Common Clay

“The Council of the Crownsguard Charter of the Adventurer’s Guild will now come to order.” A middle-aged man wearing a dark tunic and a bright blue cape looked around at the other Councilors in attendance. There were six of them, wearing tunics or robes emblazoned with their personal heraldry. They sat at a long table that curved around the edge of the room like a crescent, their heavy, engraved chairs looking almost like thrones. Their expressions ranged from bored to impatient, and none of them were paying much attention to the people standing at the center of the curve. “The accused will step forward.”

Clay Evergreen, his heart beating hard in his chest, stepped forward into the space in the middle of the table’s crescent. He tried to keep his head up and to meet the eyes of the men and women around him.

The spokesperson at the middle of the curve didn’t seem to notice. “Clay Evergreen, of the village of Pellsglade, you stand accused of being a Rogue Adventurer, of refusing to swear the Adventurer’s Oath to the realm of King John the Ninth of Crownsguard, and of poaching monsters within the same King’s realm. How do you plead?”

He blinked at the list of charges. The Council, for all of their obvious power, seemed a little ignorant of the facts, and Clay glanced back at the adventurers who had brought him here. Sir Alfred and the others seemed uninterested in speaking; most of them were just as professional and neutral as they had been for the entire journey to the capital. Clay had tried to befriend one or two of them, but the continued hostility of Sir Leonard, and the intentional distance the rest of them had kept, had prevented him from accomplishing much. To these adventurers, Clay had been someone they had to escort, not someone to know. Now he supposed he knew why.

Clay turned his attention back to the Council, who were now watching him with calculating eyes. It reminded him of a cat watching a very, very foolish mouse. “I plead innocence, Sir.”

The members of the Council stirred slightly, mostly in apparent irritation. At their center, the spokesperson frowned deeply, with a resentful glance at the adventurers who had brought him. “And your defense?”

He drew in a breath to steady himself. “For the first two charges, I am not an adventurer, so I cannot be considered a Rogue, and am not required to swear the Adventurer’s Oath. As for the third, I was unaware that monsters were something that could be poached on unclaimed land, and have been forgiven any trespass by the baron of Pellsglade.”

Silence abruptly fell across the room. It was broken by the amused snort of Sir Carlson, one of the adventurers behind him, and Clay had to keep himself from turning around to glare at the stout, heavily armored man. Things were already going to be hard enough here without someone laughing at the situation.

The noise seemed to trigger a sudden rush of murmurs around the members of the Council. Clay kept his gaze on the spokesperson, however, who was now studying him with an even deeper frown. “You claim you are not an adventurer?”

Clay nodded. “That is correct.”

“May I ask what [Class] the gods have granted you?”

He drew in another calming breath. “I am a [Commoner], Sir.”

There was another silence. The spokesperson looked at the group that had escorted him into the room. “Syr Eliza?”

“He speaks the truth, Sir Evan. The Orison confirmed it. He is a [Commoner], at level eight.”

This time, the silence took on a more contemplative air. The members of the Council around him were no longer distracted or impatient. Clay glanced around and found them all staring at him intently, their eyes sharp and focused. He was starting to feel like he had stumbled into a nest of elder mantrap spiders. Of course, the spiders might have been safer.

One of the other Councilors, a woman with short red hair and the symbol of a sun on her tunic, raised her hand. “Master Archivist, is this possible? I have never heard of a [Commoner] being capable of gaining levels before.”

Another of the Council, an old man wearing simple grey robes, nodded. His white beard and bright blue eyes gave him an intelligent air. “It is in fact possible, Syr Marissa. In fact, there have been multiple times where a [Commoner] in exceptional circumstances has managed to gain levels beyond their initial one. I know of at least three in the past two hundred years.” The Archivist looked back at Clay, his gaze making Clay feel like he was being weighed and measured like a pig for the market. “None of them ever survived beyond the third level, however. The nature of their [Class] simply makes it exceedingly unlikely for them to succeed in battle for long.”

“Obviously, we have found the exception to the rule.” The Councilor wore a dark robe and was studying Clay over steepled fingers. “Are we certain of how he has gained these levels? I can think of… one possibility that suggests foul play.”

Clay started to bristle, but Sir Alfred spoke up from behind him. “We have sworn testimony from multiple adventurers in Pellsglade that contradicts that idea, Sir Richard.”

Sir Evan raised an eyebrow. “These would be the rebellious cadets that interfered with the original apprehension of this individual?”

Alfred nodded. “Yes, Guildmaster. We also have corroborating testimony and an endorsement from Baron Pellsglade, who claimed that Sir Clay was instrumental in their efforts to protect the people of his fief.”

Another murmur ran through the room. Sir Leonard, looking sour and angry, remained silent. Given that he’d probably reported Clay’s friends as rebels, having a baron contradict his information would not look good. He’d put Olivia and Pellsglade in danger, though, so it was hard for Clay to feel bad about it. In fact, it took some effort not to grin.

“Ah. I see.” The Guildmaster spent another moment studying Leonard, to the [Outrider]’s obvious discomfort, before returning his gaze to Clay. “So. It appears you come to us both highly commended and relatively blameless, if these testimonies are to be believed. How interesting.”

Syr Marissa raised her hand again. “Given that he is, in fact, a [Commoner], I see no reason to hold him to laws that were meant to govern adventurers. I move to set aside the charges in their entirety.”

Clay felt himself relax in relief. It would have been a rather hard thing to accept if he had come all the way from Pellsglade just to get thrown into jail. Before he could open his mouth to thank them, however, Sir Richard spoke up again. “In principle, I agree. However, Sir Clay has obviously considered himself to be of the same standard as an adventurer. To my knowledge, he was pursuing his efforts against the Lair in secret, rather than doing so openly. Am I correct?”

The question was directed at Clay, rather than the others. He hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Another Councilor snorted. Her long blond hair swayed as she shook her head. “Well, at least we know he is honest, Richard. I can think of several reasons why he’d want to keep his work secret, however, aside from the fact that our first reaction was to haul him all the way back here. Where, I might add, he is being asked to stand trial for actions that have won a baron’s praise.”

“Those same actions forced us to divert a team of capable adventurers from their duties, Syr Alia.” Richard’s dark eyes still bored into Clay. “Their efforts elsewhere might have saved lives, rather than being forced to deal with his… impertinence.”

“A fair point.” Alia looked at Clay, a small frown on her lips. “Sir Clay, had we not sent for you, would you have come and presented yourself here at the Academy?”

He tried to meet her eyes without glaring. “It was my understanding that a [Commoner] would not be welcome here.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I see. And what would your plans have been if we had left you to yourself?”

Clay blinked. “I would have finished the work on my farm, Syr Alia.” He paused as a handful of the Councilors chuckled, and he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Once I had that taken care of, I would have started hunting the monsters in Sarlsboro. With the Tanglewood Lair destroyed, that was the last source of monsters left near Pellsglade.”

The Guildmaster sat back in his seat. “The Lair in the Tanglewood is gone? I did not believe that we had authorized you to resolve that matter, Sir Alfred.”

There was another pause before Alfred responded. “We did not, Sir Evan. Sir Clay was the one who destroyed the Lair.”

Another silence descended, and Clay caught sight of several Councilors suddenly leaning back in their seats in surprise. Their study took on a much sharper intensity. He shifted uneasily on his feet.

It was another moment before the Guildmaster found his voice. “You’re saying a [Commoner] destroyed a Lair? While he was still only level eight?”

Clay winced slightly. “I was only level six, Sir Evan.”

A burst of scoffs and groans ran around the room. Syr Alia looked around at the other Councilors in disbelief. “Master Archivist, is that even possible?”

The old man had locked his stare onto Clay. “I believe so, actually. Given what was recorded about the [Class]… it may have even been possible at level five.” He paused as another round of disbelief washed through the room. “Sir Clay, I am assuming you already have the [Paragon] [Achievement]?”

Clay nodded, and the Archivist nodded and smiled. “You likely aren’t aware, but most adventurers do not reach that [Achievement] until level thirteen, at the earliest—and without that [Achievement], attempting to destroy a Lair would have been impossible. I’m still rather impressed that you survived the experience. How many Guardians were present?”

“Two, Sir…” He belatedly realized that no one had called the man by name.

Fortunately, the Archivist smiled. “Bartholomew, Sir Clay.”

Clay nodded. A name like that explained why everyone was using ‘Archivist’ at least. “There were two, Sir Bartholomew.”

“Excellent!” Bartholomew clapped his hands and grinned like a schoolboy. “An impressive achievement indeed. You’ll make for quite the entry in our histories, young hero.”

Syr Marissa spoke up, her expression curiously surly. “I’m sure the cadets who were present helped with the situation.”

Clay started to correct her and then paused. While he tried to decide how to respond, Sir Alfred spoke up again. “According to their testimonies, the cadets were otherwise occupied, Syr Marissa. Sir Clay killed the Guardians and destroyed the Lair on his own.”

Sir Richard snorted. “And we presume to judge him as a simple [Commoner]? He’s more of an adventurer than half the would-be heroes here already.”

Alia gave the cloaked man a sidelong look. “Recognizing his achievements through punishment would be an… interesting choice, Sir Richard.”

The man waved away the comment. “Of course, of course. I don’t have any interest in punishing him for not coming to the Academy right at the start. Not when, as he said, we wouldn’t exactly have made him welcome in the first place.” Richard leaned forward, his eyes intent on Clay again. “What I am arguing is that we should recognize him for what he is now. That means he takes the Oath and joins the Guild, just like any other initiate, or he’s considered a Rogue from now on.”

Marissa nodded, the darkness in her expression fading. “A realistic solution, Sir Richard. I approve.”

Alia and some of the others nodded as well, and the Guildmaster glanced around at the rest. “All in favor of setting aside the first two charges, contingent on his future membership in our Guild?” Hands were raised, and Evan nodded. “So be it. Sir Clay, you will join the Guild and swear the Oath. Do you have any questions?”

Clay paused. “As a member of the Guild, what would be expected of me? When would I be able to return home?”

The Councilors exchanged looks. Some of them looked surprised, but Richard didn’t seem to have been taken off guard. He spoke in an even voice. “You would be required to undergo training here, and once we have decided that you are ready, you will be sent out on missions to drive back monsters. As for your return home… we will see when we can accommodate that wish in the future. Do you have any other questions?”

It was hard not to grimace. When he’d come to the Academy, Clay had hoped it would be a quick visit before he returned home. Instead, it sounded like he was going to be stuck in the Guild for a while… but the alternative would probably have him in jail instead.

Clay shook his head, and then another man raised his hand. This Councilor was covered in scars; his thick arms showed dozens of them, and several crisscrossed his face as well. “What of the last charge? Poaching monsters remains an offense for [Commoners] and adventurers alike, does it not?”

The others looked to the Archivist, who reluctantly nodded. “That statute was not restricted to adventurers, no.”

“Then I see no reason to excuse the boy from his punishment there.” The Councilor grinned, showing bright white teeth. “Might serve to keep him humble, after all.”

“And humility is your goal, Sir Mark?” Syr Alia’s voice had taken on a mocking tone.

Syr Marissa interjected before the other Councilor could. “There is nothing wrong with enforcing the law, Syr Alia. Even adventurers are responsible to the King’s law. I agree with Sir Mark.”

“Glad to hear it, Syr Marissa.” Sir Mark met Clay’s eyes and grinned. He seemed remarkably pleased with himself.

Clay couldn’t quite hold his tongue this time. “I wasn’t aware you were so fond of spiders, Sir. If you wanted, I could always put them back for you.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Clay regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. He grimaced, half expecting the Councilors to decide against their previous course and order him imprisoned.

To his surprise, Sir Mark simply grinned a little wider. “So you have some fire in you after all, Sir Clay. Good. You’ll need that in the days ahead.”

There were murmurs among the others, and Sir Evan looked around another time. “All in favor of upholding the third charge against Sir Clay?” Hands went up again, and Clay groaned inwardly. Five of them, including Marissa, Mark, Richard, and Evan himself. The Guildmaster nodded to himself and glanced at the Archivist. “Sir Bartholomew? What is the listed punishment for his offense?”

The Archivist leaned back, his eyes going vague for a moment. Then he smiled. “The adventurer or person responsible is to be sent on a mission to destroy a Lair. No more than three times, no less than once.”

Clay blinked, and a round of chuckles ran through the Council. Sir Evan shook his head and looked at Clay. “It seems you’ve already served your sentence, Sir Clay. Does this satisfy you, Sir Mark?”

The scarred Councilor grunted as he thought it over. “I suppose. Though perhaps if things go south, we can send him out to knock out a few more. What do you say to that, boy?”

He looked back at Sir Mark with a mixture of relief and annoyance. If all he had to do was fight more monsters, he couldn’t see why that would be a problem. It was what he wanted to do, anyway. “I would be happy to help out wherever I can, Sir Mark.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Sir.” Mark looked back at the Guildmaster and gestured. “He’s all yours, Evan. Try not to get him killed before he’s useful.”

The Guildmaster nodded wearily, and then looked back at Clay. “In that case, we can consider this meeting at an end. Sir Alfred, escort our new member to the Hall of Oaths, and then show him where he can stay among the other initiates. After that, we have more work for you.”

Then he paused. “Sir Leonard, please stay. We have more questions for you about your work in Pellsglade.”

Sir Leonard went slightly pale. He gave Clay a glare of sheer hatred. Alfred simply bowed and then gestured for Clay to follow him. Clay nodded, bowed slightly to the Council, and then followed the adventurer out of the room.

They stepped out into a cold fall day.

It was already well into autumn now. A brilliant blue sky, with hardly a cloud, stretched above the capital city of Crownsguard. It could have been a wonderful summer day, but the chill in the air and the handful of nearby trees, with their leaves already turned from green to red, yellow, and orange, told a different story.

Clay still didn’t know what to think of Crownsguard. He’d lived his whole life in Pellsglade, growing up in the farms around a village at the very edge of the King’s realm. Most of the people lived on those farms, with only a relatively small number living in the cluster of buildings near the baron’s manor.

Crownsguard was an entirely different place. When they had crested the hill the day before, Clay had been thunderstruck by the sight of the place. It looked like someone had been growing buildings and had just dropped a whole sack full of seeds in one place. The King’s city had grown up around a bend in the river, with a high wall enclosing it on both sides of the water. Bridges spanned the flowing water, which was deeper and faster flowing than any river he’d ever seen before.

People were simply everywhere in Crownsguard, crowded together in a claustrophobic herd that bustled and chattered through the streets. Clay found it was impossible to feel comfortable in the place. He was constantly trying to look in all directions, in case one of the people around him was trying to get his attention. The continual murmur and crowd made it feel like there was some kind of festival going on that he hadn’t heard about.

Not that he was entirely wrong about that front. Entertainers and bards were common sights in Crownsguard. They plied their trade at every square and fountain in the city to varied receptions. Some of the storytellers were practically showered with coin, while others seemed to be desperate to catch the attention of any passerby they could find. Clay found himself shelling out coin for songs that would have been booed at any festival that he’d ever attended. He just couldn’t manage to walk by those hungry faces and defeated expressions.

The adventurers hadn’t been impressed. He was fairly certain that some of them had traded a few jokes at his expense, something about his poor taste in music. Clay had tried to ignore them; he wasn’t exactly here for their opinion, anyway.

Now, though, he followed Alfred as the adventurer led him through halls of the Royal Academy. The home of the Guild of Adventurers.

It was a place that Clay had always dreamed about seeing. His adventures had always started here, in his mind. Back before the Choosing, he’d always believed he would receive an adventurer’s [Class] and then come to this place to learn and grow, before they turned him loose on the monsters of the world.

The Academy had defied his expectations in its own way. He’d pictured a castle from the stories, a fortress against the darkness of the world. That image had fit the King’s palace, a keep that stood over the western part of the city. It was still visible over the buildings of Crownsguard, standing on a hill where it seemed to stand guard over the rest. Clay had been mildly surprised when they hadn’t headed towards it, or towards the grand spires and pale marble of the Grand Rectory, also on the western side of the river.

Instead, he’d been led to the eastern side of the river, where a very different building had been waiting. It was wide where the other grand buildings were tall, barely any higher than the baron’s manor back in Pellsglade. At the same time, it sprawled over a huge amount of land, the building encircling several courtyards. In several places, it looked as if the architects had built down instead of up, carving their way through the clay of the riverside to build basements and vaults.

As Clay followed Alfred along the side of one such courtyard, he could see a gigantic skylight that had been built overhead. Beneath it were several groups of adventurers who were sparring. Practice weapons flashed and stabbed, while others were employing spells against strawmen. Experienced adventurers were guiding the newer groups, talking them through maneuvers and spellcraft. There weren’t as many there as Clay had expected. Were these all the people the Kingdom had to defend themselves against the horrors of the world?

Alfred led him along the courtyard, before turning to follow a perpendicular walkway that divided two of the courtyards. There was a woman watching the various groups of trainees, her green eyes sharp and intelligent as she marked every move. She wore a simple tunic and trousers, and there was a long, thin sword buckled at her waist.

The adventurer stopped in front of the woman and bowed deeply. “Syr Katherine, I have another new initiate for you.”

Katherine turned and looked at Clay with faint surprise. “A new initiate? That is… surprising. Most of the other initiates we received from the Choosing this year have already become cadets. It is… unusual to have another start this late in the season. You may have trouble gaining the levels you need to be ready for combat.”

Clay snorted softly, and Alfred gave him a sharp look. The adventurer turned back to Syr Katherine. “His circumstances are unusual, but he will be more than capable for at least basic tasks.”

She frowned. “Is that so?”

Alfred nodded, and she turned to Clay directly. “What is your [Class] initiate?”

He braced himself. “I’m a [Commoner].”

Katherine continued to stare at him for a moment. He sensed a bit of surprise, but rather than giving into it, she simply continued to study him. She glanced at Alfred—a single scathing inspection, obviously searching for any signs of a joke—and then turned back to Clay. Then she nodded slowly. “I… see. You are indeed unique. What level are you?”

Clay breathed out a slow sigh. “Eight.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced at Alfred for confirmation. When he nodded, she raised a single eyebrow. “Very different indeed. I assume you’ve come to take the Oath, at the very least?”

Alfred remained silent, so Clay answered her. “Yes. I’m supposed to become a full member of the Guild.”

Katherine nodded. “Good. Follow me.” She looked over at Alfred. “I can take it from here.”

The adventurer nodded and turned to leave. Clay looked back at him for a moment and then turned back to Katherine.

She was still watching him, as if waiting for him to pay attention. “What is your name?”

“Clay Evergreen. I’m from Pellsglade.” He didn’t know precisely why he’d included that fact, but it felt important.

Katherine tilted her head. “Far to the east, then. Practically a borderland. Likely the reason why you remained undetected for so long.”

Before he could respond, she turned. “Come along. We have much to do before you can really get started.”

“Welcome to the Vault of Oaths.” Syr Katherine gestured to either side, taking in the ancient stone shelves on either side of them. “You are here to take your first steps as an adventurer. That first step is to make a commitment that you will carry for the rest of your life.”

Clay looked around them, quietly impressed. The shelves that extended along the walls were set deep enough to hold dozens and dozens of glowing stones. They lit the space well enough that there was no need for torches; the entire chamber was lit by the multicolored, soft glow of hundreds of the things. Under each one was a scrap of parchment with a name written on it.

They weren’t uniform. Here and there were spaces where there were no stones. No parchment decorated the shelves below those spaces, either. He wondered why they were missing.

Katherine cleared her throat, and Clay focused back on her. She stood beside a small altar that had been carved from the stone. There was another rock on the altar, one that matched the stones on the shelves. The only difference was the fact that it wasn’t glowing.

She gestured to it. “Today you are going to take the Adventurer’s Oath, something that every adventurer in the Guild is required to take. Some of the details can change from Kingdom to Kingdom, but the important parts of the Oath will always remain the same.”

“If you wish to be a hero, one that serves the people of this land, you must make this same commitment. Otherwise, every member of this Guild will be sworn to seek you out and destroy you. Am I understood, Sir Clay Evergreen, of Pellsglade?”

Clay nodded, and she nodded in response. “Then come here. Place your hands on the Oathstone. I will recite the magic, and you will read the Oath.”

He stepped forward and placed his hands on the stone. It was cool and smooth to the touch. Clay looked down at it for a moment, and then up at Katherine, wondering what would come next. She had her eyes closed and her head tilted back, as if remembering something.

Before he could ask, Syr Katherine began to speak in a familiar, arcane tongue. Clay couldn’t understand it, not fully; he’d only ever been able to memorize bits and pieces of the language, enough to work the [Chants] he had needed during his work, but all of them paled in comparison to the spell Syr Katherine was weaving now. The only one that came close was Garden’s Peace, the [Chant] that had destroyed the Lair, and that [Chant] had nearly taken everything Clay had just to finish it.

Katherine didn’t appear to have any trouble with her own spell, however, and Clay soon felt the magic settling over him like a blanket. It crackled along his skin and made the hairs on his neck stand up straight. He watched her, wary of any sort of trap.

Then she opened her eyes, and he saw them blazing with emerald fire. When she spoke, he heard a dozen different tones and accents in the echoes between her words. “Hero, repeat after me. I, Clay Evergreen, foreswear any right to war. I swear to uphold the authority of King John the Ninth of Crownsguard, and obey his servants within his territory. I swear to destroy monsters, to break Lairs, and ruin Dungeons, always acting in the defense of our world. I swear to follow these words so long as life remains to me. So witness my oath, before the gods.”

Clay recited the words, recognizing them for what he’d known all his life. Adventurers were sworn to stand aside in battles between kingdoms; war was terrible enough without adventurers turning their swords on one another. To be an adventurer was to set aside such things to fight the monsters that would ruin all kingdoms everywhere.

Similarly, adventurers had to respect the authority of the royals and nobility whose lands they walked. No king or queen would allow the Guild to work where that oath was not made, and Clay found it hard to resent it. After all, Baron Pellsglade had been able to defend Clay precisely because Sir Leonard had made the same oath.

The final part made sense only because of what Clay had learned in the Tanglewood. Adventurers could create Lairs as well as destroy them, though only apparently at higher levels. It appeared the Oath was meant to guard against that threat as well.

He recited the words quietly, and as he did, light began to filter out from the stone between his fingers. Warmth grew within the rock as well, a pleasant glow that banished some of the chill from his fingertips. When he was done, it glowed with a deep green hue.

Syr Katherine closed her eyes. When she reopened them, the fire was gone, and the crackle of magic faded from his skin. “Your Oath is sworn, Sir Clay. If you should ever break it, for any reason, then the glow will fade from the stone. They are inspected every day, without fail. We will know your betrayal and come for you.”

Clay felt his eyes widen and he nodded. He watched as she took out a scrap of parchment and wrote his name on it. Then she set his stone on the shelf and placed his name below it.

“What happens if I die? Will the stone fade as well?”

The question burst out of him before he could stop it. Syr Katherine paused; without seeming to realize it, her fingers brushed one of the empty spaces. There was no dust there.

“If a member of the Guild falls, the stone will crack. It will shatter, and its light will fade as well.” Katherine looked at him, her gaze calm and cold. Her eyes seemed like pale green glass. “In that case, I can only promise you we will seek vengeance for you. If it can be done.”

Katherine took Clay to his quarters in the Academy. She’d said that they would have some tests for him the following day to determine his rank in the Guild. He wasn’t sure what kind of tests he’d be facing, but he imagined that if Charles and the others had been able to pass them at level one, he’d do just as well at level eight.

As he settled into the narrow bunk, tucked into the closet-sized room Katherine had given him, he wondered what his friends were doing. Charles, Enessa, and the rest of their team of cadets had stayed in Pellsglade, apparently committed to helping Baron Pellsglade to trim back the monsters coming from the Dungeon in Sarlsboro. Clay had suspected that the Undead were less of a problem than the baron was making them out to be; the baron loved his son, and had been more than pleased for the excuse to keep Charles close, at least until the last few spiders were cleared from the Tanglewood, and no more Undead were wandering up from the south.

His thoughts continued to drift. His mother and father had been happy enough that Clay was no longer hunting monsters on his own. Sam had been unspeakably proud of his son’s accomplishments; Amelia had been less happy, but she had extracted a promise from him to return as soon as he was able. His brothers and sisters had been just as happy to see him off, as soon as he’d promised them a souvenir from Crownsguard, of course.

The last person who came through his mind was the hardest to think of. Olivia had been an important part of his war against the Tanglewood Lair; she’d been the one to teach him the [Chants] that had helped him survive and had stood by him throughout his efforts to learn and adapt. Without her, he’d probably have wound up yet another victim of the monsters in the Tanglewood, dead without fanfare or commentary.

She’d also kissed him on the cheek, and he was still trying to figure out how he felt about that.

It had been almost two weeks since he’d seen her, and Clay felt no closer to figuring out his response to her. Obviously she liked him, and he wasn’t… unfond of her. Was that enough? Had she even meant anything by the gesture, or had she just wanted to thank him for saving her life? She hadn’t done it again; when he’d said his goodbyes, the Rector had been standing right nearby, and Novice Olivia had been as formal as she had always been.

At the same time, she’d extracted another promise from him. Once she reached her own Choosing day, only a handful of months away, she wanted him to come back and see her. If she was a [Commoner], she wanted to know all the same magic that he’d learned. Otherwise, he had a sneaking suspicion that Olivia was planning on hunting him down wherever he’d gone.

Did that make him happy, or worried? Or both? What did any of that mean?

After a while of tossing and turning, with those same questions tumbling through his brain again and again, Clay finally found sleep. The sounds of Crownsguard and the Academy faded away, and he gently slipped away into his dreams.

“OH COME NOW. IT’S TURNED OUT WELL SO FAR, HASN’T IT?”

Clay felt his eyes snap open—an odd feeling, since he was supposed to be asleep.

He found himself in a place that he’d never thought to see again. All around him was an ethereal brilliance that defied description. His feet didn’t rest on anything in particular, but he was standing, not floating. Had it been the same way during his Choosing? Why was he dreaming of that time?

“He remains unchanged and unhappy. Your gamble has failed.”

“NOT YET, I HAVEN’T! HE’S STILL ALIVE ISN’T HE?”

Clay looked around, baffled. The first time he’d been here, there had been statues waiting, seven of them. They’d taken the forms of the seven deities, the ones that would judge and uphold the people of the world. The Trickster, the most baffling of all of them, had given him his [Class] as a [Commoner]; she was, in no small part, responsible for half the mess he now found himself in.

He heard the same voice now, just as loud, powerful, and overbearing as before. Yet there had been another voice, one burning, analytical, brilliant. Yet he didn’t see any of them. Where…

His thoughts trailed off as he looked down and to the right. There were two of them there, facing one another. He recognized the Trickster immediately; her crude robes of hides and wild, untamed mane of hair marked her as his would-be patron with stunning clarity. Her golden eyes were filled with the same mirth and challenge, and she smiled.

The being she faced was familiar, too. It was shaped like another woman, this time wearing a strange tunic and robes. A curious kind of crossbow was strapped across her back, and even though she was facing away, Clay could see the edges of a wide pair of glass plates that had been in front of her eyes. She was shaking her head, as if dismayed by the Trickster in front of her.

“He lives, yes, but at what cost? We agreed to give him a second chance, and you’ve allowed him to throw himself back into danger? I would not have agreed to recovering his soul if I had known you had this planned.”

The voice differed from the Trickster’s, but it curled and looped around his mind in the same overwhelming way. Clay felt his knees start to buckle and forced himself to stay standing. It was just a dream, wasn’t it? Why would he be overwhelmed by his own imaginations?

Below him, the Trickster smiled and spread her arms. “OH COME NOW, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SAGE! YOU HAD TO SUSPECT I HAD SOMETHING PLANNED. BESIDES, AREN’T YOU THE ONE WHO BELIEVED WE NEEDED SOMETHING NEW?”

The Sage—it had to be her, the one known as the Unrivaled Thought—bowed her head. She looked like she was rubbing at her nose, adjusting those strange contraptions on her face. As she did, the Trickster looked up—and straight at Clay. She winked.

It suddenly seemed a lot less likely that it was a dream.

Her knowing smirk had mostly vanished when the Sage looked back up at the Trickster, and Clay tried to hold himself as still as he could. He really didn’t want to get caught here. The Trickster had already thrown his life into chaos; the last thing he needed was a second goddess joining in on the fun.

“He isn’t responsible for our worries—and your role as Trickster does not excuse toying with him.”

“I DIDN’T TOY WITH HIM AT ALL. BESIDES, I EVEN GAVE HIM THE [CLASS] YOU WANTED FOR HIM!”

“After speaking directly with him. After implying that he was supposed to do more than what you knew we had planned.”

“I CAN’T BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERY CHOICE A MORTAL MAKES. YOU KNOW THAT.”

The Sage pinched at her nose again. “Regardless, I will not aid you any further in this… experiment. He may be pursuing this course on his own, and he may have experienced some small amount of success, but I will not aid you in advocating for more.”

The Trickster laughed. It was a sound that seemed to echo straight through Clay’s heart and soul. She twisted around to throw an arm around the Sage’s shoulders, gold contrasted sharply against the granite. “DON’T BE LIKE THAT. THE EXPERIMENT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO OVER. I MEAN, IF HE WORKS HARD ENOUGH, MAYBE HE’LL EVEN REDEEM YOUR WAYWARD PROJECT.”

With obvious frustration, the Sage shrugged off the Trickster’s arm. She half turned to face the other goddess, a movement that had to bring Clay into her peripheral vision. He tried to stop breathing, if he was even doing that here. “Perhaps. Either way, I will not be telling him anything more, and you are to avoid any contact with him. The others all agree. Do you understand?”

Clay saw the Trickster tilt her head slightly to the side, a crooked grin on her face. “SO I SHOULDN’T, FOR EXAMPLE, LET HIM LISTEN IN ON ANY CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN US?”

The Sage started to nod, adjusting the frames again. “Yes, that would be… frowned… on…”

He saw the Trickster’s grin widen and felt his heart start to pound. With agonizing slowness, the Sage’s head slowly turned to look up at him, her eyes still hidden behind those glowing plates of glass. The Trickster looked his way and laughed.

“A---, you can’t—”

“GOODBYE CLAY! AND GOOD HUNTING!”