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The Wizard Conspiracy

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Dahlia Astera sighed as she rested at the bar, her hands cupping a mug that held water. She was exhausted and spent from her day of responsibilities. Only a week has passed since James left and already she was feeling overwhelmed. She had helped him before with his job as clan leader, but she had underestimated how much work actually went into it. Dahlia looked down at her open journal, which had all of her responsibilities scrawled on it.

YORKTOWN

Prisoners

Council meeting

Marketplace dispute

Discuss expansion

ALDREN

Start renovations on homes

Silas and orcs

Talk with Lowe

Personal

Train with Helen

Stock up on food

Practice with tome

She had gotten most of the list done, but Dahlia knew she would need to revisit them the next day. The shaman had been so busy with work that she had neglected to visit the last two errands on her list. James had given her permission to talk with Silas about the possibility of allowing another orc tribe on the island. Of course, the idea itself was a risky gamble. She didn’t agree at first, but her talk with the orc leader the other day had convinced the shaman that protection over the island was a necessity. Dahlia was reminded of the days Yorktown had been attacked. The knights and marauders had proved again and again that their guard needed to be more than ‘just enough’.

They needed to be ready for the next big threat, whether it be from Jarl Ivan, or those orcs from Aldren. The new recruits were doing well and their numbers improved the town’s defense, but Dahlia knew it wouldn’t be enough. She had proposed the idea of hiring more mercenaries but it was obviously turned down. It was too expensive and hinged on the idea that the paid swords were going to be loyal enough to defend the town from any threat, including the ever expanding Lumen Kingdom and the dangerous Marauders of the North.

The orcs were loyal to the end. At least, the ones Dahlia knew. They practically worshiped James and his clan symbol, proclaiming the blond man as a champion of the death god. Which had resulted in the man’s new nickname. The Draugr. Dahlia chuckled at the name, recalling how James visibly felt uncomfortable at the title. He was far from the sinister nature of that name, far from that kind of man. The James she knew was a kind man, determined to protect his friends at all costs. He was someone who would never dabble in those dark arts, no matter how tantalizing the benefits.

‘Still, it seems like he’s different now?’

Dahlia’s smile faltered a little. She remembered that fateful day, back when James had taken his first life. Gryff Brenwick. He had forcefully destroyed the cryomancer’s ley lines, ending his life brutally. Dahlia could still remember the sour smell of flesh being burnt. It had brought back memories of her first kill, back when she had defended Yorktown for the first time. Dahlia had night terrors for weeks after that, her mindset never being the same after that. Yet James had handled his own demons differently. He seemed more callous after Gryff’s death. No night terrors, either. The otherworldly man had simply buried the experience, instead wanting to move on. Dahlia hoped that James still had his humanity after that fight.

The shaman looked over her responsibilities once more, deciding to clear her head. Silas had suggested to James and her about the possibilities of taking in an orc tribe. According to the orc leader, the new tribe will be integrated with Silas’ own. They were apparently willing to merge with the clan and serve under the raven banner under a couple of conditions. Dahlia still had to work out these conditions with Silas, as some of them involved things that were beyond the clan’s reach and coffers.

Dahlia muttered as she circled Silas’ name, writing a little note by it that simply read: ‘Work in progress.’ Once that was done, she went to Lowe’s name. The gnome had been pestering her about a favor he needed. Of course, he had refused to speak about it in public. Dahlia had been putting it off for the past month, as she had much more important things to do than hear another spiel about the gnome’s suspicion of the fisherman by the port. Not only that, but the shaman had been practicing with her magic, working to improve it some more.

Dahlia was admittedly not a fighting person. Her skills could only go so far with swordplay and defense stances. Her real talent lay in magical ability. She had been practicing and sharpening her craft, able to hone in her ley lines and spell casting within only a few years after activating them.

Dahlia smiled at the memory of her first spell. She had been a younger woman, barely an adult. Trained and taught by only the best. Dahlia’s expression faltered at the memory of the old man. Shaman Dres was the one who taught her the Ignition spell, as well as the fogcloud casting. He had shown Dahlia the proper way to form a rune circle, how to initiate a ritual, and the basics of summoning. All of these things had shaped the young woman for who she was.

Dahlia looked down at her palm, where calluses ridged its surface. As of late, she had been attempting to get back into learning magic. Before James was summoned, Dahlia was practicing and reading the spell tomes the old shaman left behind. Many were detailed with rituals and castings that were far out of her reach of expertise. Still, some were right in her range of ability. All she had to do was practice and learn. Dahlia looked down at her journal, right where she wrote down ‘personal’. Under it were the tasks she had to get down for herself. Among them were important things, such as ‘train with Helen’ and ‘stock up on food’. At the bottom, though, was a task that was left unchecked. ‘Practice with tome’.

The tome referenced was one she was currently practicing with. It detailed a spell that would increase her ability and unlock an entire branch of spell casting for her. She had learned three new spells these past few months, all for the requirements needed to cast it. However, she needed more practice and more time to master these three spells. At the thought of them, Dahlia flipped her journal a couple of pages back. Right next to her scribbles and sketches were the spells she had in her arsenal.

Minor Heal

Regenerate minor wounds on either yourself or another party. Cannot be used to cure poison, sickness, or frostbite.

Cost: One casting. Three if one wants to bolster it.

Flame Cleanse

Healing flame. Cleanses out poison, venom, and other ailments that are not level three or above. Can be used to stave away dangerous temperatures.

Warning: More than three uses of the spell can be dangerous. USE WITH CAUTION

Cost: Two castings

Wind Wall

A gust of wind that will protect you. Blocks arrows, minor Fireballs, bolts, and level two spells and below.

Cost: One casting. Two if one wants to advance it and/or bolster it.

These three spells were all recently learned by Dahlia through the study of tomes and Shaman Dres’ notes. Minor Heal was the first one she learned to cast. It was a long time coming, as she had been meaning to add this casting to her back pocket. Gods knew how many injuries could’ve been prevented if she had learned this months back.

Minor Heal was a spell that wasn’t as effective as its counterpart, ‘Heal’. The spell was limited to treating smaller wounds, such as cuts and burns. Still, it was far from useless. It was amazing what could be classified as a ‘minor’ wound in terms of wounds. While the spell could never heal guts spilling out of someone’s stomach, it could do a damn good job of healing stab wounds. Such was the case with Haggard’s last brawl, which had resulted in a knife sticking out of his arm. If Dahlia wished to bolster it, the healing spell became almost as advanced as its superior counterpart. Still, that led to its cost tripling.

‘That’s right… Cost.’

Every spell had a cost on a body and its ley lines. A Fireball simply wasn’t the same cost as a flare. It was natural that some spells were worth more than others. There were different names for the measurement, such as slots, reserves, and castings. A simple spell was worth one of these. Advanced ones cost more. For example, a simple minor heal was worth one casting. However, if Dahlia wished to bolster or advance it, it would cost her three of her reserves.

This was normal for spellcasters. It was why many Wizards and self respecting sorcerers studied for their ability rather than get it the easy way, like James. At a certain point, spells would increase in cost and their casters would need to practice more to advance their ley lines and increase their body’s durability. Still, reserves did not mean a Wizard could just spam the spells in less than a minute. Doing so will cook the body inside out. Moderation was key.

Dahlia herself could only cast fourteen to fifteen spells a day. She naturally gained her magical ability, so her reserves were higher than those who took the easy route. Still, her castings were on the low side for spellcasters, as the average with advanced spellcasters was around fifty. Some Wizards were rumored to have their reserves in the hundreds.

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Dahlia looked at the next spell on the list. Flame Cleanse. That was one she was proud of. Fire had always been an element she had loathed taking on. The Ignition spell she had in her back pocket was an achievement in itself. The spell called Flame Cleanse was not a common one. It was a rank two spell, worth two castings. It was also one that could easily backfire if the caster fumbled the rune, resulting in the body igniting into flames. The spell required the caster to form its rune on the recipient. They would then cast it, igniting flames around the person. If done right, the spell would simply leave nothing but a small burn mark. Not just that, but it would also cleanse the person of any ailments such as poison or sickness.

The shaman had practiced this rune on lumps of firewood and watched as nearly all of them had burst into flames. Just recently, she had finally got it down. Dahlia was proud of her unburnt logs, which had thankfully not suffered the spell’s wrath. It was only last week that she could finally use the spell on herself, cleansing her body from a bottle of makeshift poison she had drank beforehand. It was risky, stupid, and had resulted in James yelling at her, but she had proven that the spell worked and that she had finally mastered it.

Wind Wall was another she was able to summon recently. The spell was tricky, as it involved the element of wind, something that wasn’t her strong suit. That was because of her affinity to flame. Everyone had an affinity with an element, which itself influenced spells. Those who were compatible with flame like her had an easier time with fire based spells. However, those same people would have much trouble with water-based spells. It was why Wizards were uncommon and why pyromancers, cyromancers, and other ‘mancers’ existed.

Dahlia’s affinity was towards nature and flame, two elements that were rarely ever compatible. She was born with those affinities, a result of her branching heritages. Her father was a man who was compatible with fire, while her mother was someone who had an affinity to nature. Both clashed, but somehow, they managed to be passed down to Dahlia.

Wind was tricky for Dahlia as it was a natural bane towards flame. Banes were another problem with magic casters. They were the weakness of any caster and their spells. Water mages could drop a pyromancer with little effort, even if their skill difference was significant. It was common knowledge. While it didn’t make entirely any sense for wind to also be a bane of flame, the shaman couldn’t really complain. She did not make the rules.

The fogcloud spell had already been a pain in the ass for her to learn, as it had taken her months back when she was initially learning magic. Wind Wall had reminded her of that time, since the spell had failed with every casting Dahlia used. This had resulted in Dahlia wasting all of her reserves in one day, only to rest and try again the other day. After a month of this endless cycle, Dahlia had finally made a breakthrough just the other day. She had summoned the Wind Wall, which had stayed standing for a solid five seconds before failing. It wasn’t a lot, but it was clear progress.

‘Just need to get good enough with these spells…’

Dahlia looked down at the other side of the page of her journal, which showcased the ritual spell she had been wanting to try ever since she had set her eyes upon it. It required the knowledge of three branches of magic. Any would do, as it didn’t really require their elements. It instead needed the caster to be skilled enough not to be killed in the process of summoning. Dahlia was close to that skill level. Her spell reserves had grown these past months, which was proof enough that she was getting stronger.

She looked at the ritual once more, reading the effects of its magic and what branch it unlocked. Dahlia felt sweat dampen her palms as she muttered the words to herself.

“Shadow Bind… can bind any being, regardless of skill…. ritual can last for five minutes… side effects can be… nausea… vomiting… sickness… chance of death if overuse or underdeveloped ley lines… gateway for summoning shadow spells…”

This was a ritual that delved into dark magic. Dahlia was already used to it, as she had practiced demon summonings before. Still, she had not tried such magic in months. She knew how James felt about it. Yet Dahlia couldn’t pass up the chance to learn magic that could very well protect her in the future. Not just that, but this ritual could bind anyone, regardless of skill. If she had this in her back pocket during that fight with Gryff, things would have been very different. It was a thought that plagued her mind. Who knew when she would come across such a threat again?

Dahlia closed her journal. She let out a tired breath. It was getting too late to be thinking about things like this. The shaman finished up her water before she placed a silver coin on the bar. Dahlia tucked her journal under her arm.

“Goodnight Gladis,” she called on her way out.

“Have a safe night!” The barwoman called back. Dahlia nodded as she stepped out of the tavern. The air was cold, yet it didn’t seem as harsh as last week. It no longer threatened frostbite or hypothermia, evidence that Valenfrost was well into the season of Bloom. Dahlia pulled up her scarf as she walked the wet streets. She was careful not to step on the black ice that had formed on its sides.

As she neared the town’s edge, where the cobbled street turned to a dirt path, something caught her attention.

“Psst!” a quiet voice hissed out.

Dahlia stopped, her eyebrow raising a little.

‘Did I just…’

“Shaman! Over here!” Dahlia’s gaze moved to the source of the callout. On her right was a small hovel that bordered the wall, its door slightly ajar. At its opening, Dahlia spotted a small man peeking out. Not just any man, but a gnome. Lowe peeked out some more, his eyes glancing at the right and left of his position. After making sure the coast was clear, he turned to Dahlia.

“Get in here!” He shouted in a whisper. The shaman raised an eyebrow. While suspicious, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious.

Dahlia stepped into the building, where Lowe closed the door behind her. “What is it that you… want…” Dahlia trailed off at the sight of the interior. Inside, where she expected a normal hut’s table and bed, was a group of people surrounding a table. Haggard, Helen, Felix, and a blond man she swore she had seen before were huddled around the table, where a ring of mugs surrounded the map of Yorktown.

Haggard raised his head. “Lowe, was she followed?”

“Followed?” Dahlia asked.

“It’s fine. She wasn’t seen,” Lowe answered from the door. The gnome was locking the wooden door that led into the shack, making sure that the deadbolts held.

“Lowe, what in Freyja’s name am I doing here?” Dahlia focused her attention on the gnome.

“Believe me, you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent,” Lowe called back. “You can never be sure anymore.”

“Dahlia, if you could take a seat,” Felix spoke up. The shaman turned to the table at the center of the room, where her allies were sitting. She took a few cautious steps, her eyes moving to the map ahead. “What is going on? Why the secrecy?”

“We were going to let you know. A while back, actually.” Felix sighed. “But we couldn’t risk you being followed or our conversations being overheard.”

“Overheard?”

“Wizard Falrick,” Haggard suddenly butted in. He lowered the mug from his lips, where beer foam stained his mustache. “Lowe’s boogeyman. He’s in Yorktown. Hiding,” the drifter revealed.

Dahlia furrowed her brow. “The Wizard? Wait, I thought…?”

“That he was imaginary? A figment of Lowe’s imagination?” Helen chuckled. “No. He’s real apparently. According to the fisherman and gnome.”

“I saw him,” the stranger from before finally spoke up. “I saw his illusion falter. It was him. No doubt about it.” He looked shaken up, his eyes wide with certainty. Dahlia noted the familiar scar that ran across the blond man’s face. Her brain clicked together the pieces.

“I know you. You were rescued from Aldren.” She recognized him as one of the prisoners James had freed on the island. “You saw the Wizard?”

The man nodded. “I was at the shore. The one outside of town. I was out at sea, netting myself a couple of silverheads. When I got back to the shore, I saw him.” He leaned forward. His fingers sporadically drummed against the sparse table. The light of the candles made his features appear more gaunt and sunken in. It was as if the man hadn’t gotten any sleep since. “He didn’t see me. I think he was busy collecting some of the wild flowers that grew around the forest’s edge. I didn’t think much of it until after I pulled my boat in. That’s when I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“Magic. He was doing something with those herbs, I know it. His hands sparked and glowed. It was a feat I had not seen since my days in Aldren,” the blond man recollected. He grabbed a mug. “It was only when he turned did I realize who it was. It was dark, but I got a good look at his face before he recast his illusion spell. He was Falrick, through and through. I will never forget his face.”

“How did he not spot you?” Dahlia prodded gently, not wanting to outright interrogate the shaken man.

“I was already past the treeline when he finished his spell. It was too dark for him to spot me in that brush,” the fisherman answered.

“Hans here has already identified the Wizard’s false name and living,” Lowe added. “I checked his name and story. Bartheny Roy. A middle-aged man originally from Bernis moved to Aldren after his wife coaxed him into joining Yorn’s clan.” The gnome took a seat near the blond man, Hans.

“He sounds genuine. Are you sure this is a fake?” Dahlia asked.

“Bartheny was a real man.” Lowe responded. “However, so was his wife. When the orcs came, they captured and killed most of the town. Bartheny and his wife had run into the woods right after the invasion. According to others who were imprisoned in that gods-forsaken camp, Bartheny had surrendered to the orcs, but without his wife in tow. It was as if he had abandoned her.”

“The real Bartheny would have never done that,” Hans muttered. “He loved his wife. He would have died for her. We all thought it was strange that he came back alone, and with little to no wounds at all. We should have noticed it from the start but…” He gripped his mug tightly.

Lowe patted Hans on the shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. With the hellhole that camp was, it was a miracle you took notice,” the gnome muttered.

Dahlia frowned. As insensitive as it seemed, she had doubts about Hans’ story. “Are we sure that Bartheny is Falrick? Have you confirmed this?”

“That’s part of the reason you’re here.” Felix answered. “I’ve had Kate trail him and report, but he’s thrown her off every time. He’s a careful man, Wizard or not.”

“So you want me to find out if he’s the Wizard?” the shaman asked.

“We need you to help us capture him,” Lowe revealed.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand why we have to do this. Even if this man is Falrick, what are we going to do with him?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask that,” Helen spoke up. “It sounds like he wants to be left alone. Like Harald, he wants nothing more than to be a hermit. Why are we provoking him? Shouldn’t it be wise to leave him be?”

“Because we must!” Lowe shouted suddenly. “Wizard Falrick is one of the most powerful Wizards of the south. He can turn a Lumen knight into nothing more than ash. Having him on our side will bolster our clan. Unless, of course, you want to put yourself up for another suicide attempt at the next fight!” Those words visibly struck a nerve in Helen.

“Why, you little shit!” Helen grabbed the knife that was strapped to her boot, her body rushing forward. Haggard thankfully grabbed her in time and held the cursing veteran in his arms.

“Hey! Quit it!” Felix shouted as he grabbed Lowe, who was aiming to throw his tankard.

“You don’t understand, do you?! How fucked we are already?!” the gnome shouted.

“Oh, I understand alright! I understand you need to get a proper ass kicking!” Helen angrily growled.

It got to where both the gnome and ex-marauder broke out of their hold, their hands grabbing at the nearest weapon. They charged at each other, before being suddenly knocked back by a dividing gust of wind.

“Wind Wall!” Dahlia’s voice echoed with power, her spell successfully working this time. Helen and Lowe flew back from each other, the mugs on the table flying and spilling. Dahlia sighed a breath of exhaustion. “Lowe. Why do you want Falrick?” She asked. “Answer me. Honestly.”

The gnome looked up at the shaman, his hands clenching on the mug he had held as a weapon earlier. He hesitated for a moment, but soon opened up.

“He left Yorn to die that night. He hid in our town for months, refusing to do anything about those orcs. Falrick needs to answer for his cowardice,” Lowe muttered.

“You think the best way to deal with him is for him to work for us?”

“Yes. Because he still has a duty to his own people. To Seamus for Horus’ sake. I was there when Falrick swore himself to Halvorson.”

Dahlia sighed. She looked at Felix. “Are you sure you want to pursue this?”

“I don’t think it would be wise for Falrick to hide amongst the people. He could very well have ill intentions in Yorktown,” Felix answered.

Dahlia nodded slowly, her gaze moving to the map of Yorktown that was on the table. “I might have an idea to expose him. To trap him and get him to talk. Without injuring him. At least, if it all goes to plan.”

“What did you have in mind?” Lowe asked. He leaned forward with a look of curiosity. The rest of the table seemed to have held their breath at the idea of Dahlia’s proposition. The shaman sighed as she sat.

“Nothing too dangerous. At least, nothing a little salt and silver can’t do.”