Michael Manning - The Archmage unbound

It seemed logical, so I nodded my head in agreement.

“There are two factors that are important to the creation of the bond. One is the person being bonded… particularly how resilient their mind is to being in close contact with something as alien and different as the earth itself. The second factor relates to the archmage and how great a portion of the earth he or she attempts to bond to the subject. The greater the portion is, the more powerful the targoth cherek will be and the faster they will devolve. An archmage can only bind as much of the earth as they can actively work with themselves, without being overwhelmed so that…”

I interrupted, “Wait, what do you mean ‘devolve’?”

Moira gave me an irritated look, “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet, but it is a pertinent question. A human being is not meant to be in constant contact with the earth, along with the power they receive they also find themselves becoming more like the earth itself. The effect is similar to what happens to an archmage when they go too far, except that a targoth cherek has little control over the process. They cannot break the bond on their own, or reduce the amount of earthpower they are bonded to. Eventually they become creatures of stone and earth themselves, or very nearly so. They become golems, intelligent, sentient creatures of stone, with minimal will or self-awareness. At that point there is little anyone can do to restore them.”

“Like Magnus,” I said remembering the golem at my father’s house in Albamarl.

“What?!” she said, startled. “Where did you get that name?”

I carefully related the story of the golem I had met guarding my father’s library. I didn’t get into too much detail regarding how it had ‘inverted’ Rose, though the memory still brought a smile to my face. When I finished I noticed that Moira had gone rather still and her face was somber.

“I never expected to hear that name again, though it makes sense… poor Magnus,” she said after a while.

“Did you know him?”

“He was the only targoth cherek I ever made, as well as being a close friend. He was a noble man. I had hoped to free him before it got so far but events got away from me. I sent him away, to protect ‘my’ Mordecai when things got desperate. I can only assume he succeeded… since you are here.” Her voice was thick and crystal tears had formed at the edges of her eyes.

Her obvious pain should have made me more sensitive, but my curiosity overrode my better sense. “What do you mean ‘free him’? Is there a way to prevent what happens to them?”

“Yes,” she answered. “The archmage that created the bond must unmake it, before they go beyond the point of no return. In my time, though it was risky, most of those who became targoth cherek were freed before they suffered irreversible effects, usually after a matter of years or sometimes decades. It was rare for one to be left to his fate as Magnus was. It could only happen as an act of deliberate cruelty or perhaps if the archmage died without warning, before the bond could be broken.” Shame and sorrow were written in her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, realizing I had asked too much.

“It isn’t your fault. I hadn’t thought of it since that time. Not till I heard his name again. I was cruel, and my love for your namesake was so great that I ignored the consequences. I sent Magnus to protect him, and I did it knowing that I would probably be unable to return later to remove the bond. It was a selfish request on my part, yet he swore to do it anyway. My guilt is not your fault.” She had sunk to her knees now, and her stone dress had spread out around her like water upon the ground, her posture was one of dejection.

“Moira…” I started but she interrupted me.

“Would you mind letting me go, for now? Let me return to nothing and forget. These memories are too much. Please?” She looked up at me then and I could not refuse her.

“Rest Moira, I will call you another time,” I told her and before the words had finished leaving my lips she was gone. This time she had vanished so quickly she didn’t even bother to return the body she had fashioned from the earth to the ground. Instead she left it there, like some exquisitely perfect statue of a woman kneeling upon the soft earth. I might have thought she was still there but for my arcane senses, I knew she was no longer present.

I sat staring at the form she had left behind for some while, wondering at the woman she had been. Clearly she had her own demons, things she would rather forget. Her story was already finished, yet because of me she was repeatedly forced to return and relive it, neither alive nor properly dead. For a moment I considered not calling her again, but my need was too great and her knowledge too valuable. No matter how much I might wish to leave her in peace the things she could teach me were too important to ignore. I suppose someday I will be able to add this to my own list of regrets, torturing a woman from the past with her memories that she might teach me, I thought to myself.

I rose and began trudging home, there was nothing more to be gained in the forest today.

Several days had passed and I still had not called on Moira again. I had dozens of questions for her, but something told me to wait. I felt she deserved that at least. Instead I focused on the task I had in front of me. I began working in earnest on a second set of armor, using measurements for Harold Simmons. Dorian had been kind enough to get them for me, though we hadn’t told poor Harold the reason they were needed. By mutual consent we decided to keep the plans for my new order of knighthood a secret until they were more fully developed.

That didn’t stop Dorian from taking Harold aside for more direct and personal training however. I might have felt sorry for the man, except that he seemed to take delight in the personal attention. He seemed to positively enjoy sweating himself half to death in the practice yard. Some people are just masochists, I thought. It never occurred to me that I probably sweat just as much working in the smithy each day. That was different after all.

Today I was hard at work shaping the metal that would hopefully someday be worn by Harold. While my hands were busy my mind had drifted away, thinking of the upcoming trip to Albamarl. I had decided to seek a blacksmith to employ while we were in the city. It might be hard to convince one to relocate, especially if he had a successful practice in the capital already. It might be better to find a young journeyman, someone who had recently finished his apprenticeship and might be looking for an opportunity abroad.

Perhaps I could find a master and a journeyman. Washbrook had many needs beyond my personal projects and with my father gone I was the closest thing to an actual metal worker in the area. With my skills and a bit of cheating I could do anything that needed to be done, and very quickly as well, but it was distracting. Plus I needed help. Hopefully I could find someone with experience in weaponsmithing. That way I could hand over the job of forging the great-swords I planned to enchant later.

The metal in front of me had gone cold again, but rather than reheat it I set it down and stepped outside to wash my hands and face. I should probably find someplace a little more private before I attempt this, I thought to myself. Using a towel I had brought with me I was drying my hands and face when I felt an intent stare on my back. My magesight could easily locate the man watching me; he was standing at one of the windows looking down from the main keep.

Being a member of the nobility now, as well as the only living wizard known I was quite used to gathering curious stares but something about this man caught my attention. I studied him carefully without looking up to let him know I was aware of his gaze. Without using my eyes I could tell he was a fairly nondescript man, medium build and middling age, not old yet but far from young. He was already starting to go bald, though I couldn’t tell what color his hair might be without using my eyes.