It had taken him considerably longer than he would’ve thought to come up with a plan to investigate the box he had seen in the Swordmaster’s office during the interview about his chosen ideal.

  In the end he had been forced to enlist Daelrud in his effort, despite his misgivings about involving the Duke in his illicit campaign to break into his master’s office.

  First, he had to figure out a way into the office. When it wasn’t in use the Swordmaster always kept the door locked with a key he kept on his own person. Reviewing the options, he had considered breaking the lock (not good, could be easily detected afterwards), picking the lock (not really an option, he didn’t know how and he didn’t know anyone who could teach him) and stealing the key from the Swordmaster. He had spent a considerable amount of time and energy attempting to devise a plan to do just that.

  The only time the Swordmaster didn’t have the key physically on his person was when he was training in the salle, and Turgeon was pretty sure he kept it in his private chambers above the salle and retrieved it immediately after training. There was no way to access his chambers except through the salle, and he wasn’t going to let Turgeon up there willingly while training.

  Stealing the key from the Swordmaster’s person directly would require some form of pickpocketing, which Turgeon was not adept at, or incapacitating the Swordmaster somehow.

  A considerable amount of time had been spent on trying to come up with a way to accomplish just that. Poisoning was considered, but he was by no means a poisoner, much less an expert, and so the risk of poisoning the Swordmaster too much and accidentally incapacitating him permanently was too high. Turgeon may have hated the Swordmaster for what he did to Aelfredd, but he wasn’t about to become the thing he hated and commit murder himself. Especially not by poisoning.

  He had concocted an elaborate plan involving a horseback riding accident, but Geoffry had refused to help with implementation of the plan – or even to discuss the plan with him – so that approach had been scrapped.

  Knocking out the entire kingdom’s master of melee fighting through force, much less doing so while also maintaining innocence and anonymity, wasn’t going to happen.

  Finally having given up on finding a means of accomplishing his goal, he had shown up to dinner one evening visibly dejected and disappointed in himself. Daelrud had picked up on his foul mood immediately and began to question what had caused it.

  “I’ve been trying to come up with a plan to… accomplish a task I need to accomplish, but I just can’t see a way to do it,” not wanting to reveal the details of the strange wooden boxes, he had felt a vague answer to be best.

  But Daelrud wouldn’t let it go, “What is the task at hand? Perhaps I can be of some help?”

  Was there a way to involve Daelrud without telling him too much? Could he cover his mission under something more mundane? Surely there was another reason why a student would want access to his instructor’s office?

  “There is a… document, in the Swordmaster’s office, that I should like to view. It may have some information about my past on it,” he made up the lie on the spot, but it felt like a good temptation as Daelrud had previously expressed curiosity about the past he supposedly did not remember, “but he always has the only key with him and I can’t figure out how to get it away from him.”

  After that reply Daelrud had nodded and let it go, but for the rest of the evening he seemed more pensive than usual. The following night, as they ate their meal together, he had revisited the previous night’s discussion.

  “So. What you really need to do is gain unmonitored access to the Swordmaster’s office, yes?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so. But I need the key to do that.”

  “Not if he unlocks the door for you.”

  “If he unlocks the door for me he will be with me in the office, so I won’t be unmonitored.”

  “Not if he leaves after he unlocks the door.”

  “He’ll never leave without relocking the door!”

  “He will if he must leave urgently.”

  “But how can we make sure he leaves urgently?”

  “Leave that to me. Your task will be to get him to let you into the office at a predetermined time, and I’ll take care of getting him to leave you alone in there.”

  A new challenge to think on. Which Turgeon did, that night and all the following day – to the point of distraction while training with Suzette, which was always dangerous.

  Said training had progressed considerably. Turgeon and Suzette had moved on from basic grappling to learning the dagger, the first weapon taught in the Fiorian system. For training purposes they used wooden weapons representing rondel daggers, with a triangular blade the length of a man’s forearm and a simple rounded handguard and pommel.

  True rondels were vicious puncturing tools, designed to penetrate armor of cloth or chain, and often constructed with a wicked jagged pommel to increase the damage done by a backhanded strike. Against a knight’s plate mail a rondel could be used to penetrate the joints between the plates.

  Before Turgeon learned to cut and thrust with the dagger himself, he spent many sessions with Suzette cutting and thrusting at him to learn the defensive dagger maneuvers and plays. Defense against a dagger attack always began with stepping to adjust the line and positioning himself to better block and counter the attack, a block of the attack and an immediate counter in response (typically, a strike to the attacker’s face or throat).

  In his distraction, he had taken many rondel thrusts to the gut, but fortunately the training dagger was blunt and wooden and he had survived with only a few bruises.

  Eventually, he was able to contrive an excuse that should have been obvious at the onset and, after consultation with Daelrud that night, they put their plan into motion the next day.

  “Master, could we speak about my ideal?” he had asked immediately after they had concluded the day’s training session. “In private?”

  “Of course, Turgeon. Let me get my gear from my chambers and we can talk in my office. I’ll meet you downstairs momentarily.”

  So far, so good. Would it all be this easy?

  Shortly after he had changed out of his training gear in his own chamber he had heard the Swordmaster come down the stairs from the training area and unlock his office, and he joined him there.

  The small box, so similar to his own, was still there on the shelf behind the Swordmaster. It took all of his willpower not to look at it while talking with the man.

  “So, Turgeon, your ideal. What would you like to discuss?”

  “I am finding it … challenging.”

  The Swordmaster frowned. “Of course it is. I did warn you that following an ideal outside of the High Five is a hard road.”

  “I know, and it is, but it’s not that. I think I know what I should be doing, but I can’t do it.” This conversation was becoming more serious than he had expected, and he wasn’t really prepared for the discussion.

  “That is often the way of our ideals. That is what makes them ideals. They are a challenge to live up to.”

  “Yes, but…,” Turgeon waved his hands around in the air, gesturing at everything and nothing specific, “How can I be free in this place? I have no freedom here.”

  “For now, this is true,” the Swordmaster began but was interrupted by a loud banging on the main door to the tower. He frowned, and shifted his gaze from Turgeon to the entrance. With a sigh, he stood and made his way to the entry door.

  From his seat in the office Turgeon couldn’t see who was at the door, but he could hear what they were saying. The voice was unfamiliar, but it sounded very stressed, almost panicked.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “You must come quickly! Duke Ko needs you immediately!” whoever was at the door was imploring the Swordmaster.

  “I can’t leave just now…” the Swordmaster began to protest, but the petitioner was insistent.

  “Now! You must come now! It is a matter of life and death.” Turgeon thought he recognized the speaker as the usually calm castle steward.

  What had Daelrud done to cause such alarm? He never did learn the answer to that question – Daelrud had been close-lipped about it at dinner that night and Turgeon hadn’t ever brought it up again – but whatever it was it had worked. An exasperated Swordmaster had completely forgotten about Turgeon in his office and had left with the Steward posthaste.

  His goal finally accomplished, Turgeon was given the opportunity to inspect the wooden box up close. He was careful to memorize the exact position it was in on the shelf before picking it up to ensure he could replace it when he was done.

  Up close he noticed the same differences in this box when compared to the one in his trunk that he had been able to see from a distance. The patterns carved onto the surface of this box were more rigid and geometric when compared to the more organic and flowing designs carved on his. It was also small, the same size as his own, a few inches on each side. There were no visible or otherwise obvious mechanisms for opening the device.

  Turning the box over and over in his hands, worrying about the time passing and having no idea how long Daelrud’s distraction would keep the Swordmaster occupied the whole time, eventually Turgeon noticed something new, something he hadn’t seen before. In the lower right corner of one of the box's sides he saw two tiny letters carved into the design. The letters were so small he could barely make them out, but he was pretty sure he saw a “D” and an “F.”

  Not wanting to be caught in the act, and having found a potential clue, Turgeon decided he had accomplished his mission and carefully replaced the box exactly as it had been on the shelf.

  He returned to the seat he had been occupying in the office, but after waiting for longer than he would’ve thought necessary he eventually gave up on the Swordmaster’s return and abandoned the office for his own chamber. He closed the door behind him once inside and carefully removed his own box from the trunk. Standing by the small window to capture the full light of the midday sun he began to inspect the corners of every side of his own box.

  Sure enough, it was not long before he found similar letters carved into one of the corners that he had previously overlooked. The “G” was elegantly interwoven with the organic designs on the box and almost impossible to spot without knowing where to look. The “F” stood out a bit more, but not enough to be noticeable on it’s own.

  What could these letters mean? “DF” and “GF” must stand for something, but what? It was a clue he could hopefully follow, but he wasn’t sure where to start. Certainly he didn’t feel like he was any closer to opening the box.

  Strangely, the Swordmaster still had not returned. Whatever distraction Daelrud had concocted had done the job more than suitably well.

  It was also far past time for him to make his way to the library, so he carefully replaced his own box in its hiding place at the bottom of his trunk and departed the Swordmaster’s tower.

  He didn’t get far before he encountered Brigitta walking the halls of the castle on her own. It was odd to see her alone, without Suzette, and she was walking with such a purpose and so absorbed in her thoughts that she almost missed Turgeon and nearly walked right by him without acknowledging him. When, at the last minute, she looked up and saw him she sneered at him and made a move as if she was going to push him into the wall but apparently decided against it and shrunk away from him instead as if she was afraid he would hurt her.

  The reasons for that decision were immediately clear to Turgeon. In addition to his own increased bulk and muscle mass from training, Brigitta did not look well. Whatever illness had concerned her brother and left her confined to her quarters before must still be haunting her he thought, noticing that she had lost weight and was looking rather paler than usual.

  So she backed down, and Turgeon backed away, his hands raised in an attempt to appear non threatening.

  “It’s OK, Brigitta, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t look well, perhaps you should rest.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m tired, whelp,” she spat back at him. Her illness may have taken the physical fight out of her, but it hadn’t diminished her hatred for him apparently.

  “Whatever,” he muttered, and shaking his head he walk on down the hall, leaving Brigitta with her unvented rage behind him.

  *****

  “How does the corruption of magic actually work, Master Jesphat? What does it do to magic users?” Turgeon had charged head first into his questions about magic when he had arrived at the library, to the Royal Librarian’s obvious chagrin.

  “This again, Turgeon? Should we not focus on the practical matters of study we need to cover? We still have the history of half the houses of Klaav to learn this season.”

  “Please, master? Can we just spend some time on magic questions before those boring dusty histories?”

  Jesphat sighed heavily, clearly frustrated but also understanding that Turgeon wasn’t going to let this go and would not focus on the planned curriculum until his questions on this subject had been satisfied. “Fine,” he rumbled, “I suppose if you are going to learn about magic it is important that you also understand the consequences of its use.”

  Turgeon’s excitement must have, yet again, been obvious in his facial expressions because the Librarian paused before launching into his explanation of magic’s corruption and a stern look came over his face.

  “This is not a subject to be blithe or joyous about, boy. Magic’s corruption is serious business, and seriously dangerous.”

  “I understand that master, I just… I’m eager to learn. To know more about any subject really, but of course about this subject in particular.

  “This I know, but we must treat this subject with the gravity it merits.”

  Turgeon nodded his understanding and Master Jesphat began to lecture…

  “The corruption that results from each fuel is unique to that source, and to the individual. In general, the severity of an individual’s corruption worsens over time and with greater use of the fuel, but the exact tolerance and amount of use relative to the severity of corruption varies from user to user. The reasons for this are not entirely clear to scholars, but there are some interesting theories connecting one’s tolerance to one’s bloodlines. Members of the noble houses in all kingdoms tend to have higher tolerances than others.

  “An interesting theory I have read has even posited that the noble houses are in positions of power precisely because of their greater tolerance for the fuels.”

  Master Jesphat paused there, took a sip from a goblet on his desk and awaited further questions from Turgeon, obviously choosing to force Turgeon to probe for more information.

  “What exactly does the corruption do to the user though?”

  Jesphat nodded and continued, “As I said, it varies by the source. Some sources lead to more severe effects than others, typically in conjunction with the potency of the source’s magic, but not always. The effects of smoke magic corruption are fairly mild. Light users may experience little to no corruption effects outside of an increased appetite after use, some users who are unable to manage this effect become overweight or otherwise unhealthy from overeating. Heavy users incur more long term effects, such as poor memory and a decreased ability to focus on tasks and conversations.”

  “Well that’s not so bad…” Turgeon began before he could stop himself.

  With a chuckle Jesphat nodded, “True, true. Which is a factor in the lax enforcement of the ban on smoke magic in Falkaria. Small-time illusionists are even found at village fairs as entertainment throughout the kingdom and are allowed to pursue their craft as long as they aren’t too obvious about their fuel consumption.

  “But smoke magic’s corruption is the most mild. Powder magic’s corruption is often much worse for the user, and is exacerbated by the fact that the powder itself encourages more use. It is highly addictive in a way the smoke magic fuel is not, leading users to consume more and more rapidly, which quickly strengthens the effects of the corruption. The effects are more severe as well, including loss of sleep and loss of appetite which lead to the user’s weakening physically, wasting away and eventually death.”

  That certainly put a damper on Turgeon’s mood. He had known the corruption of the fuel sources was serious and dangerous business, but he had never considered their misuse could eventually lead to one’s end. It explained why they were outlawed in Falkaria, but made him wonder why they weren’t outlawed everywhere in Atenla.

  In their previous conversations Master Jesphat had mentioned another fuel source and branch of magic, one even more dangerous than powder magic. “Master, what about skag magic?”

  Jesphat sighed deeply as he provided an answer, “Perhaps unsurprisingly, skag magic is one of the most dangerous branches. Whereas powder magic provides its user with seemingly unending magical energy, skag magic users become lethargic and unengaged with the world around them. They also experience a loss of appetite in a different way than with powder magic, and the addiction to the fuel is even more severe. Halting use of the skag fuel leads to severe and painful withdrawal symptoms, many users would rather die than quit. Skag users typically ingest their fuel constantly, regardless of a need for magical power, and as a result can burn out very quickly. Skag users are almost always gaunt and skeletal in appearance, and never have long lifespans.

  “But that’s enough of that for today, it’s time to return to our lessons–”

  Taking what he knew to be a risk, Turgeon interrupted Master Jesphat for one final question on the topic, “One more question please,” he began and pressed on without awaiting an approval, “Can magic users utilize more than one fuel or branch of magic?”

  Jesphat looked nonplussed by Turgeon’s pressing, but answered the question nonetheless, knowing that until the boy’s curiosity was satisfied the day’s lessons could not be productive. “Rarely, yes. Most magic users are only able to effectively metabolize a single fuel. Some can metabolize two fuels, but often these sorcerers will have a primary fuel they can metabolize more efficiently. Rare mages can metabolize three or even more fuels, and in the rarest of cases all fuels can be metabolized efficiently.”

  “‘Three or even more fuels’…” Turgeon quoted back to the Librarian, “Do you mean to say there are other fuels beyond smoke, powder and skag?”

  “I agreed to one more question, Turgeon,” Jesphat began, dashing the boy's hopes of satisfying the itch for arcane knowledge today, “so I will keep my answer brief. There are five known fuels. And that is all we will say on the subject. Now, please open your copy of Redract’s Noble Houses of Summor to the section on the southern houses…”

  The Librarian launched into a dull lecture on the various noble houses in the southern lands of Summor, practically as far away from Falkaria as one could be and still be on the continent of Atenla. Turgeon attempted to pay attention to the lecture but his mind wandered as he tried to imagine what the remaining two fuel sources might be. More questions that would have to wait for another day.