Chapter 25: Opportunities

  The most interesting part of watching his classmates schmooze was seeing who got the most attention. While they all were approached by at least a dozen people each, some were more in demand than others.

  Somehow, Luthor Graves was one of those people.

  Ambrose made a game of taking a sip of his whiskey each time his classmate was approached by another smiling face.

  It played out the same nearly every time. He and Raeleq wandered the room together, breaking apart whenever someone wanted to talk to one, but not the other. More often than not, it was the Bedamin warrior who would take a moment to get a drink or one of the many available snacks while Luthor was occupied.

  It was during one of those gaps that Ambrose had to step forward and ask. “Graves, what the hell did you do to get everyone glued to you like this?”

  “Not much,” said Luthor, suppressing a ghost of a smile. “Just my best. I might not have your win-rate, but my matches have typically been the longest out of anyone. Sometimes, it’s not about winning so much as delaying a loss. I think they’re responding to my fighting style, and my mindset.”

  “Your mindset?” Ambrose gaped. “Losing as slowly as possible is impressing them?” It wasn’t an insult this time, just pure befuddlement.

  “Kind of,” he said with a short laugh. Standing there with a drink in hand and in polished, fitted armor, Luthor did look good, and even more comfortable than Ambrose had ever seen him. “It’s more about being relentless and unyielding. Your battles are more decisive, and I’m sure that’s gotten you plenty of looks, but there’s something to be said about showing that you’re good working in a group and prioritizing survival and safety.”

  “There is something to be said for it. Namely, it’s boring.”

  Luthor didn’t take the bait, and instead drained his drink and set it down on a nearby table. “Maybe, but in hard, uncertain times, boring is reassuring. Besides, to tell you the truth, a lot of it is people asking after my mother. Being the son of a well-liked and respected general has perks. That’s not what’s getting their attention most, though.”

  “Do tell.”

  Another genuine, relaxed smile. “I tell them I’m not looking for a job or apprenticeship. Instead, I ask them how to achieve my goals. Some are surprised, some impressed, and just about everyone is eager to throw in their opinion on how to make it in this world as a mercenary with honor.”

  Ambrose groaned. “You’re still determined to do that, huh? You still want me on your little team?”

  He shrugged. “If you’ve got any interest. You’d need to learn how to work with others, behave, and follow orders.”

  “From you?” Ambrose snorted and drained his whiskey. Things were starting to swim a little, and his insides burned pleasantly. “I won’t deny you’ve got a good tactical mind, but what makes you think that any of us would be willing to take orders from someone weaker than us?”

  “Because Luthor is integretous,” said Raeleq, coming up from behind and slapping his best friend on the back. Somehow, the smaller man didn’t budge an inch or show an iota of discomfort. “Who is more trustworthy than him?”

  “That’s not a real word,” he complained, but he couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “What about you, Ransa? You have anyone special interested in you?”

  The question came mostly from morbid curiosity. In the last hour, he’d only gotten about eight serious conversations, including the one with Sidney. The rest had been polite semi-interest, much as he was showing right then.

  It was a mistake.

  “I have so many offers! Dale Irwin invited me to join him on a continental tour to study the mating migration habits of raptors, and Pam Haugen wanted to talk about making better plants and breeding animals to respond to different foods better. And then Marty Rance -- “

  Ambrose had never seen the big man so excited, and didn’t know how to respond other than stunned silence as he went over a number of possibilities, including research of all things, or hunting poachers for a living. It went on for a few minutes. Luthor drank silently with a pleased smile as every new possibility spilled out.

  “And are you considering any of these?” Ambrose finally asked, interested in spite of himself. If he thought it was hard to decide on a path of growth, how did this good-natured idiot have even more options to choose from?

  “Eh, not really,” Raeleq admitted with a big grin. “I’ve already got my mind made up. What about you?”

  They both looked at him expectantly. He rolled his eyes. “No, I haven’t made any decisions yet. I’m waiting for the best offer. Someone or someones who will know to pay me what I deserve and how best to utilize my talents to help me become the most powerful wizard I can be. You’ve said you want me on your side, but what are you offering?”

  “We’ve got funding…” Raeleq started, but Luthor spoke up instead, with just a single word.

  “Reputation.”

  Ambrose paused. “Go on.”

  “You want to be known. You want to be respected. Obviously.” Luthor’s scar stretched with his smug, knowing smile. He was insufferable, at ease with his drink in hand. “But I think you care more about how then you let on. You don’t want to effortlessly get rich doing jobs that are beneath you. You want to best people, challenge yourself, and you want people to know you won through your skill, power, and cleverness. You need it.”

  He liked to think he had gotten closer to Jessica, but she still didn’t understand him. It was a relief, a lot of the time, to not be known entirely by his only friend. Now, he felt more exposed than he had in a long time, thanks to Luthor of all people. The urge to laugh it off, curse at him, or just walk away struck Ambrose, and in the maelstrom of knee jerk reactions, he froze.

  Was that it? He’d been going over his future so much the past month, constantly searching and never quite landing on anything that felt right, felt true.

  Except this.

  Obviously he cared about his reputation. That was never in question. And he was willing to do the dirty jobs, target other people, so it wasn’t a morality problem. But what if he didn’t have to go that far to get the challenge? It could be interesting, to tell his family to piss off, and go off on his own adventures.

  There was always Vanderborn’s offer, their little wager. It was everything he’d been working toward for the last month. Stealing the Wildcard was probably off the table at this point, but they were halfway through the tournament and he only had one real threat left. So long as he was smart and fought well, it was all but guaranteed to be his, along with tuition and a fast track to fame and fortune, power and prestige. There was no way Luthor’s little band of wannabe heroes could compete with that.

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  Could it?

  “Wow, Looth, I’ve never seen him speechless,” Raeleq laughed. “You broke him.”

  Ambrose’s cheeks flushed red hot. Before he could open his mouth and let loose, Raeva popped up beside him and threw an arm around his shoulders. Like the rest of them, she’d been drinking. Unlike the rest of them, he could smell it strongly.

  “What are we talking about? What’s got you looking like you’re about to lose your mind?” She smiled and squeezed him. Any other time, it would’ve been pretty nice. Now, it stripped away more of his armor, leaving him all but bare.

  “Just our futures,” said Luthor. “We were asking Ambrose about what offers he got, and what he plans on choosing.”

  “I have no clue what to do,” said Jessica, coming up to his other side, drinking water. “Everyone’s talked to me and been very polite, but I don’t know if any are impressed.” She looked as nervous and uncertain as ever, and couldn’t stop scanning the crowd of people she’d talked to, as if waiting for someone else to approach her.

  “I have an idea…” Raeleq said, with all the subtlety of a rampaging dinosaur.

  “That’d be a first,” Ambrose said reflexively. “Did it hurt?”

  To his surprise, the Wild Wizard was the first to laugh. And once he did, the dam broke and others did as well, even Raeva, who buried her head in his shoulder as her body shook from her tipsy giggles.

  The five of them stood in a loose circle, a little pocket of familiarity and camaraderie in a room full of impressive but impersonal vultures. For just a moment, the rest of the banquet hall, the tournament matches on the walls, the constant chatter, they all faded into nothingness.

  Just a few seconds. No more than a deep breath in and out, and with it a certain relaxation that hadn’t been there before, even with Luthor catching him off guard. In the span of just a breath, Ambrose felt like he belonged, and was accepted. In that moment, he even appreciated Raeleq.

  His head spun, and he pulled away from Raeva.

  “I need air,” he said, with only a hint of exaggeration.

  “Ambrose, wait,” Raeva said, but it was too late.

  It was like his feet had a mind of their own, and they took him as far away from the others as possible, out of the building entirely and into the warm spring night. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. Or tried to. It came in short, sharp huffs along with a racing heart.

  There were others on the street, but thankfully, no one seemed to notice him. There were only a couple other students, ones from the non-combat program that he never paid much attention to, and a few of the important guests smoking together a dozen feet away.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Had Luthor really gotten under his skin that much? Raeva had been hanging off him, drunk enough to appreciate him more than usual, and Jessica was her normal neurotic self. Raeleq…existed. It had been peaceful, and nice, and he ran.

  Why?

  “Ambrose! Hey, over here!” The voice was soft, a raised whisper. He looked up to see Gordo motioning for him to come over, looking nervous.

  “What’s got you so spooked?” Ambrose asked, grateful for the distraction. He came over, and by silent agreement dipped into the alleyway between the banquet hall and the Amaric church. A garbage can stank, but it could’ve been worse. Gordo was definitely the type to belong in this setting.

  “I found it,” he said breathlessly. “I got the card you wanted.”

  It took a couple of seconds for his words to register, but when they did, it hit him like a charging bull. “You have something to save my ass if I fall off something high?”

  “I do, but…”

  “But what?” Ambrose demanded.

  “It’s not quite as good as what you were hoping for, and it’s going to cost you more than you’re going to want to pay.” He held up his hands placatingly. “Just getting that out there now.”

  “Show me!”

  Wordlessly, the heavyset merchant pulled the card out of a small deck box and handed it over.

  [Cloud Cushion: Rare Utility. A magical cloud to catch you when you fall. For 20 seconds a day, you may slow your descent to something less fatal.]

  Gordo was right. It wasn’t as good as he was hoping for, but it would still work. If Ambrose needed to use it for more than twenty seconds, he had bigger problems. This was the last piece he needed. With it, he could steal the Wildcard, win the tournament, and all his problems would be solved.

  But…Did he even want to steal it, at this point? If the worst happened and he didn’t win, his life wouldn’t be over. There were other options, as his infuriating classmates kept trying to shove down his throat. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t trust it.

  They, or at least Jessica and Luthor, knew Ambrose better than he was comfortable with. Did they know more about him and how he worked than he did about them? It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  Choices. Too many choices. A part of him instinctively knew that this was it, this was his chance to turn away and try something else. To trust in himself…or others. All it would take would be to take a breath, and jump. He knew he could win, but…

  It wasn’t just about winning. It was about figuring out what he wanted most. No matter how hard he tried, Ambrose couldn’t decide what mattered more, what to fight for.

  Maybe he didn’t need to. The Wildcard would become whatever would suit him best. It would give him the answer to all his questions.

  “How much?” he heard himself ask.

  Gordo took a deep breath. They’d had plenty of tense encounters before, but he almost looked scared. “Don’t be mad.”

  “How much?” Ambrose repeated.

  “Twenty crowns, and not a penny less.” The fat merchant flinched like Ambrose was going to hit him.

  Frankly, it was tempting.

  “You know, I’ve had a few drinks and am a tiny bit swimmy. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you right. Try again.”

  A sudden raise in the noise coming from the banquet hall made them both wince and look around the corner. What they were doing wasn’t illegal, but they both knew that whatever Ambrose was going to use it for would be. “I can’t. This cost me fifteen to get in the first place. Best I can do is offer a loan.”

  The temptation to strike him grew. Ambrose rubbed his goatee, fighting with himself.

  The fact was, he didn’t need it to succeed. He didn’t need it to beat Molly tomorrow, or the tournament. He didn’t need it to consider his future. But maybe it would eliminate some of the options and make it easier.

  If he could get it.

  “A loan,” Ambrose finally said. “I’ll pay you the twenty by this time next year. I know, I know,” he held up a hand before Gordo could protest. “But if I lose first place and can’t come back to school, it’ll take me some time to get the money. You’ll agree to it because if you don’t, I’ll never buy from you again.”

  Gordo scoffed. “You act like you’re the center of my world. I’ll take your offer though, if only because you got me in good with the Headmaster’s granddaughter. A year to pay it off, on pain of relentless nightmares?”

  “Sounds good,” said Ambrose, but he was already miles ahead in his head. He saw himself carrying out the plan, getting into Vanderborn’s office, and getting his prize. It may have been a childishly simple version of it, but all the anxiety and uncertainty from dealing with his classmates was nearly forgotten.

  Gordo pulled out a folded sheet of paper and a fountain pen from his pocket and held them up.

  Looking at the card once more, Ambrose stuck it in his deck box, then took the pen and paper. He motioned for the merchant to turn around, and Gordo did so. His back made a poor table, and there was more than a little temptation to mildly stab the man as he wrote, but he pushed past it and focused on his [Contract] card.

  This is a standard contract agreement to say that I, Ambrose Adams, agree to pay Gordon Winkler the sum of twenty crowns in the time frame of one year, in exchange for the card [Cloud Cushion]. If the agreement is broken by either party, they will be subjected to a penalty lasting until either one year passes, or amends are made via a follow-up contract absolving the offender of their punishment. All parties entering into this agreement do so with full knowledge of the consequences and responsibilities therein, and do so of their own free will.

  The Penalty for breach of contract is relentless nightmares, powered by the user’s own magic, no fewer than five nights a week until absolved or payment is met.

  Signed, ______ and ________

  It wasn’t an especially long or well thought out contract, more of a quick and dirty job, but his eagerness drove him to recklessness. Gordo was good for it, and so was he. Turning all of one’s dreams into nightmares was unpleasant, but it would also add up if they couldn’t rest. A classic, and one of his favorites, along with things like losing one’s smell and taste, itchiness, and a temporary phobia.

  He signed it and presented it to Gordo, who looked over it, nodded, and then signed it against his arm.

  “As always, a pleasure doing business, Ambrose,” Gordo said. “Hope you succeed at whatever scheme you’ve got going.”