30. Guidance

Bernt shook his still disturbingly gray hand, trying to banish the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles creeping deeper into it. He’d drunk the lesser restoration potion on the way home and felt an immediate effect. That wasn’t to say that his hand was fine – it was still healing, and the healing process was more than a little uncomfortable. It also looked… horrible. By the time he’d made it to the magistrate’s office to pick up the potion, the hand had started to dessicate into a gray, mummified-looking husk.

He shuddered at the memory and looked down at it. It didn’t look well… entirely dead anymore. The skin looked like it had been pulled too tightly over the bones, but it was already an immeasurable improvement. It had been a deliberate attack. A poisoning.

Now, he sat on the only chair he owned in front of a small table that also doubled as his kitchen counter and nightstand. It was only early evening, but he had nowhere else to be – Ed had sent him home early to pick up the potion and told him to take a day off to rest.

He was surprised that the magistrate’s office would cover the cost of his treatment, but he was relieved. While he didn’t know how much the potion cost exactly, it had to be at least as expensive as a superior healing potion, maybe even more. That alchemists should have been forced to pay for it. She should have been arrested – there had to be consequences for something like this!

To distract himself from the horrifying memory of his dying hand, Bernt tried to make sense of the journal that he’d found, slowly working his way through the archaic language that it was written in. He balanced the open book on his lap and took notes on scratch paper with his still functional right hand. It was tedious. It wasn’t just the words and the odd grammar – the author’s mode of expression was strange and unfamiliar.

Still, he made some progress. Several pages were filled with what looked like random thoughts on the interactions of different alchemical ingredients. Some described them in terms of mana interactions, which made even less sense.

Still, he could interpret the spell diagrams. They looked vaguely familiar, even though they were obviously impossible to cast. It was something about the overall spell design, but he couldn’t place it – because he didn’t understand how it actually worked.

For the first time in his life, Bernt wished that he knew more about alchemy.

There was a firm knock at the door, and Bernt nearly jumped out of his skin.

No one visited him here. He didn’t exactly advertise where he lived, and he couldn’t think of anyone who would willingly walk into this neighborhood if they didn’t have to.

Hesitantly, Bernt put the journal on top of his notes and rose, grabbing his wand off of his bed.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Open up, it’s Ed,” came his boss’ familiar voice.

Bernt frowned to himself. Well, Ed did have his address. But why would he come here? He tucked the wand awkwardly under his dead arm and opened the door to find Ed standing there with two books under his arm. He looked worn out in a way that Bernt had never seen before. It made him look old – which Bernt supposed he was, but still… it looked wrong on him.

“Evening, son. Mind if I come in for a minute?”

Bernt nodded wordless and backed up a step to let him in. As an afterthought, he cast a torch spell to properly light the room against the fading light outside. Then he sat down on his bed and offered Ed the chair he’d just been sitting in. There was nowhere else to sit in the tiny room.

Ed sat, taking in the room around him with a frown. His gaze lingered for a moment on Jori’s sand box – even though it was freshly cleaned. Jori herself was still out hunting, which Bernt supposed was for the best.

“Yorith’s balls." He cursed. "Why do you live like this? I know what you can afford, and it’s a lot better than this.”

Bernt shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m trying to save money,” He said, “and adventuring equipment is expensive.” Ed knew that he wasn’t planning on being an Underkeeper forever – nobody actually aspired to be a lifer in the sewers.

Ed snorted. “Boy, you’re in too much of a hurry.” Then he stopped, and looked down at the books in his hands with a dead expression. “Well. Maybe not." He shook his head, changing the subject. "Ehm. How’s the hand?”

“Uncomfortable.” Bernt said, frowning down at it. “I still can’t believe she’s going to get away with it. The alchemist, I mean.”

Ed sighed. “We can’t prove that she did it deliberately, and her guild apparently did provide specific procedures on exactly how to handle dangerous alchemical substances. Speaking of which, I need you to come by the office tomorrow to pick up a copy of the safety procedures. I’ll need to prove to the magistrate that you’ve been trained and certified as part of our ‘Corrective Actions’, so expect a test later.”

Bernt scowled. “Fine. I can learn the procedures. But why do the alchemists think they can treat us like this? Why do we let them?” His voice rose with each question, and the last one came out as a demand.

Ed raised an eyebrow, pulled out his pipe and started stuffing it.

“What do you think I should have done, exactly? I didn’t have a legal leg to stand on – and I really should have made sure you knew how to recognize and handle alchemical hazards. She used your ignorance and my negligence against us, but there’s nothing illegal or punishable about that, even if she admitted that she did it on purpose – which she didn't.”

“You’re an archmage! I saw Janus fight, and he’s mostly specialized in defense. You’d think they would show a little respect, if only for self preservation!” Bernt insisted.

“So, you think I should have threatened her?" Ed puffed his pipe for a long moment before he continued. "Hmmm. Do you remember a week ago when you found me in a sewer bleeding out on a kobold’s rusty skewer trap?”

Bernd nodded. How could he forget something like that? He couldn’t quite follow how this would be relevant, though. Ed blew out a long puff of smoke toward the closed window. That seemed pointless until he flicked his fingers in a complicated gesture. The window opened and a rustling of wind carried the entire cloud outside, leaving the air perfectly clean. He gestured toward it with his pipe.

“We can do a lot of incredible things that nobody else can, and it’s easy to start thinking that that makes us special, more than mortal, somehow. But every mage, no matter how powerful, is one brick to the head away from death. Remember that. Any peasant can kill a mage when he sleeps, and usually if we’re awake too. Maybe not Iriala with her foresight, but you get what I mean. All of us have to play by the rules of society, unless we want to live totally outside of it. If you act like a monster, you will be forced to live like one. Alone, hunted, and hiding in a hole.” Ed took another drag of his pipe and squinted at him.

Bernt swallowed a lump, but the burning pit in his gut wasn’t doused. Guilt at his suggestion warred with his sense of righteous fury. He'd been attacked. Why wouldn't he have the right to defend himself?

“More importantly in this case, nobody wants to get into a mortal struggle with the alchemists." Ed went on. "That’s how you end up with healing potions that spawn parasitic blood oozes in your brain. An honest miscalculation, they’ll say. Or maybe aerosolized elixirs of berserking will get mysteriously injected into your home so you kill your loved ones. That kind of thing. Fates worse than death, delivered with plausible deniability. That doesn’t even consider how well connected they are to the other guilds and the crown. Nearly everyone depends on them in some way or another. This was a shot across the bow and we need to tread carefully. You got hurt, but the message was for me. Do not get involved.”

Those were not things Bernt had ever heard of before – or even imagined, really. After a stunned moment he blurted. “That’s insane! Do they really do that? If they're so dangerous, why are they even allowed to exist?”

Ed’s scowl softened into a blank look that Bernt associated with amusement. “Weren’t we just talking about archmages unleashing doom on their enemies?” He sighed and put the pipe back in his mouth. “It’s the same reason as for all of us. They’re way too useful to do without.”

“Let me ask you a question,” he asked after a short pause, changing the subject. “Why haven’t you attempted an investiture yet? If you want to become an adventurer, or make more money to afford equipment to start, advancing should have been your first priority from the start. Are you having trouble choosing the right architecture?”

Bernt shook his head and rubbed his face. “No. Sort of. You already know I have my basic pyromancer’s qualification, and I do want to go in that direction, but I don’t actually know any pyromantic architectures. I don’t have access to the Mage’s Guild library. The only other way to get access to a good design is the military, and I didn’t want to be a war mage… I thought eventually I’d be able to afford guild membership – after I got started as an adventurer.”

A mage could become a magister of their particular specialization by developing an augmentation for it. That augmentation was, essentially, a greater function that emerged from the way that three investitures in his spirit would combine into a proper mana network. The design for creating a particular augmentation was the mage’s mana network architecture, or just architecture for short.

“Hmm. I figured it was going to be something like that. I wouldn't call it a good plan, but at least you had one, I suppose.” Ed put the books that he’d been carrying down on Bernt’s table. “But we don’t have time for you to get around to developing yourself on your own schedule. Take these and study them. They’re official analyses of different war mage augmentations used in Illuria and the Giant Wastes, including several pyromanctic architectures. War’s coming here, and you’re going to be fighting in it.”

Bernt stared at the books, eyes wide. War mage architectures were national secrets – reserved for mages who enlisted in the military. Of course, there was no reason that information on foreign war mage architectures would be suppressed here in Besermark. It was something he hadn’t considered, though he probably wouldn’t be able to afford a book like this anyway. This would be incredibly useful, but still…

“Thank you, I really appreciate it… but I can’t just use a preset architecture like this, especially one that hundreds of other pyromancers are using. It would make me predictable. I don’t have money or political backing – if I want to make something of myself, I need something... extraordinary. That’s why I wanted to study in the guild library.”

Ed snorted.

“You want to be a wizard.” It was a statement, not a question.

Bernt shifted awkwardly.

“Look son, It's not that rare. A lot of young people want to prove themselves by inventing something new and unique. But you’re going at it from the wrong end. Even successful wizards tend to, for all their years of research and preening egos, end up as Magisters, cornered in their development and unable to hold a candle to a standard, interchangeable war mage. Trust me. I am one of those war mages, and I’ve put my share of wizards in the ground in my time.” Ed patted the books on the table almost fondly. “Read these, and then choose simple and flexible investitures with an open-ended augmentation. You need to grow while still keeping a variety of options for a second augmentation open. That’s how you make it to archmage when you don’t have a design for an archmage architecture to start with. You can figure out the second half when you have some experience under your belt. If you still think it’s a good idea to make up your own augmentation then, you’ll be far more qualified to pull it off without crippling yourself.”

Bernt grunted in assent. He didn’t want to agree, but Ed was the archmage in the room. Plus, he was speaking sense.

He’d always dreamed inventing his own way to archmage, like the legendary archwizards who'd developed the very first archmage architectures. He wanted to show the privileged scions that had pushed him around at the Academy that being spoon fed resources and knowledge of others didn’t make them better than him. They were just wielding the genius of others and trying to pass it off as their own.

Bernt knew he wasn’t a genius, but he was persistent and determined. He knew he would find a way. But, if Ed said his plan wasn’t going to work, then he needed to find a different way that could.

Trying to hide his grimace, he picked up the books.