Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 407

The boiling pit of hatred Nick was feeling wasn’t what he expected a teenager to be capable of, not without significant trauma, but it seemed like he’d either underestimated Marius’ attachment to his cousin, or something else had happened.

This wasn't the simmering resentment of a noble losing a debate, nor the cold calculation of a mage plotting a takedown after being humiliated. It was the desperate malice of someone who had nothing left to lose, nothing like what Marius had been like just days earlier.

Nick didn’t call out to him. He stepped back into the shadows of the tavern’s awning, letting the [Ring of Unknowingness] dull his presence while he layered the [Mire of Avarice] over himself.

He watched Marius kick a cobblestone, take a deep breath, and keep walking down the alley.

He’s not being sneaky at all, but I can tell he doesn’t want to be seen. Where are you going, Marius? Nick wondered, slipping into the alley behind him.

He kept his distance, tracking the emotional trail rather than the physical form. Marius guided him away from the main streets, away from the bright lights of the festival preparations, and into the older district near the southern river gate, where no mage of the Tower was likely to stumble upon him.

Finally, he stopped in front of a modest tea house called The Weeping Willow. It was a respectable establishment, frequented by merchants seeking a quiet spot to discuss contracts, if what Nick was sensing was any indication, but at this hour, after the lunch rush and before teatime, it was mostly empty.

Marius hesitated at the door, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, before pushing inside.

Nick waited for a moment, then followed.

The interior was softly lit by paper lanterns, creating a cozy atmosphere, while jasmine incense filled the air. Nick moved quietly across the floorboards, ignoring the sleepy hostess who barely looked up every few minutes, and headed toward the private booths in the back.

He found Marius in the last booth with the privacy curtain drawn.

Nick didn't try to peek inside. Instead, he leaned against the wall of the adjacent booth, closed his eyes, and expanded his [Territory] just enough to sense the vibrations of the air, bypassing the secrecy spells.

...said you would be alone," Marius’s voice trembled, though it was hard to tell if it was because of the deep anger he felt or because of who he was meeting.

"I am alone," a second voice replied. It was smooth, lacking inflection, and sounded strangely hollow. Nick struggled to get any emotional detail from it, and he wondered whether it was due to an artifact. He knew Tholm had similar ones, but they couldn’t be that common, which meant this person was not some insignificant patsy.

"Sit, Marius. Drink. You look like you need it.”

"I don't want tea," Marius snapped, the china rattling as he slammed his hand on the table. "I want answers. You said you could help. Things aren’t looking good, and we don’t have much time.”

"Joran died because the Tower is weak," the hollow voice said. "Because Tholm and his pets played politics with the Crown while good blood is spilled, and things are only going to get worse if the temples are allowed to establish themselves fully. Your family will be among those swept away in the tides.”

That's not necessarily a wrong assessment, but I don't like where this is headed.

“So something must be done to break them," Marius whispered. His hatred flared up again, hot and acrid, and it was clear he was ready to do anything.

“Exactly. The Festival will happen when they strike, seizing control of the city, and that can’t happen if we want the Tower to regain its independence, and for things to return to their natural order.”

Although Nick couldn’t quite grasp the other man’s signature, he got the feeling that he didn’t really care much about the Tower’s condition. Those were simply the words needed to steer Marius in the direction he wanted.

There was the sound of heavy fabric moving. "Take this.”

“What is it?” Marius asked.

"A catalyst," the voice explained. "It was attuned to the resonance of the Tidemaster’s staff with great effort. When he begins the Blessing, you will have a chance to correct this wrong.”

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"And what will it do?”

"It will invert their fortunes," the voice lied smoothly. Nick could sense the deception, though he couldn’t tell what its purpose was. "The miracle will fail, their control will crack, and the people will see that their Gods cannot protect them from the realities of magic.”

I know enough about divine rituals to understand that any kind of active disruption would be very risky, and since he’s lying, I’d bet this would result in way more than just a failure.

“Won’t they blame the Tower for this?” Marius asked, revealing a surprising spark of clarity amid the haze of overwhelming emotions.

“They might, but by then, it will be too late,” the voice answered, and this time, it was with genuine honesty.

Yeah, if the blessing blows up and kills the Tidemaster, I bet they’d be too busy to take advantage of the chaos.

“There will be some turmoil, but that was always inevitable,” the voice continued. "And in the chaos, true change can start. Do it for your family, Marius. Do it for the blood.”

"For the blood," Marius echoed. There was the sound of a chair scraping back.

"Go now. Do not return here.”

Nick pressed himself into the shadows as Marius burst out of the booth, clutching a small, lead-lined box to his chest. He looked feverish but strangely focused as he rushed past Nick and out into the streets.

Nick didn't follow him, focusing on the booth. The curtain parted, and a figure dressed in grey stepped out, heading toward the back exit.

From a distance, Nick kept following until they reached a small courtyard filled with empty crates. The figure stopped in the middle of the yard.

Turning the full might of [Empyrean Intuition] on it, Nick did his best to see through the layers of shrouding magic, and what he found wasn’t what he’d expected.

There was no spark of life, no emotion. Just a complex, unraveling knot of mana held together by a distant will.

It’s a puppet, Nick realized, kicking himself for being so slow. A construct.

The figure collapsed. The grey cloak crumpled to the ground, empty. A pile of dust and a small, crumbling clay rune were all that remained inside.

Nick stepped over and nudged the cloak with his boot. The clay rune crumbled into powder upon contact, leaving no trace.

“A self-destructing messenger,” he murmured, “I hate it when my enemies are smart.”

And despite what seemed like a shared goal of disrupting the festival, he had no doubt they were enemies. The person behind the puppet didn’t just want to prevent the capture of the ether, and it definitely wasn’t for Marius’ benefit.

Whoever it was—and there was a cast of characters it could have been, from Hone to the Circle of Pure Souls, to other nobles—they intended to cause a massacre, and although Nick couldn’t see their purpose, he couldn’t let it happen.

With a sigh, he left the alley and headed back to the Tower. “I guess now I have an excuse to talk with Tholm.”

Tholm was standing by the balcony, looking out at the city in a pensieve mood. He didn't turn around, but Nick could tell he had noticed him.

“I’m starting to doubt there will ever be a day when you come to me with a study problem, rather than a dangerous new conspiracy,” he said, and Nick had the good grace to feel a bit chagrined.

“I would apologize, but this time I really didn’t have anything to do with it,” he replied, and Tholm turned around with a mildly amused look.

“Alright, explain.”

"I was in the city," Nick said, carefully omitting the meeting with the nobles for now. “When I sensed a disturbance. I followed Marius Illismonde to a tea house in the southern district.”

Tholm’s eyes narrowed before he nodded in understanding. "Joran’s cousin. A volatile boy.”

"He met with someone," Nick continued. "Or rather, a construct, and was given an artifact, a catalyst of sorts. He plans to use it during the Festival, right at the peak of the Tidemaster’s blessing.”

Tholm walked over to a chair and sat down heavily. "Did you see this artifact?”

"It was shielded," Nick said, shaking his head. "But the contact told him it would invert the flow and cause a backlash. I think it’s going to act as a bomb, Archmage.”

Tholm closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Hone," he whispered. "It has to be, it’s just like him to set up a meeting that far from the Tower to avoid any culpability. He’s willing to burn the city to force everyone’s hand.”

“But why?” Nick asked. That was the thing he couldn’t reconcile. For all that Archmage Hone was a prideful man, he didn’t seem insane, or at least not without some form of logic backing him up. Killing the Tidemaster and a good portion of the clergy would definitely set the temples back, but it would also mark a huge target on the Tower.

Tholm waved him off, apparently not as confused. “He has probably established multiple layers of separation between himself and this operation, and if it comes down to it, I have no doubt he has retained enough from his collaboration with the Circle to pin it on them.”

“Ah.” Nick seriously doubted anyone would listen to the Circle when they denied any link to the attack. If they even did. Those people were just as fanatical as some of the worst priests, and it was possible they might accept the blame, seeing it as a good thing.

“He must be stopped, but I’m afraid it won’t be easy,” Tholm murmured, glancing back toward the city. “Everyone with any power is watching my actions very closely right now, and approaching an apprentice directly would definitely trigger some contingency. If I alert the Spellblades or the Prosecution, it will be seen as retaliation against House Illismonde rather than a real concern. They will be able to keep delaying until it’s too late.”

“I can do it,” Nick volunteered. He’d already planned to disrupt the festival anyway. This would add a layer of complexity to the whole operation, but then again, when had he ever done things for a single reason?

Tholm looked at him for a long moment, noticing the calculation in his apprentice’s eyes. He probably suspected Nick had his own plans and wasn’t sharing everything, but ultimately, he was a pragmatist.

"I cannot officially sanction an operation that might damage the Temples," Tholm said formally. "However... I can ensure that the eyes of the mighty are looked elsewhere.”

He stood up.

“The Duke has invited the Archmages to a viewing platform for the festival's duration. Although I initially didn’t plan to go, I haven’t responded yet, so it’ll be easy to arrange my presence. With me there, all the other true powers of Alluria will be compelled to attend, or they risk leaving me with the Duke. The Tidemaster and the Bishop of Sashara will both need to stay until the very last moment, leaving you as much room to work as possible.”

That will also put you all within range of the explosion. An explosion expected to kill the Tidemaster, so it must be genuinely dangerous.

He didn’t say much. Tholm would probably set up his own precautions to stay safe, and he didn’t need to remind the old man to be careful.

With a nod, he sealed the deal. “I’ll handle it.”

I hope Xander won’t mind tweaking our plans a little. This Marius thing might be annoying, but it actually presents an opportunity.