“So. Reckon we’ll have any trouble?” Ban asked Calris as they kitted up in their cabin.

“Na mate. If there was gonna be trouble, Erwell would have assigned more than just us two.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Calris said as he strapped on his greaves.

“How sure?” Ban asked, stopping midway through buckling on his axes.

Calris stopped fiddling with the strap and glanced sideways at his friend. He could tell from Ban’s tone that he was up to something.

“Why?”

“Thought I might give you a chance to win back those silvers,” Ban replied with a smirk.

“If you’re so sure, why don’t we raise the stakes? Say, ten silvers?”

“Done.”

Ban chuckled as Calris straightened up.

“You know something I don’t?”

“Na. I just figured; you have the worst luck of anyone I know when it comes to gambling, right? And I’m really hoping this escort isn’t boring. So, I figured, if you put money up against ‘no attack’, we definitely will be attacked. I get to have some fun and make some coin!”

“Ban. We won’t be attacked just because I put money up against it. You just lost ten silvers.”

“Five on the balance of it all, Cal. And we’ll see,” he replied, nonchalant, as they left the cabin and made their way onto the deck. Ban paused once they were clear of the hold, eyes fixed on the city sprawling over the hill beyond the port. “If nothing else, this should be interesting.”

Calris grunted as he set off down the gangplank. “I’d rather it not be. I’ll be perfectly happy if the mages keep their magic up in their towers and away from us.”

“You just dislike the fact a bog-standard mage could tear you apart with a look.”

“Damn straight! It’s unnatural.”

“That may be, but I still think you’re shit out of luck. I strongly suspect that ‘magic’ you’re fervently hoping stays far away from us is in the crate we’ll be strolling beside.”

As he spoke, Ban pointed to the crate in question. Sailors were loading it onto the back of a cart outside the warehouse, already sweating profusely in the morning heat. Beside the cart was an unusually short Emrinthian, who Calris assumed was the driver, and two tall warriors conversing with the elderly mage they had seen the previous day.

Calris scowled as he stepped onto solid ground and made his way towards them. The warriors wore similar armour to Emrinthian raiders, but replete with pauldrons, greaves, and a chainmail skirt hanging from their helmets to cover their faces, leaving a small slit for their eyes. Their entire outfit, be it metal or cloth, was bright red.

All that said, the most important difference was their weapons. In place of a tulwar and bow, each warrior carried a halberd with a stylised blade resembling a flame. One warrior glanced at the approaching marines and muttered something to the mage. The old man turned, giving them an appraising look.

“Is this all Captain Erwell has provided, then?” he asked in a surprisingly firm voice. He had a strong Emrinthian accent, smooth and pleasant to the ears, almost musical, and Calris noted he seemed much younger up close. Though years in the harsh southern sun had left his skin wrinkled and leathery, and his fiery hair wispy and faded, his brown eyes were bright and intelligent and hard muscle rippled on his slender frame.

“I’m afraid so, your… Magical Excellency?” Calris replied, wishing he had asked the sergeant about the correct etiquette when addressing a mage. Ban snorted beside him, and the mage’s eyebrows shot together.

“What did you just call me?”

I need to think before opening my mouth.

“It’s just… No one actually told us the correct greeting for a mage, sir. Figured I’d have a crack at something official sounding.”

“By the Pantheon, what a crock of shit,” the mage said as he laughed. “My name is High Mage Ferez Abdul Ahud, but you can call me Ferez.”

He extended a calloused hand to Calris and Ban in turn. His grip was like a vice, and Calris grunted in approval as he returned with a crushing shake of his own.

“And what should I call you two?” the mage asked as he released his grip.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Ban Ironkin, at your service,” Ban replied with an overt flourish and bow.

“And I’m Calris.”

“Calris…?”

Here we go, Calris thought, clenching his jaw. He had hoped to avoid giving his family name.

He hated giving it. Ferez seemed a decent enough sort, but so had many others until they discovered Calris’ heritage. Then the decent veneer always fell away to reveal a smug arsehole underneath.

He sighed. “Calris Telruson.”

He couldn’t help but stress the word. The truth was, he had a complex relationship with the name. He had no legacy to carry on, no weight to his name beyond that which he gave himself, but where he came from, many people viewed a man on the merits of his family before the merits of the individual. It was both a source of pride, and a source of shame. He narrowed his eyes, daring the old mage to ridicule him or scoff. Instead, Ferez scratched absentmindedly at his beard.

“Interesting. Any relation to Leonardo Telruson?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I… who?”

“He’s a Tok Risim merchant… slash privateer commodore and slaver slaughterer. An excellent man, if a bit of a dope,” he added, muttering the last bit. “We go way back. He never mentioned family, though.” Ferez paused to look Calris up and down. “Also, you really don’t look to have a drop of Risim blood in you. How curious you have the same family name.”

Ban coughed politely and interjected, well aware of the field of familial caltrops the conversation was strolling over.

“Fez, Telruson is the name given to men with no, uh… family name of their own. Comes from ‘Son of Telrus’, god of the earth.”

“Oh, so you’re a bastard?”

Calris turned beetroot red while behind the mage, one guardsman slapped a palm to his face.

“Yeah? What of it?” Calris asked through clenched teeth.

“So, I suppose Leo is a bastard too, then?”

“Most likely.”

Calris seethed, but, oddly, the mage’s tone tempered the urge to throttle him. It was completely lacking in any of the vitriol Calris was used to, and it left him a little wrong footed. The guardsman who reacted earlier broke the awkward silence by tapping the mage on the shoulder and whispering something in his ear. Ferez’s eyes widened in shock.

“Oh, my goodness! Calris, please accept my apologies. I didn’t realise ‘bastard’ was a derogatory term north of The Rift. Down here it’s… well, not really an issue. Please believe I meant nothing by it.”

Calris blinked. There was no hint of sarcasm or deception in the mage’s tone and his posture looked suitably abashed, but were bastards really so readily accepted down here?

“That’s alright, sir,” he said, unable to keep the caution from his voice. “No harm, no foul.”

Calris wasn’t entirely convinced, but there was just enough doubt to dissuade him from punching on with magic nobility. Ferez nodded, relieved, and turned to the guardsman who had explained his faux par.

“Thank you for correcting me, Asim. By the way, Calris, Ban, these two will work with you on the escort.”

“Interesting uniforms,” Calris said. “Who are they?”

“Phoenix Guardsmen from my college. Elite soldiers who protect our school and some of the higher-ranked mages. Very capable.”

Calris cocked his head to the side as he looked the men over.

“I thought mages became more powerful with age? What could a senior mage possibly need protection from?”

“Other mages mostly. Power, pride and a long lifespan have bred some incredible rivalries over the years. My guardsmen are trained and equipped to fight mages from opposing schools when we come to blows, or hunt down mages who act against the interests of the college.”

Ban nudged Calris in the ribs.

“Still think this is gonna be boring, Cal?” he asked with an obnoxious grin. Calris swatted his hand away with a glare before turning back to Ferez.

“Ferez, how frequently do mages attack each other here?”

“Not very often these days. You should have been around a hundred years ago, though! Those were interesting times.”

Ferez looked almost wistful as his eyes glossed over, reliving some memory. Although he smiled at whatever was circulating in his head, Calris’ heart was hammering in his chest.

Who in the Pit is this guy and what have we gotten ourselves into?

Ferez had said it wasn’t common, but that didn’t mean it never happened, right? And Calris had just put money up against it being quiet. He tried to stamp down on the sinking feeling growing in his stomach.

“Be honest, sir, how likely is a mage attack?”

“My boy, this is The Six Cities. It is unusual, but I can’t rule it out. Don’t worry though,” Ferez said, clapping Calris on the back, “You’re only to deal with mundane threats. Criminal gangs and thieves and the like, very few of whom would willingly anger a college. This should be a fairly relaxed punishment for you.”

Calris blanched, feeling his face go red again.

“You know about our punishment?”

“I can put two and two together. My guards saw your brawl in the tavern yesterday.”

“Oh,” Calris said, feeling a little embarrassed, More so that the company had been caught offloading their problem children for the protection detail than the bar fight itself. He glanced down at his feet, groping for an excuse and coming up with nothing. Fortunately, Ban stepped in to fill the silence.

“So, these guys deal with people powerful mages can’t?” Ban asked, invading the personal space of a guardsman to inspect his armour. The warrior didn’t even flinch, though his eyes did narrow in distaste.

“Oh yes, they are quite formidable,” Ferez replied, oblivious. “Phoenix Guardsmen are selected as youths for training. There are few finer fighters in all the kingdoms.”

“Neat! Fancy a spar when we’re done, lads?” Ban asked. The warrior glared before turning his back on the marine with a disgusted sigh.

“Why does everyone treat us like trash?” Ban asked Calris, mock hurt plastered across his face.

“Probably because we are, mate. Just own it, makes it easier,” Calris replied, making a rude gesture at the guardsman’s back. “So, Ferez, you’re coming with us, I hope?”

“Of course,” Ferez replied, ignoring the exchange between the marines and his men. “I wouldn’t ask you to risk your life on my behalf without being here.”

As he finished talking, a courier approached, handing Ferez a letter with a quick bow before disappearing back into the crowd. The mage frowned as he read it.

“Because of course,” he muttered before turning his gaze back on the marines. “This is terribly embarrassing, and I must apologise, but one of my associates in town has urgently requested my assistance. He would not have called on me if it wasn’t important, but I will catch up with you as quickly as possible.”

The guardsmen nodded, but Ban seemed unnerved.

“If I may, Fez, this timing is suspicious.”

“I’m sure it is just coincidence, my boy, no need to fear.”

Ban looked unconvinced, but nodded slowly all the same.

“If you say so. Gods’ speed and gods willing, we’ll see you soon.”