One day ago.

Wizen let out a rattling breath. He leaned back in his stone chair, his hand tightening at his side as the connection to his puppets sputtered and wheezed. Silvertide had done a lot more damage to Evergreen’s runes than he’d initially thought.

The old woman wouldn’t last much longer. He’d already ripped every shred of power that she had to spare from her body. It was only right. She’d cheated him. The key hadn’t been on her.

Perhaps I should have seen that coming. I can only blame myself. Why would the puppet of the Torrin family be carrying around an artifact like that? I should have gone after one of the important ones – but it hardly matters now.

The information flowing from the puppet sputtered to a stop. The last thing Wizen saw through its eyes was the plant matter filling its core seeping out and souring the Torrin Family’s library.

“I knew it,” Wizen breathed. His fingers twitched at his sides and old wounds burned his back. He ignored the pain and rose to his feet, stepping past the cracked bulbs and striding out of the room.

The darkness pulled away from him, as if in fear of his shadow. He strode down the hall, turning the corner and pushing through an old doorway to enter a kitchen. A middle-aged woman stood at the counter, her hands covered in flour and a ball of dough on the counter beside her.

Several finished pastries laid on the wooden table between them, stuffed full of glistening cherries. The woman’s hair hung around her face in a bob, and her face was slightly rotund. She smiled and brushed her hands off on the apron hanging from her neck.

“Wizen, honey. How have you been doing? You’ve been working really hard lately.”

“I have,” Wizen agreed with a dry laugh. He took one of the pastries from the table and bit into it, a delighted expression pulling across his features as the bright, sugary flavor of the fruit mixed perfectly with the flaky pastry. “And it seems you have as well, Barb. You’ve outdone yourself once more.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Barb said with a soft laugh. “I’d be honored if it was my cooking that brought you out of your hole, but I suspect that I haven’t gotten that good.”

Wizen polished off the rest of the pastry before responding. “I’m afraid not. Something far more important gives my feet flight.”

Barb’s eyebrows lifted. “You found it, didn’t you?”

“I found it,” Wizen said. His smile stretched even further across his face and he picked up another pastry. “At no cheap expense, mind you. Hundreds of puppets. An entire set of Rank 6 Runes, wasted.”

“Wasted? I’d hardly say that,” Barb said. She stepped around the counter and took one of her pastries, taking a bite from it. After chewing for a moment, her lips pursed and she shook her head. “Too sweet. I need less sugar.”

“I rather like them sweet,” Wizen said. “And perhaps wasted is the wrong word. They did what I needed them to. I just didn’t expect to lose so much at this stage. Silvertide is stronger than I thought.”

“He’s an old codger. What did you expect?” Barb shook her head and laughed. “It’s unfortunate that he’s going to be in our way. I’ve met Silvertide before. He’s a good man.”

“Most men are,” Wizen said. He finished his second pastry and wiped his mouth off with a napkin. “But good men turn blind in the plight of those they care not for. We have no need for good men.”

“Everyone can be used,” Barb said. “You’re just too black and white, hon. Learn some shades of gray.”

“I’ll leave that to you and the others,” Wizen said. “For now, all I care about is the key. As I suspected, it is within Arbitage.”

“It is? Well, color me a dunce,” Barb said with a sheepish smile. “I was convinced they’d never let something like that out of their sight. What a stupid move.”

“The more you know of the Torrin family, the more sense it makes. They claim to be warriors, but they are rats. They hide their strength and lurk in the shadows, hoping to take their opponents by surprise. It is ironic that the Linwick family somehow has more honest men than they do.”

“That’s saying a lot,” Barb said. “Are you sure about that?”

Wizen snorted. “You speak of Father? He is honest. He does not lie. Words are a weapon which must always be wielded when in his presence, but he does not lie. I respect him.”Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“He’s a codgery old asshole who should be rotting in a grave. The world would be better off without him. He sent you a black primrose, Wizen. He–”

“Cannot get on my nerves that easily,” Wizen finished. “Father seeks to anger me. It will not work. The only thing that matters is results.”

Barb flashed Wizen a smirk. “Are you sure? I saw you speaking to Silvertide and those brats with him. That didn’t look like pure results.”

“There was a purpose to it.” Wizen coughed into his fist. “And some conversation may have not been remiss. It has been some time since I’ve spoken to people other than those within our circle. Proper ones, that is.”

“Oh, I understand. It can be quite the downer,” Barb said. She walked back to the counter and started to work the dough again. “But I still can’t believe the Torrins sent the key away.”

“It makes sense. The key holds no power for a coward. It may not hold power for a bold fool either. It is nothing but an opportunity,” Wizen said. “But it is the opportunity I have been searching for.”

“So how are you going to get it? Your puppets are all gone, and I don’t think you’re going to wring any more magic out of Evergreen’s old husk. Silvertide gave you a ringing slap, hon.”

Wizen let out a small laugh. “He removed my puppets from the play, but I have far more pieces on the board than just them. Surely you don’t think so lowly of me to only have a single plan, Barb. Even Father knows better. He sent someone to guard the key and stand in my way.”

“Father did? Who, the one that killed Gentil?”

“No. His brother,” Wizen replied. “He arrived at Arbitage some time ago and I haven’t seen him since. There’s no doubt in my mind that he watches over the key – but he will not be able to stop my agent.”

Barb raised an eyebrow. “Brother… Brayden, was it? Big man. Beautiful muscles. I just want to squeeze his cheeks.”

“Please keep your fantasies to yourself,” Wizen said with a weary sigh. “But yes. The Space Rune user. He likely lies in wait for us to make our next move. Brayden should not be underestimated. He may seem to be a lumbering idiot, but he is intelligent and capable. If he was not, he would not have survived this long in Father’s presence.”

“So I see. And where is this key?” Barb asked. “A vault beneath the academy? Locked deep in their rune research rooms so that only their best mages can gaze upon it and attempt to discern its function?”

“No,” Wizen said with a dry laugh. “That was where I believed it would be as well. It is honestly quite ingenious. I must give the Torrins credit. They know how to hide. That is the only way they evaded me so long. I shared your beliefs, Barb. Come.”

Barb glanced down at her dough, then back up at Wizen as he headed for the door. With a huff, she walked after him. The two returned to the room with the bulbs, where Wizen lowered himself into a chair.

Dirt rippled at his feet, rising up into a chair for Barb across from him. She sat down as the dirt continued to bubble, forming into a perfect replica of Arbitage.

“Arbitage is my favorite of the bastions,” Wizen said, a smile drifting across his face. “So many different goals, all of them competing. Their schooling is inadequate. Their teachers are fools. Their researchers are greedy and hoard knowledge instead of sharing it. They steal from even their own families.”

“Wizen, hon, did you forget what favorite means again?”

Wizen let out a huff. No matter how strong he got, Barb never seemed to enjoy wallowing in arrogance for too long. It was good. She kept him grounded.

“The reason Arbitage exists is not for any of the reasons above,” Wizen said. “Arbitage is a storage. It exists to give the top noble families a location to put their artifacts – the ones they want studied, but the ones they don’t want near their actual homes. They send their children – the ones that look important but lack true value – as a cover. In truth, nearly everyone in Arbitage is replacable. A few rise above the rabble, but the rest are only there to take up space. Arbitage is not a sanctuary or a school. It is an agreement between the top noble families to designate an area where they could store the weapons that proved too great a threat to keep close to chest. It is an armory.”

“So they all pitch in some garbage to make it seem like a proper school, then stick all the bad news into it somewhere in hopes that the problem becomes someone else’s issue to deal with when it goes wrong?”

Wizen nodded. “Yes. They obviously want some students to be successful as well, but they take no risks in their training. Those who have talent occasionally succeed, but their purpose is merely to keep the attention of other noble families – and even some members of their own families – averted from the Bastion’s true purpose.”

“So… where’s the key?” Barb asked. “A vault?”

“Hidden in plain sight.” Wizen’s smile returned. He waved a hand and the buildings faded away until only a single one remained. A thin tower, cannon at its top pointed to the heavens. “What better place to store a spatial artifact than a cannon that uses its powers as a battery?”

“Clever,” Barb said. “You’re sure? That’s… bold. Even for them.”

“The information lines up. I am certain. You will go.”

“I figured as much,” Barb said. She pulled her apron off and folded it up, setting it down on the arm of Wizen’s seat. “You’ve got things arranged to get me into campus?”

“Of course. Be hasty. Do not let yourself get caught up in a long fight. Arbitage’s students may be largely worthless, but its protectors are not. You will not survive a fight if they all come down on you.”

“I can handle myself, hon. Don’t you worry,” Barb said. “I might need a little help if things go south, though.”

“Already handled. I’ve had an agent in Arbitage for some time now.”

“Is there anywhere you don’t have an agent?”

“No,” Wizen replied with a dry laugh. “Finish your preparations, Barb. The key will be mine by nightfall.”

Barb gave him a sharp nod, then headed out of the room. Wizen watched her leave, then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Twinges ran down his back, but he ignored them. He was so close. After all these years, everything was finally sliding into place.

“Count the days, old friend,” Wizen breathed. “The City of Gold awaits us.”