The cheers that went up, as Tibs reached the bottom of the stairs, nearly sent him back up, anger flaring. How could they be happy to see him after what he’d put them through? How he’d made them nothing but infantry in his game Conquest against the guild. They’d all become expandable in achieving his goals.

He put a foot before him, forcefully heading to his table, fist and teeth clenched. Someone slapped his back, and Tibs bristled as she expressed how happy she was he was better. He shouldered a man aside as he placed a hand on Tibs’s shoulder; the smile promising yet another show of support, and—

Tibs spun to face the tables and yelled, “What the fuck is wrong with all of you?”

That silenced the room. Only for conversations to restart again as he headed for his team’s table; subdued, but still about him.

What did it take for them to stop? Fire would do it. The thought popped up, and Tibs hesitated before pushing it back down. It would, but as angry as he was, where would he stop? Once there was nothing left of the world?

Water would cool his anger, make all this bearable. But how would he stop himself from going too far in that direction also? Yes, it made him dangerous to everyone around him, but there had been a comfort in not caring about that. Only, would it still be there? Would he be able to trust that state, knowing what he’d done? Almost did, tried to do? Hoped to succeed in?

How had Jackal survived?

“How are you—” Don started.

“Don’t,” Tibs snapped, dropping into his seat.

“Okay.” The sorcerer grinned as he raised his hand in defeat, and Tibs narrowed his eyes. That had been too easy. When had Don started smiling like that, and why were the others smirking?

Jackal looked fine, smirking as he drank. Now was not the time to ask about it. When they were alone, so the others didn’t learn just how far Tibs had gone.

“What happened while I was in bed?” Getting an update was a safe subject. It would keep them from asking how he felt, and after ten days of wasting his time in bed, there had to be a lot he needed to catch up on. If nothing else, he had to know how much Irdian had—

The askance looks they exchanged told him it wasn’t good.

“Out with it,” He instructed as a steaming plate of meats and vegetables were placed before him, along with a tankard. “I’m not—” the sweat and spicy smell punched through his anger, and his stomach took charge. He moaned as the spices burned his mouth, with the sweetness accenting their bite. Before he knew it, the plate was empty, and Tibs motioned to Kroseph with it.

“You should take it easy,” Don said as Tibs finished his ale. “You only had broth for a few days, if even that.”

“I’ll be fine.” He glared at the sorcerer. Suffusing himself with Purity was safe since he couldn’t be tempted to over do it. There was only so much work he could endure.

* * * * *

He sighed in relief, pushing the empty third serving, and leaned back in the chair. A full stomach made everything better. Even the never ending talks of him at the other tables. Something about if he was safe to approach, now that he was fed; from the snippets that reached him.

That would depend entirely on why they approached him. He didn’t have time for sympathy and well-wishing. There was too much to do.

“Now I want to hear what happened,” he told Jackal, then sipped his ale.

“Without you to keep them on it, not a lot of the rogues kept up with protecting Merchant Row, or going after the troublemakers who slipped by the guards. Because of that, some of the merchant didn’t pay when Darran went collecting on your behalf.”

“You didn’t take things over while I was in bed?”

“Me and Quigly did,” the fighter replied, “and we kept the other Runners doing the patrols, but rogues don’t take well to brutes ordering them about, and if someone slips by the guards, it’s not going to be fighters and archers who catch them.”

“What’s the damages?”

“Darran will have the details,” Jackal said. “But there’s been break-ins and breaking of stuff. Just wanton breaking. The big stuff’s stopped. The guards don’t let anyone planning on burning buildings through anymore, and no one died for my father’s revenge. But small, sneaky stuff’s keeps on happening without the rogues to stop them.”

Tibs ground his teeth. Or course, the town’s trouble wouldn’t stop because he was wallowing in misery.

“Tibs?” Mez asked.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“I’d be more convinced if your teeth parted to say that.”

He glared at the archer, then forced himself to unclench. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’m just angry I didn’t think about any of that when I went and fell into wallow.”

“You were healing,” Don said.

“I was wall—”

“You were healing.” The tone left no room for argument. “You still are. What you did hurt you as much as you hurt others. You need time until you’re whole again. And that starts with accepting you made mistakes, that it’s okay if you make more.” Don’s tone soften. “You’re angry. I get that. But you need to find a way to let some of that go. Mostly what you’re directing at yourself.”

“What makes you such an expert? “Tibs snapped. “One of those books you read?”

“Retired asshole here, Tibs,” the sorcerer snapped back, then took a breath. “I have a sense of what it’s like to cause damage and—”

“Semi-retired,” Jackal interrupted.

“No, I have put that—” Don paused, considered something, then glared at the smirking fighter. “Fine. Semi-retired. Some people are making it hard to put all of my assholeness behind me.”

“What’s the fun in it being too easy?”

“I—” The sorcerer bit back and limited himself to glaring some more at Jackal. He looked at the others. “Just how do you put up with him?”

“That,” Khumdar answered, “is a question that all of time shall never be able to answer.”

Despite himself, Tibs smiled.

* * * * *

“Look,” Tibs told the assembled Runners. “You can’t just walk away from the work you agreed to do.”

“You did,” Sarsan replied sharply.

“I was healing,” Tibs said through clenched teeth, yet again.

“Like there aren’t potions to do that with,” she replied. “I didn’t sign up to work for the merchants. I’m a rogue. I run the dungeon, then I have fun. Running after troublemakers isn’t as fun as you first made it sound like.”

Ice would be so nice right now. It might lead to her encased in the stuff, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the headache she was giving him. Somehow, there was only so much purity did when the cause was constant.

“Just to be clear,” he said. “You are done helping.” She’d been one of the better urchins he’d helped; among the first to reach Upsilon, and eager for the assistance and equipment when a piece was available for her or someone on her team. “You want to go back to only being a Runner and relying on the guild to make sure you have the training and equipment you need to survive the dungeon.”

She snorted. “I don’t need them anymore than I need you.”

The uncertainly among the other rogues comforted Tibs more than the smirks from the fighters, archers and sorcerers. Maybe they, more than the others, had needed the reminder that his help didn’t come for free, even if the price wasn’t in coins.

“Alright. Those who aren’t interested in helping keep Merchant Row safe, tell me and I’ll make sure everyone knows not to call on you going forward.”

Sarsan stepped forward with five other rogues. Three of them stepped back when they noticed how few of them had moved. A sorcerer joined her, then, after considering it an archer.

The loss of the sorcerer might be a problem, The man was Rho, and currently the strongest he had to work with, but he could afford to lose three rogues and an archer. Considering how many teams had graduated to Upsilon while he was in bed, he might be able to replace them quickly.

* * * * *

“What’s to say you aren’t going to vanish again?” the baker demanded.

Tibs was surprised at her tone. She was normally a nice, reserved woman, quick with a smile and with the smell of baked bread clinging to her. But she had been the target of more attacks while Tibs was wall—incapacitated, then the other merchants.

While her hazelnut colored eyes didn’t show it, her essence had a faint green tint that meant she had wood as an element, even if it look no more dense than any of the other townsfolk. He didn’t know if it was why she was such an amazing baker, but Tibs loved stopping by her shop for a treat and he hated that she’s been targeted like that.

“I’m going to vanish again,” Tibs snapped, surprising himself and the merchants assembled. “I’m a Runner.” He steadied his tone. “Eventually, the dungeon will eat me. But I’m arranging things so there will be others to continue running things when that happens, so you’re all kept safe.”

The gasps at his statement, and looks of disbelief, reminded him that as townsfolk, they weren’t as aware of death as he was. They believed it happened, but to others, until they were confronted with it directly. He’d had to fight for a survival on a daily basis back on his Street, and now each time he stepped inside Sto.

“I’m sorry you were hit harder by this,” he told the baker. “I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.” He wanted to replace everything she’d lost, but Darran had stopped him.

It wasn’t the coins themselves that were the problem. The merchant explained. It was the revelation he had so much. Tibs had made sure to ask for no more than what he needed to run his operation. As far as the other merchants knew, every coins he received from them went back into equipping the Runners that helped him, training more on how to keep the Row safe. If they found out he had more than that, they’d question why they should pay him, his motives in acting as their protectors. They would doubt him.

And that would lead to them turning against him over time.

So Tibs wouldn’t simply buy everything she needed for her business to return to where it had been before he wallowed in bed. He wouldn’t even use any of the coins he had left from the sale of the lake for it. The nobles and his nightly training would be where he got the fund to slowly make it up to her.

He looked at the others. “I will do all I can to make it up for failing all of you.”

It wasn’t like the nobles would notice if a few more silvers went missing each night.

* * * * *

“Jackal,” Tibs called as he headed for the fighter leaning against the inn’s bar, speaking with one of the server.

“What can I do,” the fighter asked, turning from her.

The question stuck in his throat. It wasn’t that someone might overhear. The inn was empty, and with the server heading to the kitchen, it was only the two if them at the bar. This was the best time to ask, short of pulling the fighter in an alley.

“I—” It stuck again and Tibs swallowed. “I’m heading for training, let Kroseph know I might be late to eat.”

“Okay,” Jackal replied, as Tibs turned and headed for the door. Had that been suspicion in the fighter’s voice, or had he accepted the reason like he did some many things Tibs told him?

Why? He cursed himself. Why hadn’t he asked?

He knew the answer. Fear. Fear that Jackal might not have an answer for him. That the fighter might not know how he’d survived. It seemed farfetched, but what would he do, if he found out it wasn’t the fighter’s planning had saved him, but Tibs miscalculating? That if he’d been simply slightly better, he would have succeeded?

He preferred being able to believe Jackal had out-smarted him.

* * * * *

“Why?” Tibs demanded, as the etching fell apart. “Why the fuck doesn’t it just work?”

Alistair watched him, lips curling up.

Tibs had tried not to let on he wasn’t iced anymore. He’s arrived calm; he’d approached his training systematically. But unlike before, when something went wrong, he hadn’t been able to study what happened, make careful changes, and have it go wrong over and over until he got it right.

Now, Tibs got frustrated.

And his teacher was amused by it.

A wave of the hand launched a torrent of water at Alistair, catching him sufficiently by surprise that he sputtered water when it hit.

“Feeling better?” his dripping teacher asked, still smiling.

“Yes,” Tibs reluctantly admitted.

The water moved out of Alistair and hung between them, out of Tibs’s control.

“Then, how about you try again? And this time, don’t take for granted the easy progress of working with one Arcanus. This is different.”

“But how?” Tibs demanded. “I’ve place both Bor and Dhu within their own etching before. Why would it be different if they’re both there now?”

Alistair gestured, and the water stretched into two thick strands, with Bor and Dhu written between them at fixed intervals.

“Look at the placement. Study where the Arcanus are located. Take your time. When you feel ready, close your eyes and recreate it. Don’t bother sensing the model, I’ll block you.”

Tibs looked at the model, how Dhu was in one, five, and eight, with Bor at three and seven. He memorized them, then closed his eyes and pulled his sense to only himself. As much as Alistair wanted to, he couldn’t block Tibs’s sense since he wasn’t aware of how strong it was.

He recreated the model slowly, making it an exact copy. He opened his eyes, and the differences jumped at him. He had been so careful, how had he gotten it wrong ag—

“Before you explode, Tibs,” Alistair said. “What you made is normal.”

“It’s wrong,” he growled.

“Yes, but that’s normal.” Alistair absorbed the water. “What you did, while iced, wasn’t exactly cheating, not that it would stop us if it was, but it was a crutch. In that state, your mind has a…solidity to it that makes this aspect of an etching easier. This isn’t, as you might believe, exclusively about learning where the Arcanus need to be placed. It’s about giving you an instinct for how they will interact within the etching and each other so that when you master them, you won’t have to think about placing them. You’ll know what two placed next to the other, and three, for the next level, causes the etching to do. That is something you never absorbed while iced. You became skilled at it because it let you replicate what I told you without understanding the feeling of the interaction. It was fine while we only worked with one Arcanus in the etching, but even if you were still iced now. It wouldn’t be enough.”

“You know I was iced,” Tibs said, and Alistair nodded. “Why did you let me do it? Why didn’t you stop me? You had to know that—” I’d become a danger to everyone around me. “That I wasn’t learning correctly.” Did you not care? “Were you hoping to get more gold out of it?” he demanded angrily.

Alistair watched him. “Could I have stopped you, Tibs? I know what icing yourself does to how you think. I doubt there’s one person with Water as their element who hasn’t done it at least once. Many of us became monsters because we were iced. Some had to be killed because they couldn’t be made to stop. That’s the thing with being iced. Only you can decide to stop. Once iced, there are no arguments anyone else can make that will convince you to stop. You have no compassion left to call on, even reasoning with you won’t work. Ice makes it so that all you care about is what you want. So until what you want is to stop, there is nothing I or anyone else can do.”

Tibs remained silent.

Alistair’s description didn’t match what he’d done through. Until the last days, Tibs always had to fight to keep the ice from cracking. Anytime he became angry, the cracks appeared. The angrier he was, the bigger they were. It was how Jackal had shattered the ice, gotten Tibs to be driven by anything but rage until he had nothing left, not even a brother.

Was it because he had other elements to push against the ice? Was it why Harry had never seen the problem he’d become? He’d only had light to suffuse himself with, and it pushed away any questions about the consequences of his actions?

“Does it happen with all the elements?”

Alistair hesitated. “Ask a sorcerer, or a scholar,” he finally said with a tone that told Tibs it was a subject he didn’t want to talk about. “They’ll be the ones who bother with questions that don’t mean anything to anyone else.”

“That’s one of your less subtle way of telling me to stop asking questions.” He gave his teacher time to settle himself. “Would you have stopped me, if I’d become a danger?”

“The odds are I wouldn’t have been here. If the other Runners didn’t realize what you were becoming, the guild would have noticed in time, and they would have acted.”

“Could the guild have made me stop being iced?”

“I don’t know,” Alistair replied with an angry snort. He took a breath. “The guild has access to more resources than I know exist. Maybe there’s something in there they can use to force someone back from that extreme. But Tibs, I think you need to ask yourself a better question. Would the guild find you more or less useful when you are at that extreme?”