Chapter 164 - Speedrunning the Loop: Another Perspective (Patreon)

Torrviol, Solen 3

Lily was walking back from the dining hall when she saw it. Several students were looking up at something, and, curious, she looked up with them. She’d been on edge ever since Mirian disappeared. Then, if the whole town hadn’t been in enough of an uproar over the spree in the market, two of the professors had gone missing. Also, Archmage Luspire was furious over something that had happened, and she didn’t think it was over Professor Cassius’s eximontar being stolen.

She still didn’t believe that Mirian had done it all. It must have been someone else. Either way, she was worried sick.

Valen was walking beside her. Lily was sure Mirian hated her, but she’d decided to attach herself to Lily, assuming that Lily knew far more than she did, as if proximity to her roommate gave her unique insight. The girl had quickly become an intolerable pest, with an appetite for chaos that made Beatrice look tame.

Actually, she was somewhat tolerable; she did somehow learn every rumor going around the academy at lightning speed, which is why Lily also knew that the Magistrate had started quietly rounding up people on espionage charges, of all things.

As if exams weren’t stressful enough!

It was getting dark out, though with her enchanted glasses, Lily hardly noticed. It also meant that, when she looked up, she could see that the thing the other students were pointing at wasn’t a wyvern.

Lily tugged at Valen’s sleeve. “Look,” she said, pointing.

“Is that a wyvern?” Valen asked excitedly. “The bigger ones never come this far south! I hope it performs its call for us.”

“I don’t think so,” Lily said. The dull, slow draw of her auric mana into the glasses was such a constant it was hardly noticeable, but she focused on it now. She tweaked the flow and enhanced the lensing portion of the enchantment so she could see the distant object better. Her breath caught. “It’s a glider. But how did it get that high up…?”

Valen paged through her spellbook, then found her own lensing spell. She cast it, and the air in front of them distorted. The other student carefully moved it around, then her eyes went wide. “No fucking way,” she said, voice full of awe.

From her angle, Lily couldn’t see what she was seeing, and the glider was moving fast enough it was hard to track in the dark sky. “What?” she asked.

“I think that’s Mirian. Five fucking hells.”

The glider broke into a dive, suddenly accelerating.

“What!?” Lily exclaimed. “No it’s not. She… how would she even… why would she be…?” The glider was coming down fast now, heading towards the south of town. Lily started running.

She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she had any spells to catch her, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Valen wasn’t just lying, or wrong. All of it was so absurd, she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t just having a stress dream and would wake up soon.

By the time she arrived at the south of town, Lily was out of breath, and there was no sign of the glider or whoever was in it.

There was a crowd, though.

“Did you see it?” a man was asking excitedly.

“Yeah, that was crazy! He just swooped down and landed on the train!” a woman said.

“I think it was a woman,” a second man said, though the woman ignored that.

“Look! I got a piece of the glider!” a fourth year student said excitedly, and everyone crowded around. It appeared to be a piece of bone.

“Did you see who it was?” Lily asked the second man.

“I got a pretty good look,” he said, puffing his chest out as if he was proud of the fact. “Craziest thing, though. She looked like she was dressed in an academy uniform.”

Lily and Valen looked at each other. Neither knew what to say.

***

Torrviol, Solen 3

Archmage Medius Luspire heard the divination machine let out a pleasant chime. He stopped gritting his teeth and rushed over to it. His desk, normally tidy, was a mess, and he’d snapped at his servant earlier in the day.

It had not been a pleasant three days.

First, someone had broken into the tower and stolen his spellbook off his person. With the strength of his aura, that should have been impossible. Worse, they had no idea who it was. Sure, there was that student who’d gone missing, the same one who’d apparently stolen Eskier Cassius’s prized eximontar then rampaged through the market, but he’d had his secretaries look into it. The student was completely unremarkable, and her last tripoint meter test from a year ago had put her at 28 myr. He’d dismissed her as the culprit immediately, though something strange was going on there.

Then, Magistrate Ada had quietly told him Praetorian Adria had disappeared just as she got word there was an entire Akanan spy ring coming to light. The first few arrests she’d made had already confirmed some of the information in the documents she’d gotten. The bloody Akanans. Shaking your hand with a smile, while their other hand reaches for a knife. Vadriach University knew about the research on the Monument. It had to be connected.

And Adria. Fucking Adria. Bloody Gods, that conniving bitch, was the nicest thing he could think of her. She’d gone from a staunch ally to a political player, only he still couldn’t figure out whose side she was on, or even what game she was playing.

Then, two of his professors—and not just any professors, the ones helping lead the Gods’ damned Divine Monument project—had vanished. Gone! Which was not like them at all.

Worse, all this was happening right before the fortuitous collaboration between Torrviol and Vadriach University started. He was about to have Tyrcast—Medius refused to mentally give him the title ‘archmage’ because he was sure he’d fucked with the test results—eating out of his godsdamn hand. Tyrcast, at last come groveling to him, because he’d finally realized that Medius was holding the card he needed. And he could hold his hand to the fire over those damn spies. Briefly, he had a vision of Tyrcast kneeling before him. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?

But now it had all gone to shit, and the airship would be arriving soon.

The Archmage strode over to the divination machine. A detection. A day ago, he’d practically fed the thing a ton of fossilized myrvite, and it had found nothing. Now, his spellbook was nearby. The thief had been clever; they’d ripped out almost every tracking glyph set. But almost wasn’t all. 

He puzzled at the machine. The book was nearby, and judging by the location changes, moving fast.

Medius rushed to his window and peered out, looking east across the town where the machine indicated. Up high, the last dusk light was glinting off something—something that was also moving fast. He paged through his backup spellbook—the damn thing was an embarrassment—and found his lensing spell. He cast it, amplified the power, and peered through.

It was a glider. The thief was gliding toward the south of town. It broke into a dive. Towards—

That vile crook.

Luspire could see the train, already in motion. The thief streamed toward it, diving like a falcon. Then, the wings of the glider flared up, the the entire machine ripped itself away as the thief carefully stepped onto the top of the moving train, landing with such precision it almost looked practiced. Just who in the five hells is that? he thought. At this distance, in the dark, he didn’t get a good look at them, but he immediately called for his secretary.

“Get a message on a zephyr falcon, immediately,” he said, as soon as the man was in the room. “Alert the Cairnmouth guard. Give them this glyph sequence to search for, and tell them I’ve personally placed a bounty on this thief’s head.”

“Yes, Archmage,” his secretary said, bowing slightly.

By Medius’s reckoning, there was a finite amount of respect in the world. He’d had some of his stolen, but this thief was about to learn that respect could also be taken back by force.

He stood by the window and scowled.

***

Cairnmouth, Solem 4

Lecne stared at a spot in the floor, feeling sick, feeling numb.

You knew this might happen. It’s the price we pay for our faith, he thought, but the words didn’t comfort him at all. He’d been moving around their little temple, doing things, saying things, but it was like watching a puppet move. He’d gone to the market to look for those who needed their God’s aid, because that was what he did. It was his purpose.

But inside him was empty.

Arenthia was dead.

Really dead.

He was supposed to be lighting incense. He was supposed to be putting on a brave face for the others. Pelnu had called him ‘high priest,’ and he’d nearly slapped the man.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t any of their faults. It was just fate. Bloody, stupid fate. He wasn’t ready to be high priest. That was Arenthia. It had always been Arenthia. That beautiful old hag had dragged him back to his feet when his faith was at its nadir. He hated her laugh. Now, he would have given anything to hear it one more time.

Altrukyst, guide her soul, no matter the path. Shiamagoth, shield her family, blood and covenant both. Zomalator, always, we look to your example. Help us see—help me now see—

A door slammed. Lecne raised his head. 

Was someone here?

Pelnu was sticking his head out of the kitchen.

Had the Luminates found them? They had been sure the cult itself hadn’t been compromised, but what if they’d been wrong? He had a thin knife by his belt. If it came to it, he’d die fighting to protect his family. He stood.

“Lecne!” came a cheerful voice as a young woman rounded the corner. “It’s been too long. Mirian, Seventh Prophet.”

Lecne took a shocked step back as a shining rapier materialized out of the air into her hand.

“Here, it’s the Sword of the Fourth Prophet, I took it right of the Order’s vaults. That always cheers you up. Sorry, running a bit late. Had to ditch some guards who were waiting by the station then destroy their divination machine, so that’s kicked up a bit of a fuss.” Then she looked at him, and her demeanor changed. “I still remember my promise. As you saved me, I will save your high priestess. Arenthia will stand by your side again. Not this cycle, but when it matters, she will.”

He stared at her. She looked young, but those bright gray eyes held something more. There was a depth, an age to them. No, not a girl at all. And the sword, he knew. He had seen it once when he was still a priest of the Order. It was real. He clutched his focus, and the girl’s soul blazed out before him.

It was bright, unlike any he’d seen, and it swirled with an intensity that reminded him of the Rift Sea at storm. When he’d been young, he’d worked down by the docks with his father, and had seen the untamed ocean. Now, here it was again, and in the center, by her heart—a hole.

A Prophet.

A miracle.

Zomalator, thank you, he thought, and knelt.

***

Palendurio, Solem 7

Bishop Lancel walked through the Grand Sanctum with a smile on his face. Everyone liked a good smile, and there were so few problems that couldn’t be solved by a big smile, a friendly word, and a can-do attitude. Yes, there was that little problem with the finances. The bishop didn’t quite know what was going on with that, but he was sure it was all just a silly misunderstanding, and would be resolved in no time at all. Best to keep it quiet, though. Rumors had a way of getting out of control.

Another pilgrimage was making its way through the sanctum entrance when suddenly, there was a deep GONG!

He’d heard that sound very rarely. It was an alarm, triggered by—

A woman rushed by him, right through the center of the sanctum, much like an unexpected train in speed, if not size.

He blinked. She’d been hovering several feet off the ground, dark hair billowing behind her. The alarm-runes at the front gate—well, glyphs if he was being honest—had detected the levitation spell. He stood still, trying to piece together what had happened and what that meant. The Praetorians needed to get permission of the Pontiff to enter the Grand Sanctum, unless it was martial law, in which case, a bishop could approve their entry.

A Luminate Guard was running toward him. “Holy one, that was an arcanist. We couldn’t stop her. She just—I don’t know where she came from, but she flew right by us. We need to get the Praetorians. Holy one, do I have permission to leave my post?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Ah… there’s a procedure we’re supposed to follow…”

“Yes, holy one. The Luminate Guard has heard the bell, and will rush to their duty.” The guard looked around, and cleared his throat. “Normally we’d form a line, there, with the high guard interspersed so that the blessed material rendered the arcanist’s spells useless. But, ah, normally they can’t fly. Still, we should form a line—”

“Well, someone needs to get the Praetorians, then. Go on, I’ll, hmm… we’ll do what we can, I suppose! The Ominian can’t really expect anything more, can They?”

The bishop turned, looking around. The intruder had headed straight back, but the narrow twisting passages of the Grand Sanctum would no doubt confuse her and slow her. But what was her intention? 

The room had broken into a bit of minor bedlam, with the pilgrims being hurriedly ushered back outside, to much wailing and gnashing of teeth. It would be a few minutes before the backup guards would be dressed and ready for battle. Priests and acolytes were running around everywhere. Soon enough, several guards from another section rushed by, and after some conversation, positioned themselves to block the entrances behind the Ominian’s statue. The giant gate in the front was too big to protect, and too heavy to close quickly, but the smaller ones would stop her. She couldn’t fly by anyone blocking a passage like that.

Lancel hoped that he wouldn’t be blamed for the problems. He didn’t think it could be construed as his fault, but one never knew. Still, with a big smile, a friendly word, and—

The mysterious arcanist suddenly flew down from the upper balcony to his left, still traveling at incredible speed. She was holding…

He only caught a glimpse of it as she rushed by, then she was out the giant gate.

Are those the Holy Pages?

Lancel’s mouth dropped open. He stood there in shock. Oh Gods no, he thought, and his mind raced. For a moment, he stuttered, unable to say anything. Then the words came pouring out. “After her! After her! In the name of the Ominian! She had a relic!”

“A holy relic?” came a dismayed cry.

Luminate guards turned and ran after her.

Lancel sat down on one of the benches and held his head in shock. Gods above, he thought. A relic, a holy relic—gone. On his watch! He was never going to make the next rank of bishop now.

Then, the panicked cries and dismay died down. At first, Lancel was confused. Then, he realized everyone had grown silent because they were looking at the dais. A man was standing where the bishops usually gave their sermons, the Ominian’s statue looming large behind him. It was one of the vault guards, he realized. 

He recognized the man. Everad, he knew.

Everad’s voice was low but steady. He didn’t shout, but his words were clear. “Do not despair, brothers. The Luminates have done their most sacred duty this day. The age of the Prophets has come again.” He let a scroll unfurl from his hand. “By Pontiff Oculo’s decree, it is my honor to announce that the Prophet Mirian has arisen. As the relics served the Prophets, so shall they again. By the Ominian, let all that They have foreseen come to pass.”

The room stood in shock, but only for a moment. Then, they all knelt, and Bishop Lancel rushed to join them, heart hammering. Everad waited a moment, then turned and knelt before the statue of the Ominian as well.

***

Outskirts of Palendurio, Solem 7

The estate alarm wards blared out, and Enrico Allard looked up from the report he was reading. A zephyr falcon had been sent to greet him that morning with it. There’d been some strange, quite large movements of gold and contracts. One of the bigger players was making a move, he’d decided. But they appeared to be targeting the Palamas holdings, because they were moving large amounts of fossilized myrvite around. And that didn’t make any sense.

Of course, there’d been a lot of recent movements that didn’t make sense. Enrico was only a bit bitter that the richer members of the family hadn’t deigned him worthy of the deeper secrets of the family’s maneuvers. Probably, it’d take a few weeks to put together the full puzzle.

An alarm ward being tripped was never a good thing, though. Likely, one of the lower rank servants had gone sniffing about one of the rooms they weren’t supposed to be in. After all, if it was a thief, the perimeter wards would have been tripped first, and one of the estate guards would have alerted him. No one would be stupid enough to rob the place in broad daylight while everyone was up and alert, anyways.

Enrico looked back to the report. His agents keeping an eye on the market had been told to be on the lookout for strange things, and nothing could be stranger than this. Fossilzied myrvite shipped to Sabbicita and Normarg? He pulled out a map, then put it away, then pulled out smaller regional maps since the places were too small to be on the larger ones. They were remote villages. They had no modern industry to speak of.

Well, we can worry about it if we see a bunch of donkeys pulling a factory in that direction, he thought. Maybe it’s a move to create artificial scarcity and raise the price, then resell it. Exacerbate the shortages caused by the war in Persama. But why move it to a random village? And they must know the shortages won’t last. Those little rebellions will be crushed.

Enrico looked at the short letter attached to the financial report. Allard contacts seemed to think the Deeps and Fort Aegrimere were butting heads over something, maybe to do with the war to the south. Whatever it was, something was happening. He just hated not knowing what.

He pulled out a piece of parchment and his ink set and started a letter toward his uncle.

Then, he felt a tingling sensation at his belt. He stood in surprise, and reached for the device. The manor safe room!

Enrico rushed down the hall, shouting at the guards to follow. By the time he got to the basement safe room, though, it was already open. The secret bookshelf was ajar, the reinforced door, wide open. Enrico stared at it. He scrambled to check for the glyphkey in his pouch. It was still there.

There were no other copies. The safe room glyphkey wasn’t just a normal glyphkey, either, it used the same advanced enchantment techniques as the family seals used in bank transfers. Unbreakable.

“What in the five hells?” he said.

“Sir, I don’t know,” one of the guards said, fear creeping into his voice. 

Enrico Allard stepped into the room. The cabinets were all shut tight. The chests, still locked. He stepped in further, and there was the crunch of glass.

The case with his great grandfather’s heirloom had been shattered. The archmage’s spellbook was gone.

Fury gripped him. They had no right. No right—!

He whirled. “How did this happen?”

“We will find out, sir,” another guard said. He and the others rushed out to scour the place. Enrico moved to activate the divination engine.

An hour later, one of the servants was discovered to have seen a ripple moving through the air above the gardens. Then, one of the windows had parted, as if it was a puddle being melted away. A minute later, the ripple in the air had appeared again, coming out of the window.

Sure enough, one of the first floor windows appeared to have been melted.

There were no other signs of the perpetrator.

***

Alkazaria, Solem 14

Sybil stood behind the counter of her artifice shop, giving the man before her a tired stare, hoping that through sheer force of will she could adequately communicate how much she wanted him to leave.

“This is outrageous!” the man said for the third time.

Sybil shrugged. “Sorry. This client’s paying quintuple the usual rate. Their order gets priority.”

“Do you know who I am?” he exclaimed.

She didn’t, and told him as much.

“It’s… no one pays that much. They’re not going to pay you.”

“They already paid eighty percent up front,” she said. Since her glare wasn’t working, she bluntly said, “Now please stop bothering me, it’s a big order. Go find another shop”

The man stomped his foot petulantly. “But all the other artificer shops have said the same thing! I’ve scoured through this entire district, and there’s not a single shop that isn’t busy with this ridiculous special order.”

Sybil shrugged again. “Great. I fail to see how this is my problem. However, it will become your problem if you continue to trespass.”

“Trespass—!” the man said, nearly hysterical. But when he realized she was serious, he finally left.

The artificer sneered at him as the door slammed, then put up a ‘closed’ sign and locked the shop up this time. Then she returned to the back, where four of her assistants—plus three apprentices she’d hired on a temporary basis—were all at work. The orders had been very large, paid for by bank transfer notes sealed with Allard sigils that were equally as large. However, the devices were incredibly simple. They burned a fossilized myrvite charge to do—well, nothing, it seemed, except burn the fuel. One of the glyphs was missing from the sequence. An energy glyph of some sort. However, the design was legal, and she was being paid enough not to give a shit about what her client was going to use it for. She’d never heard of Nezzar Fabrication, but that didn’t mean much. Likely, they’d bankrupt themselves quickly, but their gold gleamed and that was enough for her.

Already, they had a pile of nearly a hundred of the little devices.

Down the street, her competition was also working on an order, also offering the absurd rate, though this one seemed to have come through a military contractor working with Fort Aegrimere. That didn’t make any sense either, but maybe it had to do with the war down south. He was manufacturing actual explosives, combining earthshaker shells with a similar design. Again, the design didn’t seem particularly useful, unless one were going to war with the local stonemole population.

Didn’t matter to her. She got out her scribing pen, sat at her table, and got back to work.