Unbound

The world roared as tongues of magical flame flared within the furnace, licking up against its inner chamber as if possessed of an intense hunger to burn anything it could reach. Sigils lit up along its stone and metal surface, keeping the flame at bay, but the heat was intense. Harn was soaked in sweat as he stared at it, less than a span away, but he wasn’t worried in the least.

"More air," Harn called out. “Quick-like!”

One of the Dragoons rushed forward to shove his calloused hands onto a flat piece of crystal and stone worked into the side of the furnace. Mana flooded from him in a stream of white-green light. After a few heartbeats, it slackened until it faded entirely, and the Dragoon slumped forward.

Panting, he looked to Harn. "Enough?"

"Aye. Thanks, kid."

"Anything for one of those spears," the Dragoon said with a grin.

"Ha! You and all the rest of your team. Keep working those smelters and we'll have them done before long."

"Yes, sir."

The Dragoon ran back, joining his fellows at the smelters. All the Dragoons that had entered the interior of the fortress were still there, toiling away—even that Half-Elf Selin. Some of them had been tough to crack, but once they'd sworn their Oaths and saw the treasure trove of armor and weapons Vess unlocked, Harn had found them ready and willing to put in any amount of effort needed. The kids practically drooled over the spears he'd had the eidolons trot out, not to mention the Dragoon armor. All told, they were good helpers and some even knew their way around a forge. So he put them to work, repairing some of the anvils and specialized tools. Now they were operating the enchanted smelters, slowly melting down the rusted metal that had been covering a good half of the forge when Harn had arrived. They poured them into molds to make ingots of iron, high steel, and even mithril.

He didn't need the extra metal, but it kept the Dragoons busy, and there was nothing wrong with having some spare ingots. If they expected him to forge equipment for their little army, it was the least they could do, and Harn made sure they knew it. So the Dragoons listened, even Selin, though the man constantly looked like he'd sucked a lemon through a hose.

Harn grunted, shifting himself on his makeshift bench. It had been the first thing he'd constructed after getting the forge into working order, but it had been a hasty job. It dug into his side and was slightly lopsided, but it was the best he could do under the conditions. He couldn't forge anything on crutches.

"Oho, this place is looking fancy," Evie said, stepping out of the short hall to the staging grounds. "Everything seems to be workin’ and everythin’. What's that? You have the Dragoons working the melty bits? Impressive."

Harn grunted, pulling a heated piece of orichalcum and mithril out of the forge, and they burned a brilliant red-gold and vibrant green. He laid them both down on the anvil in front of him. "You ain't seen nothing yet, kid. You got time to help?"

"Anythin’. What do you need?"

"I need more power to fold into this."

"Mana battery duty? Ugh. I thought you had your helpers here?”

"They're all air attuned. Single element. None of ‘em were brave enough to put metal in their core."

"Huh. I guess Vess really is a cut above," she said, looking back at the Dragoons. "Well, I got ice, water, and metal in me. Call me King Brave."

Harn rolled his eyes, but Evie never failed to amuse him. "You gonna lend me your Mana then, princess?"

Evie screwed up her face. "I said king. I'll let it pass this once, being noble and all.”

“Generous. Mana?"

"Fine. But this goes on too long, I'm getting Felix."

Harn picked up his crystalline hammer and chuckled. "I think we can handle this without the king."

“Tch.”

Within a secure room in Fortress Fenwald, Chanters Tzfell and Laur sat going through stacks of treasure. Now, two of the four Eidolon Exults stood with them, their chests open and empty, having deposited their stolen bounties onto the ground below.

It was the fortune of several lifetimes, packed between the relatively small walls of their chamber, and they were both all too conscious of that fact. For the tenth time in the last glass, Laur tested the wards he had placed around their room.

"You're being paranoid," Tzfell said, not taking her eyes off her board and parchment. She made another few tally marks. “No one is going to steal from us while we remain here.”

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I've seen the eyes of some of those Dragoons. I don’t know if I trust them."

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The Dwarven Chanter sighed. "I regretfully agree. But the Lady Vess and the Lord Autarch do, for now. So we must act in accordance with their wishes.”

“But not without taking precautions," Laur said.

"Indeed."

Between them was spread an exorbitant amount of gold, silver, and platinum. All of it was split into ingots or ancient coins. Gemstones, precious and semi-precious, were prevalent too. Many of those were enchanted with simple effects, such as the ruby firestones that, when activated, could start a fire. It was a silly enchantment; the ruby did nothing to enhance the sigaldry. It was simply very pretty and very expensive.

They also had a few array plates carved on high Tier stone, each one describing a piece of a complicated pattern and inlaid with more precious metal and gems. The effect of the arrays ranged from barriers to the all-important Song of Exile that had the capacity to send the Unbound back home. It unnerved Tzfell to handle that one, and she made sure it was set aside from all the rest and specially warded before being placed up off the ground. Archibald wished for it more than anything.

Tzfell wanted to trust the Unbound Delven, but she was not foolish.

In addition to the arrays, there were some weapons and armor. Enchanted, of course, and all with inscriptions designed to make them fit anyone that bound them to their blood. Useful for armor that, from the looks of it, were designed to fit Dwarves alone.

There were also a great many tomes, most of them works of fiction. Prized first editions or illuminated manuscripts mainly, but also odd technical journals that thoroughly puzzled Tzfell. Those they set in a separate pile, and, honestly, Tzfell was eager to peruse them when she had some free time. Not everything was about power and the gaining of it. After living long enough, the Dwarven Chanter knew that sometimes it was the little things that got you through the next century. For her, books and maps had always caught her undivided attention.

In another pile, the Chanters set the more…potent books. Treatises on magic, mostly, with esoteric notations on Mana Skills and all sorts of subjects. None of them were enchanted or truly magical. That distinction belonged to the last tome, which Tzfell identified as a Skill Book. The cover was worn thin and what few markings remained on its spine were utterly illegible. What’s more, her Analyze was blank when she checked it. She set those aside, too, intent on showing them to the Autarch later. His Voracious Eye would no doubt be able to unravel the mystery.

And finally, but certainly not least, were the metal ingots that weren't gold, silver, or platinum. Instead, there was mithril and orichalcum, which were quite useful—just a little less important now that they had found a cache of such metals within the fortress. Of greater import, they found five ingots of Crescian Bronze. That astounded Tzfell. The material was exceedingly rare. The most she had ever seen were upon the weapons that the Autarch wore at his waist at all times.

"Wait a moment." Tzfell looked at the ingots again and for some reason her eyes skipped over the fifth one. One, two, three, four ingots. She reached out, her senses straining past something that she couldn’t quite grasp. At first she thought it was an illusion, but there was no Mana to combat, just a deadset conviction that the last object was an ingot. A foreign Will.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her hand forward and touched the fifth ingot, only to discover that its smooth surface and larger dimensions were an utter lie. What appeared in her hands was a piece of worked Crescian Bronze, marked with symbols and designs, and a curved piece of something greater. All at once, whatever Will was opposing her suddenly stopped, and the Chanter gasped.

"Laur, pack all of this back up,” she said, standing.

The Elven Chanter looked around in alarm. "What? Why? What's going on?"

Tzfell held up the piece of Crescian Bronze. "I need to find the Autarch."

Felix leaned back, reveling in the sound of joy.

All around him, the refugees celebrated. They danced around several large cook fires, where the slaughtered remains of many beasts were roasting on spits. Massive pots filled with vegetable stew and an abundance of mushrooms bubbled and steamed, while children ran around screeching in delight. Drinks were passed around, ale that many had been rationing was freely shared.

It was a feast.

Felix breathed deep, savoring the scent of wild grasses and even the sour stink of the nearby swamp. He was sat far enough away from the feast that he wouldn’t disturb anyone else with his presence. The smell of good food was amazing, the scent of nature incredible, but mostly he was enjoying the swell of Spirits that, for once, held no fear or awe. There was only relief and joy, and the earthy satisfaction of a good meal and a full belly.

Maybe I should’ve been a cook, he mused taking a bit of a drumstick he’d snagged. Even Archie looks happy with a full stomach.

In the end, their little contest had ended in a four-way tie. The Armadon had provided a massive amount of meat, supplementing the smaller game that Beef, Archie, and Pit had collected. Hollow, however, had just about stripped the forest of those enormous Deathdrinker Mushrooms. Even now, there were piles of them sitting on the lawn of the Inner Bailey, currently being chopped up by some elderly volunteers.

He’d made sure to double-check them with his Voracious Eye. Despite their ominous name, they weren't poisonous in the least. In fact, they were excellent for antidote draughts, as the mushrooms soaked up poison Mana like sponges.

Felix sat down again on his overturned log. Pit was curled up at his side and wagging his puppy tail eagerly as he watched the festivities. In the near distance, Archie was performing magic tricks for the kids to uproarious laughter, while Beef danced awkwardly with a succession of old women.

"We did good, right?" Pit asked.

"Yeah, bud. I think we did good here."

His calm, however, was broken when Tzfell came hustling out from the keep. She spotted him almost as fast as Felix had found her, and she immediately made a beeline through the crowd. She didn’t push or shove, but clearly the villagers around her felt her urgency, because after a moment everyone got out of her way.

Thirty seconds later, the Chanter approached him, her face white beneath her tattoos. “Lord Autarch.”

Felix frowned. "What's going on?"

"During out…cataloging process, I have found this." She held out a chunk of metal. The moment Felix saw it, he dropped his drumstick.

Pit caught it in his mouth and mumbled around it, "Hey, don't waste that. Wait, Felix, what is that?"

Felix took it in his hands. The weight of it felt like it should have pulled him down into the earth, though it was no heavier than any normal ingot of metal. "It's a piece of the Crown of Elysium."

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