Templar - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“...finish priming the catalyst. I have some small matter to attend to first, but I expect you to have the preparations completed when I arrive.”

A young junior mage, run ragged if his appearance was to be any indication, bowed his head towards the senior mage who’d just spoken to him.

“Of course, Senior Enchanter.”

The senior enchanter, a tallish, intimidating man with a shaved head nodded in approval. He then turned on his heel and walked off, his strides measured and confident. The junior mages loitering in the hallway parted in front of him like the red sea.

The apprentice, a thin lad with dark hair in an unsightly bowl-cut, slumped his shoulders in exhaustion.

“Well, well - if it isn’t my old friend, Wynden.”

The lad, Wynden, turned to look at the person who’d just spoken to him.

He was a rogueish looking individual, his hair tied back into a ponytail with short stubble growing on his cheeks. He leaned with his back against a doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest. A toothpick, sticking from the corner of his mouth, flicked idly to and fro.

Seeing him, Wynden frowned.

“I heard they finally let you out, Anders.” He looked through a gap in his bangs, his appearance not exactly friendly.

Pushing himself to his feet, Anders walked over to Wynden and slung an arm over his shoulder, mock sadness on his face.

“Wynden, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were unhappy to see me.”

Wyden shoved Anders’ arm off him, his expression irritated.

“I am.” He stuffed his finger under Anders’ nose aggressively. “They punished me too, just because you told me about your hair-brained scheme. Which I  wanted nothing to do with, by the way.”

He gestured to his face, the dark circles under his eyes plain for all to see. “As punishment, I’ve had to work as Uldred’s personal slave for the past year. Look at me, there’s practically nothing left but skin and bones.” He pulled his robe tight over his thin frame, highlighting the outline of his ribs against the fabric. “I’d take solitary confinement over this living hell every day of the week.”

Anders at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“Ah, so that’s why you look like a shambling undead. I though you were just going through a phase!”

His attempt at bringing some levity into the conversation did not succeed.

“Look, just tell me what you want and be done with it. I need to have that bastard’s things set up before he returns from his meeting or he’ll have me scrubbing the alchemy labs by myself for the next month.” Wynden said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.

Anders smiled and, after checking that no-one was paying attention to them, leaned closer to whisper something in Wyndan’s ear.

Upon hearing Anders’ request, the thin mage looked like he couldn’t believe it.

Despite Anders’ protests, he pushed the other mage off him and started walking away, but not before giving ex-friend a piece of his mind. “I don’t want to hear it, Anders. This was, what, the sixth time already? Quit it, while you still can.”

Anders watched his old friend leave in silence without trying to stop him.

When Wyndan’s malnourished figure finally disappeared, obscured by the crowd of students enjoying their lunchtime, he finally let out a sigh. Turning around, he walked off in the opposite direction.

He hadn’t expected to succeed anyway.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In an office near the top of the Circle Tower an old man sat, his head bent low over the table. Squinting at the tiny letters written on the document in front of him, he adjusted the pair of spectacles sitting on his nose with two fingers. However, he was still unable to make out the script.

He sat up and sighed. It was then that he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in.” He said, rubbing at his sore eyes with one hand.

The well-oiled door opened soundlessly and the figure of a young man was revealed, standing in the entrance.

The old man’s expression brightened. “Ah, Anders. I’ve been expecting you – please, do come in.”

Anders stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.

“You asked for me, Master Irving?” He said, looking cautiously at the Senior Enchanter sitting on the other side of the room.

Senior Enchanter Irving waved him over with one hand. “Come, read this document for me. That blasted Wilhelm has such horrible handwriting, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Doing as the First bade him, Anders walked over to the desk and took the document from the old mage’s hand.

“Where would you like me to start, sir?” He asked, looking a bit uncomfortable with the task that had been requested of him.

Irving pointed at a particularly illegible part of the script. “There.”

Clearing his throat, Anders started reading. “...the expenditure for this quarter totaled an amount of three-hundred and twenty-four gold coins, sixty-seven silver coins and five copper coins. It should be clear that, given the rise in material costs, the department...”

The First Enchanter’s face became less and less enthused the longer Anders’ reading continued, until finally he raised his hand, indicating the young mage to stop. “That’s enough.” He said, exhaling through his nose. “Wilhelm must think me nothing more than a glorified coinpurse. When I was in his position, we had to make due with what we were given. Can you imagine? Asking old Remille to...”

One of Anders’ eyebrows twitched. “First Enchanter, I doubt you called me to your office to talk about the Tower’s financial situation.”

Seeing the young mage’s impatience, Irving chuckled. “Very well, then. Since you wish to get to get straight to business, you may take a seat over there.”

Once Anders had settled in, the jovial expression on First Enchanter Irving’s face disappeared. Gone was the kindly old man, replaced instead by the veteran mage who’d been ruling this tower for over fifteen years.

Resting his elbows on the table, and placing his chin on his clasped hands, he looked at Anders gravely.

“What am I going to do with you, boy?”

Anders started squirming in his seat when it became clear the question wasn’t rhetorical. “I don’t know, sir.” He had a decent amount of respect for Irving, and didn’t give him lip as was his usual style.

Irving started tapping the fingers of one hand against the table in contemplation. “If you had behaved, it wouldn’t have been impossible to send you out on a few errands outside the tower.” He leveled a condemning glare at Anders. “But after your repeated trespasses, such a task can no longer be entrusted to you!”

“I had nothing to do with the deaths of those templars! I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, First Enchanter!” Anders shouted, biting on his lower lip.

For a long moment, Irving said nothing. Then, he spoke. “The evidence indeed testifies in your favor. That is why you are sitting here and not hanging from a rope.” However, before Anders could exhale in relief, Irving continued. “That does not change the fact that you have repeatedly acted against the Tower rules.”

Anders clenched his fists under the table, but said nothing.

Seeing his reaction, Irving pursed his lips in displeasure. “Will you not cease your actions?”

Silence was his only answer.

The old mage leaned over the table until his face was only a few inches away from Anders’. “Do not make things difficult for me. I am trying to help you.”

Anders looked off to the side, avoiding his senior’s eyes. After a good minute’s silence, and looking like he was participating in a life-or-death struggle, he finally replied, his voice strained.

“Sir, I will... try.”

Hearing his answer, Irving leaned backwards in his chair, the look on his face softening a tad.

“You’re still young, lad. Don’t throw your life away. Anything can happen in the future.” One hand went to his beard, stroking it in that grandfatherly manner that endeared him to so many of his students. “Besides, tower life is not so horrible. There are many who live out worse fates daily.”

Judging by Anders’ expression, that statement was too bitter of a pill for him to swallow.

Irving chuckled. “Go. I’m sure your friends are eager to spend time with you; you’ve been gone for a long while...” He looked over to the stack of paperwork on his left. No matter what he did, it didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. He sighed. “...and I must attend to my duties.”

Nodding, Anders stood up and made his way to the door.

“Ah, but before you go...”

He turned around to see the First Enchanter holding a glass bowl of hard sweets towards him.

“...have a candy.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anders softly closed the door behind him, suckling on the peppermint stored in his left cheek. Turning around, he saw a face that only soured his day further.

On a carved wooden bench, intended for those awaiting an appointment with the First Enchanter, a familiar figure sat – a male elf. His posture was relaxed, his arms and legs draped over the seating in a loose manner. He held a book in his left hand, lazily scanning it with half-lidded eyes.

Seeing that Irving’s visitor had finally concluded his business, he snapped it shut and made to stand up, tucking the book in the crook of his left arm.

Anders couldn’t stop himself from frowning.

“You have an appointment?” He asked, his tone needling.

Valiën raised his eyebrows in response. Then, as if realizing the intent behind Anders’ question, his mouth curved into a half-grin.

“I don’t.”

“Come back once you’ve scheduled one, then.” Anders said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Judging by the look in his eyes, Valiën found the other mage’s attempt at inconveniencing him to be rather amusing.

“Ah, you’re right.” He said. “The First must be busy – how inconsiderate of me. I will return later.”

Without a further word, he departed, covering the distance to the exit in a few long strides.

‘How galling.’ Anders thought as he watched the elf’s departure. The sheer fucking favouritism that bastard enjoyed drove him insane.

‘His mouth must taste like shit from kissing all that ass.’

In anger, he crushed the sweet he’d been sucking on to pieces between his molars.

‘Whatever. I have more important things to do than concern myself with that fucker.’

The candy had roused his appetite, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He decided to pay a visit to the mess hall. After a year of eating nothing but slop, a piece of their stone-hard bread didn’t sound so unappealing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anders stood in the middle of the mess hall, food tray in hand, looking like a lost puppy. He scanned his surroundings, barely able to see over the stack of buttered bread and melted cheese he’d piled on his tray.

He felt like a stranger, newly arrived at the Tower like all those years age. He sighed forlornly.

‘Things have changed so much since I’ve been gone.’

So many new faces populated the area, people he’d never seen in his time since ‘joining’ the Tower.

He was about to give up and go eat in his room when he spotted a vaguely familiar face, someone he’d never much interacted with before.

‘Well, her company is as good as any’ he thought. It wasn’t like he was spoiled for choice.

Nodding inwardly, he walked over to where she sat and plonked himself down in the opposite seat, not bothering to ask her permission first.

“Hello, Neria. How have you been?”

The redhead had looked up the moment he sat down, her face vaguely recognizing. Then, a moment later, realization finally seemed to hit her.

“Oh, Anders! Wow, you’re finally out, huh?” Her expression seemed genuinely happy for him. “I’ve been well. I’d ask you the same question, but I expect I already know the answer.” She said, smiling apologetically at him.

Anders looked a little surprised at her response. Having someone show some concern towards him felt... surprisingly good.

Smiling crookedly at her, he spoke. “It wasn’t that bad, really. The food was the worst part.”

Looking at the bread on his plate, she snorted. “If you’re willing to eat that, it must’ve been awful.”

Nodding sorrowfully, he lifted a piece of bread to his mouth and took a bite, the incredibly loud crunching noise make it abundantly clear just how hard the bread really was.

After chewing through and swallowing it, Anders raised his hand and made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger.

“Delicious.” He said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.

Neria winced at him, looking at his teeth as he spoke, almost as if she were convinced they’d have splintered into shards after chewing on that rock-hard substance.

Before the conversation could return to the topic of his solitary confinement, Anders pointed to the people sitting around them, addressing an issue that’d been bothering him since he’d set foot in the cafeteria. “What’s the deal with all these new faces? I wasn’t gone that long, was I?”

Neria shrugged, not looking too sure herself. “There have been quite a few transfers happening lately – mages being exchanged between towers. I’m not sure about the reason...” She then frowned, looking sorrowful. “...and more failed Harrowings than usual.”

Anders bit the inside of his cheek. “That’s terrible.”

Neria nodded, then laughed nervously. “There were even rumors going around that Valiën was the latest victim.”

Anders frowned.

Misunderstanding the look on his face, she hurriedly spoke. “Don’t worry, he’s obviously fine.”

“Everyone else gets their heads chopped off, but Greagoir’s pet golden retriever survives. That’s not suspicious at all.” Anders grumbled, unable to help himself.

Neria pinched his hand angrily, upset at his remark. “Why would you say something like that...!”

“What? It’s true.” His expression was unabashed as he nibbled on one of the Tower’s specialty wheat-bricks.

Neria looked like she wanted to come to Valiën’s defense, but before she could say anything, a third voice injected itself into their conversation from behind her.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with him.”

She turned around to see a dark haired mage standing a foot or so behind her, holding a bowl of steaming pudding in one hand. The hall was noisy, and had obscured the sound of his arrival.

Jowan raised an eyebrow at Neria as he took a seat beside her. “Made a new friend while I was away, Neria?” He eyed Anders, the look on his face not exactly approving. “Couldn’t you have picked someone less... I don’t know, troublesome?”

The elfin girl looked surprised and embarrassed at her friend’s remark. She waved her hand at Anders in a placating gesture. “Don’t listen to Jowan. I understand how you must have felt – we all do.” She smiled at him in sympathy.

Jowan shook his head at his friend and sighed. He then turned and looked at Anders. “Since you’re already here, it would be rude to chase you away. Just... if you’re plotting something, don’t get us involved. We don’t want any of your trouble.” He level a finger warningly at the other mage.

Anders raised his eyebrows. “Wow. I don’t remember you being so confrontational, mister Reddick. You were always walking around with your head down – look at you now!”

Jowan frowned at him. “People change. You would know, wouldn’t you... Albert?”

Anders’ eyebrow twitched. “Someone’s been snooping around in the tower archives, I see.”

Neria whirled around to look at her friend in shock.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist! I just heard it from someone else.” Jowan said, rolling his eyes at her.

Anders looked like he wanted to say something, but Jowan continued before he could. “Let’s drop it. I doubt either of us want to discuss the past any more than is absolutely necessary.”

Anders looked unsatisfied at having to end their confrontation at a disadvantage, but he huffed in agreement all the same. After what felt like an eternity in solitary confinement, he needed some human interaction. He’d take one to the chin, as long as it meant not getting shooed away.

“You were in the process of agreeing with me regarding that fellow before we got sidetracked.” He said while raising his glass of honeyed milk to his lips, rebooting their conversation.

Jowan nodded, pursing his lips together. “I was. However, I think we should avoid that topic as well. I guarantee you, it won’t go in our favor.” He looked at Neria with a deadpan expression, the girl already looking ready to defend Valiën against their accusations.

Anders seemed to notice it too. He rubbed at his forehead in exasperation. “Ah, I see. I should have known better than to speak ill of prince charming in the presence of one of his maidens.”

Neria puffed up her cheeks, looking like she was planning to blow her top at the two of them. However, noticing the serious expression on Anders’ face, she stopped herself.

“I’ve been meaning to ask: there’s someone I know – a heavyset boy with dark hair. He should be around sixteen this year. He works in the kitchens under ol’ Nanny. Jamison is his name, but you may know him as Jamey.” He looked at the two of them in askance. “He sneaks me some extra sugar, usually.”

“Died during his harrowing, just after you got locked up.” Jowan answered, his tone blunt.

Neria wanted to slap him, but then her expression turned sad. Jamey had been one of Jowan’s friends. She didn’t understand why he was acting so callously.

“I see.” Anders looked down at his hands, trailing one of his thumbs across his knuckles. “A real shame. He was a nice kid, the happy-go-lucky sort. Didn’t take life too seriously.”

A blanket of silence descended, smothering their conversation. It always hit hard – the realization that someone you’d known for years was gone forever.

Anders slowly sipped his milk. “He asked me to take a letter to his aunt, if I managed to sneak out. She was the one who’d raised him, apparently...” He swished the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. “...lived in somewhere in the Bannorn, I think. He wrote it down for me.”

Frowning a little, Neria spoke. “I don’t mean to pry, but doesn’t the Tower courier letters?”

Jowan shook his head. “Not out into the middle of nowhere.”

A short ‘Oh.’ was her reply.

Inhaling, Anders stood up. “Well, thank you for having me, but I’d better get going. Things to do, places to be and all that...”

“What about your bread?” Neria asked, pointing to the tray of food he’d barely touched.

Anders shook his head, his face looking a little listless.

“...I’ll see you around, you two.”

Neria and Jowan watched on as he left, both of them feeling somewhat helpless.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some time had passed, and evening had arrived. Jowan and Neria were sitting in the common room, engaged in a game of cards. The place was mostly deserted, most students having gone to either the cafeteria or to their dorms.

Neria took a card from her hand and set it down on the table, next to two other cards.

“...and you had the king all along. I should have known.” Jowan sighed, throwing down his hand. “I think I’ll call it for today. I’m a bit tired.”

Neria looked at him in concern. “Jowan... is something the matter?”

He looked indecisively at her, like he wasn’t sure whether to answer her or not.

That was all she needed to confirm her suspicious. He’d been acting out of character lately, and she wanted to know why. “I knew it. Something’s been bothering you. Just tell me, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

He slumped into his chair, his hands gripping limply onto the armrests.

Neria waited patiently while he gathered himself.

“The girl I was with – she... left.” He said, his voice hollow.

Neria first looked surprised, then sympathetic. She honestly hadn’t believed that he’d been in a relationship, but his reaction right now was too real to be faked. “Did she say why she was leaving you?”

Jowan hesitated. “She... didn’t leave me. She just left.”

Neria looked confused. “What does that mean?”

“She’s not here anymore. She left the tower without saying anything.” He said, not looking her in the eyes.

A suspicion struck her. The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. “She wasn’t a mage, was she?” The words burst from her lips in a loud whisper.

Jowan twitched in his chair, startled by the sudden question. Looking around and confirming that nobody was looking, he nodded slowly.

Neria’s hands went to her mouth in shock. He’d get into huge trouble if this ever became known! 

“Was she... a priestess?”

Jowan closed his eyes, his hands going to his forehead. He nodded again.

“Oh. My. God.” Neria mouthed the words silently, unable to believe it. He’d actually been in a relationship with a priestess. She’d no idea he was so daring! A forbidden relationship... How romantic!

Jowan shook his head at her, her reaction making him feel both amused and exasperated.

A depressing thought suddenly struck her, and she couldn’t help but voice it out loud. “I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone.” She said forlornly.

Jowan rolled his eyes inwardly, but he was careful to keep his expression neutral. A crying Neria was the last thing he wanted to deal with today.

“Nobody has ever even approached me.” She shoved the cards on the glass table to one side, trying to see her reflection on its surface. Was she really that ugly?

“That’s because people think you’re in a relationship with me.” Jowan droned monotonously. He clearly wasn’t going to be getting any more sympathy from her now that she’d changed topic, so he decided to just go with the flow.

Neria flinched backwards. She looked over at him suspiciously. “You’re a nice guy Jowan, but it would never work out between us. And starting a relationship with me won’t help you get over your breakup.”

Jowan’s hands went to his hair in frustration. “I’m not trying to court you, Neria. I’m just telling you what other people think.”

She looked unconvinced. “I’ve said repeatedly that I’m not in a relationship with you, and I know you’ve done the same.”

Jowan held his hands in front of him, palms facing upwards. “Well, it clearly hasn’t worked. People still think we are.”

Neria’s shoulders slumped downwards. “I don’t think that’s it. Men probably just don’t find me attractive. Or maybe it’s because I’m an elf...?” Most of the mages here were humans – she wouldn’t be surprised if some kind of bias existed.

“As long as a girl is attractive, nobody is going to care about her race. Trust me.” Jowan said, sounding extremely certain of himself.

Hesitatingly, Neria looked at him, running her hands through her hair and straightening her robes. “Do you... think I’m attractive?”

“You are attractive. I don’t have to think about it.” He said dispassionately.

Neria looked flattered at first, then a little disturbed. “Gross.”

Jowan threw his hands into the air. “Oh, for the love of...! I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, Neria.”

“See you tomorrow, Jowan.”

Once he’d left the common room, a little smile formed on her face.

‘Sleep well. I hope you feel better tomorrow.’

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here you go, sir.”

A young messenger handed a rolled-up piece of parchment to the grey-haired, stern looking man sitting at a wooden desk. He made sure to maintain an expression of appropriate dutifulness as he did so.

Knight-Commander Greagoir stroked his short beard with one hand and took the scroll with the other. Opening it, he quickly scanned the contents out of the corner of his eye. After reaching the end, he tore it up and discarded the scraps into a bin at his side.

“You may leave.”

Not having to be told twice, the messenger-elf quickly scurried out of the room. The old templar’s temper was infamous, and he didn’t want to spend any more time in his presence than was absolutely necessary.

After the elf had left, the old soldier’s face scrunched up into a frown. Gripping his feather quill in one hand, he scribbled irritably on the document in front of him. His handwriting was closer to chicken-scratches than any form of calligraphy.

‘How many times must I repeat myself? Fraternization with mages will not be tolerated!’

His mind went to the most recent offender, a young, red-haired priestess. If her trespass had been reported to a younger Greagoir, she wouldn’t have received such a lenient punishment. As it were, she’d only been shipped off to a cloister somewhere remote.

The feather-quill in his hand snapped, dripping ink all over his desk. In his agitation, he’d been holding it a little too tightly. He looked down at the ruined document on his table, his fury growing. Tossing it into the bin to join the rest of his ‘accidents’, he stood up and exhaled slowly.

He wasn’t going to get any more work done like this. Wiping his hands with an old cloth, he looked over to the clock resting on his bookshelf.

‘The recruits should be in the middle of practice right now. Perhaps I should go supervise them? I’m sure they’d appreciate some senior guidance...’

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. It seemed he’d found the perfect way to help relieve some of his stress.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------