Unbound

Fire and lightning.

Water and shadow.

Blood, air, and deepest earth.

Symbols swam out of the depths of his Mind and into his core, their shapes holding fast. They flared as they resonated with pillars of flame and rattled obsidian cages hewn from the vast dark, growing stronger with every passing moment. Mana flowed through him, carrying power and meaning beyond the depths of his channels and through the tightly controlled aperture in his left palm. There the symbols found their match, carved into the surface of a metal sheet nearly two fingers thick, and flowed into them like water into a goblet.

“It’s working,” Atar said. A headache spiked behind his eyes, but he muscled past the pain.

“Hold fast,” Hector warned. “The Primaries are finishing up.”

Atar held out hope. His Mana spread, completing the Primary sigils before trailing across curved lines toward the Secondaries. His Mana spat and flared as it reached the symbols, seemingly catching on the complicated inscriptions. He increased the flow from his channels just a touch, and it was enough. It spread, igniting another layer of the array.

Come on. Work.

Mana hit the Tertiaries and Atar held his breath. These were among the most complicated sigils he inscribed, if only because of their delicacy. The array was a duplication of a GrandmasterTier working and while a more advanced mage might have carelessly flung their power through the formation with little care for precision, Atar had no such luxury. His might was limited.

Atar’s Mana slowed at his command, guided through the needle-thin sigils by the sharpened edge of his Intent. His Harmonic stats had grown since the last time he’d attempted this, or else he wouldn’t have tried again.

He just had to be careful—

get back!

Atar threw himself away from his workbench just as the four span metal sheet exploded. His Mana, once corralled into the discrete shapes of the array, unleashed itself in cascading streamers of undiluted power.

“Drop the hood!” Hector shouted.

no! give me that luscious flame!

A thick lid made entirely of blue-black Fiendstone dropped from the ceiling, cutting off the detonation before it could spread. Sigils flared up along its outer rim, filling with a purple-white hue before a cloud of chill mist ejected in all directions.

“Burning ashes,” Atar cursed. He stood back up, leaning heavily on his cane. “What happened?”

Hector waved at the mist and the faint haze of smoke above it. “Tertiary layer folded. I think the inscription wasn’t deep enough.”

“Bollocks. The inscription was perfect.” Atar had practiced it a thousand times; he knew it inside and out. Backwards and forwards. “Lift the hood.”

To the side, one of his apprentices quickly activated another array. This was one of the many safety precautions built into the Glyphworks. The hood lifted on tethers of blue force Mana, and it released an acrid cloud of burning metal.

Atar waved it away, peering onto his workbench. “As I suspected. The material wasn’t strong enough.”

On the slab of Atar’s workbench, the once four by four span sheet of metal was ruined. Bent and twisted by the force of the explosion and, more importantly, the center had been reduced to unusable slag.

Hector whistled. “How much did that cost?”

“It was high mithril. Tier VI,” Atar said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So a small fortune.”

who cares for the paltry metal? think of all that power you wasted on this worthless array!

Quiet, Flame. I’m not having this conversation again. Atar’s mini Urge rarely listened to him, but this time the fiery thing went silent. Thank you.

The apprentices that had gathered around his workbench scattered, clearly picking up on Atar’s mood. The Glyphworks provided a neverending list of Quests to fulfill, from city contracts to research to simple experimentation. Atar’s apprentices were all but drowning in work. There was no reason to be standing around and gawking.

Hector leaned over the remnants of their effort, prodding at the charred bits that survived. “I don’t think we should try this again. Not until we can secure better materials.”

The Glyphmaster tried not to grind his teeth. “We’re close. Too close to give up now.”

“I didn’t say give up. This array is incredible. The fact that you were able to transcribe it from that book at all is a miracle.” Hector glanced toward the vault, where they kept the tome in question. “Infusing life—true life—into an array is the dream of many inscriptionists, myself included. I don’t want to stop, but I fear we will only frustrate ourselves and bankrupt Felix’s coffers if we continue now.”

Atar knew the man was right; he usually was, when it came to sigaldry. “Fine. We can…pull back for now. But put out the word to our acquisition team. High priority on Tier VII metals.”

Hector sighed. “I’ll let them know down at the Emporium. But I don’t have to tell you that Grandmaster Tier materials are few and far between, even at auction.”

“No. You don’t.”

Hector smirked. “Right. Gotta run, then. Aenea is expecting me home for lunch. Amaya just got into that new school they started.”

“Oh? She’s so young.”

“Old enough to unlock her Harmonic stats, it seems.” The man waved. “Be seein’ you.”

Atar watched the man leave and scratched at his white hair. Hector had been a great help these past few days, especially with Alister so busy. There was a reason he had been one of the most respected inscriptionists in the Protectors Guild. As Glyphmaster of Elderthrone, Atar sometimes felt a little out of his depth; he was Adept Tier but his knowledge of sigaldry had its blindspots, not to mention organizing and leading a growing legion of apprentices. Yet Hector had been quick to share his expertise without an ounce of ego.

Had their roles been reversed, Atar was positive he wouldn’t have been so magnanimous.

he is plotting something. i am sure of it.

You said the maid was plotting something two days ago, too.

she wielded her duster with an intent to kill.

Right. Shut up now. Atar mentally flicked the flickering Flame inside of his chest, and it died down, retreating into the center of its obsidian cage. I don’t have time to listen to your insanity.

it’s not paranoia if it’s correct!

Atar’s headache swelled, pounding now behind both eyes. Managing the Flame’s rambunctious nature had its costs, and they were growing. Just nudging the mini Urge back had sapped a piece of his mental strength. It had only gotten worse after the event three days prior.

He drummed his fingers next to the twisted metal remnants as his Mind sorted through potential solutions for his many, many tasks. A weariness rose up within him, but Atar squashed it down. He hadn’t the time for weakness. He snapped his fingers. “You there, apprentice.”

A passing Henaari stopped in her tracks and immediately flowed into a deep bow. “How might I be of service?”

“I need to be away from the Glyphworks for the afternoon. Inform the journeymen.” Atar gestured to the workbench. “And have these scraps taken away to the repurposing bins.”

“As you wish, Glyphmaster.”

Giving the woman a firm nod, Atar strode away, barely using his cane at all.

hmm. authority looks good on you.

Atar said nothing at all.

It took Atar a full glass to reach the Wings of Elderthrone. Mostly that was because he had to walk the entire way. Not for the first time, he bemoaned the lack of carriages in the city, either for rent or personal use.

At least the weather is improving, he mused as he stepped around a corner. The wind that puffed against his face and neck was brisk, but the edges of winter had been filed off. Spring will be here soon.

Like all the various districts of the growing city, the Wings were named after Felix. Or rather, for Pit. Unlike the Eye which consisted of the Nymean Temple and Crafting Halls, or the Scale which was built to house merchants and the various markets, the Wings were entirely residential. The rich and poor lived side by side, all of them provided free housing through the Autarch’s command. Yet as with all places, a hierarchy had begun to form.

The oldest homes of the Wings were simple square structures of little artistry and solid construction. Those were made entirely of Fiendstone and crafted by Felix himself…and despite their unadorned designs, they were a hotly contested commodity. Owning a Fiendstone home was considered a sign of status by many, though that did not mean the other homes were shoddily made. Far from it. The wooden residences that dominated the majority of the Wings were spell shaped by the Henaari, and as such they were packed with exquisite details, carvings, and unique layouts. No two Henaari-crafted homes were the same it was said, and Atar could believe it. Even the streets of the district were filled with carved archways and statues, each celebrating the forest that still dominated the area.

Could use less glaring monsters though, he thought as he walked down another short alley. The startling visage of an Irontooth Ape snarled down from twice his height, grown as much as carved from a dark wood. Placing such a statue between the curved architecture of two buildings was criminal, as far as Atar was concerned. His heart had nearly leaped into his throat and his hands still tingled from unreleased fire. As he passed it by, Atar was pleased to note that a portion of its bulk was marred by weapons and spells. Others seem to agree with me.

The small alleyway opened up into a broader thoroughfare on the southern side of the city. Here the Wings truly opened up, with many homes yet to be built. Teams of masons and carpenters gathered here and there, each of them working on a separate lot but off similar plans. Wooden frames had already been erected in many places, secured atop stone foundations cut from the nearby mountains. While the Henaari were prolific, not even their prowess could keep up with the demand for housing in Elderthrone. Many were kept waiting in communal shelters while the Green Shapers did their work, but the wait was ameliorated by being entirely free. For those that could afford to be impatient, these tradesmen could fashion a stout home in only a week.

The pleasant heat from the roads faded—a sensation Atar had only noticed when it was gone. His apprentices and journeymen had spent many hours extending specialized arrays throughout Elderthrone, designed to keep the streets clear of ice and snow in the winter, but everything had its limits. Once new homes and proper streets had been established, he’d arrange for an extension to be inscribed.

As the road opened up, Atar spotted three structures right off the bat. The largest was to the west, where the icy walls of the Bitterward could be seen towering above all else. A modest contingent of Frost Giants lived there, though their numbers had been greatly reduced when most had traveled north into the Hoarfrost. Considering Felix’s newest acquisition, Atar wouldn’t be surprised to see that population grow. Time would tell.

To the east was the Ravenshold, the primary enclave of the Henaari in the city. There were no walls, not like the Bitterward boasted, but instead the artistic arches and pillars proliferated. A maze of them led up a natural rise in the terrain, where a dense collection of wood shaped houses lifted out of the forest. Like much of Elderthrone, the trees were undisturbed and many, with a large one rising above all the rest. It was festooned with colorful flags and banners that snapped in the constant winds.

Lastly, at the furthest point south of the city was a promontory cliff that jutted from the earth like a stone blade. Atop that broad cliff was a lone edifice that stood stark against the mid-morning sky.

Atar paused at the bottom of the cliff, admiring the location and design. It was a small building and didn’t rise to the same heights as the Nymean Temple, let alone the Spirit Tree, but the cliff effectively allowed it to dominate the area nearby. The gray cliffs were quite wide at their base before tapering into a knobby end that overlooked a small lake, one of many that were fed by the River Eile. As Atar picked his way up the rough road, he could see more such bodies of water as the landscape grew increasingly marshy farther south.

A quarter glass had him at the top of the Chanter’s rock, and the effort had him puffing more heavily than usual. Sweat slicked his gray skin and matted his white, shoulder-length hair to his forehead, but at least his limbs did not tremble. The mage had made great strides in his recovery, thanks in no small part to the training he’d accomplished with Alister and Karys.

feh.

Atar pursed his lips. He’d let his mental guard slip and the Flame had read his surface thoughts again. You’ve been helpful too, he admitted.

Somehow, the bird-shaped Flame managed to bow in its cage. i live to serve, atar. if you would only let me, we could ascend beyond the petty tribulations of this hamlet. we—

“That’s enough.” Saying the words out loud helped. Atar felt a piece of his mental strength vanish as the Flame was forcibly silenced once again. A small price to pay, and he’d recover it with time and rest. Atar had learned the Flame would never cease his chatter if allowed free reign. “I appreciate your help, but do not overstep yourself, Flame.”

A half-built wall described the boundaries of the grounds, which took up most of the grass-covered cliff, but the gate was still unfinished. There wasn’t even a guard. Atar simply walked right through.

A rough courtyard extended before him, wide and marked out with the foundations of several structures around it. Those hadn’t even been started, unlike the central mansion—the same building Atar had spied from below.

It looked more like a manor house than a fortress; a fact that Atar found to be a pleasant surprise. A large portico ran the full length of the front, and a pair of large double doors admitted entrance to the manor. Details typical of Henaari woodcraft abounded, but the heavy pillars in the front and wide windows told him that another had a hand in the process as well. Probably Zara, he mused. She was running the school, after all.

The courtyard spread in a wide circle inside the new-laid foundations, and in its center was the dry stone basin of an incomplete fountain. A decorative plinth rose from the middle, where perhaps a statue would one day be placed. Idly, Atar wondered what it might be…and realized it was probably going to feature Felix.

Atar chuckled. At one point in his life, the mere idea of someone else’s rise through society would have made him seethe in jealousy. Now, however, Atar was amused.

Felix will hate that.

A deep rumble thundered across the area, shaking pebbles from the edge of the basin. Atar crouched, spreading his Perception as the Flame within him perked up.

someone has chosen violence.

Without further warning, one of the school windows shattered outward, followed by a veritable geyser of emerald flame. It arced down, liquid and potent enough to set the air itself to howling, before crashing into the courtyard, the fountain—and Atar himself.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!