I hammered out a rough schedule with the foreman of the mines. It was decided that I would work with him four days of every week and the other three I was to spend with Carol learning proper control of my magic and gaining the finesse required to write runes. I questioned him on the number of days off I was getting, but he came clean about it and told me that it was mostly because I was doing a month worth of work in that four day week. It seems that using magic does cause quite the reaction when it strikes raw ore, but it also skips a time consuming step in the smelting process which puts me on schedule to double the effectiveness of the smithing portion of the business. There was a problem though, they couldn't keep up with the amount of material brought to them. I felt a little cheated when I discovered just how much I was doing for the dwarves, but it kind of equals out if I consider the materials they supply me with on top of the pay.

I did get scolded by Carol for forgetting to pick up the payment from the tailor on my first day in the mine. She let me off pretty easily though since I covered it out of my own pay and then collected it from the tailor in the morning on my way back to the mine. Other than the scolding, I didn't really have any trouble during my first week in the mine. My training to become an enchanter consisted of equal parts meditating while moving my mana to different parts of my body as they were called out, and the copying of runes in a book Carol lent me for practice. Runes appeared to me to be less of a magic language and more of a change in font, it was like the difference between Comic Sans and Old English. I understood that it mattered though, because I was shown an example of what happens to an enchanter that tried to use normal writing instead of runes. The example was given in the form of a memory crystal that Carol handed me when I asked why I couldn't just enchant my normal writing. It showed a young man in front of a class writing normally instead of in runes during a duel with a fellow classmate. They drew in the air with their wands and his heat shield became a personal furnace for him to be cremated in as his opponent screamed for a healer. I felt the memory crystal was an excellent motivation not to make mistakes or experiment.

My enchanting classes were going well for the first couple of weeks before Carol told me it was time for me to get a focus so I could practice using runes to fight. "What is a focus exactly?" I asked, thinking I might have to swish and flick wands for the rest of my life. "A focus is a utensil made of special wood, silver or gold that can be used to channel mana." Carol responed. She held up one of her front spider feet with the silver pen cap. "These are one of my four common foci, I have another one for each of my other legs that I use when I have to battle." I thought for a bit, "why silver and gold?" I asked. Carol smiled as she anticipated my question, "Silver and gold both have a rare property that allows them to coexist with mana. When exposed to mana after the smithing process, they harden and cease to be called silver or gold." She took a breath then said, "Silver becomes mithril, and gold becomes orichalcum. Both make excellent foci material, but orichalcum is slightly better because it won't wear down as mithril will. An orichalcum focus would last you all of your life, while you might replace a mithril focus many times depending on how often you use them."

Our conversation was cut short by a bell tolling at the north end of town. "You go ahead!" Carol urged as she headed to her storage compartment. I took the stairs two at a time then ran all out down the ramp in my rush for the door. I darted out and sprinted through the square up the northern main street. When I arrived at the northern courtyard the villagers were up on the wall with the soldiers dropping rocks and tilting buckets of boiling oil on what I assumed was an invading force. I shimmied my way up the ladder with all the haste I could manage and was handed a fist sized garnet by the guard captain. "Channel that mana ball through this!" He shouted over the clamor. I walked to the edge of the battlement and looked out at the invaders over the wall that came up to my shoulder. there seemed to be a bit more than a few hundred men and women dressed in uniform leather armor driving a battering ram into the massive portcullis that is our northern gate. I could make out archers and mounted units in the distance, but I knew they were out of range for my mana ball. I grabbed one of the empty basins that had a small amount of oil in it at one point and overturned it to use as a stepping stool. I braced my elbow against the stone wall and pointed the gem at the ram being hoisted by the half-giant skirmishers at our gate. I channelled my mana into a very compact ball and launched it through the gem in my hand. The ball was a small sun that was white hot and painful to look at as it shot out at the marauders. When the explosive ball of fire hit the area that was already covered in oil it detonated knocking me off my step stool and I hit my head on the ground. I was out for the rest of the encounter.

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I awoke in a bout of dizzy nausea with my head throbbing painfully. I was rocking as though being carried while I was surrounded by blurred images depicting skulls wavered in front of me. I passed out again only to awake in my room being cared for by an old woman in a black cloak. I was startled and tried to get up, only to find myself being restrained by a layer of strong silk. "Relax youngling, you have a concussion." The hag-like woman said in a voice that was all too like the one a preschool teacher would use to voice the witch from Hansel and Gretel for my comfort. "My name is Hilda, I run the apothecary next door." She said in that creepy voice. Carol's voice was heard as though she wasn't in the room, she sounded pissed. I couldn't make out what was said or who she was talking to, but I heard a dull thud that made me imagine a club landing a solid blow on a rock. This was followed by the tinking sound her pointed feet made when she stomped on the staircase.

"Has he awoken yet?" I heard Carol ask, she seemed shaken. The old lady looked in the direction of the flap that made up the door of my private area and nodded. I heard her skitter across the floor and when she was finally in my view I was able to relax a bit. Hilda was unnerving and I saw Carol as a person I cared for, so seeing her in a disheveled state with puffed up eyes made me feel a bit more at ease. I was still bound by the tough silk, but Carol buried her face in my chest and sobbed while apologizing for letting me go ahead into a dangerous situation. Carol's tears and strong grip caused some of the threads to stretch, so I wriggled an arm out to rub her back and comfort her until she cried herself to sleep.

Hilda stuck around and helped me move into a sitting position where Carol's head ended up on my lap. I combed her hair with my fingers as I was getting my bandage on my head changed. "You know youngling, I still don't know your name." Hilda said, apparently she was the type to chat as she works. "Thomas Reiner, but you can just call me Tom." I replied, I can't let this nice old lady creep me out forever. "Well then Tom, do you want to hear how bad you look first, or how Carol wiped out the enemy single-handedly in a fit of rage when she found you hurt?" She cackled a bit at the end of her question.