IoaUM Chapter 3

In my experience, jail itself isn’t too bad. Sure, there’s not a whole lot of freedom or things to look at, but the times I’ve been in jail, it’s mostly been a good time to rest and wait around. Even better in this case cause a photomancer had come and triaged my finger, so the break was mostly healed. But where the real problems begin is when people start wanting to talk to you. I’d hoped beyond hope that, once we got to the garrison, that I’d be thrown into a cell to “cool my head”, but Silvara was smarter than that. Even Unbound to any of the major families or public institutions, as a Mage I had certain rights that even the Blues couldn’t get around.

“Tell me again why you were looking for this Rydin Ladar?”

“Lydin Ragarr’s family is concerned about him. Hasn’t shown his face back home since he was last spotted working in the Greens. Hired me to see if I couldn’t find him.”

“Mmm. A garden-tender, right? Did he get swallowed by his garden?”

“No, a streetsweep, and he reported back to his foreman. Nobody saw him after that.”

“But didn’t you say you saw him?”

“No. I’ve been looking around for him. Asked at the Greens garrison and his work, they didn’t see him, so I came here.”

“Then when you visited the garrison…”

With a force of effort, I kept my eyes from glazing over or my mouth from running needlessly. I’d been questioned by faux-polite and interested Blues at least a dozen times a year in my life and I’d long since learned not to run my mouth while in the garrisons; that was one of the best ways to give them more opportunity to keep holding me. This was the fourth run-through by the second Arcane Guardsman of what I had seen and experienced, and I hadn’t contradicted myself once. This current interrogator, a bland faced woman named Miria whose blouse and skirt were the epitome of prim and proper, continued to glance at me over her half-moon spectacles while assiduously taking note of everything I said. 

In the unblinking light of the new electrical bulbs, the interrogation room was featureless and dull, the only spot of color in there besides myself being Miria. She was unfamiliar to me, which wasn’t surprising, and her black hair was carefully styled in pin curls, the rest hanging behind her back. I was most familiar with the patrolling Guards, and here in the Docks garrison (the one closest to where Silvara and Morg had taken me into custody), I was even less familiar with the usual faces. I continued answering her questions mechanically, correcting her where she’d deliberately fished to see where my story would falter. After the fifth round of questioning came to a close, she snapped her notebook closed and locked eyes with me, the watery blue of hers meeting my own. 

“Unbound Mage Krollas, on behalf of the garrisons of the Docks and Greens as well as the whole body of the Arcane Guardsmen, I thank you for your cooperation.”

“Of course. I’m just glad that I’ll be able to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

Her face twisted into an apologetic smile and my stomach dropped. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but due to the lateness of the hour, it is unsafe to release you at this time. We will ensure that you can safely rest here until full light tomorrow, and we will be sure to accommodate you to the best of our abilities. Please, let us know if there is anything that we can do to help make your unexpectedly lengthened stay more comfortable.”

“Unexpected?” I scoffed, then fought to control my face and body language as I rose to my feet and took a deep breath. With a more measured tone, I spoke. “Look, Guardsman Miria. I am a full Mage. I can walk the streets from the Docks to my home in the Hearth in less than an hour, and through that time, I am more than capable of keeping myself safe. Thank you for the concern, but I am going to leave.”

“I’m afraid not, Unbound Mage Krollas. You know the Arcane Guard’s absolute focus is the maintenance of the security for all residents of Kormos, from the Magistrate himself to the most insignificant street orphan.” The last three words were deliberate and grated on me, pushed me to lash out even though I needed to master myself.

“I know what this is!” I shouted, failing to control myself, “You can’t keep me here any longer, and this is just another one of your damned tricks. I can leave, I have rights as a Mage of this city, and you can no longer hold me! The law demands that a Mage can only be held by the Blues for five hours, and it’s been longer than that, so I’m leaving!” I strode forward towards the exit, looming over the shorter, seated woman. She didn’t stand to respond to me.

“I apologize again for the inconvenience, but you are no photomancer, so there is no guarantee for your safety outside of these walls. The Docks garrison cannot allow you to leave at this time.” Miria’s face remained deliberately sympathetic, hearing my words without listening to them. Her end of her response, though, changed the worried anger in me to pure, unadulterated fury. “If you continue to rebel against the Guard’s command, you will be helped to regain your calm within one of the obscuramite cells.”

“Ash you and your garrison. You can’t force me to stay overnight in prison like this! There’s no evidence, and you cannot stuff me in that cell!” My voice rose and cracked as I shrieked in visceral fear, and I fought to control myself enough to begin working a spell construct in my mind, one that would subtly redirect anything that approached me. At the flare of my temper and the subtle pressure from my magic being invoked, the previously unflappable Miria began to show real signs of fear and she stood to retreat into the furthest corner of the room while crying out for help. I hated it, but she could treat me like the villain, so long as it guaranteed me my freedom.

I tried the door. Locked. Spitting curses to myself under my mind, I dismissed the mental construct for the broad kinetic aura of magic, instead creating a much simpler but delicate working that would allow my spectral hand to float through the door without being dispelled. Without my ashwood rod to function as a focus for my spell, I couldn’t use any of my typical time-saving measures. As the internal three-dimensional spellweave snapped into being, I laid my spectral hand against the light sheets of metal that made the door. 

“Diapero.” I commanded, and my hand began to push through the steel. It couldn’t move quickly, but even so, with an effort of will, I willed the magically created hand onward. Just as I began to sense my fingers pass through the far side of the door, it opened. With a very manful startle and jump, I stepped back from the surprisingly opening door. Would I fight my way free? Could I? No, I couldn’t, I quickly decided. There were definitely more than enough of the Guard here to subdue an unequipped, unprepared Krollas. That decision made, I quickly stepped back, acting like the entirely trustworthy individual I was.

“Hello, how are you doing?” I asked. The Blue who walked in was obviously not an office worker like Miria, her shoulders broad under her well-fitting uniform. Again, I didn’t know her, but her obvious beauty struck me from continuing my ingratiating talking. Some people were naturally beautiful and simply enjoyed the benefits that they received from them. Others saw their allure as the weapon it was and sharpened and honed it until it served as a sharp blade that could cut through much of the mundane difficulties of life. This Guard was of the second type, and thus dangerous.

The human Guardsman had auburn hair, and she took special care to wield her beauty with grace, her bright lipstick drawing attention to her full lips. Her carefully styled makeup and pin curls worked together to frame and accent the art that was her whole face. She wore the gray shirt and black pants of a patrolling Guardsman, and both fit her well and fetchingly accentuated her body. Hazel eyes glared slightly up at me as she quickly appraised the situation.

“Unbound Mage Krollas?”

As smoothly as I could manage, I spread both my arms and offered a courtly shallow bow. She was unmoved as she continued, “The previous decision to keep you here overnight has been overruled. You have an escort back to your home waiting outside. Please gather your things and leave the Docks Garrison at your earliest convenience.” Her words were polite but her tone was telling me to jump into the river and let it drag me to my agonizing death. My attraction to her faded as I leveled my gaze at her.

“So the Docks garrison is openly admitting that they made the decision to imprison me beyond the legally permitted window of time?”

“We would never do such a thing, esteemed Mage Krollas. We would never inconvenience you or act in any way unbecoming of the position we hold. We of the Docks garrison only ever work in the best interests of Kormos and her inhabitants. The mere thought of purposefully troubling your distinguished self is appalling.” The Blue didn’t even try to inflect her words, derision obvious in her stance and tone. “Now, kindly collect your things and leave.” She didn’t look at me again before stepping close to her coworker and placing herself between me and Miria. I was the victim here!... but I still felt badly as I looked at the terrified office worker who had only been doing her job and now, because of me, was a trembling mess in the corner. Ash me.

Even so, it wasn’t the first time I’d frightened someone, and it wouldn’t be the last. I fought to shake her tear-streaked face from my mind as best as I could as I stepped out into the featureless hall. These electrical lights were unnatural, and in long straight halls like this, it was impossible to see where the sharp corners came and ended. Regardless of the labyrinthine structure, though, I’d been hung out to dry. With a sigh, I turned here and there, relying on my memory as best I could before I found myself at the front desk, where an impassive-faced Morg leaned against a wall and looked me in my eyes. She obviously wasn’t holding my confiscated paraphernalia, so I turned to the receptionist.

“I’ve been told that I’m free to go, and that there will be an escort to take me home. Could I please have my things?” I asked, trying to make as good of an impression as possible on the kindly-faced man who sat behind the counter. He mumbled his assent and I turned to the Blue in the corner. “Are you my escort?” I asked Morg as I waited for the receptionist to finish sorting whatever paperwork was necessary for him to begin to return to me the few things that had been confiscated from me upon my arrival.

“Nope.” Morg responded, pushing herself away from the wall to loom over me. “I just have some news for you once Mathis here finishes your paperwork. Your escort’s waiting for you outside”

“Oh. Ok.” I rocked back on my heels, trying to look as relaxed as possible as I was forced to continue waiting for the slow cogs of bureaucracy to finish turning. “Please don’t tell me that it’s Silvara out there.” I asked. Morg scoffed.

“We don’t actually want you two to kill each other. He’s a good Blue, even if he’s a right bastard.”

I scoffed, conceding nothing before abruptly changing the subject. “How’s your practice going? You master any new petty magics?” I asked the half orc as she continued to size me up. It wasn’t uncommon or impolite for an orc to treat someone like this, and I had long learned to deal with orcish culture so I returned the studious gaze myself. 

Morg stood over seven feet tall, but different from most of the Blues, she wore the navy blue uniform peacoat over the more comfortable gray button-up shirt. 

“Gonna answer my question, Morg? I taught you a couple of those myself, just wanna see how you’re getting on.”

“No more petty magics for me to learn.” Morg allowed with a little grunt. “May be a half-orc, but the orc is too strong to let me be a full Mage like you.”

I sighed. “Maybe so. Any questions?”

“No.”

She didn’t want to talk, which I could respect, so I turned back to the receptionist. “You got my stuff?”

“It’s all here. Get home safe.” Though harried and obviously tired, the man gave an honest smile and passed over my wallet, jewelry, and casting rod. But something was missing. Before I could speak, Morg’s voice rang out and filled the reception area, her tone even and practiced.

“Unbound Mage Krollas, the origin of distribution for your coburite is unknown, and though you are an authorized individual, it is suspected that the alloy you currently have attuned to your casting rod is illegally sourced. As such, it will be kept in our custody until its creator and origin can be found. If you have any information that can lead us to your source of this coburite, divulging it will help us in our search.”

Again, before I could voice my protestations, a voice interrupted me, but this time, one that fought to make me smile despite the injustice of the situation I was in. The older, distinguished gentleman chuckled lightly, though the authority in his voice brooked no disrespect or delay in response. “My boy, I’ll walk you home and make sure your things make their way back to you.”