Farek leaned against the stone archway at the front of his estate. It was midafternoon and the overhead sun slashed its way through scattered clouds to warm the cobblestones under his sandals. He was thinking about the Organization again, though Thrane had learned nothing more about the death of Lord Reeyan. All of the alliance—Thrane, Mavagar, and Jannia—seemed focused on their attempts to gain a foothold in Lo Mallago. As he watched the scattered bands of shadow shift across Soros, Farek waited for his invited guest to join him.
Other news kept trickling into the city, of course: weapons prices were rising as the war on the Great Isle began to affect the Grey Sea economy and Matriarch Valakono was on her way to Soros to visit. The latter likely had more to do with the Lo Mallago objective than with the troubling tidings from overseas. Valakono had been the oldest of the Three Matriarchs and now she continued as the senior of the Two. Farek was surprised she would be travelling this way in person—it had been many years since royalty visited the Bank.
At last, Devender came striding out of the estate’s doors. He ran a hand over his short brown hair as he navigated the short path to the archway where Farek awaited him. “Good afternoon, milord.”
“Farek is fine.” They began their walk down the street. Farek looked at his newest acquaintance and asked, “Is there anything in particular you would like me to show you?”
Devender, who had eagerly accepted Farek’s invitation of a city tour, shrugged. “I’d just like to get an impression of the various districts, I suppose. To know what’s what, and to learn more about the city.”
Lord Gallendris nodded and continued to cut across Coin Hill. It was the borough with which Devender had the most experience, after all. “Have you met anyone interesting in your studies abroad?” he asked.
“I’ve met the Grand Talisman of the Atmos Septi,” Devender articulated. The Grey Brethren, Farek thought. The master magician went on: “I do not much like the religion, if I’m being honest, but they do have the most academies in the Known World. I met Queen Zanna the Just, before she was usurped from the Eye of Maga. She was friendly and hospitable… but somewhat deluded about the lives her citizens lived.”
“I heard about her downfall,” Farek agreed.
“How involved are you with your family? Do you work hard or are you able to sit back and enjoy the benefits?” Devender asked, with a friendly smile.
Farek grinned. “I do whatever my sister asks of me, so I would say I’m fairly involved.”
“And what do you do for fun in the ‘city of sorrows’?” the sage asked. They had descended Coin Hill now and crossed the market district. Though the streets were crowded, Farek was recognized often and given a respectable bubble of privacy.
“Party, drink, gamble, flirt,” Farek rambled. “Avoid death—then party again. In that order.”
Devender chuckled. He had a much lower laugh than his voice, it seemed. “Sounds like you are living the life. I have rarely had the time.”
“No one really does,” Farek confessed. “I must be blessed.”
They paused to look around the many facets of Main Market, the widest city square in the city. Private guards patrolled sectors of the market or stoically stood duty at the merchants’ stall. A vendor shouted anxiously for Farek to peruse his wares until Farek gave him a quieting wave. Devender regarded him thoughtfully. “What do you like most about your city?”
“Hmm.” Farek glanced around the market as he thought about it. He had seen brawls here, and cornered merchants patted down for money. Soros was a city of strife, from the meekest scale to the grandest. “People are as devious as sincere. It sharpens the wits, if you will.”
Devender smiled. Farek had never been one for profound insights. He preferred clever snippets. He liked his people, but he wouldn’t lie about the tense ladder that represented Var Nordos social structure.
“What do you like about my city?” Farek wondered.
Devender scratched his scruffy jawline. “The wealth isn’t bad,” he said quickly. “But I like it because it’s not anywhere I have been before. Every place I go is new, like a fingerprint. I learn some things, I teach some things. Sometimes I stay for a few months, but sometimes a few years.”
“Is there anything that you can teach me?” They were in the harbour now—another district with which Devender had experience. Nonetheless, it was one of Farek’s favourites.
Devender grinned. “What would you like to know?”
Farek blinked and considered asking the magician to suggest some options. Instead, he mentally composed something to ask after a moment. “You’ve met many people and leaders in your travels; I imagine you’ve seen good people thrown to the sharks and bad people showered in gold. I do not have much ambition other than to protect what I can and to live my life how I please, but I know I should always do my best—especially as a man who has better fortune than most. What advice can you give to a man such as I?”
“Trust no one,” Devender replied. “Why do you think I’m out here on my own? I have seen brother kill brother and stranger premeditate the downfall of stranger. If you plan to fight for your people, be prepared to fight them too. And always watch your back.”
“Are you sure you are not Soros born and raised?”
The scholar laughed loudly, drawing looks from the passersby and harbour workers. After a moment, they continued along the docks, heading toward the north side of the city. Farek would give Devender a tour of the residential district there, instead of the slums in Debtor’s Down. They were less likely to be accosted, foolishly, for their wallets.
“Do you think you could teach me some lie-detecting magic, while we’re on the teaching topic?” Farek asked.
Devender looked at him sharply. “Oh, are you a magician?” They stopped walking in front of a two-storey stone house with a wide square rampart for its eaves.
“How else would you explain my dashing looks?” Farek asked, then guffawed and shook his head. “I’m not aware of any magic in my blood.”
“Have you been tested?” the mage intently questioned.
Farek shrugged, suddenly excited by the idea of magic. “No. When are people usually tested?”
“Sadly, most never are,” Devender explained. “There are likely thousands of magicians across the lands of Gethra that have never learned of their abilities. Some lords and ladies have their children looked at by a magician, but I’m sure there is a cultural element.”
“I’ve never been.”
Devender held out a hand. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward Farek’s shoulder. At a nod, the magician placed his palm on Farek’s shoulder with two fingers resting over the edge of his collar to touch skin. Devender closed his eyes for a moment while Farek held his breath. Then Devender removed his hand, opened his eyes, and pursed his lips. “I’m afraid lie detection and mind-controlling women are neither abilities in your future. Apologies, my friend.”
For a beat, Farek looked down. Then he grinned. “That’s alright. No amount of magic could make up for my natural charm.”
The magician laughed and they continued their walk.
“‘Mind-controlling women’?” Farek asked. “Have you actually met someone who did that?”
Devender shrugged. “It has never been tested in scholarly circles, so I cannot say one way or another.”
“For the sake of women everywhere, I certainly hope that does not exist,” Farek muttered.
“In truth, no one has been able to record any legitimate case of mind-control,” Devender told him. The forty-year-old had a gaze that peered through the passersby into some distance Farek could not perceive. He turned back to Farek. “Many magicians have been able to compel the lesser-minded creatures of Gethra, and then there’s that whole matter of the reanimated dead.”
“Reanimated dead? That sounds… sinister,” Farek murmured. “Who would do that?”
Devender raised his eyebrows and explained, “They make for surprisingly apt slaves apparently, though don’t expect them to complete anything speedily.” Seeing the look on Farek’s face, he added, “I’ve studied magic in many locations, but I never said I practice all the arts I have encountered.”
Farek grimaced. “Has someone ever attempted an undead army? Is that even possible?”
“Have you heard of the city of Yarik?” Devender asked. Farek gave a nod—he had heard of it in passing. “There are only a few dozen or so alive citizens in that foul place. And several thousand automated bodies.”
“Gods…” Farek breathed. He was speechless. “Gods, what?” he repeated. The sheer stupidity of man… he thought. It seemed to surpass itself at every turn.
When he didn’t offer anything else than shock to Devender, the mage led him onward. They passed a cooper’s yard, full of enormous kegs and unfinished wood loops. Farek turned back to the well-travelled man. “Has no one tried to stop them?”
“For the most part they stick to themselves, behind impressive fortifications.” Devender crossed his arms and turned to face Farek as they walked. “Listen, I won’t defend the people in Yarik, but magicians who study reanimation are not creating monsters. Magic is manipulation. They are learning to manipulate muscles and nerves that don’t have a brain giving them instructions anymore. A master necromancer is the most likely man to heal a sprain or severe muscle damage.”
Farek shook his head, reluctant to accept it. “That’s fair,” he agreed, after a moment. “Speaking of manipulating brains: in my recent travels I have come across a weaponized mist that can drive a man insane. Have you seen anything like that before?”
Devender lowered his voice. “Opium? Or more like Weeping Wiko?” he asked.
Both were serious drugs. Opium numbed the senses and encouraged docility, tranquility, clarity. Weeping Wiko was a hallucinogenic oil, smoked or ingested. “More like Wiko,” Farek decided. “I was at a military camp—when this mist rolled in at the behest of a sorcerer, the soldiers went mad and butchered one another. I was nearly caught in it.”
Devender was quiet and took a few paces uphill as he thought about it. “Magic, as I have said, is knowledge, experience, and manipulation. Anyone who has heavily dabbled in hallucinogenic substances could therefore inflict hallucinations on another. But… a fog? And a camp-wide affect? That is most unusual. Where was this?”
“Outside New Mallam,” Farek confessed.
“Interesting,” Devender said. “That’s a wasteland, in terms of colleges and notable mages…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “I’ll contact some colleagues about this, if you do not mind.”
Farek nodded. “Go ahead, you’ve better people for this than I.”
They continued up the hill, toward the scattered taverns and towering mansions of Coin Hill. Devender could decide if he wanted to see the south side of Soros or socialize at another, classier venue. Regardless, Farek was beginning to like their new Court Magician, despite his earlier distrust of the traveller. At the very least, he could hold a good conversation.