It was too bizarre for me not to question it. “Test Mages? Right. I may not be the smartest person in the room, but that is just too, well, convenient? I bet you say that to all those who fight back and win.”

  Morcus looked startled, but then started laughing uncontrollably. I just stared at him until he was able to calm down. The gnoll took a long drink from his mug before speaking.

  “Finn, I understand what you are saying and your suspicion. But the Voice has an agenda. Our history, and I assume the histories of other peoples, tells of cycles of increasing System power. Sometimes the cycles are decades, and sometimes they are centuries. Our current cycle has been around six hundred years, give or take a few decades.”

  “And what’s this current cycle called?” I asked. I had decided to hear the guy out, even if it still smacked of a convenient reason to attack and kill groups of adventurers on the off chance there was a Mage among them. Sleepily, Vessa moved onto my lap and curled up. I put a protective hand on her, and she let out a purr.

  “We are in the fifth cycle. Although with the universal announcement of quest rewards, I wonder if we are nearing the end of it. Did you have something to do with that, by chance?”

  His calling it the fifth cycle struck a chord in me, and I immediately pulled up my stat sheet and looked at the first line.

  [Earthborn candidate #254726, Function increase level 5 cluster]

  That level 5 cluster could mean the same thing, but it could also be a coincidence. Maybe it was paranoia, but when it came to the Voice and what it wanted, I felt justified. However, I was beginning to think that Morcus was not trying to play me like a violin. The conviction in the gnoll’s voice wasn’t forced. Whatever the gnoll’s history, this sounded like something the Voice would do.

  “Okay, I’m going to take what you’re saying as the truth,” I said slowly. “So your people were appointed for the onerous task of ‘testing’ Mages. How many have the gnolls tested and how many passed?”

  Morcus grinned and topped off both our mugs. I really didn’t need more, as it was as strong as it was sweet, and it went down smoothly. Maybe I should learn how to make this honeywine, too.

  “I appreciate your trust, Finn. I’m not sure how many Mages have been tested over the centuries. But our stories tell of a time when there were over a hundred tribes on this continent and the continent of Alleacia to the west. Now, we only know of three other tribes. We know that some of the Mages destroyed the tribes they came into contact with, and we only assume that happened to the others. You are the only Mage that my tribe has come into contact with during my lifetime, and the only one that hasn’t come to kill us.”

  I hate this world, I thought bitterly. There is no justification for any of this shit. “Let me tell you why Mages for the last several hundred years have been fucking tools. So there is this quest and a demon that didn’t want the quest completed…”

  I explained the situation to Morcus. He listened intently, making me stop at one point to grab a writing utensil and paper so he could take it down. To see such a massive killing machine bent over sheets of paper, taking notes, would have been a magnificently ludicrous picture at any other time. At the time, it made sense for the horrible topic. No matter how monstrous the gnoll Warcaller looked, there were things much worse than him.

  “I must share this with the Pack Matron,” he said, standing up.

  “Wait, isn’t she your wife? Why do you refer to her like that, so formally I mean?”

  He cocked his head to the side, like he was considering me and how to answer. “You… do not understand our ways, so I’ll forgive your lapse and treat this like you are a young pup in need of instruction. I am her husband, yes. But she earned her title, and that is more important.”

  I sat there and nibbled a bit while he informed the Pack Matron of what I shared. She took his notes and excused herself, practically racing out of the house.

  “What was that all about?” asked Harper.

  “Finn informed me of the corrupted state of the Mages and why,” Morcus replied politely. “The Pack Matron left to share this with the other Matrons, so that the knowledge will not be lost. It also changes our approach. Runners will be sent to the other tribes to inform them of this news.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I assume by approach, you are referring to how you will handle Finn?” Arilyn asked pointedly.

  Morcus grinned. “You are correct. And if the Matrons agree, Finn’s collar can be removed.”

  My hand unconsciously rose to the metal circlet. “I know everyone is asking you questions, Morcus. But what is this metal? It’s not like anything I’m aware of, other than the cage of the metal I had to be in when I went before the Allied Council. But that turned tarnished when I was in it.”

  “Uh, Finn, the collar is tarnished, too,” Harper pointed out.

  The gnoll nodded to Harper and Arilyn before returning to the ‘men’s’ table. “Yes, Mistress Harper is correct. The seliestarium metal tarnishes with magic, and the type of the magic user can be determined by the degree of tarnish. By the darkness of the collar, you are definitely a Mage.”

  “Oh, well, that’s kind of neat. Though the implications of that are rather disturbing. If blocking or absorbing my magic turns it that color,” I said. “Is there a darker color caused by any other magic user? Like, oh, I don’t know, Necromancer?”

  Harper chuckled a little.

  But it was Arilyn who answered: “I’m sorry, Finn, but no magic users cause seliestarium to tarnish that darkly.”

  “Wonderful. Yet another part of this whole bullshit world looking to paint me as a villain.”

  I tried to keep up with the larger gnoll in drinking honeywine mug for mug, but that only led to my getting drunk much faster. By that time, the Pack Matron returned and suggested that sleep would be in order, and discussed sleeping arrangements. Allegedly, Harper had explained to the Pack Matron that the three of us were not, in fact, married. So when Arilyn spoke of taking me to bed so I could get some sleep, the Pack Matron turned on her and lectured her on propriety and “not taking advantage of men in their cups.”

  All of which was extremely amusing to both Harper and me.

  Though when I suggested I would not be opposed to the idea, and in fact welcomed it, I too received a lecture. Morcus ushered me away from the room in a surprisingly protective manner, muttering something about young men not knowing or wanting to protect their virtue.

  I woke up alone in a locked bedroom. I knew it was locked, because once I was awake enough and willing to move, I stumbled to the door with all intents to find some hot water to make my regrettably usual cup of hangover tea. When I tried the door, it would not open, and I had to knock for a few minutes before Morcus opened the door for me.

  “Finn, it is good that you are awake. I was going to come check on you soon anyway for breakfast. Come!”

  I simply nodded with an added grunt for decorum. Following him through the expansive house, it took longer than I liked to reach the kitchen in which we had eaten and drunk in the night before. There were also several gnoll pups running around, which didn’t help my throbbing headache.

  Vessa was running around with them, playing a rather rough game of chase and catch, with the chased changing each round. She glanced in my direction and gave me a rushed “Morning, Finn! I love this place!” before scampering out of the room with the rest of the children.

  “I put her in with the pups last night as she was out well before you,” Morcus informed me. “Your friends said you would be fine with that.”

  I looked up at the gnoll’s grin. “Nope. Hot water?” I croaked.

  With half a mug of Hangover tea cooling in front of me, I felt well enough to eat, if not to talk.

  “I fed the pups and your dragonkin, Vessa, earlier. Mistress Harper, and your—eager—future mate, left with the Pack Matron to discuss things with the Matrons,” he informed me. Morcus paused for a moment, as if he were unsure whether he should say anything. “Finn, I don’t want to seem untoward, but you need to be careful around Mistress Arilyn. I know how exciting being courted is, but… believe me when I say it is easy for men caught up in the moment and the fun to be taken advantage of. Be careful. Be sure.”

  “Morcus,” I said, coughing. “I will do my best. But you need to understand, we have very, and I say this with all due respect, different customs.”

  He looked at me, his eyes wide and affronted. “Finn, you don’t mean—”

  I stopped. I didn’t want to cause issues here or anything, as I didn’t know enough about gnoll culture to make a judgment. “Morcus, what do you think I mean?” I asked carefully.

  He looked around furtively before leaning in. “Mating before being joined?” he whispered.

  Had I wandered into a twisted Jane Austen novel? “Yes. That’s it exactly, Morcus,” I replied drily. “Now, when the womenfolk are done with their business, which is well above us men to understand, I’d like to get this collar off.”

  He nodded. “Of course, of course. I would love to ask more about your customs and how they differ, but we should stick to the business at hand. But there will be a discussion and questions as prescribed. For now, though, would you like some food to go with your tea?”

  With the help of the tea, I was ravenous. I speculated as I ate that it had to do with the intense healing Arilyn had performed. Even though she worked for a Goddess, her healing was similar to healing potions. While the healing potions were miraculous in what they did, the energy for the healing had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere was the person being healed.

  In this case, it was my body’s energy. A combination of sleep and food was the best for replacing it as far as I knew. I was finishing my third helping when my friends and the Pack Matron returned.

  Arilyn looked at me and blushed, making me wonder if she had been given a talking-to by all the Matrons of the tribe.

  “Ah, good!” said the Pack Matron pleasantly. “You are awake and well-fed, I presume?”

  “I am, Pack Matron,” I replied formally. “And I am ready to have this collar removed.”

  The gnoll woman nodded approvingly at my tone. “I have spoken with the Tribe Matrons, and they agree that if you are calm, removing the collar would be appropriate. If I may?”

  She approached slowly and put her hands on the collar. She said a word under her breath, and I felt something sprinkle on my shoulder. In a way, it made sense.

  The Pack Matron was a Wizard.

  Did you know in the UK that there was a time when it was unheard of for men to brew beer? That was the domain of women. Or that not that long ago men were the ones that were supposed to be demure about the affairs of a gasp carnal nature and women were the sexualy open ones? It was so bad that men would withhold intercourse from women when the women got uppity.

  weird.