“Most things are,” said Burt with a shrug.
“Things are changing,” Kaitha insisted. “I mean, look. Burt came on a guild quest, and nobody has tried to kill him.”
“Unless you count that whole ‘monster bait’ scheme,” the Kobold grumbled.
The Elf ignored the remark. “Progress is slow, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. It just takes little steps.”
“This ain’t about a toddler learnin’ to walk! It’s about fighting!” Gorm said. “I didn’t think we’d be done by now, but I sure as drake spit didn’t think we’d be running guild quests while Johan eats tea cakes on the throne. I never imagined the Shadowkin would go corporate! I don’t know how it ends, but I swore I’d see this through. For Tib’rin and Niln.”
“We’re here, ain’t we?” Burt’s hackles were up. “Lady Asherzu has other priorities, Lightling, but she sent me to help you and advise you and, apparently, to be monster bait. And I got you that lead on some info about Johan, right?”
“We just passed up that owlverine job so we can investigate it,” said Kaitha. “We’re still with you, Gorm. But we can’t ignore life beyond this… this need for justice.”
“Aye.” Gorm gave a sad sigh and nodded. “But I can’t move beyond it. I ain’t got time in the day or fire in me belly for anything else.” He looked at the dead hag. The crone may have been Human once, or even a Gnome, but long years of service to Mannon’s demons had warped and twisted her into a giant monster. “Even for the good stuff. So aye, my whole heart ain’t been in this quest. I’m distracted. And by Khazen’s Shield, I’ll never understand how anyone else can be otherwise knowin’ that bastard’s on the throne.”
Kaitha bit back a retort and let it out as a low hiss through gritted teeth. “I understand how you feel,” she said. “I hope Burt’s new informant can help.”
“Only one way to find out,” Burt said, stamping out the final embers of his cigarette.
“Aye,” said Gorm. “How soon can we leave?”
Kaitha shrugged. “The field paperwork is done, and this is Mirnen’s gig, so she’ll handle arbitration. I think we can leave as soon as we round up the other two.”
They looked across the worksite at the other members of their party. “Gaist looks set to go,” Gorm said, nodding to the weaponsmaster standing motionless next to their horses.
“And the mage?” asked Burt.
Their collective gaze swiveled to the lone figure on the far side of the swamp, orange robes obscured in the cloud of steam that rose around her. The air above her flickered with heat and occasional tongues of flame.
Kaitha sighed. “I’ll go check in on her.”
“We need to talk.” The sprite spoke in a high, tinny voice straining to get to the bottom of its range, like a mouse trying to do an impression of a lion.
Laruna Trullon glared at the tiny messenger hovering in front of her, squinting in the pink glare. There was a humanoid figure no taller than her little finger somewhere amid the light, but it shone so brightly when it was delivering its message that it looked like a tiny star with wings. Billows of steam rose up from the water around them, vaporized by the sorcerous heat rolling off the furious mage.
“Throndar has been doing a lot of thinking,” the sprite continued. “Throndar cares very deeply for you.”
Laruna rolled her eyes as she seethed. Throndar’s barbaric habit of referring to himself in the third person made it sound like the magical messenger was engaging in gossip rather than reciting his own words.
“Yet Throndar has seen the signs now. When you skip out on an ox Throndar slaughtered for the one-month anniversary of our meeting, you show you do not value him. When you make fun of him for caring about our one-month anniversary, you show Throndar that his feelings do not matter to you. And when you get angry with Throndar for expressing this, you show him that you are not ready for a relationship.”
The solamancer’s fists clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, the curse on her tongue held back behind clenched teeth.
“You will probably call Throndar names. You will say he is weak. Throndar of the Plains of Ice is not weak! He is aware of his feelings and, more importantly, the impact of his feelings upon others.”
Laruna bit her lip. She wasn’t going to call him names. She had screamed a few choice insults the first time she’d heard the recording, but now that she knew the barbarian had predicted as much, she wasn’t about to give the universe the satisfaction.
“Throndar did not wish to do this over the magic talking lights, but Throndar wishes a lot of things were different, and you are seldom here. Throndar hopes you will find what—”
“Are you still listening to that?”
Laruna’s eyes swiveled to where Kaitha stood several yards away, though the afterimage of the glowing sprite was a large purplish blotch in the middle of her vision. “He broke up with me using a messenger sprite,” she growled.
“Two weeks ago,” Kaitha said. “And listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but didn’t Hogarth end things with you the same way?”
“No, he just ran off and left a note,” said Laruna. “Most of them do. You’re thinking of Gord of the Fjord.”
“Yes, that must be it,” said the Elf diplomatically. “My point is, you’ve let more than a few barbarians slip away over the course of the year, and it’s never seemed to particularly bother you.”
“Yes, well, Throndar was different,” Laruna protested.
Kaitha raised an eyebrow. “Was he?”
The solamancer’s mind briefly became a slideshow of well-oiled abdominal muscles, tiny fur loincloths, and windswept mullets. She searched for the difference that set her latest barbarian apart and, after some introspection, found it had nothing to do with Throndar at all. “I didn’t make it into any of the circles again,” she muttered.
“What?”
“There are thirty-six circles with a pyromantic focus, from the Circle of the Unbound Phoenix all the way down to the Circle of the Errant Candle. Joining one is the easiest way to become a pyromancer. And those stuck-up, self-loving sons of gorgons… well, I couldn’t get into any of them.” It took conscious effort for the mage to unclench her fists and let out a long sigh. “I failed another trial a couple of days before we left.”
“Oh, Laruna. I’m so sorry.” Kaitha gingerly made her way across the steaming turf to embrace her friend. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You wield fire better than any other mage I’ve ever seen.”
“No, I weave more fire than any other mage,” Laruna said. “But the trial isn’t to conjure a lot of flames. It’s to take the fire away from another pyromancer—pull it from their hand, or redirect a spell, or even just draw heat from the weave around them. And I couldn’t even take the flame from thrice-cursed Davos Luria.”
Kaitha smiled helplessly at the name.
“The acolyte attendant of the Circle of the Errant Candle—the lowest-ranked pyromancer on Arth. He can barely conjure sufficient fire to fry an egg, but what little he has, I couldn’t take.” Laruna ground her teeth at the memory, and flames flickered in the air around her head.
