Mage Tank

Chapter 18: The Man Who Doesn't Exist

Moving through the portal was similar to my Shortcut ability. There was a flash, a brief sensation of movement, then I was outside of the Delve. When I exited I was still indoors, finding myself in another large stone chamber, but the rock was of a lighter shade. Also, rather than being faced with terrifying creatures amidst misty darkness, this room was well-lit and full of people.

Varrin was already being set upon by no less than ten men and women, several of whom fussed over him with concerned looks. One particularly stout fellow retrieved a large tool box and began extracting a variety of implements, presumably to pry the big man out of his armor. Another pair, dressed in light blue robes, were beginning to send wisps of crimson energy from their fingertips to the visible wounds on Varrin’s face and exposed skin. The magic caressed the injuries, wiping away fresh bruises and causing cuts and scrapes to close up. It was obviously some form of healing, though while Xim’s magic had worked in a general way–helping out the whole body in a limited manner–this looked to be highly focused on specific areas.

There was a richly-dressed young couple standing just beyond the group attending Varrin, watching him with worry. The man was as tall and broad as Varrin, and had a similar pale complexion and dirty white hair. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and I assumed it was Varrin’s brother. The woman was also tall, probably standing at least six feet, but was much more lithe. She held the larger man by the arm, and had her fingers laced through his own, so I assumed it was the brother’s wife or otherwise significant other. Both of them were beyond attractive, looking like they belonged on the cover of Vogue, but before I caught myself staring, my attention turned to a small group approaching me.

They were led by another couple, though they were decidedly more exotic. The man had dark black skin broken by pinpricks of white that gave me the sensation that I was looking at a man made of clear night sky, rather than flesh and bone. His sclera was a similar bright white and his pupils were a dazzling violet. As he approached, I noticed that he wasn’t walking, he was floating. My brain had initially registered his lower half as a robe, but I realized that it was more like his entire form transitioned into an undulating shadow at the waist. The dark substance swam through the air as he moved.

The woman next to him was short and curvy, with dark black hair and crimson skin. She wore a loose-fitting white gown and a pair of short, ebony black horns peeked out from beneath her bangs. Aside from the horns, this woman bore a striking resemblance to the unconscious cleric. I assumed this was also a sibling.

The woman’s eyes were locked onto Xim, who was slung over my shoulder, but paused her approach when the shadowy man placed a hand on her arm. His eyes had caught sight of the severed head I held, and he was likely, and rightfully, skeptical of this stranger. The general mess of my appearance probably also didn’t help, which was made even more absurd by the pristine feather boa draped around my neck.

“Hi,” I said. “I assume you’re Xim’s family. Sorry about the head, it’s not from anyone in our party, promise.”

The woman broke away from the man’s gentle grasp and the pair walked forward anxiously.

“Is she alive?” the woman asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Yeah. She’s just passed out,” I said, looking for a place to deposit Xim. I was starting to feel like a conquering barbarian just standing there with her. The dark man floated over and reached out, taking her off of me with very little effort. Whoever he was, he was either extremely strong, or used some sort of spell to make Xim lighter. Not that she was heavy, but he’d taken her away like she was made of cloth and stuffing. He turned and silently took her toward a small table, flanked by two men in blue robes similar to those attending Varrin.

“Thank you,” the woman said, her eyes glancing down at the severed head again. “Forgive me,” she said, “I have so many questions and we haven’t had proper introductions, but I should go be with her.” She turned and watched her partner set Xim down, and the pair in blue began working with threads of dark red energy.

“Of course,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Thank you,” she said again, before turning and hurrying over to Xim’s side.

I didn’t know what to do with myself, but the overwhelming pain from my conglomerate of gashes, broken bones, blood loss, and series of debuffs was beginning to reassert itself. I looked around for a place to sit, and realized that the room was well-furnished. There were several tables near the edges of the room like the one Xim was laying on, but also clusters of plush loveseats and armchairs arranged around low tables. There were empty bottles, glasses and mugs, and trays of half-finished food scattered about, almost like this were some sort of lounge / hospital-ward hybrid. I walked to a loveseat set against a wall a few feet away and collapsed into it.

As I looked around, I noticed a few more distinct groups in the room. Another well-dressed couple, who wore grim expressions, stood near an occupied gurney. The woman’s hair was a familiar shade of blonde, and I realized that Chilla was the one laid out. One of the blue-robed healers looked down at her regretfully.

The woman was crying, her body clearly wracked with grief, though she kept her distress quiet. The man next to her kept a hand on her back as he exchanged whispers with one of three armored guards surrounding them. They shot glances at Varrin as they spoke, then the man caught me staring. He looked me over intensely, then bent to whisper something to the crying woman. She turned and looked at me as well, but quickly returned to mourning.

On the far side of the room was a group of six near another gurney, but the figure on top was covered in a cloth that had a colorful pattern embroidered into it. I knew who was under there, as five of the six people were Littans, the same race as Sayil. They had differing colors of fur, ranging from white to gray to brown, but all had a similar narrow and graceful build. None of them wept, but it was clear that they were distraught as they held one another or leaned against a wall, head slumping. A few of them also caught sight of me, looking at me for a time before whispering to one another, and I couldn’t tell what type of reaction they’d had.

An older woman in more elaborate blue robes spoke with a pair of gentlemen wearing some sort of military uniform. One of the men had what looked like a rolled cigarette between his lips, smoldering gently. His eyes scanned the room, though he looked fairly disinterested in what was happening. When his eyes met mine he half-grinned and gave me a little wave. I tried to smile and wave back. He chuckled, then returned to his survey.

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The older woman patted one of the uniformed men on the shoulder, then turned and made a beeline toward me.

She’d obviously noticed me before, because she betrayed no expression while coming to me. She moved swiftly to cross the distance, though didn’t look hurried. A professional gait with purpose behind it, but carefully considered to avoid looking harried or overeager. When she arrived, she placed her palms together flat in front of her chest and gave me a shallow bow.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I apologize that no one has yet seen to you, but we were not given notice that another Delver would emerge within this chamber. Do you require any assistance locating your retinue?”

“Oh,” I said. “I don’t have one.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked me over more closely.

“Again, I apologize but I do not know how to address you properly.”

“Arlo is fine,” I said.

“I’m afraid I would be uncomfortable referring to you so informally. If I might be so bold, would you perhaps be willing to share your title?”

“Ah, I see. Esquire.”

Both eyebrows went up at that.

“Well then, sir esquire, if you do not have a retinue, may I offer you medical aid? You appear to have seen your fair share of combat.”

“Yes,” I said. “Please do. I should have passed out a half dozen times by now.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling back a loose sleeve.

She waved a hand toward me and a spray of golden light spilled out of her palm and settled on my body. When it hit me I was overwhelmed by an immense sense of calm and wellness.

It was like kicking off my shoes after hiking twenty miles, getting a full body massage, eating a two-thousand calorie meal, then wrapping myself in silk pajamas and snuggling up into a downy blanket on a bed made of positive affirmations. I felt my organs and bones shift inside of me, but the feeling was nearly ecstatic as every movement was like the body part finally figuring out exactly where it wanted to be. I nearly lost consciousness on the spot.

“Oh my god,” I mumbled. “That’s the stuff right there.” I took a look at my health and saw that it had shot up a hundred points. The woman looked at me with a puzzled expression.

“Again, Esquire Arlo, I apologize. I underestimated your need. It is not often that I need to use more than a basic spell on a level one Delver.” She cast the wave of golden light once more and my health went back to full. She then turned her hand over and wove her fingers through the air. More golden light pulsed from her and my debuffs dropped away one by one.

“No worries, this is amazing.” I sank even deeper into the loveseat. I was probably soiling it beyond repair, but I didn’t care in the least. I’d buy them a new one if I had to, assuming I had enough money to do so. I didn’t actually know what the money I’d looted from Hognay was worth.

“Is there any other way I may be of assistance?”

“I don’t suppose you have some clean clothes? Maybe a hot bath?”

She smiled slightly and gave a shallow nod.

“Of course. Given your inquiry, may I assume that you are unfamiliar with our facilities?”

“That is a valid assumption.”

“I will retrieve an initiate to assist you. This facility has a number of private baths which can be prepared with a moment’s notice. As for clothing, we do not keep anything on hand that might be considered suitable for one of noble station, but if you are willing to accept a simple set of garments, I can arrange for one to be brought to you. They will be basic, but I assure you that they will be comfortable.”

“That’s fantastic. I’m happy with whatever you can provide. Sorry, but, as you observed, I’m not very familiar with this whole process. Do I owe you anything for all this?”

She held up a hand and shook her head.

“There is no need. Everything here is complimentary. Your Delve fees will more than cover anything you might use here.”

“Ok. About those fees. Um…”

Her smile widened.

“When you exit the lobby there is an attendant that will collect a portion of what you earned within the Delve. They will also provide you with a receipt in the event your own nation taxes your earnings.”

“That’s… good to know.” I began to get anxious. Taxes were truly inescapable, even after death. “May I have your name?”

“I am Supplicant Hierti Madson, at your service.”

“You’re a member of a religious order?”

“Of course. The Supplicants of Astrania provide many services to the Delver community in regards to healing and other post-Delve needs.”

“That’s… very nice of you,” I said, feeling as dumb as that platitude likely sounded. “I was told that the Supplicants of Astrania have less than favorable views of the Delves.”

She nodded politely, as though she’d heard the characterization a thousand times before.

“This is true, though an oversimplification. We believe that the Delves themselves are entities of evil, though we also recognize the need to explore and conquer them, lest their corruption spread out into our lands. We believe that the actions of Delvers are, at the core, noble, even if a Delver’s personal motivations are not always pure. I would be happy to speak with you further about our beliefs if you wish, though I expect getting cleaned and dressed is a higher priority for you than the theological proselytizing of an old woman.”

I grinned.

“I think you’re right. I’m deeply thankful for your help. I’ve been feeling a bit out of depth.”

She reached into her robes and fished out a small wooden token. It had the symbol of a tree carved into it, with a large eye set into the center of the branches.

“Our main church here in Formation is attached to this Delve facility. If you show this token to a member they will provide you with any guidance or knowledge within their means.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the token. It was about the same size as a chip, which I expected was intentional. “You’ve been a great help, Supplicant Hierti.”

She bowed her head, then dismissed herself to retrieve an initiate to get me sorted with clothes and a bath. I realized that I’d been sitting with one hand on top of Hognay’s severed head, and was impressed that Hierti had acted as though she hadn’t even noticed it.

She'd also ignored the floating, feathered octopus monster. I guess she saw a lot of shit in her line of work.

As she left, she passed by the uniformed men, who were now approaching, and stopped to exchange a few words with them. While one was unarmed, I noticed the smoking man had a one-handed warhammer on his belt. He smiled at me again as Hierti moved on.

“Good afternoon, Esquire Arlo,” said the man not possessed of a lethal weapon. “My name is Officer Dalton. This is Guardian Lito,” he gestured at the dude smoking, who gave a shallow bow.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, we noticed something a little odd when we got word of your party exiting the Delve. Erm, you, Arlo, aren’t on any of our lists.”

Lito plucked the cig from his lips and blew out a puff of smoke. He locked his eyes on me, then spoke in a gravelly drone.

“We’ve got a few questions to ask you about that.”

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