The Mercenary Magus

Tinuso lay like a stone corpse on the southern coast of Gran-Devana.

The old structure of ruined walls, covered in cracks overtaken by moss, hid even older basements. Reinforced by iron beams that had survived the fall of the fort in ages past.

Still many hours before dawn, under the weak light of oil lamps, Daniel Grace descended the narrow steps leading to the dungeons. The low ceiling created a suffocating atmosphere, the thick stone walls covered with stains of moisture and fungus. The air was hot and stagnant, a mixture of oxidation, old straw, and dirty water.

Marks of rust corroded the iron rings attached to chains hanging from above like the remnants of a torture device. Daniel advanced, striking firmly with his cane on the remains of the uneven floor, the echo of his movements resonating in cold notes, while keeping his eyes alert to every shadow.

What was the connection between the Swords and the Warlock’s Crypt? Did Senator Prebito have any link to the revolts in Versagënn? Why were cultists gathering in the underground of Gran-Devana?

He knew that all alliances in that city came at a price, but after his meeting with the King of Beggars, Grace realized he would have to act even faster. There were pieces he could not control moving across the board of power, and he needed to know exactly who was playing with them.

The sound of dripping water echoed unevenly, mixing with the squeals of rats running through the darkness. The rusted bars still marked cells whose plaster walls had crumbled with the humidity, but it was hard to believe that such a decayed prison could hold anything for long.

At the back of the dungeon, under the flickering light of torches, stood Gupta and Thanatos, staring into one of the grim accommodations of that jail with sober expressions. Sallustia, standing, leaned motionless on her sword. Her eyes were sharp, as if every breath of their guest was a threat.

The alchemist seemed the most comfortable in the environment, as if laboratories and dungeons shared the same atmosphere of secrecy and decay. Thanatos, on the other hand, paced in circles with light and exaggerated steps, but the white-painted face reflected a concern that no joke could disguise.

A smell of dried blood and medicinal herbs — the latter the result of Notibus Ravia’s assistants’ work — invaded Daniel’s nostrils as he stopped before the cell and greeted the others with a slight nod. The doctors serving the fort’s administrator had treated the prisoner’s wounds with poultices and bandages, but the embarrassing position in which she was kept was certainly Sallustia’s courtesy.

She sat on a stone bench, her arms shackled to the wall, the blue dress torn at the shoulders, revealing strips of linen protecting the cuts and bruises — and fortunately covering her breasts. Most of her belongings had been taken and placed aside on a small table: the gold bracelet and earring, and a golden sash with extinguished runes she had previously worn at her waist.

Even in that situation, without weapons and with little dignity, she tried to maintain a proud posture. Her red hair, tied in a messy bun, left strands stuck to her slightly tanned fair skin, giving her a wild look as she raised her eyes to meet Daniel’s.

The traveler from another world stood before her, leaning on his cane. He observed her for a moment, wondering how much of what he would hear could be true.

“You can speak now” he said firmly.

Lais raised her chin even higher, her eyes like daggers.

“You treat me like a criminal” the woman replied defiantly, her voice surprisingly firm for someone who had been mortally wounded. “You stripped almost everything from me: clothing, thaumaturgic focus, weapons…”

“She’s still wearing too much clothing if you ask me” Thanatos mocked with a smile full of bad intentions.

“Silence!” Daniel ordered, without taking his eyes off their guest, and with a shrug, the jester withheld further comments.

“I wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t want something from me. You can’t take away what I know, can you?” she continued provocatively. “Or at least, not without a dirty job involved.”

“Perhaps we should start with the basics” Gupta suggested, walking to the table to examine her confiscated belongings. “Who are you? And what were you doing in the Warlock’s Crypt?”

The woman took a deep breath. The dungeon’s cold air condensed into vapor before her lips.

“The name my clients know me by is Lais Ambrosio, but obviously, that wasn’t the one I used to enter the city. I was hired by a magus named Gnaeuso Diusylvin Metiuso, who introduced himself as a counselor for the Swords Party, to deliver a disguised cargo to the city. Nothing more.”

Sallustia frowned.

“Disguised as what?”

“In a coffin” Lais answered without hesitation.

A heavy silence filled the room. The dripping water sounded louder for a moment.

Three victims had been sacrificed by the Yellow Turbans.

“And this cargo was actually…?” Daniel began, but she raised her chained hand.

“I don’t know. They didn’t tell me. Only that it was to be delivered to the city and that the payment would be generous.”

Thanatos arched an eyebrow, a shadow of doubt crossing his face.

“Generous enough for you to accept without asking questions?”

“Generous enough that I didn’t want to waste the opportunity” Lais replied sarcastically. “But instead of gold, I found the Sand-Knowers. I was betrayed.”

The memory hardened her expression.

“And what happened after?” Daniel asked.

“I was captured by them. They would have sold me as a slave if you hadn’t crossed my path.”

“The reptilian mercenaries we killed” Gupta nodded slowly. “The story matches, master de Lio. They did mention selling fresh meat in the Fire Dunes.”

Thanatos let out a brief laugh.

“The irony is that you’re also a mercenary. I imagine you don’t like tasting your own medicine.”

She smiled and slowly crossed her legs before staring at the performer.

“All this teasing sounds like you’re interested in me, jester.”

Daniel once again drew all eyes when the dry sound of his cane striking echoed through the chamber.

“And what’s your specialty, Lais? What makes you useful to someone like Metiuso?”

Her eyes gleamed faintly.

“I’m a magus, sir… ahn… de Lio? My specialty is flame spells. Unfortunately, since I was taken by surprise in the Crypt, I didn’t have the chance to use my full abilities, but I can shape the Aether to ignite air, melt metal, or turn a handful of ashes into a blazing wall.”

Gupta crossed his arms.

“How can we be sure you’re telling the truth?”

“You can’t” she replied with a smirk. “But I can’t be sure you’re any more trustworthy than Metiuso either. However, I have a very good reason to hate him. He betrayed me, and now you know it. Perhaps we can reach an agreement? But I don’t work for free.”

Sallustia stepped forward, her hand still on the sword’s hilt.

“You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“Are you sure you want to kill me?” Lais asked, trying to shrug but failing because of the chains. “And waste the chance to have a magus in your group?”

Daniel pondered the matter and looked from Gupta to Thanatos, and finally to Sallustia.

“What do you think?”

“I say we need her” the alchemist replied, scratching his chin. “We have no one specialized in thaumaturgy. And Prebito has Madame Umbra.”

Thanatos smiled, a half-smile that never inspired complete trust.

“I agree. I like her. Better to have a mercenary like us — easier to measure loyalty in gold coins.”

Sallustia raised her gaze.

“I don’t trust her. She’s dangerous and far too proud.”

Displeased, Lais snorted but said nothing to the paladin.

Daniel ran his fingers over the damp iron bars and turned to Lais, studying her carefully.

“Are you willing to work with us?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“I am. If your cause leads me to Metiuso and gives me the chance to settle scores, I’ll accept.”

No message from the Gift. If she were lying, I would know. That doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy!

The traveler from another world leaned on his cane, tilting slightly forward.

“Then it’s settled. But know this: there will be no second chances.”

Sallustia looked like she was about to protest but held her tongue when she saw Gupta shrug and Thanatos laugh contentedly.

Ravia’s assistants, waiting in the hallway, came back inside to renew Lais’s bandages and reinforce her dressings. The smell of fresh herbs briefly replaced the dungeon’s gloomy odor.

Daniel walked slowly toward the exit. He thought of the King of Beggars’ words, of Varo, and the missing child.

Behind him, Sallustia’s voice echoed firmly, directed at Lais:

“If you try to betray us, I won’t give you time to cast the first rune.”

And thus, in the heart of Tinuso’s dungeons, an uneasy pact was sealed. A pact born of need and distrust.