They made the long trek back to the guildhouse in grim silence. Tomasso’s exuberant joy upon acquiring the deed to the manse was tempered when Enzo announced in no uncertain terms that he would not take the job. Leo had tried to persuade him otherwise, unsuccessfully.

Now Enzo wondered if he was justified. He sat alone in the empty Common Room, reading another treatise (The Thermal Properties of Common Decoagulants). Upon their return to the guildhouse, Tomasso repaired to his office examine the contract. Leo and Gianna were in the dojo, practicing swords or magic. Swords, probably — if Leo had his way.

Enzo had two reasons for his decision.

First, he did not trust the client. He was an oily, dishonest man, with more silver than scruple. Adventuring was dangerous work, and a bad client was liable to get a man killed.

Second, trespassing on the Aetheneum was a fool’s errand. It was an enchanted library, owned and administered by the Empress and her Privy Court. And while the Empress could be magnanimous to her law-abiding subjects, she was viciously cruel to those who broke the peace.

Third, entering an Ilhen deathtrap was — naturally — a death sentence.

Honestly, any one of those reasons was sufficient cause to decline the job. But Leo seldom turned down a job. To him, the greater the peril, the greater the draw. And Tomasso… something strange had come over Tomasso recently. He seemed to always be anxious, even moreso than usual, and when discussing financial matters he opted for frugality.

Enzo worried at a loose thread on his robes, idly wondering where his other colleagues presently were, the many members of the guild. Adventurers were work-hard, play-hard types. Doubtless they were filling the alehouses and whorehouses, dicing dens and winesinks — whatever their preferred vice.

Such vices held no appeal to Enzo. If he could be anywhere, he would be at the Musea d’Ortiva, the public art gallery near the city’s harbor. Enzo had spent many days in the museum, had practically memorized its contents, but he never tired of it. Art was his chief love in life — his first and his only. He indulged every medium: theater, portraiture, sculpture. Painting was his favorite.

As a young orphan on the isle of Verona, he had somehow secured employment at a slum-hole atelier, where he painted forgeries of Godel, Prezi, Rosco, and other great artists — sometimes creating exact likenesses of their work, other times creating plausible derivatives. It was a sweatshop — long hours of meticulous work, yet Enzo loved it. Periodically, the shop owner, an anxious Vedic named Dante, would take them to the Musea to study the masters.

Then one day the shop was raided by the Black Cabal, and he was forced to seek new employment. Soon thereafter he fell in with an acting troupe, traveling across the many isles of Genoa.

But there was little money in art, and less in theater. Their impresario was seized by creditors, and Enzo was stranded in Corinth, jobless and destitute. For a time he lived like a vagrant, begging for scraps, pickpocketing passersby. He shambled across the isle, begging for employment, but none would have him. Until he met Tomasso. Tomasso took a chance on him when no one else would, and gave him a stable career as an adventurer — a career in which he flourished.

For this he was forever indebted to Tomasso. Some men were moved by riches or glory or women. Enzo's motives were much simpler: never again did he want to feel the sting of poverty, the pain of hunger.

He had never before turned down a job, or even considered. It saddened to him to do so now. But he felt he had made the right decision.

***

In the rear of the guildhall was the dojo, where novitiates and veterans alike honed their martial arts.

There were a multitude of fighting guilds in Corinth, from bare-knuckle brawling to fencing, spellslinging to jousting. Each had its own dojo, but none were as glorious as Pathfinder’s dojo. Tomasso had spared no expense on it, supplying an armory with weapons that ranged from the mundane to the esoteric, such as morningstars, longswords, and warhammers. He had also hired a dedicated summoner named Darius, a skilled practitioner of the arcane arts who could summon all manner of beasts and foes.

When they entered the dojo, the alchemical globe was sputtering, casting a flickering red pall on the room. A book lay on the sparring mat. Leo stooped to pick it up. Clever Charms & Cantrips for the Cunning Conjurer.

“This one of yours?” Leo asked Gianna.

“Darius lent it to me.”

Leo flung the book to the corner of the room. “You read too much. This shit will rot your brain.”

“Says who?”

“Me. I am full of ancient wisdom.”

“You're full of it all right…” she muttered.

Leo strode to the weapons rack at the rear of the room. He owned precisely three swords, each of which he treasured deeply, each which had a name.

The first was Wraith, a falchion so heavily fortified with runes and charms, potions and enchantments that it was a wonder the it kept its edge. Magic could strengthen a blade, but it could also made it more brittle. Wraith was strong, dependable, and had never failed him.

Then there was Ice, the trusty saber he used for dirty work. If he did not wish to sully Wraith while culling a goblin horde, he opted for Ice.

Finally there was Whisper, a longsword he had unearthed in an arctic vampire tomb. It was a blade that could be wielded by no man; rather, the blade wielded the man. When it wished to be used, it would keen. It would turn a bright sapphire and vibrate in its scabbard. When Leo drew it, he was like a man possessed. He swore the blade could cut through metal or stone, if only he — or rather, it — desired to do so.

Leo liked to keep all three blades equipped while on jobs, but Tomasso forbade him from doing so when they met with clients. He said it looked “stupid.”

Leo selected a pair of wooden training swords and tossed one to Gianna.

“Nytios says the mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone.”

“Nytios?”

“He’s a philosopher. From Severo.”

“Well, books aren’t entirely useless. A book can be used to test the edge of a blade —“ Leo mimed slashing a book. “Its pages can be used to wipe one's arse. Cantrips, however… cantrips are utterly ineffectual.”

The alchemical globe above was still sputtering. Leo poked at it.

“Bastard thing. Keeps going out.”

“If only there was a light source that didn't rely on fickle alchemy. Something that could be summoned on command.”

Gianna's sarcasm went over Leo's head. “Huh?”

“Magic, dummy.” Again she invoked her Illumination cantrip, producing a teal-hued orb of light.

“Tell you what,” Gianna said, tossing away her training sword. “For this duel, how about I get to use magic, and you can use Wraith.”

Leo smiled. Whisper might be his favorite blade, but she was a harsh mistress; Wraith, on the other hand, was like an extension of his body. He was one with it. “Sounds fair to me.”

They took their positions on opposite ends of the sparring mat.

“Ready?” said Leo. “Do your worst.”

“With pleasure.”

Immediately Gianna invoked another cantrip, one Leo was unfamiliar with. A dozen copies of Gianna appeared, fanning out, encircling him.

“Gimmicky,” Leo said, trying to deduce which one the real Gianna.

“But it works.”

“There’s no honor in tricks.”

“There’s honor in victory.”

One of the copies came at him then. He deftly parried her blade, and as their swords crossed, the copy dissipated into mist.

Another pair took him from the rear. The first he dodged, the second quite nearly landed a blow to his pelvis. He parried the attempt, and repositioned himself to gain a better vantage of his many opponents. It was then that he noticed that his opponents had dwindled in number. Where before there had been a dozen, now there were but five. Gianna’s cantrip was failing.

“You have a nice cut, lass.”

“Cutlass?” she gave him a confused look. “Poinsettia is a rapier… Oh, a stupid pun.”

There were two things Leo adored: wordplay and swordplay. Especially wordplay about swordplay.

“I knew you would sword it all out eventually.”

“Puns are the lowest form of wit,” Gianna said.

“Alas, I cannot help myself. I have a rapier wit.”

She laughed at that, and two more copies faded to mist, perhaps due to her distraction. Of the remaining three, one was unlike the other. Only one had a shadow.

An able swordsman, it took Leo but three strokes of his blade to defeat her, tapping the flat of Wraith against Gianna’s leg.

Despite her defeat, Gianna grinned broadly.

“Almost,” she said, panting slightly. “I almost had you. If only I had an attunement… my cantrips would be much stronger.”

“If you had an attunement you wouldn’t need to fuss around with cantrips. You could use spells. Which attunement would you seek?”

“Alchemy. Or maybe Illusion or Runes. I want to study at Skyborn.”

Skyborn was one of the Three Great Magic Academies. Only the most promising applicants were accepted, and students typically capstoned their first year by entering an Attunement Spire — which might be a tomb or a dungeon or an actual spire. If the student survived the ordeal, and completed its challenges, they were rewarded with an attunement, giving them the ability to cast magical spells, which were much stronger than cantrips.

“Skyborn notoriously selective. You’d have to be truly exceptional.”

“Then I'll be exceptional.”

“You don’t lack for confidence, do you?.”

“She takes after you,” said Enzo, who had suddenly appeared unbeknownst to Leo. He was leaning against the door frame, smirking.

“Hi, Enzo,” said Gianna. “Did you see my Hoodwink cantrip?”

“I did. Impressive.” He winked at her, and then gestured to Leo. “Come Leo, Tomasso wishes to speak with us.”

***

Tomasso’s office was on the second story of the guildhouse, a perfectly square room filled with many oddments and knickknacks. Tomasso had a great fondness for botany, and his office was filled with exotic plants, including a Snapping Beetletrap and a species of Arkimidean ivy that covered much of one wall.

As they took their seats, Tomasso looked grave.

“I’ve r-reviewed the contract,” he said, voice faltering. He tended to stutter when nervous (except when meeting clients, ironically). “Be-before you make your d-decision—”

“I’ve made my decision,” said Enzo flatly.

“Be-before you do. I have something I need to t-tell you.”

“What?” said Leo.

“There is no delicate way to put this…”

“Then put it indelicately.”

“The guild… the guild is on the brink of insolvency.”