Noble Arcana

Consistent work over time is the only guarantee of success. Only fools rely on luck to drop opportunities into their laps.

Attributed to Lord Morrow the 1st

After two weeks Solomon was feeling mostly recovered. At least physically. His bruises had all healed and his fevers and chills had stopped. Unfortunately, his mana was still in flux. The worst of it had ended, but he was still unable to control it. He could maximize the amount of mana he was using, but anything less than everything he had was far more likely to have an unpredictable result. It was frustrating, but he didn’t have much to practice anyway aside from the basic spells within Basic Spells and Foundational Magics. He could cast them, but he’d have to wait on learning better control. He didn’t want to send people flying with every gust spell meant to turn a page on a book.

The one thing he had been able to work on was the Mental Fortification spell. They called it a spell, but it was quite different from the others. It required no components. Nothing verbal, gestural, and no reagents. It was purely an exercise of visualization supported by a small feed of mana. Solomon pictured the gardens of the Morrow estates. Their twisting paths and endless green hedges, letting small amounts of mana give the image depth and volume. You needed to be able to create the image in your mind while also reacting to the attack on your mind, so it needed to be an image of something familiar and easily pulled forward. The book recommended training to make it reflexive, so Solomon had been making a point to randomly activate it any time he felt his focus waning. It had an odd sensation to it, but the amount of mana placed into the spell didn’t seem to matter as long as there was a constant flow, and that was something he could manage even with his unstable mana.

He was practicing when his carriage came to a stop. He let Melissa push open the door to let him out and followed behind her. They were in Moonfallow proper, at the guard station. Since the mayor’s office had been burnt down, as had his former manor, he had taken over a small corner of it from which to administer to the town. It also let him keep an eye on Lieutenant Cayle and newly promoted First Watchman Vantus. He wanted to have his thumb on the scale for any decisions they made about the guard.

There were only a handful of guardsmen in the station as he walked inside. He acknowledged them with a nod as he made his way to his temporary office. Eventually he would choose a new mayor, but he wanted things moving as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t be able to attract mining and logging interests as easily with Moonfallow in the state it was in. It was uncommon for a noble to act directly in this way, but it was within his authority.

He let Melissa take his coat and sat at the small desk. There were a few burnt remains of documents that had been retrieved from the mayor’s office, as well as books of notes Solomon himself had made. In the center of the desk were two sealed envelopes from the bank of Etling.

He opened the first one and reviewed its contents. It was a record of all deposits and withdrawals involving the civic account of Moonfallow. It painted a bleak, but not unexpected picture. Mayor Neiman had not only been depositing far too little, but he’d been making frequent withdrawals as well. There were less than thirty-thousand Draks in the account. Enough to pay the new guards that were being hired and to start work on some of the road and maintenance that had gone ignored, but not enough for more than that. Until taxes were collected again that would be the limit of what could be done, and considering that the census information Etling held for Moonfallow was well out of date that would be problematic as well.

He tapped his fingers against the desk as he thought.

Melissa, who was reading a book in the corner, something he’d insisted she do after simply standing quietly behind him for an hour had unnerved him, looked up.

“Coffee, sir?”

He nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

She stood and went to pilfer some from the guards.

He opened the second letter from the bank. This one had been his Uncle Victor’s that he’d inherited. It was the account into which a portion of Moonfallows taxes had been deposited every year. Unlike the other account, this one was very rarely touched. He even noted a few deposits his Uncle had made. As such, there was a substantial amount within the account.

He needed funds. Money was the only way a fourth son could really move up in Drakthiss. Now that he needed to find ways to gain magical knowledge, those funds were even more important. He wasn’t exactly sure where to begin, but money had an alchemy of its own that could open untold doors. The money Uncle Victor had left behind could help him significantly.

Solomon took a piece of paper and began to draft a letter back to the bank. He detailed the transfer of all but twenty-thousand draks from his Uncle’s old account into the civic account for Moonfallow. As tempting as it was to use those profits for himself, he had a responsibility to the town which he now owned. Besides which, this was an investment. The additional funds would allow him to begin work fixing the old roads and streets, widening the main road to make room for large shipments that would be moving through it, and fixing up other infrastructure.

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Once the letter was drafted he signed it, sealed it with his signet ring, and placed it to the side. Once that was done he drafted a budget proposal for each of the necessary projects he wanted started as well as plans for a fresh census of Moonfallow for future taxes to be based on.

After he finished his second cup of coffee and had some brief meetings with the guards he left. He needed to hire a secretary and some other administrative people for the town. Many of those who’d worked under the mayor were still around, but he didn’t trust them. He had a few candidates provided by Vantus, but he was waiting to vet them himself.

As he walked out onto the street, he felt a piercing pain in his skull for a few moments and closed his eyes to settle himself. His mana was spiking, that always caused him trouble. He pushed the pain to the side and walked to the church, Melissa behind him.

Outside the church Luterne was waiting for him. He waved a bit too eagerly as Solomon approached.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing so well. I prayed for your recovery,” said the man with a small bow.

“Thank you Luterne,” said Solomon. “Are they inside?”

“Yes. There were quite a few interested in the work you offered. I told them you may not be able to hire them all.”

“And did you find me a trapper or hunter that could help me?”

“Yes. Colm Brightly. It took some asking around since he worships the Trail Lord rather than the Messenger or the Laborer.”

Solomon nodded. The Trail Lord was a common deity in this region. He guided hunters, bandits, trappers, and lost folk through heavily wooded areas like the black wood. He’d read about them in the book of local deities he’d purchased near a month prior.

He pushed his way inside, to see more than twenty men and women. He’d expected as much. Work was thin in town. Most were grubby, but had clearly made an effort to make themselves presentable for him. He respected that.

He walked over to the altar, not stepping onto it, but standing in front of it.

“I’ll be pointing at one of you at a time. Approach so I can ask you a few questions. The garden work will pay one silver drak per week. The bodyguard work, two. Those of you with skills at masonry and woodworking will negotiate your pay with me directly. I should have work for all of you for at least one month. I will have a wagon sent here to the church to pick you up at dawn and bring you back at dusk. Understood?”

There were some eager nods. A silver drak for a week’s work was high for the work, but that was purposeful. Solomon wanted his people loyal and well taken care of. He also wanted to provide a sharp contrast between himself, the former mayor, and even his uncle. Those in charge needed to be generous and capable. Especially those of noble blood.

He pointed, calling each person one at a time. All of them were hired, as he’d promised, but he was disappointed that there was only one mason and no carpenters, though he had some experience in that field as well and said he may know someone else. Once he was through he called forward the last man. He sat far behind everyone else and wore a soft leather jacket and a fur cap. His skin was tan and his eyes alert.

“Colm?” he asked.

The man nodded.

“I’m looking for a man that can take me to the old logging sites, and the old mine in the woods. Would you be able to do that?”

He frowned. “I can. If the price is right.”

“Two Silver Draks for the trip to the logging sites. Three for the mines.”

He shook his head. “It’s dangerous taking someone inexperienced like you. That pay isn’t worth it.”

Solomon nodded. “Five for the mines, four for the logging sites.”

Colm’s face scrunched up a bit, but he nodded. “I can do that. Weather and trails will be clear early next week. Pack lightly. Meet me at the edge of the woods on the northeast side of Moonfallow a little after the sun is up.”

Solomon nodded and held out a hand.

Colm shook it, and made his way out of the church quickly, as if being there made him uncomfortable.

Shortly after Colm left, Luterne re-entered from behind the altar where he’d made himself scarce.

“Did you find everyone you were looking for?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you for your help.”

He nodded. “Anything for a member of a founding family.”

Solomon kept his expression neutral at that.

“How is Priest Hinds?”

“Still unwell I’m afraid.”

“I’ll have a physician sent.”

“It’s just a persistent cold. Nothing to fret about.”

“Just the same, I’ll see what I can do.”

Luterne shrugged. “If you insist.”

Solomon made his way out of the church and headed back to his carriage. He was exhausted. It had been hard to force himself to focus on these more mundane things when all he wanted to do was learn more about magic. Re-read the books he had, practice casting, try to calm his mana. His mind was screaming for it.

He walked inside the manor, walking back to his room. He locked himself inside and reviewed everything he’d learned so far while the persistent chill in the manor settled in his room. He worked until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and then he dragged himself to bed.

…

In the middle of the night, he was awoken by a blinding light. He squinted, readying a spell as he looked for the source of light.

The statue of the cloaked figure in the corner was glowing. He blinked at it. It wasn’t actually glowing, but it was radiating powerful mana that only he could see. He got out of bed and approached it carefully. He could see no runes or marks of any kind indicating what it was doing, only a powerful pulse of mana radiating from it.

He felt a pull from his hand and looked down to see that his walking stick was shaking in his hand. It suddenly launched forward. Instead of letting it go, he found himself hanging on, flying forward along with it as it flew into the grasp of the strange statue.

There was another blinding burst of mana, and then everything went black.