He waited while I undid the string to my coinpurse, his pudgy fingers twitching in anticipation.
“Oh, that’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he trilled as I held the stone out before him. He almost moved to grasp the stone, but I pulled it quickly out of his reach.
“That’s right, yes, yes, heard about that," he chortled. “My thanks, young man. The king shouldn’t like to lose his dungeon master, but what an incredible find this is!”
“Madam,” he queried, suddenly turning his attention to Hen’Darl. “You say this stone summoned the Grey to Hearthstead? That the Grey reached outside the dungeon? Incredible—just incredible!” he enthused, barely waiting for her to nod. “What to do with it, then? What, what indeed?”
He studied the stone in my palm, moving thick lips as he read the description.
“This is an item too, then! Part of something greater? Is there a complementary heart? How would that…” He paused and appeared to be deep in thought, wild grey eyebrows furrowed. I tentatively closed my fist and raised the back of my hand in front of him. The eight of us, including Huth'Ga and Hen’Darl, had argued fiercely over bringing Luctus' Augment. I had warred personally over whether I wanted to risk losing the item, but my desire to see the pieces joined had won out.
“This is the other piece," I told the man, rolling the dice. His eyes shifted to the odd glove as he considered the information before him.
“Well, that’s just the state of things, then,” he concluded. “No way around it. We can’t have that stone running loose anywhere in the kingdom, and we can’t use it to create a dungeon. Too risky. Our options are its destruction—quite unthinkable of course,” he forestalled my complaint, “or the reunification of these pieces. I can only think they were meant for each other, after all. An item that curtails the effect of its mate? There has to be more to this.” He clicked his tongue, eyes darted back and forth around the room, reminding me of nothing so much as a Felix clock.
“Very well,” he concluded abruptly. “Thank you again, Captain, for this riveting find. I shall take it from here.” Brushing chubby fingers against Garinold’s elbow, he chivvied the man out the door, then turned to beckon us out, perhaps intentionally missing the look of outrage on the commander’s face. Still, it was clear that this “dungeon master” was a man of high rank, and that Garinold had no recourse for complaint. I silently cheered as he stormed his way out of the waiting room ahead of us.
“So we need what—a jeweller and…” the master prattled on.
“An enchanter," I supplied, caught up in the whirlwind.
“Wait, Captain!” the dungeon master called after the retreating soldier. “Gather Master Phintin and ask her to meet us at the craft hall. Oh, the curiosity is killing me!”
Garinold’s face darkened further at being assigned the errand.
“I will join the captain, if I may, my lord," Hen’Darl interjected. “Having seen the heart delivered to you, my task here is at an end. I wish not to tarry.”
“But surely you wish to see it to its end?” the jovial man wheedled, seemingly surprised that his enthusiasm wasn’t universal.
“It will be neither this way nor that for Hearthstead," she countered apologetically. “It is enough that I have seen the heart to its rightful home, and I am eager to return to my own.”
Unwilling to wait any longer to assuage his curiosity, the dungeon master assented. He thanked Hen’Darl for the bauble and released her to hurry after the captain, before hastening out of the building himself with me in tow.
As the dungeon master trundled along the canyon floor, I noticed his apparent trust in me wasn’t universal. On leaving the palatial administrative building, several soldiers had detached themselves from nearby tasks and followed us closely. The dungeon master’s eccentricity might hold sway, given his position, but someone else had taken it into full account. If he saw the troops, he paid them no mind.
The craft hall wasn’t far, and afforded me a glimpse of Hen’Darl entering a stable to retrieve the entosects for her journey home before I entered the cool interior. No one seemed to be paying her special attention, and that was good. She needed to get far away from Impresium, and fast!
The administration building had been built with luxury and comfort in mind, and though the craft hall was clearly built for utility, it too was an indication of the prestige Impresium was allotted. The broad antechamber could easily be described as a hall, and was filled with the murmur of activity as goods and materials were transported from one bustling bay to another, each bay a workshop unto itself: this one woodworking, this one alchemy. One section was clearly a cargo bay, with large openings to the outside and military personnel overseeing the loading of goods.
I wondered at the scale of the operation. What sense was there in such a workshop in the middle of the desert? I was sure there was some reason though. Nothing in Impresium seemed to be done without forethought.
My escort led me deeper into the building, and as we moved the bays became smaller, seemingly less focused on mass production than on specialization. Near the end of the antechamber were individual workshops, and farther still were a series of broad doors of various sizes flanked by seating areas.
The dungeon master approached one of the smaller doors, but despite its size it made an impression. Settled into a network of gold and silver filigree at chest height was a broad arrangement of jewels depicting the sword, sheaf, and crown. What might have looked gaudy was organized for the opposite effect. Gems that could have been arranged to steal attention had instead been arranged to complement and accentuate others, all in service of the final effect: dignity, elegance, and subtle strength.
The value of such a piece wasn’t lost even on as unskilled an eye as mine. What had looked to be the gritty gray steel of a sword blade when viewed from a distance resolved itself into what must have been thousands of tiny individual diamonds set in silver. Sapphires in every shade of blue tumbled over each other like living waves on the crown, and the sails of the ship were the merest cobwebs of whorled silver.
The item’s name was given in blue text to connote a quality higher than any I’d experienced yet.
Resplendent Crest of the Heir — 320/320
A regal display of the power and prestige of the great nation of Cogneid, this crest is sure to impress even the most cultivated of tastes.
224 Charisma, 1 Statecraft, 2 Dress to Impress Required
+32 to Charisma
+5 to Dress to Impress
+2 to Statecraft
“Yes, he’s very proud of that one,” the dungeon master mused as he caught me looking. “One of his newest for the prince. We should have our heart repaired in no time!”
With that he barged through the door, shattering what had been an almost antiseptic atmosphere of deliberation. “Jondile, you old prude, have a look at what I’ve brought you!” he warbled, bustling through the large room.
His size and affect were antithetical to the meticulous nature of the workshop—an unruly intruder in a house of order: Ondure’s office a model of luxury, this a model of utility. Floor-to-ceiling cabinets ringed the room, each set with row after row of tiny drawers. There were hundreds of them, though I didn’t see a single label. The focal point of the room was the table. Workbench, really, since it was absolutely bristling with tools, from which I could only identify pliers, and through which bored an icy pair of blue eyes.
“Master Ondure, to what do I owe the honor,” the man behind the workbench intoned flatly, clearly displeased at the intrusion. With one hand he gripped a pair of tweezers, and with the other a metal rod that tapered away to a needle-like point. He gripped both as though contemplating using them on his visitors. Clamped at the workbench was a large ring that echoed the sheaf motif from Cogneid’s crest, each kernel picked out in gold and inlaid with rubies. It was hard to pay attention to much else.
“I told you, Jondile! I told you!” The dungeon master tottered on toward the bench. “I’ve brought yo
u a small project I need help with. Dungeon master business, you know!”
“Whatever you need, my lord,” the gnome responded without enthusiasm. He seemed reluctant to put down his tools.
“Phintin will be here momentarily to assist us with repairing the trinket.” The gnome’s lips tightened at the thought of additional invitees.
Turning to grab my arm, Ondure thrust my hand toward the master jeweler. “We need to get this joined”—he beckoned impatiently for me to present the rest of the piece, which I struggled to do left-handed—“with this!”
I held the auger out for the jeweler to view, but out of reach, having learned my lesson with Ondure.
“Ah yes, very wise!” the portly man concurred. “That’s going to present some difficulty, isn’t it? Say, Jondile, have a look, but keep your hands clear.”
Reaching up to flip a single lens down from his visor, the gnome beckoned me to bring the auger closer, slightly mollified now that he had work to do. I complied nervously, but he never moved to touch the stone. Instead, he slowly ran his finger up and down the side of the lens, causing light to shift within it.
Drawing back, he snapped the lens up. “The repair will be simple on my end," he announced, turning back to his desk. “Here.” He handed me a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal. “Trace the stone so I can confirm the span for the prongs. You can see that they’ve broken off here, here, here, and here, but we’d best make sure.”
“Quickly now!” he directed. “No, not on my desk! On the ground. I’m not going to risk my workbench to the Grey. That’s what we’re dealing with here, correct, Ondure? The rumors about Hearthstead are true, then?”
The dungeon master nodded excitedly, an excitement it was clear the gnome didn’t share.
“It returns at the same time players have entered The Boundless.” The gnome shook his head. “And this boy is the only one to contain it? Better to have him swallow it and then simply cork him—top and bottom!”
I looked up from my tracing in shock, partly at the crude comment and partly that it had come from the persnickety gnome.
“Get to it, boy!” he snapped at my glance. “I don’t want that cursed thing in my workshop for a second longer than necessary!”
I finished the drawing, and he snatched it up. “Now put that thing away!”
Deferring to the jeweler, I placed the auger back in my pouch and watched as the man claimed the augment and went to work. Snugging the flat portion of the augment into a larger vise, he matched my crude tracework to it. Methodically, he grabbed a pair of pliers and drew wire from one of a number of spools arranged to his left, snipping off a portion before flipping the lens back down. He touched the needle-like probe against the wire, and the tip of the wire disappeared, leaving only a globe of metal clinging to the cable farther up.
That’s a soldering iron! I realized. For some reason I had taken for granted that his lens had been enchanted to provide an adjustable level of magnification, but had never suspected the uses for other tools! No wonder he was able to do such fine work. I watched in astonishment as he built prong after prong back onto the plate without even pausing. The metal just seemed to grow on the plate as he touched wire and soldering iron to it. Within a minute he had moved to filing and polishing the metal, which turned out to be the more substantial portion of the job.
As I watched the little man move from prong to prong, the soft whisk, whisk began to work its magic on my fatigued mind. The back and forth, back and forth burr led me to forget I was behind enemy lines, and that I had an escape to initiate. Instead, my mind drifted to thoughts of my family. My mother kneading dough with that same rhythmic cadence. The smell of yeast filling the warm kitchen. The warmth of her smi—
“Wake up, you idiot!” the master jeweler yipped, darting away from his stool to avoid me collapsing on him.
“Ondure, I must protest! It is bad enough that you risk my workshop by bringing that item here, but a prisoner as well? It will take me a week to get the smell out!”
Alert in the way only a person who has just cheated death can be, I steadied myself. I was suddenly more aware of my odor too. The gnome was right. I did smell. I began to apologize, but Ondure beat me to it.
“Don’t be silly, Jondile! It will only be a moment more," he chided. Then, suddenly stern in a way I hadn’t yet seen, he continued, “Either we see this item fixed, and in doing so hope to forestall the Grey, or we leave such an item in the hands of this prisoner”—he emphasized the word—“that all of Cogneid might be endangered.” He didn’t mention the third option: that the stone could be destroyed. Apparently the dungeon heart was valuable enough to take the risk.
The jeweler paused to consider the options before reluctantly returning to the bench. “Very well," he growled. “It is time to set the stone regardless. Come here, boy!” he commanded, wrinkling his nose as I drew close. “Place the stone carefully between the prongs. You will have to wear the glove while I tip them. And you’d better stay awake! If you fall on me, I’ll gut you with my iron.”
“That’s the spirit!” chortled the dungeon master from behind us. “It’ll be done in a jiffy.”
I ended up not being able to keep my hand immobile enough for the gnome, and he literally bound me to the table with a leather cuff. As I struggled to stay still, I also battled to keep sleep at bay. What had been relatively easy initially—staying awake while our future and the future of Hearthstead was on the line—now became a herculean slog. Every time I moved to jiggle my leg or slap myself awake, the gnome would bark at me angrily, one time going so far as to stab me in the soft flesh between my thumb and pointer finger with the soldering iron. Fortunately it was cool at the time, but the pain still helped keep me awake for a few minutes.
Finally, the work was done, and I reclaimed my hand from the gnome. It was numb and purple from the pressure of the cuff, but I was elated to be able to move.
“Thank you, thank you—very nice!” Ondure chimed to the jeweler. “Now, young man, let’s go see Phintin!”
I admired the repair job as the dungeon master led me out of the room. The whorled stone was now firmly attached to the glove, looking as if it had never been separated. Each prong was the exact twin of its sisters, and similarly looked as though they had always been of a piece with the augment. The only flaw was that the items were still that: items in the plural. I hoped the enchanter would be able to fix that.
Chapter 34
“Done with the old prig, are you?” called a woman’s voice as we exited the workshop. “You’ll have to forgive me foregoing the honor.” The woman gave me a sidelong glance as she rose from her seat in a large armchair and moved to greet the dungeon master. She was a large-framed woman and used her curves to full advantage. Her sleeveless robe was cinched snugly under her chest before flaring over her hips and falling to just below her knees, set off by a pair of calf-length breeches and billowing sleeves. Not a hair was out of place.
“Ah, Lady Phintin. Thank you for joining us.” Ondure beamed at the new arrival, taking her proffered hand in his two, as unconcerned with the variance in their manner as he had been with Master Jondile’s fussiness. I, on the other hand, felt like a slug—more so after having been made aware of… certain odors I was exuding. Instinctively, I tried to straighten and smooth my own clothes, but had to end up facing the fact that I wasn’t going to win any pageants.
“My pleasure, of course, Ondure!” she effused. “Now, what can I do for you? That Garinold person informed me this has something to do with the heart stolen from Hearthstead?”
Still holding her hand, Ondure turned the woman toward me and gestured grandly. “This young man,” he announced, “is currently in possession of the heart, and it seems quite fond of him. We were hoping you could help us pry them apart.”
Once more, the rumpled man gestured for me to present my hand, warning the enchanter of the auger’s peculiarities beforehand. Apparently she warranted an advance warning that Jondile hadn’t.
The master enchanter took my hand carefully in hers and rummaged in a satchel for a lens of her own. This one was set at the end of an inch-long brass tube that was what I’d have expected of the jeweler. A loupe, I later learned, though this one didn’t seem to magnify. With the loupe held to her eye she gave the stone a cursory examination.
“Yes, yes, I can see the severed conduits, but to attach them… This stone is like nothing I have seen, Ondure. It is a pit—a maw. You spoke truly that the stone is bound to this… pungent young fellow.” I ducked my head in embarrassment. “Though I can’t guess as to why it has not devoured him whole. Have you ever heard of this spell, this Ether? It seems key to the entire affair.”
At Ondure’s shaken head, she sighed. “Very well, then. Let us visit my office. This will take some time.” As she strode off, I noticed that her low boots were heeled, a fact my weary brain seemed to think important.
Even while following the striding woman through the late-afternoon stillness, I struggled to keep my eyelids from drooping. The master enchanter’s workshop was only two buildings down from the craft hall, but my head was so heavy the walk lasted an eternity. I don’t actually remember reaching the workshop itself, so set was my body on finding rest.
I awoke to a snore so impressively jarring I was sure it shook the walls. Ondure lay draped carelessly on a cushioned divan, head back and mouth agape. With each breath the rasp and grind grew more strident.
“Poor man," Phintin voiced sympathetically from beside me. “He tried so hard to stay awake.”
Realizing I’d never actually spoken to the stately woman, I swallowed. “How—how is it coming along?”
“It’s coming…” she muttered distractedly. The majority of her focus was currently on what looked like tracing paper, to which she was applying meticulous brush strokes. As she moved the brush across the paper something akin to wax formed underneath, rising behind the brush like a blister. She had replaced her loupe with headgear that left her hands free and made her look completely steampunk.
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