Chapter 28 - Just Rewards

“Magic is not just chaos and destruction. 

Magic is power. Magic is life. Magic is creation. 

Magic shapes the entire world.”

- Hemlock the Shaper, Archmage

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There were never enough hours in the day.

Taliesin ignored the temptation to seek out companionship for even a few hours after the feast. Instead he retreated into his small laboratory to continue his work. His workspace was getting more cramped. A new shelf was upon the wall, and Viggo had procured two more thin journals and a fresh stack of cheaper parchment. His first journal was filled with detailed diagrams and drawings as well as page after page of cramped notes. His second was filling up with tested enchantments and spellforms. Both were protected by multiple layers of wards, and scarcely a day went by when he didn’t strengthen them.

The biggest change was the addition of three breastplates on the desk. Another dozen awaited him in their crates, packed away in straw until he could get to them. Chalk lines on the metal roughly outlined sigil lines and runes, half-erased and incomplete. Laying before them were two seaxes that were Taliesin’s focus for the evening. These two weapons - blades half-again as long as a dagger - were well crafted and sturdy. What made them stand out was the quality of the steel. 

Taliesin had not been impressed by the constructions of these northmen. The homes were a blend between the older timber longhouse style and imitations of the Merovingian styles of the richer Frankish kingdoms to the south. Their industries were small and construction limited by the harsh climate and poor farming. Yet their environment had bred strong warriors - and more importantly for Taliesin - skilled smiths and productive mines. Their steel rivaled any he’d worked with in his previous life.

It took Taliesin only a few minutes to clear the armor off his table to reveal a deeply engraved circle. Tiny shapes were carved into intricate aether paths, and those paths formed small glyphs. The hundreds of glyphs that covered the surface of the table combined into a complex weave of sigils. At five points around the circle, small stone stela, no more than a foot tall, were placed, each as intricately enchanted as the carved circle on the desk. The archmage brushed away every speck of dust and checked his work patiently as he went. He’d checked it several times already, but he’d learned caution many long years before when working with advanced magics.

Finally satisfied, the Stormlord fed a trickle of power from the Torque of Dawn into the closest stone. The pages of the open journal on his writing desk fluttered as an ozone smell filled the room. Taliesin held the two seaxes in one hand, unsheathed, overtop the circle. He released them and they floated in place. 

With a deep breath, Taliesin prepared for the next step. This was where his meticulous engravings would either work wonderfully or explode. 

“[Phantom Armor],” intoned Taliesin. Then rapid-fire, he cast more defensive spells. “[Flame Shield], [Defensive Ward], [Zone of Protection].”

A riot of aether colored the air, except for a conspicuous dome over the table, where the two long-bladed daggers floated. Each spell formed independently and snapped into place around Taliesin. Taliesin could see the shapes in the myriad of spellforms, invisible to all eyes but his, each multi-dimensional and beautiful in their own way. With a casual gesture, Taliesin used a minor spellform to bar the door to his office. It wouldn’t hold against a sustained assault, but it would prevent casual interruptions. 

It was time. Protections were in place. Taliesin once more used his Torque of Dawn to channel aether into the ritual circle, more power than he’d used for anything in this world except the devastating Celestial Annihilation spell he’d killed a yeti with back in the village. The air took on the smell of ozone, and the shapes in the spellforms grew in depth and color–in realness. This wasn’t some simple magic spell. He was altering reality.

The aether rotated the seaxes. The patterned steel blades gleamed in the ethereal glow of the magic around them. Then the brightness increased as the aether began to draw into the metal, brighter and brighter until they were blinding. A crack of power echoed through the room and into the fabric of reality around him, loud enough to be heard by the magically sensitive, but quiet enough that any in neighboring rooms wouldn’t notice it at all.

The brightness of the blades dimmed down to a pale blue luster over the magic circle, and gently settled to the table as the aether in the ritual was used up. The aether dimmed slowly, leaving a bluish tint to the steel that seemed to draw in the light before the power faded away entirely. Taliesin blinked to adjust his eyes to the light of the candles, now much darker now that the magical lightshow had ended. He was pleased with the outcome, and the infused manasteel he’d created. The experiment was a success, and as a convenient bonus, he now had an appropriate reward for Aina’s critical aid against the Sheriff.

Of course, the seaxes could never be enchanted now, for infused manasteel was durable and light, but had lost both physical and mystic malleability. The blades would remain unchanged unless broken, sharp until ruined. But the circle would now allow the next step, which was the creation of an Aetherforge. That would allow him to make forged manasteel, which was both stronger and properly enchantable. 

It would also take thousands of hours and a huge investment in steel, stone and clay, not to mention the gold and silver components required for the enchanting of it, and the hundreds of hours it would take to build. But the end result… it would be beyond this world’s imagining.

Taliesin put aside his future plans. It would not be built today, nor in this town. Excitement would only distract him from the present, and that was when mistakes happened. His attention turned instead to the breastplates he’d set on the floor. While he couldn’t enchant infused manasteel, he could put some basic enchantments on the equipment first before infusing it. Their effects would be weak compared to standard steel, but could mean the difference between life and death. If he was to have varingjar, he would equip them the best way he knew how.

He lifted the first breastplate onto the table. It was already sized and fitted to Runolf, and all of the metal fittings had been removed for now, so they could be adjusted as needed later. The sigils would need to be carved deep and filled with iron, which despite being a horrible conductor of aether, was the only material available that could survive the infusion process and hold the enchantments he added.

Taliesin examined the chalk marks once more, and pulled out his copper stylus. It was going to be a long, long night.

“[Shape].”

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Aina walked into the Jarl’s great hall in the morning to find a celebration. Jarl Gunther’s men were dressed in full armor, with swords and helmets tossed casually on tables. Horns of ale were in hand and feet were propped up comfortably as they joked and laughed loudly, despite the early hour. She shared their exuberance, only she was unable to vocalize it. 

She could hardly believe what she’d done. Aina had been sick with fear as she’d snuck into the warehouse. She’d been using her Forging, of course, so she had been invisible. Yet she wasn’t hunting deer this time. If her Forging failed her, the militia guarding the warehouse may have ran her through with a spear for her trouble. Then when she’d gotten to the door, she’d had to throw her entire body into lifting the heavy locking bar. She’d lost her focus on her Forging, so when the beam clattered loudly to the ground, Aina had been in full view of the men sleeping on the floor of the warehouse. She’d fled the warehouse as swiftly as possible.

Even now, hours later, after the Jarl’s House Guards had looted the warehouse down to its rafters, the adrenaline coursed in her veins, and she felt like laughing uncontrollably. A wide grin was still on her face, so when she’d found the celebration in the great hall, it was almost a palpable relief to find she wasn’t alone in how she felt. The guardsmen, who had always been indifferent to her as part of a guest’s retinue, gave her welcoming smiles. She soon found a seat near the hearth and the loot piled there, and a jar of ale was pressed into her hands. 

Before long, the Jarl joined them in the great hall, followed by the few guardsmen who’d been injured in the raid, freshly healed and ready to join in the celebration. Aina felt both welcomed and out of her element. This was a long way from trapping rabbits and shivering all winter in a remote village, scarcely able to feed her and her mother through the lean times. Platters of food - mostly cured meats stewed with potatoes and carrots, with thick loaves of bread - made their rounds. Aina ate heartily, and signed with the small number of guardsmen that had hunters in their families.

The doors opened and the Stormlord swept in. He smiled at the guards and exchanged friendly words and pats on the back as he made his way through the hall. He was an ally, after all, and the raid was based on intelligence he had provided. Intelligence that she had given him. It was hard to fathom; little Aina, the odd child of her village, had made a difference. It wasn’t a big one, and few people knew it was her, but it still mattered.

Aina stood from her empty plate of food, and took her ale with her over to the Stormlord’s table. While she enjoyed the easy camaraderie of the guardsmen while they were flush with victory, she wasn’t one of them. She was in Lord Taliesin’s retinue, at least for now, as she’d not formally sworn fealty. Runolf and Viggo sat to Lord Taliesin’s right hand, but a seat to the Stormlord’s left had been left open for her. She sat down as more food was brought out, and the festive mood continued unabated.

It was not long before Jarl Gunther stood. 

“We’ve struck a great blow against Hallfred and his schemes today!” Jarl Gunther waved down the cheers and shouts of ‘hear, hear’. Yet the cheers continued with each sentence.

“Your bravery was a worthy deed! And we had the blessing of Freya in the form of Arbiter Katla as well, lending divine weight to the righteousness of our cause! So come forward as I call you, and receive the spoils of your victory!”

What followed was a long period of guardsmen being called forward, and being handed a bag full of marks. Aina was envious; she’d only ever had a few marks at once, and that had been after her mother’s death and had been stolen from her. She now wore rich clothes and ate well, but still had nothing to her name should the Jarl or the Stormlord cast her aside.

It was in the midst of this mild case of jealousy that Jarl Gunther called her name. Aina started and looked around. Runolf laughed at her and made a shooing motion. She stood and walked over to the head table, and realized the Stormlord was standing beside the Jarl.

“Your contribution to the raid this morning was invaluable. You snuck through a building filled with armed traitors and opened the doors to my loyal House Guard. Because of this, the surprise was total, and we made it through without a single guard losing their life. Here are your spoils of battle, young Aina.”

Aina’s face was flushed a bright red as she accepted the bag of coin. It was heavier than she expected, with far more wealth than she’d ever held in her hands before. With that many marks, she could build a household or commission gear like a proper warrior. It wasn’t just her share of loot - it was freedom, and it was a message to everyone present that service to the Jarl was well rewarded. But it wasn’t over yet, for the Jarl had motioned for the Stormlord to speak.

“In pursuit of our promise to our ally, Jarl Gunther, yesterday I headed to the town walls to further put wards to protect the town from the approaching army of monsters. Yet the vile Sheriff laid a trap to ambush me and my men.” The guardsmen booed, then quieted quickly. “Aina discovered the trap in time to warn me, and managed to pass the message to my other varingjar so that we could spring a counter-ambush of our own!”

This time the room cheered again. The Stormlord pulled out a wide embroidered belt that was far too short for most of the men in the room. It had two sheathes of well tooled leather, and from one of them he pulled a beautiful seax. The handles were smooth bone with black leather strips expertly woven around them, and a mysterious blue patterned metal made up the blades of the long dagger. Lord Taliesin held it over his head like a salute.

“These are the first weapons I’ve imbued with my magic in this world! They are made of infused manasteel, stronger than steel and lighter than tin. I give these to you, Aina, as reward for your brave actions in my name.”

Aina took the belt carefully, studying it in awe. It was perhaps the most valuable item she’d ever owned, and that was just the belt. Unable to contain her excitement, she drew one of the daggers halfway from its sheath and marveled at the blue sheen of the metal.

The Stormlord placed a hand on hers. “Perhaps it would be best to look further away from prying eyes.”

She nodded and tied it around her waist, leaving her old belt and blades on the table beside her. The sheaths tucked neatly behind her back, where she liked to carry them. It was a thoughtful gift, one that required not just crafting, but observation to understand her preferences. She signed her thanks, and the Stormlord nodded with a smile. For a half moment, she was tempted to offer her fealty to him then and there.

But a spike of ice in her heart reminded her of her vengeance. She paused, and the moment passed. It would be too awkward to do so now. She instead turned back to the table with a heavy heart just as the Stormlord called on Runolf. A massive manasteel breastplate was on the table, but her own heavy emotions drowned out the Stormlord’s speech of recognition. She roused from her sadness when the varingjar behind her started hooting and cheering, so she started clapping as well. It felt like she was cheering her own downfall. If these were the rewards of loyalty, what would the cost of her selfishness be?

It didn’t matter. Her mother was dead and she’d been robbed and thrown in a ditch to die a horrible, frozen death. Whatever the price, she would have her revenge.

Then it was over. Lord Taliesin took his seat next to her and began to eat in earnest. Guardsmen and varingjar mingled and laughed, and an impromptu wrestling match was called. Loot was cleared to make room and the games were on, but Aina was not as entertained as she usually was. 

Then the Stormlord spoke. “We must work doubly over the next few days. There are a dozen more wards to set up, and I fear our time runs short. I need three days to finish, if we work early and late for all three.”

“Your varingjar will stand at your side, milord,” said Runolf. 

The Stormlord nodded, but no one looked at her. Her loyalty was assumed, and she was included in the blanket statement. But Aina knew her vengeance could not go unanswered. If she found the celtic former thrall, Samuel, she’d hunt him down without mercy, no matter what the Stormlord asked of her.

Aina had betrayed their trust before she’d even left the room.