Sacrifice Mage

The invitation was for tomorrow. I wasn’t being dragged to this Great House and forced to leave Cerea’s place then and there, something I hesitantly appreciated. It wasn’t wise to entertain positive feelings about nobles who had sought me out so directly without verifying what they really wanted.

Something that Emissary Atrin refused to elaborate on. He said I’d find out when I reached the Great House.

Cerea had cautioned me about it. But the other two…

“I’m glad you accepted,” Ugnash said. “Now I’ve earned fifty gold.”

“What?” I asked.

“At the Adventurer’s Guild, I wagered against someone that you’d end up catching the eyes of important people in Claderov. Great Houses count.” He grinned widely. “Now I can afford that plum-and-meat dish on Ring Two they only make this season.”

“Ugnash,” Cerea said, very admonishingly. “You’re worse than Khagnio.”

“Oi,” Khagnio protested. “I haven’t even said or done anything.” He turned to me with a fanged smile. “But I agree with the big brute, mageling. Now we’ve got tomorrow’s entertainment handled, so we won’t have to bother our current and rather awful host anymore.”

“Khagnio.” Cerea couldn’t seem to decide if she ought to glare at Khagnio or Ugnash more. “I take back what I said to Ugnash.”

I laughed.

“Seriously, Ross,” Cerea said. “Great Houses are no laughing matter.”

“It’s alright, Cerea,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I remember your and that other guy’s warnings. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Well, I’ll be making sure you don’t.”

I wasn’t against any of them inviting themselves along with me. The question was whether House Atrin was going to allow that.

We decided we’d find out the next day. Which we did. Getting to the Great House was a lot easier with Cerea coming along. I could only imagine how lost I’d have gotten with my terrible sense of direction. Not that it would have been too difficult. I was heading for the palatial residence of a Great House. There were scant few of those around, and they all stood out a lot.

The manor we arrived at was built from stones the colour of dried blood. Honestly, it was a little off-putting. This was even tackier than the Kalnislaw estate. Now that I thought about it, I wouldn’t have called Hamsik’s family home tacky at all. But this was a little too ostentatious.

All the windows were too big and too bright, each pane edged with gold. The doors were all stone, but each was carved with too many artful reliefs for me to decipher any single one. A veritable army of guards, servants, and other staff members hung about the area. It was like every facet of the Great House was begging every visitor to appreciate their strength and power.

“Over the top,” I muttered.

“It is a bit different from the Great Houses in Zairgon,” Cerea said in agreement. “But the relationship between the Great Houses is different too. They need to show their power in as many ways as they can.”

Ugnash was frowning at a field where some people were sparring with wooden weapons. “Don’t tell me Ross is a show of power too.”

Cerea didn’t answer that.

We were soon welcomed in by a butler who would have made Yerenc weep. Man was gaudier than most nobles I had seen in Zairgon.

The sitting room we were directed to displayed just as much splendour as everything else we had seen so far. It was like House Atrin had never heard of the term moderation.

“Is that a living bird?” I asked, staring at the not-parrot in a large cage.

It squawked at me.

For some reason, I was glad none of my teammates were Plumefolk. And now I was wondering what they thought of actual, living birds. Considering this was the first one I had seen on Ephemeroth, I wouldn’t have been surprised if most Plumefolk’s reaction was complete befuddlement at what birds even were.

“Greetings,” a man in rich robes said. His New Zair was perfect. He was no less gaudy than his Great House. Rubies shaped into teardrops for his earrings, multiple pearl necklaces strung over each other, too many rings… “Please, please! Retake your seats. There is no need for formalities here.”

My teammates and I had all risen. At Cerea’s lead, I performed a short bow, Zairgon-style. Wait, what was the typical way of greeting people in Claderov, and why weren’t we using it?

“You must be wondering why I called you over here,” Lord Atrin said. He looked briefly at my friends. “And the invitation was for you solely. I didn’t think you’d be bringing friends.”

“I trust them with my life,” I said simply.

“Of course. Then let us get right down to it, shall we?”

I leaned forward, happy to get down to the brass tacks. The point House Atrin was trying to make was a very simple one. They wanted me to relocate and move to Claderov, setting up my cult services here, where I’d be looked after, unlike in Zairgon.

“Think of all the money you could be making when working for—”

“I don’t particularly care about the money, to be honest.”

“And the power,” Lord Atrin went on undaunted. “And the fame. Zairgon humiliates you, pushes you down. Zairgon sees you as nothing more than yet another pawn to be churned through the lowest rungs of their society. Not so Claderov. We recognize your true power. We see your potential.”

“Forgive me for interrupting, my lord,” Cerea said. “But why? Why go to such lengths just to draw Ross here of all places?”

Lord Atrin shrugged his shoulders. “Because he’s in touch with the Banished Gods. We are well aware that he can serve with tremendous capacity—not us, mind you, but the divinities in the Beyond. Squandering this opportunity will see me ridiculed by the House for generations.”

It made me feel so ridiculously satisfied at hearing that I was such a terrifically hot shit that a Great House of Claderov desperately wanted me. I nipped it in the bud pretty soon, though. Serving anyone wasn’t exactly on my to-do list.

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“I’m sorry, but I’m not moving,” I said. Especially because I was pretty sure that the invitation was for me and me alone. Not for every single person in Ring Four. “Although, I’m curious to hear that you have such faith in the Banished Gods. Back in Zairgon, people are happy to profess their devotion towards the Weave.”

“The Woven Way?” Lord Atrin scowled, which made the faint lines on his face come into sharp relief. “Such hogwash. They should know better! To think they’d forget the true power of the Banished Gods so easily. Have they no shame? What is faith without loyalty?”

He didn’t hesitate in hiding his disdain. It was kind of refreshing. I once again held myself back from feeling too positive about the noble. He still had ulterior motives, after all.

Motives I needed to discover.

Everyone everywhere wants something, and often, they’ll want something from you.

It was just hard to decipher what those motives were. What they told me was an overt invitation to cooperate with them, to use my expertise in whatever ways needed to serve their ends. Because I was sure that I’d be serving their ends, no matter how much they couched it in the Banished Gods’ terminology.

I was getting bored just countering their seemingly simple proposals, though, no matter how much they tried to sweeten the deal.

“You’re forgetting,” I said. “I am a follower of one of the Banished Gods, Arlekhyon. I don’t have any feelings towards the Banished Gods in general.”

Lord Atrin simply tutted. “Oh, please. You and I are both aware that helping bring about the resurgence of any of the gods will create a chain effect that will benefit all of them. Petty rivalry and tribalism will only impede us in our grand efforts.”

I had an extremely hard time not exchanging looks of irony with Cerea. Was this guy devoid of self-awareness? We were sitting in the living room of a lord who feuded with his fellow nobles on the regular for the inanest of reasons, who had literally carved up an entire city like children drawing lines in the playground sand.

Never mind. The more important thing was that I had him where I wanted him.

“I have enough trouble simply making the Sun God feel relevant to all our supplicants,” I said. “Taking the time away from all my duties for wild goose chases doesn’t seem like a good use of my time. My lord.”

It was slightly abrasive. Admittedly, that addition of my lord at the end there was a rather poor attempt at amelioration. Something Lord Atrin recognized.

“This is the work of generations,” he said. “The research of my forefathers, the efforts of my predecessors, all culminating in an opportunity I must capitalize on. Do not treat this as some mere passing fancy.”

Ah. That frown of his was less from annoyance at my off-handedness and more from suspicion. I was verbally sparring with a lord born and bred for this sort of thing.

“My lord,” I said, deciding to take a gamble since he was aware I was trying to glean his specific intent without committing anything. “My concern comes from the lack of time. Your efforts sound… intensive. As someone who’s seeking to upend the current order, and wholly unaware of your intentions, I am merely stating that, regardless of the commonality of our purposes, I might not be able to help much.”

The more I talked with him, the more I was reminded of my conversation with the Vaunted. Were they related, or working together somehow?

Lord Atrin’s eyebrows shot up a few, satisfying inches. “Upend the order, you say?” He leaned in a bit. “But that is what we’re to discuss, no? We must help each other in our mutual goals.”

Still trying to stay away from giving up any information I could do something with. This guy was a pain. So much for thinking I had him where I wanted him.

It was Khagnio who came to the rescue. “When we make deals in the undercity,” he said, his every word possessing a hissing aftermath. “The supplicant is the one who must offer something first.

Lord Atrin scoffed. “You think me some mere supplicant?” Before I could think how annoying this back-and-forth was becoming, he spoke again first. “But I see your reasoning.” He closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly concentrating. “Hmm, perhaps it would be better if you were in a stronger position to negotiate. A step back now, to take two steps forward.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Lord Atrin cleared his throat. Sand appeared at his feet from nowhere, turning into a childlike, subservient figure that quickly scurried off. It returned only seconds later, carrying paper and a quill. Lord Atrin wrote on the page before the sand-summon brought it over to me.

I frowned at the words. “This is a… range of dates?”

“Just over two months from now, yes,” he said. “We should convene sometime in that range when you are free, Cultist Moreland.” His eyes flickered to Khagnio before returning to me. “Consider this as the grace I can offer you at this moment in time. And then, once you have re-evaluated your position, we can speak again.”

“We’ve discussed nothing specific at all, my lord…” I couldn’t help it. It had to come out.

“Indeed, we’ve said a lot without saying much at all.” Despite saying that, he didn’t seem dissatisfied in the least. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t learned a great deal about you.”

Right. If I read between the lines, I had learned more than enough to reconsider my future plans just from this little meeting of ours. Even if none of it was really specific, immediately-actionable information.

“You’re pretty different from the nobles in Zairgon,” Ugnash said. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed refreshments at a Great House before.”

I didn’t know what his angle was, or if he was just being honest. But the truth was that Lord Atrin had been very reasonably hospitable. Whatever he wanted, whatever ulterior motive he might possess, it hadn’t been so overwhelming as to treat us like nothing more than pawns.

With how I was seen by the nobility in Ring Two, I had my doubts any of them would have been this friendly.

“Not just Zairgon,” I said, reminding them about the noble who had challenged me at the magic festival. “I won’t lie—my first thought was that competition trumped prejudice in this specific case.”

Our host shook his head. “Seltvin is an overreaching bastard, determined to mire himself in anything and everything his lascivious eyes land on. One of these days, he will face a true reckoning.” Lord Atrin’s eyes fell on me with a ferocious light. “You did well to show him that the whole world will not run according to his schemes, Cultist Moreland. Fah!”

It was hard not to like the guy when he did things like that. But seeing that he was invested, I pushed just a bit.

“If only you had visited instead of him, my lord,” I said.

“I wished to! However, the Senators limited the delegation according to our contributions to the Zairgon investment. The new Lord Yulien Seltvin poured far too much of his inheritance into the establishment of the rail lines, so the Senators decided that he would go.” He shook his head to show what he thought of that decision. “Letting a mere pup go instead of me, just because he has a history of making such investments. Insanity.”

More nuggets of knowledge I could potentially do something with. I was starting to wish that little sand-summon had brought me a page and a quill too.

Our conversation started dwindling. Soon after, we decided it was time to leave.

“Remember the dates, Cultist Moreland,” Lord Atrin said.

His voice was ominous enough that I wasn’t going to forget them easily, even if he refused to elaborate on their significance. Because yes, the veneer of meeting me in the future wasn’t passing my scrutiny.

I didn’t really talk much on the train trip back to the hotel. It was at that stop that I spotted a rather derelict area of Claderov in the distance, sitting lower than most of the city. I found it weirdly familiar.

“Is that…?” I asked.

“Those are the slums,” Cerea said. “Much like Ring Four in Zairgon, Claderov likes to pretend it doesn’t exist most of the time.”

“Guess every place has their own Ring Four, huh.”

“Pretty much.”

We said our farewells to Cerea as the train took off. She had refused accommodation there, so she was getting off at an earlier station to go back home.

“You’re… not thinking of going to the slums, are you?” Ugnash said.

I blinked at his astuteness. “What if I am?”

He sighed. “I’ll buy some masks, just in case. The stench is supposedly strong enough to ward away even the most adventurous of souls.”

“Why would anyone want to adventure at the slums?” Khagnio asked. “And for that matter, why do you want to go there, mageling? Did Ring Four give you an addiction to poverty or something?”

I glared at him a bit. “Someone I killed was from the slums of Claderov. I just want to see what kind of life he had led there.”

To that, neither of them had any comments. Even Khagnio didn’t hiss out a retort. I wasn’t lying. From the memories I had seen with Soul Sight, I was aware that Glonek had been raised in the Claderov riverbed.

All I wanted to see was how someone had risen from being a mere dreg in such a location to a trusted advisor of a Great House of Zairgon.