pendergast, in the civilized world, sanctioned court wizards are given crystal balls to help ensure that their magic is safely deployed. Those artifacts, however, remain the sole property of the Iron Square. They are to be transfered, as you undoubtedly are aware when a new court wizard is appointed.”

Eldren remained silent.

“They are, how should I say, quite valuable.” The High Imperator’s smile twisted into a slight frown. “Illegal registration of one to a witch-kind would reflect poorly on the High Imperator who oversees the parish in question. Very poorly indeed.”

When Eldren didn’t respond, the Imperator sighed again.

“Very well, Mr. Pendergast. We will do this the ugly way.” He reached down and slid open a small drawer. He pulled out a small leather package that looked like one of the rolls Cam had seen chefs use to carry their knives. The Imperator deftly unbuckled two iron clasps and unfurled the tool kit on the table.

Eldren felt the sweat beading on his forehead. Though no fire burned in the room’s hearth, he felt uncomfortably warm. He stared at the array of instruments inside the leather kit. Some he recognized, such as large tweezers that had serrated points and a small ball peen hammer. Others, like a spidery-looking device that ended in sharp points, reminded him of one of those sensory head massagers, and he could only guess at their use.

The Imperator’s long, pale fingers hovered over the kit before landing on a small, copper ring. He plucked it from the red velvet interior of the carrying case and held it up as if examining it through a jeweler’s loop for imperfections.

“This should do nicely,” he said, his smile returning. He rose and walked around the table to where Eldren sat. “Extend your left hand.”

“No.”

The Imperator smacked Eldren across the face so rapidly that it left him stunned. The man’s hands were ice cold and the sting lingered.

“Extend your left hand. I will not ask again.”

The Imperator’s words dripped with sickly sweet ichor like an insect luring its prey with honey before snapping closed the jaws of a trap. Eldren reluctantly extended his left hand laying it flat on the tabletop in front of him. The Imperator slid the copper ring over his index finger. It seemed to fit perfectly, settling snugly against the bottom joint of Eldren’s finger, near his palm.

The Imperator returned to his seat.

“Where is the crystal ball?” This time the question was harsh and direct.

“I told you, I don’t know,” Eldren said. He could hear the hint of desperation in his voice. He almost told the Imperator that he had dropped it in the council chambers but something inside him prevented him from revealing the extra detail. This was not the type of man you gave free information to.

“Lies,” the Imperator said. Almost instantly, Eldren felt a slight pressure constrict around his finger. It wasn’t painful but it was uncomfortable. The copper ring had constricted, shrinking tighter around his index finger. His mind raced and he realized that he didn’t have much time to continue denying the Imperator answers. He imagined the ring growing so tight that it popped his finger off like a Champaign cork. He suppressed panic.

“Did you ever take possession of the crystal ball?” The Imperator asked.

”This is all Ardos’ fault. It’s a misunderstanding! Ask him. He’s alive. The turtle!” Eldren said desperately.

“Lies!” The Imperator hissed. The ring tightened again on Eldren’s finger “I watched them bury the wizard’s body. Did. You. Take. Possession. Of the crystal ball?”

“No.” Now Eldren, summoning his courage, purposefully lied. He had no choice.

“Lies again,” the Imperator said, still smiling.

The ring on Eldren’s finger constricted again, growing more uncomfortable.

“Which Coven tribe do you belong to?” The Imperator asked.

“None.”

The Imperator’s mouth opened slightly, about to declare his answer another lie. But then he closed it again.

“You don’t belong to any of the Coven sects?” He seemed intrigued, so Eldren answered again, purposefully curt.

“No.”

“Very interesting.” The Imperator pondered for a moment. Eldren wasn’t sure why this particular answer had convinced his interrogator.

“How did you learn magic?” The Imperator asked, after a long pause.

Eldren waited, trying to formulate an answer that might be believable. Surely trying to protest that he didn’t know magic would be unconvincing. The man believed him to be a witch-kind infiltrator who had stolen Ardos’ crystal ball. Luckily, years of bantering with Tristan’s cryptic NPCs in their weekly games helped him.

“Any magic I know, I taught myself,” Eldren said carefully.

“Impossible,” the Imperator snarled. Eldren could tell this answer had made some sort of impact on the man. “All of the magic, except what the hags have stolen, is locked in the spell shrines with carefully monitored access by the Iron Square. You cannot have taught yourself spells.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Eldren began to piece things together. It seemed that wizards learned spells through something called spell shrines, that the Assembly — and this church of the Iron Square — controlled access to. Witches, in turn, seemed to be unregulated, like a sort of black magic market.

“I know new spells,” Eldren gambled. Admittedly, it seemed like a stupid play but he didn’t have anything else to go with. It would certainly make him a more intriguing prisoner, which might entice the Imperator to more slowly seek answers. At the same time, if this religious society was afraid of unsanctioned magic, it would also make him seem much more dangerous.

“New spells? Rubbish,” the Imperator scoffed. “All the arcane knowledge from the tomes was indexed and dispersed to the shrines centuries ago after the final crusade to put down the pagan tribes. There is no such thing as new spells.”

“Okay,” Eldren said, careful not to answer a question that wasn’t explicitly asked. He could tell the Imperator was a bit flustered. He had successfully tilted the playing field a small amount back in his direction with this new wrinkle.

After a few moments, however, any advantage Eldren thought he had gained vanished.

“Show me,” The Imperator said.

Didn’t think that through, Eldren thought. Now he had no choice. If he admitted he had lied, then any slim hope he had of avoiding more torture vanished. He had to commit.

“Why should I?” He was happy to hear his tone sound confident, with a hint of defiance.

Imperator Uther’s eyes narrowed.

“Why should you?” his interrogator repeated incredulously. “Why should you prove your testimony and cooperate with a High Imperator of the Iron Square when you’ve been apprehended under charges of magical espionage and assassination? For which, I remind you, the penalty is a gruesome execution. Is the answer not self-evident enough for you?”

“Assassination?” Eldren said involuntarily.

“Of Ardos Valenforth,” The Imperator replied.

“You know I didn’t assassinate Ardos!” Eldren couldn’t help himself. “You’ve got the actual assassin locked in the dungeons!”

“A decoy,” spat The Imperator. “An obvious witch-kind sent to distract the investigation with a false perpetrator while the real assassin skulked beneath our very noses, disguised as the new court wizard. A clever ploy. But no match for a High Imperator of the Iron Square. I sensed something foul and rotten from the moment I interrogated that fiend in the dungeons.”

“I didn’t kill Ardos!” Eldren said.

“Lies,” The Imperator hissed. The ring constricted sharply, causing Eldren to flinch. As the initial pain faded, his finger began to throb, its blood flow very nearly restricted.

The tension in the air hung between them as Eldren glared at the man across the table.

“I am a patient man, Mr. Pendergast,” The Imperator said, after a long while. “But even the patience of a boulder wears thin in the rain. And unfortunately for you, we are in the midst of a storm. Your information, if your claims are true, is infinitely valuable to the Iron Square.”

Eldren shuffled uncomfortably on the stool. It seemed his lie had fallen firmly into the ‘dangerous’ category from Imperator Uther’s perspective.

“I will let you think, for a while,” The Imperator continued. “Back in your cell.” He nodded. The two grey cloak soldiers advanced and grabbed Eldren roughly, bending his arms back behind him. They clicked the clasps back into place. As they began to turn him to lead him from The Imperator’s chambers, they stopped.

“And Mr. Pendergast.” Eldren turned to face his interrogator. “If you tell any more lies…” The last word was emphasized and Eldren’s eyes began to well with tears as the copper ring sharply tightened again. Almost all of his circulation was now cut off and his finger began to numb with cold. “If there are any more lies, you will find my pleasant demeanor gone when we next meet. I suspect you have about a day until the necrosis sets in on your finger. I suggest you decide to showcase your ‘new magic’ for me before then.” The Imperator returned to reading his parchment as if nothing had occurred.

The grey cloaks hauled him back down the stairs and through the corridors, down into the dungeon. Once inside his cell, they removed his cuffs and slammed the door shut with a clang. Eldren could no longer feel his finger.

“What did you tell him?” Mickson, his witch-kind co-prisoner asked from the cell across the hall. Eldren ignored him and Mickson didn’t press any further.

He scooted himself to the far back wall of his cell. It was damp and the whole area smelled of mildew and rot. He tried to get comfortable but the stone floor and stone walls made it difficult. He needed to think but found it difficult through the throbbing and numbness of his finger. He didn’t know magic. Any magic. He had made a gambit with the Imperator and now would have to pay the price.

As he drifted off, his lucid dreams swirled with visions of the white-haired man laughing at him maniacally, hacking off his fingers one by one. At some point, the old man vanished and his parents surfaced in his thoughts. His father told him that if anything ever happened to them, his great-uncle would take care of him and protect him and that he should listen to him carefully.

A loud boom, like a minor explosion sent Eldren’s dreams scrambling as he shot awake. He was shivering with a slick sweat. He couldn’t tell if it was from the nightmares or the pain in his hand. Had he dreamed of the explosive sound?

Another explosion sounded. It was real. He froze, his chest pounding but he held his breath. Several minutes passed without any sound.

“Well, this place stinks.”

“Ink?” Eldren asked into the darkness.

“One and the same,” the girl beamed. She was standing outside the iron bars of his cell.

“Were those explosions you?” Eldren asked.

“Well, I didn’t explode,” she said. She began rummaging through her bag. “But I did set off two black powder bombs in the mess room down the hall.”

“You killed the grey cloaks?” Eldren asked, aghast but also impressed.

“Killed ‘em? No, you dolt. I made sure the mess was empty first, even though your pal here tried to get me to just roll it into their dormitory instead.”

As Eldren stood and moved toward the iron bars he saw the shadow of a small figure in Ink’s arms. Ardos.

“Are you okay Eldren?” The tortoise-wizard sounded genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine,” Eldren lied. “Well— uh. I do have this.” He held up his left hand with the constricting torture ring on his finger.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” Ink remarked, still rummaging through her bag with her free hand. “Hold on, I’m going to have to set you down, buddy.” She deposited Ardos on the ground so she could better search. Ardos seemed slightly annoyed by the condescending, older-sibling tone of her voice.

“We can get that off, but first we need to leave,” Ardos said. “Quickly. Quickly, Ink!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” she said. “You’re a turtle, aren’t you supposed to be slow?”

“Tortoise,” Ardos corrected. He swung his head back and forth watching the hallway behind them. “And your explosions will draw attention. But they’ll figure out quickly the mess is empty and come to secure the prisoners.”

“Take me with you,” a voice suddenly rasped. Ink spun around and Eldren could see Mickson standing, grasping the iron bars of his cell with both hands. “Please. Take me with you.”

“Who is this?” Ink asked.

“Ardos’ assassin,” Eldren said grimly. He made sure not to give away the fact that Ardos had lived through the attempt by finding a new body.

“Well, that’s probably a non-starter,” Ink said. “Sorry pal. One jailbird is probably already too many. Ah, here it is!” She pulled what looked like an oversized iron nail file from her bag triumphantly. “Nicked this off a trader in Dora’Kal last winter. Dead useful. Stand back.”

Eldren shuffled back from the bars, not sure what to expect. Ink pressed the file against the iron and began to work it back and forth. Almost immediately light flared into the hallway, causing Eldren to squint in the brightness. Red and orange sparks sizzled from where the file met the bar, almost like a welding machine. The iron was white hot already. The science teacher inside of him was fascinated. Is the file superheating the metal?

Soon, Ink had sliced four bars out and there was an opening large enough to get out. Eldren stepped into the hallway.

“Thanks,” he said. “I owe you my life.”

“No sweat,” Ink said. “Turtle filled me in on everything.” Eldren glanced at Ardos as Ink picked him up. The turtle nodded, which Eldren assumed was verification that he had indeed revealed his identity to the cartographer. “Oh! Almost forgot. Here.” Ink handed him his book bag. Eldren checked inside to find the blank spell book from the game store and the crystal ball.

“Turtle made me go back and get it from your tower. By the way, do you know how damn annoying your door is? Wouldn’t let us in until we guessed its name.”

Before Eldren could respond, the backpack vibrated. He looked at the crystal ball.

HP: 7/8

New Quest:

Escape Nottengrad Keep

The clank of an iron lock and voices drifted down the hall. Soldiers were coming.

“Well, time to go! Ready?” Ink asked.

Eldren didn’t ask where or how. He glanced and saw that Mickson was still standing stoically in his cell, looking directly at Eldren. For some reason, it gave him chills and he averted eye contact. With a deep breath, he turned and nodded before following Ink, who plunged deeper into the dungeon labyrinth away from the voices and lights.