1 Chapter 1: The Shubin Tavern Pair

Vladigorsk, Mednagora, 1438:

In a quiet corner of The Shubin Tavern sat a young man wearing a shapeless, brown tunic and grey trousers. He had a coinpurse on a string belt with little gold and plenty of air. He also carried a loaded cap-lock pistol, but rather than in his purse, or even in a holster, the man had it hidden down the front of his pants. Even though you were more apt to blow your balls off, people carried pistols in The Shubin Tavern because it was a cesspool on Butcher's Lane, aptly named for both the butchers that cut pigs during daytime and the butchers that cut men in the night.

A pretty, sandy-haired barmaid brought the man a cup of vodka. She set it down before the young man. The candlelight cast shadows like dancing demons over his tan face. The flickering flame reflected off of his dark eyes like obsidian mirrors. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Thanks," he said, gulping down the vodka in a fell swoop. "Perchance you've seen a woman. She looks about my age. Ash-blond hair, green eyes. Probably as pale as a ghost." Drazhek was smiling, but the barmaid was not. With a quick peek over her shoulder, she bent down to him and asked

"Are you looking for a vedmak?"

The man nodded, and was just about to reply, when he saw his guest approaching him.

Drazhek's guest was a tall, yet sturdy woman, with ash blond hair cut unevenly down to jaw-length. She had a sharp narrow face with thin lips and small nose. She was as pale as chalk, with purple-red cheeks. She was also dressed in a brown shirt and grey trousers, but they were considerably more well-worn than Drazhek's. All of this was under a rucksack and a black gambeson of studded leather. Some sort of harness that holstered a pistol at her shoulder, and a short sword at her hip.

The woman, in short, was the perfect illustration of a vedmak.

Drazhek's guest passed behind the barmaid and sat down opposite to him. Without looking at him, she glanced at the barmaid and smiled.

"Mila, get us a bottle of vodka with two tumblers, a plate of zakunski, and two bowls of fried potatoes." said the vedmak. Without a word, Mila the barmaid, walked away from Drazhek and the vedmak, disappearing into the chattering, singing, and swearing throng.

Finally, the vedmak turned to the man, but her smile became a smirk, of amusement.

"You know, when I posted notices at inns and crossroads, I expected a local bandit or cutthroat. But why's a highland brazier—" the Vedmak pointed to the pistol in The man's pants, which from his fidgeting now pointed barrel-up in an awkward bulge "—so happy to see me? Especially in a pub like this?"

Mila the barmaid came back with a glass bottle of vodka in the crook of her arm and two pewter tumblers in her palm. Mila sat the cups and bottle in front of The Vedmak and glanced down at the man's pants. She locked eyes with Drazhek, stifled a laugh behind her hand,

"I'll come back with the potatoes and zakunski" she giggled on her way out.

The man stuck a hand down his pants to rearranged the gun, turning scarlet. He then looked up at the vedmak, praying his face wasn't as red as he thought.

"My name is Dragomir Sventoslavichi. But you can call me 'Drazhek'". Drazhek extended a hand out to the vedmak, which the vedmak shook heartily. "And you're right. I'm a tvastrian. Though a tradition of forging orichalc doesn't make my people mere braziers."

"Brass that can conduct magic and can make magic items is still brass. And most people of Tvastrian ancestry usually live in the mountains"

"Now see," Drazhek replied "Tvastrians, such as yours truly, mined vajra crystals and orichalc years before Mednagorans came. Without either of those two, thaumaturgy would be impossible. Without thaumaturgy, artifacts would just be sideshow attractions, and the word 'vedmak' would just mean a fairytale sorcerer."

The vedmak poured a cup of vodka, handed it to Drazhek, and then poured herself a drink. "Well, this fairy tale sorcereress's name is Micheslava Sorokina, But everyone calls me 'Misha'. I hope that you'll do the same, Drazhek. Now, while we're on the subject of vedmaks, tell me what you know about them."

Before Drazhek could reply, Mila came back with two bowls of potatoes and a plate of zakunski. Drazhek eyed both the potatoes and the plate of pickles, rye bread, and salami. Drazhek could also see the hunger carved into Misha's face too. Several minutes passed by with the clinking of spoons, chewing, and the clinking of pewter cups.

Finally, Drazhek began to speak, pointing a half-eaten gherkin at Misha.

"I know that you work as pathfinders, marking anomalies and . I know that Lysagory Province—The Bald Mountains in particular—has the motherlode of artifacts. And last, but not least, I know The Institute pays you in gold for the maps that you make."

Misha raised her eyebrows, her green eyes glinting in the candlelight, and cocked her head to one side. Drazhek had the sinking feeling that he said something wrong.

"All of that's correct, Drazhek. But since you don't seem to get it, I'll ask you again: why are there so few vedmaks in Mednagora? And in particular, why do so few thaumaturges actually go into the zone?" Drazhek hesitated. He knew the answer pretty damn well, but there wasn't any nice way to say it.

"Because it's dangerous work, right? And on top of that, few folks make a real living out of it..." Misha was less than impressed.

"Drazhek, just come out and say it: it's because our lives are worth just a pouchful of gold. And since any dumb bastard can try scrounging shit out of the zone, no thaumaturge in training

needs to stick his neck out for science."

Drazhek frowned, but Misha took no notice.

"Zones of wild magic are where reality has basically pissed off to beyond the mountains" she leaned in, and fixed Drazhek with her yellow-green eyes. "To all but the most experienced vedmaks, the zones look just like any other frontier wilderness. But one false move, and who knows what could happen? Step on the wrong patch of land and boom, a pillar of flame or lightning bolt could spurt from the ground and strike you down. One false move, and you could be blasted into the air as though a bomb went off beneath you. You could vanish and teleport into god knows where. There are even some places where the very earth will try to devour you."

Drazhek promptly looked away. For the first time, he saw some poisonous spark of fear and terror in her eyes, and if he looked too long, he might get the fear himself.

Misha poured Drazhek and herself another drink, which Drazhek greedily sucked down.

Misha then pointed to the sword and the gun strapped to her body.

"These aren't just for show, either. Wild Magic doesn't just change the ground or the air. It affects animals, too. Makes them bigger, tougher, meaner, and a whole lot uglier. What's worse, these animals either know where anomalies are, or are unaffected by them.

"Does the Zone affect humans?"

"Live ones? Yeah, but only over a long time, and only without masks. But sometimes, people who bit the dust in the zones come back."

"No shit? You mean, actual corpses, all bloody and torn up, walking around like they're still alive?" Misha nodded. Drazhek whispered "Do blades or bullets work on them?" Misha nodded.

"Yeah, but you have to take their heads off. Or impale them with orichalc stakes. They act like a lightning rod for magic." Misha stared into the distance a little bit. Then she reached into her bag and unfurled a map of The Bald Mountains on the table. She fixed Drazhek with a stare that could punch through steel.

"In a week, I want to go on an adventure

with you. The Bald Mountains are the motherlode, that's true enough. But this—" she thrust a finger onto Koshei's peak, the tallest mountain in the entire range "is terra incognito. Vedmaks talk about The Vyrai Gate,"

"The what?"

"The Vyrai Gate, an underground entrance to caves inside the mountains." Misha glared with annoyance. "Where there are plenty of artifacts to grab."

"Sure, that sounds like a pretty sweet stash. But what's gotten you so hot about it."

"The artifacts literally grow on the walls and ground. You can mine them like coal or iron ore. Underground, there's some kind of gas that causes anomalies to sublimate from the air. Nobody knows what it does to animals or people, though."

It all fell into place. Drazhek knew the basics of artifact mining. Once you found an anomaly, you cordoned it off with stakes and wire made of orichalc to isolate it. Then, they put a crucible, an orichalc bowl or cauldron with a vajra crystal at the bottom, triggered the anomaly, then watched as artifacts materialized inside the crucible. But crucibles and orichalc fences were expensive toys, owned mainly by thaumaturges or artifact "mining" companies. Added on top of that, anomalies could only produce so many artifacts.

"A cave full of artifacts that anyone can take," Drazhek concluded. "not just thaumaturges or mining companies or city councils. Anyone. Even vedmaks."

In other words, it was all about making money. Drazhek was surprised at how bitter he was about it. Of course it was about making money. But was there really enough gold in the world to make people wade through the spooky shit that Vedmaks waded through?

"Misha," Drazhek began, his voice quavering "Don't tell me that you're a vedmak for the money." It was a cheap, dirty jab, meant to get her talking. But some part of Drazhek really wondered if that was true.

"What's wrong with that?" Misha replied. Her voice was snippy and diffident, but also a little hurt.

"Nothing. Svarog's Hammer, I know I'm doing it for money," Drazhek replied. He suddenly regretted this conversation. He meant to talk, wheedle words from her mouth, but found himself prattling on instead. "But, money can be a lot of things to different people. Like, for example, a fee for a guild."

"You mean the institute?" Misha asked. Drazhek expected her to be snide, but she asked him earnestly. "You want to be a thaumaturge, is that it?"

"Yeah..." Drazhek felt the words waft out of his mouth like hot breath on a cold winter morning. "Yeah, I wanna be a thaumaturge. But...I'm broke. And also, doing this might give me a decent foothold, and—"

Misha laughed. The sound was as bright and pure as falling snow, but nowhere near as cold.

"Drazhek," she said "Now I have to take you. Anyone with guts enough to go humping up mountains for thaumaturgy will make a great vedmak. And a better thaumaturge than any I've ever met." Drazhek felt a surge of gratitude towards Misha. She continued speaking "Anyway, don't worry. It's not about money."

"Then what's it about?"

"Pride."

"Pride?"

"Yeah, pride. That's the only word I have for it. Vedmaks plunge headfirst into darkness and not only come out alive, but with a map to show everyone else where the good and bad parts are. They can do all of this with a sharp stick, a map, and some stones to throw."

Drazhek tried envisioning Misha as a waitress. As a princess. As a soldier, a councilor, a bandit, and (even torture wouldn't squeeze this out of him) as a whore, with a loose bodice and a short-skirted dress and a jaunty grin not unlike the one she had now.

Every time, only the vedmak remained. Fierce. Free. Proud. And in her own way, she thirsted for knowledge just as much as he did.

"Then will you take me?" He asked. He surprised himself with the tenderness of his question, as though he was asking her on a date.

"Yes, even though you're a pravichok," Drazhek blushed at this, the mednagoran word for "Male virgin", "I think I can trust you. And trust, more than money, is the thing that binds us vedmaks together."

Drazhek noticed that the bottle of vodka they had was almost empty, just enough for a shot each. And both their tumblers were empty. Before Misha could respond, Drazhek grabbed the bottle and poured the last shot in each of their tumblers.

"Well, now. I guess that it's settled." Drazhek said, raising his glass. He finally felt the vodka hit him, like a brick across the brain pan. He thought he would burst from the giddy excitement that coursed through his body. Of course, that might've been the vodka, but he thought that it was really the excitement of this undertaking. A real adventure. "To The Vyrai Gate! And to trust!"

Misha raised her glass as well, and her face seemed flushed with that same giddy excitement.

"To trust, she said." And they clinked their glasses together, the noise ringing like a peal of laughter.