The Archmage unbound m-3

by Michael G. Manning

  “He’s about the same,” I replied. “I convinced him to have a few drinks with me and Dorian the other day but he wasn’t very jovial.”

  Her brows pinched together in an expression of concern. “I wish he would come home for a while. Maybe I could talk some sense into him.”

  I sincerely doubted having his younger sister nagging at him would help, but I didn’t dare tell her that, instead I used my considerable powers of misdirection to rephrase my thoughts. “I don’t think having your father lecturing him would help much right now.” I do seem to be gaining some wisdom as time goes on.

  “You’re probably right,” she agreed. “Will you be staying for dinner or returning home right away?”

  I honestly hadn’t given it much thought. My focus had been entirely on how to handle Cyhan when I rode out that morning. I was pretty sure Penelope expected me home for dinner that evening though. “I hadn’t planned on staying this late actually. But if you like we could have dinner here tomorrow evening. I’m sure Dorian would like an excuse to visit his mother as well.” Dorian was living with us in Washbrook now, serving as my seneschal and master at arms.

  “Is Rose still staying with you? If so you should extend the invitation to her as well,” Ariadne added, giving me an impish grin. She seemed to like Rose Hightower; she had looked up to her as a young girl. I suspected she had some ulterior motive though. I didn’t doubt that she was plotting to fix Rose and Dorian up together. Penny had similar ideas though I wasn’t sure I approved of their meddling, as far as I could tell the two of them would be just fine if everyone left them alone.

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving her out,” I answered politely. Our steps had brought us to the building James had had constructed to hold the teleportation circles I created in Lancaster. “I will have to say good-bye, I need to return. I didn’t expect to spend so much time standing in the courtyard.”

  “Give Penelope my regards. I do hope you can both visit for dinner tomorrow,” she replied.

  “I can’t imagine anything that would keep us from the invitation,” I said with a smile, and then with a thought and a word I teleported back to Castle Cameron.

  Chapter 2

  The hall was empty when I stepped out of the alcove in Castle Cameron. I felt a bit relieved actually. Lately I had been besieged by various people needing me to make decisions about this and that. The castle itself had survived our recent war with little damage, aside from the one wall that was breached. Repairs there were proceeding rapidly and soon enough I would have the workmen starting on a new outer wall to encircle the rest of the rapidly growing town of Washbrook.

  With some luck I might be able to reach my workshop without encountering anyone needing me to make pressing decisions. I had taken over my father’s smithy and expanded it to suit my needs. I doubted I would ever become a master smith as he had been, but I did frequently work with metal and the forge was quite handy when I needed it. There might have been a few sentimental reasons as well, but I tried not to dwell on those.

  I waved at Cecil Draper as I left the main door of the keep and headed across the yard. My luck didn’t hold though, Cecil left his post and ran up to me before I could get ten steps toward the smithy. “My lord! Sir Dorian asked me to let you know he was looking for you.”

  I stopped and gave him a gracious smile, “And where would my friend be presently?” I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Dorian just then but I always tried to be polite in dealing with the people who supported, and were dependent, upon me.

  “He said he would be at the tavern my lord,” Cecil replied quickly. I nodded and changed direction. The tavern he was referring to was operated and maintained by Joe McDaniel, a good friend of Dorian’s and also the head of our town militia now. After things had quieted down I had given him the house Penny and I had lived in (before the castle was completed) and he had made great strides in having it remodeled into a serviceable tavern.

  I spotted the large wooden sign soon enough, gaily painted with a large pig covered in mud. The artistic rendering had been inspired by my first meeting with the Baron of Arundel, on which occasion I had slathered myself with mud to better make a good impression. Taverns traditionally had simple names that could be depicted with pictures since many people couldn’t read. This one had the words, ‘The Muddy Pig’ written carefully under the picture. It was a bit embarrassing that they had chosen my meeting with Arundel to use for the name of the tavern but hopefully people would soon forget the meaning behind the name.

  I stepped through the doorway and let my eyes adjust to the somewhat dimmer interior; it was twilight outside and the lamps inside hadn’t been lit yet. The evening crowd had barely begun to gather so I didn’t have too much trouble spotting Dorian sitting at the end of the bar. “Ho, Dorian!” I shouted to catch his attention. “Cecil said you were looking for me?”

  My large friend’s head turned as he heard my voice and his eyes lit upon me. “Mort! Glad you’re back. How did it go?”

  Naturally he was referring to my visit with Cyhan. “I let him go and he told me I was a fool,” I said, summing up my previous conversation for him.

  Dorian snorted, “You are, and a stubborn one at that. I still think it’s a mistake.”

  “Only time will tell my friend, surely you didn’t want me just so you could nag about a mistake already made?” I hid my impatience poorly.

  “In a hurry to get back to work again? Sit down, you can spare a few minutes. Have a drink.” He waved at Joe who had been listening intently and the older man went to draw a tankard for me. “It’s about Marc,” he added.

  “Ariadne was asking about him as well,” I told him.

  “She’s right to be worried, he isn’t getting any better.”

  “He’s just depressed. He’ll snap out of it eventually. He seemed alright when we were together the other night,” I said.

  “That’s the only time, when he’s with us, and drunk… we can’t do that every day,” Dorian answered. It was odd to hear him urging sobriety, since reaching his majority Dorian had shown a great fondness for drinking.

  “Where is he today? I notice you’re sitting here alone,” I remarked pointedly.

  “Joe asked me to come by this morning and take him back to his room. He passed out a little before noon,” he replied.

  “Point taken,” I said, grimacing. “He hasn’t done that before has he?”

  Dorian sighed, “It hardly matters. It’s almost random, he starts drinking whenever he wakes up, and usually that’s in the afternoon. You’d know this if you paid more attention.” I could hear a tone of rebuke in his voice.

  “Look I’m sorry Dorian, I’ve just been busy. There’s so much to do…,” I told him, hoping he would understand.

  “Yeah I know. There always is, but you have to make some time for your friends. What have you been working on anyway? Every free minute you have, you sneak off to the smithy.”

  I was glad he had turned the conversation to a more positive topic. “Actually I was thinking of having you come over and look at it. I could use a second opinion,” I answered smiling. Of everyone living in the area Dorian was the first I wanted to see this new project. I took a long draught, trying to finish my beer quickly. “Now would be an excellent time, you should come see,” I said rising to my feet.

  “Always in a hurry aren’t you?” Dorian took a long breath and then finished his mug. “Alright, let’s see what monstrosity you’ve cooked up this time!” He rose and followed me to the door.

  When we finally reached the smithy I spent a moment and a word to light the work area. I had installed several enchanted globes around the perimeter of the room for lighting. I could have made do by conjuring light myself each time but I had been experimenting again. These simple glass globes could be lit by anyone, provided that they knew the proper command word. I had initially created them with Penny in mind, but now that they were finished I was considering making more for our rooms in the castle. They might
be useful for lighting the streets of Washbrook too, but I doubted I’d have time to start mass producing them.

  “Those are really nice!” Dorian said looking at the enchanted glass.

  “No not the lights… I made those weeks ago,” I told him. “This is something I think you will really appreciate.” I moved over to one of the long workbenches set along the wall. The top of it was covered with a large canvas drop cloth, concealing what lay beneath it. Dorian looked over my shoulder curiously. “You remember how I enchanted your armor?” I said reminding him.

  “Of course, the damn stuff still hasn’t started rusting,” he remarked.

  “This is like that… only better.” I drew the cloth back, revealing a beautiful set of armor. Unlike most of the armor currently in the keep this was actual plate armor, crafted from carefully shaped and articulated steel plates. Armor of this type was still extremely rare in Lothion, and usually reserved for the very wealthy. Technically I was currently one of the wealthiest nobles in Lothion, but given my outlaw status I really had no way to spend my money, or even access it, since most of it was still in the Royal Bank. But I hadn’t bought this armor; I had carefully crafted it over a period of two weeks.

  “Holy… Mort where did you get this?!” Dorian exclaimed. I found myself pleased with his shock and surprise.

  “I made it,” I said modestly.

  “Seriously… where did you get it?” he repeated. Even as he implied that I had lied about the source he ran his hands over the greaves, marveling at the lovely maroon lacquer that had been applied there. The breastplate and vambraces were similarly adorned with matching patterns, highlighted by gilding around the edges and a golden hawk in the center of the breastplate.

  “I made it Dorian. Look at the colors and the design,” I replied.

  Recognition lit his face as he realized that the colors and design matched the Cameron arms. “It looks like your livery! How? You couldn’t have bought this.”

  I was beginning to get exasperated with his continuing disbelief, “One more time… I made it.”

  “Even your father couldn’t have made something like this!” he exclaimed. A look of embarrassment crossed his face as he realized what he had said. My father had died a few months prior, right before our battle with the army of Gododdin.

  I gave him an even stare, “If he’d ever put his mind to armor crafting I don’t doubt but that he could have done so.”

  “Sorry Mort, I wasn’t thinking. I just meant… well your father was much more skilled with metal and he never produced anything like this. How did you?” Dorian’s hands were still examining the armor.

  I didn’t have the heart to get angry. Dorian and I had been friends most of our lives, and I wasn’t the only one to have lost his father. Instead I took up a small piece of scrap metal. “I have a lot of advantages my father didn’t have.” I set the metal in the cold ashes of the forge and heated it with a word and my power. Within a minute it was glowing brightly, close to the melting point.

  “Normally I use the forge for heating the metal, but since it isn’t lit at the moment it would take too long to show you,” I continued. “ Na’Pyrren Ingak mai Lathos,” I intoned softly, blowing on my palms, and then I reached into the forge and pulled out the fiercely glowing piece of metal… with my bare hands.

  Dorian flinched visibly when he saw me touch the metal with my naked skin, but he kept his tongue. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he was getting more used to casual displays of magic. “Is that really necessary?” he asked. “There are plenty of tongs for that here.”

  “The spell isn’t just so I can pick the metal up without being burned,” I replied and then I began kneading the metal with my fingers, as if it were a piece of very stiff clay. I had imbued my hands with an unnatural degree of strength and hardness, for even as hot as it was the iron would have been impossible to mold without using a hammer and anvil. I shaped the metal into a rod by rolling it between my hands, reheating it as necessary, and then I bent it into a circle, joining the ends with a simple lap weld. It only took me a couple of minutes since I was able to shape the metal quickly with my bare hands.

  “Why did you set it in the forge if you were just going to use magic to heat it?” Dorian asked.

  “Habit… and I didn’t want to burn the workbench or risk damaging the anvil,” I said as I twisted the hot metal into a spiral.

  Dorian watched the glowing orange iron in my hands with fascinated eyes. “What is that supposed to be?”

  “Nothing,” I replied, “I was just making a point. Using magic I can shape metal almost like a potter shapes clay. It makes a lot of things vastly easier when you don’t have to use a hammer and tongs to do everything.”

  “You always had clever hands,” Dorian remarked, “but somehow I thought you’d be doing something more productive than sitting around here creating new forms of art.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” I intoned solemnly, “that’s what this is.” I gestured at the armor still quietly gleaming on the worktable.

  “Something like that would take one of the king’s finest armorers half a year to make,” Dorian stated, yet his face was full of doubt.

  “I’m not going to try and convince you. Hold still for a moment.” I walked past him and picked something up from the table behind him.

  Dorian’s head twisted to follow me. “Wait a minute there Mort! Don’t be doing anything strange now!”

  I laughed inwardly. Have I mentioned that my friends trust me implicitly? “Relax! I’m not going to use any magic on you.” I bent over and reached for his ankle but my fearless friend sidestepped with an almost comical hop.

  “What’s that?” he asked nervously.

  “A tape-measure… hold very still or it might strangle you,” I remarked sarcastically. Taking another step I began measuring him carefully. After a moment he relaxed, although we did have an awkward moment with the ‘inseam’ measurement. I won’t go into that though.

  “I’m still patiently awaiting your full explanation, are you planning to make another set of armor like that for me?” Dorian asked. Although he hid it well I could almost hear the secret desire in his voice. What warrior wouldn’t want a set of armor such as was lying there on the bench in front of him?

  “Not exactly,” I said mysteriously. I knew the vague answer would drive him crazy but I couldn’t help but draw things out. “I copied one of the sets we stole from the king when we liberated my goods from his warehouse, but now that I’ve finished with it I think it could be improved.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, to begin with the enchantments I add give an exceptional amount of strength and integrity to the metal, so I think I can redesign some of the joints and remove some of the extra pieces they used to guard the underarms, the inside of the elbows et cetera.” I pointed to the wings that flared out past the piece of metal that guarded the elbow.

  “You mean the couter?” Dorian asked, pointing to the articulated metal joint. I guessed that must be its proper name.

  “Yes, the elbow and knee couters particularly,” I answered excitedly. I was glad to finally know the actual name for them.

  “The ones at the knee are called poleyns,” he chuckled as he corrected me. It wasn’t often Dorian got the upper hand when it came to intellectual knowledge, but he knew the warrior’s craft far better than I did. Of course he was raised to it. “You shouldn’t get rid of the wings on them,” he added seriously.

  “But they aren’t necessary,” I insisted. “The chainmail in those places will be strong enough to prevent any weapon from piercing the wearer there.”

  Dorian sighed. “Mordecai, you are so smart that sometimes I forget how ignorant you can be. Those wings aren’t to prevent a cut or stab. What do you think a man wearing this sort of armor fears most?” He paused to give me a chance to answer but I wasn’t playing his game so I waited him out. Eventually he continued, “He fears the mace and the axe. Those wings are to keep a crushi
ng blow from destroying his knee or elbow.”

  “Oh…” I replied intelligently. “Does the same thing apply here?” I pointed to the round disks that were mounted below the pauldrons that protected the shoulders.

  “Besagews,” Dorian supplied. “They’re called besagews… and yes the same reasoning holds true there, they protect the underarm.”

  “You make do without them in your current armor,” I argued.

  “My chain hauberk protects me from cuts and arrows; it does nothing to prevent broken bones. That’s the very reason they started designing ‘this’ sort of armor,” he replied.

  Dorian’s knowledge was clearly superior to my own in this regard so I drew out my carefully done plans for the next set of armor and showed them to him. I began showing him my proposed changes to the design and after several hours he had talked me out of most of them. If my father had still been alive he would have laughed and told me that I should have consulted an expert in the beginning, but then I had always been one to make mistakes first and then learn from them.

  We grew so engrossed in our discussion that the hours flew by and we were both late for dinner. As usual there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. When we entered the great hall, the conversation there dimmed for a moment as a hush fell over the assembled folk. That had bothered me at first but I had begun to get used to it. Now I merely nodded at everyone and made my way to my seat at the high table.

  I stopped beside my chair and glanced at the food already set before it on the table. I could almost feel Penelope’s eyes burning a hole through me as I gave her an apologetic look. “My dear lady wife,” I said loudly, making sure my voice was loud enough to carry, “I hope I didn’t worry you.” I turned and addressed the room, “Please everyone… eat!” I tried to make my tone amiable to reassure them. It seemed to work as the conversations around the room started up and everyone relaxed and began eating again. I had learned a lot watching how James Lancaster dealt with his people, but inwardly I still felt awkward.