Michael Manning: The Archmage unbound

Naturally he was referring to my visit with Cyhan. “I let him go and he told me I was a fool,” I said, summing up my previous conversation for him.

Dorian snorted, “You are, and a stubborn one at that. I still think it’s a mistake.”

“Only time will tell my friend, surely you didn’t want me just so you could nag about a mistake already made?” I hid my impatience poorly.

“In a hurry to get back to work again? Sit down, you can spare a few minutes. Have a drink.” He waved at Joe who had been listening intently and the older man went to draw a tankard for me. “It’s about Marc,” he added.

“Ariadne was asking about him as well,” I told him.

“She’s right to be worried, he isn’t getting any better.”

“He’s just depressed. He’ll snap out of it eventually. He seemed alright when we were together the other night,” I said.

“That’s the only time, when he’s with us, and drunk… we can’t do that every day,” Dorian answered. It was odd to hear him urging sobriety, since reaching his majority Dorian had shown a great fondness for drinking.

“Where is he today? I notice you’re sitting here alone,” I remarked pointedly.

“Joe asked me to come by this morning and take him back to his room. He passed out a little before noon,” he replied.

“Point taken,” I said, grimacing. “He hasn’t done that before has he?”

Dorian sighed, “It hardly matters. It’s almost random, he starts drinking whenever he wakes up, and usually that’s in the afternoon. You’d know this if you paid more attention.” I could hear a tone of rebuke in his voice.

“Look I’m sorry Dorian, I’ve just been busy. There’s so much to do…,” I told him, hoping he would understand.

“Yeah I know. There always is, but you have to make some time for your friends. What have you been working on anyway? Every free minute you have, you sneak off to the smithy.”

I was glad he had turned the conversation to a more positive topic. “Actually I was thinking of having you come over and look at it. I could use a second opinion,” I answered smiling. Of everyone living in the area Dorian was the first I wanted to see this new project. I took a long draught, trying to finish my beer quickly. “Now would be an excellent time, you should come see,” I said rising to my feet.

“Always in a hurry aren’t you?” Dorian took a long breath and then finished his mug. “Alright, let’s see what monstrosity you’ve cooked up this time!” He rose and followed me to the door.

When we finally reached the smithy I spent a moment and a word to light the work area. I had installed several enchanted globes around the perimeter of the room for lighting. I could have made do by conjuring light myself each time but I had been experimenting again. These simple glass globes could be lit by anyone, provided that they knew the proper command word. I had initially created them with Penny in mind, but now that they were finished I was considering making more for our rooms in the castle. They might be useful for lighting the streets of Washbrook too, but I doubted I’d have time to start mass producing them.

“Those are really nice!” Dorian said looking at the enchanted glass.

“No not the lights… I made those weeks ago,” I told him. “This is something I think you will really appreciate.” I moved over to one of the long workbenches set along the wall. The top of it was covered with a large canvas drop cloth, concealing what lay beneath it. Dorian looked over my shoulder curiously. “You remember how I enchanted your armor?” I said reminding him.

“Of course, the damn stuff still hasn’t started rusting,” he remarked.

“This is like that… only better.” I drew the cloth back, revealing a beautiful set of armor. Unlike most of the armor currently in the keep this was actual plate armor, crafted from carefully shaped and articulated steel plates. Armor of this type was still extremely rare in Lothion, and usually reserved for the very wealthy. Technically I was currently one of the wealthiest nobles in Lothion, but given my outlaw status I really had no way to spend my money, or even access it, since most of it was still in the Royal Bank. But I hadn’t bought this armor; I had carefully crafted it over a period of two weeks.

“Holy… Mort where did you get this?!” Dorian exclaimed. I found myself pleased with his shock and surprise.

“I made it,” I said modestly.

“Seriously… where did you get it?” he repeated. Even as he implied that I had lied about the source he ran his hands over the greaves, marveling at the lovely maroon lacquer that had been applied there. The breastplate and vambraces were similarly adorned with matching patterns, highlighted by gilding around the edges and a golden hawk in the center of the breastplate.

“I made it Dorian. Look at the colors and the design,” I replied.

Recognition lit his face as he realized that the colors and design matched the Cameron arms. “It looks like your livery! How? You couldn’t have bought this.”

I was beginning to get exasperated with his continuing disbelief, “One more time… I made it.”

“Even your father couldn’t have made something like this!” he exclaimed. A look of embarrassment crossed his face as he realized what he had said. My father had died a few months prior, right before our battle with the army of Gododdin.

I gave him an even stare, “If he’d ever put his mind to armor crafting I don’t doubt but that he could have done so.”

“Sorry Mort, I wasn’t thinking. I just meant… well your father was much more skilled with metal and he never produced anything like this. How did you?” Dorian’s hands were still examining the armor.

I didn’t have the heart to get angry. Dorian and I had been friends most of our lives, and I wasn’t the only one to have lost his father. Instead I took up a small piece of scrap metal. “I have a lot of advantages my father didn’t have.” I set the metal in the cold ashes of the forge and heated it with a word and my power. Within a minute it was glowing brightly, close to the melting point.

“Normally I use the forge for heating the metal, but since it isn’t lit at the moment it would take too long to show you,” I continued. “ Na’Pyrren Ingak mai Lathos,” I intoned softly, blowing on my palms, and then I reached into the forge and pulled out the fiercely glowing piece of metal… with my bare hands.

Dorian flinched visibly when he saw me touch the metal with my naked skin, but he kept his tongue. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he was getting more used to casual displays of magic. “Is that really necessary?” he asked. “There are plenty of tongs for that here.”

“The spell isn’t just so I can pick the metal up without being burned,” I replied and then I began kneading the metal with my fingers, as if it were a piece of very stiff clay. I had imbued my hands with an unnatural degree of strength and hardness, for even as hot as it was the iron would have been impossible to mold without using a hammer and anvil. I shaped the metal into a rod by rolling it between my hands, reheating it as necessary, and then I bent it into a circle, joining the ends with a simple lap weld. It only took me a couple of minutes since I was able to shape the metal quickly with my bare hands.

“Why did you set it in the forge if you were just going to use magic to heat it?” Dorian asked.

“Habit… and I didn’t want to burn the workbench or risk damaging the anvil,” I said as I twisted the hot metal into a spiral.

Dorian watched the glowing orange iron in my hands with fascinated eyes. “What is that supposed to be?”

“Nothing,” I replied, “I was just making a point. Using magic I can shape metal almost like a potter shapes clay. It makes a lot of things vastly easier when you don’t have to use a hammer and tongs to do everything.”