4.27 Surprise Mission

Hi all, I'm not better yet, but I've finally managed to get another chapter out. More soon. I'm also running edits on some prior chapters to try to clean up some setup things for the RR version, mostly as per your guys' helpful feedback. You guys don't always get the best and cleanest version of the story here, but your comments and interactions help to make the writing process more interactive.

Your thoughts, fan theories, typo reports and criticisms are incredibly useful to me, both at face value and because they give me an idea of the reader perspective, which informs what points of lore and characterization need to be emphasized as I go on to keep everything on track, and what can be safely cut or summarized. You guys are the best. As always, thanks for reading!

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Bernt extinguished his hellfire flame, examining the spellform that would become his patient’s new investiture for any malformations he might have missed when the door burst open and Archmage Dalbrand strode in. The half-elf geomancer sitting in the chair flinched reflexively at the sudden noise, her foot marring the chalk rune circle at her feet. The spellform of her chosen material collapsed down onto her weakened spirit and she gasped at the uncomfortable sensation, eyes wide.

“Circulate your mana!” Bernt said urgently. He wasn’t sure what would happen if she didn’t but he knew what it felt like to have a powerful magical material collapse on the last fraying thread of your spirit.

He could see it when the words got through to her. The slightly off-color spellform through which her spirit had been threaded whitened as it absorbed the material’s magical potential, growing stronger. A few seconds later, nothing else remained.

Bernt let out a breath of relief and turned to the archmage, who was waving to him.

“What’s going on?” he asked, approaching the man. “That was dangerous, we might have lost a mage, there.”

Dalbrand drew his lips into a line. “Soldiers are used to dealing with surprises. Some things can’t wait – we have a situation. Come!”

Bernt looked back at his patient hesitantly for a second, but the archmage was already leaving. He was done, technically – the half-elf would only have to let the investiture fold back into her spirit. The others, those who were still waiting for treatment, were already getting up to leave.

Decision made, he hurried to catch up, following the impatient archmage out of the building and down the street. He tried a few probing questions, but Dalbrand just shook his head and kept walking, turning down a broad street toward the river.

Bernt followed behind, frustration building in his chest. What was happening? Why wouldn't the archmage tell him anything? This, this was exactly what he'd always wanted to avoid. It was why he'd avoided joining the military and tried to find a way to become an adventurer. He was being pushed around like a piece on a game board.

Dalbrand and Duke Renhild, Iriala, the Temple of Noruk, even Xul'evareg and this new goblin tribe – they wanted to use him. And now here he was, with no idea what he was walking into.

He felt a sudden, nonsensical urge to turn around. To leave all this behind and go home. To quit. But he knew it was useless. It was too late to back out. He was committed, and he'd had a hand in creating at least part of this situation himself. He'd been arrested because, somehow, the Madzhuris had learned about Jori. He'd volunteered to become Torvald's legitimator despite the risk. He'd contractually tied himself to the guild and the duke and archmage Dalbrand here to further his own ambitions. And, if he didn’t miss his guess, he'd summoned the spirit that Xul'evareg and those underground goblins wanted to offer him up to.

A few minutes later, with the river docks already in sight, Dalbrand led Bernt abruptly into a narrow alley and raised a hand to trace a few symbols into the air without stopping. His focus was an intricately crafted sort of metal glove, more jewelry than gauntlet.

“Did you bring your things?” he asked, looking over his shoulder as the stone wall of a large building a few steps in front of them noiselessly folded in on itself, creating an arched doorway. The archmage stepped through without hesitation.

“Yes, I have everything in my bag.” Bernt said, following him inside. “I didn’t have time to find a place to stay here yet. Are you going to tell me what’s going on, now?” 

The archmage closed the wall up behind them, leaving them in darkness for a moment. Reflexively, Bernt started casting a torch spell, but faltered briefly as a shiver of fear rippled him like a knife in his gut. He flinched at the oppressive feeling and tried again, but before he could cast, the room was illuminated brightly by Dalbrand’s own mage light, which lazily rose toward the ceiling. They were in what looked like an empty storage room with a single door gaping open on the far side.

Bernt whirled to look at the archmage, who raised an eyebrow. He looked only mildly curious – almost bored. 

“What?”

“Is that the pyromancer boy?” Xul’evareg’s voice sounded from beyond the far door. Bernt turned again to look and a second later, Ina’s face appeared as she leaned into the doorway.

“It’s him and the duke’s war mage,” she called over her shoulder. Then she waved. “Hi guys!”

Bernt could practically feel the archmage’s disapproval radiating from behind him, but he waved back and walked over to join the adventurers. Elyn, Nirlig, Estrid, Ina and Xul’evareg sat in a wide hallway that led out to a huge open storage area loaded with tall stacks of crates and sacks. Along the hallway were several more doors just like the one he’d come out of, probably leading to other “small” storage rooms. From where they sat, they could see two sets of doors on either side of the building – one on the street side, and the other on the far side of the large storage space, likely directly next to one of the piers. Nirlig was snacking on a pungent fish sandwich, much to Elyn’s visible displeasure.

“Is there a reason we’re meeting in a warehouse?” Xul’evareg asked Dalbrand as he joined the group a moment later. “What’s with all the sudden secrecy?” She sounded suspicious and annoyed, but not nervous.

“We’re waiting for one more,” he replied, “and we’re meeting here because we have concerns about our operational security. I’ll brief you all together once the last member of your party is here.”

They sat around in awkward silence for less than a minute before the main door opened a crack and a well-dressed woman in an expensive cloak stepped inside, carrying a bag much like Bernt’s over her shoulder. It was Minister Jesra.

“Hello?” she called to the group, squinting to make out their faces in the relatively low light. “Archmage Dalbrand? Is there a reason we’re meeting here instead of in my office, or yours? Diplomacy is often subtle, but rarely secret.”

“Minister Jesra, thank you for joining us,” Dalbrand said as she approached, “I’m sorry about the sudden change of plans, but it couldn’t be helped. Are you aware of recent developments at the Peaks?”

“I caught a rumor on my way out of the guild that the Madzhuris are trying to justify an invasion, or staging a coup, or something in that direction, but,” she pointedly looked at Bernt, “I lost my primary contact up there, so I don’t have the facts, unfortunately.”

“It’s close enough to the truth, but we have complementary intelligence from our scryers that Margrave Aziri began massing troops at the border last night. They could be ready for limited deployment as soon as tomorrow. We’re out of time.”

Jesra frowned consideringly. “You think he’s going to try to take the crystal mines.”

“They already tried arresting Sorcerer Bernard here. This is the next best way to stop us, assuming they know everything, which we must, considering what has already happened.”

“How did they know about the Karil’Dirin?” Xul’evareg interjected, her face wrinkling deeply as she frowned. “You didn’t tell them, did you? Did Olias do it?”

“No, and you would do well not to refer to his highness so brazenly.”

“Hmpf. He’s not my prince,” she scoffed. “So, what happened then?”

“We don’t know. Only a handful of people were even aware of your quest, never mind what you negotiated with the goblins. It’s why we need to move quickly now. We must assume we’re being observed, possibly by a powerful scrying circle. I had this building warded before we entered, but we will still move quickly to outpace any potential attempts to stop us.”

“You’re coming with us?” Bernt asked, surprised.

“Of course – I have to protect the duke’s investment. Do you have any idea how valuable you’re going to be to our war effort? Besides,” he looked pointedly around the rest of the group, “we need at least one other person besides Minister Jesra who understands basic diplomatic protocol.”

Bernt had spent several weeks carefully studying those, but he didn’t say anything. Reading a book didn’t compare to actual experience, and he didn’t want to play ambassador to the Duergar regardless.

Xul’evareg scoffed. “Protocols. No wonder you needed us to talk to Karil’Dirin for you. Can’t even have an honest conversation without a script.”

The archmage narrowed his eyes at the goblin dangerously and took a breath to respond, but Bernt quickly cut him off.

“Is Uriah coming, too? He was part of the adventurer group, wasn’t he?”

“...no,” replied Dalbrand. “He’s staying here to work on his sorcery research under Head Librarian Zaira. He volunteered to join the mission after bringing Sir Torvald and the foreigner to me this morning, but I denied him.”

“Why?” Bernt frowned in realization. “Wait, are you saving him as a replacement in case I get killed?”

The archmage raised an eyebrow at him challengingly “You are taking my personal protection rather lightly, young man. No, I spoke with him about his experience at Loamfurth weeks ago. It’s obvious he’s cracked. The adventurers guild might not hold its members to any standard, but we pull soldiers in that state out of service. They’re dangerous liabilities in the field. He will be of more use in our new sorcery project. At least he’s properly motivated.”

Bernt wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Uriah had seemed fine to him, for the most part. But… he still knew what the archmage was talking about. He hadn’t asked about Loamfurth since that first day, when he’d found him in the Undercity with the refugees. Uriah had been badly rattled even weeks after the city fell. The other underkeepers – those who’d fought the Duergar below Halfbridge – had been through a lot, too. But ultimately, they’d won. It wasn’t like that for the survivors from Loamfurth. What did it really mean to watch a city get overrun and devoured by demons? Who knew what they might have witnessed?

Taking his silence for agreement, the archmage turned on his heel and marched down toward the far end of the building toward several loading bays, each of which had stacks of goods laid out in discrete piles in front of them. Beat up looking wooden rollers and steel crowbars lay around as if workers had simply dropped them on the ground and left – for all he knew, they had. This place should have been a hive of activity in the middle of the day, so someone had to have cleared them out.

Walking right past these, Dalbrand took a right and led them down a short stair to the side of the building. The wall in front of them melted away, creating first a window and then a doorway out of the building – just like the one Bernt and Dalbrand had entered. Unlike the first one, though, this one didn’t go out into the street. Instead, it opened directly out onto a small stone gangway that bent gracefully down to the deck of a boat. A weather-worn man sat at the tiller, watching with a bored expression.

The archmage strode through and onto the boat like he owned the place.

“Come on, get in and get comfortable. This is a warded scouting vessel. If we’re lucky, their scryers won’t figure out exactly what we’re doing in time to get in our way again.”

The adventurers climbed in, followed by Minister Jesra and finally Bernt. He looked over his shoulder as he stepped out of the doorway. The warehouse was deserted and dark, but somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.