Conspiracy at the Tavern

The Dawn Tavern gradually came alive. Glasses clinked, laughter mingled with murmurs, and the smell of wine and smoke drifted through the bard's song.

Soluman Copperbeard emerged from the wine cellar and sat in a corner with Faster and the gray-robed mage. Their hushed conversation occasionally rose into heated shouts.

They were arguing over whether Annan should become a mage or a Sorcerer.

"A week ago, that boy couldn't even speak Common Tongue. Now he can talk a mage through his troubles."

"What does that prove? Spellcasters have never lacked clever people. The Mage Tower is full of Magic Apprentices who can memorize an entire alchemy book in a week, but only a lucky few become mages."

"And one of those lucky few gave up on himself." Soluman Copperbeard laughed without restraint. Warriors and mages had never gotten along, especially when the warrior was a muscle-worshipping dwarf like her.

"Shut up! We're talking about Anna—uh... Annie?"

"Annan."

"...We're talking about Annan!"

"Then what do you make of him pulling you out of your gloom with a few words?"

"I don't admit he helped me."

"You don't look much like a mage when you're being this stubborn."

"That just shows how deeply people misunderstand mages. Do we all have to be arrogant, taciturn neat freaks who use a cantrip to pull the shit out of our own asses?"

"Right now, you sound like a chaotic-aligned bastard."

"Then listen closely. I'll show you my lawful side." The gray-robed mage pointed at Annan, who was wiping down a table after its guests had left. "He doesn't speak Common Tongue, but that's no problem. A minor spell can fix it. Let's assume—and everything you said earlier was an assumption too—that this boy is a commoner with no connections, no inheritance, and no family backing."

"For someone like that to become a mage, he first has to become an apprentice. He's lucky: he's the right age to get into a Mage Tower or apprentice himself to a mage. I could take him on myself. That stage usually lasts anywhere from two years to forever. If he's exceptionally gifted, with a prodigious memory and all the makings of a future great sage, some mage might choose him as a personal apprentice, or he might be admitted straight into a magic academy."

"But if he's unlucky enough to end up with an irresponsible mentor, the best outcome is wasted time. The worst is that, while meditating without proper guidance, he gets taken over by some monstrosity, Demon, or evil god wandering the void or another plane."

The gray-robed mage seemed to remember something. A shudder ran through him, making him look more worn down than ever. "So Sorcerer suits him better. He wouldn't have to touch that endless knowledge that waits to devour the unwary. He could be as brainless as a warrior."

It was a biased view, but Sorcerers really were rather like warriors who could cast spells.

There was another crucial point—Sorcerers didn't need nearly as much money...

But unlike mages, sorcerers had no clear path to follow. Stories circulated throughout the Rikaner Kingdom about people dreaming of divine wonders, being struck by lightning in the rain, awakening while reading ancient books, or receiving blessings from unknown beings while exploring ancient ruins. They were stories precisely because such things were rare.

"A Sorcerer would beat your brains out with a staff for saying that," Soluman Copperbeard said.

"I think he'd make a better Sorcerer too." Faster leaned back in his chair, his sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. "There's something strikingly foreign about him. It's hard for anyone to dislike him."

The bard had wandered over at some point. "Mage suits him better. That endless thirst for knowledge of his is about to wring me dry."

"You make him sound like a lust demon, not a mage."

"Wait a minute." The dwarf woman suddenly caught on. "Sorcerers have to awaken their bloodline. So the only real choice you've been talking about is mage?"

The men exchanged glances. "That's about it."

They had only been chatting.

Returning to the matter at hand, Faster called Annan over and asked what the weather would be like tomorrow.

Annan recalled the evening glow he had seen at dusk. "It'll probably rain again."

"I hear you've been looking for work?" Faster asked.

"I need money to have my aptitude tested."

"I know Mr. Victor at the Library. His bookshop needs an attendant. You could try your luck there."

"But my work at the tavern..."

"The Library opens during the day."

"I'll ask him tomorrow!"

"Why not just pay to have his aptitude tested?" the Dwarf woman asked.

"Do you know when I'm happiest? Annan was right: 'It is the time you have spent on your Rose that makes your Rose so important.'"

Annan, who had been about to ask Mr. Faster for a loan, closed his mouth.

When he returned to Martin's side, Martin, who had overheard the conversation, sighed. "I've always waited for Uncle Holin to tell me, 'Martin, we're actually rich. We only live in town to test you. Now that you've passed, you'll inherit our title and treasure'..."

So that kind of fantasy exists in every world...

Annan had thought he was the only one who had it.

"Annan, help me write a letter saying I've run away from home."

"What?"

"If Aunt Susan won't give you the money, I'll threaten to run away."

Annan was touched, but he wanted to say that would never work. It would be too hurtful, though, so he made the excuse that Aunt Susan couldn't read.

Before long, the tavern door opened, and an unexpected guest stepped gracefully inside. Many heated gazes followed the figure carrying a faint scent of Rose to the counter.

"This is the fifth time we've met."

Lady Fine Wine's red lips gleamed alluringly in the tavern's lamplight.

"This time doesn't count. I hope the next won't be in a bedroom."

Behind the counter, Evelyn looked at Lady Fine Wine, then at Annan. Her clear eyes slowly narrowed.

"A glass of juice."

Lady Fine Wine turned toward Faster's table and took an empty seat.

"You seem to have a story with our young waiter?" Mr. Faster greeted her familiarly, raising his glass.

"I saw him twice during the two days you were away." Lady Fine Wine accepted the juice Annan handed her. "Once as a miner at the Haunted Gold Mine, and once as a stablehand at Sean's place. It was such a coincidence that I thought he was following me."

Faster and the gray-robed mage looked at each other at the same moment and fell silent.

"What are you plotting?" Lady Fine Wine asked, her brows drawing together slightly.

Faster did not answer. He pointed at Annan moving through the tavern. "What comes to mind when you look at him?"

"I see a young waiter listening to the bard's stories with longing in his eyes," Lady Fine Wine said softly.

The gray-robed mage guessed what Faster had in mind. "You still want to test him?"

"Surely it can't be a coincidence that he turns up wherever our lady of wine goes."

"Gentlemen—oh, sorry, I didn't see you, Miss Copperbeard." Lady Fine Wine nodded to the dwarf woman, whose head rose only half a head above the table, then said languidly, "Before you trade any more riddles, shouldn't you tell me what's going on?"

The bard then recounted what they had discovered yesterday.

Lady Fine Wine lifted her eyes slightly and looked at the men seeking answers.

"Have you thought about what you'll do if that boy really is a member of the Reeves family?"