by Brian Keller
Cooper finished eating and quickly left the dining hall before anyone overcame their reservations and approached him. Cooper felt certain that once one person approached, that conversation would mark the proverbial breaking of the dam and the subsequent flood of classmates would be nearly impossible to navigate.
When he arrived in the Smithy, Master Loril waved him over. “Master Worthan has summoned me and he asked that I bring you with me.” He turned to speak to his assistant, “I should be back soon. Each of the students have projects they’re responsible for; just be prepared to assist any that might need a little prompting before I return.” Master Loril’s assistant gave him a definitive nod as he set about stoking the coals in the forge.
Cooper had to step quickly to keep up with the bigger man’s strides but he managed to ask, “Do you know why Master Worthan wants to see me?” Master Loril shook his head, “No, lad. I don’t. But in your current position, I’d expect that the occasion might not be a joyous one.” Cooper had already resolved himself to accept any punishments that were handed down. He was confident that no one questioned his intentions, but also understood that while he hadn’t adequately assessed the circumstances, neither had he considered the collateral effects of his actions. The two of them didn’t exchange another word while they walked to the Copyist’s Room.
Master Worthan was sitting at his desk. An unbidden question surfaced in Cooper’s mind as he wondered where, or even if, the Guildmaster slept. Master Worthan turned to face them as they entered, “Cooper, seat yourself in the corner there for a moment. I wish to have a few brief words with Master Loril first, so that he may return quickly to his Smithy.” Cooper did as he was directed but still strained to hear the conversation between the two men. It wasn’t difficult, Master Worthan spoke quietly but clearly, “Old friend, I wish I could bring certain matters openly to the Master’s Council, but I am certain that you understand why I cannot.” He paused and Master Loril nodded. “Jarell, while a very capable Guild member, could not have accomplished all that he has done without assistance.” This observation was met with another nod from the Swordsmith as Master Worthan continued, “I have several other trusted members checking into this as well, but we both are aware of certain ‘advantages’ you might exercise to assist these efforts. I realize the potential threat it poses to you, so I’ll only ask that you be discreet… not to put yourself at risk.” Then Master Loril asked, “You have people for this. Wouldn’t it be better to assign this to-” Master Worthan interrupted him, “Considering our current circumstances, I am entrusting this to you.” Master Loril gave another nod; this nod was deeper, acknowledging the task set before him. Cooper wondered what “advantages” Master Loril might exercise, but he certainly couldn’t ask without revealing that he’d been eavesdropping. Master Worthan politely dismissed Master Loril by telling him, “Thank you. Now, I won’t hold you from your classes any longer.” He then turned his head to look at Cooper, while the boy tried to look interested in nothing in particular. The old man’s face creased in a knowing smile as he called Cooper over to his desk, “Mister Cooper, I will ask you to recount, yet again, whatever details you recall from your discussion with our former Master of Coin.” This certainly wasn’t what Cooper had expected but he tried to describe his conversation with Jarell as best he could, including the almost philosophical discussion regarding Power and the man’s attempt to assess his potential for recruitment. Master Worthan stopped him several times in order to ask a few specific questions about certain points of the conversation. Cooper got the sense that the Guildmaster was intent on dissecting Jarell’s verbiage and turns of phrase in order to draw conclusions of his overall intent.
Once the line of questioning was exhausted, Master Worthan changed topics, “We should discuss your use of Channeling while dueling with Jarell.” He held up his hand to silence the boy’s protest, “I understand you used your power in order to defend yourself. I can hardly fault you for that, but I fear we must revisit the topic. I’m sure you recall an earlier conversation we had about Channeling; specifically that there are people that hunt us, the Gifted.” Cooper nodded, “Yes, sir. I remember.” The old man nodded, “The way you’ve described your fight with Jarell, there’s almost no way he didn’t notice your ability. Jarell is an intelligent man. Knowing that you’re too young to have Manifested, it wouldn’t take him long to draw the right conclusions. His services to the Guild put him in contact with people from all walks of life. It should be assumed that if he doesn’t already know any of these hunters, he’ll know someone that can point him in the right direction. If Jarell feels that you’re beyond his reach, then he certainly wouldn’t be above sending others to seek you out, this is yet another reason for restricting you within the walls of the Guild.”
Cooper considered this for a moment, then asked a question that had been on his mind for some time, “Sir, does anyone understand what causes Manifestation to happen? Why does it almost always happen upon reaching a certain age?” Master Worthan smiled and brought up a hand to scratch a spot on his neck, “A person’s body produces chemicals all the time. Some for aiding digestion, for instance. Other chemicals are tied with growth. We produce them all the time but at a certain age, usually around twelve or thirteen years old, a young person begins to produce more of certain chemicals than they had before. Research suggests that these chemicals somehow open a path for each person’s body to accept or convert energies. Starting in the pre-teen years, these chemicals begin increasing and continue to increase, sometimes into a person’s mid-twenties or even longer. The ages may or may not be important, but it seems that there may be a certain threshold, different in each person, that once those hormones exceed that level, they Manifest.
Cooper was listening intently and had become thoughtful, “If that’s the case then, sir, wouldn’t there be hereditary factors for everyone? A child would be similar to the parents, wouldn’t they?” Master Worthan smiled, he even looked a little proud, “Here you are, still too young to Manifest and you’re already asking the same questions that we’ve been investigating for years. Entire courses in the University attempt to research and answer these questions.” He chuckled before he continued, “As near as we can determine, despite the University’s claims to the contrary, there may be some hereditary tendencies. The offspring of Talented blacksmiths tend to keep that family business, for example. But there are enough exceptions to this that it has never been considered a rule. Perhaps affinities run hereditarily, but each person’s thresholds are different enough that there appears to be no linkage. Professors and Sages have studied this subject for generations. Perhaps there are some that know, but if there are, they are not revealing it.” Master Worthan appeared like he might have more to add, but then stopped himself, “I think you’ve missed enough class time recently. There’s no reason to miss any more. Return to the Smithy. We’ll speak again soon.”
Chapter 5
A few days later, during Scenarios class, the discussion continued about national heritages and genealogies of ruling lines. This naturally evolved into questions about changes in succession, conflicts and wars. The nation that once existed where he now sat, before being conquered by King Argravel’s grandfather, was entirely lost and could be found now only in almost unknown tales and even more obscure history books. Of whatever preceded that, Cooper had never seen or heard anything, not even a name or a reference. The saying “To the victor go the spoils” referencing the Spoils of War, was a concept that resonated strongly with the thieves and assassins-in-training, but Cooper took the thought a step further as he mused, “It’s starting to sound like the greatest of “The Spoils of War” is the ability to write history from your point of view. Those that are defeated lose more than their lives. It seems common that they are also simply forgotten.” Cooper hadn’t realized that anyone was listening as he quietly spoke the words. Boyd was sitting next to him and had heard him, and turned to give Cooper a thoughtful look of approval.
Late
r that same week, as they were seated at the dinner table, Birt was recapping a few of the occurrences of the week and mentioned that he’d heard a decision had been made regarding the new Master of Coin. It seemed that Master Loril’s assistant, Rolan, had an uncanny knack for numbers. Rolan had been an Adept for several years and with Master Loril’s recommendation he’d been interviewed for the posting and had quickly outpaced the other hopefuls. Unfortunately for Master Loril, this left him without an assistant and Cooper felt a moment of apprehension as he considered whether this might affect how he served his detention. As Birt continued his monologue, Cooper realized he had no reason for concern. Dailen had immediately stepped forward and had become Master Loril’s new assistant/apprentice. Cooper recalled how Dailen’s eyes shone, despite the soot, sweat and grime that covered him, as he worked to fashion shapeless hunks of metal into functional and even attractive items.
Cooper continued to spend his evenings washing, rinsing and stacking glassware in Miss Camilla’s Apothecary classroom. She and Aden often worked late into the night. Sometimes they collaborated, but most often it seemed that each of them had their own projects. They had both worked for several weeks on trying to develop a luminescent compound, but had come no closer than they had been months before. The compound worked but not without a substantial application of heat during the final combination of ingredients. They had agreed to put that formula on the shelf for awhile and each had moved on to other projects. If they’d worked together on any compound since that attempt, Cooper was not aware of it.
Miss Camilla had been working on an adhesive but the mixture kept hardening while it was being stored. Once hardened, it’s adhesive properties were lost. She looked like she was becoming more and more frustrated. Cooper wondered whether she’d simply lose patience and move on to something else, or whether she might enlist the aid of another chemist, perhaps a Master. To Cooper, it seemed like sometimes pride got in the way of Miss Camilla’s success. He understood her desire to succeed independently, but he wondered whether it might be better to ask for help, and potentially gain some additional useful formulae. The Guild would certainly benefit more from positive results than from failed attempts stalled by pride.
Aden had been working on some kind of poison. He’d placed trap cages all around the Guild to capture rodents for use as test subjects. This met with particular approval from the ladies in the dining hall, although it could sometimes be a little less appealing when one of the ladies would ‘happen by’ during meal time to ask Aden to stop in afterward to retrieve a “loaded cage” from the kitchen. Cooper would have preferred to remain ignorant of the fact that there were furry vermin scuttling about in the same room where his food was being prepared. Even with this knowledge, he finished his meals without difficulty and, of course, it appeared that Kolrem wasn’t affected in the slightest.
Many Guild members were involved in activities to replenish the treasury, Cooper’s classmates were often included in these efforts. It was sometimes frustrating for Cooper to listen to his classmates recounting the activities of the night before. Hearing about how scared or excited they were as they performed their duties often left Cooper feeling empty and useless. Knowing that he had no one to blame but himself did little to assuage his frustration. If anything, it made it worse. His mood became even darker when he learned of Boyd’s death. The older boy had been assisting with some debt collections in the Waterfront District, towards the north end of Batter’s Field. Boyd was acting as a lookout. The collection team reported that they heard him shout, and then heard sounds of fighting. They ran towards the sounds but when they got there all they found was his body. Boyd’s corpse looked pale, almost bleached out, and it was already cold and stiff; as if he’d been dead overnight. There wasn’t a wound anywhere on him. There had always been scary bedtime stories about the Ruins to the north of the city, but such tales were normally just that… stories. Even as a child, Cooper realized that most everyone must believe some part of the tales. No one went into the Ruins. Not the City Watch, not soldiers, not Guild members, no one. Cooper had never heard of anything coming out of the Ruins, or even to the edge of it, but the way the collection team described the event had two words on everyone’s lips: Magic and Ghosts.
Considering their history, Boyd’s death affected Cooper more than he thought it should. Despite the fact that Boyd had matured beyond being the bully Cooper had known, they hadn’t exactly become friends. Cooper couldn’t seem to forget, and that affected his ability to forgive. Perhaps because of this, for him at least, Boyd’s death felt particularly unresolved. While the memories didn’t weigh heavily upon him, he did find that these thoughts often found their way into his mind throughout the day. It was during one of these moments that Aden intruded.
Cooper was still drying his hands after putting away the last of the glassware he had cleaned as Aden approached, “Cooper, you seem to be really distracted lately. Are you alright? Anything I might help with?” Cooper scowled as he turned to verbally lash out in response, “To be honest, I was having some concerns about you as well. Are you sure you’re cut out for life in the Guild?” The bitter tone of Cooper’s words caused Aden to withdraw. Aden’s expression grew solemn, “Ok. I can see you’re in no mood to talk right now. I have something to show you, but maybe tomorrow morning would be better.” Cooper watched as Aden walked away.
The following morning, before breakfast, Aden led Cooper to the Lab and then to a work table on the far side of the room. He explained, “Miss Camilla has been teaching me some advanced materi- please don’t touch anything here. Over half of these beakers and vials contain something lethal.” Cooper had been reaching forward to look more closely at one of the vials. He withdrew his hand. Aden continued to explain, “She’s asked me to work with her on developing a new poison. When this one is complete, it will be called ‘Life Blight’. It’s the most complex poison she’s ever asked me to work on. It’s intended to be a systemic poison that causes a fairly swift but excruciating death, but so far it only causes tissue destruction at the wound site. I don’t know what it’s missing, but I can’t get it to go systemic.” While Aden was speaking, Cooper couldn’t help but wonder about him, but he kept his thoughts quiet, “He’s always so subdued and mild-mannered. Docile, even. So seemingly harmless that Loryn was immediately drawn to him. But here he is, calmly describing his role in developing a lethal poison that’s specifically designed to result in a punishing death.” Aden held out the formula for him to look at. After a few minutes of study Cooper looked up and over at Aden, “Valerian.” Aden looked doubtful, “Valerian? Valerian is a calming and healing agent, except in large doses…” Aden’s expression became one of confusion, “Are you suggesting a Valerian overdose? I mean, if we did that then the poison itself would be pointless!” Aden’s voice had included a hint of impatience. Cooper held out his hands in a placating gesture, “No. A small amount, but just enough to trick the body into accepting the poison, instead of isolating it.” Aden’s eyebrows went up as his expression changed from irritation to realization and then enthusiasm, “Could that work?!” He ran through the formula in his head. “I think it might! Brilliant! The actual solution will be more involved than that, but I think you’ve gotten me past that obstacle! Probably not valerian though, but something that might work in a similar fashion!” Aden gathered up some parchment and a quill and began scribbling feverishly. Aden made no dismissive gesture but it was apparent that their conversation was over. As Cooper left the lab, he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t so brilliant. Miss Camilla had asked for his input on almost the same problem a year ago when she was trying to analyze Jarell’s poison to discover its ingredients and process. Maybe he should’ve suggested some Cicero pepper…
*****
Jarell’s recovery was slow, but at least he had the means to hire one of the best healers from the University. His wounds might have already healed if not for the fact that it had taken him a couple days to even identify one of his
Waterfront crews, then another couple of days to make his way to his hidden home in Miller’s Flats. It had been a bit dicey in the Waterfront for an hour as he sought for ways to convince and then confirm the relationship between himself and one of his mercenary crews. It took quite a bit of explanation to help them to understand that their continued employment depended on his survival. The fact that the putrid odor coming from his festering wound was quite offensive to anyone close enough to hold a conversation with him simply added to the challenge. Once the crew was convinced, they carried him to a dinghy and ferried him south to the Dregs. From there he was able to send for a healer to deal with the growing infection. He remained in the healer’s care while they moved from the Dregs to Miller’s Flats. Now that his diet had returned to normal, and he was again surrounded by warmth and comfort, the spread of the infection had slowed but significant damage had already been done. The healer was skilled but honest. Jarell was informed that while he certainly wouldn’t die from the infection and he would surely walk again, perhaps even run; he might never regain full strength and would likely have a limp for the rest of his life. Jarell spat a foul-tasting glob from his mouth as he considered, “All this because I’d misread and underestimated a mere boy…!” As he lay convalescing he took some time to assess the situation. His crews were operating on standing orders, and would continue to do so for as long as they lived or until the money ran out. The money he’d allotted for those operations should last for another several months. The other matter in the north side of the city required almost constant maintenance at this point. If he lost control of that, then all he had done up to this point could escape his control. He needed to heal. He knew that within an hour or two of their confrontation the boy, Cooper, would have returned to the Guild and reported his discovery. Jarell couldn’t know the full effect this information might have, but he’d already learned that almost everything of value in his home in the Grid had been removed and reclaimed by the Guild. Logically, at this point the boy was inconsequential, but the gnawing memory was the emotional equivalent of having a grain of sand in his eye. The boy was too young to have Manifested. He’d even admitted that he hadn’t yet Manifested. So how had he come to display such unearthly speed? Jarell had heard of some rare people that had abilities beyond those attributed to Manifestation. He’d also heard that there was an organization within the University that was devoted to locating these oddities, and eliminating them. His healer came from the University… perhaps he would know how to put him in contact with this group?
