"Long story sort, we er in deep shit." Waylan surmised. They had come home and immediately insisted on privately meeting the Old Crow.

"Now you are just doing it on purpose," Irwyn shot him a look.

"Obviously," Waylan shrugged with a grin. Despite his annoyance, it at least helped Irwyn distract himself from the near-death experience.

"We can assume they will now be looking for a rogue caster in the city," The Old Crow spoke over them, though he did let a slight grin escape. "Though I don't think it will make it harder for us specifically. No rumours about a caster among us have arisen the last time Aaron checked half a month ago. Moreover, there was one piece that could help us greatly."

"The comment about 'her ladyship Avys' insisting no children were killed," Irwyn nodded, "She is the duchess of Black, right? But she was not mentioned much in the books I read."

"Avys Von Blackburg married into the house some 30 years ago right before the succession struggles started," Old crow shared. "I know that she is from outside the Duchy federation but no one among my contacts knew from where exactly when I inquired about her back then. It's quite likely that she was the biggest driving force behind the reindustrialisation despite most official sources not even mentioning her, that had to do with the misogynistic legacy of the late Duke of those years.”

“Miso-what?” Waylan looked at the Old Crow dumbly

“Prejudiced against women,” Irwyn explained, frowning slightly. “From what I have read such attitudes seemed to actually be lesser here than in the other duchies though.”

“30 years is a long time,” Old crow wiggled his eyes in that motion he used instead of a shrug. “It’s hardly a secret that the current Duke Blackburg married her for love, even breaking the tradition of harems that has supposedly been prevalent since the Duke of Wrath who founded their house. Lady Avys is known for her unusual traits among high nobility. For example, she is known to insist on personally choosing the clothes of her servants for each event she hosts; likes to present esoteric artworks in front of audiences; and has practically escalated a cold war with the Duchy of Yellow over the treatment of child servants.”

“Something like that happened?” Irwyn frowned, having never heard of such a thing.

“Well, it happened about a year before the Lich wars from 16 years ago and never quite reached full-on warfare. Lady Avys insulted the Duchess of Yellow, something really scathing about blood of children I think; relationships were already strained and border skirmishes started happening soon after. By the time the armies had gathered for a real fight the Lich wars suddenly sparked up giving them something better to do. That being said, the Lich wars hit our Duchy a lot less with an army and many people already expecting the next worst thing.”

“That at least means the Blackburg agents will leave ‘children’ be,” Irwyn returned to the topic at hand. He could interrogate the Old Crow about histories he had never known to ask about later.

“We plan aroun’ dis,” Waylan nodded. “Me and Irw are fine. Anyone older den us has to hide…”

Irwyn lay in his bed, juggling 2 balls of light absentmindedly overhead. It had been 2 days since the fight and the Tears were completely holed up in their base. No one went in or out. The situation around the slums was probably escalating but they had the stockpile of food to last at least another week. From what Maxim had reported, the Blackburg agents interfered in the turf war between Stars and Snakes, intentionally or not, sweeping in and burning half a dozen leaders at pyres at seemingly random. That was before the Tears isolated themselves, so hard to say whether that was the only retaliation against the largest gangs or how it would influence the conflict. They didn’t even know if anyone they usually dealt with got done in. The few other groups that got hit before the Tears warned them had similar stories as what Irwyn had seen at the brothel: Always at least one casualty and demand for eyes.

The latter was probably even far worse than the murder because it was down to the gangs to decide who would get mutilated. No matter who gets forced or made to volunteer there would be bad blood left behind in some form. How many of those gangs would just fall apart completely in the aftermath? Trust was a rare enough commodity among most groups already and this just shattered it. Irwyn had to think that much was intentional. It was heartless and cruel but deep down Irwyn had to admit that it certainly achieved one thing:

No one, not even the worst madman, would mess with the Blackburgs in the foreseeable future. Maybe for a full decade before another overconfident idiot with no one sensible to stop them tried to pull off what Old Sparrow died for.

Worse, a few hours ago a memo arrived from the Guild, informing them that the Old Hawk got done in too. The infamous assassin known for taking out his targets from 2 streets away had died like everyone else in front of trained and motivated casters.

That made the Old Crow the last Fowl in the Ebon Respite and a likely target. Thankfully, most of the gangs didn’t even know the Tears were led by a Fowl and the people who knew mostly didn’t get where they were by having loose tongues. Still, it remained a distinct possibility that they would come here for the head of Irwyn’s de-facto father. Or of his closest friends-or-family.

Which is why he hadn’t slept for the last 2 nights, using the few precious potions of wakefulness they had managed to hoard over the years. The timing was critical for what they needed to pull off and a moment of inattention could result in all he held dear turning to dust. Half a dozen times he felt the remnants of a distant spell brush against his perception; just fragments of magic that had dissipated to the point where he couldn’t begin to guess what spell they might have once been but still distinct enough to cause a perceptible shift the ambient mana. He had never even known spells could disturb it, though it made perfect sense in retrospect. No doubt this was a common thing in cities with a greater concentration of mages.

There were many things Irwyn didn’t know about magic, as was made clear by his fight with Rage. Or Frederick von Blackmaw as the man had introduced himself at the end. A minor noble house at the brink of dying out, or possibly beyond now, according to an older book on magelord lineages in the Black Duchy Irwyn had in his library. At least reading was somewhat possible while constantly on guard for approaching Blackburg agents. Proper magic training, however, was out of the question. Besides the risk of being haphazardly noticed it required his complete focus and induced exhaustion. And the problem that had been stumping him was a great one indeed:

He could not figure out how to imbue his magic with meaning again.

Clearly, it was something he could do since he had done it in the fight, but he couldn’t quite replicate it. Was it the stress and panic; The desperate desire to live? Or maybe magic was just looser because of Rage’s casting. Or it was his own anger. Or something he didn’t even realise could have been a factor. Either way, Irwyn could not afford to properly focus on figuring out what it was. Any such attempts would stop him from constantly searching for any approaching presence. So all he did was juggle the weak spheres of light to desperately pass the time and take the edge of his mounting fatigue. Their output small enough no one would be able to tell them apart from the several weak enchanted items they had around.

It was nearing dusk when it finally happened.

Something approached their base. The old town hall turned shelter was hidden among hedges, but one noticeable presence approached. A familiar one. Irwyn ran out into the hall, shouting out that it was time. Having anxiously waited for this moment for literal days, everyone got into motion; with the dexterity of people who avoided professional guards for a living. Not that there was all that much to actually do at the moment as most preparations were finished well beforehand. It was mostly just people getting into position. It was maddening enough to be unable to go outside, staying in their one specific spot for possibly days would have been too much for most of them.

By the time Irwyn got to his seat in the main hall, he and Waylan were visibly the oldest teenagers around.

“Irw, Waylan, someone in a nice black coat is here!” Olga shouted as she entered the room, holding the familiar glowing quartz. Behind her appeared a familiar face. Calm was alone this time, his expression no less emotionless.

“It would seem like we meet again,” the older man said as he sat down at the table with Irwyn and Waylan. His eyes had been darting around the room from the moment he entered. Not just around the room, Irwyn realised; he seemed to be deliberate at where he was looking, his gaze often hovering for a few moments at a time.

“Yes, sir Calm. It would seem that way,” Irwyn nodded, squirming a bit. At least he didn’t need to pretend he wasn’t nervous.

“Then you also know what I am here for,” Calm said and reached for something beneath his cloak.

“I suppose we do, sir.” Irwyn nodded, his hands sinking beneath the table where a simple crossbow was attached, Waylan doing the same. Not that they had any intention of using those, but it made them look desperate enough to even consider attacking a clear caster. Because if they convinced Calm that they were completely at their wit’s end he would assume that he was in control rather than being deceived. And people in full control don’t double-check. Hopefully.

“Before that… Our last meeting got me thinking,” Calm pretended to not notice them grasping weapons and pulled out a bottle with 3 beautiful ornamental glass goblets, each engraved with the details of very expensive artisan work. The kind of stuff magelords with too much money to realistically spend collected. “I realised that anyone willing to serve the drink from last time must have never experienced proper wine. I understand you are just children but I have decided to indulge,” He poured them each a bit from the bottle, the liquid thick and sparkling. “This is known as Eidolon wine. Something I have to import from outside the Duchy at a significant markup. However, every time I have a drink it truly reminds me of home. Give it a try, it’s not strong.”

Or so he said. But Irwyn did not touch his glass. Is this a trap? he considered. For all he knew partaking would make them no longer children and therefore fair game in Calm’s eyes. Who could know how people with such disregard for life thought. Waylan also hesitated for a moment but unlike Irwyn slowly reached for a glass, maintaining eye contact with Calm. Irwyn wasn’t sure whether to stop him.

“Wait,” the glass was halfway to Waylan’s lips when Calm stopped him. “That is not how you drink Eidolon wine,” he snatched the glass away from Waylan with a dexterity that a career thief had to admire. Then he placed the 3 glasses together and passed over them with his other hand. Irwyn saw something drop into them. Then he reached for something else in his coat. “You see, Eidolon wine is unique in it that it tastes exceptionally bad on its own, however, it changes the taste when you add something. Do you know what?”

“I have never heard of it,” Irwyn shook his head. “No.”

“As per tradition, you add a bit of poison. And then a universal antidote,” he shook the pills in his hand and then skillfully placed one into each glass with a single smooth motion. “It may look absurd to an outsider but where I come for this has been refined to an art. Serving unpoisoned wine is actually considered one of the gravest insults. Though I am far from the best, once upon a time I have been trained as a poisoneer. Go ahead. Give it a try now. I insist.”

He stared Irwyn and Waylan down for a moment before they both complied. Irwyn had never really indulged in alcohol. He knew that Maxim or Aaron often claimed most of the ‘good stuff’ out of their share when they got some, however, for him, it never ‘hit the spot’.

The Eidolon wine was nothing like any such drink. It was more than just a gulp of liquor. It was the bitter taste of grudge and regret on his tongue. Then it was the sourness of a mistake or miscalculation. In the end, it was the sweetness of a job well done as it finally went down his throat; of forgiveness and a new beginning. Because it was not wine, it was a self-contained message, crafted by men following a tradition of artisans from times immemorial. Inscribing their mastery onto a canvas of grape and magic. Because the wine was magical, Irwyn realised. Just the tiniest bit of mana in every drop.

“It can be quite a journey,” Calm interrupted Irwyn’s thoughts, a smile appearing on his face for the first time. Irwyn wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

“Unlike anything I could have imagined,” Irwyn admitted. “Though I am not quite sure why sir would waste something like this on us.”

“It is an apology, of course,” Calm answered as if it were a matter of fact. “You see, when I saw you back at the brothel all I knew was that the ‘Tears’ as everyone calls you were a gang of thieves. I have assumed that you two were just runners, resigned to mediocrity as disposable pawns and therefore did not pay you any mind. But that isn’t the case,” he motioned around them to the room, the children were pretending, and failing, that they weren’t all paying as much attention as they could to the conversation. “You see, I have once been much like you. An orphan with nothing to my name but a smidgen of talent and the desperate grit to cling to life. And to this day it is what I respect. Not the lordlings of the mage houses who have never known struggle. Not the decadent prosperity that many enjoy in the Duchy of Black nowadays. What I respect is someone who knows what it means to sink or swim,” he pointed his finger and Irwyn felt his heart almost stop.

“This only reinforces that. You realised that we wouldn’t hurt children and decidedly did whatever you thought necessary to survive and protect each other. That is why I will pretend I did not notice the old man in the basement,” his finger moved. “Or the couple behind the hollowed-out wall,” and moved it again, twice. “Or the other 2 hidden lads. Because for all you can call me merciless I believe people like you deserve a chance.”

“I… don’t know what to say,” Irwyn eventually managed, his heart still beating out of his chest. Their desperate scheme had been seen through as if it was nothing. And Calm could change his mind at any moment.

Then it would come down to a fight where Irwyn would have to reveal he was a caster and this time there was absolutely no way he could get away with it even if he defeated Calm.

“Of course, I cannot just let bygones be bygones. A great offence was given after all,” he reached into his coat, which in hindsight definitely had more carry space than it should though Irwyn felt no magic from it, and pulled out a familiar black box that made Irwyn sweat. “I have noticed you have a surprising collection of minor magical trinkets. I will be confiscating all of them.”

Irwyn breathed in and out. That was bad, years upon years of accumulation had led them to what they had. Some from before he was even taken in. But still, it was far better than what he had been afraid of a moment ago.

“I will go get them,” Irwyn nodded without protest, standing up. Waylan remained seated and silent. Perhaps for the best as he was not the most eloquent in polite company. The main reason he was even with Irwyn was that they may have been seen together at the brothel 2 days ago.

Running up the stairs Irwyn opened up the stashes they had prepared; including the two decoy ones with just a few items and a few more valuable individual pieces that had been hidden separately. Except he took just a small risk. Bundling them together, Irwyn discreetly completely drained all the magic out of a few that were essential, then put them back out of sight, betting Calm wouldn’t notice and he could recharge them later. Such as one that cleared up stove fumes in the kitchen or a certain noise isolation talisman. When he came back down Waylan and Calm were seemingly ignoring each other in total silence. Irwyn plucked the last item, the quarts sensitive to magic, from Olga and approached the table again.

“Is that every last one of them?” Calm looked at Irwyn who suddenly felt magic. From their eye contact formed a connection and through it, a bit of something entered Irwyn. It had the intention to dominate. To compel obedience. Except, Irwyn realised, it couldn’t quite do that. Perhaps the method simply didn’t work against other casters because Irwyn felt it grasp something but fail to move it the way the magic wanted. Hopefully, that was not noticeable, Calm’s poker face revealed nothing.

“Yes,” Irwyn affirmed, scowling a bit to sell the act. Among other things, he was certainly a proficient liar. Especially when it came to authorities.

“I see,” Calm nodded. “In here then,” He opened the black box for the first time and Irwyn realised that it was no ordinary item. In fact, it was downright ridiculous he had seen no hint of it being enchanted before now because the enchantments were so unbelievably complex and intertwined Irwyn couldn’t begin to understand what was happening, except that it had something to do with the element of Time/Space. Not only was it the first enchantment with intention Irwyn had ever seen, it was clearly several levels even above what Rage had been casting, except maybe that interrupted final spell. Had they actually left something like this at the brothel?

“If you would,” Calm beckoned and Irwyn, full of fascination, inserted the sack of their enchanted items into the box that clearly contained several times its volume. Then Calm closed it and the enchantment was gone. No matter how hard Irwyn focused he could not feel it. “That will be all,” Calm concluded and got up and left towards the exit.

“Oh, one last thing,” and just as Irwyn was afraid, he once more turned around, staring directly at Irwyn. The same magic from before assaulted him through the eye contact, however, manyfold stronger. It tried to compel him, grasping at him from the inside. But still, whatever it was, his mind remained firm and unhindered. “Have you seen Rage since we last met?”

“No, I haven’t,” Irwyn was shaken ever so slightly but he had expected a last-second ambush. Calm had done the same thing the previous time as well. Therefore he had managed to even convincingly fake a moment of confusion.

“I see,” Calm nodded, seemingly satisfied though not letting actual emotions affect his expression. “Then I truly bid you a good evening. Perhaps I will reach out if I ever require your kind of service around Ebon Respite.”

And then he finally left.

But Irwyn did not dare breathe out. He waited for Calm to be completely away from his senses and then a few minutes more. Only then did he tell everyone to get out of their hiding places and let Waylan give them a slightly exaggerated turn of events, still not letting down his guards. He expected the last moment twist. Perhaps Calm noticed he was a caster and was returning with backup. Or he mistook the nature of Calm’s magic and the man knew that Irwyn had lied about Rage. Maybe the man would just plain change his mind. Either way, Irwyn still stretched his senses.

Until dusk came and then an hour more. Until fatigue finally overtook him and he fell asleep.