Chapter 11: Opening Faire

  Finishing their written test was only half the preparation for the nearly two week long tournament. Before the festivities began, there was the Opening Faire. Personally, Ambrose thought it was a terrible idea to have a big party mere hours before they were due to wake up and spend the day fighting or paying attention to fights, but even he enjoyed the spectacle.

  While they had still been entering their test answers, a small legion of vendors and merchants, graduates and employers set up in the field behind the school, by the stadium they used for the tournament itself. Most of the year, it was a wide expanse of green, relatively flat and great for pop-up events.

  Events like this. Rather than emptiness, there was a carnival laid out in the shape of a five pointed star, with a massive archway guiding people to the center between the first two legs. Every point was dedicated to one of the five greater affinities. There they set up booths and tents, and even carnival games. All around, little pockets of people celebrated together, chatting about the future and, of course, trading cards.

  For three nights, it was host to massive parties. The Opening Faire was the only one open to not just the students, but also the residents of Rentan itself, and anyone else who came by to celebrate and rub shoulders with the warrior wizards of tomorrow.

  For better or worse.

  “Are you one of the students?”

  A dull, thick voice shook Ambrose from his thoughts. He turned, clad in his best school uniform, including a badge with the number 3 on his chest. He pointed at it silently, his face a trained, neutrally disdainful mask. There were at least a dozen other students nearby.

  “Oh dang, you’re almost a real wizard then!” The speaker was a heavyset man in his late fifties, wearing wealthy but garish clothes that didn’t quite fit him. He had a provincial accent, and Ambrose immediately placed him as a merchant or traveler of some kind, likely new money.

  “I am a real wizard,” he replied coolly. “I just haven’t graduated yet. I still have access to spells and monsters that are quite deadly.” He gave the cold, predatory smile of a shark, praying the man got the hint and left him alone.

  He didn’t.

  “Incredible! I’ve got cards too, you know,” said the round merchant, loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Nothing for a fight or anything, but I got a card that tells me where north is, a card that lets me know when people are lying to me, and a card -- “

  “I am greatly enjoying this conversation,” Ambrose interrupted, “and I would love nothing more than for you to continue.”

  The merchant paused, hurt on his face. “Oh,” he said, before trudging away. He went in the direction of a big tent down the Wild Affinity Wing, where wizards dedicated to nature and the land would probably treat him better.

  Ambrose watched him leave with a mild satisfaction that disappeared almost instantly. The Opening Faire meant being bothered by dumb yokels, but it also meant having access to information and people who could offer him a future. As much as he dreamed about having a steady, immediate job under Vanderborn, there were no guarantees in life. His future was too important to put all his eggs in just one basket.

  The problem was…where did he go next?

  As a wizard accessed more powerful cards, their affinity level would rise. With each new level, the wizard would receive a new gift, or an evolution of one they already had. Ambrose’s class would finish the year at Affinity Level 4, when they equipped their first Enhancement cards. Graduates of Rentan Academy finished their education at fifth of a possible ten, advancing their cantrip into its second form, and granting them the chance at a second affinity.

  Some people had no choice in which new affinity they gained, and some focused on their native affinity, on a more focused, dedicated path to mastery. Ambrose dreamed of reaching the heights of shadow power, able to bind the darkest creatures and spells. All masteries were impressive in their own right, but those who mastered shadow tended to conquer death.

  Or at least evade it, for a time.

  If he did get a second affinity, Ambrose honestly had no idea which one he would want. A second affinity meant more potential power, with a new cantrip, but no second signature creature. It also meant new cards forged of both affinities, often more powerful or versatile than either affinity alone.

  A Primal affinity would grant him greater destructive power, as well as cards that would manipulate or even duplicate his spells. It was a combination for the aggressive and reckless, and the idea of having two damaging cantrips of varying strength pleased him.

  If he went with a Mind affinity, he could be an even greater nightmare to other wizards, with cards to cancel his opponent’s spells and hide behind a bulwark of illusions and astral guardians.

  Either would complement his power and style, while keeping his general weakness of being physically fit, but otherwise unimpressive. A Light or Wild affinity’s emphasis on physical prowess and powerful creatures would compensate, but if he had no clue what he did want, Ambrose was clear on what he didn’t.

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  “You look lost,” said an amused voice behind him.

  Professor Vanderborn leaned against his staff in a way that said comfortable instead of frail. Unlike usual, he had a couple of sharp looking wizards hovering in his periphery, keeping people at bay. As intimidating as they were, his sharp, predatory gaze bore right into Ambrose. “Having trouble making a decision?”

  For a second, he considered lying or possibly running his mouth, but even if the legendary wizard was a bastard, he still was an educator. This was a familiar problem.

  “Yes sir,” Ambrose said, perfectly respectful, “I’m trying to decide between Primal and Mind for my next affinity. Do you have advice for me?”

  Vanderborn raised an eyebrow. “You could always just go to one of the booths and inquire. That’s what they are there for. It’s not as if you need to make this decision for another year. If you perform well.”

  There it was. Ambrose sighed and said, “I know what the booths say. I’ve been here two years before, remember? I’ve seen the sights and presentations and know what they say and do. Incoming fireworks.”

  He pointed toward the Primal wing. An iridescent fireball floated upwards, high above the fairgrounds, and detonated in a riot of color and crackly pops and whistles. He tried not to look too smug.

  “Alright, your point is made.” Vanderborn looked around. Just being out there meant he had everyone’s attention, and spending too much time on any one student was a mistake. “I started with Mind, then went Primal, and finally Shadow was my tertiary choice. I did it because it suited the direction I wanted to go at the time, the wizard I knew I wanted to be. I gained three affinities because it’s who I was inside, and I fought to see my potential realized.

  “For you, it comes down to a choice. But if you want my advice, go to the Shadow Enclave and ask for Sidney. Tell him I sent you, and that you’re marked.” He nodded once and moved on, raising a hand in greeting to a rich looking older woman before closing in on her.

  Ambrose frowned. Marked, huh? That could’ve been good or bad, depending. He shrugged and did as he was suggested, walking towards a grand, luxurious tent, with swirls of purple and navy blue constantly shifting along the material. While the rest of the fair was well-lit and bombastic, the entrance to the Shadow Enclave had been made up to be the opposite.

  It was almost entirely within the confines of an absurdly large tent, dim and obscured further by wisps of darkness that turned each visitor into murky, ominous shapes when more than just a foot or two away. Every attraction was laid out to escalate, teaching the guest a little more about the possibilities granted to the most ruthless of wizards.

  Frankly, it was a little hokey for his tastes, but he appreciated the amount of effort that went into the presentation. The most major representatives had their Signature Creatures out, and it wasn’t uncommon to stumble through the dark into a skeletal face, or a grinning demon.

  Ambrose stopped at the first zombified, five-headed monstrosity he came across, and addressed the creature’s unnaturally young-looking, pink-haired master. “Professor Vanderborn sent me to ask about Sidney. I’m marked.”

  She eyed him appraisingly. “I remember you from the last two years. The Prof thinks you have that kind of potential?”

  He just shrugged.

  The pink-haired wizard jerked her thumb behind her, down a dark corridor that seemed to twist when you looked at it. It gave him vertigo. “Go all the way down the back and then into the open abyss and endless fall. Introduce yourself when you see him.”

  Ambrose was far from the only person in the Shadow tent, but he kept to himself as he pushed through the roiling darkness. Along the way he caught snippets of conversation, a fragment here and there.

  “...just malicious propaganda, we’re good for more than just death…”

  “Mastery of Shadow means protection against the dark, for yourself and others, you know.”

  “...you could be a valuable addition to any community, just on being able to commune with the dead alone.”

  He’d heard it all before. Dedicated combat wizards like him didn’t need a job as part of a community’s spiritual leadership. Protecting others would sometimes be a necessary task, but Ambrose fully intended on going on the offense and being a part of a mercenary strike team. Of course, Shadow wizards were just as good for academics as Mind wizards, with a greater emphasis on the spirit and learning about the void.

  Wizards of the other affinities had far more options to be productive and creative with their cards. Wild mages could help farmers and hunters, Primal wizards utilized their mastery over fire, stone, and lightning to fuel industry, Mind mages were excellent spies and artificers, and Light wizards…well, he was sure there was a use for them other than convenient muscle and healers.

  Officially, he would be head of his house and be in charge of acquiring wealth and power, and then keeping them as long as possible. Until then, Ambrose fully intended on fighting and looting his family’s way back to prosperity. Not for the first time, he let his thoughts drift to a murky, nebulous future where he came out on top and even his father acknowledged his work.

  The back of the tent seemed to go on for a long time, longer than it had any right to. Just as he was beginning to suspect an illusion, the darkness gave way for a luminous starry night. Beneath his feet was nothing but emptiness, and his stomach dropped out from under him.

  The urge to scream or backtrack took him, but as soon as the first cold splash of fear hit him, he remembered what the pink-haired woman had said. “My name is Ambrose Adams, and I am marked,” he called out, maybe a little closer to yelling than he intended. “Vanderborn sent me!”

  For a moment, only silence met him. The feeling of falling never went away, but he kept himself steady and reassured himself that he wasn’t actually floating in emptiness. Then, a soft, high voice said, “Is that so? Another one, huh?”

  A man materialized, seemingly out of nowhere. He was short, bald, and his pale skin stood out in the abyss, but his eyes seemed to gather the darkness. He stroked a sharp mustache and beard combo and leaned backwards against seemingly nothing. The starlight bathed him in a soft glow, showing stylish leather clothes on a small frame. There was nothing especially intimidating about him, but he projected supreme confidence.

  “Looks like,” said Ambrose, shifting his stance. The feeling of falling faded, though his stomach kept up the acrobatics. “Sidney, I presume?”

  Sidney nodded, and pushed away from the hidden wall. “Sidney Cross, Master of Shadows. And if Vanderborn sent you to me, then that means you have potential to be the same.”