A Quest for Chumps (Departed Dimensions Book 1)

by G. M. Reinstra

  “That girl there just stopped that nasty wretch from stealing the other girl’s bike!” the woman said, pointing at Rialta.

  Rialta watched as the girl who owned the bike went over to pick it up before she began to cross the street. As the girl approached her, Rialta noted the emblem of the local cleric’s guild on the girl’s blouse.

  “Thank you,” the girl said with a sheepish grin.

  Rialta could not help but smile in return. “You are welcome,” she said.

  At that, a number of the bystanders began to clap. Rialta felt a strong heat build up in her cheeks as she gave a little wave of recognition to the crowd before turning toward the city once more. Once she was far enough away from the crowd that had been watching her, she broke into a jog, and then a full run. She looked at her watch again. It was 9:56.

  If you had told Rialta in her childhood that she would be working at a restaurant when she entered adulthood, it would have surprised her. She had always imagined herself doing something with her magic. But as happens to nearly every young adult, Rialta’s dreams were punched in the face by the icy, unrelenting fist of reality not two weeks into her search for an ideal job. The truth was there were extraordinarily few employment opportunities, beyond non-magical jobs, for someone with her abilities.

  As a fire mage, her powers were limited to a wide arsenal of offensive spells and some basic utility incantations. As it turned out, however, the economy at large found her offensive magic to be, well, offensive. Most business owners did not need someone to blow things up, set things on fire, summon brief windstorms, or do just about anything else Rialta could do with her magic. Even construction firms and contractors wanted a degree of control in the destructive forces they employed for things like demolishing buildings or clearing debris from a worksite. Rialta’s magic, while immensely powerful, was too wild and unpredictable for anything requiring precision.

  Thus, it seemed clear to Rialta that her one and only alternative to non-magical work was to become an adventurer: one of the mercenaries, mages, thieves, rangers, clerics, and countless other specialized professionals who traveled this world and worlds beyond in the pursuit of glory and treasure. Adventurers spent their days questing, foraging, camping, fighting, and finding treasure. Everyone knew that many adventurers had enviable incomes and led interesting lives, but there were obvious downsides to becoming an adventurer. At any moment, they could fall off a cliff, or get trampled by a sheepstalker, or drown, or choke on dinner in some sketchy inn whilst also being stabbed by a roving gang of thieves, or die in one of a million other dangerous scenarios an adventurer might be caught up in. Although she had always fantasized about life as an adventurer, Rialta simply valued her safety too much to take the chance.

  So, with no marketable skills other than a decent talent for cooking, which she’d honed while volunteering in the kitchens at the orphanage, she’d taken the only job that made sense. Upon proving her skills to the owner, she’d been employed at a local bistro in the magnificent city of Laelynn Province, the city where she had lived ever since her mother’s death.

  As she approached the heart of the city, a colossal set of buildings came into view. Though it was a familiar sight to her, it was no less impressive for it. Laelynn Province was the very model of a modern city. Its skyscrapers were each so tall that, if you were standing right beside one, you would need to crane your neck all the way back to see the top. Doing so would be a terrible idea, however. The city, being a city, contained an inordinate number of jerks, and a disillusioned office worker would surely be liable to attempt to spit in your eye from his window for daring to contemplate the majesty of the local architecture.

  Within minutes, Rialta had run all the way to a massive mall in the middle of the city. The mall had two main components: one outdoor and one indoor. The outdoor section was effectively a bazaar, much more reminiscent of the marketplaces to be found in the smaller towns and cities elsewhere on Ro. Thus, it was an incoherent labyrinth of disorganized stalls. Some sold very specific items, like health tonics, enchanted gems, and magic potions, while others merely served as haphazard collections of used weapons and armor. Freelancers and contractors fought for the remaining limited space, each of them boasting their magical services.

  “Basic armor and haste blessings, two silver each!” a young man wearing a shabby gray robe shouted from a corner between two stalls.

  Others couldn’t be bothered to shout, opting instead to let their signs and displays do the talking for them. Rialta ran by a bored-looking young woman sitting at a small table and reading a novel. She was apparently a representative for a local teleportation agency, one of the few companies large enough to collect and utilize the obscene quantity of mana materials required to open gateways to other worlds and dimensions. The table was empty except for a small stack of brochures, a few photographs, and a small sign dangling from the front:

  See worlds beyond! Cheap, cheap, cheap! Fourteen gold buys a ticket for round-trip passage to any of our five beautiful destination dimensions! Speak to attendant for details.

  The outer portion of the mall housed office buildings, prime apartment units, and, perhaps most importantly of all, the Questers’ Guild, where members of the public would gather to make requests of local adventurers in exchange for gold. Rialta had never been to the Guild herself, as she was not an adventurer and certainly did not have the gold to spare to hire one for any tasks she might need done.

  Rialta bolted past all the stands and stalls, past the entrance to the Questers’ Guild, and down a narrow alley before taking a sharp right turn toward a block of stores and shops housed on the lower level of a small brick building. She finally saw it: a single shingle hanging out from the building’s marquee reading ‘Calari’s Restaurant’ in large red letters with gold trim.

  She crashed through the front door of the restaurant, gasping for breath. She looked up at the clock on the wall above the drink cooler. It was 10:03. She looked about the empty barroom. The glimmering glass bottles remained precisely on the shelves where she had placed them after a good dusting the night before. She stole a glance through the bar-ordering window and saw that the kitchen was likewise empty. With a smile, Rialta walked carefully toward the door to the kitchen.

  “About time,” called a high, nasally voice. Its owner emerged from behind a brick wall partition which separated the bar area in the front from the dining room off to the right. The voice belonged to a short, squat old man with a grizzly white beard and bulging, wild eyes. He stood squarely in the opening of the partition, placed his hands on his hips, and glared at Rialta.

  Rialta felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Sorry, Mr. Calari,” she said, bowing her head.

  Even in this moment of dread, she could not help but recognize the absurdity of her feelings. The little restaurateur had no significant magic abilities and must have stood a solid foot shorter than her. Before her was a man that was uncommonly short, old, chubby, and out of shape. Logically, she knew the worst he could do to her was scold her, but his demeanor was so fierce and confident that it could have brought a full-grown bear to its knees.

  “And you’d certainly better be,” Calari said. He glanced at the clock. Two seconds of silence lingered before he shook his head and turned back to her. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out, Rialta,” he said.

  Rialta took a step back. A twinge ran through her heart and her jaw hung open. “Wh-what?” she stammered.

  “You’ve been late one too many times, Rialta,” Calari said. “I’m sorry. You’re done here. If you’ve left anything in the back, take it with you and go. I’ll have your remaining pay brought to your apartment.”

  Rialta had too much pride to beg or argue. Doing her best to fight back tears, she simply nodded, then turned and walked back out the front door.

  Chapter 3

  The Alleged Cleric

  Rialta was feeling more embarrassed and ashamed than she had ever felt in her life. It took her more than
half an hour to realize that she had been doing nothing more than wandering the streets of Laelynn Province. Finally resigned to her defeat, she stopped at a posh café for an expensive breakfast of a buttered croissant and coffee, which cost her no less than five silver pieces. Counterintuitive though it was, overspending on breakfast made her feel better about her current situation. She decided to have a seat adjacent to the café’s large storefront window and eat her breakfast at a leisurely pace. After all, she no longer had anywhere to be at any specific time.

  As she sat and sipped her coffee and ate the croissant, she began to calm down. She enjoyed the simple act of watching the citizens of Laelynn walk by as she ate. It reminded her of the picnics she would have with her mother in the city’s lake park. The street outside the window drifted out of focus as she recalled that simpler time. They would sit together and watch their fellow citizens playing games, eating lunch, or going for jogs.

  Her whimsical thoughts of the past were quickly interrupted by the sight of a well-dressed, mustachioed businessman tearing down the sidewalk outside. Rialta dropped her croissant on her plate and leaned forward to see what the man was running from, only to catch sight of an enraged duck, honking furiously, running after him with its wings raised up high. The sheer absurdity of the situation was too much for her to handle, and Rialta let out a bark of laughter before catching herself and clapping her hands to her mouth. A couple other patrons of the café—those who apparently had not seen the duck—spared her a hasty glance, but nothing else came of it. Rialta smirked to herself as she finished up her breakfast and exited the café.

  Her spirits renewed, Rialta knew what she had to do. This wasn’t the end of the world. Kitchen jobs weren’t exactly hard to come by, and her pay wasn’t likely to take much of a hit no matter where she ended up working—perhaps she’d even find an opportunity to make more money at another restaurant. And even better, she’d never have to see Calari again. Each of these thoughts had a compounding effect. Rialta returned to the streets with renewed vigor, eager to find another restaurant where she could work.

  The late morning and early afternoon were productive, but relatively uneventful. Rialta first stopped into a pizza parlor to inquire about a job, and she later came across a small delicatessen just before noon. Neither was hiring, but the owner of the deli gave her a lead. As it happened, the owner’s cousin owned a casual dining restaurant in midtown, and the deli proprietor thought she might be the perfect candidate as a new employee. Determined to find a new job before the day was out, Rialta promptly began her trek toward midtown.

  Unfortunately, Rialta had not accounted for the fact that she had very rarely visited midtown Laelynn in the past, and she was generally unfamiliar with the area. Several hours later, Rialta had found herself hopelessly lost amid the scramble of heavy foot traffic. Her frustration mounted as the roving crowd bumped and jostled her, and in all the commotion she was unable to concentrate on looking for the proper address. She was on her third lap around the central square when the shriek of a woman standing on a nearby street corner made her jump.

  “It’s incredible! Bless you, boy. Bless you!”

  Curious, Rialta turned to watch the crowd growing around the street corner. There was a large group of people gathered around a lanky young man wearing magnificent, freshly pressed silk robes and holding a large leather tome open wide in his left hand. Everything about him appeared neat and meticulously groomed, from his extremely short black hair to his perfectly clean leather boots. The pages of his tome fluttered back and forth as he held his right hand over an elderly woman who was barely managing to hobble along the sidewalk. Rialta did not see what was so interesting about this until she spotted any empty wheelchair immediately beside the two of them.

  “What’s going on here?” Rialta asked a middle-aged man as she neared the edge of the crowd. The man’s mouth was hanging open in disbelief, and it took him a moment to realize that Rialta had asked him a question.

  “Tha-that kid up there, I guess he’s a cleric? That old woman came up to him and asked for a basic blessing—ya know, just a blessing of good fortune or whatever. He said some kind of prayer for her, and next thing you know, she’s standing up out of her wheelchair! Look!”

  Rialta raised an eyebrow as she considered the young cleric. As a mage, Rialta had not studied much of the holy branch of magic, but it was her understanding that something as significant as curing paralysis was a feat that only elite, grandmaster clerics could pull off—and even then, only under the most ideal of circumstances. The cleric standing before her couldn’t have been any older than she was. Regardless, his youth did not hamper his confidence. He continued to brandish his massive leather-bound tome in his left hand, but he held his right hand out toward the crowd. Silence fell over them.

  The cleric cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and smiled. “People of Laelynn!” he shouted. “Do not thank me! Do not praise me! I am merely a vessel through which the divine creates, restores, and honors this physical plane of existence.” His voice was clear and bold. It was obvious that this was a speech he had given on more than one occasion.

  Rialta smirked at the cleric’s over-the-top delivery. Scanning the crowd around her, however, she found that she was in the minority. Nearly everyone gathered on the street corner was gazing at the young man with rapt attention. Rialta would have left, but she was curious to discover how such a young cleric could perform a blessing as advanced as the one he had apparently performed on the old woman.

  “Please hear me now!” the young cleric shouted. Any remaining dull murmurs from the crowd around him ceased at once. “As I have told you, I am merely a humble servant of the divine entities which bind us to life. Though the gods have blessed me with such great power, I fear I have only just begun my quest to heal and nurture across this great land. I still have much to learn, and so many to help. Alas, I am but a poor and dutiful servant, and I cannot continue my endeavors without your support.”

  “Here it comes,” muttered Rialta, rolling her eyes.

  “If you spare but a single piece of silver, I shall implore the gods above to bestow upon you infinite blessings of good fortune and prosperity. I ask this meager sacrifice of you all in the name of the gods above,” the young cleric said with a bow.

  At this, many in the crowd—far too many, in Rialta’s opinion—approached the cleric and tossed coins at his feet. He bowed left and right, giving words of thanks and good tidings as they showered him with their offerings.

  “Thank you, thank you!” the cleric said. He raised a clenched fist to his eye to wipe away a non-existent tear. “If you cannot afford to give, please do not hesitate to spread the word of my mission,” he said in a low, rich voice. He paused in an apparent moment of sheer reverence before he sprang upright. “Oh! Nearly forgot,” he said, snapping his fingers and dropping his stately demeanor instantaneously. “If any of you know of a mage and could point me in his or her direction, that would be great.”

  “But here’s a mage right here!” an old woman shouted, wildly flailing her arms about as she gestured toward Rialta. Rialta felt her stomach sink as she recognized the old woman from earlier that day. “This girl here is a mage! I witnessed her magical capability and acute sense of justice this very morning when she harpooned a would-be bike thief from the seat of the very bike he was attempting to steal!”

  “What?” Rialta said, stepping backward. “No, you don’t understand, I am just looking for a job as a line cook. I—”

  “Excellent! Excellent!” the cleric cried as he made his way through the crowd toward Rialta. “I humbly thank you all for your contributions, but I would like a private word with this mage here, if you all wouldn’t mind.”

  Rialta attempted to leave at once, but the crowd was much too dense for any hope of a quick escape. Resigned to her fate, she simply waited as the cleric approached her. But when he arrived, he did not address her right away. He stole glances at the dissipating crowd, apparently waiting f
or all of them to leave. When the last of his admirers had walked away, he turned his attention back to Rialta with a sly smile.

  “My name’s Remmy,” he said. “What’s yours?” He held out his arm for a handshake.

  “Rialta,” she replied flatly. She did not offer her hand in return.

  Remmy eyed Rialta’s unmoving right hand for a moment, then shrugged. “Listen,” Remmy said, “if you’re really a mage—”

  “I am, Rialta said, balling her hands into tight fists.

  “All right, all right,” Remmy said, raising his hands and taking a step back. “No need to get upset. Just making sure. But anyway—”

  The old woman that Remmy had just blessed cleared her throat loudly and gave him a significant look.

  Remmy turned to face her. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Greta dear, I just need a word with my new friend here,” he said as he looked back at Rialta. “Listen, I could certainly use a mage on my crew, and I’ve got an opportunity for you that could be…” he trailed off, taking a moment to stroke the stubble on his chin as he considered his choice of words, “…lucrative,” he finished with a grin.

  Rialta had trouble stifling a chuckle at the goofy smile on Remmy’s face. “Is that right?” she asked.

  “Come see me at the Guild tomorrow morning if you want in,” Remmy continued. “I’ll be with my buddy, John. You don’t need to answer now, just something to think about,” he said, offering Rialta a contact card.

  “Sure, sure,” Rialta said dismissively. She snatched the card from him and put it in her pocket. “I need to get going.”

  “All righty then. See ya around, Rialta,” Remmy said.

  “Goodbye,” Rialta replied, turning on her heel and walking quickly down the street.

  Chapter 4

  Unwelcome Correspondence

  Rialta returned to her apartment building later that evening with little to show for the day’s efforts. Following her run-in with Remmy, she had continued to search for the other restaurant, but she did not manage to find it until after it had closed for the evening. Thus, the only firm offer for work she had received all day was Remmy’s vague and supremely sketchy offer to join his squad.