“Well done, laddie!” shouted Anton, thumping me heavily on the back as he inspected the metallic liquid floating in the shallow indentation at the slab’s centre. “We’ve finally done it!”
Anton, it turned out, had been an amateur blacksmith back on Earth. Being unable to apply his skills on Overworld had upset him greatly. But now that I had proven my usefulness, it seemed I was destined to become his new best friend.
“Thanks,” I said, giving the man a wan smile. “Give me a second to rest before we continue.”
I sat and wolfed down the food the crafters had brought for me. Tara had long since disappeared, grown bored by our repeated failures. Since she’d determined I was safe enough in the crafting yard, she had gone to see to her own much-neglected duties.
Anton’s assistant—I had learned his name was Jeremy—was inspecting the slab of clay and rock. His brows were furrowed as he traced his fingers along its surface.
He looks concerned, I thought. “What is it, Jeremy?” I asked between mouthfuls.
He glanced from me to Anton. “There are hairline cracks in the clay. I don’t think the slab will last more than three or four further attempts.”
Anton bustled over and together the two men scrutinised its surface. Eventually, the blacksmith straightened. “You’re right, Jeremy. I’ll ask Melissa to get the others started on a second one.”
It had taken the crafters a long time to make the slab. My gaze stole to the heap of discarded spearheads on my left. The pile was still growing as junior crafters bought in bags more of the stuff from wherever they had been stored. Accumulated from ten-odd days of fighting, the spearheads made for a tidy pile.
I tried to calculate how long it would take to melt them all. If the crafters had to remake a new slab after every five attempts… then the answer was simple: too long.
I couldn’t afford to spend days melting spearheads. I closed my eyes, mustering together my will. I knew what needed to be done. The smiths had done their best with creating the slab, and the solution was not a bigger, better one.
Its time I refined my control. If I could more narrowly focus flare, I could spare the mould its scorching flames.
In battle I had not needed to finely regulate the flow of my dragonfire. Time and again, I had simply unleashed its flames unchecked, trying to do as much damage as possible.
It was possible to focus the flames. I knew that. I had done so already—albeit on a small scale—by varying the span of flames released through my hands.
But the degree of control necessary to concentrate my dragonfire into a finger-wide jet of flame seemed beyond me. All morning, I had been trying to do that without success.
Now though, faced with the possibility of days spent melting spearheads, I was determined to succeed. With a heartfelt sigh, I rose to my feet. This crafting business was in many ways more exhausting than fighting.
Seeing me back on my feet, Anton asked, “Feeling better, lad?”
I nodded. “What’s next?”
“Now that we’ve proven the concept,” said Anton rubbing his hands in glee, “we can begin the real work and start forging some equipment. The others have prepared the moulds we need already. If you are ready, we can begin.”
I wiped my mouth free of crumbs. “Alright, let’s get to work.”
Anton and his fellows had thought long and hard about what needed to be created and in what order. There was minimal fuss as they cut a channel in the slab for the melted metal to flow into the chosen mould.
The piece they had chosen to create first was not at all what I’d expected.
You have created a basic blacksmith’s hammer. The special properties of this item are: unknown. Your lore skill is insufficient.
Your skill in blacksmithing has advanced to: level 1.
Your artistry and industriousness have increased to: level 2.
For all the simplicity of the hammer, it had the crafters who had gathered around to witness its creation cheering as loudly as the spearmen after our victory at the river.
Anton grabbed my hand and pumped it vigorously. “Thank you, my boy,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”
I smiled and patted his shoulder awkwardly.
From there, things proceeded apace as we crafted tongs, shears, knives—plenty of knives—axes, needles, and hammers.
With every crafting, I applied my will and did my utmost to suppress the dragonfire spewing out of me. And even though I could discern no difference from my efforts, I persisted. The morning wore on, and we created item after item.
When we broke for lunch, I collapsed in a heap, both physically and mentally exhausted. All my reserves of energy were in the red, but I had been steadfastly ignoring them, focusing instead on the task at hand.
While I munched mechanically through my bowl of food, I watched Anton and Jeremy circle the latest slab. Both men were scratching their head. “What is it?” I called.
Anton glanced back. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just strange, that’s all.” He fell silent.
“What’s strange?” I prompted.
Anton pointed to the clay block. “This here slab has lasted six meltings so far and it is still going strong.” He barked a laugh. “Jeremy and I are trying to figure out what we did right in its making.”
I paused between mouthfuls. “Did you say it has lasted longer?” I hadn’t noticed. Over the morning’s work, my world had narrowed to the simple task of creating dragonfire. I had been become so fully immersed in refining and observing my spellcasting through my magesight that I had blocked out awareness of everything else. I had even lost sight of the items we had created.
Jeremy was nodding. “Yep. In fact, the last few moulds have all lasted longer than the original ones.” He shrugged. “But we don’t know why.”
I mulled over his words. Could it be me? I wondered. Was my control of flare improving?
✽✽✽
Shortly after lunch, any doubts I harboured that my efforts at control were failing, vanished. Mid-crafting, I paused as a wall of floating text covered my vision.
You have spellcrafted a: touch-based spell, from the Discipline of: dragon magic. The name assigned to this spell is: restrained flare. Restrained flare is a persistent spell that produces less dragonfire than flare, but at a lower energy cost. Its casting time is: fast and its rank is: common.
You are the first player to have spellcrafted the dragon spell: restrained flare. For this achievement, you have been awarded: dragon lore and two Marks.
Lore note: Restrained flare is a common dragon magic spell. It produces a jet of flame whose intensity and span can controlled by the caster.
The spell demands precision and it is one that any hatchling wishing to tame the dragonfire within themselves must learn. With the spell, the wise hatchling recognises that dragonfire is not only destructive, but also has an incredible potential to create.
I smiled foolishly at the Trials alert. I had done it. Studying the spellform of restrained flare with my magesight, I realised it was not so much a new spell as an evolution of an existing spell, brought about the continuous application of will and my attempts to leash the raging fire within me.
That led me to wonder: could I evolve flare further? And if so, what additional benefits would it yield? I would have to think further on the matter.
“You alright, lad?” asked Anton, seeing my frozen expression. “Something’s happened?
“Something has,” I admitted. “But nothing bad.” I turned to the blacksmith’s assistant. “Jeremy, will you bring one of those clay pots we started with originally? I want to try something.”
“You sure?” he asked, eyeing me doubtfully.
I nodded.
Anton frowned. “What are you up to now?”
“You’ll see,” I said, smiling.
Jeremy placed a clay bowl with two spearheads on the slab. I bent over the vessel and pointed one finger at its c
ontents. Then, constructing the spellform of restrained flare in my mind, I released a fine jet of flame directly at spearheads.
“Wow,” said Jeremy as he beheld the bar of white gold that leapt from my hand into the bowl. “What is that?”
Anton caught on quicker than his assistant. “You’ve learnt a new spell, haven’t you, lad?”
I nodded, not looking away from the bowl. My smile widened as the spearheads melted without damaging the clay bowl. “Now,” I said to the two men, “our work can proceed much faster.”
✽✽✽
By day’s end, all the spearheads had been melted, and every crafter in the Outpost had been provided with the tools of their trade.
The spearheads had not produced nearly enough metal to forge weapons for the fighters, but neither I nor the crafters even questioned the need to prioritise tools over weapons. The tools were crucial to the settlement’s survival, and at this stage better weapons were not.
All in all, it had been an exhausting—but satisfying—day of work. And while the day’s efforts had done little to advance my combat prowess, it had yielded other benefits.
Your skill in blacksmithing and lore has advanced to: level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.
Your spellpower, artistry, and industriousness have increased to: level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.
It was surprising that even without newcomer, my blacksmithing Discipline and craft Attributes had advanced so rapidly, but they had only been at the Neophyte rank, and we had forged hundreds of items today.
“Lad,” said Anton, walking up to me just as the sun was beginning to set. “You’ve done great work here today, and I can’t begin to thank you enough.”
“No thanks necessary, I am just glad I was able to help.”
“That’s mighty generous of ye, boy. But we all thought you deserved something for your efforts,” the blacksmith said. He held out an object.
Solemnly, I took the proffered item.
You have acquired a basic metal dagger. The special properties of this weapon are: unknown. Your lore skill is insufficient.
It was a simple knife, one of the last we had created. It had been affixed with a comfortable wooden handle and placed in an unadorned leather sheath.
“Thank you, Anton,” I said with a small bow.
“You’re welcome. And don’t be a stranger. You need anything, you come see me. Take care, Jamie,” Anton said in farewell before walking away.
✽✽✽
I made my way back to my tent, feet stumbling and head drooping. The crafting had claimed its toll and I was as weary as I had ever been. I chuckled. Exhaustion seemed to be my constant state of being these days.
I splashed water across my face and ate the supper left waiting for me by some kind soul.
Then I got to work again.
Sitting down cross-legged on my pallet, I began channelling mana. Given the business of the last two days, I hadn’t had time to create a ranged spell. I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I called up the construct for flare and studied the spell within my mind. How do I modify it to create a ranged variant? I wondered. My success with restrained flare had given me a few ideas for evolving flare in other ways, and despite my tiredness, I was eager to try them.
I prodded at the spell construct in my mind, modifying the design and shape until I was satisfied with its new form. Then, pointing my hand towards the unoffending pail, I infused the spellform and released the casting.
You have failed to create a spell.
I sighed and began anew.
✽✽✽
Hours later, I gave up.
No matter how many variants of the flare I had tried, no matter how much or how little lifeblood I infused, no matter the will I exerted in propelling dragonfire further than a few yards, I failed to create a projectile spell.
I had tweaked and re-tweaked the spell construct. I had refined and perfected its spellform until I felt the spell vibrate in faultless harmony with itself. My projectile spell design was flawless. I was sure of it.
Yet some vital ingredient was missing.
I drummed my fingers restlessly. Perhaps my skill is too low. Or perhaps I am just too tired to see the flaws in my design. Whatever the case, I realised further experimentation that night would not yield different results.
I would sleep on it. And maybe in the morning, I would figure out what I was missing. Then, unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I collapsed onto my pallet.
Chapter 30
388 days until the Arkon Shield falls
2 days to Earth’s destruction
2 days until the Warren is destroyed
“Jamie? Jamie, wake up, I have to talk to you.”
I groaned and rolled over, but Tara didn’t let me go back to sleep. She tugged at my shoulder again.
I blinked open my eyes and stared blearily at the dark shape leaning over me. I knew it was Tara, yet I couldn’t make out any of her features. My gaze slid to the open tent flap. No light streamed through. What was Tara doing here so early?
“Eh?” I croaked. It was the best I could manage given my groggy state.
Tara sat back on her heels and handed me a cup of water.
Sitting up, I gulped it down gratefully, then squinted at her. “What time is it?”
“An hour before dawn,” replied Tara. “I wanted to tell you I am sorry,” she added after a hesitant pause.
I blinked. “Tara, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. My brain is still waking up,” I said with a smile.
My quip failed to raise an answering smile.
“I knew something was driving you, Jamie,” Tara continued, her face grave. “But I hadn’t realised how dark a tragedy you had suffered, or how raw the wound must still be. I’m sorry for some of the things I said to you… they must have hurt.”
My smile faded. “Tara,” I said carefully, “what are you talking about?”
She met my eyes, her own filled with pity. “Some of the new recruits that came through yesterday brought news of a ‘crazed cripple’ who had managed to kill an orc hunting party.” Her voice grew heavy. “Apparently the whole world watched as he took revenge upon them for… for killing his mother. When I heard the story, I knew it had to have been you.” She smiled sadly. “After all, you are the only crazed cripple I know.”
My face froze as Tara’s words hammered into me. From the depths of my mind, the spectre of Mum’s death rose up again. My mouth opened, then closed soundlessly. Images flashed before my eyes in torturous detail. It felt real, too real. I gasped. Clutching at my arms, I bent forward and tried to escape the scenes playing out in my head.
Tara waited patiently. She watched me. Her expression seemed more open than I had seen before. Her hands reached out and hovered halfway, a wordless offer to share the burden of my grief.
I rocked back. I couldn’t deal with her pity, not now. “And you had to wake me before dawn to tell me this?” I asked, lashing out even though I knew she didn’t deserve it.
Tara’s face closed. Her eyes bored into mine. Inwardly, I shrank back. Already I regretted my words. I almost blurted out an apology, but doing that would mean talking of Mum and bringing up memories best forgotten. I was not ready for that yet. I stayed silent.
“No,” Tara replied, her voice cold as she withdrew her hands. “I came this early because I have been reassigned. The loggers were attacked in the woods yesterday. The commander wants their protection detail increased and she has put me in charge. My company is about to move out. I thought it best to speak to you before I left.” She rose to her feet. “But you are right, I should not have bothered you with this so early. Good day, Jamie.” Tara spun on her heel to leave.
“Wait, Tara,” I called out, stopping her before she left. She halted, but did not turn around.
“Who else knows?”
“The commander does,” she said, her back stiff and unyie
lding. “Possibly the other captains, too. I am not sure.”
My head fell. Everyone.
Tara waited a heartbeat for me to go on, but caught up in my own misery, I barely noticed.
Then she left and I was alone.
✽✽✽
I tried to go back to bed after that, but unsurprisingly sleep proved elusive. My emotions were a jumbled mess, circling in on themselves. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t rid my mind of thoughts of Mum and… Tara.
“Enough, Jamie,” I growled. Stomping out of my tent, I sank down on the ground. It was still dark and most of the camp appeared asleep. On the eastern side of the camp though, I noticed movement. It had to be Tara and the loggers. They were getting an early start.
I jerked my head around. I didn’t want to think of Tara. For want of something to occupy my thoughts, I turned my mind to my spellcasting.
I called up the spellform of the dragonfire projectile spell I had conceived last night and inspected its design again. I could no more find fault with it today than I could last night. But then again, my mind wasn’t particularly clear this morning either.
In disgust, I banished the spellform and began training my magic. Picking the air magic Discipline at random, I drew mana into my mind and shaped a rudimentary construct of air.
I followed the training philosophy I had applied during the journey into the foothills and fell into a light trance while I experimented with the form and shape of air.
An hour later, as the first rays of the rising sun touched my face, I opened my eyes. The training had done me some good and my racing thoughts had quietened—somewhat.
I inhaled deeply and checked the Trials alert awaiting my attention.
Your skill in air magic has advanced to: level 4.
Not bad, I thought and dismissed the message. Rising to my feet, I limped westwards to the river.
To my surprise, the spearmen were not gathered on the lower riverbanks. Studying the skyline, I realised why.
Overworld (Dragon Mage Saga Book 1): A fantasy post-apocalyptic story Page 28
