Unbound

“Would my lord wish for a menu? Or perhaps just a wine list?”

“No, no, I’m still waiting,” Atar said. “He’ll be here, any moment. My apologies for the trouble.”

“For the esteemed Glyphmaster, it is no trouble at all.” The server gave a wide smile and retreated back into the hustle of the restaurant. He no doubt had other, actual customers to attend.

The restaurant was a fine establishment called Savina’s and it was practically buzzing with custom. The interior was packed and the street dining just as full despite the chill winds that stole down the wide thoroughfare. One could attribute it to the people of Elderthrone and their indomitable Spirits no matter the weather…or to the heat arrays that Atar’s apprentices had installed across most of the town’s streets.

The cast iron table Atar lounged in was chilly but not frozen, and a number of patrons around him had unbuttoned their jackets and loosened ties. Snow fell in frequent flurries, but none of it accumulated or even reached them. Yellow heat Mana pulsed in regular intervals along the major arteries crossing the Foot and Scale districts, making for a pleasant experience on even the coldest of days. Atar planned to have the Wings done within the next week. Hopefully.

Atar toyed with the empty goblet in front of him, tilting it in circles as his Mind ran new thoughts to the ground. New Quests had fallen into his lap ever since the Glyphworks was upgraded, and the sheer variety of them had buried him over the past two days. It was all he could do to make the time for this dinner, in fact. Yet here he was, sitting. Waiting.

where could your alister be? perhaps he is in trouble. in dire danger.

Be quiet, Atar commanded. Flame settled back, a bird in its cage. The mini Urge never seemed particularly put out when Atar shot down its constant rants. Just patient. It unnerved Atar more than he liked to admit. Alister is fine.

His beau had been overworked as much as Atar had, these last few days, if for different reasons.

“Ah!” Atar said, finally spying his date. He flagged down his server. “I’d appreciate that wine list, now.”

“Of course. Here is the menu as well.” The man proffered two thick pieces of cardstock to the mage and bowed himself out just as Alister closed in.

“So sorry I’m late,” he said, twisting between cast iron seating and other patrons. He approached Atar with a wide grin and a distinct hitch to his gait. “Gods, it’s good to see you outside of that stuffy lab.”

They embraced, pressing close for a brief moment before Atar held the man out as if to inspect him. “You’re limping. What happened?”

“This? Nothing particularly interesting, just foolish.” Alister sat down carefully at the table, wincing as he did so. “The steps up to the Eye were icier than I expected. I slipped. I may have finally advanced into Adept, but my Body isn’t so stalwart as some.”

“Tch. The apprentices are supposed to take turns clearing those steps!”

“It’s fine, Atar. I’m fine. Better me than someone more frail.” Alister shifted in the hard seat, clearly uncomfortable. “The ice is being cleared now anyway. Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”

“Very well,” Atar said, but a piece of him was already reviewing the duty roster.

yes. find them and end them. insubordination cannot be condoned.

I said quiet, Flame.

look at him, atar. he aches. if you grew your power, if you let me join you, then we could ensure nothing bad ever happened to him. we could boil the seas and burn the very moons…

Atar shoved his talkative Urge back and lifted the wine list, handing it over to his date. “Since you’re walking wounded, I’ll let you do the honors.”

“How magnanimous,” Alister drawled. He glanced at the list. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the menu being in Levantian?”

“Of course not.” Atar picked a piece of dust from his doublet. “I am simply being exceptionally thoughtful.”

“Mhm. I’m still surprised you haven’t learned that language yet, considering how many of the Pagewrights use it. All nobility is forced to learn it from youth, if for nothing other than proving how refined we are.”

“It has been…something I haven’t had the time to master,” Atar admitted. He tucked a lock of white hair behind his ear. “Self-study outside of the Glyphworks has been entirely too rare.”

“Don’t I know it. I barely see you anymore.” Alister reached across the table, threading his fingers into Atar’s own. “This is nice, though.”

Atar grinned.

“My lords, compliments of the chef.” The server had returned, this time carrying a small green bottle capped with crimson and gold wax. A number of small sigils were inscribed into the top, and they glimmered with power.

Alister took the bottle and his eyes widened. “This is a Nowabrev.”

Atar raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that very expensive?”

“More than expensive. This bottle would be enough to retire to Levantier permanently.” Alister tried to hand the bottle back. “We cannot take this.”

The server smiled, and Atar felt the man’s Spirit pulse in genuine joy and pride. He did not take the wine. “Ah, but we insist. It is one of our few Adept Tier wines, thankfully saved from the fall of our previous establishment in Haarwatch. And while the walls were destroyed, my life and the lives of all that work here at Savina’s were saved by the Autarch and those that fought by his side.”

The server bowed, fully at the waist, and Atar realized that all of the servers were doing the same, all around the restaurant. Patrons watched too, necks craning and eyes drinking in the spectacle.

Their server stood after a long moment. “Your entire meal is on the house.”

“That is…quite kind,” Alister managed.

They ordered food, Alister picking for the both of them, and the server left…but they remained the center of attention. Even the folks passing on the street would linger, if only a little. As members of Elderthrone’s elite, both mages were relatively well known in addition to being an uncommon sight outside of the Eye and Crafting Halls. Atar hunched his shoulders, his chest burning under curious gazes and emotions that he only barely managed to ignore. Alister had a rougher time of it, however.

“Blind gods, but I dislike this Affinity,” Alister said. The bottle of wine sat unopened between them. “How do you manage it?”

“You have to squeeze it off, like contracting a muscle,” Atar explained. He thumbed an inscribed keystone at his waist, and a sound ward flashed around them before fading from view. Now at least their words were private. “It takes practice though. I still am not able to shut out anything particularly intense or too near.”

Alister chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Perhaps we should speak to the Chanters. Get some proper training, as Zara has been suggesting. I hear she is trying to set up a sort of school here, to help those of us that have unlocked our Harmonic stats.”

He’d heard about that. Zara and the Chanters had been engaged in heavy talks since Felix’s departure. Zara had kept them in the loop, especially in regards to Felix’s plan, but the Cantus Sodalus was intense. They were inordinately interested in anyone that had developed Harmonic stats thanks to Felix’s presence, hence the school idea. “Training would be ideal. But when? It’s only been four days since Felix left, and the amount of work in all Crafting Halls has more than doubled.”

Alister sighed. “That is true. The nobles are a constant pain, but now that regular Manaships are moving between Haarwatch and Elderthrone I’m being driven to distraction.”

“Darius was just about the only person happy with the recent influx of people. I believe more than half has joined the Legion, and you can tell. The barracks have been alight for days now,” Atar said.

“If only all of them were here to join the Legion. Instead, the other half are all crafters and skilled laborers. I just received word that several guilds are vying to set up in town.” Alister waved his hand at Atar’s confused look. “Don’t get me wrong, I am happy. It means Elderthrone is thriving and will continue to do so…but it also means contracts, charters, and the minutiae of taxes.”

“Can’t Karys help? He knows more about bureaucracy than a thousand clerks. He could probably whip up all of that in an afternoon.”

“Karys has offered, and we plan to meet soon, but he’s been preoccupied with that expedition to Khasma. We still haven’t heard back from them, and it has the man worried. Besides, he’s had his hands full dealing with the Stronghold ranking up, too.”

Right. Atar had been inscribing a new array in the Glyphworks when his display had been inundated with notifications. Apparently Felix had done something amazing and impossible again, and while they did not know all the details, Atar was aware there had been sweeping changes. At the very least, it had unlocked many upgrades to their Crafting Halls and several new features for the Stronghold at large.

“Rank IV,” he said. “The upgrades to the Beacons are interesting, considering our expanding reach. The Autarch’s Emporium will prove a good tax on the wealthy in this town, I think.”

“You’re not wrong. The Protector’s Guild has an auction house in some of the larger cities, and it was always lauded as the guild’s primary source of income. Giving access to a centralized marketplace through the Beacons is a remarkable feature that will only provide benefits in the years to come.”

When Felix had upgraded the Stronghold, the Beacons that he could summon now had access to a unique space that people could travel into, like a Shadowgate. Normally the Beacons only transported goods, not people, but this also did not send folks to the Storage Facility. Instead they were brought into a wide chamber that resembled nothing so much as an amphitheater, and had access to what was best described as an storefront and auction house. Goods could be put up for sale by anyone, though only appointed officials could manage it all. Few knew of its existence yet, but that would change soon, Atar imagined.

“It’s interesting that not all Beacons have access to the Emporium. Just the one here, in Ahkestria, and this new one he put up.” Alister laughed. “I can’t believe he’s taken the Hoarfrost. Do you know how long people have feared that place? Their raids are the stuff of nightmares for children on the northern borders.”

“He turned my home into an ocean. I no longer have the capacity to be shocked by Felix’s accomplishments,” Atar said.

“Oh really? Then it wasn’t you that I heard shouting about the upgrades in the Glyphworks?”

Atar blushed. “I—he increased the fidelity of all inscriptions! And glyph creation! What? Am I expected to not shout?”

Alister only laughed.

Their food arrived a short time later, fresh, hot, and absolutely crawling with magic. Atar could feel the expertly cooked meal as if it had its own presence. And oh, the taste. He had missed good restaurants since Haarwatch had been destroyed, and was quite pleased that he’d insisted on coming to Savina’s.

They ate at first in companionable silence, the two mages exchanging words only between courses. They spoke of small things, happy achievements, and new ideas. Sigaldry was, of course, their shared love and was never far from their minds—but they also discussed their home, newly built in the Foot and exceedingly empty. Now that proper crafters had settled into town, the options for decorating their home had expanded, and both were eager to explore the new selections.

“I’m unsure. I prefer darker tones in a home, especially a library.”

“That’s because you grew up in this fog-drenched wilderness,” Atar said with a sniff. “No offense intended, but the warm tones of my home will be far more effective at brightening up our library.”

“I prefer fog-drenched to sunbaked, dear. Why not—”

Glass shattered all around them as a terrifying explosion ripped through a neighboring building. Atar was on his feet and running before he realized it, and Alister was right behind him.

“Get back!” he commanded, shouting with his Adept Tier lungs to be heard over the screams. People were panicking, but they obeyed and opened up a pathway for the mages to squeeze through the clouds of dust.

On the other side he beheld giant gouts of flame tearing through the half-collapsed husk of a building. It had only been next door, Atar realized. If it had been any closer, than he and Alister would’ve—

“Pillars of the Domineering Sentinel!” Alister hissed. Blue force Mana surged from the man’s feet and into the street before erupting within the tilted structure. Pillars of blue light pushed upward, placed just so beneath the charred but still-extant beams. The groaning ceased. “That should hold it, for a bit at least.”

A window burst, weakened glass shattering before erupting in a geyser of flames. From within, people screamed.

“Atar!”

“I heard it!” He lifted his hands, and grasped Flame within his chest. The fires. Take them. Don’t hurt anyone inside!

a paltry task. i shall end the conflagration and grow with its—

Just do it!

All at once, the raging flames extinguished, turning to threads of molten light that coiled inward toward Atar’s palms. Terrible, inexorable heat surged through his channels, lighting up his gray skin as if his blood had turned to fire…before fading as it all reached his core. Flame spread its wings and wove the threads into its form, growing the tiniest bit bigger.

Within the burnt shop, there was only blue-lit smoke, and the coughing of survivors. Atar dove into the rubble. “Hold on! I’m coming in!”

Inside it was a maze of fallen beams, charred wood, and crumbling plaster. He had to step carefully over places where the broken glass had fused to the floor, creating slick footing…and again when he encountered two bodies. Or what was left of them.

“Hello? Where are you?” he called into the shop. The only response was a deep, unsettling groaning from wood and stone.

The smoke was awful, but Atar fished a fresh keystone and stylus from his pouch. He quickly inscribed sigils for air, current, adding hastily deduced parameters before capping it all with the glyph for purification. He pushed his fiery Mana into it, forcing it along the air-attuned array he’d created until a small but steady breeze whistled into existence. The smoke moved, pushed away from him as if he were the center of a spinning vortex—because he was.

Debris was kicked into the air, but without the smoke it was far easier to see where he was going. Atar found the first survivor in the back, behind a heavy counter that must have shielded her and the two little ones from the blast.

“Are you alright? Can you stand?” he asked.

The Dwarven woman blinked at him owlishly. Perhaps she couldn’t hear him, but when Atar moved to help her up, she stood without issue. Two children, no older than five years old, were clutched to her chest. They all had blood running down their ears, but they were breathing. Atar just about fell over in relief.

“Let’s get you outside.”

“You absolute fool!”

Lilian’s words were soft but her tone was harder than mithril. Dabney, the great brute, hung his head beside her as they hustled away from the merchant’s district.

He was wringing his hands, casting frequent glances behind them. Smoke still poured into the sky, visible in the magelights that swarmed the district. “I didn’t think it’d fail. I—”

“No! You don’t think!” Lilian smacked the man with her cane, and her veil nearly fell from her face. She hurriedly adjusted it back before yanking on her idiotic accomplice with the other. “That has always been your problem. Remember! I do the thinking here.”

“Yes, Ophelia.”

Good. At least he can remember that much. Lilian rubbed her temples as they walked, slowing their pace so they didn’t look so suspicious. They were far enough away from the explosion that few would link two simple, poorly-dressed crafters to it all. Light, where did this go wrong?

The two of them had been heading out with the intent to test their newest alchemical solution when they had chanced upon her cousin and that two-faced slime Atar. She’d been eager to stop and listen in on their conversation—the situation in Elderthrone was changing, fast. She had been in the Alchemical Lab when Aenea had gotten visibly excited about some sort of upgrades, and it had only taken a few well-placed compliments to get the woman to explain. Somehow, Felix had upgraded the rank of the Stronghold, which meant all sorts of opportunities.

What she really wanted to know was if Felix was returning, and when. No one had noticed him leaving at first, but that secret had gotten out relatively fast. Lilian’s true work was far from complete, but the longer Felix remained away, the better.

Then the two mages had erected a sound ward, and despite her various tools, it proved too strong to breach. She had ordered Dabney to keep marching to the forest, as they had originally planned.

That, of course, was when the thick brute’s containment vessel had broken. The entire thing started glowing a brilliant, cherry red and they’d been forced to toss the reagents as far as they could…right onto the roof of a nearby shop.

“Those poor people,” Dabney moaned. “Do you think anyone…?”

Lilian didn’t answer that. Even if they had, it couldn’t matter. “It was a clothier for used woolens. A commoner’s shop. No one of any import was there.”

If anyone had been, of course, then it was Felix’s fault. Why were commoners out in a wealthy merchant’s district, next to one of the finest restaurants, at that time of night? They should have been abed, resting for the important work they provided in the mines and forests. All of this “free time” and “fair income” that Felix had mandated was ruining an entire generation of workers. Spoiling them, and for what? His government was balanced atop of a few unqualified fools. There was no nobility to support it, to create true value for it all.

It would fall, whether Lilian acted or not. How, was another matter entirely.

“At least we know they are effective,” Lilian muttered. “The entire roof was blown off that shop.”

“Yeah but the Fiendstone wasn’t scratched,” Dabney pointed out. “I saw it as we ran. The rest burned.”

Lilian cursed. “Stop looking back. It makes you look guilty.”

“I am guilty. That shop, it—”

“Enough.” If that wretched material was unmarred by their concoction…it meant problems for their plan. “Still. This is good to know. We must increase the Tier of the batch. That will be easier to do, now that the Crafting Halls have upgraded.”

“Dunno. That Dwarf won’t let me touch a forge. Says I’m clumsy. I had to cobble the mechanism together while she slept.”

“Don’t use that as an excuse. Your sloppiness nearly cost us our lives and potentially exposed our plan. We will need to be much more cautious after this.” Lilian increased her pace, the tapping of her cane now a rapid tattoo. “Come. We should return, before we are missed.”

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