Glory and her Inspector, Dakara, had been speaking for a couple hours now, most recently about the income streams of the guild: the cuts she took from the various shops and services, the rental of the tavern space, her cut of the contract payouts, and other items. They'd circled the topics rather extensively, and Dakara was took some last few notes before they moved on.
“Let’s talk about expenses.”
Glory took a sip of her drink and leaned forward. Here we go, she thought. “Yes, let’s.”
Dakara pulled out a notebook from his breast pocket, lined with notes and some figures. “As I’m sure you realize, your guild is one of the most expensive projects on the whole of the frontier. I understand that a lot of this is warranted, because you're so close to the Demon Lands and their infiltrations, but it also means there are plenty of places money can slip away, if one isn’t paying close attention to the way funds are handled. I came here to sort out a few of those concerns.”
Glory tried to take a deep breath without showing that she was stressed. This was where a lot of her decision-making in favor of the lives of her mercenaries would be tested.
“It has come to our attention that you have a history of ranking up jobs for higher-ranking mercenaries to care for, before the Scouts come back to report whether that is truly warranted.” Dakara placed his notes on the table. “I think you can see where the concern might be there. If you make sure that we send more expensive Rank 2 parties out, when a cheaper Rank 1 party would do, that is an inordinate drain on resources, especially with the frequency that you use this tactic.”
“Sir, that increase in funds is much less of a cost than the price of dead men. How much of your budget is dedicated to the payouts to families’ of the deceased? Because our – no – my strategy of mitigating the risk to lower-ranked members is why the cost for the care of our dead and their families’ is half, or even a third, of what it is in other, more central, less populated guilds.”
“I can understand that argument,” Dakara said, “But don’t you think you’re getting in the way of Rank 1 people who want to use those higher-paying, or higher-risk, jobs to train their abilities or buy high grade equipment? You’ve told me before that you are not a mother to these people, but you seem to contradict that by taking certain decisions out of their hands, when you feel it benefits…who, exactly?”
Glory almost sputtered. “It benefits me by keeping my mercs alive. Every single one of them is a valuable resource with potential. It doesn’t help me to send people out to die before they can even realize that potential! Less dead mercenaries means a greater roster to send out when times get tough, which I believe is expected rather soon.
Dakara nodded, as though he had expected her to answer this way. He made a small note in his notebook.
“Even if I grant you all of that, Glory, there have been several reports over the last couple years of you refusing even some Rank 1 contracts to Rank 1 mercenaries – making them team up before you'll allow them to attempt certain contracts. I can understand some of this.” Dakara said, deferentially. “You don't want solo Healers attempting combat roles. But the number of these complaints – as well as your history of ranking jobs up – suggests that the frequency with which you use these privileges hews awfully close to abuse, Glory.”
She had to stifle a cry of outrage, and failed to suppress the squirming that resulted. Abuse!
Dakara continued. “There's a real worry that this creates a chilling effect on your Rank 1 mercs. If so many of the contracts on offer need to be split up, thus splitting the rewards, then mercenaries are disincentivized from doing those contracts. When they go undone, those Rank 1 targets become Rank 2 problems, causing Rank 2 damage. At that point, people are dying. Civilians are dying, instead of mercenaries who sign up for the risk.”
Glory's throat tightened.
Dakara continued. “How can you keep restricting the free actions of your Rank 1 roster when it results in the deaths of the very people the guilds serve to protect?”
Glory's mind scrambled for answers as she felt her guts squirm and drop. This wasn't a possibility she'd wanted to consider. But the logic was sound. Was she not preventing deaths, but instead, redirecting them to other people? She started to follow the path he'd laid out for her, seeing all the possible knock-on effects of her decisions.
Then she stopped herself. 'A real worry,' he'd said. 'Of a chilling effect.'
“Do you have reports to back that idea up? Vane Gloria is one of the only populated towns around, invading forces would have to go well past us to get to most other civilian populations. And,” Glory continued, regaining her footing, “they would come into range of other guilds in the area. Vane/Gloria's was created, in part, to be a first line of defense, not the whole of it. We aren't a wall that repels all attackers; we thin the hordes so that what gets through is smaller, less of a threat, easier to handle.
“As long as the Scouts are given the resources to do their jobs, there's no reason why the guilds farther in couldn't take the demons that get through with their own Rank 2 rosters.”
Her heart still hammered, and she realized she was full-on glaring at Dakara in his chair. She felt her flushed cheeks start to pale again, as she realized she'd lost her composure. She straightened in the chair again, but slumped her shoulders, visibly taking a second to relax.
“I'm sorry. Your implication... upsets me.”
Dakara nodded, writing an extended passage in his notebook. Grave. Imperious.
This was a lot more combative than Glory had been expecting.
As he wrote, she tried to refocus. He hasn't brought concrete examples of the poor results of my leadership. Unless he starts pulling out the files of families that have been killed as a direct result of my meddling, I think I might be safe. This is all starting to sound like it's meant to throw me off-balance, not accuse me of an actual crime. Is this all a confidence game?
Her train of thought was cut short as Dakara spoke again.
“What sort of preparations are you making for the coming offensive into the Demon Lands?”
Glory shrugged and looked Dakara dead in the eyes. “Not much, yet. We’ll set up a new board specifically for quests into the Demon Lands, and I’ve already stacked more shifts onto guard duties for the next few weeks after reports of some… increased imp activity. But other than that, we have most things taken care of.. I believe we have a meeting with another Official in a week or two that will be going over specific expectations of the guilds. Once I have that meeting, I can make big plans if I need to, but for right now, we’re in a comfortable place.”
A derisive look from Dakara made her want to wilt, but she kept her back straight in her chair.
“That is not a proactive approach, Ms. Glory.”
Glory waved him off. “This isn’t an area where a proactive approach would help me. Trying to predict what the Office's plans are for the invasion isn't in my best interest – if I get it wrong, all the missions I assign would either come out of our overhead budget, threatening our own solvency; or at the cost of the Office's tax money. Then you get to come in here with real evidence of wasted resources.
“The only other way for me to get a handle on the current state of the Demon Lands would be to send in my own self-employed team of Scouts. We couldn’t get away with doing that for long; my mother is directly responsible for the way the Scouts are handled by the Office. Employing them myself – or, beg pardon, poaching them from the Office’s ranks, which I would do – would invite the sort of political games my mother tried to keep us out of – tried to keep the defense of Alacandra’s border out of.”
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Dakara just scribbled in his notepad, leaving Glory sitting for an uncomfortably long minute.
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Villara stood behind the weapon shop, fielding questions from a couple of mercenaries that were looking to rank up.
“What about that one there? That’s a Wind sword, isn’t it?” one asked, pointing to a sword behind her with a high price tag.
Villara shrugged and nodded. “Sure, it’s a Wind blade. But it takes more than a matching element to make a good focus for you. One Wind enchantment might make your strikes faster, or apply more force; while another enchantment might make it so that you can shoot blades of Wind at the enemy.”
“So what does that one do?”
Villara peered at the crystal core that ran up the middle of the blade. “Well, this one is more of a defensive blade. It doesn’t apply extra force to your strike; instead it redirects the force of other weapons that hit it.”
“That doesn’t seem strong at all,” grumbled the customer.
Villara shrugged. “It’s not. But sometimes strength isn’t what you need in a fight. This weapon is more for Tank-class Rank 2 mercs: the people that antagonize enemies so that they attack the person with armor and Resilience runes, instead of... the people without those. They’re meant to go into fights with a physical shield, and use something like this,” she gestured to the expensive Wind sword, “to deflect attacks away from them or their party.”
“Hmm.” The customer tapped on the table, mulling over the other options on the rack behind her.
“I have an idea,” Villara said before they could say anything else. “Why don't you tell me what it is you're trying to do, what role you want to fill? Then I can show you a weapon or two that might help you with that goal.”
That question was the crux of her service. A lot of mercs, especially the young ones, will come to the weapon shop in search of some inspiration for what role they wanted. But the problem with that tactic is: you typically don't know what you need to excel in a role, until you've performed in that role. Once you know your shortcomings, you can seek out equipment that either improves those qualities, or works around those shortcomings to empower your strengths.
Villara's father had given her this advice about choosing professional equipment: If you don't know why you need to spend the extra money for the fancy stuff, you don't need the fancy stuff. This is why, when Villara's customer had pointed at the pricey sword and asked what it did, she knew which sort of customer she had on her hands: the sort that didn't have a role in mind, and hoped that more money meant more power.
She loved disabusing people of that notion.
The customer waffled over exactly what he wanted. “I mean, I want to be flexible enough to fill any role, you know? But I need something strong to keep up with me.”
The next time her customer pointed at a different top-shelf sword, Villara waved them off. “Look, I know what you need, even if I think you might not like hearing it.” She pointed at a spot around the corner of her booth, where thin cases of wands for various runes sat on the counter, perused by a young Lancer.
The customer narrowed their eyes.
Villara narrowed hers in turn.
“Cheap, generalist wands are not bad choices. They're an inexpensive way to figure out which style of magic or combat suits you best. Wanting to 'fill any role' is exactly what a generalist wand is for. People trying to get into swords or other melee weapons are making a definitive statement about how they want to approach combat. You probably won't be casting-”
The man growled at her, “I am not some novice for you to lecture to. I didn't come here to buy a child's toy.”
He ceased to be 'the customer' in Villara's mind.
“Listen, Asshole, if you think I'm going to sell you a weapon that you don't know what to do with, without giving you a lecture, you're kidding yourself. I don't want that kind of publicity.” She couldn't believe the number of times she'd overheard someone say 'my last merchant sold me a bad sword' only for Villara to look at it and see a fantastic sword – but wrong for the one who had bought it.
The asshole only got more worked up, pointing aggressively and shouting. “Your job isn't to tell me what I want! It's to sell me what I-” He drifted off. “What I need...”
His gaze turned glassy. He stared ahead, looking at some point twenty feet through the wall past Villara, as another presence walked up behind him. He did not turn to see her, only felt her as the source of the magic that suppressed him. Suppressed him utterly.
Hadn't he been angry, just now? He remembered it flooding him as she kept insulting him. Hadn't he been sad and frustrated, because he felt he should have known everything that she was saying? Wasn't he embarrassed, wasn't he stressed, hadn't his head been going white from the drumroll of his beating heart? And...
Why had he cared so much?
“Why don't you go home and consider all of this a bit more?” Bes's voice was quiet, a deeper woman's voice. She barely inflected at all as she talked.
The sound would have made the hair on Asshole's neck rise, if it were possible to feel fear right then. Instead, he felt an enforced numbness. He acknowledged that he words were a good idea, given the circumstance, and he turned to walk out.
“Wait!” Villara grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. Asshole did not resist.
She spoke to him earnestly, while he was under Bes's glare. “If you're feeling up to it, come back tomorrow. I'll help you find the right wand, an appropriate wand. I promise I won't even gloat.”
Done speaking, she gestured to the door, and Asshole turned and left, closing the door gently on the way out.
The lobby was silent for a moment – it wasn't everyday that you got to see Bes in action, and it was a pretty scary sight the first time you see it. If you knew to look, you could see them trying to panic, but the emotion wouldn't take hold.
Villara breathed a silent chuckle as she took in the sight. A dozen or so pairs of eyes stared at Bes, and the door where Asshole had departed – including the wide eyes of Glory, and Dakara, the inspector!
Villara's mouth clamped into a nervous line. I have no idea what an Inspector is going to make of that.
Bes noticed them standing there as well. She simply looked Dakara full in the face, bowed slightly to him, and returned to her desk.
A few voices started to pick back up as the main attraction for them was all over. But most others had clued in to the significance of the suited man among them, and redirected their attention to whatever his reaction was going to be.
Glory thanked the stars when he, at the very least, kept it subtle. He slowly walked up to the potion bench, where Bes had already flipped her book open to read. She glanced at him over the top of the open pages, and, instead of asking what he'd like, she raised her eyebrows in question.
Dakara coughed, suddenly self-conscious of the quiet room. “Miss...”
“Bes.”
“Miss Bes.”
“Bes.”
“Ah-h, right. Bes. Might I ask...what runes were those?”
Bes lowered the book slightly. Then she flashed the pink runes without using the power – causing Dakara to flinch – and she said: “Calm.”
Calm? Calm runes? Dakara thought.
“That's...that's like...emotional magic?” Dakara shook his head. “I've never heard of the like.”
The corners of Bes's eyes twitched. “I discovered them. They're new.”
Astounding. Not an unheard of event, but remarkably rare. “How? And, would you-”
“Sixty million gold.”
Dakara balked, almost laughing aloud at the outrageous sum. On second thought, though...a new rune, and, possibly, an entire new field of runes to discover? That might be worth such a sum.
Dakara shook his head at the concept, and said, “I'll pass along the message. Perhaps someone will want to pay you.” He was sure she could be negotiated down.
He turned back to look at Glory behind him. She looked stricken, that he had come out to that scene. He thought for a moment about whether there was anything to take issue with in what the staff had done, deciding that there wasn't. He drew up to Glory, stoic; but then placed a hand on her shoulder. “They handled that very well.”
Dakara stepped around her and headed towards the front door, turning and saying over his shoulder, “I'm going to take that walk around the outside of the premises, as a quick break to stretch my legs. I'll be back shortly. Take a few minutes to relax.”
As the front door closed behind him, it took everything in Glory's will not to collapse on the floor. Instead, groaning, she wandered into the tavern. She needed a drink. She'd figure out which kind when she got there.