by Pirateaba
Laken kept his voice low as he spoke into the receiver. He was smiling as if he was enjoying his conversation with the flustered [BlackMage].
“Wow! You’ve met someone else? Where are you? Do you need help? What’s your class—I forgot to mention we’re keeping a list—”
“My class is secret. So is my location. If you can trace this phone call, well, good luck searching the continent. I’m sorry to be so secretive, but neither [batman] nor I are able to trust you, or Wistram at this point in time.”
“Why? Hey, we’re acting in good faith here—”
“Just think about it.”
Laken leaned back on the bed as he spoke carefully, choosing each word with deliberation.
“You say you want to help us. But how can we be sure that’s the case? Putting aside the reputation of Wistram, we can’t tell if you’re calling from there. You could be impersonating them—we have no way to tell. Telling you our location is dangerous, especially on what could be an unsecured call like this. You understand that, right?”
“I—I suppose I do. But how am I supposed to convince you I’m trustworthy?”
“That’s impossible at this moment. There’s no one in Wistram who could convince us, and a truth spell can’t be used. However…there is a way to tell everyone where to go and not reveal confidential information.”
“Really? How?”
Laken could feel Ryoka’s eyes on him, even if he couldn’t see her. He smiled.
“Don’t call anyone. But have Wistram—the Isle of Mages, right? Have them send out a proclamation, a message to every corner of the world. Something simple. Something anyone from our world could understand.”
“Oh!”
Ryoka nodded as she realized what Laken was saying. That could work. She spoke into the receiver.
“Say something like…‘To all the millennials, the Americans and citizens of the European Union and’—no, wait. That’s not right. Instead…send something in every language you can think of. One word. Come home. 家に帰る.”
“Nach Hause zurückkehren.”
“Ven a Casa. In every language you can think of. Understand?”
“I see!”
“But don’t stop there.”
Laken angled the iPhone towards his mouth and spoke urgently.
“Set it up so that anyone affiliated with Wistram will help someone from our world. But have them ask for confirmation. Someone only someone from our world would know. Easy things, for every culture.”
“Like if you’re American—who’s the current president? Actually—shit. Be prepared for different answers. Someone might say Obama and not know who the current president is.”
“Good point! And some people might not speak English.”
“Hold on, let me write all this down!”
[BlackMage] was scrambling to keep up. Laken and Ryoka heard other voices, muffled in the background. She nudged him and he squeezed her arm. There were other people listening to the call.
“Okay, we can do that. Thanks for the advice!”
“No problem. Just be sure you know what you’re doing.”
“…How do you mean?”
Laken paused.
“If you do this, you’ll paint a target on your chest for the world to see. Understand—some people who’ve come to this world will not be friends. Just think about it. Assuming everyone who’s arrived is around the same age—you could get anyone from any part of the world. What if you got a radical extremist from ISIS?”
“Or someone from North Korea. Or a kid in a gang, a convicted criminal.”
“…I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Be careful. If everyone’s heading to Wistram, then the real battle becomes getting them there safely…and figuring out who’s trustworthy.”
“We can use spells for that. And Wistram is almost impossible to take by force. There are Golems here, Archmages…”
“If it’s so safe, we’ll find our way there. Eventually. But don’t call us again, understand? If you have to contact us—do it by chat.”
“I understand. And I will…I’ll have to tell the other mages about this, and see what they think.”
“Good. In that case, we’ll end the call.”
“Huh? But there’s so much we have to discuss!”
Laken felt a warning tug on his hand.
“Unfortunately, we can’t be sure who’s listening in. Continuing this phone call is too risky. Contact [batman] later if you have to. Try to find a securer means of communicating. Until then.”
“Wai—”
Laken hung up the phone. He handed it to Ryoka and breathed out slowly. His hand was shaking. So was hers as she took it.
“Wow. That was…unexpected.”
Ryoka glanced sideways and saw Ivolethe flying away from the window.
“…Yeah. Good idea, by the way. That was a great thought.”
“It was spur-of-the-moment. But maybe this way word will spread and people won’t get kidnapped. You think it’s a possibility?”
Ryoka shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself.
“There was someone who tried to figure out where we were. Better safe than sorry.”
“Yeah. And one last thing. I didn’t mention it to [BlackMage], but aside of other nations, other factions trying to attack Wistram…if we go there, we’d better have friends. Allies. So we can deal with the mages on equal terms.”
“Can’t trust them, can’t trust anyone, right?”
“Right. Well, some people will be trustworthy, but—”
“How do you find them?”
They sat in silence for a moment, hearts beating. Ryoka looked at Laken and smirked.
“L, huh? Nice reference.”
“What? I’m sorry, did I accidentally do something?”
She paused.
“Never mind. It’s a reference to a popular—it’s fine.”
Laken spread his hands.
“Okay. What now? That was dramatic. And scary. I may have wet the bed. Where do we go from here?”
Ryoka shrugged.
“I don’t know. I guess you go back to your village and…do your thing. Gather strength, or something. I go back and tell Erin—and we meet again.”
“Just like that?”
“I guess so. Look, I want to help, but I have to go back. It’s Christmas, and Erin told me to get back in time for the party. And I have…other things to do there as well.”
“Christmas! My God, I’d forgotten!”
Laken slapped a hand to his forehead.
“I should celebrate that with Durene and the villagers! That would be—I wonder if I can get the Merchant’s Guild to find me a bunch of presents?”
“They’d wrap them for you, I bet. Look, I hate to just run, but I don’t know what else I can do. Erin lives so far away, and I never come up here. I can try and return now and then, but it might be we have to communicate by [Message] spell for the moment.”
Laken nodded.
“We can talk in code—or German, I suppose. I’ll probably be out of touch for…I don’t know how long.”
“We have our own places to be, don’t we?”
“It’s odd, but yes. I have a home now. A…”
An empire. Laken didn’t say it out loud. Ryoka stared at him, and wondered. He was likeable, smart, and he cared about people. But he was an [Emperor]. What would come from that?
They didn’t speak much about the future after that. Ryoka drew a bit more on the parchment, and discussed water mills with Laken. He offered her tips on dealing with Frost Faeries, and she convinced him to make Ivolethe an archduchess.
And then for an hour they laughed and talked about home. Laken told Ryoka about what he did for a living—he was ostensibly unemployed since his parents were fairly rich, but he worked with other people with disabilities and led blind tours as well. She told him about Erin and her own backstory. Mainly anecdotes of her run-ins with authority.
“An American rebel, huh? Tell me you rid
e a motorcycle and I’ll ask for an autograph.”
And then Durene knocked on the door, and Frostwing woke up, and the moment ended. Ryoka stood up, and Laken did too as he tapped his bird on the beak.
“Hush, Frostwing. Say goodbye to Ryoka. She’s got to go.”
“I’ll be in the city until tomorrow, I think. I have to do something quick. Hell, I might not leave until tomorrow night. You can find me at Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion…it might be better if you wait until I come into the city. I’ll find you tomorrow, how about that?”
“Sounds good. Durene? Ryoka’s going to go, but we have a lot to talk about. Can you call Gamel up?”
Ryoka paused next to Laken.
“You’re going to tell her everything?”
“I trust her. And the less secrets there are in this world, the better.”
She hesitated.
“I wish I could be more like you. But I can’t.”
He made a face.
“I think you’re fine the way you are, Miss Ryoka Griffin. Someone needs to be the cynical bastard who watches our backs.”
She laughed.
“I can do that. Good luck. See you later.”
And then she was gone. Laken sat back on his bed, and lay on his back as Durene came back into the room with Gamel. He didn’t look up as Durene sat carefully on the bed and everything tilted towards her.
“Durene?”
“Yes, Laken?”
“Where’s Wistram?”
—-
Ryoka endured Reynold’s sniffling and very hostile remarks as she walked down the street. The snow was falling thickly around them, but that didn’t muffle his acidic comments.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Ivolethe would go that far. But I did warn you.”
“I’m simply doing my job, Miss Ryoka.”
“Yeah, well, take it up with Magnolia. Or Ressa.”
“I believe I’d rather follow you, Miss.”
“It’s your funeral. Look, it’s one last trip and then we can go home and you can sit in front of a fire.”
“Where to, Miss?”
“Back to Hedault. I have to do something.”
Reynold’s eyebrows rose, but Ryoka didn’t elaborate.
If Hedault was surprised to see Ryoka back so soon, he opened the door readily enough.
“Why have you returned?”
“I’m going to sell you the wand.”
It was refreshing not to have to beat around the bush with him. Ryoka saw Hedault’s eyebrows rise, but the [Enchanter] didn’t miss a beat.
“I can have the gold pieces prepared for you within the hour. I will also provide a second bag of holding as the first will not be able to support the weight—”
“Hold on. I’m not looking for gold. You’re going to pay me something else. Something more.”
Hedault paused. He stared at Ryoka, and then at Reynold, whose jaw was fully open.
“My price is final, and calculated on the wand’s probable value. I will not change it.”
“Don’t give me that.”
Ryoka sighed as she found a seat in the [Enchanter]’s living room and sank into it. He stared at her as she put her feet up. She felt exhausted. Ryoka stared at him.
“Well? Are you going to sit?”
He did, slowly.
“You seem confident that I will agree to whatever you ask.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because I know what’s inside that wand.”
Hedault paused. Reynold scrambled for a quill and inkpot. The [Enchanter] stared hard at Ryoka, but didn’t call her a liar or scoff. He just asked one question.
“How?”
Ryoka patted her belt pouch.
“Ivolethe? Want to come out? I’m sure Hedualt has some snacks for you.”
The Frost Faerie flew out of Ryoka’s belt pouch. Hedault’s eyebrows shot up and Reynold instinctively retreated to one corner of the room as Ivolethe gazed around the room, grinning with her pointed teeth.
Ryoka smiled at Hedault and nodded to Ivolethe.
“You want to know how I know? My friend told me. She’s a Frost Faerie. A Winter Sprite. She can see magic and she’s lived longer than everyone in this city put together. She told me what was put in the wand’s core.”
“I see. A Winter Sprite. Intriguing.”
Hedualt glanced towards one of the doors and crooked a finger in his lap. Ryoka blinked as a saucer filled with dried prunes flew over to the table and settled down on it. Ivolethe made a noise of pleasure and began attacking the dried fruit, eating far more than her stomach should have been able to contain.
“If you know the contents of the wand, why offer it to me? Unless the value is lower than my estimation?”
“It’s not. In fact, it’s probably higher. But that’s why you’re going to pay me more. Not just for the wand itself, but for knowing what’s inside.”
“And why should I do that?”
Hedault crossed his arms. Ryoka grinned at that. The mage’s face hadn’t changed, but his folded arms spoke volumes about how much she was getting to him. She gestured expansively at the wand, which Hedault had brought out and put on the coffee table in front of them.
“Just think about it. You’ll never know what was inside, and you’ll have to live with the knowledge that it’s being used by some amateur that won’t appreciate it or utilize the wand’s full potential.”
“I ask again. If it is so valuable, why not give it to the adventurers who recovered it? They would surely desire it most.”
“I’m sure they would. But neither of my friends could use it to its full potential—it’s not specialized in the right area for them. But you could. And if you couldn’t, I’m sure you could find a buyer for it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the sort of wand an Archmage would want?”
Hedault’s eyes followed the wand. He spoke softly.
“A true [Archmage] would not. But the Archmages of today would certainly use a wand of this caliber if they had nothing finer. And if it is that valuable, I do not believe I have enough funds on hand to pay for it.”
Ryoka nodded, still smiling.
“I know you can’t pay for it. In fact, after talking with Ivolethe, I know you probably don’t have enough gold on hand to pay for this wand. But that’s fine, because what I need isn’t gold. It’s artifacts.”
She sat up, and put her hands on the table. She picked up the wand and felt it’s weight. Ryoka stroked the cold, metallic wood as she looked at Hedault. Part of her was screaming not to do this, but the rest of her was resolute.
“Here’s the deal. If I give this wand to you, you give me enough armor and weapons to outfit four adventurers. That means armor for two of them—they’re warriors, at least one more sword, maybe a bow, and two wands and a magical robe for the others. Wands, staves…hell, I’ll take a spellbook as well while I’m at it. And more magical rings. And two hundred gold pieces.”
He stared at her.
“Why? This is not a fair trade. Not for a wand of such value. You may approximate the value with lesser artifacts, but no true adventurer would make such a trade. Why are you doing this on their behalf? If this is an act of self-interest, then I will decline. I will have the answer you have failed to give me. Now.”
His eyes were serious. Ryoka met Hedault’s gaze. She thought he was an honest man. A good man, if he cared about adventurers he’d never met. She nodded abruptly.
“That’s right. It’s not fair. But it’s what my friends need. That’s why you’ll never tell anyone what’s in the wand. It’s why I’ll lie to my friends, though I’m giving them a fortune in artifacts. It’s why I’m selling it. Because this wand is powerful—but it’s not what they need.”
“Explain.”
“Come on. You understand, don’t you?”
Ryoka gestured impatiently to the wand she held. She thought she could sense something inside of it. Power. Pure power, untapped, ready to be used. It was so tempting. That was why she could
n’t bring it back.
“They don’t need a wand that will make them a target of every magic-user on the continent. They need armor, weapons—and money. They need the gear to become a Gold-rank team, not a bullseye on their foreheads. So you’re going to give me everything I ask for, and then you’re going to write down in a book, or somewhere important that you’ll never forget. The Horns of Hammerad. That’s who you owe. And someday, you’ll pay that back.”
For a while she thought he wouldn’t accept. Hedault stood up, pace around the room, and stared at the wand. He went to the racks of armor and weapons, inspected them, shook his head, and stared at the wand. He muttered to himself about gold and costs, trying to talk himself out of it. But he kept staring at the wand.
In the end, he sat with a sigh across from Ryoka and she knew she’d won.
“Say I pay your price. What arms and artifacts would you require?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know what’s best for an adventuring team that’s about to reach Gold-rank. But I bet you do. And I bet you can get everything I want by tomorrow.”
Hedaut stared at Ryoka incredulously.
“And you would trust me to make such decisions?”
“I trust that you would be honest. You seem like you’ve been on a level so far. And I can check all the artifacts you give me, and make sure it sounds like a fair trade.”
Again Hedault went around the room. This time he came to a decision faster.
“One condition. Tell me what is inside. And then I will make my choice.”
Ryoka held her breath. She stared at Hedault, and decided that he wasn’t going to budge. So she judged Ivolethe as the faerie sat on the coffee table, still chewing down the much-depleted plate of fruits.
“Ivolethe? Do you mind doing this?”
The faerie looked up. She stared at Hedault, and then dropped the bit of prune she was eating. She stood up, and flew over to the wand resting on the table. And when she stood above it, she wasn’t the somewhat evil, somewhat playful faerie that lived in Ryoka’s belt pouch.
She was something else. Something older, that stared down at the wand and touched it with a tiny hand. Ivolethe spoke, and her voice was far away.
“In a forest long gone, there grew a tree. It grew wild, and tall. And free. Ten thousand winters passed as it touched the sky. So tall. So very high. And when it shed the last leaf upon the ground it grew a single bloom. A child, a small one to grow out of the tree’s final doom. But they took it, they stole it, and sealed it away. Here to never grow, here to always stay. For magic thou art, thou small seedling hid. Magic to summon and wield as your owner bids.”
