by Ember Lane
A murmur of accent rippled around.
“We can pay you,” Pog said, “but we don’t need all of you, just a crafter and an alchemist.”
“I am both,” said an imperious-sounding voice that crashed over the top of all the others.
“Both is not as good as two,” said another two voices at exactly the same time. I looked around and saw it came from two eccentric-looking, female twins.
“Now, now!” Aldus barked. “No one is offering any services unless it goes through me. I’m their agent. I found them.”
“What?” I asked, but Pog gave me a kick under the table.
Aldus waited until the tavern fell silent. “What exactly do you need?”
Pog cleared his throat. “We need to find a way to store more mana in exactly the same space—we need mana concentrate.”
Aldus spat his ale out. “Mana is mana; it just is. You can’t squeeze mana into a place more than it will take.”
Everyone muttered their assent.
“Wrong,” said Pog. “And Alexa is living proof. How much mana have you got—the light one?”
“Now?” I looked it up quickly. “Seventeen thousand three hundred, give or take.”
Sharp intakes of breath sounded all around me.
“So you see, you can fit more mana into a smaller space. We just need to know how.”
“Why?” asked someone from behind.
“Because our next stop is Ruse, and we need all the help we can muster to win that battle. We need an answer to the problem, namely, how can we fit ten thousand mana in an object the size of the vial. Oh, and it must be edible.” Pog laid down the challenge.
“Sounds like an alchemist’s problem. Seems like you need the mana shrunk, squeezed, forced in,” Aldus said. “What do you need a crafter for?”
“We need a receptacle capable of storing shadowmana in a similar way to mana.”
Sharp intakes of breath all around.
“Never been done!” a voice shouted.
“Have to coax it out of hiding first,” said another.
“Interesting. I gather you have shadowmana too,” Aldus said.
“Wait a minute,” one of the twins butted in. “Alexa Drey—I recognize that name. She’s the one that killed the priests. She’s the one responsible for that huge bolt of magic—for them all.”
“The one from Speaker’s Isle,” affirmed the other twin.
“Alexa Drey is a box of trouble,” another voice pronounced.
“And we’ve avoided trouble so far,” said another.
Pog huffed and climbed onto his stool. “Look here, all of you. Yes, we’re fighting Ruse while you all hide in your little magic street, but listen up. We’re not asking you to fight, just help. If we travel to Ruse and fail, Ruse will return to Valkyrie. If, on the other hand, we travel to Ruse with loads of mana and shadowmana stashed up, we’ve got a chance, a slim one, but a chance all the same. We’re asking you for a day and a night. Do the impossible, and we’ll try and do the same. That’s it. Oh, and some new clothes with decent protection in them. That is all.”
He sat.
“Upstart,” Aldus growled.
Chapter Eighteen
95K Vial
“The university!” one of them shouted.
“The university!” they all shouted, and then began to file out, a spring in their step and excitement buzzing around them.
“You seem to have gotten everyone excited. I hope you have plenty of coin.” Aldus tucked in his hair and drained his ale. “Well, come on then? We can’t do this without you.”
Pog shrugged. “Perhaps they’re fed up with hiding.”
I drained my ale. “Let’s go.”
We marched outside, following a trail of thirty-odd wizards and witches as they strolled up the road. More called from windows, from open doors, and each joined, stepping their merry way to the university, wherever that was.
It was a small, pink building no different than all the others, and as we closed in, I had to stop and watch in wonder as they all filed through its little door. Aldus cleared his throat as the last disappeared in. “Well?”
We took the final steps, ducking under the low doorway and into an impossibly large lecture hall. Aldus bade us down the steps, past the fans of seated wizards and witches, and onto a stage at its bottom. A single lectern stood central, a long table behind. Aldus shuffled around the back of the table, taking a seat at its center. A number of other wizards and witches soon spread either side of him, and two chairs appeared to the side of the stage. Pog and I sat there.
Aldus cleared his throat to quiet the room. “Pog. It is Pog, isn’t it? Present the first problem.”
Pog jumped up, approaching the lectern, which immediately shrank to suit his size.
“First problem,” he announced, turning and putting a number of five-hundred-mana vials on the table behind. “We need to fit ten thousand mana in each.” He returned to the lectern. “How?” he asked as a mutter of dissent rippled around the hall. “Well, we have one unique spell that it seems isn’t currently available to most, namely that we can double the size of anything.” He brought out the two-thousand-mana wine bottle we’d made earlier. “This, for instance, holds two thousand mana.”
Pog retired to his chair. I patted his knee. “Glad you did that.”
The wizards and witches began discussing the problem. Much shouting, much quarreling ensued, and it looked like we would get nowhere until a dark shadow rose from the back of the hall. Like thunder, a voice rolled over the packed lecture hall.
“Enough! Enough! How many times have I told you all? Strip down the problem! First problem. We’ll call it the ship in the bottle. Imagine the mana already within its vial. The trick, like the ship in the bottle, is to get more in than could possible travel through the neck. So how do we do that?”
He waited.
“No one? Fine. Let me explain my initial thought. We need to cast enlarge—this new spell—on the mana, but not on the bottle. Can that be done?”
He sat. Aldus rose. “Thank you, Curmeyder. Alexa, could you attempt to do as Curmeyder asked?”
I had to admit, for a first proposal, it didn’t seem bad. A table appeared next to the lectern, and a witch placed one of Pog’s vials on it. I approached it, rethinking, refocusing, and ignoring the bottle, the vial as a whole, but attempting to focus on its contents. “Enlarge,” I commanded, but at the last minute, I lost focus and thought of the entire vial. It doubled in size. I sat back. A ripple of judgment and tusks rang around.
“Can’t be done!” someone shouted.
“Impossible!” another said.
“Hold on, hold on. I got it wrong.” I cried, waving them down as I waited for the vial’s color to deepen, and then I tried again.
“Enlarge!” This time, I focused on the mana alone. It pulsed in the vial, its color darkening to nearly black. The bottle exploded, shattering, spraying glass and mana everywhere. It sent me skidding backward across the stage, glass cuts peppering me.
I lay there, looking up at the faraway ceiling. A shadow fell over me, and a bony hand waved away my pain with an almighty healing spell before offering me help up. “Problem solved,” Curmeyder said.
“Solved?”
“Of course, we now know that you can increase the contents of the bottle without increasing the size of the bottle, so that problem is solved.” Curmeyder resembled a classic wizard, like Shylan, but in thunderous aura alone. Instead of long, draping hair, his was cut short, coppery, and his chin was clean shaven. He looked younger than the rest but somehow appeared more wizened. His cloak was brown, boots too but with a burnished sheen that matched his hair. “The new problem is much simpler.” He approached the lectern. “My fellow students of the finest arts, we need an indestructible container.”
“Glass braced with iron!” someone shouted.
“Scarletite, braced with scarletite. That should do it!” another cried, and the debate truly began.
Pog ju
mped up. His grin spread from ear to ear. I knew that look. He strolled across the stage, tugging on Curmeyder’s cloak, and then whispering in his ear. I swear the blood drained from the wizard’s face but then rushed back like a tsunami of enthusiasm.
“Quiet!” Curmeyder raged. “Quiet, the lot of you. We need an alchemist, a high wizard, and a crafter. I think the boy has it! Whoever volunteers needs to be capable of working through the night until the deed is done.”
“What deed?” a witch screeched.
“A vial of holding,” Curmeyder said, his voice no more than a whisper that spread like the last fingers of a vast wave. “We send the mana to the holding dimension but not quite. The flask must be on the very edge of nonexistence.”
“All night?” said one of the twins.
“All night,” Curmeyder confirmed.
“I shall head that party. Those wishing to take part gather in the tavern and ready for a long session. The more the merrier; we must solve the unsolvable.”
Just over half the hall emptied.
“Now, to the next problem.” Curmeyder sat in Aldus’s chair, arms folded and legs crossed.
Pog nudged me.
“Me?” I asked, nerves suddenly gripping my gut.
“You. I don’t have shadowmana; I don’t quite understand it.”
Gulping, I walked to the lectern. Even though the hall was only half full, it was daunting. “I have shadowmana.” I said it like some dire confession, eyes cast down.
“Go on,” Curmeyder encouraged.
I looked up, my eyes scanning the half-filled hall. “Normally, a lot of it. We need to find a way to attract it, catch it, bottle it, basically, get more of it and then duplicate it like the other mana. There, that’s it.”
“How do you normally attract this shadowmana?” Curmeyder prompted.
“I harvest it using my channels, my inner peace—kind of meditation.”
“Like normal mana?” he pressed.
“Similar. Both manas gather at a set rate. I can enhance that through the meditations.”
“Similar is not the same. We can bottle mana simply by producing it with spells and alchemy. That has always been done, and we have known of the existence of shadowmana, but so far it has proved elusive mostly because we aren’t evil.”
My heart raced. “Nor is shadowmana. You think it evil?”
Curmeyder waved a hand at me in a sort of dismissive gesture. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” I said forcefully, but then lost my confidence. “It’s just shy.”
“Shy?”
Pog nudged me. “Just tell it how it is; they need to understand.”
I nodded, thinking hard. “Imagine… Imagine a shy girl at the back of the class, always hiding in the shadows, trying to avoid the attention of the boisterous bunch at the front. They goad her; she shrinks back more, so they prod and poke her some more. Then, to their surprise, she explodes and rips them all to pieces—that’s shadowmana.”
Curmeyder raised his eyebrows aloft. “So we haven’t found shadowmana like we’ve found mana because…”
“It hides from you,” I confirmed.
“And its name—shadow—is not because it is evil but scared.” He threw his head back and laughed. “So Ruse has more of this magic merely because it is dark? Fascinating.”
“And the light mana shuns Ruse,” I added.
He jumped up. “Questions, everybody. This day is indeed a great day. We have with us an expert in the dark magic, the magic that lays waste to ours through spite alone. It is a momentous day that could end in us being all powerful. Don’t waste her time on feeble questions. I will not allow it. We have half the night and none of the ale to think of a way to bottle this shy magic and keep it safe.”
“That’s the key,” I blurted. “It has to feel safe, hidden. It has to trust you.”
“Trust?” Curmeyder said.
I made to stand, but Pog pulled me back. “Don’t overdo it. Do you know how to make potions?”
“No, not really.”
“Then let them ask.”
“What do you mean by trust?” Curmeyder asked again.
“It has to know you aren’t going to waste it. It likes to think it’s special.”
The debate began. I answered what questions they had, though each just didn’t seem to hit the mark. It was like they couldn’t understand it. As they became more and more frustrated, the questions became terse, dismissive as if they discounted what I knew as poppycock. Eventually, a clearly angry Curmeyder escorted us both out and up the winding road. He paused by a small shop.
“I must apologize. The concept of shadowmana has eluded us for so long, that even with this fresh understanding, it is still out of reach. Rest up here,” he said, opening the shop’s door. “Thalbear is the best garment maker in the business, though a little old now. It would be my pleasure if you would let him tailor you some fine garments while you wait. I’ll have food sent up from the tavern, or you can go to the restaurant at the end of the road. If you need rest, there are beds upstairs. I often stay the night myself. His tales, like his clothes, are woven with intricate design and power. I trust this is acceptable?”
“Yes,” Pog blurted, never looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“Thank you,” I replied, reaching out and touching his arm. “I imagine it is a rare gift.”
Curmeyder bowed, taking my hand and kissing it. “As are you, Alexa Drey, as are you.”
Thalbear looked up from his counter, a single candle illuminating his tiny shop. The door shut behind us. Pog shuffled me farther in, nudging me.
“Err, hello?”
He was a…different kind of wizard. His bald head was graced with wisps of rangy, gray hair, a forehead that had wrinkles you could climb up, and ears that stuck out with sprouting hair that looked like water instantly frozen as it had gushed from hidden faucets.
“Hmmm,” he said with finality, like we’d just ended his current endeavor, and we’d forced him to begin another. “You’re the two causing all the fuss.” His seemingly bad mood then appeared to evaporate, like a cloud in the sky that suddenly vanishes. He arched his hands, flexing his fingers. “What can I do for you?” He looked me up and down. “Don’t bother answering. Clothes. You need clothes. What protections?” He poked a folded card forward.
Opening it, I looked down the list. “Magic – defense – blasts, bullets, lightning bolts, severing fans – 5 silver per 1% per garment. Magic – defense – damage over time – 10 silver per 1% per garment. Magic – defense – freezing, stifling, shields, arcane or bright – 15 silver per 1% per garment.”
“All of them,” said Pog. “What else?”
“Magic – attack – blasts, bullets, lightning bolts, severing fans – 5 silver per 1% per garment. Magic – attack – damage over time – 10 silver per 1% per—”
“Got it,” said Pog. “All of them.”
Thalbear cleared his throat. “Can’t thread attack and defense into the same garment. One nullifies the other. Magic, I gather you want that. What else? I have sword defense, attack, or ranged. I have defense against most poisons too.” He smiled. “What do you need?”
My head scrambled with possibilities. “I need a jacket, tight, fighting one, and pants, tight, fighting ones, and boots, and a cape. I’d like a shirt, tight—”
“Fighting one,” Thalbear completed my words. “And you?” he turned to Pog.
“I’m a rogue and a thief.”
Thalbear chuckled. “And you’re proud of that?”
Pog nodded.
“No sense of humor. So, same stuff with a camouflage cloak.”
“A bit more stabby-stabby protection.”
“Stabby stabby,” Thalbear repeated. “How much do you want to spend?”
I looked up my gold. It wasn’t great. Pog said, “How much can we spend? You have the night; what’s the max?”
“That depends.”
“Depends?”
“On how many kobolds I can rou
se.”
“Kobolds?” I asked.
“Stitchers, cutters, seamsters,” Thalbear informed us, and shuffled around his desk, whipping out a tape measure and warming its end by blowing on it before prodding and poking me like a whirlwind then measuring Pog and standing back with a grunt. “Done. You can come back in the morning, or hide out upstairs, or just go somewhere.”
“Walk and eat. Let’s do that,” Pog said, “then come back and sleep.”
It sounded wonderful. It sounded perfect, a little bit of downtime.
“Fine,” Thalbear snapped, clearly eager to get on. “Did Curmeyder tell you to eat by the lighthouse. The tavern’s closed for the night—some fracas or another.”
We left the little shop, a bell announcing our departure as we ambled up the blue-cobbled road and headed for the lighthouse. It took us ten minutes or so to get there, and we climbed its spiral steps right up to the blazing pyre atop it. I leaned on its small parapet, staring over the gates at the sea beyond.
“Am I remembering this right?” I asked. “Weren’t there more Ruse ships outside the gates?”
Pog sat on the wall, his feet dangling over. “Five, ten, they’re gone now. He’s given up on Valkyrie.”
“He wants Mandrake,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Pog said. “I think so too. It’s the smart move.”
“If you were ShadowDancer, what would you be doing now?”
“Now? Well, let’s say I’ve muddied the waters, set country against country, caused confusion everywhere. I’d start by offering hope.”
“Hope?”
“Hope. Lincoln would have to be blamed for all. Every single problem I could engineer would be placed at his door. I’d destroy the food: blame Lincoln. Spread rumors of disease, starvation, anything, and blame Lincoln.”
“And you’d be the salvation.”
“I’d march in, and you’d welcome me with open arms.”
“Should we do that with Ruse? Could we?”
Pog shook his head. “I don’t think it has anything left. They say gemstones litter its land, but you can’t eat pretty rocks. Besides, what does that really mean? I think Ruse is only good for looting, and the gemstones just represent what’s been left behind.”