Valor and Violence

They arrived at the city gates around midday. But as he stood there, staring at the massive structure, Calris found himself on edge. The gate was easily twenty feet tall, somehow managing to look both sturdy and elegant, with thick beams of polished dark wood covered in gleaming iron bands thicker than he was. It was beyond anything he had seen in his twenty-odd years, but then again, so was everything he’d seen since he arrived at port.

What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?

He was a simple man; he wielded a javelin and a sword, and he protected a boat from other simple men, also frequently wielding javelins and/or swords. The brawl with the assassin had been fun, but the more he reflected on it, cloaked assassins with magical trinkets, mysterious “Guild Masters” and wrinkly old men who could disintegrate people with a gesture were beyond his area of expertise.

Pit, he had heard it cost more money to hire a battlemage for a raiding campaign than it did to raise, train and equip an entire company of marines. Yet here he was, trundling along ‘protecting’ one of them from some shadowy mob boss who had access to magical shenanigans that defied the natural order of things.

Calris shook his head, wincing as the movement brought the pain in his head screaming back. Between his head and the hole in his side, he was held together by little more than pig headedness, and the growing feeling of being out of his depth was undermining even that.

He cursed and massaged his eyes, willing himself to snap out of his funk. It wouldn’t do to get stuck inside his own mind. Again. It was a nasty place to be, especially when ‘the’ memory stirred in its dark corners.

Nope. Not today.

He stuffed it back into its imaginary box and threw the bolt on the lid. Unfortunately, though a convenient way of conceptualising the process, it wasn’t actually as simple to suppress the images as shutting a lid on a physical box and the bloody thing started seeping back out. He cast about back in the real world, seeking a distraction. And realised Ferez was staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, sir, what was that?”

“I said you gentlemen will stay here tonight as our guests,” the mage replied, smiling warmly. When he smiled, his eyes scrunched up so much they almost closed. It looked odd, but endearing in a way. Even so, Calris had no intentions of staying the night.

“Thank you, sir, but we really must get back and debrief our commander on the escort. Duty first, and all that,” he replied, smiling back.

“Young man…” Ferez began, his smile now falling short of his eyes as they opened and bore straight into Calris’ soul, “the Guild Master tried to kill you, your friend, my guardsmen and steal my artefact in broad daylight. And this was after assassinating a popular and well-known apothecary. He attempted to assassinate a High Mage of the School of Pyris. Even with half the city guard on his payroll, there will be reprisals. He will lose, not just the men from today, but many of his thieves and thugs on the streets over the coming weeks. His operations will be disrupted for months, if not years, while he develops replacements. He staked a lot on this gambit and failed, and he will be very, very angry as a result. If you go back today without an escort, you will never see the ship again.”

Calris gulped and nodded. “Fair point, sir.”

With Calris’ assent, the mage’s expression softened once again.

“Gentlemen, must I remind you constantly to call me Ferez? There are protocols within the college for a reason, but I find clinging to them outside the college walls to be in poor taste. Here, I am just a man, same as you.”

“With respect, Fez, I ain’t never blown a man up with a tornado of fire before,” Ban said.

“Yes, well, I’ve never snapped a man’s neck with my bare hands, either,” Ferez countered.

“I’ll take your word on that. At any rate, Fez, if we’re gonna call you by your name, I must insist you do the same for us. At least stop calling us gentlemen because we are anything but,” Ban said, giving Calris a sly grin. “In fact, I’ll tell you the story about this time Calris got into trouble in Griffon Keep! See, there was this pig…”

Calris smacked him in the back of the head before he could go any further.

“We had a deal! Once a month only, you lying bastard.”

“I’m actually quite interested to hear where this goes, though,” interjected the mage.

“Sorry, Ferez, but me and Ban have a deal. He’s not allowed to tell the story more than once a month. He made the whole thing up anyway, it’s really not even worth hearing.”

“The story is true!” Ban protested, feigning a hurt expression.

“No, it’s not! It’s not even plausible! I mean, a saddled pig? Really?”

Ban opened his mouth to speak again, but Calris shoved his palm in his face and turned back to the mage.

“Back on topic, though. We do need to get word back to the Captain and Sarge.”

“I understand, it won’t be a problem at all. As soon as we reach the college, I’ll organise a courier. Is this acceptable?”

A particularly agonising surge of stabbing agony shot through Calris’ head and his knees nearly buckled. He just wanted to go back. Lie down. Sleep off his life-threatening injuries. But the mage had a point. At his best the young marine might have relished the prospect of another fight, but the simple fact was a reasonably numerous squad of children could take him down right now. With no other options, he tenderly nodded.

“Very good. Shall we?” Ferez said, striding off towards the gate.

Calris grit his teeth and followed, hoping the college wasn’t too far away. A city guardsman stepped out from underneath a shade cloth as they approached the gate, bowed to the mage and rapped his knuckles on the wood. With a shuddering groan, the gate swung open, and Calris’ eyes went as wide as Ban’s chubby backside.

He gazed in open-mouthed wonder at the city, his pain temporarily dulled. The gold standard by which Calris had judged large cities was in relation to Griffon Keep, Calandor’s capital city and the country’s shining jewel. Carved into the living rock of a mountain, it was not only strong and expansive, but a testament to the resolve and grit of the Calandorian people. It had been hewed out over generations, sprawling down the mountainside as it gouged deep within it, too, every inch carved away and shaped by the tough as nails descendants of the heroes who had kicked their Aderathian overlords out generations ago. But this place, this, Six Cities, was something else entirely.

Every building was made from sparkling white stone, each brick cut with a precision that would make Calandor’s most skilled craftsmen weep with envy. The roofs were gleaming brass, every one of them, and spotless white shade cloths hung between buildings, providing respite from the fierce sun to the multitudes who thronged the streets below. What surprised Calris most, though, was the road, or rather, the lack of one. In place of the rough cobbles of Griffon Keep, or the dirty thoroughfares of Salazaar, thick green grass carpeted every available inch of space between the buildings.

Calris watched as people walked over it in elegant sandals, the grass springing back, undamaged, after each footfall. He was so engrossed with the scene in front of him he almost didn’t notice the smell.

“By the Pantheon. This place even smells beautiful,” Calris whispered.

“Ungh,” was all Ban could manage in response.

“You like our city?” Ferez asked, enjoying the reactions of the two marines.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Calris replied, staring wide eyed around them. “What are these buildings made of? How are they so perfect? Why is there grass everywhere? And why doesn’t your city smell like shit?”

Ferez burst out laughing, and even Asim gave a quiet chuckle.

“To answer your last question first,” Ferez began as he started down the street, “We don’t use chamber pots and gutters like other cities, we have toilets that connect to a complex system of pipes under the city. Five times a day, the Aquis mages who work in our government’s sanitation department bring seawater up from the ocean and use it to flush the pipes clear back out into the sea.”

“Wouldn’t the seawater corrode the pipes?” Calris asked. He was quietly happy to see surprise on Ferez’s face as his eyebrows shot up and he made an amused sound in his throat.

“Very clever, Calris. Indeed, most metals would corrode, however the Pyris and Terran mages who work in the infrastructure department created a ceramic that can withstand the weight of the city above it, but are non-reactive with the minerals in the seawater.”

“That’s amazing! You don’t realise how pervasive the smell is until you walk into a city that doesn’t stink,” Calris observed as they passed by the largest street market he had ever seen. A far cry from the rickety stalls of Salazaar, these stalls sold brightly coloured cloth garments, finely crafted translucent glassware and precious jewellery to the wealthy patrons ambling unhurriedly from stall to stall.

“Regarding your other questions; the buildings are made from a crystalline stone that occurs naturally in few places, all within Emrinth. Various wealthy people within the city own almost all the mines, and they sell their product to the city at a reduced price. It is not cut, so much as moulded by Terran mages, and then assembled by our builders. And an irrigation system similar to the sewers maintains the grass. Mostly it’s there to stop dust getting everywhere, but it does feel nice on your feet,” Ferez said, slipping off his sandals and continuing on barefoot, his shoes dangling from his hand.

“Cal,” Ban whispered, leaning into Calris’ ear, “Pyris is a fire mage, yeah? What about all those other words he said?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

“Ah, alright then. As long as it’s not just me.”

“They are the actual names of the different Schools of Magic,” a deep, resonant voice said behind them. Calris and Ban turned to stare at the Phoenix Guardsman, Asim, sitting on the cart.

“Did… did you just speak to us?” Ban asked.

“I did. I am not so harsh towards outsiders as Elgan was.”

“Elgan?”

“The one you called a tosser.”

“Ah… sorry about that,” Ban said, averting his eyes.

“It is alright. He was a good man at heart, and devoted to the college, but he was not accommodating of those from outside our school.”

This is awkward, Calris thought with a grimace.

“So, you were saying? About the actual school names?” he asked to break the silence.

“Oh, yes, the schools of magic: Caelis, Terris, Aquis, Pyris, Umbris and Aetheris. You are probably familiar with them as air, earth, water, fire, dark and light magic, respectively. It is from the physical colleges dedicated to each of these Schools of Magic that The Six Cities derives its name. Each of them started as a separate school spaced apart on this plain, and over time the city grew up around them, absorbed them, and became one great city.”

“All this came from people wanting to hang around the mages?”

“In a manner of speaking. The relationship is symbiotic. The mages provide protection and utilities services for the city. Beyond the ability to manipulate the elements, many mages are also skilled craftsmen and engineers, and they are exceedingly long lived by our standards. The oldest among them can reach over five hundred years old, and they provide wise counsel to the city and guide its development. In exchange, the citizens take care of life’s more mundane tasks; they buy and sell goods on behalf of the college, manage the farms and quarries that sustain us, and maintain the city itself.”

“Sounds like a perfect place to live.”

“Like any human endeavour, it has its dark side. But on the whole, yes, it is quite a pleasant place to live,” Asim said with a smile. Calris could hear the pride in the guardsman’s voice.

“Maybe we should come back and buy us some real estate, eh, Cal?” Ban laughed, giving Calris a nudge with his elbow. “Maybe a nice little place by the markets, or… does the city have a tavern or brothel district?”

“You could not afford it,” Asim replied, Ban’s face falling.

The small party continued on in silence, Calris and Ban drinking in the sights around them as Ferez led them through a labyrinth of winding streets. After what felt like hours, they rounded a bend to behold what looked like a gleaming palace. To Calris’ eyes, every building in the city had been the image of perfection, but compared to the massive structure in front of him, they seemed dingy and small by comparison.

The gleaming white walls, more a succession of elegant archways than solid brickwork, were so radiant as to be blinding, and the structure loomed close to thirty feet tall. Dozens of men and women hurried through the archways, wearing a variety of different coloured robes. The most abundant were plain white, followed by vibrant red, though he also saw a smattering of blue, grey, yellow, brown and black, which he presumed signalled the wearer’s college.

The roof itself was a richly coloured red metal, polished to a mirror shine, with tall towers at the end of each wall. From somewhere in the centre of the college rose a single gargantuan tower that dwarfed everything around it. If the scale and design weren’t indicator enough of wealth, the sign hanging over the entrance was solid gold, with ‘The Mages’ College of Pyris’ stencilled in the same red metal as the roof.

The sign was more than twice Calris’ height, and a solid foot thick.

“So, Ferez, which one of those is yours?” Calris asked, gesturing to the towers in a bit of a daze.

“The one on the left as you’re looking at it. Each of the other five High Mages has their own tower at each corner of the college. They’re positioned so that, in the event of an attack, opponents have to brave magefire from at least two High Mages if they want to get in.”

Calris was impressed. For all the glitz and glamour, these mages were a practical bunch.

“You guys even thought of that when you built this place?”

“Ha! No. It’s all about aesthetics. Although now that I think about it, I’m not wrong about the magefire. Hmm,” he mused, largely to himself, as he led them into the building. As they crossed the threshold, Calris noticed the stoic guardsman was not following them inside.

“Asim, you’re not coming?”

“Apologies, Calris, but there are matters to which I must attend,” he replied, looking back at the cart. The chainmail obscured the warrior’s face, but the tone in his voice spoke volumes as he regarded the body of his fallen comrade.

Oh, right. The dead guy.

“I hope to run into you again before we leave, Asim,” Calris said softly. The death of friends was unfortunately all too common in the life of a soldier, and it never really got easier.

“As do I, Calris. If we do, perhaps I may spar with you both,” Asim replied with a slight, sad smile in his voice.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ban said as the guardsman got the cart moving and turned down the street. Calris and Ban waved goodbye until he was out of sight, then turned back to the entrance. Ferez waited just inside, an encouraging smile on his face that did nothing to actually encourage the marines. Ban huffed, ducked his head, and trundled forwards at speed, as though breaking through a wall. When he had successfully crossed the threshold without bursting into flames, he turned to his friend with a cocked eyebrow. Warily eyeing the mages thronging the halls, Calris stepped inside.

They followed Ferez through the hallways, taking in the surrounding sights. Most of the people appeared to be servants or assistants, delivering packages and messages between mages, while in spacious lecture rooms, red-robed mages gave lessons to dozens of young men and women. The students wore flame red shirts and slacks instead of robes.

Ferez explained they held a rank, for lack of a better term, of ‘Initiate’, youths who had demonstrated magical potential and were being instructed in the basics of magic by Professors. Innate ability wasn’t enough, however, and most students would never become fully fledged mages. Despite the nerves that came from wandering into a building full of the most dangerous people on the planet, Calris felt his curiosity grow the more he saw.

“How is the college organised? I’ve only seen one mage in my life before now,” Calris asked as he popped his head into a classroom. He rapidly withdrew said head after receiving a glare from the woman at the front of the room.

“You talking about that water mage from the raid in the South Ader Sea last year?” Ban asked.

“Yeah, that sour bloke in blue robes and armour that came with us. He was a scary bastard, sunk two enemy ships with massive shards of ice in as many minutes. To be honest, I didn’t think there were this many of you. I’m starting to wonder why the marine corps even exists,” Calris said with a half-hearted chuckle. From what he had seen of magic so far, even a handful of these people on the battlefield could wipe out entire armies by themselves.

“Ah, yes, that would have been one of the Battlemages from the school of Aquis. Their services are in high demand at sea. And when assaulting castles. Few lords expect their keep’s moat to become a weapon to be used against them,” Ferez chuckled as he placed a comforting hand on Calris’ shoulder. “But never fear, my boy. Battlemages are few and far between. Most Initiates who are accepted as Apprentices study to become Researchers on graduating.”

“Researchers?”

Ferez explained that Apprentices, when deemed ready by their masters, undertook a test to be recognised as a fully-fledged member of the college, an Adept. Most then continued their studies as a Researcher, though some opted to become Professors themselves. Battlemages were the rarest of the lot, not least because a mage’s life in The Six Cities was exceedingly comfortable, so why risk life and limb to go campaigning in the barbarous lands outside?

“Still, there are always a few from each class. Once granted the title of Adept, mages pursue their own interests as they see fit, bound to the college by nothing more than familiarity and tradition. But very few mages have the constitution or bearing for the battlefield, and so Battlemages remain comparatively rare.”

Calris eyeballed a pair of young men in Adept robes as they passed him. Now that Ferez had pointed it out, he understood what he meant. Soldiering was hard on the body; the combat, the marching, exposure to the elements and frequent lack of food took a toll on everyone. It took a particular kind of person, and these mages were definitely not it. Their hands were soft and their frames scrawny, almost malnourished. They wouldn’t last a week in the mountains, or a single day in the jungle. He even saw a flash of fear in one’s eyes as he glanced in the marine’s direction.

“Alright, I think I’m keeping up so far, but where do you sit in all this?”

“I’m referred to as a High Mage. It’s a holdover from when the colleges were first founded. Each school is led by a council composed of six High Mages, selected from among the Adepts, and an Arch Mage, who is the most powerful, accomplished or oldest mage in their school.”

Calris whistled. “So, you’re a big dog, then?”

Ferez laughed. “I guess you could say that.”

Despite his flippant attitude, Calris noticed now how people hurried to move aside for the old man, heads bowed in deference as they did so. Physically weak or not, the people in this building had power, that much Calris was certain of. And they all gave respect to this man who treated them, a pair of lowly grunts, like old friends.

What an odd fellow.

“What type of Adept were you, Fez?” Ban asked. Ferez stopped and gave them a sly grin.

“I was a Battlemage, of course.”

If Mouse thought Calris looked like a predator, she should have seen that smile from the old man. Calris barely suppressed a shudder. Laughing at the looks on their faces, Ferez turned and set off once through the halls once again, stopping a short while later outside a heavy double door.

“This is your room for tonight, I’m sure you will find everything quite to your liking. Before you settle in, though, I must ask a favour. My apprentice is currently working in a laboratory in town, but with these recent developments, I must speak with her immediately.”

Calris shrugged and nodded. He didn’t see any issues doing a favour for the man who saved his life earlier that day, but as usual, Ban had something to say.

“Aren’t you a bit high up the food chain for an Apprentice?”

“Ordinarily, yes, but Jasmine is… unique. Talented. I decided to take charge of her development myself after meeting her. Unfortunately, with talent comes hubris, and the headstrong girl routinely refuses my summons when I send college attendants to fetch her,” the old mage sighed and muttered “cowards,” under his breath. Calris swore the man aged about ten years right in front of his eyes at the mention of his protégé. “They fear going into her lab now and I am loath to submit them to further torture on my part. But two strong, fearless, strapping young soldiers like yourselves will have nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

The attempt at buttering them up was shamelessly transparent.

“Uh, huh. Aren’t we at risk if we travel alone, though?” Calris asked.

“Eh, probably not within the walls of The Six Cities at least,” Ferez said with a shrug. “And you won’t need to go far.”

Calris sighed. He suspected their overnight stay had more to do with this ulterior motive than a genuine regard for their safety.

“Alright then. Where’s this lab?”

“Below a place called The Workshop. An attendant can point you to it, just tell them I sent you. Tell her to meet me in my study.”

“Got it.”

Ferez smiled and clapped them both on the shoulder.

“Thank you for this, boys. I swear you were sent by Val’Pyria herself. I’ll be by in the morning to see you off. Oh! And before I forget,” he riffled around in his robes before pulling out a ream of parchment, “If you can find your way to the Aetheris College, present this to an attendant. It’s a referral. One of their mages can heal the wounds you sustained in the battle.”

Calris stared at the paper in his hands. His head was throbbing, his vision had gone a little funny, the wound in his side burned, and he could practically feel the infection growing already. These sorts of injuries had killed many of his comrades over the years, weaker men than he, of course, but still.

They had succumbed after lengthy battles, despite the ministrations of the medics and doctors, the bed rest and hearty food, and then they had been dropped over the side of the ship in a burial shroud, reclaimed by the sea over which they had sailed and fought. And here was Ferez with a thick wad of paper, handing out sheets without a care in the world, seemingly oblivious to the fact that what he actually held in his hands was several dozen lives.

“They can heal me? Straight away?”

“Absolutely. Pit, an Apprentice could probably fix a scratch like that between errands.”

“A scratch?” Calris said, his face growing red. “I was stabbed, Ferez!”

“Only lightly,” he said, clicking his tongue. “The youth of today, honestly,” he finished, before turning and strolling down the hallway without another word. Calris watched him leave with a growing sense of both awe and indignation.

Definitely an odd fellow.

Tearing his eyes away from the receding figure, he snagged a young man in a white robe by the arm as he passed.

“Excuse me.”

The man looked at the hand on his arm in disdain before looking up at Calris. There was the briefest flicker of fear on his face as he registered the tall Calandorian marine, but in a heartbeat, he replaced it with the ‘I’m-better-than-you’ sneer that Calris had grown to hate since his childhood. The man pulled his arm free with a harrumph.

What a delight.

“The Workshop. Know how to get there, mate?” Calris asked, not wishing to waste any pleasantries on this undoubtedly arrogant son of a bitch.

“Everyone knows where The Workshop is,” the man replied, turning to walk away. “So, if you’ll please, go bother literally anyone else about it.”

“Hmm… What do you think, Ban? Will we please?” Calris asked as Ban stepped in front of the man, barring his way.

“I think we won’t please actually, Cal,” he replied, glaring at the attendant. The unfortunate man stood, staring in bewilderment at the two strange northerners who had the audacity to stop him in the hallway.

“Right you are, Ban. After careful consideration, we have decided to continue bothering you about it. Take us there.”

Calris had only intended to ask for directions, but somewhere between the harrumph and the attempted storm off, he had decided to make this guy as miserable as he could, if only for a while. The attendant had other ideas.

“Listen here, you ignorant morons,” he snapped, “I am the personal attendant to Adept Farrands himself!”

He looked between the two marines’ blank faces, his own turning red in either outrage or embarrassment. “He is a Battlemage of great renown! I do not care who had the poor taste to let you in here, but you are their problem, not mine. Begone! Before I tell my master of your insolence, and he burns you to cinders!”

The marines stared, eyes narrowing, and the man squirmed. Calris’ lips twisted up in a sadistic smirk.

“Ban, is it just me or are we pretty much on a fifty-fifty split here between good blokes and unrepentant wankers?”

“I think you’re right, Cal. I wonder why that is? Maybe we should ask High Mage Ferez Abdul Ahud about it after we get his apprentice from The Workshop?”

At the mention of the High Mage’s name, the attendant stiffened, all the colour draining from his already pasty face.

“I-I didn’t realise…” the man stuttered, outrage swiftly replaced with panic, “look, if I tell you where The Workshop is, will you promise not to mention this to the High Mage?”

“Not a chance mate… I’ll consider it if you take us there, though,” Ban said.

“Alright! Alright. I’ll take you,” he sighed, looking utterly defeated. Calris slapped him on the back, a tad harder than necessary.

“Good man! Lead the way.”