Summer, year 568 of the Varakarian Cycle

  Kharg's final days at the Academy were bittersweet. He divided his days between study and silence, drawn most often to the company of Ivar, Caspian, and Dagny, those he held most dear. He also took the opportunity to invoke a subtle shamanic spell from the field of Spiritism that gave them a spirit mark. This would enable him to locate their spirits with another shamanic spell so he could find them at a distance, although somewhat limited. It wasn’t a gesture of distrust, but rather one of connection, a safeguard for the friendships he held dear.

  On his last evening, they gathered under the pale glow of the Academy's courtyard lights. They reminisced about their shared moments, from intense lectures to triumphs on the dueling grounds, laughing and teasing each other as they bid him farewell. Kharg masked his melancholy with a smile, knowing that even as he left, he carried a tether to them through his magic.

  Kharg departed the Academy the following morning, his belongings light but his heart heavy with memories. He headed over to the familiar offices of the Silverwolf Trading Company where Farad awaited him. Their relationship had grown over shared lunches and updates on Kharg’s progress, all of which Farad had dutifully reported to Akgun, Kharg’s father.

  Farad welcomed Kharg back and inquired about his plans. Kharg told him about his thoughts of the Adventurers’ Guild, which made Farad protest. “Your father expects you to return home,” he argued.

  Kharg smiled, shaking his head. “I’m a free man, Farad. My path is mine to choose.”

  They talked it over and Farad eventually relented. He even offered Kharg his old quarters within the trading house. Grateful for a safe space in which to store his precious notebooks, Kharg gracefully accepted. Later that evening, they shared a pleasant meal and Kharg recounted some of the highlights from the trials and triumphs of his time at the Academy. Farad praised him for his mature handling of the situation and emphasized the wisdom of restraint when Kharg brought up his frustration with Lucareth. Several cups of wine later, as the night deepened, Kharg began to feel a sense of closure. The Academy was behind him, but the future stretched wide and untamed before him. He was certain that he would return to the Academy again when he had amassed enough wealth to study there on his own merits, but for now, his path lay elsewhere.

  Kharg awoke to a stunning summer morning, sunlight pouring through his window, the day already feeling full of promise. He put extra effort into polishing his appearance. The cleansing spell was vigorously used before he grabbed a fresh sprig of spearmint and began to chew it slowly. The cool bite spread across his tongue, familiar and pleasant, a small indulgence rather than a need, one he’d gradually fallen back into over the past months. He cleansed his clothes as well, selecting his finest attire. A white loose-fitting shirt with a rich cravat and the deep blue velvet coat adorned with rich silver trim were a good start. He paid extra attention to his knee-high black leather boots with turned-down tops and silver buckles, ensuring they were spotless before he brushed his light beard and hair and floated his fine hat over. He had always felt that his wide-brimmed hat with its white plume gave him an air of both elegance and mystery. After a final look in the mirror, he raised his chin slightly, giving himself an approving nod, and gestured to Fafne to join him.

  Kharg decided to pass through the Merchants’ District on his way to the Southern Road instead of using his usual route via the broad thoroughfares. The early morning sun soon became too much with the heavy coat on, so he used a spell of heat protection that almost immediately brought a soothing feeling over him. To avoid any unfortunate splashes or stains, he also cast the weakest form of aerial protection, letting a self-satisfied grin flash across his face.

  The Merchants’ District was already alive with movement. The myriad of people around him pressed in on all sides, but his attire afforded him a certain respect and space, making it bearable. The cries of hawkers filled the air, blending into a harmonious chaos. A fruit seller waved slices of ripe melon from Kvatch Nar, their sweet scent cutting through the mingled aromas of spices from a nearby stall where a trader displayed pyramids of cinnamon and another fragrant powder he could not name. Polished storefronts displayed exotic wares, including trays of cut gemstones, jars of saffron and cinnamon, bolts of dyed silk, and polished brassware gleaming in the light.

  The air was thick with mingled scents—roasting chestnuts, tangy citrus from the fruit stalls, and the musky trace of exotic spices. Kharg waved off a persistent flower seller who trailed him, offering vibrant bouquets with hopeful insistence. “A charm for your lady, my lord?” the young girl entreated, her bright eyes hopeful.

  He offered a polite smile but kept moving. It did not take him long to reach Four Spokes Square, the grand nexus of the Merchants’ District. The square was a marvel to behold, a sprawling expanse nearly a bowshot across with rows of shade trees lining the edges. At its heart stood an ornate fountain crowned with a masterfully sculpted marble mermaid, her flowing stone hair frozen in a perfect mimicry of water caught mid-wave. The fountain's cascade sparkled in the sunlight and splashed cheerfully onto the surrounding cobblestones.

  Carts jostled for space while errand boys darted between them, bundles clutched tightly to their chests. Merchants barked prices over the din, street performers juggled knives, and a group of lackluster tumblers attempted to lure in spectators with exaggerated bows and somersaults. “Fresh-baked bread, still warm from the oven!” cried one vendor, thrusting a tray of golden loaves overhead—though even at a glance, the crusts looked dry and cold. A hawker nearby rattled a palm full of shiny baubles, his voice sharp and persistent. “Adorn yourself, noble lords and ladies! Fine gold and silver for the finest in Varakar!” Kharg eyed the man sideways, lips curling in faint amusement. No one peddling real silver shouted about it in a public square—not in Varakar, where proper coin and precious metal belonged behind counters and under lock. It was a bit of a struggle to pass through, the crowd failed to move aside as easily as on the broader streets when they saw him in nobleman’s attire. Sighing inwardly, he pushed on and saw a group of street performers who had drawn a crowd near the fountain, their juggling act punctuated by bursts of laughter and applause. By the far end of the square, the press eased up a bit and he saw a bard who had drawn a small crowd, strumming a lute and reciting a lewd poem that implicated a Sarheede noble in unsavory dealings. Each punch line drew roars of laughter and scandalized gasps in equal measure.

  Leaving the square behind, he passed a luxurious shop that caught his attention. Its broad windows framed bolts of fine fabric draped beside an elaborate tapestry rich with mythical beasts and ancient battles. The vivid threads shimmered in the light, and Kharg lingered a moment, picturing such craftsmanship adorning the walls of his own home, before turning back to the road and continuing his stroll.

  The square gave way to a quieter residential block, a cluster of practical, apartment-like houses that rose two or three stories high. These buildings were a testament to the district’s industrious nature, designed to house multiple families within a compact space. Their facades were crafted from simple, sturdy stone, though weathered wood made up the staircases and walkways that adorned the upper levels. Each building’s external wooden staircases spiraled or zigzagged upwards, connecting the ground to the second floor, where narrow wooden walkways ran parallel to the houses like small suspended streets. These walkways had low wooden railings and were adorned with a mix of potted plants, laundry lines, and even the occasional bench, creating a lively but slightly cramped atmosphere. Children darted back and forth along the walkways, chasing each other in games that made the planks creak underfoot.

  The modest wooden doors on ground level were marked with wrought iron numbers, and several bore simple decorations like wreaths of herbs, painted plaques or small carvings that hinted at the personality of the family within. Here and there, small stoops held clay pots bursting with cheerful flowers, softening the otherwise practical architecture.

  Families milled about their lives openly in this space. A woman in a patched apron stood at the bottom of a staircase, calling up to her husband who leaned over the railing above, holding a basket of freshly washed linens. An elderly man sat on a low stool near one corner, fully intent on whittling a piece of wood, while a toddler played at his feet with a wooden horse. A group of boys raced each other along the walkways above, their laughter mingling with the occasional scolding voice of a parent or elder. The cluttered liveliness of the block had its own charm, but Kharg couldn’t help but notice the marks of careful upkeep. The cobblestones were swept clean and there was a lingering scent of soap and fresh water from the barrels and basins used for washing along the walkways. It stood in stark contrast to other parts of the city, where neglect often bred grime and disorder.

  Kharg tipped his hat to a passing street sweeper, a wiry man who nodded in acknowledgment without pausing in his diligent work. The cleanliness of the block spoke of a communal pride, where residents clearly valued their shared spaces. It was a humble, industrious part of Varakar, filled with an understated vitality that Kharg respected, even if it lacked the grandeur of the merchant houses or the opulence of the noble districts. As Kharg made his way past the block, a group of young girls leaning against the railing of a walkway above caught sight of Fafne. Their eyes widened, and one pointed excitedly. “Look! A dragon!” she whispered loudly, and the others giggled with awe. Fafne, ever the performer, twisted his neck to peer at them and gave a small puff of silvery air, making the girls squeal with delight. Kharg chuckled, patting his familiar lightly as he moved on, leaving behind the chatter and liveliness of the residential block.

  Crossing the Silk Road, he caught sight of the Gilded Cup by the Green Square, its trees providing welcome shade. The tavern was well-kept, a favored haunt of merchants, and the smell of roasted meat drifted from its doorway. Outside, a bard strummed and sang, drawing a cheerful crowd. From the Green Square, it was only a short stroll down Corvin Dastrel’s Alley. The narrow lane held the more discreet side of commerce, with merchant offices marked by carved signs, counting houses behind heavy shutters, and small warehouses stacked with sealed crates awaiting shipment. The chatter of clerks and runners filled the air until the lane opened onto the broad expanse of the Southern Road, one of Varakar’s great thoroughfares running past the Academy and all the way to the Guild.

  As he walked south, the architecture grew more utilitarian but no less impressive as he approached the Craftsmens’ Quarter. On his left, storefronts displayed half-finished wagons, stacked timber, and rows of polished tools. On his right, the air grew rich with aromas from the Food District, with fresh bread, roasting meat, and baskets of herbs spilling from the doorways of bakeries, butchers, and spice-sellers. The street was wide here, built for the heavy traffic of carts and wagons, and the steady hum of business gave it an energy distinct from the market bustle he had left behind.

  He eventually caught sight of the Adventurers’ Guild. Its imposing walls were built of dark stone, and the tall, arched entrance was flanked by a pair of guards who stood at attention there. Their fine chain-mail shirts gleaming beneath black tabards embroidered with the Guild’s golden crest, a sword crossing a staff. The heavy wooden gates were reinforced with iron bands, and above them hung a massive sign with the same emblem he saw on their tabards. A sense of anticipation filled Kharg as he stopped before the gates, ready to step into a world brimming with adventure and danger. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he approached the guards, thankful for his wide-brimmed hat that shielded him from the bright sun. One of them stopped him, assessing him with shrewd, wary eyes.

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  “I’m here to join the Guild,” Kharg announced confidently.

  One guard stepped forward and motioned him to follow through the tall gates. Kharg soon found himself on an expansive courtyard. To his left stood a tall tower with crenellations at the top and a small balcony halfway up. To the right, a long building with wooden beams in front hinted at a stable, the muffled whinnies of horses confirming its purpose. Directly ahead of him, a large ornate fountain sparkled in the sunlight, three streams of water forming arches that splashed onto a marble sphere at the center. Beyond the fountain loomed a grand marble building with carved balconies and grotesque gargoyles perched at its edges, as though watching over the courtyard.

  He spotted three men near the fountain, engaged in a quiet but animated conversation. Two wore heavy armor, one in chain-mail and the other in burnished plate-armor, while the third was clad in black leather. The armored men exuded a palpable aura of strength and experience. The leather-clad man seemed less imposing at first, but Kharg felt he was probably the most dangerous of them. The man’s casual demeanor and soft smile were undermined by the calculating sharpness of his piercing eyes.

  “A prospect,” the guard announced, guiding Kharg toward the trio.

  One of the armored men stepped forward. His regal bearing, streaks of gray in his otherwise black hair, and proud horseshoe mustache lent him an air of authority. His piercing blue eyes softened only slightly as he regarded Kharg.

  “I am Forde.” The man’s voice was steady and authoritative, gesturing to the other men, he continued. “And here are Thandi and Otgard.” The men inclined their heads one by one.

  Kharg made a shallow respectful bow, his heart racing as he prepared to step into this new world of peril and opportunity. Forde studied Kharg with a keen intensity, his blue eyes briefly shifting to the silvery faerie dragon resting comfortably on Kharg's shoulder. “A mage, then?” he asked casually.

  Kharg acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. “I trained at the Academy for two years as an apprentice, specializing in Elemental Air. Before that, I attended the Battle Magic Academy in Sitch Nar, where I learned to use water and fire magic offensively. I’ve also received formal training with the rapier.” Forde raised a brow, his expression softening into an amused smile. “Battle magic, you say? That’s rare in these parts. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  He gestured for one of the nearby attendants to fetch training blades. Within moments, Kharg found himself holding a finely balanced practice rapier. Forde took up another, his stance natural and assured as though he was born with a blade in his hand.

  “Show me your skill,” Forde said and adopted a relaxed but ready guard position. His tone was casual but Kharg sensed the sharpness beneath the words.

  Kharg shifted into his stance, acknowledging with a brief motion. He began cautiously, testing Forde’s defenses with probing strikes. Forde parried each thrust effortlessly, his movements economical yet precise. Kharg increased his pace, weaving in feints and ripostes, but Forde countered each maneuver with effortless control. It was clear to Kharg that the older man’s experience far outweighed his own.

  “Not bad,” Forde remarked as their blades clashed. “But let’s see how you fare when you mix your magic into the fray.”

  Kharg hesitated for a brief moment before summoning a gust of air to push Forde back slightly. He followed up with a rapid series of thrusts and lunges and even launched a cudgel of air, which Forde swatted aside. The sudden integration of magic seemed to surprise Forde, who adjusted quickly and had to use his footwork to avoid Kharg’s combinations.

  Impressed, Forde tested Kharg further. He countered with heavy, sweeping attacks, which Kharg blocked with force-blocks. Forde’s strikes met the barriers which held and increased the power of his blows even further to test the limits of the shield of aerial magic. But they proved to be up to the task and Forde praised him for them.

  When Forde launched a feigned overhead attack, Kharg countered by using magic to lift a small plume of dust from the ground, momentarily obscuring Forde’s vision. Hopping to seize the opportunity, Kharg lunged, but Forde had anticipated the move and deflected the strike, pivoting to Kharg’s side before tapping the training blade lightly against his ribs—a subtle reminder of his superior skill.

  The bout ended with both men stepping back and saluted each other with a quickly raised blade. Kharg panted heavily, his mind racing through the lessons he’d just learned. Forde looked at him with approval, appearing completely unfazed, no more fatigued than if he had taken a short stroll.

  “Well done,” Forde said with a broad smile. “You’ve got talent, and you’re clearly able to integrate magic into combat. A rare skill among those trained at the Academy.”

  Kharg inclined his head, grateful for the acknowledgment.

  Forde handed the practice blade back to the attendant. “You’ll need to refine your techniques and improve your anticipation of your opponent, but I see great potential in you, Kharg. Welcome to the Adventurers’ Guild. I’ll take you inside to meet with Angelica, one of our leaders. She is the one who approves all aspirants. How much do you know of the Guild?”

  Kharg admitted his lack of knowledge, prompting Forde to offer a brief history. “The Guild was founded three centuries ago by Grandmaster Laak and Aelof. While Aelof has distanced himself from running the Guild nowadays, it has grown to nearly a hundred members. Its members are divided into different ranks: Leaders, Lords, Adventurers, Journeymen, Novices, and Recruits. Each rank comes with privileges and obligations.”

  The name stirred a passing curiosity in Kharg. Strange, he thought, that one of the founders bore no title. In Varakar, that absence was rare and rarely without reason.

  On their way to the main hall, Forde continued, “All members below the rank of Lord contribute one-third of their earnings to the Guild and all are sworn to defend the city of Varakar if needed. For mages like yourself, there is an additional oath. You must promise never to teach magic outside the Guild. This is to maintain good relations with the Mage Guild, sparing us the need for their approval. But they’ll save that oath-binding until you reach the journeyman rank.”

  Kharg listened attentively as Forde explained further, “Our contracts vary a lot, including vanquishing monsters around nearby villages, exploring ancient ruins, or assisting mages in their quests for artifacts or lost knowledge. It’s dangerous work, and often a hard life, but the pay is good. Few adventurers stay poor for long. And in addition, the Guild takes care of its own. Members ranked below Lord get free food and lodging in the barracks. We train together, though there are no formal instructors, and we’ve got our own alchemists who sell potions at a fair discount, plus smiths and leatherworkers to keep your arms and armor in shape.”

  Forde stopped in front of the main entrance to the marble building and glanced at Kharg, his expression serious but welcoming. “Angelica will decide your path from here. Ready?”

  Kharg drew a steady breath and braced himself for what lay ahead, flashing a brief smile at Forde.

  The building’s interior revealed a level of elegance and wealth that surprised Kharg, suggesting the Guild was far richer than he had imagined. Oil paintings of foreign and strange landscapes adorned the walls. Kharg almost stopped to examine one that appeared to show an underwater realm with men and women that had fishtails instead of legs, swimming in front of a palace of white and pearlescent walls. Bejeweled candleholders cast a warm glow over polished wooden furniture, while thick carpets in red and gold softened each footfall. In the alcoves, pedestals held jade and marble statuettes of mythical beasts, one supporting a milky white orb and another displaying a curved dagger beneath a glass dome, some of which hinted at enchantments hidden within. Forde led Kharg up a wide, sweeping staircase of gleaming white marble, the steps hushed beneath a deep crimson runner embroidered with golden filigree.

  On the second floor, Kharg was ushered into a large, tastefully decorated chamber. The room’s center was dominated by a grand mahogany desk inlaid with ivory and gold. Behind it sat a strikingly beautiful woman with an ageless face that belied her decades of leadership. Dressed in flowing white silks that shimmered softly in the light, her serene demeanor made her seem as regal as any ruler. Her pale complexion contrasted with the dark, cascading waves of her hair, while her kind yet aloof demeanor immediately set the tone of the meeting.

  Forde stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Grandmaster Angelica, this is Kharg. He passed my evaluation with ease, and I believe his skill with…”

  She raised a hand, her interruption softened by a warm smile. “If he passed your testing, Forde, I’m sure his abilities are not something we need to waste time confirming.” She inclined her head toward him in thanks. “That will be all.”

  Once the door closed behind him, she gestured gracefully toward a crystal carafe of wine and glasses resting on a side table. “Help yourself, Kharg,” she said in a voice that was both melodic and commanding. She looked at him with intelligent and discerning eyes as she folded her hands neatly atop her desk.

  The chamber exuded an air of refinement and subtle power, its richly adorned walls and intricately carved furniture testifying to the wealth and influence of the Adventurers’ Guild. Angelica watched Kharg with an unreadable expression as he poured himself a glass of wine from the crystal carafe she had offered. Her presence was magnetic and an intangible mystical power made Kharg feel intimidated yet welcome at the same time.

  Kharg poured himself a glass as she began her line of questioning, her words carefully measured. “Tell me, Kharg,” she began, her voice smooth as silk. “What compels you to join the Adventurers’ Guild?”

  Kharg took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. “I wish to see the world, live through adventure and to experience life to the fullest. I was destined for a life of commerce, but I broke free. I want to challenge myself and grow, not just in magic but as a person. I believe the Guild offers opportunities for this.”

  Angelica inclined her head slightly and a faint smile touched her lips. “Admirable,” she remarked. “But ambition alone won’t carry you. This path is dangerous. You’ll be tested, again and again.” She leaned forward, her sharp eyes boring into his. “Do you have the resolve to remain steadfast?”

  “I hope so. I think so.”

  “Nothing is ever certain,” she acknowledged, and changed the subject. “Do you have enemies, Kharg? Any obligations that could compromise your loyalty to the Guild?”

  Kharg hesitated, thinking of Lucareth, but decided against mentioning him. “None that would interfere with my duties here,” he said carefully.

  The interview was exhaustive, lasting longer than he had expected. Angelica’s questions delved deep into his character and ambitions. She asked about his enemies, alliances, and whether he harbored obligations that might conflict with Guild duties. Her inquiries were unrelenting and forced him to really ponder things he had not thought much about before. “What are your strengths, Kharg? And your weaknesses? Who are your friends, your allies? What do you value most? And most importantly, what is your passion?”

  Kharg answered each question earnestly, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Angelica’s probing went beyond mere curiosity. She seemed to be weighing something intangible, her scrutiny both unnerving and captivating. He spoke at some length on his passion for magic, on the incomparable feeling of channeling powerful magic. At this, he thought he caught a minute frown but it was gone so fast he doubted he had seen it.

  He spoke of his desire to master magic not only for personal growth but also to honor his family’s legacy. He shared his pride in his familiar, Fafne, and mentioned his training in both elemental magic and swordsmanship.

  Only when Angelica leaned back, seemingly satisfied, did Kharg reach out to his familiar’s mind. What he sensed startled him, Fafne projected an unmistakable feeling of kinship toward Angelica. A recognition that Kharg couldn’t explain. The sensation was tinged with awe and respect, and it baffled him.

  Angelica’s pleased smile deepened as if she sensed what passed between them. “Your familiar is remarkable,” her tone was soft and mesmerizing. “Faerie dragons are rare and wise beyond their years. Treasure this bond, Kharg, it may guide you in ways you do not yet understand.”

  Her words left him unsettled but intrigued. Angelica seemed far more than she appeared to be, her enigmatic aura casting her as both an ally and a mystery. As the interview concluded, Angelica rose gracefully. “You’ve impressed me, Kharg,” she said. “You have a place here, as a recruit. Return tomorrow morning to meet Jore Longbow for your first assignment.”