S01E12 - Enchantments

*****

I woke up to Colin dragging me out of bed by the leg.

“Time for training, Lover Boy!” He barked, laughing as I scrambled to keep from hitting the floor. “If you’re not going to bring a lady back to your room, then I’ve got no reason to keep out of it.”

I sat up on the floor, tangled in the bedsheets. The thin curtains over the windows hinted at the coming dawn, illuminated by the faintest of light.

“Arright, arright,” I grumbled, climbing to my feet. “Gimme a minute to get dressed and I’ll meet you in the common room.”

Washing my face and pulling on clothing that still smelled of alcohol and smoke, I reminded myself that I still had proper shopping to do. All I had was the transmogrified clothes that I had been summoned in and an extra set lifted from the palace in Cerise.

Since elastic doesn't exist in most fantasy worlds, things like underwear and socks tend to be loose, baggy, and tied with a string when necessary. Like my underwear.

After a light breakfast, Colin and Brice worked me like a rented mule. Simon showed up a hour after we started and munched on toast while watching me sweat. I ran laps at top speed around the embassy compound, jumped, crawled, rolled, and each time I was allowed to catch my breath, they piled more weight on me until I staggered under the load. I knew that a summoned body would grow stronger, faster, and more agile due to the magic used, but I was shocked at just how much I really could do. This body was, in all senses, Heroic.

Thanks to the efforts of my baby-sitters, I discovered I was in the skin of an idealised version of the human body, able to produce peak performance at the theorteical limits of human endurance and break olympic records with ease. The best part is that recovery time is quick too, as long as I have food and drink to shove in my pie-hole. This body converts food to energy both quickly and efficiently, and will viciously remind you when you need to fill it up.

After three hours of stress-testing, Colin thought to grapple with me, but daddy had attended Jiu-Jitsu classes with his princess so it didn't take long to convince him that I was adequately defended in that aspect. Everything I had learned seemed to flow through me and I found myself moving without thought to block and throw him.

After watching me deadlift Colin over my head in full armour and politely ask how far he thought I could throw him, Brice joined in and I sparred against both men wielding wooden daggers. That brought me back to my senses. No matter how fast and agile you are, if you're in a knife fight you're going to get cut — and anyone who tells you differently is a liar. Even with my over-powered body I couldn't walk away unscathed from an encounter with a couple of well-trained and determined soldiers at this point in the game. It was a grim reminder to always strike first, strike hard, and strike to kill.

About four hours after dawn, Brice had me don some old leathers and grab a padded training staff.

"I'm not the best suited to teaching you the staff," he said. "And I'm not sure what the proper techniques are for fighting with that elfish weapon of yours. It's not a staff, not a sword, and not a true glaive. You'll have to discover its strengths on your own, or seek training with an elfish master."

There really isn't that much to staff training, I discovered. It's fifty percent blocks, strikes, and thrusts, and fifty percent not letting your opponent get inside your defences. A two metre pole is a two metre liability when your opponent is standing on your toes, and fancy twirls are good for losing your staff. I managed to defended myself adequately against a variety of weapons, but it was Simon who came out of nowhere and whipped all of our asses. Even Brice and Colin had trouble going against him using wooden swords and shields. He was like a rabid pole dancer, dancing and piroetting, thrusting the butt end of the padded staff into an unprotected gut or smashing a helm without mercy.

"You're an absolute unit with that thing," I said after he knocked me on my ass for what must have been the twentieth time. "I think I've learned that I want full metal plate on the battlefield."

Twirling his pole of pain and humiliation, he stepped back and slammed it into the dirt. "Not if you want to use magic." He said with a broad smile on his face. It was evident that the opportunity to spar against me and two veteran soldiers and win half the time was a confidence booster for him. "Even if you used mithril, it would still interfere with your spells and unless it was enchanted, it would probably amplify anything that hit you."

"What about my trenchent?" I asked, curious. "I haven’t noticed anything strange while channeling through it. Wait, I don't think I've channeled through it, just my amulet." I walked over to grab it from the edge of the practise field.

"I'm guessing that the blade is far enough from you that it doesn't interfere," Simon said. "A sword that size in your hand would definitely cause issues."

Twirling it around in an awkward imitation of Simon’s pole work, I aimed for the outer wall of the compound, then in a fit of adult responsibility, shifted my aim to a spot on the ground near it. "Manifest: Arcane Missle!" I intoned, channeling through the trenchent. Sapphire coloured energy accumulated on the mithril blade, crackling and snapping before discharging. Five vaguely arrow-shaped bolts of energy flew across the field and vanished into the ground with a hiss. Totally unsatisfying in the fireworks department, but what did I expect from magic arrows made out of arcane energy? The spell was designed to hit a target like an arrow 100% of the time. It made holes, not explosions.

“The magic didn't really feel any different," I said, only slightly disappointed that I didn't produce an earth-shattering kaboom. "But yeah, I knew that metal interfered with magic. It varies world to world and I was really hoping that I could go all war-wizard on the demon queen."

"Speaking of which," I said, addressing Brice and Colin. "We were interrupted before I could get more details about the plans to get rid of her royal pain-in-the-ass. Do you have any information?"

"That's going to be up to General Vassellard," Brice said. "He's in charge of the operation."

I stepped in closer to Colin. "What about the cults you mentioned." I said. "What do we know about them?"

Colin shrugged. "Just rumours. After Betfodford was lost, the army withdrew to Fiverdense which was half a day to the southwest and regrouped. When they got there they discovered that the temple of Lady Avalon had been corrupted, that blood sacrifices had been held on her alter. Turned out that most of the townsfolk were cultists and had sacrificed the priestess and their own children on the alter," He said, voice low with disbelief. "Brigadier-General Dexter May commanded his men to round up the townsfolk, to hold them accountable for their crimes, and that's when hell broke loose. The townsfolk grew fangs and claws and tore into the soldiers, chasing them out of town. The Brigadier-General was grievously wounded and barely survived the two day trip to Kirtonwich. He was healed by a priestess there. As far as I know, Bodling is building river ships to carry troops up the Mourya river, but the fear is that the city will fall before it can be fortified."

"How do you know all this?" I asked, wondering how accurate it was.

"My cousin was under Brigadier-General Mays." Colin answered. "He lost an arm during the fight at Fiverdense, said it was bitten right in two by one of the townswomen. I've seen his wounds myself and it looks like he fought a wolf and lost."

"I hope he's being taken care of," I said awkwardly, always uncertain how to respond to stuff like that.

"He's got a pension from the king." Colin said. "Now he's a one-armed pig farmer with a pretty wife."

"Well, that's good to hear." I said, imagining life as a one-armed pig farmer was far safer than swinging a sword. "Anything else I should know?"

Simon piped up. "Mirador and Carfordia are allies of Hosteria." He said, "That could cause some frictions, I suppose."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked.

"I forgot you know even less about the politics of Avelan than I do," Simon said, leaning on his staff. "Those in Hosteria worship Nuana, the All-Mother and wife of Mistras the All-Father. Mistras made a gift of this world to his consort Avelan, which sparked a rivalry between them. It's not open aggression, but it's close. Carfordia and Mirador worship Mistras, which is less insulting than worshipping Nuana, so relations with them are neutral at best."

"Some Cerisian nobles who hold land north of the channel might benefit greatly if Mirador were to fall," Brice offered. "And the Diocese of Henland in particular would love to push past the Whitstone river and claim lands that belong to Cerise."

"The Church would love to claim all the land," Colin interjected. "Not just that north of the channel. They've been pushing their agenda especially hard since the demon queen appeared."

"Okay, so are we worried about interference from Henland or Hosteria?" I asked.

Brice scoffed. "I doubt it. Daedalelia is just as much a threat to them as anyone else. It's in their interest to cooperate with Henland to eliminate the demon queen."

“I thought you didn’t pay attention to politics,” I said to Simon, disturbed at the possibility of political shenanigans interfering with what I was hoping would be a simple hit job.

He adjusted the maroon scholar’s cap on his head and gave me a blank stare. “Religion isn’t politics,” he said. “Knowledge of deities and their aspects is part of being a mage.”

"Good point.” I said, clapping my hands together. "Let's grab some street food for lunch and you guys can go shopping for my trunk.”

*****

Lunch was acquired via a short side trip to the central market where I was introduced to the pleasure of lizard-on-a-stick dipped in a sweet and tangy sauce. Far, far more tasty than I had imagined, but the gastrointestinal effects were loudly obnoxious and still lingering several hours later when I was interrupted by a loud knocking on my growlery door.

I opened the door to face Keeper Rouben with a worn staff in his gnarled hands. “It’s easier to send a Message when the magic can locate you,” he scowled at me. “You’re wanted upstairs.”

I apologised for the inconvenience and locked the door behind me.

Brice and Colin were waiting in the lobby, I suppose you could call it, where the people queued patiently for the opportunity to petition or hire the mages for assistance. Between them was an enormous brass-bound trunk of thick oak, with a menagerie of fantastic animals carved into into the sides and curved lid. You could stuff a fully armoured knight inside, if it was a patient and flexible knight who didn’t mind a bit of hammer-work.

“You said the inside had to be smooth,” Colin said, handing me a large brass key. “So we figured the outside didn’t matter. It belonged to a widow-woman who was in a travelling circus.”

I unlocked the trunk and peeked inside. It was perfect for my needs, with a lining of smooth, fragrant cedar wood.

“I’m not even going to ask how you managed to find a ex-circus widow with a trunk for sale,” I said.

Colin gave Brice a playful punch in the arm and grinned. “Brice here is a member of the Lance Corporal underground.” He bragged. “If something needs to be located, moved, or lost, he’s the man for the job. He just talked to people until he found someone who knew about the widow and her trunk.”

Brice ignored the praise. “You need us to carry it for you?” he asked. “It took the both of us to get it here.”

“Nah,” I said, confident in my own heroic strength now. “I got this. Thanks for your trouble. I should be finished with all my work before midnight. You think we can head back to Cerise tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask the Alefin.” Brice said.

I lifted the trunk awkwardly by the handles and waddled with it to the stairs and down to the restricted area below. Heroic strength or not, I was exhausted when I finally dropped it with a loud thud into the circle I had prepared beforehand. After resting a few minutes and ignoring the growling of my stomach, I got back to work activating the remainder of my spellform and was finished a few hours later.

Inscribing circles onto a flat wall or floor is child’s play. Making sure the containment patterns are true and at the proper angle is a bit more tricky, but easily solved with a straight edge and compass. Even the runes aren’t particularly difficult, with each ideogram following a universal form, and the only real issue is recalling which stroke should come first. Tracing the resulting spellform with the proper reagent and activating it was like painting by numbers.

But when you have to do it on five of the six inner walls of a trunk it becomes a task that will make even the most patient man curse and question his own sanity.

It was approaching midnight when I mixed three small batches of reagent into stoppered bottles and pocketed them along with small crystals of Goethite, Lepidocrocite, Cacoxenite, a medium sized Molly’s stone and an empty wand of ashwood. Locking up my now fully-functional death-growlery, I dropped off the unused materials with the ever-present Keeper Rouben and made my way upstairs. In the brightly lit courtyard of the mages citadel, I sent an Arcane Message to Simon, channeling it long-form through my amulet.

I was waiting for him by the gate when he arrived fifteen minutes later.

“Did you need assistance, Magus Samuel?” he asked, suppressing a yawn.

“No, Simon.” I said, leading him along a stone path around the side of the building and out of trafficked areas. “I’m going to pay a debt forward.”

“Pay a debt forward?” He said, confused.

“Ryllae gifted me a weapon because I was defenceless in this world. I owe her a debt that I cannot repay, so I’m going to pay that debt forward by making you a gift.” I said.

“I don’t understand,” He said. “What do you intend to do?”

“Watch,” I said, planting my trenchent and pointing at three paving bricks suitable for my purposes. Greater Psychokinesis, also known as Mage’s hand, Arcane hand, and a dozen other names, is a fifth-rank spell and I channeled it through my amulet, lifting the heavy stones stones from the walkway and flipping them over. A long-form ‘Clean’ cantrip removed all the grime and I quickly sketched a circle, containment patterns, and runes on each with a charcoal stick.

“I’m not sure this is allowed,” Simon said in a nervous whisper.

“What are they going to do, imprison a hero?” I snarked.

I applied the proper reagent to each one, and watched it flow along the charcoal like glittery syrup. Channeling the cantrips ’Putty’ and ‘Slice’, I cut and reformed the crystals, pushing them into stones, then drawing their other halves into long threads, I wrapped them around the empty wand. The Law of Association meant that the reformed crystals in the wand could be used to tap the energies of the crystals embedded in the bricks.

“See what I’ve done here?” I asked Simon, stepping back and letting him examine my work.

“Arcane arrow, Arcane shield, and I’m not sure about the other one.” He replied.

“It summons a minor celestial spirit to attack or defend. Or carry out a small task I suppose.” I said. “These are first-rank circles, so it’ll last about half a minute. Enough time to distract an opponent or fetch you a cup of wine from across the table.”

“But how is it powered?” Simon questioned. “It’s not over a locus.”

“There’s plenty of ambient magic around here. Notice the inner circle with the Molly’s stone? That gathers power to charge the circle. There are two major drawbacks to using this method to create an enchanted item.” I explained. “First, it’s slow. It’s probably going to take at least a full day to charge. Second, each time you use that wand it’s going to eat a bit of itself until the circle fails, leaving you holding a pretty stick. So you can use each spell once per day, maybe a three or four times each.”

I used ‘Arcane Hand’ to flip the stones back over and set them in place, then handed the wand to Simon.

He looked at it the glimmering wand, mouth working as he struggled for words. “Thank you, Magus Samuel,” he said. “Not only for the gift of the wand, but for the knowledge you’ve taught me. You have my gratitude.”

“You’re welcome, Simon.” I said, grabbing my trenchent and nodding my head towards the gate. “What I did was quick and dirty, a real enchanter would curse me for wasting expensive reagent. If I have the time and materials, I’ll teach you how to properly enchant an item.”

“Oh, I already know how to do that,” He said, walking with me towards the gate. “Magus Indred started teaching me the theory this year, but it requires a proper locus.”

“Indeed it does. But if you ever wanted to set up a shop for cheap disposable magic items…” I trailed off as Simon sucked in a startled breath.

“By the Lady…” he swore. “I could be rich!”

My laugh echoed off the shuttered buildings, startling a stray cat. “Maybe, Simon. Don’t forget the cost of your reagents and items.”

His brow furrowed in concentration and he remained silent until we said our good nights at the embassy.

*****

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be done last night, but Samuel went off on a shopping spree and I realised that I had a plot to move forward and no time for him to shop, so I had to kill 1500 word-babies. Maybe I can save them in another chapter

Completion date: 25NOV2019

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