Chapter 9: Sometimes You're Kicked From the Nest, Sometimes You Sneak Out

You couldn’t call it a dungeon. The mayor’s basement didn’t even really count as a cell, in Cecilia’s estimation, except for the fact that it did have a locked door, a sturdy and iron-bound portal up a short flight of stone stairs. But other than this, it was a root cellar.

Or what Cecilia always imagined a root cellar to look like. Complete with roots - in this case, root vegetables, which were stacked in dry bins against the walls. The floors were hard-packed dirt, there were a few shelves that had clay vessels of various sorts, filled with oils, packed food, and some barrels of what Cantor said were harvest ale. There were no windows, but two lanterns in strategic places gave off the kind of strong, steady light she associated with electric bulbs rather than oil.

Only the three, plain wooden beds shoved against the far wall, the chamber pots, and the fact that the door didn’t open gave away the fact that this was, in fact, meant to hold people. Cecilia stared up at the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling, her hands held up in the air.

She was trying to practice the light spell, since there was nothing else to do. The grimoire Cantor had lent her was confiscated, along with her other things, but the light spell itself was very simple, in theory.

It proved to be harder in practice. Cecilia frowned at the space between her hands. She tried to picture it as the book, and Cantor, had told her. To draw the light azoth within herself up through her body, and out through the palms of her hands. The grimoire advised her to have a verbal incantation to guide her through it. Unfortunately, that incantation was in some language that her magical translation powers didn’t seem to work on. It stubbornly remained a looping, intricate series of circles and dots.

So, she’d made up her own. Or stolen it. She hummed a couple of bars, then sang, “In the velvet darkness, of the blackest night - burning bright, there’s a guiding star. No matter what, or who you are.”

There was a snort from nearby. Cantor, sprawled on his own bed, said, “Won’t work, I’m afraid.”

“You’re breaking my concentration,” Cecilia said. “And I couldn’t read the other incantation. This one was working. I could feel–” Something she couldn’t feel now, she realized. There was no tingle of azoth working its way up her arms, no gathering sense of power.

Cantor waved a hand towards the door. “The room is warded. Against magic and active skill use. Otherwise, you could probably just break the door down. And most bandits have at least one escape skill.”

“Damn.” She lowered her hands and scooted up to a sitting position. She still looked human, so whatever it was, it didn’t kill her Disguise. “So my hope that you were just waiting for the right moment to magic us out of here is in vain?”

He also sat up. His robes had been taken, and it was the first time she’d seen him without them. Underneath the intricately designed white cloth, he had been wearing a simple tunic and loose trousers. The fabric was quite thin, no doubt to keep him from getting overheated under those robes, and sleeveless. Cecilia was surprised to note that his arms had a fair amount of definition - and a number of old scars. “I fear so. I did try to rescue you from this fate.”

If this was Earth, Cecilia probably could have found a pillow to throw at him, but the beds here didn’t seem to include them, even when you weren’t in a cell. She contented herself with making a face at him, and muttering, “Running away would have been an asshole move, Cantor.”

“Sometimes there’s a good reason to be an asshole,” he said, with a sigh. “But there’s no point in getting upset about it, now.”

“What’s going to happen to you?” Cecilia already knew her fate; Orn had sent a message to the Capital, and presumably the Explorers there would be along to fetch her into a life of luxurious slavery in a week. Maybe two, from what she’d heard.

Cantor shrugged. “I’m sure I will be stripped of my Guild membership, and I doubt Ikshan will be a welcoming place for me after this. But if I agree to simply forget that you ever existed, no doubt I’ll be released to my own devices.” When she cocked an eyebrow at that, he chuckled. “Since I am not inclined to do that…I’ll probably attempt to rescue you on the road. There are some potential opportunities. Not good ones, mind you.”

“You know, on my world, someone who’s willing to break you out of jail is considered a top class friend. It’s not quite ‘hide a body’ friendship, but it’s pretty close.”

“Oh, well.” She was delighted by the way the tips of his ears turned a notably deeper shade. “I’m never going to get a chance to study for a unique and elite class hybrid. That’s all.”

She snickered, but that was mostly to tease him. In truth, she was grateful for the thought. “What do you think your chances would be? In this hypothetical rescue attempt.”

Cantor’s head dropped, and he studied his hands as if they might hold some secret even to himself. “Not good, Cecilia. Not good at all. But I will try.”

He radiated a sense of defeat, and she immediately felt bad. To cheer him up, she said, “I leveled, you know. Level five.”

“Oh?” As she’d hoped, his head came up, silver eyes lightening with interest. “How odd. I supposed overcoming your creator might have helped–”

“Not my creator, Cantor.”

With an apologetic wince, Cantor corrected, “The body’s creator, sorry. Obviously, you are a person apart from that. But it was likely a significant milestone. Have you already chosen your new benefits?”

“Not yet. I’ve got six stat points this time, not just three. Still just two skill points, and one technique to choose, though.”

He tapped his fingers against his crossed thighs, thinking. “Some classes, particularly rare ones, are like that. They give unusual benefits at certain multiples - five or ten. I’ve only met one other person with such a boon, though.”

Cecilia was tempted to ask more, but Cantor’s expression twisted as he mentioned it, as if he’d bit into something sour. Since she’d never seen him talk about levels or classes with less than delight and fascination, she decided to steer clear, for now. Instead, she said, “What about your class? Any cool bennies you wanna share?”

“Bennies? Ah, another term from your world, I guess.” He smiled. “I have a couple. My main class is mage, though, and that’s pretty standard. There are a dozen or so mages in any city worthy of the term. Usually, with the common classes you’re looking at subclasses for your ‘cool bennies’.”

“And you’re a…scholar, right?”

“Class scholar,” he corrected, a bit sheepishly. “It’s a very niche subclass. Outside of a ruler’s court, or a training school, it’s usually considered to be somewhat useless. In those venues, though, it’s quite valuable. I have access to skills that let me see people’s classes, and block my own from being known without having to use a potion or artifact. And I can get a sense of their skills and abilities, if I get a good read on them.”

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Cecilia perked up. “That doesn’t sound useless to me.”

Cantor continued to look awkward, almost as if he were embarrassed, or didn’t quite believe her. “It’s very good in administrative positions. Or as an advisor. But for adventurers? We don’t tend to have a lot of human opponents outside of bandits, and even someone with no skill at all figures out the usual Bandit skills pretty quickly. And other adventurers can be, ah, less than welcoming. They tend to have uncommon or rare classes, and don’t always enjoy others knowing what they may be able to field.”

“Which is why people use those awful tasting potions.”

“Not all of them taste awful,” he protested with a half-hearted smile. “I’m just bad at alchemy. It hasn’t been a priority.”

“When we get out of this, I’m going to insist on you working on that.” She kept it light, playful and hopeful all at once. But something he’d said caught her attention. “You said human opponents. Are humans the only ones with classes? Are there even non-humans? Like, I don’t know, elves? Dwarves? Whatever?”

“Oh, yes. There are several other thinking peoples across the world. This area is dominated by humanity, although you’ll see the other People in cities. You remember the Bil-Toong? From the ruins?” At her nod, he continued, “They were the dominant civilization here for a couple of hundred years. I won’t say they were actively xenophobic, but they considered murder to be a cultural hobby, and practiced it vigorously on each other and everyone else in reach. The other People fled their insanity when they became tired of being eternal target practice. Once the Bil-Toong fell, it was humans who ventured back first.”

“What sorts of P–” Cecilia broke off, stared at the door. “Did you hear that?”

Cantor nodded. They both got up, as quietly as possible. The door rattled again, a faint shivering in its frame, as if someone were testing the doorknob.

Or picking a lock. Just as Cecilia had the thought, the door opened, slowly. Cantor rose up on his toes, and gave her a look. A chance. This time, Cecilia had no objection to taking it. She jerked her chin in agreement and leaped forward, grabbing the door and yanking it wide with one hand, the other fist already pulling back to land a sucker punch on whatever poor asshole had been assigned to check on them.

“Cecilia, it’s me! Don’t!” It was a hiss, but she still recognized Shin.

She almost hit her, anyway. It was only the fact that the hunter had white robes draped over one shoulder, and Cecilia’s pack tucked under her arm that stopped her. As she hesitated, Shin said, “I am here to help.”

“Help who, exactly?” Cantor muttered, peering past Cecilia and eyeing Shin with clear distrust. Cecilia wanted to say she felt differently, but she didn’t lower her fist.

Shin didn’t seem surprised. Instead of answering in words, she thrust the pack at Cecilia, who took it by instinct, then pulled Cantor’s robes from her shoulder, and handed those to Cecilia as well. She passed them back and - distrust or not - he quickly began to dress. Cecilia checked the bag; everything seemed to be there.

No, the bag had more than she’d had before; rations and her koil bag and more of the vials of class blocking potion. “Hurry,” Shin whispered. “I got someone to call the mayor away, but it is not a large town. We have little time.”

What could they say to that? Neither were inclined to stick around and argue. Even if Cecilia expected that Cantor was saving up arguments for later. They followed her up and out, and she closed the door carefully behind them. “Follow me exactly,” she said. “And stay close, or my skills will not cover you.”

They followed. They weren't the most stealthy creatures ever; Cecilia in particular had a tendency to thump when she walked, especially if she wasn’t paying attention. But as long as they stayed close to Shin, she noticed that her footfalls were mere whispers of sound.

The sun had set since they had been imprisoned, and the town was cloaked in darkness. Most of the shutters were drawn on the houses, and Shin murmured, “The golem-maker was not captured. The Guild has warned people to stay inside, unless they are on the walls, keeping lookout.”

“We’re not heading towards the gates,” Cantor noted, casting a wistful look towards his rented rooms.

Shin just shook her head. She led them past the pastures, to where the great log wall jutted straight up against the sky. “It’s a dead end,” Cecilia said, tense and ready for an ambush. Why Shin would bring them all the way out here just to ambush them, she couldn’t have said. But none of this made any sense.

Smiling, Shin stepped up to a dense thicket growing against the walls, and pushed it aside. The bushes parted with insulting ease, and revealed a small, dark spot against the walls. Cecilia rubbed at her eyes, then looked again. “You dug a hole in the fence?”

“I made pit traps. What was one more pit? We split up; no one noticed.”

Cecilia took a deep breath. “You…you planned this days ago? Why didn’t you say?”

Shin’s smile faltered. She looked away. “I did not know that I would go through with it. I was not sure why I made this, at the time. I thought just in case. But you fought bravely. And you saved my life. You are my friend, Cecilia. Whatever else you are.”

Cantor sucked in a harsh breath. The women looked in his direction, and Shin added, “You, too, are a friend, of course.”

“That’s not–” he hesitated. “Never mind. It’s not important. Let’s go. Shin? Thank you.”

She waited until he was moving past, then reached out and flicked his ear so hard he had to stifle his yelp. “I am still angry, Cantor. And now I am leaving a place I liked. You owe me.”

“Guys,” Cecilia hissed, “Not the time.” They looked back at the quiet town, then wriggled their way through the small gap, and into the night.

*

Across two worlds, things began.

In one world, a woman stood before a grave. She carried no flowers, and did not weep. Instead, she remembered the woman whose body rested under her feet, and could not believe that someone so irritating would ever be accommodating enough to throw herself off a building. She wore a lovely pair of earrings that were really too much for the casual outfit, and if she mourned, it was an angry grief, one tinged with resentment and exasperation.

In the same city, marks of a magic that belonged to another place appeared again in places where they had been carefully erased only weeks before. The sluggish energies of this nearly magicless world stirred once more, like sap rising in a cold, late spring. It would take time and effort for the way to be prepared once more - before the hands that traced each rune had to find another target, orchestrate another death.

In the other world, three adventurers fled in the dark of night towards a city, in hopes that even someone as unusual as one of their number could blend in while they figured out what to do next. If they were not as blindly trusting of each other as they had been, they had still weathered their friendship’s first test without the fragile bonds breaking under the strain.

In another city, at the center of the continent, a woman dreamed of a glorious prize, a beacon to light the way for change in the world; a change that it sorely needed, in her opinion. She will not know that the prize has slipped her grasp for another three days; tonight, she is immersed over her head in her enormous salt water bath, and her gills hum with pleasure and wonder.

Much farther away, on another continent entirely, a very ambitious man stretched his influence to its limits, whispering orders into faraway ears. He was missing a soul - something which had been said of him even before this particular venture. It wasn’t true. He had a powerful soul, and bent it all to one purpose: finding the golem-maker.

Not that far from where the three fled, the world’s most sought after golem-maker crouched in a ruin, guarded by his remaining creations, and wept for what he had lost. Not just the finest of his creations, but a silent, eternally loyal companion. He was a craftsman without his Tool, and even had his other golems had the capacity to recognize his pain, they could have done nothing to soothe it. They held nothing in their misshapen heads but obedience and for the first time, he hated them for it.

Finally, and also not that far from the three, but in a different direction, a large but simple wagon, drawn by two lizard-like creatures, set out on a journey. The man hunched behind the reins had no interest in golems, and no knowledge of otherworldly travelers, although he thought himself both well-read and quite curious about many things. He dozed as the beasts trundled their way through the dark, and made plans for his arrival in the city. If he noted the creaking of strained wood from his wagon, it was only as an annoyance. Among the things he did not know was the fact that this creaking would soon become a crack, and then a broken axle. He also did not know that there were no spare parts or repair materials among the many objects of the wagon.

But he would find out.