Unbound

“Don’t tug at those,” Harn snapped. His hammer never faltered, ringing against some red-hot piece of steel. “You’ll open up your wounds again.”

Evie dropped her hand from the cloth bundled around her left shoulder. Stupid Adept Perception. Can’t get anything by him. “It itches. And I wouldn’t be openin’ my wounds if you let me have a Healing Potion!”

Harn stopped and pointed his hammer at her. “And you wouldn’t be hurt if you didn’t go an’ challenge that Dragon. This is your punishment, kid.”

Burnin’ bloody ash. “He’s a Wyrmling.”

“And you still lost.”

“I bloodied him a little,” she muttered. Harn simply looked at her from under his heavy brows, and Evie leaned back in her chair, folding her arms with a grunt.

“Hmph.” Harn tossed his steel back in the forge behind him. They stood in the center of the Forge Hall, while all around them bustled two dozen apprentices of varying ages and Races. Harn’s setup was above and beyond all the rest—as it should be, him being the Forgemaster and all. Work tables surrounded him, tools hung from special racks, and a bevy of bowls and jars and barrels lined his sides, all filled with powders and oils. The huge forge rumbled, some inscription on it flaring as the metal heated up.

Evie pulled in short, shallow breaths and stifled the mad urge to itch. Not because he said to, just because the stitches were a little tight—she didn’t want to pull them. They still felt weird. Evie hadn’t had a natural healing wound since before she Revealed her Omen. Healing Potions might be rare, but tonics and salves were sold at the corner of every street in every big city, and Mags had always made sure they were healed up.

Damn lizard cut me deep. Their fight hadn’t gone the way Evie had hoped, not once that Wyrmling summoned a host of magic water snakes. He’s too damn small to be so strong.

After the fight had ended, Vess had taken her to the healers, which was where Harn had run into them. He’d hauled her off and growled down anyone that tried to stop him. Evie had been getting an earful in the days since. She shifted in her stone chair, looking for a position that wasn’t back-twistingly uncomfortable. “You couldn’t get nicer seating?”

“Blame Felix,” Harn grunted. The steel beneath his hammer, fresh out of the forge, was cherry red and quickly morphing into a chunky hook. “He designed the place. Or the Stronghold did. Hrm. Not actually sure on that.”

“How’s that work?” She settled on a half leaning position, which put her opposite shoulder against the back of the rocky chair. The itching continued, but the stitching didn’t feel so snug. “Rock just up and decide to be tile and tables? And how’s it make an anvil like that?”

Harn smirked and patted the horn of his anvil. It was a strange thing, all made of crystal and shot through with golden sparks. “Made this myself, with some help from the boys. Mana crystal from Ahkestria makes a mean anvil.”

Evie rolled her eyes. The sheer joy in Harn’s voice pleased her though, despite how annoying he was being about her fight. “You seem happy. Must be some anvil.”

“Yes, he certainly does love it,” said Palin as she swept into view. She had a bundle of flowers in a wide harvesting basket propped against her hip, and she gave Harn a peck on the cheek. “Hello dear.”

“Hrm.” The man’s face was as stoic as ever, but Evie was getting good with her Affinity. His Spirit soared with Palin around.

“Evie, why are you still bandaged?” Palin asked. She cocked an eyebrow at Harn. “Why hasn’t she been healed?”

“She’s healin’ just as she should,” Harn said. “All actions have consequences, eh?”

“Harn—”

“Palin, it’s fine.” Evie stood up, not eager to be in the middle of some couples fight. “It’s healin’ up nice.”

“Hm.” The woman’s expression was a match for Harn’s; stubborn as iron. “If you say so, Evie. But if you need anything, even if it's time away from this lug, come down to the Giant’s Flagon.”

Evie grinned. Palin had started up a new tavern near the Bitterward, where the Frost Giants had made their little community. Business was booming, she’d heard. Giants had quite the appetite, after all. “Appreciate it. Might take you up on it soon if Harn doesn’t start workin’ on my armor.”

Steam billowed up with a screaming hiss as Harn quenched his work. “I told you, kid. I’m workin’ on the Masterwork weapons. I’m close to figuring them out.” He lifted what looked like a sharp hook out of the quenching tub and set it on his workbench. “Just need to make a few tools.”

Palin and Evie shared a look. Harn had been fussing with those Masterwork weapons since Felix had taken them from the corpses of the High Guard. A sword and a spear, each one heavily enchanted and nasty sharp. They were stored below his benches, Evie knew, locked in some enchanted mini vault that came with the Crafting Hall. Even still, she imagined she could feel their power radiating upward. Like a half-heard scream.

“Been workin’ on that for a long time,” Evie said.

“Hrm.” Harn fastened another piece of metal to the hooked one, driving a thick pin into some sort of hinge. “Be easier if I had a proper Forgeflame. Haven’t found the right spark for that yet, otherwise this mighta been solved already. I’m only a bit into Adept, but I can see the path, rocky as it is. Just gotta walk it.”

Palin set her basket down on the edge of a workbench. “Harn. Can’t you set it aside and help Evie out?”

“They got spells worked into ‘em, Palin. Spells that can level a battlefield.” Harn’s hand gripped the air, as if he were grasping the weapons now. “If I can peel back the protections, then we could copy them. Put them on our own weapons. Then what happened in Haarwatch wouldn’t happen again. Couldn’t.”

The last words came as a growl from the squat warrior, and Evie remembered him in the weeks after the battle. They’d lost a lot of people; folks Harn personally trained.

Palin slid her hand over Harn’s fist and held it. “Let’s keep Evie safe, then.”

Stupid, fucking Affinity, she thought, blinking away a new burning in her eyes. Makin’ me feel things. She flexed her shoulder slightly, happy to focus on something else.

Harn cleared his throat. “Fine. I’ll get started on it, I just need some extra bits.” He grabbed a piece of chalk off his bench and scrawled a number of things onto a piece of slate before pushing it toward Evie. All without ever taking his hand from Palin’s. “Go find these and bring ‘em back. I’ll get started on shaping the ice you gave me.”

Evie looked at the slate. “I don’t know what any of this is.”

Harn rolled his eyes. “You, big man! Help her find these materials.”

A large apprentice shuffled over, though his head seemed ready to shrink into his shoulders. Great. Evie grabbed the slate. “Ugh. Fine. C’mon.”

As she walked away, Evie spotted Palin lean over and gave Harn a kiss. “You big softie.”

Harn grumbled, and Evie squeezed her Affinity shut. She didn’t need to know about those feelings.

“And this uh, this is here, I think.”

Evie looked at the big man leading her around. He was very wide, like most smithing apprentices—didn’t get far at the craft if you lacked Strength. Aside from that though, she didn’t think he was very good at his job. “You sure you know what we need…what was it? Rodrick?”

The big man mumbled something she didn’t catch, reaching up for another handle. They stood in front of a huge bay of cabinets, all of them stone, and each one was labeled with a series of sigils she couldn’t read. Based on how sweaty the man was, Evie was half convinced Rodrick couldn’t read them either.

“Rodrick! I can handle this,” said another man, a Half-Orc that Evie faintly recognized. He was wearing a thick white tunic and leather breeches beneath a thick smithing apron, and a number of tools hung from a wide belt.

“The Forgemaster asked me to,” Rodrick said. His voice sounded kinda familiar too, but at this point Evie couldn’t remember who she’d already met in Elderthrone. “I can’t just uh, just walk away.”

“I know. And I won’t tell him if you don’t.” The Half-Orc smiled. “If he asks, you helped her out, alright?”

The sheer relief from the big man was palpable, and not even to her Affinity. The way his shoulders sagged and hand relaxed spoke volumes. “Thanks, Loquis.”

Rodrick nodded nervously at Evie and scuttled off.

The Half-Orc looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Rodrick’s only been here a few days and doesn’t know the layout. Dunno why Commander Kastos would have picked him to help.”

Evie shrugged it off. “He’s…distracted.” She refused to look back at the central forge or let up on the chokehold she had over her Affinity. Who knew what he and Palin were doing at that point. She handed Loquis the slate. “Here. These are what I need.”

“Oh. Oh. These are rare. Alright.” The slender man looked around for a second before gesturing sharply. “Come with me.”

He led them to another set of stone cabinets, and these rotated around some center column. Loquis started pushing at them, spinning one set out of the way. “Here it is.” He set a finger against the sigaldry on the cabinet and a small, blue-white spark leaped out. The cabinet popped open, and he rooted around inside.

Lightning magic. Evie snapped her fingers. That’s right. “You’re that Arclight,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re that Arclight I chose to come with us to Ahkestria.” Evie raised an eyebrow. “You’re a Claw member. Why’re you doin’ grunt work in the Forge?”

The Half-Orc blushed for some reason. “I didn’t think you’d—um, well all of us in the Legion were required to take up a craft.”

“What? By who?”

“The Autarch. I say required, but it was more of a recommendation.” Loquis shrugged his shoulders. “But when the Fiend suggests something, you listen.”

“I guess.” Evie wrinkled her nose, imagining herself brewing some smelly potions or carving out those dumb glyphs. “Don’t really see the point, is all.”

“Oh it’s not so bad,” he said, reaching back into the cabinet. He pulled out several chunks of rock, all a silvery-green color, and placed them in his satchel before closing the door with a click. He rotated the storage chests again, this time selecting a sigil that looked like a sunburst. “I could have gone with sigaldry, most of my fellow Arclights did. But I find working with metals to be more…I dunno. Soothing.”

“Soothin’?” Evie let her eyes roam the chamber. The apprentices nearest them were manning bellows and banging hot metal with hammers and weird rods. It was loud and hot and sweaty. “I’d rather be fightin’.”

“You’re quite good at that, so I understand.” Loquis put two clear, crystal rods into his satchel, but it was getting pretty full. “I’m not really made for it.”

Evie laughed. “What’re you talkin’ about? I remember more than you just zappin’ me with that lightning. You were in the thick of it the whole time. Takes more than blind luck to survive that many scrapes.”

“I—” Loquis blushed again. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

She shrugged. “Just tellin’ the truth. You and that Pava girl and…what’s-his-name. That Dwarf.”

“Asaad?”

“Yeah, him. I remember all of you doin’ great in the fire temple.”

The Half-Orc beamed. “Really? They’ll be glad to hear it.”

Deception is level 34!

Evie didn’t remember them in any of those battles—she barely remembered their names, though the Half-Orc had always stuck out. Still, it was a harmless lie.

And he does look cute when he blushes. For a mage.

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