Libriohexer ~ 23!

Sam cleared his mind, squared his shoulders, and casually strode beneath the portcullis and into the courtyard situated outside the eastern entrance to the Mage’s College. Today was the day they were going to break the College… or die horribly in a blaze of glory.

The College was a rather unimpressive structure that looked like an enormous soup can sticking up into the air. The courtyard was just as unremarkable as the tower itself—a few neatly manicured trees and a handful of benches for the contemplative soul. There was no art to be seen, no epic statues of wizards in battle or dragons taking flight. It looked less like a place of arcane magic and mystery and more like a dark-ages IRS building—an establishment dedicated to upholding stuffy laws and the endless minutiae of a grand bureaucracy; which, when he thought about it, Sam realized that was exactly what it was.

But despite being as boring and uninspired as drying paint, it was also a place filled with danger. The IRS might not have seemed as scary as the CIA, but from Sam’s limited experience in pre-law, they were the far more common and vicious foe.

He reached up and absently adjusted the clear mask covering his face. That mask was a specialty item that had come deep from the vaults of the Upright Men. It featured the grinning portrait of ‘the Gray Fawkes,’ the infamous Thieves’ Guild Leader who had first organized the Upright Men during the early reign of King Henry some two hundred years ago. Once upon a time, the thieves of Ardania had been little more than squabbling street gangs, fighting over table scraps amongst themselves while trying to avoid the cruel justice of the King’s justice. Then the Gray Fawkes had come along, forging those gangs into a single organization, powerful enough even to put the Monarch on his heels.

For someone like Sam, that mask was worth its weight in gold. With a thought and a whisper of mana, Sam activated the item’s potent effects.

Mask of the Plucky Rebel. Leading an insurgency? Grand plans to take on a tyrant? Just want to crash into your friend Aaron without getting found out? Well, never fear, the Mask of the Plucky Rebel has you covered—quite literally! With this bad boy, you can be someone else, at least for a little while. But great power comes at a great price; I hope you like facial hair and an air of smirking smugness, because you’ll have that in spades.

By activating the effect, the wearer receives a randomly generated username, and any negative status tags are replaced with neutral status tags for the duration of the effect. Moreover, any bounties you may receive while wearing the mask with the effect activated will disappear when the mask’s effect lapses. +2 Charisma while worn, +1 Wisdom, +1 Luck, Active Effect ‘Social Chameleon’ can be activated once every twelve hours with a duration of one hour. Side effect: Regardless of gender, while wearing the mask, you assume the distinguished facial hair of the Gray Fawkes himself.

The mask shifted and changed, blending seamlessly against Sam’s face, though leaving behind a telltale set of rosy cheeks, a rakish mustache, and a razor-thin soul patch.

For the next hour, he was a different man with a different name and a sparkling clean slate. Any guard that looked at him would see what Sam wanted them to see: a Mage of the College in good standing. Sam reached up, adjusted the deep cowl covering his luscious locks—there was no getting rid of those—then straightened the sleeves of his elaborate caster’s robes. The robes were crushed velvet in a deep shade of purple and studded with gems. He should’ve stuck out like a sore thumb, but nearly a third of the Mage’s milling about in the Courtyard sported similar garb: members from the School of Silence.

Sam paused and glanced back over one shoulder as the rest of his crew spread out in a loose circle around him. They looked as different as Sam felt. Finn wore his finest robes, though his were burgundy and accented in gold, common attire for a Mage from the Society of Flame. Finn had his cowl pulled up as well, casting his face in deep shadow. Sphinx and Kai both wore cheap brown initiates robes, cinched about the waist with lengths of coarse rope.

Dizzy and Arrow sported a pair of counterfeit guard outfits, which they had from the last time they’d broken into the College. Dizzy had swapped her trademark War Maul for a rather plain iron mace, and Arrow had a quiver of arrows riding one hip and an unadorned wooden bow slung across his back. Neither one stood out in the press of bodies, especially with all the other guards casually circulating through the crowd.

The last time they’d infiltrated the College they’d come by way of the sewers, but this time they were going to waltz right in through the front doors. Assuming everything worked according to plan, they would waltz right back out the same way. The notion was so ludicrous and daring that Bill was sure the Arch-Mage would never even consider the possibility. The man was powerful, but didn’t have an ounce of imagination. After all, no one would be stupid enough to simply walk into the most powerful and illustrious organization in all Ardania—especially not with every licensed mage in a five-hundred-mile radius in attendance.

“Alright, old chap,” Finn murmured softly beside him. “Are we sure we want to do this? This is our last chance to turn back.”

“You know we’re not going to do that,” Sam shook his head in annoyance. “You sure you’re not ready to turn back? You’re the only one who won’t respawn if everything falls apart. I won’t judge you if you decide to call it quits.”

“No, no. I’m not going to abandon you,” Finn’s lips pressed into a thin line, then he reached over and clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Besides, the plan will only work with me. None of the others know how to navigate the College. It’ll all be fine. And if not? Well at least it’s been a one helluva an adventure.”

He straightened and tugged on the lapel of his robes. “See you in the Repository.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sam returned his friend’s smile with one filled with concern. Finn peeled off to the left, and the rest of the Wolf Pack trailed after him, leaving Sam and Bill alone in a sea of snooty faces and arcane enemies.

The others were bound for a spatial corridor that would eventually dump them into the College Dining Hall. They would hit the kitchen first, where Sphinx would add something particularly nasty to today’s soup. Blackfyde Tonic. It was an insidious poison, totally benign until it was broken down by the digestive acids in the stomach. The moment that happened, the toxin would seep through the mucous membrane lining the intestine, and enter directly into the bloodstream. The toxin wasn’t typically lethal, but it would cause hysteria, paranoia, and a terrible case of irritable bowel syndrome. Those were only secondary side-effects.

With a bellyful of Blackfyde Tonic it was nearly impossible to channel mana. It would temporarily cripple the spell casting abilities of any mage unlucky enough to get a full meal. That, and sending them running to the toilet for the better part of the next two days.

From there, Finn would usher the Wolfpack through the annex, down the spatial spiral, and into the deep bunker where the Repository was located. Then they’d hunker down and wait for Sam. Getting into the Repository of Trustees wouldn’t be much trouble—not with Joe’s trial in full swing—but getting back out would be another story, especially after they started massacring the Mages responsible for holding the College infrastructure together.

That’s where Sam came in.

<Get your game face on,> Bill ordered him sternly. <You’re a Mage. You belong here. Everyone is beneath you. Basically, they’re bugs not worth noticing. Just keep telling yourself that and you’ll fit in fine.>

Sam lifted his chin and tried to plaster the most condescending look he could muster all over his face. Back in real life, he’d had a school acquaintance named Barron Calloway. Barron had been the star quarterback, the son of a US Senator, and the biggest bully Sam had ever met. He was the kind of guy who would’ve fit in perfectly here—probably would’ve been besties with Octavius. So, Sam just channeled the essence of Barron as he strode toward the main entrance. “Just bugs beneath my notice.”

There were a pair of guards standing sentry at the door, but with so many mages trickling in and out through the doors, they didn’t even spare a glance at Sam as he swept into the corridors of the College proper. The College itself was a maze, the endless hallways all virtually identical to one another, and thanks to the power of spatial magic, none of those corridors connected in a way that would make any discernible sense to an outsider. Thankfully, Sam had Bill. Bill had been around longer than anyone in the College—save the Arch-Mage himself—and had actually been buddies with the first Rituarchitect, Sage Cognitionis, who’d designed the bulk of the College.

<So far, so good,> Bill sent the red flag into the air, and Sam knocked on some nearby wood to stave off bad luck. <Hang a left and head for the archway with the radial spokes.>

Sam didn’t hesitate. Confidence was the key to victory, and even a moment of uncertainty would be a warning to any mage or guard in the vicinity. Robes swishing around his legs, Sam strutted for the archway as though owned the world and everything in it, College included. He carefully noted the runes carved into the archway stones. Those markings were the real key to navigating this place. They acted as a set of complex instructions for those initiates with a discerning eye. There were hundreds upon hundreds of different symbols. Although Sam only knew a handful of them from his time at the College, Bill had every single runic combination memorized.

Sam stepped through the archway and the world titled on edge, a corridor abruptly appearing on his right. Sam took that hallway, which was marked by an inverted crescent, walked fifteen paces, then doubled back, and headed through the archway he’d just come through a moment before. Instead of walking into a corridor, he stepped through space-time and into an octagonal chamber with eight more hallways jutting off like the spokes of a bike wheel. Bill directed him to take one of the paths on the left marked by a triangle with two dots.

Four more left turns and they emerged at their first stop: the Beginners Quarters.

The corridor should’ve been empty. No guards would ever dare to venture into the Mage’s private quarters, and the residents should’ve been gone—presumably, they were all headed to the Accord Chamber—leaving their rooms open and rife for the plundering. Nothing ever went according to plan. There was a novice in brown robes loitering near a stairwell, his thumbs tucked into the rough rope belt around his hips.

<Don’t panic,> Bill whispered inside his head. <Just follow my lead and say what I tell you to say. Remember, you belong here. He doesn’t.>

“You there,” Sam parroted the words Bill was feeding him, pinning the poor novice in place with a frosty glare. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

The young man jumped, his face turning an ashy shade of white. “Well, I was just… the thing is, the trial doesn’t start for-”

“Enough,” Sam barked, cutting the young man off mid-word. “The whole College is bursting at the seams with visiting Mages of great import… and here you are, hiding out and clearly trying to avoid work! Outrageous. It’s a good thing that Mage Axium sent me to make sure there were no lollygaggers skirting their chores. Since you have nothing better to do than twiddle your thumbs, perhaps you can give Mage Greentouched a hand with the grounds. I’m sure he can find something for you to do before the Trial begins… perhaps the Rosebushes could use a trim.”

The Rosebushes were Mage Greentouched’s pride and joy—they were also carnivorous and responsible for more than a few missing fingers. The poor student’s shoulders slumped, fear and regret flashing across his face in equal turns. Ducking his head in apology, the Novice muttered, “Yes, of course.”

“Well, move sharply now,” Sam coolly demanded. “I’ll be in touch with Mage Greentouched, so I wouldn’t dawdle if I were you.”

Without a backward glance, Sam broke into motion as the student scampered down the spiral staircase. Bill cackled inside Sam’s head. <That’s the way you do it! I think you might finally be getting a hang of this intrigue stuff. Now let’s get a move on it—this place isn’t going to blow itself up.>

Sam stole a look back over one shoulder, ensuring the delinquent student really had left. The coast was clear. He ducked into the first room on the right and quickly pulled the door shut behind him with a soft *click.* The rooms on this level weren’t warded. Beginners weren’t trusted with privacy of any sort. Though, to be honest, locks weren’t necessary since thievery within the College was effectively nonexistent. The penalty for stealing so much as a sheet of paper could range from a whipping to a week spent in the Sanctuary of Solitude. No Mage in good standing would dare run the risk.

Good thing Sam wasn’t a Mage in good standing.

The Beginner Quarters were nicer than what the Novices got, but they were still rather sparse and sterile. A simple bed, a wardrobe, a desk and straight-back chair for study. A nightstand with a porcelain washbasin stood against the far wall and at the foot of the bed was a large trunk, meant for personal items or study materials. Sam dropped to a knee, flipped the lid, and went to town. There were a handful of books, most of them mundane in nature, but he did find a single magical volume called Fundamentals of Meteorological Magic. That one he slipped into his Unending Flask.

Not a bad find at all. But robbing the College blind was only his secondary purpose. Sam fished out a mundane text called A Brief History of Arcane Innovation, pressed his hand against the front cover, and let energy seep out from his core, infusing the volume with enough unstable mana to blow a hole through the roof. But Sam didn’t stop there. He fished out a pair of spell scrolls—Fireball and Weak Acid Spray. He inserted one spell scroll into the front of the book and another into the back. A third sheet of completely blank paper went into the middle of the thick volume. Sam tucked the book back into the trunk alongside everything else and snapped the lid shut.

Work done, he peeked his head out to make sure the hallway was still clear.

Not a soul in sight.

Sam and Bill moved quickly through the corridor, stopping at every third door to repeat the process. He quickly raided the rooms for anything of obvious value, then stashed a mundane book rigged to explode and packed with various spells. He used different spell combinations in each room. Weak Acid Spray and Ice Orb in one, Fireball and Paralysis in another. Of course, he made sure to insert a blank page directly into the center of each book. They cleared the Beginner Quarters in a matter of minutes, then Bill ushered Sam through an elaborate series of turns and switchback, up ramps, and down staircases, eventually landing him in the Journeymen Mage Quarters.

Compared to the Novice and Beginner Quarters, the Journeymen lived lavishly. They had sprawling king-sized beds, gilt-edged furniture, huge magically-fueled fireplaces, and their own private bathrooms. It was a hundred times nicer than Sam’s bunk in the Irondown Barracks, and a thousand times cushier than any Inn room he’d crashed in since coming to Eternium. But, just like the Beginners Quarters, these rooms didn’t have locks. The College might give you a nicer leash as you moved through the ranks, but it was still a leash.

As a mage, you were College property. Period. End of story.

Like the rooms themselves, the gear was also significantly better. Sam and Bill made out like bandits. He picked up ten different monster cores of various grades, several health and mana regen potions, a Phial of Swiftness that increased Dexterity by five points for thirty minutes, and gold and silver coins by the bagful. Then there were the books. Sweet, sweet books. The Handbook of Counter-Curses. Principles of Exotic Summoning. Practical Guide of Uncommon Wonders. Field Book of Interplanar Monsters. Once again, his main goal was planting more book bombs.

There was some small part of Sam that wanted to venture higher into the Expert, Master, or Grandmaster Quarters just to see how they lived. He idly wondered, but the risk was too great. According to Bill, everything would be guarded by powerful magical wards, and their risk of discovery would increase tenfold. They were already running the ultimate risk, no need to get greedy. Once they finished rigging the Journeymen Quarters, they popped in and out of several of the classrooms, paid a visit to the training arena, and stopped by at least ten different storerooms where all the pragmatic odds and ends were kept tucked away for the janitorial and maintenance staff. Brooms, mops, ladders, plaster.

Book Bombs went into every nook and cranny. There was no way they were going to take down the College as a whole, but they were going to inflict as much property and collateral damage as humanly possible. Hopefully, once the alarms started ringing, there would be so much chaos unfolding that the guards wouldn’t know where to look.

<Alright,> Bill cut him off finally after Sam had finished stashing a final bomb in a linen supply closet filled with brown Novice robes and scratchy sheets. <They’re starting the trial. I can feel power building in the air. If we’re going to do this thing, it’s now or never. It should take us four minutes to get to the Repository of Trustees, but we’re going to have to move fast. Better let the others know we’re good to go.>

Sam slipped out a sheet of paper and a quill then hastily jotted off a note.

The packages have been delivered. In route, four minutes. Clear the way. – S.

He leaned over and whispered Dizzy’s name along with the Command Word: Tweet. He watched, enchanted by the process as the sheet of parchment folded in on itself, sharp creases forming, one right after another, until a perfect origami bird perched in his hand. The creature turned its paper head and regarded Sam for a heartbeat, then leapt from his finger and took to the air, zipping down a nearby corridor and disappearing in a flash of spatial magic.

Without looking back, Sam and Bill took off at a run, following the little paper pigeon deeper into the bowels of the College.