by James Green
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“If you were to rank up your spear or shield, I could add another infusion. I’d suggest you go and do that or get yourself another piece ready to be infused. Perhaps some armor?”
“Okay, thank you, Garen,” I said, and turned to leave feeling a bit disappointed.
“…armor,” Garen muttered to himself. “Hold on, William.”
I turned around, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Wait here,” he said, taking off his glasses. “Don’t touch anything!”
He left the room. I took the opportunity to examine the work tables, careful not to touch anything. Mithra chose the more sensible course and lay down next to the doorway, as far from the tables as he could get.
The tables were covered with a truly random assortment of things. Jagged pieces of metal. Sword hilts and shield bosses. Handfuls of precious and semi-precious stones in jars. Stacks of dirty dishes and silverware stuck together with long-dried food. I even saw what looked like a drawstring bag of diamonds.
Ten minutes later, he returned, carrying a burlap bag that clanked as he walked. He went immediately to one of the crowded work tables and carelessly shoved things aside until he had cleared some space. He upended the sack and two blackened, twisted hunks of metal fell out.
I looked over his shoulder in fascination. It was clear that these two things had once been bracers. Thick metal armor that you normally wore on your forearms, they were the counterpart to the greaves I wore on my shins. What they were now was scrap metal.
Garen turned one of them over in his hands and I could see where something—a blade—had cloven through the metal face. That didn’t explain why both pieces looked like they had been in a fiery explosion.
“Did you get those from the scrap bin?” I asked.
Garen jumped, seemingly having forgotten I was there. “Oh! William. No, not the scrap bin. I have taken a page from your book and borrowed these from the throne room. These are one of the pieces I’ve often looked at.”
“They’re junk. Why did you take those off the wall?”
“These are not junk!” Garen protested. “These were Immortal Immaran’s and were taken by Linoth the Conqueror, first King of Valryn. Linoth’s axe clove this bracer and destroyed the infusion. Whatever it was, it was extremely powerful. The resulting release of energy was cataclysmic. Immaran died and Linoth was gravely wounded.”
I knew Linoth, the first King. Every child knew the songs, and the tales. He was one of our legendary heroes. I’d never heard of Immortal Immaran.
“Immaran wasn’t so immortal then, I guess. What’s a trophy Linoth took doing here?”
“He was a distant ancestor of the Duke. I believe they came into the palace in the time of the Duke’s grandfather.”
“So, what’s your plan with the bracers?” I asked.
Garen was examining the cloven bracer very closely and after a long moment he sighed and set it aside. “Sadly, you are correct. This bracer is junk. This one, however,” he said as he picked up the other, “is not.”
It was blackened and bent, but otherwise whole. There was no way anyone could ever wear it, however.
“The infusion was only on the right bracer, Immaran’s sword hand. The left bracer is identical but had no infusion. It is badly damaged, but I believe I can repair it.”
“You can? That’s amazing. But wait, Amber gave me Rime. She might be annoyed if I just walk off with one of Linoth’s trophies.”
“She asked me to help you, did she not?” Garen asked. “This is me helping you. Besides, I am certain that I am the last one who knows of Linoth’s trophy. Any who looked on it dismissed it as merely another piece of broken armor. Junk, as you put it. Now stand away and let me work.”
The infuser bustled about as he moved items from one table to another until he finally found a thick book under a stack of junk. He set it down beside the bracer and then went to the table where I’d seen the diamonds. He sorted through the bag and picked one. From underneath a capsized bowl on that same table, he picked a similarly sized ruby and emerald. The wealth he held in his hands was stunning, not to mention the small fortune left on the table.
Garden sat on a scarred stool, flipped open the book, and found the page he needed with some difficulty. As soon as he started chanting, Mithra left the room. Whatever language he was speaking was harsh and guttural. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I felt magic gather, called to serve his will.
He opened the hand with the gems in it and chanted as he stared at them. I watched in astonishment as one after another the gems collapsed into piles of green, red, and white dust. Without breaking his cadence, Garen smoothly sprinkled the dust on top of the bracer. The tiny particles sparkled in the light as they cascaded down.
Placing his open palm on the twisted, blackened bracer, he slowly drew it across the surface. His hand glowed bright yellow and each of the tiny motes of gem dust flashed for a moment before disappearing. As I watched, his hand passed over a ruined piece of armor and revealed a pristine one in its wake. Slowly, so slowly, he restored it to its original form.
His hand dropped off the end of the bracer, and the glowing aura faded as he stopped chanting. He sat back with a heavy sigh and rubbed his face with his hand.
The bracer was a bright gold color, inlaid with a beautiful design in shining white metal. It was a brilliant war sword of an antique style rarely seen in modern days. The thick cross guard spanned nearly the entire width of the face near the rear of the bracer and the point of the blade ended just before the wrist. Surrounding the blade was a symmetrical pattern of swirls that seemed to be purely decorative. In any case, the piece was a work of art.
Immortal Bracer, Rank C
One of a matched set of bracers made for Immortal Immaran.
“This is amazing,” I said. “How did you do that?”
“That was a restoration spell, modified for use by artificers. I need a moment, it was quite draining.”
I didn’t ask about the gems he’d consumed casting the spell. Any one of them would have bought my mother a townhouse. Garen didn’t seem the sort to care about money.
I let him rest and brought him a nearby goblet of wine when he asked. It had been sitting for a while and the surface of the liquid was somewhat dusty, but he drank deeply from it without seeming to notice.
“That’s better.” He smacked his lips and set the copper goblet down on the floor beside his stool.
The infuser lifted the bracer off the bench and turned it over in his hands. It was flawless. It had no straps or buckles. Those had clearly been destroyed in the original explosion, but everything else was there. Garen pronounced his satisfaction with a grunt.
“Now, for your infusion,” he said, turning to look at me. “Do you have an orb you would like me to infuse?”
“No,” I replied.
“Of course, you don’t,” he said drily. “Then you have two options: you can either leave and return when you have one, or you can accept one of the two F rank orbs I have. They are simple, but when ranked up, they can be a powerful staple of every branded’s magical arsenal. Let me fetch them.”
Garen got to his feet a bit unsteadily and rooted through the junk on one of his tables before finding what he was looking for—one of his dirty socks. He returned to me and emptied it into his hand. Two small orbs fell into his palm, one a harsh white and the other a deep red.
Amperis, Rank F, Lightning
Amperis can be invoked to add an electric effect to the wielder’s weapon.
Ignis, Rank F, Fire
Ignis can be invoked to add a flame effect to the wielder’s weapon.
“Amperis when ranked up will let you throw lightning bolts, chain lightning, lightning storms, that sort of thing,” Garen explained. “Ignis when ranked up will do what you might expect. First it can throw a jet of fire, then a wave of fire, et cetera.”
I wanted them both. The thought of being able to throw
waves of fire or bolts of lightning was incredibly tempting. But they were so weak. The Immortal Bracer was a C ranked item, and it almost seemed a waste to infuse it with either of the weak orbs. Sure, I could rank them up over time, but that would require me to find or trade for enough orbs of the same type to merge them into something stronger.
“It seems a shame to put something so weak into the bracer, doesn’t it?” I asked. “Don’t you have anything more powerful? Rank E maybe?”
“Most soldiers wouldn’t turn their noses up at the power to wield fire and lightning, however weak Amperis and Ignis are at rank F.”
“Sure, but I’m not a soldier anymore, I’m the Queen’s sole Beast Mage. Amber told you to help me and you’ve done a fine job so far. Do you not have anything more powerful?”
Garen harrumphed. “Fine. I have one E ranked orb. It’s not something I should be giving you. It’s not precisely illegal but you might find some people disapprove of you using it.”
Now I was really interested. “Let’s see it, Garen.”
He grumbled as he fished out a complex key on a chain from underneath his tunic. Pushing aside his stool, he crawled underneath his table, and I watched in fascination as he inserted the key directly into the blank stone of the floor. It disappeared without resistance, and he turned it with some effort. I could hear a series of clicks as the locking mechanism disengaged, and a section of the stone floor a foot square popped up, hinged on one side.
Garen opened his hidden floor safe and reached inside. He grunted and pressed his face against the floor as he fumbled for something at the very limit of his reach. “Damn fools made this far too deep.”
The lidded box he’d been groping for came out a moment later, clutched in his hand. It was made of a dark wood, glossy and shining. Garen slammed the lid of the safe shut and locked it. The key went back around his neck, and he stood up, brushing the thick dust off his robes. He started coughing and sneezing as the newly-airborne dust made its way into his sinuses.
He handed the box over, unable to speak. He flopped back onto his stool, face red.
I opened the lid of the box, revealing the shining black orb nestled within.
Mortis, Rank E, Death
Mortis can be invoked to add a life-energy drain effect to the wielder’s weapon, or to surround the wielder with a life-energy draining aura.
“Wow, this sounds amazing.”
“It is powerful, but make sure you understand the limitations. The aura effect will drain life from all around you, friend or foe. The only ones immune to this effect will be you and any Death-aligned creatures nearby, such as undead.”
“Or Mithra when I infuse him with this orb,” I said. My mind was racing with the implications.
“Yes, I suppose so. You can see why people frown on the use of Death-aligned orbs. Most branded ehouse them are necromancers of one type or another.”
“Since when is Death an element anyway?” I asked.
“It’s not, precisely,” Garen said, looking annoyed as he started his rant. “It’s one of the para-elements. It’s all semantics, theoretical wizard nonsense. Death is a type of magical energy, neither good nor evil. There is a para-elemental plane of Death and that’s where the energy comes from in purest form. It’s also generated by some undead… You know what, never mind. If you want to know more about elemental theory go talk to a wizard. They’ll blather on for hours about it if you let them.”
“Right. Anyway, I’m sold. Can you infuse this into the bracer for me?”
“One moment. The last issue is something I must mention. You’re only a Rank F Beast Mage. Using Mortis will be difficult for you. It might be painful, and it will certainly be physically draining at least until you rank up. I suspect the life-drain effect might offset that cost for you, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”
It was common knowledge that a branded was limited to using orbs no more than one rank higher than his own, but no one had ever told me the rest. I could only suppose that was because finding an orb that was above Rank F was essentially unheard of for common soldiers.
“That’s fine, I can take some pain,” I replied.
Garen nodded. Apparently, he’d been expecting that answer. He reached out, plucked Mortis from my hand, and returned it it to his worktable. He brought the bracer and the orb together. After a brief flash of light, Mortis disappeared but the bracer remained. He handed it to me.
Immortal Bracer, Rank C
One of a matched set of bracers made for Immortal Immaran.
Orb socketed: Mortis, Rank E
Garen found matching leather straps and buckles after rooting around in his junk. I strapped the bracer to my right forearm. It felt good there, natural.
“Now, if you’re done bothering me, I suspect you’re anxious to go kill things, and I’d like to return to my work.”
“Yes, I have to be going. Thank you, Garen; I won’t forget your help.”
He simply nodded, waved off my thanks, and returned to what he’d been working on when I arrived.
I left to find my friends. My visit to Garen had taken longer than I’d anticipated so I wasn’t surprised to see Anastasia and Ulmar waiting for me, horses ready. Someone had saddled and packed Ramses for me as well.
“Did you get what you needed?” Ulmar asked me as I mounted my horse.
“Yes, Garen was very helpful.” I showed him my new bracer, and it sparked in the sunshine.
“Nice piece,” Ulmar said appreciatively. “I always wondered how you spearmen survived with just a shield and some flimsy leather armor between you and your enemy’s blades. I’m glad to see you’ve got a bit more metal to put in the way. Even if it is a fancy bit like that.”
“Gentlemen, the day is wasting,” Anastasia interrupted.
We cut our conversation short and rode out the palace gates.
The city traffic had settled down as people took their midday meal, and we made good time down the hill and out the main gates. Once on the road outside the city, we gave the horses their head and the countryside flew by.
After about an hour, we slowed down to a walk to rest the horses.
“Fred lives in the Wyldwir forest, in a place called the Starlight Glade,” Anastasia explained. “The forest itself was once a beautiful place, but I’ve heard that lately there’s something off about it. We’ll be there in forty minutes or so. Be wary.”
“What do you mean by off?” I asked.
“I didn’t get a lot of detail. We’ll see when we get there.”
Close to an hour later, the tall trees of the Wyldwir forest reached up to block the sun all around us. The thick green canopy absorbed all but a few stray beams of sunlight, making the forest floor a shadowy and forbidding place. No birds sang in the trees, and the undergrowth was still. If anything lived here, it was silent and in hiding.
We rode in, the thick moss under the horses’ hooves making our passage nearly silent.
“This isn’t right,” Ulmar commented.
“Starlight Glade is farther in, along this trail,” Anastasia said. “Come on.”
She spurred her horse forward, and we followed. Mithra ranged in the brush to my right, seeking prey.
The forest grew darker and more oppressive the further we traveled. The wind shifted, and the pungent scent of burning herbs filled my nostrils as a cloud of smoke swept over us. Mercifully, the wind shifted again, but the scent lingered. Minutes later, the faint twinkle of a bonfire broke through the trees ahead, accompanied by voices singing.
“That sounds like a lot of people,” I said. “Let’s try to sneak up on them and get a look.”
“Sounds like you think you’re in charge,” Ulmar said with a smile.
“We’ll investigate,” Anastasia said.
We dismounted and tethered the horses to a nearby tree. I pulled Rime free, and the power inside sent bolts of energy thrumming through my veins. I hoped I would get a chance to test Mortis.
Anastasia, Ulmar, and I moved as silently
as we could toward the fire and the singing. Mithra was somewhere nearby, I knew, even though I couldn’t see him. He moved through the thick underbrush like a ghost, silent and deadly.
When we reached the edge of the clearing ahead, we saw the source of the singing. Dozens of naked men and women sung as they danced and spun around a tall bonfire. They were filthy, the men with beards and all of them with matted long hair.
A perfect circle of mushrooms surrounded the bonfire, a wide fairy ring filling nearly the entire clearing. White and green mushrooms stood a foot high, and their frilly claps glowed with a faint light. As we watched, a blonde woman spun out of the circle and tore a handful of flesh from one of the mushroom caps. She shoved some of it in her mouth, and the rest she tossed into the fire as she rejoined the dance.
“Saprophytes,” Anastasia said in a low voice.
“These guys,” I said. “Amber and I met one in the catacombs. They seem pretty harmless, honestly. They worship some mushroom goddess.”
“Myca. This is one of her rings. Let’s go before they notice us, the mushrooms cause-“
While she had been speaking, another dancer had spun away from the fire and now approached the ring for some more mushroom. His hair and beard were bright red and his body as thin and emaciated as the rest of the Saprophytes. His eyes met mine, full of madness and glowing the same green color as the mushrooms.
The madman’s hand rose, the bony arm pointed at me. He opened his mouth wide and screamed. The sound was unearthly, a deafening high-pitched bellow of rage and madness. The singing stopped immediately, and the Saprophytes in the clearing turned to us, each eye glowing with Myca’s mad power.
With a unified roar, they charged.
Chapter 8
In a fluid motion, I pulled the shield off my back and stepped into the clearing. I kicked a fat mushroom aside as I pushed into the ring. The crackle of lightning came from my left as Anastasia drew her blades and stood beside me. Ulmar stepped out of the forest to my right while his blade glowed brightly with power.
