Bernt visualized the spellform in his mind, using a finger to trace it in the air from memory for the first time. He kept his eyes closed, both to help him concentrate and to keep himself from peeking at the scroll in his lap.

He was sitting outside the gates, at his favorite studying spot down by the river. Jori was doing what she called “training exercises” with her “intern” – a small kobold named Gnugg that she’d taken under her wing after finding him in the dungeon last month. Surprisingly, both she and the kobold had proven less likely to get into trouble when they were spending time together. Farrin, the matron mother of the Halfbridge orphanage, had grudgingly allowed it at the kobold's insistence.

As a side benefit, this new arrangement meant that Bernt could finally get some uninterrupted free time to practice his spellcasting. Experimenting with new fire spells indoors was never a good idea, and he didn’t actually know what this one did. What might 'cold fire' be good for? Was it literally cold? There was no way to know without trying. He’d asked Ed about it two weeks earlier and the archmage had just waved him off with a gruff “Do I look like some kind of damned pyromancer wizard?” and sent him off on his rounds.

Dayle didn’t know either, nor Fiora. That either made it a rare and potentially very useful spell, or random garbage that someone had invented as an experiment or something. There was no way to know without trying it.

Considering that Bernt had found it in a trash heap, he guessed it would likely be the latter. Still, it was a fire spell. Even if it was useless now, maybe he’d be able to use some principle in its spellform to help him in the future. It had been far easier to untangle than the unfamiliar principles and bewildering runic configurations used in its uncastable transmutation spellforms.

So, in an effort to finally push his capabilities further, he’d spent the last two weeks meticulously memorizing the scroll. Testing was the next step.

A mage didn't technically have to trace the spellform in the air to cast a spell. In fact, no physical motion was required at all. Hand motions, whistling, humming, chanting, or whatever were just a mnemonic devices to help the caster visualize the spellform more perfectly. The runes and symbols that made up a spell didn’t just have to be placed in their proper order, they had to be assembled into a two or three-dimensional image, depending on the spell, and each component had to be oriented and proportioned correctly for the spell to work properly. A focus could help with that a bit, but any significant mistake could cause it to fail, or worse, lead to unpredictable effects.

To cast the spell properly now, though, he had to go further. Concentrating, he found the foreign elements that had installed themselves into the spellform – the influence of his investiture – and removed them one by one.

By the time he finished, sweat was beading on his forehead, but he’d done it. The spell was ready. With an effort of will, Bernt poured power into the spellform, activating it. Then, he mentally hurled it up and away from himself as he opened his eyes.

A cone of blueish-gray flame erupted outward, shooting up into the air. It wasn’t as bright as normal fire, nor as loud. Pyromancy was, as a rule, not a quiet form of magic. Conjured fire was usually accompanied by anything from a soft woosh to a thunderous boom, depending on the size of the flame and its heat.

This spell, though, was silent.

It also didn’t seem to radiate any heat, which Bernt supposed would make sense for something called “cold fire”. The spell was exactly what it sounded like. Fire, yes, but cold. That sounded both nonsensical to Bernt and useless. But, not releasing any heat didn’t necessarily mean it couldn’t burn anything. It was magic, after all. He should try casting it at something, maybe a bit of wood. Right at that moment, though, he didn’t have the concentration to try casting it again.

He got up, taking in the view as the sun set over the hills and threw his shadow out over the river behind him. It was beautiful, but he wouldn’t take the time to enjoy it properly today. He needed to get something to eat and then continue his search for a new place to live. He’d given up searching the area around the docks weeks ago – Rina had apparently spread the word that he was some kind of dangerous warlock, or the same rumor that had seen him evicted had reached their ears.

Now he’d have to start looking outside the Lower District entirely, which was a problem. That was where all the cheap tenements were. He’d have to try the crafters’ district now. The temple district only housed priests and temple-employees, so that was a non-starter. The Upper District was out of the question – even sleeping in someone’s shed in the upper district would probably break his budget. It wasn’t meant for people who spent their time on pedestrian things like work.

Sure, someone like Therion or his dad might technically have jobs, but they didn’t do them for the money. It hardly counted.

–--------

Ed sorted through the mail by urgency, giving each letter only a quick scan before putting it in the appropriate pile on his desk. A drain at a tannery just outside the walls had clogged, and the smell was driving nearby businesses to close their doors and file complaints with the count – urgent. Someone had noticed that a grate covering a storm drain in the crafter’s district was rusted through – forward to city maintenance. The alchemists’ guild was following up on an alchemical spill in the crafters’ district. Someone had dumped a potion cocktail a few weeks ago that mutated a nest of cockroaches into some kind of monstrous parody of their more mundane selves.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Fortunately, the pests in question had promptly climbed through the pipes and infested the alchemy shop, rather than nearby residential homes – not urgent. Besides, his Underkeepers weren’t officially certified to deal with alchemical spills yet, anyway.

Ed stared at the stack tiredly, hesitating for a moment. Then, he reached over and moved the complaint over to his “urgent” pile. The cockroaches would multiply quickly. Besides, it had been over a month since Theresa’s stupid stunt with Bernt – he needed to get the certifications done or the magistrate would start breathing down his neck.

Ashing his pipe in the bucket next to his desk, he repacked and lit it again, using the familiar ritual to soothe his nerves. It didn’t really work.

He was still pushing down his annoyance at the Alchemists’ Guild as he opened the next letter and began scanning it, so it took him a moment to register that it wasn’t just another job.

Leaning back, he checked the header and then began to read it again carefully. It was a copy of an official message to Iriala from the head branch of the Mages’ Guild in Teres. She or one of her people must have dropped off a copy for him while he was out.

Archmage Iriala,

Thank you for keeping me in the loop regarding the ongoing developments in Halfbridge. I spoke with Guildmaster Deirin of the Adventurers’ Guild and I thought you might be interested to know that several parties have reported hostile encounters with small groups of duergar in the Azure Caverns and the Depths below. When I approached the Solicitors’ office in Teres, they told me they were already investigating demonic activity in the Depths. Despite this, they seemed unwilling to definitively name the Duergar presence as its cause, as your local branch head apparently did.

There are unconfirmed rumors of sightings beneath Loamfurth as well. Deirin is working to get more eyes down below to keep an eye on the situation as it develops, and we’re working together to ensure that the more martial temple orders are at least making some quiet preparations for a large-scale conflict.

The King has been made aware of the situation, but you know how long it can take for the court to move on a threat. Several guilds and prominent personages have already taken note and are quietly suggesting that we’re looking for an excuse to arm up in order to grow our influence or even seize power from the nobility. I urge you to prepare, but be careful. We can’t upset the political balance, or we’ll be fighting each other by the time the Duergar come spilling out of the Depths.

Best Regards

Archmage Paolos

Ed put the letter down with a snort. As if they needed the reminder. They were the ones with a Duergar army stationed less than a mile away, even if they had one of their own standing in the way. While several of their own local guilds were doing their best to give him a headache every damned day, nobody really doubted the threat that the dwarves represented.

When he and Iriala had presented the idea of creating a new guard force to the count, the old count had practically jumped at the chance.

Creating any kind of extraneous defense force was a dangerous move for a Beseri noble – it might be considered a threat to the King’s absolute authority over military matters, after all. So, Narald’s eagerness and his willingness to take the risk said a lot about how seriously he was taking the Duergar threat. It, perhaps, said even more about his confidence in General Arice, who was tasked with protecting the city of Halfbridge from that threat.

It likely didn’t hurt that Iriala had gotten Guard Commander Righmond to sign off on the proposal before they presented it. The lump of a man wanted nothing to do with real work, never mind anything genuinely risky. He was more than happy to throw his weight behind the idea of putting the Underkeepers between his guard and the enemy army. Especially since failing to back the proposal would have put him in charge of security for Narald’s new Undercity project by default. That would include not only spending a lot of time underground, it also meant liaising with the Beseri army on behalf of the Count.

Considering how tense the relationship between the Count and general Arice already was, Righmond could be forgiven for his reluctance to take on that particular job. Ed didn’t really want it either, but it was fine. Talking to annoying people was just the price of doing business.

Now, Ed just had to hope that he’d actually find some reasonably qualified applicants to join his new Underkeeper guard force. Who would possibly want to join an order that, until now, had served as little more than a convenient place to exile politically inconvenient mages?

The archmages’ stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t had dinner yet and it was past time to leave all this crap for tomorrow. There was a new restaurant that a few sea elves from the Vorellian Isles had just opened in the Upper District and he found that he was in the mood for some overly elaborate cuisine. Heaving himself up out of his chair, he put the letter down on the table, re-tied his robe to keep out the evening chill and grabbed his scarf from the hook on the door.

He stepped out into the main room of the Underkeepers’ headquarters and stopped in his tracks. There were dim lights on – small candles that someone had placed on a bench that just barely illuminated two small figures with eyes that glowed in the dark like those of a cat.

With a gesture, Ed cast a force barrier in front of himself and followed up with a light over his shoulder.. It illuminated the two goblins, both of whom shrank back in annoyance at the brightness. One went so far as to hold up a hand to block the glare.

Neither made any move or said anything for a moment. Then one, the elder of the two, leaned forward and flicked the barrier with a finger, causing little ripples of light to emanate out from the point of impact. The balding goblin had a bit of gray in what was left of his black hair, but wore a motley collection of armor that looked well used. The younger one was dressed in a normal tunic and stared at him wide-eyed, apparently surprised at his reaction.

Ed hesitated, trying to make sense of the scene. What the hell?

“Hmph.” Ed grunted, dismissing the barrier. “We’re closed. What are you doing here?”

“Archmage.” The elder one nodded in greeting, apparently not in the least intimidated by Ed’s display of magic. “Word is that you’re looking for guards for the new Undercity. We’re looking to join the Underkeepers.”