Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 43

"So, first things first before you get started on Ancient Sorcery again-- why exactly are you living in the woods instead of the... cosy rooms of the academy?"

Ryffin did not answer. Perhaps his room there had not been particularly cosy.

Farren had seen the Byton Royal Academy of Magic many times from the balcony of the Countess's office. Situated on a high cliff in the upper district, the academy, for all its reputation for sophistication, looked more like a heavily fortified fortress ready to defend itself against a siege than a scholarly place of academic research. From the outside, it was naught but high turrets and crude stone walls.

Ryffin continued his task of dicing potatoes and pumpkins, but with such force as though they had wronged him. Clearly, it wasn't his favourite topic for a conversation, but Farren needed to know.

"You're assuming this house of mine isn't cosy enough," was all the alchemist said.

"Spectacular attempt in avoiding the question, but you failed. I see right through you."

"Then stop looking, pervert."

Farren took a deep breath, and dropped from the kitchen counter, where she'd been trying to peel a potato for the last quarter hour. Bathed and freshened up, she was clad in the plain linen shirt and breeches she'd worn beneath her armor. Placing the tragic excuse of a 'peeled' potato down, she faced him.

"Listen, it isn't normal for a researcher to just vanish without a trace for four years, and I'm not going to pretend it is," she said, "this could help us make sense of this situation. I've told you all why I'm on the run-- so it's only fair. So for the love of Xenro, talk."

"Who the hell is Xenro?"

Farren flashed the gold ring around her finger. "A local deity who will kick your arse if you keep dodging my questions like this. Want me to summon him?"

"Making up Gods now, are we?" Ryffin tossed the kitchen towel over his shoulder with a smirk.

“Haven't we always?” said Farren.

Jests aside, she was not sure she could summon him and wipe that smile off Ryffin's face. The last flicker of sorcery in the ring had died down ever since the forsaken God got himself flung into oblivion. But Ryffin chose not to test her patience further.

Once the cauldron of stew was set, bubbling and gurgling above the fire, he retired to the couch.

"The reason why I'm here is... simple. Simpler than whatever you've assumed."

Farren scooted closer while he picked up a ruby-studded brooch from the table before him, fiddling with it distractedly. The piece of ornament looked rather out of place in the rustic house; it was of the gaudy sort high-ranked mages, sorcerers and some officers of the Royal Guard fastened their cloaks with. The gemstone shimmered like embers in the firelight.

"I found out something I shouldn't have."

"What did you find?" Farren asked, breathless.

Ryffin's face twisted into a scowl. "That my mentor, the High Sorcerer of the academy, is a lowly thief and a murderer. That the work on Ancient Sorcery and necromancy he takes credit for belongs to a former student-- Avalyn Loneblight. A sorceress, much brighter and talented than he'd ever be. The bastard knew that, and so he finished her off right before she could present her work before the Council."

"I think I've heard about her. Died in an accident, didn't she? Carriage crashed right off the trader track and into the frozen lake."

"Ah, yes. That's the sob story the High Sorcerer told me too." The brooch clattered across the tabletop.