The sanctum was a gigantic citadel that sat squat like an expensive toad in the middle of the city. Iwy didn’t know much about the history of Riestra but it seemed more and more likely that the city had grown around the wizards. Tons upon tons of white marble stretched to the sky and ended in a myriad of towers, some connected by small bridges. Ornate windows were scattered thinly around the walls in seemingly perfect symmetry. A long open court lined with statues of former Archmages led to the front gates where a throng of robed people marched in and out.

  Wizards, Iwy learned, were magnificent. They did strange and unspeakable things, most of which the general public never knew about until a befuddled demon stepped out of a rift in the space-time continuum during rush hour, something was burning for a very, very, very long time, or, back in the old days, two rival wizard factions caused a mostly accidental massacre.

  The only reason wizards weren’t the ruling caste was that after centuries of shenanigans people were ready to murder them in their sleep. It needed certain circumstances to dispose of monarchs, and the right people to do it, like true heirs and power-hungry viziers, otherwise where was the style? Monarchs, after all, were needed. To install roads and such. Keep other kings from pillaging. They had their use, alright.

  Wizards, on the other hand, served largely the same purpose as Solstice feast decorations. Some of their work trickled down to the general population, like boil cures, fast tea brewing spells, and gadgets that could cut your toenails for you, though the original use had had something to do with wasps. Non-magic people could get scarily creative in the disposal of magical but non-useful rulers and even the most powerful, tower-dwelling, shield-conjuring, skeleton-guard-summoning, teleporting-around-space-and-time, pointy-hat-wearing wizard had to eat and sleep and use the facilities at some point.

  Attempts at magical domination had been made, of course. They had been thwarted either by a well-timed hero chosen by the gods (who liked a bit of fun as much as other people) or an otherwise unremarkable assassin who had a liberal attitude towards privacy on the privy.

  And thus, the mostly useless wizard community thrived on the premise that they created jobs in their citadels, donated to the community (‘taxes’ was such an ugly word), protected people from terrible interdimensional beings and phenomena beyond any scope of the imagination, and kept incidents that resulted in rifts in the time-space-continuum to a minimum. They held long speeches about the noble aspirations of magic, how the ruling of the land should be left to those unburdened by their glorious arcane purpose, to which people nodded and left them alone. And things were good for a while.

  In the present, Iwy looked up to the white towers and hazarded a guess how the wizards funded this amount of fancy. Did they have a treasure detecting spell? A blackmail-the-king-spell? Were the founders simply unbelievably rich?

  She hoped they had a cleaning-up spell because the building looked like a lot of work to keep in order.

  Iwy had convinced Triand to put her shirt on the right way around and button up her robes. They were following a group of three wizards at a distance, two with the traditional grey hair and beards. They all wore colourful, elaborately embellished robes and carried long staves with so many symbols and decorations carved into them Iwy expected the wood to snap in two any moment. Some of them held gemstones at the knob. Triand might not go for first impressions, but these wizards definitely did.

  She nudged the older woman. “Why do wizards carry staffs?”

  “Staves. There is a long, occult explanation, but lemme put it this way: If some spell goes wrong, do you want a stick to explode or your hand?”

  Iwy looked at the floaty and glittery bits that swirled around the staves. Some of them changed shape at intervals. “Then why are they all tarted up?”

  “To tap into magic. Certain things give you a better connection. Some also like to store excess power in them. For emergencies when you need more than usual.”

  “Huh. Like winter stocks.”

  “Sure, why not. They’re also good for hitting people.”

  “I’m guessing that’s mainly why you have one.”

  Two wizards were arguing beside the decorative rose bushes as they passed.

  “Mysonax the Scholar once proposed a theory that everything in existence has a secret true name that gives you power over the entity if you know it.”

  “So, this shrub here could be called, what, Herbert? Herbert, move aside. Herbert, you obstinate fu...“

  Iwy nudged Triand again. “What are they talking about?”

  “Some theory about the origin of magic.” She looked over. “Let’s move faster, it’s about to get ugly.”

  In the background, someone yelled, and it smelled like smoking greenery.

  “I thought we ... they ... were only supposed to use magic when they had to.”

  “It’s different for them. I’d use it all the time too if I didn’t have my predicament.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “You’re sick?” Iwy’s thoughts turned back to the hospital. She hadn’t seen the mage do anything tremendously impressive so far. Influencing wasps might be useful, but somehow Iwy had expected wizard magic to be more ... sparkly.

  “No. Someone else is.” As always, Triand didn’t elaborate.

  Here they were. The Arcane Sanctum of the Wizards of the Order of Ebonmight. At least that’s what it said above the gate. This seemed more like a guild than a society of magic wielders. A guild with exorbitant membership fees.

  Iwy squinted at the gold script. “Not very arcane, standing in the middle of the city.”

  “I know, right? Drives me bonkers, too. We won’t stay long, I just need to get into the library.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “I studied there.”

  “Do you think they’ll remember you?”

  “Of course! I was one of their best students.”

  Triand made use of the knocker. After a while, there was a sound of footsteps. The door opened into darkness ...

  “Oh no, not you again!” A portly wizard in blue robes with a beard that could double as a scarf stood in the doorway. He didn’t make any move to let them pass.

  Triand grinned disarmingly. “Come on, I just need a peep at the library, I’ll be gone before you know it.”

  “Under no circumstances will you enter these halls!”

  “I thought you were their best student?” Iwy whispered.

  The unbearded portion of the wizard’s face turned red. “Did she say that? Last time she was here she near blew up the sanctum!”

  “Oh yes, there was that,” Triand muttered. “Well, that was twenty years ago. Water under the bridge, right? You’ve built it up again, I see.”

  “We have enough trouble already without having to deal with you too! I’m warning you, if you set foot in here, you’ll find yourself in a cell.” And with that, the door was slammed. Inside, at least six locks clicked.

  “That went well,” Iwy commented.

  Triand shrugged. “Ah, well, wizards, can’t trust that lot anyway, in intrigues and petty rivalries up to their moustaches, probably better if they don’t bother us.” She looked around and gave Iwy a signal to follow. They took an obviously nonchalant walk around the building.

  The back of the citadel was noticeably less glamourous and less marbled. The smooth white pavement of the court turned to regular cobblestone. Iwy could smell something cooking.

  They arrived at a wooden door that seemed to be the delivery entrance. A small woman older than Triand was sweeping the stoop.

  A broad grin spread across the mage’s face. “Hello, Farond, my beauty!”

  She ducked just in time to avoid the broom.

  “Don’t you try this with me, Triand!”

  “At least you still remember me.”

  Farond leaned on her utensil. “Well, when a girl sneaks out five times a week you don’t forget her.”

  “Especially if she bribes you on her way back in.”

  The woman scoffed but seemed amused. She nodded to Iwy. “You’re a bit old for her now, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not like that,” Iwy said quickly. Oh gods, did they look like a couple? Had anyone else they passed that day thought they were a couple?

  “She’s my apprentice,” Triand added, apparently unbothered by the assumption.

  “You? An apprentice? Is this one of your pranks?”

  “Nope. Listen, I need to get into the library real quick.”

  “What for?”

  “Return a book I forgot all about. It’s a bit overdue, the fees will be astronomical, but I have to do what’s right.”

  Farond leaned the broom against the wall and dug a pipe out of her apron pocket. “You always were a terrible liar. What did you do this time?”

  Triand lit the pipe for her. “Nothing. They just don’t want to let me in the front door.”

  “Was an awful lot to clean up last time. S’not every day someone takes the roof off.”

  “That was when I was leaving. Now I want to get inside. Nothing bad has ever happened when I went inside.”

  The woman blew a smoke ring in her face. “Beer spills on the ceiling, all the imps turned loose, tapestries developing sentience, a girl chasing you with a fork ...”

  “She got the wrong drawer. Come on, please? It’s for all humanity.”

  “Alright, that one’s new.”

  The apparently infamous mage played her last card. “I have money.”

  “Now we’re talking. Though what I really need would be a new pair of boots. Mine are all walked through.”

  Somewhere in Triand’s forehead, a vein twitched as she reached into her robes’ pockets. “Well, don’t tell anyone, but the leatherworker on the street across the Odd Parsnip Inn has new merch.”

  Farond let the coins drop into her apron. “Guard’s change is at midnight. Come back then, I’ll let you in. Take the old passage through the kitchens.”

  “Oh, I remember that one. Do you still hide your pipeweed there?”

  “Yes, so hands off.”

  Triand nodded seriously and turned back to the street, Iwy trailing behind. “Looks like we have some time to kill. How about we teach you some basics?”

  “If you come near me with a coin again ...”

  “You can keep it if you summon it.”

  Far away from the city, far away from the country, someone surveyed a map. It was not a common map. Cartographers everywhere would curse the day and form a union and lobby against this sort of map if they knew it existed. It was a slightly transparent orb, bigger than a human head, shimmering as it turned in the lamplight. The outlines of continents and countries were accurate enough to make the cartographers’ union leaders eat their hats.

  The someone selected an area for further inspection and the map changed. And changed again with another touch, drawing ever closer until main roads and travel routes became visible.

  “You said she was spotted on this road?” The old wizard leaned back. He squinted at the map. Small dots of orange appeared on it every now and again, indicating places where powerful magic was used. This was another feature he had built in. Nothing of the sort was indicated on the road to Riestra. Then again, the technology was still in its infancy, unable to detect anything less than a veritable mountain of magical residue, but he was working on it. Until this was ready, he had to rely on old-fashioned espionage. But the future was near. He would make sure of that.

  He scoffed. “Hm. Riestra. The city of all our ruin.” He gestured to the lightly trembling persons in front of his desk. “Find her. Be careful.”

  There was also the fringe possibility of people paying another wizard to take out the annoying colleague, but that was never discussed in polite company.