A wizards flame a progre.., p.11
A Wizard’s Flame: A Progression Fantasy Adventure (Underkeeper Book 2), page 11
Bernt considered that for a moment. Sure, he had no talents in that direction, but that wasn’t true of everyone. He didn’t mention what he’d learned about bards—that some humans clearly could communicate with spirits, and that they did so successfully enough to create their own enchanted, or “infused,” tools. He didn’t really know how all that worked, and besides, it wasn’t his secret to tell. Blabbing to anyone about guild secrets was never a good idea.
He considered asking about it further, but they emerged into the Undercity Market, which was already coming to life. Stalls from goblins, gnomes, dwarves and humans were all looking to capitalize on the traffic that streamed from the new neighborhoods through the market and up into the city, where most of them still worked—for now.
“You know, it’s fine.” Bernt cast a torch spell over one raised hand. “We don’t have shamans, but goblins don’t really have mages. We’re all here now—think of what we can do together!”
Nirlig’s seemingly inexhaustible smile widened.
15 Acolyte
Nirlig, as it turned out, was a true people person. Bernt thought he himself had done reasonably well, getting to know the names of a few of the newbies and helping Lin, the matronly goblin witch, to heat her tea the previous morning.
But Bernt was apparently an amateur. The gregarious goblin knew practically everyone. As they entered the Underkeepers’ headquarters, he saw and greeted the door guard, a dwarf Bernt couldn’t remember seeing before, by name. He waved to and greeted every goblin, dwarf and gnome they passed in the halls, saying hello and inquiring about pets or minor personal details in passing.
How had he possibly gotten to know so many people in… what, a few days? Then again, watching him go, it was easy to see how. It was impressive to watch him finish one passing chat to begin another, all without missing a beat, slowing down, or failing to hear what anyone else was saying.
They were about to turn the corner into the break room—where Bernt hoped to snag another cup of Lin’s tea before starting the day—when a door clicked open and a familiar voice rang down the hallway.
“Now, listen here, you old bastard. I know better than anyone that I can’t stop my son from making naive, foolish decisions, but by Oreleth, you’ll keep him well out of harm’s way or I don’t care what it costs—I’m going to come for you. Do you understand me?”
Ed came around the corner, and a portly man in a stylish and highly decorated city guard’s uniform followed half a step behind him. The Underkeeper looked more annoyed than threatened by his words. Bernt recognized this man as Guard Commander Righmond as they walked past the little group, neither taking notice of him or his companions.
“The entire Undercity is ‘in harm’s way,’ relatively speaking—that was kind of the point!” Ed sighed and shook his head at Righmond. “But I’m not going to send your kid out to fight Duergar just because you’re an asshole. He’ll be fine. He’ll get some training and a little discipline, maybe pick up a few skills and do some patrolling. He can make friends here who will watch his back. Listen, I’ve trained a lot of green recruits in my day…”
The two vanished around another corner, and their voices grew indistinct.
What was all that about? Shaking his head, Bernt stepped into the break room and headed for the little kitchen in the corner. He’d already taken a few steps when he noticed it was oddly quiet. Not silent, just… muted. There were a lot of people in the room, sitting around tables and murmuring softly to one another. The sound was totally unlike the dull roar that had filled the place the previous day.
It only took Bernt one quick look around to find the source of the odd mood. A young man wearing an expensive-looking white tunic sat awkwardly at a table in the corner. A scabbarded sword leaned against the wall next to him. He was the only one in the room out of uniform. Then again, nobody in their right mind wore brilliant white tunics—they were impossible to keep clean. There was only one place in the city where people walked around dressed like that: the Temple District. The others threw glances his way that ranged from curious to uncomfortable.
No one approached him. No one except Nirlig, of course. As the friendly goblin finished another snappy conversation, all the while sampling someone’s drink at their insistence, he moved directly over to the newcomer and settled down at his table. As he did, Jori jumped up onto the table next to him. The human flinched away and looked nervously between them, but then took Nirlig’s proffered hand.
Bernt could already guess who this had to be. Wondering briefly if he was going to regret this, he gathered up four cups, heated a bit of fresh water with a cantrip, and went looking for Lin’s bag of tea.
“—heard that the Underkeepers were fighting them,” the young man was saying as Bernt walked up with the drinks. “Paladins don’t get chosen for their inaction. They’re supposed to put themselves between the faithful and the forces of evil. Instead, we got saved from a warlock infiltrator yesterday by a handful of Underkeepers. It’s the last straw! I can’t just sit around up there anymore, I need to get out there!”
“That was me!” Jori bragged happily. “Bernt and I, and Tessa the Solicitor, went under the Paladin’s Hall and caught him! He had a nasty alchemical fire thing, too.” She held out her hands to illustrate its size and shape. “He tried to throw it, but I caught it right out of the air!”
The acolyte looked… well, he was looking a little green around the gills as he stared at the little imp. All things considered, though, he still seemed surprisingly amenable to sharing a table with a demon and a goblin.
A second passed. Then he made a strange noise and threw up his hands in obvious frustration. “That’s even worse! I can’t believe none of the temples sent any paladins to support the Underkeepers when it became clear that this would be the second line of defense behind the army.”
“So, I guess they didn’t send you either?” Bernt set down the cups and passed one to him. “I’m Bernt.”
“Uh, hi. I’m Torvald,” he answered, looking a little relieved to see another human. He gestured down at his white attire. “And no, of course not. I’m not a paladin yet! I haven’t been chosen. Most of us just work in the Temple District until we get our first calling. But I’ve always known where I’m supposed to be. Most of the gods who choose paladins reward initiative. So, why wait to do the right thing? I signed up as a recruit.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you!” Nirlig said. “We’ve got the mages, a witch, two druids, a thief, a warlock and a bunch of skilled fighters of different kinds. And Jori here—I don’t know exactly how she fits, but she works here too! No clerics and no paladins by my count until you showed up.” The goblin smiled. “But there’s plenty of room in the organization!”
The young man tore his wide eyes from Jori to blink at him.
“Uh, a witch?”
Bernt explained, “They’re sort of like self-taught hedge mages that incorporate alchemy and ritual magic to whatever effect they can manage. Usually to act as rudimentary healers for places that don’t have healing potions… or clerics…” He trailed off, interrupted by Nirlig’s snorting laugh.
“Haha. Maybe human witches, sure. Lin’s not self-taught and Goblin witchcraft is an ancient tradition. It’s hardly the same as a human villager playing with herbs. That tea there will keep you going all day and make sure you sleep like a baby tonight.”
Surprised, Bernt opened his mouth to ask what exactly goblin witches were capable of, but was stopped by the sound of a bell. It echoed through the halls, striking four times, and Nirlig stood up, downing his cup in a single gulp.
“Alright, I have to go. That’s the signal for change of shift. It was wonderful to meet you all. I’ll see you around!”
Jori scampered behind, chattering at him about how she fit in just fine, thank you, and that she was an “integral part of the Underkeepers’ peacekeeping and counterterrorism operations”—where had she picked up a phrase like that?
Bernt put it out of his mind and looked curiously at his tea, trying to sense any mana in it. He couldn’t. With a shrug, he rose as well and nodded to the incipient paladin, who was still watching the departing goblin and imp. “Alright, I need to go pick up my assignment. I’m sure I’ll see you around soon.”
He hadn’t actually done any guard duty so far, and hadn’t even realized they had a signal bell—though he supposed it made sense. Had the others been briefed on all this? He’d only been off work for a single day!
Bernt wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—maybe normal maintenance or pest management duties, or rooting out other potential infiltrators. Could there really have only been one patrol of dwarves that got through? Instead, he found himself sitting in a quiet room alongside Kustov, Yarrod, Dayle and Fiora detailing the correct procedures for identifying, handling and disposing of a variety of controlled alchemical substances under Ed’s stern gaze. Jori somehow talked Palina into assigning her to “help” Nirlig guard a new access stairwell that someone, probably Kustov, had built to connect the new Underworks directly to the Crafters’ District.
The two talked like old friends about how convenient the stairs would be for daily commuters, who would otherwise have to walk nearly half an hour into the Undercity Gate, down the tunnel, through the Undercity Market and then through the left-hand tunnel to circle back underneath the Crafter’s District.
Bernt did his best to tune them out and got to work.
An hour into the process, he shook out his cramping hand and silently thanked Aedina, the goddess of knowledge, that he’d spent so much time studying the procedures. In practice, Underkeepers almost never encountered any of these substances. By the time they reached a contaminated site, they were usually diluted by the water or fully spent on whatever effect they had—spawning slimes, killing or mutating the local fauna, or just setting the entire sewer aglow. After that, they weren’t dangerous to touch—if anything remained at all.
Bernt had little trouble answering the questions, but he couldn’t deny a sense of unease as he worked. Why were they sitting here taking a test when they’d been fighting Duergar infiltrators just yesterday? Ed hadn’t said anything about it. Shouldn’t they be preparing for… something? Anything?
When they finished, they followed Ed back to his office with the tests, which he barely glanced over before slapping them down into a drawer and signing a waste management certification for each of them, which he immediately dumped on top of the other papers in the same drawer.
Fiora cleared her throat. “Dammit, Ed. There’s a brand-new filing cabinet right behind you.”
Ed narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. Then he sighed, put down his pipe and heaved himself up out of his chair, extracting the entire mess from his drawer to go hunting for the correct file folder.
“Should hire a secretary around here,” the old man grumbled under his breath. “Iri has a secretary, sort of. Got to do every damned thing myself around here.”
He slammed the cabinet shut with a satisfied air. “Alright, that’s taken care of. That means we can finally deal with this backlog of reports from the alchemists. Those idiots have been driving me crazy—it’s their own damned fault it took so long to get around to them.”
Bernt stared at Ed, his vague unease finally spilling over.
“Ed. Why are we getting sent up for maintenance work?” he asked. “We got attacked yesterday, and the new guards have barely even started training. Shouldn’t we be doing something?”
Ed shrugged. “We’re doing plenty. The Mages’ Guild has a handful of abjurers working on warding the stone to keep out sappers—they even hired Janus from the Adventurers. Once they finish, it’ll be very difficult to attack Halfbridge’s most critical areas from below. At least without being detected long before they break through. The army’s watching its own lines, which screens us from the bulk of their forces, and we’re here keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity on the street.”
Bernt looked from Ed over at the others.
“War’s mostly just waitin’ around,” Dayle said. “It’s not even a war yet, really. This here all is just foreplay. They’re gonna cry big crocodile tears about rogue elements in their ranks or somethin’ for a few days—maybe it’ll settle back down, or maybe they’ll try something. Or maybe the general will lose his patience and go lookin’ for trouble. It’s not up to us. So, you know… might as well get some work done before the fires start.”
Ed grunted in agreement. “Work doesn’t stop for fighting more than it has to. Especially infrastructure maintenance and repair. But you’re not going to be visiting any alchemists. I doubt that they’d do anything to you now, but I think I’d rather keep you away from them after all that nonsense last month. Besides, I have another project for you. We have a new recruit who showed up at my door last night. Might be useful to have around if we can train him up a bit.”
“Torvald?” Bernt asked. “The white-shirt from the Temple District?”
Ed nodded. “You met him? That’s good. Yes. He seemed awfully fired up to go fight demons or some such nonsense. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea of what we do here, so I want you to grab him and Tessa from the training yard and start working the west side of the Lower District. We haven’t been down there in a while because there weren’t any complaints—but there never are. You’ll want to grab one of the big carts from the old office.”
Bernt suppressed a groan.
When was he going to get some good, clean guard duty? Just sitting around at a guard station or patrolling around in the street sounded incredible compared to scratching months-old muck out of undermaintained sewer grating and rooting out nests of unidentifiable mutants.
At least he’d have two people to help him out, though he couldn’t imagine a warlock and a temple acolyte would work together very well.
16 Siege
Iriala kept her face carefully neutral as Radast gave the count an overembellished bow and nodded graciously to the assembled leaders of the guilds, the temples and the military.
He was enjoying this far too much—it wasn’t appropriate, considering the circumstances.
The warlock’s shadow, she noticed, was playing at being normal today, though looking closely, she could tell it was a little too dark compared to the others in the room.
“I am honored to present important intelligence to your grace today,” the warlock began. The count would certainly have already seen the report, but it was traditional to pretend everyone was hearing things for the first time at functions like this.
He continued, “One of my associates detained a rogue warlock belonging to the Duergar forces, and I’ve spent the past two days interrogating the prisoner regarding the disposition and purpose of our adversaries.”
A well-dressed dwarf cleared his throat self-importantly. “Ahem. Alleged adversaries,” he corrected.
Right. This would be Pavrosh, the representative of the aspirationally named Mercantile Guild. In actuality, they were a sort of overgrown Teamsters’ Union that managed trade caravans between cities.
By now, even the official reports suggested the Duergar were seizing territory in the Depths near other Beseri cities. Even the Empire, which actually tried to maintain an underground buffer zone early in its history, had abandoned the attempt when two of its legions and several smaller garrisons had simply disappeared without a trace. While several cities had a presence underground, nobody could seriously claim to control any significant amount of the three-dimensional maze of tunnels and caverns that wormed their way underneath all of Besermark and beyond.
As far as Iriala knew, nobody expected the dwarves to simply back off from the current standoff. Nobody, that is, except a few delusional traders and merchants. Some probably just feared what a war might do to the country’s trade routes, but she imagined others were still hoping to open trade with the Duergar Empire.
Idiots. Sure, maybe they just wanted to set up convenient trading posts near all of Besermark’s most important urban centers. With their military, and without announcing their intentions.
“They detonated an alchemical incendiary device in the Crafters’ District,” Radast answered dryly. “And our current prisoner was apprehended with another such device beneath the Paladins’ Hall. The circumstances, considered alongside the prisoner’s testimony, should be more than enough to establish their hostile intentions.”
As he said this, he gave another gracious nod toward the small group of paladins and priests situated off to the side of the room. One of the paladins, an elderly man whose armor could hardly be more than symbolic at this point, gave him a good-natured nod back, accompanied by a small smile. The other paladin and both of the priests sitting with him glowered with barely restrained hostility. Iriala thought about figuring out what was going on there, but decided against it. Temple District politics were too confusing, even for her.
Each paladin and priest served their own god, but they also worked together on some level. Temples coordinated their actions mostly based on how their particular gods got along with each other, and how their respective theologies aligned on various issues. Confusingly, gods who were well-aligned philosophically might not always get along, while ones who had radically opposing ideas might work together closely at times. As a result, you could never tell what kinds of internal politics were going on in the Temple District if you didn’t fully understand both the history and the current relationships and interests of all the gods represented in the city. In short, it was a mess. Fortunately, that particular kind of mess practically never concerned her or the Mages’ Guild.
By now, the fool dwarf had stood up and puffed out his chest, preparing to launch a rebuttal, but Narald waved him to silence before he could get a word out, annoyance plain on his face.
