79 - Zaverton

The sun had set by the time Sable made it to Roman’s hut. Sable knocked, taking care to not rattle the entire building. She was growing quickly accustomed to handling her newfound strength, though she slipped up here and there. Fortunately not at Sunstone. She wondered whether higher level adventurers mismanaging their strength was a common problem, or just a problem she had, since she’d come into her power much faster—and in a stranger way—than most.

Roman answered, her usual frown Sable’s only greeting, and she turned and waved her in.

“How’d it go?” Roman asked, not a person for frivolity. Sable much appreciated that, actually.

“Good,” Sable said. “Illuminating, if in a mundane way.”

“Any complications?”

“What makes you think there would be?”

“A dragon masquerading around a human town? Yes, that’s totally the sort of thing that is guaranteed to go off without a hitch.”

The sarcasm didn’t bother Sable beyond the usual amount—if anything, she found Roman’s short demeanor entertaining and endearing more than difficult to be around. She never seemed truly poor tempered, just like she didn’t have great control of her mouth.

“I’ll have you know it went swimmingly,” Sable said, settling into the chair across from Roman. The kitchen table was absolutely packed with various papers, journals, and books. The dark-haired mage had been in the process of some research project or another—probably related to her skeletal hand. Sable wondered briefly where she’d gotten all of the books from. Or more specifically, how she’d gotten them here. To a random cabin in the middle of goblin territory.

“Swimmingly,” Roman said. “And what’s the but?”

“There is no but,” Sable said. “Besides a slight detour.”

“Oh, gods. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sable said defensively. “If anything, it was their fault.” She realized her responses were actually painting herself in a more dubious light. “There was a group of missing adventurers. They asked me to help, so I did.”

Roman blinked at that. It probably hadn’t sounded like the ‘detour’ she’d been expecting. “Sorry? You went and helped some random town with missing adventurers?”

“The goal was to familiarize myself, anyways,” Sable said. “I didn’t mind lending them a few hours of my time. I accomplished everything I needed to otherwise. Even received a small award from the guild.” She had, of course, turned down Miss Draper’s offer of payment—though doing so had also made her skin itch in an odd way. A few more coins on her hoard would never hurt. But it wouldn’t have felt right. And would have been a totally inconsequential payment, anyway.

“Huh,” Roman said. “Maybe you’ll fit in better than I thought. You got your maps?”

That had been the most important piece of the trip. Roman wasn’t familiar with the Kingdom of Auldstone, and so making a proper path across the continent all the way down to nearly the Reaper’s Wasteland was going to be a trip and a half. Sure, Sable could fly at ridiculous speeds, but even so, she wouldn’t be flitting back and forth between the Red Plains and Wastehaven with total ease. Not until she put on many more levels, at least, and her travel times improved further.

“Both of the continent and Auldstone,” Sable said, withdrawing the scrolls and passing them over. All of her pouches and packs had been magically transported along with her, remaining even through dragon form—an awfully convenient feature to the skill.

Roman scanned the maps, though didn’t seem particularly interested in what she found. Of course, she was more than aware of what her home continent looked like. Her green eyes roamed the Kingdom of Auldstone, briefly, before she nodded and bundled the parchment up and set it to the side.

“We’ll figure out the exact trip details in a moment,” Roman said. “You’re planning to set out tomorrow? Or later?”

“Tomorrow,” Sable confirmed. “I don’t have the luxury of working at anything except a quick pace.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’re packed?”

“I am. I’ll be ready to set off.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though I’m not looking forward to that.”

That sort of distance while being carried in Sable’s claws? Or perhaps on her back; she hadn’t actually tried that yet. It felt undignified. But carrying Roman by claw for so long might be unreasonable. Either way, it would be uncomfortable for the woman.

“Remember, we’ll need a lot of gold,” Roman said. “Lacking influence, connections, or anything else, the only real way to solve our problems will be through the use of coin. A powerful mage isn’t going to take time out of her day to cloak you—much less train you—in enchantment magic without meaningful incentives.”

“Skatikk is arranging a tributary system,” Sable said. “And I certainly have enough to last us the first day, which will be simple introductions to the city.”

“Don’t overestimate how rich you are,” Roman said. “Making an empire is a lucrative business, but here? You’ve got a lot of treasuries to pilfer, but they’re goblin treasuries.”

“You don’t think it’ll be enough?”

“Oh, it will be. But you won’t be much more than the equivalent of moderate nobility by the weight of your purse, so to say. Be aware of that. Plenty of doors will stayed closed until you can throw around serious coin—enough to make even the high nobility pause. And explaining how you got that kind of wealth would come with its own problems. Attract eyes best not attracted.”

Sable waved her hand warily. “Another of a million problems. We’ll tackle them as they come. More than strategy, I actually came to talk with you.”

“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“About you, I mean.”

Roman paused. “Ah. How so?”

“I’d like to know who you are,” Sable said. “The details behind your affliction, and whatever trouble you got in with the Tower. Your family name. You’re not a commoner.”

“What makes you think that?”

Sable raised her eyebrows. “Commoners don’t have the education you do. Or speak like you. Or talk so casually about wealth—you know I almost made the receptionist faint by trying to exchange a bag of gold?”

“Well, it’s a lot of money, but not that much.”

“She would disagree, I think.”

“Hmph,” Roman said. “Well, yes, you have it right. I was a member of a noble house.”

“Was?”

“Disowned, now, almost certainly,” Roman said. “Not that I know for sure, I suppose. But I got three prominent mages of the Tower killed, and am a wanted criminal, so—I think it’s a safe assumption.”

“Right. And the details over that.” Sable was somewhat impressed at how casually she spoke of the event. Was she that callous? Or had she simply had time to come to terms with it? Sable was more than aware that Roman seemed to be a person for who having a strict moral compass wasn’t high priority, but she didn’t get the feeling she was evil. Her speaking so casually about having gotten several people killed concerned Sable.

Roman sighed. “Is there a point in discussing the details? It was a mistake. An avoidable one, caused by my own recklessness, and which had catastrophic consequences—for both me and those affected. There’s little more to be said.”

“Regardless, I would like to know the general picture,” Sable said.

Roman frowned and considered her. Finally, after a long moment of starting—in which Sable didn’t flinch, holding her gaze evenly—Roman reluctantly responded.

“Necromancers don’t have the best reputations, and I supposed I reinforced that stereotype. I became involved in some, let’s call it, taboo topics during my studies at the Tower. To be specific, I was looking into methods to extend one’s life—not immortality, specifically, but any increases to longevity.”

“That’s taboo?”

“Not for the aim itself,” Roman said, “but because of the consistency of disastrous results.”

“Ah.”

“I was no different,” Roman said, skeletal black digits tapping against wood. Her posture showed agitation, though subdued—she was keeping control of herself, but with visible effort. “Arrogance, ambition, and a lack of wisdom. It’s a deadly combination. My experiments spiraled. I created a sort of … disease. Unintentional, obviously, a mutation of my true goal, but intention doesn’t matter. It spread to all three of my roommates—and, of course, myself. The Tower quarantined us before further catastrophe. My roommates didn’t live. I did. I was due for trial, but fled. That’s the short of it.”

Sable studied Roman quietly. Her voice had grown stiffer and stiffer with each subsequent sentence. She sounded in control, but only in a very rigid sort of way.

Sable had been curious about the details, but that hadn’t been why she’d pressed. She’d been looking for some sort of remorse, because the first callous summary had concerned her. But while Roman had come to terms enough to the event that she could speak of it in a terse manner, Sable also saw grief and regret. Her heart panged, once, for the traumatic story. She knew Roman could hardly be called innocent. She had gotten people killed with her recklessness. But regret did count for something.

Sable would probably be doing worse before the year was up, and intentionally. With ultimately altruistic goals, yes, but still—could she judge Roman, really?

“I see,” Sable said. She knew Roman well enough that conciliatory words were absolutely not what she wanted. Rather, Sable simply moved on. “And your name? Your status? I realize Wastehaven is in a part of the world you’ll almost certainly not be recognized, but I need to be aware of who my allies are.”

Roman relaxed—if still stayed somewhat tense. Her family name and more distant history was an easier topic than the disaster she’d concocted at the Tower, but probably not something she was fully comfortable with. She had been disowned. What kind of family had she left behind?

“My full name is Roman Zaverton. House Zaverton is a small, unimportant noble family from the Kingdom of Everthrone. The odds of anybody recognizing me in Auldstone is next to zero. There’s several kingdoms separating us, and House Zaverton isn’t prominent to begin with. Only someone explicitly hunting me will recognize my face. Which, again, is more than possible.”

“I understand.”

“There’s little more to say in that regard. I’m sure you don’t need to know my family crest or the breakdown of my family tree. As far as political threats—so long as we’re in Auldstone, I imagine there’s next to none.”

“Next to none?”

Roman shrugged. “I would hardly pretend it’s impossible for someone from Everthrone to visit Auldstone. They’re not allied kingdoms, but they’re not hostile. Wastehaven is unimportant on a global scale, though, and so is House Zaverton, so it would really take a fluke.”

Sable had experienced more than a few flukes in just the past two weeks, so she tucked away the possibility. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

“Now,” Roman said, “we’ve slightly more important things to be discussing, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Sable agreed. “We do.” Namely, Wastehaven, and their plans for both getting there, and their goals on arrival.