Risk Averse

  “The best laid plans of mice and men do often go awry” - Highly favored saying of the 7th Mouse King, after he boldly slayed (read: brutally assassinated) the 6th Mouse King on the night of his daughter’s wedding to a retired tooth fairy.

  The silence was deafening, its tyrannical grip felt throughout the entire auditorium, almost seeming to seep out of the glossy black stonework.

  The mage, who had identified himself as one Olin Trent, had casually paused his speech to deal with the aspirant threatening him, and presumably the entire assembly, with no especial concern or hassle.

  Better make that Archmage Olin Trent, Kellin considered, barely conscious of the archmage’s correction as he stared at the fallen, head-less man.

  The glowing wisps of multicolour light filling the air around the four crystals strapped to his chest continued to pulse, brighter and brighter, and faster and faster. The assassin had been quite a distance away, at least halfway across the auditorium from where Kel and his travel companions had sat, but the image of his skull bursting apart had seared itself into Kel’s head with perfect detail and clarity.

  The lights, which had been small, wispy things to begin with, had solidified as they pulsed and grew, engorging themselves even as their edges became more defined, the colours gaining a deeper and deeper saturation.

  Around the fallen attacker, the assembly pulled away, verbally silent, but the previously filled rows suddenly emptied at a rapid pace with the odd scuffle and clatter that quickly moving bodies always produced.

  The dancing lights pulsed again, a mild twinge of pain stabbing Kel in the eyes as the colours had gone far past mere saturation, and well into oversaturation, but he did not look away.

  He thought he had seen a pattern within the ethereal flashes.

  'After the red flash, the white crystal glows brighter, and then there’s a white flash, and then the blue, and then yellow, then red again. Each time there’s a slight increase in brightness, as though the energy is increasing somehow through the cycle.'

  'Yeah? And? What does that get you, Kellin? A pain in the eyes and a useless pattern. You’re still going to die when whatever it’s doing happens.'

  'Let’s say explode. Yeah, probably an explosion. That will kill you. And all you’ll have to show for yourself is a stupid curious expression. Honestly, it’s time to-'

  “Really?”

  A sharp voice echoed throughout the mostly silent auditorium, as the lights pulsed, perhaps once every three seconds at that point, “Not one of you cares about your fellow man, eh? Nobody here is willing to break the Protocols, show off a little? To use whatever magical knowledge you have, and maybe save yourself and others, because you’re so afraid to break the rules?”

  The archmage chastised from his position on the dais, still stood calmly, as he hawkishly watched the aspirants nearest to the swelling light show edge away from its source. He waited another few seconds, tapping his foot impatiently off the ground.

  “Well then,” he continued, “perhaps this generation has a chance after all.”

  With a flourish of the hand, the one still trailing snowflakes, he pointed at the dazzling display surrounding the headless corpse once more, and a midnight-black sphere popped into being. Three or four metres wide, it enveloped both the body and the lights, the surreal, oversaturated glow winking out in an instant.

  A collective sigh of tentative relief passed through the still tense audience, most of whom still had their attention on the featureless orb.

  “So here we have a shower of cowards,” Trent began with a sweeping gesture, demeanour shifting from its previous semi-inspiring tone, to one that was both accusatory, and sort of... conversational.

  At the very lowest edges of audability, Kellin thought he might have heard a whispered boo echo through the cavernous building.

  “Yes, a shower of cowards,” he repeated, in a conspiratorial tone, “and that is exactly what we need."

  "Our enlightened rulers, in their infinite wisdom and grace, have magic pouring out of their ears, have an understanding of the arcane that far surpasses ours, an eternity of time to learn its secrets, possess every possible advantage a being could have.”

  And then he stopped, pausing for a moment to take in the already nodding heads of some of the crowd. Kel included, having found his attention drawn away from the spherical void by the archmage’s critique.

  “We are humanity. We are not immortal, we are not given understanding, and our magic is unstable, unreliable, and according to our gracious elven hosts, ugly.”

  A slight fwumpf accented his last word, as the inky sphere expanded and deformed for a moment, a tiny flash of light briefly visible in its center as whatever bizarre detonation the pulses had been leading to went off, without breaching the spherical containment.

  The whispered boo which had died off as he spoke, rose in volume as he listed the issues their rulers took with human magic.

  “And they’re right. We’ve lost so much, our rescue into the stars has taken so much of our knowledge, our magic pales in comparison to even the weakest of elven spells, and after the Machinist wars, our technological prowess is more limited than ever.”

  He continued, a fiery passion evident in his voice;

  “But that’s today. That’s humanity, today. It won’t be humanity's tomorrow. And why? Because for all our fear, all our flaws, the ugliness of our world, we do one thing better than any other species we have ever encountered, or ever will, in my own modest opinion. We take risks. We fight impossible fights. We are never satisfied, and never should be.”

  His voice began to echo deeper, somehow maintaining the same volume, but still perfectly audible, even over the beginnings of a clamouring din, outcries of agreement hailing intermittently from almost every other member of the assembled audience.

  “You are here, today, now, to make that tomorrow. A tomorrow where humanity is independent, and powerful, where we are the masters of our mother planet once more.”

  The cheers escalated, but the voice never wavered in its audibility.

  “And for that,” he intoned after pausing, as though revealing a great secret, “you only have to do one thing."

  "Learn when the risk is worth it."

  "Our rulers would have us never risk anything, our limited understanding of magic makes almost every risk deadly, or worse, and we are able to pass on so very little. So how then, do we push ourselves forward, into that tomorrow?” he splayed his hands, as though genuinely uncertain, before continuing.

  “The same way we always have. We take our wisdom, our well learned fear, and use it as a weapon. We teach one another, what terrible and vast things our journeys have taught us, and then, when the cards are down, we decide when the risks are worth it.”

  He paused for another second, drinking in the crowd’s hushed investment, hundreds of heads leant forward in rapt attention.

  “So, welcome, cowards. Your time has come. You’re all embarking on a journey into mystery, into pain, insanity and probable death. Into the depths of magic, where hesitancy and measured rationality will be your only allies. You’re here to learn all about the things we’ve found that threaten our very existence. And then, when the time is right, when the stars align, when your life's on-the-line, it will be up to you to decide; ‘Is the payoff worth the risk?’”

  The black sphere discorporated with soft pop, as he clicked his fingers, revealing a still smouldering prismatic white mark where the assassin’s body had fallen, a sharp contrast against the dark stone steps.

  A multicoloured oily film sat atop the magic-bleached white stone, which started dissipating into a viscous smoke as soon as the sphere vanished.

  “I remember the end of the Machinist wars, ancient as I am,” Trent laughed, breaking much of the tension that had been building in the open-air chamber.

  “I was among the first humans to re-plunder the secrets of magic, in their wake. And then, because I was willing to risk it all, I became the first human archmage in living memory. Achieved mastery over the Logos of Space. Founded this academy. Because I knew what the payoff could be. And I decided it was worth it.”

  He paused for a final breath, momentarily glancing at the floor and then up, up and across the entire assembly with one sweeping head turn.

  “Here, at this academy, you will be tried, tested, and taught. You will learn the terrible risks that magic entails, no matter what path you walk. And I, for one, cannot wait to see what risks you all decide are worth it. I know they’ll be spectacular.”

  “So welcome again, one and all, to the Voidstone Academy. Where you will learn to take your cowardice, and make it a weapon that will push us forward, to a brighter future for all.”

  Cheers and applause thundered around the auditorium, the still-smoking white stainmark largely forgotten in the clamour.

  Kellin had applauded with the crowd, a polite smile on his face, not wanting to draw attention by not participating, but internally his mind raced.

  'So there’s already a divide. Roughly a third of the audience laughed when he made the first comment about the effort to reclaim old Earth, and most of them are wearing robes in the same style, but separated by colour.'

  'For the style to be that commonly shared among that many, they must be cityborn, or well connected. So they know something the rest of us don’t. Some issue with the goal of returning home that they’re familiar enough with to laugh at the idea. Hmm…'

  'Add finding that out to the Plan then.'

  Perhaps it was the presence of a non-human acquaintance who had been at least mildly pleasant, if Greta could even be considered such, but something about the rhetoric of the speech had set Kellin on edge.

  Not the disparaging of their Elven rulers, he found himself in full agreement with that, but something about how focussed the speech had been on humans disagreed with him.

  There were dozens of non-humans scattered about the auditorium, gnomes and half-elves, even a giant-kin sat awkwardly on two of the human-sized rows. Beyond that, it became hard to tell where the non-humans started and the Weirmarked began, as there was a vast array of skin tones and multicolored markings on display, horns and fins and feathers and so on.

  The cheers and cries of support died down, breaking into pockets of idle chatter and nervous energy, Kel could make out a few separate discussions of the assassin, or whatever the now-dead man had been, and what would have happened had the headmaster not intervened.

  He looked to his row-mates, Simon, who had returned to nervously tapping his foot after Trent had stopped speaking, had a look of consternation on his face, as though he had stepped into a steaming pile of shit while wearing his favourite pair of shoes.

  His gaze occasionally flicked over to the scorchmark, but his attention remained on Trent.

  Greta, on the other hand, had a placid, bored look, as if this was her usual Tuesday afternoon. The speech hadn’t seemed to do much to rouse her spirit, but Kel couldn’t particularly blame her for that.

  She’s cityborn, presumably, I wonder if she knows what they were laughing about.

  “Now!” echoed out from the dais, Trent clapping his hands together to accent the command, and the light murmurs of conversation dried up in a few seconds, the assembly returning their attention to the headmaster. “We have a few matters of housekeeping.”

  “In a few moments I will depart, returning to my island abode, which is open to all, if you are able to get to it.” he said in a wry, challenging tone.

  “After that, you will all be directed to the Administration building in groups by some of our wonderful faculty, who I recommend you treat with nothing but cordiality.”

  He briefly glanced over some of the crowd, primarily those dressed in the brightly-coloured robes.

  “There, you will undergo a test to determine what path you will walk while at my Academy. For many of you, this may seem unnecessary, as you have undergone similar testing in your youth. However, the tests we have compiled here are more comprehensive by far than any you will have undergone in the past, and will give a far better insight into the magic you are capable of.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He continued;

  “After that, you will speak to one of our many adept administrators about your tuition and accommodation plans, and from there, you are free to do as you will. You’re all adults, after all.”

  He turned as he finished speaking, and strode confidently back towards the low lakefront wall of the auditorium, the same pane of ice forming as he moved, the water flowing easily over the wall’s edge once more and freezing solid just before he stepped onto it.

  As he strolled back over the frozen bridge, the previously soaked aspirants sat below it quickly scooched out from underneath, not wanting a repeat of last time.

  He stopped short at the wall’s edge, after the ice sublimated back into water, which still splashed a few unfortunates who hadn’t gotten far enough out of the way, and turned back to the crowd who were still paying him rapt attention.

  “Two final things,” He held up a hand over his shoulder, two fingers aloft almost making the sign of the Snail, without turning back to face the assembly, his voice still perfectly clear.

  “Firstly, one month from now there will be another test. It will be competitive. It will pit you all against one another, in whatever form the Academy deigns to do so. Anyone within the lowest third of those who pass, will be expelled from this Academy, and will be immediately expected to repay their tuition, or enlist within the Imperial Forces.”

  “As for those who fail… Well, I heartily suggest that you don’t fail. The Wardline is a harsh place to be.”

  A whistle of anxiously indrawn breath was the only thing Kel could hear for a moment, echoed by most of the assembled crowd.

  Godsdamnit, yet another thing you’re going to have to catch up on. The Wardline? Does he mean the warfront?

  “And finally, you have all passed your first test. ‘Unless receiving guidance from an Elder or with express permission from the Authorities, Man is not to incite Magical Phenomena until they be judged worthy of its gift.’ Well, that’s the Protocol, and you all took a risk in following it, as you may have died in the explosion that poor fool tried to conjure. But, since I was here, you’ve survived, and broken no laws. As I said, taking appropriate risks.”

  Kellin briefly felt a twinge of discomfort, the Flux that endlessly flowed and twisted through his spirit stuttering for a moment, so he readjusted himself in his seat and the feeling abated.

  “Elven condescension aside, I am your Elder, and I am the authority here. So, you all want to make magic, to explore its gift and curse, to work your will upon the very world itself?”

  He splayed his hands outwards before him, and once more the misty road began to rise from the lake, the far-off island zooming rapidly into view, the long pier stopping just as it touched against the auditorium wall just as it had before.

  He half-turned back to the audience, who at this point were hanging on his every word once more, looking mostly over his shoulder back at them, with a coy, grandfatherly expression on his face.

  “Feel free. That’s what we’re here for.”

  And with that, he stepped across the seam separating the pier from the auditorium walls, and the island snapped back away across the lake as space bent back into its usual shape, the headmaster departing with a furore of cheers and applause, vanishing as quickly as he had arrived.

  'Now that is what a mage should be,' Kel considered as he watched the throng of new students rapidly began to make their way to the hallway they had entered from, making no attempt to start moving himself.

  'Cool, calm and collected. Powerful and charismatic. Hells, a guy tried to kill him and he brushed it aside in an instant. If you had his power, there wouldn’t be a goblin in the world who could make it past you.'

  Beside him, Simon and Greta rose to their feet, as the cavernous space had rapidly depopulated, far faster than Kellin had anticipated it would.

  Far faster, in fact, than it should.

  Curiously watching the mouth of the hallway which had let them in less than fifteen minutes earlier, he saw a flood of people streaming inwards, more than should be able to fit side by side within the barely two metre wide square hallway.

  'Actually, how the hell did that giantkin make it in?'

  He stood with the pair, and they made their way down the rows of the auditorium towards the entrance to the hallway. As they approached, the square opening seemed to yawn wider and wider, taller and taller, easily two or three times its previous dimensions. What’s more, instead of a long, dark corridor, the hallway was short enough that Kellin could see out the other side, barely a quarter of its previous length.

  The trio passed quickly through the spatially reorganized passage, and stepped out into a grey-cast, but bright sky, midday almost upon them.

  They were surrounded on all sides, the crowded auditorium having packed a great many more people within it than Kel would have expected, seeing them all mill about on the large flower-strewn fields between the building and the carriage-dock they had arrived at.

  'In fact…' he thought, turning back around to examine the building behind him after the three had found a convenient place to stand, out of the way of the rapid stream of emerging students. 'Yeah, that thing’s too small for the amount of people who were in there. Damn, that’s some classy magic.'

  Clusters of new students were marching away from the larger group, each one lead by a member of the staff, who stood apart from the mob of students, standing in an officious line at the edge of the carriage dock.

  One by one they approached the crowd and gathered up an arbitrary number of students, before departing along a wide stone path, lined every few metres by dark stone pillars topped in blue flame, a path Kellin was quite certain hadn’t been there earlier.

  The mass of people milling about made discerning any specific details about the faculty difficult, the flat ground leaving only the briefest of possible glimpses between the throng of bodies.

  “Well, that’s it. I’m fucked. I’m going to fail, of course I’m going to fail, they’d never let me pass after attacking a recruitment transport, they just want an excuse to send me to the Wardline, oh gods, I’ll never see her again, any of the rest again, the ones who are still alive anyway… maybe I’ll see the others, but who knows with the Wardline…”

  Simon had maintained an ongoing muttered monologue from the minute they had exited the auditorium building, and all the while they stood, waiting for a faculty member to shepherd them.

  'Goodness wept man, this guy needs to calm down. I’ve seen him cast multiple spells, he’ll be fine, probably safer than you are from whatever this Wardline business is.'

  “Seems like a lot of presumptions you’re making there, would you not at least wait til’ the test is announced to begin prophesying your doom?” Kellin interjected, trying for some levity.

  “Listen, um, Kallin? Sorry, I actually didn’t quite catch your first name while I was, ah, movement limited on the carriage there, just the warrior fellow calling you Oakhonour.”

  “Kellin. Kellin Oakhonour. A pleasure to meet you, both of you, considering the circumstances.”

  ‘“Be polite Kellin, it’s nice to be nice.”’ A voice he hadn’t heard aloud in thirteen years echoed in his head, even as he outstretched a hand to shake first Simon’s and then Greta’s hands. She gripped his hand so tight it felt like his eyes would pop out of his head, and a warm tingling pulse shooting through his hand.

  “Greta Meklots, likewise.” she nodded in greeting, and began to raise an open palm to her face, before seemingly thinking better of it.

  “Simon. Just, uh, just Simon. Yes, a pleasure. Speaking of circumstances, sorry about the uh… well you know, it wasn’t personal or anything, there’s not much work going for unlicensed mages.”

  Greta snapped sharply, and pointed at Simon, asking; “Yeah what was up with that, I considered volatile magic, but that wouldn’t explain the restraints being in use, rather than you just being killed. What happened?”

  He cleared his throat before replying; “Well, we, that is a group I was a part of, uh, attacked the Recruitment Transport, for um… anything we could sell to the Witches or one of the Orc tribes out beyond the front lines.”

  She wheeled on the spot to fully face Simon, his face betraying his nerves, as she stared directly up at him.

  “You attacked an Imperial Recruitment Transport, and you’re still alive? Schuist, you must have some fuckin’ pull, you’ll be fine.”

  He shook his head anxiously.

  “Neither of you gets it. I’m an Oblivion mage, like that fellow Oshin was, which the elves already hate, and there are no more strings I can pull, Sharpe’s gone, and I’ll never see her again…” he trailed off.

  “Wait, her name really was Sharpe? Damn, weird, that’s what I was calling her in my head.” Kellin commented, a surprised look crossing his face, mirrored moments later on Simon’s.

  “Do you have a divination gift or some such?” he asked.

  “No, no, not as far as I know, at least,” Kel replied, “I’ve got a Flux attunement.”

  “Oh, an alchemist? Well, you’re certainly going to be rich.” Simon remarked, the nervous shake of his frame slowing, and some colour returning to his face.

  “Why does everyone keep saying I’m an alchemist?” Kelllin retorted.

  Greta inhaled, as though to answer the question, but before she could, a reddish-yellow blur shot past them, which reconciled into a figure standing in a small pool of flame as it came to a stop a few metres away.

  Trailing a thin burning line behind him as he had moved at supernatural speed, the sallow-faced man was dressed in battleworn leather armour, with red accents and a vividly red half-shoulder cape.

  His short, dark hair was streaked with both a lighter, flaxen brown, and an aging grey, and it almost seemed to be smoking. At the very ends of his hair, there were tiny embers, as though his hair was constantly burning, and a few moments after he arrived the smell hit Kellin, whose recent familiarity with pungent odours did not prepare him for the combination of burnt hair and what he suspected was some dwarven rotgut.

  “You twenty, follow me.” he said, gruffly waving an arm in the general direction of the trio, and without another word, he started stomping away.

  Quickly glancing at one another, the three hurried after him, followed by others who had also been standing in the vague direction he had gestured.

  As they sped after the disgruntled figure, Kellin attempted to continue the conversation;

  “Were you and Sharpe… together? It kinda seemed that way from your back and forth.” he finished lamely, not quite sure how to politely phrase the question.

  “Yeah, she’s the love of my life. We got a lot of shit for the age gap from the other guys at first, but she put a stop to that in the blink of an eye.” Simon replied, a warmth creeping into his tone as he fondly reminisced.

  “Humans.” Greta muttered with a shake of the head.

  “I know I’m probably supposed to know,” Kel began, “but what IS the Wardline?”

  Simon looked agog at his lack of knowledge, turning his head to stare at him even as he kept pace.

  “It’s the…”

  “Quiet!” a stern voice called from the fiery mage leading them to the administration building, which had revealed itself in the near distance as the stone path curved around a forested hillock, “There will be no more chatter until we reach Admin.”

  Falling silent, Kellin and co. were not the only members of the group who had been chatting, but those other conversations also trailed off in the wake of the grumpy figure’s words.

  A few moments later, the figure began speaking again;

  “The Wardline protects us from demons, warpkind, and the damned f????????????????????????????a????????????????e???????????????????.”

  Kellin heard only a static crackling noise where the last word in his sentence should have been, the same kind of noise emitted by a Fuzzbox Relic, the ones that weren’t shattered beyond function.

  He continued; “It forces magical beings who don’t exist in true physical form to manifest one so they can enter our reality. And once it has, you can kill them. That’s all you need to know.”

  Nifty. But I would also like to know why it’s functional suicide to go there, thanks.

  As they approached the small one-story administration building, the last member of the student group in front of them entered, leaving a robed figure behind who departed with a wave to their chaperone, and Kellin furrowed his brow in thought.

  'No way all of them fit in there, certainly not. Looks like it’s more spatial shenanigans. Guess your prediction at the Road Shrine was full of shit.'

  “Enter one by one. Close the door after you. You, question boy, you first.” The mage commanded.

  'Not the worst thing you’ve ever been called. Surely there's already someone in there though? Right, yeah, space magic, who knows if i'll even end up in a room at all.'

  Kellin approached the slate-grey metal door, and slowly turned the handle, glancing back at the only people he vaguely knew here. Simon once again had a nervous look on his face, while Greta still seemed ambivalent about the whole situation, but both nodded at him.

  Steeling himself, he walked through the door, and shut it behind him.

  Within, lay a simple small room, with a desk across it, very similar to the one at the city gates. Behind it sat a bored looking demonkin, black wire-frame glasses perched upon curling red and black ram’s horns atop her otherwise human head. There was no one else, or at least no one else visible, that Kel could see.

  “City ID please.” she droned, and he handed it over after approaching the desk.

  “This is a therapist’s business card?” she asked, and he quickly realized his mistake, handing over his actual ID, and returning the other card to his pocket, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

  She took the ID, slotted it halfway into a small grey box to one side of her desk, and as she did so, what looked like a Fuzzbox Relic to its side, linked together by a thin grey cord, blinked on. Kellin could hear a low hum coming from it, but not the usual wail they were named for.

  Her face was lit up in harsh, stark light as she stared at the Fuzzbox, apparently able to see something other than the usual chaotic black and white.

  “Hrm, let’s see here, while we wait there are a great many different paths one can walk, and we’re not going to rush you into one. There are Bards, who walk the arcane path of Pathos, not unlike the clergy, Warlocks, who barter and trade Logos and services with different beings and of course, mages. Now we usually like to start everyone off with a mage course… oh, it’s done loading.”

  “Let's see here, Kellin Oakhonour, Village Import from Duroyed... dah dah dah... prime Flux attunement. Well, that simplifies things, alchemist it is. I’ve just added you into the system, your classes are held thrice weekly in the main craftsmage compound, which you can find on the campus map. Unfortunately we don't subsidize non-mage accomodation, so you'll have to make other arrangements.”

  She held out a small leaf of paper, with a map printed upon it in precise black lines.

  Why does everyone KEEP SAYING THAT?!

  “So I… don’t get to pick? What type of mage course am I taking?”

  She gave him a long-suffering, tired look.

  “You’re a Flux-attuned, sir. You’re literally incapable of becoming a mage. The only thing you can be reliably taught is alchemy. Now for the three terms of the year, at six gold Aro per term, you will owe a sum of eighteen gold on completion of your first year, payment flexible of course, you can do installments, or lump sum, et cetera, but we'll resolve that at the end of your first term. If that’s all…”

  “Next!”

  Kellin’s thoughts froze, unable to process what he had just heard. This was not the Plan.

  “But I’m supposed to be a mage.” he said, as though somehow it had all been a big mistake, and he could get back on track by informing her of that.

  “Tough luck, maybe try becoming a warlock. I said next!”