In another part of the Aughal, below the cylindrical Spires reaching hundreds of meters into the air, sat an Artificer. He’d made himself as comfortable as he could since that’s what his job primarily required. Sure, tracking down rare materials and formulae was important, as was making enough to remain out from under the thumb of anyone else. What trumped all of that was enchanting. It’s what made the money and, occasionally, let him advance. By all accounts it was the purpose of his class, and by extension, himself. Disliking the process of creating magical items was therefore an impossibility, and he didn’t dislike it. He hated it.
“Fifteen hours,” Arpan groaned on his couch, shifting slightly. That was how long he’d been working on this piece and it’d be another seven before it was done. “I should have been a farmer. Better schedule at least.”
There wasn’t anyone to answer him, although there was something else in the room. A construct that took the form of a suit of armor roughly half his size. Arpan was no Knight and could hardly have been expected to wear it, and yet it was his Focus. That meant that while he was enchanting, the activity that took up the majority of his life, it had to be within a certain distance of himself. When he’d first acquired the feature that allowed him to create the new Focus type he’d resisted thinking of it as anything other than a decoration out of fear of going mad from prolonged periods of isolation with it.
He’d lasted a few weeks. “Dril, how much are we making from this?” There wasn’t a response. There never was, and a part of Arpan worried about the day that would change. “It might be better just to cancel the order. Oh, but it is thrustgleam alloy,” he grumbled, opening his eyes and staring at the dark green metal he couldn’t face away from. “Because of course I can make a level 5 blade from it. Sure, it’ll double the time over a more suitable metal, but if you like the color green, my lady then I suppose it’s no trouble! Huh. Thank Star for Arcane Efficiency at least.”
Both Apran and Silora would’ve traded positions in moments if that were possible. The shavi yearned for Arpan’s relative freedom, lack of binding contract bond, and ability to tolerate the air itself. The human, for his part, disregarded all of that in favor of being able to look at something, anything besides his office during his craft. That was the problem with enchanting. Coercing a bit of metal, wood, or other exotic substance to both change shape and hold magic was a difficult process. Unless you were insane and wasted material far above what you were trying to create, professional grade enchanting required deep concentration over prolonged periods of time. Even then, there were no breaks when the mana started flowing.
At least he had Dril. Before the servant and before he’d honed his craft, Arpan had ruined several works when hunger, thirst, sleep, or other needs had become too much to bear. As it was Arpan had grown to tolerate longer stretches over the years. “That makes me sound old. I’m not old Dril! Oh, now I’m mistaking my thoughts for yours, ugh.” Arpan shook his head, being careful not to make too exaggerated a moment. Enchanting was a touchy activity, especially when you were making something of a higher level than the base material. That was putting the Artificer in a bad mood. “You can dye metal, you know. It’s not easy, but there’s no way it’s more expensive than paying for an entire day of my time! I think she placed the order just to annoy me.”
He sighed again. “Don’t worry Dril, I’m not packing up the shop. Besides, where would I go? Freedom is one thing, but material wealth is another and I’m sorry to say I have expensive tastes. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Arpan told the helmetless armor. “This isn’t a cheap city to live in. And whenever you get scuffed I have to pay a Smith to fix you! I suppose I could just re-enchant you, but where would I find the time!?”
Oops, stay focused. That was close. Arpan took a deep breath and solidified the image of the sword blade in his mind as he felt the enchantment grow tenuous. He was just enchanting the blade, of course. The hilt could be made by normal means and it was a waste of both time and effort to include it in the process. If he was really pushing the limits of his craft he could even just enchant the edge of a blade and leave the rest to another class. “If I’m being honest, a Craftsman would do a better job of it. A third of my requests are for the durability enchantment Dril, can you believe that? You don’t need an enchanter to make metal that resists rust or,” he grimaced, “cloth that resists stains. I mean really. Stainproof clothing? I could just make a wand that cleans, woah, woah-”
Arpan’s eyes shot open and he spent several minutes just staring at the metal ingot in front of her before swearing. “Dril, you can’t let me keep going on like that. Too close.” Just six more hours? No, that’s too optimistic. I bet it’s only been ten minutes since I last checked. I need to charge for complexity too, I hate not being able to read.
That was the life. It wasn’t glamorous in the way monster hunting was, though Arpan had to admit it was just as rewarding. He fawned over every piece he finished in the minutes after, relief of a job done feeding as much into the excitement as the wealth generated from it. That was a high that had driven his earlier career and motivation that had become muted slightly over the years.
“Guess I’ll just hope level 6 has good things in store. I’ll be able to start contesting the quality of Armafus’ Legacy at least. Yes, Dril, I know, I need to work on my strength and dexterity before I can entertain that. Why I need to when you can just lift things for me I’ll never- No, no I do need to make some improvements. I’ll admit being blown over by a stiff breeze is a bad sign.” He held his tongue with his next thought, aware it wasn’t the wisest thing to say aloud even if he was ostentatiously alone. City like it is now, I’d be mad to make myself more vulnerable.
The news hadn’t spread far. At the same time, it was impossible for anyone in regular contact with what passed for the city’s leadership not to know. They were tense, even those who generally passed through life in a daze and made the most banal requests of him. One of them had been killed. In the city, and while in the most defensible of locations, a Spire.
If anyone asked Arpan and he wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying, the Artificer would comment that underneath the machinations each was no doubt planning, they were scared. The nobility’s actual power was fragile. It had only taken one life to remind them of that. Any breakdown in civic order would be bad business for anyone with something to protect. Like him. “I’m not good in a fight Dril.” Arpan grimaced. “If I opened the mirror now-“
“That’s good.” The voice came from behind him, interrupting what he was about to say. The speaker had a soft voice that sounded muffled as if passing through a veil.
Arpan froze, holding onto the enchantment in progress only reflexively. “Who’s there?” How had they gotten in? How long had they been there? “What do you want?”
One of those questions was answered when the figure wearing sand-colored robes walked into his line of vision. “Aren’t you going to offer me a seat? It is rude to sit while your guest stands.”
Arpan narrowed his eyes. There was cloth covering the woman’s face. It fell loosely from the top of the hood, ending near the collarbone where it was affixed by string. A relatively simple disguise, unenchanted even to Arpan’s eyes, and almost completely covered in sand. Was there a storm going on outside? “I’m afraid you are neither guest nor someone I am familiar with,” he replied, calming slightly. The mask was a good sign. Why bother hiding your face if you didn’t intend to leave witnesses?
“Very well. I have my eyes on you and that armor. Don’t try anything.”
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“Don’t worry, I’m perfectly defenseless while enchanting.”
“Your traps would indicate otherwise.”
“Well, the building is another matter, isn’t it. How did you get past those?”
Arpan couldn’t see her face, but the direction of the hood still gave him a sense of where she was looking. Straight at him, just like she’d said. “As much as I enjoy banter, I am not here to answer your questions. I want to know what you made for the Assassin.”
“Nothing,” Arpan said immediately. His intruder nodded as if she expected the answer.
“Of course.” She didn’t appear to have any weapons outside of the cloak but still exuded menace in her otherwise melodious voice. She definitely had a class, and not having a weapon just meant she didn’t need one. “And you aren’t going to make me another of whatever that was.”
“I can’t.” Arpan frowned. Stupid! “I, I mean, well, fine. But I can’t.”
“I am led to believe you are the most capable Artificer in this city.”
“That’s not saying much is it?” He weakly laughed, provoking no response. Besides what she did with her voice, the woman didn’t move. Was she using a power? Arpan couldn’t tell, it was always hard to with social powers. He’d most often dealt with bargaining ones anyway.
“If it is the price you are concerned about, then trust that I have not come just to deliver an implicit threat.”
“I appreciate all business, but this isn’t the most appropriate way to ask for my time.”
“I am not able to travel freely within this city. Approaching during your sporadic business hours would be difficult. And if my assumptions are correct, what I am asking for is not something you request openly.”
“Do you know what I made?”
“No, but I know what it does. I’d find it hard to believe something like that could come from anywhere else.” She took a step forward and Arpan found himself unable to retreat. Despite the situation, he was still focusing on the enchantment. Why not? He would have to drop his concentration to use an ability, but by his generous estimates he was worth only half his actual level in a fight. That included his equipment and Focus, which he wasn’t wearing. “I want replicas. At least four, and we will pay their worth.”
“I, I can’t.” Another step forward, and Arpan carefully raised a hand. Slowly, for both her sake and his. “I don’t have what I need! He, uh, the Assassin provided that.”
The covered head tilted for a moment, thinking about his words. “I am led to believe Artificers can make anything they desire from scraps.”
“Only true at face value. Believe me.” Arpan glared at the greenish metal ingot behind the woman and then fixed his gaze back on the midpoint between them. “Look, you’re doing the right thing. Coming here just like he did, making threats, though his involved more knives-”
“That can be arranged.”
“What you need to arrange,” he said quickly. “Is what he gave me. Otherwise, I can substitute, but not to the point that it is feasible for me to. I’d lose the craft from either my exhaustion or your impatience.”
“Fine. Then tell me what is needed.”
Is this happening? Wait, what if this is a test? Then I’ve said too much already. Damn it but how could I be expected to hold my tongue under threat of… of… implied unpleasantness! “You’re lucky that you only need to bring me half of what he did. The Assassin provided the formulae I used and I just need to learn that once. As for the other material, it was a heart.” He would have explained further but she interjected.
“A heart? From which species?”
“Monster, that’s all I know. I couldn’t identify it so it came from at least a level 6. I could describe the horrible fleshy thing to the best of my recollection but I doubt that would help you.”
There was a pause that stretched for a minute, to the point that Arpan was debating asking Dril to fetch him a snack. Fear of damage to his armor held his tongue long enough for the woman to reply. “I believe you, as aggravating as that is. Sands of my grave. Did the Assassin give you any details? Shouldn’t the instructions have specified what you needed?”
“‘Special requirement’ was all the formulae said. The odder ones can be like that and I think they even went to the trouble of Unidentifying another part.” Arpan’s tone was almost commiserating. The obstacle this unknown intruder had come upon was one he was well aware of. “I can imagine many reasons why you might want this, but is it truly worth it? I don’t just ask because of the enormous personal risk I am undertaking here, but, what you ask for is, well…”
“What, do you think I’m an Assassin?”
“No? You look the part in some way. Not like him, but, well. A Rogue? I admit I’m having trouble assessing you. I hadn’t heard of another being active in the city.”
“I am no Assassin,” she replied with what sounded like a smile hiding behind the veil. “And I know what I’m getting myself into. Describe this heart, including how it was given to you. If I provide you with a sample, would you be able to verify it is suitable?”
“You don’t have a heart on you now, do you?” His sudden queasiness was mollified when she shook her head.
“No. I would hope the exact species wouldn’t matter. Considering their abundance in the Alchemist trade, another shouldn’t be hard to come by.”
“Do you know how expensive, wait, you know how expensive they are.” And they’re familiar with Alchemists and can bypass my traps? “Have you been here before, to my store?”
“You can consider me a repeat customer. That’s all you need to know. Now, the heart.”
As he described the organ a man dressed sharply in black had given him, Arpan thought quickly. The identity of his visitor wasn’t of the utmost importance and he was probably better off not knowing, but only if she kept good to her word. Otherwise, the existence of another person who knew how to breach his sanctum would be a problem. Mark was currently dealt with, even if at great personal cost.
This woman? She could be trouble. He still didn’t know exactly who she was, but someone who casually spoke of acquiring high level monster hearts was someone of means. A Lady? Surely not, considering she had to have a class, but someone with access to that kind of influence or wealth. Wait, she’d said ‘we’ at some point. Arpan reached a conclusion he should have drawn immediately. Realizing who this woman was, or rather, who she represented did nothing to change how he felt. At the very least he wasn’t dying tonight. When he’d finished with the gory details, the woman nodded, having made no notes that he could see.
“I don’t think I need to describe the level of discretion I would prefer with this order.”
“You know about the first time. It’s my head if that gets out.” Arpan shrugged. He’d known making that dagger was a death sentence, in more ways than one, but no one seemed to have connected its enchantment with him. Mark could have acquired it many ways or have had it before he even came to the region. No one had been brazen enough to accuse him, except for the woman that had been bold enough to come here uninvited.
“That is true. But I am concerned that you fear what happens if you fulfill my request.”
“I am currently the only one in this arrangement with something to lose and only promises on what I may gain.”
The woman crossed her arms, looking down. Arpan didn’t get the sense of disappointment but further thought. “I have no reason to harm you. Only words, I know. I can’t tell you who I am, but perhaps if you knew who I represent you would feel more at ease. Earnest, even.” She reached into a fold of her garments and flicked a small token towards him. It was made of wood, easily fit into his palm, and was only embellished with waving lines. The Mirage. “If you hadn’t already figured it out.”
“You would be the only ones crazy enough to try this again. Assuming you hired the Assassin?” He shook his head. “But you’d know what kind of heart you needed if that was the case. Strange, I had assumed it was you. I am curious what would make you think I’d jump at the chance to eliminate more of my primary customers.”
“I thought I’d lead with the general threat of death, but only as a means of introduction. They are not the sole masters of commerce here, no matter what they say.”
“I’m hardly one for your propaganda. I know the position I’m in, I just need assurances you won’t use the last of these on me when you’re done.”
“What manner of assurances?” she asked thoughtfully.
“I don’t know! I wasn’t exactly prepared for this negotiation.”
“You are fortunate you don’t need to close the deal now then. Hmm. A heart. Hideously poetic.” Arpan just grunted in agreement. He’d hoped never to use the formulae again. If he could have thrown it into the pits of his memory or cast it away forever he would, but that wasn’t how Artificers worked. “Very well. Speak nothing of our meeting. I will contact you again when I have what we need to proceed. And Arpan?”
“What?”
“This isn’t the kind of deal that you’ll regret making, even if you don’t agree with us. I will think about how to make you see that.”
Arpan snorted. “Just like that? I find of all my wares, my trust is the hardest to bargain for.”
“Then perhaps I should find something worth its value.” She moved out of his sight, footsteps heading for the sole entrance.
He couldn’t resist getting the last word. “All and all, I do prefer you to the Assassin.” She left, but not before giving him the briefest of laughs. “Oh Dril, we’re in for it now. But, you know what the silver lining is? I think she took up an entire hour of this blasted sword.”