Chapter 14: There's No Such Thing as a 'Little' Involved

Cantor was looking frazzled but healthier when Cecilia and Mynet entered. He was sitting at the small table, clearly trying to project alertness and relaxation at the same time. Instead, he was hitting ‘drunk who insists he’s only had one drink’ vibes to Cecilia. “Mynet. Hello. What a coincidence. Didn’t expect to see you again.”

Shin rolled her eyes. Her smile was warmer and more genuine. “It is good to see you again. Take a seat. Would you like something to drink? There is only water from the wells, I fear, but it is cool and you look...warm.”

Although the walk in the cooler air had done what it could, Mynet’s sweat-dampened hair had dried plastered to his forehead and cheeks, ruining the otherwise sharp impression of the courtier outfit, and his face was still a little damp. He pinked and drew a handkerchief from his jacket to wipe his face.

“The Krkrow keep their houses incredibly hot,” Cecilia said, as she pulled out a seat for their guest. “It was like the steam room in the baths in there.”

Mynet took a seat with a rueful chuckle. “Which I knew. I should have taken a cooling potion or something, but my schedule was packed. I apologize for a poor first impression.” He smiled to Cecilia. “You bore up under it rather well.”

Cecilia shrugged and went to pour water for them all, so she didn’t have to guard her expression so carefully. “I’ve got a skill that helps me deal.” It was even true; while Fists of the Forge wasn’t exactly meant for mundane levels of heat, she figured it counted.

He laughed. “I should have trained more in extreme office environments. Maybe it would have opened a new skill tree.”

Cantor’s wariness subsided as the conversation touched on his favorite subject. “No. At least, not unless you did so at the very beginning of your Class journey. However, there are documented instances of skill evolutions triggered by environmental conditions, as well as skill awards outside of the tree structures. You very well may be able to gain such a thing, if you were willing to test your limits.”

The other three looked at Cantor. He opened his mouth, expression indignant. Then sheepish. “That...that was a joke, wasn’t it.”

Mynet grinned. “I’d meant it to be, but actually, that’s pretty interesting. Not interesting enough to put an oven in my office, but it’s worth keeping in mind. I’ve had colleagues who’ve gained free skills, but never had a skill evolve.”

Cantor’s enthusiasm instantly returned, and despite his lack of strength, he gestured. “It’s quite rare, except in certain circumstances. It’s most commonly documented during a fast societal change—a peaceful city being thrown into a war, or conversely, an army that has been disbanded after securing a peace. Those who find a synergy between their old life and their new will sometimes find that skills already chosen evolve as well.”

“Do people ever get new classes? Or lose a class?” Cecilia asked, without thinking.

The table fell silent. Shin took a deep breath, and muttered, “Lost.”

Mynet was watching Cecilia, his brow furrowed, but it was Cantor who said, “It happens. It’s rare. A Class is considered an integral part of one’s soul. There are a few monsters who can drain levels, and if they feed on a victim to the point where all their levels have been drained, that victim will also lose their Class. Typically, these become ‘Lost’: listless, almost soulless individuals who struggle to remain connected with the world. If they can reclaim their passion, they can regain a Class and, eventually, levels. But the very wound that ripped those things from them makes it very hard for them to care enough about the world to return.” He sighed. “Changing a Class has been done, but it’s magic of the highest circles, something that tampers with the underpinnings of the world itself.”

She was clearly treading in territory of ‘common knowledge she didn’t know’, but since she was here already, Cecilia decided to press her luck. “Okay, but doesn’t that seem weird? Like, if someone starts practicing magic, gets a mage class, then decides that actually they hate magic, are they just stuck with being a mage? What if they decide what they truly enjoy is carpentry?”

Identical expressions of bafflement met the question. Shin shook her head, slowly. It was Cantor who tackled it first. “I don’t believe it’s ever been documented. A case of someone hating their Class. Even changing a Class has mostly been done because that Class is deemed too dangerous or has been forbidden...it’s often, uh, not voluntary. Your Class speaks to your heart.”

“But,” she raised a hand, “hear me out. Let’s say you have someone raised in an isolated freehold. Small place, nothing of note, but their heart wants to be,” she pointed at Mynet, “a scribe. But no one ever taught them how to read or write. They’ve never seen a book. No one in their life writes letters or can read them. What Class would they get?”

Cantor opened his mouth. He closed it. Then opened again. Only to close it for a final time, looking thoughtful. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table as he thought. Finally, he said, “It’s known that the circumstances around a person when they gain their Class, usually around the age of ten, but sometimes as late as twenty, seem to influence what skill trees they have available. Sub-Classes often allow for nuance and diverse expression of one’s heart. But...I don’t know. I don’t know that we’ve ever done a thorough survey of places that lack opportunity. I think we assume that someone’s heart calls for a viable Class within their circumstances. How would our theoretical scribe know that their heart yearns for writing if they’re never exposed to it? How would such a thing ever be central enough to become a Class?”

Mynet’s voice cut in, quiet and serious. “One cannot force a Class to develop. People have tried, historically. By putting children into situations where only a small number of Classes are, theoretically, available to them.”

“Blasphemy,” Cantor spit, hands curling in disgust.

“I don’t disagree,” Mynet said, with a shrug. “But it has been tried.”

“What happened?” Cecilia asked.

“Some children gain those Classes. Maybe even more than if you took a whole bunch of random kids. In the cases I’ve read about, they were already trying to select for children with compatible inclinations. But the majority of children just don’t gain a Class at all, or gain one based on their resistance of the treatment, like Rebel or Survivor,” Cantor said.

“Or they die,” Mynet added, flatly. “Those programs usually weren’t trying to make a whole bunch of Farmers.”

Cecilia swallowed. She didn’t disbelieve it. This world was strange and magical, but it ran on rules, a system. And even if people didn’t understand exactly how that system worked, they still did what people did: tried to figure out how to manipulate it for more power, no matter who they hurt along the way.

Shin pounded the table, once, and the other three jumped. Her voice was sharp. “Overthinking again. Is this how we spend a visit with a new friend? Worrying about such useless things? I think not. I could go purchase some beer if we need help focusing elsewhere.”

Cantor groaned. “Spare me. I think it’d only take a half a cup to put me under the table in my current state.”

“And I must return to the court,” Mynet added with a laugh. “It would hardly be appreciated for me to show up with alcohol on my breath so soon after starting my position. But you’re right, Dai. It’s dark talk, not suited for a what I’d hoped to be a pleasant occasion.” He smiled. “I owe you for the aid, and I said I would repay you all. I wanted to purchase a few recharging stones, at the least.”

Cecilia had expected Cantor to object, but the mage’s tired eyes lit up, instead. His voice shook a little as he said, “It would be...much appreciated. I confess that I do not enjoy feeling like this.”

“It’ll be done, then. And,” Mynet spread his hands, “there’s more. You’re not Guild-registered adventurers, correct?” They froze, and he nodded. “I’ll take that as agreement. Well, I’d like to hire you for some work.”

Shin’s eyes narrowed. “Because you do not wish to pay Guild rates?”

“Not at all. I’ll happily pay the standard rate, and you can keep the fee that typically goes to the Guild.”

Shin crossed her arms over her chest. “What is the work? We are not criminals.”

Technically, they were, but Cecilia sure wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

And the implication didn’t seem to offend Mynet. “I don’t want criminals. Actually, if not for the fact that you’re already intimately involved in the matter, I probably would go to the Guild. But this would save me time spent on briefing, and I know two things about you: as outsiders, you’re not yet involved in local politics, and I know you had nothing to do with the incident in question.”

Cecilia let out her breath in a rush. “The Krkrow. You want us to investigate what happened to them.”

“I want you to help me investigate, yes. I need an escort out to the place where they were ambushed, and back down to the stones. The Viscount wants everything thoroughly documented, and any leads pursued up to the point they identify suspects, with viable evidence. Then I can turn it over to the guard. I’m not asking you to break down doors or arrest anyone. If we’re lucky, it’ll mostly be, uh, protecting me from random monsters or muggers while I poke my nose into things and write my report.”

“That...is not unreasonable,” Shin allowed, with a frown. She’d not been keen on them pursuing the matter, but the idea of official sanction (and a promise of pay) seemed to soften her objections. “And full Guild rate, you say?”

Mynet nodded. “That would be within my budget, and I can decide how to spend it. I’d rather spend it on people I’ve spent some time with, rather than have to do extra vetting on whoever might take the job at the Guild, if anyone takes it at all. It’s not exactly glorious work.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“No one likes escort quests,” Cecilia muttered.

Mynet chuckled. “True that, although I will do my best to entertaining and inoffensive in that role.”

Cecilia thought about the rumors, and about what the ritual beneath the streets may have been meant to do, and she suspected there were other reasons behind Mynet’s desire to work with the three again. If this was the newest attempt to force a disaster on this Viscount, then it suggested an organized conspiracy. A conspiracy which may very well have influence within the Guild, or any other local organization Mynet might seek to employ. In fact, she had the sudden thought: perhaps that was why Mynet, himself a newcomer to the city, had been thrown into such a task as soon as he arrived. She felt like if things had reached a point where the Viscount only felt she could trust strangers, and Mynet agreed, the situation was very close to getting out of hand.

What she didn’t know is what “out of hand” looked like for a fantasy city, or what it might mean for her tiny group of friends. But they had business here. They couldn’t just pack up and go until she knew more about this Door of Diamond. And for that, Cantor needed to be back in fighting shape. Besides, if they made a friend of the local government, if they were found, maybe...well, maybe they’d have someone at their back for once.

She wouldn’t bet on it. But she said, “I think we should do it.” She didn’t mention any of her suspicions out loud; they could talk about that once Mynet was gone. She focused on the things he already knew about her. “It’s the right thing to do. I met the Krkrow. His name is Keikei, and he’s really nice. They hurt him badly, and killed over half his nest. I want to help him, help them, and if Mynet’s investigation will see justice done, then I want to be involved.”

“I can’t promise a happy ending,” Mynet put in, softly. “But I’ll do my best. The Krkrow were innocents, brutally treated. The Viscount considers it a slight against her city to have visitors on a mission of diplomacy wounded so. I consider it an outrage to have any innocent People mutilated and killed. I will pursue this wherever it leads, whether I can engage your services or not.”

Cantor slumped in his chair, wearily rubbing at his head. “I’ve already said I’m interested in the matter. I may be able to decipher something of the ritual once I can go into the sewers. Or perhaps I can scry if we can locate something belonging to the perpetrators.”

Their heads swiveled to Shin. “If I were not interested, I would be outvoted, it seems,” she grumbled. Then waved a hand, dismissively. “But I, too, think it is the right thing to do. And the fee is acceptable.”

Mynet exhaled in relief, as if he had truly doubted that they would agree. Then he clapped his hands, rubbing them cheerfully together. “Excellent! I didn’t want to go poking around in the underbrush without a strong sword or two behind me.” He paused. “Not that any of you seem to use swords. Ah, well. Whatever your weapons, they are greater than a pen, I have every confidence.”

He stuck his hand out, and they each shook in turn. Once that was done, he said, “Very well. I should depart, but I’ll send someone with the stones, your initial payment, and a contract on the dawn. Would you be ready for travel outside the city by mid-morning?”

Cecilia looked at Cantor. How fast would the charging stones work, and would it be enough to have him ready for any sort of travel?

He saw her shift in attention, and gave her the slightest of nods. To Mynet, he said, “I think we can manage that. We’ve no mounts, though.”

“And I can manage that,” Mynet replied, cheerful. “Honestly, I suspect the stables at court are desperately under exercised as it is. They’ll be delighted to get out and have a chance to stretch their legs.”

Cecilia raised her hand. “For the record? I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We won’t be riding horses.”

*

“I hate you. I hate you all. I just—ow—want that to be very clear. So when I die, you make sure there’s a memorial, and that it tells everyone that I hate you. Mierda!” Cecilia clung to the neck of the giant lizard, who was (to its credit) plodding along at a rate that was probably intended to be very gentle.

I have a stone ass. Literally stone. How is this so uncomfortable? It was probably psychosomatic. Over two decades of movies and TV shows told her that the first time riding...something...was supposed to be painful, so her mind insisted that it was. If that were the case, she should be able to convince her mind otherwise, right? The saddle, an odd thing that was more of a triangular platform raised against the slope of the lizard’s back than what she thought of as a saddle, was well padded. Her body barely came in contact with the muscular shoulders of the riding lizard, and if the gait was bouncy, well...again, see stone ass.

Shin snickered without a hint of sympathy. She was riding with confidence. She probably had a skill, Cecilia thought with a certain vicious envy. Hunter seemed like a Class that would have a skill for riding things. Shin chided, “If you sit up, the movements will be easier on your hips. You are making pain for yourself.”

“If I sit up, this thing is going to bounce me right off. Back me up here, Ohta!”

Cantor was sitting upright. He was not as at ease as Shin, and he looked a little woozy, but he didn’t seem about to fall off. He even looked mostly human again, thanks to the three charging stones that Mynet had sent. “It won’t bounce you off, provided that you make no sudden motions and remember to keep your body centered on the saddle.”

Ahead of the three, Mynet was leading and she could see his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back his laughter. Bereft of anyone to call her a cab or at least pat her on the head and say poor baby, Cecilia sighed and tried to follow their advice. She’d ridden a horse once before, on a high school trip. It had been a twenty minute ride on a placid, even dozy, mare who had never tried to move faster than a gentle walk. It hadn’t been bad, she supposed, but she’d never had the urge to do it again or to try and find a ride with more ‘spirit’.

The lizard’s gait was nothing like that mare. It swayed back and forth as it moved, and its forearms, which dangled but did not touch the ground, would flail about sometimes for balance on rough terrain, which made the creature’s shoulders ripple. When that happened, the saddle bounced around in an unpredictable and unsettling fashion. It didn’t help that the saddle felt like she was sitting on a stool rather than in a seat.

But holding onto the lizard’s neck wasn’t a long-term strategy. They didn’t use reins with these beasts. Instead, you (a theoretical you who knew what they were doing, not Cecilia-you) reached for a knob and ring at the base of the lizard’s head, that was affixed by a complicated leather bridle arrangement. You’d twist that in one direction or another to encourage the lizard to head left or right. You’d push the knob forward against its skull to make it bow its head and stop. Go faster involved pressing a rune on the side of the knob that apparently sent a wave of heat over the lizard. Not enough to hurt them, Cecilia had been assured by Cantor. It was a gentle spell, but apparently heat made the lizards more active and gave them the urge to run.

She’d already decided that going faster was not something she ever wanted to happen.

Mynet whistled cheerfully from his position at the leading point of their rough, diamond-shaped formation. “Look. I think this is the camp.” Or at least the path to it; unlike the runed Imperial road they’d traveled until now, Mynet was indicating a rough, worn trail marked mostly by wagon ruts. It didn’t go too far—they could see a large clearing with a stone firepit at the base of a gently curving hill.

Shin took the lead now, leaping easily off her lizard and waving the rest of them back. Plaintive, Cecilia asked Cantor, “Can we get down now?” At his nod (despite the grin), she dismounted with all the grace of a drunken barbarian. The lizard heaved a sigh as her feet hit the ground, seeming to echo her relief with its own. She didn’t hate the beast, so she gently patted the side of its neck while it crouched down and tilted forward to nose at the roadside grasses for small animals it might snap at.

Cantor and Mynet followed her lead, and it made her feel a little better that Cantor, at least, placed his hands in the small of his back and stretched with a groan. “It has been a while,” he muttered. Then threw her a cheeky grin and added, “I’m grateful you’re along, or I’d have to be the worst rider in the group.”

Cecilia looked to Mynet, and found him checking the grass, one booted foot brushing through the tall, ragged fronds. It gave her cover to give Cantor an enthusiastic middle finger. This world didn’t have the gesture normally, but she’d had plenty of time to introduce it while the three of them had been fighting through the woods.

He snickered in return, loud enough to draw Mynet’s attention. They both hastily feigned ignorance while he stared at them. With a snort, he turned away and called down the path. “Dai! What’s the word?”

“You may approach. I believe I have the vision of the tracks, now.” She waited for them to lead the beasts down the path and get in conversational distance before continuing. “People have camped here in the last week, so there are tracks laid over the ones we want. However, only two groups, and they were both smaller than the Krkrow’s caravan.” She stalked to the edge of the clearing and drew something out of the dirt and grass. It was a feather, a large one, in a deep shade of blue that turned purple near the shaft. “But this is the right camp, I’m sure.”

Cantor stepped around the edge of the camp to meet her, and extended a hand. “I’ll take that. I may be able to scry with it and get a vision of what happened here. I confess that scrying is not one of my specialties, but I know the most basic circle spell.”

Shin handed it over without hesitation. As Cantor found a clearer space to work, she said, “I can tell that there was a fight here. No blood, and only a few feathers that were cast into the grasses; a deliberate attempt to obscure the scuffle, I’d guess. But the groups were large enough that the tracks are chaotic. It’s impossible to tell a clear story.”

“But nothing contradicts anything that Keikei said?” Mynet asked.

“No. Based on what you shared, I’d say events happened largely as he described. And the victors’ used the Krkrow’s own wagons to haul their bodies, I’d guess. They don’t seem to have brought any vehicle of their own.”

Cecilia frowned. “Were those wagons ever found?”

Mynet closed his eyes, his fingers twitching in the air like he was turning pages. After a moment, he shook his head and opened them again. “Not that I’ve seen in any of the reports I have access to. They likely disposed of them.”

Cecilia brightened. “But they didn’t just leave them by the road, and someone would have noticed if they abandoned them in the city, or burned them, or something. Could they destroy them by magic?”

“It’s possible,” Cantor mumbled, only half paying attention to the conversation as he drew in the dirt, “but wagons and belongings for a dozen people would be a lot of mass to convert. A bit wasteful.”

Mynet saw where Cecilia was heading, and his green eyes lit up. “If they didn’t want to waste that azoth while they were preparing their ritual, then that means they’d either hold onto the wagons for a while, or they’d sell them.”

“And if they sold them, then someone somewhere might remember someone buying them. Do the Krkrow have a distinctive style for wagons?”

“They do. They’re almost like giant barrels, with open spaces on the roof to let the sun come in.” Mynet’s voice betrayed his interest. “That’s something I can definitely ask around about. And if they didn’t sell them, they might be hiding them somewhere. If we can find them—”

“Then we’ve got a link to whoever did this.”

They shared a bright, pleased smile. It felt like a lead. A tenuous one, but a lead, nonetheless. Smugly, Cecilia reflected that her police procedural habit had come to some good after all. If you’re missing a car that was involved in a crime, look in chopshops or the suspect’s garage, right?

Cantor cleared his throat. He’d finished what he was drawing. Cecilia’s eyes widened as she took in the circle, and the runic shapes that had been inscribed inside of it. “Shouldn’t you be inside that, or something?” she asked.

He laughed. “Only if I just wanted it to be visible to me. This matrix is designed to project the scrying outwards. We’ve got enough space that I can make it large enough for us all to see it. Only sight, though. If I don’t want to slip back into azoth deficiency—and I don’t—then I need to be judicious in the application of my power.”

Mynet said, “Could you do a different sense instead? Sound, for instance?”

Cantor blinked. “I...could, yes. But why? Ah.” He answered his own question. “Keikei’s testimony and Dai’s tracking sense have given you enough to know how the attack looked. But a different sense may reveal something that physical evidence wouldn’t.”

“You catch on quick.” Mynet bounced on his heels. He looked delighted. “How about it?”

“Give me a moment.” Cantor leaned over to make adjustments to the matrix, cautiously erasing a line here, changing another there. “Here we go. Are you all ready?”

The other three nodded, after exchanging a look. Cantor gestured, casting without sound himself, and the ghosts of the past came alive around them, invisible and whispering.