Underkeeper

“I’ve suspended assignments for the Alchemists’ Guild entirely,” Ed said, sighing as he picked up his cup of tea for a sip. It was made of delicate porcelain, decorated with flowers around the rim. The tea matched the cup in quality. He inhaled the fragrant steam, enjoying the scent. “We’ve been ordered to review all safety procedures regarding hazardous waste disposal, so we can’t possibly put our employees at risk until they’ve been properly certified. I preemptively sent word to both the Alchemists’ Guild and the magistrate expressing my regrets, so there’s no chance of any complaints coming back to burn us from their end. I also suggested to Gerold that, in light of our new responsibilities, it might take a while for us to get around to all that alchemical safety training. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t try to argue with me, either.”

He was quite proud of his solution, even if it was only temporary. He would still need a permanent deterrent, but that was why he was here.

Iriala watched him over the rims of her glasses, sipping her own tea pensively.

“It’s… not terrible. But you’re approaching this with the wrong mindset, I think,” she finally said, setting the cup down. “You’re still thinking like a soldier—someone strikes at you, and you hit them back.”

Ed frowned, confused. “And? What’s wrong with that? I’m turning their own game back against them. That’s good tactics, using what they gave me. If I can make sure that playing games with me comes at a cost, I can encourage them to think twice before doing it.”

“Sure, it’s not bad. But this is politics. You need to look at the bigger picture. It’s not just about defeating your rivals, it’s about using them to benefit yourself. Soldiers kill an enemy, loot a bit, and go home. It’s charming in its simplicity, but limited. A great politician transforms her enemy into a stepping stone, one forced to smile and congratulate her while she ascends to greater power.”

Ed grunted a laugh. Iri had always talked like this, even when they were young. He’d known when he came to visit her today that she was going to make him feel stupid, but that was the price you paid for Iri’s help. All things considered, that made it cheap. If he could have solved this on his own without burning the city to the ground, he would have already done it.

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, trying not to scowl too much. “Out with it. What have you got for me?”

She smiled a little knowing smile, displaying unnaturally white teeth.

“Do you happen to know what castrum root is used for?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “No, Iri, I’m not an alchemist.” She would have a point, he was sure—but he hated questions like this. She loved being all mysterious.

“It has some natural mental stabilizing effects—it’s used by herbalists to treat melancholy, for example. Anyway, the important part is that it doesn’t grow here, and it’s the base component for mind fortress elixirs…” She nodded at him, smiling and raising her eyebrows meaningfully. “And the alchemists don’t know that our old friend Righmond has two hundred guards that he’s about to loan out to the Underkeepers. To you!”

Ed groaned. “Iri, not even an Acolyte of Aedina could follow your train of thought the way you’re jumping around. Just tell me what you’ve got. I’m very busy—those damned kobolds could launch another assault any minute. I wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t have two trained war mages on staff to hold down the front line for me. I had to pull Fiora off desk duty.”

“Oh, Dayle’s got it handled over at the breach,” Iriala replied, glancing down into her glasses. “He’s making quite a mess, too. Do you think he’s holding a grudge?”

She gestured, projecting a live image into the air between them. Dayle was facing down an incoming band of kobolds while holding nothing but his focus—a standard-issue military trench shovel Ed himself had given the man to celebrate his promotion to magister-sergeant over a decade ago. He’d traded a month’s supply of his best tobacco to get their regiment’s enchanter to turn it into a solid focus for him.

Ed knew why there were no guards providing cover for him. Only an idiot would stand between an artillery mage and his target. They’d be nearby to step in if anyone came too close.

As if on cue, Dayle twisted his back and shoulders, swinging the blade of the shovel down into the solid stone floor of the sewers. It sank in with a loud crack, and hundreds of razor-sharp chips of stone blasted at the oncoming kobolds, leaving a neat trench in the stone. Dayle had incorporated a single geomancy investiture into his standard-issue force architecture, and the results hadn’t been quite… standard. As far as Ed knew, Dayle’s antipersonnel capabilities were unique.

And it did make an awful mess.

Ed grunted noncommittally as the image vanished. He knew he didn’t feel very charitable toward the little lizard bastards, and they’d only stuck him with their stupid trap, not kidnapped him.

“Anyway, we have time, so let me have some fun here,” Iriala continued. “You should start by investing in castrum root. Heavily. If you play this right, you’ll solve the Underkeepers’ budget issues and leave the Alchemists’ Guild begging you for mercy inside a week.”

***

Bernt had, for some reason, always pictured Garius as an imposing man dressed in earth tones and a green or brown cloak—the quintessential image of a ranger. The living legend standing in front of him looked… normal. Smaller than he’d expected. And he dressed in blue. Still, there was no mistaking him. There was a statue of him in Halfbridge’s Adventurers’ Guild, and he looked uncannily like an older, slightly broader version of Therion with a face like tanned leather.

“Hi there, how can I help you?” he asked.

“Uh…” Bernt responded, caught entirely off guard. He’d expected Therion, or maybe a servant, to open the door. “I was looking for Therion. Is he home?”

The older man eyed his robes. “Ah, good! You’re the young Underkeeper warlock that saved the day down in the dungeon, then.” His face split into a broad smile. “I was worried that you were here to open up the sewer. There’s an access shaft in the alley behind the house. I had your boss close it up tight with a proper hatch a few years ago, but it always stinks up the whole house whenever someone opens it. Those are the things nobody tells you when you buy a place, let me tell you!”

Bernt did his best to nod politely and make noises of agreement, until he actually registered what the man was saying.

“Ah. I’m not a warlock, actually. The demon was just… helping me out,” Bernt tried to explain.

“Really? Well, isn’t that interesting!” Garius went on animatedly, stepping outside and wandering down the path. The man was far chattier than Bernt would have imagined someone who stalked terrifying monsters through deadly forests could be. “Did you make an informal deal? That kind of thing can be pretty risky, you know. Well, are you coming?”

The man had stopped and gestured for Bernt to catch up.

“Therion is training over at the arena with Furin, Syrah and Elyn, I’ll walk you over.” Garius went on, picking up where he left off. “They’re working on ways to overcome charm spells. Countering that kind of thing is both painful and expensive, but worth it if you know you’re walking into a nest of mind sorcerers.”

“Ah, thanks,” Bernt replied. Now that he thought about it, Therion was only the second-best person to ask about this. “I was just coming by to ask Therion if he knew of a way to get a droplet of burning rain… without going through the Alchemists’ Guild.”

“Oh. I heard you guys had some trouble with them. But why bother going around them? They like money as much as anyone. It’s for an investiture, right? A fancy, rare magical substance like that? You should at least try them. Even if they hate you, they might like the idea of putting you in their debt.”

Bernt did not like that idea.

“Yea, but they might just decide to gouge me instead, which would be just as bad.”

Garius shrugged. “If you say so. Do you really need to do that investiture right now? I mean, you’ve already got yourself a reputation as a warlock. It’ll be hard to get adventuring work now, and it could take you years to convince people that you’re not going to sacrifice their pets in a ritual or something. If you’re really in a hurry to grow, it would probably be simpler to pact your demon friend. At least you’d get something for your trouble, making it official like that.”

Bernt made a face, but kept his voice even. “I’m not aiming to become a warlock, even if that might be easier.”

“Yeah… you’d be surprised what kinds of moves you make when your back is to the wall.” For a second, the cheerful expression slipped off of Garius’s face, and he suddenly looked old and worn. Then the smile was back, as quickly as it had disappeared. “Warlocks can be very powerful, and having a background as a mage is an enormous advantage! At least, that’s what I hear. I knew a berserker once who became a warlock—now, that was something to see.”

As the legendary ranger went off on a tangent about what a demonic pact could do for a berserker, Bernt worked through his surprise at hearing someone speak so positively about what he’d always understood as a class of pariahs. To hear Garius tell it, warlocks were tragic heroes as often as they were power-hungry, scheming maniacs. Granted, the adventurers in the dungeon had barely been fazed by Jori. Maybe they were just more pragmatic than normal people.

Still, he wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t trust Jori—it was that people wouldn’t trust him anymore. More than that, he didn’t want to borrow someone else’s power if he could help it. It just didn’t feel right. Thankfully, Bernt didn’t have to work out a way to explain this to the talkative adventurer, since they arrived at the same training ground Bernt had passed earlier. Walking past several open sparring areas, they entered the main building, where they found Bernt’s party, minus Oren.

Elyn stood in front of the rest of the group, flute raised to her mouth and playing a tune. To him, it sounded completely ordinary, but he supposed he also wasn’t being targeted. Furin was dancing a little jig while Therion was down on his knees, clinging to the ground as if he thought he was about to fall up into the sky. Only Syrah was unaffected, standing still and calm, her entire head shrouded in a golden halo.

Elyn stopped playing and lowered her instrument.

“Oh, come on, Syrah! That’s not fair. I can’t overcome a god!”

Furin stopped his jig and glared at Elyn.

“Elyn. I. Do not. Dance.”

The half-elf giggled at the giant dwarf. “Come on, Furin, you looked like you were having such a great time. I should take you dancing for real sometime!”

Furin took a breath to respond to Elyn, but then stopped and looked down at Therion, who was still on the ground.

“Hm. Syrah?” he asked, gesturing down at the quivering man.

Syrah did a double take, just now noticing that Therion was down.

“Oh, sorry, Therion!” she called out. She hurried over and put her hands on the mage’s head, whispering something. Golden light glowed briefly, and Therion relaxed onto the ground before rolling on his back. He groaned.

“Ugh… it’s still too much. I have to dial it down more.”

“Hey, son!” Garius called with sparkling eyes and a gigantic, shit-eating grin. Bernt could see Therion close his eyes in despair from where he stood. “Are you winning?”

“No, Dad,” groaned Therion. “I’m trying to modify a fear spell to counter Elyn’s charm effect, and now instead of being charmed, I just get incapacitated.”

“You’ll get it!” Garius said. “You just need practice. What about Furin? You looked like you were having a bit of trouble there, my friend!”

Furin sighed, clearly frustrated. “I could use a mind fortress elixir, but with my enhancements, I’m supposed to be able to adapt to these kinds of attacks with enough practice. I’ve been immune to fear spells for years, I don’t know why charms should be so much harder to overcome… Oh, hi there, Bernt.”

Bernt had never heard Furin say so many words in a row. When Furin noticed him, Therion sat up, and Syrah gave a nod, more friendly now that Jori wasn’t there with him. Elyn waved cheerily as Garius pulled Furin away, asking him for details on how his “enhancements” worked. Bernt didn’t know what all the different kinds of physical fighters did to compete with spellcasters, but there were many rumors about secret rituals, divine blessings, and horrific alchemical conditioning that melded a fighter’s spirit into their physical body. The investment process wasn’t free of risks or pain, but he was glad he would never have to do anything like that.

“Hey Bernt,” Elyn said. “Want to join the fun? How’s Jori?”

“Uh, she’s fine,” Bernt responded. “I actually came to ask you guys for some help…” He struggled to decide where to start. “Therion, you remember a few weeks ago, when I cited Master Alchemist Julian for illegal dumping and you managed to get him thrown out of the city for it?”

Therion huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that was awesome. That guy was the worst—I can’t believe he didn’t get thrown out sooner!”

Bernt hunched his shoulders slightly, grimacing at the memory. “Uh. It might not have been such a great idea after all.”

He was also feeling a little resentful toward Therion for pushing the issue as far as it had gone. But realized that was irrational—he’d been glad at the time and neither of them could have known they would go this far. Quickly, he explained what had happened to him the day before, and his current predicament. “Your father says I should just try to buy the burning droplet from them anyway.”

Therion looked over to Elyn. “Yeah, why not? Hey, we wanted to go down to the market anyway, right? Why don’t we just go together? If they don’t want to sell to you, I bet I can talk the alchemist’s supplier into a deal!”