A Practical Guide to Sorcery
Chapter 250: A Pig Teammate

Oliver

Month 9, Day 17, Friday 6:00 p.m.

Oliver slowed Ebenezer to a walk as he approached Gilbratha’s north-western entrance tunnel. The line was long, and as the tunnel itself was fairly narrow, moving slowly. But it was still easier than trying to take a horse—even an erythrean—through the northern lake access, which required getting onto and off of a barge. His eyes kept being drawn up to the white cliffs, like most of the people entering the city. When one had been living in Gilbratha for a while, it was possible to forget how imposing the surrounding stone wall was. Many cities were built with walls, some even quite large and reinforced against magical beast attacks. But none compared to Gilbratha’s towering, white stone circle, wide enough to build atop and tall enough to be seen from over a day of travel away.

Ebenezer let out a tired whicker, and Oliver gave a commiserating hum of agreement. “Finally back,” he murmured. The late afternoon sun warmed his back uncomfortably, and he scratched at his neck, which had gotten sunburned a couple of times during their journey to the Starpeak Mountains and back.

“I’ve been dreaming about my bed,” one of his enforcers said. “So soft, so comfortable, so clean.” Two members of the group had enough elementary magical knowledge to set up wards against vermin, and one man knew a basic cleansing spell that had made him extremely popular, but it wasn’t the same as a soaking in a hot bath with high-end soap and some softening salts.

Oliver patted Ebenezer’s neck. “Soon, you’ll be back at the manor. Fresh hay, sweet oats, and the biggest carrot the servants can find.”

Ebenezer pawed at the ground and snorted impatiently at the people in line ahead of them. He craned his neck to either side, then tried to sidle around, obviously intent on cutting past everyone in front of them and going straight to the entrance.

“Behave,” Oliver said.

Ebenezer laid his ears flat and bared his teeth. After a moment of hesitation, he flicked his tail at the left side saddlebag and tried to walk forward once more.

“I’m not going to bribe the gate guard just to save you half an hour,” Oliver said.

Ebenezer twisted his head to the side and gave Oliver a one-eyed glare.

“Two carrots,” Oliver bargained.

Ebenezer walked forward once more.

“Three. That’s my final offer.”

Ebenezer snorted, then reluctantly moved back to their spot in line. He waited three seconds, then looked back and gave a triumphant whinny, obviously showing off to the other horses.

Oliver rolled his eyes in exasperation and thought longingly of the tub in his home. Luxuries were easy to become accustomed to and hard to give up. He had grown soft.

Alas, a quick wash in one of the rooms at the Verdant Stag would have to do for the moment, because the disaster he had gone on this trip to avert had not, in fact, been averted. He and the team had stayed in Malzhan for two days, and though they had been questioned twice by local authorities, nothing seemed to have come of it. And, of course, Osham wasn’t giving out any details about what had happened. Deciding that he had done all he could and hoping to avoid any complications, Oliver had decided to leave, and they had returned at a quick but more sustainable speed than the rush that had taken them to the Starpeak Mountains.

But a couple of days ago, he had picked up a newspaper and seen Osham’s premier decrying the unannounced attack and kidnapping and demanding ruinous levels of restitution from Lenore.

Apparently, quite a few of those kidnapped young men and women had been from influential families in Osham, though many were technically from branch lines or conceived by concubines. This was further evidence toward Oliver’s theory about what could make them act so recklessly. Breeding a Null was a sign of status in Osham, after all. The Architects must have been desperate to be willing to take such risks. Oliver wondered again what they hoped to do with those young men and women and cursed the fact that he had not infiltrated his supposed allies’ ranks well enough to have learned about their plan ahead of time.

Despite Oliver’s attempts to inform Osham of the truth, according to the papers, they were blaming Lenore as a whole and not the Architects specifically. He wasn’t sure if that was a tactic to give Osham the upper hand when asking for restitution, though it seemed that if they had really wanted their children back, they would have been more interested in the truth. Either that, or they knew something he didn’t. Oliver had been musing on this for a long time now, his mood growing ever darker.

“You can all go home. Rest for three days, and then come to the Verdant Stag for assignments,” Oliver told them.

They let out weak cheers, except for Huntley, who seemed even more shifty than normal, watching the pedestrians as if he expected one to lunge at Oliver with a hidden knife at any moment.

Oliver and his companion began riding toward the Verdant Stag, moving slowly through the late afternoon traffic. He had considered calling upon his various contacts and plants to report on the situation within the city—and the Architects—over the next couple of days. To remain inconspicuous, such things couldn’t be too blatant, after all. He also should probably make a visit to the city’s best information broker. But he was fed up. Those things could come later.

Instead, he would go straight to the source. He gave the orders as soon as he arrived at the Verdant Stag and then went to take a bath and have a nap.

The Stags’ preparations were fairly simple, and late that night, when most of the city was asleep, a team of enforcers broke into Grandmaster Kiernan’s home and kidnapped the man. Luckily, he was not a free-casting battle sorcerer, and had been completely unprepared for organized and well-funded violence. Oliver had been preparing for something like this for a long time, after all.

Some part of Oliver had wanted to go with the team, but hands-on work like that was what subordinates were for. And he had to deal with the paperwork that had accumulated while he was gone. So much paperwork.

But less than two hours after they had departed, the team returned. An enforcer knocked on Oliver’s office door and informed him that Kiernan was ready for him.

Oliver tidied his appearance and put on his mask before going down. Kiernan knew his face already, but this wasn’t about keeping secrets. It was about intimidation. The smooth, featureless surface and the artificial darkness filling the eye holes were rather unsettling. Of course, it didn’t hold a candle to the Raven Queen’s repertoire of intimidation tactics, but that was fine, since Oliver was trying to build a reputation as a generally benevolent leader who was only occasionally ruthless and bloodthirsty.

There had always been a hidden room attached to the wine cellar beneath the Verdant Stag. But after the fighting and destruction that had led to so much renovation, Katerin had suggested they take advantage of the situation to expand their underground holdings. Now, the footprint beneath the ground was larger than the building above. For now, all the wards were holding strong, and the damp hadn’t seeped in, though Oliver found the low ceilings oppressive. There was something about knowing you were deep beneath the surface that created a feeling of pressure.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

When he arrived, he found Enforcer Huntley standing outside, leaning against the wall. The man pushed himself upright and entered the small square room ahead of Oliver, then moved to lounge against the far wall, placing himself so that he could see both Kiernan and Oliver at the same time. The man may have seemed at ease, but Oliver knew from experience that he was ready to move at any time, despite how unlikely it was that Oliver would be in danger here.

The room was completely bare except for Kiernan, who was tied up in a chair in the exact center with a bag over his head. A light crystal affixed to the ceiling shone down on him like a spotlight, and it was slightly blue-purple, without any of the comforting feel of light taken from the sun. Kiernan had been stripped, searched, and was now wearing a simple vest that came down to his knees, without even laces or a button that could be used to make a Circle. He had no Conduit, no artifacts—even his teeth had been examined—and his limbs and hands were tied so that he could not gesture or cast something esoteric.

“Who’s there?” Kiernan demanded. “How dare you attack a University professor in his home! This is illegal! Arrestees must be made aware of their accused crime.” He fell silent for a moment, then changed tactics. “Do you know who I am? Is this a kidnapping? Are you looking for ransom, maybe? I assure you, there are those who will pay handsomely.” When no response came, he rocked violently in his chair, which was too heavy to tip over.

Oliver ignored him, letting him ferment blindly for a while longer. According to his files on the man, Kiernan was known to be a free-caster. But there was a huge chasm of skill between technically being a free-caster and being Thaddeus Lacer. Kiernan had been known to cast a small cloud that, after about fifteen minutes of accumulation, could rain out a few dozen drops, as well as a spell that created the ringing tone of a bell—used to call waiters and servants to attention. Even if Oliver were worried that the man might have some other tricks up his non-existent sleeve, Kiernan wouldn’t be able to try them without a Conduit unless he was willing to sign his own death warrant by break event. Few who had ever come face to face with an Aberrant were that bold.

Finally, when Kiernan had gone still and silent, panting heavily within the cloth hood, Oliver stepped forward and ripped it from his head.

Kiernan jerked back in surprise. His eyes squinted against the light from above, but his eyebrows rose. “You!” he said with both outrage and shock.

“Me,” Oliver agreed.

“Are you insane? Don’t you know my position within the Architects—” Kiernan cut off as Oliver shoved the bag against his mouth. Perhaps fearing that he would be gagged, the man clamped his jaw shut viciously.

“Let me help you with some basic deductive reasoning, Grandmaster,” Oliver said kindly. “Obviously, I know exactly who you are. All of the threats you want to use about how you’re powerful and connected… I know those things, too. And yet, I dared to do this. So what kind of situation do you think you are in right now?”

Kiernan was not a complete idiot, and as the blood drained from his face, so, too, did most of his bravado. Still, he lifted his chin defiantly. “Is this really necessary? We are allies. Why have you brought me here?”

Oliver stared at him silently, letting his expressionless, ever-staring mask convey everything Kiernan needed to know.

The man swallowed. “Are you turning on the Architects of Khronos? You think to betray us?” he managed with some composure.

“Have you ever heard of this saying, Grandmaster? I heard it during my years of traveling, and it always stuck with me. ‘We fear not Titan-like opponents, but pig teammates?’ How is it possible for me to carefreely maintain our previous arrangement when my supposed allies are doing the equivalent of stealing a dragon’s egg and bringing it back to our shared house? Should I just be implicated along with you when the dragon comes calling?” He let out a single, short bark of a laugh. “Hah! What if you start trying to make an omelette, also without my knowledge?”

Oliver leaned forward and crouched in front of Kiernan, speaking in a soft voice directly into his face. “Do you understand the implications of what you’ve done? Kidnapping a group of Nulls?”

Kiernan was neither surprised, nor did he refute the accusation, which confirmed Oliver’s suspicions.

Oliver stood straight and took a couple of steps backward till he stood on the edge of light and dark. “Do you think Osham is the type to just let this go? And what about the Thirteen Crowns? The Red Guard? There are only so many things that Nulls would be useful for, especially that would require so many of them.”

Kiernan looked down and to the side. He shook his head silently, though the hunching of his shoulders and the pained expression on his face exposed his great antipathy toward what Oliver was saying. He seemed more despairing and embittered than defiant.

“Where are they, and what are you doing with them?” Oliver asked.

Kiernan spoke in a dull, toneless voice. “They’re in a safe place where they can’t cause trouble for us.”

“Is that really the answer you want to give me? Because…” Oliver tilted his head to the side a little too far for comfort. “With this kind of pig teammate, it seems wiser to slaughter it first, so that maybe it can act as appeasement when the dragon comes looking. I will not allow the Verdant Stags to be implicated because of what you’ve done.”

Kiernan pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. His face was pale when he met Oliver’s gaze again. “You’ll cut ties with us, despite our cooperation being so profitable? What other buyer will you find for such a quantity of illegal materials? And you forget how much we know about you, Oliver Dryden. I’m sure the High Crown would be amenable to a little anonymous tip, especially if it led to him getting a public win over a source of discord.”

Oliver remained still and silent for a handful of breaths. Then he reached up and took off his mask. He smiled in the way that he usually avoided—too gleeful, too honest, too disturbing.

Kiernan’s face went slack as any blood that had remained drained away.

“Simply cutting ties? That’s so mundane and harmless,” Oliver said. “You know that’s not what I meant. As for the materials, I’m sure I can find a use for them all on my own. And as for my name…” He stepped forward, fully into the light, until he could loom directly over Kiernan, so close their knees almost touched. “You’re mistaken if you think I’ll cling to it. If I cannot be Oliver Dryden, I will still be Lord Stag. I never intended to get out of this unscathed.”

Kiernan’s eyes shook.

Oliver turned to leave.

“Archmage Zard is one of us!” Kiernan burst out. His voice broke from the force, and he started coughing violently.

Oliver turned back around. Archmage Zard? That was…bad news. And they had kept it well hidden. He must not normally be involved in much of their operations. Or, perhaps the Architects were more internally fractured than Oliver had known, working in distinct cells to increase security.

When Kiernan spoke again, his voice was slightly rough. “Archmage Zard was the one who insisted on pulling off that operation. He’s been growing impatient for years now. I never—I never wanted that. We’re supposed to have a council of worthy leaders, but he’s an Archmage. It turns out, he can actually just do whatever he wants without majority approval, especially if he leads the attack himself. How were we supposed to stop him? And I—I understand why you’re angry! I do! But you can’t do this. Zard won’t stand for it. He’ll eliminate you and all your people and tell the High Crown he was doing him a favor. The only thing you can do is put a smile on your face and pretend this never happened. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll even swear a vow, if I must.”

With someone like Zard, who was apparently drunk on some cocktail of greed and narcissism, acting freely and recklessly, there was little chance that Oliver would be able to influence the Architects onto a more acceptable path. Even if some of them wanted to, what Kiernan had said was true. How could they stop him?

That was fine. Oliver had already reached his limit with them. This had never been a permanent arrangement. To end things now was sooner than he would have liked, but they were forcing his hand. He turned to leave once more.

“Wait. Wait! You have to let me go,” Kiernan said incredulously. “Zard will be suspicious. You can’t just leave me here.”

Oliver reached the doorway and looked over his shoulder as Huntley moved to follow him out. “You aren’t leaving, Grandmaster Kiernan.”

Kiernan was silent for two seconds and then began to scream, heaving violently against his bonds as he realized he was well and truly wrecked.

Huntley closed and locked the heavy door behind them, and Kiernan’s screams cut out abruptly and entirely. “Interrogation?” he asked simply.

Oliver nodded. The coppers might not have succeeded in getting anything useful out of Kiernan and his comrades when they questioned them, but the coppers were working under certain restrictions that Oliver wasn’t.

As he turned toward the stairs that would lead them back up into the Verdant Stag, Oliver mused on his next steps. Time was running out, so he would need to accelerate his preparation and expansion. He had to be ready when the right moment to act decisively came. And if there was any meat to be gotten off of the metaphorical corpse of the Architects of Khronos, he would need to ensure the Verdant Stags got a few bites.