The workshop was a good forty paces square with thick beams crossing the ceiling. Unlike the other areas of the building, the floor consisted of hard-packed earth rather than wood or stone. Only a few other apprentices were in the room with Caldan, busy with their own work. Many apprentices quickly abandoned their ideas of crafting fine pieces or being the first sorcerer to discover the secret of making trinkets, for the more practical materials of stone or fired clay until they had enough ducats to afford expensive materials. Around the room were the other apprentices who had the ducats to experiment or were conducting research given to them by a master, those who were particularly talented.
A furnace lay in the center with a bellows attached. Glowing coals gave the place a warm feel to go with the heat, and a not unpleasant odor of burning coal ash filled the air. Thick-timbered worktables sat scattered against the walls, with one long table reserved for tools, such as files, hammers and chisels, engraving sets, hand drills and polishing liquids.
He held a piece of paper on which he had roughly sketched his medallion and the crafting runes engraved on the surface. To the right, he listed the alloy it was made from and underneath, other variations of the alloy he thought would be better suited to the task. The monastery had been advanced in this area; indeed he believed there might be a few things he could teach the masters here, though thinking back to his conversation with Izak and Avigdor he might be better off holding his knowledge close.
Caldan slid his shielding medallion under his sheet of paper to hide it from a casual observer. Opening his well, he touched the medallion with a finger and extended his senses. Touch wasn’t necessary but helped to establish a firmer link and required less concentration. And there was less chance any of the apprentices in the room would feel what he was doing.
Unbalanced. He frowned and split his well into two, one string to examine the metals while the other linked to the runes. Yes, the metal was strained, as if barely holding together; the glyphs did the job adequately but were rough and poorly cast. Tiny pockmarks covered the surface, where a good casting would be smooth. It was barely able to perform the function it had been designed for. And the metal felt wrong for the task; it had probably been something else melted down for the materials to save ducats.
As a shielding medallion, it sufficed; as smith-crafting, it was an abomination. All the parts were there to create a whole: the metal to withstand a well; linking and bridging runes, a basic buffer; but the object was crude. If this was the standard of the journeymen, Caldan felt for the masters and what they had to deal with.
He sighed for the poor workmanship and for his own loss of ducats on such a piece. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do, and at least it worked, if only just. Perhaps he could alter the medallion so it wasn’t as unstable.
He reached across the table and chose a fine scribing tool. In his hands it looked like a knife attached to a wooden handle. He considered the tool for a few moments before placing it back in its leather case. Tampering with the runes cast into the medallion would be a last resort as too much could go wrong. Since it worked as it was, he should first look at the crafting.
Pushing his awareness into the medallion, he focused on the linkages, the streams which tied the separate parts into a whole. As he suspected, the rough glyphs combined with the flawed metal caused some linkages to be better than others, more ‘open’ and able to carry a greater load. But as all good crafters knew, the links were only as good as the strongest one. Any differences meant the flow from someone’s well would bottleneck, leading to energy bleeding, and that wasn’t good. With such a rough casting, the metal could break under the strain.
Reaching deeper, he connected his well to the linking runes and felt his skin tighten as the shield sprang up and surrounded him. He followed the flow of force through the links, seeing where they flowed properly and where they pooled or were impeded. One in particular stood out. The flow from his well almost stopped when it hit it; only a trickle flowed through. If he could add a link, one to supplement that one… Concentrating hard, he formed another in his mind and joined the two ends around the problem link.
His finger grew hot and he snatched it back. A glow appeared through the paper covering the medallion. It burst into flames.
“By the ancestors!” cursed Caldan and slammed his left hand down on the paper. Skin sizzled.
“Argggh!”
He raced to the tempering barrels, plunging his hand into the one filled with water. Behind him, apprentices gasped in surprise then rushed towards his bench. One splashed a bowl of water over the burning paper, which extinguished with a hiss. The room buzzed with commotion.
“Ancestors, what happened?” shouted someone.
“His paper caught alight,” said another apprentice. “One moment everything was fine, and the next, flames.”
Someone grasped Caldan’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
He turned to look at the apprentice, hand stinging. “I’m fine, just an accident.” His thoughts raced. What should he say? He wasn’t supposed to have the medallion. A few apprentices had gathered around the table he was working at. One used a rag to wipe at the wet paper and ashes. At that moment, a journeyman came in, drawn no doubt by the commotion.
Caldan pulled his hand from the water. A red circle scored the skin of his palm. The throbbing had subsided, and his hand felt sore but not overly painful.
“Excuse me,” he said to the apprentice next to him. “I’d better see the journeyman.”
Caldan closed his left hand into a fist to cover the mark. He had no idea what he would say about the medallion, nor what the penalties would be for having such an object in his possession, let alone experimenting on it. Taking a deep breath, he approached his workbench, where the journeyman and a number of apprentices stood.
“Journeyman, please forgive me. I was…”
“So this is your doing?” interrupted the journeyman. “Reckless experimentation, I assume. And what’s this?” He poked a finger into a hole in the table. It went in up to the second knuckle. “Unless I miss my guess, there’s metal in there. Melted its way into the wood. What if it had exploded?”
“Exploded?”
“Yes. Ex-plo-ded. Don’t they teach you anything these days? One thing I know they do teach you is not to try crafting anything yourself until a master has looked over the designs and the workmanship before linking it. Did you fall asleep during that lesson?”
“What? No, I…”
“Make sure you clean this mess up. I don’t know what you can do with the hole in the work bench.” He eyed Caldan. “You know I have to report this, attempting to construct a crafting without supervision.”
“I’m sorry. I should have known better.” He bowed his head in contrition, though inside he was relieved. Tampering with the medallion had caused it to melt and the paper to burn. He was down a considerable sum of ducats and now had no way to shield himself, but luckily the metal melting had hidden the fact he’d had a working shield crafting in his possession.
“You should have, especially at your age. You need to demonstrate you have better control of yourself.”
Caldan realized the truth in his words. All the other apprentices were younger than him and thought he was either someone to look up to or an oddity, an older boy who took the same classes they did, and as such far behind them in progress. The journeymen, on the other hand, thought he was far behind them, someone his age who hadn’t yet progressed to their level and who wouldn’t for years yet. He didn’t like his situation, but he vowed to make the best of it.
“I should have known better,” Caldan repeated.
The journeyman only nodded curtly before dismissing the apprentices who had gathered around. They wandered back to their places. Their numbers had swelled since the commotion. A few in other rooms had heard or word had passed around. Caldan saw some engaged in animated talk and hand gestures, probably enjoying a laugh at his expense.
With another dark look at Caldan
, the journeyman turned and left, no doubt to report what had happened to the masters. Caldan needed to find out what the penalties were for his transgression.
He wiped the remaining water and ash mess with a rag and poked his finger into the hole in the workbench. It touched metal at the bottom, still warm and smooth. He used a knife to retrieve the chunk. It would be worth a small amount of ducats but nowhere near the cost of the working medallion. With a sigh, he left the apprentices’ workshop, sure that more than a few eyes were on his back as he walked out the door.
Now he knew consequences could be worse than the crafting cracking or disintegrating, he would have to be more careful — if he could get his hands on another shield crafting.
Obtaining the medallion had been expensive, and he now realized, ill-advised. Entering the Sorcerers’ Guild with its resources and training was a stroke of luck he couldn’t have dreamed of when his ship disembarked. Only a fool would endanger such an opportunity.
Caldan’s thoughts returned to his purse of ducats locked in his room. Not enough for another shield crafting, even if he was of a mind to purchase one. Odds were that news of his mistake today would travel like wildfire, and anyone usually willing to sell a crafting, even one as badly made as the medallion, wouldn’t want to deal with him lest it was traced back to them. His chances of purchasing one from the journeymen were slim to none.
There was only one solution. He needed to draw on his own talent and construct the crafting himself.
An hour later he was back in his room. Materials would be a problem. The runes and design he knew well already, though it would be best if he could obtain a working crafting to model his own from. Not likely, he thought.
Despite numerous examinations, his store of ducats hadn’t grown since yesterday, and he wasn’t sure if what he had would cover the cost of materials for the alloy he had in mind.
Someone knocked on his door and he opened it to reveal a solemn looking Master Simmon.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” Simmon asked rhetorically. “Come, let’s get this over with.”
In the end, the whole ordeal wasn’t as bad as Caldan thought. A first offense and no one injured. Penalties amounted to a stern talking to, some extra training to ‘keep his mind on his development,’ as one master put it, and a fine of four silver ducats. The masters wasted no time and sent him packing within minutes of seeing him.
Back in his room, Caldan sat on his bed, back against the wall. Some solid thinking was in order. The four silver ducats hurt the most. He needed all he had to purchase the metals for his crafting, and if he couldn’t use the apprentices’ workshop he was in a pickle. Taking Miranda out for the long delayed dinner he owed her would also have to wait. The day had been a complete disaster.
“Ah, Caldan, there you are.” An apprentice sorcerer hurried up to him, slightly out of breath. She carried a leather satchel and ignored him a moment while she rummaged through it.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” continued the girl. “This came for you.” She held out a sealed letter. Caldan’s breath caught in his throat.
“Take it. I haven’t got all day. The rest of these need to be delivered.”
He took the letter — expensive paper, smooth in his fingers — noting the plain seal of yellowish beeswax imprinted with what looked like a bird. On the front, in a neat feminine hand, was his name, ‘Sorcerers’ Guild – Protectors’, and the words, ‘Deliver Soonest’.
“Ahem.”
He looked up to see the girl still standing there, hand outstretched, palm up. She raised her eyebrows at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Caldan said as he fumbled in his pocket for his coin pouch, taking out a copper ducat and handing it over.
The girl smiled before turning heel and hurrying off.
With trepidation, Caldan turned the letter over, noting nothing unusual apart from the quality paper. He didn’t recognize the seal, but there was only one letter he was expecting. The seal must be Avigdor’s or Felicienne’s.
Abandoning his errand, Caldan scurried back to his room, closing and locking the door behind him. He sat on his bed, broke the seal and drew the letter out. After reading a few lines, of the same feminine script, he was left in no doubt it was from Lady Felicienne.
Dear Caldan,
Forgive my familiarity, but after the other night I feel we already know each other well. Not as well as we could have, had you taken up my offer to escort me home, but I understand your reluctance.
We need to meet to discuss Avigdor’s findings on your trinket. Please come to my offices in the keep at your earliest convenience. And by that I mean as soon as you receive this letter. Don’t keep me waiting.
I should inform you that this doesn’t discharge my debt to you. In ordinary circumstances I would count it as paid, but… there is one reservation which I will detail later.
Felice
Caldan glanced out the window at the darkening sky. Sunset was close, but Felicienne did say as soon as he received her letter. What had she uncovered that was so urgent? Could it be related to his family’s murder? No, he thought it unlikely that whatever was in the trinket records could have led to her finding anything on that. But something had Felicienne intrigued, at least. It was worrying.
He stood and paced his room for a while but couldn’t pull away from the fact that he wanted to see Felicienne and find out what she now knew. Any danger he envisioned was probably in his imagination.
At the keep, Lady Felicienne’s name drove away any reluctance the guards had shown him, and he was passed swiftly along through various functionaries until one deposited him in a room with instructions to wait. A short time later, Lady Felicienne walked in. She looked as he remembered, slender, with plain but expensive shirt and pants, though now her hair hung loose, making her face softer, less severe.
Felicienne gestured at Caldan to take a seat then gathered up a few sheets of paper before she spoke. “Our people are very efficient, otherwise I wouldn’t employ them. It didn’t take long to find what they were after; the empire’s records on trinkets are quite thorough.
“Forgive me, Lady Felicienne, but this was all I was after. The information, I mean,” replied Caldan. “Anything you found will be enough.”
“Please, call me Felice. And I have quite a bit of information on your trinket. It makes for a fascinating story.”
Caldan’s heart thumped in his chest, and he hardly dared breathe. “Is that it?” he asked softy, nodding at the paper she held. Would the page reveal the answers he’d been looking for? After all this time, would it be so easy?
“Yes. Your trinket’s history is quite interesting, especially since the last known entry on it was over a hundred years old. Purchased by the emperor’s procurers, no less, from a bankrupt noble family, then it was presented as a reward a few years later for ‘unspecified services’ to one Karrin Wraythe.” She looked Caldan in the eye. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
Caldan shook his head. “No, I’ve never heard it before.”
“Well, it’s all very innocuous, unless you dig a little further, which Avigdor did. It seems that Karrin was in the emperor’s employ, but strangely enough there were no records as to what her function was. I’ve come across this before, though, as the emperor likes to keep the functions of certain individuals and groups secret from all but his closest advisors. Those with unique talents and those whose aptitude eclipses others in their professions, usually sorcerers and those versed in the more arcane arts. To speculate more would be hearsay.” She paused in order to read the next sheet of paper.
“How would it have come to be in my parents’ possession?”
Felice snorted. “I’m hardly in a position to guess. Can you tell me more about them?”
Reluctant to do so, no matter how helpful Felice had been so far, Caldan decided to be cautious. “Not really. They died when I was very young. I scarcely remember them.” Though the day they died was burnt into his memory. “I�
�m sorry.”
“No matter. A little more digging and I’m sure we will find something.” Felice gave him a smile. He wasn’t sure whether it was friendly or knowing, or both. “What Avigdor did find was that the function of the ring is unclear, though the amount paid for the trinket, a rather substantial sum, indicates a certain efficacy. We can infer from this that the ‘unspecified services’ were quite important and substantial. Notes on the sale indicate the trinket has warding and focusing properties, but there were no specifics. Does that sound correct? What can it do?”
“Nothing yet, so far as I can tell. I haven’t worn it long, I’m afraid, only since learning how to use a shielding amulet.”
“Ah… that’s… a skill usually for journeymen and above, is it not?”
Blushing, Caldan looked away. “With having the trinket, I felt I needed to concentrate on that skill. I eventually worked it out.”
“I’m impressed. Though I wouldn’t rely on it. People can be creative when it comes to stealing trinkets, or anything of value for that matter.”
Caldan nodded, grateful for her concern. “I’ll keep it hidden when I can. I have a neck chain to hang it on so it’s out of sight.”
“Hmm… There was another note appended to the trinket record.” Felice kept her eyes averted from his and brushed at some dust on her sleeve. “Was there a bone ring along with the trinket?” she asked casually.
Far too casually to Caldan’s mind. Hanging from around his neck, the bone ring suddenly felt like it had gained a few pounds. He froze for a moment before managing to smile weakly and shake his head.
“The trinket is all I have. There was a fire… our house… if there was a bone ring it would have burned.” He hoped that would stop her questions, but from the look in her eye there was more to this. There was no reason to think the bone ring meant anything, was there? No, it was fairly plain and far less valuable than a trinket. But… for a note to have been made of it and for Felice to be interested in it was a bad sign.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 36
