by James Hunter
“It means ‘render honor to the enemy, for the truest enemy forces the greatest strength’. Yet your kind treats me with contempt—like an animal to parade around before the young. If our situations were reversed, at least you would be given the honor of a quick, clean death. Remember my name. I am Velkan of the Redmane Tribe. I will be free yet, and you and your kind will pay.”
With that, he bared his fangs and fell silent. A system message immediately followed:
Skill gained: Wolfman Language (Spoken/body) (3/10). You have learned the basics of the Wolfman language and can now speak enough common phrases to have your intentions understood! For the most part. As this is a basic racial language skill, there are only ten levels available, unlike the typical ranking. Skill points cannot be devoted to this skill; it must be increased through study and practice.
Title gained: Budding Anthropologist. By taking the time to study the culture and language of a foreign race—and an enemy race at that—you have taken the first step on the path of the anthropologist. Continue to explore cultures, languages, and races other than your own to earn the chance to unlock the Anthropologist Profession! +20% speed in learning all spoken or body language, +500 Reputation among hostile races, +1 Wisdom.
Abyss yeah! That was pretty good, though Sam still had a vaguely uneasy feeling about this whole thing as Sir Tomas rolled away the silver-furred creature. It didn’t help that the Wolfman’s golden gaze never left Sam; his stare practically seemed to radiate death and dismemberment in the not too distant future.
Unfortunately, there was little time to dwell on the uncomfortable feeling taking root inside his chest. Class was over, and he had evening chores to get to, but thankfully, tomorrow would be his first official ‘day off’. Sam would still have morning chores to do, but then the rest of the day belonged to him, and truthfully, he couldn’t wait to get away from the College and mix with some of the other players. He grinned like a loon at the thought as he slipped from the room, through the Annex, and headed for Mage Greentouched, a plant-based Master Mage responsible for maintaining the College grounds. Just a few hours there, a quick bite to eat, and then onto his evening shift with Octavius in the library.
*Sigh*. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Twelve
Sam sprinted down the twisting hallways of the College, sweating like mad. The small nicks, cuts, and bruises covering his face and arms burned like hellfire. His stamina dropped while he pumped his arms and legs, his lungs burned almost as badly as the army of small wounds, but he was so close to the library now. He skidded blindly around a corner and wheeled left, narrowly avoiding a senior Mage with silvered hair and golden robes—his nose buried in some dusty volume or another—then crossed the threshold into the massive library which held the College’s collective knowledge.
He doubled over, panting and wheezing, hands on his knees. Mage Greentouched had kept him until the last conceivable second, even though the man knew that meant one: Sam wouldn’t get dinner, and two: he would likely be late for his duties with Octavius. Did Mage Greentouched care?
Nope. He was a little less gleeful in the suffering of new initiates than Octavius, but only a little. When Sam had reported for duty and told him his work schedule, the man had insisted that the carnivorous roses—a vital ingredient in many alchemic mixtures, Mage Greentouched assured him—needed tending.
Unfortunately, the garden proper where the alchemic ingredients were grown was about as far from the library as possible. When you accounted for the spatial magic that governed the building, that ended up being miles. When Sam politely pointed that out, the old man had offered him some sage advice, which basically amounted to ‘go suck eggs’. You must be as supple as the willow yet as sturdy as the oak, only then will you have the fortitude a Mage needs to thrive. Pretentious old bag.
“Are you quite alright, young man?” Came a creaky voice from just ahead. Sam righted himself, hands planted on hips, his breathing still ragged though slightly better than it had been a handful of moments before.
Dead ahead was a bent old soul, Mage Solis, the night librarian and guardian of the stacks. He was rail-thin, his back bent from countless nights spent hunched over books, glasses as thick as bottle caps perched on his crooked nose. Unlike many of the Mages, he wore plain, brown robes and seemed to perpetually have ink smudges on his wrinkled cheeks. He regarded Sam, squinting and adjusting his glasses.
“Ah, young master Sam,” he wheezed, and Sam could have sworn that dust filtered out with the air. A health potion appeared in his hand from under his desk, and he took a long drink. He shuddered, then spoke with greater vigor, “I suppose you’re looking for Peak Student Octavius then, hmm?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam bobbed his head in reply. “Is… is he already in?”
“No, no,” Mage Solis replied in his grandfatherly voice, waving away Sam’s obvious concern with one scrawny hand, “but you, my boy, look to be at your very wits’ end. Covered in cuts, green stains, and dirt… I assume that is Greentouched’s doing, then?”
Sam nodded again.
“He always was a mean spirited one, young Greentouched. For someone so close to the restorative and balancing properties of the earth, he is an oddly cantankerous fellow. I think that one inherited the empathy of a boulder… which is to say he has none.” The old man chuffed dryly at his own joke. “A trait he and young Master Octavius share in common.”
He lifted a hand and twisted at the tip of a wispy handle-bar mustache which dropped down from his sagging cheeks. “I suppose ol’ Greentouched worked you long enough to miss the mess hall, hmmm?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot—suffering in stoic silence was a principal tenet of the Mage’s College—but his stomach chose that exact moment to growl like an angry bobcat. The old man chuckled again and turned back toward his desk, waving Sam over as he shuffled away on tired feet. Mage Solis resumed his seat with a groan and pulled out a small linen napkin. He unwrapped the small package, revealing a heel of poppyseed bread slathered in thick, golden butter.
Solis wrinkled his brow and shoved the morsel toward Sam. “Was saving this for later—a little midnight snack. But these old bones don’t need any food, and I think you might enjoy it more. Then maybe the next time you come around, you can pick up my order of health potions from the alchemy department? I tend to go through them pretty fast these days.”
“It’d be my pleasure.” Sam stared at the bread, his mouth salivating at just the thought of eating. So far, his experience had taught him that if someone in the College seemed to be showing even the slightest bit of concern, it was so they could violently pull the rug out from underneath him. But… Mage Solis had always seemed different. Kinder. Patient. Generous and gracious. Before Sam could reconsider, he took the bread and scarfed it down. Even with his low perception, the bread tasted like divine Mana from heaven above, proving that the food served to him was just terrible.
“Now there’s a good, lad.” Mage Solis nodded sagely. “You just hang in there. They can only break your spirit if you let them, and eventually, it’ll get better.”
“Not ever great but better.” He paused and coughed hard, eyes misting and widening as though he wanted to say more.
The clicking of boots on tile drew Sam’s ear. He shoved the last bite of bread into his mouth, gulped it down, brushed his palms off on his pants, and turned to find Octavius strolling casually toward him, seemingly without a care in the world. Octavius was late, but the rules that governed Sam and the other newly-minted Mages didn’t apply to people like Octavius.
“There you are,” Octavius sneered with casual contempt. “That’s too bad, really. The chef in the cafeteria over-braised the short ribs, and I was really hoping you’d be late so I could beat you properly to work out my frustration.”
He sighed and threw up his hands; such is life, the gesture seemed to say. “Well, I’m sure you’ll mess something else up soon enough, and then I’ll have all the cause I n
eed. Now, if you’re done lounging about and slacking in the presence of your betters, attend me. I’m close to a breakthrough, and I think tonight just might be the night!”
Without another word, Octavius headed into the towering stacks, hands folded behind his back, the edges of his robes swishing around his ankles as he moved. Octavius didn’t even bother to glance back to see if Sam was following… because, of course, Sam would be following close behind.
For an inferior Mage to do anything different was simply unthinkable, and such overt insubordination would be met with swift and terrible punishment. The sheer arrogance drove Sam nuts, but he bit his tongue and tried to push the growing anger away by focusing on the towering bookcases filled to the brim with arcane volumes of the rarest knowledge.
The College was a rather plain affair overall, but the Exalted Library Arcana was a different issue entirely. The floors were covered in planks of dark wood but fitted so perfectly together that they never let out a squeak or a groan. In fact, just the opposite—those floors swallowed sound like a ravenous lion.
The whole area was a twisting, turning labyrinth of interconnected bookcases, interrupted by the occasional open area where there were tables and chairs for studying or small nooks and alcoves with ancient artifacts and powerful relics prominently displayed but obviously protected. Ghostly candles and impossible oil lamps floated in the air, perpetually burning with pale purple witchlight, though giving off no discernible heat.
Pretty cool, if Sam was being honest. Coolest of all were the walkways that hung in the air overhead, completely unsuspended, flanked by ever-more bookcases and ever-more books. Staring up was a little like looking at a painting of oddly jointed stairs and hallways, all rising up without any sort of ceiling is sight. This place was the ultimate in spatial magic, and despite all the time Sam had spent here so far, he couldn’t make heads or tails of how this place existed.
Still, it sure was fun to look at.
After wandering the stacks for nearly ten minutes, Octavius headed into a small study nook which the Peak Student had reserved for himself and his research. The alcove was a roomy space, twenty feet by twenty feet, with a colossal mahogany desk at the center accompanied by a plush leather chair. There was only a single chair, naturally, because Octavius was the only one who would be sitting tonight. On the desk was a brass oil lamp, enchanted to shine with yellow light that never flickered or failed. Often times, however, Octavius would turn off the enchanted lamp, forcing his assistants to hold candles. He claimed the weak, watery light was easier on his eyes.
The rest of the desk was taken up by piles of vellum and enchanted parchment, quills and ink pots, teetering stacks of books, geographical maps of the city and surrounding countryside, and blueprints for something that looked vaguely like a portable siege tower. Printed in a neat script across the top of the blueprints was a single word: LAW.
Octavius promptly flopped into his seat, crossing his ankles primly, then pulled over a thick volume entitled Magical Theory of Sympathetic Magic: Mastering the Arcane Forces of Spell Twining. Of all the volumes Octavius fussed over, that was the one Sam had seen him studying the most often and most diligently. Obviously, it was the key to his research.
From what Sam had gathered so far—with a few helpful tidbits from Finn—it appeared as though Octavius wasn’t just trying to perform some big complicated spell; he was attempting to create something new. A weapon of some sort, from the looks of the blueprints Octavius was constantly tweaking. Octavius’s notes were far too complicated for Sam to understand the specifics of the spell—or was it a machine? Both maybe?—but chances were high that whatever he was building would be seriously deadly once the Mage worked out the finer mechanics.
For the next half hour, Sam stood to the side of the desk, hands folded behind him, back perfectly straight, not moving, not talking, not doing anything. Well, not officially doing anything, at any rate. He did study the bits of text he could get a glimpse at, and he carefully surveyed one of the large maps, noting the variety of red ‘X’s which denoted Wolfman troop movements and possible camp locations. Just when Sam thought he’d fall over from sheer boredom, Octavius cleared his throat and pulled a set of keys from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, the Peak Student tossed the keys at Sam.
“I need a text from the restricted section.” Octavius restlessly drummed his fingers on the table. “It’ll be in a new section of the restricted library you haven’t been in before—the Sage’s Vault. When you get into the Prime Chamber, enter into the purple portal, take your first right until you reach an area labeled Advanced Displacement Mechanics. Oh, and just so you know, there’s a talking book in that section. It’s locked behind some rather formidable bars, but you should still ignore whatever it says or suffer unending despair.”
“Or listen to it. That might make things more fun for me,” Octavius offered the instruction with the unwavering scorn he was so well-known for, then dismissed Sam with shooing gesture. “Do be quick. I don’t want to be up until an unreasonable hour.”
Sam grit his teeth, turned on his heel, and carefully navigated his way back to the library’s entrance. Stupid Octavius. He didn’t want to be up until an unreasonable hour? Now that was funny.
Mage Solis was still at his desk, drinking something that smelled suspiciously like coffee from a large porcelain mug while he flipped through a thick, leather-bound volume. Sam caught a look at the title, which decorated the top of each page. He was more than a little bit surprised to see it read, The Riveting Adventures of D.K. Esquire: Dungeon Delver. What? He wasn’t studying the deep mysteries of the universe; he was reading a pulpy adventure novel? The old man glanced up with a guilty grin before offering Sam a wink and a shrug.
“There’s more to life than just studying, young man.” His watery gaze fell on the thick brass keyring in Sam’s hand. “Ah, off to the restricted section, I suppose. That young Octavius is certainly hungry for power. Hopefully, he knows just what he’s about.”
The old man grumbled, “Working with titanic forces such as he is trying to do can have devastating consequences if even the slightest calculation goes amiss. Why, an errant breeze can often be the end of a Noble line. But listen to me ramble, you run along, young one. Wouldn’t want Octavius scolding you for my flapping lips.”
Mage Solis waved toward a set of looming double doors off to the left. The rest of the library was open to all students ranked Apprentice or higher, but that section was meant only for the most established Mages—generally those ranked Journeymen or higher. Octavius, Sam had learned, was something of an exception to the rules; both because he was almost a Journeymen and because he was considered something of an Earth Mage prodigy.
Moreover, House Igenitor was thick as thieves with the current monarch and a long-time supporter of the College Archmage. Such renown and support carried more than a little weight in these vaulted halls of learning—enough weight for Octavius to have access to just about every section of the College, including areas meant only for the most powerful Mages alive. Which proved one thing to Sam—the greatest power in Eternium was not magic but money and nepotism. Those two could open any door far better even than the most potent spells.
Not so different from the real world, unfortunately. The doors guarding the restricted section were built with dull black steel and covered in glyphs and runes of power. It had large handles protruding outward, but wrapped around them was a chain as thick as Sam’s forearm. Securing the chain was a lock the size of Sam’s skull. Assuming a thief ever made it this far into the College—doubtful as even people that were used to this place got lost—that lock would stop them cold.
Sam lifted the bronze keyring, flipping through a number of different keys—he had no idea what they all did or where they lead—until he got to a golden key with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg inset into the key head. The lock gave way under the onslaught of the key’s jagged teeth and popped open without the slightest resistance. On the other side o
f the colossal doors was a rectangular hallway, twenty feet long, five feet wide.
Running along either side of the hallway were doors; though portals was probably a better term since there wasn’t truly a proper door to be seen. Just seven shimmering, door-shaped gateways, each in a different hue. Three portals on the left side of the hall, three on the right, and one at the very end of the hall burning with ethereal purple light that called to Sam like a flame to a moth. Each gateway represented one of the elevated ranks: Apprentice, Student, Journeyman, Expert, Master, Grandmaster, and Sage.
So far in his time serving as Octavius’s research assistant, Sam had only ever gone through two doors, the crimson Apprentice gate and the tangerine-colored Student gate. Not this time, though.
This time, Sam marched straight toward the end of the hall, pressing his eyes shut tight as he passed through the purple gate. Icy power washed over his skin like a waterfall as he stepped through the wall of light, but the sensation passed quickly; in the span of a heartbeat, he’d left the Prime Chamber behind. Instantly, he found himself on a hallway much like the ones in the lower library. Although there was one notable and very important difference: the floors below him were not dark, seamless wood but bricks of semi-translucent purple glass. Sam had never had a problem with heights, but he was now on the highest level of the floating library, and he could see all the other walkways and floors stretching out beneath him like an ant farm.
Sam gulped and licked suddenly parched lips. He must’ve been three hundred feet up, maybe more. As far as he could tell, nothing whatsoever supported the floor he was currently standing on. This is a game, he reminded himself—not for the first or even one-hundred and first time. The rules of physics don’t have to make sense. Code is holding me up, and in a video game, code is as solid as steel. With the thought firmly in mind, Sam took a tentative step forward. When the purple glass didn’t immediately crack and send him to his certain doom, he took a few more.
