Tears of Dusk

The room of the tavern Isyd sat in was dimly lit by flickering candles, filled with the murmur of voices and the occasional clink of cups of ales. It was a busy place for travellers to enjoy rest and warm food away from the biting cold of the winter. Behind the bar, the innkeeper bustles about, exchanging banter with sailors as he pours ale from wooden barrels.

Isyd was seated in the corner of the main room, right under the staircase that led to the guestrooms. He was wrapped in his darkveil despite the warm temperature of the inside. The bigos in front of him was still hot and steam from it played with the faint figure of Naeht seated across him.

“I have been thinking…” she said with a drawl after a while.

“A novelty…” Isyd said matter-of-factly.

“Not funny! Maybe you can use your brilliant mind to explain it then!”

“Go on, I am all ears.”

“I still can’t wrap my head around why the Academy does not want Artysta but Artyficers…”

Isyd stopped through his bite and pointed his spoon full of sauerkraut at her. “Turns out I have been pondering the same question… By the time I joined the War, the distinction was meaningless; you were considered an Artyst the moment you could cast a couple of [Spells] and nobody cared to ask further… Do you know the difference between the two, Naeht?”

“It has something to do with their Openings, right? An Artyst is 9th Opening or higher, I think…”

“Actually, the cut-off is the 7th Opening. Most people live their life below the 1st Opening, or more precisely between the 0th and the 1st Openings. From the 1st Opening to the 7th Opening, you are an Artyficer, from the 7th onward you are an Artyst. In addition to that, an Artyficer must be of the 4th Opening at least to sell their services as such. Artysta of the 9th Opening are required by law to declare themselves to the Artem. They must pass the Royal Test to obtain their Artystic License and become what we called State Artysta.”

“Meaninglessly complicated, that’s for sure… It still doesn’t tell me why the Academy would only want Artificers…”

“The only reason I could think of was a practical reason: too many Artysta at once can become a threat.”

“A threat? To whom?”

Isyd waved his hand vaguely around. “Who knows specifically? A threat to everyone who has a reason to feel threatened I guess… It makes sense that the people in power right now do not want too much power spread in everyone’s hands. However, this is what the Holy Arts promise. Think of it this way, Naeht: most of the devastation you’ve witnessed in Old Ziemia wasn’t at the hands of the Obcys. It was done by the Artysta trying to stop them. That is the kind of power we’re speaking of…”

Naeht’s translucent figure was traversed by a brief shimmer, her equivalent of shivering.

“The irony is that at the beginning of the War,” Isyd continued, “Artysta felt necessary to use such destructive power only because they were driven to their extremes. I believe we lacked competent manpower at the front. Too many minor Artyficers and too few skilled Artysta. Now, we know that it wasn’t by accident but by design…”

“I see…” Naeht nodded sombrely.

Isyd finished his stew in silence, lost in thoughts. His mind was taken back to his confrontation with the Baroness and the Kazan family.

“It isn’t the first time it causes problems...” he mumbled to himself.

“What does?” Naeht asked.

“The protocols and social hierarchies that rule our lives here, specifically with regard to the szlachta. In Old Ziemia, it had all collapsed in its entirety. It’s hard for me to readjust and take it all into consideration. It’s a blind spot of mine, otherwise, I’d have guessed the Academy’s true purpose even earlier.”

“I admit I am also surprised with the obsession people here have to rank everything and everyone according to their Opening or profession. It’s a waste of time and energy if you ask me! What do you plan to do about it?”

“What makes you think anything can be done?”

“I know you, Isyd! Of course you have a plan whirling in this head of yours!”

Isyd smirked. “Hidrss said that many of the Pupils enter the Academy with the goal of becoming Artyficers. He is right but I stand by my opinion: they only do so because they believe it’s the best they can achieve. The plan is therefore to demonstrate the contrary. The Tourney happens to be the perfect occasion to do so.”

Isyd’s attention perked up as he felt a presence descending the stairs.

“There you are… Took you long enough,” Isyd said, recognizing the person he’d been waiting for.

Jozaf Gadan entered the main room, a satisfied grin on his face and readjusting the buckles of his belt. He took up a seat at the bar and tried to hail the barman for a cup of ale. Isyd approached him and took the seat next to him. It took a few seconds before noticing him there. He had to look twice to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. The young man couldn’t hide his surprise.

“That’s not a place I expected to see the esteemed Isyd Wybrany,” Jozaf exclaimed.

“Good evening. I hope the Evaluations went well for you.”

“Definitely not as good as for yours! You are living the dream of every Pupil, Wybrany. Plus, you provoked quite the stir amidst the Paramount Rings!”

He seemed to find the latter hilarious.

“Good. I plan to do it again, but for that, I need some information,” Isyd said, leaning in.

Immediately, a glint appeared in Jozaf’s eyes. “All information has its price, my good Sir…”

Isyd waved at the bartender and ordered a bowl of his best food as well as another cup of his best ale. Jozaf’s cheeks already presented some shades of pink and Isyd had only to gain by having him more inebriated.

“Well, well, that’s a fantastic start!” Jozaf said, eyeing hungrily the greasy, roasted chicken leg he was presented with. “So, what do you want to know?”

“It’s about the Tourney…”

“Oh, I see! You want to know which one of the Paramount Rings to bet on! Which one has the highest chance of making it and all that! Finally decided to join them, eh? I was wondering when you’d do it, but now is a perfect moment to do so… Just for curiosity's sake before I tell you what I know, which one do you fancy?”

“None. I intend for the Tears to join the Tourney,” Isyd announced.

Jozaf looked at him, eyes wide and mouth agape and full of chewed food.

“The Tears? You mean your Ring, right? Good Grace! You don’t do things halfway, do you?”

“So, what can you tell me about the selection of the Rings?”

But Jozaf was not yet ready to move on and he was excited by the scoop. “You know they’re going to be mighty pissed if you even try to compete! And by ‘they’ I mean the Paramount Rings!”

“I will handle them.”

Seeing that Isyd was entirely serious, Jozaf couldn’t help but laugh out loud for several seconds.

“Good God… you’re quite something. You know that this information is expensive…”

“I can pay.”

“Alright, well here’s what I know: the selection test will be held at the 21st Hour, four days from now in the Fields. Before that, all the Rings that desire to participate have to appear and write their names in the Great Hall one hour before where they will receive the blessing of the Doyen. So far, the only information I could obtain was that the test will be a kind of hunt or object retrieval mission in the forest. You can expect additional challenges to get in your way. You’ll have to wait for me to gain more detailed information.”

“Is the recompense for the Tourney already known?”

“Already imagining yourself claiming it?” Jozaf railed. “You’ll have some serious competition, you know? The likes of Arael Lwieserce or Söyem Nifritovna, and that’s only talking about here. Who knows what kind of talents may be arriving from the South!”

“Let me worry about that myself. Answer the question.”

“Fine, if the previous times are to be believed, there’s a fortune on the line for the winners as well as the guaranteed continuation of your studies in the Academies until becoming a State Artyst. That is without mentioning everything that can be gained besides the stated recompense like the possibility of catching the eye of and being recruited personally by the Artem or the Royal Family.”

Isyd nodded without a word. He was satisfied; it was pretty much all he had expected from such a tournament. He rose from his seat.

“If I have more questions,” Isyd said, “I’ll come back to you.”

He slid a Silver coin in Jozaf’s direction, then added a second on top of it. “This one is for your silence. Only five days isn’t asking much, I think?”

The red-haired man hesitated briefly before accepting both coins. He made them spin on the table and between his knuckles, a pensive and serious look carved on his face.

“You are an interesting man, Wybrany,” Jozaf ended up saying. “You’re different from the rest of the folks we see coming through here… You’re… Well, whatever…”

His mocking grin came back, and he pocketed the coins. “You’re gonna make me a rich man, Wybrany! Don’t hesitate to come back. As I have said before, you’re certainly making this semester interesting!”