"So he's alive, they all are..." Pops thought about his words. "Well, most of them. Some death was unavoidable."

  "You're the fucking [Archmage] of Cersapil, I highly doubt anyone had to die," Tandy held firm. Pop's dramatic fountain display had not impressed Tandy.

  The [Archmage] looked at Tandy's flat expression and sighed.

  "We've already had this argument a dozen times." The [Archmage] sat watching the red water flow down his beloved city.

  This guy is really full of himself.

  Like Richard could talk.

  "A dozen times?" Tandy finally broke the gurgle of the fountain.

  "Yes, before you stomped off to become a [Pianist]." The [Archmage] stood abruptly. "Let's talk with Argin, perhaps you'll believe it in front of her."

  The old man marched off, his robes waving behind him. The rest of us looked at each other, the blood-red fountain reflecting against our faces.

  I studied Leo. The red glow against his clean-shaven, angular face gave him a sinister cast. He followed Pops through the double doors, and I couldn’t help but think he looked like a stranger.

  I followed my old friend. If the council was going to do nothing, then the presupposition was that either we or Pops had to do something. I thought of the children waiting for Tandy's performance to start. The countless people that filled Cersapil and there really wasn't any other choice. We had to hear him out.

  And if Leo was on board, if I had a chance to heal that wound, I would take it.

  The [Archmage's] house was nothing like I thought it'd be. Sure, it had tall ceilings and white marble with melodramatic lighting thanks to inset lights. All expected. The art on the walls, however, was terrible. Finger paintings of Cersapil, a stick dragon floating above a lake, a pudgy clay statue of a bogquacker with two marble red eyes. They treated all these unhinged children’s art projects as prized possessions, irreplaceable rare artifacts.

  Slippered feet slapped against the ground, ushering us forward.

  A paper mache owl, its hollow eyes staring lifelessly forward, hung against a velvet wall. One of the rare flame deer of the northern peaks hung miniaturized, made of colored pipe cleaners, with brown and red bristles.

  The guy's taste in art... could use improvement. For once, I had to agree with the banana slug.

  We followed him into a sitting room complete with tall, expansive windows that opened to a courtyard full of trees dotted with little twinkling lights.

  Several statues sat in the room. These, unlike the hallway of children's art, were masterpieces. Four statues that showed every ripple in fabric, crease in leather, and wrinkle on a face. The stone held none of the glossing over of most statues. The sculptor did not fix the bent nose and rendered the receding hairline with obscene accuracy.

  "Have you figured it out yet?" Pops asked, as I stared at a statue of Argin. These had to be his family line.

  I reached out to brush her stony, fluffy eyebrow.

  "Boo!" the stone in front of me moved.

  I jumped, letting out a scream that was decidedly unmanly.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  You're excitable. You remember Argin is turning to stone, right?

  "Are they all alive?" Ash asked as he studied an old man in plate armor.

  "No, just me," Argin said, her voice sounding like two stones rubbing against each other.

  "It's my wife's fault." Pops went up to a statue of a lady with flowing hair and a hint of a smile. "She was a Stone Warden. Our love was forbidden, but who's going to challenge the will of an [Archmage]?" He said the words wistfully, as though reliving a memory he thought better of now. "What neither of us predicted at the time is that I would be the last [Archmage] of Cersapil. The stone blood ran true in our lineage, and I-I never dallied. I've had proteges and apprentices, always hoping we'd find someone." His eyes shone as he looked at Tandy. "Until you."

  "I don't want to be the [Archmage] of Cersapil, and killing my friends is not a great way to start an apprenticeship." Tandy had a point. As the friend in question up for killing, I had to agree with her.

  "Based on the Rock Slug gnawing at the undercarriage of your city, I don't think it's going to matter." Meredeath held Briyain's bowl in one hand as she poked at a statue of a short man with a braided beard.

  "She has a point," Argin rumbled, shifting. Ash was too close for Argin's comfort as he examined her. "Do you mind?"

  "Are you completely stone? Can you feel this?" he poked her in the side. She shifted away from his prodding slowly, pointing a finger at him.

  "I don't understand why the council isn't acting. Sihd Twy was there, you, and Argin. The captain died. It's not like we're making up the threat. The Order of the Hunt, the Adventurers Guild, and the [Archmage] of Cersapil all can vouch for the threat that's got to count as something." Leo was still firmly part of the cult, he leaned forward in his chair, eyes full of sincerity.

  The [Archmage] leaned back. He looked like Pops, the tired, limping grandfather we'd found under a wagon in the caravan. Even in his rich robes, and surrounded by his family heirlooms and lingering magic, he looked tired, old. As though he couldn't quite bring himself to explain the way the world worked to yet another eager-eyed youth.

  They already know they're doomed. Richard stepped in. Why live in terror of the end, when you can blissfully dance off the edge of a cliff completely unaware? Pretend that you're not complicit in the downfall of your city?

  His voice held a note of self-reproach, as though this was a coping strategy he’d once employed.

  "But the lower districts. The children," I couldn't help but add. I understood avoidance. But avoiding accountability for a career decision or moving in with a toxic girlfriend was an anthill next to the mountain of watching an entire populace fall to [Corruption]. To a [Mesmer] and a fiery death.

  Argin made a sound like two rocks clacking together. It took an uncomfortable moment to realize that she was laughing at me.

  "Leo, you joined the wrong order. You and Cole should be Wayfinders," Pops said, pouring a cup of tea.

  Don't even think about it. I would rather undulate across sandpaper with you strapped to my back than be attached to those way-finding do-gooders.

  "It's been a long time since the elite of Cersapil gave a shit about the lower levels." Even in Argin's rocky cadence, she sounded bitter.

  "How long do you have?" I asked. It didn't take a genius to know that she was destined to join her relatives on their pedestals. To be the next statue in her family mausoleum.

  "She has days, a week, maybe a month," the [Archmage] answered. Argin's head tilted down as she acknowledged his words. "Which is maybe a hair more time than Cersapil has." The old man brought his teacup down to his lap. He looked down at it, finger tracing the edge of the cup. "It's all the time you have." He looked at Tandy. "To save the city."

  I've known Tandy for a long time, and she had a couple of tells that I'd picked up on over the years. Her mom didn't tolerate attitude in her daughter, so my friend had gotten fairly good at hiding her reactions to her elders. Her lips pursed a little, twitching to the left. If you looked real close at her crossed arms, you'd see that her fingernails had dug into her arms, whitening the skin. She crossed her legs. If it'd been Leo or myself, neither of which were put through the pincher of the Selvedge household, we'd have rolled our eyes and stomped off.

  Tandy used her words to cut.

  "I don't care if I'm the next [Archmage] of Cersapil. Whether it's a day or a week, I'm not the savior your city needs." She leaned forward, her eyes almost glowing with intensity. "You are."

  The [Archmage] of Cersapil calmly put his teacup back on the saucer and stood. He gave her a grim smile, as we all stood with him.

  "If only that were true, my dear. Come with me, I need to show you something."

  Stumbling Up will be stubbing book 1 the week of March 1st (Chapter 1-71)

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