His meeting with the representatives of the Low Folk did not go well.
By the time he left the meeting—after having reassured them repeatedly that future projects would be better planned, and that the complaints of the displaced would be heard—Matt was already starting to feel exhausted. The fatigue of the journey was still weighing on him and taking responsibility to resolve a disaster that he hadn’t even been in the city for had just been a grinding experience.
Visiting the Great Council afterwards wasn’t much better. The nobility were mostly curious about his visit with their fellow nobles, but since he refused to share any of his military plans, they mostly seemed mystified about why he had gone in the first place. His news that Suluth was in the area caused a small stir, but the majority of the Council was Lord Torth preening over the fact that his ruler had made a point of visiting his kinsmen and his homeland.
Worn to the point of absolute exhaustion, Matt staggered back to the castle and very nearly collapsed in his bed. He only resisted the urge to go to sleep by a sheer effort of will, and even then it was only because of his lingering resentment towards Tanya.
She had made far too much progress in building her Source; it made a mockery of how much he had struggled to accomplish the same thing. He knew she had more free time than he did, but there was a part of him that flat out refused to allow her to get the advantage of him. The woman had already halfway wrecked his city, but she wasn’t going to learn magic before he did. Not while he had any say about it at all.
So, driven by the fires of indignation and spite, Matt stumbled back out and into his study. He fished out his pile of mantras and forced his weary eyes to focus on the parchment. When he started, the phrases felt a bit easier to him, though it was possible that he was merely constructing the foundation incorrectly. Melren had been definite about how important it was to approach the first Source correctly; building one in a way that was flawed would undermine every Spell Chant that utilized it. Given how long it had taken him to build this one, it would set him back seasons of progress.
Matt made absolutely sure that every mantra was said with perfect precision. He felt energy stirring inside him, swirling in a way that almost made him feel warm. In their own way, the mantras were a little soothing. Nobody could interfere with them, and no one could deny him the progress he made. There were no angry freeholders or obstinate nobles. No assassins or uncooperative Maidens to surprise him with yet more troubles. All he had to do was focus, concentrate, and keep working until—
The moment the final piece of his Source settled into place, Matt felt it ripple through his mind like a shockwave. It was an indescribable feeling; the closest he could come would be to compare it to having lost a limb, only to have it suddenly restored. His mind seemed to open, his fatigue disappearing as if it had never existed. Matt felt refreshed, and everything around him became suddenly, terribly clear.
Energy flooded through him in a rush, filling him in the wake of that moment of spectacular clarity. His mind flashed back to the moment when he had sworn his oath during the coronation, when the magic of the ceremony had literally lifted him from the floor. He felt a moment of panic as the magic continued to pulse and build inside him. There was something more alive about the power this time, as if it had its own thoughts and intentions. In a panic, he reached out to it, somehow, to try to contain the flow.
He failed.
At first, he thought that the movement was inside his own head. The floor moved beneath him, making him stumble as if he had spent too long on a boat in heavy seas. Then a book fell from a nearby bookshelf, followed by another, and he realized it wasn’t just him. He could see the entire room vibrating and shaking, to the point where one of the nearby chairs tipped over with a crash. There were screams and shouts from deeper in the castle, and his racing thoughts finally made the connection. After everything else, there was an actual earthquake happening.
The door to the study crashed open, and two of his lifeguards stumbled in, obviously struggling to keep their feet. Gorfeld was next, his eyes wide. “Sire! We’re under attack! We need to—”
Matt waved his hands frantically, trying to stay standing. “N-no, i-it’s, i-its—”
Another figure slammed through the doorway, passing the still-stumbling lifeguards and shoving Gorfeld out of the way. Matt had just enough time to register the panic on Melren’s face before the former nobleman slammed into him and knocked him to the ground.
“Control yourself! You have to be calm! Do it before you bring the castle down on top of us!”
Matt looked up at him, seeing dust fall from the ceiling, and felt panic streaking through his mental clarity. He almost reached out to try to grab hold of the magic again, but something about Melren’s words stopped him. Was it the magic causing this, or was it him?
So instead of continuing to wrestle with that power, Matt simply released it. It went against everything he wanted to do, every urge to control and bend it to his will, but the instant he let go, the shaking began to calm. He suddenly felt like he could breathe again, as if releasing his hold had suddenly freed up enough of his mind to go on working his lungs. Matt gasped, feeling dusty air fill him, and then coughed hard, hacking and retching while spots filled his vision.
By the time he was done, the earth had calmed around him. The castle wasn’t shaking, though he still heard distant screams and shouts. Melren was still holding him to the floor, though his expression no longer showed the same desperate panic.
The lifeguards and Gorfeld were staring at him, though, with expressions that ranged from awed to horrified. His steward recovered first, motioning for the guards to leave the room and check on the rest of the castle. For once, they listened to the Imp, evidently a bit worried about staying in the same room with him.
Once Matt was done coughing, Melren finally let him up off the floor. The nobleman carefully checked Matt’s eyes and listened to his breathing before he set him back in his seat. Gorfeld left and came back with a cup of water, which Matt used to wash the dust from his throat.
It was strange. His fatigue was still gone, buried beneath the churning power of his first Source, but there was still a sense of weariness, hovering just outside his perception. The magic was still roaring and expanding within him, making it feel like he’d never feel tired again. When he could finally speak, it was just a whisper. “Melren, what is this?”
“The start of a new journey, sire.” Melren’s expression mixed both fear and satisfaction. “Congratulations on completing your first Source.”
“It is something that often happens when someone completes their first Source, sir. Perhaps not as dramatic, of course, but not surprising.”
Matt stared at Melren in shock. It was hours later, with the sun already fairly high in the sky the next day. The nobleman had refused to explain anything further the night before, insisting that Matt needed sleep in spite of the fact that he had what felt like an entire avalanche raging inside him. Gorfeld had eventually agreed, and Matt had gone into his bedchambers resentful and angry, almost determined to stay awake.
He'd collapsed immediately and slept through half the morning. When he had woken, his steward and advisor were both waiting for him. They had breakfast waiting—he was incredibly ravenous—and had finally started to answer his questions.
Matt paused partway through savaging some delicious bacon to stare at Melren. “You knew this would happen?”
Melren shook his head. “No, sire. Most of the time, the effect is fairly benign. For example, when most people create their first Source, they could perhaps do as much as shake a room or light an object on fire. On rare occasions, they have been known to flood a basement or summon a single gust of wind.”
He grimaced. “So I’m guessing that creating an earthquake…”
“Would be extremely unusual. It would be a sign of extreme strength and power.” Melren smiled carefully; there was a bit of envy in his eyes as he continued. “In fact, I would say that you are likely capable of performing magic that would usually require the efforts of twenty or more normal mages. Were you not already our ruler, you would likely have been drafted as one by someone.”
Gorfeld cleared his voice. “Perhaps that is the reason for the difference in strength, actually.” The steward gave Matt a meaningful look. “Most monarchs who rise to the throne are already proficient mages of some sort or another; there has never been a record of one building their first Source after taking the throne. Further, the oath you took during the coronation was… unusual. It might have also contributed to your impressive strength.”
“Ah.” Matt took another bite of eggs and considered his situation. The avalanche was still rumbling around in his insides, though the unnatural clarity of mind had faded before he woke up. He didn’t try to grab the energy again, but it felt like he wanted to. When he finished chewing, he swallowed and asked his next question. “All right. How do I avoid doing that again?”
Melren nodded. “Just don’t reach out to the magic without the framework of a Spell. Trying to use the magic without a framework allows it to run wild, especially with such a large amount of strength. It may also be wise to be careful about using Spells too; the power behind each one will be just as magnified as the effect was last night.”
Gorfeld raised an eyebrow. “It may be best for you to practice your spellcraft outside the city, sire. Just in case.”
Matt nodded. “That makes sense to me.” Then he arrived at a question that he had been trying to avoid. “How much damage did I cause?”
The two Imps exchanged a look. Gorfeld was the one who answered first. “From what we have heard, there weren’t any deaths. There were many injuries, but most of them were among servants in the castle or in the stables.” He paused. “A handful of buildings collapsed, but they were generally poorly constructed to begin with. Everyone inside was saved.”
Melren looked mildly uncomfortable. “There are rumors about the incident, but it appears most of them either believe the event to be natural, or think it was the result of the nobility. Nobody believes that it was you, sire.”
At least, they didn’t believe it yet. Matt shook his head. “Then get the information out there. Better to take responsibility for it than to let rumors and gossip seize control.”
The former nobleman blinked. He seemed uncertain, but he nodded. “If you are sure, sire.”
Gorfeld sighed. “At the very least, the Crown Guard responded well. Captain Karve had the soldiers on the streets immediately after the attack. They already worked on saving people from collapsed buildings, and they’ve worked hard to make sure that all of the freeholders are accounted for and safe.”
Matt blinked. It was the second time in a very short while Karve had proved himself. He’d need to thank the Orc personally the first chance he got. Perhaps it wasn’t quite the push he’d need to give the captain the title of Margrave, but it was starting to get close, especially if the freeholders began to recognize the fact that the officer was standing up for their interests.
Of course, a more suspicious ruler might have thought that Karve was shoring up support for an attempt to launch a military coup, but Matt wasn’t quite that paranoid. Yet. Besides, Karve would likely have regarded the chance to become King himself with something approaching horror.
Even if he was some power-hungry warlord, though, the best option would be to reward him with titles and appreciation. Ambitious men who were ignored felt unappreciated; humble men who were ignored tended to be abused and treated with contempt by people who should have known better.
Decision made, he nodded. “I am going to propose that Captain Karve be given the title Defender of the Realm for his service here in the capital. Any objections?”
The expressions on both Imps’ faces told a fairly interesting story. Melren looked a little shocked and chagrined, as if the possibility of rewarding Karve’s work hadn’t occurred to him. After all, Karve was ‘merely’ a freeholder, and a member of the Crown Guard at that. Under the previous order of thought, he simply didn’t merit the kind of attention a soldier from the High Clans or nobility would have deserved.
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Gorfeld, on the other hand, was grinning broadly, as if Matt had done something exceptionally clever. The steward opened his mouth, and then hesitated, glancing at his fellow Imp’s expression. “There might be some reluctance in the Great Council, sire. Such awards have previously been given to, ah, more highly elevated individuals.”
Melren nodded sharply, but he frowned. Then he shook his head. “The Council will definitely be unhappy. After all, only Lords Grufen and Morteth have received that one, and they might consider it a uniquely ‘noble’ reward.” Then Melren grinned as well, though there was a fair amount of self-mockery in the expression. “At the same time, sire, it is your award, not theirs. Further, it is a matter of the military, and the man’s earned the title. He was the one who helped catch Lord Tek when I failed to, wasn’t he?”
Matt nodded, and Melren chuckled a little. “Then I’ve owed him a debt that I still haven’t repaid—and now is as good a time as any. Give it to him, sire, and I can have a private word with any doubters.”
It was Gorfeld who looked a little shocked now, and then he turned to nod at Matt as well. “If the nobles doubt him, the freeholders and serfs will not. They may even begin to join our ranks in greater numbers, if they see the possibility for glory given to one of their own.”
“True enough.” Matt paused. “It also helps that the man damn well deserves it, though. I’ll make the announcement today.”
Then he stood, forcing his weary limbs to move. “For now, though, I think it is high time that I found out what this Source will give me. Who wants to see an earthquake that’s not in the middle of the city?”
“Well, this is nice. No pressure at all.”
Gorfeld snorted to himself, and even Melren cracked a smile. The former nobleman spoke in a soothing tone. “Do not worry, my liege. They are just eager to see the results of your hard work. Everyone who knows anything about magic will understand if it doesn’t go according to plan.”
His advisor didn’t say that those expectations did not hold true for the spectators that didn’t understand magic, but Matt tried not to let it bother him. Of course, that was easy to say, but it was a bit harder to believe with an entire audience gathering on the road nearby to see.
He wasn’t sure how the rumor had spread, but the gossip had flooded through the city almost immediately. By the time he had visited Karve and told him of his newly won title—the Captain had been appropriately shocked and grateful, to the point where the Orc had almost shed a tear—there was already a group of people trailing after him as he rode Nelson out of town. They were mostly a mix of low-level nobles and idle merchants who could afford to take the time to rubberneck the King’s magic practice.
Those onlookers weren’t alone, either. Parufeth had come along, if only to make sure that his King didn’t damage anything else in the city. The Gnome had been muttering under his breath about having to fix some of the pipes after the previous night’s events, which had made Matt grimace. Lord Torth was also coincidentally in attendance, as well as Lord Darunmell.
Worst of all, however, Tanya was there. She had been glaring at him all day. Apparently, from what Gorfeld had heard, she’d been in the bath when the ‘event’ had happened, and he assumed that her glaring daggers at him was related to that fact. Either that or she just hadn’t wanted him to finish his Source before she could. He could almost feel her willing him to fail.
He’d chosen three Spells to work with at first, from the dozen or so that the Gnomes had given him. Each had seemed incredibly useful, though he didn’t know how powerful it would be in practice. There was only one way to figure it out, however, and there was no point in delaying things any further.
Matt stepped forward into his makeshift testing area. Gorfeld had spoken with Parufeth and found a vacant area some distance from the city’s southern walls, close to where the tailings from their excavations had been piled up and abandoned. The debris from the demolished buildings was lumped into the same spot, forming a small hill of broken stone and frozen dirt off the side of the road.
He walked over to where a boulder had been rolled. The Gnomes had been forced to lever it up and out of the hole they were digging for the filtration pits; it had taken dozens of laborers quite a long while to get rid of the thing. Matt thought he could see a handful of those same workers in the crowd; at least one of them raised a vengeful fist as he drew close to it.
When he was within arm’s reach of the stone, Matt stopped and drew in a deep breath. He let it trickle out as he summoned the words of the Spell to his mind. According to Melren, the words weren’t truly important. They only acted as a funnel to draw out and channel the raw power that roiled within him. It was a template to create a controlled effect, rather than the uncontrolled power that had lashed out last night.
This time, as Matt reached for the Source, he felt the frame of the Spell take shape around him. Instead of fighting and struggling with him, the power of the magic flowed easily and simply into the mystical outline he’d created. As the Spell filled to the brim with power, Matt stuck out his hand and laid it gently on the stone and released the magic.
He thought he saw a sudden glow under his fingers. Then something flowed out of him in a rush, leaving him breathless. As it left him, the rock cracked, shifted…and then slumped. Matt’s eyes widened as the stone just collapsed in on itself, becoming a pile of dust and miniature stone fragments. As he stepped back, he heard shocked gasps from the crowd on the road. At least someone—Parufeth, perhaps?—swore out loud.
Matt could sympathize with them. The Spell had been called the Autumnal Crushing Force. It was used to break up boulders and smash rocks into smaller fragments. He’d been expecting to shatter the thing, or at least crack it in half. Turning it to literal dust and scattering it like so much confetti was way beyond what he’d been hoping for.
Shaken, he waited until the boulder had finished melting and mixing with the surrounding snow. Then he turned to a sizable pile of dirt. It lay frozen beneath a coating of frost and snow, but it was three times taller than him and far, far wider. The hillock was also his next target.
The Spell was called the Curious Tunneller’s Burrow and was sometimes used to create temporary tunnels through stubborn dirt or rock. His Gnomish laborers had been making plenty of use of it to dig through the winter-frozen soil. According to most of the texts, a decent mage should be able to create a head-sized hole through about a meter of dirt at a time.
Matt summoned the framework of the Spell reciting the words from memory. This Spell in particular was one he wanted. Tunnels were constantly important parts of any siege or construction project. Mastering it would be a clear advantage to either effort.
He finished constructing the Spell and then touched it to his Source. The magic within him was slightly less powerful than before, but the instant the Spell made contact, it once again smashed into the framework with all the force of a runaway boulder. Matt grunted and brought his hands up. With a careful precision that fought against the sheer urgency that he was feeling, Matt unleashed the magic on the hill in front of him.
A whirling vortex of stone and dirt carved into the hill of debris, drilling through the hill and leaving behind a tunnel as tall as Matt and just as wide. It kept going and going, digging deeper and deeper until all of a sudden daylight appeared and the Spell burst through the opposite side in a geyser of displaced soil. Matt was left staring at a tunnel nearly twenty meters long that had been formed straight through the hill of debris. There was no sign it would collapse either; part of him wondered just how much further it would have gone if the hill had been bigger.
The stunned silence from the road told him that the onlookers were probably thinking the same thing. He restrained himself from giving them a cocky grin; Tanya was already going to be unhappy, so he didn’t need to make it that much worse. Besides, he had one last Spell to try, and it was one that he’d been looking forward to for a while.
Matt stepped back from the tunnel and looked over at a pile of debris that had been left behind by the previous couple of days of demolition. There was a light coating of snow over the pile, but most of it was half-buried in the dirt from the previous day’s digging. It would be ideal for the next Spell, Haunted Gnomish Dirt.
The original Spell was only meant for small constructions, the kind of thing a child would use for a sandcastle. Older mages might use it for small bits of building, to construct models of future buildings or display small sculptures. Given the power of the other two Spells he’d tried, Matt had hopes for something far more impressive.
Once again, the Spell took shape in his soul, and once again the magic welled up inside the framework in a matter of heartbeats. It seemed even worse this time, straining against the bindings of the Spell like a wild animal unable to accept a leash. Matt gritted his teeth and fought to not panic as it swelled and strained.
Then, trying to move his hands in as careful and cautious a motion as he could, Matt cast the Spell.
In front of him, the debris appeared unchanged for a moment. Then it began to shift. The pieces of the pile made of stone or wood tumbled away as the dirt above and below it began to twist and flow. Matt felt his will extend out to the soil, felt it respond to his probing. His thoughts guided it, and before he realized it, a small globe of shifting dirt appeared had gathered in the air in front of him.
Matt studied it, surprised despite his hopes at how large it was. Then he held out his hands and sent out his thoughts, and the globe began to move.
First, it fell to the ground and spread out, scattering across the snow. Then it rose in a series of towers and buildings. Depressions formed streets, and a continually moving channel simulated a river. Some of it arced over that dirtflow, creating a solid-looking bridge. Matt molded and shaped it, raising walls and hollowing out gates. He even replicated the mangled wreckage of the buildings knocked down by the earthquake, and by Tanya’s wrecking crews before that.
In moments, a scaled model of the entirety of Redspire took shape in front of him, complete with slowly moving carts along the simulated streets. Matt watched it for a long moment, trying to make sure it all looked as accurate as he could make it. He could sense the onlookers stepping forward, peering at it, and recognizing the city that most of them called home.
Then he let the dirt fall and smooth out for another moment. For an instant, he let things settle into a nondescript pool of dirt. He could sense that the onlookers were disappointed.
He wasn’t done yet, though. Matt reformed the city, but this time, it looked far different. The walls and the river were the same, as was the imposing castle that had given the place its name. Yet those towers weren’t the only buildings stretching towards the sky. All along the Royal Street, new buildings rose in regimented blocks and rows. Tanya’s museum—at least, the plans she’d deigned to share with Parufeth and Gorfeld—rose across the street from them, along with another cluster of buildings. His dreams of a new Garrison for the Crown Guard, a new building for the School of the Speakers. There was a park, and then another building that he meant to hold the Great Council, and another that was meant for the Assembly of Redspire.
Aimless streets and ramshackle construction were swept away and replaced. The streets and intersections were clean and well planned, and streams of carts traveled roads that were no longer fashioned from cobblestone, but well-laid brick. He heard murmurs from the crowd as they absorbed the changes; Matt could see some of them looking from the model to the city out of the corner of his eye.
Then, as they watched, he looked to one side, and another model gathered from yet more dirt. This one was a place of hills and ringforts. A city built by Gnomes, always careful and worried. Craftsmen, laborers, and sometimes more, all committed to seeing the Kingdom rise. Summerhall appeared, along with the hills that ringed it and hedged it in. It rose first as he’d seen it. Then he remade it, raising the towers higher, letting the buildings spill out behind the first wall and letting a second outer wall creep into being around the new expansions.
Parufeth’s indrawn breath told him that the foreman had seen exactly what Matt had intended. A quick glance told him that Darunmell was pale and trembling, staring at a future that he might never have dreamed of on his own. Others in the crowd seemed mystified by it, though there were plenty still examining the changed version of Redspire still hovering in place.
Lord Torth, however, wasn’t looking at Redspire or Summerhall. The Imp’s eyes were locked on Matt, and there was both a challenge and a hope in the nobleman’s eyes. Matt met that gaze and smiled.
Then he stretched out the power of his Spell. It was like lifting a heavy weight, and the framework of the Spell was becoming strained, but the power of his Source kept steady. A third city formed, this one on a small plateau carved from a mountainside. Ashpeak, with its ancient walls and empty ruins, next to the grand waterfalls that drove its industry. Matt felt the Spell wearing away and knew he had to work quickly.
At the same time, he hated the thought of selling his vision short. He focused, and the walls rose a little higher again. Atop the plateau, ruined palaces were restored, and new, shining pillars of stone rose above them. The ancient machinery was repaired and expanded, while the streets of Ashpeak went from lonely, shadowed alleys to busy thoroughfares. Behind him, Melren was murmuring something full of awe and wonder; Torth did not make a sound.
The vision of all three cities grew and built and expanded—and then it was all too much. Matt felt the framework of the Spell slipping away. It wasn’t the power; his magic roared almost undiminished within him, and his Source remained secure. His practice with the Spell itself was lacking, however, and he knew that if he tried to hold on to it, the magic would slip free.
So, despite his native stubbornness, Matt let the dirt crumble. All three cities tumbled to pieces in front of him, becoming a collection of stains on the winter snow. He coughed and drew in a shuddering breath, fighting the urge to try to wrestle with the continued power within him. Control. He needed control before he touched it again, and his mind was too tired to provide it.
Matt heard footsteps crunching through the snow, and he looked over to see Lord Torth standing next to him. The leader of the High Imps was staring at the spot where Ashpeak had been. His expression showed an iron determination. “A fascinating display, sire. Unfortunately, it appears you still have much work to do.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “We all do, Lord Torth. We all do.”
Torth looked back at him and nodded. The crowd hesitated, as if wanting to see if there was more. Most of them started to drift away as he walked back to where Melren and Gorfeld were standing. Parufeth, for his part, was still staring at the spot as if he had been shown a vision of a grand feast, and discovered he was hungry. Darunmell was still standing as if he had seen a ghost; he met Matt’s eyes by accident, and then jerked into motion, heading for Redspire.
Tanya, for her part, just looked determined. She didn’t wait to speak with him, instead stomping back through the snow towards the castle. Matt made a mental note to get some kind of a mount for her; if he had Nelson, she didn’t need to be walking everywhere.
Then he turned back to his steward and advisor. “So, how did I do?”
Melren shook himself, as if coming back from a dream. “Better than I could have hoped, sire. Though you do need more practice. With your level of power, the control becomes that much more crucial.”
Matt nodded his agreement, and Gorfeld laughed. “At the very least, sire, I think you will give them all something to talk about. The next few days should be very interesting indeed.”