“This isn’t like looking for a needle in a haystack, it’s like looking for a piece of hay in a stack of needles.”

  Floor minus-five of Brimstone HQ was only open to employees with the highest clearance levels, and as such was mostly empty. The space it took up was immense, without the floor needing to be divided into separate rooms. Rows and rows of shelving units that held carefully catalogued boxes, artifacts, books and papers. The only light was in the center of the room, a floating magelight hovering above a table, illuminating the map of the city below and the three faces looking down at it.

  To the left stood Dabron Starn, head of criminal intelligence at the Danmer Peacekeepers. A mountain of a man, with a bald head and beard that tumbled down from chin to navel like a wiry waterfall. The table groaned and creaked as he leant forward on it. When he thumped the map with a calloused finger, the coffee cups rattled in their saucers.

  To the right was John Abbott, a representative of the information management division of the DAA. The Danmer Advertising Association was one of those groups where nobody really knows what they do. They manage advertisements for Well of Wonders, recruiting for Brimstone, public announcements for Horizon, as well as whatever is showing on those shifting posters all over town. They grant permits for holo-signs, act as a patron for half the musicians in the city, and even have a say in some minor aesthetics like interior decoration and uniform standards.

  At the head of the table was Samatha Darter, representing the executive branch of Brimstone. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and three different scribing pens were writing notes of their conversation so far. She pulled off her glasses and polished the lenses, more of a nervous tick than anything. The two men at the table treat her with a careful respect, due to her being here on Mr. Grey’s behalf, but as the meeting came to a close their frustration at a lack of progress led to irritability overtaking cordiality in how they addressed her.

  “Are you certain there were no witnesses?” asked Dabron, again.

  Abbott sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There were. Your Peacekeepers mopped them up from the walls of the blast site. Anyone within the vicinity was killed in the blast. Civilians on the main street gave scattered testimonies, but the only commonalities were the teenagers and the shopkeeper who saw a man carrying away an injured woman.”

  “Nobody saw where they went?”

  “Nothing concrete, they were only seen for an instant. It’s unclear whether they were involved or just caught up in it.

  The furious scratching of pen and paper paused for a moment. “They’re the best leads we have. Whatever involvement they had, they saw something. That or one of them was the culprit, fleeing the scene of the crime.”

  Dabron sighed. “I told you, if the culprit had access to that tier of spell, they would have teleported away afterwards. I doubt they would pull a move like that then run away on foot.”

  “Not if they ran out of mana. Not uncommon for novices to bite off more than they can chew and get knocked out by the mana sickness afterwards.” said Samantha, putting her glasses back on her face.

  “So we’re thinking the woman was the culprit and the man was some kind of accomplice?”

  “Seems so. Or they were just bystanders and the culprit was someone else.”

  Abbott pulled a thumb-sized bottle from his coat, and poured some steaming coffee into his now empty mug. The coffee that came out was far more than the minute flask should have been able to contain. “I don’t think so. Nobody got away from that with minor injuries. The witnesses said she was bleeding and missing her arms. Either she got very lucky and was just on the edge of the radius, arms out for some reason, or perhaps our rogue sorcerer came in and interrupted some other kind of violence. I’d say it was the man.”

  “We’re getting nowhere with these hypotheticals.” said Samantha. “Bring an illusionist to those witnesses, get them to recreate an image of the two people they saw, and see if you can find them.”

  “Will do.” grunted Dabron. “Any idea what spell it was yet?”

  “No, that’s the most perplexing part. We had one of our Grimoire keepers investigate the scene. His first thought was Disintegrate, but there was no dust left behind from the buildings being disintegrated. Then he tested a few teleportation spells, thinking that the whole area was ported somewhere else, but that wouldn’t explain the glassy sheen around the epicenter.”

  “Or the blood.” said Abbott.

  “Or that, yes. He even looked into some more obscure things like Compress Space, Oblivify, Mage’s Final Resort, Greater Rupture, but none of them matched. He suggested it might be some kind of Elven Artifact, but we have detectors for those in the city which makes that highly improbable.”

  “So…” Abbott spoke, taking a sip of his coffee. “We’re either looking for a completely new spell, meaning we’d have to start interrogating the Archmagi… or a Wild Mage.”

  The room went quiet for a while. Dabron sighed and went to pace around the room, stepping away from the light. Samantha didn’t take her eyes off the map, hoping something would suddenly jump out at her. Abbott quietly sipped his drink.

  “That is a possibility, yes.” Samantha said, quietly. “In which case this is even more like a stack of needles than we thought. If we’re dealing with a WIld Mage he might already be dead, or rampaging on the other side of the planet, or plotting his next move. If it’s the latter, I’m not sure what we can do about it. If we come close to finding him, we risk flattening another city block.”

  Dabron returned to the table and scoffed. “Wild Mages are unpredictable, sure, but they’re all cracked in the head. He’ll out himself eventually by turning his house into marshmallows or something. I’d rather that than some rogue Archmage.”

  Abbott said nothing. Samantha snapped her fingers and her scribing pens flew from their notebooks and settled in her shirt pocket.

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

  “Let’s get those illusions made and reconvene tomorrow. Wild Mage or not, we’re dealing with a dangerous individual here and need to proceed with caution. Have the Peacekeepers do extra patrols in that part of the city, and have the DAA put out a notice offering a reward for useful information.”

  The two men nodded.

  “I’ll hang about for a bit longer, if you don’t mind. I want to finish my coffee and have a bit of thinking time here, if that’s alright.” Abbott said.

  “Suit yourself. Just don’t overdo it. It seems like we might have a few more late nights after this one.” Samantha said, grabbing her bag and a foldable broom from a nearby shelf. She and Dabron made their way to the Port Pod at the far end of the room, and after a few moments Abbott was alone in the room.

  “Never took you for a spy, Fyron.”

  The two golden pinpoints that indicated the Wild Mage’s specialisation hovered in the darkness, before moving closer. The shadowed form of a man in a wide-brimmed hat and long robes grew brighter as it approached the magelight, revealing his permanent semi-amused smile. It infuriated Abbott.

  “On the contrary, I might be the most spy-like person on the planet. Intentionally or not, I don’t miss much that goes on around here.”

  “Come to offer your insights on our rogue wild mage?”

  “Just to catch up with my friends at the DAA. I assume they’re all listening right now.”

  Fyron stood at the head of the table, where Samantha was just a moment ago, and surveyed the maps. Abbott closed his eyes for a moment, then suddenly began writhing and twitching in place. A button on his shirt popped out of place from the unnatural movements, and the sound of joints clicking and popping seemed to boom in the silence of the room. Fyron didn’t raise his eyes from the table.

  “Ron.” spoke a voice completely different to Abbott’s. It was more feminine, less formal, and laced with rage. “You have a lot of balls waltzing into here. That or you’ve finally lost your damn mind. I’m sure you have some reason for breaching our agreement, and we would love to hear it.”

  Abbott convulsed again, and another voice spoke. Elderly and cordial. “Please, let’s keep some level of civility. I’m sure Ron has a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”

  Another twist of the neck, and a gruff baritone barked out. “Reasonable? Fyron?”

  Abbot’s face was twisted into a cruel smile, though the sweat on his brow and the purplish tinge to his face would indicate quite a considerable amount of pain. Fyron stroked his scruffy beard and looked thoughtful.

  “I don’t recall any agreement. You can’t kill me, because of what would happen if I died. I can’t kill you, because of what happens if you die. Less of an agreement and more of an impasse.”

  Abbott’s face snapped into a new configuration and a reflined, elegant woman’s voice spoke. “Am I right in thinking that you have shared the Gift with others? Or is this some organically found Wild Mage you are involving yourself in?”

  “So many questions. I simply have an interest in the progress of this case, and was hoping to persuade you to call it off.”

  “Call it off? How could we possibly ignore a nascent Wild Mage rampaging through our city?”

  “Wild Mages have been rampaging through the city ever since your department was formed at the DAA.”

  There was quiet for a while, broken only by the gasped, raspy breathing coming from Abbott.

  “I’m assuming you have some incentive for making this request.” spoke the elderly man’s voice.

  “Yes, it's something I’ve come across lately that would end our little standoff. Our ideological differences have kept us at odds for long enough. I fight for the people, you fight for the few-”

  “You know that’s bullshit. You want to plunge the world into-” the younger woman’s voice was overtaken by the deeper baritone. “Hold on, I want to hear this.”

  Fyron smiled, knowing he’d caught their attention.

  “Well, our little game has for so long had only two outcomes. Your victory would involve the truth of magic being kept safely under lock and key, conveniently only being permitted to the four of you and only for the benefit of your own interests, and maybe to maintain the Three if it pleases you.”

  “Are you purposefully antagonising us today?”

  “Me? Never. Anyway, as you know my victory involves a bit more freedom of information. Quite the frustration for you I imagine.”

  “Get on with it.”

  “What if I told you there was a third option, where nobody gets what they want?”

  “You’d be shooting yourself in the foot just to spite us?”

  “No, I’d be quite happy if it ended up in this situation. I might even opt for that if we can’t settle our disagreement someday.”

  Abbott went quiet for a while. Fyron knew that they were privately discussing how to proceed, likely using a form of compressed time telepathic communication. Fyron crouched down and picked up a pen from the floor. Wyll’s sister had left it behind. With a brief push of his will, the pen popped out of existence and reappeared in Samantha’s bag as she made her way home.

  “Can I assume that you aren’t planning on telling us about what this third outcome entails?” spoke the elderly voice.

  “Afraid not.”

  “In that case, let us ask this: Are you responsible for this rogue mage?”

  “That’s a bit of a test case. All of them are, really.”

  “There’s more?! You’re making new Wild Mages?”

  “Just trying something out. Three won’t upset the balance too much. You’ve had four to our two for a while now, I’m just balancing things out a bit.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ron. Neither of us wants to get into an arms race, and our capacity to train new Mages far outpaces yours. Most of the crystal reserves in the city belong to us.”

  “True, but do you want to inflate your ranks? Isn’t that your whole problem?”

  Abbott didn’t reply for a moment, instead bringing a twitching arm up to his head to smooth back his hair and straighten his tie.

  “They’ll be caught eventually. You can’t expect that your little dead man switch can protect everyone you deign to teach.”

  Fyron’s lazy smile spread into a toothy grin. “I don’t. If you find them and try to make trouble, then you’re the ones who’d best make sure you’re well protected.”

  There was a final sickening crunch as Abbott’s body crumpled to the floor, spent of its use and now devoid of life. Tomorrow, an identical John Abbott will show up, his memories and personality fully replicated.

  “I suppose they expect me to clean that up.”

  Fyron turned to leave, fading back into the shadows. With a casual gesture teleported the body away, and dumped it half way across the city - directly on the steps of the DAA.