The problem with convincing an entire city that an esteemed noble is worth being dethroned- okay, well, there are lots of problems, but chief among them- was convincing the city that you're worth listening to over them.

  There were lots of ways to try achieving that, many of the more diplomatic methods Lady Vesta or Evie had already suggested. Sara had, as per usual, discarded them, favoring her own path. One that definitely, in her mind, wasn't the slightest bit influenced by the fact that she had a fancy new sword she wanted to use.

  Off-handedly, before their meeting with the noblewoman had escated, Lady Vesta had mentioned smugglers operating in Hagos.

  The meeting Hurlish had made her incredibly te for was returning to the Vesta estate's inner grounds to ask after the kind of goods being smuggled. She found out that among the usual suspects of illicit substances, tax evading products, and illegal immigrants, there was also a bustling sve trade. Lady Vesta's spymaster, one of the few directly involved with the upcoming micro-coup, had been decidedly irritated at Sara's pestering. The man hadn't even referred to the buying and selling of serfs into a lifetime of unpaid service as svery; to him, and to most of his society, that word was reserved for the magically bound sves like Evie. People like those being bought and sold by criminal enterprises were just another kind of peasant, perhaps one a little more unfortunate in their course through life than others.

  Sara had nearly struck the man down on the spot when he'd said the peasants should be grateful for being 'given' a pce to live and food to eat. Unfortunately, Lady Vesta had been present, intervening on the behalf of her spymaster. She'd expined to the man in no uncertain terms that Lady Sara's support of their scheme was predicated upon adherence to her foreign notions of peasant's rights, and without it the house of Vesta would be one of many future casualties of her "holy wrath."

  Whether it was Lady Vesta's soothing expnation or the burning stare of Sara over her shoulder, the veteran spymaster had danced to the new tune as gracefully as a ballerina. He handed over the extensive list of criminal dealings and their locations that he'd compiled, including his own purchases on half of Lord Vesta, and then specified which of the sellers he had seen treating their sves the worst. Sara had asked why he'd noted that, then bit her tongue when he expined that they usually had the most loyal sves to purchase, grateful as they were to escape their previous master's torments.

  Evie had been combing through the documents in their rooms for hours since, steadily building a framework for the pattern that would let her predict where the next bck market would spring up. To Sara's surprise, the term was startlingly literal in Hagos; in abandoned warehouses, forgotten celrs, or outer city valleys, the criminal underworld regurly gathered for one rge sell-off of their products. It was everything that her childhood self had imagined when she'd heard the term 'bck market', filling her with a shameful amount of excitement to be seeing something out of her imagination come to life.

  Unlike those cartoonish gatherings of colorful vilins peddling guns and gadgets, however, this bck market was a nest of vile misery. There would be sves for sale, and likely only sves; criminals wouldn't risk gathering in such numbers for a product that didn't interest nobility, who in turn wouldn't arrest the dealers of desirable product. She'd be walking into some of the vilest pages of the history books, forced to see it with her own eyes.

  "Master, I don't think you need to sharpen your sword that much," Evie noted from where she sat cross legged on the bed among a nest of papers.

  Sara looked down in surprise, realizing that she'd brought out the whetstone Hurlish had provided and had been scraping it down the greatsword's length yet again. She flipped the sword back into its smaller form, pocketing the whetstone.

  "I'm going to have to break that habit," she sighed. "I'll end up peeling the bde down to a toothpick in a month."

  "You're nervous about attacking the sve market, then?" Evie asked, ears tuned to Sara while her eyes continued to trail over the documents.

  "Nervous?" Sara ughed. "No. Impatient? Absolutely. I fucking hate thinking that there are people out there wearing manacles, trapped in cages, and I could be doing something about it. I hate sitting in a fancy chair, wearing fancy clothes, drinking fancy wine and rubbing elbows with the kind of people that put those people in chains."

  "Are we on the wrong path, then?" Evie asked, looking up from the documents. "Lady Vesta and the others trust us now. It would be a simple enough matter for us to cut their throats in a meeting and flee the city."

  Sara blew out a long breath, leaning back in her chair. "No. Not yet, at least. Maybe if I'd chosen a different god as my patron I'd have the power to make them bend the knee, but not with Amarat. I have to make friends-"

  "Friends?" The catgirl smirked.

  "Whatever you call someone you made cum so hard they reevaluate their political ideology, Evie, I don't know," Sara said exasperatedly, waving a hand. "The point is, I need allies to get what I want done. Lady Vesta might be a princess in her sheltered castle, but she's willing to change, and that's probably more than I could say for the vast majority of rich people. Amarat did lead us to her, so I can only assume she's the best choice. So long as the rest of her house follows her lead, we'll stick with them."

  "Alright." Evie returned to her reading, leaving Sara alone with her thoughts.

  Having someone like Evie back Sara up, someone that unquestioningly followed her every whim, was certainly helpful, yet such complete obedience rankled her sensibilities. A part of Sara wished the bond between them had never happened, but as Evie couldn't lie to her, she knew it made the girl happier. An ideological hatred for the system that allowed someone like Evie to exist was one thing, but who was she to force someone out of an arrangement they maintained voluntarily?

  As she had every time the ethical quandary came up before, Sara shoved it to the side. She wasn't going to solve it any time soon.

  Sara spent the time that Evie dedicated to the documents reviewing her stats. She'd realized soon after leaving Hurlish's smithy that she'd leveled up, something she found baffling.

  Do I really level up every time I bang someone new? No, it can't be just that, because I slept through half the capital before I got to Evie. Maybe it's only when I bang someone that Amarat guided me to? I'll have to check it more often, see if I can catch the exact moment it changes.

  She pinned the invisible grid that summarized her abilities to a random book she'd taken off the shelf, so it looked like she was reading the boring tome to any outside observer. While her base stats regrettably hadn't changed, she had gained two new spells. She could now cast both Bind and Soothe, in addition to Static Grip and her cantrips from before. What was most frustrating was the fact that she still didn't know how to cast any of the spells besides those given to her by Amarat.

  "Evie, sorry to interrupt you again, but do you think Lady Vesta has someone on the premises that's experienced with spellcasting? I've got to learn somewhere."

  "I would assume so," Evie said, pcing a finger on the paper she was reading to keep her pce, "But I can never be sure. My mother had all kinds of experts at hand as a matter of course, but she was far from the average noblewoman. I imagine the head servant could let you know."

  "Thanks."

  Sara stood and stretched, looking at the string that was hooked into the wall. She knew that ringing it would immediately send a servant scurrying towards her room, practically sprinting through the narrow, hidden pathways between the walls, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead she ducked out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her, and began to wander.

  One thing that she hadn't considered was how easily servants could traipse about in a manor like this one unseen. Those secret walkways were built explicitly to keep them out of the nobility's sight, which meant she had to wander quite a while before finding someone.

  Eventually she caught a young servant girl darting between rooms, carrying in her arms a rge basket of bedding to be undered. As Sara called after her, she privately hoped that the sheets weren't from hers and Evie's room. The girl should have been wearing gloves if they were.

  "Excuse me! Ma'am, you there."

  The servant girl betedly skidded to a stop, facing Sara with clear anxiety. She'd been thrown off by Sara calling her ma'am, not used to such nguage referring to her in particur.

  "Yes, My Lady?" The servant girl set her load down and curtsied, keeping her eyes on the floor even after straightening.

  "I was wondering if you knew where, or if, Lady Vesta keeps someone experienced with spells."

  The young servant, probably no older than twelve, shook with anxiety. "I believe Master Garen quarters with the other members of the guard, My Lady. I can fetch Mister Toman to have him brought to you, if you wish."

  Sara was already regretting not just ringing the damn bell. She was half surprised she couldn't hear the poor girl's teeth chattering with how much the kid was shaking.

  Sara walked over and picked up the basket of undry easily, tucking it under her arm. "Nah, that's alright, I don't want to wait around. Think you can lead me there, though? I'll carry this, so you can get a break."

  "Certainly, My Lady," the girl said without hesitation, doing her best to hide the confusion in her eyes. Sara could tell that nobles didn't just ask a random kid for help, and they certainly didn't help said kid while they were at it. But above all else, a servant would never say no to a lord or dy's request, which meant the poor kid was stuck with Sara.

  The girl hurriedly blitzed off down a corridor, forcing Sara to briefly jog to keep up. As they walked, Sara tried to calm the kid's nerves.

  "I know I'm being kinda weird by asking you to do this, but the truth is, I wasn't anybody special a couple months ago. You heard about the Champion of Amarat staying with Lady Vesta?"

  "Of course, My Lady."

  "That's me. Up until I got the fancy goddess on my side, I was just a normal woman like the rest of you. Still not used to living the high life."

  Rather than reassure the kid that Sara wasn't a member of the standard capricious nobility, it seemed she'd further intimidated her with the fact she was escorting a goddesses' chosen champion. The kid tripped over air and would have fallen if Sara hadn't grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her back up.

  "I-i-it is an honor, My Lady. Um, I mean! Your Holiness! I think?"

  "How about Sara? It's not like I've been bestowed any title properly, right?"

  "Um." The girl curled a finger in her hair tightly. "I heard that you got Knighted in the capital after you saved it from that army?"

  Sara blinked. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."

  A more experienced servant may have maintained their professional stoicism, but experienced this girl was not. She giggled in disbelief, then flung a hand to her mouth, horrified.

  "It's alright, I promise," Sara reassured the kid. "It is pretty funny that I forgot I got knighted, isn't it? In my defense, it's not something that comes up often. They're always talking about Champion this, Champion that, never Knight Sara. And I don't exactly act all Knightly, either."

  "I..." The kid trailed off, not trusting herself to speak any longer. Sara sighed, jogging in front of her. She dropped to a knee, so they'd be at eye-level.

  "Hey, kid, listen. What's your name?"

  "Emery, My Lady."

  "Sick name, Emery. I'm Sara, which is both more boring than your name and all you need to call me." She jabbed a finger in the vague direction of the rooms where nobles stayed, adopting the same cadence that she once used on all-male jobsites back on Earth. "I ain't one of them. I'm seven weeks into being anyone other than a bcksmith from my world, which sure isn't enough time for me to start lopping people's heads off because they didn't put enough fancy words before my name. All I want right now is to find the local spellmagey guy, because even though I can supposedly fling magic around, I've got no idea how. I haven't stopped feeling out of my depth since I got here, which means I've got more in common with someone like you than I do any rich bastard that thinks his shit don't stink."

  Despite herself, Emery giggled.

  "I don't like anyone thinking they're better than someone else just because of whose legs they fell out of. But even more than that, I hate anyone thinking they're less than someone else because their parents didn't have a fancy st name. Chin up, Emery. If I get my way, you're gonna grow up in a better world than your parents did."

  "Is that your Quest?" Emery asked, hesitantly exploring the possibility that Sara wasn't lying when she said it was alright to speak normally. "To get people to... treat each other better? To help the nobles and us get along?"

  Sara tried to wipe the blueprints of a guillotine complex out of her mind, the daydream having formed unbidden the moment she saw Emery trembling at mere proximity to nobility.

  "Yeah," Sara half-lied. "I'm going to get people to treat each other better. Whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, that's what I'm here for."

  "Then... I can just talk to you however I want?"

  Sara nodded. "I mean it's still not nice to be rude, but I won't do anything other than be rude right back if you do. Fair's only fair."

  Emery gnced about, as if searching for the fellow servants that had set up this prank. "That seems dangerous, though, right?"

  "Yeah," Sara frowned. "I wouldn't treat real nobles like that. They're still assholes. I'll get to them in time, though." A thought occurred to her. "Hey, what do you and the other servants think of Lady Vesta? For real, not just pretending to be polite or whatever. Is she nice when she bosses people around, or is she as big of a dick as Lord Vesta?"

  Emery wrung her hands, working to overcome her natural resistance to honesty in situations like these. "Lady Vesta is... distant?" She tried. "She doesn't talk to servants much, usually. Sometimes a few of the older girls she'll keep as a handmaiden, but they never st. Usually she just sends orders to Mister Toman, who tells the rest of us what to do."

  "Alright, cool. I appreciate it." Sara grabbed the undry again and stood, waving Emery forward. "Lead the way."

  Emery scuttled forward, noticeably less anxious. She hadn't fully embraced everything Sara had said, too cautious by nature, but it was clear that the knee-knocking anxiety had passed.

  Sara eventually found herself at a far end of the mansion, one that was decidedly less fancy. The carpets were fttened by constant traffic and should have been repced years ago, and the gemstone lights had been repced by cheaper candebras. A sturdy set of double doors capped the hallway, a pair of bored looking guards standing to either side with poleaxes.

  "Um, Jeriah?" Emery flitted forward nervously. "I was supposed to bring her to see Master Garen. Is he in today?"

  "What's up, my man?" Sara walked up to the guard on the left, reaching out for a high five. The man returned it instinctively, smoothly transitioning into a fistbump, then froze as he realized just how richly dressed Sara was. The load of undry she carried had probably disguised her. "Name's Sara. I was told Garen's the guy to see about spells and stuff?"

  There was a rattle and cnk of armored ptes as both the guards snapped into military rigidity, staring straight ahead.

  "Master Garen is present, Your Holiness. Shall I fetch him for you?"

  "Um," Emery interjected hesitantly. She gnced back at Sara, who nodded encouragingly. "Sara told me that she's not a real noble, since she used to be normal, so she doesn't like to be treated fancy. You can just talk to her normally."

  The left guard's eyes slid to Sara's, expression appraising. "I've served under several noble commanders who preferred their soldiers address them according to their rank, not their titles. Is that simir to how you prefer to be treated, Your Holiness?"

  Sara shrugged. "Close enough, I guess. I've only had my title for, like, three weeks, I think? I'd actually forgotten about it until Emery reminded me."

  The two guards shared a look of mutual amusement, then rexed. "I understand, ma'am," the woman on the right said. "Had more than a few friends reach Captain and still want me to treat 'em the same. Good to see a Champion acting the same way."

  "Appreciate it. Is Garen busy?"

  "He's testing some of the new recruits for aptitude, but he hates doing that. He'll be gd to have an excuse to call it quits early."

  Sara nodded her thanks, setting down the undry and addressing Emery. "If anyone gets mad at you for being te, send 'em to me. And I mean that, by the way. If they're real mean you can tell them to go talk to me right that second, don't expin a thing. I'll scare the piss out of them."

  Emery blinked. "I don't think all that's necessary, Sara. But thank you?"

  Sara patted her on the shoulder. "See you around, Emery."

  The little servant girl hefted the undry up into both her arms, hurrying off. The two guards opened the door for her, smiling at her as she passed. Sara was learning that it was exceptionally easy to gain people's favor when they were so used to being treated like garbage.

  The guard's barracks was far rger than Sara had anticipated. As soon as Sara entered, she was faced with a massive square of sand that began not ten feet in front of her, gringly bright under the afternoon sun. Open doors to her left and right branched off, leading to what looked like mess rooms and a row of bunk beds, and she saw on the far side of the sand square a simir arrangement. Three stories of open-air pathways circled the square, rooms beled by simple numbers spaced out like a hotel. It almost looked like a gdiator pit or something, with a number of half-armored guards leaning on the railings to watch the goings-on below.

  Sara had to admit it was an interesting sight. Two lines of twenty young men and women were stiffly standing in neat rows, one older man pacing between them. On his belt dangled wands, staves, and runed daggers, his back burdened by a long staff. Both his hands were occupied with thick books held like a waiter bancing ptes, four aged tomes in either hand. He spoke in a booming voice as he addressed one of the soldiers, a dark-skinned woman that was fumbling with a wand.

  "No, with one hand!" The man bellowed, knocking her offhand away from the wand with an elbow. "Arm up, back straight! Try and kill me, damnit, not poke me!"

  The woman held the wand up, face twisted in concentration as she aimed down the length of the wand. The muttering of the various onlookers quieted for a time, all pausing to watch.

  With a sudden spark light jumped from the crystal tip of the wand, widening to a stream of three purple projectiles that crashed against the instructor's chest. His robes shone with a subtle light as they were impacted, deflecting the shards of light down into the sand where they blew foot-wide craters

  "Good!" He snapped. "To the mess hall. Next!"

  Sara chose that moment to walk out onto the sands, figuring it best not to interrupt the middle of the next unfortunate prospect's lesson.

  Even though his back was turned to her, the instructor's head whipped around the moment Sara's boots stepped into the sand. He narrowed his eyes, inspecting her. She waved back, fshing a bright smile.

  "You're all dismissed until I say otherwise!" He shouted, dropping his hands. The tomes blinked out of existence as they fell, pulled into some not-space that Sara's eyes couldn't quite focus on.

  Sara strode up to the man as recruits scattered, hands shoved into pockets. She would have preferred meeting Garen alone, since he clearly struck her as the sort of man who valued discipline and procedure, but she had an audience. If she had to choose between making a good impression on one important guy or the milling crowd, she'd always choose the crowd.

  "Lady Sara, Champion of Amarat," the man loudly greeted, sweeping his robes back as he bowed low to her. He stood to the sounds of whispers, even those who hadn't been looking before now sered on the wide expanse of sand. "How may I be of service?"

  "Wanted to chat about spells with you," Sara answered, loud enough to be heard. They were both speaking more for the crowd than one another. She felt the beginnings of a headache as she tried to calcute the exact ratio of casual to formal that would endear her to the soldiers without angering Garen. Charisma may be her highest stat, a boost that she'd certainly felt since coming to this world, but that didn't mean she could just say whatever and it would be well received. It meant that she was better at deciding what to say, instead, and only when she actually thought about it beforehand.

  "I can hardly imagine what the Champion of Amarat would seek my advice for in matters of the arcane, Your Holiness, but I will happily oblige. Shall we take this conversation to a more private area?"

  "That would probably be best, yeah," Sara said, hiding her relief.

  "Then please follow me," Garen said. Then, quieter, he asked, "A training room or my office, Lady Sara?"

  "A training room would probably be best," Sara answered, equally quiet. Garen's steps subtly shifted, guiding them to a different location.

  Sara nodded to some of the soldiers she passed, a number of whom were openly staring. Sara'd been pretty tall for a woman on Earth, 5'10", but here in a feudal society she was a giant. Most men were 5'4", the women hovering around 5'1", so she wasn't hard to find in a crowd. When she'd first had the idea to tie herself to Lady Vesta, it had seemed like an excellent and uncomplicated boon. A hot rich dy that would give her money while sleeping with her? Who wouldn't want that?

  Sara was realizing as the days passed, however, from the conversation with Emery to the exchange with Garen in the courtyard, that tangling with nobility would involve more than getting money and getting off. Just enjoying the boons of Lady Vesta's favor put her increasingly in the public eye, something that wasn't wholly desirable.

  Garen eventually led her down a set of stairs to an iron-reinforced door, one that opened into a starkly bare room. Stone walls were adorned only by caged braziers, nothing else besides three hay-stuffed targets against the far wall. Garen shut the door behind them, immediately rexing.

  "By the gods, I hate those games," he spat immediately, wiping his forehead. "Who says what, and why, in front of who? Asinine. Some days I wonder if noble wages are worth the headaches."

  Sara sagged with her own relief. "I know what you mean. I'm not used to having so many eyes on me. I thought I was about to have an aneurysm."

  With a wave of his hand Garen created two wooden chairs from the floor, gesturing for Sara to sit. "An aneurysm, you say? So you really are learned."

  Sara sat, crossing her legs with a mixed expression. "Eh, I don't know if you can call me that. Maybe by this world's standards, but certainly not my own. I was a welder before all this, a type of metalworker. I went to school, but nothing advanced."

  Another wave of Garen's hand brought into existence a small coffee table, complete with drinks. "Schooling of any kind is remarkable for the common folk in Sporatos, as I'm sure you've noticed. The gods do not choose their champions lightly, even fickle Amarat."

  Sara took one of the saucers, delighted to find iced tea. It was the first properly cold drink she'd had since leaving Earth. "Actually, I chose Amarat. I was given a choice between all ten gods, and I figured she'd be best for finding a diplomatic solution to things. The tea is excellent, by the way. Haven't had iced tea in forever."

  Garen took his own drink, stirring it a bit before sipping. "It was introduced to our world by a Champion of centuries past, so I took an educated guess. But first, I feel compelled to inquire: ten gods?"

  Sara blinked, realizing that she'd just been so excited by the prospect of literal ice that she'd freely blurted out a detail of the most sought after piece of knowledge she had. Every noble she'd met in the capitol had interrogated her for details on her meeting with the gods, questions that Sara had categorically refused to answer. Rather than speaking rashly again, she gave her words some thought, getting a read on the mage before her.

  With salt-and-pepper hair and a face crinkled by the sun, Garen seemed to Sara the sort that had spent most of his life outdoors. What she could see of his muscles beneath the robes were toned, but thin, perhaps a bit more sculpted than she expected of a mage. His shirt was of pin design, but made of undyed silk, implying that he enjoyed comfort more than presentation. His hair had been quickly brushed to the side in a simple style, but was kept in shape by a bit of product. That smacked of someone smart enough to begrudgingly admit the importance of appearances when dealing with the upper css yet would otherwise have preferred to go unadorned. All in all, Garen struck Sara as a veteran mage who'd fallen in with nobility as a matter of course, the wages and security involved too tempting to pass by.

  "Before we begin," Sara said, "Has Tarlin come by recently?"

  "You mean to inform me of the impending ousting of Lord Vesta? Yes, he has. I've been kept appraised of ongoing pns, but have no role to py myself."

  "Oh, thank god," Sara drooped in her chair. "I was worried I'd just revealed some huge secret to a random guy. You're loyal to Lady Vesta, then?"

  He shrugged. "As much as one can expect. Ten years in her service have treated me well, and her influence on Hagos has proved beneficial. She is as good a noble to follow as can be found, which I'm sure you understand is not the shining endorsement some may take it as."

  "Good enough for me. Still not going to answer that gods question, though."

  He sipped his tea. "I understand. Though I hope I'll be forgiven for spending long hours in the night tearing my hair out over such a casual admission of a hidden universal truth."

  Sara sighed. "Yeah, feel free, I guess. Sorry for the existential agony. By the way, just so I know for future reference, how many known gods are there? Because I only ever hear them talking about five in Sporatos, like the others are banned."

  "They are. And before you spoke to me, it was known to every mage across the world that there are nine true deities, any others a product of false worship or one god disguising their actions for some reason or another."

  "So the gods are pretty active in the world?"

  Garen gestured, vaguely indicating Sara in her entirety. "As you stand testament to, yes. But come now, you didn't seek out a master mage to have basic theology lessons. What are you here for?"

  Sara took another savoring slurp of her tea. It was even sweetened. "It's come to my attention that I can, apparently, cast spells. I was hoping you could expin to me how exactly I go about doing that."

  Garen nodded, unsurprised. "Such problems are the hallmark of a Champion. As you may expect, I've done a great deal of research over the st few days on those simir to yourself. Universal among them are capabilities beyond their knowledge, be it hidden talent for bdes or proficiency beyond their years at spellweaving. Some Champions have even, by virtue of thoughtless experimentation, expanded the very notion of what magic is capable of."

  Sara could see where that line of thought was going and held up her hands. "If you were hoping I'd be one of those, I'm sorry to disappoint. Magic seems to be pretty secondary in my repertoire."

  Garen smiled. "I'd assumed as much, being a Champion of Amarat. A mage can dream, though, eh?"

  "Don't bme you. But now that we've got the technicalities out of the way, do you think you could help me figure out how to start throwing spells around?"

  "Of course. Teaching the Vesta's allies is my first and foremost priority, after all." He stood with a chuckle, chair vanishing beneath himself. "Though I must say, it's quite the novelty to hear someone so confidently decre that they're going to 'throw some spells around'."

  "What can I say?" Sara joked, standing. "I know it may seem like such an awful gig, but it turns out that getting the personal blessing of divinity does come with the occasional benefit."

  "Shocking."

  Sara followed Garen over to the target dummies, reading over the list of spells avaible to her.

  Cantrips

  Frost

  Warped Stride

  Static Charge

  Level 1 Spells

  Static Grip

  Level 2 Spells

  Soothe Emotions

  After Evie's warnings of how private information on her Css and its capabilities was supposed to be, Sara also took the time to decide how much she wanted to reveal to Garen. The man was polite and agreeable enough, not even that bad on the eyes, but that didn't mean she could fully trust him. According to Evie even the presentation of Sara's stats were abnormal, as most people had to meditate or something simir to glean in vague detail what Sara could bring up at a gnce.

  "Before we begin," Garen said. "There are several things I believe you may wish to know about your spells. You are a Champion, Lady Sara. From all I have read, your spells will not manifest like those of a common mage."

  "How so?"

  "For those poor fools in the courtyard, their journey of spellcraft has just begun. If they did not have the enchanted tools I provided them, they could cast nothing at all. It takes considerable time, practice, and deep concentration to cast even the most basic of spells. You, however, likely have spells already in your grasp, no?"

  "I do," Sara cautiously admitted. "I can see a list of several that I think I'm supposed to be able to cast."

  Garen nodded, satisfied to see that his research proven correct. "Just so. Were you borne of this world you would have no such thing. A 'normal' mage, if you will, may only cast Spells in your manner only once they have long since mastered them. They must sufficiently adapte their mind to the form of a particur spell, then advance to a new Level, after which they will gain the ability to cast it without thought or effort, though only a limited number of times within a given period."

  "Huh?" Sara frowned. "Then how do they get the practice in the first pce, if getting a Level doesn't let them cast anything?"

  "Unlike martial Skills, mages are not purely reliant upon their Css. It is possible for those with the knack for spellcraft to cast any spell at all, assuming they have the knowledge and skill to do so. Unlike spells granted from a Css, however, a spell one casts for themselves is exhausting, potentially dangerous. An improperly channeled spell may be as much a danger to the caster as it is to their foe."

  "Lovely. But you're saying that I don't have to worry about that?"

  "Not if the historical records I have perused are correct, Lady Sara. Of course, we must experiment to validify their cims. As you weren't even aware that you could cast spells for a time, I assume you do not have a spellbook?" Garen asked.

  "I don't, but that doesn't mean I don't need one."

  "Perhaps. We'll explore that possibility st, however, as it would be the most time consuming avenue. For now, I want you to attempt to cast whatever you view as your simplest spell. You may use the targets, if required."

  Sara chose Frost, on the grounds that it seemed the most straightforward and descriptive name among her cantrips. She took several steps back and raised her arm with a dramatic flourish, ft palm outward.

  Nothing happened.

  "Most spells have a somatic component to them, Lady Sara. A spoken invocation required to summon the energies forth."

  Sara sighed, dropping her arm. Then she snapped her hand forward, making a finger gun like she was firing from the hip. "Frost!"

  Nothing happened. Well, her voice echoed in the stone chamber a little bit, but that was all.

  Garen watched her with arms folded in his robes, far more patient than he'd been with the soldiers outside. "If it is Frost you are trying to cast, I would recommend a more extended stance. It is easier to aim that way."

  Sara sighed. "Makes sense. I'm just throwing things at the wall to see what sticks."

  "Have you already exhausted your first guesses, then, practicing on your own?"

  "I have," Sara confirmed, thinking back to the embarrassing hours spent in her room making wild gestures at the wall. "Nothing yet."

  "Then perhaps a foci is what you require." Garen plucked a wand off his belt, handing it to her handle-first, with the same respect one might show a particurly sharp knife.

  "Focus not on your body, but the tool, then do as before, assigning a command word to the spell."

  Sara did so several times, flinging the wand about like an overly zealous Harry Potter extra, yet nothing happened. The process was repeated several more times, trading the wand for a stave, then staff, then even a holy book of Amarat. None worked, disheartening her more and more, until Garen handed her the runed dagger.

  "Now this one you must be careful with," he cautioned.

  "I know how to handle a knife."

  "I'm sure you do, but this one will catch fire if you touch the gemstone at the bde's base. As it was made for a creature immune to fme, its enchantment makes no effort to spare your skin."

  "Oh. Noted." Sara grabbed the dagger low on the hilt, well away from the jeweled crossguard. Rather than dramatically filing as she had before, she lifted the dagger like a pistol.

  "Frost!"

  Sara nearly jumped out of her skin when the dagger actually did something, expecting it to burst into fmes. Instead, however, an icy line of crystals swept up the bde's edge, giving the steel a wicked serration for the briefest of fshes. Unfortunately, the crystals melted as quickly as they'd appeared.

  "Holy shit!" She shouted, turning to Garen with a crazy smile. "It actually did something! I mean, not enough, but still!"

  Garen was observing the dagger carefully, lost in thought. After a few seconds more, he blinked, returning to the present. "So it did. I have a suspicion as to what we are missing, now. May I have the dagger back?"

  Sara handed it over, reluctant to let go of the only thing that had let her cast magic so far.

  "Draw that bde at your hip, if you would please," Garen instructed.

  Sara did so, flicking the bde out to its full length. Garen's eyes rose with interest at the transformation.

  "An elegant tool. I haven't seen its kind before. Did someone make it for you?"

  "I had it commissioned. A bcksmith named Hurlish forged the bde and mechanism, then she had it enchanted for reinforcement by some artificer's guild or something."

  "Hurlish, you say? She is a skilled smith."

  "That's not all she's skilled at, either. Now, what did you want me to do?"

  Garen waved her towards the target dummies. "Make a simple strike, performing your incantation as you do so."

  Sara gripped the greatsword in an overhead stance, one of many that she knew by strange instinct, yet had no name for. This particur one involved the ft of the bde twisting sideways, crossguard beside her temple and bde pointed downward. She took one step and shouted, stabbing forward.

  "Frost!"

  A mountain range in miniature rose along the bde's edge, encrusting the graceful bcksteel in white crystal. A great gust of icy air rushed out from the sword as its tip pierced the dummy, a loud crackle audible in the stone chamber as cloth and straw alike was frozen solid.

  Sara swept the bde back out with delight, flinging drops of melting water across the stone floor. The bde was already turning back to normal, but with half her target encased in ice, Sara knew she'd succeeded.

  "Holy shit!" She shouted, bouncing on her feet. "You were right!"

  "It does feel nice to have my theories confirmed," Garen somewhat more elegantly agreed, leaning forward to inspect the dummy. "As I suspected, you are a Magus, following in the footstep of warrior-mages known as Magi. Your focus is your weapon, and through it you work your magic. Far be it from me to interpret the mind of a god, but I dare say it makes sense for Amarat's Champion. You are fully capable of defending yourself, yet have the versatility required to deal with situations beyond the battlefield." Garen bowed low once more. "It is an honor to be the practitioner introducing a Champion to the ranks of the arcane."

  "I should be thanking you," Sara said, shaking the st of the water from her sword. "I'll reward you with another secret from my world, intentionally this time. There's no magic there. That means that I am excited as all hell to be getting to use some myself."

  Garen slowly stood, the pause Sara's words gave him surprising her. The comment was supposed to be a joke, just something to give him reference for how excited she was, but his reaction was that of a man scandalized. She watched mental gears grind as he mumbled to himself.

  "No magic... But the feats other Champions have spoken of... hundreds of people soaring through the sky... metal thrown faster than sound... wars devastating the pnet itself..."

  "Yup," Sara confirmed, unable to back out now. She hadn't thought that his research on Champions would have left him that well informed. "No magic required."

  If there was anything that proved to Sara that Garen was an intelligent man, it was the way the color drained from his face.

  "Horrifying," he stated simply.

  Sara nodded. "Also true."

  With an absent flick of Garen's finger the chairs returned. He fell into his seat, rubbing his stubbled chin.

  Sara sat across from him, letting him process.

  Eventually, minutes ter, Garen looked up. "It is often said, among the more philosophically minded practitioners, that the gods made magic incomprehensible because the alternative was chaos. That the great study or fervent faith required to reach the greatest extents of power were failsafes, meant to keep those who would wield it thoughtlessly from wreaking havoc upon the world. Does whatever method your world developed require the same?"

  Sara made a face. "Not really? It certainly took a lot of study and hard work to create most of the dangerous things, but once they were made there wasn't anything particurly difficult about using them how you please."

  Garen, staring at an invisible horizon, nodded absently. "I would advise, Lady Sara, for you to keep such facts secret. I doubt I'm the first to learn such from a Champion. Thankfully, none before were ignorant enough to record what you have told me."

  "If it's any conciliation," Sara said, "It'd take hundreds of years for the worst stuff to come about. There'd be time to ready for it, adapt, build safemeasures. And who knows, maybe magic will scale appropriately? Nothing mages can do holds a candle to my old country's military, but that might not be true forever."

  "Even still..." he said, trailing off. Then he shook himself, looking her in the eye once more. "I apologize. Such things are an abstract concern, and I shouldn't let myself be lost in thought in your presence."

  "Hey, I don't mind," Sara said, patting her sword. "You taught me magic. That's worth a hell of a lot to me."

  "Then may I ask one question more?" Garen requested, seeming almost timid for the first time.

  "Sure, but no promises on answering it. I'm not trying to start your one-man industrial revolution."

  Garen licked his lips. "So you don't intend to bring your old world's ways here?"

  Sara shook her head. "No. If this world had been like my own at this point in history, with all the suffering and ignorance that entailed, then probably, but magic seems to have sealed the gaps pretty well. Magic can cure wounds and diseases, so it's not like I need to teach you guys medicine, and most of your societal problems are self-inflicted, not the result of technological deficits. Transport or better methods of sharing knowledge might help, but those have their own consequences ter down the line. So for now, no, I'll keep things to myself."

  Garen ughed ruefully. "What an odd experience, to be talked down to like some backwater barbarian living in a mud hut."

  Sara held her hands up helplessly. "To me, you kind of are. Not quite that dramatic of a difference, and I don't really support the term 'barbarian' in general, but the comparison's understandable. And I'd like to keep things that way, but I'm on a mysterious quest so impossible that it warranted divine intervention. I very well may need to use some of what I know to complete it. I hope not, but I can't promise otherwise."

  "Your candor is appreciated," Garen said. "And the knowledge you've given me, inadvertently or not, greatly outweighs my present aid to you. Should you need my services in the future, please call upon me." He extended his hand.

  "Be careful what you wish for," Sara warned, firmly shaking his hand. "Things aren't going to stay this small-scale for long."

  "I know my capabilities, Lady Sara. If you ask the impossible of me, I'm wise enough to refuse."

  "Alright. Any more tips about magic you got for me before I go?"

  "None of my usual lessons in the arcane are relevant to a Champion, so I only offer hard-won wisdom. Keep your spells secret, your goals obscured, and reveal the greatest extent of your power only when no alternative is avaible. The most ancient beings of the world have reached their height of power via a life of caution; so patient are they that uncertainty is your greatest shield against them. Should they learn all you are, and find it is less than them, they will snuff you out without a second thought."

  "Ominous, but appreciated," Sara thanked him. "Good luck sticking your head in the sand for the next few days."

  Garen's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I may not be ancient, Lady Sara, but I am old. Willful ignorance is among the greatest of my skills."