Underkeeper

When the guard challenged them at the main palace gate, Ed drew himself up in a posture Bernt had never seen on the man and fixed him with an authoritative glare accompanied by his more customary scowl.

“I’m here to alert the magistrate to a threat and to submit a formal report of a breach in the city’s defenses by a hostile force to the count.”

The guard nervously looked from Ed to the group standing behind him. “Erm, any such reports should go through the captain of the gua—”

“Oh, shut up,” Ed snarled. “I’m a godsdamned archmage. I can talk to the magistrate whenever I want. Moreover, city defense is within my purview as a senior city official. If your boss is too lazy or incompetent to do his job, I’m required to intervene as needed. Either open the door, or I’m going to open it for you.”

“Now, listen here!” the guard said, but Ed apparently wasn’t planning to listen for even a moment. He really was an archmage, the head of any magical order had to be. That was true even for publicly funded organizations like the Underkeepers, which was so low-rent it wasn’t even affiliated with the Mages’ Guild.

Regardless, this was the first time that Bernt saw what Ed’s title actually meant. Without him moving a muscle or drawing a wand—or his pipe—the massive barred doors to the palace began to swing open, groaning and cracking as the heavy iron hooks that held the bar in place were torn free. He was casting a ridiculously powerful spell entirely with his mind. Two spells, actually, as the guard tried to step forward to stop him and found that he couldn’t. Instead, he lost his balance and hit the dirt. His foot was stuck to the ground, glued down with a basic adhesion cantrip.

Ed didn’t even look like he was concentrating hard.

They walked in to find guards scrambling toward them, and while the other Underkeepers seemed calm, Bernt was starting to get worried. The three former prisoners looked terrified.

As the guards advanced toward the group, they slowed down. Then a few stumbled, a few fell, and others began vomiting violently. None reached them as they advanced through the courtyard.

When the next set of doors opened, someone stepped out of a side door to block their way. It was a severe-looking woman in ornate robes who Bernt immediately recognized—she’d given a speech at his graduation ceremony from the Mages’ Academy. It was Archmage Iriala, the count’s own court mage.

They were so, so screwed.

But she didn’t shout or start casting spells to evaporate them all where they stood. She just raised a single, impeccably groomed gray eyebrow at them.

“Archmage Thurdred, what are you doing?” she asked.

Bernt wasn’t being addressed, but he felt the urge to apologize and back away. Ed, apparently, didn’t.

“Hey Iri, nice to see you.” he said, wearing what passed for a friendly expression for those who knew him—it was still a scowl. “Don’t worry about it, alright? It’s another one of those ‘changelings taking over the docks’ type of situations, except it’s kobolds and sewers this time.”

Archmage Iriala relaxed, frowning thoughtfully. “Again? Ugh. How hard is it to find a competent guard commander?”

Fiora rolled her eyes. “Guard commanders are always somebody’s nephew or brother or something. If you can’t work around them, you go through them, right?”

Iriala stared at her. “What? No, of course not! Don’t you people have any sense of subtlety or tact at all?”

While Bernt and the others shifted uncomfortably, Ed, Fiora, and Dayle just stared back blankly.

The archmage sighed, throwing up her hands. “Right, of course you don’t. That’s how you three got dumped into the Underkeepers in the first place.”

Ed grinned at her. “Thanks, Iri.”

She stepped aside and gestured them through to the door behind her, sighing.

“Just don’t say anything stupid to the magistrate. I’m not letting you anywhere near the count. You’ll get yourself executed!”

Moments later, Bernt found himself herded into a large waiting area with a desk at one end. The magistrate’s secretary was a young man who clearly had no idea what he was supposed to do with a crowd of malodorous mages dripping sludge all over the floor, but Archmage Iriala came to his rescue.

“Tomas, take Archmage Thurdred in to see the magistrate, please. I’ll keep the rest here. He’ll probably want to have them all interviewed later, so you should send a note over to the Adventurers’ Guild to arrange a special investigator.”

Tomas looked at her, puzzled.

“Not the guard commander, archmage?”

Iriala snorted. “I doubt it. He’ll probably need to be interviewed as well.”

Even as she said it, a corpulent man in a generously cut guard uniform pushed into the room. He had three stripes on his shoulders, which marked him as the City Guard commander.

“Halt! Stop! You’re all under arrest!” he panted. “For assaulting officers of the peace, destroying palace property and insulting the king’s appointed representative!”

Tomas looked between the guard commander and Iriala as if asking for help.

Ed broke the stalemate by opening the far door and stepping into the magistrate’s office. Tomas scrambled to catch up as an authoritative voice rang out from inside.

“Archmage, what is the meaning of this? And what’s so urgent that you had to track that filth onto my carpet? Is that blood on your robes?”

“They’ve attacked the palace!” shouted the guard commander just before Iriala put a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and looked at her, suddenly very nervous.

“Commander Righmond,” she said calmly, “I don’t think this is the best time to throw accusations around, especially at someone who has, apparently, been doing your job. And not for the first time, if memory serves.”

“Lord magistrate,” came Ed’s voice. “I’m here to report an incursion. We had, and probably still have, kobolds inside the walls. They’ve been abducting citizens for at least a few days, including two of my mages, one of whom nearly died in the process. I took a bolt through the stomach conducting a search, and we extracted the prisoners just a few minutes ago.”

“Kobolds?” The magistrate groaned. Then, more loudly, he called out through the open door. “Righmond, get in here!”

As the commander hurried into the office, the magistrate went on.

“And you didn’t raise the alarm with the guard commander… why? Why did you even run a search and rescue on your own? You could have been killed, and you wouldn’t have even been able to make this report!” the magistrate cried. “We have procedures for a reason!”

“Because I already reported my first missing mage last night, and these three here were captured nearly a week ago,” Ed explained reasonably. “Turns out procedures don’t get you very far when your City Guard doesn’t take the city’s security seriously. It’s like that damn thing with the changelings all over again!”

“Look here!” Commander Righmond hissed, but then Tomas finally closed the door, reducing the ensuing discussion to a dull murmur.

Bernt looked around, catching Dayle’s eye.

“What’s going to happen now?” he asked.

“To us?” Dayle shrugged. “They’re going to want to interview us individually about what we saw below. They’ll want to assess the threat, try to figure out what’s coming our way. Righmond, though? That guy is screwed.” He looked over at Iriala. “They can’t overlook this, right?”

“They might. He’s married to the King’s second cousin, after all.”

Fiora raised her eyebrows at Dayle in an exaggerated “I told you so,” but Iriala went on.

“They won’t be able to do much to Ed, but the old bastard should still be more careful. Being in the right isn’t enough. Just because the count isn’t going to hang him doesn’t mean the guard and Righmond’s relatives won’t find other ways to make his—and your—lives miserable. Now, all of you stay here. I have to go do damage control with Count Narald. I can’t have Ed’s stupid feud with Righmond associated with the Mages’ Guild. Tomas will have someone along to take your statements soon.”

With a shrug, Dayle settled into a chair and rubbed at his wrists, where the bruises were only now starting to fade. Minor healing potions really were garbage.

“It’ll be a while,” he said, gesturing to the others. “Might as well get comfortable. One of you mind doing a cleaning cantrip on everybody’s clothes and the carpets here? I don’t have my staff and it reeks in here.”