by John Bierce
Or, rather, rewards.
Indris had seen fit to bestow Hugh and the others with said rewards in thanks for their assistance in the battle against Ataerg, but they hadn’t all gotten them at once. Hugh had… well, he hadn’t intended to ask for a boon. Rather, he’d just frozen up in front of the crowd, and Indris had been amused enough to offer him a future boon.
Hugh really had trouble imagining that he’d ever get around to working up the nerve to call in the favor, nor did he have any idea what he’d ask a dragon for.
Sabae had requested the return of an amulet that one of her ancestors had lost in a bet against Indris— something about a contest over control of a storm or some such. Hugh was fairly sure the amulet was enchanted, but Sabae wouldn’t say anything else on the matter.
Alustin had requested a book that Hugh had only briefly glimpsed— a log of grain shipments to the Ithonian capital, or something of the sort. Hugh had no idea why Alustin had wanted it— perhaps just for its extreme age?
It was Talia and Godrick’s rewards that were being delivered today, however.
Talia had requested the bones of Ataerg. This had been a slightly ridiculous request on her part, but Indris, apparently not having any interest in mounting her traitorous mate’s bones in her halls with the bones of her other rivals, had agreed.
It had taken until now for what remained of Ataerg’s massive corpse to be removed from the ruined neighborhood he had died in and stripped of its flesh, but the first shipment had finally arrived. The hold of the sandship was almost entirely filled with bones. They’d also brought Ataerg’s skull. Even badly damaged as it was, the skull was still so huge that it couldn’t fit down into the hold without disassembling the deck, and so had instead been hauled behind the ship on a massive sled.
Kanderon had not been pleased about having to arrange to store the bones. She’d only acquiesced when Alustin reminded her that Talia’s strange bone affinity might have unusual interactions with dragon bones, which possessed a number of magical properties, even beyond their freakish strength and lightness.
Despite the sheer amount of attention the partial skeleton got while being unloaded, it was Godrick’s reward that most excited them. He’d requested an enchanted sledgehammer, to replace the more mundane one he’d lost during the coup attempt.
The enchanting process could often take months, but Indris had apparently moved the hammer to the top of the list for her enchanters.
After they hauled the crate away from the ship to an empty stone pier nearby, the four of them clustered around the hammer’s crate as Godrick opened it. They’d been bugging him to tell them what kind of enchantment he’d requested ever since he met with the enchanters, but he’d refused every time.
“Alright, now are you going to tell us what it does?” Talia asked, irritably.
“Nope,” Godrick said. He leaned out of the way of Talia’s jabbing elbow and smiled. “Ah’m gonna show yeh.”
Godrick cracked open the crate, revealing a sledgehammer even more massive than his last two. Intricate spellforms covered the blunt head of the hammer and raced down its wooden shaft. They weren’t merely carved into the hammer— it was as though someone had worked copper wire deep into the very metal of the hammer during its forging, and as though tendrils of oak had grown through the yew of the thick handle, all in the precise shapes of spellforms.
Godrick picked up the hammer and took a few steps back from the others, making sure he had plenty of clear space around him. He balanced it in one hand for a moment, then swung it gently a few times to test its balance.
“Well?” the redhead demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Godrick grinned at her, clearly enjoying her impatience.
Godrick limbered up for a moment, then reared back and slammed the hammer full force into the stone walkway in front of him. As it descended, Hugh could see the spellforms on it begin to glow slightly. The ground actually cracked with the force of the blow, and rock chips went flying.
And none of it made a sound. The impact was completely silent.
“What just…” Sabae began, but cut off abruptly. Hugh looked at her and realized that she was still moving her mouth, but nothing was coming out of it.
Hugh tried saying something, and he could feel his vocal cords vibrate, but no sound came out of his mouth. He clapped his hands, but it was perfectly silent as well.
He wasn’t deaf— he could still hear sounds from the docks, the wind, and the sand drakes making nuisances of themselves among the riggings of ships— but Hugh and his friends were completely silent.
Godrick grinned, and then the faint glow of the hammer cut out. “Neat, huh? Ah had the idea after,” he glanced around to make sure no-one was nearby, and lowered his voice, “all that sneaking around me and Talia had ta do in Indris’ palace. Woulda made things a lot easier. It’s also got ah secondary enchantment ta make it harder ta break.”
“I would have expected you to request an enchantment to make it hit harder, maybe, or set itself on fire,” Hugh said.
Godrick just gestured at the cracks in the ground. “Ah can already hit plenty hard, especially when ah put magic inta mah swings.”
Hugh shrugged at that as Godrick crouched down and began resealing the cracks in the stone with his magic. Hugh couldn’t help but think about Emmenson Drees, who he’d been guessing was a sound mage, unless his sound dampening abilities were just provided to him via his spellform tattoos.
One of the ship’s crew came jogging up and handed a letter to Sabae. “Captain almost forgot to give you this letter, miss.”
Sabae thanked him and opened the letter.
“Stealth is important to a warrior,” Talia said. “When fire mages fight, the first one to spot the other is usually the survivor.”
“What if they start the battle in plain sight of one another?” Hugh asked.
Talia shrugged. “They usually both die.”
Hugh blinked at that, and Godrick seemed almost as taken aback.
“Ah can’t imagine duels in your clan are very popular, then,” Godrick said.
Talia smirked. “Not especially, no.”
“Oh, crap,” said Sabae. Her face had gone pale enough that the branching scars on her cheek had become almost invisible, and she clutched to the letter like she was afraid it would try to bite her.
“What’s wrong?” Godrick asked.
Sabae took a moment to collect herself. “It’s from my grandmother. She’s, uh… she’s coming to visit Skyhold.”
“Why is that an ‘oh crap’ thing?” Talia asked. “Aren’t you and your grandmother close?”
Sabae started pacing. “I mean, yes, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that she never leaves Ras Andis. She’s needed there. It’s storm season, for storm’s sake! The coast will start getting hit by hurricanes any week now. On top of that, this would be the equivalent of Indris deciding to randomly pay a social visit to Skyhold. It’s just not done!”
“Save with a’ load a’ pomp and ceremony,” Godrick agreed, looking slightly taken aback.
“Though I suppose the rest of the family could probably handle the storms just fine, my oldest aunt is probably going to head the family after grandmother passes, but it’s still the first time she’s left Ras Andis since…”
Hugh was fairly sure Sabae was going to pass out if she didn’t stop to breathe soon.
“And considering how tense the trade war with Yldive has gotten, I don’t know…”
Talia growled, stomped over to Sabae, reached up to grab the taller girl’s shoulders, and started shaking her. “Calm down before you work yourself into a lather! I’ve seen chased rabbits more relaxed than you.”
“Deep breaths might help,” Hugh offered. He found offering Sabae’s own frequent advice back to her slightly amusing, though he was mostly just concerned at the moment.
Sabae took a moment, then seemed to get a little control over herself. “Sorry about that,” she said eventually. “You can let go of
me now.”
Talia didn’t let go of her. “What are you really stressed about, Sabae?”
Sabae didn’t say anything for a moment, just gently pulled Talia’s hands off her shoulders. “I…”
Sabae drifted off. After a few moments, Talia cleared her throat, and the taller girl’s attention returned to them.
“The only reason that I can think of that grandmother might be visiting is if she’s finally arranged a marriage for me,” Sabae said in a rush.
Before anyone could say anything, Sabae took a few steps back from Talia and spun up her wind armor around her legs. “I have some homework I need to do,” she said, then windjumped away from them towards Skyhold.
Talia stumbled backward in the blast of wind, and quite a few sailors and dockworkers stopped working to stare at Sabae hurtling through the air.
No one said anything for a moment, then Godrick sighed. “This year just keeps getting more an’ more interestin’, don’t it?”
“Is interesting really the word you’re going to go with?” Hugh said, not taking his eyes off Sabae’s retreating figure, which had just landed in the sand off the docks, before blasting off towards the nearest entrance into the mountain. “Because I’d probably pick something stronger.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Silence and Sand
They didn’t see Sabae again until dinnertime at their usual cafeteria, where she refused to talk about what she’d said, beyond insisting that everything was fine.
According to Alustin, Sabae’s grandmother had let Kanderon know she was coming in the spring.
And she’d left all the arrangements to Kanderon, who was less than amused. Which in turn had Hugh less than thrilled for his first lesson of the year with Kanderon the next day.
Firstday started off well enough, though Sabae was still determinedly avoiding speaking of her grandmother. Hugh, used to Sabae being the most confident and collected member of the group, was somewhat at a loss as to how he could help.
Classes were less of a challenge, at least. He had Emmenson Drees’ spellform crafting lecture that afternoon before meeting with Kanderon. He’d expected Wardcrafting to be his favorite class, but he received far too much attention from the other students in there for his liking.
Emmenson started off the class by reading the few written questions he found worthwhile. Well, after completely dampening sounds other than his voice in the room. Hugh’s questions, slightly to his surprise, were among them.
“When you told us not to test new spellforms, were you counting wards?” Emmenson read. “And…” Emmenson stopped reading from the paper. “I’ll answer the other question after class, it’s of rather specialized interest. Fascinating, but hardly germane to the rest of the class. Wards, though— now that’s a worthwhile question. My prohibition on unapproved spellform testing applies neither to wards nor enchanting. Does anyone know why?”
Several students shook their heads silently.
Emmenson grinned. “You’re learning quickly. It usually takes classes at least a couple of weeks before they stop trying to answer me. Wards and enchantments, though— the simple answer is that I’m not qualified to teach you about them, so I’m not going to try.”
Hugh could see the journeyman with the long, twitching hair roll her eyes.
“There is, however, a more in-depth answer,” Emmenson said.
Hugh, anticipating a lecture, opened his spellbook and placed his finger against the page.
“All spellforms— for spells, glyphs, wards, and enchantments alike— fundamentally serve the same purpose of guiding mana in specific patterns that generate effects. Each does it in an entirely different frame of reference, however. Spells operate in reference to the self, wards operate in reference to a spatial location, and enchantments operate in reference to the properties of the material they’re worked into. This radically alters the behaviors of the patterns of each major spellform type during construction.”
Emmenson began pacing. “While none of the three major types of spellform are what any sane person would call safe to tinker with, wards tend to be the safest of the three to alter, and basic ward construction and alteration ends up being taught even, to a small degree, to first years. Most mages never advance past there, though some students,” Emmenson glanced at Hugh, “advance far beyond that level. It grows much more dangerous with more advanced wards, and wards that are left unattended for long periods of time tend to decay, often becoming significant hazards. There are quite a few mages who make their livings entirely by cleaning up the mistakes of other wardcrafters as well as old decaying wards.”
“Spells are the next most dangerous type of spellform to tinker with. There’s a very, very simple reason for this— because they’re referencing the self. If you’re crafting a projectile spell of some sort— and no reason why you should, we have countless effective variants already, crafting more is merely a vanity project— and you mess up the targeting lines of the spellform, well, it’s quite likely that the projectile aims towards you instead of away from you. Or the spell just collapses and dumps all of its energy back in your body.”
Hugh shuddered a little at that image.
“Enchantments are by far the most dangerous of the three, for the simple reason that they are the most likely to fail. Missing a simple flaw in the metal you’re constructing your enchantment out of, for instance, can disrupt the flow of mana through the spellform. Only the most patient, cautious, and perfectionist of mages make successful enchanters. The rest tend to blow themselves up very quickly.”
Emmenson gave the class a wry look. “Though you’ll seldom find me giving you any sort of credit, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt in assuming that you won’t be attempting wardcrafting or enchanting without knowing what you’re doing. Or, if you do, it’ll be the responsibility of your teachers in those topics, not mine.”
Emmenson tapped on the chalkboard, and a ripple spread out from the point of impact, cleaning all the chalk dust off from the board as it spread. Emmenson took out a piece of chalk and began to draw. “Some of the more perspicacious of you might have noticed that I mentioned glyphs along with the three main types of spellforms. Glyphs are commonly treated as a tool for inferior mages— simple guides to channel mana into for those who can’t handle memorizing spells.”
A complex spellform was taking shape on the blackboard. “While this is often true, this is hardly always true. Quite a few highly effective battlemages make extensive use of glyphs.”
Hugh couldn’t help but think of Alustin there.
“For our purposes, glyphs are interesting thanks to their relative safety to tinker with. They generally operate around the same as spells, but instead of referring to the self, they define the self as the material they’re drawn on. A glyph failure is significantly safer than a spell failure— it can still be highly destructive, but you can remotely activate many glyphs from behind cover. There are a few important differences in their construction when compared to spells, however, which include…”
As the rest of the class filed out, Hugh waited to speak to Emmenson Drees. As they did so, Hugh flexed his sore finger— he hadn’t missed recording any of the lecture. His spellbook’s new ability let him write far faster than he’d ever been able to with a quill.
Once the rest of the students exited, Emmenson pulled out Hugh’s questions again. He glanced at them briefly, and turned to Hugh. “Alustin already apprised me of your situation in regards to overflooding your spellforms, and he showed me some of the spellforms you’ve been using to compensate for that. Your work is… rough, but passable. You approach your spellform designs cautiously, which is good. You’re quite welcome to continue tinkering with cantrips, it should be safe enough for you at your skill level. My prohibition remains, however, for actual affinity-based spells. They’re generally built to handle a lot more power than cantrips, so you should encounter fewer of them that need reworking. If you do, however, bring your corrected spellform designs to
me before testing them.”
Emmenson started walking towards the door. “I trust that answers your question sufficiently.” He snapped his fingers, and sound came back just in time for Hugh to hear the door shutting.
Kanderon was still fuming about Sabae’s grandmother when Hugh met with her out in the Erg. Without much preamble, she began testing Hugh in the way she had again and again this summer— by growing crystals below the dunes outside Skyhold, then launching them upwards at Hugh. He had to sense them while they were still forming, then either dodge, block, or divert them.
Hugh was a little rusty at it, but it hadn’t been that many weeks since he’d done it last, and Kanderon was fairly distracted herself, so she only managed to hit him once with a glancing blow to the shoulder.
Eventually, Kanderon decided it was enough, and ceased launching quartz chunks at him. He happily stopped to catch his breath, laying down in the cool sand on the shaded part of the dune.
“I’ve put it off long enough, Hugh. Time to take a look at the form your aether crystal has taken,” Kanderon said.
Kanderon loomed over the small dune. The sphinx was a solid seventy-five feet from her nose to the base of her tail, and her massive crystal wings extended far to either side of her. The blue crystals of her wings weren’t all contiguous— many of them floated in formation with the wings, as though held there by an invisible framework.
The wings were Kanderon’s own bonded aether crystals, and her eyes matched their color— just as Hugh’s eyes now matched his spellbook.
Hugh snagged the book from where it lay on the sand and carried it over towards her. The book seemed hesitant to approach the sphinx, and tried to pull away, but Hugh grasped it firmly by the spine and hauled it over.
“Has it exhibited any abilities so far?” Kanderon asked.
Hugh nodded and began telling her about everything it had done so far. When he’d finished, Kanderon frowned.
“Aether crystals shouldn’t have personalities,” she said. “That, I think, can entirely be attributed to your labyrinth stone.”