Wizard's Tower: A LitRPG Adventure Page 4

  On the left, a young woman [Apprentice] with short, curly black hair and blue eyes wore a plain black student's robe. Her sleeve emblems showed her to be in her second year. She looked eager to see me, but it was an innocent eagerness that I often saw in children. The lad on the right, a recently graduated [Mage], displayed obvious coastal heritage. That is, his skin was a sand-colored yellow, his eyes tan, and his hair a dirty blonde that seemed somewhere between the two. His mage’s robe, a gray of slightly nicer make than a student’s uniform, lacked any of the embroidered symbols that would announce he'd graduated with a particular focus in any single element. A standard 2nd Tier [Mage], then. I recognized them both as students that had come through my orphanage program, more from my time spent at the orphanage than any interactions here at the Academy.

  "Master Fargus," they greeted me, using the school’s title for an instructor.

  I waved their greeting aside. "No need for that now. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ll be leaving the school."

  The two shared a look before the younger said, "We heard and wanted to say thank you for the opportunity before you left. We know you’ve heard it before, but wanted you to remember that we appreciate all you’ve done for us."

  "And I wanted to inquire if you would be willing to be my mentor." The lad said the words formally, but had a cheeky grin.

  "What!?" The girl turned to him. "You never mentioned that!" She huffed and bowed to me a second time. "I’d also like to inquire."

  I weighed the request in my mind. To take a journeyman mage as an assistant was common practice. A disciple was much less common. The two were different. While an assistant was paid, usually around fifty gold a year in the city, they would serve under a more experienced mage as support, much like a [Clerk] or [Scribe] would support an [Administrator]. A disciple was more often used when a wizard wanted to pass down their knowledge and served without pay. It came with both the expectation they would receive one-on-one training and that, when completed, the disciple could act in the name of their teacher—a relationship that normally lasted a lifetime. I, however, would outlive any disciple and felt no need to pass along my amassed knowledge at the moment. It was unlikely any human disciple would live long enough to fully inherit what I could teach.

  "I am not taking any disciples in at the moment, although I could find a use for an assistant. I can offer a hundred a year.” This would leave the young man with enough money for a modest home in the fourth circle, should he spend it all in one place. While it was twice the going rate in the city for an assistant, he would be traveling to work with me, so I had to take that into account.

  "Yes!" He jumped in excitement.

  I turned away from his annoying, youthful exuberance to give the girl a critical eye. "As for you, young lady, I know you aren’t requesting personal tutelage prior to completing the normal course of study at the Arcanum, are you?"

  She showed the good grace to look ashamed. "No, Master Fargus."

  "Good. We can revisit your request once you have graduated. Provided, of course, that you graduate in at least as good a standing as your compatriot here. Now, child, what is your name?"

  With a sad but hopeful look in her eye, she opened her mouth to speak, but Dean Scot interjected, "My apologies, I had intended to introduce them, but it seems we got carried away.” He chuckled. "We have [Mage] Walker, who graduated with honors no more than two weeks ago, and [Apprentice] Leslie, both of whom come to us from your sponsored orphanage. I expect great things from them both."

  It seemed backward to hold introductions at the end of the conversation, but humans did unusual things all the time. I’d long grown numb to that. So, taking it in stride, I nodded. "Good. I hope you’re right. [Mage] Walker, with me. Good day, [Apprentice], and farewell, Dean."

  My new assistant was quick to follow on my heel as I left through the administrative building to continue on my way. "[Mage] Walker, I’m heading to the Royal Bank and then to Ellorian Orphanage. From there, I will be taking a room at the Scholar’s Delight for the evening. We’ll be departing from the western gate just after daybreak tomorrow. Will you need to attend to any personal matters today in order to depart tomorrow?"

  "No, Master," he answered cheerfully. I’d expected as much. Many of the orphans found it difficult to place themselves immediately after graduation. Most didn’t take long to notice that a fully trained 2nd Tier mage was an incredibly valuable asset to both adventurers and the military. Those not suited to combat found themselves eagerly hired as assistants to professional mages. It did beg one question, though.

  "Will you be requiring a room as well?"

  This time, he hesitated before answering, almost sullenly, "Yes, Master."

  "Hmmm." I’d need to break him of that hesitation. Also, I considered immediately deducting the cost of his room from his future earnings but dissuaded myself. That would not make for a good initial impression.

  The Royal Bank didn’t take too much of my time. They did inform me they could not provide the entirety of my balance immediately, as they would need to withdraw the coin from the King’s Vault. I had always been diligent in keeping track of my accounts, so I wasn’t surprised by this. Instead, I took their offered amount of thirty thousand in gold coins and gems in a Magical Bag they provided. I’d need to return for the remainder at some point, but I was able to withdraw a good third of the amount of my savings. I could regale you with tales of my financial capabilities, but in truth, I only held the worth of a medium-sized merchant company. The problem with investing money was that the nobility seemed to guard that industry with zeal. I suspected the bank may have intentionally overestimated the value of some of the gems provided, but I felt no inclination to inspect them today. After all, I was an enchanter. I could do much more with those gems than simply trade them—although I kept that piece of knowledge to myself.

  The day’s journey continued to the edge of the fourth ring. Near a gatehouse to the fifth ring was the path leading toward the orphanage. The uncobbled dirt walkway led directly between a brewery and a tannery, and the path looked like nothing more than a trail trampled in the grass for supplies. The orphanage was in sight when I stopped in place and motioned for Walker to join me by my side. The building itself was plain: a two-story stone easily confused with a warehouse except for the four weathered religious statues spaced equally facing out along the wall. Tall carved [Paladins], each the height of two men, stood forever vigilant. They didn't move even as moss seemed to overtake them.

  Soon enough we were knocking at the door, which a surprised nun opened. "Master Fargus, you aren’t expected for another two days," she said by way of greeting.

  "I hate to interrupt, but I will be leaving the city soon and hoped to spare one last visit with the children. I don’t know when I’ll be returning, you see.” I offered a feigned, helpless smile.

  She gave a slight bow of her head, just enough to be considered deferential, and opened the door wider to allow us in. The nun was a waspish forty-something with her hair and figure hidden behind the customary yellowed holy robes and headpiece. It was nice to see that some things hadn’t changed. I recalled that same outfit from my childhood.

  We entered a small foyer, rectangular in shape. The floors were worn, faded by time and thousands of small feet. At the far end, a closed door led to the nuns’ bedrooms. That door was shut now, but I may have visited those three rooms once or twice in the past. Not all nuns were capable of holding to their vows, especially when presented with a handsome young half-elf. On the right side of the foyer was a plain wall with a singular mounted holy symbol: the half-sun-shaped symbol of Ellora, goddess of Light and Love. She held sway here now, but it wasn’t always the case. The left side was even more plain, adorned with only hooks for raincoats and an opening that led further into the building.

  "The children are this way, Mister Fargus," she said and turned to lead us.

  For a moment, I tried to think of her name. I had visited once a week, every week, for at least a century—provided something like war didn’t interfere with my schedule. Unfortunately, faces and names tended to blur together after so long. It was fortunate that she didn’t seem interested in a conversation that would make my ignorance telling. Not that I’d be embarrassed; I couldn’t remember the last time I'd felt embarrassed at forgetting a person’s name. More that I didn’t want the awkwardness of such a moment to stain any memory that today would leave them with.

  She led us first through the enormous dining room to a heavy wooden door that led outside, the wood still sturdy even though it was splintered with age. It seemed held together mostly by the iron banding in the center, though that banding was speckled with rust. A stone propped it open, allowing fresh air to flow in from outside, bringing with it the smell of spring.

  We followed her outside to find another nun, in the same outfit, watching over a large group of children squealing and running wild. Behind the orphanage was the same little park I remembered. Walled on two sides with a short picket fence, and on the far side by part of the fourth-circle wall standing tall and made from thick, light blue stone. The park itself was split into two parts, one being a small theater made of stones about knee-high with a waist-high stone platform in the very center. The second part lay closer to the fourth circle wall, where a small grove of trees provided excellent shade in the heat of summer.

  "Wizard Fargus!"

  "Walker!"

  Kids called both my and my new assistant’s name as they noticed our arrival. Soon I’d made my way to sit on the waist-high stone and began telling one of the many children’s tales I’d memorized for this very reason. By the doorway, Walker stood smiling and confident, discussing something with two of the older boys and a girl. The three seemed only a year or two away from aging out of the orphanage, so hopefully, he was expounding on the benefits of joining the Arcanum.

  I was halfway through my children’s tale when that darn lad pointed to the sky and released a glowing magical dart that immediately garnered close to forty excited faces—and the attention of two very unhappy nuns. Realizing that his unintended magical demonstration was stealing my audience, I could only reply in kind. Using one of the lesser [Illusion] spells, I brought my story to a more vivid reenactment. From past experience, I knew that the nuns didn’t appreciate this, as they would be the ones fielding excited questions on the nature of magic for the next few weeks. Questions they didn’t have the knowledge to answer. Still, this would be my last visit in a long time, so I might as well try to leave a long-lasting impression on the kids.

  Of course, leaving the children with a fond memory was my entirely benevolent reason to show the battle between a forty-foot dragon and myself, now a flying sorcerer of some minor renown. Not that I’d actually battled or even seen a dragon, but it was still an interesting twist that left a majority of the children running around with little sticks in their hands and making whooshing noises. It also didn’t stop me from secretly enchanting some of those very sticks into wands of minor illusion that activated under a spoken whoosh noise. Or zap noise. I may have also left a few enchanted wooden rings that let a person jump a little farther.

  I left the now incredibly excited children running around like that after my story, then went to thank the mildly irritated nuns. I looked for Walker, who was approaching me with his three friends as a group.

  "Master Fargus, that was a wonderful demonstration of an illusion spell!" he said with a smile.

  Which immediately put me on notice that he wanted something. "I’m glad you thought so. It was one taught in our curriculum, after all."

  "Right, right." He nodded, then turned and motioned behind him. "This is Unger and Runner, and my sister Lilly.” All of the orphans showed the same coastal features Walker had: sand-colored skin, tan eyes, and yellow hair. I gave a smile and nod as a greeting, then waited for him to continue. Which he did, after an awkward moment. I felt no urge to make whatever he was going to ask for easy for him to ask.

  "Well, both Unger and Runner are a year from leaving the orphanage. Unger is taking the nun’s offer to be a paladin. Runner wanted to take the test to see if he could join the Academy."

  I looked at Runner and said a quick "Good."

  "That leaves Lilly here without any real friends, and I was wondering if—"

  I cut him off. "I won’t be adopting any children today, [Mage] Walker." It was a curt but unemotional response, I thought. A clear line.

  "No… not… Well, I mean, I wanted to know—if I adopted her, could she travel with us? Two years and she would be eligible to return to the city to take the test for the Academy." He spoke faster than normal and was squeezing his hands nervously.

  "That’s a big responsibility, Mister Walker.” I weighed the decision. On one hand, it meant I wouldn’t be able to have him assist with any truly dangerous experiments. On the other, it meant that I could train two people to prepare my tea instead of one. Two years was such a short time to me, I’d probably barely notice.

  After giving it some thought, and then just enough of a stretch of time for him to grow even more nervous, I answered, "I don’t see how it’s any of my business what you do in family matters. If she is traveling with us, you will be responsible for any missing tutelage as well as normal care."

  This, apparently, was a joyous thing for Lilly. She crashed into Walker, knocking him down with one giant hug. The other two boys started laughing, and before I was somehow further involved in a conversation between teenagers, I made my exit.

  I considered reminding him of the name of the inn I would be staying at, or that he might want to take his sister shopping for clothes and toiletries, but shook myself of the thought. He was a graduate of the Arcanum. Should he forget, he’d learn from the consequences. I’d hired an assistant, not adopted a child. I'd have to be careful not to develop too much fondness for these two. Either hold them at arm’s length or pay the price when they inevitably passed away. I disliked adding chapters to my Book of the Dead.

  4

  The morning brought with it the unpleasant noises of a busy inn. Despite being on the third floor, I clearly heard the loud chatter of talkative scribes. The aptly named Scholar’s Delight Inn was a desirable inn often filled with traveling merchants, administrators, scribes, and, of course, wizards due to the many walls lined with bookcases and shelves showcasing a haphazard and random assortment of literature. I hoped that would make for a quieter stay, but the opposite held true this morning. I didn’t complain to anyone out loud, of course, but I did feel as though the straw-stuffed mattress, even if it was of high quality for an inn, lost in comparison to the comforts of my own bed. This served me as a reminder of the comforts I’d be foregoing. The breakfast, a warm, well-made porridge with a side of day-old ham, lacked the care and attention of the meals my old servants prepared. This experience in a relatively upper-class lodging only made me hesitant about my decision to depart and apprehensive about the burdens that travel would entail. But my decision was made. I wouldn’t change it now. I dressed in a traveling robe—a thicker red material made of some kind of monster fur—and a matching belt, then checked out.

  The apprehensive thoughts stirred as I made my way to the western gate. On arrival, I met with my butler-no-longer Nisto, his wife Hertha, and their darling daughter for a pleasant but tear-filled goodbye. I entrusted them with a few letters, one of recommendation for work, one of recommendation to the Arcanum for testing when the girl grew old enough for it, and a third tasked them with taking to Dean Scot unopened should they run across any issues which could not be solved without a hand from a higher step of society. Certainly, my third letter was nothing that would prevent some noble from absconding with Hertha against her will, but it granted them the Arcanum’s support or protection against any lesser threat.

  Walker and his sister Lilly silently joined by my side sometime during the farewell. I’d reserved a room for them, but didn’t bother to even check if they’d used it. Walker was of the age that he should be responsible enough to meet me, especially if he wanted to be my assistant. I motioned them into the carriage I would be riding in, then set about for one last look over the wagons.

  Four covered wagons filled with my furniture, each pulled by a team of six horses. Another open-back wagon pulled by a team of four horses carried traveling supplies in one large trunk. The rest of the wagon contained rows of potted Asrid Flowers, whose large, bright yellow petals and fragrant scent caught the eye of more than one passerby. An older model carriage, built for cross-country travel, was pulled by a team of two horses, and the driver seemed a little better dressed and more refined than the others. That he’d prepared a cup of my favorite tea only spoke further to that regard. Finally, a team of three 2nd Tier adventurers, two [Warriors] and an [Archer] on horse, joined as a protection detail. It was something that Nisto had arranged upon request of the [Wagoneers]. I thought them unnecessary, but the expense seemed too small to argue. If it made my wagon drivers feel safer, then so be it. I certainly didn’t plan on standing any watch during the night for that purpose.

  Satisfied, I finished my tea and joined Walker and Lilly in the carriage as we began to travel. The inside was entirely of a light brown wood except for two opposing bench seats. Those were thickly cushioned in a worn, deep blue velvet. Soft but not firm. Both of my companions sat busy watching the city pass by from inside the glass windows. I didn’t bother looking; the shanty houses and mud hovels of fifth ring were nothing I desired to see.