The Archmage: Chapter Thirty-One (Patreon)

Oberon was… filled with color. 

His hair was a rainbow of colors, but not constrained to the rainbow. Within red alone there were a thousand different shades, within the blue there were ten times as many. And there were so many colors too, beyond the rainbow, beyond the shades, there were colors that humanity was not meant to see, colors that were not real at all, and more. 

And his eyes? His eyes were a shifting and swirling vortex of pure blackness that sucked in all of the color in the room, then spat it out at random, amplifying and changing it. I couldn’t look away, and yet I spent no time at all looking at them. 

Oberon was… filled with power. 

I stood before maestros who had only just now claimed the title, having spent entire lives currying favor with their court. Maestros who had dedicated time to the pursuit of a single spell, a single talent, a single art. An army of lords, ranging from those who had spent a dozen mortal lifespans stuck at lord, and accepted they would never advance further, to those who had just emerged to claim their title, having dueled their fiercest foe for the title. 

And more. I stood before a full court of kings and queens and sovereigns of all stripes, from those with the wisdom born only of being from a time older than humanity, older than time itself, and the confidence that could only emerge from those who had lived a scant few years yet learned to channel power that stood greater than most of their peers. 

Oberon was… emotional. 

The air around him rippled with songs written by master composers, dishes cooked by the greatest gourmands, and paintings carefully made by artists who had never had a chance to achieve greatness who now lived on through Oberon. 

And yet? Darkness. The pain of having lost a brother in a war, having lost a child to a wasting sickness, having lost a parent before their time should have been up, all lived on in the air around him. 

But Oberon was not on the level of Medb.

He stood here in his full glory, drawing power that allowed him to offset the drain of the mortal world, and he was strong, yes, but he was not a force of nature, not the way Medb was. 

He had the power crush me like a fly, kill Draven, Seth, Osheen, and Tara, then leave, but he could not. He was bound, not by wards, but by the rules of propriety. Even if he wished to kill us all, he physically couldn’t. 

So much power, yet so little.

“You, little blood spirit,” Oberon said, and his voice was every bit as rich and smooth as his hair was vibrant. 

I stood in the hall, then. I didn’t know how I had gotten there, if Oberon had shifted me through another realm, bent space, or simply taken control of my mind and walked me here before removing my memories. The others were here with me too, all save for Draven, who must have been the blood spirit that Oberon had spoken about. 

Osheen let out a long, shallow breath before walking over to me and pulling me into a hug. We held eachother for a moment before the mercenary spoke. 

“Am I free to go?” 

“Yes,” Tara said, rocking back on the balls of her feet away from the mercenary, who turned and walked away without another word. 

“Are summonings normally like that?” I asked Seth curiously, even as I clung to Osheen tightly. 

“No,” he said. “They can get intense, and old, but… I’ve never had one like that before.” 

“I hate the fae,” Tara muttered under her breath. 

We waited for some time before Draven stepped out of the door and into the hall, looking absolutely giddy. 

“Evan, it’s your turn,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. 

I expected it to be a half-threatening squeeze, a reminder that he was the only reason I’d gotten this chance, but Draven actually seemed… happy. He just patted my shoulder and then spun in place. 

“Go on,” Osheen said. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.” 

I nodded mutely and stepped through the door, into my meeting with Oberon. 

He lounged in midair as if he was sprawled out on a couch, his diaphanous silk robes swirling around him in a phantom breeze, and he smiled a thousand golden oak smile at me. 

“Ah, Evander Tailor,” he said, and when he said my name, I felt a shiver shoot down my spine. “I missed you at Queen Medb’s gathering. What a pity. There are many, many things I think we should discuss.” 

I bowed deeply to him and nodded. 

“There are indeed many things to discuss,” I said. “And it is a shame indeed that I was unable to make your acquaintance before now.” 

“So polite, no wonder the newest Court within the greater Autumnal Court is in such a tizzy about you,” Oberon said. “Your iron repelling defense was… Adequate… for an audience with me. Please, speak what it is you think you need from this encounter.” 

“Knowledge,” I said, starting to pace around the room. “I need to know if my faerie aura will spread over the barrier between my two auras. I saw a vision where it happened, and I think… Well, it felt real, but it may have been a dream. I need to know how far I can push my faerie aura. How far I can push my human aura. Would binding more familiars help? Harm? What about taking them on in the fae side? How was my lifeline impacted?”

Oberon laughed then, a rich sound that nevertheless held hints of cruelty underneath it. 

“Knowledge, knowledge, knowledge. I am surprised you are of change, little boy, and not of knowledge. The Truthseeker Court would much like you, I think, but you perhaps are too free with the knowledge you spread. Do you agree?” 

“I believe that the freedom of information is important,” I said. “Some truths are dangerous, like the knowledge of how to summon things from the Starless Night. But not all things are like that. Some are just powerful and helpful, and hoarded by the strong because they fear what the weak would do if given a fair shot.” 

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Oberon said. “I can give you three things, three exactly. The knowledge you think you need. The knowledge I think you need. And a single enchanted item I received from a lover, oh some… Five hundred years ago? But I think you will need it, if you wish to live.” 

“And what would the price for those be?” I asked. “I have prepared a staff, three parts of three, with wind, water, and lightning, that.” 

“No no no no no, I don’t want the final staff,” he said. “I want YOUR staff. The one you used to fight the Spring Queen who perished to corrupt you.” 

I frowned. 

“It’s… weaker, though. I used the best components for your staff.” 

“But it is not,” the faerie king said, “Not when I channel the power of blood and pain and vendettas through it!” 

He cackled then, and then nodded. 

“But that is only the first of your payments,” he said seriously. “I will need three. The second, I think…”

He thought for a moment, then held out his hand.

“Your staff. Now. I will tell you what you wish, and then we will discuss payment for the other two… If you can afford it.” 

I bit my lip, then shook my head.

“Only on the condition that should we fail to find a suitable agreement within two hours, as is measured in the Meeting Place’s standard time, then our bargain shall be concluded with no debts, insults, vendettas, or favors.”

“No,” the fae said flatly. “That is an unequal exchange. Should we fail to find agreement within two hours, you shall make me a second copy of the iron repelling item you made, and only then shall it be concluded as you said.”

That was blatant extortion, but unfortunately, he held more cards than I did. I could ceede this small victory to him now, in order to argue harder in the future. 

“Within the next seven years and seven days,” I said.

“Year and a day,” he countered.

“Three years and three days,” I responded.

“Deal,” the king said, nodding. “Now. Your staff.”

I looked at my weapon, the first strong offensive spell I ever built, and felt a pang of regret, but I extended it to the strange man. He took it, and it vanished. 

Oberon flopped back as he spoke then. 

“The barrier of your auras is held in place by mortal power, and thus, is only ever as strong as your mortal power can be. Should your faerie power surpass, or even equal, that of your purely human magic, then pressure will build until, eventually, it breaks. As for your lifeline, it’s contaminated, but within mortal bounds. You’re not unlike the – ah, you call them species, don’t you? Elves, Aster, Favura, Beastkin, or even the Demonspawn or Nephilim.” 

I didn’t know what those last two were, but if I was like an elf or aster, that likely meant that I’d have a longer lifespan. By how much, I wasn’t sure, though. Elves lived three to five hundred years, but Favura only lived for about one hundred and twenty. 

“My human magic is already weaker than my faerie magic, though,” I said. “My human magic can’t do anything, but I’ve thrown together basic veils with my –” 

“Nonsense,” Oberon said, cutting me off. “You’re reached archmage status. You build artifacts capable of killing other archmages. It might be slower to express itself as a witch than the faerie side, but the faerie side, for now, bows to the human.” 

“Would taking a familiar help?” I asked. “What about binding an iron familiar? They’re thematically opposed to the fae.” 

“And make your aura nonhuman,” the king pointed out. “Power is not the same as purity. Taking an iron elemental might make you stronger, but it won’t be human strength. Envision a set of scales. Your humanity is empty scales with no weight. No matter how much you counterbalance the scales, you will only ever increase their mass. You could perhaps take on a familiar as you continue to grow your witchcraft skills, but it would take away human power to form the bond. Boons are safer… perhaps an iron boon would be better to seek out for now.” 

“I see,” I said. “A queen whom I trust informed me that I’d not be able to reach past maestr–” 

“Wrong, wrong, thrice wrong,” Oberon sang, “It was perhaps true earlier. Currently, you could train yourself to the lord stage. Once your human stink is gone from your true self, you’ll be limited by only what you do, though you should remember that you’re only half-there, even with a faerie aura… Spells may be castable, even as a lord, but they’ll still cost far more, and you may find that actions have consequences that you cannot so easily foresee.” 

“Such as what?” I asked. 

“You’ll know when you encounter them.” 

“That’s not an answer,” I said flatly. 

Oberon said nothing in response, though, so I looked at him. 

“Is that all from the first of our likely three deals?” I asked. 

“No, not at all,” he said. “But it is all that your staff can buy. Unless you wished to pay more?” 

“I’m not paying unless I have guarantee that I’ll find the information worth it,” I said. Oberon continued to say nothing, though, simply staring at me with a slowly spreading smile over his face. 

I debated handing over my knives and belt, but they weren’t high enough quality that I thought I’d be getting anything super valuable out of the king for them. 

My cloak was out of the question. It was still growing in its ability to counter magic, and I’d need it for the upcoming days. 

I bit my lip as I tried to think of anything else, but the only things I could come up with were future services, and some other clever ideas, but I’d need those for my future two deals. 

“Then this is concluded,” I said. “Shall we move on to our second deal?”