Agvi is Upset (3rd month of Autumn, 11th day, 6th hour, morning)

  In the morning, Aya went to the kitchen to fetch food for the ravens — a mix of grain, meat, and something she couldn't quite name. The caravan was still in the yard. Holding Ixi in her arms, she slipped quietly between the wagons and made her way to the aviary.

  She'd hoped to talk to Agvi, but he seemed withdrawn. While Ixi fed the ravens, Agvi sat nearby, whittling a whistle from a piece of wood. The conversation wouldn't start.

  "Did something happen?" Aya asked.

  Agvi was silent for a moment.

  "Rasa said we're not training new mages right now," he said eventually. "Said I'm not ready anyway — that I should just focus on the ravens."

  "But how are you supposed to be ready if you don't train?"

  "I don't know," he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice. "Maybe they just don't need more mages."

  "That's strange," Aya said, but the words only seemed to darken his mood.

  "I'm sure it'll change," she offered gently, patting his back. Agvi didn't respond.

  They sat in silence, watching Ixi. She was cross-legged on the aviary floor, gazing up at the birds, turning her head from one raven to the next as if carrying on a silent conversation.

  "She's obsessed with ravens," Aya said. "Wants to feed them all the time. If she bothers you too much, just tell her off."

  "She doesn't bother me."

  Aya was still at the aviary when the caravan finally departed. It rolled out through the northern gate, the last wagon now empty of goods and carrying the wounded. Coincidentally, it was time for her training session.

  On Necromancers

  "Go, go, go!" shouted Igwen, and one by one, the wagons began to roll forward.

  The caravan was leaving Vemer's estate. As they passed through the gates, Igwen's mood lifted. He climbed into the wagon where Durki was still hunched over his papers. Beside him, a servant busied himself preparing a simple road breakfast.

  "What are you even checking?" Igwen asked. "If they wanted to rob us, we'd already be dead."

  "Something's off," Durki replied without looking up. "We're missing six ounces of spice, and I can't figure out where it went."

  "I swear, you're colder than a golem. You're lucky to be alive and all you care about is your spice count."

  "Everything has to balance. Besides, I was sure the Trademaster would handle things."

  "And what made you so sure?"

  "They brought us into their estate. That meant they were willing to negotiate. If they'd planned to rob us, they would've done it on the road, where they could deny involvement. They struck me as a reasonable bunch."

  "Reasonable, huh? Did you see their warband? That's practically an army!"

  "Too small for an army. Well-organized, though, I agree."

  "I can't wait for the Magistrate to knock them down a peg. What are they thinking, stealing from the city?"

  "Technically, they covered themselves well. They claimed it was an emergency, helped the caravan, and even paid double the grain price."

  "Really? In silver?"

  "No. I mean yes, in silver, but they didn't really pay double. They claimed a ten percent bounty for the rescue, so the final payment ended up below market. But legally, it's defensible. They even waived the cost of healing. I think it'll hold up in Conference court."

  "Waived it? How generous. Made sure to put it into the contract, didn't they? 'Cost of healing' — please. We pay mercenaries to die, why should we pay for the healing? They are useless as it is."

  "Now that's unfair. Without them, we'd be dead. But I agree — we can't continue like this. The roads should be secured by the army."

  "There's no army big enough. Besides the way things are going the South might stop trade altogether."

  "The South won't risk starving the North. That would just invite raids."

  "Yeah, raids from bloodthirsty thugs like Vemer."

  "Why are you so biased against them?"

  "I couldn't sleep all night. Thought I'd wake up with my throat slit. There's something... off about them."

  "Yeah — the necromancer," said the servant, speaking up for the first time.

  "What?!" Igwen and Durki said in unison.

  "The necromancer. The girl. Haven't you seen her? She's all the buzz among the servants."

  Igwen and Durki exchanged a look.

  "No, we haven't. Tell us," Igwen said.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "They have this girl at the mansion. Caught her out on the plains. She fought off a dozen mages before they subdued her. Commands grave fairies and ravens, they say."

  Igwen scoffed. "What? I thought you were too old for children's stories."

  "But it's true! I saw her with my own eyes, out in the yard. She looked like a ghost — just standing there, still as stone, holding a grave fairy in her arms, as if were a child! Others saw her in the dining hall. Didn't move, just... stared. Some people saw her, others swear she wasn't there at all. Like she's a ghost!"

  "What. The. Hell. Have you been doing mushrooms?"

  "I'm telling you, ask around!"

  "We bought three slaves from them," Durki said. "We could check with them."

  "I wouldn't trust them," the servant grumbled. "Probably gone mad, living around necromancers." He looked sour — clearly offended that the words of a slave might carry more weight than his own.

  "Should we tell the Trademaster?" Durki asked.

  "Don't pull me into this. You tell him if you want — I already get enough grief from him as it is."

  Refi Helps in the Kitchen

  Refi caught a glimpse of a familiar dress swishing around a corner and followed it into a dimly lit storage room. Inside, Isha was bent over a crate, filling her basket with sweetroot. Refi stepped toward her.

  "Don't touch me, I'm working," she said without looking up.

  He lowered his hands. "How did you know it was me?"

  "I don't know. Heavy breathing?"

  "I'm free tonight. When do you finish?"

  Isha finished filling the basket, turned around, and tried to brush past him. He caught her gently by the waist and pulled her close.

  "I said I'm working," she said, leaning against him.

  "So... when?"

  "Later. I don't know. If you've got nothing to do, come help me peel root." With a decisive motion, she slipped out of his grasp and walked off toward the kitchen. Refi followed.

  Three other girls were already there.

  "Oh, Refi, back to help us again?" one teased, prompting giggles from the others.

  He took a spot and began peeling sweetroot. The girls soon returned to their chatter. Isha said nothing, except when handing him more to peel. The mood had lifted in the mansion after the caravan left. It was a small victory, not just against bandits but also against the looming famine, since people had seen the grain being unloaded.

  Isha bumped into him. It was the second time in a row. Did she do it on purpose? He gently bumped back. The girls giggled. They always giggled.

  Isha went to stir the cooking pot, when he looked up and saw the fairy. It stood in the corridor, just outside the kitchen, peeking in like a child wanting something.

  "It's... what?" Refi managed to say, not really addressing anyone in particular.

  Everyone turned. A couple of girls yelped. Isha looked only mildly surprised.

  "Oh, Ixi. Do you need something?" she asked, as if it were the most mundane thing.

  "Ravana fida mita," the fairy said, holding up an empty feeding bowl.

  "But you already fed the ravens tonight."

  "Fida mita. Mita sarapa."

  "I guess I can give you a bit more."

  Isha took the bowl and cut a few scraps from a bone.

  "Here, but don't overfeed them."

  The fairy took the bowl and padded away. One of the girls exhaled.

  "What — what — what was that? You understand it?"

  Isha only shrugged. "Why, of course. She wanted meat scraps to feed the ravens."

  "You know fairy tongue?"

  "That was our tongue. She just struggles with her words. Have you never been around children?" Isha asked.

  "I understood too," said another girl.

  The remaining two girls covered their mouths, exchanging exaggeratedly stunned looks. What a dumb pair, Refi thought, like two stupid carrots.

  Negli's Unexpected Task (around 3rd month of Autumn, 11th day)

  Negli made his way through the Directorate toward the Archives. Along the gallery, tapestries bearing the sigils of noble houses lined the walls, lending the corridor a sense of grandeur and life absent from most of the building. They displayed the emblems of founders and great Archmages from the Tower's history — though, in Negli's opinion, more than half of them hadn't been particularly great at magic. They were clever bureaucrats with a flair for vanity, more skilled in politics than spellwork.

  "Negli, my boy!" A booming voice echoed down the corridor.

  Negli didn't need to turn to recognize Berenji, his direct supperior. He pivoted smoothly and offered a polite bow.

  "Chief Arcanist. I'm honored," he said, smiling as cordially as he could manage.

  "Oh, dispense with the formalities! Chief this, Master that. How's your bloody work going, eh? What brings you to Bizenki?"

  "I came to consult the Archives on outlier samples."

  "Good, good. Speaking of outliers — I've got just the sample for you. Not technically an outlier, mind you, just dreadful quality. What's interesting, though, is that A. and D. have conflicting opinions on it. And they usually agree like blood brothers! So maybe it is an outlier after all!"

  He laughed heartily, slapping Negli on the back hard enough to nearly knock him off balance.

  "Here's the situation: we've got dried blood on a handkerchief — two distinct samples. A. says one thing, D. says another — can't share the details, secrecy and all that. But I've been searching for someone with solid expertise — someone like you — to settle the dispute. I need a full elemental breakdown for each of the samples and a comparison between the two. Are you up to the task, my boy?"

  Protocol dictated that expert identities be encoded. As if in mockery of the rule, Berenji always used initials. With so few experts in the Records, Negli had no trouble guessing who A. and D. were.

  "Of course," Negli said, with a polite smile. Keeping his answer brief and agreeable was the safest path with Berenji. For all his bluster, the man was touchy and notoriously vindictive. Refusing a small favor like this was the surest way to earn his contempt.

  "Good, good. I knew I could count on you! I've always said — my boy Negli's the best with blood, the bloody best, so to speak! Head to the Records Hall, ask for case 1789. You're listed as the third expert — N. Or shall I have it delivered to your residence? Where are you staying?"

  "No need. I'll pick it up now. How urgent is it, Master Berenji?"

  "Oh, not terribly urgent. But since you're in the city, a basic elemental read by tomorrow would be ideal — just the core five, to make sure the sample's still viable. You can take up to a week for the full analysis — unless you're terribly busy, of course."

  "Very well. I'll be on my way." Negli bowed once more.

  "Yes, yes! Always a pleasure, Negli, always! Come by my mansion for tea sometime! But I won't keep you — again, my pleasure!"

  With a grand wave, Berenji vanished into a side corridor. Negli stood a moment longer, then made his way to the Records. He needed to know more about the case before adjusting his schedule. A young archivist verified his ring and disappeared into the storage rooms. So, the case had high status. A few minutes later, he was presented with a stasis box.

  He made his way to a visitor table, lit a lamp with a snap of his fingers, and gently cranked the box's dial. The black glass window on top gradually became transparent. Inside was a handkerchief with a crest — someone's proof of death, no doubt. The condition was poor: smeared in blood rather than soaked. No wonder the readings were inconclusive. He would need a good laboratory for this, and the closest one he had access to was here, on the Tower grounds.

  An irritation welled up inside him. Could he weasel out of it? But his name was already on the case — it was an official assignment. Berenji had simply taken advantage of catching him in the corridor, but the decision had been made earlier. He had only two viable options: do the task or stall and hope someone else was assigned. The latter, of course, would come at the expense of his reputation.

  A pang of curiosity stirred in him. What was so important that they needed a third opinion? Why couldn't Atli and Dolen settle it between themselves? It was an interesting mystery — if only he had more time.

  He glanced at the window. It was still early. He had two full days ahead. At the cost of some sleep, he could make this work and still meet his original goal.

  It seemed his visit to Bizenki was going to be busier than he'd hoped.