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Stepping Wild, Draft 2, CH 90
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 13:00:09 +0000 UTCThe display room at the university didn’t get many visitors. Tibs hadn’t bothered with it, or those in the previous ones, because they wouldn’t tell him anything about what he was looking for. Those that had essence showed what was possible, but Tibs still had no idea how to weave. Nothing came from his few attempts; not even hints as to how he could get them right. The few scraps about weaving he came across in his research were records of details a sorcerer had let slip as part of a discussion, but they lacked the context that might give them usable meaning.
He looked at the unassuming spear, under its glass box.
But if the guild wanted this, shouldn’t he research it? Find out if there was something he could use against them? That they might use against him?
The wooden shaft and metal spearhead were in good condition. Most likely a result of the denser essence in it. The adornments were simple lines on the shaft, an etched flame in the center of the spearhead. Only the work of tools, as far as he could sense.
The wooden card under it had word in multiple language providing details.
The Corbin Spear
Found in the Kingdom of Joleis. At the ruin of an unidentified city believed to have been called Carsitar.
He’d seen the kingdom’s name as part of his reading, but couldn’t recall details. The city was unknown to him as well. And he’d never come across a spear named after someone called Corbin. Or even that name in relation to the guild. Shouldn’t he have read about that in everything he researched on the guild if that was the name of the man who had created it?
“Quite the artifact, isn’t it?” the woman who’d positioned herself next to him said.
He’d sensed her, but she didn’t have an element. Until she spoke, he figure she was one of the few scholars studying the items here. Now he knew she was who Alistair had spoken with.
He had to figure out how to tell ordinary people apart by more than what they wore. A guard out of their armor could still pose a threat. He should be able to do it. As he’d told Karliak. No one’s essence was exactly the same.
It was simply so thin among common folks it didn’t feel worthwhile.
“It looks old,” he said.
She chuckled. “It is. Older than most histories.”
He pointed to the card. “Then how do you know what it’s called?”
“Research, of course. What do you study?” she asked in a quizzical tone.
“Books.”
Her laugh was airy. “Yes, as do most of us here. What is the subject of your research?”
“The dangers of the world.” What he read supported that, if she bothered looking.
“That is an unusual area of research. I’ve never met anyone investigating that specifically.”
He shrugged.
“And is that why you are interested in this item? It’s a weapon, therefore dangerous.”
“I overheard you and that man. It made me curious.” She had noticed him watching, so he wasn’t revealing anything.
“Curiosity is a good thing in a researcher. Tell me, Tilan. Where did you train?”
“Trustost University.”
“A good place to learn. What brought you to this unusual field of study?”
“Curiosity.”
She laughed again. “You are indeed unusual. Most here will take every opportunity to speak of what interests them. The difficulty is often in getting them to stop.”
He shrugged.
“Still, I am curious. There are many fields that could interest a man such as you. Why chose one that won’t change much of our understanding of the world?”
The snort was unbidden.
That understanding they were so proud of seemed to lack in what mattered, and wrong in so many places.
But she wouldn’t appreciate hearing that.
And, as always, he had a ready story.
“My mother.” He kept his eyes on the spear. People found it easier to believe stories when they had to pry them out of the person who’d lived it. He wondered if the flame on the head represented that it had been able to turn that essence within it into an attack.
“She had an interest in the wilderness?” she prodded.
“It took her from me,” he replied flatly. The rope holding the head in place had more wood essence than the shaft, and had to account for it not being even frayed.
“And that prompted you to understand how it could happen?”
He made his flat tone forced. Someone controlling his reply. “Nearly dying from it made me want to find out why anyone would make roads through it, and make it easier for the wilderness to take people.” The guards’ laughter ran in his ears and turned the act real as he swallowed the anger.
“The world is harsh,” she said in a conciliatory tone. “I’m glad you had people to help you and that you used what happened to shape your desire to understand it.”
The anger that made him bat her hand away from his shoulder was unexpected. “I fought my way to be admitted to the university.” Alone. A thing to those on the Street that did notice him. “I struggled alone.” Scrapping for the little he got. Broken coppers vanishing in exchange for nowhere near enough food. “I wasn’t one of them, coins overflowing their pockets for anything they wanted.” Pain a constant companion, the only companion. Surrounded by buildings that formed his prison. “I earned my place here through work.” Thrown into the dungeon. So many died. “Not through help.”
Finally, he got his anger under control and rubbed his temple in an attempt to push the rest down.
She didn’t react to what had to have been an offensive act. Tilan was so far below her she could have him expelled with a few words. “I am still glad you took hardship and made something of it. Many join our institutions hoping to be spoken of, instead of seeking to help others through our understanding of the world.”
“You told that man the spear was connected to his guild’s creation.” He didn’t want to risk her asking more questions and reigniting his anger. “How so?”
She joined him in looking. “Little is known about the man who founded the adventurer’s guild. He is reputed to have been a great fighter. Someone with an element. And had an unbreakable will. He tamed kings and forced reason on them. Forced them to stop fighting over dungeons, and made the organization to stand between the two. There were many attempts to remove him. To destroy what he built.”
“But the guild is still here. Him?”
She laughed. “No one lives so long. Not even with an element. But it wasn’t age that took him.”
“The battle of Thuross?”
“So the stories claim. The dungeon unleashed creatures on the city. He and many adventurers defended it. They stopped it, but at great cost. The kings tried to remove the guild after that, but what he’d done inspired others to stand, and it endured.
“Who was he?” he couldn’t contain the awe. Even if only a small part of the story was true, the man had accomplished something great. What would he think of what it had become?
“His name is lost to time. All that is left are his exploits, and some of the items reputed to have been his, like the Corbin Spear.”
“Is it special?”
“It is enchanted. We had a sorcerer test it.”
“What does it do?” Even knowing there was a weave among that dense essence, he couldn’t find it.
“Nothing, anymore, according to him. The enchantment degraded into the rest of the essence that make the spear. Too little is left to understand it and remake it. The stories that survived ascribe so many magic to it that, if true, it could to anything.”
He stared at her, and she chuckled.
“And that is a problem with items from so long ago. All that survive of their exploits are the stories. And after so long, none of them are true anymore, even before the bards decide to use them to entertain the masses.”
“Can’t you use magic to find out?”
She looked at him quizzically.
“I read about adventurers with the Void element. They can see events out of sequences. Wouldn’t one of them be able to tell you what actually happened to it?”
“That is odd knowledge to have come across in your research on the wilds.”
He chuckled. “No one writes about how and why the wild is dangerous. It’s all notes scholars make in the margins of books they write about what actually interests them. I have to read everything in looking for what helps me. Some of it stays in my head.”
“Someone must have tried it, as knowing such things are vital to our understanding. But my role, in regard to these items, is seeing to their preservation. To ensure no further damage is done, so that those who must study them can do so.”
“Or so you can give it away in exchange for favors,” he said in a neutral tone.
“Field research is dangerous. I expect that is how many of those margin notes end up there. Having an organization like the adventurer’s guild look at us favorably helps ensure our researchers survive those dangers to make those notes.
If the spear’s enchantment no longer worked and couldn’t be remade. It was nothing more than a spear. Of course, someone could be lying. She wasn’t, but the sorcerer they paid was connected to the guild. She wouldn’t know if they lied. And they might have known the university would return the spear to the guild if there was nothing special about it.
Ifs and could haves.
Insanity waited for those who traveled too deeply into that forest.
What mattered to him was if he believed depriving the guild of the spear would hurt them enough to make the risk worthwhile.
It didn’t. The only people affected would be those who cared for its history.
“Thank you for answering my questions. I need to return to my reading.”
“Of course, sharing knowledge is part of why we are here.”
Only for those who have the money.
*
“How about a drink?” Charlie asked, falling into steps with Tibs. “I’ll pay for the ale.” He patted his pocket and smiled in satisfaction. The man wore better clothing this time. Nothing ostentatious, but close enough to what Tibs wore, they didn’t attract attention.
“If I agree. This is the last time.”
“Why would it be? Me and my team will be here a while. We’re still working on lining up a job.”
“Because I don’t linger on the people from my past. I look forward.”
“Isn’t that lonely?”
He shrugged. Loneliness was preferable to the pain of losing people.
Charlie watched him. “Okay. We share this drink and I go away.”
They stepped into the next tavern they encountered and Charlie got them tankards.
“What have you been up to?” the man asked, sitting as he placed Tibs’s before him. “It’s just the two of us, Thibaud. You don’t have to lie.”
“I traveled.”
“I don’t think you do ‘traveling’. You go places with a goal. You do what you planned, then you move to the next place. I don’t know why you spend so much time in the library, but everything you did was to help make that job happen, or to pay us.”
“I like to read.”
Charlie snorted. “Heard this song, while we were holed up in a traveler’s inn, waiting for a storm to pass. It’s about this guy, the Green Grifter. Went around talking the nobles into giving their money to those in need. Was quite a success until they trapped him in his hideout and burned it down, with him in it. Sounds a lot like what you did back home.”
“It’s the Green Drifter,” Tibs said in disgust. “And there was no talking involved. They’re always changing what happened.” Charlie was already certain it was him, and it had been a few years before, so there was no point in lying. “And they didn’t trap me. The nobles don’t bother with thieves themselves. They pay guards and adventurers. There was no plan to burn the house. It wasn’t my lair, just the one I’d prepared. I made it happen because I’d done everything I’d set to do and I was ready to leave.”
“So, all those stories bards sing about, all those flamboyant thieves through the years. They were you?”
Tibs rolled his eyes. “Do I look that old?”
Charlie chuckled. “They inspired you.”
“Not just me.”
While not as prevalent, those kinds of songs could be traced to centuries before Tibs borrowed the idea.
“They’re always singing about that kind of stuff. I figure I’d make it easy on them. And they still change how it happened.”
“Making stuff up is what they do.”
“Then they should stop claiming they’re singing the truth. How many people only have bards to go one as what exists in the rest of the world?”
Charlie smiled. “You can always correct the next one to sing the wrong version.”
“How would I know it’s wrong?” he asked, offended.
“Then you should stop caring what people believe.”
That kind of thinking was why people thought the adventurer’s guild was there to protect them. That it knew better than everyone.
They drank in silence.
“What happened to you, Thibaud? What made you so driven to read?”
“I told you. My mother was taken from me. I had to survive.”
“That explains the thievery. Not the reading. Scholars read. Sorcerers read. Even nobles don’t read the way you do. What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.”
Charlie watched him. “Whatever it is…” he seemed to work up his courage. “I’d like to help.”
Tibs shook his head. “You have a team.” He wasn’t dragging anyone with him. He wouldn’t be responsible for the guild killing those around him.
“Thibaud, they don’t—”
“I hope the job goes well.” He stood and walked away, leaving the past behind, again.
