Chapter 13: They Were Wrong

Stryg opened his eyes to a white ceiling. He was lying in the softest cot he had ever known. His body felt weak, but there was no pain. He was wearing different clothes, his hide shirt and pants were gone and had been replaced with a linen tunic and pants.

Stryg sat up and surveyed his surroundings. It was a large sparse room with several more cots lined down the wall. Sunlight shined through two large windows across the room.

Where was he? He tried recalling what had happened. He had been talking with that traitor Karen. Then he was attacked. He had been so weak, yet he managed to fight back.

A small grin crept across his face, despite all odds he had held his own against the group of them. Everything after was a blur. Though, he did remember some guards came and dragged him away.

Stryg reached for his uncovered neck, someone had tried to put a collar on him. What happened next…? Magic? Mage? The voice had said he was a mage. Could it be true, or had he hallucinated the whole thing, in the hopes of escaping his grim fate? He wasn’t sure. Whatever the case was, he needed to get out of this place.

“I wouldn’t get out of bed just yet if I were you,” a woman called out from the doorway.

Stryg’s eyes widened. Her grey hair was bundled up and she wore a silver necklace with a diamond hanging from the center. Wrinkles danced on her face, as if celebrating life, not the sign of age. But it was the pale red skin and two fangs slightly jutting from her lower lip that caught his attention.

“You’re an orc,” Stryg sneered.

“Yes, Mr. Obvious,” Celica said. “But, more importantly I’m a white mage and more relevant to you, I’m the healer who patched you up, so you best listen to me.”

“Wait, you healed me?”

“Your wounds, yes. I couldn’t do anything for your daft brain though.”

Stryg frowned, confused. “But, why? Orcs are enemies of goblin-kind.”

Celica raised an eyebrow, “Since, when?”

“Since your people slaughtered my people at the Silent Marshes,” he glared at her.

He should have been scared of this mage, but the previous night’s fight had drained his last bits of self-restraint.

“That was over 300 years ago. No one is left from that time,” she muttered.

“And yet my tribe and so many others still suffer from what the orcs did.”

“Tribe? You… You’re from Vulture Woods?” she asked, surprised.

Stryg nodded in silence.

Celica sighed, “It was war. Orcs had been stranded in the cruelest of all Realms, they were fighting for survival.”

He struggled to his feet, “Don’t worry. I understand. The strong take from the weak. The goblins lost the war. Orcs reaped the spoils of war. I hope you’re as understanding when the same happens to you.”

Celica’s amber eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky I treat my patients equally, whether they are orcs or goblins. So long as they have the coin, I’ll patch them up.”

“I don’t have any coins.”

“The captain covered your medical fees. Didn’t want a mageborn dying under his watch, especially because it’s his job to keep our Trade District safe and all.”

“Mageborn?” So, it hadn’t been a dream, Stryg thought. “...I’m a mageborn?”

“Yes, now sit down before you hurt yourself. I may have healed your wounds but it took its toll on your body, you lost a lot of blood. You still haven’t fully recovered. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you can even stand.”

Stryg sat down and looked at his shaking hands. Mageborn. The word echoed in his mind. Mageborn.

It explained the night vision and frayed rope. He thought there was a chance, but he hadn’t held hope. He didn’t dare think he could be more than what he had been told he was.

All the insults he had endured throughout his life flashed through his mind. That he was a freak, that his existence had amounted to nothing, a shameful blotch on the tribe’s honor. They were wrong. He was more than what he appeared to be. Tears poured from his eyes as his shoulders shook unrestrained. They were wrong about him.

“You just found out, ey?” Celica shook her head and smiled.

A knock rang at the door.

“Hope, I’m not interrupting, ma’am,” Rorik said. He looked unsure of what exactly was transpiring.

“Not at all. We just have a crybaby over here.” Celica pointed a thumb at Stryg.

Stryg couldn’t find the energy between the tears and shuddering breaths to hiss at her.

“Is the patient fit for travel?” Rorik asked.

“He is still weak,” Celica said, “but I think with a little help getting up, he can endure a carriage ride. Now, get this ungrateful brat out of here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Rorik hurried to the goblin’s side and offered him a hand.

Stryg reluctantly took it and hobbled across the room. As they reached the doorway, he stopped and looked back at the orc woman. “What is your name?”

“The correct way to ask that question is, ‘may I ask your name, my beautiful savior.’ And the name is Celica of House Skeller. You can call me Celica.”

Stryg nodded, “Celica... thank you, for healing me.”

“You’re damn welcome,” she smirked.

Stryg wiped away the last of his tears and made a small bow.

~~~

Rorik led Stryg outside to a waiting carriage tied to two harnessed centaurs.

“Our garrison’s own personal carriage,” Rorik said. “Please, get in.”

Stryg looked at the drow. The only reason he hadn’t tried running away already was because Rorik had brought him to Celica to be healed, so he clearly didn’t want Stryg to die. But, last Stryg checked, this Rorik person had ordered him to be enslaved.

“Where are you taking me? What exactly is going on?” Stryg asked cautiously.

He scratched his head, “Right. I have to catch you up. Stryg, right? I am Rorik of House Polamtal, a captain of the guard in the Trade District.”

“Mm.”

Rorik cleared his throat, “Ahem, well, Stryg, last night you were found to have broken our city’s laws by trespassing inside our walls without a name-plate. Normally, the punishment for such a crime is to be shackled with a docility collar immediately and be sentenced to slavery.”

Stryg turned to run.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Rorik raised his hands, panicked, “We’re not going to do that. Or anything of the sort. Please, just let me explain!”

Stryg paused. His legs really needed a rest. He hoped he would have the chance. He watched the drow warily.

Rorik sighed, “Thank you. Last night, when we tried to put the collar on, it failed. Mr. Granby, our garrison’s mage, said it’s because you're a mageborn. Now, Hollow Shade has very unique rulings regarding mageborns, such as yourself. Our city is eager to have as many magi as they can. Therefore, we will overlook last night’s crime. In fact, the city is willing to pay for your education at our magic academy, so long as you sign a contract to serve as a mage to the city for ten years, after you graduate. You will be paid of course, during your years of service.”

“...So, let me get this straight,” Stryg said. “If I work for the city for ten years, I'll learn to be a mage?”

The offer they made sounded wonderful, almost too good to be true. Shamans were valued greatly by the tribe, Stryg knew this. It made sense why magi were valued similarly here in this place.

Sure, ten years was a long time, most goblins he knew were killed before the age of thirty. But if he could learn actual magic, then he’d be able to hold his own, he’d have power for the first time in his life.

Rorik nodded, “That is correct. It’s my job to ask if you are willing to accept the city’s contract. If so, I will personally escort you until you are settled into the academy.”

“Why are you going so far for me?” Stryg asked, suspicious.

Rorik pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s not that I particularly want to. But you are a mageborn and our city puts a lot of importance on making sure it gets as many magi as it can. Since you have no related affiliates and you were found under my watch, as a captain of the guard, it is my duty to make sure you are offered the chance to attend Hollow Shade’s magic academy, and all the implications that entails. So, do you accept this contract?”

Rorik hoped the boy would say no. The captain had stayed at Celica’s clinic all night. He just wanted to go home to his wife and get some sleep.

“I do.” Stryg nodded, his lilac eyes bright with hope.

Shit, of course you do, Rorik thought glumly. He smiled painfully, and held an arm towards the carriage, “Please, after you.”

Rorik needed to play nice, it was stupid to try to antagonzie a mage for no reason, even a novice such as this. It would be better to win the goblin’s favor in hopes that one day the goblin would pay it back.

Stryg jumped up the tall steps leading into the carriage. The interior was covered in simple brown leather seats. They were quite soft, though not as soft as the bed from this morning.

“To the magic academy,” Rorik said to the centaurs at the front, before he entered the carriage and sat across from Stryg.

Stryg marveled at the view from the window, he had never been this high. He had technically climbed taller trees before, but this felt different. His view was constantly shifting as he watched the people pass by beneath him. It was as if he had become a giant towering over the rest.

“We’ll first get you tested and enrolled at the academy,” Rorik said. “Once that’s settled I’ll take you to get your name-plate.”

“What’s the exact purpose of a name-plate anyway?” Stryg asked, though his eyes never left the window.

Rorik reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rectangular bronze slab, etched with several sigils. “A name-plate is very important within Hollow Shade. It serves as one’s identity. It’s what lets someone get into the city and wealthier districts, along with being able to shop at high-end exclusive stores, and various other privileges. Speaking of which, how exactly did you get into the city without a name-plate?”

Stryg frowned, “I was captured by a poacher in Vulture Woods. He dragged me to this place. He was planning to make me a slave and sell me. I escaped before he had the chance.”

Rorik laughed. Stryg glared at him.

Rorik raised his hands, “Sorry, I meant no offense. It's just that had the poacher actually taken you to get a docility collar, he would have realized you were a mageborn and would have been forced to do what I’m doing right now.”

Stryg sat back, stunned. If he hadn’t tried to escape, he wouldn’t have had to suffer? He wouldn’t have met Karen or her gang. He had just made his own situation worse. He had messed up like always. He sighed in frustration.

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it,” Rorik said. “At least you didn’t get caught by the sentinels.”

“Sentinels? What are those?”

“They’re bad news for someone like you. They are undead raised by the black magi of the city, tasked with keeping the streets safe at night. The sentinels wear steel masks and dark cloaks. But if they find someone without a nameplate in a poorer area like the Commoner District, the sentinels will seize them. People who resist are normally put down.”

“Put down?” Stryg frowned. He remembered the monsters with chains that had attacked the first night in the city. He had been lucky to get away. The humans he had been with were not.

Rorik put his bronze name-plate away, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore though. We’ll get you a name-plate right after registration.”

“What happens if someone doesn’t have a name-plate in one of the wealthier areas?” Stryg asked.

“Huh?”

“You said sentinels seize people without name-plates in the poorer areas. What about the wealthier areas?”

“Oh, well, if someone doesn’t have their name-plate in places like the Villa or Bourge Districts, the sentinels will simply ignore them. After all, the person probably forgot their name-plate at home.”

“But what about the people in the... Commoner District, who forgot their name-plate at home?”

Rorik shrugged, “The poor can’t afford the same privileges as the rich.”

Stryg nodded grimly. He finally understood. The rich were the strong and the poor were the weak. Or he supposed that they were rich because they were strong. It didn’t make much of a difference, the rules of the wild applied here just the same as they did back home.

“Rorik, what happens if a rich person forgets their name-plate and is caught at night in the Commoner District by a sentinel?”

“Rich folk don’t have any reason to visit poor areas like the Commoner District. But if for some reason they did, I imagine the sentinels would leave them be, based on their clothing and other affluent items, such as a fancy carriage or something of the like.”

“Is this a fancy carriage?”

Rorik chuckled, “Hardly. This is as simple as it gets.”

Stryg sat in thought for a moment. “What if I forget my name-plate at night while being in the Commoner District?”

“You would just need to cast a spell and the sentinels would recognize you as a mage and probably leave you alone I’d wager. Best not to try and prove that theory though.”

So it came down to power again, Stryg thought. He needed to learn magic as soon as possible.

“Magi are valued everywhere, especially in Hollow Shade,” Rorik said. “Few people in the world are mageborns. With all the savage warlords and their tribes roaming throughout Dusk Valley, we need magi to help keep the trade roads open and safe, along with all the villages that pay tribute to the Hollow Shade.”

“Sounds complicated,” Stryg muttered.

“...You’re not from around here, but you should know, a lot of people, especially the middle and upper class, the kind of people you’ll meet at the academy… They see goblins as a below average species-”

“What?” Stryg hadn’t heard of this before. Goblins were a proud species. Sure, they were smaller than most, but they were skilled and fierce. Who’d dare think they were below others?

“But,” Rorik lifted his index finger. “You’re a mageborn. Magi can rise high in this world, no matter their background.”

The carriage stopped. Rorik glanced outside the window, “We’re here.”

Rorik opened the carriage door and stepped out. He looked back at Stryg and smiled, “Welcome to the Scholar District and one of our four first-rate schools, Hollow Shade’s prestigious magic academy.”