could scarcely reconcile the picture: the proper, well-to-do, Guild-trained Capital woman, sitting at her table trimming her nails with a hunting knife.
“In what year were the Greenwardens established?”
“The Greenwardens, then known as the Brothers of Peace, were originally founded to counteract the spread of weaponized alchemy and a sudden increase in the worship of Othaghor. They were established in the...eighth...century, and remain one of the most influential Imperial Guilds to this day.”
He brushed off his shoulder, as though he answered questions like this every day.
She nodded to him, conceding a point. “Very good. I’d only correct a few bits, here and there: they were originally known as the Sisters of Peace, as the first generation of Greenwardens were all women. They were meant to counteract the worship of Ach’magut, not Othaghor, established in the seventh century rather than the eighth, and they are among the weakest Guilds in terms of both political power and available capital.”
Alsa stowed her knife without looking at him, flushing in shame. The heat spread down almost to his shoulders before he managed to choke back his embarrassment.
One question. That was one question, and I could have answered it had she given me more time.
But she didn’t seem inclined to give him any more time at all. “It will be important for you to know the history of the Greenwardens should you choose to join them. Kameira are fascinating creatures, and you would work quite closely alongside them in the Greenwardens. In fact, Imperial history is a critical subject for any of the Guilds.”
“I’m not sure I see myself as a Guild man,” he said. “I had thought about boarding a ship for Izyria and connecting with my culture, perhaps as a sailor or a hunter.”
He tried his best to make those sound like viable career paths, and not boyhood dreams born of travelers’ stories.
Alsa went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “If you do want to pass as a governor’s son, for some reason, then you should familiarize yourself with the fundamental philosophers. Penmanship, too, is crucial in more professions than you would expect.”
Penmanship? He didn’t want to learn penmanship.
“Listen, Mother. I understand that you think Father was irresponsible in bringing me along on an…artifact retrieval...and you’re probably right. That’s inappropriate for a boy my age, and I understand that.” He understood that she thought so, and that was what mattered. “But I’m as intelligent as any rich Guild son, and I’m quicker, and I can think on my feet. I could do quite well outside the Guilds, because I can get along on the streets. In the real world, not the cozy drawing-rooms of the Magisters or the alchemists.”
Calder had taken that speech point-for-point from an angry rant his father often brought forth when he’d been drinking. Not word-for-word, of course, because he thought his mother would appreciate eloquence more than passion.
But he did believe it. The ten Guilds acted as though they were part of some private world, running the Empire while everyone else simply benefited from their expertise.
Let’s see how a Greenwarden does without money to buy his food. He won’t have the spine to steal a loaf of bread, not to mention the hands to do it without getting caught.
A voice in the back of his mind mentioned that the Greenwardens were supposedly all Soulbound, capable of healing wounds and miraculously restoring blighted crops. Even if they were kicked out of the Guild for some reason, they were unlikely to starve.
He shoved that voice away.
Alsa looked as though she was having a great deal of trouble restraining her laughter. “The real world, you say? I see. And you think I don’t live in the real world, do you? Is that what your Father said?” There was an edge to her humor now.
Come to think of it, his father hadn’t ever listed Alsa among those Guild privileged who leaned on their
“In what year were the Greenwardens established?”
“The Greenwardens, then known as the Brothers of Peace, were originally founded to counteract the spread of weaponized alchemy and a sudden increase in the worship of Othaghor. They were established in the...eighth...century, and remain one of the most influential Imperial Guilds to this day.”
He brushed off his shoulder, as though he answered questions like this every day.
She nodded to him, conceding a point. “Very good. I’d only correct a few bits, here and there: they were originally known as the Sisters of Peace, as the first generation of Greenwardens were all women. They were meant to counteract the worship of Ach’magut, not Othaghor, established in the seventh century rather than the eighth, and they are among the weakest Guilds in terms of both political power and available capital.”
Alsa stowed her knife without looking at him, flushing in shame. The heat spread down almost to his shoulders before he managed to choke back his embarrassment.
One question. That was one question, and I could have answered it had she given me more time.
But she didn’t seem inclined to give him any more time at all. “It will be important for you to know the history of the Greenwardens should you choose to join them. Kameira are fascinating creatures, and you would work quite closely alongside them in the Greenwardens. In fact, Imperial history is a critical subject for any of the Guilds.”
“I’m not sure I see myself as a Guild man,” he said. “I had thought about boarding a ship for Izyria and connecting with my culture, perhaps as a sailor or a hunter.”
He tried his best to make those sound like viable career paths, and not boyhood dreams born of travelers’ stories.
Alsa went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “If you do want to pass as a governor’s son, for some reason, then you should familiarize yourself with the fundamental philosophers. Penmanship, too, is crucial in more professions than you would expect.”
Penmanship? He didn’t want to learn penmanship.
“Listen, Mother. I understand that you think Father was irresponsible in bringing me along on an…artifact retrieval...and you’re probably right. That’s inappropriate for a boy my age, and I understand that.” He understood that she thought so, and that was what mattered. “But I’m as intelligent as any rich Guild son, and I’m quicker, and I can think on my feet. I could do quite well outside the Guilds, because I can get along on the streets. In the real world, not the cozy drawing-rooms of the Magisters or the alchemists.”
Calder had taken that speech point-for-point from an angry rant his father often brought forth when he’d been drinking. Not word-for-word, of course, because he thought his mother would appreciate eloquence more than passion.
But he did believe it. The ten Guilds acted as though they were part of some private world, running the Empire while everyone else simply benefited from their expertise.
Let’s see how a Greenwarden does without money to buy his food. He won’t have the spine to steal a loaf of bread, not to mention the hands to do it without getting caught.
A voice in the back of his mind mentioned that the Greenwardens were supposedly all Soulbound, capable of healing wounds and miraculously restoring blighted crops. Even if they were kicked out of the Guild for some reason, they were unlikely to starve.
He shoved that voice away.
Alsa looked as though she was having a great deal of trouble restraining her laughter. “The real world, you say? I see. And you think I don’t live in the real world, do you? Is that what your Father said?” There was an edge to her humor now.
Come to think of it, his father hadn’t ever listed Alsa among those Guild privileged who leaned on their
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